Question Authority

When I was in college, I had a button tacked to the driver side sun visor of my yellow Volkswagen Rabbit that read Question Authority. Looking back on it now, I see it as almost an ironic statement-- I was a very good girl-- but I think the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980 must have inspired me to buy it, if not act upon it.

My relationship with authority has evolved quite a bit in the last thirty years.  For example, when I first started teaching I was very secure in the power structure. The superintendent was like your grandfather, the principal was like your dad, and you, the teacher were the benevolent dictator in your classroom. I ruled confidently, just as my teachers had when I was in school, and a lot like the way that I had overseen my younger brother and sister, the children I babysat, my nephews. My show could have been called Tracey Knows Best.

It's not quite that way anymore. Over the years, I've tried to restructure my class to be as student-centered as possible. One of my primary objectives is for the kids to feel like they're in charge of themselves. I've learned that Because I said so isn't a very convincing argument to an oppositional student.

And as for myself? When I look around at the president, the secretary of education, the superintendent of our schools, I see the guys I went to college with: smart, but not necessarily the people I want in charge of me. Yeah... you could say that I have some questions.

The Assignment

We had our end of summer leadership meeting for school today. Administration, team leaders, and instructional lead teachers all gathered to come up to speed on what's been happening over the summer and to formulate a plan for the coming year.

I attended my first leadership "retreat" twelve years ago. Back then it involved an overnight stay at a motel in Leesburg, a community just far enough outside the city limits to justify calling it a retreat, well, that and the two day schedule. The next year we got a new principal and she put her own personal stamp on the event by reorganizing it into a 9-3 meeting, with lunch, held in our library. (I approved of the change, mostly because I didn't have to share a room with anybody, although I did kind of miss drinking beer on the porch until midnight with Larry and Mark.)

This year we went to someone's house because our building renovation won't be complete until next Monday. We met in the family room, and I got the leather easy chair, so I can't really complain, especially when the principal perched on the stone ledge of the fireplace all day. The meeting had a different kind of feeling than those in the past, and in odd moments, I found myself trying to figure out why. Was it the setting? The ever changing cast of attendees? Or could it have been me? After 17 years, I'm on the downswing of my tenure.

At the end of the session, which ran long as usual because of so many non-agenda issues that seemed worth spending time on, our attention was directed to a single sheet in our folders. Its title was Focusing Work to Improve Instruction and it consisted of six questions:

What does success look like?
How do I impact instruction?
What is my role in our success?
How do I help all kids excel?
How do I monitor progress on a regular basis?
What do I need to do differently?

I folded the paper in half and tucked it into my writing notebook. As the new school year begins, I couldn't ask for better prompts.

Cool It

Last week at the beach we found a chart that reported the monthly average temperatures for that location. As I've mentioned, we didn't really need to look at August, but it was surprising to note that September was usually some 10-15 degrees cooler than the weather we were sweltering in. How can that be? we wondered. September was only two weeks away, and it would take a major change in the weather to meet that published statistic. It seemed preposterous.

Back at home, though, there are subtle signs that suggest summer is flagging, ever-so-slightly: The heat is less intense; the days are noticeably shorter; the humidity slumps; Orion's shoulders, Bellatrix and then Betelgeuse rise in the southeast just ahead of the sun. The psychological effect of getting ready to go back to school may contribute a little bit to the tiny chill (the first big meeting of the year is tomorrow), but I don't think so.

Fall is coming.

The Splitties

Some of the tomatoes in our garden split on the vine before we can pick them. I did a little research and discovered that a lot of water at a time (say, for example, the torrential downpours we've been having this summer) can cause the fruit to swell quickly and crack. The skin around the fissure toughens a bit, but otherwise, these tomatoes are as tasty as any.

One of our roadtrip audiobooks this summer has been The Uglies by Scott Westerfeld. For those who are unfamiliar, this is the first in a four part series (followed by The Pretties, The Specials, and The Extras) that takes place a couple of hundred years in the future. Some sort of bacteria that feeds on oil, both raw and refined, and then causes it to explode has brought about the demise of our civilization. We have been replaced by a group who is, on the surface, much more eco-friendly and politically correct then we ever were. One way that they ensure equality is by conducting extensive plastic surgery on every citizen once they reach the age of sixteen so that they will become one of the "Pretties." Before then people are known as "Littlies" until the age of twelve and then "Uglies" until their operations.

Obviously, two of Westerfeld's major considerations are nature and perfection. My mind wandered to the book this evening as I visited my garden after a week away. So often, we have an image of visual perfection in our mind that has nothing to do with what's best. Homegrown produce can be beautiful, but a lot of it is not quite fit for the grocery store. Despite its superior flavor, it doesn't always look flawless. No matter-- I took my splitties and went home to prepare a very pretty salad, and better still? It was delicious.

Record Time

I live with a person who finds it essential to unpack everything the minute we arrive home from any trip or vacation. After that classic Saturday morning whirlwind to empty the rental property before 10 AM and then ten solid hours on the road, we hit the front door with fully-loaded minivan less than an hour ago. As of this minute every single item has been carried in and removed from its suitcase or bag: seventy-five percent of things have been put away; ten percent waits neatly by the attic stairs (along with the luggage), and the other fifteen percent is in the washer.

Is it a boon or a bane? Why don't you be the judge? I'm too tired to decide.

Same Old, Same Old

The weather forecast is remarkably consistent here for the month of August-- pick a day, any day, and you can be pretty sure it's gonna be 88 with a chance of thunderstorms. It's amazing the variation we have experienced within those seemingly cookie-cutter days: one day the breeze on the beach is offshore and cooling, another it's onshore and really hot. Some days the thunderstorms rumble through with a few dark clouds and raindrops, other days they don't show up at all, and sometimes we are absolutely deluged.

Today we had it all. Hot in the morning, breezy midday, one peal of thunder and a few drops in the afternoon, and then one hell of a downpour around 5. Tonight hundreds of huge dragon flies are diving through the still sunset-- there's no wind at all so they can fly-- and dozens of bats are close behind.

To be honest, none of this weather is to my preference. Those who know me know I am a daughter of the constellation Orion; I love cool days and cold, clear nights, but if the Eskimos have forty words for snow, then the Edistonians should have at least that many for hot and humid, and as a writing teacher, I appreciate that.

Photographs and Memories

I got a new app for my iPhone today. Called Hipstamatic, it makes the digital images that the camera takes look more like snapshots taken on film. Square with a white border and saturated color, these pictures seem to transport their subjects forty years or so into the past.

The beach is an ideal setting for such a concept, and I loved every single picture I took today. In them children and dogs play, people relax, and brightly colored suits, towels, and buckets pop against the sand washed in the sun. The sky and ocean are impossible shades of blue and green, and every cloud is perfect: just like it was when I was a kid.

I should know-- I've seen the pictures.