I admit it: sometimes I get caught up in the hectic pace of things. Just the other day, as I was race-walking from one end of the building to the other with less than ten minutes to pee, eat lunch, and get back to the computer lab, a friend and colleague saw me from way up the hall. She waved and gestured that she needed to talk to me. I kept on coming at full speed. She turned and disappeared in the direction of her office. I made the decision to keep on walking and touch base with her later (I really needed to pee), but as I passed, I saw her coming out of her office.
"Wait!" she called.
I slowed briefly and wave impatiently. "C'mon!" I said. "Let's walk and talk, walk and talk. I've got a lot to do in a little time."
She quickened her pace and met me at the doorway holding up a bright little gift bag. I came to a full stop, sheepish and speechless.
Another of our co-workers had witnessed the whole thing. She pointed her finger at me. "What do you have to say now?" she asked, eyebrows quite high.
"Thank you," I said, "and I'm really sorry. Really"
My friend looked at the other woman and laughed. "Oh! She talks to me like this all the time!" Then she turned to me. You're welcome! Now go to the bathroom!"
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Hall Patrol
The design of our school has two wide hallways that run the entire length of the building. Such a span of interrupted space can be very tempting to the energetic middle schooler, and many a student must be reminded to slow down and walk on those stretches.
I sympathize-- a long time ago when I was one of only two summer school teachers working in the building, on the days when I rode my bike to school, there were times when I just kept on riding once I was inside. It was exhilarating to pedal past the library, the soft illicit whir of my tires on the carpet the only sound in the empty building.
These days I'm often on the enforcement side of hall traffic, with decidedly mixed results. For example, just the other day a student ran past me at full speed. "Whoa!" I hollered as I raised my hands to flag him down. He skidded to a halt, spun around, and pointed his finger at himself questioningly. I nodded. He sprinted back to see what I wanted.
Then today, a student of mine stayed after class and into our lunch period to finish up on an assignment in the computer lab. With barely 10 minutes left in the period, I encouraged him to go eat. He packed his things and hurried out of the lab. He had a minute or so head start on me when I turned the corner on that long corridor. He's kind of a big guy, more than a little heavy set, and as I watched him up ahead of me I could tell he thought was running, but there was just no need to stop him, because he was well within the speed limit.
I sympathize-- a long time ago when I was one of only two summer school teachers working in the building, on the days when I rode my bike to school, there were times when I just kept on riding once I was inside. It was exhilarating to pedal past the library, the soft illicit whir of my tires on the carpet the only sound in the empty building.
These days I'm often on the enforcement side of hall traffic, with decidedly mixed results. For example, just the other day a student ran past me at full speed. "Whoa!" I hollered as I raised my hands to flag him down. He skidded to a halt, spun around, and pointed his finger at himself questioningly. I nodded. He sprinted back to see what I wanted.
Then today, a student of mine stayed after class and into our lunch period to finish up on an assignment in the computer lab. With barely 10 minutes left in the period, I encouraged him to go eat. He packed his things and hurried out of the lab. He had a minute or so head start on me when I turned the corner on that long corridor. He's kind of a big guy, more than a little heavy set, and as I watched him up ahead of me I could tell he thought was running, but there was just no need to stop him, because he was well within the speed limit.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Pen Envy
We had our annual book fair at school last week, and as usual, the excitement among the students was very high. I remember myself from elementary days when the book mobile would come; I wanted every book and cool little trinket they had to offer. Kids today are no different, although it's always a little disappointing that so many seem to be much more interested in the junky stuff and posters than in the actual books.
Our PTA sponsors the book fair and although they profit from it, they are also very generous. Teachers are given 5.00 discount coupons to give to students we think may not be able to afford a book otherwise. I did say "book", because the kids are not supposed to use their discount on any of the tschotskes, but rather toward the price of an actual book with words and stuff. Even so, there are always students who can get around such rules (how, I'll be darned if I know), and I happen to have one such clever lad right now. He took the coupon I gave him and returned with a huge pen, a pen with several colors of ink that is so large that it seems very laborious to write with. It's gotta be the diameter of a broomstick and at least ten inches long.
It is also a pen that with very little stretch of the imagination is rather distinctly anatomical in shape, and let me tell you folks, the eleven-year-old boys love this pen. Several purchased them, and they seem to like waving them and showing them to others. They also like clicking them to change the ink color, although rarely do they actually do much writing with them. No, they just seem to like having them; in fact those who are stuck with their regular little writing utensils are forever grabbing their friend's pen and pretending it's theirs.
Is it a coincidence that not a single girl bought one of these pens? I think not.
Our PTA sponsors the book fair and although they profit from it, they are also very generous. Teachers are given 5.00 discount coupons to give to students we think may not be able to afford a book otherwise. I did say "book", because the kids are not supposed to use their discount on any of the tschotskes, but rather toward the price of an actual book with words and stuff. Even so, there are always students who can get around such rules (how, I'll be darned if I know), and I happen to have one such clever lad right now. He took the coupon I gave him and returned with a huge pen, a pen with several colors of ink that is so large that it seems very laborious to write with. It's gotta be the diameter of a broomstick and at least ten inches long.
It is also a pen that with very little stretch of the imagination is rather distinctly anatomical in shape, and let me tell you folks, the eleven-year-old boys love this pen. Several purchased them, and they seem to like waving them and showing them to others. They also like clicking them to change the ink color, although rarely do they actually do much writing with them. No, they just seem to like having them; in fact those who are stuck with their regular little writing utensils are forever grabbing their friend's pen and pretending it's theirs.
Is it a coincidence that not a single girl bought one of these pens? I think not.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Who Buys That?
I heard this week that an Alabama law designed to fight corruption by limiting all public employees from accepting anything of "significant value" from the public has put the holiday tradition of giving your teacher a present on hold. In fact, teachers could conceivably be arrested for taking gifts from their students' families.
In Alabama, they say that this was an unintended consequence of the law and plans are already underway to change it so that apples and gift cards will once again be on the big desk in every classroom. In Germany, gifts to teacher are strictly verboten-- they are considered bribes and therefore unethical.
Coincidentally, just this week, several friends have consulted me about how much is appropriate to give to teacher at this time of year. A couple of questions were connected to the Alabama situation, but others were not, and everyone wanted to know how to express their sincere gratitude without going overboard. Is a hundred dollars too much? someone actually asked.
It's ironic that they should be asking me. I work in a school where, compared to some of the more affluent schools just a few miles away in the very same district, teachers are somewhat "under gifted." I have friends who do get hundreds of dollars in cash and gift cards, and one who even received Springsteen tickets once. I sometimes get a card and a candy cane, or a mug and some cookies, and although the occasional coffee card finds its way to my desk, most families don't give me anything.
I'm fine with how things are. I know my students and their families appreciate me and I don't feel at all deprived, but I have to be honest and say that such a disparity along clearly socio-economic lines makes me wonder if perhaps the Germans have the right idea.
In Alabama, they say that this was an unintended consequence of the law and plans are already underway to change it so that apples and gift cards will once again be on the big desk in every classroom. In Germany, gifts to teacher are strictly verboten-- they are considered bribes and therefore unethical.
Coincidentally, just this week, several friends have consulted me about how much is appropriate to give to teacher at this time of year. A couple of questions were connected to the Alabama situation, but others were not, and everyone wanted to know how to express their sincere gratitude without going overboard. Is a hundred dollars too much? someone actually asked.
It's ironic that they should be asking me. I work in a school where, compared to some of the more affluent schools just a few miles away in the very same district, teachers are somewhat "under gifted." I have friends who do get hundreds of dollars in cash and gift cards, and one who even received Springsteen tickets once. I sometimes get a card and a candy cane, or a mug and some cookies, and although the occasional coffee card finds its way to my desk, most families don't give me anything.
I'm fine with how things are. I know my students and their families appreciate me and I don't feel at all deprived, but I have to be honest and say that such a disparity along clearly socio-economic lines makes me wonder if perhaps the Germans have the right idea.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Hometown
I saw one of my students when I was out shopping this afternoon. That doesn't happen quite as often as it could, considering I live and work in the same small county. Even so, over the years I've had some memorable encounters. There was the girl who screamed and ran away to hide in Target, the mother who did not recognize me and chased me down in the grocery store after she saw me talking with her son in the produce section, and the family who quite insistently invited me out for lunch right then and there (I declined, several times).
Today, though, it was hard to tall if my student actually saw me, although at one point he nearly collided with me. I pulled up short and he jetted on his way without a word. Such behavior is not out of character for him, and if I had approached his mother, it definitely would have been to express my concerns about him. As it turned out, I didn't speak to them, even though we were in parallel lanes checking out at the same time. I was watching him as I waited, and had he acknowledged me, I would have gone over. His attention was intensely directed at several things for very short spans of time, and I wondered if he was avoiding me.
When we were done at the register, they were, too, and since they were closer to the door, we walked out behind them. Well, we walked, and so did his mom, but he literally danced his way out the door and across the parking lot.
"Yeah," Heidi said, "I think his mom has probably heard what you were going to say before. Maybe more than once."
Today, though, it was hard to tall if my student actually saw me, although at one point he nearly collided with me. I pulled up short and he jetted on his way without a word. Such behavior is not out of character for him, and if I had approached his mother, it definitely would have been to express my concerns about him. As it turned out, I didn't speak to them, even though we were in parallel lanes checking out at the same time. I was watching him as I waited, and had he acknowledged me, I would have gone over. His attention was intensely directed at several things for very short spans of time, and I wondered if he was avoiding me.
When we were done at the register, they were, too, and since they were closer to the door, we walked out behind them. Well, we walked, and so did his mom, but he literally danced his way out the door and across the parking lot.
"Yeah," Heidi said, "I think his mom has probably heard what you were going to say before. Maybe more than once."
Friday, December 16, 2011
Made Fresh Daily
I had two homeroom birthdays this week and when I asked the second student what kind of cake he wanted, he hesitated and asked, "Are we allowed to have ice cream cake?"
At the time, it seemed like a fine idea. "Sure," I told him, and made a note to myself to buy a Carvel cake from the grocery store.
Once, when I was a little girl, my Brownie troop took a field trip to our local Carvel store. At the time, all the gleaming stainless steel equipment seemed so so modern. We oohed in amazement when they showed us how the ice cream mix came freeze-dried in gallon cartons and aahed in astonishment when they poured it in the hopper of the soft serve machine and just added water. How incredible that in a matter of moments, it turned into the creamy and delicious concoction we all loved.
It was then they shared what I am sure was a trade secret-- the crunch between the layers of their delicious ice cream cakes was simply a sprinkling of that very same dry mix (!) At the end of the tour, they gave each of us a flying saucer and sent us on our way.
Last night, I dashed through the grocery-- after school, after writing club, after the gym, and before coming home to cook dinner-- in search of a Carvel cake. I admit I was looking forward to it; even after forty years and a significantly expanded palate, there's something indefinably tasty about that freeze dried ice cream, and I hadn't had one for a long time. I opened the freezer to gauge what size would be best for the 15 kids in my homeroom and was shocked to see the price tag. Just the wee eight incher was twenty bucks and the next size up was thirty. I considered the precedent I was setting and quickly decided that I was definitely not prepared to spend a possible $450.00 on birthdays should this trend catch on. It was a quandary though-- I'd already promised an ice cream cake.
Back in the 70's, after that visit to Carvels, my mom started making her own ice cream cakes. She'd seen the technique, and she used a spring form pan and a hand mixer to beat slightly softened ice cream to the proper consistency before spreading it in layers. As for the crunch? She used cookies and candy crushed up in the blender. Everyone raved about those cakes.
Putting the cardboard box back into its freezer case, I stepped across the aisle. There, an entire half-gallon of ice cream was on sale for $2.50. I knew just what to do.
EPILOGUE:
My students were thrilled with the cake and quite impressed that I had made it myself. Win Win Win.
At the time, it seemed like a fine idea. "Sure," I told him, and made a note to myself to buy a Carvel cake from the grocery store.
Once, when I was a little girl, my Brownie troop took a field trip to our local Carvel store. At the time, all the gleaming stainless steel equipment seemed so so modern. We oohed in amazement when they showed us how the ice cream mix came freeze-dried in gallon cartons and aahed in astonishment when they poured it in the hopper of the soft serve machine and just added water. How incredible that in a matter of moments, it turned into the creamy and delicious concoction we all loved.
It was then they shared what I am sure was a trade secret-- the crunch between the layers of their delicious ice cream cakes was simply a sprinkling of that very same dry mix (!) At the end of the tour, they gave each of us a flying saucer and sent us on our way.
Last night, I dashed through the grocery-- after school, after writing club, after the gym, and before coming home to cook dinner-- in search of a Carvel cake. I admit I was looking forward to it; even after forty years and a significantly expanded palate, there's something indefinably tasty about that freeze dried ice cream, and I hadn't had one for a long time. I opened the freezer to gauge what size would be best for the 15 kids in my homeroom and was shocked to see the price tag. Just the wee eight incher was twenty bucks and the next size up was thirty. I considered the precedent I was setting and quickly decided that I was definitely not prepared to spend a possible $450.00 on birthdays should this trend catch on. It was a quandary though-- I'd already promised an ice cream cake.
Back in the 70's, after that visit to Carvels, my mom started making her own ice cream cakes. She'd seen the technique, and she used a spring form pan and a hand mixer to beat slightly softened ice cream to the proper consistency before spreading it in layers. As for the crunch? She used cookies and candy crushed up in the blender. Everyone raved about those cakes.
Putting the cardboard box back into its freezer case, I stepped across the aisle. There, an entire half-gallon of ice cream was on sale for $2.50. I knew just what to do.
EPILOGUE:
My students were thrilled with the cake and quite impressed that I had made it myself. Win Win Win.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Case Closed
I have heard vague rumors about the evils of Chinese pine nuts-- something about a bitter after taste. It is enough on my radar screen that in the rare event that I purchase them (when it comes to cooking with nuts, we prefer almonds, pecans, and walnuts, in that order), I check to make sure their origin is not Chinese. An aside: I don't really think it's biased or reactionary to mistrust food from China;the export economy there has grown so quickly that it's unreasonable to expect that adequate health and safety checks are in place.
At any rate, my awareness of the problems with some pine nuts was not acute enough to prevent me from eating a salad full of them at the wedding we attended last Saturday. They tasted fine, and I cleaned my plate.
A couple days later, I had an odd experience. A big box of steaming hot fried chicken, some biscuits, and a plate of homemade lumpia was unceremoniously brought to my classroom around 3 PM with a post-it note. "From the D. family." As hard as I tried to get to the bottom of this unexpected delivery, I could not, and so I stored the food in the refrigerator until the next day.
It turned out that, since I've taught three of their sons over the last few years, they just decided to treat me to something special, and on a whim they sent me some chicken and egg rolls, which just happen to be two of my favorite things. Gratefully, I heated up a portion for my lunch, but I was still thinking about the atypicality of the gesture when I started to eat, and then, for some reason, it seemed like everything had a strange and metallic taste.
I finished my meal with a bit of an uneasy feeling, but after I survived the afternoon, I put aside any suspicions I may have had about the chicken, and promptly forgot the entire thing. At dinner, though, my food tasted off, and briefly I wondered: Is there something wrong with me? Was there something wrong with the chicken? My attention span is only so long, however, and it wasn't too long before all my concerns were lost in whatever was on TV.
When it happened again the next day, though, my focus was completely restored. To be honest, you get to a certain age and it becomes challenging sometimes to tell if a particular sensation is just a normal ache or pain or rather a symptom of some fatal condition. The trick is to find a balance between ignoring it and googling it and freaking out.
I usually start with the Google route and work from there. This time, I started with the search terms bitter taste mouth, and at first I actually ignored all the hits that mentioned Chinese pine nuts. But they were so prominent that I couldn't skip them completely, and imagine my surprise when I read that this sensation actually starts a few days after eating the nuts and could last up to two weeks! It was only then that I remembered the salad from Saturday night.
Bummer!
But... at least my chicken wasn't poisoned, and, as far as I know, I'm not suffering any deadly disease.
At any rate, my awareness of the problems with some pine nuts was not acute enough to prevent me from eating a salad full of them at the wedding we attended last Saturday. They tasted fine, and I cleaned my plate.
A couple days later, I had an odd experience. A big box of steaming hot fried chicken, some biscuits, and a plate of homemade lumpia was unceremoniously brought to my classroom around 3 PM with a post-it note. "From the D. family." As hard as I tried to get to the bottom of this unexpected delivery, I could not, and so I stored the food in the refrigerator until the next day.
It turned out that, since I've taught three of their sons over the last few years, they just decided to treat me to something special, and on a whim they sent me some chicken and egg rolls, which just happen to be two of my favorite things. Gratefully, I heated up a portion for my lunch, but I was still thinking about the atypicality of the gesture when I started to eat, and then, for some reason, it seemed like everything had a strange and metallic taste.
I finished my meal with a bit of an uneasy feeling, but after I survived the afternoon, I put aside any suspicions I may have had about the chicken, and promptly forgot the entire thing. At dinner, though, my food tasted off, and briefly I wondered: Is there something wrong with me? Was there something wrong with the chicken? My attention span is only so long, however, and it wasn't too long before all my concerns were lost in whatever was on TV.
When it happened again the next day, though, my focus was completely restored. To be honest, you get to a certain age and it becomes challenging sometimes to tell if a particular sensation is just a normal ache or pain or rather a symptom of some fatal condition. The trick is to find a balance between ignoring it and googling it and freaking out.
I usually start with the Google route and work from there. This time, I started with the search terms bitter taste mouth, and at first I actually ignored all the hits that mentioned Chinese pine nuts. But they were so prominent that I couldn't skip them completely, and imagine my surprise when I read that this sensation actually starts a few days after eating the nuts and could last up to two weeks! It was only then that I remembered the salad from Saturday night.
Bummer!
But... at least my chicken wasn't poisoned, and, as far as I know, I'm not suffering any deadly disease.
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