Spring break, cont'd

On Monday, having the luxury of time, I spent the day studying for my Anatomy and Physiology exam at 5:00. This was the first time I've been able to devote an entire un-interrupted day to reviewing the material. I think I did very well on the test. We had to know the names of all 12 pairs of cranial nerves, which have names like hypoglossus or glossopharyngeal. We had to know the names of the lobes, gyri and sulci of the brain, the areas of different language processing, and the minute details of the act of swallowing.

Today, I planted lettuce and squash in a small corner of the yard where I had dumped four bags of topsoil. It would be cool if any plants grew. Over the weekend, I read a book which reminded me why I didn't hack it as a back-to-the-land person: This Life is In Your Hands, by Melissa Coleman. Her father was one of the super-star gurus of the back-to-the-land movement in the '70's, the successful one the rest of us lesser homesteaders looked up to. Second only to the famous Nearings, he was the unofficial spokesman for the Good Life, speaking at MOFGA fairs and Organic Farming workshops and granting interviews to counterculture and mainstream publications on behalf of the movement. The picture above shows him on the cover of the homesteader's Bible, Mother Earth News. He and his earth-mother wife, Sue, homesteaded in Maine, and every other homesteader in the state and beyond, including Kent and me, made a pilgrimage there at least once to gain inspiration from the beautiful, perfect organic garden and what appeared to be a well-controlled, disciplined way of life without cash. They were vegetarians; their perfect diets kept them in good health. Sue, the wife, cooked all their meals from scratch, gave birth at home, ate the placenta, yada yada. It was so idyllic, we all thought at the time. Why can't WE be more like them? A month or two after our visit to the Coleman homestead, on a Sunday morning in 1976 I remember, we heard through the hippie grapevine that Coleman's three-year-old daughter, who had followed us through the fields that day, had drowned in one of the homestead ponds. It was painful to hear at the time and just as sad to re-live in the memoir. The author, who was seven at the time, describes how this tragedy, along with the endless back-breaking labor, eternal winters, marital friction, and isolation, caused her parents' perfect back-to-the-land lifestyle to unravel. I loved the book. As I read, I was back there again during that magical time, with its darker undercurrent. The Coleman's were divorced, the homestead abandoned, and Eliot moved out of state to a real paying job for several years. But eventually he returned to Maine (probably with a bank account this time) because his passion for organic gardening was genuine. Over the years, his farm took off into a huge cash-generating industry, so he's probably up to his neck in the money that he eschewed back in the day. He has also published numerous books for armchair gardeners. That's the irony of the back-to-the-land movement. However cashless back-to-the-landers were when they first dropped out, few could resist taking the simple life to the next level, whether adding electricity, an addition, a bigger car, or an actual cash income. Over time, they morphed into the very mainstream people whose practices they were trying to reject.

Fun weekend

The overnight at Tybee Island was fun and relaxing. We walked the beach in the early evening, picked up a pizza, ate in the room, and left the balcony door open to hear the ocean moaning and sighing. I always think of Kate Chopin's personification of the sea in The Awakening when I'm at the beach. Unfortunately, Liberto forgot his breathing mask, which helps him sleep as well as he's capable of, and also helps me to sleep deeply when he's not shaking the room with his screeching snoring. Therefore, he did not sleep well, but somehow, I did anyway.

We returned home about noon and went to work setting up the raised bed in the backyard where my flourishing strawberry plants will continue to grow. It was hot, sweaty, dirty work. We missed the first showing of the movie we want to see this afternoon, so we'll go instead to the 4:15 showing.

Kicking off spring break

Along with 500 other burned out teachers in the B. County system, I am euphoric about the beginning of spring break! Our system has a late break, but when we return to school, we just coast to the end of the year in a few weeks.

Tonight, Liberto and I are going to stay in an ocean-view room at the Ocean Plaza Hotel on Tybee Island. A few years ago when Shawn was living here, he and a girlfriend spent the night at that hotel. The following morning, he called and invited us to join them at the beach for some fishing and hanging out. When we met them in their room, I vowed that Liberto and I would find the time to reserve a room of our own, and enjoy the smell and sound of the ocean wafting through the open balcony door, not to mention a sunrise beach walk. I used to love staying in beach-front hotels in Daytona during the years I did on-site AP gradings and never missed a sunrise. But I stopped going because I didn't like being away from the family for a week when on-line grading became an option.

This morning, Liberto will set up the raised beds for my fast-growing strawberries and we'll also go to the gym. We'll drive out to Tybee in mid-afternoon. Just think, tomorrow afternoon, I'll have time to go to a movie with him. I'm not even going to think about papers or lesson plans until next weekend.

I have a test in my Anatomy and Physiology class Monday night, so I'll even have time to study for that. Last week, we studied the brain, which I found just as fascinating this time around as I did when I learned about it in graduate school. I asked the professor if she had read Oliver Sachs' first mainstream book, Anthropologist on Mars, describing the case histories of patients with various brain oddities or injuries. She had, and told the class about it. I must re-read more of his books. The filter through which we perceive everything has enough variations even among normal, un-injured humans, to create our different perceptions of reality.

A little drama at school this week. First, the math teacher. I feel so sorry for him because his class of low-achieving repeaters couldn't care less, never pay attention, talk, interrupt, and do anything but the work. On Wednesday, I returned to my classroom about ten minutes early so I could unpack my hand-outs and sort a few papers. As I came in, he was screaming, "BE QUIET!!! SHUT UP, RIGHT NOW!" He continued, "TOMORROW I WILL HAVE THE PRINCIPAL SITTING IN THIS CLASS FOR THE WHOLE PERIOD! OR ONE OF THE AP's! OR ONE OF THE SECURITY GUARDS! I WANT THEM TO SEE WHAT GOES ON IN HERE!" Meanwhile, the saucy girl, K., from my Basic Reading class, started her usual loud, in-your-face, smart-ass back talk: "I ain't gonna blah blah blah you ain't gonna blah blah blah my Daddy gonna blah blah blah..." Mr. T., red in the face, turned to me and said rigidly, "Could you watch them for a minute?" I said sure, and he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The room shook. I assumed he was on his way to get the principal or one of the school cops. Five minutes passed. I unpacked my paper, logged him out of the computer and logged myself on. Just as the bell rang, he returned, alone, still red and breathing heavily. As the kids filed out, I apologized to him for coming back to the room ten minutes early, thinking that maybe my opening the door and walking in had set the kids off. With no attention span, they lose their focus if they notice a speck on the wall or if a pencil drops. Mr. T. said, "I'm glad you came back early. You just saved my job. I was going to hit K. I was really going to hit K. I've never hit a female before, but I came close to it. Your being here gave me the chance to leave and cool off." The sad part is that K. or any other student can verbally abuse a teacher all day long, but the teacher would be the one in deep trouble if he or she lost it and called K. the name she deserves to be called. God forbid, if a teacher ever hit a student, even if the student struck first, the teacher would be fired that day, and the student would be back at her desk the next day, continuing to disrupt.

Mr. T. and I often ask each other in bewilderment why, why, WHY the school system allows hostile, disinterested, evil-minded, trouble-making students to stay on and on and on, even after numerous ISS's and OSS's. What state or federal law protects these students? Take B, for example, the student in my second block class. He's not as demonic as K., from Basic Reading, and can sometimes control himself for stretches of up to 45 minutes. He's even polite occasionally. Then he'll blurt out to the class "C----- S----- F----------!", which triggers the borderline bad students to shift to the Dark side and begin acting up too. B. throws things. He curses. He shouts vulgarities. He shouts racist remarks. He gets up, walks around, and playfully punches others. He never does any assignments. I've even put him to work filing things for me, anything to keep him busy since he apparently chooses not to do any academic work. Over the past three months, I've written him up probably 15 times. He came in bragging one day that Mr. W. had given him a warning. "Hah, hah, and I've had 20 write-ups between all the teachers, ha ha." That sends a message to the class that if B. can go to the extreme, and nothing happens, what lesser things can they do without consequence? I finally e-mailed Mr. W. and told him that B. is an extreme hazard in the classroom, and is the administration planning to do anything? Mr. W. responded that he is doing the paperwork to get B. expelled, but he has to be sure to have every piece of evidence in place or else B. will weasel out of it on a technicality. On Thursday, B. got up from his seat, walked over to another guy, T., and hit him in the balls, excuse my non-euphemistic language, for no reason. T's face crunched in pain. I pressed the buzzer on the wall and asked the secretary to send Mr. W. to the room right now. A few minutes passed. B. got up with a smile and said, "I'll just leave now" and headed down the hall. Mr. W. arrived five minutes later. I told him what happened, and asked again how the expulsion was coming along. He said he was meeting with B's father that afternoon and was sending the expulsion papers to the Board. However, he said, the Board would probably reject the expulsion. REJECT? I was speechless. Why would the School Board or the State or the Feds, whoever has the last word, support having a student like this remain in school? This will definitely be a point to research for my next book, along with the stories of classroom horror which I've experienced, observed, and heard of from other teachers. Mr. W. continued, "But tomorrow, I'm going to have B. stay with me, and I'm going to find him a spot around the school to stay for the rest of the school year, after spring break. He won't be coming to your class anymore." The next morning, B. came to my class as usual and asked for a pass to the Media Center, which I was all-too-happy to provide. Mr. W. had probably arranged for him to sit in there for the class period, I thought. Twenty minutes later, B. made his usual dramatic entrance into my room, saying proudly, "I got kicked out of the Media Center!" I discreetly emailed Mr. W., and asked him if he could pick up B. and find a new location for him. He never replied.

If I weren't so afraid B would injure someone, I'd get him some crochet hooks or knitting needles and tell him to crochet a blanket during class. He loves doing manual activities; it's academics he hates.

Another student, N., is the quietest, shyest, least trouble-making student I've ever met. He has been absent a lot lately, but so have other students. Many kids have family issues or illnesses that cause a lot of absences, so I thought N. did too, until Mr. B., another teacher, emailed that N. had been in his second block class all week, but that Mr. B. had seen him walk out of the school, get in his car, and drive away. He has also skipped Ms. K's class. N. was written up for all this skipping. The solution? The AP met with N. and told him he could leave every day after third block and go home. Now that's logical, to punish him for skipping by allowing him skip his fourth block class permanently.

One more case: A., a fifth-year senior with the concentration of a koi fish, who is second to B. in disrupting the same class. He has failing averages in my class and his others. His poor mother called for a conference with his teachers and the guidance counselor. She was such a pretty, classy, well-dressed, articulate woman, near tears, who said she doesn't know what to do. She is divorced, and A. rules the household. She can't get him to study, to stay in at night, to stop getting into fights, to stop getting arrested, to stop smoking pot. In fact, he gets physical with her, pushing her around. She wants him out of the house. She can't wait until he turns 18 in June so that she will no longer be responsible for whatever trouble he gets into. I asked her why she didn't change the locks on the house and put all his things on the curb. She replied, "Because he would break all the windows of the house to get back in."

Good Lord! If she can't control him, why should I be able to in the classroom??

When I retire, I'm going to get a grass roots group together and campaign the State Legislature for new laws with teeth that cleanse the school system of students that clearly don't want to be there. In theory, I hate the sound of this proposal. But I'm there, on the front lines, and see the ripple effect that bad students have on the good ones.

Time to forget about school and get to the gym with Liberto. Happy spring break!

April at last!

The azaleas are spectacular and the trees have greened and puffed out almost overnight. Liberto promised he would build me a raised bed in the back yard when he returns from Venezuela. Believe it or not, this failed hippie gardener wants to have a garden. I ordered strawberry plants, and they're already standing tall in the long plastic troughs but will need more room to spread out. We eat a lot of strawberries, so, I thought, why not try growing our own? I've also started lettuce. Maybe I'll expand to other things, but strawberries and lettuce are good baseline home-grown produce. I like to think this new interest has been fostered by the thrill I get when I can pluck a luscious lemon from the tree and use it. Maybe I'm unconsciously preparing for the end of cheap food as we know it in the U.S. with gas prices driving up food costs.

Two more weeks until spring break, and after that, four weeks until summer break. Teachers are counting down the days. The daily mass email from the principal usually appears at about 2 p.m. and opens with, "Teachers, please don't..." followed by some admonishment. Teachers can never do anything right! They allow students out of class to go to the restroom or the Media Center, they forget to take attendance or sign out in the afternoon, and they use too much paper to print hand-outs for students. He never fails to think of something someone is doing wrong, and scolds the entire faculty for it. A recent email, however, was particularly attacking. It read, "The six of you who were standing near the mail-room at least 10 minutes before 3:10 check-out, just waiting to get out of here, should not be surprised to get an NI evaluation on your professional duties and responsibilities." This email sent a shock wave of resentment through the teacher population, and tongues were wagging.

"I was one of those six `bad' teachers," said B. "But I was standing there talking to one of the security guards about a problem with a student." Her voice rose. "And even if I did dare to stand near the check-out ten minutes early, that one time, that's my right. The students have all left by 2:40, and my classes were over for the day. He should try standing on his feet for hours, all day long. I more than make up for the time with all the grading and planning I do at home!"

She continued, "He also sent me an email a few days ago when I left early on that teacher planning day in March because a doctor was able to fit me in at 3:00. I've had a problem for four months, but I haven't been able to see a doctor because I didn't have health insurance since my husband dumped me in December and left the country. I'd been on his policy but I was dropped when he divorced me. I've just now got my own health insurance. So I called the doctor that day, and he had an opening! I jumped at the chance. It was just a planning day. So I left an hour early. I signed out with the data clerk and told her why. The next day, I got an email from the principal saying, `I saw you leaving the building early yesterday afternoon for a doctor's appointment. I thought you looked very well. Did you really need to go that early?' I may have LOOKED well, but I'm not! But how dare he question everything we do? We're professionals! I've been here every day, doing my job, even though I was a mess when my husband left me without warning in December. Last week, I had to go and file for bankruptcy! But I was still here, doing my job! I'd like a little more appreciation!"

Another teacher agreed, saying, "When I worked at Windsor Forest, the principal always greeted us in the morning with a smile, asking us how we're doing, how our classes are going. He made us feel welcome every day."

Our principal, the teachers agreed, rarely smiles or greets anyone. I thought it was just me.

A third teacher said, "Where's the praise for the fact that I'm here every day until 4:30? For the past two days, I've had a non-stop migraine, but I've been here. Where's the praise?"

It was comforting to learn that the principal apparently dislikes everyone, not just me!

For my Anatomy class tomorrow night, I have to turn in a project on Oral Mechanism Examinations. For this project, we had to evaluate the oral structures of five different people, observing mouth, lips, tongue, uvula, soft palate, and sounds. Liberto rounded up a couple of volunteers at his workplace. I didn't feel comfortable asking other teachers at the school to exhibit their tongues, etc. for me, and of course, the administration would have frowned upon the idea of my doing anything other than work-related tasks at work. So I filled out the check-list using four adults from the City of Savannah. I have one more to do. Paul does not realize yet that he is about to be my next and last victim.

I've also been grading the Virginia 8th grade writing test this weekend. I find this test more difficult to grade than the SAT's or AP's because the state of Virginia requires the grading of three different domains for each essay: composing, written expression, and grammar/usage. For each essay, I have to give three grades. However, it is difficult for me to mentally separate the three domains in order to give individual grades because they overlap and affect each other so much.

Someone asked if I'm going anywhere for spring break. No. I need to do nothing and go nowhere for a week. I hope I can find time to read for fun. A few weeks ago, I heard an interview with Brian Greene on npr, discussing his book The Hidden Realty. His theory of multiverse---multiple, parallel universes---was so fascinating that I ordered the book immediately. I'm looking forward to that one, and numerous other books that are crying out to me, but I'm always too busy reviewing works of American literature for my students and Anatomy and Physiology of Speech and Hearing for my class.

Summer! O Summer! Thirty school days left.

The daily mass email from the principal usually appears at about 2 p.m. and opens with, "Teachers, please don't..." followed by an admonition. Teachers can never do anything right! They allow students out of class to go to the restroom or the Media Center, they forget to take attendance or to sign out in the afternoon, and they use too much paper to print hand-outs for students. Yesterday's email, however, was particularly attacking. It read, "The six of you who were standing near the mail-room at least 10 minutes before 3:10 check-out, just waiting to get out of here, should not be surprised to get an NI evaluation on your professional duties and responsibilities." This email sent a shock wave of resentment through the teacher population, and tongues were wagging today.

"I was one of those six bad teachers," said B. "But I was standing there talking to one of the security guards about a problem with a student." Her voice rose. "And even if I did dare to stand near the check-out ten minutes early, that one time, that's my right. The students had all left, and my classes were over for the day. He should try standing on his feet for hours, all day long."

She continued, "I did leave early on the teacher planning day we had on St. Patrick's Day because a doctor was able to fit me in at 3:00, and it was just a planning day. I got an email from him saying, "I saw you leaving the building early this afternoon. I thought you looked very well. Why were you leaving for a doctor's appointment?"

Early to rise

Liberto's plane departed at 6:30 a.m., which meant a 4:00 alarm this morning. He should already be in Miami by now, en route to Caracas for two weeks. It was no secret that I was not amused at having to haul myself up at 4 a.m. on a Saturday. But I managed. I arrived home in a fog but decided to try to stay awake until evening. I'm very lucky to sleep extremely well 99.9% of the time. Knowing what it feels like not to, I sympathize with insomniacs. Feeling sleep-deprived is hell.

This weekend, I'll study for my Speech test on Monday, begin the on-line training for a short grading gig with the Virginia Writing test, and plant the new strawberry plants that arrived from a seed company two days ago. I'll pick up school and office supplies from Staples and bags of potting soil from Home Depot. I'll help Paul study for his American history test next week, pick up the house, and oh yes, review my Lesson Plans for next week to determine what I have to create and to print. It's still three weeks until Spring break, and I, as well as the other teachers, am becoming seriously burned out. After Spring break, we have another four weeks until school ends. What can you do with students in the waning days of the school year, after they've already taken the major standardized tests and finished the major projects?

Did the Fox network black out for the entire country Thursday night at 9:30, as Ryan was revealing the Idol voting results? Or was it just in this region? The next day, a radio announcer was fuming about it; I also heard one of my students complain. So I know for sure our television wasn't the problem. Also, our other channels were working. At 10:01 that night, Paul looked up the results on the internet, so we know Casey came in last and could have been sent home, but the judges used their Save to keep him on. I'm appalled that America could overlook his talent in favor of a couple of the pretty girls who don't have a fraction of his magic. This year, the favorites for Paul and me are James, Casey, and Scotty. All of the Top 11 are strong---it's hard to say any of them should not be there---but as J-Lo pointed out, it's not the vocals that are in question, it's the emotional connection that they create with their audience. I love Scotty's deep, seductive voice. He reminds me of Glen Campbell. I even you-tubed some of my old favorites from years ago, "By the Time I get to Phoenix..." "Wichita Lineman" and "Galveston." We like James because he's weirdly cool, with his Aspie manner and Tourette's tics. Casey is fun. Anyway, as past years have proven, the free market will determine in the long run who is the real winner. Look at Daughtry and Adam Lambert.

All the teachers at my former high school, Groves, are being terminated and must re-apply for their jobs, as part of the NCLB crap. Only 49% will be re-hired. The rest, if they're in good standing, will be dispersed among the other schools in the system. Groves never did make AYP, even with the new lean and mean principal of 2007, who has since been removed. My former colleagues from the school are all over this on facebook, outraged about the obvious injustice of teachers always being blamed for low test scores and indolent students who would just as soon Christmas-tree every scantron as read the questions on the test. If students are rude and talk back, it must be the teacher's fault for not being terrifying enough. If students won't do the work, it must be the teacher's fault for not being interesting and engaging every minute! The Groves teachers are angry, but, my, doesn't this all sound good on paper for the Supt? He cleaned house in the failing schools throughout the district! [Entry on his resume.] Better he should clean house on the failing families in this city who don't raise their children with any work ethic, goals, or manners.

I've talked before about the math teacher who now floats into my classroom during first block. It's interesting to observe how he teaches: with a loud, angry voice, put-downs, and frequent stops to write students up, send them into the hall, or give a lecture on how worthless they all are. As a matter of fact, it occurred to me yesterday that I have never seen him smile, either at me or at any of the students. There is a tightness about him. What's interesting, though, is that even though he is terrifying, or at least much more so than I'm capable of being, this quality doesn't stop the students from talking back or ignoring his lessons. One of my worst nightmares from last semester's Basic Reading class, K, does not hesitate to stand up and spout off at him when he disciplines her. Then he shouts back louder, she shouts back even more, and the next thing you know, they're engaged in a heated conflict. It's interesting to me to observe that even a man with a loud voice does not have any more impact on the Career Troublemakers than I did.

I have just one Career Troublemaker in one of my 11th grade classes, but now that I'm working with a different AP who handles 11th grade, my write-ups bring quicker results. On the last write-up, I added the comment that B. has shown over and over that he does not want to be here, disrupts constantly, looks for trouble,etc." I wanted to add, but didn't, "Why in the hell does the Board of Education allow students like him to stay in the school?? B's mission is to find amusement by disrupting; he has no desire to learn; he has a 40 average in all classes. Why, oh why, are the other students punished by his presence?"

My fate for next year is undetermined. An AP appeared in my room last week for an observation. I had taken the students to the computer lab for the first half of class, to find internet sources for their research papers. She came into the room just as the students and I were returning. I handed out the students' research paper packets, printed on bright orange paper so they wouldn't lose them as easily, and then I distributed a Scavenger Hunt sheet which listed questions about the research paper which they could find by hunting through the 20-page packet. The questions asked such things as "When is the paper due?" "How many secondary sources do you need?" "How do you do an in-text citation?" "What is the thesis statement in the model student paper?" and so forth. Personally, I thought this technique was a cool way to get the students inside the packet of instructions. Do you think they would ever read beyond the first sentence on their own? They would not. But the crucial question is whether this activity aligned with any of the Georgia standards! Let's see, how about the standard of student is able to read a text and draw information and conclusions. After distributing the Scavenger Hunt sheet, I set the timer for 10 minutes---it's far better to have them still working when the alarm goes off than for them to have a second of idle time, for idle time is the devil's workshop for high school students. They all worked assiduously, thumbing through the orange packet, writing down answers. I noticed the AP scanning the room to make sure I had the Holy Standards on the wall, as well as Essential Questions and Vocabulary Word Walls. I did. And it's no easy task to produce these big posters. I have to email them to Liberto, who takes the time and trouble to print them out on large sheets of blueprint paper with his huge machine. But as I stood there watching the students do their Scavenger Hunt, I suddenly thought, "Crap! The day's agenda isn't on the board!" Every other day, I dutifully write this on the board, like a good little teacher should, but that day, the copier in the faculty lounge was actually working, and I saw my big chance to run off the research paper packets for my 75 students. Believe me, times when the copier is working well are rare. Among the grand total of 4 that services 100 teachers, only one or two work at any time, and even those will suddenly jam, run out of toner, or stop for no reason. Thus, instead of going to my room that morning before first bell and writing the agenda on the board, I claimed my place at the copier and finished the handouts. By the time I was done, Mr. T. was already in my room teaching math. I didn't want to interrupt by walking in and writing the day's activities on the board. He has a hard enough time keeping their attention. When his class ended and my class came in, I wanted to get them to the computer lab right away because we only had the first half of the block. So I never wrote my agenda on the board. There goes one strike against me. Later that afternoon, the principal sent his daily mass email telling teachers what they're doing wrong and how they have again failed to measure up, and reminded them that any word walls should be BIG enough for students to see easily across the room. On my word wall, the size of the words is not huge because it's awkward for Liberto to print twenty words, along with pronunciation and definition, on one poster and make the words gigantic. I assumed that mass email was directed at me, the principal having heard from the observing AP how insufficient my vocab words looked. My walls are also heavily decorated with posters the students have made. One assignment was to copy an Emily Dickinson poem of their choice onto a poster (because her poems are so short!) decorate it, and write an interpretation of the poem at the bottom. In addition, I had my students do newspapers in Publisher, including a front page, an advertisement, and an editorial, based around themes of authors, periods, and literary works; these too were on the walls. My walls also contain colorful advice books the students made as one of the culminating projects for the unit on persuasion. The AP could interpret this as too much childish clutter that keeps the all-important Word Walls and Standards from standing out. I can assure you that I see students stop all the time to look at each others' posters or advice books on the wall, but I have never seen them stop to admire the list of Georgia standards. But the essence of the observation will probably be centered around the Scavenger Hunt. Did it meet the standards? Did I use the time well, and not waste a minute? After the alarm rang in 10 minutes, none of them had finished, so I said I would extend the time. About five minutes later, some students had completed the assignment, while others had not, so I announced that we would start going over the sheet right now (better to cut short a working student than to let a non-working student wait too long and start looking for trouble!) Next, I called on a different student for each question. "That's right, Brandon, the paper is due on April 29." "Yes, Lindsay, the three types of note-taking are summary, paraphrase and direct quote." We'd gotten through about 10 of the 20 questions when the AP got up and left. I felt relieved, but not particularly worried because as I told J. last year when we were both on the chopping block, but I was Saved due to a technicality, "I do the best I can every day, whether anyone is watching or not." I've had a sort of Whatever feeling about it since the observation. This year, so far, there have been no complaints from the Administration. They are cold towards me, but I'm probably a constant reminder that they were unable to dump me and hire some young, cool, potential coach who could teach English on the side.

In fact. . . I did not know this until a school email called attention to a discussion on the Bryan County blog about how unfair the school's hiring and firing policies were. According to the anonymous blogger, clearly an insider at the school, a teacher of Computer Apps was let go last spring and told it was due to budget cuts. She did not have tenure, so she had to leave. In the next five minutes, they hired in her place the husband of one of the other teachers. He coaches as well as teaches. His wife is also a coach. Did I mention that the school is very big on sports, and the teams do very well? I followed the blog for about a month and learned a lot about the politics of hiring and firing at my school.

Liberto just called from Miami and is ready to board for Caracas. I just realized how fuzzy my mind feels and that I need to get out and do some errands to stay awake.

Domestic engineering

If I were retired, I would still be working full-time around the house. Keeping up with household business can eat up hours or days. I have the day off today, but here's how it's gone so far:
8:00 a.m. Time to fill out the application for renewed teacher certification. The current certificate expires on May 30. I may or may not want to be a teacher, but I need to keep the options open. I might be a school speech therapist someday for all I know. Okay, start filling out the form. Three pages long. Hmmm....let's see. I need to enclose copies of the Praxis scores from the two major tests I took in 2004 to become a teacher. Rummage through the office. Find the original Praxis tests and scores (thank goodness I'm a Pack Rat.) Photocopy them. The copier is slow. Very slow. Review the fine print of the form; answer all questions. Get the packet together and try to determine whether this material could be sent electronically. Go to Georgia Professional Standards website and wander through the maze of links. Finally conclude that they do not welcome electronic submissions since there is no email address offered nor any invitation to submit electronically. Back to the office to find a large manila envelope; address it. Stick in purse. Will mail it when I go out. I could put it in the outgoing mail, but the little weighing machine isn't working, so I don't know the amount of postage. Besides, the mail from the outgoing box has a higher rate of non-arrival than mail that goes directly to the post office.

Next on list, take the luggage that is crowding the laundry room to the Good Will, so that I can move enough to throw in a load of wash. That room is so packed that it's hard to get around. Some items are destined for the Humane Society, others for the landfill, and the luggage for the Good will. I asked Liberto why he wants to give away those perfectly good garment bags; he replied that they are no longer allowed on airlines because of new baggage regulations. So I'll go the Good Will on the way to the post office. Drop off the items, mail my teacher certificate renewal, and might as well stop and play Fantasy Five at the convenience store.

Next on the agenda: GROAN! Figure out why Liberto's flexible spending account has been frozen. I've already faxed in the receipts they wanted TWICE! I can't wait to go over this with them again. Go on-line and find their phone number (they don't publicize it on their letters; I wonder why); call. Problems with the call. The person who answers cannot hear me. She is yelling,"HELLO! Hello??" while I'm shouting, "Can you hear me? Hello? Can you hear me now?" To add to the household problems, the server that keeps the internet, the televisions, and the phones alive has been fizzling out all week. Yesterday, the internet was down for hours. I just about went rabid, like a junkie without a fix. Remember the South Park episode, a parody of Grapes of Wrath, where the internet disappears, everyone goes berserk and a caravan of internet-starved people head West, In Search of the Internet? Hilarious episode. Yesterday, I spent a long session on the phone, cell phone that is, asking Comcast to make it better! The representative said that the earliest they could send a technician to the house would be next Thursday. AAUGGHH! Meanwhile, the system has been capricious. So...this morning just as I connect with a Flex account rep, the phone begins to die. Urge to scream. I call back on my cell phone, which is difficult because the keyboard disappears, so it takes a few seconds to retrieve it to punch in numbers----"if you want to speak to a rep, press 2. Sorry. I did not understand you!---while I'm working to revive the tiny keyboard on the cell phone. Finally, a live human being tells me to send them the forms verifying the time, place and amount of a dental appointment I had six months ago. I have already sent that very form in twice before and have the copies to prove it. This time, she says, please also send the receipt for a $71 charge for another dental appointment last August. Okay. Whatever. I'll do it again. Collect the paperwork and print out a fax cover letter, emphasizing that this has been done before. Start the fax machine, send it. Just to be sure, I also mail it.

Next: One of the young teachers at work had invited me to a party this afternoon to buy purses. It's a pyramid scheme, obviously, and I'm not into that at all. Six months ago, I attended a jewelry party hosted by one of the teachers, and from the first sentence uttered by the speaker, I recognized the pyramid pitch. I bought a few pieces of jewelry anyway, to help out the hostess-teacher, because I knew she was going through hard times. As for today's purse party, I told the hostess I wouldn't be able to attend but that I planned to buy a few items directly from their website. I did this so I wouldn't seem anti-social, even though I probably am. Truth is, I like having time to myself, away from people, and this is my only day off for a month. EGADS, the prices of the purses were steep! But since I feel lucky and am always conscious that others may not be as fortunate as we are, I ordered two little purses on Tuesday. Wednesday at work, she told me that the merchandise I had ordered were actually purse "skirts", fancy little covers for purses, but not purses. She wanted to make sure I knew because the pictures in the catalog were misleading. In fact, I HAD thought I was buying purses. But, she said, showing me the catalog, if I were to buy an actual purse, I could get another purse-cover free. Thus, digging myself deeper, I assured her I'd go online and buy the real purse. Another chunk of time spent navigating a web and making a purchase.

Another item on the agenda: Shawn's verizon account. He had asked me---the day before deployment, I think---to see if I could drop his telephone from the account, but keep the internet. One long conversation with Verizon later, I learned that I could not drop it. Either he must contact them directly, or I must be on the account. But, the rep said mysteriously, there is a name of another party on the account, and if she gives permission to add you to be on the account, then you can drop the phone service. I was pretty sure who the other person on the account was, the girl Shawn was going to marry last December but for some reason, it fell through. I never asked for details, of course, and he never offered any. She is one of my facebook friends, so I contacted her to ask if she would add me on the account. A few days later, she messaged me back that she had.

Now, bracing myself for another nice LONG conversation with Verizon, I've noticed that it's already 1:30. Paul and I are going to the movies this afternoon to see "Red Riding Hood." I've only finished a few things on my checklist, and the day is half over! But today is the one day off I'll have until April 18, so I'd better inject some fun into it.

Finally catching up

Last Monday night in my Anatomy of Speech class, I heard the words I’ve yearned to hear since I entered the public school system: “Great job, Ellie!” (spoken enthusiastically by the teacher) after I’d given my presentation on Asperger Syndrome. Each of us had to teach the class about an illness, condition or syndrome which compromises speech. I learned a lot from the other students’ talks; for instance, I’d never heard of Angelman’s Syndrome and others. I wish I had more time to devote to that class, but I’ve done respectably well on the two exams and the anatomical drawings that we are expected to do each week. We must sketch detailed illustrations of different systems, such as respiratory, or mouth muscles, or larynx, label all the parts, and a write a summary of how they work. Even the smallest system has endless muscles, bones, cartilages, nerves, cavities, and joints.

The past three weeks have been extraordinarily busy. One of the highlights was Jean and John’s visit two weeks ago when they were en route to Florida to spend a month at the condo. We enjoy their company and conversation so much. They are intelligent, well-informed, and curious, and also have happy, upbeat dispositions, so they are joy to be around. The day was sunny and pleasantly warm, so we walked to the docks. Later, they treated us for dinner at the Shell House. After that, we showed them our photos and videos of Europe on the big screen, via the computer. Then we saw John’s film of their trip to France, with music and special effects. I was very interested in the breath-taking Van Gogh gardens, a few miles outside of Paris, and decided I just have to see it someday. John's backyard suggestions were spot-on too. Sometimes it takes another set of eyes to see what I am too busy or tired to see right in front of me. He noted that the lemon tree would thrive if we hired a professional tree-cutter to trim it down from the top and sides. (The lemon crop was limited this year, though the lemons themselves were huge.) So when I told Liberto a week later that I was going to make an appointment with a professional, he was out there within an hour with his ladder and clippers, hacking away at the branches himself. The koi pond water is always murky, party due to the underwater soil in which plants are buried, but I hadn’t thought of adding more filters to the fountain where the pumped water runs out until John suggested it.

This summer, we’ll try to go to Toronto. I visited a few years ago, but Paul and Liberto haven’t been for a long time. The only problem is finding a time when all of our schedules coordinate. Paul’s summer semester at Armstrong begins in mid-May and continues until early July, I finish May 26 but start again in early August and Liberto has to plan getaways around his projects and meetings. At first glance, it looks as though it may be difficult to find more than a few days when we can all travel at the same time.

It’s warming up and flowering now in Southeast Georgia. The school semester has turned the corner into the last quarter of the year. I smell summer in the air! I smell freedom in the air! The Nine Weeks Exams took place last week, marking the half-way point of the semester. As always, it took me far more hours to create the nine weeks exams, print the tests, run the scantrons and add up the total from two scantrons per student, than it took the students to take the exams. We are just a few weeks away from the Georgia High School Graduation Test in English, followed by the End of Course Test. The announcement of these test dates is a harbinger of The End of the Year.

The high school has been preparing all year for SACS accreditation visit last Thursday and Friday. In the fall, all teachers served on committees and collected data; certain teachers spent months compiling the lengthy reports and preparing for the SACS team visit. This week, particularly on Thursday and Friday, everyone was on edge; teachers were forewarned that a SACS rep could randomly walk into anyone’s classroom any minute although they had pre-arranged visits with certain teachers. We had to make sure the Word Walls, Essential Questions, and Standards were posted in full view and Lesson Plans on the desk. We were told we could not have our usual Friday dress down day because the SACS visit extended into Friday. The AP even told me that he would try to get the worst behaved students into ISS and out of sight on Thursday and Friday. I wasn't sure if he was joking. Although the high school is the "best" in the region (i.e., highest test scores and graduation rates), the principal was clearly nervous. But on Friday afternoon at the end of the school day, the announcement came over the email that the school has been fully accredited for the next five years, and that the SACS team liked what they saw. School-wide sigh of relief. Teachers may dress down every day next week! It's a three-day week next week, with a teacher planning day Thursday and a day off Friday, oh joy! Teacher planning days are hang out, do your grading and have an occasional meeting day. No stress.

I wonder if the principal, who, we all remember, doesn't like me for some reason, was only too pleased to at least have me listed on paper for the SACS team as a person with a doctorate and a T-7 certificate. The other day, I was teaching the poem "Mother to Son" by Langston Hughes. One of the questions was "What can we learn about the Mother through her dialect?" She says in the poem, "For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin'" and naturally, the answer is that her dialect marks her as a working class, less-than-well-educated person. One student, a black girl, said, "Well, our principal says `I's'." Hmmm. Could that explain a lot of the dissonance between us? BTW, the principal at my former high school has been removed in mid-year "to work on curriculum at the Board of Education. Curriculum is her strength" to quote the newspaper. BS!! That was a damage control press release spin if I ever heard one. That woman's biggest concern was never curriculum, but only whether students were wearing hoodies or if she could appear effective by culling a quota of teachers from the staff (numbers talk!).

I forgot to mention that a new math teacher was hired in February and was assigned to teach his class in my room during first block when I have planning. The students are mostly ninth graders, many of the same little sh---heads I had last fall in my basic reading class, and no better behaved. I usually leave and go to the faculty lounge when he is teaching, but coming in and out of the class, I have the chance to overhear a lot of anger exploding from the poor, harried teacher. You also see it in his face: disappointment and despair. Every day. All three of his classes are made up of repeaters who have taken the course once or twice before, and still don't give a crap. Therefore, they misbehave. I see Mr. T. come in and do all the techniques which Harry Wong, the management expert, warns against: Flashing the lights on and off, yelling, demeaning, throwing something loudly on the floor to get their attention (even I jump when he does this). When I was getting ready for my second block class on the Nine Weeks Exam day, one of my students asked me if he could borrow one of the pencils on my desk. I said sure. That's why I keep them there. A box of pencils is 94 cents at Wal-Mart, no biggie. Mr. T. observed this and said to me, "You're much nicer than I am." I was thinking, "What? You would refuse a student a pencil to take a major exam, just on principle?" But I said lightly to him, "Well, I choose my battles." With a "hmmp", he left the room. At the end of one period, he was yelling to the class, "Well, I'm glad I won't have to grade many tests this weekend! Because all of you who talked in these last five minutes, I'm invalidating your tests and giving you all zeroes! I hope you can explain that to your parents! Only 4 of you will have test grades!" OR: (Throwing book loudly onto the floor): "HEY! No wonder none of you get this! Because you're not listening! Later, you'll be coming to me and asking me to explain it again! BECAUSE YOU WERE NOT PAYING ATTENTION RIGHT NOW! Don't come to me asking for help later!" I feel his pain, having had a lot of the same students or same types in Basic Reading. I also pick up the profound vibe of anger and frustration that he projects. I see him in the lunchroom when I have lunch duty; the weight of the despondency hangs upon his face. I wonder if he will last. I've complained a lot on this blog about students, about the system, and much more, but I'm also very VERY grateful that 1)I have 11th graders who are one hundred times more mature than 9th graders (except for "B", a deranged student I have in one class) 2)that I don't have to drive to Georgia Southern any more and 3)that I'm paid through the summer, unlike at Georgia Southern. Maybe I'm feeling grateful and positive because the school year is almost over and I've almost survived another year! That's something to be proud of. I'm sure when I retire, I'll be writing a memoir about my adventures in high school teaching.

I've been tired this week. Standing on my feet for 4 and a half hours per day, enthusiastically going over the material or walking around the room to "monitor their progress" as they work, takes a toll. After leaving work yesterday, with a three day week to look forward to and a SACS accreditation finished, I felt celebratory and went to Kim's for a mani-pedi. It felt so-o-o-o good to have the leg and foot message with sweet smelling lotions and potions. It simply feels nice to have good-looking toes and nails. Oh yes, I am SHALLOW!


Shawn has face-booked me several times. He has arrived safely and is doing well. Since he is a Black Hawk helicopter technician, he is far from the battle front. Those copters cost millions each, so the Army wants to preserve them as much as they want to preserve the men, so they keep both in relatively safe FOB's. Shawn told us that when the copters are damaged beyond repair, the Army destroys them, so the enemy won't be able to learn any of our technology and imitate it.

I slept till 9 this morning, dreaming about Italy and France. I dream about those places almost nightly. I awoke with a good feeling. I have lots of work to do this weekend, but next Thursday and Friday I may be able to catch up with the backlog of grading. Liberto and I will see a movie today and do errands. He dreams about Europe too. Paul says it was the most exciting thing he ever did. Hopefully, this is a sign that we will go again.

Saturday

A friend from Colorado came to Savannah this week. We got together for breakfast this morning, followed by a visit to the Savannah Book Festival in downtown Savannah. It was in the 70's, sunny, and mild. We went to the talk by Karl Marlantes, the author of Matterhorn, a book I read last summer. He couldn't have been more engaging and articulate. It took him 30 years to get the book published. It's a novel about a marine doing a tour in Nam, all based on the author's experience as a marine. Most of the agents wouldn't read his manuscript because they were so sure the subject matter wasn't marketable. Now it's a best seller. We walked all over the place downtown, enjoying the day, and then Liberto suggested we drive out to Tybee so my friend could enjoy the beach. We walked a long distance along the shore, with seagulls gliding around. Returning to Savannah, we went out for dinner.
I needed a day off from paperwork. I can never catch up, and that's an unsettling feeling.

Shawn texted Liberto during dinner this evening that he is deploying tomorrow night. Even he didn't know exactly when he would go because the Army never tells anyone anything. Liberto is packing to leave for Florida tomorrow morning. He has a seminar in Tampa on Thursday and Friday, so he thought he'd go there early and visit his sister for a few days. He hasn't seen her for a few years.

He'll return next Saturday, just in time for the arrival of cousins Jean and John, always such a pleasure to see.

Weekend visit from Shawn

A beautiful, 70-degree day in Savannah yesterday. Shawn drove down for the weekend, the last time he will be allowed to leave the base before his Feb. 19 deployment to Afghanistan. Since he is trained for Black Hawk helicopter repair, he will not be directly on the front lines, but of course, there will be some danger. He described how the Afghanis routinely freeze missiles, stealthily plant them in the ground surrounding the U.S. FOBs, and run off. When these missiles melt, they soar off into the air and rain down upon the inner layer of the FOBs. But mostly he is worried about the acute boredom that will monopolize the experience. He will be in an FOB no bigger than a Walmart parking lot, with the same people, with nothing fun to do, for an entire year. He will sleep on the concrete floor inside a tent. He thinks they may provide some internet. Fast forward. When he leaves the Army in four years (he doesn't want to stay for a long-term career) he can do helicopter repair and other aircraft mechanics as a civilian, for a huge amount of money.

Yesterday, we drove downtown and walked along River Street and through the squares. The day was gorgeous and many people were out. We even saw the cutest little doggie wearing sunglasses.

Shawn has to leave on Monday to return to Ft. Campbell. I'm bracing myself for managing the anxiety that I know will follow. Being the mother of a soldier---the mother of anyone, for that matter---is the biggest emotional investment any woman will ever make.

My talented grandson

When I think of all the opportunities Nick has had to develop his multiple talents, I feel sorry that I was never able to give D & S exposure to all those different interests when they were little boys. Among the reasons I could not do this was 1)We lived in rural Maine where such opportunities did not abound, 2)we struggled along living from minimum-wage-paycheck to minimum-wage-paycheck, 3)we had unreliable cars 4)there were two boys rather than one, so all I could manage was the lower-level mothering basics, such as keeping them from killing each other during non-stop fighting marathons, 5)by necessity, I was often away from the house slinging hash at the Waterville Steak House and would have been too tired to drive them to their music lessons, had such a thing been available 6)they were both too hyperactive to focus on anything productive. I did the best I could with what I had at the time. Just plain survival was the focus, not enrichment for the children, unfortunately. Nevertheless, in spite of me, D & S are bright, funny, and interesting people with talents that weren't cultivated in formal training. I'm glad, however, that Nicky has the chance to be a famous musician.

Happy New Year, 2011

We had originally planned to celebrate the New Year at one of the fountains in Rome. However, we had an early train ride to the airport the next morning, Jan. 1, so we opted to wait up till midnight in the hotel room and capture the spirit of the Roman New Year through the open window. Our hotel windows did not have screens or bars, so I stuck the flipster out the window to record the sounds and flashes. It sounded like a war. As is our tradition, we hugged, kissed, and drank champagne at the strike of midnight. I wish we could have seen what was going on in the streets. The next morning, as we walked to the train station at 5:45 a.m., the very happy revelers were still joyfully staggering along the sidewalks.

Those strange cloud formations!

We were on the return flight from Rome to Paris, where we would change airlines again to return to the states. From a distance, those white bumps almost passed for unusual clouds, but as we got closer, it became clear that they were the Alps standing tall through the top of the cloud cover. Spectacular! Overhead, we got a clear view of the peaks. I thought they would scrape the bottom of the plane.

CSDS 2230

In my last blog, I forgot to mention that MY spring semester class, not just Paul's, begins tomorrow at Armstrong. I've been so excited about the Christmas trip that I almost forgot that I've been accepted into the Communication Disorders program and my first class, the Anatomy and Physiology of Speech, Language and Hearing, gets underway tomorrow.

I think of this as a Plan B. If everything went the way I would prefer in my Ideal Fantasy, I would retire from the school system, Liberto would be promoted to Bureau Chief, we'd win Fantasy Five, and Sharon's and my movie deal would magically materialize, and as a result of all of the above, I would become a full-time homebody, learn to cook decently, adopt some more animals, read a lot, and go to work NOWHERE.

However, one can never be sure what will pan out. On the opposite side of my positive fantasy lurk the things that happen to people in real life. For example, one of my colleagues at work, who is probably no more than 40 and has two small children, has a 50-year-old husband who has Alzheimer's Disease. He has had to stop working and be placed into an assisted living situation which probably costs a fortune. Now she is the sole breadwinner and sole parent. Husbands not only get sick, but they also leave wives for cute, younger women. Or husbands lose jobs unexpectedly. I will hope for the Good Fantasy scenario described above, but I will proceed with the Plan B, even if I never have to utilize it. The worst that can happen is that I'll learn something new, get my mind off high school politics, and feel valuable again.

Settling back down on the farm

A slogan that was popular after WWI was "How will the boys settle back on the farm....after seeing Paree?" Same applies to Rome.

The trip is still with me. I'm so happy that we did it. Liberto, too, feels it was one of the highlights of his life. By this weekend, my sleep patterns had just about returned to normal. Fell asleep at 8 p.m. Friday, but made it 9 p.m. on Saturday!

There are rumors that sleet or ice may swoop in tonight, even in our area, which means the possibility of a school closing. It would be greedy of me to wish for that since I just had a two-week vacation, but I can't resist the idea of a Monday all warm and cozy in the house while it rains or sleets outside.

So far, (knock wood) my three classes this semester have not been too demanding, first, because they are all the same, 11th Grade Comp/Lit, and second, because I have done two run-throughs before; once last fall and once last spring, so I have accumnulated a lot of material already, and I know the literature.

Paul's spring semester classes begin tomorrow. Going to Armstrong has really opened up his world. He used to be very shy and closed off, but he's met some people that he texts regularly. He likes the classes and the interaction too.

I haven't heard from Shawn for awhile. Originally, he said he might come down and house-sit during Christmas break, but at the last minute, when I texted him about it, he texted me back that he probably wouldn't, but didn't say what he was planning to do. He also texted me in December that he will be deployed in mid-February. I haven't heard anything else since. We will worry about him, but we know that he is doing what he wants to do in life. The house survived without a house-sitter---the fish pond pump was even pumping away after two weeks. Usually, it slows down and stops if it isn't cleaned.

Derek will be 39 next Friday!

Still glowing, but back to work

We left Rome Saturday morning on a 10:20 flight and were in Savannah by 8 p.m. I still have so much to say about the culture, the sights, the entire experience, but now that I'm back at work, I have felt unusually tired this week, no surprise there. As Liberto pointed out, we spent two weeks running up and down stairs to the subway, up and down to the third floor of the hotel. walking block after block, going all day, every day, adrenaline pumping the entire time, and then suddenly, here I am in a different time zone, standing all day with my three new classes. On Tuesday, the first day with students, I knew I was going to need a nap as soon as I came home. I fell into bed at 4 p.m. and slept till 7 p.m. I got up long enough to eat some supper, then went back to bed at 8 o'clock and slept till 5:15, when the alarm went off. It was a little better on Wednesday. I came home and dozed in front of the t.v. until 6:30, then went to bed at 8 p.m. Today was a little bit better still; I came home and did not have to have a nap. Maybe the fatigue from the adjustment is leveling off. When I drove in this afternoon, Liberto's car was in the garage. I hurried in and discovered that he has the flu and has been in bed all day, shivering. And he had a flu shot!

Despite being tired, I've made it through the school days. Monday was a teacher planning day, on Tuesday, I met my three new 11th grade classes. I'm so thankful to be rid of that 4th block 9th grade class. HALLELUJAH!! GOOD RIDDANCE!!

In future blogs, I want to talk more about the trip. I got myself a nice big coffee cup in Paris, with an elegant picture and "Paris" written across it in script.

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!