Renegades

The signs were clear: no dogs are allowed on either the Billy Goat Trail or the boardwalk leading down to the falls. But on a sunny, but very blustery Monday in November the hikers were few and the rangers were fewer. As such, we saw a couple of dogs enjoying the day with their owners in defiance of the regulations.

Years ago when our dog was a puppy we took her to Roosevelt Island to walk and swim. The 88 acre national park requires all dogs to be leashed, but we set her free to let her swim. The excitement was all too much for her, though, and when she exited the water she took off running down the trail. "I'm wet! I'm wet," she would have shouted if she could. We were laughing at her pure delight and whistling her back to us when a woman with her dog on the required leash happened by.

"That would be fun, if that were allowed," she sniffed to her dog and kept on walking. As a rule follower myself, I understood where she was coming from, but there was no way such joy could ever be wrong. 

Against the Wind

We braved steady winds of 20-30 mph (with gusts of 50!) to bike-share around the tidal basin today. Well, Kyle and I pedaled while Heidi and a friend ran-- kudos to those two! We had the wind at our backs all the way from the FDR where we picked up our bikes until we made the turn toward the Jefferson.

There we had to laugh as, spinning our pedals as quickly as we could, we nearly stood still on the asphalt path. And once we stopped to say hello to Heidi who was chugging along from the other direction, it was impossible to even start riding again. So we turned in our bikes at the station conveniently located there, and spent a few minutes with one of the founding fathers.

As we stood in the rotunda, I remembered reading that the huge bronze image of Jefferson had intentionally been placed in the direct line of sight of the statue of Alexander Hamilton on the north side of the Treasury Building, so that he could keep an eye on his fiercest political rival.

I took a moment to line up my view with his, but although I could only make out the roof of treasury, I got a clear look at the White House. It was practically glowing in the midafternoon sun, and I confess that my heart swelled more than a little at the symbolism.

It's been a hard couple of weeks for me as I have wrestled with finding the appropriate way to respond to an impending Trump presidency. In all that I have heard and read and thought, my brother's advice has guided me most: don't protest the election or any abstract idea of the man, rather speak out against specific actions and policies that you feel are wrong and work for what you think is right.

Returning home I was greeted by some breaking news: Donald Trump confirms that wife Melania and son Barron will stay in New York after the presidential inauguration.

The president's family not living in the White House?

 I think that choice is wrong.

Night Vision

The weather gang was clear: the day would start out toasty for November, but in the afternoon a gusty cold front would drop the temperatures considerably. Even so, at 2 PM we decided to take our chances and head out to Mount Vernon, our house guest in tow.

Indeed, the golden autumn sun had given way to threatening skies when we bought our tickets, and we opted for the last tour of the mansion of the day so that we might beat the storm and still have a chance to explore the outside property. The wind steadily rose as we made our way around the farm raining brightly colored leaves down upon us.

Fortunately the rain held off, and we entered George Washington's home at about quarter to four, the heavy door to the new room blown closed behind us with a bang. I have been to Mount Vernon countless times and in every season, but I realized as we climbed the stairs into the dim second floor hallway that I have never been there in the dark.

And at 4 PM in November with a gathering storm overhead? It was very dark this afternoon. There is no lighting in the mansion except for a few 25-watt bulbs in fake candle-style wall fixtures, and for just a moment as I passed through one of the chilly upstairs guests rooms, the 21st century scales fell from eyes, and I got a real glimpse of the home that Washington held so dear.

An Animated Conversation

At the end of another nutty week in middle school, a few teachers were standing around swapping stories about student antics this afternoon.

"He was dead set against going, until I told him we were watching Wallace and Gromit in class today, and he literally spun on his toes and raced toward the classroom," somebody said. "It was like he was a cartoon!"

"Y'know, his expressions and gestures are kind of like claymation," I noted, "I wonder if there's a subconscious connection?"

"Somebody told me his dad looks like a character from The Flintstones," a younger colleague told us, "but the reference was totally lost on me. It was the alien guy or something?"

"Gazoo?" I said. "His dad looks like Gazoo?"

The young teacher laughed and shrugged. "I know Fred," she said, "but that's about it."

Our other friend couldn't really place the little green guy, either.

"Don't feel bad," I told them, flashing back to the countless hours of my childhood spent with Fred, Wilma, Barney, Betty, Dino, Pebbles, Bam Bam, and Mr. Slate, not to mention The Royal Order of the Water Buffalos, Stony Curtis, Ann Margrock, the boy scout jamboree, and the castle at San Cemente running in the background. "Unless you've put in the time, Gazoo is a pretty deep dive." 

Did She Really Just say That?

It was about 5 o'clock yesterday when a colleague poked her head in my door to say good-night. "I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself," she told me. "Since my husband is home today, I was able to stay a little late and take care of some things."

I nodded. "It's kind of nice to be here when it's so quiet," I agreed. "You really can get a lot done."

She frowned. "But it's good to have a reason to go home, too," she said. 

I shrugged.

"Like you, before your dog died," she added. 

I was silent.

"But now? You just stay too late, and you probably don't even get that much done. Have a good evening!" she finished.

FAQ

All my students took district-mandated benchmark test today. Kids today attack such standardized tests with gusto, but generally in the spirit of getting them over with. I set this particular assessment up to have a download password so that when everyone was at the screen from which they could proceed no further, they were forced to turn their attention to me.

It was then I was able to answer the questions they may not have known they had and to give them the pep talk they probably didn't think they needed.

Questions:

Is this part of our grade?
If not, why are we taking it?
How many questions are there?
Do we have to finish today?
Did you make up this test?
What do we do when we're done?
Can I get water, go to the restroom, or otherwise take a break during the test?

Pep talk:

The password is, "Show what you know!"

Undeniable Claim

In my experience, mentioning the word "essay" to students has never been a popular move. 

BUT... 

This new writing method we're piloting calls the genre "argument." 

AND... 

Friends? 

It seems that students are very motivated to learn those skills.