Earth Sign Mama Writes

Lunch

2012-02-12T15:34:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, CoolGuy and I went to eat lunch at our new fav which became our new fav because the old one closed. Sigh. Restaurants are notoriously difficult to maintain, I know. Going out to lunch on Saturdays is a ritual we've acquired in the years since the children all moved away. So often, we're too tired to go out at night. By the time I get home from school, we'd really just like to sit down and not get back up to go out.

I read a piece about lunch lately--specifically sandwiches--and it made me think about that meal and it's ramifications. As a child, I didn't eat "lunch"--farmers eat dinner in the middle of the day. When school was on, it was called lunch, but our cafeteria ladies were so awesome that it closely resembled my mother's creation, "dinner," that I ate whenever we were home. I didn't pack a lunch for school, ever. This is why, when my children began school, they usually ate lunch there. Also, we were incredibly poor at that time, and we could get reduced-priced lunches. It wasn't until they were a few years older, we lived in another state and I'd begun substitute teaching, that I learned that the modern version of School Lunch was icky. Nothing like the homemade yumminess of my childhood.

My kids packed lunch most of the time when we returned to CA and we were dramatically more well off. I recall buying stuff at Sam's Club or Price Club or one of those Clubs...and people would just pick from that what they wanted to take to school. I helped the little boys, but the middle school and high school people were on their own. I'd take requests, and I remember various staple items being vetoed eventually out of boredom. I don't remember school lunch being that big of a deal.

I used to fix CoolGuy's lunch every day. I packed it in a black metal lunch box that he'd found and renovated. It included a Thermos jug that fit in the curved top. It would be strapped securely to his sissy bar and traveled back and forth to the base. I baked all of our bread, so his sandwiches were on honey-wheat slices. I can't for the life of me remember what I put in his lunches now--I just remember fixing them. I know that sometimes he'd go out with people--like on a Friday payday. But even if I packed his lunch, he always had the option to ride over to the other side of the hill where he worked on the submarine base, to the beach and sit surf-side while eating his packed lunch. When he got out of the Navy and we moved to an Air Force Base town in Idaho, he worked the night shift, so there wasn't the "going out" alternative. I fixed all of those lunches too. He started eating out exclusively when we moved back to CA. I didn't miss fixing lunch. He loved leaving the office and driving his bike down the coast highway a couple of miles and eating clam chowder while watching the surfers. Nice life, if you can get it.

When I started to work as a teacher, it was clear that a teacher's "lunch hour" will never be an hour and you'll be lucky if you get 20 minutes of your half hour. There isn't time to "run out" anywhere, and usually my schools haven't been close to a food place, anyway. I developed a standard lunch which was quick to wolf down, gave me an energy boost, didn't create gas....you laugh...but imagine being trapped in a room with 28 nine-year olds and having nowhere to go, but needing to vent???? No, I'm really careful about what I eat for lunch.

At first, I'd go to the teacher's lounge and eat. You'd think--cool--chance to talk to grown-ups, relax, maybe use the microwave. And all those things are true. And sometimes, I'd bring lunch that needed the microwave--leftovers are great. But a couple of years into it, we got a new young teacher on our team, and for some reason, she had to pick on me. It was weird...even the other teachers noticed and finally, some of them called her on it: we didn't need a food police or a clothing police. She'd make fun of my teacher clothes, and she'd ask what I was eating and then say, "Oooh, that's just nasty" or stuff like that. Very strange. What finally clinched my eventual retreat to eating in my own classroom, though, was the principal's trend of eating during the fourth grade lunch and sitting by me and chatting like we were old friends.

We did share several things: we were both from the West--in fact, we'd grown up on opposite sides of a big mountain--she in Idaho and me in Wyoming. We actually knew people in common because of my brother-in-law owning a ranch over there on the Idaho side. It was a bizarre coincidence that we'd end up meeting up on the East coast. However---during the school day, as my supervisor, she was unrelenting in her campaign to proclaim me as a total incompetent. It was harsh, it was difficult. I did learn to be a better teacher; perhaps I even needed the drill sargent approach to break me down and enable me to discard old habits. I credit her for helping to shed the bad and embrace the good. But no way could I pull off the lunch time chats. I realize for her, the harsh treatment was just business, but I couldn't deal with the schizo-ness of the chatty lunch when she'd ask my advice about her grown children, or her regrets at having left the church behind. (I was the only other LDS person on our staff beside her--and at parties, she always got drunk...)

So, that left me in my current habit of eating in my room by myself. I love it. I shut off the lights (I have glass brick windows for illumination) and I just sit quietly at my desk and read e-mails, or browse the web and eat 1/2 of my turkey sandwich, my small cup of non-fat cottage cheese, a few pieces of fruit and drink some water. I eat my square of dark chocolate, and then head down to the cafeteria for my 10 minutes lunchroom duty (all the teachers have the last ten minutes in the cafeteria) and I'm refreshed for the rest of the day. After the students leave, I eat the other half of the sandwich, the little cup of rice pudding and the rest of my fruit. Then I spend another two hours in my classroom (or I'm eating this in the car on the way to class). At any rate, my lunch fuels me for about three hours and then it's time for more food. It isn't recreational. I need to eat in my quiet room away from conversations. I spend the whole day talking. I need to have that silent break in the middle of the day. It refuels my brain like the food refuels my body.

If I want to Lunch for Fun, then there is always Saturday when CoolGuy and I indulge ourselves with lunch out on the town. When I get back to using my feet again as actual feet, this lunch is usually done on the motorcycle, so that just adds another aspect of recreation. Food--it can be just a utility or it can be a party.

Deja Vu, All Over Again

2012-02-09T09:17:00.000-08:00

Last year, when I was lying on this same couch, propping the right foot on pillows and trying to sleep, one of the things that helped me cope was the idea that my foot would someday be healed and I wouldn't have to do that again. So, it was really discouraging in December when the doctor diagnosed the exact same malady in my left foot, to be repaired by the same process.

Actually, the left foot's disintegration was more severe than the right foot, so the repair took longer. However, I don't think the recovery is going to be affected. That's good, because the recovery is icky enough as it is. I've reached a the double-edged milestone: I no longer need the narcotic pain-killer. This is good because it means the pain is greatly reduced. In fact, I only occasionally feel some aching. Unfortunately, (and I don't know if this is related) because I am not taking this heavy-duty drug any more, I no longer sleep. I don't know if the pain-killer has altered something in my brain for this short period of time, or if my inaction just makes me less tired, but I can't go to sleep.

Last night (this morning) I saw the time register 5:07 A.M.. Apparently I must have fallen asleep after that, because I awoke as CoolGuy left around 8:00 A.M. I'd tried everything: a little bowl of cereal; some ibuprofen to knock back the aching; my bean-bag heated in the microwave to soothe the leg twitches. I even went to bed initially in my own, awesome waterbed (first time since the surgery) to see if that would help me drift off to slumber-land. Nothing worked. I finally got up and went back to my convalescent nest in the living room. It was the first night I hadn't taken the narcotic. But, I didn't want to because I don't need it anymore.

I'm going to try staying awake today as long as I can and see if I can fall asleep tonight. Last year, the doctor offered me a prescription sleep aide, but one of the common side effects I read about is sleep walking--I don't need anything that might cause me to get out of bed and attempt to walk on this cast!! Eek! So, I'll try herb tea and hot packs and soothing music and see if I can't get my poor brain back onto a schedule of unassisted unconsciousness.

Four Days

2012-02-07T13:41:00.000-08:00

It's been four days since the surgery on my latest Frankenfoot. And, yes, I'm really tired of laying here, thank-you very much. (Actually, right this minute, I'm sitting in the computer chair with my foot propped on the knee-walker. So I'll type quickly, because this isn't very comfortable.) Mostly, I've spent the four days under the influence of a really nice prescription narcotic. So, time is rather indefinite for me. However, I failed to keep track of the time Saturday, and I let the painkiller wear off a little too much before I realized and took the next pill. It was a really ugly hour of excruciating pain. So, I've been careful to not get off schedule again.

The doctor announced to CoolGuy that everything went very well. The surgery was four hours long, and he was impressed with how destroyed this tendon was in comparison to the one on the right foot. Also, he fixed a messed up toe and so that will add one more layer to the recovery. I see him again on Thursday. Right now, I'm not wearing a cast, just a splint and a heavy bandage. I'm very careful to not put any weight on it and not move or flex my foot.

My students were so dear. On Thursday, they were hiding a big fluorescent green poster paper card in various areas around the room, getting everyone to sign it. They took it around to different teachers, and out to recess and got many signatures. I just pretended I saw nothing. Then, the four girls who'd gone to all the effort, presented it to me at the end of the day, and gave me big going-away hugs. They're just so sweet.

Kitty Cat has unexpectedly decided to acknowledge my existence this time. Last year, she refused to acknowledge me at all for weeks. But, right from the first day, she has been cuddling with me. So nice. I need to go lie down again, take a pill, and get my foot up higher than my heart. Amazing the difference that makes.

Count Down

2012-02-01T20:31:00.000-08:00

I have lesson plans shaped up.
I have all the bird reports finished and gathered up.
I have finished gluing the last thing on my classroom walls that was sitting around waiting for that.
I have re-organized the crayons/markers/colored pencil holders.
I have found a friend to be in charge of recyling plastic bottles at school.
I have washed my comforter and dusted my bedroom.
I picked up the prescriptions.
I have my new cast.
I've got the knee-walker.
I've booked the hometeachers for a blessing.

Now, I'll finish my ironing, water all the plants once again, so I don't have to think about it for a week, and tomorrow, I'll make sure I write down all my passwords for my substitute. Then, on Friday morning...I'll be ready to do it all again.

Franken-Foot 3--The Left Foot Gets It Again, Only Worse!!

It's Official

2012-01-30T08:22:00.000-08:00

This is E3 Peter Frome posing for his mother to take photos of his awesomeness about an hour after he graduated from Naval Recruit Training Center, Great Lakes, IL. It was an fabulous event of tradition and pagentry complete with ship's bell signaling, bosun's pipe and cannon fire. Admirals gave speeches, awards were presented. There were drum cadences and marching and standing for a really long time at parade rest. There was an excellent redition of "Anchors Away" with appropriate enthusiasm of the relieved, proud, exhausted, obedient recruits.

Then, we got to hang out with him for about eight hours. He had to be back in his "ship" by 20:00 so that he'd be packed and ready to leave the next morning bright and early. He was headed off to Groton, CT, to submarine school, which seems to be another, more specific, boot camp experience. Hmmm...but I'm confident he'll succeed with flying colors there, too. His goal: sonar school. So eight more weeks of learning hard stuff in arduous conditions and then he'll be on his way to living a life of intrigue, under the sea. (cue Little Mermaid music?)

Seriously: we're SO proud. He did so well; he is so enthused; we had a great 30 hour trip and all's well.

Look at ME! Look at ME!

2012-01-25T23:01:00.000-08:00

I guess KittyCat has figured out that whenever we are in the living room, our attention is directed at the big box on the wall. So she decided that she'd pose there in order to be certain that we'd notice her. Her style is effective, but not at all subtle.

Buy This, It's Wonderful

2012-01-21T21:28:00.000-08:00

For years now, ever since we had one for a pet, CoolGuy and I have realized that if you see a Golden retriever in a commercial, the subliminal message is "Buy this stuff--it's wonderful and good for you and your whole family. You can tell--look, there's a Golden retriever in our ad."

I saw these wonderful fellows recently as their owner was walking them, near my house. I couldn't resist taking their picture, and, as Goldens are the friendliest dogs ever, they even smiled for the camera.

Well, recently I was glancing at a magazine and there was a photo of a Jersey cow. The point of the article was to get the reader's sympathy for factory-farm cows. I've seen big dairy operations. They are almost exclusively Holstein cows. It makes sense, because Holsteins give the most milk for the work and effort and hay. They are boring, too. No drama cow-mamas. But, they also look boring and plain. If you want to represent machine-like cow-ness, then you use a Holstein's photo.

But if you want to generate sympathy for those sweet little cows...then isn't this face going to serve your purpose better? If you want to get your viewers to think warm, small family-farm thoughts about wholesome homegrown dairy products, then you're going to use the Golden retrievers of bovinity--voila:

Love me, love my milk and cheese. Everything about me is cuddly and wholesome and cute. See?? Just saying...advertisers are very calculating. Notice the Golden retrievers and Jersey cows in commercials and print ads. You'll see what I mean.

Missing You

2012-01-19T21:45:00.000-08:00

When I started on this business with the Stupid Feet, I didn't realize that I was also giving up one of my favorite things: cute shoes. It's been nearly two years that I've had one foot crisis after another, so my cute shoes have been gathering cobwebs in my closet. Just for kicks, I took some of them out and looked at them tonight. This doesn't even include the boots, or some of my "sensible" shoes in the other room piled under my dresser. (I have quite a few shoes...) I have some really darling red church shoes that I LOVE! Not to mention the comfy sandals by Ecco.

And, seriously, I don't even have that many authentically "cute" shoes according to today's standards of "cute shoes", since I've been such a flat-footed weirdo most of my life. But, the shoes that I do own, I really like to wear. And sometimes, having just the right shoes, makes an outfit so fabulous.

I realized after church last week, as I walked out to my car in my long, flowing skirt, with my hair up in a bun, and my hiking boots...that I looked like one of these ladies from Southern Utah. But, I'll have to learn to fix my hair in that braid thing to complete the look.

Plus, I walk into the Young Women's room each Sunday, and look what I find. Adorable shoes, terrific boots, cutest flats.

Some day, I hope to rejoin the world of Cute Shoes. In the meantime, I'll dust my collection regularly and visit with them, now and then. I'll admire women's feet and compliment fourth grade girls on their darling little boots, and marvel over those teachers who wear heels all day. I'd just like to wear sandals again, seriously. I'm crossing my fingers that next summer, at the beach, I'll be styling with painted toenails and cute shoes.

Reserved Parking

2012-01-16T23:07:00.000-08:00

While out running errands today, we stopped off to eat lunch at an old favorite, El Pollo Loco. In fact, it was the same one where we had a Grand Adventure last year. We pulled up in front of the store, and CoolGuy got out the handicapped parking permit hang-tag to put on the rearview mirror. Then we got out of the truck and I started limping into the store. He hung around a little bit, and I went in to wait for him.

We placed our orders, filled our drink cups, then sat down in a booth facing the space where the truck was parked. I said, "You know, I'd be too superstitious to park in that space again, like you did." He laughed and pointed, "Yeah, I got out of the driver's side and thought about last year, too. Then, I looked down at the pavement and thought, hey...my tires fit right inside those paint marks there. Then, I realized, Oooooh...it's the same paint marks."

I got up and shuffled over to the window and looked. Sure enough, there were the truck tires, poised perfectly inside the marks the police had made last spring. I laughed and laughed. Everyone in the place turned to stare, but I couldn't stop laughing.

So, not only did we use the same parking space again, because we've got the hang-tag for the handicapped spot, but we also parked precisely in the "scene of the crime"---we have a private parking space at El Pollo Loco!! It's awesome! This time, no excitement with the meal. Just some crazy lady, who walks funny, laughing her head off.

Birthday Time

2012-01-15T22:18:00.000-08:00

It is CoolGuy's birthday so we celebrated. We went to eat at Jaleo because he's been craving their squid, served with carmelized onions and garlic with some type of bright green herb sauce. Here's a photo of the tasty little things:

If you haven't been to a tapas restaurant, then by all means, head down here and we'll go with you to Jaleo. Or if you live in the East, then go to Jaleo in DC or Bethesda. You order little servings of tasty things and they bring them to you one at a time. This way you get to savor every morsel, sipping rosemary lemonade between bites. I've tried to order different things each time, but I'm pretty much hooked on their beet-citrus salad with Valdeon cheese and pistachios, and the gambas al ajillo: "the very, very famous Spanish tapas of shrimp sauteed with garlic."

This time I tried Ensalada rusa: "The ultimate Spanish tapa, a salad of potatoes, imported conserved tuna and mayonnaise." YUM. At first, you think, umm...too much tuna, I was expecting more potatoes...but then you begin to nibble it. And then you're eating it with gusto, because it quickly grows on your palate. Each plate is just enough for two of you to get a small serving, or for one person to have a satisfying taste. But, none of our plates went back to the kitchen with leftovers.

So, then for dessert, we ordered a chocolate flan and olive oil ice cream, with a Catalan crisp (some type of thin cookie) and, even though it was a small serving, it was outrageously delicious. I'd tipped off the waitress that it was CoolGuy's birthday, so it came decorated with a lit candle. We had a pleasant evening, in a lovely place and it almost makes up for the fact that we've had, ahem, quite a few birthdays, at this point.

Here are a few more photos from recent fun times. Being grandpa is pretty fun---it makes being this age worth it.

Sunday School

2012-01-11T19:37:00.000-08:00

I think that it is the sign of a great class when I learn something new. But probably, it is mostly the sign that I need to study my scriptures more often and more thoroughly. I learned some interesting things on Sunday, and I'm sorry it took me so long to write them down here. (All too often, the days just fly by, and, because of Mr. Stupid Foot, I am often exhausted by the time I get home, and I forget that I have cool things to talk about on the blog.)

So we were in the very beginning part of the Book of Mormon. Our teacher chose to approach the story of Lehi's family leaving Jerusalem by discussing each of the people in the story. He asked us to discuss what we knew about them, and what part they had in the narrative. The first thing I learned (or relearned, but I'm embarrassed to say that I honestly do not remember this...) was that Lehi saw a pillar of fire when he had prayed to to God on behalf of his people. He'd heard the prophets proclaiming repentance (see Jeremiah, and 2 Kings) and so he prayed to ask God for help. And a pillar of fire appeared to him. No wonder he quaked and trembled.

But, besides being a little dismayed that I had never noticed the pillar of fire thing before, I was struck by why Lehi was privy to this display. He was obviously a very seriously religious man. He didn't just hear something from the prophets and think "Tsk, tsk." He went out and asked God, with all his heart, to bless his people. He was concerned with their welfare, their fate. Of course, all of his concern only led him to go out and preach repentance himself, and then he was mocked, condemned and had his life threatened. Sigh.

The other part that was quite significant to me was reading a nuance about Nephi. These little subtleties are why it is good to be in Sunday School. People are asking questions; other people are adding their insights. Often this is when I'll read a verse in a different attitude than ever before, and I'll get one of those "Ah ha..." moments. I've always just thought that Nephi had gone along with his father because he was the "good boy." But, in chapter two of 1Nephi, I read a little differently this time, and I realized that he had chosen that role. He made a concious effort. Maybe I'm splitting hairs. Maybe I'm saying the same thing. But he states that he was "exceedingly young", and so he probably just went along with the parents because he was young. Maybe Laman and Lemuel were teenagers, and had more of a life, and so were more greatly affected by the seemingly bizarre idea to move into the wilderness.

But then Nephi goes on to say that he had "great desires to know of the mysteries of God" and he, too, went out to pray, like his father said he'd done. Nephi surely had heard his father's prophecies, and he'd seen him rebuke the older brothers, and he knew that something significant had to have occured to his father. Apparently, Nephi wanted to understand more. He hadn't just been naturally obedient (or maybe he was...) but he also wanted to understand for himself. So he asked, and he received an answer from God and his heart was softened and he "did believe all the words of [his] father.

So, why did this strike me as significant? I guess because if one of my heroes like Nephi had to go and pray and ask for himself and then get confirmation, then I surely had better follow that pattern, too. If I want to know the mysteries of God, I can find out. It's worked everytime I've tried it, too. I just need regular reminders to never stop searching for that understanding for myself. There is a continual need to update my understanding since there is a continual pattern of troubles that regularly come up in the world and in my life.

At Last!

2012-01-07T19:06:00.000-08:00

This is the very first apple I have received as a teacher. Seriously. And it was delicious and enormous. Thank you Sergio.

Nine-year Olds...Sheesh

2012-01-05T07:29:00.000-08:00

These hiking boots are my steady footwear this week. I'm wearing both of them, with an additional brace thingy on my collapsed foot. Then, I also took my knee-scooter to school so that I can rest my foot whenever I walk out of my classroom. But, yes, I'm wearing hiking boots everyday.

Yesterday, a boy---out of the blue---pointed at my boots and said, "Those are old, aren't they?" I replied, "Well, yes, they are pretty old." Then, he responded, "They're ugly, too." I replied...uh...when I could talk again..."Well, they aren't as cute as her shoes." I pointed to a girl who was wearing some sparkly flats.

Now, he is one of those boys who is quite intelligent and has a good thinking brain. But, seriously, someone is going to need to help him with relationship/tact issues as he gets old enough to date, don't you think?

Looking for Reasons

2012-01-03T22:44:00.000-08:00

For a couple of years now, I've had an uncharacteristically gloomy outlook. There was a long stretch where I really felt on my own, and without the usual comfort of the Spirit. Lately, I've begun to realize that it wasn't God who moved away. I heard a talk recently about being consciously thankful everyday. The speaker talked about praying without asking for things, every now and then. Just giving thanks. So, I decided to start focusing on that more. I began to look for little, teeny blessings. Here's one that I got last week.

I'd lost a couple of earrings in the last few months. Something about the clothes I wore, or the way my seat belt fit, or maybe just that left ear was being weird, but I'd had earrings come out of the hole and disappear. A couple of times it happened at school, but the students found one of them in the hallway. Another time I found it on my chair at home. But a month and half ago, I realized I'd lost one of my very favorite earrings and I was very sad. I'd been to a store trying on coats, in anticipation of going to visit my kids in cold northern Utah, and I really needed a warmer coat. Later that night, I brushed my hair over my ear, only to realize that no earring dangled from the left ear. I was crushed. I loved those earrings and wore them often.

To understand the sorrow I felt, you need to know that when we first moved into this house six years ago, we had a break-in one weekend. We were out of town for a three day holiday and came home to find our door kicked in and the house ransacked. The insurance replaced the television, the computers, and the camera. But the big jerks had also taken my jewelry box. I didn't own anything too valuable except my wedding rings (which I was wearing) and some lovely silver starfish-shaped earrings that CoolGuy bought me when he was traveling through Bali. So, those aren't going to get replaced anytime soon.

But, the real value of my jewelry box is that it contained my sixteen year collection of holiday pins given to me by my students. It had special handmade items from my children, and spiffy things like the painted flamingo earrings I found in Boise when I was homesick for San Diego. None of it was valuable to anyone but me. I know that the thieves would have given it a quick look and dumped the whole thing in the trash. So, I've spent six years collecting a new box full of earrings that I've grown to love, because they are replacing my old friends. So when I started this new rash of earring loss, I was pretty bummed out.

Well, last Thursday, I was out on my patio, cleaning the chairs and the table in anticipation of my son and his wife's visit, I looked down as I moved a chair, and there lay my lost earring. Right there--on the patio---five weeks after I thought I'd lost it in the coat store. But, I realize now that we'd eaten lunch that day on the patio because it was such a lovely afternoon, and then I'd gone shopping. I just didn't notice the missing earring until after I'd returned from the store.

JOY! Seriously...I wore that pair of earrings at least once a week. I loved them. I suddenly felt warm all over. I quickly said a little prayer of thanksgiving, and again felt that rush of warmth. It said to me, "I love you. I can't fix most of the troubles in your life that are bringing you down these last couple of years. But I can help you find your earring. I can do more, too. Just remember---I love you."

I'm working at looking for more signs from God that I am His daughter and He loves me. I'm looking everyday for specific things for which to give thanks.

Resolved:

2012-01-01T16:58:00.000-08:00

I hereby resolve several things for 2012:

to spend less time wearing orthopedic appliances on my feet.
to spend less time attending college classes, less time doing college homework, spending less money on tuition.
to read the newspaper more and textbooks less.
to go home within two hours after my school day is finished instead of staying so late.
to go on a vaction to some place that doesn't have any relatives--I'll go just for the tourist attractions.
to write more thank you notes.
to throw away some of the junk that is sitting on my desk.
to be thankful everyday for something
to tell God about that thanks

Expiration Dates

2011-12-30T22:47:00.000-08:00

I poured a quart of orange juice down the drain today. I'd bought this juice a couple of months ago. It sat in my fridge unopened, sealed tightly, until two weeks ago when I was baking something that needed a half cup of orange juice. I looked at that bottle, realized that it had never been opened. Even though it said right on it: use by November 11, I opened it and smelled it and tasted it, and it was just fine. I drank a glass and used it in my baking and used it again the next day. However, today, when I was going through the fridge again, I just didn't dare test it. I figured that it would really be pushing it to assume that six weeks after its expiration date, it would still be edible. So, down the drain it went.

I'm musing about expiration dates, because, apparently there was an invisible one stamped on my feet when I was born: 2011. Done. Kaput. Over and Out. Finished. I've got another foot surgery scheduled in a month, because my other stupid, stupid foot has collapsed. I've been wearing the ortho boot again since Thanksgiving. I went to the doctor and he looked at the MRI report and it said, "complete tear, posterior tibial tendon." Complete this time, not just partially torn. It's unbelievable to me that my feet, although they've always been flat, would just both completely give up the ghost within such a short time!

Go read the link about this tendon....(Jeopardy! music plays till you come back....) Did you notice that it says there really isn't a "cause" or anything. Just that "it happens" usually to women over forty with flat feet. Actually, I guess it says "degeneration caused by long-term wear and tear." But why haven't I ever known anyone to whom this has happened? I don't have a single relative or friend who has had to have this surgery. Weird to me.

Plus, on my so-called "good foot" I now have a new bandage. I was moseying around my house on Wednesday night in bare feet because I get so tired of wearing this boot, and as I went outside to put some vegetable debris in my composter, I stubbed my pinkie toe on the leg of a large overstuffed chair. I've only walked past this chair nine billion times in the past as I've gone out this door, without stubbing my toe. But that night----whammmooo....it hurt so bad, it took my breath away.

The next morning, my pinkie had become a purplie. It was terrifically sore; I could barely put on my sock. So, after I left the mammogram place (I'm on vacation...I'm going to lots of annual appointments.) I went to a walk-in clinic (ha ha!! I guess for me it would be a stump-in clinic, huh?) Anyway, they didn't have an X-ray tech that day. The clinic down the street didn't take my insurance. So, I called my foot doctor's office and they told me to come on over. Yes, an X-ray later: I fractured the bone just below the toe part that sticks off your foot. GOOD GRIEF. Here's the poor thing:

Under that bandage it is purple and black and blue. So, I'm to keep it bandaged for a month and try to wear just my hiking boot because it has a stiff sole and won't let it bend much. DOH. I'm having a bad foot year, huh? Well, I'll keep you posted on the upcoming foot surgery. It's scheduled for Feb. 3. I have lots of paper work to do for the school system. Then, lesson plans to write for the first two weeks, and some type of outline for the next four weeks, so my sub will have a clue what to do.

Oh, oh!! And I got a jury summons in the mail this week, too!! But, I'm pretty sure that my doctor will sign off on my not having to go there, because the jury duty is scheduled for two days before the surgery, and I think if he tells them that I'm not going to be available for a jury because of that, they'll waive it for me. But, seriously?? Jury summons?? Right now?? Amazing...

Transformational Literature

2011-12-27T12:52:00.000-08:00

For Christmas, we visited with our children in Utah. When ever I go to my daughter's house, I never pack reading material because I know I will always find something in her bookshelves to pique my interest. Actually, she has an extensive collection of classics, and I try to read one of them each time I visit. This visit, I read Death Comes for the Archbishop, by Willa Cather.

I remember reading some book by Willa Cather in high school. I regret to tell you that I cannot recall the title...it was probably O Pioneers! or possibly My Antonia. But the problem was that it didn't really stick in my head as so terrific that I've never forgotten it, making me a life-long Willa Cather fan. Some books did that to me: I read Les Miserables by Victor Hugo and it transformed me. I read Wuthering Heights and it was all I could do to write the stupid paper about it because it struck me as a ridiculous soap opera and I could hardly believe it was considered "great literature." (I'm going to give it another chance soon.) I was also moved by Swiftwater, and A Separate Peace, and Tess of the D'Ubervilles, and A Tale of Two Cities. So, high school English wasn't a complete wash.

But, this time, Willa Cather got me. I started it one night for bedtime reading. The first couple of chapters were a bit slow, but then the next night, it captured me and I read until I dropped the book and fell asleep. I didn't have time to finish it before our departure, so I borrowed it and finished it as we drove south through the Great Basin into the Mohave Desert. Perhaps some books need to be read in their environment.

The book tells the story of a Catholic priest (two of them, actually) who are sent to the southwest after the United States annexes the territory of New Mexico/Arizona/Nevada. They are to reorganize the Church there under American diocesan authority. I was completely fascinated by their story. I kept re-reading the blurb on the back cover to see if this was actually fiction, and the description there emphasized that "from the riches of her imagination and sympathy Miss Cather had distilled a very rare piece of literature..." and "This sparsely beautiful novel by Willa Cather...." But it is astonishing in its detail, historical references, and the voice with which she delivers this tale. It seems like a history book.

But, the environment...the descriptions of the desert southwest are so vivid and told with such obvious affection that if you hadn't been there, you'd want to go just to see with your own eyes the colors and the textures and the amazing sky. We were driving south on an exquisite winter day: blue sky, snow dusted on cedars and red rocks, air so clear you could practically count the needles on the trees. I read this passage, then I read it again, then I paused the music so I could read it to CoolGuy:

The ride back to Santa Fe [from the eastern border area with Arizona, where they'd been visiting a Navajo community] was something under four hundred miles. The weather alternated between blinding sand-storms and brilliant sunlight. The sky was as full of motion and change as the desert beneath it was monotonous and still,--there was so much sky, more than at sea, more than anywhere else in the world. The plain was there, under one's feet, but what one saw when one looked about was that brilliant blue world of stinging air and moving cloud. Even the mountains were mere ant-hills under it. Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky. The landscape one longed for when one was far away, the thing all about one, the world one actually lived in, was the sky, the sky!

When I lived on the East Coast for ten years, I missed the sky in the West. Where we lived, the sky was seldom more than just a small patch accessible through an opening in the trees. If you went down to the bay side or one of the broad rivers, you could see more of it; but, it was seen through the shimmering layers of humidity and seemed so foreign. When we'd drive out to visit family members each summer, I'd get to western Nebraska and realize that, in addition to the scent of the sagebrush, the thing that made me feel like I was nearing "home" was the vast bowl of blue overhead.

Willa Cather's words about the look of the southwest were captivating, but I eventually was most moved by her description of the bishop's spiritual inner life. The viewpoint alternates between vignettes of the two priests' interaction with various inhabitants of their vast congregation, and the inner lives of the two men, but mainly it told of Jean Latour, the archbishop referenced in the title. As the story advances, many years progress, and the priest ages from a robust prime-of-life man to an aging, introspective man who revisits his regrets and triumphs. At one point of the story, he bids adieu to his life-long friend and fellow priest, who is leaving with fresh supplies to a new out-post of civilization. The bishop realizes that, likely, these two will never meet in life again. He is stricken by the loneliness of his life in this wilderness so far from his French family, and now his dearest friend was also departing.

But, as he enters his study he is overcome by the spirit of love from the One he serves. In the book, the Presence is defined as Mary, the Mother of God, the mother of the Master he serves. It is a Catholic doctrine that we approach the Christ through an intermediary--His earthly mother. But the feelings of love and comfort are articulated by this: "A life need not be cold, or devoid of grace in the worldly sense, if it were filled by Her who was all the graces;" I do not worship the saints of that church, but I was filled with the same power he described as I read this page.

His sense of loss was replaced by a sense of restoration because he realized that his own relationships were not the source of joy and love in this world, but the true source of all love and joy is our Savior, Jesus Christ. The character in the book developed his relationship with Christ through his worship of Mary and through service to his fellow man. But I was impressed that I need not be weighed down by my sorrows and losses because Christ is waiting to lift them off my bowed shoulders. His whole purpose is to uplift and empower. Our role is to believe and accept. Our job is go out and help others through deed and through spirituality. Each of us needs to internalize this belief and understanding. We cannot fix it on our own--we need Christ.

Maybe Willa Cather wasn't striving for this effect when she wrote this book. I don't know. I didn't "get" her in high school. In fact, I was often annoyed that we were required to postulate on the "author's purpose." Why couldn't we just enjoy without all the examination? As a teacher, I often feel the same: can't we just enjoy the book without picking at it? I think that perhaps I lacked experience to appreciate some of the literature that was presented to me. But, at this stage of my life, revisiting a piece of writing that didn't do it when I was young, is a life-changing event. I'm going to read more books. I need the transformations.

Apostrophe, Apostrophe...

2011-12-22T21:50:00.000-08:00

Apostrophe abuse is problem we deal with daily in elementary school. For several reasons, this punctuation mark is a difficult one for students. I mean, first of all, how does one pronounce it?? It takes English speaking children some time to figure out the whole ph makes the f sound, and then, a final e is usually silent--so come on! a-pos-tro-fee?? Seriously? My ELL students often just gesture, making a little hook in the air to show they know what it is and where it goes, but rarely attempt to pronounce it yet.

Then, its usage is another dilemma. Do you put one in your? Sometimes...but really it's only when you mean you're. And then there's it's and its and of course there's. It is a punctuation mark that is annoying to many. One of the main solutions for children is to just fling it here and there. I often see the apostrophe any time a word ends in s---The boy's went over to play at the park with their friend's. I work really hard to explain (over and over) (it's a concept that you must encounter repeatedly) that the apostrophe has two jobs: to show that a contraction has been made and to show that something belongs to someone or something.

He can't see where he left his brother's jacket.

Great rule. Then we encounter its and it's. One is a contraction, true, but the other is the possessive BUT IT DOESN'T USE THE APOSTROPHE BEFORE S. Sigh. I assure them that many grown people get it wrong over and over. I tell them the best way to remember the correct way is to think, "It's means it is" and then they'll recall that the apostrophe is helping to make the contraction. Sometimes it works. Some children leave fourth grade with this cleared up in their minds and go on to a successful scholarly career of using apostrophes correctly.

Some don't; and evidently those students must work at the sign factory where these signs were made. We stopped at a gas station/convenience store in central Utah on Wednesday night as we drove up from the desert to spend Christmas with our children and grandchildren. We dashed in to the bathrooms and I stopped abruptly and sighed. CoolGuy pointed out, "Hey, no problem: this door is where the mens go and that door is where the womens go."

Apostrophe abuse---a societal problem that maybe we need a little colored ribbon for to create awareness. Or maybe we Grammar Police-persons should just get over it.

Celebrate The Light

2011-12-21T16:51:00.000-08:00

You know what today is, don't you? It's the last day of The Dark. It's also known as The Shortest Day of the Year. Starting tomorrow there will be a little more daylight each day, till we get to the glorious Longest Day of the Year in June.

I love the sun. I think I whine on Winter Solstice every year. It makes complete sense to me that my ancestors who dwelled in those far northern latitudes of Scandinavia developed a series of superstitions and celebrations that involved candles and lighting big fires this time of year. If we didn't celebrate Christmas this time of year we'd have to invent it...like they did.

Some purists complain that many of the traditions we use each year for the celebration of Christ's birth are really based on pagan ritual. Duh. When Christian missionaries made their way north and found all those societies that held a big party during the winter, the missionaries were no dummies. They just introduced a new meaning to the celebrations. Gentle persuasion is often more effective than force. After all, they were representing The Prince of Peace. They just took all those traditions that celebrated the return of the light and created a new celebration for The Light of the World.

Anyway, I'm pleased to be at this point of the year-- both for the end of the physical darkness and for the opportunity to rejoice with the angels that Eternal Light has come to earth to banish the metaphysical darkness forever.

Unpacking the Box

2011-12-21T00:32:00.000-08:00

We received a box last week from our son who has joined the Navy. He arrived at boot camp, and the first thing they do is have you remove all of your clothes and change into their clothes. Then, you place all of your belongings into a box--shoes, socks, underwear, jeans, phone, change from your pocket---all of it into the box and then you seal it up and address it to your home. That's it. You send away everything but your naked self, and then that person is marched off to be transformed from a civilian to a Sailor.

This week, I decided I'd open it up and get his phone out and put it on his charger, and launder his clothes so I could put all of his belongings into a couple of new boxes. By February, he should be moved on to his first command, probably submarine school, and he'll be allowed to have his possessions again. I wanted to have everything ready so it would be handy to send on to him.

I opened the box, I withdrew his big blue hoodie with the bold NAVY printed in gold across the front. It smelled like him---Axe and Old Spice deodorant. I flashed back to the last time I'd touched this: hugging him good-bye in the doorway as his dad and he set off to the airport on the morning he left for the recruit training center. He's a tall, big person and he has to crouch a little to hug me back. I wanted to hang on, or go with him to make sure no one treated him badly---of course I couldn't. He was ready, so ready! He'd bought this beautiful pull-over to proudly wear on the journey to his new life.

But, I also imagined (just for a minute, then I had to shove that idea away) how it would be to open a box like that when you knew you wouldn't be seeing your son again. There were two missionaries killed last month when a car hit their bicycles. There are military men and women who die far from home every week. Their families get a box and experience that feeling in completely different way than I did. I don't know how they can bear it! When you unpack a box like that, the smells are what you notice.

I remember when CoolGuy went away the first time with the Marines to Saudi Arabia. He was a civilian, but he wore a uniform and lived in their conditions and was subject to the same dangers. It was scary. It was also hard because it didn't take long to forget tangible things about him. I remember burying my face in his motorcycle jacket as it hung on the coat rack in our room. It smelled like him and like the road. But after a couple of months, it just smelled like my room. He wrote that he'd like me to send him a big towel, and so I bought one, and then slept with it for a couple of nights. He noticed. When he came home and we were unpacking his boxes of clothes, sand sifted out of every nook and pocket and seam. It was different sand than our beach there in SoCal. There was a smell in the boxes, too. He said it was the smell of the desert and diesel and sweat.

How could you stand to unpack a box that held the belongings of your loved one who'd been gone for months and months, living in a foreign place you'd never been. How could you bear to smell them on the clothes and see their fingerprints smudging the letters you'd sent with the "love you" and the "be safe" you'd carefully written hoping that it would be true. How could you bear finding the dirty socks and the sweaty t-shirts knowing that you'll wash them, but they won't be needed again.

I hope to never find out.

A Day Without

2011-12-17T22:21:00.000-08:00

Today, I got up early and met with some other ladies at the church to rehearse a song we're performing tomorrow. Then, I went to the temple and enjoyed myself for a couple of hours doing service. They were busy there: six brides were scheduled! Then, CoolGuy and I sorted stuff to take to Deseret Industries thrift store, and loaded the truck with cardboard for the recycling center. We drove over to the part of town with our two destinations and afterward stopped for a delicious lunch of tamales for him and chile rellenos for me. We got home and I did a bunch of laundry. Then, he went out for a bit of motorcycle ride and I laid on the couch and watched three TIVOed shows in row. When he got home, I went out to the grocery store and then I wrote our Christmas letter.

Guess what I didn't do today? I didn't teach any classes. I didn't do any homework. I didn't go over to my classroom and check papers. YEAH!!!! I mean---I laid on the couch and watch TV for two hours--come on. How's that for acting you're really on vacation?

I've got seventeen days. I need to write a proposal for my final project for my master's degree. I need to run a lot of errands and start the paper work for my next stupid foot surgery. I need to correct several piles of papers. I need to write lesson plans and lay out my vision for the rest of the trimester for my sub. So, I won't spend much more time on the couch. But today felt really good.

What She Taught

2011-12-16T22:21:00.000-08:00

Today is the 84th anniversary of our mother's birth. She always said she was named "Carol" because of the proximity of her birthday to Christmas. She did Christmas well, as I've described. But it was not only Christmas when she outdid herself. I often recall how much work she did, and how she was always hustling and bustling about. But, I realized tonight, as I cleaned the sink and wiped down my counter tops, that she actually taught us how to live without her.

There were always chores to do. No one in our family would have ever sighed, "I'm bored..." to our mother. All that would get you is dustmop, or a can of bathroom cleaner, or a dishcloth, or a dustcloth. Time existed to attack dirt, dust, clutter and kitchen messes. Every single morning before school, it was someone's job to dust mop the living room linoleum. Another child's job was to dust all the surfaces in the living room. This, of course, was after you'd made your bed. Not making your bed would have been some type of felony.

It sounds harsh, huh? No, it was the only recourse to having ten people living in one house. If you didn't clean regularly, then it ...I don't know. We always cleaned regularly. It was a nice place to live, too. Oh, wait, I do know what happens. I know, because when I got married, I was smart! I wasn't going to spend all that time cleaning house. That was just for chumps. Except that really soon, even though there were only two of us, I realized that cleaning regularly was necessary or, very quickly, you were no longer living in a nice place.

Apparently I passed on this notion to my own children. I remember reading letters about the mission companions my son had who didn't know how to clean or cook. I remember one daughter telling me how annoying it was to have to go into her apartment kitchen and wipe off the counters and clean off the stove tops because no one taught her roommates that those jobs were all part of "doing the dishes." Of course, I learned all this at my mother's side, and I'm pleased that they all learned it at their mother's side.

So, whenever I wipe off the counter tops and clean the stove top, as I conclude my dish washing (even if I am only loading the dishwasher) I remember being taught by my mother to do that or the job wasn't finished. Now, if only I'd internalized sweeping the kitchen floor in that same way...HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAMA!

Appreciated

2011-12-15T23:25:00.000-08:00

It's the appreciation season again. My students have started bringing me Christmas gifts. It was the most amazing thing, the first year I taught school. My desk was laden and overflowing with presents from my class. I don't know why I was surprised. Every year I made gifts for my own children's teachers. I suppose the shock was in seeing the result of the other parents' efforts all in one place. I really, really appreciated their sentiments, too.

Today in Miss Manners' column in the Washington Post, was this letter:
I am a teacher among many in a small, affluent private school. Many of the parents of our students freely, by their own choice, give gifts to teachers at Christmas and/or the end of the school year. The thoughts behind these gifts are appreciated by us all.

However, the gifts vary. Some are touching and personal, and others end up in the “re-gifting” cycle. To further complicate the issue, the needs on the part of the faculty differ, and some of us truly want and need the gifts, while others would rather see the gifts go to charity, so among ourselves we do not all look at the question the same way.

Taking all of this into account, the question of our “suggesting” the nature of these gifts or putting a policy in our school handbook has been discussed among ourselves. Is there a polite or appropriate way to put forward the idea of these gifts being discontinued, or going, for example, to the local soup kitchen instead of to us? Or should we just appreciate things as they are?

Miss Manners pointed out that the obvious solution---refuse all gifts--was not proposed by the writer...Ahem.

See, it doesn't matter what the gift is. I know that it was given with utmost love and sincerity. So I accept them with extreme gratitude and sincere thanks. I may recycle many of them straight to my favorite thrift store, but I am thrilled (genuinely) by the fact that they have brought me a gift. That is the important thing.

However, my favorite gift today was not wrapped nor purchased from a store. Today, as we were coming back in from lunch to our classroom, one of my fellows, who was trailing at the very end of the line, slid over close to me and said, "Mrs. [EarthSignMama], do you know what I like about you? You're always cheerful. Even when you're mad at us, you do it in a cheerful way. How do you do it?" I laughed and he said, "See?" Well, I work hard at being cheerful, and apparently, someone noticed.

Appreciation: the best gift of all.

More Gratitude

2011-12-12T19:02:00.000-08:00

So, I'm finishing the list of things I'm grateful for that I started yesterday. The goal is to end up with 100 things on the list, by creating 10 categories with 10 items in each list.

Ten Things I'm Thankful for Today
1. the left-over Indian food that I get to warm up for dinner
2. KittyCat
3. Fourth grade went very smoothly today. :)
4. I found little foam ornament crafts at Target to make with my students on Friday.
5. I got 80% on my final paper in my graduate class!!!!! I wasn't sure it would even pass...
6. my new coat (I had playground duty this morning, and crossing guard duty this afternoon, and it was cold!)
7. cold leftover salmon for lunch that was delicious
8. a warm morning shower
9. TIVO
10. got a letter from the Boot Camp Sailor! He's good!

Ten Places on Earth for Which I'm Thankful
1. the beach in Southern California/Pacific Ocean
2. Star Valley, Wyoming
3. The Chesapeake Bay
4. the spring that provided our drinking water for my childhood home
5. Mt. Rainier (it is just stunning to see---all of those Cascade's volcanoes are awesome)
6. Zion National Park
7. The Grand Tetons
8. The monuments on the main mall in Washington D.C.
9. cropland
10. the amazing vastness of the Western USA

Ten Modern Inventions for Which I'm Thankful
1. Running water in my house
2. the computer
3. the Internet
4. telephones
5. cameras
6. penicillin (and all those other antibiotics and vaccines against diseases that people just died from when my mom was a child)
7. foot surgery
8. washing machines
9. refrigerators
10. internal combustion engines (and all the vehicles for which they are used)

Ten Foods for Which I Am Thankful
1. dark chocolate
2. cheese
3. tom yum soup
4. eggs
5. milk
6. chili dogs
7. dutch oven potatoes
8. caprese salad
9. french toast and breakfast sausage
10. fresh fruit

Ten Things About The Gospel for Which I'm Thankful
1. the Mercy of God
2. being able to pray
3. getting answers to prayer
4. going to the temple
5. teaching at church
6. the Resurrection
7. eternal family ties
8. knowing that God loves me
9. reading the Scriptures
10. General Conference

Well, I'm at the end of the game, but I'm definitely not at the end of things I feel thankful for, by any means. When I heard this proposed yesterday, my first thought was, "That would take so much time; how could anyone come up with a list that long?" I was surprise how quickly I could cite ten things. And for every list, I discovered that ten items weren't nearly enough. Each thing I thought of just made me think of more that could go on the list, well past the limit of ten.

Try it---do it as a family, or as an individual. You'll be astonished. Then, don't forget to kneel tonight and thank God for helping you to have so many things to be thankful for. You know where all these blessings in your life come from, right??

Gratitude

2011-12-11T22:22:00.000-08:00

Someone gave a talk today in church and his theme was being grateful. He explained that he had learned to be grateful for the health problems he'd had as a child and young man because he realized that struggling to overcome these obstacles had made him more compassionate toward others who may have struggles like this in their own lives. He got the idea for listing things that he was grateful for in his life from reading about a game where the people were required to list 100 things they were thankful for. He said that to make the game more manageable, there were categories of ten.

I was quite intrigued by the concept, so I wrote down the list of categories and decided I'd blog about it. You could copy me, if you wish. It'll take a couple of days to list the 100 things, so today I'll do the first half.

Ten Physical Things About Myself for Which I Am Grateful
1. being tall
2. no allergies or asthma.
3. strong hands
4. ability to carry a tune
5. I can hear.
6. I can see.
7. I can walk.
8. I can smell and taste.
9. I was able to have children.
10. relative good health

10 Talents I'm Grateful to Have
1. playing the piano
2. writing
3. being kind
4. growing things
5. teaching
6. rapport with children
7. giving talks
8. being cheerful
9. sewing
10. making friends

10 Living People for Which I Am Grateful
1. Son #1
2. Daughter #1
3. Daughter #2
4. Son #2
5. Son #3
6. CoolGuy
7. My sisters (I'm cheating a little here...)
8. My brothers (...and here.)
9. Grandchildren (...yea, yea...)
10. a couple of really dear friends (you know who you are..)

10 People No Longer Living For Which I Am Grateful
1. Grandma Reeves
2. My parents
3. All the rest of my grandparents
4. George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, et. al
5. My sister
6. Joseph Smith
7. Johanns Gutenberg
8. Louis Pasteur
9. Moroni
10. Susan B.Anthony

10 Things in Nature for Which I Am Grateful
1. the ocean
2. the mountains
3. cardinals (and most every other bird, too)
4. the smell of sagebrush
5. bougainvillea
6. poinsettias
7. basil
8. rain
9. pets
10. freshly tilled soil

Tune in tomorrow for the rest of the list. You should make your own list. It's a thought-provoking concept. At first, you think, 100?? Seriously?? But then, when you start listing them, you realize that you don't have room for everyone or everything. It's a great lesson...

Lunar Las Vegas

2011-12-10T19:02:00.000-08:00

It's a full moon tonight and I was out running errands as it peaked over the looming chunk of rock that forms the east side mountain here in the desert valley. The western sky was still glowing from the setting sun. It was "dark" but only in contrast to the Strip lights. The sky was actually indigo--not yet black. So the Big Rock was slightly illuminated because it reflects the sunset so well.

The moon had just cleared the tip of the Big Rock and looked so enormous as it was suspended there next to the jagged summit. It was pale yellow and the air was so clear that every crater and shadow on the lunar surface was visible. It took my breath away. There is nothing so arresting as the full moon low in the sky--either in the east or the west.

We're heading out on a little date to savor some samosas, and when we return, the hot tub will be steaming gently in the chilly night air. We will lay in the warm water and gaze up at the shimmering orb of La Luna. Relaxing, in the moonlight, mighty nice...

Two Worlds Meet

2011-12-08T22:10:00.000-08:00

Today I took an anachronistic object to school and puzzled my students. (No, not my old, rickety Self--knock it off.) It was the beaver skin/hide that I bought from my nephew, the trapper and taxidermist in Wyoming. When I first started teaching school here in Nevada, and we got to the section of our state history book about the early explorers, the students were stumped. What was a beaver and why were these guys coming to Nevada to trap them?

First, the girls were all aghast: those cute little furry creatures? They killed animals? Oh my! Then, we discussed that there weren't fake furs back then, and people had to wear something to keep warm. Plus, people earned their living doing lots of things the students had never heard of before. And, I pointed out, people still wear furs and use them for other things, and there are still trappers who go out and get those furs from animals in the wild. Like my nephew, for instance.

It was that clash of farm-girl/Wyoming person and the city kids/modern life people all over again. It has happened to me lots of time since I left the land of wild animals and hunting and fishing. So, to help my students understand the history of the West and their own state, I bought a beaver hide from my nephew. I bring it to school each year for this unit. Every year we have the same conversations.

"Oooooh!!! What IS that???"

"It is a the skin and fur from a beaver. Remember what we read about the early explorers of Nevada? They were here to trap beaver, or they were traveling through the state trying to find a way to get to California without dying?"

"Is it real?" "Does it stink?" "Where did you get it?" "It's dead!! OOOOH!"

So, I show them, I tell them about my nephew (and my great-grandfather, the trapper) and how people would do this to earn money. Then, I lay it in the middle of their table where everyone can reach it, and I stand back. At first, many of them recoil slightly, then they cautiously reach out to give it a little touch. Then, they rub their whole hand over it, then they squeeze the plush layers of fur between their fingers and start saying, "Oooh, ahh--it's so soft!"

Occasionally there will be a student or two who are completely repulsed by it. After all, there are the hard spots where its eyes, ears and nose were. In fact, a couple of whiskers are still present on the edge by where its face once was. But most of the students are so amazed at how plush and smooth and inviting the fur is as they touch it. They imagine having a whole blanket of them sewed together, and how warm it would be, and how soft and pleasant it would be to sleep wrapped up in it.

We meet for a small moment: the girl from Wyoming where animals were a resource for humans and used to support our lives-- and the kids from the Big City where clothes are bought at Target, and food is shaped like nuggets and comes with a toy. There is no consciousness of the animals who may have been deeply involved in that meal or those shoes.

I knew where my leather gloves came from that I wore to protect my hands as I hauled bales: I helped my dad haul the deer skins to the glove maker after we'd eaten the deer. I knew that those delicious pork chops were once the cute little piggies that raced around the barnyard in the spring. Before putting it in the fridge to cool, I had to strain the errant piece or two of cow hair out of the milk I brought in from the barn.

I know I risk sounding like a cranky old lady, waving my cane. Really, I'm not upset at all. I'm just always amazed at how different my life is, as an adult, from how it was as a child. And how vividly different my childhood was from that of my students. A couple of them told me stories of deer hunting with their families as we admired (or not) the beaver hide today. Some of them tell about helping on a farm in Mexico, while visiting their grandparents. But mostly, this whole "natural world" thing is a mystery to them. So, each year I'm pleased to further their education with a relic from the past: an animal hide.

Birthday

2011-11-18T00:03:00.000-08:00

Today is our youngest son's birthday. Except that he isn't young. He's not "old" but he is definitely a grown-up. He's staying with us for a couple more days and then on Tuesday, he will check into Navy bootcamp at Great Lakes Training Center. He's an accomplished musician, and he's decided to go for a sound career through the acoustics of sonar in the submarine force. Whew. Wasn't he just in marching band in high school? Well, no.

We were reminiscing with him tonight about his birth. He was a born a couple of weeks past his due date and I said how each day of the last couple of weeks before the baby is born seems to last for such a long time. The hours drag with the anticipation of the birth. That phrase---"heavy with child"---is not figurative, it references those last few days. But, then, the baby is born! And, seemingly a few hours later....you look up and realize that it's been a week! How does that happen? Zooooom....he's a month old. Zooommm....a year.

Now, it hasn't zoomed exactly, to be at this point in his life. But it is weird to realize that four of my children are now older that I was when I gave birth to them! Parts of me feel that old, but not my brain. It's interesting to be at this point in my life.

So, Happy Birthday; Anchors A'Weigh ; and here's to the next phase of your life!!

Here he is in his very first sailor suit:

Music Man

2011-11-14T20:21:00.000-08:00

My house is filled with the sound of guitars. Yeah! Our youngest son has been living with us for a couple of weeks. In one more week he leaves again to go to Navy bootcamp. He has decided to participate in the family tradition of being a sailor. His grandfather and his father were also Navy men. I'm so proud. And while he's here, he is making music.

I miss music made by my children. There was so much of it when they were growing up . We had years of piano lessons. Then the first one started in band in sixth grade and it just went on and on. No one took guitar lessons, but each of the three boys became so good at playing them. Several times, I'd come home from being somewhere...work, college, the grocery store...and find that an impromptu band had been set up in our living room or on our patio. High school boys who'd borrowed a drum set from the school, and then brought over their guitars to go along with the ones we owned, had a rowdy jam session going on. Or, there would be someone seated at the piano, laboring over the new book of the latest hit movie score, or maybe they'd been learning the music from an Andrew Lloyd Webber blockbuster.

I remember one of my children discovering that when they took a break in band practice, if he went over to the piano and started playing the pieces he'd memorized from "Aladdin" or "Phantom" that girls would flock to the piano and ask for requests. Popular men know how to charm the ladies through music...

Anyway, it's just nice that for this short couple of weeks, while he anticipates this new chapter in his life, I get to relive an old chapter of my life: the one when the talented people we made, made music in our house.

I'll Take "Cool Children" for $800, Alex

2011-10-17T22:31:00.000-07:00

This week, our daughter is a contestant on Jeopardy! ! The game show! Yes, someone in our family besides me likes to be on television game shows.

Actually, she has been a quiz contestant many times. In high school she was on the championship Geography Bowl team. They won the county contest after a tie-breaker question. It was quite a coup, because our high school was well-known for having the most parents who picked strawberries for a living, and their big competitor was the private, all-boy high school. It was a very satisfying win, believe me.

Then, in college, she was on the Brigham Young University academic competition team. They traveled to contests all over. Once they came out to the University of Maryland when we were still living there, so we got to watch. Then, the school cut their minuscule budget to nothing. Blah. They were great! Really, I believe they were in the top ten. She was the only girl on the squad, and she held her own. One of her team members was the guy who won all those games on Jeopardy! a few years ago. They are still great friends, so I'm sure he'll be excited to watch her, too. She qualified as a contestant several years ago, and finally this summer, she got the call. The taping was the second day of my new school year, so I didn't even dare ask for the day off to go watch. CoolGuy went, however, and he said they had a fun time. Alex Trebek is a very pleasant fellow.

So, anyway, this Thursday, Oct. 20th, sit and watch her. She's the one from Orem, Utah---the beautiful, intelligent, witty, clever one. Not that her parents have a bias, or anything...

*Go to the Jeopardy! website and look up what time of day the show comes on wherever you live.*

Bureaucracies

2011-10-15T20:09:00.000-07:00

I've started teaching the Saturday class again. It is good. Again. Instructional aides from elementary and middle schools come two Saturdays a month and my partner and I teach them all about the writing curriculum and how to be more effective with their students. I enjoyed it so much last year, and it looks like this year will be just as pleasant. It is hard work, but at least I have last year's lesson plans to revise and reuse parts of so that we're not just re-inventing the wheel.

But...there is a new person at the top of the food chain in the department that sponsors this class and so our requests for supplies were not automatically filled (small stuff: copy paper, single subject notebooks) and so today when we started the class, we didn't have the notebooks. I didn't find out until we arrived at the building. The supervisor was so apologetic. She thought she'd be able to approve our supply lists at her level, but was stopped, and she explained it most tactfully. New supervisor, new rules. It is obvious that the new person is just attempting to assert the "who is in charge" vibe. So, while my partner teacher taught a section he'd planned, I zipped down the street to the store and picked up the 29 notebooks we needed to pass out. The writer's notebooks are an essential part of our curriculum. That's why I asked for them...duh. But, problem solved. They'll reimburse me. She thinks. I don't actually care if they don't; I needed them.

Then, at school, we've got a wonderful field trip planned. We go to this local nature park every year. I call and get our date on the first day of school, because it is a popular destination and they have limited times. If you don't get your appointment within the first two or three days of school, you won't get one. We sent out our two permission slips, stapled together: one copy we take with us (it explains the field trip, collects phone numbers of parents and offers them a chance to come with us) and the official school district form that allows us to take their children from the school site on a bus to this area. This form stays in the office. On Friday, our secretary came to my room with a THIRD form required by our newly reconfigured "area" (the division of the gigantic school district to which we are now assigned after our new superintendent started making his changes.) I read it and flipped out. Then, I apologized to the secretary.

This form requests from the parents the information about their medical insurance coverage---on the level that you would give to a doctor's office so that they can bill your insurance company! What company; who is covered; who is the person that the insurance is assigned to; what or if the secondary insurance is; what your child's medical conditions are, etc. etc. Then, in the legal fine print at the end of the form, it attempts to have the parents sign off that they will not sue the district over any medical care we give their kid on the field trip, if it is needed. The principal was out of town on Friday. But on Monday, I'm going in to discuss this intrusive form. I know it isn't her fault. It is some anal person in our new "area"--but there is no way I'm sending this form to my parents. If I were asked to sign that type of form just to let my child go on a three hour field trip, I'd write across the front of it ---"NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS"---and return the paper to school.

It is completely obnoxious. And redundant. One of the forms they've already signed has the legal language that allows us to take their children on the bus away from school. The nurse already has all the health information about each child, from a form the parents completed as part of our First Day of School paperwork. It is none of our business what insurance they have, if they even have any. If their child needs medical care at a hospital, the EMTs are going to transport that kid and the hospital is going to treat that kid and no stupid invasive paper is going to facilitate or allow that. Okay, I'll take a breath. I just hope that I'll have calmed down enough when I go in and talk to our principal. I'm pretty sure she'll see it my way. She may be able to get the bureaucrats in the central office to be reasonable and see how obnoxious this THIRD field trip permission form is for us to give to parents. I've been going on field trips in this district for six years without this new form. Where did it come from now??

As I ranted to CoolGuy last night, "I sent my teenage clarinet playing son to NYC from Maryland on a three day band trip and I didn't have to tell the school who my insurance policy was with or who the adult in our family was who paid for it." CoolGuy patiently listened to me stomp around and wave my arms and vent and then started to laugh. "Next time, I'll let the secretary know that she should just call me first before asking you to do ridiculous assignments like this. I could save her a lot of trouble by vetting these things for her. Don't ask Mrs.[ESM] to offend her parents or jump through these kind of hoops. She'll come at you with logic and reason and passion. You don't have a chance."

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling...

2011-10-10T23:11:00.000-07:00

There are just not enough minutes in a day when school is on. Then, we added stake roadshows to that and the usual extra time for the graduate class. Oh, and I got to blow off two hours at the dentist on Saturday, too, having another tooth extracted. Life is just buzzing along at the usual frantic pace.

Last spring I was asked to help figure out what our roadshow was going to be, then I was tasked with writing the script. Really, that was not a problem---if someone gives me an idea, I can write stuff. Then, when summer ended and everyone was finished with camp and vacations, etc. etc., we started in on the rehearsals. And finally, Thursday (dress rehearsal) Friday, and Saturday (performances) we threw our whole selves into it and it was lovely. Although, watching the others, I realized that the next roadshow I write needs some big, flashy dance numbers, or at least more running around on the stage. The roadshows that had those elements were extremely entertaining. But ours was pretty good, too. CoolGuy came on Saturday and watched and he said, "They were very entertaining and lame--just like the roadshows I remember from my youth!" So, you see: success!

But, Saturday, I spent the morning reclined at my dentist's office while he and his assistant went through the lengthy torture of extracting another of my stupid teeth. It, like the others, had an aging root canal that developed an infection around the roots. But teeth that have had endodontic treatments grow brittle with age. So, naturally, it could not just be pulled. Noooooo....Instead there was a great deal of drilling (to get the old crown off) then tugging and loosening, then more drilling to divide it into pieces. Then more tugging and more drilling and this and that and this and that. He'd leave me alone for 10 minutes or so, while he went in to do examines on other patients who were in just for their bi-annual cleaning and check-ups. (He had to change his smock twice to do that because we were generating a lot of debris and ...blood...yuck.) Then he'd come back and (trying to hide his dismay) start up again. He's a great dentist, and I give him many props for his cheerful attitude and kind manner. I know he felt quite gloomy when he read the report from the endodontist I'd visited, in the slim chance that I could re-do the root canal and save the tooth. He extracted a molar last year, too. And it was the same type of ordeal. But, eventually, every last little bit of cracked and infected root was removed. We were all delighted to be done with it.

Now, it is even more fortuitous that I've been hired again to teach the instructional aide writing class two Saturdays a month from now through February. I'm devoting all that pay to my new implants. Hurray for modern dentistry! Right now, I'm eating soft foods--stitches and soreness, but also: no bottom molars! Geez, I'm really a certified geezer now.

But, the weather is nice! On Sunday afternoon, we opened all the doors and windows and let the pleasant 75 degree breeze waft through the house. Tonight, I'm going to soak in the hot tub under the full moon, and then after a nice sleep with KittyCat by my side, I'll start the whole marathon over again on Tuesday.

Here Comes the Sun

2011-10-06T07:35:00.000-07:00

And that's what I like about living here. This morning, the sun is coming up over the towering stark rock mountain outside my east windows. The sky is (mostly) blue. The entire outside has been washed clean and every desert plant is refreshed and glistening. The back door is open and freshness is flowing into the house (and no money is flowing out to keep the air conditioner cranking.) It's going to be a beautiful day.

We have new tomatoes growing on the plants that we cut back when they melted in the August blast. The basil has turned into an enormous bush that has overtaken half of the garden bed. We'll be back in the caprese salad business, soon. I should plant beets. And sugar snap peas. MMMM...vegetables.

Enough Already

2011-10-05T17:44:00.000-07:00

It has now rained for three days. Yesterday, we missed recess because it was pouring. Today after school, I directed traffic in a drizzle. Right now, it is pouring again. I'm done with it.

Bring back the sun!!

It's Raining, It's Pouring

2011-10-03T23:32:00.000-07:00

It really is nice when it rains in the desert. The scent of all those resinous plants is intoxicating. It doesn't rain like in Maryland or California, where the entire sky is just grey and rain comes dumping out. Instead, we get big towering thunderheads that grow up over the mountains. The blue sky is gradually overtaken or just a portion of it sometimes. You can be driving along the road on one side of the valley with sunshine all around, but across the city you can see the lightening jagging out of the black mass and the rain blurring the horizons. Then, the clouds and the wind spread the storms to a new sector. Finally, tonight, the entire sky is involved and it has been pouring rain for about 20 minutes. I was going to hot tub, but I just washed my hair this morning, and I don't want to get all of me soaked, just the skin parts--plus, the rain is chilly.

The bad part about rain in the desert is that it doesn't happen too often, so when a really big storm comes blasting through, no one knows how to drive in it. This afternoon, I had to get across town to my graduate class by 4:15. It's bad enough that every school in the city is dismissing right then, but it was also raining. We crept through all the cross-walks just fine, but in the areas where people could go the normal speed--they did. Big Mistake... When one steps on the brakes during the first hour of a rainstorm on a street that hasn't been wet for weeks or months, one just slithers and slides. Right into the back of the car in front of you that may have slowed for the light. It wasn't me....But I drove past four of these events on my way to class. One scene was almost comical---four cars all smushed together, like a cartoon accident. Everyone standing around in the median with their cell phones up to their ears, the police officer picking his way around the fallen headlights, and pieces of bumpers. And the rain just kept washing over everything, creating havoc in our normally dry habitat.

I'm driving carefully, Pooh. (go to 3:30 to start the scene for the money quote)

Viva Las Vegas

2011-09-25T19:09:00.000-07:00

I've driven past this house on a street near me over and over and, especially on Fridays, there is a crowd of people on chairs, seated on the patio of the side yard. There are fiesta banners hung overhead, and sometimes I see people standing there with guitars playing music. There is a little shed with opened doors too, but I can't see inside. It doesn't really look like a wedding, a quincinera or a birthday party. So, I've been baffled. On Saturday morning I drove past it around 10:30 A.M. and people were in the yard, powerwashing the patio and there was a new banner announcing....something. Since I wasn't in a big hurry, I turned around and went back to investigate.

The banner said, "L'Aniversario de Virgin de Talpa"--I've heard of the Virgin of Guadalupe; I have a great book by Tomi de Paola telling the story. I parked and walked up the sidewalk. I chatted a bit to the fellow who was manning the broom and the power washer man stopped spraying for a minute so we could chat. It turns out the the Virgin de Talpa is the special Lady of Jalisco and inside the shed is shrine to her. There are prayers every Friday night, so people come from the neighborhood to worship.

Why build a shrine in a little wooden garden shed in your side yard and invite people to come and worship your icon? Because there was a miracle. The miracle was the little daughter; he pointed to his sister. She was born with Down's syndrome, and was supposed to die. She'd suffered a series of strokes when she was three, and wasn't expected to live. At the very least, she should be paralyzed and crippled and unable to function. But his mother and aunt prayed to the Virgin and---look---a miracle! I could see. There was a little girl, about 5 or 6, playing, skipping, jumping all around. She clearly had Down's syndrome, but she certainly wasn't paralyzed. We talked a bit more about Jalisco and this Virgin and then I thanked him, and agreed it was a miracle, and told him they were obviously blessed. Then I went on my way.

What a lovely concept! Their little corner of the block is a beautiful sanctuary, and every Friday night they open the shrine, plug in the twinkling over head lights and set up the chairs. Devout women and men come from the surrounding blocks and listen to the gentle music and pray. So different from the ganster inspired cacaphony just a few blocks away.

Later that day, CoolGuy and went over to the recycling center to off-load a collection of cardboard. Our favorite place to lunch was....gasp! CLOSED. FOREVER. The owner was a proud lady from Guadalajara, and her tortas were to die for. CoolGuy always got a torta and a Jarritos Mandarin soda--Hecho en Mexico. I always got two carne asada tacos and one fried jalapeno. (By dipping it in the hot oil briefly, it roasts it and kills some of the fire, so you can just pop that yummy thing in your mouth and slurp it down, leaving the seeds behind.) Closed?? Now what? We were so hungry, and just salivating for some authentico Mexican food. Not Taco Bell, Del Taco or Taco Time, each of which had a building along that street.

Ah, there was a little establishment a couple of blocks away: Don Tortacos. That looked promising. (get it: torta and taco spelled together?) It was delicioso, muy, muy delicioso. It was a different type of torta, but stunningly yummy. My carne asada tacos were to die for, too. We had a flan for dessert. While we waited for our food, a young man was dishing up some salsa for himself, and as he stood there filling little cups, a classic Mexican folklorico song was playing. He looked mischieviously over to the table where his teenage brother sat, and the guy at the salsa stand started to do the dance that I've seen over and over. music. His feet were going, he leaned over and really got into for a moment. Then he burst out laughing and sat down. A few minutes later he walked by our table and our eyes met briefly, so I spoke, "Looks like you've done that folklorico dance a few times." He smiled, "Yes, since I was a little kid. You should see my little daughter now! She's great!" I replied, "I could just picture you with the sombrero and the boots." We laughed and he walked away.

His clothing and tattoos and the shaved head and goatee were those of a fellow that I would normally feel somewhat wary of if I were walking along the street, and he and his guys were walking toward me. But, there in the restaurant, grooving on the music, and licking the salsa from our fingers, we were just two friends having a conversation. All because I knew exactly what he was doing when he was showing off for his brother. I didn't feel at all self-concious stopping and talking to the people at the little home-shrine because I knew all about the Virgin of Guadalupe and so could relate to the Virgin of Talpa. I like having my life enriched by knowing about other people's cultures. Yeah for books! Yeah for learning! Yeah for living in parts of town with people from other cultures! It's fun!

Mmm, mmm, good

2011-09-21T23:21:00.000-07:00

And may I just say that the peach I ate for supper tonight was like a teeny piece of heaven? I stopped at one of my favorite markets on Monday evening and bought some vegetables and fruit and fresh mozzarella. Outside the store was a sign advertising "Utah peaches" because everyone knows that they are the most delicious peaches this side of the Mississippi. So, I bought four of them. They've been ripening on my counter for a couple of days and tonight, I sliced one and ate it for dessert after I gobbled down my caprese salad.

Oh. My. It was perfection. Perfection. Thank you, Utah, for the peaches.

Teacher Needs A Time-Out

2011-09-20T23:36:00.000-07:00

Well, today was one of those lessons that I wish I had video-taped. Not because it went so fabulously, but because it was so bizarre. It could be a winner on America's Funniest Home Videos, or (since there is no one falling down, or getting smacked, perhaps not....)

I've started this new system this week, after weeks of planning and training. The students are divided into sections. One group is practicing typing on the computers. Really---fingers on the home keys---real typing. Another group is practicing spelling through word sorts, another group is revising and writing a final draft (because we've met together). A fourth group is writing the next first draft, and the fifth group of five students meets with me at a table and we discuss and practice a writer's technique. So, today--it was all about a strong lead (beginning) to captivate your reader and make him want to keep reading.

I showed them a list of strategies, and we practiced a couple of them, by changing a story they knew. We started with a quote from a character; next we tried a vivid description of the scene; then it was a question; after that we used a sound effect. Same story---different beginnings. Then, I went around the table and suggested a couple of concepts to students based on their own writing. But when I got to the only boy in this group, he didn't seem to get it. Here's a little sample:

T: So, you could say, "As my dad finished parking the car, I looked around. "At last, " I thought excitedly, "We're here at Universal Studios!" [His beginning was: I went to California and we went to Universal Studios and had fun.]

S: My dad wasn't driving.

T: Well, then, say "my mom parked the car."

S: My mom wasn't driving either.

T: Who was driving?

S: My aunt.

T: So, "My aunt parked the car and I thought, "At last, we are at Universal Studios!"

S: Well, we went to the beach first.

T: Okay, but then you went to Universal Studios, right? And you were excited?

S: I thought we were going home.

T: So you were surprised it was Universal Studios?

S: No. I thought we were home.

T: When did you notice you weren't home? Didn't you have to buy tickets to go in?

S: My aunt had already bought the tickets.

T: Well, did you notice you were going through the gates, and that there were a lot of other people?

S: No, I didn't see them.

T: (Teacher is starting to feel a little dizzy by now.) When did you figure out you weren't home?

S: When I saw the giant robot shark.

T: I think I'm just going to put my head down here for a minute and rest. You write whatever you want.

At this point, the four girls who made up the rest of the group just burst out laughing and blurted out: "[boy's name] Good Grief!! She is trying to show you how to fix your boring first sentence. Don't you get it?? It doesn't matter who was driving!! You just write down something more interesting. Sheesh..." They really jumped him, and told him exactly what they'd learned, and what he was supposed to do. I just watched and smiled and shook my head. Those girls got it!

Well, it turns out that this trip to California happened when he was five years old, and he can barely remember anything except his astonishment at seeing a giant robot shark trying to eat a scuba diver, when he truly thought he was going to his house. So, no harm, no foul.

Next time, I told him, try to write about something that happened more recently so that the details are clear in your mind and you can tell a vivid story. But, I'm not too sure that much is clear in his mind, ever, so that could be a challenge, too. Sigh.

Ha! Ha! Ha!

2011-09-20T07:28:00.000-07:00

"Dyslexic devil worshippers sell their souls to Santa." (bumper sticker my friend recently saw)

Multiple Intelligences

2011-09-17T11:05:00.000-07:00

The concept of multiple intelligences is popular in education circles. The point is made that different people have different ways of being skilled. "...our schools and culture focus most of their attention on linguistic and logical-mathematical intelligence." There are other ways of learning and having innate ability. I've attended workshops and classes that explain and promote this theory of learning and teaching, and I have antecdotal experience that there is something to it.

But, I'm not talking about Dr. Gardner's work today. I've had my own theory of "multipile intelligences" for many years. Actually, it may be more of a "multiple beings" theory. I posit that we all have our intellectual/logical being, and our emotional/impulse being, and...our spiritual being. Yes, there are more than two sides to the coin. Now, as you read this, you may being thinking--duh--who doesn't know this. And that is because you may have been accessing all three of them throughout your life. Many people do.

But, as I've read and listened to various works, I've begun to realize that there are people who are unaware that there is a spiritual being. They have learned to rely on their intellectual/logic being only. I recognize that our emotional/impulse being is the one we spend our lives trying to control and dominate if we hope to stay out of jail, save money, keep our jobs, maintain good personal relationships, etc. But, sometimes that effort prevents one from recognizing, or trusting, the spiritual being.

I heard some terrific talks recently from people who became participants in religious congregations as adults and I learned a powerful idea from them. Several of the people were, at first, frightened or put-off by the "feelings" they experienced when first coming to church, or participating in a funeral or some other religion-related affair. The feelings were powerful, real and intimidating, and the speakers explained that they'd never felt this way before. It was confusing and difficult to deal with because of their lack of context or understanding. Later, they came to know that it was the Holy Spirit giving them knowledge. But, when one only has experienced emotional/impulsive or intellectual/logic reactions, a powerful spiritual experience cannot be immediately understood or processed.

I've been working on this concept for some time. And today I read another writer's explanation. I will quote him here, but you should definitely go to the source and read his entire article.

Christ spoke in parables to both friends and enemies in Jerusalem. His followers grasped what He was teaching because they were tracking on a deeper level. But his enemies were baffled; they were the blind ones with eyes to see but see not, and ears to hear and hear not. They were strangers to spiritual intellect.
So what appears to the world to be stupid may instead be deep and profound. What appears to be blind following may turn out to be well-informed discipleship. All because of spiritual intellect and its attendant personal revelation.

See: spiritual intellect! That's what I've been trying to articulate. Everything in this world cannot be understood through logic. We also need to access our spiritual intellect. It isn't emotion, impulse or superstition. We have a third way to process our experiences. Just like our logical intellect, the spiritual intellect needs to be cultivated or it will weaken and lose acuity. Use or lose it--brains, muscles or spirituality--it makes sense to me.

Happy, Happy Birthday to Her

2011-09-15T23:08:00.000-07:00

It's late, but we just finished talking to her, so I need to wish our daughter a Happy Birthday! It is getting too weird though, that the people with whom I work at school will say things like, "Oh, we're the same age! My birthday is next month." It is making me feel old...that and the Frankenfeet.

But, I've whined about that before. So today I'll say that it is a pleasure to be the mother of grown children who have dynamic lives and are busy living them and being of service to the world. I look at her career and realize she is energetic, caring, powerful and intelligent. You go girl!!

Here are a few views down through the years. (CoolGuy has such a great collection of photos that he's made over the decades.)

Listening to Interesting People

2011-09-13T21:44:00.000-07:00

I was listening to a podcast recently of an interview with an author named David Berlinski. He writes about math, and has a great deal of experience in the field, but he is clearly a philosopher. Anyway, the interviews were meaty and interesting and as I listened to them (each segment was published one day at a time) I sometimes had to start it over to hear it again for more comprehension. It was fascinating.

But here is a quote from it that I loved and wanted to share because it was insightful. The discussion was about a statement from another gentleman that both the interviewer and the author knew. It was something like "Well, I say to those who ask what I'll say to God when I meet Him upon my death, [on the reason for the speaker's atheism here on earth] You just didn't leave enough evidence of your existence for intelligent people to know you..." The author laughed at the quote and replied to the interviewer that he'd heard their mutual acquaintance say that often, but here was the author's response to this witty remark:

"There a point of presumption in that particular argument --that Bertrand Russel also used--[the argument about not enough evidence]. The point of presumption is that human beings, constructed as humans are constructed, could so interact with God as to be persuaded by the countenance of Diety when they were left unpersuaded by the evidence of His handiwork. That's a remarkable presumption. Much more reasonable to me is that those who cannot see the handiwork could not see the countenance."

Awesome, huh?

New Semester

2011-09-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I started my last required class for the master's degree. (!!) I still need more credits, but they will be earned by doing some type of project. I have already put out my feelers to the research division of our school district and a guy is going to get back to me after he's spoken with my faculty advisor at the university. They've worked together often. So, I have to finish this semester, do the internship/project and write a paper about it all and VOILA---I'll be done. Cool. I'd love to have a summer vacation again. It may not be next summer...but soon.

This class is about testing and test validity. Tests like the IQ test, and other sorts of human measurement. The teacher is an experienced researcher and has created and published tests and a whole plethora of research projects. He's a classic brainy professor. He's changed the syllabus twice on-line and then changed it again tonight. He's awesome when it comes to explaining his craft; and his knowledge of, and ability to explain, this very math-y and scientific subject is superb. He just has a l-i-t-t-l-e problem with some paper work details in the class. So, if I stay on top of it, I'll learn a lot and be fine---but I'm going to have to pay close attention to the on-line messages to keep abreast of the "Oh, and I forgot that I needed to change....." stuff.

Another great detail about this class is that half of it is being held on-line, so I will only have to drive across town at the same time that every elementary school in the city is dismissing just five more times this semester. Life is good.

Ten Years

2011-09-11T19:38:00.000-07:00

Of course I've been thinking about it all week. We've been talking about it in school, too. Half of my students this year weren't born yet when the terror attacks happened. The others were just babies. But they know what we're talking about. Actually, I've spent this week talking about war and an attack on the U.S. every year since I started teaching sixteen years ago.

This is also the week of the anniversary of the Battle of Baltimore in 1814, when a man named Francis Scott Key was on a prisoner exchange trip out in the Chesapeake Bay aboard a British war ship. He'd gone to get his friend Dr. Beane, who was being released after having been wrongly arrested. But the men had to stay on board the British ship until the bombardment of Fort McHenry had been completed. Fortunately, the British lost that battle, as Mr. Key learned in the smoky dawn as he peered from the deck of the ship looking to see which nation's flag was flying over the fort after the two day fight. "T'was the star-spangled banner..." So now, since 2001, I've taught a history lesson where we compare the two battles that happen 180 years apart--how frightened everyone was that our country was under attack, who was attacking, what was the outcome, how did we fare as a nation. It's a good way to teach and discuss and show them that history just keeps happening, whether it was long, long ago, or just long ago (in the life of a 9 year old.)

I was teaching fourth grade in 2001, too. I kept seeing people go in and out of the library and huddle around the television that was on in there. Finally, around 10:00, I took my students to gym or art or something and I went into the library. It was appalling. I knew that CoolGuy would probably stay late at work and I knew that nothing would ever be the same. By noon, parents had taken away most of my students. They were just frightened. Our school was located 30 miles south of Andrew's AFB, and one mile across the river from Patuxent NAS. We were accustomed to jets flying overhead, but we didn't know yet how many jets were still waiting to crash into something.

My students wanted to know what was going on, since there were only about 8 of them left in our classroom. They guessed a plane crash; I told them, yes, a couple of them in New York and one in Washington D.C. One of the students left in my classroom looked stricken and said, "My mom works in Washington." No one had come to pick him up. He left on the bus, and until the next morning when he returned to school with a smile, I didn't know if his mom had come home or not. A girl in our son's high school lost her father at the Pentagon. One family in our school lost an uncle in NYC.

The worst part of our day was waiting for our PTA president's husband. He worked in DC for the FAA and was scheduled to be in the Pentagon that morning for a meeting. You couldn't get a cell signal for hours. She was in the building helping with her children's classes. We were really good friends. My first year there, her daughter had been in my room. She just quietly worked on copying and cutting and pasting in the office, and we all just prayed silently as we went on with our lessons.

At 12:30 he came striding through the front door of the school. Our building at that time had open pods, so it was possible to see the length of the school and into the foyer by the office from just about anywhere. As we saw him come into the building, we all just fled to the front and he was engulfed in a group hug of teachers, office workers, and his wife as we all (including him) cried with relief.

He'd been driving to his meeting when someone called and said that the plane had hit the Pentagon and that he should just get out of town. Everyone was leaving and the roads were a mess. Every government building was being evacuated because there was still a plane up there that was known to be hijacked. The last we all heard was that jets had been scrambled from Andrews to intercept it.

I got home that afternoon and hugged my sons. CoolGuy came in later and we knelt and had family prayer. It was so surreal and way too close to home. I can't even imagine what it was like for people in Manhattan. It simply made us want to hug our families and friends and thank God for our own safety.

Working My Way Back Down the Ladder

2011-09-08T21:46:00.000-07:00

Hmmm...tonight, my checking account indicates that I have received my first automatically deposited paycheck for the 2011-2012 school year. It is $93.23 smaller than my last automatically deposited paycheck for the 2010-2011 school year. This is not a good career plan. The reason, I know, is because our school's budget can no longer allow us to have our extended day, for which I was paid for an extra 40 minutes of work everyday. Our students were in class for half of that time, and we used the rest for team planning. Hmmm...bummer.

On the other hand---I still have a job. Many of my students' parents are not that blessed here in Sin City.

Who Knew It Would Be This Much Work?

2011-09-06T19:58:00.000-07:00

As I have mentioned, I'm working on a master's degree at the local state university. I enrolled two and half years ago, and I've been plugging away at my classes one at a time each semester. I'd take more, but each of them is quite a bit of work and, as I've also mentioned, I teach fourth grade full-time. During this last summer term, I took two classes to make up for the one I had to drop in the Spring semester due to the Frankenfoot Saga.

Well, when I wrote the title above, I wasn't actually referring to the courses I take. Yes, yes, they are a lot of work. But I expected graduate level work to be challenging. I want to learn something after all. The reference in the title is all the attendant folderol that keeps occurring due to being part of big bureaucracy--a state university system.

Last Thursday, I had a hard time sleeping. So I decided as long as I was awake, I'd go on-line and order my yearly parking pass for campus. I needed to add a vehicle--CoolGuy's truck---because my car's air conditioner has experienced a fatal failure, so for the next month I need to drive something that will provide a cool interior. By October, I can go back to my own car. But, the parking sticker can be moved from one vehicle to another by one owner.

As I was typing in the information, I inadvertently made a typo and so the truck's license plate was wrong. But I didn't know that till the next morning when I opened my e-mail to find a notice from the university that I owed them $30 for a parking ticket I received four years ago on my Range Rover, license plate XXXX--the typo plate. !!! I figured, "Oh, I'll just call someone and get this straightened out." I tried to go on-line and fix the typo, but I couldn't make that happen.

I called right as I got to school at 8:00 A.M. and got someone on the line. She was able to fix the typo and insert my actual license plate number, and generate my parking sticker (to be mailed...I got it the next day.) BUT---the ticket. No can do. Sister, you said that was your license plate, that is now your ticket.

Seriously. That was her best advice. Oh, no, actually she had other advice: contact the DMV and see if they would tell me who the real owner of the Range Rover with that plate was, and then tell the university and then they could contact those people and tell them to pay the ticket. I asked her if I just ignored it, would they keep me from graduating? Yes. She recommended I could just pay it, or try DMV---

I asked her for her name, I said thank you. I hung up. GOOD GRIEF. So, since it was Friday, and we were going out of town for the weekend, I just decided that Tuesday, when the parking office would be open again, I'd drive down there straight after school and try and sort this thing out. Actually, what I was really thinking was "I'm going down there and not leaving until someone removes my name from that bogus ticket and if they won't do there then I'll hire a lawyer."

Well, it only took a face-to-face with a very pleasant young student worker. I told her the problem, I showed her the e-mail "ticket notice," I pointed out that there had been a typo. She noted that on the computer screen she could see where the typo had been fixed. She said to wait a sec and she'd be right back. And in about four minutes, she was right back. "Everything is straightened out. Your name is off the ticket. No problem." She said that they'd been having quite a few complaints about one of their new workers and her information on the phone. I mentioned the name, the girl nodded, I leaned in and said, "Well, put one more mark by her name from me, okay? And thanks ever so much for helping me!"

So I stopped off at a delicious pizza place and picked up a half-mushroom and half-pepp to celebrate. Wow, college is hard, sometimes.

This Post Was Meant For Friday

2011-09-05T15:41:00.000-07:00

There should be some type of law, or rule, or something....
NO ONE SHOULD EVER HEAT UP FISH IN A MICROWAVE IN THE TEACHER'S LOUNGE.
It stinks all over the school. It is very unpleasant for those of us not eating fish. I mean, seriously, why do we have to say this? But, then again, none of us dare say it...so periodically (except that it happened THREE TIMES THIS WEEK) someone will heat up fish and, even though it may taste good to the eater, the rest of us seriously need to retch when we catch a whiff of it as we walk down the hall. BLEH....

FrankenFoot Gazette: Another Milestone

2011-08-31T19:52:00.000-07:00

This evening after school, I got a pedicure. The first one since February. (I've been clipping my own toenails, just in case you might be thinking "EEEWWW....February??") My toes look elegant and well-groomed and have a shiny mocha polish.

Now if only the rest of each foot looked as nice as the toes...

Cool...

2011-08-29T16:28:00.000-07:00

...my house, that is! All hail air conditioning! I just came home from the first day of school: footsore, sweaty and hoarse. And I opened the door and cool air flowed all around me. Yay!!!

The workers arrived at 11:00 and finished at 2:00, and even though the interior of our house is still at 90 degrees, the exterior is 112 this afternoon. (yes--112!!!) I got to stand outside the school and direct traffic for ten minutes at 3:30, and 112 on the pavement feels even hotter than 112 should feel. Whew...it's a good day for air conditioning. I love modern life. These guys are my heroes.

Au Natural

2011-08-28T19:38:00.000-07:00

And by that I mean our house...the air conditioner's compressor died sometime on Friday afternoon. CoolGuy was working in the garage and so when I got home about 6:40 from school and walked into the house, it seemed a bit warm. But to him, it was more comfortable than the garage, and it was. But as I started to prepare dinner, I thought, "No, this isn't just the usual "energy-saving" thermostat shut-down that the power company will do for 15 minutes during peak demand periods.

So, I mentioned it to CoolGuy who'd just come in to wash up for the cheese enchiladas. He went down the hall and checked the thermostat. It was blank. I mean dark, blank, nada. Hmmm...not a good sign. I put the cookies in the oven and watched him prop the ladder up to the roof. A few minutes later, I could feel air blowing down on me from the vent in the kitchen ceiling---ah, good sign. Then, it abruptly stopped--bad sign.

I took the cookies out of the oven and shut it off, but by then, of course, the kitchen was super hot from that. About 20 minutes later, after more air blowing followed by abrupt stopping-- blowing --off, blowing---off---he came in with the diagnosis: the compressor is dead. The air blowing was the fan, but without the compressor, the default position was to shut down the system by tripping the breaker.

We ate the enchiladas and the cookies and sweated, and then we just went out and got in the pool. Yes, dead compressor means no air conditioning. We slept on top of the covers.

The next morning, Saturday, I went to my classroom to work. CoolGuy texted me later that a technician would be over between 2 and 4. At 10:30 CoolGuy came over to join me in my classroom at my invitation and he set up, plugged in, and tested my student computers. We went to lunch (eating there of course) and then we went home to meet up with the guy. Yes...dead compressor. We can get another over here Monday morning. (!!)

So, we ate out on Saturday night, soaked in the pool again, slept on top of the covers again. Church was great!! Cool air...Sat in the pool all afternoon and read the newspaper. We'll sleep on top of the covers again tonight and tomorrow the new compressor arrives.Yeah!

Actually, most of the rooms aren't bad. We have ceiling fans, we've opened the doors so the air is moving. We have a well-insulated attic and tile floors, so really, because of the "dry heat" thing, it isn't so bad today. Yesterday, we had thunderstorms in the area, so it wasn't "dry heat". Today is better. I definitely wouldn't like to live like this all the time, but a few days...okay, we're not going to die.

Kitty Cats melt however:

And the best place for lunch is in the pool---mangoes and ice cream:

Yes, it is hot here, by the way. The truck thermometer says 108, but it was in the sun, and this one is shaded by a large tree.

Forty Years

2011-08-27T14:25:00.000-07:00

So, if you want to realize how old you really are, then go to your 40th high school reunion. Eeek! I keep saying that I still feel about 35 in my brain. (My feet, of course, are 102.) But, going to your high school reunion is a serious reality check. Yep...we're getting old.

One of the reality checks is my realization that when my parents were my age, I had decided that they were sooooo old that they didn't even have any way to relate to me. I was just so different from them. Now, I realize that they, too, were astonished at how quickly they'd turned into "old" people, and that they, too, felt about 35 in their brains, even though I'd always looked at them as "old" people. My dad died when he was 63 from leukemia and he'd gotten diagnosed finally at age 56, after feeling symptoms (but not knowing why he felt bad) for two years before that. So, I reflect on these things at age 58 and wish we had some way of knowing that no one is ever actually "old" in their own head, ever!

At the reunion, the mood was pleasant and festive. We were seriously happy to see one another. Ten of us have died since we left high school---a couple of those were within two or three years after graduation, tragically, but none of the others were less tragic. No one wants to lose young friends. Many of us married a classmate or someone who'd attended our small high school a year or two ahead or behind us.

Quite a few in our group have always lived in the little valley where we grew up, but most moved somewhere else. Some of those moves were to earn a different living than our parents (many were farmers or ranchers) and some of those moves were to get away from the small-town scene. Some people married a person who preferred a different location. For me--weather is the big thing. When I discovered the joys of year-round summer, I never looked back.

I was amused to discover a new thing about myself when a guy I'd dated my senior year walked through the door with his just-married (2nd) wife. I was nervous to go greet him. I knew I'd been the mean one. Our relationship was one of convenience for me. I was in charge of a couple of clubs my senior year in high school, and we sponsored dances and other events, so I had to be there. I definitely didn't want to go alone. I knew this guy through mutual acquaintences and he was okay: he was taller than me, he had a car, and he'd said "Yes" when I asked him to the girl's choice dance in October. Excellent--I had myself an escort to all the significant senior year events: Homecoming, New Year's Eve dance, Prom, weekly after-basketball dances, etc. etc.

I know that he felt stronger about me than I felt for him. And yes, I used that to my advantage. He continued to pursue me after high school when I worked in a nearby resort town. He called me up and dated me during Christmas break when I was home from college. He wrote me letters while he served his mission. And I wrote back--I actually wrote letters to several high school friends while they served missions. However, his communication started to be more serious as he approached his release date, so I obliquely said that I'd be at home when he returned and I needed to talk to him in person. Of course by then, CoolGuy and I were planning our May wedding. This guy was due home at Easter.

Then he extended his mission by a few weeks. Oh. So, he got home the day before I got married, and came to our wedding reception still wearing his missionary name tag, accompanied by a mutual friend. Oh. That was uncomfortable. There was never an opportunity to tell him what it was I wanted to talk to him about (getting married--not to him). I just didn't want to be the "Dear John" of his mission. But, seriously, he was not, and never was, The One for me. I realized then that I was his (hopefully) One. Oh, well...

So, now, forty years later, we meet again. He's been married, divorced and remarried. I was so uncomfortable. He smiled and greeted me, introduced me to his wife. I stood there and smiled and greeted her. Then I said, "He took me to the prom when we were seniors." And he said, "Yes, I did, didn't I?" And then we both laughed, "Ha ha ha...so long ago." And quickly moved on to other topics and soon, other conversations with folks.

Later we had the chance to chat again, and I asked him where he lived and what he did, and we had a more comfortable conversation about current life. Isn't is bizarre that after forty years, I could feel embarrassed and nervous to talk about something that happened so long ago, was never resolved and now will not be discussed together ever again?

So, when you look at "old" people, remember---it's just their bodies that are old. In their brains, they may feel like they felt when they were 18 or 19 or 35. Only our bodies age---nothing else.

Where has the Time Gone?

2011-08-20T16:41:00.000-07:00

Wow, I'm astounded that I've let weeks go by without posting anything. I've been doing a lot...just not blogging about it.

One of the things I did was attend a family reunion. I may have mentioned it. We had a great time, we ate and talked and shared pioneer ancestor stories. And we went swimming at a big resort in a teeny little town in Idaho. There is a natural hot springs there, and the pool was built years ago, and over the decades has been expanded until it is a mega-complex with diving platforms and three-story slides and picnic areas, etc. It's really terrific, and since the water comes from deep inside the earth, near the molten core (as explained to me by my four-year old grandson) the pools are pleasantly heated and quite comfortable.

However, even as the resort has grown, and people love to come there for family reunions, and small weekend vacations, or just to soak in the therapeutic original hot pools, the town has struggled to keep up. There are a few motels, some are pleasant and some are a little less pleasant. I didn't start looking for a room for me and my daughter's family until about a month before the reunion, and so I kept hearing from the desk clerks I'd call that they were all booked up. So, I felt relieved when finally one woman told me they'd had a cancellation and so they had a two bedroom suite available. I was looking at their site on-line and it seemed reasonable, so I grabbed it. It was a deal, too, but I assumed that their remote location might factor into it.

Well, here it is: Napoleon Dynamite's Grandmother's Motel. This is actually the "veranda" just outside the office door. Yes, those are plastic flowers in that arrangement in front, along with the deer antlers. One could, I suppose, sit here in the shade on a warm afternoon, or enjoy a beverage during the cocktail hour in the evening. There's a liquor store across the highway.

Actually, as I walked around the edge of this area, looking for the office, there was a girl (turned out to be the maid) sitting there, reading a magazine and drinking a soda. I looked into the office, but saw no one. I looked around for a bell or something to ring, but not seeing anything, I called out, "Hello?" The girl still didn't say anything to me, but she did look at me without blinking. I heard a voice from a doorway shout, "Just a minute!" and then something flew right past my head across the little counter. A BAT!!! It landed on the window frame by the opened doorway.

A very old lady came around the edge of the door behind the counter, using a cane. She said, "Are you looking for a room?" I just pointed and said, "Um...a bat just flew through here, and it is perched on the window ledge right here."

"Oh, that silly bat! He's not supposed to be in here. He needs to be outside. Hold on a minute, Honey." She wobbled back through the door, returned with a handful of paper towels, and shuffled to the window frame. Her first pass at the bat was a miss, and he fluttered up and circled over my head as she waved her arm toward him. Then he landed on the window sill again, so she attempted to capture him a second time, but, fortunately her gesture scared him toward the open doorway and he flew outside and away. This all took about a minute. I think bats should live outdoors, too. Really. It was a small bat, about as big as a sparrow, but still...bat (!!!!!) flying around my head in a tiny room. (!!!!)

So, we got me checked in. She wrote a phone number on a small piece of paper that would me connect to the Internet, but I didn't bring a computer, so, hey.

I walked down the sidewalk, found room 4. Very interesting...The door isn't all that unusual, it was yellow--really yellow--but it had an interesting, arty touch at the bottom. It looked designed, as though someone had a plan.

That was the last time I thought anything at all about a plan, however, because when I saw the wall paint in the first room, I realized that, actually, someone just had a lot of yellow paint. Perhaps left over from when they put the stripes on the highway? And the paintings on all the walls---Deseret Industries or maybe a motel furnishings sale? And there were lots of paintings. Every wall had several.

These are the curtains at the window by the door. Yes, they are big towels. I think I learned how to make these in Homemaking, in 1976. My granddaughter commented on them. "Hey, Grandma, why do they have towels hanging in the windows?" Indeed---but the yellow matched the walls.

Here we are in the second room of the "suite." It seems to have formerly been a screen porch. But with a little clever carpentering, and lots of wood paneling, it has been transformed into a bedroom/sitting room. There is a queen bed, and a single platform-type bed along one wall. The love seat faces a television that had a VCR balanced atop it. Behind the television stand was a fold-up cot that, frankly, I'm not sure would have fit into the room anywhere.

This is the "twin bed" in the second room of our suite. Note all the paintings on the walls. Actually, there were several wall treatments back here. Some sections were cinder block, some painted wallboard (yellow, of course) and some wood paneling. The ceiling was wood paneling, too. I kept expecting Uncle Rico to drop by.

When I made the reservation on the phone, she pointed out that this was the handicapped room, and so there was only a curtain, no door, on the bathroom. I said that it wouldn't be a problem for us. Of course, I'm thinking standard motel room bathroom. But, frankly, I don't think that this bathroom could have had a door on it anyway. The edges of the doorway weren't parallel. But, we just needed a place to brush our teeth and go potty, so we were good.

The bedding was also fascinating. It seemed to have selected it so that nothing matched anything else. It was awesome. Note my bed, as an example: quilted polyester floral bedspread, plaid flannel sheets, paisley brocade pillow covers.

But, the water worked, the refrigerator worked (we ate cereal, as we sat on our beds, for breakfast), and we were able to sleep very nicely. There was a bit of an off odor. I'd gone to the grocery store to get some yogurt and dried fruit and I picked up an air freshener spray--which I left for the next lucky patrons. But after we spritzed around the "suite" it smelled a little fresher.

The next morning, I walked down to the office to drop off the key, and I noticed another man video-taping his room interior. I leaned in his door and said, "The real name of this place is "Napoleon Dynamite's Grandmother's House." He looked at me for a sec and then burst out laughing as he nodded and replied, "Yes! That's it!"

I probably won't be back. But it was an adventure! And I'm also really, really glad that I didn't need to stay there any longer than one night. My lips would probably have gotten chapped real bad.

Poems

2011-08-06T13:30:00.000-07:00

I'm still cleaning off piles of paper from my desk and sorting through pieces of paper in boxes. I found a notebook I evidently first obtained in 1970. It has a interesting assortment of musings and mottos that I apparently liked. Some of them are still relevant.

Here are some poems I wrote that I found in it. I know that they were written between 1971 and 1973, but I can't date them exactly. The first one is about the view from the barn door during the morning milking.

Sunrise

Slowly and carefully

The morning sun

Dribbles its rays on the tips of the mountains.

Then,

Gathering speed and losing caution,

It spills light into the valley

Like a pot of molten gold.

This one is about driving through the marshes between Evanston and Randolph on Highway 89.

Benediction

Ducks on a twilight pond

Kissing "goodnight"

The fading wet image of sunset.

This poem doesn't have a title. But it's the view of the sky in June when the milking is finished and we were just hanging out on the lawn, or maybe playing ball in the field.

As the last of the dragon sunset dies

Down behind the hill,

A single little star peeks out cautiously.

"It's safe now!"

He gleefully calls.

And

one-

by-

one

His pals twinkle out to play.

I think I've already put this poem on here once before. But here it is again. It's about my parents.

To My Parents

Everyday I see

another Chicken Little

Shouting:

"The sky is falling, the sky is falling!"

How nice

Knowing

That my sky is held firm

By the eternal rafters

Of your love.

I've probably written this one here too, but it was also printed in the New Era in 1974, so I'm quite proud of it and, since I wrote it in this notebook, I'll include it. It's about the weather in Wyoming where I grew up.

Enter October

Wrapped in the feather boa of

The Season's Premier Snowstorm

October makes her entrance.

But, after the introduction,

She drops the frozen front and gleams gold so bright

That wild geese echo the musical applause

Long after the last curtain call

That cuts into November's ice act.

So, here are some remnants of my life that I am glad I kept hauling around in a tattered box. This notebook has managed to survive for 40 years. It remains precious to me. Don't be in a hurry to throw away stuff. Be discerning. Some things will maintain their value through the years. People are in this catagory, too, you know.

My New Way to Choose

2011-08-01T11:56:00.000-07:00

I was cleaning out pieces of paper from a box last night, in my never-ending quest to winnow and sort and reduce, and this was written on one of them, (it's a book title, I think.)

Normal Is Just a Setting On Your Dryer

I remember, especially after each baby was born, thinking "Well, when things get back to normal..." then, I'd realize (finally) that this was the new normal and I'd just better adjust. So, for all of us who think that some time in the past was better, or some future period of our life is going to be better or calmer or less stressful, let's all just fix this new motto into our psyches. Normal should be coming from within: we can be normally cheerful or normally irritated. What do we choose?

Yesterday in church, I heard a talk that taught me how to make this choice. I know that we're supposed to be inspired at church, and frequently I am. But this time I honestly got a whole new outlook on a familiar topic. Read the scripture in Moroni 7:45. The new, to me, reflection on this scripture about the characteristics of charity was that charity enables us to cope.

Charity, the pure love of Christ, gives us the power to endure all things, and rejoice in the truth, and be not easily provoked. Previously, I've read this scripture and was actually a little discouraged by it. I knew I was, in fact, easily provoked quite often. I whine, rather than endure. I am generally kind, but I totally envy selected people. And so, as verse 46 states, I sometimes feel like nothing because developing these traits of charity is such a challenge to me. I felt that I had to work really hard to become this person so I would be acceptable to Christ--be in His Club of Charitable Ones.

But, yesterday, I got a whole new vision. Christ isn't saying that we must develop these abilities and then come to Him and show Him we're ready now. He is saying that by believing Him, and believing in Him, we can get help from Him in dealing with all the challenges of our mortal lives. His pure love "endureth forever" and by relying on it, and accepting it into our lives, we will be transformed. We cannot do it alone. He will help us cope.

Life isn't easy. Life is often very difficult. And I don't mean things like cancer or tornadoes. I mean dealing with co-workers; talking to your spouse about money; acknowledging that your little children's constant bickering is deeply irritating and you aren't handling it well; disappointments over failed dreams. But, we can get help in coping with it all.

Do you hope to become a person who is less easily provoked? Christ can help with that. Do you need to graciously bear some relationship things that you cannot change? Christ can give you the power. He isn't demanding you develop these attributes in a vacuum. He's the source. Cling to Him, call on Him. Do all you can and He'll do the rest.

When the scripture says, "Charity never faileth" I've always thought of the long-suffering, ever-present Relief Society who pitches in and hangs in and keeps showing up. I'm one of those ladies. But yesterday I realized that Moroni wasn't talking about people. He was pointing out that Christ will never fail us. That if we rely on Christ as our power, then we will never fail. The Relief Society probably has this motto because those original sisters already figured out what I finally understood yesterday.

We aren't being told to get perfect...or else...in this scripture. We are being told that we have the ultimate resource for coping with life, and the only way to survive our mortal journey well. That's what one part of the scripture says: v. 47 Whosoever is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him. It just means that we cannot do it alone. We were never required to do it alone. The whole idea was that Christ would enable us to do it with Him.

But we have to choose. We can choose love or despair. Despair makes me want to give up. Don't give up. Choose love. Choose charity. I'm going to strive for it to be my new normal.

Frankenfoot Update

2011-07-30T17:55:00.000-07:00

Guess what I did on Thursday?? I bought new shoes! You realize what that means?
1) I got to do one of my favorite activities--try on shoes.
2) I have new shoes!
3) My right foot isn't swollen anymore...yeah, imagine?

I went to my doctor Thursday afternoon to ask questions:
*Do I have to wear the brace any longer?
*Is it supposed to hurt this much still?
*What are the best exercises to increase my stamina?

Answers:
*No; the brace was to help control and relieve swelling. If you're not swollen, don't wear it.

*Yes; a bone in my foot was cut nearly in half and a titanium wedge was inserted. That area has to heal and it will take a really long time. There's a nerve that sits up on top of my foot and it can be shot up with cortisone if I think that will help. No thanks--the pain is deep inside.

*Walking is actually a poor choice--ride a bike, or do water aerobics in the deep part of the pool so I don't use all my weight on my foot. But, it will take many months to rebuild my calf muscle, and it will take time to get my stamina back up. After all, I have babied it for six months. (And since getting around in the ortho boot was so hard, I tended to lay around a lot. I'm a total flab-bag right now...can't even climb stairs without huffing and puffing...need more pool time...need to get up early and ride the bike before it gets too hot.)

Anyway, after that appointment, I went directly to Dillards, to the Ecco section of the shoe department and tried on shoes. Now, I have a pair of blue ones and a pair of brown ones. I also found an awesome new brand called Dr. Weil's and so I bought some red ones, too. This gives me four different pair of shoes that will hold up my healing foot properly and afford wardrobe variety.

I looked longingly at all the cute shoes...and walked out with my bag. But...I walked out on two feet, dressed in two shoes, with no ortho braces or boots or anything!!! Yea!!!

You Know You're in Wyoming...

2011-07-27T16:54:00.000-07:00

Well, of course there is the big roadside sign with the bucking horse saying "Welcome to Wyoming" but there are other hints, too.

Such as, you're standing in line at the fast food place and the boy in front of you has this hat on: it's not a costume, it's his everyday wear.

Then, as you wait for your order, you step back into the room next to the playground area and these are the seats that little buckaroos can sit on while they eat their grub.

This McDonald's, mind you. I like that the corporate image is, in fact, a little adjustable for individual locales.

The Life I Didn't Live

2011-07-23T17:26:00.000-07:00

I drove up to Wyoming on Friday night from Utah. It is a wonderful time of day to be driving. The sun sets later at this higher latitude and so, even though it was 7:30 at night, there was still sunshine; but, because it was evening, the shadows were long. This gives a glorious luminous glow to everything. Also, because there was so much rain and snow this year, the countryside is absolutely green and gorgeous.
I drove along the highway beside beautiful ranches tucked up along the mountainsides or on a little rise surrounded with quaking aspens. Several of the houses were log homes, with beds of brightly colored flowers up against the foundations. The barns and hay sheds set back to the side, some with saddled horses tied to a corral fence. The fields were dotted with sleek fat cattle grazing.

I felt a little longing to be married to one of the ranchers, keeping house in that beautiful home, owning one of those good-looking quarter horses. I wouldn't even mind herding those cows, or stacking those big fresh bales dotting the fields that curved down to the river. I mean, I wouldn't mind it on a fabulous summer evening in June or July.

It didn't take long to remind myself that the summers here are as fleeting as foam on root beer float. Most of the time, that rancher is bundled up in layers of coats and gloves, feeding those big old fragrant bales out on the crunchy snow, stamping his feet to keep them defrosted. Most of the time, those beds of wildflowers are buried under many feet of snow, the quaking aspen trees are bare, their slender trunks bending in the blizzard wind.

Summer in Wyoming is glorious beyond description--especially the evenings. But one of the reasons it is so fantastic is that it is short-lived--like many things of beauty: shooting stars, spiderwebs covered in dew, a perfect rose. But this does not make them any less enjoyable, and I forget the perfection when I stay away so long.

The Party's Over...

2011-07-21T10:17:00.000-07:00

...It's time to call it a day...That is from some old song. I don't even know what the song was about, or the tone or mood. But our week-long Grandma Camp has been really a blast!

Yesterday, we ate breakfast, I scrubbed the floors and vacuumed while they were consumed by Club Penguin. Then we had pool time--I was ready to cool off from all that work. We came in and showered and shampooed and had lunch. Then, I did some computer work while they played games. This was followed by a small snack and then we drove over to the airport.

Uncle GuitarMan came! He's here to go to a family reunion this weekend up north and so we splurged once more and went to the Tournament of Kings! It was quite good too, the food was just so-so. But, hey--we got to eat with our fingers and were invited to raise our tankards in toasts over and over throughout the show. Actually, the first course of tomato soup was really delicious. The chickens were not bad, either. But when you've got to serve 100's of people all at the same time, while horses are racing around in the arena behind you, the cusine is not the main attraction.

Yes, horses! Fireworks! Dancing wenches! Handsome knights! evil dragons! Jousting! Sword fights! Whew, those guys have a very physically demanding job. You can tell they practice because the swinging maces landed on the shields every time without a single miss or actual decapitation. Really, it was all very entertaining. I'd go again with the other grandchild who didn't get to join us this year. Pretty cool. Plus--we got a sword!

Did You Know---Hoover Dam Edition

2011-07-19T15:36:00.000-07:00

Do you know?

That Hoover Dam is one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern Engineering World?
That Black Canyon (where Hoover Dam is located) is even hotter during July than the rest of Las Vegas?
That it is terrific to stand with one leg in Nevada and one leg in Arizona, but that it is terrifying to look over the edge at the Colorado River waaaaay down there?
That you can make a light bulb light up by turning a wheel when you're in the visitor's center?
That Arizona looks just like Nevada when you're standing on the center of the Hoover Dam?
That you should visit Hoover Dam in October or April because July is too hot?
That even if there is a big thick plate of safety glass between you and that really long drop-off down the face of the dam to the river that it is scary to stand there?

Around Town With Yosemite Lil' Dude

2011-07-17T21:46:00.000-07:00

Well, we've been having some fun since I returned from a visit to Utah and brought two of our grandchildren with me. We've spent plenty of time in the pool--they are both fearless at jumping in, cannonball style, and in diving to the bottom to fetch the rings. We went to church today and they got to sit up next to me in the choir seats while I played the organ. They had lovely manners--reading books is a great quiet activity.

Yesterday, we went down to the aquarium at Mandalay Bay. Then we ate some lunch at the Miracle Mile Shops at Planet Hollywood and went over to buy tickets for a Wednesday dinner at Tournament of Kings. (I've been using all of my "locals" and teacher discounts to have this fun. That is a small perq that being a teacher in Las Vegas still provides, despite the pay cuts, media bashing, etc.) Finally, we drove over to the street alongside the airport runway and tuned the radio to listen to the tower talking to the pilots and watched landings and take-offs for about 30 minutes. Good Times!!

But the best part of the entire day was watching people who'd get a good look at this:

We purchased this little item from a machine at a gas stop in central Utah for fifty cents. He loves it! He wore it all the rest of that day, and then found it in the truck when we started out to the aquarium. So he just reapplied it and casually sported this bad boy all day without a flinch. But it was hilarious noticing people who noticed him. Adults would do a double-take and then start smiling, looking over at me. I'd smile back! It was awesome!

In Planet Hollywood, there are a lot of young men just oozing testosterone because a) they are in VEGAS, BABY! and b) because the World Series of Poker is in town and there's a lot of competitiveness in the air. But one look at Yosemite Lil' Dude would crack them up and they'd just melt like a silly old kid. I had a lot of fun walking around with him on Saturday. Nice 'stace, dude!

Week of Fun!

2011-07-15T15:28:00.000-07:00

Just got back from visiting with family in Utah for a few days. There was a bridal shower and we had some fun, and met the new babies born in that last couple of months. I got to show off my Two Shoes--the last time we assembled (at a wedding in March) I was wearing the orthoboot and anticipating the surgery in a few days.

Then, I returned to the desert with two passengers: my granddaughter and grandson--7 (almost 8) and 5 years old. We've planned our whole week:

Notice the main event every day?? (S-Boogie added "jonal writing" after lunch because we're making journals of our fun. Draw a picture on the top of the page and write about it underneath.)

Then we have several side trips planned, too:

It's going to be a lot of fun here for the next few days! We'll add some photos of the pool later.

Calendar Item

2011-07-08T08:21:00.000-07:00

...end of summer semester at UNLV....

That was the message that my Outlook calendar had for me this morning. I know--thanks! Last night, when I got home from class, I uploaded my last final (10 pages) and then made salmon cakes for supper and lolled around for an hour watching re-runs. Whew...it's been a fast four weeks, but I survived and now I'm six credits closer to the master's degree. Summer starts now.

ABC's of Me

2011-07-08T00:09:00.000-07:00

I borrowed this from someone's Facebook page, but it looked like fun, so here's more than you ever wanted to know:

A - Age: 58

B - BAD or Good?: at what?? I'm good at writing...I'm bad at eating virtuously.

C - Chore You Hate: cleaning the refridgerator

D - Dog's name: One of our favorite dogs was Jed, but I also loved Annie and Casper...and don't forget Admiral Birdie!

E - Essential Start To Your Day: chocolate milk and toast

F- Favorite color: hmmm...dark green, real red

G - Gold or Silver: Silver hair, gold crowns :)

H - Height: 5"8"

I - Instruments You Play: piano and organ and kazoo

J - Job Title: 4th grade writing teacher; grandma; Sweetie; Mom

K - Kid(s): 2 girls, 3 boys

L - Living Arrangements: live with CoolGuy in Sin City with Queen of KittyCats

N - Nicknames: no one has ever given me a nickname because I spent so much time trying get everyone to just use my entire real name

O - Overnight for fun: camping at the beach

P - Pet Peeve: mean cranky people

Q - Quote From A Movie: "Hey, a man in a really nice camper is offering to pay us for our music--I say yes!"

R - Right Or Left Handed: Right

S - Scary or Silly: Depends on if you're 9 years old or not...

T - Time You Wake Up: Whenever I want to--it's summer!

U- Underwear: every day!

V - Vegetable You Don't Like: I can't think of a single one...

W - Why You Run Late: I'm reading just one more thing.

X - X-rays You've Had: I can't think of a part of me that hasn't been X-rayed.

Y - Yummy Food You Make: Thai cabbage salad with rice vinegar dressing

Z - Zoo Favorite(s): Okapi and the giant turtles

Happy Fourth of July!

2011-07-04T09:24:00.000-07:00

It's one of my favorite holidays! It's not just because I get to wear my flag earrings or red shirts, either. I think that it's partly because it is universal to the entire nation. We're all celebrating the birthday and there is a positive sense of joy. Many places where we've lived have a big parade and everywhere has fireworks. There's no down side! So, go out there and pursue happiness and celebrate Independence Day. Next year, I think I really need to be in Washington D.C. again---it's a pretty awesome party.

The New World

2011-07-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

Today is our son's birthday. He is, and has been, an adult for nearly as long as he was our child. That is an amazing thing to realize. He also lives in the New World, as I call it. I mean that the career field in which he works did not even exist when he was married ten years ago. I know that other people are in this situation. But I've been thinking about this for several weeks since he got a new job and, when I asked him about it, he told me what he does, but I cannot visualize it. I actually couldn't really comprehend his last job, either.

I don't really feel like an old fogey. Here I am---blogging after all. And today, I spent hours and hours completing an assignment for my master's degree class that required me to do a lot of researching on the computer while I wrote a paper. When I finally completed everything and sent my e-mail with the assignment attached, I closed about nine windows that I had open simultaneously: two documents, an Excel data base, a website to help with APA writing style, two different PDF files of research articles, my i-Tunes site and three e-mail addresses: school/work, college, and home. Whew---I feel pretty techie.

But, I'm still not sure what my son does for a living. I mean, my dad, and his dad and the dad before that all did about the same thing: they worked on the land. They had similar skills. The grandfather also knew how to run a trap-line, but I'll bet my dad could have done that if he'd wanted to--my nephew does it today. I'm the bridge between these worlds. I'm an expert at milking cows, I can still saddle a horse, and (even though I don't like to) I could help you brand your cattle. Don't even ask how many hay bales I've stacked. But I can also navigate my way around the Internet, and add links to my blog, and research a peer-reviewed article about reading remediation research. I'll give this to my son: I know he's saddled a horse plenty of times, and he could milk a cow. Although, he probably only handled hay bales with a tractor fork lift. My dad probably wouldn't have backed away from learning the Internet, but he was more comfortable with Mother Nature. So, I guess my son is still in the family business---he works on a farm--a server farm.

I guess what I'm thinking about this week is that life is changing much more rapidly than it used to. Technology advancements are on hyper-speed. We talked about this in one of my classes Thursday. By the time anyone compiles research data, and gets it published, about some current technology and if it helps student achievement or not, that technology could be obsolete---remember laser discs? Lots of schools still have them in the back of a closet.

So, today, for my son's birthday, I wish to remember the sweet little boy he was, and salute the astute, intelligent, capable tech-wizard he has become. May the Force be with you! (Thanks for being there when I get stuck with my computer and your dad is out of town...)

A Week??

2011-07-01T00:42:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it has been a week since I sat here and logged on to this site. It's not that I haven't been sitting here at the computer. It's just that I've been working on college stuff instead of blogging or doing anything else fun. I pointed out three weeks ago that I'd signed up for two classes during the accelerated summer term (June 6-July 7) at UNLV and I knew it was going to be a lot of work. But once school let out, I knew I'd have most of my days to just read and type, if need be. Ummm...that is pretty much what I've done, too. Whew.

Now, there are 6 days until everything is due. I have two huge projects to complete and one smallish one. It will take every minute to do them. But--on the bright side! I will also have six credits finished! And both of my teachers have said, several times, "Oh, I've modified this assignment because we just don't have time for all of this in the summer term." And I know I'm not the only one quietly exulting as we nod and murmur our thanks. This means I"ll have one required class in the fall, and then in the Spring term I can do my six-credit project/research/I-don't-really-know-I hope-my-committee-can-clear-this-up. I think that there are still two pesky credits that I'll need to fill with some elective--hopefully I can find an easy one. I'd love to graduate next spring.

Tonight, after class, I stopped off at Seafood City to get some red snapper and shrimp and as I waited in line behind a lady who was handing bag after bag of whole fish to the gentlleman who'd then weigh, wrap and label it for her, I wanted to follow her home and watch how she turned it into a meal -- or several meals. It was a lot of fish. I'd like to be able to go home with the people who buy the 18 inch long whole squids and see what they do with that, too. I also poked the tongs at a pile of blue crab that were crabbily loafing in a bin and asked them how Maryland was doing these days. Perhaps, they were from Virginia. They didn't say--but they did give me the stink eye and wave a menacing claw in my direction. Crabs---yum. Plus, you don't mind throwing them in a big pot of boiling water because they are so crabby and would pinch your finger right off if given the opportunity. The red snapper was delicious and tomorrow I'm making fresh spring rolls with the shrimp--after I type and type and type some more.

My New Favorite Quote

2011-06-24T19:38:00.000-07:00

"The cure for anything is salt water---sweat, tears, or the sea." --Isak Dinesen

Guess which one is my favorite?

It's Great to Be Grandma and Grandpa

2011-06-22T22:41:00.000-07:00

Here are some photos from a recent visit by our daughter's family as they traveled to and from Hawaii for a visit with his ohana there. We had a very fine time. Little P-Bibby never did warm up to the cat, but she is a very enthusiastic pool girl.

S-Boogie is also extremely enthusiastic about the pool. Grandpa has always called her The Minnow since she first came to the pool at age 3, but now he calls her The Shark, because she never stops moving in the water!

Everything about the swimming pool was just so delightful and hilarious and the more stuff she could collect, the more P-Bibby laughed.

It was even fun out of the water on the patio, writing with sidewalk chalk and carrying around little plastic blocks with her sister and brother.

Let's see, do we have every single pool toy that we could find in the shed out here yet??

Lil' Dude and S-Boogie had a game where they'd jump into the pool from the side, simultaneously. Then, swim to the far side, touch it, turn and swim back to the steps, climb out, and jump back in again--as a team. Over and over and over and over....

Here is The Shark. She was simply tireless! She swam up and down the length of the pool without touching the side until she reached the end. She is getting really strong and capable with pretty good technique---face in and then out to breath and back in to swim--round and round.

We had fun inside the house, too. We made some butter with my grandma's butterchurn. My mom used it in the summers because she didn't like the taste of other people's cows' milk. Those farmers didn't erradicate a certain weed that she claimed to be able to taste in the butter from the creamery. So every summer--we made our own. Well, this butter we made was really tasty butter! I'm no longer a skeptic about her fussiness.

P-Bibby has one thing that she loves as much as the pool: a ball, or several balls at once!

And Grandma's house has a REALLY BIG BALL that she and Lil' Dude liked to pound on till it jumped.

It's Father's Day

2011-06-19T19:26:00.000-07:00

CoolGuy spent yesterday and Friday in the pool with the visiting grandchildren. They have a great game that involves 1) jumping off the side into the pool as close to Grandpa as you can get, then 2) standing on Grandpa's hands and having him toss you into the air from the pool so that you land--kersplash!--back into the pool where you swim over to the side and [see #1]...We can do this for hours. Seriously. Too much fun!!

That is what you do with the big kids, but with the Amphibian Child (see photo) you just hang out in the pool and smile and laugh because being in the water is the BEST THING EVER!! Especially if you have a long foam tube to play with. She is a little fish and spent all her time in the pool laughing and smiling and splashing in the water. Fun times.

The kids sang some Father's Day songs in Sacrament meeting today and after the final kiss was blown, I recalled a rendition of "I'm So Glad When Daddy Comes Home" that our family performed years ago. I can't remember if I've written about this before.

In 1990 CoolGuy went off to Saudi Arabia with a group of Marines. He was a civilian at that time, but he was the person who kept their remote-control spy plane functioning, so when the 3rd RPV Company deployed, CoolGuy deployed, too. It was when Iraq had invaded Kuwait and so there was a big face-off in the Middle East which eventually ended up in what has become known as the First Gulf War. Anyway, when CoolGuy first got there, he was busy, but they weren't undergoing rocket attacks--that came later. We were living in SoCal, and a local television station offered to families of deployed people the chance to come to their studio and film a short video, and then they would pay for the tape to be mailed to your loved one.

At the time, our children ranged from 1st grade to freshman in high school. So, we made a plan that each person would choose something they'd like to demonstrate to Dad, or show him and talk about. The high school son played a selection on his clarinet he'd learned in band. The next daughter read something she'd done for school. The other sister performed a cheer from her cheerleading gig for middle school. The third grade son did some karate moves, and the 1st grader was too shy to talk on camera, so I narrated what he was going to say about some new toy he'd gotten while he demonstrated it. Then we talked a little about something and, for our finale, we sang "I'll Be So Glad When Daddy Gets Home"--a slightly modified version of the original--more pertinent for the occasion, since we really didn't know when that was going to be.

When we finished singing, and the director called, "cut" to the cameraman, (I think the whole tape was about 25 minutes long) we got a round of applause from the crew, and a few of them wiped their eyes, surreptitiously. They were effusive in their compliments for our "dear little program and adorable song." They'd taped a lot of people just sitting around chatting and umm-ing and ah--ing because 25 minutes is a long time to fill without a plan. But, I knew that, so we'd planned ahead.

The tape was a big hit for CoolGuy. He watched it several times there in the desert and his co-workers thought it was pretty cool, too. And of course, they marveled at how anyone could have five kids!! It was fun to do, and it made his day. He'd been gone for about three months when it arrived. So, whenever I hear or sing that daddy-getting-home song, I'm reminded how really, really glad we were that time that our Daddy came home, and he came home safe and sound. Lots of daddies don't make it out of that part of the world alive.

FrankenFeet Update

2011-06-18T17:54:00.000-07:00

Ta Da! Two shoes! I made the switch on Wednesday, after all the paper work was completed between the doctor and the insurance to authorize me getting the brace, etc. etc. I will be wearing this ankle brace for a few months. It helps to keep my foot stable. But--it fits into a shoe. I think I'm going to be wearing these Nikes for most of that time, too. But, they are waaaaay better than the cast, so I'm pleased. The brace is made of fabric, with a couple of plastic inserts along the outside and inside of my foot. It only covers my heel and part of my foot, and laces up like high tops. In fact, if I bought some high tops, then no one would even know it was there. When I wear long pants, you can't see it.

CoolGuy is planning some type of "Burn the Boot" ceremony here in the back yard. I think that would be an appropriate denouement (the outcome of a complex sequence of events [French]) for this whole long saga, n'est pas? Sorry, about all the French, but sometimes other languages say it just right!

So, now, I'm still walking slowly, but now no one knows why! But, I concentrate on walking carefully, putting equal weight on each foot and using good posture. I'm so excited to be using both feet!!

Summer is Back

2011-06-15T14:52:00.000-07:00

Summer has returned to Sin City. Yesterday was the first time it hit 100 degrees. As you can see from the truck thermometer, the official temperature at the airport of 101 is a little low compared to some parts of town. But, I have the cure:

I was in the pool just this morning, between 9:00 and 10:00. Right now, I have to type a response to a chapter in my "Designing Qualitative Research" textbook, then drive over to campus for the two classes, but when I return at 10:00 P.M., I'll go right back out there. In the morning: repeat.

Oh, what do you do in the summertime? (play it with the words and music...) Then, go fish in a stream or swim in a pool---That's what I do!

Monday, Monday, Can't Trust That Day

2011-06-13T14:24:00.000-07:00

I had a doctor's appointment this morning. Been anticipating it for six weeks because it was the day I was to get the boot off. Except that I didn't get the boot off. That will happen in a few more days when the office gets the insurance authorization for an ankle brace. So, instead of a photo of me walking out of the doctor's office on two feet in shoes, we have no photo. Blah. And I still have the boot on.

But, they should be calling me in a few days, the doctor assured me. Then I'll go back in and get the brace, and also get my foot cast for a new orthotic to match the "new" foot--the old orthotic doesn't fit anymore. I'm to wear the brace (apparently it is an adjustable contraption that allows me to modify the support as I need less or more and can be worn with shoes) for several more months. So, I'm resigned to wearing sensible shoes for the rest of the summer, possibly the rest of this year. Maybe the rest of my life? Not borrowing trouble right now, thank you.

Weirdly, I also have developed tendonitis in my Achilles tendon. The last three days, I would get a sharp pain that stopped me from walking (and alarmed all the people around me at church and school!). But the pain diminished and went away again. He felt all over my ankle and identified it as tendonitis (pinching certain places causing me to leap half off of the examing table.). So, I get to ice it and rest it and use the brace. Good grief! I love how my body can invent these new ailments over nothing.

So, all week I've had that dopey "Friday, Friday!" [actually not this exact version...]song in my head, only I switched the words to "Monday Monday!"

It's Monday, Monday
Gonna lose the boot on Monday
Lookin' forward to the weekday, weekday
Monday, Monday
Gonna lose the boot on Monday
Everybody lookin' forward to the weekday, weekday...

Thank you, thank you--I am pleased to be the person who has now inserted that horrible melody in your head. But, if you go back and read the title of this blog, and look up the lyrics for the Mamas and Papas tune, then you can eject the Rebecca Black tune and replace it with the geezer song. You're welcome.

Time Is On My Side

2011-06-08T23:21:00.000-07:00

Isn't this lovely? I laid on a bench here this afternoon for about twenty minutes, just watching the hummingbirds flit around a large tree that was covered with tiny blossoms. There were always 4 or 5 of them hovering overhead, and occasionally one would pause on the slim twig attaching the drooping blossom cluster to the leave base. It was calm, pleasant, relaxing. I reveled in it. The air temperature was comfortable, a slight breeze wafted by now and then. Almost no one was on campus---this is on the main quad at UNLV.

Why was I there, lolling in the early evening air and blissfully watching birds? I was between classes. I really, really needed this little natural respite because I've bitten off a huge chunk this week. It is the summer term. I've enrolled in two classes to try and catch up for the semester off with Frankenfoot. The term is four weeks long--June 6--July 7. I have class on MTWTh---4:00--10:00. And this week, compounding the craziness, it is the end of the term for the school district where I work.

Here's today: up at 6:00, out of the house by 7:00. Stop at Walmart to get supplies for the traditional 4th grade Last Day of School Pancake Feast. Get to school by 7:30. Snatch up master copies and head up to the workroom to finish the Memory Book copies. Machines won't accept the card stock I need to use for the covers. Now machine won't acknowledge that I really asked it to make letter not ledger prints. Waste more card stock. Finally discover the one copier that won't screw up my cover pages. Finish making them all just in time to hurry upstairs for morning duty. Collect class--go downstairs and pledge/sing/announce...blah blah--drop them off at Art. Rush back to my classroom to revise numbers on report card cover pages because I have too many days listed for this term. Print off cover pages. Print off Parent Report Card pages. Start printing report cards. Half-way through the printer jams--repeatedly, again and again. Get all the jams cleared. Go get students from Art. Spend a frenzied two hours, thirty minutes at a pop, with each class assembling the Memory Books. WE DID IT WITHOUT A HITCH. Probably because no technology other than a stapler was involved. Send every one out to recess. Print off more report cards. Stamp principal's name and sign my name on all of them. Throw some lunch down in 10 minutes. Pick up students from cafeteria. Have students read their contribution from Memory Books aloud. Go to Awards Assembly in the cafeteria at 2:00. Read off all my awards, have my picture taken repeatedly with smiling children by their terrific parents (really--such a great group this year.) Go back to rooms where we hold a 45 minute autograph session for all the 107 fourth graders milling between our rooms. Sign my name a zillion times. Clean up, stack up, bell rings. Realize that the baby shower for a co-worker is today and the gift is at home. Dash home to pick it up and drop it off. Sign in on my computer to upload my assignment for the 7:00 P.M. class to WebCampus because the instructor never facilitates this function until about 3:00 P.M. each day...arrgh. Get back into the truck and drive across town to campus where I am about 40 minutes late for the 4:00 P.M. class. After it finishes...I go outside and lie down on the bench pictured above and breath slowly and watch hummingbirds.

Tomorrow is the last day of school. I got home at 10:20 tonight. But I'll survive---it's only one more day. Then, all I have to do in June is homework and go to class and then July will come and I won't have to do a thing besides swim and lay in the sun. Time is on my side.

Visitors

2011-06-05T21:56:00.000-07:00

Look who came to see us this weekend! Our daughter's family paid us a short visit. Seriously---less thatn 24 hours. They were on their way to Hawaii (where her husband was born and raised) to visit with family members who still live there. Since we are conveniently located in a city where the air fares to Hawaii are not as expensive, we got to spend a day together while they were enroute. And when they return, we get to play for another couple of days before they head north for home.

The most amusing event of the overnight stay was the reaction of the Littlest Sweetie to Kitty Cat--outrage, or something. We were seated at the table for supper and Kitty Cat strolled by. P. Bibby (her internet name) looked over from her booster seat to stare, and then looked at all of us, and burst into tears. She howled and it wasn't from fright--it was more like offense--what is this furry creature doing walking around?? Aren't stuffed animals supposed to just lay there??? We think she was a bit over-tired since she hadn't had a nap all day while traveling in the car. The next day, whenever she saw Kitty Cat, she just stare at her cautiously, but in a decidedly wary fashion. Hmmm...it'll be interesting to see what the return visit brings.

Power Toes

2011-05-28T08:44:00.000-07:00

At physical therapy there are several different difficult things I am doing to regain strength in my re-built foot. I wear a 3lb. weight while I march in place, or balance on one foot, or do leg lifts. These all leave me quivering with fatigue. (3lbs.!!--what a baby) But the one special torture is the marble pick up.

The aide dumps out a container of about 3 dozen glass shapes onto a towel. They are the approximate size and shape of curved ice cubes (like from a freezer dispenser). My job is to pick them up with my toes, one by one, and place them back into the container. Yea, right. These are toes that no longer have a tendon going directly to them. That tendon was rerouted to the side of my foot to compensate for the shredded one that was removed. The doctor told me that I wouldn't be able to curl my toes and pick things up in them like regular feet can do. They'll curl a little, but they won't be like before.

And, of course, these toes have been encased in an ortho-boot for almost five months now, too. So, each day, I'd sit there and clench my hands on the seat while sending messages from my brain to my feet, "Pick up the marbles, Pick up the marbles---scrunch yourselves around the glass thingies." The most I ever got was 8.

Yesterday---32!!! I've been really giving my toes the business all this week. I've scrunched them hundreds of times a day inside the boot. I've carefully modified my walking to be sure I forced my foot to push off on my toes and not just stump around on the heel. At night, I did toe crunches by squishing a towel under my foot over and over while I watched "Jeopardy!" and while I sat at the computer. It paid off! Toes can learn new stuff, even if their big tendon has moved away.

First Swim of the Season

2011-05-25T20:30:00.000-07:00

I finally got home from work tonight about 7:30. I'd actually been home at 4:10 just long enough to change into something suitable to wear to physical therapy, and I so wished I'd had the time to go jump in the pool then. My clothes were stuck to my skin and I was so uncomfortable. Yes, theoretically, I have an air-conditioned classroom, but---don't get me started...

Anyway, it is finally warming up here. It's weird how this spring has been rather cool, even here in the desert. I was reading my blog last night from several years past in the May entries, and in each of them, early in the month, I mention how swimming season is on, and how much I love coming home from a sweaty day at school and jumping in to relax. But the thermometer has only gotten up to 90 degrees or more a couple of days so far this year. Today--94.

Anyway, after PT, I had to jet back over to school to write lesson plans for tomorrow morning so I can be in a meeting till noon. It's a good meeting, and not at all a waste of time. But, finally, I could go home and I went straight in to change clothes and go to the pool. It isn't exactly warm yet--maybe 72, but that's warmer than the ocean. And if you just plunge right in, it feels FABULOUS.

I swam back and forth and back and forth and then I leaned on a step and just did kicks. My re-built foot was squeaking "Ooooh---watch it!" but not too loudly. And I was cleared by my doctor to swim as long as I didn't use swim-fins, so I just kept on kicking. It will really help get the strength back in my shriveled calf muscle to kick it across the pool for 20-30 minutes every night. YEA! for swimming! Yea for any activity for which I can ditch the ortho-boot! Yea for summer!

It's May 23rd...

2011-05-23T23:10:00.000-07:00

...so you know that we're going to talk about Trish! Happy Birthday to her--this is 57 years since she was born. I decided to just post some photos I have of her as we were growing up. You'll notice that I am also in nearly every one of the pictures, because, hey, we were together nearly all of the time.

Trish is in the red dress and is almost four years old.

She called this photo the Hillbilly Shot, but you'll notice that everyone has combed hair.

Aren't we just adorable? Her gorgeous lips and white blonde hair were there from the beginning.

It must be Easter Sunday. That's newborn baby Scott on the left.

Here we are in the basement of the Smoot church at a Daddy-Daughter Date. We're in front of our tall Dad just a little left of center.

You can see I grew tall sooner than she did. But she caught up finally. I love these groovy dresses. (for real!)

Okay, that's her on the front of the horse---what a patient horse Suzy was, too.

Same horse, same girl---a few years later. Viva la difference!

Celebrating once again, my Almost-Twin sister, Patricia. AKA "Trish" --I drive by this street sign every day so I get to remember regularly.

Golden Julibee

2011-05-22T18:20:00.000-07:00

This year I've been playing the piano for 50 years. Wow. I should be a little better at it, don't you think? Actually, I'm not bad at playing the hymns at church. It's become my only genre, mostly. Since 1989, each time we moved into a new ward, within a short time, I became the organist because there wasn't really anyone else who could do it. In one ward, I played for Sacrament meeting and then went in and played for Primary, too. For several months, I led the singing and played the piano for that Primary. There just weren't very many musical people in that ward. Luckily, more people moved in gradually and some of them could play and lead the singing.

I started playing in second grade. I remember my mother cautioning me not to talk so much during my lessons because I spent the time talking instead of playing. Then one day, we'd had an exciting adventure begin our school day, and I heeded her message to just shut up and play, and my mom then expressed her amazement that I didn't tell the piano teacher about the skunk in the school. I was trying to obey. ( Yes, yes, somehow a baby skunk was put into our tiny four room school---through a window into the cafeteria room. We arrived at school and the cook had already been there and found her furry guest, so she called a neighbor to come over and trap it --- gently --- and take it out without fouling the atmosphere with musk. He was successful and so we went on with our regular school day without having to hold class outside.)

I enjoyed piano lessons. It was a novelty. Each Friday, as my Dad drove the school bus through town on his way south to return all of the students to their homes, he'd let my sisters and I off the bus at one corner that was just a long block away from the piano teacher's home. We'd walked down to her house, let ourselves in, get comfortable on her fluffy couches with a comic book and wait for our turn in the alcove off her kitchen to play our simple songs. I loved reading the comic books. There was a huge shelf of them, and since comic books were forbidden in my house, I devoured them. My favorite genre was the true stories of WW II. I learned about the Bataan Death March, the Dolittle Raid over Tokyo, Pearl Harbor and the battles for Guam from these magazines. No one ever addressed WW II in school. American history never got to the "modern" times, so this was my only information. I knew my dad had been a sailor in that war, but no one ever discussed it.

Then, after we were finished (when I went to school in town --instead of the tiny one--it was just one sister and I taking lessons) Mother would come by to pay and pick us up. She paid with two dozen eggs and two dollars. Then, we'd get in the car and be her egg deliverers around the town. She had a group of ladies who'd put their empty cartons on a shelf in their porch, or meet us at the door with them in hand, and we'd carefully carry that week's order to them and collect the money. (Elder Bednar's mother-in-law was one of our customers.) I'm digging in the deepest pockets of my brain to try and figure out how many cartons we delivered on Fridays, and I'm thinking that it could have been 25 or 30. Most people took 2 dozen each week. I don't know where she got the customers and I think she used the money for groceries because that was where we went last on our Friday town trips. We'd get home from piano lessons/grocery store/egg deliveries and then go out and milk. My dad usually had it started, because we'd get home about five or five-thirty--late for milking.

We had to practice the piano every day, too. Mother had heard all these songs many times, and so, even though she didn't play, she could call out--"That's not right. Try again." I learned the melodies to famous operas and I learned lots of themes to classical music through piano lessons. My favorite thing to do in high school, was to just sit at the piano and play songs and sing to myself when no one was home. I still like to do that.

I've written before how I developed skill at the hymns, and since musical genres are quite different from each other, I'll probably never get good at playing classical music in its original form because I don't practice it. Simple arrangements of songs are all I can handle. I do fine with "Home Means Nevada to Me" and I think I've talked here about discovering that my ELL kids were willing to sing in English even if they were too shy to read aloud in English, so I found a way to incorporate songs into many of my lessons.

Last night, we were talking about My Golden Jubilee, and how I still can't play the pedals on the organ. CoolGuy said, "Why don't you just play them?" I asked him why he didn't just climb up on that wall, juggle six tennis balls and then start tap dancing. That's what the organ pedals do for my brain. I'm good with playing different notes with each hand, keeping the beat and playing on. But my brain just cannot add that one more thing of the pedals. Maybe if I practice for another 50 years....

Hookie

2011-05-19T20:07:00.000-07:00

So, my work day ended with me comforting an hysterical woman who was standing in our school office waiting for the police to arrive. She is the mother of one of my students. I marked him "absent" today, without really thinking about it, because he sometimes gets sick and doesn't come to school. No big deal. Except that this morning, on her way to work, his mom had dropped him and his bicycle off at a nearby friend's house so that the two boys could travel to school together at the correct time. I guess, after we got it all figured out, he did, indeed ride over to school with the friend, but then, he surreptitiously left the playground and rode away to another friend's house. There, three of our students played hookie:

A day in which liberty is taken upon oneself to exclude themself from school or work obligations while, most likely, pretending to be sick 

But, the plan went awry when his mom came home to find he wasn't there, and then he wouldn't answer his cell phone (yes, 10 year olds with cell phones...) and so she came by the school to see if he was at tutoring.

Nope.

We fourth grade teachers came up to the office in answer to the secretary's call, and mom was screaming and crying and shaking. She, of course, was sick that someone had kidnapped him. We, of course, didn't have any proof that this didn't happen. Except that when we all stood there in the office, we school people began to do a little addition...you know 2 + 2 = ???

As we came inside initially this morning to start school, I'd had an older student tell me a cryptic message about another student in my class. "If (boy's name) is absent today, I know something about him and (5th grade boy)." Well, Ididn't reply, because I was immediately distracted by other events. Then, later, as I contemplated the attendance roll, I realized that two of my students were absent and one of them was the boy referenced by the mysterious tattler. I called the office to see if they knew anything, but she said the 5th grade boy's grandfather (with whom he lives) had called to say he was home sick. I was still a little suspicious, so I called my student's house and left a message about his absence and that we were taking an important test, call me back, please, blah, blah.

Well, after the grandpa left to run errands, a miraculous recovery occurred, and the two boys from my room had met up with the "sick" 5th grader and had apparently spent the day biking around, and dropping in on different houses when they could see that their various family members had left for work. There is a lot of shift work in Las Vegas, so it isn't a 9-to-5 town. Now, after school, I finally connected with my one student's parent on her cell phone at work, and this was the first she'd heard that her son had apparently skipped school two straight days. "Thanks," she said, "good information to know." Well, good for her...not so good for him, me thinks.

A friend of the hysterical mom finally called her to say that she'd seen the boys biking past her house and she'd run out and snagged the missing son. We heard Mom start in on him on the phone as she left the school with the police officer who needed her to help him finish his report---now that it was no longer a missing person.

All seven of us (secretaries, teachers from both grades, principal and nurse's helper) sat down in the office and took a deep breath. I said to the principal as we looked at one another in amazement, "Well, if they survive the beatings, I'm guessing that they won't be part of tomorrow's Field Day, huh?" "That's right, " she replied. "That's right."

The Marry Month of May

2011-05-17T22:06:00.000-07:00

We got married today, 37 years ago. It was a Spring like they're having now in Wyoming. The day after we got married, it snowed three inches. It's probably snowing today there, too. Spring is a little late this year. Anyway, we got married and then drove back to San Diego where CoolGuy was stationed in the Navy and we lived happily ever after.

Well, we learned how to live happily ever after. We worked on it. It takes a lot of attention. Anyone who thinks they can just get married and then go on with their lives learns right away that there is a lot of negotiation and accomodation in being married. And there is a lot of wonderful stuff too! You have babies! They turn into kids! You get to go out on dates! You get pets! You move to different cities!

You can say all of those things with little grumpy emoticons after them, too. You see---being married is the worst way to live, except for all the other ways that have been tried. (I stole and modified that from some *famous guy who said that democracy is the worst form of government except for all the others that have been tried.)

I guess what I'm saying is that being married is a lot of work and all of the work is worth it. At least in my life, I can say that. CoolGuy and I have many terrific memories, and we can laugh about other things, now that they are in the past. There are also many sad memories that bind us together. That is what life is about to me: sharing. So, today we congratulate each other for being willing and happy to have shared the last 37 years.

We went out to eat on Saturday at a favorite restaurant of ours in Washington D.C. that we were pleased to find had opened a place here in one of the new casinos. It was a fabulous and decadant meal that we enjoyed immensely up there on the third floor in the company of crowds of giggly, slightly drunk girls dressed in shiny little dresses and towering high heels. They were obviously bridal parties. There were families and couples and trios of young guys. The service was very attentive, no dirty dish was allowed to rest on our table; all beverage glasses were constantly refilled---all very unobtrusively and professional. You'll want to go with us when you come to visit. It's a fine place for celebrating.

So, today, when the secretary walked into my classroom about 11:00 A.M. with this:

I was puzzled for a moment, then astonished and delighted! She walked across the room and I said, "Oh my gosh! That is outrageous!" and she replied, "That's exactly what we said in the office, too, when he brought them in!" My husband, that is. The students ooohed and ahhhhed, and then I read the card aloud to them:

37 roses for 37 years, I love you...

Everyone said, "Aaah....that's so nice." They were also astonished that anyone could be married for 37 years. One boy exclaimed that he bet that must have cost $200! Another girl said that I must have the nicest husband ever (I concurred) and then we all went back to work, and at lunch I texted my thanks.

Tonight when I got home, I expressed my appreciation again, and told him how amazed I was, and all of my friends at work, too, because naturally I invited them in to check it out. I mean---37 roses!!! He said, "Well, I couldn't let a nine-year old boy show me up, could I?"

*("Many forms of Government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe. No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time." --- Sir Winston Churchill, Hansard, November 11, 1947 British politician (1874 - 1965)

"Hurry, Timmy is in the Well!" Meowed Lassie

2011-05-16T21:06:00.000-07:00

This morning, as I lay savoring the last few moments of slumber, I was disturbed by a harsh "meow" just inches from my face. In fact, three or four of them previous to that one had finally pierced my conciousness just before the extra loud one emitted by a whiskered snout right next to my own nose.

I remember thinking, "GO AWAY! I'm not getting up until my alarm rings." Then, I tipped my head up and opened one eye to view my clock to see just exactly in how many more minutes that would be. EEEK! It was already 6:30 A.M. Why hadn't my alarm clanged away at 6:15 A.M. like I'd programed it do last night...oh, wait.

The red "A.M." light was not on. I quickly hit the alarm "show" button and found that, yes, in my fatigued state, I'd moved my alarm from the Sunday morning time of 8:30 A.M. to 6:30 P.M. My alarm, therefore, had about 11 hours and 15 minutes more until it would ring. But, I needed to be to school in 45 minutes---A.M.

So, I suddenly changed my irritation with the loud alarm cat to grateful apologies for her deep concern with my oversleeping. Or, her pressing need to go outside, which coincided with my pressing need to be awakened--whatever. So now, I call her Lassie.

Thieves

2011-05-15T17:11:00.000-07:00

Someone tried to steal CoolGuy's truck! Saturday, I went out to run errands. (YES!! I can drive again!!) A couple of hours into it, I pulled into Burger King to get a little snack, and as I unrolled the window to tell the disembodied voice what I'd like, I realized the window didn't roll down smoothly, and I heard a scraping sound. Well, I didn't need to roll down the window again the rest of my travels, so I forgot about it till later. We went out to eat that night, and because it had cooled off, and was a pleasant night, CoolGuy unrolled that same window and heard the same scraping sound. I told him I'd heard it, too, and we speculated what could be the cause....probably the fact the there was only a few months left until the truck is paid for--so it's time for things to break!

We came home from our date and he pulled the truck into the garage to diagnose the window problem. I heard him calling to me and when I went out he held up the door handle mechanism to show me where someone had used a hammer and a punch to attempt a break-in! The scraping sound was the door lock cylinder that had been pushed all the way through into the space where the window needed to move up and down.

Somehow, even though they'd punched in the lock, they didn't take the truck. Maybe something or someone scared them off. Maybe they still couldn't get the door open on their first attempt. CoolGuy was messing with it, and discovered that it took him two tries on the broken door handle before the electric lock system gave up with the lock punched out. Don't know why they left it after they'd tried. Don't care! Just glad that they went away.

Today at church, I overheard some men discussing stolen trucks, and it turns out that in the last two weeks, three people at church have had a truck stolen out of their driveway. Hmmm...our neighborhood was targeted, I guess. CoolGuy has ordered an additional security system that will holler and squeal if the truck gets touched again. In the meantime, he parked it inside the garage. My old, less-tempting car is in the driveway.

Personally, I'd love to just find a hiding place, and wait there until someone tries it again. Then, I'd jump up with a big stick and pound them till they'd be happy to see the police arrive to rescue them from the deranged old lady.

Two Feet Week

2011-05-14T00:17:00.000-07:00

Well, I went from 0 to 60 on Monday morning this week. Whew...I'm dead tonight. (I see that it is after midnight, so blogger says it is Saturday, but for me it is still Friday.) After laying around for six weeks, I just jumped back into the jet stream of school teaching and discovered I was out of shape. Not only was I physically flabby, I was a little slow mentally to leap back into the grind, also. But, I survived the first week.

Look what I got from one of my students the day I returned; it's a dozen, long-stemmed:

I also got many hugs and happy greetings: (think squeal) "IT'S MRS. [EarthSignMama]!! SHE'S BACK!! Seriously, teaching little kids is so gratifying because they really are happy to see you return when you've been out.

We adjusted to one another rather quickly, however, and I was giving the Teacher Stink Eye by early afternoon. I took over for the fifth grade teacher on Tuesday, because all of Fourth Grade went on a field trip, and I just knew that it would have been ridiculous for me to try that. Even former students were happy to have me back.

It's been no slack this whole week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday I had physical therapy. Tuesday evening was a Relief Society Visiting Teaching conference and I was the speaker. Then Wednesday night, I helped out with the MIA Maid class activity, and immediately afterward stayed for a one hour roadshow brainstorming meeting with two other sisters. We came up with a great idea and I'm to write the script so that we can submit it for approval on May 29th. ---I'm telling you: breathless. (Write the script--no problem; just don't ask me to create scenery or costumes.)

Actually, by Thursday night, I realized that my foot wasn't in much pain. It still swells up quite a bit each day, which I try to ameliorate by wearing compression stockings. But I felt fine walking on it Thursday afternoon, and that was unexpected. Of course, I'm walking really slowly, and I prop it up whenever possible. I'm faithful with my stretching and massaging in between PT visits. I'm eager to heal. When I go back on June 13th, I want the doctor to say, "Let's lose the boot, okay?" By then, it will be almost six months of it, and, believe me, I'll be ready to lose it!

Here I am showing off my two feet, both touching the floor, with my weight evenly distributed. And, I'm not using any appliances to stand there, you'll notice. Whooo-hoooo!!

Mother's Day Travels

2011-05-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

We had a good weekend with a quick trip to Los Angeles. Our son, MusicMan, was going to be there. Since his home turf is Baltimore, MD, (a very long way from the desert) (in many ways) we were excited to go down and spend some time with him. It turned out to be a rather short time, but at least we were able to share a meal and watch him work.

He was hired by a concert promoter to run the sound board for a band whose record company had booked a tour. So for three weeks he hit the road with them. There were 18 shows in this schedule, that took them from NYC to LA, around the Northeast, Upper Midwest, three shows in Canada, and down the West Coast from Vancouver to L.A. Whew...yea. Lots of driving.

The brother in Seattle, and the sister in Portland went to the show and spent some time, and then we met up in LA. He was hoping for a little down time after the final show, so that he, and a couple of friends in the band, could hang out with us in Las Vegas for a day or two. But, they had to get all the gear and rental van back to Madison, WI, by Tuesday, so they just waved at the mountain and thought of us as they drove through Sin City. Actually, they probably got to Nevada long before we did.

We slept in on Mother's Day and then roamed around LA, moseying our way toward the ocean along Sunset Boulevard as we enjoyed the sights of eclectic SoCal with all the greenery. Living here in Xeroscape-ville, I tend to forget about ivy growing up the sides of buildings, and nasturtiums spilling down a hillside. The jacaranda trees were still mostly purple and bougainvillea vines were arranged in every possible configuration, from framing dooryards to cascading over a side fence and nearly covering the alley.

We ate brunch (heuvos rancheros for me, omelet for Coolguy) on a patio just off the beach and then we wandered around again on a scenic route through neighborhoods in Brentwood and Bel Air, and Glendale and Burbank on our way to the freeway that took us back up over the mountains to the Mojave. But even there, the yuccas were showing off their huge flower-covered stalks, and the poppies and desert sunflowers were blazing away still, even though it was May. We had a wet winter and so the plants were thriving.

Here are the magic hands of MusicMan as he manipulated the controls for the show.

Here's CoolGuy in the lobby of the concert place.

Here they are outside after the show.

We had a great time, and there is nothing like going to where your children work, and watching them in their element as competent adults, to make one realize that you are an old lady.

Standing in the Barn

2011-05-06T11:54:00.000-07:00

On Monday, we went to the doctor and got cleared for walking on the foot--with crutches. And the crutches were to be eliminated by the end of the week. I'm still to wear the boot until I return on June 13th. The next day, I drove myself to the physical therapist!! YEA!! CoolGuy said, "Well, she's back in the saddle again." But I really, I'm just standing in the barn looking at the horses. On Monday, I go back to work, so that's when I'll be back in saddle.

Just About There

2011-04-30T19:16:00.000-07:00

There are only TWO more days of being one-legged!! I'll be leaving the doctor's office on crutches Monday morning. Although, it could be Out-of-the-Frying-Pan, and Into-the-Fire. We'll see.

I miss:
driving
walking into a room
standing up
toenail polish
stairs

Well, I don't really miss stairs, I just miss having the option. It is a real eye-opener to go around the town and realize how important it is to have handicapped access facilities--curb cuts, ramps, those wide doors on bathroom stalls. Anyway...this is almost the end of the first part. We'll see how long and difficult the next part is. Who knows how many parts this adventure has?

Maybe We Should Have Partied in Provo...

2011-04-29T20:26:00.000-07:00

...because if one wants to have a meal at a restaurant (not fast food) in Las Vegas on a Thursday night after 10:30, then tough luck! At least that was our experience this week when our son came to visit us for a couple of days. He'd been talking about the music from The Lion King and so I thought, "Hey, maybe I'll invite him down here for a couple of days and take him to see the production here." Plus, you know--I'm The Mom, and I like to have my kids visit, and I've been laying around here so long, and... and...

PianoMan (I'll call him) flew down here from Seattle and we ate dinner at home the first night, and then, no surprise, spent the evening talking about music, looking at music on television, listening to PianoMan play music (piano, clarinet, guitar---we only have three instruments at the house, so he was limited to this). Then, we planned the next day to go a couple of places.

His friends had encouraged him to go get a deep-fried Twinkie (their reaction to him coming here for a few days was predictable: "VEGAS??? DUDE!!! So cool!! Your parents LIVE THERE???" And then of course he tells them that Mom teaches elementary school, Dad consults for the Navy; we live in an ordinary house; it's up by the mountain; etc. etc. We don't live at the Mirage, nor go out partying every night; we don't have showgirls for neighbors.) But, hey, it's still Vegas, Baby---and it's all within a 20 minute drive.

We had lunch at Hash House A Go-Go---really a fun place to visit---waaaay tooo much per serving, but always very delicious. We stopped off and picked up our tickets at the willcall desk. Then we went home and PianoMan went outside to read by the pool and get a badly needed Vitamin D infusion from the sun, which hasn't been seen in the Northwest for weeks.

Later that evening, the valet took the Silverado (we've learned, as adults of a certain age, that the free valet parking offered at Las Vegas casinos is totally worth the $10 tip.) We worked our way through the Mandalay Bay casino toward the theater, which is a little complicated with the stupid cart, and were seated in our "accessible" area (pretty good seats, actually) and settled back for two and half hours of award winning entertainment. It was terrific---costumes, singing, sets---the whole thing is worthy of all its accolades.

By 10:10, when it finished, we were finally hungry. But, we were also completely done with the casino atmosphere. Loud, hyper, ding-dinging, flashing lights---I really hate being in a room filled with slot machines. So, we knew of a place we'd been a couple of times just a few blocks away. And, hey! It's Las Vegas, we were headed to a brew-pub, and it was before 10:30 P.M. No problem, right?

Wrong---yes, people were in there eating, but--no, we couldn't join them. We could sit at the bar and drink, but the kitchen was done. So, we got back in the truck ( a 14 step process because of the cart....) and drove down the street to the Hard Rock Cafe---come on! Vegas! Let's eat! Except that this time, we were a little smarter. CoolGuy drove in through the drop-off, put it in "park" and went in to check before we did the whole little cart ceremony again. Nope...once again--you can drink, but you can't eat.

We went to Denny's.

And my point is, that if we wanted to go out for a meal at 10:30 P.M. in Provo, we wouldn't have driven to two different other places first. We'd have known that Denny's would be the only destination possible.

But---LAS VEGAS?? Sheesh.

Here we are waiting for our grub at the Hash House. See the paleness of the Man From Seattle?

They serve their food on platters. I mean it about the enormous servings.

It was a really great production. If you haven't seen it, come and visit us, and we'll go again.

Good grief, Mom, don't keep taking pictures, even if you do have a cool new phone...

Okay, but just one more. You need to show your friends that you took their advice and did something crazy in Las Vegas---deep fried Twinkie at Nathan's Hot Dogs in the Mermaid Cafe on Fremont Street. Hey, if you want to par-tay in Vegas, Baby, you might want to go with someone other than your middle-aged parents.

Easter

2011-04-24T19:29:00.000-07:00

We had a really wonderful program for Easter today at church. I knew it was going to be good because I'd been at many of the rehearsals as the pianist. Then, we had to go forward on the Frankenfoot episode, so someone else took over for me. I love to play the hymn, "Christ the Lord Is Risen Today" on the organ or piano. And it is mostly a once a year song...but, even though I didn't get to play it, I did get to sing it. Easter is a favorite of mine. Christmas is filled with tradition, and it feels so nice and it is a wonderful story and really a terrific religious holiday. (Yes, even though it has been nearly smothered over the years with froo-froo.) But, maybe that's why Easter is so great: it is pure and clean and has just one point:

HE IS RISEN. Imagine...death overcome.

It is so powerful. It really doesn't matter about the colored eggs (I love to make them), the jellybeans (I love to eat them) (ditto chocolate rabbits), or the Easter bunny or whatever extra little frilly things have been tossed in there over the years. The power of the story of the Atonement, the crucifixion, and the Resurrection is fully able to overcome all of that. When I sat there today in church and listened to the scriptures being read that told this account, and the songs chosen to illustrate it, I was bathed in the Spirit of God. It is a phenomenal, spectacular concept. It is almost incomprehensible, and yet the essence of Christianity. He lives, so will we, eternally, with Him.

Come, Saints, and drop a tear or two

For Him who groaned beneath your load;

He shed a thousand drops for you,

A thousand drops of precious blood.

Here's love and grief beyond degree;

The Lord of glory died for men.

But lo! What sudden joys were heard!

The Lord, though dead, revived again.

Isaac Watts 1764-1748

LDS Hymns #191 v. 2 & 3

I Don't Want A Pickle...

2011-04-22T19:33:00.000-07:00

Do you know the Arlo Guthrie song?

2009 Pt. Mugu

2009 Pt. Mugu

1980 San Diego
1980 San Diego

2011 Las Vegas

It's 80 degrees, the sky is blue and the breeze is soft. There are no bugs in the air. The lake is beautiful and the sun doesn't set until 7:30. This stupid cart isn't highway certified. Blah.

Random Thoughts

2011-04-20T16:46:00.000-07:00

Periodically, I think of things that would make part of a good blog, but not an entire one...so today, I think I'll just make a lot of little random thoughts into one entry.

Hey, we went to El Pollo Loco today for lunch and no one shot at us!

Do you ever wish you could just walk up to people's homes and ask if they'd take you on a tour of their house and yard, because it looks so interesting from the outside and you'd like to see the inside? I do.

I'm officially tired of being bad-mouth as a teacher by those who don't like the politics of teachers unions. Did you ever consider that some of us don't like our union's political positions on everything? But that we are members anyway because we need the power of our local organization to help us get a fair deal in our day-to-day dealings with the district?

Daffodils and California poppies are the ultimate harbingers of spring for me. Although, tulips are right up there. Ephemeral yet hardy: they grow when it isn't quite warm yet, can survive being snowed on and come back to glow another day.

I heard this in a talk once, and now I can't find my notes. But this is the essence: People get upset with church leaders and reject the whole church. Compare this to a bad experience you might have with a toaster or a lamp: would you reject electricity because you had a bad experience with an appliance? Then why would you reject the priesthood/gospel when you just had a bad experience with a priesthood appliance?

Why is it that when you have an ache or a pain, that it is multiplied many times and exaggerated when you're trying to go to sleep at night? I have had such a lot of trouble sleeping since I've had this surgery. I almost dread going to bed at night. I'll stay up so that I am drop-dead tired before I'll attempt getting into bed, just so I don't have to lie there and feel every little thing hurting or bothering me preventing sleep.

I'm really sorry that we didn't get another dog when our last dog died so long ago. It wasn't fair to our younger boys to have spent so long without a dog. Everyone needs a dog in their life while they live at home.

Is bacon just a great food or what?

But cheese is a pretty awesome food, too...

CSI: El Pollo Loco

2011-04-18T15:01:00.000-07:00

Scene: casual Saturday afternoon, the first day of Spring Break. Three friends mosey on down to El Pollo Loco for lunch. After their tasty meal of grilled, seasoned chicken, they leisurely consider getting up to leave, when there seems to be some type of commotion in the parking lot. People in the restaurant get up out of their seats to look out the window, some people excitedly pull out their cell phones and dial 911. A man is walking around the parking lot gesturing vigorously to the police cars that pull up with their lights flashing. ----the title rolls and the music starts...

Actually, I've rarely watched CSI the original Las Vegas version. (But one year I had a student whose parent was an actual, real-life Las Vegas Police Department Crime Scene Investigator.) So, when we went to lunch on Saturday with my friend who was visiting us on her way back home to spend Spring Break in San Diego, we weren't even thinking of crime. We were thinking of delicious grilled chicken and pinto beans, and horchata.

And we enjoyed our lunch and were just finished eating when all the fuss broke out. We hadn't heard the gunshots; we'd only noticed all the people going to the windows, and then we saw the guy in the parking lot striding back and forth and gesturing to the cop cars that suddenly were filling the parking lot. We said to one another, "Hmmm...what's up? Maybe we ought to leave before they block our truck with another car..." TOOO LAATE....

The officers who'd been looking around the parking lot, talking to the agitated man who'd been striding around out there, were right then encircling, not just CoolGuy's truck with yellow "crime-scene--do not enter" tape, but they'd marked the entire parking lot. Yes, there we were---part of the drama.

I asked the people right behind us if they'd seen what had happened, because I'd heard them calling 911. Apparently, they heard the gunfire, and then they saw a man outside hurrying across the lot with a gun in his hand. They'd been told by the police operator that the situation was known to the cops, because the man they'd seen was a police officer who was responding to a threat and help was on the way. Well, the plot thickens.

A police officer came in and talked to most of us, asking us what anyone had seen. We had heard and seen nothing till everyone had started reacting around us. But that didn't let us off the hook. The detectives arrived, cops were spending a curious amount of time around CoolGuy's truck, and then an officer came in to ask if it was his vehicle. We were the obvious choice to ask, because the truck was parked in the handicapped space, and I was sitting there with my RoboCop boot propped on the scooter.

Soon, there was even more police tape cordoning off the Silverado. Even more attention was focused around the back of the truck. By now, the manager of the restaurant had sent out a worker with hand printed "closed" signs to attach to the doors. People who'd told the police officers that they'd seen nothing were calling friends to come and pick them up, since their cars were still wrapped inside the yellow tape. We went outside because it had gotten a little chilly sitting there in the air conditioned store. There were little groups of people standing around chatting about their versions of what was going down. I started to wheel around and take some more photos. There wasn't a dead body, there wasn't any bleeding people, or blood anywhere on the ground. There began to be little yellow plastic markers with numbers being set out around the back of where we'd parked. Then, the detectives really narrowed in on the truck.

Finally, the officer who'd initially come over to ask if we were the truck owners, came to tell CoolGuy that all the focus was on our truck because there was a bullet hole in our license plate. There wasn't any evidence that fuel was leaking on the ground, but the detectives were going to be spending a lot of time on this vehicle. In other words---lunch was over, but you can't go home. At least not in that truck.

We'd already been there ninety minutes past when our food had been consumed. We'd already been treated to an order of flan and some churros. CoolGuy had gone to order some dessert while we just hung out in the store, but the manager refused his money, and treated us. But, it was waaaaay past time to leave. I had missionaries coming to dinner in a couple of hours. So, I called a neighbor who was happy to come and pick up my friend and I. She loved my reason!! Bullet hole in your truck?? Crime scene tape trapping you in the parking lot?? Only you, my dear EarthSignMama, has such a lot of excitement in her life.

So, we left, CoolGuy hung out for three more hours (!!) and finally got home with the bullet hole. Seems, there is a steel strut right behind where the bullet went through, shattering it into fragments, most of which were in the spare tire, which is mounted under the truck, right behind the steel strut, right behind the license plate. So, the detectives got him to unlock the spare tire so they could lower it and collect all the fragments for their case.

It was rather interesting to hang around and watch it all. He and the guys who were with the off-duty school police officer who'd engaged the original shooters had an interesting time chatting. The three men (one was the officer) were driving home in a truck when they saw a man shoot another guy across the street from the restaurant. Then, the shooter ran across in front of them with his gun out, so these men pulled into the chicken store, and the off-duty police officer jumped out with his gun. He identified himself as a cop, and told the shooter to drop his gun. Instead, the gun was fired at the cop. Then the shooter got in a car that was on another street on a different side of the restaurant, and the cop shot back at the gun-holders in the car. (Later, two wounded young men turned up at a hospital and were arrested.) The detectives needed the bullet from CoolGuy's truck for their case against the wounded arrestees.

So, here's the hole in the license plate. Weird that this is the only injury to the truck---weird and good! Another view:
CoolGuy later called it a blessing that we had not gotten up to leave when we were first finished eating. We'd have walked into the parking lot just as the shooting started. One of us could have that hole in us, instead of the license plate. And none of us need that, I agree.

Credits roll...Special Guest Stars: Silverado, CoolGuy, license plate.

Not Really At Work--But Showing Up Anyway

2011-04-15T16:53:00.000-07:00

Twice this week, I've been to a school event, even though I'm officially on long-term leave. We have some really terrific traditions at this school that are so fine that I didn't want to miss it. One is the Family Picnic. We usually hold it the week before Spring Break, or maybe it coincides with Reading Week, I don't really know...hmmm. Anyway, we divide our three lunch periods into two sections so that the grades 1 & 2 and the A.M. and P.M. Kindergartens have the first time. Then grades 3, 4, & 5 use the second section.

Families are invited to bring over whoever they want (grandma, grandpa, babies, aunts, uncles) and eat lunch with their students on our grass playground. We teachers join them, too, bringing out a blanket, so that if students don't have someone join them, then they'll at least have us to sit with them and enjoy a (usually) sunny day outdoors. If students always eat the school lunch, they just stop by the cafeteria and pick up a sack lunch provided for this day, and bring it up to the playground.

We get a huge turnout for this. Some families bring over fast food, or stop off for carry-out pizza. One of our families has many cousins who attend our school (one of the mothers is a teacher, too)and the grandparents come, with whichever of their children can get away from work, and all their grandchildren join them. The kids are in all the grade-levels, so the grandparents stay for both lunches. I guess they've been coming to the Family Picnic for about eight years, and I know there are some preschoolers who'll be joining them in years to come. It's such a great time.

So, CoolGuy drove me over so I'd be there when the fourth grade came out. He put up my lawn chair, and spread out my blanket. I'd told my co-workers that I'd come so that they could at least have the opportunity to go to the restroom during lunch that day. The lunch period is 45 minutes on this day, and the teachers are only asked to stay with their students for 15 minutes. (because it is in our contract that we get a 30 minute lunch--so the principal can't actually require any more time.) But I told them that I'd be there, so they could have someone to be there, if they needed to leave after the 15 minutes.

When I said I wanted to attend the Family Picnic, CoolGuy had a long meeting scheduled that day on the computer/phone, so I'd made a plan for a friend to drop me off, and then he would be free to pick me up at the end. But, the meeting ended early and so he was free. I'd only pack myself a lunch, so he drove over and picked up a sandwich and drink and came back to join us, at my invitation. I think he was a little surprised when I invited him. I said that he'd be a huge hit, if he actually showed up, because all my students had heard of him and were always agitating for him to come to school. And they were excited to meet him. He had a great time. And he again shook his head in wonderment that I can do that, all day, every day. He means the "on" business--teachers have to be "on" all the time.

If you're a teacher, you know this. Kids drifted by and some stayed, and every 22 seconds there was a new question or comment or request or dilemma to solve. Parents and grandparents would stop by to chat or be introduced by their student. Everyone was excited to see me, so I got a lot of greetings. But, it was pretty normal for school. He doesn't think he has the mental energy for the day-after-day effort that takes. Maybe not...but he was a fine picnic guest.

Then, Thursday night the fourth grade had scheduled a fund-raiser at McDonald's. We have an upcoming field trip and we need bus money. It was wildly successful. We made three times what we needed, so we'll probably share with some other grade level. But again, I went, and manned the raffle ticket table. The manager urged us to have a raffle with prizes that we invented (he gave us two $10 gift cards, too--nice guy) and so we gave out prizes like Lunch with your Teacher, 30 Minutes of Computer Play Time, School Snack Store Gift Certificates. Anyway, at one dollar per ticket, we made out!! I was busy all night, selling tickets, calling out the winners, chatting everyone up who came by to support us. We were there from 5 to 8 P.M. Yes, it was a lot of work, but it was easy work---just laughing and talking to kids and their parents. Between the two events I got completely exhausted, and napped the rest of each day.

This isn't really what my doctor meant, I'm guessing, when he said to take it easy and convalesce. But it's Spring Break now, so I'll just be relaxing at home.

Backyard Chemistry

2011-04-13T17:31:00.001-07:00

Last night, I did it. Got into the hot tub, I mean. All day, CoolGuy had been working on the pool. He rented a power washer and scrubbed it down. Then he used a sprayer and gave it an acid wash, then he washed it all again and drained and scrubbed with the wire broom and rinsed and swept. Whew...I need to tell you why, huh? Chemistry!

We've lived in several different eco-systems in our trekking about the country, and each of them has revealed some knowledge that locals are privy to, and new people have to learn, usually the hard way. Some of the bits were relatively painless, some harder. (Painless: put all your crackers and cookies into sealed plastic containers (ala Tupperware) in So. Cal. because the subtle humidity won't affect you, but it will make your soda crackers limp. Harder: every single thing you own will be covered with mildew and mold if you leave it in an environment (ie: garage attic) without air conditioning when you live in Maryland. Clothing, paper, plastic, etc. EVERYTHING gets moldy there. (I'll never live in Florida.)

So, what have we learned in Nevada, boys and girls? We learned swimming pool chemistry. One day last December, I was out looking at the pool for some reason and realized that it looked odd. The water had something in it---like clear gelatin, but shaped like little tiles the size of your thumbnail. You could reach into the water and feel them, but if you got a handful, it wasn't substantive enough to actually pick them up. They disintegrated when you took them from the water. Weird...

CoolGuy did some investigation and we learned that when you have a swimming pool in Las Vegas you need to empty the water out of it entirely about every three years in order to keep the mineral content in the water at a particular ratio. Or else, when the temperature drops to just the right low (maybe 40 degrees, I forget--it was quite cold) the minerals will precipitate from a solution into a solid form. Voila: we had performed a chemistry demonstration in our backyard.

All the time we've had this house and pool, we had just been adding water whenever we needed to compensate for evaporation. Of course, it was the desert's mineral-filled water. We have a water softener hooked up for household use, and I take my refillable bottles to the filtered machines every week because the tap water tastes yucky. So... as we added liquid, we were also adding dissolved minerals and, after six years, we'd finally achieved the correct solution, and the temperature got low enough for the transformation.

We just let the weird pool water sit there and we only used the hot tub, refilling and filtering it independently from the pool. And that was fine while it stayed cold. But a few days of balmier weather at the end of January quickly led to a yucky green hue, so CoolGuy emptied the pool. He let the residue dry a little, and there were two wheelbarrows full of powder to be shoveled out. When it was dry, it resembled the stuff inside of a piece of drywall. That's not too surprising, since there is a gypsum mine and drywall plant just up the road and over the hill in the desert to the east. However, it also could just be calcium.

This is a view of the empty pool with the powder stuff. There are also plenty of leaves and other wind blown debris in it too. So, he cleaned it all up and the pool has been sitting empty for a couple of months. We cut back all the dried grass and trimmed up the plants around the pool, and then this week, the weather has been excellent, and CoolGuy had the time to devote to the rest of the chore of pool renovation.

Here's a close-up of a grass seed-head that had drooped into the pool during this time. Notice how it is all covered in crystals? Every leaf and blade of grass and the pool cleaner hose and anything in the pool was also covered entirely with crystals. It was surreal.

But, you can see all the build-up of the minerals on the side of the pool, huh? So, after researching what to, CoolGuy got the powerwasher and the muriatic acid and went to work. Lots of it came right off with the power washer, he had to work harder at other spots--like where some leaves were resting (stains), but it looked fabulous and clean and smooth when he was finished, hours later.

Then, it was time for the refill. (Oooh--that water bill is going to be scary.) It took several hours, but the spa can be refilled independently of the pool, so CoolGuy did that, and turned on the heater. He was definitely ready for some soaking. I'd spent so much time outside watching and getting excited over the renovation that I decided I'd try the spa too. It was easy as the bathtub: sit down on the edge, remove RoboCop boot, swing legs over into the water, and gently sit myself down on the top step. Awwwww...relax, soak, enjoy. Nice!

And now we know: empty pool every three years to avoid Science Experiments at Home.

The Life of the Invalid

2011-04-10T23:16:00.000-07:00

Here I am on my Jabba the Hutt throne. I've opened up my futon couch so that it is easy to climb off the side onto the cart and go to other parts of the house. Also, then I can store the newspaper or magazines or scriptures I'm reading right beside me. It's also much less claustrophobic than having it folded up into a couch. I prop up the foot; often I have it wrapped in the cooler. Note my tray table with dinner. CoolGuy has my phone cord plugged in nearby.

Well, I do get up and cook things now and then. I was making albondigas soup this day. It was last week before I got the fiberglass cast taken off. The little knee walker cart is fabulous. I can balance on it and stand by the stove. CoolGuy has been feeding me. Two or three times I've cooked. But he always serves and cleans up. He's a trooper. Sometimes, I just give him directions and he makes the whole meal.

And I did sit on my cart and do all the ironing on Saturday--three weeks worth. But I rather enjoy ironing...I know...weird. He had to put everything away, though. Mostly, however I lay there on the futon and prop up my foot and read or nap or watch vapid things on T.V.

Today, I got up and bathed and washed my hair and went to church. It was nice, and somewhat disorienting because I haven't been there in over three weeks. Also, my usual view of church is from the organ bench, so it was odd to be sitting in the last row in a corner. Some nice young men fetched one of the upholstered chairs from the lobby so I could sit comfortably with my leg propped up on my cart seat. (I wore a long flowing skirt so I could have the extra fabric for tucking around my leg.) But, it was fun singing for a change. I went home after Sacrament meeting because I couldn't figure out how I was going to sit in the Sunday School classroom with the cart and the propping and all. It's pretty crowded in there. Beside, by the time I'd gone through all the effort to get ready and got over there, I was tired and I figured maybe by next week I'll have more energy to survive the entire meeting block.

Here is a charming card made on poster paper that one of my co-workers brought over. It was passed around to all the classes for signing. I was most impressed by the correct usage of apostrophes and capital letters and spelling! Also, it was very sweet.

It's almost been three weeks: half-way to standing on it again! I can tell though, from the occasional mistakes where I turn it the wrong way, or move it differently, that getting to stand on this foot again is going to be a process. It's very, very sore. PT is going to be excruciating.

And a new body-fail has happened! Wow...don't get old if you're not tough. I went to the ophthalmologist last week after I realized that the blurry spot on my glasses was not on the lens but on my eye. I developed a bunch of new big floaters. He diagnosed it as the inevitable deterioration of the vitreous gel in the eyeball. Now there is liquid and the floater is pigment and cells in a clump which will eventually sink to the bottom. However...this liquid stresses the retina and so Monday I will go in and get a laser repair to a weak spot to prevent my retina from tearing. Gee, I'm glad I got right on it when I noticed the floaters. I do not want a torn retina. I've heard from relatives and friends that this is a very bad thing.

So, here I am--Jabba-like, reclining on my throne. Periodically I go into the computer because I have several projects that need to be completed--some students papers to correct (I'm helping my teacher/sub by correcting what he assigns, so he can correct what his sub is doing--we need grades) and something for college and something for being out sick for the district. I really don't have nothing to do, but I do have to be careful and not overdo, because the foot objects and swells up and gets painful. So, slowly and carefully, I creep around on hands and knees or on the little scooter and now and then, I lay there and heal.

My Fan Club

2011-04-08T11:12:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the presentation of my school's Spring Fine Arts Festival. It is a collaboration of the fine arts specialists who choose a theme and then each of them works with students to rehearse and present a part of the program. The music teacher has the choir and the recorder club perform. The P.E. teacher taught the 4th and 5th grade students three different dance numbers. The librarian has a story telling festival each year and chooses some of those students to perform. The art teacher is in charge of all the scenery and has students help him. Plus, student art is displayed in the halls for the day of the presentations when parents and other guests visit for the programs (presented 3 times--one in the evening.) So, it is a very elaborate event, and the practicing and preparation begin immediately after we return from winter break. I wouldn't have missed it for anything!

Yesterday, a lady from church came to take me over to school. (CoolGuy was involved in an on-line meeting the entire morning--he picked me up at noon.) We drove over and got my little cart all ready to go. She held the doors for me to go in and I turned the corner to enter the cafeteria where the presentation was going to be. I knew that the choir would be in place, and all the participants would be there so they could get their costumes on, ready for the 10:00 A.M. performance. Also, since the 9:00--9:50 block of specials is the fourth grade time, I also knew that many of my students would be in there. The music teacher would have nowhere else for that class to be. What I didn't expect was their reaction.

As I turned into the doorway to enter the cafeteria and find a seat, a little thrill rushed through the room. Then someone shrieked, "It's Mrs. [EarthSignMama]!!" A cheer went up and got louder, then they all started clapping! One or two of the more impulsive ones jumped up and started running over, which encouraged a flood--which was checked by all the teachers (including me) gesturing and calling out to just stay put, please. But, seriously, I was overwhelmed! If I'd have had Justin Bieber on my arm, they'd wouldn't have been more excited to see me.

I watched the program, which was completely boffo as usual. We have the most amazing people working at our school! Then, I went down to the fourth grade rooms and spent about an hour. I got out some more things from my file cabinet to help my sub with some issues. I talked to the students about how I was doing and when I hoped to be back. I took an artifact in that would help the Social Studies teacher explain the era of Nevada history they were studying currently. I also had the chance to stop by the office and sign my evaluation for this year. (Yes, I'm good enough to teach another year.) It was a fun day.

I was so exhausted from spending two hours there, that I came home and spent the rest of the afternoon asleep. So, I guess I'm not ready to return yet. But hopefully by the end of this month, I'll have healed enough to be able to go back when the doctor predicted. It is nice to know I'm missed, though.

Stupid Feet Gazette: FrankenFeet Edition

2011-04-04T18:16:00.000-07:00

(Don't scroll down and look at the photos if you are prone to squeamishness.)

We went to the doctor again today. It has been 13 days since the surgery. The assistant removed my cast. I guess I've never actually had a cast on, or at least I don't remember, because having her use that vibrating cutter that they use to remove a cast was quite bizarre! I've seen this tool used on my children's casts and I know it does not harm your skin and is simply vibrating at high speed to cut through the hard material. But it tickled so badly on the first cuts that I had to really concentrate not to allow my foot to fly up and smack her in the face. When she went down the other side there was some flexibility to the cast, so it wasn't so ticklish.

So here is my leg/foot all bandaged up. It was swollen quite a bit, which surprised me. It shouldn't have, though. Despite my faithfully using the cooler on my foot for more than half of each day, this poor foot had been extensively renovated, and what should have been surprising was that it was only swollen this much.

Next, she carefully removed all the bandaging. It is reassuring to see that they'd wrote "YES" on the leg and the side of the leg that needed the surgery. I'd forgotten that the pre-op nurse did that while I was still unmedicated after consulting with me that this was, indeed, the procedure, and the foot, I'd come in to have messed with.

Then, she had to pluck out the staples on my incision. There were a lot of staples. She used a tool that functioned rather like the instrument I use in school when changing out a bulletin board. The point is set under the staple, and then she closes the handles and it just plucks out the staple...except that these sharp staples are fastened to your skin with all of its nerve endings...ouch, ouch, ouchy, ouch. I practiced Lamaze by rubbing my knee and talking to CoolGuy and keeping my eyes open and my leg relaxed. There were about fifteen of them, too, as I recall. It's a pretty long incision.

The long, curved incision is where the tendon piece was removed and then the ends grafted to the other tendon in my foot. The smaller stitches up on my calf are where he went in and "lengthened" the gastrocnemius tendon/muscle so that my foot will sit correctly on the floor. The whole back of my leg is very tender and hurts severely with even a teeny movement right now. There is also an incision on the outer part of my foot, parallel to the sole where he cut into the heel bone to insert the titanium wedge, but the photo didn't turn out. So, there are all the injury points that must heal. I did notice, however, something that looked weird to me. Then, I realized that actually it was how my foot was supposed to look all along. The heel was straight under my foot. I mean, I couldn't seen any part of my heel shoved over to the right, like it has always been, most of my life. Yes, I will now be standing (well, when I can stand) on my heel instead of on the side of my foot with the heel shoved over to the side. Cool.

Then, the doctor came in and he declared that it all looked fine and dandy and he consulted the X-rays and approved of all he saw. He said I can actually get into the tub, take off the boot, then fill the tub, and soak my foot. Then, I should drain, dry foot, replace boot before trying to get out. So that is awesome! Tub time! I'm working on how to enter the spa in the back yard without actually moving my foot...but I won't even think about that for a week or two. I want all the wounds to be totally healed--no open skin at all.

We planned to see him again in four weeks and this time bring crutches to replace the cart. He agreed that I could probably go back to work on May 9th as I hoped, providing I continue to be a really good patient---stay off the foot, wear the boot, rest.

Of course, I'll be in the boot still and possibly on crutches going back to work, but the idea is to gradually introduce my foot to having weight put on it. I know that PT will start about then. That should be excruciating. You can't believe how flabby and wobbly my calf muscle is right now. It had already atrophied just from the month I'd worn the boot before the surgery. I measured each leg and the right leg was one inch smaller then. So, this journey is only just begun (cue The Carpenters...) and, yes, as a matter of fact, I am tired of it. But--I was thinking...I should practice my Spanish language skills with Rosetta Stone every day. Or I could practice the guitar every day. In a month, think of what I could accomplish! Stay tuned!

Spring Rituals

2011-04-03T16:28:00.001-07:00

There is something about dirt that is just so satisfying. I mean digging in it, planting things. It feels good to root around and break up the clumps and see the worms wiggle around. It's satisfying to grub out the roots of the invading grass and the old left-over weeds from last year. Then you dig a nice hole and pull the bedding plant out of its pot, and set it down deep into it new home, pour in some water, fill it in with some sandy loam and pat all around it. Or you poke a little hole and slip a swollen bean seed in there and cover it and go on to the next site. The first night after you've transplanted the seedlings, they often look droopy and sad, but by morning they will perk up and stand up inside the tomato cages looking official. The bean seeds take a little longer to thrust their first leaves up through the soil, and then they seem to leap up the supports of their cage till finally the blossoms pop open and soon you'll be eating green beans alongside the caprese salad every summer evening.

CoolGuy got to feel all those feelings this spring. I watched from a patio chair. He got to plant the marigold border to ward off bugs from the tomatoes. (Superstition or reality---I'm unsure, but it works every year so far.) He grubbed around breaking up the clumps of mostly decayed lawn clippings from the compost bin that we'd dumped onto the raised bed in November. He shoveled it all up, incorporating the sandy soil and the luscious compost. He picked out the tomato plants and basil at the store and put them all lovingly into their new homes in our garden box.

At least I could help by re-potting the geraniums on the patio. I put new succulents into my Mexican pots to replace the ones that were frozen this winter in a sprinkler accident. I still have a little dirt under my nails from that teeny bit of gardening I did about an hour ago. I know the tomatoes will taste as good, and the basil will still send its powerful scent wafting into the atmosphere when I pluck its leaves, but I really love the digging part, too. >

Last spring, our grandson was here and we went together to buy the plants and he helped me dig it all up and plant everything. We had a great time and hopefully I've innoculated another generation with the need to do a little farming because spring is here. Guess who supervised the supervisor? She likes this time of year too because evenings are pleasant out on the grass and patio. Also, nothing happens around here without her careful observation and overview. Hey, she's the Queen, after all.

Power Boot

2011-04-01T19:32:00.000-07:00

Got a new boot the other day. Any other time of my life, new shoes or boots would be so cool. I love shopping for shoes. I have a lot of shoes...Most of them are extremely practical, low-heeled, comfortable, useful for standing in all day. So, I'm a shoe shopper. However, the medical supply store doesn't carry cute shoes. Actually, I hope to never need most of the things the medical supply store carries! Here's what we came home with:

I'm calling it the RoboCop boot. It is going to replace this foot accessory that I'm currently sporting:

This is the fiberglass cast. In this photo, I have it wrapped with the cooling pad that is held on with a Velcro stretchy strap. When I'm lying down, this device is then plugged into a little condenser that pumps cool water through the whole pad and keeps my foot at a steady 43 degrees. You can see one of the valves poking up behind my toes. It is so much more convenient than ice packs--less messy, more consistent. I don't even think about it when I'm lying there on my futon bed reading the paper, napping, watching ridiculous fashion shows or those shows about people who have hoarding problems. I'm at the point where I rarely need pain meds anymore, so the T.V. is going to be off a lot more. I can read books!

Anyway, on Monday I go to the doctor to have the fiberglass cast removed, the wounds checked, staples removed, and then I'll leave in the RoboCop boot. I'm still not going to be allowed to put my weight on the foot, as I understand it. But, I will be able to lay in the sun on the patio without the boot for an hour in the morning and start tanning my legs---hope, hope, hope. I know he's said that I'm to wear the boot always, but, hey--one hour? I'll ask. Here's the poor ortho boot I have worn out in the last year. You can see the Storm Trooper boot has been through a lot. One of the straps tore off last month, so I pinned it back on.

There are inflatable plastic bladders on either side of the interior so that you can use a little hand pump (provided) to fill them up and hold your ankle snuggly so that it doesn't flop around inside of this contraption. However, one of the bladders is no longer able to inflate, so the boot fits oddly now when I wear it. Well, wore it during February and March before the surgery. The cover is put in place using Velcro and you can see how I've shredded it.

This boot is going to the trash, but I wanted to show you that, with enough persistence, one person can destroy a modern medical device designed to be tough and long-lasting.

A Week Out

2011-03-30T18:54:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a week of being post-op. One week. Only 5 more to go before I can begin to put weight on my foot. Five weeks. I really should quit whining. I have two sisters who had to have the same knee replacement done twice in a row because of a screw-up. Yes...there are many people worse off than I am. But it is still no fun to be laid up.

On the bright side, the sky is blue, it was 80 degrees today and I was awake the whole day. It really is a lovely time of year here in the desert. I feel like a plague to CoolGuy because he has to do practically everything for me. And I'd like him to do more: dig up my garden and plant some tomatoes and basil so we can get the caprese salad machine cranking. I'm confident he'll get to it. He's gotten to everything else...
a drink,
my lotion,
a cup of pudding,
another pillow,
cookies to dunk in my milk,
the mail,
the newspaper,
the kittycat,
a ride to the doctor,
a cantelope,
another blanket,
the remote control
...you get the drift of being the person who really can not do much beside lay there and ask for things. He assures me he's just fine and keep on asking. And he really means it. That's why he's the cool guy.

They Gave Me A Shot!

2011-03-27T12:16:00.000-07:00

If this woman phoned you on Wednesday night, I apologize. THEY GAVE ME A SHOT! Really, when you come out of anesthesia, you feel just fine. Just fine... and that is the problem. You have no idea how loopy you are. So apparently I left phone messages with a couple of friends and family members while channeling Dharma.

But, I have a little more clarity today, so I'm blogging about the life of the invalid. Blah. I was told that there will be 4-6 weeks of this enforced leisure. I must not put any weight on the foot in the fiberglass cast. The bone must heal and it cannot if I step on it. This is the fourth day, and I'm ready to take it off and go back to my real life. Hey! However, I recognize that I really do have limitations.

Here's what I'm recovering from:
1) removal of 3 inches of posterior tibial tendon
2) the remains of said tendon were then grafted onto another tendon from the bottom of my foot
3) Achilles tendon was lengthened (and occasionally I get a "little" twinge from that area that lets me know that "lengthening" it doesn't feel good.)
4) a titanium wedge was inserted into a cut into a bone near my heel (or in my heel) to push my foot around into the position where my toes point forward when I walk instead of them pointing off to the northeast because of the collapse of my arch. So, even the slightest pull or resistance on the right foot or leg results in excruciating pain. Therefore, I am quite diligent in making sure my movements do not cause that.

I am right handed, and, apparently, right-footed too. I think my whole body does things in a right-sided dominant way unconsciously. So it takes a lot of concentration to use my left leg first and move my left side first when I do anything. I have to stop and think about what I'm attempting and how I'm going to do it. Also, since I've spent most of that last four days lying down and much of that time asleep, I'm not too full of vim and vigor. Every little movement requires great effort to scoot to the edge of the couch and then either lower myself to the floor to crawl or scooch along on my bottom. Or to stand on one leg and, holding onto furniture, hop over to my Knee Walker and crawl up onto it so I can scooter down the hall to the bathroom. Either choice leaves me gasping for breath or quivering from the exertion and there are lots of periods of just sitting/standing while I recover.

I have lain on the floor for two nights now, exercising my arms with my weights, and last night I got the yoga ball out and used it to do abdominal curls and strengthen my upper legs. So, I realize that it will be gradual and, if I am careful and diligent, I will improve daily. Monday we go to the doctor for a post-op visit. That's when I'll firm up the "removal of fiber-glass cast" date. But I know that occasion only starts the 3x weekly PT sessions and the storm-trooper-boot-for-a-couple-of-months period. Progress--we're striving for progress. So, I will have to practice patience and serenity in the meantime. Healing isn't a sprint.

PS: I have an excellent and attentive nurse who is standing by while I go through all these maneuvers, making sure I don't overdue it. It sounded like I was all alone here. No, no-- Nurse CoolGuy is feeding, bathing, and hovering over me in excellent form.