All Poped-out

Even though I was raised Catholic, I confess to being a bit surprised by the intense interest this week in naming a new pope. All the details were widely reported in most media venues, but it was the tone of the coverage that really startled me: even the most veteran journalists seemed star-struck by the medieval pageantry of the event.

I suppose the statistic that there are over a billion Catholics on the planet helps explain this avid interest, but it was actually one of the other 80 percent of our fellow global citizens that really put it in perspective for me. Interviewed in St. Peter's Square, she said, Look... I don't like the English, but I watch all the royal weddings and funerals.

Well, if you put it that way...

Hands Tied

Due to standardized testing, there were no laptops available for our weekly after-school writing club today, but never fear, we equipped each student with a legal pad and a pen or pencil. Both Susan Sontag and Maya Angelou have reported composing works of arguable genius on that humble venue, and so we figured it would do.

There was a bit of sulking: "We have to write the old fashioned way," one student complained to another who was just arriving, "like my parents did-- on paper!"

There was also some of the usual writing avoidance: "Can I use the restroom?" one student wrote in large block letters, holding it up.

Overall, though, it seemed like there were fewer place to hide from a blank page than there are from a blank screen, or perhaps just fewer distractions at hand, and everyone wrote (or drew) something they could share.

I'd call that a success.

Let Me Have a Bite of that Cookie, Marcel

Over the course of a middle school day your average teacher probably has hundreds of interactions with students. Multiply that by weeks and years and it becomes pretty clear that we must forget ten times the events we remember.

The older you get, it seems like the worse it gets. This morning when I walked in the building, the first student I saw asked me if I had seen her alphabiography from the night before. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I haven't had a chance, yet."

"It's S," she told me, "for you!"

"Oh! I can't wait," I replied, rubbing my hands together.

But of course, I forgot. Right before she was to enter my class, I dashed to the computer and pulled up her writing. The piece was about an incident that happened in class a couple of days ago, which, not surprisingly, I had totally forgotten about.

On that day, this particular student had not followed part of the directions on an assignment. When she brought it to me to ask a question, she prefaced her inquiry with, "Don't scream at me! I know I didn't do this right!"

"Scream at you?" I asked, "When do I ever scream at anyone?"

She shrugged and nodded, conceding my point.

"I! Never! Scream!" I shouted. "Right?"

She jumped and then laughed. The rest of the class looked over and then continued working. It was just another silly day in English.

Here's how she concluded her piece: Good memories that I will never forget :)

I wish I could say the same.

Strings Attached

Amari's going to be eight next week and so she invited me to her party. The daughter of a former student and the granddaughter of a colleague, I've known her all her life, and she is practically family. '"Sure, I'll come!" I told her. "That will be fun!"

The next day, she asked if I would read a book to the kids at the party. "Yes!" I answered, "That will be great."

The next day, she told me the theme of the party was arts and crafts. "We want you to make those little animals out of pipe cleaners and teach everybody to draw Ninja Turtles."

"What happened to the book?" I asked.

"That, too." She waved her hand across her chest.

My part in the celebration was growing, but it was still doable."Okay," I agreed.

The next day she came by to check that I had learned how to draw the turtles. I hadn't realized how tight my deadline was, but I searched up a quick model on the internet and sketched an angular head with a mask that passed her inspection.

In an effort to deflect any more unannounced responsibilities, I asked her a few questions about the other party details. "Is your mom going to make cupcakes?"

"Yes," she replied, "and the whole party crew is going to decorate them."

"Who's the party crew?" I wondered aloud.

"You..." she started, and my eyes grew wide. Visions of myself rising before dawn to begin work on this obviously very involved event made me catch my breath. "... and me, and Nana, and Heidi, and everyone else who comes."

"Oh! So, it's decorate your own cupcakes?" I said, relieved. "Cool!"

Writing by Ear

My students are polishing up their knowledge and application of the mechanics of dialogue, and one of the quick exercises I've assigned is to recreate a recent conversation. For some reason, this tickles them.

"What if I can't remember one?" someone always asks.

"Write this one down," I answer.

"Really?" he or she giggles and heads back to the table.

Then, when I try to quiet the class if there's too much talking, they like to tell me they are gathering material for the assignment.

You can imagine how spontaneous some of the writing is. Today, somebody turned in this one:

"I can't eat pork," I said.
"Mean either," Shane replied.

"What's this?" I pointed to the second line, curiously. I knew what the author meant, but I wondered why that construction made sense to her.

"It means that he's saying, I can't eat pork, either," she told me.

"Well, you write that as, me neither," I showed her, writing as I spoke.

"Oh!" she wrinkled her nose. "Well, it doesn't sound like that!" she told me.

Tales of the Time Change

"Condolences on your least favorite day of the year," a colleague called snarkily over her shoulder on Friday.

"Enjoy your short weekend," I rejoined in the same spirit.

Grrrrr.

*     *     *

My brother is traveling to Texas today. "Is that like double Daylight Savings Time for you?" I asked. 

"No, it's like traveling back into Eastern Standard Time," he said.

Lucky.

*     *     *

"How's it going?" a neighbor asked this morning as our dogs sniffed each other.

"Fine, considering it's the worst day on the calendar," I sighed.

She was sympathetic. "At least dogs can't tell time," she offered. "On this end, they'll let you sleep in."

True.

The Emperor's New Salad

I like to think of myself as a bit of a foodie. I eat out, read food magazines, watch Top Chef, follow the trends on Twitter, and cook a little myself, too. So, I am aware of the recent kale rage and not surprised in the least that lately? It seems like any place that considers itself some place has a kale salad on the menu.

Before we go any further let me publicly proclaim my support of greens. I have a winter CSA, and believe me, I have spent the last five years devising new ways to prepare and eat greens. I plan to continue to do so. Greens are great!

To continue...

A quick search of the internet turns up countless recipes for innumerable versions of kale saled. All have one thing in common: you must "massage" the kale before serving. Shouldn't that be a clue?

Even so, it was with happy aniticpation and the unabashed praise of the waiter that I ordered my first kale salad a few weeks ago. It was lunch time on a holiday Monday, though, and so the kitchen did not send my order with the rest of our table's.

We were on our way to a movie, I had a main dish coming, my family had shared their appetizers with me, so I shrugged it off and asked the waiter to take it off the check. His eyes widened in genuine concern. It will only take a moment, he assured me, but I was already sure, no salad today.

A few minutes later, along with our entrees the waiter presented a kale salad. It's on me, he said. I didn't want you to miss out. I appreciated the gesture, but I doubt any salad could live up to such hype, and that kale salad definitely did not. We all tried a bite, and when we were finished chewing, (and chewing, and chewing), we agreed that perhaps this green did not lend itself to a salad.

Or maybe it just needed a bit more massaging.