HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY, NICK!

Nicky is 8 years old today. What a wonderful grandson. He is smart, polite, and handsome. I hope he has a super party today!

I love the summer

It's a wrap! The last teacher planning day was Thursday. At the final faculty meeting, the administration planned a comedy hour. Different teachers stood at the mike and told "True Tales of the Classroom," all of which were funny, ranging from the student who asked the Social Studies teachers to "give me the syphilis"" to the pregnant girl who asked Mr. D. "if I keep on having sex, will I have twins?" One of the best anecdotes came from Mr. C., who recalled a student he had in the '80's named "Cinnamon." She dressed provocatively and would service the high school boys after school. When the administration discovered this, they arranged a parent conference to determine the consequences for Cinnamon. The mother walked into the meeting, dressed more provocatively than Mr. C. had ever seen a parent dress for a school conference. She had a tattoo across her cleavage that said "Spice" because that was her name. Cinnamon and Spice. Hmmm. When she was told about her daughter's extracurricular activities, Spice was upset only when she learned that her daughter wasn't being paid, and demanded that she receive at least $7 an hour for her services. Mr. C. said this was one parent conference that will always stand out in his mind! Another good one was from Ms. W. The incident had happened only a week before at our high school. Two of the boys in her senior Honors class asked Ms. W. for a pass to go to the Media Center "for five minutes", so she agreed. Twenty-five minutes passed and the boys hadn't returned. One of them was the school Salutatorian, so she had trusted him! She worked herself into a rage, left the rest of the class alone, and stormed down the hall to the Media Center. She discovered the boys at the computer printing out 100 page document with the directions to Dungeons and Dragons. So she dragged them both to the Assistant Principal's office, ranting all the way about how ashamed they should be, how angry she was, how she had trusted them, and so on. Assistant Principal Ms. H. sat at her desk listening, while the two boys hung their heads, and Ms. W. continued her scolding, which included all the teacher cliches of the century that angry teachers use when berating students. Suddenly, Ms. H., the A.P., trying to look serious as an A.P. should, burst out in a storm of laughter and couldn't stop...the same way students do when they can't hold a straight face any longer in front of raging teacher. Ms. H. laughed until she couldn't laugh any more. As these stories were being recounted, the teachers in the audience were doubled over with laughter. It was a fun way to end the semester.

I've been moved to a new classroom, so I spent the teacher planning days wheeling books and materials to the new room. I will be sharing the room with the woman who was my mentor at Armstrong when I was doing my post-bac teaching certification internship. She left college for the high school the year after she mentored me. I feel much more of a connection with her than my previous classroom mate, who had obsessive compulsive disorder, and was particular about things like desk arrangements for the students. The student desks had to face a certain way so that they couldn't be close to her desk, in case they might touch something on it. I would have preferred another arrangement that would have reduced student temptation to make faces at each other and throw airplanes. She's a lot younger than I am, and, perhaps because of her youth, was always talking about herself and her problems, never once asking me anything about myself. Enough said. My new classroom-mate likes to discuss curriculum, history, literature, and other issues which are more to my liking. She's also closer to me in age; I imagine that she's in her forties. I've never asked, but people are often in their forties by the time they have a Ph.D., and a few years teaching in college.

Paul just asked me to go to the pool with him. I'm going to go ahead and do that now, and write more later. I haven't even begun to say all that I want to here.

Idol and Semester Finale

On Tuesday night, Paul dialed zealously and got nothing but a busy signal for four hours. He's a loyal voter for American Idol candidates, but on finale night, he was squeezed out by the other 100 million voters who got through. How many millions more couldn't cast votes?

I liked Kris' voice and musical style from the start. Danny was a favorite of mine, and of course, who could not like Adam? However, I didn't always love all of his presentations. It's not just the vocals that sway listeners; it's the entire package. Simon commented after one of Adam's performances that it reminded him of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

On Thursday, I received the following text message from Diana:

"I was SO happy (and surprised) when Kris won American Idol! You could have knocked me over with a feather. I was clapping and jumping up and down! What a talented and sweet guy. He totally deserves it. I also liked Adam and am sure he will do VERY well also. Alison, too."


I replied: "There've been rumors that Adam's gayness may have been a factor, but I disagree. Maybe homophobics object to that orientation in other circumstances, but if produces music that we like, how much do people care about the artist's orientation? Has anyone stopped listening to Elton John because he's gay?"

Diana responded: "I suppose there might have been some homophobia among the evangelicals, but I assume there were also some people who voted for him BECAUSE he was gay. I liked Kris better for other reasons and I'm not homophobic. More likely to me was that Simon (and some others) seems to favor Adam so obviously from the beginning that it began to be annoying and seem unfair to the rest. So some people might have reacted and voted for others instead. Also, maybe a lot of Danny's fans switched to Kris after he was eliminated. Adam is a real star-- but Kris seemed more musically talented....He played the piano, the guitar, was adorably handsome and had a great voice. In sum, while there may have been some homophobia out there, I don't think that that's why Kris won. There were plenty of people who just liked him better (like we did), and it didn't have as much to do with Adam's homosexuality as with his screeching style, etc. I actually liked Adam too and recognize his talent for rock kind of stuff. I just like the other kind of music better."

I agree with her.

Last night, the Idols were guests on Larry King. The issue of homophobia was raised. Larry asked Adam if he'd lost because of his orientation. Adam said no, that any lifestyle issues were far lower on the list of voters' priorities than factors such as their singing, their song interpretation and originality, and the sum total of who they are as guys, the orientation being just one of many parts to the whole.



* * * *

Yesterday afternoon, as soon as the last students were shooed out of the school, the front office played Handel's Messiah over the intercom.

HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!

It's nice to have an administration with a sense of humor.

Yes, the school year is over. I scantroned the final exams and entered the grades. I have a few more essays to finish up, but the crush is over. I have to attend graduation this afternoon. Then the family and I will go to see the new Terminator movie. I was introduced to the first Terminator in the summer of '86. It had come out a few years earlier, but that summer, when Derek and Shawn were with us in Louisana, and I was pregnant with Paul and too heavy and hot to do anything exciting with them, they would walk to the nearby 7-11 every day and rent that movie. Then they'd jump out at each other, imitating the Governator's voice, crying, "Sawah Connah? (sound of machine gun)." Curious about who this Sawah Connah was, I eventually watched it with them, and I liked it. The third sequel, this afternoon's entertainment, is probably awful---the second sequel wasn't so hot and they usually go downhill---but I'm game.

It's been raining for days. Shawn says it's becoming just like Maine. We've also had some cold snaps. The Northerners among us would laugh to hear what I think is cold, but with high winds, temperatures in the fifties can be uncomfortable. I had bus ramp duty this past week, which involves standing outside for forty minutes while the students get on their buses. With the wind howling, and my hair blowing in all directions, it was cold. Really. I'm not kidding.

I'm so excited to have a three-day weekend with just a tad of school related paperwork. Next week, the three teacher workdays are easy and stress-free. I've even heard that one should bring a book.

Saturday in May

One week of school left! The students are getting feistier every day. Mostly minor mischief. In the photo above, two students wore flip-flops to school, which are against the dress code. The Assistant Principal, maybe feeling a little bit of summer fever herself, doled out an alternative punishment to the usual dress code violation write-up. She had the school nurse paint their toes red. The Media Center director took photos and posted them all on the faculty email. These guys look pretty pleased with themselves, I would say.

I'm embarrassed at how much I've been neglecting my blog lately, but life has been packed full of obligations, errands, papers, and people. I get home at 4:30 or 5:00, and Paul's waiting for me to go over his course chapters, or the SAT's are beckoning, or I have material that has to get back to the students by the next day. Or all of the above. Sounds like a multiple choice quiz.

Since I last wrote, a lot has happened with Shawn. Did I ever mention that the new girlfriend was his boss at work? Probably not. I had gently reminded him once or twice that Human resources would not look kindly upon such an arrangement. He assured me that if anyone asked, they would both deny it. However, another employee could definitely not miss the signs, such as seeing them out together at night, and contacted the District Manager. It was also clear that S. had been made the unofficial assistant store manager, given the authority to boss the others around because of his liason with B., so the other employees were pissed. On Wednesday following the hospital incident written about earlier, B., the girlfriend, was "asked to resign" and I guess in the end she was too honest to deny it, especially since it was true. On the same day, Shawn also quit-before-he-was-fired, and simply didn't go in that day, phoning in and saying he wouldn't be coming anymore. As a follow-up, his and B's plan, now that they were both out of work, was to go on the crafts circuit full-time. She is a nationally recognized silhouette maker, who was only working at a "real" job for the insurance. She's got children and some pre-existing conditions. But she also goes to crafts fairs periodically and rakes in huge amounts of money in a day selling silhouettes of children, which are made on the spot. Before they were downsized, S. had been pressuring her anyway to leave the day job, go to crafts fairs everywhere, every day, and make tons of money with the sihouettes, and he would be the manager. However, they never could agree on what he would get out of it financially. I told him most agents get 10 or 15 percent (think John W.!) just for setting a client up with a situation, while the artist does the work. When they went to a crafts fair in March, she paid him a fixed amount by the day, which was not a lot, so even then, he was already getting peeved that she got a big payday (though, after all, she was doing the work) and his was a pittance by comparison. After the job loss, she had already been booked to attend a local school fair that she goes to every year anyway. She and S. worked together for three days, from Wednesday through Friday night, to make all the silhouettes in advance, based on photos of the children at a school. At the end of the day Saturday, when they returned, I sensed some negative energy. I was right. Not only had they not made a killing financially, they still hadn't agreed on how much he would be paid for his efforts. On a personal level, the tension had reached the break-up point, and he said he wasn't going to see her anymore. Naturally, he's no longer interested in being her manager. What she's going to do now, I have no idea. She can always try to do more crafts fairs. I heard her say that the hospital bill from that one night a few weeks ago was $13,000. Now, without a traditional job, she doesn't have insurance. Meanwhile, S. has been thinking about his next step.

My next step is to get this school year over and chill out by the koi pond and read!
I have a couple of workshops to attend this summer for PLU credits, but it will be a treat to putter around the house, read, and do nothing or everything---with pay. I'm thankful that I'm in a profession I really like but which also offers that downtime.

Today is Diana's birthday. I'll call her later.

Drama at the hospital

Last night, Shawn called to tell us that he was with his girlfriend at the hospital. Did I mention S. has a new girlfriend? They've been together for the past two months. Anyhow, B had seen her doctor that afternoon for gut-wrenching pain from a chronic problem she has with UTI's and/or kidneys. Dr. H. concluded she had a terrible infection and told her to go to the hospital for intravenous antibiotics and painkillers. I'm reconstructing this story, as told to me by Shawn and based on what small parts I witnessed this morning, so I hope I've got the details right.

She checked into the hospital last night, at the doctor's request. Shawn met her there to help her get settled in. Then the poop began to hit the fan. The doctor had given her the necessary paperwork, with an order for the medication, which B. carried with her in her backpack. But the hospital staff never asked for it and therefore, they did not see the doctor's orders for a certain type of antibiotic she was supposed to receive. Nevertheless, they inserted an intravenous---a complicated type on the upper arm that goes right into the major arteries of the heart---and began pumping painkillers and saline solution. But no antibiotics. She began to feel even more sick than when she came in, possibly a reaction to the painkillers. I know Shawn is allergic to painkillers. He took one once, years ago, and spent the next few days hideously sick.

As the hours passed, Shawn was growing furious at the hospital's lack of attentiveness. B. was throwing up, crying, really needing some kind of attention. Shawn called us a second time last night to describe the situation, that she was there, but not receiving the meds the doctor had prescribed. The hospital staff hadn't even asked for the paperwork from the doctor, but, he said, they lied and claimed they'd spoken to the doctor, and he had allegedly said that B. wasn't supposed to have any antibiotics. Shawn thinks they're lying because he also called Dr. H. to beg him to make his orders clear to the hospital staff, but he only got the answering service. "Therefore," he told us, "they were lying that they'd even talked to him." But I suspect the staff knows his secret cell phone number, so maybe they did talk to him and got the order mixed up.

When Shawn and I talked on the phone last night, I suggested that if they were unhappy with the service there, then walk right out, for God's sake, and go to an UrgentMed or a different hospital. But according to him, the Catch-22 was that they wouldn't release her until she signed a document saying she "refused treatment." However, she wasn't refusing treatment. She wanted the correct treatment. Getting up and walking out was not as easy as I'd envisioned. The complicated intravenous tube could not be just popped out and tossed on the bed; this one was deeply embedded and required a skilled person to remove it.

This morning, Liberto and I were getting ready to do the weekened errands when Shawn called again from the hospital. B. had spent the night in terrible pain, but the staff, including security, still would not let them leave because she refused to sign the "Refused treatment" document. He asked us to come over there to see what we could do. Just before we arrived, Shawn said Dr. H's assistant stopped by, did not do any examination, and jokingly asked them why they were spending such a fine day inside the hospital when there was really nothing the matter with her! Some test the hospital had done concluded that her urine was clear, and there was no infection or problem, according to this jovial assistant. Shawn and B. did not think his manner was the least bit funny.

When we arrived, Shawn was furiously accosting hospital staff one by one, demanding their names, (writing them down), asking why wouldn't call the doctor, why she had to sign the papers, why they were lying, how their bullying tactics were unacceptable and despicable, and so on. He'd been fussing long enough that the security guard was finally summoned. Security told Shawn had to leave right now or they would call the police. He refused, snarling back that would call the police too, on them! I told him to just go; that it would not serve any purpose for him to be carted away, that we would try to work it out for him. He stormed off, leaving us in the hallway. Liberto quietly placed a call to an attorney friend who goes to the same gym, an attorney who just happens to specialize in hospital screw-up cases, and left a message for him. Meanwhile, B. was in her room with one of the hospital authorities, who had closed the door for privacy. Shawn said that she didn't want to be left alone with one of them because they would bully her, in her weakened state, to sign the papers. I tried to ask the head nurse what the story was, just so I could hear their side of it, but she replied curtly that I was not next-of-kin, so she could not tell me anything, case closed.

Shawn was now outside in front of the hospital. I told him via cellphone that the most important matter was to get her out of the hospital and go somewhere else; he could worry about defending the principle of the release papers later. He had enough names, cell-videos of pain and vomiting, and witnesses to launch a lawsuit later if he wanted, and that Liberto's attorney friend been called. I suggested Shawn call B. on her cell in the room and tell her to sign the stupid papers and get out. Having cooled a little bit, he agreed. Meanwhile, I guess the staff either got around to taking some action, or felt nervous that Shawn had been worked into a rage and had written down their names. Then, somehow, B's real doctor arrived at the hospital and went in to see her.

Liberto and I went downstairs and took Shawn across the street to Burger King since was hungry from being up all night. While we were there, B. texted him from the hospital room that they were about to pull out her intravenous, she was being released, and the doctor was writing her a prescription for the correct antibiotics. She would be out in ten minutes. How friendly and solicitous they had suddenly become! We drove back to the hospital. Shawn met her at the door and brought her back to our house, stopping at Walgreens on the way to fill her prescription. They're both crashed out asleep in Shawn's room.

On to another subject. Two weeks and three days left of school, followed by two half-days of finals. There are also three teacher workdays from May 26-28, but those are a piece of cake. Cleaning the classroom and having a few meetings with teachers is not anxiety-provoking the way class days are. Once the students are done, the anxiety lifts from my soul. I'm looking forward to being free from it, for awhile. I worry constantly about whether my assignments are engaging enough, whether I have enough activities to keep them busy for 90 minutes every day, if I'll finish grading the ton of activities I give them to keep them busy for 90 minutes every day, whether I've said something damaging when I tell a student he's an idiot---no, not really. I never say things like that out loud. Yesterday afternoon, Paul and I watched Office Space, a movie which ridicules jobs, bosses, and office politics. The main character, during couples therapy, is accidentally hypnotized into not taking his job so seriously, so it becomes a big joke to him. He relaxes, no longer asks "how high?" when the boss tells him to jump, laughs it all off, and is a better person for it. He even gets promoted. Where do I find a hynotherapist like that? I would love to be more mentally relaxed on the job! How do other people do it?

I haven't blogged for several weeks because I'm so swamped all the time, plus I help Paul review his class material because according to him, when we go over it together, he "understands it so much better." Well, at least I'm doing a good job with one student!

Today when Liberto and I finally proceeded on to doing the weekend errands, we went to BabiesRUs to buy a shower present for one of my colleagues. This may sound crazy, but I bought myself a cute stuffed animal. Yes, a cat. Actually, I'd been planning to get one. I just want it to lie on the bed at night. Pathetic, huh? Liberto is a night owl, and I go to bed hours before he does. I loved the way Gus used to be with me when I went to bed at my early hour, while Liberto stayed in the living room, wishing he could fall asleep before 1 a.m., but unable to, so he might as well watch t.v., talk on the phone, or look up friends on Facebook. I'm not ready to consider another real cat. Pete is doing well for a 14-year-old dog, but he still needs medication, walks, attention, and pee clean-ups. I buy him fresh rotisseire chicken at Food Lion because he likes it, it's cheaper than dogfood, better for him, AND I can sneak his daily pills into it. The reason I'm hesitating on a cat is because I'm not sure I have the energy to take care of anyone else. To me, an animal is a lifetime commitment, and I'm not sure I have the energy to see it through years of vet visits, shots, medicines, groomings, boardings when we travel, and I think the truth is, I couldn't bear to face another cat's death, especially with Pete now in his elder years.

My friend Terry now has six dogs and six cats. Since she lives in Metter, way off the road, people who are tired of their pets drop them off in the field near her house, and she doesn't have the heart to turn them away.