Graphic Graphics

We spent a pleasant afternoon browsing the Crafty Bastards art show down at the Navy Yard. They had 4 big tents full of cool stuff created by interesting artists, but I have to say that what pleased me most was the liberal use of the word *fuck* in many of the graphic artworks.

Still kinda wish I had gone ahead and purchased that Merry Fucking Christmas ornament-- it captures the current zeitgeist so neatly for me-- and I would have hung it on my tree with the best intentions of the season.

Football Minutes

I promised a student that I would try to make it to one of his football games this season, and today's game seemed like a good bet. Unlike other weeks when the games were at 6:30 PM and 30-60 minutes away, this morning the team was kicking off at 10:30 at the high school within walking distance of home.

Unfortunately, the nor'easter that was blowing when I got up was not enough to cancel the game. Since it was also the last game of the season, we found ourselves shivering under an umbrella on the sideline as 22 boys mixed it up on the gridiron. There was no scoreboard, and the referees were not mic'ed, so at times it was anyone's guess what the hell was happening. I did clearly hear the 2 minute warning, though.

"What are they doing?" asked the daughter of another teacher on my team who joined us in the second half. "I thought they said there were only 2 minutes left! It's been like 10 minutes!"

"Oh, football minutes are like dog years," I said, "at least 7 for 1." And sure enough, 4 minutes or so later the final whistle blew. 

Meeting with Success

Another year, another set of student-led conferences. At our school, students are well prepared, scripted and practiced, and to watch them try on the mantle of personal responsibility for their education for the first time is always validating to the educator in me.

This year there were no tears and very little drama. Because I had so many conferences, the day flew by, and at the end I walked out of the building considering how delightful it is to participate in the novelty of most kids' first professional meeting, and how wonderful that most parents feel the same way. 

Connotation

"This is one motley school!" a student proclaimed as she stood before my desk waiting to ask a question.

"Excuse me?" I said. "Why would you say that?"

She pointed to my word-a-day desk calendar. "Motley," she read, "composed of diverse elements." She looked at me. "We're diverse!"

"Oh!" I laughed. "But 'motley' isn't usually considered to be good diversity. This is a good example of why you need to know more than the definition."

"It's not a compliment?" she clarified.

I shook my head. "Not usually."

"Well then, our school is definitely not 'motley'!"

I Buy That

Because I allow my students to listen to music while they write, ear buds are in constant demand. Because some kids destroyed the pairs I purchased as loaners, I needed an alternative solution. I ended up buying 100 packages of ear buds for a little less than 70 bucks. Now I'm selling them to the students for a dollar, with all the profits going to our team activity scholarship fund.

So far? It's going pretty well-- 10 pairs purchased. Sure, there are 60 to go before we see the return on our investment, but the peace of mind in not having to worry about who's wrecking my ear buds is worth every penny.

Try Again?

In an attempt to "take something off our plates" our administration today proposed eliminating one of the two interdisciplinary team meetings we have each week. Mind you, none of the responsibilities or duties have changed, just the amount of time we may elect to spend on them. To put it another way, now we *get* to support 145 children and coordinate conferences, intervention placement, field trips and other activities in 42 minutes instead of 84. If we so choose.

Gee, thanks!

WIld View

The phone in my classroom rang about 4 o'clock. It was Heidi calling me from a colleague's room on the lower level of the building. Like my classroom, it faces the construction of the new elementary school, but it also looks out on a sheltered well of a space, what used to be a makeshift amphitheater for kids to play in. These days, with the construction, the area is abandoned and fortified with hay bales to assist the drainage that comes from adjoining a construction site.

"There's a fox right outside Starr's window!" Heidi reported.

"Is it okay? Should you call animal control?" I asked in some alarm.

"It seems fine," Heidi told me, "it's just hanging out in the sun and scratching its ears."

"I'll be down in a minute," I said, hanging up the phone.

And when I got down there, it was just as Heidi had said. A young fox with a dusty ginger coat and black stockings was curled up in a sunny patch of soft dirt and long grass growing from the cracked concrete. It was mesmerizing to be so close to such a wild thing, and we watched it for at least 15 minutes, speculating about its diet and habits.

I could have stayed all afternoon, but I had work to do in my own room. I do confess, though, that I went immediately to the window and craned my neck in futility for one last glimpse of the fox.