Tuesday Slice: The quiet week

 

We may have two weeks off for Winter Break, but the second week is really the break I get.

The first week is always spent playing Christmas prep catch-up--the buying, the baking, the wrapping and the sending.  Sure, there was some groundwork laid before break, but most of those efforts went towards work, getting goodies to colleagues before we all scurried out of the building on that last day.  The priorities always seem to fall in that order:  holiday at work, then taking care of out-of-country and out-of-state family, then local.  

Christmas Day comes with a silent cheer of "Whew!  We made it!".

Then the day after Christmas arrives, with the promise of a quiet week ahead.  We've adopted a Twelve Days of Christmas mentality in our home; decorations stay up until January 6th, so each morning I can meditate by the light of our Christmas tree.  I send most of our cards out now, not in a rush, but with time to think about and treasure the recipients.  Cookies are delivered to neighbors, the mail carrier, the garbage truck drivers.  I have time to set intentions for the coming year, time to read, time to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee on the front porch.

This is the week I look forward to each year, this time between Christmas and New Year's Day--my quiet week.

Wishing all my fellow Slicers a happy, healthy, and blessed New Year!

Tuesday Slice: Hibernation isn't just for dormice

"There is not enough night left for us.  We have lost our true instincts for darkness, its invitation to spend some time in the proximity of our dreams.  Our personal winters are so often accompanied by insomnia: perhaps we're drawn towards that unique space of intimacy and contemplation, darkness and silence, without really knowing what we're seeking.  Perhaps, after all, we are being urged towards our own comfort.

"Sleep is not a dead space, but a doorway to a different kind of consciousness--one that is reflective and restorative..."

--Katherine May, Wintering:  The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times 

The arrival of May's book was apropos.  It is winter, after all, and we can all agree that this past year qualifies as difficult times.  Without conscious attempt, I found myself reading her chapter on visiting Stonehenge for the Winter Solstice on the eve of our own.  Austin is nowhere near Wiltshire, England, but I did have better luck viewing the Saturn-Jupiter conjunction last night than May did of witnessing the sunrise between monoliths on a cloudy morning.

I'm only halfway through the book, and May's chapter on hibernation has resonated the most with me so far.  Perhaps it's the residual effects from our cabin Getaway ten days ago--forty or so hours of living by our internal clocks, now barely replicated by our school holiday break.  Ask any teacher what the biggest difference between work hours and break hours is, and I'll bet the answer is the amount of sleep they're getting, and when they are getting it.  

There is an interesting phenomenon May discusses in relation to hibernation.  Dormice are one of the few English animals that truly hibernate, but even they wake up every ten days or so to reevaluate and repair their lodgings before falling back into unconsciousness.  When scientists subjected human volunteers to sleep schedules based on the availability of light--had them attempt sleep for the fourteen hours of winter darkness--they found a consistent waking period of one to two hours just after midnight.  This time was known as "the watch", and documents from pre-electric times describe these hours as contemplative, dreamy, a time to connect with a lover or family members. People then fell back asleep until daybreak.  I'm tempted to replicate this experiment, but I'm not sure the rest of my family would appreciate tiptoeing past my bedroom for the five hours they are usually awake past winter sunset. 

Instead, I find myself wanting to dim the lights at sunset, turn the volume down, engage in gentle activity.  My visible productivity seems at an all-time low, but my thoughts are constant, my attention diverted as other streams of consciousness form.  I'm noticing more and talking less.  There aren't as many presents under the tree, but do we really need more?  The Nativity set isn't up yet, but there's today to get it done...and didn't the Holy Family find shelter just barely in time for Mary to give birth?  I am learning to accept what is and what isn't due to this extraordinary year.

I'm almost saddened by the fact that from here on out, daylight hours will be increasing.  I'm ready to hibernate, to keep watch, to dream by candlelight in these waning winter nights.  There are gifts in the darkness; the restful retreat is just what I need during these difficult times.

Tuesday Slice: Giving notice

 

On Friday afternoon, we gave notice to the world around us:  

you have approximately three hours to drain our minds and hearts with news of civil unrest and violence and prejudice and criminal intent and holiday advertisements of you-gotta-have-this and you-gotta-give-this and you-gotta-do-that and work emails and deadlines and traffic noises and sirens in the middle of our neighborhood and...and...

And then the towns became fewer and farther between.  The trees outnumbered the count on city limits signs.  There were cows in front yards and Rudolph painted on the side of rolled-up hay bales.   

It got dark quickly.  We took a turn onto one county road, then another, and yet another.  Our tiny-house-cabin was tucked into the back left of a gravelly cul-de-sac, three like-neighbors barely seen through the scraggly forest.

Stepping out of the car, we took in lungfuls of cool piney winter air, letting the dark enfold us like a blanket before the chill set in and forced us to step inside. 

On Friday evening, we took notice of each other and the world around us.

Raindrops on a pine bough at our weekend Getaway.

Tuesday Slice: Three trees

 

Twenty years ago, I bought a book for my children--The Tale of Three Trees: A Traditional Folktale retold by Angela Elwell Hunt, illustrated by Tim Jonke.

It is a Christian story about three trees who dream of becoming great things--a treasure chest, mighty ocean-going ship, the tallest tree in the world.  As you might guess, the first becomes the manger of Bethlehem, the second a simple fishing boat that witnesses the miracle of stormy seas calmed with a word, the third a crucifix.

I hadn't thought of this story for years, until I looked again at an heirloom I recently had framed as a Christmas decoration.

The crocheted piece came in a jumble of doilies and bureau scarves from my father.  My mother and paternal grandmother were both known for crocheting such delicate creations; I'm leaning toward the latter for credit, though I can't be sure.

Whomever it was...was the piece meant to represent the folk tale?  We may never know.  But now that my head and heart have made the connection, I'll be sure to pass along the art and the book together, for the next generation to ponder.

Tuesday Slice: Poetic moments

Yellow leaves

flit and flutter

on an autumn breeze

like unseasonable butterflies.

*******

"Why are you looking at me?",

his manchild smile chuckles

from across the table.

"Mamas like feeding their babies good food,"

I say, echoing his smile.

"Babies like eating their mama's good food,"

he says, diving back into his dinner.

********

We decorate for Christmas

more slowly these days

Bits and pieces placed over weeks 

instead of a week-end

Picking up remnants of Halloween and

Thanksgiving and last Christmas

as we go.

Slower, yes, but the decorations do go up.

They must go up; they have to go up.

To not do so is admitting defeat.

*********

"Don't you miss her?"

people say about my Japangirl.

"Of course I do,"

I answer, but

there's texting, and video chatting

and emails, and global express mail.

And then I think

How did my parents survive

dragging me and my brother around the globe

without texting, and video chatting

and emails, and global express mail?

Another brick gets placed in their pedestals.

**********

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.

Tradition says to say it twice

but three's my number.

No one is ever around to hear it

but I say it aloud, anyway.

Not unlike talking to the saints and angels

when I'm looking for something 

in the clutter of home.

Happy first day of December, fellow Slicers!

Tuesday Slice: Imposing boundaries

 

Today's writing prompt:  

"Setting boundaries is an important act of self-care.  Now is a good time to start practicing the art of saying "no" when you need to." 

This week, looking through the lens of boundaries:

Of place

There are nationwide recommendations to stay home this Thanksgiving and celebrate with just your household members.  We usually have a single friend over, but he recognizes the possible danger and will not be joining us for dinner.  Our son is coming home from college, which means we will all have "asymptomatic carrier" worries about each other this week.  

Of time

There are deadlines to meet this week--the buying and shipping of gifts, cleaning, and yes, lesson planning.  I feel the need to take advantage of a week off of work to begin holiday preparations that are hard to do at the end of ten hour workdays.  I love to bake, but it takes time and energy.  I am doing my best to get a decent night's sleep as often as possible, for mental and physical health--and that takes time, too.

Of available space

Nothing like a week at home to make you take a hard look at piles of clutter.  After trying several other decluttering methods, I am going to take the "one square foot" approach--just focus on one square foot at a time.  The boundaries of available space are also affecting gift-buying decisions for both our home and our children.  One is getting ready to move from Japan and doesn't want/ need anything more to pack, and the other is beginning to adopt a Marie Kondo sensibility.  I love the idea of experiential gifts...but going back to boundaries of place due to COVID19...sigh.

Of physical health

I have hit my personal upper limit of weight, with boundaries imposed by clothes that don't fit and various other symptoms that I know are brought on by an unhealthy percentage of body fat.  This boundary is hard to grapple with during a season of feasting. I need to use "no" more often it comes to placating myself with food, and view such as an act of self-care.

I read once or twice that self-care isn't necessarily bubble baths and chocolate bonbons, but rather doing those things that bring you health and peace of mind--like spending time with family, getting enough sleep and exercise and good-for-you food, cleaning your space to avoid a feeling of chaos in your home.  I'll have to work on saying "no" to the things that get in the way of doing just that.

Tuesday Slice: College bookends

 

My dad sent me this picture, packed in an enormous box with floor liners for my car.  It's the presentation of my National Merit Scholarship from Raytheon, the company he worked for after retiring from the U.S. Army.  The hair, the clothes, my teeny tiny waist--can you hear 1984 calling?

More importantly, can you see the joy in my parents' faces, the grin under my father's mustache, my mother's smiling cheeks?  This moment solidified the fact that I was going to college, an opportunity that eluded them and the generations  before them.  I was the first.  My brother joined the U.S. Air Force, and has since accumulated even more degrees.  

Our successful, non-college-educated parents produced two college-educated children; my niece will be the third grandchild following that path as she heads to college next year. 

I received a picture last night from my son, my baby, who will be graduating this coming May.  The coincidence of both of these photos arriving in the same week brought a smile to my face.  One just beginning college, the other getting ready to graduate.  Fine bookends, indeed.

Tuesday Slice: Scents of a melting pot on the eve of good news

The scents of a melting pot on the eve of good news

Came through doors opening

As I handed out books to those who had none

Little eyes beaming, older eyes grateful

Some heads covered, some dotted foreheads

A rainbow of garments and fleshtones

Curry and peppers and onion drifted past their smiles

Assaulting my masked nose, making my mouth water

I heard the laughter and playful screams of children

Saw mothers watching from the doorsteps

Beaten-up bikes piled, unlocked, at metal posts by my car

My name was called; I stopped, turned to see a child breathless, smiling

Followed by a half dozen more

You're not at school!  Why are you here?  Where do you live?  

Can you see my apartment?  There, with the open window!

Such pride and joy in his voice

*******

The next morning, my own child on the phone--

Have you heard the news?  They called the election!

There is hope.  There is hope.  There is hope.

For more information on Foundation Communities, visit https://foundcom.org/

Tuesday Slice: My head in the sand

Aside from posting my blogs, changing my Halloween Facebook cover photo and profile picture, and Tweeting out my library happenings, I have been staying away from social media and the news as much as possible since Saturday afternoon.

I have done my civic duty by voting.  My family and friends have done the same.  My daughter FedExed her ballot from Japan; my son drove home from college to cast his vote early.

I participated in this democratic process, but I will not play the waiting game. This year has been enough of a stressor to willfully put myself in a heightened state of anxiety, and to what end?  Watching and scrolling will not change the outcome.  There is sleep to be had, and students to be served, and laundry to be done.  That cobweb in the corner of the window must be taken care of.  

I wish I was full of hope, like I was four years ago.  But so many people have accepted the plethora of lies and misinformation as truths from the current occupant of the White House that I am disheartened.  And social media has been the weapon of choice for those who would like to see us divided, who count on our greed and need for instant gratification that keeps us from investigating sources of information, reading past the headlines and first paragraphs, thinking before sharing.  It's the modern day version of "loose lips sink ships"; instead of divulging secrets, it's the spreading of misinformation that our enemies are using to attack our country.  

So I am staying away from consuming social media and the news this week.  The drama will be played out by those with much bigger roles.  I'll wait until the dust settles a bit; then, like a teenager watching a horror movie, I'll peek from between my fingers to see if it's safe to engage again.

Tuesday Slice: Unexpected memories

Autumnal spice

Bought on a whim

A night-time treat, if you will

The pink gel hits my tongue

Red Hots candy comes to mind

though not as fiery

My grandfather's mouthwash

by his bathroom sink

Tiny sticks of Trident flavoring

high school kisses

I didn't know that I was buying memories

in a tube of toothpaste.

Well played, Crest, well played.

Tuesday Slice: Sixth and seventh first days of school

A little over a month ago, I wrote about the five first days we had experienced in this COVID-altered school year.  Yesterday was the sixth first day; I'll experience my own personal seventh next Tuesday.

October 19th marked the beginning of a new grading period, and parents had a choice to change their child's placement as at-home or on-campus learners.  As a result, sixty more students joined us, bring our school to forty-six percent capacity.  Classes were shuffled yet again as virtual and in-person teachers alike became hybrid--teaching students at-home and in-person at the same time--to safely space students in their rooms.  The master schedule changed; students started going to music, art, and p.e. instead of following asynchronous lessons.

More than a few teachers were feeling overwhelmed.  Attending to students in class and on a screen sounds easy if you're thinking of college lectures, but wrangling the attention of "virtual" elementary students who aren't necessarily used to sharing their onscreen time with in-school classmates, coupled with the distractions of home, is another matter.  Newly grouped students meant repeating the first-day tasks of classroom expectations and getting-to-know-you exercises, which must have felt odd alongside the second nine weeks' curriculum.  Specials teachers went from covering two classes a day of asynchronous lessons to a full day of in-person students.

Last Wednesday, with the support of my administrators, I made the decision to not have library this week.  The master schedule was being worked on and tweaked up until the last minute, and I couldn't bring myself to ask my teachers to accommodate yet another new thing, knowing what this week would be like for them. I'm surveying them to find out who's comfortable coming to the library, and/or sending small groups to check out.  Most of my classes will still be virtual, meeting the needs of the many hybrid and handful of virtual-only classes.  Time will be built into the new library schedule to wipe down tables between visits. We're surveying students about their home libraries and building bundles of donated books to distribute.  I need to set up space to teach in person again, too.

Next Tuesday will be my personal seventh first day of school, as I welcome some students and staff back into the library.  There will still be book deliveries and online classes; I will become a hybrid teacher librarian.

Tuesday Slice: Alphabet soup

 

Our prompt today:

And so I give you the alphabet soup of my thoughts today.

Mason, Gaby, and Junki are my children.

The words on each line are not necessarily connected, for me...

perhaps they will be, for you.

Anxiety, acceptance

Biden, birthdays, ballots

COVID19, cooperation

Democrat, democracy

Eddie Van Halen, educators

Fear, friends

Gaby, graduation, goodbyes

Help, holidays

Immigration, insight, isolation

Junki, Japan

Knowledge, keyboards, kindness

Lifelines, laughter

Mason, managing, masks

Naps, nitpicking

Overwhelm, opposition

Pedagogy, pacing

Quiet, questioning

Republican, re-public, rest

Students, self-care

Trump, technology, testing

University, unity

Vaccine, voting, veracity

Weather, welcomes

Xenophobia

Yelling, yesterdays

Zillionaires, zigzagging, zen.

Tuesday Slice: PE flashbacks

 

I am covering classes while they have asynchronous "specials" time

The teachers grabbing their laptops with a quick thanks on their way out the door

as they hurry off to plan

Tuesdays for art, Wednesdays for music, Thursdays for Spanish

I love these days

Shapes and Play-doh, singing and clapping, practicing my vocabulary

Especially with the four-year-olds who sing while they draw 

and ask for music every day

But Mondays and Fridays are for PE

Because of COVID, not the PE of my youth with kickball and dodgeball and softball and basketball, the balls refusing to work properly with my hands and feet 

(or was it my hands and feet refusing to work properly with the balls)

the mile runs that left me winded behind my class, always the last to finish

the skills tests that marked me with a B for effort--thank God for credit for trying

Those memories came rushing back as I stood in my library office

Hesitating before duty called me to yet another PE class

Knowing it would be filled with jumping jacks and squats (I can do those), ski hops and floor pushups (nope), kicks and punches (okay), scissor running (my feet don't do that)

But I try, modify, because I know if I don't, they won't

I do my best, make mistakes, laugh them off to squelch the ten-year-old inside of me yelling "You are INADEQUATE"

Realizing that the ten-year-olds in PE can't see her anyway

I'm just that old librarian covering their PE class.

Tuesday Slice: Coleslaw

I know the answer before I ask, but ask it anyway.

"You don't eat coleslaw, right?"

"No," he says, and then proceeds to tell me all the different, other ways he will eat cabbage.  He knows he's not changing my mind by telling me.

Half a head, then.  The stemmed half gets bagged and refrigerated, and I turn back to the thin plastic chopping board.  There's something satisfying about slicing through the densely packed leaves, first one way, then the other.  A moment's hesitation trying to remember if there is onion in the recipe...I think there is, but I'm not in an onion mood tonight.

Kitchen memories of my mother and her mother surface as I finish chopping and transfer the last pale green bits to an old white, plastic bowl. The knife and board go into the sink.  I retrieve my favorite, red-handled spoonula.  My lack of spatial intelligence is evident once again, as the utensil refuses to fit in the mouth of the Hellman's mayonnaise jar.  A large soup spoon does the trick, and I add three big plops of that creamy goodness to the cabbage.  The spoonula does quick work of folding it all together.  I add one more spoonful of mayo for good measure.

Now the seasonings.  Salt, pepper, celery seed.  The scent of that last ingredient takes me back to those few summers I had with my grandparents in between my father's duty stations, the hot dogs-and-hamburgers cookouts my parents hosted for friends.

I add a bit more celery seed, for memory's sake.  The coleslaw is mine, all mine, and I don't mind a bit.

Tuesday Slice: Thank God for small favors

 

On this autumnal equinox

in a pandemic of global proportions

in an election year hampered by bots and trolls

in a hurricane season spinning past the alphabet

in a country, state, city of unrest and hateful acts

I am witness to kindness and understanding

I am safe in a house with a solid roof

I am registered to vote, and information literate

I am cared for by family and employers

***

On this autumnal equinox

coffee in hand

sounds of rainfall

meditative breaths

thankful for small favors.

Tuesday Slice: Fifth first day of the school year

 

My first official day on the school calendar was August 4th.  I had been working for a few days prior, getting the lay of the land in my new but familiar library.  We had to fill in a spreadsheet marking our comings and goings, limited time slots ensuring the ability to social distance.  Technically, I was not required to be on campus, but much of the work I had to accomplish couldn't be done virtually.  Some meeting days were spent at home, reminding me of our shelter-in-place spring.

The teachers' first official day was August 10th, a trade day for summer training, so the staff met virtually for the first time on the 11th.  Another day of online meetings; was I on campus, or off?  I can't remember, as my schedule seemed to change every day.  A few more teachers crossed paths with me on campus, but not many as the district was still honing its cleaning protocols and promoting work from home.  The focus of preparation was our new learning management system, confiscating days of training.

The students' first official day was August 20th--a virtual back-to-school riddled with technological glitches. Librarians joined instructional tech staff and educational assistants in a network of help desks, answering questions about logging in to the new LMS, Google Meets, and connectivity.  Two weeks into virtual schooling, the dust began to settle a bit.

The teachers' first official day on campus was September 8th, an asynchronous learning day for students so teachers could be trained once again, only this time for on-campus COVID protocols.  Rooms were finally set up, but sparsely to allow the social distancing of roughly thirty percent of the student population whose parents opted for in-person learning. Schedules must allow time for regular cleaning throughout the day.  

The in-person students' first day is today.  Orientation now includes presentations on social distancing, wearing masks, and using the hand sanitizing stations.  Support staff like myself are being used in novel ways; on our campus, we are assigned specific classes to monitor during specials as students remain in their classrooms, to allow their teachers planning time and keep bubbles as contained as possible. Class sizes were still changing as of yesterday, as parents were making last-minute decisions to keep their students at home.

Two more "first days" than usual for me; I wonder if there will be any more as we navigate this unmapped COVID landscape?  The optimist in me thinks that our sanitizing and distancing efforts will bring low risk of infection and a fairly healthy fall semester; the realist in me knows that we are dealing with many "bubbles" intersecting with our campus, and that children's behavior doesn't always fall neatly within protocols.

Mask, face shield, and sanitizer in hand, I venture into the fifth first day of school this year.

Tuesday Slice: Half lives

 

Did my mother stop and ponder, that March at forty-two?

Maybe she was too busy preparing for her last trans-Atlantic move, figuring out which household items to pack, already missing the German landscape she'd be trading in for El Paso tumbleweeds once more in May.  Maybe she was looking forward to my college graduation--or worried because it was one more event to attend during that transition.  

My mother, at twenty-one:  married, living in Paris with my Army father, navigating her first time overseas.  Giving birth without her own mother nearby.  She would have to pack up and move just six months later.  My mother is so young, in those black-and-white photos stored in the cabinet.  Did she think about this, that March of my twenty-first birthday?

Me, at twenty-one:  barely surviving student teaching.  Worried about getting a job after that May graduation.  Happy to be "legal" again (the law changed when I was nineteen).  Boyfriend, yes, but thoughts of marriage and children were only lightly discussed, certainly not planned.

Life's path has a way of twisting in unseen directions.  In three years I would be married (not to the boyfriend of twenty-one).  In three more, I became a mother.

That was a half-life ago.

Me, at twenty-seven:  considering leaving the teaching profession that March, that intention set in stone when I found out I was pregnant.  Thankful for that decision when my baby was born at twenty-six weeks in September.  Worried about her health, her future.

My daughter, at twenty-seven:  married, beginning her last year as a JET-ALT in Japan, preparing for another trans-Pacific move next summer.  Trying to make the most of the time she has left overseas, even as she prepares for life back in the U.S. She has the gumption of her grandmother, her birthday-mate. 

Me, at fifty-four:  grateful for unplanned blessings, for what I've experienced and learned these last twenty-seven years. 

Tuesday Slice: September, lyrical

"Thirty days hath September,..."  

I paused this morning and realized the poem begins with September, not January.  This is the first full month of school for many students and teachers, so maybe the nursery rhyme decided to follow suit.  I've been an educator long enough to appreciate this extra New Year of sorts; it certainly takes more preparation and has more impact than January first.  This September brings its challenges as we begin our year as we ended it, in pandemic mode.

"September morn

We danced until the night

Became a brand new day...

Look at what you've done

Why, you've become a grown-up girl..."

Ah, Neil Diamond.  My mother was a fan, and so am I.  There's always a wistful longing in his voice as he sings his stories.  Didn't we all grow up just a little more each September, as we crossed thresholds into new classrooms, cafeterias, colleges? We were a military family; I attended eight schools before graduating, and went to college six hundred miles away from my mother and brother--who then moved to Germany to accompany my father.  I had no choice that September, that year, but to become a grown-up girl.

"Do you remember the 21st night of September?

Love was changing the minds of pretenders

While chasing the clouds away..."

I can't help but dance and sing along when this song plays on the radio.  Another season begins this month, the equinox celebrated by Earth, Wind and Fire.  Fall is my favorite season--the promise of summer's heat breaking with cooler nights, the happy preparation for the coming holidays, a moment to pause and be thankful.  I will be decorating my house with fall colors this coming Labor Day weekend, even as temperatures threaten to remain in the triple digits.

Rabbit, rabbit is what we say on the first day of a new month, for luck.  May this September, this month of beginnings, bring us all a bit of luck, a portion of hope, and in this pandemic--health.

Tuesday Slice: My current situation in song

 

I have more empathy for telephone-based tech support these days, as I help parents and students find their way to their teachers' Google Meet and Schoology virtual classrooms.  We are all learning to navigate online together.

Like Shakira, my hips don't lie.  They're telling me that they don't like sitting in an office chair for forty-five minutes out of every hour.  I've never considered myself athletic, but the carpal tunnel symptoms and trigger finger I wake up with every morning and the hips that have to be unlocked every time I rise from my seat are evidence that my body needs to move to be healthy.

Equity is a focal point of our district and campus this year.  I've returned to the Title I school in my neighborhood after seven years at an upper-SES campus, and the difference between the two with this odd beginning is glaring.  I'm seeing images in my social media feed of creatively crafted learning spaces with gamer headphones and a laptop for each child  that look like mini-classrooms from the latter,  while we are still making sure families have devices and teaching them to make quiet learning corners at the former.

I couldn't bring myself to watch the RNC on television last night.  My heart and stomach ache at the very thought.  To be fair, I didn't watch a lot of the DNC either, except a bit of the roll call, which made me smile and brought me joy.

Music keeps me going these days.  Enjoy the playlist..

Tuesday Slice: Kitchen table talk about social studies

 

My collegeboy is about to wrap up his three week staycation at home, in between apartment moves.  I've enjoyed his company; we have interesting conversations, and he's not afraid to challenge my thinking when he has experience and knowledge to back up his assertions.  Lest you think we argue a lot--we don't.  We had a spirited meeting of the minds across the kitchen table the other day on the topic of teaching social studies.

Yes...social studies.  

The setting:  the TV has been set to PBS travel shows all day long as background noise. Collegeboy and I start talking about travel show hosts--Rick Steves, in particular, whom I've had the pleasure of seeing in person at a librarians' conference.  He was a keynote speaker, and none too shy about sharing his views on the importance of travel and understanding different cultures at a person-to-person level as a way of gaining world peace.

Talk of travel led to talk of geography and history which led to the teaching of those subjects and the timing of that teaching in our curriculum.  Fifteen minutes into this conversation, we had concocted our own scope and sequence.  I present it to you as "what ifs".

What if...

social studies in elementary schools deeply focused on geography and culture, starting at home and working its way out into the world by fifth grade?  Maps and globes, families and food, music and art, clothing and religion and celebrations are common, tangible, understandable concepts that humanize the inhabitants of our shared planet.  Concrete does not imply simplicity: real discussions could happen about differences and similarities and shared needs and dreams.

What if...

history was taught from middle school through high school, starting at home and working its way out into the world by graduation?  With a solid background in geography and culture, the events would no longer be seen as disparate dates involving a blank setting and faceless actors.  History wouldn't be seen as a straightforward timeline of exploration and wars and outcomes in black and white.  Students would be old enough to think about the gray areas, explore bias in the record-keeping, discuss the perspectives of the conquerors and the conquered.

What if...

teaching social studies this way, with an emphasis on humanity, helped make us more understanding of our role in history and the caretaking of our world--and each other?

I'm going to miss collegboy when he returns to his university this week.

Tuesday Slice: Back to school musings

 

One full week into the work calendar...some thoughts:

Teachers all over the country are adjusting their bedtimes and alarm clocks.  Some of my teacher friends have been doing the go-to-bed-a-little-earlier, wake-up-a-little-earlier method.  Bedtime for me isn't so much about minutes as it is "Star Trek" episodes.  My summer escape from coronavirus chaos has been two to three hours of "Star Trek" each night, Sunday through Friday, on a station that runs episodes from five series--the original, then "Next Generation", "Deep Space Nine", "Voyager", and "Enterprise", ending at midnight.  Some nights I was up until midnight; most of the time I fell asleep to the opening theme song of the last showing.  This past week I've cut back to a few minutes into "Voyager"...but I really need to turn off the TV halfway through "Next Generation" if I'm going to achieve waking up at 430a again.

It's been nice having our college boy home, and the time has gone by fast.  I realized with a shock that he heads back north in eight days, which means we'll be following in ten days to move the rest of his belongings to his new apartment.  He's been working hard on internship applications, a requirement for his final semester.  His college graduation in December is a testament to his willpower to overcome adversity--he began his freshman year three years ago on a liquid diet, barely able to open his mouth after major jaw surgery. I admire his perseverance!

As I was moving some of my stuff into school yesterday, a family approached and asked about registration.  After checking in with the registrar, I was able to give them the details about registering online.  They were so appreciative, and their little girl waved at me and said goodbye with a smile in her voice.  I hope she heard the smile in mine as we communicated with masked faces.  My heart leapt a little at this first student interaction, grateful that our first impressions were positive.  

I felt a sense of accomplishment this week when I was able to clear almost two tables of items in the library, and moved the contents of two boxes back into the closet which had to be emptied for HVAC work.  My library director was right--it's like eating an elephant, one bite at a time.  In a way, I'm thankful that school is virtual for the first three weeks, giving me the gift of time to sort this out.

Today is the first gathering of all of the teaching staff, old and new.  It will be nice to "see" everyone in one place, even if on a screen, to get a feel for my new learning community.  I'm heading back into the library this afternoon to get some work done and help teachers check out needed items.  We can do this together, teacher friends! 

Tuesday Slice: And so it begins

Today is my first official workday for the 20-21 school year.  

Some things are the same.  Yesterday I planned my clothes for the week.  I set my alarm for three-plus-a-quarter hours before my first scheduled meeting, then hit the snooze twice.  I am grateful that our activities begin at 830a, like every starting week has been for as long as I can remember.  The dreaded 430a alarm can wait until next Monday.

I am dressed for a walk, hoping there will be time to get some fresh air after writing this Slice.  This is the same, too--reestablishing an exercise routine with the start of school.

Our first obligation is an all-hands-on-deck, all-day librarians' meeting.  That's pretty typical.  

But...instead of factoring in drive time to a district workshop or colleague's library, I'll be booting up my laptop in my study, praying it doesn't crash as my instructional tech support warned me about yesterday via text messages.

I'll be staring, once again, at tiny faces in boxes, hoping that when we separate into breakout rooms that I'll be able to participate--it didn't work the last time I tried.

I will probably find myself slipping into multitasking, popping over to my inbox to answer emails.  I'll turn off my camera to stand up and walk in place, trying to unlock the hips that can't handle more than 40 minutes of sitting at a time.

After a full day on the computer, my eyes will be tired, my brain strained from focusing on those tiny boxes and deciphering delayed, stilted conversations.  I'll miss the usual banter before speakers begin; chat boxes just don't convey the same sense of community for me. 

I get to do this all over again for the next two mornings, sitting in remote training sessions on a new-to-us LMS. I'll spend the afternoons practicing what I've learned, hoping I master enough to be a master trainer for my campus.

I'm still not fully moved in to my new library.  The library itself is still a mess from being rearranged for HVAC and electrical work.  I am worried about making relationships with staff and students from afar.  

Every new school year feels a little chaotic, but it's usually the kind of chaos that can be quantified in a to-do list, the little details that we rush about to get done before the doors open to students for the first time.  This year, the chaos seems more qualitative.  Yes, we have spaces we need to prepare, but they won't be inhabited for a month...or more?  Yes, we will have a student roster, but class lists may change depending on who opts to continue learning from home...or if we all go home, in a shutdown?  The most basic, tangible tasks have all become malleable.

It will truly be one step at a time this school year.  And on that note, there's some fresh air to be had.  Good luck to my fellow educators as we begin a year like no other, hopefully never to be repeated in our careers.

Tuesday Slice: Hitting the road

Why did I pick Thursdays?  Maybe because four days into pacing the confines of my sixteen-hundred-square-foot home during COVID shelter-in-place each week hit some sort of internal limits.  Maybe because Fridays conjured images of crowded roads, people beginning their weekends early, and crowds are a no-go during a pandemic.  Maybe because I had an argument with my husband that first Thursday, and I had to escape the stifling miasma of anger recirculating with every reboot of the air conditioner.

Whatever the reason, I hit the road on June 25th.  I didn't really know where I was going, only that I wanted to avoid major highways and any sort of schedule.  I headed north and east, stopping to take some pictures on roads so quiet, I was often the only driver for miles.

There was such a sense of freedom in that drive; I decided to go out again, the following Thursday, heading south and west this time.

I didn't go as far on July ninth, only stopping to take in the views of Lake Georgetown.  It was really warm outside!

July sixteenth was the trip on which my phone died, then came back to life.  I was driving on the east side of IH35; not much to see except farmland and hay bales, but I am always drawn to wide open skies and horizons uninterrupted by buildings.  I felt I owed the car a trip through the wash after these past few drives, so I treated it to a rainbow sudsing.

Last week's trip was the last Thursday drive of the summer, so I had to make it a good one.  I mapped out a series of back country roads that took me to and around Canyon Lake.  The clouds were spectacular that day!  I got lost a couple of times...or was it just wandering?

This Thursday, I have my first leadership team meeting of the new school year.  My work calendar begins next Tuesday.  Thursday drives will have to wait until next summer.  

I am grateful for a working car, money for gas, and the opportunity to get away.  I credit these hours of focusing solely on the road and the view for maintaining some semblance of sanity, belting out songs with the radio a cathartic clearing of my lungs and my lonely worries.  Here's to the wide open, healing skies of Texas.