High and Low

This school week is kind of a chopped up one for us. In session today, kids are off tomorrow since our schools are used as polling places for Super Tuesday. Back on Wednesday and Thursday, students are out again on Friday for conferences.

It's not as disruptive as it sounds, but when my wife, the social skills teacher, asked her students for their highs and lows today, one sixth grader said, "My high is that this week there are, like, two Fridays! Today and Thursday." He paused. "But my low? Is that there are also two Mondays."

WAH
Wah
wah

Happy first Monday!

The Preservation of Fire

Next Friday, my aunt is moving out of her home of nearly 60 years. Since my family moved around a lot when I was growing up, that house is as close to a childhood home as I have, so yesterday I made the hour drive over there both to offer my help and to see the place one more time. They were very well-organized, and I didn't actually do very much at all in the three hours I spent.

I did take some family photos to add to the archive that my brother and sister and I are organizing and caring for, pictures of my mom and grandparents that I had never seen before. I also got a box of Christmas ornaments that belonged to my grandparents.

The last time they put up a tree was 1971, and we lived far enough away that it wasn't every year we spent the holidays with them. Even so, I recognized a few of the decorations. Most of them were from the 1940s and 50s, vintage glass with metallic paint and glitter designs, and several were in the original boxes, safely resting on a little nest of yellowed tissue paper and the odd sparkling strand of tinsel.

There was also a separate set of round turquoise ornaments, some faded glass and others still vibrantly wrapped in bright silk thread. I remembered the story my mother used to tell about how, when she was nineteen, she decided that their tree should be white-flocked with all blue ornaments. With her sister married and in a home of her own, her busy parents allowed her to execute her mod, mid-century vision. "But you know what?" the story always ended. "I hated it!"

And although we always had one or two blue ornaments hanging among the angels, santas, teddy bears, stars, snowmen, and everything else on our Christmas tree, I think they were only there to remind us that although change is unavoidable, and innovation has its place, some traditions are well kept.

Every Day Another Story

"I really like reading your blog," my aunt told me today. "I like knowing what's going on, but I really like the stories about the kids."

She spent her career in education and retired from a middle school, and so I especially valued her appreciation.

"You know it's been so long since I retired," she continued, "that I forget how nutty they can be sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I replied. "You have been retired a while!"

Sorry, Wrong Number

It was just last night in writing group that Mary and I were griping about the parking situation at our school since they built in elementary school in the former parking lot. Now we have assigned spaces in the underground garage beneath the school, but there aren't enough for everyone, and there is no visitor parking, either. Ellen and Leah were appropriately appalled, even though we had to admit it hadn't been much of a problem. "But it could be!" we agreed.

And not 10 hours later when I sleepily pulled into the garage and rounded the pillars to my assigned spot, it was. Another car was there, and although there were several open spaces, I knew that taking one could set off a chain reaction. Fortunately? I remembered that Mary was out today, and she had mentioned her space number in the conversation that night before.

Once I was safely parked in 243, I went over to my assigned place, 231. The car there had an official hangtag, but the number? Was 234. Three spots to the right, and next to a column, just like mine.

231, 234, 243-- aye yi yi! What an unnecessarily stressful way to start my Friday.

No Resolution

Every time we teach the fiction unit, I vow to write something along with the students. After all, we make it seem so easy-- just create a character, figure out what he or she wants, throw some obstacles in the way, identify the turning point when something essential changes that allows that conflict to be resolved, and wrap.it.up!

And to be completely honest, as creative and elastic as their brains are, the process really works for them. The stories they write are funny, touching, suspenseful, and wise. But as for me? I can't do it. I can't think of a good character, or imagine an original problem, or even fathom a solution, except for this one: Tracey wants to write a story, but...

Let me know if you can find the turning point!

Too Thick

There was a brief moment last night when, after the school board canceled school for Super Tuesday, we thought we might have an extra day off, too. After all, snow days have been few and far between this year, and they are built into our schedule. It was not to be however, for not 15 minutes later we all received an email about a professional development commitment.

I was disappointed, but I understood; the message included an apology for the short notice and acknowledgement of our hard work. In fact they had me until I read the part that said As lifelong learners, we hope you will see this as an opportunity to participate in professional development that will expand your knowledge and skills in how you teach your students.

Because rather than encouraging? That was just patronizing.

Inspiring Writers One Cup at a Time

I didn't exactly have a plan when the 10 students in my new intervention period walked in at 8 AM this morning. Sure, I knew I wanted them to write-- they are the kids that my evaluation goal is based on this year-- and I thought that encouraging them at this stage in the writing challenge might jump start them to do all 100 days, but beyond that? Let's say I was planning to rely on my motivational teacher personality.

But when they were in front of me, still a little sleepy from the early hour (even though it is our regular time), I sensed that I was going to need a little more than time and encouragement to light a fire under these guys. "Welcome to..." I started, and paused. "Welcome to... the writing cafe!" I said, and turned the lights a little lower.  "My goal for you is that each one of you will write 100 days before the year over."

I saw a few skeptical looks so I continued quickly. "Here you will have space and time to write." I clicked on my Bluetooth speaker and pushed play on a light jazz list and scanned the group. "And refreshments! What's a cafe without food and drinks? How about some hot chocolate?"

Heads nodded; iPads were unlocked, and fingers tapped the screens.

"I love it here all ready," one girl whispered as the writing began.