Critical Massing: obnoxious or just plain silly?

It happens every last Friday of the month.

No posters, no Facebook invites, no traditional publicity, and yet it happens every month like clockwork.

Well, not exactly like clockwork, because there is no official start time. It begins when enough people feel like it’s time to begin (Kairos time keeps creeping into my life experiences and my blog).

It’s called Critical Mass and it’s the most obnoxious bike ride Kansas City offers. On the last Friday, around 6:00 or so, the cyclists begin gathering at the Westport Sunfresh. About an hour and several beers later, someone starts riding around the parking lot and people gradually join him. They are massing.

It’s pretty much impossible to not fit in with this group. The ages range from 5 to, well, up there. There are dirt bikes, mountain bikes, recumbent bikes, road bikes, cruisers, and a few that I don’t even know where to begin with description. Cyclists dress in jeans, athletic gear, dresses, sweats, and just about everything else. The only thing missing is neckties.

When the mass is large enough, someone leads the group of nearly a hundred cyclists out of the parking lot and down the street. For the next couple of hours, the mass rides through Westport, The Plaza, Westport again, The Plaza again, downtown, and the river market. Traffic lights and lanes hold little meaning for this band of merry bikers. At major intersections, a few riders stop directly in front of potentially oncoming vehicles to ensure that they don’t enter the intersection while the mass is riding through.

The reactions from motorists and pedestrians are mixed. Many smile and wave back to the cyclists calling out to them, “Happy Friday!” A few, not used to KC’s urban traditions, get annoyed and blare their horns or scream obscenities. This 5 minute delay in their lives’ plans is more than they can tolerate.

What’s the point? There is no obvious political agenda. If they were seriously trying to promote a “share the road” attitude between cyclists and motorists they would respect traffic laws. No common social or religious thread binds these people together.

So maybe there is no point.

Or, rather, the point is exactly what they say it is, “Happy Friday.” The point is that a large group of people gather once a month to laugh, act silly, and Puckishly defy the guidelines and norms that rule over us the rest of the month. The point is to intentionally not take life so seriously, even if only for a couple of hours. The point is that an impish young woman and her bike holding back a monstrous black Hummer is a beautiful sight.

Flying blindly

It was an atypical Sunday morning in the Dagney Velazquez household last weekend. Instead of sleeping in as long as possible before finally shuffling into the kitchen for a big pancake brunch (but I’d rather have mac ‘n cheese!), I drug my daughter out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6:00. Yes, I had to literally drag her body out of bed, because she insists that if the sun isn’t up it’s not morning. Being the obedient daughter that she is, though, she dressed herself and climbed into the car.

The whole ride to the Great Midwest Balloon Festival in Overland Park she ranted, “It’s still the middle of the night. Why did you make me wake up? We’re not even stopping for doughnuts?” So far, not our loveliest morning.

Fortunately, the sun appeared before we made it to the fields. The friendly parking attendants guided us to the perfect spot, and we leapt out of the car ready to watch some hot air balloon excitement.

We waited for quite a while because, even though the published start time was 7:00, balloonists, lik

e ultimate Frisbee players, operate on kairos rather than khronos time. Fortunately, the cinnamon roll vendor had a half price sale, so my little princess was c

ontent while we waited.

Sunday morning’s competition was simple. The pilots were to launch from a location of their choosing at least a mile from the field. At a radio signal, they would launch at the same time and race back to the field, where two very large “Xs” had been marked. The pilots would fly low over the “Xs” and toss bean bags out of their baskets, trying to land their beanbags as close to the centers of the “Xs” as possible.

Now, hot air balloo

ns’ racing is nothing like cars’ racing. It’s also nothing like sprinters’ racing. In fact, it’s even a far cry from the county fair turtle race. At the mercy of the whim of the winds, balloon pilots move their crafts up and down, trying to catch currents blowing the desired direction. The first balloon we spotted nearing the field appeared to remain in the same location for 10 minutes, and

then it shrunk as it moved further away. And this, ladies and gentlemen, was the fastest balloon. Eventually the pilot made it to the field amidst loud applause, hovered just a few feet above the “Xs”, tossed his beanbags, then landed a few hundred feet down the field.

He was the only pilot that made it to the “Xs” that morning.

About 10 minutes

after this excitement, we spotted 5 more balloons converging toward the field. Then they all disappeared. The fog that had begun as a gentle morning mist had thickened into white- out conditions. The event director announced to the crowd that the competition was canceled and that the pilots had been instructed to land as quickly and safely as possible. Not easy instructions when the pilots couldn’t even see the ground.

I can not imagine what it was like for the pilots, flying blindly hundreds of feet in the air in an aircraft that steers about as well as a blowup raft in the middle of an ocean, only more so. For those of us on the ground, the experience was exciting, scary, and mysterious.

Since the balloons were already airborne, and since they couldn’t see the ground (or power lines, or treetops, or tall buildings) the safest option for most was to head for the fields. A GPS could get them close, but finding the precise location of the landing field proved nearly impossible. To guide the pilots down, the event director asked the crowd to make as much noise as possible.

Yep, that’s right. The pilots were navigating by the sound of our whistling, shouting, and clapping. Eventually someone found a fog horn, and the

n a few police and fire vehicles parked close to the fields and turned on their sirens.

So there we all were, staring into the thick white cloud surrounding us, seeing nothing but hoping the balloonists were out there somewhere. And then we heard it- the unmistakable sound of a hot air balloon’s furnace. The crowd’s volume ramped up a few notches as we continued to stare into nothingness. We couldn’t see a thing, but we knew the balloon was close, not more than a couple of

hundred feet by the sound of it. He was just a hundred feet above us when we finally saw him. In fact, he was directly above us and descending quickly when we finally saw him.

“Run, mommy! He’s going to land on us!” shouted Aliyah.

After snapping a couple of pictures (I lived in Oklahoma for several years, where a tornado siren is a call to stand out on your

front porch and watch), I heeded my daughter’s warning and ran clear of the balloon’s landing.

It was an excellent landing, and by excellent I mean it was safe and everyone survived without injury.

This episode repeated several times while the fog continued to thicken. We didn’t see the next balloon until a few seconds before it hit the ground. We cheered them all in, and they landed not only safely, but with smiles on their faces.

Two big thumbs up to all the balloon pilots who participated in the first Overland Park Balloon Festival. You displayed courage and an admirable sense of adventure. I’m already looking forward to watching you fly next year.

On the way home, I asked Aliyah what her favorite part of the day was.

“The cinnamon roll,” she replied.

So, a big thanks to the food vendors. We’re looking forward to seeing you next year, too.

Monday morning pie dividing blues

Monday morning I received an early morning phone call from my boss. **EDITOR’s note: early morning for Dagney on the day that she doesn’t go into work until noon is 8:00 a.m.** One of the math teachers had called in sick and she wondered whether I could come in early to take his morning classes. Not one to turn down the opportunity to teach math, I said, “OF COURSE,” threw on some clothes (not my best put together outfit ever, but hey) and headed off to work.

Now, this math teacher for whom I subbed is one of the most organized, conscientious teachers I know, and I know some pretty fine teachers, so when I arrived and there weren’t lesson plans for the week e-mailed in, I knew he must be truly sick.

No problem. Our program is full of on the ball students. I simply walked into the classroom and asked them what they were studying.

Ok, I didn’t really expect that to work. But it did! “We learned to multiply and divide fractions last week and he said something about adding and subtracting fractions this week.”

Are you kidding me?! I LOVE fractions!! **EDITOR’s note: this is more caps lock than Dagney has ever used in a blog post. We don’t know what’s going on, but, frankly, we’re a little embarrassed and would like to apologize on her behalf.**

What’s so great about fractions, you ask? Well, for starters, almost all illustrations of fractions involve food. You simply cannot teach fractions without involving pies, pizzas, cookies, and M&M’s. My students did mention that the pies I drew looked more like eggs, but I quickly reminded them of my lay/lie lesson from English class and the nightmarish chicken and egg involved in that fiasco, and they were pleased with the pies.

The best part of the lesson was a direct result of my not having time to adequately prepare. I understand the importance of using real life problems when they’re learning a new skill, but on the spot I couldn’t come up with anything beyond the pies. So, after introducing the lesson and working a couple of problems, I asked them, in groups of two, to come up with their own real life word problems.

The initial groans were inevitable. “Really Ms. Dagney? You want to make our lives miserable?” But after a little encouragement (do it or I’m taking back the badly drawn, fake pies), they complied. And then they started smiling. And then, a couple of minutes into the assignment, they started having fun.

Each group presented its word problem to the class to solve. The problems included hungry boys consuming a large quantity of hot dogs, a birthday party with a large cake, a quarter tank of gas, and a drive to the gas station. Really, these students could have written the math book themselves.

So now my students understand fractions a little better, and I have been enlightened to possible word problems that do not necessarily involve food. I don’t like them as well, but I guess they might work for some people.

I would have to say that 5/5 of the morning was fantastic.

Second grade immigrants

When I picked up my daughter at school yesterday, she ran up to me with irrepressible excitement (we don’t repress in our home, anyway).

“Guess what guess what guess what??? You’ll never guess!!! Guess what’s going to happen tomorrow???”

Really, I hadn’t a clue. Was Hannah Montana coming to their school? No, it must be bigger than that. Maybe a field trip to World’s of Fun? Nah, I would definitely have signed up as a parent sponsor for that one (insisting, of course, that I only be assigned kids tall enough to ride all the coasters). Obviously, I was never going to guess.

“Courtney and Caleb are moving into my class! And not just Courtney and Caleb, but all the kids from their class!! Their teacher is moving to a 4^th grade class and since we had room in our class they’re all going to join us! I’m so excited.”

She then went on to tell me, taking only one breath every 5 minutes, about all the preparations on which her class had been diligently working. They had colored a welcome sign AS BIG AS OUR CAR!!! They had rearranged the desks. And most importantly, their teacher had been training them on hospitality. Here are a few of the basics as well as I could gather:

1. Welcome them all with a spirit of kindness, using only kind words.
2. Remember that they don’t know all the customs of their new class. Take time to teach them the games, songs, and rules specific to this classroom. (Aliyah thinks this will be HUGE fun, and because she believes this, it will be).
3. Remember that they bring with them songs, games, and rules that we don’t know yet. Give them an opportunity to teach us, too, which will increase the fun for all.
4. Be sensitive to the fact that they will miss their former teacher and classroom.
5. Make an extra effort to include them at recess and lunch.
6. And again, do everything with an attitude of kindness. (Aliyah reached her arms forward, palms facing up, every time she said the word “kindness.” Her teacher must have taught her this welcoming gesture).

There was, of course, a letter to the parents in the backpack. It covered all the important, adult facts such as class size remaining within district standards, the increased enrollment in 4^th & 5^th grades necessitating the shifts, the consideration for maintaining gender, ethnic, and reading ability diversity when forming the new classes, the school’s continuing dedication to academic excellence. All very important stuff, yes, but somehow not coming close to communicating the joy that this occasion inspired. There was not a single “woo-hoo!” or “guess what??!!” in the whole letter.

Her teacher is some kind of genius. She has taught her class to find the positive in a necessary reality. The negative could have easily prevailed- the classroom will be more crowded, you’ll have to share your books, this will disrupt our routine, you will have fewer opportunities to be line leader. These are all true, but why dwell on them when there are so many more wonderful things that come with welcoming new people?

The first thing my daughter did when she jumped out of bed this morning was fish a marble out of the pocket of the pants she wore yesterday.

“I’ve been saving this to give to one of the new girls as a welcome present today. I can’t wait!”