Archives | matching tracksuits

Month: April 2010

The Promise of the Future

Thursday 08 April 2010

We took our students on a field trip to a district vocational school where students can learn everything from cosmetology to aircraft repair. We weaved in and out of the classrooms, learning a little about the requirements and salaries of the jobs the students were preparing for, as well as the expectations of the class. Students asked questions and occasionally listened with wide eyes at salary possibilities.

Though they're only fourteen, they're already thinking about their future and their careers. It's an exciting and uncertain time.

At age fourteen, I was sure I was going to be architect. I was thrilled at the prospect of taking drafting in high school, and though the thrill was gone by the end of the second year, I stayed on for a third year of drafting. In a sense, I regret it: I never directly use those skills now. Auto shop would have been of much more practical value.

I thought about telling the students all this as we walked from room to room, but we almost always learn -- truly learn -- such lessons firsthand.

MAP Testing

Tuesday 06 April 2010

When I walk up behind her, she's already read the question:

Read these two sentences:

The odor of the blossoms drifted across the field.

The fragrance of the blossoms drifted across the field.

What is the primary difference between these two statements:

connection

connotation

context

conceptualization¹

She's selected "connotation," but she's not sure. She clicks "context" and then "connotation" again. She clicks back and forth, several times.

I linger to see what decision she makes. I cross my fingers, hold my breath, hope that she's going to select the right answer. Glancing away for a brief moment, I'm disappointed to see that she's made her selection while my attention was diverted. Being forbidden to discuss the test, I'll never know if she got it right.

There's a lot pedagogically wrong with that simple fact. ²

Not the actual question, nor realistic choices. ↩
This is not to disparage the MAP test. It's actually a fairly useful tool. ↩

Easter Monday

Monday 05 April 2010

The guests have left. The Girl has fallen asleep behind me.

Certainly it’s exhaustion from yesterday’s activities: with two girls her age arriving in the early afternoon, the Girl was a bundle of hyperactivity.

“We’re going to run there and here and there and here!” L proclaimed just before the girl’s arrival.

After eating an enormous lunch, that’s just what they did as they searched for eggs.

The younger girls were overwhelmed with excitement each and every time they found an egg. Their joy was a lovely thing, but it meant that the older children had more time to find eggs: they were very utilitarian in their celebrations, whooping on their way to the next egg instead of stopping to show off their discoveries.

Slow and steady might win the race in parables, but in the cut-throat reality of an Easter egg hunt, slow and steady wins only a light basket.

Often, though, the younger girls trailed behind the older children, following in almost lock-step.

“Honey, why don’t you look in different places rather than following her?” I asked L. “You’re just going to find the places where she’s already found the eggs.”

She thought about if for a moment, then continued with her method.

Still, despite the age difference, the little ones found several eggs, often simultaneously.;j

But the prize, the big egg, the egg L had been excited about all weekend, the egg that L proclaimed she simply must have — well, too much celebration for life’s little successes can give time for others to search out the big surprises.

And as I anticipated, it left poor L devastated. She stopped her own search and sat down for some sad alone time (also known as pouting).

But all was soon well. L’s disappointments rarely last longer than a few minutes, especially when the “offending” party shows some sympathy.

Unless I am the offending party — then the grudge lasts a few minutes longer.

“Big” Saturday

Saturday 03 April 2010

Holy Saturday in Polish is "Wielka Sobota", which translates to "Great Saturday" (though not "great" as a synonym for "fantastic"). It's the final day of preparation for Wielkanoc, which translates to "Great Night." But nestled in the hustle and chaos of cooking, cleaning, ironing, and fretting is a great (in this case, synonymous with "fantastic") tradition: the blessing of the Easter baskets.

Dressed in the traditional outfits of Podhale and armed with two baskets overflowing with food for Easter breakfast, we headed to the church early in order to get our obligatory Easter family portrait.

When we entered the church, the Girl was fascinated: so many baskets, so many colored eggs -- which to choose? Only a quick eye and a quicker hand kept the Girl from pillaging and plundering.

The baskets tell another story, though. The church wasn't filled, but there were enough pockets of English conversation in the generally Polish-expat crowd that it became obvious that others see the value and beauty of this tradition.

The priest, Father Theo, certainly likes the tradition. He positively beamed as he spoke, and the joy of his kind embrace of the tradition was infectious.

So contagious was his joy that he managed to talk a young lady into coming up to read the passage about the Passover tradition. No practice, no warning, just a kind smile and a compliment about her dress.

Another kind word and all the kids in traditional costumes joined Father Theo.

After the blessing, it was a free-for-all,

on both sides of the lenses. As I was taking a picture, I felt the crowd gathering about me. I realized the real picture was about ten steps behind me.

Shortly thereafter, the shot was about twenty steps in front of me.

And when you're carrying around a large DSLR, everyone asks you for a picture.

Then again, Father Theo has good reason: his camera is a Canon that lacks a screen on the back and, rumor has it, records the pictures on a thin plastic film. I don't believe it myself, but I can attest to the camera's lack of a LCD screen. How in the world does he preview his pictures?

How does he know, for example, that some outside shots need a little over-exposure?

How would he'd managed to slide his hand back into his pocket, concealing the remote shutter release?

Or know that he'd captured the petals of spring blossoms falling snow?

Or be sure that he's caught the conference of Polish women?

"Nonsense!" the Girl would declare. "All that matters is the tree I see the boys climbing and my first chance to try it for myself." With a nervous father always close at hand.

In the end, the best that could be said about such a busy day can't be said with words.

Happy Almost-Easter to all.

Polish Good Friday 2010

Friday 02 April 2010

Polish Good Friday is a day of baking and cooking, of arranging, cleaning, and preparing.

Theoretically, the house should be turned upside down, shaken well, then scrubbed top to bottom. It's sort of like Christmas cleaning. Since I can't bake (or at the very lease, K wouldn't let me try on Easter), the cleaning was my responsibility.

And I certainly didn't mind. Just look at the kitchen list for yesterday:

paczki,
four babkas,
a regular cake,
two salads, and
cauliflower soup.

There were also flowers to arrange.

And on to tomorrow: basket blessing, more cleaning more cooking -- seems we need a holiday.

Painting

Friday 02 April 2010

It's an annual event at our house: the Easter egg painting party. We've had some large crowds for it in past years, but this year, it was a family affair.

The Girl loves painting, so we weren't surprised when she ended up working on eggs for well over an hour. She approached the task with a Jackson Pollock eye: layers and seeming chaos were the themes of her eggs.

As was "getting paint all over oneself." But what's the fun of painting if you don't expand the canvas?

K took a more disciplined approach.

Posted

Thursday 01 April 2010

"No trespassing," he said. "It's posted no trespassing."

I'd ridden my bike over to a construction area to snap some shots of the site.

It turned out that I wasn't the only one curious: a family was cycling here and there, just as intrigued as I was. They bumped their way down a staircase, and the girl called out "Hello, fellow biker!" as she rode below.

A security guard emerged from one of the buildings, followed the family down the steps, said something, and left. It was all very civil. They wandered about for a while longer before they left, so I don't know what he said, but it seems obvious that it wasn't, "Get out now!"

Since I was in the area, I decided to cycle on over to the Mystery Building: a long structure that had the air of a conference center but was eternally empty.

It was as I was leaving that I had my encounter with the security guard -- different site, different bloke. This one was driving a battered Ford that appeared to date from the late '80s. He waved at me as he approached, so I stopped.

"No trespassing. It's posted. You can't ride a bike here." He said it as if I were riding into a wedding reception: full of indignation, shocked that I would even consider pedaling through the parking lot.

Many possible replies ran through my head, most of them sarcastic.

I "can't" ride my bike here? Well, clearly I can, because I'm doing it. Perhaps you meant to say, "You're not permitted..."
There was no "No Trespassing" sign at the entrance; therefore, it's not "posted."
(Ignore him and ride on.)
Rats! This was my absolutely favorite place to ride.
Can you hold that pose for a moment. I want to get a picture for my blog.

It's amazing how quickly I end up sounding like my students. Yet I managed to control myself and simply say, "Okay."

The security guard drove off, stopping again to talk to a woman walking through the parking lot. For my part, I stopped to look carefully -- oh so carefully -- for a tell-tale sign. Nothing.