I had a meltdown last month. It happened after I received the results from the third math test of Math 95.
Before I tell you that grade, let me tell you that the first test grade was a 96%, the second an 89%. I felt I had done well on this third test and furthermore, pressure was building (inside my own head, caused by my own self) to get an A. This was Intermediate Algebra, the kind they offer for free in high schools all across America, but here I was paying for it like a chump. A not-particularly-bright, grade-sliding chump at that.
I did not want to face telling my husband and family, who have been nothing but supportive and encouraging, that all I got was a B. In the first math class I've had in 14 years. Who had the plate of High Standards with a side of Unreasonable Expectations? Oh, right. That is me.
My mom is in college right now, too. She always gets A's. If she can do it, then so can I!
I do not have a crazy schedule, filled from morning to night with a 40-hour a week job with school on top of that. I have one child, one husband, two elderly cats; I take care of the house, cook dinner, and I have ONE CLASS. There are people who have much more on their plate who get really good grades - like A's - who work 50 hours per week, and who do so as single parents!
I got an 86% on that third test. Hence, I melted.
I melted because I felt I had worked harder than ever to prepare for the last test and all that work deserved more than a B. I had made many silly mistakes, like not checking my answers on the calculator, missing a negative here and there, and flubbing two questions to lose 8 points on those alone. All I could see was my grade sliding down the scale farther and farther in direct proportion to the harder I studied. There was a lot of homework every week, but I didn't put it off until the last minute. I did all the homework that was required, plus the homework that wasn't required.
Except for the sliding grade, I actually enjoyed math this time around. I was learning something. That was not my experience in high school when math was free. The story does have a happy ending.
First, they make a pill for the type of anxiety-induced blathering I tend toward. I used to take them the last time I had a round of uncontrolled anxiety. They worked. Why did I stop taking them? Second, final grades came out last week. I am happy - and slightly embarrassed, now - to say that my final grade was an A.
My whole family earned that A. They were quiet while I did my homework. They watched the laundry pile up and ate leftovers while I did my homework. They muddled through Sunday afternoons with bike rides and playing baseball while I studied at the library. My husband answered many math-related questions while I did my homework. Then, they listened to me have a meltdown because of a B on a test.
(Note to self: a B is a good grade!!)
My mom told me that she has in fact, earned other grades besides A's, especially in math. If math is not my major, then why was I so worried about it? I don't know, because unnecessary anxiety and ulcers sound like a party I don't want to miss? Point taken.
Math 111 started this week. This time, I've got something I didn't have before: perspective. I take 20 mg of it every night.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
Homecoming
The only thing that exceeds the ability to purchase organic, gluten-free food products is to obnoxiously discuss doing the same. Insufferable nonsense. In the weekend calorie free-for-all, the calories won. Between the Dublin Mudslide AND Magic Brownie flavors there wasn't enough yoga in the world to combat those forces of delicious evil.
Family life has been restored. What makes me appreciate a little time alone is to have that alone time gloriously wiped out with the return of my daughter and husband.
It was Saturday afternoon and we were about halfway home when she decided to plan her triumphant reunion with the cats. "I will bring a few things with me from the car, but not all because I can go back out for the rest. Then, I'm gonna go wait by the door and run in place - because I'm too excited - while you open the door, and then I'm going to run inside and hug Dakota and then hug Sable!"
I understand this need of hers to plan. I find I do my best work when I visualize myself doing...whatever it is. I never thought I would be one of those people - the kind who need a wacky TECHNIQUE in order to do anything - but one of them, I am.
(It works, too. I'm pinching your head! I'm pinching your head! Hahaha!!!)
My husband had gone camping with some friends. In the snow. By the time it was Sunday, I had begun having thoughts about a group of people found frozen to death in their tents when he walked in the door. I married a crazy man, I have come to realize.
OC carried out her sweet homecoming plan, although I don't remember any running in place. The cats did not share her exuberance, but then again, they never have.
Family life has been restored. What makes me appreciate a little time alone is to have that alone time gloriously wiped out with the return of my daughter and husband.
It was Saturday afternoon and we were about halfway home when she decided to plan her triumphant reunion with the cats. "I will bring a few things with me from the car, but not all because I can go back out for the rest. Then, I'm gonna go wait by the door and run in place - because I'm too excited - while you open the door, and then I'm going to run inside and hug Dakota and then hug Sable!"
I understand this need of hers to plan. I find I do my best work when I visualize myself doing...whatever it is. I never thought I would be one of those people - the kind who need a wacky TECHNIQUE in order to do anything - but one of them, I am.
(It works, too. I'm pinching your head! I'm pinching your head! Hahaha!!!)
My husband had gone camping with some friends. In the snow. By the time it was Sunday, I had begun having thoughts about a group of people found frozen to death in their tents when he walked in the door. I married a crazy man, I have come to realize.
OC carried out her sweet homecoming plan, although I don't remember any running in place. The cats did not share her exuberance, but then again, they never have.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Check it Out, Martha: THIS is Living
It's Friday night, and it worked out that I am home alone. My family has gone to do other things and I have 24-plus hours to myself. This is a good thing when you get to be my age. So. What to do?
Yesterday, I went grocery shopping to stock up on supplies and it seemed as though I was buying things as though my parents were leaving me home alone, albeit with a few upgrades to purchasing power: organic gluten-free rice and bean chips, all natural Breyer's ice cream, a couple of types of Ben & Jerry's, myzithra cheese to make Spaghetti a la Homer, etc.
I went for a walk this afternoon. I would have gone running but I'm trying to heal an old injury in my leg and if I had gone running all that would have happened was I would be spending the evening hobbling around like an older-than-what-I-am year old. I walked for as long as I could stand it but it was absolutely freezing outside. The wind was relentless! Back home I went after about 20 minutes.
I had a healthy dinner, then, broke open the chips and ice cream! (Yes, unbelievably, this got me excited.) Except, since my walk was so short I could feel the calories enter my body and immediately meld to my thighs and butt. Ick. I did a few sets of push-ups and sit-ups to offset this unsavory occurence, followed by a smaller dish of ice cream of a different flavor. Then more push-ups and sit-ups.
When I was 16, I don't remember feeling that I had to immediately exercise away the calories. But then again, that was a long time ago. Maybe I'm not remembering correctly.
Yesterday, I went grocery shopping to stock up on supplies and it seemed as though I was buying things as though my parents were leaving me home alone, albeit with a few upgrades to purchasing power: organic gluten-free rice and bean chips, all natural Breyer's ice cream, a couple of types of Ben & Jerry's, myzithra cheese to make Spaghetti a la Homer, etc.
I went for a walk this afternoon. I would have gone running but I'm trying to heal an old injury in my leg and if I had gone running all that would have happened was I would be spending the evening hobbling around like an older-than-what-I-am year old. I walked for as long as I could stand it but it was absolutely freezing outside. The wind was relentless! Back home I went after about 20 minutes.
I had a healthy dinner, then, broke open the chips and ice cream! (Yes, unbelievably, this got me excited.) Except, since my walk was so short I could feel the calories enter my body and immediately meld to my thighs and butt. Ick. I did a few sets of push-ups and sit-ups to offset this unsavory occurence, followed by a smaller dish of ice cream of a different flavor. Then more push-ups and sit-ups.
When I was 16, I don't remember feeling that I had to immediately exercise away the calories. But then again, that was a long time ago. Maybe I'm not remembering correctly.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
This is For My Mom
I know that everyone and their mother will have already seen this because it was linked from an uber-popular blog, a blog which I love. But, my mom hasn't seen it and so I link to it in order to share the joy.
It is the most hilarious bit of parenting advice in the form of visual aids I have seen, possibly, ever. Prepare to wet your pants. It is that funny.
It is the most hilarious bit of parenting advice in the form of visual aids I have seen, possibly, ever. Prepare to wet your pants. It is that funny.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Taking Things Too Far
I watched a video recommended by another blogger which was about life from a dog's point of view. I liked it so much I watched another one by the same people, Futureshorts.
The moral of the story is: Be careful when you think you have a great idea for a practical joke. Holy cow! Observe.
This is the video about the dog. Very sweet. I liked it, and I am a cat person.
The moral of the story is: Be careful when you think you have a great idea for a practical joke. Holy cow! Observe.
This is the video about the dog. Very sweet. I liked it, and I am a cat person.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Here, Hold This For a Sec
I feel like the weight of the world is off of my shoulders now that my math final is done. Call me Heracles - or Hercules if you prefer the Roman version - because I've just tricked Atlas in order to give back to him the earth and sky. Ancient mythological sucker!
What will I do now? I don't know, let's think about that. I could read a book without thinking about the homework I should be doing instead. I could knit the hat I started for my husband back in aught-seven without thinking about the homework I should be doing instead. I could watch whatever Netflix has sent without thinking about the homework I should be doing instead. I could write, anytime, and now that I mention it I really need to do that since I've been late the last couple of times with the deadline. Editors don't really like it when you do that. I could do anything now that I've sent the homework monkey packing.
It's spring break! I'm a college student! I should be planning my trip to Cancun or Cabo, packing lightly and then drinking heavily. That is not my reality. My family might object to such behavior. And now that I think about it that's not my idea of fun things to do while Mexico. That list would involve much more reading and sitting by a quiet swimming pool than it would loud partying with strangers. That's what being a grown-up is, I guess, sedate activities while fully-clothed.
That's not to say that being a grown-up is boring. Right at this very moment, I'm trying very hard not to panic because there is no coffee in the house. I need to go deal with that crisis before my head explodes. I've either got to take a shower NOW and go buy a cup, or take a shower NOW and go buy some beans and then come home and make it myself. The former is probably more realistic because I don't have the kind of patience required to perform a multi-step task involved with first buying coffee and then, making it myself. Who am I, if not Paris Hilton's more astute younger sister? Except, the Hilton's have people to do the coffee buying and at the very least, the dealing of the no-coffee-in-the-house-crisis, for them. No, I am more like Paris Hilton's second cousin twice-removed's husband's love-child, having to get by on her own wits to figure out these kinds of things and rise above them. Speaking of which.
What will I do now? I don't know, let's think about that. I could read a book without thinking about the homework I should be doing instead. I could knit the hat I started for my husband back in aught-seven without thinking about the homework I should be doing instead. I could watch whatever Netflix has sent without thinking about the homework I should be doing instead. I could write, anytime, and now that I mention it I really need to do that since I've been late the last couple of times with the deadline. Editors don't really like it when you do that. I could do anything now that I've sent the homework monkey packing.
It's spring break! I'm a college student! I should be planning my trip to Cancun or Cabo, packing lightly and then drinking heavily. That is not my reality. My family might object to such behavior. And now that I think about it that's not my idea of fun things to do while Mexico. That list would involve much more reading and sitting by a quiet swimming pool than it would loud partying with strangers. That's what being a grown-up is, I guess, sedate activities while fully-clothed.
That's not to say that being a grown-up is boring. Right at this very moment, I'm trying very hard not to panic because there is no coffee in the house. I need to go deal with that crisis before my head explodes. I've either got to take a shower NOW and go buy a cup, or take a shower NOW and go buy some beans and then come home and make it myself. The former is probably more realistic because I don't have the kind of patience required to perform a multi-step task involved with first buying coffee and then, making it myself. Who am I, if not Paris Hilton's more astute younger sister? Except, the Hilton's have people to do the coffee buying and at the very least, the dealing of the no-coffee-in-the-house-crisis, for them. No, I am more like Paris Hilton's second cousin twice-removed's husband's love-child, having to get by on her own wits to figure out these kinds of things and rise above them. Speaking of which.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Sprinklings
I live a non-journalist's life. I look for the texture of ordinary things.
----- Nuala O'Faolain
Bless This House
Bless this house, o Lord, we pray.
Make it safe by night and day.
Bless these walls so firm and stout,
Keeping want and trouble out.
Bless the roof and chimney tall,
Let thy peace lie over all.
Bless the doors that they may prove
Ever open to joy and love.
Bless the windows shining bright,
Letting in God's heavenly light.
Bless the hearth a-blazing there,
With smoke ascending like a prayer.
Bless the people here within...
Keep them pure and free from sin.
Bless us all, that one day, we
May be fit, O lord, to dwell with Thee.
This evening we celebrate St. Patrick and kindle memories of our too-short stay on the Emerald Isle by stuffing our pieholes with baked ham, colcannon, champ, and soda bread. Dessert? Traditional girl scout cookies.
Irish Marriage Blessing
May God be with you and bless you.
May you see your children's children.
May you be poor in misfortunes
and rich in blessings.
May you know nothing but happiness
from this day forward.
A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.
----- Oscar Wilde
I am not young enough to know everything.
----- Oscar Wilde
The only thing to do with good advice is pass it on. It is never any use to oneself.
----- Oscar Wilde
An Irish Prayer
May God give you...
For every storm, a rainbow,
For every tear, a smile,
For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.
Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity.
----- Sean O'Casey
Irish blessings and prayers are sweet and hopeful. I especially like this one:
May the blessing of the rain be on you—
the soft sweet rain.
May it fall upon your spirit
so that all the little flowers may spring up,
and shed their sweetness on the air.
May the blessing of the great rains be on you,
may they beat upon your spirit
and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there many a shining pool
where the blue of heaven shines,
and sometimes a star.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
-----Samuel Beckett, "Worstward Ho", 1983
Vladimir: That passed the time.
Estragon: It would have passed in any case.
Vladimir: Yes, but not so rapidly.
----- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot (1955)
The Ireland I now inhabit is one that these Irish contemporaries have helped to imagine.
----- Seamus Heaney
Happy St. Patrick's Day.
----- Nuala O'Faolain
Bless This House
Bless this house, o Lord, we pray.
Make it safe by night and day.
Bless these walls so firm and stout,
Keeping want and trouble out.
Bless the roof and chimney tall,
Let thy peace lie over all.
Bless the doors that they may prove
Ever open to joy and love.
Bless the windows shining bright,
Letting in God's heavenly light.
Bless the hearth a-blazing there,
With smoke ascending like a prayer.
Bless the people here within...
Keep them pure and free from sin.
Bless us all, that one day, we
May be fit, O lord, to dwell with Thee.
This evening we celebrate St. Patrick and kindle memories of our too-short stay on the Emerald Isle by stuffing our pieholes with baked ham, colcannon, champ, and soda bread. Dessert? Traditional girl scout cookies.
Irish Marriage Blessing
May God be with you and bless you.
May you see your children's children.
May you be poor in misfortunes
and rich in blessings.
May you know nothing but happiness
from this day forward.
A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.
----- Oscar Wilde
I am not young enough to know everything.
----- Oscar Wilde
The only thing to do with good advice is pass it on. It is never any use to oneself.
----- Oscar Wilde
An Irish Prayer
May God give you...
For every storm, a rainbow,
For every tear, a smile,
For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.
Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity.
----- Sean O'Casey
Irish blessings and prayers are sweet and hopeful. I especially like this one:
May the blessing of the rain be on you—
the soft sweet rain.
May it fall upon your spirit
so that all the little flowers may spring up,
and shed their sweetness on the air.
May the blessing of the great rains be on you,
may they beat upon your spirit
and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there many a shining pool
where the blue of heaven shines,
and sometimes a star.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
-----Samuel Beckett, "Worstward Ho", 1983
Vladimir: That passed the time.
Estragon: It would have passed in any case.
Vladimir: Yes, but not so rapidly.
----- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot (1955)
The Ireland I now inhabit is one that these Irish contemporaries have helped to imagine.
----- Seamus Heaney
Happy St. Patrick's Day.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
For Your Information
Hello, Dutch Brothers barista. If I wanted you in my car, I'd ask you out on a date. As it turns out, I don't, so when the music inside your place of employment is at the volume that it requires you lean out of the window so far as to invade my personal space as I sit inside my vehicle, I'm just going to go out on a limb here and suggest you turn it the hell down. Let me also add that while I applaud your efforts to correctly interpret my very important beverage order, my appreciation dives in direct proportion to your proximity to my person. You seem nice, but no, I don't want to chat about my day or what I've been up to. I just thought you would want to know.
Furniture store clerk: I love your store! However, I do not love the way you chit chat with me while I'm trying to look at your fine goods. I have a seven-year old, I do enough listening as it is. I'm happy to listen to my seven-year old, I draw the line at spending inordinate amounts of what should be happy shopping time listening to a stranger go on and on when I can see perfectly well for myself and prefer to do just that in peace and quiet. When I have a question, you have my sacred word spoken on a stack of Bibles that I will approach you and ask. Until then, please, for the love of god, shut up.
I saw a truck today which seemed to be an installation company of decks, patios, landscape, and sannas. I'm guessing they meant to say sauna, but who knows? Maybe there is some new thing called a sanna and while I don't know what that is, I want to find out. If they did in fact mean to say sauna, somebody didn't get their money's worth at the sign shop.
Occidental Tourist out.
Furniture store clerk: I love your store! However, I do not love the way you chit chat with me while I'm trying to look at your fine goods. I have a seven-year old, I do enough listening as it is. I'm happy to listen to my seven-year old, I draw the line at spending inordinate amounts of what should be happy shopping time listening to a stranger go on and on when I can see perfectly well for myself and prefer to do just that in peace and quiet. When I have a question, you have my sacred word spoken on a stack of Bibles that I will approach you and ask. Until then, please, for the love of god, shut up.
I saw a truck today which seemed to be an installation company of decks, patios, landscape, and sannas. I'm guessing they meant to say sauna, but who knows? Maybe there is some new thing called a sanna and while I don't know what that is, I want to find out. If they did in fact mean to say sauna, somebody didn't get their money's worth at the sign shop.
Occidental Tourist out.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
The First of Many
Guess who said what this morning in the following conversation, as OC and I discussed her choice of clothing.
"Are you wearing your play jeans?"
"Yes."
"Do they have holes in the knees?"
*impish smile, which means yes
"You look like a.....a....what is the word?"
*thinkthinkthink
"Give me a minute. I'll think of it."
*thinkthinkthinkstupidbrain
"Your minute is up."
"You look like a...why do I want to say flower, or muffin?"
"...teenager?"
*checks thesaurus
"A guttersnipe? Tatterdemalion? I've never heard of those. Wait, muffin was close. Ragamuffin! That's it. You look like a ragamuffin. Oliver Twist. Please sir, can I have some more?"
"Whaaaaat?!?" takes bowl away
The girl thinks quickly, I'll give her that.
"Are you wearing your play jeans?"
"Yes."
"Do they have holes in the knees?"
*impish smile, which means yes
"You look like a.....a....what is the word?"
*thinkthinkthink
"Give me a minute. I'll think of it."
*thinkthinkthinkstupidbrain
"Your minute is up."
"You look like a...why do I want to say flower, or muffin?"
"...teenager?"
*checks thesaurus
"A guttersnipe? Tatterdemalion? I've never heard of those. Wait, muffin was close. Ragamuffin! That's it. You look like a ragamuffin. Oliver Twist. Please sir, can I have some more?"
"Whaaaaat?!?" takes bowl away
The girl thinks quickly, I'll give her that.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Science Friday
Your Love Element Is Metal |
 In love, you inspire and respect your partner. For you, love is all about fusing together for one incredible life experience. You attract others with wit and a bit of flash. Your flirting style is defined by making others want and value you. Greatness and optimism are the cornerstones of your love life. You may let go too easily, but you never get weighed down by your past. You connect best with: Earth Avoid: Fire You and another Metal element: will control and smother each other. |
I would guess my husband's "love element" to be fire. Maybe? Have a nice weekend.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Administration
I've added a poll in the margin. To clear matters, I am fishing for respondents who are regular attendees of Girl's Weekend with me. If you are not, please do not mess with my mind in this manner.
In other news, school is hard. Now, I will eat cookies. Good bye.
In other news, school is hard. Now, I will eat cookies. Good bye.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Oh the Things You Will Read
It's Dr. Seuss week at OC's school, like a lot of schools, which is great because it's fun to reread Green Eggs and Ham. I read it twice this morning to two different children. It's a great book. And now I'm good for the year.
OC wanted to go to a Dr. Seuss event at the city library this week, so off we went, and on a school night! How crazy. There was a Dr. Seuss movie - "Horton Hears a Who" - and a Dr. Seuss craft - Cat in the Hat headband - and a few songs. The story goes that Dr. Seuss didn't give his permission to have a certain poem put to music and so someone changed it enough to be original and called it something, something Waltzing with a Bear....something. And there was actual dancing with a stuffed, life-size bear. OC loved it. Especially the cookies and milk afterward. That's my girl!
After the party, we went to the children's section of the library which she had never seen. She's been to the Redmond library many times, but not the Bend library. I know, she's a deprived child. We found the section of books in her reading level, and she gasped, and I quote: "Oh, my gosh! I am seriously going crazy!"
No lie. That's what she said. She began grabbing at books, gasping again when she found the Magic Tree House and then the Weather Fairies series; thrilled to see many, many new titles. Bend is a bigger library and so there were quite a few more books to choose from. We left with a couple dozen paperbacks.
OC needs to be reminded again and again to do certain things. She easily loses focus, talks a lot, and really, really hates to quit playing something fun when bedtime sneaks up too quickly. But she likes to read. I'm completely thrilled that we share this trait, along with our eye color and overdeveloped sense of excitement over Girl Scout cookie time. I hope it sticks.
OC wanted to go to a Dr. Seuss event at the city library this week, so off we went, and on a school night! How crazy. There was a Dr. Seuss movie - "Horton Hears a Who" - and a Dr. Seuss craft - Cat in the Hat headband - and a few songs. The story goes that Dr. Seuss didn't give his permission to have a certain poem put to music and so someone changed it enough to be original and called it something, something Waltzing with a Bear....something. And there was actual dancing with a stuffed, life-size bear. OC loved it. Especially the cookies and milk afterward. That's my girl!
After the party, we went to the children's section of the library which she had never seen. She's been to the Redmond library many times, but not the Bend library. I know, she's a deprived child. We found the section of books in her reading level, and she gasped, and I quote: "Oh, my gosh! I am seriously going crazy!"
No lie. That's what she said. She began grabbing at books, gasping again when she found the Magic Tree House and then the Weather Fairies series; thrilled to see many, many new titles. Bend is a bigger library and so there were quite a few more books to choose from. We left with a couple dozen paperbacks.
OC needs to be reminded again and again to do certain things. She easily loses focus, talks a lot, and really, really hates to quit playing something fun when bedtime sneaks up too quickly. But she likes to read. I'm completely thrilled that we share this trait, along with our eye color and overdeveloped sense of excitement over Girl Scout cookie time. I hope it sticks.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Over the Pass and Through the Snowbanks
These pictures are from our trans-state trek earlier this month. I added captions, but every one reads some version of, "Snow Piled Higher Than the Car + Haulin' Semi Truck Drivers On Your Tail + Hey, Look It Started Snowing Again = Fantastic Road Driving Adventure". That is, if your idea of fantastic includes white knuckles and stomach bile.
Lookit! All the pretty snow!
So the snow is higher than the car, it's not like there's ever been an avalanche which fell onto passing cars or anything. Wait a minute, didn't that happened in Washington? Must think happy thoughts.
Drifting, ghostly wispies never hurt anybody.
Oh, look, it's starting to snow. I should mention that it was really easy to take pictures and drive at the same time. The camera was sitting on the seat next to me, I just turned it on and held it in one hand while I steered with the other. We were traveling about 15 mph so there was plenty of time to pay attention to the road. Besides, it's not like I was taking pictures of what was behind us. Plus, I am a woman, we can multitask like that.
Why am I reminded of the Donner party at this moment? Weird.
The Donner party never had multiple snowplows go through and plow a mile-deep path for them. Hmm, maybe we will survive this after all. I always tell OC that I'm going to eat her up with a spoon, but now with the whole Donner party thoughts that crowd my min, that idea taking on a totally new connotation.
Snowplow #8 in the 1 1/2 hours from Detroit to Sisters. Hooray!
Who am I kidding, I get to travel with her, all smiles and optimism. Cannibalism is not an option. Life is good. Oh, and we were stopped when I took this one.
We made it through - much gratitude - but I do NOT want to do that again anytime soon thankyouverymuch.
Lookit! All the pretty snow!
So the snow is higher than the car, it's not like there's ever been an avalanche which fell onto passing cars or anything. Wait a minute, didn't that happened in Washington? Must think happy thoughts.
Drifting, ghostly wispies never hurt anybody.
Oh, look, it's starting to snow. I should mention that it was really easy to take pictures and drive at the same time. The camera was sitting on the seat next to me, I just turned it on and held it in one hand while I steered with the other. We were traveling about 15 mph so there was plenty of time to pay attention to the road. Besides, it's not like I was taking pictures of what was behind us. Plus, I am a woman, we can multitask like that.
Why am I reminded of the Donner party at this moment? Weird.
The Donner party never had multiple snowplows go through and plow a mile-deep path for them. Hmm, maybe we will survive this after all. I always tell OC that I'm going to eat her up with a spoon, but now with the whole Donner party thoughts that crowd my min, that idea taking on a totally new connotation.
Snowplow #8 in the 1 1/2 hours from Detroit to Sisters. Hooray!
Who am I kidding, I get to travel with her, all smiles and optimism. Cannibalism is not an option. Life is good. Oh, and we were stopped when I took this one.
We made it through - much gratitude - but I do NOT want to do that again anytime soon thankyouverymuch.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Two Fer
Yesterday started off with a bang. Literally. I'm not talking gunshot, I'm talking a brand new jar of organic tamari soy sauce crashed down from the overhead cabinet onto my coffee mug, shattering the whole mess. This was BEFORE I had a chance to take a sip of coffee, as what caused the crashing was my reaching for the turbinado sugar which was on the shelf next to the soy sauce.
Good morning!
And then today. I'm putting dishes away and a grab-it bowl decided to be rebellious and defy its name when it crashed to the floor and shattered into a million pieces.
No one was hurt, not like last time. I am definitely beginning to feel like I should not touch the good china. Which will be easy seeing as though I don't have any good china.
Good morning!
And then today. I'm putting dishes away and a grab-it bowl decided to be rebellious and defy its name when it crashed to the floor and shattered into a million pieces.
No one was hurt, not like last time. I am definitely beginning to feel like I should not touch the good china. Which will be easy seeing as though I don't have any good china.
Monday, February 25, 2008
I am a Central Oregon Blogger
This week, I had the chance to smile and nod at some other local bloggers. I would say I got to talk to them, but what happened is more like my wimpy voice that blends in to background noise and renders me unhearable meant I did a LOT more listening than talking.
Photographic evidence exists of my not-entirely-mute, but-kinda presence.
I met some bloggers who I read but didn't have a clue what they looked like until now. Boy, did some of them surprise me. Examples include BOR who as a matter of fact, has a real face and not one made of food. It seems Shannon's camera adds a hamburger and fries where they would not be normally.
Chubby Mommy, who is in fact, not so much with the chubby and is sweet to talk with. Beware if you tell her to come to jury duty despite nursing a newborn! Asses will be kicked. Of course, it was great to see Jen, who had her picture printed on the cover of the Source! She knows more about the happs with coffee shops in my town than I do. Something is wrong with that but so far it's not bugging me because when she knows = less work for me. She mentioned some other blogger as being her heroine, a blogger who is not me, which I'm pretty sure is some kind of wild oversight.
I met this woman almost one year ago, and she is still lovely. I wonder if she is planning to do that walk again this year?
And I met the most gorgeous pregnant woman, Shannon, who organized this little shindig. I hope she had fun. I had fun meeting everyone.
It makes being in a new place that much better when you have the chance to make friends. Like, duh.
Photographic evidence exists of my not-entirely-mute, but-kinda presence.
I met some bloggers who I read but didn't have a clue what they looked like until now. Boy, did some of them surprise me. Examples include BOR who as a matter of fact, has a real face and not one made of food. It seems Shannon's camera adds a hamburger and fries where they would not be normally.
Chubby Mommy, who is in fact, not so much with the chubby and is sweet to talk with. Beware if you tell her to come to jury duty despite nursing a newborn! Asses will be kicked. Of course, it was great to see Jen, who had her picture printed on the cover of the Source! She knows more about the happs with coffee shops in my town than I do. Something is wrong with that but so far it's not bugging me because when she knows = less work for me. She mentioned some other blogger as being her heroine, a blogger who is not me, which I'm pretty sure is some kind of wild oversight.
I met this woman almost one year ago, and she is still lovely. I wonder if she is planning to do that walk again this year?
And I met the most gorgeous pregnant woman, Shannon, who organized this little shindig. I hope she had fun. I had fun meeting everyone.
It makes being in a new place that much better when you have the chance to make friends. Like, duh.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The Family That Skis Together
In an attempt to get out and go skiing more than once this year, the family and I headed up to Hoodoo last Saturday. I have not heard people rave about skiing at Hoodoo - probably because Mt. Bachelor is nearby and a perennial favorite. I wasn't expecting much, so when it turned out to be probably the best day I've had skiing ever, I was surprised.
Hoodoo has an area called Easy Rider, which has the gentlest slope I've ever seen with a chair lift. Easy Rider could be called Chubby Baby Cheeks, as gentle and soft and edible as it was. I've been to four ski resorts in my entire life, so I've seen at least four chair lifts, if not five. I know of that which I speak. OC and I spent a good hour on Easy Rider, experiencing a state of relaxation like never before while attached to waxed projectiles of possible death or at least very real danger.
Normally, my ski day starts when my body produces a good healthy sheen of anxiety-produced sweat, about at the moment we arrive at the mountain and my mind makes sense of the information that I am about to be attached to extremely slick rented objects that will hurtle myself down a slippery hill at high rates of speed of which I am barely able to control. Also, that of my innocent child. A nagging worry soon follows which makes me imagine that my leg is about to be broken, or god forbid, OC's, and these are our last moments as fully-functioning human beings. This is when I cram everything down into my stomach and instead, bravely put on my gear and hope for the best.
It must've been good to start the day off slowly, for after a few runs down Over Easy and Hesitation, the skiier in pink also known as OC adopted a new battle cry. "See you at the bottom!" She called out to us as we ate her dust down the mountain.
Me, eating said dust.
As a parent, there are things that are inevitable and best to accept rather than dwell upon them. One of those things - among the many and various - is that at some point, your child will smoke you at something. Whether it's skiing, basketball, height, or Civil War trivia, you cannot fight it. Instead, let the defeat wash over like a soothing, chamomile-scented bath. Think back on how chubby and cute their little baby bottom was. It doesn't seem so bad after that, because after all, you were the one to raise and encourage that little behind to grow up and do so well at whatever it is.
This is much preferred over a bumper sticker announcing the achievement. Trust me on this.
Hoodoo has an area called Easy Rider, which has the gentlest slope I've ever seen with a chair lift. Easy Rider could be called Chubby Baby Cheeks, as gentle and soft and edible as it was. I've been to four ski resorts in my entire life, so I've seen at least four chair lifts, if not five. I know of that which I speak. OC and I spent a good hour on Easy Rider, experiencing a state of relaxation like never before while attached to waxed projectiles of possible death or at least very real danger.
Normally, my ski day starts when my body produces a good healthy sheen of anxiety-produced sweat, about at the moment we arrive at the mountain and my mind makes sense of the information that I am about to be attached to extremely slick rented objects that will hurtle myself down a slippery hill at high rates of speed of which I am barely able to control. Also, that of my innocent child. A nagging worry soon follows which makes me imagine that my leg is about to be broken, or god forbid, OC's, and these are our last moments as fully-functioning human beings. This is when I cram everything down into my stomach and instead, bravely put on my gear and hope for the best.
It must've been good to start the day off slowly, for after a few runs down Over Easy and Hesitation, the skiier in pink also known as OC adopted a new battle cry. "See you at the bottom!" She called out to us as we ate her dust down the mountain.
Me, eating said dust.
As a parent, there are things that are inevitable and best to accept rather than dwell upon them. One of those things - among the many and various - is that at some point, your child will smoke you at something. Whether it's skiing, basketball, height, or Civil War trivia, you cannot fight it. Instead, let the defeat wash over like a soothing, chamomile-scented bath. Think back on how chubby and cute their little baby bottom was. It doesn't seem so bad after that, because after all, you were the one to raise and encourage that little behind to grow up and do so well at whatever it is.
This is much preferred over a bumper sticker announcing the achievement. Trust me on this.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Don't Mess With the Schedule
I'm really, really tired of complaining about the snow, of talking about how much of a pain in the arse it has made getting around. There are so many real problems in the world. My adverse weather conditions issues are so minor and silly compared to real problems in the world.
Now that we have some perspective, I give you this:
The first math test of this class was scheduled for Thursday, January 31st. I would take the test, then spend the rest of the day packing for our family's sojourn to Depoe Bay, where we have sojourned as a family since the mid-1980's. Friday, we would leave and it would be stress-free and fun, because it's vacation! That WAS the plan. What actually happened was, well, a picture would tell you all you need to know:
S!N!O!W! Thursday morning I woke up to snow, and the test was cancelled because the college was closed. I emailed the professor. I had no choice but to wait until Friday morning when I could check the status of the college. Luckily, I had the option of going to the testing center to take the test out of regular class times. That is what I did on Friday.
Except, when I got to the testing center at 8:55 am, there was no test there. I had to call the professor at home - luckily, she had given out her home number, otherwise, screwed! - and she trekked up to school right away and brought the test to me.
One hour later, the test was done. Eleven hours later, OC and I were hanging with these people:
You might recognize some of the women from previous posts. These are my girlfriends from way back. I went through school with them and we've known each other for something like.....holy crap, 28 years, is that right? I'm asking you like you know.
The guy in blue on the left walked with me at our 8th grade graduation. The guy in white on the right was also a classmate. That's such a formal word, classmate. This situation calls for a synonym.
A synonym search revealed the alternative options are:
day pupil
school boy
school girl
school kid
school lad.
Classmate it is!
Speaking of school girl, here is another one.
There are a lot of stories surrounding the people in these pictures. Such as, I used to smoke cigarettes at the halftime of football games with the school girl, above. We were cheerleaders, which explains why we only had halftime to get the smoking done. A friend from the first picture used to borrow her mom's car - unbeknownst to her mom - when she was 14. We grew up in a small town, most of us lived several miles out of town. One day, she accidentally ran over one of their guinea hens because they usually got out of the way. That was a tough one to explain away to her mom and step-father.
Good times!
It must be said that I took pains to pack lightly for this vacation. I managed to accomplish this when it came to clothes (the black duffel bag contains outfits for EIGHT DAYS, people) but, being gone for such a long time necessitates many shiny objects to pacify my attention-deficit self. The other bags are full of knitting projects, books, math homework, laptop, thank-you notes to write from Christmas, extra shoes, games, art projects, and OC's toys.
My mom came to visit, so this was the view in my rearview mirror:
What did we find to do on the Oregon Coast? Grandma took OC to the aquarium so I could do my math homework. We visited a tea shop which has a hedgehog in residence. I have never seen a hedgehog before, and now that I've seen one I'm thinking it's not a bad idea. Just look at this adorable thing:
It's Mrs. Tiggywinkle!
Not really. It's a boy, and his name is Horace.
OC loved Horace the hedgehog. Of course, she also loved their two dogs and their cat.
It's funny how much our routines matter to us, and how flummoxed we (some of us) get when they are disrupted. That was the underlying issue to all this kvetching.
I was glad to have time with OC outside of our normal routine, where I worry about getting to school on time, having enough clean jeans for her during the week, homework, and all the other hundreds of things to do with daily life. Distance from that plus spending time in such a peaceful place which overlooks the Pacific Ocean felt fantastic. I think OC enjoys the escape as well. Talk about creating memories, who's going to forget that hedgehog???
This week's weather: not a snowflake in sight.
Now that we have some perspective, I give you this:
The first math test of this class was scheduled for Thursday, January 31st. I would take the test, then spend the rest of the day packing for our family's sojourn to Depoe Bay, where we have sojourned as a family since the mid-1980's. Friday, we would leave and it would be stress-free and fun, because it's vacation! That WAS the plan. What actually happened was, well, a picture would tell you all you need to know:
S!N!O!W! Thursday morning I woke up to snow, and the test was cancelled because the college was closed. I emailed the professor. I had no choice but to wait until Friday morning when I could check the status of the college. Luckily, I had the option of going to the testing center to take the test out of regular class times. That is what I did on Friday.
Except, when I got to the testing center at 8:55 am, there was no test there. I had to call the professor at home - luckily, she had given out her home number, otherwise, screwed! - and she trekked up to school right away and brought the test to me.
One hour later, the test was done. Eleven hours later, OC and I were hanging with these people:
You might recognize some of the women from previous posts. These are my girlfriends from way back. I went through school with them and we've known each other for something like.....holy crap, 28 years, is that right? I'm asking you like you know.
The guy in blue on the left walked with me at our 8th grade graduation. The guy in white on the right was also a classmate. That's such a formal word, classmate. This situation calls for a synonym.
A synonym search revealed the alternative options are:
day pupil
school boy
school girl
school kid
school lad.
Classmate it is!
Speaking of school girl, here is another one.
There are a lot of stories surrounding the people in these pictures. Such as, I used to smoke cigarettes at the halftime of football games with the school girl, above. We were cheerleaders, which explains why we only had halftime to get the smoking done. A friend from the first picture used to borrow her mom's car - unbeknownst to her mom - when she was 14. We grew up in a small town, most of us lived several miles out of town. One day, she accidentally ran over one of their guinea hens because they usually got out of the way. That was a tough one to explain away to her mom and step-father.
Good times!
It must be said that I took pains to pack lightly for this vacation. I managed to accomplish this when it came to clothes (the black duffel bag contains outfits for EIGHT DAYS, people) but, being gone for such a long time necessitates many shiny objects to pacify my attention-deficit self. The other bags are full of knitting projects, books, math homework, laptop, thank-you notes to write from Christmas, extra shoes, games, art projects, and OC's toys.
My mom came to visit, so this was the view in my rearview mirror:
What did we find to do on the Oregon Coast? Grandma took OC to the aquarium so I could do my math homework. We visited a tea shop which has a hedgehog in residence. I have never seen a hedgehog before, and now that I've seen one I'm thinking it's not a bad idea. Just look at this adorable thing:
It's Mrs. Tiggywinkle!
Not really. It's a boy, and his name is Horace.
OC loved Horace the hedgehog. Of course, she also loved their two dogs and their cat.
It's funny how much our routines matter to us, and how flummoxed we (some of us) get when they are disrupted. That was the underlying issue to all this kvetching.
I was glad to have time with OC outside of our normal routine, where I worry about getting to school on time, having enough clean jeans for her during the week, homework, and all the other hundreds of things to do with daily life. Distance from that plus spending time in such a peaceful place which overlooks the Pacific Ocean felt fantastic. I think OC enjoys the escape as well. Talk about creating memories, who's going to forget that hedgehog???
This week's weather: not a snowflake in sight.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Central Oregon Blogger Meet-Up
If you have a blog and you live in Central Oregon, you might be interested to know there is a gathering scheduled:
February 21st
5:30 pm
Blacksmith, 211 NW Greenwood Ave, Bend
I will be there, what else do you need to know?!?
RSVP shanlee at gmail.com
February 21st
5:30 pm
Blacksmith, 211 NW Greenwood Ave, Bend
I will be there, what else do you need to know?!?
RSVP shanlee at gmail.com
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
It Seems I Cannot Stay Away From Library Internet-Linked Computers
What is my deal? This time, it's because I'm on vacation and while I did bring my laptop, I don't have wireless internet card installed, blah blah blah. I am a sucky techie.
I'm here to print out my next week's homework for math class, except it's not been posted.
How's the vacation, you ask? Oh, great. Getting here, now that is a long story. A long, long story which includes mountain passes closed due to avalanche, two long-ass drives, and math homework. It barely qualifies for vacation at all except for the fact that I am not at home and I don't have to clean a darn thing. Good enough.
More later. I need to wash my hands after this.
I'm here to print out my next week's homework for math class, except it's not been posted.
How's the vacation, you ask? Oh, great. Getting here, now that is a long story. A long, long story which includes mountain passes closed due to avalanche, two long-ass drives, and math homework. It barely qualifies for vacation at all except for the fact that I am not at home and I don't have to clean a darn thing. Good enough.
More later. I need to wash my hands after this.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Snow: Nature's Monkey Wrench
I was planning to take the highway over the Santiam Pass tomorrow morning to head to our condo at the beach.
These cars?
Are stuck, due to an avalanche which closed the highway.
We go to Depoe Bay every year at this time. The problem this year is, the route to the coast is laden with snow-covered mountain passes. Even the coast range has snow, and the coast range's summit (on Highway 18) is 793'. Woot.
I'm not a person who likes winter driving adventures. This is really cramping my style. I had prepared for it mentally. I was all psyched up for going out in my front-wheel drive car with studded tires and a week's worth of water and snacks plus a wool blanket. While my brain said "You can do this!" my inner Girl Scout said, "But bring plenty of provisions, just in case."
Too bad it's not quite Girl Scout Cookie time. I could use a box or ten.
These cars?
Are stuck, due to an avalanche which closed the highway.
We go to Depoe Bay every year at this time. The problem this year is, the route to the coast is laden with snow-covered mountain passes. Even the coast range has snow, and the coast range's summit (on Highway 18) is 793'. Woot.
I'm not a person who likes winter driving adventures. This is really cramping my style. I had prepared for it mentally. I was all psyched up for going out in my front-wheel drive car with studded tires and a week's worth of water and snacks plus a wool blanket. While my brain said "You can do this!" my inner Girl Scout said, "But bring plenty of provisions, just in case."
Too bad it's not quite Girl Scout Cookie time. I could use a box or ten.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Doesn't Play Well With Others
I know that's an over-used phrase, but appropriate when applied to me.
College is interesting. The people in class with me, what an amalgamation of people! For instance, there's a girl in class who talks too much but she doesn't know it. When the instructor says something rhetorical, such as, "Fractions, they are our friends, let's work on that problem." this girl says, "They're my friends!"
No one says what we are all thinking, and that is, and are they your only friends?
That was mean. Let me explain. Small talk with this girl looks like this: she begins to talk and then swivels her head completely around slowly and in a complete circle to see if she can make eye contact with anyone and therefore be engaged in "conversation". This conversation, I might add, is one-sided and requires of the second person only that they listen. The second person's comments are not necessary whatsoever. I know this, because I fell for this once and only once. The next time I heard her start to talk, I pointedly studied whatever paperwork happened to be in my hand at the time because who does this? She who does this, I dub thee, TalksToHearSelf.
One day, TalksToHearSelf's cell phone rang during class. She got up and walked out of the classroom to take the call, letting the phone RING THE ENTIRE WAY. Silence the ringer? That's for the well-socialized. So, she goes out into the hallway, and just then, someone opens the door and walks into the classroom. The entire class hears TalksToHearSelf say, "I AM in class, mom!!!"
You've got your assortment of advanced-agers, which I mean is anyone over 24. Then there's the young; the dew-skinned and fresh-eyed 18-year olds. Boys, girls, men, and women, all assembled to ponder the impenetrable world of trinomials and linear equations. And, by the way? There's a test on Thursday.
College is interesting. The people in class with me, what an amalgamation of people! For instance, there's a girl in class who talks too much but she doesn't know it. When the instructor says something rhetorical, such as, "Fractions, they are our friends, let's work on that problem." this girl says, "They're my friends!"
No one says what we are all thinking, and that is, and are they your only friends?
That was mean. Let me explain. Small talk with this girl looks like this: she begins to talk and then swivels her head completely around slowly and in a complete circle to see if she can make eye contact with anyone and therefore be engaged in "conversation". This conversation, I might add, is one-sided and requires of the second person only that they listen. The second person's comments are not necessary whatsoever. I know this, because I fell for this once and only once. The next time I heard her start to talk, I pointedly studied whatever paperwork happened to be in my hand at the time because who does this? She who does this, I dub thee, TalksToHearSelf.
One day, TalksToHearSelf's cell phone rang during class. She got up and walked out of the classroom to take the call, letting the phone RING THE ENTIRE WAY. Silence the ringer? That's for the well-socialized. So, she goes out into the hallway, and just then, someone opens the door and walks into the classroom. The entire class hears TalksToHearSelf say, "I AM in class, mom!!!"
You've got your assortment of advanced-agers, which I mean is anyone over 24. Then there's the young; the dew-skinned and fresh-eyed 18-year olds. Boys, girls, men, and women, all assembled to ponder the impenetrable world of trinomials and linear equations. And, by the way? There's a test on Thursday.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Ask the Coed
What is it like to go back to college at age 34?
In a word, intimidating. It's been a long time since I've had basic classes - like Algebra! - so I'm always afraid I'll look stupid because I won't know something elementary, such as the First Chief Justice of United States Supreme Court.
Maybe that particular example would not be something recalled by the typical person, including myself, and I realize it has nothing to do with Algebra. Tell that to my self-conscious imagination, who thought it might be on the long list of required knowledge one must have at the ready in order to enter the classroom on the first day of class, like a secret password to a backroom, illegal poker game. A list, by the way, which looks suspiciously similar to another list titled "Stuff I Used to Know But Have Forgotten in the Intervening Four Hundred Years Since I Was in High School and Had Time to Study That Kind of Thing".
P.S. John Jay was the first Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. I had to look it up, just in case.
What classes are you taking?
Class, actually, because it's just the one Intermediate Algebra class.
How is that going?
Very well, so far. I mean, I had to do a LOT of review of basic algebra skills the first weekend of classes, but once I did, it all (mostly) came back to me. Do you remember FOIL? Because I had to review FOIL. And exponents. And how to deal with parentheses and negative numbers with exponents and parentheses. It's just not information I retained. Thank goodness for the internet, specifically www.algebrahelp.com, the existence of which meant I did not have to buy an Elementary Algebra textbook at $77 million dollars from the college bookstore.
What do you like about being in college again?
I like the feeling of being extremely focused. I have lived a little, and now I know what I want to do. It means that every class is relevant to my goal and so I don't take them for granted. I do all of my homework and have it done early, unlike the last time around. Also, I like the feeling that I am not wasting time anymore.
What is your goal?
I want to complete my Bachelor's Degree in the Classics, and then a Master's in the same. Ultimately, I'd like to complete a Ph.D. in the Classics and teach college. Unfortunately, I can't take Classics courses in Central Oregon. In the interest of time I will complete a Bachelor's with a minor in History and also possibly Literature. I can get a Master's of Arts here and then teach high school. When we live somewhere that does offer the Classics as B.A., M.A. and Ph.D., I will happily pursue this ultimate goal.
I guess I am one of those people who like school, which makes sense that I want to teach. What a weirdo.
Thank you for your time. It has been most enlightening. Also, did you know you bear a striking resemblance to Drew Barrymore?
You're welcome. And thank you. I think that likeness is especially apparent if one were to stand 20 yards away, close one eye, and hop up and down....but I appreciate the compliment.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must open the latest wine club offering and do my homework.
I just thought of another benefit to being a 34-year old college student, and that would be the ability to buy one's own booze. That's not to say that alcohol isn't plentiful and easy to come by at college when you are underage, rather, the benefit comes in because it completely removes the fear of there being rufies in your glass.
In a word, intimidating. It's been a long time since I've had basic classes - like Algebra! - so I'm always afraid I'll look stupid because I won't know something elementary, such as the First Chief Justice of United States Supreme Court.
Maybe that particular example would not be something recalled by the typical person, including myself, and I realize it has nothing to do with Algebra. Tell that to my self-conscious imagination, who thought it might be on the long list of required knowledge one must have at the ready in order to enter the classroom on the first day of class, like a secret password to a backroom, illegal poker game. A list, by the way, which looks suspiciously similar to another list titled "Stuff I Used to Know But Have Forgotten in the Intervening Four Hundred Years Since I Was in High School and Had Time to Study That Kind of Thing".
P.S. John Jay was the first Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. I had to look it up, just in case.
What classes are you taking?
Class, actually, because it's just the one Intermediate Algebra class.
How is that going?
Very well, so far. I mean, I had to do a LOT of review of basic algebra skills the first weekend of classes, but once I did, it all (mostly) came back to me. Do you remember FOIL? Because I had to review FOIL. And exponents. And how to deal with parentheses and negative numbers with exponents and parentheses. It's just not information I retained. Thank goodness for the internet, specifically www.algebrahelp.com, the existence of which meant I did not have to buy an Elementary Algebra textbook at $77 million dollars from the college bookstore.
What do you like about being in college again?
I like the feeling of being extremely focused. I have lived a little, and now I know what I want to do. It means that every class is relevant to my goal and so I don't take them for granted. I do all of my homework and have it done early, unlike the last time around. Also, I like the feeling that I am not wasting time anymore.
What is your goal?
I want to complete my Bachelor's Degree in the Classics, and then a Master's in the same. Ultimately, I'd like to complete a Ph.D. in the Classics and teach college. Unfortunately, I can't take Classics courses in Central Oregon. In the interest of time I will complete a Bachelor's with a minor in History and also possibly Literature. I can get a Master's of Arts here and then teach high school. When we live somewhere that does offer the Classics as B.A., M.A. and Ph.D., I will happily pursue this ultimate goal.
I guess I am one of those people who like school, which makes sense that I want to teach. What a weirdo.
Thank you for your time. It has been most enlightening. Also, did you know you bear a striking resemblance to Drew Barrymore?
You're welcome. And thank you. I think that likeness is especially apparent if one were to stand 20 yards away, close one eye, and hop up and down....but I appreciate the compliment.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must open the latest wine club offering and do my homework.
I just thought of another benefit to being a 34-year old college student, and that would be the ability to buy one's own booze. That's not to say that alcohol isn't plentiful and easy to come by at college when you are underage, rather, the benefit comes in because it completely removes the fear of there being rufies in your glass.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Now With Photographic Evidence
I'm an enjoying my new gig as Paid Writer. I still can't believe I write things that people publish, and then they pay me for it. I can't say I'm all that bright, however. My first paycheck came in the mail, and at first, I thought it was a sweepstakes check. I wondered what I had won.
The chance to write another article, apparently.
It's not going to pay the bills at the current earning power of $50 per month, but, it's an opportunity to improve my writing skills. It's better than no earnings. I have a deadline and a purpose to write, which is incentive to push forward and write more. And hopefully, I'll learn how to construct better sentences, preferably those that do NOT end with whatever part of speech the word more is. Oops, there was a preposition. Try again:
...with the word more, whatever part of speech it may be.
Ha. Now the sentence is better, but you know for sure that I am full of it.
I can say with authority (such that I cannot say in other areas, like math) that I am now an accomplished knitter, due to having more than scarves in my repertoire. See this hat? I made it, with my own two hands.
I made the kid underneath the hat, too.
Look, Ma, new teeth!
Kitty Kola says, "I am not your monkey."
What was that, Dakota? I couldn't hear you, your voice was all muffled.
Not too shabby.
The chance to write another article, apparently.
It's not going to pay the bills at the current earning power of $50 per month, but, it's an opportunity to improve my writing skills. It's better than no earnings. I have a deadline and a purpose to write, which is incentive to push forward and write more. And hopefully, I'll learn how to construct better sentences, preferably those that do NOT end with whatever part of speech the word more is. Oops, there was a preposition. Try again:
...with the word more, whatever part of speech it may be.
Ha. Now the sentence is better, but you know for sure that I am full of it.
I can say with authority (such that I cannot say in other areas, like math) that I am now an accomplished knitter, due to having more than scarves in my repertoire. See this hat? I made it, with my own two hands.
I made the kid underneath the hat, too.
Look, Ma, new teeth!
Kitty Kola says, "I am not your monkey."
What was that, Dakota? I couldn't hear you, your voice was all muffled.
Not too shabby.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Soul of a Reader, With a Side of Lemon Butter
Lord Peter Wimsey said, "Books...are like lobster shells. We surround ourselves with 'em, then we grow out of 'em and leave 'em behind, as evidence of our earlier stages of development." I couldn't have said it better than Dorothy Sayers's perspicacious English sleuth in "The Unpleasantness at the Bellonna Club."
Reading is one of my favorite activities. Growing up, I especially enjoyed the Ramona books by Beverly Cleary, which feature the Quimby family: Ramona, older sister Beatrice (affectionately nicknamed Beezus); mother, father, and the family cat, Picky-picky. There is nothing special about this fictional family; nothing particularly funny or strange. They don't live at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, or homestead the great western frontier. The Quimby's live in a quiet, residential Portland neighborhood.
Their ordinariness was perhaps what was most endearing. I identified with Ramona, a seemingly mischievous and annoying child. Time after time, she proved to have perfectly good reasons for behaving the way she did. These reasons were often best understood by children, as adults found them trifles. There was the time in first grade when Ramona's class made owls out of paper bags, decorated them in any way they wished. Ramona noticed that her neighboring classmate, Susan, had copied Ramona's work. What was worse, Susan's owl was held up as an example for the class to admire and praise when Susan was nothing but a copycat! Ramona was furious, because now that everyone had seen Susan's owl, they would think Ramona had copied Susan. Her teacher doesn't see the cause of Ramona's frustration, and injustice ensues. Beverly Cleary has the ability to portray childish indignation without disdain.
Lest it sound overstated, this is not Greek tragedy. Nonetheless, my nine-year-old self found the storytelling memorably engaging. Ramona could be sassy in the face of authority in a way that I dared not be. She is frustrated by her inability to articulate her position to the adults in her life. I understood that frustration. I can't count how many of our experiences were similar. Ramona was misunderstood, and really, who isn't?
Beverly Cleary and I have parallel lives, except, in the reverse and then several decades apart. She lived in Yamhill, a small community in the foothills of the coast range, until the age of six. At this time, the family moved to Portland. Their Yamhill Victorian home is still a private residence on the edge of town. The parallel - in reverse - is that I was born in Portland and lived there until the age of six, when my family moved to Yamhill.
This proximity to the real life of a beloved author turned the process of reading books — which were already enjoyable — into something meaningful and deeply personal. It was as though I, alone, was privy to secret information. I knew the Quimby's were named after a street in Portland! I recognized the Marquam Bridge which was mentioned in the story about taking the girls for a professional haircut! My parents were good people, but like every parent they didn't always understand me. It felt good to know someone else knew this particular brand of loneliness.
My mom took me to meet Beverly Cleary when I was eleven. She was speaking at an engagement at the library. I was so excited, with no idea what to say. I vaguely remember I managed to say something about "liking your books" and then smiling and wishing I could be more articulate. Rather, I wish I had been able to express how much her books meant to me. Reading about Ramona made me feel like someone understood my youthful plight. I would have liked to discuss the many ways in which our lives were similar. Even though I wasn't able to communicate all that I wished to Mrs. Cleary that day, I was fortunate to have grown up in her shadow with her wonderful books at the beginning of my reading journey.
Lord Peter Wimsey — or, Dorothy Sayers — has it right. The books one reads as a child do linger, even as one grows and leaves behind beloved chapter books in favor of English mysteries and the . Look around; the shells of books past are there.
Reprinted with permission from the Redmond Spokesman, December 12, 2007.
Reading is one of my favorite activities. Growing up, I especially enjoyed the Ramona books by Beverly Cleary, which feature the Quimby family: Ramona, older sister Beatrice (affectionately nicknamed Beezus); mother, father, and the family cat, Picky-picky. There is nothing special about this fictional family; nothing particularly funny or strange. They don't live at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, or homestead the great western frontier. The Quimby's live in a quiet, residential Portland neighborhood.
Their ordinariness was perhaps what was most endearing. I identified with Ramona, a seemingly mischievous and annoying child. Time after time, she proved to have perfectly good reasons for behaving the way she did. These reasons were often best understood by children, as adults found them trifles. There was the time in first grade when Ramona's class made owls out of paper bags, decorated them in any way they wished. Ramona noticed that her neighboring classmate, Susan, had copied Ramona's work. What was worse, Susan's owl was held up as an example for the class to admire and praise when Susan was nothing but a copycat! Ramona was furious, because now that everyone had seen Susan's owl, they would think Ramona had copied Susan. Her teacher doesn't see the cause of Ramona's frustration, and injustice ensues. Beverly Cleary has the ability to portray childish indignation without disdain.
Lest it sound overstated, this is not Greek tragedy. Nonetheless, my nine-year-old self found the storytelling memorably engaging. Ramona could be sassy in the face of authority in a way that I dared not be. She is frustrated by her inability to articulate her position to the adults in her life. I understood that frustration. I can't count how many of our experiences were similar. Ramona was misunderstood, and really, who isn't?
Beverly Cleary and I have parallel lives, except, in the reverse and then several decades apart. She lived in Yamhill, a small community in the foothills of the coast range, until the age of six. At this time, the family moved to Portland. Their Yamhill Victorian home is still a private residence on the edge of town. The parallel - in reverse - is that I was born in Portland and lived there until the age of six, when my family moved to Yamhill.
This proximity to the real life of a beloved author turned the process of reading books — which were already enjoyable — into something meaningful and deeply personal. It was as though I, alone, was privy to secret information. I knew the Quimby's were named after a street in Portland! I recognized the Marquam Bridge which was mentioned in the story about taking the girls for a professional haircut! My parents were good people, but like every parent they didn't always understand me. It felt good to know someone else knew this particular brand of loneliness.
My mom took me to meet Beverly Cleary when I was eleven. She was speaking at an engagement at the library. I was so excited, with no idea what to say. I vaguely remember I managed to say something about "liking your books" and then smiling and wishing I could be more articulate. Rather, I wish I had been able to express how much her books meant to me. Reading about Ramona made me feel like someone understood my youthful plight. I would have liked to discuss the many ways in which our lives were similar. Even though I wasn't able to communicate all that I wished to Mrs. Cleary that day, I was fortunate to have grown up in her shadow with her wonderful books at the beginning of my reading journey.
Lord Peter Wimsey — or, Dorothy Sayers — has it right. The books one reads as a child do linger, even as one grows and leaves behind beloved chapter books in favor of English mysteries and the . Look around; the shells of books past are there.
Reprinted with permission from the Redmond Spokesman, December 12, 2007.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Partying Like It's 1899
For Christmas, OC received a My First Sewing Kit. We had a chance to open it up recently and found it contained an instructional booklet, extra patterns, and a couple of pre-cut, felt chicken shapes. These chickens are to be sewn around the outside and then stuffed, an easy first project when you have everything to learn about sewing, such as how to thread a needle and who knew a needle had an eye?
She chose the thread color, threaded her own needle, and got to work. As she worked to sew together the two pieces of chicken-shaped yellow felt, she exclaimed, "Mama! I'm doing it! I'm just like the old people!"
Another thing we've begun doing is reading the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. OH and I take turns putting her to bed and reading the pioneer stories. A few nights ago, it was my turn to read and it happened that the story was to the part about hog-slaughtering time. What a way to end the evening! I couldn't leave her with that image so I read through until we got to the part about Pa playing his fiddle.
I'm glad OC is excited about sewing, just like Laura Ingalls Wilder. And all the old people.
She chose the thread color, threaded her own needle, and got to work. As she worked to sew together the two pieces of chicken-shaped yellow felt, she exclaimed, "Mama! I'm doing it! I'm just like the old people!"
Another thing we've begun doing is reading the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. OH and I take turns putting her to bed and reading the pioneer stories. A few nights ago, it was my turn to read and it happened that the story was to the part about hog-slaughtering time. What a way to end the evening! I couldn't leave her with that image so I read through until we got to the part about Pa playing his fiddle.
I'm glad OC is excited about sewing, just like Laura Ingalls Wilder. And all the old people.
Friday, January 18, 2008
What Have I Been Doing?
Friday, already? What have I been doing that the week has escaped so quickly? It's not like I've been watching "Shrek" in 3-D or anything. These two did that:
The library is full of wonderful, questionable things. "Shrek 3-D", for instance.
I remember Christmas. That was two days after OC's birthday, when she acquired an impressive array of new toys and art supplies, followed by more new toys and art supplies:
For which we are eternally grateful, lest the child desire to interact with us. Now mommy can drink more, which is, coincidentally, my New Year's Resolution.
Christmas kitty Sable sez, "Wherez my noo stuff? Want katnip! I can has katnip?" (purrrrrr)
Sadly, Christmas kitty Sable did not receive catnip, possibly due to the fact that Santa saw him poop on the carpet. Naughty kitty! Instead, Christmas kitty Sable must endure bow-on-the-head related torture, to the delight of the humans - especially to the one who cleaned up the offending poop.
Let this be a lesson to you naughty kitties out there: SANTA IS WATCHING WHERE YOU POOP.
There. You're caught up through December. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some Algebra homework to do.
The library is full of wonderful, questionable things. "Shrek 3-D", for instance.
I remember Christmas. That was two days after OC's birthday, when she acquired an impressive array of new toys and art supplies, followed by more new toys and art supplies:
For which we are eternally grateful, lest the child desire to interact with us. Now mommy can drink more, which is, coincidentally, my New Year's Resolution.Christmas kitty Sable sez, "Wherez my noo stuff? Want katnip! I can has katnip?" (purrrrrr)
Sadly, Christmas kitty Sable did not receive catnip, possibly due to the fact that Santa saw him poop on the carpet. Naughty kitty! Instead, Christmas kitty Sable must endure bow-on-the-head related torture, to the delight of the humans - especially to the one who cleaned up the offending poop.
Let this be a lesson to you naughty kitties out there: SANTA IS WATCHING WHERE YOU POOP.
There. You're caught up through December. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some Algebra homework to do.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Math Part is the Least of the Torture
I decided several months ago that now is the time to complete my Bachelor's Degree. I am two math classes away from entering as a Junior. This gives me winter term and spring term to complete the math, then start full-time next fall.
I applied to the only game in town, was accepted, and received a nice letter on December 26th which contained strong language about this hideous lack of math. It went something like, Welcome! We're glad to have you in our school! However, if you don't take some serious, college-level math classes, we might be forced to drop you from our enrollment out of shame over your mathematical stupidity. P.S. Don't forget to join a sorority!
(It didn't really say that last thing, and for the rest, I was paraphrasing.)
I could not enroll before classes began because the letter arrived during the holidays, when offices were closed. I didn't have my student information, all those secret codes which allow you to accomplish something on the website. But here was the kicker: all new students must attend a student orientation before they can register online or the fantastic software blocks you out of the system. I was in Boise during the student orientation which was held on the Sunday before classes began. I had five days notice about the orientation and I had already purchased my plane tickets. Upon my return, I talked to my advisor, who lifted the orientation hold on my account which meant I could register, but! Classes had already begun. I would need to pick up an Add a Class form - also known as form A29j62411 - from one building, go to class and have the instructor sign it, then take the now-precious and worth-its-weight-in-gold form to a different building than the first and the process would be complete.
Simple!
Except, it snowed earlier in the week and classes were cancelled the first day. I went to the next day of class, which was supposed to have been the second day of class but wasn't, due to snow, and spent time searching for a parking space which required no permit since I had no parking permit. You cannot purchase a parking permit without student ID. You cannot get a student ID without registering for a class. Classes have begun, so adding a class requires attending a class and getting the instructor to initial your Add a Class gold form A29j62411, so you might as well start shoving knitting needles into your skull since doing so would accomplish as much as I had.
I bought the textbook and took my form to class only to be horrendously late, (snow, parking, stupid) so I waited until class was over to speak to the instructor. She said that as long as I was comfortable with the material and two people dropped the class, which she said was very likely, I was in.
Great! It would seem. So, no.
I spent the weekend studying math. I found a basic algebra site online and went through the lessons in order to refresh my memory. I haven't had an algebra class since, oh, 1994 or so, so it was a little rusty.
By late Sunday afternoon I was feeling good, so I emailed the instructor and told her how much review I'd done, that it was all coming back to me, how determined I am to take this class and succeed, blah blah blah. She wrote back quickly, saying she was sorry, but there were five students over her limit of 40 students and I should find another class.
*choking death cry sad WHAT!?!? I emailed her to say that when I talked to her after class last week what she had said about coming back to class after doing the review, and the part about needing two people to drop the class. What changed in three days??? No reply yet.
The good news is, I learned a lot this weekend. I spent hours and hours doing review, then completed the Prerequisite Quiz, which covered every algebraic concept known to Algebra I and II students. If you added it up, that's a lot of review just to complete eleven questions the Prerequisite Quiz contained.
I wrapped up the Quiz on Sunday afternoon, just in time to start the homework which is required but not graded. That is not to mention the homework quizzes, which are in addition to the Prerequisite Quiz and the homework, but which IS graded. Also, I need a graphing calculator which I will go buy today, and also the knowledge to use it, which I don't think I can buy, ALL BEFORE TUESDAY.
It would be nice to have a parking permit.
I applied to the only game in town, was accepted, and received a nice letter on December 26th which contained strong language about this hideous lack of math. It went something like, Welcome! We're glad to have you in our school! However, if you don't take some serious, college-level math classes, we might be forced to drop you from our enrollment out of shame over your mathematical stupidity. P.S. Don't forget to join a sorority!
(It didn't really say that last thing, and for the rest, I was paraphrasing.)
I could not enroll before classes began because the letter arrived during the holidays, when offices were closed. I didn't have my student information, all those secret codes which allow you to accomplish something on the website. But here was the kicker: all new students must attend a student orientation before they can register online or the fantastic software blocks you out of the system. I was in Boise during the student orientation which was held on the Sunday before classes began. I had five days notice about the orientation and I had already purchased my plane tickets. Upon my return, I talked to my advisor, who lifted the orientation hold on my account which meant I could register, but! Classes had already begun. I would need to pick up an Add a Class form - also known as form A29j62411 - from one building, go to class and have the instructor sign it, then take the now-precious and worth-its-weight-in-gold form to a different building than the first and the process would be complete.
Simple!
Except, it snowed earlier in the week and classes were cancelled the first day. I went to the next day of class, which was supposed to have been the second day of class but wasn't, due to snow, and spent time searching for a parking space which required no permit since I had no parking permit. You cannot purchase a parking permit without student ID. You cannot get a student ID without registering for a class. Classes have begun, so adding a class requires attending a class and getting the instructor to initial your Add a Class gold form A29j62411, so you might as well start shoving knitting needles into your skull since doing so would accomplish as much as I had.
I bought the textbook and took my form to class only to be horrendously late, (snow, parking, stupid) so I waited until class was over to speak to the instructor. She said that as long as I was comfortable with the material and two people dropped the class, which she said was very likely, I was in.
Great! It would seem. So, no.
I spent the weekend studying math. I found a basic algebra site online and went through the lessons in order to refresh my memory. I haven't had an algebra class since, oh, 1994 or so, so it was a little rusty.
By late Sunday afternoon I was feeling good, so I emailed the instructor and told her how much review I'd done, that it was all coming back to me, how determined I am to take this class and succeed, blah blah blah. She wrote back quickly, saying she was sorry, but there were five students over her limit of 40 students and I should find another class.
*choking death cry sad WHAT!?!? I emailed her to say that when I talked to her after class last week what she had said about coming back to class after doing the review, and the part about needing two people to drop the class. What changed in three days??? No reply yet.
The good news is, I learned a lot this weekend. I spent hours and hours doing review, then completed the Prerequisite Quiz, which covered every algebraic concept known to Algebra I and II students. If you added it up, that's a lot of review just to complete eleven questions the Prerequisite Quiz contained.
I wrapped up the Quiz on Sunday afternoon, just in time to start the homework which is required but not graded. That is not to mention the homework quizzes, which are in addition to the Prerequisite Quiz and the homework, but which IS graded. Also, I need a graphing calculator which I will go buy today, and also the knowledge to use it, which I don't think I can buy, ALL BEFORE TUESDAY.
It would be nice to have a parking permit.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Outcome Based Meeting
The school year has resumed and I asked OC how she liked her new classroom. "Good," she said. (FYI: This is a rave in OC-speak.) I asked her if she liked it better or the same as her previous classroom. "Better!" she said, emphatically. I asked why. "It's so much quieter." Oh...my...gosh. I know my kid. Who knew??? Other than myself, I mean?
If I had to rate the second meeting we had last year solely on the merit of its outcome, I'd say it was a smashing success. I'm thrilled she is in a classroom that suits her. The process, however, was wrenching and I think it was unnecessarily so.
If I heard one hundred examples of children whose teachers were not the best but the kids turned out fine, I could then hear one hundred examples in the reverse. The point of the whole thing is that this is here and now. My child has one chance to do the first grade - one hopes - and the teacher has a career with many first grade years. What is more important? And, if I heard a story about a parent whose child was not in the right class, would it behoove anyone that nothing was done about it? Or would it be best to change?
What I don't understand is why the reaction on the part of the principal was not this: can this be fixed within the current classroom? No? Okay, then what are the numbers in the other classrooms? Can she be moved without upsetting the balance of things in a significant way? Yes? Okay. She can move classrooms, end of story.
Straightforward. Logical. Based on clear, logical, straightforward, rational steps. Silly me for thinking that is the way it should go.
Today was anxiety-ridden for me, I couldn't help it. I went it, was nice to everyone and smiled. I helped in the new teacher's classroom, and aside from spilling my coffee on one poor child's work, everything went well. I read with the SMART kids, one of which is from OC's old classroom. When I went to drop him off at his classroom, I smiled at the teacher and she smiled back.
I feel like I did something big, and for the better, and while I don't care what anyone thinks I also feel an undercurrent of....something. Power? I have a hand in things? Something like that. 'Don't worry,' I want to tell the school, 'I will only use my powers for good and not evil...but just to be safe, don't piss me off. Kisses!'
P.S. I felt so bad about the coffee spilling. I had a travel mug with lid but somehow it leaked! What an auspicious introduction. Hello, I am your new classroom helper, Inept Coffee Spiller. I can destroy drawings and writing with a simple flip of my travel mug. Oy...
If I had to rate the second meeting we had last year solely on the merit of its outcome, I'd say it was a smashing success. I'm thrilled she is in a classroom that suits her. The process, however, was wrenching and I think it was unnecessarily so.
If I heard one hundred examples of children whose teachers were not the best but the kids turned out fine, I could then hear one hundred examples in the reverse. The point of the whole thing is that this is here and now. My child has one chance to do the first grade - one hopes - and the teacher has a career with many first grade years. What is more important? And, if I heard a story about a parent whose child was not in the right class, would it behoove anyone that nothing was done about it? Or would it be best to change?
What I don't understand is why the reaction on the part of the principal was not this: can this be fixed within the current classroom? No? Okay, then what are the numbers in the other classrooms? Can she be moved without upsetting the balance of things in a significant way? Yes? Okay. She can move classrooms, end of story.
Straightforward. Logical. Based on clear, logical, straightforward, rational steps. Silly me for thinking that is the way it should go.
Today was anxiety-ridden for me, I couldn't help it. I went it, was nice to everyone and smiled. I helped in the new teacher's classroom, and aside from spilling my coffee on one poor child's work, everything went well. I read with the SMART kids, one of which is from OC's old classroom. When I went to drop him off at his classroom, I smiled at the teacher and she smiled back.
I feel like I did something big, and for the better, and while I don't care what anyone thinks I also feel an undercurrent of....something. Power? I have a hand in things? Something like that. 'Don't worry,' I want to tell the school, 'I will only use my powers for good and not evil...but just to be safe, don't piss me off. Kisses!'
P.S. I felt so bad about the coffee spilling. I had a travel mug with lid but somehow it leaked! What an auspicious introduction. Hello, I am your new classroom helper, Inept Coffee Spiller. I can destroy drawings and writing with a simple flip of my travel mug. Oy...
Saturday, January 05, 2008
From Boise, Idaho
Happy New Year!
We're here visiting my mom and family. In an odd twist of events, I forgot to pack underwear for both OC and myself. I have no explanation for this, nor do I want to explore the implications. Luckily, they have stores in Boise.
I like being here, to see people, but also to see pictures and things from childhood that mom has saved and displayed. She has a miniature ceramic lighted Christmas tree, some goofy craft projects of mine when I was a kid, and old and new family pictures among other things. Oh, and books. She has so many books that she could open her own small bookstore. I love to look through and see what there is. She has a way with decorating and arranging things in a way that makes sense and that no one would have thought to do. She can make anyplace look nice. I can't do that. It's nice to be here.
We fly home tomorrow just in time to go back to school on Monday and to OC's new classroom. I don't know what to expect from the new teacher (anger at me, or what?) so that promises to be an adventure.
Today we are going to Eagle, where there is a yarn shop among other places to check out. We can do that now that everyone is properly attired.
We're here visiting my mom and family. In an odd twist of events, I forgot to pack underwear for both OC and myself. I have no explanation for this, nor do I want to explore the implications. Luckily, they have stores in Boise.
I like being here, to see people, but also to see pictures and things from childhood that mom has saved and displayed. She has a miniature ceramic lighted Christmas tree, some goofy craft projects of mine when I was a kid, and old and new family pictures among other things. Oh, and books. She has so many books that she could open her own small bookstore. I love to look through and see what there is. She has a way with decorating and arranging things in a way that makes sense and that no one would have thought to do. She can make anyplace look nice. I can't do that. It's nice to be here.
We fly home tomorrow just in time to go back to school on Monday and to OC's new classroom. I don't know what to expect from the new teacher (anger at me, or what?) so that promises to be an adventure.
Today we are going to Eagle, where there is a yarn shop among other places to check out. We can do that now that everyone is properly attired.
Monday, December 31, 2007
The Weekend Which Was Overtaken By a Mystery Illness
Something of unknown name and origin wiped me out for the entire day yesterday. It was so bad, I couldn't even drink coffee! Consciousness was iffy for a while. Same with eating or drinking. I spent most of the day in bed. I took a sojourn to the couch in the evening for an hour or so before a quick shower and returned to chambers. Come to think of it - besides the feeling terrible part - it wasn't a bad way to spend the day. Wouldn't want to do it all the time, but a day in bed every now and again could do us all some good.
Saturday we went to get firewood. We are completely out. "Two or three hours" my husband estimated it would take. To his credit, he accurately estimated the number of trees to fall in order to fill up the trucks. Five hours later - one of those hours was spent sitting beside the truck playing I Spy with OC. The keys got locked inside and so we waited while my husband drove in the other truck we had, an old Ford loaded down with firewood, the 26 miles home to get the spare key. I'm thinking that last hour sitting huddled in the cold either caused or greatly contributed to my falling ill with whatever I fell ill with the next day.
In the department of good news, it turns out I can run a chainsaw with neither causing injury nor maiming myself. Although this is probably not a skill I will use much, on the occasions it becomes necessary to use a chainsaw, it will be nice to know I can do it without (much) fear of those three things. I'm fond of my appendages, and would grieve the loss of one of them.....especially if it came because of my own ineptness.
It's New Year's Eve. Do I have plans? Other than not repeating the Great Mystery Illness of 2007? No. Do you? You would think after spending an entire day in bed it would seem appealing to stay awake late one night for a holiday, especially one which consists of nothing more than celebrating the coming of midnight with lots and lots of booze. This is the way I spent much of high school and so enjoy fewer hangovers as an adult. This is not something I am proud of, but it does come in handy occasionally.*
Happy New Year!
* Not what I would recommend to high schoolers. If you are a high schooler, please do not drink! It makes you stupid. To wit: have you read my blog? Uh huh. The end.
Saturday we went to get firewood. We are completely out. "Two or three hours" my husband estimated it would take. To his credit, he accurately estimated the number of trees to fall in order to fill up the trucks. Five hours later - one of those hours was spent sitting beside the truck playing I Spy with OC. The keys got locked inside and so we waited while my husband drove in the other truck we had, an old Ford loaded down with firewood, the 26 miles home to get the spare key. I'm thinking that last hour sitting huddled in the cold either caused or greatly contributed to my falling ill with whatever I fell ill with the next day.
In the department of good news, it turns out I can run a chainsaw with neither causing injury nor maiming myself. Although this is probably not a skill I will use much, on the occasions it becomes necessary to use a chainsaw, it will be nice to know I can do it without (much) fear of those three things. I'm fond of my appendages, and would grieve the loss of one of them.....especially if it came because of my own ineptness.
It's New Year's Eve. Do I have plans? Other than not repeating the Great Mystery Illness of 2007? No. Do you? You would think after spending an entire day in bed it would seem appealing to stay awake late one night for a holiday, especially one which consists of nothing more than celebrating the coming of midnight with lots and lots of booze. This is the way I spent much of high school and so enjoy fewer hangovers as an adult. This is not something I am proud of, but it does come in handy occasionally.*
Happy New Year!
* Not what I would recommend to high schoolers. If you are a high schooler, please do not drink! It makes you stupid. To wit: have you read my blog? Uh huh. The end.
Friday, December 28, 2007
The Sledding Hill Rules
1. Sled track is for sledding.
2. Walk up the hill on either side of sled track. Take your pick! The choice is yours. Either side is preferable to walking up the sled track. (See rule #3.)
3. The sled track is not for walking back up the hill.(See rule #2.)
4. The sled track is not for plopping down on your behind to relax. Sledders want to use it, and if you do this you are now IN THE DAMN WAY.
5. If you are going to run down the hill after a small child, please do not run down the sled track and leave your large, booted footprints which gnarl up the track for everyone else.
6. Outdoor fires are nice, but maybe - just maybe! - not appropriate to build one at the bottom of the sled hill. Do I need to explain why?
7. If you cannot or will not follow these rules, then please stay home.
Thank you.
- The Establishment.
2. Walk up the hill on either side of sled track. Take your pick! The choice is yours. Either side is preferable to walking up the sled track. (See rule #3.)
3. The sled track is not for walking back up the hill.(See rule #2.)
4. The sled track is not for plopping down on your behind to relax. Sledders want to use it, and if you do this you are now IN THE DAMN WAY.
5. If you are going to run down the hill after a small child, please do not run down the sled track and leave your large, booted footprints which gnarl up the track for everyone else.
6. Outdoor fires are nice, but maybe - just maybe! - not appropriate to build one at the bottom of the sled hill. Do I need to explain why?
7. If you cannot or will not follow these rules, then please stay home.
Thank you.
- The Establishment.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Winter Wonderland
Here's the saucer I was talking about:
The kid in the background looks on in awe at OC's saucer sledding savvy.
The problems with using a saucer as an adult are twofold. One, there is no padding other than what one provides on one's backside. (Amazingly, it still hurts even if one's personal padding is plentiful.) Two, there is a tendency for the thing to spin around so that one may find one's self sledding downhill, backwards.
We've only gone sledding the one time but I've been able to parlay the pictures into numerous blog posts. Lazy!
Yesterday, we went for a little hike at Shevlin Park. It was a lovely day, with snow on the ground. We've never been there before, but the book we had said it was an easy hike and especially perfect for the winter. I would agree with all of that, except I would add that the underlying layer of ice on the path made it treacherous in several places. Most of those places were where the path descended and had a sheer cliff face with an accompanying steep hillside of death. I spent the first half of the hike anxiously warning, "Be careful! Slow down! Remember, if you fall to grab on to something!" Over and over again. Because I am old, because I have lost my fearlessness, because I am a mom.
The last half of the hike was much better. Flat land! We had a snowball fight, including stealth ambushes amongst the trees and a divided, two-against-one strategy.
I am not too old for that.
The kid in the background looks on in awe at OC's saucer sledding savvy.
The problems with using a saucer as an adult are twofold. One, there is no padding other than what one provides on one's backside. (Amazingly, it still hurts even if one's personal padding is plentiful.) Two, there is a tendency for the thing to spin around so that one may find one's self sledding downhill, backwards.
We've only gone sledding the one time but I've been able to parlay the pictures into numerous blog posts. Lazy!
Yesterday, we went for a little hike at Shevlin Park. It was a lovely day, with snow on the ground. We've never been there before, but the book we had said it was an easy hike and especially perfect for the winter. I would agree with all of that, except I would add that the underlying layer of ice on the path made it treacherous in several places. Most of those places were where the path descended and had a sheer cliff face with an accompanying steep hillside of death. I spent the first half of the hike anxiously warning, "Be careful! Slow down! Remember, if you fall to grab on to something!" Over and over again. Because I am old, because I have lost my fearlessness, because I am a mom.
The last half of the hike was much better. Flat land! We had a snowball fight, including stealth ambushes amongst the trees and a divided, two-against-one strategy.
I am not too old for that.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Old-Fashioned Fun
I know I just wrote about going skiing, but a couple of weeks ago we went sledding at a Sno-Park. (I hate the way that is spelled. It's not cute, it's incorrect! Anyway.)
Proof:
Girlfriend has pat the snow disk technique! She flew down that hill.
Merry Christmas and happy holidays.
Proof:
Girlfriend has pat the snow disk technique! She flew down that hill.
Merry Christmas and happy holidays.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Diversionary Tactic
The tangle with the administration left a sour taste, even with the favorable outcome. To counteract, we went skiing.
Mt. Bachelor is my favorite place to ski. You should know that my experience is far from vast. I have skiied a total of four times in my life. Yesterday was my second time at Bachelor. I include in my repertoire one experience each at Mt. Hood Meadows and Cypress Mountain (British Columbia). Meadows was steep and slick and way too fast for me; Cypress was fun. I learned to ski at Cypress from a German (or Swiss?) woman, a decade younger than myself, who purported to have been on skis since birth. Or some ridiculously young age like that. She was a good instructor and yet, I still wanted to smack her darling little face - just a little! - for her annoying youthfulness. Doing so would've only brought out the rosiness in her young cheeks. Besides, I really liked her and when it comes down to it, I'm not THAT mean.
My muscles are sore today. OC? Not so much. Speaking of youth, isn't that is one of the glories? Being able to ski all day long and not feel a thing, I mean? Her muscles must be made of rubber, or her nerves don't carry pain as acutely as mine. Ah well. So much the better that she feels good.
We tackled the marshmallow run most of the day, with one trip down rooster tail. Once was enough. My husband has been skiing since childhood, and is quite good. He nonetheless is patient and slow with us as we make our way fretfully down the slopes.
My husband captured one of my many glorious falls in a cell phone video. I fell a lot, but mostly the falls were graceful and resulted in no serious injury. They did, however, start to really piss me off. Do you know how hard it is to upright one's self while on skis? Well, it's hard. After a time, your legs are sore and after yet ANOTHER fall, you consider sitting where you are and waiting for the snow machine to pick you up and take you down to the lodge where all the smart people are with their hot cocoas and knitting projects. Unless, of course, you happen to be sitting in the middle of the ski run and if you are sitting in the middle of the ski run then you would be called a snowboarder.
Not all snowboarders do this, but enough have done so in my experience. Do they know how the risk their lives by sitting down in my path?
This was also OC's fourth time skiing in her life. She did so well! She mostly snowplows down the steep parts, but she was doing some practice turning. It's hard, and with all those other people to worry about around you, I don't blame her for taking it easy. At any rate, her plowing is excellent.
Mt. Bachelor is my favorite place to ski. You should know that my experience is far from vast. I have skiied a total of four times in my life. Yesterday was my second time at Bachelor. I include in my repertoire one experience each at Mt. Hood Meadows and Cypress Mountain (British Columbia). Meadows was steep and slick and way too fast for me; Cypress was fun. I learned to ski at Cypress from a German (or Swiss?) woman, a decade younger than myself, who purported to have been on skis since birth. Or some ridiculously young age like that. She was a good instructor and yet, I still wanted to smack her darling little face - just a little! - for her annoying youthfulness. Doing so would've only brought out the rosiness in her young cheeks. Besides, I really liked her and when it comes down to it, I'm not THAT mean.
My muscles are sore today. OC? Not so much. Speaking of youth, isn't that is one of the glories? Being able to ski all day long and not feel a thing, I mean? Her muscles must be made of rubber, or her nerves don't carry pain as acutely as mine. Ah well. So much the better that she feels good.
We tackled the marshmallow run most of the day, with one trip down rooster tail. Once was enough. My husband has been skiing since childhood, and is quite good. He nonetheless is patient and slow with us as we make our way fretfully down the slopes.
My husband captured one of my many glorious falls in a cell phone video. I fell a lot, but mostly the falls were graceful and resulted in no serious injury. They did, however, start to really piss me off. Do you know how hard it is to upright one's self while on skis? Well, it's hard. After a time, your legs are sore and after yet ANOTHER fall, you consider sitting where you are and waiting for the snow machine to pick you up and take you down to the lodge where all the smart people are with their hot cocoas and knitting projects. Unless, of course, you happen to be sitting in the middle of the ski run and if you are sitting in the middle of the ski run then you would be called a snowboarder.
Not all snowboarders do this, but enough have done so in my experience. Do they know how the risk their lives by sitting down in my path?
This was also OC's fourth time skiing in her life. She did so well! She mostly snowplows down the steep parts, but she was doing some practice turning. It's hard, and with all those other people to worry about around you, I don't blame her for taking it easy. At any rate, her plowing is excellent.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Team Occidental Tourist Takes the Lead
If influence were measured by level of amount of ire raised in others, then it seems I am an influential woman. My husband and I met with the principal and the teacher yesterday afternoon and, wow. I am still reeling from it.
Our position was: We agree with your goal to match each student with teachers and other students that are a good match for them (the words of the principal in a past newsletter). We are here because a mistake was made in classroom placement, and it needs to be fixed. To do so would maximize academic success for our daughter. The classrooms are balanced now, and so moving one child will not significantly harm one teacher's workload/classroom. A change would significantly enhance our daughter's classroom experience. The end.
Their position was: we are sad, you hurt our feelings, the teacher is very upset, we're concerned because you haven't asked your daughter (six years old) what she wants, we can't run a school by having every parent come and request room changes mid-year, we can't set that precedence, here is anecdotal evidence that suggests kids do well even if classrooms are bad, whine, cry, sniff.
Sorry, but the level of emotion on their side was VERY HIGH. It was truly awe-inspiring to watch adults - professionals! - behave in such a way. Where's the coping skills? Where's the priority for the child's education? Where's the rationality? Criticism is a tool which can bring forth positive changes. Unless you only want to surround yourself with sycophants and hear wonderful things. In which case, one would not learn and grow.
I had to discuss why we wanted her moved, which meant talking about teaching style, classroom environment, and behavior. Over and over, I said it wasn't personal. I said it wasn't that she is a bad teacher. I said that it was about proper classroom placement. A mistake was made, simply.
This was not met with glee. In fact, it was entirely personal to them. It's too bad they took it that way. Really, no one had to be upset. Sadness over such a great kid (hee hee!) leaving one's room, but there should not be hard feelings.
At one point, I pointed out that school district policy allows parents the right to request teacher placement for the next school year. Numerous times before I brought this up, he said we would NOT be allowed to request a teacher each year.
I'm glad at least I know the school policy!
The teacher was upset, but her arguments were rational. She said that she would consider whether or not there was more harm than good by staying, versus the harm from a transition. Exactly! That's how I was thinking of it. I regret she felt bad about it, but I did nothing to directly make her feel badly. It's unfortunate that a mistake was made with classroom placement, but now it will be much better for OC.
Which is the entire point of it all!
We don't want to do any more mid-year switches, which the principal was afraid. The goal would be to have it sorted out correctly up front. That is what I plan to do by visiting each higher grade teacher's classroom and continue to volunteer and be a presence in the school so that I'm familiar with them and can constructively assist the placement process.
Go, us.
Our position was: We agree with your goal to match each student with teachers and other students that are a good match for them (the words of the principal in a past newsletter). We are here because a mistake was made in classroom placement, and it needs to be fixed. To do so would maximize academic success for our daughter. The classrooms are balanced now, and so moving one child will not significantly harm one teacher's workload/classroom. A change would significantly enhance our daughter's classroom experience. The end.
Their position was: we are sad, you hurt our feelings, the teacher is very upset, we're concerned because you haven't asked your daughter (six years old) what she wants, we can't run a school by having every parent come and request room changes mid-year, we can't set that precedence, here is anecdotal evidence that suggests kids do well even if classrooms are bad, whine, cry, sniff.
Sorry, but the level of emotion on their side was VERY HIGH. It was truly awe-inspiring to watch adults - professionals! - behave in such a way. Where's the coping skills? Where's the priority for the child's education? Where's the rationality? Criticism is a tool which can bring forth positive changes. Unless you only want to surround yourself with sycophants and hear wonderful things. In which case, one would not learn and grow.
I had to discuss why we wanted her moved, which meant talking about teaching style, classroom environment, and behavior. Over and over, I said it wasn't personal. I said it wasn't that she is a bad teacher. I said that it was about proper classroom placement. A mistake was made, simply.
This was not met with glee. In fact, it was entirely personal to them. It's too bad they took it that way. Really, no one had to be upset. Sadness over such a great kid (hee hee!) leaving one's room, but there should not be hard feelings.
At one point, I pointed out that school district policy allows parents the right to request teacher placement for the next school year. Numerous times before I brought this up, he said we would NOT be allowed to request a teacher each year.
I'm glad at least I know the school policy!
The teacher was upset, but her arguments were rational. She said that she would consider whether or not there was more harm than good by staying, versus the harm from a transition. Exactly! That's how I was thinking of it. I regret she felt bad about it, but I did nothing to directly make her feel badly. It's unfortunate that a mistake was made with classroom placement, but now it will be much better for OC.
Which is the entire point of it all!
We don't want to do any more mid-year switches, which the principal was afraid. The goal would be to have it sorted out correctly up front. That is what I plan to do by visiting each higher grade teacher's classroom and continue to volunteer and be a presence in the school so that I'm familiar with them and can constructively assist the placement process.
Go, us.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Game On
ROUND ONE
We met with the principal today, and believe me, he was not my "pal". Broaching the subject of changing classrooms, he acted as though this were as typical as all those cats who like to play fetch.
I made my case, which was met with incredibly inarguable points such as: we can't move your child because it might hurt the teacher's feelings and create hostility between staff if one were preferred over another! It's as though they are not professionals and incapable of dealing with criticism. Not everyone likes pop art; so don't buy a Lichtenstein for your living room. What's the problem?
The main argument against switching classrooms is, if we make an exception for you, we'd have to make an exception for EVERYONE. We can't treat you differently than we treat everyone else. That's not a good precedent to set. How many parents, I wonder, line up outside the office door requesting a change? Right. Judging by how many line up to volunteer, not many, I think. And if there are, they should be given a chance to explain and then be considered on a case by case basis. If there is merit, the request should be considered.
In this district, apparently it is against the laws of nature and man to allow parents to change schools or to change classrooms. Doing so might mean the Earth's magnetic fields switch polarity rendering all compasses pretty, if useless, instruments. Much like meddling parents who want their kids in the right classroom.
Phhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
That's okay. If the school were to capitulate in the first meeting, who would respect them? Besides me, I mean.
The teacher does not instruct in a clear way. She begins by giving step 2, step 3, step 4.5, then goes back to step 1 with an addendum to add step 4; a reminder to write clearly on step 5; then gives steps 6-18 in similar manner, after which the children wander to their seats in a fog of confusion. I know, because I see it when I am there three mornings a week. I know, too, because I have messy notes from all that erasing when she gives me instructions in that abstract way of hers. I'm no rocket scientist, but I'm no slouch, either. If I have trouble understanding her, yet I am equipped with the ability to clarify, what are the kids to do?
Her classroom is most definitely not a model for admirable behavior. If she's not ignoring too much talking, she's explaining to death why the kids just shouldn't do that. No consequences, they get talked to death. After they awake from their boredom-induced comas, they ignore her to do it again another day.
Tonight I will spend writing argument to each point that was brought up in the meeting. After that, obtain a copy of the school district's policy on classroom changes. We have another meeting with the principal and the teacher tomorrow afternoon. Which is great, this way I get to complain about her shortcomings to her face. Oh well, if that's what it takes to make things right.
I should say that the watch-stealing kid got into trouble for the incident I wrote about last week. Or, the week before? It happened after I left for the day, and more importantly, after the class was disrupted three separate times.
That was round one. Set up the hoops, I'm jumping through. No matter how many ridiculous arguments I might face.
We met with the principal today, and believe me, he was not my "pal". Broaching the subject of changing classrooms, he acted as though this were as typical as all those cats who like to play fetch.
I made my case, which was met with incredibly inarguable points such as: we can't move your child because it might hurt the teacher's feelings and create hostility between staff if one were preferred over another! It's as though they are not professionals and incapable of dealing with criticism. Not everyone likes pop art; so don't buy a Lichtenstein for your living room. What's the problem?
The main argument against switching classrooms is, if we make an exception for you, we'd have to make an exception for EVERYONE. We can't treat you differently than we treat everyone else. That's not a good precedent to set. How many parents, I wonder, line up outside the office door requesting a change? Right. Judging by how many line up to volunteer, not many, I think. And if there are, they should be given a chance to explain and then be considered on a case by case basis. If there is merit, the request should be considered.
In this district, apparently it is against the laws of nature and man to allow parents to change schools or to change classrooms. Doing so might mean the Earth's magnetic fields switch polarity rendering all compasses pretty, if useless, instruments. Much like meddling parents who want their kids in the right classroom.
Phhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
That's okay. If the school were to capitulate in the first meeting, who would respect them? Besides me, I mean.
The teacher does not instruct in a clear way. She begins by giving step 2, step 3, step 4.5, then goes back to step 1 with an addendum to add step 4; a reminder to write clearly on step 5; then gives steps 6-18 in similar manner, after which the children wander to their seats in a fog of confusion. I know, because I see it when I am there three mornings a week. I know, too, because I have messy notes from all that erasing when she gives me instructions in that abstract way of hers. I'm no rocket scientist, but I'm no slouch, either. If I have trouble understanding her, yet I am equipped with the ability to clarify, what are the kids to do?
Her classroom is most definitely not a model for admirable behavior. If she's not ignoring too much talking, she's explaining to death why the kids just shouldn't do that. No consequences, they get talked to death. After they awake from their boredom-induced comas, they ignore her to do it again another day.
Tonight I will spend writing argument to each point that was brought up in the meeting. After that, obtain a copy of the school district's policy on classroom changes. We have another meeting with the principal and the teacher tomorrow afternoon. Which is great, this way I get to complain about her shortcomings to her face. Oh well, if that's what it takes to make things right.
I should say that the watch-stealing kid got into trouble for the incident I wrote about last week. Or, the week before? It happened after I left for the day, and more importantly, after the class was disrupted three separate times.
That was round one. Set up the hoops, I'm jumping through. No matter how many ridiculous arguments I might face.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Kill Me Now
No, it can wait until after Christmas. Or better yet, until after I've read all the books I want to read. Oh! And after the movies I want to watch.
I'm at the library again. The server is slow, people are sitting all around and probably reading this. Hi there, you behind me! I hate that they can see my blog name, then me typing, then my stupid email address displayed at the top of the screen. Let me scroll down.......there. Now it's hidden.
I need to pay my Visa bill, which I usually do online. There is no way I will attempt to do it here, out in the open. There are four rows of computers, for a total of 20. There are two computers in the back row but are only for 15 minutes of internet use. With the slow server I might get to type my account number and my cat's cousin's maiden name before I am automatically logged off. I guess I'll have to revert to the old-fashioned paper invoice and a check. Gadzooks!
In the movie "Snowcake" Sigourney Weaver plays an autistic woman who likes to play her own version of Scrabble where the only acceptable words are those from comic books, such as gadzooks. Zoinks might be another. It sounds like a fun way to play. I don't use those types of words very often. Same with penal code, but that just makes me giggle.
I didn't particularly like "Snowcake" but I did love "Stranger Than Fiction".
I feel exposed, so, that is all.
I'm at the library again. The server is slow, people are sitting all around and probably reading this. Hi there, you behind me! I hate that they can see my blog name, then me typing, then my stupid email address displayed at the top of the screen. Let me scroll down.......there. Now it's hidden.
I need to pay my Visa bill, which I usually do online. There is no way I will attempt to do it here, out in the open. There are four rows of computers, for a total of 20. There are two computers in the back row but are only for 15 minutes of internet use. With the slow server I might get to type my account number and my cat's cousin's maiden name before I am automatically logged off. I guess I'll have to revert to the old-fashioned paper invoice and a check. Gadzooks!
In the movie "Snowcake" Sigourney Weaver plays an autistic woman who likes to play her own version of Scrabble where the only acceptable words are those from comic books, such as gadzooks. Zoinks might be another. It sounds like a fun way to play. I don't use those types of words very often. Same with penal code, but that just makes me giggle.
I didn't particularly like "Snowcake" but I did love "Stranger Than Fiction".
I feel exposed, so, that is all.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Losing My Religion
My computer has a virus. The good man who came by to pick it up today told me the shop is a week out with repairs. Which means it may, or may not be fixed and returned before Christmas, which means I may be without a computer - and more importantly, internet access at home! - for a more than a week!!!!!!
I feel like I've lost an appendage or something. How does one function without a computer which is attached to every other computer in the world? How will I shop online? How will I blog? How will I check email?
I'm at the library, typing this. I feel naked. I feel lost.
Sad. Cry!
Moving on. This will explain why I'm such a loo-zur about responding to email, commenting on your blogs, and spending too much money. FYI.
I feel like I've lost an appendage or something. How does one function without a computer which is attached to every other computer in the world? How will I shop online? How will I blog? How will I check email?
I'm at the library, typing this. I feel naked. I feel lost.
Sad. Cry!
Moving on. This will explain why I'm such a loo-zur about responding to email, commenting on your blogs, and spending too much money. FYI.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
We Have a Hillbilly in the House
This is the third tooth she has lost. The fourth came out last Friday while she was eating pizza at the ski lodge. We're all glad it didn't come out in the snow.
The tooth fairy forgot to come Friday night. She forgot. OC was not upset about it, saying the tooth fairy was too busy and would come the next night. She did, and left an extra quarter due to guilt.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Rome Wasn't Built in a Day But I'd Like to Think So
I want things to change in a day. Once I make a decision, I want it to happen.
It's frustrating.
I'm talking about parenting. When OC comes home from school at 3:30, she's hungry and grouchy. I want things to be fun, but it's a struggle to get through eating a snack, cleaning up after, and doing chores. I'm the taskmaster, as usual. Soon enough, it's five o'clock and time to get dinner and a bath and on and on....
I realize that what's important is built slowly, daily, over a length of time. It's a longer length than I have the patience for. But this is a good thing. It gives me a chance to make tomorrow a better day. One bad afternoon doesn't cancel out all the work that's been done. Nor does one good day stand alone for the rest of our lives. Damn it.
It's frustrating.
I'm talking about parenting. When OC comes home from school at 3:30, she's hungry and grouchy. I want things to be fun, but it's a struggle to get through eating a snack, cleaning up after, and doing chores. I'm the taskmaster, as usual. Soon enough, it's five o'clock and time to get dinner and a bath and on and on....
I realize that what's important is built slowly, daily, over a length of time. It's a longer length than I have the patience for. But this is a good thing. It gives me a chance to make tomorrow a better day. One bad afternoon doesn't cancel out all the work that's been done. Nor does one good day stand alone for the rest of our lives. Damn it.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Go Left on the Right Roundabout
If there is one thing I do not like, it's change. Most humans don't, but I consider my particular aversion to be exceptional. As most other humans do as well.
I encountered my first roundabout in the mid-90's and did not enjoy the experience. It was new, it was different, it was round — completely unlike the 90-degree intersections and interminable traffic lights to which I was familiar. There was a second encounter on the east coast a few years later, this time much bigger and with the cars going much more quickly which only served to reinforce my aversion.
My family and I took a trip to Ireland in 2006. Dublin is a wonderful city but the streets take on new names in the space of a few twisting blocks. The lane directions seem inexplicable and are not always marked. It was easier to hire a taxi or walk, so we did. We enjoyed the train which took us to Northern Ireland where we rented car in Belfast for our expedition of the countryside. If they had had little red wagons I would've been first in line for the six bags of luggage we somehow felt we needed.
It was here, in Northern Ireland, while driving our rented American-made car where I fell in love with the roundabout.
The roundabouts in use on the Emerald Isle range from the large, multi-lane type with traffic signals (rare) to the tiniest version with only a white paint circle in middle of the road to mark its existence (also rare). The most frequent size was the medium range, with clear signage and consisting of two lanes of traffic.
The first day in which I drove the rental car was after seeing the downtown area of the seaside vacation spot of Portrush. We needed to find our way back to the motorway, and so I was reading signs AND driving on the left when I came to the street where I needed to turn. Which just happened to have the very small version of the roundabout, the kind with the paint circle on the surface of the pavement. I needed to make a right turn, so I did, but I mistakenly I entered the roundabout — or rather, skirted the perimeter of the paint circle — on the right. My husband said, "Go left!" and I said, "But we have to turn right!" and then he said "But you have to BE on the LEFT!" Oh. Right.
We all know about a certain town located 16 miles to the south of us here in Redmond where the traffic planners have made ample use of said traffic device while the roads in Redmond suffer (in my opinion) from a serious lack thereof. That is not to say that because Bend has roundabouts, Bend is a better town. It is to say that because Bend has roundabouts, there are many places where drivers can breeze through when it makes sense to do so rather than sit and wait for arbitrary reasons. In the case of the former, everybody wins!
The problem with the cumbersome three- and four-way stops which occupy a prodigious number of intersections here in town is the fact that one must stop even if there may be no other car or pedestrian in sight, or violate the law. It's probably not such a huge waste of time (it definitely feels that way) but it does take more energy to fully stop and start again. Aside from having gone the reverse direction on that one occasion, roundabouts always make me feel like I am moving forward.
The Greek philosopher Heraclitus wrote that "Nothing endures except change." The use of roundabouts are a change from other methods, which perhaps means they will proliferate and endure. At least for the time being.
Reprinted with permission from the Redmond Spokesman; Redmond, Oregon. Originally published November 28, 2007.
I encountered my first roundabout in the mid-90's and did not enjoy the experience. It was new, it was different, it was round — completely unlike the 90-degree intersections and interminable traffic lights to which I was familiar. There was a second encounter on the east coast a few years later, this time much bigger and with the cars going much more quickly which only served to reinforce my aversion.
My family and I took a trip to Ireland in 2006. Dublin is a wonderful city but the streets take on new names in the space of a few twisting blocks. The lane directions seem inexplicable and are not always marked. It was easier to hire a taxi or walk, so we did. We enjoyed the train which took us to Northern Ireland where we rented car in Belfast for our expedition of the countryside. If they had had little red wagons I would've been first in line for the six bags of luggage we somehow felt we needed.
It was here, in Northern Ireland, while driving our rented American-made car where I fell in love with the roundabout.
The roundabouts in use on the Emerald Isle range from the large, multi-lane type with traffic signals (rare) to the tiniest version with only a white paint circle in middle of the road to mark its existence (also rare). The most frequent size was the medium range, with clear signage and consisting of two lanes of traffic.
The first day in which I drove the rental car was after seeing the downtown area of the seaside vacation spot of Portrush. We needed to find our way back to the motorway, and so I was reading signs AND driving on the left when I came to the street where I needed to turn. Which just happened to have the very small version of the roundabout, the kind with the paint circle on the surface of the pavement. I needed to make a right turn, so I did, but I mistakenly I entered the roundabout — or rather, skirted the perimeter of the paint circle — on the right. My husband said, "Go left!" and I said, "But we have to turn right!" and then he said "But you have to BE on the LEFT!" Oh. Right.
We all know about a certain town located 16 miles to the south of us here in Redmond where the traffic planners have made ample use of said traffic device while the roads in Redmond suffer (in my opinion) from a serious lack thereof. That is not to say that because Bend has roundabouts, Bend is a better town. It is to say that because Bend has roundabouts, there are many places where drivers can breeze through when it makes sense to do so rather than sit and wait for arbitrary reasons. In the case of the former, everybody wins!
The problem with the cumbersome three- and four-way stops which occupy a prodigious number of intersections here in town is the fact that one must stop even if there may be no other car or pedestrian in sight, or violate the law. It's probably not such a huge waste of time (it definitely feels that way) but it does take more energy to fully stop and start again. Aside from having gone the reverse direction on that one occasion, roundabouts always make me feel like I am moving forward.
The Greek philosopher Heraclitus wrote that "Nothing endures except change." The use of roundabouts are a change from other methods, which perhaps means they will proliferate and endure. At least for the time being.
Reprinted with permission from the Redmond Spokesman; Redmond, Oregon. Originally published November 28, 2007.
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