That Might Make Us Feel better

"We can bring snacks," I told my homeroom when they expressed disappointment at having to watch a 2 hour movie and go to an assembly on the first early release day. "Things are only as good as your attitude."

I knew what I was talking about. I had voted against a movie weeks before when the topic came up, but I was overruled when I was out of town before Thanksgiving. Even so, we could only make the best of it. And that was the way we approached it this morning before we did our current events activity. 

"Remember to bring snacks to share tomorrow, if you want to," I reminded them before clicking over to the NY Times news quiz for kids. When everyone was through, (as a group, they love that sort of challenge), a recipe popped up on the bottom of my screen,  Salted Caramel Peanut Butter.

"Can we have that?" one student joked.

I considered for a minute. "Do we have any peanut or gluten allergies?"

"Wait. Really?" said another kid.

"Sure," I shrugged. "I'll bake them tonight."

And so I did. 

Diminishing Returns

For many years, I have done my best to finish my school work before leaving for the day. That way, I am free and clear to focus on other things once I push through those heavy safety glass doors. But for those same many years, I have been one of the last to leave the building. Most evenings the halls are quiet, but for the vacuum of the custodian, and often even the main office is dark and locked when I slip by on my way out.

In that respect, working from home during the pandemic was a lot better for me. I was able to take personal breaks and come back to my work in a more seamless way. Exercise and chores, for example, seemed much easier to fit in.

So recently it occurred to me that perhaps it's time to change things up. And so I have resolved to leave school much earlier and restructure my afternoons. If I have to finish a few things at home? I guess I will. And hopefully everything will go a little quicker if my errands are done and I've been to the gym, and who knows?  I may use my planning time a bit more efficiently if I know it's limited.

And although I have come to love the way the sun shines in my window in late afternoon, and the quiet of the building when almost everyone else has left for the day,  whatever happens, I have to believe it's going to be better than sitting at my desk for hours after my contract day is over.

Jane Who?

We were well acquainted with the dangers of the Christmas tree lot, and so we guarded against getting a tree that seemed the right size but would end up being enormous for the space we have. And it was good that our sights were on the smaller side, given the astronomical tree prices this year, for which we were also prepared. 

But after a busy weekend of other tree shoppers, the nursery was nearly sold out of medium trees this afternoon when we got there. We contemplated trying another place, but this establishment had given every single tree on the lot a unique name, which seemed at first puzzling, and then corny, and then downright charming as we considered our options: here was Merry, there Lucius, over there Marshall. 

And when we tipped Jane up to take a look at her, she seemed nicely shaped, if compact for her class, and we figured with a couple inches off the bottom, she could be the tree for us. So, we tapped one of Santa's helpers (That's a job title there-- the trees have names, but the workers are anonymous as elves.), and he carried Jane off to get a fresh cut and wrapped up to go, while we went to pay an exorbitant amount for her. 

She did seem a little light when we got her off the roof rack once at home, but we welcomed the ease with which we got her up the stoop, into the house, and on the stand. However, when we took a step back to admire our 2022 tree, Jane seemed much smaller than any tree we've ever had. Confused, we checked her name tag and the number on her pink ribbon. Both matched up with what we had seen at the lot; there was no mistaken identity here. 

"We'll make it work," I shrugged, and Heidi agreed, but we're still not sure how that happened.

Old Souls

Sometimes I think I'm in danger of turning my homeroom vibe into a visit to your grandma type of thing. Not only do we spend a lot of time watching the news and playing Bananagrams and other word games, but recently I mentioned that I was thinking of bringing in some jigsaw puzzles. 

Fortunately? The kids seem to dig it. Last year one of them even taught us how to knit!

The Name of the Class

"I heard you speak French!" one of my students exclaimed as she entered the room this morning.

"Oui," I replied, "c'est vrai."

"Huh?" she wrinkled her nose.

"Je parle un peu français," I continued slowly.

"What?!" she asked in return.

"I know you take French," I said. "What do you know how to say?"

"Je suis present!" she recited.

"Très bien!" I applauded.

"Heh?" She shook her head and threw up her hands.

I laughed. "Let's stick to English, for a while," I said. 

Only a Number

Maybe it's my imagination, but lately people have begun treating me like an old lady. 

In addition to being offered the senior discount every time I shop on Thursday, I've noticed that the staff at our weekly COVID testing always solicitously open my plastic bag for me and poke the swab through so it's ready to go. I appreciate it, but when a young woman actually snapped the swab in advance, it confused me and I ended up ruining the kit. I apologized and she waved me off with a bit of a testy "You're fine."

And when we arrived home from the beach the other day, one of our neighbors happened to be walking by with the dog. "Oh Jeez," he said when he saw the back of our loaded station wagon, "let me help you with that." 

It was a gesture I also appreciated, especially when he carried the heavy cooler and suitcases up all the stairs to our place, but when I thanked him I had to consciously not add, "We could have done that ourselves, y'know."

I am reminded of a story my mom told about 15 years ago. Early one Saturday morning there was a knock at her front door. She was still in her pajamas with no makeup, but the caller was very insistent and so she answered. Outside was a police officer who informed her that there had been some suspicious activity in the area that they wanted residents to be aware of. Just then his radio squawked, and he excused himself to take the call. "No," she heard him say, "no one's here but an elderly lady."

My mom was only in her late 60s at the time, and she laughed when she recounted the episode, in part because it seemed so ridiculous to her. But in the next few years, she began to complain more about being patronized or not taken seriously by service people, contractors, and others. It really made her mad.

Recently my brother and I were talking about bias. "Do you know there are only two categories on the Harvard bias test that I show extreme preference for?" he said. "Guess what they are."

I gave up.

"Young people and skinny people," he told me. 

"At least you fit in one of those groups!" I laughed.

The Songbird Knows the Score

I was saddened by the news today of the death of Christine McVie. I had actually been thinking about her over the last week or so, her talent and songwriting, and especially her role in making Fleetwood Mac one of the great bands of the late 20th century.

McVie came to mind when the family gameplay over Thanksgiving took a bit of a nasty turn the night it was me, Heidi, and Emily against Bill and Treat. The game was Mind the Gap, which is trivia played on a Monopoly style-board, each of the four sides comprised of questions from a different generation: Boomer, Gen X, Millennial, and Gen Z. As teams make their away around the board, they must answer questions from each generation. There is also a challenge component, which can get really messy.

At any rate, when we were playing that night, Bill and Treat chose to start out on Gen Z and get those questions behind them. Their first category was music; "Name 3 of the 5 members of One Direction," I read.

"Harry Styles," started Treat, and there was some discussion as they tried to come up with two more of the guys. Finally they settled on Harry, Liam, and Zane.

"I'm going to say no to that," I told them. "The card includes their last names."

Well, there were some hard feelings about that call, and in truth I questioned whether I was being overly competitive, even after the game was over. Treat had made the point that boy bands are marketed by their first names only, but laying in bed that night I thought of other bands and their members. Would I have accepted Don, Glenn, Joe, and Randy for the Eagles? How about Stevie, Lindsay, Christine, John, and Mick for Fleetwood Mac? In the end I decided it was fair, if not exactly friendly, to insist. I also thought that performers deserve that respect: a great band is a combination of talent and chemistry.

Over the years, Fleetwood Mac has played with and without some of the key five musicians who wrote and recorded classic albums such as Fleetwood Mac, Rumours, Tusk, and Tango in the Night, but without Christine McVie's piano, vocals, and harmonies? It can never be the same again.