Catching Up!

April 30: I've been neglecting my beloved blog and I hate that! I can't believe it's been two weeks or more since I've last written.

How trite it sounds to say I've been too busy to write. But I'll fill any readers in on what I've been doing:

1. Pete's memorial, April 24, ten days after his death on April 15: It was a Thursday, so I took the day off from school to go out to Statesboro to once again commingle with my Dept. of Writing colleagues for another sad event. P. accompanied me because he thought the world of Pete, who was always warm and funny with young people. L. couldn't go, unfortunately. P. waited until the last minute to get dressed, and it was then that we discovered that he did not fit into any of his...I don't want to say dressy pants, rather, anything of a higher caliber than the shorts or jeans he wears to his classes at Sav. Tech. He's been doing weight training for the past eight months, and apparently has built up some muscle mass, because none of his "nice" pants would button. Actually, it's probably been a few years since he's worn anything but jeans, except for David's funeral nearly a year ago. Aha! That's when I remembered the new suit we had bought him for that funeral. It was hanging in plastic in my closet. I retrieved the pants of the suit, and they fit. With a more casual shirt on top, he looked presentable. For a memorial, which was to take place outside in the Botanical Gardens, I felt that informal attire was appropriate.

When we arrived at GSU, I observed all the changes. More polished. Great landscaping. Your lotto dollars at work. Now they have a shuttle carrying students around campus. When I taught there, students used to complain all the time about the lack of a shuttle, if they lived off campus. They could never find a parking place when they drove in from their apartments and were always racking up tickets and/or were late for class because the closest parking was half a mile away from their building. I had not been in Newton Hall since the day L. and I came out on a Sunday in 2004, after my abrupt resignation, and cleaned out my office, carrying everything to the car in numerous trips. Sigh. I remember that David was there that day, working in his office on a Sunday, and he helped us carry a few loads to the car.

When we entered Newton Hall again last week, three and a half years later, the first thing that struck me was how narrow the halls were! I had grown accustomed to the wide, wide high school halls, at least twice the width, which accommodate hundreds of hyper students moving from class to class. We arrived at Terry's office, as planned. Sadly, her office is right beside Pete's. It's been horribly hard on her to have to enter the suite of offices every day and see the name "Peter Christopher" on the door. We rode to the gardens in her car.

What a perfect blue-skyed day. Pete would have loved it. A tent cover had been set up. I'm not good at estimating numbers, but I'd say there were several hundred folding chairs. Eulogies were given by Eric Nelson (who also gave one at David's funeral) and our former chair, Larry, who resigned from the chairship the same year I retired from GSU (I actually had enough years there to officially qualify for "early retirement.") Some of Pete's boyhood friends said a few words, and his wife, Carolyn, read a passage from the novel that Pete hadn't quite finished before he died. Carolyn is a talented novel writer herself, and has been given specific instructions on what Pete wanted her to write to complete his novel for him. Terry told me that in the last two months, Pete would always close the door to his office, but she could hear him pounding away on the computer, racing against time to finish the novel. Although she initially told me on the phone that he'd died of liver cancer, he had some other type of cancer, a very rare and aggressive type, that metastasized to his liver. And it began very recently, in February, just two months before his death. Anyway, I am thoroughly glad that I skipped school to go to the memorial. It was comforting to see a lot of the old friends. Since I got the news about him, I've been dreaming about him at night, and thinking about him during the day.

I know Terry has really been devastated. We had dinner with her and her husband on the Saturday after the memorial, and she was just plain depressed. She had to take over one of Pete's courses, in addition to her own, which is a constant reminder. Luckily for the GSU folks, they're finishing up next week. Terry and her husband are taking off for Ecuador the day after grades are turned in. Her husband does research there and also brings students along as well. Getting away from Statesboro should be helpful.

2. The yearbook

The last yearbook proofs came back and with the turnaround time, it looks as though the book won't be back before school gets out. Of course, I'm mortified. Almost all the proof pages have revisions, such as misspellings, bad quality photos, or missing names. Apparently, the students sent the pages in showing clubs but with missing last names on the roles, such as "Bubba Smith, Susie, Darrell Jones," etc, or clubs with entire name lists missing. I stayed in the classroom till 5:30 last Friday trying to make the changes myself, since the one yearbook student I see on A days who can design pages was absent. Many of the things, such as re-linking photos to improve quality, is beyond my expertise at this point. I emailed our absentee publishing rep and asked if she wouldn't consider making one more trip up here (which she should have done many times in the last few months!) to help finish off the pages. I emphasized that she could do it in a quarter of the time it would take me. Of course, she hasn't answered. The principal is currently courting some other yearbook publishers for next year, or I should say, she's invited them to court her (us). I'm insane, but I agreed to do it again next year because I still like the idea of it and under the right circumstances, I think it could be enjoyable. And hearing my woes about the current set-up, it was decided that students can enter the yearbook class "by permission of Dr. Agnew only" which may change the whole landscape altogether. So far, I've invited four nice quiet (emphasis on QUIET) students to join and will cap it at seven. Having a reliable rep who actually comes to the school now and then will help tremendously too.

3. Searching tirelessly for various classroom activities to "engage" 110 bored, restless, pawing-the-earth seniors who are counting down the days until graduation. Rime of the Ancient Mariner? Guess what? They're not interested! Shall I find an albatross and turn it loose in the classroom? I even resorted to having them write recipes for "Cooked Babies" as a response to "A Modest Proposal."

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I had a wonderful trip to Toronto during spring break. I wish I'd written about this sooner, but I've been just overwhelmed with everything going on. My cousins J. and J. are retired teachers who seem to be busier in retirement than when working. They travel a lot and have many friends and interests, so I thoroughly enjoy listening to them. Cousin R., J's sister, was also there, which was great. [I'm digressing a bit, but I have to say, once again, that when I was a child, J's mother, my mother's sister, and her husband always seemed to be just the kind of people I wanted to have as parents. Although I realize a childhood perception can be slanted, J. and P., my cousins' parents, seemed so warm, relaxed and sweet. They seemed very comfortable and content with each other. I always admired that. And envied it. Let's just say that it wasn't always that way with my parents.] While in Toronto, I was treated like a queen, with wonderful home-cooked meals, slide shows of the latest travels to places like the Galapagos Islands, a visit to an art museum, the movie The Other Boelyn Sister,, dinner with J. and J's children and grandchildren, and more. Just being away from it all, by myself, was entirely therapeutic. I spent several hours one afternoon sitting on the deck reading John Adams, under a perfect spring sun that wasn't too hot. I'd forgotten the smell of a new spring in the north; it's more of a piney, earthy smell, compared to the brazenly perfumed smell of the South.

Another GSU loss, so soon after David

April 15: I was going to write about my soul-reviving trip to Toronto last week, and will, in another installment. But instead, today, I have to write about my good friend Pete Christopher, creative writer, popular teacher, and the light of GSU's Department of Writing, who died this morning.

I'd had a routine school day, although inwardly, I was still struggling with my resentment about the Evaluation. (I've postponed signing next year's contract, which I've carried around in my purse for a week and a half.) Then, after a long faculty meeting after school, I drove to Fed-Ex to mail off the last 140 yearbook pages, which we thought had been taken care of by our elusive Rep a few weeks ago, but that too is another story for another time.

The day was sunny and mild, full of flowers and greenery. As I drove down Abercorn from Fed-Ex, a different route home than I customarily take, I kept thinking about Terry W., our good friend in Statesboro, who I've known since Baton Rouge days when she was married to her first husband, a classmate of mine at LSU. For some reason, I kept thinking I was seeing her: she was in the yellow bug pulling out of the mall---no. She was driving the truck behind me---no. We'd talked a few months ago, but then the weeks had flown by, and I realized that I wanted to get in touch as soon as I got home. It was about 5:30 when I came in the door. L. followed shortly after. After feeding my beloved koi fish and checking the phone messages, I got on the computer and wrote to her. About 30 seconds after I clicked "Send"---I swear it was only 30 seconds!---the phone rang, and it was Terry. She was happy to hear from me, but she had some bad news. . .

Pete had died this morning of liver cancer, she said.
My throat constricted and I could hardly breathe for a moment. Soon, I got very cold and started trembling. I didn't know he'd been sick. He hadn't been feeling well at the beginning of the spring semester. Then tests revealed that he had Stage 4liver cancer. His death this morning, following so closely after David's in that 1-16accident last year, was a terrible blow, not only to me, but to all the members of GSU's Department of Writing. Both Pete and David were probably the two most popular professors in the Department. Students were drawn to them. Both Pete and David were defining people in my life. They encouraged me in my writing in ways that made things happen. When former Literary Agent J. became overbearing and abrasive towards me on several occasions during the development of my second book, Pete, who has also published a book and worked with agents, always helped me see that the problem was J., not me. After J. stopped pitching the second book, after I pitched it on my own a year later and got a contract and J. wanted his 10% then, Pete was emphatic that this was NOT the way ethical agents worked, and I should not let him intimidate me.

Pete was one of those optimistic, warm, kind, positive people with a happy-to-be-alive aura that never faltered. I believe this joyous energy field was the result of having had cancer in one retina 20 years ago. Having experienced a brush with death then, he vowed to live life positively, and not sweat the small stuff.

My son P. remembered sentimentally how in the summers, he would come out to GSU with me for the day, and sometimes we'd have lunch with Pete at the Student Union.
P. said in disbelief, "I can't believe it. At David's funeral, I was talking a long time to Pete and his wife. And now he's gone."

It certainly puts the problem of my troublesome annual evaluation into perspective.

Excerpt from Nicky Goes to the New Mommy Store

Nicholas

Excerpt from a story I'm writing for grandson Nick. Backstory: Nick is a polite, well-brought up boy whose parents have rules. Nick's Mom is always saying, "If you don't like the rules here, then go to the New Mommy Store and get a new one." A new boy moves in next door. His name is Lyddle Fleming Brad (Little Flaming Brat). Nick doesn't know him yet and is visiting his house for the first time. Later, Lyd convinces Nick to go to the New Mommy Store with him and pick out a rule-free Mommy.

* * * * * *

At the door to Lyd's room, Nick stopped in amazement.
The entire room was painted bright red. The wall and ceiling glowed as red as a fire truck, a candy apple, a ’66 Mustang, and a bonfire, all put together.
“Wow!” said Nick.
“Nice color, isn’t it,” said Lyd. “Picked it out myself. I told my Mom to make sure it was painted before we moved here, or else I’d hold my breath until I turned purple.”
The carpet was bright lime green, and the window panes were bright yellow. “I picked out the other colors too,” said Lyd proudly.
It took a moment for Nick’s eyes to adjust to the colors. Lyd’s adjoining master bathroom was painted all black. Even the bathtub and sink were midnight black.
Inside the bright red room stood a wall-to-wall moonwalk! It covered the left half of the room. The other side contained a large jungle gym, big screen t.v., a mini-refrigerator, a Laz-Y-Boy, five cages of different animals, a pool table, and a jumbly mountain of unorganized toys that nearly reached the bright red ceiling.
“Want to see the animals?” asked Lyd.
“Sure,” said Nick.
They walked over to the cages.

“This is Poopy,” said Lyd, opening the cage where a spider monkey sat scratching its head.
“Come ‘on out, girl,” he said. Poopy leaped excitedly out of the cage and swung herself through the air, landing on top of the television. She crawled across the top, bent over on all fours. Then she stopped, looking thoughtful, scratching her head. Squatting, she pooped across the top of the big screen.
“Ewww!” said Nick.
Poopsy opened her toothy mouth as wide as a basketball and emitted a cackling monkey-laugh, as she swung over to the top of the Moonwalk.
“What’s the big deal?” shrugged Lyd. “Mom’ll clean it up. Here, look at Babsy.”
Babsy was a stinky-smelling carraberra, a sort of giant hairy guinea pig from South America. His snout was soft and pink, and he had big brown eyes. Babsy snorted as Lyd handed him a carrot stick through the cage bars.
“He doesn’t want to come out right now. Hey, check it out, here’s Vulcan.”

Vulcan was an angry pitbull. His mouth was pulled back, revealing sharp white teeth that stuck out like knives. Growling, he crouched in the cage. His eyes were slits of rage.
“Don’t be scared,” said Lyd, “he’s as sweet as a kitten.” Suddenly, Vulcan threw himself against the cage bars, barking furiously. He bounced back onto the cage floor and race against the bars a second time, barking like a thunderclap.
Nicky was terrified and backed away from the cage.
Lyd opened another cage door. Inside, a green-eyed baby tiger with black stripes yawned and stretched.
Lyd reached into his mini-refrigerator and pulled out a blob of raw hamburger.
“C’mon, Tornado,” intoned Lyd in a baby voice. “Want a burger, want a burger? Come to Daddy!”
Tornado sniffed the air, caught the scent of the burger, and sauntered out of the cage. Although his body was the size of a housecat, each of his giant paws was as big as Nicky’s head. Lyd proffered the burger to the tiger. Tornado leaned forward and gulped it down in one swallow. Lyd scratched the back of Tornado’s ears and the tiger began to purr. His claws, bigger than most kitchen knives, began to mix into the carpet. Wads of carpeting flew into the air, dislodged and shredded.
“You want to pet him?” asked Lyd. Cautiously, Nick reached out and touched Tornado, who had rolled over onto his back, purring, arms outstretched, claws retracting in and out.
“What’re you going to do when he grows up?” asked Nick. “He might eat you.”
“Ah, I’ll just make Mom donate him to the San Diego Zoo ‘fore he gets that big.”
The last cage contained a wart hog.

“This is Fluffy. I just had to have a warthog after seeing Lion King,” explained Lyd. He opened the cage door.
Fluffy, the warthog, snorted and bellowed as she waddled out of the cage. Nick stepped back. Fluffy stopped, sniffed the air, and then walked slowly over to a bowl of Cheerios and milk in the corner. She slurped and crunched noisily until the bowl was empty and then flipped it over, looking for more.
“How did you get all these animals?” asked Nick.
“I got Tornado for my sixth birthday, last March,” said Lyd. “Poopy was a present when I graduated from kindergarten. Babsy was a `Just because’ present for being the best boy in the world, Mom said. Vulcan was my Martin Luther King Day present. I got Fluffy after seeing Lion King because I deserved him because I’m me.”
“You sure get a lot of presents,” observed Nick.
Lyd said, “I’ll tell you a secret. It wasn’t always this way.”
Just then, there was a knock on the door. Mrs. Brad walked in carrying a tray with two cokes, 10 Hostess Twinkies and five McDonald’s apple pies.
“I’ll bet you boys would like a little snack,” she beamed. “Oh, Fluffy, no no!” she exclaimed, as Fluffy lifted her leg against the big screen and peed torrents.
“Thanks for the snack, Mommy,” said Lyd, ignoring Fluffy.
“Gee, Lyd, sweetheart, I wish you wouldn’t let that warthog and that monkey out of their cages,” said Mrs. Brad.

“Aw, chill, Mom,” said Lyd. “It’s not that bad. It’s a much neater room than Hugh’s was.”
“Lyddie, remember to be polite---or I’ll have to take away your cell phone.”
“Ya want it?” cried Lyd. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Here!” he said, throwing it at her. “You can have it!”
The phone flew through the air and struck Mrs. Brad on the leg.
“Sweetheart,” said Mrs. Brad soothingly. “Mommy understands that you feel upset about moving to a new house in a new part of town. Mommy understands that you have lots of funny feelings inside that make you feel angry and want to throw things. But, remember, you have to think about how the other person feels when----”
Lyd slammed the door in her face. “Go away!” he yelled. “You’re giving me a headache!” They could hear her footsteps retreating.
“Hey, Lyd,” said Nick. “That wasn’t very nice to throw a phone at your mother.”
“Pahh, ”said Lyd. “She’ll get over it.”
“Who’s `Hugh’?” asked Nick. “You said your room is much neater than Hugh’s.”
“My brother,” said Lyd. “He doesn’t live with us anymore.”
“Where does he live?”
“None of your beeswax.”
"How old is he?"
“Fifteen. Hey,” said Lyd, changing the subject, “I want to show you my new hang glider. Wait a sec while I run downstairs and get it.” Before Nick could say anything, Lyd charged out the door.
“But what about the animals?” called Nick. Tornado the tiger was clawing the bedspread with those big paws and shredding the beautiful comforter into confetti. Meanwhile, Poopsy was pooping on top of the cherry chest of drawers, showing all her teeth as she laughed gleefully.
“They’ll be okay,” called Lyd from down the stairway.
Nick watched Fluffy, the warthog, saunter over to Tornado, who was happily occupied clawing up the comforter. Fluffy started sniffing Tornado’s long striped tail. Tornado whirled around and batted Fluffy across the face with his massive paw. Fluffy looked stunned. Then she lowered her hairy head and rammed Tornado. Noticing the excitement, Poopsy swung down from the chest of drawers and landed on Fluffy’s back. Jumping up and down, Poopsy boxed Tornado, who leaped up on his back feet and---suddenly the three animals were a swirl of flying fur and growls, squeals and cries. Vulcan, the pitbull, barked and threw himself against the cage bars. Babsy, the carraberra, threw back his head and gave a long, vociferous squeal that sounded like a car without brakes.
Nick was scared! He raced out of the room, just as Lyd was returning with the hang glider.
“They’re fighting!” yelled Nick.
“Aaahh, no biggie; I got it,” said Lyd. He walked into the room, laid down the hang glider, picked up a styrofoam baseball bat, and swung---WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!---at the flying whirl of fur, yelling, “Enough! Stop it! In your cage, Tornado, now! Poopsy, get in your cage! Fluffy! Move it!” Again and again, he smacked the bat at the tornado of animals---WHALLOP! THUMP! THWACK! Nicky covered his ears and closed his eyes. He thought the growls and wails and screams would never end. Finally, Clang! Clang! Clang! three cage doors shut.
“Hey, Dude, ” said Lyd. “Uncover your ears. They’re in the cages now, so relax. Hey, check out my hang glider.”
Nick dropped his hands from his ears and opened his eyes. Huge clumps of animal fur were spread from one end of the room to another. Fur was stuck to the walls. To the big screen. To the bed. To the cages. To the mountains of toys in the corner.
Nick followed Lyd to the other side of the room, squeezing his hang glider between the Moon Walk and the Laz-y-Boy. Lyd opened his huge picture window, and kicked out the screen. It crashed to the ground below. Then he climbed up on the ledge and mounted the hang glider on his back.
“C’mon, stupid,” he said, reaching out his hand.

* * * * * *
End of excerpt

Trip to Toronoto will get my mind off school crap

April 1: The moment of reckoning has arrived. All week, the Georgia High School Graduation Tests in Math, Science, Social Studies and Language Arts are being given. The scores will determine whether the school makes AYP. If it does not, and it hasn't yet, all the teachers will supposedly be fired and have to re-apply for their jobs. I think that's untrue, however, because the test scores will come in AFTER the teachers have signed next year's contract---or not. It's funny, you look on the job listings for our entire county, and the list of openings is as long as my arm, single-spaced. You look at the next county, Richmond Hill or Effingham, and you might see three openings, total, for all the high schools and middle schools. I guess you can figure out why it's hard to keep the help in our district, while teachers in the other counties hang on for dear life and never leave or retire.

April 3: The front page story is headlined "Chatham Schools Shake-Up" and goes on to say that the Supt. "eliminates six top administrative positions over lack of academic progress." Six BOE administrators now have to re-apply for some newly redefined positions. I truly believe that this action is primarily for the public drama and a few months from now the same people will be in place doing almost the same tasks. Yesterday, as I was leaving the school, I visited with Ms. "B" whose room is across the hall. A teacher of computer applications and business, she has been in the system for nearly 30 years. She's the one who told me why she never wears skirts to work: the last time she did, 17 years ago, a bad fight broke out in her class, and while trying to break it up, she ended up rolling around on the floor with the students, dress hiked up a just little too high. Since then, she has always worn pants. I asked her how she was, and she looked like she was going to burst into tears. She said she wasn't sure how she was going to make it through the rest of the week, let alone the rest of the school year. "I feel despondent," she continued. "Mr. D. came in to evaluate me and gave me a whole string of NI's. Said I failed to wake up a sleeping student. I didn't see the student, if there was one, because I was so involved in helping an awake-one on the other side of the room. Said you couldn't see the Word Wall on the other side of the room because the letters were too small. Said a girl was opening her cell phone from her purse. Well, if that's true, why didn't HE take it away and write her up? HE's the AP! Then another one came in and gave me a bunch of NI's for stupid reasons. I've never gotten an NI in all the years I've been teaching. I feel so depressed." I told her that it was happening to a lot of teachers, probably to provide back-up data to justify the school's low test scores.

At our English Dept. meeting this week, someone asked Ms. C. where she was going for spring break next week, and she said, "Toronto." So I burst out, "So am I!" What a coincidence. She doesn't know anyone there, but says she likes to travel to a different city for every school vacation, just to try something new. I'm going to visit my cousins, both retired teachers who I find so interesting and smart. Ms. C. gave me her cell phone number and said, "Let's get together there."

It's been a busy week. I took the cat to the vet on Monday for shots and a sudden hair loss problem. The doctor did some tests and phoned me the next day to say that Gus has an overactive thyroid and needs to go on medication. I picked up the meds the next day and administered the first dose, which went down fine; the second and third would not stay down. Getting it down his throat, even with a dropper, is not fun.

P's new quarter started this week, and L is studying for a test next week and is all aquiver with tension. He is a naturally high-strung person, although most people don't see this as clearly as those of us who live with him.

I've been grading on-line for the North Carolina Writing Assessment, through the company that oversees the SAT's, which I grade a lot. I thought it might be interesting to see what quality of work a 7th grader can do, to give me a frame of reference. It's a little scary to see that many 7th graders write just as well as my 12th graders, if not better. I guess that doesn't say much for me, as their writing instructor.

I stopped at Wal-Mart this afternoon to pick up a few things, and came across the David McCullough book on John Adams, which I've been wanting to read anyway, so picked it up. L. and I have been watching the HBO series, so I'm looking forward to diving into that one.

I leave for Toronto tomorrow, so maybe I'll write some entries from there.