WHAT IF....

...you were allowed only one New Year's Resolution for the year 2008. What would it be?

What do you do about jerks?

Rant #1:
I ran to the “U-Mail-It” (not its real name) store to mail back an unwanted (Danish modern???) candlestick and something else that I accidentally ordered. (Hint: be careful what you leave in your cart: Amazon will mail it to you and, doggone it, charge you for it, too!) There were two men of a certain age ahead of me in line, who appeared to be life partners; not in a flamboyant way, but in a sweet and comfortable way. After they left the clerk, who was a kid in his early 20's, I'd guess, made a nasty comment about them to his manager, then shuddered to show his revulsion. I was enraged, everything was rung up so I couldn't leave, but I did not know what to do other than be very cold towards him. (I know, then I looked like a jerk.)

What could I have done? I would like to complain to the “U-Mail-It” headquarters. I think that’s what I will do. Thanks. I feel better for venting.

Rant #2:

Went to the discount card store next to buy paper goods on sale. (See below about the red plates I lost and found. Don’t let me forget that the beautiful poinsettia plates are in the top shelf of my office closet!) The clerk made a comment about Christmas, and the man next to me in line, and a pathetic Mr. Know-It-All said, “Christmas is over.” Gee, really? Lately I have made an effort not to engage people of that ilk in conversation, and I should have done so this time but I was still brooding about the hate I saw at the “U-Mail-It” store so I said, “But the Christmas bills are coming.”

Mr. Know-It-All replied, “My daddy said to never buy anything you can’t pay for.”

Me, “Well, I’ll just let your daddy pay for all my stuff then.” Not the snappiest of come backs I know, but good grief, what a creep.

I am not a tattoo fan but I may need to have “Let It Go” tattooed on the back of my hand where it would be a constant reminder.

The Miracle of the Little Red Plates

Here it was Christmas Eve afternoon and I was baking hundreds of cookies for our neighbors. Each year every neighbor gives a little gift of either food or some little hand made decoration. My contribution is chocolate chip cookies. Don’t be impressed. Big box store makes the best break-apart-ready bake chocolate chip cookies, so all I had to do was put them in the oven. It still takes a good chunk of time to actually get them baked, wrap them up and then deliver them.

I thought I might as well start getting them wrapped up when I realized I had taken the red plastic plates to school for our class Christmas (– oops! Holiday) party. I wasn’t willing to put the cookies on generic white paper plates. It looked like I was going to have to make a last minute run to the store. Crapolia!

The truth was nobody, I mean NOBODY, would care if the darn cookies were on white paper plates except me. I just couldn’t do it. Here I was with hundreds of cookies so I knew I would have to try to get holiday plates at the 11th hour. Crapolia!

I had nothing to lose so I made one last look in the pantry and, low and behold, there was a stack of the red plates. I have no memory of them, but there they were, and I was so grateful for this little miracle. I was absolutely tickled. How terrifically nifty to find those plates!

So, this next year I will make an effort to share those sweet little miracles with you, blogger-friends, because all those little miracles are, I believe, probably more important than one big whopping miracle.

Merry Christmas to All!

No Sexism intended, but NO MEN ALLOWED!

Thank you to the genius across the pond who came up with this. Utter brilliance and scathing truth!

http://glumbert.com/media/mancold

Look what was found on the playground.

One of my students found a bullet on the playground. It was not a used shell. I have never even touched a bullet before. I carried it to the office afraid that it would explode. I handed it gingerly to my principal. She looked at it, sighed, and said, "I'll add it the others."

Blonde joke .... since I am one I can tell this.

Tale of the Blonde Horseback Rider


A young blonde woman decides to try horseback riding, even though she has had no lesson or prior experience. She bravely mounts the horse, unassisted, and the horse immediately springs into action. As it gallops along at a steady and rhythmic pace, the blonde begins to slip from the saddle.

In terror, she grabs for the horse's mane, but cannot get a firm grip. She tries to throw her arms around the horse's neck, but she slides down the side of the horse anyway. The horse gallops along, seeming imperious to its slipping rider.

Finally, losing her frail grip, the blond attempts to leap away from the horse and throw herself to safety. Unfortunately, her foot becomes entangled in the stirrup, and she is now at the mercy of the horse's pounding hooves as her head is struck against the ground over and over and over. As her head is battered against the ground and she is mere moments away from unconsciousness, to her great fortune, Frank, the Wal-Mart greeter, sees her and unplugs the horse.

I'm almost done!!

I am so pleased with myself because I have most of my Christmas shopping done. Hooray! Hooray! The secret? Shop online when there is free shipping.

I know many people like going to the mall; the decorations, music, hustle and bustle gets them in the spirit, but that just makes me feel claustrophobic and anxious.

I have already made a couple of trips to the post office, bringing a book with me to pass the time, and keeping me from beating people to a bloody pulp who, first, don't have their stuff wrapped for mailing or, second, decide it's time to visit with the post office employees. Also, having a book with me keeps people from turning to me in line to complain about the terrible service. It's the post office folks, and it is what it is.

My daughter is right; it's fun to get things done ahead of time.

Worst Christmas Gift

Do you remember the worst Christmas gift you ever got? What was it? Who gave it to you? How did you react? Did you keep it? Did you use it? Did the giver know that it was not appreciated? (Think the pink bunny suit from the movie, "The Christmas Story.")

In praise of paper towels

I just love paper towels. Always have, always will.

I know my love affair with paper towels started when I was fairly young; probably around seven. Back in the 1950’s paper towels came in one color: white. They were rough and scratchy. I don’t know why my mother ever bought them because we weren’t allowed to use them.

Paper towels were kind of like the good china; they were to be saved for special occasions. What that mystery occasion was I don’t know, but the paper towels were mounted by the kitchen sink on the ugly steel paper towel holder. Maybe it was a special good luck kitchen talisman.

Come to think of it, I believe we only had one roll of paper towels that moved with us from house to house like the good couch. I think that same roll was with my family by the time I got married. I wonder whatever happened to it.

Now I buy colorful paper towels by the dozens from Sam’s Club and I use them freely. I used a ton of them on Thanksgiving after all the warnings about not contaminating anything. I should use that many paper towels anytime I cook (which is infrequently) but I don’t think about food contamination except on big holidays.

Gary likes to use the hand towels. I used to think that hand towels were used after you washed your hands but he uses them to mop up around the sink which I think is gross, however it gives me an excuse to rip off the choose-a-size paper towel and wipe my hands.

So here is to the inventor of the paper towel, and no I don’t feel I am wasting the environment because I recycle all my paper. If they can chuck newspapers full of stupid paper-wasting circulars I can use my paper towels.

I love my paper towels.

Tagged Again: coffee mug messages.

List the characters or messages on seven coffee mugs that are in your cupboard (bonus points if you can do this without looking):

First, no one will drink my watery coffee, except me. I make a cup at a time. No one will drink Gary's coffee/paint remover, except him.


My favorite mug is one of three huge mugs that I got on clearance at Tuesday Morning. I believe it was actually a promotional give-away for the show "WILDFIRE!" on the Discovery Channel. I never heard of it, actually. Who sold Tuesday Morning these promotional cups that were supposed to be given away?

Gary’s favorite mug is one that I originally bought him at Mall of America and has a beagle on it. He broke the original. One of my students gave me one just like it so he has to make do with its twin. It gives a brief description of beagles as being merry little dogs with sad faces and bell-like barks.

Alexandra gave us a number of mugs: the Gary Larson “Angel of Migraine” with the grim reaper in boxing gloves leaving a house where the woman has obviously been clonked on the head. I think I bought the Bob Bullock Museum cups, but she was with me. Most recently she got us the Saint Louis cups.

I have a number of ugly Christmas cups, that were gifts from students. They are the kind of seasonal cups they sell at Walgreen’s or the Dollar stores and contain some really vile candy. There are usually five pieces of candy scotch-taped on cardboard over a styra-foam insert which is inside the cup. These almost always come from kids who can least afford a gift so I always feel sentimental about them. I have a number of Valentine cups received under similar circumstances. I must pass them on to the Good Will, there are simply way too many.

I tag whoever is willing to take on this coffee cup challenge. Just let me know.

I've been tagged. 10 things you don't know about me.

(1.) I am, according to my husband, the world's worst liar.

(2.) I am enjoying maturing because I am becoming who I always wanted to be.

(3.) My greatest teachers have been my own children and grandchildren.

(4.) I believe most people are good (Anne Frank had it right.)

(5.) I have never shot a gun, and have never come close to a situation where I thought I might need one. Never!

(6.) I am highly allergic to alcohol.

(7.) My cooking abilities are pathetic. I have actually graduated up to pathetic.

(8.) I am a cat whisperer.

(9.) I was Miss Babe Ruth Baseball in ninth grade.

(10.) I have no idea why anyone would ever get a tattoo.

I tag Neva, Joy and Evonne.

I AM SO BAD, AND NOT SORRY!

When my 6th graders asked what they could bring for the Halloween party I said, "Anything you want."
"You mean -" gasp, dare they say it?, " candy?"
"This is Halloween. It ought to be fun."

I guess this underground rebellion is spreading. I found out I was not the only who decided that healthy food was out for Halloween. I am so glad, and I, for one, am not sorry.

P.S. to "I told you so."

We had more then enough candy, and less than 50 trick or treaters. Our days of 200 kids were when I taught at the neighborhood school, and, since everyone knew where I lived came, plus their siblings. Also, our neighborhood kids have grown up but the parents have stayed.

So, the days of 200 trick or treaters are gone. Now I have it in my blog and will more than likely remember for next year and can avoid another round of my egotistical one up-man-ship with my husband. As the kids would say, "My bad."

How do you NOT say "I told you so."

I may have to eat my words on this one. Husband and I were at big box warehouse store when he said, "Shouldn't we get some Halloween candy?" Don't like to purchase it there, but did; a $10 bag of Skittles and Starburst with 200 tiny packages of candy inside.

We live in a neighborhood where LOTS of kids are dropped off. It is not unusual to have 200 kids, and we'll look like Halloween Scrooge if we give a kid one tiny envelope with two Starburst or six Skittles in it. Technically, this package of candy would do us, but that is so chintzy. Yes, I want to give out the good stuff (as in good stuff that I won't be tempted to eat.)

Do I shut up knowing that this bag of candy will not be sufficient, or do I go out and buy more and not tell My Cheapo? I'll let you know.

A Survey for my students. Thanks for helping.

My latest goal is doing things ahead of time. My daughter, Alexandra, has always been the queen of doing things ahead of time. As a child she would come home, do her homework and then play. I once asked her, "How do you do that?" She looked at me quizzically with those aqua blue eyes and said, "If I get my work done then I don't have to worry about it, then I can go play and have fun!" I never taught her that. ( She is left-handed, however.)

I have battled procrastination for a most of my life. When I started goal-setting one of my major goals was to overcome my last-minute-Liz-itis. (Thank you for not rolling your eyes. I don't blame you. I'd roll my eyes, too.) Now I was ready for the next step.

This last year my big goal was to "LIG" or, "Let it go". That was a tough one. Probably the toughest of all, but learning to let go has been one of the most exhilarating things I have ever done. I am now able to let go of the majority of things that bug me. Another way of putting it is that I learn to forgive myself and others. Man! I would have done that decades ago had I known the amazing benefits of letting go.

I have a darling girl in my class this year who waves her hand wildly after an assignment is given and asks, "Can I hand this in early?" I told the class that this young woman was destined for success and happiness in her life. Guess what? It was contagious. Many of the other students started doing it too. We made it a class goal. "I get my work done ahead of time." I was on the bandwagon, too.

So, Alexandra, I am trainable. How many times have you been told that one of the greatest reasons to have children is that they teach you so much? I always wanted to get things done ahead of time, but it was something I just wasn't ready to do because I really didn't think I was even capable of it. Now I am! It is like time-travel. Seriously!

Dear Blogger Friends, here's my question: do you do things ahead of time? Have you always been that way? What are the benefits? Were you like me and just didn't think you were that type of person? Please let me know as I want to share your success stories with my students.

THANKS!

Parent-Teacher-Student Conferences - A Bad Start

(1.) Parent requests change in conference from Monday (THE DAY HE REQUESTED) to Tuesday. I copied his original request along with the change.

Same parent sent in field trip permission slip with his signature and none of the emergency info filled in.

(2.) Parent calls in to say she can't make it to Friday's conference but she could come Wednesday, her day off, or any time next week. Parent NEVER returned the sheet that gave her time preferences. THERE ARE NO CONFERENCES NEXT WEEK. Will offer that parent two choices of phone conference time. Her child claims to live at grandma's, and shouldn't even be going to our school. Child is in serious academic trouble. Gee, I wonder why the child is so flaky?

(3.) First conference parents are 10 minutes late for a twenty minute conference. Mom stands outside the class talking on her cell phone for an additional 5 minutes. I start conference without her. Dad's cell phone goes off and he doesn't know what to do. He pulls it out (the phone, that is) and let it go to voice mail. He shrugged sheepishly. I sent them on the way when their time was up.

(4.) Next conference was on time. Student is getting good grades but is a drama queen. I inform mom that the drama needs to stop as it is apparently for show and attention only. The only victims are the classmates who have to watch her "shows". Child turns on the waterworks. Mom says, "She did this before only it was a lot worse." Oh, I'm glad it's better. And the Academy Award for the best performance by a sixth grader goes to ...

(5.) Next conference super supportive parents. Mom, according to fifth grade teacher used to cover son's rear-end for everything. Today mom turned to her son and said, "It's sink or swim time." Congrats, Mom, you have quit enabling your child.

(6.) Adorable girl who came from Mexico less than 3 years ago and is a top student. She wants to be a teacher. Hooray!

Tips to parents:

- Be on time, damn it!

- Turn off the damn cell phone!

- Sign stuff and turn it in in a timely manner.

- Don't act shocked when you see the grades. All your child's work is sent home weekly.

- Showing up for a conference shows your child you care and love them.

I teach in the public schools. We have no choice as to who is in our class.

News to People in Illinois

I was telling my students about a very heated argument I had with my best friend, Joanne, when we were both in the 3rd grade. At the time we lived in Charleston, Illinois. Joanne was absolutely certain that Chicago was a state.

"Chicago isn't a state?" one student interrupted. Groans from classmates.

Wild hand waving from boy in the back of the class, "But I heard on the news they are gonna make it a state."

I can't make this stuff up, as Dave Berry used to say.

So for all you folks in Illinois I thought you might want to be aware of the confused geography here in Arizona. (I blame this on the 5th grade teachers because they teach the students the states - all 51 one of them. By the way, what's the capital of Chicago?)

Another senseless death

Another suicidal appliance, or is this the plot of a Stephen King novel? The past six months we have had an unheard of number of appliance deaths; too numerous to name here. The terms mind-boggling and "oh, you-must-be-joking" would cover it.

Last night I decided to microwave a mini-bag (not the jumbo bag that I craved) of popcorn in our 6 month old stainless steel microwave. It started shooting flames towards my poor bag of popcorn. Damn! I removed my pathetic unpopped and singed bag and moved it to the ancient brown mammoth microwave which is hidden away in the corner of the rec room. (How old is it? The numbers are in Roman numerals.) It worked fine but is an embarrassment to have in the kitchen. It's about the size of a washer, too.

Gary and I trucked down to Big Box warehouse store and bought another stainless steel microwave. The kid at the checkout asked if we wanted the extended warranty. We declined. Extended warranties are a diabolical trick we now know.

We had bought a policy which covered all out major appliances years ago just in case we did have such catastrophes, but, we found out, when you call to make an appointment to have your appliance repaired you are not only not given an appointment that is always double-digit-days away, they also send you the repair person who learned his (it's always men) skills in the state prison and is not literate. (Why do they always ask to use the bathroom and have serious bowel problems? This I am NOT making up.) Extended warranties mean you are below the bottom of the list. The attitude of the company is that you get what you pay for, you cheap bastard.

So, we are philosophical and realize that the death of our appliances is simply our contribution to boosting the economy.

Last Year's Birthday Dinner

A Blasphemous Confession

I know I will take a lot of criticism for the following blog, but as they say, confession is good for the soul. There are a couple of confessions that follow. Maybe they will not be earth-shattering to you, but educators will understand my shame.

Those of you who know me know that my life has taken a new and better direction since I developed a goal-setting program for my students. I know on the surface "goal-setting" sounds like another one of those goofy, fads that educators so willingly start only to have it flop, as so many do. My program is not gimmicky. It simply shows students how to set and achieve thier goals for the pure joy of achieving goals. There are no "rewards" for reaching a goal, other that delicious feeling of reaching the goal. The program has been successful beyond my wildest dreams and gave me a whole "lease" on my teaching life. I was able to teach kids to become self-motivated, and that had always been my dream; for kids to learn to love to learn.

So, where are the confessions, you ask? Here is one of them; not all kids buy it. Not all kids want to learn, or care about learning, and Mother Teresa (who we now know had her own struggles) probably couldn't reach them, and believe me, I ain't no Mother Teresa.

The joke among teachers about the "No Child Left Behind" program has been, "What about the kids who don't want to come?" Here is one of the hardest thing for me to admit, I can't, despite all my best efforts, teach every child who comes to my class to love to learn and to be self-motivated. One of my goals has been that I must let them go. (LIG)

What? What kind of cruel harpy am I? After 30 years I realize that some kids, for whatever reason, don't care about learning. They firmly believe that they will be a rock star, movie star, television star, or lottery winner. They will be so rich that education won't be important. Yea, good luck. Studies have shown that nearly 20% of all kids believe that. However, and here I must make a hugely important distinction; not all kids care about grades, which is very, very different from not wanting to learn. Not caring about grades is not really so horribly bad. Grades are not indicative of what a child has learned.

Here is my other confession, I don't care about grades either. As I just said, grades are not indicative of what a child has learned. I made it my policy nearly 20 years ago that any child who wanted staright A's could get them. I made high grades something within every child's reach. (Yes, it can be done without compromise, believe me.) Why? Because for many parents grades are monumentally important. They don't think, "My child GOT a 'C'", they think "My child IS a 'C', " and nothing, nothing can convince them otherwise. I knew years ago that grades were a very poor indicator of the knowledge that a child acquired. Grades don't work.

So here is the last part of my confession; if I have made every effort to see that getting high grades is attainable for ALL students and if they do not choose to take advantage of it, then I have to allow them to do so. The big picture is what has the child learned, not what grades a child recieves, or how well he or she performs on a test.

I have been a real hypocrite about this. I have told students I wouldn't chase them around about getting their work done and turned in, and yet I have. "Where is your work?" I will ask. It becomes a game that I always lose, and as long as I play the game I will always lose. Kids have much more energy and stamina than I do. So, am I saying that I am allowing children to fail? NO! I am allowing kids gets to recieve the bad grades they have earned. They have made that choice. BIG, big difference.

So there it is folks; if students don't turn in their work they get (stupid, meaningless) bad grades, and I declare here that I must let that go.

Nora's Barn

I wish I could show you a picture of our barn. * Yes, we have an actual barn. The owner's before us kept horses in it. The main resident, and Princess of the barn, is Nora the cat, whom I inherited from my daughter. Nora does not know she is a cat. I'm not sure just what she thinks she is but whatever it is, is pretty darn special.

Nora, although clawless, has decimated any mice that would dare to trod in her domain. She must have some kind of truce with the scorpions and black widow spiders though. I am not merciful if I find them. They are sent to their end swiftly. They may live in the barn, but I own the barn.

The truth of the matter is that I love the barn. It used to be horribly hot but now that it has been re-roofed and is in the shade nearly the entire day, it holds a temperature that is always pleasant. Gary hates the way it smells, but I love it. It smells like wood, dirt, cat, dust, bugs, paper, and lots of old junk. We used to have a fair collection of deceased vacuum cleaners out there, too. I have no idea why Gary put them in the barn because I told him directly that the barn would not heal them and make them new and young and frisky.

The barn is never moldy either because we are so dry here. It doesn't have the creepy dampness of a basement or attic. It has an aliveness. It is patiently waiting to be cleaned. Right now I could probably toss most everything, except Nora, the Barn Princess and it could be a work area, except that I like that it is my place.

I like taking Nora's breakfast and dinner to her and we talk about her day. She has quite a vocabulary and is never bored, or boring. I brush her, which she likes sometimes, and other times not at all. That is her prerogative. Lately she goes nose-to-nose with the beagles as they watch her through the baby gate that is at the door. They are not allowed in the barn. They accept the rule philosophically, as dogs do. Nora, does not mock them which makes the no-dog rule at least tolerable.

As Robert Frost said, I will be telling this with a sigh, but I know I will clean the junk out of the barn and perhaps have to share the barn with Gary, and that would only be fair. I will still love my barn, only a little differently.

Barns are ancient structures and maybe their specialness is that they are homes for animals, in this case, Nora's barn. Nora has made the barn unique in her own way.




*I can't because I am still using Gary's computer and can't download my pictures to it. My computer should be up and running within a week in it's shiny new office.

Did you miss me???? Here's the latest. A BIG THANK YOU, TOO.

(1.) Check out my new grand puppy, Becky the Basset, at my son-in-law's blog, Sheep Days. The gorgeous little boy is my grandson, Thomas.

Now Brett will understand the old expression, "Love me, love my dog."

(2.) I decided to redecorate my office because the new floor is so gorgeous. This has become a much bigger project than anticipated, but I am motivated. I was living in terror that the HGTV people would show up at our house and do a remodel as per requested by our daughter in one of those "My parents are stuck in the last century" episodes.

(3.) Please forgive my griping about our weather. We do not live in San Diego where it is law that the weather and climate is always perfect. However, we have now had 31 days of temperatures above 110. This is especially bad when one is teaching and the kids can't go out for recess. Of course the kids can walk back and forth from school. Someone wrote into the paper saying that the rest of the country has snow days and that we should have heat days.

Ah, this too shall pass. ( I just made that up.)

(4.) A HUGE THANK YOU : I want to publicly thank the people who read my blog, comment on it and those very precious friends who email me regularly from around the world. I have always believed in the goodness, kindness, warmth and amazing humor of people and this is continuously shown by small group of blogger friends. I treasure your words.


Life is good.

I still love it here.

I was born in Madison, Wisconsin. I lived in:
- Baraboo, Wisonsin
- Eleva, Wisonsin
- Elmhurst, Illinois
- Ellendale, North Dakota
- Charleston, Illinois
- DeKalb, Illinois
- Morgantown, West Virgina
- New Britain, Connecticut
- Madison, Wisconsin
- Grand Forks, North Dakota
- Mesa. Arizona. I love it here.

I love Arizona. It's beauty is haunting. The weather is magnificnet from November through Aprtil, and then it gets hot. The last two weeks have been the hottest on record. Our students can't go out for recess. They can, howver , walk to and from school. Someone suggested that in the rest of the country they have snow days, so perhaps we should have heat days. Tomorrow it will much. much cooler; 98 degrees.

We must go through the worst to appreciate the best.

Remember Murphy Brown?

I am on my husband's computer so I can't seem to add any images.


Remember on the show Murphy Brown, the contrator who was a permanent resident because he was always working on a project? Well, that's happened at our house, but here is the good news; our contrator/handyman is delightful and the remodeling although going very s-l-o-w-l-y is worth the wait. The floor is much better than I hoped for. The new doors look gorgeous. A shiny light and fan will brighten my office, and have decided that paint and wallpaper will look much better than the crappy stuff (which I loved at one time, but everyone else hated) has to go. This is all a bit tricky with teaching full time, and my day starts early. I'm at school before 7:00 am. Oh, well, I can sleep .... later.

It's been said that remodeling is as stressful as a divorce, but aside from the appliance death watch, death of an beloved pet ( oh, yes, another a/c unit has been leaking which caused ceiling damage and we could have bought a really high-end washer for it's repair) but who's counting? I think we have done very well and only mild irritation over furniture placement and removal (yea, - way too much firniture before) and major LIGging (see blog below) on my part, have keep kept us sane. After having watched many episodes of HGTV we should realize that everything costs more than estimated. Oh, well, who's counting. (I said that didn't I?)

When I get my own computer back I'll post pictures.

Every School Year is Different, so I LIG.

Every school year is unique because there are millions - literally - of combinations of factors that make so many things different. For example, brutal heat; 113 degrees the first day. One less sixth grade teacher, and larger classes. The entire sixth grade has a personality that is wildly different from last year's group. (Human, for one thing.) These kids are much less worldly. thank goodness.

Add to that being in the midst of major remodeling here at home which means that when I come home there isn't any real relaxation. Why is it that I don't feel the bone draining exhaustion that would normally swallow me up?

I'm glad you asked.

It is because I have finally learned to LIG. That is my new acronym for "Let It Go."

Of all the goals I have worked towards in the past four years LIGging has been one of the most satisfying because it has done the most to get stress under control.

As the Serenity prayer suggest you must let go of things you can't control. I had no idea how little I controlled. I had no idea that giving up that control would have the unknown bonus of giving me energy that was utterly wasted on things out of my control.

Ah, it's good to know I am still trainable.

All Dogs Go To Heaven

Bruno, our eighteen and half year old beagle, died this morning. Only last month he was out dancing in the backyard under the moon. No one told him he was old and deaf and blind and dancing was only for young dogs. It has been a year full of dog deaths. Bruno's sister Mollie died last October. They were both ancient dogs. We loved them, but it was time.

The toughest death was Josephine (JoJo) beagle, who had to be put to sleep on Christmas day. It was just like having someone shove their fist down your throat and then rip your heart out. Josephine was much younger. She had shown no signs of illness. She was sweet beyond sweet and full of love. Jo the peacemaker. My son held her in his arms, like a baby, as she died.

My dear, dear, friend Pat, died On Christmas day, too. The day after that Gail's mom died. The unexpected deaths are something you never get used to. Christmas will never be the same.

Our beagle girls; Freddie, JoJo's sister, and the little girl dogs, Roxanne and Mabel are all that is left of the pack. They are bewildered today. They don't know death, but they do know loss.

Our friend Austin said an amazing thing about dogs, "They stay puppies their whole lives, then they die and break your hearts." How true.

But I have always said our pets are only loaned to us.

I could get everything done if I didn't have to sleep.

We are remodeling, which means moving decades worth of stuff, but so much stuff was thrown out, too. Good riddance. Appliances have made a suicide pact. We bought a lovely new refrigerator. Hooray.

This week has been filled with before school meetings. School starts with the kids on Monday. Tonight we had "Meet and Greet" where the kids and parents come to meet the teacher. All but two of my students showed up. That's a record.

Lots of former students stopped by to say "Hello", which is something that can't be put in a paycheck. Everyone of them said they were still goal-setting. I couldn't be prouder of them.

I am woefully sleep-deprived, but as happy as I can remember. I busy. I'm tired. But I'm not stressed. I wish I could bank this lovely feeling. Oh, I know. I can blog about it.

Ach! Why are people still tanning?

In early 1970’s my husband, his parents and I had gone to dinner at a fashionable restaurant in Scottsdale. We had gone for a stroll after dinner to see some of the galleries. Walking in front of us was an unusual couple. The man, middle aged and ordinary looking. The woman? The most exotic person I had ever seen and dressed like someone straight out of Frederick's of Hollywood. She was very slender and wore what were called “toreador” pants with a matching bolero style jacket, but in a ghastly leopard print. She teetered along on the tallest black patent leather heels I had ever seen. Her hair was bleached and frazzled. Then she turned around and I almost gasped because she was so tanned and wrinkled she made the Marlboro man look pale. It was frightening!

In retrospect, the woman was probably a prostitute. (No, I don’t know that, and yes, that is judgment call.) But the lesson I learned was not to over tan (her profession didn’t occur to me until later), and that was back in the days when we didn’t know how harmful tanning was. I am sad to say that many women my age and younger, here in Arizona, haven’t learned that lesson. Wrinkles have never been fashionable.

Arizona and Florida have the highest rates of skin cancer in the United States. I slathered my kids in sunscreen. I still apply sunscreen everyday. People are now carrying umbrellas as sun protectors. Nearly everyone here knows someone who has had some form of skin cancer, and we have known young people who have died from it. It is an excruciating way to die.

That is why on our recent trip to the Midwest I was astounded to see so many people deeply tanned. We drove though many, many small towns on the back roads of Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois and Missouri and in every little town there were tanning salons, and evidently doing a booming, if not deadly, business.

Admittedly, a tan on a young healty looking person looks good as compared to pasty white skin, but the real thing is a ticking time-bomb.

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Crazy July weather in Arizona.

Temperature on July 3rd, 2007 is 109 IN THE SHADE!!

The weather service said it was about 115.

We consider that HOT.

Do you see this?

72 degrees on a rainy day.

We love this RARE cool down in July.

This only happens after a pouring rainstorm, which leaves everything cool and that spicy, intoxicating smell of the desert.

Comment on another Blog - On Lipsticks

My friend Neva of Let Me Be Blunt …, wrote recently about a friend’s compliment on how terrific she looked (which she does)and attributed it to her lipstick. Neva claims never to leave home without putting on lipstick. I belong to that club, too. It got me to thinking about that luscious stuff. Thanks, Neva! My daughter also blogged about the curative power of lipsticks and how purchasing one is a real spirit lifter. That is so true.

An Ode to Lipstick.

I read once that lipstick gives the face balance. That is true, but I think there is much more to lipstick than that. Lipstick is usually the first make up a girl is allowed to wear. A girl knows she looks pretty when she puts on lipstick. It is a powerful feeling. My six grade girls wear pink lip gloss. I don’t remember the color of my own first lipstick but I remember my sister’s. It was Revlon’s “Powder Pink” and it looked exactly like congealed Pepto-Bismol. It was gross. It looked gross on every girl who wore it. Fads cannot be explained by logic. Powder Pink will probably rise again and be as wildly popular as black nail polish.

In the 1960’s lipstick became so pale that it looked like one wasn’t wearing it at all. Lots of dark eye make up, and false eye lashes. Ah, the raccoon look. I knew one girl who actually wore foundation on her lips instead of lipstick. Not a good look.

My lips aren’t bad. Not big. Not too small. I am not unhappy with my lips. I never would consider the lip injections. Melanie Griffith’s lips now look like those old pictures of Lucille Ball (of “I Love Lucy”) who would paint outside the natural lines of her lips. That held a horrible fascination for me. Who would purposely go after that look? Does Antonio Banderas really want to kiss those lips? Yuck.

My sister has had lipstick issues from the beginning as her lips are small and thin. Actually, her lips are pretty but she has never felt comfortable with lipstick. She claims she eats it off as soon as she puts it on. A few years ago I bought her some lipstick that claimed to be “Industrial Strength”. Okay, they didn’t say that but that was the meaning. I picked out a color that I thought would be flattering, Bonnie insisted it was exactly the same color as angle worms. She was right. She gave the tube back to me but I never actually wore it because of the worm connotation.

Lipstick, unfortunately, likes my teeth. I always brush my teeth after lunch at school, powder my nose and put on fresh lipstick. There is always a student who kindly points out that I have lipstick on my teeth. By the end of the year neither the students nor I am embarrassed by this ritual. At least they tell me, unlike adults.

I have a special love for red lipstick; red that is on the verge of orange. Oh, that is my favorite. One can’t stock up on lipstick as it does go bad. That sounds like a country song, doesn’t it, “When Good Lipstick Goes Bad Then My Dog Runs Away”. I think that could be a hit.

Also, you have to cull lipsticks. Free lipsticks are never a good idea. They are rarely a good color. Also, lipsticks sometimes end up being a different color in the light of day than they are at the point of purchase. Case in point, any purple lipstick is potentially disastrous. Woman buy them because they see doctored pictures of models who look gorgeous and sexy in purple lipstick, but no real human has actually pulled that look off. It has never happened and never will, yet the stores are full of them. The landfill is their resting place. RIP.

Men, you do not understand woman’s relationship with lipstick and don’t even presume that you do. It is primal, and you should respect that.

My husband's luggage

This is EXACTLY the same kind and amount of luggage my husband uses on any trip we take. Of course my husband is much more handsome and very well dressed. However, he has a pathological disorder that makes him absolutely luggage phobic. He would take less if he possible could.

I, however, believe that a large piece of luggage and a carry on are fine. My husband is almost ill over the excess amount of luggage I take.

He has never been stranded in Europe without luggage as I have.

A Gratfying Day - the Blog was Published in the Newspaper

This past Friday two very good things happened. It was my daughter's 30th birthday. Although we could not be with our daughter, her GGF (good, good friend) and GGF's MH (mesmerizing husband) were. Do you wonder why I am the queen of acronyms?

The second thing was that I had an editorial printed in our local paper. The editorial was the blog the I wrote titled "An Elegant Solution for Education." (See below) The paper changed the headline to, "Education Would Improve With A Healthy Dose of Respect." They didn't change anything else, as sometimes happens. The best part was the response. I have received; over 20 emails, and a couple of calls. I am not counting the emails from friends to whom I emailed the article and they were forced to reply kindly. They did. The emails from strangers have been incredibly kind and supportive. Twenty emails might not sound like much but I was thrilled. (Last year I corresponded with a writer who appeared on a segment of Oprah and she said she had received six emails as a result of her appearance. Six for an appearance on Oprah!!)

In making the plunge to being a thorn-in-the-side of the district I realized that when people say "Somebody ought to ..." (and I am guilty of that) I was going to be that some body. Last fall I wrote an editorial that saved, at least temporarily, a good reading program. I am a tenured teacher so they can't fire me. Yes, yes, I realize tenure protects many incompetent teachers. The real question is, will this editorial do any good?

I believe it will. I am a great fan of Malcolm Galdwell's wonderful book The Tipping Point. It made me realize the power of grass roots efforts, and that the high mucky-mucks really need to pay attention to those of us in the trenches. Remember that in Ancient Sparta there were 25,00o citizens and 250,000 slaves. The citizens lived in constant fear of a slave rebellion. I know the school districts would not have to worry so much about rebellions (re: strikes) if teachers felt valued and respected. What a concept: treating employees with dignity. (This should be a given in ALL of life!)

I was so grateful for all the supportive emails I received. Only one was from a grumpy person, who although he could find nothing wrong with what I had to say he did blame all of the ills of education on the National Education Association, which he mistakenly called a union. I thanked him for his comments.

Thank you to my son-in-law, Brett. You got me started on blogging.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!

Before, May 1977

She didn't like the first bath from Grandma, but now she loves soaking in the tub.

I always knew she would be beautiful. Just look below.

Age 1, 1978

Alexandra, age 2, 1979

Lily and Tom at Mom's 29th Birthday, 2006


Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.

You have brought us such joy.

We are so proud of all that you have accomplished, and the lives you have touched.

Thirty years ago we could not have imagined any of this, but we always knew you were destined to make the world a better place, and you have.

We love you.

119 degrees is just too hot, even if it's dry heat.

It could get up to 119 F. degrees tomorrow. (48.3 C) Even for those of us who have spent decades in Arizona, that is considered hot. I know, I know, you have heard us say, “But it’s a dr-r-r-r-ry heat.” It is, and the only way I can describe it is like the blast from an oven. It is almost impossible to compare it with heat that includes humidity.

Remember when you have all the humidity you have the literal weight of the moisture in the air. That’s part of what makes a person so lethargic when it’s 98 degrees and the humidity is 98%.

Our problem comes when we get our awful heat and the humidity of the monsoon season. Monsoon is a misnomer, but the Arizona natives have called the rainy summer season “monsoon” and it has stuck.

Our rainy season does not include gentle cooling rain. Instead great mountainous cumulous clouds billow up over the mountains and then the storms come crashing in with noise and flash and shuddering thunder. They are like heat blizzards with punishing winds and more often than not the spectacular lightning that sets off desert wild fires. If we get rain in the spring we get a lot of desert vegetation which dries out in the heat and then is fuel for summer fires.

But after the rain there is the gorgeous, spicy, intoxicating smell of the desert, and nothing else in the world smells better.

The Tortoise, the Hare, and the Treadmill

It’s been three weeks since I seriously started my “treadmilling”. Things are going slowly, but, as my friend pointed out at a recent breakfast, “You might lose more weight if you changed your eating habits.” This, after she watched in horror as I put sugar and cream in my coffee.

“You’re right,” I sniffed. “I know I would lose weight more quickly if I dieted but I also know it wouldn’t be permanent.” She scoffed. “If I diet and lose weight my body will figure it out, and get even.” She scoffed again. “If I exercise and don’t change the way I eat I’ll lose weight.” She was into major scoffing by now. “I already have.” The scoffing abruptly stopped. She was quiet.

“How long do you think this will take?” she wanted to know.

“Maybe, hmmm, a year.”

“A year?”

“Probably.”

“You’re kidding.”

No, I wasn’t. I heard a story of a man who owned a health club and didn’t understand why people had such a hard time losing weight. He went on his first diet and lost twenty-five pounds. It was easy. No big deal. (You know where this story is going.) He put the weight back on plus five pounds and started having trouble with his weight. After I heard that story I decided I would never diet again.

It’s said that you must walk about 40 miles to lose a pound. As of today I’ve walked just under 90 miles, and I things have definitely toned up and I know I’ve lost a little weight. The main thing is I have stuck with this and honestly enjoyed it. That was my original goal:to stick with it.

Believe me, if I can do this anyone can. How are you doing?

An Elegant Solution for Education

Everybody seems to know what is wrong with education, and every one of these experts can tell you, with absolute assurance that the problem with education is one of the following (in no particular order): rotten teachers, rotten kids, rotten parents, an over-sexed society, politics, entertainment, the media, and let’s not forget, junk food. The public is told that if only these things were changed children would start to learn. If only it were that simple.

“Ockham’s Razor”, named after a fourteenth century English friar, is credited with the stating that the simplest explanation is often the best. Here is one of the unquestioned beliefs, as applied to education, that if test scores go up then education is good. Sadly, a great many people, especially those in the political arena who have the power to control education, have sold American’s on this supposed “truth”. As an educator of thirty years, I can only say that this simple truth is horribly and egregiously wrong. Here is the truth folks, and dear Ockham, no doubt, would agree, when tests scores go up it simply means that students did well on tests. It does not mean that any learning took place, or (heaven forbid) that a student learned to love to learn, or became motivated to learn. There are lots of ways to do well on a test that have nothing to do with learning. I know I am not the only one to see this.

We can assume that children who come from stable homes, have two involved parents, plan on going to college, and have good teachers will probably do better in schools than students who have none of those things. However, that is not always the case as many, so-called advantaged kids fail. The explanations for the students who do well in spite of disadvantages are fascinating and wildly conflicting. No one really knows. They do make for good movies, however. (I remind my students that movies are to make money first and foremost, not to necessarily to enlighten.)

I recently talked with a woman who was retired from thirty years of teaching. She said something that took my breath away because it was so obvious, but I had never questioned it. She said she never for one day felt that the school district valued her as a teacher, and that had she treated her students with the contempt and indifference that she experienced she would have been fired. My mouth dropped. She was right. As one example, teachers are no longer allowed to have students exchange papers to grade them in class (I never did this because kids were too busy seeing what they got on their own papers) because it is traumatic when a student doesn’t do well on a test. Yet, there are schools that post in the teacher’s lounge, or other public places, how teacher’s classes perform on standardized tests. The teachers are to be shamed? Shame may work but it is a despicable way to supposedly motivate people.

I already know who will say, “Well, they should be shamed if their class didn’t do well.” I would say to them, is the doctor shamed if the patient doesn’t heal? No! People would say there are just too many factors that the doctor cannot control. And yet people honestly think that teachers do have that control? Exponentially a teacher is often working with thirty or more students at a time, and each student comes with his or her own backpack full of issues. I can tell you from personal experience having a student whose behavior is sociopathic makes it pretty darn hard to teach. Don’t you think that might affect test scores?

Recently Google was listed as one of the best places to work in the country. They are inundated everyday with thousands of applicants. Why? Google employees talk of the wonderful perks: gourmet food, health clubs, great pay, being able to bring pets to work, flexible hours and top notch health care. Those certainly would be incentives for most people. Yet so many Google employees said that being valued as employees was one of the greatest perks. Mmmmmm.

I would be willing to guess that students who feel valued and respected by their teachers enjoy school, and more than likely learn more from that type of teacher. Does that translate to better test scores? I don’t know, and that isn’t the point of education. The point of education is to learn how to learn. Ideally, it is to learn to love to learn and to take that learning and share it for the greater good of humankind.

Smart school districts, will value and respect their teachers. Even Ockham, I am sure would agree, that treating every school employee with respect would be obvious and (here’s the real surprise) it wouldn’t cost a thing.

Wimbleton Widow

“Ung – uuuumph- uuuuump!” Thwack!

“Argggggggrph!” Thunk!

“Ung – umph- omp!” Thwaa-ack!

“Argggggggrph -phoof!” Thunk!

“AHHHHHHHHH!”

“Ung – uuuumph- ump!” Thwack!

“Ohhhhhhhh!”

“Argggggggrph!” Thunk!

The sounds of Wimbleton will soon reverberate throughout our house.

My name is Liz and I’m a Wimbleton Widow.

Strawberry Maniac

I may OD on strawberries. They are so inexpensive, $1.50 a quart, that I have been eating strawberries in everything, and they are huge strawberries, too. Until the tell-tale red splotches appear on my skin I’m going for it.

I talked to my sister, who lives in Minnesota and she said she tries not to look at the prices when she buys them. There are some things in life you just have to splurge on and strawberries are one of them. I can’t believe I didn’t like them as a child.

By the way, the cantaloupes are wonderful, too. Oh! And the peaches are just perfect. I’m in heaven. The wonderful fruit makes the crushing Arizona summer heat worth it. Remember though; it’s a dry heat.

TREADMILL UPDATE

Okay, I don’t look anything like any of these women. I am the same height as Eva L., who, by the way, is 5’1” tall (or short) but CLAIMS to be 5’2”. I never looked like her, and never will. Sally Field is 5’1” in height and a little older than I am, and you have probably seen her hawking medicine for osteoporosis. I know she suffered from a multitude of eating disorders when she was younger, and chances are they have contributed to her present condition. However, now the woman looks great and I would be happy if my body looked like hers.

Valerie Bertonelli is in my height category, but I never got anywhere near as chubby as she, thank goodness. Cellulite does not discriminate and even former wives of former rock stars succumb. I guess being paid a gazillion dollars to go on TV to sell whatever diet program is motivation enough for her. I just think it makes losing weight all too complicated. (Is Kirsty Allie finished losing weight? Is she happy at that size? If she is, good for her, but who, for goodness sake, picks out her clothes? Not very figure flattering.)

However, I refuse to diet. I have found that if someone says I can’t have a particular goodie then it haunts my dreams. Also, I quit weighing myself over twenty years ago. I did not want to be tied to a number on a scale. I turn around on the scale at the doctor’s office. They are used to it by now.

I don’t diet because yes, one does lose weight when one diets except that your body gets used to less food and if you try to eat “normally” those pesky pounds, which have missed you so much, come right back usually on the butt. The diet industry wants to continue sucking money out of people when 95% of them put the weight back on, and then some. (Check the statistics yourself.) Even Valerie’s diet company admits to that when pressed.

So, how is walking on the treadmill going? Fantastically. Since I am not a television watcher I decided I would order the shows from NetFlix and watch them as I walked. I have a headphone set and I bought an extension cord from Radio Shack so that no one else is bothered by the many episodes of “Desperate Housewives” I view. I walk when I feel like it. This has been so easy. Yes, I look forward to the walking. I have a little calendar and, as of today, I am walking an average of 3.46 miles per day.

So, I know this way will take longer, but I’m okay with that. Honestly, at my age I want to be healthy and I’m letting my body decide what is a healthy size for me.

Here is my plan. I want to keep this up, and I believe I can. Let me know how you are doing. Pass it on.

A Story with a Sad, But Not Surprising Ending

This coming fall I will start my thirtieth year of teaching. Yes, yes, it’s corny but I really do love it. However, I spent way too many years feeling bad about students with I whom I couldn’t connect. Time, being the great clonk-on-the-head factor says that the more you try to connect with a student the more you drive them away. That was the case with Winston (not his real name). I found out that no one connected with him.

If you have ever read any of Barbara Robinson’s hilarious books about the Herdman’s, who were “the worst kids in the history of the world,” then you would know about Winston. He was, without a doubt, the worst kid I ever had; truly a child without a conscience. I have since learned that he is more than likely, a sociopath. I will, gentle readers, spare you the details of all the unbelievably awful things he did, but I was ready to quit teaching because of him. It is ironic that one of the other students in that same class went on to be her class valedictorian and had many offers of full college scholarships. She, on the other hand, probably will never know that she kept me from quitting.

That spring that Winston was in my 6th grade class I called his father to report one of the latest of his horrendous behaviors (and no, the administrator at that school prided herself on NEVER suspending a child no matter how bad the behavior or district guidelines). The father immediately turned vicious. I was taken back as I had never had that happen before. (My earlier complaining, as an example, of his taking Winston to R rated movies which he graphically shared with classmates was greeted with a don’t-be-so-uptight reaction from the dad.) This time the dad personally attacked me, then threatened me. I reminded him that it was against the law to threaten a teacher. He screamed at me, “I’m not threatening you but if you ever ….” and so on and so on. Then I did something that I’m not proud of. I said, “Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I definitely went to his level. Interestingly, Winston’s dad owned a collection agency. He probably thought he was talking to me normally. Geesh!

Two weeks ago I saw that Winston’s dad died. I have removed all identifying information. He was in his early 40’s. This is his obituary:



*****, passed away after a brave battle with colon cancer. ***** was born in ***** and he was raised in Arizona. He had a strong will and he lived his life on his own terms. He was the epitome of an entrepreneur-always dreaming up and developing new business opportunities and ventures. He was his father's son. Although he worked hard, ***** knew how to have fun too. He loved playing poker-Texas Hold 'Em in particular. Many a weekend he would invite friends over for a night of card-playing fun. Ask any of his friends and family and they would tell you how much he touched their lives and what a generous man he was. ***** is preceded in death by his father and sister, He is survived by his son, ********, mother and sisters. (We cannot go without mentioning his special Aunt, who gave of her time, her love and her support to *****and the rest of his family during this difficult journey. We will miss you **** boy.

I take no delight in his passing. His end was miserable. As I stated in an earlier blog about planning your own funeral I would also advise people to write their own obituaries, because I would not consider this one as praiseworthy.

I wonder what will happen to Winston now. I still have no idea what I could have done to help him, and now, even though his dad was a jerk, Winston has no father.

Breaking the Myth of Sarcasm; It's Not a Joke Anymore!

I realized that I needed to expand on my profile comment about giving up sarcasm, as I am sure you have noticed some sarcastic comments in my blogs. Let me explain.

Several years ago I developed a goal-setting program for my students. It was successful beyond anything I could have hoped for. It was an absolute magical year and I felt that I could teach forever. I have been teaching this particular program for three years and I am, in fact, even more enthused. The program has grown and I have even taught it to adults through some very prestigious organizations. It has truly changed many lives for the better.

When I first started the program there were glitches, of course. The problem was sarcasm. Sixth grader’s sarcasm is usually very clumsy. It is pretty much not even up to the level of slap-stick comedy. It is pathetic. One girl, Leeta, was a master of rapier-like sarcasm, never to me, however. Students are rarely rude to me (exception being Samuel, off meds, in the Diva/Victim/Bully blog below.) Leeta could rip the other kids to pieces and they never knew what hit them. Leeta was the black-belt of 6th grade sarcasm. I would find a glob of gelatinous goo on the floor, which had been a student at one time, and knew that Leeta struck again. That kind of sarcasm took practice.

I invited Leeta’s mother in for a conference. I asked her if Leeta and her brother were sarcastic with one another. “Ayeeee!” was her answer.

“I take that to mean ‘yes’?” Leeta and her brother were vicious to one another and the mother was desperate for help.

I came up with a plan and I have eliminated most sarcasm from my life. How? Why are people sarcastic? They say, and this is the biggest bunch of horse sh**t to ever come down the pike; “I was just joking.” No they weren’t. No, they aren’t. Don’t ever, ever, ever believe that again. It is a lie. I challenge you to challenge anyone who ever says that to you again.

Sarcasm has three components.
(1.) - to make the person being sarcastic feel superior.
(2.) – to make the person being sarcastic feel right.
(3.) – to enable the person being sarcastic to inflict pain.

Whenever anyone uses the “I was only joking” excuse we put it to the test. Are they trying to feel superior? Are they bullying to be right? Do they wish to hurt the other person? A yes to any one of these is not acceptable and the person is being sarcastic. Period.

Here’s the big question though, is it ever acceptable to be sarcastic? Yes! Absolutely! Egotistical overblown celebrities deserve sarcasm. Britney Spears was a great source of sarcasm for my class this year. She was a poster person for my class. They now know what sycophant’s are. They know now that money does not buy happiness or good sense or good taste (good haircut? Mother of the year? etc.) Britney Spears is a public figure, and yes, yes, yes, she is to be pitied, too. I don’t feel bad about being sarcastic toward her.

Here in Arizona we are always being sarcastic about the heat. Yes, 115 degrees is hot. How hot was it? You know the bit. When I lived in North Dakota we would be sarcastic about the cold. You can be sarcastic about political figures, too. That is part of being a celebrity.

But, as a teacher, sarcasm is never to be used against a student. I was guilty of that, and I am not proud. I can only pray for forgiveness for that. I can now expect others not to be sarcastic with me if they are trying to act superior, right or hurtful. That, by any other name is bullying, and that should never be accepted.

A Happy Boy

This past Thursday Gary and I went the Phoenix Art Museum to see the exhibit called “Curves of Steele” which was an exhibit of cars which were famous for being the best examples of streamlined automobiles from the 1930’s to 1990’s. The pictures above are not from the exhibit but rather there were two cars that were models similar to these.

As Gary looked at the Ferrari, restored to perfection, he whispered, “It’s like a piece of sculpture.” He drank it in.

Gary has an encyclopedic knowledge of these, and most of the cars in the exhibit. One elderly lady eavesdropped as he told me about the electric blue McClaren. It was wonderful to hear these stories from him. He was just beside himself, and awestruck to see these cars. I bought him the companion book as an early Father’s Day Present, and that made him a very happy boy.

It was a delightful time, and reminds me of why I have loved this man for 40 years.

BIG SECRET - Not for Fitness Purists

Do not forward this blog to any of your friends who are really into fitness and exercise because it will cause them to faint, or just explode with frustration at those of us who are not exercising correctly (which is a felony in some states, I understand.)

A number of years I ago I got up before sunrise and went walking. The weight almost magically came off. It was fun and I listened to a great many books on cd (shameless plug for Audible.com.) The problem was – big surprise - once school started up again I didn’t keep it up.

Next, when summer started I got a bottom of the line treadmill, and watched movies as I walked away. Those pesky pounds dropped off, school started and I didn’t keep up the walking. I was too tired. I didn’t want more work!

I teach with a number of women who are hardcore exercisers. They go to the gym faithfully. They are toned. Some, shame, shame, are even tan (which is NOT a cool thing to do here in our skin cancer state.) I want to hit them, but I haven’t the strength. I needed a different strategy. I needed something that worked.

Brilliant idea. How would you exercise if you could exercise the way you wanted to? What if you never heard, or never believed Jane Fonda’s “No pain. No gain.” Easy answer; it would be fun and no work. That’s how little kids exercise. That’s how I stayed skinny as a little kid.

Here is my plan, and you can do this too, as long as you promise to keep it secret. If word gets out it would ruin the “Health Club” economy. Oh, darn.

I renewed my Netflix membership and plan to watch the TV shows that I never have watched because I am too wiggly to sit and watch TV. (No, I can’t watch and do something that is even slightly left brianed, either. I can’t multi-task.) I am currently treading, literally, through “Desperate Housewives”, but here is my secret; I slowly walk a mile. Go do other stuff. Come back. Slowly walk another mile. Go do other stuff. Slowly walk another mile. Ect., ect.

Guess what? I am not sore. I am not exhausted. Yes, I know the purists will say that won’t do any good. I believe that’s a HUGE part of the exercise problem. I am sure there are a lot of people who have bought into the purists theories and believe that since they can’t exercise properly they won’t bother. What if that isn’t true? What’s the worst that can happen? I will be getting exercise and having fun and therefore I’ll keep it up. Is that so bad? Don’t know. I’ll keep you posted.

I did it!

I got my classroom cleaned up as of yesterday. I worked like the dickens this weekend. This is the earliest I have had my classroom cleaned up in my entire teaching career. I am so relieved.

This has got to be the dullest blog I have written and I cannot imagine that, other than my principal ,who was quite pleased, there is not one soul on the planet who would find this newsworthy or interesting, howver I have the momentum and am now ready to tackle some other big projects.

So there.

Look out sock drawer, here I come.

Be Careful What You Email; It Says Much More Than You Think

A dear friend of mine decided to get divorced after decades of an unhappy marriage. I never got to know her spouse so to comment on him would be unfair. When my friend decided to divorce her husband started writing her and emailing her very l-o-n-g and verbose letters. She shared them with close friends simply because she didn't know what to make of them. He didn't want to get divorced and I saw his letters as being very possessive. My friend didn't see this because she was so used to it.


Today another email arrived. They are difficult to read, not because of any real pain on his part but because they are so very tedious and all about him. It's as if, like a student, he mistakenly believes that the more he writes the clearer he makes himself. Wrong! The more words he writes the more he incriminates himself. I performed a little word analysis breakdown for her. It is as follows:


Dearest Friend,

I think what [his name] didn't know he said is more telling than his words. Look at the breakdown very, very carefully. I believe we know who he believes this is all about by a very clear margin. Again, you are doing the right thing.

I = 22
me = 13
myself = 1
man = 1
my = 12
.........................................
total = 49

...........................................

you = 12
your = 2
woman = 3
[friend'name] 1
............................................
total = 18


God = 3

us = 1

........................................................................................................

Love, Your Friend

DIVA / VICTIM / BULLY

One would think after having taught for twenty-nine years you’d have seen everything. Wrong. Yesterday, our last day of classes, Samuel was suspended within ten minutes of the beginning of the day.

Samuel was acting inappropriately. Nothing new with that. His behavior was always much worse when he was off his meds. This last week of school was not the week to be unmedicated. Even with his meds Samuel was one of the most hyper-active students I’ve ever had, but he could be funny and charming, and good-grief the kid was bright. Samuel could be delightful. Being hyper-active myself I have a pretty high tolerance level for high-energy children, but Samuel went far over the line yesterday.

Samuel will probably make a great actor, and yesterday’s re-run of his (future) Academy Award Winning Diva/Victim/Bully performance will go down in history. Each performance is a little different, with his lightning change from Diva to Victim to Bully. Samuel is dazzled by himself. It never loses its fascination.

The students had been advised earlier in the year that the worst and stupidest thing they can say to an adult is to use that sneering tone of voice and yell, “What? What? I didn’t do nothing!” The intention is to intimidate the adult. Yea. This, accompanied with by the gangsta-type arm gestures. Pul-eeze.

That was the act that Samuel decided to pull. I instructed him to go to another classroom. The rule is once you’re calmed down you can come back. All’s forgiven. However, Samuel’s performance continued with the kicking of a chair, the throwing of his back-pack, but the topper was cursing at me. The class sucked in their breath, and I said, “Nope, you’re going to the -” He cut me off, still swearing, and complaining that everyone was against him. Standard operating procedure for a full fledged Diva/Victim/Bully. The class wasn’t even upset because they had seen this act many, many times before, but today, the cherry on top was the cursing at me. He stormed off to the office where the drama stepped up a notch. The principal was not amused. Same verse, same as the first.

Samuel was suspended from school the last day of sixth grade, and he will always believe it’s my fault. That is the world of the Diva/Victim/Bully. Their handbook states very, very clearly that you never, ever take responsibility. Taking responsibility is never allowed by the Diva/Victim/Bully. To say, “I’m sorry”, or “I was wrong”, or “Please forgive me”, would cause them to melt away like the Wicked Witch in “The Wizard of Oz.”

Does any of this seem eerily familiar? Hint: Rosie O’Donnell as the Diva/Victim/Bully on this past week’s program, “The View”. Rosie is funny and charming, and good-grief, she is bright. She is a woman of amazing talent, marvelous wit, and famous generosity, but she said people would see her as a “big, fat lesbian.” That is not true. That’s not how I see her, and I’m sure most reasonable people would agree with me. But Rosie is pulling a Samuel and being a Diva/Victim/Bully. I half-expected Rosie to say, “You’ll be sorry if I die, and it’ll all be your fault!”

Earlier in the year when Samuel, unmedicated again, was having a tantrum, one my students said, “This is getting old.” Rosie, this is getting old.

But what do you do with a Diva/Victim/Bully? Please understand the Diva/Victim/Bully really, truly, in his or her heart of hearts absolutely, positively does not see anything wrong with his or her behavior. Nothing! It is everybody else. It is always somebody else. That is the D/V/B mantra. They believe that with every ounce of their being, and in the meantime, they make life unbearable for everyone who has to live or work or teach them. You will often hear them say, “Payback time,” only it’s not a joke.

What do you do? You don’t play with them anymore. Is that it? Yep. Don’t play. Don’t get mad. Don’t shout. Forgive them for they prefer to know not what they do. Remember the old saying about “negative attention is better than no attention”? No attention is death to a Diva/Victim/Bully. To be the star of your own drama is to be real and alive. Everyone MUST pay attention to you.

We all have Diva/Victim/Bullies in our lives and they can suck the life right out of you. Don’t feel sorry for them, because they win. Don’t respond to their drama, because they win. When you let them walk all over you, they win. The only way to win is to not play (kind of like the lottery.)

Don’t enable them. Diva/Victim/Bullies really need enablers, or sycophants, unless that is something that you choose to do. The Diva/Victim/Bully won’t love you for it. You must only love them. Remember they are the star.

To all the Diva/Victim/Bullies, this has gotten old. We don’t want to play anymore.