Oui, Je Parle Français

In early September, when I first started working a couple of sub jobs a week, I was picky about which classes and grades I was willing to cover. I preferred sixth-grade teachers I knew, and even when the sub coordinator started offering me more jobs, I was choosy about the assignments. 

Somehow, being so particular has fallen to the wayside, though, and both last Friday and today, I showed up with no idea of what I would be doing. To be honest? It hasn't been too bad. Friday, I was in an English class for English Language Learners, and today I was in French. "OMG, you're everywhere!" a student cried when she saw me in her homeroom today. 

Although I took three years of French in high school and another two semesters in college, I never would have chosen the job for myself. Still, it turns out I remember more than enough of the language to be of considerable help to middle schoolers in French I. It was a fun day, and I felt even more validated when I received the highest praise possible from a seventh grader. "You were a pretty good sub," he told me before rushing off when the bell rang.

Merci!

Not Quite a Walk in the Park

The lake was drained.

In an effort to enjoy this pretty day (a tad too warm for October, but still pleasant), we headed to a regional park we have enjoyed for decades. It features a four-mile trail that loops around a man-made lake and winds through forests and a small neighborhood. The parking lot was full, but the lake was not. 

I had read a couple years ago that the constant dredging the lake needed to keep it free of the silt and runoff was becoming prohibitively expensive and disruptive to the surrounding neighbors, so the parks and rec was looking for a solution. 

Today I discovered that earlier in the year they attempted to drain the lake to inspect the dam's integrity, but one of the sluice gates malfunctioned and the project was put on hold until after Labor Day. As a result, the lake looks like a stream running through a mud flat, chain link fences are all around, along with signs warning visitors to stay away from the shore because of dangerous mud and quick sand. Call 911 if stuck, they advise. 

It wasn't the scenery we'd expected, but we set off anyhow. The next signs to catch our attention advised us to stay on the trail because of active archery in the surrounding woods, due to an ongoing deer culling program. Just then a black walnut fell from the tree and missed my head by inches. Stepping to the side of the trail, my boot rolled over another walnut in the leaf litter, and I stumbled before catching my balance.

On the other side of the lake, there were signs alerting us of a blue algae bloom and its potential fatality to dogs. When in doubt, keep them out! it counseled. As we continued on, I ran through the litany of threats we'd been presented with along the trail: global warming, pollution, quick mud, arrows, walnuts, and blue algae.

"The world seems sort of treacherous today," I commented to Heidi with a sigh.

Backseat Parker

On game days, parking is tight at the field complex where Heidi's soccer team plays. Even so, we are usually able to snag a space in the lot rather than parking on the grass and along the entry drive, as so many other soccer enthusiasts must. Today was no exception: the lot was crowded, but we were able to squeeze into a space between an SUV and an electric pickup truck. 

As Heidi went on ahead to check in with her fellow coaches and warm up the team, I relaxed in the driver's seat, fresh breeze and golden October sunshine streaming in through the open windows. By and by, the truck loaded up and hummed away, and a minivan pulled right into the spot it had vacated. I heard the door of the van roll open, and a boy of no more than six stood indignantly on its threshold. "Excuse me!" he called through my open window. "Can you move your car over?"

He was no more than 18 inches away, and I looked purposefully over my sunglasses at him and then to the SUV to my right. "No," I answered.

His mother hastily, yet carefully, opened the passenger-side door. "It's fine!" she told him, or maybe me. "We have a big car," she said, definitely to him. "We can carefully get our things and go to the game."

He scoffed, unconvinced, but as the family bustled up to the fields, I noticed that his dad and sisters were able to get out on their side without any trouble. 

Feeling It

I subbed in class for English language learners today, and I really enjoyed teaching the basic skills and knowledge included in the textbook lesson that their teacher had left. Perhaps my favorite part was an activity on the many shades of meaning that the verb "feel" can have. 

In the first paragraph of the text, the word was used three times in different ways: How do you feel about nature? What do you feel like doing after a long day? And how do you feel after being outside? The nuance was something that a native speaker like me rarely considers. Still, these English language learners had to parse each one and match it with its meaning, identifying which usage expresses an opinion, which shows a desire, and which refers to physical or emotional sensations. 

Of course, I could do it, but explaining it to students with emerging language skills proved to be challenging. Even so, I felt it was a valuable experience. (I also felt like skipping the gym and heading straight home after teaching three solid blocks with only a lunch break, even though I knew I would feel better if I went.)

Dinosaurs

I had a doctor's appointment this morning. Ever since I rolled my ankle in early August, my right foot's plantar fascia has been sore. This is the same one I ruptured while running on New Year's Day 1994. That day, I heard a pop, and at first I thought I had kicked a rock into the curb, but a moment later, I couldn't walk on that foot. 

This was pre-Internet, so I hopped home, wondering what I could have possibly done to myself. Then I iced it and wrapped it with an ace bandage. Fortunately, my sister had a podiatrist, and I was able to get an appointment right away when I called the next morning. Dr. P. was a runner and specialized in sports injuries, but he was nice to a non-athlete like me, too. 

As we talked, he mentioned how fascinated his two-year-old daughter was with their new home computer, and told me that there was actually software available for kids that young. Since I had recently purchased my first Mac, and my nephew was nearly the same age, I was all over it. That's how Millie's Math House became a favorite activity whenever he and his brother were over. It was an animated program for kids aged 2-5, featuring seven activity options that integrated counting skills.

It's hard to believe now, but educational technology was brand new then. As for podiatry, it doesn't seem like much has changed in the last three decades, except that Dr. P is retired now. (And we use online portals now, although I did notice that the young members of the staff were a little patronizing when it came to that. Are you able to access the portal? I was asked more than once, with slightly insincere deference.)

My new podiatrist recommended the same stretches that I used when I first got out of my cast. He also fit me for orthotics, which did the trick last time. He even offered to make them out of leather when I showed him the ones I got the last time I saw Dr. P. back in 2015.

"They don't have to be exactly the same," I told him. "As long as they work!"

Healthy Response

It was a beautiful, classic fall day here in DC on day one of the federal shutdown. And while nearly every federal employee I know had to go to work (evidently, these friends and family are essential, and not just to me), the sidewalks, parks, cafes, gym, and nail salon seemed full of people doing their best to consider this unpaid furlough as a welcome day off, if not a vacation. 

There was more dog walking, jogging, baby strolling, and general self-care going on on a weekday than I've seen since I retired.

Good for them! May the fair weather follow us all.

Status Check

One of the women in my bowling league was the teacher who had the room next to me my first year.  Linda taught self-contained special ed, but moved to ESL the next year, and on to Spanish a few years after that, but we both stayed at the same school for the next thirty years. She called me "rookie" for at least the first ten; it wasn't until I was team leader and instructional lead teacher for the whole school that she finally said, "I guess you're one of the veterans now!" 

Because we taught on opposite ends of the building, we could go for weeks without seeing each other, especially if the monthly staff meeting was canceled. Even so, we remained, if not friends, a little closer than just colleagues: I attended her first wedding; I commiserated over her divorce, congratulated her on her second marriage, and cheered when she earned her doctorate. 

I was as surprised as everyone, though, when she pulled an Irish goodbye of a retirement by submitting her paperwork over the summer a few years ago. She was just gone when the rest of us showed up in August. 

I was looking forward to seeing her again when I heard she was one of the Ladies Executive League bowlers. The way the draw is set up the league has ten lanes and every week my team competes against one other team of three, so while I've seen Linda, it wasn't until this week I got to bowl with her. And it just so happened that the other two bowlers on her team were out-- one had pre-bowled and the other took a vacancy score-- so we had a lot of time to catch up.

She is the same as ever, a funny mix of kooky and very serious. She laughs readily, but is very focused and competitive. She is also supportive and a good coach, cheering for and giving pointers even to a competitor like me. 

"It's been really fun bowling with you today!" I told her at the end of the match. "Thanks for all the help."

She gave me a quick little hug. "You did well!" she said. "Especially for a rookie!"