Blue State Blues

I confess that I did not sleep well at all last night, and when I finally rose this morning, I was dreading the day.

The pouring rain in the gray dawn of this morning seemed like an appropriate contrast to the brilliant sunshine and autumn-colored promise of yesterday. It was also appropriate that the lesson in my English today was on composing belief statements in support of our upcoming essay-writing unit. Not surprisingly, our diverse student body had plenty of belief statements to go around today, and they really wanted to talk about them.

"What did you think of the election?" they asked me.

"I was surprised by the results," I said neutrally.

"Were you sad?" They were definitely looking for an ally or an enemy.

"I know a lot of people were disappointed," I answered, silently counting myself among them, "but a lot of people were happy, too."

And then I shrugged, thinking of myself tossing and turning last night as my phone glowed with update after devastating update. Could it really have been fewer than 24 hours ago that I was hoping the other side would turn their attention to what unites us rather than what divides us in support of a Clinton administration? Could I do the same now?

"I'm open-minded," I told them, "and I hope for the best."

Sweets for the Sweet

It was a teacher workday today, and with no students the building was very quiet. Late in the afternoon a colleague stopped by with her 4-year-old grandson. He has a bit of a reputation as a terror, and he definitely knows what he wants. "I want some candy!" he said.

"No," I told him.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "That's not a nice way to ask," his grandmother said.

He grabbed a basketball and made for the mini-hoop I keep in my room. "I want to play basketball!"

"We don't have time for that," his grandmother replied. "Can you put the ball away and ask nicely for some candy?"

He moved closer to the basket, and I raised my eyebrows and made eye contact with him. "Nobody can have candy if they don't follow the directions," I said gravely.

"Can I please have some candy?" he tried.

"What did your grandma tell you to do?" I asked him.

He quickly put the ball away and stood nicely at attention.

"Would you like some candy because you did such a good job following directions?" I asked him.

He chose a little DumDum with a smile, and the two of them went on their way.

Later on, I saw him in the office, and he ran over to me. "I want to hold your hand!" he said and slipped his warm little hand right into mine.

"You hardly know me!" I teased him.

"But you have candy and basketballs," he said, "and you're nice!"

Two Thousand Zero Zero

I was dreamin when I wrote this

We got TSA Pre-Check on our boarding passes for the flight home this afternoon. But at 4:30, the Buffalo Airport was far from hopping, and I shrugged off our good fortune with very little appreciation. "It would take us like ten minutes to get through the line," I grumbled.

So sue me if I go 2 fast

It wasn't until we got through the cordons to discover not a single soul ahead of us that I understood our luck.

but life is just a party

The TSA agents were literally standing around, and with no shoes or jackets to remove we practically danced through to the other side of security in seconds. It wasn't long until my euphoria gave way to nostalgia, though. I could easily remember a time when these measures were not necessary.

and parties were not meant to last

Polishing Up the Rust Belt

We drove by some ginormous houses this morning on our way to brunch at a new, hipster restaurant I read about online. Buffalo, like so many rust-belt towns, has endured some very hard times over the last 40 years: mills and factories have shed thousands of what were formerly solid, blue collar jobs that allowed workers to comfortably support their families, and a majority of young people have moved away from the contracting economy.

Over the last few years, though, small signs of a tiny turn around have become more and more evident. Some tech start-ups, state grants funding a huge solar panel plant, a rise in reputation of SUNY Buffalo and a new medical corridor have reinvigorated the area in many small, but meaningful ways. The waterfront has been restored with restaurants, museums, bike and paddle boat concessions, and an open-air concert stage. Old mills are being converted to cool loft condos, and the traditional ethnic and comfort food that the town is rightfully known for, fish fry, wings, pierogies, char-broiled hot dogs, beef on weck, kielbasa, sponge candy, and handmade donuts has been joined by some micro-breweries, healthy fast-casual joints, and some new restaurants like the one we visited today with menus that can compete with some of the places near us at home.

Oh, the food was a little disappointing, but the place was still fun. On the way home, I used a real-estate app to price properties in real time as we rolled past them. How about a 7-bedroom, 3 1/2 bath, 4100 square foot Victorian with finished studio within walking distance of the zoo, Olmstead's Delaware Park, and Frank Lloyd Wright's Darwin-Martin House for 329,900.00?

A Grain of Salt

We were on our first Wegmans run of the Buffalo weekend when an older gentleman in a motorized cart rolled up. "Excuse me ladies," he said, "I'm hoping you can help me."

"Of course," I replied, and prepared to reach an item from the upper shelf behind him, I was surprised when he continued.

"My daughter gave me a pot of chicken chowder," he made a circle with his hands. "Her neighbor was nice enough to make it for me, but it's so bland..."

I nodded sympathetically.

"She is a chef!" My mother-in-law pointed at me. "This is your lucky day!"

He nodded, unimpressed. "I added pepper to it," he said, "but it didn't help. And," he paused before delivering the kicker, "I'm on dialysis, so I can't have salt."

The mystery of the bland soup was suddenly much easier to understand.

"The soup part is like water, so I was thinking of adding bouillon or canned chicken broth," he said. "Would that fix it?"

"Those both have a lot of salt," I told him, considering a variety of solutions-- herbs, lemon juice, Parmesan cheese, and trying to figure out the best match for him. "Maybe you could strain out all the chicken and vegetables and cook the broth down until it's more concentrated and flavorful. Then add the other stuff back in."

He frowned. "Would I have to cook canned chicken broth?"

"No," I shrugged. "It's ready to heat and eat."

 "Thank you," he said politely, and then giving us a courtly nod, rolled away down the aisle toward the canned soup.

Best of Three

A pair of sisters, former students both, appeared in my classroom this afternoon. "Ms. S!" they cried. "How are you?"

It was good to see them, and I know my smile told them so.

"Guess what class I'm taking?" asked the older. "AP English!" she told me before I could guess.

"Nice!" I high-fived her. "You're going to crush it!"

"I have a 94!" she said proudly.

"I'm in intensified English," her younger sister boasted.

"All right!" I high-fived her, too.

"Do you miss us?" one of them asked.

"Yeah, of course," I answered, "but I do have your little sister to carry on the family tradition."

"Do you like her?" the younger girl asked.

"Oh my gosh! Yes!" I said. "I feel lucky to have had all three of you in my class!"

"Who's your favorite?" they wanted to know, but of course I didn't say.

Just earlier in the day, I had a funny exchange with their sister. Our reading classes change teachers every quarter, and so next week her group was moving on. "Oh, but you'll still have me for English," I told the class. "You're stuck with me for the rest of the year!"

"Good!" she said, "because I just want to put you in my backpack and take you to seventh grade with me! You are the best teacher ever!"

How could I pick a favorite from those three?

I'll Be Glad When It's Over: Reason # 496

Maybe that unknown caller will stop ringing my watch every single weekday at 10:20 AM.

(If I weren't busy teaching, I could probably tell them I already voted!)