I think southern Californian’s may be obsessed with weather. Or maybe it’s just me. So much of the time we really pay no attention to it. A sweatshirt is the go-to jacket, flip flops are year-round foot wear, and that umbrella? It’s probably buried under the reusable grocery bags in the trunk of the car.
It’s been rainy this week–and I’m talking multiple days! It rained Wednesday night and last night, and there are still clouds that just might be holding some more rain hanging around. We can probably count a year’s worth of rainy days on two hands–and this year, rain has been scarce, even for us.
Luckier still, we’re getting much needed rain and it has been coming after we go to bed at night. That has left my afternoons available for those much-needed beach walks. Breathing in saline rich air while feeling the satisfaction of checking off exercise as done, calms my brain and is good for my body. And the bonus: the beach is never boring. The views change constantly, the terrain is varied from tide to tide, and no mask is needed on the wide-open shoreline.
As I headed back toward the car, the towering clouds above the old Encina power plant tower (headed for demolition) caught my eye. I couldn’t quite capture it with my camera held in its usual position, so I turned it to try to capture the height of the clouds.
Maybe we’ll have a bit more weather in store before this storm system leaves. For now, I’ll just enjoy the clouds.
Good grooming is important–even when it is the beach that is being groomed.
During the summer, our local beaches are full pretty much from sunrise to sunset leaving no time for maintenance other than keeping trash emptied and restrooms filled. But during the winter, seeing heavy construction equipment on the sand is not all that unusual.
Bulldozers are used to push sand into big piles, offering protection from the higher tides that accompany stormy weather. And sometimes beaches with “extra” sand are able to share the wealth with other local beaches suffering from a lack of sand.
I’m really not sure exactly what this big piece of equipment is being used for. This is not my usual beach. It’s a few miles north–not far from where I get my hair cut. And with a few extra minutes before my appointment time, it was the perfect micro-vacation getaway. 15 minutes on the beach is always worth it–and the rain held back so I could snap a few photos of the stormy blustery beach on a Wednesday afternoon.
Tuesdays are our playground day. We get the use of the playground equipment for 15 minutes each week–and our day is Tuesday. It’s also our late break day–for the same reason. And our break time is a half hour later than our usual time, but for the playground the third graders are all in!
Most days students are “starving” by the time our 9:15/1:05 break roles around. But by 9:45/1:30 on Tuesdays food isn’t what is on students’ minds. They often leave their snacks on the nearby field and rush to the climbing structure.
Today as I watched the kids play, I caught sight of the seagull out of the corner of my eye. Both seagulls and crows are wily creatures. They not only know that the kids have food, but they seem to know how to open zippers on lunchboxes, how to snatch and open bags that hold sandwiches and pretzels, and generally how to spread food all over the place as they sneak in for the steal!
I’m in a habit of taking and posting a photo every day–but lately on teaching days I have struggled to find something new and interesting to photograph. Today I had my phone out, snapping a pic here and there as the kids played. So when I noticed the seagull sneaking up near the abandoned lunch boxes, I turned to try to get the photo. Wearing a mask means it takes me a minute (or what seems like forever) to get my phone to unlock since obviously the face ID does not work.
I missed the picture the first time, the seagull took off when I finally got my phone to open and framed my shot. But a few minutes later, I heard a commotion (not coming from the kids) and turned with my phone open and caught seagulls and crows converging on the sandwich.
If you look closely, you’ll notice the telltale piece of food hanging off the seagull beak. But what you can’t see is the bird who got the sandwich and took off with it flapping in the breeze as it hung from its beak.
And lucky for my students, no one even batted an eye–they were full, totally satiated with their playground time. No food needed. Not on Tuesday.
Today in our Flipgrid question of the day, I asked my students what they miss about “regular” school. My students come to school 4 days a week–half the class in the morning and half in the afternoon–with Wednesdays as virtual days. The other half of each day is spent learning at home: independent work, often finishing work started in class. They have done this since mid-September (after a 3-week start in distance learning).
Way back in September when we first came back to school for hybrid learning.
I can’t say I am surprised by the answers. The overwhelming consensus is: they hate masks, they miss recess, and they would rather do their school work at school than at home.
And yet, they are good sports. They come to school each day eager to learn. They wear masks without complaint. They (mostly) keep their distance from their friends and classmates. They have learned to bathe in hand sanitizer and carry the heaviest backpacks ever, toting their materials from home to school and back each and every day. And they still love school–wanting more of it, not less of it.
I also make a Flipgrid video each day, answering the question I ask my students. My answer for today: I miss hugs! I didn’t realize how much hugs are part of the school day until this pandemic took control of our lives. This is my first class that I haven’t hugged–and I am hopeful that I will get the chance before the school year ends.
What do you or your children or your students miss about “regular” school?
The sea was moody today. Thick clouds kept the sun at bay and also kept people at home. That’s a good thing for me–there’s nothing better than an empty beach for walking and exploring.
I love the way the beach is ever changing. Some days the shore is smooth and sandy. Lately piles of smooth beach stones have been pushed up into my walking zone. Low tides, like today, expose stretches of reef, some pieces algae-covered in reds and greens. I’m always on the look out for interesting finds on the beach. Unfortunately, we often find trash on our walks. Pieces of plastic and styrofoam, leftovers of foil wrapped burritos, and all too often straws of all shapes and sizes.
Today I noticed a glow stick on the reef. I know that fisherman often use these as part of their fishing routine, although I’m not sure exactly the purpose. I stopped to capture a photo and then we picked it up to throw away. (Lucky for our local environment, my husband always carries a trash bag when we walk on the beach.)
Next up was the shoe. Just one. Alone. It hadn’t been in the sea long enough to become a home for sea creatures, but it was soaked all the way through with sand inside. I wonder who lost this shoe and when they noticed it was missing. Does this child still have the other shoe tossed in the back of the closet?
Then I noticed the long white structure. Was it trash? No, seems like a bone. A closer examination made me believe that it is the remain of a pelican beak, long and thin and about the right size, washed up onto the shore. This piece we did not pick up–seems best to let it decompose and return to its native environment.
As I was documenting these finds with my camera, I was thinking about that term: flotsam and jetsam. Is one type of debris flotsam and another type jetsam? I turned to Google to check out the definitions. I learned that in maritime lingo, flotsam is wreckage of cargo that remains afloat after a ship has sunk and that jetsam is cargo or equipment thrown overboard from a ship in distress. I also learned that the phrase flotsam and jetsam has come to mean useless or discarded items. So I’m categorizing the glow stick and the shoe as flotsam and jetsam. The beak bone, just ordinary bird remains.
But what about this?
It seems that Shamus and Marisol decided to create some art on these beach boulders. It makes me wonder, did they bring paint to the beach with the idea that they would use beach rocks as a canvas? Was it made with water-based paint that will dissolve into the sea during the next high tide? Did they make it for their own enjoyment or for others to see? Or is it a call for help? (Notice the S.O.S.) Temporary art is common on the beach, there are sand artists who rake intricate designs into the sandy shore. There are rock tower builders, carefully balancing stone after stone after stone. And of course, the sand castle builders who create turrets and moats on castles adorned by seaweed and shells. All pieces meant to last only until the next tide sweeps it away.
I always leave the beach with questions and something to think about. And I always learn something. Regardless of its mood, the sea and the beach is never dull.
Every day on the beach is a good day. And today was no different. Sunny and mild, light breeze, mid-60s–a perfect March day in Southern California. Where I live, it’s important to pay attention to the tides if you want to walk any distance. High tides=no beach for walking. So when my time and tide times don’t match, we often head south to walk near Torrey Pines State Reserve.
There were lots of people out on the beach today, not unusual for a sunny weekend day. And warnings were abundant–although they seemed to have little impact on beach goers.
I noticed the shark sighting sign early on.
Shark warnings have become pretty commonplace. When I pointed it out to my husband, he told me about the drone images this week of a great white hanging out off the coast. (Check the link for the news story) Yikes! But there were still surfers out–I watched this group climbing up the cliff after their surfing session.
Had they not noticed the shark warnings? What about the danger signs about the unstable cliffs? Just last week there was a pretty major cliff failure not too far down the beach.
Even the train seemed to know about the warnings. I watched it creep slowly along the cliffline, gingerly traversing precariously close to the edge, perhaps trying to avoid any more cliff damage.
But still, there were people walking just feet from the bottom of the cliff and others sunbathing too close for my comfort. Do they not know that the cliffs fall regularly and give no advance notice? Are the warnings for others? Not for them?
It seemed today that at every turn there was a new warning. Most warnings seem to be for public safety. Watch out, stay away, be careful. Some are designed to keep people from doing silly, dangerous things like climbing through a drainage tunnel. And still others to make clear where dogs are allowed and where they are not allowed. This may be another public safety issue–we do have some beaches that allow dogs. This beach has a stretch that allows dogs and then when you get to the state reserve, dogs are no longer allowed.
But I have to say, in spite of all the warnings, it was still a perfect day for a beach walk. And no one was harmed during the photography of all the warning signs!
As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, today was the day to head to the university to get a tour of our new offices and get keys. We’ve been watching the building emerge from what was formerly a parking lot for a couple of years now. Deep holes and mounds of dirt have been replaced by shiny glass and modern lines. This multi-use space includes offices, meeting spaces, retail, restaurants, and student housing along with underground parking. While we all worked from home, construction continued and the building has come in pretty much on time.
A pandemic opening is a bit strange. We’ve all been invited in two or three at a time to be introduced to our new spaces. So instead of a busy, buzzing space, things were quiet today. And that seemed perfect. After a grand tour of all the offices and working spaces, Angela and I got a closer look at our writing project’s spaces. We puttered around a bit, getting a feel for the layout and began to organize and unpack a few boxes.
As a writing project, we’ve moved a number of times. The first place I remember was a portable building outside the Teacher Education Program building. When that building was demolished to make room for new construction, we moved into an old building in another part of campus, this time moving in with CREATE, our current (and forever) home department. When that building was razed to make room for yet more new construction (are you seeing a pattern here?), we moved to our more recent space–an old science building renamed to fit its new occupants–the Social Science Research Building. That place has been home for more than a decade, a place for meetings, for conversations with colleagues, and for all the “stuff” that accumulates from our work with teachers and students.
Even when we packed all our belongings in the fall, the move to a new space still didn’t seem real. We’d heard all about windows that opened, space for the entire CREATE family all in the same building, conference rooms and parking (I’ll still believe in its ampleness only when I get to experience available parking spaces once folks come back to school and work!).
But today…these new offices became real. And they feel just right. They are fresh and clean, even while piled with boxes and books that need putting away. They feel like a the promise of a bright future, a place to envision new ways to support teachers and students. A place to build on a more than 40 year history of successful professional development. I can do my work from home, but I am feeling excited about heading back to the university. To my brand spanking new office, to collaborations with my colleagues, to informal conversations in the common spaces, to a post-pandemic work life. Now, to get back in there and get those boxes unpacked! (And I’m pretty excited about having a window that opens…and a bit of a view!)
In a normal year–and we all know this is not a normal year–I commute about 16 miles south one day a week to the university where our writing project is housed. That commute, which doesn’t sound all that long, on the best of days takes about 30-40 minutes. On the worst of days, the hour mark comes and goes. But I haven’t made that commute in nearly a year–and I didn’t think I missed it. For the most part, my writing project work can be done remotely. Meetings now take place on Zoom, emails and phone calls replace the in-office interactions, my Google drive is starting to be well organized and easy to access (well–that may be stretching the truth a bit, but it is getting better), and I don’t have to stress over finding a parking place with a space that matches the color of my parking permit.
Today, I made that commute. Not because I needed to be in the office, but because I needed to have a COVID test to go to the university tomorrow to get keys and a tour of new offices! I have a long history with the university. I was an undergrad here, I met my husband during that time. I completed two additional degrees on this campus and have been a part of our writing project for decades now. So this morning, after a Zoom meeting to deal with some project business, my husband and I headed down the coast.
Traffic was light and parking was easy–a small positive in pandemic times. Bright blue skies, puffy white clouds, and bright sunshine greeted us as we emerged from the parking structure to find the testing center. The campus is strangely empty. There are people around, but the numbers are small compared to my past experiences here. And once the testing was done, we decided to take our daily walk exploring this place we both know. After all, this is a beautiful campus, filled with interesting art installations and memories, memories, memories.
As we walked, we noticed new construction. We commented on changes we have seen over the years on campus. We turned here and there, sometimes finding dead ends blocked by construction screens other times remembering a familiar building. We walked the snake path, spied Fallen Star in the distance, and took a side trek to find the giant stone teddy bear. There are large tents serving as outdoor classrooms, although no classes were in session as we walked by. But it was the large shipping container that caught my eye.
“Class outside the box” it says on the outside, but I wonder what is inside the box. You can see the tent classrooms just behind it. And you can see Fallen Star (the tiny house perched on the engineering building) above in the background. I love the clouds reflected in the glass walls of the building and the brilliant blues of it all.
I’m looking forward to a second trip to campus this week as I am introduced to our new offices tomorrow. I still will likely continue to conduct much of my work from home, but it will be good to reevaluate our office materials, to familiarize myself with the office layout, and begin to imagine what a new normal might be in the coming months. What might my work look like as I consider it “outside the box?”
Thinking Through My Lens 