Not Lost

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

Happy Feet

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

Wow.

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

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

Fabulous!!

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

Going for A Ride

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

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

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

Are You As Smart As My Fourth Graders?

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

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

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

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

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

Hey, Hey Mama

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

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

I'm Too Stupid for My Clothes...

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

But, here's why I used it:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Mighty Change of Heart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Birthday, Birthday

Here's my favorite reaction to a birthday:



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

Mother's Little Helpers

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

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

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

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

Family Ties

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Valentine's Day

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




A closer view of The Helper:

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

Exceeding Standards

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

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

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

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

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

And the envelope read:

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

Welcome Home

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

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

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

So, Welcome Home Justin and Chevy!!

Paying Attention in School

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

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

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

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

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

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

Creeping Toward Equinox

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

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

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

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

Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing, Baby

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

And, indeed, they were the REAL THING:

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

Intriguing Fact

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

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

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

Alexander the Second

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheerful News

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

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

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

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