Duck and Cover: The COVID Crisis and Schools

I set out to write my blog this week about how I sort of standardize my Christmas list. You know, everyone gets a craft, everyone gets something musical, everyone gets something collectable, and everyone gets a book. It was prompted by a Facebook event for authors called Christmas in July.

But when I started crafting the post I bumped into this shopping memory: “The smell of fresh crayons, the stacks of lined paper, and the array of colorful folders stacked on the shelves at my local store. School supplies always seemed to emerge shortly after Independence Day. There would be a flurry of activity in my house; energy bubbling with the thought a new school year of possibilities.”

Yes, that’s what it was like for my children this time of year.

Then came COVID-19.

There appears to be a divide about whether or not schools should open. Regardless of the resiliency of the young, many factors come into play. I don’t have the answers, but having spent more than thirty-five years in education I do have concerns on both sides of the debate.

Distance learning is available…but not for everyone. And as good as it may be, online learning isn’t as good as face-to-face interactions.

For some children, school offers the only meal they will eat every day.

Even if parents are working from home, it doesn’t mean they will have time to instruct their children or even offer support. Not all parents know how to teach. Some don’t even know how to read. And not all parents are in jobs where they can work from home.

To expect young children to social distance and wear a mask all day is unrealistic. Let’s face it. If adults who are able to understand the need for social distancing consider it unrealistic for them to do, how can we expect it of children?

Despite all the precautions, children may carry the virus home to their families.

The news last night reported the decisions of several school districts in the area where I live. They interviewed several principals and superintendents. Here are some of the quotes from the broadcast:

“Students will form a line each morning outside the school for a wellness check. Temperatures will be taken before students are allowed to enter the building.”

“Children second grade and up will be required to wear masks all day.”

“Students will be given assigned seating at lunch. Assigned seating is necessary for contact tracing purposes.”

“There will be no recess. Instead our teachers are planning socially distanced ‘brain breaks.’ And our staff will be required to wear masks at all times.”

“We will be issuing shields to our teachers for them to wear in addition to their masks.”

As I watched the news, I felt as if I were living in the Twilight Zone. Only one school district in the area has made a definite decision to close for the first semester, taking a watch and see stance for the second semester.

I know teachers. Teachers will do whatever they are asked to do. They will come up with creative ways to make the school experience one that is as positive as it can be for their students. 

But I cannot help but wonder what toll all of this this will take on our children. And their families. 

My husband lived near MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa during the Cuban missile crisis. It was a brief moment in time, not the entire school year, but the fear and uncertainty overshadowed every aspect of his school experience for a while. MacDill was a likely target. Students had to carry a jug of water every day to school in case there was a missile attack. I guess the water was to offer assurance they would at least have fresh water to drink. Water that had not been polluted by radiation fallout. 

Unannounced drills were held throughout the week. It was called "Duck and Cover." Students had to get under their desks to protect themselves from nuclear bombs. Seriously. Films were made to teach students what to do during an attack. 

As I said, it was short lived. 

That crisis lasted only thirteen days though the protective measures in schools continued for the remainder of the semester. Tom and I laughed at some of the notions and actions taken in response to Russian missiles located just off the coast of Florida. Yet he told me it is all he really remembered about the first semester of that school year. 

Fear. Uncertainty. A little boy lugging a gallon of water to school every day in case he needed it for survival.

Fortunately, his mother was a voice of reason during the time. If she was frightened, Tom never knew it. She was a stay-at-home mom. She was a cub-scout den mother. She assured her three sons all was well with the world and the issue would soon be resolved. And it was. 

Thirteen days. 

We are facing a year or more of fear and uncertainty. As I said, I don’t have the answers. None of us do. Children are resilient. True. But they are also impressionable. 

What are your thoughts? Should all students return to the classroom? Some? Any? How do you think this crisis will impact our future? And please…please share the good you see coming from all of it.

Quarantine Cooking Made Easy

Last week I shared a picture of my dinner on social media. I made Impossible Taco Pie, a longtime family favorite. The recipe will serve six to eight people. Good thing I like it. I ate it for a week!

I had a few conversations after that post. Some people asked for the recipe. Most lamented over the fact they aren’t yet comfortable going out to eat. Several people I spoke with said they are tired of cooking the same things over and over. Bringing me to today’s post.

I decided to offer a couple of my favorite “quarantine recipes” in hopes you’ll feel free to share your favorites with me and my readers.

First up:

Chicken Fettuccine with Pesto Sauce

I’m offering this because is it is delicious, fun, and so-o-o-o EASY.

8 oz. fettuccine noodles

1 Knorr Pesto Sauce Mix (.5oz package)

¼ C. olive oil

Chicken (I usually boil or grill a couple of chicken breasts and cut them up, but I’ve also used canned chunked chicken…your call) 

Favorite cheese (It’s great with Parmesan or Mozzarella)

 

Cook the noodles in water according to package directions.

Prepare sauce according to package directions using the mix, water, and olive oil.

Mix the sauce with the chunks of chicken and pour over the noodles. Garnish with cheese. You can put a few grape tomatoes on top as a garnish.

Seriously. It is so easy but looks and tastes great. 

Next:

Impossible Taco Pie

This serves six to eight people…or know that the leftovers heat up nicely.

1 lb. ground beef

I garnished with tomatoes and avocado.

½ C. chopped onion

1 envelope taco seasoning mix

1 (4oz) can chopped green chilies, drained

1 ¼ C. milk

¾ C. Bisquick or Jiffy mix

3 eggs

2 tomatoes sliced 

1 C. shredded Monterey Jack or cheddar cheese

Sour Cream

·      Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Lightly spray or oil a 10 inch quiche dish or pie plate.

·       Cook and stir beef and onion over medium heat until beef is brown; drain. 

·      Stir in seasoning mix. Spread in plate; Sprinkle with chilies. 

·      Beat milk, baking mix, and eggs until smooth. Pour over meat mixture. Bake 25 minutes.

·      Top with tomatoes.

·      Sprinkle with cheese.

·      Bake until knife inserted between center and edge comes out clean, 8-10 minutes longer.

·      Cool 5 minutes. Serve with sour cream

Don’t let it fool you. It is easy and a complete meal. Presents well and tastes great!

So there you have it: Two of my quarantine favorites. Now it’s time to share your own favorite recipes….or at least a picture and a name of what you cooked.

Next week I will be participating in a fun Facebook Event called Christmas in July.You are invited! It is a great opportunity to meet and get to know authors. The event is sponsored by my publishing company, Ambassador International. 

My timeslot is July 23 from 10-11am EST. I am going to post some fun stuff, including my all time favorite brownie recipe from Breathing on Her Own. I’m also having a couple of giveaways.

All the authors are doing this so drop in anytime during the Christmas in Julyevent. Here is a link to see all the authors featured. Let me know if you’re interested. I’d love to chat with you then.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzvUnUnqFzo&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR0eDYXPtfbRZIWT0LTS8qpEkEmtqYRSJkqrV2Agn77T_Y9NBRrXQ7UvWYs

And don’t forget to share your favorite easy-peasy quarantine recipe!

Think...It's a Little Thing to Do

Last week I set out to mow my lawn. I have a rather large lawn so even though I had gas in the mower, I knew I would likely need more. Rather than start the project and run out in the middle of the yard, I headed to the gas station with my five-gallon can, my mask, and gloves.

I usually put a few dollars worth of gas in the can. Two or three gallons. 

This is silly. I can save myself a trip by filling the can today. The can was on the ground in front of the gas pump. I smile at my cleverness and pump the can full. Brilliant!

Brilliant until I try to lift the gas can and put it back in the trunk of my car. Do you know how heavy five gallons of liquid feels on a hot summer day? We’re talking around thirty-plus pounds. It may not sound like much to you, but for me? 

I manage to put it back in the trunk then sort of pat myself on the back for not being wimpy.

I start the drive home when I begin to realize picking it up is one thing…picking it up and pouring it into the mower is another. I have a riding mower so the tank is pretty high.

What was I thinking? The problem is, I wasn’t thinking. 

When I was growing up, my mother had a poem she often quoted when I acted without thinking:

            It’s a little thing to do, just to think. 

            Anyone, no matter who, ought to think.

            Take a little time each day,

            Spare it from your work or play.

            Stop and think.

            You will find that men who fail

            Do not think.

            Men who find themselves in jail

            Do not think.

            

            Often trouble that we see,

            Trouble brewed by you and me,

            Probably would never be

            If we’d think. *

I grew to detest that poem. It was an admonishment for something I had done or failed to do. As a teenager I vowed to never say it to my own children. As an adult, I’m sure I broke that vow, couching it with “as your grandma used to say…”

Yet here I am, driving back to my house with a full five-gallon can of gasoline in the trunk of my car, saying the poem to myself. Kicking myself for not thinking this through. Trying so hard to be efficient, that I forgot how to be practical. 

I prayed for help. Yes, I seriously asked God for help. I was nearing my street when I met my next door neighbor heading out for his morning walk.

A wave. A greeting. An ask. 

Mark is a good man. After his walk, he easily carried the heavy can back to my shed and handily poured the gasoline into my mower. He didn’t laugh at me for not thinking this through. He helped. 

The morning was warming quickly so I started the engine and managed to cut the grass before the glaring sun made it impossible. As I mowed, my thoughts turned back to that poem.

            Often trouble that we see,

            Trouble brewed by you and me,

            Probably would never be

            If we’d think.

It seems 2020 has been a potful of trouble brewing:

            Politicians spew venom at each other.

            Some people wear masks while others refuse to do so.

And the biggie—the pot that has been brewing for centuries—the presence of systemic racism.

We all make mistakes. We all mess up from time to time. But if we

stop and think…If we ask for help…If we work together for the care and well-being of others and not just ourselves… then this world will be a better place.

After all, it’s a little thing to do just to think.

Think before speaking.

Think before criticizing.

Think before acting.

And begin each day asking God for help with it all.

* Origin and author of the poem is unknown. 

ReStore Rehab...Reimagining Life

Today’s post is a before and after sort of story. A story of transformation.

When I bought my house, the basement was unfinished. A contractor finished the bulk of it. There was plumbing available for a kitchenette, but adding one at the time was cost prohibitive. 

Before: Unfinished Space

I checked out the base cabinet, countertop, sink, and hardware at my local big box stores. I priced the backsplash materials and other construction needs. Adding the lights I wanted and allowing for labor to do everything, I was looking at more than a basement kitchen should cost. 

I knew I could likely cut the cost if I could find the cabinet base at our local ReStore. ReStore is connected to Habitat for Humanity, a cause I support. I found an entire set of cabinets at ReStore for less than one cabinet at the big box store. And…the hardware was included! The man at the store loaded the pieces in my van. My daughter and grandson helped me unload them into my garage. 

Over the next few months, I wandered through my ReStore occasionally. Slowly, I collected the items I needed. My garage was beginning to look more like a workshop. I bought a bar sink at Lowes and added it to my collection.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but I came to the realization that I could install my own kitchen. 

I had some knowledge.

I had Tom’s tools. 

I had all the materials.

I had YouTube. 

And I had the desire to try.

ReStore Cabinet Find

I measured the space and the cabinets multiple times. Getting the cabinet in with the sink was a priority. My plumber moved the old washing machine water line and told me he could hook everything up to the water and drain. He told me to call him when I had the cabinet, sink and countertop ready. 

I watched YouTube to learn how to patch the hole in the drywall from the plumbing being moved. 

I did some more measuring. A base unit has two doors. I had enough room for another small cabinet, so after a lot of consideration, I cut one of the base cabinets in half. Perfect. I managed to move the full cabinet and the half cabinet from my garage to the basement. I felt like Wonder Woman. 

Cutting the countertop for the sink was daunting. I heard cutting a Formica top could cause chipping and splitting. I watched YouTube for clues. Again, I measured the opening multiple times. I drew the line to be cut on the countertop. I taped beside the line. Still, I was filled with fear to make the first cut.

One video I watched suggested I purchase a special drill bit for Formica and drill a starting place for my saw. I went back to Lowes. Ellery, the store manager told me I was overthinking it. He told me to use a drill bit I had, make a hole in each corner big enough for the blade of my saber saw, and go for it. So I did.

Go for It!

I reminded myself the countertop only cost me $10 at the ReStore shop, so I should feel free to risk it. How did it turn out? Piece of cake. I did the happy dance all through the house. I took pictures the way a new grandma takes photos of a baby and shows them to everyone in sight.

The cabinets, countertop, and sink in place, my plumber returned to hook it all up. He even anchored the cabinet to the wall for me.

The next step? The backsplash. The tile at the ReStore was fifty cents a square foot. Seven dollars later, I walked out with enough tile to cover the space as well as a couple of extra tiles in case I needed to trim-fit awkward edges. The adhesive and grout cost more than the tile. 

I wanted to do it all myself. It turned out to be impossible. I had a respiratory reaction to the adhesive. Fortunately, my youngest daughter wanted to help with the project. I measured and cut tile in one room while she adhered each piece to the kitchen wall. It was a fun afternoon.

My friend Bob helped, too. He changed the hinges on the door of the third cabinet so it opened the other way and installed the lights I purchased at Menards for the ceiling.

Finally, I put old math skills and my son-in-law’s miter box to use cutting and fitting the baseboards and kickboard. 

The small basement kitchen turned out great. But the real transformation was mine. 

After: Same Space Redefined

I used parts of my brain I forgot I had. I’m a decent problem solver. When I’m writing, I have to create believable situations or get my characters to go where I want them to go… do what I want them to do… say what I need them to say. Those are literally “word problems.” But building requires a different way of visualizing the end product. It requires accurate measurement and geometry. 

I did something I thought I could never do. Using power tools and ripping through wood, sanding, screwing, nailing, and caulking? That was Tom’s world. I admired the way he took on any task. He designed and built bunk beds for our daughters with drawers underneath. He built a storage shed over forty years ago that is still standing strong. He added bathrooms to a couple of places we lived. He could do anything. He always showed me how to do things and shared his “thinking through” of a project with me.

When Tom died I had just started crafting a new novel. The hardest project I’ve ever attempted. After he died, I abandoned that project. It was something I felt was too difficult. I no longer feel that way. It will take time. It will be hard. But I now have the confidence to take it on.

My next building project? I have space in my basement for a wood working shop. I’ll likely take that on even as I work on the book. It turns out I do some of my best thinking with a hammer in my hand.

What new challenge are you ready to tackle?

Consumer or Creator? What Are You?

My oldest daughter, Allison is a teacher. She’s been one all her life. Early on, she would line her dolls and stuffed animals up to learn their ABC’s. As a toddler she taught her stuffed bear to read. When I asked about it, she told me, “He can read, but he can’t talk. His mouth’s all sewed up.”

Allison was thrilled when we added a live student to the family. She was 4 ½ years old when her sister came along, but as soon as Danielle was able, Allison took her role as teacher seriously. Sometimes, too seriously. 

For example, right before Danielle was to enter first grade, the two girls “played school” all summer long. They would come to the cafeteria (kitchen) for lunch, go to recess (the backyard), then come to the media center (our family room) to have the librarian (yours truly) either read a book to them or watch a television program together. 

Tom and I only guessed the intensity of “summer school” when Danielle told us she wasn’t ready for first grade. “Allison only taught me my pluses,” she cried. “I don’t know my take-aways, yet!”

[By the way, the incident did no harm. As an adult, Danielle has happily and successfully home-schooled each of her own four children for their first few years of learning. Wonder where she got that idea?]

Ultimately, Allison studied secondary education and accepted a job teaching world history in the same district where I taught first grade. I remember when we went to the district wide beginning of school meeting together. My heart soared. 

I had occasion to sit in on a few of Allison’s classes at the high school. I watched as she engaged the students in powerful ways. She knew it wasn’t enough for those teens to learn the facts of world history. They needed to look at the world as a whole and understand how and why the actions of people shape history. How the internal policy or events of one country or leader works to fuel the actions of other countries.  

Allison made history relevant. But moreover, she created an atmosphere where her students learned to think for themselves.

Now she coaches teachers. We still talk shop. The other day I told her I know people who are basically intelligent…at least have the capacity to think…but don’t think for themselves. I said, “They’re intelligent but not smart. There’s a difference.” 

She understood. She calls it the difference between being a consumer or a creator. Allison was teaching her students in high school to be creators. To think for themselves and offer new solutions. She warned them against merely being consumers only of what others Say. Do. Think. 

I love all people. Even the unlovable. God expects that of me. 

But I like smart people. People with opinions they’ve formed on their own. People with ideas and possible solutions. I like those who don’t simply quote something they’ve heard or read, but are able to pull ideas together and see a bigger picture. 

I love consumers…but I really like creators. I like to spend my time with them. Consumers are, as my mom would say, a dime a dozen. But creators are priceless.

So are you a consumer or a creator? 
Consumers  watch the news or read a report and accept it at face value.

Creators  try to view everything from differing perspectives. They look behind the scene to the backdrop and don't only read the script. 

Off the Sidelines And Into The Game

 I remember hearing “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.” The words were meant to encourage. To make something positive out of something negative.

We all have words and phrases we tend to live by. Simple, self-evident truths we call on to sum up our position, inspire others or, more likely, we use to teach our children. I recently took a good look at those phrases I often use. 

Done is better than perfect.

No Time Like the Present to Connect

There are a few areas of life, a few tasks to be completed where done is better than perfect. It’s the motto I adopted when I started mowing the lawn. I am, perhaps, the world’s worst lawn care person. I didn’t even know how to start the mower until the summer after Tom died. I try to walk behind the goofy machine in a straight line, but somehow I always tend to leave swaths of uncut grass in the wake. I’m getting a bit better at the job. That isn’t the good news. The good news is that it no longer stresses me to try, because getting the job done is better than fretting over making it perfect.

Err on the side of “being there.” Show up.

My daughter taught me this one. When someone is hurting or in trouble, we often don’t know what to say. Or do. Our fear of interfering or saying the wrong thing keeps us from doing anything at all. We’ve all had those moments where we said or did nothing. Oh, sure, maybe we sent a card. Later. We avoid the awkward face-to-face moments. 

I don’t think I will ever forget the night three friends from church came to my house when Tom died. I looked out the window and they were practically running down the driveway to my front door. (Okay, maybe they weren’t running but it seemed so to me.) They didn’t know what to say or do. Later, one of them told me she was unsure about the decision to come to the house. She thought it might be “intruding.” It was anything but intrusive. I felt cared for and loved. 

And if it had been intruding? Someone would have politely met them at the door and told them it wasn’t a good time to visit. Knowing they came would still have made me feel cared for and loved. Sometimes all we need to do is show up.

One step at a time.

As a professor of teacher education, I used this illustration with students who were ready to quit school. Often they couldn’t see themselves graduate in four years as they planned because of money or other life circumstances. I had walked that road. I married when I was eighteen. It took me seven years to get through my four-year teacher education program. I had two little ones at home during my student teaching. I get it. But I also know that by taking one step at a time, I can reach my goals. 

I would draw a picture of a mountain for my students. “Some people race to the top,” I would say. “Others take the more scenic route.” I would draw two lines. One straight from the bottom to the top of the mountain and the other meandering back and forth before reaching the summit. “But the view is every bit as beautiful no matter how long it takes to get there. Take it one step at a time.”

Just Do It.

As I look at these guidelines I use in life, I see a common theme. In the late 1980’s Nike came out with the slogan “Just Do It.” It has been widely popularized, sometimes used for bad, but mostly for good.

It was an illustration to not sit on the sidelines. To get into the game. To do something. Show up. Climb the mountain. 

If you read my blog, you know where I stand on the issue of racism. It is real and it is detrimental to everyone. Racism is not a political issue. We cannot legislate “respect and care for others.” It is a matter of the heart. 

We are called to action. We can no longer sit on the sidelines. Show up. Take it one step at a time. I have a friend who is reaching out to people who don’t look like him, walking with them in their neighborhood, and inviting them to his.  (#WalktheTalkChallenge) I have another friend who is using his social media presence to make a stand against racism. I am checking in on my friends who are of different race, ethnic backgrounds, and whose first language isn’t English to make sure they’re okay. 

What is in your playbook? What are you doing? 

With Liberty and Justice For All

On last week’s blog I shared my perspective on racism. My Middle-Aged, Christian, White Woman Perspective. If you missed it, you can read what I wrote HERE. I called it “Courage in Action: We Must Not Be Silent.”

The post was well received and I had a number of reposts, likes, and positive comments.  

Curiously, of the many people who read the post, I had a couple negative results. Normally, I wouldn’t even address those comments, but I found it interesting the negatives were both linked to a single statement I made in the post. I wrote:

“I am discouraged by the inflammatory words and self-serving actions coming from the White House.”

One person, offended by the statement, left my list of followers. Okay.

But the other person suggested that in “undermining Trump,” I was showing that I am “un-American” and “obviously not the Christian woman you claim to be.” 

“Un-American” 

Let’s see…I vote, I pay my taxes, I do what I can to serve my community. I exercise my right to free speech. I stand up for the rights and freedom of my fellow Americans as well as others hurting in this world. 

I feel blessed to be an American. It’s what I know. 

Being an American, however, does not make me better than anyone else walking this earth. And being white does not make me “entitled.” I stand my ground as a free-to-speak American woman: #BlackLivesMatter.

But this man was right in one way. You see I am an American, but as a child of God, I am a citizen of heaven. I’m actually called that in in the Bible (Philippians 4:20).

And I love this passage Paul wrote to the Ephesians speaking to the unity of believers. It is Ephesians 2:19-22:

Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God’s people and members of God’s household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit. (New International Version)

“Foreigners and aliens.” No mention of color, shape, size, gender, age, ethnicity, economic status… you get it. The list goes on. 

Judge me if you like. Only the judgment I receive from Jesus is of any consequence. 

All I ask is that you take a stand as I stand... “with liberty and justice…for ALL.”