Retrospect

"Will you fix this book for me?" a student asked this morning.

"Sure," I agreed without looking up; as far as I'm concerned, book repair is part of the job. I have a ready supply of packing and duct tape for just such occasions. "Where is it?"

She handed me a ragged lilac-colored volume and its sundered cover. I literally gasped. It was the exact same edition of Little Women that I received for Christmas the year I was in sixth grade. The very one that I read and loved with all my heart, probably just about this time of year 39 years ago.

"Where did you get this?" I asked in wonder.

She shrugged. "It's my mom's."

I flipped to the page facing the first chapter. A pen an ink drawing of a man in a topcoat tipping his hat to a young woman on the street with the caption, May I go also, and take for you the bundles?" sent a jolt of recognition right through me.

I reattached the cover and then paged through a little more, looking at the chapter headings, Aunt March Settles the Question, Lazy Laurence, and so forth, but than I returned to that first illustration, out of place, at the beginning of the book. I remembered how it bothered me back when I first read it.

Jo March? Why in the world would she marry Professor Baer, especially after rejecting Laurie? Duh! That girl was clearly gay!

The Temple

This winter it's been damn hard to find a decent clementine. My theory is that they (and we) are victims of their success. Fifteen years ago, when the charming wooden crates of these delightful fruits began to appear, it seemed impossible to get a bad one. From November to March, we feasted on perfectly tart, seedless little citrus gems. The Spanish beauties festooned our holiday tables and rounded out our brown bag lunches in their bright unassuming way.

Now? They come from Spain, they come from Morocco, they come from California, and they even come from South America in the summer time, but despite this bounty, their quality is spotty. Clever distributors have designed a bright orange mesh to sell them in, making it impossible to see the true color of the fruit, much less its size or the texture of the rind. Everybody loves clementines, but not many of us get what we hoped for once we open the package.

It's to the point where I ask anyone who has a decent looking specimen where it was obtained, and I confess to driving way out of my way just to find some good clementines.

Thankfully, there is another orange that is just as satisfying.  I remember my mother buying Temple oranges when I was a little girl. They were always cheaper than the smooth-skinned navals and Valencias, probably because they have A LOT of seeds, but to me they have always been superior-- easy to peel, always juicy, with a flawless balance of sweet and tart.

I don't feel that the Temple orange has received its proper due, but maybe that's a good thing. Their season is very short, so brief in fact that I forget about them from year to year until that day when I walk into the produce section and spy a stack.

Today, like that day every year, I clapped my hands and nearly skipped over to fill my plastic bag.

Shhhhh.

By the Shorts

We had a fun day today with my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew. It was our annual Oscar-nominated shorts marathon where we see both the animated and live action shows back to back. Even though I was a bit disappointed in the field this year-- I wanted to fall in love with something, but they were all just okay-- it was great company and an excellent shared experience seeing 10 good movies that we wouldn't otherwise.

And even better? We're going to the documentaries in a couple of weeks.

Prankster

One of the teachers on my team has made the decision to retire as of April 1. For someone to retire mid-year speaks to morale around here, but that's another blog post all together. Today she told the students of her departure.

She let them know class by class, but such big news spread quickly, at first through whispers. "Do you think she really meant it?" I overheard one kid ask another.

"Dude! No way!" his friend answered. "She's only joking. Look at the date-- it's April Fool's Day!"

Oh, Genie!

All week long my students have been pestering me about the Genie. When will we know whose wishes were granted they ask? I don't mind at all, in fact I'm really happy, because clearly they are engaged and invested in the assignment.

Five years ago when we first came up with this activity, the teacher that I collaborate with and I actually planned to read through each group and decide whose wish would be granted. We talked about assessment guidelines and criteria and thought long and hard about how to make it a fair and valuable lesson.

Finally on the day before we had promised the kids the Genie was going to reply, we hit upon the following solution:

The genie listened to each wish. When the last person was finished, he stood silently for a moment before he spoke.

"Very well," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "We must find happiness in our journey through life without always searching for it. True happiness is not having what you want, but rather wanting what you have. However, I sympathize with those who have lost what they value, and these wishes I will grant.

Tonight I'm wondering if the Genie would grant my wish, the desire to live a worry-free life. Did I ever have that? I'm going to have to say no.

Tales from the Science Fair

The Effect of Temperature on Growing Crystals

Me: So how did you measure the crystals? By weight? By length?
Student: I just took off the cover and looked at them.
Me, pointing at graph: So, what happened in this trial? It was a lot longer than the others.
Student: I have NO idea. Maybe I used less borax?
Me: So, what would you do differently if you ran this experiment again?
Student: I would kick my dad out of the apartment! He ruined everything!

The Speed of Rodents in a Maze

Heidi: So why did you pick hamsters and guinea pigs?
Student: Believe it or not, they are the most athletic of rodents!
Heidi: Do you have research that shows this?
Student: Mmmm. Yes?

Missing Something?

The all-school science fair is tomorrow, and so especially with the unexpected day off yesterday, you can imagine that our hallways were literally buzzing with sixth graders assembling their final presentation boards. Everywhere you looked, one of a hundred kids was typing, proofing, printing, reprinting, cutting, and gluing. Shreds of brightly colored paper littered the carpets of each classroom.

And so it was that of course I agreed when a small group of students asked if I would stay until the late bus to help them finish up. An inveterate procrastinator myself, I know what it's like to work right down to the deadline.

As they were cleaning up, I walked around to take a last look at their work. One student had been at it for hours. She had her title, all of her headings, and some cool illustrations. "Where's your graph and data table?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't have those," she said.

I was startled. "Well, where's your data? I'll help you make those," I offered.

She shrugged. "I don't have any."

"What!!??" My jaw literally dropped open. "But, your board says your project was The Effect of Music on Memory."

"That's right," she told me, "and I know from  personal experience that you only have to hear a song twice before you know most of the words."

"No, no, no," I cried. "You were supposed to do an experiment! We could have been working on that instead of this!" I swept my hand across the table in dismay.

"Why would we do that?" she asked. "The board is due tomorrow."