That's What it's all About

Every year it seems like there is one English class out of the four or five I teach that is just a little more challenging than the rest. Lessons that work perfectly for every other group somehow fall flat for these kids; work that other classes easily complete is not so for them, and it's hard not to blame those students when there is evidence that my planning was sound.

This year it is the last class period of the day when things seem to go awry. As an example, yesterday, less than 4%, or 2 out of 55, of the students in my other classes forgot or did not complete their reading logs, but in that class? It was three times that many and ten times that percentage-- 6 out of 15, or 40%. The classes are randomly, heterogeneously grouped, so what's a teacher to do?

Well, the job is to teach everyone, not just the easy ones, and so I try to set aside my frustration and problem solve. As a group, they are a smart, energetic, but unfocused bunch of kids who all want to do well in school and learn. It is their last core class of the day, an hour after lunch and right before they head off to PE and electives.

I always include structured movement opportunity in my lessons, and today was no exception. We were doing an activity where they had to evaluate a piece of writing with a partner. It was set up like speed dating so that one or the other student would have to move after each question and work with somebody new. For these guys, I decided to up the ante.

"Vote with your feet!" I said when going over the answers. "If you think this was a summary, do the Hokie Pokie!" They all jumped up, waved their hands in the air and turned around.

Next question, "If you think this is synthesis? Give me 5 jumping jacks!" The room erupted in vigorous calisthenics.

And so it went, until it was time for them to settle down and apply the principles we had just discussed to their own writing...

in blessed silence.

Tabloid Fodder

On the first day back from Winter Break my sixth graders were pretty animated discussing what they had read over break. "I finished the Harry Potter series!" one student announced, and before I could even congratulate her she continued in a wail. "Whyyyyyy did Fred have to die??"

I shrugged sympathetically and opened my mouth to reply, but she kept talking. "And Tonks?? And Lupine?? They just had a baby!"

I nodded, and she kept going. "But Harry and Ginny and Ron and Hermione? Yay! Those are good couples!"

"Wow!" said the girl next to her. "I don't know anything about Harry Potter, but I feel like you're talking about the Kardashians!"

Rita Skeeter would certainly agree!

So Cranks the Machine

Those who know me well are aware that I am not an avid clothes shopper. What with ordering online and supplementing at Target, years have literally passed in between shopping excursions for me. That has not been so this year, however.

We started our holiday shopping on Halloween, when Heidi's parents were here, and believe it or not, we finished it today with the last of the gift exchanges and returns. I have to admit that I was shocked at how much more streamlined the stores had their merchandise displays. They seemed downright empty.

Gone were extra racks and tables that I assumed were permanent, and anything I had seen before Christmas that was still left had been moved to the back clearance section and replaced by fitness gear, storage bins, luggage, and spring clothing. It was shocking, but kind of impressive in its own way.

As the weather finally turns colder, I felt lucky that I didn't really need anything for winter!

Overheard at the Lincoln Memorial

We have keeeel-baaaa-see, York-shy-er pudding, and onion gravy, Hon-- just heat it up!

A New Year Wish

I had the New Years dinner preparations well in hand this afternoon when it came time to bread the chicken. The table was set, the black-eyed peas had been stewing and the greens had been braising since earlier in the day. The ham was sliced; the rice cooker at the ready, and water on to blanch the corn.

When I grabbed the homemade bread crumbs, I noticed a small bag of extra crumbs next to them and tossed them all together with some salt, paprika, and hot pepper. As I took the pounded chicken paillards from their buttermilk and egg bath and dredged away, a faintly familiar smell, sweet and cinnamony, wafted from the bread crumbs.

I froze a moment, eyes wide. Could it be?

Tasting a quick pinch confirmed my fears. It was graham cracker crumbs that I had added to my mixture. All was not lost by any means, and when I confessed my error to my brother, we briefly wondered if perhaps this might be one of those legendary accidents that become an amazing tradition.

Alas, the answer was a resounding nope, but it was nothing a little hot sauce couldn't fix. May all the mistakes of 2016 be so easy to remedy!

You Know You've Been away from Home a Little too Long When...

...Your cat gets laryngitis from yelling at you when you get back!

The Way Home

pack
load
hugs
gas station
trashy audio book
snowless ski resort
trashy audio book
gray mountains
trashy audio book
peppermint chocolate pretzels
trashy audio book
paper mill
trashy audio book
gas station
potty break
trashy audio book
fog...
trashy audio book
traffic jam
trashy audio book
rush hour
trashy audio book
home!

Puppy Dog Tails

We woke this morning to sunshine and blue skies, and so we wanted to make the most of it before we had to leave for our 1:55 flight. Since Richard had promised that today was the day when he would learn to ride a bike, four adults, two kids and two bikes rolled down the driveway toward Piedmont Park.

Our expedition took a detour when we spotted one of the neighbors over on the high school lawn with his three year-old son and their two brand new puppies. Dory and Nemo were 10-week-old chocolate brindle mastiff-poodles as cute and wiggly as could be. In the time we stopped, they scampered, rolled, nipped, and chased each other in the impossibly adorable way that puppies do. We were all too happy to applaud any peeing outside and/or trotting in the direction of someone calling them. 

Time was ticking away and we continued on to the park. Heidi fell into step next to me. "I love puppies," she sighed, and I nodded. Knowing that soon we would see our own 12 1/2 year old puppy slightly salved the sting of our eminent departure.

Rainy Days and Mondays

It seemed like the Christmas holiday came and went so quickly this year, and the sky was gray and drizzly as Bill, Emily, and the boys packed the car to head home this morning. A little while later fat drops splattered against the driveway as Courtney backed out on the way to the airport for Mom's flight.

The clouds darkened and rain poured in torrents for most of the afternoon, but our much smaller group made the best of it, playing Settlers of Catan and charades. Feeling a little stir-crazy, Richard and Annabelle and I dodged the raindrops when the storm let up a bit to shoot baskets and play HORSE, dashing under cover of the garage or back into the house when the patter became too steady.

Eventually it was too dark to play outside at all, but it was time for dinner. My sister had seen on Twitter that it was opening night of chef Ford Fry's newest place, Beetlecat, and so we decided to see if we could get a table. Despite The renewed downpour, luck was with us and the six of us enjoyed small plates of seafood crude , raw oysters, Thai shrimp, octopus salad, hot dogs, grilled cheese, lobster rolls, and the best calamari we had ever eaten. Courtney even caught a glimpse of Ford, and for the second time in ten days we felt like we had had the privilege of eating fine food prepared just as the chef wanted it to be served.

More than satisfied we stepped out into the evening happy to see that the rain had stopped.

Voyagers

'All I want for Christmas is toys and games," I told my family at Thanksgiving. I was only half joking, and my brother and his family were completely obliging. When all the ribbons were nearly rolled up and the gift wrap was in the recycling bag, I had a stack of new games under the tree.

Fortunately we are a family of game players (in fact I was not the only one who received some) and we have spent the last couple of days playing Exploding Kittens, 5 Second Rule, Foodie Fight, Settlers of Catan, Ticket to Ride, and Smart Ass. 

We can always count on Treat to read the directions and teach us to play even the most complicated game, and my sister, the lawyer, is a good second opinion if any questions about the rules come up. Today, as we were setting up Ticket to Ride, she told us that "the most experienced traveler" goes first. 

I scanned around the table, trying to figure out just who that might be. "Mom's not playing," I said.

'Right," my sister answered. "That means it's you."

I was flattered, because I like to think of myself as a seasoned traveler indeed, but in fairness I looked at my brother. "What about Bill? He travels all the time for work."

My sister raised an eyebrow at me. "I think that's just a polite way of saying the oldest player," she said gently. "Dont't you?"

And I might have agreed, had I not been choking on my coffee at the thought of it, which had never occurred to me.  

"I choose to take it literally,' my brother said, and made the first play of the game. 

Holiday Hijinks

What to do when it's 75 degrees on December 26? Nothing but play basketball, walk the Atlanta Belt Line, and replace our traditional roast beef with grilled rib eye steak. But don't worry-- there was still mashed potatoes and gravy, and plenty of cookies and Christmas crackers, too.

But this year we added a new twist to the tradition. Instead of reading the corny jokes from the crackers, we read the punch line instead, and everyone else guessed the riddle.

How zany is that?

Pair of Knaves

At 8 am on Christmas morning our flight out of Buffalo was so full that Heidi and I could not get seats together. The day before I had reserved two aisle seats, one in front of the other, and those were the ones we headed to as we boarded. I was a little anxious as I scanned the throng of strangers already seated to discover who would be my companions for the next hour or so, but my eyes lit up when I finally got to my row.

In a reaction I bet few other passengers might have, I turned to Heidi with a little fist pump. "Yes!" I celebrated, "I got some boys!" And I happily slid Into the aisle seat next to a kid who was probably in sixth grade and his slightly older teenaged brother. "Let's put this arm rest down guys," I started, and I knew we would be fine.

And we were. The flight passed relatively quietly as the boys first played games on their iPad and then actually got out some homework to do. When the kid next to me could not find the room for both his empty cup and his vocabulary book on his tray top table, he froze, glass hovering above workbook like a ufo. I silently held out my hand, took the cup, and placed it on my own tray. "Thanks," he said, picked up his pencil, and got to work.

Christmas Mystery Solved

A couple of years ago I realized that as extensive as my Christmas music library was, I did not have a single recording of Need a Little Christmas. This was on the heels of downloading Count Your Blessings to fill another gap in the collection. And this year it's There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays that is the new addition. How I've missed these standards is unfathomable unless you take into account one key piece of information: 

The Ray Conniff Singers never recorded them!

Lighten Up

Back when my older nephews were little, driving around town at this time of year always involved playing an amusing little game called I See Christmas Lights. There was a sufficient number of houses decked out that we could repeat the phrase enough times to be silly, but not so many as to make it ridiculous.

Here in Buffalo, though, it is a whole other world when it comes to holiday decorating: almost everyone has lights and lawn ornaments. That makes it kind of fun to take a simple drive or even a walk around the neighborhood. At first it's thrilling to see all the twinkle and glow, but it doesn't take long before I become more of a discerning critic.

First off, any use of inflatable figures is dismissed on the grounds of being garish and non-traditional. Laser lights are out for the same reason, although I did sneak onto someone's lawn to see how the speckles of light dancing across their home were being projected. I hesitated just a moment before thrusting my hand in front of the device-- aren't lasers supposed to be dangerous?

Next, inconsistency with reality is also a disqualifier. For example one house had a big Santa Snoopy right next to another smaller Snoopy on top of his festive dog house. No! There are not two Snoopys. Likewise more than one Santa in any given yard is a no-no. You can have as many reindeer as you like, but only one Rudolph, please. It's also acceptable to mix secular and religious icons; a crèche surrounded by giant candy canes? Why not?

I'm rather particular about light choices, too. All red? That's demonic, but all green is too leprechaunic. Those new multicolor LED lights offer intensity, but most have too much purple for my taste. Simply tossing a few strings of whatever at the bushes is never a good choice, nor is running out of lights half way around the garage door and just going with it.

When it comes to lights, I love the classic approach of following the roofline, and I prefer it when it's done with good old-fashioned strings of ceramic C9 bulbs. Whatever you use, though, please make sure your lines are crisp, bulbs at attention and all facing one way. Lights are not forgiving; in the dark of night a wavering line seems careless, and even those dangling icicle-style lights are on the border of pretty and pretty sloppy.

The classy restraint of simple wreathes and candles in the window seems like a good idea, but around here, it just can't compete. Those houses need a few light deer and white spiral trees to pull it all together. There are also quite a few lighted Santas en sleigh with reindeer, but to be honest, I want them on the roof! Never mind the prediction of 50 mph winds tomorrow-- why would Santa land on the yard?

I have to admit, though, that in the aggregate, all the lights in all the yards together really, really work for me. It's magical and I wouldn't change a single bulb.

I'm Your Girl!

I reckon that, in support of our school district's one-to-one initiative, I've set up a hundred iPads or so over the last year, not to mention the devices I've helped to troubleshoot, nearly on a daily basis. So when Heidi's dad asked me to assist him with his new iPad mini, I only had one thing to say.

When Middle-aged People Travel...

Food AND Friends

So often when you go to a hip new restaurant the staff kind of has the attitude that you are lucky to be there. Not so at Requin the other night. The pop-up is the brainchild of two Top Chef alums, Mike Isabella and Jen Carroll, and both chefs were working the kitchen when we got there. Not only was the food (Mediterrenean-inspired small plates and family-style entrees) outstanding, but the service was excellent. It seemed like everyone felt lucky that we were there, not just us. Our waiter even arranged for Mike and Jen to come out to meet us and pose for a picture. The place will have its permanent home down at the new waterfront development, and if they continue like that? They are sure to be a huge success.

The Force Awakens

It was early this morning when we lined up for the first show of the new Star Wars movie. A friend had been kind enough to offer us her extra tickets, and so we blearily rolled out of bed on the first day of winter break and headed to the theater. Even the icy wind couldn't wake Heidi up entirely. "Is that guy in a costume?" she asked, pointing to a figure in a long, brown hooded robe.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Either that, or he's a real Jedi," I said.

Have Fun!

Have fun with pants! has become the inside joke of my reading class this quarter. After every memoir they come up with a theme that fits that pattern:

Have fun with soup!
Have fun with bears! 
Have fun with sweaters! 
Have fun with brats! 
Have fun with death! 

Today I got one of the best teacher-gifts ever. One of the students in the class who is a witty writer and talented cartoonist gave me a comic book that he had created just for me. It's all about a giant squid who opens his Christmas present early. When he doesn't appreciate the pants inside, he lands on Santa's naughty list, but when Santa's pants are stolen he has the chance to redeem himself. Can he do it?

You'll have to read Have Fun with Christmas! if you want to find out!

It Can Wait Until January

My philosophy of the week has been tested by meetings, emails, and colleagues, but with one day left before winter break, I think I'm on pretty solid ground.

Packages, Boxes, and Bags

So, we were talking again today about the difference between a fan letter and a letter that tells an author how his or her book made some kind of a difference to you, the reader. One of the examples that students evaluate is a blatant fan letter full of praise and not much else for Dr. Seuss:

I have always read your books and love them dearly. It’s unbelievable to me that in your lifetime you wrote so many books that are so good. They recently came out with the movie, “The Grinch,” after one of your books. Your books are so funny! I love how you make up words instead of using plain words.

"That's definitely a fan letter," one of my students told me.

"I agree," I answered, "but what could the letter-writer do to make it more of a thoughtful correspondence?"

"Maybe he could say something about the Grinch," the student suggested.

"That sounds good," I said. "You know the story, right?"

He nodded.

"Well, what do you think the lesson might be?" I asked.

"Protect your stuff!" he answered without hesitation, "because the Grinch might get it!"

Scaffolding

While some students were finishing up their SRI test today others were working on an assignment to prepare for their next writing piece, a Letter about Literature. (It might be fun to click on the "Letters about Literature" label at the bottom of this post to review all I've written about that particular assignment.)

It was quiet, but there was a steady stream of students with questions coming up to my desk. At last it occurred to me to upload the text of the assignment and see what its reading level was. It came out to be a lexile of 980, which is nearly the median of sixth grade (925-1070). There were a number of students who were not yet reading on that level, however, and that pretty much explained all the questions.

For them this assignment, like many others in school, was doubly challenging: they struggled to read the content, and then they had to use their understanding to apply the information, evaluate the passages, and answer the questions. Teachers know that there will be a range of reading in any given class, though, and so we plan our lessons to accommodate everyone, as I did today. Students work independently, then in pairs, and then we check their answers with the larger group. That way everyone can access the content and concepts despite their reading level.

Even so, it surprised me today when a student approached me to ask about the task. "I don't understand what you mean 'give suggestions'," she pointed to her sheet.

"Oh, that just means that if you think it's a fan letter instead of a thoughtful correspondence, you should write some suggestions for changing it," I told her.

"But I don't know what 'suggestions' means," she said.

Ohhhh.

Scanning

My students took their mid-year SRI today. It is a reading "inventory" created and administered by Scholastic, one of the top companies profiting from education accountability and big data. Hardly surprising, they also have a math assessment which is called the SMI.

All these acronyms can be confusing to the students as they try to navigate to the right online test to take, but my kids? Are super-cooperative and always helpful to each other.

"Isn't the SRI for math?" someone called out today.

"Nope," his charitable classmate corrected him, "that would be MRI. You don't need the MRI."

True.

The Weather Outside

It's been quite a few years now, but one Christmas we went down to Florida where Heidi's brother lives. The two of us arrived in town a little earlier than her folks, and so we headed down to Key West for a couple days.

And the weather we are having here in northern Virginia right now? It's a little warmer than the southern most point of the continental USA was that December. What can we do, then, other than shuck our winter woolen wear and fire up the grill?

Done.

All through the House

What with the beautiful weather and the holidays looming, the theater was pretty much deserted this afternoon around four when we finally got around to see the last installment of The Hunger Games. I would be tempted to quote Clement Moore and tell you that not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, except that wasn't quite true. On my way up to claim my seat, a little guy scampered right past me. I don't know if he liked the movie, but I'm sure he enjoyed the popcorn spill beneath the seats on the next tier down.

Won't You Help to Sing

There was a light rap on my classroom door yesterday afternoon. The librarian poked her head in. "Do you have a minute?" she asked. I nodded and she sat down.

"Tell me about J," she said.

She is also the producer of what I like to call "my favorite show", the morning announcements, and I knew there had been auditions earlier in the day.

"Well," I started, "he's impulsive, and that gets him in some trouble, for sure, but he wants to do well."

"He didn't do poorly at the tryouts," she told me, but the faint praise made me brace for bad news. "Did you read his application?" she asked.

I had not. She pushed the rumpled sheet of paper across the desk, and I recognized his crooked scrawl. Under Why do you want to work on the morning announcements? he had written, Because everyone thinks I'm dumb and bad and I want to show them I'm not.

"How can you say no to that?" she asked rhetorically.

"You can't," I agreed. "When does he start?"

Mine

I have my writing group tonight. Mary had the great idea for each of us to write something for the Mine column in the Washington Post Magazine. The parameters are simple, Tell us what you treasure in 250 words or less, the task not so easy. Anyway, here's what I wrote:

I was the last one out of the demonstration garden today on our fieldtrip, and so it fell to me to latch the tool shed before following the students through the gate and over the tiny bridge. Before closing the door I stepped inside for a moment. It smelled like warm wood and soil with the slight tang of recently oiled metal. My eye ran over the hand tiller, hoes, and shovels, and I compared them to my own collection of gardening tools.

By necessity, my implements are few; as a community gardener I carry my gear with me. Of course I can use the common tools, but I have a few specialty items of my own. The most indispensable of them is the one we call the poaching spade. Compact, with a sharp, narrow, curved blade, it cuts effortlessly through even the hardest earth and is perfect for transplanting, which is a lot of what vegetable gardening requires.

The poaching spade came into my possession one Saturday as we helped my sister-in-law sort through and organize some of the contents of her parents’ house. It was the first spring since we had lost her mom, and it was also our first season in the garden. My sister-in-law’s parents were devoted gardeners, but the spade was barely used: the green paint of the blade was flawless, the oval Smith & Hawkin medallion on the shaft unworn.

“Take it,” my sister-in-law said, “it’s a good shovel.”

It sure is.

Caveat Emptor

Our school's annual book fair is going on this week. Each English teacher is asked to set aside one half class period to allow the students to shop. In addition to all the books, there is also a large assortment of junk, novelty pens and pencils, erasers in all manner of shapes, bookmarks, stickers, posters, bracelets, and key chains, and of course these are the items that attract the most attention.

Before we even set foot in the make-shift shop set up in the library, I have several reminders for the students:

1) Don't walk around and play with things unless you intend to buy them.
2) These are retail prices and some items may seem expensive; even so, try not to complain loudly.
3) Every book is not meant for every reader; please don't make a big deal about it if you find something that really isn't for you.

That's what I tell them, but today when one of the kids asked a harried volunteer about the price of a pen that has a little rubber poof ball on an elastic cord that pops off when you press a button, she said, "3.99" then paused and looked at him meaningfully. "Some might say that is a little too much money to spend on something like that," she continued.

Our eyes met. I smiled and shrugged. "But it POPS off!" I told her.

"Maybe that's why it's so POPular," she answered, and we both cracked up as the student dug around in his pocket and pulled out a five.

That's the Holiday Spirit

"I don't know if I would wear that Santa hat on our field trip to Mount Vernon," I said to a student this morning.

"Why not?" he answered. "It's fun for the holidays!"

I shrugged. "Well, you definitely shouldn't be wearing it inside the building right now," I told him.

"But it keeps my head so warm and toasty," he said.

"Ahhh," I replied, "both festive AND practical? That Santa knows what he's doing when it comes to head wear!"

He laughed and took it off. For the moment.

Score One for the Introvert

Heidi received a kind invitation from the family of two of her students, who are brothers, for a holiday dessert party. Unfortunately, the gathering is going to take place while we are out of town. It was an evite, and Heidi has no experience with those; it is I who handle most of our virtual social life. "What do I do?" she wanted to know. "Just click 'No'?"

"Yes, but don't worry," I told her, "you will have a place to make comments after you do that."

"Should I just say Unfortunately I can't make it?" she asked.

"Well, no," I answered. " Say something like, Thank you so much for thinking of me! It sounds like a really fun party, but I'll be out of town then," I suggested.

"Thanks!" she said.

"No problem," I replied. "I'm really good at turning down invitations!"

A Peril

Heidi and I are generally a very agreeable pair; there's not much we don't concur on. Dressing dogs in clothes is one of those few things: Heidi wants to do it, and I will not allow it. Over the years we have reached an informal compromise. For example Isabel has over a hundred collars, and she wears a different one every day. Isn't that a wardrobe for a dog? Lately, too, Heidi has been buying tiny hats and photographing all the dogs we know wearing them. That seems close to the line if you ask me, but no one has.

We passed all sorts of people and dogs on Roosevelt Island this morning as we walked its trails enjoying the balmy December day. One dog in particular caught both of our attention. "Look, that guy has a coat on," I noted as we approached from behind.

It was a smallish, short-haired little pooch. "He probably gets cold," Heidi replied.

"Whoa!" I said as we got closer. "It's also wearing some kind of dress!"

"Oh yeah!" Heidi nodded in appreciation as she spotted the frill peeking out from under the coat.

"My gosh!" I cried a second later. "It has pants on too! They're like bloomers or something!" I cringed. "It looks like a miniature version of the Big Bad Wolf dressed as Grandma!"

Heidi shrugged. "Layers," she said.

Haves and Have Nots

A member of the National Junior Honor Society knocked on our door during homeroom. "Do you have any cans for the food drive?" she asked.

We did not. "Are any of you guys going to bring something?" I asked after she left. "Because I know there's a lot going on and it's easy to forget. Remember, I'll match anything that you donate."

There were nods of agreement. "I'll bring something on Monday," one student assured me. "We have lots of cans at our house that we got from the food bank and never use." She shrugged. "I don't think my mom knows how to cook half that stuff."

Let's Not Get Crazy Now

We had an early dismissal for students today so that the staff could use the afternoon to participate in professional development. Such a thing happens about three times a year, and most of the time we have special school-wide activities planned, like the Day of Peace and the International Film Festival.

On those occasions, students spend the whole time with their homeroom groups. As worthwhile as those days can be, the abbreviated version of the daily schedule that we followed today also has its perks. The time flies by, and short classes mean focus is imperative (and possible) for all-- it's like anti-block scheduling.

"I love today!" one of my students said. "The time is going by fast, but we're getting a lot done!"

I nodded.

"I would even give up Saturdays off to have this schedule all the time," he continued.

And there our agreement ended.

Time Well Spent

I confess that there are times when I really want to skip my bi-weekly ukulele lesson. Usually I don't feel like I've practiced enough; other times I'm in the middle of something at school; sometimes it just seems inconvenient to go down there at 5 pm on a Thursday.

I always go, though, and I'm always glad I went. My teacher is nice; he doesn't judge me, he just meets me where I am at the moment, plays duets with me, and gives me really good pointers about fingering, rhythm, and timing.

Tonight, for example, we played a few Christmas songs (which sound muuuuuch better when he plays with me), and he helped me through some tough spots by having me count the notes as I strummed them slowly. Once, when I was stuck, I called out the notes in tune as I pointed to them. "Wow!" he turned to me without a trace of irony. "You can sing, too!"

Broken News

It was drive time when the news of the shootings in California started trickling in this evening. I listened with that sinking oh-no feeling, but it didn't take too long to realize that the news media had very little information. Beyond reserved speculation, they could only repeat the terrible details that three gunman had senselessly attacked an auditorium full of people at a social service facility.

I couldn't listen very long. I lost my appetite for the agonizing pace of live breaking stories years ago. It probably started with the slow speed chase after OJ Simpson, but certainly the night that Princess Diana was killed, when they repeated the facts and that one ten second video clip of her entering the car over and over, rubbed a dull, heavy spot on my consciousness that watching the twin towers collapse over and over again on the days following September 11, 2001 only aggravated.

Even a simple snow storm triggers over-coverage. Flip on the TV and you will hear the same forecast, see the same weather map, and watch the same closures crawl across the bottom of the screen over and over and over. I want to be informed; I want to know what is happening, but a few hours perspective in our crazy 24-7 news cycle?

That will keep me sane.

Rec-ing Ball

There was a lot going on when I went down to the gym after school to walk our enormous indoor track. The weather was wet and raw here today, and so it seemed that lots of people had the same idea as I to escape the cold and rain and still get a little exercise. In addition to citizens of our fair county who belong to the rec center that shares our school facility, the girls on the move club was down there preparing for their big 5k this Saturday. The boys soccer team was practicing indoors as well, and there was a home girls basketball game so that team and the cheerleaders were all warming up as spectators trickled in from this or that afterschool activity.

Music was pumping, kids were laughing, and spirits were high, which made walking in giant circles kind of fun. When the starting lineups blasted through the loudspeaker I found a place in the bleachers, and I was sitting center court when the whistle tweeted the start of the first quarter.

It has been six seasons since I left my coaching position for the team, but my co-coach is still at it. He hasn't really switched up his game play much; I recognized the offense, the defense, and the in-bounds plays, but this team executed them exceptionally well. Not only that, he had three squads of mixed grade levels that he rotated in every couple of minutes, so everyone on the bench got playing time, and they all looked really sharp.

At the end, the team dominated its opponent even more than the 27-12 scoreboard reported, and I had a lot of fun cheering from the other side of the court. I even briefly considered rejoining the coaching staff.

Briefly.

Real World Application

I was just telling my mom and brother and sister how I group and regroup my students all the time. I have a few reasons for doing so:

1. I've observed that it's developmentally challenging  for 11- and 12-year-olds to consistently pick seats where they will be productive.

2. Although choice is a powerful positive, it's stressful for some people to have to choose their own seats.

3. Changing seats frequently makes change less anxiety-producing. It also alleviates complacency and/or boredom.

4. I group students hetero- or homogeneously based on the assignment or activity, and designate a captain based upon different criteria. Everybody earns the position of leader sometime.

Today was a new seat day, and it's always interesting to hear how the groups settle in to their latest arrangement. Sometimes the captains are sure and steady, sometimes strident or silent. This morning though, I was most impressed by the social skills of one new leader. As the students waited for their directions, he made a little small talk with the other kids at his table. "So," he started, "I have a question for you."

His group turned their attention to him. "What's your favorite IB MYP Global Context?" he asked.

And with that?

He had them.

Roadside Assistance

The call came at 10:46 am. "Hi, it's me," Treat said.

I knew he was flying back to college early this afternoon. "What's up?" I asked.

There was a pause. "Well, my dad asked me to drive him to the airport, and there wasn't very much gas, so I kind of panicked, and now I'm stuck."

"Where are you?" I asked and when he told me, I said, "We'll be there in 20 minutes!" without hesitation.

Heidi and I threw on some layers and dashed out the door. We practically skidded into the nearest gas station, bought a gas can, filled it with a couple gallons, and sped to the interstate. On the way, we rolled the windows down to vent the fumes. Treat was parked in a service lot which was pretty much deserted on Sunday morning.

"Ta da!" I greeted him, relishing my role as hero. We pulled out the gas can and set to rescuing. The first snag was the tank cover. We couldn't find the button on the dash or by the driver's seat to open it. At last we resorted to the manual which informed us a simple push on the cover would unlatch it.

Next, our fancy new gas can was the issue. The nozzle had some kind of spring-loaded locking mechanism to prevent it from spilling (or venting-- we should have known then) that was supposed to release when you placed the spout in the tank opening and pushed. Not for us! we dribbled gas down the car and into the puddle we were standing in several times before finally disassembling the nozzle and concluding that it was defective. It didn't help that the directions on the side of the can had been torn off.

"We're going to have to McGyver it!" I said. "Do we have an empty bottle?" Heidi produced one from beneath the passenger seat. I had meant to put my gardening tools in the attic a couple of weeks ago, but fortunately they were still in the back of my station wagon. I rummaged through them and grabbed the pruning saw to clip off the bottom of the bottle.

Unfortunately, the neck was not long enough to open the hinged flap on the tank. Not to worry! I grabbed my soil pH tester and jammed the spike down the bottle to open the hinge. Then we sloooooowly poured the gas directly from the can into our makeshift funnel.

Sure, we all smelled like gasoline, probably because our hands and shoes were covered in it, but Treat started up the car and drove home.

Mission accomplished!

A Maze of Twisty Little Passages All Alike

There was a bunch of text and what looked like computer code on the screens of both Riley and Treat's laptops yesterday. "Is that some kind of game?" I asked. Riley nodded and I was transported back to the basement of the student union at my college.

The year was 1980, I was taking computer science, and you had to sign up for a terminal that was wired to the huge mainframe computer on the other side of the glass and cinder block wall. In addition to my homework, which was writing simple programs in BASIC and COBOL, I spent a lot of screen time playing a game we called "Cave".

This was years before Apple introduced the Macintosh I with its graphic user interface, and so the game involved reading a narrative which offered information with both explicit and implied choices and typing in simple commands to try to explore a network of caves filled with treasure and peril. One of the first ever computer games, it was novel and addictive. Back in 1980, we crowded three or four to a cubicle and collaborated on navigating the virtual adventure, shouting suggestions and repeating rumors we had heard from other people who played. Still, ours was a relatively obscure pastime, and  there was no internet to search for cheat codes, so we stumbled through as best we could with limited success.

As I was describing it to the boys, Riley found a version on the internet and began playing it. I wish I could say it all came back to me, but as the game progressed it seemed closer to a dream than a memory, and I grasped at any vaguely familiar detail. Soon, despite appreciating its pioneering nature, the boys grew weary of the primitive game and quit (after the dwarf killed them a couple of times), but it had recaptured me.

I found several websites that outlined the history of the game and some that provided annotated directions for the entire challenge. As I read through them, some foggy specifics did actually return. For example, the bird you find is afraid of the rod you have probably already picked up, so you must drop it to capture him, and then retrieve it. Likewise, you can set that birdie loose on the vicious snake that bars your way a bit on down the passage and the bird will win, but if you simply key in the command kill snake, you'll get the snarky reply With what? Your bare hands? To that you need only type, Yes, and you will receive this: Congratulations! You just killed a giant snake with your bare hands!

As I read on, I realized that I had no desire to actually type the commands myself; after 35 years I was content to watch over the virtual shoulder of this cyber adventurer and let him show me how it ended.

XYZZY!

Good Cheer

In our family the night before Thanksgiving is a simple meal of soup and salad with the family, and the night after Thanksgiving has become a simple meal of pasta, salad, bread, and leftover desserts with an ever-widening guest list. This year we had 21 for second night, nine more than Thanksgiving itself. It was a warm mixture of friends and family with guests from 7 to 76. After dinner the groups at the table amicably formed and reformed, conversations flowing in and out and up and down as people cleaned up, moved over, made coffee, checked on the kids, fetched dessert, took the dogs out, and opened more wine. No one was in a hurry to leave, and even when they did, folks stood around for a good twenty minutes saying their good byes. It was the perfect spirit with which to begin the holidays.

Remember Me to One WHo Lives There

After authoring this blog for so many years, it sometimes (ok, rather often) slips my mind as to whether or not I've written about something before. Many's the time, therefore, that I've used the search feature to double check a topic or a title. This afternoon, for example, I had the notion to write something about the bounty of parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme I was able to harvest from my little garden and use to season the stuffing for dinner tonight. I was also thinking that I might tie in the idea of being especially thankful for actually growing a few other things for the meal, too, like the butternut squash, but I couldn't quite recall if I'd ever written about something like that. So, I searched up a few key words, and I found one entry. On November 23 of last year, I wrote about not being able to get ahold of gingerbread stout and trying instead a parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme saison instead. Good news, friends! I got the stout this year! One more thing to be thankful for, even if it wasn't my favorite.

Day of Rec

The day began with an intense game of Uno Stacko (a color-coded version of Jenga), and proceeded to pick-up sticks (We swear we won't cheat!), pentominoes, various Wii Fit challenges, and several rounds of Whatyamadrawit, all before breakfast.

Then we played the ukuleles for a while, practicing a duet of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. In between there were games on the iPads and games on our phones, and later in the day there was one lengthy hand of crazy Crazy Eights, and a few trivia challenges, more ukulele, and some guitar.

What can I say? Players gonna play!

Special Guest

My mom came to school today to borrow my car to go out to lunch with some friends. I expected her around 10:30, and I told my third period class that she was coming. Oh my! What excitement. 

"Can we see her?" they wanted to know.

"Well, yes," I answered, "she needs to get the keys from me."

"So she's going to come here? To this room?" someone verified.

"Yes," I said, "yes."

When the office called announcing her eminent arrival, the class waited wide-eyed, and students near the back craned their necks and stood on their toes. When at last she entered the room they greeted her with silly waves and giddy grins. "That's your mother?" one little girl demanded. "She looks more like your sister!" 

I took that as a compliment to my mom and gave her a little hug as I handed her the keys. "Awwww," the class sighed, and with that she was gone.

"Hey! Ms. S!" a student called. "Does that mean you're grounded?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Your mom took your car keys!"

Say Hello to Friends You Know

My mom and I have the tradition of going grocery shopping one of the afternoons before Thanksgiving. She always makes soup for everyone the night before the big day, and since she travels from Minnesota, it takes one big grocery trip to get the supplies for her meal.

This year, Heidi joined us, and the excursion took on a whole new vibe as we ran into former students and/or their parents at seemingly every turn. When at last we had loaded eight bags of groceries into the back of the car, she hopped in smiling. "Well!" she said. "That was a productive trip!"

We thought so, too, but not in quite the same way.

On Deck

After being a no-cruise person for 53 years, I find myself becoming a frequent cruiser. We enjoyed our Alaskan adventure in August considerably, and I have to confess that I really liked the cruise ship part, too. After 7 days aboard, I was a little sad to disembark and leave my little home away from home, with its compact cabin and endless ocean view.

Now it turns out that we're going to celebrate Heidi's parents' 50th anniversary with a Bahamas cruise in February. They left the research and planning to me, and I booked the trip today-- on the sister ship to ours. In fact, our staterooms are right around the corner from the one we had in August. The cafe is up one deck, the restaurant down a few, and we know right where to find the gym, the pool, and the promenade deck.

A day in Nassau and another in Grand Stirrup Cay? That's just gravy!

Pinch Hitting

I woke up with an unexplained hankering for date-nut bread this morning. I have a fantastic recipe that veganizes easily with excellent results. I love its quirks, too: you pour boiling water over the dates, sugar, baking soda, salt, and butter (or in this case, coconut oil), then beat in the eggs (this morning it was pumpkin and chia seeds), before folding in the flour and walnuts, and dumping it into the pan to bake for about an hour. It's quick, fun, and delicious.

I don't really need the recipe card because I've made it so often, but I always take it down from its place on the side of the refrigerator because my cousin Sandy gave it to me, and it is written in her own hand. It's been almost 16 years since she passed away, but seeing her writing and making that bread still gives me a warm feeling of connection.

In fact, Sandy used to bring her date-nut bread every Thanksgiving, along with some cream cheese to spread on it, and we ate it for breakfast the whole holiday week.

I guess that explains the hankering.

Whoop Dee Doo

All new brakes and four new tires, too?

Ouch!

BUT, it rides almost like new, AND it was 1/20 the price.

Giant Steps

I read today that it was less than 65 years from the Wright brothers' first flight to landing a man on the moon. It's an amazing achievement, but a little less so, perhaps, when you spend your days with children who were not even alive before iPhones, Facebook, and Barack Obama was in the Senate.

The culminating assignment of the first big unit in sixth grade English at our school is for students to write a letter to themselves in the future. After spending some time exploring the question Who am I? we move on to its twin, Who do I want to be?

The assignment is a chance for them to look over all the writing they've done since September: an introduction of themselves to peers, poems about the sensory details of their favorite season, other poems about an action that reveals something essential about them, the "Where I'm From" assignment where they collect concrete family details, and then publishing a motto and explaining why it is a credo for them. All of these are meant to help them as they compose a letter reminding the future them who they are now, who they hope they are then, and how they can stay true to both.

The kids love it! They really get into choosing how many years the letter must wait, their questions about the future are endless, and sealing all of their work into an envelope with a big DO NOT OPEN 'TIL... is the final thrill.

I read through quite a few drafts today, and, in general, the open-hearted hopefulness of them buoys my vision of the future. They remind me that, truly, anything can happen. Take for example the one little girl who wrote I hope you're in an acapella singing group and I wonder who your girlfriend will be.

Wow. Forty-two years ago, the sixth grade me would have been more waaaay likely to walk on the moon than to write such a thing, and yet here we are.

One Leg at a Time

The focus of my quarterly reading class is theme. Reading several mini-memoirs, the students work to uncover the answer to the question "How can we learn from the experiences of others?" To do that, they must first learn that the theme of a story is the universal truth about life that it reveals. It's a new concept to many sixth graders, but it's one they take to, although the idea of universal is a little tricky at first. Kids want to make the lesson case-specific.

So, to introduce the whole idea I start with what has got to be one of the strangest Dr. Seuss stories ever. What Was I Afraid Of? is buried in the back of the Sneetches collection, and I swear the 8-year-old me had nightmares about the creepy olive green pants and the weird nocturnal yellow bear-like protagonist wandering through the bizarre aqua night of the pages. It's one of his lesser-known works, though, and so most students approach it with fresh eyes and open mind.

I emphasize how odd it is, too, and that makes it engaging, as well. Anyway, for those who are unfamiliar, the title is a big hint as to the lesson of this story. It's basically that there's no need to fear unusual or different people.

Oh, we get to that eventually, but first I have students write their ideas on index cards and I share them anonymously with the class. As a group we talk about universality and text support, and in that way we find our way.

Those first attempts can be pretty amusing, though, and today we had a great one:

Have fun with pants!

Not on the Ballot

I always do a first quarter review with my students. It gives all of us a chance to look back and call the highs and lows of our class as we see 'em. One of the questions is always What do you want to learn second quarter? and although the answers vary, they are generally inside the box.

To write fiction is always a biggie, as is more independent reading time in class, and to a lesser extent more poetry, more cool words, and more grammar (!).

This year, though, there was sort of a write-in candidate near the end of the day. As the day went on, We want to learn to take care of our class hamster! started to appear on more and more review sheets.

"But we don't have a class hamster," I said.

"Exactly!" was the answer. "We should!"