Happy Birthday Joe

Actually, the main birthday celebrated in our family today is for the second brother. He was born 26 years ago and was a Kindergarten class project--sort of. I was pregnant with him during the year of our oldest child's first school experience, and I spent time there each week being the music lady with a friend of mine. As the year progressed, my belly grew bigger, and so the students were excited to have me come and visit at the end of April with the new baby brother. He was very popular and annointed the "cutest one!" He was then, and still today manages to be very, very cute. And very talented and very nice. And very intelligent and very creative.

Which brings us to Joe's birthday. Well, I don't really remember Joe's birthday. It could be today, but without today, April 2, we wouldn't have had Joe...so. Mr. Cool (as I will herein refer to the Birthday Boy) taught himself to read when he was just about four. One of his favorite things to read was the atlas, and any map, anywhere. We had a map of the United States on the wall in his room and it got thoroughly studied. One day, we were introduced to Joe.

Joe was from Shafter, Texas. His grandmother lived in Alpine, Texas. Joe liked the color green, and his mom had died, I think. There were some tragic undertones to Joe's life. But Joe lived with us for a year or more. When we had baths in the evening, I had to also help Joe out of the tub and dry him off. At night, Joe was tucked into bed, too. He had a place to join us on the couch for bedtime reading. He went to the store with us. One night at dinner, Mr. Cool was just fiddling with his soup and not really eating much. I pointed out that we had ice cream for dessert, but that the soup needed to be finished first. Oh, no problem, Joe was going to eat the soup. So, I replied, "Then I'll give Joe the ice cream." He shot right back angrily, "Joe HATES ice cream!"

We moved to another state during the year of Joe. A big moving van pulled up outside of our house, everything boxed up and stashed inside. Then the truck was weighed and we signed the bill. But when it arrived in Idaho after a few days on the road, the new weight was 300 pounds heavier than that which we loaded in California. Mysterious? We looked at one another and Cool Guy just shrugged, "Joe's stuff." Of course.

One day, we just didn't hear about Joe anymore. He was a good friend, and we all enjoyed him while he lived with us. I hope he's having a happy birthday, too. Mr. Cool--you, too!

Not Lost

I'm not lost or anything, but I've just spent most of my spare time in the last week working on a power-point synopsis of 5 research articles about teaching phonics. Eighty-eight slides. Yes, 88. I presented it on Monday, now I need to finish the revisions and e-mail it to my professor and then I'll be back blogging in my "spare" time. If I'm not dead.

Happy Feet

I went shopping on the weekend to Dillards because I'd read that they were going to have a shoe consultant in their stores. Well, I have terrible feet and I need some consultin'. I didn't find anyone at the location I went to, but I was waited on by a very persuasive salesman. He had me explain my needs--flat feet, sore knees, teacher, standing up all day....blah, blah. He commiserated and then walked me over to the wall and said, "These are what you need. You try these on, and you will be astonished. You'll never wear any other shoes in your life. Seriously."
Well, that seemed like an extravagant claim, but I put on the shoes.

Wow.

Right then, my feet felt FABULOUS. Really. He brought me three more pair in varying styles. Again, FABULOUS. I walked around the shoe area, out on the tiles of the main aisle, back and forth. Still--FABU----You get my drift.

So, I bought a pair. EEk, they were quite expensive. I wore them today to school--seven hours mostly on my feet. And guess how my feet feel tonight??? Yes guessed it:

Fabulous!!

Now, I'm not suggesting that you go right out and buy some Ecco shoes, but I'm going to buy another pair next payday in another style, and another pair the payday after that, and then again and again until I have all the shoes I tried on Saturday. Then, I'm just probably going to give away most of my other shoes. Yes, I'm a convert. No, actually, I'm a zealot. With comfortable feet, after I've worked all day, standing up on my cement floors with indoor/outdoor carpet without a pad.

Going for A Ride

I was driving home this morning (from the gym...the latest attempt at self-improvement) and a car drove by on the main road with a long-haired Chihuahua sticking his head and neck as far out the window as the person restraining him would allow. The wind was blowing his ears back and his mouth was open, tongue flapping in the breeze. Dogs in cars--the very picture of Nirvana. All of our dogs loved car rides. They would get in the car uninvited. The prospect of a) being with his people and b) being able to stick his head out of the window and sniff everything (!!!) wow... Wouldn't that be cool to be a dog and have joy be so simple?

Actually, riding a motorcycle is the human equivalent, I realized just as I wrote that. Thursday afternoon I came home from school in a state because of pending re-assignment rumors in my building, and Cool Guy had just returned from a little jaunt. He was getting in one last ride before flying back East for work, but the Harley has to stay here. So I asked him if he'd take me for a blast over the mountain into the desert--just a short one. Lake Mead Boulevard, near our house, is so named because if you follow it, eventually you'll end up at the lake. We frequently ride up a little circuit that goes around some of the little inlets and bays formed by the outer edges of the lake.

So, we took off. It's a perfect time of year here in the desert. Everything is in bloom, parts of the desert actually have grass growing over vast stretches. It smells fantastically and it stays light until 7:30. It won't get deathly hot for another month or so, so all the growing things are just flourishing because of the extensive rain (and snow) we had in the winter. It was a nice ride, just long enough to clear out my angst and come home relaxed and serene. I felt like this guy.

Are You As Smart As My Fourth Graders?

Actually, they may not be all that smart, either. But tonight watching Jeopardy! I did discover a category they might be able to pass. Any of my students, from all my classes in the last 14 years. I forget exactly the name of it, but it was something like, The Second Line...Each of the five items was about a famous piece of writing, but you had to identify it from a less well-known quote they gave from the body of the piece -- not the famous First Line.

The pieces were the Gettysburg Address, the Declaration of Independence, the Preamble to the U.S. Constitution, Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech, and the poem by Emma Lazarus that is written on the base of the Statue of Liberty.

I knew the question to each answer because each year I teach my students about these pieces of historical literature. I teach them a lot of other things, too. But I always work in these five. We learn about the six promises of the Preamble on Constitution Day. (Did you know there is a federally mandated day to teach it? Sept. 17th) We spend a week on Dr. King's life and words in January. I always have Abraham Lincoln week in February, as well as George Washington week. I think President's Day is too mushy, and it contributes to the confusion many students have that makes these two American leaders indistinguishable from one another. AAAGGHH! It is a pet-peeve of mine that people can't remember the basic facts about those two, so I belabor it with my classes every year. But...I use them to teach writing, history and math, because it doesn't really matter what the context for the learning is, as long as you are learning. I knock off the two birds that way: cultural literacy and my content standards.

Then, the next answer on Jeopardy! was about the Declaration of Independence. That just fits right in with George Washington week so nicely. It also was part of Maryland history when I lived there. The final Americana writing was the poem The New Colossus. There was a unit in my previous reading anthology about immigrants, including a magazine article about the Statue of Liberty. I have found a good substitute for those stories out here in Nevada and I still have the fact piece, so we read all about it, and read the poem and learn why it was important. And then, we write poetry ourselves as though we are Liberty Enlightening the World, looking down on the country, each telling what is going through their copper brain. They write really lovely poetry when they have something they know about as a topic.

So, I was very proud of myself tonight as I watched t.v. to realize that I've taught my students about these pieces of Americana consistently through the years. I'm a shameless propagandist as a teacher. I want my students to know about this really awesome nation and our historical icons and develop a love for it all. It's my little contribution to the future.

Hey, Hey Mama

We were listening to music tonight, actually, it was a DVD of a concert on Austin City Limits of Dwight Yoakam. His guest was Buck Owens, with the accordianist Flaco Jimenez. We love Flaco because about 20 years ago we went to the Ventura Theater to see The Texas Tornadoes. They were a bunch of geezers who'd mostly been in other bands when we were young, but were now collaborating in this group. They were awesome. It was an interesting concert. We were there to see Doug Sahm, and Augie Meyers and Freddie Fender. But who knew that Flaco had a whole following? Not me...But, as the group really got rocking, and Flaco had his solo, the stage was swarmed by a loyal group of abuelas (yes, seriously, one old lady hobbled up there with her cane, and hung on the edge of the stage with the others, shouting, "Flaco! Flaco!") So, something for everyone!

But the point of this post, really, is Dwight Yoakam. Cool Guy was working in the garage, possibly building bunk beds for the girls, maybe working on the motorcycle...and he came to the kitchen door to call me out to listen to a song that just came on the radio. It was in 1985 or 86 (can't remember) and the song was "Honky Tonk Man" by a new guy. You could hear the awe in the DJ's voice as the song ended, "That guy is going places!" he extolled. Well, yeah. Here is a video of Dwight that someone took at a bar of Dwight singing the song, before he'd recorded and released it as a single. The album "Guitars and Cadillacs" was a monster hit. We always felt like we'd known him before he was big, since we heard him on the radio that night. The album was issued in 1986 and it was huge. We've seen him in concert a couple of times and I'd go see him again.

I'm Too Stupid for My Clothes...

(The title is a take-off on that song about "I'm too sexy...") okay, lame. I know.

But, here's why I used it:

I was accepted into the graduate program for Curriculum & Instruction at UNLV and then a friend talked to me and explained several reasons why I really ought to switch over to the Educational Psychology department instead, and I agreed with her. So, I started the whole process of doing that, and suddenly discovered that the March 15th deadline was actually February 1st. OH MY!! So, I was scrambling around gathering up information and recommendations and applications. I even had to get a tetnus shot update. I've aged out of the requirement for the MMR shots. Cool. I think.

So, I got every piece of paper collected and I drove over to the college to turn it in because I didn't trust the mail to get it there before the deadline. The secretary went through my packet and checked off her list. (My giant, eight colleges-transcripts folder was being sent over from the other department.) But when she got to my GRE scores, she looked it over, and pronounced:

"This is pretty low. They don't usually accept anyone with this low of a score. Sure, the verbal is high, but the quantitative score (math) is really low. I don't think you'll make it." I felt great hearing her say this. (NOT) I wasn't really sure what she was expecting for me to do next. So, I just thanked her for looking to see that I'd turned in everything and left. Blah.

However, today, I received a letter telling me that they have recommended admitting me to their MS in Ed Psychology degree program. They will forward this recommendation to the grad college and I'll get a final letter from them telling me oui ou non.

S0, apparently, I wasn't too stupid. Even though the class I'm enrolled in (because I didn't withdraw my admittance to the other grad program yet) is kicking my butt. It turns out this class I'm taking is the first class of a PhD program. Title: Seminal Articles in Reading Research. And it is very hard--I'm to read about 25 articles about reading research from the last 50 years or so--these are the leading thinkers/scientist/educators in the field of reading--and then we analyze the research in class. Or we mostly listen to the professor tell us what is right and wrong with the various theories. I am, however, actually learning something. I was able to ask a few intelligent questions recently and come to some conclusions on my own. It's amazing. All the other people (all 6 of them-it's a seminar) are women who work in the district offices and have master's degrees already and work on teacher training for their careers. I feel like a Kindergarten kid in high school. But, as I said, I think I'm beginning to "get" some of it, finally.

If I succeed in passing this class, then the master's program ought to be do-able, no? I'll let you know in May.

[By the way, if you're thinking, "Didn't she already write about being accepted into graduate school before, several times?? Well...yes. I did get into San Jose State for an on-line degree two years ago, and then I discovered I wasn't technologically flexible enough to handle it. Then, I was accepted into the C & I program last spring and didn't enroll yet...so, at last, I'm in a class--I've started a degree, sort of, and I think this is the last time I'll switch programs. I think I've found something I'll be able to finish.]

The Mighty Change of Heart

I've always had the habit of taking out my scriptures during the Sacrament and reading something. It keeps me on topic, it keeps me from watching the deacons and getting distracted by goofy things they're doing or wearing. Now that I don't have anyone sitting with me who needs my assistance in being reverent, or at least quiet, I also have the leisure of reading a little during this time.

This week I randomly opened to Alma 5 and began to read Alma the Younger's sermon to the people about their need to experience the "mighty change of heart" experienced by his father in response to the preaching of Abinadi and also, of course, Alma the Younger's own stunning change of heart experience.

14 And now behold, I ask of you, my brethren of the church, have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?

Then, because it was Fast Sunday, a variety of people got up to speak. They all talked about big changes that were coming, or had come, in their lives. It was as though someone had orchestrated the topics. There was the first-time father talking about the impact of the little girl in his life. There was the father of a missionary, their first son, leaving for the MTC on Tuesday this week. There was the sister who'd been baptized three weeks ago and her interesting experience with the Spirit testifying of His presence at her baptism. (She is deaf, and had to remove her hearing aides for the immersion part, yet she "heard" the baptism prayer.) Then, a woman whose family had been sealed in the temple on Saturday spoke. After her, a brother thanked everyone for all their kindness toward his wife about the recent death of her father.

The change that Alma talks about refers to a spiritual transformation. I realize that all of the changes I've mentioned are actual, physical changes. But the people talking about them were all relating the spiritual changes that accompanied the physical ones. It was a powerful meeting. I was very moved to hear everyone tell of the effect their knowledge of God, the plan of salvation, and eternity has had in these times of big change for them and their families. It was the difference between happiness and joy.

In my life, it makes a huge difference to know that this time, mortal life, is just one piece of the whole thing. It allows me to be kinder, calmer, and to put my sorrows into God's hands. He always exchanges them for joy. That is what I recognize as the mighty change of heart for me.

Head 'em Up...Move 'em Out!

Every day I've had to struggle with my students to make an actual line when it is time to line up on the playground to walk down to our rooms. There's a painted dot with our room number on it for the leader. I've pointed out that there's a line on the cement (from when they poured it), and they could stand parallel to it for a landmark so they'd know where we belonged. But I think the real situation is that they don't want to be in a line. They prefer clumps because then they can chat with friends and bother enemies and run away quick. I go up after the bell rings and I always see an amorphous group of students, some of whom are dashing about, either trying to get away or being the chaser. Sigh.

It makes me wish for a cattle dog some days. Let me tell you a great story about recalcitrant herders. (Yes--I did just compare my students to a herd.) We had this big dog who was a combo of several types of big dogs--maybe some German shepherd for the colors and markings, maybe some retriever for the long hair, maybe some Australian shepherd for his work ethic. He was named "Dog"---not much imagination on our part, sorry to say. But he was a terrific farm dog. He protected, he was a mouse-catcher, he was loyal, he rounded up cows. He'd also follow the truck down the highway often and then ultimately give up and come back home when he realized that Daddy was driving too far to tag along. But one day he didn't return home. We knew something bad had happened when the next morning, he still wasn't home. About two days later Daddy found him in the "borrow-pit" (as we knew it--the ditch alongside the highway where the builders had "borrowed" dirt to build up the road bed.) Dog had been hit by a car, we assumed, and had been laying there for a couple of days, unable to move his back legs. He was really, really happy to be discovered.

Daddy brought him back home and made him a nice bed in the straw of the calf pen, and for weeks, we'd move him out into the sunshine during the day, and back into the barn at night. He got fed regularly, and watered, and he seemed anxious to get back to work, but he couldn't walk. One night he got in a tangle with a stupid cow. As I said, he was boarding in the calf pen. When a cow gave birth, we'd put the new calf in this nursery section after about three days with its mom, because by then, her regular milk had come in, and we'd put her back with the herd for milking. Then, we'd just feed the baby regularly by bucket. But the first day or two, the mom was always peeved and would stand mooing at the front of the barn for the baby.

But that wasn't the cow that gave the dog trouble. It was the psycho cow named Gyp who was the culprit. As each and every cow gave birth, Gyp would attempt to claim the calf. She was never successful, but she went through the drama every time. This meant that she, also, would stand outside the calf pen door and make a scene for "her" baby, alongside the actual mother cow. So, there was the dog, lying in front of the barn one night, and I went out to get in the cows for milking. I didn't think anything of leaving him there. It wasn't quite dark yet, (it was late winter) and he was enjoying a relatively balmy day. Stupid Gyp always had to be the first cow in the barn for milking, so the trouble didn't start till I was turning out the first bunch and Gyp left the barn. But instead of heading out the gate, she turned the other way to go to the front of the barn and join the real mother in her calf vigil. Dog barked at her, and suddenly, psycho that she was, Gyp started "goring" Dog with her head! She was pounding him good, and he was growling and yelping. I was terrified. She might kill him! I grabbed a shovel from the barn and ran over to fend her off, she was all fired up and ignored me. I was yelling at her and whacking her with the shovel handle and standing over the dog, and she swung her head at me. Dog scooted like a seal under a nearby fence, Gyp came to her senses. My poor Mom heard all the yelling and yelping and mooing and came running out of the house wielding a broom. It was scary, but over in a minute.

Well, a short time later, I just cannot remember now after all these years what the time frames were, a couple of us were trying to lift Dog and carry him back into the barn for the night, and we dropped him. It was about a two or three foot drop, too. He yelped and cried. We felt awful. So we got him tucked in for the night, and hoped he wouldn't be hurt even more and went into the house. The next morning, he met us at the gate of calf pen, wagging his tail, wagging his whole back end, just as excited as can be! So were we! Apparently, we'd accomplished some type of chiropractic miracle when we dropped him, and whatever was out of place or pinched was realigned and he was cured!!

When he was first injured, it hadn't taken the cows long to become complete anarchists when they realized that all the whistling I did ultimately did NOT produce the snarling fangs of Dog when it was time to round up the cows in the evening for milking. The first few days, I could whistle, pretending to call in the dog, and the cows would pull their heads out of the feeders and step lively toward the barnyard gate where they waited for their turn in the barn. But after a week, they'd just look at me, chewing, with that "Yeah, right..." look in their eyes, knowing that no dog would respond to my signal. No nipping brown streak of furry lightening would be coming to encourage compliance with my call to leave the hay and come over to the yard. I had to go to each cow and pound on her, and pull a few tails, and really holler.

It was quite fun that first evening when Dog was healed. It was late enough in the winter that it was still light at 5:00 when I headed out to get the cows. I walked out to the feeders and yelled for them. (Maybe you didn't know that cows can be called for--some of them obey.) A few of them raised their heads and started to saunter over to the gate. But the usual ones just stood there, munching and ignoring me. I whistled. I could see them almost chuckle..."As if--" And then, streaking across the frozen landscape came DOG. He headed for their ankles and yipped and nipped and a couple of them actually banged their heads on the feeder as they backed up, so shocked that after all this time he was back! It was hilarious to watch. They jogged to the gate that night.

Dog kept rowdy boys from vandalizing Daddy's school bus on Halloween and the last day of school. He kept the usual suspects from stealing gas out of our big tank in the yard. He kept skunks away from the chicken coop, and Dog even challenged the badgers who tried to dig craters in the alfalfa fields. But a couple of years after the healing, Daddy found his gunshot dead body along the fence line. There was trail through the grass where someone had driven on a dirt bike along the fence to get to our tractor left in the field one night. They were there to siphon gas. Daddy was pretty sure who'd done it, but there was no way to prove it, and nothing to be gained from the accusation.

Dog was the only dog I could remember having on our farm in my childhood. You need a dog on a farm, so we got another one some months later. I graduated from high school the next year and I guess there were several other dogs after that. But I'll always remember Dog, and today, I was kind of wishing he could come and help me round up my students, minus the heel nips, of course. But he'd come in handy many afternoons.

Birthday, Birthday

Here's my favorite reaction to a birthday:



Now, I don't feel that way myself--I fully embrace my Crone-ness! And so should all of us women of A Certain Age. We've earned it!

Mother's Little Helpers

I gardened today! These little friends helped me. (get it?? Mother Nature's Little Helpers...) Just more evidence that my soil is happy. You can see the radishes growing that I planted just before the snow fell in December. They grew anyway, and now that it is warming up , they're taking off. It was sunny, and I dug a bunch of compost into my bed and then smoothed it all over and planted two rows of beets. Yummmm...beets. Next weekend, I'll plant peas. I'll get all the cool weather vegetables eaten before the hot starts.

I also pulled up many weeds from the rock-covered area around the pool. Weird--we put down landscape cloth, we have drip irrigation to the few plants we have growing there, yet because of the heavy rain a couple of weeks ago, we have a zillion tiny weeds popping up between the rocks. So, I decided before they grow into big monster ugly weeds, I'd sit down with a little digger and get them all out. It was very theraputic sitting in the sun and plucking. I haven't spent that much time outdoors in a long time. It was fantastic, and very vitamin D replenishing.

Then, we went on the motorcycle for lunch at the taqueria. They have a dish called caldo de rez which is a beef broth in which shanks or oxtail or some very tough part of a cow has been simmered for hours until it is tender and succulent. Then they put in a whole potato, a Mexican squash, some carrots, a little chunk of corn on the cob and a bit of cilantro and cook them till they're done. It is served in a big soup bowl, with a side plate of Spanish rice and a large pile of chopped onions. You dump the rice and onions into the steaming bowl of soup, add a little salsa, and stir. The broth is boiling hot and it cooks the onions a little, and the rice gives a little body to the whole thing. It is beyond delicious. It's a meal that fills you and stays all day. I've never seen it before in restaurant (but maybe I just didn't know what to ask for) and now it is my favorite food at the taqueria. They also serve killer shrimp tacos.

Tonight we saw Slumdog Millionaire -- sensational! If you haven't gone, you should. If it doesn't win the Oscar for best picture, I'll be surprised. It is a terrific movie, even if you haven't been on the Millionaire Show...

Family Ties

Today is my dad's 86th birthday. He died 25 years ago from leukemia exactly one month after he turned 61 years old. It was a rip-off that he died so young, because he and my mother were just getting to a point in their lives where they had begun to experience a little leisure. They were married about 36 years and the first 29 of those were notable for the unrelenting labor they performed to turn their little dirt-patch into a prosperous farm. And, the prosperity may have been a mirage, for all I know, because I didn't notice any particular up-tick in their life-style. However, because there no longer were any tiny children living at home, occasionally my dad and mom would go off on a weekend to watch one of my brothers at an "away" wrestling match. Of course, my dad drove the team bus usually, and so he could get paid to be a fan. There were a couple of children still at home who were old enough to milk the cows for one night, and my sister lived next door to help keep an eye on things. These little pleasures (an over-night trip periodically) were a big deal to a dairy farmer.

Mostly I remember my parents working relentlessly. As a child, I didn't recognize how much they did. It was just normal life. They got up early--he milked, she fed the chickens, then fed us. He drove the bus, she washed the milkers and washed the dishes. He came home and fed the animals, she stayed home and cooked his dinner and washed our clothes and baked bread. In the fall, we were likely to come home from school to an empty house, with our mother up in the fields driving the grain truck, or bailing straw. However, there was always something baked awaiting our hungry bellies when we got off the bus, even if the cook was now farming. Daddy worked ridiculous hours. If there was a full moon, he just baled hay until the job was finished. If it was his water turn (irrigation canals were shared property) then he stayed out there moving the canvas dams until the turn ended days later. When he owned ewes, lambing was a 24 hour job. Farmers don't punch in and out on the clock. It turns out to be excellent career training for motherhood, I found: you're never off-duty in that field either.

Farming had benefits. When I went to college, one of my roommates came to visit for a weekend, and she marvelled on our way back to school that we'd eaten every meal with my dad. Her dad was out of town a lot. She barely saw him as a teen. My dad taught me lots of things: how to drive, how to milk, how to work, how to make up silly words to songs, how to saddle a horse, how to stack hay, how to treat people who were in need--strangers or friends, how to dance (he was great, I was a poor learner), how to clean a barn, how to lift a hay bale, how to show your wife you love her, how to harrow, how to carve a whistle out of a green willow stick, how to fish (even though I didn't like it) how to start a fire, how to put gas in a car, how to treat new born calves.

He showed me how to be a good in-law, and a good family member. He lost his family when he was a little kid, but he was invited to live with another family and he treated them well all of his life. He even went out of his way to maintain ties with his brother and sister although they didn't get to live together since they were small. He made dear friends with his in-laws, and his step-family, and I never noticed any distinctions between his own blood and all those family members he acquired over the years. He was genuine with all of them. It was the same when we began to marry and added even more people to the family web.

I guess the biggest sorrow of having him die young is that he didn't get to enjoy the harvest. You don't know if you're any good as a parent until your own children begin to be parents. Then, you can see if your influence was positive. My dad had a large group of tiny grandchildren before he passed on, and he loved being Grandpa. It brought out his better nature: he actually cleaned up his barnyard vocabulary for the grandchildren. He'd been working on that for years, but the little kids really motivated him. Plus, he just loved little kids. He was a school bus driver for 30 years--he really loved kids. Grandchildren were just fabulous to him. But, he would have loved that parade of Eagle Scouts and missionaries and brides and graduations. He would have been the proudest great-grandpa of all. He and my mom would have been to every event to mark every occasion. Well, come to think of it, lots of times--he was. We knew it...someone always knew it.

Happy Valentine's Day

Whenever Valentine's Day comes around, I have a great time at school. Many people don't realize that it is a very important holiday for kids. It involves candy, for one thing. But another is that children have serious crushes from the time they are little, and so when the valentines get passed out at school, much attention is paid to who gave what to whom. I happen to love Valentine's Day. I get to wear red and pink all week, and I have cool heart-shaped jewelry as well. Also, there are a lot of fun times associated from when our children were younger. We always made heart cookies, or heart-shaped pancakes. It was a time to share the love. Here are some really awesome photos of those good times. The girls decided one year to make all their valentine cards. I believe that one girl is a second grader and the other is a first grader. Please note the little helper:




A closer view of The Helper:

So enjoy your day of love, and remember to love everyone. It is a good policy and will create more happiness in your world.

Exceeding Standards

I don't remember if I've whined about our new report card yet on this blog. I've whined everywhere else. This year we're piloting a standards-based report card. Meaning: we're not writing A, B, C, D, etc. on it. Instead, there are only the lists of state standards for each trimester in each of the core subjects: math, reading, and English language arts. Then, we mark each individual standard with emerging, approaching, meets, or exceeding.

For example, you would not get an overall Math grade, but you would receive one of those designations for 3.4.4b use money notations to add and subtract given monetary amounts. In a trimester there would be 9 or 10 standards you would be studying and being assesed for. Science and social studies are still graded, but not in specific strands yet, just an overall grade.

I like teaching using specific standards. I write a rubric in kid-friendly language so that they'll know exactly what the criteria is for meeting the standard, approaching it, and exceeding it. It makes it very clear to them what is acceptable and adequate and fabulous. I refer to the rubrics all the time, and I put them right on their test, so when I'm checking and grading, I just circle what their achievement level was. They understand it and it works well to get them to know what they need to improve on and how they stand.

It's more complicated on the report card, however. If you were to give a B, that means 80--to 89% approximately, and a C means 65--79%. On this standards-based report card "meets" is that entire range--and that is quite a stretch: 65----89. I don't care for that aspect of it. We're still wrangling over it at my school.

But, the purpose of this post is to tell you about a person who totally Exceeded Standards today at my school....Cool Guy. I went up to the office at lunch to turn in some papers, and there I found these lovely things:

And the envelope read:

So, my co-workers, who were all coming through the office en route to the teacher's lounge at lunchtime, too, were treated to the correct way to celebrate Valentine's Day with your sweetie. They all agreed that this was definitely rated: EXCEEDING STANDARDS.

Welcome Home

I went to Salt Lake City this weekend to see my son and his family. My grandson plays basketball with some other Kindergarten and First Grade boys on a pee-wee league team. It is very benign. They get together for 10 minutes before the game to practice. Then, the players all wear colored wrist sweat bands so that they'll know which guy on the opposite team to guard (they all have corresponding writst bands) and the baskets are lowered for them. It's very cute. They have referees whose main job is to call which team is to throw in the ball from the sidelines. There aren't any fouls, or traveling calls, or double dribble calls. They're adorable and have a lot of fun.

Quite by coincidence, it was also the weekend that my nephew and his wife, both in the Army, returned home from almost a year in Iraq. They were helicopter gunners. And they, and their teammates all got home today safely. Whew. It was nice to be there and see the fine reception staged for them at the Utah National Guard Base. Here's a sweet picture:

My sister hugging him, with Dad looking on. Here's another one of my brother-in-law with her.

So, Welcome Home Justin and Chevy!!

Paying Attention in School

We have been blitzing our students in all the grades with a new writing concept this year, and it includes really hammering it home that you must enhance your writing with lots of imagery. It seems to be working:

One of my co-workers told us this story about her Kindergarten son (who goes to our school):

The Big Brother (5) and the Little Sister (2 and a half) were playing on the sofa under a blanket, laughing and goofing around. Suddenly the Big Brother came up for air and yelled, "Ooooh, [Little Sister] farted!!"

So Little Sister jumped off onto the floor and laughed, "Yeah, I fawrted. I smell like a pig!"

Big Brother replied, "No, [Little Sister], you have to include DETAILS: "I smell like a pig in mud!"

She told us this story and we totally died laughing. And then we were really excited--he's been paying attention during writing! Yeah!!

Creeping Toward Equinox

Have you noticed? It is staying light longer in the evening. (!!) I crave the sunlight of summer. Well, actually, I guess I crave the sunlight of March through June. By the end of August, you can already tell that the sun is moving into the winter mode of early darkness. But from February to July, it's my favorite time of year. I just love evenings when it is light until 8:00 or 9:00 o'clock. It just feels so much better to leave work and have some daylight left to enjoy.

Part of the problem is that I have worked so often in buildings with no windows. In Maryland, for 10 years we had a school without windows. I'd have recess duty everyday and so I had 30 minutes of outdoor time and that was good. The first year in Vegas I had a room with glass bricks up high but they let in natural daylight, and I could get by without the lights on when I was alone in the room and in the morning, the light was bright enough to leave off the lights for the students. The second year I was in the "cabin"--portable classroom. Now my classroom is underground! The school I'm in was a prototype, build mostly underground to save fuel costs. Here in the desert, air-conditioning is a must, and they experimented to see if it would be more efficient to have most of the building underground where the temperature was more even. Maybe...but the building costs apparently far exceeded any off-set of the heating/cooling things, plus they've never solved a leakage problem around the skylight in the hallway just outside my door. But, it means, I'm in a windowless environment again.

I loved our schools in Southern California. They were the old fashioned, built around a courtyard kind with a full wall of windows that looked out onto a square. You didn't need heating, you didn't need air-conditioning. Usually you didn't need the lights on either. But, it takes a rather specific climate to have that kind of school. Kids need natural lighting. So do I.

So when this time of year comes around again, I always feel younger, happier, calmer, kinder. Sunlight---elixir of the gods.

Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing, Baby

Tonight, I brought home some groceries and asked CoolGuy to close his eyes, and take a sniff of the object I placed near his nose. He breathed in and said, "It smells like going to work early in the morning on the motorcycle in Port Hueneme." Yes, he was correct!! He was smelling...

And, indeed, they were the REAL THING:

And those of you who aren't quite sure what I'm writing about...I'm sorry for you. Please try to move to Ventura County, California, so that you can eat some strawberries that were just picked from a field in El Rio (a neighborhood of Oxnard) and sold at a roadside stand. You'll never feel the same way about strawberries ever again.

Intriguing Fact

I've been reading some really difficult academic papers for a class I'm taking. The topic is how the brain works when people read--what exactly is occurring. It is incredibly dense and difficult to read. I have to really concentrate, and sometimes read it aloud to myself to absorb any of it. It is fascinating what some of the researchers have done with timers that can tick off milliseconds, for instance.

But here is the intriguing fact: when person learns numerals or the alphabet, it is the first time that the orientation of an object counts toward the identity of the object. The lower case letters b,d,q, p & g can be written in an identical form EXCEPT for the orientation...get it? (Also 6 & 9)So, for the first time, something every baby learns---Mom is Mom even if she is upside down, (and therefore all other tangible objects have this quality)---for the first time, this is no longer true.

It's amazing that anyone can learn to read at all.

Alexander the Second

Did you ever read the book by Judith Viorst, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day? I had one of those yesterday.

First, I had to go in very early to work to write sub plans because I'd had to leave work early on Tuesday for an appointment. And I had to have a half-day sub because I had a doctor's appointment at 9:30 A.M. Which I'd already gone to on Monday (a day off with NO sub plans NEEDED) but when I got there, they'd forgotten to write down that I'd changed it from Wednesday to Monday and they POSITIVELY could not work me in, sorrysorrysorry. Oh, and your MRI report isn't here anyway. Which was supposed to be there because the lady at the MRI place asked me THREE times if I wanted to wait for the report and I said why and she said oh, never mind, since your doctor appointment isn't until Monday, we'll have the courier take it over tomorrow--no problem. Except apparently there WAS a problem.

So, I left the school at 8:00 A.M. and drove home to have a shower quickly and drive A LONG way, clear across town, to the doctor's office. (But she is a really good doctor, so that really isn't part of the problem.) I shut off the truck in the driveway, opened the door and heard a loud hissing sound. Coming from the left rear tire. Where I looked to see a key sticking up out of said tire and air whooshing out around it. So, (stupidly) I thought if I could just quickly pull out the key with some pliers the air would stop (I said stupidly) and so I punched open the garage door and ran in and got the pliers and pulled out the key and realized, stupidly, that, DUH, the tire is filled with pressurized air and it was just going to keep whooshing out air from that big hole that the long sharp key had poked into it.

Just then the alarm to our house went off. Because in my rush for the pliers I totally forgot that I only had 70 seconds in which to type in the number to shut it off. So I dashed through the garage, around my car toward the door, and slipped on the rug in front of the door, and fell onto my knee and hands, bashing my head against the door. And I couldn't even lay there and feel bad because the alarm was blaring all over the block and if I didn't get the code punched in and the cancel button hit within a minute then the alarm company would send the police.

So, after I got the alarm off, I realized that the tire was still going flat and the truck was parked in the way of my car, which I needed to use to drive to the doctor's appointment which I was going to be late for if I didn't just get in the shower and get ready and leave. So, I limped out to the truck and moved it over out of the way on its flabby tire. Then, I got ready and left for the doctor. I was on time. She did all the nerve tests on my leg which include jabbing you with a pin all up and down the length of it and observing your reaction while she apologizes for hurting you.

I got my prescriptions, my referral to PT, my referral to the ortho doctor because some of the knee pain isn't nerve related, it is skeletal/cartilage probably. When I got to my car I decided to call AAA for a tire change on the truck. Usually when I call AAA it takes almost an hour for someone to come. The drive from the doctor's office is 35 minutes. So I called, we got it all arranged. I drove home.

About five miles from my house, the phone rang. It was a man saying that his driver was at my house but no one was opening the door. AAACCKK. I apologized, I said I'd be there in five minutes. I lied and said I was coming from my school. Then I drove like a maniac. But I hardly stood out because Las Vegas is full of maniacs, that usually I'm bad-mouthing under my breath as they swoop and swerve around me trying to get all the green lights and driving too fast. Like I did for that last five miles. Whew...the truck was still there in front of my house. The tire got changed. He put it into the back of the truck.

Since I still had an hour till I had to be at school, I drove to the tire store and asked them if they could repair it. No, it would need to replaced. All these tires look bad, lady. You should buy new tires. WHERE HAVE WE HEARD THAT ONE BEFORE? So, I just demurred, not-my-truck; not-in-charge-of-tires; is the spare good enough to drive on? They checked the air, and assured me it was fine for now. So I went home, unloaded the flat tire into the garage so no one would steal it; only broke one fingernail. Ate lunch. Went to school to teach for three hours. I really needed a stiff drink.

Well, it turns out that the tires really are crap; CoolGuy is planning to replace them. He felt bad that I didn't just leave it sitting there flat till he got home. I have a big bruise on my good knee. And my head aches from the steroids that are wearing off. Only five more days of Big Time Drugs, then I go back to the regular anti-inflammatory. And PT twice a week. But hopefully no more flat tires.

At least I didn't have gum in my hair, too.

Cheerful News

I got a phone call last night from my sister. She sounded giddy. Which was a nice sound to hear from her. It was a little over a year ago that all the happiness was punched out of her when her husband was killed in an avalanche. So, it was intriguing that she was giggling as I picked up the phone. She is usually a rather level-headed person. Even before she was widowed. This was a new voice I was hearing.

It seems that last weekend when we were out enjoying a lovely Vegas summery January day on the motorcycle, she was in Las Vegas getting married at the home of her (now) husband's good friend. GOOD FOR HER!!

He (divorced a few years ago) is a decades-long BFF of my brother-in-law who stepped up and helped with whatever he could--firewood, snow removal, roof repair--whatever--when his friend was killed. He isn't a stranger; he grew up two miles down the road from us. So, I guess he just quietly went about making himself indispensable to her, and voila!

Listening to her voice last night...it is a good thing, I can tell.

Inauguration

Oh, come on...couldn't those two have rehearsed a little so that they didn't mess up the oath of office? Tut tut, it was a little disconcerting.

We watched it with my students live, because, as I told them, it was historic. We only change presidents every four years, and these students will nearly be in high school the next time we have an inauguration. And of course, being a notable First, it was also historic for that reason too. It was an excellent ceremony and very awesomely befitting our great nation.

I think though, as this term of office unfolds, that some Americans are going to be puzzled. For eight years, it has been the drumbeat that all things horrible in our country were directly traceable to the White House. Unrelenting negativity, sometimes to a ridiculous level, has been spoken, written, published and blogged about this outgoing executive team. There are many people who have apparently been conditioned to believe that the person who is president has a huge impact on their lives in a seriously personal way.

When tomorrow dawns, and the next day and the next, and very little change occurs on a personal level in these people's lives, do you think they'll realize that the president isn't in charge of them personally? Do you think that they'll realize that they are the main determiners of the direction their lives take? Do you think they'll be disillusioned and disappointed that everything isn't magically fabulous just because a new president was inaugurated? Do you think they'll realize what a bad idea it is to allow someone else so much power over your attitude?

WWDKD? (What Would Dr. King Do?)

Tomorrow is inauguration day. This is a big deal, and it should be. For more than 200 years it is the peaceful process by which our civilized republic changes leadership. We don’t have a war, a coup, a revolution. We don’t have riots, killings, pogroms or anyone having to flee the country to avoid death in order to have a new president. I like that about our nation.

This inauguration is notable because, for the first time, the president being sworn in is not a white Anglo-Saxon guy person. Again, because we are a civilized republic, we can elect leaders who aren’t the same old , same old. I keep hearing people who say “I never thought I’d see this in my life-time.” Meaning a black man being elected president. And if that person saying it is African-American of a certain age, I can understand this sentiment. The experiences of their life are completely different from my experiences, and they’ve seen prejudice and ugliness that I have not.

I, being a white woman of a certain age, was at first puzzled by this comment. Over the last fifteen years there have been a number of African-Americans in prominent political situations who have been qualified to run for president, and for whom I would have voted with confidence. When I first heard this quote---“not in my life-time”---I thought it was weird.

But, I realize that I’m probably the weird one. I wasn’t raised to look at people as a skin color or a race. I grew up in a homogeneous community, where everyone was a relative (almost). But when I left there as an adult, and lived in a city where I had daily interactions with people of different races and languages, my upbringing served me well. I didn’t have to think about how I was going to treat people who looked different from me; I knew. I was going to treat them politely, respectfully and kindly---just like I had been taught to treat everyone! I didn’t see their color or their race. I saw them as a person. There were a number of times when I got rebuffed for this. I was treated as a “white person” by some—called names, ridiculed. I was surprised and upset. But, rude is rude, and I realized that rude comes in all colors. So, anyway, my naivete got me slapped down a few times.

But this is why I was puzzled by the “not in my life-time” comments. Why not in our life-time? If we’re truly trying to achieve the society we agree we need—the one dreamed of by Dr. King where character is more important than color---why not in our life-time? I’ve been completely put-off during this election cycle by the gag-inducing focus on skin color. It has been harped on by the media in an unseemly way. We will have the inauguration tomorrow and its historic momentousness will be lauded again by the press. But then, I hope that the new president can just be the president, and not have to be the Black President for his entire term. It seems insulting to him and to us and to Dr. King.

Two Enthusiastic Thumbs Up

If you haven't gone to see Clint Eastwood's new movie "Gran Torino" yet---go! go! We're huge Clint Eastwood fans anyway, and he's just gotten better as he's gotten older in his talent for writing, directing and starring in movies. This movie is somewhat personal for us because 26 years ago we befriended some families of Laotian "boat people" who'd just arrived from years in a Filipino refugee camp. Culture clash is real and this movie portrays it very well. We don't all have to think alike or be the same, but we do all share common values of family unity and the need to be needed. So, go to the theater and enjoy 90 minutes of compelling story telling. Sometimes Eastwood's character is a bit of a caricature, but you can overlook this because you learn some of his life details and begin to understand. There are some awesome vignettes in this movie about being a man, about neighborliness, about family traditions, and you might feel like I did when the credits came up:

Let's go buy another ticket and watch it again--right now.

Bad Vibes

I had to have an MRI a couple of nights ago. It wasn't a particularly great experience. First, the appointment was for 6:00 P.M. Or at least I was to arrive at 6:00 to fill out the paperwork. So I did, and after I turned it in, I settled down with my newspaper. A few minutes later the nice lady behind the desk came over to confide that they were running "a little behind" and there'd probably be an hour wait before it would be my turn. (!!) She suggested that I might like to go over to the mall next door...They had my cell phone number and would give me ring. So, I realized I did need to pick up a few things at the market, so I went there and wandered around and got my stuff.

I got back to the clinic and, great news, it would just be about 10 more minutes. And it was only about 20 minutes, so that wasn't so bad. I took off my clothes and donned the icky gown, removed all my jewelry and hair clips and stashed it all in the locker. Then, I followed the technician down the hall to the machine room. I've had several MRIs. They are unpleasant--loud clicking and banging noises assault your ears, and you're in a small space. But I've never felt uncomfortable. They always give you headphones to help block the noise and once they even asked me to select a couple of CDs they played through the headphones while I was magnetically resonated.

So, I laid down on the freezing cold tray, shivering because I'd been dressed in my snuggy clothes all day and now I was clad only in a thin cotton gown and my socks. She did have some blankets to tuck around me, for which I was grateful. I was so tired, and by now it was after 8:00 P.M. so I thought I'd just close my eyes and sleep during the procedure. I'd napped through other MRIs.

But when she'd inserted me into the tube, and started pinging me, I realized I'd left on a silver ring that I wear on my right hand. I rarely take off this ring because it is smooth and doesn't snag on things like my diamond engagement/wedding set, so I'd forgotten it. But the ring was vibrating and and zinging with the machine and I didn't think it was a good thing. But then I suddenly realized that I didn't have any way of communicating with the technician. In another city, they'd given me a little buzzer to ring if I needed to signal the tech. But, I didn't know what was going to happen to my hand with this ring and just as suddenly, I realized I was completely shoved into this little teeny tube and couldn't move and I freaked.

I mean, I didn't start screaming or anything. I merely knocked on the side of the apparatus like one would knock on a door. I just hoped she'd notice because the noise from the procedure was really loud and so I knocked and knocked a couple more times. All the while my stomach started to churn, I felt completely panicked, I felt like I've seen a rabbit look as I surprised it under a bush--wide eyed and ready to flee.

It only took a second, really, for her to shut off the machine, come over and push the button to extract me. But I was in a state when I got out. I felt so stupid. I told her about the ring and the zinging and vibrating. She assured me it wouldn't hurt a thing, nor mess up the images. But, I just couldn't go back in there like I'd been before. She said that maybe I'd rather use the open MRI machine, but that they didn't have one on this site. Well, my doctor appointment is on Monday, and I really, really wanted to have this MRI so she could review it. But, I'm telling you, I was in a state. I felt so awful and so exasperated with myself, simultaneously. She was very kind and reassuring. I kept apologizing and saying that I'd had several MRIs and I'd never felt this way before.

So, she tried another technique. She had me lie the opposite way, so that my feet and legs went in first, so that when I was in the position I needed to be for the imaging, I could see the ceiling of the room by just tilting my head a little back. That felt comfortable and open enough and fine. I was able to get the procedure finished successfully. But my stomach and my brain didn't recover from it until about midnight. In fact, sitting here describing it to you, I felt the same emotions, just not as intensely.

I think I've realized what happened. When my ring started to vibrate and resonate with the machine, I didn't know to what level this reaction would continue. I didn't know if my hand would be burned or hurt, or if some other more drastic reaction would occur. (I'm sure some of you are reading this and thinking what a dope I am--because you understand the technology of the MRI.) But when I realized I couldn't do anything about it if my hand did start to burn or some other unknown and more dramatic consequence would happen, it made me very worried. Not being able to move or extricate myself, or even lift up my head to look suddenly completely freaked me out. It is a very, very bad feeling.

I hope this isn't some new manifestation of Old Ladyhood. Last month, I couldn't lean over the rail at the hotel and look down the five floors to the lobby below me without going completely weak in the knees and having my stomach drop. I've never liked roller coasters, however, and even the Ferris wheel used to spook me. So perhaps it's just the usual cowardly me. I hope so, the aches and pains that forced me to the doctor are quite enough, without some new weird thing going on in my brain.

The Cool Birthday

Today is the anniversary of Cool Guy's birth--happy birthday! He shares it with Dr. King, and that is a good thing, because every few years it means Cool Guy gets his birthday as a paid holiday. Here are some reasons I enjoy him:

• He fathered great kids. They are handsome/cute as he is, and also as intelligent, too.
• He thinks I'm the greatest thing walking and tells me so regularly.
• He can fix everything. No, seriously.
• He has a marvelous sense of humor.
• He appreciates music.
• He'll eat anything I cook.
• He washes dishes.
• He reads all the time.
• He lets me ride the motorcycle with him.
• He gets me upgrades to "ruling class" on flights.
• He edits my writing.
• He's cute. Still.
• He knows who wrote and performed almost every song.
• He gets excited about things I get excited about. Most of the time.
• He is kind to animals and likes pets. Even cats.
• He has always earned a living for us.
• He sends me flowers.

Well, this is just a partial list. It's late, but I wanted to have this posted so he can see it first thing and know that, out here in the land of the setting sun, we (KittyCat and I) are thinking of him, way back there in the land of the rising sun. (no, not Japan---Maryland...)

Happy Birthday Cool Guy!

The I-15 Show

I wrote that title because we'd driven along 1-15 through the high desert a number of times, and passed the sign for the Roy Rogers Museum -- Featuring "Trigger" Roy's horse -- stuffed.

Here's another episode. I was on for one week.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DS3DsuVMcI0&feature=related


All the episodes were taped on one evening, and then two weeks later I came back as the returning champion. In the interim, I'd been to the clinic at the Navy Hospital for a pregnancy test--positive--and so when I returned to the show, Allen asked "What's new?" (really)...so I told them. A few weeks later, Allen Ludden said something about "We once had a contestant who got pregnant on the show. --er, I mean---" It brought down the house.

There Are Many Things About Which I Know Nothing

This particular episode was taped about five years before the birth of my third son. He is very knowledgable about sports. He was a super baseball dude as a little league player, and followed a couple of football teams for years. He just knows a lot about sports. When I told him of this incident, when he was about 16, he just shook his head in embarrassment...How could I be so clueless? It was easy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PFoIGnmMs0&feature=related

At the time, I knew so little about professional sports that I wasn't even embarrassed. I didn't even hear Allen Ludden when he said that hilarious crack.

A Trip in the Time Machine

It is 1979... Check this out!!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzTuwTq4TPQ&feature=related


Absolutely amazing what one can find on the internet!! I found my youth.

A REALLY Full Moon

Tonight I went out to soak in my spa (a nightly ritual I wish for all of you--aaah, oooh, aaah--it feels so good) and the moon was so bright that I could distinguish colors. The blue of the pool bottom and the green of my robe were clearly visible. You could almost get a moon-tan from it. The moon was so spectacular that I came in and googled it.

Aw, yes, another Celestial Event is occuring. It is the perigee moon of January 2009. It seems that in its elliptical orbit around Mother Earth, the moon is very near--just like it was in December. So, yes, the big full moon of Saturday is a little bigger seeming than usual. It is closer. We had a very windy day here, so now that the air is still, all the dirt, smog and haze are gone and we have an unobstructed view of the heavens. Also the Strip--the lights are especially glittery tonight on Glitter Gulch.

So go out and enjoy the beautiful ultra-full moon tomorrow--and if you're up reading this in the wee hours, go out right now and see the lovely lunar lobe.

Wouldn't It Be Nice...

I took a vote in my classroom this morning at 8:50 A.M. and it was unanimous:

We all wished we were home, still in bed.

It is hard to regroup after vacation.

World Traveling

We used this map to label all the countries where someone in our immediate family(parents and children) has traveled. We've been to quite a few countries. Notably, we've neglected most of Africa, South America and Asia. Russia is huge, huh?


Visited Countries Map from TravelBlog

Starting the New Year Off Right

I have a friend who claims that it is essential to do only good things on the first day of a new year because that sets the tone for the entire year. (They always make love...but I'll never tell her husband she told me that...) ANYWAY---CoolGuy started a tradition when we were first married to always have a motorcycle ride on New Year's Day because we were in Southern California for the beginning of the marriage and it was so awesome to be able to ride a motorcycle in the warm air and see the ocean and the palm trees on January 1st! We haven't gotten over nice weather in the middle of the winter, either, after all these years. Las Vegas isn't as balmy on New Year's Day as San Diego, but it is much, much balmier than Wyoming. So, we went for our traditional "We aren't living where it is covered with snow and freezing cold--hurray!!" ride on January 1st. And it was mighty nice, as usual.

He looks scary, but he's really a sweetie. Especially if you know him as "Grandpa."

I've Seen the USA...Almost

Here is a nifty blog thing: a map to show all the states where you've traveled. I see a definite deficit in my travel patterns. I've skipped the South. But...they have flying cockroaches, and humidity...whine. Just to complete my map, I will have to go there. And my failure to see many of the states that border Canada---we'll fix that by going back east on I-90 sometime. I've used I-10, I-40, I-70 and I-80 already. It's weird how Vermont is an outlier, too. It's because the route I used to go to Bird Camp in Maine didn't include a corner of Vermont, like it included a corner of New Hampshire. The next time I am in Maryland, I intend to drive up to Rhode Island, and circumnavigate the state one afternoon. It is 37 miles wide and 48 long. Ha ha ha!!! That cracks me up! The valley where I grew up in Wyoming is about that size. It is so amusing that Rhode Island is an entire state. Of course, population-wise, there are only around 500,000 in Wyoming and there are over a million in Rhode Island. I plan to see Alaska from a cruise ship deck one of these years, and my daughter is going to be our tour guide to Hawaii someday, too.

Anyway, here's the map: make one of your own!



Visited US States Map from TravelBlog

Thank You, Again, Meredith

We just returned from our family vacation in San Diego, courtesy of Serendipity Inc. It was a good time. Apparently, our 2 year old grandson expressed his desire to stay longer when he realized his family was headed home. They'd been in the car for about an hour, when he said, "We go back to the hotel?" and his mom said that, no, they were going home now (a day's drive away) and he cried unhappily, "No, not go home! Go to hotel!" My sentiments exactly! If one criteria for a successful good time is to end it when you're still having fun, then we had a Good Time. We stood on the balcony of our hotel room this morning, looking out at our view of the bay, and the bridge, and the sky, and the boats, and the mountains to the east and agreed that we ought to just stay another week.

We could see the peninsula of Point Loma so clearly, and it was the view we'd had from our house (just nine miles inland) for so many years when we lived in San Diego, so we felt like we were home again. As we drove around everywhere, our brains were just patterned to take those streets, and see those familiar sights. It felt so normal. Even our children who hadn't been back there in more than fifteen years kept saying "Wow, I just knew that as we drove around that bend, I'd seen that building, or those trees." It's interesting how a place can get into your cells.

I'll never grow tired of smelling the ocean, or seeing the surf, or listening to the birds. The air feels soft, the light is unique and the feel of sand gritting beneath my shoes are all things I love about Southern California. I've just got to figure out a way to move back there to live. Right now, the plan is--Christmas 2010--house rental in Ocean Beach. Mom and Dad will rent the house for the week. It's up to you children to start saving now for your trip to San Diego to do it again.

We went to the zoo. We bought the two day passes, and one day we took the bus tour, and rode the sky ride. The next day we went back for some close-up views of our favorites. Plus, we got there early the second day and had things to ourselves for the first hour (well...there were other people there, but not thousands of other people until later--then we left.) Plus, when you go early, the animals are all up and moving around. We saw a koala practically sprinting around their habitat--compared to the others who were entirely motionless.

We went to the tide pools. These are the tide pools we went to when we lived there. It is a huge area, and you can poke your finger into the anemones and they'll close around it. You can see lots of little crabs, and hermit crabs, and sea cucumbers and all kinds of sea life. The only requirement is that you leave everything there. Not even one seashell or rock should you haul away from this place--it is part of a national monument area, but more importantly, if everyone took just one little thing, it would be denuded in a single month.

We went to Sea World. It was crammed, but because I'd bought the two day passes at my teacher's union office, our daughter and her family returned the next day early, on their way back home. They spent several more hours and saw the rest of the things we didn't have time to see the first day because of extensive waiting in line. My best time at Sea World was watching her having such a fun time. This is really her realm. She's the one who joined the National Cetacean Society at age eight with her birthday money. I hadn't know what a cetacean was until then. (marine mammal) So, seeing her enjoy the whole place again after so many years was great! I'm sure Shamu felt a frisson in the Force when she walked back through the gates after being gone for so long.

We also just hung out a lot. We played board games, we ate together. We swam in the pool. We hung out in the hot tub and talked. Since each of our children came, they had the chance to talk to one another, and to spend a little time with us, individually and collectively. It was good. This summer I intend to reserve space at a state campground in the other part of California we lived, and people can come and hang with us or not. But I hope that some of them can make it down to enjoy some more casual recreation. It's good to get together for something other than funerals, births, and weddings.

We'll do this again. I went back to college so I could get a decent job. I simply wanted the money. (It's a bonus that I like teaching.) But this is why I wanted the extra money--so I could help my children occasionally and for fun vacations like this. It was definitely worth it to spend the time in school so I could have this week. We'll have more of them in future.

Merry Christmas

We have three of our five children here visiting, then this afternoon we are driving to San Diego to meet up with a fourth child and her family, and number five will fly down on Friday morning with his family. We are rendezvousing in the original home-land of the Family (birthplace of the CoolGuy/ESM relationship and all the off-spring). It is always a nice day in San Diego, so we'll lounge around and go to the zoo and the tide pools and have a luxurious vacation, courtesy of the Millionaire Bonus. I'm excited. One of the plans is to go to various iconic photo spots and recreate the shots using grandchildren instead of the kid who was snapped there twenty+ years ago. But, mostly, we just wanted to spend some time as a group. It is challenge to be an extended family. Everyone is sacrificing to be there--whether it is time or money. And, no, we are not anticipating a smooth, everyone-is-so-happy-to-be-together time. But, as adults, we're all planning to Put on Our Happy Faces, and be a family. It'll be worth it. And, like our grandson, "We are so 'cited for Christmas!"
So, Merry Christmas to you and yours and put on your Happy Faces and have a nice day. There's plenty of time to gripe about your relationships some other day.

Preparations

The Chex mix is ready. The pumpkin bread is in the freezer. I'll make cranberry bread tomorrow and buy the ingredients for Harira. Then, I'll make the cookie dough.

Christmas is coming! Christmas is coming! Yum...

Taking A Deep Breath

I, and all the teachers I know, are taking a deep breath tonight. The Winter Vacation has begun. And not a moment too soon. I realize that this sounds like whining. But, seriously, it isn't. Teaching is an unusually intense occupation. I really didn't understand that while being the mom at school. Even being a substitute I didn't experience it.

Here are some of the reasons:
1) the students are not there by their own choice
2) every single second the students are in school, you are responsible for them
3) this means that from the first bell till the last bell that's where your entire attention goes
4) even during your lunch (what time is it? how many minutes are left? is there anything else I need to get, do, copy, look up?)
5) you can never, ever "phone it in"

There is some type of childhood radar that lets those edgy students be instantly aware if your attention wanders. Immediately, they are standing on their chair, hitting someone, stealing something. It's always been impressive to me how completely without boundaries some children are unless an adult is continuously monitoring them for compliance.

It's exhausting. So, when the Winter Vacation comes along--two weeks of just thinking about yourself and that's all--(unless, like so many of my co-workers, you have little kids at home still) it is really such a relief. I sometimes feel like a total sissy. After all, I had five kids! And I did daycare in my home for many years. But it is completely different somehow. For instance: no one was following me around with a clipboard checking off catagories of Required Motherhood Skills. Plus, my own children weren't as naughty as many of my students. That was a shock to me when I first started teaching school at age 43: they didn't obey! I was accustomed to my own kids who obeyed. But then, we'd been teaching them to do that since they were tiny. Clearly no one at all is teaching it to several of my students.

But for two weeks and three weekends, I don't have to even think about them. And I don't plan to, either. I will bake, cook, read the newspaper, and vacation in sunny (note to weather gods: please, please be sunny) Southern California and enjoy my children and grandchildren. Breathing slowly and calmly. And NOT checking the time.

Snow Day

When I moved to Maryland fifteen years ago, I encountered a new event--the Snow Day. As a child, growing up where it was normal for snow to be constant from October to May, we did not have weather-related school holidays. Everyone had snowtires, snowchains, snowplows, boots, coats, gloves, etc. Snow did not prevent events from proceeding; it did sometimes make it more difficult to travel, but I don't remember things being cancelled due to weather.

In Maryland, snow was infrequent, but every winter it would snow at least once. And so school would be cancelled. I understand why--all those tiny little curvy roads lined by large trees from which snow-covered branches would crash down. Plus, few people had snowplows, snowtires, boots, gloves, etc.

Now I live in the desert--in a city reknown for hot temperatures. In the summer. Winter is frequently chilly; it's the high desert. But this week we're experiencing a record-breaking, once in a lifetime weather event:

So, today I'm home-last night they announced that school was cancelled Thursday--Snow Day. First one since 1979. Some parts of the Las Vegas valley got 8 inches. I scraped 2 inches off my car to come home from school. The roads were thick with slush. Many highways are still closed. Weird.

The Christmas Gift...Part 2

BUT--First this breaking news from Weather Central: for the past seven hours it has been snowing vigorously in Las Vegas!!! Yes--seven hours!! All of my ornamental grass is lying flat, the palm tree branches are drooping from the heavy wet snow lying on them. After our music program tonight at the school, I had to scrape off a couple of inches of freezing cold slush from my car. THIS IS SO WRONG. Apparently we are involved in a record breaking storm system, a not-seen-for-thirty-years snowfall. Bah humbug!! That's my opinion. However, I keep thinking of all the ways it could be worse. I could be here visiting from back East (where they just had an ice-storm) out here for a little respite in the sunny southwest for which I've saved all year. Or, I could be one of the poor people now stranded because every highway and freeway in southern Nevada and southern California has been closed, as well as the Las Vegas airport and LAX. The only bonus is that, pending a further dropping of the temperature, we could get a snow day on Thursday (!!) Now, that would be worth it. Most of my students were completely delirious as we dismissed into a world of fluffy falling flakes because they have never seen it snow before, and many of their parents have not either. It was fun to watch them scoop up a snowball from the grass (yes, there was that much accumulation by 3:30) and throw it at someone. All up and down my street there are snowmen in people's yards. This is very bizarre. Pictures tomorrow!

Now, back to our regularly scheduled blog: Part 2 of "The Year of My Amazing Discovery"

I realize now that the cost of the coat probably represented a substantial proportion of the entire Christmas budget, and so was out of the question. But, the Saturday before Christmas, my aunt and uncle came for a visit. While she distracted my mother on a pretext in the bedroom, we were instructed to take a large wrapped box from the back seat of their car and hide it under the Christmas tree, way in the back. The tag said, “To the Welch Family”, but my uncle confided in us older ones that it was The Coat.

When we’d returned home from shopping that night, my mother had told my dad about it. She wasn’t hinting, she just told him all kinds of things like that. We all agreed with her that it was a fantastic coat, and she really did look nice in it. But, as she pointed out, dismissing the subject with the finality of the one who made Christmas happen at our house, and balanced the checkbook, it was much too expensive. She hadn’t reckoned on true love.

She was a hard person to give to. She seemed not to need anything, but could always choose the right thing for someone else. Every holiday season, our house was filled with amazing culinary feats: hand-dipped chocolates, peanut brittle, cinnamon rolls, donuts, fruit cake. This bounty was started in early November so the giving could begin on time.

First, a box was filled for her little brother, the Air Force pilot, often stationed overseas. The next box went south to her parents who wintered in Arizona to ease grandma’s health. We had hoards of visitors who were always treated. Then, the culminating event on Christmas Eve, when she prepared plates with a sampling of everything, covered them with plastic wrap, handed them over to us to carry carefully to the car.

We stopped at the homes of widows, and at least one never-married man whose tiny house I’d passed on the school bus for years without realizing it was inhabited until I was big enough to help with the Christmas gifts. We always gave a plate to a family whose mother was so crippled with arthritis that I never saw her except on Christmas Eve when I slipped into her living room behind my mom, and listened as my mother carried on a cheerful conversation with a woman so bent and twisted I couldn’t look at her. We celebrated Christmas by doing Christ-like things for people who couldn’t do for themselves.

By the time we got home on Christmas Eve, the chores were done, my dad was in the house and we could act out the Nativity before having some fruitcake and milk and going to bed. But the glow in our home was magnified by my memory of the brightness she took into those other houses.

Well, Christmas morning finally came. We had opened nearly every present but the big box. She’d seen it, but assumed it was a game from some other aunts. We urged her to open it, but she passed it over to my sister, “Oh, one of you kids open it. I’ve opened my presents.”

She had; but they were so insignificant that now I cannot recall a single one. Probably a new slip, some cherry chocolates, a plaster hand-print from a first-grader—these were the typical things we ended up giving to the person who “didn’t need anything but kids to stop quarreling.” We handed the big box right back to her with a chorus of insistence that should have been a tip-off.

She tore the paper from the box; it was apparent now that it was NOT a board game. The edges of the box were taped shut, but the name of the store was printed on the outside. Suddenly, she looked confused, her fingers began to fumble with the cardboard. She stood up and dropped the box onto the couch as the lid came free, and I could hardly believe the look on her face as she drew the coat out of the tissue wrappings.

She squealed, “Oh Lynn! It’s my coat!” She turned to him, her eyes shining with incredible delight. Her hands were trembling as she pushed her arms into the sleeves, drawing it up around her shoulders.

“Here, feel this—isn’t it fantastic?” She stepped over to my dad and held out her arm. “Oh, thank you, I love it, love it, love it!”

Or something like that---I don’t remember her exact words except for her initial outburst to my dad. But more significantly, I remember what she did not say. There was no mention of “Oh, you shouldn’t have” or “It’s too much money” or “I don’t need a new coat”. She simply accepted this gesture of love from my father. He had found something she truly wanted, and he generously gave it to her. And she graciously received it.

I’m sure that many times, my father had given my mother gifts, but this was the first time I had been conscious of it. It was the first time I’d been aware of them interacting as two sweethearts. I suddenly saw them as individuals, and not merely the support system for my life.

Except for cooking dinner, she wore her glorious coat the rest of that day. And each time she wore it anywhere, she radiated, not just because it was a good color on her, but because every time she put it on, the pure joy of that Christmas moment seemed to me to be repeated, and I knew my mom was a real person, and that my dad loved her.

The End

Happy Birthday to You

Today is my mother's birthday. I don't say "was" her birthday because, even though she died over two years ago, December 16 remains the day she was born on this Earth. She was named Carol in honor of the Christmas season, and she used to say that she was lucky that her birthday was the 16th and not the 17th, or she may have been named after an aunt who had a much less melodious name.

Fourteen years ago, I wrote her a story for a birthday gift that actually recounted a Christmas memory. Tonight, as I arrived at the Relief Society party/dinner/entertainment, the president asked me if I had anything I could contribute to the program--quick--because someone else had cancelled on her. I went home and printed off that story, and as I introduced it, I suddenly realized it was Mother's birthday this very day. So, in honor of her, I will post that story. But it is longish, so I'll divide it into two posts--today is part one and tomorrow will be part two.

The title is "The Year of My Amazing Discovery"--autobiographical, as usual.

That was the Christmas when I learned that my mother was a person, too. This was only a unique concept because I was in my early teens, just fresh from junior high, with the point of view common to the age group. The world began and ended with me. The important questions of the day were:

“Did my hair look okay?”
“Were my clothes cool enough?”
“Could I get through the day without saying or doing something so stupid the whole school would notice?”

I usually thought of Christmas in those terms as well. I was focused on my wants and desires. It was hard to be a teen at Christmas. There wouldn’t be any surprises from Santa. I was too old for that. But I knew my parents weren’t prosperous enough to give me the kind of gifts I’d seen at a friend's house: skis, a stereo, go-go boots.

That is why the whole event was so amazing to me, and significant enough to catch my attention and cause a shift in my view of the world.

We’d gone shopping in the “city”. It was a two hour drive, but it was the closest community to ours with stores where you could buy the items we usually got only through mail order. Plus, my aunt lived there. She and my mother were close in age, and we visited them, or they visited us, at least once a month.

We were in a department store looking for Christmas dresses for my sisters and I, when I heard my mother exclaim to my aunt, “Oh, Lila, feel this coat!” We all came over to inspect it. It was a truly wonderful thing. It was deep navy pile, but unlike most of the late Sixties fake fur, this felt like the real thing. It had a subtle, lustrous glow, and the plush-ness of the nap was unlike any other garment on the rack.

Mama pulled it off the hanger and slipped into it, letting her aging plaid car coat slip to the floor. She snuggled the collar up around her cheeks, pushed her hands deep into the pockets folding it around her like a fashion model. Stepping up to the mirror, she did several half-turns, admiring the way the color complemented her complexion, and practically cooing about the sensuous feel of the fabric.

Without a doubt, it was one terrific coat. She looked good in it, it was different than anything else in the store, and she really did need a new coat. It was Christmas, after all; why not get it?

One hundred dollars, that’s why. The price tag, usually the first thing consulted when we were shopping, had been overlooked in the excitement of the beauty and luxury of the coat. She gasped, took it off, and replaced it on the hanger. As she returned it to its place among the less worthy wraps, I saw her hands linger on the pile for a final caress.

But, my real mother quickly emerged from the reverie, as she briskly gathered her things from the floor, with a laughing comment on how impractical it would be to own such a coat, and how the current jacket was certainly good for at least one more season, probably two. And hadn’t we better get a move on so we’d get home before it was too late?

However when she dressed again in that woven green plaid coat, with the three-quarter sleeves, knit cuffs, and shawl collar, it seemed so bland, so outdated, and, so, so practical that I was conscious for the first time at how adept she was at accepting her circumstances, and making the best of the inevitable. Her uncomplaining way of going about the business of being the mother of eight children on a family dairy-farm budget had never seemed remarkable until now. I wanted her to buy the coat. I wanted her to own it. Whenever any of us had needed something, glasses, orthopedic shoes, dental work, even just a bicycle, my parents always made it happen. I hadn’t been aware of how they did it. They just always somehow figured out the way. Surely they could figure out some way to buy this coat.

(to be continued)

Jet Setting

I haven't blogged for a while because I've been partying.

On Thursday, I flew to Baltimore, where CoolGuy picked me up and we attended his last company party---a dinner cruise on the Potomac in Washington D.C. (His old company, that was dissolved because their technology was rendered obsolete after 20 years. He works for someone else now on the second generation.)

...on Friday, we ate at a terrific tapas restaurant with our son, and then we all went to see "A Christmas Carol" performed by the Ford's Theater productions--just not in Ford's Theater this year--it's being renovated. We stayed at a motel in Baltimore so I could...

...fly off to Salt Lake City on Saturday to attend my sister's family Christmas party, hosted by my brother because his house was large enough to accommodated the huge group. I stayed with my sister that night who'd kindly acquired from her friend...

...two tickets for the Sunday morning performance of "Music and the Spoken Word" by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Immediately following their live broadcast, we stayed seated for an encore presentation of their Christmas performance that had been taped the night before for PBS. I invited my dear best friend of 30+ years. Following that we ate brunch, she took me to the airport and...

...I jetted off for home in Las Vegas. Whew.

Today, just a mild-manned, exhausted, school teacher again. But, I really had a great four days!