Tales of the Time Change

"Condolences on your least favorite day of the year," a colleague called snarkily over her shoulder on Friday.

"Enjoy your short weekend," I rejoined in the same spirit.

Grrrrr.

*     *     *

My brother is traveling to Texas today. "Is that like double Daylight Savings Time for you?" I asked. 

"No, it's like traveling back into Eastern Standard Time," he said.

Lucky.

*     *     *

"How's it going?" a neighbor asked this morning as our dogs sniffed each other.

"Fine, considering it's the worst day on the calendar," I sighed.

She was sympathetic. "At least dogs can't tell time," she offered. "On this end, they'll let you sleep in."

True.

The Emperor's New Salad

I like to think of myself as a bit of a foodie. I eat out, read food magazines, watch Top Chef, follow the trends on Twitter, and cook a little myself, too. So, I am aware of the recent kale rage and not surprised in the least that lately? It seems like any place that considers itself some place has a kale salad on the menu.

Before we go any further let me publicly proclaim my support of greens. I have a winter CSA, and believe me, I have spent the last five years devising new ways to prepare and eat greens. I plan to continue to do so. Greens are great!

To continue...

A quick search of the internet turns up countless recipes for innumerable versions of kale saled. All have one thing in common: you must "massage" the kale before serving. Shouldn't that be a clue?

Even so, it was with happy aniticpation and the unabashed praise of the waiter that I ordered my first kale salad a few weeks ago. It was lunch time on a holiday Monday, though, and so the kitchen did not send my order with the rest of our table's.

We were on our way to a movie, I had a main dish coming, my family had shared their appetizers with me, so I shrugged it off and asked the waiter to take it off the check. His eyes widened in genuine concern. It will only take a moment, he assured me, but I was already sure, no salad today.

A few minutes later, along with our entrees the waiter presented a kale salad. It's on me, he said. I didn't want you to miss out. I appreciated the gesture, but I doubt any salad could live up to such hype, and that kale salad definitely did not. We all tried a bite, and when we were finished chewing, (and chewing, and chewing), we agreed that perhaps this green did not lend itself to a salad.

Or maybe it just needed a bit more massaging.

Limitless

Parent-teacher conferences at our school are student-parent-teacher conferences, and I am a huge fan of that format. Once a child reaches the age of eleven or twelve, it seems silly not to include her or him in any meeting concerning academic progress. Seriously? No matter what we grown-ups decide, it's the student who must act. That is why we put them in charge of these meetings.

As a sixth grade teacher, I have the lucky job to introduce kids to this process, and in fact, one of the thing I like most about teaching this level is witnessing my students doing so many things for the first time. Their sense of accomplishment at opening a  padlock, finishing a book in a week, buying lunch and eating with their friends at a food court on a field trip, leading a conference, or even writing for 31 days in a row is infectious.

What other wonders await?

Reruns

I do not have a lot of time to watch television, and so the DVR has really simplified our lives. You might think that such a device would encourage one to watch even more TV, given its ability to record anything and everything, but we have found that it has pretty much eliminated channel-surfing. We watch one show per evening, maybe two, (no commercials), a few more on the weekend, then we're done.

So, it was a rare occasion yesterday when I sat in the waiting area of a local service station as my car was getting its safety and emissions inspection and watched a little daytime TV on the screen they had mounted to the wall. A few minutes after I sat down, the hosts of The Chew signed off, drinking merrily from their wine sippy cups, and the dramatic tones of what could only be a soap opera took their place. I looked up from my iPad, surprised to see the opening sequence of General Hospital.

It has been almost thirty years since I lived with my sister and my dad and we followed the show together, but I was curious to see what was going on in Port Charles these days. I expected to be totally lost, so my jaw literally dropped when they returned from the first commercial to a scene where Luke was quarreling with Laura over, of all things, Scottie. Not too long after that, Anna Devane and Duke enjoyed a leisurely lunch at the club, and then you could have bought me for a quarter(maine) when, in the next scene, Frisco tried to convince Felicia that they were meant for each other.

I guess I didn't miss too much.

Customer Service

When you're a regular customer at a place, even if it's a big box kind of a store, it's hard to avoid developing a personal relationship with it. This afternoon, when the storm local weather folks dubbed, "Snoquester" petered out, I ventured out to run a few errands.

The parking lot at Target was pretty empty when I pulled in and made a dash through the heavy, wet flakes. Inside, the store was just as I prefer: quiet, with the few customers there are of us spread out across the sprawling aisles.

I did my shopping quickly and pushed my cart purposefully toward the picket of check-out lanes. I eyed them carefully, both for length of line and cashier. I have shopped there long enough that if all things are equal, I will avoid the employees that I have found to be inefficient, or worse, overly-friendly.

Today was my lucky day! Because it was so slow, there were only a few lanes open, but all of the lines were building as I approached. Just then? I heard a familiar voice call, "Next customer-- Register 13." A couple people with a couple items moved over, but it was a no-brainer for me to join the line.

"Hello, young lady," my favorite cashier welcomed me. "How are you today?"

Young lady? I'd pay extra for that greeting!

Looking Ahead

What do you do when a storm's a-comin? Hunker down, of course: lay in supplies and prepare for some time at home.

But, this unexpected, late (late, LATE) winter storm has re-calibrated my nesting instincts. Tonight I don't want to prepare soup, stew, or cocoa. In fact, I'm making ratatouille-- a warm reminder of sunny days with summer vegetables. And if school is called off tomorrow? I won't be playing in the snow; I'll busy myself starting seeds.

Oh, I'm ready for a break... it's just not quite the one we may have tomorrow.

Xtreme Avoidance

I was dragging a bit at 4 this afternoon when a former student stopped by to see me. It had been a long day full of teaching and meetings and an after-school club, and I still had a few things to do for my lesson tomorrow.

Still, it's always nice when the kids come back to visit, even if it hasn't been too long. This particular guy was in my homeroom and my English class just last year, and time had not erased my memory of his struggle to focus, follow directions, and do his work.

Despite all that we have a very friendly relationship, and I was glad to see him when he plopped himself down in the chair by my desk and told me he was bored. I could understand-- he's in the after school program until his parents pick him up, usually at five. We exchanged pleasantries, but it wasn't too long before our conversation wound its way to his progress and grades this year. "I'm doing much better," he told me. "You should see."

"Well, I can see," I said. "I can look up grades for any student in the school. What do you think? Should we take a look at yours?"

"Um," he hesitated only briefly. "Sure."

With the exception of math, his grades were less than stellar. "Your math grade is great!" I said. "What's going on with everything else?"

I wasn't surprised when he had an explanation for each class. That's how it was last year.

"Mm hmm," I nodded sympathetically after every reason. "Well, what about tonight?" I asked when he was done. "Do you have any homework?"

"Actually, I do," he said, and then he shrugged. "But, I need a computer, so I'm just going to do it at home."

I pointed to the lap top next to him. "You can use that one," I suggested. "Since you have some time until your mom comes."

He leapt to his feet. "I gotta go!" he called over his shoulder as he darted out the door.

Catch Phrases

Once when I was visiting my sister, it fell on me to put together lunch for my four-year-old nephew. I knew what he liked, and so I created a little sampler plate with hummus, olives, grape tomatoes, string cheese, and pita chips. "Well," he said when I presented it to him, "isn't that a healthy lunch?"

Even though it was years ago, his comment stays with us as short hand. When I told Heidi what we were having for dinner tonight, she nodded and said, "Well... isn't that a healthy menu?"

Fortunately, they both meant it as a compliment. The same cannot be said for another of our family's common assessment terms. When my nephew Treat was very young, he did not hesitate to tell us when something was not pleasing to him. At three he had a vocabulary and register mature enough to say that the spinach on his plate was "disgusting" in such a way that might have insulted a cook less confident than his father.

Fortunately, those same verbal qualities made him very open to re-phrasing. We gave him a few other options for politely expressing his dislike, and the one he chose is still a standard for the rest of us. "I don't love this," is what we say whenever something displeases us.

Today as I was reading through my students' replies to their peers' writing I saw the same principle in effect. They are using my comments as models for their own.

Well... isn't that a healthy development?

Hometown Homage

Sometimes one of the best things about having guests from out of town is getting the chance to see your hometown through new eyes. That was the case today for us.

This afternoon we headed into Georgetown with our friend Tom, who is here for the weekend from New York City. We've all visited this historic area many times in the past, and for us, the heavy traffic and the constant crowds makes it a place we usually avoid.

We were armed with an online scavenger hunt that I was able to download to my smart phone at a bargain price a few weeks ago. Since none of us had a specific agenda, the 18 questions provided us with just the structure we needed to explore the neighborhood. We spent a fun afternoon walking through the blustery weather visiting and revisiting many interesting sites both on and off the hunt, shopping boutique chocolates and bakeries and stopping for lunch.

The sun was setting over the Key Bridge and all the monuments of the city glowed behind us as we crossed the Potomac on our way back home. I know people come from all over the world to see these things I usually take for granted, and today I remembered why.

Constant Comment

My commitment to my students is that I will read and comment on any piece that anyone posts for our writing challenge. All 82 kids had time in class today to kick-off their efforts, and though I know the number of posts will dwindle as the days pass, tonight that's a lot of replies to compose!

Fortunately, as I read through it tonight, as always the writing is warm and disarming, so personal and sweet that it doesn't take long to remember why we do this.

I Should Know

Today in an attempt to prepare my students for the hundred-day "Centurion" writing challenge that starts tomorrow, I gave them some time and advice for developing possible topics. "Many's the evening when I've sat before my computer racking my brain for something to write about," I warned them. "That can take much longer than actually writing."

They nodded politely, but I don't think they really got it.

Give it four years.

Fizzle Mob

Yesterday in class I overheard a group of students whispering. "Yeah! We should totally do it!" Someone looked at me. "Do you think she would let us?"

A little while later, one of them approached me. "Can we have a flash mob at the end of class tomorrow? Right before lunch?"

I shrugged. "Sure," I said. Truthfully, I was curious.

He returned to the table. "She said, 'Yes'!" he reported. They seemed a little stunned.

This morning another student came to double check on my permission. "Can somebody put a song on their phone so we have music?"

"Okay," I said.

"Really?"

"Yep."

They are very good students, but I was still impressed at how focused they were during class. They did not want to lose the opportunity. Two minutes before the bell, they made eye contact, and I nodded. Tinny music started softly as the five of them stood up. Two immediately lost their nerve and sat back down. The other three did a diffident version of the Harlem Shake. At first nobody noticed, but then a few other kids stood up and did a little Gundum style arm motion. The bell rang not too long after that and everyone filed out cheerfully to lunch.

I was a little disappointed, but they seemed satisfied to have tried and, well, not succeeded.

Coming Soon...

Today I introduced my students to what's become an annual tradition-- the spring writing challenges. Over the last few years, the activity has evolved to two month-long assignments that kids can voluntarily step up to two month-long challenges that might even be combined to one huge writing challenge... Who among these sixth graders might write and post 100 words or more for 100 days in a row?

Who indeed?

The first challenge, which this year is the Alphabiography Challenge, begins this Friday, March 1. Everyone must post ten pieces of 100 words or more, but to win this one, you only need post all 26 letters on 26 different days.

April will be an off month, but May will bring the Slice of Life Story Challenge: write every day for a month. The big one, though, is for any student who starts this Friday and continues to June 8. They will be the Centurions!

I was very pleasantly surprised and heartened by the level of enthusiasm the kids showed today. If intentions were reality, the vast majority of them would be sporting championship t-shirts in June. The trick will be to keep everyone motivated for the next 100 days.

But that's what we call teaching.

A Bit of an Expert

Someone told me that in Canada, the ukulele is like the recorder here. Most school kids learn to play it as a starter instrument because it's easy to pick up quickly. I think our neighbors to the north may be on to something. If you handed me a recorder today, I could still whistle up a perky little rendition of Mary Had a Little Lamb, and even feel pretty good about it, but it's nothing compared to Let it Be on the ukulele.

When I was in college I played a lot of racquetball. One of the best things about the sport is that it doesn't take much time or talent to pick up the game and really feel like you're playing it. In fact, I was sure I was a bit of a prodigy, playing mostly with beginners as I did, until I played with a friend of mine who was on the varsity tennis team. He schooled me good-- blanking me more than once in the 15 point game. At one point, I got hit in the side with the ball, and I was sure, positive, I tell you, that that was exactly how it feels to be shot. (Fingers crossed I'll never know for sure.)

Even realizing how much of a novice I was didn't discourage me, though. I played all four years. You can imagine how much of a shock it was once I graduated to find out that when you don't live on a college campus, you actually have to pay to play, and racket club memberships are pretty pricey. I still think that's what ended my potentially epic career.

I mention all this because this weekend Josh was here visiting. He was immediately enamored of my ukulele (yet another reason to love that kid), and just as Annabelle strummed and sang every day we were there after Christmas, Josh, too, spent most of his time strumming lovely chord combinations that may or may not have been songs. In any case, it all sounded great, and I definitely see a ukulele in his future (and maybe A-belle's, too).

Fortunately? Ukes are much more affordable than gym memberships.

Breaking News

"I almost fell out of bed when I read in your blog that you were talking about the pope resigning at lunch," my mom told me today. We were catching up since she recently returned from a ten day trip to Morocco.

"Why? Because we were talking about the pope at school?" I asked.

"No! Because I hadn't heard he was resigning," she said.

"Oh! I broke that story for you?" I laughed heartily.

There was a certain journalist's delight in the knowledge. 

The Gang's All Here

It's our traditional Oscar weekend-- only made sweeter by the presence of Riley and Josh. I love the movies; going is one of my favorite things to do, but they can't compare to the company we'll keep tomorrow night.

In the Field

We took two field trips this week, and despite the fact that I planned the excursions and had taken the same trips n years past, I still came away with a lot of new knowledge and understanding. For example, just today I learned why some trees keep their dead leaves through the winter, that the box elder's branches can perform photosynthesis, how snakes poop, why the black marbled salamander breeds in early winter instead of spring, and that most birds dump a load before flight (they must feel much lighter!).

What a shame that field trips are so often the first casualties of the push for increased student achievement as measured by standardized tests.

The Classics

In writing club today a student asked me to read the first couple of paragraphs of the story he is writing. He has an inviting writing voice, and whatever he starts, I usually want to read more. The problem is, he never finishes anything.

To be honest? I can totally relate; I'm not a big finisher either. And today, I made it even harder for him to continue. His character was in the car being driven away from his old home to his new with the radio playing. The three songs our young author mentioned in the segment were Losing my Religion, Midnight Train to Georgia, and Angie Baby.

"Interesting choice of music," I noted.

"I was listening to the oldies as I wrote," he said. My raised eyebrows encouraged him to edit. "I mean, the classics," he continued.

"Do you even know these songs?" I asked. "Angie Baby? Helen Reddy?"

"A-an-gie baby, you're a spe-eh-cial lady," he sang.

"Midnight Train?" I said.

"I love that one," he told me.

"Can you sing it with only the Pips' parts?" I asked him. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Try it! It's really hard," I said. "You think you know the song until you sing it like that." Fortunately, Mary had it on her phone, and I was able to demonstrate the challenge.

On the other hand, he wrote not another word before the bell.

Winter Count

Living so close to our nation's capital provides many opportunities for great field trips, and so we took our students to the National Museum of the American Indian today. Part of the program included a docent-led tour, and our guide pulled out a touch-cart of buffalo artifacts. It was an interesting experience-- she passed around jerky, a horn bowl, a piece of shearling, a bone tool, a bladder water bottle, and a rawhide string bag.

But, the coolest artifact was at the end. It was an authentic 200-year winter calendar (or "winter count") drawn in a spiral on the leather side of a young buffalo hide. Her explanation as to what it was began with a question. "So, how do you learn history at your school?"

I can only imagine what she was hoping to hear, given the beautiful record before us.

"Worksheets," one student answered, and there were nods of agreement all around.

Night Watch

I was awakened around 2 AM last night by an eerie whistling coming from outside. At first it was a confusing part of my dream, some Pi-like tiger training maybe, but it went on too long and soon I was aware of the shadow of the window frame that the streetlight casts on the ceiling of the bedroom.

Isabel heard it too. She sat on the landing with her nose poked through the curtains burfing at the night. I got up and went to see if there was anything visible out the window. Kneeling down, I put my arm around my dog. "I hear it, too," I whispered and peered out into the darkness.

If she could have, she would have said, "You got this? Oh, good." As it was, she relaxed, slipped from my side and back into the bedroom, lay down on the floor, and was immediately snoring.

There was nothing to be seen and the noise stopped soon after, so I too returned to bed, but I lay awake for some time.

Exchange Rate

Sometimes, if I'm tempted by a high-calorie snack or treat, I'll calculate how long on the treadmill it would take to burn it off. With that perspective, it's usually easier to pass up.

Today we saw the Oscar-nominated documentary shorts, and like every year, these five 40-minute films served up a lot of food for thought, as well as close to three sedentary hours on my butt. Still I'm satisfied that they exercised my mind and heart if not my body and heart.

I liked them all, but the one I find my thoughts returning to is Redemption, the story of New York City canners-- a sub-culture of people who comb through trash and recycling to find cans and bottles to redeem. Some simply supplement their income by canning, but most of the people in the movie made their living this way, and hard lives they were.

Early in the film, Walter, a homeless Vietnam vet, drove the enterprise home for me when he started reeling off the cost of things in cans. A Starbucks drip coffee? 50 cans. A box of handmade chocolates? 500 cans.


Such a calibration was momentarily staggering to me, and I could not stop myself from converting my own recent expenditures. The water in the cup holder next to me: 75 cans, downtown parking: 200 cans, that salad at lunch: 160 cans. The sour smell of every redemption center I've ever visited filled my nose, and all of a sudden "just a nickel" seemed like so much more.

Daughter of Adam

Seeing Life of Pi today really rounded out our Oscar quest. After we go to the documentary shorts tomorrow, there will only be a handful of nominees we haven't seen... not that such an accomplish will make any difference in our annual pool.

As beautiful as it was, Ang Lee's film was a bit of a trial, though. We have been putting it off mainly because the animals are in a lot of peril, and so Heidi flat out refused to see it. (She's still a little bit mad that I made us go.)

I suppose you could include the character of Pi in that group of endangered creatures, I certainly did as I wept throughout the movie for his losses. But there is something undeniably different about the evil we inflict on each other and that we direct toward animals, although I don't know why that is. Just the other day, I finished the Newbury book for this year, The One and Only Ivan. I started it last summer, but could not continue-- the tale of the captive gorilla and his friends, two elephants and a stray dog, broke my heart on almost every page.

Why do we tell sad stories, anyway? When I told my students that I had to set aside Ivan because it was way too emotional for me to be reading at school, at least five kids asked to borrow it when I was through.

Their young hearts must be much more elastic than mine.

Unchained

After putting it off for awhile, we finally saw Quentin Tarantino's Oscar-nominated film Django Unchained today, and it was just as expected: violent, gory, loooong, and yet somehow entertaining. As always, Tarantino makes me re-think movie violence... how can I like a film with so much gore?

Well, Christophe Waltz certainly makes it easier. I can't think of an actor who is more able to humanize a killer. In any of the films of his I've seen, despite their egregious actions, his characters are much less despicable and even honorable, because they have a clear ethical code and they work within it.

Something to think about.

What's Your Type?

Who says introverts don't have social skills? I submit that perhaps? We just have a different set of them.

For example, I have one little trick that comes in handy all the time, and I bet I'm not alone. Because introverts are usually reticent in contributing to conversations, many times people assume we aren't even listening, and so I just pretend I'm not. This is handy for at least two reasons. First, it relieves the pressure to actually participate, and second, when people talk like you're not even there, you hear some interesting stuff.

I have adapted this skill to my classroom. Often when my students are working in groups and I am elsewhere in the room, even perhaps, otherwise "occupied" with the attendance or something, they assume I'm not listening...  and so, many's the time I've beheld the shocked face of a kid who has just heard me quote verbatim the inappropriate remark made when the teacher "wasn't paying attention".

My very busy brain might come in handy here, too. I am perfectly capable of tracking three conversations at a time. Another very useful skill in a middle school classroom.

Aside from assisting in classroom management, though, these abilities also provide a lot of entertainment. Just today, I overheard the following remark as my students were supposed to be making the final push on typing and editing their fiction pieces.

"What's the Space Bar?  I've never heard of that place! Do they have anything good there?"

Tradition!

And for our second vegan Valentine? We return to pizza:

Spelt crust, tomato sauce, mushrooms, caramelized onions, roasted zucchini, olives, and fresh basil.

Love!

Ath Wednesday

One of our more precocious, but very impulsive, sixth graders, a self-professed atheist, reacted today to the few students wearing ashes on their foreheads by smearing blue marker on his. He called it atheist Wednesday, but I prefer my shortened version.

Fortunately, the marker was washable and the counselor was available.

So Bad, it's Good

I was in a meeting this morning where everything went to hell. Tempers flared, shoulders shrugged, and cheeks pinkened, and I would be surprised if anybody was satisfied with any of the outcomes.

Even so? It seemed like a step in the right direction.

Let's see.

Know Thyself

The surprise announcement of the pope's resignation was a big topic at lunch today. One of the other teachers clearly stated that she was certainly not Catholic because she liked change. "I sit in the exact same seat in the exact same pew at the exact same mass every Sunday!" she declared.

"That's one of the best parts of the church," I agreed. "You always know what's coming." I raised my eyebrows. "The switch to the new liturgy last year must have been tough for you."

"It wasn't too bad," she answered. "It's really not that different..."

I looked at her skeptically.

"Okay," she confessed, "I did go to an orientation session before they changed. That really helped."

Little Wonders

We were walking back to our car on the trail today when we saw a boy of about 4 and his mother coming toward us. We smiled and so did they, but as they passed us the boy paused and made eye contact with me. "Excuse me," he said in the most polite of tones. "Do you know if there are any eagles here?"

"There are," I answered, "but we haven't seen any today." Before the shine of anticipation on his face could fade, I continued quickly. "You know what we did see? Swans! There are hundreds of tundra swans right down there, and they even have a telescope to see them better."

His eyes widened, and he looked at his mom.

"Cool!" she said as she followed his lead down the trail. "Thank you."

"You never know," I called after them. "You might see an eagle, too."

Battle Scars

Ouch! I have a little blistery callus on my left index finger. Must be all that ukulele playing.

Just sayin.

That Looks Good

We had our annual international movie day today at school. The film we showed was Not One Less by my favorite Chinese director, Zhang Yimou. It was a good movie, and the kids liked it, and after a day immersed in images of China? We're having Chinese food tonight.

Culture Shock

Believe it or not, there is such a thing as middle school wrestling. I say this, because despite my 20 years in a middle school, I am one of the incredulous. Oh, I go to the meets to support my students, past and present, who wrestle, but I'm never there more than thirty seconds before I feel my face physically contorting in shock and consternation. I literally must massage the alarm out of my expression.

Set aside the snug, uniform "singlet" that all wrestlers sport, and even the practice of waiting on hands and knees as your opponent takes his position above you, the rest of the competition still seems very inappropriate to the uninitiated, especially those of us who spend our days discouraging practically everything the wrestling coach wants the athletes to do.

Let's put it this way: Instead of "Get him!" I want to yell "Get off him!"

Could Have Been

There was a segment on Marketplace this evening about the unreliability of memory. It seems that some researchers showed dozens of people photo-shopped images of news events past, and many of the test subjects conjured memories of them. Not only were they convinced that they remembered the fictional incidents, but some also recalled their emotional reactions at the time.

That doesn't surprise me in the least. As a bit of a memoirist myself, I know how slippery the past, even the very recent past, can be. My only defense, when challenged, is that I have presented the story as I recall it, and I claim to do no more or less than that.

Even so, someone else's faulty memory can be stunning. Once I posted a picture of me and my high school roommates. Taken in December of 1977, we are all wearing matching striped pajamas that one of the other girls in the photo gave us. It was a few days before Christmas break, and we had all immediately donned the jammies the minute we opened our packages.

What else would we do but take a picture? I recollect it so clearly: I propped my Minolta SR-T 101 on a chair and set up the auto-feature. There were 15 seconds on the timer, but on my way back to the group I tripped. As I rolled over, my friends grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up into the frame just as the shutter snapped. Of course we were all laughing.

Several folks from those days posted comments on the picture, including this one:  

Actually, wasn't this taken the year I was there? This was taken in Karen and Liz's room. In fact, I'm sure I took the picture.

That's just not how I remember it.

My Pogo

We had a conference today where the parent called her daughter by a nickname the whole time. Not so unusual, really, most Sams were once Sammys and some Kennys have even been Brandons at home, but this girl happens to be Sweet Face to her family.

It was cute, if a little distracting. Truth be told, she does have a very sweet face. Later when I was telling a colleague about it, another teacher came into the room. "We were just talking about Sweet Face," I told her.

"Did someone call you that?" she joked.

"Oh... to be honest? I'm afraid everyone calls me that behind my back," I said. "In fact, it might just be my pogo.*"

*Making fun of your friends about something annoying that they do, all behind their backs. Coined by the show New Girl.

Retrospect

"Will you fix this book for me?" a student asked this morning.

"Sure," I agreed without looking up; as far as I'm concerned, book repair is part of the job. I have a ready supply of packing and duct tape for just such occasions. "Where is it?"

She handed me a ragged lilac-colored volume and its sundered cover. I literally gasped. It was the exact same edition of Little Women that I received for Christmas the year I was in sixth grade. The very one that I read and loved with all my heart, probably just about this time of year 39 years ago.

"Where did you get this?" I asked in wonder.

She shrugged. "It's my mom's."

I flipped to the page facing the first chapter. A pen an ink drawing of a man in a topcoat tipping his hat to a young woman on the street with the caption, May I go also, and take for you the bundles?" sent a jolt of recognition right through me.

I reattached the cover and then paged through a little more, looking at the chapter headings, Aunt March Settles the Question, Lazy Laurence, and so forth, but than I returned to that first illustration, out of place, at the beginning of the book. I remembered how it bothered me back when I first read it.

Jo March? Why in the world would she marry Professor Baer, especially after rejecting Laurie? Duh! That girl was clearly gay!

The Temple

This winter it's been damn hard to find a decent clementine. My theory is that they (and we) are victims of their success. Fifteen years ago, when the charming wooden crates of these delightful fruits began to appear, it seemed impossible to get a bad one. From November to March, we feasted on perfectly tart, seedless little citrus gems. The Spanish beauties festooned our holiday tables and rounded out our brown bag lunches in their bright unassuming way.

Now? They come from Spain, they come from Morocco, they come from California, and they even come from South America in the summer time, but despite this bounty, their quality is spotty. Clever distributors have designed a bright orange mesh to sell them in, making it impossible to see the true color of the fruit, much less its size or the texture of the rind. Everybody loves clementines, but not many of us get what we hoped for once we open the package.

It's to the point where I ask anyone who has a decent looking specimen where it was obtained, and I confess to driving way out of my way just to find some good clementines.

Thankfully, there is another orange that is just as satisfying.  I remember my mother buying Temple oranges when I was a little girl. They were always cheaper than the smooth-skinned navals and Valencias, probably because they have A LOT of seeds, but to me they have always been superior-- easy to peel, always juicy, with a flawless balance of sweet and tart.

I don't feel that the Temple orange has received its proper due, but maybe that's a good thing. Their season is very short, so brief in fact that I forget about them from year to year until that day when I walk into the produce section and spy a stack.

Today, like that day every year, I clapped my hands and nearly skipped over to fill my plastic bag.

Shhhhh.

By the Shorts

We had a fun day today with my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew. It was our annual Oscar-nominated shorts marathon where we see both the animated and live action shows back to back. Even though I was a bit disappointed in the field this year-- I wanted to fall in love with something, but they were all just okay-- it was great company and an excellent shared experience seeing 10 good movies that we wouldn't otherwise.

And even better? We're going to the documentaries in a couple of weeks.

Prankster

One of the teachers on my team has made the decision to retire as of April 1. For someone to retire mid-year speaks to morale around here, but that's another blog post all together. Today she told the students of her departure.

She let them know class by class, but such big news spread quickly, at first through whispers. "Do you think she really meant it?" I overheard one kid ask another.

"Dude! No way!" his friend answered. "She's only joking. Look at the date-- it's April Fool's Day!"

Oh, Genie!

All week long my students have been pestering me about the Genie. When will we know whose wishes were granted they ask? I don't mind at all, in fact I'm really happy, because clearly they are engaged and invested in the assignment.

Five years ago when we first came up with this activity, the teacher that I collaborate with and I actually planned to read through each group and decide whose wish would be granted. We talked about assessment guidelines and criteria and thought long and hard about how to make it a fair and valuable lesson.

Finally on the day before we had promised the kids the Genie was going to reply, we hit upon the following solution:

The genie listened to each wish. When the last person was finished, he stood silently for a moment before he spoke.

"Very well," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "We must find happiness in our journey through life without always searching for it. True happiness is not having what you want, but rather wanting what you have. However, I sympathize with those who have lost what they value, and these wishes I will grant.

Tonight I'm wondering if the Genie would grant my wish, the desire to live a worry-free life. Did I ever have that? I'm going to have to say no.

Tales from the Science Fair

The Effect of Temperature on Growing Crystals

Me: So how did you measure the crystals? By weight? By length?
Student: I just took off the cover and looked at them.
Me, pointing at graph: So, what happened in this trial? It was a lot longer than the others.
Student: I have NO idea. Maybe I used less borax?
Me: So, what would you do differently if you ran this experiment again?
Student: I would kick my dad out of the apartment! He ruined everything!

The Speed of Rodents in a Maze

Heidi: So why did you pick hamsters and guinea pigs?
Student: Believe it or not, they are the most athletic of rodents!
Heidi: Do you have research that shows this?
Student: Mmmm. Yes?

Missing Something?

The all-school science fair is tomorrow, and so especially with the unexpected day off yesterday, you can imagine that our hallways were literally buzzing with sixth graders assembling their final presentation boards. Everywhere you looked, one of a hundred kids was typing, proofing, printing, reprinting, cutting, and gluing. Shreds of brightly colored paper littered the carpets of each classroom.

And so it was that of course I agreed when a small group of students asked if I would stay until the late bus to help them finish up. An inveterate procrastinator myself, I know what it's like to work right down to the deadline.

As they were cleaning up, I walked around to take a last look at their work. One student had been at it for hours. She had her title, all of her headings, and some cool illustrations. "Where's your graph and data table?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't have those," she said.

I was startled. "Well, where's your data? I'll help you make those," I offered.

She shrugged. "I don't have any."

"What!!??" My jaw literally dropped open. "But, your board says your project was The Effect of Music on Memory."

"That's right," she told me, "and I know from  personal experience that you only have to hear a song twice before you know most of the words."

"No, no, no," I cried. "You were supposed to do an experiment! We could have been working on that instead of this!" I swept my hand across the table in dismay.

"Why would we do that?" she asked. "The board is due tomorrow."

Wrong

My psychic sumpin sumpin must be on the fritz. I was sure the freezing rain this morning would give us a delayed opening at best, so you could have bought me with a quarter when I found out that schools were closed. Don't get me wrong, it was a pleasant surprise, but still a surprise.

Likewise, I just knew the book, Wonder by RJ Palacio was going to win the Newbery, but it turned out going to a book I sort of despised, The One and Only Ivan. (What can I say? It's about a gorilla in a two bit zoo. Sad stuff.)

I predict that I won't make any predictions for a while. What are the odds on that one?

Blast from the Past

We saw Argo today, and for once, I was glad I knew how a movie would all turn out. The film was still very suspenseful, but much less stressful. (Thank you, Genie!)

More than anything, though, I really liked seeing 1979 and 1980 again. The setting of the movie was like a visit from an old friend. Oh sure, the glasses were outrageous, and the hair styles were a bit regrettable, and the smoking? In the office! On the plane! Oh, I don't miss that at all, and of course the whole America Held Hostage thing was really no fun either.

But still, seeing all those things that were so very familiar then and are completely gone now, made me more than a little nostalgic for my own days of expat life, flying Swissair and riding in VW Vans, and of course, being 17 and knowing everything.

Alas, that was another century.

My Next Career

Not sure what, but despite the frigid temps this week, I do have my eye on a fancy ice cream maker. No doubt I could put my vegan skills to good work with that!

Hmmm.... It might be best to buy it while I have this career to pay for it.

Oi! Ten Thousand Years Will Give You such a Crick in the Neck

Every year when my students are writing fiction, I give them an assignment to test how well they know the character they have created. In a scenario completely separate from their own story, they are asked to imagine that their character is with a group of people on a beach when...

Someone finds an old bottle with a cork in it. They all gather around to see what's inside, but the glass is cloudy. Someone else suggests pulling the cork, and as they try to pry it out, the bottle drops, hits a rock, and smashes. The next thing they know, blue smoke is pouring out of the shattered bottle. The group stands there in amazement as the vapor takes a form-- it's a genie!

The genie takes a deep breath and then speaks in a raspy voice. "What a relief to be out of there." He stretches and looks around, smiling at them. Then he shakes his head, confused. "But-- where is my bottle?" He spies the fragments being washed out with the tide. "Oh no-- everything I own was in there! That bottle's been in my family for centuries." His smile has been replaced by a frown.

He turns to the group and speaks again, his voice growing stronger with each word. "In return for freeing me, you may each make one wish. However, since you destroyed my home, only one of you will have your wish granted. Wish wisely."

They have to write how their character reacts to this situation. The task is further complicated by the fact that the "group" on the beach actually consists of other students' characters, all making competing wishes.

It's always interesting to read what my students have their characters wish for. In the majority of cases, the fictional folks are barely disguised extensions of the kids in my class, which is to be expected.

Many wish for unlimited wishes, but as I overheard one of my students telling another, "That is the most shallow wish EVER." Lots of others wish for material things; a few nice kids always wish for the genie to have his bottle back.

Year after year I preside over their fantasies, asking questions and clarifying the task as necessary, but I never engage in any wishful thinking of my own. Today was an exception, though. I'm not sure why, but in a brief moment of quiet I considered my own desires, and I knew exactly what I wanted.

I would just wish my worries away. Who needs another wish than that?

Mind Over Matter

In my house, we're not allowed to say that we're sick. We can describe our symptoms, sure, but to take that extra step and actually define ourselves existentially as unhealthy or ill? No way! We are sooooo much more than that one, temporary, condition.

That said, I have a really, really bad sore throat. I hope I'm not coming down with something.

I Feel Your Pain

"I'd like to talk about sexual harassment for a few minutes," the counselor told my class today.

"Oh yeah!" one student blurted, "I did that last year."

There was a moment of silence before her peers jumped on her misstatement, and it was only seconds before she was in tears. It all happened so fast, that although the counselor and I addressed the issue as quickly as we could, she was inconsolable for a minute or two.

"Everyone says things they don't exactly mean," I told her and the class. "Why, just yesterday I was telling another teacher about an email everyone was talking about, but I was sure I didn't get. I said, I looked everywhere-- I checked my inbox, I checked my trash, and I checked my junk.

A few eyes widened. I nodded. "Yep," I confessed, "she reminded me never to check my junk at school."

What's Your Emergency?

The other night we pulled into our parking lot road weary and with several trips to unload. Lately it seems that the neighbors have increased their fleets of automobiles, and so even at our quiet end of the complex, parking is at a premium. As such, our space was across the lot from our home, giving us an extra thirty yards or so to tote our cargo.

When at first I cut the engine, I noticed a very still figure in the drivers seat of the car to my left. Not wanting to stare, but well aware of the oddness, I sneaked a peak each time I returned to the car for another load. It was our neighbor's vehicle, and the person inside, while well-bundled against the cold was clearly our neighbor, her head bowed to the steering wheel.

We made a bit of a ruckus as we unloaded; we called back and forth to each other, and the dog was with us, too, but she never moved or reacted in any way. Finally, I did what anyone else in my situation might do-- I made Heidi go knock on the window to see if everything was all right.

As Heidi approached the car, I lurked just inside our open door, ready to react to any emergency. She rapped several times. "Is everything all right?" I heard her ask.

Then there were muffled replies from within the car, and Heidi's voice, clear in the night, "Okay, we just wanted to make sure."

Later she repeated the conversation to me. "What? Did you think I was dead or something? I'm FINE! It was just too crazy in our house, so I came out here to meditate."

That must have been pretty crazy..

Old Dog, New Tricks

My fingers hurt a little from practicing my ukulele. Where's my treat?

What a Difference a Week Makes

We are all ready to show off our cushy new theater to our guests from out of town today, but things did not go quite as expected. As before, I booked the tickets online and chose our seats in advance. We were running a little late, but entered the theater just as the previews started. "Isn't this awesome," I whispered before stopping dead in my tracks. There were people in our seats.

I am not a confrontational person, but this time I didn't really have a choice. I made my way to the center of the row and stood before the reclining couple. "I think you might have the wrong seat," I started, but the woman there would hear none of it.

"I'm sure they gave us these seats," she told me firmly.

"I have my tickets," I showed her the stubs in my palm. "Do you have yours?"

She squirmed defiantly. "I know these are our seats."

People were looking on in annoyance and the four other people in our group were standing in the aisle. I scanned the theater for empty seats but then realized that there was every chance that someone else had reserved them, and then we would be the interlopers; that could turn into vicious chain. We had to go to the manager.

Five minutes later several people were firmly moved and a few were actually removed. We settled into our seats to enjoy the show, but the reclining seats were cold comfort. Somehow, it just wasn't as fun as I'd pictured it.