Please let it rain!

This afternoon, I'm supposed to do my once-per-semester sports duty at a 2:30 soccer game. Doppler radar shows a line of severe storms moving this way. If they strike at about 2:15, the timing would be perfect. The sky is darkening now, at
12:55, so maybe the game will be washed out before it starts. Weekends are so short; I'd rather be at home doing other things.

Last Monday, I got the results of my formal observation, and it was perfect all the way through the checklist. As my dear readers know, I have always worked my tail off trying to make every class interesting and relevant, at Chatham County, and now RHHS as well. I know now, through Mr. D.'s conversation with us in the parking lot of Circuit City, that the principal of my school in Chatham had simply targeted certain people. But it was a blessing in disguise, wasn't it!

Speaking of Circuit City, the liquidation prices were so good that we purchased a 42-inch Samsung for the bedroom, so now, when the Master is watching his Amazing Race or sports in the living room, I now have equal rights in the bedroom with just as nice a picture. Often, I like to have a House show or a Lifetime movie in the background while I grade papers or plan lesson.

Paul just announced that lunch is ready. And I think I just saw a big raindrop splash by the window. Bring it on!

Fourth block group work

My students and I just finished "The Most Dangerous Game." I remember reading that story with Mr. G., the stern English teacher at Plattsburgh High, in 1965! As an activity, I had the students choose between drawing a map of Ship Trap Island or drawing a movie poster for the new movie version of MDG.

Sunday again already

Sunday, and I'm still printing out papers for class. I can hear the printer clunking away in the next room. I haven't mastered the technique I've observed in some teachers, of never carrying work home, which I presume also means never DOING any work at home. I'm behind despite working at home. How do they do it?

I give vocabulary quizzes every Monday, which means I have to make a quiz and print it, not to mention grade it. I also have to decide on the new set of words for next week. I make them write a lot in class, just a lot of short quick-writes, which means (I feel!) that I should respond to them with brief comments, or scan them to share with the rest of the class. They're working on a research paper, and I have to keep track of how many secondary sources they've turned in so far. I also decided to get them involved in the Great American Mail Race, a mega chain letter for students, coordinated by English teachers across the country. I made them write a letter on Friday, in response to the one that arrived from "Derick, from Idaho", also to be sent to several unknown 9th graders from the high schools of their choice anywhere in the country. They're reading To Kill a Mockingbird, so I offer guiding questions, discussion questions, and other little videos and slide shows to help make it interesting. For instance, I made a little slide show on rabies, to go with the scene where Atticus shoots a rabid dog. I showed them some United Streaming videos documenting the Jim Crow era in the South, as well as the Depression, both of which emphasize the setting of the story. I found a recent photo of Harper Lee, as well as an internet article about Oprah's overtures to Ms. Lee to write a piece for O magazine.

On Friday, for the first time this entire school year, an AP came to class, presumably to do the required observation. Mr. W., a very nice man, was an English teacher last year, and was "promoted" to AP---if you can call being an AP an upward step; in my opinion, it must be a descent into the 7th circle of Hell. I see him walking the halls all day long, looking wearier by the day. Last semester, I had a class containing three or four of the well-known hooligans. Mr. W. knows them all quite well! In the hallway one day, when I told him I'd written up "B" again, he sighed and said "Five percent of the students here cause 95% of the problems." Imagine my surprise in January(and I tried to hide the shock on my face)when "T", one of those troublemakers whom I'd written up at least 4 times last semester, walked brazenly into my second block class a week after it had started, transfer slip in hand, and said, almost contritely (but loudly, for the audience effect) "I'm going to pass your class this time!" This time around he only sleeps about once per week. I was telling Mr. W. about having "T" again, and how he continues to sleep; was there any point in writing him up for that? No, said Mr. T., he's just counting the days until he turns 16 and can drop out of school. I said, "But what if an evaluator comes in, and T is asleep?" He said, "But I'll be your evaluator, so it won't be a problem. I know T!"

Anyhow, Friday morning, Mr. W. appeared in the first block class at about 8:45, rather than the second block. He looked tired, and barely looked up from his clipboard, as he began to write on it. I was about halfway into an "Anticipation questionnaire" for the short story "The Most Dangerous Game," which is on the curriculum for this Unit, in addition to TKAM. As everyone knows, an Anticipation activity is one which is supposed to get the kids thinking about the themes in a work of literature that's about to be read. "The Most Dangerous Game" is a story about a rich man who hunts humans for sports because he had decided that only animals that can reason would offer enough challenge for a hunter. I had written down a list of "Agree or "Disagree" statements about humans and animals, such as "Animals have feelings" or "Humans are just as territorial as animals." We were halfway down the list of statements and having what I thought was a reasonably good discussion. No students were sleeping anyway. I suppose if fault could have been found, it would be in the fact that with each question, two or three students were trying to talk at once to answer them even though I'd say "Let's hear from Bubba, shhhh!" If I were an evaluator, I would see a lively discussion with 9th graders as a sign that they were interested and engaged although I know some probably feel that a perfect class consists of a teacher asking a question, one student raising his hand and speaking while the others listen quietly. . . then the next student raises her hand...
I've been wracking my brain trying to think of what flaws might have occurred during that 15-minute window. After the discussion, I distributed the list of guiding questions for the story and then said, "Okay, let's open our books to page 5. "D", would you like to begin reading?" We do read-alouds in my class, with the students taking turns. About that time, I saw Mr. W. slipping out the door. I hope it went okay. To tell you the truth, I don't know what I could have done any differently.

We've started watching American Idol again. I was so happy that Danny made the top three last week. Tatiana is extremely annoying. But she has a good voice. I wouldn't have been surprised if she stayed, but America must find her annoying too, because she didn't make the top 3. Paul is very excited about the new season. American Idol, apparently, is the most thrilling obsession he's ever had.

Liberto had his second epidural on Wednesday and came home with a smile on his face. I hear the doctor who administers these shoots is beautiful, young, and rich, so I'm not sure how much that had to do with it. He claims it's because the pain has subsided. Shawn continues to work at A.C. Moore, and has taken up the hobby of movie making. He made a cool film this afternoon of himself using his sword to slice lemons mid-air.

Pete continues to do surprisingly well. I'm convinced now that the vet was wrong and he doesn't have bladder cancer. This morning, Paul and I walked him to the docks, and he was happy and energetic.

Another week

Life is so busy right now; it seems that my intervals between blogs grow longer each week. From now until March 30, I'm visiting a homebound student three times a week after school to help catch her up. She was in my class last fall. During Thanksgiving break, when visiting family in North Carolina, she was in a horrific car accident. The photos of the wrecked car are chilling--the guidance counselor showed me. Tina had to stay in the hospital in North Carolina for two months until she was stable enough to be moved back to Richmond Hill. She underwent many surgeries. Needless to say, she couldn't finish the course. She wasn't doing very well anyway. She didn't read or study much and tried to get by on minimal effort. Now I'm bringing materials to her house after school to help her complete several important assignments in the curriculum, and prep her for the state End of Course Test. I am being compensated extra to do this, so it's not entirely a humanitarian effort; at the same time, the teacher in me wants to see her finish the course successfully. Preparing her materials, driving to the house, spending an hour to an hour and a half, then arriving home at 5:30 or 6:00 after a workday that began at 7:00 a.m. has been tiring. When I get home, Paul often needs help with one of his on-line courses, so I work with him. After dinner, I spend 8-9 o'clock sitting up in bed with the papers that never end. This afternoon, I felt tired and took a nap for two hours. It was a gloomy, chilly day, and the bed looked so inviting.

We'd had a busy morning. We went out for breakfast at the Pancake House. Our purpose for going out, in addition to eating, was to locate a notary public to seal my 1-9 form for Pearson, the company that oversees the grading of SAT's and other state mandated essays. Due to heightened security, blah blah blah, people who already have been grading for them have to submit paperwork again. I enjoy doing the on-line SAT's. I never fail to find some essays that are so thought-provoking and brilliant that they strike a nerve and launch mini-epiphanies. Therefore, I was willing to go through doing the paperwork again. We decided we'd stop at Kinko's after breakfast to get a notarization.

But---because of the restaurant's close proximity to Oglethorpe Mall, the three of us stopped at the mall first to look at the sales. Liberto wanted new shoes if he could find Rockports on sale. I'm sure I don't need to describe how tiring it was to wander slowly around looking at mercandise. Next, looking for the notary public, we drove to five places and still could not find one. "He/she's out today, she's on maternity leave, he doesn't work weekends, we don't have one...." I gave up. I wanted to go home. But on the way, Liberto wanted to stop at Savannah Mall to stroll through Dillards. My legs, strong as they are, had begun to grow tired and achy, as I stood waiting for Liberto to try on pants. It was after one o'clock and by then, the thought of a nap was becoming irresistible.

Pete has expanded his pee-range from the carpet onto the kitchen floor. Poor boy, he can't help it. I'm thankful he doesn't appear to have any pain or discomfort. He still looks fairly healthy. Recently, a cat that looks just like Gus but with longer hair has been coming into our front yard and sitting on the grass every afternoon at about the same time. Our yard must be one of the stops on its daily cat-patrol. It has a collar, is well-groomed, and has that expression of entitlement that well-cared-for cats have, so I know it belongs to a neighbor. I think I've seen it in one of the front yards on my walks. It's good, anyway, to see a cat again. I guess now that Gus is gone, the cat is no longer afraid to step onto his territory. Shawn says its spooky how much it looks like Gus. Paul and I decided to give it a name, even though he belongs to someone else, and decided "Augustus" is close to "Gus" but different.

End of the week

The temperature plummeted to the twenties several mornings this week. The two cars which stay outside were covered with ice. The newspaper carried local photos of icycles hanging from shrubs. But the cold snap disappeared today, and the temperature is climbing.

A strange thing happened last night. I woke up about 1 o'clock to the sound of noises in the hallway. I was barely awake, so it hardly registered, but then Liberto walked into the bedroom and said, "Don't go out there." Not that I was thinking of going anywhere except to the restroom, now that I'd been awakened. I asked him what was wrong in the hall. He said he'd tell me in the morning, but don't go out there. I was so sleepy I sunk back into oblivion. This morning, when I came down the hallway at 5:30, I saw that S's bedroom door was completely off the hinges, leaning against the top of the doorway. The floor of his room was covered with tortillas. His sleeping form was on the bed, buried under the covers. In the kitchen, a rotissaire chicken I'd picked up at Food Lion sat on the stovetop, uncovered, with a kitchen knife still stuck in it perpendicularly. Then Liberto came into the kitchen and told me that based on what he'd seen, he suspected that S's medication was making him sleep-walk and that he'd done everything, including rip the door off the hinges, in a sleep-state! I'd seen tapes of this on Dr. Phil...people getting up at night, going to the fridge, eating, doing weird things, and having no memory of it the next day. This morning, L. phoned S. from work, and found out that S. did not remember anything! I know he's taking medication for depression and anxiety, prescribed by a doctor, but I also wonder if anything else is involved or whether the current meds need to be reconsidered. When I got home from work today, he had replaced the door and was steam-cleaning the carpets again. He told me he knew nothing about last night. When L. gets home this afternoon, I imagine there'll be a little talk about what needs to be done.

About a year ago, I wrote about my former student at Groves, Shameir, who had been injured in the Imperial Sugar Refinery explosion in Port Wentworth. At the time, he was in a coma at the Augusta Burn Center and his prognosis was poor. However, a few months later, he took a turn for the better. In fact, he recovered! Recently, I saw him on the local news discussing the need for better inspections at refineries. The reason this came to my mind is because right now, the local news is noting that today is the one year anniversary of the explosion.

When the alarm went off this morning, I was dreaming that I had an armadillo for a pet and was taking it for a walk on a leash. I particularly remember the clicking of its nails on the ground as it walked along. Probably, Pete was clicking along the hallway at the time of the dream.

A few minutes ago, Paul told me to come to the front door. In the yard, sat a beautiful butterscotch-colored Angora cat. I'd seen that cat in a yard around the corner during walks through the neighborhood. I wanted so much to pet it. I miss the feel of a cat. I tiptoed towards it, very slowly, but it got skittish and started home, so I gave up. Gus has been gone for over a week now, but it's ghostly how I still keep thinking I see him around the house.

It's movie and Chinese food night. As soon as L. gets home, we'll break out the food, with a nice cold pony for me, and watch one of the three Netflix movies on the table.

Rainy February Monday

Today, I stayed at school until almost five, sorting out papers, adding grades, checking on the student shares to see which ones had finished their fables and tall-tales. I like the quiet after everyone leaves, I like my classroom, and my school computer is top of the line, so I don't mind staying awhile. It's not as though I have to rush to pick up little kids from daycare anymore. My classroom-mate and I were talking earlier, wondering when the administration would get around to doing teacher observations so that contracts for next year could be issued. No observations have been done yet in anyone's classroom. By this time last year, as you may remember, (and how could I forget?)I was observed 17 times, all with a very "Gotcha" approach. I still have no idea why I alone received so many observations. For the past six months, I have been well-prepared for class at my new high school, but always nervous about when some administrator will come in, tablet and pen in hand, and start taking prolific notes about my performance. I'm sure it will be in the next few weeks.

As I was signing out this afternoon, I noticed something in my mailbox. I pulled it out and surprise! It was a contract for next year, with a step upgrade. I read it several times to make sure it wasn't someone else's that had been placed accidentally in my box. Why am I surprised? The procedure I'd grown used to in Chatham County was 1)an observation 2)a sit-down discussion with the evaluator, which for me, last year, was repugnant and almost physically painful, and 3) weeks later, a grudging contract. In contrast, no one at RHHS has formally observed my class yet; no one has even stuck his/her head into the room for the past six months. Their policy is to leave you alone and to assume you're doing fine.

I've also been nervous about how the economy might impact an invitation to return. Last hired, first fired, after all. Wouldn't I be at the top of the list for axing if the school's budget fell short? Every day there seems to be some item in the paper about state's budget shortfalls. The local district has put out a letter talking about "these hard times" and "sacrifices we must make" etc., all euphemisms for possible lay-offs.

Thus, I am pleasantly surprised, and very relieved, to have been issued a contract. Of course, if I must explore the dark side of all this, maybe they'll do an observation, find fault, and withdraw the contract.

But I'll try to think positively!

I got home to find that Shawn had steam cleaned the carpets in the living room, which was very nice of him. Pete has a bladder control problem, as has been discussed earlier, and has had numerous accidents there. Other than that, he seems healthy.

This past weekend, it was very painful to be conscious in advance that Gus wouldn't be perched on the back fence in the moonlight, or on the front porch rail or the bedroom window sill meowing at us, or waiting for me in bed when I returned from a nighttime rest-stop. If I let down my guard, I would expect to see him in his usual spots and feel a jolt of grief. Almost like an hallucination, I swear I did see him several times for an instant, and I thought I heard him too.

Shawn has been enjoying his new job and has a social life too. The first girlfriend didn't pan out, but now there's a new one who sounds promising. I'm so happy that his life has improved.