Write That Down, Pass It Around

I've been a member of the blogosphere for just about six years, which is a long time in internet years. To give you some frame of reference, back when I started, Facebook had 150 million users, as compared to over a billion today, and I was not one of them. Twitter? 22.3 million then, 285 million now, me included. Neither Pinterest nor Tumblr even existed, yet.

I spent a little time this morning clicking around some of the blogs I used to follow when I began writing mine; more than half of them have been abandoned or formally shut down; their authors have married, changed jobs, divorced, gone off to college, had children, battled illnesses, moved on or just faded away. The other half are going strong, though, and it was nice to check in with those writers.

A couple of years after I started my blog, I challenged my sixth graders to begin daily writing, too. Those particular kids are sophomores in high school now, but a little quick internet research showed me that some of them, at least, are still writing. And just yesterday, this year's students began a hundred day writing challenge of their own.

Traditionally, I launch this activity on March 1, because that is the anniversary of my own odyssey, but this year the first is Sunday, so I pushed it to February 27, because I wanted to begin in class. Even so, I was concerned that kids would forget to post today, since it is Saturday and the campaign still so new. I needn't have worried: when I logged in a few minutes ago, 25 kids had already published their second slice of life, which is not bad for an optional activity.

98 days to go!

Who knows where it will end?

I Like Talkin About You You You You Usually

I know, I know.

It's age-appropriate for sixth graders to be self-absorbed. But when you rotate through eighteen 90-second speed book-talks and nobody asks about your book because they're too busy talking about theirs, it stings a little.

Still, I was glad to hear all that enthusiasm for their independent reading!

(And for the record? I'm reading One Came Home, by Amy Timberlake. A Newbery Honor book last year, it tells the story of 13-year-old Georgie, who, in 1871, leaves her home of Placid, Wisconsin to search for her older sister, Agatha, because she doesn't believe the body the sheriff brought home was really her. AND it's pretty good, too.)

Peter Piper

It's that time of year when forward thinking gardeners (Isn't that all of us? Doesn't it take a leap of faith in the future to plant a garden at all?) start their seeds. In the past, my focus has been on tomatoes, and this season there will be plenty of those, but I have learned that the peppers must come first.

Growing up, I was never a big fan of peppers. Back then, we really only had one kind-- green bell. My sister loved them in salad, but I picked around them. My dad sauteed them every Saturday night with mushrooms and onions to go with our steak and french fries, but to me? They ruined the other vegetables. They were also in our chili and spaghetti sauce, and the first thing I did when I learned to cook was to hold the peppers.

When I was in my 20s, I was introduced to Thai food, and boy was that a pepper of a different color! Hot peppers barely seemed related to those others. The more I cooked and traveled, the more various the peppers became, and my appreciation grew. Pepperoncini, banana, ancho, habanero, roasted red, New Mexico, smoked Spanish paprika-- they all have their place in my kitchen and on my menus. I have even found a use for green bell peppers; it's impossible to make a good Cajun etouffee without 'em.

So this year I'm planting lots of peppers. The mail-order seeds arrived just the other day, and despite the snow on the ground, today I am dreaming of late July and August when the Guajillo, Hatch, Paprika, Aji Dulce, Peachy Mama, Cornejo del Toro, and Gochagaru will be ready to pick.

Sincerely

I've been reading a lot of sixth grade fiction-in-progress lately. At this stage, I try to keep my comments to these ernest young writers encouraging; we can fix grammar, spelling, and even minor plot inconsistencies in the second drafts. The other day, though, when I read through a tale about two brothers fighting a harrowing war in some dystopic future who are exchanging letters with their parents at home, I couldn't keep silent:

Dear Max,

Try to keep Alex up and working, if we lose this war we could all be destroyed. We are doing fine except we are very worried. We hope it will end soon. Do your best to survive, and take care of yourself and Alex.

From,
Your mom

"Hey guys?" I called over to the co-authors. "I'm pretty sure their mother would sign her letter 'Love'!"

Epidemic

Unfortunately, a number of my students came down with an insidious ailment yesterday while I was away from my classroom on a personal day.

Sub-induced Amnesia

Evidently, it struck swiftly and hit hard. Children forgot many of the classroom protocols that have been in place since September. They couldn't remember their assigned seats or how to read the directions on the simplest of assignments. Reportedly, they even stood on their chairs and shouted to other students across the room.

And yet, when questioned about these anomalous behaviors, just 24 hours later, they only had one recollection.

The sub said we could.

Spin Doctors

I, like two billion of my fellow citizens of this planet, saw a picture of a cute puppy on the internet recently. This particular pup was a cross between a Bernese mountain dog and a poodle. Called a "Bernedoodle" it was an adorable little tri-color schmuppy, with moppy hair and sleepy eyes.

It did, in fact, resemble our own darlin dog, but with a Swiss twist which I found irresistible. With Google ever at the ready, I searched up a breeder in my state and clicked around their website. Those puppies are pricey, but that wasn't my main concern. BMDs are notoriously short-lived: along with Great Danes and Saint Bernards, those guys are lucky to make it to double digits. I was hoping that a little poodle in the gene pool might lengthen their longevity.

Alas, that seems not to be the case, but the way the information was delivered by this particular establishment made me gasp in horror and then laugh out loud at their audacity of commerce:

The Bernedoodle has an average lifespan of 11 years, which is below average compared to all other dog breeds. Therefore, the Bernedoodle is ideal for people looking for a shorter-term financial and emotional commitment in a canine companion.

Golden Boy

Here we are in the grip of Oscar fever. Our ballots are filled and a fine dinner prepared-- a yummy spread of tapas with shrimp, lamb chops, patatas bravas, roasted peppers, roasted beets, pea salad, mini pizzas, and a couple of nice spinach dishes-- we have settled in to graze and celebrity-watch the red carpet pre-show.

Of course that means a lot of commercials, and so in between our chatter about dresses and hair, who looks gold and who looks old, we also talk about those in our party who are missing this party, especially Victor and Treat. Just a few minutes ago, there was a promo for the Disney show Once Upon a Time where Cruella Daville, Ursula, and Maleficent were trying to convince a pretty blond to turn evil.

Their conversation brought to mind a long ago movie-inspired scene from my own life. More than ten years ago, on a lovely summer evening Riley, Eric, and Treat were all out on the front lawn playing with light sabers. Before the epic battle began, there was a pause and Eric said, "Wait! We can't all be Jedis. Someone's gotta be the enemy."

Without hesitation, Treat volunteered. "I'll go to the dark side!" he cried eagerly.

That's our Treatie-bird.