Getting it Done

The assistant principal and director of guidance were standing by the door after school this afternoon just as I was busting out of one meeting trying to get halfway across the county to another in 12 minutes.

"Good luck with your presentation!" one of them called, and I must have made some kind of sour face when I thanked her, because she continued, "You'll be great!" and gave me a thumbs up.

Truth be told, my mind was elsewhere. On a day in the middle of a week that includes preparing sixth graders for their first student-led conferences, finalizing interim grades, planning for a major schedule change and additional class prep, stuffing all the business of an interdisciplinary team into 2 45-minute periods, and oh yeah, teaching, assessing, and planning, I was already way past worrying about that particular commitment.

"I know!" I waved as I pushed through the double doors toward the parking lot.

"I like a person with confidence!" I heard behind me as I went.

#Hashtag

One of the strategies we learned this summer to help young writers get to the heart of their personal narratives in terms of message, meaning, and why the story matters was to have them hashtag it. "Kids are familiar with that!" our instructor told us, and we agreed.

Well, this week I have had some #amusing conversations with my #sixthgraders. Understandably, not so many of them are even on social media, and so the concept is not quite as ingrained in them as perhaps originally presumed. #jumpingtoconclusions

The more concrete thinkers among them want to use the hashtag as a simple label, and that is completely understandable. #shouldaseenitcoming For example, a picture of a goldfish yielded #goldfish, #pet, #Nemo (with a sharp rebuke from the other students) and #thesnackthatsmileback.

"What about #dinner?" I asked.

"EW!" they answered.

"Don't you mean #ew!" I asked.

"Unless you're a cat!" someone suggested. And she was right, because hashtags certainly reveal your perspective.

Even so, most folks have kind of gotten away from the hashtag as a tool for thematic connection, and now it is really more of a witty addendum to a tweet or snapchat.

And yet the exercise of generating several quick labels for my own writing pieces really paid off. Like the kids, I started with the obvious, but with free association, I generally found the heart of my piece by the 3rd or 4th hashtag. To be honest, it was almost therapeutic.

For a sketch I'd written about an environmental club my sixth grade teachers started that was invitation only and which I had not been invited to join. I started with #stupidclub, moved on to #that'snot fair, and finally ended with #whynotme? And I realized that the reason it still bothered me after 43 years was because there is a part of me that assumes that I was rightfully rejected and still wonders why I wasn't good enough.

Hashtag that.

Slam It!

I must have spent a solid thirty minutes out by the car yesterday slamming and opening and re-slamming the back hatch. It just would not latch! I emptied the rear, moved the liner mat, and then removed it all together, used my electronic fob to mess with it, and when that didn't work, used the key itself to push the mechanism in and out of position. No luck! Activating the car alarm gave me the the three beep warning that something was ajar, as did the dash control panel. At last I gave up and returned inside to Google the problem, where I found that, according to the internet, this had never happened to anyone else, ever.


Whoa! An hour in, I knew I had to make a repair appointment, which I did this afternoon. The guy at the place I usually go for inspections and oil changes was polite, but there was just a hint of skepticism in his voice as we arranged for me to drop the car off after work. And when I walked in and told him who I was, his eyes lit up. "I've been waiting for you!" he told me. "Do you mind if I just go out there and have a crack at it?"

I shrugged. "Sure." I wished he could fix it right then, but I doubted he would.

He was back inside a minute, shaking his head. "Wow," he said. "That's a first for me!"

The Original

Oh! You have to see the original first! is what several people told us when we mentioned an interest in the remake of The Magnificent Seven.

We like to think of ourselves as movie buffs, and so we took that advice and cued up the 1948 classic, sitting down to watch it last night. In the opening scene, a gang of banditos descends upon a hard-working village. Their leader arrogantly mocks the citizens, justifying his outrageous trespass as their weakness, and promising to return when the next harvest is in.

"Oh my gosh!" I turned to Heidi. "He's Hopper from A Bug's Life!" We continued to watch as citizens from the besieged community went out to look for heros to save them (ala A Bug's Life), bringing back a collection of misfits (as in A Bug's Life) who ultimately help the village realize that they have it within themselves to be their own saviors (just like in A Bug's Life) all the while rescuing the rescuers themselves (also in A Bug's Life).

As for the original? Once the loooooooong opening credits were over, it was hard to believe that the movie was almost 70 years old, and it distracted me to think that nearly every single person I saw on the screen was dead now. Then there was the Bug's Life thing, which was also rather distracting.

Even so,  I'm happy to have that frame of reference, and I'll be interested to compare all three movies!

That Restorative Elixer

On a rainy day and suffering from some sinus congestion, I did what I had to do...

made chicken noodle soup!

I'm sure I'll be 100% in no time.

Simple Gifts

The champagne was open and a lovely tray of smoked salmon, cucumbers, herbed cheese, and wheat crackers was set out on our coffee table last night to celebrate the tin-year anniversary of my writing group. I pulled open the drawer where we keep our cocktail napkins, and was momentarily concerned when I couldn't find a single one. Rummaging a little deeper past coasters, crossword puzzle pens, and scissors,  I was able to dig up a mismatched pile enough for the four of us, but as of now?

We.

are.

out!

Of course I will add them to my shopping list, but it will be a first. I have certainly purchased cocktail napkins before, but it has been mostly on a whim, never of necessity. I guess I owe that in large measure to Emily's mom, Judy. She was always the one who tucked a package of lovely or clever napkins into almost every gift bag. Judy's been gone almost seven years exactly, now, and how wonderful that those gifts have lasted until now.

The First Decade

Ten years ago I had recently finished the summer institute at our local chapter of the National Writing Project. I believed with all my heart that to be an effective writing teacher, I had to write myself. And I had-- all summer long. As part of the program we were put in writing groups to meet and share our work twice a week. It had been such a rewarding experience for me, but now that the institute was over, I was worried that I might not continue writing.

Fortunately, that autumn I found three other teachers who were interested in writing, too, and we have been a merry band of scribblers ever since, meeting every month or so to eat, drink, and share writing.

Tonight was more or less our 10th anniversary, and so for the occasion (and okay, because I'm also feeling a little swamped) I dug up the first piece I shared. To be honest, it was pretty good, and I can't really say that I've written anything better since then.

So, has it all been a waste of time? Far from it. That piece may have come together for me, but I wrestle with writing every day, and it's definitely the struggle that makes me a better teacher.

The food and the friends ain't bad, either! Here's to the next ten, you guys!