The First on the Fourth

33 years ago, it was the Bicentennial of the United States of America. (Well, yesterday it was, anyway. I didn't realize it was so late when I sat down here.) So all of the country was in a state of massive celebration and there were parades and speeches and I remember they sailed the USS Constitution again and a lot of spectacular spectaculars occured. But mostly it all went right past our family.

We had our very own Spectacular Spectacular event. We brought our first born child home from the hospital on the Fourth of July, 1976. He was born on the first. His due date was July 1st. Isn't that just so convenient that he was born on his due date? It set a standard that most of his siblings could only approach, and none of them achieved. Most were pretty near, the last one quite a long time after, but I always had that expectation that pregnancy and birth would be orderly and sensible because his whole existence up to, and including, his birth were orderly and sensible. When he came out, the doctor held him aloft and declared, "It's a boy." To which his dad replied, "I know." Now, mind you---we didn't get sonograms or 3-D prenatal photos in those Olden Days. His dad just knew. He'd had a feeling one day, and from then on, we just knew.

So, anyway, I'll always remember the fabulous Bicentennial Celebration of the United States of America because I missed it all. I do remember walking around my living room with him in my arms, realizing that it was the Fourth, and just being really excited that we were all home, our new son was so cool, and that no celebration could ever eclipse the fabulous, fantastic reality of being a parent.

And, so far, no celebration has ever done so. And he is still a fabulous, fantastic son.

Packrat Payoff

I have finally started my summer vacation. School ended on June 5th, but I was immeshed in a graduate class that took up many hours, and then preparation for the family reunion scooped up the rest of the time. I also traveled a couple of places. But...here I am, up to my elbows cleaning out my spare room/office. Since we have a newly empty space in our bedroom because we were able to take our daughter her cedar chest, I've decided to move some bookshelves over to that room. Which requires that I clean them out first. Which is a time consuming operation, because I need to evaluate each item to see if it is a keeper or a tosser. I've found some really excellent artifacts, too. I opened the binder that holds my oldest son's elementary school memories and found an envelope from his college freshman composition class. It has fantastic essays in it! Plus, how I could I resist re-reading the scrapbook made by my former co-workers in the school where I taught for nine years?

But, the best find, there only because of my dreadful pack-rat tendencies...is a packet of medical papers from my adventures in mal-digestion from four years ago! When I took an antibiotic that destroyed the good flora in my guts resulting in months of diarrhea. Yes, months. So, now I have a similar malaise and even though my gastroenterologist has ruled out worse problems, his evaluation that "there is nothing wrong with you" is incorrect. There is definitely something wrong with me. But, now I have a whole packet of papers complete with the name of the medication that solved the problem four years ago. So, I will move this bookcase, and then I will drive over to the walk-in clinic where I started this whole mess when I got the initial meds for the sinus infection, and tell them what to prescribe. I'm on my way to Washington D.C. on Sunday for a week being the tour guide for my friend and her grandchildren. I know I'll be standing in line a lot, and I know how few and far between the public bathrooms are there.

Family Time

I've been very busy during the last week preparing for my family reunion. When my mom died three years ago, we all agreed, in a meeting following the service, that we would have a formal family reunion each year. Our parents worked very hard to maintain family ties with their extended families, and in some cases, that took a lot of effort. So we made a decision, unanimously, that day when we all became orphans, to meet each year. We divided up the responsibility for host duties so that two of us would be in charge each year. This year it fell to me and my youngest sister, so we decided to have the party at her home in our home town.

She and her husband were heroic! They hosted 46 people for two or three days! We ate there, we slept there and at different relatives' homes around the valley, but the main event on Saturday from noon to 6:00 was all at her house. He got several of his horses from a distant pasture so we could take rides with our little grandchildren. He helped cook breakfast and dinner on the grill and in Dutch ovens. He put up with non-stop talking and laughing. I really appreciate his willingness and sportsmanlike attitude. She was a human dynamo! She is so calm with all the amazing chaos around her. She made a variety of huge salads the day before, she constantly answered questions of "Do you have..." "Where is the..." "Can I get a ..." with patience and calm and everything turned out fabulously. We simply had a terrific reunion and I totally credit them with a large portion of the success because of their incredible hosting.

We had a chance to sit and discuss the life of our Dad, who died 25 years ago. I'd prepared a presentation with pictures and narration that came from memoirs that each of my brothers and sisters wrote and sent to me. We made a disc for every adult in the family (so I can send them to those who weren't there) and included the pictures, the articles, and several other documents that are relevant to our Dad's life story. I did a good job, thank you, and it was all due to my very difficult graduate class from this winter where I learned to make a really good presentation using PowerPoint. Anyway, it turned out great, I had a fine time creating it, and Cool Guy outdid himself in converting it to a format that everyone can use, and adding the documents. Then, he copied all the discs for me AND made a really awesome label. The label was the crowning touch. Then he and our son set up and ran the technology so we could all view it.

So we had a good trip, we enjoyed the camraderie of relatives, Star Valley was exquisitely green and blooming, the weather cooperated by being perfect. I am relieved that it is finished, we've been plotting it for a year. And I'm relieved that it was so fine. So thanks to everyone in my family who helped and we'll look forward to next year! It'll be great too!

Happy Father's Day

I've spent the better part of the last three days making a presentation for my upcoming family reunion. It is the reunion of my parents' family and, since this year is the 25th anniversary of his death, we are going to highlight my dad's life. Most of the grandchildren don't remember him or weren't even born yet during his life. I've been putting captions with photos telling about his childhood and the years of our family as they added one child after another until all eight of us were born. I've been having a great time, and each of my brothers and sisters have sent me a memoir of him from their growing-up years. We have a theme: his love for us, his hard work, and the way he took care of people less fortunate than himself.

I hope our children will also be able to look back and appreciate their father, too. I'm confident that they will, because I think they appreciate him now. I know we all appreciated our dad at the time, too, as well as in retrospect. But here are a few examples of why Cool Guy was/is a great dad.

He was never afraid to get right in there and be the dad. He changed diapers and cleaned up vomit and walked all night with sick babies. This might not seem so amazing, but when we started with the baby-having time in our lives, this wasn't common place for men to do.

He set a good example that work was for everyone. He got up from the table one day when the first ones were very small and said, "Would you rather have me give baths, or clean up the kitchen?" I was taken aback. He'd already worked his job all day, and the home was my job. But he said he felt dumb sitting there reading or whatever while I did all of it, and it was no problem for him to join in. So, he'd choose a "helper" and the two of them would clean up the table and wash the dishes while Mom bathed the babies. Everyone took their turn helping Dad and learned that it isn't just Mom's house--we all live here, so we should all help doing the work. Plus, he has had a paycheck-paying job since he was 12 years old. That, all by itself, is a legacy for our children...who all work to support themselves and their families in a very responsible way.

He's very funny. Humor is a great quality to have in a family. If you can't laugh at things that happen, then you're in for a very difficult life. He doesn't make fun of others, he's just able to laugh at himself and at situations. It's a good skill to have with teenagers, because a little laughter helps people to not take themselves too seriously and lightens the atmosphere for all.

So, Happy Father's Day, Cool Guy. I appreciate the awesome children you helped me create. I hope they'll always appreciate you.

The Bathing Suit Solution

I've worn out all my swimming suits. My one really favorite one was killed by an overdose of chlorine from the pool at the hotel in San Diego at Christmas. But the others have just deteriorated through the four years I've been swimming here in my own pool. We don't have to use as many chemicals as a commercial pool because it is usually just the two of us. The filter can keep up with our cooties with just a little boost from a floating chlorine tablet basket. But, the sun and the years and the chemicals have finally wrecked all of my suits and I have been shopping for a new one.

What a drag. Quite a few parts of me have changed in the four or five years since I last bought a suit. None of them for the better. I'm just a bit too larded to comfortably fit into the biggest Misses size, but I'm not quite yet one of the X girls...you know--20X, 22X, etc.

So, I've come to the realization that the ultimate solution is: just go to nude beaches for the rest of my life. You see, there I wouldn't need to worry about looking like a pregnant grandma encased in Lycra. Nor would I look like a German sausage in floral casing. I would just be another person in skin. I'm guessing that most people at a nude beach aren't there to make judgements about the rest of the naturalists. So, I could just calmly be a little saggy, a little too chubby here and there, a little wrinkled and cellulitish without a qualm.

Or, I could try and lose 10-15 pounds this summer by exercising and eating more salad and fewer cookies.

Hmm...I'll have to give this some thought.

The Not-so-Dusty Winnemucca Road

If you're a Johnny Cash fan, then the title should provoke humming. If not...google it. But, we were in Winnemucca on Friday and it was definitely not dusty. It rained most of the way across northern Nevada on I-80 all day Friday and Saturday. It was beautiful and green. And orange--as in safety cones funneling us all into one lane of the interstate while crews fixed the other lane--either widening it or repaving it. Blah. We spent a great deal of time wedged between 18-wheelers inching our way along. Then, we'd break free for a few miles and it would start raining again. And not just rain, but torrential downpours that forced us to drive slowly again. So, instead of traveling at 80 on 80 (as is traditional in Nevada) we alternated between 40 and 60. But, it was a pleasant drive anyway with hilarious commentary between Lil' Dude and SBoogie in the back seat.

"But, I don't want to be a mountain."

"Yes, you have to be a mountain and I will be the clouds.."

"No, mountains have grass on dem. I don't want to have grass."

And on, and on.

Oh, pleasant, except for the, ahem, cramping and nausea. I just finished a dose of antibiotics to wipe out a sinus infection before I flew up to Sacramento and I wiped out more than the infection. I also apparently wiped out all the good flora and fauna in my digestive system, too. So, about one hour after I'd eat anything, the pain would start. It is actually quite a long way between rest stops in Nevada. Pepto Bismol helped for a few hours, but ultimately we had to find somewhere to stop for a few minutes for Grandma. Geez, I'm such an old lady. I got some meds this afternoon to restore everything to normal. Whew, because I've "gone" everywhere, man.

Coed Redux

Yesterday, I had my photo taken and was given my 5th college ID card. It's not that I lose them. I mean, it was the fifth college for which I've needed an ID card. And that doesn't include the three other colleges I've attended for just a single class through an affiliation with a school in which I was enrolled. Or, I attended a week-long or week-end seminar, and was allowed to receive credits by having seat-time and writing a big paper. Whenever I request transcripts, it is quite a production.

I intend to complete my master's degree here at UNLV and then---that's it! NO more degrees, no more transcript requests. No more ID cards. Too bad I didn't keep all of them, it would be a cool post to scan them all in and see how I've changed over the years.

June Zoom

Well, if you look at my calendar for June there are very few days that do not have an appointment. Sigh. But, it's all my own fault. I agreed to be on a textbook selection committee way back in January. That is four days worth. Then, I signed up for a graduate class--hey--It's 3 credits in four weeks! That's a deal. Then I only have to take one class per semester next winter and spring to fullfill my required 3 classes per year. But, it's a doozy and is MTW from 4:00-6:45 and she pointed out that we would not be finishing early. Ever. There's the family reunion. There are two doctor appointments. I must go to physical therapy three times a week to try and help my pathetic right leg. And, minor detail, I have school the rest of this week and next Monday (the last two days are teacher days) and I have to pack up my entire room to be moved out so they can rip out the ceilings and replace the air-conditioning.

So, if I'm not blogging much in June, it's because I don't have a spare minute. See you in July.

Don't Take Your Ego to Fourth Grade

About a year ago, in anticipation of my pending appearance on television, I changed my hair slightly. I have worn my hair long for years. I occasionally catch a glimpse of myself in a reflection and will be dismayed to see a haggy looking old person looking back. But...I've cut my hair short several times in my life and I've always disliked it intensely. So, I continue to wear it long, now it is long and mostly gray. But, the style I got last summer was a bit of a change--a few layers, just to give it some body, and I really like it that way. It is still possible to French braid it or wear it up in a clip or a bun, so it wasn't too radical. This picture is from 1974...

This morning, I washed my hair, dried it, used the curling iron and the hair spray and I was pleased with the result.

I went to school, and about 1:00 P.M. a boy said, "Is this crazy hair day today?"

I replied, "Not that I know about, why?"

"Oh, you just looked like you fixed your hair for crazy hair day, that's all."

Hmmm...that's all.

Workers

I just returned from a weekend surrounded by my people. I went to a family wedding, then spent the next two days with a variety of sisters, visiting cemeteries in the communities that dot the valley of my childhood home. We placed an abundance of flowers on the graves of loved ones because I've reached that age where I know about as many people underground as I do above-ground. As we visited the cemeteries I encountered a few old friends and several relatives. We chatted, and I realized that, whereas I've moved a long way from the world of my youth, they live right there, still surrounded by people who mostly earn their living through physical labor of some type.

When I was growing up, everyone I knew--including most of my teachers--lived on farms and milked cows or raised cattle or sheep. This involved the related activity of growing feed that could be stored and used to keep these animals alive throughout the long winter. Everywhere I looked there were vast acres filled with grain or hay, carefully cultivated, and then cut and stored, always through the hard work of us people. Again, I repeat, even many of my school teachers had farms and animals and were engaged in this pursuit, despite having graduated from college and being employed in professional, white-collar jobs.

The fact that they farmed as well as taught school, or ran a ranch (a local doctor) or had a herd of sheep (a store owner) seemed normal to me--in fact--it seemed correct. After all, in my mind, farming was the premier job. It was the job that resulted in all the other jobs. It was like this: if there weren't farmers, then there wouldn't have been a tractor dealership, nor a grain mill, nor a creamery/cheese factory, nor the hardware store. Then, there wouldn't be people who needed to shop at the grocery store, or the drugstore, or go to a movie theater, restaurant or bar. There wouldn't be children for teachers to teach, or patients for the hospital. It all started with the farmers; the others just came along to serve his needs.

It may be a faulty concept, but it illustrates my teeny-tiny world at age 10. But I have always been proud of my farm girl roots. I remember once meeting the father of a college roommate. He had a prominent, highly regarded job in a very large city, and had grown up there, been educated there, and was reknown in his world. He asked what my father's profession was, and I proudly told of his dairy farm in Wyoming. The tone of the reply and the expression on this man's face made it clear to me that this pride was wholly unrequited and, in fact, dismissed. At that moment, I lost my respect for that person, and didn't consider him my father's equal. My dad would have shown much more regard for someone's work, regardless of its stature in the world's eye.

This brings me to a pet peeve. I am a teacher, yes. But I think we in America have made a big mistake in educating every student as though they are all going to grow up to be English professors. It doesn't suit everyone. We still need plumbers and mechanics. By insisting that a school's success is only measurable by the number of students who are accepted to a university following their high school graduation, we cheat those kids who would be happier and much more suited to work in the trades. I think that a "degree" has become devalued. There are many students who are completely unsuited for the standard college-prep curriculum. They'd be so much better off in a program that truly taught them a marketable skill. A few high schools here in Las Vegas have been retooled, or built from scratch, to do just that.

But there are far more students who would benefit from that type of education more than they do from the usual "push everyone into the round hole of college-prep" that schools are attempting now. The drop out rate will never go down as long as boys see no point in their literature class when they can already earn money repairing cars. Why not offer a comprehensive course for these natural mechanics that includes reading skills and math but in a context that will be useful for them and help them to become capable of operating a business, or at least managing someone else's shop? Then there would seem like there was a point to the torture that school is for many. Such a torture that they readily drop out and turn to gansterhood for a buck, when they have a talent for so many other jobs that don't require one to write about the motivation of the characters in a book written by a lonely English woman two hundred years ago.

I don't mean to disparage literature--I love it. But we need to find a solution to the thousands of students in our cities that drop out of our traditional schools because they see no point to the education we are forcing on them. There must be another way to help these students gain a skill with which they can support themselves. There is a lot of effort put into building self-esteem, but true self-esteem comes directly from being competent and knowing you can do things for yourself. Here's a link to an article my daughter sent me that articulates this much better than I do. I hope that we can retool our education system and really help our students to gain more from their public education than a sense of frustration and failure.

Techno Mama

Wow, I achieved a level of technological independence last night that is unprecedented. I needed to take the photos off my camera. I can do that. But...I wanted them onto my i-Pod--the Christmas gift from Cool Guy so my gramma-cam photos could be carried around conveniently. Well, when he gave it to me in December, he'd put several groups of photos on it already. But these were recent pictures of both sets of grandchildren from Spring Break. Since I'm headed up to a family wedding this weekend, I wanted to take the pictures on the i-Pod to show off.

Cool Guy is out of town. I was reduced to managing my own technology. Uh-oh. But, guess what? I DID IT! He'd shown me what to do, and I remember it seemed really easy and intuitive. Just, click, click, select, load, sync, wait. Except that when I went to actually do it last night, several days after he'd shown me how...rot-roh. I googled directions. They seemed relatively easy. I followed them. It worked. I could load up a particular folder of photos. But--it removed all the other folders already there. I could put another folder on, but every time it removed the current folders.

So, I tried again, and again. I read some more directions. Then, finally I found a folder labeled "i-Pod" in my pictures folder and YES--this time I realized it was the folder that Cool Guy had directed me to initially. I clicked, clicked, selected, loaded, synced and waited and...and...and...

I have cute pictures to carry with me and show off to my sisters! Yeah! I didn't get upset, I didn't give up, I just kept clicking here and there and looking at folders and voila! Success!

(This whole post is for Cool Guy--he'll be excited that I've done something successful while clicking all over and looking for blue bars.)

Music Day

A couple of weeks ago, our bishop held an unusual Sacrament meeting program. He'd asked me the day before at a Scout function if I'd be okay with the format he wanted to use, and I assured him I could do it. He borrowed this idea from a previous bishop, and it was wildly successful.

Instead of speakers, we held a version of testimony meeting, only--the testimony had to be about a hymn that was meaningful to you for some reason. Then, after your introduction, the congregation would sing the hymn. It was actually really fun! We had an interesting variety of people, from old to young, a mix of men and women, and their choices were just as random.

We sang some old familiar standards. We sang a couple of the Primary songs that are now in the hymnbook. When someone announced a song I knew I could not manage on the organ, I just walked over to the piano to accompany everyone. One person chose a song that neither I nor the conductor knew, so she asked him to stand at the microphone, please, and help us. It was a lovely song, and since it was in classic hymn format, not that hard to play after all. It was arranged by Ralph Vaughn Williams whose arrangements are highly loved by choral groups.

I recommend this activity to any of you as an interesting way to really wake up your ward and have a great, spiritual meeting. It's good to do no more often than once a year. We had so many who wanted to tell about a song, that ultimately we were forced to sing just one verse of their hymn. Sometimes, they requested a particular verse, not just the first.

My choice for the meeting was "Though Deepening Trials" which you can listen to if you click the play button at the link. However, I prefer to play and sing it at a faster tempo that this version. It is an optimistic song. The words are written by one of my favorites, Eliza R. Snow, and it tells us to be cheerful and happy because Christ is Lord and He watches over us all. My favorite thing is to sit and play and sing it when no one is listening. It is a terrific hymn. Here is verse 3:

Lift up your hearts in praise to God;

Let your rejoicings never cease.

Though tribulations rage abroad,

Christ says "In me, ye shall have peace."

Christ says, "In me, ye shall have peace."

Thirty Five Years

To keep your marriage brimming,

with love in the wedding cup,

whenever you're wrong, admit it;

whenever you're right, shut up."
Ogden Nash

Today is the thirty-fifth anniversary of the grand experiment of the CoolGuy/Earthsignmama connection. According to the data, the partnership should have been easy. We grew up in homes seven miles apart, in the same cultural, religious, and educational institutions.

However, we could hardly be more different in temperament. We have managed to work with these differences and raise five excellent children. We have worked hard to stay married, and forgive and forget when necessary. We've come to realize that each of us have been greatly improved by the need to grow and accommodate the other. We are better friends now than we have ever been. We know that we really need each other, and that this need isn't a failing, but is essential to a happy marriage. When you recognize that need, then you can relax and be in love. Love is why we've stayed married through all the exciting adventures and misadventures.

So, Happy Anniversary! Here's to many, many more.

Carpenter Cool Guy

I have a new closet. It was formerly the hall coat closet, but now it is a very useful pantry. Our house has many fine qualities. But storage space in the kitchen is not really one of them. The kitchen area is small and open to the dining room/family room area, and therefore entirely lacking one wall on which to put more cupboards. So we got the idea to transform the coat closet, just around the corner, into a pantry closet. It turned out great!

Cool Guy, as you know, is very clever with tools. He is a master mechanic, can fix computers, plumbing, electrical stuff, the pool equipment...lots of things. But I just didn't realize he was such a carpenter, too! I'd looked at different closet systems in home improvement stores and on-line, but I wasn't satisfied with any of them. Well, he got some heavy-duty plywood and his electronic leveler and his measuring tape and you can see the fabulous results! He put in deep shelves on the diagonal so that the narrow door didn't prevent him from using all the interior space. I still have room for my winter coats (which I use occasionally, but usually just for visiting up north) and the ironing board. But I have loads of room for food storage, all my big bottles of various liquids and spices, my vast cookie cutter selection, and waaaaay up high--out of reach--some ant spray. I'm just delighted. I told him that my carpenter Grandpa would be pleased as anyone at this delightful and professional transformation. Now he's inspired to start in the bedrooms! Neato! See the diagonal shelves? I will be able to get more storage items now that I have an adequate place. One cannot have too many cans of olives for the coming Apocalypse.

Remembering Mother Day

It will soon be three years since my mother died. She was anxious to leave, by the end. My dad had died 21 years before, and she never stopped missing him. I understand. She'd been doing okay, not great, but then she suddenly went into decline, and less than three months later was gone. We honored her well at her funeral, we all rejoiced that she was finally free from the decades of pain she'd hid so well from the world, and we know that she and our dad had a wonderful reunion.

But, it doesn't matter how old you are when you become an orphan, it still feels bad. I haven't erased her phone number from my cell phone. Her address is still in my contacts. Every year I make Mother's Day cards with my students in which we write a cinquain poem about their mother. I show them the sample card I made about my mom (it is about 8 years old) and they always ask if I'm going to mail it to her. They get very quiet when I tell them she isn't alive anymore, but then I say that she was really old, and she is in heaven with my dad, and it breaks the tension. I would love to mail her a card. I compulsively call my sisters in a rotation because I used to call my mom just to chat about the latest trivia concerning my children, and even after three years I still miss having her to tell it to.

I remember when her mother died. I was 19. Grandma had been extremely ill for a couple of years. She'd lived with my aunt and was bedridden, and mostly out of it for a year. She was quite old, too. So, I blithely came home from college for the funeral thinking it was routine. My aunts and mom were up half the night in the kitchen talking, laughing, crying. My grandpa looked lost. He sorted photos at the table. It dawned on me that more than just a little old sick lady had gone. She was the Mother. It was only four years after the tragic death of their youngest brother, an Air Force test pilot, so the sisters were still heart-bruised from that. So, even though their mother was relieved of her burdens, I now know how they felt. Mother is Mother. It's never a good time for her to go.

But, she left me a good legacy of working hard, being cheerful, being kind and generous, and of always keeping family ties strong and active. So, this Mother's Day I will think of her fondly and hope that some far off day* my own children will miss me as much as I miss her.

*(from my lips to God's ear..."far-off day")

Appreciation

It was Teacher Appreciation Week. I was appreciated in many, lovely ways. My personal cocinera (I hope that's how you spell "cook" in Spanish) brought lunch 3 times!! Our PTA gave each of us two movie tickets. Plus, many of my students came bearing gifts.

• brownies
• cookies
• notepads
• potted plant
• flower
• cards
• an adorable framed drawing

This year for the first time, we elected a student council from the 4th and 5th grades. It was partly done to capitalize on the election hyper-awareness in the fall, and partly because the counselor thought the students would benefit from the leadership experience. It has been very successful. There are a number of officers and they have executed their duties well. As an example, the environmental officer is in charge of emptying our recycling bins every Friday. He recruited a group of students who go to each classroom during their recess and get the bins and return them. It's marvelous, because the custodians don't do recycling. Formerly, each teacher had to get that bin emptied somehow.

Well, one of our council members lives next door to a fellow who owns a franchise of coffee/smoothie trucks. So on Friday morning we each received a coupon to go out to our parking lot for a free specialty coffee or fruit smoothie....umm...mango. Then, we returned to the teacher's lounge where our night custodian was cooking omlets made to order. His day job is breakfast chef at a large casino. Every year our administration hires him to serve us for Teacher Appreciation week. There were also outrageously delicious biscuits to accompany the omlets.

So, it was a very appreciation-filled week. I appreciate being a teacher. You get to see students grow and learn. It sounds like such a cliche, but it's true! When you see a child really internalize some difficult concept and then use it correctly in another area it is really exciting! We got our standardized test scores back last week--the BIG test, the one the district and the world judges us with--and our fourth graders did fantastically. There was huge growth and we were very excited for them.

It's nice to have a special week, and it's fun to get treats, but seriously, I appreciate my job everyday and I feel appreciated everyday, too, because children are pretty basic and they don't hold back. They don't fake it. So, I am aware daily, hourly, and sometimes minute-to-minute if I'm appreciated or not.

It's BACK!!

Swimming season, I mean. I sit here typing with water dripping down my back from the ponytail that just came out of the pool. Ahhhhh. Swimming is good. The water is 78 degrees because each day for almost a week the air temp has been creeping up and holding around 90 and (equally importantly) at night it has only dipped back down into the 60's. So...the masonry around the pool is absorbing heat and not releasing it back into the black void of space every night. That means...I can swim again! Yeah!! It's just the best thing ever to dive into the pool after a long day and float around a bit. Then, laps back and forth, the knees don't mind a bit and there's no sweating. I know I've extolled this form of activity every year (probably several times a year) but I can't praise it enough. I just love swimming.

The Birthday of Faye

I don't remember why I nicknamed my first daughter "Faye". I've tried and tried to remember how it came about, but I am unable to recall the origins of this. But it is a name I've called her for years and years. It'd be a good blog if I could remember how it came to be.

But, since I can't remember, I'll just tell some stories about her. Today she is 31. Wow, that's amazing since I'm just 39. (No, really, I feel that way in my head, but my knees...79) Anyway, she was an experiment. Not her conception--that was by design. But we realized about halfway into the pregnancy that we would not be going back to the Boot-Camp atmosphere of the Naval Hospital to deliver her. Cool Guy had read an article about homebirth, and the more I read about the options available, the more I wanted to exercise those options. (NO options were offered at the NRMC--unofficial motto: You Do As We Say, Lady). Today, of course, most of the reasons we opted for the living room over the delivery room are moot because labor and delivery in a hospital are much more pleasant.

So, she was born and we were started on an adventure with Will Power. First, I have to declare that this personality trait enabled her stick it out through three years of beginning swimming lessons so that she could learn, finally, how to swim. She is today a highly educated woman with no student loan debt because she worked diligently (using an above-average intellect) to be good at all her schoolwork from the first day of Kindergarten to the last day of her master's degree, and colleges reward that kind of single-minded devotion to a goal with lavish scholarships. We have many souvenirs of her illustrious education career, including piles of honor roll certificates, academic award plaques, and a very lovely plaster of Paris naked mole rat from a first grade diorama project on mammals.

She is an excellent pianist. I wasn't sure how this was going to turn out, however, the day she came to me explaining that she didn't want to take piano lessons anymore. I was stricken. She'd only been taking them for about two years, and she was pretty good. I, the mother, loved playing the piano. I wanted to pass on this opportunity for music appreciation to my offspring. Oh, keep listening Mom...she just wanted to quit lessons, not the piano--she didn't like having someone tell her what to do; she wanted to learn it on her own. If she got stuck, she could go back and ask the teacher or me. She really liked playing and wanted to get better--but on her own terms. And she did, and she taught herself through more advanced lesson books than I'd made it through. Good thing I didn't get all tyrannical on her, insisting on My Way or The Highway on piano lessons.

I'd already tried tyranny. It didn't work. It didn't work when she was TWO YEARS OLD. The only reason I won some of those wars was because I was bigger and could force her to go places, or whatever, through physical might. I did not EVER win the battle of minds. I did finally learn, however, to readjust my thinking. "Is this really that big of a deal?" "Is this necessary or just what I prefer?" "Who cares, really?" Such as, give away the clothing I couldn't bear to see walk out of the house where anyone else could see her wearing it. Cut her hair really short so it didn't matter if I wasn't being permitted to comb it and she wasn't capable of it yet. Little bitty things---no you don't have to go to sleep, but you do have to stay in bed quietly with a book. It took me a few years to learn that very few things needed me to be the ultimate boss, but they were important things, so I'd better save my cooperation capital for them.

As I said, will power is fabulous, finally. She started baking cookies in elementary school because "Sometimes I wanted cookies, but you didn't have time to bake them. I didn't want to always have to wait for you." She read cookbooks and followed directions and is now an accomplished cook. A self-directed child is a thing of beauty. Faye has always been very self-directed. I didn't always appreciate this, but ultimately it has worked out. Parenting is a school, some of us are slow learners.

Happy Birthday!! Feliz Cumpleanos!! Bake yourself a really awesome cake!!

National Poetry Month

Heh...it is the second to the last day of National Poetry Month and I really meant to post some poetry. But I've taken all my poetry books to school and I kept forgetting to bring them home.

Here's a poem:

Enter October

Wrapped in the feather boa of
The Season’s Premier Snowstorm,
October makes her entrance.
But, after the introduction,
She drops the frozen front and
Gleams gold so bright
That wild geese echo the musical applause
Long after the last curtain call
That cuts into November’s icy act.

by Judy Kay Welch
New Era, Oct 1974

Here's another poem:

On A Night of Snow

Cat, if you go outdoors, you must walk in the snow.
You will come back with little white shoes on your feet,
little white shoes of snow that have heels of sleet.
Stay by the fire, my Cat. Lie still, do not go.
See how the flames are leaping and hissing low,
I will bring you a saucer of milk like a marguerite,
so white and so smooth, so spherical and so sweet -
stay with me, Cat. Outdoors the wild winds blow.

Outdoors the wild winds blow, Mistress, and dark is the night,
strange voices cry in the trees, intoning strange lore,
and more than cats move, lit by our eyes green light,
on silent feet where the meadow grasses hang hoar -
Mistress, there are portents abroad of magic and might,
and things that are yet to be done. Open the door!

-- Elizabeth Coatsworth

So, now you must find a poem, or write a poem, to celebrate the waning days of April.

Down the Musical Memory Lane

Cool Guy and I were talking tonight about music and, of course I was saying things like, "You know that one song...those guys you saw every week in Overton Park in Memphis..." because my brain often doesn't work well with specifics like names these days. So I went to the internet because EVERYTHING is there. I don't need to have it on the tip of my tongue anymore since I can just google it all now. But...I digress. And I digressed for about an hour on youtube looking up songs I loved way back in the day. Here's one for instance:



I loved these guys--The Allman Brothers band. Don't you wish your hair was as pretty as Greg's? Don't you wish you could play the guitar like Dicky Betts and Duane Allman?

Here's another one that I can listen to nine gazillion times and never tire of it. Whenever I hear it I have to stop and listen to the whole thing and sing along (if I'm alone). It's just the best harmony ever.



Don't you want to hit play again? And again? Just one of those beautiful, awesome songs that I love to hear.

Also both of them remind me of a time of life when my knees didn't hurt and my hair was as pretty as Greg Allman's. It was a great time of life and I am always astonished that we are this many years removed from it. It is good to have music to be a vivid and instant time travel device.
P.S. The initial song I went looking for was "Heard It In a Love Song" by Marshall Tucker Band, a local group that played free in Overton Park in Memphis the summer of 1973 when Cool Guy was going to Navy A school. It was before the band had a huge hit. Then we got together in February 1974 and listened to them over and over on their new album.
P.P.S. Cool Guy pointed out to me that the second guitarist on the first clip is not Duane Allman. Duane was killed in a motorcycle accident early in their career. I don't know who the other player is, but here is Duane.

Car Lust

Cool Guy rents cars quite often because he travels for work. He's rented enough cars in the last few years that he is at the top of the Preferred Renters list, or whatever they call it, at the company he usually uses. So he never knows what will be awaiting him when he goes in to pick up a car. (And he's like the people on the commercials who just walk right into the garage and the car is waiting there in a space with his name posted over it...) Once he got a Mustang convertible. Once it was a Lincoln Continental. I was with him on that trip and we really felt like a couple of geezers in that land yacht. He always reserves the same model, an Impala, but they just give him what they've got at the time, if one of those isn't available. And they give him an upgrade if they don't have his first choice. So...

Last week he picked up the car to go on a trip and it was a Mercedes C-Class. He came by my school to say good bye. (I had just finished after-school tutoring.) I was dutifully impressed. It had a sunroof, nice leather seats. It was awesome. He laughing said it took him 10minutes to figure out how to turn on the radio. He said it drove like a dream---German engineering. So, off he went for a relatively short journey to a base in a neighboring state for some meetings.

He returned a couple of days later and walked in the door that evening. He strode into the living room and declared:
"I've never been upset with you for not winning the million dollars. But now I am. I want a Mercedes Benz!!" And then he laughed!! This from the person who always bought old used cars because he could rebuild the motors and we wouldn't have car payments. It enabled me to be a stay-home mom for eighteen years.

Really, it's okay about the money---but WOW---would he love one of those cars. So, if you ever get to upgrade to Mercedes...be careful. It'll ruin you.

That's More Like It

Do you know that on Tuesday night Las Vegas established a new record lowest high temperature for that date? It was very cold--cold enough for several new inches of snow to fall on the highest mountain here, the road over the west mountains to be closed due to snowfall, and even in the neighborhoods of the valley at the foot of those mountains to have snow. Bah. It is April, people.

Yes, yes---two feet of snow closed eastern Wyoming and Colorado. Northern Utah, including halfway down the state got lots of new snow...yeah, yeah. But I am living here in the desert and it is April and we are supposed to be having Spring with its lovely balmy days in the 70's. We will be having the 100's by the end of May and this is our reward time of year.

It has been a very cold winter. We have had incredible winds and very cold weather for almost the whole month of April. I'm ready for some nice weather. Wah.

So, finally today we have some. That's good. It's about time. That is all.

Teacher Perks?

A strange thing has been happening the last few weeks at school. A mom is bringing me lunch. This all got started because I drooled over the lunches she regularly brought to her son. She'd cook him these sensational looking soups and enchiladas and tacos and things. It would be freshly made, and she'd be waiting in the foyer as we walked the students up to the cafeteria at 12:10. She and her daughter, a toddler, would go in and give her son the Tupperware container that was full of the delicious looking homemade Mexican food. I'd walk past him to drop off my lunch ticket envelope and I couldn't help but notice the awesome looking lunches. So, I'd make a little joke about wanting her to be my mom, or wouldn't he please share...He'd laugh and she'd smile.

Well, about three weeks ago, I walked the students up the hall, and there is Mama and she walked up to me with the Tupperware bowl. I took it and turned to look for her son, but she gestured and said, with a strong accent, "No--you eat." Just then her boy came up and explained in English for his mother, "She brought it for you today!" OH MY GOODNESS. I was embarrassed. They were so happy to give it to me, so I thanked her and took it.

It was FABULOUSLY delicious. It was empanadas and spanish rice and some vegetables. It was so much that I sat down in the lounge and shared it with another 4th grade teacher (since we all share this student.) We sucked it down like THAT. YUM, YUM, YUM.

So I e-mailed my daughter and had her translate a thank you for me on the double to give to the boy with the plate that afternoon.

Next week, here's mom again with the covered plate! This time it was chiles rellenoes con pollo with spanish rice and some more empanadas. Cool Guy got some of the left-overs because we couldn't eat it all. He agrees: terrific, delicious. Again, yesterday! I get a lunch. I'm so embarrassed.

Today, after school, they stopped by where I do crossing guard duty and the boy asked me, for his mom who was driving, if I liked the lunch. I definitely did, and said that, really, she didn't have to do that, honest. But she smiled and he explained that she loved to do, no problem!

So I told my fellow crossing guard all about what was going on, and he just laughed and told me that with so few perks coming our way as teachers, I should just say Thank you very much, and gobble up the food and thank my lucky stars. So, I guess I will.

It's still embarrassing.

Easter Greetings

Easter is one of my favorite celebrations. Partly because it occurs in Spring, which means Winter is on the way out. As a child this was important because Winter was always so interminable. We often had snow on the ground for Easter...more than once a blizzard raged. But the later occurring Easters (like the year my younger brother was born) was sunny and warm and we'd raked all the old grass off the lawns.

Of course, we always got new dresses. Sometimes they were merely new to us, our sisters having worn them a few years before. But it still counted. I had a hat for several years in a row, too. And since we had so many chickens, we definitely dyed eggs. On Easter morning we got to hunt for these hidden eggs throughout the living room--never outside, because of the snow. And there was some candy, also.

But my favorite part of Easter, even when I was little, was church. It is all centered around the reality of the Resurrection. Christmas is sweet and sentimental. But there is an undercurrent of melancholy. The parents are far from home, they have inadequate accommodations, they have a little fear when the Wise Men and Herod enter into the narrative.

But Easter! It's all about triumph! It's all about Christ turning the horrible circumstance of His trial, His humiliation and His crucifixion upside down and being more powerful than all of it.

He is Risen! Imagine the exhilaration of Mary when she runs off to tell the apostles that what Jesus had been teaching them wasn't allegorical---He really did return to life!

I realize that I've lived my whole life with this as a fact, not just a belief. I've always known with surety that Christ is Lord and He lives and the Resurrection is certain. There are many things I wonder about, some doctrinal concepts I puzzle over. But the Living Christ isn't one of them. I am always grateful for this gift of knowing that life is eternal, and we're just in one phase of our existence here on earth. Hosanna and Hallelujah!

Grandma Land

This afternoon we just returned from visiting our two grandchildren who live in California, and later tonight our grandson will arrive for part of his spring break. He can only stay a couple of days, because he has a soccer game to play on Saturday, but two days will be great! We enjoy all the time we can get when it comes to being the grandparents.

In California we went for a walk, played in the sandbox, were served delicious sand icecream cones, read books, played Go Fish and made some Easter crafts together. Another day we toured the Jelly Belly Factory and went to a terrific planetarium where we saw a dinosaur movie and a movie called the "The Secret of the Cardboard Spaceship" in which we explored the universe in animation. We ate out and we visited the Oakland temple visitor's center, and just completely used up one day. We really had a great old time.

Tomorrow we plan to plant tomatoes, take the little gas-car out to the desert for some off-roading remote-control driving, and of course, swimming in the little pool (since the big pool is a little too chilly yet.) Then on Friday, it's Bunny Bread time! We'll probably go see a cool museum too.

Grandma-time is the best way to spend Spring Break--believe me!

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!!