Simple Gifts

The champagne was open and a lovely tray of smoked salmon, cucumbers, herbed cheese, and wheat crackers was set out on our coffee table last night to celebrate the tin-year anniversary of my writing group. I pulled open the drawer where we keep our cocktail napkins, and was momentarily concerned when I couldn't find a single one. Rummaging a little deeper past coasters, crossword puzzle pens, and scissors,  I was able to dig up a mismatched pile enough for the four of us, but as of now?

We.

are.

out!

Of course I will add them to my shopping list, but it will be a first. I have certainly purchased cocktail napkins before, but it has been mostly on a whim, never of necessity. I guess I owe that in large measure to Emily's mom, Judy. She was always the one who tucked a package of lovely or clever napkins into almost every gift bag. Judy's been gone almost seven years exactly, now, and how wonderful that those gifts have lasted until now.

The First Decade

Ten years ago I had recently finished the summer institute at our local chapter of the National Writing Project. I believed with all my heart that to be an effective writing teacher, I had to write myself. And I had-- all summer long. As part of the program we were put in writing groups to meet and share our work twice a week. It had been such a rewarding experience for me, but now that the institute was over, I was worried that I might not continue writing.

Fortunately, that autumn I found three other teachers who were interested in writing, too, and we have been a merry band of scribblers ever since, meeting every month or so to eat, drink, and share writing.

Tonight was more or less our 10th anniversary, and so for the occasion (and okay, because I'm also feeling a little swamped) I dug up the first piece I shared. To be honest, it was pretty good, and I can't really say that I've written anything better since then.

So, has it all been a waste of time? Far from it. That piece may have come together for me, but I wrestle with writing every day, and it's definitely the struggle that makes me a better teacher.

The food and the friends ain't bad, either! Here's to the next ten, you guys!

Copy That

Call me old-fashioned, but personally, I don't know how a school can function with both of its main copy machines down. At about 5 PM yesterday I found myself wandering the building trying to figure out a way to make sure I was prepared for my first class the next day. Oh, I knew if worst came to worst, I could probably come in early and get in line for the one copier that was being repaired at that very moment, but generally? I prefer to avoid such crunchtime moves.

That's why, after the third time I cleared a paper jam in the main office I turned to a very slow and little-used machine nearby. With only 20 copies, I felt it was the best solution, and so I pushed all the buttons, fed in the originals, stood back and checked my email, played Words with Friends, picked at my cuticles, and otherwise waited the 15 minutes it took. Triumphantly, I carried the finished packets back to my room, hole-punched them, and left the building confident that I was ready for the next day.

Flash forward to me and my reading class at 9 AM this morning. "Can't we just read?" someone asked for the 97th time. "Why do they call it "reading" anyway if you won't let us read?"

"We are going to read," I answered brightly. "This is a good story!

Children sighed as packets slapped the table and pages turned.

"Wait!" said somebody. "Do I have the whole story? Is it mixed up?"

I looked over a shoulder. "Oops!" I said. "You know what, you guys? I made a mistake with the copies." I shrugged. "Why don't you read your books?"

They cheered.

"You are definitely the best teacher," someone said, sticking her nose into Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban just before the room went silent.

It's What They Do

This year it so happens I have one class that is mostly girls and another class that is mostly boys. And so, in a lesson where each student was asked to think of a verb and share it in a quick round robin, the answers were wildly different.

Dance, play, talk, skate, suggested the girls.

Kick, yell, fart, poop, contributed the boys.

But, happily, both groups came up with read.

Now to get them to write!

Beholders

"Did you have a good weekend?" a colleague asked as our paths converged on the way to the main office this morning.

"Oh, yeah!" I answered. "The weather was perrrrfect!"

She frowned. "Don't tell me. You like fall?" she asked with heavy irony.

"You don't???" I responded.

"No!" she replied. "I. LIKE. SUMMER. You know? Hot weather, shorts, baking in the sun by the pool or at the beach? SUMMER!"

"But the light..." I started, thinking of the warm gold of the autumn sunshine and clear blue skies. "The leaves?"

"Nope and nope!" she cut me off. "Too chilly! And the next thing you know? It's winter!"

She frowned.

I smiled.

Joshing Around

One of Josh's best friends back home is also named Josh. We got to spend some time with both guys this weekend, and it was very entertaining. Take for example this exchange, as we were driving off for our hike this afternoon, leaving Josh's hand-painted bean bag toss in the front yard.

Josh 1: I hope nobody steals the game while we're gone!

Josh 2: Pretty sure no one wants your corn hole, Buddy.

Bob the Dog

At the end of a fun family picnic with a chaos of kids running in and out of the house, we looked up as Michelle came up the walk with a tiny black dog in her arms. Her new place is located just off a busy road, and noticing a bit of a commotion, she went over to see what was happening. A woman from New Jersey had stopped to avoid hitting the little guy. "I can't take him!" She told Michelle. "I'm on my way back home."

The entire group of 6 children and 12 adults turned our collective attention to this current canine crisis. Is there a collar? He looks well-groomed. Take a picture and post it on Facebook! Let's call him Bob. Go door to door with the picture. Where's the closest shelter? He's shivering-- we need a blanket. I read on the internet you can use a stud-finder to see if there's a microchip. Beep beep beep beep bleep. How does this thing work? Nobody's answering the doors across the street. The vet is closed. Bob is soooo cute. Clearly not a stray. Where would we even put flyers?

In the midst of all this hubbub, a couple of guests with a long drive ahead of them bid us all farewell and good luck. Imagine our surprise, then, when their red Crowne Vic rolled back into the driveway a little while later. Out jumped a very worried looking woman they had spotted as she scoured the road calling for her dog. A heart-warming reunion between Pat and Yogi was only a moment away.

It happened that Yogi had indeed been bathed earlier today and so was collarless when Pat's husband started using a hydraulic nail gun. Since it was such a beautiful day, the front door was open. Spooked by the loud noise, Yogi pushed open the loose screen, and hit the road.

Pat's husband and grandson pulled in just as she ended her tale, and the four of them happily headed home.