Scenes from Vermont

I'm back. We had a blast. Literally. Many of them, in fact, as Liz brought a whoopee cushion along. She forgot Scrabble and brought a whoopee cushion instead. You probably think it's childish, right, for four forty-something women in a ski house in Vermont to step on a whoopee cushion when things got too serious or quiet when we didn't want it to be, or sometimes just to laugh some more? In fact it was a riot. Unpretentious fun.

As far as I'm concerned, potty humor is the great equalizer. And bringing a whoopee cushion? Brilliant, Liz.

I'm already looking forward to next year.

[Heart] Note...to Lunch Club with Amy



Cajun Pot Pies with andouille sausage and shrimp

Now that I'm back at school, lunch club is back in session. I am cooking a little more--but not as much as Amy yet. I brought her a quesadilla for lunch one day, and chili another--both basic dishes that are part of my repertoire. In return I've gotten two of her latest, restaurant-worthy culinary experiments.

Last week Amy shared an absolutely luscious corn and crab chowder, and yesterday I was happy to take my care-packaged lunch home where I could properly enjoy these Cajun pot pies (she package the filling separate from the puffed pastry bowls, of course) with an appropriate beverage. They were delicious: spicy, creamy comfort food in a perfect little package.

As teachers with twenty minute lunches, we don't get to go out to eat. Ever. And making your own lunch day after day gets old fast. Changing things up with a foodie friend makes things better. That's why I [heart] lunch club.

My Challenge

Seems everywhere I turn, someone is criticizing education in America, and what we are doing wrong. Even Oprah, who values education, devoted an episode to the topic in her last season. Though she made it a point to praise the educators and schools where it is working--the implication is that in most places it is not. And in most cases, it is the educators who are being blamed for the failures. As you know, I am a teacher. So I take this personally. And I take considerable offense.

Several months ago a panel of politicians and students railed away on Meet the Press; students told stories that were patently absurd. Can it really be that a teacher regularly naps for entire class periods? And none of these children get the teacher next door? Or walk down to the office so that an administrator can rouse the sleepy teacher? Did anyone check on the veracity of this story? On the off chance they weren’t tall tales told by struggling students then by all means action should be taken. But what gets me is that any time someone tells a story, it is a variation on this theme: schools in America suck, teachers suck more. In fact, it is the fault of teachers that education sucks. Stories are taken as truth; educators aren’t given the benefit of a doubt because, as one of my colleagues likes to say, the concept of a teacher as a professional is gone. We are micromanaged, we are criticized, and we are blamed.

I challenge anyone who thinks teachers have it easy but get it all wrong to be a teacher. Go back to school, get your masters degree, and be a teacher. I dare you.

And I refer you to this opinion piece from the Hartford Courant, by Thomas Cangelosi, a reitred teacher, to read more.

[Heart] Note...to New England Lobstah

Summer does not want to quit this year. Even though many of us are back at work (ahem) and no longer able to enjoy these 80-degree days we continue to be blessed with, late September is one of New England's special gifts.

Another is Maine lobster, which I felt compelled to enjoy one last time this summer (despite the temps, fall is still in the air) the other night, and which I only needed to travel down the road to find at a restaurant whose name pays tribute to its source.

And while I would have loved to enjoy the company of Deanna and Jill, who both insist on going there when they are here from out of town, it was enough to have a lobster date without them. (Sorry, girls. I know you were jealous, but I had to text you and let you know! Should I not enjoy lobster because you both live far away?) Just me and this lobster roll, easy on the mayo, generous on the claw and tail. Dream date.

I enjoyed every bite...I [heart] lobster. I mean lobstah.

Weekend Getaway Ahead

Next weekend I am heading to Vermont for the annual family girls’ weekend at my cousin’s ski house. I am making chili, mushrooms for crostini, and maybe tortilla soup. Oh, and I sampled some crab dip at Costco today that I may have to go back and buy. (It was good enough for entertaining.) Anyway, plans are underway and we are all looking forward to the weekend and thinking about what to bring. Text messages are flying around.

Me to Donna and Kristina: I will bring the vodka this time.

D to me: Great. I will bring this lemonade soda thingy Linds bought that mixes well.

Me to D: Sounds delish. I’ll also bring tomato juice, etc. for bloodies.

D to me: I’m trying to think of a good app to bring.

Me to Kristina (ski house owner): Do you have Yahtzee and Scrabble up there?

K to me: No.

Me to K: Okay. I’ll bring Yahtzee. I’ll ask Liz to bring Scrabble. Do you need a good book to read?

Me to Liz: Will you bring Scrabble next weekend?

Liz to me: You wanna get your ass whooped?

Me to Liz: yeah right

I can’t wait!

"Cuz I’m a wOman…”

My plan yesterday afternoon was to leave school right away—that is, as soon as contractually possible (2:25), rush home, change, go to the gym, stop at Costco and Stop and Shop and get home by 4. In other words, I was going to run around like a maniac, at break neck speed, so I could get home for Oprah. It is her final season, after all.

I have watched Oprah on and off for all of her 24 seasons. Sometimes she got on my nerves, but always I was in awe of her tremendous power and influence, and respected her decision to do good things, talk about difficult topics, and to use her celebrity to affect positive change. Like her book club.

Sure, I often make snarky comments about having read certain titles before Oprah picked them for her book club, but I’m a reader, so I tend to read what’s new and, in my estimation, what’s good. Okay, that makes me a book snob, too. I suppose I read things around the same time she does, and the lag time—for current titles—more than anything probably represents production time. Shows are recorded and edited before they air, and those O logos don’t appear magically on book jackets over night. I know that. And I appreciate that she has inspired people to read, and to read good books. No offense, but I don’t think there’s been a single genre book or any formulaic fiction (read: John Grisham) on her list. (I told you I’m a book snob!) Amen, sister. Anyway…

I didn’t manage to do everything I planned yesterday, and I actually didn’t make it home by 4, but later in the evening Deanna watched the first 15 minutes on TiVo and then called to fill me in on what I missed. During the forty five minutes I did watch, I managed to go through three Kleenex tissues. I imagine this season I’ll go through a lot more of them.

She has been a great companion on my couch and on the treadmill at my gym. She has been conversation fodder for my friends and me—as has her show. And I plan to watch as many episodes as possible, but maybe from the treadmill and not my couch. Or at least not my couch after the treadmill and a thousand errands.

The Heat is On

Okay, when I said I was ready for the change of seasons, doing my part to usher in autumn with my own traditions, I in no way expected to come to school today and find the heat on in my classroom. Mainly because IT’S NOT COLD.

My plan is to try really hard not to complain this year, as every year, and attempt to focus on the positive. But it’s difficult when you start the day with the heat on in your room in September. Thank God the head custodian likes me. By second period things were looking up.

Until later in the day, when I had this discourse with a student:

When I called him over and asked him to measure 2 g of salt for me on our electronic balance, he says (with attitude), “What’s the point of this?”

I resist the urge to smack him—verbally, of course, with some barb. Cuz this is school? How does that work for you? I don’t remind him that I am the teacher and he is the student. Instead, I answer calmly, “so that I can be sure you know how to use the balances during lab.” (Which, incidentally, he did not.)

Without acknowledging my response or the sound pedagogy of the exercise, he changes the subject, and challenges me again. “I’m pretty sure it’s a scale,” he says.

Again, I don’t hit him, belittle him, or berate him although clearly he has an attitude problem and an issue with respect. It’s not until he walks away that I wonder if his parents are divorced; I wonder if he treats his mother like sh*t too. While he stands in front of me I show great restraint. “Um, no, it’s an electronic balance.”

He repeats again his assertion that I am wrong, “No, it’s a scale.”

I make him make eye contact with me. “It’s an electronic balance.”

He sees clip art of an old fashioned balance on his worksheet, points and says, “I’m pretty sure that’s a balance.”

“It is,” I say. “That’s why this one is an ELECTRONIC balance.”

At least the heat was off at that point. At least I had that.

Tomorrow I'll try again to stay positive all day.