Standing By

I was working in my garden this afternoon when I noticed a wee old man standing in the corner watching me. It's hard to say how long he had been there; I was listening to an audiobook and between it and the work I was rather oblivious to anything else. But there he was, hands clasped behind the back of his faded, baggy overalls, regarding both me and my garden not unkindly. I squeezed my right airpod to pause the book, and stepped over to him. 

"I'm Jim," he introduced himself.

"Tracey," I replied.

"Stacy?" he asked.

"Tracey," I repeated.

"I'm one of the head gardeners here," he told me.

"I know!" I laughed. "I've seen you on Zoom. You're like a celebrity to me, someone I've only seen on TV."

He shrugged modestly. 

What I didn't say was that he was much shorter, and older, and frailer than he seemed on those calls. Far from being impressed or intimidated, I was a little concerned at the heaviness of his breath and the sweat on his brow. We made small talk about weeds and mulch and, when I mentioned that I was a teacher (who would have my garden shipshape once school was out),  kids and education and the world today. Eventually he gestured to the mulch pile and wheel barrow a couple gardens away and said he should return to that task. 

"Nice talkin to you," I said and squeezed my airpod again, but I kept on eye on his progress and noted the many breaks he took. At one point, I reviewed the first aid training that I had been required to take this year for recertification. Then, it seemed unlikely that I would ever need to rescue someone in distress, but this afternoon? It seemed like a good skill to have.

Life Imitates Life

Since Survivor first aired in 2000, Heidi and I have seen every single one of the 42 seasons. Even so, I wouldn't call us super fans so much as super critics. In fact, here's what I wrote about the show back in 2009:

...the mixture of conniving, false alliances, physical strength, and sheer force of will was riveting. I still watch today, although I confess that there comes a point in every season where I declare my hatred for the show and its premise, and I swear I'll never watch again. It's ageist. It's sexist. It's racist. Contestants are forever getting their feelings bruised by others who excuse their hurtful behavior by insisting that it's just a game or that there are a million reasons why they've done what they have. There's no such thing as trust in Survivor. It's not fair. It never turns out the way I want it to. Still, I watch.

For the first two decades of reality TV, most shows seemed to focus on or exploit the worst of humanity, but I have noticed a shift lately. My evidence is purely anecdotal and based only on the two shows that I watch, Survivor and Top Chef, but in the past season, both of those programs have had the most congenial and respectful casts I have ever seen on reality TV. Win or lose, they are thoughtful, introspective, complimentary of the competition, and most of all, grateful for the opportunity and the experience being on the show has offered them. 

My theory is that ever since we actually elected a reality TV personality president, we have been exposed to so much nastiness in our real public discourse, that we don't need to see it on TV, but my hope is that there is a change coming.

Minimart

Before the pandemic, we would regularly drive half an hour or more to shop at our favorite grocery store, Wegmans. But along with a lot of other folks, our shopping habits have changed over the last two years, and now we generally buy our groceries much closer to home now, usually at a store we can walk to. Even so, there was excitement in our household when a couple of weeks ago a new Wegmans opened only 20 minutes from us. 

Today was the day when we made our first visit to that new store. The route was familiar; 22 years ago a huge movie theater opened in the same area, which was then the end of the yellow line of the metro, and for over a decade it was our go to. Over the years that outpost became more desirable and it no longer made sense to have a three acre parking lot for a theater, an office building, and a few restaurants. So that's where they built a 15 story apartment building with a Wegmans on the ground floor. 

Founded in 1916 in Rochester, the chain expanded slowly throughout Western New York. Their first Buffalo location opened in 1977, and it is through Heidi's family that I first became aware of what can only be described as the amazing grocery shopping experience they offer. For most of their history, their stores were big and sprawling, indicative of the inexpensive commercial real estate in those locations. 

When Wegmans first arrived in our area, the stores were in the far outer suburbs, hence the drives we were willing to make. A couple of years ago, Wegmans opened a smaller, store out at Tysons Corner, also on the metro line. The design of that location was scaled back and curated to accommodate a smaller space, but it is not the same shopping experience. 

And that is the layout we found today at the newest Wegmans. Heidi was very disappointed, despite the fact that we can get most of the items on our list, she missed the wide selection that we have come to expect. On our way home, we passed a few neighbors and rolled down the windows to chat. "We were at the new Wegmans," Heidi reported. "It was stinky!"

They looked surprised, especially the guy from Rochester. "So WegMANs wasn't very manly?" asked another of them.

"Definitely not!" Heidi answered.

"More like Wegboys," I said.

Crazy 8s

 Most of my homeroom had other things to do this morning: a couple were absent, others had SOL remediation, running club, math help. I invited the few kids who were left to play cards with me. "What games do you know?" I asked. 

"Uhhh," one student hesitated, "Spoons?"

I had taught a larger group that game a little earlier in the year, but to me, Spoons is the word search of card games-- an empty exercise, lacking any challenge or necessary skills. It is easy to teach, though, and kids love it.

"What about Crazy 8s?" I suggested. "Do you know that one?"

They did not, but the fact that Uno is based on Crazy 8s made it another relatively easy to teach game. We began with a shuffle and a deal, and I watched with interest as kids arranged their cards in several ways both in and out of their hands. "You hold all 8 cards so that only you can see them," I explained, and we were off.

As we played, it became clear that determining suits and face cards was another challenge, as was noticing when they picked up an eight. Even so, we played on. The student to my right was very into the game, but she was too candid in her verbal processing. "Oh no!" she cried when the suit was changed to spades. "I only have two cards left and they're both hearts!"

"I don't think you want to tell us that," the kid on the other side of her said, changing it to diamonds. Still we played on; I modeling the best demeanor and strategy I could, often asking if they had the same number or an 8 in their fistful of cards when they expressed dismay at not having the same suit at their turn.

At last someone, not me, won. "That was fun!" everyone agreed. "Can we play again?" 

Fortunately, the next game was a lot smoother, a little more like the thousands of hands of Crazy 8s I played with my brother and sister and neighbors and cousins and friends when I was growing up.

Z is for Zen of Pressure

"Should I stack these on the back shelf?" a maintenance guy inquired of the librarian as he wheeled in several cases of paper on a hand truck.

"Yes please," she answered.

I was sitting in the library monitoring the few kids who had attended after school study hall when I happened to overhear their exchange.

"Have you ever seen what paper does under a hydraulic press?" he asked her.

"I can't say that I have," she responded.

"It explodes!" he told her.

"I would not have predicted that," she replied.

"There  must be something in it that reacts with the pressure," he explained. "But you should look it up! There's a whole YouTube Hydraulic Press Channel."

She might not have been impressed, but I opened a tab on my browser and typed a search right away. The first video I clicked on was a one hour compilation of greatest smushes. Paper does indeed explode, whether in reams, or books, decks of cards, or even toilet paper. 

The other results were not always predictable: although many items were smashed, only a few were pulverized, and most were extruded through the vent holes at the top of the press plate. The sponges? Were merely flattened, and they sprang back as soon as the pressure was lifted.

What was left of the hour passed quickly; there was something surprisingly mesmerizing about watching a random assortment of things subjected to about 10,000 pounds of force. And although I did not like or subscribe, I was definitely impressed by the press.

Life Lesson: Pressure is unavoidable, stress is optional.

H is for Here We Are Again

I clearly remember where I was in April 1999 when news of the Columbine school shooting reached me. Working after school in the same classroom I still teach in, I was at my desk when a colleague entered in shock and described what was then an unthinkable event. Back then, there were no regular lockdown drills and "active shooter" was a phrase associated with war zones not school zones.

When I am preparing students for the type of drill that is supposed to keep us safe in the event of such an attack, they often ask what the point of sitting quietly under tables in the dark is. "If all the rooms seem empty, then there is no clear target," I tell them before we dutifully turn out the lights and lock the door.

In the dark, I consider the room we're in: near the front of the school, it is constructed of temporary walls made of thin metal panels and glass. Sometimes I imagine putting sliders on the filing cabinets all the way across the room from the door, so I could easily pull them out and shepherd my charges into a corner where we might be more protected by two feet of paper, certainly more hidden than we would be if someone who wished to harm us breached the flimsy barriers. But when the drill is over, those thoughts vanish, too.

Since Columbine, there have been hundreds of school shootings that have left hundreds dead, and despite the fact that I work in a school, I have become numb to the violence and death toll. There are times when I don't even read the coverage of the latest attack. But the news that all of the victims of the school massacre yesterday were kids and teachers in a single classroom gave my stomach a sickening twist, and I had to close my eyes for a moment, wondering if the gunman found them hiding quietly in the dark.

Life Lesson: Lay down your arms, America.

Y is for You Got This

The warm up question the last couple of days has been How are you feeling about the upcoming state reading test? 

The students have been disarmingly honest, especially considering that they are sharing their feelings with the whole class. Many are confident, but an equal number of kids are, in their words, stressed, anxious, nervous, and really worried. 

I do my best to assure them that they are well prepared and to remind them that as long as they do their best, the rest is up to us. Pass or fail, we have them covered for next year. 

One student stated that he was "conflicted" and then proceeded to explain exactly what he meant. I nodded sympathetically, but then laughed. "If you can use conflicted to describe your feelings," I told him, "I'm pretty sure you're going to pass the test!"

Life Lesson: Reading is Fundamental.