Best of the Best

Noon today found me telling my homeroom students how much I appreciated them. They were willingly working on an activity where they imagine that one of the United Nation Global Goals had actually been achieved; the task was to describe that world in poetry, essay, narrative, or visual art. I played John Lennon's Imagine as they worked on descriptions of a world without poverty, social injustice, pollution, economic disparity, limited education and health care. "You guys are definitely one of the best homerooms I've ever had!" I told them, and I meant it. "You always give the activities a chance, and you usually see their value. It's amazing!"

"What were your other TAs like?" someone asked.

"Oh, I've had some good ones-- we have sung and danced and crafted and created and worked hard, but what's really amazing is that our TA has never even al been in the same room, and we've had a great year."

"How many TAs have you had?" asked another student.

"Twenty-nine!" I answered, and they were duly impressed.

"What about me?" one kid joked. "Am I the smartest, best student you ever had?"

"You are definitely in the top 3000!" I told him.

Generations

"I found out today that Julia Child is one of my student's great-great aunt!" my friend Mary told me today.

I was impressed, but then I started questioning how closely they were actually related. "So she was his great-grandmother or great-grandfather's sister?" I mused. "By blood or marriage?"

Mary told me she would investigate further, but we both agreed it was pretty cool. 

As luck would have it, I have a picture of my own great-grandmother on the desktop of my computer. I recently came across it while browsing the hints on my genealogy website. A stark black and white photo, she had it taken for her passport in 1919. Her head is tilted and the entire left side of her face is in shadow, but it is the first image I ever recall seeing of my father's grandmother, who died just 4 years before I was born, and I'm pretty sure I never met any of her siblings. 

These days, great-grandparents are quite common; almost all of my mother's friends had "great-grands" as they called the children of their grandchildren. I suppose it wouldn't be uncommon for those little ones to know the brothers and sisters of their great-grandparents, especially in a close family. And when I consider myself as a middle generation, rather than on either end of this familial spectrum, great-great aunts don't really seem so distant. My older nephews are both in their mid-to-late twenties, and were they to have any children, then my own dear Aunt Harriett would be their great-great aunt, not such a vast span at all.

Have Them Your Way

Just as surely as the cicadas emerge every 17 years, so, too, do the recipes for them. Most articles and interviews profile chefs, nutritionists, and scientists in a quest to normalize insect eating and thereby improve life on the planet by adding a more sustainable protein to everyone's diet. 

Described alternately as soft shell crab like or nutty, cicada tacos, sushi, brownies, and dipped in chocolate dominate the food press, just as I remember happening in 2004 and 1987. 

I wonder: Will 2021 be a true turning point toward greater insect consumption or just another flash-fried cicada in the pan?

Non-Billable Hours

I started the call a couple minutes early, at 11:58, but I really didn't expect anyone to be waiting. In the waning days of this weirdest school year, office hours have become even less of a thing than they ever were. As sparsely attended as these Monday support sessions have been, today even my heart wasn't in it. Instead of checking through and checking off completed assignments, I flipped through a couple of magazines and read the NY Times online, all the while keeping that channel open in case somebody needed some help or guidance. But the empty black box in the lower right-hand corner of my screen stayed quiet, except for the minutes counting up. Next Monday? Is a holiday, and I think my office might just be closed the last two Mondays after that.

Act of Attrition

It's been a cool May in these parts, and the arrival of the 17 year cicadas was so delayed that many folks who were either too young or too far away to recall 2004 were beginning to doubt that anything out of the ordinary involving large, flying insects was actually going to happen. "I just don't believe it," I heard from several, but after a week in the 80s and 90s, they understand the fuss. An eerie hum straight out of any UFO episode of vintage TV fills the air, and there are so many smushed cicadas all over the street and sidewalks, that it seems impossible that very many of the brood are fulfilling their life's purpose to get up a tree, mate, and lay some eggs. But that is the cicada's survival strategy: defeating predators and pavement with their sheer number. Even when the ground is littered with fallen members of the brood and every bird and squirrel and rat and whatnot has had its fill of protein-rich biomass, they keep coming, and hundreds of millions make it aloft and find an arboreal perch and a willing partner to spin the lifecycle wheel forward for another 17 years.

Priceless

The second day of the millionaire question did not go like the first. Most of these students wanted stuff, all the stuff, or even more money, and spending for college was a rare consideration. Of course, there was the random awesome reply like buy a tarantula ranch or have my own Chipotle, and one student said he just didn't think it was right for anyone to have a million dollars. And I guess that was kind of the crux of the situation-- 12 year old kids don't really have any idea what a million dollars is, even the brightest of them. Take for instance this exchange:

Student: Tax evasion.

Me: What do you mean?

Him: All millionaires evade taxes. 

Me: No they don't. 

Him: How do you know?

Me: There are a lot more people who have a million dollars than you might think. Especially here where real estate is so valuable.

Him: If it's so easy to be a millionaire, then how come you aren't one?

Audible gasps from the other students both on the call and in the room.

Me: How do you know I'm not?

Other students: Oooooooooooh (Now there's a sound I haven't heard in a year or so.)

Him: You're a teacher. Teachers can't be millionaires.

Me; Oh, we can, too. Now what would you buy with that million bucks?

Finding Us Working

Inspiration exists, but it must find you working. ~Pablo Picasso

Anyone who teaches young writers has heard the complaints: I don't have anything to write about. Nothing ever happened to me. My life is not exciting.

Sometimes, kids are so committed to the notion that they have nothing to say that it's nearly impossible to help them find inspiration and meaning in their experiences, but usually it only takes a conversation or two to guide them toward a topic. 

That's kind of how it was today, and I heard a few great stories from my students as they worked. One boy told me that when his mother was a kid, her father was stationed in Taiwan and couldn't be with the family for Christmas. So he made a cassette recording of himself reading The Night Before Christmas which was a tradition for them. To this day, the family still listens to that recording when they get together at the holidays. "I never even met my grandfather," the boy told me, "but I hear his voice every year."

Another student was stuck for an idea until we started talking about spirit days in school. Then she remembered the time in kindergarten when she got her days mixed up and was the only one who went to school with crazy hair. To her credit, she could laugh about it, but she's always very careful about her spirit days now.

And then there was the kid who told me he was starting a new trend. "What do you mean?" I asked and he pointed to the floor. He was wearing his shoes on the wrong feet. "Why would you do that?" I asked him.

"I like it!" he told me.

I could see his big toes poking the sides of his shoes. "Isn't it uncomfortable?" I said.

"Only if you can't take a little tightness," he replied, "but it's worth it to be different."

"Can I write about that?" another student asked.

I'd Buy You a Monkey

Today is National Be-a-Millionaire Day. The premise of the occasion is to encourage people to start saving and investing now, so that one day they might have a million bucks or more. 

If, at the age they are now, the sixth graders in my class could somehow save a couple of hundred dollars a month, they would be millionaires by age 50 (assuming an average 10% return on their investments), but the question of the day today was, What would you do with a million bucks? 

We listened to The Barenaked Ladies singing If I Had a Million Dollars for inspiration as they considered their replies, and I was a little bit surprised and moved at the number of kids who would give a lot of the cash away to charity or people in need. Many would choose to save it for college, or give it to their parents or family. Of course some would use it for games or clothes or cars, but in general, it seemed like that amount of money was too large for most kids to even imagine spending it all on themselves. 

"I really wish a million dollars would fall into my lap!" one student sighed at the end of our conversation.

"Yeah, but it would probably break your legs," said his buddy, not really joking. "Especially if it was in coins."

Getting the Layout

One of the question I have been asked the most since students have returned to the building is, Who carved their initials into this desk?

It's a question I cannot answer. "The desks aren't mine," I tell the students. "They were moved into my room for social distancing. In a regular year, I have tables."

"What do you mean?" asked someone yesterday. "What kind of tables? Cafeteria tables?"

"No," I shook my head. "Classroom tables." I swept my arm in an arc across the room. "You know, like school tables, where students sit together and work and learn and share their ideas." 

"Oh!" the kid nodded. "I get it! You're a table teacher."

"Right!" I nodded. "I sure am."

May I Just Say

I spent a big chunk of the day wrangling errant students and compelling them to finish incomplete assignments from the last 4 weeks. It can be maddening work in the best of circumstances: trying to catch kids up without letting them fall too far behind or holding up the rest of the class requires planning and coordination, even when 3/4 of the class aren't physically present. But, we do what we can.

For the most part, the kids willingly obliged, and when they had rectified their missing work situation, they even seemed relieved. And one kid even put some gratitude right into his assignment. 

Answering the last question of his unit reflection, What questions or comments do you have for me? he wrote, "You are very patient with me. Thank you."

Which made the tribulation totally worth it. 

Maybe Monopoly?

For some unknown reason, the testing schedule this year has teachers proctoring exams in classrooms other than our own, even when our rooms are empty. As such, I have spent the past 2 Monday mornings in a science classroom down the hall from my own. 

Since we are not really supposed to be doing anything other than roaming the classroom watching the test-takers take their test (proctor is a verb, after all!), I have become rather familiar with the contents of my colleague's room in thew hours I have spent there. She teaches life science, and in the cross-curricular spirit of our school, her bookshelves are full of novels and trade books that are related to that discipline. Michael Crichton is especially well-represented, and there are copies of that non-fiction classic The Hot Zone as well. 

But it was the stack of board games tucked in the corner that caught my eye. She has about 10 copies of a cooperative board game called Pandemic. The premise? Players are skilled members of a disease fighting team, and it is your job to keep the world safe from, well, a pandemic. Along the way there are politicians and panic and people who do not follow the guidelines. 

Now, I love a good game, and I don't know about you, but that does not sound fun to me.

As the Case May Be

 I was helping my 7th grade niece catch up on some of her math assignments. "We can work on this tomorrow, too," she suggested. "I have until 11:59."

"Okay," I said, "But I have to go to school tomorrow."

"But it's asynchronous!" she said. Yeah, she knows that even though she lives in Georgia.

"Not for me," I shook my head sadly. "I have to give the SOL."

"Which one?" she asked.

"Believe it or not?" I told her, "it's 7th grade math!"

If I May

News today that most mask mandates have been eased or lifted for those who are fully vaccinated. The latest data reports that a little less than 48 percent of the US population has had at least one dose of a vaccine, and here where we live the number is 60%, which is actually closer to 80% of those who are eligible. And just as Pfizer has received approval to administer their vaccine to anyone 12 or older, several students told me yesterday of their weekend plans to be vaccinated. 

Living in a bubble of like-minded people makes it hard to understand why anyone would remain unprotected from the virus, but a conversation I overheard between two kids at school yesterday showed me of why we are not further along in vaccinations. 

"I'm not getting it!" one girl told a classmate.

"What??" the other student was stunned. "Why?"

"I haven't gotten COVID yet, and I don't think I will. I think I'm resistant."

"Won't your parents make you?" the other girl wondered.

"No!" she said. "They won't get it either."

I looked over from my desk. She had her mask pulled down to her mouth.

"Cover your nose, please," I reminded her.

She sighed and with a little roll of the eyes adjusted her mask.

May the Road Rise to Meet You

The question of the day was What is something you did that you will never do again? In addition to our check-in conversation, I was aiming for the students to uncover an alphabiography topic (a short personal narrative with a life lesson at the end), and for many the prompt did just that. 

Never again will they

walk behind a metal swing while someone's on it

leave the house without money

take a road trip without a charger

ride a roller coaster

touch an electric fence with a slice of pizza in the other hand (Spoiler alert! The cow got the pizza.) 

eat a whole habenero

wear white to school

walk away from the oven when cookies are baking

take a test without studying

eat sushi

run around like crazy near barbed wire

stick tweezers in the outlet

take a deep breath of salt and vinegar chips

go to online school

prank call the police

text the wrong person

cut their own hair

touch a cicada

pour sand on a leaf and eat it

steal from their parents

swim with sharks

expect school to be fun and easy 

 Lesson?

Learned.

Come What May

As we putter on in to the final weeks of the school year, We are offering our students a choice of mini-projects to demonstrate what they have learned this year. One of the options is a tried-and-true assignment: a letter to the future you. As part of the planning process students fill out an outline with all sorts of questions to help them think about who they are now and who they might be when they open this letter. Reading through their replies is always a joy-- they are so funny and honest, and I am always reminded of why I have chosen to spend so many years in the company of tweens. 

The last question is What are some words of wisdom you have for yourself?

Only a handful of kids have completed this part so far, but here are their unedited thoughts:

Study hard because I'm coming for you

Know what’s weird? Day by day, nothing seems to change. But pretty soon, everything will change. (Bill Wattersom) 

 you are powerful beyond measure 

 Me, I want you to remember to keep your love of learning, learn math, and I want you to remember that whenever times are hard, I want you to go out for fresh air and spend time with those we love. You are UNIQUE!

if live gives you lemons throw them at somebody cause why do you want lemons the only thing i can think of that lemons are good for is steak and there is better stuff to put on steak and limes are better cause they can be used for more things 

 I hope that I’m still the one who helps out my friends with my listening and advice. 

 You learn more from failure than from success... 

 “Hard work means nothing if you don’t believe in yourself” 

 Dont do anything stupid

Mayhaps

 "What would you say your slogan is?" one of my homeroom students asked me today.

"You mean my motto?" I clarified.

"Yeah, your catchphrase," he responded.

"Is it Can I talk to you in the hall??" one of his snarkier classmates suggested. He's heard that several times since he's been back in person. "I bet it is!" he doubled down.

"To be honest," I replied, "I wish I never had to say those words again." I tilted my head at him. "But how likely is that?" I asked.

He shrugged, noncommittal.

And there you have it.

Maybe, Maybe Not

"That's an understatement," I said to my friend Mary as we worked on the last unit of the school year.

"Well, it's not hyperbole," she agreed.

"What's the opposite of hyperbole?" I wondered.

"Understatement," Mary answered. 

"Or something with 'hypo'," Heidi suggested as she entered my classroom ready to leave for the day.

"Hy-po-bo-le?" I said, and then laughed uproariously, because it is such a silly sounding word. (Say it! You'll see.)

"Oh the fun we have when English teachers get together," Mary proclaimed.

Later, I decided to do a little research and see if there actually was any such thing as hypobole. Indeed there is, but it is not the opposite of hyperbole. No, the term refers to some sort of rhetorical device where one sets up a string of counterarguments just to knock 'em down. That hypobole does sound kind of fun.

But in fact, the antonym of hyperbole is actually 'litotes' (pronounced lid'-uh-teez), and most often is an understatement phrased in terms of what something is not. 

For example, "Well, it's not hyperbole."

Well! I'm no expert, but it seems like Mary nailed it.

May We Meet Again

Today was the first day of state testing, and as the schedule would have, it the kids who have been virtual all year were slated to come into the building and take their reading SOL. I, too, was scheduled to appear despite the promise of asynchronous Mondays until the end of the year. 

To be honest, it wasn't too bad, there was an in-the-trenches camaraderie among the staff that was there, an attitude that made it easier to get through the planning and tech issues that always plague that first day of testing. (Did I say plague? Yes, yes I did.) 

But the benefit of the day was the 15 minutes or so I spent in the theater where the sixth graders were sent before being shuttled off to their testing groups. There, I met in person at least a dozen kids who until then had been only elementary school photos in my grade book and disembodied voices on the call for class. 

Finding them was a little tricky: does anyone have me for English? I called as I entered the auditorium. There were a few waves, and in most cases the combination of muffled voice and eyes above the mask was actually enough for me to identify them. It was really kind of awesome, that in-person human connection, and although I can't say for sure? I think most of them were smiling behind those masks.

A May Day

Bill and Emily came to help me in the garden today.  And what champion help they were! 

To begin with, Bill tossed several 40 pound bags of top soil up and over the six-foot, barbed-wire topped chain link fence!

Next, Emily completely cleared the fence line of English Ivy. "Getting rid of ivy is a hobby of mine," she said.  Well, have at it, girl!

Then Bill added the topsoil and conditioner to the raised beds and roto-tilled it all in.

Meanwhile, I hammered in an edging for the flower and herb bed that skirts the fence.

Finally, Bill used the pick axe to set the trellis for the beans deep enough into the soil so it would stand by itself, and I planted 7 tomatoes, 5 little okra, a couple of peppers, a coneflower and a tiny little basil plant.

A couple of hours later the plot was looking good, and more importantly? It was in a condition where no one will scold me, at least for a few weeks.

Thanks you guys!

End Note: While researching the title of this post, I discovered that the term mayday originated as a radio call in the 1920's and is derived from a shortened version of the French term "venez m'aider", or come help me!

I Can't Tell

Lately I feel more forgetful and curmudgeonly than ever before. Sometimes I have zero recollection of what trusted sources assure me I said or did, and some days? Cranky is my middle name. 

I would give you a specific example, but I can't think of one right now, and frankly it irritates me that I should have to do that. See what I mean?

My question, though, is this: is it situational-- the stress of living and teaching in these trying times, or could it be that gentle decline of aging? But the follow-up inquiry is perhaps more relevant: how and why does it matter?

I'll keep you posted.

No Happy Ending

My friend Mary came by my classroom just as I was finishing my lunch break. "What are you watching?" she asked, wondering about the urgent British voices murmuring through my computer speaker.

"Oh," I said, and hit pause, considering where to begin. "Yesterday I read a story in the NYTimes about a skull they had recreated the face from. The guy was part of the crew on the Franklin Expedition."

Mary nodded. 

I continued, " I had never heard of the Franklin Expedition, so I read a little bit about it--"

"That's why you're so smart!" Mary said.

"Thanks" I laughed, "and then I wondered if there was a documentary about them. They sailed to the Arctic in the 1840s looking for the Northwest Passage, and they were never heard from again."

"Is that what you were watching?" Mary asked. "Did it have actors? I hate documentaries like that!"

"That's funny you should say that," I told her, "because there are several documentaries dating back to the 90s, and most of them do have re-enactments. I was just thinking how much I hate those, too!"

We exchanged I know, right? nods. "What happened to them has been a mystery since they disappeared," I explained. "Over the years they have found lots of clues, and they even found both ships recently. What I was watching was the trailer for an AMC show from 2018 called The Terror which was the name of one of their ships. It's a dramatization of what might have happened to the expedition from the time they got stuck in the ice until they tried to walk to Canada."

"Well put that on your list to watch!" Mary recommended.

"Maybe," I shrugged, "it looks pretty bleak though. There's one part where a guy is looking through his little brass telescope, and it's so cold that it pulls the skin off around his eye when he lowers it!'

We both cringed.

"Plus, I'm just not sure I can get invested in 10 episodes when I know nobody survives."

Wheeeeee

I sat at my desk and worked through my lunch today. It's a bad habit, I know. 

Before COVID we had a lovely little lunch bunch of teachers who gathered every day in my classroom to relax and chat for at least 20 of the 35 minutes we are allotted. Such gatherings were prohibited by safety protocols when we returned to school this year, and now a larger group meets outside every day. But I kind of need some down time then: after spending 4 1/2 solid hours with people, another big group of folks is a little too much for me. So most days I eat alone and work. 

Not taking a break takes a toll on my productivity, though. Even if it seems like I am getting stuff done, by the end of the day, I'm tired and I don't feel farther ahead. So today I took advantage of the breezy, sunny weather and checked the bike share app on my phone. There were several bikes available at the station by our school, and so I trotted over and checked out an ebike. 20 minutes and 3 miles later, my hair was a mess, but I felt great.

Semana de Agradecimiento al Maestro

Was that really a tiny maraca in my teacher appreciation gift bag this morning? Oh my! And the hot Takis in the Cinco-de-Mayo-themed present from the PTA? Just another zesty thank you that perked up my day. And although I literally spit out the tamarind-flavored hard candy (can't think of the last time I had to do that!) and was momentarily disappointed to hear that someone received a piñata (it was just a 2D cardboard image) in place of my flat sombrero, I genuinely both appreciated and felt appreciated by this fun little gesture. 

Olé!

The Least of His Worries

"I'm so nervous about the SOLs!" one of my homeroom students said today about our state assessments next week.

"Why?" I asked him. 

"Because they're soooo important! Colleges will look at them!" he explained.

I paused. Since they are unavoidable, I want our students to take standardized tests seriously so that the data we get might be useful. 

Even so, I couldn't help myself. "No college is going to look at your sixth grade SOL!" I told him. "Especially in a pandemic year!"

He knit his brow and cocked his head.

"Do you feel better?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "I do. I really do."

Spot the Kitty

Lucy loves to play Spot the Kitty on every walk, and truth be told, her exceptional sniffer makes her very competitive. She's also a smartie pants and a tad bit obsessive, so once she's seen a cat in a particular location, she's sure it will be there again. 

It can make for a frustrating walk, but often she's right, and there are a certain pair of black cats that seem to be in on the game. Every time we pass their house, they are lounging in a new place. One day it was the planters by the stoop, another day on the chairs against the fence, and today it was on top of the rolling trash cans at the top of the driveway. 

They are so ninja, that I doubt we would have ever see them if it weren't for Lucy: she raises her nose and strains at the leash until we spot them. "Good girl!" we tell her. "You found the kitties!" 

And then she's perfectly happy to continue on our way.

Fruits of My Labor

How long have we had that garden? I asked myself as I wearily trod home this afternoon after spending a couple hours clearing the winter weeds away. After 2 days, the task is probably only 70 percent done, and then there will be soil conditioning and mulching before planting. 

I've been trying to enjoy
All the fruits of my labor

My strategy is to devote an hour or so each day until it is ready, but a deadline looms. Just this morning we got a little nastygram via email reminding us that if gardens are not prepared by May 15, they could be reassigned to one of the 400 people on the waiting list. Jeepers! 

I've been crying for you boy
But truth is my savior

This is the 12th season we have been working on that corner plot. It is the one we got when someone else abandoned it in 2010, probably because it's too shady on the north side and full of wire grass and mugwort roots that come back with a vengeance year after year no matter how much digging and pulling we do. Or maybe they quit because keeping the fence line clear is another time consuming requirement that only gardens on the perimeter have to contend with. 

Baby, sweet baby
If it's all the same

Oh, I would miss my garden sorely were we to give it up, because truth be told, once it's planted for the season, the upkeep and harvesting are a joy. I just got to get it in.

Take the glory any day over the fame
Baby, sweet baby
~Lucinda Williams

Like It's 2020

A year ago I was walking everywhere, painting rocks, solving murder boxes, baking sourdough bread, and working in my garden. Times were fraught, and these things brought me comfort and joy.

Just as they did today.

Not Who You Think

A parent asked me to call and talk him through his son’s missing assignments this afternoon, and I was happy to do so. The archaic phone system at school does not allow long distance calls, and his cell number had an area code that was not local, so I used the Google Voice account I set up for contacting families when we were virtual. I tapped the speaker icon and set my phone on the desk next to me, listening to it ring and composing a voice mail message in my mind. After 5 or 6 rings, I heard someone pick up and say, “It’s probably someone calling to tell me that my car warranty has expired!” And then after a pause there was a cheery “Hello?”

When I identified myself, he laughed. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t recognize the number!”

At least he picked up!

Probably Maybe

In this brave new hybrid world we found it necessary to combine Poem-in-your-Pocket Day with the poetry unit test. And so the usual assignment to select a poem to share, post it on our LMS discussion, and explain why you picked it, became an assessment, too, just by adding the direction to identify at least 2 poet's tools in the poem.

Despite our yearlong focus on providing evidence from the text to support whatever one is saying, most of our young poets left that out. Not only were they unable or willing to cite a part of the poem to explain why they liked it, they didn't even pull out the poet's tools from the text, preferring instead to just add a couple of terms at the bottom and hope they were right.

Many of them didn't even pretend to be certain. Um, simile? someone literally wrote, hyperbole?

Then there was the writer who chose a poem she had written herself: I think I used simile and a little bit of rhyming.

But my favorite was this one: Now I'm no expert, but I think it has a bit of metaphors.

Table Talk

Since I started teaching in 1993, the furniture in my classroom has always been tables-- at my request. My training was all about student collaboration, and the trapezoidal tables the school supplied have been configured and reconfigured into all manner of arrangements over the years. I reckon that those tables are original to the building, making them circa 1974, and vintage for some time now.

My feng shui of teaching has completely gone by the wayside this year, though. "You won't even recognize your classroom!" a colleague told me after a brief foray into the school back when everything was still shut tight, but getting ready for the time when the doors would be forced open one way or another. She may have been right, except that I had been there a week or so earlier, and I knew my tables were gone and replaced by two rows of laminate and plastic desks. 

Even so, I understood. It was as stark a necessity as the orange duct tape on the floors, the bucket of sanitizing wipes by the door, and the masks we all have to wear, all the time in school. But today, when one of the handful of kids I teach in person was pulling some trash out of her desk, a little flash of resentment flared. "Ugh!" I said to my co-educator. "This is the reason I hate desks! Kids are forever leaving stuff in them."

She nodded sympathetically, but I was on a roll. "There's probably trash in all of them!" I proclaimed, and stepping to the nearest one, bent over and peered in dramatically. A quarter sheet of paper was tucked way back in the corner. "See!" I announced and pulled it out, holding it aloft. Then I looked at it. 

It was a straight up middle school love note! 

The writer had my sympathy, for losing such a thing must have been very stressful. And while I'm glad he was writing in my class? Knowing just how far away his attention was from the lesson? Well!

Yet another reason to get rid of the desks! 

Better Than All the Rest

What's the BEST thing EVER? I asked my students today in preparation to teach hyperbole. "Don't overthink it!" I advised. "Just go with your gut."

The first group latched on to the whimsy of it:

Cats, only cats. They are the superior race, and they should rule the world.

dino costumes

my blanket

vacation

the bell at the end of my last class on Friday

the pool on a hot day 

The next group went deep:

life

family and friends

love

books 

And then they went all sixth grade, too:

me

Chik-fil-a

Takis 

duct tape

Nutella 

hot Cheetos 

But of course, the most popular answer was...

VIDEO GAMES!  

But as for myself? I think I may have to agree with the other adults in the room:

coffee

chocolate

ice cream

and of course?

sliced bread 

Road Work

I took today off, but somewhere on I-85 in North Carolina it occurred to me that I could still join my school Leadership Team meeting using my phone. I had completed my driving shift early in the trip, and so I snugged my airpods into my ears and tapped the meeting app. For the next hour I listened to celebrations, professional learning opportunities, testing updates, schedule flexes, and proposed changes for next year, all the while participating via the chat. 

And when it was all over and done with, I knew for sure that at least I was 70 miles closer to home.

Luxe Life

Throughout all our rental property mishaps this weekend, we've spent quite a bit of time speculating about the nature of luxury. Experience the best of urban luxury proclaims the website of our first place. The 2 bedroom, 2 bath unit on the fifteenth floor with concrete ceilings was not as posh as I expected, especially given the Rolls Royce and Maserati we rolled our suitcases past as we navigated our way from visitor parking into the not-so-ritzy corridors of luxury living. The pool view was pleasant, as was the sunset over the western reaches of Atlanta, but still.

And when we were, well, evicted is such an ugly word, relocated to our current place, which is billed as Local Luxe Apartment Homes, we had no idea what to expect. This neighborhood adjoins Georgia Tech and the residents seem to mostly be people in their 20s. The wifi network in our unit is called Millennial Luxury, but again, the stained carpets in the hallways and the sparsely furnished apartment belies the name. No coffee maker? Is it because Millennials buy all their coffee by the cup? Perhaps, but what about shower curtain liners, dish towels, and beds that aren't broken? 

Still, the contemporary four over four buildings form a horseshoe around a pool with gas grills, ping pong table, and shuffle board, and just off the pool deck is a lounge with fireplace and plenty of comfy seating. Swanky? No. Fun for a party? Probably. And in these times? That would be a luxury, indeed.

Mitzvah

The plans to road trip to Atlanta for my niece's Bat Mitzvah have been in the works since February. We were all vaccinated, and the idea that we might actually gather together as a family for such an important event was exciting and irresistible. So Bill and Emily and Heidi and I made a plan to rent a place, throw the dogs in a minivan, and drive south for a long weekend in April.

And we would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for...

• the dog-friendly rental house, just around the corner from my sister's, canceling us the day before we were set to leave.
• my sister's dog, Panda, blowing out her ACL so that no dogs could visit her, also right before we left.
• the neighbors who complained about Lucy barking and then stood by the door, recording her barking at them, getting us evicted from the place we found on short notice.

All of these things added a lot of stress to our trip. But there were kindnesses along the way, too:

• my sister's friends who kept the dogs all day so that we could attend the ceremony, pack everything up, and go to lunch.
• the rental agent who evicted us, but also found us another place to stay for the remainder of our lease.

What a crazy few days it has been for us! But luckily? 

This weekend is not about us.

Most Popular

In the bottom right hand corner of my blog is a list of Popular Posts. With the minute readership I enjoy, I'm not sure if the algorithm that determines the entries on the list has to work more or less than usual, but I generally recognize why one post or another is mentioned. To be honest, I rarely even look at that feature, but yesterday I glanced over and saw a title I didn't remember: Fair to Middlin'

Intrigued, I clicked the link and was taken to the post I had written exactly 10 years ago to the day, April 22, 2011. It was the end of a week at the beach with family, one that had started with renting a van and road tripping south with Heidi, Bill, my mom, and our dogs Sonic and Isabel to meet my sister and her family. Treat and Emily flew in, too.

I got a lump in my throat reading about our last night at the beach and the dinner conversation we had, and the whole story brought back a flood of sweet memories. Coincidently, just a few hours later I was scheduled to pick up a minivan to drive south with Heidi and Bill and Emily and our dogs to join my sister's family for our niece's Bat Mitzvah.

But the strangest thing about the whole thing was that there was absolutely no reason why that particular post should be on that list. When I checked my stat gadget, no one had accessed it but me, and only because I followed the link right then. By all rights? Fair to Middlin' should have been languishing right along side the other 4,000+ posts that no one has looked at for years.

And yet... there it was.

Get on your Feet

I woke up this morning dreaming that I was dancing. In the morning meditation that my sister turned me on to, we have had three minutes of dancing most of the week, and there's really nothing like it for a positive start to the day. Three minutes goes by in a wink, and there is a smile on my face when I sit down to practice being present. 

Our yogi reminded us of that great Mark Twain quote:

“Dance like no one is watching. Sing like no one is listening. Love like you’ve never been hurt. And live like it’s heaven on Earth.”

It's been so great, I just might add three minutes of dancing to my daily to-do list. 

Join me!

Playlist ideas, anyone?

Middle School Math

"My parents are young! They were really young when they had me!" I heard one student tell another this morning. "My dad was born in 1983 and my mom was born in 1985."

I did a little calculating: 26 and 24 is a bit young by today's customs.

"How do you even know that?" the other student responded incredulously. "I have no idea when my parents were born."

He raised his eyebrows and frowned. "Do you know how old they are?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course," the other kid shrugged.

"Then do the math!" he told her. "Just do the math."

Her eyes widened, mind clearly blown.

He just shook his head in disbelief.

The Wall

When you ask your students to come up with a two word alliterative phrase with their name, 

and

they

just

can't

think

of

anything.

Strange Ways

In the count-your-blessings department, all of my niece's aunts and uncles, as well as her grandmother are vaccinated and willing to travel to Atlanta to celebrate her Bat Mitzvah with her this coming weekend. On the flip side of the coin, planning to entertain out of town guests in COVID times has been challenging for my sister. Just today, she received a call from the restaurant with whom she had reserved a coveted covered patio space to let her know they were switching to a 4-or-6 course prix fixe menu that was really not a fit for our group. 

"You should call the manager," I suggested, but she told me it was the owner, a well-known chef, who had made the decision.

"We picked the place because of all the good work he has done in the food community during the pandemic," she told me, "and now we're stuck. It's disappointing."

"Maybe you could Tweet him," I said.

We brainstormed a few ideas, and eventually she crafted a <280 character message that she was pleased with. After we hung up, I tapped my Twitter icon for the first time in ages, eager to see her handiwork. Scanning my account before navigating over, I checked out my own mentions tab. There I found a Tweet from last May, from the parent of a student.

Above her daughters smiling face, she had posted: Blessings to the wonderful teachers @[ourschool] Thanks for your kindness! You made [my daughter] very happy! #teacherappreciation #QuarantineLife

Her daughter was holding an envelope with a note I had written and the small piece of candy I'd sent in recognition of the writing she had done after our school buildings had closed.

Exactly 11 months later, to the day? I feel the appreciation. And it makes a difference.

Pattern Recognition

"I hate the Oscar movies," Heidi said last night. "They are always, always depressing."

"Maybe this one won't be!" I answered.

It was.

Splash Down

It's been a chilly last few days here, more like March than April. Blustery winds blowing puffy white clouds across a bright blue sky have subsided to a cool gray evening, and the last fire of the season may even be crackling on our hearth this evening. 

But not to worry!

Our pool pass application came in the mail today.

Six weeks and counting.

The Best Medicine

For me, one thing that has definitely been missing from school lately is laughter. The concentration required to keep the necessary plates spinning leaves very little room for spontaneity. Add to that the natural disconnect of virtual interaction, without cameras, with kids you have never met in person and you get a bit of a humor dead zone. Or at least I have.

But today, in my last class of the day, with a lesson I had taught 4 times already, things lightened up a little bit.

Maybe it was "Fun Fact Friday", a tradition I instituted last week with this group because I see them every day, even with block scheduling, and so we need some extra chat snaps. The kids are invited to post any fun fact they know or can find, to school the rest of us. Today we learned that fish can cough, turtle are not silent, and there was a cat who went to college.

Moving on with the poetry lesson, I asked them to post their best definition of simile and metaphor. When Simile is the knock off version and metaphors are the brand you see in a well known store but never get popped up on my screen, I laughed out loud. 

Next it was to write some similes about homework, your best friend, and your family. Here's what we got:

My family are a bunch of wild banjos And yes i mean banjos 🪕 

Me and my best friend are like Mountain Dew and Doritos. 

Doing homework is as fun as smelling rocks 

Doing homework is like when your mom asks to see your phone. 

Doing my homework is as much fun as listening to my fish cough. 

When the bell rang, we were all laughing. 

I have to credit the co-educator I work with-- she and I have gone a long way to make our special education inclusion class a supportive place to learn. I also have to give props to the creative group of students we have in that class. Somehow, we make it work, and today? 

We made it fun.

Ba Dump Bump

The Chat Snap prompt of the day today was Tell us about your favorite animal. Use some poetry!  For the most part, the young poets were happy to play along. A little rhyme, a haiku, some similes and metaphors, perhaps even a quick acrostic poem-- that's all I was hoping for, but as always, there were a few kids who were reluctant to participate. 

"What's going on?" I asked one student who still hadn't posted 10 minutes or so into the class. 

"I can't think of anything," he said flatly.

"Well, what's your favorite animal?" I responded.

"Iguana."

"Oh! That's cool!" I told him. "Do you have an iguana?"

"No." he answered.

"Really?" I said. "Then do you wanna iguana?"

Perchance to Dream

Sometimes I listen to a meditation or podcast as I'm falling asleep. Quiet voices and music replace any restless thoughts or residual anxiety left over from the day: they help me fall asleep and stay asleep. One of my favorites is The Memory Palace. Created and hosted by Nate DiMeo, the show is an anthology, briefly told and beautifully written, of little-known true stories, each packing an emotional or intellectual punch at the end. 

I always make sure to go back and listen to every episode when I am awake, but at night, I set a timer for no more than 10 minutes, and Di Meo's soothing voice and elegant rhetoric calms my turbulent mind. Last night, I forgot the timer, and I woke in darkness after dreaming of voting rights, revolutions, starlings, and swans; I had sleep-listened to ten episodes. I tapped pause, and drifted back to sleep, which might have been dreamless or not.

Cat-astrophe Avoided

My phone chimed right before the class change this morning. I was a little anxious when I saw it was a message from our neighbor across the way, my imagination fabricating all sorts of local disasters that he might be reaching out to report. Fallen tree? Burst pipe? Sink hole? Break-in? Too much mail?

I anxiously tapped in my passcode and opened the app.

I wanted to tell you guys that I keep seeing your two cats in the window when I practice the piano. I love them!

Undedicated

As part of our fiction unit, the young writers in our classes were asked to dedicate their children's stories to someone who helped or inspired them. The addition to their books was purely optional, but we wanted them to realize that although writing can be hard and lonely, publishing is a chance to celebrate one's accomplishments with pride and gratitude.

Most of the dedications were sweet and predictable-- honoring parents, siblings, and other family members. A few were to teachers past and present, a couple were to pets, and one was to a duckling. Some were super snarky: 

I dedicate this book to absolutely no one! 

I dedicate this book to ME ME ME!

And the best one, in my opinion, just happens to fall into that category. It was to me (or not to me, as the case may be).

Making the Grades

Despite the fact that I know better, the final project of the third quarter stretched right up until the last day of the term for most of my sixth graders. That left 80 or so children's stories for me to assess and comment on over the weekend, so that my grades will be finished on time. In my own defense, I want to say that concurrent learning played a role-- I feel like I earned my paycheck twice over just getting some writing submitted from every student, virtual and in-person.

I am lucky to have a co-teacher in one of my sections who is willing to tackle some of the grading, but at 6 PM on Sunday evening, I'm not even halfway done. It's true that there is a bit of a learning curve when it comes to applying a complicated 8-point 8-section rubric to a piece of writing in a way that is fair and gives constructive feedback to the young writers. As such, my pace has quickened a bit as the task has progressed. 

I'm not worried that I won't finish; I'm just sad that I have to.

The In-Between

The days I love most are the ones where we can throw our windows open and let the fresh air in, free from the HVAC-- no dry forced-air heat or refrigeration. Oh, don't get me wrong: I appreciate a warm and cozy house in winter, and the cool relief that air conditioning offers from those blazing humid days of summer is irreplaceable.

But--

A cool cross breeze and the sound of the birds?

That's mighty nice.

Falling Action

News today that Prince Philip has died. I just saw him last night on The Crown, forcing his son, Prince Charles, to marry a woman he didn't love. Well, we all know how that story ended. 

The same can be said about most of the intriguing dramas that television show presents: it's all a matter of history, and many of the main players are gone. In addition to Princess Di and Lord Mountbatten, Princess Margaret, the Queen Mum, Margaret Thatcher and her husband Dennis, and a whole host of minor characters have all gone to their reward in real life. I suppose the fact that the Queen and Phillip have lived until now, both in their 90s, she having reigned for nearly 70 years, made the narrative a bit more compelling, and certainly more remarkable. 

And although it's not surprising for a man of 99 to pass away, one does feel a little sadness about knowing how that particular story ends.

Good and Tired

In the before times, we always left Lucy some treats and puppy puzzles to keep her busy until the dog walker came when we went to work in the morning. A tired dog is a good dog, was our motto. In the year we spent at home, neither treats nor dog walker were strictly necessary; Lucy had all the company and exercise she needed. (Sometimes, even, too much-- we walked a lot in those early shutdown days.)

Now that we've returned to our schedule, the puzzles have reappeared, but they may not be quite as necessary as they once were. When we rise from our beds before the sun, Lucy stays asleep until one or the other of us calls her for first out or breakfast. And though she seems to appreciate the treats when we leave? More evenings than not, when we return home, she bounds over to them and starts to snuffle and chew, because she hasn't touched them during the day.

Our dog walker, too, confirms what all the signs point to. When we leave? Lucy goes back to bed and snoozes for much of the day. When the door opens for her walk, she staggers bleary-eyed down the stairs to greet the day anew.

Well.

Evidently the inverse of our precept is true: A good dog is a tired dog. At least ours is.