Kitchen Confidential

Long ago when I was a professional cook, I was present at a few food mishaps. The worst was the wedding for 300 when we ran out of stuffed chicken breasts. Fortunately, by the time we discovered the shortage, they were already clearing the first tables served. Let's just say that the last several guests enjoyed chicken medallions. A little extra sauce on top and no one knew any difference.

Then there was the family reunion for 40 who wanted whole lobsters cooked on their ocean front deck. We learned the hard way that those propane- fired pots you can rent do not get hot enough to boil much of anything, and certainly not a dozen two-pound hard shells. We provided a lot of butter lemon and beer and hoped it wouldn't be too bad. It was.

Twenty-five years and fifteen trips to Maine later, I could have solved that one pretty easily. Cooking the lobsters in advance would not be wrong, but a big drift wood fire and pots filled with ocean water and seaweed would have been ideal. Too bad, I can't have a do-over.

Since I left the profession, I've had my share of stressful preps and slightly delayed dinners, but I have to say I feel pretty confident in the kitchen; often it's the place I unwind after a long day. Grill, fry, chop, rinse, sauté? Not usually a problem for me. That must be why I was at somewhat of a loss this evening when dinner was 10 minutes from the table and I discovered that I had charred the ribeyes beyond edibility. Seriously-- they were ruined. It wouldn't have been a big deal except Heidi's parents were here. I considered just fessing up, but without the meat, there wasn't enough to eat.

I whipped a frozen piece of skirt steak and a dozen shrimp from the freezer, thawed them and tossed them on the grill. Everything else was on hold-- the corn in the pot, the potatoes in the oven, the mushrooms on the stove, the sliced tomatoes in the fridge-- as I quickly, but carefully, cooked the main.

It was not my finest result, but it was the best I could do, and everyone seemed to like it just fine.

What Do You Call a Teacher Without a Class?

Tonight was that night when all the new sixth graders are invited to visit our middle school to check the place out and meet their teachers before they start on Tuesday. The event is a good way to address any anxiety kids or their parents might have about transitioning to a new school.

As inconvenient as it seems for teachers to come back at night right in the middle of our planning and preparation week, every year I enjoy the evening. Seeing the kids and meeting their families is always really fun.  I guess it helps me work out my anxiety about starting a new school year, too.

All Meetinged Out

This is the beginning of my twentieth year of teaching, and I can say with certainty that I have never had quite so many meetings. The pre-service week is set aside as a time for teachers to plan and prepare, but I have quite a bit of both yet to do in order to be ready for the opening of school next Tuesday.

In fact, it was only today around 3 PM that I finally took the paper off the front of my bookcases. As I tore through the pristine white butcher paper, corners still sharp and edges still neat, I thought back to the last day of the school year when I wrapped the shelves up for summer, and it hardly seemed like nine and half weeks had passed.

Maybe tomorrow I'll re-alphabetize my classroom library and perhaps even put up a few posters, but that would be in between leading a team meeting, touching base with new staff, planning the Tolerance Club activities for September, coordinating with the other sixth grade team leaders, and stategizing with the counselor about yet another several schedule changes. In any event, I will definitely call my homeroom students to welcome them to our school and be present at an open house from 7-8 tomorrow night.

I'd like to think I'll get a little class preparation done, but that may have to wait until after the staff meeting on Friday Morning.

A String Around My Finger

Take two minutes to write about something you did over the summer, or something that's happened recently. I'll warn you, as I do my students, that you will be asked to share.

Those were the directions we received at the opening session of this year's Professional Learning Community. Each school year, for the last four, our school system's English Language Arts department has used our mandatory monthly meeting to sponsor small, interest-based groups. We read a book and discuss it, apply it to our practice, and share the results. It's great in theory, but over the years, I have been somewhat disappointed in the outcome.

Even so, I am open-minded about this year, and I hope the experience will be enriching. Already it's given me reason to pause and think.

Today, when we were required to put pen to paper, the first topic I considered was the time Heidi had to be carried down the mountain. I stopped writing a few words in, though, because I didn't want to explain to the group who Heidi was.

More than half the people there (including the facilitator) know her personally, but that wasn't enough: I did not feel safe enough to put that part of my life out there, even though it was a really good story. By the time I had rejected that topic, two minutes had ticked away to one, and I had nothing on my paper. After that, it was kind of a lame scramble to fulfill the requirement, and so, to be honest, my piece was nothing I cared to share. But I did.

I, too, ask my students to write and share, and I know the value of a safe learning environment, but sometimes I get distracted by the objectives of the lesson and forget how hard it can be to find a topic you care about, especially in the treacherous landscape of middle school.

Today was a good reminder.

Back in the Saddle

When I was in high school, I was lucky enough to take a few bike trips through some amazing areas of Europe. In addition to touring the Ticino Canton of Switzerland where our school was located, I also spent a week riding through Tuscany and another cycling through the south of France.

I confess that at the time I could not have fully appreciated the splendor of those opportunities, but even so, each trip was unforgettable to me-- there are still nights when I dream of some stretch of pavement damp from an earlier shower, with lilacs, daffodils, and recently plowed fields sprouting their first green on either side. The road curves, and I literally gasp-- it's the Alps, or the Mediterranean Sea, or the Towers of Siena. Their beauty is visceral.

I will also never forget how much my ass hurt on the second day of every trip; just sitting on the narrow seat of the touring bike was excruciating. We all groaned and whined our way through the first couple of clicks until the rhythm of the pedals and the sound of the tires on the asphalt shhhhhhishhhed our complaints away as we rode into the rising sun.

We did what we needed to do, and after a while, it didn't hurt at all.

In Mourning

Rock Me

It's so funny what you know and don't know, what you're interested in and not. Years ago, identifying birds became something I wanted to do, next it was plants, of course animals (and, yes, their scat), seashells, and so forth. Every time we go to Maine, we collect rocks, and it's easy to pick out the pink granite that is visible on Cadillac mountain or the fine-grained black stone that will always win the smoothest rock contest, but I have to confess that my knowledge of them ends there. I like rocks, but I've never been moved to catalog my collection.

Today we went to the Natural History Museum with our god-daughters. Our idea was to show them the nature photos and the titanaboa exhibit, but they wanted to go to the insect zoo and the gems and minerals, too. The bugs were fun-- I love the bees, and we saw a zebra butterfly emerge from its cocoon. I was a little skeptical about the rocks though.

I shouldn't have been. Because of the late hour, we only saw about a third of the exhibit, but it was fascinating. It showed me how much I do and don't know about the stuff that makes up 99% of the earth. Of course I recognize diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and opals, but I have no idea what most of them are made of or what they look like unpolished and uncut. I've seen geodes, sand roses, and all sorts of crystals, but I have never bothered to organize my knowledge of them into any meaningful kind of framework.

My life-long lack of engagement in this topic crystallized for me when I approached a single case. Herkimer Diamonds said the tag, and reading the display materials about these rare six-sided crystals that are only found in a small area of Upstate New York was like a prism refracting a single now into so many thens. I remembered hearing my father talking about "Little Falls Diamonds" on more than one occasion, but I could not recall when or why.

Something about digging ditches and building the Thruway, maybe? I don't know... my memories have been almost completely buried by time, and it's going to take some excavation to uncover the story. That's okay. I want to know, and it is just such a desire that polishes simple facts into meaningful information.