Quite Contrary

June 3

July 18

It's been a tough year in the garden: we were late getting it in; we were gone for two weeks; there was a derecho, and it's been very dry.

All in all, I can't complain. Although there aren't silver bells and cockle shells, there are pretty tomatoes all in a row.

The Soul of a Chef

When people find out that I used to work as a chef, they often ask what my specialty was. It's a question that stumps me, because any chef will tell you that their specialty is the dish the last diner loved. 

Even so, on the path to find the perfect dish for someone else, you must pursue what you like as well. Most chefs will tell you that they started cooking because they wanted something to eat that they knew they couldn't get anywhere else. Mother Necessity exercises her considerable influence again.

Let me give you an example. A friend of mine posted this about her 4-year-old on fb today:

So Isaac just made himself a sandwich, but he needed help gathering ingredients. He said, "Mommy, I will need the ham. And peanut butter. And mayonnaise and jelly. And ketchup." 

I asked what flavor jelly? Cherry, peach or grape? 

He said, "Whichever one you think is the best for my sandwich." 

Raised eyebrows and knowing nods all around, right?

Almanac: July 16, 2012

96 degrees
8:32 sunset
7 swans a-swimming or 7, 7, I forget what 7 was for
6 AM flight for Mom
5:57 sunrise
4 birthdays-- Victor, Kyle, Tonya, and Unika
3 sixth grade teams-- Dolphins, Owls, and Stingrays
2 movies-- Beasts of the Southern Wild and Prometheus
1 waning crescent moon

Long Days of Summer

We were arriving home from a movie and dinner just a little while ago. The clouds were shreds of charcoal and violet against a periwinkle sky. A single star glimmered in the dusk. "9:15," Heidi noted, "and almost dark. The days are getting shorter." She sighed.

My mom nodded in agreement, but I shrugged. "What are you talking about?" I said. "Summer is hardly winding down."

Before they could object, I continued. "If you were seven and you had to go to bed when it was still light out at 7:30 in your underwear because it was too hot for pajamas, then you would know that July has verrry long days!"

I guess that was a formative experience.

Gracious Isabel

Here's another reason why our dog is great:

We got her a new bed today, a special Sealy posturepedic model for the aging pooch. (Ok, so it was a bit of a splurge, but her birthday is Tuesday. She'll be nine.) When we brought it home and showed her, she was polite enough to roll right on it and then lie down and stretch out with a comfortable sigh.

Now that's gratitude!

Happy Birthday Cupcake

 Tomorrow I'm going card shopping. From July 12 to July 17 we have seven birthdays.

I know that some people despise the greeting card industry. I get it-- set aside all those holidays they have ginned up for their own profit, there's a whole raft of people making their living by basically telling us what we are feeling so that we can send our sentiments to others without taking the time to write them ourselves. (Seriously--who has time for that, right?)

Oh, but I have a soft spot in my heart for the greeting card aisle. Sometimes, those hacks can really put their finger on some string of your relationship that you may or may not have overlooked. Who cares if they are sitting in a cubicle in Nebraska throwing wadded paper at each other? If it's funny, I laugh, and if it fits, I send it. Har, har, har.

Summer Time Zone

During the school year I find that I don't always sleep well. It's usually an early wake-up and trouble falling back to sleep-- too many things on my mind make it hard to drift back off. For a while I thought it might be my age; I took an herbal supplement, and I'd like to say it helped, but I'm not so sure.

We busted out of here the day after school ended to spend two weeks in Maine, and I forgot my supplement the whole time we were there. I also slept fine. Once we were back and there were a few things I needed to get up for, I woke up again in the middle of the night. Call me Sigmund, but that seems pretty psychological to me.

It makes me wonder about internal clocks and every day anxiety. Left to my own devices, I wake up between 7:30 and 8. I eat a few small meals throughout the day and am ready for dinner between 7:30 and 8 at night. It's easy to lose track of the time between the pool, the kitchen, the computer, and the conversation, but Heidi is often reminding me that we really have no deadlines. It takes a while, but I eventually relax.

That's cool, until I look up and it's almost midnight and I haven't posted my blog.

No worries. It's 11:11 somewhere.

Overtime

I was in the pool this evening when our neighbors splashed over. Their daughter will be in sixth grade at my school next year and they had some friendly questions.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am not the sort to engage in conversation casually; small talk is a struggle. Not so tonight-- ask me a specific professional question and away I go. I had no problem chatting with them for well over 20 minutes.

On the way home we checked our mailbox, and our contracts were there. Through a series of funding changes and snafus the school system was unable to have us formally commit to returning next year before we left in June; so it was that today we had big envelopes with explicit directions to Open Immediately. I did as I was instructed, and then I did a little happy dance when I saw that my salary would crest a level I never dreamed I'd earn.

Being informally on call at the pool? My pleasure.

And that summer vacation thing? It's not too bad either.

Proveganda

Last night after I went to bed, Heidi and Josh watched Forks Over Knives, the documentary that turned our kitchen upside down. As I drifted off, I heard Josh raising objections, and I appreciated his critical thinking. Try as I might, I don't think veganism is for me.

We were rushing to get on the road this morning to reunite Josh and his full-time family. I offered to heat up his left over pizza for a quick breakfast, and he gratefully accepted. His left over bacon cheese pizza.

"How was it?" I asked on the way to the car.

"It was good, but somehow it didn't seem right eating it," he answered, "all that bacon."

Another one bites the dust.

Listen Bud

Josh is going home tomorrow and so we let him pick the movies the last couple of days. Yesterday it was Ted, which was a bit of a disappointment to all. Heidi and I thought it was kind of a vulgar, not very funny movie, and Josh found it hilarious in places, but inconsistent. Either way, it was a little uncomfortable to sit next to him through drug use and raunchy sex talk.

Today it was The Amazing Spider Man. Not a bad movie, but for me it added nothing new to all the other Spider man movies I've seen-- I mean how many times do you need to see (or read about, or watch on TV) a  guy in red and blue tights swinging through an urban canyon to get it that it would be cool to be bitten by a radioactive spider?

Even so, I appreciate the complexity of the Marvel Comics universe. I admire that the movies generally stand alone but also work on a different level for the most dedicated of fans. For them, the producers always embed another layer of connection and information that we casual fans can mine like gold nuggets, if we are of the mind.

And yes, we stayed for the extra scene after the first credits. Who was that guy??

If Not for You

The darkness was falling fast as walked  down the fire road behind Heidi's stretcher. Fifteen volunteers took turns bearing the weight as they rolled her over the uneven terrain on one nubby mountain bike tire. "We're double timing!" one guy announced jubilantly, and they really were, considering that they had just carried her down from a height of 500 feet over a half mile of granite ledges and boulders.

One of the two women volunteers fell into step with me. She was about my age, and we had seen her slip and actually fall a few times on the trail. We had also seen her spring right back up and into action each time. "Do you know how to get to the hospital from here?" she asked and then helpfully clarified my vague ideas about the directions.

"You go right past the village green," she said, "but you'll miss the concert," she smiled wryly. "That ends at nine."

I had no idea it was even close to nine o'clock, there is a certain timelessness that sets in with any crisis.

"Our son plays in the band," she continued. "In fact, he's the reason we're here. Last summer he was working on a trail maintenance crew when one of his co-workers was injured. He came home and told us it took 20 people to carry him out. 20 people! We looked at each other and said, 'We can help with that!' and so we do."

I sighed. "Wow," I said, "You hike these trails and you never think about what would happen if you couldn't get down. Well... I never do, anyway. Thank goodness you all are here. What would we have done without you? I'm not sure how to thank you."

She nodded and then gestured to Josh and Riley and Treat. "Well, I think we made an impression on some young people," she said. "If they see that they can help out, then that's a good start."

Losing Streak

Well, we made it home from Maine about an hour ago, but not before we crashed the mini-van on I-95 in Connecticut. Bright spot? Zip ties, which are available for sale at all NJ Tpk rest stops, work wonders to hold a crunched up rear panel on.

Sigh.

Half and Half

I wouldn't call myself an optimist, exactly, but I never really expect things to go wrong, either. Therefore contingency planning is not my strength, but on the other hand, I can usually roll with it when unexpected things come up.

That's how it was yesterday when we were hiking Acadia Mountain. Of all the trails in the park, that one is one of my favorite because of the dramatic views of Somes Sound as you descend a pretty steep granite trail from the summit. Most of it is like high steps, although there is a bit of scrabbling, and the older I get, the more likely I am to sit down, swing my legs over, and scootch my butt forward until I can hop down. Even so, we had the dogs with us, and they were doing fine.

The boys are strong and have young joints like springs, so they were way in the lead. Emily was ahead and Bill and Heidi and I were walking and talking when Heidi put her leg down and grimaced. "Uh oh," she said, "I just hurt something."

The pain was obvious as she swayed a little. "Do you feel faint?" Bill asked, taking her elbow and helping her to sit.

"A little," she answered, "I kind of want to lay down."

From there it was a volley of questions, utilizing the meager first aid kit I always carry, and ultimately, when we realized she couldn't walk, calling 9-1-1.

The rest is a story we will tell for years: How the next hikers along the trail happened to be MDI Search and Rescue volunteers, and I could hear the dispatch of my call squawking from their walkie talkies even before I was even off the phone. How Riley, Treat, and Josh hiked up and down the trail to meet and assist the rangers and other SAR team members. How Heidi really wanted to walk down, but eventually consented to being strapped into a stretcher and hand carried out a mile by twelve guys, including Josh and Riley. How the injury happened before five, and it was 9:30 when we emerged from the forest. How we didn't want to go the ER, but were pressured into it. How Josh rode in the ambulance so I could drive the van. How we laughed at our antics at the hospital as we tried to entertain ourselves for three hours with no food or rest. How today Heidi is walking with a bit of a limp and some soreness, but otherwise is getting around fine.

The thing is, we pretty much knew on the trail that it was a pulled muscle. If she had been running at home, she would have called me to come get her, and after ice, compression, elevation, and rest, she might have seen a doctor. 500 feet up, however, there was no way down other than to rely on the NPS and the MDI SAR (and for them, we are grateful).

As Bill, Emily, Treat, the dogs, and I slowly followed the procession bearing our injured Heidi down the mountain, there were plenty of opportunities to pause and contemplate the view. It was gorgeous-- the sun was setting and night was gathering over the mountains, islands, and boats before us. Another time, I might be in a rush to make the trail head before dark, but all rules were off then. I snapped a few pictures and wondered if Heidi and I would ever go hiking again. How could we, when we knew what could happen?

Later, though, when we all talked about it, we said how lucky we had been, and how well things had worked out, considering. And ultimately, that's the question isn't it? Do you allow the possible pitfalls and perils of everyday life to prevent you from doing what you like, or do you deal with setbacks as they arise?

I guess that's the proverbial cup we all must drink from.

Meeting the Locals

Josh, Heidi, and I were waiting in the ER this evening when an orderly pushed a somewhat disheveled woman past us on a gurney.

"Is that the pizza delivery guy?" she asked loudly. No one answered so she waved at Josh. "Hey! Are you the pizza delivery guy?"

"Uh, no," he answered.

"Well you really look like him!" she said, and then she was gone.

Yeah. There's more to the story. Tune in tomorrow.

One Morning in Maine

My sister's family is heading home to Atlanta tomorrow, so when I saw a copy of One Morning in Maine by Robert McCloskey today in a gift shop in Lubec, I bought it for the kids, hoping that whenever they read it in the future it will remind them fondly of our vacation here.

This evening Annabelle and I sat side by side on the couch with the book spread across our laps. I turned to the imprint and saw that it was published in 1952. We began to read; the story is about Sal, of blueberry fame, waking up one summer morning to find her tooth is loose. The illustrations and text continue her tale as she scrambles down to the rocky beach past a fishing eagle, loon, seal, and flock of sea gulls to meet her dad who is clamming.

Culminating in a trip across the bay by row boat to visit the village which is little more than a dock, garage, church, and general store, is a charming story, but to me the most notable thing is how little has changed up here in the last sixty years.

Mayberry

Word today that Andy Griffith died. I was never a big fan of the show, but who wouldn't want an Aint Bea? Not to mention that watching that cute Opie grow up into first Richie Cunningham and then an Oscar-nominated director was almost like having a famous cousin or something. As for Andy himself, I think what appealed to me most was his unwavering good will. He was the embodiment of the Dalai Lama's advice: Be kind whenever possible. It's always possible.

Set aside the other stereotypes of small town America: more than anything else that spirit embodies the mythicism of Mayberry for me. It was a place with a giant safety net, where people could make mistakes, suffer the consequences, learn their lesson, and still sit down to a warm supper, or at least a cool glass of lemonade on the porch.

We've been spending the last week in a rather rural part of Maine. Towns around here might have a post office, meeting hall, school, and maybe, just maybe, a store of some sort. This afternoon, I was rushing to meet the other half of our family and so I took a calculated risk-- let the gas light come on and fill up after the hike.

6:55 found us pulling up to a general store with a couple of gas pumps in Birch Harbor. With only 35 miles left in our tank, Mom and I went in to pay for the gas. Inside, we joined a line of 3 or 4 people, but when we got to the front, the cashier informed us that it was after seven, and the pumps were closed.

Fortunately, the manager was nearby, and before we even had a chance to panic she intervened. "If they need gas," she said, "we'll turn on the pumps."

And in a few minutes, we were on our way home to a warm supper.

The Queen of Flying Mountain

It's not always easy coordinating the activities of twelve people who happen to live in five different households, but family vacations can be demanding in that way. Today we split into four groups and headed off in different directions with loose plans to text and meet up in a few hours.

The three big boys went solo on a hike over the Beehive and on to summit Champlain, and although I envied them, my little group of Grandma, Heidi, Annabelle, the dogs, and I had a sweet adventure of our own.

Flying Mountain got its name because from the ground it looks like it is fleeing from the larger peaks of St. Saveur and Acadia behind it. At just over a couple hundred feet, it offers some of the best views on the island in a sort of compacted hike of piney woods and granite ledges. The trail ends on a rocky beach where dogs and kids will happily scramble over barnacled boulders to splash into Somes Sound.

Our merry band of hikers enjoyed it all. We ate apples and pita chips at the summit, spied little trampolines for spiders, found letters in the tree roots, shook a few baby balsam trees, and sang loudly in the rain all the way back to the car.

It was just how imagined my birthday vacation might be.

My Next Fifty Years

When I considered how I wanted to start my fifty-first year I hit upon the idea of a sunrise hike. Just a few miles from here is a 300 foot or so nubble of a mountain called Pigeon Hill overlooking several piney islands and the Gulf of Maine beyond. At this time of year, the sun comes up before five AM this far north, and so I set my alarm for four AM.

I heard the soft patter of light rain as soon as I opened my eyes, and peering out the window, I knew the plan was a wash. Only slightly disappointed (it was 4 AM after all), I alerted the boys and my mom that the hike was off and went back to sleep.

I didn't give up though, and this morning at 3:55 there were a few clouds in the sky, but nothing to justify bagging the plan again. Heidi got up, and so did Emily, Josh, Treat, and Victor. In the lessening gloom we found the trail head and started up at a quick pace-- it would be silly to get up so early and miss the main event. 4:45 found us perched on a conveniently bench-like section of the granite ledge on the eastern shoulder of Pigeon Hill.

The horizon was a hazy pink and orange and for a time I was worried that our sunrise would be obscured by clouds.

"C'mon, Sun! You can do it!" Josh said.

And then, just as sure as the sun rises in the east, the sun rose in the east.

And it was breathtaking.

Saturday Night Special

I was born on a Saturday night fifty years ago today, and this morning I sat on a gigantic deck overlooking Pinkham Bay in Steuben, Maine considering my birthday dinner. My whole family has traveled thousands of miles from Minnesota, Georgia, Pennsylvania, and Virginia to spend the week with me, and nothing could be more special than that. Even so, we have to eat, and meals are always a celebration for us. I knew there would be lobster, of course, but what else should we have?

When we were kids, our usual Saturday night dinner was steak, french fries, salad, and sauteed mushrooms, peppers, and onions. My mom bought an economical cut of beef, grilled or broiled it, and then sliced it thin. A few shakes of Lawry's seasoned salt and it was the finest of entrees to us. My dad peeled the potatoes and hand-cut them for the fries. He also cut up the onions and peppers-- and that is most of the cooking I ever remember him doing. As for the salad, iceberg lettuce, cucumbers, celery, and tomatoes with Wish Bone Italian dressing was a delicious compliment to the meal. We loved it.

2601 Saturday nights in, I decided to go with a classic, updated to be sure, but the steaks are grilling right now.

Schoodic Sound Bites

The bottom of the ocean here is much like the shore-- granite ledges and boulders.

Where's my journal? I need to draw some of this.

Follow me! I see the blue slashes!

This is the best hike we've done so far, and it's really close to our house... why haven't we been here before?

Did you ever think 10 years ago that you'd be doing these hikes at 73 years old?

Actually, I'm thinking of how it will be ten years from now.

Flip flops might not have been the best choice for this hike.

That was only one mile?

I've been thinking the whole way that this whole forest reminds me of a Harry Potter movie. Awesome!

She did it in flip flops!

New Trick

You know it's been a good day when your dog falls asleep in the car on the way home... sitting up.

Look Upward

After four days of solid rain we finally saw a rainbow today. It was in the eastern sky near sunset and so Annabelle, Courtney, and I stood on the beach in our wellies, sunset before us, rainbow behind. I would say that it was a lovely ending to the day, but just a few minutes ago I noticed the setting moon casting a looooong reflection that resembled nothing more than a silver razor clam over Pinkham Bay, and when I stepped out to admire the view, a godzillion stars in the night sky blinked at me, so now I'm thinking that that might be a fine ending to this day.

Little Cat Feet

It was raining again today, so Heidi, Louise, and I headed east to Machias. The town itself was a bit underwhelming, but the fog we encountered along the way almost made up for it. As we rolled along the coastal highway, the sea was invisible, but gray stands of balsam and fir emerged from misty shrouds at the edges of ghostly blueberry fields. It was never a solid bank of gloom; we could always see just far enough ahead to wonder what else was out there, and it shifted so that what was visible might be completely obscured when next you looked.

Stephen King is from Maine. Enough said?

Remote Control

"I wish we had a teleporter," Kyle said on the trip back from Bar Harbor today to our rental house in Steuben this afternoon. "I would just transport myself to the front door and walk in."

"You wouldn't have a key," one of the older boys helpfully pointed out. "Why not just transport yourself inside?"

"Good idea," he agreed.

My thoughts went in a different direction. In these days of incredible and extreme connectivity, it seems that everywhere is nearby. Not only can you email or skype or facetime anyone almost anywhere in the world, you can have almost anything you want delivered to your home within a week.

As for this place? Relative to my home in a busy metro area it takes a long time to get anywhere from here, but even in the last two days I've noticed my perspective changing with each landmark I am able to remember and recognize. The distances seem shorter.

How different the Down East Maine coast would be if people could teleport here. It is wild and beautiful partially because it is so remote. If anyone could just pop in and pop home at will, well, the mosquitoes might have a lot more to eat.

Ground Water

There are many things I like aboout Maine, but one of them is the temperature of the tap water. Back in Virginia there's no such thing as cool drink of water much after Memorial Day. Not so here-- it is icy cold from the faucet all year long.

I have been drawn to this state since the first time I visited here seventeen years ago. To be honest, it was only courtesy that led me to accept a new friend's invitation to visit her family's summer home on Mt. Dessert Island. When I arrived, the brilliant 80 degree days in mid-August certainly turned my head, but it was the combination of ocean, mountain, and forest that won my heart.

We were driving down yet another road lousy with views of lobster boats, light houses, forests, and granite ledges, our windows open to the balsam and salt air, when it all became clear to me. "I hate it here," I said. "There will never be any place better. The coast of Maine has ruined the world for me."

My perspective has been tempered over the years since then, mostly by mosquitoes and long drives, but this evening after the rain clouds cleared to a painfully blue sky, Treat and Josh and Kyle and Isabel and I did a most remarkable 1.5 mile hike through field and forest and leading to a lovely cobble stone and sand beach, and as if that was not enough, there was lobster for dinner and some ice cold water from the tap.

The Rain in Maine

Dateline June 23, 2012, Somewhere on I-95 between Augusta and Bangor

It's a long way from our house to the place we are staying for the next Two weeks, some 750 miles, but usually it's a trip that I enjoy. The Atlantic states are like so many stepping stones that we hopscotch merrily over on our way to Vacationland; an hour or so in each one and then it's on to the next.

Even so, when you hit the Maine border and realize that there are still more than three hours to go, road weariness is a hazard. We customarily shake it off by making a quick pit stop to stretch our legs and smell the Maine. One deep breath of the balsam and salt air restores us.

Today torrents of rain started just as we crossed over from New Hampshire and sadly, smelling the rain didn't have quite the same effect. Still we slog on, because a soggy vacation is still a vacation.

Never the Same Text Twice

I confess that this has been a hectic couple of weeks. There were days I thought would never come and others I never thought would end.Through it all I've been scrambling to keep ahead of the next thing, so it was hardly surprising when I found myself sitting at my desk at 5:30 PM on the evening before the last day of school trying to plan a coherent, 30 minute, lesson that would be meaningful to my students.

This morning I heard a clip from Aaron Sorkin's new TV show Newsroom, where in response to the question What makes America the greatest country in the world? the main character replies:

We lead the world in only three categories: number of incarcerated citizens per capita, number of adults who believe angels are real, and defense spending, where we spend more than the next 26 countries combined - 25 of whom are allies. 

I get his strident reservations, but I remembered the angel stat well into the day, and I might just thank an angel for the idea that occurred to me for that final activity of the year. We returned to the very first poem we read together, Knoxville, Tennessee by Nikki Giovanni.

It was definitely one of the most interesting lessons I've ever taught. Many students recognized the text, so I told them that I wanted to compare their observations now to what they said then. Qualitatively, there seemed to be quite a bit of growth.

"It's so easy now!" one student exclaimed. "When I heard it the first time it just seemed like too many words."

And every class was able to point out the sensory details as well as the devices Giovanni uses to create a child's voice.

"It's like an ode to summer," mentioned one kid, and I was pleased that he not only remembered odes but recognized one.

My favorite comment came from one of my most thoughtful students. "When I first read it in September it seemed like she was looking back at summer, but now it seems like she's in a rush for summer to come." She paused, and her eyes widened. "No!"she whispered. "That's how I feel... Cool!"

Have a Seat

Something there is about the last day of school that brings out the emotion in everyone. Here's an example:

It's the end of homeroom. A student approaches in tears.

She: Waaaaaaah! This is our last TA EVER!

Me: Wasn't that you who told me you hated TA on Monday?

She, clutching me: Waaaah! This is our last hug ever!

Me: This is our first hug ever...

But I knew how she felt. Endings are always hard.

Me: Hey, listen-- you know where to find me. I'll be right here next year. You can come sit in the chair by my desk any time.

She: Yeah! That will always be my chair right?

Me: Right!
 
And that's why that chair is there. It belongs to anyone who needs to sit there.

Above My Pay Grade

We had our big end of the year field trip today, and despite clear communication that all permission slips were due yesterday I found myself in the main office at 8 AM on the phone with a parent. One hundred people waited on two charter buses as an irate dad informed me that he had sent in the required paper work several weeks ago.

It didn't matter that not only had I personally reminded the student several times that he needed to turn in his permission, nor that I had called the dad the evening before to say that if his son brought in his forms this morning he would still be allowed to go. I explained then exactly what he needed and he assured me that he understood and would do what was necessary. Now he reverted to the story that they had submitted the forms weeks ago along with their payment.

"We only sent the permission slips home last week," I said.

"He has to go! It wouldn't be fair to leave him behind," his dad insisted. "This is not his fault."

"We can't take him without the form," I apologized.

"I sent that form, I know it!" he told me.

We went back and forth a couple of times until finally I said, "I can't make exceptions. It's not my rule."

And with those magic words I realized that I needed to hand this phone call off to someone with more authority. "Just a moment," I told him. "I'm going to let you talk to an administrator."

In the end, the administrator let the kid go. She emailed his dad a copy of the slip, he faxed it back, and she emailed it to me at the location of our trip. 

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am no hardass when it comes to deadlines and such. I believe that if something is worth doing, then it's worth doing as long as it's possible.

Even so... this case? Ridiculous.

Got Talent?

Today was our annual school talent show, and as every year I was impressed by the guts that the performers had to get up there and play, sing and/or dance in front of a packed house. Back when I was in school, talent shows had a different flavor. There was a lot of lip-syncing, baton twirling, and cheesy magic.

I remember a couple of years ago being surprised at the number of solo a capella acts in our school show. Several kids just got up there and sang into the mike. It seemed like such a huge risk to take, completely out of the middle school nature, but then someone reminded me that American Idol auditions had that format.

Over the last week or so, Heidi has really gotten into So You Think You Can Dance. This season is still at the try out stage, and I have to admit that they do a good job blending talent and personal backstories to make some pretty good television. I would never watch it on my own, but I don't mind having it on.

And, thanks to that viewing experience, I totally understood where the dance acts today were coming from. In fact it was all I could do to keep from calling out, "And... cue music."

Crunching the Numbers

Teachers always talk about the nature of one group of students compared to another. One year they are sweet, another sharp, still another short and stupid (not really-- but you get the idea). It's not the individuals we are characterizing, but rather how they interact: it's the group dynamic that shapes the collective personality.

This year? The kids on our sixth grade team have been... challenging. Sure, there are a lot of variables, but the exact same teachers teaching the exact same subjects have all come to the consensus that, communally, these kids do less work and get in more trouble than the sixth graders in the two years past.

Well, that's been our impression, but today I was faced with some sobering evidence. As I do each year, I had the students add up the total number of pages they have logged for their independent reading since September. Last year, my students read an average of 10,788 pages per person for a total of over three quarters of a million pages. The figures today were very disappointing. These kids averaged 5,356 pages, less than half of their counterparts.

 Not surprisingly, many weren't too keen on the recommended summer reading list I offered. A lot weren't even willing to commit to choosing their own books to read. "We just want to chill," one student said, "especially after all the crud of school." There were nods of agreement all around.

"That may be," I shrugged, "but you can bet there are some kids who are going to read this summer, and you know what? They are the ones you are going to be competing with to get into college and probably for the jobs you want."

Was it my hopeful imagination or did their eyes grow slightly wider?

"Well... I might read something," the student answered, and fortunately there were several nods from his peers.

The View from Sunday Night

So much accomplished, so much left to do.

Break Point

The end of the school year is that proverbial snowball. It seems to approach at glacial speed until it doesn't, and then? It rockets toward you rolling up everything in its wake. In addition to the skis that always stick out of it in cartoons, you will also find those final assignments that just did not get finished all the way.

My classes spent their last day in the computer lab on Friday, and there were lots of students who had lots to do if they wished to finish all their work. "This is it!" I told them. "No more lab time this year!" Many were actually shocked. I think they believed that the year would go on indefinitely, probably because until last week it felt like it would.

I commiserated with them. "I kind of wish we had a few more days," I said at one point. "Not that I'm not ready for vacation, because I AM!" I added, perhaps a little too quickly.

"Wow," someone said, "You must really need a break!"

They have no idea.

Can't Get No...

Dogs are amazing.

My dog has been whining at the TV cabinet for three days or more. I know from experience that there has to be something she wants but can not get over there, but I can't find a thing. No toys or balls have rolled beyond her reach. Even when I stoop to scan beneath it, I find nothing. Still, she persists.

Say what you will about her exuberance for visitors, but even as she ages, she is a usually contented canine. So when she whines? I want to deliver.

And so there I was on hands and knees with a flashlight examining the darkest reaches of the cupboard's nether region when I spotted a sliver of a liver snack way in the back. How it got there I have no clue, but I know the end of its story. I swept it out, and I think I heard my dog sigh when she ate it, maybe in pleasure, maybe in relief, but definitely in

satisfaction. Hey, hey, hey.

Fathers Day

We had a celebration at school today to honor our retiring principal. It was a warm event and drew many people from near and far who have known her over the last 38 years of her career or even all of her life. Her 99-year-old dad made the trip up from Florida for the occasion. I don't think I've ever met anyone that old, and he was impressive-- very spry and on the ball. His off-the-cuff tribute to his daughter began, "She was an awful child," and rolled with the laughs from there. After seeing him, fifty more years seems totally do-able now.

I also saw a young woman who was in the first sixth grade group I taught. A teacher who is currently a stay-at-home mom, she was there to help out with another end-of-the-year activity. She was finished with her volunteer gig when we saw each other. "Where's Philip?" I asked about her toddler. She was all too happy to make a call to her dad who was babysitting. In no time, I was visiting with the trio in my classroom. It was a funny three generation kind of thing. Philip was adorable, and it was interesting to see Stephanie all grown up and in a totally different role, and Dave, her dad? Exactly the same as I remembered him: an unassuming, corny kind of aw-shucks guy with a lot going on underneath. He was clearly devoted to his children then as he is to his grandson now.

It's been 25 years since I've needed to buy a Fathers Day card, and many times the day passes with only a fleeting thought, and usually I don't really regret that.

Today I did.

The Hump

So THAT'S what that was at 1:30 AM this morning. Fingers crossed that it really is all downhill from here (at least until late August).

Up Too Late

Didn't I learn this lesson in college?
Graduate school?
The other graduate school?
Nope.
Education doesn't always make you smart.

An Old Fashioned Guy

"I try to give good service at a reasonable price."

That's what the appliance repairman said to me this afternoon after he showed up on time with the necessary parts and quickly fixed the dishwasher. What's more? I called him on Saturday, and he was able to come today. Heck, he even liked our dog.

"What's the point of not doing that?" he continued rhetorically. "No one will ever call you back." Before he left, he gave me an itemized bill along with the old parts he'd replaced.

You can bet I put his card in a very safe place.

See You Again Soon

This weekend marked the formal celebration of the 100th anniversary of the Girl Scouts. In honor of their birthday, the GSA organized a weekend of festivities here in Washington, D.C. called Girl Scouts Rock the Mall. There were exhibits, activities, a rally, a world-record flash mob, and of course a sing along.

Our favorite girl scouts, Allyn and Delaney, were in town for the event with their mom. They stayed with us, and it was a fun weekend. Not to compete with the scouts or anything, but we had perfect pool weather, great food (including a cupcake taste test), and good company.

As they packed their things to go, both girls wished that they never had to leave. "That's the sign of a good visit," we told them, "when you have to go home before you're ready."

Look it Up

Not long ago an excerpt from a new book popped up on the website I was reading. Sure the mention of Hemingway, as in It all began with Hemingway, caught my eye (who doesn't like a little Papa?), but it was definitely the word apposite that made me stop.

I don't know that word.

I like to think I'm fairly intelligent and pretty well educated, also I've been teaching English for nearly 20 years, and that ought to count for something, and quite frankly, it's not often that I encounter unfamiliar words in my reading, so I was a little bit surprised. I read on. Not two sentences later did the word appurtenance appear. I don't know that one either.

The narrative was engaging and the topic of interest, but it was clear that the vocabulary was going to be a stretch. Without hesitation, I bought the kindle version of the book on the spot, and for the first time ever, I used the glossary function to give me the definitions of those words; within moments I consulted it twice more (encomiums, scabrous) just while reading the Introduction. What a handy tool!

As has become my habit in many personal learning situations, I thought of my students and how my experience was relevant to theirs. There are a lot of words that sixth graders don't know, and it's always interesting how they approach them. Most treat them as if they are invisible or at least inconsequential to the text; they have a definite work around mentality that pretty much works. Others consider such obscurity to be a sign that the writing is completely incomprehensible to them and they stop reading.

Either way, very few look them up, but research shows that most fluent readers rarely break their stride to parse unfamiliar words. I wonder if that will change now that every definition is literally at our fingertips.

If You Cut Me, I Would Shine

I'm sure there are statistics on such things, but today it seemed my memories ranged well over a span of forty years. A conversation about soda flavors reminded me of grocery shopping with my dad-- we'd buy the store brand sodas at ten for a dollar; my brother and sister and I would each get to pick three and my dad would choose the tenth; it was always cream soda. Back then you needed an actual can opener to enjoy your soda; pop tops were a thing of the future.

Later in the day a colleague was describing his summer trip to Italy, and I was transported to the upstairs bar in Florence. That was the secret place that all the kids at my Swiss boarding school went to drink whenever they were there. The tequila sunrises were legendary, with gorgeous layers of fresh-squeezed orange juice and grenadine. They were the only alcoholic beverage I ever saw my Southern Baptist friend drink.

And not thirty minutes later, I remembered being at the end of the bench during the final girls basketball game ten years ago. Three minutes from an undefeated season, we were down by a few points against a school that in most years beat us pretty badly. Of all teams I've coached, I remember those girls for their heart. We won it at the buzzer. It turns out that one of my students now has a cousin who played for us then. I found that out by reading the profile piece that her classmate had written.

I love the poem On Turning Ten by Billy Collins. I don't consider it a melancholy meditation on aging at all, but rather a parody of those who stare wistfully out the window wondering where the years have gone. Once, when I couldn't sleep, I tried to remember one thing from every year of my life. I think I drifted off before I finished revisiting my twenties.

Watch Your Step

My students are doing a lovely job on their profile pieces. The writing is warm and witty, and so many of them have shown a knack for the style and voice that is most common in such articles. Oh sure, there have been a few missteps, but mostly they have been slight stumbles on the way to a knock-out profile. Here's an example of a minor mistake that made me giggle:

A plane flies into one of El Salvador’s airports. The passengers get their luggage, and start off the plane. One girl looks out into the country. The warm breeze touches her cheek. She walks off the plane, and steps on her heritage for the first time. 

Ouch!

Variable Weather

Yesterday I had a group of kids in my room ready for an outdoor field trip to conduct some local stream water testing. We had a few minutes before we were scheduled to walk to the park, and dark clouds gathered outside the window joining the sunshine and blue skies.

"Do you think it will rain?" a student asked me.

"Do you think it will rain?" I replied.

He and several other kids responded; it seemed like an even split of yeses and nos.

"Sounds like we have some pessimists here," I commented.

"Huh?" someone said, and scanning the room, I realized that she was not the only student unfamiliar with the term.

Forgive me for resorting to the obvious, but I drew a glass on the chalk board along with a line to show that there was liquid to the halfway point. "There!" I pronounced. "Is this glass half-empty or is it half-full?"

Just as with the weather, there was a pretty even split as the kids called out what they saw, although a couple savvy students answered, "Both!".

"Everyone's right," I said. "It's all about whether you look at what you have or what you're missing... have... missing... have... missing," I chanted as I pointed at the bottom and top of my illustration. "What kind of person are you?" I asked as I checked the clock and saw we still had a few more minutes before it was time to go.

And then Brandon had a total breakthrough. A spark ignited in his eyes and his body literally jerked. "I get it!" he said. "I get it!" he repeated to the kid next to him, and the understanding was clearly very profound. "Why can't you teach all of our classes?" he said to me. "The other teachers are--"

"Half full!" I reminded him.

"Exactly!" he answered, which was not quite the lesson I had in mind.

Turn Around, Bright Eyes

There's been a lot of press about the "Transit of Venus"-- that astronomical event, occurring even as I type, where Venus is actually visible to we Earthlings as a tiny dot on the sun as its orbit crosses ours. Much has been made of the fact that the next transit is not for 105 years (so see it while you can, folks!), but some of the coverage has focused on the practical aspects of viewing such a rare spectacle, reminding us that it is dangerous to look directly into the sun; in fact, I actually heard these words on the radio this morning, you can destroy your vision instantly... Yikes!

When I was 7 there was a total eclipse of the sun that was visible across North America. Thinking back, it seems like that was all anyone talked about for days. Both at school and at home we were warned again and again not to look right at it. At the same time, it seemed like everyone had a trick for being able to watch the eclipse without damaging your eyesight.

When the time came, my dad poked a hole in a sheet of paper and held it in the direct sunlight streaming through our living room window with another piece of paper below it. The idea was that the light shining through the pinhole would be eclipsed as the sun was. I don't think it worked, because I also remember watching the eclipse on TV.

Back then, I imagined that if we looked our eyes would ignite and burn away, and we would be left blind, but with that final image of that sun's corona dancing around the shadow of the moon burned into our brains forever.

Read All About It

The finishing touch of most journalism pieces is not a title but a headline.

So I told my students today as we embarked on the last week of their personal profile assignment. Before we looked at some tips on how to write an effective headline, we looked at a few examples of some that had fallen short. Here they are:

Police chase winds through three towns
Teacher strikes idle kids
Trial ends in mercy killing
Owners responsible for biting canines
Sisters reunited after 18 years in checkout line at supermarket
Services for man who refused to hate Thursday in Atlanta
Grandmother of eight makes hole in one
Milk drinkers are turning to powder
Juvenile court tries shooting suspect 
New rule cuts tardy students in half

As for that last one? My homeroom this year would be a bloodbath.

The Dreaded Red Number

If you know that the title of this post refers to a cartoon drawing of a dentist in red smock and dreadlocks, Novocain at the ready, that appeared on a map of downtown Washington DC, then you were at the 5th annual PostHunt today.

My nephew, Treat, and I were there, too, and we agreed at the end of the afternoon that this year was really hard. We sort of got four out of the five puzzles, and I was proud of myself for deciphering a tiny bit of the endgame on the subway platform, even after we had given up.

The day was beautiful though and luck was on our side. As we plotted and solved our way around Penn Quarter, we overshot the best street to turn on to take us to our next clue, so we took the next right instead. Walking down a street nearly deserted of fellow hunters, I squinted at some people up the block. They were definitely wearing STAFF shirts. "What are they doing here?" I wondered aloud, and we picked up our pace a little to find out. Miraculously, they handed us what happened to be a clue to a puzzle we were stuck on.

"Yay!" I cheered. "How did we do that?"

Treat studied the map. "It's right here," he pointed. "The dreaded red numb-er."

The Soul of Wit

I am not one who goes in much for pageantry and ceremony-- we can analyze that in another entry-- so this time of year with its first communions, weddings, retirements, awards, and graduations can be trying for me.

Today was an exception, however. We attended the graduation of a good friend's son, and although I was dreading it a bit, it was painless. No, it was better than painless: it was actually sort of enjoyable.

Why? Well, he was one of only two graduating from his Sudbury school. There were just four chairs on the stage, and following a brief welcome, a personal speaker for each graduate, and remarks from both boys, we were witness to the quickest.diploma.procession.ever.

Short, individualized, and student-centered... just my kind of thing.

Diminishing Returns

I had my writing group last night and as always it was a fun evening. We have been meeting monthly for nearly six years now, and I love the camaraderie. The food's great too, and the writing is none too shabby. It's always a thrill to see what my friends bring.

As for myself, well, I struggle lately.  Eighteen months ago I started something, a little story which will probably end up as my third unfinished novel. I've written a bit for almost every meeting since then, and I have perhaps 5000 words. Last night was definitely the least I've ever composed, one paragraph of perhaps 125 words.

I liked it though; it was a fine paragraph indeed.

And... at this rate? I'll have some kind of something in about 10 years. Stay tuned.

In the meantime,  kudos to my friend, Mike, whose first novel was published yesterday!

And You Can Quote Me

One of the requirements of the personality profiles that my students are (still!) working on is that each piece must include several direct quotations: some from the subject, a couple from other kids, and at least one from an adult.

Here's my favorite so far:

"Woof, woof," yelled the German shepherd of Rose.

How Do They Know?

I got my temporary AARP card in the mail today. Of course it's no good unless and until I pay my sixteen bucks and join the swelling ranks of Americans over 50.

And I still have one month.

Don't forget that.

One month.