Tag Archives: teachers live at school

Memories from 9/11/2001

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I was an elementary teacher. I had a prep time first thing in the morning. While my students were gone (in the gym? In music? I don’t remember), my good friend the reading specialist ran into my room to tell me we’d been attacked.

We were not allowed to discuss the attack or even tell our students until the end of the day. Two of my sixth graders went home for lunch, so they knew and we talked, quietly, when they came back.

Teachers were called to the lounge for an emergency meeting during the first recess of the day. We’d pulled a television on a cart (yeah, the old days!) into the lounge so we could watch news updates. There weren’t many updates.

My own children, in high school and elementary school at the time, came home on their buses and ran in the house yelling exactly the same thing: “Mom! Did you hear what happened?!”

I thought for a moment that I should fill my minivan with gas before the stations ran out or the prices skyrocketed. Much of the city had the same idea, and the lines were incredibly long. I decided I’d rather spend this time with my children. I had half of a tank, and that would have to be enough.

Chuck worked for a television station. We had no idea when he’d get home. Neither did he.

Today, 23 years later, I’m still learning more about the day. The potential threats, the people who were with the president at the time, the situation on Air Force One. I’m sure there’s more to learn.

We can’t ever forget the day the Towers fell. The day the Pentagon was hit. The day Flight 93 was driven into the ground by courageous passengers.

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Earth Month – Day 8

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From Earth Month Challenge: 30 Easy Actions:  

Yesterday was laundry day, so I jumped into Day 10: Air Drying Laundry. Meanwhile, let’s go high/low tech for Day 9: Resist Double Spaces Between Sentences. According to Treehugger, the extra spaces in a published book really, really add up.

I learned about single spaces when I completed my graduate degree in Curriculum and Instruction. I was typing the old-fashioned way, the way we did in the 1970s and 1980s, when typewriters were the tool. It took me a while to adjust to the updated requirements (dang muscle memory!), but I’ve adjusted.

In terms of computer use, email, and text communications, that double or single space may not be as critical. However, if you’re in a position where emails and newsletters get printed, the single space could save pages and pages of papers.

If you’re still typing the Baby Boomer way (dare I call it Mid Century Modern?) with two spaces between sentences, make the effort to cut down to one. You’ll be glad you did.

Stay tuned for more eco-friendly actions throughout April – or go to Treehugger yourself!

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Retirement Begins.

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I could get used to this. I mean, I will get used to this!

I’m getting used to seeing Chuck in the morning hours. When he worked a late shift and I worked a standard teacher day, we only saw each other awake and alert on weekends. I would leave my hearing aids out (to save a little battery power) until he got up. Now I’m putting in my “ears” much earlier!

Grocery shopping is different. I’m not making a lunch to take to work each day. In fact, I might ceremonially throw away my insulated lunch bag. It’s been useful for many years, and now it’s done. No longer needed. Gone.

I set a goal during my last week at the office: no lunch-making all week. My colleague and I examined the goal and deemed it attainable and measurable. Oh, educators. It may take a while for me to lose the jargon. Monday: Memorial Day. No school! Tuesday: convenience store turkey sandwich (I love their cranberry bread) and an apple. Wednesday: $5 sushi day at the nearby grocery – a California roll. Thursday: nearby fast food (drive through), eaten at our outdoor picnic tables. Now that I’ll be living on my pension instead of my salary, I probably won’t buy lunch very often. I can get used to that.

I’ve been already feeling the stress roll off my shoulders. I compared notes with a good friend who is leaving teaching, and we talked about summer commitments. This will be the first year in ages that we don’t have to plan or sign up for many hours of staff development. I used to plan a lot of our summer curriculum sessions and book studies. Now, someone else can step into that role.

The garden needs my attention. That’s a typical summer day, and now it will extend into the fall months. It’ll be nice to have more time to enjoy the fall canning tasks – applesauce, tomatoes, salsa, tomato sauce, cider, and more.

Now I guess I need to get used to sharing the kitchen with Chuck. We can do it! Retirement, here I come.

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Touch Typing while Distracted

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It started well. I had good intentions, really. A Power Point presentation (I make loads of them for online lessons), with the script in the notes. The “script” gets long at times because I’m working on a lengthy series of reading intervention lessons, and they’re heavily scripted. Rather than read the manual and handle the power point at the same time, transcribing the notes now saves time later.

So imagine this: I’m speeding along, typing a long batch of script, looking at the manual. I finish the paragraph, and turn to look at the slide to find — this.

mocprm/ Imocprms are ,usteropis amd ,agoca; amo,a;s tjat upi read abpit om faoru ta;es/ A imocprm ;ppls ;ole a jprse wotj pme jprm pm ots jead/ Sap;a ;ove om kimg;es amd are extre,e;u rare/ Tjeu arem T rea;;u imocprms. Bit tjeu are ca;;ed Asoam imocprms because tjeu are veru sju/ Frp, the sode. Tjeu ;ppl ;ole tjeu jave pme jprm/ {ep[;e dp

Yep. You guessed it, readers. One hand moved over a key. One hand. A few of the words may be right (are, a, rare), but not enough. If you try hard enough, you might be able to decode parts of the sample. Maybe.

And yes, I hit delete and typed it correctly — after resisting temptation to bang my head on the desk. So readers, what kind of time-wasting mistakes have you made lately? No, on second thought, you don’t have to reminisce and remember those moments. I have enough of my own.

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Making and Keeping Rules

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I told myself I’d never risk my health – my life, even – for my job. That was in November of 2010. I’d landed in the ER with chest pains, much worse than the average Sunday evening stress-stomachache. I went to school at 10 that night to leave sub plans instead of staying overnight in the cardiac care unit. Long story short, it wasn’t worthwhile.

In spring of 2014 I advised my coworkers “Don’t Wait!” I’d just found an interior carotid artery 99% blocked. Thanks to the timing and to the good luck of having an amazing doctor, the blockage was cleared and a stent installed.

So when the phone rang and I was offered Friday or the Monday or Tuesday that followed,  I looked at everything else on the calendar, took a deep breath, and said yes, I’d take the appointment. I didn’t put it off. I didn’t work around my staff development schedule.

Taking this appointment meant postponing the family garage sale indefinitely. It meant that La Petite will come home to help with the driving duties because Amigo has an important appointment an hour earlier than mine – in a different location, of course.

Rather than tie myself in knots to put everyone else first, I’m following my rules. I’ll have my head examined (a cerebral angiogram), get the results, and then plan for treatment of this rogue aneurysm if we find it has grown.

And that, my dear readers, is playing by all the rules.

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Health Care is Complicated: The Letters

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I didn’t actually send these letters. Blogging the thoughts helps me settle down and control the stress-related blood pressure spikes that occur when, irony or ironies, I’m attempting to use the health insurance company web site. 

Dear Customer Service Department;

I found what I needed while waiting on hold. That means the information was too hard to find, the web site is not user-friendly, and the time on hold to reach a representative is much too long.

Sincerely,

Techno Geek

Dear Benefits Service;

Thank you for your prompt assistance and good advice. I’m pleased you walked me through the process to make sure it worked rather than just handing out pithy advice like “Use a different browser.” In fact, I should have thought of it myself. My geek brain was exhausted from searching for the EOBs while on hold waiting for customer service.

Much Relieved,

Daisy

Dear Colleagues:

Thank you for your moral support as we navigate the mazes of these online services.

Yours forever,

Daisy

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Summertime, and the living is…is..

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Last Friday was the all-important, all-consuming, why did it take SO LONG to arrive Last Day of School!!

We spent the weekend shuttling Amigo to his reunion at the school for the blind and then to Lions Camp. Monday, I finally took a deep breath and felt summer settle around me.

I spent most of the morning taking care of various garden chores. There’s nothing better than starting summer with dirt under my fingernails! Buttercup the bunny came out, too. She nibbled on the lawn and rested in the shade. A little weeding, a little watering, transplanting two tomato plants that were too crowded to another big pot. Did I really use two, too, and to in the same sentence? Maybe my mind is still in school, after all.

And that brings me to the rest of the week, this first week that so many think of as a teacher’s summer “off.” All day Tuesday and Wednesday and then a half day Thursday will be spent in staff development learning more about the technology I use to teach online, but mostly, putting in the hours. Next week I’ll have two commitments: a book study (I’m leading it, so I’d better be ready) and a formal three day training in an intervention reading program.

Without driving the details, I’ll just say that June is a full, full month. I did my best to leave July more free. August isn’t bad, either. None of summer, at least this year, will be a full summer off.

So anyway, my point? I’m not sure I have one. I’m happy to have more time to dig in the dirt. In a few weeks, I might even try Sleeping In. Meanwhile, it’s summertime, the good old summertime.

 

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Thoughts, prayers, moments of silence – and action.

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The subject came up during a break in a much unneeded meeting: what’s causing this rash of school shootings? “Social media,” said one teacher. “Video games,” said another. “No, no, it’s the easy access to guns,” said one more. “It’s complicated,” I added, but no one listened. 

Didn’t I just say that? After yet another wasted session of thoughts and prayers and moments of silence? It’s complicated! It’s all of the above! Instead of rewriting, I’ll say it again. 

Who are the next school shooters or mass shooters? How can we recognize them, and how do we stop them?

It’s a complex problem, and stopping the mass shootings that are becoming all too common will require a complex solution.

Activists work to tighten gun laws. They want to outlaw guns like the AR-15, guns with only one purpose: killing. They want to require background checks, thorough background checks, any time a person buys a gun.

Mental health advocates work to help people who might consider carrying out such a shooting. Depression, anxiety, and more can be factors in producing a killer of many.

Not to be forgotten are the National Rifle Association (NRA), those who work to keep gun laws weak and widespread access to weapons strong.

It’s a complex problem. After Sandy Hook, after Columbine, after Parkland, expert and not-so-expert analysts look for red flags, events or ongoing stresses that might have built up the pressure on this individual. After the fact, folks in the know pick through a shooters’ profiles and backgrounds, identifying possible triggers, the proverbial straws that broke the camels’ backs.

It’s a social problem. Was the shooter harassed? Bullied? Excluded and isolated? Did anyone reach out to this person? Did anyone recognize the risk, help this person before the potential for disaster became real?

It’s a medical problem. Mental illness, diagnosed or not, can be a major factor in someone deciding to carry out such a horrific event, taking lives of so many others. Mental health care must be available to all who need it – and mental health coverage must be part of any health plan.

It’s a legal problem, a gun problem. That’s hard for me to say because I know so many responsible gun owners. Hunters, mainly, these friends would never dream of leaving their firearms loaded and accessible to someone – anyone – who might misuse them. That said, no one needs a semi-automatic for hunting game. The AR-15 that’s been in the hands of so many mass shooters doesn’t need to be legal.

It’s an accessibility problem. Felons, domestic abusers, people who have been identified as a danger to others must be prevented from owning guns. License to kill only exists in fiction. In reality, life is precious.

It’s a complex problem, and the solution will not be simple. I wish I had an answer.

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Stop Creating Emergencies.

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Sometimes I call it “panicking over nothing.” But then I have to remember that whatever’s causing the panic might not be important to me, but it’s important enough to upset someone else.

In the book Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff, there’s a chapter that advises the readers not to create their own emergencies. For example, it’s okay to buy cookies from a bakery instead of baking them from scratch. Pick up an already cooked rotisserie chicken instead of prepping and cooking a big meal. It’s not what I’d do every day on normal days, but sometimes it’s wise to step back and avoid creating unnecessary emergencies.

Right now, those emergencies are either kitchen or garden related. The kitchen remodel is coming sooner or later – most likely sooner. We have a lot of clearing and purging and emptying to do before demo day. We had to clear space in the guest room/office so that we could move the computer desk in there, and soon we’ll need to move the computer desk, the shelves on top of it, and the computer itself and all its cords into that room.

Garden! I started tomato seedlings and herb seedlings, and now I need to prep the containers. Yes, that’s right, the tomatoes are going in containers this year. I have the containers, I have the bags of soil, and I’m ready to start making those ready.

In addition to the containers, I have the pallet. It was glorious last year, and I have plans for the pallet garden again. I just haven’t had a moment to pull out the old, dead plants and fill it in with new soil and move it to its new home six feet away from where it is now – you get the picture. I want to do it all, and I want to do it all right now.

So, Daisy, why can’t you get outside and do it all right now? What’s stopping you? Regular readers, friends, and family all know that I’ve been sick lately. It feels like the last three weeks have lasted more like three months. I’ve been spending a lot of time resting, rehydrating, resting, icing or heating a sore back and sore knee, and resting. You get the picture. In between, I’ve visited doctors and pharmacies. Somehow, I managed to teach a few days and grade a lot, and I do mean a lot, of research projects.

It’s when I’m resting that it’s hardest. I might be sitting on the couch with an ice pack on my lower back and a glass of a refreshing beverage by my side, but I’ll be thinking that I really, really want to break up the soil in the main garden plot. It’s common to find me closing my eyes for a bit and then coming back to wakefulness with an Oh, No, I Need To — fill in the blank.

I’ve managed to sidestep cooking emergencies with the help of a crock pot and a well stocked pantry. I even filled the Stamp Out Hunger bag for the Post Office food drive. But as I patted myself on the back for that, I remembered that the spices will need a new, temporary home, along with the taco mix and my favorite sloppy joe mixes.

And then I say Stop. Little by little, all will be well. For now, I’ll rest and recover so I’ll have enough strength to cope when a true emergency comes along. I don’t need to create my own.

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RIP Bob Dorough

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You might not know his name, but you would recognize his voice. If I named one of his hits, you’d be able to name several more.

He set an skater on ice with a song that, despite its simple subject matter, sounded magical and bittersweet.

He reminded the world that zero is a powerful number – superhero powerful.

He sold the world on enriching their language with adverbs.

He taught the legislative process through a first person perspective and a few catchy rhymes.

He modeled a train that hooked up words, and phrases, and clauses.

His name was Bob Dorough. If you haven’t started singing yet (you’re welcome), he was the creative genius behind Schoolhouse Rock.

He was a session player, lyricist, songwriter, and all around talented musician. Dorough was tasked with creating a song based on multiplication facts – eventually, several songs with several sets of multiplication facts. His job was simple: write something memorable for the kids who don’t know their multiplication tables, but can rattle off any song on the radio.

Boomer children heard his three minute tunes in between the pre-cable era Saturday morning cartoons. As the math series proved popular, Dorough branched out with (my favorite) Grammar Rock. America Rock, the American history series that followed, helped many a child comprehend the three ring circus made up of our three branches of government. Hey, he said it first, folks. Three may be a magic number, but Schoolhouse Rock didn’t stop there. Remember Interplanet Janet? She’s a galaxy girl, and she was part of Science Rock.

I use his music in my virtual classes – English Language Arts and Music. I haven’t brought them into the ancient history of middle school social studies, but give me time. I’ll find a way. Schoolhouse Rock songs were written to be entertainment, and also to be memorable. That’s where the teaching value comes from. That, and the idea that and, but, and or will get you pretty far.

No matter why you remember these short animated pieces, it’s certain that you will at least be able to hum a few bars.

In Schoolhouse Rock, Bob Dorough left a legacy that has already lasted through generations, and is destined to last through many more. Any questions? Oh, I forgot to remind you: Mr. Morton is the subject of the sentence, and what the predicate says he does.

Indubitably.

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