Rainy relaxed Monday

Monday: Yesterday, the three of us went to see Dark Knight, which overflowed with testosterone---lots of explosions, car crashes, fist fights, shooting, stabbing, mutilation, and pain. It wasn’t my cup of tea, but the boys liked it. There were a few pseudo-profound statements sprinkled through the violence, but I felt that the plot was too buried beneath the noise and chaos.

Before we went to the movies, Liberto and I watched a couple of episodes of our favorite Sunday house shows, such as Sell This House or Flip This House. It's hard for me to fathom how people, especially younger couples, manage to afford houses that cost $750,000 or inner city condos priced at $900,000. I realize that in some parts of the country, home prices are inflated, but I’m still appalled. Our house is not worth beans compared to some of the prices I’ve seen on these shows, but at least we have the Homestead Exemption, and our property taxes have been frozen for the past seven years. And I’m grateful that our mortgage has steadily declined in proportion to rising prices. It’s now about on par with the cost of an apartment.


This afternoon I got a telephone message from a nice-sounding woman who said that she would be working at Richmond Hill High and that we’d be sharing a classroom. I called back and left her a message. I’m eager to find out whether this means that we’ll be sharing the room at the same time, such as a class of 60 students with two teachers, or whether we have it at different times and will be “floaters” as they call them, teachers who move to different rooms for classes and don’t have their own classroom. Utilizing floating teachers has become very common in the school system. My daughter-in-law said she floated last year. It’s no problem for me if that’s how it turns out. I am ready for anything. I wish that the shared room means that the other teacher and I will be in it at the same time, though I doubt it. I love the idea of co-teaching. Once, at Groves, I had seven SPED students in one class, which I guess qualified me to have the SPED teacher in the room for the semester. It was wonderful to have the moral support of another adult, not to mention how much she contributed. As you know, I’ve been harboring butterflies in my stomach for the past few weeks while making this transition from one job to the next. Now that the bridge has been burned with Chatham County, I’m anxious to know exactly what awaits me at Richmond Hill, such as what grades and classes I’ll be teaching, what the school customs are, and where the restroom will be located. At Groves, the school’s biggest full-time mission was 1) to nab all the skipping and wandering students who escaped from class and roamed the halls, hiding in doorways and stairwells and 2) catch students who were not in dress code. My parting suggestion to Groves would be: hire 10 security guards and post one on every floor of every building, full-time. Use these guards for the dual purpose of catching fugitives and writing them up for dress code violations. Teachers shouldn’t have to be full-time marshals and be criticized when they can’t do what the administration can’t seem to do either.

Friday and Saturday

Second Friday blog entry: Here I am again in early evening. Liberto just called to say he's on his way and asked me to order a pizza. I've placed the order and now, as I sit here in the quiet of the living room, I can't stop myself from adding a little blog entry about an item on this evening's local news. Surprise of all surprises, Groves High School did not make AYP. Groves has never made AYP. Earning this status has been the goal of every new Groves principal in the last five years (there have been four principals during this span of time). Not that I believe that the mega-testing spawned by NCLB is the last word in measuring student knowledge or potential, but gosh darnit, I do believe the students are somewhat responsible for learning and the blame for school-wide low test scores shouldn't be placed entirely upon the teachers. The frightening part of this news story was that out of the six Chatham County high schools, only two made AYP, including Windsor Forest, Paul's alma mater, and Savannah Arts Academy, which is like a mini-college, where students have to apply, be accepted, and maintain an 80 average. Out of all the Chatham County schools, including elementary and middle, only half made AYP. Leonard Pitts recently asked in one of his columns, "Don't school systems realize that at-risk students usually have at-risk parents?" In other words, the problem is not in the classroom.

Saturday: Same old story, the cat woke me up earlier than I would have liked for a weekend---7:00 a.m.---but I'd slept well, so I rolled out of bed, fed both animals, and started the coffee. As we read the newspaper, Liberto noticed a 50% off sale at Green Frog mattress until 10 a.m. We'd been thinking that we needed a new mattress for Paul soon, so we decided to go out and check out the sale. Paul now has a new mattress and boxspring, to be delivered on Wednesday. Then we'll be able to set up his room again. He's been staying in the guest room for the past few weeks because Liberto was putting the wood floor in his room.

Next, we drove to a friend's house to pick up some seeds from one of the plants we'd admired in their backyard. It's a big bush with large yellow blossoms that smell like honeysuckle or jasmine. The common name of the plant is "yellow four o'clock." Next, we went to Home Depot to get some pine straw and potting soil. We are not landscaping enthusiasts like our next door neighbors, who seem to spend most of their time and money grooming their front yard. I like being outside, but I don't particularly like weeding the front beddings in the 100 degree sun, so I avoid it and postpone it. So does Liberto. But today, despite the temperature, we got out in the front yard and did some work. Yard work is hard work! It's a much more vigorous aerobic than anything I've ever encountered in the gym. By the time I came in, I was dripping.

So now I fully deserve to sit down in front of this Lifetime movie with the laptop until I decide what to do next.

Quiet house

Pete, our 12-year-old mixed Wheaton terrier, loves the new wood floors that emphasize the clip-clopping of his nails.


Gus, our 16-year-old cat, has mellowed with age.

Friday: Paul went for his twice-per-year overnight at pal Anthony's house. Liberto is at work, of course, and the animals are taking naps. I dreamed a lot about animals last night. First I dreamed about our golden retriever, Sandy, who died on the day we moved into this house, July 4, 1994. It was one of those euphoric-feeling, velvety dreams, in which I could fully feel her warm red coat and smell her sweet doggy scent. I was filled with joy at seeing her again. My other dreams were about cats. One of them involved a pussywillow-gray cat lurking around the fish pond looking too interested in the koi, so I ran over and pulled it away. Our real cat, Gus, has outgrown any interest in hunting. When he was a young hunter, he used to deposit a range of interesting deceased offerings at the front door---squirrels, birds, frogs, anything that moved. They say cats leave their prey at the door as gifts to their owners. Those youthful days have passed. Now 16, a senior citizen in cat years, he sits on one of the lounge chairs beside the pond and stares disinterestedly and yawns at the birds who descend into the yard and the koi who glide back and forth across the pond.

In today's mail I received an official document accepting my resignation from Chatham County, effective July 9th, the date on my letter of resignation. July 9th? For a nano-second, my worrywart tendencies surged. Although I know that Chatham County divides the annual salary into 13 segments in order to accomodate summer pay through the year, I thought about how inconvenient it would be to have a gap in my paychecks between jobs. However, a quick call to Benefits Dept. ensured me that I'll be paid through Aug. 29th (same day I should get my first paycheck from Bryan Co.)and continue to have health and life insurance benefits through that time. Meanwhile, I'll sign up for my new benefits next week at the Orientation.

On another note, this morning I was standing in line at the convenience store buying my lottery ticket. A woman ahead of me was buying two or three cartons of cigarettes. I don't know how much cigs cost these days, but when I heard the total: 92.00 and some change, I wondered if she had bought gas too, or whether cartons of cigarettes are just wildly expensive. I'm so out of touch with smoking that I had to research the cost on the internet, which says that a carton of cigs is anywhere from $15 to $20. So maybe the woman was buying gas too. But still, I kept wondering...how in the XF%^(@! do people afford to smoke, at $3.75 a pack or $15 a carton? Especially lower income people? A few pack a day habit must be really expensive. I quit smoking for the last time in 1980, in the days before Nicorette or patches. It was hell, but somehow I broke the habit, and every day I thank the Heavens that I did. I'm sure part of the reason I started smoking in the first place was because I grew up in an era when it was cool and sophisticated, not nasty, and I grew up with a mother who smoked. Not once did my parents ever say, "Don't ever smoke!" the way I did with my sons. The truth about the dangers of smoking emerged in the '60's but didn't really take hold until a decade later, so my parents had no reason to warn me against it, especially since my mother was a smoker until her death. My father's next wife was also a heavy smoker, and she died of lung cancer in 1987. Aside from the health dangers, which is no small issue, I would hate being a smoker today for the economic impact it would have. An extra $200 or $300 a month for that addiction would be a nuisance!

And speaking of Arizona. . .

Wednesday: Shawn has been living in Mesa for two years now. He has picked up a lot of Spanish. As the manager of non-English speaking Mexicans at his store, he has to talk to them in Spanish. He tells me their immigration status is questionable, but the rule of thumb in Arizona is don't ask, don't tell! To get hired, they have to have their "paperwork," which is probably phony. But if they presented it, real or bogus, the management is off the hook.

For Thanksgiving weekend 2006, six months after Shawn left Savannah, we flew to Phoenix. On Thursday, we rented a car, and the four of us drove north to the Grand Canyon. It was freezing!

Looking at Shawn's picture in front of the Canyon, you'd never suspect how cold it was, but nothing short of 25 below would chill him anymore, a result of his years doing outdoor construction during winter in Maine. We spent the day at the Canyon, then checked into a motel in Flagstaff that evening. The next day, on the way back to Phoenix, we stopped at Sedona, an adorable pseudo-hippie artistic community.
We found a nature trail leading up a red-rocked mountain and took an invigorating hike for the entire afternoon. By evening, we were back in Phoenix. We spent the third day running around Phoenix, and on Sunday, we returned to Savannah. Flying east is an all-day proposition with the time change. Flying west, on other hand, is delightful. Nothing like arriving at about the same time you departed.


Talking about Arizona in my last blog reminded me of this trip, so I'm writing this very short entry about it.

Shortened summer vacation

Above: Last summer, Paul and I visited Shawn (in photo) in Arizona. This summer has
been shorter and faster--no time for Arizona this year.

Tuesday: My new job begins a week from Thursday, with the two-day New Teacher Orientation. The summer break feels very short! I know, I shouldn't complain. Many people we know (i.e., Liberto, Diana, etc.) don't get summer vacations at all. Actually, Liberto is up to 20 vacation days per year now. He usually uses 10 days for his annual Christmas trip to Venezuela, and then uses the rest of the time off for our little getaways to D.C., Phoenix, or Atlanta. This year, he is going to Venezuela in October for his 30th high school reunion, so he'll forego the December trip.

The brightest spot in my day was my long telephone chat with my dear friend Sharon. I wish we were neighbors, like Lucy and Ethel, so we could have our separate spaces and lives, but hang out for morning coffee and conversation (after the hubbies have left for work or golf).

In the morning, before I talked to Sharon, I did the usual errands, such as picking up the cat's thyroid medicine at the vet's, doing the daily food re-shopping at Food Lion to supplement the large weekly shopping, stopping at the post office to mail a trophy to a student who should have received it at school two months ago, but it ended up at home with me. Well, someone has to do these things! I can see how housewives of an earlier era sometimes felt undervalued. Those crashingly boring errands must be done every day, but often, the results aren't obvious. How many husbands check the cat's thyroid medicine bottle at the end of the day to see if it's been refilled?

I also found out this morning that Chatham County has officially approved my resignation, which is excellent. For awhile, my ongoing anxieties included scenarios where I either had unbreakable contracts with both Chatham and Bryan, or, even better on the anxiety scale, no contract with either Chatham or Bryan. In my adrenaline-pumping imagination, I imagined the worst what-ifs: Chatham approves my resignation, but meanwhile, Bryan doesn't receive my contract and drops the offer. Or, what if I had just imagined the contract with Bryan---doesn't that sort of thing happen to people with over-zealous fantasy lives? But it must be real because I've talked to the HR person at Bryan County, who seems to believe the offer was real because she said they're bringing me in as a step 22, which is the step I should have had in Chatham if they hadn't taken away this past year from my steps due to my alleged incompetence. Plus Bryan County pays more. Sweet vindication. As for my fantasies that the signed contract got lost in the mail, I did what every nervous nellie would do, and sent it by certified with return receipt. It arrived.

I'm very psyched up to be going into a school system with a reputation of academically-oriented students and highly involved parents. Groves' reputation was at the opposite extreme: daily news stories about low test scores and fights. Let's see if RHHS's reputation turns out to be true. I also have to admit that a teeny part of me feels stung that the administration at Groves was so blase about derailing my career, so casual about labeling me as deficient. I've also been doing some research on how school systems in other states evaluate their teachers, and I'm tempted to write it up as a report and mail it to the supt. In other systems, they not only rate teachers on a wide range of relevant teaching factors, (not just the 20-minute dog and pony show), but they also rate them on a scale of 1 to 4, with specific definitions of what each rating means. Those of us who have formally studied writing theory know that a rubric for anything, whether a class essay or a teacher evaluation, should have a range. Chatham County uses an "either/or" scale, which becomes highly subjective and arbitrary. If a teacher is either good or bad with nothing in between in categories that are only vaguely defined ("teacher supports students"), an evaluator can have a field day finding fault. The bigger question is, why are they so eager to find fault rather than support their teachers?
However, I'm not going to waste another second feeling analyzing any feelings of rejection. The end result is far more important!

It's now Wednesday, which shows how many times I was interrupted yesterday. Paul and I watched some recorded Cold Case episodes when he returned from class. Liberto got home exhausted---he's the acting director of the department this week, while the director is on vacation. Now I've got to get on with my plans for today.

Rambling thoughts

Sunday: Some days, I have a specific topic to vent about; other times, I have no idea what I'm going to say when I begin writing. The past few days have been peaceful and uneventful. Paul has no classes on Friday, and he "made" me watch four or five recorded episodes of Cold Case, a show I love even more than Law and Order even though I really have to suspend my disbelief that five or six detectives 1)work only one case at a time, which is the illusion the show portrays 2)are ardent about solving cold cases as far back as the '20's or '40's. Since I am capable of suspending disbelief for far more than those little flaws, I like the show immensely. I particularly like the visual time transitions in one quick whoooosh! A character who was 20 in the 1970's whooshes into a middle-aged woman of the 2000's, and back, as the story line requires. So we watched those episodes, and I puttered around, doing very little, or at least very little that shows because at the end of the day, many of the housekeeping tasks aren't really visible to someone walking in the door at night. . . managing the needy pets who need food, walks, and loving every five minutes, throwing the laundry into the washer and dryer, ironing, filling the dishwasher, shredding the piles of unwanted mail. I always read those articles on de-cluttering and watch the show Clean Sweep, but I don't have the energy or persistence to clean out the whole house single-handedly, once and for all. The "experts" all say you should toss the unwanted mail, such as credit card offers and other baloney, directly into the wastebasket as it comes in. The fools! Don't they realize that you have to shred everything, or someone will go through the garbage and steal your identity? It's true. On television, I've seen the experts badgering older people to throw away sentimental objects. "You'll be honoring him more to have a clean house than to keep his shirts," one of them will say to a widow. Sometimes, I think these cleanliness experts are a bit too blase about other people's favorite objects. No skin off their teeth if a widow throws away her beloved husband's shirts, and the experts will have achieved their goal of de-cluttering the house. But keep in mind, the experts, like everyone else, have an agenda!

On Saturday, Liberto and I went to see Mamma Mia. The scenery was wonderful. The story takes place on a Greek island where the sun was always shining and the ocean was sparkly blue-green. The house was gorgeous, with lots of light and flowers. I loved the light aqua-colored stone walls of the interior rooms. But a little too much suspension of disbelief was required for the plot, such as Pierce Brosnan's character bursting into song (Simon Cowell would have sniffed that he was "pitchy"), or all three potential fathers of the daughter, who didn't even know there was a daughter, coming to an event held by the woman they'd merely had quickies with 20 years earlier. I shouldn't compare genres, but I have no trouble suspending my disbelief for Cold Case because the mystery and the tension of whodunit outweighs the little incredulities, but Mamma Mia's plot, though very feel-good, was not feel-good enough to outweigh the gaps. Nevertheless, we still had a good time. I was tapping my foot to the beat of ABBA with every song.

We then headed to Home Depot to buy a rug for Paul's newly floored room. We agreed that it should be coffee-colored. Why? Because it's going to be splattered with coffee. It's inevitable. Paul is a coffee-freak though he doesn't actually drink that much of it. I find half-filled cups all over the house. But he seems to enjoy the ritual of preparing it, pouring it, sweetening it, adding the flavored creamer, and taking a few sips before abandoning the cup somewhere in the house. So we bought a cafe au lait colored rug with some design in it, so that the spilled coffee will flow right into the colors. Maybe that sounds defeatist, but as they say in Venezuela, "The potato is already peeled."

Now it's Sunday. This morning, Paul and I went to the gym. I'm improving on the elliptical machine (or the cross country ski machine, whatever it's called). I'm up to six minutes on that. It's a killer. I count the seconds when doing that one.

I just remembered I told Shawn I'd call him at about noon our time, so I'm going to go and do that now.

Just a nice summer evening

Wednesday (I think): I'm in timelessness mode. When I wake up, I don't know what day it is. At first. Of course, I can always consult with Paul, who is an aficionado of dates and times.

A few weekends ago, Liberto and I picked out new glasses at Lenscrafters. After a 10-day wait (seamless bifocals with transition lenses take more than one hour), they were ready. Today, after he finished work, we drove to the mall to pick them up. The sky was clear and blue, the temperature cool. It has been raining off and on for the past few days, but this evening was perfect. When we arrived, we learned that we needed to wait another hour for adjustments, so we decided to walk through the mall. We strolled along, feeling relaxed, and stopped at the Food Court for a snack to serve as dinner. As we ate, an enthusiastic voice said, "Dr. Agnew!" It was one of my smiling, recently graduated seniors who appeared beside our table. We asked about her college plans and talked for a few minutes. After we finished eating, we left to wander past the stores and kiosks. Thankfully, I was not ambushed by any of the Dead Sea cream salesmen who inhabit malls. Every mall I've been in during the past five years, from Arizona to Washington to Dallas to Atlanta, has had this same gimmick. I'm sure you know the sales pitch: a dark, exotic young man with an accent jumps out from a center kiosk and urges you to try some mystical cream made from seaweed from the Dead Sea, yada yada. They seem to target middle-aged women. It's annoying.

We ran into another student, a young man who was in my class during the 2006-2007 school year, who was all smiles and hugs. We asked him about his career---he works at Gulfstream, just as he did when he was a senior in high school---and now plans to go to Savannah Tech, where Paul goes. After meeting two of my students, I was filled with positive feelings, remembering that my relationships with almost all my Groves students have been rewarding. At least I have nothing to feel remorseful about, as many teachers should! I never disrespected them, put them down, or called them names. You wouldn't believe how many teachers treat students in ways I wouldn't want a teacher treating my son.

We lingered at a card shop and laughed at the hilarious political cards, then browsed through Barnes and Noble. We stopped at a cookie counter and bought some homemade cookies. By now, an hour had passed. After picking up the glasses at Lenscrafters, we started back. As we drove over the Ogeechee River on Abercorn Extension, heading towards Georgetown, we could see how swollen the river was, as it twisted its way through the green wetlands. Of course, Liberto was feeling lucky, so we stopped at the corner convenience store on King George Blvd. and bought a Fantasy 5.

"You know, I had a really good time this evening," said Liberto. I guess just because it was different from the usual routine.

Summer days odds and ends

Sunday: Yesterday, I finished the book The Other Boleyn Girl and felt sad to have reached the last page. Books in progress become friends and companions, and finishing them is equivalent to ending an intense friendship, although their imprint will always remain in one's mind.

Speaking of books and reading, every year the Savannah school district creates a summer reading list for students at all grade levels. These lists are mailed to parents with a reminder that students will be tested on these books during the first week of school, for 10% of their semester grade. It's sad but not surprising that virtually none of the students at GHS ever do their summer reading. They just don't do it. Happens year after year. The attitude of the district and of many teachers is, "So they're not reading? Let's increase the penalty." Don't they get it? Heaping the consequences upon these non-reading students has not turned them into summer readers and probably never will. Our students don't fear grade penalities and the teachers know this as well as I do.

I think the most effective solution would be incorporating the list of summer books into the school-year curriculum. They're not doing the reading in the summer anyway,so why not take it up in the fall? This way, the teacher could get the students involved in the reading by introducing a few chapters at a time, giving background, context, and guiding questions. Under the supervision of a teacher and with opportunities for classroom discussion and other activities, Bubba might learn to like literary classics, more so than if he's expected to read them alone, in a vaccuum, and punished if he doesn't. I made this suggestion at a department meeting once, but it didn't fly because 1)there's not enough money at the school to order class sets of these books and 2)the students should have read them in the summer anyway! And if they didn't, they deserve punishment! I said no more.

For my family, for your family, for most teachers' families, the motivation to purchase books for our children's summer reading is very high, but we teachers have to remove our mindsets from our middle class mentality and understand that many low-income families don't think the same way we do. We may say, "Well! They just don't have their priorities straight! Look at 'em! They have cell phones, but they won't go out and buy a book!" However, through reading Ruby Paynes' Framework for Understanding Poverty, I realize how classist that attitude is. Like it or not, some low-income students DO have difficulty buying books during summer. Some families don't have the cash flow to pick them up at Barnes and Noble or to order from Amazon. Some don't have the time to leave jobs, some don't have the transportation. The local libraries generally keep just a handful of copies on hand. How will 33,000 students in Chatham County share these few copies? Yes, perhaps books are a lower priority in some low-income family budgets, but is punishing the students going to change that? Obviously, we need a different solution since the current set-up isnt working.

One of the books assigned for this summer's reading list was John Adams, by David McCullough, which I read in April. My first thought when I saw that book on the list was "In your dreams!" It's a powerfully written biography, but it's also five or six hundred pages. Though I wish that the students would read this on their own, wishing will not make it so. I still think we should incorporate these books into the school year and oversee their reading. Last spring, I was so tickled that I got all my classes genuinely interested in the book Makes Me Wanna Holler, which I photocopied and distributed. I can imagine how gratifying it would be to get them interested in a real literary classic. I checked on the internet to find the summer reading list for Bryan County, where I'll be teaching, and I couldn't find one. Either it's well hidden or they don't have required summer reading. Wouldn't it be interesting if they have the budget to provide books for students to read during the school year instead?

Yesterday, we saw the movie Hancock in the theater, and later, the movie Four Months, etc. at home. Hancock was good for a few laughs, but was very forgettable. Four Months, about a Romanian girl having an illegal abortion in the 80's, was far more thought-provoking. I want to see Mamma Mia! The soundtrack alone would get me there. I've always been a big ABBA fan.

Well, time to grab a bite to eat, and see what the family plans are for this afternoon.

Door B

Wednesday: The phone call came this afternoon. I'm still trembling. The principal (who has no great love for me, as I've surely demonstrated in all these writings) conveyed to HR this morning that she IS willing to release me from my contract with Chatham County. Now, the HR lady continued, the principal's recommendation moves up the chain for rubber-stamping. I got the impression that these other signatures are more of a formality. She said she'd call me back tomorrow to verify that the deal is sealed, or at least give me a progress update. She's been so nice. I think I'll write a letter of appreciation to her and/or to her boss. This has been a difficult passage of high anxiety for me, and her calming and positive manner has been significant.

Now, about breaking away from Chatham County. . . For me, any ending of a chapter brings a tsunami of wild thoughts, such as "Am I doing the right thing? Have I exaggerated the distress I've been in? What if the next place is worse?" and so on. But reviewing back over my writings from the last seven months, I can see that my anguish has been a constant theme. No, leaving Groves is not a whim! My mind has been crying out for relief for many months. Now, if this severance process continues smoothly, I'll begin afresh at Richmond Hill High in early August. The professor who was my mentor at Armstrong when I was getting my certification is now a teacher at RHHS. She told me last year through email that it's an awesome place to work. Another plus to Richmond Hill High School is that the school day begins a half an hour later. I was getting so sick of that 5:20 alarm. Now I can re-set it for 5:50.

I'm glad I worked out at the gym this morning. I'm obviously pumped up right now about this career change, but, thankfully, this morning's work-out may have had the time-release effect of keeping me from bouncing off the walls.

Long day of suspense

Tuesday afternoon: This morning's meeting with the BOE HR lady was pleasant. She was a super nice and helpful person, upbeat and smiling. When I told her I wanted to be released from the contract, she said the decision is made by the principal---the supt. just rubber stamps it. She said if there are candidates applying to an employee's school in the same field of the person trying to leave, the principal can opt to release the employee and hire a replacement. The nice lady left the office for a few minutes and checked on the candidate situation, and discovered that there are English people trying to get on board at Groves, so there's a chance that the principal might say good riddance to me. The HR lady left again and placed a call to the principal. It turned out she was out of town. So the HR lady left messages on her cell phone and blackberry asking her to call her. She said she'd call me as soon as she heard the principal's decision. But when the HR lady phoned me at 4:30, it was not to give me a decision, but to tell me she still hadn't heard back from the principal. She promised she'd continue to track her down and get back to me tomorrow. I was so impressed with how nice she was. In fact, in the past two days, all the people I encountered in the offices at the BOE were just as warm and friendly as could be.

Knowing that I'd be in a state of suspense, I worked hard to keep busy all day and distract myself. I know, I know, the problem of whether I work at Groves or Richmond Hill next year is a miniscule ripple in the ocean of life's problems, but I will feel more peaceful just to know whether it's Door A or Door B!

On the fence

Tuesday morning: Despite what my children and my sister say, it appears that reneging on a school contract is not taken lightly by the BOE, and they can and will suspend a teacher's certificate. The only way to get out of a contract is to be released from it by the Supt. based on a letter requesting the release, and the reasons had better be good. Sigh. This doesn't look good for my transition to Bryan County. This morning I have an appointment at the BOE to talk with someone at HR and present my situation to her. Maybe she can advise on the likelihood of being released. I also have a letter written to the Supt. which I can drop off while there. I can feel the energy draining out of me. Maybe moving to the new job isn't going to work out, and I'll have to accept this. Actually, that would be the easier path of the two, to go back to a familiar situation, if that's any comfort. But no, it's not. Let's see what happens this morning at the BOE. In yesterday's mail, I received some kind of welcome letter from Bryan County, and I haven't even signed their contract yet. I spoke to their HR, however, to say that the paperwork on my years' experience was en route, and she said the final paperwork would be distributed during their new teacher orientation on July 31. I'd like to think I'll be attending that orientation, but chances are, I won't be.

The animals returned from the vets yesterday and follow me from room to room. The cat's thyroid condition is improving and his coat looks magnificent, but the numbers from the blood test show that he still needs an increased dose of the medicine he's been taking. The clip-clopping of the dog's feet on the wood floors now fills the house. I've got so much picking up and cleaning to do, but yesterday I was too absorbed with visiting Chatham HR to request paperwork sent to Bryan, followed by phone conversations with our friend and neighbor at the BOE who says contract-breaking is serious, followed by writing an effective letter to the Supt. (it took two or three hours and many revisions to get just what I wanted). When I have a mission, all else around me seems to fall away, including the laundry and clutter.

Paul starts his summer quarter classes tomorrow. He's enjoying his major in drafting and seems to be doing very well with it. Liberto is overwhelmed with some FEMA project at work. He's administering some city plan for hurricane evacuation, which seems to have commanded all his energy and anxiety. He gets as worked up by the details of his work life as I do by mine, so we're like two tornados swirling side by side on parallel paths.

Sun is trying to break through

Sunday: We returned from DC at about 2:15. Drizzly weather most of the way. Soon after we arrived home, it thundered loudly, and lit up the rooms with flashes, but little rain fell. The koi were fine after a week alone. I know it may seem frivolous to worry about fish, but I love those fish and worry about them when we're out of town.

Yesterday we unpacked, relaxed, and re-oriented ourselves to the routine. The animals are still boarding until Monday. The vet's office closes at 12 on Saturday, so the pets had to stay over. It's strange not to hear the sound of the dog's paws clip-clopping after me wherever I go. Now that we have wood floors in most parts of the house, his nails clop loudly. The bill for the boarding is going to be a pretty penny, not just for the boarding itself, but the cat is currently under treatment for his thyroid condition and had yet another expensive blood test this week, and the dog will have a bath on the last day.

I had the whole week to think about how I'll handle the new contract with Bryan County. It's not a matter of being unsure about wanting to leave Chatham County, I AM SURE. I want to go to Richmond Hill High School. As Derek said to me, "It couldn't get any worse for you in another school system than it is right now." The question centers what degree of trouble will ensue, if any, when I send a letter of resignation to Chatham. Maybe I'm overblowing it and they won't even bat an eyelash as they strike my name off the list of Chatham County teachers. An article in the newspaper this morning stated that 424 teachers were leaving the system this year, many, I'm sure, to move, to retire, to change careers, or to live off their lottery winnings. But probably most of them took care of resigning before their contracts were signed. Erin said to me, "But you can't tell me that there won't also be teachers who leave after signing because of mitigating circumstances---moving, getting sick, or getting fed up!" My plan is to go to Chatham HR tomorrow, and get them to fill out the form of how many years I have, then to hand deliver that along with the signed contract to Bryan County. Bryan County has to go through the process of transferring my "steps" I assume, and I don't know how long they will take or how complicated it is. When I go there tomorrow, I will also try to undergo the required background security check. When the process has been set in motion or preferably is completed, I'll send my letter to Chatham and see if the S--- hits the F--.
I still believe with all my heart that although I am far from excellent or even good, as a high school teacher, and I still need practice, I am also not at the extreme other end of the continuum.

This morning's newspaper presented data showing that over 6,000 students were either expelled or suspended from the school system this year between January and May. "Only" 394 were permanently expelled, while 5,697 were suspended. And these were the ones that the system actually processed. Many problem students get written up but the forms go into some sort of black hole, never to be seen again,. Every time I've written a student up, and admittedly, it's only been a handful of times, nothing has ever resulted. The Assistant Principal's rarely do anything because they're so busy processing the fighters and pot-smokers; they don't have time for the skippers or wanderers. Does this give you an idea of how bad the behavior problems are and why so many teachers leave the system?

After I (hopefully) cut my ties with Chatham County, I will begin my memoir about this past year's experience. I'm going to start sending out vibes of hope to the Universe that I can resign without conflict and get a new start at Richmond Hill.

Thursday and Friday

Happy 4th of July! It's overcast and drizzling in the DC area today, but the plan to go to the water park hasn't been changed. As long as it's not thundering, why not? After the water park, a block party is scheduled. The neighborhood children will paint the sidewalks while the adults hang around and eat KFC.

Yesterday, we went to the National Air and Space Museum next to Dulles, not the Smithsonian version. They offer several space ride and fighter plane simulations, which Liberto rode on with Nicky. The closed metal capsules toss the passengers around and even upside down, while showing a video. The two of them have a stronger stomach for fast-moving rides than I do. I can't even go on a merry-go-round without feeling slightly queasy. The swirling space visual added to the moving capsules would make the experience even more intense (nauseating).

Last night, Erin and drove to a Barnes and Noble. She needed some books for her Masters Degree internship, and I just needed some books. Since we left Savannah, I've read the two books I brought with me, and needed another or two. To me, a book is like a child's "blankie"; I feel lost without having an in-progress one nearby. I got The Other Boelyn Girl, which I've been wanting to read. I saw the movie with my cousins J and J when I was in Toronto, and loved it. I ordered it again through Netflix to make sure Liberto could see it too, and enjoyed it the second time too. As always, the book version is richer than the movie, so reading this is a treat.

One book I finished this week is My Stroke of Insight, a memoir about a young neuroscientist who has a stroke at 37. Since she is a brain scientist who was already fascinated by brain function, she brought this to bear in her discussion of what it felt like to experience a stroke---what the world seemed like without a functioning left hemisphere, which regulates logic, criticism, self-judgment, linear memory, math, and, according to her, negativity, which is the inevitable byproduct of the awareness of Self in a harsh and competitive world. The "I'm not good enough!" feeling or "I'm scared such-and-such will happen!" is part of left brain function. She found that without that side of her brain working properly, she was in a state of bliss and peace. She spent eight years recovering left brain abilities. Because she had stepped out of what we see as the "reality" of life, the anguish, fear, judgement, shame, inferiority, and guilt, she became aware that those negativity circuits are an interpretation, not an ironclad reality. Reading this book reminded me in a roundabout way of Paradise Lost, an epic poem which I love. In graduate school, I had a seminar on Milton and studied PL intensely for a semester. Adam and Eve were in some state of nirvana, but, as the story goes, after gaining the Knowledge, they also gained the negativity, the shame, the guilt, the fear. The difference between humans and most animals is based on skills centered in the left hemisphere of the cerebral cortex, but the downside of that package is the potential for sadness, shame, and self-beratement. To me, the correlation between the two stories is interesting. Adam and Eve wanted knowledge, and got it, but with a price. I don't believe, though, as some people do, that the meaner one is, the smarter one is. Or that the nicer one is, the stupider one is. That's an illusion. The world is full of positive people who are also very bright, and negative people who are not. I wonder how that idea even got started. Maybe it's a stereotype that arose from movie characters (evil scientists, etc.) My sister was once worried that her son, when he was two or three, would not be smart enough because he was so happy and easygoing. That proved to be wrong! But why would anyone assume for a second that a happy person is not smart? Does the thinking go, "If one is really smart enough to see how crappy the world is, then they'd be smart enough to feel depressed about it"? Maybe they just process and handle the crappy world differently.

Tuesday and Wednesday

Tuesday: We arrived at the Claude Moore Colonial Farm to find it closed. The website had forgotten to mention that it was closed Monday and Tuesday. We were almost all the way into the District of Columbia, so decided to proceed on in and go to the National Zoo. I'd been there a few times already, and so had Nick, but he said he loved the place and wanted to go again. We drove into D.C., and into the zoo entrance. The guard said parking throughout the zoo was full. We turned around and drove through the neighborhood for 45 minutes and couldn't find a place. I suggested we try one more time at the zoo, and this time, there was a parking place.


What a work-out. The zoo is on hilly landscape, so for four hours we walked and climbed and walked and climbed. For me, the sea lions were the best. Watching them from the underwater observation window, one could swear that they were smiling as they shot through the deep water, turning onto their backs, and rolling right side up again, sliding gracefully across the pool.

On Wednesday, we returned to the Claude Moore Colonial Farm. I loved it. The year was 1771. The family house was a tiny wooden cabin no bigger than my bedroom, with a half-loft upstairs. A tiny fire burned in the fireplace and the lady of the house, dressed in 1771 costume, was busy doing her household chores. The grounds had an apple orchard, fields of tobacco, a cow pasture and some nature trails. It was so peaceful. The only hindrance to being sucked into an imaginary Time Warp was the farm's location adjacent to Dulles Airport. Frequent descending jets tend to mar the illusion of a colonial setting. I've read many historical books, fiction and non-fiction, and appreciate the details of life in other times, but I wish it were possible to do astral projection across time and truly get inside the heads of people from earlier times and re-live their thoughts. For instance, how much did people from 1771 worry about any of the same issues we worry about today? What was on their minds (that they didn't necessarily share in their diary writings) in addition to physical survival? They stressed, of course, about the crops, the animals, diseases, childbirth, and native American attacks, but how much did they also worry about physical appearances, social status, marriages, friendships, or job loss? Did they toss and turn at night worrying about whether they should have moved to Massachusetts instead of Virginia? Or whether they had gotten scammed by that cow salesman? Or whether premature baldness was making him look much older than he really was?

After the farm, a picnic lunch and a long nature trail hike through the woods, we drove into D.C. to cruise past the White House, the mall, and the museums. If we'd been able to find a parking place, we might even have stopped at the Smithsonian, which was having an exhibit of butterflies. I wanted to see that. But during this fourth of July week, no parking places were immediately obvious, and we were tired enough to head home. All the way home, Nick talked non-stop about the Nick Goes to the New Mommy Store story that I wrote for him, with question after question and suggestions for an epilogue which we wants me to write. By the time we got home, my voice was hoarse from answering him. He's a very outgoing child. When we go anywhere, he walks right over and introduces himself to others, gives directions, or makes suggestions. He's a highly confident boy.