Playing Hooky

A midday follow-up dental appointment on a 70 degree day screams, “Don’t go back to school!”

Having anticipated this scenario, and being a mostly responsible sort, I pre-arranged my ditching so as not to raise any eyebrows or concern. [Flashback to senior year of high school when BFF and I regularly ditched last period Study Hall in favor of General Hospital and learning to drink coffee before college, then lied outright to school authorities the next morning. What were we thinking?!]

I hit Merrifield, Meadows Farm, and Costco in rapid succession, grabbing grass seed, Hollytone, several kinds of enticing native plants in smaller (cheaper) pots; then finally a truck-bed load of organic garden soil bags for the school garden along with three packs of pristine garden gloves in two sizes. All of this while being mostly outside on a blue-sky, no-clouds afternoon. 

Each beggar on every median strip I passed got cash today, too. Why shouldn’t generosity be the price of playing hooky?!

A Morning Stroll

Yesterday I joined an old friend for a walk at Green Spring Gardens. My friend brought her three-month-old puppy, Josie, along. Puppies and pansies are not a great mix, so instead of staying alongside the manicured garden beds, we headed for the trail through the woods.

The woods trail emerged into a clearing where there is a man-made pond. I’m pretty sure this puppy had never seen mallard ducks before. Her body language betrayed both fascination and caution: wiggly pulls on the leash, followed by doubling back behind her human and peaking out from behind, ears pointed forward. 

We continued on until we came upon two Canadian geese a little further out from the pond’s edge. Josie took no notice of the geese as a leashed dog twice her size headed towards us on the path. This was one of several older “friends” she greeted playfully, but respectfully, that morning. 

Quick to sniff noses and rise on back legs to gently paw at her acquaintances, Josie also got low, rolled on her back, and showed appropriate deference to her elders. This pro-social canine behavior was well received on all three occasions. Very impressive for such a young gal, I thought.

Our final brush with wild pond life was the bale of turtles sunning on the far bank of the pond. Moments after we noticed them, the sun ducked behind a cloud and all but one of the eight or nine sunbathers slid backwards into the water. Pretty sure Grandpa Turtle must have been snoozing to have missed the “okay everyone: at the count of three we’re back in the water”.

Typically I head to Green Spring Gardens for the flora. But today was all about the fauna.         

Frequent Flyers

This is the time of the year the hallways are ripe with students, especially 8th graders. As Spring approaches, but Spring Break remains weeks away, our eldest middle schoolers become our most restless souls. They are done with childish ways, and ready to move on to a bigger building that allows more free agency.

In an 8th Grade Level teacher meeting two weeks ago the conversation turned to these students.

“Where are they all going?” an administrator asked.

“… to the clinic for a bandaid and ice… to see a counselor or Mr. Siegel…they’ve left their iPad here, or their hoodie there,” we all chimed in. It never ends: this maneuvering and manipulation of the escape artist in our charge.

“What shall we do to keep them in class?” asked one frustrated Pre-Algebra teacher. “We can’t deny them the bathroom!”

“Let’s make a list of students who most often ask to leave class,” suggested a colleague. “Then we’ll limit how long they can be gone from class, or how often they can ask to leave each day.”

“That sounds like a lot of record keeping,” another team member pointed out.

At least they are on our radar now, and we are doing what we can to keep them in class longer. We are trying to keep them engaged, if not belted in, as teenaged turbulence sets in.

Revolving Door Day

“May I go to the bathroom,” said the student, five minutes into Civics 7 today.

“If you go to the bathroom now, you’ll miss my class,” Mr. Moore pointed out. It’s true. He was not being hyperbolic. Classes today are literally 20 minutes each because it’s an Anchor Day schedule on an Early Closing Wednesday.

As the only EL Resource Teacher for my school, I span all three grade levels in the course of one Anchor Day. I’m flying around school, hither and yon, at breakneck speed, on days like this. Sometimes I forget where I’m going, or where I’ve been.

Round and round I go. Where I stop…

Birds of a Feather

“Ladies, I’ve been in my pajamas all weekend. What did I miss?” was my late afternoon text to my neighbors who are fellow gardeners. 

The three of us are sharing the first of several leaf mulch piles, along with our love of gardening, a bit more intensely these tender days. Kate and I realize that Lisa is at sea since the death of her beloved, from cancer, in early February. Our hope is to ground her with a series of garden-related activities and regular check-ins this Spring. 

Turns out I missed snow, cold and binge watching The Last Kingdom, on Lisa’s end. The Good Fight, when not falling asleep by 9:00pm in a toddler’s bed, has been Kate’s recent routine. Here’s hoping that the longer daylight hours will find us flocking to the mulch pile once again very soon.

Pajama Days

Last Saturday I missed writing from sheer busy-ness. Yesterday I missed writing from sheer lazy-ness. Oh well. Maybe this March I am just taking Saturdays off. So be it. Everyone needs a reprieve now and then, a Pajama Day. Yesterday was mine. (Though somehow, it has bled into today.)

Pajama Days are essential to my overall well-being and occur about once a month. Sometimes twice a month during the winter. Laundry and household chores can still happen during pajama days, but leaving the house is obviously not part of the Pajama Day plan. Hunkering down like this is how I renew myself, even though I may appear to people in my public life as more of an extrovert. But the truth is, I am not. Not anymore.

My self-appointed days of leisure wear still involve a certain amount of purposeful activity: Chinese Eggplant seeds, started. Last of Spring seeds, in the queue. Cat litter, changed. Socks and cotton t-shirt restock for the menfolk, ordered. Daughter's bedroom, restored to order before her departure (mostly, and by her). 

The sunlight now beckons, and temperatures have rebounded. So I think it may finally be time to don actual clothing.

Arms All Akimbo

Some days I feel like an Octopus with my reach extending in multiple directions around the school all at once.

There are currently eight classes I am part of  throughout the week, some of them I attend only 2-3 times a week, but one of them is now daily. Although I am not the "teacher of record" in any of my classes, there are students who depend on seeing me in each class. Some students I work closely with, and some I mostly just touch base with because they are trying to be more independent at this point in the school year. These are my caseload kids. But beyond them are others I've also worked with regularly and bonded with over time.

Today one of my arms was reaching out to a newer TA student who may be falling into the work avoidance trap. At least I believe that may be what's happening. A couple other arms were trying to reach students with overdue summative assignments in their ELD 4 Reading class because the long term sub is concerned and not quite sure what to do. These "deep dives" are so necessary at this point in the school year when Spring Break is coming, but still a whole month away. The students feel it. The teachers feels it. We are all turning into slugs.

Two more arms were organizing seed packets, pots, potting trays, soil, and procedures for ELD classes preparing to plant next week, while a few fingers of another arm were texting about a donated light table coming our way just in time. These same fingers were also contacting local high school plant sale organizers about leftover donations to the TJMS Community Garden.

That's six arms so far. Perfect, because I needed the last two arms to hold up pencils for the two Reading Buddies sign-in sheets on adjoining doors to classrooms where we convene at the end of the school day before going over to Fleet ES next door to read with second graders. Two classrooms so that the calmer kids can have the decompression time they need on a Friday afternoon, while the ultra-social sixth graders can bounce off the walls and expend excess energy right next door.

Time to take all my arms home and look for four pair of gardening gloves, because now it's my time to decompress.

Three Boys, Three Shovels, Three Wheelbarrows, One Pile

"Remberto, can you take the heavier wheelbarrow?" I urged.

"Sure! No problem." he agreed, as he wrestled it out of the shed. "Hey guys, remember to spread out so our shovels don't hit." Off they wheeled, like ducks in a row, each one taking their places at the wood chip pile, as before.

Several minutes later, Eyob joked, "Hey, is mine ready yet?"

"Your wheelbarrow is only half full!" Remberto's monotone reply hid any amusement as he worked steadily to hold his edge on the other two boys. Soon they were all off towards the garden in a jagged line, heading for the dumping place.

"Do I have time for one more load?" Efren wondered aloud.

"Yes, if we help you fill it," Remberto assured him. And so he did help to fill it, after completing his own third and final load for today.

In only twenty minutes time, at the end of seventh period, my three eager Life Skills students transferred seven wheelbarrows full of wood chips into the garden, and they couldn't have done it so efficiently without Remberto's emerging leadership. Not only did he set the pace, but he kept the other boys encouraged and on task

This has been an ongoing project. One more session ought to finish off the pile. Every great team has a strong leader, and this crew is no exception.

The Interviews

While home on Spring Break, my daughter is interviewing the whole family for her research project in Focused Inquiry, her favorite college class so far because it reminds her of Capstone in APS. This kid loves to research and write. She’s good at it, too. Her topic is growing up with an Autistic sibling. Her brother has agreed to be interviewed, also.

In a serendipitous occurrence, this just happens to be the week my son needs to interview someone older than 60 for his English 11 class, and Grandma K is in town. So we are awash in interviews and information exchange. Life experiences are spilling out onto Google forms, and soon enough into Google docs. 

Our children are learning about life from other perspectives and earlier times. Experience is the best teacher this week, literally.

Monday-Tuesday

The wind last night was fierce. I wasn't worried about a tree falling over since we have our trees pruned regularly and so far they are all very healthy. But the uneven rhythm of the wind's wand against the shingles and siding kept me awake for seemingly hours. Bella, our cat, was also unnerved, as displayed by her piteous mews and pathetic scratching on the basement door. She'd make a great addition to a haunted house at Halloween.

While I don't recommend going to work tired, on a bike, at 7:15 on a 30+ degree morning, the resulting ride home on a 50+ degree afternoon more than makes up for it. This was my first bike commute of 2022, and truly I am glad to be back at it. I like the independence, the ability to depart home at the same time I would depart in a vehicle, and the primo parking spot right outside the school lobby.

Now that I'm home, I'm heading outside to continue raking, trimming, and moving mulch. It's as if I need to reconnect to my weekend just past as soon as possible. Tuesday, Tuesday, so good to me... doesn't quite have the same ring to it. But even when you take off the first day of the week, there is always a Monday sort of day waiting for you, and hopefully also a better night's sleep ahead.

My Day Off

I had planned this Monday off in advance because my daughter is home from college for her Spring Break and had a medical appointment scheduled. I've always taken her to her "well baby" check-ups, so I just assumed I should make myself available this morning.

Upon arriving home on Friday afternoon she announced, "I will need the car at 8:30 on Monday morning."

"Oh," I responded, with a tilt of my head. "You don't need me to go with you?"

"Well, I'm 20 years old. Don't you think I should start doing these things on my own?" she asked. And I couldn't disagree because of course she should be flexing her independence.

As it turned out, she didn't sleep well last night so this morning she asked me if I could drive and drop her off, a comfy compromise for having versus not having your mom along. I was glad to be her taxi service, and eager to entertain myself at the Meadows Farm Nursery just down the highway from Sleepy Hollow Pediatrics.

Later in the morning, once we'd returned home from the appointment and I was headed out to Paul and Sharon's to do my annual clean-up of their raised flower bed, my daughter reminded me that she'd need the car at 2:00pm to pick up Grandma Kathie from the airport. 

"The clean sheets are in the dryer. Do you mind making her bed when they are ready?" I ventured.

"Sure. No problem," she eagerly agreed. When I got home, the deed was done. No reminder necessary.

"Wow," I thought. This is not the same gal who left home six months ago! 

From across the street on my neighbor's front stoop, I could hear the commotion of Molly and Grandma pulling up to the curb and tumbling out of the car, fresh in from Molly's first ever solo airport retrieval. They were still laughing about Molly showing up to Door #4 outside Alaska Air, as agreed upon, only to text her grandma and learn that she was upstairs at Departures while Grandma was downstairs at arrivals! So of course she had to circle the airport and try again.

Today I really enjoyed having a chance to follow my own agenda while Molly took care of the logistics.

The Bluestone

The Bluestone Inn Restaurant on Route 11 north of Harrisonburg has been a family favorite for decades. Many family occasions have been celebrated there, and it's the restaurant my brothers and I gravitate to whenever the three of us are together. Last evening was no exception. Like always, I ordered the grilled rainbow trout stuffed with crab. It is, after all, their signature dish.

Seafood abounds, both grilled and fried. They also have James River raw oysters and soft-shelled crabs in appropriate months of the year. Although the aroma of steak always tantalizes me on the short walk from the parking lot to the front door of the limestone structure, by the time we're sitting with menus I never seem to make it past the seafood offerings. (Who am I kidding? I never even make it past the first item: grilled rainbow trout stuffed with crab!)

But last night I did try a couple of new items. The first was a thinly-sliced cucumber salad with onion and fresh dill in a light sweet-sour dressing. The server suggested it as the preferred side salad, over coleslaw, and it did not disappoint. My second new venture was a dessert item called Hummingbird Cake, which I understand to be a Southern favorite that is made with bananas, walnuts, and cream cheese icing. It was tasty, somewhat reminiscent of Carrot Cake, but I was glad to share the gargantuan slice with one of my brothers.

If you are okay with a dark, noisy, rustic setting... deer busts lining the paneled walls and a stuffed turkey suspended above the bar, platform booths with high back privacy dividers, tables jammed so close together you can overhear the conversations around you... along with a 30-40 minute wait should you miss the Early Bird sitting at 4:30pm, then I highly recommend you try the Bluestone next time you are headed down Interstate 81. Take the Broadway exit, which is the last exit before you reach Harrisonburg, onto Route 11 South and you will find it several miles along on the right side of the road.

                               

Whoopsy Doozle

In my triumph at finding beautiful hellebores for a good price down in Harrisonburg, yesterday, I forgot to do my daily writing! In all honesty, if it had to be remembering to write, or finding the plant of the moment, I’m going with the plant every time. Not that it has to be either/or. But yesterday’s agenda was freeform. 

The day began with a couple hours of gardening, mostly spring cleanup of leftover autumn debris. While I’m leaving some of the leaves and stalks in certain areas, other areas need a more acidic dressing this year. So I’m going with a pine bark mulch from Green Street Garden Center that my neighbor introduced to me last fall. 

In the afternoon, Brother Robert and I connected the dots, nursery to nursery, on our way to Harrisonburg. After Grass Roots came through for me, we met up with Brother Donald for a rustic Bluestone evening filled with the swapping of ancient, shared memories. I enjoy comparing versions of the same family story, differing in perspective due to birth order.

It was such a full, wonderful day that I didn’t even realize I’d forgotten to write until I work up this morning. As my mother used to say when I was younger, “Whoopsy doozle”.

Busted

I’m relatively new at 8th grade TA, and I love the self-sufficiency of my brood. All but one of them screen-shared their slide show with great ease and began their conference today without trying to bypass the awkward introduction. By now they all know the drill.

Since two-thirds of my students made the A-B Honor Roll last quarter, most of today’s conferences were joyous occasions for parent and child. Several students had a bit of explaining to do about one grade or another, but one poor lad left his dad completely vexed about the total lack of conference prep as well as the abysmal grades in Student Vue. 

Student M is the kid who knows how to look busy and stay under the radar, nods along with the group, never meets your gaze, and does his own thing. I’m not surprised he was unprepared. He won’t accept guidance, and he’s not happy about school or life right now. But at least he’s finally getting to school on time most days and the quietly defiant hood-up statement has also largely subsided.

No way was I going to cover for him today. So he was basically laid wide open by his own undone deeds, but that needed to happen. The sub plot to all of this is the parents’ separation and consequent lack of awareness about the fact that their son has checked out of third quarter already. When email and phone calls go unanswered, a live conference becomes the big wake up call that Dad needs most of all. 

Together with the Flex TA Teacher, we came up with several action items to help Student M get himself back on track. But what I hope most of all is that Dad starts paying more attention to his namesake, because that's what the kid needs more than a polished slide show or stellar grades right now. He needs to know that he matters to his own distracted folks.

Is it Pie Day Today?

My across-the-street neighbor, Terry, is an older woman with a lot of spunk and a keen appreciation of fruit pie. For many years she adjudicated at regional and national Bridge Tournaments, an advanced player in her own right. Now that she is no longer working full time or traveling, she has a part time gig investigating whether or not players in an online league are cheating, or simply too novice to realize what they are doing. Her eyes sparkle when she tells me about her latest trail of intrigue.

Terry and I have an arrangement that began a couple of years ago, not long after her husband Tom passed away. I’m her fruit pie dealer, and I often deal in the stealth of night. At first it was Sour Cherry, a personal favorite. Then we moved on to Meyer Lemon and Key Lime, followed by Pumpkin. Earlier this winter we both tried the Pear with Ginger and Orange Marmalade. This evening I brought home Blackberry “with a touch of lemon” because the lattice was so intriguing. 

Sometimes I provide just a piece, particularly if there’s higher risk involved. But often I buy a whole mini pie which she insists on paying for. On those occasions I round down, charging her only what I know someone of her generation is willing to pay for a store bought pie. Mind you, they are ACME Pies from a Douglas Park neighbor’s Columbia Pike pie shop, not just any old store bought pies. I live in mock fear of the day she ventures over to the pie shop herself and my price-fixing cover is blown.

But for now I supply her with touches of affordable comfort, in the form of occasional pie. And it warms my heart to hear the eager compliance in her voice on those occasions.

“Hi Terry. This is Enid. Is it pie day today?”

“Oh, I think so! Anything but apple this time. You decide!”

All Cracked Up

Flossing is not typically a harmful activity, but the other night I broke a tooth doing my due diligence at bedtime. As a result, this morning I sat in a dentist chair getting the full treatment: novocain, x-ray, drill, impression, and finally a temporary crown. Turns out what had cracked and chipped away was a major portion of a reconstructed molar from 15 years ago. 

"Hmmm... You were my dentist 15 years ago," I mused. "Is there a warranty on that reconstruction?"

"Only for seven years," Dr. Oh replied with a chuckle. "The lifespan of a reconstruction is 7-10 years, so you did well with that one!"

Dr. Oh is a great dentist. Always calm and thorough, this morning he worked quickly but carefully to get the job done and send me back down Glebe Road for the second half of the school day. 

"See you in two weeks, Dr. Oh."

Over the past two decades he has systematically reconstructed almost every single childhood filling as they've failed me in one way or another. But let me tell you, even the best reconstructive work is apparently not all it's cracked up to be!

Read the Room

I am, by nature, a judgy person. I don’t like that about myself, but there it is. 

And here we are, three years into a pandemic that might be subsiding, or might just be hunkering down for awhile before another surge, a new variant, emerges. We don’t know. But suddenly mask wearing is a “personal decision”. At school, on school buses, at social gatherings in public places we are being asked to respect other people’s personal decisions to wear, or not to wear, a mask. Fine.

When I walk into a room full of people celebrating an older person’s retirement, a school library say, and everyone else in the room is wearing a mask - and I mean every single person - then even if I had not worn a mask all day, that is the half hour that I wear a mask. My personal choice involves keeping other people safe, even if I personally feel safe without a mask. As Nike would say, “Just do it!”

But no, not the only person in the entire school whom I know for a fact to be unvaccinated. That person does not wear a mask. Around elders, around colleagues who may, or may not, have situations in their lives requiring them to take no risks, around the retiring guest of honor who IS wearing a mask, and probably wants to enjoy his retirement Covid free, that one particular person does not wear a mask. 

Is that one particular person respecting others’ personal choices? Am I capable of respecting hers?