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Teaching Old Dogs New Tricks

During my second year of teaching I had a parent who prefaced every conversation by saying, "Well, you know, I AM a psychologist..." Code speak for, "You are a young, lowly teacher who knows nothing, so let me enlighten you." I WAS young and new at the profession, not wise to the realities of parenting, but I wasn't stupid. Midway through October, I did what most every teacher I know does when group dynamics call for a disruption -- I changed the seating order in my classroom. Now, had I been a psychologist, I would have known that this was a dangerous thing to do to kids. My psychologist parent helped me see the light. "I AM a psychologist," the conversation once again began, "and humans are creatures of habit. In a large lecture hall, students will naturally gravitate to the same seat, day after day. Your students are being harmed by this new seating arrangement." Now back in the day I had to go up to the school office to take phone calls b
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Getting To the Root of the Matter

Curcuma longa is the botanical name for a plant whose rhizome harnesses incredible healing power. We know it as turmeric, the bright orange spice that is produced from the plant's root, and it has been used for over 4,500 years as an important part of Ayurveda, one of the world's oldest forms of medicine. Like snow to the native people of Alaska, turmeric has over a hundred different terms in the Ayurvedic world. Jayanti , one victorious over diseases, relates to the lengthy list of health maladies this powerful spice has been used to fight: inflammation, cholesterol, heart disease, rheumatoid arthritis, digestion, gallstones, cuts and burns, colds and sore throats, and (my favorite) leech bites. Matrimanika , beautiful as moonlight, is another name for the versatile spice and refers to its historical use in Indian wedding ceremonies where the bride and groom rub a paste with turmeric all over their bodies, providing them each with a special glow and promise of matrimonial pr
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G'Day, Mates

Years ago my husband and I went on a ski trip, visiting some of the less glamorous but fabulous ski areas that populate interior British Columbia. We booked accommodations by studying the brochures that were sent to us in the mail (remember those prehistoric days before the digital era?) and settled on rooms with kitchenettes. These towns were not exactly swarming with apres-ski options, so it seemed to make sense to bring our own soups and stews to reheat at the end of the day. Imagine our surprise when we arrived at the first motel to find no kitchen in sight, not even a miniature coffee maker. Nothing but a bed, a bathroom, and a Gideon's bible. At this point most people would have gone into town to find the local greasy spoon diner, but my husband is not most people. Using his creative brain, he whipped up a makeshift hot plate by combining the clothes iron he packed to wax our skis, the trusty Gideon's bible, and a little duct tape. By wedging the iron upside down in the
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