Toast

Nothing says good morning like a stout cup of coffee and a perfectly toasted slice of hearty bread. Apparently, my husband agrees. A few evenings ago, he came in from his man cave garage, clutching a dog-eared magazine, and stated, "We have to get this toaster." I paused my on-line scrabble game and glanced at the bright shiny object of his desire. It was a Calphalon, 2 slot, stainless steel toaster, complete with an "Opti-Heat system that ensures accurate temperature control and even heat delivery." According to the reviewer, the toaster is a wizard at browning to perfection anything you can stuff into its extra-wide jaws.

Before I was pulled into the vortex of complete enthrallment, I asked the question I always ask when I am presented with a possible purchase, "How much does it cost?" Pause. Rustling of the magazine page. "I think you can get it for around $60.00."

Pause. "Seriously?"

"Well, don't you want something that really works? You can't put a price on that."

I sighed and said, "Where's the surprise in life without playing toaster roulette with your bread each morning? Sometimes it comes out a little splotchy. Sometimes it is a bit charcoaly. Sometimes it is still cold in the middle. And every once in awhile you hit the lottery and get the perfect slice of toast."

Not impressed, my husband replied, "Good grief. Why not get it right every time? Here is a chance to up the morning odds for a decent piece of toast. I don't think you can put a price on consistency."

"My, my, haven't we come a long way from our first toaster."

I reminded him of how we procured our first toaster during the early years of married life. It came about rather serendipitously. My husband purchased a dollar box at an auction. Dollar boxes are filled with the miscellany of life. Sometimes you find treasures in them and sometimes you are stuck with a clinker. This time we scored. His box contained a no-nonsense, 2-slice toaster, crumbs included. We cleaned it up and grandly placed in on our countertop. The little toaster pumped out many slices of morning treats, perhaps not to perfection, but with complete economic flair.

Throughout the years, we have had a few more toasters. All were able to toast. All were inconsistent. All were less than $19.99.

Still not convinced that cheap preempts perfection, my husband closed his magazine and said, "I'm going to find this toaster," and back to his man cave he retreated.

I must confess that our conversation has made me more critical of our current Procter-Silex, dull white toaster. The plastic around the slots is a little melty. The knob that sets the toasting level doesn't seem to correlate with the finished product. The slots are too narrow for thicker slices of bread. Every crevice is sprinkled with petrified crumbs.

Maybe it is time for a stainless steel, extra-wide slotted beauty to enter my world. It is hard to resist a kitchen helper that has my safety in mind with her extra-lift lever and cool to the touch exterior. She would add an air of regal luxury to the kitchen and grant us our morning wishes.

I think I know what my husband is going to get for his next birthday.

Christmas

Christmas is not my favorite holiday. There, I said it. Haul out the Grinch paint and color me Scrooge. Yes, I want to rant about commercialism, Betty Crockerism and Holly Jollyism, but I will spare you such redundancy. Instead, I propose that we all choose a Christmas antidote and drink deeply from the calm it may provide. Here are a few of my suggestions.

1) Start a Not-To-Do list--If your crack-the-whip list is bigger than the Bible by the middle of December, consider an eraser and a serious talk with yourself. How much of your list is filled with what you think should be done as compared to what makes sense? A Not-To-Do list is a prioritizing experience. Get rid of nonsensical tasks such as putting up holiday towels that no one dares to use or making pink divinity candy that no self-respecting person should eat. Use the everyday towels and eat graham crackers.

2) Use gift bags--If you insist on buying gifts, spare yourself the task of gift wrapping. And whatever you do, stay away from ribbons that need tying and bows that need making. Packages are containers, not products. Temper the need to tie your self esteem to perfectly wrapped presents. A grocery bag works for me, but I understand that there are those who need pretty.

3) Feed the birds--There is something soothing about watching cardinals, juncos and chickadees peck away at suet and seeds. They don't need holiday bowls, special silverware or expensive napkins. They just need a meal to keep them going for another day. I imagine most of don't need perfect tablescapes (sorry, Martha). What we do enjoy is a meal with friends and family, be it a turkey sandwich on a paper plate or apple juice in a sippy cup.

4) Silence--Pour yourself a cup of coffee, shut off all devices and let yourself ponder. If you have little peeps in your house, tell your family that you are going to the grocery store and stop at a coffee shop first. Shut your phone off and take deep breaths. Let your mind go to a happy place. No passport or luggage needed.

5) Celebrate plain--Adorning every available square inch of space is borderline cluttering. A well placed creche has more impact than a room filled with glitter, baubles and Santa dolls. Look away from Pinterest, people, and let your inner zen speak.

6) Watch a funny movie--Sure, It's a Wonderful Life is a classic seasonal movie, but watching an angst-ridden George Bailey stumble around trying to find himself for two plus hours is depressing. On the other hand, watching a cat chew on a Christmas-light cord or Ralphie spilling a hub cap full of lug nuts in the snow may not be very thought provoking but you will feel better for having been a part of such revelry. Save the heavyweight stuff for January.

All this chatter has inspired me to print this year's picture of a Christmas tree. Easy to put up and easy to take down. My kind of holiday.

Wishing you a merry and mania-free Christmas!

Pie

Pie. A three letter word that speaks volumes. There are books, TV shows and diners devoted to this world of crust encased goodness. The recipes range from cream-filled to meringue-topped to fruit-streuseled to cream-cheesed to everything in between. Pie seems to be the Holy Grail of the dessert kingdom. Bakers go to their graves clutching stain-blotched recipe cards that hold the secrets to a perfect pie.

In reality, it is not about the pie filling, important as that is, it is about the crust. A silky smooth pie covered with mounds of sweet fluffy meringue can be toppled from perfection by a tough, tasteless crust. There is nothing more sad than a plate of disemboweled pie crust left behind like a piece of picked over carrion. Better to just eat a dish of lemon custard and call it a day. Ironically, there are also those who will leave a delicious crust behind to "save on calories." Good Granny. Order a dish of sherbet and stop insulting the cook.

My grandmother made delicious pies and I don't remember more than a crumb being left on any plate she served us.  Her meringues were always perfectly coiffed. The fruit pies were sweetened just right. And the streusel toppings had the perfect amount of crunch. But the best part of all was the crust. Flaky, tender and flavorful. Her secret? I believe it was lard. Yes, lard. Fat. A word that is poison to many but golden to a true baker. Lard was readily available for my grandmother so it made good sense to use it in her cooking. We were also part of a generation that recognized the value of fat in our diets. Putting in a full day on the farm could not be sustained by a plate of lentils and brussel sprouts (delicious as both are). Real labor needed all the food groups and a treat or two to make life interesting. Enter the pie.

Fast forward to today. Most of us probably don't need pie to sustain a physically demanding day but life without pie just seems wrong. We are no less obsessed with sweet treats than our ancestors, we just have to temper ourselves a bit more. I inherited my grandmother's love of a good pie but I don't think I will ever achieve her skill level. My pies tend to be hit and miss. I have experimented with everything from old cookbook recipes to store bought crusts. All I know so far is that a store prepared crust is okay in a pinch but a made-from-scratch, loved-by-a-rolling pin, ingredients-just-right crust can be a work of art. I think I have created just a couple in my lifetime. Most of my attempts are acceptable at best and a few never make it to a pie plate (case in point last week, disaster!).

So, if you are fortunate enough to enjoy a really good pie this holiday season, don't forget to thank the cook. And eat your crust!

Intruder

The crashing noise was unexpected and startling. It came from the direction of my deck. My brain quickly analyzed the possibilities. The fierce wind. A rogue squirrel. A broken bird feeder. A cat burglar. All seemed possible.

All were incorrect. One was almost accurate. No burglar, just a cat. A beautiful apricot and cream colored feline had knocked over my tray of bird seed. I imagine that she had miscalculated a leap for a little cheeper snacking on an overhead bird feeder. By the time I reached the patio door, she was doing what all cats do when they are caught in an act of malfeasance, sauntering nonchalantly away as if everything that happened was planned and perfectly normal. End of story.

I should be angry at the marauding tabby, but I am not. Of course, I am not happy about the upset tray of bird seed. And I would rather not have my bird feeding station become the Royal Buffet for cats and other perpetrators. But, cats are cats, birds are birds and people are stupid when they try to take sides. Tempting birds to visit my deck will inevitably tantalize other lovers of birds and seed, some with four paws.

Every day I watch a few portly squirrels munch their way through freshly stocked seeds. It is not my intent to feed them but investing time and money on dubious methods of resistance makes little sense. Their stubby little paws share space with the blunt beaks of their feathered neighbors. Selective feeding may work for zoos but not so much for unfenced spaces.

Growing up on a farm hammered the laws of nature home for me. We loved our cats, but we respected their place in the food chain. Mice and other vermin were fair game on most days and so was a favorite pet bird one disastrous afternoon. (Sorry about that, little sis.) We also knew that on any given day, our favorite cat might not return, a possible victim of a larger carnivore or a blundered attempt at jumping over a barbed wire fence. Not pretty. Just real.

As I watch my bird feeding station, I am reminded that it is not always wise to rewrite the scripts of nature. The unadorned, ubiquitous house sparrow is just as hungry for bird seed as is the brilliantly beautiful cardinal. The nose crinkling bunny rabbit is as interested in the tender shoots of garden beans as I am. The neighborhood cat is programmed to stalk and hunt. The chatty squirrels stuff their chubby cheeks in fear of lean days ahead. The sharp sighted hawk circles our backyards in search of bird, mammal or reptile.

And I know that a spilled pan of bird seed is just a sign of nature's bounty. Enjoy the goodness.

Bewitched

A popular TV series in the late 60's and early 70's was a show called Bewitched. The premise, like many hit shows, was a story line that most individuals might find silly and a bit weird. A good witch named Samantha marries a mortal named Darrin Stephens and together they build a life in suburbia. Hard to believe such a frothy fantasy was a top pick for millions of viewers and continues in syndication today.

When I was young, TV watching was a limited event due to the black and white behemoth that sat on the edge of the sitting room. Its reception was spotty and only a couple of channels were relatively reliable. Selected shows were based on a large family's compromises and prescribed bedtimes. Bewitched was certainly not a first pick due to its shady connection with possible witchcraft but somehow we managed to sneak in enough episodes to know that Samantha had a secret power that seemed oh so appealing. Imagine being able to twitch your nose and instantly have dishes go from dirty to sparkling. One more twitch and your messy room was clean and orderly. To this day, I secretly long for a way to go from grimy to glittery in minutes.

Clearly, I never became the power wielding Samantha Stephens but I'm afraid I did become a different character, Gladys Kravitz. Gladys was the curious, snoopy neighbor who was always on the edge of discovering the reason behind the aura of strangeness in the Stephens household. She would pop up at inopportune times in the Stephens house, seeing and hearing things that caused her face to scrunch up in pondering moments. She was only too willing to share her observations with her long suffering husband and anyone else who would entertain the possibility of miscreants in their midst.

My Gladys moments are a little less dramatic. For years, I have had a full on view of the neighborhood through my large living room window. Any time that I am perched on my couch reading or playing another game of Scrabble with my computer, I am also watching folks walk by my house. I can set my clock to the determined walking pursuits of many dog-walkers, stroller-pushers and I'm-going-to-get-fitters. I've developed stories in my head about the lives of my window actors. The cigarette puffing young lady, hand in hand with her older gentleman friend, is always being pulled along by an itty bitty dog. I've made her the second wife of a love triangle gone bad. The doggedly determined speed walker who goes by in the early evening hours has become someone who is scared witless to gain a pound, perhaps due to past taunts by thoughtless others. The portly gentleman, who walks by in calculated, measured steps, wearing a pith helmet during the heat of the day, has become someone who just received bad news from the doctor and is determined to turn things around. The lady with the swimmingly giant white coat is afraid to buy a size smaller because it might jinx good works that have already been accomplished. And the little dogs who no longer trot by with their owners have probably gone on to doggie heaven, leaving behind saddened loved ones.

All my Gladys Kravitz musings have come to a a screeching halt this month, however. We installed a new living room window with internal pleated shades that can be lowered, not raised.  It makes far more sense to lower the shades so we can let light in without compromising our privacy throughout the day and evening hours. While I love our new, sleek window, I must confess that I miss my sidewalk friends. No more story speculations and daydreaming inspirations and no more Gladys moments. Certainly, I can lower my shades completely and continue the novellas I have created in my head but perhaps it is time to let go, at least for awhile. Or, I can join the pavement pounders and become part of their stories.

On second thought, I'll just lower the shades a bit farther. Enough exercise for one day.

Math

Starting a new week is like beginning a math problem with positive and negative integers. Sometimes you move forward and sometimes you pivot the other way. Case in point. Our aging home is in desperate need of a few upgrades. Time and money are the usual roadblocks but we are determined to persevere and take one baby step at a time in hopes of maintaining a home we can sell before assisted living units start calling our names.

Last Saturday it was time to tackle the kitchen sink and the basement shower. My husband is a very skilled carpenter, but he knows that his expertise stops when it comes to the world of plumbing. He is also not one to watch eighteen YouTube videos in an attempt to learn how to install a garbage disposal from a guy with questionable credentials. So we hired a plumber to take care of the sink and shower details.

Oh my goodness, nothing says love like a garbage disposal that doesn't howl like a monkey and a kitchen faucet that doesn't leak and looks good at the same time. Three steps forward, for sure. Until I started up the vacuum cleaner. As I made a final pass over the hallway floor, the Suck-o-Master pulled in a chunk of a throw rug and began a horrific wheezing. I immediately shut off the machine and tugged the offending rug out of its mouth. All good. Maybe not. After hitting the start button, an acrid smell filled the air and no suction was evident. I've been down this road before. Time for a new belt. One step backward.

Next, the dishwasher. I ran my usual load of grubbiness in a machine that I'm sure is only two years old (which means that it's probably triple that number but who is counting). When the cycle was completed I unloaded the dishes and as I pushed the bottom rack back into place, I noticed a shimmering haze on the floor of the machine. Standing water. Drainage not working. One more step backward. It is the weekend so no service calls will be made without a serious hit to the bank account so suck it up and do the dishes the old-fashioned way. Another step backward.

Thanks to our plumber, the basement shower seems to be working without incident. A new shower head is still needed but we can install that ourselves. One step forward. Time to record a TV show for the evening. Good grief. One of the remote's arrow keys quit working. I attempted the usual interventions, new batteries, turning the TV off and on, banging the remote and willing it to work. One step backward. Finally, I forcefully pushed on the arrow key for several seconds and it chugged into a sluggish working order. Half a step forward. I'm quite sure this isn't going to cure the problem. We will be adding to our list of errands a trip to the cable service provider sometime soon. Another step backward.

I think I am on the deficit end of the number line this go-around, but it is best not to get too mathy about it all. Use the scientific method instead. My hypothesis is that our house and household appliances with eventually be in working order. Just not all on the same day.

Delicious

Days can sometimes trudge along with a sameness that dulls the spirit. It is not that we are incapable of seeing the goodness in our surroundings. It is more likely that we are entrenched in the tasks at hand and feel the need to stay focused. There is nothing wrong with that but it can lead to a string of lackluster moments. Fortunately, we can be snapped out of banality with bursts of deliciousness that come our way, planned or otherwise. I don't live a life of Facebook worthy posts or passport toting adventures so my delectable distractions come by softly. Here are a few that never cease to delight.

1) Glasses of ice cold water--I warned you. My life is dull. But I just cannot take a sip of icy cold water without sighing and feeling great relief as my thirst is slaked in such a pleasant manner. And the price is right. It's a win.

2)  Cardinals--The sight of this mild mannered, crimson bird always gives me pause. With their peaked foreheads, audacious coloring and imposing size, they have the potential to be tyrannical kings. They, however, maintain an air of humility as they flit quickly in and out of a feeding station, never bossing away the smaller peeps. In the dusky evening hours, when most birds have gone off to sleepier times, my cardinal friends stop by and chat for a few moments with their energetic bursts of chirping, reminding me that they have a voice, too.

3) Pianos--From the lowly, upright workhorse to the stately grand showoff, they all goad me to play a song or two. My skills are not Carnegie Hall worthy, but I know enough to to let my fingers match note to ivory key, allowing me to get lost in a cascade of tumbling melodies. Through it all, I am transported to places of rest and inspiration.

4) Hand-written recipes--I have cookbooks filled with more recipes than I could possibly execute in a century of days. My favorite recipes, however, are those that are handwritten with love on a recipe card or scrap of paper because they are recipes laden with memories. Some are cherished recipes from beloved relatives who are no longer with us. Other recipes are from friends I haven't seen in years but I can picture their faces each time I peruse my recipe box. Many recipes are now on stain splotched, faded cards. The sensible thing to do is enter them into a computer for safekeeping. That will not happen under my watch. Handwriting is going the way of the rotary phone and I want to preserve such relics for as long as possible.

5) The first day of a vacation--This is a moment ripe with the potential for goodness. The frenetic planning, packing and unplugging are left behind. The discovery of forgotten toiletries, missed off-ramps and over-priced tourist stops hasn't occurred yet. Life looks good through the lens of leaving town. Enjoy it with gusto.

6)  Autumn--I am always in desperate need of trading the suffocatingly hot and steamy blanket of summer  with the chilled blast of refreshing cold fronts. The trees join me with a nod of pleasure as they display their brilliancy. Lawns stop their incessant whining for attention and gardens beg to be put to rest. It is sweater time and I am not afraid to love it.

I hope your upcoming week is filled with much deliciousness.

Basil vs. Sage

Fall has been lifting its chilly fingers and scratching at our doors lately. For some, a sigh of relief is audibly present as the windows are flung open and cool breezes squeegee out summer's stale, humid air. For others, a cloud of mourning settles in as flip flops are filed away and pool gates are padlocked. My garden is echoing similar sentiments. When evening temperatures dip below 50 degrees, the basil plants sport new coats of curled leaves and brown spots, as if to say their work on earth is done. No more fresh pesto and  flavor boosting. On the other hand, the sage plants flaunt their silvery gray leaves in a bring-it-on manner. It will take more than a little frost to stop their life juices from flowing.

Our fair city is also in the midst of differing responses to seasons. For the past several years our school board has elected to begin school during peak summer days, two weeks before Labor Day. Many reasons have been given as to the validity of such a schedule, the primary one being that high school students will fare better in their semester tests if they finish them before Christmas break.

Recently, a group of school district parents challenged such logic and went to the school board, requesting an after Labor Day starting time for school. Not only was it denied, the board approved calendars for the next three years, all with start times in mid-August. Not to be deterred, the post-Labor Day folks gathered enough citizen signatures to push the issue forward to a public vote. Their premise is that precious summer days of swimming, vacationing and general outdoor activities are cut short by the early start date. Regardless of which calendar is chosen, the required number of school days will be met and compliance will be made with the state's regulations.

The real question is, "Are you basil or sage?"

If you are basil, you cannot bear to give up one summer day. Your leaves will curl in protest when the sun's heat is taken away. Cool spring days are a waste of time to you and there is little value in time spent indoors. Family time is about backyard barbecues, trips to the lake cabin and traveling with sports teams.

If you are sage, you welcome the shoulder days of spring and fall. You enjoy cool weather activities and recognize that vacationing can happen at any time of the year. You appreciate time spent together, inside or outside. Movies, popcorn, good books and birdwatching are not determined by a calendar date.

As a teacher in the school district, I  report to active duty whenever the calendar dictates. I am less worried about the loss of warm, cool, or temperate days than I am about the education of children. The taxpayers of our city will need to determine whether they believe one month is better than another for learning. My only observation is that students are just as anxious to see their friends in August as they are in September. They are far less joyous about gathering together after Memorial Day.

August or September, May or June. The final votes will determine how our garden will grow.

10 Things Not To Say To A Teacher

There are no dull moments in the world of classrooms, lunchrooms and playgrounds. Each new school year begins with the hope of great things to come. Questioning, discussing, writing, reading and computing bring about earnest academic progress.

Each year also brings on a few questions and statements that many teachers would rather not hear from their students. Here are a few.

1) "What time is this class over?" Not only is this question asked at the end of class but it is also asked as the students are arriving. Social skill number one: please don't ask about the end time of a class, no matter how much you hate learning about arthropods.

2) "I left my homework at home." This is the primary excuse from students who haven't picked up a pencil in my classroom since the beginning of the year. Logic defies believing such a response. I usually dig right into their binders and magically find the unfinished pieces of business. Busted.

3) "I can't get my locker open." This statement most often comes from incoming sixth graders. There is definitely a learning curve in the 20 to the right, 3 to the left and 7 to the right process. I have never been able to open a locker so the kids are on their own with this one. Time for a new smartphone app.

4) "I threw up all night but I think I'm feeling a little better." It is at this point that I take two steps backwards. There is usually a residual green glow still evident on their faces and I would prefer not to be in their target range.

5) "Do we have a test today?" This is usually asked after a week of review, reminders, study guides and website postings. I'm always baffled how such a detail can be missed until the day of the test. Fortunately, there are usually a few students who are only too happy to point out the error of the confused student's ways.

6) "I like your toes." A colleague of mine was the recipient of this response a couple weeks ago. It is a baffling statement and probably best left unanalyzed.

7) "Is your hair turning gray?" It takes a great deal of self control not to share my theory of where I think the gray is coming from. Fortunately, most students aren't interested in the why of my hair color. They just enjoy making observations.

8) "I'm going to be gone for two weeks and need all my homework by the end of the day." Sometimes I'm not even sure what I will be able to cover in class tomorrow, much less two weeks in advance. I appreciate the student's concern but I would prefer that extended vacations happen in the summer.

9) "Do you remember me?" Former students often ask this question, forgetting that they might look a little different from their middle school years (a fact most are grateful for). Let it be said that I want to remember the names and faces of all my students but my brain is packed with student files. Please introduce yourself so we can skip the name game and catch up on what's new.

10) "I don't have a pencil." I understand the occasional absentmindedness that results in a lost writing utensil, but when the same student asks every teacher, every day, I want to poke my eye out with a pencil. There is no way to win this war so I will continue to buy golf pencils by the gross.

Yes, another year of school is in full swing and a whole new crop of students are making their way through the teacher maze. We'll get along just fine, until you ask me why I have so many wrinkles.

Fizzies

One of the joys of old age is being able to draw upon a vast number of life memories, accurate or otherwise. I am quite sure most of my recollections fall into the otherwise category but joy number two of old age is that most folks aren't listening so it doesn't matter if my memories are a bit discombobulated.

A recent discussion with a few of my younger friends revolved around favorite drinks when we were growing up. Elixers such Orange Crush, Dr. Pepper and Root Beer popped up as sweet memories. Not to be outdone I offered up one of my favorite treats, Fizzies. Silence. More silence. It was evident that I had mined too far back in my memory bank for this crowd. Of course, I took it upon myself to let them know what they had missed in the world of enhanced liquids. After my explanation, most of them said they would stick with Fresca.

My memory of Fizzies is truly more about the circumstances than the drink itself. One highlight of my life as a kid on the farm was lunch time (note: lunch was the mini-meal between the noon meal, dinner, and the evening meal, supper). On many occasions my grandfather would join us at the table and we all clamored for his attention. One fun activity we shared with him was selecting our favorite Fizzie drink and ceremoniously preparing it. A Fizzie was a quarter-sized surgary tablet that could be dropped into a glass of cold water and it would fizz its way into a sweet drink. We loved watching the bubbles form around the tablets and we always hoped our tablet would be the fastest to dissolve so we could be the first one to taste our drink. Grape, cherry cola and root beer were a few of the flavor choices and my grandfather loved joining us in each Fizzie moment.

Fizzies disappeared in the 60's due to a banned ingredient in the product. As kids, we found this perplexing. After all, we were the generation of no seat belts, no car seats, no helmets and lard. It seemed cruel to lose our effervescent friend, but Kool-Aid helped us recover from our loss.

The good news is that Fizzies are making a comeback. The CEO of a company in Minnesota said he couldn't bear to live in a world without Fizzies so he bought the trademark and is introducing eight fizzilicious cool flavors (as well as one hot cocoa flavor) to a new generation of wide-eyed kids. He wisely added Vitamin C to the mix so there is a possibility the government will see fit to leave the little tablets alone this time.

I haven't tasted the new Fizzies but there is a possibility they won't meet my memory standards. Not because they aren't as good, but because I won't be sitting around a table at lunch time with my raucous siblings and my grinning grandfather, watching little colored disks froth away in frosty glasses.

Enjoy a sip of your favorite memory this week and if you are feeling bold, share it with all of us. I won't judge.

Lady With A Cake

About a week ago I was driving across town, doggedly ticking off my internal to-do list and feeling a bit frazzled. I came upon a church and immediately had to slow down. It was evident from the activity on the street that an event was taking place. Cars were queuing up in search of parking spots. Suits and dresses were the chosen attire. I wondered if the event was a wedding until I saw an elderly lady pull herself out of her car and start the block hike to the church. She was clutching a 9x13 cake pan with the skill and determination of one who knows how to take care of business. I know of only one morning weekday event at churches that requires donated cakes and that is a funeral.

As I nudged my way through the slowing traffic I watched the lady continue her journey toward the door. I was struck by her simple act of kindness. A sweet moment of sharing that quietly filled a need. She did not appear to be someone who is able to write out seven figure checks to charity. I don't think she has statues of herself placed strategically on the grounds, commemorating her act of giving. I doubt her name is written on buildings or public venues. And yet, when a family is in mourning and needs a cake, she says, "Yes."  Regardless of how busy she might be or how much her arthritis might be flaring up or whether she is out of eggs, she steps up to the task at hand. She makes sure that a cake is ready to go and delivered to the church on time. An ordinary act with extraordinary impact.

I am on the back to school countdown and in just a few short days I will be in front of a classroom again. The easy part is getting caught up in all the minutia of being ready. All the school supplies, the lesson plans, the room posters, the meetings, the class lists, the frenzy. The difficult part is focusing on what is really important. I will be greeted by a new group of faces who will need a sound education. They will need a safe place to be. They will need guidance. They will need positive relationships. They will need someone to hear their voices.

Experience tells me that there will be days when I will become weary from waves of restless children and mountains of paperwork. I will feel beat down by test scores and apathy. I will worry about the troubled lives of children.

But, through it all, I really only want one thing.

I want to be like the lady with the cake.

Quiz

I am not sure when the first self-quiz was published but I do remember seeing them many years ago in publications such as Ladies Home Journal and Woman's Day. Now there are a bazillion quizzes available on line. You can find out which character you are in the Harry Potter movies or whether you are from Tibet or if you are a guinea pig lover. At one time I found the quizzes entertaining and even a bit enlightening. Now, at my age, I'm less likely to take the time to complete one because I find myself arguing with the results. Old dogs don't really like new tricks.

In the spirit of trendiness, I thought it would be fun to share my version of a self quiz. It asks the question, "What kind of herb are you?" (Full disclaimer--it is not a scientific quiz. Please know that I will like you even if you find out you are wormwood.)

1. First thing in the morning I like to:
    a. greet the day with a bracing cup of black coffee
    b. roll over under the covers and hope it's the weekend
    c. fix myself a hearty bowl of oatmeal

2. My idea of a perfect day is:
    a. cool weather and a good book
    b. hot and sunny with lots of beach time
    c. not fussy--I just want to get my work done

3. My favorite food is:
    a. potato
    b. pizza
    c. pork chops

4. My favorite book genre is:
    a. mystery
    b. fantasy
    c. non-fiction

5. My favorite flower is:
    a. Iris
    b. Marigold
    c. Zinnia

6. My favorite movie genre is:
    a. quirky, sleeper movies
    b. blockbuster action movies
    c. classics

7. I expect my friends to be:
    a. punctual
    b. fun
    c. reliable

8. I am annoyed by:
    a. crowds
    b. wimps
    c. airheads

9. I am afraid of:
   a. heights
   b. blizzards
   c. not much

10. I would never:
    a. be late to a party
    b. skip a party
    c. plan a party



Results:
If you selected mostly "a" you are:
Chives--you like to arrive early with your beautiful purple flowers. You have a delicate flavor and pair nicely with potatoes. You can get lost in big pots of soup but chefs crave your dash of color and flavor. You like the weather cool and you can be a tenacious garden dweller.

If you selected mostly "b" you are:
Basil--you know how to pack a punch when the weather gets warm. Your distinct flavor pairs nicely with tomatoes and garlic. You like to show off your fragrant flowers while basking in the sun. Cold weather blackens your mood and your favorite hangout is pesto.

If you selected mostly "c" you are:
Sage--you are a Steady Eddie, bravely thriving in the heat of summer and after the first frost of fall. Your no nonsense foliage pairs well with garlic and pork. You are comfortable in your own leaves and do not need to be the star of the meal.

Whether you are basil, sage or chives, celebrate your flavor!

Staff of Life

Bread. It has many names. Roll, bun, bagel, baguette, pita, croissant, naan, brioche, biscuit, toast. focaccia (wikipedia lists over 100 different names). This yeasty, air bubbled, soft and pliable substance is found in almost every culture as a staple of living. We avoid trips to the grocery store until we run out of bread. We need it for breakfast so we have a depository for jam. Lunch without bread means no sandwiches. And dinner is a bit lackluster without a breadbasket.

One of my favorite memories as a child is coming home from school and smelling the heady fragrance of freshly baked bread. Wonder bread hadn't been invented yet so my mother had no choice but to crank out many loaves a week. She was a phenomenal baker and we were hungry little monsters so we made a good team. Our favorite way of eating the deliciously warm and soft bread was spreading it with butter (the real stuff) and heaps of crumbly brown sugar. The feeling in your mouth of slightly crunchy sugar, smooth butter and pillowy bread created a snack unsurpassed by the finest cuisine.

If done properly, bread is the gift that keeps on giving from beginning to end. Dry little yeast beads spring to life when warm water and a pinch of sugar are offered their way. The bubbly mass emits a fragrance of hope for good things to come. Our individual preferences are made possible by mixing in different grains, fruits, nuts, sugars, toppings and flavorings. Watching a shapeless glob of dough rise and poof its way to double in size is a wonder to observe. The shaping of the dough into a final product is limited only by one's creativity. It can be loafed, rolled, braided, stretched, flattened and twisted. After another round of warmth and time, our masterpiece is ready to bake. There is not a text message or Facebook post that could possibly say love like bread baking in the oven. The olfactory sensation is truly unrivaled.

This summer I am practicing my bread baking skills (lots of practice needed). I have had a few hits and some epic fails. Either way, I am learning much from the loaf of bread. First, bread baking is all about patience. A good loaf does not fall under the heading of 10 minute meals. A worthy slice of bread has to be nurtured into its full glory through time and tender loving care. Kneading, proofing, and baking are not to be rushed. Secondly, bread is a creative process. The end result is a combination of form and function. A loaf is good for sandwiches. Buns are just right for burgers. Rolled dough makes a great cinnamon roll treat. And flatbreads are good palettes for savory toppings. Third, bread is brimming with potential. Yeast, sugar, water and flour are lowly, unpretentious ingredients. Combine them, however, and watch the wonder unfold. Power is given to the plain.

Finally, bread is better when it is shared. My favorite bread recipe so far is a whole wheat roll that I've made successfully two times in a row (a record). When my husband sat down for dinner, he took a roll and gently broke it open. I nudged the butter toward him, assuming he was going to butter the warm bread. Instead he just held the roll up to his nose and took in a slow, deep breath. The bread had spoken without a word being uttered, the best lesson of all.

Tools

My husband is a carpenter and his mantra is, "You are only as good as the tools you use." One look into our garage and I am assured that he is a really great carpenter. I have no idea what all that hardware is called but I know that he is often the envy of the DIY crowd. He also likes to remind me that I should not be using dull knives and Tupperware from 1972 (maybe I like harvest gold). I agree with him on most counts but I often cringe at the cost of the really high end kitchen tools. I don't cook for a living so it is difficult to justify such expenditures on a regular basis.

I confess that I have a few non-negotiable tools in my kitchen, no what matter the cost. One of the biggies is a Kitchen Aid mixer. My family doesn't need a DNA test to determine whether we are related. Just check our kitchens and if there is a Kitchen Aid mixer on the counter, there is a good chance that we share the same genetics. I actually wore out my first mixer, after replacing the motor once in an attempt to add more life to my friend. I now have an upgraded machine, sans the harvest gold color. It is a faithful workhorse for any mixing project.

My microplane also holds a special place in my kitchen. I resisted its purchase due to owning a couple of perfectly good graters. My sister gave me one for a gift and now I'm hooked. I use it for ginger, citrus zest, garlic, nutmeg, whatever needs a fine touch. My husband wholeheartedly approves the status of this one as it looks like something he carries around in his truck.

I have limited counter space so I don't make countertop appliance purchases without some serious thought. I hesitantly bought a small food processor a few years ago, fully believing I would regret it within a month. It has become one of my favorite go-to timesavers. It takes the knuckle shaving out of any grating job and whirs up bread crumbs in seconds. It is worth the prime real estate it inhabits.

A tomato slicer knife came into my life unintentionally. It was a gift from one of my husband's customers. It has become the one knife that I will dig in the garbage for if it is misplaced (yes, I have done that and found it buried under some vegetable peelings). It goes far beyond tomatoes with its clean slicing of fruits, veggies, bread, baked goods, whatever. And its sharp tip makes it a good stabber. I have since ordered two more so I'm prepared the next time I accidentally toss one out.

I'm sure most carpenters and cooks will admit that there is always one more tool that would make life easier. For me, I think it might be time for a new Dutch oven. Mine was a wedding gift (circa 1976) and despite its well constructed harvest gold splendor, I am feeling the need for an update. My secret desire is a Le Creuset, any color. One look at the price, however, and I can easily convince myself that my chicken soup loves harvest gold as much as I do.

Labor

As much as I would like my summer to fade into a blur of leisure, my inner guilt gibbon makes sure that I don't succumb to such tomfoolery. Last summer I started a Treadmill Journal in an attempt to stay focused and productive. It had a checklist of categories that I used to stay disciplined each day. This year I'm feeling a little less structured so I'm going to focus on only one category, the Distasteful Task. Each day I am making myself finish one job that I find repugnant. Unfortunately or fortunately, there is no end of such tasks at my house.

I usually begin with the one that I find most disgusting, cleaning the entryway closet. It is a multi-shelved repository for all the flotsam and jetsam two people accumulate throughout a year's worth of sharing space. It holds everything from light bulbs to batteries to paper plates to coats to bird seed to brooms to mittens. You get the idea. It's a miscellaneous mosh pit. I'm happy to report that I've successfully pulled every single item out of its clutches and tossed, cleaned or reorganized each piece, promising not to be such a pig from now on.

Next I moved on to the bedrooms. Last year I discovered a corner behind a closet door that looked like blue carpet (it should be beige). Who knew that a year without vacuuming behind a closet door causes carpet to take on a dusty skyglow?  This year I found no such hue so at least I kept one of my piggy promises. There were still plenty of cobwebs and dust bunnies to keep my vacuum cleaner wailing.

The bathroom was next in the line of fire. I lulled myself into thinking it would be a snap as it's one room that gets a going over each week (sort of). My bravado lasted only until I opened the bathroom cupboard. Stray Q-tips, empty prescription boxes, hotel shampoo bottles and old sunscreen stared at me with a "catch-me-if-you-can" attitude. No choice but to dig in. Each item had to pass the keep/toss/move test and fortunately, I was in a dumping mood so several items were sacrificed to the garbage gods.  Time to part with products that expired in '05.

I marched onward to the bookcase filled with a jumble of treasures, written and otherwise. My goal was to remove and dust all items, wash the shelves and toss any unloved items. Good idea. Bad match. It was like asking a junkie to clean a pharmacy. The task shouldn't have taken as long as it did but I found myself perusing through forgotten books, looking for favorite recipes, identifying branches in my family tree and talking to pictures of loved ones (creepy, I know). I cannot say the cleaning task was enjoyable but the trip down memory lane was a bonus. Sadly, I was unable to part with much from my bookcase so I will be touching the same stuff next year. Not all bad.

My carrot at the end of each cleaning task has been reading time so you are going to have to excuse me because I have a really good book that is calling my name. Look out sock drawer. You're going down.

Leisure

It's that time of year when many folks are planning excursions that take them away from the grind of work and daily demands. Indeed, the pursuit of leisure lends itself to a variety of manifestations. For instance, camping is relaxing to some. To others, it feels like work to set up tents, prepare meals, swat mosquitoes and trudge through grassy trails in search of an outhouse.

Disneyland is viewed by many families as the ultimate get-away with it's incessant array of activities and entertainment options. On the other hand, the explosion of sensory happenings, the long, snaking queues and the parade of mouse ears and princesses can be disconcerting to others.

My definition of leisure does not include tent poles, amusement rides, gift shops or swarms of people. Leisure is:
* not setting an alarm clock. Better yet, getting rid of clocks.

* listening to a silence that is punctuated only by scolding birds and croaking frogs.

* looking at a stack of books and having the time to read them, uninterrupted.

* taking until noon to slowly shower, get dressed and drink coffee.

* drinking coffee in the afternoon.

* taking a drive just to meander.

* going nowhere for a whole day.

* pondering nothing or everything while soaking in a beautiful mountain view.

* engaging in deliberate conversations.

* shutting off all technology, except the coffee pot.

* eating cheese curls in the morning.

* watching Casablanca for the thirteenth time.

Whether you are gathered around a snapping bonfire, cheering on your favorite ball team, reading a good book or sitting still on a veranda, I hope you are able to carve out a little leisure time this summer. Your soul will thank you for it.

Summit

I am not a mountain climber and I don't intend to add such nonsense to my bucket list. I  prefer to breathe my oxygen without the help of a tank-toting Sherpa. My book adventures and a few mini-mountain hikes have shed some light on how difficult it might be to finish the last few steps of a grand summit so I will leave that kind of trauma to the experts.

One mountain climbing expedition I do experience on a yearly basis is the school term. The adventure usually begins at base camp in August as we equip ourselves with sturdy shoes, pencils with erasers, uncluttered desks (for a few moments), posters, pens with ink and fresh lesson plan ideas. Orientation meetings fill our time as we struggle to keep our thoughts from wandering toward an ever expanding to-do list. Frantic errands include stocking up on everything from toothpaste to toilet paper as days of leisurely shopping quickly fade into history. Conversations are lively as we chat with fellow trail trompers, some new to the experience and others who have many notches on their walking sticks.

After much preparation, the first bell rings and in the blink of an eye, the journey begins. Spirits are high and a sense of nervous expectation settles upon us. Introductions are made and a rally cry for teamwork builds as we hope to follow the best route to the top of the mountain. Some will lead the way, some will carry our packs, some will cheer us up, some will teach us grave lessons, some will stretch us and a few will leave the trail behind.

About halfway up the mountain, the gravity of our task becomes very apparent. Feet become sore, relationships start to fray and time seems to slow down. The map reveals no shortcuts and the trail begins a steeper grade. Signs warn of falling rock and slippery terrain. Now, more than ever, our resolve will be tested. Creature comforts are coveted and the little things become bigger than the mountain itself.

Forging ahead, we put one foot in front of the other until we reach the final camp. We are aware of the challenges facing us and question our ability to complete the task. Our packs get heavier and our bodies rebel in cranky resistance. The grade looks almost vertical and there are no buses heading back down the mountain.

We put our boots on, grab our sticks, look forward and trudge onward. Baby step by baby step, we inch our way to the top. After an eternity of a few days, the almost unimaginable happens. We summit. The posters are down, the broken pencils are tossed, the lesson plans are finished, the desks are cleared, lockers are emptied and goodbyes are said.

Now we celebrate.

Hello summer.

Double Life

Strike up the band. Butter is back. According to a recent article in our local paper, the little rectangular delights are steadily climbing back into the fridges of consumers. Apparently, folks prefer a food label that has recognizable ingredients.

Here's the real scoop. Butter never left. It has been faithfully nestled in the dairy department for as many years as I have been shopping and that would be many, many years. It quietly suffered through the low-fat craze. It made space for margarine, the darling of the baking world. It puzzled its way through the "I-can't-believe-it's-not-butter" era. It kept the same shape, the same packaging and the same nondescript name, butter. My fridge has always made room for butter. Not because it is fashionable or fancy or pretty. It has a home with me because it is unpretentiously tasty. And its labels are easy to read.

Eggs suffered a similar malignment phase. Happy little chickens pumping out happy little eggs for centuries until one day the dreaded "study" is released. Suddenly, the little ovals of delight are touted as hardened criminals intent on sabotaging any hope for good health. Arteries would be clogged irreparably, LDLs would soar and cookie dough would forever be contaminated. Fast forward to one of today's ads: Eggs, the perfect food. Well, shiver me timbers. Of course it is. Eggs are little pre-packaged snacks of plentiful goodness. Versatile, economical, tasty and hard working. Welcome back, dear eggs. You will always have a place of honor next to the butter in my refrigerator.

And let's not forget chocolate. My generation suffered through years of chocolate warnings. It will make you fat. It will give you pimples. It has no nutritional value. It will make you hyper. Thank goodness, the nutrition gods de-bunked a few of those myths. Retail shelves are now lined with a myriad of choices. Sea salt, lavender and chili powder are being added as enhancements. Cocao percentages are boldly printed as badges of honor and value. Bitter, semi-sweet, dark, milk and unsweetened are common prefixes. The only thing missing is simplicity. Plain old Hershey's chocolate bars will continue to be snugly tucked away in my cupboard. A little dab will do you and the jumbo size comes in handy when friends are involved.

Last but not least is the lowly nut. We were led to believe that nuts were so chock full of fat that they had no redeeming value other than a texture boost in baked goods. Not so, after all. Now, just about every weight loss program, nutritional plan and Dr. Ozite heralds nuts as the perfect snack choice. High protein, fiber and good fats--the trifecta of wellness. Walnuts, almonds, pistachios, hazelnuts, take your pick. Add them to chocolate and oh my, baby, now we're talking.

Enjoy your omelettes, buttered toast and Nutella. And hopefully, a cure for all diseases will be announced soon and its name will be Cheeto.

Sparkles

Teaching is hard work. And it becomes even more so during the final quarter of the school year. Nerves get frayed, personalities clash and children get weary. Summer break is oh so close and yet, oh so far. Countdowns to the end of the year are whispered for fear of another snowstorm. Teachers dip heavily into their reserves of anti-crabby pills, a.k.a. chocolate, and many hushed conversations take place by the copy machines in the form of group therapy sessions.

Fortunately, the clouds do part at times with moments of sparkling delight. Here are a few I experienced during the last couple of weeks.

Sparkle moment number one: We were gathering together for our daily study hall session and a young man asked, "What do you think I should get my mom for her birthday today? I have $50.00 and I want to spend it on her instead of a video game. She's kinda going through a hard time right now." The rest of my class was eager to help with suggestions. "How about flowers? Moms love flowers." "Maybe chocolates. Moms love candy." "What does she like to do? You could get her something that's fun for her."  The young man pondered for a few moments and replied, "I'll go for flowers first, but if Target doesn't have any, I'll look for chocolates and maybe some candles." Problem solved.

Sparkle moment number two: A student in my study hall group was struggling with his poetry assignment. He is all boy and likes to tussle and jostle with anyone game enough to join him. This, of course, is not always an asset in a structured classroom setting. As he blankly stared at his poetry page, I encouraged him to select a topic that was related to something he liked, such as football or basketball. He stalled for a few minutes and then said, "I want to write about my mom. She takes care of my brothers and sisters and me. " He then proceeded to write a poem of such genuine sincerity that my heart was warmed for the rest of the class period. Middle school boys and girls still love their moms, even when their teenage bodies tug at them to pull away and become independent.

Sparkle moment number three: A young lady, who, at best, has been minimally engaged with my lessons throughout the year, gave me her usual look of disinterest. I expected that my assignment would probably agitate her as the task was somewhat challenging and "mathy." To my surprise, she dug right into the assignment with gusto. That moment alone would have been enough to sustain me for the day, but she went one step further by offering to help others when she was finished. I was stunned and inspired by this march toward maturity. Time to remember that middle school kids do grow up and the picture I see today is not the final portrait.

Sparkle moment number four, with a repeating digit: Whenever possible, I gather for a few moments in the morning with my science department colleagues. We chug coffee, eat oatmeal, munch cereal and share whatever is on our minds. Topics range from current world events to our next fire drill and we are not afraid to laugh until we snort milk. I also meet daily with my team colleagues. As we bob along in an ocean of curriculum and challenging student issues, I am buoyed by the lifeline they provide. We keep each other grounded as we brainstorm solutions and pass around the chocolate.

Hope you can find a few sparkles in your life during the upcoming weeks. Treasure each one.

Luxury

Sipping freshly brewed coffee from large two-fisted mugs on a veranda overlooking breathtaking mountain views. Walking along a sandy beach with waves of salty eddies chasing the shoreline. Eating truffles made of spectacular chocolate on a food tour through culinary destinations. All luxurious moments, indeed.

My idea of luxury is a little less lavish. It is driving up to the full service car wash and handing the keys over to a wiry little worker bee who magically transforms my vehicle from dingy to sparkly. My goodness, what a delight. My Calvinistic roots twinge every time I partake of such slothfulness. Car washes weren't invented until after my youth (I'm not kidding on this one) and even if they had been available, my parents would have scoffed at such extravagance. Washing one's own car was fiscally appropriate, no doubt about it.

Washing the car by hand as a kid was quite the chore. Several steps were involved.

Step one: Wait for mom to give the orders that it was time to wash the car and then scurry to find a bucket and a couple of rags.

Step two: Secure a hose. We didn't call them garden hoses because a farm hose is used for much more than just gardens. Cooling off over heated pigs and filling stock tanks are just a couple of possibilities.

Step three: Secure said hose to an available hydrant. Pull up on the hydrant handle and watch your hose fly through the air like a snake in a death throe.

Step four: Grab the hose and spray toward the car or your siblings if you were mad at them.

Step five: Fill a bucket and start swiping off the car crud. The precision of your efforts was dependent on your energy level and the amount of adult supervision. We were usually on our own so our scrubbing went pretty quickly.

Step six: Rinse off the car and look for any obviously missed spots. Re-wipe, if necessary. Re-spray your siblings, if necessary.

Step seven: Skip the waxing and buffing. Our cars were all about getting from point A to point B. No showroom fanciness for us. What would the neighbors think?

Step eight: Return the hose to wherever dad said it should be stored. Return the buckets and rags.

Step nine: Wait for precipitation. Gravel roads, newly washed cars and showers just seemed to go together.

As I drove up to the car wash early one Saturday morning, hoping to be first in line (I wasn't), I felt a sense of indulgence as the swirling brushes swallowed my dirt encrusted vehicle. Without a hose, a hydrant or a hassle, my vehicle emerged with that new car glow. This is especially important when you live in the Midwest as you can be sure a sloppy spring snow will fall the next day (it did), once again painting vehicles with a lacquer of gray dullness.

More luxury for me.

Spring

Those of us who live somewhere north of the 44th parallel hardly dare say the word spring aloud. If it is to be spoken, it is stated in a gingerly manner so as not to jinx the uncertain arrival of such an event. Our winter was particularly vicious this year with sub-zero temperatures lingering into March and raw winds unleashing fearful punches upon man and beast. No one is sure whether spring weather will arrive tomorrow or the middle of June. Blessedly, spring doesn't always have to be ushered in by milder weather. Sometimes it is an event or a tradition that heralds the vernal equinox.

One such event for me was the arrival of baby chicks on the farm I grew up on. After a long winter of being cooped up with siblings and cold weather monotony, nothing was more anticipated than the sight of a jittery mass of yellow fluff balls. My sibs and I would hustle out to the brooder coop and breathe deeply of the warm, earthy smell of chicks, feed and feathers. The heat lamp glowed with a comforting warmth that felt a bit stifling during lengthy stays. Watching the little chicklets scurry from side to side in their enclosure was great entertainment. There was always a little drama as certain chicks struggled at the bottom of the pecking order and others aggressively took charge, not unlike life in a big family.

Most of all we enjoyed the incessant cheeping. I think such a sound would drive me mad now but to the ears of a youngster, it was what spring was all about. New sounds, new sights, new babies, a promise of winter's demise.

The future of our little chickie friends was about as certain as the exact arrival of a new season. Some would not survive life beyond the brooder coop. Some would graduate to another barn and join the ranks of the egg layers, supplying my family with a bounty of protein. Others would join us at the dinner table with their delicious drumsticks and gizzards.

Our little kid minds didn't dwell on the fate of the chicks. We lived in the moment and savored the fun of picking up a warm, soft, cheeping harbinger of spring.  We watched them lose their little downy feathers and sprout leaner white feathers. Roly-poly shapes morphed and stretched into full grown chickens. Fascination gave way to annoyance as the chickens took over the yard and left behind sticky messes that were quite unpleasant on new shoes.

Spring, chicks, hope, equinox. Call it what you may. Seems like there is always something new around the bend. Sometimes it is best to embrace our little kid minds and savor the moment. Ice storms, raw winds, sleet and rain fade away when you have a little puff of yellow in your hands.

Happy Spring!

Different World

Most professions feel a certain amount of pressure to keep up with the technological advances of our world. Teaching is no exception. I've learned to love my computer, Smartboard and tablet. That being said, I confess that there are times when I long for a different world. To be perfectly honest, my teaching style still clings to the last gasps of an environment without computers.

A few weeks ago, my students were required to build a model of the internal anatomy of a frog. We were preparing for a non-virtual frog dissection lab. Supplies needed: paper frog, paper internal organs, scotch tape, scissors and colored pencils. Gasp, they were asked to use low tech supplies to complete a project with their lab partners. Gasp again, Google and computers were not necessary.

As I watched my students complete their task, I asked myself what it would look like in my classroom if I had assigned them a similar task using virtual manipulation of frog organs on a computer screen. My prediction looks and sounds like this. Silence. Eyes glazed over. Tapping of fingers on keyboards. Breathing. Hands raised for my help. More silence. More finger tapping. Activity done.

Contrast that with a low tech activity. Animation. Chatter. Giggles. Working with lab partners to complete a task. Messy scraps. Pencils sharpening. Discussions about sushi, little brothers, parents, high school, friends, TV shows and last night's basketball game. Naming paper frogs. Compromising on the color of the small intestines. Heads together. Sharing one roll of tape with six others. Running out of tape. Losing a stomach part. Finding the stomach part. Cleaning up. Pride in a completed frog.

I sense that my district would be much happier with me if I turned over my papers and pencils in favor of computer activities. Truth to be told, it would make my life a lot easier. Quiet students staring at computer screens. What's not to love?

Plain and simple, I long for a different world. A place where people communicate with the folks sitting next to them. A place where kids start talking about their likes and dislikes without being prompted. A place where completing an on-line worksheet isn't seen as more valuable than using a piece of paper and a pencil. A place where touch, color, talk, giggles, compromise and problem solving happen with other human beings. A world where Google doesn't tell kids what to do or what to think.

Would classrooms be better without technology? Certainly not. I don't miss chalk dust and creaky ditto machines. I want my students to be prepared for their future in a world of gadgets that haven't even been invented yet. But, please, oh please, don't judge me for letting kids experience a moment or two without the constant blinking and tingling of technology. Let kids experience, build, tell stories and look each other in the eyes. If only for a moment, let their minds wander, think and be still.

And most importantly, let kids believe that they are more important than devices.

Unpairings

There are many sweet and blessed pairings that make our world a better place (see last post). There are also a few duos that need unyoking in my estimation.

1) Chinese egg rolls and C-stores--Soda, coffee, gas, bottled water and beef jerky make sense to me. A flaccid little tube of ground something-or-other rolling away on a series of speed bumps is just plain creepy. I love a good egg roll but I think they are best left to restaurants specializing in such delicacies. (Full disclaimer: My husband will eat anything that comes out of a C-store and he says, "It's all good.")

2) Smartphones and dining out--Shut the rectangles of distraction off, people. Unless you have an app that is alerting you to the coming of the rapture, I am at a loss as to what is more important than the person who is sitting across the table from you. Yes, conversation can require creativity and a little work, but the rewards are great.

3) Sleevelessness and below zero weather--Not a wise combo. I teach in a middle school so I've seen it all. Shorts and flip-flops are the fashion selections of choice for many of them. Hats and gloves are virtually non-existent and zippers on coats are just for decoration. It's best for me to button up my third sweater layer and look the other way.

4) Coffee and flavored cream stuff--Eat a hazelnut if you are in the mood for such a thing, but leave the flavorings out of the joe. Enjoy all that an unadorned cup of coffee has to offer. Even bad coffee deserves a little respect.

5) Sixty degree weather in the winter time--Please don't send me hate mail, but I am a purist. Winter is about crunchy snow, swirly breath, sharp icicles and puffy parkas. It's a shock to the system when a chinook wind unexpectedly blows through the plains. Let springtime ease in with a whisper rather than an occasional shout.

6) Dentist appointments and days off--Yes, it makes sense to schedule appointments on days when there are more time slots to choose from. But, why should a perfectly good day be spent with a suction tube in your mouth and the sound of metal scraping on your teeth? Add that kind of joy to a work day and call it good.

7) Morning and exercise--Should be the perfect match, starting the day with a little blood pumping movement. Despite all the good reasons for dawn workouts I find it difficult to sully the beauty of daybreak with such activity.

8) Fluorescent lights and dressing rooms--It's cruel enough trying to find clothes that fit. Add to that the frightening patina caused by harsh illumination and I'm rejecting most purchases. I propose dimmer switches in all dressing rooms and mirrors with avatar choices.  

May your week be filled with many joyous pairings and feel free to unpair the annoying duets.

Pairings

Romeo and Juliet. Peanut butter and jelly. Dust and my furniture. Some things go together without saying. With Valentine's Day just around the corner, it's time to share a few of my favorite pairings.

1) Cheerios and chocolate chips--no cooking required. Grab a handful of Cheerios and use your other hand to sprinkle a few, or a lot of, chocolate chips on top. Pop the whole works in your mouth and enjoy the crunchy, chocolaty numminess. Repeat, if necessary.

2) Basil and tomatoes--planned by God, I'm sure. Sadly, both are in short supply this time of year in the Midwest but a few dollops of pesto on a sandwich can remind us of better times. Tomato season is only six months away.

3) Mustard and honey--must haves in every pantry. I suppose it's the sweet and savory juxtaposition that makes this pair so appealing. Whatever it is, one can't go wrong with slathering honey mustard on chicken, pork, veggies, pretzels and fingertips. Slurp. Slurp.

4) Coffee and morning--heavenly duo. Enough said.

5) Popcorn and butter--no microwave bags allowed. I want the real stuff, swimming in butter, sans the paper bag taste. Add a favorite TV show or movie and you're in business. Cheap thrills.

6) Rhubarb and strawberries--tarty sweetness. Midwesterners are always proud of rhubarb, a decidedly upper latitudes crop. One can make a sauce, a crisp or a pie, your choice. All will be tasty.

7) Walnuts and golden raisins--gorpy goodness. This combo is especially appreciated when one needs a little protein kick and a touch of sweet. Both are a little pale for their species, but so am I. Maybe that's why I like them so much.

8) Chocolate and...well, just about anything. Okay, maybe not with brussel sprouts or kale, but that could be good, too. Maybe.

9) Fries and ketchup--drooling now. I just can't eat a naked potato. I like them whipped with butter, scalloped with cheese, baked with sour cream and dredged in condiments. Dipping is such fun.

10) Frosting and saltines--delish. They are like little flat cupcakes you can make whenever there is a growl going on in the stomach. Truthfully, I don't even wait for the growl. I just go for it when both ingredients are handy.

11) My husband and me--a pairing for 37 years. It must be all the hearts and roses making me a bit sappy, but I can honestly say that I've been married to my best friend for almost four decades. I'd be lying if I said it was always mushy, googly-eyed love (not sure it ever was). True love is like the weather in the Midwest. Warm, cold, blizzardy, rainy, windy and sometimes all of that in the same day. Only the committed experience the joy.

Whether it's chips and dip, bath and bubbles or cocoa and conversation, I hope you can experience your favorite combo this month.

Happy Valentine's Day!