I Love Nature! Except When I Don't

A flurry of wings and a raucous racket drew my attention to the sky this morning as I walked Lucy. Over my head, a crow pumped its pinions furiously, pusued by two very distraught robins. As the crow swooped closer, I saw a limp figure with downy feathers and tiny feet grasped tightly in its clutches. Clearly, it had stolen one of the robins' nestlings and they had given chase. All three birds landed on the peak of the roof to my right, the robins pestering the crow, the crow posturing in defense. Where the baby robin was, I couldn't see, but eventually the robins flew away and the crow hopped over the roofline and pecked murderously at its prize.

Those Were the Days!

The first house my parents ever owned was a 3 bedroom colonial in a Levitt community in South Jersey, right outside Philadelphia. It was actually pink when we moved in in 1966, but they painted it avocado green as the 70s approached.

There were many things I remember fondly about being a child in that house: the peach, pear, and apple trees in the backyard, the forsythia clubhouse on the side of the garage, sledding down the gentle slope of our street when it snowed, and the epic kickball games and variety shows that some of the older kids in the neighborhood organized, just to name a few.

Another great thing about the planned town where we lived was that every elementary school was in walking distance of every house in the subdivision (kids used to walk home for lunch-- that was an option along with buying or bringing!) AND every school had a public pool. Oh how excited we were about going to the pool at this time of year; it always opened in mid to late June, on the day after school got out for the summer.

My mom had a rule, though, it had to be at least 70 degrees for us to go. Looking back, especially as an adult, I think she was more than reasonable, but as kids it was excruciating waiting to see if the weather would cooperate. Once the pool was actually open, though, and we were enrolled in swimming lessons, that rule was gone.

My brother and I had to walk ourselves down to the pool in the early morning when lessons were scheduled. That wasn't so bad, but I can clearly remember wrapping my towel around me as tightly as it would go and watching my wet footprints on the cold sidewalk as I shivered, blue-lipped all the way home. 

Measure Twice, Cut Once

This week is professional learning for teachers, and in keeping with the times, all of it is remote, and most of it is asynchronous. That was not the case for the session I chose for this morning however. All of us who enrolled gathered via MS Teams from 10 to 11 to learn about the educational tool called Flipgrid.

Essentially a video discussion board, Flipgrid allows kids to record, enhance, and post their video replies to an assignment. In order to teach us about it, the instructors of our course this morning gave us 10 minutes to view a quick how-to and then post an introduction video of ourselves to the group. All we had to say was our names, where and what we teach, and an interesting fact about ourselves.

It was the fact that jammed me up. After three months at home, I couldn't think of anything on the fly that anyone might find the least bit engaging. As the timer ticked down, I swallowed, looked straight at my laptop camera, and hit record. Then I blathered some nonsense about my passport renewal which I had dropped in the mail right before joining the meeting.

My blood roared in my ears because I knew the class was waiting for me to post, and I hit the send button and clicked back to the meeting. Even as the instructors went over some basics, I was suffering remorse, thinking how dumb my video was.

As we moved through the teacher tools, participants were encouraged to post questions in the chat. I waited to see if my one burning question might be answered, but when it seemed we were near to the end of the presentation my fingers flew to the keyboard: Can students edit or delete their videos once they are posted?

"That's a good question," the instructor commented. "I don't know."

But I knew that my students would want to know, and at that moment, I completely understood why. My video was fine, but it felt risky to put it out there only to lose control of it. My anxiety was heightened by the structure of the assignment: if I had had more time, I could have created a recording I was more comfortable with.

To be honest? Flipgrid is a fun tool that I think kids will find engaging, but the biggest lesson of the day was that reminder before we ask our students to go public with their work and ideas, we must create a safe space and give them the time they need to feel good about their contribution.

Find a Penny, Pick it Up

Of all the institutions in this country, I never would have predicted that the Supreme Court, as it is currently constituted, would deliver the one piece of good news in the last three months. And yet, there they were, announcing 6-3 that the Title VII of the Civil Rights Act does indeed protect people who are LGBTQ.

It's small, but it's shiny, and I'm going to hold on to it.

You Get What You Get

Heidi and Lucy and I took a walk in a newly-reopened national forest this afternoon. It was a little later in the day, and although we saw several people, most of the time we had the trail to ourselves, rambling up and down the hills, along the creek, through the woods, past an early 19th century cemetery.

Just a little farther south than here the day was a bit overcast, and a light wind stirred the fragrance of pine and hardwood into the air and kept the mosquitos away. It was a cool day for June in Virginia, and after so many miles walked around the neighborhood, the change of location was dramatic, almost as if we had traveled away from home on vacation.

Somewhere around mile 3 I noticed how far away the events of the last three months seemed, and how relaxed in turn I felt. As we walked, I understood that, like everything else, summer vacation is going to look different this year, but the rolling trail ahead of me and the sunlight filtering through the leaves gave me confidence that, like everything else, we can make it work.

Birthday Dinner

Yesterday was my mother's birthday, the first since she passed away in October. "What are you going to make for dinner?" my sister asked me, for I have a tradition of remembering those we loved with a favorite meal of theirs on their birthdays.

But I couldn't answer her question, because I honestly didn't know. My mom was a great cook and loved so many foods it was hard to pick a signature dish. Even narrowing the choices down was a challenge, although my brother and sister and I did have a go at it as we talked yesterday afternoon.

Our conjecture was a little irreverent, focusing on things that she liked that we didn't always love. "Some kind of salad with fruit in it and a dressing that is too sweet?" My brother suggested.

"Or one of those awful chopped salads from a bag?" my sister offered.

"Slap some pesto butter on frozen salmon and pop it in the oven," my brother continued, "and mash up some cauliflower to go with it."

My mother did love cauliflower, especially after she began limiting most of the carbs in her diet to wine and dessert. It was kind of good to laugh at her a little, too, as we would have done if she were still around to take the teasing.

In the end I chose to make southern fried chicken using my grandmother's recipe, which was something my mother loved but rarely treated herself to. And Heidi insisted that we had to have chocolate cake, which the love of was a bond between her and my mom. And I think a new tradition has been born, because, fried chicken and chocolate cake! Who could say no to that?

Don't worry-- I made mashed cauliflower and a salad, too. Not from a bag, though, and the dressing? Was not too sweet.

But I know my mom would have like it anyway. Happy Birthday, Frannie.

Perfection Not Required

I volunteered to go into school today to help return some of the possessions that our students left behind when they were dismissed on March 13. As happens so often these days, the beautiful day belied the hazard of the situation. The system we had in place, involving marked plastic bags organized by homeroom on the sidewalk in front of the building, and signs displayed in car windows as they drove through at designated times, was thoughtful, but clunky.

We ended up sweating in our masks on folding chairs in the shade until it was time to hunt down some plastic bags from piles where the signs had blown away and then toss them through open car windows. (But not before the librarian squeezed every car for any overdue books!) And I did get to shout a few words of thanks and encouragement to the students and families I knew before they drove off.

Even so, since we had never done any such thing ever before, all of us volunteers agreed it was workable, if not successful. Furthermore, we agreed that even though we had some insight and suggestions into how to improve it? We never wanted to have to offer them.