24--the Copy of the Copy Cat

I decided I'd copy the Copy Cat and see if my last 24 have any compelling excitement.

10:00 P.M. Suddenly, I was totally exhausted, and instead of correcting anymore papers, I dropped into bed.

11:00 P.M. Awakened from dead sleep by the phone. It took a minute before I could figure out what the noise was. It was Cool Guy from Maryland. He'd just finished dinner/talk with some old friends and was calling me to say good night. He felt very badly about waking me. And it was unusual that I was asleep already at that time of night. His phone call was probably planned by Kitty Cat because I realized she wasn't sleeping beside me. She was peering through the patio door hoping, hoping, hoping I'd sense that she needed to come in.

4:30 A.M. Emergency! Emergency! Kitty Cat needs to go back out! Wake up and open the door! Get up! ok, ok...

6:38 A.M. My eyes snap open and I realize that it is far too light. Why didn't my alarm ring at 6:00? Oh, apparently last night, in my attempt to stop the noise, I reached over and turned down the sound on my radio/alarm clock. ACCKK!!

7:52 A.M. Hustle through the school door, 2 minutes late. Oops.

8:40 A.M. Bell rings and the marathon begins...

10:50 A.M. drop off my students to P.E. teacher, go to ladies room, then spend the rest of my planning time sitting in on a fifth grade class "observing"---a big pet program of our principal--watching other teachers to get ideas for your room. It's actually one of the most useful training tools ever.

11:40 A.M. Pick up class from P.E. Get everyone in line to go to lunch. Pass out lunch tickets. Get everyone back in line to go to lunch. Start down the sidewalk to cafeteria door. Stop. Get everyone to BE IN LINE, ONE BEHIND THE OTHER (not beside) LOOKING IN THE SAME DIRECTION AS YOUR FEET ARE MOVING, ON THE SIDEWALK. Drop off class to lunchroom.

11: 55 A.M. Eat part of lunch.

12:05 P.M. Return to cafeteria and pick up the students who come to my room for 3rd period. They earned total class detention for hideous behavior the previous day. We return to my classroom where I allow five students who consistently have excellent behavior leave for the playground. I rant a little, then set the timer for five silent minutes. I eat the rest of my lunch while the time ticks off the loooong minutes, then the students go up to the playground.

12:25 Rinse lettuce out of my teeth and go up to pick up my class. We arrive downstairs for the afternoon marathon. Second period comes in and act like model citizens. Yeah!

1:30 Third period comes in and act much, much better now that they know I really will put them in my room in lieu of recess.

2:30 Fourth period.

3:25 Direct chair stacking, trash pick up.

3:28 Lead wild, loud students out the door and onto playground where they are dismissed.

3:30 Stand watch over parents' drive up spot to load up their children. Today, no fist-fighting in the bike rack--good.

3:45 Write tomorrow's objectives on the board, grab up all my stuff and leave, two hours earlier than normal.

4:30 Physical therapist office for intake interview. My foot is deteriorating because of the incredible flatness and pronation. I'm learning some foot exercises to develop the muscles that will help support my feet better and strengthen them. But ultimately, granny-shoes with orthotics is in the future. Blah

6:00 eat my sandwich from Port O' Subs as I drive home in heavy traffic. Brush teeth at home, have shower, snatch up temple bag.

6:50 Slip onto the bench next to my friends at the temple.

9:30 Conclude conversation in the parking lot, go home, feed cat.

10:00 Iron clean laundry while watching "ER". Eat watermelon.

I guess it's not as exciting as poopy diapers and stitches in the emergency room, but I really thought after my kids grew up and left home, I'd have more unstructured time. Not yet.

A Real Horror Story for Halloween

On Foxyj's blog she complained today about various aspects of Halloween, so for those (two) of you who've never heard about why my children mostly have good teeth, here goes:

Our first little house, in which we lived till we got four kids, was not visible from the street and so no one ever came by to trick-or-treat on Halloween, thus preventing our children from learning about this tradition. I didn't promote it since I had never gone out on Halloween door to door as a child because I lived on a farm and we had no near neighbors. Instead, we'd dress in our costumes and go to a party always held at our church where the moms brought popcorn balls and fudge and we played at the "fish pond" and bean bag games. We all went home with some candy and had a fun night. In addition to our rural environment there was usually a lot of snow on the ground by Halloween and it was too darn cold to traipse around in the dark for candy.

By the time I had my own children I'd become a militant anti-candy, health food freak who baked and cooked every morsel my off-spring consumed, and so I was not about to send them out into the urban landscape to scavange for sugar. At their school there was a day-time party that mimicked the fun I'd had as a child complete with mothers and the fishpond game, so I was satisfied to make their little costumes and go help with the school party and call it a holiday. In fact, as a little girl, Foxyj once said she liked Halloween because "We can just have fun and not have to think about the "deeper meaning" because there isn't one." True!

Well, finally we had to move to a different house. We needed more room. The next house was on a normal street and when Halloween came around, so did the trick-or-treaters. And now my children had become the age where they realized that they, too, could go out and get the goodies. I finally caved in and let them go. BUT---here were the rules:

• you could only go to two blocks
• when you got home, you had to dump out all the candy
• then you sorted it: one for the kid, two for the mother
• she passed her share back out the door to other kids

So, that is why our children do not have the extensive dental restorations that their mother has. And it is also the reason why in college they always won the "Weirdest Parents" story telling contest. Their parents concealed Halloween from them for nearly a decade.

Data

I don't know the significance of this information but it has caused me to ponder it all week.
Last Friday in our fourth grade team meeting, it was revealed, as an aside, the ages of each of my co-workers.

I have two children who are older than any of my three partners. Hmm.

#1 It made me realize that I am old.
#2 It made me realize that my kids are also old. Well, I mean, full-grown adults. But that's not to say that I didn't know that. It's just that it seemed more concrete.
#3 It made me appreciate them (my co-workers) even more because they don't treat me like an old lady, but as a peer.

Then one of my sisters had a round-number birthday and she said something about having only about 20 years left, and it really stunned me. The previous twenty years seems to have just zoomed by in a flash. If in twenty years we're done...or at least she is---I could be too--well then, well then...I don't know what. It just seems too much to think about.

Anyway--that's the data for the week. I don't know what it all means. But it seemed significant.

The Season of Mourning

It is now time to mourn the late, great Summer. Today is the Autumnal Equinox. This means that every day now, for the next three months, we will spend fewer and fewer minutes in the presence of Old Sol, my good friend. More and more of our day will be spent in darkness. Stupid Daylight Savings Time will kick in and WHAMO: I'll walk out of school to the dim glow of the streetlights in the parking lot. No more tomatoes fresh from the vine. No more lying on the patio furniture pressed into the cushions by the ferocious blast of midday heat. No more pleasant afterwork hours in the pool. Night swimming only works when the air is still shimmering at 105.

I've always felt this way--not just since I've come to live in the desert. There is nothing less desirable than pulling on your layers of chore clothes and stepping out into the waning minutes of daylight at 5:00 P.M. in the Rocky Mountains knowing that you will be spending the next two hours in the barn, milking. It always seemed colder right then at sunset than just an hour earlier, or even an hour later. I can't think of any science that supports a temperature plunge at sunset, but it sure seemed colder. Perhaps it was the effect of just having left a house filled with the scent of fresh baked cinnamon rolls and drying laundry and now you are crunching your way across brittle snow to the barnyard where you must be on the alert for frozen cowpies so as to not break your toe, and looking out for fresh ones so as to not slip.

Perhaps my ancient ancestors were Druids or something. I mourn the passing of the long long days of sunlight. I just trudge through the weeks until late February when again the earth's orbit puts us in the path of light. Someday I'll have to go visit Stonehenge and see if I feel some primordial sense of homecoming.

Commentary on Previous Post

My sister sent this photo to me as part of an e-mail that had a series of really beautifully composed pictures of animals that were all very endearing. But this one!!

Well, let's just say, if there was a big fresh cowpie behind any of those cows, and the floor of that barn was made of wood: this was MY (our) LIFE when we were children. There are so many erie similarities:

#1 He is sitting on a single leg milking stool. We had those. They were "manufactured" by our dad who'd take two pieces of a 2 x 4 and hammer them into a "T" shape, and voila---milking stool. The milkmaid just balanced on top of this item, using her two feet as the other "legs" of the three legged stool. Somewhat comfy, completely practical, cheap, and easy to snatch up as you leapt up to get out of range of a flying soggy tail or flailing hoof.

#2 He's milking a Guernsey cow.

#3 Check out the old Surge milker on that background cow---hooked to a vacuum line, milk pulsing out of the cow into the bucket fastened below the titcups. You carried it from cow to cow.

#4 Squirting milk into the kitties' mouths.

#5 Wearing the knee-high rubber boots.

#6 The straw hat: our dad ALWAYS wore a straw cowboy hat for work.

#7 The sun streaming through the open door and also the actual walls of the barn. We, too, had "natural" air conditioning in our barn. Too bad it was below freezing so often when we were out there...

Anyway, it is a total trip back in time to look at this photo, and we wanted to share it with you.

If I Were a Cat...

• I'd be a barn cat because then I'd be a valuable member of the team. I'd eat the mice that ravage the stores of grain that the cows need.


• I'd be a barn cat because I'd always have a cozy place to sleep in the hay all snuggled up to a warm calf.


• I'd be a barn cat because there are so many places to hide my new babies from the prying eyes of little children.


• I'd be a barn cat because I'd always have a companion; no farm ever has just ONE cat.


• I'd be a barn cat because some bored cow milker will always try his aim and fill my mouth with warm milk. Barn cats never drink cold milk.

If you were a cat, you could do worse than these two!

Fall is in the Air

Wow, it only got up to 95 degrees today here. Brrrr...

Okay, not really "brrr..." but it was so different than the previous three months of over 100 everyday. I've had my "acceptable" temperature settings so warped because of the swimming pool. When it was 110 degrees routinely in the afternoon, I'd come home from school, peel off my sweaty clothes, and get in the swimming pool for 40 minutes or so.

We don't heat our pool because we aren't gazillionaires (we're saving up for solar panels to supplement the sun). When the air temp is 100+ all day, the water is just perfect. But it doesn't take long when the air temp falls below 100 every day, plus it was windy, for the water to cool right off.

I do have a tolerance for chilly water. We lived for six years by Hueneme Beach where the water temperature is rather arctic-like. First: it is California, north of L.A., so the water currents are traveling north to south--the water spends a lot of time off the Alaska coast on its way to Hueneme Beach. Second: "Port" Hueneme is so named because it is--duh--a port. There is a natural submarine canyon that created a lovely deep-water port that is used to export citrus crops and import autos and other items on container ships. So, the beach just to the south of the port is the destination for the water that upwells from the canyon---brrrrrrr.

Cool Guy and I used to take an early morning trip on our little city's bike trail to that beach and go swimming for a few minutes each day. In March that is a mighty chilly swim. The surfers routinely wear wetsuits except for maybe August and Sept. I'm sure they thought we were nuts! Maybe we were!

However, now that I've enjoyed the luxury of the desert backyard pool, I almost regret the passing of the Furnace Months of Summer here. It's still nice to swim when it's in the 90's, but that initial leap into the water is a little more Hueneme-like than I'd prefer.

English! What a Language!

Today, being Friday, was Spelling Test Day in Fourth Grade. This morning as we were collecting homework, one of my students whose first language is not English pointed to a word and told me how her mom told her not to study it because it wasn't a real word.

Her mom had been "all mad when I was doing my homework because she couldn't figure it out. And then my dad got home and he got all mad because it just didn't make sense to him either. And they wondered how it could get on my list."

I looked at her list and asked her which word she meant and she said, "Now here." I looked again and tried to see where "here" meant on the list. Which number? "This one, " she pointed and pronounced again, "Now here."

Oh.

#16--nowhere-- As in--"I grew up in the middle of nowhere."

Now here--nowhere--hmm.

That was a new one for me!

Seafood City Supermarket

On Monday we decided we wanted to grill fresh fish, but we live in the desert---far, far, far from the sea. So what to do? In Maryland, we could go to any number of establishments where the owner went out that morning on his boat, caught the fish, and sold it that afternoon. I had a favorite grocery that I would stop by on Friday nights and get my pound of big old shrimp for a reasonable price and high quality and bring them home to stir fry with garlic and onions.


Well, luckily I chanced upon this store and WOW, it was a treasure. Their fish is extremely fresh and you can get it whole, or fileted or ground up, or turned into an unbelievable variety of foods that I've never consumed nor imagined. But seriously, they have anything you may need that lives in the ocean and can be eaten. And they'll clean it for you--free while you shop.

If, perchance, your recipe calls for a cup of pork blood, or the long cut of pig's feet, or perhaps you need a giant squid, or a container of pig's brains, THIS IS THE STORE FOR YOU. Perhaps you need five different kinds of bananas? A case of mangoes? Balute? They'll sell it to you!

While we waited for our red snapper and sea bass (aka rockfish for the Chesapeake Bay denizens) to be cleaned, we perused the aisles. It reminded me of Woo Chee Chong's Oriental Market on G Street in San Diego. I'm fairly certain that Woo Chee Chong's is no longer there, probably that part of G Street is also gone. But when I first moved there more than 30 years ago, it was one of my favorite places to shop. I was amused in the meat department because they carried all the parts of the pig or cow that my mom usually discarded. Ears, nose, feet, brains, stomach. I never learned to cook these parts, but I was always impressed that someone came there specifically to purchase them for their dinner. I mostly shopped there for the fish and vegetables.

Anyway, we grilled our fish and they were mighty tasty, too. We'll go back! I want to eat at Jollibee, the fast food place, and then buy some coconut ice cream, sticky rice, and a mango, and try to make my favorite Thai restaurant desert at home.

New School

Here are some things I like about my new school:

• The principal, not the head secretary, actually runs the place.
• I'm indoors with a classroom that has a window by the door that looks out into the hall.
• The hall is illuminated by a skylight.
• I can step out of my door, and lean into some other teacher's class if I have a need to.
• It smells nice.
• They have a PTA.
• It's 1.6 miles from my house, no stoplights.
• When I go upstairs (we're built into a hillside) to the playground, the Las Vegas Temple dominates the view to the east--it is about three blocks up the street from my school. Cool.
• Everyday, one of the administrators, or office workers, or another collegue asks me if they can help me in any way---and they REALLY MEAN IT.

The Long Silence

I realize that I didn't post anything for a long time and the reasons are:

• I had to move everything from the old school to the new school, unpack, put it away and ...
• we drove up to BYU to watch our oldest daughter graduate with her master's degree...
• I therefore had only three days of my 12 day vacation in which to do--whatever--and I just didn't spend any of it on the computer.

Cool Guy is THE MAN

I came dragging in from the First Day of School, tired, sweaty, foot-sore. You other teachers know what I mean. (It was a good day--more later.) I was invited out to a freshly cleaned swimming pool (pouring rain and wind all night had left a morning layer of debris) where I jumped in and floated away the cares of the day.

Then, (and here's why he's getting the Shout-Out) Cool Guy pointed out that he'd turned on the hot tub heater in anticipation of my tired, sweaty, foot-soreness and would I like to soak for a while?

Wow. Would I! And so I did, and it was mighty nice.

Meteor Shower

We checked into our cabin at Delight Hot Springs, Tecopa California, around 8:00 P.M. I'd packed supper in a cooler so we ate it sitting on the screen porch watching twilight fade away. It was 98 degrees, but it seemed cooler. Something about being in the desert after dark makes it feel not as hot. We soaked in the hot springs and then drove out into the desert even a little further so we'd be surrounded by total darkness. We were. Also total silence. There weren't even any bug sounds. The wind wasn't blowing either. It was amazingly still. I've grown accustomed to the sound of machines when I'm outdoors here. If I sit in my yard I hear air conditioners, airplanes, cars, and music. But out there, about 80 miles from home, it was very quiet and dark.

Yes, we saw meteors. Quite a few--some small and quick, some large and lengthy. But it is a Slow-Motion Thrill. They don't come along very rapidly, one after and another, and only once did we see more than one at a time. It takes patience to star gaze. We finally packed up the lawn chairs and drove back to our cabin around 2:00 A. M. because we kept nodding off.

When I was 8, 9 or 10--I'm hoping one of my sisters will remember the timing of this event--our neighbor stopped by our house to get us to come outside and look at the sky. It was a cold, clear night in March (I remember the month because it was lambing season and that's why he was out late at night). I don't know if my parents were in bed yet, but I was, and he came knocking at our door in excitement for us to come out and look. I'll never forget the sight of hundreds of meteors zooming through the millions of stars. It was like fireworks, but completely silent. It was exhilarating and scary all at once. I wondered if it meant the end of the world was coming. I've never seen anything like it since, and I wish I knew what galactic event it was. I'd love to watch again the sight of so many shooting stars.

Stay Up All Night

You are here-by being given permission by your Mama to stay up late. Tonight is the peak viewing time for the annual Perseids meteor shower. Look in the NE sky to see lots of shooting stars. Cool Guy and I are driving out into the desert, far away from the Bright Lights, Big City with our lawn chairs, snacks and binoculars to watch. Of course, I don't have to get up and go to work tomorrow (cheers of delight fill the room) so we're sleeping out there, too, at Tecopa Hot Springs. So, anyway, let's get out there and enjoy the view.

Whoo-Whoo

I knew I could, I knew I could, I knew I could.

Another successful school year behind me: ie: no felonies committed.

But it was a close call for the last 20 minutes.

Last Day

I t h i n k I c a n
I t h i n k I c a n
I t h i n k I c a n

I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can

IthinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcan

My Alter Ego

I've turned into Mrs. H---, my seventh grade English teacher. It's not a good thing. She would sit on the edge of her desk and drone on about "self-discipline" and how we needed it. We'd yawn. Surreptitiously.

This week our character "Word of the Week" is self-discipline and today I wrote it on the board and droned on to my miserable students about how they needed it. The only thing missing was my sitting on the edge of my desk, with my skirt hiked up a little with a couple of inches of my doughy nylon-covered thigh showing. EEK--

Repeat after me: "Two More Days"

You know, I imagine that all of my readers (both of you) are entirely fatigued with hearing about my class this year. And I apologize for once again talking about it. But your fatigue cannot even begin to approach the fatigue I have with these students.

Again today I heard over and over the rudest things directed at---me! Whining about having to work, telling me that I could just go ahead and call her mother--her mother doesn't do anything to her when I do. Her mother "don't care" what I say. And the wandering around the room! And we were standing in the hallway taking turns with the restroom/drinking fountain when I asked two boys to step back because they were blocking the way for others who were coming down the hall. Their immediate reaction was to step out into the hall just a little further while watching my face for a reaction. I reached for a book a boy had picked up off another table when he was supposed to be listening to me. So he quickly thrust it out of my reach and waved it wildly around trying to prevent my taking it from him and replacing it. And laughed, and so did three of his friends. I could go on...but I won't because it makes my blood pressure go up again.

Wed, Thurs, then Fri when at 12:20 they leave the school grounds. I am signed up to check out at 3:15 and then I leave the school grounds. Tick tick tick---time will go by and hopefully I will have achieved another year of teaching w/o committing a felony. I sometimes have to really restrain myself.

This Adjective is for Cool Guy

earth sign mama -- [adjective]: Visually addictive 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Okay, okay, I'll stop now.

My Obit

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

And the best part is: if you don't like the one they first tell you--go back and click again till you like what they say!

The Definition

earth sign mama -- [noun]: A real life terminator 'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Okay, this is fun!!

The Personality Test

Okay, I read about this on Foxyj's blog and I thought it suited her EXACTLY. But I don't know about mine.

For instance: I "adopt new things immediately"--hah! I'm always being dragged kicking and screaming into the future---just ask Cool Guy about our first answering machine. But I am getting better at accessing new stuff. Hmmm... and the "low neurosis" part. Not so much. But you read and decide. On the other hand: extrovert? Well, ya.

Your Five Factor Personality Profile

Extroversion: You have high extroversion. You are outgoing and engaging, with both strangers and friends. You truly enjoy being with people and bring energy into any situation. Enthusiastic and fun, you're the first to say "let's go!" Conscientiousness: You have medium conscientiousness. You're generally good at balancing work and play. When you need to buckle down, you can usually get tasks done. But you've been known to goof off when you know you can get away with it. Agreeableness: You have high agreeableness. You are easy to get along with, and you value harmony highly. Helpful and generous, you are willing to compromise with almost anyone. You give people the benefit of the doubt and don't mind giving someone a second chance. Neuroticism: You have low neuroticism. You are very emotionally stable and mentally together. Only the greatest setbacks upset you, and you bounce back quickly. Overall, you are typically calm and relaxed - making others feel secure. Openness to experience: Your openness to new experiences is high. In life, you tend to be an early adopter of all new things and ideas. You'll try almost anything interesting, and you're constantly pushing your own limits. A great connoisseir of art and beauty, you can find the positive side of almost anything.

The Five Factor Personality Test

Splash the Flash

May I just say: every Middle-Aged Woman should own a pool so that at the end of a difficult, sweaty day she can just slip into the cool water and swim her troubles away. Ahhhhh...

Counting

Life in the Portable Classroom:

The power went out yesterday just after the students left and this morning some electricians came in and fixed it up just in time for us to have class. But it was about 90 degrees in there since the AC had been off all night. We only had to survive for an hour and then the kids could go in the main building to music class.

But, in order to access the electrical panel to see why I didn't have any power, the electricians had to move my file cabinets. They were illegally set up right under the electrial box all year. I didn't know this was a safety violation until a week ago and I just hadn't taken time to unload them and move them. (They didn't actually block the electical panel door, but no one could stand there and do anything with the system since the file cabinets were there..)

So now the file cabinets are standing in the middle of the room, placed there by big men who didn't need to unload them first to move them. I can't budge them until they are empty. And anything that had previously been on top of them or near them on the floor is piled up randomly in a corner. These are all the items that I had piled near them on the floor to safeguard them from prying students, kleptomaniac students, greedy, nosey students.

I will eventually unload all the files and put them in boxes (or the trash) when I move out, but I still need to teach for a few days, and as sure as I take out or discard something, I'm going to be reaching for it so I hate to take it all away just now. Probably I'll unload some of the things from a couple of drawers that I'm somewhat confident I won't need, or I could unload them and keep the filled boxes in the room for a few more days...just till the curriculum is finished.

But the only real way to survive the last week of school is keep everyone busy, busy, busy.

Just one more drip from the Chinese Water Torture that this school year has been for a long time now.

6.5 days...

Movie Time

We just came home from seeing "Hairspray" the new musical-movie version of John Waters' film. A hoot!! I recommend it. John Travolta is outrageous as Edna Turnblad, Christopher Walken is super as Mr. Turnblad, everyone is really peppy. Really, it is good and we enjoyed it and we laughed over and over.

After having lived in Maryland all those years, and going to Baltimore so often, it felt quite homey to see the rowhouses, the familiar skyline, and the narrow streets with the shops. It was weird to step out of the theater and be in the middle of a casino in Las Vegas. I had been transported back East for two hours.

That's the dilemma of moving around. Too many places have become "home" and when I leave them, I keep missing little parts that I really loved while I lived there. Whenever I go back to Maryland, I realize how I liked this and that: the trees, the big rivers, a real city like Baltimore, all the history. But when I go back to California I totally love seeing the ocean, the golden hills, just the feel of the air and quality of the sunlight. It's so great there. Then, this week, Sunset magazine came and inside they have several pages of Grand Teton National Park and I left it open on the counter for two day to savor the sight of the sagebrush, the mountains, the aspens. Hmmmm...how can I be homesick for all these places at once??

Now Arriving At the D Gate

Yeah! We picked up Skye at the airport last night! She is home now from her Peace Corps Volunteering. She looks great huh? And this is after about 15 hours of traveling.

Her luggage did not come home with her. But it will arrive today sometime. It would not have been a good thing to be the customer service people at the Delta desk last night in the Las Vegas airport. Not a good thing at all.

Not because of us....we have the luxury of being in our own home and the luggage coming over today isn't much of a problem. It was all those other people, a couple of flights worth, whose luggage was MIA, that were in the long, long line, hoping to have a nice vacation but now have no clothes, who were questioning the "service" in customer service.

Skye pointed out that we Americans actually expect service. She was serene through the two hours of trying to figure out where, what, why because she has lived in a world where people don't form neat lines, or wait politely, or expect that they will receive satisfaction ultimately. So waiting and being patient and calm are qualities that she has developed and perfected.

Flywheel in the Freezer

There have been many unusual things occur in our home through the decades because of the motorcycle that lives in our garage. Parts have been baked in the oven, greasy rags have been cleaned in the washer (and then the washer drum has needed EXTENSIVE de-greasing.) Once, in a really sleazy rental house, an entire chopper was painted in the spare bedroom.

Today I came home to find the freezer rack on the counter and the ice cube holder out by the sink. My first thought was "Oh no---the fridge has gone KAPUT and all the food in the freezer is ruined!" I opened the freezer to find:

This S & S 93 cubic inch Stroker flywheel cooling off.

That way when it was time to fit the bearings on the shaft, Cool Guy could heat up the bearings on the stove and their metal would expand and the flywheel metal would be contracted and Voila--ease in assembly. Sure...no problem. Whatever is needed so that the motorcycle can be reassembled and I get a ride.

Atmospheric Pressure

There was something going on in my classroom this afternoon. Whew...we'd just gotten things settled down after I'd called in the student dean to take out two girls who were in shouting match that had been preceded by a note-writing "shouting match" that included ugly remarks WAAAAY past "I'm not going to be your friend." I only involve the dean when cursing and racial epithets are used.

Then, I was attempting to pass out homework when Girrrl A walked over to Girl B and used the classroom scissors to sever her backpack strap!!!! Girl B was very upset, "I'm going to be in trouble when I get home." And I assured her that no, it was Girrrl A who was in trouble. Just then out of nowhere, Girrrl C hauled off and smacked Girrrl A right in the face and the brawl took off.

I dashed right in and pushed them apart, and then wrapped my arms around Girrrl A trying to get her to calm down and sit in her chair. Nothing doing. Girrrl C is still shouting and snarling. Girrrrl A is writhing and kicking--down went two desks. She reached out and grabbed a chair--I pried it from her hands before it could get thrown.

I directed all my students to immediately take their backpacks and go outside to the next door neighbor's classroom. IMMEDIATELY. There was some foot dragging---Hey---it was quite a show. Most of them left, and that teacher quickly came over to my room to see what I needed. She pushed my call button, which I couldn't get to since I was busy trying to keep the tornado under control so she couldn't hurt me or herself.

Finally the Tornado spun herself out and lay on the floor sobbing. The bell rang, the VP and the Dean both showed up. We collected the Hitter, the Hittee (aka Tornado) and walked ourselves over to the office to write up some letters to parents: Your child is suspended until you come in for a conference.

I need to figure out how to get some Valium to put into my auto-air freshener that spritzes out a refreshing scent every thirty minutes. I can set it for as short an interval as 3 minutes. I think that'd keep the pressure down a little more. 16 1/2 days...

All Hail AAA

Yesterday, I left choir practice, got in my car and--nothing happened. The battery, which had worked just fine to get me to the church, had gone KAPUT while I was singing. I caught a ride home with some other ladies, and called Cool Guy for advice. "Use your AAA card and get it towed home."

Excellent advice! Then our friend (who manages an auto parts store) picked up a new battery and came over and installed it. It wasn't that easy. My first impulse--drive to a store, buy a new battery, take tools to the church parking lot, install it myself--would have been very difficult to execute. Plus, when I suggested that to Cool Guy (who is back East) and I said, "What's the worst that can happen?" He replied, "Oh you could break your fingers." Oh. It turns out to be a very tricky battery to remove and re-install. But our friend did it with only a cut finger--no breaks.

This afternoon I went out to the school parking lot about 6:10 (I was grading papers) to find: a flat tire!! Sigh. So I called AAA, and a very nice muscular gentleman showed up and did all the hard work. It was 111 degrees. It was hard enough just standing there watching.

So, I'm home again, again, so pleased that the wonderful Cool Guy, who has kept my vehicles on the road for all these years has purchased me a membership in AAA, since he isn't here in person to rescue me when I have car troubles.

Math Error

Oh, there are 22 days left...

"Home" Again, Jiggedy Jig

We moved back to the cabin today. It took about three trips. The first trip I had the students carry their own books. The next two trips I loaded them down with items I had carried over, bit by bit, in the three weeks we've been exiled. Then, I spent about two hours after school completing the move, and sorting and putting things away. Whew.

It still smells funky, but there are no more cheeping sounds in the air vents. Tonight I went to the store and bought a variety of air freshing items to attempt to mask the ick. The students reactions to being back were amusing: "I love this room!" "I'm so glad to be home!" etc. etc. There's nothing like your own stuff.

18 days!!!! Whoooo--hooooo!!!

(But, oy-vey--the things I have to get done in those 18 days...)

Weather Flash

Whew!! In the last 24 hours the humidity in Las Vegas has DOUBLED!!

From 8% to 15%.

Here's the forecast for Washington D.C. tomorrow:

Temp:
94 degrees

Humidity:
90%

I'll take the desert, thanks.

And I realized today, that when people say to me: "I couldn't stand summer there--it's just awful." Well, it is hot; really, really hot. But during Dec, Jan, Feb when those same people are staying indoors away from extreme cold temperatures, it is very lovely here in the desert. We get three months of difficult weather and nine months of totally moderate temperatures. Which is the exact opposite of my childhood.

Odor Update

What is it now? Three weeks since we were forced from our pathetic little "cabin" as the students sometimes refer to it, into the second grade classroom because of the Eau de Fowl wafting from the air vents? Oh, and don't forget--larvae.

Some workers came over and disconnected the air units on the roof and lifted them out of the way. One day I saw other workers on the roof with buckets...don't know what they did. Just last Thursday some workers came in and re-connected the air units and my room has been mysteriously vacuumed--the carpet at least--but my desktop is covered with...debris--dirt, crumbs of paint from the ceiling (I guess from workers walking on the roof) and feathers. The stench is unchanged. Hmmm.

I asked the secretary what she knows. In a nutshell: nothing. I'd be embarrassed to be the head secretary and give an answer like that.

In four days, we must move out of our present room. But we cannot move into another room because there will still be students in it. Somehow, we must overcome the time/space continuim and have our materials out of the second grade room before the second graders return, but not yet into the new borrowed room until those students depart...hmmm.

When It's a Dry Heat, It's Still HEAT

This is what you do when the thermometer reads 117 in the shade. Yes, 6:00 P.M.

4th of July

But, it's a DRY heat...

Progress?

Today as I left the school, a small of men were on the roof of my neighbor's portable, with buckets and tools, and stuff...maybe the cleaning crew?? We'll find out when we return on Thursday after our July 4th holiday break.

In the meantime, the pigeons are really appreciating the easy access to their nests, now that the pesky air conditioning unit is off the ducts and out of their way.

The Timetable

Okay, two weeks exactly since I told them about the stench and the maggots, today an electric crew came in to shut off the air conditioner for my portable classroom. Then another crew with a big crane lifted off the unit from the ducting.

The next step is for some haz-mat cleaning company to come and clean out the pigeons and debris. But we don't know when.

It's been more than two months since I first brought the birds-in-the-air conditioner problem to the attention of the office.

So, the question is: how long will it take for the rest of the problem to be solved so I can return to my classroom? On July 16 I must move somewhere, because the classroom I'm in now will need to be re-occupied by the second graders now on track break.

The Dilemma

Notes on having spent the last two weeks in a classroom inside the main building because my portable is uninhabitable:

• I don't go home sweaty because I don't ever have to go outside except to get in the car.
• The air conditioning is constant and comfortable.
• Students who need a drink just step out in the hall, get the drink, and come back into class and there's no hassle
• I get a lot more done on my prep because the copier/library/materials room are all right there...& if I forget a pen, or a transparency sheet, it isn't a 1/4 mile hike to get it.
• We have a window, so we have natural lighting; it feels so good.
• It doesn't have a "funny" smell--the portable always had a funny smell--even before the birds
• It's nice to have other people nearby.
• I can go to the bathroom if I have an emergency--the teacher next door can "cover" my class.

I heard from the office that someone is scheduled to come out this week and do the clean-up on the portables that have pigeon nests in the ducts (at least two). So possibly, we could return to our normal room in a week. Now, my dilemma is I've grown very fond of being back inside the regular building. Hmm...even if the room is small and I keep needing things that are outside. Good thing there are only 29 days left until I don't have to worry about this problem EVER AGAIN.

(Because I'll quit working as a teacher if I'm ever told I must teach in a portable in the future.)

Day and Night

DAY: Since we can no longer use my wretched portable classroom because of the foul/fowl odor and the random falling larva, I am holding class in a borrowed room. The second graders who normally use it are on track break. We squeeze our fourth grade selves in there and try to be academic. It is a challenge. Each student has a pile of books to deal with, but nowhere to store them. Over and over each day I reach for something that is...in the portable. Hmmm....punt.
We spent the last three days feverishly completing our Science Fair projects and displays to the exclusion of all else. Then I stayed until 6:00 P.M. today attending the Science Fair.

NIGHT: After cleaning house for a bit, then reading the newspaper, I went out and jumped in the pool. Then I soaked in the hot tub,and now I'm going to eat my supper, watch tonight's taped Jeopardy and go to bed.

My life is like NIGHT and DAY.

Picking Rocks

We decided to remove all the landscaping rocks around the pool so we could lay out new weed-deterent cloth, plant some new things and get rid of all the sneaky grass that has grown up through the rocks. It wasn't a very big area, so it didn't seem like a huge task. Good grief....I hope I never encounter an actual huge task. Duh. My Pollyana Brain always thinks jobs are going to be easier than they actually turn out to be.

One complication of my ill-timed ambition was the temperature. When I decided to start this after school on Thursday it was 105 degrees. Yup--105. But it was really evening and the sun was low enough in the sky as to not be actually shining on me. The pool wall created a shadow. But, nevertheless, the air temp was 105. Even in A Dry Heat this is not work weather. It was a small space, so mostly I was on my knees with a trowel scooping. Cool Guy was busy in the garage with some engine work so I worked alone until it was too dark to see.

Then Friday, Cool Guy came out and helped me for an hour and we cleared off another large area. But Friday it was 108. So after that hour, we looked at one another, put up the shovels and got in the pool. A FABULOUS IDEA!

At last using some common sense...we got up early on Saturday morning and finished the job while it was still shady on that side of the house and the air temperature was below 100. So, now we have naked ground ready for the new landscape cloth, more plants to soften the wall areas and a new load of rocks. Which I really, really hope will be easier to spread than to clear off. We'll see.

Ultimately though, this rock picking beats the rock picking I did as a farm girl: when I finish up here I can dive in the pool. Back then, finishing up for the day was followed by two hours of cow milking.

Sum-Sum-Summertime

Today is the Summer Solstice, the First Day of Summer, the Longest Day of the Year. I love summer. Summer used to mean hauling hay. But it also meant time to ride my horse, bonfires out in the pasture with dutch-oven potatoes followed by marshmallows on a stick. For ten years it meant I got my Real Life back---school was finished and I could stay home and do things around my house every day. Even though I've now taught school for 12 years, I stayed home and was the Mom for 19 years before that and so I'm not accustomed to being considered a "working woman" entirely.

Summer means sweet corn, blue crabs, fresh tomatoes and fire flies in Maryland. Summer means "late night, early morning low-cloudiness", hours at the beach, no rain, and strawberries in South California. Summer means twilight till 10:00, rodeos, and creamed fresh peas in Wyoming.

When I was a little girl summer lasted forever. We had our weekly swimming lesson at a pool that was filled by a natural hot sulfur spring, so we smelled like rotten eggs all the rest of the day. We'd build a little playhouse under the lilac trees with a blanket and pretend to be nurses, using our little brothers for patients. We'd lick a lilac leaf and plaster it on their arms and it would stick like a Bandaide. Sometimes we'd bring a snack into our shady cove by raiding the garden in the only row we were permitted to raid: the turnips. Mother planted the turnips for snacking, so we'd peel and slice it and bring out the salt shaker. They were juicy and a little bit spicy.

Some other blog maybe I'll recount the summer of a working farm girl. But not this one. This blog is for the joys of summer.

Who knew that I'd learn to love summer in the desert? We drove through the Mohave on the annual trek to The Grandmas for twenty years and I'd just grit my teeth as we survived another trip in the latest old vehicle with no air conditioning. But! Ten years of East Coast humidity taught me to finally understand the phrase, "But it's a DRY heat" and now, I just love 100+ degrees: I have a pool.

A Fowl Smell

Monday morning I went to work and spent about an hour in my classroom before the students arrived. I usually do this. But when the students came marching in following the morning announcements they all grabbed their noses and began to complain about the nasty smell. I had a very bad cold and could smell nothing since Friday. Often the carpet has an icky odor and then there is the funky smell of 10 year-old kids after a hot recess that has permeated the atmosphere. But no...this was evidently different.

Another teacher comes to my room on M-W mornings for an hour to give an extra lesson on writing to try to boost our school's fifth grade writing test scores. (She figures by starting on them in fourth grade, there's a better chance to get some improvement for fifth grade.) Well, when she stepped in the door, she too declared "Ick---something really smells in here--like the bottom of a bird cage, only worse." I stepped out and got the custodian. He concurred---bleh.

Evidently the pigeons whose babies we've heard cheeping in our air conditioner vent had reached a critical mass of guano, or perhaps there had been a fatality in the nest. Something foul and fowl-ish was wafting down from the air conditioner vent and the room reeked. Lucky me with the head cold! We opened the doors, I sprayed Febreeze all around. It didn't help much.

Then, just after her lesson finished, as we were starting math, a half-inch long maggot dropped from the vent and plopped onto a boy's desk at table 3. EEEKK!!! I calmly scooped it up onto an index card, folded the card over and stapled it shut into a little envelope. With ten minutes the fat juicy maggot had stretched itself thin and was wriggling out between the staples. DOUBLE EEEK!!! I dropped the whole thing into a cup.

When the students went to the library at 11:00 I went to the office with my maggot friend and had a cow. Bad plan. The next day I brought in homemade banana bread to mollify the secretary whom I'd alienated with my shouted "Why AREN'T maggots an emergency for maintenance!!??" I was directed to go yell at the principal because she (the secretary) didn't make enough money to get yelled at. Oops.

So--the solution? I moved out of my room with my class and their books to a teacher's room who is on track break. That worked for two days. Then I moved to another room because someone needed the previous room for something else. Today we had a field trip. But the rest of the week we're camping in a tiny room.

I've seen e-mails that indicate that perhaps next week some contract crew will come and remove the cause of the wretched odor and then someone else will come and put a wire grate over the opening the pigeons used to gain access to the air ducts. But not necessarily next week.

No, maggots are NOT an emergency. Sigh. Seven weeks to go.

Love/Hate

In keeping with the blog-fads, I submit the following:

25 Things I Love:

1. new books
2. swimming
3. the way horses smell
4. fresh tomatoes from my garden
5. the ocean
6. chocolate licorice
7. playing the piano when no one is listening
8. the first day of school
9. the last day of school
10. raw oysters
11. tulips and lilacs
12. Halloween decorations
13. Christmas
14. kneading bread dough
15. reading the newspaper
16. mushrooms
17. shrimp
18. clean sheets on my bed
19. Cool Guy
20. mountains
21. the smell of hay
22. driving across the country
23. the smell of sagebrush
24. dark chocolate
25. the hot tub

25 Things I Hate

1. cleaning the refrigerator
2. head colds
3. people spitting on the ground in public
4. hauling hay bales
5. parents who yell at and jerk their kid instead of just listening
6. teaching in a portable classroom waaaay out there
7. numb fingers and toes from cold weather
8. East coast high humidity
9. stupid people who drive erratically
10. running out of milk
11. feta cheese
12. black licorice
13. banana-flavored things
14. sleeping in a hot room
15. racial bigotry from anyone
16. vulgar movies rated PG-13
17. sore feet
18. bugs that fly into my face
19. cockroaches
20. taggers and their ugly graffiti
21. those filmy plastic shopping bags
22. litterers
23. arguments
24. menudo
25. mosquito bites

Music History 101

Today we had an assembly featuring a candidate for president who is good buddies with the person for whom our school is named. When our principal was informed that this visit would occur, complete with the full contingent of press, we kicked into gear and did a massive school-wide refresher of bulletin boards, wall-stuff, flower planting, etc. It was rather inconvenient and time-consuming and annoying to go through all this to be a photo-op, but we did it and the whole event was very nice. Our students behaved well, the questions they asked at the Q&A were pertinent, and the stroll through the halls with the reporters and entourage was very nice, blah, blah.

We had a performance by a group of second graders of the song "Yankee-Doodle Dandy" while they wore darling little three corner hats that were very red/white/blue and then they did a round dance to a recorded instrumental of "Yankee-Doodle Dandy."

When we returned to our fourth grade class-room several of my students were exclaiming with disgust "Why did they sing that stupid Barney song??" HUH? BARNEY SONG? I asked one of my more obnoxious girls to explain to me WHAT Barney song. She hummed "Yankee Doodle".

WHAT? BARNEY?

So we spent a few minutes while Mrs. Teacher explained that maybe Barney borrowed the tune, but that was no Barney song. We learned about its 200+ year history and the Continental soldiers who seized onto the British ridicule and made it their Revolutionary Pride Song.

Whew--the things I don't know they don't know. Wow.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

When I was a child I grew up in a world where, not only was everyone white, but many of them were my cousins. It was a very small town. However, I knew people of different races, I saw people of different races when we went to other towns, and of course I watched t.v. and saw a variety of people.

Today in my class--where I am the sole blonde/blue-eyed person---I showed them some photos of my trip to Morocco. Included in this were pictures of the taxi-man's son and nephew. When their sweet little faces came up on the screen (I used a CD in my computer and an LCD projector) a voice in my room called out, "They're white!" (They have black hair, olive skin and dark brown eyes.) These boys are in fact Berber children--whose ethnic origins I'm not quite sure of, although they are not Arabic. Hence: berber: barbarians--a moniker the local people of the area now called Morocco were given by the invading Arabs many centuries ago. But I digress...

My thought was when I heard that remark was, "Huh?" I mean why do these kids of mine ALWAYS point out the race of someone? There was an ugly slur delivered against a hispanic boy by a black student today because he was boiling mad about losing at marbles. Ironically, the hispanic boy has been a great buddy of the black kid for months and they frequently choose each other as partners in class. Whenever things get tense, racial remarks are ALWAYS used by my students. No one can ever be upset about the normal things of kid life in my class without the racial remarks being muttered, shouted, or whined.

When Archie Bunker first came to television I was a teenager. Most of the rude/colloquial terms he used when referring to people of other-than-his group I had never heard before. I'm confident my parents had opinions and prejudices but we didn't hear about it from their lips.

So what is wrong with these parents of my students that their nine year children are so conversant with the absolute worst part of American society---sterotyping with ugly racial comments??

It's Just So Random

Saturday I attended a family reunion with my brothers and sisters and our extended families. Lots of tiny babies! We had a great time. It was held at a large waterpark/amusement park complex in Utah.

My daughter and I took her two little ones over to the pool area and dressed in our swimsuits. Just then, my son called to say that he was at the front gate, and his wife was feeling well enough to come with them afterall, so could I meet them with the extra ticket. Sure--I couldn't walk through the park in my bathing suit, so I just pulled on my djellaba--a long gown worn by many people in Morocco over their other clothing when going out. Then when they are out in public they are the shape of a door--a modest Muslim dresses this way. (It is pronounced gel-laba.)

As I went out the gate to the parking lot, the woman ahead of me stopped to hold the gate and commented: "That's a lovely djellaba!"
I replied in astonishment, "Thank you...Wow! You know it is a djellaba!"
She nodded and went on "Did you get it in Morocco?"
"Yes, "I told her, and that we just returned from a visit to our daughter who is there in the Peace Corps.

This lady, too, was a Peace Corps Volunteer who'd served in Morocco, south and east of the area where our daughter is living. We exchanged a little more conversation and then separated to go on with the day.

Now, ISN'T THAT JUST SO RANDOM?

A Big Thank You to Mother Nature

Today, my class went on a field trip that included a walk along a desert nature trail. (For those of you not familiar with the desert, or who may be snickering "Oxymoron: desert/nature" there is a whole amazing world out here in the desert--it's just subtle.)

In preparation for this field trip I'd pointed out that on this trail in a previous visit I'd seen rabbits, lizards and many birds. But in order for them to see these creatures, it would be necessary to walk quietly and keep out a sharp eye.

Then, when we arrived at the site our guide briefed us for the walk also reminding everyone to walk carefully, and when they spotted some wildlife, to "freeze and point" and then everyone would see the signal and we could observe without frightening away our desert friend.

So, now the pressure was on. What if we went the whole length of the path and didn't see anyone?? These students mostly live in apartments, in a world of concrete with their only "wildlife" experience the pesky pigeons who are nesting on our portable classroom roof.

BUT--just like someone had been sneaking ahead of us and planting them--every few yards we got to freeze and point! We saw four lizards, a jackrabbit and a cottontail, several quail and three enormous crows who just glared back at us as though we were the attraction and they were the visitors. Oh, and a beautiful carmel colored dragon fly landed on a bush and some of my eagle-eyed students pointed it out to us all. Cool.

Plus, we finished the twenty minute walk all extremely grateful that we weren't on the old California trail, with "just four more weeks" until we reached our destination. Wow, how DID those pioneer ancestors do it?

The Settlement

We were able to settle out of court, when today a lady came by and picked up the little dog.

I got home last night and there, on the light pole by our mailbox, was a poster advertising a lost dog who fit the description of our guest. This morning the lady returned my phone call (she'd left her cell at work) and we handed over the little mopster an hour ago.

Kitty Cat is breathing easier. Now, if she could just find a hit man for the birds...

Why Kitty Cat Filed the Lawsuit

Well, first, a little bedraggled doggie turned up on our doorstep Saturday morning. We thought he was with the boy selling something for his school, but hours later, the little dustmop with paws was still lying there. And it was 100 degrees. So we gave him a bowl of water, which he promptly consumed. And then we carried him into the back yard so he could lay on the grass in the shade of a tree. THE OUTRAGE!! A dog in her yard!!

Then we gave him a packet of Kitty-Chicken. UNBELIEVABLE!!

He was so dehydrated that we were afraid he might die overnight--he could hardly walk, he was shaking, his eyes were cloudy. He looked tough. But by Sunday afternoon, he was up and walking and toddled over to the door, and came into the dining room. THE NERVE!!

Then, last night when I came home from the airport, Kitty Cat was batting a small bird around the front yard and I picked her up so she wouldn't kill it. Just then, some other cat leaped off the wall and snatched up the birdie in its mouth and the birdie let out a loud squeak and then was silent as the other cat ran away....oh.

This morning the parents of the bird (who have spent a great deal of time shrieking at Kitty Cat whenever she ventures into the yard) were physically dive bombing her on the patio. And it wasn't even her who got to torture the baby bird and have a wonderful time doing so!!!

So, that's why she hired the lawyer. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!

Harvest Time at Rancho Las Vegas

Hey, hey, hey! We're eating tomatoes--fresh picked, vine ripened. So, this belies the common rumor that you can't grow tomatoes in Las Vegas. You can grow them, but you must plant them in March, and keep them well watered, pick off the green worms, and get them all eaten in May and June because in July the heat will cook the plants in the ground.

Actually I read that the reason they don't do well in mid-summer is that the air temperature is so hot, 24/7, that the blossoms don't set into fruit. And that may well be true. This week has been very hot--98, 99, even 100 degrees, but night is still "cool"--it goes down to 70. But this "cool" time has been enough, or perhaps it hasn't yet been hot for enough days in a row to affect my plants, because they are still flowering and setting fruit.

And the compost bin is working great! We dumped out a batch of lovely dirt-smelling soil tonight and put it in a storage bin. When I clear out the lettuce (going to seed) I'll dig in some of this awesome dirt to the area and watch the crookneck and zucchini grow. I love this job!!

News Flash

Today I had a doctor appointment with another specialist to see if I can find a reason for the continual pain in my right hip--the pain that was supposed to be taken care of 11 months ago with the surgery...sigh. It's Back!!

Anyway, among the many things we ruled out were lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, and fibromyalgia---Whew.

But, one thing he has postulated that could be a cause: (here's the news flash)

I have flat feet.

He pointed this out while examining various tendons and pressure points to rule out several of those other icky diseases one wouldn't wish on an enemy.

Yes!! Flat feet!! Once again, a master of the obvious, noting that I have no arches. When I get out of the pool it looks like Donald Duck was walking on my patio. I even have knobby knees because of my life time of pronated ankles and totally, like a pancake, with no curve whatsoever, FLAT FEET. Yes, I knew that.

Anyway, his point being (and I don't mean to ridicule him--he is an excellent doctor and I really feel confident in his plan to get more data from blood tests and look into this further) that perhaps this is a muscular-skeletal problem from a life time of odd-feet. Hey...weirder things have happened.

Stay tuned.

Grad Student

I almost forgot! I have been accepted to San Jose State University in the School of Library and Information Science master's degree program. I got an e-mail on Friday telling me so. I don't live in California so they let me in their special all on-line program. I feel a little nervous now that I've actually been told "yes". It seemed like a great idea a few months ago when my daughter suggested it...I hope it continues to be a great idea as I pursue this degree. I realize that I enjoy sitting in classes and asking questions of an actual person most of the time. On the other hand, not having to drive to a location away from home, after working all day, also seems like a massive luxury.

I'll probably need to replace the laptop that was stolen from our house and clean off my desk in the spare room. My real concern is that I'm starting at a new school with a completely different format (I'm going to teach writing to a series of fourth grade classes) plus start grad school all the same week in August. Whew. Nothing ever happens one at a time in real life, does it?

Anyway, at the other end of the odyssey will be a master's degree that I can use in school as a librarian, or I can go to work at a library if I ever get completely burned out on school. I can also work part-time as an old lady, too, as life goes on and the full-time gig becomes too difficult. At the very least, I'll be able to advance on the salary scale in my district. Library work--it seems like letting the fox guard the chicken coop in my case--how will I ever get anything done surrounded by all those words I haven't read yet??

Happy Birthday

Today is my sister's birthday. I'm 54, she would have been 53, but she died two years ago. We were born 15 months apart--to the day. Once my mom told me why; I guess since I was a mother at the time she felt I was a fellow adult to whom she could tell that story. It was amusing, and it revealed my mom to be the youngster she was at that time--24 with three kids.
(It seems that her mother was sleeping on their couch that night,visiting in order to be to an early morning appointment, and my mom was too embarrassed to get up in the middle of the night and fetch her birth control from the bathroom in case her mom would awaken and figure out that---oh no!---her married daughter had sex with her husband...[they'd been married six years.] My mom laughed about it when she told me.) At the time, I was pregnant with #3 in three years. Hyper-fertility runs in the family?

My sister's birth has an story, too. Our dad worked days as a farmer and nights at the concrete batch plant at the site of large dam being built about 60 miles from our home. My mom would fret because it was dangerous and he got very little sleep during that year. He was usually home by morning to milk their couple of cows--she milked them in the evening. But this day he didn't come home and she was at the hospital. I don't know who milked, or who drove her there, or where my two older sisters and the baby (Me) were hanging out. But Mother was there, with a new baby girl and he came strolling in around 11:00 A.M. She been worrying about him being hurt or killed at work all the while she was in labor and getting a ride and finding a sitter and--and--She was so happy to see him alive and well she forgot to yell at him for stressing her so.

There'd been a chance to work overtime for a few hours and he, and the friend he rode with, took the opportunity to earn the extra money. As they drove into the north end of town (our farm was seven miles south of town) my dad said to his friend driving, (again--according to Mother--) "Let's swing past the hospital and see my new baby." There were no cell phones, he didn't have any way to know for sure. My mom said his friend was all "Yeah, right," and then had to eat his words when VOILA there was a new baby!

And she was the CUTEST baby! Her hair was dark at first, but grew into a white fluff that stayed platinum blonde her entire life. I'm sure that many people assumed she colored it. Nope. She was always a little disappointed that none of her children inherited her super blonde hair. Maybe a grandchild will.

We were always treated as a unit, even though we didn't look alike. Yes, we were both blonde, but I was usually taller and my hair was never as pale as hers. But our proximity in age and our matching dresses, which were handed down from our two older sisters, tended to blur us together for many. And, we were together all the time. Since we lived out there on the farm, we were each other's playmate.

Then when we got old enough to do chores like milking and hauling hay we were a killer team. As teenagers, we were buff and cute. One summer my dad decided to haul his own milk to town every morning. So we usually did it. Hey--it was a chance to drive! We'd pull up to the creamery and back up to the rack to unload the ten gallon cans. We may have had about nine cans, I forget. And it was hard work--the rack was positioned for the milk trucks, not a pick-up. We had to lift them up. One of us would get on the rack to receive and the other stand in the bed and hand them up. We probably set ourselves up for a lifetime of bad backs, but we were NOT going to ask any of those men standing around to help. We were tough enough. Looking back, the men probably enjoyed the show. It also makes me realize why we didn't get many dates. We probably scared off the boys.

We slept in the same bed until I graduated from high school and left home. She was very noble about this considering that I was a bed-wetter for a long, long time. We took swimming lessons together--she passed beginners in one year, and it took me three. We took piano lessons together. She didn't really like it, but I still play today. We tormented and tortured our little brother together. He has grown up to be a very fine adult despite us. The biggest problem she had as my sister is that school was easy for me. I was a good reader and spelling was a snap. She struggled with reading, needed speech therapy, and didn't spell worth a darn most of her life. This was a problem because we went through the same schools with teachers expecting her to be me academically. She always worked really hard and got mediocre results and I didn't work very hard and did well. She became an avid reader as an adult because she spent so much time convalescing from a ridiculous number of surgeries and reading became a delight to her. Practice makes perfect!

This blog will be much too long if I continue to tell you all the things we did together, or the ways in which our lives diverged. But she was such a great sister, that it didn't matter how far apart we were geographically, or in lifestyle, as soon as we got back together, it was just like no time had gone by. I was so shocked when she died suddenly just after her 51st birthday. It's like a part of me is gone, too. I still have four other sisters living. As dear as they all are, none of them have the same significance as she does because for almost twenty years, everything I did, she did too, mostly--right beside me. So when I say a part of me is gone, it really is--my other ears, my other eyes--the other half of our childhood. The hole heals over, but the surface is soft as a cobweb and I have to be careful so it doesn't tear.

Notes on the Trip

We didn't need the diarrhea medicine. There.
But I think I need it now. Or maybe it's just stress.

Traveling is stressful. Good stress is just as stressful as bad stress.

Breakfast is such a different concept in other countries/cultures.
As a child, we had a "balanced" meal: fruit, cereal, meat, eggs of some form--every single day.
As a mother, I was boring: cereal and bananas, or pancakes and bananas, or eggs and bananas.
As an adult: 1 banana, 1 glass of chocolate milk, 1 toasted English muffin--usually in the car as I drive to the school.
In Morocco--heavily influenced by France--split baguettes with butter and jam on the side, mint tea or coffee (hot cocoa for me). Then you sit and eat it for about an hour as you enjoy the lovely morning air by the sea. You can also toast the baguettes on the grill.

Driving in Morocco seemed random in that the traffic rules were quite free-form. On the highway, to pass, you would go up very close to the big truck in front of you, slightly straddling the lines and then when an opportunity presented itself, you would roar around the truck and pull back in front of it quickly, because likely there was another vehicle approaching, maybe passing their own big truck. This did not result in angry honking, or finger-gestures. It was the routine.

Cool Guy and I discussed this, and we think that many of the driving techniques result from the personal space differences there in the crowded cities, and in their culture. It wasn't a problem to drive really close and share the same lane, or crowd past someone so close it made me gasp, or the pedestrians would frequently touch your car as they passed (not a slap or rebuke). And--often you saw two men walking together shoulders touching, even arm in arm--women were usually arm in arm or holding hands, a group of young boys would be a unit--they were so close together as they walked. It is just normal to be closer physically there than in the U.S. So evidently that also transfers to driving.

Interestingly--the personal closeness in public does not apply to man/woman couples. There is NO PDA or even touching or proximity. Very hashuma. Also the only people who would be together as man/woman would be a married couple. But--keep your distance. (of course, tourists don't count in these rules.)

Chwarma is delicious. Someone in the U.S. needs to start a chwarma craze and franchise it all over the country.

I don't know how they get milk from those skinny cows.

What are the sheep eating in that seemingly rock and dirt "pasture"?

Goats can climb trees.

I prefer toilet paper from the United States--so spoiled here with our septic systems.

I prefer toilet paper.

Ice is nice, but very American.

Now, I'm an International Grammar Cop. (they spent a lot of money and design effort in the new parts of the Madrid airport and it is very classy--I was surprised by the occasional English grammar-flubs in the official signage--you'd think they'd have really checked that.)

Best thing I took: several packets of travel-sized wet wipes and "personal cleansing cloths".

What I didn't need: so many changes of clothes. And I really packed light. You can wear the same clothes for more than 24 hours, no problem. Just washing your hands and face can sometimes feel like a whole bath.

Outside the city, I didn't look at men directly. I got a very hostile vibe if I did. Hmm.

I'll never complain about the rocks on my father's farm again---they were nothing compared to most of the farm land I saw in Morocco.

Parts of Morocco near the city of Marrakesh look amazingly like Iowa--large cultivated fields with properous looking farm sites: a grouping of buildings with hay stacks, and barns. But if you looked closely you'd see donkey carts alongside the combines and tractors. And every village has a mosque tower.

School girls walking along in groups, chattering back and forth, wearing backpacks--but also wearing head scarfs and long jalabbas.

Pink houses---like it's a rule.

Except in Essouira where the official colors are blue and white. It's very soothing to see all the buildings that aren't just stone painted white with blue trim.

Morocco is a very geometric place: the buildings are quadrilaterals--mostly squares, and the doorways are curves. Windows: rectangles or squares. Bread: circles. People: rectangles.

An American passport is a fine thing to possess.

Jet Lag

Which continent is this?
What time zone?
What does the clock say?
Is that A.M. or P.M?

I think I'll take a nap.

Special Guests

We ate dinner withTaxi-Man, and his family. There is no experience to compare it too, other than being royalty or something, I guess. (names are in code, BTW)

We arrived in Skye's douar (neighborhood) in the evening. It is a long, long drive from Marrakech. She often referred in her blog of taking the taxi drive to a town in Tiznit province, a nearby city-ish type of community, where the internet cafe is, and better shopping. It's like Skye lives in Smoot and this town is Idaho Falls and there is no Afton. We had stopped in there to get a few vegetables, check her mail and do cyber-cafe, and then we headed up into the hills to her home. I'll have to post some photos when we get back home where I can do it better, so it will be hard to describe her house without them. Most houses there are two-story, with the bottom floor being a large garage, or a place where you can put your shop, or your cow. Then you climb the steep cement stairs up and around to the living quarters. Also cement floors--that's why there are so many lovely rugs in all the shops. Skye's house is, ummm...basic. "But," she revels, "I have a faucet! and my toilet flushes." And she does have a refrigerator and sink, also with faucet. Her toilet is a squat toilet--tiled hole in the floor with places where you place your feet and then--well--squat--then you pour the bucket down it and it goes into a cesspool arrangement under the house. It does not smell, but it takes a little getting used to. But it beats the calf pen in the middle of the milking barn!!

We changed into our long skirts--the girls did--and we drove up to Taxi Man's house. We were met in the front by a neighbor boy who was daring enough to greet us, then several other neighbor women and some children greeted me, but immediately evaporated at the sight of Mustach (Cool Guy's new name in Morocco--all the street vendors call this out to him.) We entered the courtyard of Taxi-Man's house and it was the royal treatment from that moment on.

Grandfather met us--hand kissing, bowing, grandma met me (too shy to greet Cool Guy) handkissing, cheek kissing, bowing, asalaam alaykums all around. The mom met us and kissed cheeks, she was brave enough to greet Cool Guy, the 14 year old daughter, met us, we were invited into the kitchen where she was chopping onions for our tajine dinner. Grandpa went to another room to watch t.v.--loud t.v. because he is mostly deaf--the 7 year old son came into the living room with us, and Skye, Cool Guy, me and Taxi-Man sat on pillows and talked. All through this whole scene of greetings, there was the two year old girl like a little whirlwind zipping around, chattering, greeting, hollering, snatching stuff from people--acting like a two year old!! Once she was showing off a pretty scarf (the mom, grandma and daughter all wore an inside head wrap--it covers your hair but not your face) but Whirlwind doesn't wear anything on her curly black hair that was pulled back into little pigtails. But when she dropped the scarf on the floor near me and I picked it up and started arranging it on my head---THAT was the wrong thing to do. She immediately burst into tears and stood by her dad wailing and pointing, "Whirlwind's (some word in Tashelheit I don't know)!!!" It was a crisis till I gave it back. Whew.

I started blowing bubbles (I brought several bottles) and that smoothed things over a bit. Then Skye spoke for me while I gave Whirlwind a stuffed duck, her brother and cousin (a little cousin from the way outback living with them so he can go to school) and the big sister all got zipper bags with a few pencils, pens, and some stickers and a post-it pad in them. Hugely popular!! Especially with the country cousin who Skye loves and says is so shy and loves every little bitty thing anyone gives him because everything is a novelty.

Then, the ladies brought out the party clothes and Cool Guy and I were dressed in the regalia--silver headwear, necklaces, embroidered skirts and veils, etc. etc. Cool Guy mostly got to wear the long man gown called a jalabba. Then we took photos, and Skye explained how this was the normal dress for the endless stream of special holidays and feasts constantly being held. Taxi-Man pointed out that his wife has embroidered all the fancy work on the clothing and it is yet being embellished as the years go by. It's impressive.

We were first served bread from the clay oven with condiments like honey, oil, and a nutty tasting dip from argon oil and ground nuts. Then we were served tajine---a little clay casserole-like dish with a cover. The onions, peas, tomatoes and other flavors are laid in the bottom, then tiny meatballs were put over that and then the heavy lid is put on it and it is placed in the oven to cook. It was very lean and tasty beef. We ate it by scooping up from our section a mouthful with a little chunk of bread. We were offered citron soda (just like Squirt) or Coke. Skye says this was an ultra-special occasion, she's never been served soda at his house. Desert was slices of melon, or oranges and apples that we cut and peeled ourselves. We were paunched. Mom and sister served us but didn't eat with us, only the one brother. The rest were too shy to eat with Cool Guy and Whirlwind had burned herself into the ground like only a two year can, and was in bed asleep.

We ate sitting on our pillows, from a short round table that afterward was cleaned up and stacked back up in the corner on another one like it. They also have a china cabinet piece of furniture in this room, where mom put away all the fancy clothes, and the serving trays. But the rest of the furnishings are carpets, and pillows with pictures on the wall. One of the pictures is a Muslim representation of the lineage of religion, basically. It is a tree, with the root being Adam, then he read us the names as he pointed up the trunk and out onto the branching limbs. Noah, Moses, Abrahim--then it branched off in a fork--Ishmael and Mohammed are on that side and David, Solomon and Jesus are the other side. All the great prophets from which we can all learn.

Taxi-Man spent a lot of time waxing philosophical about religion, world peace, the brotherhood of mankind, what a wonderful daughter we have, what great parents we are, how welcome we are to come to his home anytime, and if he came to America he was likewise welcomed to our home we assured him. He explained that we had no need to ever worry about Skye, he protected her like his own daughter. (And she concurred.)

We also received two lovely gifts: a beautiful silver tray with little ball feet that is very elaborate with designs and cutwork from the duar association whom Skye has been assisting in their quest to build a community sewer system. They got the grant money and it is being built even as we speak--it more of a large soak basin that will last for many many years and prevent sewage from going into the river, which is a source for many to wash clothes, and bath. The "river" is currently a dry bed right now--no rain this year. This makes the sewage drain basin even more critical, because now the sewage just sits there, instead of being washed down the river and diluted. The other gift was shoes for us---the cool red and yellow Moroccan shoes, mine are even embroidered with elaborate colors. My large American feet defeated this gift...but the shoes will stretch Taxi-Man assured me, and I intend to stretch them because they're pretty cool.

Okay, we finally got all of our greetings accomplished and we left, you can see every star in the sky there---no yard lights! We went back to Skye's house, sat up on the roof for a while and admired the stars and heard the dogs howl and slept until we were awakened by the 4:30 A.M. Call to Prayer at the mosque just down the street. Then the street got very busy with donkey carts, and trucks and taxis because Monday is market day there. Only men go to market, BTW, in this little area. And they sit outside along the street and talk loudly, too. The school is just around the corner from her house and the kids were yelling and playing just like kids do everywhere. So foreign and yet so similar. We packed up and headed back out to the city of Essouraira where we are now---about five hour drive from her place. It's on the ocean and tomorrow we'll go up to Casablanca to get on the plane for Spain.

We're shopping and this afternoon we're going to the public baths. Then, later, the French Organic Restaurant for supper. Periodically I do a reality check---Eek! Morocco!! Like last night when we came out of the restaurant: it was dark, we're in the medina (the old walled city) and so all the doorways are arches. We stepped from the lighted restaurant into the cobble-stone alley and a shadow came along the opposing alley and across that doorway passed a women completely obscurred in veils and wraps. She went by quietly and we kept walking through the walled paths until we came to a large blue door, for which we had the key, and went in to climb four flights of steep brick stairs to the little patio where our rooms are, overlooking a battery of cannons from 1760 lining the wall along the edge of the sea. The surf is crashing in thunderous blows and the wind is blowing, but you can see some stars. Way cool---I'm having a good time.

Traveling Through Morocco

We arrived in Casablanca, late--but Skye wasn't alarmed because in Morocco one doesn't try to hurry things along. It only results in frustration. We got a rental car and drove for about three hours to Marrakech. Lots of farmland, lots of sheep, cows (unbelievably skinny cows) decrepid donkeys-just hairy tractors basically. There were some large well-kept compounds: a ten foot wall surrounding the house and gardens and outbuildings, with the two story cistern. There were rundown tiny little houses/compounds. There are many tractors, plus the donkeys--huge loads of hay passed us continually. I was looking at one side of the road, saying "I don't know what that is..." referring to a plant, and Cool Guy said, pointing the other side of the road, "But you know what THOSE are." A field full of bales!!

The countryside is remarkably like the desert southwest in America. Same geology, same plants, similar topography. The highways here are really modern and well maintained, we traveled part of the way on a new super-connector highway. The city of Marrakech is bustling and the streets are a mishmash of scooters, bicycles, donkey carts, overloaded trucks, taxis and the occasional tourist who foolishly thought they could drive here. Actually, Cool Guy is doing an excellent job--he's been in training for this traffic in Tel Aviv, he says. I just sit with clenched teeth and shallow breathing as the Collision Ballet is performed around me. Amazingly--no one hit anyone, no pedestrians were killed or even bumped. I don't know how!!

We're on our way to Skye's house tonight (been driving all day in succession through twins of:
San Joaquin Valley
Southern Utah
Nevada
Southern Idaho--south of Burley on 84 headed to Utah.

Weird how similar the plants, geology etc. is.) You get the reality check with the road signs in Arabic and French, the overloaded taxis, the gendarmes who stopped us to check us out at an intersection and Skye pretended to not understand their French which was basically an invitation to give them a "little something" for our alleged infraction.

I'll write some more in a couple of days. We're out of tourist land mostly here and so people stare. We're eating with Skye's taxi driver's family tonight. He's been texting her all day on her phone for updates of our progress. She texts him back to be patient and relax, we'll be there when we get there...

Our food so far has been totally delicious--of course, most of it was in nice restaurants in Marrakech--Italian one night and Thai another. But we ate lunch in the souk and it was chwarma--a chicken thing in bread and it was yummy. Cool Guy eats it all the time in Israel and was pleased to find it here, too. Lots of juice and fruit--everything room temp. Ice is not a feature of Morocco.

I'm amazed at how much French I understand. And how readily it comes back to me when I try to speak to people. I can make simple sentences, and have no trouble reading menus and road signs and directions. Cool...Although I did explain in French today to our proprietess as we left our lodging that I enjoyed her riad Mucho...duh...instead of bien. But enough Spanish people come there that she knew what I meant.

Au Revoir for now!!

Gift Shopping

I needed a gift for a two year old who lives in Morocco. I have purchased the older kids' gifts: mostly pencils, stickers, art paper. But the two year old needs a gift, and pencils are just not it.

So, I went to a store I frequent where I could also obtain travel-sized wipes, light bulbs, and some new socks, and wandered through the toy section.

Hmmm...nothing with Dora, Princesses, or Barbie. None of them were wearing headscarves. Playdough? No, the child IS two--duh. Nothing with letters or numbers--wrong alphabet. Cutting food? Might be cool, but I'm restricted by the weight and I don't know if some of the items would be recognized as food...

Stuffed toys? Not the pig. Not the puppies. Do they have pets at all? Lamb? I'm not sure. There is a holiday involving the ceremonial death of a sheep--would a stuffed lamb seem sacreligious?

Finally I settled on a plush duck. It is easily recognized as a duck and I can't think of anything I've ever read that would make it tabu in any way.

Whew.

The Ant and the Grasshopper on Vacation

For thirty-two years, 11 months, and 21 days this marriage has survived the blending of methodical versus whatever. Well, maybe it has been more like, "There's no way that the fan structure of the truck will survive the round trip even if we come up with enough money for the gas," versus "We can leave right after it gets dark and then we'll be through the desert by morning and then...[a miracle happens]....and we successful get home safely in two weeks."

It has been ever thus. I optimistically plan some adventure on a wing and a prayer. Cool Guy frets out all the details--many of which are never needed. Sometimes we need the miracle---like the lady at the grocery store in Bishop CA willing to loan me the gas money to get home before Cool Guy deploys with the Marines to the Middle East, because my wallet/checkbook was misplaced under a motel bed in Reno. Sometimes we needed the details fretted over---He buys me new tires, gets me a membership in AAA. And sometimes it's a combination of both:

We were driving up to Wyoming from Southern California in an ancient vehicle (with a rebuilt engine--ta da) and yet, in icky Baker something was messed up. We pulled into the gas station with the service bay doors locked up for the night and, as I waited in the truck with the sleeping children, Cool Guy starts to unload the trailer to get to his tools. This required rolling out the fancy-schmancy Harley chopper he'd carefully built and was taking north for a fun run with the old pals. As I watched this scene through the review mirror, I see the young kid who's manning the all-night gas station admiring the bike, then SITTING ON THE BIKE, (hmmm...what's up with THAT?), then unlocking the service bay doors and wheeling out the welding equipment---oh, I see! So Cool Guy fixed our problem, loaded up the trailer again, and we had a lovely trip after all, visiting the grandmas and running with the biker buddies. I have the faith, he has the skills.

So we're getting ready for the trip to Morocco. I'm packing up colored pencils and sticker pads to bring to Skye's little friends, Cool Guy is discussing my need to pack one set of spare clothing in my purse in the event of my luggage getting lost. See, I never considered for a minute that my luggage might go somewhere than where I'm headed. But, that's why I have Cool Guy as my adviser. And he has me to sooth him with "It's no problem for me to just wear a scarf on my hair for five days" rather than have him scour the town for a plug adapter for my curling iron---no problem. That' why I have this hair---I'm lazy. Yet--he found the correct adapter. I could yet go with the scarf occasionally, there may not be electricity in some of the places we're visiting.

The point is: he brings the "what if" and I bring the "whatever" and together he keeps my stuff from being lost and I keep him from losing the good time. It's been working so far. This trip ends on our 33rd anniversary. But the collaboration won't end for a looooong, loooong time.

But Who's Counting?

There are only three school days until I will get a three week "track break" from my students. We are out of school May 9-May28. Whew. Being a drill sergeant day in and day out is wearing me down. But it seems to be the only effective method for getting them to sit down, clam up, and not talk back.

One week from today, we will arrive in Morocco. (!!) I am excited to see our daughter who is there in Peace Corps. I am nervous about traveling to a country where I am unable to speak the language. This will be the first stamp my passport has received and it is a little daunting. But, I have the experienced traveler Cool Guy to accompany me, and of course, our daughter who has lived there for a year and does speak in the local tongue.

The real challenge is to pack my suitcase so it will hold the clothes I need for a week there (and not a single extra garment) and the gifts I am bringing to her host family and taxi man's family, as well as the little niceties I usually mail to her at the postage cost of double the value of the items. Peanut butter and Doritos are special gifts to the expatriot.

The only one not excited about it is Kitty Cat. She actually knows what those open suitcases mean now.

Swimwear

Swimwear is on my mind because it was 95 degrees yesterday and I went swimming. It was nice getting in the pool and exercising. I love to swim and I love being able to swim just by walking into my back yard.

Which brings me to swimwear. A month ago Cool Guy and I went on a trip which included staying in a motel a couple of nights, but on the road, I realized I'd forgotten to pack a swimsuit. We always hot tub at motels because it feels nice to soak after traveling. So, we stopped off at a clothing store when we reached our destination and I hurried in to find a suitable suit. I now have three swimming suits, but I don't consider this excessive because I actually do swim quite a bit, and if I swim in the morning, then it is nice to get into a dry suit after lunch to swim again. Plus, if you shop at the stores that sell last season's fashions (Marshalls, T.J. Maxx, etc.) then suits are really inexpensive.

So, I picked out several selections to try on and chose one that is really similiar to a suit I have and like--the front has a sort of wrap over, shirred kind of panel that successfully diverts the eye from the fat layers I've grown on my midsection...It had a bra-like thing in it, but I figured I'd just cut it out like I did the other suits I have because, duh! who wants to swim in a bra??

Later that evening as I put on the suit--over my skin, rather than over my undies as is necessary in the store dressing room--I became aware of lots more than a bra---the interior of the suit was entirely involved in some type of corset-like contraption. Cool Guy saw me puzzling over it and he plucked off this tag, attached to the suit. It describes the thing as a "flexible casing" with a "control panel"--it was built right into the suit. The directions (if you can read them) direct the wearer to "roll on your SHAPE DETECTOR like you would a pair of pantyhose". Egads!! Why would I want all of this in a swimsuit?? Torture devices in which to relax?? Maybe someone does want their suit to lift and separate, but mostly I just want my suit to cover me enough that I can go into public without causing some law enforcement activity. I want to be comfortable when I swim, I don't need to be controlled.

CoolGuy got out his multi-purpose Leatherman device and we used the scissors to snip away the entire inner "flexible casing" (trust me--designed to mold the wearer ala keilbasa) and we finally were able to get on our way to the hot tub. My shape was undetectable. No problem.

Fashion Ick

Message to a lady I saw today:
I know that you didn't want panty lines. But when the fabric of your pants is so thin that a person walking behind you can see the shadow of the crack and the two moles on your left cheek...maybe underwear lines wouldn't be so bad.