Extracurricular Activity

"I saw you playing pickleball at the rec," one of my students told me yesterday. "Can I play you sometime?"

"Do you play pickleball?" I asked.

"Can you teach me?" he replied.

"And me, too?" asked another.

"When do you want to do that?" I said.

"How about today?"

"Uhhhh," I answered. "I guess so. Why not?"

And that is how I found myself out on the tennis courts after school with a roll of duct tape, my pickleball paddles and balls, and five sixth grade boys. After we taped off the kitchen line, I gave them a basic overview, and we played a rotating doubles game for a bit. Then a couple guys headed over to the next court to practice, while their buddy challenged me to a singles game. 

The boys were good sports and respectful of my time, and the six of us spent a fun hour. "We should do this every Monday!" one of them said as we packed the equipment and pulled up the tape.

"Yeah!" his friend agreed. "We should have a pickleball club! But a secret one, so that we are the only members."

"Or we can just see how it goes," I suggested. "You know where to find me!"

Worth the Trouble

The conversation turned toward cooking today at lunch, as it often does in our group of 50-60-something-year-old women. One of us is vegetarian, my wife is alternately vegan and pescacheegan, and I am coming to the end of a surprisingly challenging meatless March. I told the tale of a field trip that Heidi and I took on Saturday to an outer suburb about 35 minutes from our home, because there was an organic grocery there that was the sole proprietor in our area to carry a newish form of meat-alternative made from mushroom roots. 

Unable to pass on mycelium network based protein, the drive seemed more than worth it on a rainy afternoon, but unfortunately, the product was disappointing.

"Do you like tofu?" my vegetarian friend asked.

"Oh, I love it," I answered.

"Sometimes we just have cubes of tofu tossed in pesto," she said. "It's a great summer meal."

"I've had it that way with a more Asian-style dressing," I replied, "but pesto sounds good!" 

Our conversation in praise of tofu continued on a bit. "I actually used to make my own tofu," I confessed, "but it was a huge pain in the ass." 

Just then, a student, who had somehow found his way back from lunch several minutes earlier than he should have, popped his head in my classroom door. "Can I come in?" he asked obliviously.

"Just a minute," I waved and we began packing up. "I guess homemade tofu has got nothing on that guy!" I laughed.

Teeming

As clever as we thought we were driving across town early this morning to the National Arboretum in order to enjoy being outdoors on this beautiful spring day and yet avoid the crazy cherry blossom congestion, we got our comeuppance as we navigated home at noon. 

A journey that might usually take 20 minutes or so ended up three times as long, partially because of traffic, but also due to driver impatience. I bailed from the back up to get on the last leg of interstate to take us home, hoping I could weave our way through edges of town to hop back on before crossing the river, but I didn't take into account the fact that such a side route would be the route for many cherry blossom visitors. 

In fact, we actually ended up driving right by the Tidal Basin itself, ground zero for blossom watching. As we rolled slowly past, my eyes widened at the sight of so. many. people! walking five or six across and all the way around the 2.1 mile circumference of the Tidal Basin. 

I wondered if perhaps it had been made into a one-way thoroughfare to help move the congestion along, and I was reminded of another spring some years ago in a spot not so far away. Then, we were walking Haines Point just after the peak of the cherry blossoms when, looking down into the water, we saw the silver flash and glimmer of thousands of herring making their run around the peninsula from the Potomac into Washington Channel and back out again. It was a gleaming river within the river, and it was hard to look away and keep walking.

Today, I forced myself to regard the road and finally found the clear way I was looking for all along

Braving the Weather

Of course the rain came right at 9 am just as the spring meeting for our community garden was called to order under bare branches and leaden skies. We had been warned to dress appropriately, and, as the gardeners we were, we complied, gathering in our duck boots and wellies, fleece and flannel, and slickers, with umbrellas at the ready. 

Even so, standing in the ever more drenching downpour, at first clear evidence of how hale and hearty we all were, became uncomfortable and then disheartening. There were grumbles in the ranks behind me, folks missing the virtual meetings of the early pandemic years, and I confess that I had shaken my head, too, and maybe even cussed, as I had headed up to the garden in what was only a light mist then. 

But 30 minutes after we started, we were finished, and the mandatory work session that follows our spring and fall meetings was canceled, with no make-up for any gardeners who braved the rain. Those who stayed warm and dry would be assigned an extra workday, perhaps on a mild summer morning, but we rain-soaked attendees were free to go, our obligation met.

Ancient History

I was listening to a podcast about commercial jingles as I cooked dinner last night. Given the fact that my sixth grade classes recently finished a media literacy unit where they produced their own 60 second commercials, I found the content especially engaging. The show explored how jingles first came to be used for advertising and followed their history up to and through the "golden age" of jingles in the 1970s and 80s. 

After that, jingles faded when many companies explored licensing actual pop songs, in hopes that consumer feelings for the artist would transfer to the product. But while the use of those songs was good for the performers, it turned out that the association to what the companies were selling was just not strong enough. Plus, most licenses were only for a few years, which made establishing a long-term connection even harder.

They also explained how about 10 years ago, ads had to evolve to fit new media; think of those 15 second VRBO and Grammerly spots that air before many YouTube videos. With a shorter format, the time it took to cue up a jingle or song no longer made sense, so many commercials cut their musical signature to a half-dozen notes and a voiceover of the hook.

Given all that history, some of the most recognizable jingles today were actually written over 50 years ago, a couple of them by Barry Manilow. And here's where the producers of the podcast shocked me most:

For those of you who don't know Barry Manilow, they actually said, he was a singer-songwriter who was huge in the 1970s and 80s.

Who!

Is

their 

audience?

Patu

It was pajama day here at school, which is a little redundant for many kids who wear pjs to school all the time. Even so, old traditions die hard, and so when they were planning spirit week, pajama day was on the calendar. 

But as I looked around the hallway this morning, I noticed that the kids do actually have a more nuanced view of what constitutes pajamas than I do. Plaid flannel bottoms, a t-shirt, hoodie, and crocs are no longer even considered real pjs; that outfit qualifies as school clothes. This morning bathrobes, slippers, pajama sets, and cozies were all on display. 

"Can I go freshen up?" asked one of my students after lunch. I looked at him, resplendent in his Baby Yoda onesie with a pointy-ear hood, and considered his request, so odd for a sixth grader to make.

"Freshen up, you may, youngling, " I told him.

Field Trip Calculus

32 kids,
2 teachers,
3 chaperones, and
6 miles 
across the National Mall,
around the Tidal Basin,
through the cherry blossom tourists, and
12 blocks back to the bus--

now that adds up to a [fun] day!