Month: September 2020

I volunteered our family to help with the Democratic election postcard campaign. We have been given a stack of postcards with pre-printed info on when and how to vote, along with a list of addresses for people (no names included) who lean Democratic but do not have a phone number on their voter registration application. Hence, they cannot be called or texted to be reminded to vote.

In addition to reminding them to vote for the House of Reps, Senate, and Presidential candidates, we have been instructed to add a personal message that is positive and upbeat (this instruction is even highlighted in hot pink). I have been writing, “I am taking time to write these with my family because I believe we can have a bright future.”

I had to talk Edwin down from writing things like, “Please vote Democratic before Donald Trump drags us further into hell” and “Do you really want four more years with a dictator?” and “If you don’t vote for Joe Biden, the oceans will rise and drown us a lot sooner.” Those aren’t exactly positive and upbeat. I wonder what he’ll settle on…

After I walked away from the workplace this afternoon (aka my living room), exhausted and bleary-eyed once again, I was well aware that I had no dinner plan, but I didn’t care. I plopped down on the couch and opened the YA book I had started the other day called The Bridge Home and read it until I finished it, tears rolling down my cheeks. They were good tears – not tears of despair for our current national situation- tears brought on by a good, gut-wrenching plot point.

As I set the book down, wracking my brain for ideas for throwing together a healthy meal, Edwin walked in and declared he was making dinner. He thawed and sautéed salmon fillets drizzled with a lemon aioli, and steamed some rice and veggies.

A good book and a helpful teen can do wonders for mental health.

I have had a hard time getting back to posting lately because I can’t take any more screen time, and I usually post on my work lap top. Seeing as I just closed it after coaching another student through tech confusion at 8:15PM, I cannot open that lid again. Hence, I am typing this on my phone. Yes, a screen, but not my WORK screen.

So, naturally, this post is dedicated to screens.

The many sentences I either already say or anticipate saying soon and often:

Can you see my screen?

Can you share your screen with me?

Let me split my screen.

My screen is too dark.

My screen is too bright.

My screen is too small.

I need another screen.

Blur your screen background.

Change your screen background.

But don’t change your screen background to anything inappropriate.

Can you ever have too many screens these days?

I need a break from my screen.

I’m going blind from staring at my screen all day.

Sentences I’d rather be saying with the word “screen”:

I think I need to apply more sunscreen under this healing, coastal Portuguese sun.

Make sure you close the screen door AND the main door so bears don’t get in way out here in the middle of wine country.

You can barely make out the prison where DJ Trump is serving multiple life sentences without parole on the TV screen.

And I think it’s time I say, “Goodnight, Gracie” before this just gets weirder and weirder. Shutting off the screen now.

I’ve been hearing the chorus of insects all summer, and I love it. Even though our windows are closed and the AC is running, I can still, as I type this, hear the crickets in stereo through the windows facing east, south and west.

When we were in the mountains of North Carolina in July, the evening insect chorus was quite impressive; we almost couldn’t hear each other when we took a nighttime walk unless we stayed within a few feet of one another. In addition to the usual cricket song, I noticed a sound I didn’t remember hearing lately, but one that was certainly familiar. As the sound engulfed me in the dark, I was brought back to sweaty summer nights of hide-and-go-seek, lightning bugs floating in the dusky evening air, and buzzing street lamps.

When we finished our walk, I searched online until I discovered what I had been hearing: the katydid. It calls, “Katy did, she didn’t it, she did, she didn’t” (make up your mind already). I swore I hadn’t heard that sound in a while, and when we got back home, I started listening closely to the sound of the bugs in the evening, and I can’t pick out the katydid. Are the crickets simply drowning out their song, or are they just not here? I think I might also be hearing cicadas, though apparently they’re mostly vocal during the day. I must get to the bottom of this. Is there an entomologist in the house?

katydid

I called my TA (homeroom) students today to say hello and see if they had any questions for me. I was bracing myself for a flood of questions, but the kids really didn’t have many. A few parents had several questions, but the kids were pretty chill. Yes, they have the apps they’ll need, yes they know where to go Tuesday morning.

They were pretty cheerful, for the most part, and it really lifted me up. All this time we’ve been spending on learning how to use technology to engage them has been important, but it’s felt somewhat hollow, like we’re missing something essential. Today I realized what missing ingredient has been: the kids themselves!

I expect this school year will be exhausting, frustrating, and mind-numbing, but if we have the kiddos, we’ll be okay.