Family Breakfast

I took advantage of the new conference call feature on FaceTime to catch up with my mom, brother, AND sister all at once this morning. It was really fun to share some Saturday morning routines with each other despite being hundreds of miles away. My niece showed us her cheer routines from the student-teacher basketball game the night before, my 13-year-old nephew chatted briefly about the banana skin in the new season of Fortnite before grabbing an ice cream sandwich for breakfast.

"I can't complain about him not eating a healthy breakfast," my sister shrugged. "I had cinnamon toast this morning."

"I had cinnamon toast this morning, too!" I said. "I don't even know the last time I had it, but I just felt like it this morning!"

"Me, too!" my sister replied.

"I forgot how yummy it is," I added.

"Same!" my sister agreed.

My mother looked a little disapproving, whether it was the ice cream, the cinnamon toast, or both, was hard to tell.

"You can still get in on this!" I told her. "You're an hour behind!"

No-Snow Day

When school is closed because of snow it seems wrong to venture far from your own warm house unless it's to shovel, sled, or walk the dog. But this morning our district surprised everyone by canceling school in anticipation of weather that never materialized. Sure, there was some icy snow to scrape, and the day was raw and gray, and a few slick spots warranted a bit of caution when walking or driving, but the 2-hour delay they originally scheduled probably would have taken care of those conditions.

Oh, I'm not complaining-- I spent the morning reading and replying to the first slice of life posts of my sixth graders, who were themselves stunned by this turn of events. When it came time to walk the dog, however, I saw no reason to restrict ourselves to the neighborhood, so we bundled her into the car and headed up to a county park that has been on my list of places to visit for a while.

Fort Bennett Palisades are located on a steep spit of land between some 1.5 million dollar townhomes and the Potomac River. A narrow trail starts near a Civil War era spring house and winds into a mature growth hardwood forest, past two stone driveway pillars, which are the only remains of Bay Eva, an actual castle built in 1950 and demolished less than 50 years later.

Today the path was muddy and the sound of the traffic on the GW Parkway was a bit jarring, but our dog, Lucy, loved it. Her nose was either on the ground or in the air, scenting all the wildlife that must have been just out of sight. Within sight, though, was the thing I had hoped to see. A bald eagles' nest balanced in the top crook of a tall sycamore, right between the parkway and the river, and on the branch beside it?

One of its occupants surveyed her dominion, looking for all the world like the national bird she is.

Day by Day

We introduced the 100 Day Writing Challenge yesterday to mixed reviews. Each year, starting on March 1, our sixth graders participate in 3 different month-long writing assignments. There is a minimum requirement, a reward level, and then the ultimate challenge: to write every single day until June 8. Some kids love it right away, like the 4 guys who made a pact to do it together and choose matching T-shirts for their prize, and other kids are pretty skeptical.

When that second group brings up hypothetical obstacles to writing and posting every day, I share with them the experiences of past students. One guy went to soccer camp over spring break, and finding no Wifi, called his mother every night to dictate his post. Another student had a death in her family in India, but through the miracle of the World Wide Web, she too posted every day she was away.

I also share my own experience. This post is the last of ten consecutive years of daily writing with never a miss, 3,652 days in a row. There have been some challenges to be sure. Early on I had to drive to town every day while on vacation in Maine because our rental house’s connection was so spotty. And even tonight I am composing this piece on my phone because of a cable internet service outage in our area. Somehow, I’ve always been lucky and determined enough to find a way to extend my streak.

Even so, we try to approach the experience with a growth mindset and a few safety nets to make the challenge more doable for our students. Don’t give up before you start, we say. Just try it one day at a time. This year we showed a quick video of a girl who did push-ups for a hundred days in a row to emphasize the idea that with practice comes strength. I don’t know about the kids, but I’m ready to start pushing up! In fact, I started thinking that although I always write alongside them in this challenge, maybe it would be more inspiring if I tried to do something else for the hundred days.

Put a pin in that!

Deep Bench

I may have mentioned that there is a student teacher working with me until April 5. We have reached the point in her internship where she does most of the teaching, a lot of the planning, and some of the grading. Fortunately, the soon-to-be teacher that I am mentoring is great-- smart, organized, funny, and able to manage some big (and sometimes wild!) classes of sixth graders.

I realized just how lucky I am when yesterday she was out for a dentist appointment and today I did the lesson myself to introduce the 100 Day Writing Challenge. After two full days of teaching? I'm exhausted!

Luckily, she takes charge again tomorrow, but what's going to happen on April 8? I better stay in shape!

Felix Awards

On the morning before the Oscars, Emily (segundo) suggested we all write skits and act them out for awards before the actual show. The response was tepid, especially in the over 50 crowd.

"Isn't that more like the Tonys?" someone asked.

"Let's make films then," she pivoted neatly.

And with that, some of us were in. Treat embraced the challenge right away, enlisting both his parents and Emily as cast members in his brooding black and white film. His filmmaking entertained us as we took a three mile walk around our little peninsula that afternoon. Watching him pull his actors aside and direct them in front of ruined log cabins, swamps, beaches, abandoned boats, and No Trespassing signs was hilarious. Victor's approach was more subtle: from time to time he would fall behind the group, walking slowly with his phone pointed at odd ditches and bare trees.

I think others of us had good intentions; I know I spent some time filming and dramatically reading the extremely detailed rental house guidelines, but when the award show came on, there were only 2 movies for the jury in our first annual film festival.

Oh. my. god! Did we laugh and ooh and ah!

Treat's film, Major, was a droll, tragicomic narrative of a French pirate and a devastated coastal community, poignantly punctuated by the missing title character. Victor's movie was entitled Hague after the tiny town we were in, and it was an exquisite kaleidoscope portrait of so many beautiful images that we had all walked right past the whole weekend.

When the end credits rolled, there was a moment of stunned silence, and then genuine applause. Personally, I was speechless. Made and edited in one day, the movies were rough, but they were diamonds.

Team Colors

It was in the spirit of wringing every last bit of fun out of our weekend that Treat and I dragged out the cornhole set this morning. Even though the day had dawned dry for the first time we had been down on the Northern Neck, the yard was still a soggy morass, and the wind was a little bit brisk, so we set it up on the covered back deck of the river house we were staying in.

The boards were homemade from plywood and 2x4s with a couple of bolts and wingnuts to fasten the folding legs. They were painted burgundy and gold, and we found a faded set of bean bags that matched. "Redskins colors," I noted, as we took our places.

It wasn't a competitive game. To begin with, there were only three bean bags of each color, and then when Victor wanted to join, we each gave him one of our sets, and he played for both sides.

"You said these were Redskins colors," Treat said, "but I think they're Gryffindor!"

"Or Virginia Tech," Victor added.

"You cannot distract me with this useless thought exercise," I told them through dramatically gritted teeth and then tossed my red bag way short.

"Yes we can!" Treat said, sliding his yellow bean bag over the board and off the deck. "Your brain works exactly the same as ours! You know you're thinking of other red and yellow things right now."

"No I'm not!" I replied, cheering Victor as he landed the red bag on the board. "Except... Lucy is red and Rosie and Sonic are yellow! Go Lucy!"

"Lemons are yellow and strawberries are red," Treat responded. "Go lemons!"

"I love lemons!" I scowled. "But bananas are yellow and cherries are red, and cherries are much better than bananas. Go cherries!"

"What about pineapple and pomegranate?" asked Victor, "or mango and passion fruit?"

"Easy for you," I said, "you have both colors!"

Herstory

It's not just our own history that has occupied us this weekend. Yesterday we spent a couple of hours out of the rain and into a tiny local history museum in one of the nearby villages on the Northern Neck peninsula. Upon entering, we were greeted by a women who looked for all the world like the faded hippie she later proudly proclaimed herself to be.

Wire granny glasses rounded blue eyes that wrinkled on the sides when she smiled, which was often. Her reddish-brown hair was dusted in gray, and even the earth tones of her Indian-print tunic and ankle-length skirt were muted. "Am I expecting you?" she asked. "Are you teachers? Should I recognize one of you?" When she reached out and gave me a little one-armed side hug, we knew we were in for an adventure.

Over the next hour or so, she regaled us with stories of the heroes and villains of the town, enlisting the members of our group to act out some of the more dramatic scenes. Interspersed were tales of her own life and the personal journey that led her to that place and that moment. There were props and books and photographs to enhance her version of local history. Along the way, we found out that she was an Eccles scholar at UVa, like Bill, and she actually knew Emily's brother Chris, from the days when he lived about 45 minutes north.

Before our stories diverged she gave each of us a hug and a kiss, then we zipped up our raincoats and stepped back into the present, through the mud, and out to lunch.