Success at Last!

That little pumpkin kit I got in my stocking?

Well, lookie there!

Never Not Ever

Yesterday, for our food unit we read the book I Will Never Not Ever Eat a Tomato where a boy named Charlie convinces his sister Lola to eat carrots, peas, mashed potatoes, and fish sticks by calling them orange twiglets from Jupiter, green drops from Greenland, cloud fluff from Mt. Fuji, and all the mermaids' favorite, ocean nibbles from the grocery at the bottom of the sea.

Today, the students worked in teams to invent new identities for apples, butternut squash, basil, and cherry tomatoes. They were supposed to use their knowledge of sensory details and figurative language to transform those healthy foods into treats that kids would love to try. To inspire them, I had samples of each so that they could experience them personally.

The results were inventive and entertaining: we ended up with  Saturn slices, butter rocks, Martian gold, sun drops, money sprinkles, baby bouncers, juicy fruit, Martian candy, space jam, warrior nuts, green space octopus, and min-mers (whatever those are!) I'm not sure many kids would want to try many of those foods, but I know a lot of kids who ate their vegetables and did some pretty good collaborative thinking and writing today.

Clean Plate Club

Another day, another food picture to help students recognize analyzing, evaluating, and synthesizing. The task was to look at a composed bowl of food, decide if you would eat it, and figure out what ingredients you might add or subtract to have it your way.

It was a popular question, and I planned time for any student who was willing share to their ideas. As a cook, I found their replies very interesting. Some chose to replace the shrimp with another protein, some chose to add a second protein. Several eliminated the vegetables, and although avocado is very popular, a couple opted out, and a few others made it into guacamole. One student said she only like avocado on toast. Some kids added rice to make it a rice bowl; some added greens to make it a salad. Other additions were hot sauce, cilantro, cucumbers, and tomatoes.

The funniest answer I got started like this, "First I would get rid of the shrimp and avocado. Then the zucchini, peppers, and corn would have to go."

"You would start from scratch?" I asked.

"Yep," the student said, "after I washed the plate."

Have it your Way

I did a quick thinking exercise with my students today. In an effort to explain analysis in a different context, I put a picture of some kind of chili mac casserole up on the screen and posed the question, Would you eat this? Whether the answer was yes or no, I knew that when asked why, they would point to ingredients they recognized in the picture.

"That's analysis!" I explained. "You are breaking something down into its parts to see what it's made of!"

My follow up question was, What would you add or take out to make it a better meal? 

More cheese! Less tomato! No peppers! More peppers! Gluten-free macaroni!

"That's evaluation and synthesis!" I told them. "Writers do that, too!"

Perhaps the analogy was a bit abstract, but I'll keep working on it. Oh, and anecdotally? All the classes before lunch loved the picture! After lunch? They were quite a bit more critical.

Advice from the Coach

The quote of the day today was also the theme of the story we read. What to do with a mistake: recognize it, admit it, learn from it, forget it. ~ Dean Smith.

And all day long? The lesson was relevant.

"I couldn't write last night because..." a student would say.

"Recognize it, admit it, learn from it, forget it," I'd answer. "Are you going to write tonight?"

"I don't have my writing notebook. It's just..." another kid would start.

"Are you going to bring it tomorrow?" I asked.

And when they nodded, "Recognize it, admit it, learn from it, forget it," I'd reply.

"Are you doing your assignment?" I'd ask, and the guilty look was all the answer I needed.

Even so, most kids (heck! most people!) feel compelled to make an excuse. "Recognize it, admit it, learn from it, forget it," I'd tell them and move on.

And so it went. "We should get posters of that!" one of my co-teachers said.

Hmmm.

sk sk sk and i oop

"Are you a visco girl?" one of the students in my small intervention group asked the other day.

"What's that?" I asked. "How do you spell it?"

"V-S-C-O." She laughed. "It's from TikTok-- You have a Hydro Flask, you wear Vans, you have an Apple watch, an iPhone, you like Starbucks and you have a reusable straw... That's VSCO girl. You just need a big t-shirt, some friendship bracelets, a scrunchie, and some lip balm."

"And want to save the turtles," her friend added.

"Wow!" I said, "that totally could be me! But I think I'm probably more of a VSCO Lady."

Too Cool for School

The poster at the craft fair of Dick and Jane running with scissors and captioned, We do bad things because we are bad children. And we like it! made us giggle, so much so, that Heidi purchased the small, hand-sized magnet version of it.

As she paid, the artist chatted her up a bit. "I'm so glad you like it," she said.

"Oh my god!" Heidi replied. "It's hilarious!"

"Thanks," the artist shrugged.

"In fact," Heidi continued, "I'm a teacher, and I just might put this in my classroom."

"Oh," said the artist, wide-eyed, "well." She handed the bag to Heidi. "Just don't get fired!"

Can We Agree on This, at Least?

The times they are divisive! It seems like no one can understand how the people they disagree with could possibly be motivated by anything other than self-interest and fear. Personally, I find not only the current political events stressful, but even the conversation is draining. So much so that I have had to turn off the radio on more than one occasion this week. 

And once I realized that there are actually people who think that what the president did is defensible, I have also avoided reading most of the op-eds out there. Most, but not all. I thoroughly enjoyed the director of the Harvard Writing Center, Jane Rosenzweig's piece in the NY Times called The Whistle-Blower Knows How to Write, especially the two penultimate paragraphs:

Every semester, I encounter students who tell me variously that they hate writing, that they’d rather not write, that for the careers they aspire to they won’t need to write. I explain that no matter what careers they choose, they will have to write — reports, strategic plans, proposals and, if nothing else, many, many emails. 

But I also tell them that learning to write matters because some day they may have something to say that really matters to them and possibly to the world — and they will want to convey it when the moment arrives in writing that’s clear and concise.

Amen! 

Feedback Loop

On the eve of spending part of my weekend grading the first big assignment of the year, my fellow-teacher Mary and I spent a little time looking at the feedback we had received on a unit submitted (not by our choice) to a prestigious international educational organization.

Of the three ratings in each category-- beginning, using, and sharing-- we had gotten an even split between the lowest and the middle. In other words, according to someone somewhere, our unit needed some work. Whoever had evaluated it had written well over 1000 words of advice and suggestions, but to us? Rather than a road map to revision, the prose was convoluted and confusing. Plus, we have no real interest in fixing whatever they think is broke, maybe because the planner is a shadow of what we actually do in the classroom, written during time when we think we have more student-related things to do.

All of this is to say that extensive comments are a waste of time unless the writer values first, the task, and second, the reviewer, a truth I'll keep in mind as I offer my own thoughts to my students this weekend.

Interval Training

I like my work week structured like my workout:

Instead of five steady days this week, I worked one marathon day, took off a day, worked an easy day from home, and then worked two days at a brisk pace, before taking two more days off.

I think such an approach could not only build strength and stamina, but also improve performance.

Just sayin'

You Smell Familiar

Since Heidi was indisposed yesterday afternoon it fell to me to walk Lucy on my own. We headed down the hill and over to the dog park where I hoped she would find some friendly pups to run with. As we made our way along the path from the western gate to the eastern, Lucy did engage a bit with some other dogs, but she was more interested in sniffing than frolicking.

It's a phenomena we have noticed with her lately-- she's a little standoffish with dogs outside her core group, but if the pack is present, she plays with everyone. I guess even with dogs, or perhaps especially with dogs, there is security in numbers.

At any rate, we were about halfway through the park when a blonde doodle and a berniedoodle puppy ran over not to Lucy, but to me. They were both jumping on me like I had a bag of treats, which I did not. Their owner sat on a bench engrossed in her phone the whole time, even as I sternly told them "off!" and "off!" again.

Eventually, they got to Lucy, and they greeted her enthusiastically, too. She played a little with them, but not as strenuously as I wished. A couple minutes later, we moved on down the park. There was something about those dogs that stuck with me though, and when I got home I asked Heidi if she knew them. It wasn't until today that my brain itch was finally scratched. When our dog walker came to get Lucy, she told us there was a doodle fest at her house: Harper and Gatsby were over.

Harper and Gatsby! A blonde doodle and a berniedoodle puppy I have met many times when we've gone to pick up Lucy from the dog walker. They were right-- they did know me! I just didn't recognize them out of context. But who knows what Lucy was thinking?

Shetland

"Is your peerie lad givin' you trouble?" Detective Inspecter Jimmy Perez asked the wife of a person of interest.

I hit pause. "What does peerie even mean?" I asked Heidi. We were watching the 2nd episode in the latest season of Shetland, a BBC One series based on the classically British crime novels of Ann Cleeves. We stumbled upon the show whilst channel surfing early in the summer, and we have been hooked ever since by the rugged isolated beauty of the land which is mirrored in the rugged isolated integrity of the main character and his team.

So much so, that we have begun planning our some day trip there, with stops in Scotland and Norway, since the islands lie in the North Sea right between the two. But before we go, we have to master the language a wee bit more, do we nae? Peerie? Means small, like the peerie ponies and sheep dogs that bear the name of the islands, and is a synonym for wee, but I'm sure there are some subtle differences that we'll learn when we're there.

Truth in Imitation

This year we are approaching personal narrative through the lens of food memoir on the theory that it might be more concrete for the sixth graders and also inspire them to write on a novel topic rather than rely on those 2-3 experiences they describe year after year. (You know them-- the bike crash, the outdoor lab overnight camping trip, the time they fell off the monkey bars and broke a bone, the loss of a grandparent).

To springboard into the unit we are using Knoxville, TN, by Nikki Giovanni, a short poem full of sensory detail, food, and a strong sense of place. After we read it, students think of a beloved place of their own, brainstorm details, and write a poem using Knoxville as the model. As a fellow writer in the class, I went through the process and composed my own poem.

Here it is:

Acadia National Park, Maine

I always like summer best--
You can pack a snack bag
and roadtrip 12 hours
and listen to audio books
and play name that tune
until you smell the Maine,
fir and pine and balsam,
and eat lobster every night
and wild blueberries
you picked yourself
and gingerbread
and popovers
and hear the gulls call
and the waves roar
at Thunder Hole
and climb all 26 mountains
crossing warm granite ledges
with cool breezes
and swim in icy ponds
under impossibly blue skies
and wake up every day
with your whole family
just like you did
when you were little.

Tails on the Trail

This morning we took the dogs for a quick hike up at Great Falls, the national park that offers some word class hiking along the Potomac River Gorge, just 30 minutes north of Washington, DC. The weather was sunny and dry, if rather warm for late September, and I was surprised by how few people we met along the trail. We did see an exceptionally speedy box turtle and a couple of young deer, all of which raised wonderment in Lucy and her buddy, Beckett. The ranger on the horse, though? Well that just raised an alarm, and we were a bit abashed as we pulled our barking dogs off the side of the trail. The ranger had a bit of a sour look as they passed, but horse didn't seem to mind at all.

Taco Cat

One of the fun things about spending a few weeks in Rochester, MN this summer was the street festival that was held every Thursday. Music, food, and craft vendors lined the streets across from the Mayo Clinic and just a few blocks from where we were staying.

My mom really enjoyed the cauliflower tacos that one of the local restaurants was serving, so much so that we set out to develop our own recipe. We started with all the components she liked-- cauliflower (of course), corn, quick-pickled cabbage slaw, tortilla strips, and a creamy salsa squirted over the top, and from there built our own versions of each: a little more spice, a little more acid, a little less heat, a little more greenage.

We enjoyed those tacos more than once while we were there, and tonight when I made them for our dinner here in Virginia, I was missing my mom and the time we spent together this summer in Minnesota.

Free Lunch

At the end of the third week of school, the sixth graders finally got their iPads today, and let me tell you-- it was like a holiday! They were all very excited and appreciative, and the goodwill engendered by handing out free electronic devices worth hundreds of dollars lasted all day. Oh, in the not too distant future there will be scuffles and confrontations over the distractions that their tablets are, but today? We were like Santa on Christmas Eve, which was a good way to spend the Friday after Back-to-school-night.

Tough Audience

Years ago, my sister asked me how my new students were. "Well," I answered, "they are smaller than the kids last year, and not quite as quick thinkers." I paused. "I guess they're kind of short and stupid!"

I was joking, of course, but now that my 27th  Back-to-school-night has come and gone, I've decided that, like their children, parents, too have a group identity. Some years, it's kind of a reunion-- the parents know each other, some of them know me, and there is a pervasive party vibe. Other years, the parents seem to really get the program and what we are trying to do with their kids in a writing workshop. They are excited and engaged by the possibilities I present. Some years there are a lot of characters that stand out-- eccentric parents, outspoken parents, one year I even had some drunk parents. Those make for good stories to swap the next day at lunch.

But this year? It was very low key. No one laughed at my little jokes, and no one had any questions about my presentation. A couple told me that their kids like the class, and that's always nice to hear, but in general, it was kind of drudgery for all involved. I'd like to blame it on the information overload in the 20 minute video we all have to watch at the beginning; it doesn't set a very inviting tone, but to be honest? I've overcome it in the past.

I think these parents are just tall and boring.

Means and Ends

Our staff meeting today involved walking around, doing math activities, pairing up with a stranger, answering random questions, and then describing the math experience.

Oh, I did fine. I played Challenge 24 for a little while, high-fived the first person I made eye contact with (who happened to be the new social worker), and told her that, as an introvert, I would prefer to be rich with no friends rather than poor with lots of friends. She raised an eyebrow at that, but I got her back when we had to talk about our math experience.

"I didn't do it," she confessed.

"You better have a good reason!" I mock scolded her, and we laughed.

"I actually do," she said.

"Let's hear it! We have 30 seconds to kill!" I joked.

She told me about an undocumented parent whose child, a student at our school, is quite ill. This mom doesn't have insurance and was seeking help. "She's not eligible for anything because she's undocumented," she finished.

"What about the kid?" I asked. "Isn't he or she a citizen?"

Her eyes lit up. "My gosh!" she said. "That might be the answer. Although, the way things are now, if Mom's applying for documentation, she can't have any record of social services."

Right then, time was up, and we were told to high five each other again, say how amazing we were, and return to our seats.

A New Approach?

Not yet as popular as Marie Kondo but with every chance of getting his own Netflix show is Garr Reynolds and his concept of Presentation Zen. For anyone who has ever sat through an excruciating slideshow, or worse yet, created and presented one, Reynolds has a set of guidelines meant to make your presentation more engaging and more memorable.

As a teacher? This notion speaks loudly to me. Streamlining my lessons is always my goal. And as the victim of many, Many, MANY boring slideshow-based presentations?

Back to school night is my first project. Here are the tenets I am using to design my 27th BSN presentation:

1. Think before you turn on the computer. I have all my notes on a legal pad.
2. Keep your audience in mind. What do the parents want to know when they leave?
3. Have a solid structure. In progress
4. Have a clear theme. Guiding question for the year: How can we become better writers? 
5. Remove the non-essential. I usually run out of time. Why?
6. Hook 'em early. In progress
7. Show a clear conflict. Writing is a struggle and so is working hard to improve on anything. 
8. Demonstrate a clear change. Supporting writers in their practice will help them improve.
9. Show or do the unexpected. Um....
10. Make 'em feel. Writing is thinking, and writing is an effective way to show what you know, and connect with others.
11. Be authentic. Aw, shucks.

Still Dumb

"Doesn't that distract the students?" several colleagues have asked upon noticing the endless recess that goes on at the elementary school right outside my window.

To be honest? After the first day, the kids pretty much ignored their younger counterparts romping and climbing and running and yes, fighting and crying,often unnoticed by the adults out there, but for me it stirs resentment I still haven't resolved about the whole situation. I still think building a school in that space was a dumb idea, and I'm still annoyed that the powers that be went ahead and did it anyway despite many objections.

This morning as I waited for 3 buses to make the turn from the bus lane to the narrow street that leads to both schools so that I could enter the underground garage and descend two levels to park in one of the lotteried spaces walk up two flights of steps and then enter the school as I did for 25 years, I challenged Heidi to think of one positive thing about the present circumstances. We parked and walked and climbed and walked in silence.

"I can't," she admitted as we pushed through the entry doors.

"Me neither," I sighed as we walked past the latest construction.

"Have a good day!" we said together as we went our separate ways.

Pumpkin Dreams

"What is that?" I pointed to a large, green butternut squash shaped object growing by the fence. We had stopped by the garden for the first time in a couple of weeks. The last time I had visited, I had pretty much picked everything clean, and with the droughty conditions, I didn't expect much to be growing.

I traced the vine back to the spot where I had transplanted a handful of seedlings in early July. They had come from a grow-your-own-pumpkin kit that I received in my stocking. Could it be a pumpkin? I wondered with rising excitement, but upon close examination, I just didn't think so. It was the only one of its sort growing, and although the other vines were gangbusters, none of them were bearing any fruit.

Since I had no idea if it were ripe or not, I decided to leave it there and gently turned it over, so that the garden side might see some sunshine. A little research when I got home suggested that it may likely be a Lunga di Napoli squash, an Italian heirloom similar to our butternut, but with green skin instead of tan.

Even so, I'll leave it there and check again next weekend to see if there are any signs that it may turn bright orange by October.

Oh Lord

"Jesus Christ!" the technician cried from the kitchen. He was here to haul away the old dishwasher, and deliver and install the new one.

I bolted up from the couch. "What?"

"I can't close this cutoff valve!" he complained. "Are you sure it's not closed?"

I shrugged and nodded and returned to the couch.

"Jesus Christ!" I heard again, but chose to ignore it. "Ma'am!" he continued. "Can you come out here please?"

It seems the valve was faulty-- dry when open or closed, but leaky in between. I assured him I would get a plumber as soon as possible, and went back to the living room.

"Jesus Christ!" he swore again, but this time it was partner who asked him what was wrong. "They used the braces under the countertops!" he scoffed. "That's not right."

The other agreed and went to get the new dishwasher from the truck.

"Jesus Christ!" a voice exploded from under the sink. "Ma'am! Can you come in here?"

"Yes?" I stood in the kitchen door.

"Can you explain to me why someone would put three clamps on the line leading into the disposal?" he demanded.

"Um... no," I answered. "Is that a problem?"

"Well it's completely unnecessary and makes my job that much harder!" he told me.

Apologetically, I returned to the couch.

"Jesus Christ!" he said to no one in particular. "Would you look at this floor?"

I studied my hands and wondered if I needed to report to the kitchen in shame.

Fifteen minutes and a couple of butt-crack views later, the new dishwasher was in. I thanked the team for their labor and I assured them I would have a plumber and carpenter assess the situation soon.

Jesus Christ! I thought, as I closed the front door.

Everybody Wins

We were playing "IB Charades" in home room this morning, and I was kind of surprised at how much my students were enjoying it. Everyone wanted to take turn after turn to act out the 10 Learner Profile traits and the five Approaches to Learning skills, which, to be honest, can be rather dry material.

I have one student who is not quite on grade level, but the other kids are good at including her by meeting her where she is. On her first turn, she chose Balanced and the class got it right away when she very convincingly mimed walking across a tightrope. Her next turn she got Caring, and I was initially confused when she dropped to her hands and knees and started across the carpet.

"Come here," I told her. "I think you read that word wrong," I whispered. "It wasn't crawling, it was caring."

She nodded and picked up a few books and began walking across the room again.

I frowned, and then, figuring it out, gestured her back. "I said caring, like you're really nice, not carrying!" I whispered again.

She was unfazed, and reaching for one of the stuffed animals I keep in a crate by the wall, scooped it up and gave it a hug."

"Caring!" the class guessed.

"You got it!" she said.

Didn't See That Coming

Heidi teaches social skills to some of the kids at our school. In the class, they use the terms "expected" and "unexpected" to describe behaviors. It is supposed to be a value-free way of describing someone's actions, based on reading the social situation and cues. Screaming and yelling and jumping might be unexpected in a science lab, but they would perfectly acceptable and expected at, say,  a soccer game.

To introduce the concept, Heidi comes into the class and slams the door, throws a few things on the floor, and then lays her head down on the table. The students are usually stunned at first, and then Heidi has them tell how they felt when she behaved in such an unexpected way. She has done this lesson for years, and I always enjoy hearing how kids I know reacted to her antics. The things they say are funny and revealing. "I didn't even want to look at you!" one student said. "I didn't know what was so wrong!"

This year, though, there was a first. "I need to speak to you in the hallway!" a little girl told her, hands on hips, which was a very expected reaction... if you're a teacher!

Seen and Heard and

I sat at my desk fiddling with my email and google drive attempting to pull up an agenda that someone had shared with me. We had just finished an all-sixth-grade meeting in my room and were scheduled to begin the ELA department meeting in about 10 minutes, so I was trying to project the discussion items on the screen for everyone to see. In frustration, I reread the email about the upcoming meeting, but there was no agenda attached. Then, I noticed the following message in small italics:

Be Seen. Be Heard. Be Brave.

This is a session for those who deeply desire to empower their students to be brave in the classroom. We will discuss how guilt, embarrassment, humiliation and shame hinder students from displaying bravery, achieving academic success and age appropriate independence while teacher modeled vulnerability can release students to be seen, be heard, and be brave in the classroom. Participants will review the work of Dr. Brené Brown, shame and vulnerability researcher from the University of Houston, and leave with ready to use classroom experiences and management tools for all age levels. All educators of students welcome!

It didn't seem like the right info for a department meeting. "What are we even doing in this meeting?" I asked irritably.

A few colleagues had filtered in early, and a teacher I didn't recognize walked over to my desk. "Hi," she said, "you must be the teacher whose room this is. I'm Michelle, and I'll be leading the session today."

That was... brave.

Listening Skills

"There are three things extreamly hard, Steel, a Diamond and to know one’s self." 

The quote of the day today was by Benjamin Franklin, and I thought it nicely set up the activity where the students had to choose a character trait of their own and tell a story illustrating it. In my 3rd period I had a student read the words out loud so that we could talk about it, just as I had in the previous two classes.

Before we could get to any kind of discussion, though, a puzzled voice called out, "I don't get it! That's only two things."

"What do you mean?" I asked him, "It's three: steel, a diamond, and to know yourself."

"That's two," he replied. "What's the other one?"

We went back and forth a couple of times, until I realized that he was sitting with his back to the screen. He wasn't reading the QOD; he was only listening to it. His next comment confirmed what I was beginning to suspect.

"Anyway," he scoffed, "stealing a diamond wouldn't necessarily be that hard."

Protective Gear

I'm not one who chooses her clothes the night before. Sort of like menu planning, I prefer to check the weather and see how I feel when it comes time to dress. Lately my strategy hasn't been as quick and easy as it once was. Perhaps the beginning of the school year with its different wardrobe considerations has thrown me off; perhaps the unfamiliarity of these cooler weather clothes I haven't worn all summer presents a challenge.

Whatever it might be, when I dressed in a pair of gray ankle-length chinos and a black t-shirt this morning, the issue of shoes was the problem. My Vans and sneakers looked odd, and I didn't care for the topsiders either. In exasperation I slipped on my flip flops which looked perfectly at home after a summer spent between my toes. I hesitated, because I don't usually wear them to school, but time was ticking and so I clip-clapped down the stairs and into my day.

It just so happened to be locker issue day, and so I found myself crammed into a narrow hallway with a a hundred sixth graders trying to get to their narrow little lockers and spin those combinations for the first time. In their eagerness, at least 5 kids trod heavily on my flip-flopped feet. A little while later there was a fire drill, and my unprotected toes were stepped on again and then again in the crush of kids in a ridiculously small evacuation area.

Tomorrow is picture day, and although I don't know exactly what I'm going to wear, you can bet my feet will be covered.

Sink or Swim

"Are Sundays painful for y'all?" asked our friend Lauren's mom just a little while ago. We were enjoying a glorious evening while chatting on the stoop, and Jackie, a retired teacher herself, spoke with a knowing tone.

"They sure can be," I said. "In fact, when we left the doggie birthday party we were invited to at 4 this afternoon, I felt like I could barely drag myself home."

She nodded sympathetically.

"But then I asked Heidi if she wanted to go over to the high school pool and swim," I told her, "and even though neither one of us really wanted to? We did! And now I feel pretty good!"

"Well, good for you!" Jackie said. "That's a good way to survive."

No Time like the Present

There was an almost imperceptible hint of Autumn in the air when I took the dog out at 7:30 this morning. The light was a little more golden; the air held the slightest chill. We should go hiking! I thought to myself, and then thought of everything I wanted to do on this first real weekend of the school year: But not today, I concluded.

Later, I was telling Heidi about all the hiking we might do this fall. "But not today," I said.

Just then, the phone rang. It was my brother. "We're going hiking!" he told me. "Want to come?"

"Yes!" I answered, "we do."

And we did.

Canary in the Coal Mine

The "Welcome" assembly hadn't even begun this morning when I spotted one of our most restless students squirming in his seat. I knelt down next to him and quietly asked him to sit in the chair rather than wiggle around on top of its folded seat.

He sighed, crestfallen, and sank into the red velvet theater seat. He wasn't defiant or angry; he was just struggling to be comfortable and still in this structured environment. "If you need a break," I told him, "just ask. I'll be right over there." and I returned to my own seat across the aisle.

He did not take me up on my offer, but as our school administrators went through the annual litany of warnings and don'ts, I watched him as he quietly tapped his foot, rubbed his eyes, pulled his hair, and lightly banged his head on the seat in front of him.

He never bothered anyone, but he was never engaged in the presentation, which was a text-heavy slideshow with a lot of adult narration. For him, it was 45 painful minutes with no gain in knowledge or understanding.

Noted.

Present Day

I'm not sure if it's my years on the job, the kids in my classes, the teachers on my team, the way I spent my summer, or something else, but it sure doesn't feel like it's only the third day of school!

Name Game

We have the students' legal names in front of us on the first day of school, but kids frequently go by other names, either middle or nick, and I always ask for guidance in pronunciation. In addition to the Abbies, Jack, and Maddie, and Ike, this year it seemed like there were a whole lot of kids with non-Anglo-Saxon names that had already thrown up their hands at the way native English speakers have mangled their names: Abidi was Abdi, Rayan was Ryan, Dibora was Debra, and Chinkhuslen asked to be called Charlie. (Coincidentally, he was sitting next to Charles, who wanted to be called Austin, not his middle name.) We also have a Zakary who is a girl, and in a quick write where she was asked to write something she wondered about, she wrote, I wonder where my dad came up with my name.

Relativity

In all my years of teaching so far, last year was definitely the toughest. A combination of large class sizes and many high-need students really kept us on our toes. Some days were definitely more challenging than others, but I tried to stay positive. These kids are making me a better teacher, I said to anyone who would listen, and I meant it.

A few years ago, I lost a lot of weight. I had put on the pounds gradually in my forties and early fifties, and a combination of calorie counting and extra activity helped me shed the extra weight over a year and a half. That summer, I was amazed at how much energy I had and how easy anything physical seemed. It was like I was skipping and sliding through every day.

After one day, this school year? Seems like that summer. Smaller classes and kids who seem a bit quieter made me feel like super teacher today. I could move through the room, reach every student, pivot when something wasn't quite right, and it all seemed effortless.

I have kept the weight I lost off, but everything isn't as light and easy as it was when I first lost it. I'm sure there will come a point in this year, too, when I feel the full weight of being the teacher that each student in my class needs and deserves. But for now? I'm enjoying the glide.

Pushing the Deadline

On the last day of summer, the minute I rolled out of bed I made a list of everything I wanted to accomplish. Usually? Crossing a few things off the list and chalking the rest up to over-ambition is enough, but today?

Today I completed my list, which was a mix of home and school and personal obligations.

And now, learning management courses set up, rosters created, lesson planned and written, meeting agendas composed, shelves and drawers organized, donations documented and packed for drop off, and new furniture ordered, we're off to the Doggie Dip. Then it's home for some shrimp tacos before turning in early to be sure we are well rested tomorrow--

not on the list, but I'll check them off anyway.

Stressless

A friend out in Minnesota was telling us about the Stressless chair she had ordered for her husband. "It's really the only chair I can use," she said, "and he needs one, too." A little research revealed that the oh-so-comfortable chair and ottoman furnishing our airBnB was actually a knock-off of the Norwegian brand she spoke so highly of.

Heidi and I have been in the market to replace our 20+ year old armchair for sometime (after thanking it for its service, though; I really love that chair), so when I sat on it in black shorts yesterday and stood up, stiff in the knees and hips and covered in cat hair from the upholstery, a leather Stressless chair seemed like a grand idea.

Turns out there is a store that carries the line not even 10 minutes from our home. The shopping experience there was lovely, and although we didn't buy? Chances are good that we will purchase a chair AND a couch tomorrow, because hey!

It's time for an upgrade.

Labor Days

Being back at school returns definition to the weekends. Coming off a week at work, Saturday morning feels like something special, and the beginning of a three day weekend bursts with promise. I spent the early hours of my day reducing blackberries to jelly with rosemary and pink peppercorns, stewing the last of the fresh shell beans from the garden, and simmering down a batch of rainbow cherry tomato sauce. Rather pleased with myself, I turned my attention to rigging up that dishwasher rack to last just two more weeks until the new dishwasher arrives. Then I read the paper and did a little online research into some new furniture. And next? Blog written and fueled by blackberry jelly and black eyed peas with tomato I am headed to the gym, after which I will shower and dress for an evening with family.

And there are still two more days left of the holiday weekend!

I Hope that Someone Gets My...

Mindful that once I left this afternoon I wouldn't be back until the first morning of school, I was tidying up my classroom and going through a few things that were on the bookshelf by my desk. A small wooden box from Guatemala caught my eye. I couldn't remember who had given it to me or when, and it seemed like the kind of item I could part with.

I picked it up, perhaps to thank it for its service, perhaps to toss it, and gave it a shake. It was empty, but still I flipped the colorful lid open on its little leather hinges. There inside was a folded piece of bright pink paper. It was entirely possible that I had put it in there myself maybe a few or maybe many years ago, so I pried it from the rough interior and unfolded it.

Eldana was here! was scrawled in pencil on what turned out to be a post-it note.

Eldana! She was a kid with a big personality who I spent a lot of time with last year. Turns out, the note hadn't been in there too long at all: who knows when that rascal waited until my attention was turned to pinch a post-it and stow it away for another day like a message in a bottle? The find was bittersweet, though, because Eldana is going to another school for 7th grade, and it's not too likely that I will see her again.

On the other hand? That kid is full of surprises, so again, who knows? Oh, and I decided to keep the box.

Tabula Rasa

I had to rush to get the last of the posters on the wall before the 2 PM start of our annual open house, but the room looked pretty presentable when the new sixth graders and their families started to arrive. The next two hours passed in a blur of shy smiles, handshakes, and slightly awkward conversations.

Of 110 kids, I only have 2 siblings of former students, and after 27 years, that's unusual enough to make me scratch my chin. Maybe it's because we have had three teams instead of two for seven years now? Perhaps the boundary changes made an impact?

Hard to say, but whatever the cause? I'd call this year a pretty clean slate.

Dusty Dolphins

My classroom is full of dolphins. Our middle school team is named the Dolphins, and the decor in my room has followed suit in the 20 years since that christening. In addition to framed prints and posters, nylon banners, magnets, postcards, book marks, ceramic ornaments, and coffee mugs there are also three plush stuffie dolphins hanging from the ceiling. The largest one is pretty impressive: four feet long with a goofy smile and a missing button eye. He was a parting gift from the colleague who proposed the name. "I won't need this anymore," she said when she changed schools.

That guy has been up there since June 2000. "What's his name?" the new kids always ask, and at first the question made me pause. I shrugged and reached up to give it a pat. A cloud of dust worthy of Pigpen puffed out into the air.

"Dusty!" I told them.

"Dusty the one-eyed dolphin!" they answered, and that became his name.

Since then, he has been joined by a much smaller, darker gray version that another colleague gave me when her kids outgrew it. That guy was quickly dubbed Junior. And then about 8 years ago I visited the amazing Atlanta Aquarium with my niece and nephew. In the gift shop we found the most huggable pink dolphin with embroidered spirals. Clearly it was a must-have, and that one has been hanging in my classroom since. (Name, you wonder? New Pink Dolphin)

This morning when I was standing on a chair to rehang a few things in my room, I got a closer look at NPD. A thick layer of gray dust dulled the colorful spirals and plush pink exterior. Gross! I thought. What to do?

I'll tell you what: I pulled the lint roller from my desk drawer and proceeded to go through at least a dozen sheet changes as I spiffed up my stuffed dolphin collection. As I methodically rolled them from to bottlenose to fluke I was kind of shocked that I'd never thought of doing that before.

When a colleague caught me in the middle of my chore, she was initially a bit surprised, but she recovered well. "what a good idea! Do you do that every year?" she asked.

"I do now!" I told her.

Thoughts from the Lap Lane

A week from today our pool will be closed. Some years, the end of August is so hot that it seems we should keep it open until October, but tonight when I walked up to swim some laps there was a cool breeze, and when I jumped in? It was coooooold!

Which was fine, because it made swimming for exercise that much easier, but it was also a reminder that come next week, I'm going to need another place to swim. Maybe indoors.

Let's Go

It was a good first day back.

Everyone was nice, and it was nice to see everyone. I got two hugs, a few compliments, and several laughs at my jokes. Even though I was a little behind, it was easy to take the time to be kind and empathetic. The activities were a good mix of meetings, professional development, small group, and on-your-own time. Lunch was good. Class sizes seem manageable, and the kids look nice, but not without some wackiness.

Year 27...

I see you!

The Beautiful

Minnesota-Wisconsin-Illinois-Indiana-Ohio-Pennsylvania-Maryland-Virginia

I saw them all on our way home yesterday and today, and even from the interstate there were some amazing views: rolling prairies and plains, so many farms, the Mississippi River, Wisconsin Dells, the Chicago skyline, the RV Hall of Fame, the infamous GM plant in Youngstown, the Laurel Highlands, the Appalachian Mountains, the Washington Monument, the Pentagon,

and home.

It was not quite sea to shining sea, but it sure was a good chunk of America.

Turn Signal

A chill wind blew and yellow leaves were literally falling from a tree down the street covering the pavement with the first blanket of Autumn as we rolled out of Rochester this morning. I guess it was time to go. 

Present Moment

It was tempting to manage my stress by throwing everything in the car at 8 PM and driving until midnight to get a head start on our trip home, but I'm glad I thought better of it. Such an attitude might be the very definition of living for tomorrow-- neglecting what is left of this glorious weather and our last few hours here in rockin' Rochester, a place where I have been very comfortable, and happier than our situation might ever suggest.

And so we decided that once our packing was done we would have a seat and enjoy tonight-- sip a beer, watch some Netflix, and savor the quesadillas concocted from the leftovers in the fridge. The journey is unavoidable, but the road can wait a few hours.

Seasonal Advice

This far north the daylight lengthens and shortens ever more rapidly as we get closer to the solstice. Today is 3 minutes shorter than yesterday, and in the 26 days we have been up here, the days are shorter by 58 minutes. 

Back home, when they put the fall displays up at this time of year it seems more than a little premature, but here there is a golden softening of the light and, yes, an ever so slight chill to the air that reminds me unequivocally that the world is indeed hurtling forward on this trip around the sun. 

And, as my mom reminded me this afternoon, if you shop early, you have a better selection.

Just Peachy

The past few years we have traveled to Atlanta at the beginning of the summer and New Jersey at the end, enjoying family and friends and delicious peaches throughout the season.

And while this summer away from home has been filled with fun and family, it has been a summer without peaches. The crop had not quite arrived when we left in mid-July, and here in Minnesota the climate is too cold for that temperate fruit. Sure, the grocery stores are full of rock-hard specimens and promises that they will ripen in a day or two, perhaps in a paper bag, but the reality is often mushy and bland.

So, I have avoided the peaches. That is until the other day when I passed a display of Colorado peaches that looked genuinely promising. A little squeeze convinced me that these might not be too bad, and I took a chance and chose a half dozen. The next morning I was not disappointed-- they weren't the best peaches in the world, but they weren't awful, either, and they were my first peaches of the summer, and so I enjoyed them.

Later in the day, at another store, I couldn't resist a big pile of huge, Jersey-looking peaches, and yet again, a little squeeze gave me some encouragement that they might not be awful. Once again, I was not disappointed. Although far from the perfect pick-your-own peaches of my childhood, they were fine. A little cinnamon, a little sugar, a spoonful of tapioca pudding, and summer was really here at last.

Down at the Feed and Seed

Every time I cross the tracks on my way to see my mom, my eye is drawn to a sprawling building down the block. "Feed & Seed," reads the sign, and in smaller letters, "Antiques and Gifts". Oh how that sounds like my kind of place!

So today, after I had a true Dorothy moment when leaving the hospital I encountered low clouds and powerful winds which quickly swirled into a torrential downpour (so much so, that I was almost convinced that upon my arrival at the condo I would have to pound the storm cellar door with my heel), we decided to make the most of a rainy day and do some local shopping. Of course the F&S was our first stop, and it did not disappoint. In the front of the store we  saw ten foot stacks of 25 pound bags of dog, cat, and other animal feed. There was all sorts of bird seed, too, and a lot of hummingbird stuff. A little farther into the store there were fifty pound bags of water softener stacked by a tower of salt blocks and several duck decoys.

The farther we got into the store, though, the more magical it became. It was one of the most pleasing junk shops I have ever visited. Items were artfully arranged by both color and use. For example, there was a whole corner of green:  folding chairs, thermoses, oxidized copper, and farming tools.

Heidi and I spent well over an hour in there, and in the end we left with a collection of old novelty buttons and pins and four Swanky Swig glasses-- tiny vintage drink ware that first held Kraft cheese spread. Each year there was a new pattern, and so we know that ours were made in 1934, 1937, 1947, and 1948.

And they are the perfect size for sipping beer!

Peeping Lucy

We've known for a while that our dog is a window watcher. It's common to see her nose and eyes peering down at us from the window on our upstairs landing whenever we leave the house. Unfortunately, neighbors have also reported that they not only see her up there, they hear her barking, too.

One of the many things I admire about Heidi is her attitude toward behavior. She doesn't get mad; she does her research, and then she gets serious. When presented with a problem like that, she'll have several possible solutions in an hour and then she will work on it until it is solved.

It's been that way the whole month we've been in Minnesota. Lucy has been pretty good about new situations, but not perfect. There have been barking and jumping issues. She's a good dog, but she has had to work hard to understand the dynamics and expectations of a lot of new places. My mom's condo building was especially challenging-- how much of that enormous inside space did she have to protect? We figured that to her, all of the apartment doors seemed like other rooms in a reallllllly big house. It must have been overwhelming to try to figure out what was a threat and what was not.

She did spend a little time on the fourth floor balcony there, and Heidi used the clicker to teach her that it was okay for people to go about their business in the parking lot below. Even so, we caught her standing up a few times to look out the windows, a low growl rumbling in her chest.

Here in Rochester, the set up is a little closer to ours. The house-style building has 8 units, all with their own outside entrance. From our third floor condo, we walk down a couple flights of weather-proof steps to get to the street. On the way, we pass a couple of doors and windows.

The doors are familiar to Lucy-- she knows  and understands them from our complex, but the windows throw her off a bit. She is used to looking out, so we hope our neighbors can ignore it when a big red nose presses against their bedroom window!

Across the Tracks

It's an easy walk from our rented condo to the hospital where my mom is recovering, just 10 short blocks, but you do have to cross some railroad tracks along the way. And every time I do, I am tempted to empty my pockets of change and scatter coins all along the rail in hopes that when I return, I will be able to collect a new pocketful of smushed pennies, nickels, and dimes.

Why the urge to destroy my currency? I'm not sure. Certainly flattened coins are pleasing in their own way, thin and shiny and smooth, and knowing that an actual train on its way to who knows where on actual tracks did the deed? Well, there's something romantic about that, too.

So maybe it's not destruction, but rather transformation, that has my fingers fiddling in my pockets as I cross the tracks on the way back and forth from the hospital. The notion that something can literally be hit by a train and survive... changed, beautiful in a different regard, and in some ways even more valuable than before?

That's a talisman I could use.

Not Just Me

"What's the weather down there?" my mom asked my uncle in Maryland on the phone this morning.

"Haaaaarible," he answered in his lingering Massachusetts accent. "Humid and feeling like 100 degrees for the next week at least."

"We're lucky up here!" I chimed in. "We've had my favorite weather all month. Cool in the morning, mostly sunny and warming up to about 80 by the afternoon." I paused, and recognizing my egocentricity, laughed. "I guess that's pretty much everybody's favorite weather!" I continued.