Surprise Me

It's been a kind of a movie-book weekend: in addition to a Harry Potter marathon on TV, I've seen both Catching Fire and The Book Thief, two movies I was looking forward to after having read the books.

But while Potter rarely disappoints, the other two were a bit of a let down. Describing them as predictable seems a little unfair, since I had read the books, but I think that's the key. If you know the plot, then the movie has to deliver something that adds to the book. It might be the performances, the sets, or the special effects (points to the Harry Potter series for all of those), but there has to be something, otherwise what's the point?

Slip-slidin

Our Thanksgiving holiday is nearly over. A week ago we were gathering for the first meal of the holidays and a week from now, We'll be decorating our Christmas tree. When I was a child, time was like an endless sidewalk stretching between right now, half an hour, and way too long to imagine, but now it's more like wide stepping stones across a slow flowing river; we hop from one to the next to the next. To stop often means no more than to simply look back, amazed at how quickly we have progressed, how far we have come.

The Food Wheel

If Thanksgiving is orange and gold and brown, full of rich, traditional foods comforting and satisfying in their earthiness, then for our family, the next day is not Black Friday but rather Red Friday. For dinner on that day, we always have pasta with marinara and sausage, along with a salad with plenty of lemon and vinegar. It is a meal as acidic and tangy as Thanksgiving is warm and redolent, a complimentary feast of sorts-- especially when you put out those leftover desserts.

More than One Way to Roast a Bird

This year for Thanksgiving, my brother did an excellent job roasting the turkey-- mahogany brown and crisp on the outside, inside it was moist and delicious, and as we sat around the table after enjoying our feast, our conversation turned to other birds and other cooking methods. A classic story in our family is about the time my mom called from work to ask me to start dinner.

A teenager, I was less than enthusiastic about the request. "What do I have to do?" I answered.

My mother told me there was a whole chicken and a package of drumsticks. "Just tie the legs together and put it all in the oven at 350," she said.

"Why do I have to tie the legs together?" I asked her.

"So they don't come apart when they're cooking," she said.

"What difference does that make?" I wondered. "How do I do it?"

"You've seen me do it all the time," she answered, slightly exasperated, perhaps a little annoyed. "Just get some string and do it."

We hung up, but I was still confused. I could not ever recall her tying chicken legs together, but dutifully, I did as I was told, and when my mother got home from work she found a whole chicken and a chain of six neatly bound drumsticks roasting in the oven.

411: How Can I Help You?

Every classroom in our building has a system-issued, land-line phone somewhere in it. Technically, the students are not supposed to have their mobile phones with them, but realistically? The requests to use our classroom phones become fewer and fewer with passing time.

Even so, we teachers make use of them, particularly to call the parents of students when we are concerned. Fortunately, we have access to the parents' numbers, because believe it or not, most kids don't know them, and how could they? To them their parents are just another entry on their contact list. Personally, I think that is irresponsible, but I digress.

Often times, the students themselves are present during these teacher-initiated conversations, and it is rare that the parents don't ask to speak to their sons and daughters personally before ending the call.

That's what was happening the other day in one of my colleague's rooms. She handed a student the phone, and when he had heard what his mom had to say, he turned to his teacher in confusion, holding the handset in front of him.

"How do I turn this thing off?" he asked.

She took it from his hand and hung it up.

Scattered

And if I seemed a little grumpy today, perhaps it was because I walked out the door without my coffee. Not only did I forget it, I forgot to make it! I had no idea I was even missing something until I reached for it on my desk only to discover... well, you know.

Fingers crossed that having the next five days off will restore a few brain cells. Isn't that how it works? I forget.

Time to Set another Alarm

For years the method has worked. Radio at 5:15, alarm at 5:30, I usually rise around 5:45. Last night, though, my fitful dreams, centered around school and the book I'm reading, made any kind of deep sleep elusive, and so at 5:45, when they were talking about the possible hazards of a nicotine patch for pregnant women, I must have dozed off instead of getting up.

In fact it wasn't until 6:25 when my very busy dream about taking the Tolerance Club students to meet Bill Cosby with a radio journalist-- the reporter wore strange, high-wasted plaid flannel pants and offered one of the seventh graders a beer while Phylicia Rashad looked uncomfortably on-- gave way to the notion that something was terribly wrong, and Holy Crap!

I bolted to the shower. But not before I heard the end of that interview with Bill Cosby.