The New Year Calls

After reviewing my 23 for 23 list, I have concluded that 2023 was a mixed success: I  accomplished 12 of the 23 goals, and I also completed many (but not 12) "holiday" months, including Dry January, Sugar-free February, Meatless March, No Amazon April, Social-media-free May, No Buy July, and Jolly Rancher-less December. 

Somehow I do not feel more improved, but I'm still satisfied. I have no regrets, and never fear: My 24 for 24 list is already written, and tomorrow kicks off "Aloha January" where I practice ukulele for at least 10 minutes a day until the 31st.

Lat's go!

First World Problem

Still not feeling quite 100%, I decided to take a shortcut and rather than fight other holiday shoppers, order the groceries I need for the next couple of marquis days— New Years Eve, which is also our anniversary, and New Years Day when any family in town comes over to share our traditional lucky meal. 

On my list were some lobster tails for our usual anniversary dinner, along with chicken, ham, corn, rice, and some pantry staples. I’m usually pretty conscientious about checking the ‘no substitution’ box, but I needed some milk to get started with my preparations, and so I went through item-by-item to designate my instructions. 

I obviously missed something, though, because this morning I got a message that my order was out for delivery with one substitution. A couple of taps on my phone revealed that somebody thought it was a good idea to substitute smoked salmon for the lobster. I was appalled and irritated, but there wasn’t much I could do but keep clicking through to request a refund. 

When the order arrived, I was relieved that I had only one package of smoked salmon instead of the four that the notification suggested, but it was still aggravating to have to go out anyway.

Out with the Old

“I’m going through my closet,” my brother told me when I called this afternoon.

“That’s so funny,” I replied, “we’re going through a bunch of stuff, too. We’re going to make a donation run a little later.”

After we hung up I took the dog out and ran into a couple of our neighbors. “What have you guys been up to?” I asked.

“We’re cleaning out the storage unit and moving everything to a cheaper place,” AJ informed me, a bag of old binders over his shoulder as he headed for the trash.

“Wanna see pictures?” his wife, Lauren, pulled out her phone. “We went through everything and got rid of  a ton of stuff before we moved and organized the rest. Current situation right here.” She showed me an image of a very neatly arranged space. “It even has labels!” she reported proudly.

“That’s so funny,” I answered for the second time today and told them about our planned trip to the thrift shop. I also agreed to take along a box of books they had and donate them as well.

The turn lane into the parking lot was backed up for a couple of light cycles, and when we got to the donation site there was a line of cars ahead of us unloading their cast-offs. “It seems like everybody has the same idea,” Heidi said.

That’s for sure!

We're Game

"Riley asked us if anyone was getting you games for Christmas," Emily told me, "but since we already had the bike helmet, I said no."

"I did look at a lot of games for you before that, though," my brother added. "So either way, you would have had some new games."

We were talking at the table after enjoying the delicious Christmas feast that Bill had prepared, having earlier played a couple of fun rounds of Cascadia, one of the games that Riley got me for Christmas. And while there wasn't time later in the evening to break out my other new game, Hardback, we made plans to play the very next day.

Which we did. Today we wiled away three hours just scratching the surface of that rather complex deck-building/word game, while others came and went and napped and woke. Right near the end of the game, the sun broke through the pervasive overcast skies of the last few days, and we all blinked at the reminder that there was indeed a world elsewhere.

Let it All Go

Sometime this afternoon it occurred to me that I actually have a job and I may have to do some work before I return to it next Tuesday. So preoccupied have I been with holiday travel and celebration that I have not thought about school once since I walked out the door a week ago.

Now that's a break.

Pop Pop Pop

Days of indulgent eating finally caught up with me last night when my brother offered me a cookie and I realized I literally could not eat it without hurling. Unfortunately, my condition did not improve overnight, and this morning it felt as if every single thing I had eaten in the last three days was still in there, which it probably was based on my recollection of recent restroom activity. 

Generally, I don't even get a little indigestion, so I wasn't sure how to address the nausea, cramping, and headache, and the light of the screen hurt my eyes when I tried to do some research. I was a sorry sack of, well, you-know-what, until I finally barfed and then took an even more extreme measure to get my digestion flowing again. 

Tonight I'm feeling slightly recovered and have high hopes I'll be feeling fine and ready for some holiday moderation tomorrow.

So True

 Stocking gifts from my sister-in-law:

On to the Next Thing!

We needed to make a quick Target run today, and boy was it depressing. 

The place was a mess: the holiday wrapping and decoration department ransacked, empty refrigerators where once there was egg nog, cookie dough, and peppermint mocha, and a traffic jam of carts full of items to be reshelved.

No one was making any effort to remedy the disarray. Instead all available employees seemed to be making room for the storage and organization push that follows the winter holidays, as well as preparing the Valentines Day displays. On Christmas Eve, Christmas was already over.

Until next October.

Team Player

I try to be go-along-get-along, but there are some times where it’s really hard. “You’re father and I never had to wait for a table when we went with the silver-hairs,” Heidi’s mom told us as we were trying to figure out how best to avoid the Friday night fish-fry crowd.

“What’s time was that?” Heidi asked.

“Three, three-thirty,” her mom replied.

“That’s a little too early for me,” I blurted out. “I don’t think I’ll be ready for dinner then.”

“Well I don’t want to wait in line for forty-five minutes,” Heidi’s brother said, which was fair, and we ended up pushing the fish fry to tonight.

Which has unfortunately turned into another story of inflexibility and compromise, but I’ll set it aside and get ready for my early-bird special.

Just Plain Old

“I never really went in for antiques,” Heidi’s mom told us tonight at dinner. We were making plans for tomorrow, and Heidi and I were telling her about a local craft store that had an antique place connected to it.

“I’m not really interested in true antiques or even furniture,” I explained. “To be honest, at this point, I just love seeing stuff from my childhood.”

“I don’t think of that as antique at all,” Louise shrugged.

I raised my 61-year-old eyebrows at my 77-year-old mother-in-law. “Can we agree on vintage?”

Neverending Story

Our conversation on the eight-hour road trip to Buffalo today was fun and far-ranging, as always. We talked about music, books, kids at school, politics, history, Christmas, dogs, and more, waxing both practical and philosophical. 

We were playing name that tune somewhere in Pennsylvania and Brittany Spears was singing about the only thing she wanted for Christmas (this year), when I turned to Heidi.

"You know what I think?" I asked. Without waiting for her reply, I continued. "All Hallmark Christmas movies have kind of sad endings."

"How so?" she asked in return.

"They're all about the build-up to Christmas," I explained, "but Christmas is always over when they end. It's kind of sad."

She nodded.

"I do think they're aware of it, though," I added. "I've noticed that lately a few of them end with a little one-year later scene. I think they do that on purpose to remind you that Christmas comes every year, and it will be here again before you know it."

"Could be," she agreed.

"I'm sure of it," I said, and hit scan on both the radio and the conversation. 

All I Want for Christmas

With the holiday season upon us, I asked the sixth graders this week if they would rather choose their gifts or be surprised.  In this age of fancy electronic gift lists with convenient links to the gifts of choice, I expected my concrete operationalists to be all about the choice, but I got a surprise of my own when the numbers came in 3 to 1 for being surprised.

And even though Heidi told me the research shows that people almost always imagine a good surprise and that in reality, surprises are more satisfying for the gift giver than the gift receiver, the data warmed my heart.

One for You and You and You

"Every step of this writing piece is a mini-lesson!" my co-teacher sighed this afternoon. We had just spent an hour and a half repeating a unit's worth of class instruction to the 21 individual students in the class, and we were tired and a little aggravated. Generally, it seems like that is where these sixth graders are. They were second graders when schools shut down for COVID and third graders when we started virtually the next fall, and so they were on the verge of independent learning in school but required a lot of hand-holding and supervision at home.

And so here we are: many of these kids have learned that there is no need to listen to whole-class instruction, because before too long an adult will come and explain it to them personally. And that is pretty much what we did.

So now the question is, how to break the cycle?

Stay tuned.

Stop the Train

"That's Zach," Heidi said and stepped over to the family who was checking out with the cashier next to ours.

I looked at the awkward teen and cocked my head. I had seen him staring at himself in a mirror when we first entered the store. Did it seem a little off? Sure, but kids do weird stuff all the time, and I often have a front-row seat. Did I recognize him? Nope, and chalking it up to weird teenage behavior, I promptly forgot.

But now, there he was, the child who had been in my homeroom six years ago, the same boy whose picture I keep framed behind my desk, the kid who challenged us all with his scripting and impulsivity and moody oppostionalism. He was like the purest version of any tween, unfiltered and raw. To love him, which we did, was proof that we were meant to be middle school teachers.

"Do you remember me?" Heidi was saying. "I'm so happy to see you!"

He rocked toe to heel, toe to heel, unsure of how to react to this unexpected turn of events. "It's your teacher from TJ," his mom told him.

"You're so tall!" Heidi said. "You look great!"

"Yes I do," he agreed.

"Do you remember Ms. S?" Heidi asked him, and he gave me a bit of a side-eye.

"Zachary, Zachary, stop the train!" I said, repeating an old script of his.

He stopped rocking. "Oh my Lord!" he answered in a voice deeper but still full of the same energy I knew.

We laughed and the cashier handed his mom her receipt. "Nice to see you," she smiled as they rolled their cart past us and toward the exit. 

"Bye Zachary," we waved, but he was already gone.

It's Coming to Town

My timing is off.

Starting with our school calendar, which keeps us in school for three days after surrounding districts are already on winter break, and adding to that situation a change in our traditional travel plans, plus the loss of Heidi's dad, and a few other things, and I can barely keep track of the date.

The tree is up, the lights are on, but the ornaments are still stored away. As of this morning, I hadn't baked a single tea cake, my personal favorite, but several other varieties were ready to be exchanged and shared. My shopping? Is mostly done, I think, which is good, because since we're teaching the next three days and then heading to Buffalo on Thursday, I'm not sure when else I would finish.

It seems like only yesterday it was late November after an early Thanksgiving, but weeks ago we couldn't find a tree (until we did!). Despite it all, I don't feel anxious or stressed in the least, a little disoriented maybe, but perfectly calm even so. Because, as the Grinch learned,  Christmas will come, even without ribbons and tags, packages, boxes, and bags.

Not that I intend to find out, though!

The Way it Crumbles

"I was looking at the Cooky Book this afternoon, " Heidi told my brother as they chatted at dinner. "Do you know it?"

Bill's eyebrows shot up and a dreamy little smile crossed his face. "Do you mean THE Cooky Book?" he asked.

From my seat down the table, I laughed as Heidi nodded.

"The one where every page is worn because we looked at every picture so many times?" he continued.

"Some of the pages are loose," Heidi confirmed.

I turned to the younger people at the table and explained. "Our mom used to give us that cookbook on rainy days."

"Oh, so you could choose the cookies you wanted to make?" my nephew's wife asked.

My brother and I shook our heads. "We didn't actually make the cookies," I said, and to be honest,  I never even considered that to have been an option, then or in the 50+ years since. "We just looked at the pictures." 

"We don't really think about it, but baking is expensive," my sister-in-law said. "Your family probably couldn't afford just to make cookies because it was raining."

And she was likely right, but I never really thought about it until now. Even so, we sure did love to look at that Cooky Book, and I can’t say I ever felt deprived. 

I Do Have a Job Y'Know

"What are you doing here?" one of my students asked as I walked down the hall toward the library. "You're not in your room?" She seemed genuinely confused, but I laughed as I breezed by. 

"I have a meeting," I explained.

And I had completely forgotten the interaction when the next day I passed through the after-school program in the cafeteria on my way to a basketball game. "What are you doing here?" another of my students asked. Then her face brightened. "Are you here to see me?"

Again I laughed. "I'm on my way to the game," I told her. "Why don't you come?"

And then yesterday, when a few kids were using my room for their Asr prayers during my planning time, I chose to give them some space and take a walk around the building. "What are you doing here?" asked a colleague as I strode down the hall. "It's not often that you leave your area."

Clearly, I need to get out more.

If only I didn't have so much work.

Every Time a Bell Rings

I'm in between books, having just finished Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, and so I was looking for a podcast to listen to while I cook. In the mood for a little holiday flavor, I happened across one called George Bailey Was Never Born. I was all in to hear the backstory of one of my favorite Christmas movies, dark as it may be, and at first, the show really delivered, explaining how the film went from obscurity to one of the most well-known and well-loved movies of all time. 

But near the end of the first episode, following an overview of all the pop-culture references made to the movie in the 80s, there was a line drawn from Mr. Potter to Biff Tannen, casino owner and powerful bad guy in Back to the Future II. From there it was just a hop, skip, and a jump to Donald Trump, casino owner and powerful bad guy in the real world today. And when the narrator reminded us "dear listeners" that we live in a world where George Bailey was never born, I literally gasped.

Fortunately? The podcast promises to be about more than just the movie, offering future episodes about what we can do to fight the rise of Potterville, Biff's Pleasure Paradise, and other evils. 

I will definitely stay tuned.

Zoinks!

I confiscated an iPad from a student who was playing games in homeroom after the bell rang. "You know better!" I told him as I placed his device out of reach. "What do you have to say?"

In reply, he made a strange noise. 

"What was that?" I asked.

"Just gulping," he said.

Not Today

"Where do you think he is?" asked a gruff voice to my right. I was sitting near the end of the long rows of chairs at the DMV, watching Heidi negotiate the paperwork for her Real ID.

"I don't know. Go ask." a woman's voice behind me answered. 

I didn't want to crane my neck and look at either of them, but the drama had me hooked. 

"Ooooooh! There's ketchup!" a little kid chimed in and I could smell fast food being unwrapped.

"I think he's sitting in the car," said the man, and when I glanced over he was peering out the plate glass door.

"Isn't that the guy?" asked his companion.

"Yup," he answered.

"Eat a french fry," she told the child. "Go ask," she repeated to the man.

I watched the tall, grey-haired guy in a flannel hoodie shuffle up to the service window next to Heidi.

"How was it?" he asked. 

I couldn't hear the reply of the uniformed man behind the safety glass.

"He's my grandson," the other man explained.

I saw him nodding and when he turned to return to the rows of chairs he was not smiling. "He said that there was a problem. When he told him to come to a full stop and turn left, he didn't do it," the man reported to the lady behind me.

"Well," she said, "he must be upset. Let's go."

And the three of them pushed their way out into the dark December late afternoon. Heidi was smiling for her picture, but I was feeling a little sad for the kid in the car.

To God's Ears

The local weather folk have been making noises about an extra-snowy winter this year. Something about the combination of El Nino and some polar situation has made it likely that our snow draught may soon end. As for myself, I usually only pay attention when wintery weather is imminent, otherwise, wishful thinking can just break your heart.

Even so, my two new students who have only recently moved to the US from Nigeria and Kenya were very excited this morning in first period. The slushy dusting of wet snow that coated our cars and yards overnight was the first these girls had ever seen, and they were not disappointed.

"Hopefully you'll get to see even more this winter," my co-teacher told them.

"Yeah," said another student at their table, "A LOT more."

Last Minute Contributions

We met some neighbors down at a new pub last evening, enjoying good company, Buffalo cauliflower bites, and giant arcade games. Noon today found us on our way to a Hannukah party, with more great food, dreidle games, and menorah lighting. A little while later we were on our way for chili and football at yet another get-together with friends.

I'm pretty sure we practically doubled our social life for the year in the last 24 hours!

One Tree

We were a little dismayed yesterday afternoon when we stopped after school at a local nursery to pick out our Christmas tree. Every single medium tree was sold out, leaving enormous Douglas firs, which ran between two and five hundred dollars, and a variety of small trees. "What about that one?" Heidi pointed at a white pine. "It would be different."

"It looks like Cousin It to me," I scoffed and a few minutes later we left with a plan to try again today. 

Once at home, I thought it might be fun to go for a bit of a drive and maybe even cut down a tree at a farm, but my research revealed that we had missed that opportunity. Despite the fact that it was not even a double-digit December date, every website I checked said that they were closed for the season. They did wish me a happy holiday, though.

This morning we decided to start with the relatively bargain-priced trees at a nearby big box store. Trolling their nursery, we were once again disappointed to see that the trees in our size range were slim pickings. I was about to give up, when I spotted a few trees leaning on a wall apart from the rest. A sign identified them as $180 Douglas firs, but the one on the end looked a bit out of place. Sure enough, when we tilted it toward us to take a look, it was a 50-buck Frasier fir of just the right size.

God bless us, every one.

Morality Tale

So we were talking about leadership as it relates to the short folk tale "The Empty Pot" in class today. 

The story revolves around an aging emperor who sends out seeds to every child in the kingdom announcing that whoever grows the best plant will be his successor. A young boy named Ping is known for his green thumb, but try as he might, he can't get any of the seeds to sprout. 

Over the next few months Ping frets and cries, and on the day of the judging he is tempted to stay home, but his father advises him to go anyway, confident in the fact that he did his best. At the palace, Ping is embarrassed to see all the beautiful plants the other young folk have brought, but the emperor is drawn to his empty pot. It turns out all the seeds were sterile, and Ping becomes the successor because he was the only one honest and brave enough to bring his best effort.

Any claim for an argument essay must be debatable, and so I usually play devil's advocate and make the case that Ping really isn't suited for the throne. Many students gasp when they first hear my thesis, but they warm up to it when I point out that he is a crybaby and generally too timid to be an emperor. "Plus," I always say, "who thinks a leader should always be honest? The emperor himself deceives everyone when he sends those seeds out. Can there be such a thing as being too honest?" I shrug

Today that little cheater from my homeroom was in my class. "Yes!" he nodded his head vigorously in agreement. "Look at Trump! He definitely knows a good leader doesn't have to be honest."

When Did That Happen?

"Are you the oldest teacher in the school?" one of my students asked the other day when we were talking about how long I had been teaching here.

"No!" I scoffed.

"Then who is?" asked the cheeky kid.

"That's not my news to share," I informed him, but then I started thinking. Exactly how many of my colleagues are older than I am? 

Turns out, not many. There are just four out of a staff of nearly 100: three who are a couple years older and one who is a month older. I'm not sure why I was so surprised, but I was. I know a lot of people have come and gone in the 30 years I have been here, and it only makes sense that I would be one of the senior staff members both in years of service and age, but somehow that last data point got past me.

Like I've said before, when all the kids stay the same age, it's hard to imagine that you're not a little bit ageless as well.

Chutzpah

We had a modified schedule today for early release and the winter concert, so I had a little time to play some games with my homeroom students. 

Although I've been playing games with kids for practically my entire life, I was still a little appalled at the blatant attempts to cheat by the student on my left. I caught him several times taking advantage of the fact that everyone at the table besides me was learning the game and slipping extra cards into his hand or onto the discard pile. Every time I called him out, he just shrugged and laughed and waited until my attention was elsewhere so that he could try again. Nothing would make him stop, short of kicking him out of the game.

But that's okay-- because now I know I must keep a closer eye on that one.

My Little Carnival

"Can I shoot some baskets?"

"Can I roll the dice?"

"Can I throw some darts?"

"Can I guess a card?"

A dozen voices whirled around me as a group of 6th, 7th, and 8th graders stopped by after the dismissal bell to try their luck and win a Jolly Rancher.

"Sure!" was my answer to one and all, "but the limit is 2 pieces of candy."

In less than five minutes they were gone. "That was fun," I said to myself.

"Thank you, Ms. S!" answered a voice from the hall as I returned to my work.

Cookies Win

I was double-booked after school today when both the girls' mentor group and the committee examining the feasibility of maintaining teams in our middle school were meeting. I like cookies, and I enjoy being a mentor to one of our sixth graders, but I dropped off my lemon squares and made my apologies to my mentee, and headed off to the committee.

Splitting a grade level into several interdisciplinary teams is one of the foundations of the middle school model. Both research and my personal experience over the last three decades have shown that a smaller group of educators who share a single team can better support the students we all know and teach. Academic intervention, behavior management, activity planning, and school-home communication are all more effective and consistent with a team. Kids in sixth grade in particular make the transition to middle school much more smoothly when they are assisted by a common cadre of teachers,

Even so, the team model is threatened at our school by district requirements for intensified and inclusion classes which make staffing and scheduling a challenge, so hell yeah I skipped the cookies. Unfortunately, less than half of the volunteer committee showed up, and we were unable to make much progress on our goal of gathering information, problem-solving, and offering a recommendation. Several of the no-shows were actually at the mentor meeting, which I'm afraid does not bode well for teams.

Uncomplicated

I recently updated the operating system on my smartwatch, and,  as I always do, I eagerly checked to see what new watch faces were available. Clicking around in the watch app, I soon landed on a cute little snoopy face and I tapped to add it to my favorites.

It was really just a gesture, though, because, for the last many years, my watch face has been the analog time superimposed on my activity rings. Seeing my progress at a glance has become second nature, if not always as motivating as it used to be, and I wasn't inclined to make any changes. The "complications" or other widgets I kept on the face were the timer, the weather, in the upper corners, and the exercise tracker on the bottom, and I liked having those apps literally at my fingertips.

But when I put my watch on for the first time after updating, Snoopy skated across the face with Woodstock fluttering behind. That's cute, I thought, and swiped to return to my old standby, which for some reason didn't happen. When I looked again, Snoopy took off from the minute hand with helicopter ears, which made me giggle a little. 

I looked to see how to add other widgets to the Snoopy face, but soon found I could not. Flipping my wrist to examine my watch, I observed Beagle Scout Snoopy jump off the hour hand with five little Woodstocks behind him, and I was charmed enough to keep the face for a while.

Over the last week, I've enjoyed dozens of animations that change with the time, the weather, and the season, and so far every one tickles me whenever I check the time. I've discovered I don't need to be ready to set a timer at any moment, or instantly know the details of my activity or the temperature outside, or even track my exercise with a single tap. Just watching Snoopy fish from the minute hand and catch Woodstock is enough.

For now.

Olden Days

"What does this mean?" a student asked, pointing to the story he was reading. 

I looked at the text, I slammed down the phone, it read.

"Why would anyone slam their phone?" wondered the student. "Wouldn't it break?"

"I can understand your confusion," I laughed, "but he's talking about a landline." I walked over and picked up the receiver on my classroom phone. "You know how to hang this up, right?"

He looked at me in confusion. 

"She means, end the call," another student supplied.

"Right," I agreed putting the receiver down. "This is called hanging up, and sometimes when people were mad or excited they would slam down the receiver." I picked up the handset and demonstrated.

"Ooooooh," said the first student. "I guess that makes sense?" 

"That was a good question," I assured him.

He went back to reading, and I shook my head. It had recently occurred to me that I am 50 years older than the people I spend most of my time with, and boy! Was that half-century showing!

You Oughta Be an Editor

As I mentioned earlier in the week, there actually were several typos in many of the stories I hastily converted from PDF to text last week, and today I put a bounty on them. Explaining the situation, I told the students that any reader who could find a mistake in a story could have a piece of candy if they knew how to correct it, too.

Oh my!

I have never seen such a close reading of any text! Not only did they read the stories carefully for meaning, they went back a few times to make sure they hadn't left any candy on the table. 

When the assistant principal stopped by to observe for a few minutes I explained what was going on. "To be honest," I told her, "I'm thinking about purposely adding typos to everything from now on!"