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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Birthday, Birthday

Here's my favorite reaction to a birthday:



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

Mother's Little Helpers

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

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

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

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

Family Ties

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Valentine's Day

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




A closer view of The Helper:

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

Exceeding Standards

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

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

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

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

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

And the envelope read:

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

Welcome Home

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

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

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

So, Welcome Home Justin and Chevy!!

Paying Attention in School

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

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

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

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

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

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

Creeping Toward Equinox

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

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

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

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

Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing, Baby

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

And, indeed, they were the REAL THING:

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

Intriguing Fact

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

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

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

Alexander the Second

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheerful News

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

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

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

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

Inauguration

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

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

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

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

WWDKD? (What Would Dr. King Do?)

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

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

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

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

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

Two Enthusiastic Thumbs Up

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

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

Bad Vibes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cool Birthday

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

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

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

Happy Birthday Cool Guy!

The I-15 Show

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

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


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


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

There Are Many Things About Which I Know Nothing

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

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

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