Rain

Gracias a Dios, we have rain. If you happen to live outside the MS/AL area, you may not be aware that we've been about to blow away here from lack of rain. For the last week or so, though, we've finally been getting the type of summer showers we usually have much earlier and much more frequently.

It's so nice to hear the rain and the thunder again. As I've said before, the sound of rain on a metal roof is sweet to me. I hope it rains all night.

My dogs have become extremely reliable barometers. Not so much Roux, I guess, because she wants to be inside ALL the time, piled up and snoring on a blanket on my love seat. When Yelldo, though, starts to come to the door and want in, I know that sooner or later the rain will come. He's mortally afraid of thunder, bless his little chicken-dog heart.

There's really nothing else to tell, but that's not bad, either. I'm just happy to watch the rain.

Accepted

Today, I got an email I've been anxiously awaiting for about a month. College Board, one of The Powers That Be in my life, has graciously read and approved my syllabus for the AP Audit, and I can now continue to teach AP.

For those of you who don't know it, and I'm assuming that's most of you, College Board decided that this year, all teachers of AP courses would have to submit syllabi to prove their courses were living up to College Board expectations. Failure to submit a syllabus or failure to have said syllabus approved would mean that the school no longer had the right to put AP on any schedule or transcript. Needless to say, even more stress than usual was on AP teachers this year.

It may not sound like much to somebody who wasn't a part of it, but some teachers were so stressed and/or offended that they decided not to teach AP anymore. I knew about it from a workshop I went to last summer, so it wasn't a surprise to me, but I didn't actually know what they wanted as I was preparing my syllabus for submission. That's largely because THEY didn't know what they wanted. The nature of an AP course makes it impossible to proscribe "one right way" to run it. So much of the evaluation process had to be subjective for that reason. It's never comforting when your job lies on subjective evaluation.

For me, though, it's done. No rewrites, no last minute revisions. Now I can concentrate on just getting my stuff together for next year. Fancy that...a teacher who is finally free to start working on stuff to teach....

A Little Responsibility, Please

During WWI, the American Pit Bull Terrier or American Staffordshire Terrier (I don't care what you say, AKC, same dog) was a hero. In fact, pitties have been in art as a symbol of America for a long time. It's only recently that fools (mostly, but not exclusively, male) decided that pit bulls were supposed to be some kind of super-violent uber-guard dog. Now, images of pit bulls in full froth adorn t-shirts as men try to get some... um...gonads... vicariously by owning a dog that the media has deemed vicious.

If you've read me at all, you know I have a pit who is one of the great joys of my life. She's such a loving clown. She follows me from room to room, and is so far from the mad-dog sterotype that she even brought me a kitten to take care of last summer. Admittedly, I'm lucky in that her natural prey drive doesn't include my cats, but she defies every image of the killer pit out there.

A constant source of misery to me is the fact that there are cities everywhere who are putting breed bans on these noble dogs. For those of you who don't know what breed ban means, it means the city says owning a dog of a certain type (or one that even looks a little like that type) is illegal. Having an illegal dog means fines for the owners and probably confiscation and/or destruction of the poor animal.

What is leading to these laws? People who encourage and abuse pits to bring out their natural animal aggression. Are pitties dangerous? Well, yes, they can be. The same can be said for any of the dog breeds that naturally want to chase small animals. The same could certainly be said for any type of animal that is starved, beaten, kicked, staked out as bait, and generally taught that the only way it can survive is through aggressive attack. Don't think it doesn't happen. Don't think the reports the media plays up so elaborately aren't coming from dogs that have been in some way at some point mistreated.

Now, I firmly believe that any pitty that has become human aggressive needs to be put down. That's the sign of a dog that has been broken. The question I have is this: Why is the media so eager to have a whole breed wiped off the face of the earth when their only part in this current trend is to have been born? Pitties don't choose who owns them. They don't choose to be abused, neglected, and fought in the ring until they are maimed or killed in the most violent and cruel way imaginable. Why aren't police trying to find the people who run these dog rings and irresponsible owners and breeders instead? To me, what they're doing is just dabbing a gaping wound instead of trying to stanch the flow and bring healing.

Today, as we were going to Kosciusko to see my uncle, we passed a "breeder" who lives on that route. They frequently have a sign out saying their puppies are ready for purchase, and today they actually had a sign that said "Pit Bull Sale", like these wonderful, headstrong, heartstrong dogs are a bargain basement commodity. I wanted to turn the vehicle up that driveway, first buy all the dogs, and second kick the breeders in their ignorant backsides. Of course, I could afford to do neither. I can only hope that people will begin to understand the nature of these dogs and help them regain their rightful status as proud symbols of loyalty, tenacity, and strength rather than the monsters in the dark straining at the end of chains.

Still Sleepless

Not exactly sleepless, I guess. I suppose it would be more accurate to say, "Still having trouble falling and staying asleep." I have really disturbing dreams almost every night, the kind that you wake up from, but still see bits and pieces of it floating in the real world.

I hate dreams like this; the monsters shouldn't be able to chase you into the waking world. The current "favorite" of whatever makes dreams is that somebody is breaking into my house. Repeatedly, I've woken up screaming and "seeing" somebody standing in the middle of my bedroom. Sleep is pretty much over after that one.

There's not really any news. Life has been remarkably uneventful. I've watched a couple of movies, read some, and went to Kosciusko with my parents today to visit my uncle. I did get to chat online briefly with one of my long-distance friends who's spending his summer in Brazil. Lucky...

Maybe tomorrow will be a day of "get up and go". I need to mow my yard before the Bahia grass takes it over completely.

Destination Truth

I have started watching Destination Truth on Sci-Fi mostly because it comes on right after Ghost Hunters (one of my few favorite shows), and I am usually captured by the story before I have the willpower to cut off the set. It's been both interesting and disappointing.

The host is a hoot. His wry (and sometimes outright sarcastic) comments are hilarious. Tonight, his team was in Paupau New Guinea looking for a giant pterodactyl like creature. They were all headed up into the mountainous jungle to search for its cave and were being led by a native of the area who had a multi-colored cap and dreadlocks. The host said something like, "Because you should never go into the jungle without at least one reggae musician on your team." I cracked up.

There are several things I hope they improve though. One is that they are always out in the jungle trying to find these things, and all the evidence they get are blurs and rustling noises, that, quite frankly, could come from any rabbit going about his rabbity business in the woods. Anybody who lives out in the country knows that a chameleon walking through dry leaves sounds like something out of Jurassic Park.

It's not that I don't think this show's ideas about tracking these mythical animals is a good thing. If nothing else, they are at least exposing their viewing audience to the mythology and folklore of other cultures. I just get tired of blank video screens and them saying things like, "Whoa! Did you hear that? What was that?

One other thing I have really mixed feelings about is the host's attitudes toward the people he's talking to. Sometimes, I think his comments are really disrespectful toward the beliefs of the people he's interviewing. To me, some of the segments have come really close to "Let's hold up the stupid native and make fun of his primitive beliefs". While in some cases, he's clearly exposed some fraud, and that always deserves derision, in other cases, he's dealing with the deeply-held beliefs of a people group, and I don't think it's right to make fun of it.

I'll continue to watch the show. Maybe they'll luck up and actually catch something. That would be pretty neat, I think. At least watching them trek in and out of caves and stand out in the middle of the jungle in the dark is better watching that most of the other stuff on TV late Wed. night.

Sleepless

I am going through another period of insomnia. I was up night before last watching old movies on TCM until 4:30 a.m. I literally could not go to sleep. Even when I finally lay down, I stared at my ceiling for a long time before my body decided to shut down. I've tried reading, not drinking as much caffeine (Diet MD withdrawal), taking a hot bath, and I'm up to the point of going out to buy some Nyquil capsules if this doesn't stop soon. In the past, NyQuil has lived up to its tagline "so you can rest medicine" several times when these phases of sleeplessness have emerged.

I hate it. My whole routine is off. I can't sleep at night, but I want to take long naps in the afternoon and I'm not getting anything productive done. I still have several projects to complete before August 1, and I just can't seem to get any of them going. I find myself watching Decorating Cents, Design on a Dime, and other HGTV fare while tinkering with the computer instead of tackling the big piles of crap in the back of the house or working on the reading I have to do for the beginning of school.

When I do sleep, I have bizarre and terrible dreams, and lucky me, I can mostly remember them when I wake up. They're the kind of dreams that make you feel uneasy the rest of the day, and also make you wish you could simply erase them for good.
I've tried all kinds of things to give me good dreams...music, funny movies, favorite books, but I keep winding up down those same dark back alleys of the mind.

I'm going to try one more time to go to bed now. Tomorrow, if I have the kind of night I've been having, I will be headed to a pharmacy for the blue and green box and a good night's rest.

Elvis Pez

For the first time ever, after years and years of fan requests, PEZ is making an Elvis Presley PEZ dispenser. There have been fakes around for years, but until the OC Chopper PEZ set, PEZ refused to use real people as models for their dispensers. They said that real people too often wind up as disappointing role models for their chosen consumer group, kids.

I suspect that the vast number of adult PEZ dispenser collectors out there have brought on this change. I'm a member of a mailing list dedicated to PEZ, and there are several conferences every year just for PEZ.

I am so excited about the Elvis PEZ. I haven't got one yet, but I have seen the set online. It comes with an Elvis cd, and is officially licensed and everything. I hope these sets will come to Wal-Mart like the other recent boxed sets have. I think I'll buy two and store one because I know this set will be worth something in a few years. Also, I'll want to open my set and fish out the cd. :)

The set comes with three dispensers, military Elvis, what I think of as movie Elvis, and then Vegas Elvis. How cool is that? I used to carry PEZ in my purse for blood sugar dips, and I think that now I have a reason to do it again.

Euolgy for a Rottweiler

About three months ago, I looked out my front door because my dogs were barking and saw a big black gangly-looking dog standing in my driveway. My first thought was that he was another throw-away, but when I looked at him, I saw he was a full-blooded Rottweiler. Yelldo, my beagle-dachsund mix, chased the dog from my yard, but he ran back to my neighbor's house instead of blindy away into the woods. This was my first encounter with Rufus.

Rufus continued to visit my yard. He and my pit bull, Roux, became really good friends. Roux finally had somebody her size, and Rufus and she would play tug with a rope toy and take turns bowling each other over. I was extremely wary at first when they started to play that Rufus' puppy enthusiasm and size would trigger the pit bull rage in Roux, but even at their roughest, she merely found him amusing. He became such a part of our lives that he was waiting outside every morning for Roux and Yelldo to come outside. The three of them would greet and head off for a day of dog fun somewhere.

It was a long time before he would get up enough courage to allow me to pet him. Once he did, though, he was such a sweet, playful, loving giant puppy. Every time I saw him, it seemed he'd multiplied in size by two or three times, and recently, he'd outstripped Roux in height if not in weight. He always politely came to see me when he was in the yard, and I'd rub behind his floppy ears and tell him he was a good boy. Like Rotties do, he'd look at me with those big happy chocolate eyes and lick my hands.

Two days ago, Roux and Yelldo went outside for the day, and I noticed that once again, Rufus was in the yard. He wasn't playful this time, though. He was simply lying on the grassy hill near the driveway. When Roux nudged him, he struggled to his feet and the three moved away.

I didn't really think much about it until yesterday. He couldn't seem to get up. After checking him for wounds, I helped him over to one of the outside water dishes for the dogs thinking perhaps he was just too overheated in our 102 degree summer heat. He drank a little, and then simply lay with his head on the edge of the bowl.

I drove over to my neighbor's house to tell them that something was seriously wrong with Rufus. They said he'd been acting like this for several days. He wasn't eating, and he was drinking very little. While the woman was worried, the man couldn't be moved to take Rufus to the vet. I told her how serious I was afraid things were, and she said she'd make the man take Rufus to the vet this morning. I came back and tried to get him to eat something, but he wouldn't take treats or canned Alpo. He just lay in the yard looking so sad.

When I woke up, Rufus was still in my yard. I turned Roux and Yelldo out, and the next time I looked out a few hours later, I didn't see him. I assumed that he'd either gone home or that the neighbors had come and gotten him. Around noon, I stepped out to get something out of my car to find him lying right up next to the house at the end of the porch heaving for every breath.

I lifted him, and his bowels let go. I washed him and myself off and tried to get a little water down him, but he couldn't even swallow. I came in the house to get a towel, and I just broke down sobbing. Dad was here helping me put together some shelves I'd bought, and he and I lifted Rufus into the back of his pickup truck, wrapped him in a towel, and got ready to rush him back over to my neighbor's when suddenly Rufus stopped breathing. I shook him and massaged his chest until he started breathing again, but he was in such horrible shape.

We got him back over to the neighbors and got them to come out and realize how serious his condition was. They loaded him into their truck and headed for the vet. Several hours later, the man came by to let me know that Rufus died about halfway to town. The vet said he may have swallowed some poison.

Why, oh why, didn't they take him on earlier? Legally, there was nothing I could do. I did not own him, and no vet would have treated him if I'd taken him in since I wasn't his owner. He was such a precious dog, good and loyal, gentle and strong in that way that the best of Rotties always are. He was just a puppy; I doubt he was even a year old yet. How could any human with any sort of claim to that title look at something as filled with love as that dog was and not provide for him?

In the end, all I could do for him was stroke him, cry for him, and tell him that no matter what had gone on with the people who were supposed to care for him and protect him that he was loved here in this yard by me. I hope that Rufus is safe and happy somewhere now beyond the pain of neglectful owners.

I always imagine that all the animals I love are in heaven at play in the fields of the Lord. I can't imagine a heaven without those beautiful friends God put into my life to love and care for. I hope that Rufus just left his poor ravaged body behind and woke to a place where he'll never suffer anymore. Let this be his eulogy then. Let this be the highest honor I can utter: He was a good dog, and I will miss his nose pressed up against my window. He was a good dog, and I will look for him in my yard every morning. He was a good dog, and he deserved much, much better than he was given.

Non-Rant News

I got my car back Monday. Yea! I can't even tell where the accident happened, and I'm thrilled. It's been so good just to look out the door and see the little Cruiser parked in the driveway. I drove it today on a long trip I took with Mom and Dad to see my uncle, and although I don't usually enjoy long-distance driving, being behind the wheel was a joy. I have to say, though, that I'm driving MUCH more carefully now....

Things I Don't Understand

Today somebody told me the story of a church that removed the stained glass windows someone had donated because they were "graven images". I seriously doubt anyone was praying to the stained-glass Jesus. I doubt further that any member of that church left any offerings or believed that diety resided in those colored shards. This same group of people also has other beliefs that they dogmatically defend that have absolutely nothing to do with what Christianity is supposed to be about.

I don't understand Christians and Christian groups who choose to take up arms against one another and argue over something as inconsequential as church decor when outside the doors are hunger, poverty, need, evil, the lost, everything the Children of Christ were told to be working against. To be that fantastically short-sighted is appalling to me. How much good could be done if that same passion were put to some good cause rather than toward petty powerstruggles and personal delusion?

It doesn't matter what style of music we sing or how many songs we have, what we hang on our walls or don't, or even what translation of the Bible is read as long as that translation was done by reliable sources and not Bozo the clown. None of that is what makes a person a Christian, and I have to believe that it saddens the heart of God when his children hamstring themselves by becoming wrapped up in the trivialites instead of focusing on worshiping him, supporting each other, and helping the world to see his love through genuine service.

The First Tomato

I picked the first ripe tomato from my one little tomato plant yesterday. It needs probably one more day to finish ripening completely, so I'll probably cut it tomorrow. I am a bit nervous about cutting it. It's silly, but I am so looking forward to a tomato that came off a vine instead of from hydroponics that almost no tomato can really live up to the hype. We'll see.

Just a Wish

I was aimlessly wondering the virtual aisles of eBay last night while I was watching a movie, and I came across a whole store dedicated to Japanese stuff. I looked at the snack foods I used to bike over to the grocery store near my office for, at maneki neko that weren't nearly worth what they were charging, and at bottles of my favorite tea. I wanted to get on a plane right then and wake up in Nagoya airport in 18 hours.

Summer in Japan is such a neat time. Each city has its own big party at some point, and the fireworks make everything I've ever seen in the States look like a wet sparkler by comparison. I loved the unity of a thousand faces sitting and watching the sky. Families, couples, groups of friends, everybody came out and spread blankets on the banks of the river, in one of the city parks, or even in emptied parking lots to see the show.

I can't help but think about the pottery festivals we always traveled to during this time of the year. Imagine a whole town covered with booths and tables full of handmade pottery, everything from everyday dishes to fine sculpture. Now imagine that town roped off so traffic can't enter the heart of it because the streets are absolutely thronged with people who have come from all over the region and country just for this two-day show. The makers are friendly and chatty, the prices are absurdly low because the important thing isn't the price, but that each piece is going to be appreciated and used, and every person you see is carrying way too many purchases. I long for it.

I also long for the simple sound of the glass furin I used to have hanging on my balcony. I had big ones and tiny fairy bells that hung from metal stakes in my potted plants. They were available at the dollar stores. I think I only have one or two left now. Over the years that have passed since I came home, many of them have broken. It was such a sound of summer to me, though, to be walking down the street and hear the music of those bells in someone's garden.

I dreamed all week last week that I went back to Japan. I don't know if it's just a wish or if it's something stronger than that. I think I'm going to try to sate the need by ordering some tea and soba. Those are certainly more affordable than a thousand dollar plane ticket.

Addictive

Yesterday, I decided to download the game Zuma to play for a short time. Four hours later, I was still trying to get the little grey frog to line up the colored spheres. Today, instead of Zuma, I looked around PopCap Games' website and found a game called Hammerheads. The game consists of ceramic yard gnomes of various types that pop up from a grassy looking background. Your job is to smash them with a hammer. I have to say, I've had a lot of fun today smashing gnomes with a hammer.

Those games are so addictive! I think I probably played that game for about three hours, and it's not like it stimulates my brain or gets anything even remotely productive accomplished. However, there is just something so relaxing about point, click, point, click, move to the next level. It's probably good I don't have an Xbox...

Things People from MS Should Know

Oddities in my life being what they are, today I was in an antique shop in a small MS town, and the woman behind the desk asked me, "Isn't Eudora Welty sort of a famous writer?" I looked at her with what I know had to be an incredulous expression on my face, and said, "Yes. Yes, she is." The woman went on to ask, "Isn't she from Mississippi?" I told her yes, Welty was from Jackson, and that she was very famous. The woman went on to comment that she thought she might have read something by Welty before but remained blank when I named three or four of the more commonly-anthologized or taught stories.

I think what prompted this bizzare conversation was a cookbook. Welty had a recipe included in one of the Jackson charity cookbooks, and she frequently signed those books for local fans. I suspect the lady behind the desk had one of these signed books because I saw her with something spiral bound in her lap, and when I told her that Milsaps would be celebrating the centenial of Welty's birth soon and that they had recently opened Welty's Jackson home, the woman's eyes got brighter and brighter with what I assume was probably hope for profit and not pride in a homegrown author.

This little encounter really started me thinking about how little the common person seems to know about Mississippi's legacy in the arts and literature. I think every man, woman, and child in this state ought to be aware that the following "belong to us":

1) Eudora Welty
2) William Faulkner
3) Richard Wright
4) Howlin Wolf
5) Muddy Waters
6) Robert Johnson
7) B.B. King
8) Elvis
9) Oprah


There are more, of course, but to live here and not to know these just baffles me. In fact, go to this website and see the whole whoppin' list. Mississipians, we may be last in a lot of things, but in production of writers and musicians, we need never bow our heads to any other state.

Changes and Transformations

This week has been very sweet. I've had to go into town a few times, but for the most part, I've been able to stay at home and relax. I've read a lot, gotten the materials together for a seminar I'm leading next week, cleaned up some of the messes that had accumulated here, caught up on bill paying, watched a video or two, and just generally enjoyed not having to go to school. I love my job, but sometimes a person needs a break.

My car is being repaired. I took it in Tuesday, and they gave me a rental, an Impala. I really miss my poor little PT Cruiser. I went by the body shop yesterday to get something I'd left out of the car, and they had removed the damaged bumper and rear light assembly. It looked forlorn sitting in the repair bay, but at least it's on the "road to recovery."

I own my car now, and that's a big deal for me. When I first bought it, I had just returned from Japan and I didn't have a job here, so it was purchased in my dad's name. For a variety of reasons, mostly because I'm way too old to live like that anymore, I wanted it in my name, so I recently bought my dad out on the loan. It's in my name now, and I feel much better. As soon as the repairs finish, I'm changing insurance companies because I loathe the thick-headed redneck moron my parents use, and the transformation will be complete.

I'm also trying to get my list of "crucial projects" together for this summer. Of course, the age-old cleaning out the storage room in the back of the house remains, but I also have some other stuff I need to take care of. Hopefully, I'll get some ambition to go with that and won't spend the whole summer curled up on the couch with a book.