Our home network is acting up tonight, and I’m not sure whether I’m going to be able to post my blog. It could be the weather—we’ve had an unexpected amount of snowfall— not enough to be crippling, but enough to catch most people unawares and slow everyone down a bit.
When I first realized that my internet access had been cut, I was irritated. After working unsuccessfully to resolve the problem myself, I paused, cable modem in hand, aware that for some reason, I could choose my next reaction. Would my annoyance escalate to extreme frustration, or would I calmly let go and accept my inability to go online and subsequently write and post my entry? My 335-days-in-a-row streak would end, as it must someday, and I would be free from the blame; in many ways it would be like a snow day from school. Yippee! No writing for me today!
I started writing my blog in a snowstorm last March. Sitting in front of the fire surfing the internet, I read about a month-long slice of life story challenge sponsored by the Two Writing Teachers website. Why not? I asked myself. How hard can 31 days of writing be? Since then, my blog has become so much more for me. There are days when I feel like I’ll never even find a sentence worth posting and others when the words fly from my fingers, but writing every day is something I value, mostly because I never thought I could really do it.
I know myself well enough to understand that if I want to continue, then the routine of daily practice is a must.
Give up? Not today.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Horatio's Revenge
So a big part of the class meeting yesterday was on cyber-bullying: what it is, what to do about it, how to avoid it. This morning a sixth grade student on the other team comes in with her mom, who wants to speak to the counselor and the principal. It seems her daughter got a mean and threatening email from one of our students yesterday afternoon. When confronted, our student said she had the gotten idea from the discussion in class. Wow. Talk about missing the message.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Memo to Horatio
We did a class meeting today on Internet Safety. It's an annual event, the counselors are tasked by the county to design a lesson to engage the students in a conversation about making wise choices in this cyber-era. I don't know why, but teaching the same lesson five times back-to-back is way easier than sitting through one. I'll have to ponder that fact, but it did give me the chance to consider the world that these kids are growing up in.
There are several 2-3 minute videos making the rounds in education these days about that world and how we are getting our students ready for it. Every one that I've seen has highlighted competition between the US and India and China... evidently, both of these countries have more honor students than we have students, and obviously that fact is supposed to scare the hell out of us (whoever we are) as well as motivate us into action. My God! Those Chinese and Indian honor students are going to... please fill in the blank, because really? I can't.
I guess the big question posed by all of these productions is whether or not we're adequately preparing kids for their future given how quickly the world is changing. I suppose it's natural to worry, but thirty-five years ago when I was in middle school, this world we live in now was undreamt of, too, and it seems like most of us have been able to adapt.
There are several 2-3 minute videos making the rounds in education these days about that world and how we are getting our students ready for it. Every one that I've seen has highlighted competition between the US and India and China... evidently, both of these countries have more honor students than we have students, and obviously that fact is supposed to scare the hell out of us (whoever we are) as well as motivate us into action. My God! Those Chinese and Indian honor students are going to... please fill in the blank, because really? I can't.
I guess the big question posed by all of these productions is whether or not we're adequately preparing kids for their future given how quickly the world is changing. I suppose it's natural to worry, but thirty-five years ago when I was in middle school, this world we live in now was undreamt of, too, and it seems like most of us have been able to adapt.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Note to Self
We had a modified schedule today for the all-school science fair, and as a result I ended up with a mixed group of students for about 45 minutes at the end of the day. It had been a stressful few weeks for them-- working diligently on their science fair projects, preparing for the presentation piece, and then actually displaying their board and going through the judging process. We had some academic activities planned for the last part of the day, but it was clear that such structure wasn't really appropriate, at least not for my group, and so I abandoned the Challenge-24 practice in favor of vintage cartoons, independent reading, and games.
It's not often that I get a chance to actually play with the kids, but today I could. I always forget what an effective way to build relationships it is to simply sit down at a table and play a couple of hands of Uno or a game of Bananagrams. Kids invariably love it when an adult takes the time to play with them, and it's really fun, too.
It's not often that I get a chance to actually play with the kids, but today I could. I always forget what an effective way to build relationships it is to simply sit down at a table and play a couple of hands of Uno or a game of Bananagrams. Kids invariably love it when an adult takes the time to play with them, and it's really fun, too.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Many Hands Make Light Work
Savannah and her mom stopped by while I was cooking dinner tonight. Savannah is three, and verrrry fond of Heidi, so Laura, her mom, asked if she could hang out for 5 minutes or so to get her Heidi-fix, and that was cool with us. The last time she was here I got to show off my mad play-doh skills, and she was hoping for a little more of that, I think, but instead, I gave her the chance to apply what she had learned.
I was making sweet potato gnocchi, and an extra pair of tiny hands was just what I needed to make the task go a little faster. We got down the pink poodle apron we keep on the hook for the little girls in our lives, and Savannah was stunned by its beauty and novelty. Dinner momentarily took a backseat to the obligatory photo-shoot.
It wasn't too long, however, before she was standing on the kitchen stool rolling the soft orange dough into snakes and using a baker's bench knife to cut it. It was my job to slip the gnocchi into the simmering water before we continued with the next batch. "Why are we doing this?" she asked.
"It's dinner," I told her.
"My dinner?" She was a little concerned.
"Not unless you want some," I said, and, completely uninterested in actually eating the product of her labor, Savannah untied her apron and headed home about 10 minutes later.
I was making sweet potato gnocchi, and an extra pair of tiny hands was just what I needed to make the task go a little faster. We got down the pink poodle apron we keep on the hook for the little girls in our lives, and Savannah was stunned by its beauty and novelty. Dinner momentarily took a backseat to the obligatory photo-shoot.
It wasn't too long, however, before she was standing on the kitchen stool rolling the soft orange dough into snakes and using a baker's bench knife to cut it. It was my job to slip the gnocchi into the simmering water before we continued with the next batch. "Why are we doing this?" she asked.
"It's dinner," I told her.
"My dinner?" She was a little concerned.
"Not unless you want some," I said, and, completely uninterested in actually eating the product of her labor, Savannah untied her apron and headed home about 10 minutes later.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Things That Come Back to Us
I read When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead last summer, so didn't I feel ahead of the curve when it won the Newbury this year? I liked it for many reasons-- it was about sixth graders, it took place in the 70s, the main character loved A Wrinkle in Time. It spoke to both who I was and who I am. For those who are not familiar, one of the subplots involves a character who is practicing to go on the 20,000 Dollar Pyramid, and so every chapter is titled like one of those six blocks in the pyramid. I appreciated that, too.
Lately, my sister-in-law and her brothers have been sorting through their parents' house. Since Judy died in October, they've moved Vic to an assisted-living group home for people with Alzheimer's, and the house must be emptied either to sell or to rent. I've written before about the breadth of their possessions, and I know that determining what to sell, what to trash, and what to give away is a huge job. This morning I walked toward my classroom door to find a bag of things propped against it. My sister-in-law works in the same school, and she had left it there for me.
Inside were some cookie tins that I will happily refill and pass along, a snow gauge that we gave to her dad one year for Christmas that will find a new home in Buffalo, and a Twelfth Night cake mold that we bought for Judy. She was always one to embrace a new celebration, and for years we talked about trying to start the tradition of a Twelfth Night party complete with neighborhood bonfire. It turned out that although she and I were loathe to let the holidays go, most others were not, and so the cake pan came back to me in its original box.
Maybe next year?
Lately, my sister-in-law and her brothers have been sorting through their parents' house. Since Judy died in October, they've moved Vic to an assisted-living group home for people with Alzheimer's, and the house must be emptied either to sell or to rent. I've written before about the breadth of their possessions, and I know that determining what to sell, what to trash, and what to give away is a huge job. This morning I walked toward my classroom door to find a bag of things propped against it. My sister-in-law works in the same school, and she had left it there for me.
Inside were some cookie tins that I will happily refill and pass along, a snow gauge that we gave to her dad one year for Christmas that will find a new home in Buffalo, and a Twelfth Night cake mold that we bought for Judy. She was always one to embrace a new celebration, and for years we talked about trying to start the tradition of a Twelfth Night party complete with neighborhood bonfire. It turned out that although she and I were loathe to let the holidays go, most others were not, and so the cake pan came back to me in its original box.
Maybe next year?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Secret's in the Sauce
The smell of apples and ruminating on ethnic food reminds me of a story. Could it have been 20 years ago? Ah, indeed it was. A new Thai restaurant opened in our neighborhood. The owner was a friend of a friend and the place quickly became a favorite. One dish we particularly liked was kai yang: a chicken breast on the bone, marinated and grilled, and served with sticky rice, slices of carrots and cucumbers, and a spicy sauce.
I asked Jimmy, my Thai friend at work, how to make it, and he gave me a recipe for the marinade, but brought a bottle of mang-da sauce the next day. "This is what you serve with it," he said. "Even in Thailand, hardly anybody makes it at home; it's like ketchup." That summer, kai yang with mang-da sauce was a staple of our dinner parties. Our guests would rave about the combination, and many evenings found us lounging at our outdoor table in the moonlight speculating about what was in the secret sauce. The label was no help; written mostly in Thai, the ingredients list in English simply read mang-da, water, hot peppers, and salt. The sauce itself was brownish-red, a puree with flecks of peppers and something else. It was spicy but complex, and here is where we all had our pet theories. What was mang-da? Animal, mineral, or vegetable? John insisted that it tasted of apples, but I found it a little briny, like dried shrimp.
On and on we debated, until finally it occurred to me to ask Jimmy. He laughed and uncharacteristically referred the question. The ladies who worked in the pantry, doing all the cold prep, were mostly Thai and Vietnamese, and their lead was a woman named Supatra. That is who he told me to ask. Jimmy watched curiously as I approached her and asked my question. She laughed, too, but a little nervously. "This flavor is very good, but very strong," she started. "In my village we like it very much." Her hesitation was beginning to worry me a little.
"Go on, " I urged her. Finally she came out with it-- mang da was a gigantic, 2 1/2 inch water beetle that people in northern Thailand roasted and ground as a seasoning. I realized that I had seen them in the freezer section of the Asian market, an icy block of frozen cockroaches; in fact I was quite sure that I had pulled them out of there, grimacing in disgust and wondering who would ever eat them.
Turns out, it was me. Later, when I asked the guy who owned the restaurant about it, though, he was offended that we would think that he would serve such a peasant sauce in his establishment. He was from Bangkok, he informed me, where they had much higher standards.
I asked Jimmy, my Thai friend at work, how to make it, and he gave me a recipe for the marinade, but brought a bottle of mang-da sauce the next day. "This is what you serve with it," he said. "Even in Thailand, hardly anybody makes it at home; it's like ketchup." That summer, kai yang with mang-da sauce was a staple of our dinner parties. Our guests would rave about the combination, and many evenings found us lounging at our outdoor table in the moonlight speculating about what was in the secret sauce. The label was no help; written mostly in Thai, the ingredients list in English simply read mang-da, water, hot peppers, and salt. The sauce itself was brownish-red, a puree with flecks of peppers and something else. It was spicy but complex, and here is where we all had our pet theories. What was mang-da? Animal, mineral, or vegetable? John insisted that it tasted of apples, but I found it a little briny, like dried shrimp.
On and on we debated, until finally it occurred to me to ask Jimmy. He laughed and uncharacteristically referred the question. The ladies who worked in the pantry, doing all the cold prep, were mostly Thai and Vietnamese, and their lead was a woman named Supatra. That is who he told me to ask. Jimmy watched curiously as I approached her and asked my question. She laughed, too, but a little nervously. "This flavor is very good, but very strong," she started. "In my village we like it very much." Her hesitation was beginning to worry me a little.
"Go on, " I urged her. Finally she came out with it-- mang da was a gigantic, 2 1/2 inch water beetle that people in northern Thailand roasted and ground as a seasoning. I realized that I had seen them in the freezer section of the Asian market, an icy block of frozen cockroaches; in fact I was quite sure that I had pulled them out of there, grimacing in disgust and wondering who would ever eat them.
Turns out, it was me. Later, when I asked the guy who owned the restaurant about it, though, he was offended that we would think that he would serve such a peasant sauce in his establishment. He was from Bangkok, he informed me, where they had much higher standards.
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