Full Court Press

Co-teaching definitely has its benefits, especially when there 131 of anything to grade and comment on. Such was the case this weekend when the big assignment for the quarter came due right before grades were due. In the end, I probably graded a few more than half, with my colleagues and student teacher filling in the rest.

Go team!

Smells Like Home

True confession: we do love our friend Sarah's dog Beckett, who happens to be 1-year-old today. She is also our dog walker, and so Lucy and Beckett are fast friends as well. He started spending time at our house back when he was only a 10 week old 2 pound bundle of fluff with icy blue eyes, and he would be still be welcome here anytime, too, if it weren't for his unpleasant habit of marking things that smell a little less or a little too whatever to his liking. The shag rug in our living room is an inviting indoor lawn to him, and it is more than aggravating to watch him every second only to have him piss on something the minute your attention wanders.

But today is his birthday, and Sarah is working all weekend at the dive shop where she is an instructor, so it seemed a little harsh to leave him home alone. After a long walk on the National Mall, we brought him back here. "Maybe he's outgrown it?" I suggested hopefully, but 30 seconds later he was peeing all over a basket of tennis balls that many, many dogs had drooled on.

As I cleaned up the mess, Heidi researched our dilemma. "They say to soak a bandana in his urine and then put it around his neck," she reported. "That way, everything will already smell like him to him." I clapped my hands and laughed, delighted by the elegance of the solution, and fished the paper towel I had just used to clean the basket out of the trash. After wrapping it around his collar, we sat back to watch. Was it only our imagination that he relaxed and stopped frantically sniffing? In moments he was engaging Lucy in play, and the need to make this place smell like his place seemed to vanish.

A little while later we went out to run errands, and at the top of the list was a birthday gift for the Becketty Boy. "How about this bandana?" I asked Heidi.

Winter White

I do love a winter walk, and one of our favorite places to go is about 30 minutes from home. It's a national wildlife refuge with a wooded path that winds down and around a wetland before looping back. The place is known for its eagles, but right around this time of year there are often hundreds of Tundra Swans raising a ruckus on the Great Marsh. We were a little early today; only a half dozen or so swans dozed among all the ducks on the bay.

One year we were also ahead of the flock, but as we made our way up the last 50 yards to the parking lot, the sky was suddenly filled with white wings and an incredible racket of honking and flapping. The hullabaloo continued overhead even after we reached our car and headed home under a cloud of swans.

Members Only

It started with a student request. She wanted to start an anime club, but needed a room and an adult to supervise. Would I do it? she asked. Most of my afternoons are already filled with meetings and other commitments, but I have a hard time not supporting kids who want to create something on their own. Such initiative seems like the most authentic application of the lessons we are trying to teach. Even so, it was reluctance that I agreed, and only in the event that they could find no one else to take on the responsibility. Plus, I don't even like Anime that much.

And so it was that on Friday afternoons from 2:30 to 3:30 I found myself at the epicenter of 15-20 tweens eating chips, texting their friends, and watching Yuri on Ice or My Hero Academia or the like, and SCREAMING!

"Guys! Guys! Guys!" I tried to shout over them, putting the video on pause. "It's cool that you love this so much! It's not cool for you to scream!"

In response, they screamed more quietly. And at 3:30 this afternoon as the Anime Club literally screamed out my door, several of my colleagues stopped by.

"What a crew!" said the first. "Bless your heart!"

"Look at you!" said the next. "Kids that never say a word in class are screaming and laughing in here!"

"Are they driving you crazy?" asked the third.

I smiled weakly, and the throbbing in my head ebbed with the kinder, gentler company. "It's their club," I said, "I just give them the space and my adult presence." Then we laughed.

It used to be that Friday afternoon was a quiet time for me to either look ahead to the coming week, or quietly reflect on the week that has just passed. Now it's just a good time to recover from the Anime Club.

That Rascal

It's the final push for the end of the quarter, and I had one student ask if he could miss PE and electives to stay and finish his essay outline. Usually I would have encouraged him to come back after school, especially since he hadn't really used his class time productively, but he had a wrestle-off to see if he could win a spot in the meet next week. So I sent him to his teachers with a pass and a request. He was back before too long, shaking his head in mild dismay.

"What did they say?" I asked.

"What's a scoundrel?" he replied.

"Why?" I asked in return.

It turns out that his tech ed teacher dismissed him without prejudice, but his Spanish teacher was another story.

"She yelled at me!" he reported. "She said I probably didn't do my work, and she called me a scoundrel!"

"She called you that in English?" I questioned him.

"No! In Spanish!" he said.

"What word is that?" I asked.

"Sinvergüenza," he told me. "I looked it up on the way back, and it means--

"Scoundrel," we said together.

"Yeah!" he said. "What does it mean?"

"It means someone who is kind of mischievous and gets into trouble sometimes for breaking the rules."

"Oh," he shrugged. "I guess that is me."

A Civilized Hour

"Wouldn't it be nice if we went to work at this time every day?" Heidi asked rhetorically as I shuttled her to school a little before 9 yesterday morning. Our district had called a 2 hour delay because of the extreme cold. I was off anyway for my annual physical, but since I was up I offered to give her a ride. "The sun is shining," she noted. "I feel rested," she continued, "ready for the day."

I thought of that conversation this morning as we dragged ourselves out of bed at the usual 5:30 alarm. Heidi had been up most of the night coughing, and neither of us had gotten much sleep: another two hours would have been welcome.

"Heart conditions and sleep deprivation are correlated," my doctor told me yesterday. "Now that you're over 55..."

One Year Over the Speed Limit

I really didn't feel any different after my last birthday; I personally like to think I'm aging both gradually and gracefully. But after my annual physical today, I'm beginning to wonder about that, especially considering the number of times I heard the phrase, Now that you're over 55...

Auntie Up

We haven’t seen Josh since he returned from his world travels. Understandably, he’s been working extra hours to catch up on the time he missed while in Africa. Even so, we have been exchanging texts with him, looking for a mutually convenient time to get together and catch up. Tonight he initiated the contact:

hey hey guys im free on thursday! still down for dinner?

Yep, we answered, how about 5?

yeah! is it ok if i bring my girlfriend?

Of course, we said, but it was a bit of a surprise, considering we didn’t know he was seeing anyone. He must like her, though, if he’s ready for her to meet the aunties!

But Who's Counting?

I had a four day weekend last week because of the snow; this week a combination of the MLK holiday and my annual physical provide another short work week, and the following week there is a teacher work day and a CLT retreat resulting in one more 3-day teaching week.

Who knows how I'll feel when February dawns that Friday promising a couple of full weeks ahead? (Unless, of course, it snows again before Presidents Day and our family Oscar holiday.) In any event, I'm confident that those 6 weeks to spring break after that will fly by in a productive blur, as will the nine weeks left in the year when we return.

This is the point in the school year when the teeter totter tips toward seventh grade for my students. The second quarter is ending, and soon they will select their courses for next year. Fortunately, they don't realize it, but I sure do.

They Say So Much

"Do you like sad songs?" a student asked me yesterday.

"Yes," I answered without hesitation.

"Then you should hear Train food," he told me. "It. is. sad." He looked me directly in the eyes, and I believed him.

I handed him one of the post-it notes I was carrying around as I helped students clarify the claims for their essays and find evidence to put in the outline. "Write it down and I'll listen to it," I said.

"It might have bad language in it," he warned me.

"I've heard cussing before," I assured him taking the pink square of paper and tucking it in my pocket.

I wondered what this child who pushed everyone away and had already lived such a hard life could find so sad.

When I checked out the song I found that it was by a young rap artist named XXXTentacion who was killed in a robbery attempt early last summer at the age of 20. Train food is a track on his posthumously released album and tells the story of a young man kidnapped by death and left on the train tracks to die. It has haunting background sounds and ends abruptly with what is presumably the death of the narrator. It's almost too sad to be sad, but it is pretty eerie, especially given the artists early death.

More importantly, I could see why my student found it so moving, and I'll be glad to have something to talk with him about. Who knows? Maybe we'll even find a connection.

Make Sure to Stretch

I'm hosting a student teacher from now until April. Fortunately, she seems like a person who can roll with whatever comes her way, which is good, because middle school and its denizens demand flexibility. This week was a perfect example:

Her university orientation was scheduled for Monday to prepare her to start in my classroom on Tuesday, but both days were canceled because of the snow. Wednesday we were back on time, but it was a scheduled early release, but she started anyway and went through the professional learning with me and my CLT. Yesterday was a full day, but today there was a 2 hour delay because of light snow overnight. 

"I think I've seen every possible schedule in the last 3 days!" she laughed this afternoon. "And it's been awesome!"

News that Matters

Today was the first day of my new intervention period group, comprised of eight kids who struggle not at all with disruptive behavior, but rather with organization and efficient use of class time. We began with a review of a few tools they might use to know what was coming up in their classes so that they might be prepared, a concept which seemed completely foreign to all of them.

"This is the weekly newsletter," I said pointing to the screen, "Both your parents and you get it every week."

This was news to all but one. He scratched his head thoughtfully. "I think my mom prints it out and gives it to me," he conceded.

His friend chuckled. "You actually read a newsletter?" he asked incredulously.

I moved on. "Take a few minutes to look over it on your iPad," I directed, "and then I'll ask you to share with everybody anything important or interesting that you notice."

A little later I did just that.

Crickets.

"Really?" I asked. "Nobody sees anything that might be good for us to know about?"

The silence stretched on.

Finally I broke it myself. "What about this science test?" I pointed. "Or this social studies project? Or this essay in English? Did you know about those?"

Everyone shook their heads, but they did not seem dismayed.

"Doesn't that worry you?" I said. "These are for tomorrow."

"Nope!" answered one guy cheerfully.

I looked at him in surprise. His tone was open, and not disrespectful in the least. I didn't get it.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because it's going snow tonight!" he told me.

Speed Teaching

After 2 snow days, today was a planned early release day for professional learning, so the kids went home at 11:54. In my opinion, it was just the way to ease us back into the swing of things. And, it may be counterintuitive, but 24 minute classes might actually be as productive as the 43 minute sessions we usually have. With such an abbreviated time, students and staff alike are focused on getting the lesson and activities done, and no one has any time to lose interest. Plus, the way the sixth grade schedule is set up, I see everyone between 8 and 10, and then my teaching day is over and the meeting, planning, grading, professional learning begins.

Works for me!

Unprecedented

After the snow day yesterday, we expected our school system to call a 2 hour delay and call it early for today. With melting snow during the day and sub-freezing temperatures through the night, the roads were sure to be treacherous in the early morning hours when everyone is getting to school. Sure enough, the word came down right around three yesterday afternoon: there was definitely a delay, but with the caveat that they would look at conditions in the morning.

How shocked was I, then, when my friend Mary texted at 9 o'clock last night to report that we were closed again today. As it turned out, we were the only system in the immediate metro area to cancel-- everyone else went with the delay.

Oh, I'm not complaining, but?

THAT

never happens!

Like a Good Neighbor

Heidi had an appointment to meet a friend at the gym, so I cleaned off the car and shoveled it out before 9 this morning. As the day wore on, I looked out at our quiet parking lot several times with some concern, taking mental inventory of the still-buried cars and their owners.

The Audi belonged to a young woman who lived alone upstairs with her long-haired Dachshund, Charlotte. The red Rav 4 was the family's who lived below her, a single Mom and her 7-year-old son. The blue and white Hyundais were the cars of a woman a little older than us and her disabled husband. The pair of Priuses with the handicapped hang tags belonged to our neighbor down the way with the bum knee and his wife who was recovering from a hip replacement.

Just then there was a knock on the door; another neighbor came by to borrow one of our shovels. Of course! we said, putting on our coats, too, and heading out to join her. A little less than an hour later, everyone was dug out.

Breathing Room

We woke this morning to several inches of fluffy snow and the promise that it would continue through nightfall, and even though it was many more hours until it was official, we knew that there would be no school tomorrow.

Knowing that I wouldn't have to rise in darkness for the first of five busy days at work gave me an extra burst of energy to get things done today. The car was cleaned off before nine; the Christmas tree was restored to a simple (if very dry) fir, and all the holiday decorations were finally organized, packed, and stowed away until next year. The house was vacuumed and the laundry washed and folded. I even split some of the dry firewood into kindling to keep our hearth warm and crackling.

Now, dinner is on the stove, and I'm ready to relax for the evening, knowing that I'll have time to work on grades and paperwork for school at my leisure tomorrow.

Well-Provisioned

We had planned to go to Wegmans today long before the weather forecast included a few inches of snow. We stuck to our schedule, but we were joined at the grocery store by about a bazillion other shoppers.

It could have been ugly, but everyone seemed to be in pretty good humor. It might have helped that there was plenty of bread and milk and eggs and toilet paper (and wine and beer), but there were a few shortages. Jostling for produce shoulder to shoulder with my fellow shoppers, I snagged the last bulb of fennel, as well as the final bunch of cilantro

Judging from the limited quantities of a few other non-essential items, I'd guess that people are going to be eating pretty well if they're snowed in.

Don't Stop There

My students were taking a standardized reading test when one of them raised his hand and waved furiously. For valid results, they were supposed to read the short passages and answer the related vocabulary questions completely independently.

I walked over to him. "What is it?" I whispered.

He gestured at the screen; glancing over, I didn't see a problem.

"I'm not allowed to help you," I reminded him.

His eyes widened, and mindful of the directions to keep a quiet testing environment, he wordlessly stabbed his finger at the passage, then ran it back and forth along the screen, pantomiming a desperate need for assistance.

I looked more closely at the passage. Ask your teacher for guidance... it began. I looked at the student. He smirked in self-satisfaction; after all, he was only following the directions.

I shook my head and laughed.

...in selecting possible research paper topics, it continued. Afterall, this may be your first attempt at writing a research paper. It helps to bounce ideas around with an expert... 

"Keep reading," I advised him.

Goodwill Hunting

Yesterday our team started the day with a quick "Hot Chocolate Social". It turns out you can serve 150 cups of hot chocolate to sixth graders for about a quarter each in a minimum of time with not much trouble. After fifteen minutes spent sipping a warm beverage and socializing with their friends, our usually unruly pack of tweens was almost tame heading into the school day. Sure, there were a few naysayers, This hot chocolate is too sweet! insisted one, and a couple were suspicious, Why are they doing this for us? What do they want? another student whispered urgently to her friend, but in general, the group just relaxed and enjoyed the cocoa in a rather well-behaved way. Anecdotally, I feel like I benefited all day: the goodwill seemed tangible.

The same could not be said for today. The mid-year "Safety Assembly" where administrators admonish students for all the rules that are not being followed and all the expectations that are not being met was held first thing in the theater. Tens of powerpoint slides full of DON'Ts in tiny writing filled the screen above the stage as we all sat through a droning review of the rules. Even I, a rule-follower and an adult in the building who would greatly benefit if more students followed more rules, was ready to pull my hood up over my head. Nobody likes to be scolded.

And maybe it's a coincidence, but man! Those kids were right back to their old ways. 

Swing and a Miss

"I really like this pen," one of my students told me, grabbing it off my desk without permission. "Can I have it?"

I was hardly surprised by his impulsivity and boundary-bending, and I decided to use the situation as leverage. "Do you solemnly swear to use this pen for good?" I asked playfully. "Use it to complete your assignments thoughtfully and neatly and work hard for the rest of the class period? So help you--"

"I do!" he told me seriously.

"Then you may have it." I bestowed the pen upon him with a cheerful flourish and a smile. "Get to work! I'll check in with you in a few minutes."

As he headed back to his seat purposefully it almost seemed like the pen might do the trick, but when I touched base with him, he was off-task with nothing written.

"Hey!" I said. "You promised you were going to get some writing done!"

He looked at me, confused. "I was lying!" he explained.

I frowned, discouraged.

"I thought you knew!" he said, and handed me the pen.

Counterclaim

I moved a student's seat closer to where I was working with another student so that the first student might be less distracted. The first guy did not appreciate my support.

"I didn't do anything!" he declared indignantly.

"I promise if that were true, I would have left you where you were," I told him. "I'm too busy to bother with false accusations."

He insisted he had been doing exactly as he was expected, and to save both of us some time I outlined why I had moved him. "1, you weren't doing the assignment," I started.

"I was getting ready to," he said.

"2, you were talking to people around you, preventing them from doing their work."

"They were talking to me!" he claimed.

"3, you are argumentative. You don't listen to me when I redirect you, instead you argue with everything I say, even when you know I'm right."

He paused. He knew he shouldn't say a word, and I could see the struggle on his face. In the end it was too much for him, though. "No I don't!" he insisted.

I raised an eyebrow.

He got to work.
Briefly.

Unpredictable

The day did not go as I pictured it.

I never imagined that on the first morning back from break one of the first people I would see was that oppositional student walking down the hallway with a quart of Mountain Dew in his hand, just itching for someone to tell him it wasn't allowed in school. And I certainly didn't anticipate that my cross-century VCR-Smart Board hook-up would fail, so that my homeroom and I would be unable to watch the morning announcements. And I never saw it coming when the boy who used to refuse to take off his coat but had been quite cooperative before the winter holidays would return to his former stance: Yeah, I'm just going to have to say no to following that rule, he told me.

"Wow!" I confessed out loud to my homeroom, "This year is something else already!"

But, 18 days off does have some restorative power, and each of those snafus was resolved with patience and a little outside grace. And not all the surprises today were bad. When asked to pick one little word to capture what he wanted more of in his life, a student known for his negativity chose "kindness" because there just isn't enough of it in middle school. And he ended his paragraph with, I can be nicer and so can everyone else.

HBD Bob

The meal gets a little less time-honored over the last 30+ years: first I substituted green beans for the peas; next the mashed potatoes became just a little lighter; now, the biscuits are sweet potato; the chicken is free-range and mostly white meat, and there is even a vegan version for Heidi. Even so, tonight on what would have been my dad's 84th birthday, we will sit down to chicken with white gravy and biscuits, and I will think of him, as I have all day.

Hold Outs

Tomorrow is 12th Night, the Epiphany, and the day when many pack up and put away their holiday decorations for another year. And when the sun came out unexpectedly this afternoon after a considerable stretch of gray skies and rain, it became clear that the days are indeed growing longer, even in just the two weeks since the solstice. Holiday clearance tables have given way to streamlined aisles, bins for organization, and Valentines Day candy. It's impossible to find parking at the gym, and school is back in session on Monday.

Christmas is over.

But not at our house!

Of course, we'll return to work as scheduled, and already our meals are a little lighter, and saving is the new spending. All the cookies are gone, but taking down the tree can wait a few more days, and the candles that light each window at dusk will stay until spring. So will the lighted sign that simply reads JOY, because some things transcend the season.

Get off the Couch

I've been taking it easy since my scooter mishap a week ago. It turns out I bruised a little bit more than just my ego. My hand is getting better, but I also banged my chest on the handle as I went down, and that injury has been painful and slower to heal. Ibuprofen, the heating pad, breathing exercises, but most of all, rest, are the recommended remedies for my condition, and I have been using them all.

There may have also been some collateral damage to my self-image. "Are you going to scooter again?" Annabelle asked after the accident. "Of course!" I answered without hesitation, but I've definitely lost a little of my sense of invincibility: I feel more fragile, and life's dangers have been brought into sharp focus. Gone is my unwavering love for scootering, invalidating at least a half-dozen blog entries, and everything seems a little more scary now.

You are pushing 60! I think sometimes, as I inhale 1-2-3-4, Why would you do anything so risky? hold 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 Stay on the couch and read! exhale 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8. Do some writing! Take some Advil!

And it was on the couch with the heating pad on high that I was lying as we watched the finale of Survivor Season 37 the other night. The show actually had its traditional live wrap-up episode a few weeks ago, but we were busy with the holidays and missed it. Gone are the days when discovering the winner of this granddaddy of reality shows was a huge media event, and it wasn't even hard to shield ourselves from spoilers. So, we slogged through the three hour conclusion with a minimum of fast-forwarding, although I confess to always finding that ultimate tribal council tiresome and even boring.

This is the part of the show where the final three survivors are questioned by the jury, which consists of the last seven contestants voted out. The finalists have to answer for their game play and explain how they outwitted, outplayed, and outlasted their competitors, but to me it's just too much talking. It seems doubtful that anything they say can really influence the votes at that point, especially since they are still playing the game.

More interesting for me is the reunion segment at the end, where everyone is interviewed in hindsight, after the winner has been announced. The former survivors are often nearly unrecognizable, having had several months to recover from the 39 day ordeal and always so carefully dressed and groomed for TV. To be sure, the spotlight is still on them, but with the game so far behind them, their comments ring more true and insightful. They talk not just about their strategy, but also about how the experience changed their lives: what they wanted, what they got.

It was in this context that Mike White reminded me of something I know, but sometimes forget. A successful actor and writer, White seemed neither surprised nor dismayed by coming in second in the million dollar competition. When Jeff Probst asked him about his desire to play the game, he said, "As a writer you don't want just spend your whole life observing life. You want to just live it... and for me, I don't want to spend all my creativity on my work; I want to spend it on living, even if it means embarrassing myself in front of millions of viewers. It means you have to take a chance and live the adventure-- get off your computer."

He's right of course, and his advice holds true, not just for writers, but for aging scooterers, too. 

Tall Order

We started our first-of-the-year movie marathon with a short sprint of 2 movies in 2 days. Yesterday it was Vice and today we saw The Favourite. The acting was terrific, but both were ultimately unsatisfying to me.

Each bio-pic was an interesting meditation on power, exploring in particular strategies that women have historically had to resort to in order to gain power. As such, Amy Adams, Rachel Weisz, and Emma Stone portray characters who are ruthless and manipulative, understandable, but unlikable. Although they approach power acquisition differently than an equally ambitious male counterpart might, all three women still define power in the traditional, zero-sum way, where to have power you have to take it from someone else and hold on to it.

It's fair to argue that all three characters were simply making the best of a bad situation, but I guess that's where the movies fell short for me. I prefer my heroes to fight injustice by reimagining the corrupt status quo.

You Are What You Eat

Every year on New Year's Day we have the traditional southern supper of ham, black-eyed peas, and greens. Those dishes are considered talismans for the year ahead; the ham because a pig in his pen can't look backward and neither should you; the black-eyed peas for luck and the greens for money. In addition, we always have pan-fried chicken, corn, and rice, and every year or so we make up new meanings for those foods as well, so that they, too, might be charms to carry us successfully through the next year.

Yesterday's symbolism was especially satisfying to me: chicken for health, because it's lean, corn for sunshine and clear skies, because of its bright color, and rice because it represents our collective identity, many grains combine to make one dish.

Yes, our meal perfectly captures my fondest wish as I look ahead to the new year: luck, prosperity, health, and sunshine, in the company of family and friends.

Morning Meditation

It was 60 degrees and soggy when I took Lucy out at 7:30 this morning. The neighborhood was deserted; last night's revelries had seen to that, and so we wandered alone, tLucy reacquainting herself with her home turf, and I considering the weather, warm and wet, with which we start this new year.

Then it was back to the house for breakfast and coffee and a bit more quiet contemplation before the rest of our little world woke up.

Back Where We Belong

Beside the simple pleasure of spending time with family at the holidays, the best thing I can say about being away from home for 11 days in December is that, when we finally got home, the cats seemed softer and the Christmas Tree smelled pinier, and it sure was nice to be here on this, the last night of the year.

Wouldn't You Like to Fly?

We sat on the plane for 90 minutes in Atlanta before finally taking off for Buffalo. The first delay was a computer unit that needed replacing. It should only be 10 minutes, the captain told us, and his estimate was accurate. As we pushed back from the gate, the flight attendants prepared for departure, cross-checking and demonstrating the safety equipment.

We had barely made it to the end of the terminal when the captain’s voice interrupted those proceedings. Folks, I’m afraid we’ll have to return to the gate, he reported. We have a warning light that needs to be checked out. Once back at B31, the crew was required by FAA regulation to open the cabin doors, but they promised our gate time would be brief.

Sure enough, the doors were secured 10 minutes later, but opened again 5 minutes after that, because our original flight plan had us cruising at 29,000 feet and the air was too rough up there now. Lower altitude means more fuel, and so we sat waiting for them to onboard an additional 1500 pounds.

We were offered short pours of water from plastic liter bottles to slake our impatience, but it didn’t seem to appease the four-year-old behind us. He was a verbal processor who gave high and loud, minute-by-minute reports of his observations, both internal and external, including: the poop is out of my guts, we’re not moving, this trip is taking a long time, it’s still raining, my scarf is itchy, it’s still raining, now we’re going on the highway, that airplane is really big, it’s still raining, are we already there? In between he wailed like a siren and sang songs of gobbledygook and gibberish in a piercing soprano. His continuous sound track was punctuated frequently by the guttural whoops of a non-verbal young man a couple of rows ahead of us.

Slipping in my earbuds, I was amazed at how little noise they filtered, but I cranked a podcast anyway and closed my eyes. A little while later I was roused from a very light doze by the jolt of the plane leaving the jetway for what we dearly hoped was the last time. Shortly after that we slipped the bonds of gravity and flew up, up, up, through the drizzle and fog and burst through the clouds into a golden late December afternoon.

Dress Code

Following Richard's Bar Mitzvah, we returned to our awesome loft above the hip Ponce City Market, a repurposed Sears distribution center built in 1926. Before heading up to the fourth floor, we threaded our way through the throngs of casually dressed folks enjoying dining, drinking, and shopping in the Food Hall to grab a coffee from Chef Hugh Acheson's Spiller Park.

I was sipping my handcrafted coffee soda (El Salvadoran coffee, burnt orange syrup, carbonated and kegged with a dash of cream) and my mom was waiting for her iced decaf Americano, when a well-dressed woman approached us. "I was at a funeral?" she said looking at my mother's tasteful black dress. "What's your excuse?"

"Bar Mitzvah," I answered.

"I feel better knowing," she laughed and joined the line to order her own exquisite coffee drink.

10 Things You Need your Left Hand For

Holding your phone while you text
Zipping your coat
Putting on your pajamas
Holding the toothbrush to put the toothpaste on it
Shampooing your hair
Blow drying your hair
Tying your shoes
Holding anything you want to open with your right hand
Unbuttoning your pants to go to the bathroom
Pulling your pants back up when you're done

Safe and Sorry

“No she isn’t!” Annabelle scoffed when her mother told her I was in the emergency room because I had fallen off a scooter. Just the day before, she and I had sailed through Piedmont Park, exploring every trail as we talked and talked and talked.

To be honest, even as I sat watching HGTV, surrounded by people in their pajamas with barf bags and surgical masks, I couldn’t believe it either. Renting the scooter had been an impulse: it seemed to be waiting for me as we passed it on our way home from lunch. But even as I scooted merrily around the parking lot, zipping circles around my mom, Heidi, Bill, and Emily, I was feeling guilty about being somewhat antisocial. To compensate, I whizzed quickly ahead of them, and turned into a little utility lot at the high school to loop back around. Slowing down to make my u-turn, I hit the brake a bit too enthusiastically, and the scooter bucked, tossing me to the side. I sprawled to the asphalt, banging my ribs and shoulder on the shaft, landing on my hands. Jumping to my feet, I did an automatic check-- any witnesses? and self-check: knees? not even skinned. palms and elbows? scrape-free! --and jumped back on the scooter, confident that I was fine and no one had seen my tumble.

But the moment I rejoined my party, my secret was out. “I fell down!” I reported breathlessly. There was a bit of joking at my expense, which was certainly well deserved, and also some talk of past mishaps and the risks of riding these crazy-dangerous vehicles. With a laugh, I piloted my scooter away from the group and up the hill, parking it at the foot of the driveway. And it was as I waited that the adrenaline began to wear off, and the pain in my left hand? left wrist? announced itself more insistently.

Half an hour later, I confessed that a trip to the ER was definitely in my future. My instinct is always to wait and see, but it really, really hurt, and I ain’t no spring chicken. So, I paid the deductible and waited for the X-ray, the consult, and finally the treatment (an ace bandage and the advice to take 800 mg of an over the counter pain reliever.) Each step of the way, the health care professional helping me shared a tale of scooter mayhem, but always ended our interaction with, “I hope you feel better!”

As canned as their words were, I believed them every time, and I felt well cared for. At last it was time to go home. “Don’t let this stop you,” the PA told me as I signed the discharge papers. “Keep living your life!”

“I will!” I promised.

She smiled. “I hope you feel better!”

You Can Count on Me

"Do you know where you're going?" Heidi's dad asked me from the passenger seat as I backed out of the driveway, bound for our 7PM Christmas Eve dinner reservation. Our party of six was too large for one car, so Heidi, Gary, and I were in our station wagon.

"I think so," I said confidently. "It's the first exit after you get on the Thruway, right?"

On the way we chatted about what we were going to order for dinner, how we were going to get to the airport in the morning, and football team standings going into the last week of the regular season. The conversation was moving to spring and summer travel plans as I rolled through the EZ-Pass lane and headed east.

"That's your exit!" Gary told me, but it was too late. It had come up way before I expected it, and I didn't get over in time.

"I guess I'll have to get off at the next one and turn around," I sighed. But then it occurred to me that it was the Thruway... "Is it a long way?"

"Yep," he said.

The car fell silent. Heidi pulled out her phone and punched in the address. It was 15 miles to the next exit. "You better call your mother," Gary said to Heidi, "and put on some Edyie Gorme!"

Sleigh Ride, Sleigh Ride! Recorded laughter and jingle bells blared through the speakers. I hit the gas, and our station wagon rocketed down the highway and into the night.

Stille Nacht

The night was silent and still when I took Lucy out to potty before the Uber picked us up for our 4:30 am ride to the airport. After just a few hours of sleep, the scene on the suburban street seemed more dreamlike than real to me. Tiny snowflakes fell noiselessly and my eye was drawn to the glow of Christmas lights shining through a few windows down the street. I breathed deeply of the cold night air, willing myself to wake, and just then, a trio of shadows detached from the neighbor's hedges and glided across the grass. Three full-grown whitetail deer paused under the street light and turned their eyes our way, alert to the oblivious dog by my side, but seemingly oblivious to the ornamental versions of themselves a few feet away. The deer blew soft, frozen clouds into the winter night, and then, glittering stars above, iron earth below, turned and bounded down the street and into the silent darkness.

Christmas Eve Tales

I.

Fat snowflakes of the kind that you could imagine sticking to your nose and eyelashes drifted from the morning sky. In a blink the flurries thickened into a blinding swirl and the grass was covered, giving us the hope of a white Christmas even against the prevailing forecast. The beauty of the scene was transfixing, and then, before my coffee cup was empty and I could open the backdoor to let Lucy play in the snow, it was gone.


II.

I settled in the easy chair at the nail salon and tucked my toes under the drying light. A little girl of perhaps six sat to my left, wiggling her fingers. They were painted in alternating sparkles of red and green. "You're nails are beautiful!" I said.

She pulled her feet out and showed me that her toes matched.

I gave her a thumbs up. "Does your family celebrate Christmas?" I asked.

Her eyes widened and she nodded vigorously. "We celebrate ALL the holidays!" she told me, seriously. "We're a fun family!"

III.

Late in the day, tiny snow flakes, so small you could barely see them, began falling. It took hours for a crisp layer to dust the grass, and then the clouds literally parted, revealing the sun for the first time in days. Long rays and shadows painted the snow gold and purple as the day ended and the eve began.

That Road Before Us

No sleigh bells ring ting tingled, but the seat warmers were on high, so we were comfy cozy as we turned our station wagon toward Niagara Falls this morning. It had been another leaden dawn, but the falls were emerald against the gray sky, and a glittering layer of ice encased all the bushes and grass on the banks by the rapids. We leaned into the cold, following a path past the places we knew from summer visits and to the foot of the pedestrian entrance for the Rainbow Bridge. Had we had our passports it would have become an international adventure, but instead we promised ourselves we'd be back in warmer days when the chill breeze off the river would be welcome on our walk to Canada.

That Holiday Feeling

The neon lights of the Aurora Theatre marquis glowed brightly against the late December gloom, and across the street the red and white striped awning of Vidlers 5&10 cheerfully capped the busy sidewalk. The windows of McDuffies Bakery and Beulah's General Store were decked in ribbon and evergreen, their holiday treasures visible within. Tiny pellets of snow rattled against the last of the dry leaves in the trees, and a frigid wind tingled my cheeks as I dashed down Main Street, shopping bags swinging along by my side, anxious for the warmth of my waiting car, but in no hurry to leave this jolly village behind.

Dark and Stormy Night

We finally turned the car toward Buffalo a little after 3 yesterday afternoon. A steady rain was falling, the sky was heavy and so was the traffic. It took us 90 minutes to go 30 miles, but I kept a white-knuckled grip on both the steering wheel and my holiday cheer.

The storm was tracking from the south, and steady rain and scattered fog was with us all the way. Fortunately it stayed a couple degrees above freezing, even in the Pennsylvania mountains, and traffic then was understandably very sparse. For miles at a time, our hi-beams were the only illumination on the dark, wet road.

Except for the Christmas lights! From Virginia to New York, up mountains, across valleys, in towns, on country roads, and off the side of  the interstate, they shined through the storm on the second longest night of the year.

And we arrived safely a little after midnight.

Not Quite There

Our plan was to leave by noon and run a couple of errands on the way. That way we would reach Buffalo in time for a late dinner.

Um...

Auld Lang Syne

With a small sigh, I turned the key in my top desk drawer, stepped out into my classroom, and gave it a critical look. 28 chairs were neatly pushed under 7 tables. The bookcase was a bit of a mess, but I preferred to think that was because kids were looking for something to read. The 20 cans my homeroom donated for the food drive were neatly stacked on the computer cart, with its full complement of laptops charging. My desk itself was clear of everything but the shiny sub plan folder we had been issued to organize all the necessary resources a substitute teacher might need. I knew that it held rosters, student pictures, seating charts, and detailed plans for the next two days, but still I paused. At last I crossed to the door, turned off the lights, and locked the room.

School year 2018 was out of my hands, and I was on vacation.

Corny Like a Fox

"My soul is just a shinin"! It's shining through!" said a student this morning when I asked him to get his reading book from the shelf.

"Great!" I answered. "How about shining over to get your book?"

"It's a shinin!" he replied without moving. "Shining bright!"

I could see that the conversation was going nowhere, so I tried a different approach. "I see that!" I told him. "Keep on shining! Brighten our day!"

"Now that's just corny," he scoffed, heading over to pick up his book.

"Sorry!" I shrugged, and hit play on the audiobook.

You Can't Handle the Truth

I looked over a few minutes before lunch to see a student wailing despondently, head on the table. "Hey, now," I said, "what happened?"

Full disclosure? This student is known for extreme emotional outbursts, which certainly doesn't mean such behavior should be dismissed, but I did approach the situation with some prior experience.

She pointed to another student, also no stranger to classroom disruptions. I raised my eyebrows at him. He shrugged and shook his head. We waited for her to speak.

"I asked him why he hates me so much," she managed to choke out between sobs.

"And...?" I asked.

"...and," she gasped, "he told me!"

Status Report

The weekend has passed in a holiday blur, but I am pleased to report that the tree is fully decorated, and the cookies are baked, and the gifts that are here are wrapped, and those that are not here are on their way. There is also a fire burning, a little soft Christmas music playing, and I am wearing red and green, feeling pretty darn good.

No Tech Friday

The wifi was down for most of the day at school yesterday, posing quite a dilemma for teachers who have been encouraged to integrate technology into every lesson. To be honest, it took me a minute, but I finally came up with an activity that would allow my students to apply what we have been learning to their self-selected reading. It also incorporated movement, collaboration, and competition.

Here's how I started: I'm going to give you a 3 x 5 card and a popsicle stick...

No Experience Necessary

"Do you have any children?" a student asked yesterday as she worked on some missing assignments after school.

"No," I answered.

She looked shocked. "So you don't have any experience with kids?" she said.

"Not unless you count the 25 years of teaching," I told her dryly.

"Oh, yeah! I didn't think of that!" she replied, and continued working.

Emotional

The movie we showed the students for the early release day yesterday was Coco. We had some curriculum connection activities for them to do as they watched, which my group did dutifully and well. When they were finished, they could make themselves comfortable and simply enjoy the show, and so the last 15 minutes of the film found a group of three 11-year-old boys lying on the floor in front of the interactive whiteboard, riveted to the climax and resolution of the story.

As the credits rolled, they sat up and began punching each other on the shoulders.

"Who's cutting onions in here?" one of them asked.

"Dude, are you crying?" his friend replied, wiping his own eyes.

"I'm not crying, you're crying!" said the third.

E Pluribus Unum

Today was an early release for students so that teachers might spend the afternoon in professional learning sessions. This year, our system has changed the structure of our PD by centrally offering dozens of opportunities so that educators can select topics that meet our needs at the moment.

In the morning, we took our students to the music assembly, where the band, orchestra, and chorus performed abbreviated versions of their winter concerts. Later, Heidi and I attended a showing of the first episode of the documentary series America to Me, which follows several students of color for a year at Oak Park River Forest High School, one of the Chicago suburbs most progressive schools. The demographics of OPRF are notably similar to our own system, and so the experience of these kids was pretty close to home.

Following the film, the group split into small discussion groups. The first question was What is the difference between desegregation and integration? Our group agreed that desegregation is simply removing a separation between two factions, but integration should entail creating a new whole.

The follow-up question was Where is OPRF and where are we in that pursuit? and we all agreed there is still a lot of work to be done in both places before people of all races share collective ownership of our country and all its opportunities.

I know we have a long way to go, but this morning, at the concert, I sat with a lump in my throat marveling at the miracle of 100 kids from 6 continents raising their voices as one in incredibly moving renditions of A Million Dreams from The Greatest Showman and One Day from MLK. 

Guessing Game

Yet another iPad lost and found story:

Student: Hey Ms. S! I found my iPad!

Me: I'm so glad! 

Student: You know where it was?

Me: Tell me!

Student: What's that thing? It's tall and white. [He put his palms about 4 inches apart and moved them up and down from his shoulders to his waist.] They have them in every house. Sometimes it's hot, sometimes it's cold?

Me: Uhhhh...  the radiator?

Student: Yeah! That's it! It was under there. Thank goodness it didn't get too hot.

Do I know the sixth grade mind, or what?

Wisdom of the Dove

I did my best.

We all did, in the parent-student-teacher conference we held this afternoon. We started off positive: You're not in trouble. We just want you to be more successful. How can we help you? But the child shrugged us off. Mm Hmm. Sure. Whatever.

The parent in this case was a great aunt, someone who clearly cared for him, but was not his mom. She's been away somewhere that he asked the counselor not to share with the team. And he is not only oppositional, but also defiant and ever-so detached. He is really good at being hateful and unlikable, but that's how he controls the uncontrollable terrain of authority and relationships.

We tried, listing his strengths, asking about his goals, offering all manner of assistance, keeping even and even positive for 40 minutes, but his final words were "I won't promise anything."

When the last person left my room, I did something I rarely do: I reached for the chocolate. Someone had recently added a big bag of Doves to the common candy can we keep in my room since I am not usually tempted. I unwrapped a square of milk chocolate truffle and let it melt in my mouth as I flipped over the foil wrapper to see my fortune. Be the rainbow in someone else's storm cloud, it read.

I'll keep trying.