4-28-2013

It’s time again for the yearly ritual of high school kids joining together to awkwardly stand around in a darkened gym. Yes, it’s prom time again. And nothing makes me feel older than listening to the music ‘kids these days’ are listening to and trying to decipher what the song is all about. Just when I think I’ve determined what three words of a song are, it changes into a new song. Or maybe it just started over, I can’t tell

 them apart. I’ll probably need a high speed drill to get that Gangnam Style out of my head.

Staff parking lot at 1030pm.

The prom devolved into a basketball game about an hour into it. Which was fine by me because as my wife says of my dancing: “You scare me when you try to dance.” I don’t think I’m actually frightening when I dance, just embarrassing.  I will quote someone from Twitter that defines my dancing: “If you’ve ever seen me waiting impatiently in line, then you’ve seen me dance.”  So I don’t think the prom died because I wasn’t out there busting a move. It died because we had only about a dozen kids there, 7-12th grades. And as with most small towns in the country, most of the kids were related to each other in one way or another. The prom king and queen were first cousins and the prince and princess were brother/sister. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather play basketball with my cousins than dance with them. So they took down the decorations and played basketball for the last hour. The shame of the night was all the hard work that was put in by many of the school’s staff, to only have it become a basketball shoot-around. They put in several hours after school last week to transform the gym to a ballroom. Sorry Essie and Brittnay. 

With the prom finished, that means that school is almost over for the year. We have less than 3 weeks left until we fly to the warmth of Oklahoma. That means that in about 4 weeks I’ll be bitching about the heat. We still have most of our snow here and are barely  getting above freezing during the day, despite it getting light at 7am and setting at 11pm.  Once it does warm up, the snow will go quickly. The Yukon will still be frozen for a few more weeks after we leave, although I don’t think the river stays frozen for our benefit. If it did anything for my benefit I hope it would produce fish that tasted like cheese burgers. Maybe next year.

Not cheese burger fish, but our neighbor's catch from his fishing lines.

After a breakfast of coffee and biscuits and gravy, I’m still trying to get those songs out of my head from last night. I like to think I have good taste in music and don’t fall for the common denominator when it comes to music I listen to. I like my lyrics pretty straight forward, without me straining to understand what the song is about. And I don’t hop around riding an imaginary pony. I suppose I’ll listen to my own iPod today to erase the carnage from last night. RIP George Jones.

4-20-2013

Have you ever made a decision and then found out more information that would make you regret your decision? Like when a ‘friend’ offers you a candy bar and you gladly accept. You devour the candy bar only to find out that your ‘friend’ had ‘found’ the ‘candy bar’ on the side of the road. Thanks ‘jerk’. Well, I had a similar experience, but without nefarious intentions or a bout of violent diarrhea. Nope, I took a job at another school for next year.

I requested a transfer from my school in Nunam Iqua to the school, still in our district, at Hooper Bay. We really didn’t want to leave, but the situation of my classroom caused me to rethink what we wanted to do next year. The number of students in our elementary were climbing but the number of teachers, two, were not. I would have been teaching 1/3 of the school’s population while the other 4 teachers would take care of the rest. For those of you who are not good with numbers, this meant that it would be an over burden for Clay and instead of whining, he was willing to move. This was not anyone’s fault, just the way the numbers fell. So, I felt that I would see what a larger school could offer. My transfer was approved and we thought we were heading to Hooper for next year. 

One of the reasons we did not look forward to moving was because of how we had to move. Moving a household is not an easy task, but try doing it through the US Postal Service. This would need to be done by hand. We had already sent our snowmobile to it’s new home, so our local pack-mule (me) would be loaded down with boxes and shipped to our new home. Luckily, we don’t have any appliances or furniture to move but still, it’s not like I enjoy manual labor. Or even automated labor. Labor Day is something I enjoy. So the thought of having to move this way was making me rethink my decision. And since Monica is all about not procrastinating, I had to avoid her in our house. I spent a lot of time hiding in the shower and bedroom closet. It was probably more effort hiding than it would have been than to just pack the damn stuff. Or so I’ve been told. Whatever, Mussolini. Maybe I enjoy crouching behind the dryer.

But on Friday, our principal ask me if I would reconsider staying if they added another elementary teacher. I lowered my voice to a shout and asked him why he didn’t ask me this two months ago. Before the superintendent approved my transfer. Apparently that wasn’t considered at that time. Which, by my recollection, coincided with the time I asked them if they were going to add another elementary teacher and I was told no. But now, here it is. I knew that if I requested another transfer I may look like a waffling turd. Which is not to be confused with the band of the same name. But I took the chance and filled out the proper paperwork and submitted it again. And it was approved again.

So the blog that I had written about our big move had to be aborted and instead I wrote 600 words explaining how I have troubles making up my mind.  I guess I could have just written 3 words: We’re not moving. But since I don’t have to hide from Monica anymore, I have more time on my hands. 

3-24-2013

Being the only adult in a world of 3-5th graders can sometimes be daunting. Even though we think alike. I mean, who doesn’t love a good fart joke? But sometimes they aren’t old enough for some of my references in history or pop culture. They haven’t lived in a world where people went to record stores to see if Springsteen’s new record came out yet. Or they have not had to live through the time-consuming efforts of filling out their NCAA bracket by hand. Or having to painfully wonder what their BFF is “doing” at any particular moment in a day because texting had not being invented yet.

Sometimes I feel like the guy in a current TV commercial. The commercial has a male adult sitting at a small table surrounded by four kids, asking them if faster is better. I think the commercial is for ATT, but it could be for a laxative. A fast laxative seems like it would be better. If it is a commercial for a laxative, I’m not sure why kids are there, because I’ve never heard a kid complain about being constipated. To be fair, I’ve never heard an adult complain about being constipated either. That is something I’d remember because I’d probably get punched for laughing at them. So I guess we’re all in agreement that it’s for ATT.

The commercial is like my real life. It starts innocently enough; me asking a simple question. Like, “Who has ever found a box of fireworks and a lighter?” Then one child goes off on a tangent, telling me a story that is not related whatsoever to the question I initially asked. This will then remind another child of a totally unrelated story, usually having to do with eating candy, that we have to listen to. It usually ends with “ ...and I forget the rest”. Then just silence. The kids look exhausted from their efforts in storytelling. I feel exhausted from my efforts of listening to their storytelling. It is true, kids do say the darnedest things. They also say the strangest, disturbing, and most unintelligible things. But Art Linkletter didn’t think that title would sell any books.

Last weekend we were in a world of over 70 elementary students. Our school hosted a tournament for elementary basketball teams for 7 teams from our district schools. Our entire school population, K-12, is under 70 so we had to close our school for a day and a half in order to have room for the extra players. Not only do we need to use the gym for the games, we had to use all of our classrooms. All six of them. When teams travel in our district for games, the hosting school puts them up in the school for food and lodging.

Monica and I were at the school by 7:30am to help set up breakfast and headed home at 11pm after helping cleaning up after the late night snack. We played 12 basketball games in one and a half days. On the third day I made 13 trips from the school to the airstrip hauling basketball teams and their luggage to meet their planes. This was not all at once, but from about 10am-4pm. The tourney was a success in many ways and the reason was because of all of our staff working long hours to ensure it went smoothly. I am lucky to work with a staff that is willing to volunteer their time to make sure events like this are fun for the students.

We finished our third quarter last week also. We have already bought our plane tickets for our trip home in May, which is about 50 days away. I can assure you that I will not be sitting at a table surrounded by youngsters, listening to them drone on and on about one time they kicked a ball. That is if I get to move up to the adult’s table at family gatherings. I was promised that when I turned 40 I would be allowed. Maybe this will be my lucky year.

3-9-2013

Living in a remote village in Alaska means that if an emergency arises, you may have to wait a week or two before the problem can be addressed properly. Last week we had a

This is Nunam BBQ. Pulled pork for dinner tonight. 

scary encounter with a terrifying event. Spoiler alert: we both survived.

The ‘we’ in this emergency scenario were my pants and me. I tend to have a good

relationship with my pants. I make sure they’re washed regularly and my pants do their

job of covering what needs to be covered, giving me a place to store my keys, and

providing me with modest protection from the elements. The crisis came when the pant’s main responsibility was compromised.

A student asked me a question, so as a kind and caring teacher, I squatted down to assist the student. As I did, I heard a disturbing sound coming from my crotch region. I had a combined feeling of relief and terror all at the same time. Relief that the sound wasn’t coming from my body and terror realizing it was the sound of my denim quitting on me. My student and I looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. He politely looked back to his paper and I stood up gingerly. My undercarriage suddenly became much cooler and I realized I would have to stand for the rest of the day for reasons of modesty.

At most places, this would be a temporary problem. Up here, it is more complicated since there is not a store were I can buy new pants. To make matters worse, my other pair of jeans had given up on me a week before in a similar fashion. I was confident I would be able to make it until the end of the school year with my only pair of Levi’s intact. But the pressure of being the lone pair of jeans was just too much to bare (I know), so I was left with a problem. My next move would be important.

I called my mom. When she answered the phone, I told her I had ripped my jeans and needed a pair sent up ASAP. Her motherly response was to laugh out loud in a malevolent tone. I waited until she had finished and told her of the size of Levi’s I needed. She began her laugh all over again. But, being the caring mother she is to her only middle child, she agreed to send me up a new pair the next day. She also sent up Easter candy, so she is forgiven for her mockery.

The real hero in this situation was Monica. She promptly grabbed one pair of the quitter jeans and cut out a patch. She then used a needle and thread to sew a patch on my Levi’s so they could return to the starting lineup. I was saved from having to walk to work in sub-zero temps with air conditioning or wear Dockers to work. Both equally disconcerting.

So the pioneer spirit lives on. Monica has crocheted me a pair of socks, I wear a hat made from dead animal hides, and I walk to work every day. In the case of a medical emergency, I’m fairly confident that Monica can take out my appendix if the need ever occurs. And she’ll use old Levi’s to patch me up.

2-24-2013

It has been almost a month since I’ve written on my blog. The main reason for the hiatus is that it can get pretty boring up here. I know some of you think that being up here in Alaska is a continuous adventure; chasing bears one day and then making socks out of seal skins the next. But no, most of our time is spent in front of children, planning on spending time in front of children, or thinking about planning on spending time in front of children.
Our evenings are spent mostly the same; eating dinner, watching Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, and then going to bed at nine so we can get back up at five. Our conversations typically go like this:
Me: (Right before finishing dinner) What should we have for dinner tomorrow?
Monica: Chili and rice.
Me: Didn’t we have that last night?
Monica: Yes. How about rice and chili?
Me: That sounds different. Can we put cheese on it?
Monica: Yes, you can put cheese on it.
Me: (At TV) Come on Sajak, give Vanna some extra time to walk across the floor!!!
Monica: Put your pants on, we have company coming over.
Me: My pants are on.
Monica: Put them on your legs.
I could go on with more examples of our stimulating conversations, but I’m sure everyone gets the picture of how mundane it can be up here. Don’t get me wrong, I love talking to people about what it is like up here. Hell, I’ve written over 100 blog entries proving that I can go on and on about my life. But, I see the weariness in the eyes of the unfortunate stranger sitting next to me on the non-stop from Denver to Anchorage. At first I thought it was their natural uneasiness of flying, but I’m suspecting it may be my 5 hr answer when they ask me what it’s like to live in the bush.
It has been cold since we sunk our snowmobile in the river and so the machine actually froze. Mechanical parts that should move have been stopped from preforming whatever it is they do. Turning, I think. I’m not mechanically inclined so that is as much as I know. Thankfully, a high school student is looking at it and hopefully in a week we’ll be able to go for rides. But at -20, we don’t feel like joy riding and he isn’t having much luck

in the thawing process. There is no shop or indoor garage in the village to put a snowmobile into so it can thaw.
Now that we are getting more sunlight, maybe more adventures will happen for me to write about. We have basketball games and tournaments coming up next month. We also have our village’s potlatch the first part of April, along with our State’s annual testing. That may be a rant for a future blog entry. We can also start planning our summer out now. But until then, I’ll be working hard, putting my fantasy Iditarod team together. The new rule this year is that you may not have more than one Seavey on your team. It’s not as popular as fantasy football or fantasy South African cricket, but give it time, I’m sure it will catch on. 

1-27-2013

Up here, January means we are in month four of living in a deep freeze. The good news is that we only have four more months of this. When we head south in May, we’ll go from below freezing temps to whatever Oklahoma throws at us. And whatever is thrown will be appreciated. I figure (unscientific guess) I spend more than 5 mins each day just bundling and unbundling each day. That’s roughly a half and hour I could spend each week developing a conveyer belt that delivered sandwiches from the refrigerator to my chair. Now, if I can just convince Monica to build several sandwiches so I can stock the fridge.

With the temperature getting a bit cooler, its -17 as I’m writing this, everything stays frozen, including the Yukon. But it isn’t frozen solid, so there is still water moving beneath the 3-4 feet of ice. Because of the huge volume of water flowing, it sometimes breaks through cracks in the river-ice and creates an overflow. Sometimes these overflows can be a couple of feet deep. A couple of weeks ago Monica and I encountered an overflow in the Yukon River while driving our snowmobile. The outcome wasn’t disastrous, but it did include getting wet and almost losing Monica’s boot.

Our school bus. Kids ride in the sled.

When the overflow happens, it becomes like a huge Slurpee,only without the nasty colors and taste that 7-11 unapologeticly provides. Usually, a snowmobile can travel across an overflow, provided the driver has enough speed. This driver did not have enough speed, but he did over indulge regularly in desserts. The result was that we went 22 ft over a 25 ft overflow. We got stuck. We were near the edge, so Monica made a break for it and tried to get to the shore. She had one step to go when she went knee deep into the slushy mess. When she pulled her leg out, her boot was missing. It was still two feet in the slush, filled with water. Monica has always told me that her favorite sound is hearing me laugh. Apparently this does not include having a finger pointed at her while I was laughing. We were able to excavate her boot out of the mess with a shovel. Getting the machine out required some help from that same shovel, a rope, and most importantly, the help of two friends. Once we were out, we headed back home to thaw Monica’s foot out. 

This is how we travel to our basketball games.

Now that her foot is non-frozen, Monica will be heading to Anchorage on Monday for a week. She will be attending an early education conference where she will be able to talk with adults about the best ways to educate small children. I will stay here and talk to 8-11 yr olds and try to convince them that it is inappropriate to fart and burp at the same time. At the end of the day I will make my half mile walk in subzero temperatures to a cold house and a cup of coco. Monica will end her day in a comfortable room with an ice cold drink. I know Anchorage is not Honolulu, but she can have a Mai-Tai if she wants one. 

The one bright spot about being alone is that I’ll have plenty of time to work on my Rube Goldberg conveyer belt instead of wasting my time doing dishes and laundry. I don’t have access to a Home Depot, so I’ll have to make due with Lincoln Log and Tinker Toy parts. Now, I only have one day to convince Monica into making a week’s worth of sandwiches (13) before she leaves. 

1-20-2013

We finished our second quarter and are starting down the backside of the school year. At halftime, it is always a good idea to assess what worked and what blew up in your face. The idea is to avoid repeating the disasters and double down on the successes. Or in my case, the idea is to prove that the disasters were caused by something other than poor planning and incompetent execution on my part. 

As I may have stated before, (I sometimes forget things) I teach a multi-grade classroom; grades 3-5. While I only have 19 students, I do have to figure out how to teach three different lessons at the same time. There is no way I could do this successfully without the help of my very competent classroom aide: Monica Miller. 

I’m familiar with the comparison of trying to get several people to work together is like herding cats. I think in my case, it is more like trying to logically talk (yell) to 19 different cats who are purposefully defying my every wish. I try to keep them in three different groups, away from the litter box. Sometimes the bigger cats don’t like what the little cats are doing. Sometimes the smaller cats crawl under they tables instead of learning about fractions. But they all scatter out the door when I open it at the end of the day, only to be back the next morning. 

I look at my classroom as a stage, where I get to practice my comedic skills on 9 year old cats. While their humor may not yet be refined, they laugh like hell when I say ‘poop’. I can easily tell when a joke falls flat because of the rolling of the eyes by the 5th graders and the frightened looks of the 3rd graders. The 5th graders have been with me for three years, so they are not afraid of me and are more honest. Keeping with the stage comparison, teaching three different grades simultaneously is similar to juggling. Chainsaws. While on fire. While I’m attending to one group, I have to have something for the other two groups to do. The trick is to keep from dropping one of the flaming chainsaws and burning down the classroom. This is why I spend almost as much time planning as I spend actually teaching. 

The guaranteed wrong way to diagram a math lesson on
the white board.

I know I just compared my students to cats and chainsaws, but not in a bad way. The students are why I enjoy teaching so much. Everyday will be different and everyday they will look to me for some sort of help. Sometimes I fail and sometimes I really mess it up. I will use two pictures to explain. This first picture is how I tried to teach my 5th graders what diameter and radius are. As you can see, I should have used the second way. They started to giggle when I drew the diagrams on the white board. It was then I realized what I had done. But I was stuck: Do I acknowledge my mistake by erasing the diagram, or do I continue and pretend I don’t hear them snickering? I continue, but understand I should not do that again. Lesson learned, Mr. Clay.

A better and parent approved way to diagram
a math problem on the white board.

The second half of the year is long up here. We do not have a day off from school until we end the year on May 16th. We do not get MLK Day off. Nor President’s Day, Groundhog’s Day, or a spring break. By now, we are tired of the cold, dark winter. Four more months can seem like an eternity. But luckily, we have students who try their hardest to keep this place from being anything but boring. We’re ready for the second half.