Charlie

"You are soooo cursed!" I overheard one of my homeroom students mutter to another this morning.

"Hey, now!" I interjected, "Why would you say that?"

"It's a game," the first student explained, but there was definitely some sheepishness in her tone that hinted at more than a simple little amusement. Perhaps reading my facial expression, she quickly added, "Everyone is playing it!"

"Tell me about this game," I invited her, and she was only too happy to do so. In fact the whole class crowded around my desk while she demonstrated.

"It's called Charlie," she started. "You draw a cross on the paper, like this," she continued, dividing a sheet of loose-leaf into quadrants with a green marker. "Then you write YES NO NO YES in the boxes. Next you need two pencils-- wait! Do you have two pencils I can borrow?"

I sighed and produced them. "Why should today be any different? You guys never have pencils!" I chided as I handed them over.

"Then you balance them in the middle," she said and leaned over my desk, placing one pencil along the x-axis of her YES-NO chart, and attempting to balance the other one on top of it along the y-axis.

"When the end touches the paper like that it means that side is heavier," I told her as she struggled; it was a teachable moment. "Scootch it the other way." She did and soon the pencils formed a cross.

"Now you say, Charlie, Charlie are you here? But I'm not going to say it! The top pencil will spin to YES and you'll be cursed!"

I looked at the half-circle of kids surrounding my desk. They were definitely engaged. "Well, I'm going to say it," I said, and I did. The group pushed closer, 20 eyes fixed on a number 2 pencil. Nothing happened.

"Wait for it," someone whispered. I leaned my head on my hand, my elbow next to the sheet of paper and scanned their faces again. Their expressions ranged from scared to interested to amused. Without moving, I blew gently on the pencil, it spun slowly toward the YES.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

They all jumped back. Several chairs clattered and fell in the students' haste to get away from Charlie. The group recovered quickly. "She blew on it!" one of them assured the others.

I laughed. "I'm sorry!" I said. "I couldn't resist. It's so silly! People are just telling you stories to scare you. I don't want you to be frightened!"

Some kids laughed, too, but others were uncertain. "You didn't say it right," the first girl told me.

"Well at least I'm not cursed then," I replied.

I had almost forgotten the whole thing when a little while later one of those kids approached me in English class. "Can I borrow a pencil?" he asked.

"There's a couple right there," I said, pointing to my desk. "You can have one of those."

He hesitated. "Um, can I borrow a different pencil?" He looked at me meaningfully. "Those are Charlie's."

Labor Days Weekend

This year, our garden is better than ever (there's even watermelon and a corn corner!), and a big portion of the credit goes to Treat, who put in 9 hours over the last three days. His contribution allowed us to get everything in.

Now comes the waitin (and the waterin and the weedin, of course).

Peel and Eat

Many years ago, I lived with my brother and sister at the beach. Back then we never had a shortage of house guests– we were at an age when neither we nor our visitors cared about formal sleeping arrangements, so all summer long people came to stay with us at the beach. I'm not sure how beer-boiled shrimp with plenty of Old Bay, french fries, and salad became our standard meal for company, but it did, and in the days before farmed shrimp, we could stop into the seafood market and get all the fresh, local shrimp we wanted for not that much money. Some lettuce, tomato, cucumber, a few potatoes, and a couple of six packs of beer turned that seafood into a feast.

I remembered those days yesterday when, after several hours of gardening in perfect weather beneath a gorgeous blue sky, I wanted an equally perfect holiday meal to kick off the summer. When my grocer had fresh Carolina shrimp at the seafood counter, I knew I had found my menu.

It could only have been better had my brother and sister and several random friends been crowded around that same teak dining table we had at the beach with me, peeling shrimp, dipping fries in cocktail sauce, and swigging beer, too.

Early to Bed

After a very busy week, even an interesting episode of Who Do You Think You Are? couldn't keep me from nodding off in front of the TV before nine last night. "Get up!" Heidi poked me. "It's obviously your bed time."

"But, but, it's Friday!" I protested.

"You're already sleeping," she pointed out, and I had to admit she was right.

Still, when I climbed the stairs to our darkened room I saw that the last light of day had not yet drained from the western sky, and I felt like the little girl I was almost 50 years ago. Even then it just seemed wrong to go to bed before the sun set.

But that was my last thought before I faded, which the day did, too, just a little after me. 

Go Boom

Oh dear! Was that my ankle that twisted on the hill this afternoon sending me tumbling down the asphalt path in front of several colleagues and students?

'Fraid so-- and although my pink cheeks have faded, I've got the ripped pants and skinned knee to prove it. 

Second Chances

And now the expedited retake ball is in my court.

Paradoxically, although I am an inveterate opponent of these high-stake tests, I still want all my students to pass. Today was our day, sixth grade reading, and before the last student's final click the results started rolling in. By 1:30, with 85% of the scores reported, most of my students had passed as expected, but there were six kids who were eligible to try again another day.

With direct access only to the names and scores of those students, I worried about a few who weren't on the list at all yet, and so each time I refreshed the remediation spreadsheet and they did not appear, I felt a wave of relief.

Until it occurred to me that perhaps their scores were too low to make that cut.

Anonymous Patron

The email was brief: I have a basket for you. It was also perplexing, arriving as it did from the front office secretary in the middle of first period. I resolved to resolve it later and promptly forgot as I continued teaching my class. A little while later, when she called me with a message for a student, the secretary asked if I had received the email. "Yes," I answered, "I'll be down at lunch to get it."

The basket was small: natural wicker and about the size of a tissue box, wrapped in cellophane with crinkly shreds and tissue paper in the bottom. An envelope lay within and an index card was taped to the outside: Ms. S. "English teacher" Please make sure she gets this. 

"Where did this come from?" I asked. 

She shrugged. "It was on my desk when I got here this morning." 

Baffled, I carried it back to my room.

This was a complete mystery: when I examined the parcel more closely, I saw that the clear plastic wrap was already broken. Something made me hesitate to reach inside, but eventually I did.

It contained two things: a gift card for 25 dollars at a local restaurant and a voucher for free dance lessons at Arthur Murray– two private, 2 group, and 2 practice party passes. Retail value? 337 dollars, but with a groupon, it cost 53 bucks.

Hmmm:  Who thinks I could use dancing lessons?

No: idea!