On to the Next Thing

Menu:

• 100% all beef Halal hot dog on  bun
• Individual bag of chips
• Bottle of water
• Slice of watermelon

Number of diners:     
        350
Total cost:

• $481.57 or
• $1.38 per person

2012 Sixth Grade Picnic:

• A success!
• Over!

How'd I Do, Mark Zuckerberg?

Tonight when I was squandering a little time checking in on Facebook, my eye was caught by an invitation to complete a survey. You might think I would feel all-surveyed out, given that particular form of data collection's heightened popularity around our neck of education, but I was interested in offering feedback on my Facebook experience. Plus, sometimes when I'm really cranky, it helps to go all negative on some random survey-- it's like sucking the venom from a snakebite or something.

So... imagine my surprise when after the first question, which was about Facebook, they started asking me where I get my news and how often. Then they wanted to know my level of education and my political opinions on the upcoming presidential election. Thank goodness I didn't exaggerate, because the last half of the survey was a quiz on US politics of the the last four years, and let me tell you folks, it wasn't that easy.

I kind of liked it though; they even gave the answers at the end, and I got them all right.

Yes!

Show Me the Data

And while we're talking about measurable objectives... Why do we do a whole school science fair again?

Measuring Up

This is what bureaucracy looks like:

Every year we plan a sixth grade picnic for the first Friday we are back in school. In the interest of building a sense of community and engagement, it's a chance for the new kids in the school to celebrate making it through their first week of middle school and to connect and reconnect with their peers.

This year we have been asked to phrase all of our team business in the form of objectives and measurable outcomes... so what about the picnic? How does one compute the value of such an event? Do we administer a survey? Collect exit cards at the end? Have the students complete a reflection?

Would any of those make the picnic better, or would they simply justify it to any who cared?

Pulling the Old Tom Sawyer

For the past few years, Heidi's dad, Gary, has expressed an interest in learning how to can tomatoes. As a retiree, he was thinking he had the time and resources, not to mention the love of tomatoes, to adopt such a hobby.

Yesterday he got the chance to see how he likes it. The four of us went to the farmers market and bought a thirty pound box of tomatoes. Then, in as efficient an assembly line as we could organize in our little kitchen, we peeled, chopped, and canned twelve quarts of tomatoes. It took no longer than an hour and a half, including the time we sat around watching TV while the full jars were boiling away in the processing pots.

When it was all cleaned up, I turned to Gary. "Are you going to go home and do some more?" I asked him.

"What for? I got six quarts right here!"

New Kids

We went out for pizza tonight at a restaurant near us that only opened on Wednesday. It was a larger, fancier branch of a place that we like, and we were excited to try it. Our meal was fine, but it was amazing how easy it was to tell that this was only the fifth night of service. Our waiter was earnest and willing, but also unsure about some of the details, like the difference between Pinot noir and "that other thing" we ordered. My pizza came to the table uncut, and then was returned to the table without a serving utensil.

Even so, there was something about the concentration and engagement in the staff that I really liked-- they were young and enthusiastic and most importantly, they wanted to learn. As we left our rather generous tip, ("Are you sure you don't want change?" the waiter asked), I knew that if my students this year have half of that attitude, we are going to have a great time.

Another Misstep

It's been a summer of accidents and mishaps.

In addition to burning dinner last night, and in keeping with skinning my knee a couple of weeks ago, yesterday I stepped on a bee in my bare feet and was stung. That has not happened to me in over 40 years, and to be honest, it was much more painful than I ever remember it. For a moment I couldn't bear weight on my foot.

But the worst part was seeing the bee also in agony, writhing in the clover, and knowing that she would die because of my carelessness.