Didn't She Almost Have it All

We were at a "girls only brown bag wine tasting" tonight at the home of one of our neighbors. There was 80's music playing all evening, and our memories of the songs threaded in and out of each conversation as the guests grouped and regrouped. Cutting Crew, Bon Jovi, Journey, Madonna, and Cindy Lauper were all remembered fondly.

Of course Whitney Houston was bound to come up and she did. "Look where she is now," someone said. "She's a mess."

"But I loved the song I Want to Dance With Somebody," somebody else added wistfully. There were nods of agreement, and then the conversation moved on.

Not for me, though. For a moment I conjured that younger Whitney: gorgeous, and with that voice! and all her energy and charisma and how really really great she was, and I hoped for a come back. She can totally do it! I thought. It's not too late.

Countability

So often teachers of subjects other than language arts report that one reason they don't require much writing is because they are unfamiliar and uncomfortable with some of the finer points of grammar and usage. We did a couple of quick little exercises in my Writing Across the Curriculum workshop today where the objective was to show that that type of incorrectness does not usually impede communication and also that those errors are usually the easiest thing to fix in a writing piece. One task the participants had to do was choose between "fewer" and "less" when the terms were applied to the word "people," as in There were fewer/less people at the park than there were at the movies.

The rule with "fewer" or "less" is countability-- you use "fewer" when you can count the individual items and "less" when you can't, like fewer pennies, less change. The tricky part of the above question is that "people" was not originally used as the plural of "person" (that would have been "persons"), so there was a time when you couldn't actually count the people in a room, and therefore "less people" was the correct usage.

Today that is not the case, people is the commonly accepted plural form of person. The topic certainly made for a lively discussion in our session today, though, and who do you think brought it up?

The math teachers, of course. Count on them!

Billable Hours

Last July I stood with pearly white cavity-free teeth and scheduled my next six-month checkup at the gleaming front desk of my dentist. It was only the second time I had been to the office and the only reason I was there at all was because my long-time dentist had retired. Oh he played it well-- sending postcards to all of his clients informing us that he was cutting back on his hours. I knew then that, seeing as how he was a single practitioner, it could only mean one thing: he was selling us to another practice.

Even so, I decided to go along and see how the new dentist was. My first visit was like time traveling-- the office, the equipment, and the staff seemed at least thirty years ahead of the old-fashioned approach I was used to, and nobody from the old practice was anywhere in sight. It wasn't great, and it wasn't terrible, but it was really really different, yet not so much to make me go out and find myself a new tooth guy.

The second visit was also fine. I found myself building a bit of a rapport with my new hygienist, and the efficiency of everything in this oh so 21st century practice was beginning to win me over. I liked the email reminders and the convenient online confirmation, and I could almost picture myself stopping at the Starbucks a few doors down every six months from now to infinity.

Until today. I awoke this morning with the leaden knowledge that I had slept poorly. The idea of busting out the door right after school to get my teeth cleaned, on top of everything else I needed to do today was overwhelming, and in an effort to prioritize, I resolved to reschedule. I called the office at lunch to politely explain the situation and get another date on the calendar. There was a pause, and then the receptionist told me that ordinarily it's a hundred dollar charge to cancel within four business days. They were waiving it for me this time, but I needed to make a note of the policy.

And I did make a note, right away.  

Find a new dentist.

(Not) My Job

In the memoir unit I ask kids to choose a memorable event from their lives and think about how it shaped them, and that can be a challenging task for a sixth grader (or anyone, really). Of course, I don't expect perfection, and in the end I read several under-developed anecdotes about bike crashes, roller coasters, pranks, and beach mishaps. There are poignant tales as well, and usually one or two that I pass along to the counselor. Overall, this writing assignment gives me a lot of insight into my students, and for that it is priceless.

I thought about that tonight as I worked on a presentation I have been asked to make for my colleagues on our staff development day on Friday. The topic is writing across the curriculum, but the subtext is so much more. Middle school is where discipline-based departments begin, and so writing sometimes becomes a "language arts" thing. Part of my job on Friday will be to convince the other subject teachers otherwise.

Stay tuned.

Head Injuries, PANDAS, and Butt Cracks, Oh My

That was my day today. You'll forgive me for not writing more?

A Good Deed Unpunished

Today we had a rare frigid morning in this balmy El Nina winter of ours, and like I usually do on such frosty days, I started the cars and scraped the windshields. Our '01 Jeep Wrangler is a fun kind of buggy, loved by Heidi and the nephews, especially in top-down weather.

Of course it has a manual transmission to go with its rugged take-the-top-off attitude, and so the emergency brake was on this morning when I popped it in neutral to warm it up. When my scraping was done, I turned it off and took the keys inside so that Heidi would have them to lock up when she left.

Then, with a cheery good-bye and full confidence in my good partner status, I headed toward the station wagon with my back pack, lunch bag, and coffee cup. I was loading those items in their customary positions in the back seat when I heard an alarming crunch, and looked up to see the Jeep crashed into our neighbor's car next to me.

It was so confusing at first. Nobody was at the wheel of either vehicle, and yet there they were in a rear-end collision. The Jeep had been parked up the hill and across the way, so it wasn't too long before I realized what had happened, sprinted into the house for the keys, and pulled it back into its space.

This time I left it in gear when I climbed out to inspect the damage. Our neighbor's car had been running to defrost it, too, so I knew she would be out any moment. There was a melon-sized dent in her rear bumper, and a bit of a tell-tale dark blue smudge. I ran inside to tell Heidi, and we emerged from our house a minute later, just as our neighbor came from hers.

Wide-eyed and breathlessly I told the tale of the calamity, but she remained calm. "Oh give me the insurance info later," she said. "After all," she laughed, "I know where you live." We followed her around to the back of the cars to look at the damage, and I gasped. The whole dent had popped out! All that was left was a tiny smear of navy blue. Our neighbor shrugged. "I wouldn't have even known if you didn't tell me."

Choosing Sides

I listened with half an ear as a couple of kids bickered good-naturedly at the end of class on Friday. As the bell rang, they came to me to settle their dispute. "Do you like the Patriots?" one asked.

I shrugged. "Nope."

"Are you American, or what?" he said indignantly.

"Yeah," I said."I'm American. So? The Giants were my dad's team. I'm rooting for them."

They laughed.

"We were talking about social studies," he explained, "We're having a debate and I'm Thomas Paine. Who do you like better? The Patriots or the Loyalists?"

"Tschoo! Patriots all the way!" I said. "I'm American aren't I? Who likes the Loyalists?"

"Me," said the second student, "because I'm King George."