Lately I feel like a female version of Howard Hughes. Not in the realms of inventiveness or liquid assets, but regarding his famous fear of dirt and germs - mysophobia.
I am constantly washing my hands, or using hand sanitizer. Not just before I eat or after I use the restroom, but after grading papers, using the phone, opening doors, you name it.
Hopefully, I’m not the only publicly employed person who is doing this. It is basic hygiene. It’s what your mother told you to do, and she was right.
Today hand washing is touted as the number one weapon in the fight against the H1N1 virus, or swine flu – especially at schools. A recent article in the New York Times reported that several studies show a significant drop in the spread of swine flu among those who frequently wash their hands.
But for me, preventive sanitizing is not altogether pathological. It’s a face-to-face occupational necessity everyday.
“A-choo!” This girl in my first period history class had not assumed the recommended “Dracula” pose for sneezing into one’s elbow. She had instead blasted an open history book and the desk where she sat. That open history book and desk would be used by two other students later that day.
Should I scrub down every page? Do I pull that desk away from the others so no one sits in it? Was the girl contagious or just allergic to something?
During language arts a student came up to me with a question, but not before running the palm of her left hand up the front of her runny nose.
“Do we have to write in cursive?”
“Yes. And go get some hand sanitizer.”
Like most classrooms today, mine is equipped with a push-button sanitizer dispenser mounted on the wall by the door. I also have my own personal bottle at my desk.
Like I said, Howard and I have something in common.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Inferring my way into fall
Some people dream of vacationing in the Bahamas. Others save up for Hawaii or Cancun. Not me. I want to go to the Sleepytime Herbal Tea box lid. The one with the smiling bear resting comfortably before a golden fire with a chubby teapot, muffins and a jar of honey nearby.
Ah … I can feel the snuggly comfort already: feet up on a footstool, and a steaming cup of tea warming my hands while the winter wind blusters around my snug little house.
But wait, you say. It’s a hundred degrees outside. School just started and it’s only September. And the “ber” of the month isn’t even here yet.
True, but I’ve been teaching my sixth-grade literature class that one must infer to get the whole picture – to read between the lines, if you will. And when I reached for the Sleepytime Herbal Tea box in the pantry last night, I realized that I could infer several things in its design.
The New Scholastic Dictionary of American English defines infer as, “to understand or conclude on the basis of various facts, impressions, judgments, etc; deduce from evidence and experience …”
When we open a book, we bring past experiences with us. They help us understand, predict or empathize. They help us to infer. For example, the sleepy little bear on the tea box lid has no mice in his home. See the rotund orange tabby curled on the embroidered rug?
The radio on a small table tells me the cottage is blessed with electricity. And this homeowner plans ahead, for a basket of kindling sits by the hearth, right next to a pile of firewood.
Sleepy Bear has a green thumb, albeit hairy, for a lovely philodendron thrives by the window. He is a tidy bear, and cleans up after himself. See the pewter cup and plate near the potted plant? And though I see no books, I’ll bet he likes to read. No television. No telephone! No laptop or desktop computer. I see peace and restfulness and yes, quiet.
What teacher wouldn’t crave such a setting, or parent, for that matter?
So you summer lovers out there, enjoy your final days of triple-digit temperatures. Me, I’m watching the outdoor thermometer and inferring quite a bit from the occasional yellow leaf that settles on the lawn beneath our big mulberry tree.
Give me a hot cup of tea, an over-stuffed chair and a cozy hearth any day.
Ah … I can feel the snuggly comfort already: feet up on a footstool, and a steaming cup of tea warming my hands while the winter wind blusters around my snug little house.
But wait, you say. It’s a hundred degrees outside. School just started and it’s only September. And the “ber” of the month isn’t even here yet.
True, but I’ve been teaching my sixth-grade literature class that one must infer to get the whole picture – to read between the lines, if you will. And when I reached for the Sleepytime Herbal Tea box in the pantry last night, I realized that I could infer several things in its design.
The New Scholastic Dictionary of American English defines infer as, “to understand or conclude on the basis of various facts, impressions, judgments, etc; deduce from evidence and experience …”
When we open a book, we bring past experiences with us. They help us understand, predict or empathize. They help us to infer. For example, the sleepy little bear on the tea box lid has no mice in his home. See the rotund orange tabby curled on the embroidered rug?
The radio on a small table tells me the cottage is blessed with electricity. And this homeowner plans ahead, for a basket of kindling sits by the hearth, right next to a pile of firewood.
Sleepy Bear has a green thumb, albeit hairy, for a lovely philodendron thrives by the window. He is a tidy bear, and cleans up after himself. See the pewter cup and plate near the potted plant? And though I see no books, I’ll bet he likes to read. No television. No telephone! No laptop or desktop computer. I see peace and restfulness and yes, quiet.
What teacher wouldn’t crave such a setting, or parent, for that matter?
So you summer lovers out there, enjoy your final days of triple-digit temperatures. Me, I’m watching the outdoor thermometer and inferring quite a bit from the occasional yellow leaf that settles on the lawn beneath our big mulberry tree.
Give me a hot cup of tea, an over-stuffed chair and a cozy hearth any day.
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