Bitter Sweets

Since this will be a Christmas like no other has been, I find myself more willing to try new things in the sweets and cookie department this season. Last week I made some peppermint cookie cups and bite-sized Atlantic Beach pies and this morning I made cherry-almond kringles-- a version of the Danish treat using my own sourdough pastry, none of which have been a tradition in our family. I'm also considering skipping the rugelach, or maybe switching up the filling to something different this year, and a recipe I came across for cranberry crackle pie looks kind of tempting, too. 

This post to the contrary, I'm not a big dessert eater, so the peppermint cups were a half recipe, and we gave most of the kringles away to our neighbors. All told, there are a lot fewer sweets this year, which makes sense, since there will be fewer folks to share them with. And who knows? Maybe next year? Cranberry crackle pie will become a new tradition.

Big Sibling is Watching You

Another day, another sibling-related interaction. Since we have block schedule, I shared the happy news that having a bossy big sister can be ever so beneficial with the rest of my classes today. The older sisters in the group embraced the news, but not surprisingly, there were skeptics, too. 

One student unmuted and said that his experience did not match the research.

"But you said you have a big brother," I answered. "That doesn't count."

"You don't know the whole story," he said. "My brother? Is transgender! So I know what I'm talking about."

"Uhh, you're right," I replied. "I did not know that." I was quiet for a moment. "I don't think the research study corrected for that factor, though. But maybe they should."

Birth Order

Sometimes there seems to be a confluence of events-- some call it coincidence, but I always wonder just a little if perhaps the Universe is sending us a message. 

Yesterday I wrote about the study that FINALLY proved the benefits of having a bossy big sister, and as fate would have it, my students currently are reading a story where one of the central themes is tied to the connection between an older and younger brother. So today, for the Chat Snap, I asked the kids where they fell in the family: oldest, middle, youngest, or only child. 

I knew that some answers would be complicated, and they were. One girl posted that she was both, the youngest in her mother's family and the oldest in her dad's. 

"Which do you like better?" I asked with genuine curiosity. 

"Being the oldest," she answered without hesitation. 

But then there was the guy who posted that he was the youngest. "That's right," I said. "I taught your brother, Jeffrey, who's in high school now, and I know you have a brother in 8th grade who wasn't in my class. Isn't his name Ethan?"

"No!" the student immediately corrected me. "His name is Buffoon."

His unmistakable vexation made me laugh. "Well at school? I think we call him Ethan."

Bossy Has its Benefits

As part of the back-and-forth-repartee-style toast my brother and I made at my sister's wedding rehearsal dinner, it came out that when we were kids I, as the oldest sibling, treated the two of them as my minions. My brother fully confessed to be a willing sidekick to all my wacky plans, and I defended myself, assuring everyone that I was nothing if not a benevolent dictator. 

But isn't that what the oldest child is supposed to do? When I went to school and learned to read, I thought it was soooo cool, that I came home and taught my brother how to do it, too. The same was so for riding a two-wheeler. I learned, and then both my brother and sister learned shortly after. Why would starting a singing group, trying to sell mud door to door, or taking the dog out for a walk when we were not supposed to be any different? Sure, some of my schemes were more successful than others, but at that age? They all came from the same place, and it always started with I have a great idea...

In our family, growing up in the 1960s and early 70s, my mom put me in charge of those two, for short periods of time, from the time I was 5 or 6. "Go outside and play!" was a common direction in almost every family then. She told me to keep an eye on them, and I did, even when they insisted, "You are  not my boss!"

So you can imagine how justified I felt this morning when I heard a piece on NPR about a recent study that "suggests kids in poor countries benefit hugely from having older sisters — who are more likely than brothers or even mothers — to engage in stimulating play." That's right! There were measurable benefits for all those kids whose bossy big sisters forced them to play school and other games that engaged their brains and their imaginations. 

Just as I did 50 years ago, these girls spend "as much as half of their free time looking after younger children." And their siblings? Perform better on tests of vocabulary and fine motor skills than their peers without an older sister, ahem, orchestrating their days. 

You're welcome, guys!

Where's Liz?

I had lunch, virtually of course, with a friend and colleague today. She is a math teacher on my team, and we eat together almost every day when school is held in the building. She is also an accomplished singer, and since COVID safety orders have been in effect, she has been performing with the Stay at Home Choir. 

The members of the SHC are singers from around the world, and for each project they meet with internationally acclaimed conductors and composers to prepare and rehearse, and then each singer records and submits their part. Sound and video engineers blend the recordings into a final performance, and the amazing results are released into the world via YouTube and other video sites.

Today happened to be the premier of their performance of Beethoven's Ode to Joy, with lyrics by US Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith and accompanied by the Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra conducted by Marin Alsop. Lucky for me? The premier was during our lunch, and so we watched it together. 

The performance was stirring and beautiful, but I confess that I was distracted by looking for my friend in the hundreds of faces, each in its own little tile. And maybe all this online communication is changing my brain, because I was sure, absolutely sure! I saw her at least three times. 

Later this afternoon, when I went back to listen again, I couldn't help myself from pausing the video to scan the faces, and sure enough-- there she was. For the last 9 months, all of seen of her is a face on a screen, and so I guess it makes sense that I could pick that familiar image out, even among all those other faces. 

Plus, it was kinda like Where's Waldo? but more fun and with wonderful music.

The Elements

When the days grow shorter and colder, it is so easy to burrow in, snuggle up, and hunker down. Working from home? There is very little reason to leave the comfort of my warm house, and quickly those instincts start to become habit. Fortunately, we have to get Lucy from her dog walker every afternoon, and at 3 miles round trip, walking over there and back offers a modicum of activity. 

Even so, when temperatures hit the low 60s over the weekend and sunny, springlike days beckoned me out of my lair, without necessity, I resisted and stayed in baking cookies and decorating my tree. Often the contrarian, this morning I woke with conviction to exercise outside, and the cold driving rain would not dissuade me. 

In need of a shower anyway, I dressed in some tights and a pullover and, leaving my phone behind so it would not get drenched, I shoved a cap on my head and ventured out. We were under a flood watch at the time, and at first I tried to avoid the wide puddles and gushing gutters, but as I got going, it was kind of exhilarating to plunge my feet into icy water even as I was sweating beneath my dripping clothes. 

And half an hour later when I returned home, breathless and sodden, I did not feel like curling up or nestling in. I did eat a cookie, though!

No More Gnomes

When we were shopping for new furniture a year or so ago, Heidi told me in no uncertain terms that we could not buy a white leather couch, no matter how much we liked it in the showroom. "Babe!" she said. "White couches are for old ladies. That's not us."

I thought of that conversation today when we purchased a stuffed winter gnome to join the two I inherited from my mother. Those holiday fellows were just a little too appealing to me to leave to the consignment, and when we opened their box with my mom's handwriting on it a couple of weeks ago, I knew the perfect place for them. Currently, they survey the living room from atop the bookshelf. The new gnome in his gray flannel and buffalo checks is a perfect compatriot for them; he fills the gap up there we never knew we had, and three is a pleasing arrangement. 

While shopping, I was appalled to see Valentine's Day decor liberally included in the already clearance-priced Christmasware, but Heidi was transfixed by the pink Valentine gnome and his leftover autumn gnome brother. "We should get a gnome for every season!" she said, a proposal I immediately vetoed.

"You sound like an old lady!" I told her. 

"Maybe," she shrugged, "but I don't even care!"

"You must see our gnome collection!" I added in a warbly fake elder voice. "It's adorable."

She shrugged again. "It would be!"