The Sunny Side

If you asked me what my favorite season is, I would answer without hesitation. I love fall.

As vacation-rich as teachers seem to be, our time off is rarely self-determined. Even so, every year I promise myself that I will find some time to enjoy the glories of autumn. It usually turns out that such a vow is just as realistic as elves and reindeer going to the islands for Christmas. 

This year health, family, and friends have forced me to take some days off from school, and rather than look at the circumstances as gigantic inconveniences,  I can't help but embrace them for giving me what I have wished for for years: blue skies, mountain air, fall foliage, a happy dog, fresh-picked apples, kettle corn, a fire in the fireplace, and time to enjoy it all.

National Shake Out

Q: How do you get a roomful of sixth graders to assume and silently maintain the drop, cover, and hold on position for a 2 minute earthquake?

A: Bribe them with candy.

Seriously, what else is there?

'Stalgia

Over the weekend my 18-year-old nephew was home from college for the first time and we were lucky to spend an evening with him. Our family always has spirited conversations and this occasion was no exception. We are usually pretty good at agreeing to disagree, but when Treat began to disparage nostalgia in general, it was hard to let his point go, especially considering his youth.

Let me be honest: I missed the 70s, my 7 to 17 years, the minute they ended, and recognizing songs and trends of the 60s when they became nostalgic was a major turning point in my psyche-- perhaps the moment I realized I was an adult (and that everything comes around again, which helps explain Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley).

I hated the 80s, and so those throwbacks did little for me. Now it's the 90s that are coming back. My first reaction was denial. Surely that decade couldn't have been long enough ago that we are revisiting it? And yet we are: the X-files, Full House, Friends, Counting Crows, Sonic Youth, Bush, Goosebumps and Babysitters Club are all waiting just offstage for their encores, not to mention stirrup pants and blazers with rolled up sleeves.

But you know what? I liked the 90s. I started teaching, bought my first house, and met the love of my life. My older nephews were born in that decade; I went to Maine and South Dakota and back to Europe. Sure, there was heartbreak and loss as well, but it was also when the 70s came back around.

Raising the Bar

My dad was a guy who loved to sit at a bar. Despite the fact that he was confirmed introvert, I have countless memories of going in to fetch him when we were finished at the museum, or with shopping, or the movie was over, or it was time to board the plane, and with a sweeping gesture he would drain his beer and announce to the guy on the next stool, "This is the one I was telling you about!"

"Pleased to meet ya," his new friend would say.

"Mom says it's time to go," I would tell my dad.

Who knows what stories he told? All I know is that, personally, I'm not a bar person. My cousin, on the other hand, is a bit more like her uncle. Since she's staying with us, in the past few days I've spent more time in bars than I have in the last... 30 years?

In general, though, I confess to have found them to be very genial places. In fact, tonight when we entered a local establishment to enjoy their happy hour specials, we were haled by one of the servers. "You came back!" she greeted us. "AND you're in my section again!"

Golly! How long might it be until we're the ones she was telling them about?

Numbers Game

In my "progressive" school system, we used to treat student success on high-stakes standardized tests as a necessary evil; but now those unreliable numbers are gaining major traction as a valid measure of student, teacher, and school success. Clearly some of it is pragmatism, but how can calculating the number of sub-group students (to the tenths place) who must pass so that the school can achieve our federally mandated annually measured objectives be construed as anything but cynical?

I can just hear the conversations in our PLC now. Dang! We missed it my three tenths of an Asian.

Hardcore Connoisseur

Out running errands today, my cousin and I stopped into a new restaurant to have a snack. Outfitted in lots of rustic wood and copper, the place advertises itself as serving mostly locally sourced food. Since it was Sunday, the football games were playing in the bar, and so we grabbed a seat in there. The guy next to us was munching on a small bucket of popcorn. "I love popcorn!" My cousin said.

"It's free!" he told us helpfully.

"Where do you get the popcorn?" my cousin asked the waitress when she came to take our order.

The young woman frowned. "I'm not sure where it comes from," she answered, "I believe it's local, but I'll ask in the kitchen to find out."

The guy next to us laughed. "You get it at the bar!"

Now that's local.

Stalking Chipmunks

Sometimes when I walk my dog it's all business-- we have places to go and deadlines to meet, either during or after our little constitutional. Other times, like this afternoon, we have plenty of time and it's really about the fresh air and exercise. On those occasions, I give Isabel the "ok" and see where she wants to go. As it turns out, it's often on to the grass, along the bushes on the edge, and in tightening concentric circles, until she lifts her head and cocks it as if to wonder how we ended up there and what happened to that chipmunk.

I'll leave the metaphor to you.