Bumper Crop

Ever since I've had a garden, I've been dreaming of growing my own Halloween pumpkin. Perhaps, like Linus, I want to believe that I have found the most sincere pumpkin patch-- not only found it, but cultivated it myself.

Unfortunately, for the first several years, the vines either didn't sprout, or they withered in July, or they thrived without setting a single fruit. Then there was the time when I had that perfect pumpkin, just the one, and right before it was perfectly ripe and ready, I returned to my garden after a few days away only to find it collapsed into a rotten heap of squash and seeds. 

Last year, I finally got my first pumpkin, a wee little kettlebell-sized thing grown from a kit I got in my stocking. It was a nice fall decoration until I roasted it for pie. I did save the seeds though, and planted them in a three-sisters mound last spring. This year? I have seven pumpkins! All on the small side, but seven!  

"What are you going to do with all of them?" a colleague asked me today when I showed them to our online class. 

"Pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins," I started. "And, since it's National Quesadilla Day," I told her, "I might make pumpkin quesadillas." 

She and the kids laughed. 

"No seriously," I continued, "seven is a lot of pumpkins! I'm going to make pumpkin curry, pumpkin tacos, pumpkin fried rice, pumpkin pasta... 

"Pumpkin fries," she suggested.

"Yes!" I agreed, "and pumpkin tots, pumpkin rings, pumpkin kebabs, pickled pumpkin." I paused to think.

"You're like the Bubba Gump Pumpkin Company!" she said.

Right? And if I save the seeds again, next year I could have 49 pumpkins!

Paradise Lost

 Almost three weeks in, I think I'm making distance teaching and learning work. It's not easy adapting lessons and activities, but it is teaching, and as I shamelessly wrote yesterday: I'm good at that. 

Connecting with the kids is getting a little better, too. Even though most days I still find myself earnestly talking to my own tiny picture in the corner of the laptop screen, laughing at my own jokes, and listening to the hiss of the speaker while the students stay muted and offscreen, I sense a shift: a few more cameras on here and there, a couple more virtual hands, lots of good ideas posted in the chat, and even several kids willing to share what they've written or answer my question when I ask them directly. It's not a classroom, and calling it a community is way too much of a stretch, but it is something, and it is improving. 

Even so, some of my more wistful moments this week have been when I explain what the routine is now and compare it to when we are in the building. Then my voice takes on a dreamy tone as I describe that shining bastion of education that is my classroom. 

"You guys," I'll say, "when you come in the door, the announcements will be on the screen in the front of the room, and I won't have to take roll, because I'll be able to see you! Then I'll ask you to clear your desk of everything except your writing notebook and something to write with. And guess what else? You'll have to keep your iPads OFF until I tell you that you need them!"

Sometimes, the Best Plan is No Plan

I did not have time to preview the pre-planned lesson I was supposed to do with my homeroom this morning. Truth be told, when we are actually in school, that happens quite a bit. I like to think, though, that after 27 years in the classroom I can pick up almost any lesson and do it justice, if not improve it, as I go along. Forgive me; such a belief is a small vanity, especially for someone who just spent 3 hours preparing her own lesson for tomorrow. 

But I digress. This morning the lesson was the second in a series of mindfulness activities that our district has planned for students to help them cope with the stress of the last months. I appreciate the effort, and I've been doing quite a bit of mindfulness practice myself, so I approached this experience with an open heart. The students were being introduced to an activity called STOP, and the anticipatory set was to tell them that STOP was an acronym and have them guess what the letters stood for. 

Not knowing the answer myself came in handy as we puzzled out what the letters might possibly mean. 

"Is the S for 'Speak'?" a student asked.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "I really don't know."

"Maybe the P is for 'Problem'," someone else suggested.

"Possibly," I agreed, "but by the end of the slogan, the problem should be gone, right?"

And so it went, as we guessed and guessed and nothing seemed quite right, and I couldn't even lead them in the direction of the answer.

"Oh my gosh!" one student finally said, "Can we PLEASE watch the video to find out?"

Seeing that my class was fully engaged and ready to learn, I nodded and pressed play. 

Now, that's good teaching!

P.S. It was

Stop

Take 3-5 breaths

Observe your feelings, acknowledge them, and

Proceed.

(Cool guidance! But when it comes to acronyms? I think that's kind of stretching it!)

Flipping Fantastic

Without exaggeration, I would have to say that one of the best things, if not THE best thing, to happen to me in 2020 is the pass that the teachers at our school got from participating live in a virtual Back-to-School Night. A quick review of my blog posts from the last 12 Septembers will reveal my fraught relationship with this mandatory evening that neither teachers nor parents seem to enjoy. What can you say about an event that no one likes it, but everyone feels compelled to attend?

At any rate, our school's leadership team, recognizing the additional challenges of organizing an effective remote event, decided to flip the script and provide all of the information from teachers up front while planning a town hall format with a limited presentation and plenty of time for Q&A with a panel, rather than the entire staff.

Basically? We had to create informational videos, but after that, they gave us the night off! 

Yay! I love it!

Even so, you know what I'm doing right now, don't you? 

Right! I am watching the town hall.

Because I haven't missed a BSN since 1993, and I guess I'm not ready to start now.

The Price Was Right

We were browsing the dollar bin for fun at Target when a young woman in a lab coat approached us. "Excuse me ladies," she said, "would you be interested in a free flu shot? We're offering five dollar coupons to anyone who gats the vaccine."

Full disclosure? I don't usually get a flu shot. After 27 years and counting in a middle school classroom, I like to think my immunity is robust, and since I haven't ever gotten the flu, it seems like a waste of a sore arm to get the injection. Plus, like almost everybody else, I hate shots. But, in light of the COVID-19 crisis and medical recommendations that a flu shot may protect me and those around me as we battle the pandemic, I had planned on getting the vaccine year.

Even so! Just as Heidi was politely explaining that she gets her annual shot from her doctor, I was waving my hand. "I'm interested! I'll do it!" I told the pharmacist.

Because, 

five dollars!

Happy Good-bye

 This afternoon we attended the annual closing day of our pool which is always celebrated by a doggie dip. It's the one day a year when dogs are allowed at the pool, and Lucy and all her canine buddies from the neighborhood took over from 2-4 when the gate was opened and locked for the last time this season. There was a definite chill in the air as we watched them race and dive and shake and splash round and round the deck. 

Our lifeguard this year was the nicest kid, a rising senior in a local high school, who all summer long delighted the kids with cannon balls on the safety break and calling out a score from the chair when they did the same. Today he seemed pretty entertained himself, all bundled up in sweats and a hoodie. 

"I almost came for a swim this morning," I told him, "but 46 was a little too cold!"

"You would have been the only one," he laughed. "There was no one here until the place went to the dogs!"

True North

Not that many months ago, I saw RBG in person. We were at a movie theater downtown waiting for the elevator to the parking garage below when the doors parted, and a couple of big burly guys cleared the way for a tiny old woman. Two younger women helped her shuffle off, and before I could look away, embarrassed to stare at her physical weakness, she lifted her head and made eye contact with me. There was no frailty in that gaze, and when the party had passed and we stepped on the elevator, I knew who she was. 

I don't think I've been to a movie since. The world fell on its side in February when we cleared out and sold my mom's home, and turned completely over in in March when everything shut down, and it spun and wobbled in April and May with the primaries, and flipped again in June with all the demonstrations, and continued to teeter and sway in July and August with the rise of virus cases and deaths and college outbreaks and anti-maskers and ugly, election-year politics, and of course, the reality of distance teaching and learning has rocked our worlds for the last 4 weeks.

And losing Justice Ginsberg is like losing true north while navigating the shit storm that has been 2020. 

But even when she was weak, she stayed strong. I saw it myself, and I will look to my inner compass to persevere.