Small World

We spent the evening with some neighbors, hanging out on the back patio and enjoying a classic end-of-summer cookout. The six of us know each other from here, and although we all hail from different parts of the country, in addition to Idaho and Florida and wherever you might say I am from, the other three are from Upstate NY: Buffalo, Rochester, and Utica.

"My dad was from a small town just south of Utica," I said. "Little Falls."

"I know it well," nodded the guy from Utica.

"My sister-in-law is from there," said the gal from Rochester.

On Tap

A couple of years ago I bought a home brewing kit with visions of making my own IPA. When I first got it home, I eagerly opened the box, but was quickly discouraged by what I considered to be an overly complicated set of directions. I repacked the gallon jug, tubing, and plastic airlock, along with the pre-measured packets of grain and hops, and put the kit away for another day. 

When he came to help in the garden yesterday, Treat brought me some hops that he had foraged on his recent trip to Canada and Maine. Hops have many applications, ice cream, chicken marinade, lemonade, and pickles to mention a few, but of course they are most widely known as a flavoring for beer. What else could I do, but dig that kit out again?

In our family, whenever we get a new game, we get Treat to read the directions. He has a gift for quickly grasping the overall concept and then explaining it to us, fielding questions, and consulting the rules when necessary, so that we can get to the game and play. Yesterday, I handed Treat the beer box. "It's too complicated!" I complained. "You have to help me with the directions! Then we can use some of the hops in our very own beer."

"I'm happy to look at it," Treat replied agreeably. "How hard can it be?"

He read the back of the box out loud first. It didn't sound as complex as I remembered. Then he opened the box and admired the equipment, smoothing the printed directions out on the coffee table. "There are 3 steps," he said in his authoritative game master voice, "the mash, the sparge, and the wort."

"See?" I interrupted. "What even is sparge? A noun or a verb?"

"It looks like it can be either," he noted. 

We looked it up on our phones. To sparge means to sprinkle with hot water, especially in brewing.

"Once you sparge the mash, you have your wort," Treat continued.

"No!" I laughed. "Why don't you just take the kit home and teach me how to do it later?"

And bless his heart, that is what he did.

Butternut Bounty

Treat helped me in the garden today and in return, I not only gave him all the butternut squash he wanted (which was only one) I also served him a three course lunch that consisted of butternut squash soup with homemade sourdough bread, butternut squash quesadillas with homemade tortillas and salsa made with homegrown tomatoes and peppers, and finally, butternut squash bread with currants, coriander, and orange. 

What did he do to earn such remuneration? 

Well, among other things, he pulled out the butternut squash vines!

But don't worry! We still have 15 butternut squash to go.

Come Back!

This is the time of year when I most miss my former students. The new kids are sweet, but still? Strangers, and the kids from last year are a little lost as they adjust to their new teachers and schedules. So, we kind of gravitate toward each other.

Today, a couple of of seventh graders stopped by on their way to lunch. At that time, my sixth graders are just going through their starting routine-- posting their answers to the daily question and getting ready to go through the replies, but I enthusiastically invited them in.

"Guys!" I interrupted the class. "We have a couple of visitors from seventh grade! They were in your situation one year ago-- do you have any questions for them?"

The room was silent for a few beats. I heard one sixth grader turn to another and say, "They look so old!"

I was surprised that, when the class finally warmed up, all of their questions were about seventh grade. The older kids answered gamely; to them this was a logical line of inquiry.

"Okay, one more," I announced a few minutes in. "These kids have to go to lunch! Don't you want to know anything about this year?" I suggested. 

The student I had overheard raised his hand. "How can we make sure we don't look really old next year?" He smirked at the guy next to him.

The seventh graders didn't miss a beat. "Skin care," One of them shook her head.

"It's never too early," agreed her friend.

The exchange made me miss them even more.

Release the Endorphins!

I was unprepared this morning when at least three of the new sixth graders answered "nothing" when asked what they liked best about middle school so far. I tried to take it in stride as I read their replies, offering what I hoped was the right balance between genuine concern, a gentle push to dig a little deeper, and the knowledge that everyone will have plenty of opportunities to give more positive responses as the year goes on. 

Later in the class, which was our first block schedule of the year, I introduced the brain break procedures: Each activity is designed to take about 3-4 minutes, no one is required to participate, but anyone who does can pick a piece of candy once they are settled and back to work. 

Well. 

They were all in for that! 

And a little while after, when I was walking around, checking in on their writing and handing out the sweets, one student was positively beaming. "This is officially my favorite class and you are my favorite teacher," she gushed.

"See what a little brain break and a Jolly Rancher can do?" I agreed. "Maybe now you can go back and change that Nothing answer."

Fair Weather Fans

I knew it was a risk when I booked the game. 

The second day of school was Hawaiian shirt night at Nats Park, and what with Heidi and I being newly minted fans, despite the terrible season our team is having, I really, really wanted us to go. I even switched our seats to the first row in the second tier on the right field line, Homer Alley if you ask some. And I had visions of us in our cool new shirts snagging fly balls all night, so I dug out my glove to bring to the park. 

But then this afternoon it started to rain, and the day grew late, and I knew the traffic on 395 would be bad, and that Wednesday morning, the day when we would be setting up iPads and going over block schedule, would come awfully early. 

Oh, I wished the game would be rained out, so that the choice would be taken out of our hands, but it wasn't, and it wasn't. 

So we called it ourselves, and headed home in the muggy evening, instead of to the ball park. 

Court Orders

It was ninety degrees at 2 PM yesterday when we set out to meet some friends at the tennis courts near their home. I was sure it was going to be too hot, but the courts were partially shaded, and the sun went in and out of the big puffy cumulous clouds, and there was a bit of a breeze, too. 

We were there to participate in what one of our friends called Pickle Smash 2022, but was in reality the first time most of us had ever taken the court to play America's fastest growing sport, PICKLEBALL! And friends, it did not disappoint. 

The game is sort of like giant ping pong, with players standing on the table. The court is small, so the game is accessible to players of many fitness and skill levels.The rules are kind of a mash up between table tennis and racquetball: games are played to eleven, you have to win by 2 points, the service must alternate courts, and you can only score points on your serve. The ball is not super bouncy, though, in that respect it's a bit like squash.

The six of us played several games of doubles, with the off team taking care of our friends' baby. The heat was not a factor, and it was win-win-win, even when we lost. 

I can't wait to play some more!