Last Flash Fiction of the Season: FLAG DAY

 

We're in the airport.  If everything goes well, we'll sleep in our home tonight.  If things don't go well... just remember us positively please.  We tried our best, People! 

I'm sure things will go fine.  Unless we have to make a water landing in the freezing Atlantic.  Unlikely, but not out of the realm of possibility.

Here's my 8th flash fiction. You should read it if you feel like it. It will only take you 3 minutes, so why wouldn't you?  I was supposed to create an omniscient narrator, but my teacher said I did the standard 3rd Person narrator.  Geez.  I wish people would support and not thwart. I did like that class though.  

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Flag Day 

Lee Heffernan 

 

            Mimi walked over to Jacob with a deck of math cards. "Maker Time is over, Jacob. It's time to play Top It.  You're my partner. I'm telling Ms. K." 

 

            Blue marker spotted Jacob's chin and lips and hands. "I'm making flags." 

            "That's not a flag," scoffed Mimi.  Her know-it-all personality frequently annoyed classmates, but Ms. K. loved the way she followed directions.

            "Blue sky.  Yellow wheat. Ukraine flag," screamed Jacob in a level 5 outside voice, which everyone knew should only be used in emergencies. 

 

            From every corner of the room, Top It cards fell to the ground. The first graders surrounded Jacob like bees protecting their hive, abuzz with their own war stories.  Ms. K. tried to interrupt with "One two three look at me," but it was hopeless.  "they're bombing....kids on the train...sister in the army....my church is helping a .... dad's cousin in Russia .... Ukraine's winning.... no Russia's going to win.... this one boy in a wheelchair his cat zipped in his jacket... can i make a flag... will we get bombed..."

 

            Ms. K quickly gathered materials. She pulled down the rolled up world map. She sang her "Come to the Rug" song.  On his way over, Jacob surreptitiously passed flags to his best friends, Lynnie and Mark. Ms. K read a book about a flag called The Day the Earth Was Silent.  She passed out index cards for more flag making. About half the first graders made the easy Ukrainian flag, but she also saw flags with cats, robots, flowers, Pokemon.

 

            Later, in the noisy cafeteria, Ms. K. talked to Mr. Offerman about the flags. He shook his head. Hadn't they decided to avoid Ukraine talk with the first graders? She read the district power point about age appropriate curriculum, right? 

         Ms. K. wished she could disappear.

 

            "Write an email to your families right away, before dismissal.  Tell them about the discussion.  Emphasize that it was spontaneous.  Age appropriate.  Brief.  Very brief. Collect the flags.  All the flags. Do not let those flags go home in the backpacks." 

 

            Ms. K. returned to her classroom to write the email and collect the flags.  She doubted she could retrieve all the flags, but she would do her best. Her lunch of left over spaghetti waited in the faculty refrigerator.  Luckily, she kept a box of protein bars in her desk.

The Last Meal

 Mari Homme and I are heading out for our final meal in France.  What a dream this trip has been.  

We had our COVID tests this morning and we do not have COVID, so we probably will be allowed back into the United States. 

Our taxi arrives at 10 tomorrow, so there will be time for one more croissant with our coffee.  

We walked to Luxembourg Garden yesterday and talked about the stuff we won't miss and the stuff we will miss.  The stuff we won't miss is a short list:  Secondhand smoke on the daily and crowded sidewalks full of people who need HEFFERNAN'S SIDEWALK ETIQUETTE REFRESHER COURSE.  A few other dibs and dabs, but mostly we'll miss this place.  France rocks. 

All good things must come to an end, though, and come to find out we are both looking forward to getting home.  We miss our peeps and we miss our town and we miss conversations in our native tongue with others who are not us.  

Flash Fiction 7: Roly Poly Recess

We are staying busy right down to the bitter end.  Can't wait to touch base at home soon!

Here's the 7th Flash Fiction I wrote for my online class.  You should read it if you want to. 

Roly Poly Recess

Lee Heffernan

 

            Kids were supposed to stay away from the creek at recess, but Gracie didn't care.  The supervisors were busy talking and watching the fourth grade soccer game, so Gracie sneaked around the sycamore tree.  No one could see her except Anna the new kid on top of the spider climber. She hoped Anna would come over to play, but Gracie was shy to ask. Turning over rocks, Gracie found a huddle of roly polies.  She picked up the largest and dropped it on to a sycamore leaf laying on the grass.  "I'll name you Connie," she told the balled up roly poly, as she lifted the leaf and walked a few steps to the creek bed.  She could hear Anna yelling something, but Gracie couldn't stop now. She settled the leaf onto the water and whispered, "Goodbye, Connie. Have a fun adventure."

            "What are you doing?" screamed Anna, standing over her.

            "I made a bug boat for Connie. Roly polies love adventure," smiled Gracie.  She waved at Connie floating downstream.

            Anna screamed, "Pill bugs are crustaceans.  And they do not swim."  She took off running. Gracie followed.

 

            Connie, terrified, juddered out of her conglobation.  She spread her 14 legs, balancing as best she could on the sycamore leaf.  Spinning blurs and blobs of light and dark rolled past as the leaf boat bobbed up and down and in and out like a roiling river raft trip. This was not the first time that kids at Wells School had disturbed her day time rest, but this stunt went beyond the pale. "These kids don't have the sense they were born with," she muttered. "I swear if I don't drown today, I'm moving as far away from this school as I can get."  Splashes of water dripped toward her on the leaf.  Connie knew there was a fine line with water.  Too little and she dried up dead as a tumbleweed.  Too much and she... Well she didn't want to think about that.  

 

            Anna ran a zigzag along the creek's curves, past the tetherball pole, past the monkey bars, past the foursquare game. She kept her eyes on the leaf floating down the middle of the creek. She had hoped to be friends with Gracie, but right now she hated her guts.  She ran faster, determined to rescue Connie, or whatever her name was.  When the leaf lodged against a fallen tree, Anna got down on all fours and crawled out to it.  She plucked up the pill bug and crept backward to the grassy bank. Gracie stood there crying.  "Do you have Connie?" she sniffed. Anna nodded and showed her the conglobated crustacean.  The recess supervisor blew her whistle.  Time to line up.  The girls ran back to the sycamore tree where they helped Connie rejoin her huddle of roly poly friends. 

            "Thank you Anna," said Gracie.

            "You should apologize.  She could have drowned," said Anna.

            "Sorry, Connie," smiled Gracie as she gently repositioned the creek rock over the roly polies.  

            Anna walked to line with Gracie, sharing information from her pill bug research report that she wrote in second grade at her old school. 

Cicada Songs !

Our son, Quinn Sternberg, who you may know as #1 Son, released his third album this month.  When the pandemic appeared years ago, Quinn and his New Orleans family came to stay with us for awhile. Way back then, he worked on a series of songs that evolved into this new release, Cicada Songs.  The album is getting beautiful reviews. It  has been called "graceful," "mysterious" and "suspenseful," with a "magnificent vibe." One reviewer called Quinn a "jazz phenom."

We love the music and all 7 songs have jazzed up our time in the City of Lights.  

You should definitely listen to Cicada Songs if you feel like it. 

FYI: We ordered the music on BandCamp, plus we ordered CD's, PLUS we ordered the VINYL version!  You can too!

The Request

 This is our last week in Paris.  As you can see from the photos above, I am still having fun.  You can also see that I need a haircut.  I have one scheduled when we re-enter.  If you happen to see me at home during the week we are there, please don't look at my hair if you can help it.  

Flash Fiction_ShadowingACharacter_ SPRINGBREAK

Here's a flash fiction I wrote for my class this week. Please read it if you feel like it.

Spring Break

Lee Heffernan

    The passengers exited. Vance stayed seated in 14A until Rachel the flight attendant returned for him.  He looked for his suitcase, but Rachel pointed him toward the jetway. 

 

         "Let's go find your mom," she said.

 

         Past the crowded gates, and onto the escalator, Rachel kept her hand on Vance's teeshirt, slightly hurting his sunburnt shoulder. Descending, Vance saw his mom's white shoes first.  Then her scrubs, her hospital ID tag, her short red hair.  He waved, but the police officer distracted her from looking up.  When she noticed Vance beside her, she pulled him into a hug.  

 

         Vance had thought of his mom every day of spring break while visiting Nana.  He wished Mom were there too, but she had to work.  He wished for Disneyworld rides while he swam in the pool with Nana watching, asking the same hopeful questions about school and friends.  After lunch--- grilled cheese and fritos--- they watched soap operas. Then he swam again. 

 

         From his purple floatie, Vance stared at the sea turtle shell hanging like a trophy behind Nana's chair. Its shiny brown pieces fit together like a puzzle. It reminded Vance of a medieval shield. 

         On his last day in Florida, Vance asked, "Did Grampa catch that turtle?"

         Nana laughed. "Your grandfather couldn't catch a sea turtle if it walked in the front door.  He bought that at the flea market ages ago. I've seen you looking at it.  I'll clean it up and you can take it home with you if you like."

         Vance knew he shouldn't ask for things, but Nana had offered and he wanted the shell a lot. "Thank you Nana!  I'll show it to my class at Morning Meeting."

         "Morning Meeting?" Nana laughed.  "How modern are we getting?"

 

         At the airport, Nana met the flight attendant who would take care of Vance, "He's all yours, Rachel. Make sure he gets to Pittsburgh in one piece."

         "Thanks for a great trip, Nana. Thank you for the sea turtle shell," smiled Vance.

         "You're welcome, Vancer. When you share it at school, make sure you tell everyone that you hunted sea turtles with your Nana on spring break." Vance and Nana fist-bumped.  When they hugged one last time, Rachel reached down and took the suitcase.

 

         The reunion in the Pittsburgh airport didn't go how Vance had imagined. It took over an hour for his mom to convince the officer that neither Vance nor his grandmother knew that sea turtle shells were illegal contraband because of the Endangered Species Act.  

 

         On the drive home, Vance stared silently out the rainy window, wondering where the shell would end up and what happened to the turtle in the first place and what he could share at Morning Meeting the next day. 

The Martyr

 

I visited 4 churches yesterday and a cloister.  I learned about Saint Saturnin.  Also known as St. Sernin,  this brave religious leader refused to sacrifice a bull to the Roman gods. In turn, Roman ruffians tied him to the bull, who dragged him through the streets of Toulouse, effectively martyrizing him. 

There's some question about whether or not the ruffians murdered him prior to the bull run.  I truly hope this is the case, but in the painting above, hanging in one of the churches I visited, we see an alert Saturnin and a bull eyeing him suspiciously.  You can read more about this sad time in Toulousian history here. This happened back in 250 AD, and things have changed quite a lot since then.

In my walks here, I'm happy to report that I've only encountered peaceful people, experiencing the pleasantries of this historic city.

The Winds

Wind whipped through Toulouse all day and all night yesterday.  I walked around town anyway because, as a true wind stan, I'm happy to let wind push me about any day of the week. 

 

But here's the sad part. While I walked I listened to the latest episode of This American Life, School's Out Forever, which focuses on how the pandemic messed up the schooling of 2 students. I sympathize with these girls and their families.  I cringed and tsked and shook my head as I stared out over the River Garonne, listening to their sad stories about their significant school disappointments as the wind almost made me lose my favorite scarf, which I bought in Kabul. 

 

Since age 6, I've attended school in one form or another. (I skipped kindergarten because I think my parents forgot to enroll me). That's 55 years of schooling and I can't help it. I love the place.  I can't wait to get back to school in August.  I know school can do better and be better, but many people of all ages are school positive and we need to get these people out there ringing the school bells of freedom. (What?)

 

Because we're in France this year, I have not had to endure the third year of pandemic disruptions with my students, so I know I have a skewed view of the whole shebang.  And yet, I want to believe that school is where good people hang out to read and write stuff, discuss big ideas, make collages about social justice issues, solve math problems, sing songs, learn our country's history and sometimes do a science experiment or two (honestly I could do better with the science education truth be told and I promise I will). 

 

I'm willing to make changes, but let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater.  There are great things happening in our public schools.  My school just tweeted out examples of how the Jaguars are learning about Ukraine and how they've taken actions for peace.  That's what I'm talking about.  

 

So, in conclusion, How 'bout we Give Schools a Chance, This American Life?

The Toulouse Report

Reporting to you from Toulouse, where the weather report today gives us a "yellow warning for avalanches." Be mindful, people. 

We are here safe and sound, but only because a deadly bullet dodged us yesterday in the a.m..  Leaving our first metro train on the way to Gare Montparnasse, sounds of screaming exploded from the 8 as we stepped onto the platform.  I turned back to see a woman screaming at me, but why? As the doors closed, her mari homme tossed out my backpack to our Mari Homme.  I mouthed Thank YOU to them both as the train pulled away, but I had my mask on so they probably didn't get a sense of how strongly I appreciated their assistance.  

In some ways it was actually their fault that I forgot my backpack because their baby, in his stroller, laughed and acted fascinating throughout the entire metro ride. Obviously that was a distraction that should have been prevented for the sake of the public good. 

Despite this near catastrophe, we made it to Toulouse, the 4th largest city in France.  I see a woman walking her dalmatian outside. It's time to head out.

Le Jardin

Why not sit and write

Bells chime the half hour

Yellow pansies mashing it up

Luggage rolls over flattened gravel

Behind me, breakfast cereal chewing of crunching feet

A walker says to her friend, There's a place called Saint Chapelle

She over there hangs her puffy jacket on her Senat chair. Reads an article for work

Seagulls cry and fly in circles

Three queens claim sovereignty

Rectangular prism trees balance on thin trunks

Teen girls lose a boat in the grand bassin

Blinding sun melts our winter coats

Flash Fiction Week 5: 3rd Person Camera Objective _ Pandemic Casualty

Pandemic Casualty: Snow Day

 

            Natalie Katz sat with her two daughters at the dining room table.  The girls were already wearing their snow pants. Their boots waited near the front door.

 

            "I have a noon deadline. Let's get started," Natalie said. During breakfast, she had read aloud the email from the principal about inclement weather and remote learning, explaining that students and teachers would use the new online learning platform, POWERSCHOOL, to complete and submit all e-learning assignments posted on teacher webpages.  

 

            "Do you think we'll ever have snow days again, Mom?" Jenna asked.

            "Probably not," sighed Natalie.  "Snow days are another pandemic casualty I'm afraid." 

            "Thanks, Pandemic," said Janet.

            "Yeah.  Thanks, Pandemic," echoed Jenna.

            

            Janet opened her tablet and read through Ms. Mulkey's fourth grade assignments. She rushed through the multiple choice questions on TechnoWriters,  zipped through the inequalities at FractionAction, jotted down three  true facts about pulleys from TakeABigSci and aced the Geographreaks mapping of  northeastern state capitals. "Done!" she yelled, slamming her tablet closed.  It was not even 9:30.

 

            Distracted by the snow, Jenna had barely started.  "Not fair," she yelled at Natalie who was typing furiously. "She's in fourth grade and I have more?" 

            "I didn't waste time," said Janet, pulling on her boots. Jenna put her head down on the table and sobbed into her arms.  

            "Come on Jenna, you've got this," said Natalie, rubbing Jenna's back. Her inbox pinged. She glared at Janet.

 

            Janet reached for Jenna's tablet. Ms. Grayson's assignment list included comparing fractions with measuring cups and dry rice, writing and illustrating a paragraph about snowy memories, and using a video app to record a dramatic reading of a poem.  The third graders should document these assignments with photography or video.

 

            Janet raced to the cabinet and pulled out measuring cups and the rice canister. "Measure, Jenna. Let's go. One Half.  One fourth," she barked. Jenna poured rice into the cups and onto the floor while Janet took photos.  Natalie's inbox pinged again. She grabbed the broom and swept the floor in hurried movements. Her phone buzzed. A text from Delores. Delores had twins in Jenna's classroom. "Grayson is a maniac. The twins are losing it."

              Natalie texted back,  "OMG. Enough with the creativity already, Grayson." 

            Janet had given Jenna a piece of notebook paper for her paragraph. "Why do I have to do this? I don't have snow memories." She scribbled her name across the margin. Natalie's computer pinged again. Her hands were fisted as she sat down at the keyboard.

            "Seriously, Jenna," whispered Natalie. She always whispered before she yelled.

            Janet broke the tension. "Mom type this quick."  Natalie complied as Janet blurted, "Snow Day by Jenna I remember the time we had a snow day we drank hot chocolate and played video games we went sledding on the big hill with our neighbors we made a snow man in our front yard.  I love snow days."  

            "What about the colorful illustration?" whined Jenna.

            "Mom! Google images.  Snowman," Janet yelled as she ran down the hall clomping in her snow boots.  She returned with an open book that she shoved at Jenna.  "Read this. Quick. "

            "Ms. Grayson said we get extra credit if we wear a costume."

            Janet clicked on the movie app. "Seriously, Jenna. We don't have time for stupid costumes. Read the poem."  

            Sniffling, Jenna read Happy Endings by Shel Silverstein.

 

There are no happy endings.

Endings are the saddest part,

So just give me a happy middle

And a very happy start.

 

            "Was it dramatic?" Jenna asked, looking from her mother to her sister.

            "You were crying, Jenna! That's dramatic," said Janet, clicking the submit button.

            "It really was," said Natalie.

 

            At 10:10, Jenna and Janet headed out the door to join their neighbors. Natalie stayed behind and finished her article in the nick of time.  The Katz family spent the afternoon building a snowman.

The Conversation

 We've been busy hopping around Paris with Cynthia.  We've visited Septime, La Coupole, Musee Marmottan Monet, Petit Palais, Musee Luxembourg, Musee de Paleontologie.  We've walked a million miles.  Hoorah.

Today I returned to search again for Amedeo Modigliani at Pere Lachaise.  Third time's the charm.  I brought some roses and left them there for him and for his true love, Jeanne Hebuterne.  Then I headed over to bring Gertrude and Alice some roses too.  An American family stopped and asked me to tell them about Gertrude Stein.  The dad remembered something about her, he said, but was shaky on her story. I delivered a pretty good chat about Gertrude and Alice and when I was done, the dad said, "Thanks for the history," and we went our separate ways.  I was so thankful to this sweet quartet for asking me a question that I not only understood, but that I was able to answer in a way that positioned me as a person who knows a thing or two. I felt great about my communication skills, a rare feeling indeed these past six months.  It's exciting to think that when I get home I can have conversations, understand abstract ideas spoken aloud and participate in witty repartee on the daily. 

The Rambling Report about Julie Manet

 Spent some time today at Musee Marmottan Monet. There's a lot of fantastic art there, all Impressionists. Monet gets an entire floor.  Phenomenal. 

 There's an exhibit there about Julie Manet and her art and her art collection.  I will now tell you more about Julie Manet.  From the following details, you will see that Impressionism filled her life from beginning to end.

Julie's mom was artist Berthe Morisot, one of the "Three Great Women of Impressionism."

Julie's dad, Eugene Manet was an artist, but he didn't exhibit his art. 

 Julie's uncle, the famous Edouard Manet, (Eugene's brother) died after gangrene necessitated his foot to be amputated, but before then he created many beautiful Impressionist paintings, just like his sister in law Berthe. 

Everyone liked to paint Julie. She was a cheerful and creative child. Sadly, she was orphaned at 16, but she had a lot of friends and family looking out for her, including Renoir and I think Monet.  

After a few years, she married artist and collector Ernest Rouart, the son of painter Henri Rouart.  (We saw some of Henri's etchings in a church around here last week).

Julie kept up with her art work but stopped exhibiting after she got married.  Instead, she worked to make sure her mom and her uncle were given their due as great artists.  She collected and promoted the heck out of their works.  

And now you know a little bit about Julie Manet.