New Reality

It wasn't that long ago that we were gently requested to leave electronics powered off at meetings and presentations. Then it seemed only courteous to give your full attention to the business at hand. Those days are long gone, though. Now silencing your device is the only thing you may be asked to do. A quick look around any meeting and you will see laptops open and a phone in every hand plus a few tablets to boot. Far from being offended, many presenters have embraced the connectivity, and we are encouraged to tweet and live chat questions and observations as the session unfolds. Oh, I have no doubt that such communications offer a way to keep people focused and engaged, and also give them a chance to interact with, and construct meaning from, the material on the agenda--

at least between emails and Words with Friends.

Get Set

"It's amazing how it almost feels as if we never left," a colleague noted to me as we worked to ready my classroom this afternoon.

It was our first day back from summer break, and I knew what she meant: placing the desks, hooking up the electronics, and organizing my bookshelves, pencils, markers, and highlighters didn't feel new in the least; it was rather like getting back to some familiar, important business.

Okay...

Let's do this!

Glimmer of the End of the Tunnel

Twenty-two years ago, right around this time of year, my mom and I made a trip down to Ikea to buy a few things to furnish and decorate my very first classroom. Since then, I've only switched rooms once, right after that very first year, and so tomorrow marks the beginning of my 22nd year in Room 275.

Heidi has not had the same experience as I; in her almost equal years at the school, she is on her 5th classroom. So, this afternoon she and I headed down to Ikea to pick up a few things to make her newest space a little homier for her and her students. It's been years since our last visit, so we agreed to browse the whole shebang, starting with the showrooms and moving on down to all that fun stuff in the Marketplace.

One of the first items we saw in the home office section was a set of wooden magazine cases. They were both pleasing-- so smooth, so simple-- and reasonably priced, and I lingered over them for more than a moment. "Go ahead!" Heidi encouraged me, "Get 'em!"

But I declined: you see, I still have the colorful cardboard versions of them that I bought so long ago, and I think I can make them last those few more years they must.

Out of the Gate

This morning was the first meeting of the year for me; at 8:45 I took my place at a group of round tables hastily pushed into an un-nameable shape and quietly waited for the folder that would mark the official beginning of the SY 15-16. 

This was my 17th team leaders meeting, and as they go? It wasn't too bad. We talked mainly about big ideas: leadership, morale, motivation, collaboration, vision, and mission. There was pizza and salad for lunch. I spoke up a few times, and my contributions were noted. On my way out of the building the principal promised to get me the info I needed to register for a training I volunteered for. 

"Oh, I already did that," I told her.

She seemed impressed. "Well! Look at you-- registering, and coming up with slogans, and adding to the statements!"

"I know, right?" I answered. "I'm going home to take a nap!"

Cussed

Four years separate the girls in age: Ally is 15, and Laney just turned 11. She's hardly the typical younger sister though. Instead of wanting to participate in everything the older kids do, Laney seems committed to being a kid as long as possible. She loves the childrens menu, for example, and refuses to even look at anything else. Her wardrobe is still pink and sparkly, and her first choice for movie night is always G-rated and always animated. Sure, she texts and snapchats, but that kind of stuff starts with kids much younger than she is now.

She also hates it when people cuss, which she calls "potty-mouth", and that's an area where I had to give her some gentle ribbing.

"What kind of cussing do the kids at your school do?" I asked. "Like what do they say?"

Her eyes widened. Here was a girl who won't even say, "crap."

"Oh c'mon," I continued. "I'm a teacher. I'm just curious about what middle schoolers in New Jersey do."

"Well," she took a deep breath. "There is this certain group of girls we call 'R's..." She looked at me meaningfully.

I frowned. "R? R for what?" I couldn't imagine what she meant.

"You know," she said, "R-A..." she trailed off again.

I thought long and hard. "No idea what you're trying to tell me," I finally shook my head.

She sighed, exasperated, and a little convinced that I was trying to trick her into spelling something inappropriate. "Fine! R-A-T-C-H-E-T!" She blushed.

"Did you just spell 'ratchet'?" I asked.

She nodded.

"What does that even mean?"

"It's ghetto," she told me.

"For what?"

She shrugged. "Mean people, I think. We just call them the Rats," she continued.

"Ah. That seems much better," I agreed.

Blame Game

We went out for burgers before getting on the road this evening to take the girls back to their folks. They're pretty good eaters-- both have big appetites, and although either girl will try anything that I cook, the older sister is much more adventurous when it comes to dining out. So burgers it was: Laney ordered a cheeseburger from the kids menu, and Ally ordered something huge with a fried egg and onion rings on top, and their plates were nearly clean when I paid the check and we headed north.

Traffic on I-95 is always dicey, and even on a Sunday evening I was on the brakes hard a couple of times. There were a few bumps and lane changes as well, and it wasn't long before Ally was complaining that my driving was making her sick.

"Sorry," I said. "I'll try to drive more gently, because I'm sure that's what the problem is, especially since it couldn't possibly be those 1500 calories you scarfed down at dinner."

Last Frontier

We've been back from vacation since Tuesday, but my mind and my heart aren't quite home yet. Things that are usually a little aggravating about where we live, like crowds and traffic, are enormously so now, and things I generally share with my fellow inside-the-Beltway-ites, like a preoccupation with Congress, the economy, and all matter of international troubles, seem crushing in their mundane negativity.

Just today I looked at the clock and thought, Well, it's Saturday-- the tour will be in Talkeetna right about now, waiting for the train to Denali. How gold is the aspen and birch? How cottony is the fireweed? Is it clear enough to see the mountain?

Oh, it's just vacation envy; I harbor no illusions about actually living in Alaska. How can I be so sure? Well Alaska is enjoying some measure of celebrity in popular culture these days. In addition to many, many Facebook pages dedicated to the 49th state, there are lots of blogs, and tons of TV reality shows. So this morning when I was feeling a little wistful, I tuned into to Edge of Alaska, a Discovery Channel production about a little town on the Wrangell Range and its hardy denizens.

The one episode I saw featured a man in his 70s using his ATV to right his outhouse after a black bear knocked it over (In the winter I don't mind pooping on a paper plate and throwing it into the fire, he said, but summer's different.), a family attempting to plow a garden with their sled dogs, a couple of guys unsuccessfully flying into the bush and hiking six miles to get to the mouth of an abandoned mine, and a woman kayaking 10 miles down a rapid river to stake a claim for gold.

I'm just not sure that's for me.