Lucky

Lily first came to live with my sister and her family as a high school sophomore. Her real name is Zizhui. She was an international student from China and she has been a part of our family ever since.

It was August of 2013 when Lily arrived, two days before my dad's birthday. When it came time for the birthday celebration, she sang Happy Birthday to Dad in Chinese. He smiled from ear to ear and a friendship was born.

It didn't take long for all of us to see Lily as more than a visitor. Since then she has spent many a Thanksgiving with us- she's always in charge of rolls. I don't think anyone will forget the first year my sister, Jeen, told her she'd be handling the dinner rolls. She looked at my sister and with perfect comedic timing asked, "What is roll?" 

Now she proudly shows off her dinner rolls to her mom in Shanghai- who always calls in to say hello on Thanksgiving.

Covid has had its silver linings. Due to travel restrictions, Lily hasn't been home since December of 2019. I know she's missed her family in China. But her American family has enjoyed every moment she's spent with us.

Interrupted Silence

One thing you don't expect when working after contract hours is a fire drill. It was just about 30 minutes after the last bell. I was settled in at my desk trying to get ahead of some work for the next unit when the alarm pierced the silence in my classroom.

I thought about trying to work through it but quickly stopped to consider that perhaps there was really a fire somewhere in the building. 

Two computers were open on my desk with a few papers scattered about. What if it really was a fire and I couldn't get back into my classroom? My car keys were in my pocket, so I quickly grabbed my bag and wallet and headed outside. I left my desk the mess that it was.

Once I got out of the building I noticed one of my English 6 colleagues. 

"Is this how they find out who's working late?" I laughed.

There was no fire. Once the all-clear was given I went back inside long enough to clean up my desk and headed back out into the sunshine and blue skies with a long walk on my mind.

Just Right

As we come closer to the end of the unit on fiction writing my students are working hard to plan, write, and illustrate a short children's story. The unit has had many iterations over the past few years. Students have written fiction stories of their own choosing with very few limits placed on length or subject. This teacher would say that wasn't a great experience as stories were either way too long or way too short.

Next, we tried a collaborative approach. For that assignment, students worked with a partner to write a short story written in epistolary form. This run had a little more success but finding short mentor texts was problematic. Although I liked the assignment it just wasn't quite right.

It was probably about 3 or 4 years ago that the English 6 team sat down to come up with a better plan. Eventually, the short children's story was hatched as the summative assessment for the fiction unit.

Finding mentor texts was not a problem. Students were familiar with the texts as they had heard them in elementary school and breaking down those texts into the building blocks of any plot diagram is pretty darn easy. Once students can see the stories they know fit the plot diagram it becomes easier for them to create their own plot chart for a story of their very own.

In turn, many students see, for the first time, that they can "do" English. 

To me? That seems just right.

S.O.S

We have been able to put up with most of the inconveniences brought on by a two-year pandemic. I pivoted to home instruction and pivoted back to the classroom for hybrid teaching. I have bought masks, so many masks. Tiny hand sanitizers can be found in many coat pockets and purses, and I have done more than my share of wiping down surfaces. I've done my best to put my head down and get on with things just like my granny taught me.

Two others in the household are having a rough time with the latest inconvenience brought on by Covid, and they are not exactly being quiet about their feelings.

Alice and Edgar would like to know what is up with the cat food shortage? In particular, where in the heck is there Fancy Feast Grilled Tuna?

Cat owners can certainly attest to the finicky nature of most felines. Edgar is the king of finicky. One day Chopped Grill Pate tastes fine and the next day he thrusts his nose straight up in the air as he walks away from his fresh bowl of food. 

He has never, ever turned away from Grilled Tuna, and right now it is the one can I can not locate anywhere. I've tried Giant, Safeway, and the Teeter. The closest I've managed to find is Ocean Whitefish and Tuna Feast in Gravy. Each bowl has been met with mediocre enthusiasm, meaning it's just a few days before that gets snubbed as well.

Purina! Help!

Dreaming

 It was a chilly Sunday but the skies were blue and the light of the day definitely had that "summer's coming" feeling.

Thanks to an early morning electrician appointment I was up and ready to go at 7:30. The electrical work was wrapped up before 9 leaving me the entire day to get out for a walk, stock up on groceries, and cook up a batch of chili. Yes, it was another productive Sunday with plenty of space for relaxing and dreaming of a Spring Break that is still 12 days away.

Finally

I'm probably one of the last people to have finally taken the time to watch the award-winning movie, Coda. The two hours I spent with the movie this afternoon was well worth the time. 

At least I'll have watched one of the Oscar-nominated films before tomorrow night's broadcast. Who knows...maybe I'll stream another nominee in the morning over coffee.

Tonight I'll be going to bed humming a little Joni Mitchell.

Weirdness

Something weird is going on. For the past three days, I've had very few kids ask to leave class for the bathroom. I probably shouldn't even say that out loud as just putting it out into the universe will no doubt jinx whatever good mojo is happening in 6th grade English right now.

Could it have something to do with the pocketful of Jolly Ranchers I have? Believe me, I know that's not exactly what the experts would suggest as a way to increase participation and engagement. 

I'll just leave you with this...Jolly Ranchers work...this week.

Remembering

Sure it's a generalization but it seems that when students show up mid-year trouble begins. At least it does in the middle school years. Honestly, the trouble isn't always the fault of the new kid. Often it's the reaction of others that creates drama and chaos.

Back in late 2019, a new student arrived in one of my classes. Information from his previous school indicated some learning deficiencies and also quite a few behavior problems. It wasn't easy but in time we developed some sort of relationship and worked together with a moderate amount of success.

That does not mean that he was a model student. There were lots of discipline issues- especially during unstructured times like changing classes and lunchtime.

And then Covid arrived as did our last day of in-person instruction.

I didn't hear much from him after that. For many students school is a place, not an idea. So the idea of working independently at home to continue to develop writing and thinking schools seemed absurd if it wasn't done at the school building. Basically, if kids weren't actually going into school then school didn't exist.

My friend didn't respond to most attempts at re-engaging the rest of that year, My co-teacher had a little bit of success by just talking with him to check in emotionally but there was next to no work completion. By the time we returned to school the next year he was back in his old district.

Like so many students from that school year, I sort of forgot all about him. Preoccupied with pandemic teaching and with my own reaction to the state of affairs has somehow erased the names of so many students from my brain. Well, it's either that or the 28 years of student names I have rattling around my head.

Yesterday, I came across the following old note from my former student:

Hi miss brown I just want to say I will miss u and hope that u stay safe and be healthy and be careful out there and don't get hurt and I'm sorry for how I act and I just hope that everything is well for you and I will miss u

He signed his name and now that I've seen it again I don't think I'll ever forget him or his message.

Remember the Good Stuff

Other teachers may have noticed that student behavior has fallen quite short of expectations since returning to the classroom this fall. Just today I read about trash can fires at the local high school and two incidents of large groups of "disorderly juveniles" creating havoc and allegedly assaulting others. Swearing is in style, as is vaping, fighting after school, and skipping class. Cell phones? That's a whole other battle.

Looking around at school it's easy to get really down about student behavior. It wouldn't be hard to go off on a tangent about "these kids today." And yes, I do that sometimes. 

I'm also blown away by other aspects of their behavior. This week one of our TA activities was to write a letter to a senior citizen that may be feeling isolated by the pandemic. Every one of my young students embraced the project- even Daniel-who pushed back at first with "What am I going to say to someone I don't even know?"-created a beautiful card with an original drawing on the front and a heartfelt message inside. 

When you're having a tough day remember there are many friends, relatives, and others that care about you, and that includes me, a 12-year-old kid you don't even know.

Another student wrote out on the front of his card, "YOU MATTER."

Almost all of the cards included a joke or a riddle.

I believe whoever ends up reading the messages created by these students will feel they matter. They'll feel good about the kindness that kids are capable of. I certainly do.

Detour

Heading home from physical therapy this afternoon I considered my options. I could head on home or I could take a quick jaunt into DC to check out the Cherry Blossoms around the Tidal Basin showing off their peak bloom. With rain forecast the next two days I headed over the Roosevelt Bridge to get a glimpse of the show.

Fortunately, DC and I are long-time friends so parking was no big deal. From my spot at 18th and E, it was an easy 15-minute walk over to the canopy of trees that rim the Tidal Basin. I crossed over Independence Avenue and entered the scene through the Mountain of Despair entry portal at the MLK Memorial. Blue skies abounded above creating a perfect backdrop for the white and pink blooms that had indeed exploded everywhere.

Most years I try to walk around to the Jefferson Memorial before continuing around toward the peddle boats and the Washington Monument in the distance. This afternoon, I decided to keep it simple. From the memorial, I hooked a left and walked along the water until I was forced to exit near a bridge. There were plenty of photo-worthy blossoms along the way.

An hour later, I was back at my car content with the decision I had made and feeling happy to live so close to such a great little city.

Remembering Her Past

It was another sleepy Monday in Grade 6 English. Our lesson on setting began by sharing responses to two questions: 1. What color is your bedroom and do you like that color? 2. What's your favorite place in the world?

Not surprisingly, many kids have white bedrooms and honestly, they're fine with that. A few talked about white walls full of scribbles on other colorings. The scribbles were courtesy of a younger brother. It was funny to find out that the coloring all over the walls was done by the student themselves at a much younger age.

Looking at the young girl who fessed up to her own bedroom graffiti it was hard to imagine the girl that I knew in class taking it upon herself to deface her own walls. The girl I know is on top of her schoolwork, appropriately behaved in class, and rather demure.

Kids. They surprise me every day.

Those Summer Nights

My grandmother's porch was the place to be on a summer afternoon and evening. The screened-in porch sat on the front of her old cedar-shingled house at a corner of two quiet streets that led to just a few other houses.

From pretty much any perch on the porch it was easy to see who was walking down the lane from Price's market up the road or who was coming over from my aunt and uncle's house just two dwellings away. Back then the road wasn't paved so it always took my feet a couple summertime visits to adjust to the ouchies they felt as I ran with my cousins from one house to the other.

Some nights there were only a few on the front porch. It might be my grandmother, my mom, and maybe another person-usually a relative I didn't really know. We kids were in and out all night, as we sprinted through to go inside for a quick drink with Mason Jars full of fireflies grasped in our hands.

Rainy nights might find us all jammed in together as we watched the summer storms light up the sky. As long as the wind wasn't blowing rain through the screens we were content to sit there and talk or play a few rounds of Go Fish.

The porch swing creaked as it swung- always a full seat, with kids and at least one adult with legs long enough to push off from the gray wooden floorboards. Approaching cars meant the dog would start barking and right on cue the rest of us would tell him to hush up.

If someone were to grant me one wish I think I'd use it to go back there for just a few more nights to soak in those people, those sounds and smells, and all that love.

Getting A Non-Doer to Do

Getting my 86 year-old mother out of her comfort zone isn't an easy task. She likes to do a few things- eat, sit in her recliner, and play Bingo on her computer. Movement- more than necessary- isn't a favorite. I can't really blame her though. She's old and things hurt, and thanks to an aging heart that hasn't exactly been well-cared for the smallest amount of exertion causes shortness of breath.

Even so, I keep trying to convince my dear old mom that just a few walks up and down the driveway might just help that neglected heart get a teeny-tiny bit stronger. For the most part, that suggestion has been ignored. 

Tonight, I realized there's only one person that can get that old gal to do something she doesn't want to do. That person is the ultimate doer himself, my brother-in-law, Michael. 

Michael, my mom, and I  had a lovely dinner in the small town of Havre De Grace. Our table offered up a nice view of the Susquehanna River just before it ends its 444-mile journey to meet up with the top of the Chesapeake Bay. Once our seafood and pasta dinner was over we drove down to the promenade that runs along the shore where river and bay meet. With the blue and pale orange skies of pre-sundown lighting up the water, it was quite a view to see. Families were everywhere, enjoying the views of water and sky. My mother was whining about walking.

"I'll sit right here in the car, while you all walk."

"Now, c'mon Mumsey," Michael insisted, "it's not a walk. You're using the wrong word. We're just going to take a stroll."

She looked over at the lighthouse about 50 yards away. Next to it was a park bench.

"I'll go as far as that bench and that's it. I'll wait for you there."

We made it as far as the bench and I tried to coax her along just a little farther.

"Mom, let's check out those carvings along the dock. They look pretty cool. Do you see that carved eagle?"

She wasn't going any farther. 

"I'll be right here when you get back"

Michael and I continued over to the dock and inspected the different wood carvings atop the pylons. There was an eagle, an owl, a woodpecker, and more lining the way. The dock wasn't quite as wide as I would have liked it to be so I wondered if taking Mom out there would have been a good idea.

And then I turned to see her heading down the dock.

"You know, from the bench," she started, " that one looks like a real duck!"

She made it all the way to the end of the dock where Michael and she stopped for a picture under the carved heron. 

We took our time heading back and even stopped to read about the British Invasion of Havre De Grace and stopped for another picture in front of the lighthouse.

By the time we returned to the car our food was a little more digested and I think my mom may have even forgotten that she took a walk. Hopefully, her heart enjoyed the exercise.

And Away We Go

The end of the workweek brings a tad of exhaustion mixed in with a heap of happiness. Knowing that I have approximately 60 hours of my own time stretched out in front of me feels good, real good.

It used to be that I would let Friday night be an evening of fun or relaxation. Whether I went out with friends or just stayed home in my PJs, Friday was never a night I concerned myself with household chores or daily exercise. Unfortunately, one evening of procrastination often led to another and Sunday became a day of dread. Instead of pacing myself through the weekend, I enjoyed hour after hour of me-time only to find Sunday filled with a list of items I needed to finish before I went to bed early that night.

Tonight, I walked in the door and headed upstairs to start laundry. Since I'm heading out of town in the morning I also put a few things aside to take pack up when I awake. Next, I laced up my shoes and headed out into the evening for a walk around the neighborhood.

The dishwasher is unloaded and dinner is cleaned up and even though it may sound like a busy Friday night I'm feeling pretty darn relaxed and ready to take on the rest of the weekend.

A Change of Tradition

St. Patrick's Day used to be one of those school days that created a bit of chaos. It seems that has changed.

Not surprisingly, Lena rolled into homeroom this morning all decked out in green. Her last name is quite Irish, plus she's the same girl that completely embraced Halloween by dressing as Doug from those Liberty Mutual commercials. She was sure to complete her costume with a stuffed emu.

A few other kids had some green on but many walked in completely unaware that there was anything different about the day. There were no flashes of green with their outfits at all. 

In the past, that may have caused some trouble because many students have thought that not wearing green meant an automatic pinch as punishment. This year, I didn't hear a word about pinching anyone and that was definitely a nice change of pace.

Leave My Clock Alone, Please

I planned well for the change to Daylight Saving Time on Sunday. At about 5:00 pm Saturday night, I moved the two kitchen clocks forward one hour. My hope was that getting an early start on my lost hour would prompt me to go to bed earlier, and in turn, make the next day easier.

When traveling I use the same technique to adjust to any time changes. For example, when I flew to Las Vegas a few years ago I quickly adjusted my old-fashioned watch to the new time zone. This practice allows me to embrace whatever time zone I'm in from the get-go. My traveling partner back then had a different approach. She preferred to state the time like, "Well, it's 2:30...but it's really 5:30." Not surprisingly, that same friend was ready for bed at 7:00 pm (really 10:00pm).

I can't say I've enjoyed the time change, getting to school with the sun just thinking about rising, but I'm adjusting.

That being said...this whole idea that we stay on Daylight Saving Time forever and never go back to Standard Time is something I can't wrap my head around. In a month, sunrise will be back to a very civilized 6:30 am and yes, those long days will have the sun setting closer to 8:00 pm. So much daylight to enjoy!

However, when I look ahead to November I see the possibility of sunrise at 8:40 am if we stick with DST. 

This teacher can not rally for darkness or twilight as so many students walk along sidewalks and streets to get to school. Besides, engaging kids on a Monday morning is hard enough. I don't want to think about what it would be like to attempt to engage them on a dark Monday morning.

Early Morning Talk

As a group, sixth graders can be self-obsessed. Nothing matters as much as themselves. 

Every morning, I watch in wonder as a few of the kids in my homeroom "converse" with one another. The part that perplexes me every time is that if three kids are conversing it merely means they are all talking at the same time. From my vantage point, it appears that no one is listening to anyone else. The talk usually revolves around some game they are playing and how many whatchamacallits they collected, or traded, or something. No one seems to care that their own words fall on deaf ears. Perhaps because if it's not about them then...?

It's no real surprise that the same small group of early morning talkers are the same ones that often miss what is said in class. Now, if only I could figure out a way to present those English lessons in a way that each student felt the lesson revolved around him or her.

In Memory of Lolly

Lolly, it seems, was quite a dog. She was the kind of pooch that didn't spend much time with new toys. Even so, her family kept trying to give them to her. Apparently, she had a few special toys and that was just enough for her.

I learned about Lolly on my walk today. My route took a different turn onto Crestwood, and I'm so glad that it did. Thanks to that turn I learned all about Lolly and the special pup that she was. Her family had left a box of her gently used toys on their stoop, along with a note about their pup.

"In loving memory of our Sweet Lolly Pup, please allow your good dog to take a toy."

There was also a picture of Sweet Lolly looking sheepishly at the camera with her paw wrapped around a small yellow stuffie. Yes, she had the face of a very sweet pup. The kind of pup that a family would love and the kind of dog that would love them right back.

A sweet girl for sure. I'm glad I got to know about her today.

Productivity Continued

I was happy to see that the snow-covered daffodils perked back up today under chilly blue skies. They remind me that warmer weather is right around the corner.

Maybe it was that hint of warmer weather that had me considering a new ceiling fan for the bedroom. By about 1:00 pm this afternoon, I had a sleek new fan purchased and had made contact with my electrician. He was in the middle of something so he agreed to call me later in the afternoon.

I made soup while I waited- an easy white bean and sausage soup that my friend Tracey told me about years ago.  As it simmered, there were papers to grade and discussion posts to review. By 3:00 pm the electrician was scheduled, the soup was made, and I was ready for a nap.

Finally

It's been about a month since I've been given the gift of an unencumbered weekend. With the last blast of winter weather coming in on Saturday it seemed like a good time to reschedule social engagements. Fun times are much better in warmer weather.

Thanks to my two feline alarm clocks I was up early. I got plenty of early morning coffee time in and then got to work on the upstairs catastrophe that was created by piles of laundry, undusted furniture, and clean clothes in need of a proper putting away.

By eleven I was downstairs working on my taxes and going through a stack of mail that had been laying on the counter for the past two weeks.

The grocery store came later because with so much free time I refused to let the bone-chilling wind and snow keep me from taking care of business.

Oh Saturday, how I love you.

Before

On this Friday two years ago I wrote about waiting, and waiting, and waiting some more as the county took its time considering how they would respond to the then-new Coronavirus. At noon on that Friday (March 13) it was announced schools would close until after Spring Break.

"Relief washed over me- I finally had an answer!"

How naive of me. I had one answer on that day. Since then there have been so many questions and answers. There have also been questions that were never, and may never be, answered.

When I see pictures from the field trip we took to Mount Vernon just three days before I wonder if we will ever return to that kind of school normalcy-another question that hopefully will get answered in time.

Waiting, so much waiting. Thankfully, if this pandemic has taught me anything, it's patience.

Ready

 It's been a minute since my black and rose gold Brook's Glycerin running shoes have hit the pavement with any kind of attitude. While this girl has been more of a walker than a runner for quite a few years now, I have enjoyed a solid walking habit since the beginning of the pandemic. That is until last month. Side-lined by shoulder surgery I haven't been out on the neighborhood sidewalks since February 8. I was feeling pretty healthy and ready to go after PT today, and with a little more daylight left,  I laced up my shoes and got moving. 

A lot can change in a month. I took in purple crocus, yellow daffodils, forsythia, and a few peeks at early-blooming redbuds. It seems so many trees, plants and flowers are ready to shed their bare winter selves and welcome some bright spring colors. 

Thank you, winter. I enjoyed that third week of winter break in January. I embraced some cold walks in December under bright blue skies. But right now? I'm ready for the beauty of spring. 

It Only Took A Laugh

My dad died on the 9th of September, and since then the 9th of every month has become a reminder of that event for my mother. Seven months later, I know if it's the 9th I should be sure to take a moment to check in with Mom to see how she's doing. After all, one of the very last things I ever said to my dad was, "don't worry, we'll all take care of Mom."

It's a difficult promise to keep at times, but I still take it very seriously. My mom has lost her rudder. She's missing the part of her whole being that always kept her on a steady path. This is not to say she can't make her own way but after more than 60 years of marriage, it's hard to imagine how that happens when you've always had a partner to depend on each day. I know I'll never be that for her, but I want to make sure I understand the days she may need a bit more support. The 9th of each month is one of those days.

I called this afternoon and she told me she had not dressed today. "It's okay, Mom. It's a cold, rainy day and your leg has been bothering you, so it really is best to stay in."

"I know," she replied. "I've been thinking about your dad today and..."

I cut her off. "I've been thinking about him too. And you know what I've been thinking?"

"What?" she replied.

I continued, "I've been thinking, he would absolutely flip if he knew how expensive gas was right now! I mean, he would not even know what to say!"

She laughed. "You're right about that!"

With that laugh, I knew that even though she would never recover from losing her husband, she just might be able to figure out how to get through some days without him.

Aye, Aye, Aye

" i went there for my cousins wedding"

" i placed them all carefully and got out 7 glass cups"

 "before i left to get to my bus stop"

These are excerpts of a few sentences written by my sixth graders this week. At least once a day, every day, I remind those very same students that the personal pronoun I is always...ALWAYS capitalized. They all nod in agreement, and yet every day I find myself reading one tiny I after another.

At this point in the year, after 6 months of daily reminders, it's hard to figure out why I am unable to fix this problem.

Don't worry, I am not about to give up, but sheesh, c'mon on people!

Things Are Looking Up

I've had a run of rough times lately. First, there was rotator cuff surgery, then there was me scratching up my car in the parking lot as I headed to Physical therapy, which was followed by a nasty sinus infection the day I returned to work. Finally, came the deterioration of mobility in my non-surgical shoulder that kept me on ice and Percocet all weekend.

At 7:30 this morning I was in the Orthopedic office to see what we could do to fix the shoulder issue. I was out the door about 20 minutes later with a nice steroid circulating around and healing my sad shoulder. With most of the rest of the day free,  I decided to spend time researching the costs of getting the needed bodywork done on the car.

It's been quite a few years since I've had to file a claim against my auto insurance so starting with the local office seemed to be the right step. Boy, am I glad I took that first step. The claims person informed me that I had an unclaimed reward so I won't have to pay any deductible to get the car fixed.

Having that piece of information made the next steps easy. I filed my claim, went in for an estimate, and set everything up to get a rental car while my car is in the shop. Unfortunately, the first available appointment for body work isn't until April 4, but I have no problem waiting that long for a free fix.

Here's hoping this is just the first of better things to come.

Seasons in the Sun

My sister, Jeen, bellowed from the back seat, "You've got to turn off the 70s station! Every song is too damn sad!"

I guess I'm so used to tuning sounds out that I wasn't even noticing. I looked in the rear view mirror with a puzzled look on my face.

"Seasons in the Sun? Knocking on Heaven's Door? Alone Again, Naturally? Really? These are not the songs I need to hear the week that my father is dying." 

Yea, that was some sad shit to hear in the car. I pushed the button and turned it off.

My father spent six days in hospice before he died on September 9. By all accounts, that's about three more days than most hospice patients.

Having those last 6 days was a treasure. Even though he wasn't conscious, my mom, two brothers, and sister, along with myself, were all there together. The original six- together to say goodbye. As my sister, Jeen, said, "If Dad was able to talk he would have said, 'this has been great'."

There were ups and downs that last week we all spent together. We collectively grimaced whenever my dad groaned, struggled to breathe, or anxiously gripped his sheets. We laughed together as we recounted memory after memory of life with Dad. I read emails from former colleagues and we beamed with pride for the kind of guy that others knew my dad to be. I can't say it was a great week, but I think my whole family can agree it was just the kind of week he would have wanted.

I said my last goodbye to Dad on Tuesday, two days before he finally let go. The plan was to get back to Virginia to get things for my job in order and return on Thursday.  It was tough to say goodbye and as I bent down to kiss him one last time I tried my best to keep myself from completely losing it. The big tears wouldn't come until I was out of the parking lot and driving around the Baltimore Beltway.

So many memories flooded my mind of the 59 years we had spent as father and daughter. It wasn't an ugly cry, just soft tears rolling down my face and a catch in my throat.

And then the radio started playing Terry Jacks as he sang "Seasons in the Sun." I laughed. Damn, Jeen was right. This is one sad song and really not what I need to hear right now.

I turned down the radio and kept driving, happy to let the memories of Dad keep me company all the way home.

Hickory Dickory Dock...cont.

 At some point, I had investigated a kinder, kill-free mouse trapping system. The condo pest control guy had left me with some glue traps but I wasn’t interested in finding a half-dead mouse struggling to escape certain death. Thanks to Amazon I had two blue plastic cylinders that offered a trap door entrance that snapped shut once the unsuspecting mouse ambled in to find where the delicious smell of peanut butter (my bait of choice) was coming from.

Right about the time the winter cold started I noticed how my cats did a lot of crouching and staring in the kitchen. They crouched and stared under the refrigerator. They crouched and stared under the stove. Before long, Alice took it upon herself to post up on the counter each night as the self-appointed kitchen sentry. Edgar has never been much of a lookout, but he’s always happy to offer his frenemy, Alice, support as needed.

Mouse hunting is quite the team effort around here, so I did my part and put out the blue no-kill traps. Two days later I had my first mouse. What a relief that it was in the trap and not in my bed.

Oh, how little I knew of the activities of the mouse world. On the morning of that first capture, I bundled up and let it go about half a block away. 

The next day another mouse found its way to the peanut butter-no doubt he or she was surprised when the door slammed behind him. It took me about 5 minutes of internet research to find out when releasing a trapped mouse it’s important to drive it at least two miles away. Otherwise, it will just return to the food source.

Before long, I was the crazy lady pulling up by a community garden two miles away to release wayward mice. For a week or two, there was a steady stream of visitors. I like to think that all those vacationing in the crawl space were taking turns exploring and then when no one returned a search party was sent out. With a search party member missing, more mouseketeers had to go out on a recon mission and each mission went through my kitchen and ended in a blue cylinder that smelled like peanut butter.

Last week there was a two-mouse night. One alive in the trap, one dead at the bottom of the steps to greet me when I came downstairs for my morning coffee. 

So…I think it’s time to call the contractor again.

Hickory, Dickory Dock

Lately, it seems I've been running some sort of mouse hostel. Oh, sure the cats are entertained but me- not so much.

The uptick in mouse activity started at the end of the summer. I guess it was just too darn humid outside for the little guys. My assumption is that a few found a cool getaway in the crawl space underneath the block of townhouses. From that vacation spot a few discovered a pathway and decided to explore. Think of it as the Brady kids exploring that cave in Hawaii. Although, the vacationing mice didn't quite meet up with Vincent Price on their little adventure.

This 60 year-old structure is full of holes thanks to all the renovations that no doubtedly occurred before I settled in over twenty years ago. Back in August one hole must have been behind the dishwasher because my cats pretty much camped out there every night. It became a real problem when my little mouser of a cat, Alice, decided to gift me a dead mouse in the middle of the night...while I was sleeping.

At least it was dead. Alice really was quite pleased with herself, so I did my best to thank her appropriately and then went about discarding it outside in the middle of the night.

The contractor was called the next day to seal up the hole behind the dishwasher. Once that thoroughfare was shut down the mouse problem was gone.

Until it started getting cold outside...more tomorrow.

Ash Wednesday For Dummies

During TA (we always called it homeroom) on Wednesday, the talk was about Ash Wednesday. My TA is a pretty diverse group- quite a few religions, races, and ethnic groups are represented. For example, Caleb always keeps us up to date on everything regarding his Jewish faith. We got a daily update throughout Hanukkah of all the evening festivities. This week he proudly informed us that Ukraine leader, Volodymyr Zelensky, is Jewish (and yes he won Dancing With the Stars too).

This week, Lena filled us in on the ins and outs of Ash Wednesday and Lent. 

"Today is Ash Wednesday," she announced as she entered the room.

Caleb asked, "What's that all about?"

Well," Lena replied, "it's a Catholic thing. We can't eat meat today or on Fridays during Lent. We have to give something up for all of Lent and on Easter, we have a big feast."

I think the nuns I had at St. Joseph's Elementary would have a few more details to add. But, honestly, at the age of 11, that pretty much sums up Ash Wednesday and all that goes with the Lenten season.

Yea, I Knew That

Yesterday marked the first day that students and teachers could forgo wearing a mask in school. It's been just about two years since I saw an unmasked student in my classroom and I was interested to see how many full faces I might see.

Day 1 didn't bring about much change. I think most kids were unaware that a change had occurred. Even though the principal covered the change in policy on the morning announcements many were oblivious to fact that things had changed. Immediately after the announcement, one student asked another teacher, "So when can we stop wearing masks?"

My colleague who was with the student at the time reminded her that the principal had just talked about that very thing. She asked the group if they knew when the masks could be removed. 

"Ummm, I think it's next week?" Questioned another student.

A second student ran into the science teacher's classroom yelling, "Ms. Workman! There are a lot of kids out there without a mask on!"

I listened to the same announcement as every other student in the school and thought it to be perfectly clear that masks could be removed as of March 1. Apparently, middle schoolers don't hear the same way I do.

I think I'll file that under..."Yea, I already knew that."

Independent Workers

 My students are busy filming their own commercials this week. That means they are out of class, set up around the building working as hard as a small group of 6th graders can work. I'm sure there is a lot of silliness in the hallways and I'm okay with that. 

The commercial project is the time of the year when the students start working in a more independent manner. Sure, there will be some shenanigans but what I like best is that when I go around and check in with each group they are all having a great deal of fun.

When I'm not walking around the school checking with each group I'm hanging in the classroom. From my desk, I'm within earshot of a group working in the classroom and another working in the team area. I can help students with any problems they are having or offer up a prop they might need. 

For the most part, no one needed a thing. And although it's a strange feeling not to be directing my students through their activities it feels pretty good.