Going Wireless

I went to the foot surgeon today. I left without wires or the Storm Trooper boot. (!!) However, it will be a while before I'm jumping up and down. My foot is much less swollen and bruised looking, and the doctor was very pleased with my healing. He said that I'd done an excellent job as a patient, and by lying around so well these four weeks, I should have a good outcome.

My toes are very tender still. My ankle, having not been permitted to bend while I walked for an extended period of time, was quite annoyed at having to do so now. It also was disorienting and odd for my brain to have my legs the same length again, just after successfully reprograming itself to accomodate my uneven status. I was unsure how to walk straight. My hips are very pleased to no longer be cockeyed from each other. Just sitting here typing, they feel better.

The toes on this foot will no longer be able to grasp or curl up in that position. That was the price to pay in order to to get them straight on my foot again. Right now, they are still extremely tender and I walk gingerly and a little slowly still. It hurt quite a bit as he pulled out the wires and there was a tiny bit of bleeding. But he said that after twenty four hours, I was cleared for the pool! Yeah! I think, too, that it will be good for my toes and foot to flex around in the pool without the weight of my body on them.

Here's a couple of photos:

The bandaids are to cover up the holes which bled a little.

Well, it still looks really swollen here, but, honest, it is much better. Now, I need to get a scythe to shave my leg--wow! Quite furry, I'm telling ya. So, I'll spend more time on the couch tonight, propping it and icing it, and then I'll have to get out the nail polish, huh?

It's Your Birthday!

Do you know that the United States of America is 234 years old this year? I know, not because I teach elementary school, or that I am such a crack math wizard that I can figure it in my head. The reason I know --- just like that --- is because the year of the Big Bicentennial, I became a mom for the very first time.

Today is my son's birthday and we celebrate him. He has always been such a great son -- I mean, he was born on his due date. How many kids are that considerate of their mothers? And he was a such a charming baby. He didn't cry all night, most of the time. He nursed like a pro, he gained weight like he should. He smiled on time, he crawled and walked and talked on schedule. He's just been like that his whole life.

When we were describing him recently to someone, we realized that he is the guy who has always been the peacemaker, the includer, the friend, the helper, the kind one. You think of a Christ-like quality, and he has it. Seriously.

So here are a few photos from his life just to enjoy and celebrate and to indulge his parents who have to shake their heads when they realize that their little first-born son is waaaay older than they were when they created him. How does that happen so quicky?? (I know, I know -- I'm always saying that.)

Guards

Here's a photo of the wall around our pool---or rather, our bird drinking fountain. Count and you'll see five pigeons and one owl.

The owl is plastic. We bought him several years ago because the packaging alleged that he would be a deterent to "pests" like pigeons that drink from the pool.

The pigeons seem to really enjoy his company. They also don't mind the large rubber snake we tried next.

We don't mind sharing the water. It's the poo they leave behind that is the problem.

We were thinking that maybe we ought to get some type of living guard animal to frighten the pigeons away. Like a cat, maybe.

Biblio-biography, Chapter 6

One of the books that had an impact on my life was Farmer Boy, by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Millions of people know all about Laura and her family from the television show "Little House on the Prairie" that was broadcast from 1974-1982. I didn't own a T.V. during most of that time, but I have seen a few of the shows as reruns; it was a lovely show and did justice to the books. I read the whole series from Little House in the Big Woods to The First Four Years. There were ten books, ultimately, and, Little House on the Prairie wasn't the first one. I loved these books. I read, and re-read them. I read the entire series to all of my children.

My sister and I have contemplated traveling to the Midwest and doing the Wilder Circuit, in which you travel to the sites of the books in Wisconsin, Missouri, Minnesota, South Dakota and Kansas. In Mansfield, MN, there is a big festival each year to celebrate her life and the books. I imagine the town is filled with middle-aged women and nine-year old girls, kinda like Pony Penning Day in Virginia.

But, the one book in the series that really caught me was the story of her husband, Almanzo Wilder, as a child on a farm in upstate New York during the 1860's. I was taken by this book because so much of his life was similar to mine.

He lived on a farm.
He had to milk cows.
The weather was really cold.
He attended a one-room school.
His mother was an amazing cook.
He had pesky big sisters.
He craved a horse of his own.
In the summer they had to haul hay.
He had chores every day.
The family attended church every Sunday.
The similarities went on and on.

Of course, he was a boy, and I didn't have to cut ice blocks (but lots of winters we did haul water...) and I didn't have to sit and do nothing all day on Sunday, and we didn't use a horse and buggy for our transportation. Oh, and we had electricity and all that. But...There were just so many things in his life that resonated with my life, that I felt like we must have known one another.

In my previous school in Maryland, we had a yearly field trip to visit a county history site: a restored one-room school used in the 1880's. It is run by a group of retired teachers who were born and raised in that county, and so have a serious interest in teaching modern children about the history of our area. It was simultaneously foreign and familiar to the students when we visited. It was small, the rules so strict and the tools they used (quill pens and inkwells) are unusual, but the flag ceremony is the same, and the maps and pictures of presidents on the wall are so today.

Before or after our trips there, I would read the first chapter of Farmer Boy to the students. It told of Almanzo's experience at his one-room school with some mean, older boys who made a sport of beating up and driving out each school teacher who came to their village. The current teacher is determined to avenge his predecessor---his good friend--and so, unknown to Almanzo, has learned a few good skills from Mr. Wilder. As usual, when I started out the chapter, there were yawns and murmuring. It was just so removed from modern kids' existence that they had a hard time finding any reason to care. But as the chapter progressed, and then got to the exciting conclusion, they were hooked and insisted that I read more the next day.

You don't have to have grown up as a Farmer Girl to appreciate Farmer Boy, but it is one of my favorite books because it revealed to me that everyone can tell a good story, even if you grew up milking cows.

Why We Celebrate Father

Today is the day to celebrate fathers. In our family we celebrate our dad for a variety of reasons. Here are some of them.

We celebrate Dad because he has always loved and cared for us. Even when the kids were infants, he never hesitated to be a hands-on dad. Diapers? Vomit? Bleeding? Chicken pox? Pshaw---nothing gave him pause.

We celebrate our Dad because he is a very handy guy. He can fix just about everything. And he used helpers. Once I read a column about "helpers" and it explained that the when you wanted to make a job take twice as long as it should, and to have your tools mysteriously disappear, and to need to improvise repairs that were made worse by your assistant, then by all means, utilize your five year old. Who wouldn't?

We celebrate our Dad because he loved his dad and knew that grandpas are important.

We celebrate our Dad because he liked to chronicle our lives in photos. He knew that we'd all appreciate these vignettes someday, even if the current moment was not one of joy every time.

We celebrate our Dad because he went places with us so we could learn about new things and see historical sites. Again...not every moment of every trip was a pleasure for everyone, but hey...that's life. (Santa Barbara Mission, at the end of a few too many "historical sites.")

We celebrate our Dad because he taught by example that reading was a great pleasure and privilege of life. He read for fun and he read fun stories for the rest of us.

We celebrate our Dad because he came to special events and recognized achievement that was worthy of accolades. He promoted education and learning and encouraged all the family members to improve.

We celebrate Dad because he he knew that church was good, he insisted we always pray before meals, he taught us to follow Jesus and he believes in God.

We celebrate our Dad because he loves us and always shows it. No one in our family has to wonder if they are beloved. They know.


Happy Father's Day to our Dad--a man worth celebrating.

Bumblebees Love Us

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say, "Bumblebees love our plant." The Dr. Seuss-like plant tower that errupted in our back yard a couple of weeks ago is now covered with itty-bitty flowers. I guess I was hoping for big, showy flowers, but these teeny ones are a big hit with The Pollinators. Here's a video.



The sound at the end is CoolGuy attempting to start his chainsaw. Because, of course, it's yardwork time at our house--it's summer. We're slow learners....when the temperature is close to 100 we think, "Oh, we ought to trim that palm tree." Actually, it's only 95 today and if you work slowly, and take lots of drink breaks, and periodically jump in the pool, yardwork is fine in the summer heat. (At our age, work slowly is SOP anyway...) (And when you live in a year-round growth environment, it actually is yardwork time any time.)

And by "we" I mean "him" because I'm just sitting in the shade saying, "Yes, that looks great!" while I keep The Foot propped up. Yesterday I was a little optimistic about my healing status, and after a dermatologist appointment, I went to the grocery store. I stumped around on my boot for a couple of hours. Tsk, tsk, tsk...today, I am lying down and propping--all day! My hips hurt, my knees hurt, and my sore foot is aching.

FrankenFeet

We went to the foot surgeon today for the first post-op visit. They took X-rays and we could see the wires that go into my toes about two inches, and then they removed the bandages. I took photos because I wanted to share, but you may not want to look. It's quite graphic. They'll be at the end.

He ended up removing the wire from alongside my big toe. Its purpose was to hold the toe straight up and down and keep it pushed over toward the other toes. He said he "released" [cut] the tissue that was grown over my joint that kept my big toe pointing the wrong direction, and, when I asked, replied that it should now remain straight because he also severed the tendon along the instep of my foot that pulled the toe outward. He removed a piece of it so it won't grow back. The second and third toes also have wires coming from them to keep them straight while their tendons and joint tissues regrow. The tendons were cut and shortened to pull them back into alignment.

He pointed out that he has never had a patient's foot return to the messed up condition after this procedure has been performed....so don't be the first. (He's an amusing doctor...really--very sweet.) I go back on July 5th and I will be in the foot cast until then. Blah. At that time he will remove the other wires from the two toes. I should be back in the pool about a week after that.

It still hurts quite a bit. We went to lunch after the doctor and I propped up my foot in the booth. But the effort of walking the amount that I did, and having my foot down while we drove, made it ache. One amusing discovery is that now I walk slowly enough for CoolGuy. For years we've had this disparity between my longer legs' natural stride and my impatient "teacher walk" and his slightly shorter stride and current foot pain caused by pinched back nerves. We'd be out somewhere, and very quickly I'd realize that I was steps ahead of him. Well, that's not a problem now. Also, I got a hang-tag from the DMV, so I can choose handicapped parking spaces for the next two months.

Patience is not one of my best qualities. It's in my DNA to hurry. This foot/cast does not hurry. It isn't hurrying to heal and I can't hurry when I move about. So, I am glad that I don't have big plans for the next month, because they wouldn't be happening anyway. I will take slow, deep breaths, and saunter carefully from room to room. I'll go over to the church on Thursday to see if I can figure out how to use the organ with this cast thing in the way (I'm not proficient on pedals, so I just prop my feet on the bench edge...hmmm...maybe, maybe not with the storm trooper boot.) I ought to be able to play. I hope so. Again, breath in, breath out. Stop and smell the flowers. Sit and rest. Heal, heal, heal.

The yellow knobs are just cushions on the end of the wires. One came off when the bandage came off. He's put it back on before re-bandaging it. The wires are the diameter of coat hangers.

My little toe had a bone spur removed. You can see where he wrote "yes" preoperatively to assure that the surgery was on the correct foot. It is very bruised and swollen, yes.





He removed the wire that is protuding from the side of my foot, alongside my big toe. Then he wrapped up the toe in a soft splint to the rest of my toes. This should help the healing. It only stung a little to have him pull out the wire (about two inches) but it was a creepy feeling knowing he was doing it.

So, there you go: FrankenFeet. BWWWAAAAHHHAAA.

Over Achieving

One of the reasons we were attracted to this house was the backyard. For one, it has a backyard. There is a section with grass and a nice, mature tree. Then, fenced off for safety, there is the section with the pool. At first there were only a couple of small desert plants by the pool, and one stand of ornamental grass. Mostly, there were landscaping rocks. We really didn't like it so barren, plus, we could help cool our house by planting things along the wall to create shade.

So, we added drip lines to plants already there, and planted more things, and after five years, our pool surround is really pleasant and green, with a lush, flowering bush climbing up a trellis and shading our living room. There is a palm-like tree growing near it, and some Mojave yucca. Which brings me to this post...

About a week ago, Cool Guy called me outside to look at something. I was astounded. Instead of this pointy, sword-leafed yucca, shaped like a ball, that had responded to the regular watering of the drip lines to grow slightly in diameter....

We had this bizarre development:

That is a shaft that has grown out of the center of this round, spiky yucca and on it are growing little pod-like tufts.

I have looked it up on-line and I believe that each of these pods will become a flower. In the meantime, it continues to grow taller each day. The speed with which it got from a round ball-shaped plant to this bizarre Seussian object is the astonishing part. It seemed to sprout almost within days and become a towering pole overnight. Here is a shot with a human in it to give it more perspective.

One of the reasons we are so impressed is that it is a native Mojave desert plant, and it is so outlandish in contrast to the usual features of desert plants. Generally, the flora here is subtle and subdued, carefully hoarding life force through small flowers and tiny, waxy leaf structures. One doesn't usually see a display of natural extravagance in Las Vegas. I can hardly wait to see what happens next!

Time Goes By

I can't believe it's only Friday. Blah. This is incredibly boring. However, enforced laying about is needed because even a little bit of walking soon results in searing pain. I'm going to need to get a different routine, though. Today I watched eight episodes of "Say Yes to the Dress"--about brides looking for their perfect gown. I can't do that anymore. I do spend a lot of time sleeping, however, because of the drugs. I am taking fewer and fewer of them, though.

It was only 80 degrees about 7:30 P.M. It was so balmy and beautiful, I went outside and sat on the patio for a bit. I watched CoolGuy water my geraniums and then I thought I'd totter over to my garden and see if there were some ripe tomatoes. The storm trooper boot does not do grass. I almost fell over. Bad idea. I'll just sit on the chairs and leave the picking to him. It was cloudy and windy here all day. These swooping weather changes are so bizarre. On Tuesday, it was 109 and today it is 80. It's amazing the barometers don't just implode.

My Left Foot

Here it is. The storm trooper boot is affixed to my leg. Cool Guy keeps a steady supply of ice on it. I keep it propped up above my heart. Hurray for modern narcotic pharmaceuticals. Last night, about 3:00 A.M. all of the anesthesia wore off---woowwweee. Bring on the drugs. But the pain killers are effective when they're consumed in a timely way, so I'll be fine. It is already boring to lie around. But, I will obey the doctor, and just lie around for the next five days, because I want to heal up nicely for the rest of the summer. I go back in on Monday for a check up and perhaps then I'll have a cool photo of the pins sticking out of my toes (I'm told they are there.) In the meantime, I'm reading, sleeping, being massaged by Kitty Cat, and fed by Cool Guy. He's a good nurse--stern, but caring. I've got several books to read to help me step up the writing curriculum next fall and I'm excited to get to them. Thanks for all your prayers and good messages.

Endless Summer

Isn't it weird how a small difference can have a big effect? Yesterday, the high was only 101 degrees. But because the temperature had reached 108 for the previous three or four days, suddenly, 101 seemed moderate, not so bad.

I got almost everything finished that I'd written on my to-do list. One thing about summer vacation that I really missed while teaching at a year-round school was the opportunity to tackle big projects. Yes, there were the three-week breaks, and that would seem enough time to accomplish many things. But, the difference with that schedule and summer break, is that with only three weeks, there remains the sense of a finite time.

Perhaps I suffer from "little kid-itis"--that sense that summer is here now, and it will never end, and we have endless free time looming ahead. The next school term is far, far away--too far to even worry about now. At any rate, the reality of having those weeks of time, that aren't obligated to the daily go to work routine, enables me to look at the piles of papers built up on the kitchen counter and this time, clean up and file, or toss, every last one of them. I don't have to interrupt the job with thoughts of "I should be in bed" or "I need to correct those essays" or "I've got to spend time on my homework for the graduate class." Instead, I know that I can devote the hour or two to a specific--but not vital--task, and it will not be deducted from a more pressing concern that the clock imposes on me. The piled up kitchen counter can be re-shuffled, and made neat in five minutes, but really, truly looking at each and every item, and making a decision about where it can be put away for good (or thrown away for good) takes time. (If for no other reason than the inevitable old-lady ADD that inflicts me when I take something to another room and get distracted there. When I finally get back to the kitchen, I still have time to resume the archeological dig that I'd started previously.)

So, here it is, the first week of summer, and I've got a checked off list. There are many tidy places in my house, and several more that aren't. But in about 20 minutes, I'm headed out the door to the foot surgery, so those other untidy parts will just have to wait. For the next four weeks, I'll be lying down a lot. But, never fear---I have chores assigned during that period, too. I'm going to change up my teaching for writing next fall, and I have books to read and ideas to write down to facilitate that. Unlike my students, I really do know that summer will end--sooner than we can all imagine. In the meantime, you go swimming, eat some popcicles, lay around, waste a little time. It's good for you.

It's Vegas, Baby

The entire month of May we had very lovely weather here. In fact, a couple of days, it was a little chilly. (By that I mean it got down into the low 50's at night.) (But in May, that is chilly here.) I got back from Portland, Oregon, at 11:00 P.M. Tuesday, and walked out of the airport into a real Las Vegas night. It was warm. The next day was the last day of school (!!!) and it was hot. It has been hot every day since, too. What a nice thing it was to simply put all my things away into a closet instead of packing it into boxes. In five of the last six "last day of school" I have packed it all into boxes. (I moved to a new state, had to change classrooms, and then I changed schools, and finally we were remodeling at my current school.)

Yesterday I went into the pool. My plan was to scrub a little algae off the sides that had grown while we were out of town. The water didn't even make me gasp. Summer is here! I also discovered that all that exercise I haven't been doing takes a toll. I could barely kick across the pool twice...So, today, after I spend the super hot hours indoors, vacuuming and dusting, I'll go back out in the late afternoon and do some more swimming.

However...it has been two days now since I last took any ibuprofen products, at the request of my surgeon, so I won't have blood thinners in my system on Wednesday. Oh. Who knew that so many parts of me depended on that anti-inflammatory coursing through my bloodstream? Actually, the internist I saw on Thursday, after checking my pulse by clasping her hand around the wrist that hurts so much from the arthritis, exclaimed that my swollen thumb joint was hot. "That doesn't sound like arthritis to me. Gout creates swelling and heat." She added a gout blood test to the list of things the surgeon wanted checked out before the surgery. So...we'll see.

Whatever it is, it likes to be medicated with NSAI products. So, I'll just keep powering through the vacuuming and dusting, because no one else is going to do it and it will bug me to look at it while I lie around convalescing. I'm not taking classes or going on a long trip this summer. It will be actually pretty nice to stay home. Even if I have to prop up my foot for three weeks.

Post Graduate

The graduation has occurred and the ceremony was very classy. We were in an elegant theater in downtown Portland. The processional and recessional were played by a brass quintet. The faculty and presenters were all professional, with an excellent balance of humor and dignity.

The graduates were an interesting mix because it was the nursing school and many people who were earning graduate degrees and even the bachelor degrees had been in the profession working. Some were clearly long-time nurses, and some looked like they'd powered through to this stage in one burst.

Here's the evidence:

Nurses get a Florence Nightingale pin in honor of the First Lady of Nursing. Nurse Treat had her initials engraved on back of her pin. It was cool at the graduation. About eight faculty members came forward and each graduate went up on stage, handed over the name card to be pronounced by the person at the mic. Then the graduate walked over to a faculty person, handed the ribbon to her, and the ribbon was put around the neck of the graduate. It mimicked the hooding ceremony of the master's degree candidates. Nice touch.

So, I'm off to the airport now. I've had a pleasant, relaxed weekend. I slept until my body woke up (without the blaring assistance of an alarm) for three straight days. I feel invigorated and capable of surviving the next three days of madness till school is out!

The Green Land of the Northwest

No, not Greenland...the large island off the northeast coast of North America. I'm referring to the amazing green-ness of Portland, Oregon. We're visiting here to attend the graduation of our daughter, Nurse Treat. Her dad always says, "She puts the "treat" in treatment." So, I'll call her Nurse Treat. She has worked very hard for two years to finish her BS, working full-time and going to school and this semester she has also had to do clinicals, which means on-the-job, following people around and watching them, taking notes, etc. etc. But still working full-time--she did clinicals in her "spare" time. Whew. So, it is a big, big deal. I salute her.

I'm enjoying the green. It has rained so much this year that Las Vegas, and the desert around it, is greener than you can imagine. But here...it is green--outrageously, fluorescently, and endlessly. As I flew up here, I watched out the window as we crossed over the Great Basin, so many shades of brown and beige. Then, we had clouds blocking the way, but as we came down under the clouds to land in Oregon---ZOWIE!! The GREEN!

We went to the rose gardens since the Rose Festival is this week. They are magnificent, and the area surrounding the gardens is a verdant wonderland. We went to a Chinese garden this morning. Serene, orderly, extremely lovely. Then, after a barbeque held in our daughter's honor by her friend and co-worker, we drove up the highway for a bit to see wild Oregon, Multnomah Falls. I've never driven in the Columbia Gorge, and this was about 20 miles up in the gorge. Oh My. Talk about green and, in vivid constrast to the rose gardens and the Chinese garden, it was wild. Again, green is everywhere, ferns, moss, leaves, vines. What a place.

Tomorrow I return to the desert. I still like it. It is spare and has a pleasing simpleness about it that is soothing and calming. However, when I need a change, I'll be on the plane back to Portland to soak, revel and loll in the lushness of the Green Land of the Northwest.

Happy Birthday Lil' Dude

It was just about this same time of day, four years ago that we got a phone call announcing his arrival. It was a little confusing, because he wasn't due for another three weeks. So, when his dad called to say he'd arrived, I couldn't understand what he was talking about. Then, he told us the whole story of the emergency c-section, because of the hemorrhaging...It was scary and dreadful and wonderful and thrilling simultaneously. New Grandson!! Daughter snatched back from the brink of death!! Ahhhggg!

We'd already been doing exciting, scary stuff. CoolGuy had been recovering from surgery and then a setback occured requiring a couple of trips to the ER (and the near throttling of a doctor by myself) and a second surgery to solve that problem. So we'd already been a little stressed out anyway. But this made all the wretched stuff CoolGuy had gone through seem small.

We headed up to Utah to visit. Plus, my mother was dying. So, we took the Big Sister and went up to Wyoming to see her, and then returned to the desert so I could go back to school. Track break was over. Two weeks later, my mom did pass and we were on the road again. Lil'Dude and his exhausted mother came to bid farewell to Great-Grandma.

We are pleased to have no emergencies (knock on wood) at this time. We have enjoyed the person who came to live with us through that precipitous debut, and I love that he asks when he can come back to visit Grandpa and Grandma again. Anytime, Lil' Dude, anytime!!

End of the Year

It must be near the end of the school year. I just spent two consecutive days in my classroom until 9:00 P.M. Papers must be graded and grades posted. Comments must be typed onto the report cards so the administrators can proofread them. "Parent report cards" must be typed up--yes...you read that right. The legislature created a form that we teachers type in S or N for several categories that parents are expected to help us with in educating their children. (I always considered that I was my children's main teacher and the school helped me.) The categories are like: less than 2 unexcused absences per trimester; homework consistently signed and completed; attended parent conference; participated in some activity with child (it is wide open: get a library card, field trip, read every night, school events, etc.) It is one more thing to type, print and stuff into the envelope.

[I always get at least one envelope returned after reports go out that has never even been opened! The kid's gotten the parent to sign the outside, and the parent didn't look at what it was???]

I'm in a particular rush this year because even though the last day isn't until next Wednesday, I will be out of town Sat-Tues to attend the college graduation of our daughter with her BS in nursing in Portland, Oregon. [YEAH DAUGHTER!!]

So, I must have everything printed and stuffed and done by Friday so I can get on the plane Saturday morning. I'll return on Tuesday night late, and then Wednesday, I'll go to school for the Last Day of Madness. It's over at noon! Tuesday the awards assembly is being held and my co-workers will read mine off for me. So I have to have them all printed and put in order too by Friday night.

It'll happen. It always does. And I always marvel that we get every single little bit of it done each time. And then...I can relax.

Family History

Since it is my sister's birthday...I thought I'd write a blog about her. I'd been thinking all week what I could write, since I told a lot of it before. Then I sat down at the computer to type and was interrupted by CoolGuy calling, "Come and talk to these sisters--it's about Star Valley." I went out to the garage where he's been putting his motorcycle back together for about a week, so the door was up and the bicycling Mormon missionary Hermanas saw him and started up a conversation.

He said he was a member and then it got around to being from Wyoming and one of them said, "My relatives are from Star Valley." She named the name---it was my mom's maiden name. So that's when I was interrupted from the sister blog.

After a bit of unraveling, we determined that she was, indeed, a very near relative. Her grandpa is my cousin. I remember attending his wedding reception when I was about 10 years old. Small world, huh?? So I got out some photos of our mutual ancestor who'd joined the LDS church in Switzerland a century and a half ago and emigrated to Utah. Then, I showed her a photo of her great-great grandfather (and my grandfather) on his mission in England. It was surreal. I told her a few (sanitized) stories about her great-grandfather, my mom's brother and we laughed about the amazing coincidence of stopping by our house this afternoon. She and her companion are not assigned to our ward, they are affiliated with the Spanish speaking ward, so we would not have met in church. And even if we had, it would have been unlikely that she and I would have talked about Wyoming for any reason. Her dad grew up in Idaho, her mom grew up in California and Utah and she is from Cincinnati. Just one of those little serendipitous moments in life.

But, it is still the birthday and so I must write another small segment of her life. This marks 5 years since her sudden, untimely death and I need to reminisce. One of our jobs as children was to "stomp the wool,"which isn't a euphemism, even though it would make a good one for something.

In May the sheep would get sheared. Our dad had about 100 ewes. To a real sheepman, this is a tiny flock. He would keep them on our farm in a near-by pasture during the winter where they were fed hay. Then, the lambing would start in March, for which we used a nearby neighbor's barn, since ours was filled with cows twice a day for the milking, and then in May it was time to shear. After that, he and several other neighbors who also owned small flocks (50-100) would jointly hire a sheepherder and take the combined herd of sheep up into the mountains to spend the summer and graze and get fat, so the lambs could be sold in the fall. These two events--wool sale and lamb sale--were extra paychecks that were important to our parents in those early days of trying to get a foothold in life. After a few years, by the time I was 13 or so, my dad sold the ewes to someone and focused on just dairy cows, enlarging that operation.

So--shearing. These same farmers would hire a shearing band to come one week and they'd set up shop and shear hundreds of sheep for people in the area. The fleeces would be tied up in a bundle with string, and tossed into a large burlap bag that was suspended from a tall wooden frame. I was a little kid, but I think the wool bags were very long, probably 10 feet. Wool, of course, is very fluffy, so after two or three fleece balls were tossed into the bag, a moderately sized child was hoisted up onto the frame, and she would drop down into the bag and jump up and down on the fleeces to pack them tightly. More fleece would come flying in onto your head, but they weren't heavy, so no problem, and you'd stomp them until eventually, you would be standing at the top of the frame again, atop a big burlap sack packed full of wool. You would smell like lanolin and your dried-up, cracked leather school shoes that had been worn all year through the puddles and snow, were greased up and revived for the last bit of school.

The year that she was eight and I was ten--her birthday was the next week or so when she'd be nine--she had been down at the shearing shed stomping wool and had the bicycle. The plan was she would start for home and I would start for the shearing shed. We'd meet halfway and I'd take the bike back for my turn to stomp wool. I started down the gravel road to the shearing shed, and I could see her coming along just beyond our neighbor's house. Then, their dogs came racing out of the gate. They were sheep people--I think they may have owned 500-700 ewes. So their dogs weren't pets, they were herders. Not being pets, they were fiercely protective of their space, and a little girl on a bike was apparently just as threatening as a coyote or a bear, so they charged her. I ran screaming at them, and she pedaled as fast as she could, but there were at least three of them and so they surrounded her and one of them jumped to bite her leg. She kicked out at it and lost her balance as they pushed against her. It knocked her over.

I ran up to her and kicked at the dogs, but they were already leaving since they'd accomplished their goal of preventing her from invading their territory. She'd fallen face-first onto the gravel. Her knees were hurt a little, but her mouth was a raw, bleeding, gaping horror. Just then, a car crunched to a stop. The neighbor's son and wife had witnessed the crash as they pulled out of the driveway and hurried over. I couldn't even say anything, I was crying from being so mad and scared at the dogs, and then after seeing her face I was even madder at those stupid dogs. The couple scooped her up and put her in their car, driving straight to our house. My mom tried to wash off the rocks and dirt. The bleeding was quite extreme, you can imagine--your lips are very vessel-rich. It was obvious that a doctor was going to have to fix this, so Mother just put some ice in a towel and put her in the car and hurried to town.

I don't remember how many stitches she had to have. It was a lot---inside, outside. She also had to have at least one, and maybe a second, surgery to remove scar tissue and reshape her upper lip. It was a huge swollen mess for quite a while. Her birthday was about a week later, and my aunt made her a doll cake and she still has a swollen lip in the photo. Eventually, it was repaired pretty well, because she had really beautiful lips as an adult. In her baby pictures, the thing you notice first is her adorable, Cupid's bow lips. I've seen them again on a couple of her grandchildren.

We hated those dogs for a long time. They couldn't really help themselves, I realize. They were bred to be aggressive and protective. But a few years later, one of them killed one of my mom's pet cats, leaving behind an orphaned litter, so they didn't get any more popular with our family. That same summer of the cat murder, a tourist ran over the dog when the neighbor was moving his sheep herd up the highway to a summer pasture. Secretly, we were all glad.

Thirty-Six Years

May 17, 1974

to

May 17 2010

...by the numbers...

• 5 children
• 2 tonsilectomies
• 2 eye surgeries
• 5 casts
• stitches and stitches and stitches
• 2 years of dancing lessons
• 3 years of soccer
• 6 years of Little League
• 3 elementary schools
• 3 middle schools
• 2 high schools
• 3 years of swim team
• 12 years of band
• 2 Eagle Scouts
• 2 scholarships
• 12 colleges
• 3 missionaries
• 1 Peace Corps volunteer
• 2 weddings
• 4 grandchildren
• 6 dogs
• 12 cats
• 4 birds
• 9 rats
• 1 bunny
• 1 gerbil
• 1 snake
• 1 goat
• 6 chickens
• mucho fish
• 4 states
• 6 cities/towns
• 14 cars/trucks
• 5 Harleys
• 1 row boat
• 1 canoe
• 1 trampoline
• 3 bicycles
• 1 waterbed
• 1 sewing machine
• 3 washers
• 2 deployments
• we stopped counting arrivals and departures
• 3 + decades of kisses, arguments, laughter and tears

Here's hoping for innumerable good times to come.

The Dawning of A Brighter Day

Today in Sacrament meeting the theme was the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. The deacon's quorum president spoke, the teacher's quorum president spoke, and then a brother who is the deacon's quorum advisor spoke. He gave an awesome talk, using an analogy that was inspired by the weekend campout that the men and boys of the ward attended. It is the regular Aaronic Priesthood Campout/Guys FunTime that most wards have around the anniversary each year.

Our ward went out to the Valley of Fire to camp. This area is far enough away from Las Vegas that the night sky is very dark and you can see every star. The man started his talk by saying that they'd had a really pleasant evening on Friday, dinner round the campfire and good times. He has four boys and they are "all boy" so he had his hands full. But he is a capable dad, and I'm sure his wife was relieved to have a quiet evening at home. He told us that at 4:00 A.M. he was awakened by the 3 year old and after he got him settled back down, Dad almost went back to bed, but felt inspired instead to stay up.

This is where the talk got very good. He told us about watching the sleeping camp and realizing that the world was such an interesting place in this time of day. The desert may look barren and sterile but in fact is filled with life. As the sky began to make its subtle changes from night to dawn, he realized that he could feel and hear nature stirring. Birds began to chirp, bats came out and flew wildly about, swooping over the heads of a group of teens asleep in the back of a truck, snatching bugs from the air right over their noses. He could feel the breeze move across the earth and actually hear plants move. The sky began to lighten even more, yet stars were still visible even up to the moment the sun finally came up. It was gradual and subtle, yet inexorable. He felt so thrilled to have watched it all.

Then he matched it all in a great analogy to the restoration of the Aaronic priesthood. He read from the hymn "The Morning Breaks" a line about "Angels from heaven and truth from earth have met and both have record borne; thus Zion's light is bursting forth..." Moroni came and retrieved the Book of Mormon from where he'd buried it in the ground. Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery were translating it when they read about baptism and went to inquire of the Lord whether they should be baptized and where could they get the authority to do so. It reminded this brother about how the light of dawn came on gradually. It wasn't dark one minute and bright sun the next---things changed over time. Joseph Smith didn't get everything restored in one step.

He related the stirring of life in the early dawn hours to the atmosphere of the time in the United States, where religious fervor was stirring and there was a political system that permitted choice of religion. He compared the bats' swooping to the ministers of the time who'd rush in and snatch up a disaffected member from one sect to join with a new one. He compared the fact that you could still see stars in the dawn's light to the truths that were out there, but when the sun [the Son] comes out in its full glory, only it is ultimately visible, providing illumination that eclipses all other sources of light, including any puny attempt that mankind has invented.

Anyway, I hope you get the idea. It was a terrifically well-done talk. He really did a superb job of tying everything together without stretching or distorting his analogy. I was really impressed! He had set it up so well, and then fulfilled it so completely. It was an excellent sermon. I talked to him afterward and encouraged him to write it all down and send it off to the church magazines. They'll take it and print it. It was really fine.

Anyway, that was my Sunday lesson. Then I went to Primary and was treated to a great sharing time, done by a skilled woman who has a knack for explaining gospel principles to little kids. She teaches high school, but she is good once a week with wee ones. Fine day....

A Bird Story in Two Acts

Yesterday the fourth grade went on a field trip to a Nevada history site. It is the original building of Las Vegas. (Ironically, built by Mormon missionaries in 1855--not a casino, but a trading post.) The place is now a state park, and was owned by a string of people who took it over from the missionaries after they left, using it as a trading post and then a ranch, then a railroad water stop and finally in 1905, Sin City was incorporated.

Anyway...at the field trip, we happened upon a young bird that had left the nest, but couldn't yet fly and so it hopped to a pile of wood, where it tried to be invisible under a log. However, we could clearly see it, sitting there, so un-birdlike. The kids thought this was the best part of the field trip. A real bird, just sitting there! I encouraged them to use quiet voices and to not touch it because it wasn't a pet. It was a wild bird, and it is best to not touch wild animals--just observe them. I think it was a mockingbird because of the color and design on its wings.

Today, I got home, and Cool Guy called me over to look at something that was, from his tone of voice, quite remarkable. Laying there on the ground was a dead bird. This bird I know was a mockingbird, because I recognized it, having seen it up close and personal for about a week at our house. We have a nesting pair of them who live in our yard each Spring and raise a brood. During the three/four week period of the incubation and until the babies head out on their own, the parents are super vigilant.

The Queen of Kitty Cats drives them CRAZY! And I don't actually blame her. They just can't bear her existence during their nesting time. She is ultra-casual about it. She lies in the open garage door while CoolGuy works on his motorcycle and coolly watches them jump around on the driveway shrieking at her. She'll saunter over and lay under the truck, and the two birds will hop under there with her yelling and hollering at her very presence. When she steps out into the open, they'll take flight and dive-bomb her to peck at her head. She doesn't like that at all. But she won't go back in the house.

Besides, it doesn't halt the barrage: they just follow her in and stand on the door jamb chastising her. I saw one actually hop about two feet into the kitchen to give her a piece of birdie-mind. They are relentless and fearless. Sadly.

When CoolGuy showed me the little limp carcass, I immediately thought that Kitty Cat had taken up her old ways. In Maryland, she frequently hunted in the cornfield next to our house, and often left her "love offerings" of dead rodents and birds on our kitchen steps. But, no, it was a sad story of hubris and daring.

CoolGuy was engrossed in putting together his engine and hadn't seen the bird go all the way through the garage and into the open kitchen door, pursuing the cat. When CoolGuy later went into the house for a bathroom break, he was startled to see the mockingbird perched on the windowsill of the bathroom, hoping to find a way through the glass to the outdoors it could see. CoolGuy tried to grab him up, and nearly succeeded, but the bird escaped the bathroom and flew into the living room. CoolGuy opened all the doors, and hoped that our little pest would see the escape and leave. But instead, the bird flew at top speed right into a large window next to the open door, and brained himself. He fell to the floor, bleeding and died after a couple of minutes.

Oh.

So, CoolGuy put him outside on the ground near the tree so that the mate would know what had become of the partnership. Kitty Cat sat in the doorway looking out inscrutably. And the other half of the KittyCat Harassment Team launched into the routine with greater fervor, since now he/she was a loner. I'm sad for the children.

Being a Mother

Today we made Mother's Day cards, and I used the example of a card I wrote about my mother. We wrote cinquain poetry to go inside of the card, and, as usual, they ask me if I'm sending it to my mother and I tell them that she has died. They all say, "Oooh..." It is sweet and I explain that she was old and very sick, and actually was looking ahead with eagerness to being in Heaven with my dad who'd died twenty years before. It is an interesting conversation we have. But they are young enough to take it at face value and many of them also believe in Heaven and God and so we're good.

But, also, at lunch, I'd had a short conversation with a co-worker whose children are growing up faster than she'd imagined--I've taught both of them here in this school--and she was exclaiming about how she just wants to slow it all down a little. Yeah, I know what she meant. I really didn't resent any age of motherhood. I was totally immersed in diaper-land for 11 years, but I don't recall just grinding my teeth and wishing it would end. I do recall being quite thrilled when it did finally end, but I was "in the moment" while it occured. It did just seem to go by too fast. I know I've lamented this before, but no one prepares you for all the time you spend as a parent of adults. It seems like you're going to be important to them forever. But it expires so quickly. There you are one day-- irrelevant. Sigh.

Here's a great quote I read from an article about a book I'll have to buy. My daughter linked me to the book review. I'll link you. It sounds awesome. I wish I'd thought to write all of the great things these women wrote. But...the quote....(it was about understanding things from God's perspective when you're a mother:

If it were up to me, they wouldn’t be asked to suffer a day in their lives.
Which is why it isn’t up to me.

Isn't that true? I always feel that way! Still! Even though they are adults. I want to rush in and fix everything and be the buffer between them and bad stuff. Sigh.

Motherhood...who knew labor and delivery would be the easy part?

Happy Birth Day

Just giving a shout-out to our first daughter whose birthday is today. She was our homebirth test flight. It went very well in that we had a baby and everything was fine. Now she is almost three months out from her third child's birth and I, again, find myself flabbergasted that all those years have gone by.

You'd think I'd get over the fact that our children are adults and we're old. But it happened so fast. Someday, she'll be sitting there writing a birthday card to her grown-up daughter and feeling the same sense of disorientation.

This girl taught herself to read when she was about three and a half and she has spent very little time since then without a book in her hand. It isn't really a mystery, I guess. When you have the second baby and you've got a two year old, one effective way to keep track of everyone is to sit the big brother down beside you on the couch and read a story while you nurse the baby. Then, through the miracle of hyper-fertility (really it wasn't a miracle---it was sex) we had another baby before she was two. Sooo...lots more reading books on the couch with mom while she nursed the baby. Apparently the synapses were firing away and our daughter made that connection and started to read on her own.

Reading has always been a big deal in our house. It was one of the things that attracted me to CoolGuy when we were in sixth grade. He read books all the time. There was always quite a bit of reading in our house and she was fully immersed in the culture. Here is a cool poem she wrote in 8th grade that I have framed in my room.

My parents took me places
I'd never been before.
They showed me different faces
Of hope, of peace, and war.

We went to many different lands,
Where rabbits sang and mice talked,
Even snakes had legs and hands,
And whales stood up and walked.

We flew into outer space,
And climbed the mountains steep.
I watched winning horses race,
And swam the ocean deep.

My parents gave me something fun,
Which they knew I'd need.
I'll love them more than anyone,
They taught me how to read.
May 8, 1992

The Carpet Is Clean

Today I moved things out of the bedroom. We have a lot of books. And there aren't even any official book shelves in there. We just had so many piled up on the bedstand, it was quite astonishing. Then, I got the power drill and pulled out the screws holding the bedframe together. I wish I had more power tools. They take all the strain off the sore hands. I laid the sides onto the floor as they came loose and then went next door to see if my neighbor's strapping son and older daughter could come and carry all the parts out onto the patio.

Oops---the kids are all in California--Knott's Berry Farm! Good for them; they are guests of their little sister who won the trip through her cheerleading gig. However, that left me with no one handy to carry my wooden parts out of the way.

So, I got in the truck and drove up two blocks to the home of a lady I know who has a grown son who recently came back from his two years in Romania, and a son-in-law who are both living with them right now. The son-in-law is in the Army and they are in transition and visiting her folks for a while. Only the missionary son was home, so he and another hardy young dude in the neighborhood was called and they came and toted out the parts. Then they lifted my dresser around the corner through the doorway and VOILA--empty room.

So, I've been carpet cleaning for two hours and right now it looks lovely. Hope it still loves lovely when it's dry.

Thanks, But No Thanks

We're going on a field trip next week so we sent out the permission slips last week and asked for them to be returned by Wednesday this week. That way we'd be able to notify the chaperone parents by Friday and they can plan ahead. People get chosen to go with us by being the first ones to return the permission slips with the box checked that they'd like to go.

Today, one of my fellow teachers came to show me a slip signed by the dad of one of her students with the box checked that he'd like to accompany us. Her slip wasn't turned in until Thursday because she was absent Mon-Tues-Wed. She is often absent for many days at a time. Now, to be fair, she does have some health issues. But more than twice this year, she was gone for a week or more and when she returned it was with a long note from mom explaining that they (she and mom) had been in another state, another city, etc. And why were they gone far away?

She and her husband were fighting and he'd 1) shot bullet holes in her car or 2) been hitting her or 3) threatened to kill her. So....we're going to invite this person along on our field trip? Um, no.

My co-worker just told the student that, sorry, all the people going with us have already been chosen. Thanks!

Neptune, We Have a Problem

Yesterday was windy and cloudy here in the desert. CoolGuy had been out in the garage and working in the yard and when he came back in the house to the bedroom for something, he thought to himself, "Hmmm...it smells like rain." But--it didn't smell like rain outdoors, just in the bedroom. Along the perimeter of the waterbed. Oooh, and the carpet was wet...ack!

We've had a waterbed since we got married. Actually, the same waterbed--for 36 years. I mean, the same wooden frame at least. We've had a series of mattresses because eventually they wear out. There have been excellent improvements in mattress/plastic technology in those three decades, but nevertheless, all of them will fail. (P.S. I LOVE my waterbed--I hope to never have to change to a regular mattress--ever.)

There sat our mattress, leaking water for a long enough period of time that it had overflowed the liner and was seeping onto the carpet through the spaces between the square frame and the support underboards. Blah...The mattress pad, the sheets, and the cordurory coverlet were all soaked around the edges. Kitty Cat was serenely napping in the very center of the bed, high and dry.

So when I got home from work, there was a hose running out the window into the bottom of the empty spa (downhill for the siphon to work correctly) and the mattress was practically empty. The covers were all piled up on the patio and Kitty Cat was supervising everything. This particular mattress was purchased at least 7 years ago in Maryland and was a "waveless" kind. It was especially comfy in that there was never any sustained sloshing, as a result. However, the fibers that are inside the mattress creating the waveless effect make it rather difficult to empty entirely. CoolGuy got it all rolled up and as dry as he could, but it was still extremely heavy.

We rolled our new garden cart down the hall, got ourselves positioned just so, and heaved it out of the frame and into the cart. Whew. That would have been very difficult to carry all the way down the hall outside. Especially since my aching hands have rendered me mostly useless for sturdy lifting tasks.

But, at last, we had all the soggy stuff in the washer, or hanging over a fence, or stuffed into the garden cart for eventual trashing, and it was definitely time for bed. We soaked in the newly refilled and cleaned hot tub, and wandered in to spend the night in our guest room beds. We were speculating what the Kitty Cat would do with this huge disruption of her routine. (She LOVES to cuddle up on someone on top of the cordurory comforter and knead her little paws until she drools.)

No problem: she was already sprawled out on the guest bed, elegantly ensconced on the fleece throw. The Queen of Comfort wasn't going to let a little mattress failure stand in her way. Silly humans.

One Liners

How many men does it take to clean a toilet? ...None, duh. Men don't clean toilets.
---CoolGuy

The Sunday School teacher asked her students, "Why did Mary and Joseph take baby Jesus to Jerusalem with them?" One little student replied, "Because they couldn't get a babysitter."
--e-mail from my sister

"It's just amazing! That tornado tore through there and just completely missed one side of that room."
--comment from Grandma upon seeing our daughters' bedroom once when they were about 9 & 10 years old.

"Grandma, you look like you're going to have a baby!"
--My granddaughter, two weeks ago.

(You see I don't have a 6-pack---I have a Capri Sun pack.)

Working With Parents

Today is Take Your Child to Work day here in my county. Lots of my students have filled out a form to give them an excused absence so they can accompany their parent(s) to work. I realized as I was checking them off a list, that every day was Work with My Parents day when I was a kid. That is farm life.

We'd start out working together in the barn, milking the cows. If it was a school day, I'd even be "working" with my dad because he drove the bus. When we got home from school, it was back out to the barn. If it wasn't school, then after breakfast, we'd be working with our mother by doing the dishes and sweeping floors and dusting. Or if you were a "big kid" by then, you'd be outside either hauling rocks or bales--depending on the season. There was a brief respite between rocks and bales when the crops were growing, but Daddy learned to fill that in with picking up rocks from the alfalfa (which arrived there via the manure spreader because scooping up "fertilizer" from the piles always included some rocks from the ground around it.) Or Grandpa would be there to enlist us in fence painting or gate painting or cleaning up junk.

It was all perfectly normal to spend your time working. After all, our parents were never off-duty--why would a child old enough and fully capable get to lay around? Once a co-worker asked me why I didn't just say "no" to all that work. I was taken back: we'd have never even considered just watching and not helping. We were all in it together. Work wasn't something that interrupted our "real" lives--it was real life. We saw a direct correlation to what we did and the food that we put into our mouths.

I did not choose the farm life when I became an adult and neither did any of my sisters. However, we are all grateful, every day, for the lessons we learned and the skills we acquired. I rarely find the need to milk cows in the life I've led as an adult, but I constantly use the skills I learned doing that to stick to a drudge-filled job until it is finished. We learned that going to work with our parents.

Connections

Last night I went out with some friends to eat, and then to see a theater production and admire the costumes, because one of the friends had helped sew for the show. It was held at an LDS stake center here in Las Vegas and was an all amateur production in the sense that none of the participants were compensated with money for their efforts. But it was a decidedly professional event. I was really, really impressed with their efforts. I was also impressed with the concentration of talent in one geographic area.

The premise of the show was that a young genius was being stopped from being awarded his two doctoral degrees by an "incomplete" in Music Appreciation 101. He confessed he'd been bored with the musicals that his professor had made them watch and had quit, so now, in order to finish the class, he was cramming in all six of the shows he'd formerly avoided. Using his invention of some type of fancy machine, we were treated to compressed versions of these musicals and then he'd add some dialogue (while they set up the next scene and did costume changes) about what he'd learned from the plot and songs.

And--seriously--they were a remarkably talented ensemble cast: singing and dancing with not a single cringe-inducing moment. Talent, talent, talent coupled with obvious practice, practice, practice. The whole event was two hours, including an intermission, and featured big production numbers and solos from...

• Hairspray
• Annie
• Footloose
• Wicked
• Les Miserables
• Mary Poppins

When I first looked at the program, I was a little dismayed wondering how they could possibly do numbers from each of those very different shows and make it work. Or even do justice to the music. But---wow oh wowee--I cannot explain how professional they were. Lights, staging, music done by a keyboardist, drummer and guitarist, choreography, children, teens, adults, old people. Pretty awesome job...

But--I've spent too long on the reason I was there. Let me get to the point of this post. As I sat in a cultural hall where I'd never been, in a part of town about 20 miles from where I live, I thought, "Wouldn't it be fun to get up there at the mike and do a little test?" I'd say my name, describe my family tree a bit (just mom's maiden name and mine) and point out that I was from Star Valley, Wyoming, and then ask for people who had any connection to either my married family or my birth family or Star Valley to stand and explain. I figure I'd definitely get at least one, and probably many more.

You see, even though my small, small hometown in Wyoming is still very small, its influence is wide-ranging. In fact, as my children have discovered, it's international. We have yet to live somewhere that hasn't revealed another family connection or Star Valley connector.

Why just last week, it happened again. We were having Reading Week at our school and one of our teacher's husband is a promoter for the UFC , so she asked if he could invite a couple of his clients to be guest readers for the students. On Thursday, three hunky looking guys with malformed noses came striding through our hall and we joined the third grade for a fun session with these dudes. The kids got to ask them questions and then they read a cute kid book to us. At the conclusion, some of us teachers were standing there and struck up a little chat with them and we asked if they'd done sports in high school--of course--wrestling mostly. So I added that my brothers had both been wrestlers and that the U.S. Olympic champ Rulon Gardner was from my home town. Sure enough, one of the fighters piped up, "I lived there once--Star Valley, right? My dad was building some rich guys a log house in Jackson and we lived in Star Valley for two years." Okay. Small world!

But not really when you're from Star Valley. We should start a Facebook page or something: Times When Being from Star Valley Yielded a Connection to A Total Stranger Somewhere in the World. So, it would have been fun last night to ask the several hundred people in attendence (many of whom were LDS--which increases the odds for the SV connection by a large measure) how many of them had a SV hook. Try it sometime when you're with a bunch of total strangers. You'd be amazed how often that you'll have that in common with others.

Things I Did on Spring Break

We dopey elementary teachers always ask our students to write about what they did while they were gone on vacations. So, I thought I'd write about what I did for Spring Break.

• Went up to Utah on Saturday for grandchild blessing on Sunday.


• Enjoyed event, and the company of our son, his wife and their little boy and members of our daughter's extended family-in-law. Drove back to Las Vegas Sunday night.


• Cleaned room on Monday--no really--vacuumed, dusted, washed the rugs and the comforter, winnowed the closet, sucked all the cobwebs out of the corners, used the tiny wedge sucker along the baseboards, dusted the top of the fan blades, trimmed the plants. Whew. It smells so fresh and clean and you can actually see the color of the runner on the bed shelf, rather than a thick layer of dust.


• Took Cool Guy to the airport at 10:00 P.M.


• Went to the temple Tuesday morning. Then shopped for birthday gifts and packed suitcases because Tuesday night I got on an airplane at midnight...


• ...and arrived in Boston on Wednesday morning. I ate a yogurt, read the Boston Globe, and some of my college text, and then got on another plane and landed in Baltimore at noon.


• I rented a car, drove down to D.C. where I parked and wandered around admiring the cherry blossoms and Spring in the City. Then I ate lunch in Union Station.


• I drove down to Southern Maryland by evening, where Cool Guy and I met up for supper at Cap'n Leonard's Seafood. First we had a dozen raw oysters on the half shell, and then I ordered 5 steamed crabs and 5 fried shrimp and smacked my lips and licked my fingers for about an hour while pigging out.


• On Thursday I visited a great, good friend where we talked and laughed and sighed for about 3 hours. We ate out again that night at our other favorite seafood place, Clark's Landing Restaurant and had crab cakes and oyster stew.


• Friday, I drove all around looking at my old stomping grounds and marveling at the interesting changes that have occured since I moved back home to the West. Then, we drove up to D.C., turned in Cool Guy's rental car, and drove mine to Baltimore.


• Where we met up with our son and took him out to dinner for his birthday. We laughed and talked and ate and went over to his house to admire LeRoy, the Mega-Cat.


• We checked into our hotel, slept, woke up and got on planes at BWI to return to Las Vegas by Saturday afternoon.


• Because Saturday evening our grandchildren and daughter & husband arrived to spend their spring break at our balmy house to escape the lingering winter of Northern Utah. Good timing, too. It snowed in Utah the next day on Easter Sunday.


• We ate tasty food, colored eggs, made bunny bread, watched LDS conference on TV and Grandpa CoolGuy splashed around in the "little pool" (spa) with the buddies.

There's more fun for the ensuing week, but since my vacation was officially over, I will stop writing now. Some other time I might tell you about our pleasant week hanging out at Grandma and Grandpa's house. It was pretty low-key, but very fine. In the meantime, here are a couple of photos of LeRoy, the Mega-Cat.

And here is frolicking in the pool:

Grandparent Time

We made a quickie visit to Utah--going up Saturday and returning Sunday--for a family event. Our newest granddaughter was blessed with her name in church. Then we all went over to their house for a nice brunch. We had all of our grandchildren in one spot, and I guess I flunk Grandma school, I didn't take a picture of them all together or even one of each kid. I took several of their parents, and did not manage to photograph each of the progeny. Doh.

But it was a pleasant trip. The weather was excellent during our driving and while we were there. All the people we visited with were casual and cheerful. It was very nice.

On Tuesday night I'm going to fly out to Maryland to visit some old friends and to celebrate the birthday of our son who lives there. Then Saturday, I'll come back and get ready for a visit from our daughter and her kids who are coming to spend their Spring Break in the sun. Plus, her husband has to be out of town, so she can relax with the new baby and Grandpa CoolGuy will entertain the troops. Grandma will be teaching all day. But I'll hurry home so I can be part of the fun, too. Sandbox, swimming pool, bunny bread--it'll be a good time.

Fun-Raiser

Last night our PTO held a fundraiser by showing a movie in the big room. The school pays for a license to Disney Corp. and we are allowed to show any of their movies on DVD to an audience for pay or just for fun--but since it isn't a "home" viewing, we need the license.

Anyway this Movie-Night has been a tradition at our school for several years and last night was also a huge success. They sell about 250 tickets for $2 each. Children must be accompanied by adults, and you are to bring your own blanket or lawn chair. There are snacks sold, so no outside food or drinks are allowed. My friend and I were in charge of the popcorn machine. Next year I'll know to start popping an hour ahead of time...But we managed to sell popcorn, bags of cookies, candy bars and juice boxes at 50 cents each, and the $2 tickets, for the grand total of $750. Pretty dang good fundraiser I'd say.

People had a fun time, too. We had the students vote from a list of movies which one we should show and "G-Force" won. In case you don't know it, it is about a group of guinea pigs who have been trained to be secret agents. It stars computer animated guinea pigs, mice, and a mole, plus live humans who are such awesome actors that they didn't roll their eyes everytime they uttered unbelievable cliches and dopey lines. However...it was perfect fare for the young set we were targeting. Actually, I laughed several times. Plus, they reminded me of the little Ratties who were my daughter's pets for years and years. Here's the best line of the movie:

"Well, where did you get us then?" asked a Guinea pig of their human handler (whose project had been shut down by the nefarious group leader who, naturally, was actually leading another group to take over the world with an evil plan).

"You were all pet shop purchases."

"Oh...I'd hoped you were going to say you'd rescued us from a roadside tapas stand in the Pyrennes."

Heating Up

Today was the first official day of Turning on the Car Air Conditioner. I went out at 12:30 to drive home and get my lunch -- because I'd lingered in bed too long and didn't have time to pack it -- and it was hot! So, I rolled down the windows, but that didn't help at all. So, I decided I'd cross my fingers and hope that the air conditioning still worked...Yes!

The high today was 75 fabulous degrees. Yeah, baby. Honest, I really don't like 45. Soon the pool will be warm enough to dive in. Yes, I know it will reach 100 every day for 3 months. But that is really just okay by me.

A Marvelous Night

I spent eight hours at school today, Saturday, because I had procrastinated so much work that I needed to spend that much time catching up: correcting papers and writing report card comments. It was awful. Next semester, I promise, I won't procrastinate like that. (uh, huh...)

Anyway I got home and CoolGuy was playing Van Morrison on the surround sound system. It was so terrific and relaxing and energizing and refreshing. I almost completely recovered. I was peeling and cutting up vegetables to cook in the broth from the corned beef I'd cooked last night so that we could have an Irish meal tonight.

I mean, could this have been more appropriate? Playing Van Morrison while cooking an Irish dinner? And you cannot hear Moondance without dancing, can you? I like to cook and dance. No one is watching, except for the cat, and she doesn't ridicule, and you can hum along and do little steps and sashay back and forth. I felt revived from my day of report card-cramming.

So, I tried to find some music on YouTube to link to on this blog, but the only videos were odd people with delusions of grandeur filming themselves while playing his songs. Oh, all right, they weren't all that bad. But no one is as good as the real Van Morrison singing "Brown-Eyed Girl" or "Into the Mystic" or "Have I Told You Lately?" Perhaps it is because these are all musical memories of my teen years and early marriage years, but all of these songs evoke a strong sense of nostalgia and joy whenever I listen. Please go to Rapsody or somewhere and give him a listen, if you don't know what I'm babbling about. He is special and addictive and his songs are fine.

Nomad

Someone asked me recently where I'd come from to Las Vegas, since every third person who works for the school district moved here from somewhere else. So, I went into the list...Maryland, then California, before that Wyoming. Yes, I have moved quite a bit. Is this the last place? I don't know.

The very first time I moved (and by that I mean really packed myself and left for a new home, not just college for a semester) was a choice I made because I was looking for adventure. Plus, I had a chance to go live by the ocean. I'd only seen the ocean for the first time the year before, and I was hooked. I knew one person in that city and she turned out to be fairly unreliable. But I figured out how to live there and, even though I had no job skills and was a really naive farm girl, it worked out. (God watches over the stupid evidently.) But all the other moves were the result of CoolGuy's job, except for this one to Las Vegas, which I initiated.

I've been thinking about it and I guess I'm just a nomad. My mom and her mother both lived nearly their entire lives in one place. They loved it there, and they had no desire to leave. My mom wasn't even comfortable being a snowbird. She liked her house and she liked the part of the world where it was located and that was that. I can't remember a time when I didn't want to see the other side of the mountain--literally and figuratively.

I could no more have spent my life living in one place than she could have lived her life moving around like the gypsies we must have seemed like to her. I've just always been curious about the next place. Not every town we lived in was just wonderful. Some of them we left quite happily. But I was always ready to see the next place and the next place. We managed to change ecosystems and regions with each move, too. So I've had a chance to learn a new culture, see new plants and animals and experience a wide variety of weather. Again, not all terrific, but certainly different from that to which I'd been accustomed.

Anyway, curiosity still piques me, now and then, so that when CoolGuy makes noises about moving to Israel for a couple of years, or northern California, or wherever...I consider the possibilities and think, "Hmmm, I'll wonder if they need teachers there?" and start contemplating what I'd pack and what I'd haul to the thrift store. We should just buy some camels and a big tent.

It's A Beautiful Day

Really, it was a gorgeous day today! The sky was blue, the mountains on the west side were glittering with snow. I didn't have to wear a coat. We kept our students up on the playground at the end of recess to do some teambuilding games for 15 minutes before we took them off to class again. It has just been such a topsy-turvy week that they are out of sorts and acting out. So we did a couple of running and screaming games. It was great! Everyone got lots of vitamin D and fresh air.

It stays light until almost 6:30 now and I'm going to plant radishes and tomatoes this weekend. It's time to trim all of our trees and the lawn is starting to grow again. This is a glorious time of year!! Yeah!! Soon, we'll be eating dinner at the patio table. It is just so lovely to spend time outside when it is like this. I saw little trees that are covered in pink blossoms, others have that pale green aura of buds that are nearly ready to explode into leaves. Kitty Cat runs in through the open door and gallops laps around the house and then charges back outside again to roll in the warm dirt. We're all happy to be able to revel in nature. Sigh. Spring is just a wonderful thing.

Testing, Testing

This week and next week, our lives at school are turned up-side down to accommodate our BIG TEST schedules. We have numerous small group configurations to fulfill various mandates and allow for specific accommodations. And our school works really hard to put some of our students into small groups just so that they can be monitored and encouraged personally. We are not allowed to read anything to these students or give them hints or anything. But we are allowed to say, "You're doing well! Keep it up!" or "Stand up and walk around for a minute." or "Here, pause for a snack." All of these special, personal touches in a very small group (2 - 4 students) really helps them to stay alert, and not get discouraged and give up, and just start filling in bubbles randomly. We have a whole cadre of staff members who are assisting with these little groups. And it pays off--these kids stay on their game and finish the tests and their scores reflect that they were thinking and reading and trying.

But it wreaks havoc on the rest of us..None of us teachers can believe how slowly this week is progressing. By Tuesday afternoon it felt like it must be at least Thursday. We have to keep track of who is where, and we've all changed our lunch and specials times (P.E., music, art, etc.). As a result, the students are very off-balance during the part of the day that we're not testing. I'm trying to do a science unit during the 3 hour window that I have whichever class is not testing for math or reading. But, I don't have an entire class, because 6 or 7 of them are in small groups; maybe 11 are being tested by the ELL facilitator because the directions can be read aloud (in English) to them. (Also, the entire math test.) So, I have a mixture of several classes and they don't know one another well, so there is turmoil there too. Plus every two days, the groups change. But we have set the goal to be rated "High Achieving*" and we've done after-school tutoring, Saturday test-prep "camp" and just our everyday fabulous job of being great teachers. So, we're trying to create an situation where every student can do the very best job.

*High Achieving Schools: These schools must
meet one of the two criteria established by Nevada’s
No Child Left Behind standards. These schools either
have a significantly higher percentage of students
in each subgroup that are proficient than the state
target or have significantly reduced the percentage of
non-proficient students by more than 10%.

I know I'm whining here. But I'm exhausted and there are 5 more days to go before we can get back to normal. The only good thing: Our principal will exhale after next week. And...it is also the end of the second trimester. That means ten more weeks and it is summer vacation. (Actually eleven because we also have Spring Break coming at the end of March.)

Someone is reading this thinking, "You baby-face teachers, always complaining. And you get all that time off!" Yup, and as a result of that time off, we can face another year of teaching kids and administering tests and we manage to restrain ourselves from strangling anyone in our classroom. My professional goal each year: do not commit a felony. So far, so good.