Accentuate the Positive

Sometimes it can be a challenge to put together a vegan meal for Heidi when dining out. Going out for a Friday night fish fry is a tradition here in Buffalo (and they make the best fried fish I have ever tasted anywhere in my life!), but it is not a very friendly meal for those who are on a plant-based diet, so before we went left for the restaurant tonight, we looked at the menu online to try to figure out what Heidi might order. 

It is a pretty traditional place with many classic dishes, but aside from the salad and French fries, not a single one was vegan. "Look! They have chicken in a basket," Heidi said. "Who even calls it that anymore?"

I remembered back when I was very young, my family used to occasionally go to this restaurant that was down a long wooded lane and right next to the water. It was there that I first had not chicken, but shrimp in a basket. At the time, it was one of the most delicious things I had ever eaten, and I would have ordered it anytime we went out, but for the fact that I knew it was too expensive. Somehow I understood that I shouldn't ask for it too often, but I also knew that whenever I did, my dad would say yes.

"That's a nice story about your dad," Heidi said. "I haven't heard many of those."

She's right. I'm going to try to tell more.

Dig Dig Dig

Perhaps one of the qualities that has helped me to be a good teacher is that throughout my life I have maintained an appreciation for things that kids like. At 9' I was a little older than the target audience for Sesame Street, but I was charmed by it never the less, and I never considered it too babyish when the younger kids wanted to watch. Likewise, I have always found a way to enjoy drawing or building or reading or playing with kids, and not just because they were having fun. You can't fake engagement, and that's really what kids, what people, respond to.

Lately there has been a lot of Minecraft in my life. Students and nephews are wild about the game, but so far I have  resisted its charms. It hasn't engaged me. "Please play with me," Kyle pleaded tonight. "I don't want to have to play with myself!"

I laughed at his choice of words but promised him that I would give it a try tomorrow. "OK, show me how to start," I added because he looked so disappointed. 

I knew from my students that there was some kind of wood chopping to do at the beginning and then later on, mining and crafting. (Yeah, the significance of the name was not lost on me, the English teacher.) Tonight I peppered Kyle with questions as he punched the screen with his thumb. Why are those rocks different color? What's the difference between cobble stone and common stone? Why do you want to craft a better pick axe?

At the last inquiry, he sighed, and answered me with slight exasperation. "Because it makes it way easier to mine."

"Oh yeah," I responded, pretending to get it, "you wouldn't want to sprain your thumb."

Do You Know Why I Pulled You Over?

I remember the first time I ever got pulled over by a cop. It was like 30 years ago; I was in college and some friends and I were on our way from Hamilton, NY to Virginia Beach for the weekend. This was a spur of the moment trip-- we piled into my yellow VW Rabbit at 7 PM on Friday, and six hours later picked up another friend of mine in DC. The sun was rising over Hampton Roads and I could literally smell the salt water as I sped across the causeway leading from the tunnel. It was then I spied the flashing red lights in my rear view. My hands were trembling as I guided the car to the narrow shoulder. The other three people woke up when we stopped. My heart was pounding and there was a giant lump in my throat as I struggled to roll down the window to speak to the stern-faced trooper on the other side; I was in big trouble, and I knew it. 

Despite being 14 miles over the speed limit, I did not get a ticket that day. Perhaps there was something about a carful of kids who had driven all night to see the ocean that moved the officer to give me a warning instead. I thanked him and drove away.

Over the next few years, I wasn't quite as lucky, and I confess to receiving several speeding tickets. Lately, though, my streak has been pretty good. I've gone 25 years with just a single citation, and that one was six years ago, but when I blew past that cop in Pennsylvania doing 73 in a 55 zone this afternoon, I knew I was busted even before he turned on to the road. I moved to the right lane and waited for him to get behind me and turn on his lights. I glided to a stop on the side of the road, considerately rolling a little ways past the dead deer carcass. If he wanted to chide me, he was out of luck; there was no pounding heart, no sweaty palms, and certainly no tears. I gave the young man my documents, secure in the strength of my driving record. 

We listened to the radio and chatted while he sat in his cruiser and did his duty, and when he returned, it was not with a speeding ticket, but rather a lesser citation. I thanked him and drove away.

Things I've Learned this Week

There is a live Supreme Court of the United States blog.

The justices read their decisions in order of the majority opinion author's seniority, but the chief justice is always most senior.

Tomorrow might be a very big day.

Windows Down

Since we were on vacation, we decided to take the long road home yesterday (after the turtle incident). We avoided the traffic on I-81, opting instead for 50 miles on Skyline Drive. The temperature was 10 degrees cooler up there at the top of those blue ridges, and so we put our windows down and enjoyed the views. On a Sunday at 5 PM we practically had the parkway to ourselves. We knew the day would be long, and the golden light of the nearly midsummer's evening made everything glow as we rolled along with the wind in our hair.

Later, when we got down from the mountains, we kept the windows open, barreling along country roads, bracing for a bump. The warm air smelled like so many summer evenings spent at my Aunt Harriet's house when we were kids, and at last I felt like school was really out.

A Simple Thank-you Would Do

We kicked off our summer vacation today with a great road trip. My mom is in town and so the three of us headed 2 1/2 hours southwest to Staunton, VA, home of the famous "farm museum."

I had a hard time believing that it's been 15 years since my last visit, but finding that they had moved a whole farm house about a quarter mile away convinced me that all that time had indeed passed. Still, the place is fun and engaging, and visiting actual reconstructed houses from 17th century England and 18th century Germany, Ireland, and the Virginia frontier is still really cool, and so is the fact that they try to make them working farms-- raising crops and livestock, preparing food, and fashioning tools and clothing in the manner they would have been back then.

As memorable as the day was, it was on our way home, literally on the road out of the place that probably my most indelible memory was formed. A turtle was in the middle of the driveway as we headed out. "We should stop and move it," Heidi suggested, and I agreed. I pulled over and jogged back to the big painted slider. Sensing me, he pulled his head in and snapped the carapace closed. Undeterred, I grabbed him and stepped toward the grass. With that, he let out a huge stream of pee that ran down my leg and on to my shoe.

To my credit, I did not drop him. I deposited him gently on the bank of the pond he was probably heading toward before running back to the car hollering in total disgust.

Ummm? You're welcome, turtle.

The Twist

Morgan Freeman the villain? I did not see that coming.