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.