Believe It or Not

Many years ago now, a good friend of mine gave me the name of a pet psychic who had helped her through the loss of her dog. Since then, we have invited her to our home 4 or 5 times to communicate with our pets, too. Whether you approach such an experience with faith or strictly as an hour or so of entertainment, it is always well worth it. Diane's energy is warm and lovely and it's fun to get an answer when you talk to your pets.

Each visit has been a little different. The first time, Diane impressed us with all the things our dog told her about the our home, neighborhood, and the dog park. She even had some gossip about some of the other dog walkers she knew from going to the park with our dog walker. On that visit, our cat reinforced our impression of her as ever wary. She told the medium that there were several stray cats in the area and also that somebody was breaking into cars at night... both true.

The last time we had her here was when our beloved dog, Isabel, was very ill and we were wrestling with our own desire to keep her with us versus her pain and suffering. "She's ready to go," Diane said, and so we braced ourselves and let her go.

Three years later we have three new pets, and it seemed like a good time to check in with them. This morning's visit brought no surprises-- our dog and cats are happy, and Diane nailed their personalities and idiosyncrasies exactly, but we already knew them well. Often when she is here, Diane channels human spirits, too, and today was no exception. But again, even though it was extraordinary for someone who we haven't seen in three years to know so much about the events of the past months, her message from spirit was nothing I didn't know already.

Even so? It was nice to have some independent affirmation, and I look forward to the next time we see her again.

The Writing and the Writer

Over the last few years, our essay unit has become more and more structured, featuring step-by-step graphic organizers that we do as a class for every phase of the process. The formula is practical, but there is very little room for creative expression. Most kids go through the paces, some more compliantly than others. As a matter of course, we get the writing we expect, dull and predictable, which is also the writing we deserve.

I do have to hand it to those few writers who find a way to make these practice essays their own-- requesting to argue that Goldilocks was well within her rights and that the third little pig is overly controlling. Their writing is like a wild stallion that bucks at the bridle, and although their arguments are not always as neat and tidy as the box-and-bullet structure demands, I have no doubt at the end of the unit that they are the gifted among us.

Three of a Kind

We had just finished a rah rah, team building, cooperative learning demo in the staff meeting yesterday and were moving on to an "instructional showcase" when a wave of dismay hit me hard.

I just can't, I thought, and quietly excused myself to seek out the ladies room.

As I was leaving the restroom, I passed Heidi on her way in. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I need the same accommodation," she answered and headed into the head.

Back in the library, I ran into Emily. "I hate these things," she sighed. "I usually try to come late or find an excuse to leave."

They Have Those

My co-teacher and I decided to split up our inclusion class today and do the same activity in teacher-led small groups. A last minute glitch in our plans had us scrambling to regroup, and in the interest of time we separated them into boys and girls.

"Who do you want?" I asked him.

"I'll take the boys," he shrugged, and led them to an empty classroom next door.

The girls and I pushed a couple of tables together over near the whiteboard so that we could sit in unison as we worked our way through the lesson.

"It's so quiet!" one girl said. "I can't believe the boys make so much noise!"

I laughed and continued the lesson.

"It is so much easier to pay attention!" another girl remarked.

"You guys are doing a really good job!" I told them, and I realized that group praise had been missing from their class. It's tough to find something true and good when at least one adult in the room has spent most of the class time redirecting a few of the students. Added to that is the fact that the group dynamic is such that none of the students want to be singled out for praise, either.

We continued the class with this newfound attitude of competency. "Look at how much we got done!" one of the girls said with pride and disbelief. SHe turned to her classmates. "We should go to an all-girls school!"

Just Wow

I was sitting in the leg lift machine at the gym and adjusting the backrest so that my knees would be at the correct pivot point when I glanced up. A woman who was probably in her thirties had take residence on the mats in front of me with two 15 pound dumbbells.

I pulled the pin and adjusted the weight down to 45, considering if I wanted a challenge or not.

She assumed a push-up position and placed the dumbbells shoulder width apart.

I decided to do 3 sets of 15 reps.

She did a perfect push up on the weights, and then switched to one arm by lifting one of the dumbbells into a chest row.

I pushed my jaw up and my legs down.

We continued that way until I was finished.

George and Gracie Moment

I have a student in my homeroom who is developmentally a bit behind her sixth grade peers. Every morning she bursts into the room and with a huge sigh proclaims, "Phew! I made it!" panting all the way over to her seat, even though she is there several minutes before the bell.

Despite my daily reassurance that she is on time, the mini-drama repeats every morning with little variation, as it did this morning.

"It's okay," I said. "You are right on time! Great job!"

But today there was more. Her eyes grew wide. "I was almost late because we had to take Grandma to the airport," she reported breathlessly. "She had to go home to Minnesota."

Having spent so much time in that state recently myself, I asked her, "Do you know where your grandma lives in in Minnesota?"

"No," she answered. "Where?"

A Little Sting

The Birchmere is much more organized than the last time I was there. The club is general admission, and for shows starting at 7:30 the box office and bar open at 5. Ticket holders receive a first-come-first-served number like at a bakery or deli counter. At 6 when the doors to the venue open, people are allowed to claim their seats only when their numbers are called.

But what about the tickets? you may ask. Patrons present their electronic tickets to be scanned after surrendering their number, but before entering the hall. This system was entirely new to me, but I felt like Heidi and I were navigating it all pretty well until they called our number and I showed them my barcode. "That's one ticket," the door guy said. "Where's the other one?"

"Uh," I answered, and he briskly directed us to the side where two young men I had not noticed earlier stood.

As I fumbled with my phone, they suggested that Heidi go ahead in and get our seats. Their kindness did not make me any less flustered as I swiped and tapped my phone screen desperately trying to remember where I had retrieved that one ticket from before adding it to my wallet for convenience.

But the guy who helped me was very patient, adopting a tone I have often used myself when directing students through a necessary but way too-complicated process on their iPads. Open Safari, I don't see the tab, open a new one, go to Ticketmaster, log in, hit skip, tap my tickets, swipe over, there it is, and with a quick little beep he scanned it with his own phone and I was on my way.

But not before I gave him a high five, mostly just to slap the feeling of being old right out of myself.