matching tracksuits

Zoo School

Sunday 07 June 2009

I took L to zoo school -- an instructional program for kids at our local zoo. It was short and sweet: just what a group of toddlers needs.

We began by exploring various animal artifacts, including a turtle shell that was almost as big as the Girl. This, it turned out, was only the keep-them-busy-while-the-others-arrive activity.

The topic was "Big and Small" and it was simply designed to get the kids thinking of the relative sizes of all animals. The highlight was when everyone got to touch a millipede.

Though the Girl was initially nervous about being in a room with strangers, she showed no anxiety about touching the millipede. That's both good and bad: good for the obvious reasons, bad because a dose of caution around unknown animals is always a good thing. Let's hope she doesn't get inspired to try to pick up any crawling beasts she might find in our yard...

At the end of the program, L showed her leadership ability by cleaning up the pile of crayons another child had created, dumping an entire tub of them on the floor. In classic Tom Sawyer fashion, she convinced everyone it was fun and soon others joined in.

L's eagerness to help constantly takes me by surprise. The trick now: how to maintain it through childhood.

Meet Big Wolf

Saturday 06 June 2009

She's been telling us the story for months now, and we've been pretending along with her about her imaginary friend, Big Wolf. At the zoo last weekend, we had an idea.

"Big Wolf is right over there," K whispered when we were in the gift shop. Sure enough, a pile of stuffed wolves. "She hasn't seen it yet," K continued.

"You keep her distracted," I replied, "and I'll buy the wolf and sneak it into our bag."

We took her outside, had her sit down, and told her there was a surprise in the bag.

She looked in the bag and was immediately delighted. "Big Wolf!" she cried out, eager to show everyone.

After so many months of looking for Big Wolf, we finally found him. While most say the search, the journey, is the important aspect of any adventure, the actual meeting -- the goal -- was a moment of pure, unsurpassed joy.

Since then, Big Wolf has been her daily companion. He accompanies her to daycare, and even joins in the morning circle, the teachers tell us. "We've all gotten used to Big Wolf joining each and every activity," Miss Brenda told me.

L constantly reminds us of the trick to life: find joy in the simplest things.

Strangers in the Classroom

Friday 05 June 2009

They enter the classroom in August and they're strangers. I struggle for a couple of weeks to learn everyone's name; the energetic talkative ones I get down by the end of the first day. Slowly, I learn their personalities: their passions, their quirks, their fears. By mid-October, I know a group of 80-100 thirteen-year-olds fairly well; by mid-May, I can almost predict their every move.

This is what keeps me hooked on teaching: the relationships. A picture of a group of students is a fairly meaningless thing to anyone but the students' teacher, but to that teacher, it's a thousand stories about 180 days spent working, laughing, and sometimes arguing together.

And this is why I consider it a privilege to teach. Between 160 and 200 parents trust me with their children for almost an entire year. In some ways, I know their children better than they do. This can be problematic -- "Oh no! My child would never do that!" -- but only rarely.

Yesterday, I said goodbye to the kids I spent 180 days with. In a few, short weeks, I'll begin again, with a new group of strangers in my room.

It is a testimony to how well the year went that I am as excited about starting next year as I've ever been. Last year was a tough year, with a tough group of kids. Many teachers on the eighth grade hall said it was the most challenging group they've ever taught. "Baptism by fire," one laughed when I commented it had been my first year teaching there. Last year, the goodbyes were a formality, and I was relieved to have the year behind me; this year, the goodbyes were touchingly sincere, and I was a bit saddened to see the year come to a close.

One young man was terribly upset. I saw him and smiled; he thought I was mocking him. "Mr. S, don't laugh!" he begged. I went quickly to him, trying my best to smile warmly. "I'm not laughing," I reassured him, telling him-probably vainly-that the sadness of this ending will transform itself into joy at a new beginning. I didn't tell him how difficult it was for me to go through endings, how it's still difficult. Perhaps I should have, but I was afraid I would upset him more. On his own, he will learn to recognize the sweet in the seemingly bitter moments.

If I'm fortunate, he'll come back to tell me about it.

First Harvest

Sunday 31 May 2009

Despite the ravaging neighborhood creatures, we managing to grow things. Our plot behind the house is struggling a bit,

but our squash, zucchini, melons, and onions in front of the house are doing very well.

Some are even flowering.

In fact, we've kept one thing in the ground long enough to have a harvest: radishes. A few are almost as big as a ping pong ball, and K explains that we have to pick those now, else they'll be no good. "They don't taste as good when they're bigger." Not knowing the first thing about growing radishes, I nod my head in approval.

Radishes are a like dill for me: they make me think of summer in Poland.

We use the radishes to make a creamy cheese spread: diced radish mixed in with farmer's cheese. A simple thing, but then, many of the tastiest foods are "simple things."

The cheese is a highligh of our Sunday-morning breakfast. The Girl as her usual: French toast and Maple syrup.

Then we notice our back bed has been visited again.

Enormous holes, spread through the bed. "It's the worst it's ever been," K sighs.

Our raccoon neighbor? Dogs?

It's hard not to take it personally. "What did we ever do to you?" A useless thought -- best to start planning how to keep out of our garden dogs, chickens, raccoons, squirrels, bears, elephants, and whatever else might be lurking in the neighborhood.

“Like Home”

Saturday 30 May 2009

"There are places one returns to as if returning to home." Thus begins a sweet little montage of photos from the school in Poland in which I taught for seven years. Images of life in the school are interspersed with youthful sentimentality.

I know few of the students, but they're all familiar: all Polish students become familiar at a certain point. There's just a look about them. K and I see a woman walking down the street here in Greenville and almost simultaneously say, "She looks like a Pole."

The halls, the classrooms -- all so warm and familiar.

The text belies the author: a young graduate, somewhat longing for the simplicity of high school:

"There are people whom one never forgets," followed by images of teachers I worked with, one of whom was a student when I first arrived in 1996.

"These people will always been in our hearts." Sentimentality is excusable when one is young. It should probably be so when one is old, as well.

"There are moments which we will always remember." They pile up, though, and act like a sieve: things we thought we'd never forget, never get over, sift to the bottom and are all but forgotten about. This young film maker probably hasn't realized that yet. Maybe he/she will never have to.

The final words: "All of this is in one place, and that's here." Cut to an elevated image of the school, and a smile on my face.

I wrote a quick note to the YouTube user who posted it: "I taught at that school for seven years -- I appreciate your video. You have at least one picture in the video of students I taught." No response.

Still, I watch the video from time to time, and it always makes me smile and read my journal from my time in Poland.

Now who's being sentimental?

xtranormal in Action

Friday 29 May 2009

I mentioned earlier my efforts to use xtranormal.com -- the free animation site -- in school. Here are a couple of examples from students who used the site to animate research done on selected topics about Victorian England.

(Content removed--website died.)

Education in Victorian England

(Content removed--website died.)

Repair Work

Tuesday 26 May 2009

L's bike seat needed some adjustment. She was eager to help.

"Hand me that," I could ask, and she would, occasionally. More often, I was asking her to take this instead of that, asking her to bring this back, calling her name out several times in rapid succession when she was reaching for a nut or bolt I'd be needing shortly.

Required: a seat adjustment.

Reason: it's obvious, isn't it? She's grown significantly since the last time she pedaled around. I raised the seat about two inches.

An initial fitting showed that a raised seat wouldn't suffice. I slide the saddle back as far as it would go.

Result: a happy little girl.

Yet another image that hints at a five-year-old L.

Happy Cows

Sunday 24 May 2009

Growing up, I drank milk my mother purchased from a small farm about fifteen miles from our home in Virginia. When I went with my mother, I often got a “tour” from Mrs. Campbell. Chickens, cows, a horse or two. The cows wandered about the pasture, grazing and lazing all day long. They moved slowly and seemed totally relaxed.

For a suburbanite like me, it was heaven.

Then there was the milk: always thick and delicious. Vigorous shaking was prerequisite to pouring. And a taste that was radically different from the nonsense I drank in school.

When we stopped our milk runs and turned to store-bought milk, I was initially disappointed with the taste but eventually grew used to it. Trying to remember that taste was like trying to remember an odor: it lingered in the mind just long enough to taunt me with the realization that I can’t truly remember it at all.

I’ve had the opportunity to taste that milk again, here.

It turns out, there’s a local dairy farm and creamery that runs on the same principles: no hormones or antibiotics; free-range grazing; stress-free, healthy living.

Further, it turns out they give tours.

We arrived just after twelve, stepped out of our car and suddenly felt we were back in K’s home village. The odor of a farm is international, and strangely warm and heartening.

The farm is Trantham’s Twelve Aprils, and the tour convinced me of one thing: buy their milk or no one else’s. No growth hormones, no antibiotics, no stress, grass-fed — pretty much what I grew up on.

K had heard about the tours, so she arranged a few families to get together for a tour and some strawberry picking afterward.

Sitting in a trailer behind a tractor being dragged all around a farm doesn’t seem like it would be terribly enjoyable, but learning about simple but revolutionary grazing techniques and the resulting product was, in fact, almost a blast. L was entertained by the simple fact of being pulled by a tractor. Having a farm coloring book helped as well.

The milk is available only in South Carolina, but given the small size of the operation (they have, if memory serves, eighty milking cows right now) relative to the size of the output is fairly stunning.

After the tour, we got a chance to sample the milk. They have three products: buttermilk, regular, whole milk, and chocolate milk. I’ve never, in my life, been a fan of buttermilk, but theirs was delicious.

“Mega-dairies add things to their buttermilk to sour it,” the guide/farmer explained. “The result is a strongly acidic taste. Ours doesn’t have that.”

She was certainly right.

Finally, it was time for strawberry picking. “You might not find much after the school kids we had coming through here this week,” the owner’s daughter said.

L helped by serving as a quality assurance specialist and general run-around-the-farm-laughing consultant.

Just before packing up, we were able to see the pregnant cows. “We’ve got fifteen due in July,” the guide/farmer said. “It’ll be a busy time.”

As always, L stood, fascinated with the animals. Last summer in Poland, “I want to see the cows” was a common refrain.

The fascination hasn’t waned in the intervening year.

Growth and Stillness

Thursday 21 May 2009

I took a walk around our property to document the growth of our onions, radishes, tomatoes, potatoes, squash, melons, and flowers.

Our hanging cherry tomatoes are growing wildly, though the experimental upside down one is hesitant.

Our onions and radishes are onioning and radishing wonderfuly.

Our squash has its first flower.

And Bida is catching chipmunks and taking them into our basement, where they stop playing dead and hide in the piles of things stored in the corners.

Anyone know how to catch a chipmunk?

Summer Plans Begin

Wednesday 20 May 2009

In Polska, K and I were both avid cyclers. Here, we haven't been so much. Having a beast of 2.5 years makes that difficult.

The solution has always lingered in the back of our mind, brought forward afresh each time we were at a park with bike trails: buy a trailer for the Girl.

Add to this equation the decision we've made to have a relaxing, travel-resistant vacation on Edisto Island and one has all the impetus necessary to buy a trailer.

First, we had to sell her on the whole idea. That was not too difficult: we'd been pointing out such trailers every time we go to a park, asking, "L, would you like to ride in something like that?" The answer was always, "Yes." (Or, until recently, "Tak.")

She played and played, went in and out and in again -- "You close it, please?" "Open it, please." "You close it, please?" Finally, we attached the wheels and pulled her around downstairs.

Monday, at last, we took her on the road.

Verdict: fun, but only when Mama's around.

Digging in the Dirt

Sunday 17 May 2009

An afternoon with friends led L and Franio to discover (or for L, to rediscover) the joys of mucking about with gardening tools. Our host stayed in the backyard with the kids for a bit, teaching them how safely to use semi-dangerous equipment. Naturally, I felt they might as well be playing with chainsaws and strychnine.

It became an object lesson for the Girl: bigger kids can do things younger children simply can't. Or at least shouldn't. Not when Tata is around, anyway. L was delicately working.

Franio was putting his back into it.

"I do it like Franio, Tata!" L squealed several times. "No, you do it gently," Tata replied.

It was another of many "you can't protect them forever but 'forever' is not now" moments.

More significant than the digging or other fun was the sharing. Spontaneous, unsolicited sharing. "You try now," was a common refrain.

The adults did the parental love and horror stories routine with the new parents. With us, all that advice and thos endless anecdotes do little except provide reassurance. Yet we tell the stories anyway.

Ben Folds in Boston

Saturday 16 May 2009

Ben Folds is coming to play at Symphony Hall in Boston with the Boston Pops. If it's anything like his performance with the Western Australia Symphony Orchestra, it's likely to be one of the best shows in Boston this year.

If only it had been ten years earlier...

[Video blocked.]

Anti-Squirrel Device

Thursday 14 May 2009

It was squirrels digging up our garden, and being the eco-friendly folks we are, we went with a non-lethal but hopefully highly annoying and perhaps frightening deterrent: a motion-activated sprinkler.

It turned out to be great fun for the Girl as well.

Carrots and Chocolate

Tuesday 12 May 2009

For dessert today, we had that Polish favorite, shredded carrots and apples topped with chocolate. Chocolate and carrots are a popular culinary combination in Poland, though cabbage and chocolate is a little more classy and the all-time spring favorite is chocolate covered radishes.

Ah, the things we do to try to ween the Girl from this and that...

The Girl’s Mother’s Day Video

Monday 11 May 2009

I had the idea; L created the screenplay — more or less on the fly.

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