Tough Student

The young poets in my class were writing "How to" poems today, fanciful compositions that allow them to practice transition words and figurative language. Upon sharing their work, they were invited to do the bonus challenge, which today, in connection with their writing,  was to teach me how to do something. Oh, it was a fun day-- I learned how to draw a caricature of one of the kids, how to avoid getting called in class, and how to twist my fingers into a cobra. 

It was this last lesson that went a bit awry. "Put your hands like a steeple," my teacher demonstrated. "Now put your pinky and ring finger down."

So far, so good. I was following the directions and ready for the next step. "Now wrap your middle finger around the opposite ring finger," she instructed and twisted her fingers to show me. "Then cross your pinky and flip your wrists."

"Like this?" I said.

"Not quite," she answered patiently and showed me again.

"Like this?" I frowned.

She shook her head.

I tried again. And again. And again. All around me kids were lacing their fingers together, flipping theie wrists, and pinching them to their thumbs. 

"Your pinkies are the tongue," my teacher explained, "but you don't really have to do that part."

By this time I was laughing at my ineptitude, but my teacher remained calm and focused. When the bell rang, I gave her the Jolly Rancher despite the fact that her student failed the assessment. "You did everything right," I told her. "It was me."

"You can do it," she assured me. "You just need more practice."

Now, that's good teaching!

PostScript: Before I started writing, I tried to do the cobra again. I thought carefully about her directions and recalled the examples she had given. And what do you know? That viper was chomping before I knew it! I can't wait to show my teacher tomorrow.

Higher Power

I was talking with my colleagues at lunch today about how enthusiastically the kids have been asking me to schedule the next meeting of the secret pickleball club. "One of the boys got his parents to get him a couple paddles," I reported. "He's that into it."

"Well, he told me that you were a god on the pickleball court," another teacher said laughing.

I laughed, too. "Wow!" I said. "And we haven't even gotten to hyperbole yet!"

Nice Kicks

"Do you like my Adidas Country?" Amy, our friend from high school showed off her bright white sneakers with their three green stripes. 

"I noticed them when you walked on the court," my brother told her. 

"These were the first adult sneakers I ever had," she said. "Well, not this exact pair, but real leather, Adidas brand? I felt so cool."

"It's funny, because I told Tracey that I wanted some Stan Smiths to play in," my brother answered. "Adidas and leather like those."

"Same color scheme, too," I added, as we continued to talk about red stripes, blue stripes, running, playing basketball, and the like.

"Do we just sound like old people reminiscing over their teenaged footwear?" Amy asked with a laugh.

"It's okay if we do," my brother replied, "because we are."

Can't argue with that.

Ahead of Schedule

With grades due last Monday, no major projects due for a couple weeks, and warm weather here this weekend, I felt like I had time to spend time on gardening. 

First on my agenda was to get my hanging baskets planted and up. This year I decided to switch away from the ornamental metal and cocomat set up I have used for decades and go for more practical plastic hanging planters that won't wither without twice a day watering. It is an investment I'm looking forward to cashing in on whenever we return from travel this summer. 

Hopefully, my flowers and herbs will be healthy and well, even if the cat sitter "forgets" to go to the trouble of watering them daily. I'm also excited to get all the plants in now, mid-April, which is much earlier than has ever happened in the past. I think the extra weeks of springtime sunshine are going to do wonders. 

I also found time to get up to my garden and continue clearing the cover crop and weeding the walkways. I purchased a little stool to sit on as I labored, but my back was feeling good both before and after. The shallots and garlic that I started last fall are going gangbusters, and it's almost time to cut their scapes so that all of that energy will go into forming bulbs. 

The weather this week is looking good, and I have already enlisted Treat to skip the gym on Tuesday and work out with me in the garden instead. We have to take apart the compost bins, but what was once an irritant has now become an opportunity to repurpose them as another raised bed and some trellises for beans and squash.

All and all? My horticultural projects are looking bright!

Confederatio Helvetica

 Do you need a CH sticker? my friend texted me the other day. We were making plans for her visit this weekend, and I had suggested a Swiss restaurant that is a favorite of ours.

I have one! I replied. Always. You?

She sent a picture of her back bumper festooned not only with the oval sticker that all Swiss drivers are required to have before entering another country, but also the crest of the canton of Ticino and a Collina d'oro sticker as well. 

I wasn't surprised, but I was impressed. The two of us met over 45 years ago at boarding school in Lugano, Switzerland, and despite the fact that I have lived in the U.S. since graduating in 1979,  I have had the sticker required by the 1968 international convention on road travel on every car I've owned, from my yellow 1976 VW Rabbit to the 2017 Subaru Outback I drive today. Maybe it's because of all the places in the world I have been fortunate enough to visit, to me Switzerland remains the most beautiful.

Over the years it's been kind of interesting who has recognized the sticker at all. Our school social worker once came to my room to tell me that she had driven into the parking lot behind me. "What's your connection with Switzerland?" she asked, and I was confused until she mentioned the sticker. "My mother was from Basel," she told me, "and I used to spend every summer there with my grandparents."

Another time I was riding shotgun in my car with my sister at the wheel. We were in Atlanta, where she lives, and it made more sense for her to drive. At a red light, a car pulled up to us on the passenger side. The man driving gestured wildly for me to roll down the window. 

Honestly? It was my instinct to ignore him, but my sister shrugged and suggested I see what he wanted.

"CH!" he cried when at last he knew I could hear him. "Switzerland!"

"Yes," I nodded.

"The most beautiful country on Earth!" he said.

"No question!" I agreed with a smile. 

The light changed, he gave me a thumbs up, and we were both on our way.

"Aren't you glad you rolled down the window?" my sister asked.

Self-esteem

"Tell me the truth," a seventh grader whispered to me this morning. She was visiting my homeroom, first to borrow my carpet sweeper on behalf of her own homeroom teacher and an unexpected granola catastrophe, and then to play Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza with me and my current sixth graders when she returned the sweeper.

I raised my eyebrows as she leaned in conspiratorially. "How much better did you like us than these students?"

I laughed. "These kids took a while to grow on me," I admitted, "but now they are pretty close to as amazing as you guys were."

She only looked a little disappointed. She had seen for herself the affection we all have for each other, and she had felt how welcome she was. That's one of the things I love about kids-- they are usually so sure that they are my favorites. 

I had a similar conversation with one of my craziest classes just yesterday. After spending the first half an hour redirected them so that they might accomplish something before lunch, I was feeling a little aggravated. Even so, I said, "I know it's hard to settle down right before lunch, but I can tell you all are working hard at it. I still think we can do better, though."

"Are we your favorite class?" asked a particularly twitchy kid. 

My eyes widened, and I laughed. "I don't have a favorite," I said.

"Right..." another kid said. "Wink, wink, nudge, nudge!"

"We know we're your favorite!" a girl added. "Just say it!"

"You are definitely in the top five," I promised, and rather than be annoyed by their lack of self-awareness, I was glad that they felt so confident of my high regard. 

That's gotta count for something!

Anecdotal Evidence

Teaching is hard.

I taught a quick lesson on similes today, a topic that should be review for sixth graders. After the warm-up discussion What's your favorite form of figurative language? we moved on to the poetry challenge. 

Students were given the definition of simile, a list of examples, and the direction to write a poem which was a chain of tnen similes. Then we looked at a model, discussed the poet's choices, and moved into 20 minutes of workshop time. 

As the young poets wrote, I circulated through the room, answering questions and offering advice. Write about your dog, I might suggest, or your little brother, and then I'd stay until there were a couple of lines of similes and a direction to work in. 

When kids were finished, there was an additional Jolly Rancher challenge to come give me a simile about themselves. "I'm done!" one writer exclaimed triumphantly, brandishing his. poem with 10 fine similes about his dog. "What's the Jolly Rancher challenge?" 

"You know where to find it," I told him. "Go read the directions and come back." 

He returned a minute later with his iPad in hand, reading from the screen. "It says to tell you a simile about me," he said. 

"Go ahead," I replied, "Let's hear it!" 

"I don't remember what a simile is," he said. "Did we learn that?"