Three Hundred...

I was just going to write "Happy Thanksgiving" and sign off. But then I noticed that this is the 300th post. Wow. I can't believe that I've typed that many of them. But this is a very cathartic activity. I've written many letters to the editor to vent about various topics. I've kept many journals. I used to write chatty letters to my mom and tell her amusing stories about our life. The blog just fills all that need. It functions as a letter, of sorts, to my children so they know what's up with their parents. My sisters read it, too, so they can keep up. Sometimes it inspires them to write me an e-mail or call me on the phone. So, blogging is a multi-function activity.

We're spending the weekend with our daughter's family, reading to grandchildren, playing with legos. Tomorrow we'll find some outdoor activity--Christmas tree farm, state park, farmer's market. We've got two days to mess around and then back home to the desert. We're thankful for modern transportation so we can go visit our family members with relative ease. We're also thankful that we're welcome to come and visit them. Happy Eating Day!

Does This Grandchild Make Me look Old?

Today is the 6th anniversary of my becoming a grandma--abuela--babushka---all of the above. Our grandson was born in 2002 and he is six years old. And I hear, suffering from tonsilitis, so the much-anticipated birthday party was put off until next week. But it is really, really fun to be Grandma.

I really enjoyed being a mom of little kids. A newborn baby is just a delight. No, really. I had incredibly easy childbirths that were only a few hours long, so my post-partum wasn't all that tough. Plus, CoolGuy always took leave from work for at least three days, my friends brought in meals, I was home (!), so there we all were: it was like Christmas morning and we had the best present ever.

My grandchildren weren't ushered into the world with that much ease---poor moms. But seeing the tiny new little people was such a thrill for me and Grandpa. And it just keeps getting more and more fun. I joke that I work to support my Grandma shopping habits. I really try to control myself. I try to not buy every book and puzzle and themed holiday shirt I see. But I do buy my fair share.

Plus, I've figured out why it is so exciting and thrilling to be grandparents. Here I am, probably 2/3 through with my earth life. (Not a good thought--but realistic.) I see my grown children, most of them older than I was when I gave birth to them, and I cannot believe how fast the time went by. I remember sweet old ladies in church watching me struggle with three, then four tiny kids...then five...and say "Oh, honey, just enjoy every minute because it goes by so fast, you won't even believe it." And I remember thinking that I'd like a few of the phases to flash past, oh yeah. Like the screaming in church phase, the peeing the pants phase, the endless head colds phase. But they were right. It flashed by.

In my brain I am still in my 30's. In my knees and feet---72. But my driver's license says it's somewhere in the middle of those two. So, when I think of my kids, I recall--vividly--scenes from their childhoods, schooling, even their little-kidhood as though it was only a couple of years ago. But two of them are now parents, and all of them are older than we were when we first became parents. So, grandchildren allow you to live it all over again.

You have both the children you love as adults, and you get to "see" them again as babies and toddlers. You can laugh with their grown-up selves over their baby selves reborn again as grandchildren. It doesn't slow down time, but you get a do-over that you are concious of as a precious gift. I didn't long for my children to "hurry up" and grow up--I lived in the now while they were children. I really enjoyed them--we both did. We loved being parents. But, it did fly by and, since we couldn't slow it down, we're just happy we get to hit the DVR button and do it again.

Weather Shock

You know you've lived too long in the desert when:

Tonight, we were out in the yard. CoolGuy was stirring up the compost, and I was picking some tomatoes for dinner. [Yes, envy me...you see, when it was 110 in August, and the tomato plants sighed and gave up setting fruit from their blossoms, I didn't go out and pull up my plants. I didn't get around to it in September either. Well, in October I decided to tidy up my garden box and pull out all the used up tangle of gone-to-seed basil and exhausted tomatoes. I ripped out a couple of the plants, and down there nearer to the cool soil, was a little stash of ripening tomatoes. So I cleared away all the dying plant material, and found that one of the tomato plants was sending out new growth with little yellow flowers all over it and tomatoes were setting and growing big and ripening! Yahoo! I love homegrown tomatoes. So, I've got a second crop. We'll see how long the plant thrives and gives me ingredients for caprese salad. I cut the seed pods off the basil and it is putting out new leaves, too.]

So, anyway, I was picking a couple of tomatoes and I felt water dripping on my arm. CoolGuy was spraying a little water into the composter to moisten it and I thought maybe the hose had developed a leak. I couldn't figure out where the water was coming from. Then I saw that the sidewalk was all splotched with water too.

Oh. Rain. Yeah, remember that stuff? Barely.

Aaaahh

I dressed up today in a nice suit and heels so I'd look professional for my parent conferences. As a result, tonight my feet hurt, and I'm tired from "making nice". No, really, I had a fairly pleasant day. But it is exhausting to do parent conferences. You never know how parents are going to react. (See: Friday...) But I had nice experiences with my students. It is good to have the students come and you all sit down and look over all their work (which I save) and the student actually tells his/her parents how the school year is going. And none of the students is surprised by their grades. We've been keeping track of how they're doing in our Data Notebooks--an accumulation of their checked work, with rubrics, and a main page where they chart their growth, or lack thereof. Yes, it is a lot of work. But I'm a convert to this concept because the students really do know how they're doing and what they need to work on.

But, just now, I'm fresh from the hot tub and I'm soaked and warmed and ready for bed, and I'm headed there! Ta Ta...another day of heels and friendly (hopefully) conversations await me. And tomorrow is our "late" day--we have conferences scheduled from 7:50 A.M. till 6:30 P.M. Oh my aching feet.

What I Learned

We sounded good in stake conference today. I sang in the choir and we performed the prelude music, then a song just before the first speaker. One song was "I'm Trying to be Like Jesus" which is one of my very favorite songs from the "new" children's song book. I refer to it as new, but I'm sure it's more than 20 years old by now. And the hymn during the meeting was "Because I Have Been Given Much"--another favorite of mine. They are both doctrines I really love. The first is the whole gospel simplified: trying to be kind, serving others, honesty, love. The hymn is also on the theme of one of my favorite scriptures, when King Benjamin admonishes people that they must give of their means to the poor without judging and condemning because, actually, nothing we have is ours anyway--even our very breath is a gift from God from one moment to the next. He even points out that if you don't have anything to share, just wishing that you did so you could share, gives you blessings. I don't know why this scripture always gets me, but it does.

So anyway here's a thought that stuck with me from this morning:

We can't do everything for everyone, everywhere, but we can do something for someone, somewhere.

It reminded me of something I'd read once. It pointed out that some people see poverty, despair and other negative things, and get angry at government policies or societal attitudes or whatever, but they don't do anything but be upset because these obstacles are there and people are suffering. But some people just roll up their sleeves and try and help by donating money, time, energy and helping people. It doesn't change everything--government policies are still there, societal attitudes are still negative but someone got fed, or taught to read, or helped with the money to rent an apartment.

I think this is the real way to facilitate change. Don't wait for the big engines of government, society or whatever--just help someone, somewhere, with something. You never know when a small good thing will be the tipping point for a life. Even just smiling and being patient while you're in a checkout line is a good deed. It helps everyone. It also helps you to maintain a positive attitude.

It brings me to the second thing I learned: we can either be a noble servant or a self-serving noble. I've learned that the first one is the key to happiness. One thing I've noticed about myself is that when I'm impatient in traffic, or in a store, or with my students (or my own little children in days gone by) it is always because I consider what I want much more important than what anyone else wants or needs. It was setting myself up as the Noble. When I look at life as a servant--meaning seeing others' needs as equally important as mine--then I don't have to be impatient or upset when someone is slow or confused or oblivious to the problems they are causing others around them. Most of the time, people aren't trying to be jerks. And even when they are being obviously rude, I don't have to join them there. Every time I do join them, I leave feeling worse. It's never a win for me. Either I say something stupid, or I do something rude I regret. Overlooking rudeness in others is often the very way to disarm them. So many times, people are ready for you to be rude back, because they know what they're doing: bullying. So when you don't take the bait, but you respond in a nice way--it deflates them. And if they just keep on going with the bully stuff, oh well. It's on them. There aren't that many things so important that in a brief encounter with a stranger, you can't let the bully win---go through the intersection first, get ahead of you in line, take that parking space.

Okay, enough of that for today. I really loved looking for important messages today in church. I've decided I need to do this every week. Take paper and deliberately write down phrases and concepts that strike me. Seriously, I know you've done this: left church feeling like you didn't get anything from it. So, I've decided that I don't want to feel that way ever again. It's not up to the speakers to entertain me, it's up to me to be a learner. I'm confident that there'll always be something to learn.

Speed Cleaning

In the four years that we have lived in this house (well, I'm jumping the gun by 10 days...) Cool Guy has only lived in it with me for about half the time. The other half of the time he travels. Sometimes it has been to exotic locales, sometimes just to the East Coast where his job actually exists. But when he isn't in residence, I've developed a weird habit of not keeping house.

I tend to stay really late at school, so I'm tired and famished when I get home. So, I throw down a bizarro meal of oatmeal or graham crackers & milk, or I'll stop off and pick up tortilla soup or two orders from the Thai restaurant and then eat them for the next four days. I rarely cook, and even more rarely clean up the kitchen every night. Dishes pile up in the sink and on the counter, and finally, after three or four days, I'll load the dishwasher. It would be just as easy to put them into the dishwasher every day, which I do when we're home together. So, I don't know why I've developed this habit of slovenliness when I'm home alone.

It's not just the dishes. I leave newspapers, mail and school papers all over. I don't put my clothes away. I'll have every pair of shoes I've worn for a week sitting in the living room. I'll start projects (like gluing pictures into an album) and leave it scattered across the rug for a week till I get back to it.

Then, the day before he's coming back, I'll have a frenzy of housekeeping. Everything is washed and folded and dusted and swept and wiped off and scrubbed out and vacuum up. The house looks fabulous! The plants are watered, the shelves are straightened. The little nooks in the new dining room table are dusted. I wash the rugs and all the towels. Then, regardless of whether I pick him up from the airport, or he gets a cab because the flight arrives during my workday, he'll open the door to a spic and span, clean smelling home.

I keep house while he's here; he cleans up the kitchen at least half the time. I like it tidy. I kept our house relatively clean all the years we had children at home--or rather I delegated it clean. It just made life easier to have things tidy. I'm certainly not a neat freak! But it feels better to have everything picked up at day's end, and there's no feeling of satisfaction that quite equals having a freshly cleaned up kitchen. But, I guess at this point in life, if I can't goof off a little, then what's the point, huh?

Mother of the Year

Yes, that title is sarcastic. Today, as every Friday, the students left at 2:00 P.M. (The teachers then have planning for the remaining 90 minutes.) As my partner and I were standing on the street stopping traffic for pedestrians, wearing our ugly safety vests and holding aloft our stop signs, a large group of parents approached coming from the school. However they weren't quite at the corner, and we'd had the cars stopped for some students who were now out of the street. So my co-worker asked the first mom, "Are you crossing this way?" and he gestured toward the street. He meant, "Shall we continue to stand here in the street, or are you turning the corner?"

She said, in a very loud voice, "I don't have to hurry up for you. You can't tell me what to do!" Then she stepped into the street and walked toward me.

Silly me...I thought I'd clear it up and said, "We were just wondering if you were turning the corner, so we could let the cars go on."

Then I got blasted, "You can't tell me what to do. Just shut up B*&@# and get out of my way." I looked at her, and said, "Who do you work for?" I don't know why I said that, or anything at all! She shouted at me again pointing out that she didn't have to do anything I said and I should just shut the H*&& up...Ooookaay. So I did.

All the other parents around us just stared in amazement. I felt really sorry for her child. She is in Kindergarten. I know this little girl because she is in my fun Friday class. Whew. I was hoping that maybe by the time this little kid is in fourth grade, her mom will have insulted some really big guy and he'll have punched her lights out.

We went back in and the principal was out in the foyer, so we started to describe the woman, and the principal laughed. She knew exactly who we'd met. It seems that we're just the next two in a long line of people who have been shouted at and cursed out. Just that very day, the principal had mailed the letter that was the first step in getting a restraining order against this parent being allowed to put foot on the school grounds. This was the warning letter that if any more complaints were filed against her by employees--she was done.

So, that solves my fourth grade problem. She'll never make four more years without yelling at anyone, I'm sure of it. Probably not even four more days. Or even four hours.

Good Times with Dirt

We're going on a field trip in two weeks to a wetlands area to look at birds and animals, and learn about the ecosystem there. It'll be background info for the upcoming bird research reports and help with our science and social studies curriculums. This is actually a natural area that has existed in Las Vegas forever. Originally there was a natural spring here in this valley that quit running after the population grew enough in the early 20th century that well pumping lowered the water table. But the wash that traverses the valley is still there, and it is where all the run-off water goes on its way to Lake Mead. Smart people have rescued it from the dump it had become and returned it to a natural waterway that filters out the run-off before it gets to the lake. It also serves as a home to migratory birds and lots of little desert critters.

One of the pre-visit activities suggested was to talk about the concepts of erosion, and water filtering by plant roots and soil. Also, another science standard is to investigate how desert plants survive and what the soil is like in the Great Basin. So today and tomorrow, it is all-dirt, all the time. I've got buckets with my compost in one, sandy soil a nursery happily donated to me, and some desert "soil" I went out to the edge of town and dug up. It's mostly just finely powdered clay, we discovered today with one of our experiments. So today it was looking at it with magnifying lenses, and seeing how the soil acts with the addition of a little water. Does it hold water so the plants roots can absorb it? It is porous enough to allow the water to flow through it to the roots?

Tomorrow, we're having class on the playground where we can set up little stream beds in dishpans and "rain" on it with a cup poked full of holes, or have a "downpour" from our other cups and see what damage erosion does when there aren't plants along a stream bed. Also, we're going to pour water through dirt to see how much water is stored in each type of soil. I've collected soda bottles from every addict in the building, sawed off the bottoms, fastened fine mesh screen over the small ends with rubber bands, and tomorrow we will put dirt in them and measure the time it takes the water to drip through. Whew. But, everyone is so EXCITED to do science things. Also they get to actually learn cool stuff. And I admit, I love teaching cool stuff.

Just Be Nice

I'll probably be setting myself up for someone to be able to say, "You hypocrite!!" with this post. But I think I'll write it anyway. My lesson today, boys and girls, is "Just Be Nice." In every workplace there are strange people. (I may very well be the strange one in my hallway.) But, we have a consensus in our building for a certain person who is only at our site part-time because of the nature of her assignment. Today, she wanted to meet with me and my fellow teammates to discuss an upcoming academic competition in which her students will be participating. It is often uncomfortable to talk with her because she has odd personal space issues (she stands really close to you when you talk to her) and she rambles. (Geez...sounding more and more like me...) But anyway---so we had our meeting. And one of my people was her usual "I don't suffer fools" self. Man, it bugs me. We can afford to nice to this teacher. She impacts our lives minimally. If I had to work closely with her day after day, I would figure out a way to deal with her tics. But for a few minutes of a meeting, I can look at her, and respond to her politely, and help her. I wouldn't read the newspaper!

It is easy to be nice. It is easy to smile. It is easy to speak kindly and stop for a second and really listen to someone. Also, it is really important to do it when it isn't so easy. I spend my whole day trying to be polite. My students are children, but they have feelings and they deserve a little respect. So, I try really hard to speak politely to them. I don't put up with crap, but I don't abuse my position. And if I snap at someone, I apologize. There are many, many kind ways to say, "EVERYONE BETTER SHUT UP OR I'M GOING TO SCREAM!" and I know lots of them. Humor goes a looooong way when you're a teacher. They want to please me, they don't want me to be upset. And speaking nicely to your co-workers is just smart. These adults can help you or be an obstacle to you--and most people won't confront you, they'll just quietly not help you.

In conclusion, class, let me remind you: If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. And don't be openly rude with your silent actions, either.

Still Trying

So far this week, I've walked 3 miles. On the treadmill. While reading the newspaper. Hey, since I find the treadmill such a snore, I figured reading the paper was an excellent way to distract my brain. And it is. Thirty minutes fly by and I can read the entire paper while briskly pacing away. When I went to a movie on Saturday, I parked far away from the entrance, then used the stairs instead of the escalators. I really hate exercising. Except for swimming. But I cannot let the cholesterol win! So, I'm still eating oatmeal, I'm still trying to keep active. I actually joined Weight Watchers tonight--but mostly to help my fellow teachers who needed 12 participants so they could have meetings in the school once a week. It seems counter-intutitive to start "watching" just as we swing into the holidays, but, on the other hand, perhaps this is the best time ever. Did you know that you can eat a Snickers bar OR two eggs, one piece of bacon and an English muffin for the equivalent calories?? Astonishing, huh? mmmm--bacon. I like an eating plan that still includes bacon.

It's Been Twenty-Four Years

It's been twenty-four years since I was last post-partum! Today is our youngest child's birthday. Something about childbirth is so unforgettable that most of the little details of the day are still vivid in my mind. One reason for this particular birth's strong memories is that it was three weeks past my anticipated due-date. Yes. And since the previous four births were either on their due dates, or only a day or two post, that was a really, really, really long three weeks. There was a group of other people who were also quite aware of the delay, too. It was the first year we had a child in organized sports. In August we attended our first soccer practice, the other mothers tried, unsuccessfully, to disguise their astonishment, given the size of my belly right then, that I still had three more months to go. I was planning for a Halloween baby. So, week after week, I staggered to the games, and lowered myself into my lawn chair. Then Cool Guy helped me heave myself up out of the chair to waddle back to the truck after each game concluded. From their expressions, I could see that most of the people there were amazed that anyone could stretch their skin that far. Then, of course, there was the matter of the other four children. OMG...

Well, we finally were able to transfer the big belly into the adorable new-born brother on a Saturday, interestingly the birth was two minutes before the start of a game---that we did NOT attend. Later in the afternoon, our player called his coach and told him why we weren't at the field that day, and our son reported that the coach told him, "We were all hoping that was why you weren't there today!"

So, now two and a half (almost) decades later, this new person has become a very talented singer, who has no enemies, who can play at least a dozen musical instruments I know of, speaks Russian, is sweet and kind and tall, and has a wicked sense of humor. He is beloved by his siblings and parents and cousins. We honor him on his natal day---huzzah! Huzzah!

A Song of Joy

This is actually the Sunday posting. That one below that says "Sunday" was intended for Saturday...

I just got home from choir practice. We are a stake choir preparing for our prelude performance for next Sunday's stake conference. I love singing in choirs. It's because I'm not a very good singer. I can sing certain notes very well, but they are a limited group of notes. I am definitely not good enough to sing solo except to small children so they can fall asleep. But I really love to sing, so a choir at church is just the perfect venue.

I am usually surrounded by people who really are good singers, so I can follow them to keep on key. If I'm singing with someone who is off-key, I just follow them right down that trail. I can only hear the melody of any song. I am always impressed at people who can sing the harmony parts. I can hear them singing those lovely notes, but I cannot find them and sing them myself.

One of the most impressive choirs I've heard was at a friend's funeral. She was relatively young, but died from complications of asthma, leaving behind a young family. She came from a large Samoan family, many of whom were professionally involved with music, and all who had great musical talent. They sang at her funeral, brothers, sisters, cousins. A style that Samoans often use is to break every song into thirds. So there is a distinctive sound to their harmony. It is really spectacular. I want them to sing at my funeral.

Anyway, choir practice is usually very pleasant and I really enjoy going. Plus, next week for stake conference, I get a reserved seat!

Trash

(oops...it's after midnight...I failed in the "post everyday" plan.)

Well, anyway, I'll write this little post about trash. Here's my new trash can:

She's a beauty, huh? Cool Guy is laughing because he has been there through the whole saga of Me vs. Trash. When you live in a city and trash pick-up is once a week, and you miss that day, then it is traumatic. At least it is to me. You can't know the times I've forgotten that it was trash day, and was lying in bed only to hear the whine and clang as the truck moved closer and closer to my house, while my overflowing trashcan sat back in the yard. So I'd leap out of bed and dash around half-dressed, trying to beat them to our curb. And some places we've lived, they were so arbitrary about where the can had to be sitting, or if it was supposed to be up on the sidewalk or down on the street. It stressed me out.

Here in Vegas, Baby, they pick up twice a week, which is fabulous. Ironically, I rarely have enough trash to put out my can twice a week. But this reduces my stress tremendously knowing that I can set it out in just a few more days, if I should miss the first day.

When we lived in San Diego, we had a couple of notable trash events. I will share. One was at the little house that was downhill from the street. This required my lugging the trash cans uphill on steps that weren't too well made. One day, the trash men declined to empty my can. I called indignantly to inquire why, and was informed that "It was over-weight." I'd never heard of this. I replied that I had carried it up(hill) to the curb and I was seven months pregnant. Couldn't those big men manage to empty it??? Apparently they had a radio in the truck and so someone came by later that day and took the trash.

The next incident was more dreadful, actually, and only related to trash because of my zealotry in trying to get everything into the truck on the specified day. That year, I worked as a teacher's aide in our elementary school, three hours a day, for a first grade teacher. Then, I'd pick up my kindergarten daughter and a couple of her classmates as my day care kids, go get my two little boys from my friend who sat for me in the mornings, and we'd go home till the "big" kids (1st and 3rd grade) were done in the afternoon. One day, my first grade was going on a field trip but I wasn't attending because they'd be back after my 3 hours were up and it wouldn't work out with my kindergartners, etc. Knowing that often parents forgot about field trips, I packed an extra lunch just in case, intending to give it to the teacher.

We were all about to head out the door for school, when I realized that the baby needed his diaper changed very badly. We got that accomplished (and by now I was using disposables--luxury!) and I could hear the trash truck coming up the street to empty our cans sitting curbside. I gathered everything up, hustled everyone to the car, and just as the truck started to pull away from our house, tossed the paper bag with the dirty diaper into its gaping maw and we headed off to school.

Sure enough, someone forgot their lunch, I came to the rescue with my sack lunch which I tucked into the box and sent them all off to enjoy Balboa Park or wherever they were going. That afternoon as I came to pick up my two children, I ran in to see how the field trip had gone. It had gone well right up to lunch. The little girl who'd forgotten her lunch picked up the sack I left, sat under the tree, opened the bag and said to the teacher, calmly, "I don't think Miss [Earthsignmama] wants me to eat this."

"Sure she does, she packed it especially for someone who needed a lunch."

"No, really, I'm pretty sure she doesn't want me to eat it," she said again, just as deadpan as can be.

By now the teacher was a teensy bit irked, she wanted to eat her lunch. "Here, let me see--" and she plucked it from the little girl's hand and peered down inside the bag.

Yes, I'm sure by now you've guessed that I tossed the lunch into the trashtruck and tucked the dirty diaper paper bag into the lunch box for the field trippers. ARRRRGGHHH! And that little girl was just as calm as can be. Not a squeal or a flinch. She was older than her years. The teacher, however, tossed it halfway across the park as she yelped. At least that solved the mystery for me of why the "diaper" had made a thump as it landed in the truck--it was the apple. I felt terrible for the hungry little girl, I was embarrassed for myself, my teacher died laughing as she told me the story and heard my explanation, but worst of all---a perfectly excellent lunch got dumped!!

The Never Ending Day

So, I just got home from work. It's 9:30. P.M. Oh my. I left my building right after school ended to go pay a bill, and then returned to finish up getting ready for Monday. I finished the lesson plans, then I wrote the new names on the job chart. I updated the calendar and the written date on the white board. I found some papers that I'd graded as I went down through the layers on my desk and so I entered those grades into the computer. Then, I typed up a new rubric to attach to the science papers I'm going to grade this weekend. I decided I could quickly grade a social studies assignment and then found another one that I also graded quickly and entered. When I say "quickly" remember that there are 75 of whatever I'm doing.

But I was on a roll...so I kept it up. Finally, I had printed out the rubrics to grade the science thing, I'd found the top of my desk. Lesson plans were written and punched and snapped into the binder. New pencils were sharpened and put into the tool baskets on the tables. Ah...everything looks serene and ready. And there is nothing so invigorating first thing in the morning than a cleaned off desk. It looks great!

Next week, it is another five days of madness. I get no planning at all on Tuesday--if I want a moment to myself then I need to arrive before I'm on the clock because there is a meeting at 7:50 sharp, which I will be called out from to have a parent conference. Then, after I drop off my students at P.E., I must go to the conference room for some interview with some research group who is documenting our little "empowerment" experiment. I'll pick up the kids right after that and go, go, go the rest of the day. I'll even have students in the room during lunch, because I've found the same five people who've failed to hand in their completed assignments (no doubt because they are not completed!) The grading period ends on Friday and so I have to get every loose end tied up. Not to mention writing comments for 75 report cards, and preparing for Parent Conferences all three days before the Thanksgiving break. Whew...I feel breathless just typing it. Tuesday after school: I have a meeting at another school. Wed: stake temple night. Thurs: choir practice (for school--I'm the pianist.) Friday: Cool Guy comes home. Sat: stake conference.

Taking a deep breath, I will now stand up, serve me some delicious cold cereal (no, really, I like it) and watch my daily "Jeopardy!" fix from the DVR. Then kitty cat and I will snuggle up and go to sleep so I can get up in time to put out the trash.

Nevada Fact

Did you know that the #1 industry in Nevada is mining? (hard rock, getting ore out of the earth--not just emptying out tourist pockets.) This is a fact we learned today in Social Studies/Writing by reading an article about gold mining while learning to write an outline.

This double-duty teaching challenges me to be very clever. But, I like it. We're reading substantive material while learning language arts skills. The students love Social Studies and they don't even know that they're learning to write at the same time. Well, I mean they DO know, but it is more interesting because it is writing about real stuff.

You Are What You Wear

Last week we had a day without students on Tuesday because of the election--schools here are used as polling places and it is just easier done without students. The week felt very strange, so I decided, as an experiment in mild rebellion, to wear jeans everyday.

You see, in orientation for new teachers, they point out that there is no "dress code" exactly--you should just dress in a professional way. They offer "guidelines"---no tank tops, no flip flops-- things you wouldn't have to say except that so many first year teachers are just a summer away from being college students where casual is the norm. Also, some people haven't really got a professional wardrobe. Also, some people don't realize that if they are going to be the new Biology teacher in high school with students who are just a few years younger than themselves, it is imperative to dress up a little to give themselves a teensy aura of authority. Well, the controversy is the jeans things. The teacher's union points out that jeans are not forbidden. Many principals put out the word that jeans are unacceptable. So, there is a little conflict there. Most teachers I know wear jeans and the school shirt on Fridays. I always do.

But, every day...I did dress them up with really nice sweaters, blouses, jewelry and spiffy shoes. But I wore jeans every day M-F.

Over the weekend I shopped a little and found a couple pairs of dressier pants. Very modern, up to date--tiny little stripes, wide waist band, cool brand name. They were on sale even. Today I wore one pair, with leather shoes with a heel, a blouse, a jacket, co-ordinating jewelry (hip--big colored stones).

As I walked out onto the playground to pick up my class, one student looked me up and down and said, "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Like what?" I replied.

"Like, um, you're all in fashion---like your clothes are really cool and tite..." he was at a loss for words.

Yes, I understood his dilemma: here was his old granny teacher dressed like the young hip, twenty-somethings in the other classrooms. What gives??

Copy Cat # 5

*FOODOLOGY*
What is your salad dressing of choice? Honey mustard or rice vinegar/oil/

What is your favorite sit-down restaurant? Either India Oven or Captain Leonard's Seafood or The Charn House

What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of? Popcorn--done it

What are your pizza toppings of choice? Olives, mushrooms and onions (and cheese of course)

What do you like to put on your toast? butter and honey




*TECHNOLOGY*

What is your wallpaper on your computer? a picture of Lil Dude on Cool Guy's shoulders


How many televisions are in your house? one--and that's all we'll ever have


What color cell phone do you have? silver and black




*BIOLOGY*

Are you right-handed or left-handed? right

Have you ever had anything removed from your body? my tonsils, four wisdom teeth and one other molar that died, a tiny sliver of a bullet, and the inflamed bursa of my right hip

What is the last heavy item you lifted? my suitcase

Have you ever been knocked unconscious? no




*BULLCRAPOLOGY*

If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die? no

If you could change your name, what would you change it to? Angelina Jolie---just long enough to cash one of her paychecks...

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1,000? No, you'd have to pay me a LOT more.




*DUMBOLOGY*

How many pairs of flip flops do you own? I think four

Last time you had a run-in with the cops? I try really hard to not have anything to do with them and have managed to keep out of trouble for years. My last encounter was when our house was broken into.

What do you want to be when you grow up? retired

Last person you talked to? Cool Guy

Last person you hugged? My good friend who is a new teacher (but not a new person--I admire her determination--she started teaching when many people have just finished 25 years.)




*FAVORITOLOGY*

Season? summer

Holiday? I love Fourth of July

Day of the week? Thursday

Month? February




*CURRENTOLOGY*

Missing someone? my sister who died

Mood? discouraged

Listening to? Kitty Cat complaining, because she wants me to go to bed so she can lay on me and push her paws into my doughy belly

Watching? Kitty Cat, walking back and forth on the desk, stepping over my hands as I type

Worrying about? getting along with people



RANDOMOLOGY*

First place you went this morning? the airport to drop off Cool Guy

What can you not wait to do? open up the boxes with the new Christmas dishes I ordered (a little indulgence with the game show money)

What's the last movie you saw? Forever Strong

Do you smile often? Not lately

Why I Teach Fourth Grade

Because I could NEVER teach Kindergarten.

Today, I went to my grandson's school and got a visitor's pass so I could go up and see his classroom. So I did, and his teacher--no fool--said, "Say, as long as you're here, would you mind helping?" So while she did "reading groups" (it was Kindergarten) I monitored table work. The students came in and sat down and completed their "14" worksheet. They had to trace them, then write them, then make 14 tally marks and complete a pattern with two different colors in a series of squares. She has the class very organized. Everyone knows right where they sit, and how to get the supplies, and how to cut and glue. It was impressive. A couple of students I hope to never meet in 4th grade: a boy spent the entire two hours I was there and g o t n o t h i n g done. Nada. It was impressive! Then there was the girl who managed everyone's life, constantly, and as a result made enemies of them all.

But, my decision to stay far away form Kindergarten was definitely confirmed. It takes an incredible amount of work and organization and patience. Not that fourth grade is a nap, but I feel much more suited to the bigger kids. I had a great time being the Grandma Volunteer, and I wish I lived close enough to do that frequently.

So, the next time you talk to a Kindergarten teacher, you just genuflect a little and offer them your kindest regards because they are very, very special.

Random Thoughts While Traveling

I wonder why the red rocks in Southern Utah shed off in arches? There's a cliff along the freeway that will be the new Arch Rock in a few hundred more years.

The desert smells so fabulously when it rains. All of the brush is resinous and the rain falling must move it all around releasing the aroma.

I think I'd like to try skydiving once. It looks relatively safe, and I'd love to experience earth from above with all that silence.

I always marvel at the fortitude of those people who just packed up when asked to by Brigham Young and moved away from the relatively settled area around Salt Lake City and traveled south to the hot, red wasteland of southern Utah.

On Saturday, Click and Clack from Car Talk (on PBS radio) were marveling over a caller who said she lived in the Alleghenies in Pennsylvania where it was 4000 feet above sea level. When she first said that it was 4000 feet, I remember thinking "Hmmm...not that high." And then the Tapit Brothers went into conniptions over her living waaaay up there!!! I realized that coming from the West, I have a different outlook on altitude. Most of the U.S. lives below 4000 feet, so I guess that seems high. However, as all we Rocky Mountain natives know...4000 feet is the foothills.

The Wasatch Mountains are really spectacular. Really. They impress me every time I see them. Awesome, truly lovely to behold.

When I'm the driver, I don't have trouble keeping awake. But as the passenger....zzzzzzzz.

False Start

We started off a bit late today, we indulged by sleeping in a little. Then when we'd gotten everything packed into the truck, we got a phone call from the relative we were driving to Wyoming to visit. She promised she'd feel better if we didn't drive all the way up there. It's winter already. Six new inches 0f snow on the ground and it's still falling. Bah. So, we thought, well, we'll just stop when we get to Salt Lake City and be there a day earlier than we'd planned.

As we drove out toward the freeway, we passed the air base, where this weekend is Aviation Nation -- the air show featuring the Thunderbirds precision flying team. It was a glorious Nevada fall day. There were two acrobatic smaller planes swooping through the air above us. And...we decided to stay here for Saturday, and drive up to visit our grandson on Sunday. Plus, Cool Guy is leaving from SLC to go back east on Tuesday morning, so this was his last day home.

This afternoon we drove over to the edge of the airbase, just down the street, actually, and parked the bike. Then we walked up a rocky incline to join many others who came to this vantage point to watch the jet show. While we waited for the start, we saw some boys playing in the desert near us. Cool Guy pointed them out. They caught his eye because they were throwing rocks at a can. Then, they were digging, then they found some other cool piece of junk and were messing with it. They were probably 7 or 8 years old. They were doing what few kids in my world get to do: play in the dirt with dangerous stuff. No one yelled at them, either. It was wonderful.

Our children grew up playing in the dirt. I realize from their stories now, that they also occasionally played with dangerous stuff. Cool Guy related how he and his friend went to the town dump at least twice a week and dug around and found fabulous treasures. He'd bring home a wagon full, now and then, to the great chagrin of his father. Who kept busy hauling it back out to the trash. But the point was, digging around in the dump was not forbidden, by law or parents. Well, maybe his dad told him not to do it, but Cool Guy wasn't reknown for compliance.

We agreed that there would have been many fewer toxic products in our small town's dump than would be found in a similar place today. But the point was that many of the generation we raised are tremendously risk adverse and sometimes to such an extreme that their children are really stifled from the creative play that occurs when kids get to go outside and throw rocks, play in the dirt and just explore in the real, sometimes harsh and filthy, world.

So, we will consider our duty to find opportunities for our grandchildren to get dirty and play with odd things and have unstructured time to mess around. We hope to do this without creating too much angst in our children and their spouses. Or getting anyone's fingers cut off.

Double Weekend

For some reason, the school district is giving us all a day off on Monday as well as the scheduled federal holiday of Veteran's Day on Tuesday. So, it's a double weekend. We're going to drive north and visit family members.

Hope it doesn't snow the entire time we're driving.

I've become extremely spoiled about weather living here. I know, I know--115 degrees in August. But, the rest of the year is very pleasant. It got up to 82 again today. It's going to drop to 48 tonight. It is a good weather pattern.

This whole week we read and wrote about Veteran's Day. We learned about the history of the holiday, we learned about the hope that they'd fought the war to end all wars. Not quite, it turned out. Every year I've done this lesson, varying it with my students' abilities to read. I've gone on a tour of websites to show them Flanders Fields, what poppies look like (we read the poem), the trenches of WWI, the Tomb of the Unknowns. Finally, I got smart and this year I made a powerpoint of the whole thing. It is a very effective way to create some visuals and background knowledge for them. My goal is to have them write poetry from the point of view of one of the soldiers, or a tomb guard, or one of the unknowns. Some girls today wrote from the point of view of the poppies. I plan to type them up into a little booklet and send it to my nephew and his wife who are in Iraq right now. It'll be a good way for them to know that we're still thinking of them over here as they serve over there.

Copy Cat, The Fourth

Okay, I'm just too tired tonight to be orginal, so I'll copy Foxy again...she's such a dear to not go running off to her mother shouting, "She's copying me again!!"

Here's the fourth photo in my fourth folder:This is the view from the edge of Hog Island, Maine. I went there on a scholarship from the Southern Maryland Audubon Society to attend Bird Camp. Actually, it's the Audubon Camp, but it has become Bird Camp in the family lexicon. Totally outrageously awesome place. I'm going to return someday. This is a lobster boat whose crew was out checking the traps. They sounded like tractors, appropriately, because their owners were out there "farming" the ocean. This is July, 2000.

I just had to add another image from Bird Camp. This is with the tide out. The tide changed twice a day, ten feet at least, each time. We were quite close to the Bay of Fundy there, and those tides are reknown for their extremes. I was more accustomed to the less dramatic tides of Southern California, so these big changes were interesting to me. The building is the lab where we looked at water organisms and also made our algae prints. Yup, gotta go back. Maine is a place you must return to over and over.

NaBloPoMo

Foxyj tells me that it is National Blog Post Month and the idea is to post a blog every day of November. Whew. I posted on the 3rd and 4th. So I'll try to finish the month out.

Today, of course, we talked about the election in fourth grade. We have a mixed crew of supporters and while there were many O-guys, a few students expressed disappointment that their Military Hero guy lost. So we wrote in our journals Why or Why not: I would like to be elected president.

Here's the sad part: I had at least 5 students give as their reason for not wanting to be elected president of the United States that they didn't want to be assassinated. Wow. So, I pointed out on my Presidents of the United States poster (of course I have one hanging up in my room) that really, only three of them were killed in office, and one wounded. Out of 43 that's pretty good odds.

It was also fun to listen to some of their reasons why they'd like to be elected:

• bowling alley in the house
• personal airplane
• lots of money
• everybody will do what I tell them (...umm...not)

But the sweet ones were: I can help my parents buy gas. I can help my family pay their bills. I'll make sure everyone can get a job. (It's personal when you're nine.)

We all agreed it was an exciting election, and on January 20th they should watch t.v. and see how a country should do it: orderly change of leadership, ceremonies, balls, moving vans and handshakes. Nobody had to get killed.

November 4, 2008

O.
My heck.

The Truth

Fourth graders tell the truth. At least when they are making observations about my appearance. Sigh. A week ago, we were talking about modifying a paragraph -- the difference between editing and revising. Anyway, the word "modified" in my lexicon always refers first to motorcycles. We once belonged to a group called the MMA: Modified Motorcycle Association. It was a political group trying to keep helmet laws off the books, and make life as a chopper owner more compatible with the highway patrol, the motor vehicle's department, and other entities with whom one had to interact regularly who generally didn't like that you had taken your motorcycle and changed it from the original version.

So, anyway, I showed by drawing two bikes, that it was a motorcycle still, but it could be modified so that it had a different sense of style; and that was what revising entailed: it's still your paragraph, but you've enhanced it. Since all of them have seen the show "Orange County Choppers" the whole motorcycle analogy worked for them. Only, I used Mr. Cool Guy as my example. This led to a clamor for photos to show them what I was talking about.

So today I remembered to bring in the photos. The first photo up on my screen (using the ever-awesome Elmo mini-cam) elicited loud ooohs and aaahs: the 1938 Knucklehead chopper. It was painted pearl blue and was raked and extended (18 inches). It was quite awesome looking--not so awesome to drive on the hills of San Diego. But the students were very impressed. I put up another shot of it with Cool Guy and me on it, taken by a friend in 1974...

"Who's that?"

"That's Mr.[Cool Guy] and me."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. It was a long time ago."

"Wow--you were really pretty then! You're old now."

Let's just say that I've been "modified" by Mother Nature.

Happy Birthday to...BOO!

144 years ago, Nevada was "Battle Born" becoming the 36th state. Lincoln courted the territory because the Union needed the silver from the Silver State, and sent federal troops waaaay out here to guard the railroads and the mines. Apparently the Confederacy attempted to come out here and get that valuable resource, too. Anyway, the main reason for your history lesson today, boys and girls, is that because of this statehood commemoration, schools are closed and I get a day off.

Each year, I go to great lengths to remind my students that, no, really we don't get a day off to celebrate Halloween, honest. But because Nevada statehood day is October 31st, it always seems like we get Halloween off! It is a very serious holiday for many of my students. The trick-or-treat thing is very important. Very. I mean---FREE CANDY. You can go all over the city and get FREE CANDY.

We live on a main-drag type of street and so we get lots of attention tonight. I love Halloween, and so I put up my jack-o-lantern and ghost lights all around the door frame. I hang out my tole painted ghost trailing long white cotton streamers. I dig out the big bowl that looks like a pumpkin and fill it with candy. And through the night here, I fill it and fill it and refill and refill it. When I've gone through all my bags of candy, I unplug my lights, shut off the porch light and lock the door. But it is an hours long event on my street. Kids come from the area south of us, where I used to teach. It's not a prosperous part of town, just six miles away, and so they come up the hill to my part of town where the treating is more generous.

Last year, I opened the door and there stood a whole family. They greeted me with a surprised "Hi!" and they looked familiar, but I couldn't place them. Then, the boy in front pulled off his mask, looked me in the eye and shouted, "Hey! It's Mrs. Frome!" It was fantastic---it was a student I'd had in my previous school. But that wasn't why it was fantastic. This boy has autism, and for him to recognize me, and greet me so gregariously was the fantastic part. He usually was silent and reticent. We had a great mini-reunion. His mom was delighted at his reaction too. It was a really Happy Halloween.

Setting a Good Example---NOT

You learn a lot while holding aloft a stop sign, wearing the fluorescent vest of a crossing guard. One thing I've learned (well, re-learned) is that a lot of parents don't seem to realize that their kids are watching them.

We have this one mom who picks up her three boys and her nephew everyday. She parks across the street from the school. This requires that the boys must cross the (very) busy street in front of the school. There we are, my partner and I, stepping into that street every day at the end of school, stopping the cars, providing a safe path for anyone who comes to get their students. Many people utilize our services.

Except her.

She parks about 100 yards down from our corner. Then, she sits in the vehicle and gestures and hollers to the boys (one is very small) to come over right there, in the middle of the block, to get into the car. So, the boys poise on the edge of the road, looking at her, looking at the cars, hesitating, looking around to see if the little boy is with them, and hearing her shout at them to hurry up and come on over. All the cars are trying not to run over them, but the drivers are distracted as they also attempt to not be rear-ended by the other cars coming up the block whose drivers cannot see the little drama happening just over the rise in the road. It's like watching a little doggie running in and out of traffic. You just cringe, anticipating the worst.

Why not ask the boys to walk up the street and cross with us? Why not park just a little closer to the corner where we're stopping the cars? Why not teach your children to cross the street where it's safe and where it's obviously the designated place to cross?

Why not indeed.

Graduate Dithering

Eighteen months ago, I was accepted to the MLS degree on-line program at San Jose State University. I registered, got everything all set up to do my on-line courses, started one, and discovered two things.
1) I was really not computer savvy enough to do an on-line class effectively.
2) I didn't actually want to do what the degree was about after all: organizing data.

So, I withdrew (a nice word for "dropped out" w/o penalty.) I looked into several other "schools" that constantly send teachers information touting their convenient and quick master's degree programs. Basically, "Give us $20,000 and we give you a degree in 18 months." But none of them are an actual brick&mortar school. They exist largely in cyberspace to give master's degrees and apparently have agreements with a couple of western states to service their teachers. I didn't want one of those.

So, next I applied to UNLV, since I am a Nevada resident and I live here in Las Vegas and they have an education school. Most of their degree programs weren't that exciting to me, either, but I've maxed out salary-advancement-wise and I must get a master's degree to earn more money. Plus, at my age, and after teaching 14 years, I'm just about alone with only a bachelor's degree. Nearly everyone I know has a graduate degree but me. My resume is thin.

So, I was accepted to the Curriculum and Instruction program. But when I discussed this with a trusted friend who works in the district office, she told me some things that made me reconsider this choice. I was supposed to register for classes and start in January. BUT...today I went down there, met with a professor she recommended to me, and---changed my program----again. I'm beginning to feel dizzy.

But, at last, I believe I have a goal I can accomplish and be happy with: MS Educational Psychology. It's all about cognitive research in reading instruction. Okay. A program I can get behind, something based on data, something I can use if I ever leave the classroom for some vague district office position. Blah. blah. No, really, I do feel good about the degree. I need to take a class starting in January, then the degree starts officially in Fall, 2009. And, thanks to Meredith, I can afford it!

The Last Word

One more blog about the game show:

1. I realize that thousands of viewers were shouting at their t.v. screens in derision: "Van Halen---duh!!!" But I didn't have a television in 1984, and the music I listened to on the stereo was Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, ZZ Top, and Emily Lou Harris.


2. I'm sure that at least 50 students hollered at me on Friday, "Mrs. [earthsignmama], you should have guessed!! You knew it!!" Well, yes, I've silently (and not so silently) berated my own self about that choice. However, I do not gamble. If I'd had maybe two minutes to think about it, I'd have talked myself into Davy Crockett. But, like Coolguy says: "If you want to feel bad about winning $50,000, then you go right ahead, but I don't want to hear about it anymore." The End.
   
3. I really just wish I'd answered that Davy Crockett question mostly to find out what the NEXT question was. Maybe I'd have known the answer! I won the million dollars over and over playing on their website for practice. I know, I know....THE END.

Licking Her Way to the Finish Line

So, now I know why the make-up girl kept touching up my lipstick. Evidently my most prominent nervous tic is licking my lips over and over and over and over...Oh, well, I still get the money. YEAH!! In fact, I'm taking the fake check with me to school tomorrow to show the kids. They were very excited today over the outcome of yesterday. Tomorrow will be really a scream. (or a squeal, or shouting...)

The Millionaire people said they'd send the real $50,000 dollar check within thirty days after the program airs. I hope to see it by Thanksgiving. Then, of course, the bank is guaranteed to "hold" it for another unknown number of days before they allow me do anything with it. But, finally, I will get to enjoy all the zeros in my account for a little while until I begin paying off bills. My one indulgence planned is to remodel my bedroom closet with those neat shelves and racks and shoe holders. When we bought this older (fixed-up) house in an established neighborhood, an important feature was the bigger lot size. Our neighbor's house isn't so close we can slap it. But, I gave up walk-in closets for the big lot and the pool/spa. I'm going to fix that in a few months.

• Yes, Meredith Vierra is really that nice in person. Everyone associated with the show is very kind.
• Thank you again Jessie for narrowing down my choices as Phone-A-Friend.
• Thank you Shelly and Brian for being willing to get The Call.
• Thank you all of my children for having such wide and varied interests that caused your mom to read up on so many things that my knowledge pool was expanded continuously. Seriously, raising children is an entire graduate degree because they open up your world to all kinds of topics.
• HEY! Emily Burdin out there in Maryland! I hope you're doing well in college!
• After the $500 question, it was all profit because I'd flown out there on mileage from CoolGuy, and all I paid for was the train from Baltimore to NYC, and a very pricey hotel room on Eighth Avenue.
• I was so nervous I mispronounced a French word--for shame--I took French in high school. It's tray-bu-shay not "tray-bu-shett." I'd still like to look up the group in Pennsylvania who build them for fun and chunk pumpkins every year.
• My friend in the school where I worked for 10 years in Southern Maryland gathered a bunch of my buddies there in the art room and they watched me during their lunch break. Go Leopards!!
• I'm glad it's finished. I'm exhausted.
• My lips are chapped real bad, too.

It's Gamma!

That was the reaction of my two year old grandson, said my daughter, as they watched me in the mid-afternoon win a little money on t.v. I watched tonight in my city (it comes on at different times everywhere) and I didn't look as nervous as I felt. That's good!

You see, when they revealed each question, I quickly had an idea what the choices might be, and when those choices didn't pop up in the answer slots, then my brain was very confused, and I couldn't think. It wasn't so confused it couldn't recognize that the timer was relentlessly ticking down to zero, however.

So, even though, watching at home, you are sitting there calmly munching chips, saying "Oh, it's______[fill in the blank]", the contestant is panicking and thinking "WHAAAAT??? What were they asking??? These aren't what I expected!!! ARRRGGHHH!!!" ...for a millisecond, and then you suck in some air and say, "Oh, C--final answer" with a big smile. And everyone cheers and Meredith smiles and you think, "Whew--still alive" and hope the butterflies in your stomach don't suddenly all come flying out, accompanied by your lunch.

Tomorrow: watch the grand finale, as she urges the butterflies to continue hovering, quietly, down there.

Nervous

I saw me on TV tonight...during the local news the hour before the Millionaire show came on, I am on the promo for the show. (!!) They show a number of the teachers, but I get to talk, too. It's just a clip of the show, but I looked a lot better than I did in the little blurb they showed last week, in which we were treated to my eight double chins---looking down at the monitor through my bifocals caused my old lady neck to be all scrunched up.

We didn't get to watch one another at the taping so I'm seeing the other contestants' performances for the first time as it is broadcast. I watched the first guy tonight, another Las Vegas teacher, who also has appeared on Jeopardy (so you know he is smart...) and he won less than me. He was just stumped by a question that was extremely obscure. I felt bad for him. So, I'm feeling better and better about the amount I won. This is going to very nerve-wracking to watch myself!

New, new, new, Change, change, change

I'll bet you thought this blog was going to be political, huh?? No, it's about church. We were invited to a meeting today at our stake center--my ward and the adjoining ward. Everyone knew that there were going to be some boundary changes, and so it wasn't a surprise. We held only Sacrament meeting, but it lasted 90 minutes so all the people who were formerly in the two bishoprics could speak.

The first step was that everyone in both wards was released from their callings, including the bishoprics. Then, they announced that the two previously constituted wards were also being entirely disbanded. They no longer exist: there is no more Christy Meadows and Viewpoint wards. In its place is a ward called Chapel Heights. It has been formed out of the center of the two previous wards. Some people in the edges of the two former wards were then moved to adjoining, pre-existing wards as the boundary changes were read, and illustrated on a power-point slide show that accompanied the stake president's explanation. Whew.

So, now, at this moment, I do not have a job at church. I have been instructed to take my keys and my handbooks to the bishop's home, and then...I guess all this week the bishop and new counselors will spend their time calling new people to all the jobs. Whew, again. Next Sunday is the ward conference for the new Chapel Heights ward. It was previously scheduled to be the Christy Meadows ward conference, so I guess we'll spend the time announcing all the new callings.

The new ward is made up of about half and half from each of the disbanded wards. Most of us will have been in duplicate callings in our previous wards. It's possible that both RS presidents and both Primary presidents are now in the same ward. Or that the YW presidents were both moved to different wards. Just as an example.

I don't have any idea who most of the new people are because they attended a different building. This new ward means a building switch for all us from the Christy Meadows ward. All of our Relief Society closet things from our old building will need to be moved to the new one, since that old ward doesn't exist anymore. This is going to be long process of change.

New! New! New! I saw many tears being shed...I secretly cheered that a couple of people who have been irksome to me in one way or another are no longer going to be in a ward with me...(I'm going to hell for this, I'm sure.) Change! Change! Change!

In The Wind

Someone asked me if I wear a helmet when motorcycling. Yes, I do. Because I would get a ticket if I didn't. If I lived in a state without a law requiring helmet use, I would not wear the helmet.

The first 15 years of my riding career happened in California before they passed the mandatory helmet use law. So, my standard, my norm, is hair in the wind. I always braided it and wore a bandana headband to keep the loose ends from flying about. Coolguy owned a helmet, because it was required to get onto the Navy base. But we did not wear helmets off-base. My friend was taken aback that I would not wear the helmet if riding in a state without a helmet law.

I know why she was shocked: I always wear my seatbelt, I always used babyseats in my car, I brush my teeth and floss every day, I'm totally a rule keeper normally. It seems completely out of character to her that I would thumb my nose at "common sense" in this area. It is seemingly irrational.

But if you ever rode out in the wind without that sweaty, annoying helmet with the pinching strap, you'd know why and it would seem completely sensible and ought to be the norm. There's an old motto from 20-30 years ago: Let Those Who Ride, Decide. Yeah.

Crazy Times A'Comin'

Today I had at least twenty former students (now from 5th grade) stop me and ask if it was true that I am going to be on T.V. When I replied in the affirmative, they squealed---each one of them, each time. Whew. Think what is going to happen next Friday when they've actually seen it! And found out how much I won! Whew. But, just to slow down the questions, I made a little sign for the fifth grade hall to announce which days, what channel, and what time I'd be on.

The other question they ask is: Are you on "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?" Umm...no. I'm on the show apparently watched mostly by old ladies. But, I tell them, I'm probably NOT smarter than a fifth grader, so I didn't go on that show.

So, if you want to see if I'm at least sort of smart (mostly lucky) you can watch on:

Wednesday, Oct. 22

Thursday, Oct. 23

"Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" With Meredith Vierra

It is a syndicated show, so it comes on different networks and different times of day in every city. You'll have to look it up where you live.

And, no, I don't have the money yet. They promise it within 30 days of the air date. And, yes, I'm nervous to watch myself. Actually, it was all a blur at the time, so it'll seem like I've never seen it, either. I don't remember which parts of our conversation were on-air and which parts were off-air, because Ms. Vierra was very chatty and pleasant during all the time we were sitting there, even during commerical stops, and technical difficulties. She had a long day--we started taping at about 11:30 and I left at 5:00 and they still had a show and a half to finish taping. We'd arrived at the studio at 7:30 that morning.

But, I'm not whining---I got a pretty good hourly rate that day in compensation...

And This Is Why...

If you've ever wondered how CoolGuy got his name...here's one reason:

A couple of days ago, I asked if he would take my car and get it washed. It's better to wash it early in the day, because, last week, Las Vegas temperatures were still reaching the upper 90's by 3:00 P.M. A cool blast of car-wash water could crack a windshield that had been parked in the hot sun all day. Sure, he'd be happy to, and the plan was to exchange vehicles with me when he finished. So I took his truck to school.

Around 11:00 A.M. I received an e-mail that I should just run my after-school errands in the truck, because he wasn't finished with the car. Hmm...puzzling.

I got home at 5:30 to find him scooting around under the car on his mechanic's cart, with my front wheels lying in a corner. I was getting new brakes! And I also had a new power steering hose! He'd come out to get in the car and found a drip under the front. I hadn't noticed it. But he did, and he was hoping it wasn't the oil drip he'd repaired a couple of weeks ago coming back to haunt him. Nope, a different worn out part.

Now, if I had just kept driving my car that week, I'd probably have never noticed the leak, driven around until the hose completely ruptured, been stranded somewhere with no steering, or burned out the power steering pump trying to muscle it around without the power steering. My car didn't make it to the car wash, but it did get new front brakes and a new hose.

I'll get to the car wash this weekend. And I'll get there safely with power steering and front brakes. This is the coolness...

Funerals R Us

In the past six months, our RS presidency has had six funerals to do. Some of the departed were dear old friends who'd live long lives and passed on to their reward. One was a tragic accident, one was a tragic illness, taking loved ones whose families have been left distraught and bereft with sorrow that won't soon be soothed. But, our ward sisters are ready for a break from all this compassionate casseroling. Whew--it's time for folks to stop dying left and right, and let everyone catch a breath. (That sounds flippant...sorry.)

At the latest service, there was a poem on the back of the program that I want to share. It is a little long, and the rhymes are a bit cheesy. I think it may have been written by a relative of the woman we honored. But it has an excellent message and so I include it:

How Do You Live Your Dash?

I read of a man who stood to speak

At the funeral of a friend.

He referred to the dates on her tombstone

From beginning to end.

He noted first the date of birth

And spoke the final date with tears.

But he said what mattered most of all

Was the dash between those years

(1921-2008)

For the dash represents all the time

That she spent alive on earth

And now only those who loved her

Know what that short line is worth.

It matters not how much we own

The cars, the house, the cash;

What matters is how we live and love

And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard

Are there things you'd like to change?

For you never know how much time is left

That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough

To consider what's true and real,

And always try to understand

The way other people feel

And be less quick to anger,

And show appreciation more

And love the people in our lives

Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,

And more often wear a smile...

Remember that this special dash

Might last only a little while.

So, when your eulogy's being read

With your life's actions to rehash...

Would you be proud of the things they say

About how you spent your dash?

I can affirm that the person we remembered at the funeral where this poem was read spent her "dash" in a such a way that the people who knew her throughout her long life will sorely miss her. I knew her only a short time, and I was deeply impressed at her positive nature, her determination to live every single minute to capacity, and her service to others. She was tiny, but powerful. I found out from a mutual acquaintence some of the really tragic circumstances of her life---things that you'd never imagine and that she just overcame and marched onward to happier days. She could have been bitter and hard, but she was relentlessly cheerful and kind. Wow. I hope when they're printing up my funeral program, someone will be inspired to put something as positive as this in it. I hope my "dash" represents that to them.

Paul Newman---RIP

Paul Newman died. Gulp. But he was 83, so it isn't a tragedy. I feel badly for his wife Joann Woodward; they were married for 50 years. That's just the first thing about him I admired: staying married (and apparently happily) for all that time to the same woman. It is a rare thing among famous Hollywood guys to pull that off.

But there were lots of things about him and his career to admire. I like that he devoted so much time and fortune to good works. He wasn't flashy about it, either. And he was a real human in that he did crazy things like his passion for car racing. Some famous people might have avoided such a risky hobby, but he loved it and so he went out there and did it.

I was junior in high school when Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid came out. In our town, the theater (or showhouse, as it was called) was only open Th Fr Sa. They showed the movie twice, with previews and cartoons in between. Usually, we were late, and so we stayed for the beginning of the second movie to see what we'd missed. But, I could drive in 1969, so my sister and I were on time for the first show. We didn't even budge, and sat all the way through the second show, and on Saturday we came back and watched both of them again. Wow. It was something completely different from what we'd been accustomed to in a Western, and it grabbed me. I went out and bought the album, then the piano music. I've watched the movie a hundred times since, and can quote most of the dialogue. Between the relatively new guy playing Sundance (Robert Redford) and the stunning Mr. Newman, I was in love. It creeped me out when I found out that Newman and MY DAD were only two years apart in age---eeww. My dad...But, it didn't keep me from maintaining the crush.

There were lots of Newman movies that were fantastic, Cool Hand Luke, The Color of Money, The Verdict, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Hud. They are all iconic, and he was terrific in them all. Oh, yeah: The Sting! But when you're 16 and you fall in love...there's something about that big teenage movie crush...sorry to see him go. Glad he was here.

RainMan Life

It's amazing what things can make a lot of difference. Here's a few from work:

• This year's crop of fourth graders has no obvious hoodlums; there are a couple of boys who seem to be raising themselves (and we were cautioned by other adults about that) so they are often ungroomed and have learned to be sneaky and adept at lying; there are a couple of girls who are unduly distracted by the little accessories that nine-year old girls collect. But--no one is super-sexualized, no one has clearly declared their gang affiliation, and no one has [yet] declared in a huff, "I'm not going to be your friend!" crossing our fingers...
• Having only 75 students daily instead of 98 is an amazing relief! I am not completely exhausted at the end of each day.
• Having 75 minutes per period instead of 60 is another bonus. We can get a complete lesson finished and practice time and extra skills work. Plus, those who are really slow to finish can almost always get finished.

Here are a couple of things from the rest of life:

• Oatmeal is a terrific food. I could actually eat it twice a day. Sometimes, I do.
• I hope Jeopardy! never gets canceled--what else would I do with that thirty minutes of my day that would be as satisfying??
• Is there anything better than cantelope? I don't think so. Well, maybe raspberries, that you eat as you pick them off the vine while standing in the patch at your grandma's house.
• Routines are very soothing. It is calming to me to have a place for things; to write each new date on the white board; to put the newspapers in the recycle bin; to put freshly ironed clothes in the closet. I can hardly think of anything more unsettling than to run for office: every day a new city, never knowing where or what you'll eat till someone hands it to you, not sleeping in your own bed---bleh---if for no other reason, I'd never be in politics.
• I love planning what I'm going to wear the next day just before I drop off to sleep. It has become my most effective sleep aid. I go over the possibilities and make the choices of shirt, skirt/pants, shoes, jewelry and then I can drift right off.

And now that I've established myself as seriously OCD, I think I'll go iron some things so that I can safely plan tomorrow's wardrobe, and then I'll eat a portion of cantelope while watching Jeopardy.

Wild Living in Las Vegas

I read in the local paper today an article about bighorn sheep, and it was so intriguing, that I got in the car and drove down there to look for myself. The desert bighorn sheep is Nevada's state mammal, so as a fourth grade teacher, I had a professional responsibility to do this. Sort of...but mostly I can't resist seeing wild animals up close and personal.

They are grazing in a small park, surrounded by many people, kids on the playground, basketball courts. This picture just shows a couple, but there were probably 50 animals in this park. If a person came too near, the sheep just sauntered away. Once a little boy broke away from his mom and ran toward them, and so the sheep jogged a little to the other side, as the mom frantically chased her son and snatched him up. It's astonishing. The neighborhood feels very protective. The sheep headed for the mountainside as the sun went down and, on the street they walk through to reach their trail, I noticed that at least three homes had put out watering troughs in the driveways! One was a big metal tub, one was a little wading pool, and another an actual stock trough from a feedstore. It was endearing.

I've seen wild sheep a few times since moving here. They are always on the canyons walls as you drive down to Hoover Dam, and I've seen them on the pass as you leave the valley to the west, also. They are interesting to see because they are so adept at their adaptations. They graze on a surface that seems devoid of vegetation. They leap and hop around on rock strewn, steep terrain in way that defies gravity.

But, this herd is so attached to the lush playground grass, that I guess they'd think it ridiculous to suggest that perhaps it would be safer up on their craggy heights. And it would be silly, because none of us people who showed up today were going to cause them any stress or harm. No, we just wanted pictures!

Quinoa Vs LDL--The Smackdown

I went to the gym today to walk and afterward I weighed myself. Blah. I've gained back all the weight I lost in the spring when I changed my diet in an effort to lower my cholesterol. Blah. It was a summer of vacations, and traveling and eating, eating, eating--my favorite pastime.

So, I just came home from the market with cantelope, watermelon, pears, apples, Brussels sprouts, spinach, portobello mushrooms, yams, jicama, humus and quinoa. My diet this week will be wholesome. No chili dogs.

This summer I was riding the train back to D.C. from New York when I heard a lady talking in the seat behind mine and she mentioned that she had lowered her cholesterol to 40. Yes, f-o-r-t-y. I knelt on my seat, peered over the top, and begged her pardon for the interruption, but I couldn't help being astounded at her feat. She was much older than me, but she, too, really didn't want to go on meds. So she did it by not eating any animal products for a month. She decided to try it for a just a month. I said that I didn't think I could face life with no bacon ever again, and she laughed and said she didn't say she was a vegetarian, she just was not eating animal products for a little while. So far, it had been quite a few months (I forget the exact amount). She's lost weight and her cholesterol has plummeted.

I don't think I could eat without using milk, however. But, I can cut way back on several things. One of the foods she eats in order to get enough protein is quinoa. It is a grain from the Andes. I've seen it for years in the bulk bins in the markets where they have bulk bins. I only learned how to pronounce it a little while ago. But read about here. It looks easy enough to cook, and if it is anything like short grain brown rice, barley, or oatmeal, I'm going to love it. I love all those other grains.

So, grains and fruit and walking everyday at the gym on the treadmill. It's still rather hot here, and--I've discovered another reason why I'll walk at the gym and not around my neighborhood. When I walk around the neighborhood, I tend to hurt myself because the sidewalks are not even. Every house has a cut out where the driveway is, or tree roots have lifted the sidewalk, so I find myself walking with my head down to watch out for uneven surfaces, or I turn my foot on the bumps. I'm such a spaz...So, I just take the newspaper and read it on the treadmill and then I hardly notice that the 30 minutes have passed.

Well, this is the plan. Only time will tell if I can execute it. I'm just so sick of the big glob of fat around my midsection. I also want to be able to go to my doctor in a couple of months for another blood test and be triumphant that I've knocked the points off the stupid cholesterol test--without the pill. If I can't, then I'll have to take the meds because everything I've read about it tells me I shouldn't mess around--I'll have a stroke. I'd rather have a steamed yam and a nice salad of steamed Brussels sprouts with tomatoes in vinaigrette.

Copy Cat

Here I am, copying a post from a favorite blog. But it's a good one, so here goes:

I am wearing really comfortable clothes, since all day I've been squeezed into a pair of pants that don't fit around my doughy waist anymore. Time to go back to the gym regularly, now that the pool water cooled off.

I am reading three books slowly, periodically. One is a memoir from a soldier in Iraq, one is the John Adams book, and one is a true story written by a enslaved woman who hid in her grandmother's attic for years in her escape attempt from the South.

I am hearing the murmur of the t.v. in the living room, and the swish of cars driving by on the street. When Cool Guy is out of town, I tend to leave the t.v. on for company.

I am learning all the time things I need to review regularly. Here's a great quote I read recently:
"Of the seven deadly sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back--in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you." (Wishful Thinking, 1973, p.2, Harper & Row)

I am thankful that I finished college and that I can be a school teacher. I love working with my students and helping them to do well. It's a very satisfying job.

I am hoping that my attempt to control my stupid cholesterol with dietary changes will be successful. I do not want to start taking a pill. Besides, when you take the pills, the literature tells you that you have to watch your diet, anyway. I need to be consistent with regular exercise, too.

From the kitchen this evening, the only being who has received sustenance is Kitty Cat. She was served her kitty chicken on time. I will have a bowl of granola and call it dinner. Like one of my sisters says, "I've already proved that I can cook." Tomorrow: chili dogs.

Bringing beauty to my home is a lovely fern that is a cutting from the giant, man-eating fern my mother grew in her living room for 50 years. So far, so good--I've kept it alive for two years, and it is flourishing. Regular watering and misting is the secret.

Around the house are the memories of our 34 years of marriage and children: plaster handprints, framed drawings, photos of the kids taken by their talented photog-father, rocks, seashells, the Idaho clock, and books, books, books. Our most valuable treasures proved to be of no interest to thieves.

Outside my window is a magnificent, rocky, desert mountain, soaring over our neighborhood, allowing us city dwellers to always maintain our perspective that we are just tiny creatures on a huge planet. It soothes me to see it everyday.

I am thinking about the upcoming ruckus of when the gameshow airs on t.v. My students will be completely nuts! Periodically someone will come to me in amazement to say they heard a rumor...Yes, it's true. In a month, I'll be a local celebrity, and it's starting to freak me out a little.

One of my favorite things is playing the piano. I love that I can make music. I really miss the music made by our talented children that formerly filled our house. I enjoyed all of it, and it is a keen sorrow of the passing of time, and inevitable independence of adult children: they leave your home and you are left with only memories.

A few plans for the rest of the week...I must devote some time to sorting out the spelling program I want to implement this year. The parents are begging for more homework. I wish I could find some nearby tomatoes to bottle. I've considered driving up to So. Utah. I don't like commercially canned tomatoes nearly as much. I'll also sleep in on Saturday, duh...

We're Talking Dirt Here

I don't know if other ex-farmers have this problem, but wherever I live, I can't help but notice the dirt. You know, soil--planting medium--earth. Dirt was a big part of my life as a child and teenager. I learned to drive by guiding the tractor around in big circles on a plowed field, smoothing out the furrows with the harrow--the step after the disc, right before you use the leveler. All that work before you can plant the seeds. So, anyway, having spent a lot of time driving around and walking around on dirt, I notice it wherever we've moved to lately. I realize that I've already blogged about soil, but it fascinates me. So, here are some more thoughts on dirt.

The second place we lived in Southern California is called the Oxnard plain. It has ten feet of topsoil, I'm sure. No, really, I think I read that somewhere. Apparently it was an alluvial flood plain, and so over the centuries or millennia, lots of soil was washed down here and deposited. As I drove around the area doing my mom errands, I could see them plowing and planting and I was just astounded that anywhere could have such soil in combination with their year-round fabulous weather. Here's a photo:
Those aren't rocks, or even pebbles in the photo, just chunks of dirt. It is soil, through and through--full of nutrients, and deeper than you could ever plant. It would grieve me to see them covering it up and building houses and shopping centers in what was once a strawberry field.

The reason it was so traumatic for me to see them use the ground there for something other than growing plants is that my childhood experience with dirt was so much different, and so difficult. Apparently, the farm my parents moved onto when I was two weeks old, was anciently the pathway of a long-gone glacier. Every spring the snow melted to expose the new generation of smooth rocks were heaved up from beneath the ground by the forces of frost. My dad would plow, and sometimes we'd run a harrow over that acreage, too, making it easier to walk across behind the wagon as we picked up the hundreds and hundreds of rocks. Plowed ground was rough with the deep furrows and was difficult to drive the wagon on, and even more difficult to keep your balance as you trudged along looking for the stupid rocks. But they had to be removed, because you could not possibly use the drill (seed planter) without removing the rocks. It would have broken the discs right off from it. Plus, if the rocks were sitting up on top of the ground, then whatever machine you used to cut the crop would also have been damaged by the rocks. So, every spring--picking rocks.

And it wasn't like you'd eventualy get them thinned out and one year there'd be no more. There was obviously a limitless supply! Once, we used the crowbar to pry up a really big one, and under it was a "nest" of smaller rocks, and my dad (he was a humorist) exclaimed, "Oh, look! We got ourselves a brood sow--this'll cut back on next year's supply." Not really. We'd pile them up along the fence lines, and eventually, he just designated one place in the middle of the farm for the rock pile, and we'd dump them there. I wondered how it would be when centuries later, archeologists would be excavating my parent's farm and come upon this huge pile of rocks and how they'd interpret the significance of it in our culture.

Finally, Daddy planted alfalfa instead of barley in the biggest field we'd picked for years. This didn't make the rocks go away, but at least he didn't have to plow it every spring. Alfalfa is a perennial crop, and just grows back year after year without having to be planted. When the last day of school came, and other kids were off to a swimming party, we'd be off to the field to finish the rocks. I remember going up and picking rock before school one chilly morning. I don't know who milked! Of all the crummy jobs we did on the farm, this ranked right up there in the top five of Crummiest. Here's a picture of me, two weeks before the birth of my first child, on a visit to my parents and helping the rock picking crew. (What WAS I thinking??)

Ultimately, however, my dad was able to market his Best Crop: when the state decided to move the highway, they bought the whole giant pile of rocks from my brother who'd taken over the farm after Daddy's death. They used them to help build the roadbed. I like to think of my dad exulting up there in heaven as all our labor finally paid off. I always think of him whenever I travel past farmland and see the dirt. I hope someday, in the eternities, he'll get to farm on a place like the Oxnard plain: just plow it and plant it---that is farmer heaven.

Time Flies

ACK! It's been nearly a week since I made a post, and the main reason is that my life has once again slipped into a groove. I get up and go to school. I work, work, work, and come home. I cook dinner, watch Jeopardy while we eat it, and then soak in the hot tub and go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

But it is a good groove. Of course, sometimes I correct papers, or do laundry, or iron, or read the newspaper in the space between "eat dinner" and "soak in hot tub". And sometimes I go to a meeting, or just lay around watching re-runs I've put on the DVR. But, once I've checked e-mail, I tend to leave the computer behind.

I had a little too much excitement the other night. About 9:30 I opened the door between the kitchen and the garage to take out empty drinking water jugs and pick up filled ones, and a startled teenager stood up from the passenger side of my car, where he had been rifling through my console looking for something to steal. We stared at one another for a millisecond before I shrieked for Cool Guy to come. The punk darted back out of the garage by slithering under the big door that had been left ajar, as usual, to let out the stifling hot afternoon air. He ran away too fast for either of us to get even a glimpse of which direction. I wanted to follow him home and yell at him. Actually, I wish I'd had the presence of mind to realize how he got in, and hit the garage door closer button to trap him inside. Then, I'd have taken the broom to him--whack whack whack--until he begged for the police. But I was too shocked to see him in there to remember that the door was still open a little when it should already have been closed down all the way. He didn't take anything, but a few hours off the life of my startled heart. Believe me--the garage door will never again be left ajar for ventilation. What a jerk.

So, aside from that, really, it's been a routine week in the life of the teacher who has started another school year. My students are reasonably cooperative so far, and time flies when you're busy with children. It's Friday already tomorrow! Whoo-hoo!