Everyone's a Winner

We spent a sunny early afternoon in the company of a couple of toddlers on their first-ever egg hunt. The day was warm as the little girls in their Easter finery scampered about the courtyard looking for the colorful plastic eggs their bunnies had hidden and depositing their treasures in little baskets they carried over one arm. 

Oh, they relished the hunt almost as much as the tiny handful of cheerios they discovered within each egg. They were grateful for the challenge and happy for the rewards.

Me, too! Thanks to the folks at Two Writing Teachers for sponsoring another March writing challenge. It's been fun and inspiring, as always.

The Ice Boom

Every spring my father-in-law would send me a newspaper clipping with a quick, handwritten note: The ice boom is out!

He was referring to the apparatus which is installed each autumn where Lake Erie meets the Niagara River. Its purpose is to limit the amount of lake ice flowing into the river which can damage not only shoreline property, but also the hydroelectric works that power Western New York. The ice boom is a harbinger of winter, and its removal is a sign of spring.

My father-in-law passed away last fall before they installed the ice boom, but I'm pretty sure he was around when I happened to flip open the newspaper the other morning on our visit to Buffalo.

Dead Reckoning

Suddenly, a traffic sign blinked its warning: despite the clear road we were enjoying, just a few miles ahead there was major congestion. The angry red line on our map app only confirmed the bad news, and our ETA was rising like a fever. Despite limited knowledge of the area, I made a spontaneous decision to bail out onto a secondary road that seemed to go in the right general direction.

Immediately I felt my blood pressure lower. Ahead was a rolling two-lane road flanked by century-old brick homes and barns, and cutting a clear swath through woods and farmland. The sun was setting behind us as we headed east and south, bathing the entire landscape in golden light. 

Oh, my navigation app was not happy-- it advised us to make a U-turn, then make a left turn, then make a right turn, all suggestions I ignored. And I could almost hear it sigh with annoyance and then, was that surprise? As it re-routed us and took 15 minutes off our arrival time.

Wish Come True

It was a happy coincidence that our spring break fell the week of my mother-in-law's birthday, the first since her husband had passed away. We planned a low-key celebration: homemade biscuits for breakfast, an outing with the dogs, dinner at a favorite restaurant, ice cream cake for dessert. We also picked up a hand-sander, a tool that she mentioned needing for some small home improvement projects she had planned and wrapped it up with a pretty yellow ribbon.

These were small enough gestures, but it turned out to be a really good day. So much so that my mother-in-law, not the most demonstrative of folks, gave each of us a big, spontaneous hug, before heading happily off to bed, where she slept soundly through the night, another unusual occurrence around here!

Why We Have Dogs

We tried to take the dogs to walk in a park we often enjoy in the summer, but when we arrived it was closed for construction. The dogs were more than happy to ride over to the cemetery where we could pay our respects and also walk the winding paths, but when we got there, it was too muddy to enjoy. The dogs didn't complain at all when we continued on our way to the trail that runs along the creek and through the university, and they were pleased to jump out of the car and trot merrily along the path. But there were a lot of joggers and bikers whizzing past us and some nasty goose poop, too, so we cut that outing short and headed home, which the dogs were fine with. And the dogs loved it when we finally took them for a nice walk around the neighborhood. Their pink tongues and wagging tails told us that today? Was yet another amazing day!

Beauty All the Way

Blossoming trees lined the way as we drove north yesterday. "Don't get used to this splendor!" I warned my spouse with a laugh, the further we drive, the barer the trees will be."

And of course, I was right, but the day was beautiful even so: warm spring sunshine, clear blue sky, dove-gray mountains, and evergreen forest. Six-and-a-half hours rolled by as easily as the two-lane roads we drove. 

And, arriving in Buffalo, we were pleasantly surprised to find that the temperature was warmer up here than at home. We couldn't have asked for a better trip than that!

Safe Travels

The sun is shining and our bags are packed. The audiobook is chosen, the snack bag is loaded up, the car is full of gas, and the road to Buffalo stretches ahead. Once that rush hour traffic clears? We will be on our way.

After reading about everybody else's vacations all weekend, it's time for our own road trip.

After I wrote this, I searched my blog to be sure I had a unique title, (which can be a challenge after 15 years!) Never have I called a post "Safe Travels" but I was taken by the other times I've used the phrase:

Saturday, May 21, 2022 

E is for Extended 

We gathered today in Lynchburg for the high school graduation of Heidi's goddaughter. The last time we were in this little city on the James River was nearly 18 years ago when the same child was born. Shortly after that, her family moved to New Jersey, and over the years, we've attended christenings, first communions, and other milestone events of her and older sister's where we have met her grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and other close family friends. It's been about 10 years since the last celebration, though, and in that time the family has returned to the same private school where her dad worked when she and her sister were born, and it was from that school that she graduated today. 

How strange it is to spend the day with people we know and keep up with through our mutual acquaintance but have only met a few times and haven't seen in ten years. Dining on sandwich wraps and cookies, the quality of interaction shifts from superficial to friendly to almost intimate. But then the conversation flags and we stand awkwardly to throw our paper plate in the trash, refill a solo cup with iced tea, and repeat the ritual with another partner until it's time for goodbyes. There will be the decision to hug or not to hug. "Safe travels!" we will say. "It was so good to see you again." 

"Until next time!" they might answer, And because it occurs to us that these meetings are most definitely numbered, we nod and lean into that hug. 

Life Lesson: Live in fragments no longer. Only connect! ~E.M. Forester Saturday, 

November 17, 2012 

Some Habits Die Hard 

This morning I was facetiming with my mother. She's coming to town tomorrow for the holidays, so I wanted to get her flight info and wish her safe travels. I was sitting in an easy chair by the window during the call, and rather than allow my face to be darkened by backlighting, I turned sideways so that my folded legs were against one arm and my back rested against the other. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions, so I was wiggling a bit to find a sweet spot as we chatted. 

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" my mother asked me. 

(Full confession: As a kid, I was notorious for getting caught up in something and rather than pausing, I would just do a little dance until the moment was more convenient to visit the restroom. My family might say that I never outgrew that particular quirk. Whatever...) 

"No!" I answered, and started to explain, but then I stopped and said, "Mom! I think now that I'm fifty you can stop asking me that question." 

"No I can't," she replied. "You'll always be my little girl." 

Tuesday, June 15, 2021 

Non-stop 

The question of the day was What are your three road trip must-haves? 

First answer? 

Food, phone, and a bottle to pee in. 

Well. 

Safe travels, kid. 

Sunday, April 14, 2019 

Wardrobe Change 

Many of my friends and colleagues are headed south and west to warmer weather for spring break this week. We are headed north to Minnesota for a visit with my mom. And to tell you the truth? The weather here has been pretty mild the last couple of days, and after seeing myself in shorts-- another week of cool weather might not be too bad! 

Safe travels to all!

All the Time in the World

We had to drive to Georgetown for an errand yesterday afternoon, and it was expectedly bustling with cars and shoppers jamming the streets and sidewalks. Rather than irritated, I found myself charmed by the boisterous energy, and I took the time I had to wait at each light cycle to look around with interest at what had changed since I last ventured to that part of town. 

Soon enough we had what we needed and we were headed back across the bridge to run a few more errands on our side of the river. Rather than get right on the main artery, I leaned into my curiosity and drove through a few neighborhoods to check out some new businesses and buildings over here. 

Our exploration added some time to the outing, of course, but who cares? We're on spring break!

When Life Gives You Raindrops

Our two cats enjoy going out on our little deck, especially since I grow wheat grass for them to nibble on when the season allows it. I sowed the latest crop during the warm spell a couple of weeks ago, and they know it's out there-- first thing in the morning they tear over to the sliding glass door and meow to be allowed out to chew on the tender blades of spring green. 

Despite the cold, drenching rain, they dashed over this morning, as usual. Ignoring my warnings, they insisted on seeing for themselves, so I let them out. Both were splatted with enormous raindrops before they could even get one bite, and they returned to the house just as quickly as they had exited. I laughed, but feeling bad for their disappointment, I built a fire where they could warm up and dry off. 

I think we all agree that it turned out to be a pleasant morning after all.

Reporting Live From...

My sixth-grade students, it seems, are living their best lives. Spring break started today and one is already in Paris, another in Puerto Rico;  one is on the way to a castle in England, and another en route to the Bahamas. One student is flying to Hungary on Monday and somebody else is skiing in Colorado while their classmate is on the beach in Malibu. Other students are headed to Florida and the Carolinas, and many have day trips and other fun activities planned for the break.

Fortunately, most have eagerly agreed to keep posting their slice of life writing from their vacation destinations, so at least the rest of us can live vicariously!

Excuse Me

I was working in my classroom in the quiet after hours of the school day when the night custodian walked in and burped loudly. I sat in surprised silence at my desk, until when he noticed that he was not alone, he sighed heavily and rolled his job cart to the next room down, as if I had offended him.

It's a truism to point out that the nature of teaching is such that, as long as school is in session, your work is never really done: there's always one more lesson to tweak, a few more writing pieces to read, emails to send, forms to fill out, you know. Even so, I took this little interaction as a sign, and so I shut down my laptop, packed my bag, and headed out into the late afternoon.

Not too Shabby

Today was the first "Wacky Wednesday" of our sixth-grade 100-day writing challenge. After they posted their 100-word (or more!) slice of life, students were invited to click on a secret link that took them to a list of crazy options which, if performed successfully, could lead to a modest reward. (Okay, it was a Jolly Rancher.)

The first rule of Wacky Wednesday is you had to follow the rules of Wacky Wednesday, (see what I did there?) which included when you could and could not do your wacky act. The second rule of Wacky Wednesday was we don't talk about Wacky Wednesday-- other people have to figure it out on their own, do their writing, and join the fun.

It was a perfect activity for an anchor day before spring break. Most students worked diligently, waiting for that moment when all wackiness would break out, and it did! Kids were swatting imaginary flies, adding "hold the pickles," to anything they said, galloping around on imaginary horses, pretending to be a mime in a box, and raising their hands ever so politely to share that they "always thought broccoli was little trees," among other wacky challenges.

We laughed our way through the day, and much good writing was done, too.

Mother of Invention

Every year it's different. 

The structured group "brain breaks" that have been successful with other sixth grade groups in the past have this year given way to timed instructional and work sessions or stations punctuated by brief (also timed) breaks. So where in other years kids would compete in fun minute-to-win-it type activities, now my classes have five minutes to move about, get water, use the restroom, talk to their friends, and play with the toys and fidgets I have in my room.

The structure works for this group, who struggled early on with finding a successful cooperative dynamic for mini-competitions and challenges, and it's kind of fun in its own way. Plus, I don't have to have a yo-yo for everyone, a couple will do for those who choose to use them. Likewise, 3-4 kids will play a round of magnetic darts, while another might solve the speed cube. There are puppets, a headband with a punching ball, chopsticks, bouncy balls, a foam football, mini golf clubs, juggling balls, and more. The only rule is that all electronic devices have to be closed. 

I was worried that if everyone was doing their own thing, we would lose some of that sense of community that a group activity can build, but I have found that not to be true. Even in the short time they have, small groups form and reform, and many kids seek me out during those breaks, too, either to play with them or witness their amazing accomplishments. 

All in all, what started out as a concession to what I considered a gap in this class's social skills has turned into a net positive. I can add the concept of self-directed free time to my list of breaks, and it might even end up near the top.

There's a Word for That

"No games on your iPad," I reminded a sixth-grade student returning from lunch. She was walking down the hall with her nose practically glued to the screen.

"I just had to finish something," she shrugged and snapped her case shut.

"Let me guess--" I responded. "Was it a... game? Because those aren't allowed."

"Yes," she admitted, "but do you have to be so condescending?"

"Great adjective!" I laughed. "Do you have to be such a scofflaw?"

"I'll let you know," she said, "when I find out what it means."

Mysterious Mouse

I opened my eyes this morning and spied something odd on the floor. I poked my spouse. "Did you give the cats some kind of hyper-realistic mouse toy last night?" I asked.

The answer was no, and so that really was a dead mouse on the carpet. As I examined its lifeless body, gathering the energy to rise and dispose of it, I remembered one of our cats jumping excitedly on the bed the night before, leaping from one of us to the other. I had given her a dismissive pat and shooed her away so that I could slumber on.

I saw the same cat, Tibby, looking now upon the dead mouse from the bathroom with what I took as a satisfied expression. Just then, her partner, Milo, approached from the other side of the bed. He literally jumped straight up in the air when he saw the mouse and made a hasty retreat. In a moment he prowled carefully closer to sniff the poor thing. Milo kept looking from the mouse to Tibby, clearly asking her how this could possibly have happened.

I'd like to know the same thing! We've lived in our house for 25 years, and this is only the second mouse we've ever seen. Always having a cat or two might explain how we keep the place rodent-free, but where did this dumb mouse come from? How did it get in? Should we be concerned that there will be others?

Only Tibby knows, and she's not talking.

Let It Be

On this beautiful Saturday afternoon, we took a long walk with the dog and our route took us through a schoolyard playground. There, we saw a group of five elementary-aged school children in deep conversation. Two girls sat on a tree stump while three boys jostled and bickered around them. 

At last, the biggest boy made a proclamation. "There's only one solution," he told the group solemnly. "James-- give me a wedgie!"

My eyes widened and the teacher in me was reflexively ready to intervene. I could tell that Heidi felt the same way, but she shook her head. "There's only one solution," she said. "Keep walking!"

Not Lost in Translation

Today was student-led conference day at our middle school, and so I spent the day facilitating conversations between sixth graders and their parents concerning grades, study skills, and school involvement. For the most part, I love this model-- it empowers and engages students to consider their learning and begin to take responsibility for it. 

In theory, I am present only to clarify, answer questions, and offer a teacher's perspective on what the students report, but in practice, I must also call the language line when a parent needs an interpreter, and that's where the model gets a little clunky. The person on the other end of the line can't see the slide deck that the students have prepared to guide their presentation, and sometimes they can't hear the students either, especially if the kid is soft-spoken. Together we have to chunk the conversation so that they can keep the parent caught up with what we are saying.

Even so, most of the interpreters I have worked with have done the job with patience and grace, and it's worth a little awkwardness to be able to get someone on the phone whenever we need it. And today, I had a very human moment with one of the folks on the line. A student was explaining to his dad why he sometimes struggles to work successfully in groups. 

"People are always talking to me," he said, and sat back as if that cleared it all up.

I raised my eyebrows. "They're just talking to you?" I pushed back. "While you sit there silently?"

Perhaps it was my tone of voice, but the interpreter snorted and laughed before she translated my question. Then she apologized. No worries, though. She couldn't see it, but the kid and his dad were laughing, too.

Study Skills

My sixth-graders collectively bombed a recent vocabulary test, and their poor performance had me scratching my head because they have done pretty well on similar assessments in the past. The vocabulary lessons are structured to allow students to uncover the definitions of prefixes, suffixes, and affixes. There is also ample opportunity for them to apply the information to both familiar and unfamiliar words, but when it comes down to it, there is a necessary element of memorization.

As such, these kids had access to several online study tools, including slide decks, practice quizzes, and games, some of which we did together in class. Still, the results were disappointing, and reviewing and reteaching were necessary. It occurred to me while planning that maybe we should set the devices aside and go old school. Each student got 9 cards, one for each suffix, and then they consulted their notebooks to find the verified definition. After that, they quizzed themselves and a partner, played matching and concentration, moving, viewing, reading, and hearing the information on those flashcards until they were ready for a retake.

Which? Many of them aced and all of them improved upon their former grade. After celebrating our group victory, I addressed the class."You know what we just did to prepare for the test?" I asked and there were nods all around. "That's called 'studying'!"

Plus ça Change

"Leadership team looked at the survey results and we decided that every student will have a binder next year," our team leader informed us at our weekly meeting today. "Dividers for all seven subjects AND a paper agenda," she continued.

Her report was met with silence; everyone present agreed that, even in this oh-so-digital age, a binder is a good organizational tool for students. The agenda? Not so much, but we can work with it. 

"They're forming a committee," she laughed, "to formalize the binder expectations. In case anyone feels strongly enough to join."

There were no takers, but the offer reminded me of something. Our school building is 50 years old. Having spent my entire career there, I am rather fond of the sprawling old brick fortress it is, but I am a minority. Many others have good reason to wish that our district will finally earmark the funds to tear the place down and start again. 

From the mice in the ceiling, to the lack of windows and ventilation, the leaks, the mold, the foundation repairs, the place is showing its age, but when I first started, it was still a sprightly structure of just 20, one of the newer buildings in the system. Ten years later, when the place turned thirty, we created a time capsule to commemorate the event. Each team was asked to choose or create an artifact that would show the world thirty years in the future what middle school was like in the early years of the new millenium.

Our sixth grade team? Put together the best binder you could ever imagine! Surely this will be a thing of the past, we thought. But twenty years later, despite iPads and smart panels and mobile phones in every pocket, here we are talking about the same things. 

And? Unless something huge changes, when they open that time capsule our artifact is going to get a great big yawn. Except, it is a really great binder-- there is that!

The Devil You Don't Know

Over the weekend my brother and I were talking about the tricks of time. He will be 60 in a month. "It seems crazy," he said, "that 60 years before I was born was 1904! That has always seemed so long ago, but now I have 60 years of memory myself."

Perhaps I was subconsciously thinking of that conversation when today I asked, as a warm-up question, if the sixth graders in my class would rather live 100 years in the future or 100 years in the past. 

I'm not sure what I expected, probably an attraction to the future and its promise of new technology. To be sure, a lot of kids mentioned just that-- new games, no question, and some are actually holding out for flying cars (although they quite clearly specified that theirs will be electric). 

What I did not anticipate were the many students who chose the future because of our racist past. "Look at me," said one girl in a head scarf, "people probably would not like me or trust me." 

Others were familiar enough with history to know that they wanted to avoid both the Great Depression and World War II. And one boy had a very personal reason for his choice. "They never could have cured my cancer back then," he told me matter-of-factly.

I was surprised that not a single kid expressed concern about the challenges of the future, like climate change, the end of democracy, pandemics, or war. "We'll figure it out," shrugged one.

I'd like to think they will.

Not Even Close

I read somewhere that today, the Monday after DST begins, is National Napping Day, which makes sense, even though I'm not really a napper. I do hate Daylight Savings Time, though, as almost anyone who knows me can verify.

This year, I didn't even have to go to work today. Many of my friends congratulated me on having the luck to be out of town for a family gathering on the shortest weekend of the year. "Maybe when you get back on Tuesday, losing an hour won't bother you at all," they said.

I was skeptical.

And as it turns out, staying up late playing games with your nephews because your body thinks it's an hour earlier, and then getting up to pack the rental house, load the car, drive home, unload the car, unpack, and then sit down to catch up on schoolwork is not really an ideal way to ease into the time change.

In fact, I almost took a nap.

Lose Some, Win Some

When we woke up this morning (minus our stolen hour), the torrential rain of yesterday had given way to cold, blustery sunshine, so we took a ride down to the Eastern Neck National Wildlife Refuge, known for its resident bald eagles. 

We were disappointed in our efforts to see eagles or any wildlife, with the exception of vultures, though. It seemed like the other animals were smarter than we were, and they sought shelter from the gusty winds. So, after a windblown hour or so, we headed home.

Not to worry, though. This afternoon, we watched four eagles ride the turbulence, diving into the creek and flapping away with small fish, all from the comfort of our living room. 

I still want that hour back, though!

Here's Lookin at You, Oscar

For many years, we used to gather with my brother's family to watch the Oscars in one of our houses or another. We would have a delicious potluck meal, everyone contributing something amazing to share; we would fill out our predicted ballots and throw a few bucks into a pool, and since it was always so late on Sunday night when it ended, we'd take the next day off. 

One year it occurred to us that since we were taking off, we might as well take off for somewhere fun, and a tradition was born. In the decade-plus since that realization, we have spent long weekends in many amazing waterfront homes in places like Hague, VA, Scotland, MD, Dewey Beach, DE, and this year, Rock Hall, a tiny Eastern Shore port on the Chesapeake Bay.

In our part of the world, the weather in March is unpredictable, and so those weekends have been a mixed bag of days when we could hunt barefoot for sharks' teeth and fossils to times when we needed our warmest gear as protection against a howling Nor'easter. Through it all, we've explored tiny towns, nature preserves, parks, and history museums, enjoyed local restaurants, patronized artists and artisans in their galleries, fishermen on the wharf, farmers' markets, and country stores. 

In these homes away from home, we've cooked and laughed and played games. We've seen over 200 awards handed out and heard countless speeches. We witnessed Faye Dunaway accidentally announce LaLa Land as best picture and Will Smith slap Chris Rock. One year, my nephews each made their own short film over the weekend, which they premiered before the ceremony began. (Of course, those were the real best pictures that night.)

Other family members have traveled from Minnesota, Florida, and Colorado to be part of the fun, and one nephew has joined virtually from Western Massachusetts and another from Iceland. 

And here we are again. Cue the orchestra, and... Action!

Off the Market

Like many teachers these days, I have a basket of fidgets on my desk. Although it is ever-evolving, lately, my collection includes an assortment of stress balls, yo-yos, poppers, puzzle cubes, hand grip exercisers, and a boxing ball headband. There is also a Wiz-z-zer.

For those who are unfamiliar, Wiz-z-zers are gyroscopic spinning tops that were popular in the 1970s. Unlike their predecessors, Wiz-z-zers did not use a string to start them spinning. Instead, you swept them at an angle across a plain surface (like the bare floor), revving them up, and then dropped them lightly to spin really fast for what seems like a very long time. 

When we were kids, Wiz-z-zers were a staple stocking stuffer for my brother and sister and me, and we each had several. When we got bored of spinning them, we battled them, and when we tired of that, we held them, buzzing, up to our cheeks, pretending they were electric razors.

Anyhow, it must have been over ten years ago that I saw one for sale in a clearance bin somewhere, and of course, I bought it. I realized then that I hadn't seen one for decades, and a little research revealed that they had been discontinued in the 80s, revived in the mid-oughts, and then discontinued again. My Wiz-z-zer languished in a box of toys in the attic until a recent purge when rather than give it away, I brought it to school.

Oh my! If I had known how popular it would be, I definitely would have dug that spinning top out sooner. Undoubtedly, its novelty contributes to its allure; no one who plays with it now has ever seen its like. In fact, several kids have offered to buy it from me.

"It's not for sale," I rejected the latest request yesterday.

"Not for any price?" replied the interested party.

"Nope," I confirmed.

"You're telling me that if I gave you a million dollars here and now for this thing," he held up the toy, "you wouldn't take it?"

"Maybe a million dollars," I shrugged, "but not a penny less." I laughed.

"How about a million dollars in pennies?" he countered. "By the time you finished counting them, would you even know if you were missing one?"

Trial and Error

A colleague came into my room with a frustrated look on her face. "Do you have a minute to help me?" 

"What's the problem?" I asked.

She had copied a Word document with a data table, and she was having trouble removing the information so that she could reuse the table. "Can't you just highlight it and hit Delete?" I suggested.

"You would think," she sighed.

I went to her laptop and tried it myself, but she seemed to be right. "Hmmm," I said as I thought about the possible causes of the issue. I like to think of myself as pretty tech-savvy, but my know-how is all experiential: I figure it out as I go, building on whatever skills I've developed along the way. This particular problem-solving was slightly complicated by the fact that she uses a PC and I am team Apple, all the way. Even so, solutions to those kinds of things are usually pretty intuitive. 

Of course, my next move was to search it up, and I found loads of fixes, none of which made any sense. They all involved Function this or Shift Left that. Finally, I approached her keyboard myself to examine the situation, and scanning the top row of function keys, I noticed a tiny one labeled "Delete" right next to F12 and above Backspace. I tapped it and all the onerous old data disappeared!

As it turns out? Delete and Backspace are not the same thing. (Except on an Apple keyboard!)

Twenty Questions

"I met someone who knows you," one of my colleagues told me today.

"Who was it?" I asked.

"You like games," he shrugged, "let's see if you can figure it out."

I laughed because I do like games. "Let's go!"

"She taught math here about 12 years ago," he started.

"That's it?" I said. "That's the only clue I get?"

"She knows you, and she used to teach with the assistant principal who moved to the other middle school. They were on the same team."

"Does she know me?" asked another veteran teacher who happened to be listening.

"She didn't mention you," he reported. "Or you either," he bobbed his chin at another longtimer.

"Hmmm," I thought for a minute. "Was it--?" I mentioned a name, but my colleague's face went blank, and he furrowed his brow. 

"I don't actually remember her name," he confessed. "That's why I wanted you to guess."

"Okay, then," I shook my head, preparing to approach the third rail of interpersonal relationships in the workplace. "What did she look like?"

First Shift

I took my car in for some minor repairs and a safety inspection, and rather than shuttle back and forth, I decided to wait in the dealership lounge. The wifi was good, and I was able to get quite a bit of planning and some grading done in the couple of hours I was there. When at last the service advisor came to fetch me, I was feeling pretty good about my productivity; revising a rubric seemed a much better way to spend my time than watching game shows on their giant flat screen, or reading a magazine, or scrolling through my phone. Doing schoolwork gave meaning to waiting around. 

As I ponder when and if I should retire, it's considerations such as this that give me pause: what will define my down time if it's not my on time?

Editorial

In a light-hearted attempt to re-introduce the topic of editing for correct punctuation, today I asked the sixth-graders in my English classes what their favorite punctuation mark was. 

The results of my poll were unexpected. The question mark was very popular not only because many of these young writers consider themselves curious, but also because of its fun shape. The exclamation mark was shouted out for excitement, which was emphatically its greatest strength. Some loved the comma for its ability to join things clearly, and others appreciated the ellipsis for its mystery and promise of more to come. A good number recognized the period as the workhorse of punctuation it is, even while they acknowledged that it wasn't very exciting.

The semicolon had one fan whose reason was "because nobody knows how it is used, and whenever I see it in the wild I feel fancy."

"I love the semicolon; I use it all the time," I replied.

The Fix Is Not In

Recently I've noticed that when things don't go their way, many of the sixth graders in my class complain that, "It's rigged." 

Their team lost the Super Bowl because of a conspiracy. That B on the science test? Obviously, the test wasn't fair. Our homeroom didn't win the door decorating contest because it was rigged against us. That soccer or basketball or baseball or lacrosse or hockey official was biased toward the other team, otherwise their team easily would have won. Didn't guess the color of the Jolly Rancher to win another? Rigged! Lost at Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza? The other kid was cheating!

Of course, I have a hunch where they got this notion; it is certainly not a concept limited to 11 and 12-year-olds these days, but maybe we should all remember that, sometimes?

We don't get our way, through no fault of anyone else. 

And that's okay.

Bargain Trapper

I'm not a big fan of shopping in general, but I sure do love shopping a clearance section. There's something about the prospect of finding unexpected treasure at a bargain price that hooks me every time. 

Today, for example, when I stopped at the card shop for some gift wrap, I found myself in the back of the store poking through the 75% off items. I couldn't resist buying a couple of canvas and faux fur trapper hats for my nephews; one of them lives in Iceland, and the other is a dedicated outdoorsman. At $4.50, the price was right, and I'm sure they will be great Christmas gifts if only I remember I have them-- December is a long time away! 

Even if I forget, though, I feel like I've already gotten my money's worth, because when I got them home and took them out of the bag, my dog was very interested in the furry items, thinking they were dog toys. Noticing her attention, I put one on, snapped it under my chin, and turned around with a playful growl. My dog started jumping and barking at the fearsome creature I had become, and I laughed as we wrestled around. 

Now she's sound asleep on the floor beside me, and I'm thinking of going back to get one of those hats for myself, or at least for my dog!

It's What I Do

When I was in sixth grade, yo-yos were a big thing. We all brought our Duncan butterflies to school every day and kept them in our desks or pockets, ready to loop-de-loop, around the world, rock the baby, walk the dog, or sleep our yo-yos at a moment's notice. These days, I can't do all the tricks I once could, but I can yo-yo decisively, and most of my sixth-grade students find that pretty impressive.

I keep a couple of yo-yos in the fidget basket by my desk, and kids are welcome to borrow them during breaks. Today one girl grabbed the bright-blue butterfly eagerly and slipped the loop of its string over her finger. Then she lifted her hand and dropped the yo-yo, but her face fell faster than it did when she couldn't get it to return to her palm. I watched her roll the yo-yo over the string to try again, but the toy just jerked a bit downward and stopped again at the end of its string.

"Wind the string around the yo-yo," I suggested, "instead of the yo-yo around the string."

"Why?" she arched an eyebrow doubtfully.

"It's faster and tighter, and you'll have better results," I replied.

She was skeptical, but she tried it my way.

"Now turn your hand over and roll the yo-yo off your fingertips instead of just letting it go," I told her.

She sighed but flipped her hand. 

 "When it gets to the bottom of the string, turn your palm over and give a little jerk up with your wrist," I coached her.

"Okay, here I go," she announced and did a pretty good job executing my directions. The yo-yo made it halfway up the string and her jerk made it fly into the air where she caught it. "I did it!" she cheered, wrapping the string for another try. "I can't believe you taught me!"

"Well "teacher" is my job title," I laughed.