ThingsPondered

I had trouble understanding how a Berks Jazz Fest 2009 event belonged at a national historic site of an iron-making community which operated from 1771 to 1883.     I mean, there wasn’t even ragtime as these early citizens of the republic went about their daily lives.  They were the contra dance people, not the swing dancers.

However, all was explained after the Exeter Community Band (an under-rated gem of a group) wowed the crowd with its first few numbers.  Park Superintendent Edie Shean-Hammond informed the band and the audience that the Hopewell Furnace National Historic Site property was purchased by the federal government to become a “Recreation Demonstration Area” through the Work Projects Administration (WPA).  Restoration work was performed by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), so those men definitely would have been living at the time that jazz selections similar to those being performed by the Exeter Community Band were popular.  In addition, Ms. Shean-Hammond stated, World War II servicemen (more jazz listeners) worked on the site.  Therefore, she felt very confident that the spirits of those men were present and appreciative of the music.

Therefore, jazz does belong at Hopewell Furnace.  Perhaps it is not germane to the iron plantation days, but it is a part of the total story of this historic American site.

In some elementary schools, the 4-H program provides the opportunity for students to watch chicken eggs in an incubator.  Children learn about development, scientific method, responsibility, and even agribusiness. The exciting, culminating apex; the zenith; the climax of this four-week unit is known as Hatch Day.

God bless those 4-H cooperating people who collect chicken eggs which they know are fertilized and which also were laid on the same day.  This insures that an explosion of chicks should appear on Day Number 21.  Of course, it also insures a rapt group of students who want to see and memorize every moment of this experience.   

When I taught elementary school, I regarded the week with Hatch Day as the most important week of the year.  My urban students showed me miracles of caring, good behavior, and tenderness.  A teacher in a rural school has also shared that Hatch Day affirms for her what teaching is all about.      

How excited the young night custodian was today.  He had never been  through a Hatch Day and had SO many questions for me.  Because three viable eggs remained to hatch, he was checking the progress regularly.  He took pictures with his cell phone and sent them to his girlfriend.  It had me remembering how excited the night custodian was at Northwest Elementary and how carefully she learned how to move a hatched chick, should that occur during her shift.

What a wonder a healthy birth is.  We are awed by it.  As the classroom teacher said,  “we are witnessing a miracle.”

Tonight I met an angel.  Correction: I already knew him, but tonight he revealed to me the angel he is.   I accidentally learned that he is much more than one of us grunts showing up at work to get the paycheck.  

I do ancillary work in a public elementary school.  I’m there in the wee hours of the morning and again in the evening.  With these hours, I’ve gotten to know many of the behind-the-scenes staff.  Don is the head custodian.  Maybe in other parts they call such folks janitors or maintenance people.  Anyway, he’s one of the guys who gets all the fun toys to work with: that big wringer bucket on wheels, floor buffers, moving dolleys, and the keys to every single room.

While I was cleaning up my area, Don was taking a quick break, chatting with other custodians within earshot of my room.  They were talking about work schedules and he brought up that he had off on Friday but that he might come in for a few minutes.  Why?  Why in the world? It seems that there is a boy in first grade who has developed quite a bond with him. Don and the child’s teacher have worked out an arrangement in which Jake gets to shadow Don for five or ten minutes every day.  On one particular day when Don was at work but coming down with one of the nasty germs that go around every winter, the teacher suggested that Jake pass on the helping because Mr. Don was not feeling well.  As Don put it, Jake’s whole self just sort of deflated.

It seems that Jake doesn’t have a father.  At all.  Nada.  Never – as far as the mother is concerned.  So, little Jake doesn’t have dad’s name, doesn’t have a pre-divorce memory, or even an entire paternal side of the family.  While Don isn’t trying to overstep his role, he sees how important it is for this little tyke to have a positive, caring adult male in his life.  And THAT is why he is going to pop in for ten minutes on his day off.  Not for overtime pay, not for glory and honor.  Just for little Jake.  He’s an angel.

I was feeling absolutely non-verbal due to the onslaught this morning of super-contagious stomach-painful-abdomen-virus racing around my workplace.  So, when Bruce wanted to know what kind of muffins I brought home, I opted for acting it out rather than speaking.

I was trying to communicate “banana nut” as the type of muffin.  Sadly, Bruce is very low-skilled at Charades.  However, we had two things going for us (I thought):  [1]  I am very good at acting out clues and [2] evening is his highest energy time of day.  Strangely, he did not know the standard signals of the game.  I mean, wasn’t this a popular television show many times over?  And, although Bruce did not grow up with TV, he certainly has embraced it now.  Or, maybe that’s just for football and Law and Order. 

After a few whispered words to teach him the signals for number of words, number of syllables, and “it sounds like..”, we were off.  He struggled, but finally got “banana” down. Next I signaled: “one word, one syllable.”  Cleverly, I depicted a male urinating and then got to the pair of naughty bits below the sprinkler. He guessed balls, gonads, genitals, scrotum [hello? ONE syllable?]. Banana-gonad muffins?  I had to switch to the “sounds like…” options for clues.  So, I pointed to my derriere. He guessed ass.  Banana-ass muffins?  Sweet baby Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!  And, by this point he was having a senior moment and forgot the word banana!  I wonder where and when he has feasted on gonad-ass muffins?

Well, at least a good laugh was had by all.