Insanity

Today was just plain stupid. It was Wednesday and a short day for us, so I was looking forward to a day of poetry and then an afternoon of staff development. Okay, so I wasn't really looking forward to the staff development, but you know what I mean.

The A/C never came on this morning, so it got nice and toasty in my east-facing classroom. I think it got up to about 80 before a measly trickle of cold air started to ooze from the air vents. This is not all that unusual, but it was just another annoyance today.

Yesterday, my students noticed that the sugar ants had started coming into my classroom. They do that about twice a year, and usually maintenance comes and sprays quickly. Today, ants were everywhere. Second period they were crawling all over backpacks and students. Suddenly, one of my AP students jumped up and said she'd been bitten. Guess what, boys and girls? The sugar ants brought in fire ants today, too. CRAP. We shuffled everybody out of the corner, and I sent another desperate plea downstairs for SOMEBODY to come kill the ants.

During 3rd period, the students near my desk noticed a crackling noise and the smell of burning electrical conduit. I dove under my desk, my students were freaking out, and I unplugged a surge strip that apparently had had its last hurrah. There was no fire, but there's nothing like the possibility of electrical fire to get you moving in the morning. My clothing was covered with dust and nasty from crawling around on the floor.

Around lunch, the day got better. Everything settled down, and while the air refused to come on, I was able to open the door to the glacially-cool hall and steal some of the air by using a box fan to channel it in during my off period. I finally found a way to plug most of the electronic equipment back in, and our kind custodian came and sprayed the ants.

I have to say that I was grateful when everything finally became what passes for normal at Podunk High again. I was starting to look for the frogs and the boils to come next.... Maybe that's being saved for tomorrow.

Beowulf Boast

My students have been reading Beowulf lately, and one of their projects was to create an Anglo-Saxon style boast like Beowulf's as he comes into Heorot for the first time. The ones my students came up with were very good, as they always are, but this year, they asked me to make one. I wasn't going to do it, but since both classes asked, I guess I will oblige. Since I don't have anything of merit to share today, I thought you might get a kick out of it, too.

Hail to the Senior Class!

I, Cygnus of the _____ clan,
Born in the land of red clay, pine trees, and kudzu,
Descendant of Irish poets and Apache warriors,
Teacher and child of teachers,
A daughter of the Deep South, stand before you,
a modern-day Prometheus
Bringing books of brain-broadeners to bored teens.

I am a modern-day Earthstepper
And I cover continents in a stride.
The Land of the Rising Sun housed my heart for two years
Leaving was a loss I still feel.
The soil of England, Ireland, Wales, Costa Rica, and Thailand have I also trodden
Their stone dances, dolmens, volcanoes, and Buddhas
jewels of experience to turn over in the light of memory.
Daily I dream of other destinations to feed my desire
To see and know this beautiful world.

I have made mighty music with my fingers,
Earned an academic award or two,
Pursued the prize for two degrees in the Lands of the Bulldogs and the Hoosiers,
Taught my native tongue to those who have traveled far to learn it,
Claimed the king’s gold in poetry competitions,
Won the heart of a fierce, fast, and free canine companion,
And returned to tell the tale to those who have ears to hear.

Now, I will face the fierce class before me
Full of fascinating facts to offer
I will take care of what and who are mine,
Fighting buffoons in the hall
And living by my favorite phrase, spoken by India’s son,
“Be the change you want to see in the world.”

Jeans

Today I went to our local mall to pick up a couple of pairs of pants from my favorite store. I'm very hard to fit being a big girl and tall with it, but I have always been able to walk into this store and pull jeans off the shelf without even trying them on. They just fit.

When I walked over to where the jeans have always been, a shelf of different denim faced me. They'd come up with a clever new sizing method and three different cuts. I stood at the end of a long Monday absolutely befuddled.

A saleswoman had to measure me, always fun, and then she recommended a size that turned out to be three sizes too small. I wanted to sit in the floor and cry.

It's hard to explain why it made me so upset. I guess it goes back to always having had a hard time finding clothes. I had come to rely on those jeans being available and, well, easy. Too many things right now are up in the air and changing. I needed the simple comfort of plain old denim, and suddenly even that trivial constant had disappeared.

The saleslady took pity on me and kept bringing in pairs until I found one that fit right. They do feel good, and they look nice on me. I guess this change isn't all bad. I just hope everything else settles down with such a nice resolution.

A Day Off

It's about 10 in the morning, and I'm sitting in my rocking chair. Every window in the house is open, the washing machine is gently swishing, and the attic fan is a soothing roar in the background. I am as relaxed now as I've been in months. It's amazing.

I took this day off from school because I have an entire bag of papers I need to grade. I'm realizing now, though, that the grading was a small part of what I needed a day off for. I needed the attic fan and the washing machine. I needed the sound of windchimes from my porch and the agitated fussing of hummingbirds coming to the feeders. I needed to get away from the too often too loud halls of my school and the everyday grind of my job.

I think that when I return Monday, I'll be able to feel much more positive about things. I'm going to go start working on the papers now, but these few hours of peaceful rest from the routine have been divine.

Unbelieveable

Today I was told that one of my previous students ran over another of my previous students four times in the local mall parking lot. Who are these people? I couldn't believe it. The two people involved were the last two individuals you would ever suspect would become a crime drama/soap opera. This is too sad. I don't know if the one who was run over will live. All I can do is pray for them. Things like this are part of the most bizarre aspect of teaching. Everybody who makes the evening news, victim or assailant, was once some teacher's student.

Doe, a Deer, a Female Deer.....

After fifteen years of driving in the state of Mississippi, I hit my first deer tonight. Coming home from my parents' house, I rounded a curve to find a deer standing right in the middle of the road. It started for the passenger's side edge of the road, and I swerved into the other lane and honked my horn. Apparently that was the WRONG thing to do because it turned around and smashed itself into the passenger's side of my car.

I pulled over to the side of the road and called Mom and Dad. I wasn't afraid of damage to the car, but I was afraid that the deer was lying by the side of the road dying an agonizing death. There are many things that I can do for myself, but killing a deer is not among those things. Dad came and we looked all along the edges of the road, but we didn't see anything. I hope the deer lives, but if it shares some of the headache it gave me, I won't call that an injustice, especially since the whole collision was its idea anyway.

As deer-related incidents go, it wasn't a bad one. Like so many other things that happen to me, I guess I can say about this that if I had to have a wreck involving a deer, this was the one to have. However, could I just petition for a brief moment? Do I have to have a wreck with a deer at all?

Umeboshi

Today was a study in contrasts. I had a great day with my regular students and Beowulf. Both classes are really getting into the story, and they actually were disappointed when the period ended and we had to stop reading.

After school I had to go to a doctor's appointment, and while I was there anyway, I asked him about my headaches. He seemed to think they warrant further exploration, so he's arranging for me to see a neurologist. The words CAT scan and MRI came up, and since I'm more than a little claustrophobic, I'm hoping that I'm not going to have to be rolled inside that great big clanging metal tube from hell anytime soon. It was bad enough in high school when I had to have a scan done on my knee. I was only in it up to my shoulders, but I remember the feeling of being trapped all too well.

At least maybe once this process starts somebody will be able to tell me what's going on. The "T" word came up, but I'm blissfully ignoring it. It's too horrible to even contemplate seriously. Besides, I'm almost positive the doctor is going to look at me and tell me to find a way to relieve stress more efficiently. How I'm going to do that, I have no idea, but.... I have to do something. The headaches are coming more and more frequently, and they seem to be getting more and more aggressive, too. Even if the doctor says, "Take more Advil and get out," at least, as my other doctor today said, at least I'll know that there's not some other, darker thing going on.

After the doctor's appointment, I decided to go get some Thai food before my night class began. I haven't been to Podunk's tiny little Thai place in awhile, and it was so comforting and good. I had the masaman, which isn't as likely to make my body rebel as the green curry, and just the warmth of the blue and white china bowl and the flower pattern of the rice from its mold were soothing to jangled nerves. The restaurant is quiet, and the staff there will talk to you or not as your own mood indicates. I love places like that. I can go there with a book and read and eat, and nobody seems to think anything about it.

At the end of the meal, I was asking about the desserts, but they were out of all of them. Their distributor won't come until next week with a new supply. That led to a conversation about trying to find Japanese umeboshi, one of my very favorite Japanese food. I miss those little pickled plums and onigiri made with them. I crave them most of the time. The waitress went to the back to ask the owner if she knew anywhere one could buy umeboshi in the state, and the owner actually brought out a jar from her personal supply. It was wild. They are the big Chinese kind, but she was kind enough to give me one in a condiment container to take home.

I almost cried. I will take it home and cut it into smaller pieces and make my own onigiri. That act of kindness salvaged what was shaping up to be a totally crappy day. It's amazing what a difference one little umeboshi can make when everything else has gone wrong.

Yeah, That's About Right

Find here a definition of the spiffing label I'm saddled with after taking my personality profile today.

Athena and AverKeys

Today, the three-day headache finally abated. I had almost reached the point of wanting to just hide under the covers and cry when I woke up with it again this morning. I do not know what's causing these stupid things, but I am very grateful that this one has at last relented.

I told the story of Athena and Arachne today as a part of our mythology bellringer, and as an introductory note on Athena, I talked about her birth. It was ironic in the extreme that I was telling about a goddess who gave her father such a headache that he had Vulcan split open his skull to relieve it. I wasn't that bad off today, but yesterday about 5th period, that would have seemed like a really good plan to me if it would have meant the pain would just go away.

This afternoon, I've been trying to chase down an AVerKey for my mom's classroom. She wants low-tech and needs to hook her TV to her computer to show some PowerPoints. It's amazing how hard it is to find low tech when you need it. I went to RadioShack, and the poor guy who waited on me will probably run away and hide in the stockroom if he ever sees me coming again. First I asked for an AVerKey. Nope. Then I asked for a USB A male to female cord that wasn't 10 feet long. Nope. I asked for single USB adapter end to convert a shorter cord to a female ending. Nope.

Finally, I asked him if they carried a wireless transmitter to hook my laptop to my stereo so I can listen to all my ripped music on my big stereo while I'm doing work. Uh...... He took me over to the corner of the store where such products were, and he didn't think they had that either, but I found it myself. I'm now listening to all my ripped music files while I'm working. It's quite spiffy if I do say so myself.

The last thing of any note today was a thinking style inventory we had to take during our faculty meeting this afternoon. There were four styles, Abstract Sequential, Concrete Sequential, Abstract Random, and Concrete Random. Guess which one I was. I was Concrete Random. There were only two of us in the whole room. Gee, lookit, Cygnus is in her own little weirdo category again, surprise, surprise. My admin told me that means I like to experiment with things. I think that's a pretty understated way of saying I like to tinker with stuff a lot, and then tinker with it some more, and then tinker with it again..... I'm going to do some more research on this whole concept as she seemed to find the results very significant in some way.

Off to Google....

Weird Dreams

I don't know if it's the headaches stirring the sludge or what, but I've been having bizarre dreams again lately. The other night I dreamed a figure off a Greek vase was chasing me, and not in a way that was remotely stately and serene like the Keats poem. That was one of the worst ones because when I woke up with the alarm, the after image of that big-eyed freaky white figure was still lingering. I've got to get this stuff on paper sometime. It's just strange enough to find a following somewhere.
Well, after a day of tanks on the highway, heavy rain, and migraines, I think it's bed time....

Weekends Are Too Short

I need about one more day in my weekend. I wish we could have a three day weekend. Somebody should lobby for that. I don't mean shorten the work week. I mean just create another day.

I can't get everything done on Saturdays and Sundays anymore. I have to clean the house, take care of the yard, run errands, play for church and do the bulletin, and then I also have school work that has to be done as well. I also need at least a little bit of time to relax, so, inevitably something doesn't get done. I go back to school with a dirty house or a bag full of ungraded papers, a yard full of bahaia or dogs that needed to get to the vets. It's frustrating.

I think I foresee a personal day being taken in the near future just so I can catch up with stuff. Hey, they give me several days for personal leave, and if it will keep me from having chain migraines, I think I'm going to take one.

I Rock

Today, in no particular order, I organized and led an AP orientation meeting for parents, I entered and exported my grades and the grades of another teacher, I wrote a three-page paper about The Sound and the Fury after finding a critical article on it, and I also, oh yeah, taught my classes. I rock. I rule. I am the Queen of Everything. And now, I am taking my tired, dragging behind to bed.

The Sound and the Fury...Again

Faulkner had to have chosen the title of this book as a huge joke on his readers. This whole book is a tale full of sound and fury, told by an idiot, and signifying nothing. Maybe he was trying to force us into seeing all life in those terms, but I think it more likely that he's got a huge in-joke going about the people who read this book and fawn all over it.

This is my second time around with Sound. I read it during AP my senior year, and I hated it so much then that I didn't want to read any more Faulkner ever again. I've come to the point where I enjoy Faulkner most of the time, but I still can't say that I like this book. Is it interesting that we get stream of consciousness from three or four different characters? Yes. Is it his best work? Not by a long shot. The characters are getting lost in the storytelling about half the time.

I've been reading it all day today, and I only have about 100 pages left. I still have to finish it and produce a 2-3 page paper about it before Thursday, so maybe some great and powerful revelation will engulf me and make me change my mind about it. Unless that happens, I will be greatly relieved when the last page has once again been turned.

No Room

I am reaching a point where I think I'm going to have to find a new church. I don't have any place in mine anymore. There's nobody who is in the same place in life as me, there is no Sunday School class where I fit, no group that I can fellowship with and share with, and all the joy I used to have at being a part of it is fading away.

This is my home church as in the church I was carried to as an infant, went to Vacation Bible School as a child, was baptized in, and was a part of the youth group until I graduated and went to college. My family has gone here, my parents and my grandparents, as long as I can remember. I still have extended family here, too. So why don't I fit?

I have wracked my brain trying to figure out why I feel so separate. Part of it is the aforementioned place in life. I am single. I don't have any children. I am one of only maybe three not-so-young adults in my whole church who can say that. The other singles are twenty-somethings who are only really waiting for the ring. The Sunday School class for people my age is filled with people with young children, and of course, as seems to be the case, their lives are dominated by telling stories about those children and taking care of those children.

I'm not knocking having kids. I would love to think that someday I will have them myself. However, that's not an experience I know anything about, so being surrounded by it makes me feel very, very out of place. While I've more or less accepted the inevitable fact most of my friends have been consumed by parenting, I haven't been and may never be. Isn't there some place, any place for people like me?

I have been trying to fill in with service in areas that are needed. I do the bulletin for our church and I play the organ on Sunday nights and as a sub on Sunday mornings, but despite these rolls, I still feel invisible and out of place. I don't know what I'm going to do about it because these rolls of service also bind me to the church. Now one of those rolls of service has changed, too, and I'm worried that the joy that comes from that is going to disappear.

I don't know what to do. I don't really want to leave my church, but I just wish there was some place in it that I felt like I really fit and was more than just a functionary doing my job and slipping quietly back into the shadows when the "real" members show up.

Buster Keaton

TCM's Summer under the Stars is featuring Buster Keaton tonight, and I've already watched Steamboat Bill, Jr. and am now watching one I've never seen called The General. I like silent movies in general, but these silent comedies are some of my favorites.

In Steamboat Bill, Jr., the incredible scene where the front of a house falls down around him and he just happens to be standing in the place where there's a window opening is amazing. There's no stunt double or CGI fill in for any of what he does, and his physical strength and agility are pretty amazing. The fact that Keaton wrote and staged most of these films is also impressive.

My all-time favorite is by Harold Lloyd, though. I can't remember the title of it because I always get it confused with Keaton's College, but it's the one where Lloyd goes off to college and, of course, does everything wrong. The scene in that one where he's at the school dance and his suit begins to come apart is both hilarious and suspenseful.

Sometimes I think a lot was lost whenever the actors started having to talk. In silent films, the whole body carries the message. I've said it before about Phantom of the Opera, but it's worth repeating. While some of it looks melodramatic now, there's still something to be said for emoting with the body and carrying the message and action with something from inside instead of something added by a computer later on.

Floating

I got a headache today during 6th period and had to take some Advil. You wouldn't think something as generic as Advil would have a very strong effect, but I've been floating about three feet off the floor since it kicked in. It's not a particularly pleasant feeling. Tylenol doesn't do this to me, but then again, Tylenol won't kill one of these headaches, either.

Most of the time my headaches just bring pain, but whenever I sort of "head one off at the pass" with meds, my brain feels like a cable has been unhooked. I can't string sentences, and driving home is always an adventure. This trip home, I found myself staring at the shifting clouds and thinking, "Ooohhh, pretty!" Fortunately, traffic was light and the roads were dry. I don't know exactly how long the clouds had fascinated me, but I can't really remember leaving town.... There are days when I think living somewhere near the school would be very, very nice.

Anyway, I made it home. I've had my leftovers for dinner, and I'm going to take a good shower and go to bed. It's still daylight, but I'm still floating, so I can't really see the point in trying to do anything that involves any of the higher order brain functions. Rain on the roof ought to make for a nice nap or evening's rest. Maybe when I get up, my brain will have "rebooted" and I'll be able to function like a normal (okay, as close as I ever get, anyway) person again.

Simple/Good

This afternoon, I worked grading papers and cleaning mess in my room up until 5:00. I packed all my junk into my sad, sad rolling bag, and left the building. I had to go to Wal-Mart to get food for everybody in the house, and I decided that I wanted something simple for dinner, so I bought faux Mexican, and I had a big taco salad thing when I got home.

Now, I'm taking care of the last few things I need to do tonight before I go to bed and Dillon is sitting on my shoulder and purring. Sometimes simple is the best. Tomorrow will be a very long day since we have Open House, but at least tonight I have good simple things.

Jekyll Season One Finale

I watched the two hour season finale of Jekyll tonight, and I am still enjoying the show even though it's over now. Rarely have I been entertained so thoroughly by a TV show.

I couldn't predict where it was going. That's beyond rare. Usually, TV and movies are so formulaic that they bore me stiff. Every time I thought I knew what was coming in Jekyll, though, it took a hard left turn, and I have to applaud that. Characters appeared, disappeared, reappeared, and shifted sides and roles with a frequency that kept me guessing. As for the ending, which I won't spoil here, I have to say that I NEVER saw that coming, although upon reflection, had I been paying more attention, I might have....

I hope that the BBC will do a season two. I looked on their UK website, and all they had to say was that the drama had ended. I don't know if that means for good or just a hiatus before a new season begins, but I know that I'll want to order this season on DVD if it comes out just to see it without a commercial every five seconds ruining the flow. If you haven't seen it, really, you ought to watch it. The show is just good.

Back Again

Well, Monday I finally got tired of the pain, and I went to see my doctor. His analysis was that I had torn a muscle in my back with my silly big bag. He gave me Lortab and Robaxin, had a nurse shoot me full of two different kinds of medicine for the inflammation, told me to take Alieve twice a day and sent me home.

The last two nights, I've come home, had a fairly hearty meal to hold down the pills, taken everything and been asleep by 9:00. It's the first good rest I've had since I did this to myself last week. I felt better just after one night of undisturbed rest. The muscle is still pulling some. Today, I must have done something stupid and angered it. That being said, it's much, much better.

The doctor told me that I can't carry that big honkin' L.L. Bean bag anymore. He has consigned me to a rolling backpack type of thing which I HATE, but I have to admit, it's nice not to have to swing all that weight up on my shoulder and almost fall over twice a day.

I think the bag I bought is going to wear out depressingly soon, but at least I won't have time to get tired of it that way. I wonder if L.L. Bean makes rolling bags. Their stuff is almost indestructible. One of their big purple backpacks lasted me from my sophomore year of college through Costa Rica, grad school, Thailand, and Japan. I'd be using it still, but the water resistant liner deteriorated and a rat chewed a hole in the bottom.

The steroids, in their typical fashion, have made me excessively twitchy and irritable. I've been trying very hard not to take it out on my classes, but sometimes, especially at times like today when my room had no air, it gets really hard. Hopefully, these will cycle out in a couple of days and I'll be back to whatever passes for normal for me.

Well, it's about the magic hour. I'm not going to take the Lortab tonight, but because the muscle is twitching and tight, I guess I'll take the other one. Maybe tomorrow night, I won't need either.

Pain

At some point during last week, I lifted my ridiculously heavy work bag and pulled a muscle in my neck and back. Once upon a time, back in my Biological Sciences major days, I could have told you whether it was the latisimus dorsi or the trapezius, but now all I know is that it hurts like perdition.

When I sleep, I roll over and wake up because the muscle is mad. When I try to get out of my chair or sit down again, the muscle gets mad. If I try to reach at a certain angle or put my laptop off my lap and onto the stool in front of me, the muscle gets mad.

Needless to say, life hasn't been to spiffy 'round the house lately. Several times, I've gotten sort of stuck between lying down and sitting up or between sitting up and standing. I've applied heat and taken Advil. If it doesn't resolve itself after a weekend free of the workbag of doom, I'm going to have to go see a doctor, one of my least favorite ways to spend time.

One good thing did come from it today. In an effort to give the shoulder the maximum amount of rest, I simply sat and read all day. I polished off two books that I'd bought recently, and am about to go back for more of The Count of Monte Cristo, which is fast turning into one of the best books I've ever read. Since I'm reading the unabridged version, it's going sort of slowly, but I love, love, love Edmond Dantes. He's even more wonderful than the Musketeers, and I'm only just getting to the execution of his revenge.

Well, I'm off to a hot shower followed by more painkillers and some reading. Maybe I won't wake up fourteen times tonight because the muscle disapproves of my position.

The Thirtieth Anniversary

PLEASE NOTE: NO SACRILEGE OR OFFENSE IS MEANT IN THE USE OF THIS IMAGE.

Today marks the thirtieth anniversary of Elvis' death. I am watching Jailhouse Rock on TCM and marveling at how handsome he was and at that undefinable something he had that made him so great. This film was made in '57 or '58, and unlike so many of Elvis' other film efforts, this one is actually something more than camp and sex appeal.

I put the anniversary on my classroom calendar with other dates in history at the end of June, and I thought then about the persistent love our culture has for Elvis despite the fact that he's been gone so long. Why has he lasted? Is it some sort of Marilyn Monroe thing, a pop figure who plays to the repetitive iconography of human religion? Is Elvis just another incarnation of an archetype that's repeated across cultures and time, or was he something unique?

Certainly today's pop icons fall far short of the kind of appeal and staying power he has. Most of them look like strutting and ridiculous boys instead. I can't imagine many if any of them ever becoming one tenth of what Elvis is in our culture. There are few figures more easily recognizable, whether it's the sultry gaze, the pompadour hairdo, or the spangled jumpsuit. Yet, despite the Vegas caricature, at the base of his popularity is something that none of the media mills have been able to reproduce or even imitate to any measurable degree. What is that? Can we put a finger on it, or is it something that transcends attempts to nail it down with words?

The film has just ended with Elvis singing "Young and Beautiful", which will always be one of my favorite songs from his catalog. His voice is so beautiful, the ending is a happy one with values rebalanced and love triumphant. It's a lovely confection.

The Hell of Faculty Meetings

I loathe faculty meetings. In fact, I loathe all meetings. I really wish people could just write succinct memos and communicate via email. Instead, The Powers That Be regularly corral us into an auditorium or the library and my frustration level grows and grows.

It's not that these meetings are ill-run, necessarily. It's just that I have no patience with sitting still when there are so many other things I need to be doing, grading, planning, photocopying, something, something other than taking up space and fidgeting in a chair wishing for my freedom.

I never take the announcements well. Things that aren't really big deals grow in my mind to epic proportions. I get upset. I get headaches. I wish I could be like one of my most famous colleagues and just get up and leave.

I went to my room, threw my crap in my bag, and got out. I cooked some rice and had some tuna. I'm about to watch Hamlet with Kenneth Brannagh. I'm not dealing with any of this stuff until tomorrow.

The First Saturday

We've only been in school a week, yet the first Saturday morning already feels unbelievably decadent. I woke up this morning at 5:30 with that heartstopping feeling of having slept through an alarm, and then I enjoyed the ability to roll back over and sink into the warmth of my bed again. Even though I eventually got up around 7:45, I feel as though I've slept 'til noon.

I have about a hundred things that I need and want to get done today, but right now, I'm still taking care of email in my pajamas. Luxury.....

Taking the Wind from the Sails

This afternoon, after a long day of moving books and boxes and trying to be all things to all people, I had a meeting in which a college sophomore told me I wasn't having my AP students write strenuously enough, unless of course, I was sending them to an inferior school like Ole Miss or MSU. No, I'm not kidding. Lord, don't I wish I were.

She said she felt unprepared for college comp after coming out of our school. Now, I would just like to say that this person was never any sort of student of mine, but I still felt the sting of her comments. I work very hard at what I do, checking and rechecking with collegiate standards, and to have some underage individual tell me that I'm not doing my job right really, really hacked me off. To have her slam MSU, even though I am not a rabid bulldog fan, with that sort of matter-of-fact private school arrogance hacked me off even more. I hate elitism.

Oh, be proud of me gentle reader. I didn't say a word. I dutifully typed her comments into our meeting minutes and bit my tongue. I can't say her words haven't set off a plague of doubts and reevaluations in me, though. Just what I needed to take the wind right out of my sails and leave me, like the Ancient Mariner, in the hell of becalmed seas.

And So It Goes

I am cautiously optimistic so far. I hate to even say that because it's practically begging for problems, but it's true.

Today I walked all my classes through a poetry analysis technique and the juniors just blew me away. They actually knew what to do without me telling them. They'd had it last year. Since they've got a good foundation, I can build on it faster and higher than I've been able to do in previous years. They seem like they're going to be a good bunch.

I'm still getting to know my seniors, AP and otherwise. They seem like good classes, but we have to wait until the new gets worn off a bit more to be sure. Some of them I know, some of them I don't. I feel good about them, too, though.

In a non-school-related note, I got my set of Elvis Pez today. YES!!! Mom found them in a miscellaneous grocery store in town and called me. It's sad when your whole family knows you're hunting PEZ, probably, but who cares? I have a set.

Well, yawning is becoming very frequent and Ghost Hunters is almost over, so I think it's almost beddy-bye time for me.

First Day Back

What a day.....

Today went pretty well, all things considered. There was a sense of peace and order in the halls. There were almost no kids out and about while classes were going on, and even during 6th and 7th periods, there was no noise or insanity. The kids were in uniform and the office was quiet. I was very impressed. As long as this holds, I think this year is going to be good.

It's too early to tell what my classes are going to be like. Everybody was on their first-day-of-school-the-teacher-is-an-unknown-quantity behavior. Once that melts some, we'll see what's really under the surface. AP looks promising, but they've unbalanced the classes again. One will be very large, the other very small. That's a difficult situation to deal with for making lesson plans, but by the time schedule changes bounce around some more, as they inevitably will, we'll see if it doesn't moderate somewhat.

This afternoon, three of my former students came to see me after school. It was such a great surprise. I hadn't seen two of them in over a year. They were some of my first class of AP, and hearing about their college experiences and just talking with them again was a real treat. Too often, teaching seniors is like nursing a bird with a broken wing; at a certain point, it flies away, and one is never quite sure how everything turned out. These birds came back to the nest, at least briefly, so I enjoyed it a great deal.

While my little birds were visiting, Technology came into my room to tell me that my computer was trying to upload a virus of some kind into the system. CRAP!!! They had isolated my room from the system and checked the machine. It turned out not to be an actual virus. It was some sort of spyware instead. Great. I try so hard to compute safely, but Technology said that as much as I'm online, there's really not much I can do about it except for increasing the frequency of my SpyBot checks. I guess I'll be doing that about every other day from now on. There HAS to be an easier way....

I marshaled enough energy to go out into the stifling heat and drive home. When I got here, my TV was on. It was very strange. One of two things had to have happened: my cat walked on my remote OR my new Wireless N router cranked up my TV by itself. I'm hoping for option one because option two is bizarre.

There was other weirdness, too. My phone line has gotten spliced with some miscellaneous woman somewhere. Right now, we have a party line situation. If her phone rings, or if mine does, it rings to both our houses. I hope they fix this soon. My chances of winding up with a Doris Day/Rock Hudson movie out of this are somewhat slim. (For those of you who don't know that reference, look up Pillow Talk sometime.)

Well, it's not late, but I am pooped and tomorrow will be another day of adjustment. My phone just rang again on the party line, and I'm fervently hoping that what's her name doesn't get lots of late calls.....

Jekyll

I watched the premiere of the BBC series Jekyll last night, and I have to say that I'm more impressed with it than I've been with a TV show in a long, long time.

The premise is intriguing; the main character is somehow a direct descendant of Dr. Henry Jekyll (yes, from the book), who turns out to have been a real person. There is a sketchy "super agency" after him, possibly governmental, possibly corporate. There is a long missing mother who just reappeared after a 40-something year absence. And then, there's Hyde, who somehow manages to be really scary but not totally evil. Check out the change and more information at the BBC America site here.

I am actually finding myself looking forward to next Saturday night to find out what's going to happen next. How long has it been since I've been able to say that about TV? Check it out. It's worth the time.

Two Odd Days

Yesterday I was too tired to blog when I got home. I spent the morning playing games, including the ever-popular make up an adjective to go with your name and toss a bright pink frog toy around the circle. I am always grumpy about "team building", but these were actually fun. Also, I finally know some of the people I work with. You have no idea how many of us were commenting on the fact that we could now put a name with a face we've been seeing for years now. Even if nothing else came out of it, that made it all worth doing.

Today has been full of weirdness, or at least it has since noon. I slept until around 9:30 and lounged around on the couch for awhile. Then I got up and started doing my "I have other things I should be doing" cleaning routine. I took care of several things that have needed sorting for awhile, and I feel better. I still have to finish up typing my lesson plans and assembling my new lesson plan book, but I decided that I wanted the house to be ordered so I don't have to feel bad when I come in and fall down next week.

The weirdness started when, sans storm, the power went off at 2:30. It stayed off for about an hour. When it came back on, Mom called me, and her cell phone was so garbled, I could not understand her. I decided to err on the side of caution, so I jumped in the car and drove to their house. Apparently, whatever caused my power to go off killed her land line phone and her cell battery was low.

After we got through with that crisis, I came back home and found a red Jeep Cherokee sitting at the end of my neighbor's driveway. Two women were just sitting there in it. I've never seen either of them or the vehicle before. As long as they don't wind up in my yard, I guess it's not my business.

I came in the house and I started working on some of my school work when I began to hear gunshots from the woods across the road. It's not currently any kind of hunting season, and it's way too hot to be out in the woods for funzies, so I have no idea what that was all about. It sounded like a really big weapon. I guess I'll just assume that some of the members of that hunting club got a new gun and wanted to try it out.

Hopefully, that's the end of the weirdness, but it seems to come in waves, so I think I'll just sort of keep an eye out....

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...