Boy Toy Turns 50!

Last night, Liberto's birthday party rocked at the Oyster Bar. When we returned home,
he did the last-minute packing and other travel details, such as making photocopies of both U.S. and Venezuelan passports and credit cards. This morning, we dropped him at the airport and are now back at the house. Paul just announced that he broke his glasses frame, so we may be making a trip to Lenscrafters today.

Post Christmas/Anniversary Monday

Last night, we had an excellent dinner at Love's Seafood Restaurant. These nights, I've stayed up later and later, sleeping in more each morning. Boy, is it going to be a shock to my system next Monday when the 5:15 alarm rings. But I won't think about that now.

Today, I took Paul to the bank to deposit all the cash he's been accumulating by never spending the $20 a week we dole out for walking-around money. He had $655 in cash lying around, and he has his own bank account, so we convinced him that he might want to place it in his account although I'm not against anyone having part of their nest egg stuffed in the mattress. We stopped at Lenscrafters so he could have a quick eye appointment before the year ends. The traffic was horrible today, and I was glad to return home.

We're still feeling the loss of Petie. It's hard not to expect him to come clip-clopping down the hall, or to stand excitedly nearby as we eat dinner, waiting for a scrap. We donated three bags full of towels and sheets, dog food, and other supplies to the Humane Society on Saturday.

Wednesday night is Liberto's 50th birthday party at the Oyster Bar downtown. Then the next morning, Thursday, he leaves for Venezuela.

Will I ever live down those '80's glasses??

Today is our 24th wedding anniversary. Above is a photo taken at the ceremony
in Pasadena, California, at the home of Ming, a friend of Liberto's. We were broke, but even if we had been wealthy, I have never bought into the bridezilla mentality, and would have chosen a small event. To me, it's what happens afterwards that counts, not the ceremony itself.

Beside us in the picture is Derek, who would have been two weeks short of 14 years old. Shawn, not pictured here, was also with us. He was 12. After the ceremony, we took the boys around to the endless beautiful California sights, such as the Santa Monica pier, Disney World, Huntington Gardens, and more.

Liberto said he wanted to put the picture on facebook, and I screamed, "Noooo!" I don't want the world to see me in those monster-sized glasses.

Christmas Day

The roast is in the oven and the house smells comforting. The boys are playing a game on the new PS-3. This afternoon, with stuffed bellies, we'll go to see Up in the Air .

During the night, Petie passed on. He was getting worse by late afternoon yesterday. I proposed that we consider taking him to the emergency animal clinic for euthanasia, since the regular vet's office was closed for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Not that I wanted to. But his decline was beginning to border on suffering and began to outweigh my hopes for a peaceful home death. Paul begged to keep him home and volunteered to stay with him all night so that I could sleep. I haven't had more than two consecutive hours sleep for a week, and I was exhausted. So I agreed, and Paul set up the doggie bed in the t.v. room and stayed with him. I vaguely remember being aroused from a deep sleep, with Paul at my bedside, telling me that Pete had died.

This morning, we buried him in the backyard next to Gus. I wanted to do it right away so that we could move on, not dwell on it, and enjoy each other's company on Christmas Day. I remind myself to put the event into perspective. The world is so full of unspeakable tragedies and losses, that the departure of a pet is miniscule. But he was part of our family history, part of our family, and the feeling of loss can't be ignored.

Since I haven't slept deeply for the past week, I've remembered a lot of dreams that would have slipped away in my usual deep slumber-states. One of them was a vivid story about a dog. I feel inspired to write it down, and I will.

Liberto wants to open presents now, so Happy Holidays to all!

Holiday break!!

Needless to say, I'm overjoyed to be on holiday break. It's now Tuesday.
Pete has been declining for the past week. Last January, he was diagnosed with a bladder problem, either cancer or stones, but I opted not to have it explored through surgery. He's a 14-year-old dog, and surgery seemed too extreme. He was in fairly good shape through the summer, other than loss of bathroom control. Paul has been particularly compassionate about it, cheerfully cleaning up messes, mopping the kitchen floor, and reinterating, "He can't help it. We still love him." For awhile, we tried doggy diapers, but they didn't fit well enough and kept sliding off. His problems caused me to have to give him numerous baths. His ribs and spine and hip bones began to stick out sharply. I could feel them more and more as I bathed him. But he was still eating regularly, as he lost more weight.

I learned last Monday at the vet's that his weight loss is extreme. Pete is down to half his body weight, this in spite of still eating. The doctor did a blood test, and saw elevated enzymes of this or that, but said he will not be able to conclude exactly what the problem is without a lot of fancy, expensive tests. He thinks it could be liver or kidney failure or a stomach mass. I told him I'd think about whether to pursue more tests and diagnoses---for what purpose? It's unlikely there's a cure for doggy liver cancer or whatever it is. On Tuesday, Pete stopped eating and drinking. He walked only in circles, sometimes falling. Paul and I set up a little bed of pillows on the floor and have been giving him water through a dropper.

A week has passed, with no change. He's weak and sleeps a lot, but sometimes when I come into his line of vision, his eyes light up and he breathes a little harder. Once in a while, he wakes up and yelps, so Paul and I take turns holding him for awhile. Two nights ago, so his middle-of-the-night sounds wouldn't disturb Liberto, who doesn't sleep well, Paul and I set up Peté's little bed in the t.v. room, and we both slept out there, me in the easy chair, Paul on the couch.

If it can be done, I want Pete to depart in peace at home, rather than be shuttled off to the vet's for any futile attempts at a cure, probed with needles and stuffed with tubes. Most of all, I don't want him separated from us in his final hours. Our dog Sandy had to stay at the vet's in a cage to alleviate her suffering until she got so bad that she had to be euthanized anyway. We went to the vet's office to be with her for that procedure, which still haunts me.

The past few days have been pretty emotional for us. While I know that many people in the world have lost far, far more than just a pet, we're gripped with sadness at losing a friend of 14 years. I think I'm also sad that this pending loss signals the end of a happy phase in our lives, when our furry friends---as well as we---were young and vibrant. I associate Gus and Pete with the people Liberto and I used to be years ago when we acquired them. I can still see Gus sitting on top of the couch, happily licking the back of Liberto's salty-tasting neck for as long as he could get away with it. I remember Paul and a third-grade classmate playing with Pete in our back yard (before we got the privacy fence up), and Pete becoming wildly excited and bolting off into the thick woods behind our house in his crazy run, with Paul, Tyler and I running madly after him, trying to surround and catch him. Paul in third grade??

Today is also the 20th anniversary of my father's passing. Guess who Liberto is on the phone with right now? Cousin Carlos, whose birthday will always be linked in my mind with Dad's death. In Venezuela, 20 years ago, Carlos' birthday call to the familia's house preceeded by minutes that sad call from the states.

Almost done with the semester

I always sleep especially well on Friday nights, as the stress of the week dissipates into a cloud of movie, easy chair, and 6 ounce beer. We saw a movie called Passengers. I was able to stay awake because Diana called in the middle of it, before I nodded off, and that woke me up enough to get through the rest. It was an interesting flick, similar to Sixth Sense , except that it's Anne Hathaway instead of Bruce Willis who discovers that she's dead. This morning, we slept till 8:30, then drank coffee and read the paper in bed. At ll, I had a hair appointment. I like the different look I requested---more layered but still longish.

On Monday night, when Paul was at his CETIA class, I told Liberto I had a strong feeling my contract won't be renewed for next year. I just sense it. By the end of the conversation, he was on-line looking up non-teaching employment possibilities in the area and saying, "Why you'd be really good at this" or "You'd qualify for that. Too bad you can't apply right now." The result was that while he would not be overjoyed to lose my income, he realizes we could adjust if he had to and that I have one or two other skills in addition to teaching.

My 2nd block class has become unbearable because of two loud and malicious girls who do everything to sabotage my teaching. Then others who are normally well-behaved see the chance to hop on the bandwagon. I wrote them up, again, but there's been no response from the Administration, which I see as a sign that they're either too overwhelmed by the growing school-wide behavior problems, or they think I should be able to make them shut up on my own. How do you make someone be quiet who does not care about grades, parental calls, or any consequences? I'm just tired of expending so much energy every day on things that reap no results. In a month, I'll have new students. Then I'll be able to determine whether I'm tired of teaching in general or just tired of bad students.

A funny thing happened this week; I got a call from the Dean at Armstrong, where I'd sent my vita a week ago, just to see if I could get my toe in the door for the future by teaching a part-time course in the evening or on weekends. This Dean was a very friendly guy, a kindred spirit kind of vibe. He said he had passed my vita on to the English Department, but while looking at it, he noticed my book Back From the Land, became interested, and ordered it. He read it, and knew some of the people who were interviewed for it. He then asked if I would come to his class on Environmentism as a guest speaker later this semester and talk about my adventures as a counterculturalist, and maybe we could also have lunch right before that? He's a tad younger than I am, but clearly remembers the back-to-the-land movement. That was one of the positive moments of the week. . . talking to another adult, a professional, who is on the same wavelength.

Paul applied to Central Georgia Tech in Macon, so he could add a few courses to his current drafting diploma and turn it into an Associates degree. He plans to take only on-line courses. He also applied at Armstrong, to try out some courses in their engineering program.

Liberto had a very stressful week at work. He works hard. He works long hours. He puts up with a lot of ornery personalities. This is why it would be difficult for me to just throw in the towel on high-school teaching if I were to resign on my own rather than BE retired by the powers that be. Having a strong work ethic, he believes that come hell or high water, you stick to what you have, happy or not, period. He might have trouble understanding that I'm not sure I can teach high school anymore without losing it one day and strangling one of them. How terrible that sounds. But you'd have to be there. Remember, I am 61, not 31, so I'm getting cranky with age and losing my sense of humor about their cute antics, such as stuffing the student toilet with paper towels yet again. Actually, despite Liberto's daily stress and complaints, when I ask him bluntly, "Do you like your job?" he always says, "Oh, yes." I then tell him that if he feels stressed now, try to imagine how he will feel 11 years in the future when he has worked his way up to the age I am now. He reminds me that in 12 years, 5 months, 4 days and 8 hours, he will have a viable pension from the city, which he feels makes it all worth it. Diana says that maybe if I no longer worked full-time and had the extra time to learn to cook lovely dinners which awaited Liberto when he arrived home from work each day, he'd be much more amenable to having an under-employed wife.

Today, I am creating the final exam, which will be given on Thursday and Friday next week. That means I have three more class days, Monday through Wednesday, to keep the classes engaged. I remember a scene in the movie Office Space, which Paul and I adore, in which Peter asks a hynotherapist, "Is there any way you can hypnotize me so that I can go to work but not remember any of it, and just think that I've been fishing all day?"

Shawn is arriving on Saturday. He got a leave from Fort Eustis to come down for two weeks. Much as I'd like to, I don't think we'll get up to Washington because Liberto doesn't get time off the way teachers do, just Christmas Day. On New Year's Day, he's leaving for Venezuela for three weeks, and is using his vacation time for that. I may also be getting dental implants that week, which would get in the way of traveling. I have some bridgework that needs reinforcement. Fun, huh?

Beautiful chilly day

Last night, our Neighborhood Association had a holiday party at our neighbor's home across the street. The place was packed. We had a great time chatting with familiar and new neighbors, hearing about long-time acquaintances' surgeries, grandchildren, and career paths, and waxing sentimental about how little activity there is for Halloween trick or treating, now that the children who lived here when the neighborhood was forming are in graduate school or married and living in NYC. I remember taking Paul around on Halloween. One year I made him a real cool dinosaur costume with a long, detailed tail that dragged on the ground behind him. He loved it. In the past, I used to be far more creative than I am now. I used to make things. I used to sew. I used to do batik. I want to resuscitate that latent artist in me, such as it was. I recently went to Michael's and bought a kit to make a mosaic tile. My first thought was to place it around the koi pond, but I was suddenly inspired to make a plaque that could go on Gus' grave in the back yard. I've designed it using yellow and orange tiles, to match his color, with a blue ring around the center, to match his blue collar. I just have to mix the concrete, add the tiles, and let it dry for 48 hours.

Yesterday afternoon, we saw the movie Brothers, which I thought was better than the reviews led me to believe. Following that, we watched a movie on DVD entitled Shrink, with Kevin Spacey playing a messed up psychiatrist whose clients were mostly narcissistic celebrities and other movers and shakers in the industry.

This morning, Liberto and I went to Wal-Mart, and this afternoon, Paul and I went to the gym. I watched Property Intervention as I walked the treadmill. Love that show, along with the other real estatey, house-selling ones. Other than that, I've mostly puttered around, dragging my heels on doing any work-related work. I haven't even taken my work briefcase out of the car yet this weekend. I hope that sometime this afternoon I'll work up the energy to plan all the activities for the next week, grade papers, and create the final exams for week after next.

Only 8 more class days, thank the Lord

I was just paying bills on-line when I discovered an unauthorized purchase on a credit card for $914 at Bloomingdales. Great way to start the day! Being conservative shoppers, Liberto and I rarely spend more than $150 on clothes at retail stores during the sales season and never use credit cards, only cash. We always come home with enough shoes, shirts and pants to last for six months. We would never spend $914 on clothes! So I called the credit card company immediately to report fraud, but learned that the Disputes Department is not open for another half an hour. So I'll sit here at the computer and write a few lines in my blog as I await the runaround I'll face, (and this only after meandering through a quagmire of dead-end menu options seeking a live human being).

An article in this morning's paper stated that the Georgia education budget will face more shortfalls over the next few years, and teachers will face more furloughs and lay-offs. With my sixth-sense antennae always tuned in to people and their motives, I can sense which way the wind is blowing at my own school: I believe I will be put out to pasture at the end of the year. After all, I am older than the rest and, with my advanced degrees and years experience, earn more than most of the others. I feel a red laser beam dancing on my forehead, even now. Yet simultaneously, I am not sure but that I might feel semi-relieved if that were to happen. I do feel burned out. Badly behaved 9th graders take a toll on a teacher. Yesterday, one of the students threw a red pen at the wall and splattered red ink all over it, and on the floor. This is the kind of crap I have to put up with every day.

What if I were to BE retired rather to TO retire? If money were no object, I would break out the champagne at this point. I think if we had to, we could live on L's salary now, with some modifications in lifestyle. And of course, I'd still probably be able to get hired on for part-time courses at the local colleges and put more hours into my SAT-grading, which can be lucrative for those who have the free time to devote more hours. Last week, I sent a vita to one of the local colleges seeking one part-time course. Not for the money, because the pay would not be impressive, but to establish a connection for the future.

Well, the Disputes Department must be open now, so I'll get started!

Thanksgiving Day

We'll eat an early dinner and then see the movie Precious. I'm reading the book, so I'm interested in how the story will be portrayed on the screen. There are certain disgusting portions that I'm sure will be tiptoed around. I heard a review and discussion of Precious on NPR a few weeks ago, which made me interested in seeing the movie. I also want to see Road when it comes to Savannah. I read the Pulitzer-prize-winning novel about a year and a half ago. I've always enjoyed apocolyptic stories, and this is one of the bleakest.

I spent yesterday disciplining myself to read the students' research papers. Half the students didn't bother to do them at all. Of course, that's my fault. If I were a better teacher, they would have been more inspired.

I've been seriously thinking that it's time to retire from teaching at the high school level. It's a frightening thought to have to re-invent my identity. What if I found a direction completely unrelated to teaching? (Love the idea right now, but maybe I'd feel differently after a few weeks on an auto assembly line.) But really, aren't there other directions besides classroom teaching that are somewhere between that and some dismal job at the plant?

The thought that has consumed me for the past few weeks is: If I'm not a teacher, then what am I?

Burn-Out

Five-fifteen, and I just walked in the door. Paul now needs me to help him review his Psychology and Marketing class material. He says I explain it so well.

I think I'm burned out on teaching, as a career. Because of the state budget cuts and lowered property taxes, classes are larger this year. Worst of all, somehow, the kids are ruder and less interested in learning than last year. In each class, I have at least 3 or 4 bad ones who drain all of my attention. I suspect this is a schoolwide problem. One of the AP's put out an email asking if anyone would like to earn $20 per hour helping him phone parents this afternoon---he had 70 parents to call today! Yesterday, I wrote up two students in one class for roughhousing, shoving, pushing each other. Today I wrote up a girl in another class for being rude. The conversation was something like this:

Her: (Sudden loud showing-off outburst!) WHOOP! WHOOOPPPPPP! etc.
Me: Be quiet, Ariel!
Her: (Rudely) I wasn't talking to you.
Me: Well, I'm talking to you. Be quiet.
Her: Get outta my face. My mama don't get in MY face like that.
(I was three feet away, not in her "face").

Write-up alert!


I keep a log of student behavior, and I don't write up students for the first offense because I've heard the administration doesn't want a lot of write-ups; they want you to handle it yourself. But for high school students, there are no privileges to take away---in elementary school, you could make them stay in from recess, for example---so the biggest leverage is ISS. They hate it because they're isolated from their friends.

I hope I have better students next semester, or else learn how to be so terrifying and evil that they wouldn't even dare twitch in my presence. Even if I did learn to
be ferocious and cutthroat, I would feel false, because that's not me. Do't get me wrong; I'm not sweet and gentle in the classroom. But apparently, also not vicious enough either.

Liberto would be furious if I resigned or if I were downsized. The more income we have over the years, the more he worries about money; isn't that ironic? He would have a fit if I proposed this, but if we had to, I actually think we might be able live on his salary now, and I could piece together a living by teaching part-time at Armstrong and Savannah State, grading SAT's, and doing free-lance writing or tutoring, etc. Ohhhhhhhmmmmmmmm. Deep breath. I wanted to try to stay at it for four more years after this one.

Last week, I had a sub lined up for the two days we went out of town for Shawn's graduation from Ft. Jackson. I found out on Monday when I returned that the original sub had not shown up. Another sub was found, but didn't get there for 20 minutes. My students were apparently in the class alone. When the sub got there, someone had poured lotion or yogurt or something all over my computer keyboard and monitor. The AP was summoned over. All the student denied it; said it was like that when they arrived. B**** S*****!! I had locked the door when I left on Tuesday afternoon; Wednesday was a school holiday. Thursday, when class began, they must have entered from the other teacher's door on the other side of the portable. By the time she discovered that they were unsupervised, one of them had ruined my keyboard.

Shawn's graduation was inspiring. We hung out at the PX for family day, and he had a nice large latte---the first one since August 25! Liberto and I checked into a hotel that first night. The second night, after graduation, the three of us left Columbia and drove to Newport News. We checked into a hotel. Shawn stayed in his own room, the first time he was alone since August 25. He really craved some space. Being with a bunch of guys 24/7 can get on a soldier's nerves. We had a nice dinner at a restaurant. In Boot Camp, they make the guys eat everything in 3 minutes, so Shawn enjoyed having a real meal that lasted a whole half an hour. I couldn't finish mine, so he took mine to his room for an evening snack. The next day, we got up late, ate lunch, went to see 2012, and by then, it was time to drop Shawn at Fort Eustis. Liberto and I started back that evening, but he was too tired to go all the way, so we stopped in Lumberton, NC. We returned to Savannah by 11 a.m. Sunday.

Back to everyday life. This work week has been draining. Every job has it's pro's and con's. All I know is that right now, I feel very burned out.

My boy toy will be 50 next month on Dec. 30. Derek was surprised that Liberto will "only" be 50. Said Derek, "Now that I'm close to the big 4-0 myself, I figured Liberto must be about 90 now because I'm so used to thinking of him as much older than me." I'm going to reserve a restaurant downtown and invite all Liberto's friends. He loves the idea and is all for it.

Insane Halloween Homecoming Week

I'm so glad it's Friday. This was a trying week. The students bordered on insanity, feverish with homecoming excitement. They got to dress in different theme costumes all week. Which do you think was more exciting to them, The Old Man and the Sea, or Donovan's purple hair and skirt (he's a guy)?

This afternoon, there was a pep rally. My ears are still vibrating from the screams and pounding of the stands. The boys nominated for the homecoming court dressed up as pretty women and paraded across the gym, swishing their butts and chests, balancing on wobbly heels.

Earlier today, one of my female students was spotted by another teacher, pressed into a corner of the empty hallway of the main school building, wrapped in the arms of some panting bad boy, one of her legs wrapped around his waist, getting very hot and heavy. The teacher who saw her said she thought they were actually doing it. She got five days out of school suspension. At least my students last week did it in the restroom.

Just when you think you've seen it all. . .

Before the incident on Wednesday, my student P. had already been in ISS and 0SS several times this semester. I've heard rumors that the administration is watching him closely because of past drug issues. He's one of those flamboyant students who sucks all the energy out of the room when he enters. Posturing his way to his seat, he can't resist making a commotion or commenting loudly on someone's outfit. His last write-up from me was for leaving the classroom to "use the bathroom" in the foyer of the portable, but never returning because he slipped through the adjacent empty classroom and out the door.

On Wednesday, he left the classroom "to use the bathroom." Because of his recent behavior, my teacher radar was on high alert. Five or seven minutes later, I sensed he had been gone too long. I usually don't question students' personal bathroom needs---believe me, they come back to class and share details that no one wants to hear!---but with P's track record, I sensed something was up. I decided to wait a few more minutes before resorting to pounding on the door, so I passed back papers that students would need for our pending visit to the computer lab.

That's when I noticed that Brittany was missing! I had her paper ín my hand, ready to pass it back. She had been in class. Now she was missing. Oh, so busted!

I pounded on the bathroom door. An incomprehensible grunt was the only response. While the other students excitedly looked on, giddy with the possibilities, I stood outside the bathroom door, arms folded, waiting.

Sound of toilet flushing. The door swung open and P. brushed rudely by me, slamming the door closed behind him. I marched to the bathroom, pulled open the door, and saw nothing in the darkened room. So I stepped in, and looked around the corner which cannot be seen from the outside. Brittany was cowering in the corner. That's one rule I forgot to put on the syllabus: Do not do the deed in the restroom during class time.

To date, Brittany has been a quiet, well-behaved girl who gets good grades and has plans for the future. Oh, shades of being 14! How easy it is to forget everything rational when falling under the spell of a smooth-talking, self-assured, 16-year-old gang member wannabe!

P. swaggered back into the classroom declaring, "I hope they send me to the alternative school!" The other students were mesmerized by the whole drama. One sweet, naive little girl in my class, who may have Asperberger's, asked me innocently, "Why were they both in there? What were they doing?" When the bell rang, the other students lost no time in spreading the story through the school.

After receiving my electronic write-up that day, the AP stopped by to ask more questions. How long had they been gone? Did I knock on the door? Did they respond? Would I please write up a formal statement for them?

The next day, neither P. nor Brittany were in school. Brittany was awarded 5 days OSS. I believe she'd never been in trouble before. P., on the other hand, is on OSS but I suspect OSS-pending-expulsion. I would not be upset if he did not return. There are too many students filling up classrooms who do not want to be there and who create havoc for those who want to learn. Why does the system continue to keep them? Every class, I have one or two who command all my attention just for being bad. The quiet ones get neglected. As you can see, I'm growing burned out by the few rude, loud, boorish students who inhabit my classes. This semester, I happen to have a disproportionate number of bad seeds. What a terrible attitude for a teacher. But you'd have to meet them. I thought I could keep my sense of humor enough to get through a few more years of this, but now I'm wondering if I can do it.

I haven't written in the blog for awhile because I am burned out. I get up at 5:15 each day, now that school begins at 7:40 a.m. We teachers are supposed to sign in by 7:30 a.m., whether we have a first block class or not. I have first block planning, during which I'm photocopying, grading, meeting with parents, or entering grades on PowerTeacher, followed by three 90-minute classes in a row. I get 25 minutes during 3rd block to gulp down a few bites before the kids return from lunch. After school, if I'm not going to the house of my homebound student (which is a bright spot because he is a smart, eager to learn, well-behaved gem of a student), there is either a faculty meeting, a parent meeting, students making up missed tests, or some type of school duty. On the way home, I stop at the store nearly every day for some crucial missing item that we've run out of (voice mail message: "Mom, we're out of coffee creamer!"). When I arrive home, Paul wants to go over his coursework with me and get my input on his answers, essays, etc., so we work together, and of course, I want to help him; that's the teacher in me. Finally, between printing more materials for tomorrow's class from my own printer, reading ahead, grading, etc., it's now 9 o'clock. I treat myself to a few minutes of Larry King before falling asleep and repeating the same thing the next day! Yes, I am burned out. Liberto is burned out too, but at least he has evenings and weekends to regroup. He doesn't have to bring work home with him... well, only in his mind, which is just as annoying, I guess.


Now that I've vented, I'll look at the bright side: 1) we're past the mid-point of the semester and heading towards the finish line. At least with my profession, I get to have a beginning, middle, and end. Then a brand new beginning! 2) Next semester, I have third block planning, so I get a break in the middle of the day and maybe some lunch. I also have one 11th grade class, which I want to believe will be more mature than a ninth grade class. Maybe by 11th grade they've gotten over throwing spit balls and stuffing the toilet with papertowels. 3) I'm grateful to have a job in a bad economy. 4)Next weekend is our friend C.G's annual Halloween party, which we've been attending for years. I could dress up as...a crabby English teacher. Prop: A giant red pen!

I know I talk too much about work in my blogs, but right now the daily grind overshadows everything else. Still hoping for that winning Fantasy Five.

Things happen in threes

Since last week when we learned that both Zaira and Grelia had been robbed and burgled on the same day, I'd had this odd, waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop feeling. Things happen in three's in ancient fables, myths, and fairy tales, right?
On Saturday afternoon, Liberto discovered that his car, right in our own driveway, had been broken into and a laptop and Ipod stolen. It was the City of Savannah's $1500 laptop. He had come home early Friday, in pain, with back problems, and headed straight to bed. He took a few painkillers, which he reserves for only the worst pain days and when he's at home and won't have to drive. According to the police, 16 homes in our subdivision were burglarized on Friday night. For the next few stormy hours, as he filled the house with his angst-filled vibes, I reminded him that our homeowner's insurance would cover it. Later, the police had good news. Liberto was overjoyed to learn that the burglars had dumped the laptop at another home they were burglarizing. They must have realized it was a City laptop and they would not be able to enter it without a fingerprint. L's fingerprint is the sole admission onto that computer. The case and the cord are still missing, but they're less important than the laptop with all its sensitive files.

If things happen in three's, I'm due to win Fantasy Five sometime soon. Over the past few months, I've won 4 out of 5 numbers twice, which is a couple hundred dollars, nothing to sneeze at, but when this third time comes up, let's make it 5 out of 5, with a jackpot of a couple hundred thousand.

Fish for dinner last night

The fish we had for dinner last night was delectable, tender, flavorful, and fresh! Liberto's afternoon on the boat was time well spent.

Bizarre coincidence in North and South America

Last night, Liberto's cousin Carlos called at 9 p.m. I was sleeping soundly in the easy chair, having missed the entire movie we were watching, a terrific foreign film about WWII in Poland. Liberto kept repeating "Conyo" which I've come to know well as the Spanish equivalent of s----. When he got off the phone, he told me that his sister, Zaira, had been held up at gunpoint that day in front of the Chacon family home in Caracas. Metal-barrel-right-on-the-forehead kind of gunpoint. The guy then pealed away in her car. Thankfully, that was the only harm done. Later, through GPS tracking, the police found the car abandoned on some street. If that weren't bad enough. . . Liberto immediately phoned the familia to ask about it. Not only had Zaira been held up that day, his sister, Grelia, who lives in Coral Gables, Florida, had her car stolen that day too. Gina, the third sister, was visiting from Caracas, and all her money was in that stolen car. Now she's penniless. I'm not sure how much Grelia can help her out financially right now, since she and her husband are struggling with unemployment and cut work hours.
Next week, Liberto is going to take a few days off and drive to Florida on Thursday to spend a long weekend with his sisters.

Some of the students in my classes are getting on my nerves in a big way. I hate the concept that even though they do not want to be there and do not want to learn, it's my job to force them to want to, somehow. On Thursday, J., one of the 4th block troublemakers, came in at the beginning of class, shouting "What the F-----? What the F-----?" at the top of his voice. I went right to the computer and wrote him up, requesting, PLEASE remove this student asap! Five minutes later, the intercom came on, summoning him to the office. Another one of the chronic repeater-troublemakers was absent that day because he had to do community service for an arrest. Without the two of them, the class was the best and quietest I've seen all semester.

I have another student in the second block class who has proven difficult. She is always tardy, and then makes the grand entrance, running her mouth loudly as she comes in. She blurts out constantly, talks, and doesn't do the work, even though she's smart. I've given her alternative assignments to make them more challenging, but she doesn't do anything. She sits with a defiant expression, like a child saying "You can't make me!" I've already phoned her parent, and now I've set up a parent-teacher-guidance counselor meeting. In fact, I've had the guidance counselor set up a lot of parent meetings for next week. This semester, I seem to have a lot of students with behavior issues, academic issues, or both. I wonder if it's just bad luck of the draw. I went to observe a male teacher who teaches 9th grade comp lit, because I wanted to see his approach. His students did not say one word even before he walked into the classroom. They sat in their seats in complete silence, not once turning to each other for chitchat. My students would never enter my classroom and sit in silence if I was not there. I'm going to drop in on some other ninth grade teachers' classes just to see how their classes behave. I'm honestly not sure anymore what is supposed to be "normal" as far as the degree of silence.

Shawn called again a few nights ago. He's doing well, and says they get "lots" of sleep every night, from about 9 p.m. till four or five in the morning. He said about 25% of the initial group has dropped out.

This morning, Tom, a colleague, unexpectedly phoned Liberto and invited him to go shrimping for the day. Since it's a beautiful, cool, sunny day, Liberto abruptly cancelled his plans to go to the office to finish a sideline project he's been hired to do. I, on the other hand, will race against time trying to read Killing Mr. Griffin and Old Man and the Sea, for class, as well as planning activities, and grading papers.

Weird week in review

The whole week has seemed strange and out of sync. Monday morning at 5:15 a.m., I let the dog out into the fenced back yard for his morning business, half of which he now does inside anyway. It was dark, of course. I hate the dark season of the year. I sat in the living room to read the paper and drink my coffee. Since Pete takes a long time, I usually leave him in the yard, and go back to check on him in five or ten minutes. In due time, I went to the back door, looked out the window, and my heart stopped as I saw him treading water in the middle of the koi pond, which he had apparently stumbled into, either through lack of light or senility. Liberto was just coming into the kitchen, so I yelled to him to help me rescue the poor dog. On my way out, I grabbed a mop, sat on the edge of the pond and and tried to reach the handle towards his collar, so I could drag him towards me. Liberto was yelling not to do that because I was hitting him on the head (which I wasn't doing, but sometimes L. just has to be contrary). He ran to the other side of the pond, and Pete somehow turned around and swam in that direction until he got back to the edge. I very much did not want to have to jump into the pond myself, in the dark, to rescue him, so I was relieved that Liberto was able to reach him and lift him over the edge, soaking, onto the ground. I went back for towels, and we brought him inside. Luckily, Paul has been on school break this week, so we told him to get up and give Pete a bath, since we had to get ready for work. Paul wasn't thrilled about rolling out of bed at 5:30 to bathe a dog, but he did. Pete didn't seem the least bit traumatized or harmed after his swimming adventure. That was the first time he'd ever gone into the big pond. Years ago, as a frisky puppy, when we still had the little, one-foot deep pond beside the house, he was doing his crazy run around the yard, faster than a speeding bullet, when suddenly he lifted off, sailed through the air like Krypto, and landed, splash! in that little pond, terrorizing the fish who lived there. It was quite funny back then. But the other morning was awful. Every morning since, in the darkness, I've put a leash on him and attached it to something so he can wander a little but not as far as the pond.

Today, the front porch of the portable at school collapsed, yes, just fell inward about a foot in the middle, as the students and I were coming up both sides of the stairs on the way back from the Media Center. Of course, they thought it was hilarious, as they do anything that's destructive or dangerous. I called the front office on my cell phone. It rang and rang, with no pick-up from the office. What if it had been a Code Red for a terrorist? I sent a student to report the problem, and soon a construction crew arrived to bolster the porch up.

The cause of the porch collapse may have been the abundance of rain this week. One day, it poured so hard that a river of water flowed under my classroom door onto the lineoleum floor. The students, who were at lunch in the main building at the time, couldn't have been more thrilled at having to run from the main building to the portable in the pouring rain and bringing additional mud and water into the room. I had no towels in my portable, so we had to make do with paper towels from the restroom which hardly helped absorb a mini-lake.

The week has been off-kilter; little things like the above, especially with the students, rubbing me the wrong way.

My homebound student couldn't meet yesterday because he had to go to the hospital, which upsets me deeply. His mother called just before I was ready to leave for his house after school. He'd developed a fever, and since he's on chemo, they have to be ultra-careful about exposure to germs. Thus, he had be admitted to the hospital for the night. I was supposed to go today instead, but she emailed me this morning that he needed to stay in the hospital for several days. It's deeply upsetting. She said he'd be ready for next Tuesday's after school meeting, however.

This week, I've also experienced some down moments about teaching 9th graders. Maybe I''m just plain getting burned out on the hundreds of "Bubba,-be-quiet-right-now"'s that punctuate my day. It's more about control than about curriculum, and that annoys me. In our area, about two-thirds of new teachers last less than five years, according to an article in this week's paper. Just think; this is my 6th as a secondary teacher. At least I've beaten the odds of getting past the five year mark while trying to make it to 10.

All I can say is that I feel jubilant that it is Friday. I'm sure all it will take is three sips of a pony before I fall asleep in front of the tube at 7:30.

PVT Shawn's letter

On Tuesday, after returning home late from my after-school tutoring, I found a two-page letter from Shawn in the mailbox, his first written correspondence since joining the Army.

He reported, "The first week we spent at a place called processing where we got off the bus and the yelling started. The drill sergeants are actually VERY good at controlling a group of youngsters. They are much meaner than in any movies I've seen. They notice every detail and remember everything. VERY SMART PEOPLE. Case in point: I heard one drill sergeant (Hispanic) call a guy out with his uniform sagging around the waist. He said, "The only reason you would have these sagging around your waist (yelling in front of about 200 other soldiers) is because you''re somebody''s B*****! Either that or you're advertising. What are you staring at? You never seen a Mexican in charge before? You think the only thing Mexican Americans can do is picking F****** tomatoes???!!!!" Then we all did torturous exercises for about an hour while the soldier wasn't allowed to adjust his pants and just had to stand there while 200 new soldiers memorized his face. Guess what? The sergeant didn't have to mention it again the whole week. I saw zero saggy pants again. Four or five of them can keep 500 20-year-olds in line without a problem. Then after seven days we made it to REAL BCT the following Tuesday. The first 48 hours were pure hell. People were crying within five minutes of being off the bus. We originally got 3 minutes to eat per meal, and if you so much as looked up, you're kicked out (and you don't eat at all). Now we get about 40 minutes personal time a day. I passed my PT test the first time. And I did have to run two miles timed despite what the book said. Only 8 people out of the 58 in my platoon passed. I have a brand new M-16 AZ rifle, bullet proof helmet and vest."

He then asked me to send some cough drops and an Ace bandage, but to be sure to wrap it as compactly as possible. "The size of the package determines the amount of push-ups I'll have to do to receive it. A cake is 1,000 push-ups, and the drill sergeants will eat the whole thing anyway," he said.

I guess they figure the bigger the package, the bigger the Mama's Boy the soldier is. I crushed his requested items into the smallest bubble wrap package I could find, and mailed it.

It's Saturday, and I promised myself at least a day off from grading or planning. This week, I was signing in at the same time as a male English teacher with nine years on the job. He carried no briefcases of papers and handouts. He joked about all the papers I was carrying, and said he handles everything during school hours. I suspect I'm probably not as efficient as veteran secondary teachers, and my downfall is my belief that it's important to read and write comments on most everything the students do. Just to show that I take their work seriously. But I'm beginning to wonder now if this even matters. The other teacher says if students stop doing their work, he gets them in line fast by calling the parents. I do that too, but find that the slacker-students only reform for a few days before sliding back into the old habits.

This morning, I read an article which said baby-boomers often think they want to retire when all they really need is a break. I realized that I really truly need a break from what seems like round-the-clock work. So I pledged that I would not do any work today. Maybe I can make a work-free day seem like a week.

Probably because of statewide budget shortages, the administration has started to scrutinize all the teachers this year. Last year, their policy was to leave us alone, but now the administration has required all teachers to submit a Plan for Improvement, based on what we think our biggest weakness is. The administration also said they would begin unannounced class visits several times, for all teachers. I've already had one visit, and thankfully, everything was going well; the students were diligently writing an Odyssey essay that was due the next day. But I can't promise that my class will be always be running seamlessly without some embarrassing drama going on, the next time an administrator drops in. It could be at just the moment that my freon-addict-repeater, J., and his sidekick, S., are sitting in the back of the room guffawing loudly while sketching large male genitalia on notebook paper, as I talk about symbolism in TKAM. They've already been written up and spent time in ISS, with the next ISS pending, but nothing, NOTHING seems to change their behavior. I don't know why the administration doesn't expel them, given the years of trouble they've brought to different classes. Must be some glitch in the BOE policy. I've sometimes ordered them out of the portable through the back door, which wouldn't look good to the administration. But I've learned from other teachers that what they do to maintain order doesn't necessarily follow the Handbook. They do what they have to do. Thus, the cloud now hanging over my head is that if my future depends upon how well the class is behaving at any given moment, it is truly hit or miss. An administrator could pop in when student conduct is heavenly, or when J., with a goofy, drugged-out smile, is stumbling in the back door from his banishment onto the back porch, yelling, "What the F**** are we doing now?" I'm beginning to feel fatalistic about the whole thing. I'm last hired, so I'll be first fired if the budget gets too tight. But why go through this complicated procedure if they merely want to trim the payroll? They could have simply culled a few teachers at the end of last year. So I'm curious as to why we teachers are being so closely watched. It can't be because of student performance. Our students have the second highest test scores in the area, second only to Savannah Arts Academy, where they have to keep an 80 average or be kicked out.

I've stuck to my no-work pledge. It's 5:50, and I haven't even taken my briefcase out of the car. I went to the hairdressers this morning for a cut and style, but that's about all I've done. I've been reading Ted Kennedy's memoir, which is highly engaging.




And BTW---Derek tells me that he and Erin are going to Cozumel next May to celebrate their 10th anniversary and renew their vows, and that WE ARE ALL INVITED! I have wonderful memories of the last trip to Cozumel in 2000, and very much look forward to the encore. Yes, a vacation in Cozumel is just what my tired mind needs.

September days

About a week ago, Liberto answered the phone which rang up without any caller ID. I never answer unless the ID shows it's someone I know. Too many junk calls. Being the social person he is, Liberto always holds out the hope that an unfamiliar number might be that cousin in Wisconsin or his friend in Spain. My position on the matter is that if it IS a cousin or friend or someone with something important to say, and somehow we don't recognize their caller ID, they'll probably leave a message. I'm glad he picked up that time because it was Shawn, who said rapidly, "I can't talk long but I just wanted you to know that I'm fine, and the past two weeks has seemed like two years, well, I've got to go now." The Army only allots them 60 seconds each on the phone, I guess.

Yesterday I left the house at 7 a.m. and didn't get back until 10 p.m. It was a long day. Yesterday evening, I had sports duty for the second and last time this school year, from 6 till 10. Between the time school ended and sports duty began, I visited my homebound student to continue our lessons. I usually go on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but he had a doctor's appointment Thursday afternoon, so his mother emailed me and asked if we could rearrange the schedule. Matt is such a smart, likeable guy that going to see him after school, even when I'm tired, is a pleasure. I'm just heartbroken about what he has to go through at the age of 14: constant doctor's appointments, probably chemo, though I haven't asked for details, and isolation at home because he can't be exposed to germs because of a lowered immune system. This really gets to me. His situation is also a reminder for me to be more aware of not complaining or feeling affronted about every little nuisance in life.

The weather is cooler with temperatures in the eighties, sometimes in the seventies in the mornings. I feel the difference. This morning I sat by the koi pond to drink my coffee and read the paper, and one little brownish leaf came twirling down to the ground from high above.

Congratulations, Liberto

Above: A photo of our trip to NYC in 2006.


Liberto found out this afternoon that he is being promoted to Assistant City Engineer! Good work, darling! He'll be second in command over two City Departments.
I can't believe how fast the week flew by. Tomorrow, the students are taking a unit test, which is already prepared in my file drawer at work. For a change, I don't have to spend this evening running around pulling hand-outs or activities together to make sure évery second of class is filled.
I''m looking forward to the long weekend. Tomorrow night, though, I have to do sports duty at the football game. That's okay. The moon will be full and beautiful, I hope. The weather now is much cooler, so the heat won't be annoying. Also, some of my 9th graders from last year are on the team, which inspires my interest. Best of all, Liberto offered to come with me while I sell the tickets, or whatever I'll be doing, so it will be a different kind of date.

Almost September

Liberto and I went to the mall this morning to get me a few tops for work, then stopped at Petsmart to try the Jumbo size doggie-diapers for Pete. I'd already bought medium, but they were too small. In addition to incontinence, he has some bleeding. There's nothing we can do. The vet already offered to do surgery on his bladder, but I didn't see any benefit since he's already an old man in dog years, and would be an at-risk patient. The Jumbos don't fit very well either. Although they're marketed for incontinence, I think they must mean incontinence in excited puppies. We've purchased plastic at the hardware store and have lined the carpets in all his likely rest areas. I know that people less patient than we are would have hastened him on to doggie-heaven, but we believe that as long as he's not suffering and is still eating and having fun, it would be morally wrong.

I convinced Liberto to join my gym, the one near our house, in addition to the one he already belongs to downtown. I thought it would be fun if we could go together on the weekends. We went this afternoon for about an hour.

We got a three-line postcard from Shawn in today's mail saying he'd arrived at Ft. Jackson. There was an address printed on the postcard, with a statement in big letters saying "This is NOT your soldier's address." In other words, "Don't write back to this address." His car still sits in the driveway. He forgot to leave us the key. It's locked. I hope we don't have to move it for any reason.

We were saddened by the passing of Sen. Ted Kennedy, and watched his funeral this evening. I met him once in 1970, at a Democratic convention, or primary, or rally, I don't remember exactly. I had graduated from college in May that year and moved to Massachusetts for my first newspaper job. The bureau chief decided that we would drive to Boston for the convention. I remember going through a receiving line, being introduced to Mr. Kennedy by the Bureau chief, and shaking hands. He was just starting out as a politician then, so I had much less reason to admire him then as I do now. Over the years, he never let his wealth stand in the way of feeling genuinely compassionate for the less fortunate, especially people without access to health care. Hearing re-runs of his speech at one of the Presidential Conventions way, way back, I'm in awe of the way he pounded the podium with his fist and insisted that the cost of his son's medical work would bankrupt a normal family and therefore, it was imperative that this country develop universal health care. What I loved is his consistency in fighting for the needs of the poor all those years. Unlike many politicians, he never flip-flopped on his views, depending on which way the political winds were blowing. Furthermore, with all that wealth, he could have spent his life as a socialite rather than contributing to his country.

Tom Hanks wouldn't have complained

I had a traumatic root canal on Wednesday. Oddly, I have more of an issue with novacain than dental work itself. Even though I know it's better than the alternative, I despise the sting of the needle, the warm fluid moving in, and then, inevitably, I get a nasty adrenaline rush---even when they don't use ephinephrine in the cocktail. For this appointment, I brought an Ipod and headphones, hoping to retreat to my Happy Place or astral-project into some other dimension while the doctor did her work. She had injected two shots of novacain while I concentrated on pretending I was on the beach listening to Elton John. Suddenly, I received the literal shock of my life as the needle by accident tripped some nerve and made me jump so high I knocked the needle out of her hand. But that was just the beginning. Soon, the adrenaline effect began, and my head started pounding. One side of my forehead was pulsating as though I had a migraine. I reported this to her. She took my blood pressure and it was through the roof. But since I was sitting there, all numbed up, she felt it was okay to proceed. If I had left, I would have had to work up my courage to come back. For the next hour and some, I lay back trying to block out the sounds of the drill and the horrible feeling of my heart pounding. How much of this was the adrenaline effect and how much was the sheer horror of going through the process, I don't know. I've had one or two root canals before, but this one was particularly horrendous. I was so so happy to walk out that door at 6 p.m. I phoned Liberto and told him I'd changed my mind and didn't feel like going to the mall after all, that I was coming right home.

I haven't written in this blog for several weeks because I've been so busy, with now school underway and always something going on. I agreed to be a hospital/homebound tutor for a boy would have been in my 9th grade comp/lit class this fall, but was diagnosed with cancer a week before school started. I was so upset to hear about what seems like a terrible injustice that I happily accepted the position of being his tutor. I want to help connect him with school and school life so that maybe it will be a bright spot during his months of chemo. He is a sweet, smart, polite and delightful boy. I'm glad I'm involved with his education.

Shawn left Monday morning for Basic Training. Paul drove him to the recruitment center at 10:00 a.m., where he took a shuttle to Jacksonville, FL for intake, and was then be sent to Ft. Jackson, South Carolina. It's all kind of weird. We said goodbye early Monday morning before I left for work. Then I came home, and he was gone. The bedroom was empty. But his car remains in the driveway because he couldn't take that with him.

Rainy Saturday

Congratulations to me for completing the first full week of the new school year! So far, it's going well. To my surprise, the school gave me and a handful of other teachers a pleasant little bonus check for having perfect attendance last year. That always brightens one's day.

The only drama occurred when the outside door handle of the student restroom fell off while a girl was inside. She was pounding and screaming, so one of the guys---who may have had prior experience with B & E---was at the door astutely applying his credit card, trying to slide the lock open. I lost the attention of all the students, of course, as several hovered around the door yelling at the girl, another was sent to the main building to find a custodian, and I tried in vain to buzz the front office. It's not connected yet, however. They can intercom me, but I can't intercom back. A custodian finally appeared 10 minutes after the student-runner had alerted her about the problem. She then radioed Maintenance. Since there was nothing anyone could do until maintenance arrived, I closed the door to the restroom hallway and demanded the class to get back to what we were doing. Ten minutes later, the door opened, and the trapped student appeared, having been released by Maintenance.

During the next block, I was just about to "share" some of the scanned student work via the projector when the bulb blew out. I was using my own LCD since the school hasn't yet installed my permanent one. Those bulbs cost several hundred dollars, and I was reluctant to spend that much for my teaching. To my surprise, the school unearthed an LCD projector from somewhere and gave it to me the next day.

Week before last, a young man who graduated from the high school a decade ago was killed in Afghanistan. His mother is one of the middle school teachers. The Marines are very loyal to their fellow soldiers and Richmond Hill is a small town, so a big fallen hero's welcome was planned, beginning last Wednesday when his body arrived in Savannah and was escorted by motorcade from the airport to a Richmond Hill Funeral Home. The streets were lined with flags and people for miles. All the teachers turned out, as well as townspeople. Liberto and I went to the calling hours last night. Even though I hadn't known the young man, I felt tremendous empathy for his family, especially his mother, a fellow teacher. Soon I, too, will be the mother of a soldier. The line of callers was so long that it took two-and-a-half hours for us to get from the outside of the building to the family members who were receiving.

Shawn is leaving for Ft. Jackson on August 25. During the nine weeks of Basic Training, he will not be allowed visitors, phone calls, or emails. There will be one Visitor's Day just before graduation. Then, he will be shipped out to a destination now unknown.

Saturday night fishing at Tybee

Although I used these photos on Facebook, I'm also displaying them here. I went to the beach with the boys on Saturday evening. Liberto snagged many fish, but they all got away before he could reel them in. Bite by bite, they ate his bait until he had none left on the hook. They were jumping in the air right in front of us, but none of sufficient size could be caught. I guess they've had a lot of practice eluding fisherpeople in those shallow waters. He did catch two baby fish, as seen in the photo above, which he threw back.

Crazy days

On Tuesday, the roller coaster ride began. The administration decided to mandate some new room re-assignments, the goal of which was to get the math and science teachers on the same hallway and to give individual rooms to teachers who'd been there the longest.

At the end of the school year last spring, you may recall, I was reassigned from my original room to another room. I have the sneaking suspicion that J., the teacher who shared my room, and who has OCD and some other issues with mood swings, did not want to share the room with me for whatever reason, and complained secretly to the AP, who arranged the move---although the AP claimed it had to do with scheduling. So many teachers are floaters that it's quite a juggling act to schedule classes and have rooms available when so many are shared by two teachers. I moved out of my original room with J., and a young teacher named E. moved in.

On the first teacher pre-planning day, I was just settling into the new room, to which I'd hauled books and papers for three days at the end of the school year, when the AP came in and told the teacher I now shared the room with, K., that she was being re-assigned to one of the new portables outside the main building so that she could have her own room. I could tell that K., who has worked there longer than I, was not too happy. She walked out to the portable, returned, and reported that it was small and dirty and ugly. Meanwhile, the AP had moved a science teacher to one of the portables and re-assigned J., my former "room mate" to the science teacher's room. J. was angry to have been moved rather than sharing the room with E. But then the science teacher, after moving to the portable and standing in it for five minutes, pitched a fit, saying it hurt her allergies or migraines or something. So the AP decided to move her back to the original room, take J. out, and move her to the room where I now was, as K. was being sent to the portable. But K. got mad at being moved, and she had been there longer, so in the end, the AP decided to move me to one side of the new portable, and J. to the other side.

I was filled with trepidation after hearing K's description of the portable classroom. But when I walked over to inspect it, it didn't look bad at all. Either the cleaning crew got to it first or K. was exaggerating. It's new and fresh and fairly large. Fortunately, J. and I have two individual classrooms with separate doors and separate stairsteps leading to our rooms. There are even two restrooms in the middle corridor which separates the two classrooms. My very own restroom!





















The room is so new, in fact, that it hasn't been wired for internet. They say it will be taken care of soon, but it makes me beyond insane not to have instant access. The room does not have a built-in LCD projector yet either, although it's in the works. But I dusted off my own personal LCD which I purchased a few years ago when I worked at Groves, which offered zero equipment, and set it up, so I can show visuals and powerpoints.

Physically, moving everything into the new classroom was horrible. Although I had a lot of help from students and male faculty who could hoist heavy things onto their shoulders, I was dripping rivers of sweat after walking back and forth in the hot sun carrying my books and files from the main building to the portable. When my naturally wavy hair gets wet or sweaty, it curls wildly in weird directions. By the end of the day, I looked barbaric.

In addition, my schedule was suddenly altered. I now have Planning during first block. I'd originally been assigned 3rd block planning, which I think is the best because it overlaps lunch and you're free to eat whenever you want. On the other hand, if you have a third block class instead of Planning, you have to interrupt class to send students for lunch and get them re-focused after they've been gone for half an hour.

For a few days this week, I felt very unsettled by the new room and new schedule---who moved my cheese?---but once I got the furniture and desks into the classroom, I thought it looked just fine. Today, I began to see the advantages of having my own room, as opposed to sharing. I don't have to float to another classroom carrying a basket full of papers, all the while knowing that I'll inevitably have forgotten something back in my own room. Now I have all three classes in the same room, so I can always access my own things. I can also write something on the board and know it will stay there because another teacher won't erase it for her class.

In addition, I began to see the advantages of first block planning. It removes some of the early morning pressure inherent in rushing to get there, signing in, getting the room set up and the papers out, and being prepared for a mob of students who need to be "engaged" from bell to bell.

My mood swung from one end of the pendulumn to the other, and by today, I was happy with the new room and the schedule. Am I happy that J., a known freon addict, is in my class for the second time? That's another story for next time.

Heebie-jeebies

Yes, I've got a little bit of the h.j.'s about starting the new school year next week. First, there's the change in routine. Now I'll have to arise in the near-dark again at 5:30. No more late night movies or watching "Property Virgins" at 11:30p.m. No more interesting dreams about people, places, and things in the universe outside the classroom; now my sleeping mind will be flooded with dreams about classrooms, hand-outs, and broken copy machines. Then there's the change from the leisurely summer pace back to the rush-rush. In addition, the larger issues loom before me: what will my new students be like? Will there be any hyperactive, show-stealing, posturing kids whose mission is to stir up drama and draw attention from the other classmates? I took a peek at the class lists on PowerTeacher and my jaw dropped when I saw the name of a guy I've already had twice before! He's an 11th or 12th grader now, about 19 years old. I think his unwillingness to do the work is a cover for some reading disabilities.

I'm also nervous about teaching "Basic Reading" for the first time. The chair asked me to teach one section of it so she wouldn't have to do three sections herself, which is understandable. She warned me that these 9th graders are harder to control that the regular ones. They can't/won't/don't like to read, so they disrupt instead.

I'm nervous about re-joining the society of teachers that I work with. Most of them are in a quite different stage of life than I am, preoccupied with babies, diets, and nights out with the girls. Been there, done that. Tired of it. I'm more into my family, my husband-as-my-best friend, the wonderful company of my sons, the pleasure of long-term friends, the joys of being at home with a good book or movie on a Friday night. I get along with most of the other teachers, in a surface sort of way, but have little desire to see any of them outside of the school day. I recently went to a gathering of the female teachers from my former school, Groves, and feel much more in tune with those women. They are more mature. Many have grandchildren!


Oh, to add to my anxiety list, on Thursday, I broke a permanent bridge, and have an appointment to see the dentist tomorrow. Although Liberto and I have not one but two dental insurances and a flexible spending account for medical and dental, I'm terrified that it will cost a fortune. Dental work ain't cheap, and I've got a mind to write to Obama to point out that something should be done about dental health for our nation, as well as medical. Even good dental insurance has a $1,000 a year cap. That's good for about two x-rays and a cleaning. One of the reasons Shawn is joining the Army is that they'll take care of his medical needs and his teeth. Not having had money or insurance for a long time, he needs thousands of dollars worth of dental work. Even if he had a dental plan right now, the $1,000 a year cap would prevent any real improvement.

The other possibility tomorrow is that the dentist can just re-cement it in as it is and send me on my way. I have it shoved into place for the time being with some poli-grip and I try to chew on the other side.

Shawn now has a reservation for the helicopter repair division of the military. He is leaving tomorrow for an initiation at Ft. Jackson, which will last two days. They show the recruits around, give them a physical, and put them in the "hot seat" for questioning. If he passes all that, he can officially sign up for the six-year stint, and he will begin four-month basic training on Sept. 23, at either a base in Virginia or Mississippi. Maybe that's another reason for my heebie-jeebies; there's about to be a huge change in his life. Ours too.

I'm nervous about Pete too. So far, he hasn't suffered at all, but he's getting thinner and isn't eating as much as he used to. I worry about him.

Paul and I went to the gym today, and I felt a little bit more centered after a good work out. One thing I did get out of that Covey training last June was to write down my Quadrant II activities on my calendar, as an appointment. Once it's written down, it seems more like an official directive, so I go and do it. For some reason, that has worked. For the past three weeks, I've been going to the gym three times a week and have stuck to it. Next week, I have it written down for Tuesday and Thursday, after school. That will be the real test, to see if I keep going and not let it slide because of other "more important" things. One of the teachers at my school works out at 4:30 a.m. every day, so she can come to school invigorated. If I can drop in for half an hour at 4 PM twice a week, I'll be doing well.

And how they fought!

The minute Shawn learned how to crawl, he crawled rapidly across the living room floor to Derek, who was two and a half, and punched him. I remember this vividly because it seemed incredulous that a baby would initiate a battle and that a two-year-old would respond with such fervor. From that moment on, they fought and fought and fought. They couldn't keep away from each other, as though the urge to wrestle, box, gouge, and roll around on the floor was some deep-seated craving. They'd even punch each other through the openings of the little stretch gate I set up in the doorway between the kitchen and living room to try to keep them separated. As they grew older, the full-time wrestling continued.

In the first photo above, I got them to sit together for what I hoped would be a photo I could send out with the Christmas cards that year. Derek was about nine and Shawn about seven. I was ready to click the camera and WHAM! They couldn't sit next to each other without throwing a punch. I'm not sure if I sent that photo out anyway.
Hah! I recall that in the 1970's, some New Agey experts believed that boys and girls were merely socialized to be different. Girls played with dolls and boys played with guns because they were acquiring a learned role, according to experts. If that were true, I'd like to know how two babies under two-and-a- half years of age "learned" to love fighting and roughhousing as much as those two did.

Happy 23rd, Paul

Though our doggie Pete is elderly now, he was able to work up some excitement about the birthday cake. Shawn told Paul he had to stand at least six feet back and blow the candles out from there since he only had two (a 2 and a 3 candle). He was able to do it.

Last night, it stormed heavily. I read in the newspaper this morning that thousands of people in the Savannah area lost their power last night. I'm relieved that we didn't.

Just before I awoke this morning, I had an interesting dream about a chihuahua which sat on my bed. As soon as the lights were turned off, it began to glow in the dark with beautiful opaque colors similar to the vivid shades on tropical hummingbirds: greens, blues, reds and yellows. Its glow reminded me of light shining through a stained glass window. Now, where can I find one of these and start breeding a brand new strain of dogs that everyone will want!

Cousins

As I digitalize the family photos, I feel inspired to write about some of them. Above is a photo of Paul and my sister Diana's son, David, taken in 2004. They're only six months apart in age, born in the same year. Dave, who graduated from UC Santa Cruz a few months ago, wants to go to law school soon. He's extremely bright, but also very fun and cool, the kind of kid that would be voted Most Popular in high school. Paul, as we know, would not win such a contest, but he is happy with who is he and what he's doing, and that's what's important. Dave looks like my brother Paul did in his youth, with the curly red hair and pink complexion. Dave also has a generous heart. Unlike some cool kids who would not deign to hang out with
shy loners, Dave went out of his way to be nice to Paul and make him feel welcome.

Memories of Prince Edward Island at sunset

Sunday evening. It just started thundering. We've had a relaxed weekend. Yesterday, Liberto actually volunteered to go to the pool with us. I've been nagging him for the longest time to come along, telling him the buoyancy will be good for his spine, but he always says no because the horseflies seem to crave Hispanic blood much more than Anglo. I've also been trying to get Shawn to go, but have not succeeded so far. So Liberto, Paul and I went for a bath-water-warm swim in late afternoon. The horseflies still love Liberto, but whenever they moved in, he dove underwater.

Coincidentally, I've been working on the same project Sharon has undertaken (great minds think alike!)getting the family photos scanned. My photos take up 95% of our closet. I've always been a photography buff, ever since I requested and received a Brownie camera for a childhood birthday present. If I can digitalize 50 years' of photos, I'll have much more room in the closet.

The photos above are from a wonderful trip Paul and I took with my cousins Jean and Ruth in the summer of 2004. The four of us drove from Toronto to Nova Scotia to Prince Edward Island and back to Toronto. Among many other things, I visted my mother's hometown, Mulgrave, Nova Scotia for the first time, and saw her childhood house! Those photos will be shown in another entry.

One evening on Prince Edward, we visited a lighthouse. The glassy sea sat placidly at low tide, exposing a huge, dark beach of rocks, pebbles, seaweed, and tidal pools. Paul and I walked a long way out to the water's edge. I was so intrigued by the red-brown colors of the rocks and pebbles that filled the beach. I thought the tide might be coming in, but the water was so still, it was difficult to tell. I focused for awhile on a certain red rock in front of me, and sure enough, I could see the tiny channels of water flow slowly and quietly around its sides, and gently over the top of it. We knew it was time to walk back. That beach was beautiful.
PEI, the setting of Anne of Green Gables, provided author L.M. Montgomery with inspiration for her long passages describing the island's natural beauty.