Do you want to hear a story?

I Just Wish You Could Be In A Normal Relationship For Once: An Un-Love Story

The Story:
This has been the weekend of sleepovers and last night I found myself, post-cookout, flopped on the couch at a place that has at times and is about to be again my home away from home: Alef and Dr. Animal's house.  I was initially going to come back to the city, having had an impromptu sleepover at Pirate Girl's on Friday following the theft of my car (another post for another time), but sunshine and sangria had caught up with me and the thought of getting on the BART was too much to bear so we had just decided it was going to be a sushi-take-out-and-movie kind of night in Berkeley and that I would stay over in their guest room, a.k.a "my room", there instead of coming back to San Francisco. 

The three of us had been swapping stories, discussing everything from Dr. Animal's recent acceptance to grad school and the benefits to his mental health as a result to the college friend of Alef's who had dated a woman touted on a book cover at Good Vibrations as "the go-to girl for anal sex advice."  My semi-plans for next year, and Ani's un-contribution to them, came up and we talked about it until I was so self-conscious and embarrassed about being the mouth to both of their ears that I made us change the subject.

The Lesson:
"The last thing," Dr. Animal concluded, "that I have to say about this situation is that between all the time you spent with Romeo and everything this past year with Ani, I just wish you could be in a normal relationship for once."

Amen, brother.

The Jews And The Pagans: A Jew Story And A School Story

The Story:
This past week at school we celebrated Shavuot, the Hebrew word for "weeks."  This holiday both marks the end of the seven post-Passover weeks during which one observes the counting of the Omer (long period of spiritual reflection based on now-defunct agricultural practice) and also commemorates G-d giving the Torah to the Israelites at Mount Sinai.  Shavuot being one of the harvest-related holidays, we all brought in fruits and vegetables to school for donation to an organization that focuses on equitable food distribution and for some random Jew reason that no one seemed quite sure of, we all dressed in white as is Shavuot tradition.

Just as all the students in the Lower School were making their way up the hill to the synagogue, swathed in white and carrying all forms of bags and baskets overflowing with produce, the Middle School was getting on a small fleet of schoolbuses to go to the park for Mini-Course Day (randomly scheduled and completely unrelated to Shavuot).  The younger kids, heads wreathed in crowns of harvesty branches and the older kids, clothed in the unofficial outdoor learning day uniform of sweatshirts and swishy pants, regarded one another with complete confusion as their paths crossed in the parking lot.

The Lesson:
The next day Ani called me for the first time in forever to see if I wanted to go to Arizmendi with her.  I was on my way to meet Alef and also wasn't quite sure what we'd say to one another so I politely declined but we chatted for a moment or two and she made a sage observation about the festivities from the day before.  "I saw all your kids going up to the temple and did a total double-take," she said.  "They all looked so pagan in their white shirts and dresses, everyone with head wreaths and armsfull of bananas and broccoli.  It was like that Dar Williams song The Christians and The Pagans, except with Jews.  I thought it was Beltane (pagan holiday they used to celebrate in the co-op where she lived at Stanford) all over again for a second."

My reply: "We are nothing if not a liberal pluralistic community day school I suppose..."

Quote Of The Day: A Neighborhood Story

The Story:
Today there was no school because it is Shavuot, an important but generally underobserved Jewish holiday that I will describe in another post.  Shavuot is generally celebrated by staying up all night studying Torah and eating lots of dairy foods, but Alef and I decided to take a pluralistic approach and start our own traditions of observance by shopping for shoes and buying sex toys. 

After all this hard work honoring the holiday, we needed a snack (dairy of course) so we walked over to the hipster Bi-Rite Creamery, just across the street from Dolores Park in a neighborhood where neither Alef nor I are cool enough to live: the Mission.  It was here that we experienced what quickly became the quote of the day, courtesy of me (see The Lesson, below), ousting the original frontrunner we'd overheard at Good Vibrations: "Of course you know there are laws against stripping in national parks, don't you?".  Not even I thought I could top that one but little did I know what I would come up with mere minutes later.  Maybe I'll get a fun first date out of it at least?

The Lesson:
http://sfbay.craigslist.org/sfc/mis/337176014.html

My New Toy: A Love Story

The Story:
Not *that* kind of toy, you filthy-minded readers, you.  Today on the way home from the trip I made to see Alef and Dr. Animal in Berkeley as an escape from the insanity that was Bay to Breakers in the city, I stopped by the lawn at Civic Center for the weekly meeting of the Bay Area Hoopers to pick up my new hula hoop.  It is made out of irrigation tubing and decorated in three colors of green tape and it is enormous and heavy and so much fun to play with.  I hung out and practiced with the Hoopers for awhile and then I got back on the train (challenging with such a big plaything, a lot of other people were pissed off that I was taking up so much space) and came home.

The Lesson:
Twenty-five bucks well spent and a good workout to boot--I love it.  I'm not looking forward to the bruises on my waist in the morning, though.

Friday Night At Kabuki: A True Story

The Story:
Ani, who I now feel I have no choice but to completely dislike and with whom I no longer spend any time at all, heard about the fellowship I did not get this past week and out of the blue called me in a show of support and commiseration.  I had not spoken to her in a few weeks and was really very surprised to hear from her.  Unsure how to respond to her suggestion that we get together to discuss the foolishness of the selection committee in not choosing me and to celebrate the other good things in life that are not unreceived fellowships, I reluctantly agreed to her Wednesday night invitation to dinner and Kabuki, the traditional Japanese baths on Geary Street.  To be honest, I did not so much say yes because I wanted to see her but more so because if she was going to pay for me to go soak and sweat and steam on a school night, fabulous.

Wednesday afternoon came and I had not heard from her one way or the other about our supposed plans.  About 4:30 she called to tell me she was bailing on me because she had to grade papers, but sorry.  Maybe we could go on Friday along with having Shabbat dinner together, she suggested?  No thanks, I said, I'd rather not, and by the way this is another example of you not being a good friend to me sometimes.

The Lesson:
I went to Kabuki on Friday night by myself and had a very peaceful time, much less confusing and dramatic than going with her would have been I am sure.  Twenty bucks for a two-hour hydrotherapy session and another twenty for a great book of poetry that I found in their bookstore while waiting for my turn to soak and I would say it was a very good night.  The one remaining question: how am I going to get back her ticket to the Indigo Girls show (super dykey, I know!) that I bought for us when they first went on sale a few months ago?  Hmm...

The Heart Of A Champion: A School Story

The Story:
This year in our class there is a group of boys who are very emotionally expressive.  They cry easily and frequently, often about things no one else seems to think are sad or upsetting.  As their teachers, we have put our heads together about ways in which we can buffer their experiences at school but really it seems like these events are just part of life and they will respond in their own ways no matter what we do.  Talking with their parents has not been particularly fruitful as they are the same way at home too and their families have no more idea what to do about it than we do.

One particularly sensitive student is Ted and his fragility really makes me uncomfortable much of the time.  He is constantly on the edge of losing it and there is never any way to predict what is going to prompt the next meltdown.  When overwhelmed, Ted does not weep as much as sobs, his face purple and great gasping cries heaving forth from his chest.  A few times his wails have been so intense that he has even thrown up from crying so hard.  Valium, unfortunately, is not approved for use in children under 12 so we have been doing what we can to support him in the ever-emotional world of school.

The other day it was Ted's turn to present his state report to the class and he very clearly did not want to sit down on the Author's Chair and read to us about Vermont.  Despite Miss Sydney's attempts to encourage him the color rose in his face and his features began to crumple, the early-warning signs of an imminent outburst.  Sensitive to the ways in which this kind of thing is difficult for Ted, the other students began shouting out their support.  "I know you can do it, Ted!" said one student.  "We really want to learn about Vermont!" cried another.  No luck.  The gurgling noises began to rise from Ted's throat, a sign that the ragged gasping sobs were not far behind.  Miss Sydney and I exchanged worried looks, sure that the facts about Vermont would remain forever a secret to the rest of the class and she reached with a practiced hand towards the trash can, ready to put it into position in front of Ted in case of vomiting.

The Lesson:
"Ted!" the most popular kid in the class called out from his seat.  "You can do it, man--you have the heart of a champion!  Now suck it up and tell us about Vermont already, dude, we're all waiting!"  With those words of encouragement, puking was avoided for this day at least and now we all know more about moose, maple syrup, and Montpelier than we did before.

Next Year?: A School Story

The Story:
I still do not know what is going to happen for next year and it is kind of making me nauseous, not in the belly but in the heart.  I have now faux-signed my teaching contract (fully aware of the intricacties of California as an At-Will Employment state and as a result willing to bail at any moment) and am pretending to come back to Third Grade when really all I want to do is run away.

As it turns out Beauty Pageant Day did not go as well as planned, although perhaps went exactly like I thought it did, and I am not about to spend the summer in Boston and then become the Assistant Principal of a charter school in the fall.  All the better because I decided about a week and a half ago that I do not want to do that anyway.  Which of course begs the question that Bronwyn the Reiki practitioner annoyingly asks Alef when it comes to these things: "What would you do if you knew what to do?"

The Lesson:
I do not know what to do but fortunately we have two and a half days off from school this week and I plan to do a significant amount of Internet research to figure out what my options are.  The only thing standing between me putting everything into storage and leaving the States is the fear of not having enough money, so if I can find any school or organization that will pay me even a little to teach in India or Africa or anywhere, I'll go.  Certainly no one here is waiting around for me and I need a break from teaching overprivileged white kids anyway.  That willingness, along with my experience, makes me an ideal candidate for lots of things I think.  I just have to find someplace that wants and needs my help.

The Importance of Being Comfortable: A School Story

The Story:
Tomorrow we are going on a field trip.  We will take a bus forty-five minutes north, then hike around a series of biomes ranging from the beach to the mountains and everything in between.  Such is the beauty of Bay Area microclimates...

This afternoon during homework time as everyone was copying the evening's assignments into their planners I asked if anyone had questions about tomorrow's outing.  We had already gone over the basics of leaving our massive wheeled backpacks at home in favor of something smaller and lighter, as well as who was going to carry your gear for you if you got tired of carrying it (now that you are in Third Grade and a Big Kid, that would be You).  I had explained the need for both a fleece in case of fog and a hat in case of sun (again, microclimates) plus an extra pair of socks because inevitably everyone gets too excited gazing into the tidepools every year and doesn't notice the incoming, foot-soaking waves as they approach.  Other packing list items included AND were strictly limited to the following:

•bag snack/lunch
•water
•sunblock
•hiking shoes
•permission slip
•book to read on bus, unless you get carsick (optional)

"Okay, anything else?  No?" I asked, amazed that for once no hands were being waved and no urgent, call-on-me!!! guttural noises were being made by any of my students until a hand shot up right in my face and my hopes at moving on to Read Aloud were dashed.  "Ah, one last question, yes, Bob?"

Bob:  Miss Nelson, I know we went over the packing list but I was just wondering if, you know, I could bring something extra, you know, something I might need personally, that not everyone might need, but, just, something to make me more comfortable for the field trip.

me:  Ah, well, Bob, what were you thinking about, did you have something specific in mind?

Bob:  Well, you said, you know, that maybe in a few places on the hike it might be windy, you know, like by the beach or on the mountain, and anyway, I am really not good with a lot of wind, it really does not make me comfortable, and so I think there is something I need to bring along to help me.

me:  Okay, Bob, certainly, of course the teachers want you to be comfortable.  What do you think you might bring with you tomorrow?

The Lesson:

Bob:  Goggles, is that okay?

me:  Absolutely, Bob, great idea.  Whatever you feel you need.

all the other students:  (a supportive, accepting silence)

Miss Sydney, who was sitting at the teachers' desk grading spelling tests: (hysterical laughter disguised as uncontrollable coughing fit)

Smells Like Miss Nelson: A School Story

The Story:
As I have confessed previously, I steal things from the Lost and Found.  Sweatshirts, totebags, a sports watch one time, even two pairs of jeans have made their way into my wardrobe.  Just before Spring Break I scored what looked like it would be a really cool running fleece--a stretchy blue hoodie with zipper pockets.  I never try things on AT the Lost and Found because of the ongoing middle school lice epidemic; rather, if there are things which seem to be good candidates for swiping I take them home and launder them, then try them on and return them if they do not fit.

Alas, the blue hoodie was too small and late last week I shoved it into my school bag to return to the rack outside the elevator.  I put it on the purple Author's Chair in the corner of our classroom, hoping someone would just take it down there but no such luck.  This afternoon as we were on our way to P.E. I asked the student whose room job this week is Special Delivery to please drop it off as we went to the blacktop to play dodgeball or some such ridiculous shitty sport that I hated in Third Grade and my students now hate just as much.

"Wait!  I think that belongs to someone in our class," Ellie said,  "I'm pretty sure it's Naomi's (sidepoint: not to be confused with the grown-up Naomi at our school who I HATE) sweatshirt, want me to put it in her cubby?"

"No," Shmuel replied, "that's not Naomi's.  Her blue sweatshirt has flowers on the pockets and this one does not."

"Here," Mami said assertively, her hand outstretched, "I can tell you whose it is."  I expected her to look inside and read the tag, which actually does have the original owner's name written on it in Sharpie, but much to my horror she buried her nose in it and sniffed it.  "It smells like you, Miss Nelson," she responded definitively but with surprise.  "Are you sure it's not yours?"

The Lesson:
I am not sure which is worse: that I got caught red-handed by a Third Grader after thiefing from the Lost and Found, or the fact that one of my students can identify apparently any of us--but most alarmingly me--by smell.

Yesh Shloshim Dagim B'Kitah Achshav: A School Story

The Story:
In addition to our class fish Zelda, who has been with us since the beginning of the year, we recently added three new goldfish to our animal kingdom on the back bookshelf next to the globe.  The homework assignment one night last week was to write down three potential fish names on three separate pieces of paper, and the next day at Morning Meeting we put them all in a flowerpot and drew the winners at which time Todd, Stella, and Lucky were officially welcomed into our class community with much excitement.  Many of the students made the fish cards which we hung up on the whiteboard in the back above their tank, and a few even brought her offerings from their own fish supplies at home to spruce up the aquarium: a plant, a parking meter, and a volcano.

Miss Japan had been out the day Todd, Stella, and Lucky arrived.  When I saw her in the hall early the next morning before the students arrived I was so delighted to tell her the news, and since she is one of the few Jewish Studies teachers who does not laugh at my attempts at bilingualism I shared the news b'Ivrit:  "HaMorah Yapon, yesh shloshim dagim b'kitah achshav!" I blurted out in full Hebraic excitement.

"No fucking way there are not," she replied in stunned English.  "I can't wait to see where you put an aquarium that size and am hoping it means you got rid of a few key students to make more space."

The Lesson:
Miss Japan, there are THIRTY fish in the class right now?!  Not exactly.  Note to self: review the names of all the numbers...