Mature Gathering

My sister in law is turning 60 on Monday; a milestone birthday for sure. To celebrate my brother planned a party in the wine bar of a local place and invited a group of 20 or so friends and family. 

Even though I had known most of the guests for thirty years or more, it had been a long time since I had seen many of them. I confess that I was a little surprised that despite our vibrant energy, there was absolutely no question that this was a party for a 60 year old. The gray hair and wrinkles gave us all away. 

"Irritable" Vocabulary? (10 letters)

To give the students a fun and engaging opportunity to review the prefixes they have been learning, I turned to a tool I used several years ago, when last we taught word parts. I created a crossword puzzle using a website that worked for me back then. 

Because I thought it best to start off pretty easy, each clue had the definition of the prefix and some form of the root word. So, for example, "to spell something wrong" would be "misspell".Even so, I wasn't prepared for the number of kids who didn't know how a crossword puzzle worked. 

The concept of across and down was confusing, and some students literally turned their papers 90 degrees to write the down answers from right to left. One kid found a space for the actual words 'across' and 'down' and then crossed them out like it was a reverse word search. Additionally, going through and filling out the ones they definitely knew was a foreign concept to them, especially since they didn't realize that having some letters could help them check and solve other clues.

All in all, what was planned as a quick review activity took a lot more assistance and supervision, (not to mention time!) than I expected, but once they got it? 

Most kids asked if I had another one.

Communicator

To the kid who rushed through that standardized reading screener in 16 minutes, beating the rapid question algorithm and scoring in the 6th percentile, and later destroyed his pen, getting ink all over the table and chairs around him, and then cried when I kept him at lunch and asked how I could help him, telling me he didn't have any friends at school:

I hear you.

Nothing to See Here

The group of adults filed in quietly just as my class was getting settled after the bell. I nodded a greeting to the visitors, noting that they were from admin, central office, and the DOJ, there to observe me and my co-teachers as we instructed our class of students, many of whom were ELLs, SWDs, or both.

"Today you all are going to take a test," I informed my students, and as I launched into the description and overview of the standardized assessment I was being required to administer, the observers quickly packed up and slipped out.

Nailed It

"You know September is not a good month to decide when to retire," my friend Mary reminded me this afternoon. We were both weary from a day of forcing squirrely kids to take yet another standardized test, this one new to us, too, so harder to troubleshoot the inevitable technical glitches.

"I know," I agreed.

"We always feel this way in the beginning of the year," she continued, "overwhelmed and cranky."

"I know," I agreed again, and I really did. Just last night I had reread what I wrote here on this blog one year ago:

This is not the time of year for me to make any decisions about my career. 

One month on, it seems like students should be settling in as systems and procedures become familiar, but that is not what is happening. The kids from 7th grade are still coming back, seeking the comfortable routine we worked for 10 months to establish, and the new sixth graders are still dazed and confused by the expectations their predecessors eventually mastered. 

 But I know the keyword is "eventually". I know that last year at this time I was still working hard and waiting for everything to click, and even feeling a little discouraged that those kids didn't get how great the class could be, if only they gave it a chance. If I think about it, I will recollect what a slog the first unit always is, and I will understand that building community and relationships takes time, especially after the initial excitement of a new school year wears off. 

 And so I must resolve to carry on and make adjustments for the new group when necessary, to be mindful that some of the activities that were awesome last year might not be as good a fit this time around, and to notice the new magic whenever it happens.

Which is exactly how I am feeling today.

Could Be

"Mahjong?" our dog walker commented when she came by today and spied the zipper tote on our bench. "You are really getting geared up for retirement, aren't you?" She shook her head. "First pickleball, now this!"

"This year really might be it for me," I told her. 

She gasped in mock horror and looked at Lucy.

"Enjoy every minute!" I teased her, "Come next September, I might be walking her myself."

"Not you!" she answered. "You are going to be so busy with your mahjong and your pickleball and your bridge club and your bowling and your who-know-what-else. You are going to need a dog walker when you retire more than ever!"

Are We on the Same Page?

Does anyone else think Ophelia is an amazing name for a slow-moving tropical storm that drowned the areas in its path with several inches of rain?

Does anyone else think two solid weekend days of wet gusts and drenching rain sucks, no matter how awesome the storm's name is?

Yeah, I thought so.

Merry Autumn Equinox

As we were out running a few errands on this blustery first day of fall, it was hardly surprising that we were drawn to the Halloween displays. As expected as our gravitation to those holiday iitems might be? There were a couple of surprises as we browsed the now somewhat seasonal merch. 

First, the choices were limited; many of the shelves were well-picked over. Obviously the stuff had been for sale for a while, and business was brisk.

The other unexpected turn of events occured when we rounded the corner to turn down the last aisle. There, twinkling from the shelves in the back of the store, was the first of the Christmas lights and decorations. 

And yet... How surprised were we, really?

Goo News

When she talks about enlightenment, my morning yoga and meditation teacher often says, "You have to go through the goo to get to the ru." She means learning to use the practice to stay centered no matter what life throws at you.

The last couple of days have provided plenty of goo to work through. Starting with several new instructional initiatives by the central ELA office, there has been a lot of work to do after my teaching day is through. My classes are larger this year, and I'm working with 2 new co-teachers who are also new to the building. Our administration has decided to cross-team special education and English language learners, which in my opinion weakens the safety net for some of our students who need the most support. Our counselor is new, and students keep getting added and moved around my classes, upsetting the dynamic I'm trying to build, as well as overloading four of my sections, while making one almost unproductively small. 

And finally, in his weekly email to staff, our superintendent off-handedly dropped the news that every single employee will be enrolled in a new insurance plan starting in January 2024. For me, the change is a nuisance, transferring prescriptions and checking to see if my doctors are still in-network, but for Heidi, it is overwhelmingly enormous. 

She has been with her HMO for 30 years, and has a health team in place to help her manage her type 1 diabetes. Now, she has to find and put together a new team and also manage the transfer of her prescriptions, insulin pump, continuous glucose monitor, and their supplies by the first of the year. There is no guarantee that her devices will be covered or supported by the new plan.

54% of employees of our school system and their families are in the same boat, including women expecting children, children with chronic health care issues, patients with surgeries scheduled after January 1, and those being treated for both severe and minor health issues. They will lose their doctors, their counselors, and other healthcare professionals.

The change has been in the works since January and was decided in July, and yet staff is just being notified of the done deal now. Now that's some goo.

Picture Day

"You know what I've noticed?" A colleague new to our building asked me this morning.

I tilted my head. "What?"

"The boys are waaaaaay more dressed up for picture day than the girls."

I looked around the classroom. Anecdotally, she was right. One boy wore a jacket, several had collared shirts, and many had product in their hair to keep the part razor sharp. But that turned out to be just one class. Later in the day, several girls showed up in dresses and cute outfits they do not usually wear to school. 

When I was in school, picture day was huge, and everyone came dressed up. In kindergarten, my mom gave me a home permanent to add some body to my fine blond hair. She combed and pinned it to perfection before sending me off. 

She was aghast when next she saw me. After a day of K, my outfit was askew and my hair a mess. "Is that what you looked like for your picture?" she asked.

I shrugged.

"How did you smile?" she said.

I showed her a toothless grimace that at least showed my dimple. She shook her head, knowing what the pictures we got back a few weeks later would show.

"I've worn this dress the last three years for picture day!" one of the students told me this morning.

I nodded with some admiration. "I read about a teacher once who wore the exact same sweater on picture day every year for 20 years," I told her. "I really wish I'd thought of that!"

"It's never too late," she advised me.

Oh, but it is! I thought. Even so, I shrugged agreeably and climbed the stairs to strike my pose.

Here's Your Hat, What's Your Hurry?

And so it begins...

Because our leader has a class scheduled in her classroom, our team meeting is in my room this year. The sun was shining through the window and the tables were neat and orderly when a younger colleague walked in for the meeting this afternoon. She paused and smiled. "When you retire?" she said to me. "I'm going to get this room!"

RGF

"You know what's tremendous about you?" a student asked me today. He was referring to the daily question which, this morning, related to my greeting "Let's make it a tremendous Tuesday, Writers!" The students were directed to find the definition of 'tremendous' in the *gasp* physical dictionaries on their tables, and then share something they found tremendous about themselves.

"What?" I asked in return.

"You have relaxed grumpy face,"  he informed me. 

I examined his face, appraising his intention and considering how close his description was to the sexist and ageist term "resting bitch face". 

"What does that mean?" I prompted.

His eyes shifted, and I suspected he did not mean to compliment me. "You know," he backpedaled, "you're so relaxed and calm all the time."

"How does the grumpy fit in?" I inquired.

"Uhhh," he stammered, "it doesn't?"

If he only knew.

Rough Morning

Well, folks, the honeymoon is over. 

On this Monday morning, the sixth graders were acting like, well, middle schoolers. The school day hadn't even officially started when a girl dropped the f-bomb over her shoulder as she sauntered down the hall. She seemed surprised that I objected to her language. "Really?" I asked. "Do you talk like that around your parents?"

She shrugged.

A little while later I asked another student to change seats so she could collaborate with a small group, and at first, she flat-out refused. I was pretty insistent, but I could see her sizing me up and calculating whether it was worth the hassle, before she slowly moved over.

Then, after the brain break, a young man sat red-faced at his table, tears rolling down his cheeks. The three-minute activity had only involved bouncing ping-pong balls into solo cups with a partner, and so I was unsure about his situation. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"My partner threw the ping pong ball really hard and hit me in the groin," he sniffled. Upon return from the clinic, he had the only thing they prescribe, a baggy of ice wrapped in a paper towel. I can only assume it was a comfort to him as he applied it to the affected area under the table. I didn't really need to see it for myself. 

And that was all before 9:30.

The Wonder of It

As my sister and I chatted on the phone this afternoon, our conversation made its way to a cat we had 35 years ago, Noah. She was comparing her new kitten's jumping skills to his, and the image of Noah, leaping three feet straight up and catching a bouncing superball midair with his paws and then tucking it into his mouth before landing, flooded into my memory. 

"Wow!" I told her, "I had completely forgotten how he did that!"

I shouldn't have been surprised. Just yesterday, while listening to the AT Top 40 from this week in 1975, I literally gasped when the song Rocky came on. "Oh my gosh," I told Heidi, "I haven't thought of this song in at least 40 years!" But still I could sing every cheese lyric. She said Rocky I've never had a baby before, don't know if I can do it, but if you let me lean on you, take my hand I might get through it.

And then again today, an email made me look back to the October 2016 archive of this blog. Skimming through the entries, I read my thoughts and reports of that month, and again, I don't really have much recollection of what I was talking about. 

I have read advice to approach aging with confidence and wonder, rather than fear. I get that, especially in the sense that I wonder what else I've completely forgotten!

Go West, Mature Women

The day was so pretty, quintessential September blue skies, cool air, and warm sun, that I couldn't stay put. "Let's go somewhere!" I said to Heidi.

I tapped the map app on my phone and pinched it in a bit to widen the area. Then I swiped a bit to the right and dropped my finger randomly on Gore, VA. Next, I opened my hiking app and searched for nearby possibilities. I ended up with the trails at the Museum of Shenandoah Valley in Winchester, which wind several miles through 90 acres, through woods and pastures and past engaging landscape features and art installations. And, while the museum and its gardens have an admissions charge, the trails are free.

The trip out there was about 90 minutes, but I offered Heidi the chance to break it in Marshall, VA, home of the famous Red Truck Bakery, named one of America's best small-town bakeries by Travel+Leisure Magazine, which she of course accepted. And so we set out, American Top 40 from 1975 on the radio, and the mountains ahead.

And the day was just as sublime as it promised to be.

Working Harder, Not Smarter

After a shake-up in our central office department, we are teaching grammar and vocabulary in a new way this year. Adding new content to a curriculum requires a lot of work; whether or not you are provided with materials and resources, no one ever hands you anything that's ready to go. 

Earlier this week I was struggling to adapt slide decks, anchor charts, and practice exercises to my students and their academic needs, and coming up with an engaging and collaborative way to present the lesson and assignments was especially challenging. Perhaps I needn't have worried quite so much, because when I presented the three pages to them, several kids actually cheered, "Yay! A worksheet!"

I did not see that coming.

Well-trained

At the end of the day, Heidi and our principal were swapping stories about funny interactions they had had with kids lately. "I got one for you," the principal said. 

We are all familiar with her routine for signaling students to quiet down in assemblies. She does a call-and-response routine involving the initials of our school. She will say, "TJ!" and the students are supposed to answer, "MS!" She'll repeat it a few times until she has everyone's participation.

Today she was walking down the hallway when she spotted a 7th grade cutting up. She called his name, but he tried to get away from her by pretending not to hear and then joining a line of 8th graders on their way to the library. Not to be fooled, she called his name again louder and more firmly. "TJ!"

He still ignored her, but the 8th graders didn't. "MS?" they answered, confused.

Their response didn't even register with her as she focused in on the mischievous 7th grader. "TJ!" she said again.

"MS!" the 8th graders replied more loudly.

Then it hit her. "No," she laughed and pointed. "That TJ!"

The kids laughed too, and one of them pushed him out of line. "Go talk to her, man!" he instructed him, shaking his head.

Better than Meh

 I finally did it.

After decades of trying to figure out a way to make Back to School Night more fun and interactive for parents (and myself!), it occurred to me the other day that I could structure my presentation using the online quiz game I favor for my students. 

So yesterday afternoon I went through the slide presentation I would otherwise have used and turned every topic into a true-false or multiple-choice question. Then I created a QR code for the game sign-in and taped a copy to each table. As parents entered, I gave them the option to scan the code and play along. Once the game began, I paused after every question to clarify or add a little information, just as I do when kids play,

The format worked great! For example, the first question was True or false, this is Ms. S's first year at our school. After revealing the answer, I was able to give a little background on myself and, in my co-taught classes, allow my colleagues to do the same. 

Ten minutes later, we applauded the winners. I had given each parent a card to write questions on, and they all came back blank. The final question of the game had been a poll: How has BSN been so far? The options were Great! Good! Meh. and Needs improvement. Everyone was gracious enough to pick Great!

Best of all? Several kids told me today how much their parents enjoyed the class. And I didn't even give them Jolly Ranchers!

Feeling Senior

The phone was ringing in my classroom when I arrived yesterday morning. It was our facility director calling with some sad news: a young man we both knew, I as a former student and he as an employee of the community center attached to our school, had unexpectedly passed away. The director was at kind of a loss as to who to inform; the guy had been a student in my class 30 years ago, my first year of teaching, and we talked about who is still around who might remember him as a middle schooler.

Turns out, nobody but me. I have been in the building the second longest, one year behind my friend and colleague Laura, and one year ahead of Heidi, but neither of them knew him. I considered reaching out to the few of his former classmates I'm still in touch with, but decided against contacting them with sad news after it's been a while since I last reached out. 

Later in the day, a younger colleague stopped me to recount how her students had asked her if she was here, teaching, on September 11, 2001. "I was in 7th grade!" she informed them, and her comments were similar to those of another colleague earlier in the day who had been in 5th grade at the time.

"You were here, though, right?" she asked me, and I told her I was. She teaches social studies, and I could tell it was the historian in her who listened to my account of that day 22 years ago. To me, it was a memory of a time that seems both distant and not that long ago, but to her I was a primary source and witness to history.

Exceeding Expectations

Every so often, perhaps once a year or so, I get a tickle in my throat that won't be denied. When it happens? I absolutely have to cough, and often tears stream down my face, and I am rendered speechless for up to a minute. And when I can actually talk again, my voice is strangled and hoarse. It can definitely be alarming to witness.

For some reason, this only occurs when I am teaching, as it did today, and how the students react can be a litmus test. This time, we were in the middle of our opening routine, where students are posting and talking and guessing. I use the time to check in with each kid and to let them know that I see them, and we can have fun learning together. But today I had to use that time to tend to a coughing fit that neither water nor drops would abate. 

To their credit, the class waited quietly, allowing me to pull myself together, with a few expressions of concern, both genuine: Are you okay? and not: Are you dying?

Before the incident, I had set up a mostly student-led activity, and I bade them to continue, which they did. And here is where they really shined-- when left in charge of their own learning by a [seemingly] incapacitated teacher, they took the reins and carried on admirably.

And on the sixth class of the school year? I could not have asked for more.

Scratching her Head

Our cats get a monthly box of treats and toys in the mail. Sometimes we question whether we should continue the subscription, but they really seem to appreciate it, Tibby in particular: she's never met a cat toy, cat treat, cat structure, cat anything she didn't fully embrace. Heidi, too, enjoys opening the box each month. She likes discovering the theme and seeing what clever little items the curators have pulled together.

This month the motif was "Back to School" which was kind of bittersweet for us. Even so, Heidi examined each item with appreciation, a couple of catnip crayons and a little stuffed composition book. One thing had her stumped for a minute though. It was a rectangular purple crinkle mat printed in segments with colorful images of boiled eggs, baby carrots, mushrooms, and a salmon steak. "What do you think this is?" she asked.

I recognized it immediately. "A cafeteria tray," I laughed. "But I've never seen a school lunch that looked like that!"

Natural Solution

We had a few fruit flies around the kitchen, which wasn't surprising given the bounty of our garden lately. When I was at the garden center last week getting the supplies for my cactus pups, I noticed a cute little Venus flytrap on display. It was a bit expensive for a wee little thing in a tiny plastic pot full of sphagnum, but I've long wanted to own one, and the fruit fly situation gave me just the excuse I needed.

In just a day or two, the minor infestation was over, so when I had several lazy houseflies pestering me in my classroom last week? 

I was tempted to go in search of a bigger plant to take care of the problem. I've seen Little Shop of Horrors, though, and perhaps turning to carnivorous plants to address pests might be a bit of a slippery slope.

Still the One

Heidi and I are invited to the wedding of a close friend and neighbor at the end of October. We're not really at an age where we are invited to many weddings, and it's an evening event, so wardrobe has been a bit of a consideration. We ordered some dresses from Nordstrom to try, and although I liked mine, Heidi didn't like hers or mine, so I returned hers and kept mine for now. 

It seemed the more she looked, the more frustrated she became. "Get ready," she told me, "if I don't find something soon, I'm going to fly to Buffalo and go shopping with my mother."

I did not consider that a threat. "Maybe you should," I shrugged. "But what are you looking for?" We started talking about dresses from the past to try to figure out the answer to the question, and reliving some fun events as we did. When we got home, Heidi slid open the far side of the closet, pulled out a navy blue dress, and put it on. It was perfect! It fit well and looked great. Problem solved.

And most remarkable of all? It was 30 years old. She had bought it, with her mom, to wear to, what else? A wedding.

There Will Be Fall

It's hot. 

Our temperature has been in the 90s every day for nearly a week, making it the hottest five days in September on record. When I go out at night, I'm reminded of the years we lived in Saudi Arabia: a wall of warm darkness wraps around me. 

And yet. 

There is a quality to the light, some unrelenting element missing from the direct sunshine, maybe even a hint of concession in the heat that lets me know it cannot hold.

It is September, after all.

Plumb Inconvenient

Right before we walked out the door this morning, the clasp on Heidi's necklace opened, and it slipped down the drain. There was nothing we could do at the moment, but the specter of an unusable bathroom sink greeted us as soon as we got home. 

And so I did what many homeowners would do in this internet age: I looked up a DIY video online, then cleared out the cupboard and took apart the trap. I freed the necklace and cleaned out a disgusting clump of hair, too. Not how I pictured using my afternoon, but when you own pipes? 

Sometimes ya gotta fix 'em.

Wake Me Up When It's Over

The first activity of the second week of school on the morning after a four-day weekend was for all the sixth graders to file into the theater for their semi-annual safety assembly. The 350 or so of us sat quietly as the administration went through an hour-long litany of rules and expectations.

To be honest? I was surprised at how well-behaved the students were. Then I saw a few nodding off, as I wished I could, too, and I understood. They weren't being particularly good, they were just semi-conscious.

Adopt a Pup?

When I first met Heidi, 25 years ago, she had a little tiny peanut cactus in a little tiny clay pot. It did its cactus thing, staying relatively the same with very little maintenance, for many years. Then one summer maybe 8 years ago I put it out on the deck from June to September, and we were amazed to see it triple in size and grow a couple of off-shoots. 

The following year I repotted it and put it out there again, and it grew just as exuberantly. At the end of that summer, I read that the branches that grew from it were called pups, and they could be cut off and potted themselves. Soon we had a big hanging pot full of pups, and they wintered over in the western-facing window of our guestroom, a cool and sunny place for them to enjoy their seasonal dormancy. 

Today I repotted those cacti after another summer on the deck, and it took 7 pots to find places for all 20 of them and their pups. Some of the stems are 18 inches tall! How amazing to consider that all of those cacti came from one little thumb-sized plant.

Also? I think it's time for me to find some new homes for those pups.

Eye on the Sparrow

There was a bedraggled sparrow fluttering in the elevator lobby of the parking garage this afternoon when we went to the new nail salon down the street. "Should I shoo it into the garage," Heidi wondered out loud, "or would that be worse?" 

The chime sounded and the heavy stainless doors rolled open. "Maybe we can get it on the elevator with us and let it out at street level," I said only half-joking. 

Unsure of how to help the plight of the little bird, we stepped into the elevator and rode up one level, exiting on the street and walking to the salon. Upon our arrival, they informed us directly that the wait would be 45 minutes, but we were welcome to make a guaranteed reservation for that time, which we did, relieved to know when our pedicures would actually begin.

We had a few errands to take care of, anyhow, and so we rode back down the elevator, once again encountering the sparrow. Now that we had some extra time on our hands, I returned to the car to fetch a canvas cooler bag and returned to the vestibule, determined to capture the bird for its own good. We chased it around a bit, sending helpful vibes and cringing whenever it hit a glass wall or the elevator or the ceiling, but after a few minutes, Heidi had the little gal tail head down and feathers up in the bag. Quickly we boarded the elevator and dashed outside to release our rescuee. 

And away she flew.

Spinning My Wheels

The weather is predicted to take a drastic turn tomorrow into a late-summer heatwave with temps in the upper 90s, lasting for at least a week. With that knowledge, I put off the pool and walked down to the nearest bike share station this afternoon, eager to enjoy the last of the perfect, blue sky and low-80s weather we have been enjoying the last two days.

There was one of the newest pedal-assist models available, and I grabbed that one, curious to see how it rode. It was heavy but still a pleasure to ride: I moved along the trail at a breezy clip making my way along Four Mile Run to the airport and then south past the Washington Marina to Old Town, around the Masonic temple, back through Delrey and Arlandria, up the hill in Park Fairfax, across Quaker Lane to Fairlington, and on over to the bike station across from Fort Reynolds Park, all in a little under an hour.

The Topic Was Pickleball

The morning was a bit chilly and the slant of the light was quite different than it had been all summer when we headed up to the pickleball court around 8:30 this morning. It had been more than a couple of weeks since we played, and it showed as we warmed up. 

Even so, we played a pleasant game and were ready to start our second when a couple of women showed up and claimed the court as reserved. They allowed that it would be fine for us to play on the other court, but one of them had a medical reason for staying in the shade. 

We were willing to move over, though, and were just about to get started when an acquaintance strolled by with her two dogs, and the three of us spent 20 minutes or so catching up. We hadn't talked to her since she retired, and it didn't seem from this conversation that she was loving her life of leisure. "You just have to make sure you have reasons to get up and leave the house," she reported in a bit of a sour tone. "Or at least have something you love to do." She sighed and looked at us. "I would like to take up this game," she gestured to the court, "but I simply can not stand the sound of that ball hitting the paddle." She shook her head in dismay and bade us good-bye with a half-hearted, "Enjoy your game." 

After that, the other two ladies on the court asked if we would be interested in playing doubles. Introducing ourselves, we side-stepped the question of where, exactly, we lived. "Did you say your name was Heidi and you are a teacher?" asked one of them. "Did you ever work at Skyline?"

"I thought I recognized you!" Heidi replied, and it turned out that one of our opponents was Heidi's hair stylist 25 years ago. 

We talked for quite a while before we actually played a game, rambling from the local pickleball controversy to the color of the court lines to rumors of quieter paddles and balls being designed. 

Maybe that would get our other friend out of the house!