Returning to home

As of today, I have been back in Togaik for about ten weeks.  Returning to Dillingham for All District Training, it was a much different experience than last year when I knew nothing.  Now I knew where to buy the good coffee, which seat was best for me to stay awake and focused during the dryer portions of the training, and best of all, I knew people.  People I liked.  People I didn’t like but now knew enough to stay away from (hey, nobody can like everybody, and if they say they do they are a big liar) and people that I knew I would get to know soon enough.  There were a lot of new teachers last year, almost the entire elementary core but since 6^th grade has officially been moved into the secondary school, I wouldn’t get much chance to get to know them until we flew back to Togiak.

Flying is still not my favorite thing to do but I think it’s getting better for me.  When another teacher pled on Facebook for someone to bring her Dramamine for her child, it occurred to me that perhaps part of my problem with flying is simple motion sickness.  It also helped that our flight back to Togiak was in a plane with stairs.  It is such a small thing but I feel safer in a plane that has a staircase instead of just, basically, crawling through the window.  There was an aisle between seats!  Such luxury.  Not great, but better.

My apartment was just as I left it.  Sparsely decorated but in my big suitcase I brought with me a few small items to make it more like home.  My Death Star cookie jar found a place on a bookcase and the planetary glasses are now shining in the window of the bathroom.  No, I will not drink out of them, but both items were purchased more as art or sculpture, however pop culture-y.  Something to look at that isn’t brown or white.

The routine of school was very easy to slide into.  Now that I know where to find the staples and Post-its, and how to unjam the copier.  My room has changed in some senses because I have almost double the number of 6th grade students in my room at any one time, and this year I am teaching some combination classes of 7^th and 8^th graders for a total of 51 student contacts per day.  This is a record for me, surpassing the year I had 47 in my student teaching class.

One of the biggest chores that I was not looking forward to was blowing up all the ball chairs.  The gym compressors were both broken when I returned and I despaired at the idea of having to use my tiny hand pump to pump up all the chairs.  I thought about having the kids do it as a “fun teambuilding exercise” on the first day but quickly realized the folly of that idea.  Maybe if they all had a hand pump, it would have worked to make it a competition but not one by one.  Luckily, the new shop teacher Dave offered to help me using the school air compressor.  It still took over an hour to blow up thirty chairs.  Carrying them from one end of the building to another was no happy task-those suckers get heavy!  But it did make the classroom feel more complete.  And the night before school started, I felt ready.  Boy, was I wrong.

The Play's The Thing

 

In the first few weeks of school, I had my first student ask, “Can we do a play?” 

“Do you want to?”

“Yes!”  Head nodded enthusiastically all over the room, and the seed was successfully planted.  Later that day, I asked the VP if it would be okay and he too was enthusiastic about the idea.  I decided to start small with something in my reading class, a mixture of 5^th and 6^th graders.  They read a highly abridged version of Tom Sawyer and loved it so much I expanded the lesson plans.  To wrap up the unit, they wrote their own play, performed for our Reading Buddies in 2^nd grade.  It was more of a Reader’s Theater since none of the actors knew any of their lines and the narrator basically stood there announcing each scene like “Now we will do the scene where Tom talks the other kids into painting the fence” or “Now we will do the scene where Tom kisses Becky.”  This particular scene caused some consternation because the kids playing Tom and Becky are cousins.  So we utilized that old theatrical tradition “kissing behind a screen but not really kissing because no one should kiss their first cousin.”  It was actually very sweet.

 

The experience was so great for everyone, I committed to doing an actual full blown production.  After searching in vain for anything in Yupik, even asking my Yupik Cultures professor from UAF if she had any suggestions of culturally responsible plays, I chose a dumbed down kid version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  I hoped that the fairies would make it fun and the lover scenes are minimal. 

I explained that each student was required to participate but those who didn’t take roles would be doing other play related jobs, like Stage Manager.  Only one student took me up on it, until the very end.  Casting was pretty easy; no auditions.  I put kids in the roles I thought they were best suited for and was pleasantly surprised at how wrong I was.   

With the help of my para-professional Lynnette, we transformed the grimy beige stage into a fairy wonderland with a waterfall of paper and fabric found in the staff room, Roman columns borrowed from the prom decorations, paper flowers large and small, cut branches from alder trees covered with yet more paper flowers.  It looked so great I was asked by many staffers if we could leave it up for prom and then for last week’s graduation and promotions (Ks and 8^th graders get their special day too).  It made a beautiful backdrop for pictures.

On performance day, there was some concern since the kid who was supposed to play a combined role of Oberon and Theseus didn’t come to school, and the girl who was Hermia was also absent.  But other students came to the show’s rescue and agreed to fill in, much to the delight of the Stage Manager who thought he might have to do it.  And to me, because I remember my own 8^th grade play when the boy playing Black Bart was late getting back from a track meet and the director of the play, George H., seemed a little too keen to fill in.  I wasn’t going to scar my students the way he did me, so there was no discussion of me understudying.  Besides, I’m too tall to play Hermia.

Early in our rehearsal time, I showed the students a technique I have learned from Portland’s wonderful theater company Original Practice Shakespeare Festival of using on-stage scrolls.  Since actors in The Bard’s time had to perform upwards of 5 different plays every week, they carried their lines on rolls of paper on stage with them in case they got lost.  Hence, an actor’s part is called a role!  We spent an inordinate amount of time creating the rolls and learning how to use them but when two actors was called upon that day to fill in unfamiliar parts, scrolls were a life saver.

All in all, the play was a mixed success.  From my perspective, the transitions took forever (mostly due to the understudies needing to change costumes between scenes), only one or two were loud enough to be heard in the echo chamber that is our school’s Commons, it never got dark enough for the glow sticks all over the stage to show, most actors just read their lines with very little emotion or character development.  Everyone decided it was best to stand in a line as close to the back wall as they could.  I realized later this was because every one of them had stage fright.  After all, most of the school was there in the audience, including the "big kids" from the middle and high school, plus a few parents and elders from the village.  But the audience really seemed to appreciate the effort and I only heard good comments from everyone.  A few classes left near the end because their schedules are so tight but they didn’t disturb the action as far as I could tell.  Within an hour of the play wrapping up (fifty-six minutes on the dot), I was asked if I was going to do one again next year, and it wasn’t with any kind of negative tone but genuine interest and some hope.

This year's Puck, next year's Benedick?
 

A few days before our performance, we had the traditional World’s Worst Rehearsal When The Director Has To Lose Her Temper and Yell At the Cast.  No one knew their lines, or their entrances. I couldn’t hear anyone.  Everyone complained about their costumes-too small, too long, too ugly.  After I yelled at the kids, they got it and went back to working hard on making the play not suck.  That night, I realized that I had been holding them to a higher standard than was realistic.  None of these kids had ever been in a real play, and few of them had ever gone to see one.  They literally did not know what it was supposed to look and feel and sound like.

Now they have some idea.  Next year they will learn a little bit more.  On tap, Much Ado About Nothing.  Seems fitting.

Moving Day

Moving D

Today, with help from neighbor’s Monty and Carol, and Greg the shop teacher who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, I switched apartments and moved upstairs. The only thing I didn’t like about my apartment this year was the lack of view. While I was able to see the changes in the tundra from rusty-green to white to brown and now back to greeny-rust, my best view out the windows was of the berm that surrounds the back of our building. Not too inspiring.

Upstairs in Cam the Counselor’s former apartment, I get mountains, hills, tundra, water and most of the village. On a clear day like today, I can even see the next village over, Twin Hills. This unit does not have a burbling toilet, so only time will tell if I grow to miss that particular white noise. I can see more of the runway, and in my time here am actually getting to know which plane is which. There was a huge commotion in my classroom a few weeks ago when we all heard a much heavier plane than usual coming in. "It’s the Coast Guard!" one student screamed. "Search and Rescue! I wonder who got lost?" It was rivaled in excitement among the kids only by the Everest plane that brings in big supplies. No disrespect to the Coast Guard who do such an important job, but I favor the Everest plane since it usually has ‘a little somethin’ special just for meeeeeeee.’

The furniture in this apartment is miles better than downstairs. My couch there was missing a full section, and I never used the recliner because it has so many springs poking my gazitska. I thought I liked the heavy country-kitchen table and chairs until I faced the prospect of swapping with the lighter Mission-style. I decided angles are more my style than curves, body-type notwithstanding. I have bookcases upstairs and sturdier dressers. There’s some kind of weird flat lamp thing in the bedroom that I hope is a sun lamp for the Dark Time. Plus, another bedside lamp-bonus! Now maybe I can go back to reading in bed (again, in the Dark Time, because last night the sunset wasn’t until 11:02 so night reading was not a problem).

Unfortunately, it wasn’t until Cam brought down all his leftover food, freezer and ridiculously large television set that it occurred to me to move into his space when he left. I had thought to move directly above to Nancy’s place but one look at D4’s view sealed the deal in my mind. Plus it gave me an entire extra week to move my stuff. Other than the heavy totes and a few large boxes (thanks again Carol, Monty and Greg!), I packed with my limitations in mind. Many trips with manageable loads rather than further injury (I banged up my ankle last week, more on that later when I write about the play) has worked out pretty well, and I am pretty sure by Monday I will have buns of steel. But having to move Cam’s supplies back up after he brought them down just a week ago is a bummer. A heavy bummer. Dude left enough food for a year!

To make the move more fun, and because I have the sense of humor of a fourteen year old boy, I labeled the boxes things like "severed human heads" and "sex toys." "Einstein’s brain" made it up okay as did "proof of alien visitation." Did I mention the sun is up until eleven pm? It makes people weird, I tell you.

Night and Day

 

A few months ago, my friend Lindsay sent me a list of topics she wished I would write about, including Living Where It’s Dark All The Time. For me, the dark wasn’t as much of a problem as Living Where It’s Light All The Time. Growing up in Seattle, there is a fair amount of darkness in the fall and wintertime, and the spring is often rainy and dreary so I feel like the Dark time wasn’t that big of an issue. My Portland apartment has great sunlight in the bedrooms but the living room is often a dark tomb. Who knew what a help that would be for me!  I like the dark.

When I moved here in August, it was light all the time. It was fun and exciting to see the sun up after 11pm during my training time in Dillingham, and when I moved to Togiak everything was awesome so it didn’t matter that the days were sixteen hours long.

Now that it is past spring and inching toward the Summer Soltice, the days are stretching out. When I get up, the sun shines into my kitchen. When I go to bed, the sun shines into my bedroom. I recently rigged up my version of "blackout" curtains by hanging the World’s Worst Blanket (probably a relic of the Civil War era made with compressed felt and the tears of Confederates) using thumb tacks and heavy paper clips over my Eastern-most window, but all that does is filter the golden sunlight into a light blue.

Sometimes I still have that sense of wonder when I am getting ready for bed, and see the incredible light shining down on the village. The pink clouds scudding next to the purple mists above the increasingly green tundra marvels me. But, by now, I am less enthralled by the constant light. Constant light means days stretch out. If it is a weekend, and I all I have to do is clean my apartment it seems to take so much longer when the shadows never seem to move. It’s like paddling against the current. I do stuff, I pass time but I never get the satisfaction of really feeling time pass. One night, I was starting a new book and found myself startled to find it was hours past my bedtime, because I had no visual clues that it was getting so late.

My students are feeling this excess of light also. I would wager that not a single one goes to bed before eleven and none are actually asleep before midnight. But they still have to get up and be in school awake and ready to use their brains at 9:30 in the morning. Some sleep through the morning, literally in a few cases. Some show up right around lunchtime. One doesn’t bother to come at all. The sunlight has somehow made him forget how to follow the rules and he spends more time under suspensions than not so his dad pulled him out rather than have to come and get him every day.

I find myself waking up in the middle of the night, usually around 3 am when it is truly dark. Or at least as dark as it’s going to get with the parking lot flood lights that never turn off. But from the living room, I can see all the way into the village and the amber street lights lining up the one road toward the school. Occasionally, there will be a car driving up the road. If it comes into the school lot, I know it’s the local cops doing their regular rounds. It is dark and nearly silent but for the hum of the freezer and fridge and the burble of the toilet. It calms me and I never have trouble falling back asleep when it is truly dark.

In less than two weeks, I will be in Seattle where the days pass, the shadows move and I can sleep at night because it is dark. Before midnight. What a thing!

The Cam Blog

The other night while I was doing Gym Night, Cam the Counselor came in to work out in the school's  weight room.  When he was finished, he came over, plopped himself down, and said, "I read your blog.  But there's nothing in there about me."  So here is the blog about Cam.

Cam is a 30-something Minnesotan who loves the Wild hockey team, knows enough to not get too invested in the Vikings and, like me, doesn't seem to care about basketball.  His facial hair changes with his mood, or so it seems because in a very consistent man, his face is always changing.  Clean shave, stubble, handlebar mustache, pornstache, full beard, it's all been there in the nine months I have known him.  With the exception of the pornstache (sorry buddy), all of them looked good on him, and it was kind of fun to play "I wonder what will be on Cam's face this week?"

Simply put, Cam is the best counselor I have ever seen (no disrespect to the one other counselor I have any respect for, Liz at Beverly Cleary).  All the kids know him and, while they may not know it, love him.  He takes the time to truly get to know these often highly troubled kids with home lives from hell.  He knows how to have the tough conversations (Look kid, you're twenty years old and never going to get enough credits for a diploma before we have to kick you out, by law.  Go for the GED instead and stop wasting your time around here.) to gently teasing my quiet student who says her lines in our play at barely more than a whisper, reminding her how loud she was in the gym during volleyball season.  He has fed these kids, clothed them and towed them behind a 4 wheeler.  He knows when to play and when to be serious.  His anti-tobacco campaign really sank it with my class-not one of them has been caught doing snuff at school.

Cam is a steady presence at all school functions: gym night, movie night, family night, dances, potlucks, you name it.  If he is not there, it is because he is out of town on school business or going to a conference learning how to serve us better.  And sometimes, he brings me apples!

Unfortunately, he won't get the chance anymore.  His position has been cut by the district, though for the life of me why they think a school of 200+ children and young adults don't need a counselor is beyond me.  A new position has been created, Dean of Students, who will take over some of Cam's duties but also be in charge of PBIS, discipline and who knows what else.  Tobe is taking that job next year and I am sure he'll be great at it.  But I really think a school our size with our population needs a full time on site counselor also. 

So, not only is the school losing a great educator, I am losing a new friend and one of only two others who really know what it is like to be the new teacher for school year 2015-16.  And that makes me a little sad.

The contract

For my birthday, I signed my contract for next year and delivered it to my principal.  This is the first time since I began working as an educator (let’s see, that was when Wendy was in first grade and now she’s in the 15^th grade so you do the math), that I have been asked to return to a school to do the same job before the current school year ended.  When I was an elementary “non-certified but doing the work of a certified” librarian (see, I’m not bitter), I had to wait every year until August to be rehired with only a vague promise from the Maplewood principal that the call would eventually come.  The call always did but it didn’t make up for a spring and summer of anxious waiting.  For three years I did this, for a part time job!  When I told the principal there that I was going to grad school and wouldn’t be back the next school year, he kind of grimaced and said, “Too bad, this was the year we were going to bump you up to full time.”  Just my luck.

This year, I did waver a little.  I made pro/con lists lying in bed listening to the wind gust, wondering if the power would go out.  I weighed the great paycheck against the unreliable internet.  I thought about my friends and family.  Seeing them had become a major endeavor, involving the thing I hate most in the world (see: little tiny planes) and if, god forbid, there was a major emergency I was at minimum ten hours away.

But one major thing was that I wasn’t offered a contract right away.  Colynn casually mentioned that she had signed hers one day during our daily chat in the morning.  I tried not to read too much into it, but as more and more of my colleagues got offers, and my neighbor was blatantly begged by the superintendent to stay (she isn’t), I started to panic.  The teacher who planned on leaving told me I should march right in and demand to know why I wasn’t given a contract.  But, after all these years pining away, I wasn’t going to grovel, or even question it.  If they didn’t want me, then so be it.  I would take it as a sign that this was meant to be a one year adventure of a lifetime.  I could walk away with my head held high, knowing I had done a good job, that I had made a positive impact on my students, putting aside the knowledge that they would go through the same abandonment issues that is part of living in the bush for them; teachers leave.  That is a fact of life.

The thing is, I did want to stay.  But I wanted to be asked to stay, not have to ask for it.  I have long known that I have too much pride for my own good but for once, I wanted to be courted a bit.  I wanted to be wooed.  I didn’t want to be cast aside for some unknown mystery teacher who would come in and take my place, and I didn’t think it was too much to want someone to say, “Hey, we would like you to return.”

In the end, I didn’t get exactly what I wanted.  There were no roses and champagne, just an email from the superintendent asking that I acknowledge the receipt of the offer enclosed.  I did but then waited over three weeks so I could give my answer on my birthday as the best gift I ever gave myself.  A job.

50 in the 49th

Today is my birthday.  Some years, I really care about my birthday and celebrating in a big way.  Other years it's more of a "meh".  In Portland, I never had to work on my birthday because it's always during Spring Break.  When I turned 30, I had a baby girl.  When I turned 40, I was just about to finish grad school.  Now, I turn 50 in Togiak.

This year, I also have a student who has the same birthday (along with other people in my life like Paul, Jack, Anne Marie, Uncle Chip, Elton John and Aretha) and it falls on Good Friday so I knew a party was in order.  My classroom aid, Lynnette asked me months ago what kind of cake I wanted and nothing would dissuade her from making one.  She decided to make me a German Chocolate cake to share with staff, and cupcakes for the kids.  The kids in class were also very enthusiastic about bringing in chips, cookies, popcorn, more chips, water-flavorers (no soda in my class no matter how old I am turning) and random sugar cereals in ziplock bags like Capn Crunch and Fruit Loops.  We all sat around eating and watching Three Stooges shorts, which the kids loved and had never seen.  Every once in a while, the fun would explode with a loud pop from a balloon.

You see, my students are the best.  They knew that I was missing my daughter and feeling kinda low that we couldn't be together on my birthday.  So they planned an elaborate surprise for me before school started.  I went out to get them at the usual time from the Commons where breakfast is held daily.  Immediately, I knew something was up because my boy who always wants to be first in line was telling me that we shouldn't get lined up yet, that we should wait a while and not rush to class.  This boy is on the autism spectrum so for him to voluntarily deviate from his daily schedule is a big deal.  I looked around, noticing that most of the girls were missing and that the remainders wouldn't look me in the eye but were all giggly.  Then the sped director pulled me to one side and had a long, involved conversation with me about a proposed schedule change-a conversation we not only had already had, like yesterday, but would never have just standing in the Commons for privacy reasons.  I played along and took my sweet time to get the line ready, meander down the hall, stop to talk to another aid about nothing at all, until finally I was able to walk toward my classroom unimpeded. 

SURPRISE!!  Not only were most of my kids hiding under their desks but had totally redecorated my room in paper flowers (that's why everyone kept asking me my favorite colors this week!) and the number 50 and, best of all, 51 large balloons in said favorite colors.  It was magnificent and there, in the middle of all the chaos, was Lynnette the aid who organized it all.  One student said, "We knew you didn't get to have your daughter here, so we wanted to make you have a happy birthday anyway."  Could you just die?!  Sweetness abounds.

After school, I stayed in the staff room and ate cake with first the elementary teachers (we finish a half an hour earlier than the upper school) and then with the upper school teachers.  It was really great and certainly made for a happy birthday to me. 
As a present to myself, I signed my contract for next year. 

Snowy Spring Break

In 22 hours, Spring Break starts.  As of right now, it has been snowing pretty much on and off but more on than off for the past day.  So, two new things will happen.  First, I will have the shortest Spring Break ever.  I mean, I know I'm most recently from Oregon and one of the districts with the shortest school year in the nation, but I have never even heard of a school district that gave less than a full week for break.  Or less than two full weeks at Christmas but, alas, that is the case for me now.
This three day break was initially supposed to be a single day but we as a school did an extra hour of Professional Development In Service time for 14 weeks and earned the additional time off.

Second, there is a strong likelihood that there will be snow on the ground and temps in the 30s for the rest of the week.  Just as it's always in the 70s in LA, here it seems to hover in the mid-30s most of the time.  My commute makes it less difficult; I've been in the habit for some time now of just throwing on the cleanest hoodie in the morning, shuffling the 100 steps from door to door, stamp stamp the feet to clear off snow, mud, gravel and the day begins.  Reverse at 4:00.

Unless it's Tues or Friday, the designated days when those of us who are vehicle-free can use the school truck to go get mail and groceries.  Some days the truck is packed tight with teachers, usually Fridays, and some days when it is just a couple of us.  But either way, the truck is heated so it doesn't necessitate putting on snow pants (not that I have any) to go buy eggs the way I would have to if I used a 4 wheeler.  In fact, last week, knowing it was going to be a quick trip I didn't even bother with the hoodie.  It was cold, to be sure, and the wind was a bit too brisk even for me but again, knowing it was going to be minutes in the elements helped.  No damage done.

The cold was something I really worried about before I arrived in Togiak.  I grew up in Seattle, then moved to Portland where when it dips below 40 city-wide warming centers are opened.  The tv news runs graphics about the dangers of cold weather, charts explaining wind chill and multiple layers start to make people look like the younger brother in A Christmas Story who was so bundled up he couldn't put his arms down.

Now I have most of the right gear.  Good gloves that fit.  Waterproof boots that fit.  Waterproof pants, multiple hats (Seahawks if it's dryish and cold, pink ear flaps hat when really wet and cold), thermal underclothes that I have only worn once.  Because I don't know if it's the dryness of the cold here or the ubiquitousness of it but mid-30s feels different here than it does in Portland.  The idea of going outside without socks on is ludicrous for my former home but here they seem redundant and silly.  A fashion accessory I can, and do, do without most of the time.  Even my students are agog that I so rarely wear socks.  Must be the Preppie in me.

The Anchorage Conference

In November, I was told to prepare to go to Anchorage for something called the RTI conference in January. The district was sending me, Carol and Colynn for reasons known only to them. Carol has been in Togiak a few years, Colynn is new this year but has worked in the past for the district and I am fresh off the plane.

The RTI stands for Response to Intervention and is similar to PBIS (Positive Behavior Instructional Support) that we use in our building. It’s all about understanding why children act the way they do, how to help them be the best learners possible, etc.

I found that for me to be the best learner possible at a conference that consisted of way to much sitting and reading along with PowerPoint presentations (because all presenters know that teachers can’t read and listen at the same time-oy) is to ask my best friend to come join me in Anchorage. The district was paying for the room and got a discounted rate so they didn’t care if I added a name to the room list.

Bestie was in right off the bat. She was born in Anchorage and knows that it kinda sucks there in January but was game anyway. We met up at the hotel on Thursday, had a fabulous reunion moment, then settled in to watch tv while I guzzled down Taco Bell.

The first day of the conference was for people who were new to RTI, we got to listen to a day’s worth of Introductionary BlahBlahBlah. The presenters were very excited about their program and although it was interesting and I knew I would come away with some great concepts and things to try, all I could think about what how they kind of sounded like fanatics. Like, this program was going to make education easy. Or that it would change everything, despite funding cuts (even here in Alaska where education is incredibly well funded, they just don’t know it) and poverty-stricken kids and abuse and and and.

That evening, Bestie and I chose not to go to dinner with the crowd but instead wandered into a hole-in-the-wall recommended by her mother. What a great recommendation it turned out to be. Initially, we went to Club Paris for a drink before deciding where to have dinner but the drama of a staff meeting held in the dining room with some of the most cantankerous old timey waitresses sucked us in and we couldn’t bear to leave before the show was done. (Apparently not everyone wears skirts an appropriate length! And some in the number three position were taking tables from 1 and 2!)

It didn’t help that I hadn’t had alcohol in a few weeks so real drinks hit hard. I learned that a true Manhattan is a wonderful thing and that a Moscow Mule is gross even though it comes in a cool copper mug (sorry Beth) and that two in a row on an empty stomach is a bad idea. So we decided to have dinner also and it was one of the top three steaks I have had in my life.

The second day of the conference included a great keynote address by Tricia Skyles on running a balanced classroom. I learned the difference between an Educated Thug and a Safe and Sane Idiot, two terms I love. If only the other sessions were as interesting and relevant. I always marvel at teachers with decades of experience who give long lectures on what not to do with students to keep them engaged but neglect to do any of these things for their adult learners. Hey Reading for Older Students Lady, we get bored too listening to you read to us your PowerPoint! Mix it up a little.

That evening, Bestie and I went with the other Togiak School teachers and a nice woman from New Stuyahok to see Leonardo Di Caprio play with a bear and have dinner at a great little diner that Bestie remembered from her childhood called the Artic Roadrunner. The best fish sandwich I have ever had, especially since it was made with halibut.

By the time we got home, I was entering that wired over-stimulated phase of road trips. We watched some tv and tried to sleep. A few hours later, I was still in that dozy mode and not quite asleep when the bed, the room, the building, the world started to sway. Earthquake! It started out slow and kept going and going. I could feel the building go one direction way too far, jolt and sway back the other way. In a word it was awful, nauseating, terrifying, bad. I hate earthquakes more than anything so as I waited the 14 hours or so for it to stop, I pulled my pillow over my head, thanked god for my nose hose to keep the air flowing and prayed that nothing would fall on my head.

In our room on the floor six we had no damage and once the shaking stopped, Bestie made sure I was okay physically and emotionally.  But it took me many hours to actually fall asleep.

The conference the next day was more stories of the earthquake and people’s reaction to it, which made for a fairly boring all day conversation. The downside to the whole day was that it was Sunday (Anchorage School District has a strange, to me, policy that teachers cannot be released to go to conferences like this one, it hence was scheduled over a weekend) so it was the day Bestie went back to Portland.

After we finally finished the conference, we Togiakians went to the store for all those things we cannot buy in Togiak, like fresh food. I bought as many groceries I could carry, including two kinds of apples for my students and plenty of cheeses for me, though no fancy black truffle pecorino this time, and an eight pack of romaine lettuces. Packing it all into manageable weights for all my luggage took the better part of an hour. I deliberately packed light coming into Anchorage in order to load up on the way home.

The next day was dangerously windy and there was some fear that we wouldn’t make it home the same day. Colynn and I took the later flight in the little tiny plane and it was, hopefully, the worst ride I have ever had. It made me wonder, amidst the terror, why people pay good money to go on roller coasters. I was extra glad I didn’t eat much that day, and took the day after off to recover.

The most important thing I learned going to the RTI conference was the joy of friendship, the camaraderie of disaster survival, and a few new tricks to put into my bag labeled classroom management.

Saturday School

Since I have moved here, there have been seven deaths in the village.  Five happened in the past month.  Three in one day when a boat carrying three young men and their freshly caught moose capsized in rough seas.  They left behind eleven children, some of whom go to Togiak School.

Before this, after the death of an elder in January, it was decided that the respectful thing to do would be to close school on funeral days so that as many of the staff who wanted to attend could do so without having to use a personal day.  Then we would make up the day on a Saturday.  Admin was very enthusiastic about this idea and, in my opinion, kind of rail-roaded and shamed the less vocal into agreeing to it.  The proposal was brought to the CSC, who also enthusiastically agreed and sent a recommendation to the District.

Then the boat capsized and another funeral planned.  Because of various scheduling issues having to do with living in a town with no morgue and religious organizations who appear to object to having funerals on weekends, the funeral for the three men was set for the Friday before our first Saturday school was to be held to make up for the funeral of the elder.  Keeping up?  Then you are doing better than I was at the time.  Basically, we had a four day school week, a funeral day, another day of school, Sunday off, Monday to start a full week.

It was brutal.  The kids were as confused as the rest of us, their little bodies trying to cope with massive schedule changes.  The funeral for the three men was held at school because it was known that it would be heavily attended and there is nowhere in the village large enough to hold such a gathering.  I went to show my respect, although I did not know any of the men.  One was the cousin of a colleague, and the brother in law of one of my students, but in a village this size, everyone was related to at least one of the men.

The service itself was beautiful and heart-wrenching.  Watching as a mother held her toddler as she kissed her father goodbye, laying in his casket.  Hearing speaker after speaker unable to continue when the grief at losing a son, a friend, a fellow hunter became too great.  Many cried, including myself.  The service took three hours and by the end, I was drained and didn't attend the potluck.  I am not sure if this was bad form or understandable.  Going to school the next day to work seemed impossible.

But the next day, work was work.  Except that it wasn't.  All the kids had a kind of crazed energy about them.  Their bodies told them it was a weekday, a day set aside for play and movement.  Their teachers told them to sit down and get to work.  I treated my class like it was a regular school day but tried to turn a blind eye to random misbehaviors.  This was helped by the fact that half of my class wasn't there.  A few straight up didn't come to school.  The others are on the middle school basketball team and a tournament was happening that day.

Yes, you read that correctly.  A basketball tournament was held the same day as Saturday School.  I guess the powers that be decided that to help keep our attendance numbers up, Sat School would be right in the midst of team visits by two other village schools.  All day, basketball games were going on, starting before the elementary day began.  We were encouraged to keep to a regular morning schedule but after lunch we were free to come to the gym and help support our teams.  By the time lunch was over, I had a total of three students left.  We went to the gym, watched some games, got bored, went back to the classroom and while I graded mountains of paperwork, my remaining students played Stratego on the floor.  If it was chess, I might have been able to justify it academically but in my mind, the day was a wash.

At our next staff meeting, two days before our second scheduled Sat School, an item was added at the last minute to the agenda (at the insistence of teachers) to discuss the impact of Sat School.  We had 6 minutes, not nearly enough time to go over this, while being mindful that the parents of one of the drowned men were sitting in the room with us.  It is hard to be respectful, culturally aware and sensitive in 6 minutes.  Especially when the admin was quick to point out, repeatedly, that five deaths in a month is an anomaly.  Any discussion of how Sat School affects students, older teachers who literally need the rest of two days off for medical reasons, any of it was met with "Five deaths in a month is an anomaly."  I didn't bother to raise any objections, since it was clear that this was not going to be the time to be heard.  But I feel strongly that we are sending the absolutely wrong message to students when we schedule Sat School on tournament days.  "Come to school but you don't have to do school."  "School is important, but only in terms of attendance, we don't care what you do when you get here."  "Athletics do trump academics after all."

Not the message I want to send.

Mid terms

This week was the midterm for third quarter of school. As my mom put it, I am in the home stretch. I realized last night as I was patting myself on the back for making it nearly through ¾ of my very first for real renewable contract after over 15 years as an educator of one type or another, that in six months, I need to be in Dillingham for Teacher In-service for the 2016-17 school year.

That is, if I get asked to return. I signed my Letter of Intent to Return within minutes of getting it from Sam. All signs point to being asked to come back. I regularly use phrases like "next year, I want to…" and "I can’t wait to try out (insert ridiculous new teaching strategy) with my class in the fall." As of yet, no one has given me that look which says, "Oh Honey, don’t you know? You aren’t coming back" that I have seen on the faces of principals, secretaries and colleagues over the years.

And after years of being laid off every single year, I am cautious.  I heard today that this time last year, contracts had been offered already.  As far as I know the union is still in negotiations for the new contract to start in the fall.  We get exactly zero feedback from either admin or the union reps about how it is going.  Here, unlike Oregon, you do not have to belong to the union to teach.  In Portland, it was either join the union and pay your dues, or be a "fair share" member and pay the same dues but have no say.  I did both over the years, and all I got for it was told that, due to seniority rules, I was ineligible to apply for jobs.  I did look into joining the union here but once I found out that it was voluntary, not obligatory and that it would cost me a cool thousand dollars to participate, I backed slowly away from the table.  No thanks, I'd rather go home for Christmas.

It’s not that I don’t think I will be asked back, exactly. But the past has taught me, finally, to never count my contract until it is signed. And sealed. And delivered-in the form of my first paycheck of the new school year. Until then, anything can happen.

Ball Chairs

I first saw ball chairs in a 6^{th grade classroom taught by the finest teacher I know, my former grad school cohort member, later my endorsement mentor, and my friend Lindsay. She said it would help the squirrely kids have a way to get their wiggles out without becoming that regular pain in the ass every class has. About that same time, I saw an article in the paper about a teacher at the school where I used to be a librarian who was using ball chairs also in her 4th grade class. She claimed it cut down on classroom management problems by a huge degree.}

So when I realized that my Open Gym money would cover at least half of the cost of getting a set of Physio ball chairs for my small class, I decided to take the plunge. I talked to Lindsay to find out what kind of chairs she got, did more research on Amazon, read reviews and placed an order. The chairs ran about $40 each so it was a pretty tidy sum but that made me more determined to make it work, even if it didn’t.

About the same time, I thought "in for a penny, in for a pound" and wrote up a Donors Choose request for the same chairs. Donors Choose is a website where teachers can write requests for classroom equipment and anyone from around the world can decide to be a nice person and donate money for the request. It’s like a world funded grant site with fewer restrictions than most grants. I figured if I got the chairs funded, I could cancel my Amazon order and use my Open Gym money for something else and pay back my out of pocket expenses.  Or set them aside for next year when my class size is expected to double.



The Amazon order came in first. I considered presenting the chairs to the kids as a kind of classroom Christmas present but then worried that they might think they owned the chairs and would get to take them home at the end of the school year. So I waited until returning from Winter Break to blow them up and had them waiting for the kids to start off the New Year. Thankfully, the school has an air compressor for gym equipment that I appropriated to blow up the chairs. Good thing, it took nearly twenty minutes per chair! And they all needed an extra push of air over the coming week, as they got used to being full.

When I presented the chairs to the class, I delighted to see that their eyes got bigger than I had ever seen, and grins wider than ever. I carefully explained the rules of the chairs (three bounces only, pick up your chair by the sides-not the little legs, use only your own chair) and they even added one: if you fall off your chair three times, you go back to a flat chair.  And every once in a while, there will be a snigger when someone complains that someone else is "sitting on my ball."  I am always sure to follow that up with a stern "Stay on your own chair, please" which usually cuts it off at the pass.  If not and the laughing gets to be too much, I call out "C'mon (insert kid's name) wasn't talking about testicles.  Were you talking about testicles So and So?"  That shuts them all up.

We have had the chairs for 6 weeks now, and I would call it a near success. No one has had their chair taken away for more than half a day. Few classes are done with students working in the traditional manner sitting up in their desks; more often they are sprawled all over the room rolling atop the ball or stretched out catlike if they have reading to do. But I am increasing the number of minutes per day dedicated to independent work to prepare them for true middle school next year, so there is very little time spent listening to traditional lecture-style teaching.

Any visitor to our room seems shocked to see kids lolling all over the room in various relaxed poses, but work output has definitely increased. Those visitors look twice and see students who are engaged, actively working and getting assignments done. Classroom management has been much more positive since kids who used to get in trouble for not paying attention or distracting others no longer have as hard a time staying focused.

One day, Sam the principal wandered in to do a walk through observation. He came in before the kids arrived for the day so I had a chance to explain the benefits of the chairs. With his trademark grin, he asked if he could try one out. He gingerly sat down, rolled a bit and settled in. The grin grew and he told me that I could charge the school the cost of the chairs. I had been hoping for this all along but it was a vague, "wouldn’t it be nice" kind of hope, based on my experiences in every other school district where if a teacher wants to try something innovative, they are welcome to do so out of their own pocket with no expectation of reimbursement. Here, innovation, once proven, is rewarded. What a concept!

Fear in the big city.

Two weeks ago, I was trying to fall asleep in an Anchorage hotel room when a major earthquake struck. 7.1 counts as major, and it lasted long enough for me to think, amidst my paralyzing fear, "Wow, this is really going on a long time." I had been in Anchorage for an education conference and, thank all the gods, was able to convince my best friend to come up for the weekend with me. So I wasn’t alone in the room when it was over.

Earthquakes are my single biggest fear, besides the loss of my daughter. Luckily, Bestie is wonderful in a bad situation. Once the swaying stopped, she saw that there was no real damage to our room and took care to calm me down before getting on her phone to find out details of what happened. There was no major damage, a testament to current earthquake-proofing of buildings, though I did hear stories later of those on higher floors who had tvs fall off the walls and bathroom doors slam shut. People were shook up but no one was injured.

But the thing that struck me was when Bestie pointed out that "our" earthquake was of a higher magnitude than the one that totally devastated Haiti in 2010. All of their infrastructure was destroyed, many died, and some are still recovering from that disaster.

As I flew home two days later, in the bumpiest flight I have ever had, in the tiny little plane to get home, I had the thought "Well, if the earthquake didn’t kill me, the wind certainly won’t." It didn’t assuage my fear any but it did make me aware that fear is something I can consciously acknowledge now in a way I couldn’t before. I know there is the Fight or Flight response that is our instinctual way to protect ourselves but I have added an additional reaction: paralysis. I felt like if I didn’t move on the bumpy plane rides, it would help the plane stay up. If I lay in the bed with my pillow over my head, it would keep the building from crumbling around me.

Fear is designed to save us. If I embrace my fear, it won’t take away the cause but it may make it more manageable.

Valentine's Duh

My least favorite day of the school year is Valentine’s Day. It is supposed to be a day of love and friendship but inevitably turns into a day of sugar highs, worse sugar crashes, meanness, name calling and exclusion. Someone always cries. Not always, that someone is me.

The fact that Valentine’s Day is on a Sunday this year makes no difference. It only stretches the holiday over more days. Today, we have a party in the afternoon, the only party of the year when I will allow students to have candy in class. Some of them will get soda after school-I do draw the line at cans of sugar in the classroom-from their crushes who pay 2 bucks to send a can of soda to them, usually anonymously so what’s the point really?

After school, we have a Parent’s Night function that was added mid-year to the teacher workload with nary a peep from the staff who suddenly have to work an extra 6 hours per school year (there are 3 of these nights planned). In Portland there would have been an immediate outcry and union protest. Here, staff just thought it was a great way to pull parents up the hill to meet their children’s teachers, many for the first time. We are serving ice cream, opening the gym to all, showing a family friendly movie and insisting that kids cannot attend unless their parent or guardian is with them. No free ice cream this time, kidlets!

I am running the coloring table. I have pages of hearts and butterflies and a million ways to spell "love" in addition to pages copied from the Art Masterpieces of the World coloring book and from the snowflake coloring book my mom gave me for Christmas. I thought about including some from my new Game of Thrones or Harry Potter coloring books but, selfishly worried that photocopying them would destroy the bindings too much.

From my classroom supplies stash, I gather that the former teacher, Miss Jill enjoyed doing art because she has more than one huge pack of markers and top of the line coloring pencil sets. I considered bringing scissors and some of the construction paper she squirrelled away so we could do folded and cut paper art as well, then considered the mess I would have to clean up later and decided, again selfishly, to keep it simple.

I took up coloring myself last summer as a way to kill time waiting for outdoor plays to start. It has evolved into a full time hobby. I have more so-called adult coloring books than I care to admit. I got three for Christmas this year. I have spent what I consider a considerable sum, for me, on pencil sets and cool markers now that I have a steady job in a place where a hobby in the long winter is a good investment to keep from going crazy. My dear friend Ruby took me to one side before I came back to Togiak to make sure I understood the gravity of having a creative hobby in February and March.

In Portland, they have adult coloring nights in bars with great music and fancy cocktails. I am super curious to see if any adults join me tonight to color. Maybe it’ll become a "thing" here too. I can see adding a coloring table to Open Gym, providing papers and crayons. Maybe once basketball season is over and I can do Open Gym again, I will.

Update: I would call Parent Night a success.  From before the official start time, I had kids at my table coloring, and a fairly good crowd turned out.  Too bad the bus hired by the school to ferry people up the hill was so late, the people on the bus only had about 30 minutes to enjoy the party.  The game of the night was clearly the 100 cup stacking challenge.  Students were given 100 cups to place in a tower, a prize given to the student who built the tallest one.  The winning tower was over 3 meters tall!
Among the colorers last night, were a few parents who bashfully asked if they could color too, seeing that I was happily working away on a heart-mosaic piece that came out pretty well, if I do say so myself.  I brought my personal coloring set in the cool wooden box that turned out to be a fascinating hit with the kids, even though the materials inside were less than stellar.  (I'm thinking of writing a scathing revue of it on Amazon-the crayons are mostly wax and the oil pastels have no oil in them but are the same as the crayons.  So cheap!)  But in talking with the adults, I think I may be right that a coloring club might be a good addition to Open Gym.