Ready, Set, Go

Today was our annual open house for students and their families. Always held on the Thursday before school starts, the event is usually very well attended by sixth graders, who are new to the school. In recent years, we have opened it up to all students, which especially made a lot sense last year, when many 7th and 8th grade students had either been away from the building since March of 2020, or never even been here at all.

For me, this was my 30th open house; 29 in person and one virtually. The format has varied over the years. For a very long time, we held ours in the evening to accommodate working families, but that changed about 10 years ago. Since then, the hours have shifted from late afternoon, to midday, to morning, which it was today. 

At nine a.m. all homeroom teachers poured out the building holding signs with their names aloft. After that, it was on the kids and their folks to match the name with the one they got on their welcome letter. Over the next 15 minutes or so, 11 of the 16 students assigned to my advisory found their way over, and we headed into the building while their parents attended an orientation in the theater.

I must confess that I am always nervous to meet the new students. Despite years of experience to the contrary, I dread the possibility of some unpleasantness. It's almost like that dream where you realize you have a test that you're not ready for, but in reverse. Every year I realize again that I'm totally ready.

After a fun 45 minute get-to-know-you session, it was time to say good-bye until Monday. "Enjoy your last few days of summer!" I said. "You're kind of lucky, you know. My summer ended last week."

"It did?" asked someone in alarm.

"Yes," I nodded, "teachers have been working since last Thursday." Then I shrugged. "But it all kind of seems worth it, now that you guys are here!"

Wistful Wisdom

Earlier this summer I was brought to tears listening to the recording of Joni Mitchell singing at the Newport Jazz Festival. It had been nearly 20 years since her last public performance, during which time she suffered and recovered from a devastating brain aneurism, and it had been over 50 years since Mitchell, now 78, had performed at the festival which had played a big hand in boosting her career. Knowing all that made her rendition of "Both Sides Now" so poignant, that I cried as I listened.

In the same set, she sang another of her classic hits, "The Circle Game", which is also a meditation on time and life. I thought of that song today when the text book rep was giving us an overview of some of the features of the newly adopted program. "Here you can see the cards for each of the units," she pointed. "We call this the carousel."

I nodded and clicked obediently, aware that my preference for the materials and methods I would use to teach my students the mandated content was irrelevant. The units that I and my colleagues had so carefully crafted were destined to be replaced by this bland, bullet-proof resource designed to teach to the test and avoid offending anyone. So I made a note to set aside some time to properly mourn, and then I kept on clicking.

And the seasons, they go round and round 

And the painted ponies go up and down 

We're captive on the carousel of time 

We can't return, we can only look 

Behind, from where we came 

And go round and round and round, 

in the circle game

 

Every Little Thing

In case you were wondering, that was me and my CLT today, three little teachers on a quest to acquire inexpensive composition books for their students, taking Staples by storm. 

The price was right-- 50 cents, but the limit of 30 was problematic. We needed 150! Fortunately, the cashier was cooperative when he learned we were teachers,  ringing one notebook @ 30 copies for five separate transactions.  

"Are there really 150 there?" he asked halfway through.

"Well, technically it's only 149, because that one." I pointed to the one on the belt.

"I have to look like I counted," he said with a bit of concern, "for the camera. I don't want any trouble."

He came out from his station and ran his finger up and down the stacks in our cart, moving his lips. Then he gave a curt nod and returned to the register. A few minutes later we were rolling out the door and loading up the back of the station wagon. Mission accomplished.

May this field trip be a harbinger of the year to come-- where tasks are met together, obstacles easily overcome, and appearances maintained for any who care to review the tape.

Prana

My yoga teacher advises us frequently to be mindful of our prana. It's not just your breath, she reminds us, it's anything you take in to your body. She's right of course. Watching what you eat and drink can have an obvious effect on health and well-being, but the other things we consume? Their impact may not be quite so pronounced.

Take media, for example. Half a century ago society was concerned that the boob tube was making our children into catatonic idiots. These days our focus is, rightfully, on social media and disinformation. And anyone who has had a nightmare after seeing a scary movie knows the potential disruption such fabrications can cause. It is wise to be conscious of what you consume.

I understood this concept even before I started practicing yoga. In 2017, I stopped setting my alarm to news radio. Where for 30 years before I started my day with a couple of hours of current events, I opted for silence, choosing to curate my news consumption a bit more closely by reading online papers and listening to features on demand. I just couldn't take the coverage of the present political state of affairs.

That's why I should have known better than to listen to an entire podcast about the Jonestown Massacre. Although considering the dangers of a charismatic leader is not a bad idea, hearing the details of the situation that led to the deaths of over 900 people was not a good idea, especially since I wrapped it up right before I couldn't go to sleep.

And when I did doze off, visions of restrictive communities danced in my head all night long, leaving me groggy and unrested this morning. And when I set my intention for the day? You can bet it was to clear my mind.

Unpunished No More

The car was sluggish to start when I ran to the store yesterday, but I thought little of it when I cut the ignition and ran my errands. But my heart beat a little harder in my chest when it did not turn over right away after my first stop. And then, when the back lift gate wouldn't open after my final stop, I was pretty worried, but, like a trooper, that Subaru engine roared to life after a click and a grind. There was beeping from the rear hatch all the short way home, and I knew that there was something to attend to, despite the lack of battery warning light on my dash.

I remembered how, late last Tuesday night, when we returned to the parking lot after the ball game, a couple of young men flagged us down. Their Subaru battery was dead, and they wondered if we would be so kind as to let them jump it. I willingly pulled over, and in just a few minutes, their car was running. "I'm glad we could help," I said when they thanked us.

"You know what's weird?" one of them told us as he coiled up the jumper cables. "The last time we were here there were some people in a Subaru and their battery was dead. We helped them then, and now we need it."

"I hope you're not paying that forward!" I laughed, and we were on our way.

Well...

They were.

All the Gadgets

We are having neighbors over for dinner and game night, and the occasion has offered the opportunity for me to use lots of my cooking toys. 

The main dish is pulled pork, but I sous-vided the dry-rubbed boneless butt for 24 hours, cooled it in the bag, crisped the outside in ta low oven for 3 hours oven, pulled the roast into tender chunks, and then used my new smoking gun to infuse the meat with hickory. I also used the insta-pot to cook up some of those Maine beans, and they are now simmering in ranchero sauce I made with Hatch peppers from my garden that I dehydrated. On the side is homemade sourdough sandwich bread baked in my lidded Pullman pan in the cast iron cloche I got for my birthday, as well as some pickled cabbage I fermented myself.

I think our guests will enjoy the food, but probably not quite as much as I enjoyed cooking it!

Painted Ponies

My first year of teaching coincided with a textbook adoption for English, and so one day during the pre-service week a custodian delivered several heavy boxes of books to my room.  Held within the light blue covers, was a reading book much like the ones I had had 20 years earlier when I was in sixth grade. And although there was something in me that wanted to just open that teacher edition and read the script like my teachers had always done, I was a student of "whole language" and believed with all my professional heart that students learned by immersion and engagement in authentic reading and writing experiences. It was my role to provide such situations and coach each student as she or he uncovered the meaning in the transaction between themselves and the text.

To be honest? Despite the edu-jargon, I still think learning works mostly in that way. A teacher can give lots of information and support, both directly and on demand, but the students make their own meaning. And there are many ways to guide them to that understanding, which I know from 29 years in the biz. And that cliche that education is cyclical? 

Well, friends, a custodian is scheduled to deliver several heavy boxes to my classroom next week.

(Two days down, 198 to go!)