The Reading Boss

I administered yet another standardized test to my students today. Upon seeing our agenda, they literally groaned with disbelief. I shrugged in sympathy. There is nothing I can do about the 20 days (4 full weeks) of instruction and learning in my class that is replaced by mandated testing. Still, I hate for the kids to get discouraged so early in the year.

"Oh! This one's different," I said. "First you pick the type of passages you like so they give you questions you will find interesting."

They did not seem sold. "How many questions are there?" someone asked.

"It depends," I told them. "It's like..." I grasped for a simile. "It's like a video game. You keep answering until you get a certain number wrong, and then they end your test, tell you thanks for playing, and give you a score."

This they found intriguing. "Do they tell you when you get one wrong?"

"Only during the practice test," I said.

They began to strategize. "Do they get harder as you go?"

I nodded, and I could almost hear the gears turning.

"What if you never miss any?" someone asked. "Do you have to keep going forever?"

"No," I answered. "Eventually, you beat the test."

I guess they had never thought of it that way.

"When can we start!?"

Dictionary Skills

What's an antonym for deficit as in Deficit Thinking?

• abundance
• adequacy
• advantage
• enough

• perfection
• plenty
• satisfaction
• success

• sufficiency
• excess
• superfluousness
• proficiency 

I attended a required work shop for English teachers today. As a result, I got to sleep in by an hour, spend time with some of my favorite teacher friends, laugh a little, eat a free lunch in the sunshine, and get out early enough to go to the gym, walk the dog, and cook dinner.

That was enough.

APS ABCs

Kagan, CRISS,
and SRI,
IA, RICA, oh my my,
SOL, AMO,
writing sample, yes or no?
IB, PIPs, ERO,
catch a SMART goal by the toe.
Synergy is EGP
with less functionality,
and don't forget your UbD:
what's
the
objective?

BS in Literature

I teach a one quarter reading course for the sixth graders on my team. They have four reading teachers over the course of the year, each of us focusing on reading in our content area-- reading in math, reading in science, reading in social studies, and my class, reading in language arts. Because the focus is on non-fiction text, the time the students spend with me is focused on memoir and other forms of creative non-fiction.

Since we only have nine weeks together, we read lots of short memoirs and excerpts, as well as other literature that thematically compliments those selections. For example, so far this year we have read pieces by Jack Gantos, Sandra Cisneros, Billy Collins, and John Scieszka. Another component of the course is having the students write about their own lives, and to tie it together, today the assignment was to read a piece that I wrote.

Oh! I expected it to be well-received, but with this sly group the flattery was so deep I needed a shovel.

"Can you sign mine?" one student started.

"Wait until you read it," I advised.

"Wow!" said someone else a little bit later. "That was the best thing we have read all year!"

I raised my eyebrows. "Realllllllllly?" I replied. "Better than... Jack Gantos?" He nodded vigorously and I continued.

"Sandra Cisneros?

... John Sciesszka?

... BILLY COLLINS???"

He continued nodding and I waved at him a bit dismissively.

"Really!" he said. "I don't know what you're doing here. You should be on a book tour!"

Economy of Energy

Shout out to Sonic dog who figured out there was really no reason to climb all the way out of the pool after fetching the tennis ball-- if you wait on the stairs, someone will toss it again so that you can do what you came for... swimming.

Others may briefly soar, but plugging away offers its own rewards.

School v. Learning

Say what you will about NPR, but whether or not I always agree with them editorially, over the years I have learned a lot from public radio. Today alone is an excellent example. Within 20 minutes this morning, I understood the concept that art is something that puts off more energy than went into making it, and I was also introduced to the narrative structure of Leonard Bernstein's second symphony, Age of Anxiety. Whoa.

As a (okay, sometimes jaded) person of letters, I found these insights into those other arts, visual and music, very instructive, but it was only a few hours later that I was thoroughly schooled in the themes and writing of Ken Kesey in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, a novel I thought I was pretty familiar with.

Educators today are fond of saying that we want our students to become life-long learners, but like so many things in public policy, what we mean by that lofty phrase is not always clear. Earlier this week I wrote about the joy of vicariously experiencing my students' ah-ha moments.

Today I had a few of my own.

That's what we're talking about.

Or You'll Sink Like a Stone

My students waded in for their first dip into our electronic community today. In the years that I have been using this online mix of formal and informal writing opportunities with my sixth graders the response of any given group has been unpredictable.

When my colleague and I created and introduced "Write Here Write Now" to our students on a Friday seven years ago only to log in and find a staggering 1000+ posts the next day we were stunned, but we buckled in for the ride and it was one of the most rewarding years of my career in terms of student engagement and growth.

Of course times and technology have changed a lot since then, and being able to communicate remotely with friends is no longer novel for your average 11-year-old, as a student reminded me today when I mentioned that they could use WHWN to write to classmates anytime, anywhere.

"Why would we do that?" she wondered (quite politely). "Don't we have phones?"

Six Degrees

The other day a young colleague stopped me at the copy machine. "Hey!" she said, and it was clear that she had something she really wanted to tell me.

"Hey!?" I answered expectantly.

She took a breath. "Let me go back. How are you?"

I laughed in appreciation of her manners. I am, after all, her elder. "Fine. And you?"

"I was at a comic convention this weekend," she started.

"Oh yeah, I read about that," I told her. "How was it?"

"Fun!" she continued. "I was a volunteer, and I met another girl who was volunteering, too. We started talking and I told her I teach in Arlington. She asked where, and when I named our school she said that she went here!"

I nodded, following along.

"And then she asked if you were still here," she reported breathlessly. "She didn't even have to think about your name! She knew you right away!"

I gave a little ta da look. "Who was it?" I asked.

When she mentioned the name, I remembered this former student immediately, too. She was one of the kids from my very first year of teaching who used to hang out in my room after school that year. Later, she and some of her friends were volunteer helpers in my summer school classrooms for several years. I had lost track of her, but it was great to reconnect, even once removed.

Today I sent her a message on Facebook:

Hey! KB told me she ran into you at the Comic Convention last weekend, so you know I'm still doing

exactly
the
same
thing

twenty years later.

Fortunately, I still like it. Your class must have broken me in well.

I hope all is well with you! Stay in touch.

I hope she will.

BSN Fantasies

Having just finished my 21st back-to-school night I arrived home with mixed emotions. Relief, certainly, that it was over, and happy, because it was kind of fun seeing former parents, some who have become old friends; I've been at my school long enough to have established a history.

Once again, though, I was mostly disappointed in my presentation. It's very hard to distill a year of English into a ten-minute presentation. I always feel like I have been long-winded and worse, boring. Every year I vow to find the perfect way to convey the essence of my class in a witty and enjoyable nine minutes, leaving just enough time for questions.

Or perhaps, applause?

Maybe next year.

I Don't Know How She Swallowed a Cow

Part of the fun of teaching is seeing the light in someone's eyes when they understand something completely new. I will never grow tired of that moment. In sixth grade there are many such opportunities; one of the reasons I enjoy that age is because in most kids, it is really the transition year between childhood and the next step, and so they are primed for paradigm shift-- something during our time together will totally blow their minds. It might be as simple as opening a combination lock for the first time or having the privilege of walking down the hall not in a single-file line, but it's not an exaggeration to say that these tiny events open their eyes to a new world only before imagined-- you can take the double-takes to the bank.

I have twins in my homeroom this year who are in our school's life skills program. The 20 minutes we spend together each morning is an opportunity for them to interact with kids outside their program, even though they are behind their peers cognitively, socially, and emotionally. Tuesday is a reading day, and I have books of all levels in my classroom. This morning I gave one of the girls a copy of There Was an Old Woman who Swallowed a Fly.

It was before most of the other kids had arrived and she began to read it out loud. Her decoding skills were very good, and it was soon clear that she was comprehending what she read as well. What was also clear was that this was a totally new story to her and her sister. Their shock and amusement as the story progressed was charming. They had no idea how it would end. She swallowed a spider? She ate a cat?! Imagine that! 

Their enthusiasm and appreciation completely revived what I considered to be kind of a dumb story; I will never again hear about that silly old woman without a little giggle.

Time Marches On

I laughed about our culinary disagreement the other night, but to be honest, I totally got where Heidi was coming from. She was not yet ready to give up our bright summer cuisine, and so it should be no surprise that her menu was the one we went with that night.

Since then we have continued our hang-on to summer approach to eating with eggplant and tomato last night, zucchini tomato and pasta tonight, and gumbo on the menu for tomorrow. I'm doing my best to work in the transition to fall, though; this crisp weather practically demands it. We had a crunchy little roasted butternut squash julienne garnish on our salads the other night, and it's kale and apple salad tonight.

So be it.

Public Display

In general, Heidi and I are an amicable pair; in many ways our strengths compliment each other. I don't mean to imply that we always agree, far from it, but it was a rare occasion yesterday when we walked into our local grocery store bickering about what to have for dinner. As luck would have it, the first person we saw was a friend from work, Renee, waiting at the check out line. She was on the phone, but her eyes widened as we approached. Our moods changed completely when we shifted our focus from ourselves to our friend, and we greeted her with genuine cheer.

"What are y'all doing here?" she asked, and then pointing to the phone she added, "I'm talking to Nik." (Who is her adult daughter and also a friend.)

"We're just fighting about what to have for dinner," Heidi laughed, and I joined her because it was so ridiculous. She continued with excellent imitations of our cranky exchange, and we laughed even harder.

Renee looked relieved. "They're fighting about dinner," she said into her phone. "Tracey wants roasted butternut squash risotto, but Heidi wants grilled bread with heirloom tomatoes and a salad." She paused. "Nik wants to know what time she should be there."

An Irving Berlin Kind of a Day

We decided to take advantage of the PERFECT weather this afternoon and head down to the national mall. At 5 PM there an almost carnival-like atmosphere prevailed beneath the cloudless sky. A street musician played Linus and Lucy on his keyboard while four little children danced on the grass. A young man carefully placed a wine bottle in his shoe and rapped it sharply on the ground next to his picnic blanket while the pretty girl he was with looked on. The cork remained firmly in place as we passed, and the rapping became pounding. I always wondered if that trick really worked. A little further on, another man passed us juggling three tennis balls as he went, and right after we rounded the west steps of the Capitol, we caught up with and passed two guys chattering in Italian and also practicing their operatic la-la-la-la-las as they strolled along the gravelly path. 

Nothin but blue skies.

Hashtag

Is "pie hole" an example of metonymy?

Open yours and discuss.

Coming to You Live

A neighbor stopped by the other night to chat. She was giving us the latest on her 5-year-old niece who recently started kindergarten in another state. It seems they have a behavior plan in her class that involves a 10 point system. Her niece is never quite clear on how many points she has or where they went by the end of the week. The family suspects a bit of truth-stretching here and there; it's hardly surprising-- who wants to report unflattering news, especially when you're five?

That's okay, though, our neighbor told us, because the point system is going to be online in a couple of weeks with live progress reports for every kindergartener.

Of course it is.

(Shakes head and turns off the computer.)

The Whole Story

I got a look at the first examples of my new students' writing today. After we read "The Follower" by Jack Gantos, I asked them to identify a possible theme of the story. Don't follow a bad leader; be yourself; monkey see monkey do; listen to good advice, were all accurately offered. The next step was for them to write the story of a time when they learned that lesson themselves.

Given the nature of the prompt, it's hardly surprising that many of their pieces included the sentence, We got in big trouble. Every single story left it there, though, and because I don't know these kids very well yet, I was curious about their definition of "big trouble."

Turns out, it doesn't take much more than a few harsh words or a tap on the wrist for these kids to call it hot water. Well, either that, or they were taking creative license. It doesn't matter though, because it was a great opportunity for me to remind them to elaborate.

"Tell me everything!" I encouraged one student. "What did the principal say? How did you feel? What happened then?"

He frowned and shrugged. "Details, details," he sighed.

I laughed. "Exactly."

Late Summer

What to do when the high temperature for the whole year falls in September?

Fire up the grill!

Traction

This is our fourth year of doing Tolerance Club, and today's meeting was full of surprises. In other years, we have embraced the largely sixth grade participation as a good thing, hoping that we could count on their commitment as their middle school time progressed. That was never the case, though. For some reason, Tolerance Club just wasn't appealing to 7th and 8th graders, and all but our most faithful participants dropped out. This year, we made the conscious decision to be happy with whoever we got-- everyone can use a little tolerance, right? So, imagine our delight when the majority of the kids who showed up were in seventh grade, most of them our alumni from last year.

Could it be that this tolerance thing is finally catching on?

Laying Odds

And so the weekend ends...

with a wet and happy tired dog,

and a homegrown butternut squash casserole.

If the week ahead is half as satisfying, we'll do just fine.

Standard Time

Getting used to a 48 hour weekend?

Gonna take some practice.

Rolling with It

A long time ago I heard a piece on the radio about how you can calculate the temperature by counting the rate of the crickets chirping. I was driving to the mountains on a beautiful fall Saturday in the September of my first year of teaching, and everything seemed so perfect already that this information was as intoxicating as spiked koolaid-- the blue skies, leaves turning in the golden light, and the slow but steady singing of crickets marking the entrance of Autumn was all almost too much.

Today, the first Friday of the school year, was an equally lovely day, and tonight I hear the peeping of crickets outside my open windows. I paused a few moments ago to count their chirps and applied the formula I heard so long ago.

48 degrees? That seems a little off.

Out of the Running

September 5:

What happened!!!??

Just wait till next year, Charlie Brown. You'll see! Next year at this same time, I'll find the pumpkin patch that is real sincere...

Haters Gonna Hate

Having attended high school long ago and far away, I appreciate FaceBook for its easy access qualities. There are so many people that I might never have heard from again with whom I'm in touch. I have to be honest that for many of them, the reality of busy lives in distant geographic locations might not be a great loss for either of us, but I do value the connection I have with more than a few folks.

Even so, this morning when I got a message that the administrator had posted to a private group nominally set up for anyone who attended our school from 76-79, I was a little appalled. He was asking about someone who was requesting to join.

Does anyone know a MC. No recolection of guy nor does he have high school info about himself?? 

Not only do I remember MC, but I happen to know that he's made a concerted effort to connect with other alumni both on and offline. I rolled my eyes and closed the app, but by the time I checked again this evening, there were even more comments.

I don't recall either. So I didn't reply to friend request.

and

I believe I graduated with him in 1980... he was a rugby player?

and

he was a fat slob. he probably is still a fat slob. I owe him something that I hope to give to him someday.

Seriously?  I felt as if I had been transported back to high school again. The popular kids were running the group, posting their pictures, admitting their friends, and keeping the wannabes out. 

I only had one question.

How did I get in? 

I may never find out though, because right after that? I quit.

The Linus Project

Here's a visual update on my bid for the sincerest pumpkin patch of the year:

August 8:

 

September 1:

He's gotta pick this one. He's got to. I don't see how a pumpkin patch can be more sincere than this one. You can look around and there's not a sign of hypocrisy. Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see.

That's a Wrap

"It's been a good summer," I said to Heidi this morning. "The weather's been great, the food's been excellent, and the company has been generous and fine."

She nodded.

"Let's do it again next year!"

Soft Ball

I'm a big fan of Sixty Minutes; I generally find their choice of stories interesting and their coverage unobjectionable or better. It's always different, though, when a news organization covers a topic of which you yourself have personal experience, knowledge, and (dare I say?) insight, so of course I'm much more critical of their education segments than of any others, even though they probably interest me the most.

Tonight they re-ran a piece on Khan Academy, the on-line, non-profit educational website that was created by a guy who was just trying to tutor his cousin in algebra. When his YouTube videos took off, he quit his job as a hedge fund analyst to focus full time on this endeavor. Salman Khan's efforts were noticed by no less a power player than Bill Gates, and so a movement was born.

Flip teaching, backwards classroom, reverse instruction, flipping the classroom, and reverse teaching are all terms for the method of instruction where students access the content (or lecture portion of a class) at home and then come to the instructor for support or coaching as they practice (traditionally the homework part of a course).

As a teacher, I am not threatened by this approach in the least. On some level, it makes a lot of sense. I am skeptical, however, of the great gains proponents claim when they champion such programs. As it is right now? All their data is based on students who were motivated to access such online support; it's not rocket science to teach people who want to learn.

That speaks to the largely ignored challenge of American public education today-- it's not so much that our teachers or schools are unqualified (although admittedly, some are)-- no, our system is failing because for so many reasons there are a lot of kids who are not ready and willing to learn what we have to teach them.

Fountain of Youth

I spent some time today going through pictures from the last ten years or so. They weren't in albums or shoe boxes or even special envelopes with a little pocket for the negatives, every one of the photos that I looked at was on my computer. I didn't sort or shuffle; I scrolled and clicked.

At first, it was simply amazing to me that it's been ten years since we went digital; it certainly doesn't seem so long, but actually looking back convinced me otherwise. In part it was looking at the kids in my life. What a cliche to say they grow up so fast, but there it was in 3000 pictures. At one point in my trip down memory lane, I decided to focus on the changes in myself rather in them, because, to express another common sentiment, I don't feel any different than I did back then. That was a short-lived initiative, mostly because whether I feel like it or not, the last ten years have wrought some undeniable alterations in me and the other adults in the photos. (Sorry guys!)

I have a lot of pictures from school, though, and they are like a little time capsule. To me, most of those children will always be in sixth grade. That's part of the illusion I think-- the kids I teach never grow older; every September they are simply replaced by another group of eleven year olds.

An Economy of Teaching

When I first started teaching, we always had a four-day weekend after the teacher work days and  before school officially began for kids on the Tuesday after Labor Day. Back then, the time off was wasted on me. I was always so anxious to meet the students and begin the year that I could never enjoy the long weekend.

That luxury was dispensed with long ago when we hit the first of several economic bumps in the road over the last 20 years. Today I worked from 8-6, and as I walked out the door this evening, it was with a heavy backpack and the feeling that I just wasn't quite ready. It almost seemed like the week was spent training and preparing for everything except my actual lesson plans.

Even so, I am going to relish the next three days. If I've learned anything in the last 20 years, it's to embrace the down time, because once school starts it will be scarce.

Platitudes Aside

In the last four days I have been bombarded by peppy platitudes. As a returning teacher, I have been encouraged to Engage Educate Empower and also to Believe Engage Succeed. I've been urged to strive toward being the Guide on the Side rather than the Sage on the Stage. I've been asked to don the four hats of the effective teacher, Facilitator, Presenter, Coach, and Evaluator, and I have been informed numerous times that PLC (Professional Learning Community) is a verb, not a noun.

That last one? Just dumb and patently false. I get that they want us to know that our active participation in our PLCs is crucial, but don't tell an English teacher to call a noun a verb; I couldn't possibly PLC a damn thing.

You know what is a verb? Teach. And once again, on this sixth grade open house day, as I stood outside my class room greeting so many of our students and their parents and answering their questions when they turned up to see their new school and figure out just where they must go on Tuesday morning, I knew that I was born to do just that.

New Again

When I was a sophomore in college it was my habit to meet friends at our campus pub 3 or 4 times a week. We usually made it at 9:30 or 10, after studying or as a break in studying. I always had the same thing-- one Heineken Dark. There was something super satisfying about the mahogany brew, a little bit bitter, a little bit sweet, and awfully smooth going down.

I also learned to play Space Invaders then; the only two arcade machines they had were that and Asteroids, and the spinning carat trying to blast those chunky blobs of the latter game simply did not appeal to me. No, I much preferred the precision of destroying the linear ranks of those crab-like aliens and their flying saucers.

One of my friends, Todd, was particularly skilled at Space Invaders. He gave me valuable tips like stay to the left or the right and systematically shoot the invaders column. He also told me about counting my shots-- 22 exactly before destroying the first space craft and then 14 for each one after would make each ship worth the maximum 300 points. Of course it was a cheat, but in those days waaaaaay before the internet, how did he even know that?

Regardless of its source, it was all I needed to set the high score on that machine. Oh, how my friends cheered and celebrated seeing TAS at the top of that list! Heck! I probably had a second Heineken Dark.

Today at school, I hooked up an old plug and play TV version of some classic arcade games to the LCD Projector in my room. I figured that the kids would enjoy it on game day. These particular games were a few years beyond Space Invaders, but it did have Galaga, which in my mind was always the next step up from my old favorite. I turned out the lights and played a few rounds, and it was fun, but it was missing a little something...

Yeah, I cracked the beer open when I got home.

Wishful Thinking

Today I received the following message on my school email account:

I would like to discuss a business opportunity that offers the potential for considerable returns.

I work for a privately held manufacturing company, which at this time purchases a product imperative to its processing operations, at a price significantly above the manufacturing cost. In my proposed business venture, you would assume the role of stand-in supplier, providing this key material while retaining the same profit margins. My role would be to introduce you to my company as the supplier and to establish a contract between you and my employer.

I understand that your previous experience may not immediately relate to my field. However, this venture is more in line with your personal capabilities rather than your professional experience.

Please send a return email verifying your contact number and to arrange the most convenient time to discuss these possibilities in detail.  I look forward to speaking with you soon.

Kindest Regards,
Edward Wassermann  

Wasn't that nice of Edward Wasserman, complete and total stranger that he is, to extend such a generous offer? I do have a couple of questions, though. First, I would like to know who actually falls for such bogus bullshit, and second, I'd like to know why opportunities like that don't really just show up in your inbox.

It's Brain Science

We had an all-day packaged training at school today. As it happened, there were many practical ideas offered, and spending the day in the library with my colleagues actually relieved a lot of my usual first day back stress-- there was really no other choice, so I just went with it. My group of four was also awesome, making it that much easier to relax and enjoy the day.

Oh, I still have a philosophical objection to the merchandising of education; I believe we paid a lot of money for nothing more than a common sense set of strategies and the common language that goes along with a whole-staff orientation, but I am glad that we did not buy any test-taking and remediation advice from any subsidiaries of test-making companies. (That will come later.)

The session itself was generally engaging; the presenter very effectively used the strategies she was selling to get her message of structured cooperative learning across, and although I do have some concerns about extrovert bias, this introvert had an okay time. I even learned a few things, like for example your brain is constantly evaluating your experiences and sorting them into threats, opportunities, or neither (which are things to be ignored). Once you perceive a threat, your amygdala goes into hyper drive, resulting in a mental state where it is impossible to think clearly or even learn for up to three hours.

Later, when Heidi and I were debriefing at home, I asked her about one of the activities. "So, what did you say your ideal job would be? Dog training?"

"Yeah, with Cesar Milan," she said. "What about you? Park ranger?"

"Yeah!" I said. "How did you know that? I could barely think of ianything to say myself this morning."

She shrugged. "I know you."

Better than my own amygdala, apparently.

Stupendous, Indeed

Not content to sulk my way into the new school year, I invited my brother's family over for dinner tonight. They were just returning from a week at the beach, and so the timing was perfect, especially since Riley and Treat are off to college tomorrow and Thursday, Bill has business in Buffalo on Tuesday, and Heidi, Emily, and I will be in the library at school at 8 AM sharp tomorrow. Only Isabel and Sonic will be left to this life of leisure.

We had a really fun time, and a fun menu, too-- my dad's family recipe of tomato sausage sliders, served with fennel slaw, sliced tomatoes, and pickled peppers, delicious corn on the cob, and kale salad. We washed it all down with cold beer and followed it up with a South Jersey style peach and blueberry crisp and a variety of homemade ice cream, including a new one, cherry cordial.

We were definitely missing the other five of our family, but even so, I can honestly say that the evening took all the sting out of having to set the alarm in the morning.

Yeah, it Is

We're partial to Life is Good merchandise in our household. Each of has several T's, we also own pajama bottoms, water bottles, dog collars, pool toys, and a tire cover that bear that eponymous slogan. Oh, over the years there have been cynics among our friends wondering where the Life is Crap gear might be found, or criticizing the motto for being overly simplistic, or too optimistic, or just plain wrong. "They're just so bossy," someone once said to me. "I feel pressured to be happy whenever I see their shirts."

As for us, we take it as a reminder, an intentional way of looking at things, even when doing what we like and liking what we do seems impossible. Plus, they sell really comfy stuff.

Today, on our way out of the market, a young girl of perhaps 11 or 12 read Heidi's shirt. "Life is Good?" she asked. "It should say life is great! No! Life is awesome!"

We nodded and laughed and then parted ways as we turned to the parking lot. She popped up a moment later a few cars down from us. "Life is... STUPENDOUS!" she called.

"You're right about that!" I answered, glad for the extra reinforcement.

Buzz Kill

"Hey, did you see they caught a couple of sharks down at Point Lookout?" my friend Mary asked me yesterday.

I hadn't heard the news, so I whipped out my smartphone to discover the details. Two 8-foot bull sharks had indeed been caught just a few hundred yards from where we spent that idyllic day last Wednesday.

According to Wikipedia, the bull shark is known for its aggressive nature, predilection for warm shallow water, and presence in brackish and freshwater systems including estuaries and rivers.

And I was worried about the jelly fish!

Of the First Kind

I've been so busy complaining lately, (which according to an all-day meeting I attended today, is like a rocking chair: it gives you something to do, but you don't really get anywhere,  hmmmm... maybe I'll write about patronizing platitudes sometime) that I haven't had a chance to tell about the very strange experience I had the other night.

I was sitting on the couch around 9 PM, and the sky outside my window was dark; the days have grown noticeably shorter in the last month. I happened to look up, and I noticed an orange light in the sky. I really didn't think too much about it, because we live very close to both Reagan Airport and the Pentagon, so we have all manner of planes and helicopters flying over our house all the time.

However, there was something about this thing that was arresting. It may have been the way it was moving: slowly, so that at first I assumed it was a helicopter, but there was no noise, even though it seemed pretty close by. I shrugged it off since the windows were closed, but I couldn't stop watching the thing. Finally I went out on the deck to get a better look.

"Heidi! Get out here!" I cried. The sky was lit by four identical orange orbs, silently hovering just above the eastern horizon. As we watched, they began to glide slowly up and away, and then disappeared into the clouds.

We looked at each other. "What the hell was that?"

I dashed to my computer, confident that others, too, had seen these things and there would soon be many reports and an explanation to follow, but there was nothing. As I waited for the news to catch up with me, I searched the phrase "Weird orange..."  

lights in the sky? Google suggested, and I clicked to find out what it was.

It turns out that many people all over the world have reported seeing (and photographed and video recorded) lights seemingly identical to ours in numbers from 1 to 20, but there has never been any official military or government acknowledgement of any of these sightings or accounts, and no one knows what they are.

NO ONE KNOWS WHAT THEY ARE!!

C'mon! That's ridiculous.

Evidently, though, nobody else around here saw these lights the other night, or if they did, they have not detailed it in a way that I have been able to find on the internet, so I am reporting it here.

The truth is out there.

(Would somebody mind sending it my way?)

Professional Discourtesy

As I mentioned yesterday, our district is adopting a new grade book application. This one is designed to be seamlessly integrated with our student information system, which on the surface seems to be handy and, with any luck, labor-saving for those of us working directly with students. In order to prepare for the big roll out, teachers were required to enroll either in a face to face training or an online course to introduce us to our new tool.

Technically, people can get the training next week when we're contractually back to work, but that pre-service week is pretty busy, and so we were encouraged to do this over the summer, strongly encouraged, because they couldn't require us since they weren't paying us. Having a plan to meet this requirement was one of the things we had to do before we could "check out" at the end of the year in June. My plan was to take the online course, and I put my plan off until today.

To be honest? It's miraculous that I did it this far (4 days) in advance of the deadline, but I was putting something else off, and this seemed like a good way to do it.

Unfortunately, the class was excruciating. There were 13 modules, each with step-by-step directions and a video which was actually a narration of those same directions. There were four 2-question quizzes and a 7-question final test at the end. There was no hands on practice or other practical application and my brain was numb 30 seconds into it.

Perhaps if I could have accessed my new grade book, or a new grade book and played around with it a bit, these lessons would have seemed more meaningful. It was yet another example of adult learners being bludgeoned by some of the worst practices in education. Why do we do that to ourselves? It seems comparable to doctors treating each other with leeches. Oh wait, they don't do that. They use their best technology and efforts on their colleagues.

Don't worry. I aced the class, probably because mind-numbing and rigor rarely go hand in hand.

AND, I'll be sure to make that comment available in the public portal. (If not, you can always just FOIA it.)

Back to the Future

I so appreciate my friend, Ruby Justice, taking the time to read and comment on my writing here. In her last reply, she agreed with my concerns about the headlong embrace of technology in education and she ended her post with, I see a return of paper gradebooks in the future , too! ;-)

Winky face noted, I started to reply to that comment specifically, but then I realized that there was more to my thoughts than a sentence or two.

When I first started teaching 20 years ago, there were some computers in the school, mostly in labs, and mostly used for word processing, math practice, or social studies simulations. The internet as we know it was in its infancy-- it would be a couple years before I had a dial-up modem and an AOL account at home, and after that, I helped introduce such connectivity to my school by writing a grant for my classroom.

Still, it was several more years before they gave us all "teacher work stations," and for that time, my grade book was vinyl-covered and spiral bound. Each student's name was handwritten in the column on the far left, as was each assignment vertically across the top. Grades were entered in the light green grid before assignments were handed back, and in those days, it took hours with a pencil and a calculator to figure out quarterly grades for 90 kids. That chore alone put the "work" in teacher work day.

As such, I embraced the introduction of grade book software. In addition to the hours it saved at the end of the quarter, it was really productive to know how kids were doing as we went along, and printing progress reports with lists of missing assignments was a useful way to communicate with students and their parents. Sure, there could be some confusion, particularly between home and school-- not being present in the classroom meant, understandably, that parents did not always understand what was missing or why a particular grade was what it was. Most teachers were more than happy to explain, however, and the electronic grade book became an accepted tool. Personally, I used to say that these reports were like snapshots-- they were, by their nature, likely to change, or have changed already, over time as more assignments were completed and assessed.

Soon, we were sending home bi-weekly progress reports, in addition to our mid-quarter, quarterly, and annual grades, which was helpful for some students and their families, and therefore in my opinion worth the extra work. Two years ago, we implemented a system where we uploaded our grades every week, affording that much more access to any interested stakeholders.

Of course, we were aware then that many school districts had taken the next step-- making the teachers' grade books accessible, live, to students and parents, and instead of feeling inconvenienced by preparing weekly reports, most of my colleagues felt lucky that that was the extent of access to our records. I think there was a consensus that live access was a bad idea, not because we had anything to hide, but rather because any snapshot can be, at best, unflattering, or at worst, misconstrued.

This year we have a new web-based grade book, and it looks like it's going to allow live access. I'll let you know how it goes, but as of now? I'm in the market for something vinyl-bound, maybe with light green pages.

Should We talk about This?

I've been thinking a lot about screen time lately. A new book outlines the dangers of such a commonplace stimulating entity to any of us, but particularly to children. It seems that such a regular intense experience can become addictive.

No shit.

It also seems that the quick cuts from image to image and topic to topic may contribute to the rise of attentional issues we see in our citizens, both child and adult.

Again, is anybody really surprised?

As an educator, I have definitely exploited the engagement and convenience that technology offers. I have successfully structured assignments intentionally mindful of those qualities. In the last few years, I have received some push back, though, from families who would like to limit their children's screen time. I have responded to them just as I have accommodated households without internet access-- by offering minimum requirements that can be met at school.

My assignments are usually limited to some sort of prompt and then the opportunity to share responses and reply to peers. In the last few years, my students' enthusiasm for such tasks has been on the wane, even as their parents' protests have grown. The kids want even more bells and whistles while their parents wonder what's wrong with good old pencil and paper.

My prediction? This will be a pivotal issue for human beings. Our technology is changing us, but exactly how so and to what end remains to be seen.

More Signs of the Season

After a very nice visit, we dropped Mark off at the airport at around 5:30. As we drove off after the hugs and farewells, Heidi sighed. "Summer's over."

"We have one more week," I said. "How can we make the most of it? Wanna go to the movies?"

She nodded and I gestured at my smart phone. "What's playing?"

In the end, we settled on the number one movie of last weekend, Elysium, not out of a burning desire to see it (although we liked District 9 and Matt Damon, so it was definitely on our list), but rather from convenience; that particular movie was playing in 15 minutes at a near-by theater.

Oh, I love the movies, and in the summer? Any movie will do, because there is always tomorrow to see or do something else. But I did not love this one, and as we filed from the theater, I knew our vacation was coming to an end, because I felt disappointed.

Move-in Day

In between bakeries, coffee shops, restaurants and take-out joints, Mark wanted to make a few other stops in DC today. In 1989 he spent the summer living and working in a halfway house in Columbia Heights. One of the places he wanted to revisit was the lower quad at Howard University. "I used to grab a blanket and a couple of pillows and escape the craziness by coming over here and reading under the trees," he told us.

I had never been to the Howard campus, and the quad was stately and beautiful and mostly quiet, despite today being "move in" day for the class of 2017. The weather is still unbelievably cool for August, and red, white, and blue balloon arches glowed in the bright sunshine and swayed in the fresh breeze.

Many, many cars were lined up way down the road and around the corner, waiting patiently for their turn to pull in and unload. As we walked by, I noted all the state license plates: in addition to DC, Maryland, Virginia, we saw several from New York, Georgia, both Carolinas, Florida, New Jersey, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Tennessee, and Texas-- hundreds of kids from all over the country were here to start the next big phase of their lives, and it was really cool that this was my home town.

Along for the Ride

Heidi's brother is in town for the weekend, and unlike our other guests this summer, he came with an agenda. Despite or because of the fact that he is a very fit and lean guy in his late 40s, he has a list of bakeries that he wants to hit while he's here.

As soon as his plane landed at noon, we headed downtown to check off the first three places. And by "checked off" I don't mean we looked at the menu and then ordered a glass of water, I mean the guy ate six Portuguese pastries, two ginormous slices of pie, and a half dozen butter tarts before we got home. The other 3 slices of pie, six pastries, and slice of cake roll are also gone, as is dinner.

I don't think I've ever fully understood the notion of living vicariously, but friends? I get it now, and I cannot wait for tomorrow!

Like Sands through the Hour Glass

This year I find myself clutching each summer moment as it passes-- just sitting in the chair enjoying a cup of (okay, really good) coffee while reading the morning paper with the window open becomes a precious little gem I want to stow away for leaner times. Perhaps that's wise... the prospect of returning to another year of contemporary public education weighs heavily on each bright day. I'm sure there is a healthier way to handle this time off, but that strategy will have to wait until next year.

Day Tripping

When I was a kid, my mom worked in the summer. Most days we had specific chores that were to be completed before she got home. Ever efficient, she typed a form for us on her IBM Selectric. I can still remember that typeball script.  

Good Morning _________,

Please complete the following jobs.

[Then there was a checklist, and of course the closing,]

Love, Mom.

Looking back on it, those chores were the least we should have done, and to be honest, it was no hardship whatsoever. That's not exactly how we considered it then, but there were always a few days when either we didn't have a list, or better yet, there was a note that Mom was coming home early and we were going to the beach.

In my memory, those days seem too good to be real; I can't recall a single bad thing about any of them. In my mind, the roads are never congested, the parking lot has plenty of space, the beach is never crowded, the day is never too hot, the picnic lunch never has sand in it, the drinks are always cold, no one ever gets sun burnt, and should we stop to pick blueberries on our way home? They practically jump into the buckets on their own, while we help ourselves to as many berries as we can eat.

This morning, when we awoke to a 60-something degree day in August, that siren call of the summer day trip was irresistible, and so we set aside the unit planning and pre-service reading we should be doing and instead packed a picnic and threw the dog, some towels, and a couple of beach chairs in the back of the station wagon and headed to a new destination for us. Two hours away there lies a peninsula that marks the confluence of the Potomac and the Chesapeake, and there, where once was a Union prison camp for all the Confederate soldiers captured at Gettysburg and later battles of the Civil War, is a state park with several picnic areas and beaches, some of which allow dogs.

There was no traffic as we drove out of town and down to Southern Maryland. When we arrived, the parking lot was empty and so was the beach. We set up our chairs, and ate our lunch as our dog played in the waves. Beachcombing our way down the shore, we found a fair amount of sea glass, an arrow head, and a shark's tooth. For most of the afternoon, two bald eagles swooped over our heads, chirping and whistling to each other. We only saw one jelly fish all day; it was not too hot, and no one got sunburned.

On our way home, we made two stops-- at a farm stand for some local corn and tomatoes and at a seafood place where they were selling pounds of lump crab meat that had been picked on the premises this morning-- then it was back home in time for dinner, almost too good to be real.

Fun at the Pub

We met some friends for trivia night at a local Irish pub this evening. Well, we talked about doing the trivia contest, but when we arrived the weather was too nice to go inside and so we dined out front, chatting and people watching, until the skies opened and a torrential rain forced us inside to pay our bill.

The wait staff was apologetic, seating us at an open table so that Stephen could finish his tea. Marty seized the opportunity and went off to gather the proper trivia supplies. It was the beginning of round three, and we were game. In addition to the questions that our spirited host posed to the assembled patrons, there was a visual round as well, a page of photos that we passed around the table.

The noise in the pub was a bit loud, though, and the questions did not come as quickly as we may have liked, and so it was around question six that we agreed to pack it in at the end of the round. "What three word phrase popularized by migrant worker advocate Cesar Chavez became the slogan of Barack Obama's 2008 presidential campaign?"

"Yes we can!" shouted a guy at the end of the bar.

"Really?" asked the announcer. "How about shut the fuck up asshole? Oh, wait! That's too many words. No one's going to get any points for that one, because you are such a douche, man!"

I started giggling at the first sign of confrontation. What can I say? It's funny when people don't follow the rules and then get in trouble for it. Well, it's funny when you're not the one whose job it is to get people to follow the rules. For the record? I would not have used that method to redirect a wayward participant.

At the end of the round, Marty, our 74-year-old, gray-haired, ex-teacher, mother of four, grandmother of seven, friend, took our answer sheet up to the guy at the mic. "Sorry for the rough language, ma'am," he said.

"Thanks," she told him, "but, it's not the worst I've ever heard."

We All Scream

One of the amenities that we have been offering to our guests this summer is the opportunity to design their own ice cream flavors. Regular readers may recall the s'mores, Earl Gray, and Thai cucumber flavors we tried last month. Before that, it was a vegan chocolate gelato, a coconut mango, and good old vanilla custard with add-ins.

I love it when visitors rise to the challenge, and this weekend the girls had some interesting requests. Allyn wanted root beer, and Delaney requested peanut butter cup. The pb and chocolate was a huge hit, but the root beer was too sweet and it lacked something to take the place of the fizz. 

Don't worry-- it wasn't disappointing enough to keep people from eating it, and fortunately, the micro-batches I've been making leave plenty of chance for improvement, so I would be happy to try that one again.

As much fun as it is to make all that ice cream, the drawback is that I don't really want to eat it. I like a taste, but more than a couple of spoonfuls is way too much for me. I think I have it figured out though: I've ordered some cartons so that I can start packaging up these creations to go.

And so it Begins

25 pounds of tomatoes from the farmers market are sitting in a box in the dining room.

Can 12 quarts of canned tomatoes be far behind?


UPDATE: 8/13/13:
Make that thirteen quarts!

Paparazzi

We took the girls to the pool in our complex this afternoon. It was pretty empty for a Saturday, but as we approached, the sound of kids splashing and playing carried over the fence. It turned out that our neighbor was celebrating her birthday, and the noise we heard was five almost seventh grade girls enjoying the party. I thought nothing of it until I put my stuff down and looked a couple of lounge chairs over. There was a former student staring at me with her mouth wide open. I guess she's not used to running into her teachers in their bathing suits. That makes two of us.

I played it cool, though, like it was no big thing, and after a brief conversation, I jumped in the pool. 

Was it my I imagination or did her fingers fly to her iPhone the minute I turned away? A few minutes later, the birthday girl sat down next to her. They whispered for a minute, then our cheeky neighbor called out to me. "Hey, Ms..." she paused because that's not what she calls me. 

"Tracey?" I suggested.

"Nuha and Esinam say, 'Hi!'," she finished, naming two other girls who were not present.

""Tell them I hope they're having a good summer," I said, and I flashed a big smile and waved before I swam off to play with the girls, because I'm pretty sure there were pictures, if not video, to go with that text.

Company!

Just home from seeing The Smurfs 2, we got One Direction blasting, and we're making beaded rings, lanyards, and friendship bracelets. There was a little ballet demo from drama camp earlier, too.

God daughters in the house, yo.

Most Sincere

We have been trying to cultivate ourselves a nice cucurbitaceae for going on four seasons now. This late winter, when I was starting my seeds, I found a couple of old ones in a packet labeled "Connecticut field pumpkin," and in that most optimistic of moments, I planted one of them in my little starter cells. Flash forward six months, and that seed has grown into a vine that has taken over all the free space in our garden plot. On it there are two promising specimens and a couple of smaller back ups.

I couldn't tell you exactly why, no doubt we could connect it to any number of childhood Halloween memories, but I will be thrilled, thrilled! I say, to pick a pumpkin from my own little patch.

Here it is today:

(Fingers crossed!)