Vacation Report

Things Dad Said He Would Make for Me During the Vacation:

Wrought iron peacock
Giant planters like the ones at House on the Rock
Bamboo wind chimes
Circus style wagon
Quonset building
Boat
Log cabin
Cedar swing
Boomerang

Starting Out

We started out from Mom and Dad’s at a quarter til six and got to our motel near Madison, Wisconsin, at around five o’clock the first evening. We drove straight through and got the long leg out of the way up front.

We made a couple of rest stops in Missouri, and John seemed to need to "go" again just minutes after leaving the stop! Todd figured that John just wanted to see all the rest stops between home and motel.

When we went through St. Louis, we were hitting the tail end of rush hour. Mom did some "creative driving" and scared Todd a little swerving across lanes. However, we got where we needed to be. Mom and Dad blamed the big truck that had been driving in front of them for the glitch. It really didn’t end up being a big deal, but it sure scared Todd for a couple of seconds. It also gave everyone something else to joke around about.

The kids were loaded down with things to do, and I only heard a couple of fussy words. This was amazing, because they got to bed late the night before because they were excited and couldn’t sleep. They napped in the van maybe thirty minutes in total the first day, and that was just a little while before we got into Wisconsin!

We stopped at the first Illinois rest stop, and we all agreed it was nicer than our own Missouri stops. There was an attendant, and there were larger, cleaner bathrooms! I picked up a map of Illinois.

Illinois was very flat, and Dad and I joked that Illinois’s state motto should be "land of ten thousand flat mountains". We did drive by a couple of large wind farms in northern Illinois that I found very beautiful.

We got into Wisconsin, and the sun came out for the first time all day. We had stayed just ahead of a long string of rain storms all day long. (When Mom talked to Jonele, she said that Glenstone had to be partly closed down. When Todd talked to Jane, she said that her rain gauge had overflowed, and then the rain kept coming down hard for another couple of hours!!!) Springfield got over four inches of rain the day we left.

We sat outside in our folding chairs outside of the motel rooms. We stayed near Madison in the Colonial Motel. Our rooms were all ground floor, and we were right next door to the folks. We had a "back door" to our rooms that led to the indoor pool. The kids were thrilled! After we sat outside our doors in the grassy area outside and had a drink, we hit the pool and whirlpool.
After we played in the pool, we had sandwiches outside.

House on the Rock

We all slept great the first night. I got up first, having it in my head to get ready early so everybody wouldn’t have to wait on me for once. That didn’t end up panning out, because my stomach was giving me trouble after being on the road for so long the day before. Then I was trying to help everybody get breakfasts and get ready.

The kids got up and fooled around for a bit, but before I knew it, John was completely zonked out again. Sar fell asleep for a bit (I took her glasses off of her). After a while, she woke up again, and I braided her hair really cute. By some act of God, it managed to stay up in braids all day!

Since we were staying in the motel again that night, we had unpacked all of our stuff and were going to leave it there for the day. Because of that, we were able to unfold our back bench seat and all of us got to ride together to House on the Rock. When we got to House on the Rock, I immediately knew I was going to love it just from looking at the amazing planters that lined the driveway. I thought they were made of metal, but Dad said they were fiberglass.

It cost us about $85.00 for the four of us to take all of the House on the Rock tours. (There were three tours in all.) The first portion of the tour was in the actual house. It was dark, there was carpet EVERYWHERE (including the walls and ceiling), everything was close in a cozy, warm kind of way, and the rooms were kind of layered and split. There were many nooks and low ceilings. There were books and beautifully unusual knickknacks everywhere. There were many, many stained glass windows. There were spots of natural light with trees growing up through the roof. Also there were intricately carved panels on many of the walls, which had blue lights set up behind them. Another thing I found interesting were the giant fireplaces. Seriously, they looked like they were made for entire clans! Or maybe giants!

The problem was the lighting; it was difficult to see everything from the pictures, and it was impossible to feel the imagination of the rooms by just looking at the pics. The highlight of the first tour was the Infinity Room. It stuck out from the rest of the building and narrowed to a point. Close to that point, you could look from a floor window down onto the tops of the trees!
The second part of the tour focused on differently themed areas.

First there was a little bit more "house" to look at with a water wheel at the entrance. Then there was the "Streets of Yesterday" area, which looked like the main street of a small town way back when…at night. As I said, everything in the whole place was really dark. We discovered very many animated machines beginning at this point in the tour. These were played in the same fashion as a music box, and in some of the machines you could see the cylinder that was running them. However, unlike music boxes, these animated machines were huge and ran entire orchestras! They were big enough to fill an average room…or bigger, and they were so detailed and so ornate that I found them to be extraordinary…Just thrilling!!!

The "Heritage of the Sea" area was amazing as well. (There wasn’t much about the tour that wasn’t amazing, really.) It was dominated by an almost four-story-tall rendering of a whale eating a rowboat while being attacked by a giant cephalopod. (Todd thinks it might have been an octopus…he says there is no such thing as a giant squid, ha ha!) There were giant waves and life-sized gulls. Around the edge of the statue was a ramp where you could see large, detailed, model boats. On the ground floor of this room was an animated machine with sea creatures as musicians.

By the time we were getting really tired and hungry, we started smelling pizza. It wasn’t very long before we got to the pizza place itself. The pizza was good, and they had a Wisconsin microbrew on tap that was quite tasty. After we had pizza, we got the kids some ice cream.
We got on our way and went to the carousel area, which I thought was bizarre. There was a carousel that is allegedly the largest ever made, but the kids weren’t allowed to ride it. We don’t know if something was wrong today with the AC, or if it was because of all of the lights on the carousel, but it was very warm in that big room. On the carousel, there are no animals with horse heads. I heard several people say that they thought the whole House on the Rock was creepy, but the carousel was the only part that I thought was creepy. To leave the room, you had to enter a demon’s mouth.

The next area was the "Organ Room" area. It was interesting to see all of the enormous pipes for the organs, and it was twisty, reminding me of the last scene in "Labyrinth". It was also too warm and felt a little sad. However, I think this area interested Todd and Dad the most. They were the last ones out of this area, and I think it was because it looked so mechanical in there, like the inside of a giant machine or engine. Todd says he and Dad were trying to figure out what all of it was made to do.

Inspiration Point was another snack area with a great view up toward the Infinity Room. It was the first place where we were ever inclined to take pictures of bathrooms. After our bathroom break, it was on with the tour. We took in the doll houses and models of circuses next. Sarai and John went through the doll house area choosing which ones they’d like to take home to play with. The intricacies of the miniatures were impressive.

Next came the Weapons, Oriental, Armor, and Crown Jewel Galleries. Todd wished there had been a little more signage to tell where things came from and when they were made…especially when we got to the weapons galleries. My favorite of this bunch was the Oriental Gallery because of the extremely intricate carvings in wood and ivory.

The "Doll Carousel" area was at the end of the tour, and I thought it was a little creepy too. Maybe I just have a problem with carousels. After that, we circled through the outdoor garden, which had a distinct Asian feel to it.

The kids were excited to get into the gift shop. Sarai bought a glass turtle paper weight, a snow globe for John, some postcards, and a bracelet made of shell. John bought a shot glass in the shape of a mug, and a foam drink cooler. I got a shot glass, some postcards, and a magnet with the image of the Infinity Room on it. Todd was really wanting us to hurry up, because he could tell a storm was rolling in.

It rained a bit while we were there and on the way back to Madison. Once we finished supper, the storm really blew in, and it hailed for a little bit. However, it blew back out pretty quickly, really, and so we went ahead and swam and piddled around in the whirlpool for a while.

Circus World

Because of all of the flooding here, Circus World had been closed for several days. Dad didn’t know if it would be open the day we wanted to go, so we got around at a leisurely pace waiting for 9:00 – when Dad planned to call and see if it was open today. It was, so we loaded up right quick and headed out.

It was a beautiful day; sunny with a nice breeze. The river was very high, of course, and raced under the bridge linking the place where we bought tickets to the rest of the attraction.
The fact that Circus World exists is pretty interesting. It seems that Barnum and Bailey Circus had a center there where they over-wintered. There were a lot of great pictures, and there were things like a place where you could practice your high-wire balance. There was also a large area where they worked to refurbish and display old-fashioned circus carts. (That was the most interesting part to me.)

When we first got there, we were a little late for what was supposed to be a kids’ show. What I saw of it was extremely lame. I felt sorry and a little embarrassed for the people who were playing in it. After that, we moved to the Hippodrome, where we saw a very entertaining show with jugglers, an acrobat, a balancing act, a "dancing" elephant, a clown, and a family who did some cool rhythmic stuff. I also felt sorry for the players in it, because they didn’t have much of an audience, and I thought they were very talented. I also felt sorry for --and scared of-- the elephant. They had better hope it never gets mad and takes off through the bleachers!

The kids got to ride a bedraggled camel and take a look at some mock-ups of some of the circus’s most famous "freaks". They also rode an extremely worn-down carousel, but I don’t think they really noticed or thought about that. They had wanted to ride the carousel at House on the Rock so badly yesterday that they were tickled at getting a chance to ride today.

We didn’t stay long, and we were a little disappointed. However, none of us considered it a flop experience. We picnicked at the van and decided to drive to a state park close to Madison.
Once we got to the state park, we half-heartedly looked around for a few minutes, then realized that all of us would rather be back at the motel eating pizza, drinking beer, and/or playing in the pool. We went with that plan after John and Sarai played in the sand with some diggers for a little while.

Mom ordered some Pizza Hut, and the kids got to play in the pool for a longer time than they had been getting to, so we were all happy. I think everyone was really still tired from the long, long drive one day followed by the long, long walk the following day.

The Next Day...

Mom and Dad took us out to eat breakfast at Perkins in Madison. The service was some of the worst we’ve experienced, and the food for most of us was less than average. Johnny and I were evidently the only ones that really enjoyed what we got. (I got kielbasa and eggs.)

After some talking, we decided to visit a cheese factory and store in Gibbsville. We were hoping to see them making the cheese from the viewing window, but you really couldn’t tell what they were doing. The store was very small and was nothing to go on about really, but they did sell some knickknacks and postcards, so Dad was able to pick up an inexpensive deck of cards for a friend of his as a souvenir.

We bought some curds and some "mystery" cheese, which is the end of one vat and the beginning of the next. You could get a very large block of cheese for just $2.00! I picked up one for me, one for Jonele, and one for Jane. (A few days later when we had some during a picnic, we found out that it was very good cheese at a very good price!)

After the cheese store, we went to Kohler-Andrae state park on Lake Michigan. It was amazingly gorgeous there, even though it was cool and overcast. Sarai took lots of pictures – especially of the gulls, and dug around looking for shells and pretty rocks. Johnny played in the sand and sang to himself. They both had a ball, and I guess they would have happily stayed there all day.

We noticed some deer tracks on the sand and followed them for awhile, and the kids just rolled and scooted and dug in the sand. (Unfortunately, this caused Sar to kill her brand-new camera. The sand there was so fine that it got into her camera and completely ruined it. That evening, Todd and I tried to fix it, but all we managed to do is get zapped a few times by the internal battery in the camera. Sarai cried herself to sleep over it.)

We had a light lunch there at the beach then went on to the Maritime Museum in Manitowoc. The town was pretty, and the museum was just OK. However, part of the museum experience was touring an old submarine! We got to go inside and climb through the doors, and the tour guide was actually an ex-Navy man who had been on submarine crews, so he was intimate with the details of submarine life. We all really enjoyed the tour.

While Mom and I went to scrounge up some supper, Dad got in touch with a Marine buddy of his and arranged to meet with him and another of their buddies the next evening. I had really wanted to get to meet these guys, because I’ve heard many stories about them over the years. Other than getting to see these men, the only plans we had was to be really lazy ‘til noon. We planned on having lunch together and talking about what we might want to do in the afternoon. Todd and I planned on sleeping in and letting the kids play in the pool in the next morning.

The Next Day...

We got up late, had some continental breakfast in the lobby, then I took the kids to the pool to swim. While we were there, Todd snuck off to Wal-mart and got a replacement for Sarai’s camera. Todd hid the new camera in her suitcase for her to find when she got dressed for the day. We explained to her that to make things fair, we would be buying Johnny's souvenirs for the remainder of the trip.

While the kids had been swimming, I had looked through some stuff about the Fox River area cities and what there was to do there. At first we thought we’d go a block or two down the road there in Kimberly and check out the cheese factory. Our next choice was to head to Appleton to visit the history museum there, which was featuring an exhibit on Harry Houdini.

Todd sat and watched the kids in the pool while I called around to get more info and get ready for the day. We had to arrange for a cheese factory tour at least a day in advance, so that was out. I called the history museum, and the price was right, so we decided to go ahead and visit there. I went over and asked the folks if they wanted to come along, and they did.

The history museum was interesting, and the kids had a great time there. The only drawback was that there was no photography of any kind allowed there! They went so far as to watch you lock up your camera in a locker by the front desk. It’s a shame, too, because there would have been a lot of great photos. The kids had the best time of all in the Houdini exhibit, because there were lots of hands-on activities, including getting to do the "Metamorphosis" trick on a stage, which they pulled off extremely well. (They both ended up getting magic kits to fool with, and I bought Jonele a present of a pair of Houdini socks so she could escape work.)

Another interesting thing at the history museum was a little play that was put on near the lobby. It was about the beginnings of the RFD in Wisconsin, and was well done and quite moving. It focused on a personal take on being a mail carrier during WWI, particularly about carrying mail between soldiers and their sweethearts. I really enjoyed it; it made me tear up a bit.

After the museum, we walked down College to find something to eat. It was a pretty, sunny day (for once) and it was nice to get out and walk. We ended up eating at The Queen Bee Café. The food was great, and the service excellent. I ended up getting a mug from there, thinking how appropriate it would be --in my classroom-- to drink my morning coffee from a mug that said "Queen Bee". The people who worked there were unbelievably friendly; for instance, our waitress showed us some literature and gave us some ideas of other interesting things to do in Appleton.

We decided to go ahead and get back to our rooms so Dad could wait for his friends. John Janke showed up while we were – once again – in the pool. He seemed nice enough, but I didn’t talk to him long. Mom stayed in our room with us for a while so the "boys" could visit. We snacked around then went to bed.

Off to the U.P!

We left Kimberly the next morning and went to Monominee, Michigan. The lady at the information building was very nice and extremely helpful. We even snagged some free postcards!

Our first official stop in the UP was near Big Spring (Kitch-iti-kipi). We stopped at a rest stop just before we got there so the kids could change into jeans, long sleeves, and jackets. They also traded their Crocs in for socks and sneakers. It was chilly!!! At the rest stop, the kids had their first experience with a scavenging gull. Sarai and I had been joking around, and I ended up throwing a cracker over my shoulder. I hadn’t noticed the gull, but it sure had noticed me and the cracker! Sarai was bowled over by the brazen thing coming up and trying to carry the whole cracker in its beak. We threw it several more, then went on our way. Another thing we noticed at the rest stop was the MUTANT MOSQUITOES!!!

We got to Big Spring, where we sprayed ourselves down. We couldn’t believe that mosquitoes would get out in this chilly weather for one thing, and we couldn’t believe their size for another. Johnny was obsessed with them. They were thick and hungry!

We got down to the main attraction at Big Spring, which was a self-serve ferry. It had a clear bottom so you could see how the water came in at the bottom of the body of water (which was exceedingly clear and greenish) as well as the fish, which Todd and Dad think were lake trout. Johnny loudly stated that he did not want me to hold him up to see the bottom of the boat, because I would probably throw him in. Then he got busy trying to kill mutant mosquitoes.

After Big Spring, we went to Seul Choix Point Lighthouse. We got to tour the whole place for just a couple of bucks (…hehe…a couple…Every time I asked for "acoupla" something, people would look at me funny and ask me, "how many?")

The lighthouse itself had - naturally - many, many winding steps. (It made me think of the "Far Side" cartoon: whump, whump, whump...) I had to stop and rest a couple of (hehe) times. However, I did not have the worst of it. Todd miscalculated the actual heighty-ness (if you will) of the lighthouse, and decided to climb all the way up into the top and look out on Lake Michigan. Mistake! By the time I got there, he was crouching in what little floor there was, looking much too pale for my taste. We got him down all right, but he felt sick to his stomach for quite some time after that.

That night we stayed in Municing, which was a really nice town. Mom and I went to Muldoon’s to purchase our very first Yooper pasties. We got some veggie, beef, and apple. They were ginormous, delicious, and extremely filling, but the folks figure they could make pasties more to suit their tastes. Todd ate so much of the Yooper food of da gods that I thought we'd have to roll him, groaning, back to our room. (He woke us up early the next morning with the Guinness-award winning gaseous after effects!)

Johnny really scarfed some pasties down before and after swimming in the pool. (The pool at the motel, by the way, was the coolest one we'd been in during the trip. It had a huge hot pool alongside the shallow pool, which contained a "mushroom" that fountained water down on the little kids.)

Miner’s Falls & Miner’s Castle

The next day we did a little walking in the U.P. and visited Miner's Falls and Miner's Castle. The trails were really pretty, and the boys soon tired of us girls stopping ever three seconds to take a picture of the spring flowers, the trails, etc. I also got a good picture of one of the mutant mosqitoes.

I am not joking around about the bug population up there. We were bitten by things we'd never heard of before! They left little blisters on us. I told the folks I would try really hard not to gripe about the local creepies at home any more.

We visited the Lake Superior beaches several times during our visit, because there are so many pretty rocks to pick up.

Houghton

We stayed in Houghton that night, surprisingly enough. I say this because Dad had a motel in mind that he couldn't find for the life of him. By the time we finally got there, he had worked himself into a bit of a state. Between the desk clerk and me, we had him smilling by the time we had checked in, though.

While we were in Hougton we visited the downtown area and ate at The Library brewpub. They had really good microbrew. We looked around town and took pics, went to a used book store, then went back to our room, thinking we'd probably bum around for the afternoon. However, at the bookstore I had purchased a booklet about the local rock hounding possibilities, and it gave directions to what was supposed to be another good rock beach (Agate Beach), so we went there and spent the rest of the afternoon.

Going Home

Todd started feeling like we were getting close on funds, and the kids were beginning to feel homesick, so we decided to ditch the folks and come home a few days earlier than we originally planned. We started out that morning thinking we'd play it by ear to see how close we could get to home, but the kids were doing so well, and we got so into our audiobooks (Artemis Fowl series) that we decided to just come on home. We left at 5:30 CST that morning and got home a little after 11:00 that night. We came home to a storm, just like when we left.

Spring, Baby!

Well, it looks like the worst of the gloomy winter is over, thank goodness! Yesterday it was so nice that we got out and did some yard work. I'm sore, Todd's nearly crippled, and the kids are exhausted. It's completely fantastic!

Todd had it in mind to mow the grass yesterday, but I'm glad he didn't get to it. Sure, it may look like quite a little weed patch to some, but I think all the henbit, johnny jump-ups, and dandelions are every bit as cheerful as the "planned" stuff. Speaking of which, I would like to reiterate how much I adore daffodils! It is amazing how many kinds there are, and there are just as many names for 'em. My mom-in-law calls them jonquils. the kids and I like to call them daffydowndillies. We have a few more tulips up this year, too, along with the grape hyacinth.

The grass was so gorgeous, I could've just lounged on it all day...sneezing.

At any rate, we got rid of some heinous shrubbery (ni) yesterday. They were huge, smelly, and just cloudy with pollen. Of course, as I think bees are quite fabulous, I would lived with the excessive pollen if the shrubs had been pretty or non-stinkified. As it is, I happily waded in and clipped away, then Todd chained the main stalks to the jeep and yanked 'em out! Now Sar and I have a blank canvas in which to start a fantastic flower bed. John has also put in his request for berry bushes.

I also tried a plant experiment yesterday. I took the cherry tomato plants that were in my hydroponic system all winter and clipped their roots and stuck them in pots. They were a little sad at first, but only took a few hours to snap out of it, which showed much more resiliency than I gave them credit for at first! I am always amazed how forgiving plants are.

It is finally spring!

What I Did Over My Spring Break...NOTHING

Everybody was really ready for the break when it finally got here last week. My students and my own personal stash of children seemed just exhausted, and I could totally relate. Todd surprised us and let us know that he'd taken extra days off so he could hang out with us.

We did next to nothing. The only constant was that we went to the gym every day for a short walk. During the first part of the week, we watched our yard flood along with the rest of the Ozarks. We were some of the lucky ones that didn't have too much trouble; Todd only had to squeegee out the garage a couple of times.

Sounds boring, huh? It should have been, but I don't think I've ever enjoyed a spring break as much as I did this one. We laid around and visited, watched movies, played video games together. We ate whatever we wanted during whatever part of the day it sounded good. We were supremely lazy. It was fantastic! At any given time, you could've found all four of us piled on each other on the couch, dozing while we watched the birds on the deck.

We went to bed when we wanted, got up when we wanted, sometimes went back to bed after breakfast. Man, were we ever lazy! I mean, seriously lazy. We were so laaazzzzyyy that it takes several extra syllables to express the extent of it.

Now, I did manage to work with Dad and get three batches of beer brewed, and Mom gave me some sewing lessons while we worked on Sarai's play costume. (I have never sewed a complicated project before. I have only pieced a quilt top a few years ago and made an apron for home ec. in eighth grade quite a few years ago.) So I guess I can't say that I did absolutely nothing...or that I got nothing accomplished.

However, I have to say that last week was the best week I've had in a very long time. Who knew being lazy and boring with your hubby and kids could feel so rewarding?

Regretful Topic Challenge

My sister is an excellent writer, but doesn't think much of her own work, usually. I've been bugging her to update her blog, and she said she couldn't think of things to write about, so I gave her a topic. When she wrote about it, I gave her another and asked if she would give me one. Her choice was for me to write something about a regret that I have.

The only deep regret I have is asking for a topic from her. (Ba-dump, ching!)

Seriously, I don't have any real regrets. I have some hindsight fantasies...you know, if I'd known then what I know now, I would've worked harder in school to get scholarships, so I wouldn't have had to pay back three billion dollars worth of student loans. Or, if I'd known then what I know now, I would've tried to talk Todd into renting a few years until we'd saved up some money for a house instead of jumping into the first cheap house we could find (scary neighborhood included). Or, if I'd known then what I know now, I would've kept my big mouth shut. (I've had many opportunities to think this one.)

I can't really call them regrets, because I'm not sorry about going through them. It's more like day-dreaming about what you'd do if you suddenly won a million dollars, only in reverse. Everybody does that to some extent, I think.

There are a couple of thoughts I have about regret. One is that regret seems awfully like holding a grudge (another thing to which I can't relate). The other is that if there is something a person really regrets, he or she should try to do something to fix it, if it can be fixed at all. For instance, if you really regret doing something wrong, apologize and try to make it right. If you regret not having done something, you should remedy the problem immediately and find a way to do it.

There are things I've done in my life that I am not proud of at all, and for a while I thought I regretted them. However, they were still learning experiences aimed at helping me become a better human, and since I can't change those things, there is absolutely no use in holding onto them as regret.

Moral Orders

I haven't posted in a bit, because I've been busy studying the latest work by Eckhart Tolle (The New Earth). I found it interesting in many ways, and it gave me a lot to think about in general. His main idea seems to be that each human --via the mind-- creates a personal identity that is false, and that the goal should be to get (and stay) in touch with your true self, or Presence.

The way Tolle presents his ideas are clear and feel correct. However, I can see that he, like others before him, could easily draw the kind of people who would make a god of him and turn his words into a religion.

The only personal problem I have with his ideas is that, like every other religion, he is either unwilling or unable to answer the question: Why is it this way? I can agree that there is a Presence, and I can agree that there is a false egoic self. What I'd like to know (said the egoic self) is why the egoic self exists. I actually sent an email to "Ask Eckhart" asking this question. Only after I sent it, I realized that there was one single answer that would cause me to truly admire this man, and it is, "I don't know."

If I got an answer from Mr. Tolle, and it said anything other than "I don't know," I would feel even more deeply that he was a prime target for a new religion. All religions attempt to answer my question, but none have any proof of their answers, and all end up being recognized by me (and millions of others) as mythology. Don't get me wrong, I very much enjoy mythology, but not for one instant do I consider it truth.

Only one group of people try to find the answer to this particular question on a regular basis. Scientists. And seeing as how certain scientists' only goal is to try to find the answer to the question of why, they should be considered religious. They could call themselves Whyists, and get all the privileges of having a Church. It would be a smart move.

Well, since I've already digressed a bit, I would like to touch on another matter that is closely involved with religion, and that is the habit of humans to firmly insist that everyone believe in the same thing. I think the reason for this is that people sense a sameness, and I think that Tolle's Presence theory may be a big part of it. However, the "egoic self" gets involved and leads to a lot of irritation and meanness, doesn't it?

I'm not just talking about religious fanatics. There are other, generally level-headed folks, who really want you to believe what they believe. And if you don't, they will at least make fun of you behind your back, and at most, ostracize you. Don't just think about religious beliefs, look closely, and you will see that people who claim to be the most tolerant are just as bad about harassing those who do not buy into their morals and standards. What would the world look like without this expectation?

The reason I began thinking about sharing morals today was the news about Eliot Spitzer, a fellow who was all about "morality" who has been accused of paying thousands of dollars to a prostitute ring. I was thinking about how interesting it is that people fight hardest for the moral order they have the most difficult time upholding.

Vote for the Squeaky Wheel, of Course!

Some folks think that if the Super Delegates don't carefully vote with popular votes or go with the majority of regular delegates, that the voters will rebel. After thinking long and hard about this, I can proudly say that I've got it! I've finally listened to enough news to understand the Democratic party, and I know how the Super Delegates should vote!

Yesterday evening I was listening to someone gripe about Super Delegates and how they could cause a rift in the Democratic party. The commentators were concerned that if the Super Delegates went against the popular/regular delegate vote in favor of Obama, then the people who support Clinton might hold a grudge and vote for McCain. On the other hand, if they vote against the popular/regular delegate vote in favor of Clinton, the Obama supporters might decide to just not show up to vote, thereby throwing the election to McCain.

So, when it comes down to brass tacks, what the Super Delegates need to consider is which set of supporters are the poopiest. See how easy that is? They must take into consideration which set of supporters would be most willing to see four more years worth of Republican mess if they don't get their way. According to the polls I've seen, Clinton supporters tend to be older people, caucasianish people, and female people. Obama supporters tend to be younger people, darkish people, and male people. Now...which group will be the poopiest if their candidate is not THE candidate?

Are you KIDDING? Can there really be people out there that would be willing to throw it to the Republicans again because of a grudge? If that's the case, then I think we should move on to the Lewis Black strategy of letting a monkey decide.

Gooooood Morning...

This morning it didn't seem quite so arctic. There was a breeze, but it didn't cut. It was really easy for one such as myself to imagine the trees doing a preliminary yawn and stretch before hitting the snooze for a few more weeks.

The sky was still thickly clouded over during the drive in to work, but the sunrise was beautiful, and it was more pink than the red that constituted a shepherd's warning. We'll just have to wait and see what the weather does.

I had plenty of time, so I dropped by the guilty pleasure emporium. (AKA Starbucks...How could anyone in good conscience spend that kind of money on coffee? I can't. In good conscience. So I salve my conscience with espresso.) I recognized the voice coming from the drive-through speaker --which means I go to Starbucks too often, I know-- and it was one of my favorite baristas, a word which means that I go to Starbucks too often. He recognized me when I got to the window...you know what that means...and asked my name, since...you know...and introduced himself as he gave me a sample of coffee cake, which was not bad at all.

As I waited for my triple venti non-fat latte, I heard a bird call. Simple, sweet, clear, and easily heard over the morning traffic. Nice. I took a deep breath and smelled the roasty warm scents wafting through the Starbucks window. Very nice.

A few moments later, as I began to attend to my too-expensive coffee habit on the way to work, I thought about my family and friends, my life in general, and this morning in particular. It was an excellent start to the day.

That's Hilarious!

Humor is a funny thing...(give me a minute while I giggle at that terrible statement). It's interesting how everyone has a different sense of humor. What my students think is prime hilarity is below stupid to me, and I find no humor in it whatsoever. The kind of things I find belly-laugh funny, others find plain weird.

And the way people react to something amusing is widely varied. Some folks have a very mild reaction, even when they think something is really funny. My daughter is one of those. She smiles a lot, but it takes a lot to really make her laugh. For a while, when she thought something was supposed to be laugh-out-loud funny, she would fake a laugh, which is one of the ugliest sounds I know. A fake laugh is as bad as nails on a black board. I explained to her that it was OK just to smile, even when others were laughing really hard. Now she smiles, unless something really tickles her, and her honest laugh is beautiful.

My dad has a habit of not laughing, even though he is fairly easily amused. Any time we can get him entertained enough to offer up that deep "heh, heh, heh" of his, it's like winning a prize. My mom, like me (and my son), is a giggler. We're easily tickled and easily laugh. However, even though we share this trait, the things that get us going are different. Dad and I share similar tastes in what's funny, but Dad's sense of humor is a smidge darker than mine sometimes. Mom doesn't seem to care as much for irony as I do, but a terrible pun will set both of us off giggling. My daughter is all about puns and irony, and can make me laugh until I just about fall down, while she simply smiles her gorgeous smile. My son is like his dad as far as enjoying physical humor, which doesn't appeal to me much at all.

One thing that seems to make most people laugh is someone being honestly tickled about something. Todd will sit in a room and watch me watching something funny, because me getting cracked up, cracks him up. I will stay and watch him and John watching something like the Stooges for the same reason. It's very enjoyable to see someone enjoying themselves. I never had thought about how people like to be around others who are being entertained until Todd and I went to a few shows with his dad years ago.

Todd and I had painted his folks' house one summer, and in payment, they took us to several Branson shows. I had a blast. I love music, of course, and the shows down there are also funny. We were at one of those shows that Todd's folks had seen more than once, but I had never seen. I was laughing up a storm at some of the nonsense they were playing out on the stage, and glanced over to see Todd's dad smiling at me. He was getting a big kick out of me getting such a big kick out of the show. Vicarious amusement, if you will.

I begin to wonder how closely you could match someone's sense of humor to their tastes in wine, beer, and coffee. Generally, I like black, flavored coffee (or strong cappuccino), dark, sweetish ales, and still, rich, fruity, dryish wines. Does this match with a love of irony, twists, pure silliness, and excellent word play? Mom likes her coffee with cream and sugar, she likes fruity, sparkling wines, and she likes darkish, sweet ales. Does this match up with her love of good jokes and quick-witted comebacks? Dad likes his coffee strong and black, his wine still and dry, and his beer can come in any form, but he favors a bolder hop. Does this represent his penchant for darker comedies?

It's interesting to think about, anyway. It looks very much like something one could get a really huge government grant to study.

To Not Know 'Em is to Love 'Em Anyway

I got a wonderful email from one of my former students this week. She had glowing things to say about how much I had helped her and inspired her...I'm still trying to get my head back down to regular size! Something in her note really caught my attention, though. She alluded to her belief that I was not the kind of person who read self-help books. She apparently thought that I didn't need that kind of fluff.

This gave me several things to consider. First of all, was she mentioning this because she thought she needed self-help books and felt this was a weakness, or does she look up to me because she thinks I've got my head that together? Would she appreciate knowing that I have indeed read plenty of self-help books, or would she rather believe there were people who didn't "need" them?

I've had former students come to me before and tell me things about their lives as if I were a priest offering absolution of some sort. I'm touched that they put so much value in my opinion of them, but what gives me that standing?

The other thing I thought about was how people perceive one another. According to this student there were people who read self-help books, and people who don't. One group needs help getting it together, and the other doesn't. This kid evidently thinks I have my act together, which is absolutely laughable!

It's interesting how a person will come to a conclusion about another. I remember one day I was talking to a teacher who works down the hall from me and the teacher who works across the hall (who is one of my best friends). The teacher down the hall was in a panic about something or another, and she finally turned to me and said, "I just wish I was as laid back as you are!" causing my friend to nearly choke with laughter. I grinned at her and said, "I'm the least laid-back person you know." It was understandable, though, because every time she has been around me over the years, I've been joking around about something. She has never had to work closely with me and see me in stationary panic mode.

I'm not sure you ever really know anyone else, even if you've lived with them. I reckon that's the closest you can get to knowing someone, if you care anything about paying attention to them. Growing up, my friends would go on and on about how "cool" my parents were. I would roll my eyes and say, "I've got three words for you: Live. With. Them."

Not knowing or understanding people is what makes them potentially scary, in my humble opinion. Getting to know as many people as you can is the best way to feel more comfortable in the world.

Now, Now, We Understand These Women's Things...

I am feeling better! The hormones have finally shifted, and I feel like my tiny self again. I hate PMS. It's kind of like mosquitoes; I can't see much use in it.

In my case, it's very Jekyll and Hyde-ish. You get 2 weeks of regular Ang, 1 week of something that looks like Ang, only really bloated, headachey, and pissy, then it's like a switch is flicked back to Ang (with a couple of days to be a little tired and guilty about the previous week's nonsense).

When I was a teenager, I heard my mom say once that she wondered if I weren't "imbalanced" or maybe even "manic depressive"...I'm telling you, I don't fool around about it! It would've been hard for a woman like Mom to understand my hormonal swings. Hers were mild, comparatively; she'd get a little blue and cry easily, and she could be a bit grouchy. Then here I come with my screaming fits. (Let's just say my folks didn't have it easy from the moment of my birth. I'm sure they wondered what the heck they'd gotten into in the first place, and they were ready to call the whole thing off once I hit puberty.)

I wonder if the screaming fit wasn't sitting there ready to go inside my mom, though. I wonder if the reason she didn't just throw her head back and give a solid, week-long, mighty war whoop was because she was trained differently than me. It is totally ingrained in my mom to hold in. To not show pain. To be ultra-strong.

Don't get me wrong, Mom schooled me on the importance of keeping cool in the face of scary things and/or pain. She always knew when I was really hurt or scared, because I would start laughing, making jokes, and she encouraged that. However, the other side of the parenting equation is my dad. He has his own things he holds back, like boys are generally taught to do, but he is also very demonstrative. When he misses you, you know it. When he's pissed at you, you know it. At times I feel these two influences duking it out in my brain.

Fortunately, time changes a lot of things. I have been able to train myself to shut down a bit when I feel like having one of my screaming fits. I told Todd about Mom's theory of imbalances or manic depression once. He laughed and said, "Nah, you're just artistic." I can totally live with that.

I told Todd a couple of days ago that he needed to live long enough to enjoy being around me when my hormones finally just shut down, and I can be myself all the time.

Warped Children!!!

First I would like to share one of the effects that my twisted family has had on my poor, innocent six-(soon to be seven) year-old. In his first grade class, the students were asked to draw themselves...at one hundred years of age. The teacher provided a sheet printed with an ornate frame and a caption that said, "When I am 100 years old, I will look like this..." The students then proceeded to draw very wrinkly versions of themselves. Except for John. This is a close-up of what he drew:

Please note the beautiful flower on his grave, and the lovely spiders in his casket. And although he did misspell the word dead, I feel that the detail he showed in drawing his remains makes up for that.

Warped! Another generation of warped people!!!

Secondly, I would like to show how my daughter's teacher represents what's wrong with education. She's a good teacher, no doubt, and she plays by the rules...which is what's wrong with education!

Sarai is a math whiz. She loves fooling with numbers, and asks every summer for me to buy her a few math work books. (Last year -- when she was in fourth grade -- she used her saved-up allowance to buy Algebra for Dummies as a little bit of fun. Told you they were warped.) Consequently, she really enjoys math time at school.

A few months ago, she asked her teacher a question about decimals. I forget what it was, now. Anyway, instead of answering the question, the teacher told her that she didn't need that information until middle school, and the class needed to move on. Fortunately, the girl came to me with the question, and together we figured out the answer.

Yesterday, the same thing happened, only this time in dealing with exponents. Sarai wanted to know what the number would look like if the base number were a positive number but the exponent was a negative number. In a world where teachers had time to actually teach interesting things instead of fearfully clinging to only what the kids needed to pass the big test...in order to survive No Child Left Be (freaking) hind...my daughter might have gotten an answer. However, as the teacher was not excited about spending extra time on this question (this time all Sar got was, "You don't need to know that until high school!"), she brought it home.

My husband and I sat with our daughter and debated what the number would look like, then got online to see which of us was correct. (It was him, dernit.) So my daughter was not the least bit denied interesting information, but what about other kids in that class that might be as warped as mine? There might have been others who would've really been interested enough in the class to have some advanced questions!

You know, people gripe and moan about how crappy public education is, but the truth is that if teachers were allowed to teach, instead of having to worry about all the kids hitting the exact same mark at the exact same time, we'd have more innovative, intelligent, and excited people graduating from public schools.

The Lost 5-Day Weekend

It's the third snow day in a row, and my only real goal --apart from creating complicated napping patterns that only I understand-- is to stay in my pajamas as long as humanly possible. I have now accomplished the two-day mark. If I manage to stay in my jammies all day again today, I will have met my ultimate goal!

Anyway, I have been thinking about a few things the last few days, only I didn't blog at all because of the extreme laziness I have been allowing to "work" in my life of late (ha ha). So I am going to catch up a bit. This may be a long one, if I don't get side-tracked or fall asleep.

Reality TV: No such thing. No one can convince me that the people on these shows live in reality. I have a difficult time believing that these shows are not completely contrived and full of actors and actresses. It makes me despair when I think of kids watching these shows and honestly thinking that they represent what real, decent human beings do.

To Catch a Monster: Which brings me to that show that I wished weren't reality, where the guy sets up all of these men who want to have sex with a 13-year-old. I really think that nabbing these guys and humiliating them on TV is a fantastic idea and all, but could SOMEBODY PLEASE have a show where we meet as many upstanding, wonderful men as they catch on that other show? I'd be even happier if we found more, because frankly, it's looking like the whole world is made up of pedophile freaks who can't get it up with a grown woman!

Politics: Go Huckabee! You go, man! I don't agree with you on many things, and I wouldn't vote for you, but you sure have spunk, you're an excellent speaker, have a great sense of humor, and -- if I were a church-goin' gal -- I'd be proud to have you as a pastor.

By the way, my son was perched in my lap last night watching the primaries for a bit. He saw the pictures of all the candidates keep popping up, and he was really quiet (which is veeeery unusual). Finally, he pointed and said, "That's the guy. He should be president." I had him look through the pictures again to make sure. When Obama's picture came up again, he said, "Yeah; it should be him. He looks like a president." I asked him if any of the others appeared as presidential, he said no. It definitely had to be Obama, because he looks like a president, "Not that I have anything against girls," he added, palms out to protect himself against my daughter. (She's a big Clinton supporter. Likes the idea of universal health coverage.) Obama has the young vote at my house, too, evidently!

Entertainment: I have been attempting to make a list of the coolest movie old guys ever. So far, I have Tommy Lee Jones, Clint Eastwood, James Garner, and Dennis Hopper.

Dreams: I think there are several different kinds of dreams. Unwinding dreams are when your brain just plays junk back from the last day or two. Story dreams are when your brain makes up a story and tells it to itself, which can be quite entertaining (if you can remember it later). My friend Patrice calls dreams that have no coherence whatsoever Acid dreams, and I can go along with that. Then there are Building dreams that you start when you're young and build on as you go; it can be a house that recurrently appears, or build up to an entire city! (My dad and I have compared dream city maps before.) Finally, there are Meaning dreams. These dreams are your subconscious speaking up a little louder, since you are obviously not listening.

Hormones: The only reason that men appear more reasonable than women is because their hormones do not fluctuate, the logical little robots. If women were allowed to live their lives in accordance to the dictates of their hormones, the world would be a better place. I hate PMS. Extreme napping should be a sport. AAAAaaaaaagh! Give me chocolate, and then a hunk of MEAT! Then more chocolate!!!

Language: I think it's a real tragedy that some American English dialects seem to either be dying or dead. I have been reading Foxfire, which is some excellent non-fiction reading. (Good non-fiction is REALLY hard to find!) I love reading the interviews especially, because the written dialect reminds me -- forcefully, to the point of tears -- of my grandparents. I can hear their voices in this writing. However, there are a few words that I have run across to which I have no definition, and Googling hasn't found an answer! Even my ancient parental units were unable to help me with some of this vocabulary. It's awful that just three generations down the road from a beautiful dialect, it can begin to completely vanish.

SAD: Didja know that some people get bummed out in the winter? (See my thoughts on February as the flipside of August in an earlier post.) Didja also know that there are ways of cheering yourself up with lights? Finally, didja know how expensive it was to buy those lights? The answer is: ra. ther. It looks like you need a bulb that puts out 2,000 lumens to give the extra light boost that you need. Tanning beds don't help...probably because it would be much cheaper to visit a tanning bed than to buy a 2,000-lumen light bulb. Reckon I'll just gripe about it and take more naps.

Well, that's what I've been thinking about lately. Just goes to show you that even when my body is at low-functioning levels, the minds is still buzzing along. Now, for another nap.

Wegular Wednesday

Yesterday I participated in Missouri's primary election for the first time. I had never really seen the importance of voting in the primary before, and I'm still not sure I do. However, I'm sure I would've made my grandad proud just for giving a rip and getting involved, and I feel like I set a good example for my kids, who like to "help" me vote. (On a side note, they were both a bit annoyed that there were no "I voted!" stickers to put on me. This was funny, especially when I heard on the news this morning that adults had complained about the lack of these stickers.)

We got there early, and there was an actual line, which is really unusual for that time of day for any other voting I've ever done. I signed in, said hi to the usual volunteers (who are always very nice), and snagged a Democratic ballot. The kids behaved beautifully, and accompanied me to the desk where I drew a little line to complete an arrow in order to vote. My ten year old nearly hollered, "But Mom! I thought you were gonna vote for...!" and I had to hush her.

See, here's what happened. My husband and I have been really into the campaign this year. We've seen almost all of the debates -- both sides -- and watched the caucuses and primaries. We've had a wonderful time discussing who was going to pull ahead and why. We have heckled the pundits and pollsters, and howled at the wackos. It's been a lot of fun! Anyway, Todd had made up his mind to vote for Obama, and I had made up my mind to vote for Clinton. So just before he left yesterday morning, we had a final debate. During this debate, he unwittingly managed to change my mind.

Thus, when my daughter saw me put down my mark for Obama, when I've lately been pulling for Clinton, she was naturally thrown.

Having completed that task, I gave the ballot to my six-year-old to feed into the machine. The volunteers (who are grandparent age) all laughed when he jumped as the machine pulled the ballot from his little hand.

Once I got to school, I got my regular morning phone call from my husband. He always likes to "check and make sure I got there OK". However, instead of asking me if I got to work OK, his first question was, "Well? Did you get it done?"

It was then that I informed him of his persuasive abilities. He won, I voted for Obama. When he started to laugh, I thought it was because he was so proud of himself, but no...I had convinced him to vote for Clinton. I think this is pretty much how it's going for everyone. When you've got a couple of really strong Democrats that -- in reality -- have very little difference between them, it's difficult to decide.

Listening to the news this morning, I learned that nothing was really decided with the Super Tuesday primaries. So I had to wonder if I made a difference yesterday, but at the very least my kids got to see that their parents think opinions are important. They know that we believe in making an active choice, although it might be harder than you realize. (It reminds me of the lyrics: "If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.")

Just a quick note about the Republican side of the equation. It is my fervent hope that Ron Paul will drop out and go Independent, doing for the Republicans what Ralph Unsafe-at-any-Election Nader so kindly did for Democrats a few years ago.

So Sue Me!

All my little fellas rushed me first thing this morning with the same burning question: who had I wanted to win the Super Bowl? The first ten or so boys got a blank look and responses such as "What's that?" or "Is that today?!?" Ah, the groans of agony!

The next set of boys demanded I give them a real answer. For some reason, they have come to believe that I ocassionally play stupid to annoy them. I simply smiled at the second wave and told them that there is not much that I could care less about than the Super Bowl, and that I couldn't think of which two teams were even involved this year. More groans of agony, accompanied by my name this time!

One of the late arrivals to wave two informed me of the two teams that had played, and I promptly forgot them...I really just...don't...care! However, I couldn't help but hear the comments made about the game on the news, just in passing, this morning as I got ready for work. I knew that one team had won all of their games this season and had been expected to win the Super Bowl, but had not. I heard all nearby males today muttering to anyone who would listen that this team had been too arrogant and had not come with their actual game.

Anyway, my husband thought this was kind of funny. He had been wanting the other team to win. That's good enough for me; I dig the underdog. So I told the third wave of boys that I couldn't remember who the teams were, to which several rolled their eyes (because they had just overheard someone telling me this information, after all). I did admit to knowing that the losing team had been expected to win, and I put forth my opinion that I was glad that they lost.

I got the loudest groan of agony yet from this utterance, which should have been more satisfying, but it was only from about half of the boys. I got great cheers from the other half.

So when the final wave hit, I figured enough time had passed and it was safe to play dumb again. I decided quantity over quality for this one.

Sisters Unite Against "The Man"!

John Edwards is out of the running, and I feel sorry for him. In reality, there is not all that much difference between the democratic candidates, and I think Edwards was overshadowed because he's a white guy.

Don't get me wrong; it's exciting to think that our next president might be a woman or an African Amercian. I was thinking the other day that if Clinton won, then I would never again have room to talk about the glass ceiling. A woman president would prove that the majority of Americans believed that women are every bit the world leaders that men are. Right?

Women have been treated as inferiors for as far back as you care to look, after all. They were treated as property -- even in the Bible -- and were definitely not allowed to vote! To be honest, all men owe all women a huge apology. Maybe even some kind of recompense for the wrongs inflicted upon our ancestral sisters. And any man calling any woman the b-word should be publically humiliated and forced to apologize to some great speaker for all women (ala Jesse Jackson for African Americans), like...I dunno...wait...is there one? No, I guess not. Perhaps women just don't harp on the past. Especially if it doesn't have much to do with the present.

Well, that makes me think of a story. One day I was dropping off my kids to be with my mother-in-law. She was at the dialysis center waiting for my father-in-law to finish his treatment. Standing in the lobby, I caught the tail end of some news story about some woman who had been beaten to death. An old man sat there, shaking his head. "It's a real shame," he said to me, "But I can't help thinkin' that women had it easier 'fore they started demandin' their rights. They'd-a been better off if they'd never started votin'."

That old man was a black man. Ah! The irony!

Growing up With a City

Dad says that he can remember coming to Springfield when he was a kid. He's told me about how he can remember when the mall was a field. When I woke up this morning, I was thinking about how the city has changed over the years.


The first time I can really remember visiting the Battlefield Mall was when Mom and Dad took us to see some of the work Dad was doing there, because they were doing some major adding on. My sister and I were allowed to split up from the folks and look around on our own. Man, did we think we were big! I wish I could remember how old we were; it was the first time the folks had let us run off by ourselves like that.


I do know how old I was when they built on to Bass Pro, because I turned 16 in 1986, and my dad was working on the construction there at the time. When I finally passed the driving test (third time's a charm!) Mom took me to the site so I could tell him. Now, of course, it's drawing tourists, and they've added on what I like to call The Dead Animal Museum to the Bass Pro building, as well as having Wonders of Wildlife nearby.

I remember when there used to be a mall at Kearney and Glenstone...not much of one, mind you, but we Northies at least had one for a while. It slowly turned into an OTC satellite, and now it has all been torn down to make way for yet another Super Wally World. Not a terrible thing, mind, I'm just saying.

Since becoming an adult, I have really seen some changes here. There is way more traffic to contend with than when I was a teen, so the roads have been changed a lot. You used to be able to zip around fairly easily. I feel sorry for people who are visiting the city for the first time if they have to drive around and aren't used to the place. For people who haven't watched it change, it could be a little nerve-wracking, I would think.


News folks have recently started referring to the main part of Springfield as "the metro area", which makes me giggle nearly every time. Metro area...are you kidding? Little ol' Springfield? But then I look at how the downtown area is really hopping, and I look at things like the Jordan Park area...I reckon a metro area has kinda sprung up around me, here.


You can also see a lot of different colors of people. This probably sounds weird, but the first dark-skinned kid I ever met was in junior high. Up until that point, I had never even met anyone who wasn't white. This has changed a lot just in the last few years. My classroom has become much more diverse during the last decade!


Kids around here have more things to see now. The zoo continues to grow, and I think it's one of the prettiest zoos I've seen. (For the record, and to be fair, I've seen three: Dickerson Park, of course, Oklahoma City's zoo, and the St. Louis zoo.) The Discovery Center is excellent, albeit a bit pricey; however, I really think that eventually the city will cover it much like the science museum in St. Louis.


All of the good changes come with a price, of course. More people. More people means the traffic I mentioned earlier. More people also means higher crime rates, evidently. More people means a higher chance of some loud, obnoxious kook moving in too close to you.


I wonder whether the price of living in a growing city is worth what you get for it. Humans sure will shell out a lot for convenience, you know.

A Short Note to Those in Charge of Education

O Great and Not-So-Merciful Administrators and Politicians,

I am a teacher; my only desire is to get kids excited about learning in general, and in my subject in particular. It is too bad that you will not step aside and let me go with these impulses. I do a fine job, according to your testing data, so I feel comfortable expressing a couple of tiny criticisms.

With all due respect, I spit upon the flaming hoops through which you wish me to jump. I instead harness the heat from those hoops to set alight your "vision" and "mission" statements. You are replete to the very rim with bullshit.

Your paperwork is a time-wasting attempt to create more administrative jobs, and it is all spun to make you look like you have done everything that turns out good and nothing that may turn out otherwise. If I were to ask to see all of the nonsense paperwork I've had to do, I doubt you would know where to even find all of it, and I could rest assured that nobody but me had ever looked at it. I could write that my whole class had been abducted by aliens and had brain implants, hence the reason they scored so well on the last test, and it would not be caught!

Speaking of tests, your tests are a hideous joke. Most tests are. You take nothing into consideration that might be useful.

You consistently INSIST that I bow to the latest teaching fad, no matter how useless I could prove it to be. That is because you do not listen to people who are actually in the classroom, thinking of us derisively...as if we were all some part-time newbie fast food clerks.

You are mere managers that know nothing about any real work being done. You are the ultimate evidence of the Peter Principal, and you have only the tiniest fraction of my IQ and intuition.

Bite me! Bite me, bite me, bite me!!!

Thank you for your attention, etc.

Post Cards to the Stars

So I've been thinking about a couple of different things this morning. One is a notion I get in my head every time I finish seeing, hearing, or reading something I really like. The other falls under the category of "Whatcha Oughta Do", but is fairly related to the first.

I just finished reading a great fantasy trilogy. I used to think I liked fantasy novels because I admire the workings of the human imagination, but it may also be just to make my dad cringe. Anyway, every time I finish a really great story, like this one (His Dark Materials, Pullman) I have the same thought: I should drop this person a line and tell them how much I appreciated the time and effort they put into entertaining me.

Don't get me wrong. I know they get paid for their work, but isn't it nice to get complimented on something you did well, even if it is your job?

So I get to thinking about how nice it would be to drop a line, like on a post card. It couldn't be a long letter, because who has time for thousands of those? For instance, Stephen King would have gotten one after I finished reading the Dark Tower series: "Thanks for the excellent story! I loved the way you tied in your other work, and what a cameo!"

The local weather man on TV: "I really enjoy your sense of humor, especially the way you Google the answers to the morning trivia questions."

Cyndi Lauper: "Excellent cover of 'I Drove All Night'! You have quite a powerful voice!"

You get the idea.

I never send them, of course, because it would be a waste of time. They would never get read. However, I do like to frame the notes in my mind after a particularly good something...song, story, movie, whatever. (Now that I think about it, this exercise would not be a waste of time if you sent little post cards to kids when they did something note-worthy in my class at school, or to family members or friends when they do something particularly cool...

Mom: I admire the way you're trying to pick up Photoshop, when I know you're nervous around computers.

Dad: Your displays of artistry and imagination with your projects of late have simply blown me away!

Kids: I am so impressed with your work ethic lately!

Todd: You have really got this budgeting thing down; way to get our family finances on track!

Jonele: I am pleased with your new "good memories" project. Way to flex your optimist muscle!)

Anyway, the other thing I was thinking about this morning was an idea I've thought of a few times, and whoever follows through on it is bound to make some money on it: Paparazzi Trading Cards. What you would do is follow paparazzi around and take their pictures. You know, going to the store, playing in the park with their kids, dancing in a club...stuff like they'd take pictures of famous people doing. Then you make them into trading cards, with their names and little factoids, and sell them to celebrities! You'd make some money, celebs would get revenge, and the paparazzi would get what's coming to them. Beautiful!

Very Dangerous Coffee

Hi. I'm Ang, and I've become a good coffee addict. (I'm pausing while you say, "Hi, Ang.")

Years ago, before I even started drinking just average coffee, I was able to think about all kinds of things. Rock stars, the startling variety of bubble gum flavors, how to talk my mom out of five bucks for the movies. Important things. Then I had my first cup of strong, black coffee.

It seemed innocent enough. I was in college, helping plan a fund raiser for a local women's shelter, and someone simply took it for granted that I would want a cup of coffee (after all, most college students do have a cup every now and again). The dark, steaming liquid was daring me from its cute little styrofoam cup. Plus, I'd been well-trained to not be rude when offered things in this manner. So, as I talked, I began sipping. I found that the taste of this brew was roasty, toasty, and would have been ruined by adjuncts (or, as my dad would say, add-junks) of any kind.

Over the following months, I began to make my very own coffee and happily accepting cups of the lovely stuff when it was offered to me. And then things took a turn for the worse.

It wasn't the ability to distinguish bad coffee from what I considered at the time to be good coffee; everyone can do that. Suddenly I became aware of several facts: that what I had -- up to that point-- considered good coffee was only average coffee, that good coffee was readily available, and that there was even excellent coffee!

I'm now at the point where I have had espresso in varying forms; I have had many different flavored coffees, roasts, grinds, and types of preparation. I have even consumed coffee with syrups and creams and milks added! I have spent inordinate amounts of money finding the best place to purchase a cuppa. I have turned my nose up at bad brew, and laughed at people who suggested that gas station cappuccino was "real good"(...or even real coffee!) I will not even discuss instant coffee.

I am not a coffee addict, I have become a good coffee addict, and I'm going to have to do something about it! I must buy an espresso machine! A cappuccino machine! A french press! What? You thought I was giving it up?

Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii !

I love games. Love 'em, love 'em, love 'em! I don't care what kind of game it is, whether I'm any good at it, or how long or short it is (as long as money isn't involved; I don't like to gamble). Game equals goooooood. I believe it is a genetic disorder from my father's side. I have a natural ability to waste inordinate amounts of time at board games, volleyball, cards...as I said, any game at all.

Having said that, I must also briefly mention that my adoration of all things fantastic leads me to engage in a lot of fantasy-story video games, so I will -- especially in the winter -- sit for hours in front of a screen and play things like Final Fantasy Sixteen Million. My students find this especially funny, as most "adults" from my age bracket do not know how to turn on a gaming system, much less fool with them at all.

My husband and I have had a PS2 system for ages that we and the kids play with sometimes, and it has been a whole lot of fun for all of us. Wii...I mean...we have been perfectly happy with the system, and didn't think of spending the money for another, as gaming systems are extremely unnecessary and overwhelmingly expensive! But wii...uhm...we decided recently that our family might enjoy a new system.

Wii shelled out the loot for the new system and a few games, and received our new system just before the long MLK weekend. Wii found that many of the games have four-player, jump-around and try not to hurt anyone mode, and all four of us spent the long weekend playing together and getting winded and laughing a whole bunch more than anyone has a right to do in the winter time.

Wii have already worn out one set of batteries for our remotes, and wii decided that wii should invest in rechargeable batteries. Our arms are all sore, and I've never seen my kids get along for so long at a time. What fun!!!

Come to Jesus Meetin'

I like to read about religions and religious beliefs, past and present. I find that --for the most part-- religion is a way of trying to get people to "be good". Some religions appeal to the kind of person that wants to be a good person to begin with, and some are for the folks who need a reward in order to behave in a civilized manner. They are all concerned with the soul, and it is that which interests me the most.

I normally think about spiritual matters several times every day anyway, but in this last week I was given a little extra to think about. They may seem completely unrelated at first, so bear with me.

The first is that I began to read the trilogy by Philip Pullman, primarily because many folks here in the Bible Belt are howling to get it banned from school libraries. I have not looked into this, but the word is that the author is an atheist. This is the main reason that church people don't like him, but the fact that his book includes casting the big-c Church as an evil entity and a guy trying to find and kill the Authority (aka: God) doesn't make them very happy either. I find it to be quite an exciting little story, but I'm not really a church gal.

The second is the news story this week about an old fella who was busted trying to pick up young teenage girls for sex. He even took some webcams of himself that were maybe supposed to be sexy...but I don't see how. He was also the mayor of a small town. And a preacher.

Finally, the sheriff here came to the school where I teach to tell my sixth-graders about the evils of meth. Between showing pictures of what happens to you when you use meth and explaining in very adult terms some things that could happen to you sexually when you are drunk, he told the kids to consider whether they would do these kinds of things if Jesus were sitting with them. I shudder to think of what would have happened to me if I had mentioned a religious figure in that way to my kids; it is a public school, after all.

How are these things related? Religion. People who go in for organized religion want to ban a book because it might make someone question whether a particular religion is right. However, these same people have repeatedly not sensed the nonsense in their own leaders. These same people believe that it's OK to make religious beliefs into clubs, where you must be a clone or you don't belong.

On our way back to class, another teacher and I joked, "Remember kids, would you do that if Buddha was sitting there? Or Mohamed? Or Buffalo Calf Woman? Or Astarte?" It should have made me feel better, but it didn't.

This reminds me of something another teacher said to our students the day after the 9-11 attacks. "Our founding fathers gave us freedom of religion, not freedom from religion." It bothered me at the time, but I couldn't put my finger on why until now. It bothered me because the people who attacked us were very religious.

Spirituality is a wonderful thing. It is very satisfying to think about what makes you the person you are, and consider why we are, what we are, and what happens to the soul once the body ends. Why do we have to ruin these beliefs with a "church"? As soon as we make our beliefs into an exclusive club, we've become bullies. It's too bad nobody can protect us from religion.

Pessimism and Ingratitude

I have been thinking a lot lately about ingratitude. Do any of us really consider the things that other people do for us? Am I always careful about expressing my appreciation to those I love when they do me a good turn?

It seems to me that an inordinate amount of people go through life feeling that too much is owed to them, merely because they are alive. Teenagers are usually the targets of this accusation, but more often it is alleged adults that are the perpetrators of ingratitude. I've seen many a numeric adult live their lives with the expectation that their parents should do anything and everything possible to make the "child's" life easier. It is not a terrible thing to need assistance, by any means, but to accept assistance as though it was owed --and not showing proper gratitude-- is grossly immature.

But whose fault is it that these pseudo-adults continue in behaving like spoiled children? The answer is obvious, and I see the beginnings of this problem in my classroom every year. There are so many parents that do everything for their child that it is ridiculous.

There are many side-effects to this ingratitude for the person who doesn't express thanks, as well as to all of the people around who have to deal with him or her. People get to a point where not just their parents "owe" them, but so does everybody else. Even the largest favor can't elicit a thank you.

Another problem is that the person who has everything done for him begins to believe that he is incapable of doing things for himself! This leads to self-doubt and a deep pessimism.

What's sad is that nothing short of pointing all of this out will cause anything to change. However, the moment you try to point out the problem you will immediately become a bad guy who says mean things. Most likely, you will lose the relationship with the pessimistic, insecure ingrate.

That sounds like a good thing, but for those of us who are truly grateful for the people in our lives (faults and all) it's not.

Hiding Behind Labels

I have seen a lot of children labelled. They have been "tested" and are Gifted, ADHD, Special Ed...heck, they might draw some New Age label like Indigo or Crystal Children; last night I saw a television show where children were labelled Psychic!

Finding out what strengths or weaknesses a child has is not a problem. Parents and Educators can use this information to build on strengths and strengthen weak areas. However, nine times out of ten, this is not what the labels are used to do. They are used as an excuse for behavior that is otherwise completely unacceptable.

Is your child gifted? Then she has a right to feel bored and should not be expected to do regular class work. Never mind that in the real world, there are a lot of boring things that will need to be done on a regular basis. Is your child Oppositional Defiant? (Yes, this is a real label; it's called ODD.) Then he shouldn't be expected to act the way the other kids do. His teacher should let him get away with a lot more and be understanding.

How many times have I heard from parents and administrators that it is "OK" for some child to act out in class? It's not the child's fault, they "have" X, Y, or Z! A kid continually hits other kids? We can't throw him out of school, because he has a Special Ed IEP that states he can't be suspended more than a certain amount of days. A kid is a continuous disruption? I have to accommodate her--instead of the rest of the class--because she can't help that she "has" ADHD.

This is not only unfair to the other students in the room who are trying to do what they came to school to do, it's completely unfair to the labelled student! I believe that some of these kids really do have some difficulty, but instead of giving these kids an excuse to let them run amok, why not teach them coping strategies to work around their difficulty?

So many times I have been completely infuriated with parents who do nothing to truly help their children! They are looking for the quick fix, the easy way out. It's absolute laziness on the parents' parts, and in no way helps their babies. I wish I could grab these people and shake them until their teeth rattled, and ask them: WHERE WILL YOUR CHILD BE WHEN YOU ARE DEAD???

This will come as a shock to some, but the best parenting manages it so that, at some point, the child doesn't actually need the parent any more! Parents who use labels for an excuse, and who expect everything to simply be handed to their child are doing a dangerous disservice to the ones they are supposed to be protecting with their whole hearts.

The KIA That Thinks You Hate Coffee

A KIA is a Know It All, and everyone has met at least one in their lives. If you haven't met one, you may be one, or you may simply have better karma than I.

A few days ago my friend across the hall had a KIA for a sub. I tried to be friendly to this fellow, asking if he was a coffee drinker. He declined, which was fine, but then began to explain to me that nobody really liked coffee. Unfortunately, every thought I ever have shows on my face, and--as it was early morning--it registered a vague question. After all, didn't it appear to this fellow that I liked coffee, seeing as how I was planning on making some?

Then he followed me back into my classroom, explaining how people just thought they liked coffee; actually, it was just a pleasant association and/or habit. I confess, I'm not sure I really remember his argument clearly, as I had quickly realized he was an ass and had basically begun my retreat.

There is never EVER an argument that will sway a person like this, so instead of debating him, I nodded and said, "Oh really?" a lot. The only time you should attempt to disagree -- verbally, out loud -- with a KIA is if you like talking to walls. Let us not forget the saying, "If you are arguing with an idiot, make sure he isn't doing the same."

He began telling me all kinds of stuff about how people drink things that they really don't like simply because it either wakes them up or calms them down. My only reasonable option was to think, "You moron! Just because you don't like something doesn't mean other people don't like the taste of it! I guess people who like spinach or liver just eat that nasty stuff because it reminds them of their childhoods..." while politely murmuring, "Hm," which he unfortunately took as encouragement.

He was not good at reading my facial billboard, evidently. I finally asked him if it was his goal to be a teacher. I tried not to sneer at him, but even if I had I don't think he would've noticed. He was surprised; why would someone as intelligent as him wish to be a teacher? He was a sociology major, and subbing paid the bills. He also mentioned a girlfriend who had apparently just graduated college with a psych major, and he was simply stunned at all of the things she didn't know about her own field!

I did my best to appear so busy as to not have time for visiting, and he finally took the hint and left.

This morning, it was pouring down freezing rain and sleet, so I left extra early for work. I stopped, as I do occasionally for a treat, at Starbuck's on the way. I carefully placed my venti, triple-shot, no-fat cappuccino in the cup holder, enjoying the dark, rich, toasty smell. I remembered how, when I was a kid, I would say to my dad, "Coffee smells so good! If only it tasted as good as it smelled," and he would smile a bit and reply, "It does."

I took tentative sip, hoping not to burn my tongue, and the beautiful liquid did not let me down. It tasted even better than it smelled, and, Best Beloved, it smelled wonderful! After the first sip, I suddenly remembered the KIA sub from a few days ago, and chuckled.

Some-Odd Annual Halloweenie Roast

Saturday was Mom and Dad's annual bonfire, the Halloweenie Roast. There has been a considerable amount of debate over how long we have been doing the Halloweenie Roast, so this year the folks determined it was the some-odd annual. In reality, we've been doing it for somewhere between 18 and 20 years now. It is a time to roast hotdogs and sample chili. It is a time to teach the next generation the how-to of proper marshmallow toasting management. It is a time to sling incredible amounts of bull and sample the homebrew. I love it!

This year, my sister, my daughter, and I made up a little squirrel grave yard in honor of the upcoming death-oriented holiday. My dad has been...evicting...with extreme force...the immediate squirrel population, so Jonele and I got quite a little kick out of coming with things to put on the "stones" like, "Forrest Squirrel: Run, Forrest, Run! (Too late.)" or "Omar Squirrelyam: A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and POW!" The kids placed them and made little mounds in front of them. Nobody was nearly as impressed with them as we were.

My mom has five brothers and sisters, and usually they all show up with their children and their grandchildren. This year we were missing my aunt Linda, who was sick, and my uncle Keith, who is not speaking to me because he thinks I insulted his house.

Yes, that's right. I was telling a story about how I had been looking at modular homes, but my husband and dad thought that modular homes were less safe than regular homes; similar to trailers. I was disappointed, because there were several modulars on acreage. Anyway, my dad told me I must be drawn to them because they were like trailers and I was brought home to a trailer, which made me trailer trash.

My uncle owns a modular home, and did not like it being compared to a trailer. So he yelled at everyone sitting near me and stormed out. He has also managed to change what I thought was a funny little story about me being called trailer trash into a mantra that he repeats to all of the relatives to whom he is still speaking: Angie called me trailer trash.

So, I called my uncle a few weeks later...I figured he needed some time to cool off...and he wouldn't answer the phone. After three or four days of trying to reach him, his wife finally answered and told me he was standing right there, but he refused to speak to me. I explained that I was only calling to apologize for hurting their feelings. I added that I totally did not have them in mind when I told my story. She relayed the message to him, since he was standing right there handy (did I mention he was older than me?) but he still refused to speak to me.

This whole thing really upset me for a while. I was horrified that I had said something to hurt one of my family. I lost sleep thinking about how vicious I was -- what a big mouth I had.

I was also dismayed that one of my family members would be perfectly willing and able to not speak to me for the rest of his life. It's difficult to think of anybody hating me in general; for example, whenever my students' parents get angry at me for something, I just wither. Not just thinking, but being told...knowing...that a family member hates me was completely intolerable. I fretted for hours and days trying to think of ways to make things right, although I didn't know how I would get around the fact that my uncle wasn't speaking to me.

Then I got to thinking about something my Dad always said: if you could ever disown a family member, you didn't love them in the first place. That bummed me out a lot too, because I'd always thought of this uncle as kind of a big brother (he's older, but not that much older) and I had always had a really high opinion of him, even when he did things that were less than admirable. I guess I had it in my head that he must feel the same way about me; a little sister that messed up sometimes.

I still missed my uncle at the party Saturday, and I'm sad that he's gone. But, like Tolle says, everything disappears. No amount of fretting from me can change the situation, so it's best just to accept it as it is and go on.

Cool Enough to Think Again!

The days are finally cool enough for my classroom to stop feeling like a kiln. It's a little darker, a little rainier, and the leaves are turning. Coffee tastes really good again (instead of just good), and soup has started sounding like a really tasty idea. I just love autumn; it is my very favorite season. Things begin to feel so much freer and more relaxed, like everything is getting ready to curl up and take a leisurely, luxurious nap.

The cooler weather means that it's also time to bring in some of my plants. I have always felt an attraction to plants. Just being around them reminds me to slow down and stop thinking so much. I usually bring them into my classroom in the fall, since there are large windows and flourescent lights to kind of help them along. This year I hadn't realized how many additions I had made to my collection, and my classroom looks like an absolute jungle! My students were excited to see such a change in the room, and were really curious about what each of the plants were called, when and where I got them.

I used the new pipes from the air conditioning construction for three new hanging plants. (I made sure to hang them right by the support beams, as instructed by my friendly electrician.) Everything else is along the walls: banana trees, avocado trees, tangerine tree, aloes, banana peppers, cherry tomatoes, petunia, silver sage, columbine, prayer plant, wandering jews, mother-in-law tongues, heart leaf philadendrons, mum, pineapple, orange bromeliad, and lucky bamboo!

And it may be the cooler weather, but it also may be the plants being inside and immediate that has made it so I feel like I can really breathe again.

How Do Kids Live Through Ear Infections?

At my school, there are a lot of things going on right now. There are a lot of construction men around and, consequently, a lot of construction. There is concrete dust everywhere, and one has to be careful where one puts her dainty, sandaled foot, because the construction men do not seem to realize that school and scrap metal do not mix well.

I shouldn't complain, because this work will lead up to our school getting air conditioning. The first few days of school, my classroom has topped out blazingly close to 100 degrees per day, not to even mention the humidity! (Around here, that is what we are prone to say, "It's not the heat; it's the humidity.") However, all of that concrete dust has played havoc with my allergies.

With all of the drainage, I expected to have a sore throat and possibly lose my voice, like I do at the beginning of every school year. However, this year I got a surprise: instead of my throat being attacked, my ear took the hit!

Saturday, my left ear began to sound a little sloshy and to ache a smidge. I, being the home remedy type of gal that I am, attempted to hold what I assumed to be the oncoming infection at bay with vinegar and sweet oil. I figured if it got too bad I could call my doc on Monday to get some antibiotics.

After losing sleep to ear pain Saturday night, I was ready to go on in to urgent care and see if they could help me. They didn't open on Sunday until noon. The doctor I saw (who seemed to be in charge) said that he had been trying to hold off on opening the clinic any earlier on Sundays so he could go to church. Uncharitably, I thought -- but did not say -- that it might be a more Christian thing to do to help us poor heathens that were in a considerable amount of pain early on a Sunday morning. I'm so terrible!

My clinic ordeal took about two hours, then it was another hour at Walgreens (The slowest place to get service on the face of this Earth) before I could begin attempting to put the prescribed drops into my quickly swelling ear. I did not sleep on Sunday night, either.

Monday, in my viciously hot classroom, completely unable to hear from one side of my throbbing head, I tried to teach without crying. My jaw had become so swollen that I could not chew food properly. (Just an aside: I have lost six pounds this week. Is it because of this ear infection, or Jenny Craig???)

I went to our school nurse to see if she would mind helping me instill the ear drops, and she promptly declared that I had the absolute worst ear infection she had ever seen. She did not believe that drops could get in there, and I needed to have someone call in an oral antibiotic. My doc wouldn't call that one in, because she hadn't seen me for a year, and the clinic doc wouldn't call it in because I hadn't given the drops enough time to work. So I didn't sleep last night either from the pain.

My husband, who begged me not to go to work, made an appointment for me to see my doc today. When I went in, I first told her that I had come to whine at her (and yes, I would like some cheese with that), then I told her off for being such a snob as to not call an antibiotic in for me. She just grinned at me and told me that the whole office was full of snobs like her. I then told her that I knew what the deal was, she just missed me. She replied, "Well I haven't seen you for over a year!" I really like that gal.

The nurse winced appropriately when she looked at my ear, and my doc said there was not much chance of the drops getting where they needed to get. So the nurse washed out some of the yuck in my ear --owie-- and the doc wrote a prescription for antibiotic pills that are roughly the size of Minnesota (according to my daughter) along with a different kind of drop that is also supposed to help take the swelling down. Thank God!

I will say that although it took a long time at Walgreens again today (The slowest place to get service on the face of this Earth), it wasn't quite as long a time as Sunday. And before you protest that I should go elsewhere, please be aware that my insurance fairly commands that I shop at this particular establishment, bless them.

Now, why did I bother unloading this long, whiney story? For this: I want to know how small children can get an ear infection and just curl up in their moms' laps and actually sleep. My own dear mother did offer to let me come lay my head in her lap and whine a little, but I don't think that would've helped me any. I think little kids must be the toughest critters on the planet.

Movies and Imagination

Wanna know what's under my bed? Parts of the dining table and my imagination. I wish there was less room for my imagination under there. I'm a grown woman, for Heaven' s sake!

I can't watch scary movies. Not even parts of 'em. Not even commercials for them! I can't take it. Horrible things want to grab me by the ankles when I come back from the bathroom in the middle of the night.

I thought of this while watching a creepy movie. Creepy movies are great; they're just scary enough to be fun, without that spill-over into keeping me from getting sleep. It was an older movie called "The Prophecy" starring several people I should know and Christopher Walken. (I really like the weirdness of the characters Christopher Walken tends to play. I think my all-time favorite role of his was in a movie titled "Undertaking Betty".)

I had seen this movie years ago, but it was on cable, so I thought I'd catch it. I had forgotten about how Lucifer shows up near the end of the movie, and was stunned to see Viggo Mortensen. You know, Aragorn from the Lord of the Rings movies? Anyway, Lucifer shows up and says something to the main character (a detective) about how he had watched the detective and listened to his prayers when the detective was a kid. Lucifer apparently thought it was funny that the guy had always taken a jump into bed at night, thinking that the devil was under the bed. "And I was," Lucifer nearly giggled.

It was exactly at that moment that I thought, in a very sarcastic tone for addressing myself, "My stupid imagination is under my bed, and that's bad enough!"

It's interesting to me how movies can hold on to your imagination. Last night, our family watched an old movie that the kids and I had never seen: "Swiss Family Robinson". It was made in 1960. My daughter was shocked to know they even made movies before her parents were born. They immediately got pulled in, though. My son was pacing around in no time, worried about whether the pirates were going to get to the family. My daughter was much more concerned with which brother was going to end up with the girl. (I was taken with the tree house. How cool would it be to live like that?)

This will seem a little off subject, but my family was talking about how funny it would be to build a castle and set it up to where it appeared to be haunted. We talked about what a tourist spot that would be, and were discussing whether you'd want to make it to where it was a fun house type of situation, or if you'd want to make it so it appeared to really be haunted. During this conversation, we discovered that the best way to make it seem really haunted would be to keep things very subtle.

For instance, if you were to put a spot on the floor, you shouldn't say, "That's evidently where someone was stabbed." Instead, you should put the stain on the floor and not mention it until your visitor does. And then you would only say, "I don't know what that is, but we've never been able to get it to come up."

You wouldn't have things move around too much. You should set up doors so they look like they're opening or closing by themselves, but not quickly. A door would open, then several minutes later, it would close. You wouldn't have blood-curdling screams issuing from anywhere; you'd fix it to sound like whispers were occasionally coming from the walls.

Because really, it still sits with imagination to scare you. I would like to paraphrase Clive Barker here. Fear is the price of imagination.

Morning Cuddle Time

It began as a tradition over ten years ago. My husband would bring our baby in first thing in the morning and put her in our bed. He would get ready for work, and our baby and I would wake up nice and slowly, with me talking to her and holding her close to me. After staying in bed too long, I would have to jump up and get ready for work myself, and we girls would have to rush out every morning; her to daycare (at her great grandmother's house) and me to my classroom.

When she was old enough to have a big-girl bed, she would toddle in first thing. Daddy getting ready often woke her, and she would crawl in beside me, scoot close, and smile at me. She's a morning person like her father -- ugh. Anyway, every morning she'd say, "I waked up!" like it was this great surprise.

When she understood that we were going to have another baby (she was three by this time), she would bounce into bed, scoot close, and ask, "Did the baby fall out yet?" After the baby did fall out, Todd would bring our new son, and our daughter would scoot in close, and we'd all stay quiet and doze a little longer until I realized that, once again, I'd stayed in bed too long.

My daughter is now ten years old. Yet, first thing nearly every morning, she kind of half-staggers into my room and flops into my bed, then curls up next to me and usually starts chatting. My son galumphs in a little while later, because he's about as much of a morning person as I am, walks around to the other side of the bed, climbs in, and curls up on the other side of me. He usually dozes back off for a while.

Although I have always really enjoyed starting my days in this fashion, I don't guess I realized how much my kids depend on this morning time until they didn't have it for a few days. During those days they were whinier, grumpier, and my daughter was very tense. I couldn't think what the problem could be, until my son (who is now six) stopped me one afternoon and said, "I want you."

I was confused; wasn't I standing right in front of him? "I'm right here," I replied. Then he wrapped his little arms around me and just cried.

I begin to think now that every family needs some kind of bonding ritual. Something to remind the kids on a consistent basis that they are valued, loved, and wanted. At my house now, if I happen to get up earlier than my kids, I stop my chores for a few minutes when they do get up, sit in the big chair, and pile 'em both into my lap. (Which can be a lot like a Cirque de Soleil act with those two long-leggedy beasties.)

I reckon kids just need cuddle time. Maybe all of us do.

My Space?

In a professional development meeting several months ago, a group of us were told that our students were getting online and doing dangerous things, such as giving enough information about themselves so as to be easily hunted by sickos. At this meeting, we were told that it would be a great idea to get ourselves a My Space page. This would help us keep track of our students, and it might even be fun! (I wish you could've heard some of my comrades groan over that one! Some of them...well...aren't really computer people.)

So, being the dutiful chick that I am (ha ha), I recently decided to set up a My Space page for my tiny self. I fiddled around with it, and loaded some music to play when you opened the page, as well as embedding a great video of one of my favorite Python sketches. Woo hoo! Now my kiddos could get on my My Space page and get a little taste of my personality; I thought I could even keep a list of what was being assigned in my classroom. How cool would that be?

Once this idea occurred to me, I thought, why not find some educational video clips to put on my site? Yes, geeky teacher alert. Sorry I didn't warn you beforehand.

I looked up "grammar" in the video search, and guess what I got. Aw, come on, now. Guess.

Give up? A list of porn videos set in grammar school, and a "funny grammar lesson" on the proper use of the f-bomb. Wheeee! (Sarcasm alert for the irony impaired) Man, I am SO sure I wanna give my students the idea to get on My Space! I can't wait to let them all know that I've got a page on My Space; that way, they'll all know that I fully support very young adults who wish to do as many disgusting and humiliating things in a public forum as is humanly possible! After I write up my My Space address on the blackboard, I'll just go ahead and play those little sixth graders an R-rated movie containing plenty of the same kind of thing they'd be able to see when they do any kind of search on My Space. The parents will totally love the idea that a teacher has told their children to visit her My Space page!

ARE you KIDDING?! I can't wait 'til we get "the Talk" again this year about how we need to be more technologically savvy. I have been doing extra eye-rolling exercises for just this occasion. I truly enjoy being a bit of a techno-weenie, and consider myself to be, you know, one of those "youngsters" who do that computer stuff. I have a reputation at work of being able to fiddle with computers in quite a competent manner.

But I'm too old for My Space, friend. I am way too old for that.

August and February: MHMs

First, an aside: My husband and I celebrated our 12th anniversary yesterday by saying, "Hey, it's the fifth!" and giving each other a big ol' kiss.

Now, to the matter at hand. August. There is a reason that it sounds so close to Ugh, and that is the heat. And it's not just the heat, mind you. I live in the Ozarks, where one says --nearly every day of the summer, in what wants to be a whiny voice, but you just can't manage the energy-- "It's not the heat, it's the humidity!"

Yes, it certainly is the humidity, especially in Ughust. I prefer to stay inside, because I don't have gills. My dad and husband both work outside, and so apparently have developed gills over the years, bless them. When I have to go back to teaching here in a couple of weeks in (gasp) NO AIR CONDITIONING...give me a moment while I shudder...I reckon I'll likely drown.

(Another aside: I do get a little fun out of telling my whining, sweating students during the 100-degree weather that although they say they feel like prisoners, actual prisoners get air conditioning. Is that wrong?)

So what does Ughust have to do with February? They are the MHMs...Most Horrible Months, for those of you not in the know...of the entire year! They are opposite sides of the I Can't Stand This Weather One More Dad-Gummed Second coin!

Think on it; when November hits and things cool off really nicely, you're happy for the change in the weather and looking forward to all of the great holidays. After January, you are SICK and TIRED of the STINKIN' SNOW and ICE!!! So, all during February you feel like if you have to put up with one more second of slush and dry skin that you will throw yourself in front of the next one-horse, open sleigh. You make elaborate plans to tap into your children's college fund to go to Hawaii, but then end up just going to the local heated greenhouses just to remind yourself what live plants in large groups look like.

This is why February is only allotted 28 days. Even then, it feels like one of the longest months ever created!

Then one day, you wake up and it's March! Ahhhh, March. March means spring. It doesn't matter that some of our biggest snows 'round here occur in March. February is over, and that means spring is coming!

See? Ughust is just like that, only for summer. May and June are nice and warm, and you can play outside and get into the water without freezing, and July is fun because of the 4th.

But then...UGH! When will this heat EVER END?! There is not enough beer or iced tea to drink in the WHOLE WORLD to keep you from feeling like you are going to DIE from the heat!

September, and even into October sometimes, it's still hot enough around here to get into the nineties in my classroom. Parents often complain about it during Open House. But at least the nights offer some relief, and in your mind, the worst of the heat is over.

Brewin' and Stuff

It was a busy weekend! Mom and I picked her cukes and canned plenty of pickles. She is hoping that the way we did it will ensure crispy pickles. We let them sit in ice water for about three hours while we worked on the tomatoes.

Speaking of tomatoes, Mom has a recipe for salsa that is un-put-away-able. You could seriously make yourself sick from not being able to stop eating it. We made a big batch out of about twenty pounds of tomatoes. We also used some of Dad's elephant garlic in it. I like to tease them that the only thing missing out of the recipe is cilantro (they both hate cilantro). I think I may be one of the few people in the world that can take cilantro or leave it. Most folks I talk to either love it or hate it.

That evening we picked about fifty pounds of grapes. Dad cut the bunches, then Mom, Jonele, and I destemmed. (Talk about sticky fingers! I told Dad we needed a machine to do this, and he told me to cough up six hundred bucks. I reckon we'll just destem 'em by hand.) Dad's grape vine is wonderful. It is a concord vine that he planted by the deck and trained over the top of it to provide some shade. We picked over 100 pounds of fruit from this one vine a couple of summers ago -- enough to make a batch of wine, several jars of jelly, and many cans of juice.

Now, I have a feeling you're probably supposed to pick fruit in the morning. I've heard corn is sweetest in the morning, so fruit may be. However, animals have been getting into the vine, so Mom and Dad were concerned we wouldn't have enough to make a batch of wine. There was some debate as to whether it was actually possums, like Mom thought, or birds, which was Dad's assumption. They both considered the question answered when possums were observed eating the grapey left-overs that night and the next morning.

Dad and I took turns washing our feet in a container of cleanser/sanitizer then squishing the grapes, which was great fun! If you ever get a chance to do this, you should; it's like easy-to-pop, cool, wet bubble wrap. The last time we crushed grapes, we all used our hands, and it took FOREVER! This time was much more fun, and a lot faster. However, Dad was not all that happy with the amount of juice we actually were able to claim from the fruit, so he is planning on building a press. I wonder how difficult it would be to build a seeder/stemmer...hmmm...

I got over to the house early the next morning so Dad and I could get the wine started and bottle the beer. We had rigged up the grape pulp so it might continue to drain into the primary bucket, and we were pretty pleased about how much more juice we'd gotten during the night. Dad had made up a recipe for this batch (I got to make up the recipe last time, so it's only fair), so we got it going.

After that, we bottled the three batches of beer that had been fermenting for a couple of weeks: a schwartzbier (one of my favorites), a pale ale (Dad-the-hop-head's favorite) and an Irish ale made with honey for Mom. We chose a different sanitizer for the bottles this time: iodine. It seemed to work really well, and didn't leave the bottles so dangerously slick as the sanitizer we usually use. Dad and I are thinking seriously about trying to keg a batch or two next time.

That evening we enjoyed steak and fried zukes in honor of Dad's birthday. Man, is he getting old. He's retiring at the end of the summer. I'll be curious to see what he gets up to, once he has time on his hands.

Anyway, that was my busy little weekend. It always feels good to get so much done!

Summer Garden

A cardinal hops along the deck rail,
making his decisions.

There is a breeze;
coffee and honeysuckles ride upon it
in the filtered brightness.

Morning, and the watering's done.

A starling searches
the newly-wet ground.

A purple finch, perched on the spigot,
allows the last diamond drops just enough time to glisten
before he reaps.

Maple Beer

Dad and I have been making our own beer for more than two years, now. It is a very satisfying hobby. We use beer kits for now, because we only get brave about trying new things a baby step at a time. We have run through nearly every kit the local homebrew store has.

Our tastes are such that nothing goes without a home. He likes it a little hoppier (I frequently call him a hop head), and I like it a little maltier. If it's a bit too "girly" for either of us, Mom readily drinks it for us. The only beer we've ever made that none of us liked was a maple beer. It was so distasteful to us all that Dad took a bottle of it down to the homebrew store to see if it had gone bad, or if we had just done something wrong.

The owner of the store took a drink, declared it to taste just as it was supposed to, and thanked Dad for the beer break. We were stunned with the news that maple beer was this...yucky! Maple beer has become our big homebrew joke, for Heaven's sake; that's how bad it was.

A few days later, Dad was on his work site, talking about brewing beer, and telling the guys about how bad this maple beer was. As a child of Depression-Era parents, he hates to throw away anything. I think he was trying to find the maple beer a home, and he did!

One of the men Dad worked with was interested in trying the maple beer, and once he had, he told Dad that it was one of the best beers he'd ever tasted! He also told Dad that he used to be a home brewer, but hadn't really gotten into it. He would trade all of his beer bottles for the rest of the maple beer. This may not sound like a good deal, because we would be giving up bottles with beer in them, but his bottles were new, and this batch happened to be in recycled bottles (Probably Fat Tire).

So all's well that ends well. I should have thought to tell Dad that it must've been fate that we brewed a beer none of us would drink. That would've gotten me a debate.

Gay Adoption and God

Sounds like I'm quickly going to get over my head here, but I actually want to talk about two separate things. Just a couple of things I've observed and thought about in the last couple of days.

Last night, my husband and I were watching a show about these three sets of folks who were moving into different homes, redecorating to suit them, and then allowing the folks who lived there before them to come back and critique the changes. (We love to watch this kind of program lately. We're getting ready to renovate and redecorate.)

Our daughter wandered in during this program and curled up in my lap. Not long after she sat down, one set of the moving folks --a couple of gay men-- explained that the reason they wanted to move into something bigger was because they were hoping to adopt a baby, and they would obviously need the extra room.

I wish you could have seen the look on my daughter's face. It was priceless. She looked at me and said, "Mama? I don't get it."

"They're going to adopt a baby, so they need more room," I replied, before I realized why she was confused.

"Well," she looked back at the TV, as if she hadn't seen them correctly, "I understand that, but I still don't get it. Are they brothers?"

"No. They're not brothers..."
"Well, they aren't married, are they?"
"No. Right now they aren't really allowed to be married, but they are a couple."
"Really?" She looked at them again, "Huh."

And that was the sum total of how my daughter felt about a gay couple. The same reaction as when I told her that one of her relatives (who had long been a bachelor) was finally getting married. "Really? Huh."

Some might be appalled by my lack of direction for my child concerning this couple's lifestyle and the fact that they wanted to raise a child. I neither criticized it nor condoned it. I decided long ago that if she's old enough to ask the question, she'd old enough to have the answer, but she didn't ask my opinion about the matter, or about other people's opinions. I'll be interested to see how that conversation turns out, when she finally does ask.

Now, about God. Just a quick thought here. I've been reading a lot about mysticism lately, and I keep reading about folks who wonder if God is in Heaven, and Heaven is so fantastic, then why would God create? This extremely interesting question has been answered in many different ways, and some even use this question as the basis for their belief that there really is no God.

I've always thought of God as the guiding spirit of the universe, and that God is actually inside everything. Much like I am the guiding spirit of my body. My question this morning is: Do any of my cells know why I wanted to have children?

The Summer List

For the last couple of years, my sister, my dad, and I have come up with a list of 10 things to learn more about over the summer. Here is this summer's list:

• Thomas Jefferson


• bears


• genetics


• frogs


• Vikings


• quantum physics


• New Zealand


• mysticism


• Captain Henry Morgan


• folk art

As you can see, we keep it as varied as possible. The rules to it are that we don't know overly much about the topics beforehand, but enough to know we're interested in the topics. So far, I've looked mostly at mysticism; I kinda got hung up on it, because a lot of the reading I've done has left me with a lot of interesting things to think about. My favorite book on this subject -- so far -- has been Rational Mysticism: Dispatches from the Border Between Science and Spirituality by John Horgan.

As I didn't know much about physics in general, I've started reading about that first before I go into quantum physics. I find that it's quite over my head, but I think if I keep at it, maybe I'll catch the edge of the subject. Just the edge...Maybe I should just read some funny stories by Feynman instead of trying to grasp his lectures.

I started reading about Thomas Jefferson, thinking that I would be bored out of my gourd. Folks can kind of take historical figures for granted, I guess. I do not generally enjoy biographies, either. Anyway, I picked up R. B. Bernstein's Thomas Jefferson and have found it to be interesting and enjoyable.

My daughter has gotten in on this silliness and has read books about Thomas Jefferson, frogs, and Captain Morgan already. She gave us quite a report about the doings of the captain, but the other two books she read were really for younger kids, so she didn't know as many details about Jefferson or frogs.

It was really interesting to listen to my dad and my daughter discuss what they knew about Jefferson. Funny to see how different people think about things. Dad was wondering if she could tell him where things were in relation to Monticello, and where Monticello was. This was interesting because he is so fond of maps and factual things.

My daughter couldn't remember much about that stuff; instead, she told Dad that Jefferson's wife asked him not to remarry on her deathbed. The book she read said that Jefferson's wife didn't want their children to have a stepmother like she'd had. My daughter was also concerned that Jefferson held many slaves. This fits her personality, too. She is much more interested in the between-the-lines stories about people.