And So It Begins

As I begin my annual participation in the SOLSC Challenge so kindly hosted by the folks at Two Writing Teachers, my students are embarking on the first leg of their 100 Day Writing Challenge, a sixth grade tradition here at our middle school which stretches from March 1 to June 8. Like me, the first of their three month-long challenges is slice of life writing, (which will be followed by poetry in April and Alphabiographies in May), so over the last few days I gave the young writers some time to warm up and practice the genre before kicking off the challenge proper today. 

Yesterday, as I circulated through the writing workshop answering questions and giving suggestions, I noticed a couple of boys whispering at the corner table. 

"Dude! How do you do it?" asked one urgently. "Do you have to sign up or sign in?"

I immediately suspected some illicit game play on their devices and I stepped over to investigate further. "What are you guys trying to sign up for?" I asked.

"Oh nothing," the first kid said innocently. "He was just helping me with something for another class."

He had closed all the tabs on his browser, but rather than search his history, I turned to the other student. 

"It was ChatbotGPT," he admitted immediately, and I inwardly cringed. I had hoped I could avoid dealing with AI generated work at least for a while, since it's only only sixth grade.

"Did you think you could get it to do your writing for you?" I asked. "Because I'm pretty sure I would be able to tell whether or not you had written it. This writing is supposed to be about you and your life."

"Oh no," he assured me, "I would never do that." He paused and then added. "It would be way too perfect."

I guess we'll see.

Or This

The rest of the suggestions for my 100 Day challenge came in today, and I like to think I kept the kids on their toes by telling them that if they proposed something boring just to get a Jolly Rancher, I would smash the candy and only give them half of the dust. Oh, they laughed until I reached behind my desk and pulled out the gavel someone gave me back in 1996. Then I pulverized a green apple to demonstrate my commitment to their creativity.

In the end, only a few Jolly Ranchers had to suffer for the greater good, and I got some worthwhile ideas. Here are they are:

draw the same thing every day to see if I improve
put a song suggestion box in my classroom and listen to a new song every day 
sing karaoke every day
dance for 10 minutes a day
read 25 pages a day
eat something hot and spicy every day
do something I've never done before every day
crochet every day
cook a new recipe every day
learn a new fun fact every day
bake a french pastry every day

I'm not sure which I'll choose; each proposition promises to be fun, fattening and/or otherwise enriching. I do like my friend Mary's suggestion from yesterday to learn Welsh while eating carrots on my two mile fast walk. 

Why limit myself to just one?

Maybe?

As the 100 Day Writing Challenge kicks off on March 1, I have again asked my students to suggest a 100 day challenge for me, since I write every day already. I'll be gathering ideas through tomorrow, but here are a few of the suggestions I've gotten so far:

10 free throws a day
10 jumping jacks a day
walk 2 fast miles a day
keep a daily gratitude journal
write a poem a day
read a poem a day
make a sketch a day
stretch for 10 minutes a day
watch a baseball game every day
eat carrots every day
learn Welsh
do as many push-ups as I can every day
write part of a novel every day

Any thoughts?

Two More Days and a Pat on the Back

I did little maintenance around this ol' blog today, getting it all spruced up for the annual slice of life story challenge that starts March 1 and the additional readers the SOLSC usually brings. Mostly I just switched out the logo I made for the challenge last year for the new one, which I designed this afternoon. 

Creating the badges is kind of silly, but it feels celebratory, almost like decorating for a holiday. In that spirit, I also added thumbnails of the logos I've made since 2018. And, I added a caption to one of the elements on the site, but I'll let regular readers see if they can spot that themselves.

Dress Appropriately

I wore shorts to the grocery store the other day. I had been playing pickleball after school, and hey? 77 degrees said don't even worry about it. Still, I felt a little odd shopping in shorts and a hoodie on February 23rd. And when I ran into a neighbor, I sure wished my legs were a little less flabby and a little more tan. 

Somehow, the gradually warming days of spring into summer make the transition from one season's wardrobe to another more graceful.

Even so, I needn't have worried about it, because this afternoon? As I walked Lucy through the snow, shorts were the farthest garment from my mind.

Unreliable Sources

I introduced the 100 Day Writing Challenge today, and as inspiration, (and a bit of a brag, I guess) I told the young writers, as I always do, how many days in a row it has been that I've written (5,109). At this point, the number is beyond their life span and hence beyond their comprehension, but they, like past groups, become fixated on finding my blog. "It's public," I tell them, "But it's also my personal writing, so you are welcome to read it, if you find it."

Over the years, I've done a pretty good job of scrubbing any searchable connection with my name and this blog. Not perfect; it's been found before, but not easily. Today the search took on familiar outlines of years past. "Is it your facebook?" someone asked.

I shook my head.

"Your pinterest? Your Twitter? Your Instagram?" 

"Is it this?" They show me a picture of myself from the school website. 

Then a kid raised his hand. "I'm only telling you this for your safety," he reported quite seriously. "Here is your address! And your age! And people you know!" The identity website he had found astounded and alarmed him.

"That's just a website based on public records," I told him. "You could probably find similar information about your parents. Stop looking for my blog and start writing."

A little while later, while kids were supposed to be composing their first slices of life, I noticed a girl staring at her screen, both hands covering her mouth in horror. "Is this true?" she asked in a low voice. "How could it be?" and she began to weep.

I stepped behind her to see what she was looking at. It was an identity website with the name of a woman who shared this student's last name. Her age was reported to be 93. "Is that your great-grandmother?" I asked. 

"My aunt," she told me, "but I thought she died! How can she be 93?"

Both I and the girl next to her tried to reassure her that the site was a mechanical gathering of information. It didn't really know anything, but we were unsuccessful. That kid left her half-believing that a woman who died in 2016 was alive and well somewhere.

"Talk to your parents about that website," I told her as she walked out the door.

"Oh, I will, she said. "I sure will."

There Once Was a Boy

Now that it's been nearly a month since I started working out downstairs with Treat, we have found that the pickleball court is not always as open as it seemed to be the first week or so. In fact there is a regular group of players, who, if they are already playing by the time we get down there, will not likely give up the court before it's time for us to leave. Oh, there's a system for signing up, but unfamiliarity with both it and the game itself have kept us from anything but practice games between ourselves when the court is empty. 

A couple weeks ago, we talked Emily into going to play with us, and as the three of us smacked the pickleball around, sometimes wildly, sometimes with accidental precision, a woman approached with her middle-school aged son. "I noticed there are only three of you," she started. "Would you mind if my son joined your game? He really just wants the practice."

We shrugged, and welcomed the kid into our game. His mom seemed pretty experienced with her equipment bag and court shoes, and as she handed him a racquet from the three or four in her bag, she reminded him not to swing it too hard. "It's light and powerful," she warned, and with that he bounded onto my side of the court.

What's your name?" I asked.

It was Pierre, and he was an eighth grader at our school, although he had never been in either my or Emily's class. Pierre was a curious dude; self-assured and light on his feet, comfortable talking to adults, with some solid, but uneven pickleball skills.

"Shall we play a game?" he asked, and proceeded to teach us the rules and etiquette for pickleball doubles. He was good enough to carry a team, and the rest of us had our moments, so it ended up being a fun and fair match up.

I was disappointed this afternoon when I glanced through the safety glass on my way to the locker room. The courts are taken 😩 I texted Emily and Treat, in case they wanted to change their workout plan.

It's only Pierre Emily replied a few minutes later when she got in there. The two of sat in, yes, folding chairs and watched Pierre give his friend a lesson in the basics. As they volleyed, Treat came and told us he had a call at 3, but would join us after. 

"Do you want the court?" asked Pierre a few minutes later.

"Do you guys want to play a game?" I asked in return. And so we did. It was fun. Emily got her serve down, and when Treat came out it so happened the other kid had to leave so he joined as our fourth. Pierre was a bit pedantic, and still far from a pro pickler, but one could never say he doesn't care.