Slip-slidin

Our Thanksgiving holiday is nearly over. A week ago we were gathering for the first meal of the holidays and a week from now, We'll be decorating our Christmas tree. When I was a child, time was like an endless sidewalk stretching between right now, half an hour, and way too long to imagine, but now it's more like wide stepping stones across a slow flowing river; we hop from one to the next to the next. To stop often means no more than to simply look back, amazed at how quickly we have progressed, how far we have come.

The Food Wheel

If Thanksgiving is orange and gold and brown, full of rich, traditional foods comforting and satisfying in their earthiness, then for our family, the next day is not Black Friday but rather Red Friday. For dinner on that day, we always have pasta with marinara and sausage, along with a salad with plenty of lemon and vinegar. It is a meal as acidic and tangy as Thanksgiving is warm and redolent, a complimentary feast of sorts-- especially when you put out those leftover desserts.

More than One Way to Roast a Bird

This year for Thanksgiving, my brother did an excellent job roasting the turkey-- mahogany brown and crisp on the outside, inside it was moist and delicious, and as we sat around the table after enjoying our feast, our conversation turned to other birds and other cooking methods. A classic story in our family is about the time my mom called from work to ask me to start dinner.

A teenager, I was less than enthusiastic about the request. "What do I have to do?" I answered.

My mother told me there was a whole chicken and a package of drumsticks. "Just tie the legs together and put it all in the oven at 350," she said.

"Why do I have to tie the legs together?" I asked her.

"So they don't come apart when they're cooking," she said.

"What difference does that make?" I wondered. "How do I do it?"

"You've seen me do it all the time," she answered, slightly exasperated, perhaps a little annoyed. "Just get some string and do it."

We hung up, but I was still confused. I could not ever recall her tying chicken legs together, but dutifully, I did as I was told, and when my mother got home from work she found a whole chicken and a chain of six neatly bound drumsticks roasting in the oven.

411: How Can I Help You?

Every classroom in our building has a system-issued, land-line phone somewhere in it. Technically, the students are not supposed to have their mobile phones with them, but realistically? The requests to use our classroom phones become fewer and fewer with passing time.

Even so, we teachers make use of them, particularly to call the parents of students when we are concerned. Fortunately, we have access to the parents' numbers, because believe it or not, most kids don't know them, and how could they? To them their parents are just another entry on their contact list. Personally, I think that is irresponsible, but I digress.

Often times, the students themselves are present during these teacher-initiated conversations, and it is rare that the parents don't ask to speak to their sons and daughters personally before ending the call.

That's what was happening the other day in one of my colleague's rooms. She handed a student the phone, and when he had heard what his mom had to say, he turned to his teacher in confusion, holding the handset in front of him.

"How do I turn this thing off?" he asked.

She took it from his hand and hung it up.

Scattered

And if I seemed a little grumpy today, perhaps it was because I walked out the door without my coffee. Not only did I forget it, I forgot to make it! I had no idea I was even missing something until I reached for it on my desk only to discover... well, you know.

Fingers crossed that having the next five days off will restore a few brain cells. Isn't that how it works? I forget.

Time to Set another Alarm

For years the method has worked. Radio at 5:15, alarm at 5:30, I usually rise around 5:45. Last night, though, my fitful dreams, centered around school and the book I'm reading, made any kind of deep sleep elusive, and so at 5:45, when they were talking about the possible hazards of a nicotine patch for pregnant women, I must have dozed off instead of getting up.

In fact it wasn't until 6:25 when my very busy dream about taking the Tolerance Club students to meet Bill Cosby with a radio journalist-- the reporter wore strange, high-wasted plaid flannel pants and offered one of the seventh graders a beer while Phylicia Rashad looked uncomfortably on-- gave way to the notion that something was terribly wrong, and Holy Crap!

I bolted to the shower. But not before I heard the end of that interview with Bill Cosby.

Potayto Potahto

One of the running bits in the movie Enough Said is how Toni Colette's housekeeper always puts things away in strange places-- hairbrushes in the silverware drawer, baseballs in the bathroom, etc. Our housekeeper only comes once a week, and she is generally very efficient, although at times there are signs of her haste to do a good job in the time she has. For example, she recently left the furniture polish can on the mantle (where it stayed for several days until I noticed it at a time when I wasn't sitting on the couch with no desire to get up).

I'm sure that we often share the blame for any confusion; certainly there are times when we make her job harder by neglecting to put some things properly away. Our pets also complicate her duties sometimes; they are well-loved and they have many possessions of their own scattered all about the place.

All of this is simply to explain why I didn't even blink an eye this morning when I discovered a catnip ball in the potatoes.

You have to admit, it kind of goes.

Good Tidings

Time with family,
a delicious meal,
and even a few snow flurries--
tonight, let us merry folk be of good cheer
for the holiday season comes just once a year!

Keep on the Sunny Side

It was gloomy and gray as I made my way the short distance to school this morning; the only bright spot was the day of the week.

With resolute positivity I ignored all that and took comfort in the small joys of my commute-- a fun song on the radio, perfect timing at the lights. Just a few blocks from my destination my attention was captured by a beautiful red maple tree made even more brilliant by the very filter of those dismal clouds.

"Oh my goodness," I gasped, but not at the glorious foliage; there was a rainbow sweeping through the overcast sky. My route took me directly toward it, and I imagined sharing its enchantment with students as I walked into the building.

But fat raindrops began to fall as I pulled into the parking lot, and by the time I locked my car the only rainbow in sight was formed by the garish panels of my big umbrella.

Centennial

I heard on the radio the other day that Mallomars are 100 years old this year.  

Wow! Why is that a thing? I thought.

Fortunately I had only to listen a bit more to hear that these chocolate-dipped marshmallow and graham cracker confections are only available in the cooler months of the year, when their chocolate coating won't be compromised. As such? Mallomars have a seasonal scarcity dynamic working for them. In fact, many people actually stock up on the cookies and keep them in their deep-freezes to dole out as special treats in those lazy, mallowmar-less, days of summer.

Well! It wasn't long before I realized that I'd never had a Mallomar. Happily, when I went to the grocery to satisfy my curiosity, they were both in season and on sale. And though I am not a big sweet eater, I would have to say that these cookies were nicely executed-- dark chocolate, sweet marshmallow, and tender graham cracker all united to make two pretty good little bites.

So now? I get it, Mallomars-- Happy 100th!

Vegetable Burritos

Tonight for dinner I made a dish that we first had fourteen years ago at a little bistro in Provincetown. These vegetable burritos are labor intensive (they have four separately prepared filling ingredients and just as many toppings), but they are one of Heidi's favorites, and I have a soft spot in my heart for them as well.

Back then, our now 18-year-old Josh was not quite four, and Heidi and I met him and his mom on Cape Cod for a few days of summer fun. Having known me for less than a year, it seemed pretty clear that Josh was still a little suspicious of this lady who was now somehow connected to his beloved Aunt Heidi. He liked to ignore me whenever possible, or answer me in single syllables when absolutely necessary.

One day the four of us decided to drive to P-town and go whale watching. On the ride out to that curl of the cape, I was in the backseat with Josh. He had some paper and crayons and Heidi and his mom were talking in the front, so one thing led to another and pretty soon Josh and I were yucking it up and trading drawings back and forth.

The whale watch itself is lost to my memory, but I do recall that after the cruise, we walked from the wharf into town to find a place to eat. At one point, we waited at a busy corner for the traffic to clear. Without thinking, I held out my hand to the little person standing to my right, and for the first time ever, Josh took it, and we crossed the street together.

Predictable

"She's not going to show up you know," Heidi told me as we headed out the door to meet a friend we hadn't seen in a few years.

"What are you talking about?" I said. "Let's go or we'll be late."

Who knows what happens? Life is busy, signals get crossed, feelings get bruised, even the closest of friends can drift apart.

We met Jen and her partner at the dog park nine years ago, and despite the fact that they were considerably younger than we were, we bonded over being same-sex couples with adorable puppies. Over the next couple of years we spent a fair amount of time together, celebrating when they got their second dog and eventually trying to help pick up the pieces when they split (right before we were all supposed to go on vacation together).

There was a lot of drama, but we were able to navigate the bumpy road of staying friends with both.

For a while.
Until we weren't.
And then we were friends with Jen.
Until we weren't.

What can I say? Life is busy, signals get crossed, feelings get bruised, even the closest of friends can drift apart.

A couple of weeks ago Jen sent me a message that she was applying for a job in our county. Could I help? I told her that if she got an interview, I maybe could, but I couldn't help with the first part.

Fingers crossed, she wrote back. Then, We should get together. Reconnect for real. Deflate any elephants and talk about how or why we lost touch. I really miss you all and I think it would be nice.

And that brings us to tonight, when Heidi and I had a perfectly lovely dinner by ourselves.

Word of the Day

Ever since we started our forced word study, word parts have become of greater interest to me. (What can I say? I am a learner at heart.) And as such, the word-a-day calendar one of my students so thoughtfully gave me last year has become of even more fascination and relevance than it was before.

Take for example quinquagenarian. I'd say we folks in our fifties deserve such a fancy turn of phrase. Nice word parts, too!

Observations

It was a little gloomy when we parked at the Tidal Basin this afternoon, but the light filtering through the clouds actually made what was left of the yellow and orange foliage on those famous cherry trees really pop. The water itself was emerald green, and there were several cormorants diving for minnows as we walked the circuit.

It wasn't crowded, but we encountered our share of memorable fellow walkers to be sure, most notably the two guys in their 30s sitting on a bench, smoking cigars, and playing a video game, and the older woman talking to her smart phone, Are you a puppy? RUUUUFFF! GRRRRRRRR!

No doubt we made our own impression as well, and wouldn't it be disappointing if we didn't?

There's Something About Words

I just finished reading a 400+ page Gothic-style novel which is a far cry from my usual fare. I guess I was looking for something along the lines of The Night Circus or even Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore when I stumbled onto The Thirteenth Tale. I chose it using my Kindle app, so I'm quite sure I was not aware of its length.

Prudently, I downloaded the free sample first, and the the first-person narrative description of Margaret reading the letter that will change her life on the palely-lit stairs leading from her father's bookstore to her apartment definitely drew me in, but it was the letter itself from Vida Winter that made me buy the rest of the book.

As Margaret says, There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.

OK it wasn't quite like that, but over the last ten days I have diligently followed my at-least-one-chapter-or-two-a-day regime, which is admittedly ironic, given the clearly high esteem in which books are held by the main characters in this one, until this morning. At a little beyond the halfway point my attention was captured, and it was only a couple of hours until I had finished the story.

And story is the right word for it, because although I cannot say it transcended either of the frameworks of fairy tale or Gothic novel, there definitely came a point for me when I was so involved that it almost felt like the way I remember being enthralled by stories when I was a child. And that was magical.

And that is what I work to help my students experience, because as soon as I finished? I wanted to read another book.

Divine

At a bit of a loss for inspiration as to what make for our evening meal, right before I left school this afternoon I hail-maried it and googled "dinner tonight recipe," and the first thing I found was this:

shiitake-kale-kimchi stew

Thanks Serious Eats!

Overheard in Writing Club

Grace complains so much about how she hates CJ that I swear he is her Mr. Darcy!

WWCD

Years ago I worked with a woman with whom, although I liked her personally, I considered myself almost diametrically opposed to professionally. She was 12 or 15 years my senior and rarely hesitant to speak her mind, especially when she disagreed with someone or something which was often. I thought her lack of diplomacy was kind of funny, and it actually made her much more manageable as a team member since not too many people took her seriously.

She retired five years ago in robust disgust at where education was headed. We wished her well, but welcomed the idea of a different teacher with a more positive perspective to take her place. Since then our country has elected a new president (who has appointed a new secretary of education), our state has elected a new governor, our district has hired a new superintendent, and our school has changed principals. With all of them has come an increasing over-reliance on unnecessary standardization, bankrupt assessments, and invalid teacher evaluation plans.

All of a sudden, taking a walk outside at lunch, leaving at contract time, and otherwise disengaging from all manner of oppressive policies seems like a really good idea.

Best Laid Plans

I left what I thought would be a fun assignment for my students when I was out of the building last Friday:

Use your word study words to create a word search in the grid below. Create at least 10 clues using the definitions of your words. Be sure to tell how many letters are in each answer. The first one is done for you.

I even planned to allow them to complete their own word searches as their weekly quiz grade, but when I returned, I was disappointed at how few students managed to finish the assignment in the time they had, so today, I faced the issue head on, sharing my chagrin and asking for feedback as to why so many kids had trouble with the task. I wanted to fix it.

"We didn't get it," someone shrugged.

"What part?" I asked. "Show me where you were confused in the directions."

Silence.

"I didn't understand how to put the words in," offered another.

"But I gave you an example," I reminded him.

Silence.

Throughout the entire discussion, a student who had completed her word search nicely was waving her hand. Finally I called on her.

"You did a great job," I said. "Was there a problem?"

"Yes," she said. "All the people who didn't finish were talking too loudly!"

I Chose Poorly

I cussed a little today when I chose the wrong lane on the exit ramp. Truthfully, I think of it as a game, a game I like to win. The right lane is always more crowded, but they can turn right at the light, if possible. Left lane is stuck until green, so it's all about the traffic and timing.

Today, I was first in the left lane, chortling at the heavy cross-traffic, watching the car I would have been if I had chosen the sucker's lane all jammed up in my rear view. Then, an unexpected break in the oncoming congestion-- right lane cars are making the right like water in a sluice way; nothing can stop them; the not-me car and many others all pour onto the road before the light turns green and I can join them, far back in the flow. They have gained SEVERAL seconds on me that I know from experience I will NEVER get back.

Shaking my head and chastened, I head for the gym where the treadmill awaits me, no choice but to move forward, so to speak, there.

Opa!

Sunday morning of our weekend at the bay has evolved into a traditional breakfast challenge. We want a dish that uses as many of our leftovers as possible, but is completely different than anything we have eaten in the last two days. It started a few years ago when we took leftover cheese sauce and onions and turned them into a souffle. This year, the ingredients on hand were cold roasted chicken, rice, eggs, baby spinach, grape tomatoes, and feta cheese. In retrospect, it seems silly that it took so long to realize what the food was telling us:

Avgolemono?

Fysika!

Room with a View

AT 6:49 this morning I did not even have to lift my head from my pillow to behold a deep orange ring banding the horizon and the sun rising from the dark blue Chesapeake Bay. Within moments, the indigo dawn blanched to cerulean and all the red fire was drained from the sun, leaving that familiar yellow orb in a cold November morning sky, and I pulled the down comforter up around my chin and went back to sleep.

Flocking Together

In my opinion, the ideal vacation rental house has very few personal belongings in it. Beyond a well-stocked kitchen, there might be some books and a few other things to keep it from being as sterile as, say, a hotel room, but too many non-generic items makes it hard for a renter to feel at home. 

This weekend we have returned for the third time to a "magical bay-front home," which is a vacation rental managed by the owner. Although it would be difficult to live up to the eight page confirmation letter, it really is a lovely location, perched  atop Calvert Cliffs with a naturally commanding view of the Chesapeake Bay. In years past, we have spent our November Saturdays scouring the windy beach for fossils and sea glass, and we are looking forward to doing the same tomorrow.

The house itself is pretty nice, too, although it does have its quirks, especially in the decor department. Case in point? Over the years there has been a definite increase in the number of carved wooden birds. Two life-sized swans have been joined by several gulls and sandpipers, a couple of ducks and a few other miscellaneous avians. The fake birds are everywhere, and they easily outnumber the people, but the creepy blue-eyed sea captain lamp doesn't seem to mind at all.

Come to my Window

"I'm going lesbian with my NaNoWriMo!" So declared one of the eighth grade girls in our writing club today.

"No!" her friend advised. "Don't do that!"

"Why?" asked the first student.

"Because," answered her friend, "you should just go ahead with your planned plot, and then just slip the lesbian thing in. That way you can tell the story, but you won't alienate anybody."

Her friend seemed unconvinced.

Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I marveled to myself at how much things have changed, not only in the 21 years I've been teaching, but more so even in the last 3 or 4. Not a single student thought that this conversation was anything but two writers talking about their craft.

Wow.

Siege Mentality

We got this message from our principal today, buried among her notes and reminders:

We are running low on paper. 120 cartons were ordered for the first 4-5 months of this school year. The next paper order will not be placed until mid-January. Please use copy paper very thoughtfully.

Such a shortage would be the first of its kind in my 21 years of teaching, which is as it should be, considering that we work in one of the wealthiest counties in the country. And while I would never condone wasting paper, I did bristle at the implication that there might not be enough to go around if we continue our thoughtless, educational ways. Shame on me for creating materials for my students.

Can you guess the first reaction of several people I know? They went and got a few reams to lock up in anticipation of hard times.

Get Out the Vote

In these times, when I remind myself each morning to strive to be patient, positive, present, and productive, it can be discouraging to consider the exercise of my civic right and duty only as an imperative to vote against a candidate.

But that is definitely why I hotfooted it down to the polls this afternoon. Don't disappoint me, Virginia.

Making the Hard Decisions

As I mentioned previously, my kitchen window has stayed open since early summer to provide us with a 6 X 30 connection with the world outside. Oh, I suppose if I was serious about my little nature portal I would have taken the screen out, too, but my commitment stopped short of letting bugs in.

31 degree air pouring in this morning made it a little nippy as I packed lunches, but I soldiered through despite my slightly stiff fingers on the knowledge that when the sun came out? It would get up to 49.

Maybe I was in a bit of denial; truly I like the window open.

Our house cleaner has a bit of a different sensibility. Over the 8 years she's been cleaning our house on Mondays, we've gotten a few subtle and not so subtle hints about the way she thinks things should be. For example, after she's been here, we can tell that the coffee table should be much closer to the couch, the dog's toy box should be closed, the cleaning supplies belong upstairs, the bath mat should go on the towel rack, and the tooth brushes? To the right of the sink, please.

Oh. And the kitchen window should be closed in cold weather.

Sigh.

Bossy

Read the Paris Review.

I mean it.

Case in Point

Every teacher has been taught not to scold the whole group for the transgressions of some of its members. It's not fair and it's not effective. Ohhhh, but sometimes it's so hard not to do. Sometimes it seems like almost every single kid is conspiring to turn your lesson plan upside down, and then it seems like nothing would be so satisfying as to give them a sharp scolding culminating in the most epic guilt trip of their lives.

 I must confess that I know from experience that such venting can indeed be very gratifying in the few seconds it takes to deliver it, but ultimately, just as you have been warned, you lose credibility with your students, some because they were innocent of the charges you brought against the group, and some because they didn't buy into the requirements in the first place, and your outburst has not convinced them.

I was reminded of this fundamental principal of management today, as Heidi and I stood for 90 minutes at the final meeting of our community garden and were collectively reprimanded several times for things I knew we were not guilty of. I always turn off the water, lock the gate securely, keep my tools inside my garden, replace the common tools neatly in the shed (cleaned of course), show up for my scheduled work days, and mind the edges of my plot. By the end of the meeting, I was fuming, but Heidi seemed remarkably unaffected.

Later, when I was complaining about the experience to my mom and my brother, they were very sympathetic. "I hated that in school," my brother said. "I always knew I had done nothing wrong!"

My mom nodded.

"Not me," Heidi said. "Usually? I was the one they were talking to, and
I.
did.
not.
care."

Then she laughed wickedly and asked, "How did we get together, anyway?"

Endless Summer

Tomorrow is the closing day of the season at our community garden. That may be, but today? It was in the upper 70s and just Wednesday I picked a few more eggplant, tomatoes, and peppers from the hardy hearty plants in my plot.

No doubt there will be more to harvest tomorrow, which is certainly an added bonus to the longest weekend of the year.

The News from Isabel's House

Where everyone always wags their tails and no one ever has anything bad to say about the rest of the pack.

AND the beer is always cold.

AND there's always a vegan option on the menu.

A Little Early

Overheard through my open kitchen window:

Grandma: And this house has two pumpkins! Isn't that nice?

Toddler: Do they have candy, too?

Grandma: Maybe we'll find out tomorrow.

Educational Outings

What kid doesn't love the offer of a field trip? Whether or not said trip delivers on its promise, a day away from school is something to look forward to.

When I was a kid, a field trip meant a visit to the store to buy a couple of special items for my lunch. In addition to my usual sandwich and piece of fruit, on days when the school bus would whisk us away to a special destination, I could also pick out a Hostess cake or pie and a can of soda to take with me.

The soda was never my favorite, perhaps because my mom once read in a magazine or somewhere that freezing your canned beverage the night before and then wrapping it in foil would allow it to serve the double purpose of both drink and ice pak. A good theory, maybe, but I have distinct memories of steel cans bowed out on both ends and trying unsuccessfully to enjoy very messy sodas, both frozen and flat.

The dessert on the other hand was much more exciting. I usually chose a lunate cherry pie with shocking, almost blood-red filling so sweet it made my teeth hurt. I might have liked apple better, but their apple was not nearly as good as my mom's. (She didn't make cherry; if she had, those pink coconut cupcakes might have called my name.)

Tomorrow my team is going on a field trip to the corn maze, so today after finalizing the logistics of taking 107 kids to the country, I headed off to the grocery store where I bought a couple of special treats for my lunch tomorrow. Some things really needn't change.

Live From School...

I have written before about our new grade book where anything we put in there is instantly visible to parents. As with so much new technology (ahem, Obamacare) there was a predictable implementation curve. On conference day volunteers sat in a room just down the hall from mine ready to show parents how to access this new tool, and anecdotally, many of the folks I met with confessed and complained to having problems with accessing their children's grades.

I think that all that static might be on the decline now, though, for today when I posted the results of my students' weekly word study quiz it was only a matter of moments before my email pinged. I see L. bombed today's quiz... the message started.

Sabbath Day

When I was a child, Sundays were devoted to mass and football. For years, both were mysterious rituals to me, full of singing and sighing and chanting and cheering. I probably developed an understanding of the church before I grasped the rules of football, but there was a time in my life when I was an enthusiastic devotee of both.

That time is not this, and I have written here before about how much I enjoy taking advantage of the off times created by other people in this congested area and their Sunday traditions. Runing errands in the morning or at game time is a snap around here. Church is another post altogether.

The last 3 Sundays, though? Our houseguest has tuned in to her beloved hometown team, and I confess I have been drawn back into the fold. Just today I spent my afternoon in the rocking chair eating cheese and crackers, chips and dip, and rooting for one team to fail so that another might have an advantage, never mind their hateful name.

Could mass be far behind?

Window

This year our summer was so temperate that, no matter the weather outside, I was able to keep the small window over the sink in my kitchen open. Facing southeast, it is sheltered by the front porch roof, and so whatever fresh air it allowed was cooled by that shade. In July and August, I loved it most in the early morning when the cool dewy dampness greeted me as I filled the kettle for coffee, although the warm and fragrant evening air was always a nice balance to the necessary chill of our a/c.

That window has stayed open for months now, a trusty envoy to the world outside, and it wasn't until I stumbled down to a chilly 50 degrees this morning that I thought perhaps I should move that pile of green tomatoes possibly ripening on the sill and push it shut. Oh, I confess that I shivered a bit as tepid water steamed in the sink, but it took no more than a lungful of that fall air, pure and yes, cold, to convince me that this day would warm.

Key Concepts

Credibility: difficult to establish when you use a PowerPoint presentation full of typos and other mistakes with a roomful of teachers. 

Oregon?

Oh, I don't take many online quizzes, but this one caught my interest:

What state should you live in?

Too bad Paris or Switzerland aren't states. I'm sure I would belong there.

Funeral for the General

Taps can choke you up anytime, but Taps played in a windswept cemetery as a single autumn leaf floats from the rusty trees above the bugler, the nation's capital stark white in the distance against an unbearably blue sky?

And don't even get me started on the bagpipes playing Danny Boy.

Take the Girl Outta Jersey

A colleague attended a wedding in Philly over the weekend, and she told us all about it at lumch today. The bride and groom rented out the whole Franklin Institute for the reception, and guests had the run of the place, including endless trips through the giant heart. One of the bride's uncles was a mummer, so there was some parading and strumming. At the end of the evening, any guests who stuck it out to the end got cheese steaks, hot pretzels, and of course dome wooded ice.

Idn't that bee-yoo-duh-falll!?

The New English

This year, because of circumstances beyond my control, my students will be introduced to and expected to learn 5 word parts per week. They get the words and definitions on Monday and have the week to study them and find examples in context. The next Monday there's a quiz and five more.

I have always been a committed process-oriented educator, which is a sloppy and time-consuming approach to learning. Today? Half the class period was dedicated to the quiz, which I was able to grade and record before the last student left my room.

The scores were generally bell-curvy and correlated with the existing achievement gaps that our district (not to mention our nation) struggles with.

This is what they mean by working smarter not harder, and lord knows I could use the time, but at what expense?

CAT TV

In general we're a pretty quiet household. Sure, we listen to public radio in the morning and sometimes at night. I may also occasionally watch the kitchen TV when I'm cooking, and sometimes we play music, but other than that, it's rarely more than an hour a day of pre-recorded TV that shatters the hush of our two voices.

I know the same is not true for others, and when we have guests they are welcome to watch as much TV as they wish. Heidi and I take it in stride, but I can't say the same for our cat, Penelope.

Take yesterday, for example: our current house guest enjoys having the television on as background noise. "Watch whatever you want," she says when she pushes the on button in the morning. I take her at her word; in some ways it's kind of fun to have an excuse to flip through the channels. Yesterday morning, I settled on Animal Planet, because I knew Heidi would like it, too.

And she did, but not as much as Penelope. All day long, our little cat was glued to the screen. Whiskers forward, ears straight up, she sat alert watching the endless procession of dogs and cats and kittens and puppies.

It almost made me think we should leave it on for her.

Learners

Years ago when we were in our early 20s, my brother and sister and I lived together at the beach. People were always coming to visit, and certainly part of our popularity was that we were a mere two blocks from the shore, but there were other reasons, too. I first met my sister-in-law when she came as an exhibitor in the boardwalk art show. I told her we were having tuna and green beans for supper and she was surprised by the grilled steaks and fresh beans; she was expecting a casserole.

Another time, one of my brother's friends showed up in the middle of the night after catching her boyfriend in bed with her best friend. For three days she talked it through with Bill and the rest of us, too. One night she told us she dreamed that when her friend came to ask forgiveness, she took a pair of scissors and grabbed her friend by the hair, roughly chopping her long locks to chin-length. "I'll forgive you when that grows back," she had said in the dream, but she never did.

Shattered by an ugly divorce, my cousin came to stay around the same time. We did what we could when she arrived on the bus with her clothes in a garbage bag, but it didn't seem like enough.

Then there was the time my best friend from high school picked up a couple of stray dogs on the side of the interstate on her way down. She had to circle back around and lure them into the car with slices of cheese she bought at the next exit. They had over 200 ticks on them, but she took them to the vet and a groomer, and in the end, found one of them a good home and kept the other as a beloved pet. 

Did I mention we were moving that weekend? We were, but it didn't matter. Back then, we took everything in stride. Being adults was new to us and nothing seemed more extraordinary than that.

The Sunny Side

If you asked me what my favorite season is, I would answer without hesitation. I love fall.

As vacation-rich as teachers seem to be, our time off is rarely self-determined. Even so, every year I promise myself that I will find some time to enjoy the glories of autumn. It usually turns out that such a vow is just as realistic as elves and reindeer going to the islands for Christmas. 

This year health, family, and friends have forced me to take some days off from school, and rather than look at the circumstances as gigantic inconveniences,  I can't help but embrace them for giving me what I have wished for for years: blue skies, mountain air, fall foliage, a happy dog, fresh-picked apples, kettle corn, a fire in the fireplace, and time to enjoy it all.

National Shake Out

Q: How do you get a roomful of sixth graders to assume and silently maintain the drop, cover, and hold on position for a 2 minute earthquake?

A: Bribe them with candy.

Seriously, what else is there?

'Stalgia

Over the weekend my 18-year-old nephew was home from college for the first time and we were lucky to spend an evening with him. Our family always has spirited conversations and this occasion was no exception. We are usually pretty good at agreeing to disagree, but when Treat began to disparage nostalgia in general, it was hard to let his point go, especially considering his youth.

Let me be honest: I missed the 70s, my 7 to 17 years, the minute they ended, and recognizing songs and trends of the 60s when they became nostalgic was a major turning point in my psyche-- perhaps the moment I realized I was an adult (and that everything comes around again, which helps explain Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley).

I hated the 80s, and so those throwbacks did little for me. Now it's the 90s that are coming back. My first reaction was denial. Surely that decade couldn't have been long enough ago that we are revisiting it? And yet we are: the X-files, Full House, Friends, Counting Crows, Sonic Youth, Bush, Goosebumps and Babysitters Club are all waiting just offstage for their encores, not to mention stirrup pants and blazers with rolled up sleeves.

But you know what? I liked the 90s. I started teaching, bought my first house, and met the love of my life. My older nephews were born in that decade; I went to Maine and South Dakota and back to Europe. Sure, there was heartbreak and loss as well, but it was also when the 70s came back around.

Raising the Bar

My dad was a guy who loved to sit at a bar. Despite the fact that he was confirmed introvert, I have countless memories of going in to fetch him when we were finished at the museum, or with shopping, or the movie was over, or it was time to board the plane, and with a sweeping gesture he would drain his beer and announce to the guy on the next stool, "This is the one I was telling you about!"

"Pleased to meet ya," his new friend would say.

"Mom says it's time to go," I would tell my dad.

Who knows what stories he told? All I know is that, personally, I'm not a bar person. My cousin, on the other hand, is a bit more like her uncle. Since she's staying with us, in the past few days I've spent more time in bars than I have in the last... 30 years?

In general, though, I confess to have found them to be very genial places. In fact, tonight when we entered a local establishment to enjoy their happy hour specials, we were haled by one of the servers. "You came back!" she greeted us. "AND you're in my section again!"

Golly! How long might it be until we're the ones she was telling them about?

Numbers Game

In my "progressive" school system, we used to treat student success on high-stakes standardized tests as a necessary evil; but now those unreliable numbers are gaining major traction as a valid measure of student, teacher, and school success. Clearly some of it is pragmatism, but how can calculating the number of sub-group students (to the tenths place) who must pass so that the school can achieve our federally mandated annually measured objectives be construed as anything but cynical?

I can just hear the conversations in our PLC now. Dang! We missed it my three tenths of an Asian.

Hardcore Connoisseur

Out running errands today, my cousin and I stopped into a new restaurant to have a snack. Outfitted in lots of rustic wood and copper, the place advertises itself as serving mostly locally sourced food. Since it was Sunday, the football games were playing in the bar, and so we grabbed a seat in there. The guy next to us was munching on a small bucket of popcorn. "I love popcorn!" My cousin said.

"It's free!" he told us helpfully.

"Where do you get the popcorn?" my cousin asked the waitress when she came to take our order.

The young woman frowned. "I'm not sure where it comes from," she answered, "I believe it's local, but I'll ask in the kitchen to find out."

The guy next to us laughed. "You get it at the bar!"

Now that's local.

Stalking Chipmunks

Sometimes when I walk my dog it's all business-- we have places to go and deadlines to meet, either during or after our little constitutional. Other times, like this afternoon, we have plenty of time and it's really about the fresh air and exercise. On those occasions, I give Isabel the "ok" and see where she wants to go. As it turns out, it's often on to the grass, along the bushes on the edge, and in tightening concentric circles, until she lifts her head and cocks it as if to wonder how we ended up there and what happened to that chipmunk.

I'll leave the metaphor to you.