A May Day

Bill and Emily came to help me in the garden today.  And what champion help they were! 

To begin with, Bill tossed several 40 pound bags of top soil up and over the six-foot, barbed-wire topped chain link fence!

Next, Emily completely cleared the fence line of English Ivy. "Getting rid of ivy is a hobby of mine," she said.  Well, have at it, girl!

Then Bill added the topsoil and conditioner to the raised beds and roto-tilled it all in.

Meanwhile, I hammered in an edging for the flower and herb bed that skirts the fence.

Finally, Bill used the pick axe to set the trellis for the beans deep enough into the soil so it would stand by itself, and I planted 7 tomatoes, 5 little okra, a couple of peppers, a coneflower and a tiny little basil plant.

A couple of hours later the plot was looking good, and more importantly? It was in a condition where no one will scold me, at least for a few weeks.

Thanks you guys!

End Note: While researching the title of this post, I discovered that the term mayday originated as a radio call in the 1920's and is derived from a shortened version of the French term "venez m'aider", or come help me!

I Can't Tell

Lately I feel more forgetful and curmudgeonly than ever before. Sometimes I have zero recollection of what trusted sources assure me I said or did, and some days? Cranky is my middle name. 

I would give you a specific example, but I can't think of one right now, and frankly it irritates me that I should have to do that. See what I mean?

My question, though, is this: is it situational-- the stress of living and teaching in these trying times, or could it be that gentle decline of aging? But the follow-up inquiry is perhaps more relevant: how and why does it matter?

I'll keep you posted.

No Happy Ending

My friend Mary came by my classroom just as I was finishing my lunch break. "What are you watching?" she asked, wondering about the urgent British voices murmuring through my computer speaker.

"Oh," I said, and hit pause, considering where to begin. "Yesterday I read a story in the NYTimes about a skull they had recreated the face from. The guy was part of the crew on the Franklin Expedition."

Mary nodded. 

I continued, " I had never heard of the Franklin Expedition, so I read a little bit about it--"

"That's why you're so smart!" Mary said.

"Thanks" I laughed, "and then I wondered if there was a documentary about them. They sailed to the Arctic in the 1840s looking for the Northwest Passage, and they were never heard from again."

"Is that what you were watching?" Mary asked. "Did it have actors? I hate documentaries like that!"

"That's funny you should say that," I told her, "because there are several documentaries dating back to the 90s, and most of them do have re-enactments. I was just thinking how much I hate those, too!"

We exchanged I know, right? nods. "What happened to them has been a mystery since they disappeared," I explained. "Over the years they have found lots of clues, and they even found both ships recently. What I was watching was the trailer for an AMC show from 2018 called The Terror which was the name of one of their ships. It's a dramatization of what might have happened to the expedition from the time they got stuck in the ice until they tried to walk to Canada."

"Well put that on your list to watch!" Mary recommended.

"Maybe," I shrugged, "it looks pretty bleak though. There's one part where a guy is looking through his little brass telescope, and it's so cold that it pulls the skin off around his eye when he lowers it!'

We both cringed.

"Plus, I'm just not sure I can get invested in 10 episodes when I know nobody survives."

Wheeeeee

I sat at my desk and worked through my lunch today. It's a bad habit, I know. 

Before COVID we had a lovely little lunch bunch of teachers who gathered every day in my classroom to relax and chat for at least 20 of the 35 minutes we are allotted. Such gatherings were prohibited by safety protocols when we returned to school this year, and now a larger group meets outside every day. But I kind of need some down time then: after spending 4 1/2 solid hours with people, another big group of folks is a little too much for me. So most days I eat alone and work. 

Not taking a break takes a toll on my productivity, though. Even if it seems like I am getting stuff done, by the end of the day, I'm tired and I don't feel farther ahead. So today I took advantage of the breezy, sunny weather and checked the bike share app on my phone. There were several bikes available at the station by our school, and so I trotted over and checked out an ebike. 20 minutes and 3 miles later, my hair was a mess, but I felt great.

Semana de Agradecimiento al Maestro

Was that really a tiny maraca in my teacher appreciation gift bag this morning? Oh my! And the hot Takis in the Cinco-de-Mayo-themed present from the PTA? Just another zesty thank you that perked up my day. And although I literally spit out the tamarind-flavored hard candy (can't think of the last time I had to do that!) and was momentarily disappointed to hear that someone received a piñata (it was just a 2D cardboard image) in place of my flat sombrero, I genuinely both appreciated and felt appreciated by this fun little gesture. 

Olé!

The Least of His Worries

"I'm so nervous about the SOLs!" one of my homeroom students said today about our state assessments next week.

"Why?" I asked him. 

"Because they're soooo important! Colleges will look at them!" he explained.

I paused. Since they are unavoidable, I want our students to take standardized tests seriously so that the data we get might be useful. 

Even so, I couldn't help myself. "No college is going to look at your sixth grade SOL!" I told him. "Especially in a pandemic year!"

He knit his brow and cocked his head.

"Do you feel better?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "I do. I really do."

Spot the Kitty

Lucy loves to play Spot the Kitty on every walk, and truth be told, her exceptional sniffer makes her very competitive. She's also a smartie pants and a tad bit obsessive, so once she's seen a cat in a particular location, she's sure it will be there again. 

It can make for a frustrating walk, but often she's right, and there are a certain pair of black cats that seem to be in on the game. Every time we pass their house, they are lounging in a new place. One day it was the planters by the stoop, another day on the chairs against the fence, and today it was on top of the rolling trash cans at the top of the driveway. 

They are so ninja, that I doubt we would have ever see them if it weren't for Lucy: she raises her nose and strains at the leash until we spot them. "Good girl!" we tell her. "You found the kitties!" 

And then she's perfectly happy to continue on our way.