License!

I started this morning at school for a brief conference with TPTB. That done, I went to check my mailbox in hopes that the third license had actually made it through the magic barrier and arrived, finally putting my contract-less-ness to an end. No such luck. This, if you're keeping score, was not the first license requested by regular mail, nor the second requested by a combination of phone and email. This was number three, requested by me in person at our lovely State Dept. of Ed. last Thursday.

Since I was going to Jackson for some pre-school shopping anyway, I just swung by the State Dept. again. They swore they'd sent the third one out Thursday, and I don't know of any reason why they'd lie. In fact, the same woman I talked to Thursday came out and was very agitated about the fact that she'd personally printed it, put it in an envelope and placed it in the mail outbox. They agreed to mail NUMBER FOUR, I confirmed all sorts of addresses, signed a new form, and left.

I had to pick up something for our school in another office, but as I was walking back to the car with Mom (who was along for the shopping), the lady from Licensure came running after us waving an envelope. The wonderful people just finally printed one and put it in my hands. I almost cried in relief. Finally, it's over.

I still don't know where the heck all those other copies are. Whatever paperwork gremlin has been eating them won't get this one, though. I can sign my contract and get over the hurdle I've been stuck straddling for so long now. YEAH!!!!

My Hero

A member of an electronic discussion group to which I belong pointed out the blog for the Grammar Vandal. This lady does what I've always dreamed of doing. She takes a Sharpie around with her and fixes those stupid erroneous commas, apostrophes, and other grammatical demons that seem to permeate everyday life. Is my grammar perfect all the time? No. Do I get a kick out of her fixing other people's errors? Oh yeah..... Go see the signs.

Frustration

I am frustrated right now. It seems like I'm having to explain myself to people who should know me by now, people who should know that I don't do things without reason or randomly. I hate that feeling. It makes me think that I'd rather just not bother with the whole situation, especially since the amount of work that's going to be involved in fixing the issue to suit these people is EPIC. The longer I sit and think on it, the more my frustration grows. I'm not a superstitious person, but lots of signs are starting to point to the changing of the winds. It may be time for a Mary Poppins moment soon....

Short Trip, Long Thoughts

I just got back from a two-day conference working on an EFL program with a friend of mine from back in my Indiana University days. It was a lot of hard work, and I think my brain leaked out my ears sometime late this afternoon. I am drained.

After I finished up working with my friend, I went across town to see my best friend so we could have dinner. Even as close as we live to each other, we just don't see each other very often. We live less than 90 minutes away, but life just gets so busy.

These two days have been thought-provoking. My Indiana friend and his wife are missionaries currently serving in France. Just hearing about their life and work made me want to be back overseas. He asked me a couple of questions that made my life here seem so....small...somehow. That wasn't his intention, of course; he's absolutely not the kind of person to cast aspersions on anybody's life.

One of the questions he asked me was what I do with my time, other than teach. I told him that I'm usually at school until 4 or 5, that two nights a week I have a night class, and that the other nights, I usually come home and fall down. When I said it, I thought to myself, "And this, THIS, is my life? It can be summed up in three phases, all of which involve teaching in some way?" I feel very confused right now.

He also asked me where I see myself in 5 years. I don't know the answer to that question. I never have. I can barely see into next year, much less in five years. I've learned that I can't even guess the places God is going to take me in five years, and I've sort of stopped trying to figure it out. If I keep living the way I am right now, though, I think the answer is going to be very, very simple: in five years, I will be exactly the same save the silver in my hair.

The next great weird-out came when I was at dinner with my best friend, her husband, and their two little boys. I was watching her boys be preschool boys (they're a hoot) when another little face peered around the corner of the booth. A moment later, a family made up of a harried looking mother and father and a toddler boy sat in a booth nearby. A woman then walked her three-ish little girl past on the way to the bathroom. Everywhere I looked, there were parents and little kids. I felt like I had been set down on an alien world where I had no part. Am I ever going to have that?

I have some things to think about right now. I am not going to run off and join the circus or anything, but I'm not comfortable with all the things that the past two days have stirred up.

Summer's End

I worked at registration today, and that officially marks the end of summer. From this point on, everything will be simply preparation for the coming school year. I hauled about a million pounds of books from various spots in our library to issue to the senior class, said "Have you finished your summer reading" so many times I'll probably dream about little imps capering around, waving summer reading sheets, and singing that tonight, and saw students I know and students I don't who will be mine in the year to come.

Summer gets away so quickly. Every year, I have grandiose plans, goals I will accomplish as a conscientious person who makes the most of her time. Every year, about this time, I find myself wondering why so few items on that list got done. This year, I did get a new shelving system installed in my junk room, but I certainly didn't give it that Clean Sweep style purge that it so desperately needed. I never finished painting the trim on my house, and I certainly never built that maneki neko stained glass window I was intending to create for my classroom. I didn't get my act together to go to Memphis for a tour of Sun Records and some Rendezvous BBQ.

I think I need to think about summer differently. I need to quit pretending that I am going to leap out of bed every morning at 5:30 p.m. when I don't have to do it, run outside with various "implements of destruction", manicure my yard, my dogs, and myself, and have a sumptuous repast laid on the table for all my family and friends by 6:30 p.m. I need to quit beating myself up if I don't completely renovate every room in the house. That's not what summer needs to be for me.

I need summer to be pretty much what mine was, a chance to catch up on reading, both required for my classes and all those books I buy and put aside because I don't have enough time for them during teaching and taking classes. I need summer to be about sleeping late and trying to repair the damage I do to myself during the school year by not getting enough rest and being too stressed out. I need summer to be a time where I can stay up all night working on my blogs, my class pages, Shelfari, and so on because during the school year, all of this goes by the wayside. It needs to be a time I can reconnect with my best friends, most of whom are also teachers and lead the same bizarre, exhausting life as I do, only with husbands and babies to boot.

As this summer ends, I constantly hear the question, "How was your summer?" My answer is going to be that it was great from this point forward because, even though my To Do list isn't a whole lot shorter than once it was, I did take care of the things that were truly important and now I'm more or less ready to face the year to come.

The Deathly Hallows

Since I don't want to ruin anybody's enjoyment of the book who hasn't finished yet, I am going to have to be very vague about some things here...

I didn't know what to expect when Book 7 arrived yesterday, wrapped neatly in its decorative cardboard sheath from amazon.com. I got everything I had to do done as early as I could, made myself some supper, and retired to my favorite chair for reading for the rest of the evening. I didn't intend to read the whole thing last night, but I did. I couldn't sleep not knowing how it ended.

I didn't join the Harry Potter craze when it first started. I am very leery of all things the media makes ultra-popular. Generally, I believe that old Mark Twain quote about doing the opposite of what the masses are doing. I was in my first year of graduate school in Indiana when I guess it was Book 3 came out, and I picked up a paperback copy of the first book because a friend of mine whom I trust had so highly recommended the series. I was hooked from the first reading, and quickly moved from one who waits for the paperbacks to one who preorders the hardbacks. I took them to Japan with me, reread them often, and always get the same sense of pleasure from their reading.

Book 7 is a worthy final chapter for a series that has, in my opinion, been getting better, more lasting and literary, with each succeeding installment. Questions are answered, and as in life, the answers are not always as simple or as easy to live with as one might expect. There are losses, and some of them are so sudden that it's hard for the reader to believe they've really happened. In that, Rowling has put us emotionally right into the story with Harry and the others. I cried in several places.

I have to say that while the book provides a beautiful sense of closure for characters we've known and loved for a long time, there's very much a sense that the story of the Wizarding world and Hogwarts might not be over. Whether Rowling moves on to fulfill that hint of a promise or whether she leaves everybody as they were in the end, I can only say that The Deathly Hallows is the final transformation for Harry and the others from the world of children to the world of the adult, and the transformation was handled beautifully.

Lots of Hits

My blog took lots of hits today from some people here in Podunk searching for some very...specific...things. Hmm. Wonder which of this year's upcoming darlings has found my blog? Welcome and read on. There's nothing here that's hidden, scandalous, or shocking. If I wanted it hidden, trust me, you'd never have located it. ;) See you in class....

Setting the Stage

Today, after driving Dad's big brown truck to pick him up from one of our hay pastures, I loaded my car and went to school. I had stopped by yesterday to pick up some materials I'd promised to share with some colleagues online, and I used about an hour between my haircut and my doctor's appointment to start getting the beginning of the school year chores done. I continued that work today trying to get everything set up for the ever-hastening beginning of school.

I don't think anybody who isn't a teacher or a teacher's kid knows how much preparation goes into making a room nice and ready for the start of school. I removed the long swaths of green paper I'd used to keep my bookshelves safe from the floor stripping and resealing. I finished the process of throwing away the last bits of things from last year that were no longer needed. I organized some junk drawers. There are a million little things that have to be cleaned, hung or rehung, changed, made, printed, and arranged before school can start.

I unwrapped and put out all my little knickknacks. My bobbleheads, Poe, Shakespeare, Darth Vader, and a pit bull, all sway in comforting unison atop my stereo again. My little rubber ducks who remind me to say, "QUACK", and let the nonsense roll off my back, sit in multicolored splendor next to my Magic Fortune Cookie (think Magic 8 Ball, only shaped like a fortune cookie)on the shelf above my student computer. My fencing foil, so useful as a pointer when not being used to explain Laertes' nasty trick in the final fight with Hamlet, is out of hiding as is my hurley.

All in all, I worked for about 4.5 hours, and although I'm not finished, I feel a lot better about it. I got my "This Day in History" calendar up, sent materials to the print shop, tracked down my AP scores (10/17 passed YEAH!!!), and got all my classroom organizational aids (assignment calendars, missed handout holder, etc.) spruced up. All that's left is to finish out my syllabi and run them off.

When I finally decided that there was nothing else to do this afternoon, I grabbed my workbag and went to the door. Turning back and looking at everything waiting for August 1st was pleasant. The stage is set, and now the new year can begin.

Scary....

I'm watching Hey Paula on Bravo, and I am deeply, deeply afraid. Paula Abdul has cried, so far, three times and we are only 9 minutes into the show. She's not hateful, but she's definitely a diva, and I have to say that her judgment appears to be a little suspect. I guess twenty plus years of living in Hollywood have made her what she is, and I feel bad for her. If every day is like the days on this show for her, her life is very, very crappy.

A Long Day

My father and I went to Jackson today to see my uncle. My uncle had a stroke several years ago, and between his diabetes and the circulation issues related to the stroke, he lost a leg a few years ago. For the past few months, circulation to his remaining leg had diminished to the point of almost losing this one, too. He had surgery today to restore circulation to his foot, a bypass operation.

When we entered the hospital room, he had only been back from surgery and the recovery room for a few minutes. He was in such pain, and we couldn't find a nurse anywhere to come and give him something for it. Dad finally tracked somebody down and they found that the doctor's orders were for a morphine derivative that my uncle cannot take. It seems that most of my dad's side of the family shares an allergy to morphine that makes them see freaky things if it's given to them.

After figuring out that the meds had to change, they apparently had to beat a pharmacist to death to get him/her to allow out Demerol in substitution, and forty minutes after Dad asked for it, my uncle finally got some relief.

I'm not telling this as a soapbox story. In fact, my current feeling is very mixed. Mostly, I just wish there was some way that I could have taken some of his pain for him. He's had too much of it, and since he lives in a nursing home in the north part of the state, he often deals with it alone. Today, as I helped him arrange and rearrange his covers and looked through the hospital's cable channels for his beloved Discovery Channel, I just wanted to scream at the unfairness of his not even being able to get the shot he needed to relieve the post-surgery pain.

Ultimately, this surgery is supposed to help him keep this leg. The doctor who called us after the surgery (Dad and I had gone to get food) said that he has a strong pulse now, and when we saw his foot only an hour or so after the procedure, there was already a dramatic change in color and size from the last time we saw it on Friday. I have to keep thinking about that. I hope he can. Actually, I take that back. I really hope that they keep bringing him enough medicine so he's out cold and doesn't have to think about anything at all for awhile.

Good News?

I mailed my teaching license renewal packet to our wonderful State Department of Education about eight weeks ago. Since then, I have been getting increasingly agitated as day after day has passed and no license has been in my mailbox. I cannot, after all, sign a contract with my school until I get that little piece of paper from the Dept. of Ed.

I tried to call them about a month ago, and after waiting for an hour on hold never actually having made contact with a human being, I emailed them. I was told that processing time runs 4-6 weeks and that I needed to wait. Since today is week 8 and 6 days, I decided I'd try to call once again.

To my surprise, I got a polite human being after only five minutes of waiting. She gave me the revelatory news that I was sent a license on May 24. Now, I don't know what to think about that. All I can say is that I've been watching that mailbox like the proverbial hawk for any trace, any envelope fragment that might be from the Dept. of Ed. They kindly agreed to send me a new copy AT NO CHARGE (don't get me started about the fact that there was a five minute phone hold while they decided whether or not I'd have to pay for the copy that got lost between Jackson and here), and God willing, I should have it in hand by Friday. Won't THAT be a relief!

Waiting for Book 7

Last night, I finished up a whirlwind reread of the first six Harry Potter books, and I was struck afresh by how good the writing is. I cried when Sirius died. I cried when Dumbledore died. It's a credit to her Rowling's writing that I was able to feel the loss of those characters as though they were people I knew.

It's not just the depth of the characters. It's also the word plays she uses. I love how so many characters have aptronyms. Even though my minuscule bit of Latin is self-taught, I recognize that Voldemort has death in his name, that Draco means dragon, that Albus means white and shining light, Sirius is the name of the dog constellation, Fleur de la Cour is flower of the heart, and Lupin is derived from the word for wolf. There are allusions, my favorites of which are Minerva for McGonagall's first name, and Fawkes for Dumbledore's loyal phoenix. There is also a healthy dose of word play to create the names of magic items such as the Pensieve. I know you can read the books without catching those things, but to me, such an adult layer of pleasure is added.

On Saturday, the UPS man will roll up the driveway, brave the pit bull, and hand me my copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Although I will be so sorry to finish this wonderful storyline, I am also looking forward with a purely childlike glee to getting my hands on this book and finding out whether some of my favorite theories (Dumbledore is ALIVE!!!) can be borne out.

Headaches

Literally...not frustrations, splitting pains in the head.

I don't know what's causing them. I've been told by people who have migraines that they sound like migraines, and when they get bad enough, I believe it. At the end of the school year, I was having them quite a bit, but for most of the summer, I haven't had many.

I've had two this week, including the cabron currently kicking now. It's not sharp enough for me to feel like I need to go take medicine yet. I try to avoid taking anything because no matter what I take, even Advil, I feel floaty and weird after. In fact, I feel floaty and weird because of the headaches. Sometimes it feels like my brain just stops working. I can't string sentences. It's scary.

I keep having Kindergarten Cop moments (It's a tumor...It's not a tumor!), but I suspect these are something else. I just wish I knew what the trigger was. I've had my eyes checked, and the doctor basically said, "So, why did you come see me, again?" I have 20/20 or better, so it's not my eyes.

Maybe it's stress; maybe it's hormones; maybe it's invisible gremlins with silver hammers. I just wish whatever the heck it is would leave me alone.

Wuthering Heights

I've been meaning to write this post for several days now. I just finished up the reread of WH for next school year, and I guess I had forgotten a huge amount of that book. One thing that struck me this time through was the incredible selfishness of the doomed pair, Cathy and Heathcliff. I'm almost positive I thought their attachment had the glamour of romance the last time I dealt with this book.

Cathy struck me as one of the most emotionally immature women I've "read" lately. Everything she does is totally without consideration of how it will affect any other person. She is careless and although lots of critics talk about her as though she's a force of nature, her caprices do not strike me as natural for any adult. Even when she's pregnant (of course that's not mentioned, but suddenly, BAM, there's Cathy, Jr.), she throws a tantrum worthy of any two-year-old just because she's displeased with recent events in the house, and she winds up damaging herself in such a way that she's never able to recover.

Nobody in that whole book, with the possible exception of Nelly Dean, is normal. Edgar Linton might have had a chance if he'd married somebody sane, same thing for Isabella. Heathcliff's borderline necrophiliac obsession for Cathy Sr. is another act of selfishness. His diabolic actions toward Isabella and the children, Hareton and Catherine, are directly related to his selfish desire to get revenge when revenge won't ever take away the pain of what was done to him as a child.

The two of them seem like caricatures to me, and I wonder if that wasn't the effect Bronte was going for. Maybe she wanted them to be caricature warnings: grow up and set your priorities right or suffer.

YouTube - What About Everything (A Tribute to 43 years of Doctor Who)

YouTube - What About Everything (A Tribute to 43 years of Doctor Who)

This one's pretty cool, too. If you don't like Dr. Who, um...you may just want to skip the next two posts....

YouTube - Doctor Who titles mix

YouTube - Doctor Who titles mix

For those of you who are fans, I found this digging around on YouTube.

Dr. Who and Shakespeare

"Your eyes are so old for a man so young." (Shakespeare)
"I read a lot." (The Doctor)

"Shakespeare Code" -- Dr. Who

I just saw the Shakespeare Code episode of the new Dr. Who series, and I think it might just be one of the best episodes I've ever seen. Granted, I still cherish Tom Baker, and The Pyramids of Mars still ranks at the top of my list, but this one was SOOOO good.

I'm sure a lot of that has to do with the fact that it was dealing with one of the other loves of my life, Shakespeare. The three witches from Macbeth show up, too. The setting, the physical aspects, the storyline, all were really well done. And of course, I am very curious about why Elizabeth I wanted to cut off his head at the end. I hope they'll go ahead and answer that question on down the line.

Even though I wasn't too crazy about the current Doctor at the beginning of his run, now that he's in his second season, I think he's become my second favorite Doctor after the Fourth Doctor. This series just keeps getting better. I think I'll stay up until it comes on again and watch it all over.

If Only

YouTube - Absolut - Protest

I saw the Absolut commercial tonight where there is a huge crowd gathered in protest behind police lines. If you haven't seen it, you can access it at the link above. I had seen it before, but tonight, maybe because of the increasingly bad and violent news from what seems like every corner of the world, foreign AND domestic, it struck me differently.

When the woman in the group of protesters runs forward and beans the cop with the feather pillow, I thought, "If only... if only that was the way we could resolve our differences." If only we could find a way to disagree without escalating to bloodshed. If only the only victims were feather pillows.

Why can't we figure out some way to simply get along? I don't think we all have to agree on everything. I don't think we need one system to rule the world. I just wish we could find some place of mediation, some place of tolerance where we could believe what we want and not take up arms, not end lives, not destroy nations over differences.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we woke up one day and all the guns had become fat feather pillows?

As War Enters Classrooms, Fear Grips Afghans - New York Times

As War Enters Classrooms, Fear Grips Afghans - New York Times

This article from the NY Times made so angry and so sad this morning that I needed to write about it. The main focus is two girls who were killed in a Taliban attack just for the "crime" of wanting to learn.

As a teacher, I guess I'm extra-sensitive to something like this. I thank God that I was born into a time and a place that makes no differentiation between the rights of women and men to be equally educated. I cannot imagine the hunger and the pain of these women in places like Afghanistan who have been denied the right to satisfy that God-given need to know, to learn.

The bravery of these Afghan girls and women is humbling to me. There were so many days when I got up to go to high school or even my college classes thinking, "Why do I have to do this?" Now, I often hear my students complaining about "having to go to school." Oh how I wish they could know, if only for a second, what it is that these children of a torn and destroyed world feel about a chance at an eduation.

They huddle under tents and try to learn despite climate conditions and persecution. How often have I heard complaints and been guilty of some myself about our huge old building. We're forgetting what it is not to have. Even though Katrina brought some of that to our state, it's amazing how fast we lose our gratitude.

I pray for those girls and those women. I pray for safety for them and for a cultural change in which those fool Taliban animals begin to see children as a sacred gift again. And yes, I pray for vengeance for those poor ones who were gunned down for imagined crimes by rabid dogs with more bullets than intelligence. I refuse to believe that the sacred text of their religion in any way endorses these acts.

Shelfari II

Shelfari has become my latest obsession. This is a site that allows you to make a virtual shelf, like the one visible on this page, that contains whatever of your books you'd like to include. It can be as comprehensive or selective as you choose, and you can also make a "Top Ten" list, a "Wish List", and a "Reading List." I spent about a whole day just filling in my books.

I like it because I get the chance to recall all the wonderful books as I put them up. The list of books I want to reread has grown by leaps and bounds as I've been putting stuff on the site. I keep thinking, "It's been ages since I read that one...."

My favorite part of the site, though, is the groups. I belong to one for AP English teachers, and I think I've finally found a bunch of people who are as Book-Geeky as me. It's nice to be able to chat about the books we're teaching and about the books we're not. Too often, I think AP teachers feel a little isolated. After all, in this area, most schools only have the one, and other grade level instructors don't really have time to fool with anything other than their own preparations. This little Shelfari group is a nice virtual community where we can compare notes, vent, and share the jargon and concerns.

Another thing I like about it is the fact that I can sort of shop for what to read next. Often I go to a bookstore and pick up a book, read the blurb on the back, and wonder if it's really worth my time. With Shelfari, I can talk to like-minded people who have read it, read reviews I'm pretty sure weren't generated by a publishing house press machine, and see if the other books on a recommender's shelf match up with books I've enjoyed in the past. Right now, I think my Reading List of books I want to read is probably enough to keep me busy the rest of the summer and on into the year to come.

It's a nice cyberdiversion. One of the members called it Facebook for Book Nerds. I think I like that description. I'm off to explore....

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.