Dressed for Success

I chose my wardrobe pragmatically this morning: the weather forecast was damp and chilly, so I put on something warm and toasty.

"Wow!" said a student as he entered the room. "Don't you look like a writer!"

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"I think it must be the black turtleneck," he answered. "It really makes you look famous!"

Hats in Space

It's true: sometimes I can be a jerk, even with those I love most.

Today we were killing a little time at the Air and Space Museum gift shop before seeing the movie Arrival on their ginormous screen. 'Tis definitely the season, and a lot of our conversation around the merchandise was centered on whether or not it might make a good gift or stocking stuffer. As I descended the escalator to the lower level of the three-story establishment (impressive in itself for a museum gift shop!) Heidi called my attention to a rack at the top. "Did you see that?" We should get it for Treat!"

I shook my head. "What was it?"

"Hello Kitty in a space hat!" she told me.

I frowned, the escalator continuing its slow descent. "Hello Kitty, what?" I asked.

Full disclosure: Our 21-year-old nephew used to be quite enamored of Hello Kitty back when we counted his age in single digits.

I get the idea of jokey throw back gifts, but even though I was in the National Air and Space Museum, I could not for the life of me fathom what a "space hat" was, even when she repeated it. "What?" I asked again.

"You know, Hello Kitty in a glass bubble on her head? What's it called?" Heidi answered.

"A helmet?" I said.

"Yes!" she replied giving me a dirty look, because I was laughing. "Did you know what I was talking about?"

"No!" I told her, honestly, but then spotting another display of dolls I picked one up. "Oh, Hello, Kitty!" I cooed. "I love your space hat!"

Members of the Clan

We were running an errand in Old Towne early this afternoon when we noticed quite a few folks in kilts and other festive tartan-wear. It didn't take long to figure out that we were swept up in the aftermath of the annual Scottish Christmas Walk, traditionally held on the first weekend of December. Not being in any hurry, we strolled over to join a group who were drumming and piping right outside a pub, where we fit right in since we were wearing plaid, too!

May ye aye keep hail an hertie till ye'r auld eneuch tae dee.

Not Black and White

The staff of our school is required to participate in cultural competence training this year, which involves monthly large and small group sessions with reading, discussion, and other activities designed to raise awareness of institutional racism and its impact on our students' achievement as well as the implications it has for our practice.

One of the questions we were asked to consider today was to recall an early memory of recognizing race or racial identity. Back in the 1960s, when I was very young, my grandparents employed a woman named Louise to clean their house once a week. I once heard someone refer to her as "the colored maid," but I was very confused about who they were talking about.

"You know, Louise," they kept on saying to me. "Grandma's cleaning lady?"

But I shook my head over and over, because in my mind, I imagined a person with bright rainbow-colored skin, and I was quite sure that I had never met someone like that.

Holiday Trio

I spent some time over Thanksgiving playing Christmas carols on my ukulele with the accompaniment (some might say extreme support) of both of my older nephews on guitar.

Personally? I thought we sounded awesome from the get-go, but those who were subjected to our "rehearsals" did not seem to concur. At the end of the break the three of us parted ways with a set list, sheet music, and a loose promise to practice for a holiday concert to be performed for the family sometime in late December.

I laughed as I told my ukulele teacher about it at my lesson this afternoon, and he laughed, too, but he was into it and very supportive-- we went through three of the four pieces and he complimented me on my improvement.

"I know, right?" I told him. "I don't want to let down the band!"

And the Good News Rolls On

What's that you say? The parking lot at our school will be closed for 2 years? But we can park a half mile away and take a shuttle?

Last morning shuttle: 7:15
Last evening shuttle: 4:45

Oh.

Kay.

Savage Claim

The lesson in my English classes today was by the book. Dubbed "essay boot camp," it involved practice using a box and bullets structure for a quick essay on the Three Little Pigs. For the purpose of expediency, the claim for this familiar tale was a given: the third little pig is an admirable character; the students were tasked with finding supporting reasons and details.

We started with the reasons: common ideas were that he was commendable because he was hardworking, smart, kind (in the version where his brothers survive), and/or brave. But the most popular answer was not one I had anticipated. According to the kids, the third pig deserved our praise because he was... savage.

What about the details? I asked them, but they were well-prepared.

That little piggy does not hesitate to kill the wolf, and the method he uses is nothing short of brutal: he boils him alive over an open fire. And then? He eats his nemesis for dinner.

Yeah, that's pretty savage.