Proximity

My students were doing some dictionary work for their weekly word study when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw one kid slam his finger onto the page and turn wide-eyed to his partner. "Is this even allowed in school?!" he demanded.

To be honest, that type of thing happens a lot-- students are forever looking up "inappropriate" words in the dictionary and pointing them out for the entertainment of those around them. What follows is usually a brief lecture on maturity from me, and today I took a deep breath in preparation as I walked over to the two boys huddled over the giant book opened before them.

"Granny!" read the first student. "An OLD LADY!"

"That's just rude!" replied his partner, and then slid his finger down the page to graph.

Junk Fair

Today was the day when I took my classes to the school book fair. Sponsored by the PTA, it has been an annual tradition at our school since before I started. My students are always so excited to go and check out the merch in the makeshift bookstore set up in the library that it truly makes me question the fall of brick and mortar commerce. It's never the books that they want most, though-- most of their crumpled bills and sweaty coins go for posters, bookmarks, pencils, and other novelties such as this year's big seller, the chocolate calculator. For four bucks you got a little box that had either a calculator made to resemble a chocolate bar or a chocolate bar made to resemble a calculator; I'm still not sure which.

Imagine

I've noticed that my students this year are really good test-takers, and by that I mean they are very respectful of a testing environment, always quiet and quite serious. I don't mean that they are good at studying for tests, because they are not; preparing in advance for an assessment on specific material is still an emerging skill for most of them.

That's not entirely unexpected, though, managing a schedule of 7-8 different teachers is one of the ways middle school kicks it up a notch from elementary school. Unfortunately, they also seem to have another glaring weakness as well: so many times when I ask them to use their imagination they act as if their brains are breaking.

Just today in a mini-lesson on figurative language the question was "If the main character in your book was an animal what would he or she be and why?" I was astonished at how many students could not fathom how to approach this exercise. "There's no right or wrong answer," I told them, "as long as you can explain why." And that seemed to frustrate them even more.

PS Could it actually be 34 years since we lost John Lennon? Imagine that.

Fire Side Chats

"I just don't learn that way," a friend of mine said the other day when I was asking her, again, if she was listening to the podcast that is sweeping the nation, Serial.

So that was a no, but it was not a no I could really understand. Personally, I love the radio, and specifically, talk radio. In fact, I'm sure I listen to way more radio than I watch TV, which is a revelation to even me, as I type this.

My appreciation of the medium actually goes pretty far back; I have clear memories of being eleven and desperately trying to tune my AM radio through the static to find WOR from New York City. At 7 PM, the airwaves were usually pretty cooperative, despite the 70 miles separating me from the station. What did I want to hear, you wonder? The CBS Radio Mystery Hour, hosted by EG Marshall.

Oh, it was an acknowledged throw-back to the golden days of radio, but I couldn't get enough of the suspenseful audio drama. Later, I became a fan of Prairie Home Companion, also a nostalgia-fueled program. And these days? In addition to news, I love me some audiobooks and podcasts. And just tonight I heard a radio documentary on Eleanor and Franklin Roosevelt, who were, it seems, the first family of radio.

Of course, I was enthralled.

Well Played

Every middle school kid is fragile in some way, but some are a little more so than others. This year we have such a student; he had enough trouble in elementary school that we were all a little worried about how he might make the transition to sixth grade. So far, he's surprised everyone with how well he's doing. In fact, if I didn't know what to look out for, it probably wouldn't be on my radar screen at all.

Sure, he's a character; and when the other day he burst into homeroom in his usual state of disorganization and dishevelment and asked loudly for everyone's attention, he certainly had mine.

I watched carefully as the 12 other kids stopped talking and turned to face him with curiosity.

"I have a very important announcement!" he continued. "I... have... an... ocarina!!!!" Then he bowed slightly and headed toward his seat.

"No one cares if you have an ocarina!" snorted one of the other students.

I took a deep breath, but before I could address this unkind remark, the first kid turned to his classmate and replied, "Dude! Nobody cares if anybody has an ocarina. That's why it's funny!" Then he shrugged and sat down.

Free WiFi

I played a little soft jazz for my students this week as they circulated through the class sharing ideas for their next writing pieces. It was what I happened to have on play on my phone, and I figured it was unobjectionable enough.

I never would have predicted how popular it would be! In fact yesterday, at our voluntary, after-school study hall, which we call "homework club", several students requested that I put it on.

"It's so relaxing," said one.

"Yeah," added another, "we should call this the homework cafe!"

And indeed, they sat scattered around tables and in easy chairs, with books and lap tops, working diligently.

Heck! I was tempted to start serving warm drinks!

No Scrubs

My mother always taught me to clean up as I cooked, but working in a professional kitchen rapidly disabused me of that good habit, and so I usually just pile my bowls, pots and pans at the edge of the sink and keep on cooking. At our house, I'm the chief cook and so rarely am I also the bottle-washer. There are times, though, when I am finished with our meal, and I look at that hefty stack by the sink, and just grab me a sponge or a dishrag and get to washing.

Tonight was one such night. As I scrubbed, my thoughts floated up with the soap bubbles and back to my first cooking job. It was in a little cafe with a cold case. We made fresh pasta on the premises and sandwiches to order, but the primary business was filling the case and catering. The backbone of the kitchen staff was Robert-- he made the pasta and supervised the clean up and prep staff which consisted of his sister, Reesa, and his brothers Richard and Seward.

Seward was actually the oldest sibling, but he was, as we described him back then, simple, and so he did all the dishes and mopped the floors. He was a cheerful guy with a huge grin, and his signature replies were, "I sure am!" or "You do, don't ya?" The owners had affectionately dubbed him "Monsieur," and everyone appreciated his sunny personality and more than tolerated his occasional foibles.

Once I was having a conversation with another cook, and as Seward came by, he mistakenly thought we were addressing him. He stopped, confused. "I'm not talking to you, Seward," I shook my head as I corrected him.

"Why?" he asked, crestfallen. "What'd I do!?"