It's Been a Minute

I ordered a lightweight vest from LL Bean and when it arrived the other day I found that it was a little big. If this had happened any time in the last 12 months, I would have printed a return label and dropped my package either at the post office or UPS Store. But there is an LL Bean store not 20 minutes from our house, and being fully vaccinated, it seemed like a good Sunday errand to go make an exchange for a vest that fits. 

So we did. It's not that we haven't been shopping all year; we have in moderation, but today being out and about in the sunshine, jockeying for a spot in the parking lot, and then spending a little time checking out the sale racks and new spring offerings? Well.  

And although it is hard to say if it felt more like a beginning or an ending, it undoubtedly felt very different.

Who's Walking Who?

Years ago, a dog trainer we worked with advised us against extendable leashes. "Your dog should never be in front of you," he told us, "much less more than a few feet away." I sheepishly reeled my dog in from the tree she was sniffing and pressed the lock on the handle.

We immediately purchased a six-foot cloth leash and donated the others to the animal shelter. After that we side-eyed all the dogs criss-crossing 12 feet ahead of their walkers, while virtuously keeping our dog a foot or two to the left. Well, that was the ideal, more often than not there was some tugging. Our wrists grew mighty strong, though, and so did our dog's neck. Eventually, we found a balance, and our dogs have been very nice walkers, both.

This evening I looked out the window and saw our neighbor walking her 15-year-old dog. She uses an extendable leash, but rather than run ahead of her, her dog stopped and she was the one who continued walking until she got to the end of the leash. Only then did she turn around and see her recalcitrant pup. "C'mon," she encouraged him, and he lumbered forward. Then she turned and kept going, unaware that he had stopped again. They made their way all the way home just like that, 12 feet at a time.

Running the Workshop

Our sixth graders are writing children's fiction, and we have reached the point in the unit where the planning has been completed and the drafting has begun. Or at least that's what the calendar says; in reality, students are spread out wide along the writing process already, like runners in a marathon. 

Our main means of supporting all the writers, where ever they might be, is the writing conference; a quick individual conversation to catch them up and/or speed them on their way toward a final draft. Concurrent learning both simplifies and complicates our conferences. 

Yesterday and today, for instance, I had some students in front of me and other students at home. Most kids from each group were ready to write, but others hadn't finished their planning quite yet. I made the logistical decision to pop the planners into individual breakout rooms where they shared their electronic plot diagrams with me as they worked. There, we could talk through any blocks that had them stuck. 

I joined the main call on my iPad, too, so that when I was on hold and in a breakout room, I could still monitor the kids who were working independently and answer any quick questions they might have. In between conferences, I muted all the mics and checked in with the in-person writers, most of whom were wearing headphones, as I was, too, when I was talking to someone else. 

When at last I had the room to myself and was able to take a deep breath and remove the mask, glasses, and earbuds that were stuffed into or otherwise covering every hole on my head, I was pretty wiped. But the writers? Were on their way to the finish line. 

Win-Win

One of Lucy's friends came over this evening. It's been raining all day, and both dogs needed a little stimulation. They've known each other for years, and in fact we refer to Lady as the nanny: with a few well-placed nips and a judicious little growl or two,  she helped socialize Lucy back when she was a cheeky puppy. 

These days Lucy has a bit of an upper hand; she's bigger and younger, but she still defers to Lady most of the time, with the occasional exception of guarding a toy. Tonight, though, Lucy snatched every single thing that Lady showed any interest in. In our house that kind of behavior means that the toy gets put away, and soon we had a pile of stuffies and balls on a shelf beyond the reach of either dog. 

Neither one seemed too upset, in fact Lady seemed to enjoy getting Lucy in a little bit of trouble. Their good-natured possessiveness reminded us of our last dog, Isabel, and her cousin (my brother's dog) Sonic. Whenever Sonic would stay over, he always wanted whatever Isabel had. No doubt he was motivated by love and admiration, but he used to stare at her as she chewed and the minute she dropped whatever it was, he dashed over and took it for himself. 

Isabel was a wise old girl, though, and it didn't take long for her to figure out that if she showed a little interest in something she didn't care about, when Sonic grabbed it, she would be free to get the good stuff for herself. 

And everybody was happy.

Nous Allons Voyager

My 7th grade niece is taking French I this year, a class which is, as her teacher frequently reminds her, a year-long course. My niece is also a distance learner, and learning a completely new language virtually has been a bit of a challenge. Fortunately, both Heidi and I took French in high school, and so we have volunteered to do some zoom tutoring. 

Personally, I am thrilled by how much of the language I have retained all these years later. Despite struggling to recall where I left my keys and wallet 2 minutes ago, French verb conjugations, nouns (along with their feminine and masculine articles) and prepositions all roll off my tongue without a second thought.

Back when I was learning French, having the privilege to travel made learning the language very relevant. Although I never considered myself a fluent speaker, you bet I could read and understand enough to get myself around Paris and Geneva. But my niece is stuck in Atlanta, and when her year-long course began in August, the prospect of traveling anywhere was dismal at best. 

Even so, with every assignment we do together, I get a hankering to go and speak French somewhere. Montreal and Quebec, perhaps? Surely Canada won't keep us out forever! Maybe this summer (or next?) the three of us can pack our bags and head north.

 Comment dit-on ROAD TRIP?

Annual Event

As is my custom when the Academy Award nominations are announced, I printed out a list of Oscar nominees yesterday and began gleefully checking off any film or performance I had already seen. Truth be told? It was a paltry handful. Thank goodness for Nomadland, A Promising Young Woman, and Mulan; a little bit of girl power went a long way this year. (But definitely not as long as it should go.)

Scanning the very few checked boxes, I started to scold myself a bit. In any other year, I chided, thinking of all the movies I would have seen by nomination time. 

But of course I stopped, because in any other year since 2004, the Oscars would be over by now, and our traditional family movie-going, dinners, and getaway only a pleasant memory as our thoughts turned to Spring Break and beyond. And obviously there's no question that this year is not just any year. 

So I took another look at the list with appreciation for those few good movies I'd seen and the promise of all the ones I would see between now and April 25, when I win the family Oscar pool! (Because why not? It's been a crazy year.)

Where He Is Now

It must have been the eyes I recognized first-- despite his face being two-thirds covered with a mask, his eyes were unmistakable. And he nodded when those eyes met mine as he rolled past me on his skateboard; he knew me, too. Then, when I called his name, his eyes narrowed as I'd seen them do so many times, and I knew his lip was curling beneath the mask as he skated past without a word or a backward glance.

"Aw," I said to Heidi, as we continued on in the same direction. He turned around about 50 yards ahead, and glided off to the side, stopping where would have to pass him again.

"You knew that was coming," Heidi told me.

I called his name again and waved. This time he looked up and waited for me to get there. "How are you?" I asked.

"Good," he nodded.

"How about school?"

"It's okay." He shrugged. "Virtual."

"The other teachers are going to be so excited that I saw you," I told him. "Do you have any messages you want me to give them?"

He mentioned two of the team by name. "They were cool," he said.

I ignored the implication that the rest of were not. "Well you look great!" I continued, and it was true: his eyes were clear; his clothes were clean; his body was relaxed. "Come on by and see us when you can. We always want to know how you are."

"Maybe," he allowed. "I think I might move back here for high school next year."

"Can we get a picture?" I asked. "I want to show everyone at school."

He nodded, and I stepped over. He pulled his mask down, and we smiled. I know mine was genuine, and I want to believe that his was, too.