Image from Pixabay Last spring, educators received some feedback from parents: navigating distance learning was too complicated. Way too complicated. So complicated that many parents declared their families “done with distance learning” months before the school year ended. Now it’s July, and the national argument raging over whether to open public schools (which is actually silly – school is opening no matter what; the question is whether schools will provide face-to-face, hybrid, or distance instruction) is drowning out any productive conversations we might be having. Like, for example, how to respond to the aforementioned feedback. Next fall, when my 6th through 12th grade students come to school (and yes, logging in to an online class is still going to school), I want them to know exactly what to do. I want them to be able to come to school without having to stop and ask a parent, sibling, or tutor for directions. I want them to show up, eager to be back with their peers
Family lore relates that when visiting my grandparents at the age of 8, I requested that Granny make her fabulous yeast rolls. Granny replied that she was too tired to make them that year. Ever the empathic pragmatist, I responded, "How about you take a nap, and then make them?" The recipe for these yeast rolls is a hybrid of Granny's recipe, Sharon's Stickier buns from the cookbook Butter Sugar Flour Eggs , and Deb Perelman's cheddar cheese swirl buns from Smitten Kitchen Cookbook . My recipe is published as a science experiment in my first book, Awesome Kitchen Science Experiments . As the book approaches its 4-year birthday (!), I'm finally exercising the part of my author contract that allows me to publish a bit of its contents. However, I've changed the recipe a bit - adding more flour and some ideas for how to have fun with the dough. I hope you find these rolls as delicious and cozy as I do. Tools: 2-cup heat-proof liquid measuring cup Mi
Congratulations, class of 2022. I am so honored by your invitation to speak on this special day. I’m sure it’s not a surprise that I’m going to seize this opportunity to give you advice. Let’s begin with a poem. Poppies Mary Oliver The poppies send up their orange flares; swaying in the wind, their congregations are a levitation of bright dust, of thin and lacy leaves. There isn’t a place in this world that doesn’t sooner or later drown in the indigos of darkness, but now, for a while, the roughage shines like a miracle as it floats above everything with its yellow hair. Of course nothing stops the cold, black, curved blade from hooking forward— of course loss is the great lesson. But I also say this: that light is an invitation to happiness, and that happiness, when it’s done right, is a kind of holiness, palpable and redemptive. Inside the bright fields, touched by their rough and spongy gold, I am washed and washed in the river of earthly delight— and what are you g
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