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The New Math: A School Story

The Story:
Today we began the math unit on geometry, something one of my students incorrectly identified in my introductory lesson as "the study of places".  Um, no, that's geoGRAPHy but close, anyone else?  I was at the board drawing diagrams of lines, rays, and segments and the students were getting practice naming them with different points. 

One of the segments was named by two students, each of whom chose to use the first letter of their first name to identify one of the endpoints.  It was not until Mr. Fitch was coming in to borrow the overhead projector at JUST the wrong time and busted out with inconcealable laughter as I was pointing to this particular diagram with my meter stick that I noticed what had actually happened to the diagram.

The Lesson:
Apparently the integrated curriculum comes so naturally to me that I had not noticed the ways in which I was folding adolescent ed. into my math lesson.  But, there it was right in front of all of us for the entire world, and the 17-year-old's mind that lives in Mr. Fitch's 25-year-old body, to see: line segment BJ.  Not something I learned in math class myself, but they do call it New Math for a reason and this might just be why.

Wet: A School Story

The Story:
In our classroom there are twenty-one identical desks.  Twenty of them are filled by my students and the twenty-first is mine.  I keep my books in my desk and it gets just as messay as anyone else's and when I cannot find things sometimes, my students tell me the exact same thing I tell them when their books and papers have gone missing: "Look in your desk, it's probably in there somewhere!"  Both I and they are usually right.

There is also a teacher desk in the corner, an enormous behemoth of a thing, all steel and faux-finish wood, not the cool oldschool oak desks of our youth.  This one is kind of beat up and the bottom drawer always sticks shut and I never sit at it.  Miss Japan and Miss Sydney do but I have my own desks, another member of our learning community along with my students, and I like it that way.

Today I was sitting at my desks and the person seated to my right sneezed the hugest, wettest sneeze I've heard in a long time.  Allergy season.  I was immediately filled with nothing less than horror, realizing only a split second later that my arm and desk were both wet with snot.

The Lesson:
This is one of the benefits of having taught for a dozen years.  Were it only my third year, like that one time after recess that I got thrown up on, I would not have taken this in stride.  Since I am now a wise veteran, however, I simply put down my math book and got up (although not before being sneezed on a second time), continuing to explain the difference between a line, a ray, and a segment while simultaneously taking off my watch, rolling up both sleeves, scrubbing to the elbows at the sink on the other side of the room, and reminding my allergy-ridden neighbor to please try and remember to sneezing into your sneezing spot, the inside of your elbow, as it is cleaner and spreads fewer germs that way.

Are You Out There?: A Blog Story

The Story:
There is a song by Dar Williams called Are You Out There in which she describes a somewhat-imaginary relationship she has with a DJ on the radio.  Listening to that song on BART last night, headed home from Berkeley, I realized her words are a now-somewhat historical version of what it is like to blog, to tell stories but never know who reads what you write.

Of course there are tools and techniques for seeing some features of who visits, what keywords brought them here and when they stopped by and sometimes the city in which they live, even the IP address they use in some cases but none of that ever really answers my question about who is out there.  I think about it at random times, running in the park and riding on the bus--who in this huge world knows me via this medium, has met the me I express when I tell stories about school and friends and love and life online?  There are some people who used to read all the time, every day and with the passage of time most of them don't read anymore but there are new people, people who've gotten to know me in the real world who now have made my acquaintance online also.  Perhaps most telling of all are those in my life who don't even know about the stories I tell here, who have never met Miss Nelson and likely never will for a variety of reasons.

The Lesson:
To those of you who are out there, to the ones who read what I write, thank you.  Whether you live in the same city as me or halfway around the world I see sometimes when you have stopped by and I hope you enjoy the time you spend here :)

Unexpected Sleepover: A Neighborhood Story

The Story:
Last night about eight Voldemort called me and told me to come over to T-Money's for a dinner party.  I warned him that I was school-dirty, wearing day-old jeans and a fleece dug up from the back of the closet somewhere but he reassured me that I'd be fine and to just get my ass "around the corner" as he described it which I found to be a very endearing description of how far apart T$ and I live from one another.  Asking him what I should bring proved somewhat fruitless as he told me just to show up but of course my inner Midwesterner was not able to do that so a stop at Andronico's yielded flowers and a delicious candle for my hostess and host.

A short walk around the corner and I arrived, second of those invited and suddenly horror-stricken that it was a full-on dinner party with other actual guests, not just me having dinner with them and a friend or two but I tried to cover, hopelessly dismayed at how much more stylish and hip the outfits of both T$ and even more so Voldemort himself were than mine.  One of my boy's hand-muddled-mint mojitos later and after two whole plates of delicious vegetarian Mexican food from the Inspired By The Art Of Frida Kahlo cookbook, including pounds of T$'s homemade tortilla chips, I was delighted to sit on the couch and listen to all the brilliant powerful motivated beautiful women doctors in the room share stories about their professional accomplishments, recent and previous.  I was sitting on the couch with Voldemort and T$, she and I having actually an amazingly helpful conversation about the risks and rewards of leaving a small pond where one is a big fish to go swim in the open ocean, and the last thing I remember is her saying "You know, you look *really* tired..."

Next thing I know I wake up somewhere that I do not recognize and have a moment of panic as I struggle with the fact that it is dark and I have no idea at all where I am.  Terrified I feel all over myself and discover with relief that I am dressed, making this already somewhat less of a poor choice than the night almost exactly a year ago when I woke up naked in Mr. Minnesota's bed and vowed never to go drinking in the Marina again.  Sitting up I look around, confused by the fact that I can see without my glasses until I realize my contacts are fused to my corneas having been worn all day and slept in for part of a night.  The light shining out from the bathroom into the hallway illuminates just enough of my surroundings that I am able to recognize the dark, silent apartment as T$'s, a place I had only been once before.  I slink out from under the cozy down comforter covering me and make my way to the bathroom, emerging to read the time on the kitchen clock and learn that it is 5 a.m.  I find my shoes, write a hopefully apologetic enough note on a paper towel, bundle up and let myself out but not before hearing Voldemort mutter in his sleep from the bedroom.

Walking home in the frigid night air I see the baristas preparing to begin their Starbucks day and am welcomed into my apartment by the rumble outside as the first streetcar of the morning lumbers towards the ocean.  I brush my teeth, find a pajama shirt, text Voldemort to apologize and tell him I am safe, and fall back asleep.

The Lesson:
As Pirate Girl responded this morning on the phone to the story about my completely embarrassing experience, "Well my dear, at least you had your underwear."  True that.

Not A Fantastic Friday: A School Story

The Story:
Yesterday at school I was in an awful, run - away - from - home, how - much - Valium - can - I - take - and - still - be - upright kind of mood.  Because I have not yet signed my teaching contract for next year (for two reasons which can be explained in another post) my administrators are considering my position open and have begun to interview candidates to take my job.  The first one who would be teaching a sample lesson in my class to my students was scheduled to come yesterday morning and was actually, I found out at 8:16 a.m. as the day was beginning, a friend of Pirate Girl's TA and as a result would be hanging out in the Kindergarten all day including during Reading Buddies at nine. 

To preserve my own sanity I sent my students to Reading Buddies with Miss Sydney and during the only part of the entire day it was not raining, let myself out the lower gate and just started walking away from school, down the hill to the lake where I wrote in my journal for the next ninety minutes pausing only to admire the shapes of clouds in the sky and send text to Mr. Fitch so someone knew where I was.

The morning went on and eventually I showed back up in Third Grade, teaching a 30-minute review lesson in math and leading a discussion about Earth Day during current events.  After lunch I tried to work on report cards but talked all afternoon to the assistant librarian, later hiding downstairs with Ms. Song and celebrating the successful signing of her contract and then also weeping with my head down on the table about how I cannot bear to know what is going to happen next year.  On the way out Ani called me and asked me to stop by her room to say goodbye as she prepared to ride her bike home in the rain, a conversation short and mostly meaningly since I haven't seen or spoken with her in a week and a half, only made more awkward once she saw I'd been crying.

The Lesson:
On the way home via transit (since I am in the process of becoming car-free) I spent $75 at See Jane Run on 24th Street on something I absolutely had no need for but that really made me feel much better once I wore it all day today.  Arriving home at 7:00 I was ready to make dinner and watch a movie, only to be saved by Voldemort with a last-minute dinner party invite, perhaps the only fantastic part of an entire Friday.  Yikes.  Not a great day at school.

Two Down, One To Go: A School Story

The Story:
About a month ago, almost exactly, I wrote about a three-year fellowship for which I am applying.  It would be my ticket out of the classroom and my stepping stone to designing, planning, and opening my own school.

I have now made it through rounds one and two of the application process.  The final stage of candidate selection is an all-day interview.  Nine hours long, I have been invited to participate in this insane event a week from tomorrow.  As part of this day I will show my abilities to perform all the same skills on which I am currently evaluating my students for their third quarter report cards: listening and speaking, problem solving, independent learning, reading and writing, following directions, and playing well with others.  The organization's selection committee will be there with the group of candidates being evaluated, along with the principals of all the schools accepting interns for next year.

The Lesson:
I am terrified they will give it to me and I am terrified they won't; it is this or nothing.  Either I am awarded this fellowship and packing my bags for five weeks in Boston this summer to go to Principal Camp at Harvard, or I am not awarded this fellowship and I am packing my entire apartment for a year in Israel and around the world.  Even though it took me many years of life and countless hours in therapy to recognize it, I am very much a black-and-white thinker, an all-or-nothing girl.  So to me these are the only possibilities right now, and confusingly I want them both in equal measure.

The Walls Have Ears, The Students Have Eyes: A School Story

The Story:
Some of my students never pay attention to anything, not lessons, not directions, and definitely not their surroundings. Other students, however, see and hear everything. One student in particular is very in touch with my fashion choices, commenting on everything from my "new" shoes a few weeks ago (borrowed from Ani on a school morning following a sleepover night) to the fact that I wear the same earrings every day.

This morning, just a moment ago during Reading Buddies, she looked up from her two Kindergarten partners and the work they were doing together to exclaim, "Why are all the teachers wearing jeans today?!"

The Lesson:
In learning theory there is something called "saliency determination," which refers to the ability to discern how important different sensory input or information is at any given moment. I myself have almost no saliency determination at all, thinking everything is equally important all the time. Clearly this morning's fashionista and I have this trait in common.

Back To School, But Where Are The Teachers?: An Un-School Story

The Story:
Yesterday was the first day back to school after Spring Break but both I and Miss Japan were absent, her for personal reasons and me because I was at a job interview.  Our poor students, the first morning of school after vacation and as if that isn't enough of a transition their teachers were both gone and they got stuck all day with Miss Sydney and her sidekick for the day, a man widely known at school for being the least interesting or effective sub ever.  I was sure upon hearing this news that Miss Sydney was going to be furious with me but fortunately all seemed well this morning.

The Lesson:
Not only did I not teach them yesterday, I barely taught my students today.  The infamous Thursday Morning Of Prep followed by lunch, then Miss Sydney leading the Daily Meeting, and the last period and a half being taught by Ani in Writing Buddies left me 20 minutes with my own class.  During that time we learned how to find all the factors of a two-digit number.  Yawn.  Good thing I came to school today...

Esalen: A Travel Story

The Story:
On the way back from Santa Barbara we spent two days and one night at Esalen, in Big Sur.  While there were a variety of workshops going on we just went for the "Personal Retreat" and spent our time painting in the Art Barn and watching the stars come out over the Pacific Ocean from our vantage point in the natural hot springs-fed baths. 

The Lesson:
If there was not fighting it would have been better but again, I had fun.  The food was grown right in the gardens outside our room and everything was delicious.  Plus there was one of my favorite free-choice time activities available: hula hoops.  I have a huge bruise on my side to show for all the gyrating I did standing on a tree stump shaking my ass to the beat of the drum circle and gazing out over the Terrific Pacific.  Ahh, only in California...

Santa Barbara: A Travel Story

The Story:
For part of Spring Break I went to Santa Barbara with Ani who is not my girlfriend anymore but sometimes we hang out.  We visited her grandmother and went to the beach and had a very yummy overpriced romantic dinner which was a little hard and sad but she paid so it was okay.  We met lots of her grandma's friends in the retirement community where she lives and one night at dinner I was even seated next to a couple who grew up in the Iowa town where I did my undergraduate work which was a surprising yet engaging thing to talk about over bland soft food.

On the way back we stopped at Solvang, a strangely Danish town in the hills of Southern California where I ate this interesting fried pastry called an aebleskiver and where Ani bought two new pairs of shoes.

The Lesson:
I would have liked to swim in the ocean but it was too cold.  Otherwise, Santa Barbara was peaceful but interesting and overall I enjoyed myself.  Trying to get my ex-girlfriend to make out with me on the couch in her 90-year-old grandmother's apartment while said grandma was asleep in the next room was particularly entertaining.