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Dancing

Wednesday 12 January 2011 | 0 Comments

The Girl loves dancing. We've known that for some time, and made videos and photos several times.

It's such an odd thing for me, a complete non-dancer. She can hear music that she likes, and she'll jump up and start dancing -- in the kitchen, in the living room, in her room.

I imagine if any of her favorites came on the radio while we're out shopping, she'd dance about there as well.

She dances to anything. K puts on Polish folk music and within minutes, the Girl has burst into the living room and is dancing. Anything by Chopin gets her swaying almost majestically.

Elvis Costello can get her feet moving so fast it looks likes she's running in place.

It is the ultimate sign of a love of music.

Our hope is that it will last and deepen over the years.

A snow day was always an unexpected blessing when I was growing up. They were so rare that it was hard believe it when they actually occurred. As a teacher, I'll admit that one snow day a year is just about the best thing that can happen. I know that we've lost a make-up day, but three are built into the school calendar -- not a big price to pay. Having two snow days gets to be irritating. Having three is simply annoying. After that, we're in the hole: we have to make them up some other way.

So while the first day is all fun and games -- playing in the snow, taking walks, just enjoying the snow.

I went for a walk, watching how Southerners drive in the snow, wondering where such misplaced confidence comes when they have so little experience driving in such conditions. At least one individual seemed to think that because he had a SUV normal rules of physics didn't apply to him.

Others thought that somehow the laws of physics increased their stringency in icy conditions, barely going much faster than I walked. The majority managed to meet some happy medium.

Others were enjoying what the drivers were avoiding. "A day with dry, powdery snow does not present the best condition for a sled with runners," I wanted to tell them. They were figuring it out for themselves, though.

As I trudged through the snow, I thought of all the countless walks I took in the snow while living in Poland. I was enchanted every winter: snow on the ground for weeks, months at a time. In the South, we're lucky if it stays for a couple of days (the present conditions excepted). My first year in Polska, there was snow on the ground from early December to March. I went for a walk almost every day, exploring just how deep the snow in the fields could be in mid-January, after several snow falls.

Tramping around with a camera brought about some wonderfully nostalgic moments. My whole story of my photographic hobby unfolded in my memory: I arrived in Poland with a point-and-shoot Canon and quickly bought my first SLR -- a Russian Zenit (Зени́т‚ in Russian), a solid, heavy metal-bodied camera with a manual focus and manual metering. I learned more about photography wrestling with that beast than I've learned since.

I continued my walk to the main street of our hamlet and slipped into an open CVS. By the door, the Southern storm staple: bread.

"Did you put that out for the storm?" I ask as I pay for the lighters I bought.

"I don't think so," replied the attendant. "But I didn't work this weekend. I can't remember if we had it out last time I worked."

As I headed back home, I saw a fitting message.

Everyone had taken it to heart: the streets were virtually empty.

"Who would get out in this mess when there's no where to go?" I muttered to myself. The whole state shut down yesterday: schools, state offices, everything but the DMV and their salt/brine-spreading, snow plowing devices.

In the meantime, we kept ourselves busy.

Snow Day 2011

Monday 10 January 2011 | 3 Comments

Sunday was clear -- sunny, with a blue sky and the cool air typical of a Southern winter. The storm was coming, though, and everyone knew it.

Officials canceled school Sunday night, around 9:45, before a single flake fell. Local news outlets carried stories of empty store shelves as residents bought milk, bread, coats, boots, shovels -- the signs of a population generally unprepared for such snow.

We woke to white, something so rare here that it makes us simply awestruck.

We'd grown used to seeing one snowfall a year, usually with two inches accumulation maximum, disappearing by the afternoon. To wake up to four inches, with more falling -- almost unheard of in the South.

Everything stops -- no one's going anywhere, and so unexpectedly, we have a family day.

Morning in the snow, maybe a movie in the afternoon, more snow before the sun sets -- a perfect day.

Journals

Wednesday 05 January 2011 | 0 Comments

Reading eighth-graders' journals is like jumping in a time machine: all the angst, all the broken hearts, all the frustration with school. I see myself a thousand times over. Bored with this. Frustrated about that. Irritated with him. In love with her.

"Nothing new under the sun."

They'll find this out for themselves. But when I leave comments in their journal, how can I say this without being dismissive? It's a fine line.

Baking with Nana

Wednesday 05 January 2011 | 0 Comments

First Day Back

Monday 03 January 2011 | 0 Comments

Returning to school as a student was always something of a mix. There was a little relief because, let's face it: free time can get a little boring when you're a teen. At the same time, there was the return to dreaded classes and dreaded teachers. There were classes we didn't feel were worth our time (sometimes rightly, often not), but this was not the real problem.

The true problem was in the personnel: the teachers.

Though they were few, there were teachers gifted at turning interesting subject matter into drudgery because of their inability to share their enthusiasm or (probably more likely) their complete lack of enthusiasm. Such teachers often complained about the end of break, relied heavily on sarcasm in their interactions with students, and generally made no effort to hide the fact that they really didn't want to be there, that they really didn't enjoy working with us, and that, given any other options, they would choose just about any job over being a teacher. (This is certainly not to say that any teacher who complains about the end of a break or uses sarcasm is such a teacher.)

Those were the classes we endured when going back to school after a break. Was it best to have such a teacher first period, fourth period, or seventh? That was the only question. First period meant getting the dreaded class over with from the beginning. Seventh period meant capping a potentially great day with a sure disaster. Fourth was always good for me: not early enough to put me in a sour mood for the rest of the day and not late enough to leave a bad taste in my mouth before heading home.

I know there are still teachers like that. I suspect that if I snooped around a bit, I'd find one or two in my own school. Most teachers would say the same of their schools, I'm sure.

For such teachers, being in class is just as much drudgery as it is for the students. Neither wants to be there; all are counting the minutes to the end of the class. Such teachers drag themselves out of bed every morning and breathe a sigh of relief when the day is done. And so the first day back for them is sheer torture. It's a return to work.

Along the lines of the old adage, I've never worked a day in my life as long as I've been employed in education. Going back to school today was a pleasure. Indeed, I couldn't get to sleep for the excitement last night of trying some new lessons in old units. I walked down the hall this morning with an enormous smile on my face, and I greeted everyone -- students, teachers, administrators -- with a genuinely goofy cheerfulness. I told students that I'd missed them, that I'd been looking forward to returning, that I was a little bored without working with them.

Perhaps this helps explain why I have no behavior issues in my classroom beyond the talkative nature of thirteen-year-olds.

2010

Friday 31 December 2010 | 0 Comments

Twelve months of the Girl -- as the years pass, the significant changes do not occur within such a relatively short time span, and they're more and more invisible to the camera.

Puzzles and Dolls

Wednesday 29 December 2010 | 1 Comment

“Do you dream of being a princess?” coos one of L’s Christmas gifts before offering game-play options.

Why does L have such an obsession with princesses? It’s not like we initiated it, though we’ve done very little to encourage or to discourage it. (Relatives are a different story!)

Granted, L has watched the films several times: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, The Little Mermaid, and several other princess films. She has a few princess books — usually thick books we refer to as “the princess collection” and “the other princess collection.”

“Do you dream of being a princess?”

My concern is not necessarily the notion of being a princess; it’s the notion of being a twenty-first century princess, a highly sexualized image that encourages girls to flirt in grade school and has teen fashion magazines offering advice on the cover for how to have a “sexy beach” hair do.

“It’s a long way off,” some might say. “She’s only four.” When I hear stories of six-year-olds getting cell phones, though, I realize the pressure begins shortly.

Or perhaps it’s already begun, the pressure to meet society’s standards of what a “Real Girl” is like. Perhaps that’s what the princess obsession is all about.

Perhaps. It’s somewhat depressing to think that we’re entering a period during which peer pressure is as influential as — if not more than — parental influence. There’s a balance there that we are just beginning to feel out. Its contours are still nebulous because the actual relationships and ratios are still unclear. In the end, it’s all about awareness.

If only it were that simple.

Snowball Fight

Tuesday 28 December 2010 | 0 Comments

“Can we go outside?” L asked.

“Of course.”

“I know what we can do!”

“What?”

“We can make balls out of the snow and then throw them at each other.”

“Excellent idea.”

St. Stephen’s Day

Monday 27 December 2010 | 1 Comment

Just before noon everyone begins heading home. Snow on the ground, wet roads, freezing conditions -- perfect weather for sandals and a drive to the mountains. As some of our guests head off to the mountains of western North Carolina, L has other priorities: a snowman.

We're lucky: the snow is wet and heavy, easily rolled into balls. Indeed, we could roll up all the snow like a gigantic carpet: it picks up snow, leaves, grass, and all.

When I was growing up in southwest Virginia, I rare saw snow, and even more rarely saw wet snow. It was most often dry, powdery snow good for skiing perhaps, but of little use to neighborhood kids wanting to create snow forts and have snow ball battles.

This snow is as easily rolled as insulation or blankets. In fact, it's almost too easy.

As K directs everyone to the front yard, we realize that carrying the growing snow balls is almost impossible.

"Roll them," K instructs simply.

Which means the snowman will be bigger than originally planned.

By this time, L has lost interest and is more concerned about whether or not she'll get to make a snow angel.

"We might be able to just before going in," I tell her. "But it makes you very wet, so we'll have to go in right after you're finished."

A tricky situation: L is sick (as seems to be the new Christmas break tradition -- three years in a row), but snow is so rare, it seems a shame to herd her back inside so quickly.

We finish up the snow man, snap a quick picture, then return to the warmth of tea and dry clothes.

The theme of warmth and tea continues through the evening: a last dinner with friends to bring the 2010 Christmas season to a close.

The familiar gender segregation returns, with the ladies in the living room, the gentlemen still at the dining table,

and the kids watching Toy Story -- probably for the tenth time for L.

Things wind down: time for children to go to bed and K and others to prepare mentally for a return to work tomorrow.

A bittersweet moment in the end: it could be the last Christmas we spend with one family, as they're contemplating a return to Poland. Maybe we'll get together next year; maybe we'll only be able to share Christmas wishes over the phone. But for now, we depart, looking forward to Friday's Polish New Year's Eve party.