Christmas in July

At last two exciting gifts from this past Christmas were able to be properly used together.

Annabelle's mermaid tale and Heidi's underwater camera were reunited in the pool this afternoon.

No End in Sight

We saw the latest installment of the Terminator movies yesterday, and despite lukewarm reviews, I was not disappointed.

When the previews for Genisys started showing up a few months ago, Heidi and I knew there was only one thing to do, especially since Josh had never seen a single film from the series: movie marathon!

Okay, it was more like a double feature, since, in my opinion the first two are the only ones worth considering, but it was still a fun weekend activity. And those two movies really have held up, even with the 1984 and 1995 special effects.

So, could you enjoy the latest installment without being familiar with the earlier chapters? I think so, but you would be missing a lot of fun references and part of the mind-bending conundrums that this particular time-travel story raises. Will there be a sequel? Well, it's not a spoiler at all to quote the final lines of the film: "The future is not set."

Rested and Ready

Neither week end nor holiday, today, 16 days after school ended, marked our first *real* day of summer vacation at home. Despite tidying up, making several phone calls, running a couple of errands, going to the movies, working out, and spending time at the pool, I was at loose ends.

"I can never retire," I told Heidi as the two of us were treading water this evening. "I'll be too bored!"

Postcard from the Bike Trail

When we were in Buffalo, I rode my bike almost every day. Some might judge the terrain there uninspiring-- flat streets, square green yards, and cookie-cutter architecture, but that easy-riding was just what I needed to get back to an activity I love and have neglected for the last year or so. The weather was a plus, too: never did the temperature top 81.

So this afternoon I took advantage of our unseasonably cool weather and set off for a thirty minute ride. I didn't want to overdo my first home workout, but hills and humidity immediately conspired to make me question my judgment. I kept pedaling, though, past townhomes, apartments, condos, hotels, community gardens, a power station, parks and rec centers.

20 minutes later the guy passed out on the discarded leather love seat by the dumpster marked my turnaround point, and so I rode on home, glad that I had gotten out there.

E Pluribus Unum

What better way to celebrate the strength of our nation than to go to a movie by a Mexican-American director, play a Japanese board game, eat Vietnamese summer rolls, and watch a display of fireworks that were hand-made in China?

Happy Birthday America!

All for One

In the summer of '75 I saw my first PG-rated movie. The film was Jaws: "You're going to jump the first time you see the shark," my cousin warned us, and I was hooked. I couldn't wait to be terrified of the ocean.

I almost didn't see it at all, though. That year, I turned thirteen, my brother was eleven, and my sister, just nine. In our family, seniority didn't count for anything (probably because my parents were both younger children). For example, the three of us had the same bed time, no matter what, until I left for boarding school. Any adjustment for me, as I got older, applied to the two of them as well. And when we were left home alone? Their mantra was clear: "You are not the boss of us!"

But that summer, I had to put my foot down. How was it possibly fair that we should all be able to go to see a movie that wasn't rated G when I was so much older than they were? When my argument fell on my mother's deaf ears I tried a tearful tantrum, but in response she gave me a choice. Either we all went, or none of us did.

So...

the three of us all jumped the first time we saw that shark.

The Thought that Counts

All Ye Faithful

I glanced out the kitchen window the other night and noticed two very bright objects gleaming in the western sky. While there are many drawbacks to the constant accessability to screens of all kinds, being able to find out what something is right away does not rank among them to me. Hence I pulled out my trusty smart phone and launched the astronomy app that, living in such an urban area as I do, I rarely have use for. Venus and Jupiter were clearly visible on both the virtual horizon and the real one in front of me. Later I would find out that around 2000 years ago such a conjunction of those planets, along with the star Regulus, was called the Star of Bethlehem.

"Look! There's Venus and Jupiter!" I said to Heidi's mom.

"How do you know that?" she replied skeptically.

"Because I looked it up," I answered, hoping that my annoyance was not audible.

"Hmm," she said and continued her business. It wasn't long before Heidi came into the kitchen.

"Look! There's Venus and Jupiter!" I told her.

"How do you know?" she said.

I sighed with frustration.

"No really," she continued, "I want to know how you know, so I can know, too."

I happily explained.

It's My Birthday

I'm a take-charge kind of a gal and so this morning I had some definite ideas about how I wanted to spend my birthday. First I wanted to be outside if possible, and I wanted to do something I'd never done before. When at first the weather threatened to drizzle all day, the Theodore Roosevelt Inauguration Site was at the top of my list.

"Isn't it funny," I said to Heidi,"that really? Teddy Roosevelt is not even close to my favorite president, and yet it seems that we have been to a lot of his places." I was referring to Roosevelt Island and Roosevelt National Park, and now this.

But as luck would have it, the weather cleared, and soon Heidi, Louise, and I were off to Old Fort Niagara, an almost 400 year old bastion located  on Lake Ontario at the mouth of the Niagara River. We spent the afternoon wandering the amazingly well-preserved site learning the history of its Indian, French, British, and American occupants. Then we drove home along the wide river, the Canadian side of the river to our left. We stopped in Lewiston and strolled through a riverside park that happened to mark the final stop in the Underground Railroad. Here, residents of the town rowed escaped slaves across the Niagara to Canada. I bought a bottle of water, and paying with a 20, my change was 18.65, the year the Civil War ended.

Home at last, I prepared a dinner of steamed shrimp, grilled steak, baked potato, and salad, and at the table I sat back and sighed. "Well, I had a really great day!"

Heidi's mom laughed. "Really? You drove and you made dinner!"

"I know," I said, "but I like to drive, and I like to cook, especially because I get to go where I want and eat what I like!"

There was no argument there.

Sticking Around

After a fun and eventful week in Buffalo, we were supposed to head home to Virginia today, but knowing that smilie Kyle would be in town tomorrow made it seem silly to leave without spending some time with him. So, we put off packing and spent the day hanging out with Heidi's folks instead. The weather was beautiful, and Isabel seems content to enjoy it. As anxious as we are to get home, here is pretty swell, too.

A Nice Place to Visit

"I looooove Buffalo!" a colleague exclaimed when I told her we would be shuffling off to here soon after school ended.

I nodded. I knew she had family in Western New York. "Are you close to your cousins?" I asked.

She nodded vigorously. "My cousins are my heart," she said, but then she smiled mischievously. "I know it's shallow," she confided, "but I also like Buffalo because everyone there is so fat! Whenever I go to a party or something they're always like Who's that hottie?" she laughed.

I laughed, too, and shook my head. She's a little nuts, and she had been drinking, but I kind of knew what she meant. In the last fifteen years, I've come to know Buffalo as a town where people work hard and play hard and reward themselves for both with some of the best comfort food I've ever eaten-- fish fry on Friday, wings before dinner, Ted's hot dogs for a mid-afternoon snack, beef on weck for lunch, and Tim Horton's donuts for breakfast, and Anderson's frozen custard for dessert.

As outstanding and delicious as they are, 'healthy' is not an adjective that fits even a single one of them. It's not surprising that so many people in these parts are pretty well padded.

So, whenever we visit Heidi's folks, moderation is a must, and there's always a big bottle of Tums on the bedside table.

Kind of a Drag

"Can I see your dress or your shirt or whatever you're wearing to the party?" Annabelle asked me this morning.

"Sure," I said and produced the beaded dress I bought.

"Whoa!" Her eyes widened a bit. "Sparkly!" Then she cocked her head. "I've never seen you in a dress before."

"Well you will tonight," I told her. "You will tonight."

Portraits

We recently got a new camera for our trip to Alaska, and after the shock of the initial investment, it was kind of hard to stop. There were at least 2 lenses that I thought we should have as well. "Money pit!" Heidi sighed when I ran the new purchases by her. "Maybe you can put them on your birthday list."

This week in Buffalo, though, we will have the occasion to take several photos of people in Heidi's family. When her mom asked specifically that we bring the camera along, one of those lenses became a little more must-have, and so I ordered it to be delivered today.

When it arrived late this afternoon, I went out to the backyard and took lots of test shots of one of my favorite subjects, our dog Isabel. They didn't turn out half-bad, and when I showed my handiwork to Heidi, miraculously she thought the new lens was a fabulous purchase!

Note to self...

Sea Dog

I was talking to Heidi's brother about our upcoming cruise in Alaska. "Of course they have all sorts of shore excursions in every port, " I told him, "but to be honest I haven't had a chance to take a close look at what is offered yet. I plan to spend some time with that when I get home."

Then I shrugged. " I'm quite certain they'll have several sled dog programs, and you can imagine we'll probably attend one of those." I paused, and he shook his head, smiling.

"Or more? Knowing your sister? She'll have a sled dog in every port!"

Solstice

Nothing like spending time in the north at this time of year to take advantage of those loooooong days. Sunset tonight? 8:57 PM. Dinner's over, dishes are done, and here we are on the patio basking in that still golden light. Fade to violet, cue the fireflies and...

Summer!

Fishing

Heidi's dad and I made small talk last night as I helped him carry a few things in from the yard where he had been working. We had covered the road conditions on our drive, the weather at home, and my mother's well-being and everything was neatly stowed in the garage. As we headed in to wash up for dinner, he turned to me. "So how's the marriage!?"

I laughed heartily in surprise. "Great!" I answered when I could.

"Everything working out so far?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah!" I told him. "Heidi's a great catch!"

Keystone State

I was wondering what time we might arrive in Buffalo today when I punched the address into my phone. To my surprise, the map app offered a completely different route than our usual, with a thirty minute shorter driving time. My eyes popped a little as I curiously scanned through the many many steps. Directions such as turn left on Main Street, go .4 miles and turn left on Frontage Rd made me pause only briefly until I turned the phone over to my trusty navigator, Heidi, and headed north. What a trip it was! Two lane roads much of the way, a national forest, three mountain summits, several cool little towns, and the highest point on I-80 east of the Mississippi. We had our sun roof open and windows rolled down for the last half and only closed them up when the whine of the rumble strips on the thruway was just a little too high-pitched. With three stops to stretch, pee, walk the dog, and fill the tank, we made it up here in 7 hours and 10 minutes-- a classic summer road trip!

Knee High on the Fourth of July

I spent the morning in my garden catching up on the chores I've neglected in the last two busy weeks and also getting it ready for us to be away a week. With the exception of a lot of weeds, things looked pretty good. We've had tons of rain lately, which was helpful to both vegetables and weeds. When we were children, our Aunt Harriett always used to explain away summer thunderstorms as Jesus bowling with the angels. Well, somebody was throwing a lot of strikes last night, and there was torrential rain to go along with the boomers. Fortunately, the storm did no damage to the garden, but it did make the ground super soft, so pulling all those weeds was pretty easy.

The wet soil also gave me confidence that the tomatoes, peppers, squash, cucumbers, okra, watermelon, and corn will be okay until I return. Another thing Aunt Harriett used to tell us as we barreled along country roads in the summer, the windows of her white station wagon wide open to the warm, humid air, was about the corn in the green blur of the fields we passed. "Everything's fine, if it's knee high by the fourth of July!"

I guess everything's going to be fine.

Hard Bargaining

I saw a funny exchange between our almost 15-year-old nephew, Kyle, and his mom on Facebook the other day. Kyle posted a picture of a new Ford pick-up with the message, Let's negotiate. 

His mom replied, haha, and then posted a picture of a vintage station wagon, royal blue with three sets of seats. Possibly, she added.

Their bantering went back and forth from there and was both amusing and contagious, so much so that I felt the need to participate. I'll chip in if you make the honor roll, I wrote. 

To which his mother quickly replied, For the station wagon, right Aunt Tracey? 

I giggled as I typed, You're the boss!

Breaking Eggs

What better way to kick off the first afternoon of summer vacation but with a showing of the highest opening-weekend grossing movie ever? Yes, we saw Jurassic World a little while ago. I'm not sure what I expected, but I didn't love the movie. The first half filled me with dread and anxiety; the impending doom was palpable. Once the action started, the second half was a little better, but the body count, both human and reptilewas disturbing to me.

I guess I'm getting too old for that kind of stuff. As ambivalent as I was, halfway through, Heidi leaned over and hissed in my ear. "I hate this movie!"

On the way home, we talked about the movie, as we always do. "I guess the violence was as low key as possible," I said. "They clearly wanted to keep it a family film."

Heidi shrugged, unconvinced.

"And, they were mindful that some people would sympathize with the dinosaurs, so they kind of minimized their injuries, too," I added.

Another shrug.

"I think it's like, if you want to bake a cake, you're going to have to break some eggs, and if you want to make Jurassic World, you're going to have to kill a few people and dinosaurs."

Page Turners

As I do every year, I had my students calculate how many pages they read and books they finished for the year. This year was a pretty good one-- my kids read over a half-million pages combined and together they finished 2,387 books. That's an average of 7,342 pages per person and 33 books.

Impressive! 

Moving Forward

Tomorrow's the last day of school and we have an early release schedule that allows just 24 minutes with each class before we bid them a fond farewell. It will be bittersweet, as always, for I have grown attached to my students, and when all is said and done, I will miss them. Even though they will be in the building next year, it will never be the same again, and that's kind of sad.

The last few years I have filled the time in my empty classroom by watching one of the high school graduations on local access TV as I clean and pack for the summer. It started when my nephew graduated and I tuned in to see him receive his diploma. So many familiar faces crossed the stage as I waited for him to be called, and seeing these former students six years later, grown up and ready to head out into the world, made it a little bit easier to say good-bye to the kids who would be boarding their buses in a little while.

The Rap of Merciless Madge

One of the best things about teaching sixth grade is that once they get to know you? Those kids are pretty sure you can do anything! And to be honest, they're not that hard to impress.

Why, just yesterday on the bus the boys across from me were making rhymes of each other's names. When they noticed me watching them curiously they were only too happy to explain. "We're making raps!"

"Cool!" I told them and turned back to my book.

"Can you make one Ms. S?" they called across the aisle.

"Um," I hesitated, because, really? The answer was rightfully No, but I felt compelled to try.

"Do CJ!" They suggested.

 "OK, give me a minute." I considered the rhymes and took a deep breath.

My name is CJ--
I'll be your DJ.
Listen to what I say
'cause I know the right way
and if you are a hater?
You don't have to be that way!

Their jaws dropped only a moment before they started to clap.

#TBH

When I was in school the coveted spot on the bus was always the way back, and I can tell you from personal experience that things haven't changed much since then. I suppose it's developmentally appropriate for some adolescents to try and get as far away from the presence of authority as possible, but these days, when I'm riding the bus? The authority is in the back.

That's how it was this afternoon on the hour-long ride back to school from our end-of-the-year field trip destination. The field trip itself had been a mixed experience; some parts of it were better than others, but in general the kids around me were happily settled in with their phones as we pulled out of the marina.

"To be honest," I heard the girl in front of me say, "you're a little weird."

"To be honest," said the girl next to her, "you're sort of a b--"

"Hey now!" I interrupted. Leaning over the seat I could see they were not talking to each other, but rather to a third girl's phone. "What are you doing?" I asked them.

"Oh," answered the first girl, "it's a joke! He knows we're kidding." She noted my raised eyebrows. "OK! We'll erase it and only say nice things. " She handed the phone back to its owner.

That girl framed her face on the screen and punched the red button. "To be honest," she said, "you're nice, but we've faded."

"To be honest," I said, "I don't want you playing that game anymore."

"It's not a game," I was informed. "It's an Instagram thing."

"Fine," I replied. "Don't do it."

"But we have faded," she said. "We're not as close as we were."

"And you want to put that on Instagram?" I asked. "That doesn't seem very nice."

"OK!" Yet another student joined the conversation. "We will only say nice things. Promise!"

"Like what?" I inquired.

She shrugged. "Like, 'You're pretty'!"

"Why does it have to be about someone's looks?" I asked. "Why not, 'You're a good friend' or 'You're really smart' or 'I like spending time with you, because you're funny'?"

They were unconvinced. "No one says those things!"

"To be honest," I answered, "maybe they should!"

Better Late than Never

It was back in early March that in preparation to start this year's seeds, I dumped a couple of dry plugs of potting soil in a planter on the deck. These were last year's duds-- dirt with seeds that had failed to germinate with the rest.

How surprised was I in late April to recognize a couple of fledgling tomato plants reaching for the sun in that very same pot? And they have continued to not just survive, but thrive, out there. I have no idea what variety they might be, but I'm going to guess some type of cherry tomato, based on the arrangement of the many, many blossoms.

With a little luck, I'll know soon enough. And in the mean time? I am grateful for these prodigal plants.

Habit Forming

"I guess the writing challenge ends today?" one of my students asked with more than a note of disappointment in his voice.

I nodded. The challenge had been extended a week to allow kids who were close to make up any days they had missed. "You have all your days, right?" I smiled.

"Yeah," he sighed, "but I just kind of like to write every day now. I feel better when I do."

I can certainly sympathize with that! 

"How about if I set it up until the end of the year for anyone who wants to keep going?" I suggested.

Now he smiled. "Thanks!"

Progress!

I've mentioned before that my sister-in-law works in the same school as I do and that we share a last name. Today my friend Mary came up to the two of us. "Hey! Guess what someone in my homeroom asked? They wanted to know if Ms. S. the English teacher and Ms. S. the art teacher were married!"

Emily and I laughed incredulously, but Mary shrugged. "Look how far we've come!"

A Life Well-Lived

Who knows how it happens? Something jogs your memory and suddenly you are transported to another time and place. I can't pinpoint what reminded me, but yesterday I spent a little time recollecting an event from my own middle school years.

When I was in seventh grade the whole school broke up into lots of cross-grade teams for something they called Oktoberfest. Each group met once a week for the month of October to plan and participate in all sorts of special events. For example, the first thing we had to do was come up with a name for our team and design badges that we would all wear to the other activities. Our teacher sponsor was my social studies teacher from the year before, a nice guy by the name of Mr. Greve (pronounced gre-vay'). Over the summer he had noticeably acquired a hair piece, and he was really a good sport when our team decided to dub ourselves "Greve's Toupees". I still remember what our badges looked like, too.

Back then, middle school itself was a new, cutting edge concept. Separate from junior high, including sixth graders, the middle school model was developed to support young adolescents in their transition from elementary to high school. How interesting it is to look back on my experiences then through my middle school teacher goggles now! I know just what they were hoping to accomplish when they planned that event, but also what a disruption it probably was to instruction, and how gracefully my teachers handled it.

Kudos to them!

I googled Mr. Greve last night and found that he passed away in 2004, but not before he retired from teaching and walked the entirety of the Appalachian Trail and most of the Pacific Coast Trail. There were many comments on his remembrance page from other former students who appreciated him in much the way I did, too, as a good teacher and a kind man.

We could all do so much worse.

Loaded

"How long does it take?" someone asked in my department meeting this afternoon when we were reminded of yet another "quick survey" that we were asked to complete before school ends next week.

"It depends on how detailed you want your answers to be," replied a colleague who had already taken it.

I nodded, because I had already completed that one. In this day of automation and Google forms, the end of the school year seems to bring survey after survey. It's brief! the designers always claim, but 5 surveys with three or more short answer questions each ends up being rather time consuming, if you intend to answer thoughtfully, particularly with no "SAVE" button.

In fact, I had kept the tab with the questionnaire in question open on my lap top for some time yesterday afternoon as I mulled the best response to questions such as If you could design countywide meetings any way you want, what would you do? and Describe the MOST effective PD course/activity of your career. Why was it effective?

Today I had the same experience with this question: What do you feel has been your greatest instructional accomplishment this year?

I'm just sayin:

Those are some mighty BIG questions to put in a quick little survey at the end of the year. 

And I Know It

We had our annual visit from my favorite guest poet today and the kids really enjoyed the activities. Just as gratifying, he was impressed with their imagination and creativity, too, and attributed it to my teaching. Aw shucks!

As always, I grabbed the chance to participate with my students as a fellow writer. Here's my poem for the day:

Poems are useless-- 

unless they are fresh like tomatoes off the vine,

or pickled like Brussels sprouts,

or black like t-shirts,

soft like number 2 pencils,

cellos and ukuleles.

I want poetry that climbs Sargent Mountain,

changes my sheets every day,

brings me puppies and kittens,

takes me to Paris.

Words like sweet potato empanadas,

Grandma's fried chicken,

down pillows on Sunday morning.

I'm a quiet poet,

quiet in the chaos of a sixth grade classroom,

watching my students,

sipping inspiration like air.

Poems are useless--

unless they are black crows on white snow,

a scarecrow in an empty field,

four leaf clovers or wild blueberries.

I want poetry hot out of the oven,

poetry that pedals madly down Superman Hill,

o bushwhacks to the top of the mountain

collapsing on the warm granite ledge.

I am not a poet,

but I am a bowl of plums

cold from the ice box;

I am Emily Dickinson's night gown:

my words smart, insurgent, 
goliath, crusading.

Poems are useless--

unless they wear tie-dye,

rise like the moon over Lake Lugano,

or brew a potion of dragon spit and candy corn.

I want poetry that teaches me to play the drums

in a cafe in Montreal,

rocks me like a hammock in the shade,

snorkels into a lost cave filled with pirate treasure.

I am a poet like the midnight wind

that blows open the french doors,

like the gold finches flitting in the river birches.

Words will knock you down

like an old farm house in a tornado,

and when you get back up,

say, "Good."

Since You Asked

"Wait! Are you married?" asked one of my students this morning. She was hanging out before the bell and had spied the ring that I've been wearing for about 15 years.

I hesitated only a moment, and it was a moment at all, because this was the first student (or anyone, really) who had asked me that question since I was, indeed, married.

"Yes," I said, suppressing a little giggle at how odd it seemed to say so. Fifty-two and a half years is a long time.

"Cool!" she said.

I know, right?

Week x Week

"Next Sunday is the last Sunday of the school year," I reminded Heidi a little while ago.

She shrugged. "So? We still have a full week of work after that."

"I know," I said, but it will be the last Sunday we have to school the next day, for a while."

She nodded in agreement. "That's something," she replied.

"Of course, the next Sunday it will be the day before we leave for Buffalo," I told her.

"And the next Sunday will be the day before we come home," she answered.

"And the next Sunday will be just a couple of days before Richard and Annabelle come," I added. "And then the next Sunday will be Treat's birthday, and the next one we might go to the beach, and the next one we'll be home, but the next one will be the one before we go to Alaska, and the next one we'll be in Alaska, and the next one we'll be almost to Vancouver, and the next one we'll be home, but... we'll have to go to school that week."

"Stop," she shook her head. "Just. Stop."

Hanging on Like a Yo-Yo

I woke up around 5 this morning and never quite made it back to sleep. I didn't mind-- it's been a busy day and those few extra hours allowed me to practice my ukulele and do a little local history research in addition to the chores and errands we had scheduled.

We also had some time to go to the movies late this afternoon. We chose the theater near us with the comfy reclining seats, and I was all set, leaning back with my feet up, my fountain seltzer in the cup holder and a bag of popcorn to share with Heidi, when what eluded me this morning evaded me no longer, and I peacefully napped through the second act of the film.

Quitting Time

"Sitting is worse than smoking," my friend Mary told me the other day, and I totally understood what she was saying.

After racking up about 30 hours of butt time since Monday finishing up the school literary magazine, this morning at 9:30 I gleefully clicked SEND. Then I got up and stretched and walked around my classroom.

I would have spent the rest of the day on my feet, but for my lesson plan calling for me to edit and print final drafts of my students' final writing pieces. They were on the laptop and the laptop was on my desk. When the final bell rang, I spent some time walking around both in the school and in my my room delivering and sorting through piles of accumulated papers. Sadly, though,  there was more to do at my desk, and I ended up sitting another hour or so before I finally packed up to go home for the weekend.

I am consoled by three things: first the fact that, in general, I don't rack up as much desk time as I did this week; second, this is my last magazine: I'm passing the baton next year. And third? In two weeks I won't even have a desk to sit behind!

Yep! I'm quittin' sittin'!

They've Got Talent

Today was our annual school talent show. Organized in an Everyone's Got Talent model, this is one of my favorite events of the year. Because it is entirely student produced, the performances range wildly from stunning to awful. Personally, I have nothing but admiration for any kid who has the guts to get up on stage, and there is always someone who chokes under the pressure and runs off stage weeping and into the arms of their supportive, if drama-loving, friends. There is also no shortage of kooky and novel acts, and today was no exception. One of the best performances of the show was a girl with a jump rope routine. She skipped and leapt and jumped gymnastically across the stage to music, and it was amazing! Then there was the duet of singing sixth graders, accompanied on the piano by one classmate while another did a bit of an interpretive dance across the stage. It was sublimely, endearingly wacky in a way that was so sincere and soooo absolutely middle school that I was reminded once again of why I love teaching this age.

The Cord of the King

I don't pay attention to many fashion rules for myself, but I do think that wearing shorts to school anytime after June 1 is just fine. Unfortunately, after the hottest May on record, June has been downright chilly around here. In fact, this morning I chose a pair of light gray corduroys to wear and only hesitated a moment before pulling them on. Far from being unseasonable, I was glad I had 'em, and only wished I'd worn a warmer shirt, too!

Eggcorns

Wasn't it just the other day that my jaw dropped in disbelief and my fingers flew to the keyboard to tell NPR that their headline was *gasp* wrong! For all intensive purposes it read...

Fortunately, before I posted my correction, I read further to find that it was actually a piece on "eggcorns", words and phrases that are often mistaken and misused for their sound-alikes. Some examples most of us have heard? How about a new leash on life or coldslaw?

At any rate, I read with mild interest and forgot it until today when I read the title of one of my student's short recollections: April Showers Spring May Flowers.

Start the Presses

I spent a big chunk of the day on the penultimate push to wrap up our school literary magazine. Although I have always been proud of the results in the 7 years I have been editing it, I can't say that it is worth the effort. Not enough kids or teachers participate to make it as popular a publication as it should be.

Surely, there is something I could do to improve the situation, but this task is just one among the many that fill each of my school years. And so I have decided to give it up, and I am happy that our ELA Lead teacher has expressed an interest in taking over; her position and personality are probably much better suited for the job.

But that leaves this year, and as always, I'm cramming to finish it up, which means taking time off from school to focus on editing and layout. Rather than entirely spent in front of a computer screen, though, this day had its other diversions, too: I took my mom to the airport at 9:30 and Josh to the bus station at 1:30. In between, I walked the dog and watered the plants. When at last the battery on my laptop died, at 3:30, I played on the Wii, practiced my ukulele, and paid the bills until Heidi got home with the charger.

So, while the journal of writing and art has not yet been put to bed, I will certainly sleep soundly tonight.

Hunting Party

The day of the 8th annual Post Hunt dawned hot and sunny this morning, but I was ready. I had not only my trusty partner Treat, but my mom had actually flown in from Minnesota and Josh had taken the bus from Hershey. What a dream team! At 10:45 we swung by my favorite sandwich place and headed downtown. 

It was close to 90 at noon, but for the most part, as we made our way through the streets of DC, we were able to find shade when we needed it, there was a breeze, and the puzzles were solvable. As I hoped, we all brought something to the game without which we wouldn't have been as successful, Josh visual, Treat analytical, Mom knowledgeable, and I had a friend to compare notes with when we really got stuck. 

One of the sweetest moments of the day for me came as we sat in the shade on the steps of the the Wilson Building across the street from Freedom Plaza. From there we were able to hear and solve one of the puzzles while eating our lunch.

Although the impossibly convoluted end game eluded us, it was still a really fun day, and before we boarded the metro to go home, I made everyone promise we would do it again next year.

Scared Vegan

While we were waiting for Josh's bus to arrive this afternoon, Heidi decided to re-watch Forks Over Knives. She's seen it several times; in fact it's the reason she decided to go vegan in the first place, so compelling was its evidence and testimony in support of a plant-based diet. And yet, as committed as she is-- Heidi has been vegan for four years now-- there are times when she is sorely tempted and even times when she chooses to eat food with animal products.

Maybe it was the homemade ice cream my mom and I were making or something else entirely, but today she felt like a little reinforcement was in order. She was about halfway through the film when the text arrived that Josh was at Union Station, so off we went to fetch him. On the way home, Heidi was turned in her seat, chatting excitedly and catching up on the last three weeks since he left us to go home for the summer. "And right now? I'm watching Forks Over Knives," she told him.

"Why?" he asked. "Haven't you seen it?"

"I just felt like I needed a little refresher," she explained. "There's a lot of amazing stuff about how all these really sick people were cured just by changing their diet. AND a lot of stuff about how bad meat and dairy are for you over time."

"Ah," Josh nodded, "you just needed to be re-horrified."

Profiles in Teaching

Once again, the end of the year finds my students interviewing one and another and writing journalism-style profiles using the simple structure of a lead anecdote that describes the subject in action, a description of how and when they started (past), what they are doing now (present), and what they hope to achieve (future). The whole piece is about 500 words and ends with a quote from the subject. "Give your person the last word," is how I explain it to my students.

Despite many models, this is a hard assignment for them. Evaluating and synthesizing the information gained in interviews with their classmates and at least two others is very challenging for your average 11 or 12 year old. Still, they forge through, mostly because they want to do right by their peers and so they are motivated to write the best piece they can.

Of course, I am available to assist them, and I willingly do so by stepping in to model on-the-spot follow-up interviews to glean the information and quotes they need to craft their articles. I'm also a whiz at providing just the right secondary source quote to move the profile forward, and should someone be stuck for a transition? Why, I am only to happy to offer a suggestion.

Such was the case today when a student approached me with her dilemma. "Can I say, Anthony isn't all that great in soccer because he didn't even make the school team," she asked. "Or is that too much of an opinion?" She frowned. "It's important information, but I'm not sure how it fits."

I was happy she recognized the importance of journalistic objectivity. "Why don't you write something like, Despite working hard and practicing daily, Anthony has had some disappointments when it comes to soccer...?" I suggested.

"Wow!" she said. "That's not bad! I guess you do know what you're doing with this writing stuff!"

Meat and Three

There was a time when one of the best meals you could get eating out was at Morrison's Cafeteria. The food was not fancy, but it was darn good, and a bargain, too, something like 5 dollars for a meat and three sides.

Morrison's was gone before the turn of the century, but my writing group is coming over tonight, and as I was planning the meal I wanted something simple and delicious. After a while I hit upon this menu: Fried Chicken, Green Bean and Tomato Salad with Warm Country Ham Dressing, Corn on the Cob, and Butter Lettuce with Homemade Buttermilk Dressing.

I hope it lives up to good ol' Morrisons!

Beware, Trees!

Didn't I feel vindicated this morning listening to a piece on NPR about the benefits of analog writing over digital. One study they cited in particular was especially interesting. They split a college class in half and gave each group the same lecture, one set took notes by hand while the other typed theirs. Then they gave each group a test. The hand note takers did much better, despite the fact that the transcribers had more thorough notes. It seems that in the act of hand writing one must synthesize and evaluate the information rather than simply record it.

What about those fancy iPads all the students have?  Well, maybe they can use them to take a picture of their notes, in case they get lost!

Charlie

"You are soooo cursed!" I overheard one of my homeroom students mutter to another this morning.

"Hey, now!" I interjected, "Why would you say that?"

"It's a game," the first student explained, but there was definitely some sheepishness in her tone that hinted at more than a simple little amusement. Perhaps reading my facial expression, she quickly added, "Everyone is playing it!"

"Tell me about this game," I invited her, and she was only too happy to do so. In fact the whole class crowded around my desk while she demonstrated.

"It's called Charlie," she started. "You draw a cross on the paper, like this," she continued, dividing a sheet of loose-leaf into quadrants with a green marker. "Then you write YES NO NO YES in the boxes. Next you need two pencils-- wait! Do you have two pencils I can borrow?"

I sighed and produced them. "Why should today be any different? You guys never have pencils!" I chided as I handed them over.

"Then you balance them in the middle," she said and leaned over my desk, placing one pencil along the x-axis of her YES-NO chart, and attempting to balance the other one on top of it along the y-axis.

"When the end touches the paper like that it means that side is heavier," I told her as she struggled; it was a teachable moment. "Scootch it the other way." She did and soon the pencils formed a cross.

"Now you say, Charlie, Charlie are you here? But I'm not going to say it! The top pencil will spin to YES and you'll be cursed!"

I looked at the half-circle of kids surrounding my desk. They were definitely engaged. "Well, I'm going to say it," I said, and I did. The group pushed closer, 20 eyes fixed on a number 2 pencil. Nothing happened.

"Wait for it," someone whispered. I leaned my head on my hand, my elbow next to the sheet of paper and scanned their faces again. Their expressions ranged from scared to interested to amused. Without moving, I blew gently on the pencil, it spun slowly toward the YES.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

They all jumped back. Several chairs clattered and fell in the students' haste to get away from Charlie. The group recovered quickly. "She blew on it!" one of them assured the others.

I laughed. "I'm sorry!" I said. "I couldn't resist. It's so silly! People are just telling you stories to scare you. I don't want you to be frightened!"

Some kids laughed, too, but others were uncertain. "You didn't say it right," the first girl told me.

"Well at least I'm not cursed then," I replied.

I had almost forgotten the whole thing when a little while later one of those kids approached me in English class. "Can I borrow a pencil?" he asked.

"There's a couple right there," I said, pointing to my desk. "You can have one of those."

He hesitated. "Um, can I borrow a different pencil?" He looked at me meaningfully. "Those are Charlie's."

Labor Days Weekend

This year, our garden is better than ever (there's even watermelon and a corn corner!), and a big portion of the credit goes to Treat, who put in 9 hours over the last three days. His contribution allowed us to get everything in.

Now comes the waitin (and the waterin and the weedin, of course).

Peel and Eat

Many years ago, I lived with my brother and sister at the beach. Back then we never had a shortage of house guests– we were at an age when neither we nor our visitors cared about formal sleeping arrangements, so all summer long people came to stay with us at the beach. I'm not sure how beer-boiled shrimp with plenty of Old Bay, french fries, and salad became our standard meal for company, but it did, and in the days before farmed shrimp, we could stop into the seafood market and get all the fresh, local shrimp we wanted for not that much money. Some lettuce, tomato, cucumber, a few potatoes, and a couple of six packs of beer turned that seafood into a feast.

I remembered those days yesterday when, after several hours of gardening in perfect weather beneath a gorgeous blue sky, I wanted an equally perfect holiday meal to kick off the summer. When my grocer had fresh Carolina shrimp at the seafood counter, I knew I had found my menu.

It could only have been better had my brother and sister and several random friends been crowded around that same teak dining table we had at the beach with me, peeling shrimp, dipping fries in cocktail sauce, and swigging beer, too.

Early to Bed

After a very busy week, even an interesting episode of Who Do You Think You Are? couldn't keep me from nodding off in front of the TV before nine last night. "Get up!" Heidi poked me. "It's obviously your bed time."

"But, but, it's Friday!" I protested.

"You're already sleeping," she pointed out, and I had to admit she was right.

Still, when I climbed the stairs to our darkened room I saw that the last light of day had not yet drained from the western sky, and I felt like the little girl I was almost 50 years ago. Even then it just seemed wrong to go to bed before the sun set.

But that was my last thought before I faded, which the day did, too, just a little after me. 

Go Boom

Oh dear! Was that my ankle that twisted on the hill this afternoon sending me tumbling down the asphalt path in front of several colleagues and students?

'Fraid so-- and although my pink cheeks have faded, I've got the ripped pants and skinned knee to prove it. 

Second Chances

And now the expedited retake ball is in my court.

Paradoxically, although I am an inveterate opponent of these high-stake tests, I still want all my students to pass. Today was our day, sixth grade reading, and before the last student's final click the results started rolling in. By 1:30, with 85% of the scores reported, most of my students had passed as expected, but there were six kids who were eligible to try again another day.

With direct access only to the names and scores of those students, I worried about a few who weren't on the list at all yet, and so each time I refreshed the remediation spreadsheet and they did not appear, I felt a wave of relief.

Until it occurred to me that perhaps their scores were too low to make that cut.

Anonymous Patron

The email was brief: I have a basket for you. It was also perplexing, arriving as it did from the front office secretary in the middle of first period. I resolved to resolve it later and promptly forgot as I continued teaching my class. A little while later, when she called me with a message for a student, the secretary asked if I had received the email. "Yes," I answered, "I'll be down at lunch to get it."

The basket was small: natural wicker and about the size of a tissue box, wrapped in cellophane with crinkly shreds and tissue paper in the bottom. An envelope lay within and an index card was taped to the outside: Ms. S. "English teacher" Please make sure she gets this. 

"Where did this come from?" I asked. 

She shrugged. "It was on my desk when I got here this morning." 

Baffled, I carried it back to my room.

This was a complete mystery: when I examined the parcel more closely, I saw that the clear plastic wrap was already broken. Something made me hesitate to reach inside, but eventually I did.

It contained two things: a gift card for 25 dollars at a local restaurant and a voucher for free dance lessons at Arthur Murray– two private, 2 group, and 2 practice party passes. Retail value? 337 dollars, but with a groupon, it cost 53 bucks.

Hmmm:  Who thinks I could use dancing lessons?

No: idea!