Vegan Picnic

In the spirit of the traditional Memorial Day cook-out, our menu is this:

Potato salad with a miso-mustard apple cider vinaigrette
Bean salad with mint and cumin
Burmese ginger slaw
Corn on the cob

And for the carnivore?

Throw a free-range pork chop on the grill.

It's going to be a good summer!

Hot and Cold

This unofficial first weekend of summer brings so many opportunities and choices. For example, after working in the garden for a couple of hours this afternoon, I couldn't wait to jump in the pool. But then, after standing on the first step of the pool for a couple seconds?

I could wait.

Honor Roll

Washington, DC
Memorial Day 2014

For the second time in as many weekends I found myself seated on a folding chair under an impossibly blue sky as a wave of names washed over me. The names rose and fell on voices broken and strong, and a light cool breeze blew puffy white clouds both over and away from the warm sun as a line of people patiently waited for their turn on stage. Today, though, there were no diplomas; they were volunteers who stood silently by until it was time for them to climb the single step to the podium and read the names of 15 of the 6,717 service men and women who have been killed in action since 2001, and rather than celebrate their futures, we honored their sacrifice.

Miracle Grow

Oh how happy and proud I was today to share a dozen of my grown-from-seed tomato plants with a few colleagues who expressed interest. Our garden is nearly full, and so all the spares I had got to go to other good gardens.

My hopes are high!

Role Model

"Is there writing club today?" Madeline came by to ask this morning.

"No. We had it last week," I told her. "It's only twice a month."

"But..." she was speechless for a rare moment. "Can we please have it again this week?"

Madeline is a great kid, and I can tell the end of middle school weighs heavily on her. I knew I'd be there after school. "Well, okay... if you can get at least five other kids, it's a go." I gave her the thumbs up.

"Yes!" she replied. "I know I can do that!" And off she went to round up her fellow writers.

With wide eyes, the sixth graders in my homeroom watched her disappear through the doorway and then looked at me; they were clearly a little surprised at the passion (for writing! of all things) that they had just witnessed.

But all the better for it, I think.

Big Fish

How fitting that when we called the restaurant to order a gift certificate for Heidi's dad that they told us he had just left. Happy Birthday, Gar! Enjoy the next few fish fries on us!

Bon Mot

I have a student this year who is super intelligent and very hard-working. She is in all the advanced classes we offer at sixth grade and has been on the honor roll every quarter. And yet, I know from working with her, that there are some gaps and glitches in how her brain works.

For example, she is a native English speaker but she often must grasp for even common words in both speaking and writing. The way she asks is very round-about, too. "What do they call that thing?" is how she usually starts, and then she laughs, sheepishly acknowledging her vagueness.

Today she asked that question twice as she composed a quick 150 word personal narrative. The first time she described a "glass box for snakes or turtles."

"An aquarium?" I tried, but she looked doubtful. "A tank?"

"Yes!" She went back to writing.

A little while later, she asked about an object that "You use it when you're, y'know, and it looks like this..." Here she paused and drew a quick sketch of a rectangular shape with what might have been a handle. "The floor..." She trailed off, but one of her classmates came to her rescue.

"A dust pan?"

"Yes!" she said.

At the end of the lesson she volunteered to read her piece, and it was a really, really good story about how she and her mom and sisters rescued a bird from their cat (using a dust pan) and then nursed it (in an aquarium), until one day it was able to fly away on its own.

I did have to laugh a little at how it started, though: We were cleaning the house, and my mom was brooming.