Sugar

In the three minutes between third period and lunch today there were some students in my classroom shooting balls at the mini-hoop, others reciting poetry in either a single breath or from memory, and still others brainstorming the most precise sensory details they could about a single place in their favorite season. 

All for a chance at candy, of course. 

I did offer sincere congratulations in the form of a way-to-go-kid elbow bump as an alternative, but there were no takers. Even so, I was richly rewarded by their words and their writing and their joy, even when they did not succeed, and I think they might have been, too.

"It's okay," one student said when I expressed my admiration for the attempt along with my condolences for not quite winning the Jolly Rancher. "It will be fun to try again tomorrow!"

Facial Recognition

Not yet quite used to the timing of our block schedule, I was power-walking into the office and toward the ladies' room at the beginning of lunch today when I locked eyes with a student waiting in the chairs there. He showed no real sign of recognition, but looking at all that was visible above the mask, a mop of wavy, brown hair, hazel eyes, smooth caramel forehead, and ears studded with at least a dozen blingy earrings, I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew him. 

Such interactions are very common at school this year. Just last week a student planted himself in front of me as I stood greeting kids in the hallway. "Hello!" he said with a broad wave.

"Hello!" I said and cocked my head. "Who are you?"

"Dewayne!" he told me. I was thrilled to meet one of my best students from last year in person for the first time, and we spent an animated, if weird, few minutes both catching up and getting to know each other.

Today, as I exited the office on my way back to eat my lunch, I heard that kid in the chairs talking to one of the secretaries as I passed and spun on my heel. "Is that Steven?" I asked.

"It sure is!" the secretary answered. 

"I thought I recognized you!" I told him, "but I wasn't sure."

Turning to the secretary I explained. "He never turned his camera on last year, but that voice..." I laughed and from his eyes, I could tell he was smiling a real, genuine smile. "That voice is unmistakable." I came back into the office. "It is nice to finally meet you, Steven."

Longest Three Weeks Ever

Last week, when one of my students called his classmate "that kid", I gave the group a pep talk about community and offered a reward to anyone who could name everyone in the class. Over the next few days, there were several takers, and I was impressed and heartened by their attention to the other kids in the class. "I know how hard it is," I laughed to my teacher friends at lunch, "because I feel like I just learned the names and faces myself!"

But today, when I scanned the 2 assessment forms I have been charged to complete for some student support meetings, I wished for an N/A or "not yet observed" option on many of the questions. I also wondered if I was somehow coming up short because I couldn't give a 1-5 on tests, peer relationships, or accommodations imperative for success. In the end, I reviewed the available data, and completed the form as best I could.

"Do you know I've only worked five days this year?" my friend Mary sighed this afternoon. She's been out on family leave since the day her father died a couple of week ago, and today was her first day back. "It seems like these kids need to re-learn almost everything."

I sympathized, but it was the five day figure that captured my attention. "Today was six?" I clarified.

She shrugged-- it had been a hard re-entry.

"But, you were out for six days! That means we've only been in school for 12." 

And with block scheduling? I've only seen most of the kids six times!

Now, that explains a lot.

Very Late Summer

It was a busy weekend, and so it was nearly six this evening when we walked up to the garden to harvest anything that might not last until midweek when we will be able to find the time to return. The peppers are finally coming in, some of the tomatoes are enjoying a resurgence, and the shell beans seem to think it's still July; we can thank the hot weather we had last week for that, I think. 

Although we picked briskly and dawdled not at all in the garden, dusk was coming on quickly as we headed home. The cold front this morning brought us some drier air, but there was no chill, yet, and we were comfortable in our shorts and flip flops. Still, the light told us that summer will not linger much longer. As we walked home in the gathering evening we heard some folks out on their decks and patios, enjoying the final hours of the weekend, but the windows, too, cast a warm and golden glow, encouraging a passerby to hurry home.

With a K

 A few days ago at Target we ran into the son of a friend of ours. This young man was also a former student at our school, and so it was fun catching up with him. He had some really good news to share, too. "I had to buy me some more polo shirts," he said, showing us the jewel-toned garments he was carrying. "I got a promotion! I'm a district supervisor now!"

"Congratulations!" I told him "That is awesome!"

"I even get my own office!" he replied. "I have been decorating it all week with pictures of Kobe Bryant."

I was reminded that it was when he was a student at our school that Heidi had hamsters as classroom pets. She generously adopted them from a student who was forced to give them up, but unfortunately, their former owner kept putting the male and female in the same tank together at school, and so soon the two hamsters became seven. (Then they became four, because, well, you know what hamsters do if they feel their environment can't support their young.) It was a rather traumatic time.

Back at Target, I remembered that this guy had adopted one of the baby hamsters and named him Kobe. "Do you have any pictures of Kobe the hamster in your office?" I teased him.

He looked wistful. "Ah, no," he answered. "But that was my first pet, so now it's the answer to all my security questions!"

Eighteen Months Later

I literally scratched my head as I stood in front of the big, new copy machine in the main office. After tapping around a bit on the darkened touch screen, I finally woke the giant up and found that it wasn't really that different from the last copier we had. But when I had to think a minute about where to find some of the settings and controls, it occurred to me that I hadn't made a single copy since before March 13, 2020. Almost all of my instruction had been electronic since then.

"How many trees do you think you saved?" joked a colleague when I told him.

"That's not even the point!" I said, do you know what else I haven't done since that week in March 2020?"

He shook his head.

"Have a full, five-day week of in-person school! None of us have." I pointed at the calendar. "But, get ready... it's happening next week!"

Susan's Salsa

One of the unexpected pleasures of the wedding we attended last weekend came when I was drying dishes. At about 10 on the night of the wedding, those who were still celebrating were *really* still celebrating, and a few, a little more sober, of us decided to get a start on clean up. That is how I found myself working to clear the cluttered kitchen with the sister of the bride. 

I have known Josh's Aunt Susan for over 20 years; she is his mom's younger sister, and was probably around 21 when we first met. Like many big sisters, Michelle is sometimes dismissive of her younger sibling, but over the years I've seen Susan become a wife, a mother of three, and an accomplished homesteader, with all sorts of enviable making and preserving skills. When the kitchen was as clean and organized as we could get it, She opened a jar of her candied jalapeños, chopped some spring onion and stirred them into cream cheese. The concoction was delicious on crackers. 

As we discussed the heat level (pretty mild), she told me about a friend who, after tasting the jalapeños, requested candied ghost peppers. "I treated it like the toxic mixture it was," she said. "I ordered a gas mask from Amazon and wore two layers of rubber gloves past my elbows. I have a three-burner gas cooker out in my back yard, and I did all the cooking and canning there."

My eyes were huge. 

She laughed. "And it would have been fine, except for some reason, I took the gloves off to do the dishes." She shook her head with rue. "My hands were red for a week and super sensitive to any heat of even warm air. I had a chemical burn!"

"Did the guy actually eat his peppers?" I asked, thinking that if they could do that to her hands, what would they do to someone's throat.

"Yep," she shrugged. "He loved 'em."

A little while later, she gave me her method for making salsa. 

Cut your tomatoes in half and squeeze out the seeds. Place them cut side down on a baking sheet, with sliced onions, garlic cloves, and seeded peppers. Run the sheet under the broiler until everything is charred. When cool, the tomato skins slip right off and the pepper skins will, too. Chop everything together, season to taste, put into pint jars and water process. One sheet pan makes about a quart.

I tried her recipe this morning with tomatoes and peppers from my garden and onions and garlic from Treat's farm. A little of the fresh cilantro I have growing on the deck, and some cumin and sea salt completed the salsa. 

But it won't be around long enough to can, because it's that good.