A Thousand Stories

There's not a lot of air conditioning here in San Francisco, probably because the climate just doesn't call for it. Still, we were a little surprised to find our hotel room equipped with a ceiling fan and big, double hung windows that open wide. On the ninth and top floor of our circa 1910 building, our room looks east over a painted iron fire escape and a gorgeous city scape. During the day, the bay peeks out from between buildings, but at night the view is even better in some ways.

Last night after we turned the lights out, I sat for a while at the window. The thrum and muffle of the streets rose up and into the room on the cool night air. Occasionally a car horn or clear phrase voiced by an invisible person pierced the steady hum. Hundreds of windows lit the skyline, some shaded or too far away to be anything other than light, others with visible details: here a stove, there a lamp, a TV, an empty chair, a man brushing his teeth. 

I sat in the darkness, city above, city below, and then surrounded by the city and its sounds I slipped into bed and slept.

It's All Uphill from Here

We walked around six miles today exploring San Francisco. Armed with my trusty tour book and hotel map, I plotted a course that took us through Union Square, down Market Street to the  Ferry Terminal and Market, along the Embarcadero, and through Fisherman's Wharf to Ghiradelli Square. The only thing I wasn't completely sure of were the hills, but I figured if we stayed close to the waterfront we would be fine. My return route involved hopping a cable car to take us up and over Russian Hill with a quick stop at Lombard Street.

Turns out, I wasn't the only one trying to avoid hills and after a quick glance at the long line of people at the bottom of Hyde Street, we agreed to walk up, and possibly hop the cable car en route. Wow! What a climb! We were huffing our way up when behind us a bell rang cheerfully to alert anyone hoping to catch a ride that there were no seats on this car. With a sigh, we continued our ascent, catching up with the stopped cable car a couple of blocks further.

Yellow police tape blocked the street, and the only way to get to Lombard Street was to go down and back up. We paused to catch our breaths, hoping the situation would be resolved shortly. The folks on the cable car waited, too, and any car who tried to enter was waved away by the police. Finally it became evident that we would not be able to pass this way any time soon, and so with a grumble, we turned left and down a street so steep that cars were not allowed to parallel park; rather they pulled straight in to the curb.

Halfway down the block I spied a staircase with a street sign (!) leading in the direction we wanted to go, so we took it, and a at the top there was a short block that led us to the "crookedest street" in the world, and a young man who waved us away. It seems that they were shooting a movie, and they needed Lombard Street clear. From above we heard someone call action and smoke billowed. Below, a single figure crossed the street with his shopping cart. A few minutes later we were allowed to quickly descend, where we were met by a confused cop. "How did you all get through?" he wondered.

Our adventure was not over yet. Down we climbed to pick up another cable car line to take us back to our hotel. After waiting in a long curvy queue, we hopped on board and were snapping some pictures when the friendly conductor informed us that there was a problem with the cable in Chinatown, and we would have to switch to a shuttle bus there. Not us, though. No we hiked another four blocks up hill and waited for yet another cable car. When we climbed off a few minutes later, it was all downhill to our hotel.

Later, relaxing with my feet up, I did a little research about these famous hills. I discovered that an enterprising citizen has actually created an app that will show you how hilly the streets around you are, so you can plan accordingly. "Sometimes I like to take the hilliest route possible," he writes. With somewhat of a different frame of mind, I punched in the address of my hotel, and here's the image I got:

Since red means uphill, that explains a lot! Clearly MC Escher designed this city!

California Here We Are

Our flight touched down at 11:15 am local time, which provided more than enough time to be crammed into the tiniest airplane seat I have ever experienced, but the weather here in San Francisco, 68 and sunny, promised to make up for the inconvenience.

At our hotel, that attitude of friendly accommodation continued, and they allowed us to check in hours ahead of the regular time. After dropping off our bags, we were off, meeting up with a friend from school who is here for the same conference that Heidi will attend. We ate lunch at a local place and then used our handy hotel-provided map to find the Cable Car Museum, which was a steep little hike up and over Nob Hill.

Watching the ginormous gears that actually spin the cables that drag those famous cars around this town was fascinating, and on a whim, I bought a book at the gift shop called Historic Walks in San Francisco: 18 Trails Through the City's Past. With that in hand, we walked down Washington Street to Chinatown and picked up the tour at stop 11. Yikes! If our guide was even half accurate, we learned that the history of that neighborhood is tightly woven together by opium, prostitution, gambling, prostitution, government corruption, prostitution, gang riots over a prostitute, prostitution, slave markets where girls were sold into prostitution, prostitution, squalid places where sick and old prostitutes were dumped to die, and of course prostitution. Even Rube Goldberg owned a brothel! (Wouldn't you like to see that cartoon?)

After all that sordid history, we climbed four flights of stairs to visit the oldest Chinese temple in the US. Despite French doors flung open to a wide balcony overlooking Waverly Place, the air was thick with incense. Oranges were stacked on every flat surface and hundreds of slips of red paper hung from the lanterns covering the ceiling, each representing an offering and a prayer.

Back on the street, we made our way back along Grant Avenue to St. Mary's, and at the bottom of California Street we hopped a cable car and rode back up and over Nob Hill, and then walked on down Hyde Street to our hotel.

Here We Come

When I was a kid, our family had the good fortune to be able to fly for free since my dad worked for an airline. Back then, we had some good friends who moved to Huntington Beach, California, and we traveled from our home in New Jersey to visit them often. Even before they lived there, though, California was our vacation destination more than once. We visited Disneyland and Knott's Berry Farm, then flew north to see the central coast and the Redwoods. A few years later, we had other friends who lived in Monterey, which was also a fun trip.

As much as my brother, sister, and I traveled by airplane, it never really lost its excitement for us, and we never grew tired of visiting the Golden State. There was always some point in our journey where one of us would turn to the others and sing, softly at first, California here I come...

And then a chorus of three would continue:

right back where I started from.

Then a little louder,

Open up those Golden Gates--

now

the 

BIG 

finish,

California here we come!

Millbrook Charlie Gordon

Today when I logged onto my online banking account, there was an automated message asking me to change my security questions. I could have skipped it, as I often do, but on a Saturday in July I had plenty of time to jump through a few hoops designed to keep my fortunes safe.

In our household the division of labor is such that I manage most of the financial accounts, so there are times when I am called upon to answer personal questions on Heidi's behalf. Of course I could consult her or even make up the responses (especially since it would likely be me who had to provide the correct answers in the event of a forgotten password or something), but I don't.

I like to consider those occasions little trivia quizzes about Heidi, quizzes that, if I may say so, I ace every time.

Well... she is one of my favorite subjects.

BONUS: What three questions did I answer today?

Job Benefits

What a busy summer it's been so far! Kyle, Josh, Maine, Buffalo, Hershey, Annabelle and Richard, Kyle, Courtney and all the fun that goes with them. It's amazing to me that, when I stop to do the math, our vacation is not even half over, yet. Four weeks ago was our last day of school; five weeks from Monday, we head back.

Richard and Annabelle are on a different schedule, though. They report back to class just two weeks from Monday. Of course, they've been out since May. Growing up in the north, our schedule when we were kids was much more similar to mine now-- school days were from September until June, and while it's hard not to be a little jealous knowing we have three or four more weeks when some people are starting their summer breaks, it feels pretty great right about now looking forward to more than another month off.

These are the times when it's pretty hard to complain about being a teacher.

The Stoop

We live in a townhouse-style condominium community that was designed to balance privacy with common space. For example, we have two balconies in the rear of our unit that offer a fair amount of privacy, and a small front porch that really doesn't: even though we are the end unit, there's always foot traffic.

Because of fire safety laws, the front is where I have to cook when I want to use the grill. As a result, that backyard barbecue vibe is generally absent from my outdoor cooking. I'm usually in and out, poking and flipping, in between other kitchen chores, and when the food is done I carry it right back into the house.

That was not so tonight, however. My sister is in town for a rare visit, and with my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew on their way over for dinner, we moved the party out front when it came time to cook the veggies and chicken for our fajitas. 

The weather was gorgeous, and a couple of lawn chairs, a couple if folding chairs, a glass of wine, a cold beer, and a game of pick up sticks played on a makeshift table were all we needed to enjoy the evening. Heck, we didn't even need those, but it was nice to have them.

The folks that passed by did not appear to be the least bit inconvenienced. No, if anything, they seemed charmed by our little gathering. When the food was done, we moved inside, but those lawn chairs are still out there, and who knows? Maybe we'll get some more use out of them.

A Cave of One's Own

We took Richard and Annabelle to visit Luray Caverns today. Even though it had been six years since our last visit, in cave time that's nothing, and the place was pretty much as I remembered it-- a hundred-sixty feet deep and 55 degrees. The paved path winds a mile and a quarter down and back up through massive formations that continue to amaze and impress, despite their hokey names.

Despite the crowds and commercialization, though, there are still places on the tour where it's possible to imagine how thrilling and terrifying it must have been for the first people exploring the caverns in 1878 with only candles to light their way.

And just as last time, the romance of such exploration nibbled at my consciousness, and I recalled that then I did some research and discovered that there are over 3,000 caves in Virginia, most of them considered "wild" and unexplored, 95% of them on private property. Sometimes I think I would love to own a cave, but then I remember how years ago a friend of mine told me the story of a lost caver in South Dakota.

My friend was enrolled in a three month program at NOLS, the National Outdoor Leadership School, and they were doing some rescue training in Wind Cave. One of the other students left her pack with extra lamps and batteries in the large Cataract Room and went off to search some of the smaller side passages.

Her carbide lamp ran out of water, so she waited in the dark, calling out to her fellow searchers. Panicking, she began to crawl around in the dark. Eventually, it occurred to her to pee on her lamp to activate it, and she crawled some more through, now, unfamiliar passages. Eventually, the light went out again, and she continued crawling in the dark.

They found her 48 hours later in an unmapped section of the cave, dehydrated but otherwise unharmed, but when the first rescuer approached, his long hair and beard haloed by his headlamp, she raised her hands to her face and whispered, "Are you God?"

An Overlap of Cousins

We have had a full house the last couple of days; a niece and a couple of nephews from both sides of the family have been bunking with us for some summer fun. Kyle is nearly 14, Richard is 8, and Annabelle is 6, but the three of them seemed to hit it off when they met in Maine 2 years ago, and that warm rapport continued into this visit as well.

Kyle is very considerate of the younger kids, but they have fun together, too. He and Richard played for hours at the pool, yesterday, and there were a few rousing rounds of UNO before dinner, as well. Every one in the house piled into the little kids' room last night to hear a few chapters of Flora and Ulysses, and Kyle sat quietly on the floor until both fell asleep.

Today we took the whole gang to see Earth to Echo, and it may have been a touch too old for Richard and Annabelle, although they both claimed to enjoy it. The main characters are middle school aged, (which would explain my profound affection for them-- they seemed very true to life, and just as I was thinking how much I miss the kids in the summer, I realized a student from last year was right behind me.)

At one point in the plot, when the main girl character is first introduced, one of the three boys is pretty rude to her. His friends question him about his reaction, and one of them says, "You know how it is-- you always fight with the girls you like..."

At which point Richard turned to Kyle and loudly asked, "Is that true???"

Good Eats

Tonight's dinner of grilled steak, french fries, corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes, green beans, baby carrots, and apple slices was definitely one of the best I've had in a while. (And I have eaten verrrry well lately!) To begin with, the tomatoes came from my garden, and as good as I always think farmers market 'maters might be, they are no comparison.

In fact, these tomatoes inspired me to tell my fellow diners, Heidi, Richard, Annabelle, and Kyle, about how my mom used to stop almost every summer day at the "tomato man"' down the street to buy a couple of slicers for dinner.

"What are some of your favorite things to eat?" I asked them as Richard put another slice of tomato on his plate.

"I love that French toast we had for breakfast," answered Kyle.

"Hot dogs for lunch!" added Richard.

"Like we also had today?" I  asked. He nodded vigorously.

"I love that, too," said Annabelle.

Clearly, I hit the trifecta of menu planning. 

Picnic Boss

Richard and Annabelle are here for their summer visit and among many other delights, that means playing I'm going on a picnic... whenever we are riding around in the car.

For those who are not familiar, the game goes like this: I'm going on a picnic, and I'm going to bring [fill in the blank]. What are YOU going to bring? The object is to have some pattern in mind, so that whenever it's your turn, you give an example of an item that fits your pattern, and the other players have to figure it out by trial and error.

So, if my pattern was alphabetical order, I would say, I'm going on a picnic and I'm bringing apples. What are you going to bring? If the next person said balloons, or anything else that started with a B, then I would benevolently reply, You can come.

But, when they guess something outside your pattern, You can't come! is the answer. The audacious rudeness of that reply makes me giggle to this day, as does the shock on the face of anyone who hears it for the first time. Their eyes widen in disbelief and quite often they say, as Annabelle did when I taught her and Richard the game last summer, "That is not nice!"

But now, we're old hands at it, and we picked it up this morning almost as if we'd never had a 52 week hiatus. Heidi started with an easy B pattern, and 6-year-old Annabelle followed with the classic A-B-C pattern. When it got to my turn, I couldn't resist messing with her. "I'm going on a picnic, and I'm going to bring dog poop!" I laughed wickedly, waiting for her to let me come along with my unsavory contribution.

She didn't hesitate. "I'm going to cut that off," she told me with authority.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I looked at her in the rear view mirror.

"You can bring a dog," she said. That's it."

Cupcake Calculations

     2 kinds of cupcakes
+   4 kinds of frosting
------------------------------
     8 choices for dessert

You're worth it, Treatie! Happy Birthday.

(For the record: chocolate or vanilla cake with chocolate or vanilla or peanut butter or earl grey buttercream.)

Unintended Consequences

Who knew that when we put a potted sunflower out on the deck that we would get an almost-resident pair of goldfinches, too? 

When Life Gives You...

Peaches? Make peach crisp.

Cucumbers and basil? Whip up Thai cucumber salad.

Zucchini? Roast it and serve with tahini sauce.

Eggplant? Ratatouille is always nice.

Tomatoes? Fuggedaboutit! We never met one we didn't love.

Don't worry, summer. I can handle it.

Desperate Measures

An inveterate introvert, I know how lucky I am to have Heidi, who is usually more than willing  to approach, ask, order, sit in the middle seat on airplanes, or otherwise interface with strangers on my behalf. Who knows what was happening today? In order to prepare for Richard and Annabelle's upcoming visit, we were shopping for fun art supplies at our local craft store when I mentioned that teachers get a 10% discount with identification. "Why don't you tell the cashier we don't have our IDs because it's summer?" I suggested.

"Why don't you?" Heidi replied.

Just then a former student waved at us. It turned out she was working there for the summer, so as we waited in line we exchanged pleasantries and did a little catching up before she went off to stock some shelves. Moments later, the cashier was ringing up our purchase, and I looked at Heidi with raised eyebrows. She returned the exact same look. I sighed.

"Don't you guys give a teacher discount?" I began. The cashier nodded. "Well," I continued, "we're teachers, but we had to turn in our IDs for the summer." I shrugged. "You can ask Stephanie," I continued hopefully, "I taught her when she was in 6th grade."

"I don't believe a word Stephanie says," the cashier told me. My heart sank. "But I do believe you!" she finished merrily as she punched a few buttons on the register and even scanned an extra coupon.

Fifteen bucks later, Heidi was not as impressed as I thought she might be. "So..." she started, "if there's money involved? You don't seem to have any problem at all talking to strangers. I'll have to remember that."

Drat.

No Problem

After putting 2100+ miles on the rental van, traveling from Virginia to Maine and then to Buffalo, we finally pulled up to Josh's house in Hershey, PA at around 6:30 last night. "Here we are!" I announced.

"Sweet," he answered. "Thanks for the ride!"

Turn About

Two days later, and we're still  laughing about that t-shirt we saw in Orchard Beach: That's a nice story, Babe, now make me a sandwich. But we think it's funny, because in our house, the opposite would be way more accurate. In fact I can almost hear Heidi saying it now: That's a nice sandwich, Babe, now listen to my story...

Amusement

I've never been a big fan of amusement parks. Once many years ago when a group of coworkers at the catering company where I cooked planned a big day-off outing to Busch Gardens, I tagged along for the company. It wasn't long before someone noticed I wasn't waiting in many of those long turnstile lines. "If you don't like rides, what are you here for?" she wondered.

"Oh, I came for the food and the shows," I replied. That cracked us up for a while.

When I was a kid, the cool, new ride was the flume. Theme parks everywhere were adding a log ride to their attractions. People loved the novelty of getting wet at the end of the thrilling plunge. Back then, the lines for the flume were always over an hour long, especially on a hot summer day. I remember waiting impatiently in such a line with my mom, brother, and sister. Even though I tried to avoid anything with a big drop, there was something about the churning water in the half pipe chute that soothed my fear. When we emerged, dripping as advertised, down the ramp at the end of the ride, my reaction was a distinct, That wasn't too bad.

Even today, there's something about a log ride that I find vaguely inviting, and so when I found myself at an amusement park this afternoon with Heidi's parents, Kyle, and Josh, I agreed to ride the flume with Kyle when no one else would. The line was maybe a quarter of an hour long, and I passed the time enjoying the shade of the pavilion, chatting with Kyle, and people watching.

I was probably the oldest person waiting to climb into a fiberglass log, and my first observation was that tattoos really seem to be here stay, at least among the western New York theme park crowd. After that, I affectionately noticed many people who reminded me of students, past and present, and then I saw folks who reminded me of me. Here a little girl waiting with her mom and siblings, there an a young girl with her cousins, and another older girl with her high school friends. In the next turnstile over, I saw a woman in her thirties with a group of kids who weren't her children, but were definitely hers.

At last it was time for me and Kyle to board our log and float off with the rushing current, and so we did, laughing as the water splashed us at the foot of each drop. "That was fun!" Kyle said as we walked down the ramp to rejoin our group. I did not disagree.

Roadside Assistance

Hurricane Arthur smacked the Maine coast somewhere around three this morning. Hard steady rain pounding on the skylights and wind howling through the balsams woke me up, and it was hard to get back to sleep knowing all the packing and loading we would have to do once day broke.

The storm was still steady when we all got up, but with the help of Josh and the benefit of our new foul weather gear, we were only slightly soggy when we piled into the van for a 9:30 departure. The going was a little slow on the two-lane roads that made up the first leg of our journey, though, and it was close to noon before we made the interstate.

Then there was the question of that lobster we promised to bring to Heidi's parents in Buffalo, so I got off the turnpike again south of Portland, hoping to find a good place on Rte 1. Our search took us on a detour to Orchard Beach, where we found a helpful lobster pound who packed up four to go. 

Saturday of Fourth of July weekend is crowded at any beach town, though, and we found ourselves stuck in traffic on the strip. Even though it gave us a lot of opportunity to people watch and window shop from the van (best bad shirt slogan: That was a nice story, babe, now make me a sandwich), knowing we had miles to go before we slept, we soon became impatient to get back on the road. 

By now it was well past lunch time, and we delayed a little longer looking for a spot where we could get one last lobster roll and maybe a couple of burgers. No such luck, though, and so I turned back onto the highway.

Not too far down the road we passed a rest stop and service area with a huge sign: Lobsters packed to travel, and darn it if they didn't have lobster rolls and burgers, too. Good to know.

Arthurian

With a hurricane looming and a national holiday on the calendar, we decided to take it easy this last day of our vacation and hang close to our rental home. At dinner last night, anticipating rain, I proposed taking advantage of the ping pong table downstairs by organizing a little double elimination tournament.  "I know what's going to happen," Bill said. "Josh is going to crush us all-- unless I can beat him." Despite the dire prediction, everyone agreed to play, and with the help of that miraculous internet, I put together a random bracket for the nine of us.

Today dawned clear and sunny, though, and with Wimbledon and the World Cup, we all found other things to do until about 4 pm. There were gathering clouds then, and the prospect of making a potluck supper using as many of our left overs as possible, so we knew it was now or never, and the nine of us trooped down the stairs for the first game of the tourney.

The table was a flat blue as Bill and Emily picked up their paddles to face off in the first game. We are all rusty or novices or both, and as the tournament progressed the play was an exciting combination of skill and incompetence. Double elimination gave all of us a chance at redemption, and there was a lot of improvement as we played. Even so, it seemed like Bill's prediction would hold, as Josh soundly beat his early opponents. Bill himself fell in an early round, and the consequence was that he had to win several games in a row to advance, but at last he did, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat on more than one occasion.

In the end it came to the show down of Bill versus Josh. Josh was well rested, having come through the winner's bracket, and Bill, having played three straight matches, had to beat him twice to claim the title "Clam-pion" or king of the clams.

We were all on the edge of our seats, our heads nodding back and forth with each rally, as they battled point by point. Bill took the first game, but Josh smiled with casual determination as he served to win the title. It was not to be. Bill's prediction of the night before was borne out. He had stopped the juggernaut of a Josh.

Outside, a light rain had started. Arthur approached.

Unbroken

For me, one of the pleasures of a long road trip is always the chance to listen to an audio book on the way. For this voyage from Virginia to Maine and on to Buffalo and Hershey, PA, before returning home, I had to think for a while before I came up with a book I thought all four of us, two middle aged ladies, and two boys, 18 and 14, might enjoy.

As I browsed through the options, I came across Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand, the story of Louis Zamperini, an Olympic runner who as an airman during WWII crashed into the Pacific and then spent 47 days adrift in a life raft before being captured by the Japanese and imprisoned. My friend Mary had told me what a great story it was, and it definitely seemed to have something for everyone in our group, so I thought I would give it a try.

We were almost to Connecticut when I made a general announcement to the van that all passengers would have to listen to at least two chapters of the book before putting in their own earbuds. Josh and Kyle were more than obliging, and the four of us were hooked long before we hit the detour at exit 30 on I-84. 

The narrative is so riveting that we have listened to it all week up and down the country roads of Maine on our way to this or that beautiful place. We have also brought it up in conversation so many times, that this evening when I was helping with dinner, my brother burst into the kitchen, the NY Times website on his iPad. "Louis is dead!" he announced.

I was momentarily confused, but then I understood. At 97 years old, after all the trials he had faced, the hero of our story finally passed away peacefully at home in California. I felt a lump in my throat and goosebumps on my arms; it was as if someone I knew had died.

Rest in peace, Louie.

Fly Boy

It was no easy feat to get our party of nine people and two dogs out the door by 8 am this morning, but we did it. We only had one chance for the mail boat in Stonington that would take us over to Isle au Haut for the day, and so everybody got up early, ate breakfast, and packed lunches and enough water to last all day-- there were no stores where we were going.

The island was just as beautiful today as I remembered it, with plenty of wide granite ledges and cobble stone beaches overlooking the deep blue Atlantic, but it was a much buggier than last time, too. The cool ocean breeze kept a lot of pests away, but there were still a few stretches of trail where we were all swatting deer flies and some pretty huge horse flies, too. It became almost a social activity; each of us obligingly smacking anything that landed on the hiker in front of us. Kyle pursued the parasites with particular alacrity, reveling in each successful swat. "Pow!" He exclaimed at one point, "I got him right in the buzzer!"

Parking

There's a little park at the end of Main Street in Bar Harbor that looks out over the Harbor itself and the Porcupine Islands beyond. Our group of nine split up after doing our traditional picnic on Great Head this afternoon. The big boys and Seiyoung headed off for the Bee Hive and other challenges while Bill, Emily, Heidi, Kyle and I took the dogs into town. Once here, I thought it was a little too warm to leave the dogs in the car, and with not much interest in shopping, the three if us set off down the hill. Here I found a shady spot on the grass just a little ways up from the four masted schooner Margaret Hood. Right now bits of conversations in several different languages are floating past on the warm breeze blowing through the maples and birches, and the dogs are sleeping only to be roused by the friendly folks asking to give them a pat as they pass. 

HBD

From the moment I got up this morning and my oldest nephew appeared like an apparition and wished me a happy birthday before mysteriously vanishing again, to the time I spent with him and his girlfriend on the beach learning to navigate the silky, croc-thieving mud so that we could fill our bucket with mussels, to the freshly-squeezed carrot-grapefruit-strawberry juice my brother served us on the granite ledges, to the warm noontime sunshine and perfectly cool breeze I enjoyed while tossing the tennis ball for the dogs, to the time we spent exploring the scenic back roads of this rural peninsula on the way to John B Mountain where the trail to the top is so springy it's like mini-trampolines propelling you forward until you reach those granite ledges with views of Camden and Rockport to the west and Mount a Desert Island to the east, to the inexplicably natural art-laden trail along the Penobscot Bay on the way to Goose Falls, to all the birthday love on Facebook, and my niece and nephew singing, facetiming my mom as I relaxed on the deck listening to the gulls screech and Josh softly strumming his guitar, while the daylight slips away with the tide and my birthday feast is being prepared inside, I couldn't have conjured a more wonderful day.

Stellar

After dinner tonight Josh built a fire in the fire ring in the backyard. Kyle and I were the first ones out there, but eventually the rest of our group joined us, lured by the fire but snared by the stars. Because the stars were amazing tonight. Up here away from the city lights of our hometown we can see so many more, not to mention the Milky Way, several satellites, and a ton of shooting stars. I pulled up the star gazing app on my phone, and despite implying that Pluto was visible with the naked eya and we could see through the earth to the other side, in general it was very helpful, allowing us to really see why they ever decided to name some of those constellations in the first place. It was kind of a revelation, and Treat summed it up best when he marveled, "Just look at that great bear!"

What's the Name of this River?

When we were children living in South Jersey our family made the drive to DC pretty often. In those days that road trip involved me, my brother, and sister tucked in the back of our Ford Falcon eating Chikn-in-a-Biscuit crackers and playing the license plate game with our parents. About halfway into the journey and a little while after passing under the hairpin towers of the Delaware Memorial Bridge, the highway would open up and cross a huge expanse of water. "What's the name of this river?" my dad always asked, and in a chorus we replied,

"The Susquehanna!"

A few miles down the road we'd find ourselves descending through Baltimore Harbor Tunnel, its submarine subway tiles shining wetly in the dim yellow lights. Keep up Speed Keep up Speed Keep up Speed we chanted along with the reminder signs posted every hundred yards or so. Back then, the pay off of those trips was always a visit with our grandparents, or one of our beloved aunts and cousins, which was a very grand reward indeed.

Today I made that journey in reverse on my way to a family vacation in Maine, and it was impossible not to note all the usual landmarks. Oh the highway is wider, and tunnel has been updated, and there are two spans to the DMB now, and there's no longer a Hot Shoppe at the rest stop in Delaware, but the name of that river is still the same.

0630

Tomorrow's ETD and...

yes,

my birthday!

The van is packed.

Let the wild rumpus begin!

Things You'd Rather NOT Hear...

...ever, much less 36 hours before your vacation:

"This is going to be an awkward conversation..."
"Neck to toe for 12 to 14 hours..."
"EVERYTHING in VERY hot water..."

Things you can't do anything about:

See above.

Watching the Grass Grow

The key for me to a happy summer is to try to do something I consider worthwhile every day. That can be harder than it sounds, but so far I've been successful. For example, on Saturday, I planted wheat grass in a little pot on the deck for our cat, and today it's nearly 2 inches tall. Now that's what I call measurable progress!

This is Happening

Even though it is technically summer vacation, I attended a required 2 hour workshop today. Our school system is providing iPads for all students in grades 3 and 6, and so their teachers have to be trained. This particular session was advertised as a very basic, first step, and so it was, although I definitely learned a few things.

Don't get me wrong. I've wanted more access to technology for my students since I started teaching. I understand what a powerful tool it can be. I don't know if this is the way I would have gone about it, but nobody asked me.

Perhaps most importantly, the management approach of our senior administration was evident in the presentation today. One of the slides actually said that there were to be no "buts"-- we were categorically instructed to move ahead with the expectation that things might be rocky at first (Ya think? Handing 400 dollar toys, I mean tools, to thousands of 8 and 11 year olds...), but it would all work out in the end.

And I'm sure it will.

Did I mention? I got my own new iPad today.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

We were all a little weary, Treat, Heidi, and I on Saturday afternoon after unsuccessfully attempting to see two movies. We were hungry, too, and with some time to kill before our third try, we stopped into a Chipotle Restaurant. Heidi and I had never actually eaten in one, but I have heard very good reviews from kids and adults alike. Treat concurred, and I knew there would be a vegan option for Heidi.

And so there was. In addition to beans and rice and veggies, the chain is rolling out its tofu sofritas nation-wide, and this branch had them as a featured item. As it turned out, the three of us went for that menu item, in its taco form, Treat with soft wheat tortillas, Heidi and I with soft corn. Our meal was delicious (if a little high in sodium), so yummy in fact that tonight?

My own version of it is on the menu.

Buen provecho! 

An Offer We Couldn't Refuse

One of the many joys of summer vacation for us is going to the movies. In fact, we go to so many that sometimes there's really nothing we want to see. This year, though, after a particularly busy spring, we're starting the season with a longer than usual list.

Yesterday we saw the new Tom Cruise-Emily Blunt picture, and the gray skies this morning had me looking up our next show. Imagine my delight to find The Godfather playing in three places. Regular readers may recall that this is one of my all-time favs, but I have never seen it in the theater.

Until today, that is. Even after watching this movie countless times, or maybe because of that, I felt a thrill when the lights when down and those first violin strains sounded as the title, stark white on black, flashed onto the big screen.

And? Two hours and 55 minutes later I was not disappointed.

Worth Counting

Before they packed up all their pencils and binders for good, last week I asked my students to calculate how many pages and books they had read since September. It's an annual tradition, and sixth graders almost always find their numbers amazing; it's as if they had no idea they were capable of such achievement.

This year students in my classes read an average of exactly 5,200 pages each, with a high of 19,456 and a low of 1,001. On average they finished 26 books a piece. Compared to the past, it was not a stellar year, but the requirement is only 3,800 pages, and they surpassed that by 37%. In addition, I would say the figures show that these kids as a group were workers: very few failed to meet or surpass the minimum expectation.

As an interesting frame of reference, I had one student who read nothing but the Harry Potter series. Her numbers? 4,194 pages, and 7 books, of course.

Fair Trade

I finished up at school a little earlier than Heidi today, and so I sat quietly in my classroom and waited. It was all packed up for the summer-- all surfaces clear and bookshelves neatly wrapped in white butcher paper. The blinds were drawn to conserve energy, and I was still enough to fool the motion sensors into turning the lights off.

As I sat in the silence of the cool dim room, I calculated how much time I had actually spent there. Added all together it came out to over three solid years. No wonder I feel so much ownership of it; thank goodness I feel so happy there; it's hardly surprising that it's always a little bittersweet to leave for summer break.

A couple days ago, one of the students asked me how big my garden was. I thought for a moment, and looked around. "It's almost exactly the same size as this room!" I told her. We were both kind of impressed by that. This afternoon, I remembered that conversation, this time as I stood in my garden, puttering around on the first day of summer vacation.

Consensus is Over-rated

This is the time of year for educators that practically demands reflection and reminiscing.  Students move forward; colleagues retire or move on: everything seems to rush to so many endings. At the party I attended yesterday I stood with three other women as they remembered their earlier days in other schools. One told the story of a principal who, faced with the choice of adopting an earlier start time for the school or sticking with the status quo, called a staff meeting and asked for a show of hands. When the earlier time was the clear winner, she shrugged and said, "Well, I'm going to make an executive decision. We're staying with 9:05."

And that was it.

GST: Garden Standard Time

Our end-of-the-year party was held this afternoon at the home of a colleague. After all the speeches and tears for our beloved retiree, folks stood chatting in small groups, I with our hostess. At noon today, our area was the hottest spot in the country, but a few hours later that back yard looked very inviting, plus I wanted to pay a visit to my tomato plants. "Can I see your garden?" I asked at a lull in the conversation.

It was a popular request. Eight of us stepped out into the still very warm late afternoon shade. Turning to our right, we started at 5 and made our way counter clockwise around the serpentine line of garden beds that hug her straight fence. Roses, lavender, thyme, hostas, peony, lilac, day lily, peas and beans, tomatoes, peppers, lettuce, basil, salvia, delphinium, echinacea, butternut squash, zucchini, cucumber, and cilantro brought us back around to 6 o'clock, which it was, so I made my farewells and headed home.

Crowd Control

What to do with three days left in the school year when all your students know that their final grades were due yesterday? Hmmm...

Well, you might find yourself, a bit shrilly but also with convincing authority, informing them that, Those grades were submitted with the expectation that you would continue or exceed your present level of academic performance!

And you conceivably could add (nonchalantly, but with crossed arms to accompany your shrug), I would more than happy to march down to guidance and making any changes necessary.

And then? Wide-eyed compliance would probably be yours.

Mostly.

Happy Week

Nothing like the last week of school to galvanize everyone into trying to fit everything in. Just today, there was a baby shower and then a happy hour after school. Wednesday will be the end-of-the-year staff party. Thursday is another after school gathering for a friend who is moving on to another school, and then Friday night there's a dinner for our retiring assistant principal.

I do believe my dance card is full.

Good Deed for the Day

At 10 am the place where I like to get my coffee was packed, which was hardly surprising on a beautiful Sunday morning. We had set out on our errands early, but there were still two more stops to make. After circling twice without finding parking, I dropped Heidi at the door and continued the circuit. My next trip around I saw that she had run into a former student's parent and they were deep in conversation, as they were the next time and the next time, too. I was on the back stretch of my third or fourth lap when a man on the street called through my open window. "Excuse me, ma'am? Are you looking for a parking space?" Across the way Heidi was still yakking, so I nodded. "Well," he said, "our car won't start. If you have jumper cables and you're willing to help, you can have the spot when we're through."

I assured him that I was willing to help whether I got the space or not, but he and his wife flagged off many would-be parkers as we pushed the car out, and I made a three-point turn to face it on the street. He made quick work of the jump start as his wife stood resolutely in the spot. As he wound up the cables and put them back in their bag, their six-year old daughter presented me with a micro bouquet of flowers she'd gathered from the grassy strip along the sidewalk while we worked.

Once I pulled into the space, they waved their thanks and drove away with a cheerful wave. Before I could get out, the passenger side door opened. "Let's go," Heidi said. And we did, leaving the parking space to the lucky driver that happened to come along next.

Last and First

On the last weekend before summer break I spot the first firefly of the season.

Hey universe, I like your timing!

Centurion Pride

Another hundred day writing challenge has come to a close, and this year nine students made it all the way to the end. In a tradition I have come to cherish, several wrote, unbidden, about their pride in the accomplishment. Here is what some said:

Dear Writing Challenge,

You have made me a way better writer. I think that it is so cool how you challenged me to write every day about different topics. You made me cry, laugh, and celebrate, but it was all worth it because I have finally written 100 days... WHHOOOOOOOOOO! I am so proud of myself for sticking with it even when I didn’t want to write. My brother did it so this kind of runs in my family. I still am in shock that I have written 100 days. It is so crazy and I am going to go tell Ms S. right now.
Sincerely,
Lucy

Dear 100 day challenge,

Thank you for helping me become a better writer. I greatly appreciate it. You are super awesome. I am amazed at how fun this was. I loved this challenge so much and it was really fun. Thank you for doing this.
Centurion,
Kayra


Dear Ms. S,

Thank you for teaching me the joy of writing and the stories it can tell. Thank you for allowing me to become a better writer through Write Here Write Now. Thanks to you I have made it all the way to 100, and have become a centurion! I will never forget the impact you have made on my writing.
Sincerely,
Andrew

That Works

My after-lunch class was working diligently to finish up the typed drafts of their personal profile pieces when I looked out over the lot of them and felt my heart swell just a bit. They have been one of the most memorable groups I've ever taught. At times polarized in terms of ability, and then re-polarized in terms of motivation, and then polarized again in terms of energy, it seemed like there was never any middle ground with this class. And yet, almost all of the lessons and activities I planned worked beautifully with them. Somehow, despite their nutty antics and loud voices, they were able to capitalize on the strengths of any grouping and bring out the best in each other academically. And now here they were, working quietly trying to get their profiles of each other just right. "I'm going to miss you guys!" I blurted out.

Oh! I should have known better, because of course the room erupted in a chaos of retorts, equally sincere and snarky, and it was several minutes before I could get them settled down again,

because that's who they are.

Foreshadow

There was thunder rumbling in the distance when I stopped at the garden on my way home tonight, but after being away all weekend, I just wanted to check in on it. The padlock on the gate was sticky, and I had to shove it up and yank it down hard more than a couple times, but once in, the garden was like it almost always is, so green and so quiet.

How different this spring has been than last! Warm, but not too warm, rainy, but not too rainy, and where last year we had not a single tomato before August, tonight I was thrilled to see not only blossoms, but actual fruit on several of the plants. The squash vines are starting to spread through the rows as well, and the sunflower? It's over three feet tall. The place is full of flowers and berries and...

weeds! They love this weather, too. I spent perhaps 15 minutes tidying up and pulling a few of those unwelcomes, and then, knowing there was more to do but that soon there would be time enough to do it with dirty fingers and the taste of early raspberries in my mouth, I jiggled that recalcitrant lock open and then spun it closed and headed home.

Priorities

It was our annual talent show after school today, and I have to say that the rise of TV talent shows (think America's Got Talent, The Voice, American Idol, etc.) has certainly boosted the popularity (and variety) of our little production. Today we were treated to a couple hybrid gymnastic-dance routines, some singing-- both acapella and accompanied, a Bach cello piece, an awesome yo-yo routine, some comedy cup-stacking by an actual cup-stacking world champion, a lovely violin-guitar duet, and of course, a rendition of Don't Stop Believin'. 

The bravery, earnestness, and talent of these middle school kids is so amazing and moving (and funny!) that I wouldn't have missed the show for anything, which is probably why I totally spaced on the leadership team meeting I was supposed to attend...

In the Field

One thing I like about our end of the year field trip to an outdoor adventure park is that, since the activities are run by their professional guides, my role is really to observe. I get to watch the kids interact and try to problem-solve with their peers. Who will be leaders? Who will be connectors? Who will opt out? As well as I know them after a whole school year, there are always surprises.

I also get to play a little. Today, before I went zip-lining myself, I clipped each of the kids in my group into the safety line at the foot of the ladder, but not before we snapped a souvenir selfie.

Twelve pictures later, I have indisputable photographic evidence as to just how hard I was rocking that safety helmet. 

The Old Lady by the Fire

"Hey!" I said. "Who are you calling an old lady, Jonah and Ben?"

Jonah giggled, but Ben looked confused. He and I had never been introduced, but earlier I had chatted with his parents at length. "How do you know my name?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm so old I know everything," I told him.

"No one knows everything!" he assured me.

"I'll prove it," I said. "Your name is Ben. You're seven years old. You're in first grade, but not for long... Wednesday is your last day of school."

"Did you hear me talking, or something?" he guessed.

"No," I answered, "but I also know you don't have any brothers or sisters, but you do have a puppy named Biscuit, and before you got him? His name was Richard."

He frowned. "How old are you, really, anyway?"

Cause for Celebration

I was sitting by the fire enjoying the darkening sky. Josh's graduation party was entering its ninth hour and going strong. In many ways it had been an idyllic day of family, friends, and fun. A gang of cousins and neighbor kids ran through the yard in their swimsuits, playing in the wading pool and squirting each other with pump guns. Folks came and left for other graduation parties and came back, floating inside and outside, eating and drinking and eating some more, tossing bean bags at the corn hole boards. Guitar, ukulele, harmonica jams popped up here and there mingling with the laughter and shouts of the kids, now with ice pops, now roasting hot dogs over the fire for their dinners. And now here I was, enjoying a tiny bit of quiet in the continuing whirl. Two small boys slammed out of the house and ran my way. They were on a mission to find an adult to supervise s'more making. In the dark, they didn't see me until they were almost there. "Look," cheered one to the other, "there's an old lady by the fire! Yay!"

Snark Attack

You might think that an educator, any educator, would be one to appreciate the ceremony, symbolism, and pomp of a graduation ceremony, but I can tell you that you would be wrong.

And yet, people graduate, people you really care about, and there you are, at the ceremony because you wouldn't miss celebrating their accomplishments for the world. But there is still that part of you that really doesn't like graduations, and so you might find yourself fidgeting in a scratchy theater seat making small talk with one of your godson's other aunts while idly flipping through the lengthy program until you happen upon a roll of faculty that includes not just the high school teachers, but the middle and elementary school, too. You sardonically wonder out loud why they have all those people listed. "Well," says the aunt, "I guess it's like they all worked together to get these kids where they are."

Not so crabby now, are ya?

The Measure of All Things

After a long couple of weeks of standardized testing that kicked off with reading, the sixth graders finally took their last test, math, today. At the height of testing madness this morning, after successfully defending my computer cart from others and feeding the students breakfast since they would be quite late to lunch, but when no hall proctors could be found to escort the full-bladdered kids in my group to the restroom, and neither could the testing coordinator be reached to restart a test that failed to submit because the lap top switched wireless networks mid-test, I met the principal on my way to find help. "Are all your students finished already?" she asked.

"Yes," I told her and stepped forward, intent on my mission.

"Oh, by the way," she said.

I turned.

"Congratulations!"

I stopped, mentally groping for the accomplishment she was referring to. She must have seen my confusion.

"On your reading test scores!" she clarified. "Great job!"

I know I managed a smile. "Thank you," I replied and continued on.

Respite

It's the busiest time of the school year, and I worked wall to wall all day with a big pile of work on my desk when I left and some more in my bag to work on when I got home, BUT at 5:30 when I drove past the garden I did not resist the urge to stop. After just fifteen minutes outside in the fresh air weeding and watering, mulching and marveling at the amazing progress my plants make even when I am not there, I felt restored and I continued home to work some more.