Thoughtful

This is a blog about a very thoughtful fellow. He is one of my grandchildren, and while we were camping at the beach last week, he showed it in several ways. He is a thinker. One night, as he was heading off to his sleeping bag, and hugging and kissing the adults who were sitting around the campfire, he turned to CoolGuy/Grandpa and noted, "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have my mom! Thanks!" So dear...

Then, a couple of days later, he went out shopping with his sister and his aunt (who had generously picked them up at home, drove them to the beach, and then took care of them for four days, because their mother -- her sister -- had to work.)  They came home from shopping with their bounty and busily showed off the new flip-flops, and shirts and hats. And then, he pulled out a set of earrings from the bag. "Here Grandma, these are for you. I tried to find flamingo earrings, but we couldn't. So I got you these."

First, I couldn't even remember telling him about my wonderful flamingo earrings that had been stolen years ago. Then, that he would recall that story and be consciously looking for a replacement set (he's only six years old!) was just so dear. I carefully listened as he pointed out the details of the gift.

Look closely at them, and you should be able to realize why he felt these were an excellent substitute for the flamingos. They are beach camping earrings. There are the little campfires in the top center. Then, you see the suns on the bottom right, the sunscreen on the bottom left. See the frogs in the center bottom? Every night as we sat in our chairs and watched the campfire, we listened to the frogs singing in the marsh that edged the bottom of the canyon in which the campsite was located. There are little lanterns on the middle left--just like CoolGuy/Grandpa's lantern that hissed in the center of our dinner table. We weren't much bothered by bees, and their beehive wasn't a feature, but we sure did spend a lot of time with marshmallows (upper left) and graham crackers (upper right.)

In fact, S'mores making and toasting Starburst candies was the main purpose for sitting in front of the campfire in our chairs. We'd eat a melted Starburst (this activity introduced by Auntie) and partially eat a S'mores, but mostly we'd just set marshmallows on fire and watch them puff up into astonishingly large charcoal blobs, and finally, slip off the end of the toasting sticks and land on the hot coals. Don't know why setting things alight in the campfire is so intriguing, but it is. And it is an important part of camping: playing with fire (in a controlled environment.) I vividly remember, as a child, holding my marshmallow toasting stick in the coals until the end of it was glowing (or flaming,) and then waving it in cool patterns through the inky night air in the pasture where our family bonfire dinner had been served.

So, anyway, I just really wanted to share the wonderful gift I was given by a young man who is a thoughtful person, in so many ways. I immediately put the suns in my ears, and wore them the rest of the camping trip. Thanks again!

Too Busy Having Fun

That is why there haven't been any new posts lately! Yes, I've been waaaay too busy having fun. I got back from the east coast visit to the sons, and then worked double-time to finish the final project for my on-line class. Got an A, ta da! Then, I drove up to Utah and picked up three grandchildren. We returned to Las Vegas the next day and commenced "Grandma Camp."  Actually Grandpa was here, too, but since it is initiated by the grandma, I get to name it.

We mostly spend GC eating, swimming, staying up and watching movies, and playing games. Since we live in the Entertainment Capital of the World, ahem...mostly adult entertainment, I know...we also did a few visits to appropriate and fun venues such as the Shark Reef and the Springs Preserve. We had intended to also go to the Tournament of Kings dinner show, but, for the first time since I moved here, I couldn't get tickets on the night I wanted them. Procrastination...bah. However, we did stay in the swimming pool that evening until 9:45 P.M. as a bonus, because it was our last night of GC.

One night, after it got completely dark, we drove out into the desert to look at stars. We took the big air mattress, inflated it, and laid it on the ground and then just gazed at the show overhead. We saw a few shooting stars, and several familiar constellations. Grandpa has an app that you can use for the iPad for star-gazing. You hold it up toward the location in the sky you wish to identify, and the names of the stars, planets and constellations appear on the screen in red letters (so you don't mess up your night vision.) We were doing great, too, till Someone, ahem... said, "I wonder if we'll see any desert animals out there. Night is when they come out. Listen closely--maybe we'll hear a coyote."  Then one of the older cousins gave a little fake coyote howl, and the youngest cousin didn't realize it was a fake coyote howl, and had to climb back into the truck and hide. But, besides that, we actually had a pretty good time looking at stars.

Finally the end of Grandma Camp arrived, and we packed up and drove back up I-15 to their homes. That would be my fifth trip on this highway in a three week time span. Yeah. But, now it almost seems like a shorter drive because I know every inch of it so well. I watched the hay grow, then get cut, then baled, and now they were hauling it. I also saw a lot of amazing fire residue. Between two of my journeys, there was a huge brush fire that closed the interstate, and it was sobering driving along between the blackened swaths of the fire's trail.

Then, after depositing the children with their parents, and sharing our fun adventures, I attended my brother's and sister's reunion at my brother's house. It is so fun to see everyone. There were eight babies born between the 2011 reunion and the 2012 reunion! And four of them that were born within weeks of one another in March and April, were there for us to admire. It is a little disconcerting to realize that now, my sisters and I, are the gray-haired ladies of the oldest generation. I so vividly remember going to reunions with my mother as a child, and, frankly hardly knowing many of the people. But, hey--she had 25 aunts and uncles. But there were so many oldsters there. Now, I are the oldster. 

Then, I got back in the trusty Silverado and drove, one more time, south on I-15, back to the desert. Tomorrow morning: we head even more south! We rented a campground at the beach where we used to live, and some of our kids and the children are rendezvousing there for five days of laying around, digging in the sand, and swimming in the ocean. I'm taking books to read and I intend to lie in the hammock for an hour every day to do so. S'mores and dutch oven potatoes are on the menu. We'll see dolphins and go to the tide pools. I'm really making the most of this summer, as you can tell.

Here are the remaining brothers and sisters. We're still missing Trish...

I'm not really that short, (see below). I must have been standing in a low spot.

However, I am  that chubby...sigh.



We did a lot of this in Grandma Camp.....

We did a lot of this, too.

And we did a lot of this...

And I was informed, one afternoon, that the pool was more fun when Grandpa was there...Well...But, it was true. I mean, Grandma didn't initiate Super Soaker battles. Nor did she teach anyone how to sit on the bottom of the pool, and time how long you could stay down there. She also wasn't the one who tossed you straight up and across the pool from her clasped hands. Boring Grandma...



Walking Through History

One of the places I visited in my recent trip to the east coast was Boston. It's called "The Cradle of Liberty" for a good reason. When you get there, and come up the stairs of the underground parking lot to the open green space above, it is a thrill to realize that this is the Boston Common. It has always been public land for the citizens to use together. When it was first settled, it was used for grazing livestock. It was also used as a place to give rabble-rousing speeches against the tyranny of the King, and the British soldiers camped there before they marched up to Lexington and Concord to that first battle of the Revolutionary War. It almost makes you shiver a little to stand there.

It is also the site of one of my favorite children's books. How many times did you read Make Way for Ducklings?  Well, Robert McCloskey wrote that book because of an incident that took place at Boston Common, so it is appropriate that they have this bronze statue group here.

The bronze is kept nice and shiny by all the little children who can't resist sitting on the ducks. Or if they can resist, their parents place them on the ducks for the cutest pictures you've ever seen.

After we admired the ducks, we found the visitor's center and started on The Freedom Trail. There are actually bricks placed in the sidewalk (and paint over the pavement) that you can follow and take a walking tour of Boston to all the iconic spots of historical significance. Several of those places are churches. In some, there were famous speeches given, historic acts planned (Boston Tea Party) and in one, the movement for the abolition of slavery in the United States was introduced and promoted.

Here's another monument that, if you've seen the movie Glory,  then you need no explanation. This illustration is familiar and iconic. If you haven't seen this movie, then you simply must watch it.

A Civil War reenactor guy hangs out there daily, so I asked them to pose together for a cool shot. (Yes, he accepts tips.) This honors the 54th Massachusetts Regiment, which was formed entirely of African-American soldiers. It was the first of its kind and many were skeptical. So, you should read about it, and see the movie and then you'll know about this heroic group of men and their leaders.

One highlight of the trail is the wharf where the oldest commissioned Navy warship is tied up. Yes, this ship is still in active duty and is manned by sailors who get chosen during boot camp. Apparently, every few months, someone will show up and ask for voluneers to do a tour of duty aboard Old Ironsides. My sailor said they didn't come during his boot camp experience, or he'd have voluneered in a minute. George Washington was the president when this ship was built. He named it.

 It is a very large ship with rows of cannons along each side, so they can shoot off twenty two cannonballs from each side. There are also guns on the deck, so it can carry fifty weapons.

These are really big cannons. They defeated the HMS Guerriere in the War of 1812, to the shock of the Royal Navy. They had been the biggets, baddest for a long time. The USS Constitution had gone against the Barbary Pirates and defeated them, too, when the Commander in Chief was Thomas Jefferson.

Due to its status as a commissioned vessel, as we got to the end of the tour, and were departing the ship, the Sailor turned, snapped to attention, and gave a salute to those Stars and Stripes waving in the left side of the photo. It was so cool. It was the perfect end of my day walking through history.

Some time, I hope you get a chance to go to Boston and walk The Freedom Trail. I taught fourth graders about these events for several years as part of our social studies curriculum. But, it was a serious thrill for me to walk around and see the Old North Church, the plaque in the sidewalk marking the site of the Boston Massacre, and the home of Paul Revere. It would be a great Independence Day vacation. Happy Fourth of July!

They Need A Copy Editor

Yesterday, I heard an ad on the radio as I was driving around town. The announcer said, "You don't want to have an accident in your bathroom! Call [our company] for an estimate to install safety bars or a whole new room."  They went on and on about the walk-in tubs designs, and other great features.

But all I could think was:  IF I'M IN THE BATHROOM, IT ISN'T AN ACCIDENT.

Checked It Off My List

Many people have a list of things they'd like to do or see at some point in their life, and I do, too. Last week, I accomplished one of them. I circumnavigated Rhode Island! Now, some definitions of that term reference traveling on water. However, it generally means to "travel all the way around" a location. So, actually I did both. I did travel all the way around Little Rhody, and I did travel over water quite often.

As you can see, it is a very watery state. Another of its official nicknames is The Ocean State, and as one drives around, it's very evident that this is an apt choice. I started in Mystic, CT, just next door, and drove on Highway 1 along the southern edge of the state. Suddenly, in the middle of a town, it became Rhode Island. I stopped to chronicle this event, and also send a photo to CoolGuy so I could share my groovy trip.

 

Rhode Island is not only small, but it is old, being one of the original Thirteen colonies. In fact, I think it was #3, because it was founded as a place of refuge by Roger Williams for people who were exiled by the Puritans from Massachusetts in 1636 over religious differences. Someone was always unhappy with someone else when you study history.

It is a place of old placards and historical markers, and really old, very beautiful historic buildings. The first thing I did was go to the ocean. I love the ocean! It was a gorgeous June day, hot as the blazes for the East Coast, and the beach is the best place. It was packed. It was also private. I just pretended I was a local (hah! Not dressed in beach clothes! But, I was just looking...not staying.) Then I got some lunch, and got back onto the highway to keep driving east.

This looked like a fine place to chow down. It was delicious, too. I was waited on by a 13 year old boy, whose mom was back in the kitchen stuffing lobster into rolls for the customers. I chose the over-stuffed version--hey! When in lobstah land, you should chow down.  I didn't get any chowda, however.

And,  yes, it was super yummy.

So, pretty much Rhode Island is all about water and trees. Like many places in the east, you don't really get "scenery" as  you travel along. You just see trees. There are houses along the small road that I was driving on, so I saw houses, little stores, some schools. It was small town RI. Many signs directed you to turn here for this park or that beach, or this resort or that bed and breakfast. But, again, like Maryland, most of the coast is privately owned. California was my norm, with the coast mostly public land, and all the beaches open and free. Not the east coast.

Then, I got far enough east that I was on the edge of the Narragansett Bay and a huge bridge loomed ahead. If  you refer to the map, you'll see a medium sized island (St. James) that is in the middle of the lower part of the state. The bridge connects you to this island, then you drive across that island, take another enormous and beautiful bridge to a bigger island with the city of Newport and then cross again to the mainland to go north. 

Everything was breathtakingly beautiful. The blue, blue water, the greeness of the islands as you travel over the high bridges. There are stunning mansions in Newport. There are sailboats dotting the bays. Everything was just gorgeous. I know they have wicked winter weather, but June is just fantastic.  

My biggest reason for wanting to take this crazy tour was just that Rhode Island is so small. I've told my students here in Nevada, that the whole state could fit into the valley where Las Vegas is. So, I just had a craving to drive all the way around it, one day. CoolGuy refers to "driving across Texas, one day for a week" and so I wanted to drive around Rhode Island, one afternoon. It took about 3 hours. And it took three hours, because most of the roads I traveled on have a 35 MPH speed limit. Really: RI:  1544 sq.miles.  Las Vegas valley: 1600 sq.miles. Clark County is 8091 sq. miles. How could I resist??

 So, I've done it. I guess I can focus on something else now. Hmmm...Four Corners monument?

Some of My Grandchildren Are Cats

Meet Leroy. He lives in Baltimore, Maryland. He is the King of KittyCats in his world. Actually, he has a Tumblr page called "Leroy Everyday" that you can go to and admire him, daily. I do. He's a totally awesome cat who is the mascot of my son's recording studio. He is beloved by many, including me.

Being Grandma

The reason I moved to Nevada seven years ago, was to be closer to most of my extended family. That included, at the time, two grandchildren. Now, there are four of them, and I drive up the interstate to visit them as often as I can. After spending a week trying to get ahead on my class assignments, I made one of those trips to spend some time with the buddies. I had several agendas.

First, it's summer, so we wanted to do some adventures for which summer vacation is designed. We met up at the Bingham Canyon Copper Mine in the Salt Lake Valley. It's the biggest open-pit copper mine in the world. And it is awesome, I'll tell you. It is a really, really big mine. You feel a little dizzy when you look over the fence, down into the mine. Also, they have some enormous trucks there. The littlest one (2 years old) LOVED the trucks! She was thrilled and would have just spent her whole morning leaning over the fence pointing at the trucks.

 

However, she wasn't so excited to be near the big tires that those big trucks use. They have one of the tires as a photo-op in front of the visitor's center, and she was quite reluctant to stand near it for grandma to take a picture. Plus, her brother, 6 years old, just loves to be silly whenever asked to pose for a photo. So with her squealing, "Nooooo, no big tire!" and brother laughing maniacally and hiding, it is amazing I got this shot! (Actually, I offered to pay him 25 cents to use in the binocular-thingy if he'd stand there...) (It worked for both of us!)

Big Sister calmed down Little Sister and we got several cute "posed" shots before Brother decided to rush off again! That's Cousin in front of the big tire with the others.

We had a fun day. Then we went to a restaurant to use up my gift card given by a grateful student to me on the last day of school.

After that...I got to attend a minor league baseball game with the Cousin, also known as 1st Grandchild. What a gorgeous night! The beautiful mountains, the clear blue twilight sky, green grass, fun times!!  After the game, we went down and sat on the infield and watched a terrific fireworks show and then---even more fun---any child who wanted to, could go line up and run the bases! We went home and flopped into bed!

The next afternoon, I went back to their house to accomplish my second reason for the visit. I videotaped 1st Grandchild being the "bad example" for my school project. The assignment was to make a movie that could be used for a public service ad about some type of educational issue. So, I planned to make a little video entitled, "How to Raise a Reader."  My grandson, who reads above grade-level in two languages (Spanish and English) was willing to be the bad example: playing on the computer, the DS, the iPad, and his Wii. I strung it all together in the segment, "What NOT to do."  But, ultimately, he was the star in the finale as the Reading Boy, too.

I also taped the other three in various examples of great things to do so your kids will love reading and then I drove back to Nevada and spent a day with the movie-maker program on my computer and made a really spiffy film. I uploaded it  to the professor, washed my laundry and flew off to Maryland the next morning.

(And, sorry, I tried to  load up the video and it wouldn't go...trust me, it's wonderful--I got all the points for it.)

And: in case you're wondering: here are my suggestions:

1) Read to your babies and toddlers, everyday!

2) Provide lots of books in your home. (library books are free...)

3) Motivating experiences encourage reading. (ie: library summer reading clubs, school contests, magazine subscriptions in their name)

4) Don't allow unlimited screen time (all the screens--computer, DS, TV, PS3, etc.)

5) Read, read, read---even if you don't read English; read to your children in whatever language you speak, because reading skills transfer.





I've Been Everywhere, Man

When I wrote the blog on June 9th, and it was titled, "The End," I didn't really mean it to be the end of my blog. It's just a coincidence that I got really, really busy and didn't write any blogs. I enrolled in my final three elective credits for the master's degree I almost have completed (!!!) and it was an on-line class. That was both scary and, ultimately, convenient.

 A couple of months ago, I bought a plane ticket to go visit my two sons who live on the east coast. Knowing I would be enrolling in a class during the four week June semester, I planned the trip for a longish weekend and was just going to throw myself on the mercy of the instructor so that I'd be able to make up the work for the couple of classes I'd be missing. However, the class I chose turned out to be conducted entirely on-line. So the rule was--turn things in early if you want. Well, I've been focusing on doing just that. I read my articles, I wrote my responses, I prepared my projects. I turned in everything I could, so that while I was traveling, I wouldn't need to be trying to get computer access to keep up.

But the projects were elaborate! The class is Technology Applications for Elementary Curriculum. I've been making power point lessons, newsletters with hyperlinks, a digital photo-book that tells a story about tech in my life, and a movie. We had to make a public-service digital announcement about some education topic. So, my brainstorm was to video my (brilliant) grandchildren as the actors in a suggestion to parents for "How to Raise a Reader." That required a trip to visit them. Oh, what a sacrifice...

So, every day since school finished, I've been glued to the computer. Then, I went up to Utah to visit the little buddies for a few days. We did some fun things together and I spent some time filming my movie scenes. I came on back to Vegas and labored diligently to get my movie edited and snipped and clipped and organized. (Hey, it turns out that it is easy-peasy with the computer programs I downloaded.) I rushed around, washing my laundry from the first trip, tweaking the movie, then I up-loaded my work, packed my clean clothes,  and flew off to Maryland.

I just got home this afternoon from a breathless trip. And, I've been everywhere, man...  Actually, I went to Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts---all in six days. Whew. So, this week, I'll try and take some time to tell you of my road trip.

The End

It's the end of another school year, at least. It's an important ceremony for the students to stack the desks on top of each other and pile up the chairs. Then, of course, they always want to know if they can lie on the floor! Sure...go ahead...it's filthy, but go ahead!

I started a new tradition when I first came to Las Vegas. My original school had 100% "free or reduced-price lunch" students. Many of them ate most of their meals at school, and several students were given backpacks filled with food, (like individual servings of pork and beans or granola bars) to go home for the weekend through a program sponsored by a charity.  So, when the last day of school approached, I realized that, because we dismissed before lunch, a few of my students might not get any lunch at home that day. I know, I know...feeding  your kid seems to be a basic function of parenthood. But, seriously, some of our parents weren't into basic functions sometimes. Sigh.

Anyway...we'd also read a story earlier in the year about a runaway pancake, and I discovered that some of my students had never eaten pancakes. Now, before you roll your eyes too far, realize that it was simply a cultural thing: if your Mami made you a delicious Mexican breakfast each morning, you weren't missing pancakes. So, I decided to get two birds with one meal by feeding my class pancakes on the last day of school. Plus, it would fill the hours between 9:00 and noon in a fun way. 

We had the pancake breakfast. I brought in my griddle and cooked pancakes till even my hungriest gordo was filled to the brim. It was a huge success! We had fun, I knew no one was going home to an empty house with an empty stomach, and everyone loved Mrs. [EarthSignMama] for feeding them! I've been making pancakes on the last day of school ever since.

In my new school, it was a bit more complicated. I taught the entire fourth grade----usually 100 + students. But, we cycled them in and out of my room, and the aide helped with pouring the milk and I used two griddles, and it still worked. The other teachers played games with them in their rooms. Last year and this year, a new partner volunteered to feed two of the classes, and I'd feed two, so that is even more awesome and we had an even more fabulous fun time. Seriously, we can never stop this tradition. I have kids who ask on the first day in the fall if we're going to have pancakes on the last day...their older brother or sister was also in our school and everyone knows about the pancakes.

So, we had our pancakes, we played Heads-up Seven-up, we stacked our desks, we passed out report cards, we all hugged and said good-bye. Then, the kids went home and the teachers ate a lovely lunch our principal had ordered in from a local Mexican restaurant (which makes the best enchiladas in the world). Then, we went to our classrooms and ---no! We didn't clean up and go home that afternoon! We'd decided a couple of weeks prior that, instead, we'd have a planning time.

It sounded like such a good idea at the time. We usually hold a "retreat" with this school. When we had more money, we'd rent the clubhouse of a local golf-course and meet there on a Saturday near the end of school. We were fed breakfast and lunch, and we'd spend the time going over what worked and what didn't work from the previous year. Then we'd plan the next year and develop a theme for for teacher training. Really, it was very beneficial and is a big reason I love this school. We're truly on the same page here. I've worked in schools where there were little cliques, or where the administration was in an adversarial position in relation to the staff. But our school---we're in this together. The upper grades collaborate regularly with the lower grades so that we're not working against each other. We help each other across grade levels. We identify kids early so that we can keep track of their progress all the way through. We keep data so we know what works and what isn't so effective. I love working here.

But, this year...we're broke. We had a little staff training money left over, so we agreed that we'd spend the afternoon on the last day of students doing our collaborative planning in our grade levels. When we were officially off the clock at 3:45, we'd be paid from our last bit of staff development funding from 3:45 to 7:45 P.M. Then, we could go home, come back on our last official workday on Friday to clean and pack up our rooms prior to check-out for the year.  About 5:00 P.M. fourth grade hit the wall. So we went over to Sonic and got some tall slushy fruit drinks and came back to keep on trucking.

But! It was great!! We started using the new Common Core State Standards this year, and they were confusing to most of us. So this gave us a chance to look them over, and figure out how we were going to teach them and how to help each other. Since we're departmentalized, it is trickier. We don't have a science and social teacher, so we have to integrate it into our other subjects. I use information they read in their Nevada state books in reading class for writing prompts and I make up language and grammar lessons using that text, too. Then, the students are using the same information several times and it helps to develop vocabulary and teach them about their state and country. We're so good. We planned some Science Fridays, too. They'll read and write about it during the week, we'll do the labs on Friday, and then reflect and read and write some more another day. I'm actually really pumped for next year! I don't have to think about school at all this summer now, because we spent the time and we're organized. Whew.

I'll close with my favorite shirt from the last day of school. I laughed so hard when I saw one of the fifth graders wearing this. I insisted that he stop by my room first, so I could take this photo. It's a perfect sentiment for the Last Day of School:

  

Size 12

You know, after all those months of hobbling around with one messed up foot and then another, and then spending all that time lying on the couch (both times) convalescing, I've gained a few pounds. Blah. I am appalled to know that the last time I weighed this much, I gave birth the next day. That child is now 27 years old, so I can't blame it on post-partum-ness. In fact, I lost all the baby weight and was svelt and slim with no effort until I hit about 41. Then, if I wanted to be slim and trim, I could still do it, but it involved gym memberships and bicycling and lots of work.

What is different now, after living the life of a cripple, is that I'm not merely overweight, but it is all flab and I also have NO stamina---zero, zilch, nada. I walk upstairs at my school to get my students every morning and I'm panting by the time I reach the door. I simply have no get up and go. I know that one loses conditioning much faster than it can be regained. I also realize that it is harder to be energetic and go-go-go when one is still walking very carefully. I really do think about my steps. It is too easy to limp or shuffle along and favor one foot or the other. But when I conciously think about walking heel, toe, put the foot down, lift it up, do it the right way, then, I have a more comfortable pace and I feel the benefit to my leg muscles, back and abs. But, I'm slower than I used to be. CoolGuy likes that. In the past, he'd often urge me to remember that I didn't need to use "teacher walk" when we were out together. He sometimes has to wait for me, lately.

But--in reference to the title of this post...I tried on some new jeans capris in the store tonight. Typically, I wear size 12 jeans. I'm apparently shaped differently than many woman. Size 14 droops off my hips and looks baggy in the derriere. But the waist fits. Size 12 fits like I prefer around the fanny and thighs, but I usually unfasten the button and just pull the zipper up tightly. This spring, however, I pulled out my jeans capris from the drawer--pants I've worn for several years. I got them pulled up over the hips and found that I can't even get the zipper edges to meet, let alone the button! There's no way I can close the zipper...Well, tonight, I tried on some "size 12" and they're very comfy. They're a stretchy model, but even the button closes. Hmmm...I like the way they fit and look---no droopy bagging anywhere. But, size 12?? Seriously?? Are clothing manufacturers fudging it a little bit lately? Actually, I don't care if they are. I like the pants; they fit; I'll take them. If I'm "size 12" ---well, then, I guess I'm size 12. Yeah...riiiigght

Jury Duty

Sorry it's been so long between posts. There are only four and a half days of school left, and that makes every day after school, busy and very valuable---plus people keep scheduling things and I end up getting home really late. Sooo...

We went to visit our grandson for his birthday over Memorial Day weekend, but had to get back to Las Vegas on Monday evening because, of course, it was school the next day. I had an extra little wrinkle, too, it turned out. I'd been issued a summons for jury duty in January that would have required me to appear the day before my scheduled foot surgery. I begged off, citing the pending surgery, but mostly because I didn't want to be out of school any more days than necessary at that point. I had things to do and things to get ready and, even though they'd have given me a pass, I would still have had to show up that day at the courthouse. So, my new jury date was Tuesday, May 29th, and---sure enough---when I called the phone number to see whose badge numbers were being called in, I was on that list.

I drove downtown to the parking garage they'd designated (in the Fremont Center experience) and parked. Then, I hiked the three (huge) blocks to the courthouse to see a line of people that went out the door, down the steps, around the corner and then half way down the next block. We had to go through an airport-like screening procedure. I don't blame them---two years ago, a disgruntled man came to the federal courthouse a couple of blocks south of the county court building. He had hidden a shotgun under his coat, and he just walked in without saying a word, and began shooting. It was crazy!! A security guard was killed, another was wounded, with the gunman himself being killed nearby, as he attempted to run away. So, there is no question that security procedures at Las Vegas courthouses are not academic.

But, I was dismayed to see that there would be a long wait to get inside the building. I hoped they wouldn't be too pesky about my being late for my designated arrival time. However, my little concerns about jury duty were eclipsed by the young woman standing in line behind me. She had a deadline, too--an appearance at 8:00 A.M. in a court--as the defendant. She complained to all around her about the length of the line. She smoked a cigarette. She complained some more. She smoked another cigarette. The line moved steadily, but it was such a long line, that we weren't going to get in that door before the top of the hour. As we were moving up the granite steps, edging ever closer to the door, she got on the phone to someone. It wasn't clear who. It could have been a lawyer. The woman pointed out that she WAS there! She was in line! It was a &%$## long line!! Did she miss her appearance?? OMG!!! How can she have a warrant already?? She was TRYING to be there!! She was stuck in this *&^%*$ line!! OMG!!

Just then, I saw another person with a jury summons in their hand walk through the glass door marked "Staff, Attorneys" so I went up the steps and entered there too. I still had to walk through all the metal detectors, removing my shoes, putting my watch and purse, etc. in the little bin to go through the X-ray machine. But, I didn't have to listen to the distressed rantings of the woman whose life had just gone from bad to worse.

As I stood in the line, I realized that I live a sheltered existence. In my line of work---school teaching--I am rarely in the presence of people who smoke. There are very few people with visible tattoos (except at the end of the day when I supervise the crosswalk and various family members come to pick up their children). And I rarely hear profanity. But, as you observe the variety of people entering the county courthouse, there were some patterns. People are either quite professionally dressed: business suits, with the women wearing heels and deliberately coifed hair, or the people are dressed very casually in commonly seen motifs (sagger pants, wife-beater shirts for guys, and skin tight jeggings, snug, cleavage revealing shirts for the ladies) with an abundance of visible tattoos,  and lots of nervous smoking. Lots. Oh, and conversations using words that will get you recess detention in fourth grade. There were a few scattered folks who were somewhere in between: not dressy, but not quite as casual---most of us clutched a jury summons.

I didn't get chosen for a jury. That's good, because I really didn't want to miss more days of school. I was hoping that I could plead that I really needed to be in my classroom, if I'd had to make a case for it, but, since I wasn't chosen, I just left at the end of the day and I don't have to worry about it for another eighteen months. I  would really like to serve as a juror sometime. I think it would be very interesting. CoolGuy served once in California, in a robbery case. Any other time I've been summoned for jury duty, I had preschool children, and that excused me from having to appear. Someday, I'll get called up again. I'll hope it doesn't happen during the last week of school and then I'll get a chance to stay there and immerse myself in a whole new world.

May 23rd

It's weird how a date can be so important to you. As I wrote this date on my classroom whiteboard yesterday before I left school, I took a moment to consider how it was like writing my own birthday. It is my sister's birthday. I've talked before about her and not always just because it's her day. She died seven years ago, this June. It was unexpected, and quite shocking to us. After all,  she was only 51.

But as her birthday comes around again, three months to the day after mine, I realize that her passing does not remove her from our family. She is as real to us as though it were still possible to pick up the phone and listen to her tell you a silly story about her cats, or hear about the latest knee surgery or, in a  self-deprecating way, tell about some awesome act of neighborly kindness she was involved in lately.

She grew a huge garden every year and gave away most of it. She baked constantly---again---giving away the results to friends in need. (And the need didn't have to be sickness--she knew who felt lonely and sad.) She was grandmother extrordinaire, too, and they didn't have to be her grandchildren. She'd drop in on my grandchildren because she could, and I couldn't. Too far away. If you were her relative in the MTC, you got treats. Her son sent people to visit/stay with her while he was in Korea, because he knew she would take them in and do what was needed--despite the inability to communicate in a common language.

She inherited most of the ills and physical ailments and difficult body structures that the entire gene-pool seemed to offer. But she also inherited all the goodness, hospitality, humor and joie de vivre that was available too. Happy Birthday, Trish!

Here we are in 2004, posing inside the milking side of the barn, where we spent half our lives as teenagers. In the summer, we'd bring out the radio and play rock and roll music till the radio station went off the air at sunset. In the winter, we'd practice our vocabulary words, or memorize scriptures for seminary. In 2004, her husband LaRon, and our other carpentry-skilled brother-in-law, Alan, shored up the frame and roof and we all joined in for a weekend to paint the barn. The next summer, she was gone, and the year after that, our mother left, too. The memories we made that day are way more than priceless. (And, no, we didn't coordinate the pink shirts in advance...isn't it just too cool?)

SummerTime....

...and the thermometer's rising. Fish don't jump here--it's cooler to stay underwater. But, you could easily grow cotton! I'm growing tomatoes and lettuce (which I must go cut tonight because it will definitely not survive the weekend if it's going to be over 100 degrees. I'm also growing basil and geraniums. As long as they get water, those two love hot temperatures. Anyway, I just thought I'd share what my truck instruments were telling me tonight as I drove home from the teacher's union meeting.

It was hot in there, too. As you know, we teachers are the worst people ever, here in Las Vegas, because we wouldn't give back the raises that we received last fall. Which we were entitled to according to our two year old contract. But, no, school districts don't really need teachers, after all. I mean, if they pay us, then how will they afford the salaries for all the people who work in the district office? After all, what is school for? Teaching children? Come on...(Okay, I'll stop now.)

Divine Foods...continued

Oatmeal. Yes, I mean the stuff you cook in a pot on the stove. I'm rather fussy about my oatmeal. There is only one way I like it. First, I boil the water. Then, I add the oatmeal. If you bring the oatmeal to boil with the water, it will be creamy and mushy. That is probably the main reason many people don't even like oatmeal. They've only eaten the creamy, mushy sort. Also, it is important to use Old-fashioned oatmeal--not "Quick-Cooking" or...bleah--instant. I know--I'm being a snob. This is a matter of personal taste, I recognize. However, as nice as it is that one can now buy oatmeal at various fast-food places, the product they serve you is not even close to the oatmeal I love.

Oatmeal is a heritage food. I have a great-grandmother named Agnes Stewart. Born and raised in Scotland, then emigrated to America. However, the version I eat is far removed from the oat porridge that she would have served or eaten. Apparently, oats were the staple of Scotland because the growing conditions there were too cold and damp to make wheat a successful crop. But, oats can grow in a harsh climate--I know--my dad grew them on our farm. Oats are like candy to horses. If you wanted them to come down from the pasture to you (rather than you chasing after them) walk out there with a couple of handfuls of oats in a bucket, and give it shake. They'll trot right over for the treat.

Here's a great quote: "Samuel Johnson referred, disparagingly, to this [that the Scots grew and ate oats in lieu of wheat] in his dictionary definition for oats: "A grain, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people." His biographer, James Boswell, noted that Lord Elibank was said by Sir Walter Scott to have retorted, "Yes, and where else will you see such horses and such men?"

Plus, oatmeal has been proven to reduce cholesterol, it is a fabulous source of fiber, it helps to lower blood pressure,and it is 100% natural--they grow it, they roll it, and you eat it. It is spectacularly inexpensive. And, truly, it is delicious. Also, you can cook a pot of it, eat some today, and refrigerate the rest for each of the other mornings this week. Simply microwave a small dish of it each day and you can have hot, delicious whole-grain cereal for breakfast every day. You'll be filled with nutrition and energy, frisky as a young colt for the entire morning.

About twice a month, CoolGuy and I will have a supper of oatmeal and toast and fruit. I'm tired, it's late and maybe, we had a big lunch. Then, breakfast for dinner is perfect. CoolGuy likes to add brown sugar and dried cranberries with the milk. I prefer white sugar and milk. But, it is one meal you can paunch yourself with and not feel a bit of regret. My children have introduced me to steel-cut oats. They take a bit longer to cook, but everyone gives them rave reviews. I'll have to try it soon.

My favorite breakfast grain is a versatile cook's helper, too. I add oatmeal to meatloaf as the binder. It is much chewier than breadcrumbs or chunks of bread, and almost tastes like the ground meat itself.  And is there anything better than oatmeal cookies? Unless it is oatmeal cookies with raisins? Or maybe No-Bake cookies made with oatmeal? I love to make and eat granola, too, which is basically raw oatmeal coated with delicious honey, oil and mixed with every nut or dried fruit you wish. Sigh....oatmeal. It's perfect in so many ways.

Thirty-Eight

Today is our wedding anniversary. We were married in 1974. We honeymooned in San Diego. Actually, CoolGuy was stationed in San Diego in the Navy, and we lived there. So after the celebration in Wyoming, we just went back home. But, hey! We did fun things, and lolled around, and ate food, and rode the motorcycle. So it was like a honeymoon. Just another bonus of living in a vacation mecca: you can do all the cool things, then go home and sleep in  your own bed.

Wow...if you want to feel old, then look at the wedding picture on your 38th anniversary...whew.

Six short years later, we'd expanded the family quite a bit, huh? Another wedding---this time, my sister's. (1980)

Four more years went by, we've been married for ten years.

This was at my father's funeral. (1984)

Seven more years...everyone is growing up--except the parents.

We're ageless.  (1991)

Five more years, living across the country....(1996)

We always have to take a photo here...(2004)

Here is it...almost 38 years. Everyone is grown

and yet we're still smiling and standing up

together. (2011)

There are so many more photos. Weddings, missions, grandchildren, beach visits. Moving from state to state, and one of them twice. Funerals and birthdays, graduations and surgeries--we've done lots of all four. We're shooting for fifty years---just to amaze ourselves. Who knew??

Helpful Hint

When wearing light colored pants to school, be very, very careful how you eat your lunch. Yesterday, I was dining on my usual: salad with a sliced hard-boiled egg, chopped turkey, diced avocado and---the piece de resistance: sliced beets dressed with rice vinegar and olive oil, which I pour over the rest of the salad as the dressing...

.....When, (I'm sure you've guessed by now) I dropped a piece of beet. Yes, into my lap. Yes, onto the tan pants I was wearing. AUUGGHH! And it bounced back and forth, so that both legs were quite splattered. AUUUUUGGHH!!!

I spent the rest of lunch scrubbing with baby wipes and water to get the stains to a pale pink from the original rich, deep red . Then, I tried drying the large wet spots, that went the length of my upper legs, by dabbing with a dry towel and fanning with a piece of cardstock, but finally had to go to the cafeteria to monitor lunching students.

So, the moral of the story is: don't take beets in your lunch when you're wearing light colored pants. Or, don't be careless when eating beets for lunch when wearing light colored pants. Or, wear a rain poncho over your light colored pants when eating beets for lunch. Or, something...

Mother's Legacy Fern

Isn't this a lovely fern? And isn't is awesome that I haven't killed it yet? Yes, it is. I have a bad pattern with ferns in the past. However, I have a strong incentive with this particular fern, because it is a piece of the fern that my mother had in her living room, all my life. I got a section of it from my sister after our mother died, and I almost messed it up, like I've done to countless other ferns in my care.

My sister sent me this photo more than 25 years ago. It is a shot of her children and some of my other nieces and nephews, posed in Grandma's living room. I was so busy admiring the babies I hadn't seen yet, and how big everyone had gotten that I overlooked the plant behind them. Besides, that fern was just a fixture in my mother's living room. I rarely gave it a thought. But a friend of mine, seeing the photo on my refrigerator, gasped, "Is that a fern??" and as I looked again, I realized that it dwarfed the children in the picture. It was enormous.

My mother's fern seemed to be low-maintenance. Mama would pour a quart jar of water in it once a week. She'd pick up the occasional fallen brown leaves that would litter the floor. Sometimes, she'd use scissors to snip off a frond that may have been broken by roughhousing, or the occasional errant thrown ball. But I don't recall any misting, or conversations with it, or even any plant food. None of the usual things that one reads that should be done to cause a fern to flourish. It just sat there in front of the west facing window, in the shadow of an enormous pine tree (so the direct sun could never fry it) and it grew and grew. I also remember her taking it outside every five or so years, and removing it from its pot (which, in my childhood, was an old white enamel dishpan) and breaking it all apart. It would become pot-bound, so she'd separate into sections, wrap the sections in newspaper and give them away to friends and relatives. Then, she put a nice chunk of it back into the old metal pot with fresh dirt and replace the greatly diminished plant back on its wooden stool, in front of the window. In a few months, it was filling out and great long swards of it were arching out to tickle little kid's faces once again.

It seemed indestructible, so I was optimistic that, for the first time in my life, I could keep a fern alive. It was looking good for the first few months. But, then it started to droop and turn mostly brown and only a few of the fronds looked like they were going to keep living. I did so want to be able to have this little piece of my mom flourish in my house. So, I took it outdoors, I dumped out whatever dirt was in the pot, I broke off all the dried out and rotten chunks. What I had left was just about three vigorous looking fronds, bravely still trying to grow. I filled my pot with good soil from my compost-amended garden, and re-potted those courageous little bits, and took it back inside to grow on a plant holder, in my west window, that is shaded by a large tree. Then I wrote myself a recurring note on my Outlook calendar so that I never failed to water it every single week.

It worked!! Here (and above) are photographic evidence that even I can grow a fern!!  It is fabulous! It just grows and grows, constantly shooting out new little fiddleheads that unfurl into large graceful fronds that overflow the edges of my pot and dance ever-so-slightly in the breeze from the ceiling fan. It has been several months since I rescued it by never missing a watering turn and just staying away from it except for that. It seems to be just as happy here in my house as it was in my mother's. Every time I look at it, I think of her. So, besides her hardworking hands and work ethic, I also have my mother's fern to remember her by.  Happy Mother's Day!

Desert Adventure

We had an incident last week at school that happened only because it's a desert out there. A student came to me, right after we got in the class room, and lifted up her thumb to show me, as she said, "I reached in my backpack and something poked me." Sure enough, I could see a little mark on her thumb indicating that, indeed, she'd been poked. I wondered what she could have in there that would jab her--an open pin, a compass with a sharp point? Weird. Then, she said, "I thought I saw something move in that pocket." Hmmm...a bug? Well, I told her that we should take her backpack out on the patio at lunch and clean it out. I decided to send her up to the nurse's office for some ice or calamine lotion or whatever. She complained a couple of times later that morning, I put some more calamine lotion on it and had her put a wet paper towel on it to cool down the little bit of redness I could see forming. We were having a crazy day, and I totally forgot the backpack.

The day was mixed up  because we were in the middle of our testing schedule. I had one group of students for the two and a half hours before lunch. We were deeply engaged in a writing activity on the laptop computers. Time flew by and they all went out to play. We ate lunch, we returned to the rooms, they all packed up their backpacks and she went off to math class, without me remembering that I was going to take it outside and dump everything out.

An hour later, we were moving our classes to their "specials" (PE, Art, Music) and I walked out into the hall to see my student, the math teacher and her back pack. The backpack was dumped across the corridor, everything scattered across the floor. At my questioning look, my colleague said, "There was a scorpion in there!!!" That got my attention.

My student had reached down to take something from the open upper pocket and saw the scorpion run across the zipper flap. She screamed, the poor math teacher screamed. A boy knocked it off the backpack, and another boy stomped it into the carpeting until it was just a smear. It was less than two inches long and about the same color as the backpack. But, still!!! A SCORPION!!! We were all quite non-plussed.

I took her up to the nurse to show her the red, swollen thumb. It wasn't that obvious, but now that I knew what had stung her, I realized that for four hours, she'd been telling me her thumb still hurt, and as I examined it more, I could see that it was a little swollen and there was quite a bit of redness. I felt terrible. First, I felt bad that I hadn't checked the backpack immediately. Then, I felt better knowing that at least I'd given her anti-itch cream and a cool, wet towel whenever she asked. I insisted that the nurse call her mother and explain, and give mom the option to take our girl to an Quickcare Clinic after school if she felt it necessary. My student was looking a little worried, but I assured her she would be fine. If she was going to die from that scorpion bite, she'd have been feeling really bad just a short time after the sting, and we would have already called the paramedics, and they would have already saved her. She looked more relieved when I explained it like that.

The next morning, she had a brand new backpack! Her mom threw the old one away, and from now on, the backpack would always hang on a hook and never rest on the floor at their house. She felt that the scorpion may have crawled in at their home, because at school, it was hanging on a chair usually. I hope it was from their house! We already deal with the occasional cockroach and bumble bee; I really don't want scorpions, too. Scorpions!! Good grief!!

The Chickens in the Pool Shed

I got run over by a whole flock of chickens tonight. I'd gone outside to transplant some new geraniums I'd just bought, into my empty pots. I looked over at the pool and realized I ought to put some chlorine tablets in the filters, but didn't find any in the pool shed. However, I did remember that I needed to look in the drawers of a file cabinet out there to see if I could find my oldest son's Boy Scout merit badge sash.

 (Are you seeing the chickens...?) (Okay, I'll explain: my friend, the special ed teacher, sometimes wears a T-shirt that says, "I don't have ADD---Oh Loook!! There's a Chicken....) Well, I didn't find the merit badge sash. I didn't get any chlorine tablets into the pool filter baskets. I didn't even get the geraniums re-potted. Instead, I found a big folder stuffed with type-written pages. The only person who would have typed papers that ended up in that file cabinet was moi. And I found a totally awesome package of old treasures out there.

In the Olden Days, when we didn't own a T.V. and after I put the kids to bed, I'd either sit down to the sewing machine, or the typewriter. I typed a lot of stuff. Not just stories for my sisters, or memoirs for my parents, but I found articles about child-rearing, what I learned (and should have learned) in Young Women, silly stories about my life (some were published in local newspapers), a couple of stories that The Friend didn't want, and three more biker stories that were, sadly, rejected by Easyrider magazine. (I say sadly because they paid me, whereas the local newspapers just printed my stories with the only reward being fleeting glory among my acquaintances.) I also found a really sincere rejection letter from Redbook Magazine, telling me how very much everyone there liked my article, and how it went from editor to editor, but was ultimately not selected, but that I should definitely submit it to another publication because, girl, it was good!! (or words to that effect---for a rejection letter, it was remarkably personal and complimentary.)

I also found notebooks filled, in my formerly exquisite handwriting, with song lyrics and poetry--mostly laments over disappointments of love. I even wrote some of the poems myself. In fact, I still really like a couple of them. Here's one: (I think it's about sarcasm.)

Take Care

Why quarreling?

Why purposely hurt?

Cruel arrows

Flung in fun

Sting

With a slow-but-sure poison.

Love is too close to hate

And our tables are

Too easily turned.

Remember the poem that was printed in the New Era? Here's another poem I wrote on the same topic. I don't know when....it's not dated.

Autumn in Star Valley

Indian summer comes to her
As a long gone lover home at last.
Her bright blush of maple fire
Cooled only by November's blast.

Scarlet and gold, she dresses now
To dance through star bright nights.
Mystical geese making music
That drifts down with the breeze from their heights.

So, anyway...chickens--really interesting, wow, I forgot I even wrote that, chickens.  Maybe I can still go plant the flowers by the porch light.

A Whale Tale

Today is our daughter's birthday!! Happy Birthday to FoxyJ!! She is spending the day with her sister and they are at the beach. It is the chilly, damp Oregon beach, where one doesn't frolic in the surf, but walks along in the mist and admires the shells and the scent and ... c'mon---it's the ocean--how can it be bad?

Actually, she was inspired to go there from an article in Sunset Magazine, a family favorite periodical. The March issue had an story about great places in the west for a weekend getaway, and Depoe Bay was featured.  It's a whale watching destination and I can't think of a better place for her to get away to for a pleasant, brief vacation. And, I really, really hope she can finally see some migrating whales.

We've tried a few times to do that, over the years. We had some wonderful experiences in our attempts, but we didn't get to see a single whale... I don't know how we managed to do that, either. We lived for a total of twenty years right on the coast that is the main migration route for the California gray whale population as they leave Scammons Lagoon each year and head north for their summer homes off the coast of Alaska. We'd go to various viewing locations and watch and watch, but, although we saw a couple of spouts out there, we never saw a whale. One year, we actually took a whale watching boat trip in the Santa Barbara Channel---a location that should have a crossing guard for the baby whales, and yet....that day...no whales. Sigh.

So here's wishing her a happy, happy birthday---filled with spouts and flukes and baleen and barnacles. And lots  and lots of spyhopping!

We were on top of Point Loma in San Diego in a prime whale watching location, but saw only a couple of far-off spouts. However, you can lie down on the painted outline of a gray whale to get an idea of their size. (1983-ish)

This is at the base of Point Loma, in the tide pools and, while you can't really see whales from here, you sure can see a lot of other things that live in the ocean.  (1985)

You can find bones, or coral or rocks or something wonderful....

This is along the coast just south of Monterrey Bay. We'd spent a weekend at the aquarium there, where there are life-sized replicas of whales hanging from the ceiling. Again...none in the wild. (1990)

Now here's a dear old friend of the birthday girl!  Shamu! Her first love...and Dad worked hard at the arcade and won her the giant stuffed Shamu to take home and love forever.   (1991)

Here she is on the bow of the whale watching boat in the Santa Barbara Channel. We went out during Christmas vacation and anticipation was high to, finally, see some migrating whales. We were smack in the middle of the largest marine preserve on the west coast. She stood out there and was rimed with salt and soaked with spray. She reminded me of the way a farm dog leans out over the side of the pick-up truck as he rides down through the fields. Pure joy... (1993)

So, this week as these same two sisters, now grown women, spend some time together on the coast, I hope that they finally get to see some whales. But even if they don't, they'll have a super time anyway, I bet, enjoying one another and the sea.