Getting to Know You

One of the goals of the first day of school is always to get to know the students in some way. Over the years I have planned many different activities to help everyone feel a little more at home in our class. A tried and true method is to have each student share one thing about themselves as I take roll, but some kids don't enjoy being put on the spot like that-- I was one of those kids myself, and I still kind of hate having to share personal stuff in a meeting or class.

So with that in mind I devised an alternate approach. Rather than have the student tell me something, I told them I would guess a few things about them that they could either confirm or correct. I was like Professor Marvel in The Wizard of Oz. Spying a new binder and matching pencil pouch, I would confidently declare, Your favorite color is purple! The tall kids usually got, You play basketball! And, playing the odds, many kids heard, Your favorite subject is math! or Your favorite song this summer was California Gurls! Amazing!

Soon I branched out a bit in my predictions.

Me: You have an annoying... hamster!
Student: Close.
Me: Brother?
Student: Yes!

Me: When you grow up you want to be a professional... accountant!
Student: Football player.
Me: Are you sure?

Of course I was wrong as often as I was right, but then the kids just laughed at how ridiculous it would be if pizza was their favorite food instead of sushi, or if they had gone to the beach instead of NYC on vacation, and when the day was through, we ended up learning a lot about each other.

Annual Insomnia

I can never sleep the night before school starts. No matter how well prepared I feel for the next day, my rest is restless at best, and I always wake in the middle of the night, my mind spinning anxiously, my heart beating along. I can already tell that this year will not be an exception.

In an email from college, my nephew asked if I was ready to go back. No, but I'm ready to be back.It's the transition that does me in. My only consolation is that I know I'll sleep well tomorrow night.

The Neighbors WIll Hear

One thing about the place where I live is that there's not a lot of open window weather; usually it's either too hot or too cold. I'm sure the building has something to do with it-- constructed in the mid-80s, the jigsaw design of the units offers the illusion of privacy, but the trade-off may have been that there was not a lot of attention paid to cross-breezes and natural ventilation in these townhouse-style condos.

Tonight is one of those rare times when we and many of our fellow residents have thrown open our windows and doors to welcome the first burst of cool, fresh, pre-autumn air. As I sat on my stoop grilling a couple of chops for our dinner, I could hear the sounds of my neighbors float through the courtyard. A child practiced piano; a couple chatted as they did the dishes; a commercial promised convenience and service; a dad announced that bedtime was coming.

Privacy? Oh, that was totally out the window, but the undeniable sense of belonging to a community completely made up for it.

PIPs

At the open house the other night, I saw a former student who is now in eighth grade. She had been tapped to serve as one of our school's "Ambassadors," eighth graders who welcome guests and guide them through the building when they visit.

This particular kid had been an avid reader when she was in my class, and so I asked her if she'd had a chance to read the third book in The Hunger Games trilogy. She told me that she hadn't even read the second book, yet, so before the night was over, she ducked into my room and grabbed the book from my class library. The next day, I found it on my desk with a note-- Loved it! Can't wait for the next one! I know she'll be by before school starts on Tuesday morning to borrow that next book, and that kind of stuff always makes me smile, because I like being part of a community of readers and writers, and I love helping kids get their hands on books they want to read.

Last week we heard through the grapevine that our school system is implementing a policy that forbids teachers from having non-school-issued furnishings in their classrooms. Couches, rockers, bean bags, pillows, and their like will have to be removed. Such a rule bothers me, because beyond making me get rid of the ways I have personalized the room for my students, it smacks of other changes to come. How long will it be before teachers are not allowed to have any books that aren't issued by the school system in their rooms, either?

Oppositional

... and a couple of last marathon meetings (with fire alarm tests included) to end the week. It wears you down, that it does. I tried to make the best of the situation this morning by searching for the best metaphorical description of the alarm sound, "cicada from hell" was my favorite, and then by counting the earsplitting bursts in an attempt to find some pattern to the maddening din.

Of course I was hanging on the talking points of every presenter, too. Don't worry, friends, I did not miss a single word of that 2 1/2 hour meeting. I'll prove it: At about two hours in the principal went through a list of thirteen procedural items that were deemed so important that we had to initial a staff roster to verify that we had been there for her presentation. (Way more on the procedural trends later-- I'm just not ready to write about them, yet. It's that bad.) When she got to the part where we weren't allowed to use our smart phones to access any social networking sites during the contract day, I flipped my iPhone on and punched the facebook app, something I have never done at school before.

Had I not been distracted by an alarm or some other nonsense, I might have even posted an update: Missing: Two hundred and fifty work hours, value at least five thousand dollars. If found, please return to the students of our school system.

Good Night Bad Day

In his latest piece for The New Yorker, David Sedaris makes the observation that when certain misfortunes befall you (in his case complications regarding air travel) it seems like a national tragedy that everyone should know about, and "only when it happens to someone else do you realize what a dull story it is."  That's good advice coming from a master storyteller.

I'm going to risk it anyway and take a few paragraphs to describe how awful our day at school was today. We are still in preservice, working in our classrooms and meeting with colleagues to prepare for the students' first day next Tuesday. As I've mentioned before, our school is at the end of a year-long update which has entailed all sorts of outrageous inconvenience for every staff member in the building for what is, in my opinion, very little improvement. The project was supposed to be finished as of last Monday, but like the vast majority of renovations, the contract ran over.

The punch list is extensive: the a/c has been sporadic, which we have dealt with; yesterday the power went on and off at least half a dozen times, which was kind of a nuisance, especially if anyone was trying to work on the computer, but today, today was the day when they were testing the new fire alarm system, ALL DAY.

What does that mean, you wonder? It means flashing strobe lights and ear splitting alarms at unpredictable intervals five or six times an hour from 9 to 3. The lunch break only made it worse; just when you felt like you were recovering from the traumatic ordeal, it started again without warning. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the experience could have been modified and used as torture. Physically and psychologically it was so draining that I honestly can't believe they allowed the testing to go on in an occupied building. We should have left, but there's too much to be done to get ready for the kids.

And bless their hearts, it was the kids who came to my rescue tonight. We had our open house for sixth graders from 6:30-7:30, and when I left school at 4, returning to that building was the last thing I wanted to do. I had to, though, and it was still with a bit of a headache that I dragged myself into the theater at 6:25, but there must be something magical about eleven year old energy-- by the time I waved good bye to the last family, and for the first time since June, I had my teacher groove on, and  I felt completely revived and excited about the new school year.

Share and Share Alike

Sometimes I want to live in a collective. For example, I want a kayak, but storage space and the knowledge that I'm too busy to use it very frequently prevents me from buying one, so what I'd really like to do is share a kayak with some other people.

This notion could extend to many other possessions as well, particularly kitchen appliances and power tools. As a matter of fact, a couple of minutes ago, I wished for a dehydrator. There are certain things that I'd like to preserve that way (like shallots and chilies) but not enough to justify owning one. I know my sister has just such a device, and if only she lived closer than Atlanta, I would ask her to borrow it. Along the same lines, I myself recently purchased a pressure canner. It's not a super extravagance, but it cost enough that I thought about it for over a year before I laid my money down. It's in my attic right now; surely somebody could be getting some use out of that baby.

Wet saws, chop saws, reciprocating saws-- I know how to use them, and they would probably come in handy once a year or so, but if I owned any of them, they would join the pressure canner languishing in storage, declining in value.

Most Americans have too much stuff, me included, and there is a certain transcendence to using the right item for the job that is undeniable, but access rather than ownership might be the way to go. I think that sharing would be a huge step toward eliminating the consumerism that plagues many of us.

Who's with me? (I'm bringing a lot of sweet kitchen appliances to the deal!)

The Topic Was Grammar

Today my friend accused me of choosing my English Department professional study group just so that I would have something to write about this year. Of course, she made the allegation on the ride back to school after our first meeting about which I was, if not complaining, exactly, at least making some acerbic observations.

There was some surprise among my peers when I told them that I had chosen the session on approaches to teaching grammar. I guess they assumed that as a process-based workshop-approach teacher, I would be anti-grammar instruction. (Hyphen check! Where should they be in that sentence? I think there are too many.) That's not true at all, though. Although I am against teaching grammar out of context, particularly in a skill and drill format, I understand that correct grammar is an essential and valuable tool for communicating clearly and effectively, which is why I signed up for the group.

It so happens that out of over a hundred English teachers in the county, only five others picked the grammar group, and it became clear to me early on that there were some philosophical differences between me and most of the others. I don't mind, though. It will give me something to write about.

Happy New Year!

My first year of teaching there was a story going around about a guy who got his job by answering one question in the interview.

"What makes you think you'll be a good middle school teacher?" he was asked.

"I'm a tree; I can bend," he replied.

According to legend, he was hired on the spot.

Today was the most chill first day of school ever. There was none of the hectic pace that has welcomed me back in years past. It is counter intuitive, too. Our building was updated over the summer and was only released to us this morning. Let's just say there is a rather lengthy punch list of finishing touches that must be completed before the students arrive next Tuesday (like furniture in the art room). It seemed like the staff kind of rolled with it, though, and what good would it have done to do otherwise?

(Oh, there was another interview story, too, that first year of mine. In reply to the question Why do you want to be a teacher? the candidate had rehearsed his answer carefully and meant to say I really want to help kids and touch lives, but he mixed the phrases up. As a result he looked the principal dead in the eye and said, I really want to touch kids, and...

That guy was not hired on the spot.)

Buzz

It's the little things, folks. Sure, simple pleasures are the best, but tiny annoyances are also the worst. As I type, there is a single fly buzzing through the house. This same little nuisance banged its tiny brain relentlessly against the living room window as I read this afternoon, refusing to exit the house when offered the opportunity but also avoiding the swatter (make up your mind, buddy). Later, it accompanied me to the kitchen while I prepared dinner, and now it's here, dive bombing my keyboard.

It's tempting to cast it in the metaphorical role of end of summer messenger, that little reminder all through the day that indeed school starts tomorrow, but seriously? If a fly can bother me this much? I need to go back to work.

Pick and Choose

We paid a visit to Mt. Vernon today-- I do love the place. This trip, we toured the mansion, which I don't often do; the lines to get in the house are usually really long, and the grounds are beautiful enough on their own, but as luck would have it, there was a hardly a wait at all this afternoon.

As we filed through George Washington's home, it was the paint that struck me. It was hard to believe that I could have forgotten that garish green in the family dining room. I asked one of the docents about it, and she assured me that some microscopic paint analysis was used to find the exact formula and recreate it. She also said that Washington himself had chosen the color. Yikes! What was the father of country thinking?!? (Evidently Martha's room design was restricted to their bedroom, which was very tasteful, by the way.)

Many of our fellow visitors to the plantation sported bright new Restore Honor t-shirts, presumably purchased at Glenn Beck's Lincoln Memorial Rally which was also held today, the 47th anniversary of Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech delivered at the same location. Given the time of day, they must have left the rally and headed directly for Mount Vernon. Making my way through the education center, I could understand the appeal that this place might have for Beck's supporters: the original tea party was featured prominently. Continuing through the exhibits, I wondered what the rallyers thought when they read the letter that Washington wrote to his fellow citizens upon leaving office. In it he strongly urged us to find our common ground and to maintain our "unity at home".

Maybe they just considered that particular idea a lapse in judgment... kind of like the paint in the dining room?

The Blahs

Today was the last official day of my summer break, and I wish I could say I took full advantage of it, but sadly, it was a day without much focus. In fact, I think I had at least four versions of the following conversation:

What do you want to do?
I don't know. What do you want to do?
I don't know either. Whatever you want to do is fine.
But what about you?
I'm fine with whatever.
Whatever what?
I don't know.

So... we didn't go out to breakfast. We didn't go to the garden. Some went shopping; some went home; some went to the library and read. We didn't go to the baseball game. We didn't go to the movies.

We did have an ugly little conversation about institutional racism over a nice dinner of corn chowder with lobster, though, and in retrospect, I wish we had avoided that, too.

Gary's last words before bed were these: "If anyone asks, tell 'em we had a wonderful time."

Maybe it's a good thing that school is starting.

Coffee Break

This morning I had coffee with a couple of colleagues. We sat at an outdoor table and chatted about teaching sixth grade English. It seemed so civilized and productive that I wondered why I don't do that more often. Oh yeah, now I remember. Once school starts, who has time for that?

Question Authority

When I was in college, I had a button tacked to the driver side sun visor of my yellow Volkswagen Rabbit that read Question Authority. Looking back on it now, I see it as almost an ironic statement-- I was a very good girl-- but I think the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980 must have inspired me to buy it, if not act upon it.

My relationship with authority has evolved quite a bit in the last thirty years.  For example, when I first started teaching I was very secure in the power structure. The superintendent was like your grandfather, the principal was like your dad, and you, the teacher were the benevolent dictator in your classroom. I ruled confidently, just as my teachers had when I was in school, and a lot like the way that I had overseen my younger brother and sister, the children I babysat, my nephews. My show could have been called Tracey Knows Best.

It's not quite that way anymore. Over the years, I've tried to restructure my class to be as student-centered as possible. One of my primary objectives is for the kids to feel like they're in charge of themselves. I've learned that Because I said so isn't a very convincing argument to an oppositional student.

And as for myself? When I look around at the president, the secretary of education, the superintendent of our schools, I see the guys I went to college with: smart, but not necessarily the people I want in charge of me. Yeah... you could say that I have some questions.

The Assignment

We had our end of summer leadership meeting for school today. Administration, team leaders, and instructional lead teachers all gathered to come up to speed on what's been happening over the summer and to formulate a plan for the coming year.

I attended my first leadership "retreat" twelve years ago. Back then it involved an overnight stay at a motel in Leesburg, a community just far enough outside the city limits to justify calling it a retreat, well, that and the two day schedule. The next year we got a new principal and she put her own personal stamp on the event by reorganizing it into a 9-3 meeting, with lunch, held in our library. (I approved of the change, mostly because I didn't have to share a room with anybody, although I did kind of miss drinking beer on the porch until midnight with Larry and Mark.)

This year we went to someone's house because our building renovation won't be complete until next Monday. We met in the family room, and I got the leather easy chair, so I can't really complain, especially when the principal perched on the stone ledge of the fireplace all day. The meeting had a different kind of feeling than those in the past, and in odd moments, I found myself trying to figure out why. Was it the setting? The ever changing cast of attendees? Or could it have been me? After 17 years, I'm on the downswing of my tenure.

At the end of the session, which ran long as usual because of so many non-agenda issues that seemed worth spending time on, our attention was directed to a single sheet in our folders. Its title was Focusing Work to Improve Instruction and it consisted of six questions:

What does success look like?
How do I impact instruction?
What is my role in our success?
How do I help all kids excel?
How do I monitor progress on a regular basis?
What do I need to do differently?

I folded the paper in half and tucked it into my writing notebook. As the new school year begins, I couldn't ask for better prompts.

Cool It

Last week at the beach we found a chart that reported the monthly average temperatures for that location. As I've mentioned, we didn't really need to look at August, but it was surprising to note that September was usually some 10-15 degrees cooler than the weather we were sweltering in. How can that be? we wondered. September was only two weeks away, and it would take a major change in the weather to meet that published statistic. It seemed preposterous.

Back at home, though, there are subtle signs that suggest summer is flagging, ever-so-slightly: The heat is less intense; the days are noticeably shorter; the humidity slumps; Orion's shoulders, Bellatrix and then Betelgeuse rise in the southeast just ahead of the sun. The psychological effect of getting ready to go back to school may contribute a little bit to the tiny chill (the first big meeting of the year is tomorrow), but I don't think so.

Fall is coming.

The Splitties

Some of the tomatoes in our garden split on the vine before we can pick them. I did a little research and discovered that a lot of water at a time (say, for example, the torrential downpours we've been having this summer) can cause the fruit to swell quickly and crack. The skin around the fissure toughens a bit, but otherwise, these tomatoes are as tasty as any.

One of our roadtrip audiobooks this summer has been The Uglies by Scott Westerfeld. For those who are unfamiliar, this is the first in a four part series (followed by The Pretties, The Specials, and The Extras) that takes place a couple of hundred years in the future. Some sort of bacteria that feeds on oil, both raw and refined, and then causes it to explode has brought about the demise of our civilization. We have been replaced by a group who is, on the surface, much more eco-friendly and politically correct then we ever were. One way that they ensure equality is by conducting extensive plastic surgery on every citizen once they reach the age of sixteen so that they will become one of the "Pretties." Before then people are known as "Littlies" until the age of twelve and then "Uglies" until their operations.

Obviously, two of Westerfeld's major considerations are nature and perfection. My mind wandered to the book this evening as I visited my garden after a week away. So often, we have an image of visual perfection in our mind that has nothing to do with what's best. Homegrown produce can be beautiful, but a lot of it is not quite fit for the grocery store. Despite its superior flavor, it doesn't always look flawless. No matter-- I took my splitties and went home to prepare a very pretty salad, and better still? It was delicious.

Record Time

I live with a person who finds it essential to unpack everything the minute we arrive home from any trip or vacation. After that classic Saturday morning whirlwind to empty the rental property before 10 AM and then ten solid hours on the road, we hit the front door with fully-loaded minivan less than an hour ago. As of this minute every single item has been carried in and removed from its suitcase or bag: seventy-five percent of things have been put away; ten percent waits neatly by the attic stairs (along with the luggage), and the other fifteen percent is in the washer.

Is it a boon or a bane? Why don't you be the judge? I'm too tired to decide.

Same Old, Same Old

The weather forecast is remarkably consistent here for the month of August-- pick a day, any day, and you can be pretty sure it's gonna be 88 with a chance of thunderstorms. It's amazing the variation we have experienced within those seemingly cookie-cutter days: one day the breeze on the beach is offshore and cooling, another it's onshore and really hot. Some days the thunderstorms rumble through with a few dark clouds and raindrops, other days they don't show up at all, and sometimes we are absolutely deluged.

Today we had it all. Hot in the morning, breezy midday, one peal of thunder and a few drops in the afternoon, and then one hell of a downpour around 5. Tonight hundreds of huge dragon flies are diving through the still sunset-- there's no wind at all so they can fly-- and dozens of bats are close behind.

To be honest, none of this weather is to my preference. Those who know me know I am a daughter of the constellation Orion; I love cool days and cold, clear nights, but if the Eskimos have forty words for snow, then the Edistonians should have at least that many for hot and humid, and as a writing teacher, I appreciate that.

Photographs and Memories

I got a new app for my iPhone today. Called Hipstamatic, it makes the digital images that the camera takes look more like snapshots taken on film. Square with a white border and saturated color, these pictures seem to transport their subjects forty years or so into the past.

The beach is an ideal setting for such a concept, and I loved every single picture I took today. In them children and dogs play, people relax, and brightly colored suits, towels, and buckets pop against the sand washed in the sun. The sky and ocean are impossible shades of blue and green, and every cloud is perfect: just like it was when I was a kid.

I should know-- I've seen the pictures.

Save the Turtles

When Mom and Heidi took their customary walk on the beach this morning they were haled by a couple of ladies with the honey drawl of these parts. In short, we had left our outside lights on overnight and that's a no-no around here. This beach is one of the few where the endangered loggerhead lays her eggs, and from April to October the community observes some simple practices to assist these turtles and help to increase the odds thet their offspring will survive.

The women were actually members of a local turtle patrol. Later we found a postcard-sized message wedged into the outlet by the outdoor light switch that explained everything. (Those turtle ladies are efficient!) It seems that when the young turtles hatch, it is the light of the moon that draws them into the sea. Household illuminations can distract these newborns with disastrous consequence; once turned around hatchlings rarely find their way to the ocean.

I want to do all I can to preserve this (and any) species-- really I do-- but I confess that I'm a wee bit conflicted. On the one hand there is the pathos of those infant loggerheads heading with all of their innate instinct and determination in a direction exactly opposite of the one they ought to go. Then there is the notion of natural selection. Hey! Dumbass! The ocean is over there!

Don't worry. The lights are out.

Cogito Ergo Queritor

People don't always play the way you want them to. Some build sand structures, and others enjoy destroying them. Some are aggressively competitive in games, and some are politely cooperative. Some people prefer to pursue the impossibility of preserving pristine playdoh while others like to mix it all up.

What to do? As annoying as it might be, if you just take your quirkle blocks and go home, you'll miss all the fun. Eventually you've got to work it out. Does it really matter if you like reading on the beach or reading in the recliner, hot dogs or seafood, getting up early or staying up late? It's only a problem if you think it is, and who wants to do so much thinking on vacation?

Souvenirs

Last year my family rented a beach house the very first week of summer. It was so much fun that we wanted to put something similar together this year, too. It's tough to coordinate the busy schedules of 7 adults and the five kids, and this was the week when most of us could get together. Different house, different beach, even a different state, but same kind of vibe except for the fact that this time it is the end of the season-- school starts the day after tomorrow down here.

A veteran vacation renter, I never truly appreciated the wear and tear a place such as this suffers. After twelve solid weeks of family fun, this lovely beach house we're staying in could use some serious TLC. For example, the upper screen on the door to the oceanfront porch succumbed to the coastal breeze this afternoon and bid its spline good bye forever; now it flops forward like the dog-eared page of a paperback, marking our place here. This house has broken blinds, crooked grates, bifold doors that never meet, and all sorts of things corroded from salt, sand, and humidity. At dinner time we play an informal game of musical chairs to avoid the one with the saggy seat, although my brother graciously traded with me tonight, "Perfect for my boney butt," he said.

To begin with, these imperfections annoyed me considerably: every vacationer visualizes the ideal space for that long-awaited retreat, but gradually I've come to recognize them as what they are: badges of the pleasure and enjoyment that this place has provided to all the other people who have stayed here this summer. I'm sure we'll do a little damage of our own.

It's Not the Heat

A hundred percent humidity greeted us on our first morning here in South Carolina-- one hundred percent with not one drop of rain. Oh the rain came soon enough, it fluctuated all day from torrential to lazy drizzle to just a bead here and there oozing from the saturated air. I can't say I expected anything else from this sub-tropical vacation: the humidity and bugs have definitely not disappointed, and if the marine layer ever burns off, or the off-shore wind dies down, I'm sure the temperature will rise accordingly.

Visiting such a climate is an exotic experience. The palm trees and lush vegetation provide an emerald contrast to the white-washed sand and shells on the dunes. Our eyes are riveted to any road-side ditch or backwater-- we're looking for gators. Brightly painted cinder block buildings with tin roofs and plantation shutters are dotted in between the beach houses. Spanish moss drapes the trees and in the grayer, mistier moments, lends an air of eeriness that contributed to our purchase of Ghosts of the Carolina Coast at the local bookstore.

In fact it was just that moss hanging dramatically from the canopy of live oaks arching across the one and only road leading onto this barrier island that caught my eye on the trip in yesterday. Looking up to admire the natural arcade, I noticed something big and cat-like perched above us; in the fleeting look I got, I was sure I saw a wildcat. A little internet research confirmed the existence of bobcats down here.

Still, there are skeptics... my brother-in-law made my sister ask the clerk at the surf shop around the corner if there were any bobcats on the island. My sister says the girl looked a little taken aback by the question, but then she dug deep into her service industry core, smiled brightly, and said, "I never heard of any, but never say never, right?"

Right.

Infrastructure

We traveled most of the way on I-95 today, and what the GPS initially predicted as a quick little 8 1/2 hour trip  turned into an exhausting 11 due to pure congestion. It's impossible to begrudge others the right to travel on the interstate, and yet how much more quickly our trip would have gone if only our fellow citizens had stayed home. (No doubt they felt the same of us.)

The Last Hurrah of an Epic Summer

The bags and cooler are packed and waiting to be loaded in the van for our 10 hour road trip to South Carolina tomorrow morning. Buckets and beach towels, books and games, tennis balls and dog beds, Treat's guitar and Josh's long board, all are ready to go.

We hope to be on the road before 7 AM; we can get into the house at 4, and who wants to waste a single minute of ocean front living?

Not us.

More from Edisto Island tomorrow.

Out of Office

I heard on the radio today about a growing trend in certain smallish, white collar companies-- unlimited paid vacation for employees. Who among us could hear of such a plan without cynicism and suspicion? The opportunity for abuse seems so obvious. But still... the engagement and personal responsibility that a policy like that presupposes is just what I want from the students in my class. So when did it become so impractical to assume the best of each other?

As a teacher, I know the answer. Personalized accountability becomes nearly impossible when the group is too large to support it. When we must standardize in order to guarantee "equal" treatment, we often lose sight of the individual. As the debate on the pros and cons of nationalizing and even globalizing not only our economy, but also our food supply, our educational standards, and more, continues, it seems wise to find a way to allow each self, each someone, to regulate his or her needs in good faith.

Nifty Gadget

My pressure cooker was delivered today. I find it thrilling and a little scary to own such a metaphorical item. I have big plans for all sorts of canning and preserving, but some of the cautions in the 76 page instruction guide give me pause. For example, improper use may result in scalding bodily injury and property damage. They also recommend having the gauge checked at your local county extension office before using the cooker.

Confession: I've heard of county extensions-- mostly in books-- and in my mind they were not much more than quaint holdovers of a more agrarian time, so I definitely never stopped to consider that a) they might exist in this urban county where I reside or b) they might be of use to me. In my strong desire to avoid any sort of high temperature explosion, though, I took some time this afternoon to do a little research.

Guess what? County extension are great resources! With programs dedicated to family and consumer science, youth, agriculture, and community viability, their mission is to help the people of our county improve their lives through educational programs based on research and developed with input from local stakeholders. Clearly, as a teacher and a citizen, I need to check them out a little more closely (both with and without my pressure gauge in hand).

See? My pressure cooker is already doing me a world of service and I haven't even taken it out of the box, yet.

Connotation Counts

Is it just me, or does "ilk" have a negative connotation? Despite it's definition, I can't recall ever hearing the word used to describe "like members" of a positive sort: it's always I can't stand people of his ilk, or we'll not see his ilk again. Really... in those contexts, who wants to be ilk to anything?

So imagine my dismay this morning when I heard a newscast on NPR stating that President Obama would be meeting with teachers in the rose garden today "to express his support of a jobs bill that would prevent the layoffs of tens of thousands of their ilk."

Ilk? Ick.

Garden Pest

The woman who has the adjoining garden plot to ours has been a thorn all season long. Starting with our first conversation when upon learning that we were teachers, she disclosed that as chairperson of one of the citizen advisory groups to the school board, all five members have her on speed dial. (Should we be impressed or threatened?) She also told us that not only was she a master gardener with over 20 years of experience, but she had been the head gardener here at the community plots until she gave it up a few years ago. The look on her face communicated her low opinion of the new leadership. Never did she offer to help or advise us, and in the interactions that followed, I got the impression of her as bossy and judgmental; so much so, that I tried to find times to go to the garden when I didn't think she would be there.

That strategy has been relatively successful for most of the summer so far. She was on vacation for several weeks, and then we were, too, and I usually try to go up there on weekday mornings when I know it will be quiet. Not so tonight, though. After time away and a house full of company, our garden was looking a little neglected. We've been getting a fair amount of produce, but the weeds have been thriving as well. This evening I was pulling up some of those uninvited plants and pruning the tomatoes, when a deceptively cheerful voice called to me from the next plot. "Oh there you are! We were speculating that you had either given up or were out of town."

Let's parse that:  

We: she and other people in the garden were talking about us.
were speculating that you had either given up: implying that our garden was so uncared for that people were talking about it AND they figured we might be quitters.
or were out of town: a misleadingly friendly little end to the comment that keeps it from being blatantly offensive.

I shrugged and told her we'd been away, but oooh! I was mad, and truth be told a little humiliated. A little later the words of Eleanor Roosevelt came to me as I brooded, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent," and that made me feel a little better. I know that I am somewhat insecure about the garden, because I am inexperienced. I accept that and try to be mindful enough to learn from the successes and the failures, too; I'm going to make mistakes; it's only the first year. So far, I've been pretty happy with how things are going.

How easily my fragile confidence was undermined! As September approaches and with it another school year, I want to remember today and prevent such a thing from happening to my students as they too struggle with the new and the unfamiliar.

Over Your Shoulder

 My brother and sister-in-law and nephew came over for dinner tonight, and as always, our conversation was far-ranging and extremely entertaining. At one point during the evening we spent some time recollecting an old Cream of Wheat commercial. Remember the one where the bowl hovered UFO-like behind the kids all day steaming in the brisk winter air as they romped merrily through the snow? What an indelible image that created-- creepy and sustaining all at once.

The kids in the commercial never looked back at the ghostly bowl floating along in their wake. If they had, would they have been alarmed or comforted? I wonder. Forty years ago, I remember wishing for such a glutinous guardian, but now the specter of my meals haunting my days is a little too corporeal. If anything, there's probably a wee phantom antacid tablet shadowing me, and may its effects be as lingering as the spirit of Cream of Wheat.

Juice

The power surprised us at about 9:30 last night. We had dug out a battery-powered radio and were sitting in the gathering gloom in companion chairs, one rocking the other easy. (You wonder who was in which, right?) Our house guests had retired for the evening-- they wanted an early start this morning-- and so we had settled down for a little companionable conversation as we caught up on the day's news.

We had spent the day out and about. First coffee and breakfast, then a trip to Target, and finally lunch and a movie. How strange it had been to go out where there was plenty of electricity and things proceeded as normal. Somehow it made me feel even more deprived, but after each excursion we returned to our home optimistically, the power will be on, it will, it will, only to be disappointed. Finally we gave up and settled in for the full pioneer package-- Sunday was only a couple of days away.

But then with as little fan fare as you could imagine, one light came on in the kitchen and there was a low collective hum from all the HVAC units in the complex as they were switching on to cool us off, and the great blackout of 2010 had ended.

Still Powerless

Another dispatch from my iPhone:

Rumors are flying around the neighborhood about when our collective
misfortune might be resolved. After being without electricity for over
24 hours, everybody just wants to know what to expect. Someone got a
report from the power company that we would be back online by 5 PM,
but that optimistic time has come and gone. An email also circulated
that power would be out in our area until Sunday. I hope not, but it's
already too late for all the food in our refrigerator. The freezer has
another 24 hours.

If it weren't for the loss of the food, this ordeal wouldn't be too
bad at all. The weather is warm, but not even close to unbearable; a
pleasant breeze is blowing gently through the house. We'll use the
grill for supper-- some steaks, corn on the cob, and tomatoes and
cucumbers from the garden. All that's missing is the jingle of the ice
cream truck.

Powerless

Sent via my iPhone:

We were at the movies this afternoon when the thunder started crashing
and the gush of pouring rain was clearly audible above the sound
track. With about 5 minutes left in the movie, the electricity flickered on
and off and then the film stopped completely, which was a first for
me-- I've never been in a theater that lost power. We followed the
emergency lighting out into the lobby where the neon lights and faux
deco sconces were blinking like a carnival ride before they too went
dark. The 30 foot plate glass windows in the front looked like they
were being sprayed with a fire hose, such was the force of the wind
and weather out there. (Later we heard that there were 70 mph gales
and two inches of rain in 30 minutes.) A theater employee announced
refunds for everyone-- another first. We waited around for fifteen
minutes or so, and when the storm let up to merely torrential, I made
a run for the car, blessing the good parking karma that put us just
three spaces in on the first row. Of course in retrospect, I wonder what
our hurry was. Downed trees and wires littered our path home. Every
restaurant and store we passed was dark, and when we got here, our
place was too, as it still is five hours later. I think it's safe to
say that the novelty has worn off.

TYTO

There's a big part of me that won't allow myself to get emotionally involved with gay rights issues. I can't bear the setbacks-- sometimes I have a hard time separating the political from the personal, and it really stings when people vote to curtail or reject my civil rights. In those situations I always expect the worst, and so far I've rarely been disappointed. (Yeah, I'm talking to you, Maine.)

Proposition 8 in CA is another good example of this. The post-election analysis showing that it was Obama supporters who pushed this gay marriage ban over the top in 2008 still makes me a little weepy. (It also underscores my distrust of the current administration; well, that and Rick Warren's invocation, not to mention the race to the top, but that's a bunch of other blog posts.)

Given all that, I was surprised by the distinct twinge of optimism I felt today when I heard of the federal court ruling overturning Prop 8. I know it's a small victory, but more than that, it's a big step toward a Supreme Court hearing on the issue and maybe even some federal resolution, so that at least I'll know, one way or the other, what the law of this land is when it comes to my family.

And now four words I never thought I'd type: Thank you Ted Olson.

She Meant Freak in a Good Way

Today is our neighbor Savannah's birthday. She's four, and one of the presents we got her was a floor puzzle of the U.S. We chose the gift out of family tradition. Our older nephews had such a puzzle when they were very young, and they loved it. In fact when he was barely three, Treat used to identify many of the pieces by name as he went along. 

I taught summer school that year for eighth graders who had failed world geography. On the last day of the term, their grandfather brought the boys by to say hello. Looking around the classroom, Treat made a beeline for the puzzles and started his routine: We live in Virginia. Here's biiiiig Texas. There's Minnesota-- Grandma Fran lives there. That's California! and so it went until he fitted the last piece in place a few minutes later. I looked up and noticed a couple of the students staring at him incredulously. I knew that they had struggled with that puzzle all summer long.

One of the girls made eye contact with me. "No offense," she said, "but your nephew is a freak."

The Ant's Tale

The girls called their parents tonight to fill them in on all the fun we've had in the last 36 hours. It's always interesting to hear a shared experience described by another person in the group. For example, today we went hiking on the bluffs at Great Falls National Park. It was a lovely day, especially for August: a little overcast and therefore not too hot. Although the clouds threatened, the rain held off, which was good for us. The park was not too crowded, so most of the time we had the trails and the rocks and the river to ourselves.

It's our habit to pack lunch and pick a place with a nice view to stop for a picnic, and today the girls chose a spot high above Mather Gorge to eat. The river was super low, and a light breeze kept most of the bugs away. There were a couple of industrious ants on the rocks where we sat, though, and as we packed up to continue on our way, we noticed that one of them had found an awfully big crumb and was struggling to carry it off. As she zigged and zagged staggering beneath the weight of her delicious morsel, I amused myself by narrating her progress in first person. No worries girls, I got this... whoa, oops, ta da! I meant to do that! and so on, I channeled her chatter, ant to aunt, until we walked on, leaving her story unfinished.

In the rest of the hiking, swimming, cooking, singing, dancing, and game playing that completed our day, that moment was lost to me until I heard Delaney giggling on the phone with her parents about it, and then I laughed a little, too, and hoped that the ant made it home with her treasure.

Back to Bedrock

A few years ago I got the first three seasons of The Flintstones on DVD for my birthday. I wanted it out of pure nostalgia-- as a child growing up in the sixties and early seventies I spent countless hours with Fred, Barney, Wilma, Betty, Pebbles, Bam Bam, and even Kazoo. Every day after school we watched The Flintstones, I Love Lucy, Speed Racer, and/or Gilligan's Island, and every episode was like a neighborhood friend-- one line of dialog would let you know that it was the one about the boy scout jamboree, the seaweed fricasee, the Twitch, the mink coats, whatever.

Soon after they arrived today, the girls had their first disagreement. It was about which of our DVDs they might watch first. six-year-old Delaney wanted James and the Giant Peach, but ten-year-old Allyn favored Mulan. In an attempt to mediate, I tried the winner-take-all approach of holding their selections behind my back and having them pick right or left, but they wanted more of a compromise or even a consensus, so we took a broader look at their choices. Somehow, they agreed upon The Flintstones. At first they thought it was the live action film of a few years ago, but even when they understood that misconception, they were okay with watching a few episodes of the original series although (or because?) neither had ever seen it.

Know what? They love it. We are totally going to have a yabba dabba doo week.

Awww-- Do I Have To?

Sometimes it takes a galvanizing event to get you off your butt and to make you do all those little things you've been putting off. Such was the case for us today. After a June and July spent teaching, packing up our rooms for the summer, having the pleasure of both of our moms and Kyle and Josh visit, horseback riding, vacationing in Maine and Minnesota, after all of that, tomorrow August 1, is the day when the god-daughters arrive for a week. We haven't seen the girls in a while, and we're really looking forward to spending some time with them, but the oldest has allergies to dogs and dust mites, among other things, so the focus of today was cleaning and dusting and vacuuming.

When we began it seemed like a huge chore, if not a downright imposition. We have a weekly house cleaner-- and usually we feel that her labor and a swipe-swipe here and there is enough to prepare for most guests, which is why we pay her. Grumbling a bit, we split the house upstairs and down and went to work. Down here, we still had stuff that wasn't put properly away from each of our trips, not to mention two piles of mail from the time we were gone. Then there were things that had been waiting to be hung up, clutter on the deck to be dealt with, an air filter to change, and so on. Once we got going, there were magazines to toss, the front stoop to sweep and outside window sills to wipe. In the end, lots of odd jobs that just never seemed worth doing by themselves got done today.

As a result we are tired but satisfied. Any resentment is long gone-- in fact we're kind of glad we had to do it, AND we're going to have a great time with the girls.

Like a Fish Needs a Bicycle

I saw the movie Salt today. To tell you the truth, my expectations were sort of low because of the reviews, but I like a kick-ass movie in the summer, and I also like Angelina Jolie, as nutty as she is at times. I was far from disappointed. To me, Salt was the perfect summer action film. The main character, Evelyn Salt, is the child of a champion wrestler and a chess master (c'mon- you know that's awesome), which makes her an unbeatable strategist and fighter (I know, right?). Kind of like Kevin Costner's character in No Way Out, she finds herself in a thorny predicament not of her own making. Even so, over the course of the film, she demonstrates love and loyalty, and she never kills a single person who isn't an enemy of the state with blood on his hands, although she does have to injure and disable a few others who get in her way. I totally have my fingers crossed for a sequel.

Last week we also saw The Kids Are All Right, which is being marketed as a light summer comedy. (Yeah, and Finland is on the way to Orr.) I found this movie very painful to watch, despite (or because of) the fact that it is full of excellent performances: the actors create complex characters in a difficult situation who are hard to sympathize with.

Both movies feature strong women and the men who would walk all over them and take everything that they've worked for, given half a chance. I don't think it's much of a spoiler to say that in the end of each the women do prevail, but those meddling guys who think they're so entitled really make me mad.

Summer Simile

Every summer is busy, but this one seems even more so. Our house guests and trips are like stones across a river: starting in June we hop from one to another until we reach September on the other side.

Bears and Wolves, Oh My

We never did get to that bear sanctuary, but we did visit the North American Bear Center as well as the International Wolf Center, both just a mile or so from Ely, MN where we were staying. These centers have bears and wolves on the premises that can not be released into the wild; their mission is to educate and raise awareness about these animals. Since they are located in an area with healthy bear and wolf populations, a large part of their message is dedicated to finding a balanced interaction between humans and these wild predators.

It wasn't long ago that by government mandate wolves were to be eradicated from the continental U.S. People believed that because of competition for game and the threat to livestock and humans that this was a prudent response, and American wolves were nearly wiped out.

Bears have not fared much better. Although not systematically targeted for extinction, in most places, any bear that comes too close to populated places will most likely be shot because of the unpredictable peril it poses.

I left Ely feeling that we people have a lot of work to do to re-establish an equilibrium with these creatures, not to mention the coyotes, foxes, mountain lions, and the surplus deer population that we have.

All of this was on my mind this evening when I read the news about the bear rampage in Yellowstone last night. The details are still emerging, but one man is dead and two people are injured after a bear tore through their tent campsite just 5 miles from the entrance gate to the park. It looks like this is just another tragic consequence of our failure to find a way to dwell peaceably with the other animals in our world.

Wrong Way

We were off to a bear sanctuary tonight about an hour from this town in the boundary waters. We had an internet generated map and directions, and I was driving. This is just the type of situation where technology fails me, or I it, depending on your perspective. I glanced at the tiny map quickly and then thrust it into the hands of my navigator. I believed I knew the general direction we were going, and I was happy to leave the specifics to her. The only detail I double checked was how to find the road leading out of town. Off we set on a winding road through national forests, past lakes and over rivers. It was beautiful.

According to the turn-by-turn summary, it was over 20 miles before we were supposed to make a right to stay on the same county road. At 21, 22, and 23 miles, we rationalized that perhaps it wasn't a right turn as much as a bear right. The road was empty and no waypoint towns were mentioned on our little map. We wouldn't actually switch route numbers for another 25 miles, so we barreled along our wilderness way, never even passing a place to pause and confirm our direction. At 50 miles, we finally found a gas station and we stopped to fill up and find out if we may have lost our way. As my mom was off asking directions, my iPhone finally got a signal, and I hastily punched in our destination to plan a route from our current location.

My jaw dropped when I saw that we had gone 180 degrees away from the bear preserve. When I checked the little map, I had assumed that we were traveling east, and I mistook our destination for our departure point. It would take two an a half hours to get to the bears, by which time the preserve would be closed. I cringed, sucked in my breath, and informed the other members of our party, egg-faced.

The upside was that we were only 6 miles from Lake Superior. We spent an hour on the coast at a couple of state parks-- walking a breakwater and visiting a light house. It turned out to be a pleasant, but bearless, evening. Later we were telling the tale at dinner, and I was even able to laugh a little, especially imagining what it would have been like had I stubbornly driven onward, stopping only when the road dead-ended on the shores of Gitchigoomie. Maybe a great lake glittering in my path would have convinced me that I had made a mistake. Maybe.

Humingbird Humdinger

This morning at breakfast, the hummingbird show was on again. The plot thickened when there was trouble even at the peaceful feeder from yesterday, so I decided to do some quick research into hummingbird behavior. I found that my assumptions from yesterday were all wrong-- it turns out that aggression is the rule and cooperation the exceptions. At this time of year, those guys are fueling up for their fall migration which includes a 500 mile non-stop leg over the Gulf of Mexico. No one is sure how they even do it-- the energy they need exceeds their body weight!

Golly. I guess in that situation, I might be a little testy about sharing, too.

Bird v Bird

We're on our second big trip of the summer, this time traveling in Northern Minnesota. Our first stop has been Itasca State Park, the place where the headwaters of the Mississippi River are. We are staying in a cool log cabin right up the hill from the lake. Around the lodge and visitors' center there are hummingbird feeders everywhere, but unlike many of these plastic hourglass shaped contraptions that I've seen in the yards and gardens near home, droves of hummingbirds actually congregate at these. I've seen more ruby-throats today than in my whole life combined.

At dinner tonight, we were seated by a window overlooking the lake. The sun was setting, and the sky was a lovely golden, but I couldn't keep my eyes off the drama unfolding at the hummingbird feeder right outside. My panfried walleye grew cold as one thumb-sized bird refused to share the nectar. If another hummer landed while he was eating, this teeny meanie would rear back, poke that lilliputian chest out, and blur his emerald wings at the newcomer. If that display of ill will failed to intimidate, he would fly around the feeder and physically chase the other bird off. Then he would retreat to a branch above the feeder, vigilantly guarding it from any other hummingbirds who might try to get a little nourishment. The tiny terrorist was tirelessly aggressive, sometimes scaring his fellow feeders off with just a mean little look.

I wondered if hummingbirds are naturally so selfish, but then I noticed that right around the corner was another feeder where three, four, five, and even six other birds were able to share a meal without any conflict. Who'da thunk that even hummingbirds have bullies?

Oh Fair Summer

Many of my teacher friends in other places are reaching that point in their summer vacation when it's time to prepare for the return to school. For me that seems inconceivable, having only been out for a month so far. We did receive the preservice week meeting schedule via e-mail yesterday, but it's still way too early to look forward to those hours spent in uncomfortable chairs, trying to focus on a two page agenda while your brain spins like a tea cup at the carnival cataloging everything you have to do to get ready for the students arriving in a few days.

There will be time enough for that delightful multitasking in another five weeks, because on the ferris wheel of vacation time, we're still going up. In a day or two we'll stop and dangle our feet high above the summer-- the entire season spread out beneath us, our car gently rocking in the late July breeze. If we crane our necks, we might see those who got on before us climbing out, and then we'll start to descend slowly, eventually following them to the exit.

But for now, I'm just going to enjoy the ride.

Put Your Potatoes In

My mother and your mother 
were hanging out clothes.
My mother punched your mother 
right in the nose.
What color blood came out?

We were talking this morning of the choosing rhymes we used to use when we were kids to pick the person who had to be IT in our games of tag and hide and seek. In addition to eeny meeny miney moe, the one above was a good one, as was Bubble gum bubble gum in a dish, how many pieces do you wish? and Engine engine number nine going down Chicago line. And who can forget the classic one potato, two potato? I still think of my fists as potatoes sometimes, and there was a practical elegance to bopping your chin with your fist when you were the counter.

Most rhymes ended with my mother told me to pick the very best one, and you are NOT it. Hmmm. I'm not the very best one, but I'm not IT either-- oh the inner conflict such a procedure created. To be honest, I always liked it best when we agreed to end the choosing quickly-- rather than eliminating the safe players one agonizing kid at a time, we chose who was IT in the first round, and then we just played the game.

Generation Communication

I have a mobile phone, and I don't hesitate to use it, but I'm still one of those people who my friends and family are never sure they can reach that way. Texting is better than voice, but sometimes I don't have service, or it's on vibe, or I don't hear the ring-- you know how it can be. My phone is definitely not a life line to me; the rollover minutes on our family plan are always in the triple digits, and I never come close to the 200 text messages I pay for, either.

This summer, as an early 15th birthday gift, we added Josh to our plan and got him a phone. We agreed to pay the basic monthly charge and for 200 text messages, so he chose a phone, and we had it shipped to him. It arrived today, and this evening we received our first text from him... im kinda worried that i might go over the 200 text limit already

What?! In a few hours?! Of course I've heard all the news reports about teens and texting, but I never would have predicted such a thing with a kid I know so well. So yep, despite spending most of my working days with adolescents, this middle school teacher was blind-sided. Sigh.

I have to give Josh credit, though. By telling us right away, I was able to switch him to an unlimited plan before the messages even posted to our account. It turned out to be a true act of 21st century responsibility. He's still going to have to come up with the extra 15 bucks a month, though.

What a Rush

Throughout your life you develop gold standards. For me, the best mountains are the Alps, the best decade was the 70s, the best birthday cake is tarta baba with lots of lemon glaze, and the best falls are definitely Niagara.

It was 25 years ago that I first saw Niagara Falls. I was on the kind of wonderful road trip you take when you're relatively young-- it lasted weeks, and we went from Washington DC to Hamilton NY to Ann Arbor MI to Hustisford WI. In addition to the thousand and a half miles of North America we traversed, there was a wedding, a reunion of college buddies, and an island cottage along the way, but it all paled in comparison to Niagara Falls. The roar and the spray and the prisms of light stayed with me long after I returned home.

Since then I have had the good fortune to visit Niagara a half dozen times or more and they never disappoint. It doesn't matter if there's a crowd or that the water flowing over them is less than half its natural capacity, and never mind that the honeymoon thing is sort of baffling; I am even able to disregard the tacky merchandising that inevitably goes along with any stop there, because the falls themselves

are

simply

incredible.

No Complaints

I prepared my first meal with the majority of ingredients from my garden tonight. A nice vegetable stew with tomatoes, anaheim peppers, eggplant, squash, and okra-- seasoned with onion, garlic, and basil, and served over brown rice, it was a fine meal.

This is the time of the year when everything seems to explode in growth. Having been away from home for ten days and leaving town for another nine tomorrow, the progress of all the plants astonished and gladdened me when I went to check this morning. Our flowers have spread to fill their bed; our cucumbers, pumpkins and zucchini finally look as if they will amount to something, and aside from the vegetables I picked today, there are hundreds of green tomatoes on schedule to ripen in, well, just about nine or ten days (thank you, tomato goddess).

When we get back it will be canning time. Nice.