So yesterday I took the plunge and started putting together plans for retirement. 30 years from now, I might add... Figuring out how much I need to put in each year to get out what I want in thirty years for the last thirty years of my life. It's humbling and amazing to see the math work. All those numbers, all this planning and it all determines whether I eat peanut butter everynight for dinner when I retire or filet mignon.
I never wanted to think about that stuff before. When I was in my 20's I felt too young, but I knew I would have to consider it eventually. Now watching Nana and helping her with her finances I know how important it all is. I feel really grown up today.
By the way, this whole interest/compound interest thing is awesome. I mean I hate math, but I could play with this all day!
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
The Play is the thing...
One down, one to go. The church play wrapped up this weekend. These things always amaze me in the end. You pull your hair, nash your teeth, bargain with God and in the end they all work out and the only thing anyone ever remembers is that it was wonderful... But I am not everyone. These are the things I will remember.
Huge Pink Castles! When I sat down with "the artist" she asked me what color The King's Castle should be. I said, "something warm, not grey, maybe like a brick mauve or purplely red. I just don't want it to be cold grey stone, that is so austere." She showed me paint samples of light turquoise, dark turquoise, and a dark mauve pink. I said, "Perfect!" The base paint for all of this was a bright Barbie Doll Pink. The Mauve ended up being the detail color for drawing the outline of the bricks. There was little to no turquoise and everything else was PINK! For two weeks I waited for the pastor to hand us our hat for hosing down his pulpit with pepto bismol. In the end no one cared and it looked very whimsical...
"It's about the process..." Over and over I kept being told by the higher ups that the most important part of this whole thing was the process that we go through to produce it and that the product was secondary. But if as the writer and director if I actually approached it from that standpoint, the product is guaranteed to suck and then what difference does the process make? I mean if the process is more important than the product and the product is lousy doesn't that also mean the process was lousy? Or what about the "process" for those who pay to see the show? Is that fair? Didn't Paul say we are to run as though to win the race? While I agreed that what we gain from the process is the bigger treasure than the applause, the point of doing a play (even in church) is not simply the process...
"Oh Please, how can I help?" said the prop manager. She tended to be a bit late at first, but she provided a lot of supplies. The she disappeared for a week. The day of church preview she showed up 2 minutes after performance started with none of the things we needed and blinking like she was hung over. She wanted us (based on her actions) to coo and fuss over her because she had dragged herself to church. Then she shows up 15 minutes late the night of dress rehearsal and says, "oh, give me just ten minutes, and I'll make those things we talked about for the set..." Disappears for almost an hour. I find her making something that won't fit with the set, is not useful and is not even finished. "Nevermind, I tell her. Just organize the props please." "Okay." Nothing happens. The day of the performance she shows up early, all sweet and helpful. "I am so sorry I dropped the ball. What do you need?" We do the whole live and learn speech. Then I aske her, "I need all the props organized and I need roofs for the town set." "Done." She organized all the props and then stepped out for just a second to grab some dinner. She came back two hours later. There were no roofs on the town in either production. Oddly enough she slipped my mind when I thanked people on stage at the last performance. She was offended.
When I was a little girl and I used to sing, my Dad would come up behind my, pop me on the back of the head and say, "you are not Amy Grant, don't sing like her, sing like yourself." Unfortunately I am not allowed to hit other people's children. This child insisted on screwing up his face, closing his eyes and "belting" out his lyrics while pulling his hand back in a fist and bending one knee. This strained and messed up his vocals, not to mention he tended to mess up his words or forget them all together. His mom was my music director and she insisted that he was amazing, needed to sing and was doing a terrific job. Eventually we just turned his mic off during the performance and moved him to the side in the choreography. Great actor though, when he remembered his lines. His mom said he had been on Broadway as a young child...
As the children danced on stage for the final song I looked back over my shoulder and saw that the spot light operators were doing the same dance moves in the back of the sanctuary.
The play was wonderful. The kids did a great job. I learned a lot about the process.
One down, one to go... Oh Romeo, Romeo!
Huge Pink Castles! When I sat down with "the artist" she asked me what color The King's Castle should be. I said, "something warm, not grey, maybe like a brick mauve or purplely red. I just don't want it to be cold grey stone, that is so austere." She showed me paint samples of light turquoise, dark turquoise, and a dark mauve pink. I said, "Perfect!" The base paint for all of this was a bright Barbie Doll Pink. The Mauve ended up being the detail color for drawing the outline of the bricks. There was little to no turquoise and everything else was PINK! For two weeks I waited for the pastor to hand us our hat for hosing down his pulpit with pepto bismol. In the end no one cared and it looked very whimsical...
"It's about the process..." Over and over I kept being told by the higher ups that the most important part of this whole thing was the process that we go through to produce it and that the product was secondary. But if as the writer and director if I actually approached it from that standpoint, the product is guaranteed to suck and then what difference does the process make? I mean if the process is more important than the product and the product is lousy doesn't that also mean the process was lousy? Or what about the "process" for those who pay to see the show? Is that fair? Didn't Paul say we are to run as though to win the race? While I agreed that what we gain from the process is the bigger treasure than the applause, the point of doing a play (even in church) is not simply the process...
"Oh Please, how can I help?" said the prop manager. She tended to be a bit late at first, but she provided a lot of supplies. The she disappeared for a week. The day of church preview she showed up 2 minutes after performance started with none of the things we needed and blinking like she was hung over. She wanted us (based on her actions) to coo and fuss over her because she had dragged herself to church. Then she shows up 15 minutes late the night of dress rehearsal and says, "oh, give me just ten minutes, and I'll make those things we talked about for the set..." Disappears for almost an hour. I find her making something that won't fit with the set, is not useful and is not even finished. "Nevermind, I tell her. Just organize the props please." "Okay." Nothing happens. The day of the performance she shows up early, all sweet and helpful. "I am so sorry I dropped the ball. What do you need?" We do the whole live and learn speech. Then I aske her, "I need all the props organized and I need roofs for the town set." "Done." She organized all the props and then stepped out for just a second to grab some dinner. She came back two hours later. There were no roofs on the town in either production. Oddly enough she slipped my mind when I thanked people on stage at the last performance. She was offended.
When I was a little girl and I used to sing, my Dad would come up behind my, pop me on the back of the head and say, "you are not Amy Grant, don't sing like her, sing like yourself." Unfortunately I am not allowed to hit other people's children. This child insisted on screwing up his face, closing his eyes and "belting" out his lyrics while pulling his hand back in a fist and bending one knee. This strained and messed up his vocals, not to mention he tended to mess up his words or forget them all together. His mom was my music director and she insisted that he was amazing, needed to sing and was doing a terrific job. Eventually we just turned his mic off during the performance and moved him to the side in the choreography. Great actor though, when he remembered his lines. His mom said he had been on Broadway as a young child...
As the children danced on stage for the final song I looked back over my shoulder and saw that the spot light operators were doing the same dance moves in the back of the sanctuary.
The play was wonderful. The kids did a great job. I learned a lot about the process.
One down, one to go... Oh Romeo, Romeo!
Friday, February 24, 2006
Overloaded
This is one of my least favorite seasons in education. This is the month that the dreaded registration for next year happens and this is the time when I see what our children are really made of.
I've been teaching 9th grade English for five semesters, now. Each year 9th graders have to make the decision about which pre-AP (sort of like gifted/honors) classes they want to take sophomore year as prerequisite to the actual AP classes they will take junior and senior year. Now, to my way of thinking, I would take every Pre-AP I was eligible for and then all my options would be open on the AP front. I might even find that I could do more than I thought I could and really excel in the whole AP thing. Course rigor is a major factor in scholarship selection and colleges do look at what classes you took in comparison to GPA.
Not my students though. "I don't want to overload myself [by taking more than one pre-AP or even any pre-AP's at all]". "I already have to read one book over the summer for another class, I don't want to have to read two." "I don't like that subject." What a bunch of lazy bums! These are bright kids and they are punting on their opportunities so they can have more time for TV, IM'ing and most important of all, sports.
There is another pet peeve of mine. Sports are important and so is team dynamic. I would never say otherwise, but sports ahead of school is always a bad idea. There is less than a 1/2% chance that any of them will make a living in athletics, but there is a 100% chance that an education will improve their earning potential and career advancement. Where should their priority be? Why would parents support their child in the "take it easy now so you can do less later in life" theory of education?
Speaking of, there's another thing to this. I encourage and support a kid getting into the more rigorous program and then Mom calls and says, "Little Billy and I decided together that he shouldn't do this. Please don't force/encourage him to." Does she really want me to say to her, "You're right. Your child is too weak/slow/stupid to handle this. I was wrong to have faith in his ability or want to see him excel." Why bother getting him gifted recognition in school? Why bother putting him on the college track at all? Though, God help me if I give this kid a "B" on anything. "Don't you recognize my child's brilliance when you see it?" Not is you don't!
This whole attitude with parents and kids is becoming pervasive and even ridiculous in other things too. I had a young man (12) tell me last night at the dress rehearsal for the play that debuts tonight, "I just don't think I can sit still that long on stage for this scene, can I have something to play with while I'm on stage?" Think about that for a minute and tell me if you would have told him that it was okay to use his game boy (on top of this it's a play set in the middle ages!).
The part that scares me most is someday these kids are going to be my doctors, lawyers, teachers, business people, pilots, mechanics, you name it. My future does not feel secure today...
I'm moving to Australia when I retire.
I've been teaching 9th grade English for five semesters, now. Each year 9th graders have to make the decision about which pre-AP (sort of like gifted/honors) classes they want to take sophomore year as prerequisite to the actual AP classes they will take junior and senior year. Now, to my way of thinking, I would take every Pre-AP I was eligible for and then all my options would be open on the AP front. I might even find that I could do more than I thought I could and really excel in the whole AP thing. Course rigor is a major factor in scholarship selection and colleges do look at what classes you took in comparison to GPA.
Not my students though. "I don't want to overload myself [by taking more than one pre-AP or even any pre-AP's at all]". "I already have to read one book over the summer for another class, I don't want to have to read two." "I don't like that subject." What a bunch of lazy bums! These are bright kids and they are punting on their opportunities so they can have more time for TV, IM'ing and most important of all, sports.
There is another pet peeve of mine. Sports are important and so is team dynamic. I would never say otherwise, but sports ahead of school is always a bad idea. There is less than a 1/2% chance that any of them will make a living in athletics, but there is a 100% chance that an education will improve their earning potential and career advancement. Where should their priority be? Why would parents support their child in the "take it easy now so you can do less later in life" theory of education?
Speaking of, there's another thing to this. I encourage and support a kid getting into the more rigorous program and then Mom calls and says, "Little Billy and I decided together that he shouldn't do this. Please don't force/encourage him to." Does she really want me to say to her, "You're right. Your child is too weak/slow/stupid to handle this. I was wrong to have faith in his ability or want to see him excel." Why bother getting him gifted recognition in school? Why bother putting him on the college track at all? Though, God help me if I give this kid a "B" on anything. "Don't you recognize my child's brilliance when you see it?" Not is you don't!
This whole attitude with parents and kids is becoming pervasive and even ridiculous in other things too. I had a young man (12) tell me last night at the dress rehearsal for the play that debuts tonight, "I just don't think I can sit still that long on stage for this scene, can I have something to play with while I'm on stage?" Think about that for a minute and tell me if you would have told him that it was okay to use his game boy (on top of this it's a play set in the middle ages!).
The part that scares me most is someday these kids are going to be my doctors, lawyers, teachers, business people, pilots, mechanics, you name it. My future does not feel secure today...
I'm moving to Australia when I retire.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Unlucky
People are amazing. The way we view the occurrences of our lives astounds me. I listened to a child explain away the fact that they had done none of the things they had been told to do for the past month. All the reasons were given with calm, patient rationality. None of the reasons were connected, but they were all perfectly reasonable excuses for not doing their homework... According to them anyway... When I asked if they realized that all of these problems were connected to poor choices and poor planning they looked me dead in the eye and said, sweet as pie, "I just have bad luck."
Two summers ago when I was working at boy scout camp as a field medic a 10 year old boy came in to see me with a rather interesting injury. He explained the entire situation to me, with the coda, "I just have bad luck." Let me explain the circumstances.
This child had a wrist cast on his right hand. He was right handed. In boy scouts in order to be able to buy and/or posses a knife the scout must pass a series of instruction called a toting chip. This young man started his week by lying to his scoutmaster so that he could falsify his toting chip. He immediately raced down to the trading post and using money he was supposed to use for his class supplies bought the biggest, sharpest knife they had. Then while in fishing merit badge class, instead of doing what he was supposed to be doing, fishing, he caught baby frogs and put them in a coke bottle (now empty of the coke his mom told him he wasn't supposed to drink). Then he screwed the cap on and holding the top of the bottle with his casted, dominant hand he began jabbing to the top of the bottle with his brand new knife using his left, non-dominant hand. Now recognize he was driving this knife into a bottle top not much bigger than a quarter and the knife it self at the widest cross section is wider than said cap. When he "unluckily" drove the knife through the webbing between his thumb and forefinger of his right hand (the only part not covered by his cast) he yanked it back out started screaming and tore off into my med-lodge waving his hand over his head, spraying blood everywhere and screaming. He was woozy from blood loss by the time I got him calmed down enough to quit racing around screaming, get a compress on his hand, examine the damage and then get him in a car to the ER (by the way, this means I literally had to chase him around my clinic with him spraying blood and screaming, until another person came to help me and just as we cornered him he started to faint and I caught him. He was lethargic for a few minutes which is when I examined him and got a compress on his hand. He either fainted from the blood issue or more likely the screaming.) After 8 stitches, he called his mom and demanded to go home because it was "no fun here."
Yeah, he was one "unlucky" kid.
Two summers ago when I was working at boy scout camp as a field medic a 10 year old boy came in to see me with a rather interesting injury. He explained the entire situation to me, with the coda, "I just have bad luck." Let me explain the circumstances.
This child had a wrist cast on his right hand. He was right handed. In boy scouts in order to be able to buy and/or posses a knife the scout must pass a series of instruction called a toting chip. This young man started his week by lying to his scoutmaster so that he could falsify his toting chip. He immediately raced down to the trading post and using money he was supposed to use for his class supplies bought the biggest, sharpest knife they had. Then while in fishing merit badge class, instead of doing what he was supposed to be doing, fishing, he caught baby frogs and put them in a coke bottle (now empty of the coke his mom told him he wasn't supposed to drink). Then he screwed the cap on and holding the top of the bottle with his casted, dominant hand he began jabbing to the top of the bottle with his brand new knife using his left, non-dominant hand. Now recognize he was driving this knife into a bottle top not much bigger than a quarter and the knife it self at the widest cross section is wider than said cap. When he "unluckily" drove the knife through the webbing between his thumb and forefinger of his right hand (the only part not covered by his cast) he yanked it back out started screaming and tore off into my med-lodge waving his hand over his head, spraying blood everywhere and screaming. He was woozy from blood loss by the time I got him calmed down enough to quit racing around screaming, get a compress on his hand, examine the damage and then get him in a car to the ER (by the way, this means I literally had to chase him around my clinic with him spraying blood and screaming, until another person came to help me and just as we cornered him he started to faint and I caught him. He was lethargic for a few minutes which is when I examined him and got a compress on his hand. He either fainted from the blood issue or more likely the screaming.) After 8 stitches, he called his mom and demanded to go home because it was "no fun here."
Yeah, he was one "unlucky" kid.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Puppies, Pit Bulls and Cocker Spaniels
Yesterday I went to the meeting that was my punishment for having an opinion contrary to the flow of traffic at work. That's another blog. This one is about the puppies that were in the room next to mine for the veterinary class.
Oh they were so cute! One was an eight week old, glossy black cocker spaniel. So beautiful and sweet. The other was a seven week old pit bull. His name was Romeo. Absolutely adorable. There in lies the problem.
I abhor pit bulls. As an EMT I have seen people mauled by these things. They are dangerous and vicious. A friend of mine, a police officer, was terribly injured by one when it jumped through a screen and attacked him, and that was the dogs second offense. These things are a menace.
Then there is the part of me that has trained dogs and thinks that it is a matter of socialization and that people that get pitts tend to emphasize their bad qualities making them dangerous dogs. If trained correctly maybe they stay as sweet as this puppy licking my ear. I looked at this sweet puppy and I could see how someone could let something that dangerous into their house, because they are cute and sweet as puppies. I wonder if because it is being so well socialized in this class if this puppy will be friendly? Even if it wasn't would I have trouble recognizing that because I held it as a puppy?
For a split second I wondered if serial killers are cute as children (yes, stupid question, I know) and further if they might not have been serial killers with different parents/raising.
Then I put the puppy down and went to play with the Cocker Spaniel again before I went back to my boring meeting.
I will never own a Pit Bull.
Oh they were so cute! One was an eight week old, glossy black cocker spaniel. So beautiful and sweet. The other was a seven week old pit bull. His name was Romeo. Absolutely adorable. There in lies the problem.
I abhor pit bulls. As an EMT I have seen people mauled by these things. They are dangerous and vicious. A friend of mine, a police officer, was terribly injured by one when it jumped through a screen and attacked him, and that was the dogs second offense. These things are a menace.
Then there is the part of me that has trained dogs and thinks that it is a matter of socialization and that people that get pitts tend to emphasize their bad qualities making them dangerous dogs. If trained correctly maybe they stay as sweet as this puppy licking my ear. I looked at this sweet puppy and I could see how someone could let something that dangerous into their house, because they are cute and sweet as puppies. I wonder if because it is being so well socialized in this class if this puppy will be friendly? Even if it wasn't would I have trouble recognizing that because I held it as a puppy?
For a split second I wondered if serial killers are cute as children (yes, stupid question, I know) and further if they might not have been serial killers with different parents/raising.
Then I put the puppy down and went to play with the Cocker Spaniel again before I went back to my boring meeting.
I will never own a Pit Bull.
Friday, February 17, 2006
I'll get you my pretty and your little dog too!
So I was writing on the board today and a student asked me if it was hard being a teacher and having people judge you by your handwriting on the board all the time. I said not nearly as hard as being judged on my inability to keep my opinion to myself.
I loath standardized tests. I think they are useful and necessary measures, but I do not think they should rule education the way they do. Further I think that the people that write them are demented. Sometimes I think these people get together, throw back a lot of beers and say, how can we be as confusing as possible and make teachers/students nuts? This is not to be confused with the people who say, how can we write a test that looks hard, but is very easy and we can then take credit for raising academic standards?
Anyway, we had a recent battery of these monsters and they were of a new "breed." I made the mistake of specifically and in detail explaining to me administrator why these tests were flawed. Now, supposedly, he likes me. (And I admire him more than any other administrator I've ever worked with). He showed his faith in my by having me represent our entire high school at a Board of Education Meeting to discuss what to do about these tests in the future, the letter we want to mail to the state and better preparing our kids. This means I have to find a sub, rework my lesson plans, grade work I could have supervised in class and spend time with the administrator I like least in my career (she is in charge of testing for the county and she had her own platinum broom with cat affixed and wart to match...).
Like I said, in the future I will keep my mouth shut!
I loath standardized tests. I think they are useful and necessary measures, but I do not think they should rule education the way they do. Further I think that the people that write them are demented. Sometimes I think these people get together, throw back a lot of beers and say, how can we be as confusing as possible and make teachers/students nuts? This is not to be confused with the people who say, how can we write a test that looks hard, but is very easy and we can then take credit for raising academic standards?
Anyway, we had a recent battery of these monsters and they were of a new "breed." I made the mistake of specifically and in detail explaining to me administrator why these tests were flawed. Now, supposedly, he likes me. (And I admire him more than any other administrator I've ever worked with). He showed his faith in my by having me represent our entire high school at a Board of Education Meeting to discuss what to do about these tests in the future, the letter we want to mail to the state and better preparing our kids. This means I have to find a sub, rework my lesson plans, grade work I could have supervised in class and spend time with the administrator I like least in my career (she is in charge of testing for the county and she had her own platinum broom with cat affixed and wart to match...).
Like I said, in the future I will keep my mouth shut!
Monday, February 13, 2006
Leaving the Pity Party
Sometime ago I had a conversation with a friend on IM that amounted to the fact that everyone I know who lived with me or was planning to live with me gets married within 18 months of that arrangement, most within one year. (There has only been one exception to this in the past 11 instances, and that friend came back and tried again and is now happily married.) She hypothesized that God was trying to bless me but I kept moving around and he would miss and hit those close to me instead. I asked her if she was saying God throws like a girl.
Some days it is easy to sit around and feel sorry for myself. Everybody can find a reason to feel sorry for themselves if they want to. Yesterday I had about decided it was a good day to wallow in self pity. The icing was a conversation I had with Nana.
"Well hello there Mary Sunshine" She says to me.
"Nana, I'm not Mary Sunshine, that's what you call Lindsey (the young woman who helps me with Nana sometimes)"
"That's right. You're Mary Grumpy." (Writing cannot express the smug grin on her face when she said this.)
"Thanks, Nana, I love you too."
Later that day someone asked me how I was getting on with Nana and the other things I had going on in my life. Because it is the socially appropriate thing to do, I said "fine." The sweet old lady pressed further and so I started explaining how good things were and even went on as to why and by the time I realized what I was saying I also realized how true everything I was saying was. I am so very blessed and I have so much to be thankful for. I thanked the delightful woman for asking after my troubles and such and she gave me a wise smile and winked. Ten bucks says she knew I was throwing a pity party and threw me the bone to help me bail myself out. Worse, I wonder if Nana called he and this is an old woman conspiracy. Either way I am thankful.
Some days it is easy to sit around and feel sorry for myself. Everybody can find a reason to feel sorry for themselves if they want to. Yesterday I had about decided it was a good day to wallow in self pity. The icing was a conversation I had with Nana.
"Well hello there Mary Sunshine" She says to me.
"Nana, I'm not Mary Sunshine, that's what you call Lindsey (the young woman who helps me with Nana sometimes)"
"That's right. You're Mary Grumpy." (Writing cannot express the smug grin on her face when she said this.)
"Thanks, Nana, I love you too."
Later that day someone asked me how I was getting on with Nana and the other things I had going on in my life. Because it is the socially appropriate thing to do, I said "fine." The sweet old lady pressed further and so I started explaining how good things were and even went on as to why and by the time I realized what I was saying I also realized how true everything I was saying was. I am so very blessed and I have so much to be thankful for. I thanked the delightful woman for asking after my troubles and such and she gave me a wise smile and winked. Ten bucks says she knew I was throwing a pity party and threw me the bone to help me bail myself out. Worse, I wonder if Nana called he and this is an old woman conspiracy. Either way I am thankful.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Welcome to Planet Panic
Yep, we must be at almost two weeks to go on the church play, because I am panicking! Let's see, the sets which should be nearly finished are barely started, the actors are not off script yet, we only now agreed to have a matinee on Sunday after the performance Friday, the set parts that are finished are OMG! PINK!!!! Hopefully the head pastor is secure enough in his masculinity to preach with Barbie Palace behind him for the next three Sundays. Oh, did I mention the youth pastor (and this is a youth play) announced his resignation and relocation to Oregon last night! So now I also have sobbing drippy actors who aren't sure they want to help raise money for a mission trip they may no longer go on because the youth minister may no longer be the one leading it. I am panicking now!
What possesses me to volunteer for this stuff? "You need a director for the youth mission play? Sure I'll do, heck, I'll even write it!" So now I am a teacher, pet owner, senior care giver, un-published novelist, high school drama coach (we have auditions for that production today!) and youth mission play writer, director and executive producer. I will have to send I miss you cards to my pillow so it doesn't forget me. Why do I do this to myself?
What possesses me to volunteer for this stuff? "You need a director for the youth mission play? Sure I'll do, heck, I'll even write it!" So now I am a teacher, pet owner, senior care giver, un-published novelist, high school drama coach (we have auditions for that production today!) and youth mission play writer, director and executive producer. I will have to send I miss you cards to my pillow so it doesn't forget me. Why do I do this to myself?
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Nana'isms
Nana is a major part of my life. She is 81 and has lived with me now for two years. She came to me along with her dog, Piper, who is a littermate to my Roo, both Shelties.
She was born in the 20's, lived through the Depression in rural Massachusetts, went to Nursing School and then (even though it is not what women did back then) moved out of her parents house and moved by herself to Ohio where they desperately needed pediatric nurses and nurse instructors. There she met my grandfather a warhero college student and they lived happily ever after. Sort of. He passed away over 20 years ago, and though she was in her early sixties and could have hung it up, she kept going.
She stayed in the same house that had held their marriage and their children all those years. Only she made some changes. She got all new furniture, white carpet (can you imagine!), a water bed and bought bright flowered shirts with bright pink suspenders (well endowed women should never wear suspenders!). She began to travel, visit friends, family and she also continued to care for her parents, still in Massachusetts who lived to be in their late 90's. She continued to "talk" to her husband, her "Daley."
Four years ago, she went to live with her daughter, my mother. That didn't work so well for various reasons. So, (to be fair) against my mother's wishes, Nana and I decided she should come live with me instead. Understand this decision was made in about 24 hours, while I was visiting Mom and Nana and while my mother was "trapped" in a hospital room. I went from swinging 28 year old single, living the high life in Atlanta to being a single mother of an 81 year old (and her dog) and guilty (according to mom) of "seniornapping."
Now, Mom and I are close again and we both agree that this was for the best. I have adjusted as has Nana to the new living situation. My dog has accepted the fact that she has to share her house with her baby brother. My students have learned to listen to stories of Nana. Most importantly I have found a joy unlike any I could have dreamed and never before imagined.
Everybody likes Nana. One day at church, a friend said to me, "She is so cute!" and I laughed and said, "yeah, just like a puppy." Not really, but it is funny to hear people. Nana makes friends with everyone. When she gets her hair done each week, the other beauticians come and sit in the chairs around her and talk to her, listening and laughing with her. The nurses at her doctor's office fight over who gets to do her chart. Even my students, when I bring her to school one or two days out of the year (usually if she has a doctor's appointment in the afternoon and I don't have time to go home to get her first) the kids all stop in the hall to talk to her. Students who never speak to me and I would swear hate me. They know Nana and want to say hi. Then they brag to others about meeting her. What's worse is other teachers on staff do the same thing...
There are Nana'isms in my life.
(Said to her nurse in the doc's office) "My arms are ugly, and they look awful in those spaghetti strap nightgowns that you have to wear for your husband, but my husband died so I don't have to anymore."
(Said to me as I was walking out the door with a date) "Sister, (she calls me sister) be sure and lock the door when you leave. I'd hate for someone to break in and rape me, 'cause I'm all dried up!"
"The dogs have been having a good day, playing and running. Only I don't think Piper knows Roo is his sister."
(Said to a good male friend of mine at dinner) "Have you been to Sandy's house? Oh, you should come back, now that I live there, it doesn't look like that anymore."
(Said to a date as we were on the way out the door) "Don't you worry, if you want to marry my sister, I'm gonna move out. One woman from our family in your house is enough. And she's the prettier of the two of us..." (Oddly enough that was our first and last date...)
(When she couldn't find her glasses that were in her pocket) "Daley, someone has taken my glasses, come read this to me!"
Those are really just the first ones I thought of. There are so many more. People come to my house just to listen to her.
I hope I grow up to be just like her.
She was born in the 20's, lived through the Depression in rural Massachusetts, went to Nursing School and then (even though it is not what women did back then) moved out of her parents house and moved by herself to Ohio where they desperately needed pediatric nurses and nurse instructors. There she met my grandfather a warhero college student and they lived happily ever after. Sort of. He passed away over 20 years ago, and though she was in her early sixties and could have hung it up, she kept going.
She stayed in the same house that had held their marriage and their children all those years. Only she made some changes. She got all new furniture, white carpet (can you imagine!), a water bed and bought bright flowered shirts with bright pink suspenders (well endowed women should never wear suspenders!). She began to travel, visit friends, family and she also continued to care for her parents, still in Massachusetts who lived to be in their late 90's. She continued to "talk" to her husband, her "Daley."
Four years ago, she went to live with her daughter, my mother. That didn't work so well for various reasons. So, (to be fair) against my mother's wishes, Nana and I decided she should come live with me instead. Understand this decision was made in about 24 hours, while I was visiting Mom and Nana and while my mother was "trapped" in a hospital room. I went from swinging 28 year old single, living the high life in Atlanta to being a single mother of an 81 year old (and her dog) and guilty (according to mom) of "seniornapping."
Now, Mom and I are close again and we both agree that this was for the best. I have adjusted as has Nana to the new living situation. My dog has accepted the fact that she has to share her house with her baby brother. My students have learned to listen to stories of Nana. Most importantly I have found a joy unlike any I could have dreamed and never before imagined.
Everybody likes Nana. One day at church, a friend said to me, "She is so cute!" and I laughed and said, "yeah, just like a puppy." Not really, but it is funny to hear people. Nana makes friends with everyone. When she gets her hair done each week, the other beauticians come and sit in the chairs around her and talk to her, listening and laughing with her. The nurses at her doctor's office fight over who gets to do her chart. Even my students, when I bring her to school one or two days out of the year (usually if she has a doctor's appointment in the afternoon and I don't have time to go home to get her first) the kids all stop in the hall to talk to her. Students who never speak to me and I would swear hate me. They know Nana and want to say hi. Then they brag to others about meeting her. What's worse is other teachers on staff do the same thing...
There are Nana'isms in my life.
(Said to her nurse in the doc's office) "My arms are ugly, and they look awful in those spaghetti strap nightgowns that you have to wear for your husband, but my husband died so I don't have to anymore."
(Said to me as I was walking out the door with a date) "Sister, (she calls me sister) be sure and lock the door when you leave. I'd hate for someone to break in and rape me, 'cause I'm all dried up!"
"The dogs have been having a good day, playing and running. Only I don't think Piper knows Roo is his sister."
(Said to a good male friend of mine at dinner) "Have you been to Sandy's house? Oh, you should come back, now that I live there, it doesn't look like that anymore."
(Said to a date as we were on the way out the door) "Don't you worry, if you want to marry my sister, I'm gonna move out. One woman from our family in your house is enough. And she's the prettier of the two of us..." (Oddly enough that was our first and last date...)
(When she couldn't find her glasses that were in her pocket) "Daley, someone has taken my glasses, come read this to me!"
Those are really just the first ones I thought of. There are so many more. People come to my house just to listen to her.
I hope I grow up to be just like her.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Purple Planets!
Today as an assignment my students had to create their own planet. They had to explain it's physical details as well as the people on it, animals, plants, culture and civilization. They all rolled their eyes at me, sighed and began to write. Some of them are really getting into it now. I love watching them work. It's like their brains are on fire and the smoke is thought!
On my planet there is no tilt, so day and night are always the same equal length all year long. There are seasons, but they are very short and so you get to enjoy the sensations of Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter for about a month and then the season moves on. This makes you appreciate each one more and enjoy it while it is there. Plus, if you miss it, it is only three months till you get it again. All plants have beautiful bright fragrant flowers that bloom an entire season (month) and there is a pretty varied time of growth (some even in the winter) so there are always flowers everywhere and the air is full of the perfume. No Britany Spears or Estee Lauder needed. The sentient beings are rich, royal purples, all shades. With bright green eyes that are luminescent. The sing and dance and no one wears clothes except in the winter.
I think my planet sound like it has potential. I think I need to visit it again soon. One of my students asked if she could go live on her planet. It is made of chocolate. I might visit hers on the way to mine.
Sometimes I worry about kids today and their ability to create. I still worry, but seeing all the planets today makes me excited about the worlds I might get to visit someday.
OK, my headache is still here, and throbbing, but either I feel better or the flashing lights and piercing whine has gotten to me. My principal said I can go at noon, when I finish my curricular obligations. I think that might be a good thing.
The sooner I can sleep this off, the sooner I can go back to that purple planet!
On my planet there is no tilt, so day and night are always the same equal length all year long. There are seasons, but they are very short and so you get to enjoy the sensations of Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter for about a month and then the season moves on. This makes you appreciate each one more and enjoy it while it is there. Plus, if you miss it, it is only three months till you get it again. All plants have beautiful bright fragrant flowers that bloom an entire season (month) and there is a pretty varied time of growth (some even in the winter) so there are always flowers everywhere and the air is full of the perfume. No Britany Spears or Estee Lauder needed. The sentient beings are rich, royal purples, all shades. With bright green eyes that are luminescent. The sing and dance and no one wears clothes except in the winter.
I think my planet sound like it has potential. I think I need to visit it again soon. One of my students asked if she could go live on her planet. It is made of chocolate. I might visit hers on the way to mine.
Sometimes I worry about kids today and their ability to create. I still worry, but seeing all the planets today makes me excited about the worlds I might get to visit someday.
OK, my headache is still here, and throbbing, but either I feel better or the flashing lights and piercing whine has gotten to me. My principal said I can go at noon, when I finish my curricular obligations. I think that might be a good thing.
The sooner I can sleep this off, the sooner I can go back to that purple planet!
Just Say No
This past weekend emphasized just how crazy my life can get. On Saturday I spent 2 hours doing boyscout camp interviews, an hour getting lunch for set painters, 3 hours at church painting the set for the play in two weeks, 2 hours doing errands for "Nana" (81 year old pistol) including getting her bi weekly manicure (otherwise she bites her nails and her hands hurt) an hour and a half cleaning up around the house and forty five minutes brushing shelties in an ever useless effort to turn the tide in this war on dog hair. Sunday there was church, play rehearsal, more errands and company for the super bowl.
This morning I got up with the most delightful headache. I can't tell if it is tension (from shoulders) dehydration (from too much sugar, salt and caffeine from superbowl food), sinus or just standard stress. I'm trying to think of something for my students to do to day that is quiet, self perpetuating and doesn't require me to think or outright teach today. My team teacher wants to know why I came in today if the headache is this bad.
That's a good question. All of the crazy this weekend is stuff I have volunteered for. I even came up with some of it and then volunteered to do it. As a teacher I tell my students to "Just Say No!" No Drugs, No Sex, No Booze, No Skipping, No Crime. I think I need to remember to tell them to say no to over extension too.
Just Say No!
This morning I got up with the most delightful headache. I can't tell if it is tension (from shoulders) dehydration (from too much sugar, salt and caffeine from superbowl food), sinus or just standard stress. I'm trying to think of something for my students to do to day that is quiet, self perpetuating and doesn't require me to think or outright teach today. My team teacher wants to know why I came in today if the headache is this bad.
That's a good question. All of the crazy this weekend is stuff I have volunteered for. I even came up with some of it and then volunteered to do it. As a teacher I tell my students to "Just Say No!" No Drugs, No Sex, No Booze, No Skipping, No Crime. I think I need to remember to tell them to say no to over extension too.
Just Say No!
Friday, February 03, 2006
You mean I have to remember what I read?
My fifth grade teacher (who is now a retired elementary school principal) once told my parents that I was an exasperating child. I was the first child she had ever had to discourage from reading. I was not even allowed to bring a free reading book into class unless it was free reading time and I wasn't allowed to have my Lit book unless it was Lit time or my History book unless it was history time. Looking back as a teacher myself, I can't imagine how frustrating and frankly annoying I must have been to my teachers. Mostly, once I learned something in class and mastered it to my own satisfaction I was no longer concerned about whether or not anyone else knew I had mastered the concept/ability.
My Mom's therapist (yes I drove my parents insane too) asked her why anyone would choose to create such an inwardly directed child like me as our lives tend to be very difficult. When my mother told me that I decided her therapist was a mean old quack. Now I teach kids and I see the problem.
Back then, I learned what I wanted to, when I wanted to, to the level I wanted to and then I read the rest of the time. Books were my best friends. If I started a book I had to finish it, even if I didn't care for it. I consumed them, none of this chapter a night stuff for me, no sir! My parents couldn't even send me to my room as punishment, I would just go and read. So at 10 I had time outs where I had to sit in a chair with (OMG!) No Book!
Now my students are like that. They learn what they want to learn, when they want to learn it to the level they figure they need it and then they tune me out. They just don't happen to be interested in reading afterwards.
The point of all this is
1) There is a teacher's curse version of The Parent's curse, "Someday I hope you teach students just like you!"
2) We just spent 30 minutes doing a reading lesson (9th grade English) and I asked a student (who was sitting at his seat drawing as he had completed reading) what he had just read and he gave me the most exasperated sigh and said,
"You mean I have to remember what I read? You only said I had to read the story, not remember!"
Mrs. Blackshear, please accept my most humble apology for my behavior in 5th grade.
My Mom's therapist (yes I drove my parents insane too) asked her why anyone would choose to create such an inwardly directed child like me as our lives tend to be very difficult. When my mother told me that I decided her therapist was a mean old quack. Now I teach kids and I see the problem.
Back then, I learned what I wanted to, when I wanted to, to the level I wanted to and then I read the rest of the time. Books were my best friends. If I started a book I had to finish it, even if I didn't care for it. I consumed them, none of this chapter a night stuff for me, no sir! My parents couldn't even send me to my room as punishment, I would just go and read. So at 10 I had time outs where I had to sit in a chair with (OMG!) No Book!
Now my students are like that. They learn what they want to learn, when they want to learn it to the level they figure they need it and then they tune me out. They just don't happen to be interested in reading afterwards.
The point of all this is
1) There is a teacher's curse version of The Parent's curse, "Someday I hope you teach students just like you!"
2) We just spent 30 minutes doing a reading lesson (9th grade English) and I asked a student (who was sitting at his seat drawing as he had completed reading) what he had just read and he gave me the most exasperated sigh and said,
"You mean I have to remember what I read? You only said I had to read the story, not remember!"
Mrs. Blackshear, please accept my most humble apology for my behavior in 5th grade.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Killing with Kindness
Goodness. I was frustrated this afternoon. Mostly frustrated with myself I guess. The behavior of my student(s) was wrong and someone got hurt. I learned something about myself too. It is easy to be angry about things that happen to people you care more/most about and to disregard and be unaware about bad things happening to those you care least for.
Kids are cruel, but to be fair we all are. We just are less honest about it, I think. It's funny. I was a youth minister in graduate school and I quickly learned that I could point out any flaw in a child or parishioner if I simply tacked on the term, "bless their heart."
"He is such a little terror, bless his heart."
"She is so unco-ordinated, bless her heart."
"I'm sure he didn't mean to lie, cheat and steal, bless his heart."
I caught on to my own use of the phrase when I heard another, sweet, dear, Christian soul mention to another mother next to her how truly ugly one of their friends' daughters was, bless her heart. How many times did I couch an insult that way? I resolved then to change.
When I caught myself chuckling at the idea of a mean kid (who is still just a kid, and may have reasons behind his behavior, may grow out of it, or may have never had a better example) having something awful happen to him that I found monumentally upsetting when it actually happened to a well behaved child, I realized I was still "blessing their hearts."
Yes, Lord. I heard you. Please bless my heart and help me change.
Kids are cruel, but to be fair we all are. We just are less honest about it, I think. It's funny. I was a youth minister in graduate school and I quickly learned that I could point out any flaw in a child or parishioner if I simply tacked on the term, "bless their heart."
"He is such a little terror, bless his heart."
"She is so unco-ordinated, bless her heart."
"I'm sure he didn't mean to lie, cheat and steal, bless his heart."
I caught on to my own use of the phrase when I heard another, sweet, dear, Christian soul mention to another mother next to her how truly ugly one of their friends' daughters was, bless her heart. How many times did I couch an insult that way? I resolved then to change.
When I caught myself chuckling at the idea of a mean kid (who is still just a kid, and may have reasons behind his behavior, may grow out of it, or may have never had a better example) having something awful happen to him that I found monumentally upsetting when it actually happened to a well behaved child, I realized I was still "blessing their hearts."
Yes, Lord. I heard you. Please bless my heart and help me change.
Isn't it funny
Being a teacher I feel very confidant in the following statement. There is no group of people on earth meaner than children. I mean vile, malicious, cruelty. Can you imagine! I teach ninth graders. Normally I adore them, as much as anyone can anyway. This week, I loath them.
One of my students decided it would be "funny" to urinate in a team-mate's water bottle and watch him drink it. Sufficed to say one really delightful child spent a day in tears and was mortified and the other was given the maximum suspension allowed by county policy and has most likely been black balled (with good reason) from team sports at our school for some time.
The victim of this crime (and crime is the correct word, if I were his parents I'd press criminal charges) is an all around good kid. I mean no one is perfect, but this kid is sweet, smart, hard working and polite and not in the annoying, cloying, Eddie Haskell way either. Just a genuine good kid. The perpetrator in this admits that his behavior was completely unprovoked. He did it simply because he thought it would be "funny." He is a teacher's kid by the way. The celebrated son at the tale end of five (count 'em) adorable daughters. His parents must be so proud. His suspension guarantees that he will fail this semester as he only passed 75% of his classes last semester and that was just barely. He only managed that much so he could play sports, which as I just said have been removed as an option for some time.
Here's the thing. Originally we thought someone else had done this awful thing. A really cocky, down-right narsassitic kid none of us cares for much. I was discussing the incident with the coach after the correct criminal had been caught and I commented that I could have at least understood why the cocky kid would have been targeted, but not the kid that ended up being hurt. The coach laughed (and I chuckled myself) and said, "yeah if this had happened to him, it would still be wrong, but it would be funny." He walked off to finish the suspension proceedings and I stood there in the echo of our "joke."
That kind of behavior should never be funny. No one ever deserves it. There is no explanation or excuse for that kind of thing. How can I classify that as wrong, teach it as wrong and then find a way that it is funny? Should I teach my students that beating, rape and murder are wrong, but if it happens to a convicted felon, most specifically a child molester, it's poetic justice, okay or even just a bit funny?
Maybe kids are cruel because they simply haven't learned the qualifiers that we adults apply.
One of my students decided it would be "funny" to urinate in a team-mate's water bottle and watch him drink it. Sufficed to say one really delightful child spent a day in tears and was mortified and the other was given the maximum suspension allowed by county policy and has most likely been black balled (with good reason) from team sports at our school for some time.
The victim of this crime (and crime is the correct word, if I were his parents I'd press criminal charges) is an all around good kid. I mean no one is perfect, but this kid is sweet, smart, hard working and polite and not in the annoying, cloying, Eddie Haskell way either. Just a genuine good kid. The perpetrator in this admits that his behavior was completely unprovoked. He did it simply because he thought it would be "funny." He is a teacher's kid by the way. The celebrated son at the tale end of five (count 'em) adorable daughters. His parents must be so proud. His suspension guarantees that he will fail this semester as he only passed 75% of his classes last semester and that was just barely. He only managed that much so he could play sports, which as I just said have been removed as an option for some time.
Here's the thing. Originally we thought someone else had done this awful thing. A really cocky, down-right narsassitic kid none of us cares for much. I was discussing the incident with the coach after the correct criminal had been caught and I commented that I could have at least understood why the cocky kid would have been targeted, but not the kid that ended up being hurt. The coach laughed (and I chuckled myself) and said, "yeah if this had happened to him, it would still be wrong, but it would be funny." He walked off to finish the suspension proceedings and I stood there in the echo of our "joke."
That kind of behavior should never be funny. No one ever deserves it. There is no explanation or excuse for that kind of thing. How can I classify that as wrong, teach it as wrong and then find a way that it is funny? Should I teach my students that beating, rape and murder are wrong, but if it happens to a convicted felon, most specifically a child molester, it's poetic justice, okay or even just a bit funny?
Maybe kids are cruel because they simply haven't learned the qualifiers that we adults apply.
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