Birthday, Birthday

Today we celebrate two members of the family.

Born just two weeks ago: Wee Bird! She is our fourth grandchild and we just returned from a week of helping at their house. CoolGuy and I double-teamed the big sister and brother so Mom could rest up and recover. We're exhausted. There's a reason why young people have babies and toddlers. But we really enjoyed ourselves immensely. There's nothing like being grandma and grandpa. We were even able to spend an afternoon and evening with our son and his wife and our #1 grandson.

The other birthday is for a person born 87 years ago today, my father. I've blogged about him several times. He died far too young, 26 years ago, and it is interesting how his influence on our family remains so strong. I credit our mother for some of that, because she and he were a true team. They functioned as a unit and even after he left, things were done with the consideration of how "your dad would have wanted it." They were really equal partners.

Here's a story from his childhood, just for fun. Remember, he was orphaned by age eight and raised by relatives on a big farm. This is an excerpt from a memoir I wrote about all the stories of his life he told me over the years--most of the stories were told just once, in casual conversation, as we were working.

Another chore he had was snaking logs down off the hill in the winter. In the summer, they’d go cut the trees, and then when there was snow on the ground, they’d drag the logs out behind a horse. When Daddy was twelve, he said he’d spend every Saturday dragging logs off the mountain. He was so tired one night, and came in the house after dark. There was a huge party in the big house, (as there often was), and there was a very large lady blocking his way from getting through the doorway, so he could go upstairs to his room, where he fervently wanted to be—stretched out on the bed. He stepped this way and that, and she’d lean this way and that right along with him, in an unknowing little dance. He decided to speak up, and croaked out “Haw, Lady” instead of the “pardon me” he’d meant too. He’d spent too much time giving commands to horses that day, and was too tired to think straight.
Then there was the Jell-o story. He was working in the summer at the logging campsite, and had to cook dinner (which you eat in the middle of the day, of course). Anyway, he mixed up some Jell-o and, realizing that it wouldn’t serve as many people as he was feeding, he said he just added more water till it looked like enough for everyone. Well, of course, no one had Jell-o for dinner that day; punch maybe…

So, while you enjoy the waning of winter (notice how the daylight is lingering longer?) think of the newest person in my family with a smile at her cuteness, and have a little chuckle over the the childhood of the oldest member. My dad was a jokester and he'd be glad you're happy.

Sandals

Today I wore sandals to work. Now, that isn't so bold considering that I have students and co-workers who have regularly worn them all this year. But, for me, it was a little Vegas moment. "First Day of Sandals for 2010."

I spent last week in Northern Utah helping with the sweet little grandchildren. Granted, the northern Beehive State is having a very mild winter, thanks to El Nino, but still, there were patches of icy snow in the shady places, and it was dang cold after dark.

So, it was with great pleasure this morning that I awoke to a day promising at least 65 degrees. We had officially 66. Tomorrow: 67. It is beautiful, mild, pleasant, a soft breeze. Definitely no icy snow patches in the shady places. Awww.

I may wear sandals again tomorrow. And the next day, and the next...

Look! It's [S-Boogie's]Grandma!

Today I went to school with my granddaughter. I'd e-mailed her teacher and made an arrangement so that I could come in and teach a lesson about the two presidents that we celebrate on President's Day. I put up some pictures of the two, read a couple of books, we sorted some sentence strips that had information about each president on it. Then we cut and pasted similar information onto our own little sorters. And finally, we pointed to each piece of info and read it aloud to check that we'd sorted it correctly.

I'm glad I don't teach first grade every day. But it was fun for an hour or so. It was really interesting, however, to see all the types I see in 4th grade:

• I'm done, it's perfect, what do I do now?
• I'm also done--it's far from perfect, but it's done and that is the point, right?
• I didn't pay any attention to your directions and I'm not looking around my table to see what other people are doing, so mine is being done incorrectly--really, really incorrectly.
• I started, but now I'm busy using my scissors as a gun and firing off phantom shots around the room...papers? gluing? presidents? huh?
• Glue!! I love glue!! See this big puddle I just squeezed out on my paper?
• I don't have any glue, so I will just sit here and do nothing till some adult notices because helpless is my default.
• I'm done and see all the hearts and flowers I've drawn around the edges of my paper and I also colored George Washington's shirt pink because it has cute ruffles.

I actually feel a little better about 4th graders now, because I saw their shadow-selves in 1st grade today!

Then I went to lunch with my new best friends and [S-Boogie] and then we had recess. I left after they went in to finish the school day, and later when I returned to pick up my granddaughter, I walked across the parking lot before the doors opened. Just then, the crowd started to swarm out, and I heard a cute little voice shout: "Look! It's [S-Boogie's] grandma! Hi!!" I was greeted warmly by at least 21 people who charged out of the school to hurry home. Cool.

Wee Bird

She has landed...in our hearts. Our fourth grandchild was born on Wednesday and I just got home from writing lesson plans so that I can go there and spend the week taking care of people. She is the only one for whom I would have spent 13 hours (!) at school today. But, I have very coherent lesson plans, and I don't have to spend a minute next week fretting about what my sub is doing. She is a great sub, too, so she'll be fine.

Wee Bird is what I'll call her. She "landed" on Feb. 3 at 8:30 A.M. and Grandpa CoolGuy has been sending me darling little photos regularly. I forwarded one of the e-mails to work so I could show my students how adorable she is. They are just the right age, boys and girls both, to say "Ahhhh..." when they see a photo of a newborn. Plus, it helped me to break the news to them that I won't be there next week.

It's like leaving a three year old with the sitter. There's whining and teeth-gnashing and I even got a few clingers today. "No, we hate subs, they're mean." Hmmm...why does the sub have to be mean??? I queried them...could it be that you're not using good behavior??? We'll see how it went when I come back. It is a challenge to leave them at this point, because there are a thousand little tricks I know that I cannot communicate to a sub about how to handle the various quirks each of them have. And--teaching is all about improvisation--rarely does it go as you plan.

So, I'm off to be Grandma for a week. It's exciting! I get to go to school with two of them to "help" for a morning. It'll be Valentine's Day while we're there, so I can make cookies, and I'm taking fabric so we can put a soft blanket togther for their new sister. You know those fleece blankets that you snip a hole and make fringe and pull one fringe through the hole...My helpers will be able assist with this. This Grandma thing is just the BEST!

At This Rate, I Can't Afford Walmart

I went down to a Walmart this afternoon, and I chose that one because it isn't the scary one at the other end of the boulevard where I never feel safe in the parking lot. I mean, murders have happened at the apartment across the street and people have been mugged going to their cars. But, now this other Walmart is getting too expensive for me.

Let me explain...I pulled into the parking lot and was talking on the phone to my sister as I sat there. A young woman walked over and knocked on my window. I had taken out the keys and couldn't find them to turn on the electricity and unroll the window, so I just opened the door a bit and she launched into her spiel. I knew as soon as I saw her walking over to me that she was going to hit me up for cash. It was a long rambling "We're not from here and we just need some diapers and food ---blah blah. Anything you could give me...please?"

Las Vegas has always been a tough place. Lots of folks come here thinking that there are plentiful jobs in the restaurants and casinos, or that they'll be lucky and gamble their way into some money. But, in reality, it hasn't ever been that easy to get hired in the nicer places and, frankly, since a year ago, Las Vegas has laid off more people that it is hiring. Plus, this store is located on Boulder Highway near Flamingo and that area is packed with those suites apartments, the kind that rent studios and rooms by the week or month. So, naturally, there are plenty of folks in that area who are "in transition."

I knew I had some cash in my purse, but I'd spent all the ones. I really didn't hesitate, and just handed her a ten. She said thanks and then without taking a breath, launched into a new story about trying to get enough money to check into Motel 6 right over there...could I give her twenty more? As if! It was weird. I've honestly never had a panhandler do that before, just instantly assume that if I have ten, I'll have twenty and I ought to fork that over, too. I just smiled and shrugged and shut my car door. I saw her hustling all over the parking lot as I walked in. At a couple of other stores I sometimes go, there are actually regulars--people I recognize week after week. At least they aren't giving me the "I just need ten dollars for gas so we can drive to St. George to my grandmother's" story every single time. Sometimes I give them a buck, sometimes, like at In N Out, I just order two meals and give them the To-Go one on my way out.

So, I did my shopping and one of my errands was to have been stop at the water machines and fill up my gallon bottles. (The water here tastes terrible.) As I pushed my cart through the parking lot, I remembered that I forgot to get change for the twenty in my wallet. (She was right! I had a twenty! But I wasn't going to give it to her!) But, I didn't have the energy to go back in and get change, so I figured I'd just go home and get some quarters from CoolGuy and go down to the water machine after I put away the groceries.

As I loaded my car, a young guy came up. He couldn't have been more than 19. Sigh. But he said, "Can I take your cart back for you, ma'm? I'm just trying to get a little more so I can buy a burger." Hmmm...actually offering an exchange of services, nice. I looked in my wallet and realized that all I had was the twenty. He saw me hesitate and pleaded quietly, "Even a quarter is fine." I unzipped my coin purse and realized that I'd dumped everything there into our JumpRope for Heart jar in my classroom yesterday. He started to turn away.

Yes, so I pulled out the twenty and said, "Here, looks like you're having a rough day. Get a whole dinner." He looked at it, and looked at me and hesitated, "Really? Are you serious?" I nodded and then I added, "See all these carts here in the parking spaces? Take them too and that'll be my pay." "Oh, man, thank you lady, really thank you, that is awesome!" As I got in the car, he was hustling around, slamming carts into each other, getting them into a row and he waved to me.

See? That's why I can't afford to go to Walmart there anymore! I need to go to one in a more prosperous part of town so I don't spend as much in the parking lot as I do at the cash register.

Praise Poetry

I went to a poetry workshop today after school. I confess I was mostly attracted to it because they offered dinner...But I teach writing and it was free and sponsored by the local arts people and a group affiliated with the Kennedy Center (in D.C.) I've been to the Kennedy Center a number of times with students on field trips, and to attend performances both professional and by musical groups in which my son was a performer. So, I signed up. It was well worth my time. I got a number of excellent ideas for my class. I also was introduced to a form of poetry that I realize I have read, but did not recognize as a set form. I learned the form tonight and we were given time to produce our own piece.

First, here's the form for Praise Poetry:
You must utilize the following information in a Praise Poem:
*heritage--something in your family background
*height--in inches or metaphorically relate to it
*color--the actual skin color and/or the color of your personality
*animal--compare yourself to an animal(s)
*nature--compare yourself to something in nature, (tree, body of water, etc.)
*how you walk in the world

The teacher (a professional poet -- who told us some awesome original work -- explained that many of us are reluctant to praise ourselves, having been taught that it isn't becoming or is conceited or wrong. But it is a good thing to occasionally formally recognize one's own strengths and catalogue our gifts. (We were also taught (as teachers) a series of lessons to use with our students to get them prepared for this activity by brainstorming nouns, verbs, color words, and such so that they would have a rich variety of vocab to inspire them.)

Here's my first effort at a praise poem:

I am the daughter and granddaughter of farmers.
I am one who makes things grow: tulips, tomatoes, babies and hair.
I am tall and immovable like the purple mountains majestically towering over the valley of my ancestors.
I am sunkissed pink with fading golden hair striped and streaked with silver strands.
I am capable as a quarter horse. I have stamina and patience; I outmaneuver those determined to escape my guidance
And I can work till I drop.
But if you need speed, just lean into it--I'll fly.
I walk in the world looking for that which needs nurtured--a garden, a child, a marriage.
Smile with me and speak kindly
My fields are fallow and my flock has grown and flown.
But, I still love to feel the soil and anticipate a harvest.

Okay, your turn: praise yourself with poetry.

Biblio-biography: Chapter Five

In 1976 I had my first baby. He was born on his due date (!) and we had a very normal, rather short-labored (12 hrs.) birth. Since CoolGuy was an active-duty sailor I had all my pre-natal care and the birth in the Naval Regional Medical Center, San Diego. This facility was the location of nearly as many births in the USA as Provo, Utah. There were lots of young married Navy families living in the region. (That may by different, now three decades later.) Everything was satisfactory in that we had the baby, everyone was healthy and we were discharged to go home three days later.

Then, we decided to make a second baby after that, and about 1/3 of the way through the pregnancy, CoolGuy read an article about homebirth in, of all things, Navy Wife magazine. He showed it to me, I read it, but my first response was, "Sure it sounds great to you--but I'm the one giving birth." Then I started asking around about homebirth, and then I read some books about giving birth without the hospital system and I began to be intrigued. I went to my prenatal clinic visits and asked questions of my Naval Officer/OB-GYN/Doctor caregiver and his response was consistently negative.

My questions were things like: Can I walk around in the labor room? (Therefore not be hooked up to the monitors, IV, etc.) Could we have the baby room-in? (The mothers were in wards and there wasn't space for the babies in there with us.) Do I have to have an episiotomy, or could we just use massage and support? (Don't be ridiculous.) More and more I began to realize that what they were offering was not the birth environment I wanted.

So now you're wondering, "What does any of this have to do with a book?" Here's the book: Spiritual Midwifery. I don't who gave me this book or introduced me to it, but it was a life-changing read. We had decided to look for a mid-wife. Ironically, in San Diego of 1978 I could have gone to any number of places and purchased weed easily and openly. But getting connected to a midwife was much more complicated. At this time, the authorities were prosecuting lay mid-wives for practicing medicine without a license. So, the homebirth midwives were very careful of whom they elected to take on as clients. They really didn't want to be arrested by an undercover policewoman posing as a pregnant mother.

I worked at a dry-cleaner/laundromat just down the street from an organic food restaurant and the owners washed their linens at my place. They were friendly and, since we often ate there, they recognized me. We chatted about my pregnancy and were willing, when asked, to connect me with a midwife. But, seriously, someone called me, and then I was given a phone number of a person who then had the midwife call me. Each of these calls had questions for me about the pregnancy and my motives for homebirth. Evidently, we passed the tests, because we were then invited to come to her office and meet the midwife and she took me on as a client. Whew.

We attended birth classes at her home/office/ashram t0 learn all about the process, because as she pointed out: we were in charge, and her role was to "catch the baby." We had our back-up plan. If things went badly, we lived close enough to a hospital that we could go there promptly. I'd prayed about it. I read the scriptures every day, and I read Spiritual Midwifery all the way through, and then I'd re-read little bits each day again. I felt calm and comfortable with our decision stay home for this birth. Spiritual Midwifery was important factor in that calmness.

Here's how it inspired me: We'd taken Lamaze classes for our first birth and it worked really well until transition. Then, I was completely astounded by the intensity of the pain. I mean, I'd never even had menstrual cramps in my life. I'd never really experienced pain before, so this was terrifying. Lamaze doesn't help you at that point. You cannot distract yourself for that. But, in Spiritual Midwifery, I read women's accounts of birth and a consistent theme was to just focus on the "rushes" (contractions) and "ride" them like surfer on a wave. Don't fight it---use it, it is a powerful force doing a good thing. So, instead of tensing up and screaming or freaking out and insisting on the drugs after all, I did just what I'd read about and focused so that all my energy was helping instead of resisting the contractions. Wow---it was magic. It still hurt, of course; in fact, some women respond to my homebirth stories by insisting that I must not have had very bad labors. Let me assure you--there was pain. But, it was productive pain, and I had learned to use it instead of struggle against it. Giving birth is a near-death experience in that you are just along for the ride, and at some point in the process, I always felt as though I might not make it--it is harrowing to be in that much pain, and know that you, personally, are not in control of the outcome. What will be, will be.

Now, maybe I'd have had a three-hour labor and delivery anyway, at the hospital, and maybe not. But, luckily, I'd already planned for the midwife to be the one frantically traveling around and doing all the moving. All I had to do was hang out there in my own home and give birth. After she was born, I had a shower, my dear friend (the chef) was there to cook me a bountiful meal (I was RAVENOUS) and then I could lie down in my own nice waterbed and enjoy my sweet little daughter, with our two year son snuggled next to us (no sibling rivalry needed since Mom didn't leave home)and CoolGuy did all the laundry. He was delighted to have us all right there, without him having to find a sitter and go across town to the hospital and then drive home etc. etc.

We had three more homebirths with this same midwife and each birth was a calm, serene event with such spiritual overtones. I was overwhelmed by the sense that the veil was very thin and we were so near to heaven. In fact, for baby #5, our midwife pointed out that I was now violating most of her strict protocols: I was over 30, I had more than 3 births, I was a bleeder (she'd give me pitocin because I hadn't contracted after #4 to deliver the placenta and close the blood vessels adequately). But, she loved to come to our house and participate in our deliveries because it was such a spiritual event when we gave birth. She enjoyed the atmosphere. I was very flattered by her compliment. It was interesting to realize that she felt that too. She was Buddhist with her own understanding of the eternal nature of our souls. "Heaven lies about us in our infancy." (Wordsworth)

Since my experiences with this guide to a serene sense of well-being during childbirth, I've passed it on to many other women. I realize that most of the ammenities we were striving for in 1978 are now routinely offered to women in hospitals, so the concept of homebirth may seem odd to mothers now. But, it was such a powerful blessing to CoolGuy and I to be in charge of this very personal and monumental event that I will be forever a fan of Ina May Gaskin and her contemporaries and thank them for writing my guide through the Valley of the Shadow that leads to motherhood.

Happy Happy Birthday

When you grow up in Wyoming and your birthday is in January, you know how cold feels. But here in the desert, it was 61 degrees today. Good gift for CoolGuy. Here's a great story he told me about being cold:

He remembers going out with his dad to feed cattle at a ranch on the west side of the valley where we grew up. In fact, this ranch is actually in Idaho because it is down a creek and around the hill from the high mountain valley we both called home. For some reason, it is often even colder as you crossed the imaginary line that divided our isolated community between two governments. I don't know why.

Well, anyway, they went over there one day to spread out hay from a sled that was pulled by a team of horses. His father would have been getting a bit of a work-out from cutting the strings and breaking the bales into a trailing buffet of alfalfa for the cattle jostling along side. But, CoolGuy, who thinks he was possibly four or five, was just standing there in his layers of clothes on the sled. (He would have been too young for Kindergarten and spending the day with Dad because Mom worked as a telephone operator.)

As he watched his dad's efforts, Dad turned and directed him to get off onto the snowy field and walk behind in the sled tracks. CoolGuy remembers being upset about this. It was probably hard work trudging through the snow all bundled up, and he had to jog to keep up with the work team (short-legged boy, long-legged horses.) He was mad and crying and the tears froze on his cheeks.

Yes, it was likely well below zero on that afternoon. In January the mercury frequently didn't creep above 15 or 20 below, even at midday, for long stretches at a time--ten days is one bit I recall vividly. So, in order to prevent those little toes and feet from becoming chunks of ice, Dad made CoolGuy keep the blood flowing with some activity. Dad was fine, he was tossing haybales around, but a little child couldn't help and might get knocked down.

As he got older, CoolGuy skiied and played outside during the winter, even camped, oblivious to the temperature as kids often are. But he tells that story about the frozen tears whenever we talk to people who marvel that we not only survive Las Vegas weather, but frankly revel in it.

The Things I Get to Teach

I had a girl come over to me yesterday at school and say, in a very hurt voice, "[Tactless Girl] said I have a moustache." So, I gestured to Tactless Girl to come on over. Then I asked them both, "What color is your hair?" Brown. "What color are your eyes?" Brown. "What color are my eyes?' Blue. "And, " I pointed out, "My hair used to be blond. My point is: now that you're growing into women, you're going to get hair growing in places you didn't before."

I went on to point out that one of the ways you know you are growing up is that hair grows on your face. Boys love it because they get to have a moustache and beard. Girls---not so much. But we get it anyway. I pointed to my cheeks: see that hair? But it is blond because I am.

Then, I asked if either of them knew any ladies that put cream on the skin above their lip. Well, yes, they did. I replied that is was because women don't want a moustache like a man, but we get hair that grows there anyway. Even me! And so we put cream on it every few weeks to get rid of it. Just like ladies put cream on their legs to get rid of hair. Oh, now this was sounding familiar to them.

So, the point is: every girl is going to get hair growing above her lip and some of us will have dark hair and some will have blond hair, just depends on the rest of your hair color. All it means is that you are growing into a woman. So, a kind friend doesn't say things to hurt other friends' feelings. Right? Please be nice. That is all.

This was not in my lesson plan. But, that is the challenge of teaching: flexibility and thinking on your feet. I'm getting quite good at it.

A Special Gift

I got a very special Christmas gift from a co-worker on Monday. It was quite unexpected and very thoughtful. We have a school psychology intern working with our regular psychologist this year. We share them with another school, of course, probably a couple of other schools. They have a busy schedule observing, and testing children and, of course, piles of paperwork for documentation. They do home visits and consultations. In addition, we have three regular weekly meetings that they attend and one of those is a committee on which I serve. So that is how I became acquainted with the intern.

She is soft-spoken, very young, really gentle in appearance and manner. And she has an unusual name. One day, after an extra long IEP meeting with a family (where we present the individual education plan that has been labored over by many well-trained people for several weeks, after weeks of recommendations, observations, testing) and explain the extra help that will be given to their child, as well as the official diagnosis of the problem. Frankly, this process is unbelievably elaborate, and burdened by decades of legislation and protocols and layers of bureaucracy--it keeps me out of special education--very intimidating environment. But as the classroom teacher, I participate in the process as just one of the many.

Anyway, after a meeting one day, she and I were walking down the hall and I asked about her first name. She explained that it was Israeli. Her mother is Israeli and they've lived back and forth between the US and Israel. So naturally we ended up talking about CoolGuy's trips there and his fascination with the country and desire to go back there to work or even just visit and how he really wants me to come too. I'd love to go. Then, we laughed about how her parents had decided to spell her name a particular way so it would be pronounced correctly and how that backfired because everyone has to hear it spoken and then see it spelled and then they still mess it up.

But then, I suddenly looked again at her name tag at her surname -- Auel-- (which I guess I hadn't paid attention to much since we adults in schools usually go by first names with one another). I looked again at it and said, "There is a terrific series of books I read years ago written by a woman named "Jean Auel" -- is she a relative?" Yup, her grandmother!! And she is still alive and lives in Portland, Oregon.

Well, after I returned to school on Monday from our winter vacation during which I went to Portland, Oregon, to visit some of our children, Ms. Auel met me in the hallway and presented me with a gift: an autographed copy of The Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean Auel. She'd been to visit Grandmother in Portland, Oregon, for Christmas and asked her for a favor for a friend. COOL!

(PS) If you've only seen the horrible movie made from this book, then you should also read the book. It was first published in 1980 and was one of those books I stayed up late to finish.

My Relatives

The lesson in Sunday School today concerned some important things learned by Moses in the time that he was transfigured and "caught up into an exceedingly high mountain" where he "saw God face to face, and he talked with Him". Two of the points highlighted by the teacher were:
1) God is a being with a face to whom we can converse [however, like Moses, we would need to be in a transfigured state to withstand the glory of the actual presence of the person of God]
2) He called Moses His son, several times, and therefore confirmed that we are the sons and daughters of God.

So the teacher asked us what it meant to us, individually, to know these facts about God. Of course many pointed out how empowering it is to know that one is a literal off-spring of diety, that this diety has a personal knowledge of us, knows us by name, and is concerned for us as a parent.

But I realized one more thing about this understanding that I recognized about myself. Yes, it is personally empowering to realize that I am a daughter of God. But this fact has always affected how I look at other people. They are also priviledged to be His children--even if they don't know it. Even if they don't believe in God. Even if they might be acting hatefully or rudely toward me. I try to keep it foremost in my conciousness that everyone I deal with everyday is God's child and it really helps me to be nice. Or at least to try to be nice.

I read blogs or I listen to people with whom I come in contact daily who are consistently dismissive of many of our fellow humans. They often call them "stupid" or disparage others in big and little ways, attributing (consciously or unconciously) superior intellect or common sense or cleverness to themselves through regular (and now predictable) put-downs of others who do not share their point of view, or ability to be "rational or logical" (by a self-definition).

I'm painfully aware of my own failings in this area. But I am trying really hard to improve. I try really hard to look at people without labeling or ranking them. It is so easy to assume that what one believes or prefers is inherently superior to others' beliefs and preferences. It is easy to assume that because one has been blessed personally with a quick mind and great curiosity that others who appear to not be so blessed are inferior because of their choices or lifestyles. However, smugness is an unattractive quality. It can lead to isolation when one feels that so many others are not an intellectual peer. I've learned that a person can learn a lot from nearly everyone. And I don't mean that old line about learning how not to be. I mean that if we treat people kindly and thoughtfully in a sincere way, other people's good qualities will be revealed to you.

Everyone is a valuable person. Everyone of us is a child of God. Even the ones who don't agree with our political opinions, or who have hobbies we think are crude, or who don't listen to the same music we like, or who dress differently than us, or seem less educated or less curious or less thoughtful. They may not know they have this divine parentage. But, I know who they are and I'm redoubling my efforts to treat them as they deserve to be treated: as a beloved relative.

Happy New Year From Vegas

On Thursday morning I went to the temple. The names of two women were posted on the bride lockers in the Sisters' changing room. There was the bustle and hum of people with a purpose, and the matrons were moving around with authority as they organized everyone. Cool day for a couple of families.

I just chuckled all the way home thinking about the future when someone asks about their wedding: "You were married in Las Vegas on New Year's Eve???"

The connotation of that comment for most of the world is nothing at all like those couples' reality. Tee hee!

An Endorsement

I went to Trader Joe's this afternoon to pick up a few things to take up to Utah tomorrow for my daughter. We're going up for a short visit and I thought I'd take a couple of treats she likes.

I was standing by the chips contemplating which ones looked like they might be yummy with the jalapeno/cilantro hummus I'd found, when I was engaged by a guy about my age. He had a shopping bag in his hand, and was wearing a hat like some Aussie guy, and a light jacket. At first I thought he just needed me to move so he could get to the snack section. But, no...

"Oh, I'm glad I caught you." [I looked a little closer...did I know him?]

"I was in line and I didn't want to lose my place, so I paid for it first and then came looking for you." [Seriously, did I know this person?]

"I just wanted to tell you how wonderful your hair is. All those women with the red, brown, blond, whatever--You just blow them out of the water with your naturalness. They spend all that money and don't know how gorgeous it could be." [This would have been creepy if we weren't totally surrounded by a crowd of people in a nice store.}

"Women just don't know how attractive 'real' is. You just have sensational hair, and I wanted you to know." [Okay, now I'm turning red and smiling and giggling.]

"And you have a fantastic smile to go with it! How great is that! Well, gotta go, just wanted to let you know that I, for one, love your hair." [Oh, my, that was odd.]

And he turned and left and there I stood--feeling fabulous. It was a great way to end the year. Here's what he was raving about: streaked with gray and wadded up in a clip--it's actually several colors, all of them unaltered by L'Oreal or anything else. (Mostly, I'm just too lazy to mess with coloring it; also, I liked the color for most of my life, so I didn't have any motivation to change it.)

Brand New American

I was recently informed of a momentous event in my family. This past week my daughter-in-law took the enormous step of becoming an American citizen. I am very impressed by this choice because she really loves her birth country and lived there until she was a full-on adult. She came to the USA to attend college, and that is where she and our son met. They shared an affection for Argentina because he served a mission in her home city of Buenos Aires. They have been married for eight years and have a son (who is marvelously intelligent, completely bi-lingual and is a sweetie-pie.)(Grandma isn't biased or anything, however.)

So, this fall, in addition to enrolling in college to complete her degree, she has also gone through the rigorous study to pass the citizenship test. This link takes you to a study guide. I think you'll be impressed at the extent of the information that an applicant is expected to understand.

I've gone to a number of seminars and spent many hours learning about the government. Also, to get my teaching license in Nevada I had to pass a couple of fairly rigorous tests about the state and federal government. So, this is a topic dear to my heart. The student population here in the desert is very multicultural, so I include lots of basic Americana in my curriculum and explain all the holidays in an effort to acculturate my student body.

I'm very proud of her and salute her for taking this big step. Congratulations!

And That's All I Needed to Know for A Merry Christmas!

Semester Grades
Student Id: ***********
Date: 12/19/09
Semester: FALL 2009


CLASS: EPY 721 001
NAME: INTRO DESC INFR STA
CREDITS: 3.00
GRADE: B

Happy Birthday to My Mother

We're all thinking of her today. It's been three and a half years since she died, but it hardly seems like it. We had a great time last summer at our reunion, reminiscing about her and our dad. Then we spent more time going through the closets, drawers and cupboards of her old house to winnow more of the treasures she'd saved through the years. My daughter found my original acceptance letter to BYU from 1971. I don't even remember seeing it back then. Now that I've received about eight more "Welcome to our college" letters, it is amazing to think how much easier it would have been to just finish it all in four years back then.

Today for her birthday, I accidently celebrated by baking the famous Christmas dessert: chocolate refreshers. Iwanted to take a small token to my two co-workers before the madness of Final Friday came upon us. Plus, last night I had time to bake. I also took a few of them to treat my "buddy" (a student I mentor). Everyone loved them--of course--what's not to love? So, a gift from my mom for her birthday to give to my friends. Thanks!

SAMTSIRHC

The title may confuse you, just read it backwards. I wrote it like that because I am participating in a reverse sort of Santa Claus situation.

Every other week, the trash company picks up household recycling. I put out my newspapers, used plastics, glass bottles and cans. They come along with a big truck and haul it all away. This is wonderful because the first six months I lived in Las Vegas I was in an apartment and there was no recycling. I collected my items and periodically drove them over to the university recycling yard and sorted and tossed. So, it was great to move into a house where trash pickup and curbside recycling was offered.

This year, I put recycling bins outside my classroom door and in the teacher's lounge, and every week I collect everyone's discarded plastic bottles to take home and put out with my stuff. In the past year, in the pre-pre-dawn, someone has been sifting the recyclables for the treasure of those containers marked "CA"--meaning the state of California pays a bounty for their return.

I'd never seen this person until about a month ago, when on the off-week (the non-recycling pick-up) I saw a fellow hiking around pushing his little cart and poking through the regular trash of people who (horrors!) throw out recyclable plastics. I called to him, and pulled out of my garage the overflowing bins I'd just brought home from school the night before and he smiled a big smile as he loaded it up.

The most recent Saturday, recycling day, I didn't have a chance to bring home my bottles--I left early on Friday due to vomit and I slept right through the trash/recycling trucks the next morning. But, tomorrow is the mid-week trash pick-up. (A Vegas exclusive: in the hot months, people really need their trash to go away frequently.) Well, knowing that I will be out of town on my next recycling day, I figured that I would be able to put out all my "valuable" plastic bottles and they'd be gone the next day. So, tonight about seven, I organized it all out on the curb by my trash can.

I went out to the curb about an hour later to drop off some smelly stuff directly into the trash can and (!!) "Look---atnaS has come and taken our bounty!" So, instead of putting out my empty wooden shoes, hoping that Kris Kringle will fill them in the night, I put out my filled recycling bins, confident that ---whoever---will empty them for me and haul all that used up plastic to California (just a short drive south of here) and turn them in for cash. Bless his heart---more power to him--we all win!

Not the Weekend I'd Planned

This post was supposed to be all about my fun week-end trip to Washington D.C. where I met up with my husband and son and attended the Ford Theater's annual production of "A Christmas Carol". We were planning to have dinner on Saturday at one of my favorite local spots in Southern Maryland, Captain Leonard's Seafood, and have their yummy fried shrimp and coleslaw, and a dozen raw oysters on the halfshell. Then we were going to stay in Baltimore on Sunday night after the play so that I could get back on the plane and jet back to Las Vegas Monday morning to go to my dentist appointment.

Instead, about 10:00 on Friday morning, I jetted out of my classroom to the girl's bathroom next door (I'm so glad it was nearby) where I sat on the floor and barfed into the toilet for about five minutes. Bleeeaaah. Although, as you may realize, once the actual puking has finished, one does feel so much better.

I'd mentioned to my fellow fourth grade teacher that morning that I felt yucky and I hoped that I'd not gotten a bug from one of our shared students who'd done his throwing up during her Math class on Tuesday that week. Well, perhaps I did...At any rate, I'd caught her eye as I raced to my appointment with the potty and she organized my students to line up in the hall for the class switch. And she called the office to let them know I'd need a replacement. Luckily there was a sub in the building who was filling in for a teacher who also had a student-teacher assigned to her class. So, they moved the sub to my room, and let the student-teacher carry on for the last two hours.

I came back in the room to tell her what we were doing for the rest of the day (luckily Friday is a shortened day) and got my purse and went home. The students all said, "Mrs. Frome, what's the matter? Your face is all white." Yes, and I felt pale and shakey. Good thing it is only a couple of blocks to my house.

So, I spent the rest of Friday lying on the couch with Nurse KittyCat snuggled up by my side. I had a little fever, I had a stomach ache. But, the real sign of illness to me: I had no appetite. Today, Saturday, I still feel exhausted and I have a headache and I'm still not hungry. The good news is that I'd planned ahead to be gone from church tomorrow so someone is already lined up to play the organ. I can spend all day tomorrow lying down too, if necessary.

Blah. I'm tired of being sick. I'd rather be slurping down oysters at Captain Leonard's.

Finals at the Finals

Today was the last meeting of my inferential statistics class about which I have whined often in this forum. I pulled into the parking structure at the university and got out of my car to the sounds of rockin' country music blaring through the concrete layers. Ah, yes...it's rodeo time in Sin City. This week the city is all cowboyed up for the PRCA National Finals Rodeo. I walked down the stairs onto the sidewalk toward the building where my class is held and it took me along the backside of the sports complex where the main event is being held. The service/parking area back there was fenced off and the pavement was covered with a layer of dirt. There were men with numbers pinned on the back of their western shirts, wearing Stetsons, twirling their ropes, warming up their horses and nervously pacing around as they got their game faces on for team roping. (I asked a couple of them what their event was.)

But, I was on my way to my own event: the final exam. I'd already spent a number of hours on the take-home portion over the weekend, and, frankly--I was just relieved to know that in two hours the whole thing would be done. I feel fairly confident that I passed this test. I really, really want to pass this course, because if not, I must re-take it until I do or I cannot complete this master's degree. Blah. Plus, it cost a lot of money and I don't particularly want to re-spend it for a repeat.

I came back out of the building into the darkness. It was quieter because the outdoor carnival was shut down until the events inside were finished and the crowd would come back out. There weren't many people walking around the campus right then. I'd finished before the two hours were over, so probably most of them were still sitting, writing, figuring, stewing, fretting in classrooms. There was only a guy hauling a trashbag out of the event center. He stopped for a cigarette. I imagine inside it was an exciting place to be. Lots of money in the balance. Next year, I should buy a ticket and go enjoy the show. It'd be a lot more fun than statistics.

Little House in the Desert

I was at school Monday afternoon right after the students had all gone home when the power suddenly went out. It came right back on, but 10 minutes later, it went off again. And again, flickered on in a second or two. However, my computer was shut off, and I really didn't want to be in the middle of something when (or if) the power went out a third time, so I packed up and drove home. This was at least one hour earlier than I've ever appeared after school, so CoolGuy was puzzled at who could be opening the garage door at that time of the afternoon.

I failed to mention that it was also pouring rain. Rain is unusual here in our town, and because it is December, it has also been rather chilly. So, on a cold, rainy day, it felt good to be home. I sat down at my computer here, checked my e-mail, answered a few, then started to settle in to finish my take-home exam.

The power went out.

We waited for it to return. By now it was late dusk and so we went to get our flashlights. Still no magical surge up of lights and machine-humming. We got out some candles, I found my oil lamps. I looked out the dining room doors, down the hill--Glitter Gulch and downtown were shining away in rain. But no power at our house yet. CoolGuy got his Coleman lantern from the garage and we lit it.

By now an hour had passed. It was dinner time. Not a problem: I have a gas range. We enjoyed our soup and quesdillas by lantern light. We usually eat dinner accompanied by Jeopardy! on DVR. We had conversation instead. Then we played dominoes. For an hour. No electricity.

We got in the truck and drove around the neighborhood. The grocery/pharmacy/pizza shopping center was dark. The Walmart/gas station/sandwich shopping center was dark. It was a weird outage. On one side of a street there was the blinking glow of Christmas lights and the other side just darkened windows. It was a rather localized problem. We drove the perimeter of the dark houses and passed the power crew hard at work near a big pole and an underground circuit. I figured that the rain had possibly flooded something and shorted it out.

We went home and because it was now getting a little chilly in our power-less house, we took our lantern and went to bed early to read.

I woke up because of habit, my watch said 6:30 A.M. which is my usual getting up time. But there was still no power. NO TOAST?? How was I going to have breakfast? I dressed in the dim dawn and put eyeliner on by flashlight, but I just put the curling iron in my purse to use at school. I drove a few blocks south to McDonald's for breakfast. Finally at 10:00 A.M. I got an e-mail from CoolGuy telling me the power was restored.

No electricity for an hour is kind of fun. None for the night isn't too bad. But, folks, I need my morning toast. It stopped being funny at 7:00 A.M. I like my modern day luxuries and electric power is definitely right up near the top on my list.

The Weekend

Perhaps it is because I've been sick and lacking in energy. But it seems that the joy of not setting my alarm on Friday night has been magnified to me in the last few weeks. So it was not welcomed when Kitty Cat stood by my side of the bed this morning at 6:00 and meowed loudly for me to get up and open the door. It has been very chilly here in the desert this week. It was in the mid-30's when we went out to hot tub last night, so I'd brought the litter box into the house from the garage. I didn't want to get up in the cold night and let out the Kidiot. So, when she came meowing at me to let her out, I just waved her off and rolled over.

She persisted. She'd go away for a minute and then return to meow again. Finally, she jumped up on the bed and stomped around on me and stood right by my face and meowed loudly directly into my closed eyes. This woke up CoolGuy who laughed and got out of bed and granted her wish. The little wretch.

I did go back to sleep and got another hour's worth. Then I got up and went to Curves, did a little shopping for the Night of Giving at our school. The Boys and Girls Club brings a bus full of children to our school from a less prosperous part of town (not that our part is overly prosperous this year) and we have an evening of singing, crafts and treats. Also, each kid gets a gift donated by our student body and teachers.

Then, after I got home, CoolGuy and I went out on the motorcycle to In-N-Out for lunch. He said, "It's not as cold as yesterday, let's take the bike." Yesterday, it barely got to 50, so I agreed only because I have a nice leather jacket and gloves. But, you know, at 40 MPH, 58 is pretty dang cool. We arrived with rosy cheeks.

In-N-Out is always packed. It is fun to sit and watch everyone there. The burger wrappers are such pros. The lady's hands were a blur as she folded the tissues around the buns and stuffed them into the paper envelopes. The girl behind the register was so short she could barely see over the top of it. So when tall guys talked to her, they unconsciously bent over. Here are little snippets I heard all around me:

"Well, Circus Circus was out in a field, with nothing around it but dirt lots for people to park their RV's."

"If we run, we can catch it." (They saw the bus slowing down for the red light.)

"She was soooo coming on to him. I almost hit her, the b!&#$."

"Get that table and the ketchup."

"It will be a rental, but it's got so much interior work it won't be ready till January."

After we ate and got home, I was determined to get started on my take-home quiz for statistics. I sat down at the computer and promptly nodded off. So, I just surrendered and flopped out on my bed for an hour. I woke up with Kitty Cat cuddled up by me. Right now, she is in CoolGuy's office harassing him to get up and serve the kitty chicken. But it is only 4:30 and he has a strict rule that it must be 5:00 P.M. So, I'll sit here and figure a couple of T scores on my calculator while I listen to thirty minutes of piteous cat whining.

The weekend: it's a good thing.

The End is in Sight

Okay, all that is left is the final exam. Yeah! I went to the last official class tonight of "Descriptive and Inferential Statistics: An Introduction" and I have the take-home portion of the exam to do between now and next Wednesday when I will take the in-class portion of the final. I'm so excited, or I would be if I weren't so tired. But with the end in sight, I'm gaining a little steam.

Today we had the awards assembly at school. This has been preceded by about two weeks of preparation which included:

• checking lots of papers and entering grades (because of procrastination a big-ish pile had grown)
• writing comments for 78 students about their writing
• parent conferences for three days
• figuring out who was eligible for which awards (attendance, honor roll, citizenship, most improved)
• revising the comments after the principal read them
• looking at each kid's report card on the computer to see if anyone had a standard that we'd missed
• sending out the invites to the parents for the awards assembly
• typing and printing the awards certificates
• re-printing the awards certificates after messing up about half of them because the printer had some type of heart attack
• staying after school and using the printer in the computer lab to print report cards because my printer has officially ceased acknowledging my computer
• signing all the report cards and the awards certificates
• stuffing report card envelopes (very carefully--twice in my career I've mixed up kid's cards and it isn't good)
• go to assembly, read all names correctly
• have mom stop you in the hall and ask why her kid didn't get his award when she received the invitation
• go to classroom and look at list and realize you overlooked printing his award--arrrrgghh
• give him a tissue to dry his tears
• print off reward in co-worker's room
• include certificate to Carl's Jr in his report card to make ammends
• send everyone home with report cards
• rush off to graduate class
• come home and collapse

But, now that the end-of-the-trimester-circus is completed, all I need to do this week is study, do the take-home part, and go next Wednesday and be FABULOUS!!! Or at least average.

Night at the Improv

We had a Relief Society Christmas dinner this evening. I'd signed up to bring a green salad, and a Nativity set for a centerpiece. I assumed I'd be playing the opening song, since I am the de facto pianist for this ward. No problem, I feel confident playing almost everything from the hymn book.

I'd gotten a phone call from one of the organizers, confirming that I'd be there because she said they needed someone to play the music. Yes, no problem; it's a night when I'm available. Then I got another phone call. How many Nativity scenes did I have? Could I bring several?

I arrived there tonight and they had twenty tables that needed centerpieces. Oh. Good thing I brought both big storage boxes of the lifetime collection. Then, after we got all the centerpieces arranged (and yes, I did take the pine cone version of the Holy Family), I sat down to relax. The RS president came over and asked if I'd gotten a copy of the script. Script? Um...no. She looked a little stricken. Oh, here it is and all the songs.

We actually didn't have an opening song. Just the prayer/blessing on the food, followed by dinner. That was then followed by the "program" in which the group sang about eight Christmas songs, nearly all of them from the hymn book. Luckily, the two that weren't, were in a key that was easy to play. So, after the program was finished, and we said the closing prayer, we cleaned it all up and I repacked and went home. Whew...Good thing I'm an expert at making it up as I go along.

Actually, I have a college degree from California in that, and a special license that authorizes me as an expert in classroom improv, from the Department of Education, State of Nevada.

Christmas Lights

I like Christmas lights. I like those dripping ice-cycle garlands around the perimeter of the roof. I like the zillions of twinkly lights wrapped all the way around the palm tree trunk with the fronds highlighted with streamers of lights. I like the twinkling colored lights that go off and on at random intervals so the effect is star-like. I like huge Nativity Scenes in the yard, with wooden camels and a real hay bale for Mary to sit on. I like the whole fence festooned with ropes and ropes of lights. I like the colonial style houses in Maryland with a wreath and a candle in every window. I like them all---on other people's houses.

On our house, we usually just hang one strand of colored lights all along the edges of the roof, put a lighted wreath on the door and call it Merry Christmas. On my own house, I like understated and simple.

But, seriously--everyone else--knock yourselves out. I'll drive around and look at it and admire it and get the Christmas spirit from you. I just don't go to all that work at my house.

Music Season

It isn't just food season in December--it is music season. In my current ward I'm the organist, by default. No one else is confident enough to play the hymns. The only other person who is willing (and she subs for me when I'm out of town) is also in the stake RS, and isn't available half the time. So...it's me, again. I've been the organist by default in three of my four last wards (going back 20 years.) But, this time of year is my favorite time to play.

I love Christmas music. Today we were practicing for our program with the choir. The music director asked me what we should close with. I chose "Angels We Have Heard on High." She decided to have a little fun with me. Each verse she upped the tempo until we were really rocking. I felt like shouting "Huzzah!" at the end because it was just so exhilarating. I love that song--both playing it and singing it.

So, start thinking Christmas thoughts and sing or play on your instrument of choice some holiday music. It's all so terrific. (except for "Grandma Got Runned Over by a Reindeer.")

Bibli-Biography: Chapter Four

Tonight we will discuss Roald Dahl because some of his books became very significant in our lives. Everyone thinks of Willie Wonka when they hear Dahl's name. But that book is not our family favorite. We would have a toss-up between Fantastic Mr. Fox and Danny, the Champion of the World. Both of these were read-aloud favorites at our house. Dahl had a successful career in writing adult fiction, but he began to write for children in the 1960's and 70's. Even though some of his books were published when I was a child, I didn't read any of them until I became a mother.

I don't know what attracted me to Danny, the Champion of the World, but I remember reading it aloud to my four oldest children (#5 was a baby.) We'd read a chapter each night, but when we got to the climax of the story--the drugged pheasants--(you must read this book!!) we stayed up to finish a couple of chapters. We were laughing so hard that we could barely read. I'd read a sentence or two, then we'd laugh until we were gasping for air. Then, I'd go on for a couple more, then more gales of laughter. I have read conflicting information as to whether this book was based on Dahl's own life, so I don't know. But it is a completely charming story. It isn't necessarily intended as a comedy, but that one part will leave you breathless.

Fantastic Mr. Fox isn't just a book enjoyed by my children. I've read it aloud at least 12 times to my classrooms. When I became a teacher, one of my goals was to be that teacher who read aloud to her class. I'd always experienced that in my elementary years and, even though I was a good reader, it was always a pleasure to listen to a story read by our teacher. I had rules for this time in my own classroom:

1. You were to simply listen.
2. There was no drawing or anything else while I read.
3. We didn't have tests on these books.
4. It was just for enjoyment.
5. I usually chose authors who had written other books so students could read more if they liked the style.

I often read a book that coordinated with something else in our curriculum, such as Social Studies or Science. Or sometimes I'd read a seasonal book because of a holiday or event during the time I was reading. So, I guess I often used read-aloud time to build background knowledge or give them an extension. But the first book I'd read every year was Fantastic Mr. Fox. This book could be easily read in five days so as to not try their patience with my process. Also, we'd often have a three-day weekend following our first week of school (Labor Day) and it was good to finish before that big break and start fresh when we returned.

Fox was so awesome to read aloud because the characters say "Shut-up!" to each other, and one of them picks his nose and another one belches, and there is a drunken rat that shouts other horrid remarks. My students were always scandalized by this type of real-life rudeness being in a book! And their teacher read it aloud! It was so terrific! It opened their eyes to possibilities of reading. It wasn't all just stuff that someone made you do so you could learn. It could be thrilling and titillating and a little bit naughty. It is a pleasure to read stories to kids and have them be audibly disappointed that you've come to the end. When we'd visit the library next, the Roald Dahl books were snatched off the shelf eagerly.

Tonight we went to the movie that Wes Anderson has made from the book. It is clever and unusual because he used stop-action puppets, instead of animation. He tended to use the book as a suggestion, mostly. The characters and plot are quite altered from the book. It was entertaining and pleasant and we laughed several times.

However, I'm going to need to start reading it again to students, because if all they know of the story is the movie, they will not appreciate the story nearly as much. There's nothing like making the pictures in your own head and hearing a grown-up say, "Just shut up you little pot-bellied dwarf!"

The Eating Season

This time of year is reknown for food. I think there must be more eating traditions between the two holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas than any other time of the year. So today we're having our left-overs. They are always almost better than the original meal. Don't know why.

While we're eating tonight, we've been watching a marathon of a show called "Drive-ins, Diners, and Dives" on the Food Network. We're both still recovering from a two week illness. Actually CoolGuy is still fully on the second week. He's got energy for the morning, but by 2:00, he's losing steam, and by 5:00, it's back on the couch.

The question for tonight is: how can we sit there with our bellies paunched from eating yummy Thanksgiving Dinner, The Sequel, and yet have our mouths water as this nutty guy takes us from town to town, all over the country, to show off viewer's recommendations for local eating establishments? We're watching things like a meatloaf sandwich with cheese and bacon in Minneapolis, or shrimp po'boy sandwiches in New Orleans or macaroni and cheese you wouldn't believe in Salt Lake City and looking at each other and groaning in delight, planning our trip to these destinations.

Gluttony is a sin, right?

Happy Thanksgiving & Birthday

Every year I read magazine articles or something in the food section of the newspaper around Thanksgiving to the effect of changing up the menu. Either they have recipes for new ways to make the sweet potatoes, or altering the menu even more by excluding some old standards altogether because of the calorie content or too much salt or fat. I'm always amused because when I think of Thanksgiving, it is in the context of the old familiar foods that we eat every year.

In fact, some menu items are eaten only on Thanksgiving and I do not even think of making them at any other time of year. Dressing falls into that category for me. So do candied yams. I would never make or serve them at any other event. I happen to love dressing---my mom's recipe is my favorite. Toasted white bread, sage, sauteed celery and onion, moistened with chicken broth and melted butter, then baked in a dish. It is not put into the bird. A couple of times in Maryland I put oysters into my stuffing, and while I liked it, no one else did especially, so when I wanted oyster stuffing, I always made the plain alternative as well. I didn't even make candied yams this year. I could go the rest of my life and never eat them again and be fine.

This year, CoolGuy and I stayed home alone. We've both been really sick and decided not to carry our germs over the river and through the woods. So I cooked a turkey breast, baked rolls and a pecan pie, then steamed a couple of yams in the microwave. I also made stuffing, and, after the disappointment on CoolGuy's face (which he tried to quickly conceal) I rinsed all the drippings from the turkey pan and whipped up some yummy gravy to pour on his dressing and turkey. Tomorrow I'll make mashed potatoes to go with our leftovers.

We ate, then played dominoes, and watched a video. It was classic Thanksgiving afternoon.

Another big holiday was commemorated today: our first grandchild's birthday. He is the coolest kid! I love visiting him, and it was disappointing that we were too sick to travel. He is seven, perfectly fluent in English and Spanish, and just a charming fellow. He plays several sports, and today they went bowling. I just enjoy hanging out with him. We talked on the phone and at Christmas we'd better be good and healthy because we definitely want to go and see him.

Biblio-biography--Chapter Three

Another book that I've loved throughout my life is The Good Earth by Pearl Buck. My parents owned a copy of it, which is where I got the idea to read it my first time the summer after sixth grade. Pearl Buck published The Good Earth in 1931 and it was a best seller for two years. She was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for it and several other awards, and it was made into a stage play and a movie.

Mrs. Buck had been raised in China by her missionary parents, and then continued to live there as a young married woman teaching at a university. She knew China at the beginning of the 20th century, during the time of the last dynasty. This book is so poignant and tragic and realistic. It is the story of Wang Lung, a poor farmer, whose marriage day is the opening chapter of the book. If you haven't read this book in your life, you should.

I loved it because it was about a farmer. I was 12 when I first read it. I could completely identify with Wang Lung throughout the story because his focus is always on the land. There is nothing he won't do to keep his farm. At one point in the book, the whole family is forced into the city because of a famine. For Wang Lung, this is temporary. He doesn't know how he will do it, but knows that he will return to his land, and eventually a series of events give him the resources he needs to go back. His wife is an heroic farmer's wife, like my mom. (My dad was more thoughtful to my mom than Wang Lung was to O-lan.) And, my mom actually took off a few days when she gave birth...

An interesting stylistic aspect of the book is that it is written as though it has been translated from Chinese without really adjusting the syntax to accommodate English. It has a sense of being told in another tongue. It is, in fact, written in quite lovely English, but her style of writing and her use of language give it a distinctly foreign voice. I was transported to China while reading it.

Buck went on to write a series of novels about Chinese life. My grandmother gave my parents a copy of Pavilion of Women for Christmas once. I have it now; it is signed with love. Grandma was a school teacher, so she appreciated literature. I read that book, too, as a girl. I couldn't seem to get enough of Buck's writing.

While living in San Diego as a young Navy wife, I used to shop at thrift stores regularly where I'd often discover excellent treasures. My favorite find, though, was six Buck books, including The Good Earth. They were a beautiful set, bound alike, and in decent condition. I don't remember if they were expensive or cheap. I just knew I really had to own them. I read them all. Some of them, I wouldn't re-read. But a couple of them were just terrific, almost as good as my farmer's book.

I'm not sure I read The Good Earth aloud to my kids. Probably not, because reading aloud tended to be done with younger people and it isn't really a little kid book. One aspect I especially loved about it as a 12-going-on-13 girl was the frank (yet tastefully chaste) sexuality in the story. The book was full of real life: concubines, childbirth, adultery, drug abuse. Wow---I was enthralled. But, mostly I related so strongly to the protagonist who loved his farm and knew that it was essential to real life. I knew just what he meant; I felt that way, too.

Parent Conferences

I spent all day (until 6:45) having parent conferences and I'm all "niced" out. I always dress up a little for this event, so I look professional. I want to be in charge, but I try to make it comfortable for the family, too. I was taken aback the first year I was on the "teacher" side of the table at how stressed some of my parents looked and acted. I realized that I was The Teacher, and it was a little startling. I felt like me still, but when it is school, and people are talking about their children, there is a lot more involved than just grades. People can be very upset when they hear unpleasant news about their child. They can personalize it and be very resentful of the power that you (the teacher) hold over their lives. If they didn't have a good experience in elementary school, then just walking into the building is a stressful event.

Our school has a wonderful tool we use for parent/student conferences: the data binder. Each student has one, and we store all their work in it for the first trimester. It also has little charts or graphs or tables (each grade level has one that we create for our students to use) that tracks their progress through the standards that we cover. So, when we have the conferences, the students get their data binder from the shelf to present their work to their parents, and what their status is with the standards. If they are only approaching a standard, then they will have the work right there to show why that is so. They also explain what it takes to meet the standards, too. The theory is that the students will be aware of where they stand so the report card isn't a surprise.

It actually works really well, and today and this evening, students sat with their parents and showed them their work and chatted away knowledgably about what they'd been doing in math, writing, reading, science and social studies. It was pretty cool to watch. We all discussed ways that the student could do better, or offered compliments on their fine work so far and every conference was a team effort. It was nice.

But, I am exhausted. Weird how all that instensity just drains your energy away. Unlike a normal school day, I sat in a chair most of the day, and I'm dead. Time for the hot tub.

Copy Cat Meme-ing

I borrowed it from her.

1.What time did you get up this morning?

Well, Kitty Cat woke me up at 4:15 to go out. I wanted to get up at 5:00 because I needed to wash my hair for Parent Conference day, and I needed to get to school early to get some more things ready for Parent Conference day...so I got up 4:55. Sick.

2. Diamonds or pearls?

I really like pearls. My only diamond is in my engagement ring.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?

Wow...um...I think Australia. It's been so long ago.

4. What is your favorite TV show?

We watch Jeopardy every night because we can DVR it and watch it at our leisure. But my favorite T.V. show is WKRP in Cincinnati. Or Major Dad. Or The Flintstones. Or Hawaii 5-0 (It didn't say current TV show.)

5. What do you usually have for breakfast?

Oatmeal or Frosted Mini-wheats and cinnamon raisin bread toast and a banana.

6. What is your middle name?

Don't have a middle name: my mom squeezed both of the names I go by onto the "first name" section of the birth certificate.

7. What food do you dislike?

Vietnamese fish sauce; also, feta cheese

8. What is your favorite CD at moment?

I like Los Lonely Boys or Chris Hillman

9. Favorite Color?

I like purple things, but I prefer to wear dark green or red.

10. Favorite sandwich?

Stuffed ham; or open faced PB with honey and a glass of cold milk

11. What characteristic do you despise?

Meanness

12. Favorite item of clothing?

My jeans: Levi's 529, boot cut

13. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?

I'd like to go to the Serengeti and see all the animals.

14 . Favorite brand of clothing?

I've discovered that Cold Water Creek clothes fit me very well, as a woman of a certain age.

15. Where would you retire to?

I'd love a beach house on the California coast.

16.What was your most recent memorable birthday?

My birthdays have all blurred together into one event. I can't distinguish one from the other except for my 7th birthday when my sisters gave me a party.

17. What is your favorite sport to watch?

Little League Baseball when one of my children is playing.

18. When is your birthday?

February 23

19. Are you a morning person or a night person?

I'm kind of a 10 o'clock in the morning person. I don't like really early, and I can't stay awake late.

20.What Shoe Size do you wear?

10 medium

21. Pets?

one cat--we'd love a dog, but someone needs to be home during the day to be nice to a dog.

22. Any new and exciting news you' d like to share with us?

Only two more classes of my miserable statistics class!!! I am optimistic that I will actually pass.

23. What did you want to be when you were little?

a scientist or a secretary or a cowboy or mom or ...

24. How are you today?

Sick of being sick--all coughed out.

25. What is your favorite candy?

Chocolate, preferably dark and soft caramel popcorn.

26. What is your favorite flower?

lilacs

27. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to?

March 22--Spring Equinox

28. What's your full name?

Mrs. BuzzKill--elementary teacher (according to CoolGuy)

29. What are you listening to right now?

a movie that CoolGuy is watching

30. What was the last thing you ate?

Dinner: homemade chicken soup

31. Do you wish on stars?

I wish on birthday candles.

32. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?

burnt Sienna

33. How is the weather right now?

Chilly for the desert: 53 degrees

34. The first person you spoke to on the phone today?

My sister

35. Favorite soft drink?

regular, plain Coke

36. Favorite restaurant?

Um...I like quite a few...Aranda's Taqueria, Lotus of Siam, Clark's Landing, anything Indian,

37.. Real hair color?

dark blonde with many silver highlights (I've never colored it.)

38. What was your favorite toy as a child?

My Annie Oakley skirt, vest and six-shooters.

39. Summer or winter?

Absolutely: summer

40. Hugs or kisses?

Hugs from grandchildren, kisses from CoolGuy

41. Chocolate or Vanilla?

Chocolate, preferably dark

42. Coffee or tea?

herb tea or hot cocoa

43. Siblings?

5 sisters, 2 brothers

44.When was the last time you cried?

a couple of weeks ago--I was discouraged.

45. What is under your bed?

a sleeping kitty cat

46. What did you do last night?

visitng teaching, cooked dinner, watched t.v. and soaked in the hot tub

47. What are you afraid of ?

Getting sick or hurt with something that I can't fix

48. Sweet or Savory?

Depends...I love salty, but I crave sweet, too.

49. How many keys on your key ring?

five
50. How many years at your current job?

I've been teaching for 15--in this district-- five

51. Favorite day of the week?

Saturday is a special day--it's the day we don't set the alarm...

52. How many towns have you lived in?

nine

53. Are you an Introvert or Extrovert?

extrovert -- to the never-ending annoyance of some in my family because I'm always talking to strangers

A few Points

First...I have a correction. On November 17 I published the news that my "baby" was 24 years old. Today, for some reason, I was thinking of him, and it suddenly occured to me that --DOH-- he is 25 years old. (2009-1984=25...) Wow. I've had everyone's age wrong for a couple of years, including my own. Two years ago my good friend pointed out that, no, I couldn't be 53, because he was 53 and I'm one year older than him. I was turning 55 on that birthday. Just like that I aged two years in two days. One day, I was 53, but I realized I was actually 54, and because it was my birthday the next day, I was, in fact, 55. So, I guess I haven't recovered from that brain-spasm because I've done it again with my son. Wow. It was a milestone birthday and I blew it.

Second...what do you suggest we do with a cluster of ladies in our Relief Society who sit and chat during the opening announcements? And it isn't just an occasional whisper...they're usually talking to each other, quite audibly, with laughter, and very distractingly. Our RS room is oddly shaped. It is a shallow U and these women sit on the far left side of the room, along the back wall, and--frankly--never shut up until we're into the opening song a verse or two. I play the piano, I'm sitting right in front of their section over there and it is extremely distracting and completely rude. The announcements in RS are usually quite elaborate and pretty strategic: lots of important scheduling occurs and there is usually a series of clipboards going around that need a word of explanation. Having been in a RS presidency, I know that these announcements must be made, so there isn't an alternative. But, I'm truly tired of these interrupters.

Oh, and incidently, two of them are: the stake RS president and one of her counselors. Yes. That is why we do not know what to do about it. Today, I went over to the "club" after I'd played a little music following the prayer, and I spoke like an annoyed mom: "Now you girls just cannot sit together anymore, I'm telling you. Am I going to have to come over here and sit between you?" Then we all laughed. But I actually meant it. I know our ward RS president is peeved. But she doesn't know what to do either. Any suggestions out there?

Technology

A couple of months ago, I checked out three science videos from the county library so I could show them to our students as part of an astronomy unit. Then, I took them back to the library.

However, the library has been remodeling and part of their new "up-grade" was an automated check-in system. You place your items on a belt and it scans them as they travel through the opening in the wall.

Except that one of the videos didn't make the machine beep. I grabbed it back and tried it on a different barcode on the box, and then on the DVD itself. Nope. I looked around for a human. Nope. So, I thought, I'll just let it run through here and they'll figure it out.

Nope. A couple of weeks later I received an e-mail telling me that the video was overdue. So, realizing that the DVD had just been replaced on the shelf without ever checking in, I went to the library. There I told a person behind a desk about my problem, I wrote down my name and the name of the video and she said she'd investigate. I figured it was all solved.

Nope. Today I received a collections letter from the library system to pay them $50 and a $10 fee because of my lost or overdue item. So this time, I went down to the library, looked on the shelf, where--yes, the DVD was parked--and went and got a human. After I told her the whole story, she came with me and looked at the DVD, picked it up and took it back to her desk where she took my name off the Bad List.

She promised me that they had corrected their earlier problems with the new self-return scanners and that they'd had some trouble with them at first. Good. Next time I don't hear the "beep" I won't leave until someone helps me right then.

Technology good: sometimes. Real librarians: best most of the time.

Eye-Check

Everyday after school I am stationed at the street corner, wearing my fluorescent yellow vest, raising my stop sign aloft so students can cross safely on their way home. Today at the end of my 12 minute shift, a fellow came walking up the sidewalk with a rope in his hand. Curious...

He was looking for his dog. I told him that I'd been out there since 3:30, but we hadn't seen a black dog. We'd have noticed because all the kids would have been trying to pet him. The guy was distressed because he'd been working in his yard and the dog was just there. How could he have gotten away so quickly?

Then he said, "Well, thanks, young lady, for your help. I'll keep looking."

Well, there's his problem: he called me "young lady"--clearly, the dude needs glasses. Of course he can't find the dog. Probably can't see him.

In the Nick of Time

I'm posting this with just moments left of November 18 because there hasn't been time earlier. I got up at 6:00, left for school at 7:15. At 8:00 there was an IEP meeting on one of my students. We finished in time for me to pick up my class and start school. I did some homework for my statistics class during my planning. Then I checked some quizes as I ate lunch. At 3:30 I sent my students out the door and hurried to the car to drive to the college for the 4:00 P.M. class.

I left class three hours later and stopped at the grocery store for milk and bread. I got home, checked my e-mail and saw the unwrapped birthday present sitting on my desk. It's for our grandson who is turning seven next week. I realized I forgot to pick up a padded envelope to mail it in, so I went back out to the store and bought one. While I was there, I remembered that I have to bring some pasta salad tomorrow to school because it is my group's turn to sponsor the once-a-month potluck. I decided on ancini-de-pepe, so I wandered around picking up the parts for it.

I got home, made quesdillas for supper, ate them with some tomato soup while watching DVR Jeopardy! Then I put the ancini on to cook, and we watched a DVR of The Good Wife. Then I made the pudding, put the pasta in it and put it in the fridge.

Now I'm going to wrap the gift, and get it ready to mail. Then, I'll get in the hot tub and after that go to bed. In six hours I'll get up and start over. Whew. Just made it. NaBloPoMo.

Celebrate With a Tuba

Today is the anniversary of the end of my very last pregnancy. Which is an awkward way to say Happy Birthday to the Music Man--our youngest child. Only he isn't exactly young anymore. It's been 24 years! Ack! How could so many years go by so quickly? It's especially ironic that I feel that way, because he was actually about three weeks late in being born.

All the rest of them were born on or very, very near the due dates. But, this guy just seemed to like it up there in Heaven, and stuck around for a couple of extra weeks. We were attending our oldest son's soccer games from August through November, and the other parents had started asking me early in the season when I was due. You could see their barely concealed eyerolling when it turned out I had nearly three more months to go. I looked ready to pop in September. To think that I wasn't going to be giving birth for 8 more weeks was just amazing to them. That's because they'd never seen me pregnant before. However, September came and went. Then October came and went, but I continued to stagger onto the sidelines and sit heavily in my lawn chair and then lurch back out of it and waddle back to the truck. Each game in November, you could just tell the other mothers were feeling so sorry for me. Finally, one Saturday--we missed the game!! Our little brother was born!! At last!! When our oldest son called his coach to say why we weren't there, his coach replied, "We were all hoping that's what had happened."

Well, he was a darling baby, a darling little kid, a killer baseball player, a math whiz and a kind and good friend to all. But who knew what lay in store during teen-agerhood? Music...

He started in band in 8th grade. He taught himself the entire 1st clarinet lesson book over a weekend. The band director was excited! Music Man had learned to read music during piano lessons. (Everyone in our family was treated to piano lessons.) But, somehow, in the gene pool, he and our oldest have been blessed with another skill in music of being able to hear it as no one else does. Both of them sit down with an instrument (piano, guitar) and just play whatever they'd like, in whatever key and whatever arrangement they feel impressed to use. Whew.

Then, Music Man was recruited to join choir in high school and another amazing musical talent was revealed. He can sing bass and with a perfect pitch. And in a couple of languages. And in multiple genres.

Luckily, he attended a high school where all this talent was appreciated and nurtured, and he availed himself of several opportunities in the community to be in musical ensembles. If you've never attended a Tuba Christmas concert---go! go!

So, over the years of high school, community college and up through the present, whenever there was a need for another person to play a particular instrument, he stepped up. Here's a partial list I've seen him play: clarinet, tenor saxophone, baritone saxophone, tuba, euphonium, kettle drums, piano, organ, snare drums, both stacked drums in marching band, electric bass guitar, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, marimba, banjo. He was given the John Phillip Sousa award by his senior band director.

Then, after high school, he found opportunities in community musical theater, and college choral, and bar bands with his other brother! So, the performing just went on and on. I am their Biggest Fan.

So, I guess I'll quit now. But one problem of living with great musicians...they grow up and leave home and there you are living in a quiet house. Blah. So today, if you have a chance to raise a toast to a kind friend, a good brother, a terrific son, a valuable employee, and the best musician I know---you should drink it to the sounds of a Sousa March, played on a tuba.

The Point

Well, I KNOW you've seen it. If you have watched a car commercial in the past ten years, you've seen it! We used to see it as often as possible. Last summer I introduced some newer members of my family to it. What am I talking about, you ask? I'm talking about one of the most filmed lumps of rock in Western America--Point Mugu.

Here's a cool shot of CoolGuy and the motorcycle on the cliff by the rock. Just continue north on the highway that threads between the point and the mountain and you'll be at the base where he worked for six years. He drove south past this icon many days for lunch at Neptune's Net. (Featured in "Point Break") The Net is a little diner where you can get clam chowder and shrimp and then sit and eat it while watching the surfers at County Line Beach (of the Beach Boys' song: Surfin' USA).

So, anyway, we are quite fans of Mugu Rock and have driven by it countless times. It is a marvelously picturesque piece of real estate with the Pacific Ocean stretching off into the background. Now that you're looking at the photo, I know you've seen it in so many car commercials, huh?

We found another occasion when it was filmed. CoolGuy was vegging recently and as he channel-surfed he found the beginning of an old favorite movie, "North to Alaska" featuring John Wayne, Stewart Granger and even Fabian (!). We remembered seeing it at our home town theater when we were 9 or 10. Plus, the theme song is by Johnny Horton of "Battle of New Orleans" fame. (Well, fame to us in 1960...)

In the plot, Sam is heading south, after he and partner George hit it big in the Klondike. Sam is the only person that George can trust to go fetch his girl and bring her North, now that George has enough money to propose marriage. So there are Sam and George, on the pier in Nome, waiting for the ship to finish unloading, so Sam can board. All around them are men building the boomtown, hauling barrels off the ship, carrying another load of something onto the ship. Sam is dressed in his warm jacket and hat and it is portrayed as a busy Alaskan port.

Except as the camera pulls back to show Sam walking up onto the ship and the hills in the background....we see....Mugu rock. Hmmm...I'm sure I've seen that movie about five times, but none of those times were after I'd lived in Ventura county. So, I'll bet I assumed it was Alaska when I saw it as a kid. But, that beach along the Pacific Coast Highway is about as far from the frozen north as you can get. I still like the movie.

Here's a gorgeous day in September on the PCH between Malibu and Port Hueneme.
Neptune's Net is often crazy busy on the weekends. It is a perfect motorcycle ride from L.A. and sometimes you'll see "bikers" that you normally see in their other life starring in a t.v. show or a movie. If you're really lucky, you'll see the Sexiest Man Alive 2008*...

*and every other year since I first laid eyes on him*

Weather-Wise

It snowed this week. As the clouds lifted from the big mountain west of the city on Thursday morning I saw a shining crown of snow on its peak. It was beautiful and breathtaking, and right where it belongs: waaaay up there, far from me. Yes, it is weather-sissy whine-time again!

Truly, I've grown to love moderate weather. Even hot, desert weather. I didn't care for the humidity of the east coast. (A massive understatement: "didn't care for...") and I really don't feel the need, ever again, to experience forty or twenty below zero temperatures. That is just so "previous-life" for me.

When I left the house today for church, which starts at 11:00 A.M. (for 6 more weeks anyway), I shivered, and went back in for a jacket. Then I stepped over to the window to check the temperature from the patio thermometer. It was 58 degrees. I rolled my eyes. If I were living in Wyoming on November 15th, and it were 58 degrees, we'd all be going to church in our shirt sleeves, excited that we were having a summery day this late in the fall. Yeah, I know. I'm a weather sissy, and this has been today's Whine-Time.

Here's a flash from the past. I'm third tallest, it's probably Christmas and I think I'm in fifth grade. And it wasn't all that cold--just really snow-covered on a bright, blue, Sunday morning in our drive-way. It is picturesque there at Christmas, all white and pine-tree green. But there is usually snow on the ground from October through the end of April. I'm just ruined from living in Southern California.

Veteran's Day Follow-up

When I was listing the members of my family who are veterans, I didn't list some significant ones:

CoolGuy's father, and all three of his brothers. Army, Army, Air Force, Army. Our thanks to all of them and his various cousins and uncles who served too. And did I mention my mother-in-law? She too was in the National Guard for ten years. Her profession was registered nurse, but as an Army girl she drove a truck.

Today is the Aviation Nation Air Show at Nellis AFB here in Las Vegas. They've been practicing all week. Since our school is located just south of the air base, we've had lots of previews of the Thunderbirds howling through the air. Tomorrow, we'll ride the bike over to the edge of the air field and watch them do their thing. Very impressive.

Stop, Please

Okay, I am officially tired of people using the phrase "a ton" instead of "many, a lot, various" etc. I am struck by how often some of my co-workers are willing to use it when they are put in an official position, such as when giving a lesson at an in service meeting. Tonight, I heard it in a testimonial-type ad on the radio. Please...

Okay, I know that I am the Grammar Police, and and International Grammar Enforcement Person, as well, but aren't there certain words or phrases that irritate you?

Here's what I don't like about the use of "a ton" lately. Most of the time the speaker is referencing a large number of items, as opposed to a weight. Such as, "There are a ton of reasons why you'll love ------ products." OR "I have a ton of strategies for teaching these concepts to your students." It is just so colloquial and weak and inaccurate: a ton is a unit of weight not a long list.

That is all. Just try not to use "a ton" when you mean "a lot"--please.