Happy Trails

I confess my hopes were not high when we set off from the parking lot of Cacapon Statepark and up some stone steps to the head of the 1.5-mile Ridge Trail, described as a moderate loop by the WVDNR. Maybe I was thinking that last year at this time we were hiking up Gorham Mountain in Acadia National Park, winding up through a balsam wood to granite ledges where we could stop to admire the ocean view. Then we were even lucky enough to snag a few of the earliest blueberries ripening on the low bushes that lined the trail.

But as I set foot on the first sandy steps of this ridge trail, I noticed a few familiar shrubs along the way to the granite step-ups. "These look like blueberries," I said.

"They are blueberries!" Treat replied and turned around to show the little wild blueberry he held in his hand. As we climbed up the rocky ridge, the deciduous trees gave way to pines and the blueberries became more plentiful. We filled an empty bottle while a little stream gurgled below us, and while it wasn't Maine? I sure could not complain.

Who Belongs in a Museum?

To get in the spirit of the upcoming release of the fifth and final Indiana Jones movie we watched Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Last Crusade last night. (Temple of Doom was a definite 'no' for me; I've always found it a disappointing follow-up to Raiders.) 

I saw Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade on the day it opened in 1989. I was in Bristol, VA, visiting a friend of my then partner. The three of us had lunch (meat and three) at Morrison's Cafeteria in the mall and then went to the multiplex, at my insistence. As I recall, the two of them were blasé about the movie, but I loved it.

Even so, as much as I enjoyed that movie, I can't remember the last time I saw the whole thing. I had forgotten that River Phoenix plays a young Indiana Jones in the opening scene and that all of his iconic possessions and experiences, from the whip to the snakes to the scar, fedora, and leather jacket, are explained there, too.

As we watched last night, my brother used the miracle of the internet to deliver interesting information about the production and characters. "Sean Connery was only 12 years older than Harrison Ford," he told us, "much too young to actually be his father."

"How old was Connery when they made the movie, then?" I asked. 

"59," Bill answered.

"That's your age," I pointed out. "You look much better than that."

Old movies can do that to you, though, mess with your mind. There's a disorienting intersection between who you were when you first saw the movie, your memories of your thoughts about the situations, characters, and actors then, and who you are now. 

Because, seriously? 

No way is my little brother old enough to be Indian Jones's father! 

In the Shade

We have trees and small wooded areas near our own home, but nothing like this cabin in the West Virginia woods; even at the sunniest of times, that golden light filters through millions of leaves at their greenest peak, casting a viridescent shade over everything. Without the many picture windows this lovely house in the woods features, it would be dark indeed within its wood-sided walls.

And this morning the smell of smoke threaded the chilly gray-lit skies when we woke up. Those Canadian wildfires had caught up with us again. I am no sun-worshipper; summer is not my favorite season, but this year June has been so cool and smoky and rainy that, as the month ends, I am missing the light.

Vacation On

I had a doctor’s appointment at home today, and rather than go through the extreme headache of rescheduling my annual wellness check, I decided to drive the 2 hours back from the cabin this morning. At 7:30 the roads were mostly clear and the drive in was scenic and uneventful. 

After my appointment, I ran a few errands around town, including heading over to Bill and Emily’s for a wellness check on their cat, Spreidel. I did not, however, venture the 2 miles south that would have taken me to our house, although it was tempting. Somehow, being on vacation and coming back to town was strange enough without actually going home, no matter how short a visit it might have been. 

After a stop at the grocery store to get a few things we hadn’t been able to find in the stores near our rental property, I headed northwest and back to my vacation. 

“Yay! You’re home!” cheered Heidi when I finally rolled into the dusty driveway. 

I cocked my head and gave the statement some thought. “Well,” I said, “I was almost home, but now I’m…” I paused and laughed.

“Now you’re here,” Heidi said. “Yay!”

On the Trail to Adventure

We decided to spend the last part of the afternoon exploring our nearby section of the Washington Heritage Trail, the 136-mile scenic route along the Potomac that traces George Washington's activities and interests during his time in this part of the country. 

Our journey today took us first to the Panorama Overlook, a view rated by National Geographic as "one of the five best in the east". From our vantage point, we could see both the Potomac and Cacopan Rivers and mountain ridges in three states. 

From there we drove north to the village of Great Cacapon, a place Washington surveyed and also where he owned some choice riverfront property. It is a tiny town now, though, and finding nowhere of interest to stop, we continued along our way to the town of Pawpaw on a route described as "among the most scenic in the state". 

The weather was growing evermore threatening as we drove to that hamlet, population 410, and we were disappointed to find the visitors center firmly shuttered. We knew, however, that just beyond the town and across the Maryland state line lay one of the greatest engineering marvels of the 19th century, the Pawpaw Tunnel on the C&O Canal. 

"There is a huge thunderstorm pretty much directly over us," Victor warned as we pulled into the parking lot, looking at the weather app on his phone, but undeterred, we grabbed umbrellas and headed the .17 miles down the trail to find the tunnel. A smattering of fat drops were falling and there were rumbles of thunder rolling towards us as we first walked and then jogged toward the 3,000-foot tunnel.

The tunnel was built to allow the canal to bypass a notoriously snaky section of the river. It took 14 years, thousands of men, hundreds of thousands of dollars, and over 6,000,000 bricks to bore straight through the ridge and construct the tunnel. Although the canal continued to transport goods until 1924, by the time the tunnel was complete, the railroad that would eventually replace the barges had already arrived in the area.

Today the tunnel is used by hikers and bikers on the canal, and today it offered us shelter from the torrential rain that started just as we arrived. We made our way carefully into the dark, our voices echoing off the vaulted ceiling. The light from the other end was deceptive, so much farther away than it looked. The towpath was bumpy and pitted, and we weren't very far inside before we needed the flashlights from our phones to light the way. The original railing was sturdy, though, and leaning over we could see a trickle of water covering the granite bottom 12 feet below. A strong breeze from the other end blew toward us as we fell into a rhythm of walking in the dark. 

To me, it was trance-like and magical; my eyes relaxed and my feet found their way along the rutted path. We reached a point where we could no longer tell what the weather was like outside, but in hushed voices we discussed whether and how quickly the water level was rising in the canal. Emily and Heidi and I were perhaps a hundred yards behind Bill, Treat, Nadika, and Victor, and we decided to turn back about three-quarters of the way through. 

Like so often happens, finding our way out seemed a lot quicker than finding our way in, and soon we stood outside the tunnel beneath puffy clouds and blue skies. The storm had passed, and it was time to head back to the cabin.

Initial

Although the crumbling tennis courts we found this morning were not exactly the amenities we expected based on the description of our vacation rental, it was nothing we couldn't handle with a tape measure, some duct tape, a chalk line, and the extra bottle of chalk. Within 20 minutes we had a pickleball court marked out and we spent a couple hours alternating between singles and doubles matches with some serving and volleying practice on the adjoining court. 

A quick stop at the drug store before dinner for a couple more rolls of duct tape was insurance against the torrential afternoon rain and any damage it probably did to our chalk lines. Once we get the courts marked off tomorrow morning? It will be all pickleball, all week. 

You're welcome, Coolfont.

What Are the Chances?

Nearly 40 years ago my brother and sister and I purchased a Danish modern rocking chair with a woven back and seat. Our father had just moved back to the States from Saudi Arabia to set up residence in Virginia Beach and continue his fight against Stage IV colon cancer, and we were in charge of furnishing the three bedroom ocean view apartment where we would be living. Our 20 something tastes took us to Conrans in Georgetown where we found a couch and an arm chair in their scratch and dent section, along with the rocker, some blond-wood end tables and matching coffee table on the showroom floor.

All of that furniture stayed with one or the other of us for many years after my dad died: the coffee table was painted periwinkle; the couch was reupholstered twice; and the chair moved to California and back with my sister. So when the rocking chair got torn to pieces by our cats, I couldn’t part with it, as unsightly as it was. 

Somewhere along the line, I took the chair apart and brought it to school, storing it in my closet. I’m sure my plan was to have it fixed and put it in my classroom, but it’s been in storage for at least 25 years. And I’m not sure what made me decide that this was the summer when I would finally have it restored, but on the last day of school I pulled the rocker from the closet and carried it out to the car. 

In the days following, I made several calls and sent even more emails and texts with pictures of the shredded roping, in an attempt to get an estimate for repair. All the replies were the same, though: nobody I contacted did weaving. During my research I came across some similar chairs that were selling for between six and twenty-two hundred dollars. I also found some DIY videos that made reweaving a chair seat look relatively easy.

I made up my mind and ordered the Danish cord I would need for the job from a specialty supply store. The job seemed both straightforward and complicated, and I thought that more eyes and hands would help, so I came up with the idea to bring the project along on our upcoming vacation. Then I would have not only me and Heidi to figure things out, but also Bill, Emily, Victor, and Treat. Surely with the six of us on the task we could resolve any unforeseen complications and make quick work of it, too. Plus it seemed like it might be fun to learn to weave and restore a piece of family history.

This afternoon I arrived at the cabin in WV where we will spend the next week eager to present my project proposal to the group. I was talking it up as we carried all of our luggage and supplies into the spacious house, pointing out how satisfying a way it might be to spend a rainy day. A little while later, when I was on the lower level where Heidi and I have our room, I walked over to explore the small sitting room that is down here. 

“No. Way!” I whispered to myself, for there was the very rocking chair that I sought to restore.

Garden to Table

We were fortunate enough to do the tasting menu at the Dabney restaurant in Blagden Alley last night. One of DC's handful of Michelin-star restaurants, the place is known for its wood-burning cooking hearth and its tasting menu featuring mid-Atlantic cuisine and ingredients. 

My mom gave us a generous gift certificate for the restaurant as a Christmas gift back in 2018. Fortunately for us, it said right on the page that it would never expire, and so on the heels of all the ups and downs of the last 4 and a half years, I finally made a reservation for last night.

It was a fun experience, and our menu is featured below.

In the spirit of the place, tonight I made a trio of squash featuring early ingredients from our garden-- garlic, shallots, basil, zucchini, and squash blossoms, along with farmer's market cherry tomatoes, spaghetti squash, eggs, and cheese. And while the stuffed squash blossoms, zucchini noodles with fresh tomato, basil, preserved lemon, and olive ragu, and warm spaghetti squash terrain might not be as expertly prepared as the fine food we had last night, the portions will definitely be larger. 

(But, hey! No shade, Dabney! Ours is only 3 courses.)

Lucy's Morning Out

Our cleaning lady came this morning just a little after eight, but no worries-- Heidi had already walked Lucy and worked out with her trainer, and I had meditated, made breakfast, and picked up. We even had errands planned to fill the time when she was here, and since it was so cool and rainy we loaded Lucy into the station wagon and brought her along. 

She was able to come into the first couple of places, Home Depot and Pet Smart, and while she was moderately excited about the first stop, she was super enthusiastic at the second. She stood on her back legs to see a cheeky little Conure who was pecking the glass at her, and she got into a stare-down with some of the adoptable cats. In fact, she might still be standing there now if we hadn't dragged her away. 

Lucy had to stay in the car for the next two stops, a thrift shop to drop off donations, and a diner for breakfast, but she didn't mind at all when Heidi left her with a few of the treats we had purchased at Pet Smart. 

Within a couple of hours, we three were back to our clean house, feeling accomplished, and a couple of us were ready for a nap.

Final Duty

As my last official act of the school year, this morning I ordered the t-shirt prizes for the 13 students who successfully completed the 100-Day Writing Challenge. 

I'd been putting the chore off a bit because it's a nuisance to add all the addresses and verify the purchase on my Amazon account in order to have the shirts sent to the kids at home, but on this rainy Wednesday, when our pickleball and lunch plans were upset by the weather, I finally sat down with the bright orange order forms I had the Centurions fill out last week. 

Any irritation I may have felt at the extra clicking and tedious typing was erased by the opportunity to consider each young writer one more time and to see which of the thousands of shirts on the Woot site they opted for. Their choices are always a bit surprising: whimsical and often revealing of a side of them that, even after an entire school year and a hundred days of writing, I didn't know. So it was with a little bit of sadness that I clicked submit on the last order and bid farewell to a really great group of kids.

Transitions Are Hard

You would think that after thirty years I would have this summer break thing managed, and yet I do not. 

As much as I crave a break from the gogo gogo, once it arrives I find myself at loose ends. Oh, I have accomplished many of the things I planned to do-- I've played pickleball, gone to a baseball game, worked in the garden, baked bread, cleaned out my closet, organized the deck, and tackled a bunch of DIY projects, and still I've found myself literally spinning in my chair and solving word puzzles.

But never fear, dear reader, I am confident I will master this life of leisure, so much so that you can look for a companion post come August, lamenting all that is trying about going back to school.

Neither Quick Nor Easy

Ignoring the way that DIY projects are never quite as quick and easy or inexpensive as you think, I ordered a couple replacement poles for the cat structure in our living room. Tibby, in particular, loves to scratch the sisal fiber, and after 4 years, it looks like hell. 

Rather than rewrap the posts, which definitely would have been cheap, I spent almost what the structure cost to get new ones. When they arrived, I realized that swapping them out wouldn't be as quick as I thought, because I had to disassemble the whole thing. 

The parts had been languishing for weeks when I decided on Saturday, that with school out, it was finally the day for the project. So I kicked Milo off the top platform and slid the enormous structure out of the corner. I had the top poles off and the middle platforms swiveled so I could reach the torn-up cylinders I was replacing when I saw that the connecting bolts were not the same size. The new ones were much narrower and would not fasten securely to the old posts. 

Disheartened, I reassembled the thing, keeping one top bolt out, and shoved it back into the corner. Then I headed off to a big box home improvement store with both bolts in my pocket. There I stood long in the hardware aisle, comparing bolts and nuts and considering how best to adapt the misfit pieces. The only valuable thing I left there with was information-- I used the measurement display to identify the sizes of my bolts: they were 8 and 10 mm. 

Not surprisingly, metric hardware is less common in US stores, which explained the dearth of options. At home, I searched the internet to see if there was some sort of adapter I could buy, and it was then I learned a new term, "step stud". Yes, friends, they actually make bolts that are one width on one side and another width on the other. I was able to order 4 from the world's largest online retailer, and I expect them to be delivered tomorrow. 

Will they do the job? Well that remains to be seen, but they did add another 12 bucks to the cost, and of course, the time spent will be more than double what I originally hoped. But that structure is going to stay out of the landfill for a long time.

Half the Price and Twice as Nice

We share season tickets to the Nats with a group of our neighbors, and today was our first game of the year. The group chose new seats this season, so we were anxious to check them out. Last year we were down the third-base line and maybe 8 rows back, and this year we were over in a corner at the end of the first-base line and just 5 seats from the field. 

It was a beautiful day here, sunny and breezy, and Heidi was wise enough to make us stop for sunscreen on our way to the park. We took our time walking through the concourse, checking out the concessions, and finally slipping into our seats in the middle of the second inning. They were amazing, but it was hot on the field with very little of the breeze reaching us down there. After the presidents raced by, so close that we could almost reach out and touch them, I found my eye drawn to the upper deck across from us. It was nearly empty up there and shady; plus they had a much better view of the jumbotron and scoreboard.

At the end of the fourth, I suggested to Heidi that we check out the nosebleeds, especially since we had never been to that part of the stadium. It was still crowded on the concourse; the fans meandering and lining up for ice cream, hot dogs, and beer. The crowd was mostly families; it was Father's Day, after all. We finally found our way around to the escalators and took them all the way to the top. 

Up there it was quiet; there were no lines at the concessions, and a cool breeze blew gently over the sparsely populated sections. We found a couple of open seats in the shade with a great view of the entire field, both bullpens, the hometeam dugout, and the scoreboard, and there we pleasantly passed the remaining innings of the game in complete comfort.

Choice Word

I woke up early this morning with nothing to make me shy away from the day: on summer vacation, there's all the time you need and nothing to avoid. So I hopped right out of bed and headed downstairs.

Baking bread was first on my wanna-do list; my sourdough starter has been languishing in the fridge for a few busy weeks now. When I fetched the big Corningware bowl from its top shelf in the cupboard, I noticed flakes of dried dough around the top inside rim, remnants of the last time I baked. I knew immediately that I was the culprit because I always wash that bowl myself.

I love the word culprit. It comes from the Latin culpa, meaning fault or blame. There is a legend that the noun form comes from a misinterpretation of a 17th-century Norman legal document with the abbreviation "cul prist" short for Culpable: prest d'averrer notre bille (You are guilty; we are ready to prove our case).

And culprit is so much gentler than its synonyms perp, villain, or offender. Once when my nephew, Treat, was very young, no older than 5 or 6, we overheard him admit to his older brother that he had cheated at a game. "Okay, you caught me," he said. "I'm the culprit." Until then I don't think I'd ever heard the word used in conversation, but after that? 

I was a fan.

Job Security

This morning, on our last day of school, I was talking to my fellow sixth-grade English teachers. "You know what's going to be a game-changer for you?" I asked, pointing at our youngest member. "Soon there is going to be AI grading!"

Her eyes widened and the three of us considered, for a moment, what it would be like to have a machine do the hardest, most time-consuming, part of our job. Not only would it save us countless hours, but we could use the instantaneous feedback to coach students to make the changes and corrections in real-time.

"Right now you can assess writing using the standard rubrics they have on the site, but in a few years?" I continued, "You'll probably be able to put in your own rubric and have the writing graded instantly!"

I was thinking about our conversation and my promise to explore the options when I sat down with my laptop this afternoon. No time like the present, I thought and typed in a few search terms. I was rewarded with free trials of two AI grading sites, one of which claimed to have custom rubrics, but which really only allowed me to choose the categories I wanted assessed from a standard list. With that one, I was also able to select the level of work I was submitting, elementary, middle, or high school, and the genre.

I started by copying and pasting a few of my students' writing. The results, for middle school, were in the C range, even though I had given it a B+. When I shifted it to elementary, the results were closer. The feedback was detailed and mostly accurate, but not to the point where I would recommend using it to either my colleagues or students.

Then I decided to run my own writing through, and I pasted a few blog entries. I was dismayed to receive Cs and Ds on my work! 

Let me give you an example. Here is a piece of writing from March 2009, back when I started writing my daily slice of life.

It's rainy and cold here. Last weekend we had unseasonably springy temps in the 70's, but when I woke up this morning, this gray Saturday reminded me a little bit of those endless weekends when I was a kid. My gosh, back then it seemed like the raw, wet, late-winter weather went on forever, and come March, my brother and sister and I ran out of things to do in the house by early Saturday afternoon. My parents had plenty to keep them busy, however, and so I have memories of a lot of wandering through the house, sighing. I probably threw myself on the couch or my bed a few times, too.

I have no children of my own, but I am aunt, by blood and friendship, to more than a dozen kids, aged 1 to 16. They are fun to have around any time-- an afternoon, overnight, weekend, or even for a week or three in the summer. In fact, we have a couple of god-daughters here for the weekend right now.

We had a great day today. We made waffles for breakfast, caught a super-corny magician/comedian at the local cinema and drafthouse, hiked a national park with the dog, watched a couple of movies, and then spent some more kitchen time on homemade pasta, meatballs and sauce. Up next? Roasting marshmallows in the fireplace for s'mores-- cause that's what aunties are for.

Here's what app.essaygrader.ai had to say when I ran it through at high school level:

Evaluation:

Organization: The essay lacks a clear organizational structure. The ideas are presented in a random and haphazard manner, making it difficult for the reader to follow the flow of the essay. There is no clear introduction or conclusion, and the paragraphs do not transition smoothly from one to another.

Progression: The essay lacks a clear progression of ideas. The writer jumps from one topic to another without providing any logical connection between them. The lack of progression makes it difficult for the reader to understand the main point or purpose of the essay.

Development of Ideas: The essay lacks sufficient development of ideas. The writer provides vague and general statements without providing any specific details or examples to support them. The essay would benefit from more specific and concrete examples to illustrate the writer's points.

Conventions: The essay contains several grammatical errors and lacks proper punctuation. There are also inconsistencies in verb tense usage. The writer should proofread the essay carefully to correct these errors.

Language and Vocabulary: The language and vocabulary used in the essay are informal and colloquial. The writer should strive for a more formal and academic tone in their writing. Additionally, the essay lacks variety in sentence structure and word choice, making it repetitive and monotonous.

Suggestions:

- Organize the essay into clear paragraphs with topic sentences and supporting details. This will help the reader follow the flow of the essay more easily.

- Develop the ideas more fully by providing specific examples and details. This will make the essay more engaging and persuasive.

- Proofread the essay carefully to correct grammatical errors and improve punctuation.

- Use more formal and academic language and vocabulary in the essay. This will make the writing more professional and credible.

- Vary sentence structure and word choice to make the essay more interesting and engaging to read.

Estimated Grades:

Organization: D

Progression: D

Development of Ideas: C

Conventions: D

Language and Vocabulary: C

Overall Grade: D

I guess I get that a machine can't appreciate the impressionist style of this slice of life, but wow! The sentence structure and word choice comment stings. As for the several grammatical errors,  I had to run a separate report to see what they were. 

Error: temps - Suggestion: temperatures Error: this gray Saturday - Suggestion: this gray Saturday, Error: a little bit - Suggestion: a little Error: those endless weekends - Suggestion: these endless weekends Error: come March - Suggestion: when March came Error: brother and sister - Suggestion: brothers and sisters Error: in the house - Suggestion: around the house Error: early Saturday afternoon - Suggestion: early on Saturday afternoon Error: however, - Suggestion: However, Error: so I have memories - Suggestion: so I have many memories Error: of a lot of wandering - Suggestion: of wandering Error: through the house - Suggestion: through the house, Error: probably threw - Suggestion: probably threw myself Error: or my bed - Suggestion: or on my bed Error: aged 1 to 16 - Suggestion: aged one to sixteen Error: any time-- - Suggestion: anytime-- Error: cinema and drafthouse - Suggestion: cinema and draft house Error: a national park - Suggestion: the national park Error: Up next? - Suggestion: What's next? Error: cause - Suggestion: because Error: aunties - Suggestion: aunts

As you can see, many of the "errors" are misreads by the AI, and would be perfectly understandable to a human reader. Some of them actually contribute to the style of the piece. 

Ultimately, I wouldn't use any of the feedback to revise this piece, because it's clear that the app didn't understand the intention and standards of the genre. But in the not too distant future? I bet it will.

Meeting the Deadline

 "Your room isn't packed at all?" one of my students noted this morning. "I think you're the only teacher like that."

"Don't worry," I assured him, looking at my watch and noting that my last class would be over in about half an hour. "It will be!"

And it was when I left today. 

They Called it the Streak

 Here's what I did yesterday:

• taught all day
• attended a grade-level meeting 
• heard unwelcome news about not using the middle school model in our middle school
• posted the announcement and writing challenge for today
• read and added the last of the 100-day writing posts to my spreadsheet
• went to Target to buy the last writing challenge prizes
• graded (and commented on) 96 profile pieces and a number of children's stories
• put the grades in my grade book
• set up my grade book for final grades
• added comments for the report card
• exported my grades at 12:15 a.m.

Here's what I didn't do yesterday:

Post my blog! 

And I didn't even realize that my counter had been reset from 5, 217 days in a row to zero until my friend Mary sat down in a chair in my room this afternoon at 1:30 and asked, "Did you write your blog yesterday?"

After a moment of stunned uncertainty, I slowly shook my head. "I don't think I did," I said in disbelief.

"You didn't," she assured me. "But at least you have something to write about today," she finished with optimism.

Write about, certainly, and process, too.

The One I Forgot

A Hard Lesson

 "Thank you for our group!" some kids told me last week when they saw their field day assignments.

"You're welcome," I replied, "I tried to give everyone what they requested."

"No offense," crowed one of that group to his classmates, "but we have the best team ever!"

"Yeah we do!" added another. "We are going to dominate!"

A few of the other kids looked a little dejected. it was true that the members of the group in question were smart and athletic.

"Well," I said, "there are a lot of different activities that require all sorts of strengths, but the main thing is cooperation. You have some strong personalities on your team, and you're going to need to work hard to keep everyone in balance."

I reminded them of our conversation today when I saw several of the group scowling and heard others of them shouting. They were embroiled in a huge disagreement concerning the scavenger hunt and had thrown the rules about teamwork and staying together aside.

"Remember how happy you were about your group?" I said. "That's because you really like each other. Try to focus on your friendship and get through this."

But it was near the end of a long day, and they just couldn't completely recover. The same was true for other of the self-selected groups; there wasn't enough diversity of personalities and interests to make a well-rounded team. In the end, it was the teams that were a combination of friends and classmates that ended up being the most successful.

Cramming

Never that student who was on top of everything, for me the end of the semester always brought late nights and, if I'm honest? More than a wee bit of panic. 

Not much has changed, even after 30 years of facing the end of the grading period as a teacher, rather than a student. It still seems like I have more to do than could possibly be done.

I guess we'll see by Friday.

Sibling Saturday

I couldn't tell you the last time my brother, sister, and I went out to lunch, just the three of us.

Oh, wait, yes I can. 

It was today! ♥️

Get Some Fresh Air

The last weeks of school can be brutal, a merciless mix of must-dos and wanna-dos. On the one hand, the end of the year brings final assignments, paperwork, tests, cleaning, and packing, but there is also the bittersweet desire to celebrate the accomplishments of the year while at the same time bidding it farewell. 

As in any complicated season, getting over-scheduled and overwhelmed is easy, and this year has been no exception for me. My days have been packed so full, that my night's sleep has been interrupted by anxiety. Even though I have made an effort to exercise each day, the poor air quality we have been experiencing has limited my options for recreation.

But fortunately, Friday will come, no matter what the week has been like. After a fun day of teaching and then a traditional end-of-the-year potluck with friends and colleagues, I worked until 5:30 on tracking the last days of the writing challenge, sending out prize requests, and organizing my part of the field day Monday with contingency plans for rain.

When we walked out of the building, the air was clear for the first time in days, and a light breeze lifted my spirits. On the way home we passed the garden and I realized that I hadn't given it more than a second thought for this whole dry week. So as soon as I unloaded my stuff, I changed into shorts, laced up my dirty garden sneakers, jammed a hat on my head and air pods in my ears, and started the walk up the hill.

Just being outside was a tonic and with each step, it felt like I was actually leaving the stress of the week behind me. The garden was fine, and I spent a cool evening hour watering and weeding until the sun fell below the trees on the far side fence and, refreshed, I turned my attention toward home.

We Win

It was the last 'A' Block day of the year, and my crazy 5th-period class was freaking out a little. "We have to do something special!" one student demanded.

"How about your work, for a change?" I teased them, but the truth was there was work to do. First up was the warm-up question, which today was to post some advice for the kids who will be in my class next year.

"Will they really see this?" asked a student suspiciously, "Because I don't think we got any advice."

"I think so," I answered, mentioning the bulletin board in the hallway with an"Advice from a Dolphin" theme. "I could put your advice up there."

What followed was a mixture of sound and silly, but before we got to the sharing, there was the hurry-up incentive portion of the routine. Any writer who could post an answer, close their iPad, get out their writing notebook, and wait quietly could take a guess from the Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza deck. If they were right, they would win a Jolly Rancher.

"Who's feeling something?" I asked in my best emcee voice. Hands shot up. "Lucas! What are you feeling?"

"Goat"

"Ooof!" I replied turning over a pizza card.

If you know the game, then you know in the deck of 64 cards, there are also 3 narwhals, gorillas, and groundhogs. In our guessing game, those are freebies, if you are willing to do the required gesture. Sebastian got a narwahl, and immediately clapped his hands over his head.

"Let's make this interesting," I said. "If anybody else gets a special card, then you can all have a Jolly Rancher.

With great enthusiasm, the remaining 10 made their guesses. There were no winners. 

"Wait! What about you? You haven't guessed," noted a student desperately, since I never guess.

"Okay," I agreed, "Tell you what, if I get it right, or it's a special, you win!" I looked at the deck in my hand. "I'm getting a strong feeling of cheese," I started, "but maybe it's just because there are a lot of cheese cards on the table." I closed my eyes. "I have to go with cheese," I said after a moment and flipped the card.

It was a groundhog! Everyone cheered and rapped their knuckles on the table in front of them. They leapt out of their seats and high-fived me. "This is why we love this class!" a student crowed.

"All right," I nodded. "You will get your prize as soon as you are back in your seats working quietly."

And that is what happened. It turned out to be a pretty productive day.

Parts Per Million

There seemed to be more masks than usual in school today, although I didn't really notice at first. It was more than half an hour into the day that I overheard two students talking about air quality. Listening to their conversation I realized that there was a whole environmental crisis brewing right outside of which I was not aware. 

How did I miss these wildfires in Canada? Why had I not questioned the smudgy red ember of the sun rising through the hazy morning? How could I overlook my sandy eyes and scratchy throat? Our air quality today was among the worst in the world, smoke from a thousand miles away casting a murky golden fog over our forecasted breezy blue skies. 

And now that I know it's here? I can't wait for it to be gone.

This Magic Moment

 A cheeky student was sitting behind my desk this afternoon after the bell. "I'm Ms. S!" she proclaimed. "Do you want a Jolly Rancher?"

"Come out from there," I directed her. 

She complied, but on her way, she grabbed the ukulele. A few kids were hanging around before they headed home, shooting baskets and putting golf balls, mostly. Another teacher came in; she needed to leave, but she had a student who was willing to stay and work on a project coming due. I shrugged and invited him to find a seat.

"Will you play the ukulele?" another kid asked. 

I had forgotten I was holding it after I had confiscated it from the student exiting my desk. I looked over at the new arrival; he had set his violin down and was opening his iPad to work. "Do you play ukulele?" I asked him.

"Actually, I do play a bit," he answered and so I handed him the instrument. He plucked the strings and hummed, then asked what note each one was. Clearly, he did not play, but soon he was fingering chords and strumming a little melody. "Now we just need some harmony," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Scanning the room, his eyes lit up when he saw that one of the other kids was a fellow violinist. He handed her the ukulele. "Play a melody!" he said as he unpacked his violin.

She took the instrument and ran her fingers across the strings. She tried a violin chord that sounded very dissonant, then another that was lovely, minor, and moody. She strummed a 4/4 beat while he rosined his bow. And then he began to play, and she did, too, moving her fingers and varying the rhythm. He matched her improvisation with his own, and then a couple of other students pulled out a clarinet and a flute, and all of a sudden we had a little wind and string ensemble of our very own.

Oh, it was over in minutes (they are only 12), but it was pretty amazing while it lasted. then they got back to bickering about stickers, writing for the 100-Day Challenge, and finishing their other work.

One More Monday 'til Summer

I don't know what made me think of it, but once I did? I had to have a little mini-golf course in my room for a brain break. 

So I went to the thrift shop and combed the sporting goods section. there I found six putters for three bucks each and a bag of seven neon golf balls for another three dollars. In my classroom, I used duct tape, solo cups, and ring toss rings from a previous brain break (found in the Target dollar bins) to set up a six-hole course with chairs and tables for obstacles. To complete the activity I printed nine-hole mini-golf scorecards for four players. 

The two-par course has a four-stroke limit, and 20 kids can get through it in a little over 10 minutes. Okay, there's no windmill, but not for lack of trying-- my colleague next door searched her cupboards for the motorized pinwheel she had years ago for some science experiment, but just couldn't find it. She did give me some extra foam core, though, and now I'm dreaming of bumpers and ramps.

Eight more days to go!

How Many Does it Take?

Tibby saw it first. Or was it Milo? Hard to say, but last night around 10 PM our cats were super-interested in the living room rug. It wasn't long before Lucy hopped off her bed and went over to investigate.

"What are they looking at?" Heidi asked with a bit of alarm.

I glanced over from the couch. In the light of the TV, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. "Who knows?" I shrugged.

Heidi was not as easily dissuaded. She turned on some lights and squinted at the pattern in the carpet. The cats were all perky-eared and swishy-tailed. Lucy was play-bowing. I still saw nothing. 

"There!" Heidi pointed at a crescent that almost matched the rug. On closer examination, we saw legs, a hundred legs.

"A house centipede," I identified the intruder, and, grabbing a tissue, scooped it up, and sent it on its way outside. 

Go, team!

Mother Duck

We took a late afternoon walk around the Tidal Basin today. The weather was fair and breezy, and the crowds were relatively thin, even more so the closer it got to that traditional American dinner hour; as many times as we have been down there, we knew it would probably be so.

As we set off, the tiny cherries on and beneath the trees took me by surprise-- could it be possible I've never been down there this time of year? Surely not! But it had to be, for I had no idea that our cherries, so famous for their ornamental blossoms in the spring, were of a fruiting variety. 

Around by the Jefferson Memorial our company was more avian than human-- a hundred or more ducks and geese swam and waddled on the beach formed from the crumbling retaining wall. There was only one mother duck: she was small and slim, barely an adult herself, but I admired the way she steered her two tiny ducklings firmly toward the water. She was young, but she was competent and resolute.

I was reminded of one of our family stories. When I was not yet four,  and my brother was just two, and my sister was an infant, our family moved to Philadelphia for my dad's job. Before our house was ready, we stayed a couple nights downtown in the Sheraton. My dad had been in Philly for a month or so, leaving my mother to pack the house care for 2 toddlers, and oh yes, give birth. 

My dad was at work when we arrived at the hotel, and my mother put us all down for naps. But who could sleep in such a wondrous place? My exhausted mother, perhaps, but not us! My brother and I got up from our beds, still in our t-shirts and underwear, walked past my sleeping mother, and opened the door. Outside there was a long hallway lined with doors, and we were eager to explore. Of course, the door locked behind us, and once we set off, there was no way of knowing which of the doors was ours.

A hotel maid found us and somehow knew which room to return us to. She knocked quietly and then used her master key to open the door. Inside, she found my mother, still sleeping. Mom woke up to the three of us standing over her. "Oh," the kindly maid was shaking her head, "she's just a baby and she has three babies of her own!"

Unquestionably

"Do you know Ms. W?" a student asked the other morning in homeroom. "She's my testing teacher and I want to know if she's nice."

"Oh, yes!" I answered. "I know her well! She's very nice."

"I don't know if I can believe you," the student replied doubtfully.

I tried not to be offended. "Why not? Don't you trust my judgment?" I asked, wondering why she had bothered to ask me at all.

"It's not that!" she said. "It's just that, now that I think about it, you're cool with everyone!" She shook her head. "I'm definitely not that chill."

"First of all, thanks," I laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment. But also, don't worry-- Ms. W. really is nice!"

Stacy Knows Best

"Stacy told me," one of my students remarked the other day.

"Who's Stacy?" asked the kid next to him. I was curious, too. I know of no Stacys in our school.

"Oh," the first boy shrugged, "she's my moral compass. Always has been."

"What?" said the other kid.

"She's the voice in my head that tells me right from wrong," explained his classmate. "Everybody has one. Mine's just named Stacy."

I looked carefully at him to see if he was joking. He didn't seem to be, and neither did he seem the least bit self-conscious about revealing this detail of his life.

"Why?" asked the second student. "Why 'Stacy'?"

"I don't know, she just is," answered the other kid. "She's an adult with two children of her own, so she has a good idea about what I should do." 

The student next to him nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, and went back to his writing.