Where’s the Bunny? Encore.

Here’s an oldie but a goodie. The room looks totally different now, many years later. Amigo no longer plays host to a bunny. If he did, we’d have electrical cords galore to hide. This small bunny was very special; here’s one part of his story.

This little bunny moved into Amigo’s room from his outdoor hutch when winter hit. Chuck has been working in Amigo’s room, remodeling and repainting, and the small rabbit has found new places to hide and hang out and do rabbit things, like bathe and nap. Can you find him?

Okay, I give in. Here he is. He has taken this shelf, temporarily stashed in the middle of the room and currently empty of Braille books, as his own.

Cute, huh?

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And Still More Adventures in Slow Cooking

It was one of Those Days. Around 3:00, I suddenly wondered if I’d actually plugged in the crock pot that morning. I’d been tired, really dragging, and thought I’d better throw something in the crock pot because I had plenty of food in the house and no excuse to order pizza. Uh-huh, that was my rationale.

I threw a few chicken breasts, a large jalapeno pepper, and a handful of cherry tomatoes – all frozen – with a little veggie broth (it was handy). I turned the switch to low and got ready to leave for the day. The plan was chicken fajitas. Upon arriving home, I would only need to shred the cooked chicken, add taco seasoning, and cook a few veggies in the steamer. That is, I would only need to do all of that if I’d remembered to plug in the crock that morning.

Everything but the broth was frozen when it landed in the pot that morning. If I hadn’t plugged it in, I rationalized, the food would be thawed, but probably still edible. Pizza would be fine. The boys would not object, I was sure.

Well? What do you think, readers? Did I have enough wits about me to plug in the crock pot and get it going in my sleep dazed pre-coffee condition?

Yes. Yes, I’d plugged it in, probably on autopilot. We had fajitas for supper, and I made ice cream later that night. Oh, and I made a vegetable broth, too, with the carrot peelings and few other random scraps. After all was said and done, I felt motivated to spend some quality time in the kitchen.

Readers, have you had moments like this? Moments when you really questioned your own actions or lack thereof, and the result could have ended up in the hands of delivery pizza?

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Synthesis: a high level key to comprehension

I’ve shared this with my coworkers by email, with most of my social networks, and with friends and family. Just in case I missed anyone who works with children or just wants to know more about teaching read, here’s the latest.

It’s synthesis. It’s all about putting thoughts together. Check it out. 

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How to Confuse the Poll Workers

The story you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect – aw, heck, the names have been changed. That’s all.

Actual email from Chuck on the morning of a small election (primary for State Supreme Court Justice): 

And! I did vote.
I was number 15.
Funny thing, Chuck Jones and wife were right in front of me. I’ll pick up after Mrs. Jones voted.
 Little Old Election Lady: Please take your ID out and hand it to me so I can read it.  Then say your name loud enough so I can hear it. And what’s your address?
 Chuck Jones: Charles Jones. 521 West Pickle Street.
 LOEL: Nope. That’s not what it says here.
 Chuck J: What? Let me see.  (She shows him his ID and points.) Ummm, that’s my middle name. Charles Richard Jones.  The last name is just above, see?
 LOEL: Oh, OK. Here, you’re number 14.
 Chuck Koala  (Anticipating, I’ve already got my card out.) Charles Koala, 522  West Pickle Street. (a little emphasis on the 2)
 LOEL: Charles? What? Same address? (A little back and forth, then) OK. You’re number 15.
 Next Person: Charles… (I didn’t catch his last name) … on Pickle Street. (It was a neighbor I don’t know well from down around South Street. I was gone by then.  Poor Little Old Lady.)
And so it goes – like sands through the hourglass, these are the stories of Pickle Street (all of two blocks long) goes to the polls.
Readers, did you have any adventures or stories to tell from the first election requiring IDs?

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Slow Cookin’ Again

That could be a country song title, I believe. “Slow cookin’, just slow cookin’ my life away.” Work with it, folks, and when you win your Grammy, make sure you tell the world that you got the idea from Daisy at Compost Happens.

But anyway, back to business. I may have set a new record last week: four days out of seven, I used a crock pot.  Monday: brunch casserole for supper. This dish of eggs, milk, herbs, and whatever strikes my fancy simmered all day on a low heat. When I got home after school, it was almost done. I cooked up maple sausages on the side, and we were ready to eat.

Tuesday: butternut squash. Or did I make that on Sunday? It was a rather large squash I’d bought at a September farm market. I skinned and chopped a little more than half of it, added a little broth and butter, and let it cook all day on low. Yum. It was a little heavy on the liquid, so I drained it through a colander before mashing it all. Delicious.

Wednesday: I had a staff meeting after school, so I knew I wouldn’t have much time to cook. Out came the big crock, and in went the chili. Amigo added noodles and stirred the mix late in the afternoon for a good Wisconsin chili mac, and it was ready when I walked in after my meeting.

Then Saturday rolled around. Chuck was out of town, so I made something Amigo and I like that Chuck can’t stand: lamb stew. I had a container in the freezer, so I dumped it into a small crock on low. Amigo and I had it with leftover rice. It was very good, I must say, and very low maintenance.

This week promises to be busy, but not quite as busy as last week was. The crocks might stay in the cupboard. Then again, maybe they won’t.

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Oh, Dear, What can the Matter Be?

No, don’t answer that. In fact, don’t you dare even think “What else could go wrong?!”

It started with the Kwik Trip. I usually stop by the neighborhood Kwik Trip convenience store for coffee on Fridays. Today, they were out of hazelnut, my preferred flavor. I took Kona blend instead. I should have stopped right there and gone home.

But no, I kept plugging away. I headed to work, Kona blend in hand. I made it to my cubicle without incident and turned on my computer. That’s when this happened.

Oh, dear. This looks serious.

Oh, dear. This looks serious.

computer monitor more trouble

When my computer finally came on, I emailed these two pictures to Helpdesk. She promised help right away. The techie (an intern, it turned out) came up within minutes. He rebooted the computer to watch the show, and guess what — nothing happened.

So after my morning classes, I walked away to get my attendance from the printer, and when I came back, the computer had shut down. On its own, it had quit. Neither monitor was on. I turned it back on, and the light show began. I took video this time. The blue-green phase lasted almost 3 minutes. I gave up and called Helpdesk.

I reached the voice mail. I left a message with my name and location, yada yada yada, and then wandered off to have my own lunch (sushi — we’d ordered out).

My chopsticks broke. I got a sliver from one of them. And I didn’t get a fortune cookie, either. That’s what happens, I guess, when I order Japanese sushi from the Chinese restaurant. I should have given up then.

But no. I still had one more class to teach and a number of phone calls on my to-do list. I moved to an unoccupied cubicle, logged into my classroom, and finished the afternoon. After that, the principal told me IT had been back, replaced a cord, and left. I refrained from jumping up and down and cheering, and turned on the computer. One. More. Time.

Then this came up.

AAAAARGH!!!

AAAAARGH!!!

Eventually, the reboot finished, and all appeared to be well. I made a few phone calls, cleared my email inboxes, wiped down the entire desk with cleaning wipes, and turned everything off.

Monday, if they’re out of my coffee at the Kwik Trip, I might just turn around and go home.

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SCOTUS – the conflict begins.

Amigo, my favorite news junkie, announced the news: Supreme Court Antonin Scalia found dead at age 79, most likely of natural causes.

My first reaction: wow.

My second reaction: I hope President Obama makes a nomination quickly, because today’s Congress and Senate will fight him tooth and nail. The approval process may linger until Obama’s successor is elected and inaugurated.

Social Media and traditional outlets were going wild with both the news and the reactions. Here’s a taste.

“I am stunned by the loss of Justice Scalia…And while I frequently disagreed with Justice Scalia’s views, our country will remember him as one of the most powerful and consequential voices of his generation.” – Russ Feingold, candidate for Senate in Wisconsin

Control of the nation’s top court now hangs in the balance. –Huffington Post

Next, unfortunately, came several headlines and links exclaiming “GOP vows to block any Obama nominee!”

Make no mistake, people. President Obama is the type of person who probably put a plan in place early in his tenure in case the opportunity arose to nominate a new justice. This is the type of appointment that can have an impact long after he leaves office. A good-for-life appointment to the Supreme Court has the potential to last years beyond any legislation passed in the past 7 years – including the Affordable Care Act.

Unfortunately, President Obama’s opponents likely had a plan in place, too. Their plan is consistent in its predictability: opposition. If Obama says green, they say red. If he points up, they point down. If the President leans left, they pull to the right and pull hard.

This philosophy of obstruction reminds me of students with an ODD diagnosis – Oppositional Defiant Disorder. A young person with ODD is much like today’s ultra-conservatives. Rather than setting up their own possibilities for success, they prepare to block anything set up by another. Teaching kids with ODD is difficult because the students are all too predictable; if the teacher says out, they will say in. If the work is to be done in pen, they’ll do it in pencil, just because they can.If the teacher says “Sit down” the students might stand up, kick a chair over, or even take off running through the halls – anything but cooperate.

One philosophy we teachers learn is that it’s not important to have the last word; it’s more important to have the lasting word. Rather than push a child to the point of total refusal, we state the necessary behavior and then back off, monitoring the child while not going head to head. This gives the student the chance to save face while still complying with the teacher’s request.

In this script, President Obama is the teacher. Certain individuals (fill in the blank here, folks, you know you can) play the parts of ODD students in the drama. No matter what (or whom) he suggests, they will squeal loudly in opposition just because they can. Meanwhile, the President will work quietly and calmly behind the scenes, building rapport and gathering the votes necessary to approve the nominee. When all is said and done and the new justice is seated on the Supreme Court, President Obama will have had the lasting word – a nominee to last a lifetime.

 

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Why I Don’t Get the Morning Paper

We tried to cut our subscription to weekends only. on a typical workday, I don’t read the newspaper until after school, and by then, it’s way outdated. I’ve probably run across all the major headlines on Facebook during my lunch break.

The local paper didn’t offer a weekend subscription. The closest we could get was a Friday-Saturday-Sunday. We gave in got the three day subscription.

Then the local paper changed its subscription structure again. They extended the “weekend” to include Thursdays – no extra charge. This must be for the advertisers’ benefit. Thursdays are stuffed with flyers, and I can’t think of any other reason to add Thursday to a “weekend”.

Add to this the fact that our carrier is not the most reliable. If he were on a basketball team, he’d miss all the free throws. If he played football, he’d be constantly out of bounds. The morning paper arrives, but doesn’t always make it up onto the porch. This weekend, I finally found Thursday’s paper – on Sunday. Sunday’s paper was on the sidewalk at the foot of the steps. When I walked down to get it, I saw Thursday’s issue – tucked in behind a pile of snow, backed up against the porch steps at an angle that completely hid it from view until I came down to the sidewalk. I had to balance precariously at the edge of the snow to reach it.

So here it is, Sunday. I’ve finished the Sunday paper, and now I’m going to read Thursday’s. Maybe I’ll find something new and informative. Maybe not. Maybe the comics page will be the only page that’s actually “new”.

Readers, family, friends – do you get a daily paper? Why or why not? I’m curious.

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All I Need to Know, I Learned on Super Bowl Sunday.

The Roman Numeral for 50 is L; but 50 looks better in logos and ads.

Photos of Superb Owls are all over the Internet.

Commercials can be better than the game.

The NE Patriots are still the team we love to hate; similar to the New York Yankees.

It’s more fun to watch the Super Bowl without Tom Brady.

50 years of MVPs makes a long list.

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