Milestones

This blog came about in response to a writing challenge I accepted on a whim. It was March 1, 2009, and The Two Writing Teachers website was hosting their second annual Slice-of-Life Story Challenge. The idea was essentially to write  "a small sliver of your ordinary life. It’s not the whole, but a slice. The only point to it is sharing a piece of your writing every day." That seemed do-able to me, and here's what I wrote:

We're preparing for a big snow storm here. The timing and conditions seem perfect for a day or two off from school-- the snow is supposed to start this afternoon and accumulate 4-8 inches (or more!) throughout the night, the temperature is predicted to stay below freezing all day tomorrow-- not all that common in Virginia. The other teachers I've talked to today are making a point of not getting their hopes up, for fear of not only having to rise before dawn tomorrow, but of doing so with the extra burden of disappointment.

I won't mind going to school tomorrow, but I wouldn't mind an extra day off, either. When I was a little girl, my mother made sally lunn and spiced tea for us when it snowed. Sally lunn is a yeast bread, enriched with eggs and butter, and the tea was mixed with orange juice, sugar, and cinnamon. I have my sally lunn rising in the kitchen right now.

A few things have changed over the last three years. Heidi's vegan, so sally lunn is rarely on the menu. That's kind of a non-issue though, because the forecast for tomorrow is a sunny 70 degrees.

Today I introduced my students to our own second annual Slice-of-Life Story Challenge. Last year I adapted the premise from TWT, and it turned out to be a hit with the kids. My fingers are crossed for another successful season of slicing.

Headin' South

What a day, what a day! Taking a day off is always a treat, but a teacher pays for it on both ends, first by investing the time to make explicit sub plans so that someone else can guide your charges through their educational day, and then by picking up the pieces when you get back: someone's always in trouble; someone's always mad; someone didn't "get" the assignment (be it literally or figuratively), and no one understands why anyone's upset.

As if that wasn't enough, beyond the door of my classroom there are big changes afoot: a new principal for our school, a very large increase in enrollment for the sixth grade, and a new state-mandated teacher evaluation system. To be honest, my school year began with an earthquake, and it's like the ground is still moving.

Still, you have to find fun where you can. An hour after the last bell had rung, a couple of colleagues and I were griping and grappling with the future. We bantered about what opportunity might be found in all of this upheaval, and the best we could come up with was a change in name for the sixth grade teams. "Bluebirds and Canaries?" I suggested. "It would be cool to have one team for each of the school colors."

And then the conversation quickly flew south (as such conversations held at the end of a long day in the middle of a long year have the tendency to do) to that tropical place where sixth grade teams bask in the glory of their mascots the Blue Peeps and the Twinkie d'Oros.

Winter Break

A happy confluence of events today: our annual post-Oscar night holiday and 66 degrees in February made the beach an irresistible destination. Sometimes it's easy to forget how close we live to the Chesapeake Bay and its fascinating, fossil-filled western shore, but at 10:30 on a regular Monday morning, believe me, you can get there in waaaay under an hour.

We started our day at Brownie's Beach, a little public park that at this time of the year has free parking. We had the place all to ourselves as we beachcombed and boardwalked our way up and back to the town of Chesapeake Beach, with a wet and happy dog and a couple of pieces of sea glass to show for it. Next it was on to North Beach, a classic shore town that, although most places were shuttered for the season, had quite a few happy people playing by the water and strolling on the boardwalk.

It was one of those days I know I'll look back on for the rest of my life and remember the literally golden glow of the winter sun as it warmed the sand and the water.

Integrity

Here it is, our annual Oscar bash and time to make my picks for the pool. Along with the fun comes a yearly dilemma-- do you choose the ones you like or choose the ones you think will win?

Drive

I remember once when I was 11 or 12, my cousins had a minibike. They lived on a pretty big piece of land, and so they rode it all over their yard. The first time I was on it, I panicked and rode straight into a lilac bush, and that was actually the last time I ever piloted any kind of motorcycle.

Driving a car was a whole different thing, though. Living on a college campus in the middle of nowhere, I couldn't wait to learn, and once I did? I always felt confident at the wheel. Even today, I love me a road trip, and on any such outing I will always volunteer to drive.

Over the years I've noticed, with surprise, that not everyone shares my enthusiasm. First of all, there are the people I know who do not drive at all. Next, there are those who avoid it whenever they can. But then, there are also plenty of folks like me and Cindy Lauper who will drive all night.

I get that driving can be scary at first, and is always dangerous. Experience helps (in fact, now that I've been driving for 30 years or so, I'm ready to revisit that minibike thing: sometimes I think a Vespa or some other scooter or moped might be a good way for me to get to work. I do, after all, have a very short commute.), but that information is not comforting to a new driver.

I have three teen-aged nephews who did not embrace driving, but to be honest, they didn't have to. They live within easy distance of subway and other public transportation, and they have friends who are usually willing to drive them where they want to go. They also had a grandmother who lived her entire 72 years without driving.

I also have a godson around the same age as those other guys, and he can't wait to get his license and buy a car. Of course, he lives in a place where that is really the only way around, and his dad is definitely a king of the road-- that guy will drive anywhere, anytime.

Nature, nurture? Who can say?

 A few months ago, I heard a piece on the radio about how driverless cars might just be a reality in the not so distant future. In such a scenario, nobody would own their own vehicle, rather we would reserve or order one to take us where ever we needed to be. These cars would be guided by a central computer, and so not only would they eliminate traffic fatalities, but they would also be able to route all vehicles efficiently, thus avoiding congestion. Presumably, we would receive accurate travel time information as well, which would make planning trips much easier.

I want to go on record right now: It sounds very reasonable. Yes, it does, but...

 I don't like it.

Border Patrol

So my students are writing fiction, and one of the unintended consequences of the activity is that this year, like every year, I have to police that fine line between creative license and what's appropriate for school. It's no secret that freedom and choice are key components in engaging students, but what about those kids who want to write about pregnant teens, drug abuse, incest, and cannibalism? For some reason, the topics that this group has chosen feel more challenging than those of the recent past.

Why does this not surprise me?

Fall Guy

We suffered an annoying snafu at school today when as the result of poor planning we were directed to have all of our homeroom students phone home to schedule their parent-teacher-student conference for next Friday. Unaware that anything was out of the ordinary with this plan, my sixth graders were game to call their folks, but a little confused as to what to say. "Just say that we got the materials this morning and we want to let people know as soon as possible," I suggested somewhat disingenuously.

The first guy picked up the receiver and dialed confidently, probably because I often ask him to call home and ask his parents to remind him to bring in all manner of signed things from report cards to field trip slips. His mother answered, and although I could not understand the conversation word for word (it was in Tigre), I did understand that it wasn't going as planned. "What time does she want?" I asked after he hung up with a sigh.

"She didn't say a time," he answered. "She was mad."

"Why?" I asked.

"She told me I should have asked her about this yesterday, and we'll talk about it tonight," he said.

I nodded sympathetically. Right sentiment, wrong target.