And That's Okay

One of the Tolerance Club initiatives at our school has been to teach kids how, when witnessing a bullying situation, they can be "upstanders" rather than bystanders.

A student at one of the high schools in our district actually produced a video on the topic for his senior project. Scored to the recording of Born This Way by Lady Gaga, the 12 minute film shows a number of students and staff holding up a large sign. On the first side they have written a fact about themselves, such as "I am bi-racial" or "I am short" or "I am Muslim" or "I like boys and girls" or "I have ADHD" and then they flip the sign to read, "And That's Okay." It is a powerful presentation that depicts the diversity of their community, and the message that we should accept each other for who we are is clear.

On Monday, we have had members of the Tolerance Club create their own signs, and we have shared them in a circle at the end of our meeting. Once again it was fascinating and wonderful to see what the kids chose to share about themselves and so moving to hear the words and that's okay repeated over and over again.

Like last year, we are going school-wide with this activity. On Friday, all of our students will view the video, and then make signs of their own in their homerooms. Teachers are strongly encouraged to participate, too, and so I've done it twice so far. Last year I struggled to find something revealing (but not too), something that I was a little uncomfortable with, but which really should be "okay." I settled on, "I don't like to wear skirts, " and, to be honest, I was surprised at how many girls were with me. On Monday, I admitted that I don't like it when people sit in "my" seat in the team room. Once again, some kids really got it, but I think my colleagues are still on the fence.

And perhaps that's another blog post altogether, but I do want to say that I am looking forward to doing this with my homeroom on Friday, even if I'm not sure what I'm going to share.

9:30 in the Bubble

I went to a small high school where everyone was required to play a sport and so if you went out for a team? You pretty much made it. That was me and basketball. I was on the varsity basketball team all three years, but making the team and playing in the games were two very different things.

It turned out that, despite my enthusiasm, I was a bench sitter. At the time, it was a mystery to me. In practice I was nothing if not compliant: I always gave my best in any drill or scrimmage and made all the corrections the coach called out, and yet still I sat cheering for my teammates in every game.

Years later, when I was a teacher and recruited to be a co-coach of the girls team, I understood why. Back then? I was clueless. I had zero body awareness and the concept of plays and strategies flowed past me like an alpine stream over a waterfall. As an educator, in retrospect I could place some responsibility on the coach  (I know what a willing student I was), but on the other hand, as a coach, I know you have a lot to accomplish in a limited time, and sometimes there are children left behind.

Even so, I look back on my high school basketball career very fondly. First, I nailed the lay up-- I totally know how to do that and I have taught countless girls to do one, too. Secondly, there is no feeling like being a part of a team, and I can honestly say that every cheer I made from the bench was genuine-- I loved those girls and their success was glorious.

I am still in touch with one of my best friends from high school despite our fundamental philosophical differences. She is a conservative Midwestern doctor, and I am a liberal East coast teacher, but it was Amy who worked with me to improve my skills. We met every night in the gym after study hall and practiced for 30 minutes. And it was she who flew off the bench in celebration when I scored the only two points of my career.

That's what counts.

Score Board

Back to School Night 20
Me 0

I just cannot make my presentation fit into 10 minutes!

Fortunately?

There's always next year.

North Meets South

I dreamed all night of eating spinach-- raw, sauteed, creamed-- and awoke wondering if I had an iron deficiency. Fortunately, I had on hand one of my favorite breakfasts, Colcannon. This traditional Irish dish is a mixture of cabbage, kale, or other greens with potatoes and onions, and sometimes turnip and ham or corned beef. 

A few days ago, I pulled out the last of the frozen greens from last winter's CSA share, and cooked up a big batch. I like it during the school year, because on weekday mornings it's easy to reheat, and a hard-boiled egg makes it into a very satisfying start to the day. This morning, though, I had another topping in mind.

A couple weeks ago, I watched a slide show on the NYTimes website. Spanish chef Jose Andres demonstrates how to cook the perfect fried egg. It involves a lot of olive oil and some unorthodox spooning, so clearly it was worth a go.

In retrospect Spain meets Ireland could have been a Eurozone nightmare, but of course it was delicious and very economical, too.

By the Book

We went down to the National Book Festival today, mostly just to hear David Levithan speak, and let me tell you, he did not disappoint. I read his latest book, Every Day, a few weeks ago and was blown away.

The main character is a sixteen year old who goes by A. Every morning A wakes up in a different  body and literally spends the day in that person's skin. Age is the only commonality; this has been going on as long as A has lived, and the kids whose lives A has shared grow older as A does. The novel starts when they are all 16. As a result, A has no gender identity, no race, no religion. Levithan said today that he in writing the book he wanted to explore that essential core of anyone who makes us who we are.

David Levithan is a charming, openly-gay guy who is very positive and upbeat. An editor himself, he is also articulate and knowledgeable about writing and literature. He was great in the Q & A, and my only regret is that I didn't dash to the mike to ask if Every Day would have a sequel. To this reader, the possibility seemed open.

The author immediately after Levithan in the YA tent happened to be the legendary RL Stine. Personally, I've never been a big fan, but my students have loved his work for twenty years. In fact, I just read his memoir, It Came From Ohio, last weekend to see if it would fit in to our reading unit. I didn't need to stay for the whole thing, but I did want to see him up close and in person, and so we loitered outside the tent until a green golf cart pulled up. Stine, clad entirely in black, clambered out. He was a little grayer and more stooped than I imagined, but there he was, horn-rimmed glasses and all, a literary superstar among middle schoolers everywhere.

Fourth Annual RSVP

As in past years, I gave the students a writing prompt yesterday to get a baseline of their writing skills. Their pieces will be scored holistically using the state rubric. We'll give them another prompt in early June to measure their progress for the year.

The topic was the same as it has been the last three years:

Your principal wants to invite a celebrity speaker to your school. Think about the celebrity you would choose to speak; then write a letter to persuade your principal to invite this person. Be sure to include convincing reasons and details to support your choice.

It's always fascinating to see who the kids want to invite. This year it was a tie for most wanted:

President Obama
Rick Riordan

In addition to those two, it was cool to see several other authors represented, as well.

JK Rowling
Suzanne Collins
Jeff Kinney
Wendy Mass
Ally Carter

Of course there was no shortage of entertainers, although it's hard for the kids to find convincing reasons for some to speak to our students. They really just want a free show.

One Direction
Stevie Wonder
Taylor Swift
Jay Z
Demi Lovato
Selena Gomez
Wiz Khalifa
Sandra Bullock
Chris Brown
Niall Horran
Kelly Clarkson
Miley Cyrus
Common
Sean Connery
Victorious Crew
Katy Perry
Ringo Starr
Daniel Craig
Shia Laboeuf
Bill Murray
Johnny Depp

Not surprisingly, there were a lot of athletes, too:

Dwyane Wade
Usain Bolt
Josh Lundquist
LA Galaxy
Barcelona
Baltimore Ravens
Miami Heat
Lionel Messi
Charles Woodson
Ryan Zimmerman
Dominique Dawes
Real Madrid
Michael Phelps
Tim Tebow
Gabby Douglas
Bryce Harper
Josh Lindblom

And then there were a few others.

Mitt Romney
Michelle Obama
President Clinton
Bill Gates
Tito from the county drug prevention program
Notch (the guy who designed Minecraft)
Amelia Earhart

You've Got Mail

In the future, the US Postal Service will probably have an abbreviated role in our lives. Even today personal correspondence is way down (hardly a surprise, given the instant gratification of electronic communication), junk mail advertisements are on their way out, and most publications are available online or via an app. Most utilities and credit companies would prefer that we accept our bills electronically and pay that way as well. Of course there will always be things and stuff that must be physically delivered, at least until we perfect the transporter beam. Sure, it might take a while; Scotty won't even be born until 2222, but you're on notice UPS and Fed Ex.

Call me old-fashioned, but I can't help thinking something will be lost in such a transition. Just tonight our six-year-old friend, Savannah thanked us for her birthday gift. We got her a subscription to a magazine published for kids her age. She hadn't even read it yet, but just the experience of having a piece of mail delivered to her house with her name on it was exciting, and when we told her that there would be another one every month? She practically fainted.

Of course I only know this because we were on FaceTime. 21st century communication does have its advantages.

Mainstream Media Miss

I heard a piece on NPR this morning about an experiment conducted by a researcher at the University of Chicago. The main question of the segment was how to motivate teachers to maximize student achievement. Of the method they were covering, "It's not exactly a carrot and it's not exactly a stick," the reporter told us. What "it" is is a riff on "loss aversion." The study found that teachers who received a cash bonus up front under the conditions that they would have to return it if their students did not achieve were gangbusters successful in making sure their kids passed the test.

Could there be any doubt that I was disappointed by this story? Not only is it insulting to suggest that teachers need external motivation to help their students achieve, but nobody even questioned the definition of "achievement;" it was stipulated as success on a standardized test. (Golly, I wonder what kind of test prep, cough, I mean teaching, was going on in those classrooms?)

What's the Objective?

I have a student this year who is constantly asking why we are doing whatever it is we are. He is always very courteous and sincere when he asks what the point of the lesson or activity is. I know this, because as an experienced classroom teacher I automatically search his eyes with my x-ray bullshit detector vision to see if this is a case of work avoidance, defiance, or something else equally counterproductive. With him, though, it seems to be genuine, if pointed, curiosity.

Despite the fact that he is a bit mischievous and somewhat distractable (in other words, eleven), his question always has a ring of authenticity to it, and so I answer him honestly, explaining what I hope he and the rest of my students will get from the lesson and how. Once so informed, he seems not only satisfied but also doubly willing to accomplish the task at hand.

I wonder who taught him to ask this question, and why, especially because such a conversation is very rare in sixth grade. One day, I will ask him about it, but until then? I'm enjoying the accountability.

The Worst Years of Your Life?

We ran into a former student and her mom at the farmers market yesterday. "How's high school?" Heidi asked. "Do you love it?"

Emma shook her head vigorously. "Oh yeah!" she answered.

Heidi and I exchanged shrugs and nods. "That's what they all say," Heidi told her. "Middle school must be pretty rotten."

More knowing shrugs all around.

"Well," her mom said brightly, "at least you two are there. That makes a big difference!"

That was nice.

Oh My! That Internets is Amazing!

One of my newest semi-obsessions is Goodreads.  For those who are unaware, GR is a social networking site devoted to books and reading. I actually joined a year or so ago and then got busy and forgot about it. I'm not sure what renewed my interest in it a few weeks ago (probably work avoidance of some sort), but once I started listing books I'd read, the gratification of watching my list grow was pretty intense, and I've been hooked ever since.

But wait, there's more! Not only can you keep a running record of all you have read, along with your personal ratings (in stars, written reviews are optional), you can also receive suggestions based on your bookshelf, connect with friends to see what they are reading and what they recommend, and even follow authors who are also members.

I know I'm relatively late to the Goodreads party, but as an English teacher? I must say that it's never too late to celebrate reading. In fact, I'm working on ways to use the site with my kids. I'll keep you posted.

(In the mean time you can friend me!)

Cowboys and Mennonites

We took advantage of the PERFECT! weather this evening and piled Isabel in the station wagon for a walk on the National Mall. I was kind of anxious to see the newly re-opened reflecting pool by the Washington Monument; it seems like it's been a muddy hole in the ground for a really long time.

Despite how gorgeous it was, at 5:15 we had no trouble parking and plenty of daylight left. There are many things I love about being on the mall. To me, Washington is architecturally the most European city in the States, and having had the pleasure of living on that continent for three years, I appreciate its monumental nature. That particular part of DC is also a place where people from all over the world converge, more so even than in other areas of our very diverse region, and on our walk tonight we must have heard a dozen languages. (I definitely recognized Arabic, Italian, Spanish, German, Russian, and of course, English, but there were several more.)

Tonight I found yet another reason to head to our nation's backyard. Here in our nation's capital, we are lucky to have a very successful bike share program with stations conveniently located all over town. This evening as we walked, every place we passed was out of bikes, but that was hardly surprising considering the number of riders we saw all around us.

Judging by the appearance of those folks pedaling along the paths, it seems that like many of the other attractions of Washington, bicycles are also an international draw. My favorites, though, were the three guys in jeans, boots, and stetsons, who were closely followed by the four men in plain black pants, brilliant blue shirts buttoned to the throat, and flat wide-brimmed hats. Those guys must have left their horses (and buggies) at home.

Ahead of Her Time

 This morning as I blended up Heidi's breakfast smoothie, I was momentarily transported forty years back in time to another blender in another kitchen, and it reminded me that my mother was always somewhat of a visionary. Back then, one of our breakfast staples was an invention of hers we called Goody Milk. Decades before the smoothie became the go-to on the run power meal, my mom was blitzing up milk, fruit, ice cubes, and a raw egg to give us a quick and energizing start to our day. She also baked breakfast cookies complete with oatmeal, dried fruit, and bacon.

But that's not all. Before we headed off to school, my mother corralled me and my friends for a ten minute work-out in our living room. Despite our teenaged groaning she led us in stretches, leg lifts, abs, and lunges every morning. Today, at 73, my mother continues to be a model of health and fitness. She exercises regularly and eats a sensible diet.

Imagine a road of wellness that stretches from Jane Fonda to Michelle Obama-- over the years, millions of people have jumped on the fitness bandwagon as it has passed by, modifying their habits and their diets to live a healthier life.

But my mom? She didn't have to jump on; she was already driving it.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I hate to be a knee-jerk complainer, so when I found out there would be an adult education class meeting in my room every day at 4:30, I tried to accept it as the Universe's way of telling me that I spend too much time at school. I'll go to the garden or the gym, I thought. Who knows? This could be life-altering!

It wasn't too many days before I knew it would be almost impossible to get all my work done if I was forced to pack up and leave by that time, and the only alteration it would have on my life was in my job performance. With a sigh, I resolved to contact my administrator.

Fortunately, she couldn't have been more cooperative (thanks Ellen!), and today I had access to my room until 6:45. I gleefully crossed several items off off of my to-do list, and it was quarter to six before I knew it. All of a sudden the prospect of going home to do my evening chores and cook dinner seemed impossibly exhausting. I was out of gas and running on fumes. Just then there was a knock at the door.

"Will you need us to move the later class?" the building attendant politely asked.

"No thank you," I replied, then added, "Please, shoot me if I'm still here by then."

In MY School...

Let this post be the first of a series.

Almost every serious teacher fantasizes about the ideal school-- so much so that we often either end a rant and start a wistful conversation with Well, when I have MY school...

In 19 years I've had my fair share of such conversations, but one constant has always been that anyone who is going to require teachers to do something should themselves be an active teacher. Theory and practice diverge every day in the classroom, and I do not mean that as an excuse. I truly believe that our job is more than just a job and to understand it, you have to do it.

So much of what we have been tasked with lately is hoop-jumping and box-checking in the name of accountability, and while some ineffective teachers may be ferreted out, the rest of our students will be penalized, because the time we spend proving that we are spending our time well is time we are not spending on them.

Eleven Years Later

This morning I thought about how eerie it was that this perfectly clear, cool, and blue-sky Tuesday so resembled the one 11 years ago. I've told my 9-11 story many times-- how our school is just a mile from the Pentagon and colleagues actually saw the plane as it descended, how my classes were in the computer lab and the emergency announcement was made at passing time so that when we returned to our room we were confused to find it locked, how I knocked on a colleague's door and she wouldn't answer at first because we were in lock down, how my students and I sat obediently in the dark without having any idea why, how an explosion shook our building so violently that our principal used the PA system to warn us all to take cover, and how I decided it was better to sit up in a chair and read to my students than to hide under the tables with them-- we were all scared, but I wanted them to know that someone was in charge.

This afternoon I checked my email at school and was delighted to find a message from a former student. Here's what she wrote:

Given where I currently work (right by your school) and what today’s date is, I’m reminded of exactly where I was 11 years ago today. I was in your classroom along with the other students, completely unaware of what was going. I remember all of us were worried because somehow we were hearing rumors ( I say somehow because in '01, none of us had iPhones or Blackberrys), and I also recall the announcements telling us to take cover until we eventually were taken to the gym. But, what I remember most is how you tried to keep us calm by simply reading aloud to us in the darkness of our classroom, sitting under our tables. I remember that and as an adult now I can’t even imagine how stressful a situation that must have been for you, but even so, your priority was to make sure we all stayed calm. I hope the students you’re teaching today realize the significance of what today is, and know that about a decade ago the kids sitting in their seats were having a very different type of school day that would change them forever.

It was an unforgettable day, but even though I am in the same classroom doing the same job, many of the students I teach now were not even born then. They honor this day with us as they have been taught to do, but not from any sense of personal loss.

They remind us all that life goes on, and that is why I teach.

The Rabbit Test

When I was a kid, a popular punch line on some of the silly sitcom re-runs we loved to watch was, "The rabbit died." Upon hearing the sentence, the studio audience would roar with laughter at the recognition that somewhere a pregnancy test was administered, and the resulting death of the lab rabbit meant that the woman was expecting... or not. Rabbits die under other circumstances sometimes, and that was the joke.

Today you can pee on a stick and get the same diagnostic results, and I'm sure rabbits everywhere are super-relieved, but back then I never gave those rabbits who died a second thought-- they may as well have been paper strips thrown in the trash once they had served their purpose.

Over the past week, Heidi has been caring for our neighbor's pet rabbit. A rescue bunny, Oliver had a room of his own, and, despite his understandably ornery disposition, was well-loved. Yesterday when she went to check on him, Heidi found Oliver lying still in his crate, a pet-sitter's nightmare and so not funny.

I guess it's different when you know the rabbit.

Two Day Weekends

Who thought that was a good idea?

Turn, Turn, Turn

Even though it was warm and muggy this morning when I took the dog out, the light breeze must have suggested a change to me. I couldn't feel it, but when we got back the muffins I baked were pumpkin instead of peach, and tonight we have mashed potatoes for dinner where last night there was ratatouille.

Sure enough, there was an hour of severe weather this afternoon, and tomorrow it is predicted to be in the 70s.

Now that is change I can embrace.

On to the Next Thing

Menu:

• 100% all beef Halal hot dog on  bun
• Individual bag of chips
• Bottle of water
• Slice of watermelon

Number of diners:     
        350
Total cost:

• $481.57 or
• $1.38 per person

2012 Sixth Grade Picnic:

• A success!
• Over!

How'd I Do, Mark Zuckerberg?

Tonight when I was squandering a little time checking in on Facebook, my eye was caught by an invitation to complete a survey. You might think I would feel all-surveyed out, given that particular form of data collection's heightened popularity around our neck of education, but I was interested in offering feedback on my Facebook experience. Plus, sometimes when I'm really cranky, it helps to go all negative on some random survey-- it's like sucking the venom from a snakebite or something.

So... imagine my surprise when after the first question, which was about Facebook, they started asking me where I get my news and how often. Then they wanted to know my level of education and my political opinions on the upcoming presidential election. Thank goodness I didn't exaggerate, because the last half of the survey was a quiz on US politics of the the last four years, and let me tell you folks, it wasn't that easy.

I kind of liked it though; they even gave the answers at the end, and I got them all right.

Yes!

Show Me the Data

And while we're talking about measurable objectives... Why do we do a whole school science fair again?

Measuring Up

This is what bureaucracy looks like:

Every year we plan a sixth grade picnic for the first Friday we are back in school. In the interest of building a sense of community and engagement, it's a chance for the new kids in the school to celebrate making it through their first week of middle school and to connect and reconnect with their peers.

This year we have been asked to phrase all of our team business in the form of objectives and measurable outcomes... so what about the picnic? How does one compute the value of such an event? Do we administer a survey? Collect exit cards at the end? Have the students complete a reflection?

Would any of those make the picnic better, or would they simply justify it to any who cared?

Pulling the Old Tom Sawyer

For the past few years, Heidi's dad, Gary, has expressed an interest in learning how to can tomatoes. As a retiree, he was thinking he had the time and resources, not to mention the love of tomatoes, to adopt such a hobby.

Yesterday he got the chance to see how he likes it. The four of us went to the farmers market and bought a thirty pound box of tomatoes. Then, in as efficient an assembly line as we could organize in our little kitchen, we peeled, chopped, and canned twelve quarts of tomatoes. It took no longer than an hour and a half, including the time we sat around watching TV while the full jars were boiling away in the processing pots.

When it was all cleaned up, I turned to Gary. "Are you going to go home and do some more?" I asked him.

"What for? I got six quarts right here!"

New Kids

We went out for pizza tonight at a restaurant near us that only opened on Wednesday. It was a larger, fancier branch of a place that we like, and we were excited to try it. Our meal was fine, but it was amazing how easy it was to tell that this was only the fifth night of service. Our waiter was earnest and willing, but also unsure about some of the details, like the difference between Pinot noir and "that other thing" we ordered. My pizza came to the table uncut, and then was returned to the table without a serving utensil.

Even so, there was something about the concentration and engagement in the staff that I really liked-- they were young and enthusiastic and most importantly, they wanted to learn. As we left our rather generous tip, ("Are you sure you don't want change?" the waiter asked), I knew that if my students this year have half of that attitude, we are going to have a great time.

Another Misstep

It's been a summer of accidents and mishaps.

In addition to burning dinner last night, and in keeping with skinning my knee a couple of weeks ago, yesterday I stepped on a bee in my bare feet and was stung. That has not happened to me in over 40 years, and to be honest, it was much more painful than I ever remember it. For a moment I couldn't bear weight on my foot.

But the worst part was seeing the bee also in agony, writhing in the clover, and knowing that she would die because of my carelessness.

Kitchen Confidential

Long ago when I was a professional cook, I was present at a few food mishaps. The worst was the wedding for 300 when we ran out of stuffed chicken breasts. Fortunately, by the time we discovered the shortage, they were already clearing the first tables served. Let's just say that the last several guests enjoyed chicken medallions. A little extra sauce on top and no one knew any difference.

Then there was the family reunion for 40 who wanted whole lobsters cooked on their ocean front deck. We learned the hard way that those propane- fired pots you can rent do not get hot enough to boil much of anything, and certainly not a dozen two-pound hard shells. We provided a lot of butter lemon and beer and hoped it wouldn't be too bad. It was.

Twenty-five years and fifteen trips to Maine later, I could have solved that one pretty easily. Cooking the lobsters in advance would not be wrong, but a big drift wood fire and pots filled with ocean water and seaweed would have been ideal. Too bad, I can't have a do-over.

Since I left the profession, I've had my share of stressful preps and slightly delayed dinners, but I have to say I feel pretty confident in the kitchen; often it's the place I unwind after a long day. Grill, fry, chop, rinse, sauté? Not usually a problem for me. That must be why I was at somewhat of a loss this evening when dinner was 10 minutes from the table and I discovered that I had charred the ribeyes beyond edibility. Seriously-- they were ruined. It wouldn't have been a big deal except Heidi's parents were here. I considered just fessing up, but without the meat, there wasn't enough to eat.

I whipped a frozen piece of skirt steak and a dozen shrimp from the freezer, thawed them and tossed them on the grill. Everything else was on hold-- the corn in the pot, the potatoes in the oven, the mushrooms on the stove, the sliced tomatoes in the fridge-- as I quickly, but carefully, cooked the main.

It was not my finest result, but it was the best I could do, and everyone seemed to like it just fine.

What Do You Call a Teacher Without a Class?

Tonight was that night when all the new sixth graders are invited to visit our middle school to check the place out and meet their teachers before they start on Tuesday. The event is a good way to address any anxiety kids or their parents might have about transitioning to a new school.

As inconvenient as it seems for teachers to come back at night right in the middle of our planning and preparation week, every year I enjoy the evening. Seeing the kids and meeting their families is always really fun.  I guess it helps me work out my anxiety about starting a new school year, too.

All Meetinged Out

This is the beginning of my twentieth year of teaching, and I can say with certainty that I have never had quite so many meetings. The pre-service week is set aside as a time for teachers to plan and prepare, but I have quite a bit of both yet to do in order to be ready for the opening of school next Tuesday.

In fact, it was only today around 3 PM that I finally took the paper off the front of my bookcases. As I tore through the pristine white butcher paper, corners still sharp and edges still neat, I thought back to the last day of the school year when I wrapped the shelves up for summer, and it hardly seemed like nine and half weeks had passed.

Maybe tomorrow I'll re-alphabetize my classroom library and perhaps even put up a few posters, but that would be in between leading a team meeting, touching base with new staff, planning the Tolerance Club activities for September, coordinating with the other sixth grade team leaders, and stategizing with the counselor about yet another several schedule changes. In any event, I will definitely call my homeroom students to welcome them to our school and be present at an open house from 7-8 tomorrow night.

I'd like to think I'll get a little class preparation done, but that may have to wait until after the staff meeting on Friday Morning.

A String Around My Finger

Take two minutes to write about something you did over the summer, or something that's happened recently. I'll warn you, as I do my students, that you will be asked to share.

Those were the directions we received at the opening session of this year's Professional Learning Community. Each school year, for the last four, our school system's English Language Arts department has used our mandatory monthly meeting to sponsor small, interest-based groups. We read a book and discuss it, apply it to our practice, and share the results. It's great in theory, but over the years, I have been somewhat disappointed in the outcome.

Even so, I am open-minded about this year, and I hope the experience will be enriching. Already it's given me reason to pause and think.

Today, when we were required to put pen to paper, the first topic I considered was the time Heidi had to be carried down the mountain. I stopped writing a few words in, though, because I didn't want to explain to the group who Heidi was.

More than half the people there (including the facilitator) know her personally, but that wasn't enough: I did not feel safe enough to put that part of my life out there, even though it was a really good story. By the time I had rejected that topic, two minutes had ticked away to one, and I had nothing on my paper. After that, it was kind of a lame scramble to fulfill the requirement, and so, to be honest, my piece was nothing I cared to share. But I did.

I, too, ask my students to write and share, and I know the value of a safe learning environment, but sometimes I get distracted by the objectives of the lesson and forget how hard it can be to find a topic you care about, especially in the treacherous landscape of middle school.

Today was a good reminder.

Back in the Saddle

When I was in high school, I was lucky enough to take a few bike trips through some amazing areas of Europe. In addition to touring the Ticino Canton of Switzerland where our school was located, I also spent a week riding through Tuscany and another cycling through the south of France.

I confess that at the time I could not have fully appreciated the splendor of those opportunities, but even so, each trip was unforgettable to me-- there are still nights when I dream of some stretch of pavement damp from an earlier shower, with lilacs, daffodils, and recently plowed fields sprouting their first green on either side. The road curves, and I literally gasp-- it's the Alps, or the Mediterranean Sea, or the Towers of Siena. Their beauty is visceral.

I will also never forget how much my ass hurt on the second day of every trip; just sitting on the narrow seat of the touring bike was excruciating. We all groaned and whined our way through the first couple of clicks until the rhythm of the pedals and the sound of the tires on the asphalt shhhhhhishhhed our complaints away as we rode into the rising sun.

We did what we needed to do, and after a while, it didn't hurt at all.

In Mourning

Rock Me

It's so funny what you know and don't know, what you're interested in and not. Years ago, identifying birds became something I wanted to do, next it was plants, of course animals (and, yes, their scat), seashells, and so forth. Every time we go to Maine, we collect rocks, and it's easy to pick out the pink granite that is visible on Cadillac mountain or the fine-grained black stone that will always win the smoothest rock contest, but I have to confess that my knowledge of them ends there. I like rocks, but I've never been moved to catalog my collection.

Today we went to the Natural History Museum with our god-daughters. Our idea was to show them the nature photos and the titanaboa exhibit, but they wanted to go to the insect zoo and the gems and minerals, too. The bugs were fun-- I love the bees, and we saw a zebra butterfly emerge from its cocoon. I was a little skeptical about the rocks though.

I shouldn't have been. Because of the late hour, we only saw about a third of the exhibit, but it was fascinating. It showed me how much I do and don't know about the stuff that makes up 99% of the earth. Of course I recognize diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and opals, but I have no idea what most of them are made of or what they look like unpolished and uncut. I've seen geodes, sand roses, and all sorts of crystals, but I have never bothered to organize my knowledge of them into any meaningful kind of framework.

My life-long lack of engagement in this topic crystallized for me when I approached a single case. Herkimer Diamonds said the tag, and reading the display materials about these rare six-sided crystals that are only found in a small area of Upstate New York was like a prism refracting a single now into so many thens. I remembered hearing my father talking about "Little Falls Diamonds" on more than one occasion, but I could not recall when or why.

Something about digging ditches and building the Thruway, maybe? I don't know... my memories have been almost completely buried by time, and it's going to take some excavation to uncover the story. That's okay. I want to know, and it is just such a desire that polishes simple facts into meaningful information.

Anthem

When I was in high school, every senior got half a page in the yearbook. We were able to pick a candid photo and any other content we wanted. Most kids chose a quotation, and I did, too. Mine was from The Lorax by Dr. Seuss: But now, said the Onceler, now that you're here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better-- it's not.

I liked it for it's altruistic idealism, and to be honest, I still like it today for the same reason.

Last year, when the CGA movie version of The Lorax came out, I read the reviews with interest. There was a soft spot in my heart for the book, but I couldn't see how a feature length film was possible. The critics were split, and so I stayed on the fence, although when one of my favorite students strongly recommended the movie, I totally took notice.

Flash forward six months and hundreds of other movie and DVD releases-- tonight the god daughters, Allyn and Delaney arrived for the weekend, and eight-year-old Delaney was all about The Lorax. She was all set to recount the whole story word-for-word and sing the songs, too. Her enthusiasm elicited a lot of heavy sighs and eye-rolling from her mom and sister, but it resonated with me. In my family it was I who often over-shared the details of books, movies, and TV shows that I found especially moving.

So tonight? We watched The Lorax and it was good, really it was, but more gratifying was watching the delight in Delaney's eyes as she  mouthed almost every word. 

Too Much of a Good Thing

Hard to believe that there is only one more day of summer vacation left. It's tempting to look at all the things I have not accomplished and to wish for more wide-open days of sleeping in, movies, and food trucks. In fact, today at the pool I let my reluctance slip a bit when I was talking to six-year-old Savannah.

"Are you excited about school starting? Is first grade going to be great?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"Oh yes!" she said.

"I'm not that excited," I told her.

She was confused. "Why?"

"Because school is a lot of work," I replied. "I might just like to sleep late and go to the pool every day instead. How about you?"

If I was looking for an ally, I was in the wrong place. "School's not hard!" she scoffed. "It's really fun... maybe even more fun than the pool."

I sighed and nodded because I knew she was right.

A Room of One's Own

The past six years have seen a swelling enrollment in our school system. Even though it wasn't really that long ago that it seemed as if they might close our middle school, now the opposite is true: we are running out of space. As our school becomes more and more crowded, a solution is for teachers to share classrooms. We teach 5 out of 7 periods of the day, but the rooms are in demand even when we are not teaching.

I understand the problem, but what that approach does not take into account is that we have other duties to perform during the non-teaching time, and our classrooms also double as our offices. It is unreasonable to think that we can get as much work done when we are forced to be away from our desks, our phones, and our materials.

Before this, our rooms have been commandeered for use after school and on the weekends by various organizations for classes, meetings, and youth groups. Besides having to pack up and leave whether I am through for the day or not, over the years I have had things damaged and lost by the people who use my room after hours.

To be required to share our professional space is at best an inconvenience and at worst a lack of regard for teachers and their time. With growing enrollments, added accountability measures, and shrinking funds, each year we are expected to do more with less, and now there will be times when we won't even have a place to do that.

Best Practices

One of my pet peeves about educators is that we rarely apply our knowledge of human nature and learning to adult audiences. So many of our presentations for "grown ups" are auditory, made to a sedentary audience. If we want to add pizzazz, we do an ice breaker and a power point.

Seriously?

That's why today, at the midpoint of an all-day meeting, I jumped at the chance to try an activity that one of our PTA members brought back from Alice Water's Edible School Yard Academy in Berkley. At the lunch break, I had seen the gorgeous weather-- all sunny, breezy, and blue skies-- through a window, but when it came time to go outside, our agenda still had several items left, and our principal kindly opened the activity to a vote: Do we have time for this? she asked us.

I knew that for me, time outside would clear my head and probably make the remaining work we had to do easier, so I raised my hand as a yes, and gleefully headed out when the votes were counted. I recognized that some of my colleagues wished we would just get on with it, so that maybe we could leave a few minutes earlier, but they were good sports once we got out there.

The activity was simple, a gentler, more reflective version of musical chairs that I could easily imagine using with students. We sat in a circle next to the garden and under the shade of a couple Magnolias, and everyone laughed and joked and switched seats whenever the wind blew for us.

And perhaps it's just my opinion, but the rest of our meeting was very productive, and we even got out early.

Making Good Time

We pulled out of my sister's driveway in Atlanta at 9:30 this morning. The day was clear and traffic was light from the start, and we made our way 500 miles up I-85 to Petersburg, VA in about seven and a half hours. From there it was just a couple more hours to home. Our luck held, although the weather did not, and despite torrential rain, we were back in town by 7 PM. A long day, yes, but good conditions, good company, good snacks, and good radio made it a practically pleasant day.

Editorial Integrity

We got an email the other day that a colleague of ours, another teacher at our school, is to be featured in a local magazine. The article is called Lessons Learned: Advice from Veteran Teachers, and it profiles seven educators from our area with some bulleted gems of wisdom from each.

Without exception, every  co-worker I have discussed it with has made a gagging gesture. Let's just say that we know the guy, and we're not convinced that he is necessarily the best representative of our profession. He takes a pretty picture, though.

I think that Alfie Kohn might say that this is what kids feel like when we give awards recognizing a few among many. They are often baffled that anyone might make such a decision and resentful of what they consider to be the undeserved recognition of a peer. Such feelings render the entire exercise meaningless. Rather than motivating everyone to strive for the ideal, we are often undercutting the effort instead. We are also establishing ourselves as arbitrary authority figures who are not to be trusted.

What is the fall out of such a dynamic? Well, I'm canceling my charter subscription to that magazine. Clearly they don't know what they're talking about.

Arnold Palmer

When we were kids, one of our favorite summer time quenchers was the mix of Tetley tea and lemonade concentrate that our mom would stir up in half gallon batches. It must have been thirty years later that I learned the concoction had a real name. Now I often order a half-tea half-lemonade when I am out for a lunch, and when the waitress nods and says, "Arnold Palmer?"  I smile and nod in return. Nothing is quite so refreshing.

Today we were on our way home from the pool when we passed a specialty popsicle cart. The kids, Richard and Annabelle, ordered right up, but I wasn't so sure I wanted anything so sweet. "They have an Arnold Palmer," my sister pointed out, and right then? My resolve started melting.

In the end, I carried away the first Popsicle I have eaten in over 20 years, and let me tell you, friends, the frozen tart lemonade tempered by the icy brisk black tea was absolutely delicious.

Injured Pride

We were on our way home from the High Museum of Art yesterday when I took a little tumble.  There was a curb, an uneven sidewalk, a dog, the sun in my eyes,-- all of it came together to literally trip me up. I was on the sidewalk before I knew it.

Unfortunately, there were several witnesses. In addition to Heidi and Annabelle, at least four other people asked me if I was okay. I brushed off their concern as I dusted myself off. "I'm fine, really," I said. "More embarrassed than anything."

"No worries" the doorman in front of the building said. "We've all been there."

His kind words did not take the sting away, and my skinned knee hurt almost as much as my pride. "I will get you a band aid when we get home," four-year-old Annabelle promised. "It might be cool," she added to comfort me.

I was all patched up a little while later as we waited for Richard's school bus. The minute it pulled up to the stop, he and his friend Jake bounded off. "Hey guys!" we greeted them. "How was school?"

"Good," Richard said.

"Cool band aid!" Jake said.

I felt better already. 

What's the Buzz?

This hot droughty summer has produced a lot of reports of  climate change and what we might expect from a warmer planet. Long term and short term predictions of "the new normal" are dire. Just the other day I heard that because of the warm winter and the hot summer, we were looking at an insect population explosion that would probably last into November.  "Just think of the mosquitoes!" the report ended.

I didn't have to think too hard. I've never seen so many as we saw when we were in Maine in June. Even the locals were complaining. On the other hand, the bees in our garden have been plentiful, their colony strong, and yesterday on the ten hour drive from our home to Atlanta, I saw more butterflies than ever before, hundreds of yellow wings pressed into the August sky. There have been lots of dragonflies around, too, probably because they eat mosquitoes, and the chorus of the cicadas is strident, invigorating the lazy summer afternoon.

More bugs? Doesn't have to be a bad thing.

Slippery Statistics

Yesterday when I was setting up my calendar for the coming school year, I took a minute to review our snow day policy. Several years ago, after we got socked with a huge snowstorm that kept us out for over a week, our system responded to the lost time by adding 4 minutes to every school day, and they never took them away. That's why even though we only go 181 days, we have four days to spare and still make the state mandate of 180.

Admittedly, that calculation is just another example of the fuzzy math we educators are encouraged to use when "objectively" measuring just what it is we do all day. Still, I won't complain. According to Accuweather, it looks like we just might need those extra minutes this year:

Big Snows for Washington, DC, Philadelphia, and New York Next Winter

Baby Steps

Last week I ordered my planner for the 2012-13 school year, and today I filled in all the important dates that have been published so far. It was a simple enough task, but I confess to feeling a twinge of excitement for the year to come.

Especially when I wrote "Last Day."

I'm getting there, though.

No News

This afternoon when we were on our way home from seeing The Bourne Legacy, our local public radio station broke into programming to alert listeners to the fact that there had been another mass shooting, this time near the campus of Texas A&M University. We sighed, and spent a few minutes speculating about this recent rash of attacks. Copycats? we wondered. Could the fact that some recent gunmen have survived encouraged other unhinged souls to plan their own offensives?

I considered the movie we had just seen; the body count was high. We live in a society that not only views violence as common and often justified, but also as entertainment. Not only that, but firearms are readily available. Survey after survey has shown that, collectively, we do not have the will to curb gun access. The second amendment is consider a third rail in electoral politics. In the wake of recent shootings pro-gun sentiment has actually risen, along with some catchy tag lines.  

100 million gun owners didn't kill anyone last week.

Things would have been different if someone else had a gun in that theater in Aurora. 

I braced for the gruesome coverage of the latest tragedy, but it didn't come. There were reports of yesterday's PGA tournament winner, Gabby Douglas and Michelle Obama visiting the Tonight Show, and Helen Gurley Brown's death at 90, but there was not a mention of any shootings on either the local or national news programs that I watched this evening. Its omission was so glaring, that I checked on the internet to see if perhaps the radio station had somehow been the victim of a hoax.

But, no. People died today in Texas when a gunman open fired on them. It just isn't news.

I ♥ Ratatouille

And it's a good thing, too, now that our garden is finally coming in. Tonight I was able to prepare the dish completely with homegrown ingredients.

Now that's fresh and local!

Hail to the Chief

The news that Romney was announcing his running mate this morning definitely piqued my interest. Maybe it's our proximity to Washington that engages me in politics, maybe it's something else, but let's just say I was the only adult of five in our group today who had any interest at all.

I'm not sure what I was hoping for when I tuned in, but I don't think it was Paul Ryan. As a liberal, I think I should be happy: Ryan is polarizing, but substantive, his record will frame an interesting debate that I think will ultimately wind up in an Obama victory. We'll see.

It's much more of a gender thing that's beginning to irritate me, though. Why can't the United States elect a woman to the executive branch of our federal government? With the current tickets set as they are, we will have to wait at least four more years to join these countries:

Argentina
Australia
Bangladesh
Bermuda

Bolivia
Bosnia and Herzogovina

Brazil
Bulgaria

Burundi
Canada

Chile

Costa Rica
Dominica

East Germany

Ecuador

Finland
France

Gabon

Georgia
Germany

Great Britain

Guinea-Bissau

Guyana

Haiti

Iceland

India

Indonesia

Ireland

Israel
Jamaica

Kosova

Kyrgyzstan

Latvia

Liberia

Lithuania

Malawi

Malta

Mauritus
Moldova

Mongolia
Mozambique
Netherlands Antilles
New Zealand

Nicaragua
Pakistan

Panama
Peru

People’s Republic of China

Philipines
Poland
Portugal
Rwanda
Sao Tome and Principe

San Marino

Serbia
Senegal
South Korea

Sri Lanka

Switzerland

Tannu Tuva
Thailand
Trinidad and Tobago
Turkey
Ukraine
Yugoslavia

Cooperative Story Telling

By Evie and Jonah

Some flowers are different from each other. Some flowers are alike. Eyeball, eyeball, angry bird angry. Jonah and Evie ran to the angry birds and flowers. They saw a tooth fairy in a beautiful sparkly yellow flower dress. Her hair was orange and she was carrying prizes to put under the pillows in a pretty basket with pink silk roses all over it . "You are stupid children!" she yelled, and then they realized that she was the rotten tooth fairy. She changed into a blackish-grayish for a quick minute and then she waved her wand and turned back. AND she turned good accidentally. Her name was Rosie Kayons. She reached into her basket and pulled out a rotten egg. She held it up and pinched her nose. "Ew! Rotten, rotten!" she said and threw it down and it bounced away. Jonah and Evie laughed and ran away.

Adjust if Necessary

Yesterday I wrote about getting my head back into the business of teaching. Today, Heidi and Emily and I (teachers all) were talking about the pre-pre-service steps we were taking and considering taking to prepare our classrooms and our minds to head back to school in a few weeks.

"I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel," Emily said. "Summer's ending."

"Yeah," I agreed, "but I think what I'm seeing is the dark at the beginning of the tunnel."

I guess I better keep working on my attitude.

No Endless Summer

Over the last few days, I've had several chances to get together with friends and colleagues to start strategizing and planning the school year ahead. Each conversation was good in its own way, but my major take away?

I need to get my head back in the game.