A Cold Day in July

The day dawned cool and rainy, but after some discussion we decided to make the best of it by heading to The Big Chicken Barn, an impressive emporium stuffed with junk about half an hour away. There I was able to indulge my new hobby, searching 45s for recording gold. I am partial to big band and other music from the 40s, because to be honest, the scratchy quality of the vinyl actually enhances the sound. The Chicken Barn did not disappoint, and after an hour or so of poking around, we came away with a few interesting items.

From there we headed home through Ellsworth, another of our favorite towns in Maine. After a great lunch at a cute little place on Main Street, a stop at the LL Bean outlet was a requirement, because despite my jeans and double t-shirt, I was freezing! Fortunately, I found just what I needed right away, a fleece lined flannel shirt that just happened to fit me perfectly. It was so cozy I wore it around as everyone else shopped and only took it off so that the cashier could scan the tag.

After such a satisfying day, I was almost glad that it was raining.

Return Trip

We decided to take the mail boat from Northeast Harbor over to the Cranberry Islands today. Situated just a couple of miles south of Mt. Desert Island, the tiny Cranberries have had permanent residents since 1768, mostly fisherman, farmers, and artists. These days in addition to lovely clapboard and cedar shake houses, there are a few shops, a couple of casual restaurants, and some easy rambling trails that lead down to cobble stone beaches for curious mainlanders like us who are feel the pull of island life.

Truth be told, I had visited Great Cranberry Island before. Being lucky enough to have an old friend who has a summer home in these parts is what brought me up here in the first place 20 years ago. My visits were a few days in the summer, staying in my friend Ruth's guest room. How awesome it was to have a guide and hostess all in one! It was only when my nephews were old enough to bring along that I had clearly outgrown that little room under the steps and started renting a place of my own by the week.

It was in those earlier years that I last boarded the mail boat with Ruth and her husband John bound for Big Cranberry, making sure to bring plenty of water and food since there were no commercial establishments on the island. "Pee before you leave!" Ruth's mom warned me. On that trip we hiked to the end of the only road to reach the beach all the way at the opposite end from the pier. Emerging from the scrubby pine, lupine-filled fields and seaside roses, we found ourselves alone on a vast expanse of rocky beach. There we wandered for hours, filling our packs with at least ten pounds each of perfect stones.

I thought of that adventure this morning as we sat on gray benches in the small cabin of the mail boat waiting to set off. "There's a general store there now?" I asked rhetorically, reading the brochure. "Well," I shrugged, "I guess things change in twenty years." I paused, because it didn't seem possible that so much time had passed.

"Well everything except me, that is!"

Peak, Crest, Crown, Apex, Pinnacle

What could make me practically skip up hundreds of feet on switchback granite steps clinging to the the side of a mountain in Maine? Was it the warm pine air punctuated by cool maritime breezes? The promise of wide granite ledges with amazing ocean views to the left and incredible mountain vistas to the right? The wild blueberry barrens with the first ripe fruit of the season lining the descent? The alpine pond filled with lilliputian water lilies and ringed by three mountain peaks?

Nope. It was just the chance to be hiking with people I love in a place I love, too.

P.S. Don't think you're off the hook... I still hate you, Maine!

A Cairn and a Blaze

On the second day of our vacation, Emily chose the hike. Her goal was to find something new to everyone that was also a fit for our entire party, ranging from 16 year old lad to 54 year old lady. Of course, we also wanted it to be beautiful, but that's pretty much a given in Acadia National Park.

Her choice was a home run. The Goat Trail to the top of Norumbega rises steeply for six-tenths of a mile through a cool and shady balsam forest and then up some big stair-steppy boulders. Once above the tree line, we had sweeping views of Sargent Mountain to the east and Somes Sound, Acadia, St. Saveur, and Flying Mountain to the west.

Close to the top, I found myself in the lead of our party, which is a rarity when it comes to hiking. In general, I am the person who takes the back, making sure everyone is with the group and doing well. It is an important role, but always a little galling when I pull up last for the rest break when everyone else is itching to go. This time, I was walking with Kyle and we approached the summit shoulder to shoulder in good natured competition. Spying a wooden marker, he sprinted ahead, but he guessed wrong, finding himself at a trail marker. One step behind him, I saw the actual summit marker to the left, and jogging up a wide boulder, I tapped it first.

Marked by cairns and blue blazes, our way sloped another three-quarters of a mile southward along warm granite ledges toward the Atlantic Ocean, before descending gently back into the conifers. At the bottom we found a nearly pristine Hadlock Pond, source of some of the island's drinking water.

After a picnic lunch near the pump house, our path meandered through the woods along the pond's eastern shore and then up and  past some mossy, massive rock formations until finally delivering us back to the parking lot, 3.1 amazing miles later.

I Still Hate it Here

I distinctly remember one moment of my first visit to Maine, over 20 years ago now. I was sitting in the passenger seat of my friend's minivan bombing along the twisty wooded roads of the quiet side of Mount Desert Island. On this early August afternoon the sky was a watery wash of cloudless cobalt and a cool breeze blew in the open windows. Mountains and sea filled our view and the tang of balsam filled our noses. "I hate it here!" I shouted over the rushing air.

My friend looked over, eyebrows raised.

"Because it's so perfect and I have to leave tomorrow!" I finished.

"Yup," she said and kept on driving.

Vacationland

It is impossible to be grumpy about anything, even being stuck for hours in holiday weekend traffic outside of Boston, when you are able to watch the sun set over Western Bay, eat soft shell lobsters for dinner while early fireworks sparkle over the island across the way, and then be perfectly gobsmacked by all those HUGE stars smeared across the black velvet sky.

Hello, Maine!

Platters

Rain made us cut short our bike ride this morning, but truth be told, I didn't mind all that much. After several hours on the road yesterday and a lengthy road trip scheduled for tomorrow, a day of relaxing at home seemed like a good idea. Oh, we played some cards and even a few rounds of bocce when the weather cleared up a bit, but it was around noon that I found the focus of my day.

Knowing I would be away from home for a couple of weeks, I packed up my newest toy, the turn table, and all of my records to bring along with me. We hadn't been in Heidi's parents' house more than half an hour when I pulled it out and set it up. It was a big hit. "We have tons of records upstairs," her mom told me, and she was not exaggerating.

Over the next day, we hauled at least 300 45 rpm discs down to the kitchen. I cannot tell you how much fun it was for me to sort through them and listen to the ones I knew or wanted to hear. Somewhere along the way I got it into my head that they should be sorted, and that is what I ended up doing today.

On my first go round, I simply separated them into 24 alphabetical stacks by artist. As I worked, I tried to match the sleeves with the 45s, too. After that, I put all the records by the same artist in any particular letter group together.

While that might seem like a lot of work, for me it was an awesome afternoon. I put my hands on every single record, read the title and artist, and played the ones I wanted to hear. The collection spanned four decades from the 40s to the 80s, and included a few on the Sun label by Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, and Roy Orbison. There were copies of 45s I owned myself, including Tracy by the Cufflinks. There was also an early recording by Carol King, several from the Shirelles, lots of Sinatra, the Everly Brothers, Paul Anka, Brenda Lee, and Elvis.

There was a perfect little gem I was happy to blast called Birthday Party, some awesome big band, a couple of jazz combos, and a Crystal Gayle tune I hadn't heard in ages.

When I was finished, we stowed them all in new bins, ready to be explored again soon, but also organized for anyone who might be looking for something in particular, like maybe anything Jackie Wilson ever recorded. (Bottom bin, in the back.)

Honey Do List

I was cleaning out my desk last week before locking it up for the summer when I came across a little clipping from our monthly wellness newsletter that I had stowed away there several years ago and forgotten ever since. List 20 things that you love to do that generate feelings of joy and vitality for you, it read. Try to do these things within one month. I could see why I might cut out such a thing, and I stuck it in my writing notebook and continued tidying up.

The occasion of my birthday seemed like the perfect time to do the exercise, and so before anyone else got up this morning, I took my coffee and notebook out to the back patio and sat down to make my list.

Ride my bike, I started. Hike in Maine. Eat lobster, Work in the garden; Have fresh-picked sliced tomatoes for dinner. Read outside, drink iced tea and lemonade. Learn something, go some place new, visit a museum. Play my ukulele, build a fire, grill steaks and corn on the cob. Hunt for sea glass and smooth rocks, catch fireflies, let them go, have a water balloon fight, walk to go out for dinner, go to the movies. Listen to jazz records, go swimming, drink beer.

I paused to regard my list-- this was going to be a cinch!

Then I wondered. Am I cheating or am I charmed?

I think it's pretty clear.

Triptik

I was never actually a member of AAA, but I do remember being extremely impressed by the "triptik" one of my college friends, who did belong, acquired before a road trip. Spiral bound at the top, the 4 x 11 custom organizer had section by section directions for our trip with the route helpfully highlighted in neon pink. On either side of the road map, there were tips for the traveler on local interests. When the AAA agent handed us our packet, accompanied by all the appropriate full regional maps, I nearly swooned at its cogent plenitude.

Flash forward 30+ years when we all carry computers in our pockets, and I will tell you that I was quite pleased with the route to Buffalo that my phone chose for us today. Highlighted turn-by-turn in a strong royal blue, we were even able to find a quick drive-around when we hit a little back-up due to construction. Oh, I could have searched for local attractions, but I was too busy enjoying the forests and mountains and scenic little towns that presented themselves along away.

Along the way, though, I did pause to appreciate those  AAA agents of yore with their amazing triptik system who were able to accomplish much the same thing, long before the internet was a thing.

Empty Nest

So, today we helped Josh move the rest of his stuff to his new apartment.

20/20

I am as nostalgic as the next person, if not more so, but on this day when my brand-new record player was delivered (free and overnight from a GIANT of the internets) I am focused more on what's good about the now.

I guess it's the clear discrepancy between young and older voters in the Brexit referendum and the Sanders/Clinton race, as well as Donald Trump's slogan Make America Great Again that reminds me that the past is usually viewed as halcyon. Still, deeper recollection should convince us that there have always been scary things.

And what makes us forget them?

Is hindsight.

Media Coverage

I clearly remember the first CD player I ever bought. In 1986, the $300 it cost seemed like such an extravagance that I could only afford two discs to go with it. After much deliberation, I chose Brothers in Arms by Dire Straits and So by Peter Gabriel, which both turned out to be iconic albums of the 80s. Back then, the whirrrrrrr of the disc spinning sounded like the future, and we marveled at the clarity of sound that our new gadget provided, and the convenience it added to making mixed tapes.

These days, our library of nearly 500 CDs sits dormant as we, like many folks, stream most of the music we listen to electronically. The miracle of holding thousands of songs in your hand has waned to banality.

So, with my end-of-the-year giftcard I decided to buy a record player.

All my vinyl records and I were separated sometime ago, and although there is a chance some of them may be recovered, I found myself in the oddly parallel situation to that of 30 years ago of purchasing a device without anything to play on it. This time, the player was relatively inexpensive, but the records? Not so much.

In the end I bought four: Meet the Beatles, an original copy of the first LP I ever owned (my teen-aged cousins bought it for me when I was two), a Charlie Brown themed jazz album by Vince Guaraldi, Rumours by Fleetwood Mac, and The Eagles Greatest Hits, an album my mother played over and over while cleaning the house on the weekends when we were teens. We had that one on 8 track, though.

8-track?

Who knows?

Never say never.

Team Work

In most middle schools teachers operate in "teams." There are leadership teams, department teams, grade-level CLTs, and grade-level interdisciplinary teams. Although I am a player on all of the teams I mentioned, it is the last one which is truly the heart of the middle school model when it comes to supporting students both academically and socially.

Consisting of 80-120 heterogeneously grouped students and 5-8 core teachers who plan instruction, collaborate on field trips and other special events, and meet weekly with counselors and administrators to troubleshoot student concerns and coordinate services, and, oh yes, teach, the middle school team is an amazing institution when it works.

Every team has a leader, and I have had the privilege of being my team's leader for the last eighteen years. During that time at least 25 people have come and gone, but there have been three of us who have remained constant. At the end of each term it has become customary for my team to present me with a card and a gift. I always appreciate their appreciation, because truth be told, it is a lot of work. Even so, I don't really mind the time it takes, because our team works so well together to provide our students with the best possible sixth grade year. It totally seems worth the effort.

My team gave me this year's card as we stood in the empty hallway Thursday afternoon just a few moments after waving good-bye to the buses. In the happy glow of almost-summer, I basked in the kindness of their words and the warmth of their gratitude.

"You guys make it easy!" 

At Long Last

The final day of the school year has arrived. After the students left yesterday I finished packing my room and  wrapped my bookcases so neatly that I was tempted to add a bow and a tag reading Do not open until August 25.

Today, we spent our last morning at school tying up a few loose ends, writing thank-you notes, and saying good-bye to colleagues. Then it was lobster rolls for lunch followed by a matinee of Finding Dory.

Summer really is here!

At What Expense?

One of the toughest kids of my career has been sitting in my class all year. Impulsive and often brutish, his unfortunate life circumstances paired with a clear desire to be successful and lead his peers creates a quandary for most of the adults in his life.

Unfortunately, he seems aware of our uncertainty on some level, and so he is also skilled at manipulation. To be honest, I have not had many issues with him that I was not able to handle, but I have to acknowledge that he receives an unproportionate amount of my attention, which could be construed as unfair to the other 20 kids in the room.

On the second to last day of the year I confiscated his iPad for inappropriate use and was set to call his mom and tell her we would keep it at school for the summer. "No!" he begged me. "She won't let me go to Kentucky with my aunt to see my dad's family! I'll be grounded! Give me a chance! I'll be perfect all day!"

And he was. As I was handing him the device he smiled and thanked me. "I wasn't going to come tomorrow," he told me, "but I had such a great day today that now I am!"

I smiled weakly and clapped him on the shoulder. "OK! Let's have another good day tomorrow, too! See you then."

A few minutes later one of my homeroom students came to collect his bookbag. "I don't think I'm going to be here tomorrow," he said dejectedly.

"Really?" I asked, for it was news to me. "Are you guys going away?"

"No," he shook his head. And then he told me how that other student had been bothering him for weeks and that not two minutes ago he had grabbed his violin and smashed it to the ground. "That's a three hundred dollar piece of equipment!" he said. "I don't think there's any damage, but I've had enough."

"What about your teacher for a day presentation?" I asked him. "You've worked so hard on it! I think you should come!"

He shrugged. "Maybe, but I don't think so. I would really appreciate it if you would tell the principal for me."

And with that he left to catch his bus.

I informed administration, and the other student and his mom had the choice of him staying home or being in in-school suspension all day. 

Denying the whole thing, he chose to come to school.

The other boy? 

Did not.

Bronze Medalists

Yesterday was the day that I asked my students to calculate their independent reading for the year. Each week they turn in a log that tracks their pages and books, and one of the final tasks of the term is for them to crunch those numbers and look at their accomplishments.

This year...

drum roll, please...

my students read...

676,701 pages and 3337 books!

That's an average of 9,531 pages and 47 books per student, which is more than double the minimum requirement of 4000 pages.

Looking at the stats for this year, the thing that stands out to me is that there were very few students who did not make the minimum. This is different than in the past, and it might be due to the increased popularity of graphic novels. Many, many students choose to read those, and by their nature as quick reads, graphic books increase the page counts.

The prevailing wisdom among teachers is that the genre is not relevant, and that as reading fluency is a skill that improves with exercise, we simply want students to read. Perhaps, but I personally encourage my students to alternate graphic novels with traditional texts.

Here's how this group stacks up to their peers from the past:

2016: pages: 9,531; books: 47
2015: pages: 7,342; books: 33
2014: pages: 5,200; books: 26
2013: pages: 9,835; books: 47
2012: pages: 5,356
2011: pages: 10, 788; books: 49
2010: pages: 8,488; books: 40

(Click on the label below to review the posts from past years!)

Head Games

With two more days of school left the students are having a tough time keeping it together. Despite lovely lessons on American history and drawing anime eyes, I still found myself questioning a kid about what the guy next to him had actually said.

"I don't know," he told me. And when I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, he added, "I don't remember," and shrugged.

I think it was the shrug that got me, because it is my third-to-last day, too. "Really?" I said to him. "Then you must need a pass to the clinic."

He looked at me, confused.

"If you can't remember what happened 2 minutes ago, I think you should go talk to the nurse!" I snapped.

Strategic Implication

Pushing on the Stone of Hope was not an issue today, although I did tell my group of six super-smart, super-rambunctious boys that I was going to have to stay in the Mountain of Despair if they didn't curb their, ahem, enthusiasm a bit.

To their credit? They totally got what I was saying, and their behavior improved.

Cultural Competence

Is it somehow disrespectful to take a photograph of someone pushing on the Martin Luther King monument?

The part that has the sculpture of Dr. King is called the "Stone of Hope," and it has been visibly removed from the other section which is called the "Mountain of Despair." The park service describes it like this:

From the looming Mountain of Despair, a Stone of Hope surges forward as the focal point for the memorial. This references a line in King’s speech, “With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.”

My idea when designing the tasks for the photo scavenger hunt tomorrow was that students would snap a picture of their group pushing on the stone to move it even farther from the mountain to symbolically become part of the solution. It would be fun and meaningful at the same time.

But, when we went down there today to test run the hunt, I felt a little uncomfortable with that particular photo op, and I'm not sure why.

Thoughts?

Down to the Wire

The end-of-the-year trip I have planned for my group of sixth graders involves a "selfie-scavenger-hunt" around the Tidal Basin. It's just something that I dreamed up, and as such I have been literally dreaming about it-- anxiety dreaming about it every night for the last couple of weeks.

In my imagination, it involves small groups, walking, smartphones, and social media, as well as a little friendly competition. I've been turning the specifics over and over in my mind, considering this, researching that, visiting there, photographing and posting and hashtagging.

And now, it's almost ready, and I have recruited a couple of neighbors to go down there with us tomorrow and take it for a test drive. I think it's going to be awesome!

Which is fortunate, since the trip is Monday.

Student-centered

As part of our school's annual International Game Day each homeroom was assigned a country. On the day of the event, we would compete Olympic-style as that country, but in the days leading up to the activity we were supposed to design and create a banner to carry in the opening ceremonies.

When it comes to homerooms, it's been my experience that some years the group just gels better, both with each other and me. By that yardstick, this has been a tough one, and so I was not too optimistic when it came to organizing the banner thing. Fortunately for me, one student took an immediate interest in the project, and so I put her in charge.

Oh, I gave advice and praise as they worked, but it was truly a student-directed and student-made product, and a it was good reminder that generally the more we let go, the better the kids do, because

it was also beautiful.

Nail Biter

One of the student-presented lessons today was called "My anti-nail-biting seminar." It consisted of a little video of a baby who grows up happily until... he starts biting his nails! There was also a slide show and an interactive online quiz. It was well-planned and well-executed, but not well-received. It just so happened that there were a lot of defensive nail-biters in the class who were not just grossed out by the pictures of paronychia, but dismissive of the dangers of salmonella and e-coli infection. "I've been biting my nails all my life!" stated one kid, "I've never had a problem!"

I knew what he meant. I'm a nail-biter myself, and I confess to harboring the notion that chewing on my fingers actually strengthens my immune system by exposing me to small doses of pathogens. Of course the same could be said about picking your nose and, you know.

Whether my theory is true or not,  I certainly don't want to encourage others to bite their nails, especially kids in my class. That would be wrong, but maybe we could accept nail-biters for who they are, rather than villainizing them.

I mean, us.

Every Student Succeeds

It has been so interesting watching my students design and deliver lessons to their peers. The process reveals a lot about what they think education is and is not. One of the most successful presentations so far was by two girls who made a video of themselves baking cookie bars, then designed an online quiz about their ingredients and procedures, and then gave samples and the recipe.

It was fun, engaging, and informative, but when it came to the assessment, it reminded me of one of the biggest challenges we have as educators. We are trying to provide our students with skills and knowledge they will use outside of the walls we are generally confined by. In this case, short of having everyone bake some cookie bars and bring them in, can we really know how effective the lesson was?

Which brings me to the most chaotic experience of the day. Two well-intentioned students planned to teach their classmates some simple origami. They had tips and directions on the interactive whiteboard, and printed instructions for each pair. "If you get confused," they directed the class, "raise your hand and we'll come help you." It was a relatively small group of 12, but they did not anticipate the questions or the level of frustration. Nor did they appreciate the difficulty of simply explaining a complex task. The class quickly descended into chaos, and I stepped in to restore order. Even so, there were not a lot of folded pecking birds by the end of the session.

I was pushing in chairs and tidying up as the two presenters packed their books to go to their next class. "Wow," said one, "I have a lot more respect for teachers now!"

I raised my eyebrows and laughed a little.

"I know" said his partner. "Hardly anyone got it!" She frowned. "Will that hurt our grade?"

Catching On

The Teacher-for-a-day thing was the talk of the team today. How wonderful it was to see my students so engaged just one week before school ends.

AND

I am really looking forward to learning how to:

create a photo meme
bake chocolate chip cookie bars
organize my binder
play poker
decorate dolphin-themed donuts
calculate slope
do yoga
make a lava pen
draw anime eyes
and
rap like Chief Keefe (the clean version!)

Lessons start tomorrow-- stay tuned for future updates!

Teacher for a Day

With the last big project of the year dragging on for some, and others finishing all the enriching activities I can give them, I decided to give them a "BIG opportunity" to finish the year. Some picked up the pace to see what it might be, and one student was even a little disappointed when I handed him the description. "The BIG opportunity is a worksheet?" he sighed.

"But sooooo much more," I told him. "Read on!"

What it is is the chance to design and teach a lesson to their classmates, a lesson on anything they might want to share, and anything the other students might like to learn. What is your objective? It reads. What do you want us to learn? And then, What is the assessment? How will you know we've got it?

Some kids were wide-eyed at first. "I don't want to do this in front of everybody!" one student told me, just a few minutes after he sang a lively song that the whole class could obviously hear.

"You don't have to teach it, but you do have to design it," I said. "Then we'll talk," I winked at him.

To be honest, we have neither the time nor the attention span for everyone to take this assignment its completion, but so far?

We're going to learn some lego-building, origami, and soccer skills.

I can't wait!

The Life in Her Years

On Sunday mornings, it is our habit to take the dog and walk just a little under a mile away to our neighborhood farmer's market. But our old dog is getting persnickety about her food and a little recalcitrant about exercise, and so when she refused to eat her breakfast this morning, and the thermometer read 85 at 10 AM, we decided that we would leave her at home this time.

It was with a bit of a heavy heart that I waved good-bye to her and locked the door behind us, and we started up the steps that lead out of our complex in silence. "This is the beginning of the end," Heidi said sadly and we both stopped.

"Let's go get her," I said.

Heidi's eyes lit up, but she was unsure. "It's so hot," she reminded me, "and she hasn't eaten."

"We'll go slow," I said, "in the shade. And bring lots of water."

"And treats," Heidi finished.

And so we did.

Standard Operating Procedure

Standardized test season has almost ended, but we do have a few re-take sessions on our school calendar for next week. Personally? I can't wait until it's all in the rear view.

This year, a phenomena that had me scratching my head a bit was all the students traipsing through the hallways with little fleece blankets draped over their heads and shoulders. Allowed by someone, but only on test days, I loathed the parade of clutched arms and hunched shoulders on the way to the test rooms each morning. It seemed the very definition of distraction. "It's so we can sleep when we finish our test," a student explained to me.

The sixth graders were denied the blankets, although some tried. "You don't need that for a test!" I heard more than one colleague remark. Still, I wondered if we were being curmudgeons. What harm could a blanket do?

Our school has a very diverse population of students, many of whom receive accommodations for their test. These special circumstances rang from the use of a bilingual dictionary to a human being reading the test out loud to a single student. Of course these measures are meant to level the playing field, so to speak, and more importantly, to ensure that the test is an accurate measure of each student's knowledge and skills in a particular content area.

There are rules about the accommodations, of course, the main one being that a student must have had access to and used them throughout the school year. The philosophy of such a policy is two-fold: students must demonstrate a need and a willingness to use their accommodations.

Now where does that leave blankets?

Live and Unplugged

As the year draws to a close, I was feeling a little sentimental in my last class today. Despite their understandable, if somewhat unfocused and rather disruptive, extra energy, as I walked through the room redirecting student after student I realized that I would indeed be sorry to see them go.

"I'm going to miss you guys in two weeks," I said with sincere affection in my voice.

The hubbub subsided to a busy hum that was broken by an inquiry.

"Why?" exclaimed someone. "Are you going somewhere?"

What it Is

Has it really been seven years since I first met my poet friend and annual classroom visitor? Wow. Tempus fugit.

As always, he was very engaging to my students and they produced some great writing that they were quite proud of.

As always, the same goes for me:

What it IS

It is impossible.
It is possible.
It is snake eyes, double sixes, a one-eyed jack.
You are a lucky duck.
You are a tragic hero.
You are a lucky duck.
It is a goldfish, a ping pong ball, a carnival prize.
It is wood, shadow, a hawk flying.
It is lunch time, children, trains, and trumpets.
It is the devil in the day lilies,
a sunflower looking down.
It is cabbage and potatoes today,
lobster and caviar tomorrow.
It is you.
It is them.
It is us--
in the mountains,
on the farm,
by the sea,
on vacation,
at work until we sleep,
and it is so much more.

Fashion Cents

I've lost a few pounds lately, and while I feel a lot better, it seems that my clothes don't really fit me anymore. Oh, it's kind of fun to "have" to buy clothes, but as warm weather approaches, I am feeling some serious pangs about giving away all the nice, plaid Bermudas that have been my go to summer wear for the last several years.

Complicating matters is the fact that that style is, how shall I put it kindly? Out of fashion? Still, in this economy, and in these days of plenty, I knew somebody, somewhere had shorts for me. Of course, a quick eBay search proved me right, and for five bucks a pop, it wasn't long before I was back in business with three new pairs of gently worn plaid shorts. 

Now about those cargo shorts...

Marketing Plan

An engine light came on in my car a couple of weeks ago. At first, I was optimistically convinced it was the gas cap, but that turned out not to be the case. So I made an appointment online to take it into the dealer, also optimistic that the extended warranty we bought would cover whatever the problem might be.

Of course, they were booked several days in advance, so I signed up for the earliest one I could, and relegated our main car to as limited use as possible. Bombing around town in our 15-year-old Jeep Wrangler lost its appeal rather quickly, though, even with the top down, and I was looking forward to dropping the Outback off.

Not so fast, Lady. I received a call from an unfamiliar number in the middle of class a couple of days before the appointment. I didn't answer, but the message they left was clear: because of a problem with their online system, they were waaaaaay overbooked. My car was going to have to wait. I sighed and returned the call as soon as I could.

The dealership was apologetic. They gave me the first available appointment, and they were happy to offer a courtesy car starting the evening before should I choose to drop off early. And so it was that I zipped away in a new blue Impreza this evening. It is a fun little vehicle, to be sure, and zipping around in it makes me feel a little disloyal to my until now faithful six-year-old Outback.

I think they kind of know that over there at the dealer, don't you?

Incognito No More

I was walking back to school from an appointment off-campus this afternoon just a little while after the dismissal bell, and several students passed me going in the opposite direction. Perhaps it was my sunglasses, or perhaps it was their eagerness to begin an afternoon of freedom, but I strode forward in seeming anonymity until at last one eighth grade girl who had been in my homeroom two years ago turned around a half a block away from me and shouted my name. I turned, and the smile on her face was so sweet that I lifted my shades, smiled back, and waved.

It is nice to be known.

Do My Dreaming and My Scheming

The other day, as I was invigilating the state math test for my students, I took a moment to do a calculation of my own. Pacing the classroom to ensure prompt attention for any calculator-computer-or-other issue, I considered how much time I had actually spent in that very room.

I set up shop there in August of 1994. Based on a conservative estimate of six and a half hours a day, 170 days per year, with a little rounding, I came up with about three years.

Three years! Five percent of my life had been spent within those four walls.

I gave myself a little half-smile then, a private snicker, and thanked the stars that most days? Were nothing like that day. 

Public Storage

In the classic 1985 film, Pee Wee's Big Adventure, the protagonist's bike is stolen, an event which precipitates a nationwide road trip in search of his wayward wheels. Somewhere along the way, Pee Wee gets information that the thieves have stashed his purloined bicycle in the basement of the Alamo, so he heads to San Antonio.

There he joins a tour led by the late, great Jan Hooks, who insists that all questions be held until the end. Hand on hip, Pee Wee taps his foot throughout her windy narration and tries several times to get around the guideline so that he can pose his single inquiry. "Where's the basement?" he finally blurts out at the end of the tour.

Hooks giggles dismissively. "The Alamo doesn't have a basement!" she tells him.

I thought of that scene today as I scouted the Tidal Basin for scavenger hunt-worthy locations. Of course I made my way up the stairs to the rotunda of the Jefferson Memorial. To be honest, although we walk there quite often, I can't recall the last time I made that climb since dogs are not welcome up the stairs.

Imagine my surprise, then, to discover that the Jefferson does have a basement. Complete with two gift shops, a short movie, and a couple small exhibits, I saw the whole place in a little over five minutes.

Sorry Pee Wee, your bike isn't there either!

Simple Machine

Three weeks ago we were in Atlanta celebrating my sister's birthday and three weeks from today we will be on summer vacation. 

Now that's a fulcrum!

It Just Seems Wrong

Today was the last of two state-mandated standardized tests for our sixth grade students. At 54 questions it took the quickest child one hour and forty minutes and the last was still testing 15 minutes before the dismissal bell; she clicked "submit" five and a half hours after she logged in.

Really?

It All Comes Together

"He should get a Newbury for this!" one of my students exclaimed. "A Newbury!"

"What are you reading?" asked the guy to his left.

"This profile that Anuj wrote about me," the first student answered. "He. is. a. genius!"

S Minus Twenty- three

There have been school years past where the students honestly did not know when summer vacation (or any other break for that matter) actually began. when that happens, it is actually no problem to teach almost up to the end, filling the last weeks and days with sweet activities that bring the term to a satisfying close.

This year is not one of those. Returning to class after a sultry three day weekend that quite publicly kicks off the summer season was kind of challenging. Not that the kids were rude or mean-spirited, or anything of that nature. Nope, their collective sixth-soon-to-be-seventh-grade brain was simply focused elsewhere, and to be honest? I found it hard to blame them. 

One Stop

We went to our favorite grocery store today. The nearest location is a bit of a hike from our place, but it's totally worth it. With a natural food section that rivals America's Healthiest Grocery Store, an impressive international food selection, a variety of most of the beer and wine you could ever desire, amazing produce, butcher, baker, fish, and cheese, plus regular groceries at competitive, economical prices, the place is this shopper's dream.

Did I mention the prepared food? It is good enough that we almost always plan to have lunch there before we shop. Today, as we were cleaning up our table getting ready for the main event, we passed a couple sitting at a table not far from our own. Between them was a whole pecan pie and a half-gallon of vanilla ice cream, two forks and two spoons.

Nice.

So That's How It's Going to Be?

On Saturday night of the three day weekend officially kicking off summer, we decided to do the summery thing of catching up on our Marvel movies, and so we watched Deadpool on pay-per-view.

What? It had the biggest opening of any R-rated movie. Ever. It also smashed box office records for February films, over Valentine's Day weekend. Plus, Ryan Reynolds-- he was super cute with Sandra Bullock and Betty White in The Proposal.

Oh my.

The fact that we are neither prudes nor snobs did not matter. We barely even got credit for spending 8 hours a day with middle school kids, because from the opening sequence it was clear that we were strangers in this land-- the raunchy, super-violent flick was not made with us in mind.

Did we see it through? Sure. But to completely appreciate the movie I do believe we would have had to have been thirty years younger with a Y-chromosome.

The demographics are catching up with us.

Primary Source

One of the students who is interviewing me for the profile project has chosen gardening as her angle. Because they have to get some secondary quotes, she asked me who else has "seen me gardening."

My nephew, Treat, has helped me before, I told her. Since my budding journalists have a limited travel budget, most of them rely on the kindness of their subject to pass along their written questions. As it is the 21st century, some have used Google Docs and email for this task, but I have a stack of index cards for those who want or need to go old school. The kids persist in calling them postcards, though, a misdesignation which I find so charming that I never correct them. And so it was that this particular student brought me a collection of three "postcards" for Treat:

Hi Ms. S's Nephew I need to ask you some questions about her because I'm doing the thing about her, read the first one, and below that the word Questions! with lots of dots and underlines. At the bottom it read From Samantha R

The next card had two questions: Have you ever seen her struggle when she's gardening? and have you noticed her strengths?

And the final card asked, how can you describe her garden in 3 words?

Rather than transcribe the inquiry, I texted photos of the cards to Treat. As a potential primary source, I wanted him to appreciate the primary questions. I believe he did, because his answers were very much in the spirit of the project:

1) I've never observed ms s. struggling in the garden. I do believe that there is an upward limit to her strength but I haven't observed it

2) yes, as mentioned, I haven't been able to determine her strength exactly but I believe it to be very great

3) the vegetables!!! yum!!

I can't wait to share them with Samantha!

A is for Air Conditioning

When I was a kid, we did not have air conditioning and neither did many people we knew. Back then, the windows were always open, and if you had a box fan wedged between the sill and the sash on hot nights, you were lucky. Even so, our pillows and hair were damp with sweat each morning. We didn't care though: barefoot, in shorts, or bathing suits, being hot in summer was normal, and we swam through the heat like fish through water.

Air conditioning changed everything, and now at the slightest threat of hot weather, we close up the house like a box and crank the a/c, sealing ourselves away from any discomfort. Summer days inside are so gelid that the heat is like a wall when you finally go out.  I have noticed that when I leave school in the early evenings, my skin is literally refrigerated; it stays unnaturally cold for a good ten minutes

Here at home, though, it seems that our heat pump is a total loss, and so we have spent the last couple of days sweating, windows open, looking for the slightest trace of a cross breeze. Just like the old days, all our meals are light and cool (the stove would add way too much heat to the house), the dog pants contentedly on the cool tile floor, and we sleep with nothing but a sheet covering us.

Perhaps it's because I know the a/c will be fixed tomorrow, but tonight, far from being hot and cranky, I am inclined to let summer in. 

Life Lesson: “Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.” ~Russell Baker

B is for Birthday Buddies

Perhaps it stems from an inflated estimate of my own importance, but I have long believed that one’s birthday is a very special day and should be well-marked, and as such, I have always had an excellent memory for birthdays. When I was a kid, birthdays seemed like singular events, and the only people I knew who shared one were the twins next door, Lois and Laura. The more people I met, however, the more the birthdays doubled, and even tripled, up.

For example, my friend Mary shares her birthday with my brother-in-law, Jordan, and there is a week in July where my nephew Treat and our god-daughter Delaney have the same birthday, as do Treat’s brother, Riley and our other nephew, Kyle, and Delaney’s sister Allyn and our dearest dog, Isabel.

And now that I’ve been teaching for a while, there are birthday buddies for everyone. It only makes sense when you consider 2000 kids spread over 366 days. In addition to my own birthday buddies, Abby and Matt , I’ve even known a couple of February 29-ers—if they’d like someone to commiserate with for getting the short straw when it comes to birthdays, I can definitely hook them up!

Somewhere along the line I began to consider celebrity birthdays, too, and soon the notion of famous birthday buddies became a minor fascination.

How interesting to think that my brother shared his birthday with Thomas Jefferson, and my sister hers with Florence Nightingale, Yogi Berra, and Katherine Hepburn. My mother’s birthday buddies are George HW Bush and Anne Frank, but my dad and I never really seemed to have anyone very impressive, or even that recognizable.

In the last few years, my birthday buddy list has expanded a bit to include Vincent D’Onofrio, Mike Tyson, and Michael Phelps, but I’m still waiting for someone to represent our special day in a more historical way. I wonder if those guys are waiting, too.

Life Lesson:
You say it's your birthday?
Well, it's my birthday too, yeah!
They say it's your birthday—
we’re gonna have a good time.
I'm glad it's your birthday.
Happy birthday to you.
We’re gonna have a party, party!
~John Lennon and Paul McCartney

C is for Charlotte's Web

I was out for a walk a couple of weeks ago when at last I heard the final chapter of the Alexander Hamilton biography that had occupied my time and mind for three months. At a loss for what to listen to next, I punched play on another, shorter biography that I had downloaded two summers ago, the last time we were in Maine. It is the story of EB White's life, but the angle is clear in the title: The Story of Charlotte's Web: E.B.White's Eccentric Life in Nature and the Birth of an American Classic.

One of my favorite books when I was a kid was Charlotte's Web. I remember when my second grade teacher, Miss King, read it to our class. Everyone was in tears on the day we heard chapter 21, Last Day. 

As a student and a teacher of writing, I have come to recognize the magical simplicity of E.B. White's prose. My sixth graders often to look to their independent reading books to find examples of the crafts and tools of the professional. Once when we were studying figurative language, a student came to me with her copy of Charlotte's Web. "I can't find anything," she complained.

"Really?" I asked, and borrowed the book for a moment. She was right. White does not embellish his tale with comparisons. His description is solid, detailed, and real, grounding the reader in the timeless truth of the fantasy.

A few years ago I purchased the audio recording of E.B. White himself reading his most famous book. The story goes that it took all day and several takes in the studio until he could read the lines at the end of chapter 21 without breaking down. Even so, you can clearly hear the crack in his voice when he gets to that part of the story.

Well, you can if you're not crying too hard yourself.

When I first started teaching, I read Charlotte's Web to a first grade summer school class I was teaching, but most of the kids were unmoved when we came to Last Day. "Didn't you guys think that was sad?" I asked them, after covertly wiping a tear from my nose.

"What?" asked one little boy.

"When Charlotte died," I answered.

"What? Charlotte died?!" he repeated. Everyone seemed a little shocked. 

"Yeah," I said, and re-read the passage at the end of the chapter: 

She never moved again. Next day, as the Ferris wheel was being taken apart and the race horses were being loaded into vans and the entertainers were packing up their belongings and driving away in their trailers, Charlotte died. The Fair Grounds were soon deserted. The sheds and buildings were empty and forlorn. The infield was littered with bottles and trash. Nobody, of the hundreds of people that had visited the Fair, knew that a grey spider had played the most important part of all. No one was with her when she died.

He burst into tears, and soon the whole class was crying.

That's more like it, I thought.

Life Lesson:  “The crickets felt it was their duty to warn everybody that summertime cannot last for ever. Even on the most beautiful days in the whole year - the days when summer is changing into autumn - the crickets spread the rumour of sadness and change.” ~E.B. White, Charlotte's Web

D is for Dead or Alive?

"Is Ms. S here today?" a student asked one of my colleagues in home room.

"Yes," the teacher answered.

"Oh good," the student replied.

"Why? Did you miss her?" the teacher asked.

"No! I was worried she might be dead," the student said.

Oh my! Rumors fly when you are out unexpectedly for a couple of days!

Never fear kids-- you're stuck with me for another month. (Knock wood!)

Life Lesson: "Always wear a helmet when biking, skating, skiing, or jumping to conclusions." ~Anonymous

E is for Educational Experiences Everywhere

 My mom is in town until tomorrow, and since she lives so far away, it just seemed like a missed opportunity to go to work while she was still here. So I took the day off, and we decided to explore a couple of the lesser-known attractions in our very historic and cultural area.

First stop? Woodlawn Plantation, a home that was built in 1800 by George Washington's nephew and his bride, Martha Washington's granddaughter. Originally the main residence on a 2000 acre farm that Washington gave the couple as a wedding gift, today's much smaller property is only about three miles from Mount Vernon. The house, with its two-foot thick brick walls, survives today despite being abandoned in the late 1800s, and is actually grander than Mount Vernon in some ways.

On the very same property, there is also a mid 20th century dwelling designed and built by Frank Lloyd Wright. The Pope-Leighey House was originally constructed in 1949 in Falls Church, but the expansion of Route 66 in 1967 created a move it or lose it imminent domain situation that was resolved by an imaginative deal with the US Register of Historic Places which resulted in moving the home piece-by-piece 20 miles to the south and rebuilding it on a corner of the Woodlawn property. This design is an example of Wright's Usonian ideals, or a small, functional house for a regular family (as long as they didn't Have any furniture or need any storage!). It was cool, though, and it would have fit right in with a current episode of Tiny Houses.

Our next stop was Gunston Hall, George Mason's home, built in 1750. It, too, was a pleasant surprise. Remarkably preserved and restored, the house looked deceptively compact from the outside, but it has 2400 square feet on each level. It's main hall, eight bedrooms, formal dining room, and two parlors were gracious and spacious. In fact, the main parlor is one of the 100 most beautiful rooms in America, according to Helen Comstock's book. It's hard to disagree when you stand beneath the 12 foot ceiling, surrounded by intricately carved walnut moulding, crimson silk damask walls, deep blue paint, and gilded trim.

On a Monday in May, we had each of these places, these gems, practically to ourselves, and besides being a really fun day? We learned a lot! Plus I got to spend the day with my mom.🙂

Life Lesson: "There's treasure everywhere." --Bill Watterson

F is for Finding Fun

Today was the 9th annual Post Hunt, a crazy puzzle-palooza that sends participants scampering around downtown trying to solve big, silly puzzles. My nephew, Treat, and I have been doing it together since it started back in 2008, and over the years we've enlisted Josh, my mom, and this year, my brother Bill joined the team!

Before leaving the convention center, the five of us cheerfully watched an ear-splitting performance from a tuba, oboe, violin, and piano (answer: tu o vi pi, or 206314) and then found ourselves in the middle of a demonstration by the rainbow coalition brandishing colorful signs with rebus symbols on them. (In ROYGBIV order the signs read: pea-knock-L deck mine-s golden rings, 43 of course.)

Even the pouring rain couldn't dampen our spirits as we searched out a giant white square with a little 76 in the upper lefthand corner, and we huddled under the umbrella a long time before making an association with the crossword puzzle in the back of the magazine. Solving the two clues gave us fen and fight.

The letter F just didn't seem right, but we decided to move on to the next one. On the way, Treat connected fen and fight with one of the illustrations on the map, and we made a detour. There we found an identical square with an E where the F might be. Stumped, we continued on our way to a park where a volunteer held this sign:

 C-11 on the map was the Reflecting Pool, so Mom whipped out a mirror and, upon examining the lower left-hand flourish, backward, we read Date of Abe's Address (answer? 1119)

We were walking to our next challenge, still thinking, considering, and pondering the one we hadn't solved, when Treat realized that if we swapped the E for the F in the crossword, we had een and eight, or eighteen.

The last puzzle was a web address that, once pulled up on our phone's browsers gave us the warning, Watch your temperature. You’re almost freezing. You’re risking hypothermia. You need to be normal. Hint: Get the blood circulating. Walking around may help!

It was basically a high-tech version of the warmer-cooler-burning up game we used to play as kids, and we knew that we were looking for the place where our reading would be 98.6. There we found a giant blue C, which we took to mean that we needed to convert our temperature to Celsius. (37 was correct!)

Satisfied at solving the first part of the hunt we grabbed a table at the convention center, ate our picnic lunch, and mulled over the five clues we had. With half an hour to go until the final clue and the commencement of the end game, it seemed like anything was possible, but I didn't care if we won; the day was perfect already.

Life Lesson: “Success is getting what you want. Happiness is wanting what you get.” ~Dale Carnegie

G is for Get Ready!

On a day in late May when the skies were wet and leaden, and a jacket was a necessity, we chose to go to the movies. There the posters and previews promise hot hits and blockbusters fitting for the scorching days ahead. A quick shopping stop reveals that the dollar section at a Target is loaded with red, white, and blue trinkets, and next week's forecast calls for temperatures approaching 90. Seeing as we are halfway through the end of the year testing, and on the downhill side of the fourth quarter, I would have to say it's pretty much undeniable:

Summer is coming.

Life Lesson: “One benefit of Summer was that each day we had more light to read by." ~Jeanette Walls

H is for History

As we were planning our end of the year field trips, our social studies teacher put together a visit to Ford's Theater and the Petersen house across the street where the wounded president was carried and died. There was a little extra time at the end of the day, and so she decided to include an IMAX movie at a near-by museum . One of the choices was Dinosaurs! In 3D.

"That's the one!" she said.

"Lincoln AND dinosaurs??" I teased her. "What a span! Is your theme going to be, Well, THAT happened...?"

"Yeah!" she told me. "It's all history!"

Life Lesson: “If you don't know history, then you don't know anything. You are a leaf that doesn't know it is part of a tree. ” ~Michael Crichton

I is for It's Hard to Explain

"If 'Good is the enemy of Great,' then how come 'Life is Good' is good enough?" a student asked the other day, looking around at some of the inspirational posters I have hanging in my classroom.

It was a good question.

No.

It was a great question.

"Good is the enemy of great," I told her, "because if you settle for good, you'll never work for great."

She nodded expectantly.

"But, 'Life is Good' is an overall philosophy about life in general. It's not just 'good;' it's 'gooooood'." I made a smooth motion with my hand in the air. "See what I mean?" I tried to explain.

"You mean that says, 'Life is Goooood'?" she asked.

"Yeah!" I told her. "It's to remind us to appreciate the good things in life!"

She shook her head. She still didn't get it.

Fortunately, the bell rang right then.

Good timing!

No, great timing

Life Lesson: "If you can't explain it simply, you don't know it well enough." ~Albert Einstein