A Perfect Day for Nesting

We had the biggest snowfall of the season overnight. Awaking to two or three inches of snow blanketing the rooftops and flocking the trees, I wasn't even disappointed that such a day came when we were already out of school. It was too pretty.

As the day progressed and things warmed up a bit, it was more of a slush storm and not nearly as charming. We ran a bunch of errands and roads and stores were practically empty. It seemed like most folks preferred to sigh at this grey day from inside. Who could blame them really? It wasn't a fit day for man or beast.

That's why I couldn't get upset when I went over to the sliding glass doors a little while ago to see what the dog was fussing about. A squirrel had found my stash of pine straw. I collected it several weeks ago to mulch my strawberry plants later in the spring-- the extra layer should keep the fruit from rotting on the ground-- and placed the bags in the back corner of my deck to keep them from the elements.

The squirrel had other plans, though. I watched her fearlessly gather tiny fistfuls of the dry needles and stuff them into her mouth, mere inches from my dog's nose pressed up against the glass. Then she scrambled twenty feet to a junction formed by several branches at the top of nearby white pine, where I could clearly see her using it to insulate her growing nest.

I could have let the dog out or chased her away myself, but I didn't. I had to congratulate her on finding such a convenient supply of dry building material on a day like this, a day when she needed that pine straw much more than I do.

The Fun Will Come Out Tomorrow

Today was definitely more eventful than yesterday. We kicked off the morning with an epic toilet overflow (in the other bathroom) along with all the attendant bleaching and nasty laundry, and continued on to attic reorganization, fluorescent tube replacement, and a litany of little things that should have been done months, if not years, ago.

Do I feel a sense of accomplishment? Sort of, although it's kind of a bummer to look at the water stains on the ceiling. In addition to all that, the seeds are started are sprouting and I finished the NY Times Sunday Crossword. AND?

We still have plenty of break to go.

Bet Your Bottom Dollar

I was stuck in the house all day today while the workers finished up on our bathroom renovation. Any other Saturday I might have welcomed the excuse to take it easy, whittle down the ever-growing magazine collection, watch a little TV, but today is the first day of spring break and so the enforced down time seemed like kind of waste. Truthfully, I was bored.

Fortunately, there are eight days left. Tomorrow? I'm going to do some fun stuff!

Ideally

As a writing teacher, I've found that for most writing assignments, there are three types of student products. There are the kids that totally get the task and usually write something super-creative and often outside the box. Their work is fun to read and easy to assess.

Then, there are kids who, for a variety of reasons, choose to meet the specified requirements as best they can, nothing more, and sometimes quite a bit less. Those often formulaic pieces can make you seriously question the rubric, if not your career choice.

And then there are some kids who approach the assignment earnestly and so end up composing something that expresses a heartfelt truth for them. No matter the initial technical quality, that writing is a delight to read and a pleasure to help revise, because the student authors care so much about it.

Is it unrealistic to work toward a class where drudgery is banned and the middle group is null? I hope not.

Attitude of Gratitude

One of the teachers on my team is retiring as of April 1, so today was her appreciation party. As the English teacher, I had all of the students write notes of thanks which we placed in a nice little album. The kids did a really nice job-- their cards were genuinely sweet and poignant.

The activity made me remember an interview I'd heard on the radio several years ago. It was with John Kralik, a man who, in his early fifties was overworked and overweight and facing his second divorce and a faltering law practice. Unsure as to how he could even move forward, he took a solitary hike on New Years Day, and after getting lost in the mountains heard a voice tell him that until he appreciated what he had, he would never get what he wanted.

He also remembered his grandfather who gave his grandchildren silver dollars with the promise that if they wrote a thank-you note, he would give them another. His grandfather's lesson was that expressing thanks will pay off, sometimes literally. Considering all the obsolete stationery he had back at his soon-to-be-closed office, Kralik  decided to use it to write 365 thank-you notes, one a day for the next year. His book, 365 Thank Yous, chronicles how that year of appreciation changed his life.

At this point in the year, my students complete a series of writing challenges designed to encourage them to write and post their writing every day, or at least twice a week. As our first task, The Alphabiography Challenge, draws to a close, I plan to do a poetry challenge in April, for National Poetry month. But before then, we have Spring Break, and just enough time to do a mini-project.

And so, our Gratitude Challenge kicks off on March 27: it will consist of ten days of thank-you notes, at least 2 of which will be handwritten and mailed off. Today the students made lists of possible recipients, and it was gratifying to see how little trouble they had.

Prefix Conundrum

I was feeling pretty good about the prefix mini-unit we just completed until I received an email this evening from the parent of one of my students.

So M. was flummoxed by a word problem on a math test that apparently asked him which answer "depicted" something. He had just learned that the prefix "de-" meant "take away" so he didn't understand what depict meant. He said he asked [his math teacher], but I think he was really confused. He thought somehow it meant "did not show."

And I replied:

Oh dear!

I sympathize with M's confusion, but I also commend him for trying to, as the SOL states, "Use common, grade-appropriate Greek or Latin affixes and roots as clues to determine meanings of common English words."

Thanks so much for letting me know; I'll talk to him tomorrow to see if I can help.

I'll embrace it as the teachable moment about a complex subject that it is.

Indisposed

There's a commercial that I've seen a couple of times. It's for a bank that promises it has dialed back on the automatic, non-human services that can be so frustrating. In this particular ad, the bank is closing and a dis-embodied voice tells the harried customer to "come back during business hours."

"I run a business during business hours," he complains as the lights go out.

Most teachers can certainly relate to his dilemma. We run a classroom during business hours. When we're in class, we cannot make or receive phone calls concerning anything. We can't leave for an hour to go to an appointment or let a repairman into our homes. If we need to take care of personal business, we take leave and get a sub.

Come to think of it, I guess most people are working during business hours, which makes sense if your business is business, but what about everybody else?

Street Talk

I have a boy in my class this year who stands out partially because of his commitment to projecting a tough, street-wise image. He wears flashy clothes and liberally references rappers who are known more for their criminal charges than their music. Oh, he definitely has his sweet side, but I was still a little startled to hear him ask one of his peers for help today in class.

"Will you be a dear and check this for me?"

The other student consented with a nod; he didn't even find the request unusual, so I rolled with it, too.

Hurry in! Limited Time Only

Most people who know me know that I love the movies. Those who know me a bit better, may even know that I have a growing passion for short films. When Oscar time rolls around, I am gleeful because it means that there will be three showcases of the short nominees, an opportunity to see at least 15 movies in the theater that I may not have otherwise.

You can imagine my delight today, then, when a friend on facebook liked the PBS Online Film Festival. As much of a public broadcasting nut as I am, I had totally missed this event. In the words of the sponsors, the Festival, featuring award-winning films with a wide array of styles, perspectives and subject matter, will run from March 4 to March 22 and can be accessed via the PBS website and the PBS YouTube channel. From fact to fiction, the films in PBS Online Film Festival feature surprising stories that only we can tell. 

I watched a couple today (of course I went for the cat-cam first-- that doesn't make me shallow... well, maybe it does), and I was not disappointed. I am, however, a little concerned that there are only five days left!

Brave New World

We've been talking about re-doing the bathroom for sometime, but since it's never at the top of the list, any ideas we might have are very vague. Through a series of events, that project was fast-tracked today, and if all goes as expected, work will begin on Tuesday and be completed on Wednesday.

In the olden days, five or six years ago, when faced with such choices, one might consult magazines or books for inspiration, but this morning, as I began to wrap my head around the decisions I needed to make in the next few days, I turned to... Pinterest. A casual user of the site, what I love most is the pictures, and it was definitely visuals I needed to formulate a vision.

My fellow pinners did not disappoint; I found what I sought: the basis of an idea, cobbled from the many that were posted. And it was then that I more fully understood the value of this site. I considered all the stacks of dog-eared magazines and file folders stuffed with clippings that I have collected over the years and added all the periodicals I've purchased because of a single article; here it could all be stored and accessed at the click of a mouse.

Whoa.

All Poped-out

Even though I was raised Catholic, I confess to being a bit surprised by the intense interest this week in naming a new pope. All the details were widely reported in most media venues, but it was the tone of the coverage that really startled me: even the most veteran journalists seemed star-struck by the medieval pageantry of the event.

I suppose the statistic that there are over a billion Catholics on the planet helps explain this avid interest, but it was actually one of the other 80 percent of our fellow global citizens that really put it in perspective for me. Interviewed in St. Peter's Square, she said, Look... I don't like the English, but I watch all the royal weddings and funerals.

Well, if you put it that way...

Hands Tied

Due to standardized testing, there were no laptops available for our weekly after-school writing club today, but never fear, we equipped each student with a legal pad and a pen or pencil. Both Susan Sontag and Maya Angelou have reported composing works of arguable genius on that humble venue, and so we figured it would do.

There was a bit of sulking: "We have to write the old fashioned way," one student complained to another who was just arriving, "like my parents did-- on paper!"

There was also some of the usual writing avoidance: "Can I use the restroom?" one student wrote in large block letters, holding it up.

Overall, though, it seemed like there were fewer place to hide from a blank page than there are from a blank screen, or perhaps just fewer distractions at hand, and everyone wrote (or drew) something they could share.

I'd call that a success.

Let Me Have a Bite of that Cookie, Marcel

Over the course of a middle school day your average teacher probably has hundreds of interactions with students. Multiply that by weeks and years and it becomes pretty clear that we must forget ten times the events we remember.

The older you get, it seems like the worse it gets. This morning when I walked in the building, the first student I saw asked me if I had seen her alphabiography from the night before. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I haven't had a chance, yet."

"It's S," she told me, "for you!"

"Oh! I can't wait," I replied, rubbing my hands together.

But of course, I forgot. Right before she was to enter my class, I dashed to the computer and pulled up her writing. The piece was about an incident that happened in class a couple of days ago, which, not surprisingly, I had totally forgotten about.

On that day, this particular student had not followed part of the directions on an assignment. When she brought it to me to ask a question, she prefaced her inquiry with, "Don't scream at me! I know I didn't do this right!"

"Scream at you?" I asked, "When do I ever scream at anyone?"

She shrugged and nodded, conceding my point.

"I! Never! Scream!" I shouted. "Right?"

She jumped and then laughed. The rest of the class looked over and then continued working. It was just another silly day in English.

Here's how she concluded her piece: Good memories that I will never forget :)

I wish I could say the same.

Strings Attached

Amari's going to be eight next week and so she invited me to her party. The daughter of a former student and the granddaughter of a colleague, I've known her all her life, and she is practically family. '"Sure, I'll come!" I told her. "That will be fun!"

The next day, she asked if I would read a book to the kids at the party. "Yes!" I answered, "That will be great."

The next day, she told me the theme of the party was arts and crafts. "We want you to make those little animals out of pipe cleaners and teach everybody to draw Ninja Turtles."

"What happened to the book?" I asked.

"That, too." She waved her hand across her chest.

My part in the celebration was growing, but it was still doable."Okay," I agreed.

The next day she came by to check that I had learned how to draw the turtles. I hadn't realized how tight my deadline was, but I searched up a quick model on the internet and sketched an angular head with a mask that passed her inspection.

In an effort to deflect any more unannounced responsibilities, I asked her a few questions about the other party details. "Is your mom going to make cupcakes?"

"Yes," she replied, "and the whole party crew is going to decorate them."

"Who's the party crew?" I wondered aloud.

"You..." she started, and my eyes grew wide. Visions of myself rising before dawn to begin work on this obviously very involved event made me catch my breath. "... and me, and Nana, and Heidi, and everyone else who comes."

"Oh! So, it's decorate your own cupcakes?" I said, relieved. "Cool!"

Writing by Ear

My students are polishing up their knowledge and application of the mechanics of dialogue, and one of the quick exercises I've assigned is to recreate a recent conversation. For some reason, this tickles them.

"What if I can't remember one?" someone always asks.

"Write this one down," I answer.

"Really?" he or she giggles and heads back to the table.

Then, when I try to quiet the class if there's too much talking, they like to tell me they are gathering material for the assignment.

You can imagine how spontaneous some of the writing is. Today, somebody turned in this one:

"I can't eat pork," I said.
"Mean either," Shane replied.

"What's this?" I pointed to the second line, curiously. I knew what the author meant, but I wondered why that construction made sense to her.

"It means that he's saying, I can't eat pork, either," she told me.

"Well, you write that as, me neither," I showed her, writing as I spoke.

"Oh!" she wrinkled her nose. "Well, it doesn't sound like that!" she told me.

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!