Long Suffering

How helpful it is to keep a daily record of one's activities, even if it is anecdotal. Not 10 minutes ago I took the last two Tylenol from a ginormous container. My, I thought, that certainly lasted a long time, and I wondered how long indeed. Then I recalled that I had actually written about buying the bottle on this blog. I knew, because my friend Roula had commented on the post, advising me to throw them away. But I didn't listen, and a quick search took me right back to December 6, 2013, and now I know that 350 extra strength Tylenol have a shelf life of almost 2 years around here.

Risk-Taker

It was sobering news this morning when I heard that more people died by selfie than by shark this year.

For while I might think twice about swimming at a beach where sharks had been spotted, the Selfie Project must go on.

Full TIme

It was touch and go there yesterday, but now that my first five day week of the new school year is behind me...

I think everything is going to be just fine.

Lucky Number

I had a busy day yesterday-- in addition to teaching, I attended a meeting on a new web application our school is considering purchasing and submitted a revised self-assessment for students to use in conferences. I also decided that the 23rd is my new favorite day of the month.

While waiting to use the restroom in the main office, I noticed that the last day of school is June 23rd, which was exactly nine months away. Still waiting, I noted that 10/23 is Friday, an early release for students. November 23? The Monday before Thanksgiving, a two-day school week. December 23 is during Winter Break, and January 23 is a Saturday. February 23 follows a three-day holiday weekend; March 23 is Spring Break; April 23? A Saturday. May 23 is one week before Memorial Day and one month before... yes! The last day of school.

I explained my new-found felicity for day 23 to a colleague until at last a restroom opened up. A few minutes later, with clean hands and empty bladder, I headed back to my classroom. "Tracey!" the principal's secretary called. "Ms. B. likes the way you think!"

I frowned, flattered, but also a little confused. The principal had been in the meeting with me and had also seen the new self-assessment I designed. Could it have been my contributions in one or both of those things that she appreciated?

The secretary noticed my uncertainty. "The 23rd?" she said. "9 months from today? She loved that!"

A Box to the Left

I like to think of myself as a liberal, unconventional, student-centric kind of a teacher, and yet when this morning after a meeting I walked into my classroom which was under the supervision of a colleague and found all 21 of my students sprawled about-- lying on the floor, sitting under the tables, perched on yet-to-be-unpacked cardboard boxes of books and windowsills, I literally gasped.

"What is going on here?" I demanded, scanning the room for some adult presence.

"I knew they had to take a standardized test, and so I let them get comfortable," my coworker whispered from over in the corner.

I looked around. With the exception of those kids who were staring at me because of my disruption, the rest were all quiet and focused on the laptops in front of them. I walked to my desk and checked the teacher dashboard for the test, and they all seemed to be making progress.

"Sorry if I overstepped," my colleague said as she headed for the door.

"No, no," I assured her. "You were in charge. Thank you for covering my class! Really!" And I meant it-- but as for me? I think I will continue to administer tests to students sitting in chairs at tables.

Choice Words

I was helping students organize their binders when I overheard a couple of guys having what I considered to be a questionable conversation.

"I'm not saying you're actually fat," said one to the other, trailing off meaningfully.

"What are you saying, then?" I asked.

"I wasn't talking to you," the student responded, and his disrespect took me a little aback. I was not, however, at a loss for words.

"Well, I was listening to you," I told him, "and I did not like what I was hearing."

He took a breath. I could see by his face he was thinking about his next words. I made eye contact. He turned to the other student. "Sorry," he said.

Joining 'Em

As I took attendance on the first day of school I came across a name on my roll that I had never had in my class before. "Marco?" I called.

"Polo!" several students answered.

Marco himself looked a little grim as he gave me a little salute along with his mumbled 'Here'.

"I think he's heard that one before," I said. "So let's not do that anymore."

Still, I knew it would be hard, mostly because I, myself, had the impulse to cry out that famous rejoinder whenever I said his name.

It's been a couple weeks, now, and the problem has faded considerably, at least from my perspective. Or at least that's what I thought until I looked through a stack of assignments that the kids had turned into my substitute last week.

There was a name scrawled across the line at the top of one sheet that I couldn't make out. I squinted trying to match the squiggles with letters and the letters with students' names. Is that a 'P'? I wondered, and indeed it was.

Looks like someone has re-named himself Polo.

Reinvention

It was a bit chaotic at Orlando International Airport this morning as we waited in line to drop our checked baggage. People from all over the world are drawn to the many theme parks and resorts the region is known for, and Sunday must be the last day of many a vacation. Lines were long and accents were loud and various as our flood of travelers flowed toward so many homes.

I idly scanned the crowd as our queue trickled along. I was surprised to see a woman of about my age actually carrying her soft-sided Samsonite up to the scale. Looking around more carefully, I also saw a couple of guys hefting big, olive drab canvas duffle bags, and even someone with an aluminum-framed backpack. They were all bags that my family had packed around 30 years ago.

I glanced at my own luggage, upright and wheeled, rolling them smoothly along as we moved up in the line, and considered the many forms of progress.

Flock Together

After another extravaganza of a day of Disney rides and shows, someone asked me what I liked best about my park experience. "Honestly?" I replied, "it was the bird show."

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Was it that good?"

"Oh yes," I assured him.  "Two middle-aged ladies and a bunch of animals trained to do clever tricks?" It was my turn to raise my eye brows. "You betcha it was good!"

So 1982

As iconic as that giant geodesic sphere might be, I must admit that, although I have been to Orlando a few times since 1982, I had never actually been to Disney's EPCOT park until today. I did not know, for example, that the name is actually an acronym of  Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow, and that Walt Disney actually purchased his 27,000+ acres of swamp land in order to establish an innovative community model with which to shape the future urban life. After Disney died in 1966, his vision was revised by the corporation he created into something that can be best expressed as "more theme parks and resorts."

And so it has become, but EPCOT is a bit of a muddle, if you ask me. Sometimes described as a "permanent worlds fair," it is divided into two sections of a figure eight: Futureland and a ring of faux nations full of gift shops and restaurants. Futureland suffers a bit from the fact that it was designed in the 70s and built in the 80s, and that future has come and gone. The buildings and attractions seem quaint and dated, like the Jetsons might feel at home there.

Thematically, the connection between Futureland and the rest of the park seems tenuous: visitors cross a bridge and are swept off to either Mexico or Canada, depending on whether they turn left or right. After that, it's on to facsimiles of Norway, England, China, France, Italy, Morocco, America, and Japan. These attractions, too, seem a little aged, but it isn't as noticeable. Plus the folks at Disney have an education incentive program to attract young people from all of these nations to come and work in that section of the park. Their presence definitely lends some authenticity to the experience.

We had a fun day, but after years of hearing about how great EPCOT was, it seemed like we were a little late to the party.

Stockholm Syndrome

What does it say about the state of air travel that when we were lucky enough to get a couple of extra legroom seats on our flight this morning  it seemed like there was almost too much space? So much room that the tray table actually had to have an extension to reach me. How quaint!

Morgan Freeman is my Co-Pilot

My students were working on the first little project of the year this afternoon. Their task was to come up with 30 nouns and/or adjectives that described them in some way, and when the lists are completed, trace their hands on a piece of paper and then scribe the words they have chosen along the outline. The last step is to decorate the hand, cut it out, and mount it on construction paper for display.

This simple activity provides enormous insight into their classroom skills and their work habits, and the products end up being a wonderful snapshot of each student-- their hands, their designs, their words, but it was the work habits I was monitoring today when I told them that they were free to talk as they worked as long as the work got done. A little while into the period, one table was pretty chatty, but as I listened, their discussion seemed relevant to the task.

"I'm going to put 'Christian' on mine," said one boy, "because I am."

"I don't believe in God," responded the girl next to him.

"You're not going to go to heaven," warned another student.

She shrugged. "I don't believe in heaven."

The first boy was not alarmed by her statement at all. "You don't have to be Christian to go to heaven," he assured her sincerely. "You just have to be good."

The other boy nodded in agreement, but the first student wasn't done. "And then, when you get to heaven..." he paused for effect. "...you'll find out God is real!"

The girl seemed unconvinced, and then the conversation took a silly turn. "No!" he continued, "You'll find out God is me!"

The girl gave him a long look and then raised her eyebrows. "Funny," she said, adding purple to her paper, "you don't look anything like Morgan Freeman."

Everyone's a Foodie

We are lucky to live in an area with lots of good restaurants within walking distance of our home, and tonight we availed ourselves of the bounty and strolled on down to dinner at a new Italian place with one of our neighbors.

The weather was nearly perfect, all pink clouds and cool, cerulean skies, as we made our way along the row of restaurants, and almost every outside table was occupied.

The sidewalks were bustling, too, and I noticed a mom and her 8 or 9 year old son walking toward us. His attention was captivated by an empty store front with a "Coming Soon!" sign. "Hula Girl," he read. "Hula Girl?" he repeated, looking at his mother quizzically. "Now what kind of cuisine is that?"

Change of Mind

My vegan has become a pescatarian, so what's on the menu?

Why lobster risotto of course.

Bon apetite!

And One More Thing...

about Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation:

Throughout the entire movie, no one ate a single bite of food.

What does it mean?

Bellwethers

On such a rainy Saturday it seemed like a great idea to go to the movies. There are still a couple of fun summer flicks on our list and today we chose Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation.

I confess to being a little distracted by Tom Cruise, at least in the beginning of the movie: he and I are only three days apart in age, and I wanted to see how he was holding up. After inspecting him carefully, it turns out he's aging quite well, unlike, say, Sebastian Koch. 

Don't know him? Well. I didn't either, by name, until this morning when I saw he joined the cast of Homeland for this season.

Who is that old guy? I thought when I looked at his picture, and then added, Oops! when I saw his birthday, just a month before mine.

First Friday

I had some variation of the following conversation at least 4 times today:

Colleague: "Thank goodness it's Friday! I can't believe it's only the first week! It feels like we've been at it for months!"

Heidi says it's just because everyone is out of practice, and in that in a few weeks we'll all be back in shape and hitting our stride. I hope she's right, because otherwise?

It's going to be a realllllly long year!

What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

I was talking today with our Instructional Technology Coordinator about the details of rolling out the iPads for the new sixth graders. I really like her, but I'm feeling a little skeptical about the plan they have in place.

"Oh, they should know it from 5th grade," our ITC assured me. "Watch." She turned to a random student. "What elementary school did you go to?"

The student told her.

"Did you use google.docs there?" the ITC continued.

The student nodded; the ITC winked triumphantly at me.

"Do you know your password?"

The student hesitated. "Wait. Did you say 'google'?" she asked, frowning. "No. I don't think so."

The ITC sighed.

The student turned her head. "Oh. Wait. Yeah. We did use that."

The ITC brightened.

The student shook her head. "I forgot my password, though."

Something Old, Something New

On a day when so many of this year's sixth graders are still just one in a jumble of faces and names, a woman caught my eye as I dashed into the grocery store on the way home from work and held it. She was finished with her own shopping and an adorable little girl danced along behind her, swinging one of the grocery bags.

"Ashley!" I cried. "Is it you?" because she looked exactly like the grown-up version of one of the students in my first class, ever.

"Yeah!" she answered in amazement. "What's your name again?"

"Ms. S! Your sixth grade English teacher!" I reminded her.

"Wow! I can't believe you remember me! You really haven't changed a bit!" she said.

And two thousand or so kids later? I accepted the compliment gleefully, though I knew how wrong she was.

Intro to Sixth Grade

"What are you going to do on the first day of school?" a colleague asked me last week.

"Oh, I'm not quite sure," I answered, "but I know it will involve popsicle sticks and index cards."

And it did.

And it was great!

No Thumbs

A few years ago I sat next to a colleague in a meeting and she distracted me the entire time by showing me her "trigger finger," an odd malady that made her finger visibly stutter at the joint each time she bent it. "Isn't that weird?" she said.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"Not right now, but they say it will. Then I'll need a shot of cortisone and maybe surgery."

I nodded sympathetically and mentally filed the conversation under thank goodness that's not me.

Sadly, I've had to update that file. I was sitting on a hop-on, hop-off tour bus in Vancouver a few weeks ago when I noticed my right thumb joint clicking any time I bent it. The area below it on the palm of my hand was tender as well, and it didn't take much googling to turn up several articles on what it was. I had trigger thumb.

Since then the joint cracking has definitely been distracting, and sadly the pain has been gradually worsening, but although the time for medical intervention may be drawing near, for now it has been amazing and instructive to me just what I do and do not need my thumb for.

Sergeant Pepper Reporting for Duty

It has been extremely satisfying using our new dehydrator to preserve food this summer. Well, I say "food", but the truth is the only thing I've dessicated so far has been peppers, but I have dried a lot of them. In fact, I have about half a pound of gorgeously-hued red and orange chili powder in the kitchen right now, neatly divided and clearly labeled as mild, medium, and hot Hot HOT. It practically glows in its plastic bags.

As a rule, spicy food does not bother me, and I love tasting the different flavors of the peppers that linger beneath the heat, but perhaps I got a little carried away today when at the grocery store I bought a six pack of habanero IPA. Yeah, that was a little too much for me, but I happily used it to steam the shrimp I bought as well. Five more beers? More shrimp can be arranged!

Laws of Productivity

I've always found the Saturday of a three day weekend to be a most productive day. Somehow, knowing there are still two more days off before you return to work makes so many things seem do-able. Today was no exception.

In the morning, I gardened and cooked and canned and dehydrated like nobody's business. I also paid the bills, read the paper, gathered the recycling, and caught up on several magazines that had been sitting around so that I could toss them in the recycling, too. But I wasn't through yet. No, then I hemmed a pair of cut-off shorts that I made from the pants I ruined back in that unfortunate spill I took in May. After that I read an article on writing and teaching, finished one book, and started the next. I'm sure I'll get a few more things done before bedtime, too.

It might seem ironic that a gal who is just coming off ten weeks of vacation is in such a rush, but the fact is that days like today are even better than summer, because there is a sense of urgency:

Work
is
coming!

No Wonder

There was a book on my desk when I got to work this morning. I smiled when I saw it, because I had read it a long time ago and loved it. It was also about Alaska.

I first heard of the novel years ago at a meeting for sixth grade language arts teachers in our district. We were talking about books that we had taught, and one woman, perhaps in her late sixties, was complaining.

"It's such a wonderful story," she said, "based on an Athabascan Indian legend and so well-written." She sighed. "But none of the boys want anything to do with it."

"What is the title, again? " someone asked.

"The Two Old Women," she told us.

Time Capsule

Perhaps if anything struck me as I scanned the list of new sixth graders, it was that not a single name looked familiar. Over the years that little glimmer of recognition that shines when a sister or brother of a former student joins the team has always been one of the pleasures of this event. 

I was not to be disappointed, though. Not only were there a few siblings (of different surnames), there was even another child of a former student. This time, in a like mother-like daughter twist, they were both assigned to my homeroom. 

"I think I sat over there," the mom pointed for her daughter. Then she turned to me. "Wow! Things really have not changed much in here since 1996!"

Everything's Coming Up Alaska

"Guess what?" one of my colleagues said today. "We have twins on the team this year who are..."

"Yes?" I said. 

"wait for it..." she told me.

I raised my eyebrows. 

"Alaskan native Americans!" she finished. 

I was surprised. "Cool! What tribe?" I wondered. 

"I don't know," she answered, "but it seems like you all will have a lot to talk about!"

What They Hear

"How will your art projects be assessed?" I asked Josh as he worked to complete his summer assignments this evening.

"We'll pretty much put 'em up and all the other students will look at them," he told me.

"So, peer review, then?" I clarified.

"Well, the instructor lady will probably tear us all down individually, too," he added.

I frowned. "Or maybe offer some constructive criticism?" I offered.

"We'll see," he said doubtfully. "We'll see."

Privileges of Seniority

After a day filled with powerpoint presentations and a lot of butt time, I had one last meeting before I could actually go to my classroom at 3:40. This one was with my fellow sixth grade team leaders, and I welcomed the chance to organize my thoughts before leading the first team meeting of the year tomorrow morning. We went through a quick list of things to talk about and things to delegate, and the familiarity of the task warmed me in the air conditioned chill of the library. It wasn't long before the three of us felt prepared, and as the meeting broke up, the other two teachers expressed some gratitude to me. "Your memory is amazing," said one. "Thank goodness someone knows the details."

Although I appreciated their comments, I shrugged. "I've been doing this a long time."

"Me, too," said one of the others, and I knew she meant her 20 years of teaching.

I nodded. "But I've been doing this for a long time," I said, making a circular gesture with one upraised finger. "It's not that hard to remember!"

The Big One

The news today that Mt. McKinley will once again be officially called "Denali" was particularly timely, given our recent visit. On the heels of finishing Into the Wild, I am currently reading Denali's Howl about the history of mountaineering on the peak, particularly the ill-fated 1967 expedition.

In the early chapters of his book, Andy Hall, whose father was park superintendent from 1967 to 1970, makes the point that the native Athabaskan people never had any interest in climbing to the top of the mountain and thought it foolish when the first white men attempted the feat. For them, the mountain was primarily a landmark, called variously, 'the great one', 'the high one', and 'the tall mountain'. With nothing material to gain, such an endeavor would present an unacceptable risk in the already harsh conditions in which they lived.

What a sensible attitude! Dibs to them on naming the mountain.

No Second Chances

When we were in Alaska, our travels took us within ten miles or so of Christopher McCandless's "magic bus" made famous by the book Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer. Being so close to where McCandless died provided a whole new frame of reference on the story of young man who cut ties with his family and lived a vagabond life in the western U.S. before heading into the Alaskan wilderness on his own in April 1992. 

When we returned home, I read Krakauer's book, and I also looked at many of Chris's photographs, letters, and journal entries that the McCandless family published in the 2010 book, Back to the Wild. This morning, we watched a documentary about McCandless and his family, and tonight we watched Sean Penn's 2008 film based on the Krakauer book. 

 A little wilded out by the end of the movie, I was reminded of an old joke. Two guys are at the movies when one leans over to the other and whispers,"I'll bet you five bucks the cowboys get ambushed when they leave camp." 

"You're on!" His friend replies. Not two minutes later, the cowboys are attacked, just as the first guy predicted. When the movie is over, the second guy hands his friend a five dollar bill. 

"I have a confession," the first guy says. "I saw the movie before. I knew they were going to be ambushed." 

"So did I," says his friend. "I just didn't think they would fall for it twice!" 

 That's how I felt about Chris McCandless every time I was confronted with his demise-- not that he was arrogant or stupid, I just wanted him to have the chance to learn from his mistakes.

New Reality

It wasn't that long ago that we were gently requested to leave electronics powered off at meetings and presentations. Then it seemed only courteous to give your full attention to the business at hand. Those days are long gone, though. Now silencing your device is the only thing you may be asked to do. A quick look around any meeting and you will see laptops open and a phone in every hand plus a few tablets to boot. Far from being offended, many presenters have embraced the connectivity, and we are encouraged to tweet and live chat questions and observations as the session unfolds. Oh, I have no doubt that such communications offer a way to keep people focused and engaged, and also give them a chance to interact with, and construct meaning from, the material on the agenda--

at least between emails and Words with Friends.

Get Set

"It's amazing how it almost feels as if we never left," a colleague noted to me as we worked to ready my classroom this afternoon.

It was our first day back from summer break, and I knew what she meant: placing the desks, hooking up the electronics, and organizing my bookshelves, pencils, markers, and highlighters didn't feel new in the least; it was rather like getting back to some familiar, important business.

Okay...

Let's do this!

Glimmer of the End of the Tunnel

Twenty-two years ago, right around this time of year, my mom and I made a trip down to Ikea to buy a few things to furnish and decorate my very first classroom. Since then, I've only switched rooms once, right after that very first year, and so tomorrow marks the beginning of my 22nd year in Room 275.

Heidi has not had the same experience as I; in her almost equal years at the school, she is on her 5th classroom. So, this afternoon she and I headed down to Ikea to pick up a few things to make her newest space a little homier for her and her students. It's been years since our last visit, so we agreed to browse the whole shebang, starting with the showrooms and moving on down to all that fun stuff in the Marketplace.

One of the first items we saw in the home office section was a set of wooden magazine cases. They were both pleasing-- so smooth, so simple-- and reasonably priced, and I lingered over them for more than a moment. "Go ahead!" Heidi encouraged me, "Get 'em!"

But I declined: you see, I still have the colorful cardboard versions of them that I bought so long ago, and I think I can make them last those few more years they must.

Out of the Gate

This morning was the first meeting of the year for me; at 8:45 I took my place at a group of round tables hastily pushed into an un-nameable shape and quietly waited for the folder that would mark the official beginning of the SY 15-16. 

This was my 17th team leaders meeting, and as they go? It wasn't too bad. We talked mainly about big ideas: leadership, morale, motivation, collaboration, vision, and mission. There was pizza and salad for lunch. I spoke up a few times, and my contributions were noted. On my way out of the building the principal promised to get me the info I needed to register for a training I volunteered for. 

"Oh, I already did that," I told her.

She seemed impressed. "Well! Look at you-- registering, and coming up with slogans, and adding to the statements!"

"I know, right?" I answered. "I'm going home to take a nap!"

Cussed

Four years separate the girls in age: Ally is 15, and Laney just turned 11. She's hardly the typical younger sister though. Instead of wanting to participate in everything the older kids do, Laney seems committed to being a kid as long as possible. She loves the childrens menu, for example, and refuses to even look at anything else. Her wardrobe is still pink and sparkly, and her first choice for movie night is always G-rated and always animated. Sure, she texts and snapchats, but that kind of stuff starts with kids much younger than she is now.

She also hates it when people cuss, which she calls "potty-mouth", and that's an area where I had to give her some gentle ribbing.

"What kind of cussing do the kids at your school do?" I asked. "Like what do they say?"

Her eyes widened. Here was a girl who won't even say, "crap."

"Oh c'mon," I continued. "I'm a teacher. I'm just curious about what middle schoolers in New Jersey do."

"Well," she took a deep breath. "There is this certain group of girls we call 'R's..." She looked at me meaningfully.

I frowned. "R? R for what?" I couldn't imagine what she meant.

"You know," she said, "R-A..." she trailed off again.

I thought long and hard. "No idea what you're trying to tell me," I finally shook my head.

She sighed, exasperated, and a little convinced that I was trying to trick her into spelling something inappropriate. "Fine! R-A-T-C-H-E-T!" She blushed.

"Did you just spell 'ratchet'?" I asked.

She nodded.

"What does that even mean?"

"It's ghetto," she told me.

"For what?"

She shrugged. "Mean people, I think. We just call them the Rats," she continued.

"Ah. That seems much better," I agreed.

Blame Game

We went out for burgers before getting on the road this evening to take the girls back to their folks. They're pretty good eaters-- both have big appetites, and although either girl will try anything that I cook, the older sister is much more adventurous when it comes to dining out. So burgers it was: Laney ordered a cheeseburger from the kids menu, and Ally ordered something huge with a fried egg and onion rings on top, and their plates were nearly clean when I paid the check and we headed north.

Traffic on I-95 is always dicey, and even on a Sunday evening I was on the brakes hard a couple of times. There were a few bumps and lane changes as well, and it wasn't long before Ally was complaining that my driving was making her sick.

"Sorry," I said. "I'll try to drive more gently, because I'm sure that's what the problem is, especially since it couldn't possibly be those 1500 calories you scarfed down at dinner."

Last Frontier

We've been back from vacation since Tuesday, but my mind and my heart aren't quite home yet. Things that are usually a little aggravating about where we live, like crowds and traffic, are enormously so now, and things I generally share with my fellow inside-the-Beltway-ites, like a preoccupation with Congress, the economy, and all matter of international troubles, seem crushing in their mundane negativity.

Just today I looked at the clock and thought, Well, it's Saturday-- the tour will be in Talkeetna right about now, waiting for the train to Denali. How gold is the aspen and birch? How cottony is the fireweed? Is it clear enough to see the mountain?

Oh, it's just vacation envy; I harbor no illusions about actually living in Alaska. How can I be so sure? Well Alaska is enjoying some measure of celebrity in popular culture these days. In addition to many, many Facebook pages dedicated to the 49th state, there are lots of blogs, and tons of TV reality shows. So this morning when I was feeling a little wistful, I tuned into to Edge of Alaska, a Discovery Channel production about a little town on the Wrangell Range and its hardy denizens.

The one episode I saw featured a man in his 70s using his ATV to right his outhouse after a black bear knocked it over (In the winter I don't mind pooping on a paper plate and throwing it into the fire, he said, but summer's different.), a family attempting to plow a garden with their sled dogs, a couple of guys unsuccessfully flying into the bush and hiking six miles to get to the mouth of an abandoned mine, and a woman kayaking 10 miles down a rapid river to stake a claim for gold.

I'm just not sure that's for me.

Sister Time

The girls were bickering on the way home from the pool this afternoon about who would get the first shower and how long it would be. Ally has dermatitis and the chlorine drying on her skin makes it itchy and dry, but Laney didn't want to sit around in her wet bathing suit while her sister took the long, hot shower she wanted.

We suggested several possible solutions: rinse off and shower later, change out your suit into something dry while you wait, etc. but neither girl was happy with any of them. "Fine!" Ally finally said. "You can take your shower first!"

"You have to at least wash your face before!" her sister replied in a loud and testy voice as we crossed the parking lot toward home. The absurdity of the conversation made me laugh out loud.

Just across the way, a couple was carrying their infant daughter to the car. They chuckled at the argument, too. "Is this what we have to look forward to?" the young woman smiled.

"Not if you have a boy next!" Heidi told her.

Here it Comes

The God-daughters are here, and at ages 15 and 11? In just a few short hours they are helping to ease the transition back to school. All their concerns and interests are directly relevant to those of most of the kids we'll meet in less than three weeks. Peer issues, transition anxiety, music, and apps, I'm pretty sure everything we discussed on the 2 hour drive home will come in handy quite soon.

I thought I wasn't ready to go back, but I really must thank the girls for reminding me that I am. 

I really am. 

That's a Thing?

I felt lucky not to experience any sea sicknesses whatsoever aboard the cruise ship we spent 7 nights on last week. Sure, I felt the motion of the ship, but it seemed like a relatively calm passage. A day and a half into our journey, we disembarked at the first port of call, Icy Strait Point. It would be the worst weather of the trip, rainy and in the low 50s. We were only there for a few hours, and most of what there was to see was built on the pier where the tenders dropped us. As we made our way through the cannery-turned-museum-and-gift shops, I felt the floor swaying. This place must be a floating pier, I assumed, although it didn't really look like it.

In Juneau, Skagway, and Ketchikan, I felt a bit of dizziness, but soon I was on a cable car, train, and tour bus, respectively. I mentioned the feeling of vertigo in passing to my traveling companions, but it was mild and we let it drop. Last night? Heidi was complaining of bed spins, and I was still reeling. Google to the rescue: we seem to have mal de debarquement, also known as "land sickness," although thankfully ours seem to be mild cases.

According to Web MD:

Mal de debarquement syndrome (MdDS) is a rare and little understood disorder of the body's balance system (vestibular system) and refers to the rocking sensation and/or sense of imbalance that persists for an excessive length of time after an ocean cruise, plane flight or other motion experience. Most people after exposure to an ocean trip or long airplane ride will experience "motion" after the event is over and for a short period of time, with two days being the upper limit of normal. But for persons with MdDS, these sensations may last for 1 month or a year or even many years. Symptoms may diminish in time or periodically disappear and reappear after days, months, or years, sometimes after another motion experience or sometimes spontaneously. This syndrome is probably more common than the literature might lead us to believe, as the level of awareness in the general population as well as among health personnel is very low.

The disproportionate length of time over which the discomfort persists is normally unaccompanied by nausea, nor is it responsive to motion-sickness drugs.

For reasons that are not understood, middle aged women are overwhelmingly more likely to come down with MdDS than are men. However, most studies so far have disavowed hormones as a cause.

Coincidentally, Heidi ran into one of our neighbors this afternoon and as they discussed our trip the topic of this pesky rocking sensation came up, too. "Oh, you have mal de debarquement!" our neighbor, who is also a middle-aged woman, exclaimed. "Mine lasted 12 days-- I staggered around work for two whole weeks!"

Ours seem to be a mild cases and I have confidence they will be gone soon. If not? I guess it's just kind of a neurological souvenir of our great vacation. 

Scammed

Yes, that was us last evening standing in the busy Vancouver Sea Bus terminal trying to figure out how to use the fare machines. Perhaps our confusion was further compounded by the unfamiliar currency; certainly I've seen tableaus like ours many times in our public transit stations. There we were, a five CAD bill in hand when a gaunt woman with filthy teeth, lank grayish-brown hair, and wild blue eyes approached us with a handful of coins. Adding to our confusion, she offered to trade us her money for ours. There was a moment of wondering whether that would make it easier to use the machine, and then it all went downhill so fast. She took the five and before she handed over the change she dropped some pennies on the ground. Everyone's attention was diverted-- "Get that one!" she pointed and then turned on her heel and took off for the door without ever handing over the coins. I felt foolish and angry, but I also felt pity-- all that trouble for what amounted to three US dollars and 85 cents? She obviously needs it more than we do.

Sorry Vancouver

Sure, you have ocean and mountains. You have several cute neighborhoods, an Olympic stadium, lots of coffee shops, breweries, markets, sea buses, and an awesome public park with gardens, beaches, and totem poles. After a week at sea, I also very much appreciate your city water and flushing toilets. You seem to be a really nice city, but you're just not... Alaska. 

A Dolphin Never Forgets

As our ship cruised through the narrows of Queen Charlotte Strait on the last leg of our journey, the 6 o'clock evening sun blazed full on the water behind us. Squinting off our balcony into the nearly blinding copper light I thought I saw sleek figures leaping and surfing our wake. Sure enough, at least a dozen dolphins were having a little fun cutting across the current our cruiser created.

For many years, we took our sixth graders to Lewes, Delaware for the end of the year trip. There we would spend the morning on the beach and take a dolphin-watching cruise on the bay in the afternoon. It was a great trip, especially because we were the Dolphin Team, and in general, we saw quite a few dolphins, although some years were better than others. Unfortunately, the year my nephew, Treat, was in my class, it was cool and rainy on the beach, and we may have spotted three Dolphins all told.

A few summers later we went kayaking in Maine, and Treat and I shared a tandem. Not five minutes in, we were surrounded by harbor porpoises. They swam alongside of us silently gliding in and out of eastern Bay. 

"Wow!" Treat said simply. 

"I know!" I answered. 

"I just saw more Dolphins in 5 minutes than I did on that whole sixth grade field trip!"

Proverbial

We spent a little time shopping in Ketchikan before our tour to Saxman Village this afternoon. After two days in Anchorage, and stops in Denali, Icy Strait Point, Juneau, and Skagway, all the shops have started running together.  

"I can't look at another tshirt or sweatshirt," I told Heidi, "I just can't!" But of course I did. In each port the trick became to find the store that was different. 

One such place we saw today was a confectioners with all sorts of sweets made on the premises. It was called "Ketchi-candy" which I found kind of  ketchi, har har har. Right outside three little girls were fussing at their mom.

"How can you take a kid into a candy store and not buy anything?" one demanded. I looked at their mother; unfazed, she winked at me, and the two of us laughed. 

"You are just mean!" another of the girls pronounced, and then she flounced her hair over her shoulder and stalked away toward their, ahem, cruise ship. 

Exciting and New

The first thing I do every morning on this cruise is step out onto the balcony to see what amazement lies beyond the railing. We made port in Skagway before I woke up today, so this morning I was greeted by the green waters of Taiya Inlet surrounded by incredible mountains. 

A seal poked its head up across the way, where another cruise ship was docked. The deep water port of Skagway makes it a popular stop on the Alaskan cruise circuit, and this restored gold stampede town of 750 was about to expand by a factor of 10 as the tourist stampede in the form of four ocean liners arrived for the day. 

Truth be told, we've seen quite a few other cruisers on this trip, but I did a double take when I saw the name of the ship off my deck this morning. Pacific Princess... Why wasn't that? Surely it couldn't be? The Love Boat! It didn't look quite as I remembered it, but it's been 20 years or more since I saw an episode. 

Luckily, there was good phone service there in Skagway, so a quick internet search turned up the sad fact that the original Pacific Princess had gone to a scrap yard in Turkey last year. This imposter was nothing more than her replacement. I sighed in disappointment. 

Fortunately, there was still Skagway and a trip up to the Yukon on the White Pass Railway to look forward to.

Come aboard, we're expecting you!

So Lucky

This is one of the rainiest places on earth, but we have sailed under blue skies and puffy white clouds today, warm sun on our faces and cool breezes on our backs. After a whirlwind visit to Juneau this morning, they had a barbecue on the the outdoor deck for lunch, and so as the crew prepared the ship for departure we found ourselves lounging poolside, looking for bald eagles on Mt. Rogers, and watching the sea planes swoop over us to land on the Gastineau Channel.

A little while later, we spent over an hour hanging out on our balcony watching whales spout off in the distance and catching our breath at the dramatic glacier-carved scenery as we cruised the Tracey Arm on our way to view the Sawyer Glacier. Exquisite aquamarine ice bergs floated beneath 7,000 foot mountains laced with narrow waterfalls that plunged steeply into the narrow fjord on either side of us. Surrounded by wilderness as far as we could see, it was impossibly beautiful-- one of those rare moments in life when there's no doubt just how lucky you are. 

Don't Call Me Ishmael

Curious how some of the most terrible dangers of the sea from past centuries have become today's tourist attractions. Yesterday we sailed through scores of ice bergs (small ones to be sure, but genuine ice bergs never the less) to reach a glacier, and this afternoon our cruise director (not Julie, but Richard) gleefully announced that we would soon enter "whale water." 

Awesome!

Cruisin'

"A cruise?" many people remarked quizzically when I told them about my vacation plans. "That doesn't seem like you." I often nodded in agreement as they usually continued, "But Alaska? I'm sure that's different."

Is it? I wouldn't know, but I will say this about cruising so far. I have never been around another group of people so dedicated to me having a good time as the crew of this ship. This afternoon when we made our stop near Hubbard Glacier in a steady drizzle, we pulled on foul weather gear and headed to the upper decks for a panoramic view of the 350 foot blue ice cliffs. When we were cold and wet enough, we decided to go a few decks lower where it was covered to continue watching the massive ice chunks calving from the glacier iand thundering into Disenchantment Bay. The shortest route took us through one of the fine dining restaurants. In we banged with the icy wind and dripped our way across the bar to the exit where a waiter met us. "I hope it wasn't too cold out there," he said as he held the door for us.

This

So I'm relaxing with my feet up on the private deck off our aft cabin surrounded by mountains and setting sail for the Hubbard Glacier. Our day started 450 miles north of here in Denali. It was pouring rain when we got up at 5:30 this morning to finish packing and get on our bus by 7. "It's snowing in the park," the guy at the general store told us as we paid for our coffee. His words reminded me that the day before on our tour of the park our naturalist guide had told us that fall begins next week in this part of Alaska. We had laughed, but he wasn't joking. In two weeks, all the leaves in the area will have changed. I looked out the bus window as we rolled south through the rain. Sure enough, the tops of the mountains were dusted with new snow and there was a little more gold in the green on the side of the road. Fortunately the weather cleared as we neared Anchorage and it stayed fair on our trip down the Seward Highway so that our view of green velvet mountains studded with hanging glaciers, icy blueTurnagain Arm, and the boreal rainforest of the Kenai peninsula was unobstructed.

And now this.

Wow.

Alaskana

1. It's a fun state because it seems to be run entirely by people 18-27. They lend a laid back, anything goes, anything is possible vibe to everything.

2. There are a few older folks, but they are mostly docents and bus drivers. I think the young people encourage them to take those jobs because then those older people get most of their talking out on tourists. Don't get me wrong-- the guides I've met really know their material; it's just that they have a lot to say and they also do quite a bit of editorializing. I guess Alaska is such a big state that it just fosters expansiveness.

3. They run the tourist season here like a bit of a libertarian nanny state. We've been constantly reminded of our personal accountability where ever we go, but it's pretty clear they don't trust us. For example, our bus driver on the park tour today threatened to leave us at every rest stop if we were late getting back, but he stopped the bus in the wilderness to explain in great detail how we had to dispose of our trash and recycling. I suppose a guided tour is antithesis to a culture so ingrained with self-sufficiency.

4. The people who live here will tell you their Alaska origin story without being asked. Basically, they came and they knew they had to stay. They are also pretty proud of their pioneering spirit, and why not? It really does get down to 40 below, and there are a lot of long, dark days in the winter. I hear the Northern Lights make up for it, though, as does the cleanest air on the planet and the last of the true American wilderness.