We made a quickie visit to Utah--going up Saturday and returning Sunday--for a family event. Our newest granddaughter was blessed with her name in church. Then we all went over to their house for a nice brunch. We had all of our grandchildren in one spot, and I guess I flunk Grandma school, I didn't take a picture of them all together or even one of each kid. I took several of their parents, and did not manage to photograph each of the progeny. Doh.
But it was a pleasant trip. The weather was excellent during our driving and while we were there. All the people we visited with were casual and cheerful. It was very nice.
On Tuesday night I'm going to fly out to Maryland to visit some old friends and to celebrate the birthday of our son who lives there. Then Saturday, I'll come back and get ready for a visit from our daughter and her kids who are coming to spend their Spring Break in the sun. Plus, her husband has to be out of town, so she can relax with the new baby and Grandpa CoolGuy will entertain the troops. Grandma will be teaching all day. But I'll hurry home so I can be part of the fun, too. Sandbox, swimming pool, bunny bread--it'll be a good time.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Fun-Raiser
Last night our PTO held a fundraiser by showing a movie in the big room. The school pays for a license to Disney Corp. and we are allowed to show any of their movies on DVD to an audience for pay or just for fun--but since it isn't a "home" viewing, we need the license.
Anyway this Movie-Night has been a tradition at our school for several years and last night was also a huge success. They sell about 250 tickets for $2 each. Children must be accompanied by adults, and you are to bring your own blanket or lawn chair. There are snacks sold, so no outside food or drinks are allowed. My friend and I were in charge of the popcorn machine. Next year I'll know to start popping an hour ahead of time...But we managed to sell popcorn, bags of cookies, candy bars and juice boxes at 50 cents each, and the $2 tickets, for the grand total of $750. Pretty dang good fundraiser I'd say.
People had a fun time, too. We had the students vote from a list of movies which one we should show and "G-Force" won. In case you don't know it, it is about a group of guinea pigs who have been trained to be secret agents. It stars computer animated guinea pigs, mice, and a mole, plus live humans who are such awesome actors that they didn't roll their eyes everytime they uttered unbelievable cliches and dopey lines. However...it was perfect fare for the young set we were targeting. Actually, I laughed several times. Plus, they reminded me of the little Ratties who were my daughter's pets for years and years. Here's the best line of the movie:
"Well, where did you get us then?" asked a Guinea pig of their human handler (whose project had been shut down by the nefarious group leader who, naturally, was actually leading another group to take over the world with an evil plan).
"You were all pet shop purchases."
"Oh...I'd hoped you were going to say you'd rescued us from a roadside tapas stand in the Pyrennes."
Anyway this Movie-Night has been a tradition at our school for several years and last night was also a huge success. They sell about 250 tickets for $2 each. Children must be accompanied by adults, and you are to bring your own blanket or lawn chair. There are snacks sold, so no outside food or drinks are allowed. My friend and I were in charge of the popcorn machine. Next year I'll know to start popping an hour ahead of time...But we managed to sell popcorn, bags of cookies, candy bars and juice boxes at 50 cents each, and the $2 tickets, for the grand total of $750. Pretty dang good fundraiser I'd say.
People had a fun time, too. We had the students vote from a list of movies which one we should show and "G-Force" won. In case you don't know it, it is about a group of guinea pigs who have been trained to be secret agents. It stars computer animated guinea pigs, mice, and a mole, plus live humans who are such awesome actors that they didn't roll their eyes everytime they uttered unbelievable cliches and dopey lines. However...it was perfect fare for the young set we were targeting. Actually, I laughed several times. Plus, they reminded me of the little Ratties who were my daughter's pets for years and years. Here's the best line of the movie:
"Well, where did you get us then?" asked a Guinea pig of their human handler (whose project had been shut down by the nefarious group leader who, naturally, was actually leading another group to take over the world with an evil plan).
"You were all pet shop purchases."
"Oh...I'd hoped you were going to say you'd rescued us from a roadside tapas stand in the Pyrennes."
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Heating Up
Today was the first official day of Turning on the Car Air Conditioner. I went out at 12:30 to drive home and get my lunch -- because I'd lingered in bed too long and didn't have time to pack it -- and it was hot! So, I rolled down the windows, but that didn't help at all. So, I decided I'd cross my fingers and hope that the air conditioning still worked...Yes!
The high today was 75 fabulous degrees. Yeah, baby. Honest, I really don't like 45. Soon the pool will be warm enough to dive in. Yes, I know it will reach 100 every day for 3 months. But that is really just okay by me.
The high today was 75 fabulous degrees. Yeah, baby. Honest, I really don't like 45. Soon the pool will be warm enough to dive in. Yes, I know it will reach 100 every day for 3 months. But that is really just okay by me.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
A Marvelous Night
I spent eight hours at school today, Saturday, because I had procrastinated so much work that I needed to spend that much time catching up: correcting papers and writing report card comments. It was awful. Next semester, I promise, I won't procrastinate like that. (uh, huh...)
Anyway I got home and CoolGuy was playing Van Morrison on the surround sound system. It was so terrific and relaxing and energizing and refreshing. I almost completely recovered. I was peeling and cutting up vegetables to cook in the broth from the corned beef I'd cooked last night so that we could have an Irish meal tonight.
I mean, could this have been more appropriate? Playing Van Morrison while cooking an Irish dinner? And you cannot hear Moondance without dancing, can you? I like to cook and dance. No one is watching, except for the cat, and she doesn't ridicule, and you can hum along and do little steps and sashay back and forth. I felt revived from my day of report card-cramming.
So, I tried to find some music on YouTube to link to on this blog, but the only videos were odd people with delusions of grandeur filming themselves while playing his songs. Oh, all right, they weren't all that bad. But no one is as good as the real Van Morrison singing "Brown-Eyed Girl" or "Into the Mystic" or "Have I Told You Lately?" Perhaps it is because these are all musical memories of my teen years and early marriage years, but all of these songs evoke a strong sense of nostalgia and joy whenever I listen. Please go to Rapsody or somewhere and give him a listen, if you don't know what I'm babbling about. He is special and addictive and his songs are fine.
Anyway I got home and CoolGuy was playing Van Morrison on the surround sound system. It was so terrific and relaxing and energizing and refreshing. I almost completely recovered. I was peeling and cutting up vegetables to cook in the broth from the corned beef I'd cooked last night so that we could have an Irish meal tonight.
I mean, could this have been more appropriate? Playing Van Morrison while cooking an Irish dinner? And you cannot hear Moondance without dancing, can you? I like to cook and dance. No one is watching, except for the cat, and she doesn't ridicule, and you can hum along and do little steps and sashay back and forth. I felt revived from my day of report card-cramming.
So, I tried to find some music on YouTube to link to on this blog, but the only videos were odd people with delusions of grandeur filming themselves while playing his songs. Oh, all right, they weren't all that bad. But no one is as good as the real Van Morrison singing "Brown-Eyed Girl" or "Into the Mystic" or "Have I Told You Lately?" Perhaps it is because these are all musical memories of my teen years and early marriage years, but all of these songs evoke a strong sense of nostalgia and joy whenever I listen. Please go to Rapsody or somewhere and give him a listen, if you don't know what I'm babbling about. He is special and addictive and his songs are fine.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Nomad
Someone asked me recently where I'd come from to Las Vegas, since every third person who works for the school district moved here from somewhere else. So, I went into the list...Maryland, then California, before that Wyoming. Yes, I have moved quite a bit. Is this the last place? I don't know.
The very first time I moved (and by that I mean really packed myself and left for a new home, not just college for a semester) was a choice I made because I was looking for adventure. Plus, I had a chance to go live by the ocean. I'd only seen the ocean for the first time the year before, and I was hooked. I knew one person in that city and she turned out to be fairly unreliable. But I figured out how to live there and, even though I had no job skills and was a really naive farm girl, it worked out. (God watches over the stupid evidently.) But all the other moves were the result of CoolGuy's job, except for this one to Las Vegas, which I initiated.
I've been thinking about it and I guess I'm just a nomad. My mom and her mother both lived nearly their entire lives in one place. They loved it there, and they had no desire to leave. My mom wasn't even comfortable being a snowbird. She liked her house and she liked the part of the world where it was located and that was that. I can't remember a time when I didn't want to see the other side of the mountain--literally and figuratively.
I could no more have spent my life living in one place than she could have lived her life moving around like the gypsies we must have seemed like to her. I've just always been curious about the next place. Not every town we lived in was just wonderful. Some of them we left quite happily. But I was always ready to see the next place and the next place. We managed to change ecosystems and regions with each move, too. So I've had a chance to learn a new culture, see new plants and animals and experience a wide variety of weather. Again, not all terrific, but certainly different from that to which I'd been accustomed.
Anyway, curiosity still piques me, now and then, so that when CoolGuy makes noises about moving to Israel for a couple of years, or northern California, or wherever...I consider the possibilities and think, "Hmmm, I'll wonder if they need teachers there?" and start contemplating what I'd pack and what I'd haul to the thrift store. We should just buy some camels and a big tent.
The very first time I moved (and by that I mean really packed myself and left for a new home, not just college for a semester) was a choice I made because I was looking for adventure. Plus, I had a chance to go live by the ocean. I'd only seen the ocean for the first time the year before, and I was hooked. I knew one person in that city and she turned out to be fairly unreliable. But I figured out how to live there and, even though I had no job skills and was a really naive farm girl, it worked out. (God watches over the stupid evidently.) But all the other moves were the result of CoolGuy's job, except for this one to Las Vegas, which I initiated.
I've been thinking about it and I guess I'm just a nomad. My mom and her mother both lived nearly their entire lives in one place. They loved it there, and they had no desire to leave. My mom wasn't even comfortable being a snowbird. She liked her house and she liked the part of the world where it was located and that was that. I can't remember a time when I didn't want to see the other side of the mountain--literally and figuratively.
I could no more have spent my life living in one place than she could have lived her life moving around like the gypsies we must have seemed like to her. I've just always been curious about the next place. Not every town we lived in was just wonderful. Some of them we left quite happily. But I was always ready to see the next place and the next place. We managed to change ecosystems and regions with each move, too. So I've had a chance to learn a new culture, see new plants and animals and experience a wide variety of weather. Again, not all terrific, but certainly different from that to which I'd been accustomed.
Anyway, curiosity still piques me, now and then, so that when CoolGuy makes noises about moving to Israel for a couple of years, or northern California, or wherever...I consider the possibilities and think, "Hmmm, I'll wonder if they need teachers there?" and start contemplating what I'd pack and what I'd haul to the thrift store. We should just buy some camels and a big tent.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
It's A Beautiful Day
Really, it was a gorgeous day today! The sky was blue, the mountains on the west side were glittering with snow. I didn't have to wear a coat. We kept our students up on the playground at the end of recess to do some teambuilding games for 15 minutes before we took them off to class again. It has just been such a topsy-turvy week that they are out of sorts and acting out. So we did a couple of running and screaming games. It was great! Everyone got lots of vitamin D and fresh air.
It stays light until almost 6:30 now and I'm going to plant radishes and tomatoes this weekend. It's time to trim all of our trees and the lawn is starting to grow again. This is a glorious time of year!! Yeah!! Soon, we'll be eating dinner at the patio table. It is just so lovely to spend time outside when it is like this. I saw little trees that are covered in pink blossoms, others have that pale green aura of buds that are nearly ready to explode into leaves. Kitty Cat runs in through the open door and gallops laps around the house and then charges back outside again to roll in the warm dirt. We're all happy to be able to revel in nature. Sigh. Spring is just a wonderful thing.
It stays light until almost 6:30 now and I'm going to plant radishes and tomatoes this weekend. It's time to trim all of our trees and the lawn is starting to grow again. This is a glorious time of year!! Yeah!! Soon, we'll be eating dinner at the patio table. It is just so lovely to spend time outside when it is like this. I saw little trees that are covered in pink blossoms, others have that pale green aura of buds that are nearly ready to explode into leaves. Kitty Cat runs in through the open door and gallops laps around the house and then charges back outside again to roll in the warm dirt. We're all happy to be able to revel in nature. Sigh. Spring is just a wonderful thing.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Testing, Testing
This week and next week, our lives at school are turned up-side down to accommodate our BIG TEST schedules. We have numerous small group configurations to fulfill various mandates and allow for specific accommodations. And our school works really hard to put some of our students into small groups just so that they can be monitored and encouraged personally. We are not allowed to read anything to these students or give them hints or anything. But we are allowed to say, "You're doing well! Keep it up!" or "Stand up and walk around for a minute." or "Here, pause for a snack." All of these special, personal touches in a very small group (2 - 4 students) really helps them to stay alert, and not get discouraged and give up, and just start filling in bubbles randomly. We have a whole cadre of staff members who are assisting with these little groups. And it pays off--these kids stay on their game and finish the tests and their scores reflect that they were thinking and reading and trying.
But it wreaks havoc on the rest of us..None of us teachers can believe how slowly this week is progressing. By Tuesday afternoon it felt like it must be at least Thursday. We have to keep track of who is where, and we've all changed our lunch and specials times (P.E., music, art, etc.). As a result, the students are very off-balance during the part of the day that we're not testing. I'm trying to do a science unit during the 3 hour window that I have whichever class is not testing for math or reading. But, I don't have an entire class, because 6 or 7 of them are in small groups; maybe 11 are being tested by the ELL facilitator because the directions can be read aloud (in English) to them. (Also, the entire math test.) So, I have a mixture of several classes and they don't know one another well, so there is turmoil there too. Plus every two days, the groups change. But we have set the goal to be rated "High Achieving*" and we've done after-school tutoring, Saturday test-prep "camp" and just our everyday fabulous job of being great teachers. So, we're trying to create an situation where every student can do the very best job.
*High Achieving Schools: These schools must
meet one of the two criteria established by Nevada’s
No Child Left Behind standards. These schools either
have a significantly higher percentage of students
in each subgroup that are proficient than the state
target or have significantly reduced the percentage of
non-proficient students by more than 10%.
I know I'm whining here. But I'm exhausted and there are 5 more days to go before we can get back to normal. The only good thing: Our principal will exhale after next week. And...it is also the end of the second trimester. That means ten more weeks and it is summer vacation. (Actually eleven because we also have Spring Break coming at the end of March.)
Someone is reading this thinking, "You baby-face teachers, always complaining. And you get all that time off!" Yup, and as a result of that time off, we can face another year of teaching kids and administering tests and we manage to restrain ourselves from strangling anyone in our classroom. My professional goal each year: do not commit a felony. So far, so good.
But it wreaks havoc on the rest of us..None of us teachers can believe how slowly this week is progressing. By Tuesday afternoon it felt like it must be at least Thursday. We have to keep track of who is where, and we've all changed our lunch and specials times (P.E., music, art, etc.). As a result, the students are very off-balance during the part of the day that we're not testing. I'm trying to do a science unit during the 3 hour window that I have whichever class is not testing for math or reading. But, I don't have an entire class, because 6 or 7 of them are in small groups; maybe 11 are being tested by the ELL facilitator because the directions can be read aloud (in English) to them. (Also, the entire math test.) So, I have a mixture of several classes and they don't know one another well, so there is turmoil there too. Plus every two days, the groups change. But we have set the goal to be rated "High Achieving*" and we've done after-school tutoring, Saturday test-prep "camp" and just our everyday fabulous job of being great teachers. So, we're trying to create an situation where every student can do the very best job.
*High Achieving Schools: These schools must
meet one of the two criteria established by Nevada’s
No Child Left Behind standards. These schools either
have a significantly higher percentage of students
in each subgroup that are proficient than the state
target or have significantly reduced the percentage of
non-proficient students by more than 10%.
I know I'm whining here. But I'm exhausted and there are 5 more days to go before we can get back to normal. The only good thing: Our principal will exhale after next week. And...it is also the end of the second trimester. That means ten more weeks and it is summer vacation. (Actually eleven because we also have Spring Break coming at the end of March.)
Someone is reading this thinking, "You baby-face teachers, always complaining. And you get all that time off!" Yup, and as a result of that time off, we can face another year of teaching kids and administering tests and we manage to restrain ourselves from strangling anyone in our classroom. My professional goal each year: do not commit a felony. So far, so good.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
What Teachers Learn
Today I picked up a boy's backpack off the floor and it was packed as tight as a drum. It wasn't heavy, so I said to him to take his coat out of it so it wouldn't be so bulky as it hung off his chair. He pointed out that it didn't have coats in it--it was all wadded up paper.
And it was...we cleaned it out during the lull after recess when some kids were finishing up in the bathroom and some were just drawing idly at their desk. We have about 5 minutes before we transition into the next topic. This guy is on a behavior plan, so he takes home a paper every night that chronicles his day for his mom. It is broken down by the hour so that he can fail or succeed and then regroup for the next hour if necessary. She is to sign them to show that she actually saw it.
Normally, he is on the ball with these and she is too. But today I found every sheet since we returned from Christmas break and every piece of missing homework, permission slip, completed work--everything---crammed into a wad in that bulging backpack. I gave her a call and asked if she could come in when she came to pick him up after school so we could talk. She agreed.
I knew that they had been taking care of a sick nephew. Today I learned all the details: the sick nephew is three years old. He has been sent home from the hospital in California to die. He is on hospice care, he has a morphine pump. His skull is covered with lumps from tumors, his eyes are bulging from his head because of the brain tumor, he is just waiting to die. She showed me pictures.
She is a very sweet woman and I really like her and I like her son. Some days, I'd like to wrap him up in duct tape and tie him to his chair....but he is also a very thoughtful, helpful, soft-hearted person (with spectacular ADHD). Mom apologized for neglecting our boy, she said that ever since the little nephew came home (about 3 weeks ago) it has just been so draining. She said she can't understand where all of her energy is gone to and then she pointed out how hard it was to see this little dear baby being transformed day to day into this disfigured, tortured soul. (Well, she explained it differently, but that is what she meant.)
I finally just hugged her and said, "You take care of home and we'll take care of school, and soon enough you'll be able to take care of all the kids in your house again." Seriously, I just felt so sorry I'd even bothered her.
No wonder he can't concentrate or he sits and cries sometimes, or he gets flaming angry at some pest who is bugging him!! I can't believe he isn't just laying in the floor crying every day. He loves this little nephew. I knew they had been taking care of him for about a year (I had his big sister last year.) I'd heard how they went back and forth between here and California to hospitals for this and that. I guess his real parents just can't deal with it, or his dad is in prison or something equally dreadful. But I didn't realize that the little nephew was at my student's house, dying while being sedated so that the pressure from the tumors don't cause him to cry continually from pain. Hospice is helping them every day. But, still....three years old.
Okay...we'll deal with it. Wow.
And it was...we cleaned it out during the lull after recess when some kids were finishing up in the bathroom and some were just drawing idly at their desk. We have about 5 minutes before we transition into the next topic. This guy is on a behavior plan, so he takes home a paper every night that chronicles his day for his mom. It is broken down by the hour so that he can fail or succeed and then regroup for the next hour if necessary. She is to sign them to show that she actually saw it.
Normally, he is on the ball with these and she is too. But today I found every sheet since we returned from Christmas break and every piece of missing homework, permission slip, completed work--everything---crammed into a wad in that bulging backpack. I gave her a call and asked if she could come in when she came to pick him up after school so we could talk. She agreed.
I knew that they had been taking care of a sick nephew. Today I learned all the details: the sick nephew is three years old. He has been sent home from the hospital in California to die. He is on hospice care, he has a morphine pump. His skull is covered with lumps from tumors, his eyes are bulging from his head because of the brain tumor, he is just waiting to die. She showed me pictures.
She is a very sweet woman and I really like her and I like her son. Some days, I'd like to wrap him up in duct tape and tie him to his chair....but he is also a very thoughtful, helpful, soft-hearted person (with spectacular ADHD). Mom apologized for neglecting our boy, she said that ever since the little nephew came home (about 3 weeks ago) it has just been so draining. She said she can't understand where all of her energy is gone to and then she pointed out how hard it was to see this little dear baby being transformed day to day into this disfigured, tortured soul. (Well, she explained it differently, but that is what she meant.)
I finally just hugged her and said, "You take care of home and we'll take care of school, and soon enough you'll be able to take care of all the kids in your house again." Seriously, I just felt so sorry I'd even bothered her.
No wonder he can't concentrate or he sits and cries sometimes, or he gets flaming angry at some pest who is bugging him!! I can't believe he isn't just laying in the floor crying every day. He loves this little nephew. I knew they had been taking care of him for about a year (I had his big sister last year.) I'd heard how they went back and forth between here and California to hospitals for this and that. I guess his real parents just can't deal with it, or his dad is in prison or something equally dreadful. But I didn't realize that the little nephew was at my student's house, dying while being sedated so that the pressure from the tumors don't cause him to cry continually from pain. Hospice is helping them every day. But, still....three years old.
Okay...we'll deal with it. Wow.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Five Decades and More
Today is my birthday. So I decided to link you to a still relevant post about birthdays at this stage of my life...and then to highlight a few fun parts of the decades.
1953-1963
1953-1963
- being born
- moving to Smoot when I'm 10 days old
- going to elementary school in a one-room school/17 students
- growing tall
- learning to milk (little did I know this wasn't a good thing, especially)
- piano lessons
- discovering "Misty of Chincoteague" book
1963-1973
- growing even taller
- reading "Misty of Chincoteague" about eight more times
- meeting CoolGuy in 6th grade
- being a giant, skinny dweeb for several years
- getting my very own horse
- learning French
- graduating from high school
- graduating from full-time cow milking
- getting published in the "New Era"
1973-1983
- seeing the ocean for the first time
- moving there so I can see it every day
- marrying CoolGuy
- having four babies (not all at once)
- meeting Marguerite Henry and getting her autograph in my Misty book
- being on TV game shows twice
- getting published in the "New Era," again, and a biker magagzine
1983-1993
- Last baby born
- reading "Misty" to all of my kids
- moving, then moving again--it's a sport
- returning to the ocean
- first child's high school graduation (sob...)(but they are tears of happiness)
- graduating from college
- being on another TV game show
- being mother/fan/audience/groupie of awesome children
1993-2003
- moving again and again--maybe we're done?
- the flock is flying away
- more high school graduations
- mission farewells
- weddings
- temple w/CoolGuy
- grandchildren
- college graduations
- I become a teacher
- being published in the "New Era" again and "The Ensign"
- going to Chincoteague Island for Pony Penning Day
2003--2013???
- new city, new schools
- new babies (I can read "Misty" to another generation!)
- my very first passport stamps: Spain and Morocco
- good grief! Another TV game show!! (that's it...really)
- hopefully: the master's degree will get finished
- fun in the pool with grandpa and grandma
- fun in the desert with grandpa and grandma and the race car
- fun at the beach with grandpa and grandma
- I should try for the "Friend"...huh?
One thing about being old is that you have lots of memories and you can filter them any way you'd like to. You can just dump the bad ones if that suits you, and you can embellish the good ones. At least that is what I choose to do. It's just a lot more fun. And, as my birthday button that I wear each year says: "It's my birthday! I can do what I want."
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
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...
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...
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
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 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.
Friday, February 05, 2010
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!
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!
Saturday, January 30, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, January 15, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, January 09, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
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.
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.
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