On Wednesday, woke up to snow and then drove for an hour in fog.
On Thursday, I spilled jam on my shirt and sweater at breakfast – and I didn’t know it until I came home from school at 4:00.
But now that it’s the weekend, I can sit back and enjoy a tiny sign of spring.
Peppers!
I’m not superstitious. Not that anyone would notice, anyway. Just because we “eat the opponent” every time the Packers play and the one time I didn’t Aaron Rodgers broke his collarbone — well, anyway.
I don’t know which is the more ominous omen:
This post and the philosophy it describes came to mind recently. It came up in the context of a team meeting, and then it came to mind again when I was choosing writing samples for my Amtrak Residency application. I settled on two posts: Death and Drama, the day the sirens stopped outside our office windows, and a post with a more positive outlook, One Child a Year. Here’s the post, updated slightly to have the correct number of years teaching. Enjoy.
Beginning teachers want to change the world, put their hearts into their work, matter to someone, somehow. I have come to realize that there are limits, big limits, to the good I do through my teaching. And when it comes down to changing a life, having an impact on a child’s future, a wise co-worker told me to expect to make a difference once a year. One child a year.
At first it sounds callous, minimizing. Realize, however, that we’re not talking about everyday teaching. I teach the entire class to read, to write, to handle long division. But a life-changing impact? An impact that changes the route students will take, puts them on a path to success — or not — doesn’t happen nearly as often as idealists think.
Now, in my nineteenth year of teaching, I wonder who those children are and were. I may never know. A few may touch base with me again. Most won’t or can’t. Many don’t even realize that a teacher, any teacher, turned them around and set them in the right direction.
The victim of bullying who learned to take control might join the list. Then there’s the slacker with a high IQ who earned his first D or F and finally learned study skills. The late bloomer who discovered her favorite book ever on my shelves and realized she loved to read may feel that connection as well. But those are the easy ones.
The child whose family was evicted from their apartment, the family I helped find services for the homeless, won’t ever know that I made a difference. Her parents are too busy keeping a roof over their heads and feeding the kids to think about teachers, and that’s exactly where their priorities belong. The depressed tweens that I referred for help? The counselor made a bigger difference than I did, and again that’s just as it should be. The student who struggled with math and finally, finally “got” fractions under my watch, may be the one child for that year. Or not. It might have been the quiet student, the one who sat in the back and listened intently, absorbing everything he heard, but never saying a word.
So I keep on plugging, planning for class, differentiating for those who need it, and hoping. I hope as well that maybe, just maybe, I made a difference for someone, somehow, each year.
The Pantry Raid is a simple technique for creating a meal without running out to the store. It means raiding the refrigerator and the pantry for a few things that together might just make a meal. Let’s see how the Daisy Reality Show explains a pantry raid to the bumbling assistant director.
Daisy: Let’s see. Leftover rice, but not quite enough. I’ll add to that.
Assistant: Add what?
Daisy: Go in the back hallway, please, and pick out two cans of kidney beans. If I don’t have two, get kidney beans and something else.
Assistant (doubtful): Beans? Oooohkay.
Daisy: Trust me. She digs into the produce drawer and finds two peppers, one green and one red, about 1/4 of each left. Oh, and grab a small onion while you’re there, please!
Assistant: I haven’t figured out how any of this can actually feed a family.
Daisy: Watch me. The end result will resemble red beans and rice – a good meatless meal on its own, or one with a little meat added. She dices the peppers and the onion, throwing the onion’s peeling into the compost bucket beside the sink.
Assistant: Rice, beans, onion, peppers – now what?
Daisy: Well, that would be enough if I had a bigger batch of rice. Since I don’t, I’ll make a small pan of quinoa to stretch it. The flavors will mesh nicely.
Assistant: What’s quinoa?
Daisy: Never mind. Just watch. This is a classic pantry raid. I’m throwing together the last of the peppers, an onion, and sauteing them in a pan. When they’re soft, I’ll add the cans of beans. When that has heated through, I’ll add the leftover rice and the quinoa I just cooked. Sprinkle a little dried red chili pepper and garlic salt, and we have a tasty main course or side. Excuse me, I need to reach the meat drawer.
Assistant: Meat? I thought you said meatless.
Daisy: It can be meatless, but I happen to have a few andouille sausages left after last week’s jambalaya. They’ll be perfect either diced and added to the mix or served on the side in hot dog buns.
Assistant: What did you call this?
Daisy: A Pantry Raid. The first word has an R in it. It’s not the kind of thing your frat house fantasized about doing to the girls’ dorm. Pantry. Food storage.
Assistant (blushes): Oh. I get it.
Daisy: Next lesson? Planned-overs.
So we leave the family members at the O.K. Chorale with their tasty meal, courtesy of a creative cook and a pantry raid. We’ll return to the Daisy Reality Show some other time – maybe after the family eats. Or maybe after the director gets tired of her bumbling assistant and hires someone new.
Last month, my school district sent a referendum to its voters. The voters responded by saying, “Yes! We’re willing to pay in a little bit more to support our schools.” I did my part by posting a sign.
A campaign sign is a visible, tangible symbol of support. Mine was more tangible than visible because we were hit with (yet another) snowstorm just before the election.
Really. There’s a sign here.
When the snow melts enough, I’ll pull it out and reuse the stand somewhere in the garden. Reusing and repurposing political signs is just another way to make a statement: the statement that my convictions last beyond election day.
My March Madness doesn’t revolve around a basketball.tournament.
The only brackets in my March Madness are those that hold up shelves.
On the outside, my March Madness looks like this.
Snow on snow on snow.
Indoors, I decided to fight the Madness with this.
Planting time!
I planted seeds for pepper plants. There’s something about the smell of dirt that helps release the madness of March. There’s a sweet satisfaction in filling a bucket with snow (see it, on the right?) just to let it melt, and then watering seeds with it. The rain barrels are still upside down and snow-covered, but I CAN and I WILL find ways to be green.
Timing is everything, isn’t it? I planned my surgery for the last week in January to avoid the Super Bowl (wishful thinking on the part of this Packer fan) and to finish my first semester report cards before letting a long term sub take over, along with the reasoning of Get This Over With Now because I’m So Done With These Symptoms Already!
I managed to be in the hospital overnight during one of the coldest, most frigid stretches of the winter. In this case, I was lucky. I had as many blankets as I wanted, decent heat, a view (6th floor room!), and oatmeal for breakfast. Unrelated as those might seem, all are important when the air outside is so crystal clear that boiling water tossed out a window will freeze in mid-air.
The real advantage of having surgery as the polar vortex arrived was the aspect of sick leave. My six weeks of medical leave landed me on a couch with blankets and fresh coffee while my dear darling coworkers were wrapped in sweaters, thick tights, blankets, and fingerless gloves just to survive the drafts that kept sneaking into the office environment. They sent me nice emails saying things like, “Stay home and stay warm!” “You planned this perfectly!” and “Don’t even consider coming back early!”
So I didn’t. Even though it crossed my mind during weeks Four and Five, I held onto my patience and stuck it out. Now it’s Week Six, the End of the Rest and Recovery Period, and I’m ready to go back and retake my cubicle.
I have questions, though. As usual, I have questions.
- Are they still making coffee in the closet? Or do I need to bring my own?
- Is my blanket still tucked in the cupboard with the science and social studies teachers’ manuals? Will I need it?
- Should I take the stairs or ease into it by taking the elevator for a few days?
- Will anyone bring donuts? Or bagels? To welcome me back, or maybe just because? Or will they expect me to bake something to celebrate my own return?
- Do I already have enough lessons planned? I know I sketched out the semester’s units in January. Am I ready for Monday, or should I spend some of Friday looking over my calendar and files?
- It’ll be mid March when I return. Will I need my fingerless gloves?
Readers, do you have advice for me?
“Chuck” saw a feature on a dairy product the other day and asked me to do some online research. He’d heard about Kefir Milk, a probiotic type drink. Now, knowing my interest in all things organic and delicious, you might be wondering, “Daisy, how is it that you live and blog in the great dairy state of Wisconsin and you’ve never had kefir?” Gulp. Sheepishly, I admit it’s true.
So anyway, we did some research, including looking up local stores that sell it. Chuck bought a quart of blueberry flavored kefir last weekend. Then he said to me, “Which one of us will be the first to try it?” This didn’t make sense. He’d heard about the product. He’d asked me to do the research. He’d bought the first carton of kefir. What was he waiting for?
I gave in first. I had a small glass of kefir with my chef salad for lunch today. I sent Chuck an email saying so, and I included this small review.
I tried the Kefir. It’s kind of thick, and the texture is unusual, but it was good. I had a small glass with lunch. I might like this better over cereal instead of as a meal beverage. It’s like drinking yogurt, kind of.
We are a household of touchy tummies here at the O.K. Chorale, so kefir might be a good addition to our diets.
What would a TV post be without a few closed captioning blunders? These two follow a theme, sort of, unintentionally.
The captioner typed, “bizarre Nicholas III.” No judgments on the bizarreness of his reign or his personality was intended, I’m sure. The reporter really said “by Czar Nicholas III.” Okay, then. They were discussing the Trans-Siberian Railroad at the time.
Amigo and I enjoy relaxing with MeTV in the afternoons. We tune in for Dragnet, Adam 12, and a favorite from my teen years, Emergency! I think Amigo has figured out that I had a crush on paramedic Johnny Gage back when the show was new. Shh.
Sound effects are usually noted in brackets – not to be confused with the Dr. Brackett character in the ER at Rampart Hospital – like this: [Sirens] The closed caption still had her mind in Russia, I fear. The text on the screen read [Siberians]. That’s a mighty long trip for Squad 51 from Los Angeles.
Ah, television. It entertains, but not always intentionally.
It seems like yesterday that Chuck was complaining of a stomach ache, refusing to take fiber, and then talking trash about my minivan. Remember this exchange?
“Here, dear, I found a jar of Metamucil for you.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Not ready?”
“I like my Saturn. I don’t want to drive a Buick yet.”
“I took it years ago when I was pregnant with Amigo.”
“And look what you drive now!”My minivan — he’d dissed my minivan! The minivan that took us on more than a few vacations, moved La Petite to and from college, brings big batches of yard waste to the brush dump every summer, took my carpool to graduate classes for two years, and more!
My poor Pontiac Transport finally entered its last days when we discovered the power steering was showing signs of failing. It was a ’98 vehicle, old enough, and we’d put plenty of bucks into repair and routine maintenance. It was time.
Vehicle Replacement Procedure requires time: time for research and time for shopping. Time, of course, is something we don’t have in abundance. Decisions take time, too. Did we need another vehicle with cargo space? Or could we buy a sedan instead? Did that cargo space need to be a minivan, or would a small to medium SUV fit our needs? We did a little research, figured out what we could afford, and then started looking.
And then we got lucky. Chuck was filling his car (his Subaru) with gas at the Fleet Farm gas station to make use of the gas coupon we get every time we shop there. He glanced across the street to a used car lot and noticed a late model minivan with a sign in it proclaiming it Manager’s Special. He crossed the street and looked it over. 2012 Dodge Caravan, reasonable mileage, in our price range – what could be wrong?
We asked that exact question the next day when we took a short test drive. Everything looked good, and we were ready to take the next step: the Complete Test Drive. All three of us (Chuck, me, Amigo) came out to the lot for a test drive. While Amigo and I played with controls and explored the many features, Chuck drove to a nearby mechanic. The mechanic checked it over, pointed out a few things, and pronounced the vehicle healthy and sound and a good deal.
The next day, I emptied the personal items (Kleenex boxes, snow brush, tire gauges) from the Transport and drove it to the dealer for paperwork and trade-in. To make a long story short, we did it. The 2012 Caravan is now in the garage, my cell phone charger and garage door opener installed in their proper places.
And perhaps the best part of the story: everyone is healthy. No tummy aches in the family, fiber or no fiber, at the moment. I think I’ll bake some nuts and twigs banana bread just to keep things in order.
(as seen on Facebook)
In my life, I’d use a different turn of phrase. I’d most likely substitute tools for weapons. But in Malala’s life, the act of seeking an education was radical and law breaking. She saw books and learning as tools, but also as weapons: weapons to fight the good fight, tools to achieve great things.
The pen is mightier than the sword- and so is the desktop publisher. What remains is the reader. If the reader is taught to think and analyze, to seek understanding, then the book itself can be powerful.