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!”

What does test taking anxiety look like in the virtual world?

In order to expand my repertoire as a teacher, I signed up for a class at my college this quarter: "Teaching Online." In just 8 weeks, I will be fully qualified to teach an online course.

It makes sense that, in order to teach us to teach online, we ourselves have to take an online course. Yep. Complete with reading assignments, deadlines, tests, and a final project. We should feel the pain that we will be inflicting on our students.

Actually, I love it so far. As we were warned, an online course requires at least as much, if not more time as an on ground course, but it has the inherent bonus of flexibility. I can read my assignments, engage in class discussions, and take tests any day of the week at any time I want or can.

But, with great flexibility comes great responsibility. Or something like that.

We don't meet regularly as a class where I can be reminded of upcoming due dates and where I will be missed if I don't show up. I have to make my own schedule and stick to it. I have to take the initiative to look for what's coming up.

And I have to pay attention.

It's going to take me a little while to get back into the groove of concentrating on one thing for an extended period of time. I was halfway through my first online lesson with embedded quizzes when I was distracted and left the website to carry on with that other oh so important something else, though what it was I can't remember for the life of me. Imagine my consternation when I returned later to discover that I had to start the lesson all over again! I mean, this lesson was likely going to take the better part of an hour! And the instructor expected me to do it all in one sitting??!!!!

Oh, yeah, just like school. Just like what I expect from my students. Dang. This could get ugly. But it will be so worth it.

Oh for god's sake, let them build their mosque in peace

Seriously, are we a country of religious freedom or not? The fact that this has become such a huge deal is absurd. What's really pathetic is that we have a Kansas politician out there saying incredibly stupid things. He's an embarrassment to the midwest.

Read my story here.

Billionaires for BP

A couple of weekends ago, a small band of us headed out to First Fridays in the Crossroads District of Kansas City to have some fun and stir things up a little. The calamitous oil spill in the gulf was our motivation, and the long-standing performance/demonstration organization Billionaires for Bush was our inspiration. We were Billionaires for BP.Thanks to some very creative souls, we were quite a sight. Dressed in silk, satin, and sequence, brandishing oil-tinis (chocolate syrup in a martini glass), we waltzed around Crossroads chanting things like “more blood for oil,” and “drill, baby, drill.” Some of us carried signs proclaiming such niceties such as, “how many species do we really need?” and “today’s disasters are tomorrow’s dividends.”

Two children joined our crew, but as they are innocents, they chose to be our counter-voice. Aliyah dressed as a sad mermaid, face smeared with crude oil (more chocolate syrup- I had the hardest time keeping her from eating it), and carried a sign that said, “homeless mermaid, will work for fish."

According to one of our leaders, it was not really a protest, as we didn’t have an agenda. It was street performance whose purpose was to generate conversation. There we succeeded. We received strange looks, laughter, honked horns, many thumbs up (especially from the group selling “BP sucks” t-shirts), and several questions from passersby. I also learned the valuable lesson that high heels are not the footwear of choice for a demonstration, even if you are in an evening gown.

It was fun, to be sure, and it served as an outlet for us to express our frustration over the continued violence committed against the earth and its creatures resulting from our insatiable appetite. I

suffered slight discomfort, though, expressed best in a sign that one of our members carried. “Is it BP, is it the government, or is it us?”

Yes, I believe that the greed of corporations and the top echelon of society contribute significantly to our nation’s ravenous consumption of energy that rapes the earth, but none of us is free from guilt. Most of us benefit from a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy, whether from fresh fruit in November, cheap shoes produced overseas, or a weekend of boating on the lake. The economy that supports our lifestyles, even the most modest of which is luxurious compared with much of the world, is largely driven by energy consumption. It’s almost impossible to opt out.

What continues to run through my head is a phrase from my first Calculus class, “simplify, simplify, simplify.” It’s not an easy or effortless task, but it’s the new direction we must head if we want to live in peace and harmony with the earth that existed millions of year before us and will continue on for millions of years with or without us. I think I would prefer that we learn to get along before it jettisons humanity for its own sake.

The ultimate summer

Last Saturday was the end of summer league tournament for KC Ultimate. And what’s a summer league tournament without a heat advisory? Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. By the second game some of us (especially those of us over 30, I’m just saying…) felt like we were running in molasses. And yes, we probably looked like it, too. But! We had a great time. A beautiful day with beautiful friends. Here are some of the highlights.

• The Karen Marcus Interiors team defeated some other team (what was their name again? Not worth remembering) in the mixed team championship game. In their final huddle after the game, they dedicated their win to the memory of Karen Marcus, who ended her battle with breast cancer earlier that morning. This team is to be admired not only for their awesome disc skills, but for their big hearts. “This is a family team,” captain Barrett Davis said.Not only did the team sport several married couples and a mother/daughter combo, but week after week their sideline was filled with team members’ children. They even borrowed children from other teams to boost their family-friendly image. You guys rock.
• Team Gotham Printwear walked away with the championship in the men’s open division. Pictured here is the second place team, MWM Consulting, because, frankly, they were cuter.
• Completely disregarding child labor laws, we hired a fewchildren to walk around the fields pulling a wagon full of ice water, splashing those who looked like they were on the verge of passing out. Experts estimate that up to 10 incidents of heat stroke were avoided thanks to these hard working kids. All they requested for compensation were Cheezits and Gatorade.
• My own team, Walsh’s Corner Cocktails, won the spirit award. League directors assured me that this wasn’t just a pity award handed to the team with the worst record. I’m going to believe them on this one. My pride demands it.
• Lunch was catered by one of our sponsors, Westport Flea Market. The hamburgers and chicken sandwiches were good, but the pasta salad was to die for. Thanks!

If you weren’t there, I know you wish you were. The good news is, you don’t have to wait until next summer to join the fun. Fall league starts in just two short weeks, and beginners are welcomed and encouraged to join. There’s no better way to get an incredible workout, meet a ton of wonderful new friends, and enjoy this sunshine while we still have it. Your body and soul will thank you.