The Grain of Salt

Tonight was the service award ceremony at the school board. Heidi and I and our friend Mary were all being recognized for 25 years of teaching, so we, along with three of our colleagues, made plans to attend the reception and the recognition that followed. It was not a well-planned event: the school board and the superintendent skipped the reception, they ran out of food, there was some confusion as to gifts and years.

It was still kind of fun, though, partially because 25 years of anything is pretty impressive, but mostly because of the company. After 25 years, I knew quite a few folks in the crowd, including both 40 year employees and three school board members whose children I had taught. Even so, it was our group that was really the most entertaining.

"Gee, I don't remember any of these people from that new hire orientation!" Mary said when we first walked in.

Ellis Island Redux

"My last name is going to change soon," one of my students confided in me.

"Really?" I asked. "How come?"

"It's my grandfather's name!" she explained. "So my sister and I have different last names even though we have the same mom and dad," she scoffed.

I knew a bit about her culture. "So, your dad's last name is your grandfather's first name, right?"

"Yeah," she said. "And that's the last name they gave me here, but it's not right."

"Because your last name is really your dad's first name?" I replied.

"Yes," she sighed. "America just messed up a little."

Community and Service

We had a modified schedule today so that the sixth graders could go to presentations by the 8th graders about their IB community projects. In general it is a good activity for all-- the older students get to explain their work to a relatively low stakes audience, and the younger kids get a glimpse at what they will have to plan and accomplish in a couple short years.

We worked in homeroom groups to prepare our sixth graders for their part in the activity, and one of the exercises that they completed was to identify a need and propose a hypothetical project for themselves. Some students took it more seriously than others, but at this stage it was the process that mattered, and I was content to guide them as they worked on their ideas, whatever those were.

Our little homeroom crew has bonded lately, too, so it was fun to work for a couple of hours with the 14 of them, especially since we found time to play music, sing, and eat the candy "eggs" that my musical plastic chicken lays. That might be why I wasn't surprised when 2 of the guys told me that their project was going to be to, "Beautify the school with jelly beans and ukuleles."

Now that is service I can support!

The Grillmaster

I have a colleague who let me know late last year that he

is

the

Grillmaster.

I have a passing acquaintance with cooking and outdoor cooking myself, and so we have bonded over rub recipes and wood chip choices. Some weeks ago, he brought in the last shreds of a pork shoulder he had smoked, and it was delicious. "I have an idea," he told me then. "We should have a team lunch. A potluck. I'll bring the barbecue and the rest of y'all can bring the sides."

As team leader, I put it on the agenda for our next meeting, and soon it was settled. Our lunch had to be on a Monday to allow the Grillmaster to work his magic over the weekend, and looking at our calendar, our first free Monday was

today!

That's how there came to be a Southern picnic spread out on tables we pushed together in my classroom. Heirloom apple sauce, baked beans, cole slaw, potato salad, iced tea, lemonade, and homemade three berry pie accompanied a pulled pork shoulder and barbecue spare ribs.

We invited several colleagues to join us for our feast, and they enjoyed the food for sure, but our assistant principal put it best when she sat down at our table wit a full plate. "It's a good day to be a Dolphin!"

Crooked

This is the image that Good Morning America chose for their online piece about Notre Dame women's basketball coach Muffet Mcgraw's decision to only hire women for coaching staff.

In her remarks cited in the article, McGraw defends her choice with several well-supported points about the inequities facing women in athletics and in the general workplace. But the photo? Makes her look strident and angry, undercutting the rational nature of McGraw's argument and decision.

The fact that a mainstream media outlet feels free to commit such a microaggression against a woman underscores McGraw's point that the playing field is far from level.

Tuning In

I've noticed that most medical waiting rooms are outfitted with TVs, which are usually tuned to either HGTV or the Food Channel. I don't mind it-- it helps to pass the time away when I'm either waiting for an appointment or procedure for myself or whomever I'm with. Those channels are pretty quick release: easy to engage and disengage with as necessary. Until recently, I thought that was the only purpose for that particular programming.

Here at the Mayo Clinic, which is widely recognized as one of the top health care facilities in the world, they have no such thing. Patients and their supporters linger quietly in spacious waiting areas adorned with fine art, and magazines and jigsaw puzzles spread out on round tables. In the atrium of the Gonda building there is a baby grand piano that anyone may play. A mile away, on the older St, Mary's campus, the spaces are not quite as grand, but the art is pleasant, and there are no televisions for we who wait.

Early yesterday, my mom and I sat side by side in one such waiting area. With 89 miles between the clinic and her home, we have given ourselves a lot of cushion when it comes to travel time on our three round trips down here this week. As we waited more than hour for her name to be called, I quickly exhausted all my means of entertainment, and tuned my phone to The Today Show. We leaned together and watched for a few minutes, until the wifi speed let us down.

Even so, for that brief amount of time, I felt connected to a world outside of the place we were stuck right then, and my spirits rose.

Take note, Mayo.

Respect the Boundaries

As I stepped onto the elevator to go to my hotel room after an unexpectedly long day, I heard someone shout, "Wait!"

Two boys of perhaps eleven or twelve were already in the car when I boarded, and they obligingly held the door for a women and another kid around their age.

I had pressed 8, the boys had 9, and the women asked for 2. On our short journey up, one of the boys said to the other, "We have to go to eleven to get my shoes, then we can go to your room to--"

The women shook her head. "You all are so bad!" she scolded them.

"What??" they looked at her innocently.

"Well for starters, the last time we were on here together, you pushed all the buttons."

They laughed. The elevator dinged. The lady and the kid with her got off.

"Should we?" one of the remaining boys said to the other.

I eyed them, levelly. "If you do? I'll kick you!" I told them.

"What?" said the kid by the buttons.

"Well," I amended, "I'll kick you," I looked at the shoeless one next to him, "but I'll stomp on your toes."

They gasped, then giggled. The elevator dinged again, and we were on my floor.

"Now, you can press any button you want!" I told them.

"Really?" asked one.

Sure," I shrugged, "I'm not going be on here."

His fingers ran up and down the column of buttons, illuminating each and every one. "Have a nice day!" he called after me as I stepped off. "I mean, have a nice rest of your day!"

And the funny thing was, I knew he really meant it.