Saturday, May 31, 2008

Husqvarna Resurrection

Today was Yard Day. My Husqvarna zero-turn has been broken down for about two weeks and the bahaia has been about to take things over. The part and enough time for my dad to come and repair it finally got together, so the first part of this morning was spent hoisting the big orange mower up off the ground and balancing it while Dad put the new idler pulley in.

One of the crappy things, in my opinion anyway, about being a single woman, is that when there's a repair to be done, you pretty much are always involved. I would love to have a husband to send out in the yard to either do these things or help my dad do these things, but that's not to be. Most of the time I don't mind, but sometimes it does get old. A perfect example of this was when I had to go get this idler pulley from the local Husqvarna dealership/repair place.

It's the sort of place that fairly reeks of testosterone, and not in any way that could be construed as good. They have this really obnoxious sign they printed off a computer posted on the front door, on the main checkout, taped to the central support posts, everywhere, really, that says, "Your wife called. She said it was OKAY!!!" I know somebody thought that was the cleverest thing ever, and I'm sure that most of their clientele who comes in there to pick up a four-wheeler, a dirt bike, a big zero turn, or one of those little hopped-up offroad four-wheel-drive golf carty boy-toy things probably hikes up their bass fishing belt buckles and laughs, too.

It's the sort of place, too, that they don't even bother to greet you when you walk through the door. I went after the last day of school, and after all the nonsense that's been going on at school lately, my patience probably wasn't at its highest point. That being said, I stood there for at least ten minutes while two different men walked back and forth behind the big counter, glanced at me, and kept on walking without so much as nodding to acknowledge that I was more than a figment of their imagination. In the meantime, a big shiny Mercedes load of rich, young, bratty males pinned my poor little PT Cruiser in the tiny gravel lot as they poured into the showroom to stroll through the dirtbikes and trail their ennui-filled fingers over them. One guy behind the desk just sat in his chair talking on the phone with his feet up on a desk, ostensibly on business, but he never even so much as waved at me or did anything other than stare at me like I was something from a different planet.

My blood pressure was steadily climbing. By the time one of the men finally asked me if he could help me, I was straining for polite and praying that everything would just go fast so I could figure out some way to get my PT Cruiser out of the lot and as far away from there as humanly possible. Not being a terribly mechanically minded person, I had brought the operator's manual in which I'd had my father show me the part I needed. He'd told me the number and pointed it out specifically, so I laid the manual on the counter and told the guy which part I wanted.

He took the book from me, looked at it, looked at me, and asked the question that still rings in my ears, "Are you sure this is the part you want? Are you sure this is the right one? There are several pulleys? This is the one that bolts to the frame. Is that the one you want?" He spoke very slowly, as if he were speaking to a child who'd just asked for a live rattlesnake instead of a stuffed toy. The other old guy there to pick up his mower and the one other employee who was periodically passing back and forth behind the counter ignoring everyone paused to hear the answer. The anger, oh, OH, the anger.....

What response to give? Drag him across the counter and wallop him senseless with the bright orange manual? Tell him, "Well, chump, since I only had to help jack the damn thing up last week when it tore up and take it apart, duh...let me think...."? Ask to see his manager (despite the fact that I pretty much figure he WAS the manager)? Diatribe about how women are capable of ordering parts for lawnmowers? All these things raced across my mind light heat lightning across an August sky.

Finally, I did something that confuses me still. I fell back on Old South Girlism. I don't know why I did it. It's not really like me at all. I simply said something about that being the part that my father had sent me in to buy and that being all I knew about it. The moment I brought my father into it, the rotten skunk behind the counter was all smirks and approval. After all, as long as there was a Y chromosome involved, how could the part selection be wrong? Why did I play along with that Old South tradition? I knew that's what they were waiting for, what they were expecting.

I still don't know. All I know is that once he passed the part, mercifully cheap, across the counter, I paid for it and made good my escape. I didn't know until today that he'd forgotten or been so smug in his manliness that he'd not told me that I'd need an insert to go in the middle of the assembly to complete it. Fortunately, Dad and I cannibalized the old one and the Husqvarna lives again. I am grateful for that on many levels, but primarily so that I don't have to go back there again and deal with those idiots and my own bizarre response to them.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Very Old Country Music

I'm listening to a radio station that was the pop hits station when I was in high school. During the period of time when I was in Japan, there was apparently some sort of hostile takeover/shakeup of the local radio stations here in the Podunk metropolitan area, and now this station is a "Classic Country" station playing "Country Legends of the 60's, 70's, and 80's."

This music always evokes very particular memories for me. I always think back to getting my hair cut when I was very young. The lady who used to cut my hair had a shop in the back of her house, and this type of music was always on the little radio in the window of that shop. I can still smell the Aqua Net and hear the hot gossip.

It also makes me feel the sensation of the nubby plastic seat covers in my grandfather's white Chevy pickup. I still don't know why any company ever make seat covers with the texture of really hard bubble wrap, but I was always fascinated by them. I remember spending summer days bouncing down red dirt roads with this type of music on the radio trying not to burn my legs on those seats when we got back in the truck.

Being here in my grandmother's house, I keep feeling as if I should be in my Strawberry Shortcake shirt and as if I should be able to walk out into the kitchen, take the ever-present gallon jug of sweet tea out of the yellow refrigerator, and get a boiled egg out of the plastic container to go with it, maybe. I keep feeling as though my cousins should be here and that we should be headed out into the yard on some adventure.

I keep waiting to hear my Granny somewhere in the house, too, because this is very much her music. That's probably the most poignant memory being conjured by these songs. Of course, that's pretty much a constant thing living here in this house that has so much of her still in it, but with songs like "One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus" mixed in to the playlist, it's hard not to hear her soft footsteps, hard not to miss her more than usual.

I think since I'm feeling better today, I'll go work in the kitchen some. I wanted to mix up some sourdough starter anyway, and I have a sudden craving for boiled eggs.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Trying to Recover

Now that I don't have to go to school every day, my body decided it was safe to fall apart. I had a major attack of something Sunday night, and the past three days have been spent limping around the house taking care of survival matters. I suppose I wasn't as fine as I thought I was and everything just caught up with me. Tonight is the first time I've felt lucid at all. I'm hoping that I can avoid going to the doctor. I'm taking Nyquil and Dayquil along with a handful of other stuff. I really don't want to start the summer off with a round of antibiotics.

I had forgotten how stupid daytime TV is. In between naps, I've had it on some in the vain hope that a good old movie would come on, but to no avail. I will break out the vintage movies tomorrow, and Netflix will be my summer salvation, I suppose.

I spent some time on eBay today. I was looking for things with owls on them since they're supposed to be the mascot for our new small learning community at school. It's amazing how many things you can come up with on eBay if you type in "owl" in the search bar. I found one or two things I might bid on, but I can't decide just how deeply into that I want to get. I have enough crap in my room to catch dust, after all, and I still have to move all the stuff that's in the old room into the new room before I can set up anything new.

Well, even though it seems like I should have rested enough for six weeks' worth, I'm still tired. I guess I'll go to bed. Maybe I'll be more interesting soon. At least I'm writing....

Sunday, May 25, 2008

School's Out

It seems I blog more from my BlackBerry than any other place these days. I don't exactly know what to think of that. I guess it's not a bad thing. It certianly means that I have a freedom to record my thoughts that I never had before. The BB makes it possible to blog from anywhere there's a phone signal, so this is much more like taking out my pen and putting it to paper to clear my head.

And there's so much to think about. Another year has come to a close at Podunk High. I watched all my little birds fly out of the nest. They're headed out to test their wings in the bigger skies now. This class has been such a sweet one. I will really miss them.

This year was full of the unexpected. I certainly never expected to find some of the good things it brought my way. Quite out of the blue, I've found some new friends this year who are very dear to me and rediscovered some old ones.

It wasn't stress-free, and not all the stress is done as my school redesigns itself physically and structurally, but I have to say that I'm filled with a reckless kind of hope for next year. As happy as I am that summer finally got here, I'm also looking forward to seeing if we can fulfill the promise of what we've dreamed so far. It's exciting. It's also exciting to have friends who feel the same way instead of the same-old negative cloud of "no-we-can't.". We may not get everything right, but at least we're in there trying. I think it's wonderful. If that makes me naiive, so be it.

Well, there should be a more regular blog now that school's out. There's much more to tell, but one's thumbs do get tired!

Live from the BB

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Weariness

I have a lot of my classroom packed into large storage boxes and stacked all over the place. It's too depressing for words. As yet, there's no place to move the boxes to since the actual move hasn't begun, so I'm stuck staring at those boxes and brooding. I wish the move were done. I hate this displacement, this time between the ending of one thing and the beginning of another. I hate for my "nest" to be disturbed. I know that soon enough, the big day will come and I'll have to get everything out of the old room for the last time and be a little sad about it, but right now, I am so unbelievably tired that all I want to do is get everything somewhere for good and sleep for about a week.

I'm past the point of just worn out. The end of school rush to get all the summer reading assignments prepared, typed up, and distributed, to get all my grades finished, entered, and proofed, to get the bookroom cleaned out and prepared for storage, and the hundred other little things that are cropping up are killing me. That's why I haven't been writing here much, either.

I don't have anything left for the little stupidities of life, either. A perfect example was when I came home this afternoon to find water pouring from my meter box. An absolute river was cutting through my yard to my house. I was too tired to even feel panic. I just went in, found this month's water bill, called them, and told them to come fix it. I could barely summon up enough concern about the whole thing to even wonder when it broke. I don't think it was like that this morning, but it was raining so hard that it might have been. Who knows?

Well, I'm going to bed. At least I managed to get something like a blog posted. It's not good, but it's something. Maybe that's progress.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

New Toys

I just got a new micro SD card for the BlackBerry, and it may be some of the best money I've ever spent. Before, the poor little beast was so low on memory (its brain came from my old Moto RAZR) that just calling up the address book sent it into seizures. Now, though, with 4G under the hood it's a sleek racehorse. Were 4G necessary? No. Do I come from the school of more memory is good memory? Oh yeah....

Live from the BB.

Saturday, May 03, 2008

live from the BlackBerry

I bought a.BlackBerry yesterday. I have wanted one for a long time, and my old phone was starting to show signs of wear, so I decided to go by and see how much it would cost to upgrade my equipment. Amazingly, it was not nearly as costly as I'd thought, so now I have a BlackBerry Curve. I've been tweaking it ever since the sales rep put it into my hands, and I think I just about have it where I want it.
The thing that's most wonderful about this is that I can get to email all the time now, blogs, too. I won't have to haul my laptop around with me everywhere. Plus there's the simple joy of a new gadget to love....

Well, it's time to stop playing with it for awhile and get something done. I just can't seem to stop toying with it!

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Truly Honored

Tonight, I stood on the big stage in our auditorium and received an award for being named this year's STAR teacher. I still can't believe it. I am completely humbled by this. It's so very hard for me to believe that anything I do from day to day is award worthy, actually, because I have such a good time (most days) doing it. Every day, I get to take people on tours through some of the best literature there is and watch them discover how wonderful it is for themselves. That can't be worthy of an award. In fact, I keep secretly wondering when people are going to catch on and take this job away from me. Who wouldn't want to do this if they truly understood what it is when it's done right?

The student who selected me said something that (no surprise if you know me very well) made me tear up. He said that one of the reasons he'd picked me was that I'd helped him enjoy literature again. The tears were for two reasons, first that that love had ever for a moment been allowed to fade, but second, and most importantly, because that was probably one of the greatest compliments anybody anywhere has ever paid me.

I may never turn out an English scholar. None of my students may ever go on to produce the next great American novel or doctoral dissertation. However, if they can leave my classroom knowing how to do well the kinds of writing they need to survive and succeed in college and with that love of literature they used to have when they were little and wanted to be read to rekindled then maybe all these five-a.m. mornings are worth it, after all.

I'm going to treasure tonight. I'm going to keep that certificate on my wall alongside my diplomas and the certificate from kindergarten that shows where I learned to tie my shoes. It's another sort of milestone for me. I may never, ever have another student who thinks highly enough of me to honor me in this way again, but I will always strive to live up to the honor of having been chosen by this one.