Never the Same Unit Twice

 "Why didn't we ever do that?" many returning students have asked when our conversation turns to what the current kids are working on.

Sometimes I shrug and shake my head and say, "You did!" and they laugh because they don't remember. But other times? I defend myself by explaining that even teachers, no especially teachers, have to keep learning and improving. Then it's their turn to shrug, but nod their heads.

Even so, I've noticed that the most profound improvements often come not from the splashy new activities, but rather from the most subtle changes. Today I reframed some of the writing prompts we use to help our young writers come up with a topic for their food memoirs by simply adding the phrase a story about a time when...

I had a bunch of story starters and we spun a virtual wheel to pick a couple to brainstorm (okay the wheel was a little flashy, especially the fanfare and confetti). The ideas that the studenta came up with were wonderful. In response to a story about a time when you cooked or got food for someone else, we heard stories about cooking a traditional nepalese dish to surprise one girl's parents, a boy making dinner for his mother and grandfather because he knew they would be tired after work, and another young man waking early to make breakfast for his extended family as they slept, getting overwhelmed, and then rescued by his dad when he got up.

The mark of a promising topic I told them, is the emotion you felt and the change in you at the end. "What did you learn from your experience?" I asked each.

"To keep trying, even if you think it's not good enough," answered the first student. 

"Sometimes you have to be responsible and help out," said the second.

"Teamwork really helps!" replied the third.

I think they got it.

No Rest for the Weary

The second Monday in October used to be the first holiday of the school year. It came just at the right time-- when routines were pretty solid, but everyone could use a break after the go-go-go of the beginning of the school year. Some years back, in an effort to add more working days to the teacher calendar, Columbus Day became a student-only holiday; staff was expected to participate in professional learning. 

There was some justification of the move that involved a cursory discussion of whether it was appropriate to mark the day as a holiday at all, given all the terrible consequences of Columbus's journey on the people and lands he "discovered". I more than understand that perspective, and this year I was happy to hear that our state is celebrating Indigenous People Day for the first time. Even so, I got up, logged in, participated in my distance PD, and then planned my lessons for tomorrow and Wednesday. 

I hope the kids enjoyed their day off. 

Nothing Gold Can

The weather has changed. 

The remnants of Hurricane Delta, (the Greek letter, not the name, although I like that it works both ways-- it makes me imagine Delta Burke storming through Sugarbaker's on Designing Women) are sweeping through, turning our fine, bright blue October days into a muggy gray morass. The rain is good for the plants, this I know; that cool dry weather we relished last week had crisped up what is left of our summer herbs and flowers. Still, I feel disappointed. There is something about perfect weather, the exhilaration and joy it sparks, that beguiles me into believing that, this time? 

It will stay.

Pandecorating

Just a little over a week ago I read that retailers were cautiously optimistic about the upcoming Halloween season. "If it's anything like Easter," one guy was quoted, "then we'll be fine. We sold a lot of bunny suits." The thinking was that parents are going all out to compensate for having to keep their kids at home. 

Anecdotally, I can confirm that it's going to be a boom year for Halloween. Walking around our neighborhood, as we do every day, we have noticed a lot of decorations cropping up as October gets rolling. Some houses have little cemeteries in their front yards, complete with tombstones and all sorts of skeletons, both human and other. There are cauldrons and brooms and witches and giant spiders, caskets and cats and ghosts and zombies and mummies, some scarecrows and hay bales and tons of pumpkins, of course. 

When we went to our local big box craft store today, their Halloween section was already on clearance and nearly cleared out, too. Why wouldn't it be? Halloween is sooo three weeks from now. On October 10 it's time to be planning for Christmas, people. 

And this year, I'm looking forward to some spectacular lights.

One Shoe, Two Shoe, Orange Shoe, Blue Shoe

It was three o'clock this afternoon when I finally noticed that I was wearing two different shoes-- both athletic and of the same brand, but clearly unmatching. I felt lucky for two reasons. One, I haven't been anywhere today for anyone to see my feet, and two, there was no toilet paper stuck to the heel of either one. 

Because? 

If I can't match my shoes, then there will be a train of TP (or worse) trailing from one of them, probably sooner rather than later.

She Could Feed Herself

I woke at 3 AM last night. As Paul Simon sang, I don't expect to sleep through the night, but usually I can get back to sleep after I pee. Not this time, though. 

Neither mindfulness, meditation, nor podcast could get my brain off school. I had signed off my computer the evening before with a lesson plan I felt was less engaging than I wanted it to be, especially given the restraints of distance teaching, and I turned it over as I tossed to get comfortable. 

We are preparing the students to write short personal narratives centered around a food memory, and the plan was to give them several model texts to study and use as examples. Earlier in the day I had searched the archives of this blog for any food-related posts that I could turn into an exemplar for the assignment. Oh, there are plenty of tales of food and cooking, but none that I felt would be right for the kids. 

I reached back in my memory to when I was their age, or perhaps a bit older. Did I even cook then? I wondered.  When did I learn to cook, anyway? And as curious or ridiculous as it seems, I could not remember when or why I learned to cook. My mom was a great cook, and when we moved overseas I went away to boarding school in Switzerland, then a few years later, college. 

For most of my teens and early twenties I ate in the dining halls nine months of the year and never even had access to a working kitchen until the fall semester of my junior year. But then? I cooked, and it was full meals with a little help from my roommate's Joy of Cooking. I didn't even get a meal plan, and I never had one again even through graduate school. 

In high school, our dorm room had a room with a sink and a stove that didn't heat properly, but no refrigerator. There was one thing that I could cook on that stove. Some days, I would walk to the tiny store that was in the cobbled square behind our school and buy 1 egg and 1 roll delivered fresh from the bakery in town. A little butter saved from breakfast in the one skillet that was stored in the oven and some patience would yield a perfect egg sandwich. 

Bread, butter, and eggs made just as I liked them: it was a dish I couldn't get in the dining room or any restaurant in town. No one made it for me, and eating it offered an enormous sense of comfort and home.

I guess that's when I became a cook.

The Key Word is "Imaginary"

Apologies for another WOD post so close on the heels of the last!

The word of the day yesterday was "Cockaigne", a word I recognized but could not define. According to my calendar, Cockaigne is "an imaginary land of great luxury and ease". Reading the definition, I took a deep, centering breath and acknowledged its relevancy.

You see, for me Cockaigne is simply the adjective that Irma Rombauer and her daughter Marion affixed to the names of their signature recipes in The Joy of Cooking. It is a weird, but quaint, shorthand signifying some sort of stamp of approval, and a word that I have skimmed thoughtlessly over hundreds of times.

Of course, a bit of research was in order to determine why the Rombauers chose such a label; as wonderfully metaphorical as it is now that I know its definition, I think I can safely say that Cockaigne is a pretty obscure reference. As it turns out, the family named their country home Cockaigne, and the dishes so labeled were those that were favorites of the guests they entertained there.

So informed, I looked up from my computer at my own dining table, the center of all the entertaining I have done for the last 21 years. 8 weeks ago, when I set up my lap top and monitor, I draped the bags for them over one of the chairs on the other side of the table. "I'm going to put this school stuff away every weekend!" I promised Heidi.

"Why?" she shrugged. "It's not like we're having anybody over."