When It's Your Turn

We are vaccinated and boosted. We wear our masks nearly every place we go.

And yet, this week I tested positive for COVID. Because of vulnerabilities of people in our circle, I mask except when outdoors or in the little-used stairwell of our building. We don’t eat indoors at restaurants and we haven’t even had an in-person Christmas celebration due to family members having one or another illness. So in my anecdotal and amateur opinion, it sure seems this latest variant of COVID is highly contagious. And not quite done wreaking havoc with some of us. 

I may have had plans for the week, but it turns out the week had it’s own plans for me.

Thanks to Paxlovid and the miracle of vaccinations, I have stayed out of serious medical jeopardy. The progression of this COVID variant is not a picnic and the Paxlovid side-effects are a bit of a ride. I'm pretty sure I'm experiencing almost all of them. However, it appears that I’m going to manage not being a hospitalization statistic or worse (knocks on wood, throws salt over the shoulder).

My appreciation for those making public health decisions in Massachusetts is deep - the Telehealth consult and resulting prescription for Paxlovid were all provided at no cost. A miracle antiviral at a miraculous price.

If those who study and analyze these things are correct, I expect there won’t be a straight line to recovery over the next week or so. There may be a rebound in my future that will throw things off-kilter.

But, I remain thankful that medical science and access to healthcare have intersected here in my home state and have made it possible to breathe and hope for better times ahead.

Our 2022 Holiday Greeting

It is not easy to allow oneself to be vulnerable, but this year for our holiday card, that is what I did.

Oftentimes, I find a photograph that was taken during the year, and we use that as the image on our holiday card. That isn’t that unusual. We enjoy seeing friends and family share some of the images of highlights from the year that is nearly past.

This year, however, I’ve been secretly revisiting watercolor painting. The technique fascinates me - and often alludes me - but I enjoy using the creative part of my brain. It’s been a very long time.

So it is with humbling vulnerability, I share our holiday greeting for 2022 - a handpainted watercolor that I think expresses the one hope both of us have for all - peace. Not just peace which is in short supply especially during the flurry of holiday preparation, but also peace in our lives and in the world in the coming year.

This wasn't Mozart, and it ain't no jungle

My favorite weekend of the year is always the last weekend in July. The Lowell Folk Festival - a free (!) and frenetic amalgam of music, food, and culture - is worth planning around, which is, exactly what we do.Over the 31 years that the festival has been here, it seems to me it has developed into a better and better version of itself. This year, with stellar weather, not too hot and most definitely not too humid, was one of the best.The music is naturally one of the biggest draws. Where else can you go to sample everything from Armenian to Zydeco? I mean that literally.  When we first started coming to the Festival, we would carefully plan out which bands to listen to, and that's not a bad strategy, really. But what we've done in recent times is move from place to place listening to music that is not necessarily in our cultural comfort zone. Doing so has been a great way to get some exposure to music we wouldn't necessarily listen to on Pandora or iTunes.  Great stuff. Over the years, we've also come to appreciate Friday nights, the first night of Folk Festival. While the crowds and excitement of Saturday and Sunday of Festival weekend are energetic, there is a different kind of vibe to Friday. There is a goodly amount of community pride when the 6:30 parade kicks off. Representing many - not all - of the cultures of Lowell, it causes this Blowellian to realize what a special community we have here in Lowell. The diverse cultures making up our community fabric is a great source of pride for all of us. Long-established cultures that immigrated here during the hey days of the mills or newer immigrant groups establishing homes - all were represented in the kick-off to the weekend. But there was a little something more this past Friday: there was a feeling of kind togetherness and consideration. A festival-goer, a stranger to me, insisted I take a cushion as I knelt down on the grass of Boarding House Park to photograph the parade. Random concert goers started up and carried on conversations, enjoying the music and the collegiality.  I think this shift in attitudes must have become contagious. One of the Park Rangers we spoke with on Sunday was delighted to point out his radio had been very quiet all weekend because, in spite of large crowds, everyone was well-behaved.An event of this size takes lots of organization and many, many dedicated volunteers - from fundraisers to recyclers to people who run the cameras for broadcast.  If you were at this year's festival, you may have run into a few of them from the Bucket Brigade. In order to put on a festival of this size, there is a huge financial commitment from community partnerships to donations large and small.  You can continue to donate to the Lowell Festival Foundation's fundraising efforts and, in doing so, get ready for the next festival.Next summer, on the last weekend of July, the dedicated volunteers and sponsors who organize Lowell Folk Festival will do it all again for the 32nd time.  I know where I will be, and I hope you'll join in the fun too. 

The Discomfort of New Places

In theory, I enjoy the idea of travel. In reality, I miss my "stuff". And knowing precisely where everything is.There is nothing like 24 hours in airports and planes and a 6-hour time zone change to turn even the most Pollyanna-ish of us into raging maniacs of intolerance for humanity. And that is especially true if you have to connect to anyplace through LAX.But the physical - and mental - discomfort of getting to and from a new place is not where the value of travel can be found. The value of travel, for me, is found in a new sense of understanding.Speaking for myself, as much as I want to try to fit in - to have that truly locally inspired experience - it will be quite easy to spot me as a visitor.  While it can be exhilarating to break away from the familiar, it is disconcerting. Learning to negotiate my environment when it is unfamiliar has a rather steep learning curve fraught with opportunities to look idiotic. Try asking for postage in French. Or coffee in London ("you takin'?") .Whether it is learning that my northeastern compulsion to life's pace, or aggressive driving, or whatever it is in my daily life that drives me, building more understanding of someone or something different for me comes from travel. This time around I learned that frozen concoctions are indeed delicious breakfast foods. And pineapple juice and champagne do indeed go together.So along with those magnificent views, beautiful sunsets and sunrises, I hope I've learned, absorbed, and maybe take a bit of understanding what once was unfamiliar back with me.

The change is the thing

2015 has been a transition year for me - personally and professionally. What had always been has flipped end over end, and now there is a new lens through which the world is viewed. There is no holding on to the old as this world and the environment around me is always changing. Kind of like this image - sometimes a new point of view changes everything. And, while sometimes met with less than enthusiastic appreciation, the change is the thing.

So here's to 2016 and to meeting the changes a new year will undoubtedly bring. To looking at things from a new perspective. And to health and happiness to you and your families.

Urban Exploring

A year ago, my patient spouse and I moved from an exurb to the city of Lowell, MA. Even though we lived in the center of this (formerly) small town, walking was not an easy activity. In fact the walk score for our former address was 24 - meaning most every errand requires a car.In addition to the advantages of downsizing at this time of our life and letting go of an incredible accumulation of "stuff", we are thoroughly enjoying the advantages of city dwelling. There are real sidewalks here! And the walk score is 94 out of 100.This summer I've made walking around Lowell a priority. There are lots of good reasons for this, not the least of which is walking is good (and painless) exercise.Armed with my iPhone, I try to notice and record at least one part of my walk each day. I'm certainly not a street photographer and an iPhone does not make me Henri Cartier-Bresson, but it's kind of a fun reminder to look around and appreciate what surrounds me.What follows is a compilation of walking around this historic and beautiful city. And we're off to more places to explore.

[embed]https://youtu.be/zVpjaSKU2Cc[/embed]

Becoming Good Neighbors

Our Fourth Graders were charged this year with finding and executing a community service project. Luckily, we needed to look no farther than a small City park about a block from our school. Lincoln Square Park honors our 16th president with a monument erected by Lowell school children in the early 1900s and a small and pleasant green space in a neighborhood surrounded by businesses and multi-family houses right off one of the main roads in and out of the City of Lowell.Several weeks ago, students cleaned the park of a winter's worth of trash and planted a few flowers that we were able to purchase through a student penny collection. It was a great experience for our kids. That day they became park overseers - they are quite passionate when they go back to the park and find a dropped cup or wrapper.One of our community partners, Washington Savings Bank and Vichtcha Kong, learned of our project and gifted the students with a generous donation. This week, we put that donation to use. We re-stained the 6 park benches and added more annuals to the monument area. And the result?Well, the neighbors surrounding the Park are also getting into the excitement of restoring Lincoln Square Park into a slice of green community space.  Yes, there is still trash but it unofficially seems less.As we were staining benches, cars on nearby Chelmsford Street honked and  shouted encouragement to our students. A nearby business owner came over to help me open a container of stain and when the two of us didn't have the right tool to get the lid off, she involved the "guys" from a nearby car repair shop.  Grandparents wheeling babies stopped to ask us what we were doing and thanked us.  Sometimes we just got a smile or a nod, but the appreciation was loud and clear. And for the first time in my memory, we saw several folks just sitting in the park enjoying being outdoors on a pleasant mid-June day. It made me wonder: isn't this what the Park's designers intended?When a school becomes collaborator with the community, just look at what can happen! In addition to being centers for learning, schools must be good neighbors.

You May Never Know How Much That Means

As I checked out of the supermarket this week, I heard someone calling my name. That's pretty unusual as my grocery store is in the next town. It's not what you might assume; the next town allows food shopping and wine buying in the same place.  I like to call it lowering my carbon footprint or practicing fuel conservation.Since I'm horrible with placing people outside of the everyday, usual spots, this lovely woman didn't leave me hanging. She (re)introduced herself and the minute she stated her name I knew where we had met. About 25 years ago, I taught her youngest son.Memories of an engaging second grader flooded back in an instant. Hearing he was already 31 left me speechless. That was just not possible. He just had to be 8 or 9, maybe 12. 31? I couldn't believe it. How thoughtful of his mom to recognize me and to let me know how he was!One of the best fringe benefits of teaching? Catching up with students who have passed through my classroom. It doesn't matter if it's been one year, or 21 years. Each one holds a special place in my heart and mind.Hearing from former students is an honor and privilege for every teacher. Don't ever stop. You may never know how much it means.   

One door closes and another opens

I hope you will not mind this personal post. Our lives have been consumed for the last three months with selling our home, the place we have spent the last 20 years.We bought this home in 1994. Built in 1931, its structure reminded both of us of our childhood; in fact I often referred to the architecture as "Leave It To Beaver" or Father Knows Best". I realize that puts me in a certain age group :-).Last spring, after shoveling what had to be a ton of snow, we decided to put our house on the market. It's always enlightening to find out what matters to buyers. At times our house was described as well maintained, small, not worth the ask, old (no kidding!). One looker complained that we had more than one type of tile in the house. We learned to have a thick skin.However, a buyer willing to wait for a new septic system and appreciative of an older gem of a house, is about to sign on. I feel a responsibility to our old house. It needs someone to love it as we have. I think our new buyers will do that.Today is our last visit to the old place. In a few days we will no longer own property. Walking through an empty house and listening to the echoes of memories is bittersweet. There's been sadness and grief and indescribable joyousness within these walls.And while we turn the lock on our past 20 years, we remain hopeful that the next 20, the next adventures, will be as sweet.

Time to un-hibernate

The weather in this corner of the northeast has been a real challenge. Since January 1 we've accumulated 4 school snow day cancellations; thank goodness this week was a school vacation week or we'd be adding at least one more snow day to the list.Spending your vacation at home is not very exciting. Yes, we got some things accomplished, but there were no adventures for us this week. Unless you find shoveling heavy, wet snow up and over your head onto snowbanks the size of Mount Washington adventuresome. Or you think chipping 3 inches of ice off the driveway is fun.It is hard to be spiritually uplifted when everything around you is the color of slate, crusted with sand and embedded with the roadside detritus tossed by commuters on the way to somewhere. The endless supply of grey, overcast sky seems to be a constant lately.Yesterday, badly in need of a break from all this winter ambience, I took a detour from my to-do list of errands and ended up at a local garden greenhouse, miraculously open at this time of year. Oh, the beauty of the greens - ferns, prayer plants, coleus, African violets. There is something about the smell of the wet soil that is heavenly.And so, I've declared this the end of my winter hibernation. We are moving toward spring, even if the spring is within the walls of a greenhouse.And my soul is filled with promise and hope. 

Unintended consequences

Most of the time when I see this phrase, it's not a good thing. Today, however, there was an unintended consequence that fell into the plus side of the education balance sheet.In anticipation of state testing, my students have been practicing writing to a prompt for a couple of weeks. This week, we practiced using this prompt from MCAS:

Think about a memory you have of a teacher. The memory could be something funny your teacher said or did, something your teacher taught you, a field trip you teacher took you on, or a time that your teacher made you feel proud.

Many children wrote about their Kindergarten teacher, or First or Second Grade. But one of my quietest students, unexpectedly wrote about me! Since the essay is about 6 pages long - dialog included - I won't subject readers to the full writing. I certainly did hear my own voice projected through this student's writing - some of the dialog describing a multiplication lesson seemed to come right out of my mouth with amazing accuracy! Hmmm, maybe I should be checking for recording devices?

But the words that this child wrote, the words that expressed this child's feelings about me were that Mrs. Bisson "teaches in a funny way and gives you advice on how to remember important things". What more could a teacher want than this?

After a difficult, stress-filled week at school, this child's test prep (!) essay had the unintended consequence of lifting one bone-tired teacher's spirits.

Gettysburg

One of my not-education "hobbies" is family history.  It is exhilarating to me when I find a link to a relative, and especially cool when I can place that relative in history.I have found some relatives that fought during the Civil War - and on both sides of that conflict.  My Dutch-born great-grandfather, Anthony Duym, was at Gettysburg 150 year ago as a soldier in the New York 52nd Infantry. He was about 22 years old at the time.I often joke that my great-grandfather must have been standing in the back of the line for most of the Civil War; to my knowledge he was uninjured despite being in some of the more well-known battles of that conflict. 150 years ago today, his company was in the middle of the fighting in Gettysburg.In history class, I learned that people came out in carriages with picnic baskets to watch the battle as if it were a sporting event. How wrong that was! One of, if not the, bloodiest battles fought on US soil, visiting Gettysburg in modern times is a humbling experience.One hundred fifty years is a lot of time passed. It is easy to glamorize and forget the horrible parts of a battle and of a war.I wish I could have asked my great-grandfather to tell me about his time in the Union Army. I cannot help wondering how it changed him.

Joyeux Noel!

I am not certain exactly when the idea occurred to us, but this past week, Adrien and I celebrated our anniversary with a quick trip to Paris. Nevermind that I now have a deeper understanding of my immigrant grandfather's voyage to the new world after spending 12 hours on planes without being able to wiggle! Airline to remain anonymous.We planned this trip to coincide with Christmas and so, we did as many tourists and some Parisians do - we went to Mass at Notre Dame cathedral. 2012 marks the 850th anniversary of the cathedral; I couldn't help but wonder at that thought - that 850 years earlier people stood in this same spot to celebrate Christmas.The giant pipe organ, bellowed the strains of Adeste Fideles while we waitedfor the procession. Soon the start of Mass was signaled by the sweet smell of incense, a smell of unmistakable intensity. A young boy carefully carried the Christ child in procession, and with a cue from the priest, gently laid Him in the empty creche, a tradition that is repeated in many Christian churches across the world. And so, the first Mass at Christmas began.And after Mass, we made our way through the mixed crowd leaving Notre Dame and those awaiting the beginning of the next Mass to the far edges, roped off in some hope of making order of the chaos.Joyeux Noel!

A Comedy of Errors

I traded in my lovely Sicilian surname when I married.  Tired of being referred to as Amy Pugloski, Pugsley or some other variant for the unable-to-read, I agreed to be a Bisson. Seriously, how could that get screwed up?Over the years I've heard my name pronounced Bi-son (yeah, just like the mammal from the Plains), Bitchell, and several other fun and creative ways. For God's sake people, it's only 6 letters. Use the rules of phonics, you know, a vowel surrounded by consonants makes the short sound of the vowel. We're not even trying to insist on the French pronunciation.Last year, I needed a new faculty identification badge. So, despite loving how I look in those deer-in-the-headlight beautifully lit school-picture day shots, I filled out the form, sat on the stool and voila. Two seconds later, I was moving on to the next thing.My picture ID came back with my last name spelled.... Bison. I can assure you I do know you to spell my last name. Accurately.Of course, school picture day companies are gone by dismissal times so there was no one to complain to. Mrs. Bison remained locked in my desk drawer for the duration. No one here by that name.This year, I gave it yet another shot. Again, paying close attention this time to my handwriting, I spelled my last name ever so carefully. B...i....s....s....o...n. Again, deer-in-the-headlight lighting, sit on the stool, badda bing, badda boom, "portrait"  taken.How excited was I that I would have my very own, picture identification card hanging from its rightful place around my neck! That is, until I noticed my name. This time, with a nod to informality, my first name appeared on the ID. My last name - no, my last name didn't make it.  This time I was Besson.Good grief. And you thought I was going to write about politics :-) 

Marathon Monday

If you've ever visited Boston, you know that this view of Boylston Street (taken near the BPL) is fairly unusual.  This weekend, Boston was teaming with tourists, Red Sox fans, and New Englanders just wanting to get outdoors and enjoy a warm Saturday afternoon.We were no exception. On Monday, the locals will watch as hundreds of runners push themselves beyond what seems humanly possible to run 26.2 miles from Hopkinton, MA into Boston.  As a testament to persistence, the Marathon inspires me.

New Traditions

As the parent of an adult, the holidays are kind of odd for us. The old and comfortable ways we used to celebrate have morphed and changed to be less child-centered. We have never been big party people - Adrien used to play gigs on New Year's Eve. Once you have had to work a New Year's party, they kind of lose their luster I think. Most New Year's Eves we share a glass of wine, cook something together - and continue the family tradition of watching the Three Stooges marathon. Not that exciting, and this "tradition" is definitely is starting to feel tired.I don't know if it's the light deprivation, the glum overcast that seems to be our normal weather, the cold (and anticipation of the utility bills), whatever... winter just gets to both of us.On a whim yesterday - before we even ate breakfast - I suggested we drive in to Boston to see the ice sculptures left from First Night.  And so we did.New Year's morning, as it turns out, is the perfect time to drive in to Boston. First of all, there was barely any traffic - even at 9 am. We found on street parking at Clarendon and Comm and could even be picky about where to put the car. And (bonus), no feeding the meters on Sundays and Holidays - both applied to this day.Yesterday was one of those anomalies of New England winter: it was 40 in the city and sunny. Hardly a person was out and about yet - just a few runners - it felt good to be walking around Back Bay.Starting at Copley, where Trinity Church services were just getting underway, we strolled around the Square, down Boylston - stopping for coffee of course - through the Public Garden and on to the Common.By the time we reached the Public Garden, families were beginning to come out to enjoy the morning. The Frog Pond wasn't open for skaters - yet - but the Zamboni was making the final sweep to clean up the ice, Children were enjoying the playground nearby.Boston is definitely a city for walking. And on this first day of 2012, I think we've discovered a new way to celebrate the advent of a new year.

Third Grade Giggles

Anyone who has ever taught a third grader knows it's true: there are certain words that just send these kiddos into hysterics. Think of it as a Seven Words You Can't Say on TV for 8 year olds.For example: toilet paper. As in, "If we don't get some tissues boxes in class soon, you'll have to blow your nose of toilet paper."  Bird poop is another prime example. Recently one of my students wrote a personal narrative about a bird pooping on her at the beach. Definitely the highlight of the sharing celebration. Forget irony; 8 year olds love butt humor.Yesterday - one of my less stellar academically driven days - with a week full of interruptions, a full moon, Christmas-on-the-brain, and a very tired teacher (parent conferences!) - the kids were as silly as could be. Unfortunately we were close to being out of tissues so I asked for some donations before we.... well you know what I had to say.After that laughter died down, one of my more impish students asked me if I knew buttocks was a compound word. Hey, I'm game for anything when I'm tired. So I confessed I did not know that particular piece of information.He repeated it again.  And finally in exasperation said, "You know.... butt-talks."Even teacher couldn't hold a straight face on that one.  I think they're rubbing off on me.  

Downtime

The weather has been unseasonably warm for the last several days. Yesterday was no exception. Even though yesterday was the City of Lights Parade and Holiday Stroll here in Lowell, no one seemed to mind that temperatures were in the 60s -- people were dressed in flipflops and shorts while waiting for their moment with Santa.When asked, Adrien shoots for Cultural Organization of Lowell, the organizer of this and other wonderful events in the City.  Yesterday while he was on assignment, I walked around too, making a record of the Mill City on an unusual late-November afternoon:

Boarding House Park, Lowell MA

Boarding Houses, Lowell MA

Boott Mill Trolley Tracks, Lowell MA

Gatehouse Reflection, Lowell MA

Lessons from my grandfather

Today marks my materal grandfather's birthday. His name was Palmer Chester Flournoy and he was born in 1889 in Albany, New York. When he was still a baby, his father, a railroad conductor, was killed in a tragic railway accident. My great-grandmother moved her family - my grandfather and his older sister, back to Stanbery, Missouri to live  with my great-grandmother's family - the Palmers.My Grandfather only attended school until he was in about 8th grade; after that he went to work. He was well-spoken and a fabulous story-teller. And from family stories, we know he was a trickster and strong-willed. And intelligent - he was respected as honest and fair.One of the things I most remember him telling me was that I could "catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." He always spoke respectfully - how I wish I could remember that more often. Once when his butter pecan ice cream came without pecans, he respectfully wrote to the corporate headquarters and in a short time not only  received a replacement half-gallon of butter pecan, but also received a second half-gallon. I try to remember that when write a letter of complaint. My grandfather was an amazing expert in respectfully expressing that something was amiss.The most important lesson my grandfather taught me was to live in dignity, even when life is throwing you curve balls. Macular degeneration and cataracts took my grandfather's sight. Even though low-vision robbed him of reading, or driving I don't think I ever heard him complain. He had an outgoing nature, and if he couldn't figure out which coins to use when paying for something, he simply asked the clerk to help pick out the coins. When I was in my twenties, he rode buses or walked everywhere in Daytona Beach; whenever one of us came to visit in Daytona, he could be counted on to meet us at the airport. And to see us off. Life may have robbed him of vision, but it took nothing else from his great enjoyment of life.I think a lot about my Grandfather's great capacity for enjoying life despite what hardships are encountered. And hope that as I grow older, I will always remember lessons learned from a real gentleman - in all senses of the word.

Courses, of course

I hope to hit Masters + 60 next year -- which is the highest achievable salary lane for me.  It is also preparation for retirement. As of today in Massachusetts, my retirement will be calculated on the last 3 years salary averaged together. I "plan" to work 4 after this year, and with no new contract -- and thereby no cost of living or other raise possible -- whatever the amount +60 gets me will be it.So a couple of weeks ago I signed on to take one of Patty Nichols' courses, Museums Across the Curriculum. Last spring Patty led a course using museums and historical sites in the Concord and Lexington area -- perfectly suited for Grade 3 History and Social Studies in Massachusetts.  This new course will take us to several museums in Lowell -- the Boott Mill programs are part of our curriculum here in Lowell -- and to the MFA in Boston and the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum, also in Boston.What makes these courses a pleasure is the opportunity to explore local resources and a chance to be a tourist right in my own back yard. And a chance to develop some curriculum using these wonderful resources. As we make our visits and build our classroom activities, I'll post on this blog.