Note to AC

AC, if you still read me, I would love to have an invitation to your blog. I noticed a couple of days ago you have made it by invitation only. I miss reading it.

Shelfari

Oh boy...this toy is addictive. One of the members of the AP listserve suggested this site and now I can't stop adding books. Check my "shelf" out at the right of the page, and then get your own at www.shelfari.com.

Fiesta!

The other day, I was walking around some store with a friend of mine at the end of a day of junking and shopping. We were drooling over KitchenAid mixers, and I made the comment that a red one was one of the two things I planned to register for if and when I ever get married.

As I said it, and I've probably said it a hundred times before, I felt like one of those people in the V8 commercials who gets hit between the eyes. I practically heard the smack. Why the heck am I waiting to get this stuff? The chances of my getting married are getting closer to nil every passing day. If I want a KitchenAid mixer, then by George, I guess I'm going to have to get it myself instead of waiting for a party with sherbet punch at the church fellowship hall.

It's not just the mixer, either. More than the mixer, in fact, I have been wanting a set of the new production of Fiestaware. I have a set of old Fiesta that belonged to my grandmother and that we used to eat from before we knew that they had lead glaze and were unhealthy. I have always loved the mix of colors and the deco lines. Many times, I've looked at old pieces on eBay, but I didn't really want any more of the old production. After all, I like to use my stuff.

Today, I bought 4-piece place settings in sunflower, scarlet, peacock, and shamrock. They were on sale, I suppose in honor of the release of a new color from Fiesta called evergreen, and although I went in intending to only get one place setting, I marched out with two bags full.

When I got home, I sat down on my kitchen floor and pulled the pieces out of their boxes with as much excitement as a kid on Christmas morning. Each piece, as it came out of its brown paper wrapping and cushion, made me smile. The colors are rich and vibrant, the lines are clean and graceful, and the heavy solidity of each piece felt comforting in the hand. They match my old tablecloths perfectly both in palette and style.

Best of all, though, these colorful pottery dishes make me feel like my Nana is standing over my shoulder smiling. I feel a very real link to her and to the things that she liked as I run my fingers over the rings in the middle of the plates or along the circular handles of the sturdy mugs. I like to think it's a connection, not just to a piece of America's cultural past, but also to my own family's dinners.

Water for Elephants

I started reading Water for Elephants when I got home from church this morning, and I have ripped through all but the last twenty or thirty pages today. I am getting my Goren fix right now, and when CI is over, I'll finish up the rest of the book. It has been really good.

I love books with a historical focus. This one has characters interacting in the world of a second-rate circus in the early 30s. Other than looking at some photo collections from the big circuses of that time, I really don't know that much about it, so this book has been a double pleasure, good story and interesting information.

Erik Larson's The Devil in the White City was that way, too, but I'm not sure how much it really classifies as fiction. He has two more that I want to read, and there's a "spin off" to Devil coming out from another author about a bordello in Chicago.

I don't know why the scandals and events decades ago are more interesting to me than those of the current day. I don't read People or watch Oprah's interviews with the current queen of the screen. I couldn't care less who or what that ridiculous, vapid, waste-of-space Paris Hilton is currently doing, but I can spend all day reading about a scandal from the 20's. Maybe it's that I can actually learn something from those scandals, while the Paris Hiltons of the world just take up valuable oxygen and give nothing in return.

Well, CI is almost done and the circus train is calling, so I'm off for a raining evening of reading. It will be both a shame and a satisfaction to finish this one up. I'll miss it when it's done.

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.

Nancy Drew

My parents sent a huge box of stuff from one of their sporadic cleanings-out of the room that used to be mine, and in that box was an old hardback copy of a Nancy Drew mystery. I only ever owned one, but I know I read all of them when I was younger courtesy of our local public library.

In desperate need of a break from the pressures at the end of the year, I sat down one afternoon and read it. I think it took me all of two hours to read through the whole thing, but I was remarkably refreshed at the end. I think the saddest moment in the whole book dealt with damage to Nancy's trusty blue roadster. I put the book to the side and really didn't think about Nancy Drew again for awhile.

Sometime later, I was cruising one of my favorite junktique locations, and in two separate stalls, I saw some ten total copies of Nancy Drew. Remembering the pleasant afternoon I'd had reading the one from Mom and Dad's, I picked up one of the books to look at the cover art. To my surprise, the price tag was only a dollar. I decided I might pick another one and read it, too. By the time I'd looked at the descriptions of each book, I wound up walking out with all ten.

When I got home, as I do whenever something new/old catches my eye, I looked online to see what I could find about Nancy Drew. Apparently, in the years since I spent the summer going back and forth between Podunk and the library, stories, new series, and even some kind of stupid-looking movie have been made about good old Nancy. I, however, really am not interested in ultra-hip modern Nancy.

I like the classic mysteries from the 1930s to the 1960s. In addition to the joy of the simple mysteries, those old Nancy Drews also contain such candid little pictures of the evolution of what was "daring" for a woman. In one book from the late 30s, Nancy and her friends are outside at night setting an ambush for a criminal, and they put on their "dark colored dresses" to do it. I had to giggle. Teen aged girls setting an ambush for a potentially-dangerous criminal? Okay. Teen aged girls wearing pants? TOO shocking!

I've read several of these classic Nancy Drews now, and they're definitely predictable, but I still enjoy them. Sometimes, a formula is a good thing. I'm working on collecting a full set. eBay, as always, has plenty of Nancy Drew, some of them multi-book sets for very little money. The editions I'm collecting are by no means valuable, but I keep thinking that maybe someday I'll have a little girl who might enjoy reading them. In the meantime, I know I'll continue to get a kick out of the titian haired detective and her somewhat campy exploits.

Sadness

As this year is finally grinding to a halt, I felt sad today. Too many people are leaving, both students and teachers. I can't even imagine what next year is going to be like. Every project I'm a part of seems to be getting more complex instead of finding a path to move down easily. Weariness just washes over me in waves.

The primary cause of my sadness today was actually having to go down to the vocational center where Dad taught for a meeting. Just walking through the front doors and knowing he wasn't down the hall in his classroom, just knowing that he would never been down that hall and in that classroom again was more depressing than I can express. I wanted to go into his supervisor's office and ask her how she sleeps at night after telling such heinous lies. Of course I didn't. Professional people don't do things like that, I guess, and I still have barely enough reserve left not to do things like that.

I've been throwing out papers and old files. I found last year's class of AP students' writing samples. I don't know why those folders were even still in my cabinet. I found a whole drawer full of materials for Julius Caesar and To Kill a Mockingbird, and just not teaching those also made me nostalgic. It's getting a bit silly. There's too much change. Even my job is not going to be exactly the same next year; more responsibilities are coming, and while I welcome the challenge, right now, I feel totally inadequate to meet them.

Maybe it's just the time of the year. It's not a beginning where everything is fresh with hope. It's an ending with all the farewells, memories, and regrets that endings always entail. What I want to do more than any other thing is just get in my poor wounded car and run away for a couple of days. The pressure of being around all these endings is making my soul feel sore. It will be a few more days before that sort of escape can be a reality, though. In the meanwhile, I suppose I'll just hunker down and try to focus on the good instead of the lost and the wasted.

Graduation

Tonight, I watched all my little chickadees walk across the ersatz stage on the track to receive the last handshakes and the empty document folder. They are free now. I am so proud of them all. They gave prayers and speeches. They greeted or simply walked up to receive the fruits of twelve years of labor.

Watching them line up in their bright blue robes, they reminded me of baby birds who were just now fledged and ready to test their new wings. They had that same wondering look in their eyes as it began to set in that next year would not involve a seven-period class day or the restrictive security of the routine within red-brick halls. They strode proud and ecstatic or collected and calm, but each one shook our principal's hand with a new awareness, a new mantle of the future settling its weight, both liberating and unsettling, around their shoulders.

I wish the class of 2007 the best. They have certainly been a lot of fun to teach, and it's not every year that I can say that. They have so much potential, and it's been my very great privilege to watch them begin to stretch those wings. I hope as they soar away into whatever the future holds that they remember fondly those of us whose job it is to keep the nest ready and help the next class begin to believe in the power of their own beautiful flight. Dios te bendiga, class of 2007.

Decisions

I haven't been blogging much lately. There have been too many things swirling around in my head to allow for much reflective writing. Little pieces of my stable world have been crumbling off around the edges, and I've been trying to figure out some answers for a major decision or two.

The biggest decision of these is where I'll be teaching next year. I teach at a school that has a vocational school on the same campus, and for years, my father has taught there in one of their programs. Because of a personal vendetta on the part of his supervisor, his program is closing two years away from his retirement. He has jumped through all the hoops, and there is no recourse or way to stop the closing.

That alone is hard for me to swallow. Just the closing is enough. The fact that the program is going because of her personal venom is almost intolerable, and after Dad's board hearing (a farce beyond the farcical), I decided that I could not work for my school system anymore.

Since I had to go see my insurance agent in a city in another county, I decided to stop by that county's superintendent of education and see if they had any job openings. They did, and shortly thereafter, I found myself being offered the senior English/AP English job at their high school. I told their principal that I needed a week to consider, and I drove home full of questions to which I could find no answers. Was this a sign that I was supposed to change now?

So many things at my school have been crazy lately. The crazy screamer down the hall has been in full form; kids run up and down the halls with no control at all during 6th and 7th periods. I don't know what their teachers are thinking, or even if they are thinking, but they're certainly not keeping them in their classroom the way they're supposed to do. Also, as the numbers finally stabilize, I find I will have 26 AP students next year, and while I'm so excited about the program growth, I am trying to figure out when in the world I will get all their grading done, much less the section of Honors III I'll have.

This other job offered me a simpler world. I would not be one of three; I would be "the only". Discipline is tight, test scores are good, and the community is firmly behind this other school. As I sat in their office waiting to talk with the principal, I saw not one sad face, not on the office workers, not on those who were there to pick up their children, not even on the faces of the children who were coming in for some form of discipline. It was like another world. Nobody was out of control or sullen, adult or child. I cannot say it's not a tempting environment.

After long prayer for guidance and a conversation with my current principal, I came to my decision Friday. I cannot leave my current school. I've already met those 26 AP students, given them their summer reading, started them on the path for next year. I've even had somebody volunteer to be my TA for next year. There's so much I believe my school is capable of becoming, and although we have a LONG way to go before we are like the other school, I want to see us get there. I still have to call the other principal and turn him down, but I will be staying at Podunk High for better or for worse.

As soon as I'd made my decision, I felt a weight lift off me. While I know lots of my readers and my friends are never going to understand why I've made this choice, I feel a happiness and an optimism about next year. There is a chance for things to change radically next school year. I am hopeful that the problems of this year will be taken care of so we can begin to rise. We have pretty much hit the breaking point, so up should be the direction of choice from this point forward.

Crash

After an exceptionally long day travelling to Hoover, AL to see their high school as a part of our own school's attempts at redesign, I was on my way back to Podunk. I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before because I had a chance to visit with somebody who I don't see very often, and we stayed up late talking. I was coming over the top of an overpass, and suddenly, the car in front of me slammed on its brakes. I hit mine, too, and slid, but I managed to stop in time.

Unfortunately, the twenty-something kid behind me didn't. The back fender of my poor little car is crunched. It took out the tail light and the curve of the PT Cruiser fender. Fortunately, nobody was hurt, he had insurance, and the car is still drivable. I'll be dealing with the insurance mess today, but it was NOT the way I wanted yesterday to end.

Roux Injured

Yesterday was odd. I had no students except for 6th period's tiny bunch of juniors, and I also had to leave campus to go to a meeting at the CO, so my routine was totally blown.

I finished out my senior grades, took care of several chores in the room, finished up my reading of The Crucible for this year, and just generally got things done. I still have to clean up the room and batten down the hatches for summer, but mostly the big things are done. Since I've been able to get so much finished, I was able to leave school at a reasonable hour. It was still daylight and everything.

On the way home, the eastbound lane of I-20 was blocked completely by a multi-vehicle wreck. I saw a Neon with the back wheels of an eighteen-wheeler sitting on top of its hood. Traffic was backed up for about four miles and was steadily piling up. By the time I got to the Podunk exit, traffic was already stopping there, too. I remember thinking how glad I was that I wasn't any reason for me to have to be headed back toward the east.

When I got home, Roux didn't meet me. She always mugs me first thing when I get home, but even when I called, she didn't come. I walked down to the road calling her, and by the time I got back to the house, she was slowly dragging herself around the side of the porch. I knew when I saw how she was moving that something was wrong. When I got her inside and checked her, she had a hole in her abdomen.

After having a minor freak out, I realized that I had only about five minutes before my vet closed. I called them, loaded Roux as gently as I could into the car, and headed for the interstate only to find that the wreck was so bad that they had actually reversed traffic on I-20 East to come off the Podunk exit through Podunk and to a local road that runs parallel to the blocked highway. I think the fastest we moved until we got through Podunk was 15 mph.

Roux was just leaning against me. She wouldn't lie down. Once I got her to the vet, they looked at her and put in six staples. Apparently, she stabbed herself on a broken stick or limb. I can't imagine how she managed to do that, but I'm just so relieved she's okay. They gave me some pain pills and antibiotics for her, and I brought her home.

Today, she seems okay. She's not moving around very fast, and of course, trying to get these pills down her is NOT fun. To have to be more stubborn than a pit bull twice a day isn't easy. She'll take the pain pills okay because they dissolve in her mouth, but the gel coated antibiotics are another nasty matter. She spit this morning's out twice before I managed to throw it to the back of her throat, clamp her mouth shut, and rub her neck until she had to swallow.

Hopefully, she'll be back to her old self soon. I'm just so grateful that it wasn't worse and that she didn't puncture a major organ.

Random

Today, my AP students took this year's edition of the AP English exam (bing...welcome College Board cyberpolice....). I saw a couple of them afterward, and generally, they said they felt pretty good about the test. I'm looking forward to getting their writing prompts back so I can a)see what the prompts were and b)see if they marked the pages well. I was extremely hyper this morning as I was setting up the snack table for them. It was good that I was running around up and down stairs to carry stuff. It helped burn of some of that excess.

I also got to use one of my vintage tablecloths today. I used the one that had all the four leaf clovers and other good luck charms on it. It seemed appropriate. It's nice to be able to use these things I collect.

This school year is grinding to a close. I've got almost all my grades ready to turn in, and I've got most of what I have to prepare for next year done. That only leaves the AP Audit materials and a couple of other small projects. It's a nice feeling. I came home this afternoon, lay down on the couch, and the next thing I knew, it was almost dark. I guess now that everything is done, my body is simply going to TAKE what it needs by way of rest.

In other news, Dad just shot a snake in my yard. The dogs were going insane, and when I looked outside, I saw a copperhead coiled and striking at Roux and Yelldo. I got them to run away, and Dad came down to take care of the snake. Snakes are one of those things I have no intention of dealing with on my own. Had it been a king snake, I'd have let it go. Since it was poisonous, it had to go.

I'll try to write more later, and maybe that effort won't be so disjointed. Right now, it's bedtime, I think.

Witch Trials

I'm teaching The Crucible to my one tiny class of juniors right now, and we just wrapped up the history portion. It had been a long time since I'd even thought about the Salem Witch Trials. I guess it's not the sort of thing that is really common in the everyday mind.

I did a lot of research to make sure I had my facts straight before teaching it, and the deeper I dug, the more amazed and afraid I was. How did an entire group of supposedly sane and rational people suddenly decide that, with absolutely no proof other than the clever acting of a couple of disturbed teenagers, twenty five people deserved to die?

I keep thinking of Giles Cory lying between those two stone slabs and watching the dour, self-righteous faces of his judges as they placed another stone and then another on his chest until he simply stopped breathing. Who thought up the idea of "pressing"? What person woke up one morning and said, "This is a just thing to do to another person"?

There have been so many examples of hysteria like this, though. It's all too easy to look back from a twenty-first century viewpoint, feel superior, and scoff at the credulity of the Puritans, but we've certainly seen it since then. How else does one explain abominations like the Holocaust? It gets closer to home in the 1950s with McCarthy's crusades, and more recently, the same putrid vapors of mass panic have been scented in regard to terrorist attacks. Who knows but that tomorrow we may be calling in this generation's Cotton Mather to legitimize whatever fear is currently bearing evil fruit.

I am of two minds about going to Danvers. Part of me would very much like to see the place where this part of American history happened. Another part of me, though, feels like it's a desecration to those who lost their lives that tourists traipse through Witch Trials Wax Museums, buy "magic" souvenirs, and get their pictures made with the Bewitched bronze statue in the middle of town. Maybe, though, as long as they and the total breakdown of sanity that caused their deaths are remembered in some form or another, their memories are honored.

Looking for the Past

I just spent about thirty minutes looking for various and sundry people I knew from the past on Facebook. I have had a page for a long time now, but I seldom do anything with it. I wouldn't have gone there tonight had somebody from high school not sent me a message.

I think I found somebody I've been curious about since I graduated high school, but I can't be sure yet. If so, it will be the single-most useful moment of my entire association with either Facebook or MySpace. I am so hoping that the person I wrote to is the person I think I wrote to.

There's not much else to say. I'm still grading research papers. I don't think it is ever going to end. I only have one class left, though, so perhaps the faintest of glimmers is visible at the end of the tunnel.

Well, it's late, and I'm worn out from yarding today. Maybe the person will be who I thought they were so I'll have something interesting to write about later this week.

Busyness

This weekend, I caught up on some housework chores that I've been meaning to take care of for awhile. I redid my guest room so it now can function as a guest room rather than a depot for linens not in use. I took the bedroom set I had in my room before I got my peacock bedspread and moved a lot of my stuff from Japan in there as well. It's amazing how much difference it made. Of course, I now have to find things to go on my bedroom walls, but that too will be enjoyable.

Today, I did intensive cleaning. I think I folded every piece of clothing I own and put it away. It's amazing how easy it is to do laundry and how hard it is to find the time to fold it and properly put it away during the school year. I vacuumed up about three cats-worth of critter fur from all the carpets in the house, most of it from my long-haired grayish-white cat, Pearl. I still have a couple of things I need to do, but I am largely caught up. Since this week promises to be complicated, I think this is a good thing.

I also got a lot of sleep this weekend. That more than any other thing is going to help me. I feel as if I'm starting to fight a sinus thing, and maybe I slept enough to give my body a fighting chance. Almost every teacher I know has been struck down with the end-of-the-year crap, and I really can't afford to join those ranks.

I'm ending my weekend by mixing up my weekly batch of sourdough and watching the beautiful Mr. D'Onofrio. Tomorrow, I'll have to go back to the world outside my door, but at least when I get to come back home for five minutes, it will be a clean haven.

Making Peace with Hemingway

Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.
- Ernest Hemingway

I'm nearing the end of what has turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable course covering almost everything Hemingway wrote. I didn't expect to find any of the works that I could have more than a passing technical appreciation for, and I wasn't overly optimistic that I would feel any real affection for the author himself, either.

For the first few meetings, those prophecies were fulfilled. The female characters were laughable or downright unrealistic. Scenes of brutality were displayed that I could not abide. Everybody died. I got mad frequently.

Somewhere along the way, though, an overwhelming wave of pity filled me. I think it was about the time we read Green Hills of Africa and during the presentation, we did some online research and discovered that Hemingway sent for the gun his father had used to kill himself. There was never a happy ending possible for Hemingway, either in his fiction or in his real life.

To my surprise, I found a lot to enjoy. My book to present was For Whom the Bell Tolls, and in it and in The Sun Also Rises, I found a Hemingway I could appreciate. Even in Death in the Afternoon, I found treasure. Despite the fact that I can never condone bullfighting, I was moved by his obvious passion for it and all other things Spanish. The writing in the Nick Adams short story cycle was wonderful.

I have finally decided to just overlook the women. Clearly, based upon what happened to him in his real life, he had no idea about what a real woman was, wanted, or how one would behave. I don't blame him for the cardboard cut-outs; instead, I find it a source of profound pity for him.

As we had the last of the novel presentations last Wednesday for A Moveable Feast, the pseudo-legitimate memoir posthumously published by his last wife, the presenter mentioned the continual presence of the term "emptiness" throughout the book. It struck me as I sat there that this was the key, the final illumination needed to understand this complex man and his writing. He was consumed by the emptiness withing. He sought ever-increasingly more complex experiences, ever more alcohol, ever more dangerous sports, ever greater challenges, ever more admiring women in an effort to fill that void, and ultimately, when the emptiness could no longer be filled, it swallowed him whole. The progression, the foreshadowing, is very clear when you read all his works back-to-back. The darkness always lingers in his defiant, deprecatory comments about suicide as a coward's way and also in the constant lack of a happy ending for any of his characters.

I keep wondering what would have happened to him if he had found the thing he needed to fill that void. Would his voice have been stilled? Would the despair have turned to transcendent hope? I like to think that if he had found the thing that fills those dark shadows of the soul that instead of a legacy of tragedy, he might have left a legacy of triumph instead.

Ultimately, I have made my peace with Hemingway. There are several pieces that I would read again and several that I will shelve indefinitely. I no longer see him as a misogynistic anachronism. Instead, I see a troubled man who loved writing almost more than any other thing, and I feel a great compassion and honor for the struggle.

A Nice Break

Today is the last day of my Easter break. It has been a nice four days. I needed a rest terribly. Of course, all my good intentions for getting school work done went down the tubes, but I feel much more rested.

Right now, I'm stuck in the class from perdition. I have, so far, done research for the paper I'll write for my other class, checked on my eBay auctions, read and responded to my school mail, and I'm about to write up the mini-report needed for my Wed. night class. It's amazing what can be done in 2.5 hours.

I think my class is the only class still here. Almost everybody else cancelled class tonight like sane, humane people. Only my professor raves (literally) on.

In other news, I'm reading a really good book right now. It's called Gentlemen and Players and it's by Joanne Harris, the author of Chocolat. I stayed up later than I had intended reading it last night, and I'm probably going to hide it behind my laptop screen and read some more in just a minute. (Shameful behavior!!)

Well, I need to finish up some work for Wednesday night. I might come back and do another post as we grind toward the finish line for this week's edition of Purgatory.

Where Is Wonder Woman?

When I was little, my favorite superhero was Wonder Woman. I religiously watched the Lynda Carter show, owned at least one doll, and of course, had the Underoos. (I don't even know if they still make Underoos, but if they don't, today's kids are really missing a joy.) Whenever we were picking imaginary people to be in kindergarten or on the playground, Wonder Woman always came up as one of the most hotly contested choices. All of us girls wanted to be her. She was pretty, she was classy, she could kick butt, and at least on the show, she was the only person with brains in the whole outfit.

When my Mom was on one of her "clean out the kid's old room" kicks, she unearthed an old Avon hand mirror with Wonder Woman on it and sent it to me. That in conjunction with my current lifestyle of non-stop activity made me start thinking about Wonder Woman again. I found and downloaded the old theme song for the show and made it into a ringtone for my cellphone. I took a picture of the old mirror and made it into a wallpaper for the same phone. I guess it's sort of portable inspiration.

I was in a daze one day and cruising through Wal-Mart, and decided that it would be funny to find a little action figure of her to put on my desk for moral support. (When my blood sugar dips and I'm in Wal-Mart, all kinds of things seem funny that may or may not really be...) I rolled down the toy aisle, and lo and behold, no Wonder Woman. No female figures of any kind. I remember thinking, "What the...."
Spiderman was everywhere, X-Men were cluttering up the aisle, Superman was present, but there was not one female figure among them. What happened to Wonder Woman?

I have heard rumors that a movie is going to made about her. I hope so. I hate to think of all the little girls growing up without knowing about her. She taught us children of the 70s and 80s a lot. She taught us that it was okay to be strong, that it was right to be honest, and that ultimately one has to do the right thing. That may be a lot to draw from an admittedly cheesy TV half-hour show involving a woman in a star spangled shorts, a bustier and pantyhose (definitely a man's idea for a crime fighting outfit), but I still miss her. The idea of what she was at the core was always more important to us that the TV representation. She was a strong woman filling her place in the world with passion and determination, even when that place was difficult or dangerous. I think the world couldn't help but be a better place if Wonder Woman came back.

Fatigue Poisoning

If you fell down yesterday, stand up today. -- H.G. Wells

I heard a new phrase today: "fatigue poisoning". I think I have it whether it's real or not. I am so tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally, that I feel like I could sleep for a million years.

School continues to grind me into dust. I found out that one of the very first people I knew at my school is leaving. I can't blame him. I'm happy for him. He deserves to go somewhere where he can be happy and not have so much placed upon him, but I can't help but feel that this makes our chances of doing something with our school less.

Such a small thing shouldn't make me feel so negative, but there are other factors that combine with this and make me need a break. Easter Break starts tomorrow afternoon, and I'm hoping that it will be enough of a holiday for me to limp to the end of the year. I am going to finish up a test I'm giving tomorrow, and then I'm going to sleep. Hopefully that will let me make it through tomorrow.

Purgatory

I'm sitting waiting for the worst class in the world to begin. I finally resorted to bringing in my laptop for a diversion so I don't smack the teacher and run out screaming. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the post you've all been waiting for....live from Podunk U, it's Monday Niiiiiiight.....

I just got to fill out a professorial evaluation form, and while I usually try not to mark the "Strongly Disagree" boxes, this time, I was gleefully checking them off. I cannot ever remember a class that so frustrated me. Right now, I don't even care what grade I get; I just want out.

I think this class would be a good modern version of Purgatory: it goes on forever, there are no gains, and it's definitely painful enough to make one wish to repent of whatever wrong had been done to land one here. It's a real shame, too. The class had such potential to be interesting. That, however, was pretty much choked out of it within the first two class meetings.

Well, I think I'm about to have to pretend that I'm paying attention. In reality, I will be grading papers, planning lessons, updating class websites, and lots of other things that I know are rude. I'm past politesse, however. It's all about survival.

A Long Week

This week has seemed endless. The first week back after a holiday is always interminable, but this one seemed worse than usual. I think it's because all the research papers came in this week. It's been a frenzy of last-minute advice, editing, and preparation as all my students were trying to get their papers ready for today. I have been really pleased to see that the majority of my students worked hard on getting it done. I was half afraid when we started that many of them would just choose not to do one. I still have to go through and grade all of them, and there may be many problems with them, but at least they cared enough to do the work, ask me questions, and try. That counts for a lot these days.

I am so tired that I actually fell asleep in my lawn chair this afternoon. I had gone out with the new striped cushion Mom bought for me to read and enjoy some of this eighty-degree weather we're having, and next thing I knew, Roux was licking me in the face 30 minutes later. I came in and just took a nap. I'm headed back to bed soon. Maybe I can get some stuff done tomorrow if I can get some sleep tonight.

I heard back from the poetry contest today. I didn't even place this year. Oh well. I can't say I'm surprised or even very disappointed. I had a feeling that I wouldn't make it in three years in a row. I still believe in the value of that poem, though. It seems that the ones I like the best don't ever make it in competition. It's okay. I guess they're like children; your own are rarely ugly to you.

Well, it's not really late, but I am almost asleep as I type, so I'm going to call it a night before I go to sleep in my chair here. Maybe I can get to the computer to type sometime before next weekend, but no promises....

PET FOOD RECALL

If you have pets to whom you give "wet" canned or pouch food, PLEASE check this site. A major manufacturer whose products retail under several famous names and in many pet stores and retail stores has tainted product that is causing kidney failure and death in dogs and cats. Make sure your babies are safe.

http://www.fda.gov/bbs/topics/NEWS/2007/NEW01590.html

SO Sore....

The backs of my legs feel like overtightened guitar strings. Every time I move, I think one of them is going to twang and snap. I've been working in my yard for the past two days, and my poor teacher body is woefully unready for such labor.

I started by getting a bunch of old bricks from an old house place to make some flower beds. I planted my lilies, added a concrete St. Francis (no, not Catholic, but I find him admirable anyway), fertilized my patchy front yard, planted two roses, repotted ailing Christmas cacti, tuned up my mower, cut up live oak leaves and trimmed off all the old winter weeds, fought with the vine tangle in the corner of the yard, and generally overdid it.

I still need to plant some cannas, make a bed for a gardenia I bought, and pot up some petunias I got on impulse. I don't know if I'm going to get it all done this week, but I'm going to try. It's been very nice to sit on the porch swing or the lawn chair and read in the evenings. I am also quietly proud of my little brick-edged beds. It's amazing how the addition of a few small pieces of hardened clay make something look finished off.

Well, it's TV time, soon to be followed by go-to-sleep time if I can unbend myself from this chair. Tomorrow will be another day of yarding.

Luscious

There's no other word for the weather today than luscious. I woke fairly early and got the housework underway. Once I got it to the run-the-dryer stage, I took a book and went out to my lawn chair. It was fantastic. The sun and the shade, the absolute indulgence of reading for pleasure and not for classes was like a balm on frazzled nerves. Tomorrow, barring the unforeseen, will be a day of yard. I am going to rebuild my bottle trees with some four-by-whatever timbers. Even though I like the look of using tree branches, I'm tired of having to rebuild them constantly. This way, they should last indefinitely. I'll try to do some pictures when I get them up. Well, I've indulged in Sonic after church tonight, and I'm watching the Bravo Law and Order:CI Sunday night marathon, so life is good in Podunk. Thank God for Spring Break.

Long Time Away

It's been a long time since I've had the time or even felt like Blogging. There are a lot of things that fall into that same category. Being a teacher and a student at the same time is harder than I thought it would be. I'm enjoying doing both, but neither leaves very much time for creative endeavours.

Spring Break has finally arrived, and I'm celebrating by watching Ferris Bueler. I haven't seen this movie in years, and I had forgotten how funny it is. It should seem dated being from the great 80s, but somehow, it really doesn't except for a few hairstyles and the soundtrack.

Life in Podunk goes on. I am now on Every Committee Known to Man at school, and we're in the final rush to graduation, testing, and other finalities for 2006-2007. It's odd to think that soon I won't see this batch of students any more. I've known some of them for three years and taught some of them twice. Seeing them go will be emotional, but I'm so proud of most of them.

I am attempting to do some minor yarding this week. I went a little nuts in the Wal-Mart garden department and purchased five pots of lilies, some petunias (one of my favorites), and two roses, one of which is called Irish Creme. Today I bought a concrete St. Francis to put in a bed I'm building. My favorite thing, though, is a big white plastic lawn chair I put under my pecan trees in the side yard. I plan to spend some quality time in it this week with something that's not Hemingway.

I have also been to some of my favorite junkin' places. I found a couple of really gorgeous old hankies, an old yellow McCoy Floraline planter for my lucky bamboo, and a really cool 40's tablecloth with good luck charms all over it. All this was less than $30. How great is that? I plan to spend some time junkin' in a couple of new locations in the next few days.

It will be nice to have a week to decompress. I had reached a point of desperation by Friday. I think everybody at the school had, teacher, student, and admin alike.

Devolution

I had the most disgusting experience today. I had turned in a paper for my Hemingway class, and I knew it was not what it should have been when I did. There was something nagging at me about it, and I stayed after class to talk with my professor about it.

Once he started pointing out ways to make it better, it suddenly clicked with me what the problem was. I was looking at a high school paper, not a graduate student's paper, not a paper that is up to what I used to write. Apparently, I have become what I teach: a three-point thesis and a military outline structure.

I have devolved without knowing it. I feel ill. If I can get my kids to write at that level, I'm happy, but only because they have a good basic grounding from which to grow into that subtle, organic style that is a mature form of writing. From myself, I expect much more. Granted it's been a long time since I wrote about literature, but that the basic mechanics have so invaded my writing as to become obtrusive is unacceptable. It's like seeing the mechanism behind the illusion.

I don't know if I can get back to what I used to have. Maybe I've been hamstrung by my own teaching. All I know is that I have a week to see if I can refine this graceless lump into something with some elegance, and am definitely going to try.

I Heard the News Today

After taking a vocabulary test today, one of my students told me that a former student had been shot and killed over the weekend. All that potential wasted, cast aside like something of no value. I still can't believe, with the typical denial of the living, that anyone that young and alive can be dead in a box.

He was never much on school. He refused, albeit politely, to even do things that would have been simple for him. He had no interest in it, and always struck me as a person simply humoring another until it was okay to leave. I wish so much that something we had done had caught his attention. Maybe if anything had, all that latent talent wouldn't be gone now. Maybe he would have chosen a path other than the one that led him to a grave before he was 25.

I wrote a poem for him. It's the first time I've been moved to words in a long time. I think it will be my entry in this year's competition. If it wins, I think that would be a fitting tribute to him.

Birthday Surprise

I had the nicest surprise today. My fourth period class brought me cupcakes, dill pickle chips, and PEZ. One of my coworkers gave me a funny card. It was nice to be noticed.

Most of my birthdays are terrible, but this one is looking better than most. In addition to that little lift, I also got news that one of my best friends who has been "expecting" for what I'm sure seems to her like forever had her baby this morning early. I know it's weird, but I think it's neat that her baby and I will have the same birthday. If she's lucky, the little one won't grow up to be anything like me. :)

Rat Rescue

Of all the things I didn't think I'd be doing tonight, rescuing mice is probably at the top of that list. Dillon and Pearl managed to corner one, but Dilly is still so young that she's not quite sure what to do with wiggly things. They chased it under the desk in my living room, and then Pearl grabbed it in her teeth and took off to the sun room growling like some sort of feral creature instead of the overfed lapcat she is.

I ran to the kitchen, got my heavy leather work gloves from my junk drawer, raced back, and grabbed up the mouse. Pearl, needless to say, was most displeased. There was blood on the mouse, but it was still kicking, so I hope she didn't mortally wound it. I took it outside and dropped it into some tall grass away from the house.

I have rat poison in my attic and under my house, so I guess this action was a bit paradoxical, but I just couldn't stand the thought of the cats torturing it to death. It probably ran right back under the house and proceded to chew up my phone lines again in vengence, and Pearl is currently in full savage-cat hunting stalk looking for another one, but at least I feel like I did the right thing.

Got One!

I finally got one! My eBay luck changed and I beat out the persistant bidder siempredolcevita who was buying up every chenille spread offered. This is my birthday present to myself. I love the color combination, and there is something oddly comforting about just lying on top of it. It's another thing somebody made with his (or more likely, her) own hands, and it's a piece of American history as well. I wonder how many people have spreads like this one shunned and tucked away in their closet tops. Maybe they aren't the current vogue, and I'm sure that the IKEA crowd would rather die than have one, but it suits my vintage life and tastes perfectly. I am looking forward to sweet dreams guarded by brilliant peacocks in the nights to come.

Bizarre-Land

Yesterday, there was a memo from October in my mailbox with passages highlighted that concerned regulations against teachers wearing jeans at school.

I was so hacked off. It must be admitted that I am occasionally guilty of wearing a really dark blue pair of jeans with my high school sweatshirt because I can't seem to find any navy pants when I need them. However, I also live, sweat, bleed, and die my job, so I don't think that one dark blue pair of jeans is a heinous sin.

I gave the sheet to my department head who took it to my principal, and guess what? It didn't come from the administration at all. Hmm..... curious....

Apparently, we have someone childish and silly on the hall. Joy-O. It's not enough that I deal with teenagers everyday; now one of my co-workers has devolved into one, too.

I have a pretty good idea who's responsible, and now I can just laugh at it. It's not going to affect me. I have too much to do to play juvenile games, but I have to say, it made yesterday really bizarre. As long as my administrators are happy with what I do, petty children in adult bodies can find anatomically improbable places to put such little missives.

And Then There Are Other Days

....the days I hate this job more than I can bear. Today is one of those days. My second period class apparently cheated on the makeup test I gave them, and I just want to put all my belongings in a box and go home permanently.

I hate dishonestly in general, but something about this just galls me. First, there's nothing that can be done. Since I personally didn't see it, there is no action I can take. Second, after confronting one of the alleged cheaters and having her lie right in my face, I am so physically sick that I need to go throw up.

I know I am not the arbiter of their morality, but I find it so offensive. Then adding the lie to it, I don't know how I'm going to be able to look at that class again. To know that they are cheating liars, to know that every single moment of every single class they lie and cheat, is almost too much for me to stand.

I wish I could just shrug my shoulders and say, "Oh well." I wish it didn't matter. It does, though, and today, I feel like the weather, gray, dull, cold, and lifeless.

I'm sick of this. There has to be something better, something worthy out there somewhere. I give too much, I put too much of myself into this teaching for things like this not to matter to me.

Maybe I'll go back overseas. I loved that. I was happy there. Maybe I could be again. Right now, I cannot believe that anything I do here matters anymore. That's not a feeling I can stand.

Oddness

At church tonight, our pastor was reminding the youth and their parents about summer's camp plans, and he mentioned the fact that Gulfshore, the Baptist camp on the coast where I spent almost every summer, was completely gone. I knew it had taken massive damage from Katrina, but I thought some part of it had survived. I thought I was going to cry. One more splinter of my childhood gone forever, I suppose.

Life has been odd lately. I have missed two days in my classroom because of an editing job for some stuff at school. Just being at school in my room without my students has been really weird. I've missed them. Even though they quite frequently wear me out, their absence was uncomfortable. I hope the job I did was useful, though.

Men have been odd lately, too. It seems that the interesting ones I meet are all GEMINI -- gay, engaged, married, insane, or not interested. This town and what passes for its dating pool constantly depress me. As Madame De Stael said, "The more I see of men, the more I like my dog."

Hopefully this week things will stabilize a little. I have a lot of Hemingway I've got to read for one of my night classes, and an assignment for the other, so I guess I need to get to it.

Elvis

I am on a serious Elvis kick right now. I took a three-CD set and selected twenty something songs to make one portable CD that I've been driving around to non-stop for the past week. I think it's probably impossible to be sad listening to "Return to Sender" and "You're So Square." I have found myself arriving at school in a much better mood since I've been listening to Elvis on the way in.

The 3 CD set was chronological, so the collection I made goes from early to late, and it's interesting to hear the changes in the music over time. I added two remixes, one for "Rubberneckin'" and one for "A Little More Action," that I downloaded from Wal-Mart's website.

Elvis' voice, and this is probably a "duh" statement, is such a pleasure to listen to. When you start stacking him up against most of the so-called singing stars around today (for some reason, Justin Timberlake and his pale, weak self comes to mind), it really starts to make you wonder just how these people got recording contracts. I guess though, that's probably a little unfair. After all, there's only ever been one King. I am going to continue to enjoy his gorgeous voice in my commuting.

Golden Light

There was a golden light as I was driving to Jackson this morning for Tech Prep training. It was like the whole world was inside an amber ball. This light is the light of my dreams, the good ones anyway. It's one of the things I missed the most when I was in other countries and states. Nowhere but Mississippi has that delicate spun-honey light. Sometimes, in the summer, it looks like a tangible thing, like something you could carve or mold. I love it when it slants through the trees late in the evening, bars of warmth, columns of the sky. It's one of the few things that makes the endless back-and-forth of the interstate a pleasure, and watching it bathe everything in glory this morning helped balance out what turned into a very pointless day.

Ella

I got a new CD Thursday from Amazon. It's called Ella for Lovers and is a part of Verve's massive re-releasing of their catalog. It's great. Of course, with her voice, how could it not have been?

I've loved Ella Fitzgerald for years. She was one of the first jazz vocalists I discovered. Her voice has a beauty of feeling that informs every note. I imagine each sound like a perfectly-cut jewel shimmering in the air.

I have probably five cds of just her works from various periods and labels. Of course, one of my very favorites is the collection I have of her and Louis Armstrong, but this disc is a good addition to my collection of her works, too, because so many of the songs are simply her, a piano, and perhaps a guitar. It's good rainy-day music, and since today is another rainy Sunday, I'm looking forward to a pleasant day of reading 1984 and listening to her heavenly voice.

The Missing Harness

This evening, Roux showed up at the door to be let in for the evening, and I opened the door for her and Yelldo. I fed them both, and when she came back in the living room afterward, I noticed that her harness was gone. She had no form of identification or restraint at all.

I could swear that she had it on when she came in. How could I have missed the fact that the brightly-striped and jingly harness was not on the big red dog? However, apparently, I saw what I was used to seeing instead of what was really there.

I walked down the road and then back up the pasture in search of it and went over all the yard. No sign of it. I suppose she lost it somewhere in the woods in the hour and a half she was outside without me.

It was just weird. I jokingly half-suspected my mom came down and stole it because she hated the stripes so much. She thinks the only two colors for a dog collar are brown and black. I prefer more colorful options.

Anyway, tomorrow begins the long haul toward the AP test and the end of the school year, so I'm going to put the mystery to the side, watch a little more tv, and get some rest. Maybe the harness will show up again somewhere in the future.

New Year's Eve

An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves. ~Bill Vaughan

I don't know which category I fall into in regard to the above quote. There is a bit of both in me, I think.

I watched the last light of the last day of 2006 fade from the trunks and boughs of the pines on top of the hill near my house. It seemed to cling just a little longer than usual, as if the year was hesitant to pass on, as if it would stay now that its time has come.

Yesterday and last night, torrential rains swept through Podunk. The rain was sufficient to set dry streams running and to cut shallow rivulets through my driveway. As I listened to it pounding the metal roof in the back of the house, I kept thinking that it was the hand of God washing away the old year, cleaning the slate, as it were.

2006 was not a particularly good year for me. Those of you who have been reading me for a long time may have noticed the shift of topic and tone in my blog; of course, with the infrequency of my blogging, the change may not be apparent. It's been so much easier to stick with the trivial or not to write at all. If you know me personally, you may have noticed that my usual taciturn nature has been even more than its usual solitary self.

There were things from the past that came back to me this year, things I cannot and will not discuss in a forum such as this, but suffice it to say, these things put a crack into that thin roof of hell upon which the famous quote says we all stride picking flowers, oblivious to the imminent danger just below. The idea that the monsters in the closet come back after childhood is over is enough to make anybody run, and running is exactly what I've been doing. Things I used to care about and enjoy have been pushed to the wayside. Friendships I treasure have been allowed to slide into decline. It's been easy to be too busy for everything because being busy keeps the mind from having time to engage topics better left alone.

I refuse to live 2007 this way. If I do, the monsters in the darkness win. So tonight, as I prepare for my own observances of the death of the old year and the birth of the new, I am lighting every candle in the house. The lights on my porch still glow and twinkle. There will be no darkness, no horrible things waiting in the shadows tonight. I will meet the new year with hope and with purpose. My family has its own traditions, and one of those is that odd-numbered years are lucky for us. I am looking forward to a lucky and healing 2007.

Happy New Year to you, wherever you may be.

Nothing Like Sickness for the Holidays

Christmas Eve morning, I woke up with that spaced-out feeling that precedes a bout of sinus crap for me. I hoped against hope that it was just allergies stirred up by something the previous day, but by the time I got home from church, I was really looped out. I went to sleep, and slept all day.

Christmas day, I was supposed to cook a breakfast meal for my family so we could do our gift exchange, but I couldn't even get up. We finally had Christmas last night around 8, and it was very low key.

I hate being sick, but this is the worst. I am fighting it with every medicine known to man, so hopefully, I can stave off an infection or bronchitis. I guess I should be glad that it's not school time right now, but man, I did NOT want to waste my precious holiday with this....

Citizen Kane

Today, I saw the movie ranked #1 by the AFI top 100 movies of all time poll. I don't know exactly why I haven't seen it before now, but it's one that has eluded me. I am currently trying out Netflix, and I decided to send for Citizen Kane after having seen most of Welles' Othello in my recent Shakespeare class.

I enjoyed it for several reasons. I was able, thanks to the Shakespeare class, to appreciate some of the technical things that were going on film-wise, and with me, the more I know about something, the deeper my enjoyment generally is. The storyline was also captivating, as was the way the story was presented. I can see why it's considered to be so great. If I knew more about its technical aspects, I could probably understand better why it's considered to be the best ever. I'm a little leery of labels like that.

While I don't think it will ever become one of my frequently-watched favorites, I am glad I saw it. I want to watch it one more time before I send it back to get the flavor of it better.

Passion for Vintage

Yesterday, another box of the vintage Shiny-Brite ornaments I won on eBay arrived. These were in the original box with Uncle Sam and Santa shaking hands. As I took each incredibly thin and fragile ornament from its box, I wondered what kind of Christmases each had seen. What presents had been unwrapped, what family meals had been consumed in their gentle twinkle? I felt privileged to be a part of their continuing history. I have one more box of them on the way, and that will probably end my collecting of Shiny Brite.

I have also been using my old cotton print tablecloths this season. My favorite one is a 1960's Santa and reindeer in reds, greens, and browns. It makes me incredibly happy just to smooth my hand across it on my table. Again, I can almost feel the "happy holiday vibe" coming from it. Granted, it could have been put away in someone's linen closet and never unfolded, but I prefer to think that maybe for at least one holiday, it soaked up some joy.

Currently, I am on the trail of a chenille peacock bedspread. I know just the colors I want, but I am having a hard time finding one in good condition and at an affordable price. A gorgeous one is up for auction on eBay, but the seller wants $250, and there's no way I can justify that. Hopefully, before summer, I will be able to find one that is both the color combination and price I desire. I think it will look great with the decor I already have in the house.

I guess I'm just a hard-core vintage junkie. Other prize holiday possessions are my previously mentioned Phil Spector collection and the absolutely lovely, sparkly Christmas tree pin I won at auction. I am going to wear it proudly to church tomorrow. Each of these items has opened up conversations with others: friends, parents, other collectors. This is one of my favorite parts of these things. My dad remembers having Shiny Brites on his family's Christmas trees when he was a child, and he knows, as did I, that my grandmother would have loved the Christmas tree pin. It's a connection to my own personal past as well as to the past of those who loved the items before me.

Another satisfying aspect of these things is finding their place in history. Nothing I have is of exceptional value; in fact, many of the things I enjoy collecting are fairly inexpensive. None of them are in the running with Waterford or Haviland for price, value, or historical significance. However, I've been learning a lot about these American products, and through them, I'm opening tiny windows into recent American history. Shiny Brite was made on a machine that was developed by Corning for light bulbs, and the peacock spreads were made in Georgia and originally sold off clotheslines to tourists. The tablecloths I love so much were a household staple brightening the kitchen tables of America for thirty years or so before they fell out of favor. These are the items that were common during my grandparents' and parents' time.

Now I have the joy of using these things and adding my own memories to the collections they already hold. There's nothing pretentious about these common-place treasures, but each time I unfold one of my vintage cloths, add a PEZ to my collection, place a hanger through the metal loop atop a Shiny Brite, or pin on my glittery tree pin or one of my other vintage brooches, I am making a bridge between the past and the present. It's a comfortable place to be.

Peace on Earth

We had a really great trip today to see my uncle. I had given Mom part of her Christmas gift early, an Elvis Christmas CD, and we all hummed along and sang as we traveled. Normally, Mom and I get irritated with each other at some point, but today was very peaceful. Maybe we need Elvis all the time.

Now, I'm back home, and although I had hoped to go carolling tonight, the current mizzening rain is kind of nice, too. There's a snoozing pit bull on the couch, various and sundry napping cats draped across chair backs and velour blankets, and I have at least three books I can choose from to spend the evening with.

I also got a package today from one of my eBay purchases. Six of the old-fashioned indent glass ornaments I won came in, and they look great on my tree. The other auction gained me eight more, and maybe they'll come in tomorrow. I love the old-fashioned look of them.

I'm going to spend the evening with the animals, the glittering tree, and whichever of the paperbacks I finally settle on. How could life possibly be better?

Phil Spector's A Christmas Gift for You

Today, the DHL man zipped up the driveway in his large, appropriately-yellow van, managed to overcome his fear of Roux, and delivered Phil Spector's Christmas compilation to my door. It's a fabulous bit of Christmas fluff. I have been listening to it as I've been driving around in this unseasonably hot 75 degree weather to finish out my Christmas shopping, and I am in a better mood than I've been in for a long time. I think it's probably impossible to listen to the Crystals sing "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" and be grumpy. I went bopping down the interstate and didn't once feel like yelling at anyone. I even managed to be cheery in the midst of the chaotic hell that is Wal-Mart these last few days before the holiday because no matter how many people cut me off with carts or screaming children, I was humming "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" a la the Ronettes. It was great. It's amazing how happy thirteen bucks can make a person sometimes...

Long Time, No Blog

I simply haven't felt like blogging in the past month. I've been too tired or too busy. I've often thought about it, but I simply haven't been able to scrape up enough interest to get into it.

I've spent the last few days since school got out singing in our choir musical, entertaining people from church, and generally trying to rest up some. Today, I spent most of the morning reading and glancing through eBay. It's delightful.

Soon, I really need to get the last of my Christmas shopping done. The same old dilemmas persist: what am I going to get Mom and Dad, people who want nothing, need nothing, and will request nothing? This year, I think I found a couple of neat things, but really, I still don't know exactly what to get them, and I don't want it to be gift certificates. I might go roam around Jackson a day and see if I can't find something there.

Well, I'll try to keep up the blog better now. Maybe I'll be able to come up with something better than the inane commentary here.

Holiday Procrastination

I am hopelessly behind with my work for my two night classes, so of course, today I got my Christmas tree, hung the lights and the ornaments, fixed the lights on my porch, and did laundry and other housework. The more behind I get with school, the spiffier my house and my holiday decorations get. I'm sure it's a kind of sickness.

It's nice, though, to see the tree up and all the lights glittering. I love Christmas, as I've said here before, and now when I'm coming home at dark-thirty from the endless pageant of night class crud, I will be able to see my lights welcoming me home. That along with a heavy dose of Christmas carols in the car and during my off period are keeping me in a mostly Christmasy mood.

Yesterday, I went to the Chimneyville Crafts Festival in Jackson. It's so nice to go somewhere and see items lovingly made by hand rather than mass-produced and cheaply-made things. Part of the experience is getting to talk to the craftspeople, too. I had a thirty minute conversation with a potter whose husband has an anagama (Japanese style wood fired kiln) in Tennessee. It was a touch of Japan, and I was thrilled. The piece I bought from them, a splendid raven figure, is something I had been thinking of since last year's show. They only make two each year, and last year both had been sold when I got there. This year, I was able to buy one. It's sitting in regal black satin splendor on my living room shelves.

Tonight, I played for church and also wound up getting drafted to sing. I was a nervous wreck, as usual, but I managed to get it out okay. The song, "What Child Is This?", is one of my favorites, so that helped. Now, I suppose I need to do a little class work before the almighty teacher bedtime kicks in. Sigh. Where are those magic ruby slippers or genie lamps when you really need them?