Fright Night for Kitty Cat

Every time the doorbell rang tonight, announcing the arrival of the next wave of costumed children, the Kitty Cat froze and stared at the door. Would the next little person standing there, shouting something in an excited voice, be that same Little Person who comes and stays for extended periods? And hollers at the Kitty Cat and tries to get the Kitty Cat to "come out here!" And NEVER SEEMS TO GO AWAY? Whew...finally the noise died down and Kitty Cat was all alone with the Old Quiet Big People. Whew.

The Washing Monument

There has been a lot written about laundry lately in the family blogsosphere here and here. And I'm adding a little more. We just replaced our Harvest Gold washer and dryer (that came with the house) with a new set of front loaders. We stacked them so we'd have room to put in a deep sink, and WOW does it look cool! I must explain why the front loader: my mother had a front loading washing machine all of my life. She insisted (correctly I might add) that it does a better job of cleaning and it also uses less water to do so. Now that I live in the desert, using less water is important. I've owned only three washers in my life:

#1 was an old laundromat Speed Queen purchased for $50 from my former employer at Betsy Brown's Cleaning Town on University Avenue in San Diego. I worked there, part-time for about three years, quitting just before baby #2 was born. The washer was critical because I suddenly had two sets of cloth diapers to wash, including all the rest of our clothes. Since I wasn't going to the laundry (to work) everyday, the clothes had to be washed somehow. We just took the coin box out, and it had two cycles: on and off. But it was so durable that it lasted through three more babies (with the occasional belt or spin-clutch replacement by the versatile Cool Guy) before the motor just burned up. Then, back to the laundromat: our house in Port Hueneme did not have a washer hook-up (disabled by our cranky landlord to prevent flooding) and I took 15 loads a week out to be washed. Yes, 15. For six years. I had a system and a dryer---I washed out and dried in with the help of the rest of the capable crew.

#2 We rented a house with a new washer and dryer and inherited it when we left and our landlord could not return our cleaning deposit because of his financial straits. He traded me. I think I got the better end of that deal, what with the Oriental rugs and all he threw in to sweeten the pot. That set was bequeathed when a baby was born and the parents had a washer hook-up in their apartment.

#3 The new set....which brings me to the monument. My mom always owned a front loader, but was not always able to use it. When I was a youngster, our house water pipe would freeze most winters. This was the pipe leading from the spring to the house. It would happen if too many hard frosts came before the heavy snows, letting the cold creep down far enough to affect the main water pipe. My dad would go out and build a series of fires along the pipeline to thaw it out. One winter, the fires didn't work and the pipes burst leaving us with no water piped into the house for almost a year. We had to wait until spring to replace the pipeline. So my mom borrowed a wringer washer from her mother-in-law, and did the laundry for nine people, (including cloth diapers and chore clothes) the old-fashioned way from November till September. It took that long for the whole project. Each Monday morning my dad brought into the kitchen two milkcans of scalding water from the creamery in town. Mother would start up the washer, dipping from the cans while they were still hot, and wash everything, load by load. These clothes didn't go into a dryer. If it wasn't snowing, they went outside (to freeze-dry). If it was snowing, she hung them on lines over the stairs so the warm air could waft up and dry them. Then of course they got ironed--every single piece; no perma-press back then.

So: the monument: I got these awesome new machines because when she died last spring, she'd saved enough money to leave each of her kids a little something. And I've spent my little "something" on a product I know she'd love and I will too.

My Pet Writing Project ala Vegas

In teaching nine year olds to write, it is important to have topics about which they will have something to say. One of the more popular subjects I've introduced over the years is pets. Everyone has a pet, or wishes to have a pet, and so the students can write from personal experience. These essays have been terrific and I used them to help move little writers from merely listing facts to elaborating each item with details. I've had varying degrees of success, but every student has been passionate about the topic. My students here in this very tough neighborhood of the Gritty City also wrote "My Favorite Pet" papers with enthusiam. The only difference: nine years of essays in Maryland yielded descriptions of dogs, cats, birds, fish, hamsters,the occasional snake and a chinchilla. This year the pet essays were wonderful descriptions of just two household animals: chiahuahuas and pit bulls. Every essay. They either owned one or wanted one. Sometimes there were multiple chiahuahuas. Except one girl who wished she could own a bunny. Cool Guy said maybe it was for training the pit bull.

Weather or Not

It was unusally dark this morning when my alarm went off. I checked two other clocks just to see that I hadn't accidentally reset the time and tried to figure out why I couldn't see outside. I went over to the french doors peering out to determine why dawn wasn't illuminating the big desert sky per normal and WOW--a rare sight! Rain running off my roof onto the patio edge. The sky was completely covered with black clouds and water was pouring from them. Cool. It helps the pool ph and makes the tree happy. However, my planned ensemble for the day included sandals--hmmm--check weather.com to see how long it will last...
Forecast: 0% chance of rain at 7:00 A.M. 0% was doing a really nice job of soaking my palm trees. Turned on the local news for the weather: (and I quote)
"Some sunshine peeking through the clouds out there right now across the valley. There may be a few isolated thunder showers from this front coming through with the Baja hurricane. But they'll be scattered and limited."
From my view up on the east hill, the entire valley was covered with "partly cloudy, isolated thunder showers" that were soaking my newspaper and rushing the discarded Jack in the Box bags down my street's gutter to the storm drain.
Eyes: 1 Doppler: 0

Just Gonna Say It!

I have experienced an overdose of parents saying or writing to me this year something like this:

"I think you aren't being fair to [fill in child's name here] because [he/she] is Black."

"How many other Black children in your room do you treat this way?"

"How can you be fair to my child since he is Black?"

Well, my response to future remarks along these lines is:

"It sounds like you have had bad experiences with white people. I haven't had bad experiences with Black students. Our job here is to help your child succeed in school this year. We're the grown-ups, so let's team up to do whatever we need to so fourth grade will be successful ."

Get Out On the Highway

I just love to drive! I left work tonight (many hours after everyone else...sigh) and got out on the freeway and headed south to the big DooDad store to look for cookie cutters to mail to Morocco. The sun had just set, the air was clear, you could see all the way across the valley--a huge bowl of lights--and the mountains were indigo silhouettes. Good radio and songs I liked were playing. I could have just kept going for hours. Of course if the freeway had been a parking lot, or if it had been raining, snowing or just smoggy...maybe my enthusiasm would haven't been so acute. So let's amend that: I love to drive! When and If: the weather is great, the road conditions are great, my legs aren't tired and jumpy, I'm not in a hurry, etc. etc.

It's a Wonder I Have Any Hair Left

I read through today's math assignment early so I'd know which concept was most likely to trip up my students. Then during our warm-up I did some examples of it on the board, I had them do examples of it on their paper and I walked around and monitored it. Then, we reviewed the whole idea again. And I gave them the assigned problems for today. But, NO, it was almost universal--when they got to #6--an example of the example--hands went up "I don't know what this means" "Help me with this" "How do you do this". So we went over it on the board again--I set up the pattern. I practically told them the answers!!! Tiny light bulbs began to turn on in their little heads. Okay, taking a deep breath...Ten minutes later two girls, finally arriving at #6 because they didn't pay attention to the fact that I only assigned the even numbers whine out in unison "We don't get number six! Help!"

Leaving on a Jet Plane...again

We started this latest experiment in living a year and a half ago, wherein I move to the West and CoolGuy flies back and forth. When I first moved into the studio apartment, it was a fun adventure. I'd never lived by myself before, ever. I'd always shared a room and, except for college, always shared a bed! But here I was, in my own little room, with only me to care for and care about and, frankly it was really fun! What a luxury! I could eat popcorn and call it dinner! No one else to clean up after, or mesh schedules with or even wonder if they wanted to watch something on tv. But soon the novelty wore off and I was lonely. After six months, we bought a house, we moved all our stuff, and now "we" live here. Sort of. Cool Guy actually lives here less than he is gone. We just get a groove going for a week or two--work, dinnner, Jeopardy, hot tub--and then it's time to go to the airport and I'm alone with the cat again. It's far more schizoid for him than it is for me, I'm sure. But this week, I realized that I'm really looking forward to an entire month of the same routine. And I hope someday again we can truly "live" in the same house (heck--timezone) again. I'm not whining mind you: he has a great, well-paying job that he really likes and they like him. I just realized this week that I crave togetherness. Hmm...We'll get there, I'm sure. For thirty years, through all the separations of deployments, new jobs, me going to help my parents, etc., we keep saying "Let's never live apart again, okay??" And yet--we keep doing it! What' s up with us??

We're Not in Wyoming Anymore

So, we woke up early on Saturday morning and headed up to D.C. to Georgetown University. We held Lil Dude while Foxy J read her paper at a literary conference and had hot cocoa in a lounge that overlooked the Hoyas football field. They were down there practicing for the game later in the afternoon. Then, we headed across the river for the green, horsey environs of Northern Virginia to a wedding reception. In a very nice house, with a very nice caterer, open bar, mushu station, music, etc. Probably cost about as much as our house...After enjoying the afternoon and the company, we drove to the airport, stopped for one more serving of "a dozen raw" at the seafood bar by our gate (oysters on the half-shell) and boarded. Cool Guy's frequent flyer status had automatically upgraded us to first class the day before, so we had comfy seats, a little snack, and a good nap on our way back to Vegas, Baby. After a luxurious soak in our hot tub under the full moon we flopped into bed. Ahh...home again. Life is very different as a grown-up than I ever imagined while milking cows, looking over the barn door at that same full moon.

106 Times

It was Conference Weekend. Since it happens twice a year, it was 106 times since I was born. When it finished on Sunday, I was struck by how quickly Conference Weekend passes now that I'm an Elder of the Tribe. When I was little, this conference lasted three days, as I recall. My mom would watch it on television (and I'm sure she listened to it on the radio before they had a t.v) and in the spring, it would sometimes be Thurs. - Sat. - Sun. in order to be held on April 6---the exact date of the original organization of the church. Or Sat. - Sun. - Tues. I don't remember how they accommodated Wed April Sixthes. Hmmm...

Anyway...What I also remember about Conference is that I really wanted to listen and pay attention, but often I simply fell asleep (especially as a teen) and, that as a little child/teen, Conference seemed to be interminable. Not in a bad way, but just incredibly long and it went on and on. Now, I am taken by surprise on Sunday afternoon that--wheee---another conference weekend has flown past!! Is this just the brain damage of the old, or is it because I'm feasting on the Spirit? Or is it that in the equation of how many hours I've lived, these eight hours are such a small proportion that they no longer seem so large? Maybe all-of-the-above? Anyway--I enjoy these weekends enormously and they do speed by so quickly.

Nuggets Gleaned:

• "Lay down your life for His sake" is not to die (as a martyr) but to give up our our self-centered existence and pick up Christ's goals for our lives.
• The wise man did not escape the tempest, but he was in a position to survive it from having built on a firm foundation.
• Instead of complaining that the wagontrain of life is passing us by, we need to put our shoulder to the wheel and serve others and we'll get a life.

I remember once saying to my kids when they'd complained that conference is boring because the speakers always talked about the same old things:

"Wouldn't that be awesome if sometime we went there [the church, to watch the broadcast] and one of them stood up and said, "Well, we won't need to give the talk on tithing anymore because every member of the church is now a full tithe payer." or "We won't be giving a talk about personal prayer because God said that everyone prays to Him daily now." or "No need to discuss honesty or charity or love one another since everyone already does those things all the time now."

Yes, eye-rolling ensued...but you get my drift, too, huh? You'd think after 106 times I'd get it too, and not need to pay attention to that talk on kindness, or the one about the evils of gossip. Maybe after 108...

Uncle Dan--the fisherman

My dad's only brother died this week and I was able to drive up to his memorial service. When I heard he was gone, my first thought was "The three little orphans are no longer orphans--their family is all together again." Uncle Dan was the last of the siblings to die. My dad left over 22 years ago and their sister Margie left a few years later. Their parents passed two years apart when my dad was only 8, Dan was 6 and Margie 10. They were split up among various relatives with my dad lucking out by getting to live with a kind woman who grew to truly love him. She became our beloved Grandma. Neither Dan nor Margie was so blessed. Once when telling the story of my grandparents' short lives and tragic deaths, my children over-heard and wondered if it was a book I'd read, but no--it is our family history. So now, the end of the sorrow has come and they are a family reunited.

Uncle Dan loved trout fishing and most of my memories of him involve strings of fish laying on our lawn with us admiring them. It was really good to listen to his grown grandchildren tell amusing stories and realize how much the brothers were alike. My dad didn't get to be a grandpa for very long. We children had produced 18 offspring before he died, but most of them were under eight, and so they don't have the great memories I heard about Grandpa Welch from my cousins' children. I'm happy that they have such terrific memories.

It's interesting to realize that someday my children will recount a synopsis of my childhood to their children. I hope it seems more cheerful than that of my dad and his brother and sister--but it should be. My dad worked hard to provide a "happy" childhood for us. We had two parents all through it, they loved each other, and we always had enough food to eat and clothes to wear. It was everything he didn't get.

A Visit to Preschool

Now what could warm a Grandma/teacher's heart more than seeing her grandson at school?? Love the pack-pack...it doesn't carry anything, but--come on--it can't be REAL school if you don't have a backpack.

It's Green

I just returned from Seattle where I planted flowers with S-Boogie and smiled with Little Dude. It is definitely not the desert there. It reminded me of parts of San Diego as we drove around the old neighborhood by the university. There isn't much "flat" in that part of town, so the bungalow style homes have garages dug out out of the hillside, and then you walk up steep stairs to get to the house itself. The San Diego Sensation evaporates when you see the totem pole outside the shopping center, or the Alaska yellow cedar trees. Think "Dr. Seuss" when picturing the Alaska yellow cedar. All these years, when I saw this tree in a photo, I just thought it was a dead tree covered with long trailing moss. But, actually those are its needles. And apparantly it doesn't need many limbs... The other sure sign you're in Seattle is the plethora of anti-Bush bumper stickers and signs in house windows, and abundant recycling receptacles. There are lots of chatty signs reminding one to scoop while walking the dog, stop for pedestrians, sort the trash, impeach the president.

My sister who's lived there and frequently visited, urged me to eat at Ivar's for fish and chips. I saw their store at the airport on the way home, and ordered a small serving. You see, we love food in our family. We often reccommend things to one another, and sometimes embellish a bit. HOWEVER--I can say without exaggeration that Ivar's fish and chips is stunning, fabulous, sensational, without peer, yummy, tasty--well, you get my drift...wow--it's weird when food really exceeds your expectations.

So, if you're ever in Seattle, remember to eat at Ivar's and recycle your trash and the administration.

Morning Has Broken

I had to get up really early this Saturday to drive Cool Guy to the airport and it was just barely dawn when I opened the front door. It was breathlessly beautiful! There is a very large, craggy desert mountain a few blocks east of our home and it was silhouetted by a line of golden light. The sky all around it was deep blue and the air is so clear that every surface was in sharp relief. I just stood and gaped, unable to move, it was so stunning. I really missed this aspect of dawn when we lived on the east coast. The farm where I grew up in the West was also on the immediate east side of a narrow valley and dawn was very similar there. We were in the shade, with the light rising up behind the mountains for a long time before the actual sun peaked over. But you could watch the light spilling over the west hills and crawling eastward as the earth turned bringing the sun into full view. It was one thing I really loved about early morning milking: watching the day spilling over the mountains.

Take your hat off when the flag goes by!

Good grief...who'd have thought I'd have nothing to say? This is the first blog and suddenly I'm feeling shy. Hmmm...

Today I wore my heart-shaped red/white/blue necklace with my blue star earrings (since my heart-shaped flag earrings that I had for more than 15 years were stolen by the creeps who took my jewelry box during a break-in) and I, alone, wore anything remotely Americana. I thank our music teacher for making the musical theme for our morning assembly the Star Spangled Banner. It is the anniversary of the Battle of Baltimore Bay on Sept. 14. That is the occasion that prompted the poetry by Francis Scott Key which led to the song. She is preparing the students for Thursday morning when we'll join with thousands of other school children in singing it.

I feel an urgent need to teach more cultural literacy to my fourth graders here in a rather poverty-dominated part of Las Vegas, because so many of them know nothing at all if it isn't on TV. And many of them watch TV exclusively in Spanish, at that. So, today we sang "America" again (we practiced it last week) and then they made books with one phrase from the song on each page. They love drawing and coloring and I needed them busy doing something independently so I can work with individual students giving a reading placement test. Sigh...I'd far rather be teaching, but I must gather data and it'll take about three days.

Anyway, by next summer, at the end of our year round term, my class will know at least five songs about America, and will have sorted out the difference between Lincoln and Washington. Small goals, but strangely retro goals, since the whole design of free, universal public education as envisioned a century ago by Dewey and those radical reformers was to Americanize all those foreigners that were swarming to The Land of the Free and the Home of Brave.