School, Actual School

After nearly two weeks of meetings, actual classrooms full of real-life students arrive in the building today.  My classroom is organized; lessons are set; my first-day-school skirt and blouse are steamed and at-the-ready.

Like any start of school, there is the expectation of the unknown.  The pandemic makes this an even greater concern.  More than 80% of my students eligible to be vaccinated have had their jab.  All of the faculty and staff are vaccinated.  For now, we are not teaching hybrid and I am grateful for the chance to get to know my students before we navigate whatever madness Covid-19 brings. 

This is my 20th year teaching at my school, a landmark of sorts, and my greatest hope is for a year of healthy in-person learning.  That seems like a modest goal but if I have learned anything in the past two years of teaching, it’s that the seemingly modest goals are the most important of all.  

Giddy up, y’all.  Here we go…

Trying Again

The blog and I have been on an extended dance mix break in the past few months and I can’t really explain why this is the case.  I have a few ideas, of course, because if there is one thing I have perfected in the pandemic, it is over-thinking everything.

My best guess is that a hand-written journal took the space of the digital journal during the pandemic.  In March 2020, I began a daily Covid journal that was a hand-written affair and I think that some of my writing energy went there.  For months of this trial of a time, thinking about the pandemic and how to handle it at school (not to mention teach hybrid, teach remote, or, frankly, teach at all) consumed a lot of my time and energy.  In my free time, I turned to books as a distraction from the near-constant worrying.  In late June of 2021, when it seemed that my steadily vaccinating part of the nation was starting to re-emerge (pre-Delta variant in the U.S., of course), I converted the handwritten pandemic journal to a weekly update.  That has freed up time for me to write for the blog.  Why it took me another six weeks to start up postings is rather a mystery, but here we are.

If the pandemic has taught me anything valuable, it’s to go easy on myself and so for this re-start, I am not planning to back fill with postings that were begun or written while I was not posting regularly.  I will just begin and hope to continue.  Come to think of it, that is the keep-on-keeping-on tactic that has gotten me this far in the pandemic.  As strategies go, it’s not a bad one.

Here we go.

Tulip Tuesday

The forced bulbs are coming along nicely.  I expect the morning sunlight they receive in this spot is helpful.

Everywhere I go, I keep my eyes peeled for bulbs peeking through the soil.  March is such an expectant month - always - but especially now as I watch fro flowers even as I track the daily vaccines given in my state.  It feels like we are in a race and I hope that we can win.

March 12: A Pandemic Anniversary

One year ago today, school closed for Spring Break a day early.  I came to work on Friday the 13th to halls empty of students (how is that for a harbinger of what was to come?) and attended an administrative meeting where the decision was made that school would be remote for the first week after Spring Break.   We were taking things one day at a time but I knew then that one week would not be enough.  As I sat in my quiet office, I realized we would not be back in the school hallways for the rest of the school year.

As the fearful quiet took hold, I scanned history documents and made copies of everything I could possibly need to finish out the year teaching from home.  Then I packed it all in my car and took school home.  I remember that it was sunny and warm; the kind of beautiful Spring day that makes you feel unbelievably lucky to be alive.  That day, before the full fear had taken hold, it felt like I could take my luck for granted.

At the time, I thought we’d all pause for a bit to “flatten the curve” (remember that phrase?) but surely would be back in school by September.  In hindsight, that confidence seems naive.  From my perspective today, one year in to the pandemic, am glad of the naïveté.  On March 12, 2020, I was afraid and willing to pause but I was nowhere near ready to embrace the challenge and sadness the next year would bring.

Today feels so much different than March 2020.  For one thing, I am among the lucky few 11% of the people in New Jersey to be fully vaccinated.  I feel incredibly hopeful about the pace of vaccines in my state; we are now putting out 500k a week and in a state with 7 million vaccine-eligible adults, that is moving fast.  The nation has reached the point of a steady 2 million shots a day.  All of that is hopeful.  My state still has a daily case load that causes me concern - most days, we are at 3,000 new positives.  Over the past year, more than 21,000 of us have died.  New Jersey’s cautious re-opening continues and my family’s even more cautious approach continues as we wait for T and JT to receive their vaccine.

Last March, I hoped for a vaccine by the close of 2020 and felt confident that we would be able to successfully flatten the curve to wait that out.  I was wrong about our national ability to successfully flatten the curve and that inability has cost us dearly.  More than 525,000 people are known to have died of Covid-19 in this nation, a number that is an astounding testament to our inability to work toward the common good for one another.  That tragedy may be the greatest lesson of all, though right now we are unable to collectively learn from it.

Spring Break starts this afternoon and this year feels different.  I will have some time off - a break that is sorely needed - and the perspective of this past year has taught me a great deal.  In no particular order, it has taught me that resilience must be nurtured; that good leadership matters; to say I love you as often as the opportunity arises; to be grateful for science; to count my blessings and turn my face to the light whenever I can find it.  

Flowers at Midweek!

This day is the halfway mark on the last week before Spring Break.  Flowers are in order and for a whole bunch of reasons.

It’s sunny today and temps may actually exceed 60 degrees.

I am wearing a Spring dress (with a warm cardigan - of course - but still……)

This school year has been so damn hard and the approaching Spring Break will get us over the hump to the last part of the year.  I don’t like to wish away time but teaching hybrid in a pandemic is ridiculously difficult for all of us - students, teachers, and parents.  The weeks we have been remote were also hard but remote is nothing compared to the challenge of teaching hybrid.  The other side of Spring Break is just nine weeks of April and May instruction, all more bearable because the end is in sight.

Last year’s Spring Break was no break for me as the school frantically set up for remote homebound remote instruction.  This year’s Break promises some actual time off.  Add to that the chance for some enjoyable meanderings in New Jersey, thanks to the fact that I am vaccinated, and I am giddy about the coming break.    

Thank You, Science

Earlier today I received my second jab of the Pfizer vaccine and I could not be more grateful.  When the state of New Jersey notified me that I could make my first vaccine appointment on February 9, I was one of just a few people at school to receive the notice.  Since then, on almost a daily basis, more and more teachers are being vaccinated.

We are planning for school to be fully in session next September and the steady rate of vaccination in my state makes that plan feel more secure by the day.  That was foremost on my mind when I received my first vaccine.  Today, I’m feel relieved that going into the grocery store is no longer a chore fraught with danger.  I will stay masked up until the CDC instructs otherwise and I don’t have plans to be in public places with much greater frequency until T and JT are vaccinated.  But I did feel some of my anxiety ease with the second jab and for that I am feeling incredibly grateful. 

The Longest Month of the Year

February’s status as the shortest month of the year may be a thing for the calendar but this year February found a way to drag on and on.  I can’t quite explain it because most of the month featured at least one snow day each week.  That the snow fall often measured more than a foot is part of the challenge.  Neither our snow blower or our shovels were ready for that much snow and much of it lingers in piles in our front yard, as proof that Winter wasn’t messing around this year.  

I always long for Spring and this year is no exception.  At midday today I realized why.  For this year’s model of hybrid school, our 6th graders are in session every day but our 7th and 8th graders are on campus for one week and then learn remote the next.  Snow and the dictates of a pandemic have sometimes demanded that we all learn remotely.  There has been little regularity to the year.  To provide time for non-digital play, the principal and I decided we would have daily recess after lunch.  To give the teachers a break,  supervise every recess on our own.  Our plan was to have that recess outside and for most of the fall and into a cold January, we did that.  The end of January brought epic snow and that snow has lasted all of the month.  So recess is indoors in a large space.  Middle Schoolers - even just 50 of them - are the loudest creatures on the planet and the mid-day noise can sometimes be draining, even when it’s the noise of happy kids.  This week we were on campus for all five days and that meant five loud recess duties.  I am ready for the snow to melt and the ground to dry so that my banshees and I can have our recess outside.

Snow Day Grievances

With a Winter storm featuring 24 hours of snow on the horizon, last night my school made the call for a snow day today.  I was not mad about that because I love myself a leisurely morning and with classes cancelled I can freely indulge in such luxury.  The rest of the day will be given over to catching up with work —— new lessons for the 8th grade, comments home about quizzes and such, a calendar for the post Spring Break months, planning for a (fingers-crossed) in-person but socially distant closing ceremony for the 8th grade.  In short, there is plenty to keep me busy today.

Around 8:30 am I opened up my side of our school digital platform to find no less than 8 messages from students.  Several wanted to know if school was cancelled….all acknowledged that they had received the school message which read “…Thursday, Feb. 18 will be a snow day for all students.  All instruction and campus activities are cancelled.”  

Yikes.

A few more students sought to find out if the digital open note quiz, assigned three weeks ago and slated to close tonight at 8 pm, would have an extension because there was no class today.  

Ahem, hard NO.

A few more offered explanations for why they had submitted incomplete quizzes and were now sending additional answers to the quiz questions.   Would I please give them full credit?

I cannot even.  

At this juncture, I took a pause from school work and stuck my nose into a Miss Read book.  Her February in Fair Acre features early daffodils and the smell of Spring.  That’s a balm to my tired soul and spirit.  When I return to the business of quiz grading and such, it will be with a patient heart.  Pandemic school is hard for us all.  Winter makes it harder.  We are all worried and afraid.  But kindness is free and I will find some hope; I always do.

The quiet fall of snow is lovely.  We have heat, running water, and electricity in my corner of the nation.  Winter can’t last forever and March is on the horizon.  Sassafras Spring will surely arrive even sooner.  We can do hard things.  And we will.

Valentine Flowers

This year’s Valentine treat featured flowers.  Bright pink tulips, because they remind me of Spring.   

And pale rink roses, because I am spoiled.

Love your people extra today, folks.  Though hope is on the horizon, things may still be hard.  Love matters.

Loss and Hope

In the New York Times today there was an article about Covid (and it seems like every article is about Covid…..but that is a topic for another day), a chaplain at a hospital in California, speaking about the ways in which people are dying alone in the pandemic explained how she and her staff try to ease the loneliness and grief of families losing a loved one in the pandemic.  She explained how they look to find opportunities to make human connections in these moments.  One example really stood out to me.  She explained, “We Zoomed in a person’s son who was incarcerated, and she hadn’t seen him for years before she died.”

The description hit me like a sucker punch.  This seems so undeniably sad and such an indictment of our national character.  How can justice be served by punishing people who are incarcerated by denying them access to the people who love them?  How can we hope to build a strong community for all of us when we punish families in this way.  So much of the way we live has changed in the pandemic and I hope that when we get to the other side we work on treating people - all of us - better.  We need to re-think the ways in which we use prisons and jails in our justice system.  No one, no matter how terrible their crime, should be so isolated that they cannot see their family while they are incarnated.  There is nothing to be gained by such cruelty and so much of us that is lost because of it.

Sassafras Luck

Yesterday morning I opened my e-mail to a message from the state of New Jersey that it was my turn to schedule a vaccine.  After a few seconds of disbelief and then some hit and miss moments, I got an appointment more than an hour away.  I took it and headed south to one of our state’s vaccine mega-sites.  A few hours later, I had a Pfizer vaccine in my arm and an appointment for my second dose on March 2.  I spent the rest of the day in a haze of disbelief and gratitude, a feeling that remains front and center today.  

New Jersey, with a population of just under 9 million people, is approaching 10% of the population having received a first vaccine.  I am glad that my lucky number came up so quickly and crossing my fingers for everyone else.

Quarantine’s End

T and I have been in quarantine since January 20.  Two weeks and three negative tests later, we’ve shoveled ourselves out from the snow and today I return to school in person.  I’ll be teaching in the hybrid model we’ve used all year and so I don’t really expect to see that many students in person in my classes — usually no more than 4 students are in the room; most Zoom in to school — but I am glad of the chance to leave the house and teach from my classroom.  

I taught from home while I was in quarantine but it was hard and a huge burden on the co-workers who were called upon to hook up the classroom into my Zoom.  The longer I teach hybrid, the more frustrating I find it.   But that is a post for another day.  Today is a day to be glad and grateful for my blessings, so I won’t grumble and I will hope, as I do every day, that my turn for a vaccine comes soon.

Headed North

I was teaching class this morning when the attic prisoner shot downstairs and began packing his car for the drive north back to school.  JT has been a trooper for all of the isolation, never complaining as he stayed up in the attic with his books, movies, and video games.  He never developed symptoms and tested negative in two quick successions after the positive test.  I am grateful that he wasn’t sick and glad that he gets to return to college life.  I gave him a hug and sent him north with his birthday presents - he turns 21 next month.  T and I have another week on our quarantine but it was nice for one of us to earn their freedom.

Amaryllis Tuesday: January 26

As I wait out the days of my quarantine, it seems fitting that the amaryllis waits with me, each of us marking the day with a bit more daylight to soak up.  

The morning sunlight in this window is good for all the growing things and some days I stand here to soak it all in.

By the end of this week, we’ll be gaining an extra minute of daylight in the morning and the evening and I find that though tespecially cheering.  I expect that the amaryllis feels the same way.  

The Waiting

I woke on Inauguration Day with a light and happy feeling in my heart and though the arrival of the Biden Administration still fills me with hope, the day took a turn at 6 am, which is a bit early for my tastes.

On Sunday the 17th, JT went for a routine Covid test.  He needed a negative result to return to school on the 21st and since he has no symptoms, that’s what we expected.  To our surprise and dismay, his results when the test came back on the 20th were positive.  From then on, it’s been nuts.  JT went into isolation in the attic and I took to passing through the house with a bottle of Lysol as my companion.  We checked in by text and delivered food on the regular but JT was a ghost in the house.

T and I began our quarantine by taking a Covid test and on the hour wondering if any twinge was a symptom of something greater.  As the days passed, and JT didn’t have any symptoms, I began to relax slightly.  T felt puny but I felt fine.  Our first two tests were negative.  JT  will be set free to return to school on the 28th.  T and I will be quarantined through the 3rd of February.  

And so we wait.

Doing Hard Things

My second week of hybrid learning school starts today.  When we decided to invite half of the students on campus for each week (the other half learn remotely), I knew that we had selected the hardest of all teaching options.  Last week, as classes got underway, the difficulty of the choice was confirmed.

This week, the students in class last week will be remote and the second crop of students will be present in class.  Some families have opted to be all remote and with those kids mixed in, more than half of each class I teach is off campus each day.  Teaching school with masks and social distancing, with more than half of each class learning remote, is more than exhausting.  It’s also really, really hard.  

Though my classroom is familiar (albeit with plexiglass and desks spaced 6 feet apart), so much of class is different, starting with the tiresome but necessary mask worn while teaching to masked face students in person while the rest of the class chimes in via Zoom.  For years, I’ve taught lessons using an iPad to broadcast notes on the screen.  In hybrid learning, I must choose being seeing the faces of my remote students or broadcasting my notes.  I’ve chosen student faces but that makes the task of teaching students how to take notes much harder.  Lessons take longer and while I don’t feel the pressure to cover material at the same pace as the pre-pandemic world, I’m increasingly aware of what we lose in this method of schooling.

For now, I persevere, aware that there is no other option available.  I relish the laughter and chatter of students doing what middle schoolers do.  I’m also aware of the relative privilege of my students, all of whom have Internet access and a brand-new iPad; most have two devices while they learn remotely.  If it’s hard for us, I can only imagine how much harder it is for teachers whose students have so much less to work with.

But that doesn’t mean my exhaustion isn’t real.  That doesn’t mean my lift isn’t heavy.  Each day I remind myself and then my students that we can do hard things.  And each day we do the hard thing moves us one day closer to a brighter horizon.  

And with that, a new week of hard things begins.