The Earth Shook

I was sitting in a meeting in the school library when the whole room swerved onto the rumble strips. We bumped along for a thrilling thirty seconds before we regained control of the building, and when it was over I knew I had experienced my first earthquake.

In the aftermath everyone there whipped out a phone, but the mobile networks were all overloaded and had crashed. I went to find a land line so that I could check in with Heidi at home and fortunately I was able to reach her right away and although there was a lot of alarmed cussing, everything was fine. "Holy shit!" she said. "You should have seen Penelope! That cat was running all over the house looking for a place to hide!"

"I don't blame her; it was an earthquake!" I said.

"No!" she told me. "This was before anything happened! She totally knew it was coming!"

Later we learned that the quake was 5.8 on the richter scale, centered 83 miles to our southwest, and also that there was very little resulting damage or injury. Even so, they were evacuating a number of local buildings and the federal government was shutting down. That seemed a little like closing the barn door after the horse was gone to me, but I guess they didn't have a Penelope to alert them beforehand.

The Devil You Know

I'm at school today to do a few pre-pre-service week chores, and I've run into a couple of other teachers. One guy has been on practically the same team of teachers for the last 15 years and this September, by way of retirement, re-assignment, and re-organization, he is facing several new faces. Our conversation was punctuated with considerable skepticism and rueful laughter on his part.

Once I made a chart showing all the teachers I've taught with in the 18 years I've been on the same sixth grade team. It was fun to remember past colleagues and surprising to see how much change there has been over the years. We've had five science teachers, five math teachers, five ESL teachers, five special ed teachers, and seven social studies teachers, but just one English teacher, me. Even so, our team has been remarkably stable lately; for the last three years, there's been no change at all, and other teachers on the team have been here for seven years, fifteen years, and sixteen years. I kind of like that consistency, even though I appreciate the benefits of change.

Told You So

What can we do to make school better?

I found myself in the company of three very articulate teenagers at dinner last night. All are former students of mine: one is returning to college today, one recently graduated from high school, the other is entering his junior year, and none of them are very upbeat about their public school experience, so I asked the question.

"Get rid of it?" they replied in unison and we all laughed.

"But seriously," I said. "Can we agree that some level of education is important?" There were nods all around. "If so, then how do we make it a more positive experience?" I shrugged. "I'm just asking, because, really? I don't want to spend my days forcing people to do things they don't want to." They have drill sergeants for that.

"Honestly?" answered the recent graduate. "The teachers don't need to change anything. It's the kids. My friends and I were so negative we never gave anything a chance."

Remorse is not really his style, but maybe the trouble he's had finding a job in the current market, or the prospect of living with his parents for a while longer, or even seeing many of his friends pack their stuff and leave for college, something he has long said is not really for him, is unsettling; certainly no one wants to be left behind.

Even so, when he said that, my jaw dropped, and I know I literally gasped. What teacher wouldn't feel at least a little bit vindicated by such a come to Jesus moment for one of our more challenging students? I'm sure many of us have fantasized about just such an act of contrition by a few of the smuggest of them, and yet I was not satisfied at all. Here was one of the most ardent anti-establishment kids I have known in my career, and it took exactly two months for him to be co-opted by the blame-the-students brigade. How did that happen? No wonder kids think that nobody understands them.

Unintended Consequences

We put netting over our tomatoes to save them from the birds, and while it hasn't been 100% effective, fewer tomatoes have been lost to those thirsty critters. The other morning, though, when I was at the garden to pick and water, I was startled by a squawk and a flurry on the other side of the row. When I stepped through to investigate, I saw a young cardinal trapped in the plastic mesh. He did not like me approaching, but he was stuck and could do little except make some nasty noises and scrabble a few inches away. I was worried that one of his wings or legs was injured, but when I carefully lifted the net, I saw that he had jammed his head through one of the squares and his feathers had spread behind him, making it impossible for him to reverse the thrust. I held a small pair of clippers in my hand, and so I bent to carefully snip the mesh that imprisoned the faded red fledgling. He caught the blade firmly in his beak and only released it to scold me for such a threatening gesture. Twice he intercepted the clippers before they could cut him free, but finally I was able to distract him long enough to make two quick snips. He dropped gently to the ground, hopped once, and flew away.

Followers

Like so many, I appreciate the convenience of a GPS device while driving. Well, to be exact, I like it fine for the directions, but I really like the ETA and miles to go features the best. Today on our drive home from Buffalo, though, I was not at the wheel, and so in addition to enjoying some really spectacular scenery-- rolling NY farmland and gorgeous PA mountains in particular-- I spent some time looking at real maps.

I much prefer seeing the big picture and knowing where I am and where I'm going and how I plan to get there, something that turn by turn directions not only cannot provide, but actually discourage. Who needs that big old travel atlas when you have that handy electronic device advising you from the dashboard? Turns out, we do. In fact I heard a piece on the radio not so long ago about people who followed their GPS directions down dead-end dirt roads in Death Valley. Some were rescued after a few harrowing days and some died.

While we were on vacation I whipped up a batch of vegan shortcakes to go with some wonderful local peaches. "Where did you find this recipe?" someone asked and when I told her that I had made up, she was impressed. "I could never cook without a recipe," she said.

But she could. Anyone can. Recipes are like GPSs. If you follow them without paying attention to where you are going, then you probably have no idea as to where you are, but if you use them as a resource, then your destination remains in your control, so if you need to go back sometime, or you want to go another way, it's not a problem to turn a cherry almond cake into one with peaches, lime, and even a dash of hot chili.

And to climb one more rung on the analogy ladder tonight: this is one of the most important skills that we want our children to develop. Rote memory and following directions may be enough to pass most standardized tests, but it's critical thinking and the ability to apply the knowledge we have that will keep us from getting lost in Death Valley.

This is What 900 Looks Like

A personal milestone passed unrecognized yesterday-- even though I did not realize it until today, it was my 900th consecutive post on this blog. In honor of that fact, I did a bit o' research using the "edit post" feature. Here's a little almanac of WtD so far:

Number of posts that include the word...

walk 98
dog 65

write 160
teach 336
read 356
student 397

family 109
mom 118
sister 60
brother 60 (I know, right?)
nephew 56
niece 11 (That's a fair ratio: we have 5 nephews and 1 niece.)
dad 41

cook 65
garden 52
bike 19
hike 12

lobster 6
potato 14
tomato 23

hate 64
love 143
friend 152
we 862

Yep. That seems like a pretty fair representation of the last couple of years to me.

1000 here I come!

Line in the Sand

We are visiting family in Buffalo and today they proposed a visit to Niagara on the Lake, a lovely town not far from here. Unfortunately, NoL is in Canada, and US Citizens may not exit and re-enter our country without either a passport or secure driver's license. Our home state, Virginia, is rolling out the SDL as each of ours expires after its five-year term, although residents can request one sooner. Even so, neither of us have one, nor do we commonly travel with a passport, so no border crossing for us.

In the grand scheme of things, such security measures are neither surprising nor completely unreasonable, and it is really not a big deal; we simply made other plans. But still, how strange to stand by the side of a river in the land of the free with the knowledge that the opposite bank is off-limits. after traveling the world in my younger years, it is just not the sort of experience I associate with being American.

Sliced Tomaydas

When we were kids there was a plate of sliced tomatoes on our dinner table almost every night in summer. Some we grew in our garden and others came from the tomato man who lived down the street. He had a card table set up in his front yard and when we were out and about on summer afternoons my mom would often make a stop there and choose a few tomatoes for dinner, and it was vine to plate before the sun set.

I remembered how shocked I was the first time I met someone who didn't like tomatoes; such a thing had literally been inconceivable to me until that day. Over the years I've met several non-tomato eating folks, and I've found that there is consistency to their objections. For example, they are usually a bit defensive when questioned about the fact that they like pizza, spaghetti, and/or lasagna-- evidently cooked, pureed tomatoes are not the problem. Neither is ketchup, although in my opinion, the only thing ketchup and tomatoes have in common is the color red. For those who can not stand fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes, it has something to do with texture, mouth feel, and a certain "watery" flavor(!). I'm afraid I can't explain any more specifically than that, because those people happen to abhor one of my favorite foods on the planet.

This summer, we have a ton of tomatoes from our garden. It's not a problem at all though, because for us, there really is no such thing as too many tomatoes. We have already canned 25 quarts (Heidi's goal is 104-- 2 per week until tomatoes come in next season), and of course we have a plate of sliced tomatoes every night at dinner. All is as it should be.

Summer Break

There has been an imperceptible change in the weather the last few mornings and evenings. The unrelenting heat of the hottest July EVER is still around, but there are fleeting moments when the trees stir just a bit and you can tell that it's not really going to be hot forever.

Old School of Thumb

I heard a coach use that phrase while being interviewed about new concussion policies for football players, and although I laughed a little when he said it, I've decided I rather like it.

In fact many changes are afoot within our school system, so I think I may have ample opportunity to use it. Stay tuned.

Cost Analysis

I didn't really start gardening to save money, although I bet that was in the back of my mind. Rather, I wanted to produce at least some of my own food, and a vegetable garden seemed the natural place to start. I figured there would be an initial investment-- how-to books, tools, fertilizer, and then later seeds, plants, and of course time. That last one's easy for me to sort of gloss over when constructing my mental spreadsheet, but to be honest, even though I like it, the garden does take time we might have spent elsewhere. I also get that there's a learning curve and that gardening is dependent on many variables-- weather, critters, soil, weeds, what have you, and so I would say I am prepared to lose a little cash in the grand scheme of things.

We went to our local farmers market this morning and there were samples of a delicious green variety of heirloom tomato. Despite our own bountiful harvest, we decided to buy one. One. (Okay, it was a pretty big tomato, but not to brag, I've grown bigger.) $5.25!

Recalculating. Just a moment. Yeah. I'm breaking even this year.

First Things First

I heard a piece on the radio tonight about the importance of preschool in helping people develop the skills that are essential in today's job market: compromise, curiosity, and cooperation. It made sense. There was also a companion piece about the wildly expensive, uber-exclusive preschools in Manhattan. It seems that children younger than two are "interviewed" for places in these institutions. The reporter hastened to assure us that they are not real interviews, but more like play date observations. What comprises a successful examination? Well, they are looking for tots who show the three C's mentioned above.

The educator in me scratched my head when I heard that. If we are saying that kids need those essential skills to be successful, then does it not seem counter-intuitive that the "best" schools only accept those children who have already developed them? What's the point in that? As a writing teacher, I know how much fun it is to have kids who are good writers in class, but I don't for a minute think that's my mission. If anything, it's the kids who most need support who should have it, not at the expense of any other child, but certainly as a priority.

Swingin' Babe

That's what my dad used to say when he knew I was excited about something but he just couldn't really fathom the appeal. I'm sure other dads said things like Mm hmm, and That's interesting, or maybe even That's great, sweetheart.

I haven't thought about it in years, and I have no idea where he picked it up, but it's kind of cool, right?

Locating...

Earlier in the summer I activated the "find my iphone/ipad" option on both of our phones and the ipad as well. I thought it might be handy in the event that we lose or misplace our devices, but since then I've only used it for one thing-- to find Heidi when she is lost and then to give her directions so that she can get back.

Aaah. There she is now!

No More Explosions, Please

After a summer of blockbuster movies attended, for the most part, with teenaged boys, it was a not unwelcome change to find myself among a sedate, older crowd (we were by far the youngest patrons in the theater) at the local multiplex. The film? Midnight in Paris by Woody Allen, and friends? It did not disappoint.

Jitters

My nephew, who lives in Atlanta, started kindergarten today. For us northern folk, who reported to our classrooms nearly to the end of June, it seems a little early; school for our students is still four weeks away, but it's close enough for us to be mindful that the beginning of the year is a transition, and starting at a new school can be especially rough.

I was lucky enough to teach both of my older nephews when they were in sixth grade-- having them in my classroom made me much more empathetic to the students' experiences, and I'm a much better teacher because of that. My heart clenched a bit today when I heard that Richard cried a little on his first day of school. Even though the teacher in me recognizes that it's perfectly normal for some kids to feel anxious and emotional in a new situation, especially one as important as school, I was still sorry that any child, especially one I really really love, had to feel that way, and so I resolved to make this year the smoothest transition ever from elementary to middle school for the kids who are coming my way in just a few short weeks.

Read All About It

It's Sunday, and I spent my morning in a traditional way-- drinking coffee and reading the paper. Early on in the morning, I read the most compelling piece, certainly of the day, but probably of the last six months. In his New York Times op/ed piece, Drew Westen, an Emory University professor of psychology, dissects what he sees as the primary weakness of the Obama presidency so far, starting with inauguration day. It's a fascinating read that rang a lot of bells for me personally.

I like his analysis of the importance of story-telling in the human experience (although I anticipate objections of readers who will complain that he is arguing that our leaders must treat us as children who cannot comprehend facts and thus must be fed parables), and I also appreciate his take on how bullies behave. His "bending the arc of history" metaphor, borrowed from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., was right on, as was his point that "After a great technological revolution or a major economic transition, as when America changed from a nation of farmers to an urban industrial one, there is often a period of great concentration of wealth, and with it, a concentration of power in the wealthy." In times such as those, Teddy Roosevelt worked to bust the monopolies, and Franklin Roosevelt set in motion the great society.

To emphasize the relevance of these historic cycles, Westen reminds us that in the US today, 400 people control more of the wealth than 150 million of their fellow Americans.

Now that's some story.

Momento Mori

"It was kind of gruesome, with all the skeletons and stuff..." I was telling my mom about one of the exhibits I saw the other day on my big museum trip.

"I would think that was right up your alley," she replied, and I shrugged, but because she couldn't see me do that through the phone line, I elaborated:

"Well, there were a lot of skeletons! Even a baby and a fetus..." I trailed off, and she agreed that such things might be difficult to see.

Our conversation moved on, but I'm still thinking about that part of it. She's right, not so long ago I was fascinated by forensic science. I was one of the legion who lined Patricia Cornwell's deep pockets, anxiously awaiting the next Scarpetta novel. One of my Christmas presents in 1990 was a workshop at the Smithsonian on forensic anthropology. Back in those days, nothing was too gorey or gross for me.

Twenty years on, my tolerance for such things has definitely diminished. I suspected as much (it started with the movies-- there were just some violent scenes that I found disturbing), but I noticed it for sure a few weeks ago when Josh and I were watching a NatGeo Explorer episode about the severed feet that keep washing up in Seattle and Vancouver. As riveting as it was, the graphic footage of the Body Farm, the time-elapsed shots of an underwater pig carcass, and even scientists shopping Home Depot for the perfect amputation tool and then testing it out on a cadaver all caused me to flinch a little.

Why?

Sad Sack

How come we never hear about the happy sacks?

I've mentioned how enamored I am of those little nylon drawstring bags. Ever since I turned my Spiderman one over to Richard, I have been on the hunt for another. It's not that they are hard to come by, but rather that I really wanted a "good" one, so even though it had been over a month, I still didn't have one yesterday when I went downtown to visit a couple of museums. (I know, I know, when I first saw the middle school kids with them, I thought they were silly, but if you haven't tried one, you'll have to take my word as a convert about how handy they are.)

I think the reason I like them so much is because I really do not like carrying a purse. The sensory issues involved with holding it, wearing it, watching out for it, etc. are too much for me. Nor do I like carrying anything in my hands. That leaves my pockets, and even pared down, my essential possessions, ID, debit card, 2 keys, money,and phone, that's a lot of stuff to cram in the pockets of my shorts. The beauty of the string bag is that all of that can go in there, and then the bag itself floats, nearly weightlessly, from your shoulders. Or it would have, if I happened to own one.

Luckily for me, at our first stop, my friend Mary accurately predicted that the museum gift shop might sell them. In no time, I was sporting a slick little purple bag with a cool caption, CREATIVITY TAKES COURAGE, by Matisse, and boy oh boy, I was a happy tourist after that. Until...

At the next museum we visited, I cheerfully presented my bag to the guard for inspection. "I don't need to see that," he told me, "but all bags must be worn in front of your body or held in your hand to the side."

My first reaction is almost always compliance, and since the bag was already in my hand, I let it drop to my side, and entered the gallery. I did slip it on frontways as we made our way to the exhibit we had come to see, but that just felt funny and looked silly. With a sigh, I carried my bag, until I was out of sight of any guards and then I slung it on my back defiantly. I did not want to be scolded by any museum personnel, but I did not understand the reasoning behind the rule, and so I was not motivated to follow it.

Eventually, another guard called me out for wearing the bag, and I dragged it along beside me the rest of the way through the museum, supremely disgruntled, the whole triumph of its acquisition nearly ruined. Fortunately, at our next stop, bags were allowed to be worn as they were intended, and being the owner of a cool purple nylon string bag became a good thing again.

As I chafed under the draconian bag rules of the other museum, though, my thoughts naturally turned to the students in our school. So often it is when they don't understand or buy into the rationale behind our rules and policies that they do not honor them.

I get that.

Don't Forget to Write

I've been checking in with the summer blog I set up for any students who were interested in continuing to write once school was out. Participation has definitely dwindled, but I'm not disappointed; there is still a handful of kids who blog regularly-- in fact just a few minutes ago I was commenting back and forth with a kid in Okinawa, where they are eating breakfast and weathering a major typhoon, and another kid in Bolivia, where they are enjoying a mild winter day in the tropics. I also wrote to another kid who is lucky enough to be on vacation in Paris.

It's easy to take technology for granted, but that's pretty cool, right? To me, it's nearly miraculous, especially considering that when I was in middle school, my family moved to Saudi Arabia, and staying in touch with my friends meant mailing a letter, knowing it would take at least 10 days to get there and then waiting another couple of weeks for a reply.

Screen Time

There's a restaurant near my home that is, shall we say, a little leftist in its leanings. They have a very progressive bookstore on the premises and they sponsor quite liberal lectures, readings, etc. Not surprisingly, the decor is pretty hip, and in one section, they run a continuous slide show with interesting illustrations that sport provocative captions.

If you're me, eating there and facing the screen, the slides, although undeniably cool at first, can become a borderline detraction from your dining experience-- especially the ones that are a little disturbing or have too much text to read before they switch. It's probably because I am obsessively drawn to the screen; I can't ignore it, and so I read the messages over and over.

I've recognized that screen time has become a bit of an issue with me lately, so much so, that I have begun deliberately limiting my exposure to the computer, iPad, and iPhone. Just today, I realized that movies have to be included, too.

TV is not as big a problem for me-- I must have overdosed long ago, and like a drinker who stays away from gin, I know my limits for television. There is family legend about me craning over the railing of my crib toward the TV, and as soon as I could read, I memorized the weekly TV Guide. (Of course, back then, it was just three networks and UHF.)

But all of that aside, there is much of value to be gleaned from the constant bombardment of images and text that we both choose and are subjected to. In the slideshow, for example there was one caption I found compelling every time: I just want to hear one person say that it wouldn't be the same without me.

It's not what you might think... I don't need to hear those words; I think I need to learn to say them.

The 5 Rs

Today I spent a few hours with a friend who teaches the same thing I do, sixth grade English, but at another school in our county. Brains buzzing, we whiled away the time plotting out and planning for the next school year. Our conversation reminded me that the first part of summer vacation is for relaxing and recovering, and the second half is for recharging, regrouping, and reorganizing.

Just Dreamy

I dreamed about school last night. It was one of those weird anxiety dreams and so I wasn't prepared for the lesson (as if that would ever stop me!), and the students were not cooperating. To further complicate matters, I was in a completely unfamiliar classroom, standing on top of a cabinet and trying to write on a whiteboard that was placed all the way up by the ceiling. But the cabinet was too high and a little too far to the left, so I had to squat and reach way over to write. Well, I would have had to, except my lesson never started. I was planning to have the students and visitors, did I mention there were visitors, too? Parents were there also, for some reason. Anyway, I was going to do a group brainstorm about why reading is important and what kinds of things the group had recently read, but the dry erase marker wouldn't write, and then the students wandered off, although their parents stayed, waiting expectantly for the activity to begin, until at last the bell rang.

It wasn't a very restful night.

On This Date...

JK Rowling turns 46
Harry Potter turns 31
and Bingo the cat?
18 baby!
Now that's old!
Happy Birthday Bing!

For the Birds

The dry summer we are having has made the ripening tomatoes in the garden verrry appealing to the birds. They just peck through the wall of the not-quite-ready tomatoes and sip out the juice. Isn't that clever? How refreshing it must be for them. Last year, they didn't go near them, but now they don't even hesitate when I am standing right there.

I'd like to peacefully co-exist with the other creatures in the neighborhood, and I can share, even, but I threw out at least a dozen disintegrating tomatoes this afternoon. This is war, birds.

We Open Late

You can imagine how it is when some people, newly-met, learn that one is an English teacher-- I'll have to be careful of what I say, they might remark, although that response was much more common when I started teaching. I did have a friend once tell me that he would never write to me again if I ever corrected his grammar, and of course I agreed. (To be honest, it was worse when I was a cook and people would never invite me over for dinner.)

In fact, people who know me know that I'm not a language nit-picker. Particularly as a teacher, I err on the side of meaningful communication every time, because you can always fix your grammar mistakes. For my birthday, my mom gave me a copy of Grammar Rants by Patricia A. Dunn and Ken Lindblom, the premise of which is that by analyzing the denunciations of language critics we can educate students (and ourselves) about language and correctness and how they impact good writing.

Still, I giggled a little today when I read the marquis at a fast food restaurant. For want of a verb, the message was lost.

Apocalypse Later

This phrase can apply to so many things today, not the least of which is our movie viewing plans for Josh's last night here. We also went to the Newseum today, which was a nice companion visit to the Capitol. One of the many cool features of this museum dedicated to the press and its constitutionally guaranteed freedom is the daily display of a newspaper front page from each state. May I tell you, fellow beltway insiders, that very few of them even mentioned the debt ceiling.

The People's Office Building

We visited the US Capitol today and were fortunate to have a friend give us a "beyond the public tour" tour. She works for the Senate, so we stayed on the northside of the rotunda, and the insiders view of that place was fascinating. Starting with the fresco restoration project and carrying through to the floor tiles, picture frames, office assignments, stairways, balconies, and the actual chamber itself, "the Capitol" became a much more concrete place, even to this inside the beltway denizen. As we walked the halls and passageways, we saw Senators Boxer, Webb, Leahy, Rockefeller, Hagan, and Coburn, mere mortals, one and all.

I can't decide if the fact that our representatives are just people is heartening or not. I guess we'll all find out in the next couple of weeks.

ADD Woman

Since one of the themes of our summer so far has been characters with extraordinary capabilities, I suppose it's only reasonable to speculate about my own super power. Hmmmm. Well if forced to guess, I might say I am an effective multitasker who is yet able to hyperfocus in a split second.

Why, just today, caught a package of chicken wings midair as it plunged from its shelf in the grocery cold case. Later, at the check out, I handed a little boy a copy of the New Yorker split seconds after his grandmother asked him to fetch it for her. His amazement was palpable in the thanks he gave me, so present in fact that I felt the need to apologize and explain that I was really not eavesdropping.

Surely Nick Fury will be calling on me any day.

(Did I mention I can hold my breath a really long time, too?)

Uncle

"I don't think I'll be eating any more burgers," Josh whispered to me as the lights went down in the theater. We were seeing the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie and had just checked Five Guys off our summer burger list. I nodded with understanding. Science can exact a hefty toll on even the most dedicated researcher.

Just so you know-- it was the bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a coke that put him over, and there will be more to come on this grand experiment when we analyze our data.

Que Lastima

Why is it that there are so many TV shows these days that are predicated on witnessing/exploring/causing(?) somebody's misfortune? What do we as viewers gain from this spectacle?

Just wondering.

Super

Another of our summer serial pursuits has been to see the new Marvel Comics based movies and revisit the past ones, as well. We started with X-men First Class and saw all the earlier ones, then Captain America, Thor, and Iron Man 2. It's been especially fun to look for the connections they have worked into all of those movies in order to set up the first Avengers movie next year.

As a kid I was never a big comic book reader. Sure, I bought Archie at the airport news stand whenever we traveled, but not much else beyond that. I think I may have missed out, but fortunately, it's not too late.

The Drear Light of Zoo

I had my writing group last night and as implausible as it seems, I found myself sitting at the desk in my classroom at 3:30 with no idea of what I wanted to write and bring to share. Sure, the classroom was bare, walls empty and brown paper neatly taped over the bookshelves, but it was also quiet, and I brooded without interruption.

I had come mostly because my printer is acting up and I just haven't taken the time to troubleshoot it, but I also had a hunch that away from the distractions of home, I might be a bit more productive. Writing has been hard for me this summer; I cling to my daily devotions, but it has been a while since I was satisfied with the product. And so here I was, all alone, printer at the ready, and still bereft of inspiration. Sigh. I turned to my writing notebook, though, and it came through for me in a satisfying enough way. I liked what I wrote.

Tonight we are watching the movie Howl with James Franco as Alan Ginsberg, mostly because Josh has been on a Jack Kerouac kick this summer. There are many observations I could make about teenaged boys, sexuality, and the Beats, but let's just say that this movie definitely moves the conversation forward. For me, it is also an excellent opportunity to revisit what I know of those disillusioned, self-destructive, but very creative young people, most of which I learned in grad school.

Ginsberg's words on creativity and life and living a creative life with integrity make my own writing struggles seem a bit petty and amateur. I may be tortured, but I'm certainly no genius. In fact, I'd love to commune more nakedly with my muse right now, but I really need to get dinner on the table.

In Support of Courteous Discourse OR Watch Your Tone, Buddy

There's just something about the anonymity of the internet that brings out the worst in some people.

For instance I like to read a certain blog; published by a former news writer/producer and focusing only on what's happening in our small county, to the exclusion of the larger metro area we are a part of, it has a lot of information I might otherwise miss. As much as I appreciate the inside tidings, though, I try never to read the comments on any of the stories, because I'm usually discouraged (and sometimes shocked) by the negative, vitriolic tone adopted by so many people who post.

As an example, there was a story published today about the departure of one of the assistant superintendents for our school system. The brief piece was accompanied by a photograph and stated simply that he was leaving and gave an overview of his accomplishments while he was on the job. Here's a sample of the comments:

That is an immensely creepy picture.

yep, creeeeeepy!

From the picture he looks awfully young to “retire.” Are taxpayers now going to have to pay gold-plated pension benefits for the next 30 years for him?

Ever hear of “early retirement,” Or “Just for Men” hair dye?

That’s like one of those real estate agent pictures — way old. He’s put on at least 50 pounds since that picture was shot.

That explains the size of the picture, then–it was taken in the 1960s

He looks like Jack Black.

Umm, why are so many high level school district leaders leaving?

rats fleeing a sinking ship? or the pay is crap

Such comments are an issue I struggle with as a teacher who administers a blog and discussion board for my students. I want them to express their thoughts and ideas in writing, and I want them to do so freely, but I also want the discourse to be respectful and relevant, so what happens is, I often take students aside to discuss their intentions when they have posted remarks that don't fit my idea of courtesy. I don't censor them, but usually they edit themselves.

Seems like those guys on that blog need a little talking to.

Are You Really Going to Go Down in History Looking Like That?

We visited Madame Tussaud's wax museum today and there were some interesting facts to be gleaned, most of them having to do with the hall of presidents. Coming eye to eye, so to speak, with so many of our chief executives, it didn't take me long to notice that most of them were... yes, they were white men, but they were also blue-eyed white men. I was curious enough to do a little research, and it turns out that only six, six! of our presidents have had brown eyes. Can you guess who? The answer will appear at the bottom of this post.

Another fascinating detail was that our shortest president, James Madison, was officially 5'4", but seriously? That measurement HAD to be in either on his toes or in his clunky shoes, because that guy was super short. Our final bit of presidential trivia had to do with facial hair. The founding fathers were clean shaven with the following chief executives transitioning to some serious mutton chops. After that, beards and mustaches were quite common until the early 20th century. Think about it, dear reader, what serious candidate for that office has had facial hair in your memory? If you can remember Thomas Dewey, then that's who, but the last president with any kinda anything on his face was Taft.

Of all the 43, my personal favorite was Andrew Jackson; there was something very old hickory about the guy, but that's hardly surprising, right?

Brown-eyed Presidents: John Quincy Adams, Andrew Johnson, Chester Arthur, Lyndon Johnson, Richard Nixon, and Barack Obama. (For the record, three of the six were not elected president, but only took office after their predecessor was assassinated.)

Situational

We ran into a friend from work at Target today. It was a bit of a challenge to shop and catch up, but the three of us veteran multitaskers managed nicely, even separating and then reuniting in the checkout line for the last little chat.

Of course the conversation turned to summer activities, and for us that report always includes Josh. "I just don't get it," our friend said. "How can his mom let him go?"

We get that a lot. Our history with Josh is sort of complicated, but really? Lots of parents part with their kids for extended lengths of time for many reasons: boarding school, camp, etc. Such separation always has its pros and cons, and I'm not a parent, but why judge?

Tonight I asked Josh if he missed home and he said, "Not really, it hasn't been THAT long. Besides, I needed a break. They were really starting to bug me."

I was curious. "What were they doing to bother you?" I asked.

"Well, my brother and sister are probably the most annoying people on the planet."

"They're little," I said. "What can you do?" Then I added, "When you were that little, people put up with you."

"I know," he conceded.

"Wait, I take that back," I said. "When you were little, we passed you around like a hot potato, and I guess we still do," I laughed.

"Yup," he answered, but he definitely smiled.

Fun FILLED

This morning we woke Josh up around 9:30 and then Heidi drove us out to Historic Downtown Herndon where we hopped on the W&OD bike trail for the 21 mile ride home. It was hot and sunny, but still fun, and one of the highlights was the young indigo bunting that hopped-flew along the trail with us for a a few seconds, long enough to get a good look at that usually shy bird. We made a pit-stop at the Whole Foods in Vienna and fueled up for the rest of the ride. Once home, we quickly showered and then went to get Victor and Treat for another hamburger tasting. This one was at Carlyle, technically not a burger joint at all, but, before all the tasting, it was home to my favorite burger in town, so I wanted to see how it held up. Beautifully, as it turns out, and their pommes frites style fries are simply unbeatable. Another reason we chose that place for lunch is because we wanted to catch the new documentary on the hip-hop band A Tribe Called Quest. Directed by Michael Rappaport, I thought it was a pretty good movie. Next, it was off to the pool, and now, here we are, tired but satisfied, another summer day drawing to dark.

Summer Boy

The other day, we went to the pool with a neighbor and her kids. She's met Josh before, and she kind of knows the story of how he is our summer child, but I don't think she really gets it.

"How's it going?" she asked me.

"Oh, y'know, it's always kind of an adjustment at first," I said.

"Why?" she wondered. "Is it typical teenaged defiance?"

I think I actually snorted at the very notion of that. "No!" I told her. "It's just that we're not used to adjusting our plans for a kid!"

A Harry-Shaped Hole

Well, we did it. We managed to watch all the Harry Potter movies including the latest and last one, within the space of five days. Like any ambitious endeavor, this one became a bit consuming-- it filled nearly 25% of our waking time, not to mention our conversations and dreams.

"Sad but satisfying," seems to be the prevailing review of HPDH2, and I will echo that. As we stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house I had two things on my mind, the genius of JK Rowling and how to fill the infinite Harry-less hours ahead.

My July Almanac

Average length of daylight: 14 hours, 38 minutes
Family Birthdays: 8
Miles from our house to Mount Vernon by bike: 16.52
Number of different state license plates in the parking lot: 36
Pool water temperature: 88
Number of green tomatoes in the garden: 200+
Minutes of Harry Potter movies combined: 1179 (19 hours, 36 minutes)
Average burger consumption: 6 per person
Smoothie flavor: Peach
Full Moon: July 15, nicknamed "The Full Buck Moon"

Time Zones

During the school year I must rise at 5:30 to get all my morning chores done and still arrive at work on time. If you had asked me twenty-five years ago if such a thing was possible for me, I would likely have called it a deal breaker. I was a night owl and a late sleeper and I'm quite certain that it would have been my opinion that no job could possibly be worth such a drastic schedule change. Back then, the few times I had ever seen that hour were either at the end of an all-nighter or the beginning of a trip, and the grey light of dawn was always accompanied by that sick tiredness in my stomach.

I was wrong about that though. When I went back to school to get my education degree and teaching license, I had to switch my cooking shift at the flight kitchen where I was working. 2 PM to 10 was out, 6 AM to 2 was in, and my alarm was set for 4:45. Ugh. In light of those days, 5:30 seems like sleeping in. To be honest, though, even after 20 years of early rising, I do not pop brightly out of bed, ever, and even if 7:30 or 8 is "sleeping late," it still seems early. (For the record: teaching is a career that is worth it.)

I recognize the up side of starting your day way before noon, though, and so I find living with a teenaged boy who wants to sleep until 2 in the afternoon to be just a little irritating. We're six hours or more into our day before Josh ever makes an appearance, and then he's surprised when we turn at midnight. It seems silly (and maybe a little bit petty) to wake him up on principle, though, so I'm planning a few fun things over the next couple of weeks that just happen to begin in the AM.

Halfway There

We are watching all the Harry Potter movies this week in order to prepare for the very last of them all, Deathly Hallows 2, which will be released on Friday. Tonight we saw Goblet of Fire, and as Hermione says at the end, "Everything is going to change now, isn't it?" Well maybe not everything, but it certainly will be the end of an era.

What Goes Around Comes Around

I thought it was cool when my nephew asked for a turn table for Christmas last year. I had heard vague things about a renaissance of vinyl records and that just seemed like so much more proof. For his birthday today, we got him the new Wilco album on vinyl.

I remember when I bought my first CD. It was 25 years ago, and I loved how compact it was and how clear the sound was. I loved the whirring of the CD player, the way the tray opened and closed at the touch of the button. By comparison to that clean plastic case and shiny disc, my records and their cardboard covers seemed heavy, dusty, and old-fashioned. Within ten years the turntables were gone from our stereo cabinet and all the vinyl was in the basement.

But vinyl's decline was only temporary. It seems that most audiophiles actually prefer the quality of sound on a vinyl recording. Pair that with the convenience of mp3 recordings, and it turns out that it is now the CD which is endangered.

It was funny to see a wrapped LP today for the first time in at least 30 years. It used to be such a tell-tale package. "But you don't know which album it is," we would always say, "so it's still a surprise."

Nobody at the family birthday dinner tonight seemed to recognize the shape when we brought it in, though, even though I jokingly told everyone it was a calendar. "You don't know what year it is," I added, "so it will still be a surprise." They didn't really get it, but when Treat opened the gift, he was pleased.

The older folks among us started gushing about how much better the artwork was on a larger scale and how great it was to have all the words to the songs printed inside. My sister-in-law told us that at first, Treat wasn't sure where to put the needle to play an album. How would he? And in his own defense, he shrugged and pointed out that records are round, they don't really have a starting place.

"You know you can put the needle down on any track you want, though, right?" I asked. "You just look at the fat lines." He didn't know what I was talking about, and started to open the album to see. There followed a lot of direction about the best way to pull a record from the sleeve and the best way to hold it once it's out. All that audio etiquette that went out with the CD player is suddenly relevant again. Not only that, there's a whole skill set that almost skipped a generation. Fortunately? My nephew's a smart kid, so I'm sure he'll be able to spin a disc in no time.

Continuing Education

Today my friend and colleague Ellen and I went to a presentation at our local chapter of the National Writing Project Summer Institute. We are both Teacher Consultants, having gone through the 5 week SI ourselves-- me five years ago, and Ellen 12 years ago.

The presentation this morning was given by a dynamic young teacher and was on the topic of writing profiles with your students. I was especially interested, because I tried this genre for the first time just last month at the end of the school year, and I was very pleased with the results.

It was cool to hear how someone else taught it-- her approach was much more involved and well-developed-- but what was even cooler, both Ellen and I agreed, was to be surrounded by teachers with the same frame of mind about writing and teaching and teaching writing. The NWP is all about engaging, student-centered instruction, authentic writing, and writing to learn as well as learning to write. For example, one of the themes of today's presentation was using writing to give voice to ordinary people and uncovering, recognizing, and celebrating the extraordinary in all of us.

As we walked back to our car, we both wondered what it might be like if everyone taught that way, and we were both baffled as to why they don't.

Spoiled

Here's the thing about being off in the summer. Unlike during the school year where weekends are precious and never long enough, and you try to cram in as many errands and as much fun and relaxation as possible, now weekends seem needlessly crowded with all those workaday folks by the pool, in the store, at the movies, or on the trails. In fact, one quickly adjusts and replans most activities to take advantage of that midweek downtime. It only seems right to spread out the usage and patronize the off hours.

Someone's gotta do it.

Venius

Heidi is always super-appreciative to any who will listen about the vegan cooking I do for her, but I have to confess that I may be totally starting to believe my own press about it. Plus, I like the challenge of it! Today? Breakfast was light and crispy waffles, Carolina peaches, toasted walnuts, and maple syrup. For lunch? Spelt spaghetti with a lemon-basil marinara and a zesty green olive, caper, toasted almond, and nutritional yeast topping. Dinner was beer-battered zucchini finger tacos with lime slaw and roasted corn, tomato and avocado salad.

I'm sayin!

Planet of the Burgers

Today was a classic summer vacation day around here. I spent a few hours at the garden this morning, weeding watering and pruning and harvesting 20 pounds of humongous zucchini and yellow squash, then it was time for lunch.

In these tough economic times, the humble hamburger has become king. Steak houses might be fewer and fewer, but there are at least a half-dozen high end burger joints within a five mile radius. With this in mind, I proposed a summer project to my three teenaged nephews: Let's find the best darn burger in the area. The rules are simple, but evolving. They must have a veggie burger for Heidi, and we will rate them on their burgers, buns, sauces, and of course fries. We will consider service and decor, beverages and music, but they will only be deciding factors in case of a tie.

Our beta burger review took place today at a branch of the chain BGR. The burgers were huge (too huge, even for the boys) and juicy (too juicy-- our buns became soggy, because Treat didn't tell us until half-way through to turn the sandwich over when you get it) and the servings of hot hot hot crispy crispy fries were more than generous. Heidi liked the molasses in her veggie burger (it gave it a smoky BBQ note), but it was a tad too sweet. We may have to take a day or two off before our next stop.

After that, what else? A movie. We saw Super 8, and it was very satisfying. Before the show, though, they previewed the new Planet of the Apes prequel, and Josh was intrigued. He had no idea it was part of a classic franchise, so when we got home I promptly downloaded both the 1968 original (yes, Charleton Heston, pre-NRA, and younger than I am now) and the 2001 Tim Burton re-make with Marky-Mark and Helena Bonham Carter. We watched the first, and I would have totally double featured it, but after such a fun-filled day, it's a little too late tonight.

Fortunately, we have time.

In Season

When I was four we moved to a house that had a peach tree in the backyard, and so summer mornings meant padding outside barefoot in our pajamas to choose a perfectly ripe peach to eat, warm and juicy, for breakfast. A couple years later blight forced my parents to take the tree down, but to be honest, I mourn it still.

Peaches are the one fruit that I refuse to buy out of season. The apple is admirable in its longevity, berries and asparagus from South America, while not preferable, are edible, and I can even work with those hard greenish tomatoes, but crunchy winter, sour spring, or mealy fall peaches? No thank you.

Today on our trip north from Atlanta, we made a peach pit stop. It's usually easy to pass those well-advertised places by, knowing that most of the their inventory is limited to pickled peaches, peach preserves, peach cider, and peach pecan syrup, but early July in South Carolina? Irresistible! We bought a big basket of small freestone peaches and placed them carefully on the backseat so that for the next 450 miles the scent of fresh peaches occasionally drifted up front. When we stopped for gas, I ate two, standing in the warm evening air and dripping sweet juice onto the pavement, and well-sustained and very satisfied, I drove the rest of the way home.

It's Relative

Age difference can be a tricky thing. Whether we are considering siblings, students in a grade, friends, or spouses, a couple or twelve years can definitely shape the relationship. What makes things interesting is that usual complicating variable-- relativity, particularly of the human kind. There is no recipe for perfection, and any age difference can work for or against you. My father was one of eight siblings in his family; there were seven boys and one sister; he was the second youngest, she was the second oldest, and yet, as adults, they were closest to each other.

Who knows why? Certainly, as we get older, age differences that once seemed insurmountable become much more workable. On my team of teachers, we have people ranging in age from 25 to 63, but we all do the same job, and for the most part, we work well together. Contrast that to a conversation I overheard one day shortly before the end of the school year. It was the annual visit of the next year's students, so for two days, we had fifth graders and their teachers touring the halls and peeking in our classrooms, trying to get a feel for middle school. One of the girls in my class recognized a boy from her elementary school. "I always thought he was kind of cute," she said to the girl next to her.

Her friend looked at her in disbelief. "Omigah! You are such a cougar!"

Paying It Forward

Around the same time that we were having treasure hunts on rainy days, courtesy of my mom, Saturday mornings were spent under the care of my dad while my mother taught religion classes at our church. He always fried bacon, cut oranges into eighths, and served us coffee with lots of milk and sugar. He would also use all the furniture cushions and some blankets to help us make forts in the living room where we would eat our bacon and oranges, drink our coffee, and peek out to watch cartoons on TV.

As I write, Richard and Annabelle are camped out on top of their bed pillows, surrounded by couch cushions with a Diego blanket draped over the top, and watching Scooby Doo on the iPad. It is a pretty impressive structure, if I do say so myself. Thanks, Dad.