Herding the Cats to Compassion

#1000Speak -- 1000 bloggers posting about compassion and kindness to flood the Blogosphere with good February 20, 2015. Search for the hashtag and support the cause, please!

I'm one of those teachers who sometimes (?) takes a roundabout way to get to the point. I don't mind letting the students get me off topic (sometimes). I love it when they inadvertently come up with a perfect (or not so perfect) example of what I want them to understand.

“The point is, and I do have a point...” I say, steering our totally random discussion towards a “teachable moment.” I like to think I toss the idea out there, and just keep ooching, nudging, imperceptibly herding the cats to the conclusion I'm hoping for (or somewhere near it, anyway).

But I have not yet found a way to lead them to a meaningful discussion of “compassion.” At least not as it concerns “virtual” conversations.

I’m amazed at how accepting they are of other students who are differently-abled. They don't bat an eye when one of their classmates who has Down Syndrome needs extra help – they just pitch in and help. For the most part they are (at least when teachers are around) pretty considerate kids.

I'm not saying they're angels. Oh, my goodness, no.

Sometimes they (we all) say stupid things without thinking. And sometimes they say those stupid things without realizing what they are really saying. Some of those nasty, hateful words have lost their power, which may or may not be a good thing. We say them out of habit, without thinking, not to purposely hurt.

But absence of malice is not the same thing as compassion.

And while students with learning disabilities are protected, those with no obvious disadvantage are fair game. Particularly when it comes to electronic conversations.

During just the past two months at my school we've had at least four incidents blown totally out of proportion because the majority of the discussion took place not face-to-face in the hallway, but thumb-to-thumb on cell-phones.

During the most recent “Twitter-fight” I channeled the cranky English teacher who hides just below the surface of my mellow Home Ec teacher facade. I told one class “You know, back in the day (cue the eye rolls and heavy sighing), if we had a beef with someone we actually had to (melodramatic gasp for emphasis) talk to them in the hallway... or maybe write them a nasty note on real paper and pass it to them during study hall, or stuff it through the vent on their locker door. We couldn't (ahem), sit one table away from them during lunch and 'twit' nasty things back and forth.”

I was hoping for a meaningful discussion about how we don't talk to each other anymore, we talk at each other. What I got was a report of the number of retweets, favorites and subtweets (whatever that means) that sprouted from the original offending tweet, as well as a defense of Wronged Party A (and a defense of Wronged Party B from the next class).

What I got was a synopsis of the actual, real-world fight that could have – but did not – break out once the twitter-tweeters actually did turn around and talk to each other.

“My point is,” I said, trying to herd the cats, “do you think it’s possible that neither one actually threw a punch because they were having (melodramatic gasp again) a face-to-face conversation?”

I saw a flicker of comprehension as my students considered that maybe, just maybe, there were some things you would tweet without thinking, but you wouldn’t say in person.

“Adding 'LOL' or 'JK' or a funny face emoji isn’t the same as the non-verbal communication – the facial expressions, the vocal inflections, the body language – of a face-to-face conversation,” I said, pushing the point.

But my students were already on their cell-phones, checking for updates on the latest drama.

Next time I’ll tweet them the lesson.

JK.

In Heaven There Are No Jell-O Shots

The other day I needed to make a salad to take to a funeral dinner, so I did what any modern kitchen wizard would do.

I Googled it.

Usually I just take my go-to specialty for any gathering: orange sherbert/Jell-O salad. I even keep a supply of orange Jell-O and mandarin oranges in the cupboard in case of emergency.

The key ingredient, of course, is the pint of orange sherbert. That's just not something I'm willing to sacrifice freezer space for long term. And no one wants long-term orange sherbert, trust me. For some unfathomable reason, pints of orange sherbert can be very hard to find... especially when I am in dire need. This always makes me wonder: Is everyone else making this salad, too?

Do people actually eat orange sherbert by itself? Or is it like Cool Whip (the final ingredient), relegated forever to a supporting role?

As my wondering grows exponentially, eventually I arrive at: Do grocery stores on either coast even stock Jell-O and pints of sherbert?

We in the Midwest do love our Jell-O. Jell-O and sherbert seem to go hand in hand, at least when it comes to salads. Would I want to live in a world without Jell-O? Or sherbert?

This orange salad is a tradition in my husband's family. His grandmother used to make it for him and, as he was the only boy-child in the family, his mother and sisters followed suit. I'm more than happy to join the enablers because it is an easy, easy recipe. One that I have only screwed up a couple of times.

I have even been entrusted with the special bowl that Grandma always served it in. Or not. That's the problem with family recipes. There's a certain amount of built-in ambiguity – or as the hubby calls it “revisionist history.” Everyone remembers a different bowl and/or salad. (But if either sister is reading this: You are right. Your sister is wrong.)

While I happily make the salad, I draw the line at using The Bowl. Despite years of marriage, I carry outsider guilt. What if I break The Bowl?

Some family members think The Bowl was used for the other salad – a strawberry concoction that (may or may not have) had a pretzel crust and layer of cream cheese. Then again, either of the salads (orange or strawberry) may (or may not have) been made in a ring mold.

Of course it's not just my husband's family who perpetuate the whole recipe/serving dish family tradition.

My grandma always made what (I swear) she called “Heavenly Hash,” although if you Google it, you'll need to look for “Waldorf Salad.” Her version featured Cool Whip, mini-marshmallows, apple chunks, pecans, and swearing whilst halving the red grapes to remove the seeds. And it was always – always – served in a white milk-glass bowl.

My mom always made Four-Layer Dessert for funerals and other functions. She usually made chocolate (topped with chocolate curls) or coconut (with toasted coconut), but she was also known to make the occasional banana version (with real banana slices) if she was feeling wild and crazy.

My first memory of this dessert was a pistachio version made for a 4-H meeting, back when we always had color-coordinated refreshments served on glass snack trays. The punch (usually featuring sherbert) was served in matching glass cups, ladled out of an honest-to-God (glass) punch bowl.

The hub's family calls this dessert Texas Special, and it is almost exclusively chocolate. Not that I'm complaining. Everything tastes better when someone else make it.

I, myself, am a complete and total failure when it comes to making this dessert. I am unable (no matter how many tips my sisters-in-law give me) to successfully make the crust. However, I do double up on the cream cheese/Cool Whip/powdered sugar layer to compensate. In my humble opinion, this layer should be designated a salad in its own right and served in the Holy Grail.

But I digress.

My Google search for “funeral salads” was both surprisingly successful (apparently “funeral salads” is a popular search term), and dishearteningly un-varied. I am currently taking a class in nutrition, so I am victim of a nagging little voice that poo-poos all the traditional funerial salads: mayonaise, Cool Whip, mini-marshmallows, Jell-O... ewww! All of these are comfort-food – and thus funeral-salad – staples.

The problem is that in a pot-luck setting, everyone has their own speciality. I could have tried to branch out to broccoli salad, but someone always brings one of those. I could have tried pasta salad – ditto. Don't even think about pea-salad or macaroni salad, the market is covered. And potato salad straddles that fine line between side dish and salad. Better to commit a mortal sin than to annoy the church kitchen ladies.

Then there are my own personal food rules: no mixing veggies and fruit. Or veggies and Jell-O, if I can help it. God forbid you combine veggies and Cool Whip. Lime Jell-O deserves its own special ring in Hell. And, although I like raisins in theory (and by themselves), please keep them out of my salad. I will eat them in a broccoli salad provided it includes bacon, but I won't be happy about it.

While we're at it, the only Jell-O I want at my funeral dinner is Jell-O shots.

Let's just make this easy on every one and order pizza.

And beer.

And let's do it before I die.

I'll be Home (Ec) for Christmas

Google “Home Ec -- I mean Family Consumer Science -- Christmas Lesson Plans” and what do you get?

Christmas Cookie Lab. Christmas Cookie Bake Sale. Christmas Cookie Sampler. Christmas Cookie Comparison. Christmas Cookie Swap. Healthy Christmas Treats (there's one in every crowd).

Ask the students, right after they fill out the Spooky Halloween Treat Lab evaluation, what do they want to do next?

“Make Christmas cookies.”

So when the principal asked me “Would your classes like to make cookies to serve during semester tests?” I said yes. (Actually, I gave him the “are you kidding?” look.) Then I asked my students.

Do you want to bake Christmas cookies? “Yes!”

For the other students? “Ummm....”

You can have some, too. YES!

I was feeling pretty confident in their abilities. After all, they made snacks for a conference-wide, school administrators' meeting last month. AND had recipe requests. All semester these kids have done incredible work in the kitchens. Sure we hit a rough spot with the “healthier options” recipes, but I think whole wheat Snickerdoodles are an acquired taste.

Some students have… contributed more than others. Some have... put forth more effort than others. But each of these students has made me incredibly proud at least once this semester.

All that ended with The Great Christmas Cookie Catastrophe.

I'm not blaming the kids. I should have known better than to use untested recipes (stupid Google search). I should have watched the oven timer more closely (and made sure they used it).

I should not have tried to buy Billy Joel concert tickets on-line as soon as they went on sale while trying to supervise the creation of a batch of festive, fudge-brownie cookies.

I felt like Goldilocks. One batch of cookies was over-cooked. One batch was under-cooked. One batch was... why did I approve an anise-flavored cookie anyway? And there is not enough time in a 45-minute class period for the students to do all the baking and cleaning.

To top it all off: I didn't get a ticket for the Billy Joel concert in Minneapolis.

Ouch. Way to kick a girl when she's down, Target Center ticket program. (It's not sold out yet, but I haven't liked the “best available” tickets they've “suggested” for me. I'm gambling here. Really, you think there's not gonna be one single, odd seat left on the floor? )

Final. Straw.

Camel's back? Broken.

So I stood, forlorn, in the kitchens as the students filed in for homeroom. I was stressed, surrounded by piles of inedible cookies, mountains of dirty dishes and flour-covered counters. And I was ticket-less.

There were tears.

Yeah. No. Really.

I cried.

Over cookies.

It was a brief, silent, ragged breathing, just a couple of tears overflowing type of cry. Not my proudest moment.

Wound. Too. Tight.

But one sweet boy talked me down. “Are you ok, Mrs. Salemink?”

He helped clean up the mess – a mess he didn't make! – and helped me sort out and salvage more cookies than I thought possible.

Santa's weepy elf might have to fill in a little around the edges (I'm just not sure high schoolers are ready for anise-flavored cookies. I'm not sure any one is, no matter what the Albuquerque Convention and Visitors Bureau says.) But it looks like the Home Ec – I mean Family Consumer Science – classes will help make semester tests (and Christmas – I mean winter – break) just a little brighter at West Branch High School.

Now if the Target Center would just cut to the chase and pony up a front row, center stage ticket we could put this whole ugly scene behind us.

And have a Merry Christmas. Cookie.

The Good, The Bad, The New and The Coffee

Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong and did go wrong this morning as I started my first day as a new teacher at West Branch High School.

“But wait a minute,” you say. “Weren't you a new teacher at WBHS last year?”

Technically, no.

Last year I was a long-term substitute teacher for Family Consumer Science classes at WBHS. This year I am an official, lanyard-wearing, photo-id bearing, contract-toting, part-time Family Consumer Science teacher at WBHS. And as such, I attended New Teacher Orientation today.

That means last night I went through the usual pre-first-day jitters routine: I planned my outfit, charged my computer, found a semi-blank notebook, and tossed and turned instead of sleeping. But I still woke up bright and early, with plenty of time to spare before my exciting, (semi-) new adventure started at 8 a.m.

Except that a quick review of the schedule showed the continental breakfast didn't start until 8:30 a.m. Woo Hoo! An extra 30 minutes to prepare. (Note to WBCSD administrators: The only time I'm early for an event is when Billy Joel is involved. See July 19 blog post.)

While I could have used an extra 30 minutes of sleep (doubling the night's total), I chose to see this miscalculation as a positive thing – I'm sure to be on time! Oh, silly, optimistic me. That was just the tip of the craptastic iceberg of miscues that started my day.

Presented here in time-lapse write-ography are the highlights of my morning:

1. The coffee maker wasn't sure it wanted to work. A few cuss words, some persuasive taps and I had my coffee and was back on schedule.

2. The hair dryer unplugged itself. When I set the dryer on the floor to pick up the clunky, surge-protector plug I knocked the curling iron off the dresser. Picking up the curling iron unplugged the dryer... you get the picture. More swearing.

3. Clothing crisis. The outfit I had picked out just didn't seem right. I decided to switch to my new skirt. But I couldn't find it! Anywhere! My new dress was out of the question because it's sleeveless and the red, white and blue State of Iowa temporary tattoo I got (on my bicep, naturally) at the Iowa State Fair isn't as temporary as I thought. I was really wishing I could just wear the t-shirt and shorts I had on until I realized the t-shirt said “We bust ours to kick yours.” Probably not a good first impression. Back to outfit number one. But the pants didn't fit! Until I took the shorts off.

4. On to makeup. Nearly ran out of concealer trying to cover the bags under my eyes, and coverup trying to hide the blemishes brought on by nerves. Behind schedule and in a panic, I applied eye liner somewhere in the vicinity of my eyes. I decided not to risk putting on mascara.

5. My selected outfit featured a scarf... which I don't know how to tie.

6. I'm wearing a white t-shirt, orange silk scarf and khaki pants, drinking coffee and walking. What could possibly go wrong? Surprisingly, nothing!

7. One last glance at the clock on my way to the garage. It's 8:30 a.m. I'm supposed to be at the school at 8:30 a.m.! Where did my extra 30 minutes go?

8. The garage door. Will. Not. Open.

9. Hysterical swearing works wonders on electronics. Again. Garage door opens.

10. Parking lot construction means I have to hoof it from the softball field. Could this extra 200 yards be blamed for my tardiness?

11. Stopped in my room to drop off water and purse. Custodian Extraordinaire and general Amazing Problem Solver Jean was finishing up trim painting. My room is bright and shiny and doesn't smell like Junior High students!

12. There's coffee at the meeting. The Superintendent and I seem to be the only ones drinking it. I drink lots of it. Coffee is good.

New is good.

Life is good.

Did I mention the coffee?

Murphy's Law may play havoc with my schedule again tomorrow morning, but today is good.

Today, I Carpe Coffee.

  

Goin' to Home Ec in a Handbasket

A funny thing happened to me on the way to the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop 2014.

I became a Home Ec teacher.

Well, technically I'm a long-term substitute Family and Consumer Science Teacher. But when I teach it, it's Home Ec.

I guess it's not funny ha-ha, unless you're part of my immediate family or friends. Judging from their responses when I told them the news, the thought of me teaching youngsters how to cook and sew correctly and successfully is pee-your-pants funny.

And it's not funny ironic, because irony doesn't mean what anyone thinks it does. Then again, “a situation that is strange or funny because things happen in a way that seems to be the opposite of what you expected” (thank you Merriam-Webster) does pretty much sum things up. I certainly wouldn't describe myself as your typical “Becky Home-Ecky.” More of a “Becky's Home's Wreckied.”

It's more like funny in a way that makes you go “Hmmm, well, that settles it. The world as we know it is truly going to hell in a handbasket and I have front row seats.”

I myself believe it's just another one of those things that proves that God has a sense of humor, and I am the butt of the joke.

I was at a crossroads. I enjoyed my part-time job(s), but I was approaching (yes, damn it, approaching) middle-age with no a clear career path in sight. Whether we like it or not, many people – at least me – define themselves by their jobs and/or income earning potential. Although wife/mother/daughter is a more-than-full-time job with great benefits (usually), the earning potential is, shall we say, non-existent. Ditto with my current blogging initiative.

It was time for me to decide whether I wanted to write, or get off the pot and find a job that actually paid enough cash for me to buy those new shoes I wanted.

So I did what any rational, well-educated, independent, self-sufficient, Catholic-convert gal would do.

I prayed.

“Please God, send me a sign. Should I purse my life-long dream of becoming a writer, or settle for a life of toil and drudgery as a slave to the man?” (I wasn't at all biased.)

Then I received an email notifying me that registration for the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop had just opened.

So I applied.

And lo! As choirs of angels sang, I was bathed in a golden light and a confirmation email was delivered unto me: “Congratulations! You will be attending the EBWW in Dayton, Ohio, in April.” The world is your oyster, huzzah, huzzah! (OK, I might have imagined that last part).

Then I received another email.

Was I interested in a long-term, part-time substitute position teaching Family and Consumer Science at the local high school?

Really, God? Did I lisp? I said “sign,” singular. As in one clear, neon-arrow, you-are-here sign.

Now, considering I had just put the four-day workshop, and five-night hotel stay on my credit card – and that the combined monthly income from my two part-time jobs would cover about one tank of gas for the drive out there, it was a pretty tempting offer. Maybe God had a plan after all?

Tempting, even though I'm an English and Communications major, with a license to teach English and Journalism. Hmmm, back to that sign thing. Did you really think this over? Did I forget to sign my name on my prayer? I'm already working as a part-time bookkeeper... how much different could teaching Home Ec be?

A lot, as it turns out.

But, long-story short(ish), after spending nearly a month panicking, updating my substitute teaching license, and scouring the internet for lesson plans, I was teaching Home Ec, I mean Family and Consumer Science.

No. I mean Home Ec.

I realize “Family Consumer Science” is the politically correct term, chosen to more accurately depict the wide range of topics studied. However, given that “Economics” is “the social science that studies the behavior of individuals, households and organizations... when they manage or use scarce resources, which have alternative uses, to achieve desired ends” (thank you Wikipedia), I think that Home Ec pretty much sums up “Family Consumer Science,” and does so in fewer words.

And people know what you're talking about when you say Home Ec.

Use words you know. That's what I learned from being an English and Communications major.

Maybe they aren't so different after all. Maybe a sign is a sign, after all.