Things happen in threes

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

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

Fish for dinner last night

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

Bizarre coincidence in North and South America

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

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

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

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

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

Weird week in review

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PVT Shawn's letter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

September days

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

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

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

Congratulations, Liberto

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


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