Florence, and I don't mean South Carolina

The Italian tour guide was quick to correct my pronunciation: It's MICK-A-LAN-GE-LO, (equal stress on all syllables) not MIKE-a-LAN-ge-lo. One of the most impressive parts of the day trip to Florence was seeing his statue of David, 17 feet high from base to apex, with every vein, muscle, gland, and hair carved so perfectly out of marble, when MICK-alangelo was only in his twenties. The town of Florence feels as though it has been frozen in the Renaissance, with tourists and cell phones the only anomalies. Florence is a beautiful place filled with Medieval Churches, museums, plazas, statues, and flowing fountains.

And now for some local color

The first stop of the day was Fontana di Trevor, a multi-level fountain cascading down from classical statues. Then we walked to a large marketplace, where I took this video. Liberto says that if we had come in summer, we'd be surrounded mostly by tourists; at this time of year, it's mostly Italians.

Colosseum and surrounding ruins

We took the subway to the Colosseum this morning at 10 a.m. It took all day to see it and the surrounding ruins. The weather was cool, but a pleasant cool, not like Paris' cutting cold. The sun was even shining!

I'm behind in my postings. I haven't talked about our trip to the Louvre in Paris yet. We saw the Mona Lisa and a thousand other famous and beautiful paintings. But I'll save that for another post.

Eiffel Tower

We went to the Eiffel tower twice. The first time, it was raining and cold, and the elevators to the top were closed. The second time, the next day, it was snowing and cold. But snow was more favorable for picture-taking and video-making. The elevator to the top was closed, but the one going to the second floor level was operating, so we went up. OMG, it was cold. Fortunately, there was a mini-mall up there, with restaurants and stores, so we ate lunch and warmed up. I was well-prepared for cold weather, with long underwear, socks, boots, turtleneck, sweater over that, heavy jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves, but the wind was piercing. Liberto said that seeing the tower was a lifelong dream of his, so I'm glad we were able to fulfill it!

Notre Dame Cathedral

When I was 13, in eighth grade, I read the Hunchback of Notre Dame and wept at the end. On December 22, we visited Notre Dame Cathedral. Inside, the stained glass windows, statues, and detailed architecture were unbelievable. The photos don't do it justice.

Paul in Paris

Christmas Eve

What a long day of travel! We're now settled in at the hotel in Rome, but hours later than we'd planned. The flight to Rome was scheduled to depart Paris at 7:05 a.m. We got a wake-up call for 4 a.m. and a van scheduled for a 4:30 pick-up. For the past three days, it has snowed and rained in Paris, causing havoc for the airlines, and the ripple effect was apparent this morning. The airport was packed. We stood for an hour to check in, and during that time, learned that the flight de3parture time was pushed back to 10:50, which was okay with me---time for some coffee! The crew was late, so we didn't board until 11:30. By 12:15, we were sitting in the Air Italia on the tarmac having the wings de-iced. Finally, after hours of delay, it roared down the runway and practically straight up into the sky to shoot past the cloud cover. By 2:05, we were sitting on the tarmac in Rome...waiting. Twenty minutes later, a bus arrived to convey us to the airport building. We waited in the crowds at baggage claim for the one bag we had checked. It never arrived, not surprisingly, with the chaos at the Paris airport. But this meant having to stand in line for another hour to file a claim. Possibly the bag will arrive here at the hotel before we leave. Next, we walked to the train station, which is attached to the airport, and took a train, not a subway, into the main terminal in Rome. Liberto had studied the maps carefully before we left, and had figured out how we would get to the hotel from the airport. From the terminal, the hotel was a few blocks' walk. Although it was "only" 6 p.m., it was pitch black and pouring rain. We were overjoyed to finally reach the hotel and settle in. As I was writing this, Carlos called on skype, which meant I had to abort the process so Liberto could talk to him. Therefore, I started this on Christmas Eve and am finishing on Christmas morning. I fell asleep at 9 p.m. and slept straight through until 8 a.m. I wish I could add pictures, but somehow, but every time I try, it cuts me off from the blog. I have so much more to say about the time in Paris, but we're on the run all the time, and exhausted by evening, so writing opportunities are limited.

Versailles

No wonder the peasants revolted. The sun king's palace is beyond description. The grounds must have required thousands of servants for upkeep.

It was snowing in the town of Versailles this morning. It's always slightly colder there than in Paris. The van driver told us that the thick woods outside of Paris, named Versailles woods, was used for royal hunting centuries ago. Because it was a five-hour horse and buggy drive each way for a day's hunt, Louis XIV had a "hunting lodge" built in the woods. You should see the size and splendor of the original lodge, before the castle was built to sprawl around it. The king decided to move the seat of government over to Versailles so he could micro-manage it more strictly and keep members of the court under his royal thumb. Versailles evolved from a hunting grounds to a glorious castle with beautiful grounds.

Ma-DAHM enjoys Paris

From the moment we boarded Air France, I became Ma-DAHM to everyone who addressed me. Bonjour, Madame. Would Madame like something to drink? Beef or pasta for dinner? The flight was luxurious, like a spa at 35,000 feet. The level of attention and courtesy was just what this beaten-down teacher needed. The flight left Atlanta at 8:30 p.m. Monday. Overnight flights have a dream-like quality in which time is muddled. I didn't sleep, but may have dozed here and there for 10 minutes. Then the sky lightened and the sun crept over the horizon. It was 3:30 my time, the cloud cover was splashed with pink rays, and they were serving breakfast and coffee.

We took the subway from the airport, checked into the hotel, took a quickie nap, and then went back to the subway to go to Hard Rock Cafe to pick up our Paris Passes which we had pre-purchased before leaving. We now have entry into all the museums, buses and rails for two days. It was already 5:30 and dark when we reached Hard Rock Cafe, so we stayed for coffee and snacks, and of course bought our Hard Rock cafe T-shirts. We decided to wait until tomorrow to use the Paris Passes so we could get a full day out of them. For our evening entertainment, we took the subway to the world famous Champs de Elysees, which is videod above.

I am ready for bed now. Even though this acer notebook says that it's only 2:39 p.m. my time, the clock here says 8:45. But I only slept about an hour and a half total since Sunday night, and we walked all over and climbed up and down endless stairways in the subway, so I can justify an early (mid-afternoon) bedtime.

Tomorrow, we'll go to the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathdral and other attractions that we can fit in. Thursday, we have a prescheduled tour at Versailles.

Hey, I'll take whatever I can get!

Idiotic use of sources

I'm rushing through the 11th grade research papers. One student used a secondary source article from a site called idiotica.com. Wouldn't you think that this web address might have tipped him off that the source wasn't exactly the most credible?

http://www.idiotica.com/cranium/encyclopedia/content/civilwar.htm

This article about the Civil War contains absurd and comical lies, blended cleverly with some historical facts. For example, "President Lincoln flew to Camp David where General Lee and General Grant were both waiting inside a modest tent to sign the Treaty of Ghent.

902 million soldiers died in the Civil War, the worst in our nation's six century history.

And he used this article as one of his sources, quoting from it in his research paper! Only 18 more papers to go!

First stirrings of serious excitement

I've been griping about the 4th block students. They, and other school-related tasks, take up so much space in my psyche that I've had little room for anything else, even anticipation of our forthcoming travels. This evening, however, Princess, Carl, Aaron, Olivia, etc. dissolved like a bad dream from my mind, as Liberto and I made on-line reservations for some exciting activities in Rome, including a tour of the Sistene Chapel, an audience with the Pope (I'm sure we'll be three people among thousands, but that's okay) and a side trip to Florence. We also reserved a tour of Versailles and two-day passes to do all the museums in Paris. Those are just the scheduled activities; we'll also go to other sites spontaneously, as we feel like it. But I won't be able to surrender entirely to my excitement for another week, until all the research papers are graded, the final exams made up and given, and the final grades submitted.

Taking the first step

I did it. I just met with the Department Chair and registered for the first course in Communication Disorders for next semester. It is Anatomy and Physiology of Speech and Hearing Mechanisms. Conveniently, it meets from 4:30 to 7:30 once per week, starting in January. At least I'll spend a little bit of my time feeling good about myself.

Four more teaching days of that 4th block class of Basic Readers. Today, for the first time ever, I actually pressed the buzzer on the wall and summoned an administrator to remove two students from the class. I'd written up one of them at least six times over the past few weeks, and nothing happened; no ISS or consequence of any kind; therefore, she has felt increasingly bold about disrupting the class any way that she pleases. The other girl has been written up a couple of times; no ISS. Later, I received an email that made my day: "Princess (what an ironic name) has 3 days ISS, beginning Dec. 9." The administration is probably collecting evidence of my incompetence viz a viz the number of write-ups I send and will use it against me later. They're right; I'm just not a terrifying enough person to make some of these rougher kids quake. On the other hand, I would think that it is the administration's job, not mine, to enforce good behavior in the school system by giving them stronger consequences for their often appalling actions. Why are so many of these students still allowed to be in school? They obviously don't want to be there for academic reasons.

If I were the Secretary of Education in Georgia, I would enact a new set of guidelines, allowing each student one ISS referral, and if they didn't learn their lesson from that, then----OUT! Send them to do community service or work in a chicken factory in Claxton. Or make them take on-line courses in an alternative school setting. The reason education is not valued, at least in Georgia, and maybe nationwide, is because students get it free. Therefore, they take it for granted (or "granite") as the students themselves would write. What if public education were rationed out to those who really valued it and earned it (as measured by work ethic more than through grades)? Terry and I once discussed the educational system, and I argued in favor of dissolving the current system and restructing it so that the riff-raff could be phased out by high school and put to work. Then the phased-out would be allowed to re-enter at an older age, say 21, and finish high school in an accelerated program. I think Terry was a little shocked when I told her that I'd like to dissolve the educational system and start a stricter version only for the worthy. She argued in favor of public education for all. However, she hasn't meet Princess or spent time in the classroom with her.

Liberto felt a kidney stone this morning. He'll drink a lot of water, and it will eventually work its way out. I want him to understand that having a horrible class is like having a kidney stone of the soul, a pain that just goes on and on until the semester ends.

Thanksgiving in DC and other things

The flight to DC was gorgeous. The full moon lit up the landscape. As we descended into Dulles, the moon was reflected on the Potomac in a most spectacular way. It was so good to see Derek, Erin, and Nicky. They are such smart, warm, and funny people. It's always refreshing to get into the Teacher Talk with Erin. Although she teaches AP students at her high school, while I teach mentally disturbed and badly behaved idiots (sorry, bad day today in 4th block), she understands. No one can understand except another teacher, especially another high school teacher. Frankly, I think Nicky, at 91/2, is far smarter and a better reader than the 14-year-olds I butt heads with every day. EIGHT MORE DAYS. Next semester, I have 3 11th grade classes. 11th graders are not saints either, but they have usually acquired some wisdom. Liberto is still pressing me to stay one more year after this one, but if I look on the 2011 schedule on the last day of school and see Ninth Grade Anything as my assignment, that will push me over the edge and my letter of resignation will be on the desk that day. That actually happened last spring to a veteran teacher who saw the schedule, could not face a fall semester with ninth graders, and resigned on the spot. Anyway, I'm digressing---as I was saying, it's always so rewarding to talk with Erin and hear about the stories from her school. She's also a wonderful cook, which I admire so much since cooking is not one of my talents.

On the first day, we---Liberto, Paul, Nicky and I---visited Gunther Hall, the estate of Virginia Founding Father George Mason. I love those old homes with the historical tours that go with them. Nicky is a boy after my own heart. He chose Gunther Hall as our activity of the day because he had gone there the day before on a school field trip and wanted to return to see it again. He asked the most questions of anyone on the tour. He is a winner! My kind of guy!

On the second day, Thanksgiving, we took Nicky to see MegaMind while Erin and Derek cooked a lovely feast. The movie, in 3D, was fun. We returned to the house for a delicious meal, and then watched a Netflix movie on the big screen.

On Friday, Derek and Erin got up in the middle of the night to shop the sales, while the rest of us slept in and hung out. Liberto wanted to drive to Philly that day and was even thinking of renting a car, but then the thought of all the traffic for several hours both ways dampened his enthuasism. On Saturday, however, all of us drove into DC, taking two cars, and went to the National Geographic Museum, which had a cool geiko display.

And before we knew it, it was Sunday morning. We had an 8 a.m. flight, so we arose at 5 a.m. to be at the airport at 6 a.m., not knowing if there would be long lines and crowds. All this talk about extreme delays because of excessive TSA screening? Highly exaggerated. Out of Savannah, there was just the usual walk-through machine. Out of Washington, the lines were fast moving and the body scan didn't take 10 seconds. Not a big deal at all.

On Monday, I'm meeting with an advisor at Armstrong to see what course I might start with in January for Communication Disorders. On the phone, she said that since I already have several degrees, I would probably have to take 15 hours of pre-requisites and then go straight into a Masters Degree.

First Sunday of Thanksgiving vacation

High on the list of things that I'm thankful for is the week-long vacation the school system gave us. I always feel deliriously happy for the respite from daily tension.

Yesterday, Liberto and I went to Verizon to get our phones upgraded for the trip overseas, having heard a horror story on the local news about a woman who received a $30,000 cell phone bill after a trip abroad. Those darn roaming charges! We decided to get smart phones with wi fi systems so that we can contact each other by phone, if need be, without the horrendous cost.

We also shopped for new luggage after taking inventory of what we have. Many of the el cheapo bags that we bought years ago have seen better days. We've traveled a lot in the past 25 years, both by car and by plane: If I tallied up the trips, I would say that traveling has been more important to us than fancy furniture (or luggage). Not counting trips within Georgia, such as lots of visits with Roger and Debbie in Atlanta, we (or I alone) have been to California (where we got married), as well as two more trips to California for me to attend conferences; three or four trips to Maine, several to Chicago, at least three times to Phoenix, an AP reading in Nebraska, a long weekend trip to Asheville, N.C., three times to Toronto, many runs up to Vermont when Dad was alive and when Diana lived there; England (a glorious, never-to-be forgotten trip! The Queen Mother's limosine drove by us, not ten feet away, at St. James!) the Netherlands (I'll never forget touring Anne Frank's house), annual trips to Venezuela, Florida, Washington D.C.(many times), Nova Scotia, St. Marten (a trip with Diana), and other ones I've probably forgotten. The older luggage we own has earned its right to retire.

We also went to see The Next Three Days. I love prison-escape movies, and this one was perfect. Russell Crowe's character's wife is falsely accused of murder and gets life in prison, with no more appeals. The story is about the husband's method of planning and orchestrating her escape. I liked the three-hour length, although Liberto thought it was too long, because we could examine every detail of the escape plan as it unfolded.

I've also been working with Paul to help him write a major literary analysis on the play Wit, by Margaret Edson. I see nothing wrong with showing him how to find good critical articles through Galileo and helping him to determine a thesis for the paper. In fact, it's fun. This afternoon, we're going to the Jepson Center for an art display. Paul also has an art project due which requires visits to three different museums. While we're in Washington next week, we hope to visit the National Art Gallery, which is always a pleasure anyway.

We're flying to Dulles on Tuesday evening and will have the pleasure of spending a few days with Derek, Erin, and Nicky! Put that at the top of my Thankful List.

Exhausted and ready for a new career

I'm embarrassed that I've neglected my blog for so long. On Nov. 11 and 12, the generous school system granted us two days off, making it a lovely, long weekend, and boy, have I needed it. I haven't been writing because the intensity of the job sucks most of the energy out of me. In addition, on the home front, I've been mentoring Paul with his courses at Armstrong. Discussing the material is a great help to him, and enriching for me. One of his courses, Ethics of War, has been fascinating. Another course, Ethics in Literature, is also irresistible. In this course, he has been reading literature that I know well, so it's natural for me to talk about it with him to help him review for tests. He has never been a natural born reader the way I am, but since taking these courses, he has read, on his own, works such as The Plague, Jane Eyre, Wit, and tons of short stories, more than I've ever seen him read before in his life.

Meanwhile, at work, I've been busy feeding the hungry monster, going to SACS meetings every Wednesday, and creating the required lesson plan templates for next semester's units. Because there has to be a new-and-improved revolution in the school system every so often (some old-approach-but-under-a-different name) to save the failing schools and falling test scores, the latest idea from the Board of Education is a new curriculum map dictating exactly how many days each unit will last in each grade in each subject and what material will be covered in these timeframes. Teachers have been required to create Daily Lesson Plan Templates for each day of each unit for next semester. In other words, right now, I theoretically know exactly what I'll be doing next Feb. 18 for the last fifteen minutes of class. Isn't that comforting? The templates allot exactly five minutes for the "bell-ringer," followed by 15 to 18 minutes for an "activator", 45-54 minutes of student work session, and 15-18 for a summation. Each daily template must also include what standards are being addressed and what the essential questions are. I have done three sets of these unit plans so far, with another set due on Dec. 10. Unfortunately, these Grands Plans do not allow for such daily interruptions as a student needing to go to the nurse (a teacher must stop everything, go the desk, find a clinic form and fill it out since the nurse won't see any student unless they have a filled-out form), and a dozen other real-life actions that prevent a typical 90-minute class from being a well-choreographed Broadway play, timed right to the minute. Another issue is flexibility. Sometimes (and of course I say this ironically) a teacher must decide to speed up or slow down the momentum of the course, depending on whether the students get it. But what do I know?

Thus, the days move on. Four weeks of classes until Christmas break. I've actually gotten to the point where I check the computer database during my 3rd block planning to see which of the 4th block students might be absent. On any given day, I could write up any three or four of them for being rude, disrespectful, disruptive, and more, but it doesn't do any good. First, there are only 12 slots school-wide for ISS, so school-wide justice must be meted out carefully among 1700 students. Second, on the lucky occasions when my bad students win the ISS lottery, they return from 3 or 4 days out and nothing has ever changed. They pick up where they left off; they are just as disruptive and rude; the only benefit of ISS is the relief I get for a few days.

I've been thinking for a long time about getting a degree in a completely different field so that if I have to work for a few more years, at least I can enjoy the job and earn more than a Wal Mart greeter. I've mentioned before that I've thought about health care. In exploring this option, I became very intrigued with the field of communication disorders. When I looked over the program of study, I became excited. In graduate school, the courses I loved the most were not literature but linguistics, and a degree in communication disorders requires courses related to those favorites. Last Sunday, I decided there'd be no harm in applying at Armstrong to begin this program. I figured I could take one course next semester, while working, maybe a few more in the summer, and in the fall. . . well, I don't want to think right now about whether I'd be toughing it out for another year at the high school in order to get that 10th year. . . but in any event, I could finish the program in two or three years. There are a lot of opportunities in that field, such as working with people who are impaired in some way, such as after strokes, or people with autism, brain damage, speech impediments, even ESOL speakers.

Last Sunday I filled out an on-line application, specifying Communication Science in the School of Health Science. I also filled out the forms requesting my transcripts for all my degrees, including my post-bac teaching degree from Armstrong. On Wednesday, I was sitting at the computer and decided to check on-line to see if any of my transcripts had arrived at Admissions.

When I logged on, I saw the words in bright red next to my name: ACCEPTED.
COMMUNICATION SCIENCE.
Oh really? That was fast. Then I remembered that Armstrong already had my transcripts from LSU, U of Maine, and U. of Vermont on file from when I applied for my teaching courses in 2004. They also, of course, had my transcript from my two-year teaching degree, which I completed in 2006. I got the formal letter in the mail today. So guess what, I'm starting school again next semester. I love being a student. I think I like it better than being a teacher; I KNOW I like it better than being a teacher in high school. I can't predict the future, but maybe this will lead me down a rewarding path.

We've also been running around preparing for the trip to Europe. Liberto found out that France requires our passports to be valid for at least five months after the time we're to be there. His was set to expire Jan. 31, 2011, so he had to renew it. We also don't want to look like the Beverly Hillbillies walking through Paris, so I won't be wearing my faded, 20-year-old overcoat, nor will Paul be schlopping along in his comfortable worn-down rubber clogs, which he loves. The trip has given us a reason to update a few clothing items we need anyway, such as winter coats, hats, and boots. Fortunately, the sales at the mall have been phenomenal.

Koi treasure hunting

Yesterday, Liberto casually mentioned that we had been offered the chance to take the koi fish from an abandoned pond beside a soon-to-be-demolished house in Savannah. His colleague, in charge of the demolition, knows how much I'm into koi fish and thus offered us the opportunity. I screamed, "YOU TOLD HIM YES, RIGHT??" I nagged Liberto all day Saturday until he called his colleague to find the address and when he could meet us there. When I was at the hairdresser, Liberto ran out to Lowe's to buy a new net--the old one is in tatters and our current fish, at 2 feet long, are too big for it anyway.

The friend couldn't do it yesterday, but he called early this afternoon and said to meet him at a certain address in 20 minutes. In anticipation, I'd already thrown together a huge Rubbermaid container, a plastic pitcher, disposable gloves, and plastic to line the car seat. Liberto, Paul and I drove to the designated residence on Mohawk Ave. It was a charming little cottage, the kind a hippie from the day might buy, but run down beyond repair now. It had been abandoned for a while. Next to the house was an adorable little koi pond filled with small fish of varying colors. Some were goldfish; some were koi, but they were all beautiful, just little sparks of color flashing across the small greenish pond. For me, it was like finding a treasure chest filled with bright jewels. J., Liberto, Paul and I spent an hour netting and scooping them into the large plastic container. We got somewhere between 15 and 20; if there were any left, they were hiding well. They are tiny; the smallest are a few inches and the largest about 4 to 5 inches. Of course next to my resident koi, they look microscopic. Normally, it's best to let new fish sit for 20 minutes in a separate container filled with the water they are about to enter, so they can acclimate. However, we were worried that they needed fresher water and some oxygen soon because their own pond had been murky and we had carried them home in concentrated murky pond water. So we just heaved them into our pond and hoped for the best.

Later, Paul and I stood by the pond and watched at least 10 bright orange newcomers line up under the waterfall to nibble at fish pellets which had accumulated there. They looked very healthy and vigorous to me. And probably very happy to eat.

I've harbored a fantasy that my next career will be raising and selling koi fish. I wish! That's a pasttime that fills me with passion, unlike grading vocabulary quizzes.

Another teacher bites the dust

One of the male teachers at my school was fired yesterday for hitting a student. At least that's how the story came together in the piecemeal fashion that I heard it---the Administration is not exactly going to issue a news release; they'll do everything they can to suppress it. The teacher's name is D. and he had a reputation for being heavy-handed and short-tempered with students. (But isn't that strong control supposed to be the ideal model, according to the Administration?)

I had lunch duty on Thursday, and while standing in the hall at my post I saw D. walking down the hall, accompanied by an AP, looking grim. I never, ever see him in the main building. His classroom is in the portable. He never visits the main building because his ex-wife works there. Last spring, she filed for divorce, which he contested. Soon she was complaining to the Administration that he was stalking and harrassing her during the work day, and there was some gossip that he would either quit or be terminated over that. It didn't happen. But he stays away from the building to avoid any encounters. So to see him in the main building Thursday made me wonder. On Friday, at lunch duty, I picked up a few phrases bouncing back and forth between teachers at the designated table. About D. and a student. Something about a shove. After school, another teacher, K., stopped by my room asking, "Did you hear?" She said D. had told a student to leave the classroom. He wouldn't. D. gave him a helpful push out the door. The student turned and hit him. Then D. slugged the student. That's what she heard.

I felt empathy for D. BECAUSE I HAVE FELT JUST AS ANGRY AND VIOLENT AS HE DID! The only difference is that, so far, I haven't acted upon it. It's not a good sign that I can easily imagine losing it and doing the same thing. That thin line between professionalism and rage could easily evaporate in a moment of passion, for any teacher. People who are not high school teachers (you listening, darling?) can't possibly imagine how stressful it is to hold in all the fury that builds up towards rude, disrespectful, ignorant, whiny students. L. tries to one-up my stories by telling me he works with rude contractors who shout and employees who whine and inspectors who won't do the work on time. But, I tell him, at least your boss always has your back. In my school and most schools, the Administration will turn on the teachers in a heartbeat.

K., the teacher in the room next door, and I have become friendly. She's a former college professor who teaches seniors. But she's ready to call it quits. She's a lot younger than I am, and is facing many more years in this profession if she doesn't find something else soon. She and I often talk about what bothers us the most about this profession. I so realize any job brings its downsides, but she feels that secondary teaching stands out as a toxic profession today. In no other job, she says, must a person accept so much dissing on a regular basis both from subordinates AND from supervisors. And why can't teachers be allowed to go off campus to eat lunch, like other professionals? What other job requires one to work at home every evening and weekends? Daily mass emails always scold, "Teachers, please don't......" fill in the blank. When do we ever hear one word of praise? You should hear her expound on the subject. Frankly, it fuels my discontent. I know it's all true, but I've tried to hold my nose, take a deep breath, and get through one more year, maybe two, and then kiss it goodbye forever. But I feel that she understands my ongoing conflict a lot better than L. does.

Those 11th graders---gotta love 'em!

One of my 11th graders made the following film advertising a fictitious product. Persuasion is part of the curriculum. For every 9th grader I want to murder, there are two 11th graders that make my day.
P.S. Trey is NOT a nerd in real life, he only plays one in films.

Stirring the hornet's nest

A few months ago, The Savannah Morning News began printing sensationalist exposes on the salaries of local fat cats in "high" places. They must be desperate to sell newspapers, because the paper's series on higher wage earners has been antithetical to this same paper's long-time right-leaning, conservative, pro-capitalism, anti-socialist editorial stance.

The latest target has been city workers. A month ago, they ran an article listing the salaries of the City Manager and a few others, deeming their salaries "too high" for these bad economic times. Letters to the editor followed, as unemployed or underemployed people spewed bitterness. You'd think the city employees were Goldman-Sachs executives with 3.1 million dollar bonuses. Each time SMN ran an article, I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking, "Thank goodness they didn't mention Liberto's name."

The front page headline in this morning's Sunday paper screamed "City's big raises still flowing." As I poured the coffee and scanned the article, a very familiar name popped up. Oh no, I thought. I hurried back to the bedroom with two cups of coffee and the paper under my arm. I told Liberto to wake up for a very interesting article.

The purpose of this lengthy story was to suggest that city employees were getting illegally high raises that did not mesh with the city guidelines. Talk about trying to stir up public animosity. I read the article aloud, but when we got to the part about Liberto, we felt that he was not discredited or slandered as much as others, and I quote:

"In another case, an employee's extensive new duties resulted in an 18 percent pay increase, which both Brown as city manager and Small-Toney, as the assistant city manager overseeing the department, approved: Liberto Chacon in February was named Assistant City Engineer. In taking the job, he was asked to manage a combined group of design and construction employees under Development Services, while still handling his previous duties. He stayed in the same pay grade, and his new salary of --------- was well within the range set for that level."

Whew. Could have been worse.

What they failed to say was that giving him this position actually saved the City money. Furthermore, in South Georgia, the figure sounds like a fortune. It does go a longer way in this area than, say, Washington, D.C., and I'm always grateful for having enough to pay the bills, but compared to comparable positions in the North, it's not an earth-shattering salary.

But what eats at me is that the SMN has always stood firmly on the side of free enterprise and capitalism. You get an education, you work hard, you get rewarded. Nobody has screamed louder than they have about Obama's supposed proposals for RE-DISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH! or HAND-OUTS TO THE POOR AND LAZY!

But now they're doing a 180: Off with your heads, anyone who makes more than the per capita average in Georgia! It's not fair that some people are unemployed while you FAT CATS eat off the gravy train of hard-working people's tax dollars!

I don't even need to point out that L. rarely gets home before 6:30 or 7. He comes home with the stress of the day hanging like a dark thundercloud over his head. He even cried the other day because 7 or 8 people from his team are going to be laid off (partly in thanks to the SMN articles, which caused the City Council to tighten the budget) and he feels their pain in a very personal way. He did not make the lay-off decision; in fact, fought on their behalf.

I would love to write a letter to the editor reminding them of their much-loved Conservative principle that hard work pays off, but I'm afraid they'd dig and find the connection----"Ellie Agnew is the wife of Assistant City Engineer Liberto Chacon" and add that below my name. They do that whenever they can. Or worse, dig up my salary and start an expose on overpaid teachers who, as we all know, are lazy, indifferent, and unworthy of making a living wage.

Maybe I'll get a new email account and write something to Vox Populi.

In other news, the weekend is flying by as usual. Laundry, shopping, errands, a movie, a few papers. Now it's Sunday, and the week is already closing in. We saw Wall Street 2 yesterday. I didn't like the ending. If the daughter couldn't forgive him before he had done anything scurrilous, why would she forgive him after he had betrayed her? Other than that, I enjoyed Michael Douglas, as always, as well as a close look at the beginnings of the Great Recession. In one scene of a fund-raising dinner, I noticed that a song from the musical Carousel was playing. A carousel would be a good symbol of the economy and business cycles.

I'm pleased to say that we've been invited to Derek and Erin's for Thanksgiving and that I've already bought the plane tickets. The long drive is hard on Liberto's back. This year, the school has given us a full week for Thanksgiving. That's never happened before. Between July 29 and Veteran's Day on Nov. 11, we teachers will have had only one day off, for Labor Day. Only six weeks until I have a week day off!!

Snuggly reading group

I'm sure if the Administration walked in, they would think it an abomination to have the kids reading together in a warm and fuzzy group instead of sitting up straight in chairs. Pardon me if I think that giving these Basic Readers a positive association with the act of reading is more important than straight rows of ramrod stiff students. Many literate people are that way because they were read to as children, while sitting on parents' laps, surrounded by siblings. This way, they developed a positive feeling about books. But of course, what do I know?

To several of my 4th block Basic Reading students

OHHMMMMMM! On-my-worst-day-I'm-ten-times-luckier-than-you-are-on-your-best-day! OHHMMMMM! Deep breath. Don't lose it.OHMMM! Repeat the mantra 10 times before committing violence! OHMMMM!

Labor Day weekend

The pictures are of my niece, Jess, and my sister during their June trip to Italy, the one my sister forgot to mention. Wish I could get them bigger, but since I copied them off facebook, this is probably the best I can do. It looks as though D. has fulfilled the purpose of her trip, to make her daughter happy. But her daughter already is happy. She's in a Ph.D. program in medicine at Harvard, with a great future, has a boyfriend, her own apartment in Boston, lots of friends. But does her mother look happy? If I were sitting in Italy drinking a glass of wine, I'd be over the moon, grinning from ear to ear!

It's been so hectic. Between Liberto's long hours, my round-the-clock classroom preparation, and Paul's four courses, I feel like we're always rushing. That's partly why I haven't blogged for a few weeks. Last week, for instance, I had a dentist appointment, a mammogram appointment, and a hair apppointment for three consecutive days after school. The other two days I went to the gym, as I've promised myself. I need the work-outs, and I feel as though I'm beginning to see some results. My clothes are not as tight as they were last June when the school year ended. I know I put on the weight last year, comforting my stressed-out self with too many sinfully good treats. It's not being heavy that bothers me, it's not having clothes that fit comfortably. I also went back to my favorite chin-length bob last week. I had been letting it grow, fantasizing that if it got long enough, I could sweep it up in a clip in 30 seconds each morning and cut the hair preparation time. But it looked icky. My hair is so thick and wavy that a longer cut overpowers my face and is shapeless and unmanageable too. I also thought about a donation for Locks of Love, in Matt's name. But waist-length hair on a woman of social security age probably wouldn't have worked stylistically anyway. I'll make another cash donation instead of cut-off hair.

Paul is now taking courses on site at Armstrong, for a health care major. He really enjoys it. His drafting associates degree from Central Georgia Tech is all but finished (next week), so he has that too.

I've been here in the bedroom preparing the endless hand-outs and power-points for class, while Paul has been reading Hamlet for an Ethics course. Liberto, who's been ironing in the other room, just came in and announced that two of my work shirts and two of his best have been ruined by a pen that snuck into the washing machine.

He is going to Venezuela for two weeks in October this year since we have that special anniversary trip planned for December. :)

Hannah's mother

Fourth block today, the guidance counselor appeared at my classroom door and beckoned me. I left the students in their reading-aloud circle, which by the way, seems to be working well, and stepped into the hall with her. She asked, "Which student is Hannah?" I said, pointing, "The blonde girl who was sitting next to me in the circle." She continued, "Hannah's mother died this afternoon." I was speechless.
The guidance counselor added, "And her father is in Iraq. A neighbor is in the office right now." My eyes filled. How horrible for the poor girl. She didn't share how the mother died, and I didn't ask.

The guidance counselor then opened the classroom door and said, casually and pleasantly, "Hannah, I need to see you now. Bring your things with you." As she came to the door, Hannah said, "I'm not in trouble, am I?" "Oh, no, not at all." I ducked back into the classrom without meeting her eyes, thinking of how her state of innocence had not yet been shattered, but would be within moments. I could imagine as she walked down the hall with the counselor, her mind would begin to fill with awful possibilities, and by the time she got to the office, she would be sure that something had happened to her deployed father. What a shock it would be to learn that it was her mother.

Meanwhile, when I returned to the classroom, the students were still reading aloud, as I had left them. The class, thank God, is small enough to differentiate, so I have them choose whether to read silently themselves or out loud in a group. The read-alouds are the less mature ones who do everything in their power to show off, divert the reading, and say purposely stupid things, but they're enjoying the novel, I can tell. I realized, as I listened to them take turns reading, that for the rest of her life, Hannah will remember all of us. We are the people she'd been with just prior to learning that her mother had died. She'll always remember the classroom, the novel, the goofy guy who can't stop running his mouth, just as I remember little unrelated details from the day my mother died, such as the wooden cabinet in which we hid the telephone so that Derek, who was an eight-month-old crawler at the time, couldn't reach it and pull it off the hook 30 times a day. I can still see that cabinet now. I can see myself after Dad's Sunday morning phone call, in shock, slowly lowering the phone into its the cradle within the cabinet. My husband was at his once-a-month National Guard meeting in Vermont that weekend, a five-hour drive away. I reached into that cabinet several more times in the next hour to try to phone the Guard Unit where K. was, to leave messages for him to call me. How complicated it was to reach somebody in those pre-cell phone days!

I feel so sad for Hannah. She's only 14. From what I can gather, the death was unexpected. A car accident? Heart attack? A few minutes before the bell rang, I told the students what had happened. A few girls exclaimed, "Oh, my God, how awful; I would DIE if anything happened to my mother!! I couldn't live without my mother!! My mother is my world!" Sweet, innocent things.

Now Basic Reading, Fourth block, is forever imprinted in Hannah's memory, but not for the reasons I'd like.

First week of school

One of my facebook friends wrote, "Now that school has started, we can look forward to weekends again." I agree. Now that I've forced my body and my mind back into that working rhythm, the weekends seem like pots of gold. I love summer. I wouldn't have minded continuing to flow through the timeless, nameless days. But here I am, back at work.

I like my new classroom in the main building. It has more light, a carpeted floor, a floor-to-ceiling window-door, and a storage closet. The LCD projector has a remote this time, so I don't have to ask a tall student to stretch up and manually press the on and off buttons. In my previous classroom, the LCD projector was old enough that they had long ago lost the remote and couldn't order a replacement because the model was outdated.

The new classroom is also close to the nurse's office. I have one diabetic and one epileptic student who need to get there fast. My diabetic student has already had to leave class to see Nurse O. On Open House night, the mother of the girl with epilepsy told me H. had frequent seizures, felt them coming, and lay down on the floor in preparation. I doubt if the Administration knew this medical information in advance. They usually aren't sure which students will enter which classes until five minutes before the first bell. Close access to Nurse O. as well as the carpeted floor must be a fortunate coincidence for which I'm grateful.

The new location is also close to the mailroom, front office, book room, and other teachers. I can't tell you how many times we're told to bring his form or that form to the secretary or data clerk, or books need to be carried back and forth to the bookroom. I also enjoy having other teachers in the same hallway. It makes me feel more like a member of the community. I also see lots of former students walking the hallways between bells. Many stop to say hi. One little boy from ninth grade two years ago, who hadn't had his growth spurt at the time, is now a man! He's the student I may have mentioned in an earlier blog who came up to me during class two years ago and said, in wonderment, "You are the NICEST teacher I've ever had!" At the time, he looked like a sixth grade middle school student. Now a tall man on the basketball team, he walked by my classroom door two days ago, and stopped to give me a hug. When he found out I was teaching 11th grade Comp/Lit, his eyes lit up and he said he would try to change his schedule to get into my class.


Another positive surprise is I was given third block planning! I feel like the luckiest teacher in the school. When I saw that on the schedule, I just about fell on my knees and screamed "Hallelujah!" Third block planning is the best. You don't have to stuff down your lunch sandwich on the run, while waiting for your students to return from their lunch, all hyper, playful, and ready to rock. When class is interrupted with a 25-minute lunch, the students lose whatever focus they had. They are reluctant to return, they come in tardy, they act like fools! But I don't have to worry about any of that this semester. Another plus is that third block is longer than the others because it incorporates the five lunch periods. Being in the middle of the four block sequence, it's also a blessed break.

Now, for the students. Again, I am fortunate. My first block class is 11th Grade Comp/Lit (American Literature). The students are awesome. It's a large class of 28, but they listen quietly when they need to, then work productively in groups. As in every class, there are a few guys that like to be witty and enjoy being the center of attention, but by 11th grade, they channel it in a good way---unlike some 9th graders who simply act like idiots for the sake of being idiots. The 11th graders use their energy more appropriately. For instance, we are reading The Crucible, so the students played parts for two days. The attention-getting ones volunteered immediately and poured their energy into playing Rev. Parris, Abigail, Putnam, Tituba, and the rest with such great vigor that the whole class was in stitches.

My other two classes are Basic Reading, which is like a pre-9th grade Comp/Lit. Somehow, I ended up with two very small classes, although that could change. Schedule-changing seems to continue throughout the school year, and you never know when students will disappear off the roles or new ones will appear one day, three months into the class. The second block class consists of a lot of very quiet students. No show-offs, ADHD's, or severe immaturity levels so far. However, the fourth block class includes a couple of live-wires who need to acquire a lot more self-control. I've learned over the past few years that sending students for a few days in ISS does very little to alter behavior for very long. This year, I created a list of 7 semester-long Anchor Activities, each of which gives them a list of choices. They have to choose any five, and within those five, there is a long list of choices. I'm hoping this form of differentiation will help the hyper ones focus on something they're interested in.

Overall, I like my classes. So far.

Yesterday, I went to the Richmond Hill Y after school, keeping up my promise to myself. Five or six other RHHS teachers were there too, so it was fun. Today, Liberto and I are going to the Habersham branch of the Y. He's going to swim, and I'm going to use the machines.

Good news! Paul was accepted at Armstrong for a four-year degree in Health Science. He's thinking about X-ray technology or nursing. He is really, really psyched up. He has met with his advisor and has gotten his picture ID and parking tag. His last quarter with Central Georgia Tech ends in September, and the semester at Armstrong begins next week, so there will be some overlap. Probably, the best thing for him to do will be to take Armstrong Term B courses (courses offered in the second seven weeks of the semester) or just take one serious course and two electives, until winter semester. I don't think anyone could handle six serious courses all at once, which is what he would have to do for a month during the overlap time.

I love thundery nights lying under the covers in bed, hearing the rain drum down. Liberto told me there'd been quite a nice storm last night, but I slept through it all; didn't hear a thing.

Waltzing with D.

Today's discussion is difficult, because it sounds as though I'm dissing someone in my family. But I need to analyze why I often feel toxified in subtle ways after long conversations with my sister. One thing that bothers me is her streak of cagey-ness---some would even call it issues with lying---which causes her to skirt around and evade the truth, tiptoeing carefully around it like a curfew-breaking teenager who ingenuously omits portions of what she did that evening to questioning parents. At our ages, it's annoying. I'm not a parent figure and she's not a teenager. So why does she lie by omission so much? It happens a lot, but the most recent incident irritated me majorly.

Here's what happened. Last June, she and her daughter went to Italy. Her daughter posted the pix on facebook, which is the only reason I knew about it. But when talking with me, both before and after her trip, my sister took great pains to edit out the fact that a vacation in Italy was a part of a trip to the East Coast. (Trust me, dear reader, it was not a well-intentioned omission to spare my feelings that I, too, wasn't enjoying a vacation in Italy. Nothing like that. She knows I can afford a trip overseas too, if I want. Sparing feelings is also not her strong suit, at least not with me.)

Continuing with this story, she had told me in May that she was going East soon to visit her daughter in Boston and see a couple of high school girlfriends in Long Island. The three planned to drive to NYC for a night on the town. Sometime during the trip, my sister actually phoned me in the middle of a week day, allegedly from Long Island, saying she had just arrived in Long Island and was waiting for the girlfriends to pick her up. That phone call, in itself, was weird. It was almost like a cheating-husband-deciding-to-check-in-with-the wife before checking into the motel kind of call. It was even more strange, in that she rarely calls me when she's home, let alone on the road. "It costs too much," so she doesn't have outgoing long distance from her landline and the cellphone signal sucks, so if she calls me, she asks me to call her right back, which I do. Anyway, during the call from "Long Island," she said she would be returning to Denver the following Sunday. A few days later, I texted her to ask for more details about the reunion. I was interested in hearing more about the the high school friends since they had been my friends, too, and both their older brothers had been friends/objects of romance during high school. She texted back that she was at work and would call me later to tell me. But she never called back. In late June, I saw the Italy pix on facebook and thought it was bizarre that she would forget to mention that major leg of the trip. But then it struck me why. A trip overseas contradicts the identity she embraces and the image she unconsciously but persistently tries to project (to me, at least) of a pathetic, aging, single woman without enough income, no husband, a too-high mortgage, a job with no paid days off or paid holidays, and a crappy health insurance plan. I hear that tale time and again.

The next time we connected on the phone, I didn't mention her trip, and of course she didn't volunteer it. This past Sunday, we talked after barely talking all summer, and at the end of the conversation, I said, as a genuine afterthought to my announcement that we are going to Italy in December, that I had noticed on facebook that she had been there recently. "When did you go?" I asked. Hedging, she replied, "Well, uh, I went there seven years ago." (that trip, which I knew about, is a story for another time). I said, "Oh, you took J. with you seven years ago?" (J. was in the facebook photos too.) Pause. "Uh...what do you mean?" she asked evasively.

Do you see what I mean about dancing around a straight answer?

She finally said that she'd gone to Italy as part of the East Coast trip. I asked, "Why wouldn't you tell me about an exciting thing like that?"

Because, she said, she felt stupid spending the money when she shouldn't have. "I just wanted to do something for J. since she had just passed an important test in graduate school. And I felt depressed about turning 60. But I felt even worse after because I couldn't afford it."

But you DID afford it, I thought later. There are plenty of people in this world who wouldn't be able to scare up enough cash or credit for a trip to the state border, let alone to Europe. There's a difference between not being able to afford something at all, and spending money you wish you'd saved for a rainy day.

More important, this incident, following a string of them over time, suddenly opened up my eyes to the tacit roles that we seem to have established with each other. I must be a slow learner. Apparently, my "role" is supposed to be to feel sorry for the bum deal life has dealt her, and her "role" is to live up to that image. Going to Italy (openly) causes a mis-step in the waltz.

School Planning Day No. 2

At his opening speech yesterday, the Principal told the assembled teachers that 66 percent of the schools in Georgia did NOT make AYP last year. AYP is determined after all the standardized tests and graduation rate numbers are crunched at the end of the school year. Our school made AYP last year, as always, but for the first time in its history, it was close, he said. The test scores and graduation rates have been slowly declining, he continued. At first I thought this would be the prelude for a scolding speech about how deficient we teachers are. Instead, he stated it like it is---he said that the reason for the slipping scores is because many "economically disadvantaged black males" are moving into the school. I know that economic disadvantage does not have to mean poor performance or lack of interest, nor does being a black male, but statistically speaking, that's the way it often turns out. I was mostly relieved that he did not automatically place the blame with the teachers.

So far, the Administration has been reasonably pleasant towards me. I've moved to a new room, not shared with anyone, in the main building. Bye-bye portable. It was nice to have a built-in rest-room over there. But a disadvantage was that the floors were always dirty, with students tracking in dust and mud all day. Also, it was more difficult to send rowdy 9th graders "to the office" if they did something extreme and there were no AP's roaming the grass outside the portables. I have two 9th grade Basic Reading classes and one 11th grade class. I'll meet them on the first day of students next Wednesday. Next semester, they've given me 3 11th grade classes, which is most welcome.

I promised myself that I would keep up with the gym after school started. I went to a Southside branch of the Y every other day this summer, to make sure I established the habit. Now, I will go to the Richmond Hill branch twice per week, on my way home from work. That way, I won't have to fight the Savannah traffic. On weekends, Liberto and I will go to the Southside or mid-town branch. So, today I stopped for the first time at the Richmond Hill branch. It was brand new, just opened a few months ago. The machines are fantastic. New and clean, with built-in fans. Another teacher arrived about the same time I did, so we tread-milled side by side.

I wish it would rain. The temperature on my car thermometer was 109 when I came out of the school this afternoon.

Energy-less

We just returned from seeing the movie Salt, which was highly engaging, even with all the disbelief-suspension. In a spy-action genre like this, you expect to see protagonists leap from bridges to fast-moving trucks, cling to high-rise window ledges, and smash foes with bare hands. On the other hand, the premise of the movie, the fact that we have Russian spies in the US, is not incredible. I liked the plot twist that Russia was going to beat the US by tricking the US into nuking the Middle East so that the Middle East would, in turn, retaliate with major jihad.

The swimming pool water was warm as a bathtub yesterday. The heat has been horrible, the heat index even worse. My days are routine, repetitive, and unsurprising. But that's fine with me. I think if I had more time off, first to recuperate, as I've done this summer, and then a few more months to figure out what I want, I would discover a new passion in life that I'd really love to do. As it is now, my biggest passion is sleeping in every day. But I know there's more waiting for me out there, when I have the time to discover what it is. I do hope that I can retire from the school system next May. I felt a sense of accomplishment when I sent off the paperwork for buying out the first of those three years that I plan to buy out.

I'm going to mount pictures of Paris and Rome on my classroom wall. When the Class Clown begins to make farting sounds, I'll glance at those pictures and lower my blood pressure by remembering my December reward.

One more week of summer

It's trite to say that the days just glide by. School begins next week, at the insanely early date of July 29th. There will be four teacher planning days and an evening open house before the kiddies come back. Last night, I had my first teacher anxiety dream in a long time. Sigh. It's been heavenly to be free of those for the past two months. I've slept like a baby every night, rarely arising before eight each morning. Yes, I know I'm spoiled to even have a summer break, unlike other hard-working people I know. Well, I guess I'm ready to face it again. I feel much better after this vacation, during which I went out of my way to do very little, just to build up my inner resources.

Later. We just ran out of coffee creamer, which is an urgent family emergency. I must run over to Food Lion now.

Pets and Things

We spent Sunday night at Mark and Terry's house in Statesboro. I got all the fur therapy I desired, many times over! They've got foster animals as well as their own animals, a total of 15. There were eight two-month-old kittens from different litters in an assortment of colors, all hyper and playful, batting each other and rolling around. They are the recent foster-rescues from the Bulloch County Animal Shelter where Terry volunteers. The kittens stay in a large cage in the screened porch, but are let out when the dogs have been sent to the backyard or into the main house. The grown-up cats, three or four, are mellow and sit quietly around the living room. Another grown-up cat, who was in his final days, preferred to stay by himself in the screened porch. Then there were the four dogs, who were so sweet. They stay outside in the fenced yard, but are brought inside at feeding times or for the night.

I know that M & T were hoping that we'd volunteer to adopt one or two of the foster kittens. M even hinted strongly. But we didn't. I loved the kitties to pieces and had a wonderful time snuggling them, but my heart isn't ready. Right now, I want a break from responsibility for another living thing. I loved Pete and Gus and still cry for them. I gave them my very best. They were loved, walked, taken to the vet's, given medication when needed, bathed, brushed and held. When Gus came home one morning with a jaw swollen to three times its size, we took him immediately to an expensive animal emergency room because it was a Sunday. In the late fall before Pete died, I took him for walks that he wanted to go on and carried him home when he was too weak and slow. Those are just a few of many examples of our commitment to our animals. To us, a pet is an important responsibility until its last breath. Sad as I am about them---I can see their headstones from the window next to me---I am relieved not to be worried right now about where New Kitty is, what he/she is doing, if he/she might slip out the back door and fall into the koi pond, or worse still, climb the fence and disappear forever. Right now, I am not worried about New Kitty climbing into the indoor fish tank and drowning, nor am I worried about New Kitty getting stepped on, or crushed by a closing door. I'm not worried about his/her sniffles, poops, or fleas. What I want is for Gus and Pete to come back! But I don't want any other animals. For awhile.

On Monday night, Terry texted me that the old cat on their porch had to be euthanized that day, and the loss had hit her really hard, more than she'd expected.
Yes, that's another reason why I don't want another animal right now. I hope they understand. Since we didn't feel ready to take any of the kittens home with us, I went to Wal-Mart and bought a bunch of doggie and kitty supplies, to assuage my guilt, no doubt, and drove them out to Statesboro on Thursday. Terry is teaching a summer course, so we met on campus. I gave her the supplies, and we went out for lunch. The GSU campus is barely recognizable! So fancy! The student population is now 20,000.

I've been lazy this summer. I don't feel driven to do anything more than flow through the day. I think of this time as rehabilitation from the last school year, as though I'm recovering in a spa or rest home, where my one and only goal is to restore myself. I've started the paperwork to buy out the first of three years from the Georgia Teacher's Retirement System, so I can begin this school year with 7 years' credit instead of 6. Next May, I'll buy another year and will then have 9. I'll either brave it through one more year if they haven't found a way to fire me by then, or try to take up a career of full-time part-time courses at Savannah State or Armstrong, just for the TRS credit.

Fourth of July weekend

Yesterday afternoon, as Paul and I sat outside by the koi pond, the sound and feel of the heavy wind made me feel as though I was on the shore of Lake Champlain. The windiness of upstate New York on a summer day was cool and refreshing; the beach with the waves splashing in was an ideal place for me to read. Maybe that's why I've always liked the sounds of heavy wind. In coastal Georgia, a very windy day, unassociated with a storm, is unusual. Each moan of the wind yesterday caused me to stop reading and look up at all the trees arching over the back yard, shaking their limbs and swaying gracefully. But you never know when a branch might break off and crash to the ground, so I was ever vigilant. Yesterday in downtown Savannah, several limbs of some huge Live Oaks broke off in the wind. One woman in a car was killed when a branch crashed on top of her vehicle.

It's been a lazy week. Reading, swimming, de-cluttering, running items to the Good Will, going to the gym, doing household business. You wouldn't believe all the neat stuff I have unearthed by going through the cupboards on a zealous clean-up project. I've also found plenty for the garbage can or Good Will. And the Humane Society. Paul and I drove a car-full of doggie and kitty shampoos, flea powders, kitty litter, medications, and old towels over there for a donation. I also finally donated the big, soft doggie bed that we bought for Pete when he was sick and which he died on. I just couldn't give it away before, even though it's been sitting unused for six months. But I guess I was finally ready this week. I figured some other doggie at the HS would love to sleep on a thick, deliciously soft bed. I can see that I'm not a good candidate to take on a new pet right now. It's taken me this long to get over Gus and Pete. I'm not sure I can do that again.

We're spending the night at Mark and Terry's tomorrow. Right now, they have 10 or 15 dogs and cats that they're fostering. The problem is, as much as I don't want to mourn another beloved animal, I know the minute one of her cats or dogs snuggles up with me, I'll be hooked. I'd like to resist just a little longer, though, until we get wood floors put in and after the trip to Europe.

I'm now on a midnight-to-9 am sleep schedule. The best housing shows are on late at night, such as International House Hunter! The more I watch those shows, the more I think of new things I'd like to do with the house if I had the time, energy and money.

Summer Sundays

It's Sunday night. The thunder is still growling outside, and the rain is still dripping, but I think the storm has moved past. I adore summer Sunday nights when I don't have to work the next day.

We bought our Paris/Italy vacation package for December! I know it's far away, but I wanted to get the most convenient flight times at the best price. Of course we also got the trip cancellation insurance, just in case, but we're optimistic. Terry told us about a European travel website that I had never heard of, called go-today.com. Using their multiple-destination feature, we created a Dec. 20 - Jan. 1 trip for a wonderful price. We land in Paris first and stay three nights, then fly on to Rome until the Dec. 31st New Year's count down. We return Jan. 1, flying out of Rome. When the school year heats up this fall, I'll just close my eyes, breathe a silent OHHHHHMMMM and visualize the Eiffel Towel and the Seven Hills.

Contrary to what I just said above, the rain has started again. I love rainy nights as much as I love Sunday nights before a non-working Monday.

Hot hot Friday

The sky is purple and rumbling. The t.v. screen is flashing "Severe T-storm warning."
The daily afternoon storm is crawling in. It was 101 today, according to my car's thermometer.

I finished SAT's on Tuesday. Wednesday through today, I really have no idea what I've done. The days have blurred together with nothing spectacular, unless you consider that I cleaned out the linen closet, which was so stuffed and disorganized it was impossible to find anything. I amassed a large pile of sheets and mattress pads that we don't need and drove them to the Humane Society to donate for the animals. They're always looking for towels, sheets, and blankets.

My routine is lovely to me, although it would sound crashingly boring to anyone else. Every day I sleep late---what a joy!---read the newspaper by the koi pond, do errands and household business, go to the gym or pool, play on Facebook, read, and putter.

I received a letter from the Georgia Teacher's Retirement System. The good news is that I have three years of out-of-state service that I can use to buy out three years from Georgia's TRS! After the forthcoming school year, three more years are all I need to be vested and retire with full honors, all the benefits and a pension. The bad news is that I can't buy them all out at once. They have a rule that after 6 years, you can buy one retirement year; after seven, another, and so on. Thus, having had 6 years in the system, I can only buy one year now. After the next school year, I can buy a second year. Okay, that adds up to 9 years. But to make it to 10, I need one more year after the next school year. They were forced by technicalities to give me a contract for 2010-11, but will they spend the year thinking of creative ways to non-renew me for the year after? The lady I called at TRS today told me that if I worked part-time for the last year at any job affliliated with TRS, not necessarily my current job, it would still count as a serviceable year.

On another note, the Troy Davis case is back in the news. After an historic ruling by the Supreme Court, a new evidentiary hearing was held by a federal judge in Savannah this week. Davis was convicted of shooting a Savannah police officer in 1989the same year we moved to Savannah, but always maintained that he was innocent. He was sentenced to death and was almost executed several times, but for appeals, once getting a stay two hours before a scheduled execution. Since the original trial, 7 of the 9 original witnesses who said Troy Davis did it have recanted their testimony, saying they were intimidated by police and coerced into their statements. The media is all over this, of course. After following the case in '89, it's spooky to see the slain police officer's children, then 2 and 2 months, giving interviews to the media as adults. I'm very interested in the outcome of this latest trial. Since I've taught To Kill a Mockingbird, I've told the students about the Innocence Project. It's scary to see how many hundreds of convicted criminals have been sprung after DNA testing proved them innocent! Witness identification is the the weakest type of testimony, and the Troy Davis case is based entirely on that.

Father's Day Sunday

We stayed up late last night watching a French foreign film. This morning, Liberto was already up and reading the paper in the living room when I woke up at 8:40. He'd had about four good hours of sleep. The three of us went out to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. Among our topics of discussion: the trip to Paris/Rome/Florence/Venice in December. All three of us are immensely psyched up.

We stopped at Wal-Mart on the way home. By then, the heat was record-breaking, or at least that's how it felt. I checked the heat index when we got home, and it's 103.The daily storm should be rolling in soon.

Liberto phoned his father this afternoon. He is 93 and almost always mentions that he is ready to die, whenever Liberto calls. I, of course, thought about my father. Although Dad was well-educated, well-read, and a medical doctor who obviously knew his share of science, he also believed in God and Heaven. (Some think that being educated and having faith are incompatible, but I don't. However, that's another discussion.) In my very early years, one of the family traditions was an evening bedtime story. Either Dad or Mother would sit on the edge of the bed and tell one of the old favorites, such as Jack and the Beanstalk or Hansel and Gretel. Following the story, we had bedtime prayers. I don't know whether the prayer choice originated from Dad or Mother, but each night we recited the James Herriott poem "All Things Bright and Beautiful," followed by a list of family members to bless. Our evening prayer was a simple acknowledgement of the beauty and mystery of all living things. Since I did not have a fire and brimstone immersion in religion, I feel comfortable with prayer and am open to the possibility that there is more to existence than humans are capable of seeing, feeling, smelling or knowing. I'm sure this is because in my formative years, religious concepts were presented positively, comfortably, lightly, as a natural extension of daily life, not oppressed upon me with a fearful "Be good or you'll burn in hell!" approach, or pie-in-the-sky.

Growing up, we children went to Sunday school while my parents attended Church. I found Sunday school fun and thought-provoking. I particularly remember the round-table discussions in the middle school years, where we questioned and discussed things that have no answer. In our church, questioning and wondering was encouraged. In my teen years, when we lived in Plattsburgh, I belonged to the Methodist Youth Fellowship and really liked it because it was more of a discussion-based experience and a fellowship of other young people.

Years later, at Dad's funeral, his male colleague gave the eulogy. Being bereaved, I don't recall every line, but I remember the closing one. The colleague ended by saying, to paraphrase, ". . . and the last thing I'll never forget about Paul is his profound belief in the Afterlife." This was a revelation to me. I did not know to what degree Dad had retained the belief system he had introduced to us during childhood. As we grew up, he had kept his beliefs to himself. He never went around prosthelytizing, bringing religious dogma into every discussion, or using it as a tool to try to dominate or subjugate others, as some people do, with their holier-than-thou approaches.

On Facebook it drives me crazy that some people post statements such as "If you are a TRUE Christian, post the statement I LOVE JESUS CHRIST on your wall RIGHT NOW!" I take great offense at having to follow someone's orders to "prove" my worthiness or whatever it is they think they are proving. It reminds me of the old days when panting guys would manipulate girls into "PROVING" their love. Spreading one's legs for a demanding boyfriend is just as shallow a type of "proof" of love as pasting a statement on facebook is.

Dad, Happy Father's Day! If it's a sunny day in Heaven and the breeze is strong, I'm sure you're smiling ear to ear as you sail across beautiful blue Lake Champlain.

Surprising Liberto with the news of our trip to Italy

Ever since I turned in my signed contract for another round of high school fun, I've been mentally planning the reward that will sustain me. Because the school system has granted a whole two-week vacation in December this year, longer than any I've seen before, I began to think about what part of Europe would be warm enough, or at least not 30 below, in December. I remembered that Mark and Terry went to Rome last December, so I began researching a trip-for-three over there. Rome has always been on my bucket list; after all, I'm probably the last remaining person on earth who studied Latin in high school, college, AND graduate school, during which I learned a lot about Roman history and culture. Researching on various travel sites, I learned that the price for a trip is not bad. I juggled some dates, airlines, and hotels and printed out a couple of possibilities. I planned my points of argument for Liberto:

1) Next December is our 25th anniversary; this would be an awesome way to celebrate
2) I have never coveted diamonds or fancy cars, but I always did want to see more of Europe.
3) To get me through the semester, I need something to look forward to
4) Íf we're going to wait until we're rich to do this, then we'll be waiting forever, and I'm not willing to do that.
5) I earn half the money around here, so I have the right to spend my half on something I really, really want. (Not that we divide it in half; that's a joke. It all flows into the same money pit together.)
6) My father fought in Italy during World War II
7) I've always had a secret hankering to be blessed by the Pope, ever since my parents had that experience during a visit to Italy in the late sixties or early seventies. My family isn't even Catholic, but the blessing was so moving that my mother cried and never got over what a powerful experience it was.
8)Italian is close to Spanish, Liberto, and you understand Italian pretty well, so you'd be a good tour guide.
9) We don't have pets anymore, so until we get a new cat or dog someday, let's take advantage of the freedom and go. For their entire lives, we always boarded Pete and Gus at the vets when we traveled because I didn't feel comfortable leaving them at home alone with a neighbor looking in.


After Jeopardy, I sat next to Liberto on the couch and told him sweetly that I am going on a trip, and that I'd like him to come with me. I presented my print-outs of the various vacation packages to Rome. Calmly, I waited for his mouth to tighten, at which point I would begin to recite my above reasons.

His eyes lit up. "I'd love to do that!" he said. "But let's extend the time to 10 days instead of just seven! And I want to stop in Paris on the way to Rome. I just HAVE to see Paris! Just two days! Then we'll go on to Rome! I also want to visit Florence and Venice! It's always been my dream to see Florence!"

I was thrilled! He shares my enthusiasm for the trip! I reminded him that we don't have to see everything and go everywhere in one trip, and we could always return another time.

Thus, we agreed that on Saturday, we will sit town together in front of the computer, go through all the travel sites, and plan the trip, seeing how well we can fit Paris, Florence, and Venice into it.

This makes the forthcoming semester seem a lot more do-able.

Liberto doesn't drink. But last night, he had another sleepless night. Almost every night, he can't sleep more than three or four hours. This morning he was exhausted and said he might have a real DRINK tonight to help him achieve a good night's sleep. He said he thought he had a little bottle of gin somewhere in the house, a souvenir present from Venezuela. They always send liquor back with him. This evening, he was three sips into his gin and tonic when I presented my proposal for the trip.

I'm hoping his response wasn't just the alcohol talking and that he feels the same in the morning. "Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker" as the old saying goes.