Flash Forward

I just had a frightening flash forward.

It's not frightening because it's a bad thing. It's a wonderful thing, but it will leave me with a taste of ashes, and a sense of pride and a woeful sense of remorse.

I've got a great bunch of kids this year. There is a group of them that I've had for 3 years now. I've seen such growth and character out of these guys.

I've been a harpy to get them to take the SAT twice this year. The first round of scores just came in. They are good. They will be better. I want these children on the first row of applicants of any school they apply to.

I just flashed forward to a year from May when they walk across that stage and graduate. I don't think I could be prouder of any group I've ever seen walk. I don't think I will miss any group so much. I will holler and yell for Ashley and Alma and Cruz and Laura and Danielle and Alex and Marion and Daniel and even Cristian without an "h." I don't think I've ever had a bunch that got to me on such a gut level. I'm going to be in a tizz all next year as they make applications to universities across the country. I'm going to write recommendation letters that express my admiration for them and extol their virtues. I'm going to be all over their backsides to meet the financial aid deadlines.

Then in May, I will see them walk. I will see them join the "grown up" world.

I'm crying now to think of them going forward, but away from me.

What will I do when it happens?

***************************************

Flash forward to April 6, 2016.  I watched Ashley get married tonight.  I kind of almost lost it.  God she is gorgeous. What a beautiful bride.  What a lucky groom.  

Profound Revelation

Every once in a while one has moment of clarity. I didn't say sanity, I said clarity.

For someone who lives in a house where a TV is on 24/7 I don't care so much for it. I've seen every episode of I Love Lucy at least 20 times. I've seen every Star Trek, I cut my science fiction teeth on the original run. A few years back though I added HBO to the mix and I asked Mark to watch the Sopranos. I'd heard so much about it and witnessed a lot of "water cooler" conversations that talked about what Tony did last night. I had a vague idea of who Tony was and then the show sucked me in like the biggest sucker ever found on this planet.

That wasn't enough for me. Then came this weird quirky show called Six Feet Under. My mind was blown out of the water and I learned the names of the wonderful ensemble cast and I'm thrilled to encounter any of them in any other show.

Well, then there is Showtime. I didn't want to do it, I didn't want to do it. But Michael C. Hall is Dexter. I heard about it from friends and family and I wanted to hate it and then I was intrigued.

How does one feel kindly toward a serial killer? It's really kind of a strange quasi vigilante sort of rationalization. Seriously, we all think about it. There is someone somewhere who strikes a chord in our hearts and makes us honestly believe that the planet would be a better place for their absence. These days, I'm not so much about an individual as I am about ideas.

I can live without nasty baby momma, baby daddy pimpin' in the crib ain't that CRUNK. Rap music has not captured my heart or the essence of my soul at this point in my life. I am so sick of seeing young men choosing to have their pants hanging off "they ass." It's one thing if the view is nice, but today I saw one broad across the beam and his navy blue plaid boxer shorts didn't look so fresh. Ewww. Please if there is polite society (I'm not talking about in the privacy of one's home) where is it polite to show your ass?

Oooooooo shiny. . . .

Anyway, I started watching Dexter. . . Then I happened across Weeds. I don't care about TV, it is evil, it sucks away the souls of small humans. It sucked me in. Both shows have some talented folks in their casts. I love folks who play well together, that was so much of what I loved about Star Trek: The Next Generation.

My moment of clarity came when I thought about putting a character from Dexter and one from Weeds together to see how they interacted and I've hardly stopped laughing since. For those of you who know the shows, just try and picture this combination. Sgt. Doakes from Dexter and Celia from Weeds. I can hardly think of two characters so distant from one another.

I keep thinking of the conversations they would have and I think that could be a hysterically funny comedy schtik to have those two in character having an "interaction."

I have always maintained that I am easily amused.

Conspiracy Theory

I've been reading about St. Mary Magdalene. I just think this whole "history" is fascinating. I would love to go to Vezelay. The whole concept of the descendants of Christ hanging out in France should be warm fuzzies to the French.

I've grown up around conspiracy theories. I live in Dallas and just this last week there was some other evidence about bullets in the JFK assassination.

I lived in Memphis when MLK was killed. I lived through the garbage strikes and saw National Guard patrolling the streets and tried to understand what "curfew" meant as a 3rd grader. I had to go to work with my mother because school was cancelled. She worked for the Chamber of Commerce which was housed at the Peabody Hotel. I used to escape from her office to go see the duck parade, but I also caught sight of a riot that went past the glass doors of the Peabody. I guess that's why school was out. My second most vivid memory (after the ducks and the riot) was sitting at a typewriter and making it bang out all sorts of nonsense. It was fun, I loved typing really fast.

I'm delving through different versions of this story. They are more than entertaining. I'm going to have to read up much more on the history of Mary Magdalene. I've been told so many different things. It's hard when there is no clear evidence. One has to look at what has been written and attribute credibility.

Horribly Bad

I've run away from my blog because of fear. I sorta kinda got outed to the local media and I've been trying to fly under the radar for a while.

On a normal day I tend to annoy people. I just wanted to let the dust settle.

I've totally TOTALLY lost count of my books, although I've been very good about reading a lot.

I'm guestimating that I'm over 60 books by now. I finished Fried Green Tomatoes today and it was a lot of fun. I'll try and reconstruct what I've read very soon.

Meanwhile the troops arrive tomorrow. . .

What is appropriate?

I'm trying to be a team player. I'm trying to take things from my training that will make me a better teacher. I've gotten a few things that I think will be helpful. It will help me refine what I already do. I look at all the objectives and see that I teach at a high level already (with the kids kicking and screaming all the way because they don't WANT to work).

We're supposed to teach lessons from the PBS Series Art 21. Our district has spent some money to get us copies of the series. I was "gifted" with the first three seasons yesterday.

I understand the value of contemporary art. I understand that we should teach our students things that are relevant to their experiences. However, our kids understand graffiti and billboards. Shouldn't we try to extend their experiences to let them know about the rich tradition of Art in our culture? Shouldn't we let them know that about the Ninja Turtles? Shouldn't they know about Donatello, Leonardo, Michelangelo and Raphael?

I was a good drone today. I plugged in the first season of Art 21 and started watching. I watch. The first segment is on sculptor Richard Serra and it's very dry (which is sad because I love his work) and there is a lot of time that had no talking that shows people walking around in a museum and our kids will be drooling on the desk if we make them watch that. The next segment is on photographer Sally Mann. Her stuff is gorgeous. However, she shows a number of photographs of her children in the nude. I can appreciate the art of her work, but I don't want to have to deal with my students going home and saying "Teacher showed me pictures of naked children."

I loved Mappelthorpe's photographs of children running through a sprinkler. They were artfully done. He got in trouble with the National Endowment for the Arts because of this. Some of his work is not appropriate to share with our students. Some is. I cannot get over the staged photographs of Sally Mann's own children. She's been considered to be a source of pedophilic materials. Is this what we need to be showing our high school children? The Art 21 video shows her young daughter tweaking her own nipple in the photograph. This does not possess the spontaneity that the sprinkler kids demonstrated.

I think Art21 is an interesting and provocative program. For adults. I don't think this program has any place that is appropriate for high school students. I would recommend it if the parents of minor children had screened all the material and approved it for their own children. I would have allowed my personal children to see the material on this site ONLY after I had previewed it myself and had prepared myself to answer questions that would certainly be generated by the images shown here.

I push the envelope in my art history class by showing Annie Liebovitz's photo of Lance Armstrong. There is nothing explicit in the photograph but he IS nude. He's one solid man made of muscle. It's a wonderful exploration of the human form.

I would not show Sally Mann's photographs of her children ever to our high school children. I do not want to have to deal with the issues of our children telling their parents that we showed them pictures of nude children.

I love art. I love it in all of its forms. I can appreciate the strange and bizarre.

I just have limitations. I teach minor children. I'm being asked to direct our minor children (13 year olds in some cases) to look at a site that shows things that I would not allow my own children to view.

Does anyone smell a lawsuit here? I don't want to be on the news because I'm being mandated to display things that I find objectionable.

I'm in between a rock and a hard place. The district, as represented, is shoving this curriculum down my throat. It doesn't seem to matter that the presenter seems confused.

I can't go there. I know that we need to make our students think. I'm all for thinking. Thinking is a good thing. I just don't think that we should be mandated to make them think about images of bondage and fetishism and nude children as a mandated part of our curriculum.

Is that wrong?

Letter to the Principal

I started off writing this letter to my principal a couple of times today during staff development. I didn't send anything yet, but I 'm going to work it out here.

Mr. W.

I appreciated seeing you this morning and I was very glad to see you. It made me happy that you said that you were happy to see me. I appreciate that you were dispatched to counsel with me and the other "bad" art teachers after the reported bad behavior of our group of teachers last Thursday. I am grateful to see your smiling face and even more grateful for your hug. You are wise and I understand that you had an equally painful staff development last week. I edify your character and strength and inspiration to me as you tell me that I can make it through this.

I'm grateful that when I said that our presenter was a strange that you said that you understood that she was unusual.

I'm concerned that our person in charge does not have pure motives. She's under qualified. She taught a few years in the district and was rendered "redundant" at her school and was not picked up by any of the schools that interviewed her. She talks a good talk and apparently knows all the good buzzwords that are important these days. She has been promoted to her level of incompetence. I think she is a sweet person. My chihuahua is sweet, but she doesn't understand that she shouldn't run out into the street. Our person cannot, however, teach. She cannot answer simple questions. She reads convoluted text that I don't think she understands, and says that we don't know the answers yet but that we've got to figure them out. How can she teach us anything if she can't answer a single question? I'm concerned that she is working on some kind of post graduate program and that she is setting up our whole district as her guinea pig. Is that ethical?

Let's rewrite all the curriculum for a subject for one of the largest urban districts in the US. That would be a good resume builder. That could feed the idiocracy that is in charge of educating students in this country. Let's elect this person as Secretary of Education because she knows how to doubletalk the idjits in charge.

I became physically ill during the session today. I tried really hard to be pleasant and I tried really hard to understand the idiocy that was presented to me. I didn't act out and I didn't say any bad words.

Here am I in receptive mode. . .

Here is the input. . .

"We have paradigms of postmodernism that we need to relate to our students' cultural awareness. We need to bring relativity to them so that they employ inquiry learning."

WTF?

Am I slow?

Okay, I'm supposed to present an "ill-structured problem." I'm really not sure what that means. I got the point where we are supposed to make the kids think. I get that. I've always gotten that. I believe in making the kids think. I thought that was our job. I just don't understand what an "ill-structured problem" is.

OH, we're supposed to take our kids to the liberry (seriously this was said so many times) and in the liberry we are supposed to have them hook up with images that could not always be appropriate. But they are part of the curriculum that we are supposed to have them look at.

I'm just so appalled at the further dumbing down of America. I'm going to have to check with my friend the liberrian to see if she has time to fit in 70 sections of art classes into her limited space. She's going to freak out when I tell her that we are supposed to spend 11/14 hours doing research rather than making art. On a good day the library can only serve the computer needs of half of one of our classes.

Teacher, I have some feelings. I'm insecure and it makes me want to cut myself. So I cut myself because that's my feelings. One of the images on our wall today was of a wrist cut with a razor blade.

It's sad when it is the teachers who want to cut themselves because they have to put up with this nonsense.

Just Shoot Me

I was about ten minutes into a professional development session today when I was compelled to rip a page out of my sketchbook and do this.

What was really horrible is that I held it up for the rest of the participants to see and EVERYONE nodded. Art teachers are such bad children. Seriously, teachers of each discipline have such varied personality qualities. Math teachers are very methodical and logical and don't seem to have a great sense of humor. They do seem capable of going postal. All that repressed creativity I guess. English teachers are fun, but sometimes anal. They can appreciate horribly awful jokes but seem to stress out over things that other folks don't mind. Social Studies teachers are willing to stir stuff with a stick. They have a sense of justice that just doesn't always work out for them. Science teachers are seriously demented. Some like to blow things up, some like to build giant catapults, some are too very interested in watching fire.

Art teachers are the bad children from every class. They pass notes, they refuse to pay attention, they sneak up and write things on the board behind the teacher's back, they talk back, they point out the obvious flaws in everything and say "why?" We're the ones who bring sketchbooks to class and draw nasty caricatures of the teacher.

Gather a room full of art teachers. Already the ADD and ADHD level is through the roof. There is this thing called "attention span." We don't know what an attention span is unless we get into the "zone." If we are in the zone, then heaven help you if you distract us. There are levels of art teachers. Primary art teachers are usually very sunny and really sweet. High school art teachers tend to work and sell art on the side and are more likely to have BFA (studio) degrees. I think they have a higher degree of sociopathic behavior. Middle school art teachers are well, in the middle. They can lean toward the "force" or the "dark side."

Staff Development: The bane of public school teachers. In order to maintain certification standards and good standards with our employer we can A) get 21 hours in our content area a year or B) be docked 3 sick days. I'm late to the teaching game so I have to renew my certification every 5 years so I HAVE to put in the hours. Other folks have "lifetime" certifications so they can use up several of the hundreds of sick days they have accumulated.

Staff Development generally involves learning new acronyms that are meaningless. Every two years, someone has to reinvent the wheel and we have to pretend that we are paying attention.

We have to learn now about PBL (Problem Based Learning) and create CPG's (Curriculum Practice Guides.)

Here's a quote from my handout today: "Problem Based Scenario using Meta-Cognitive Modeling a reasoning not about "the world as it is," but about the relation of our own knowledge to the world, and to the goals we pursue activating prior knowledge. The moment information arrives it is already obsolete to some extent, a decision maker in a real world situation will never have all the information necessary for making an optimal decision. . . " This handout also cites the Road Island School of Design.

Scenario: A parent and a 14 year old are watching a video. At some point the content becomes objectionable to the parent and the parent stops the video and returns it to the store. The 14 year old rents the video and is watching it and it gets up to the point where the parent turns it off and the 9 year old sister comes in and the 14 year old turns it off and says the 9 year old is too young to see it.

This is the problem we were presented first this morning which prompted my impromptu sign. We were supposed to "fill in the gaps" and ask questions about this scenario.

In between expelling exasperated sighs and rolling our eyes we came up with these questions.

1) How did the 14 year old get the video again?
2) How did he get to the store?
3) Don't they have a DVD player?
4) What year did this scenario happen?
5) Would it have been better for the parent to watch the video and then explain to the 14 year old why it was inappropriate?
6) Was the 14 year old masturbating?
7) Where was the parent when the child checked out the video?

This is supposed to help us teach art?

It got worse from there. We were insulted and told that we've done a horrible job. We apparently have to teach art in a new way now that doesn't involve requiring our students to learn basic skills.

Scenario: (Dialog follows) "Teacher, I've got feelings about World Hunger. I looked it up on the Internet and I want to express myself. I need some markers. Since I've looked it up and thought about it, I want to draw a big pink puffy heart on a piece of paper. I want to draw an arrow through the heart because when I think about World Hunger it makes my heart hurt and that's how I want to express it." The teacher says "Maria, that's VERY good, you should express your feelings about such a globally critical issue. You are so bright to want to show your heart being hurt. Let me get you some markers."

We are supposed to give them a prompt. This scenario supposes that I've already told them to come up with something about World Hunger. It supposes that I have unlimited access to a computer lab where the kids can go research about World Hunger and then come up with ideas to express how they feel. We are not supposed to be critical in any way of their "ideas."

Gag me with a ten foot pole.

Apparently I'm not supposed to teach art anymore. I'm supposed to make them research and write about their feelings. I'm also supposed to invite in parents and members of the community each six weeks to view and give feedback about the artwork that is generated.

I call Mr. Rodriguez and I say, "Mr. Rodriguez, can you please come to art class on Tuesday to give feedback about the artwork that is generated from Juan's feelings?" IF Mr. Rodriguez speaks English, I have to also mention that I need to know that he is coming so that I can notify the principal's office where he will need to go and get checked in (after showing ID) and get escorted to my class by a security officer. I'm supposed to do this times 130 kids. I'm supposed to call the directors of local art galleries and ask them to also come and sit in on my class and view the "feeling-inspired artwork" and ask them to give very objective and non-critical feedback to the students and the parents and the administration of my building. That's also after they've gone through criminal background checks and been cleared through building security.

Give me a break.

We were told to meet in our small groups and establish our "norms" for visiting one another and observing other teachers' classes in an objective and non-critical way. I held up my hand and asked what a "norm" was. I'm such a rabble rouser. The session leader said "Well you need to establish norms with the observer and determine how one can leave feedback without feelings getting hurt." I was still puzzled. She told me that we had to make up rules to go by. I asked her if she meant "standards of conduct" and she said that was "very good." I know I rolled my eyes. I looked her straight in the eye and said "If we go observe someone we should be polite." "VERY good" she said to me. I shook my head and said "okay, it's very simple, my 'norm' is BE NICE."

How hard is that?

I'm terribly opposed to freaking psychobabble that takes very simple concepts that are tried and true and puts horribly confusing and distracting language on them. How many have made so much money dressing up the Socratic method in fecal matter? That's all it is. We're supposed to make the kids think.

I think that's what I've been doing. Problem based learning. . . Here is the art element line. What kinds of line are there? Thick, thin, curved, zig zag, dashed, swirly etc. Take line and arrange it in an interesting way. You can't have any line cross another. Problem stated. Solution to be rendered. It requires thinking. I tell them I can't think for them. They have to play with the element to see what they can come up with. I guess now I'll have to say "express your feelings about World Hunger" with line. Be sure and talk to all the kids around you a lot to generate ideas. Use up almost all of our class time talking about it and discussing your feelings about it. I won't offer any supplies, you have to figure out HOW you want to express your feelings about line and come ask me for what you need (which I may or may not have because the student has no idea what supplies are available since I'm no longer supposed to give them guidelines to follow)

I told the office manager today that if she heard automatic gunfire coming from down the hallway that it was in the room with the art teachers.

Damn Skippy!

_______________________________________________________

Watching Lizards

My porch has assumed a greater importance to me this year. I've been really good. I've not smoked in my house at all this year. This has led me to some very uncomfortable bundled up smoking quickly times when the temp was down. I'm sure it will lead to more of the same on the hot end.

One of the wonderful things is that I get to see the world around me in my neighborhood. I never realized before all the things that go on at Baumgarten. I have intensely enjoyed seeing spring erupt and I've watched the interactions of many avian creatures.

As the weather has warmed up I've noticed a pair of lizards. I call them a pair because they run back and forth in the same trajectories. The boy is very obvious. He nods up and down three times and blows out a red thing (a dewlap) under his chin. The girl is smaller and doesn't engage in such silly behavior. I've named them. I name rocks so certainly have to name lizards. I call them Lenny and Lenore.

They often scare the living crap out of me. I'll be sitting and reading and being all quiet and I'll hear some small maelstrom hit the leaves in the flowerbed that hits the foundation. I can see something rustling through the leaves. Human paranoia makes me think EEEK Snakes, but I've found that it is simply Lenny and Lenore. I should have cleared the leaves out, but I hope they will make richer dirt for the flower bed than what normally exists there. Our soil is horrible here, being built on a former airport. We've been bad about clearing the beds up under the holly bushes and have been rewarded with rich soil that has developed from all the downed live oak leaves that accumulate.

Lenny came up on the porch a few days ago. He came within four feet of my foot and he did this strange nodding and then blew out his dewlap. I've seen him on the porch, on the wall, in the flowerbed, on the neighbor's house. He's an impressive fellow. I didn't know the difference between real chameleons and anoles. I've since been educated. My porch lizards are anoles. They do change color. I saw Lenore the first time last week. She's smaller and looks at the world like the Geico Gecko. I swear they must study real anoles to get all the expressions right on the commercial. Lenore ran through the bed rustling the leaves and ended up on the wall. She hid behind the chair for a long while and then peeked out. She ate a bug while I was watching and I was grateful. I'm a supporter of eating bugs on my porch. I'd have ten thousand lizards around if they would eat all the bugs.

+ + + ++ + + ++ + + + + + +++ + +

I continue to read. I finished a very interesting book called Tilt about the tower in Pisa. I'm an art history and architecture nerd so it was a fun read. Americans are just too young to appreciate the timeless history of some structures. The Leaning Tower is not so timeless; it is however really old by our standards. I have always been aware of such a thing. I cannot remember a time when I'd not heard of the leaning tower, but I never really knew why it leaned or that there had been 17 commissions to try and fix it. I do love Italia and the more I learn about it the more I think I belong there.

That might have something to do with my next choice of book. I fished out Under the Tuscan Sun from my random pile. I dusted it off and proceeded to get really hungry. I've been to Italia twice and I want to go back. I want to cash in everything I've ever owned and any prospect of inheritance to do what Frances Mayes has done. I will defy scorpions and rotted timbers to live in the golden atmosphere that inspired the Renaissance. Please, mother, may I?

Book #35 was a departure. I'm getting very close to halfway through the year. I'm going to have to read frenetically this summer to even get close to a hundred. Wait, my goal was 52. Hmmm. Dang. I forgot about #36. I'm getting out of order, but I'm keeping the count up. I don't write this down. My friend Jane is so organized. She's a reading teacher, I'm an art teacher. She writes down lists, I draw them on the walls.

I'm listening to my ipod as I type. I want to hate ipods. I hate to see the kids attached to them when they should be listening to me. I hate to see people in public plugged into them so that they are isolating. I'm in private, I'm typing on my computer and I'm listening to "Taking Care of Business" from A Knight's Tale soundtrack. It makes me boogie. It segues into "Golden Years." I'm still moving. . ."Run for the shadows, run for the shadows
Run for the shadows in these golden years" Here comes Thin Lizzy. . . ."The Boys are Back in Town." That's my ringtone for all my young art teachers at school. Mark gives me a hard time when my phone goes off with that. He says "Which one of your boyfriends is that?" It's all of them I say!

Spread the word around. . . .

I'm losing track of the books. I read a really funny book about this weird guy who worked for Amazon.com. 21 Dog Years: A Cube Dweller's Tale by Mike Daisey is pretty strange. I'm impressed that this guy has wanted to become a professional intellectual. I want to do that. I think that was 37. The next one #38 was very interesting and a well documented tale of lust and love and learning at the Medici Court in Florence. I kept going with the Italy thing. I picked up a book and was trying to assess it and determine how high it would fit on my stack by the bed. I was a quarter of the way through it before I realized that it was on the top of the stack. #39 is The Lost Painting by Jonathan Harr. I read it in about a day and a half. It is very well done and takes really good investigative journalism and interviewing and makes a story that reads like wonderful fiction. #40 came in the mail and I devoured it. The Gold Unicorn by Tanith Lee is the second in the series. I'd previously read the Black Unicorn and although I would say these are for young readers (those of you with teenage girls should check them out) they are very well written with beautifully descriptive language.

Horrible Bad Bad Person

I've been negligent about posting. I've been very self-absorbed and selfish. I've totally lost count of my books for the year.

I'll try to make up for it briefly.

I finished Geisha, A Life today. It was very interesting and reminded me so much of Memoirs of a Geisha which was one of the most stunning books I've ever read. It was so beautiful.

I checked out of school today. I'm so relieved. I'm officially done until August. I need the break. My brain is fried. Let me speak slowly. F R I E D.

The previous book was Sanctuary by Molly Noble Bull. The author herself sent me the book with a very sweet inscription. I've been corresponding with her and she's a very nice lady from Kingsville, TX. I am so honored that she was kind enough to send me an inscribed copy of her book. I love her name. Seriously, Molly Noble Bull. That name rocks my world. It just has zing.

Sorry Kelly, you and I just don't have quite the same zing name wise. DANG.

Going back one more to The Sparrow. I'd read it before but I wanted to revisit it and I liked it just as much and perhaps got more out of it than I did the first time.

I think I'm catching up. The previous book was The Forest House, also by Marion Zimmer Bradley.

Okay, I've finished 32 books so far and summer vacation started today. I'm looking fondly at #33. It's yummy and makes me long for far off shores.

Interesting news today. . . . Baby girl was getting on a plane to go to a wedding in St. Louis and she gets a phone call making her a job offer. She's not had her degree a month and has already been offered a job as a TV reporter. She's been told that it should take a year to get any kind of job in TV. It's a tough industry. She's 22.

Think about it. What were YOU doing when you were 22? Well, I was probably making as much as she's being offered as a baby girl reporter. It's very low wage to start. By the time she pays rent and her student loans she'll be eating Ramen all month.

She could come back to her home school district and teach history and make twice as much. She'd be fabulous. Her kids would love her and she would inspire them, but she has a dream. She wants to go global. She knows that global starts in a small market in the hinterlands. Hinterlands has called. She could be handing off to Katie Couric before you know it.

Not that I'm proud at all. I admire her for having a dream. A dream starts with small steps.

I'm very proud that she has BIG dreams. I wish her well and happy on her adventure.

Things Change

Happy Birthday to Me. I live in a tree.

I had my hearing today. It's my 49th birthday. It has been an inauspicious day.

I was so sad today. I went to work and only two of my friends happened to remember that it was my birthday. I'm so good about such things. I make sure I make cards for my friends and stir up other folks to celebrate and make a big deal over their birthdays. I'm the one who decorates the doors for people with balloons and streamers.

It was just so strange that my worker's compensation hearing was today on my 49th birthday.

The hearing was good. Happy birthday, I get to have two surgeries. DANG.

At least I get to have stuff fixed. I get to have the complete tear of my shoulder tendon repaired. Why am I not so excited? I've talked to folks who have had rotator cuff surgery and I must say that it doesn't sound like fun.

Do I want it fixed? Well, hmmm. That's a curious question. It doesn't hurt a whole lot right now, but it doesn't also work very well. I'm a right handed art teacher. Do I want to give up the right hand and arm and learn to teach art left handed?

I have to have the shoulder fixed before I have the ACL fixed because I have to be able to tolerate crutches.

Corn Dog on a Stick.

Please substitute Corn Dog for "extended fecal matter.

Today was not bad, it wasn't great. It was a "sink into the bayou birthday."

Oh well.

Lemonade

I woke up yesterday and I quickly realized that something was not right.

I generally stumble first thing into the bathroom and brush my teeth. I couldn't hold the toothbrush which was a minor annoyance.

I couldn't hold the hairbrush which was another.

My right hand was asleep and uncooperative.

It didn't wake up.

I performed my usual ministrations with my left hand which was inconvenient and not very effective.

After about fifteen minutes I was kind of getting scared. I can't drive.

Hubby took me to school/work. I found that I couldn't even hold my cup of coffee. I learned very quickly that I couldn't hold a pen and write.

My first stop after thumbing in at the biometric time clock was to go to the clinic to see my friend the school nurse. She gave me the "you've been bad face" and checked my vitals and motor responses and told me that something was indeed very wrong.

I've been fighting with my employer since October over an injury I sustained when I tripped over a piece of rebar protruding from a step, causing me to have an unfavorable interaction with a flight of concrete steps. They have denied that I got hurt from this. They say that I am just old and arthritic and that if I was injured, that I was injured previously to tripping over the rebar.

They allege that I've been walking around just fine with a complete tear to one of the shoulder tendons, two herniated discs in my neck, a torn neck tendon, a torn acl and torn cartilage in my knee. They say that I must not be hurt because I'm still going to work. I've worked all year in pain.

My doc is furious. He says the shoulder should have been fixed six months ago, but my employer stalls and plays the work comp game....deny deny deny.

Now my right hand doesn't work. DANG.

As a right handed art teacher, I am kind of mad.

I spent the afternoon in the ER yesterday to rule out a stroke. No stroke. That is the good news.

Can you imagine how annoying it is to have your dominant hand quit? It's a real pain in the @$$.

I am one that doesn't believe in whining. I believe in looking for solutions. The ER doc says I have a radial nerve palsy (that sounds yukky) I want to fix it. I see the neurologist on Friday. This could clear up in a few days/months or not.

Meanwhile I type with one hand.

Today, I painted over graffiti on the tables in my room. I learned that I COULD demonstrate a gesture drawing with my left hand. My signature is very ugly.

Life is change. We don't have to like it.

Book 28

Fiction is such a nice relief from the real world. Historical fiction is the best in my opinion.

I'm biased. As a genealogy buff, I have researched my family tree back to Adam (it's a long story but quite amusing). Reading historical fiction pleases me because I can often relate to my own ancestral line.

I finished Priestess of Avalon and enjoyed it very much. My own ancestor Old Kind Coel was mentioned.

I've picked up another book by the same author and it seems really fun.

What week is this?

SQ

Black or White

The following is based on a response to local reporters who were debating black and white.

"I can only offer you my own perspective. I was raised color-blind. And by that I mean that I didn't learn to assign value to anyone based on color. I learned that people were people. I wasn't taught to recognize that skin color meant anything.

I'm going to be 49 in two weeks. I grew up in the south. I came from enlightened people who taught me that we recognize folks based on their character. I was astonished to learn that other people gave value to the difference in skin color. It has pained me since I was a small child that anyone could devalue another on such a small thing. We are all just shades of brown.

I lived in Memphis, Tennessee when the garbage strikes were going on. I saw mountains of trash higher than a house. I saw rats bigger than cats, and they were abundant. I went to Peabody elementary school. My grandmother went to the same school in Midtown Memphis. There is a separate entrance for "boys" and "girls." I went to school with black and white children, I never thought anything about it. I lived there in Midtown Memphis when we got word that Dr. King had been killed. I saw the tanks in the streets. I didn't get to go to school because of civil unrest that resulted in martial law. My parents were so horrified by all that went on. They told me that the whole issue was because people were not appreciated for their efforts and that some folks were unkind. This is a unique perspective.

I knew Henry Loeb. He was a family friend. My third grade class of black and white children got to tour his new office at the new city hall because my grandmother asked him if we could come visit. We were the first group of school children to be so honored.

I moved to Texas when I was ten. I grew up in the suburbs, just in time to hear about all the desegregation things going on in DISD. I went to Garland schools. Looking back they seemed to include pretty much everyone that lived in the neighborhood. Garland had "choice of school forms" so that any child could attend any school in Garland if the parents were willing to provide transportation. I always went to my neighborhood schools that were in retrospect fairly diverse. I did on occasion hear some ignorant stuff come out of the mouths of ignorant people. There will always be ignorant people. I learned to take ignorance with a grain of salt, and if I learned prejudice, it was prejudice toward the willfully ignorant.

I moved back to Memphis in 1988. My father was very anxious about this. I didn't understand why. I understood after I moved back there. I didn't realize that my parents had protected me from so much. I experienced racism. I was blown away. I really never realized that people could just hate me because of the color of my skin, not knowing anything about me. I had a job at the Mall of Memphis and there were people who would cuss at me and call me names for no reason that I could see. I would go home in tears. At this point I had four children of my own. I'd never taught them to see people based on color. I didn't know how to see people based on color. It was horrific. I cried to my father and asked in anguish how people could be so ugly. He cried with me and shared that he had wanted to protect me from any ugliness.

We moved our family back to Dallas. We lived in the suburbs but were interested in the magnet school opportunities in DISD. We cautiously moved back into the district. Our children were all placed in some of the finest magnet programs around. Our children went to Sidney Lanier, and Greiner and Hotchkiss and Booker T. Washington and Kramer and Franklin and Hillcrest. They got a great education. It was a wonderful experience, until we had to pull our son out of Lanier at the early part of 6th grade because he was getting beat up. Our child who was raised "color-blind" was getting the crap beat out of him on a weekly basis. He didn't understand why until another child screamed at him that he was of the wrong race. We were horrified that our child could be physically abused because of his race. He was horrified and had many traumatized hours. We couldn't explain to him why other folks would be ugly to him because of his race, because we don't understand.

I'm in my tenth year teaching. I love it. I hate it. I love the kids. I hate the kids. I hate the administration downtown. I hate working for fools.

I'm still color blind. I was raised that way my whole life. I just can't see how people can judge ANYONE based on anything but their character. I've learned about a whole new level of racism. I started teaching after my kids were all in school. I worked three jobs while going to school to get my degree so that I could teach. Kids don't scare me. I know their game. Every year, I have seen an increasing amount of racism in my students. It blows my mind. I don't care which color my student is. I heard that it should be a rule that teachers love all the kids. It's not true, but in my heart I think it should be. Teachers should love all the kids. Why else are they in education? People who don't love kids shouldn't teach.

My heart hurts more and more. I've been cussed at so many times this year that it's not funny. I've been called ugly names. I give a kid a true grade for effort and I'm told that I am racist.

Racism looms large. What can we do?

Books 27 & 28

Okay I finished book 27. It was the weirdest thing known to mankind. It was not a easy read. Am I glad I read it? I think so.

I'm working on 28. It's a lot more fun. Gawd I love fiction.

SQ

Random Acts of Kindness

This is an edited version of an email I sent to someone that strikes a chord in my heart.

Hi! Again, you are kind and apparently a person after my own heart. I bet you love to go to parties where you don't know anyone and you still have a great time. I love to do that!

Sometimes, though, I do take a Wilsonian approach and try to make the Web safe for democracy...or at least basic human decency.

(response) I am always a proponent of human decency. I work very hard to not go off on the incredibly blatantly ignorant folks that abound in the virtual world. I'm old enough that I don't have any sympathy for spoiled rotten kids that are "bored." I have empathy and sympathy for those that are grateful for anything they get and don't feel that they are entitled to a free ride for just being special.

eep. I just had a very judgemental teacher moment.

I promote kindness and even sometimes have drawings for "ROAK's" with my students. If someone performs a Random Act of Kindness, they are allowed to report it and enter a drawing into the hat. What does the winner of the hat get? Presents from other folks "donating" to the hat fund. I've had parents that donated some really cool things.

I'm happy that you credit your teachers with some influence. I also wrote on my HS paper and HS and college yearbooks. I've always written "state of the moment" papers about whatever I was experiencing at the time. I was SO lucky that I had teachers that encouraged me and pushed me.

Here in Miami it's been very warm. We had record-breaking heat last week (higher than 94 degrees), and it's only May. I have a couple of friends in the Lone Star State and I almost got to meet one of them in San Antonio in March. She's probably going to move to Georgia once the school year ends, though, so any hopes I had of seeing the Alamo and going on a cruise by the River Walk probably will go the way of the dodo and the great auk.

(response) It's 63.5 degrees here which for this time of night in Central north Texas is reasonable. I think we may have hit 90 last Saturday when baby girl was graduating from TCU.

You should still go to San Antonio. The downtown area is so very scenic and so fun to walk around. I don't know if you have Spanish bt if one ventures out in further concentric circles it comes up.

I make my students crazy with my "pidgin" Spanish. If someone comes in late or I've not seen them for a while I'll say "Donde esta frijole?" Where have you Bean? I have some kids who just freaking crack up over it (as they see the double entendre in multiple languages). I catch a new group every year.

I hope your youngest gets that TV job. What position is she applying for? Reporter? Producer? Staffer?

Rachael is applying for reporter. She's qualified to produce and certainly staff. She wants to be on-air talent. She was on the Dallas District TV show her Senior year. It was the second year of the program. She was the white kid. She's the ONLY one to come from her High School for the show.

What's kind of sad is that she could come teach at my school next year starting at about 45K a year. She can get a job as a baby girl reporter somewhere and make 25K, I hope to the powers that be that she can find cheap rent.

I once was one of my 11th-grade English teacher's favorite students, because I really tried hard to improve my writing in part because I wanted to impress her.

Your 11th grade English teacher was a powerful force. Rachael had Ms. K. who kicked her ass and loves her still and just happened to be big sister Rebecca's 10th grade world history teacher. Ms. K. is the nice lady who married the rabbi and just had twins. She had the highest AP English passing rate in one of the top ten urban school districts in the US. I know about those junior English teachers that are a force of nature.

I cannot wait to tell B* about Enrique Granados. He's a hard case. He's a special hard case and I love him. He probably will never know how much. I hope to God that he's passed enough to have senior hours next year. His counselor and I are are better friends because we want this child to succeed. No one EVER told him he was smart (he is). They only told him that he was a worthless piece of shit. He's only starting to get willing to admit that he might be worth something. I think he's passing almost everything this year. He wasn't last year and he hardly passed anything the year before. He's capable. He's in my academic decathlon class. That's the class that has the smartest kids in the school. They compete for places on the team, but it's an honor just to get in the class. B* showed up in my art one class and I could tell in about two seconds that he needed to be in decathlon. He told me I was crazy. He told me I was a fool. I told him I could smell smart and he qualified.

I insert here that I've ranted enough that I'm going to post SOME of this on my blog and writer's corner. . . I get that way when I'm pursuing a heartfelt moment. . . Wow Alex, this one belongs to YOU.

I got B* into the class with the team. He's got long hair that he hides behind. I don't think I saw his whole face but maybe three times last year. Another club at the school starts up, the Guitar club. Well B* plays. His decathlon family doesn't mind that he brings his guitar to class. There are days when that's a good thing to have. He bonds with the other "smart" children. He learns that it's a safe place to be smart in. He starts to figure out that he is smart. In this class, he's surrounded with the brightest kids in the school. He's an underperformer who tells everyone that he's going to let them down because he's lazy. They all love him because he's part of the family that the coaches have put together. The coaches pick their new family members for good reason. Not every child will compete, but some children need the environment to "become."

Today, I'm nearing the end of the school year. Things have become very silly, but I'm in the midst of choosing new team members for next year. Some of the rising seniors can't play with us next year, they have other things to do. We have 3 who will be 3rd year seniors and B* is one of them. He's only scrimmaged in the past. He has had issues being eligible to play. We are over our competition season and today I threw out stuff for the continuing members to start looking for. "Look up the voyages of Charles Darwin." I tell them.

Mary is on top of things, she's already found a reading at the local library about our novel for next year. She makes the announcement that we need to meet on June 11th (the week after school gets out) She wants to be captain next year. I think she is well on her way. She knew B* before we brought him on and was hesitant, but then said, "wait, Miss, he is a smart guy. He's lazy and he's crazy. She hemmed and fussed but she welcomed him as a brother. She gives him crap a lot of time, but he knows that it is deserved crap.

So B* says to me "Darwin? Isn't that the evolutionary biology guy?" I doubt this is the kind of conversation that he has with any of his family or friends. "Yeah," I tell him. "The Super Quiz next year is all about evolutionary biology with a focus on Darwin." Super Quiz is the kind of big Quiz Show overriding theme of the competition. B*o's hair has grown longer. He shoves it out of his face and looks me right in the eye and says "Evolutionary biology is interesting."

Score a direct hit Miss School Teacher. We live for moments like this.

That's why I love this kid so much. I can't wait to see him graduate (the first in his family to do so) and to see where he goes from there. I think I'm going to make him the music meister for next year. I made a deal with his counselor to give him credit for the required speech class in my class so that he had room to be in the guitar class. I don't know if this child is bound for college, but he's going to make some mark on the world. I promise that I will get autographed everything from him.

Please excuse me. I get inspired at different times and different ways. I thank you for that.

Everybody say: "Hey B* we want you show the world what YOU can do." I will cross my fingers and say lots of prayers to anyone who listens to prayers that THIS child will succeed.

Forgive me if I have a moment of pride and say "I want this kid to be famous and tell Rolling Stone that his teacher always told him he could be great." He doesn't believe it yet, but he's just a junior. I believe that it takes a village to raise a child (kudos Hillary) and I will chase behind this child with a stick. I will encourage all other villagers to take up the sticks and chase this child into glory. He's got a shot.

The Enforcers

I had a horrible night last night. I was filled with apprehension.

I had to have an arthogram of my knee today and I knew that involved big needles. I'm a wimp that way.

I was very agitated and having a hard time settling into my "chill zone." Mark was being antagonistic and was having control issues. He wouldn't get out of my chair.

I went to bed after scrubbing cabinets in the kitchen (not my usual way of winding down). Mark kept finding ways to come into the kitchen and was laughing at me, mocking me in his not so subtle manner.

I just wanted to wind myself down and go to sleep and not think about what was going to happen to me today. It didn't work out the way that I wanted it to. I didn't get my way. I was mocked in the process.

I had very odd dreams that involved people that I didn't know. I was still in a funk when I woke up. I was still unhappy with the man of my dreams for being a toot in the previous evening.

I have a pathological fear of needles. I experienced natural childbirth four times because I once saw an epidural needle. No way in hell was someone going to put that into MY spine. I had a recurring nightmare for almost a year when I was a small child that involved someone killing my mother with an injection and then coming after me with a needle. I knew that I was going to get a "big stick" today and I was bothered by it.

I got to school and I knew that I was going to have to go away mid day to get stuck. I'm pretty hacked about the state of things with regard to my art history class. For some reason, I was scheduled to teach the class in the library this year which means that I have NO storage at all and I have to transport my technology (one has to view slides in art history) from a remote location every day. Also, when there is any kind of testing the library is used and I get kicked out (often with little notice) and sometimes I'm told that I can go teach my class in the auditorium with 15 other classes that have been kicked out of their space. So I'm kicked out of the library for two weeks because of AP testing, so I have NO place to go with MY AP kids. We've hunkered down in the corner of my studio art room invading on the space of the teacher (Mr. D.) who is scheduled in there that period.

I'm horribly pissed because I'm losing valuable instructional time with this class. Their AP exam is a week from today and they are not prepared.

I was walking to the art room this morning and I saw the two huge DISD police guys walking behind a young man who was talking into his cell phone (which are forbidden to be visible on campus) They were vehemently directing this young man to go away from campus and he was very disrespectful and kept on going. I saw my favorite security guy and another trailing along with very serious looks on their faces. I heard something about threats and weapons. It's before classes start and there are hundreds of kids on the walkway and of course they are all looking at the action.

What did I see? I saw the huge police guy halt the motion of the young man and slam him up against the wall. The kid was hollering and being ugly and belligerent and then I heard the zzzzip of a stun gun. Just the electrifying sound the incessant buzz of the electrical current. The young man became more cooperative very quickly and was herded back in the direction that he'd come from. I don't think he got zapped, he just heard the zapping sound.

I was shaken. I've seen the huge police guy strong-arm kids before. Each time, the young person was behaving very badly. I was unnerved at the strength of the response. If I'd not seen the youngsters acting in such a horrible way I would have thought the response was brutal. I'm still flabbergasted to see any human have to act on another human in such a way. In some ways I'm really glad that the huge police guy is there to enforce some kind of order. It's a sad statement that our society needs such things.

I go from this disturbing sight into the aforementioned corner. I have some cool magazines that have lots of art articles and I hand them out and ask my students to find something of interest that they can share with the group. We actually learn some cool things and we share around images that are old and new. There is some van Gogh and some Picasso and some Warhol and some da Vinci and some Jasper Johns and some Rembrandt that we talk about today. That is a good thing. I'm just pissed that my class is relegated to the corner of another active class. It's a good thing that I only have nine kids. I am encouraged because a few of them seem to have been studying. What a concept.

I go from my AP class to my art one class. I'm getting more apprehensive because I know that I have an appointment in a little while. I've only got one art one class and they really did actually do some work today. Not a lot, but some. I was busy taking care of other things. I sent "Stonewall" and "Joe Bananas" out on errands on behalf of our Academic Competition team. I fought with the printer. I filled out instructions for the sub tomorrow in the event that I might not be there.

The bell rang and I felt that it was my bell tolling. I didn't want to go, I would have rather scrubbed the grunge from the sink than go. But. . . I had an appointment. I got over to the medical office. It's a weird kind of deal. I go check in at one place and then I'm transported to another to see the radiologist and then go back to the first place for the MRI. The transporting has to do with insurance on the part of the medical provider.

I go check in. I sit in the waiting area and wait for the driver to show up. I end up having a strange conversation with one of the med techs and another patient about how disgusting it is for young people to wear sagging pants. We all agree that it is not polite in any society to show one's ass.

I'm hyperventilating almost by the time I get over to the radiologist. He's really sweet and pleasant. I guess if one is going to stick painful needles in other folks it's nice to be pleasant enough that they don't curse you. I only uttered one curse word as he moved the huge needle around in my knee joint. I did say quite a few "Holy Mother" and "Oh My God" and "Holy Crap." The doctor is so nice, I don't want to be mean to him. He's sympathetic. The lydocaine is not quite gone yet or I'd be hollering.

I go back to the other place for the MRI (with contrast). I'm a lot happier that my head doesn't have to go in the tube but I have an issue with getting into a good position. The tech wants me to stay motionless for an hour and a half. I tell him it's not going to happen as I can't be comfortable for two seconds. We compromise and work me into some kind of position that isn't devastating. I don't mind the jackhammer noise of the machine. I do mind the cramp that insinuated itself into my right butt cheek and wouldn't let go. I was ready to scream after a while. This was WORSE than childbirth. The tech has braces on his teeth. He's really sweet but he doesn't understand. He was kind enough to let me know that he'd go for the pictures that he really needed rather than running the whole program. I told him my right butt cheek was grateful.

Here I sit with the lydocaine wearing off. My knee is offended that a needle was inserted up inside the joint. I think it will be more offended tomorrow. I'm thinking that taking a pain pill and crawling into bed is a good idea.

That was my day. . . .

Briefly, I have to mention books 25 and 26. I read them. Figures of Speech was like death. It's a good resource (FARLEY GO BUY THIS FOR YOUR GIRL) but it was an awful read. Prom Night was kind of fun. I can still picture (omit name's) hair. It was so very seventies and bushy. The photographs are hilarious. I cannot forget my lime sherbet colored halter top prom dress that my mother made for me.

Speaking of hilarious. A friend sent me this picture and asked if "C" was my husband. I have to admit that it darn sure looks like him.

Oy.

Book 27 is challenging. I'm ahead of my goal for the year and I've got the summer coming up. Can I hope to perhaps double my challenge and go for a hundred books this year?

You know you're in trouble when. . .

Hmm which should I do first? Report on my recent books or describe today. Oy.

Books first. . .23 and 24. . .

23- Not bad. From Our House to Bauhaus by Tom Wolfe. I'm posting the links to reviews I've done to give more information about the book should my reader be interested in learning more.

This book is witty and sarcastic and quite fun. It's short and is a quick read. I've read Tom Wolfe before. I loved The Right Stuff when I read it so many years ago.

I never knew that architects could be so catty. Meowwrrr.

24 was an absolute whinefest. I just wanted to thrust bamboo shoots under my fingernails. Quarterlife Crisis by Alexandra Robbins is well written. I cannot fault her writing or objectivity. I was just almost sick enough to puke to hear these children complain about how hard their lives are. I'm so sorry that Samantha got her Harvard MBA and can't get the job of her dreams in five minutes in London. Holy crap, get over it.

My attitude is perhaps colored by middle age. I'm thinking that if someone smacked them around for a while and made them live on spaghettio's from a can for a year that they might gain an appreciation for their blessings.

BLEEP

Yesterday, I'll start with yesterday. We drove to Ft. Worth after school because Rachael was in a play. She graduates in 12 days (YAY). She tried out for what I guess is some kind of senior showcase. The senior directing students put on short plays and she was cast. It was bizarre because after her play the folks sitting around us were asking each other who the girl in the black shirt was. I heard them work out that it was Rachael and they seemed perturbed because they didn't know her. (She was wonderful). Then I find out that she was the only non-theater person cast. All the theater kids know each other and here is this talented unknown person showing up in the senior showcase. One kid recognized her from the news show and said, "she's that TV girl." One girl said, "Oh, that's Rachael, I looked her up." One guy said, "Oh yeah, she's Steve's girlfriend, you know that comedy guy."

Today, well today was another matter altogether.

TAKS testing started. Well, that's misleading, one of the tests was a while back, but this is TAKS week. Can I tell you it is like death. Death would be more interesting.

I'm serious, the highlight of my day was peeling paint off of a wall. You think I'm kidding, I'm NOT. I got one piece that was about the size of an orange and I was impressed. At one point I could see that near the door frame there were chips that exposed the original wall surface. I find myself wondering if there are layers of lead paint to be found there and IF they might be tasty.

Because of rampant cheating on this test statewide we have stringent monitoring activities. I know that not all schools are so vigilant, but ours certainly is. Two monitors must watch the children take tests. They must walk about and circulate and watch the children take tests. They may not read, grade papers or work on the computer. I'm bad, I took my sketchbook and I doodle. Today was the math test. It's so hard to maintain a testing environment when you have 30 kids and some of them finish in an hour. Some of them don't finish by the end of the day and you have to make the ones that finish be quiet. This is challenging with sophomores. They can be so silly.

You can tell them to be quiet and they don't remember for more than about two seconds.

The paint chips got really interesting because we were the last to get to eat. I had to march my little ducks to the cafeteria. They did not apparently get the part where we said "we will travel in single file" because they all bunched up in the hallway and ignored us. I stopped in the middle of the hallway and told the oncoming kids that I would wait until they had lined up as directed. I got some attitude but they were starving at this point and did what I said. I didn't randomly do this, I'm following instructions so that traffic in and out of the cafeteria proceeds smoothly.

I had to chase a kid down who ditched on lunch and thought he was going to get to go get "crunk" in the courtyard for a space of time. I don't personally know the kid, but I know his name as he's always on the list for in school suspension. I did also notice that he drools when he falls asleep and that his testing booklet got pretty soggy. It was really soggy.

Buzzzy took me away from it all. We drove around the block to smoke and then went back to her room and she had a wonderful chicken salad with vinaigrette. She had some strawberries also that were nice ones. I totally chowed on her food. (she brought an extra fork for me) I mean I was scoping out the paint chips so real food was very appealing. This was yum.

I must say that for the most part that I had a nice bunch of kids. One of them is my student. He's lovely and so sweet and HE certainly was not a problem. There is always at least one "character" in the bunch and I got him back this time. I know his mother though, so the threat of "I'll just get your momma on the phone has some small amount of weight." She's a force of nature. He's a force of chaos.

One of my students is going to get arrested as soon as testing is over. He's made some unfortunate choices that involve photography and theft. If you're going to steal someone's cell phone, you shouldn't take explicit photos of yourself with it....just in case it gets recovered. Also, if you are going to carry a digital camera around it should not include VERY explicit photos of one's self in acts that are illegal in some states at all, and certainly for minors. I didn't see the photos (THANK BUDDHA, KRISHNA, JESUS and MOHAMMED). I would have wanted to burn my eyes out of my head.

I was freaking brain dead by the time I got home. The good part was that I got to talk to Gin for almost an hour. I miss her so much. Over the pond is so far to send a piece of one's heart. I'm very happy for her and I love her hubby. She's in a good situation and I'm grateful. I just wish I could push the button on my transporter and beam over. . .

Book 25 is in progress and it's FABULOUS!!!!!!!!

How perceptive of Algebra to see that I need bathing

I'm sitting here right now being given a very thorough bath. I recently had a bath, but apparently Algebra (momma Siamese) thinks I need another one. She's bossy and she doesn't take "no" for an answer. She's a no-nonsense kind of cat. I suppose if I'd had five litters I wouldn't have much patience for foolishness either.

She's had a birthday in the last week. I'm trying to do the math and I think she just turned seven. She was born on the front porch. She lived outside for a long time. She had no interest in coming in (which is why she had so many litters). I'll never forget going out the front door and she was sitting there (at five months old) with a blue jay wing in her mouth. She was very proud of herself.

Algebra is so pretty. She's an apple head (round) siamese (eeek, she's washing the underside of my chin now) and her eyes are so blue. I remember trying to name her. I knew that Becca had to approve of the name or the cat would be called something very different than what I wanted. I offer the evidence of Algebra's father. He was a two week old furrball that Mark and James found and brought home. I wanted to call him Jazzpurr Johns (a nice name for an artist's cat) but I got overruled and he ended up being Smooge. He was a butt, always had a cattitude. Becca never forgave me for calling the chihuahua Tinker. She wanted to name the dog Monster Truck.

Algebra was always gorgeous. We could tell right away that she was a keeper. I can remember when she was a kitten. We'd be in the floor in the den and Alan would freaking torture her and she'd run off and then come right back. I guess that's how she got her name. We were sitting in the floor of the den and trying to come up with an acceptable name and I was brainstorming and throwing things out at Becca. I got to the point that I was reading book spines and said "Algebra" and Becca said "yeah, I guess that's all right."

So she has been ever since.

She had her first litter on her first birthday. Gordito was one of those. He's a freaking matching bookend to her. He went to live with Virginia for years but came back here when Virginia went to England. That first litter was five boys and a girl. The boys all pointed out Siamese. The only girl was solid black. We named them all after Mexican food. There was Taco and Nacho etc. They were all very pretty and adopted out.

The next batch were also very pretty and the boys were HUGE. Harley went to live with a friend's daughter. Then there were Pickle and Pumpkin. They are solid black. Pickle has green eyes and Pumpkin has orange eyes. Nintendo aka Steele aka Meatloaf the brother was a giant among cats. I talked to Harley's mom and she said he was a giant mutant cat and I let her know that his brother was also large (18 lbs large). Pickle is asleep across the foot of the bed right now. Nova (Novhinda) was also out of that batch. She's living down the street now. Nova had delusions of grandeur. She thought she was a black panther when she was a tiny kitten. She would loll in the holly bushes on a branch looking all cool and then would twitch and fall out and hit the ground.

Algebra was a feisty wench. She went missing for a LONG time and we thought that we'd lost her forever. We pulled up in the car one night and I saw her on the sidewalk across the street. I rejoiced and went to pick her up and she had one of those terribly long shoestrings tied to her collar. I wrestled with her and got the shoe string off and she had a FIT and attacked it and swatted at it and hissed at it and marched right up to the front door and said "I'd like some food please." I'm guessing that someone picked her up and thought it would be nice to take home a pretty cat and tied her up with the shoestring.

Algebra has been a bit of a floozy in her day. We'd get a litter weaned and she'd take off again only to appear back when she was again gravid. She showed up in August and threw a litter on the back porch and took off. We didn't realize that she had abandoned them until a day later and we were in a mad scramble to feed newborn kittens. It didn't work out very well. We didn't know much about raising newborn kittens. We'd always done okay if they were a few weeks old. They died one by one and it was tragic. Except for one. We researched and contacted the local Siamese rescue facility. The lady there was wonderful and she kept us going and we ended up focusing a lot of time and resources on saving this one kitten. We learned so much about keeping the wee ones alive and after losing all but this one we were desperate to keep her alive.

She's a brat. We named her Maude Lebowski. She's a tuxedo calico and she's bossy and fussy and thinks she is in charge. She's built just like her Siamese mother but looks so different. She's the one that tries to eat the printer when we print something off. She's the one that tries to sleep on my head at night. She has cattitude raised exponentially. She's in charge and will swat the hell out of anyone that disagrees. She's about to be four.

Algebra had one last hurrah and came home with a belly full of fur. Lalique was born just before midnight on August 2. He was a greedy gut and was always the first to food. He's about the longest cat I've ever seen. He sleeps over my feet most nights and doesn't budge much even if I kick. He's got silver feet and is so pretty and he's MY baby.

We finally caught up with Algebra before she could breed again. She seemed irritated after her trip to the vet and her little "procedure." We noticed that she stayed closer to home and after a while we brought her in. She didn't think much of that. She'd always been outdoors and she resisted.

She's finally settled in. All of the other cats are her offspring. Sometimes she tolerates them. They mostly defer to her. Lalique is the most tolerant. I think that he had some memory that she was his mother. He lets her clean him up. Algebra and Maude are distant and don't seem to fight, but they also don't seem to speak to one another. It's like they are mutually invisible to one another. Pickle has issues. She's usually a lover in every way but she launches against her mother at the most random times. We've had to fuss at them both in the last week for being ugly to each other.

Algebra is the great-great-great-granddaughter of the first Siamese that we had. Rose was a nurturer. She looked after all of us. She'd be proud of Algebra and all of Algebra's children.

Dogs come when you call. Cats have answering machines.

On target

I think I'm ahead of my goal of 52 books this year. I just finished 21 and 22. Since Yesterday.

I picked up Remember to Say "Mouth" and Face by Omar Casteneda. It was strange and compelling, not unlike watching a train wreck at times.

After I put that down, I still felt like reading so I rooted through the pile of books in Rachael's room and pulled out House of the Scorpion that she's been begging me to read ever since she attended the writer's camp almost five years ago.

It was wonderful and I finished it this morning. Have you ever read a book that you wish was twice as long? This is one of those.

We got up and wandered around garage sales yesterday. It was gorgeous out. It was that perfect temperature that requires no adjustment at all. Not cool, not warm, just right!

I've been still looking for the "right" table and we found it right away in good condition. It matches all the other mission style stuff that we have and it was five bucks. This was a win-win-win situation. Don't you love it when that happens?

We went out last night on our bi-weekly date with Becca. We went to Nandina's and had sushi and curry. The curry was okay, kind of warm but the sushi was wonderful and reasonably priced. I want to go back and just freaking binge on sushi and Ashai Black label beer.

We wandered about and people watched for a while on Greenville and listened to Becca tell us oh so very many things. It was wonderful. We marveled at the number of bleached-blonds and fake boobs that we saw. I guess some folks like that in a look, but to us it is comical. Whatever.

We're down to counting Mondays left on one hand after tomorrow. Most everyone I know is so over this school year. Time to do something else.

Sweep the Porch Clean

I just came in from the porch. There has been a deluge. I won't know until tomorrow if the grass seed we so lovingly sowed two days ago has again washed into the street to grow tufts of rye in the organic matter left by the live oak trees that shed volumes.

We just want grass. We cut back the tree limbs to give some view of sunlight. We fertilize. Our soil is so bad. Two days ago, James and Mark and I attacked the concrete hard bare patches. Mark shoveled in the rich compost of the live oaks that have built up in the flower beds. We attacked the dirt/concrete with small shovels and a vigor and mixed in rich soil and hopeful seed.

We mostly had St. Augustine until a drought and shade wrought havoc. We fight because our soil is so poor. Our neighborhood has nice little finials on the street signs that say "White Rock Village" and there is a graphic of an airplane. We live smack dab on the former turf runway of the White Rock Airport. Our house is located now almost dead center of that photograph. I wonder if the soil is polluted by having airplanes wandering up and down for 30 years. I'm wondering at this point why the live oaks planted by Fox and Jacobs 30+ years ago seem to prosper. There are a great lot of them and the result is that we have a very shady street. Sadly, our house is at one of the lower spots and when the rains come every one else's leaves gather in front of my house. It gets a little deep at times. We have shovels that we use to muck out. I've thought of starting a live oak leaf compost heap up against the house, but I'm afraid that the house would be soon covered and begin to creak and fall against the volume.

All I want is grass. (sigh)

I sit on the porch and I read. I reach out beyond the comfort of books that I know and love and want to read again. And again. So I stretch and I find. .. other things.

I am commended to good wifely behavior by book #20 of 2008. Storm Clouds over Party Shoes is artful and sarcastic and a slap in the face or on the behind.

The author is an artist and seems to be a very nice woman as she responded almost immediately when I emailed her and told her I liked her book and that I thought her art was thought-provoking.

I was stunned that she wrote me back so quickly, so I sent her a link to my review and she came back with an even nicer note and was very friendly.

I like writing the book reviews, it's an exercise in consumerism. I've had very friendly conversations with several of the authors that I've reviewed and found them to be such nice people. I also got a response today from the author of "Pledged" that I read earlier in the year. It was a very sweet note.

My friend Amy today said I should even send bad reviews to authors. I'm not as enthused about that. I don't want to be personally mean to them. I'm happy to write to folks that I admire to let them know that I enjoy their work, but it just seems kind of nasty to write to someone and say, well, "Hi, how are you, I read your book and I think it SUCKED."

I really did like "Storm Clouds" mostly for the art. It's more a compilation of art images than actual text from the author. She's using text to make a point with her artwork. I am very fond of text as I obviously love to write, but I also LOVE to WRITE, I mean with crow quill nibs and chisel nibs to create artful letters and words. I appreciate someone who combines images with text.

I didn't have to beat anyone up today although yesterday I ended up chasing a very big boy. I DID happen to have a broom in my hand and he acted like I was threatening him with it. I was sweeping my porch at school when he acted like a fool and I didn't want to set the broom down because I didn't want it stolen. I suppose it might have looked funny for me to trail this buffoon across campus with a broom in my hand, but it's a GOOD broom and I don't want to lose it.

The jerk yelled at me and said I was only picking on him because he was black. I went off and told him he was racist and shouldn't be talking about my family. He looked totally confused at that point and then tried to tell the security guards that I tried to beat him up with the broom. They told him to shut the eff up and handed me a referral form to fill out. I think they were a bit leary of the broom, but hey, sometimes they have to do things to make crazy white women happy.

Sweep the porch clean I say.

Rude Tales and Glorious #19

I should have known that any author willing to satirize Chaucer and Arthurian Legend in one fell swoop would share my zodiac sign.

I finished this afternoon Rude Tales and Glorious by "Nicholas Seare"

I tell my students that if one of their answers makes me laugh out loud that I will give them a giggle point. Some of them push their essays to the limit in the effort to wrangle a giggle point. How ridiculous can one be when describing Gothic architecture? They try and sometimes they succeed.

Rude Tales makes me laugh so hard, I almost have an unfortunate bladder response.

The author was a college professor who wrote under several pseudonyms. Another notable work was The Eiger Sanction which he wrote as "Trevanian." The man behind the mystery was Dr. Rodney William Whitaker. I wish I'd known this fellow. I would shake his hand for having so much gall.

"Rude Tales" centers around the hall of a Welsh baron who is bored with the lack of good storytelling found at his hearth and hall. The old priest has gone away and the new one seems good for very little (other than the shriving of women folk in private chambers).

There is a skritching at the door. The wind wails outside. It's cold and dreary. Through the peephole a servant spies a hag. He describes her as foul and loathsome. Wanting to verify the information the Baron peeps himself and says "Aye, tis a hag." He would return to his meal when the priest reminds him of his Christian duty to be kind and with some fuss the Baron admits the hag to the hall with the instruction that she be kept in the corner.

A moan occurs at the door and a pile of rags is there. A noxious old gentleman is found to inhabit the rags and at the priest's urging is admitted. Stripped of the rags, he is given a cheese rind to gird his loins.

As the Baron complains of the lack of entertainment, the entertainment begins. The odious visitors reveal that they are in fact Lancelot and Elaine. They have been bewitched and cursed to wander in a foul state. To earn their supper, they regale the company with bawdy and lusty tales. Some of these tales have some familiarity to a well-read person. They take familiar tales and render them in a very "earthy" fashion.

This is amusing stuff for lit geeks. I must be one!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm making a mess. There's a reason for it.

I've been really good this year. I've not smoked in the house even one time. I've sat on the porch and frozen my hoohah off for the sake of nicotine.

I must say it has been more pleasant the last few weeks. The weather has been fine, although still cool. I've watched spring erupt in my neighborhood and seen more of the neighbors than I want.

I told Mark that I needed a small table to set my coffee cup/water/beer on while I read and smoke. We wandered around to garage sales the last few weeks and we've found everything but a small table to my liking. I really am NOT that picky. I guess the tables have just been sold out or put to other uses.

Yesterday when he picks me up from school, he tells me he has a surprise. This is also a relative thing. Some surprises are good, some are not so good. This one has potential.

He was wandering around the neighborhood. It's "bulky trash" week and he found a night stand in someone's trash pile. Actually there were two, but he fished out the best one and picked out the two best drawers and there it was on my porch when I got home. It's very dated. I'm thinking it was prefab rent to own stuff from the eighties. It was white and the drawers are in good shape and clean. I peeled off some of the gold trim. I had an artist moment and immediately got out the acrylic paint.

It's not white any more. I have committed bizarre color and design upon it. My artistic talents lean toward the monochromatic arts. Jewelry can be totally without color. My drawings are strongest in pen and ink. My color sense involves the spectrum. I've fished out some books with cool pictures in them and I'm going to commit decoupage on this chest as well. I've got a case of spar varnish, so after I get it the way I want it I'm going to shellac the thing into place.

It's really fun. I'll take a picture of it soon and show the progress. Garish would be a kind thing to say about it. My mind reels as I think about what I'm going to attach to this thing.

Meanwhile, I can set my coffee on it. Coffee rings would only add to its charm at this point.

I better get to the varnish soon before it warms up much more and I have to pick the gnats out of it.