Last spring, a mama duck built her nest on our boat, up under the cover, so her nest was cozy and dry, and safe for her unborn ducklings. We checked the nest every weekend when we came home, counting the eggs, feeding the mama duck with stale bread, and waiting anxiously for the eggs to hatch. Wick wouldn't clean up the boat, or remove the cover, let alone take the boat out, because he didn't want to disturb the nesting process.
We waited patiently for the eggs to hatch.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
One weekend, the mama duck was nowhere to be seen. Her nest was abandoned. The eggs had not hatched, and were beginning to smell. The boat was full of feathers, bread crumbs, and duck poop.
But no babies.
How disappointing.
One of my favorite spring sights is watching the mama ducks swim by, followed by a wake of baby ducklings, quacking and swimming along in the reeds along the shore. We were really looking forward to those eggs hatching.
This year, Wick said if a mama duck tried to build her nest on the boat again,we would have duck eggs for breakfast.
No ducks have nested on our boat this year. We are the ones nesting. We gave up our apartment the last day of school. We have been bringing a load of stuff every weekend for weeks, and now it is all here. It's all still packed up, boxed up, stacked up, and I can't find anything, but it is all here. Scott is spending the week here, and he and his daddy had all sorts of plans for what they were going to accomplish this week.
So far, we have entertained my brother and his family with smoked brisket, potato salad, macaroni salad, coleslaw, raw veggies and dip, and my sister-in-law's orange-pineapple cake; had hamburgers with our neighbors and their kids and grandkids; fished from the dock; replaced the cigarette lighter in the boat so that we can plug in a fish light for night fishing; taken some great naps; and enjoyed the fact that on Sunday night we did not have to pack up and go back to the city, to work on Monday morning.
Like the mama duck, my "eggs" (working on the cabin) have not hatched. But we are certainly enjoying just being.
Being here.
Being home.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Falling Again
Last Friday I fell off the curb.
Skinned both knees.
Twisted my ankle.
I guess since the concussion, my balance and depth perception are still not quite what they should be.
At least I didn't tear holes in the knees of my pants.
Why is it that when we fall in public, we feel so embarrassed we won't admit we are hurt? Our school's dean of instruction happened to be standing nearby and ran to help me. A young man, a student, helped me get back on my feet. Both of them wanted to help me back into the building, carry my things, get me a drink of water. But I kept saying, oh no, I'm fine--even though obviously I was *not* fine. My knees hurt. My ankle was swelling rapidly. I had to lean on someone to get to the car when Wick came to pick me up. But I just would not admit that anything was wrong.
Don't we do the same thing to God? I know I do. I get depressed, sad, angry, and I won't ask for His help. I want to do it all by myself. His hand is outstretched, and I push it aside. Sometimes, He just takes hold anyway; He takes charge, straightens everything out, puts me back on my feet again when I am strong enough. And I am so thankful that He is always there. Like my friends who saw me fall, He may be laughing, but He is still helping me up, dusting me off, and carrying my burdens.
Skinned both knees.
Twisted my ankle.
I guess since the concussion, my balance and depth perception are still not quite what they should be.
At least I didn't tear holes in the knees of my pants.
Why is it that when we fall in public, we feel so embarrassed we won't admit we are hurt? Our school's dean of instruction happened to be standing nearby and ran to help me. A young man, a student, helped me get back on my feet. Both of them wanted to help me back into the building, carry my things, get me a drink of water. But I kept saying, oh no, I'm fine--even though obviously I was *not* fine. My knees hurt. My ankle was swelling rapidly. I had to lean on someone to get to the car when Wick came to pick me up. But I just would not admit that anything was wrong.
Don't we do the same thing to God? I know I do. I get depressed, sad, angry, and I won't ask for His help. I want to do it all by myself. His hand is outstretched, and I push it aside. Sometimes, He just takes hold anyway; He takes charge, straightens everything out, puts me back on my feet again when I am strong enough. And I am so thankful that He is always there. Like my friends who saw me fall, He may be laughing, but He is still helping me up, dusting me off, and carrying my burdens.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Taking the Fall
I haven't blogged in six weeks. But for once, I have a good reason. I think.
10 March--Wick and I were at our lake place, where we are building a cabin. I remember getting up that morning, dressing, going from the RV to the cabin. That's the last thing I remember, until I was on my back, looking up at a bright light, and wondering where I was and what happened.
In between, apparently, I somehow fell in the cabin. Wick, who had gone out into the yard for something, heard a loud sound as if I had dropped something. He went back into the cabin and found me face down on a pile of wood, bleeding, and incoherent. He called 991, the EMTs arrived, put me on a helicopter, and flew me to the emergency room some 15 miles away.
My first time in a helicopter, and I don't remember it. Sheeesh.
By the time my brain was functioning again, daughter Jeana had already driven 3 hours to get to my stretcher side, the ER people had x-rayed and cat scanned, and my first visual image was of Wick looking at me upside down. He was standing at my head, and to me he looked up side down, and pretty blurry.
They told me that among other things I told the EMTs that it was 1977, that I was 33, and insisted that Wick must remember to pick Jeana up from band practice--it has been quite some time since Jeana was in the high school band, since her eldest child is in fifth grade.
Jeana gently cleaned up the dried blood, held my hand, and offered to take me home with her for a few days, fearing that her daddy would get engrossed in what he was working on in the cabin and forget to take care of me. He was unwilling to let me out of his sight, so I didn't go, and it's a good thing, as it turns out. From looking like an alien, as Jeana described me, I went to looking like .... ummmm......well, like Rocky when he climbed out of the ring calling "Adrian!"
I kept saying, "I can't see. Cut me, Mick...I can't see!"
My eyes were swollen shut, the knot on my head covered most of my forehead, my whole face was black and blue, as well as a badly bruised arm and hand, and I had stitches in my nose. At least the hairline fracture didn't show. If I had gone home with Jeana, the kids would have had to lead me around by the hand, since I couldn't see. Wick hovered like a hen with a single chick, making sure I took my meds, that I ate, even if it was only soup, and frequently thanking God that it was no worse than a bad concussion.
In the five weeks since my fall, I have been having memory problems, balance and coordination, and a killer headache. But the knot is beginning to shrink, most of the bruising is improved, and I am back at work.
And now, at last, I am blogging again.
If you missed me, now you know where I have been.
10 March--Wick and I were at our lake place, where we are building a cabin. I remember getting up that morning, dressing, going from the RV to the cabin. That's the last thing I remember, until I was on my back, looking up at a bright light, and wondering where I was and what happened.
In between, apparently, I somehow fell in the cabin. Wick, who had gone out into the yard for something, heard a loud sound as if I had dropped something. He went back into the cabin and found me face down on a pile of wood, bleeding, and incoherent. He called 991, the EMTs arrived, put me on a helicopter, and flew me to the emergency room some 15 miles away.
My first time in a helicopter, and I don't remember it. Sheeesh.
By the time my brain was functioning again, daughter Jeana had already driven 3 hours to get to my stretcher side, the ER people had x-rayed and cat scanned, and my first visual image was of Wick looking at me upside down. He was standing at my head, and to me he looked up side down, and pretty blurry.
They told me that among other things I told the EMTs that it was 1977, that I was 33, and insisted that Wick must remember to pick Jeana up from band practice--it has been quite some time since Jeana was in the high school band, since her eldest child is in fifth grade.
Jeana gently cleaned up the dried blood, held my hand, and offered to take me home with her for a few days, fearing that her daddy would get engrossed in what he was working on in the cabin and forget to take care of me. He was unwilling to let me out of his sight, so I didn't go, and it's a good thing, as it turns out. From looking like an alien, as Jeana described me, I went to looking like .... ummmm......well, like Rocky when he climbed out of the ring calling "Adrian!"
I kept saying, "I can't see. Cut me, Mick...I can't see!"
My eyes were swollen shut, the knot on my head covered most of my forehead, my whole face was black and blue, as well as a badly bruised arm and hand, and I had stitches in my nose. At least the hairline fracture didn't show. If I had gone home with Jeana, the kids would have had to lead me around by the hand, since I couldn't see. Wick hovered like a hen with a single chick, making sure I took my meds, that I ate, even if it was only soup, and frequently thanking God that it was no worse than a bad concussion.
In the five weeks since my fall, I have been having memory problems, balance and coordination, and a killer headache. But the knot is beginning to shrink, most of the bruising is improved, and I am back at work.
And now, at last, I am blogging again.
If you missed me, now you know where I have been.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Another Blog
Since I am so good at keeping up with this blog, (not) I have started a second blog: Low Carb Recipes and More. http://lowcarbrecipesandmore.blogspot.com/
Wick and I have been low carbing off and on for quite a while, and I have quite a collection of recipes to share. So please visit, and feel free to copy any posted recipe, and let me know what you think of it.
Wick and I have been low carbing off and on for quite a while, and I have quite a collection of recipes to share. So please visit, and feel free to copy any posted recipe, and let me know what you think of it.
Family Wedding
My parents were married for over 40 years. After Daddy passed away, Mother seemed content to live alone--although she was seldom alone for long. With four married children and 12 grandchildren, who keep having great-grandbabies, it seemed that there was always somebody around.
We are a large, close-knit family, and we call, e-mail, and get together frequently, so most everybody knows what is going on with everybody else. That's why, when "Grandma" acquired an admirer, the news spread fast.
We were not at all surprised that a man found her beautiful, charming, sweet, giving, unselfish, and excellent company. After all, we all felt the same. Whether we call her Mother, Mama, Mom, Grandma, we love her like nobody else. However, we were all, I think, immediately interested in how this man would change her life--and ours.
She had always said that while it might be nice to have a friend to do things with, she was not interested in getting married again. She didn't want someone to come between her and her family. And what man would be willing to accommodate the controlled chaos generated by all these kids, grand kids, and babies?
This man.
He would.
He's a gentle, loving man, a strong Christian, and he appreciates what and who she is, because he has known her as a friend for many years. He still has a little trouble keeping up with who is married to whom, whose child is whose, and where we all live and work. But he is trying.
Yes, her life is changing. She will be leaving the house where she has lived for more than forty years.
And so will ours. Our family has grown too large to gather in any one's house now, and we will have to figure out where we can get together for holidays and birthdays.
She may not always be available to us, because they will be doing things together. It's going to be an adjustment for all of us.
But what a blessing for all of us. Mother has a new life partner, a husband with whom to share all that life offers.
We, her children, have a new step-father, with a kind and loving heart big enough for all of us. The babies love him too.
Dawson has already informed us that as soon as they get married, he will be calling him "Pa".
Thanks be to God, the Father of us all.
We are a large, close-knit family, and we call, e-mail, and get together frequently, so most everybody knows what is going on with everybody else. That's why, when "Grandma" acquired an admirer, the news spread fast.
We were not at all surprised that a man found her beautiful, charming, sweet, giving, unselfish, and excellent company. After all, we all felt the same. Whether we call her Mother, Mama, Mom, Grandma, we love her like nobody else. However, we were all, I think, immediately interested in how this man would change her life--and ours.
She had always said that while it might be nice to have a friend to do things with, she was not interested in getting married again. She didn't want someone to come between her and her family. And what man would be willing to accommodate the controlled chaos generated by all these kids, grand kids, and babies?
This man.
He would.
He's a gentle, loving man, a strong Christian, and he appreciates what and who she is, because he has known her as a friend for many years. He still has a little trouble keeping up with who is married to whom, whose child is whose, and where we all live and work. But he is trying.
Yes, her life is changing. She will be leaving the house where she has lived for more than forty years.
And so will ours. Our family has grown too large to gather in any one's house now, and we will have to figure out where we can get together for holidays and birthdays.
She may not always be available to us, because they will be doing things together. It's going to be an adjustment for all of us.
But what a blessing for all of us. Mother has a new life partner, a husband with whom to share all that life offers.
We, her children, have a new step-father, with a kind and loving heart big enough for all of us. The babies love him too.
Dawson has already informed us that as soon as they get married, he will be calling him "Pa".
Thanks be to God, the Father of us all.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Crochet Therapy
A Works for Me Wednesday tip.
I love to crochet. I find it calming, centering, soothing. I taught myself when I was a child, by looking at the pictures in one of those "how to" books. I have crocehted baby blankets and clothes for my own children, neices and nephews, caps, purses, vests, all kinds of things. Recently I read about the Prayer Shawl Ministry, and although I have not formally participated, I have appropriated the idea behind it.
As I crochet, I envision the person for whom I am making the article.
Before Christmas, I made scarves and shawls for all my girls. As I crocheted, I kept a picture of the person in my mind. With each stitch, I prayed for that person. I prayed for inner peace, for God's mercy and grace, I thanked Him for that person and all that she has meant in my life, and for everyone she loves.
I prayed that as she wore the scarf, she would find love in her heart for everyone she met.
I prayed that I would be a better mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, friend to her.
I prayed that I would be used in her life.
I thanked God for her.
I lifted her up for God's blessing.
I can't say how they for whom I crocheted have felt wearing these gifts of prayer.
I can say that I have been blessed in more ways than I can express by all those hours of prayer for these ones that I love.
Don't know how to knit or crochet? Wal-mart has a book to teach yourself, easy enough for anyone who can read and look at pictures.
Works for me.
I love to crochet. I find it calming, centering, soothing. I taught myself when I was a child, by looking at the pictures in one of those "how to" books. I have crocehted baby blankets and clothes for my own children, neices and nephews, caps, purses, vests, all kinds of things. Recently I read about the Prayer Shawl Ministry, and although I have not formally participated, I have appropriated the idea behind it.
As I crochet, I envision the person for whom I am making the article.
Before Christmas, I made scarves and shawls for all my girls. As I crocheted, I kept a picture of the person in my mind. With each stitch, I prayed for that person. I prayed for inner peace, for God's mercy and grace, I thanked Him for that person and all that she has meant in my life, and for everyone she loves.
I prayed that as she wore the scarf, she would find love in her heart for everyone she met.
I prayed that I would be a better mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, friend to her.
I prayed that I would be used in her life.
I thanked God for her.
I lifted her up for God's blessing.
I can't say how they for whom I crocheted have felt wearing these gifts of prayer.
I can say that I have been blessed in more ways than I can express by all those hours of prayer for these ones that I love.
Don't know how to knit or crochet? Wal-mart has a book to teach yourself, easy enough for anyone who can read and look at pictures.
Works for me.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Things I've Been Mulling Over
Mulling. Isn't that a great word? Not necessarily thinking, but ... oh, say considering, meditating on, wondering about ....
1. Why do we have to work five days, and only get 2 days for relaxation? I wish it were the other way around, don't you?
2. Would anyone find, or look for, or having looked and found, actually read a blog about low carb recipes?
3. Why does my daughter think that when she confesses something on her blog I am not going to read it, when she knows that I read every word she writes?
4. What did I ever do to be so blessed, in family, in friends, in my job, and in my marriage?
5.How can it already be almost Lent? I mean, Ash Wednesday is *next week*, y'all, and I have not given any thought at all to what I am going to do for those 40 days, during which I usually try to have more conversations with God, which actually means listening more than I talk, which is what I tend to do (keep talking instead of listening, I mean), because sometimes I don't want to hear what He is telling me.
6. Could I have gotten any more words into that last sentence without taking a breath?
7. How much longer is it going to be before we have some springtime weather?
Well, I guess that is enough of my random thoughts for now.
1. Why do we have to work five days, and only get 2 days for relaxation? I wish it were the other way around, don't you?
2. Would anyone find, or look for, or having looked and found, actually read a blog about low carb recipes?
3. Why does my daughter think that when she confesses something on her blog I am not going to read it, when she knows that I read every word she writes?
4. What did I ever do to be so blessed, in family, in friends, in my job, and in my marriage?
5.How can it already be almost Lent? I mean, Ash Wednesday is *next week*, y'all, and I have not given any thought at all to what I am going to do for those 40 days, during which I usually try to have more conversations with God, which actually means listening more than I talk, which is what I tend to do (keep talking instead of listening, I mean), because sometimes I don't want to hear what He is telling me.
6. Could I have gotten any more words into that last sentence without taking a breath?
7. How much longer is it going to be before we have some springtime weather?
Well, I guess that is enough of my random thoughts for now.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Romancing the Flame
Today is a "Works for Me Wednesday" tip, and co-incidentally Valentine's Day
Today is Valentine's Day. TV, newspapers, magazines, flyers, posters, billboards all urge us to spend lots of money (that we don't really have) to show how much we love that special someone.
Is money what it takes to say I love you?
Not really.
Oh, yeah, if you have the money, the jewelry, the dinner out, the huge box of chocolates, or the Vermont Teddy bear are all nice.
But if you don't, that does not mean the romance is gone.
Here's how to romance your darling on a non-existent budget.
First, put all the little people to bed.
Second, take a warm shower (together, if so inclined...if not, not).
Third, have warm towels (take them fresh from the dryer) for your beloved.
Fourth, clean pajamas, nightie, robe (if you have little ones who may pop out of bed).
Fifth, spread a cozy quilt on the floor and pile up plenty of pillows.
Next, light a cluster of candles, of various heights, if you don't have a fireplace.
Pour a drink for each of you--in my case, diet Coke with plenty of ice works even better than vintage wine.
Set out a small plate of cheese, a few chocolates (snag them from your school age kiddies' Valentine goodies), a bunch of grapes, a handful of crackers, some shelled nuts.
Lie on the pillows, gaze into the flames, hold each other gently, and talk.
Talk about all the stuff you used to talk about before you had kids. Remind each other why you fell in love, and why you have stayed together. Flirt. Touch. Kiss. Talk. Kiss some more.
What happens next is up to your imagination, your inclination, and your population of little folks.
No matter how long you have been married, no matter how many children you have, no matter how tired you are, keep the flame alive. Romance the one you love. Act as if you are still in that starry-eyed first stage of romantic love. And you will discover that you still are.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Works for me.
Today is Valentine's Day. TV, newspapers, magazines, flyers, posters, billboards all urge us to spend lots of money (that we don't really have) to show how much we love that special someone.
Is money what it takes to say I love you?
Not really.
Oh, yeah, if you have the money, the jewelry, the dinner out, the huge box of chocolates, or the Vermont Teddy bear are all nice.
But if you don't, that does not mean the romance is gone.
Here's how to romance your darling on a non-existent budget.
First, put all the little people to bed.
Second, take a warm shower (together, if so inclined...if not, not).
Third, have warm towels (take them fresh from the dryer) for your beloved.
Fourth, clean pajamas, nightie, robe (if you have little ones who may pop out of bed).
Fifth, spread a cozy quilt on the floor and pile up plenty of pillows.
Next, light a cluster of candles, of various heights, if you don't have a fireplace.
Pour a drink for each of you--in my case, diet Coke with plenty of ice works even better than vintage wine.
Set out a small plate of cheese, a few chocolates (snag them from your school age kiddies' Valentine goodies), a bunch of grapes, a handful of crackers, some shelled nuts.
Lie on the pillows, gaze into the flames, hold each other gently, and talk.
Talk about all the stuff you used to talk about before you had kids. Remind each other why you fell in love, and why you have stayed together. Flirt. Touch. Kiss. Talk. Kiss some more.
What happens next is up to your imagination, your inclination, and your population of little folks.
No matter how long you have been married, no matter how many children you have, no matter how tired you are, keep the flame alive. Romance the one you love. Act as if you are still in that starry-eyed first stage of romantic love. And you will discover that you still are.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Works for me.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Teacher Training, revisited
It has been brought to my attention that although I titled my last post "Teacher Training," I didn't really talk about the training--just the getting there, and about the school where it was held.
So...for those of you who really want to know about the *training* part...here it is.
I spent a whole day of my life learning how to read compositions written by students with Limited English Proficiency.
I learned that the compositions must be classified as Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced, or Advanced High, and I learned how to do that.
I also discovered that I will have to take a test on line to prove that I was actually paying attention, and did indeed learn how to do these things.
It's always been a point of interest, confusion, and irritation, that when teachers are being told how to teach, we get a lot of demands for student centered learning. Interactive learning. Hands on learning. Learning activities to appeal to all kinds of learners, not only the visual/auditory, but also the kinesthetic/tactile, the musically talented, the mathematically inclined, etc. etc. etc.
However.
When teachers are being taught how to teach, what do we get?
Lecture.
Sit there in your chair (sometimes without even a desktop space on which to prop a notepad) and listen while the overhead projector flashes slides of the handout we have in our hands, which reproduces the often fuzzy slides in type so tiny even a gnat would have trouble reading them without a magnifying glass.
I love to be read to.
I love hearing stories read or told aloud.
I hate having a set of slides read to me, if I already have a copy of the slides in my hand, and they are also posted on an overhead screen.
I get tired.
My back hurts.
I get bored.
I get thirsty.
I get hungry.
I get sleepy.
I get cranky.
All the ailments my students complain of during a 45 minute class, with at least three different planned activities, I suffer for 6-8 hours, while sitting and listening.
Fortunately, I don't have to ask for a restroom pass. I just get up and go when I feel inspired to do so, or when my sitter gets numb, or my feet go to sleep.
Usually we are allowed to bring in a drink. Rarely, we are offered some kind of stale snack, or a cup of lukewarm coffee with that powdered cream substitute gunk that reminds me of spackling.
If we are offered real food, that tastes good, that is a training to remember and recommend to friends.
Sometimes the room is cold. Sometimes it is hot and sweaty. Almost always, the chairs are hard and uncomfortable. Seldom do we find a pencil sharpener. So I dress in layers and bring a shawl. Unfortunately, although it is always possible to put on more clothing, it is not always possible to take off enough to be comfortable.
I bring several pencils, pens, and highlighters, as well as my own writing tablet, aspirin, Sucrets, bottled water, gum, and mints, as well as a brown bag lunch, just in case there is no cafeteria. In fact, I have a big tote bag that goes with me to training. Sometimes, I wish I had one of those carts on wheels, with a handle, sort of like a rolling suitcase, because I haul so much stuff with me. I've never quite worked up the nerve to bring a pillow, but have often wished I had one.
Always, I leave feeling cheated somehow. I don't mind being required to go for training. I know that I always have room to grow as a teacher. Occasionally I learn something that gets me excited, and I can't wait to get back to my classroom and my kids and share it with them. I understand why we are required to go to training.
But please, please teach the teachers the way you want us to teach our students.
So...for those of you who really want to know about the *training* part...here it is.
I spent a whole day of my life learning how to read compositions written by students with Limited English Proficiency.
I learned that the compositions must be classified as Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced, or Advanced High, and I learned how to do that.
I also discovered that I will have to take a test on line to prove that I was actually paying attention, and did indeed learn how to do these things.
It's always been a point of interest, confusion, and irritation, that when teachers are being told how to teach, we get a lot of demands for student centered learning. Interactive learning. Hands on learning. Learning activities to appeal to all kinds of learners, not only the visual/auditory, but also the kinesthetic/tactile, the musically talented, the mathematically inclined, etc. etc. etc.
However.
When teachers are being taught how to teach, what do we get?
Lecture.
Sit there in your chair (sometimes without even a desktop space on which to prop a notepad) and listen while the overhead projector flashes slides of the handout we have in our hands, which reproduces the often fuzzy slides in type so tiny even a gnat would have trouble reading them without a magnifying glass.
I love to be read to.
I love hearing stories read or told aloud.
I hate having a set of slides read to me, if I already have a copy of the slides in my hand, and they are also posted on an overhead screen.
I get tired.
My back hurts.
I get bored.
I get thirsty.
I get hungry.
I get sleepy.
I get cranky.
All the ailments my students complain of during a 45 minute class, with at least three different planned activities, I suffer for 6-8 hours, while sitting and listening.
Fortunately, I don't have to ask for a restroom pass. I just get up and go when I feel inspired to do so, or when my sitter gets numb, or my feet go to sleep.
Usually we are allowed to bring in a drink. Rarely, we are offered some kind of stale snack, or a cup of lukewarm coffee with that powdered cream substitute gunk that reminds me of spackling.
If we are offered real food, that tastes good, that is a training to remember and recommend to friends.
Sometimes the room is cold. Sometimes it is hot and sweaty. Almost always, the chairs are hard and uncomfortable. Seldom do we find a pencil sharpener. So I dress in layers and bring a shawl. Unfortunately, although it is always possible to put on more clothing, it is not always possible to take off enough to be comfortable.
I bring several pencils, pens, and highlighters, as well as my own writing tablet, aspirin, Sucrets, bottled water, gum, and mints, as well as a brown bag lunch, just in case there is no cafeteria. In fact, I have a big tote bag that goes with me to training. Sometimes, I wish I had one of those carts on wheels, with a handle, sort of like a rolling suitcase, because I haul so much stuff with me. I've never quite worked up the nerve to bring a pillow, but have often wished I had one.
Always, I leave feeling cheated somehow. I don't mind being required to go for training. I know that I always have room to grow as a teacher. Occasionally I learn something that gets me excited, and I can't wait to get back to my classroom and my kids and share it with them. I understand why we are required to go to training.
But please, please teach the teachers the way you want us to teach our students.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Teacher Training
If you are not a teacher, don't know any teachers, or never went to public school, you can skip this one.
Because it is about teachers. and training.
Yesterday I was sent to a training session in a suburb north of here for a day-long training session. Now by miles, it is only about...umm...well, about 15 miles, I guess.
But time-wise....that is a whole other story.
I left home at what I considered to be a reasonably early hour, 7 a.m., especially since I was not due at the training session until 8:00.
However, highways and traffic being what they are, it took me an hour and forty five minutes to get there.
No, I did not get lost.
Yes, I had a map.
The problem was the traffic. When I got onto the highway, traffic was rolling along at a reasonable 55 mph. Before we reached the first exit, it had slowed to a crawl. I mean, I can walk faster than we were moving.
And I am not a fast walker.
I was behind an 18 wheeler, when I noticed that he was ever so gradually drifing into the next lane. Figuring that he must know something I did not know, I followed him.
And as we rolled past at a brisk 5 miles per hour, I saw the first of our problems--a small car dead to the world, not even blinking his hazard lights.
As we crept along toward the next exit, I began to see flashing red and blue lights, so I figured we were approaching a wreck.
I saw lots of flashing lights, but no wreck. Either it was totally camoflaged, or imaginary, or already cleaned up except for the police cars, or I just missed it as I whizzed by at 15 mph.
To make a long story short (I know, too late) I spent an hour and fifteen minutes to make what should have been about a 20 minute trip.
Then I got to the school.
Oh. my. word.
For the love of all that is educationally holy.
And holy is the operative word, since the training was being offered at a private parochial school.
The kids were in uniform. All of them.
The kids were quiet.
During class time, there were no students in the hall. None.
They don't have a cafeteria. They have a dining experience. Complete with chefs in tall white hats and spotless aprons. No little old ladies in hairnets here.
The floors and walls were immaculate.
No graffiti.
Even the student work on display was in glass cases, like artwork, instead of hanging crookedly with masking tape from the edges of doorways.
It was quite an experience.
The training? Oh, no, that part was pure yawning boredom.
But the school, and its students, were a vision of what school can be.
Well....at least....if you are not teaching in the lowest performing school in the district.
Sigh.
Now at least I can dream....
Because it is about teachers. and training.
Yesterday I was sent to a training session in a suburb north of here for a day-long training session. Now by miles, it is only about...umm...well, about 15 miles, I guess.
But time-wise....that is a whole other story.
I left home at what I considered to be a reasonably early hour, 7 a.m., especially since I was not due at the training session until 8:00.
However, highways and traffic being what they are, it took me an hour and forty five minutes to get there.
No, I did not get lost.
Yes, I had a map.
The problem was the traffic. When I got onto the highway, traffic was rolling along at a reasonable 55 mph. Before we reached the first exit, it had slowed to a crawl. I mean, I can walk faster than we were moving.
And I am not a fast walker.
I was behind an 18 wheeler, when I noticed that he was ever so gradually drifing into the next lane. Figuring that he must know something I did not know, I followed him.
And as we rolled past at a brisk 5 miles per hour, I saw the first of our problems--a small car dead to the world, not even blinking his hazard lights.
As we crept along toward the next exit, I began to see flashing red and blue lights, so I figured we were approaching a wreck.
I saw lots of flashing lights, but no wreck. Either it was totally camoflaged, or imaginary, or already cleaned up except for the police cars, or I just missed it as I whizzed by at 15 mph.
To make a long story short (I know, too late) I spent an hour and fifteen minutes to make what should have been about a 20 minute trip.
Then I got to the school.
Oh. my. word.
For the love of all that is educationally holy.
And holy is the operative word, since the training was being offered at a private parochial school.
The kids were in uniform. All of them.
The kids were quiet.
During class time, there were no students in the hall. None.
They don't have a cafeteria. They have a dining experience. Complete with chefs in tall white hats and spotless aprons. No little old ladies in hairnets here.
The floors and walls were immaculate.
No graffiti.
Even the student work on display was in glass cases, like artwork, instead of hanging crookedly with masking tape from the edges of doorways.
It was quite an experience.
The training? Oh, no, that part was pure yawning boredom.
But the school, and its students, were a vision of what school can be.
Well....at least....if you are not teaching in the lowest performing school in the district.
Sigh.
Now at least I can dream....
Friday, February 02, 2007
Share the Love
Somebody likes me!
Somebody reads me!
And somebody nominated me for an award!
Of course, the Jeana Likes Me Award, my first, is incomparable, but it is nice to know that someone besides my daughter reads my blog!
If I sound a bit giddy, it's because I am. It's so exciting to know that I'm not just talking to myself here, and that someone out there not only reads, but wants to keep on reading my ranblings. Thank you!!!
Now that I have all that out of my system,
Go Vote!
Friday, January 12, 2007
Somebody in Home Depot has a screw loose!
My husband and our son Scott are building a cabin on our lake lot. Scott came down for several days between Christmas and New Year's Eve, and they were able to get all the beams and joists attached to the piers. They also started running the plumbing, and since I was going to town anyway, would I stop at Home Depot and pick up a few things for them, so they could keep working?
I said sure, I didn't mind at all, I was going anyway.
Then, when I got to Home Depot, my cell phone rang.
"Honey, while you are there, get us some screws."
Now to me a screw is a screw.
But to a builder, apparently, there are hundreds of kinds and sizes of screws.
Just to add to the complications, there are also bolts, which are different from screws.
And there are washers.
And nuts.
And hex head.
And flat head.
and slotted.
and of course non-slotted.
And let us not forget Phillips head.
In addition, each of these items comes in a wide variety of lengths and diameters.
In fact, Home Depot has an entire wall devoted to screws.
Screws in bags.
Screws in boxes.
Bolts.
Nuts.
Washers.
Oh. my. word.
Obviously, I was going to need help with this errand.
I called my darling back and asked him to tell me again the kind of screws he needed.
"Quarter twenty flat head slotted one and a quarter screws."
Now I ask you. Does that sound intelligible?
Yes, the words are in English, but what the heck does it mean?
So I asked a passing person wearing an orange vest and a preoccupied expression.
He told me he was on his way to load something for another customer, but would be right back, and to please wait for him on aisle twenty.
Well, I can do that.
So I go to aisle twenty and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Finally, another person in an orange vest walks by. I told him what I needed. He pulled a four inch bolt from a box and handed it to me.
I said, "but I need a quarter twenty flat head slotted inch and a quarter."
He said, "Well, it has a flat head."
And kept walking.
So I waited some more. Finally, the first guy came back, this time loaded down. He glanced at me, noticed I was still patiently waiting, and said he would be right back as soon as he loaded this order.
I waited some more.
Finally I began to examine the thousands of packages of screws and bolts hanging on the wall. Each package was neatly labeled by size and description. But somehow I could not figure out the organizational pattern. Surely there was a pattern. Well, I am pretty sure there was. The problem was that I could not see it. I could not figure out what the pattern was.
Three more phone calls to my darling, thirty more minutes of waiting, watching for an orange-vested person, and I finally began at the beginning, and looked at every package.
Every single package.
Every single package of the hundreds and thousands hanging on the board.
Finally, I found it.
"Quarter twenty flat head slotted inch and a quarter."
Only it was actually inch and a half.
So I called again. He said yeah that would do, and oh by the way, he also needed washers and nuts to fit.
At that point I had a fit.
Then I noticed that the nuts were in the package. I told my darling that he would have to find his own washers, because my head was about to explode. He graciously agreed to find his own washers on his next trip to Home Depot.
By the time I left Home Depot, I was exhausted, and forgot why I had come to town in the first place.
But by golly I can tell you where to find any screw Home Depot carries.
I said sure, I didn't mind at all, I was going anyway.
Then, when I got to Home Depot, my cell phone rang.
"Honey, while you are there, get us some screws."
Now to me a screw is a screw.
But to a builder, apparently, there are hundreds of kinds and sizes of screws.
Just to add to the complications, there are also bolts, which are different from screws.
And there are washers.
And nuts.
And hex head.
And flat head.
and slotted.
and of course non-slotted.
And let us not forget Phillips head.
In addition, each of these items comes in a wide variety of lengths and diameters.
In fact, Home Depot has an entire wall devoted to screws.
Screws in bags.
Screws in boxes.
Bolts.
Nuts.
Washers.
Oh. my. word.
Obviously, I was going to need help with this errand.
I called my darling back and asked him to tell me again the kind of screws he needed.
"Quarter twenty flat head slotted one and a quarter screws."
Now I ask you. Does that sound intelligible?
Yes, the words are in English, but what the heck does it mean?
So I asked a passing person wearing an orange vest and a preoccupied expression.
He told me he was on his way to load something for another customer, but would be right back, and to please wait for him on aisle twenty.
Well, I can do that.
So I go to aisle twenty and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Finally, another person in an orange vest walks by. I told him what I needed. He pulled a four inch bolt from a box and handed it to me.
I said, "but I need a quarter twenty flat head slotted inch and a quarter."
He said, "Well, it has a flat head."
And kept walking.
So I waited some more. Finally, the first guy came back, this time loaded down. He glanced at me, noticed I was still patiently waiting, and said he would be right back as soon as he loaded this order.
I waited some more.
Finally I began to examine the thousands of packages of screws and bolts hanging on the wall. Each package was neatly labeled by size and description. But somehow I could not figure out the organizational pattern. Surely there was a pattern. Well, I am pretty sure there was. The problem was that I could not see it. I could not figure out what the pattern was.
Three more phone calls to my darling, thirty more minutes of waiting, watching for an orange-vested person, and I finally began at the beginning, and looked at every package.
Every single package.
Every single package of the hundreds and thousands hanging on the board.
Finally, I found it.
"Quarter twenty flat head slotted inch and a quarter."
Only it was actually inch and a half.
So I called again. He said yeah that would do, and oh by the way, he also needed washers and nuts to fit.
At that point I had a fit.
Then I noticed that the nuts were in the package. I told my darling that he would have to find his own washers, because my head was about to explode. He graciously agreed to find his own washers on his next trip to Home Depot.
By the time I left Home Depot, I was exhausted, and forgot why I had come to town in the first place.
But by golly I can tell you where to find any screw Home Depot carries.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Holiday Highlights 2006
I wrote several posts about Christmas memories, so thought I would write now about things I think I will remember about this Christmas.
Of course, if I don't remember by next year, I can always come back and read this post.
Spending several days at Jeana's house, with all our kids and grandkids.
Playing Senior Moments, a gift from Jeana and family, which requires short term memory. Of which I seem to have not much.
Listening to a Christmas story read aloud, and watching the children's faces, softly lit by the Advent candles and the tree lights.
Making cornbread dressing with my daddy's mama's recipe.
Going shopping with my girls and their girls.
Buying my grandbabies yarn and crochet hooks, because they want to learn to crochet.
Watching Katoushka and Lolly sing and dance "Sisters" (from White Christmas, one of my favorite holiday movies).
Listening as Sunshine played "I'll Be Home for Christmas" on the piano.
And Big D and A-man playing "The Little Drummer Boy" as a duet on their violins.
Seeing Pie show Buddy how to crochet--she's left-handed, so teaching her is a challenge for me, but Buddy is ambidextrous, so I'm curious to see with which hand he crochets.
Devan and the other boys zooming down the zip line from the tree house, screaming with delight.
Holding hands in a family circle, praying before meals.
Having my mother and her friend join us, even if only for a few hours.
My husband singing Christmas carols softly, holding my hand, and watching the barely controlled chaos that is our family Christmas.
Spending our last Christmas Eve at my mother's house. What a bittersweet moment, knowing that this house will be sold, the house where she has lived for 40 years, the house my late daddy built. Reminding myself that she is moving on to a new and happy stage of her life, with a man we all love and respect. Realizing that with more than 50 members, we have just outgrown Christmas at anyone's house, and knowing that it won't be the same at another place, but reveling in the fact that we still want to get together, and will find another place.
Rejoicing that our two soldiers
both returned from war this year, safe and healthy.
Realizing that, as usual, I made some mistakes on the family calender, and making notes to myself to correct them next year.
Remembering past Christmases, with those who have gone home before us, and with whom we will be reunited one day.
Watching a video of our family Christmas from 25 years ago.
My parents had four kids. We are all still with our spouses, and among us produced 12 children, who in turn have married and had children--16 and counting, with another due in the spring. Our oldest grandchild will be 15 in the spring, so we are a few years from expecting great grandchildren, but oh how quickly the years go by, and how soon all our grandbabies will no longer be babes, but adults, with families and lives of their own. I pray that we will continue to share each other's lives, and to make new memories to add to those of Christmases past.
Merry Christmas, and the happiest of New Years.
Of course, if I don't remember by next year, I can always come back and read this post.
Spending several days at Jeana's house, with all our kids and grandkids.
Playing Senior Moments, a gift from Jeana and family, which requires short term memory. Of which I seem to have not much.
Listening to a Christmas story read aloud, and watching the children's faces, softly lit by the Advent candles and the tree lights.
Making cornbread dressing with my daddy's mama's recipe.
Going shopping with my girls and their girls.
Buying my grandbabies yarn and crochet hooks, because they want to learn to crochet.
Watching Katoushka and Lolly sing and dance "Sisters" (from White Christmas, one of my favorite holiday movies).
Listening as Sunshine played "I'll Be Home for Christmas" on the piano.
And Big D and A-man playing "The Little Drummer Boy" as a duet on their violins.
Seeing Pie show Buddy how to crochet--she's left-handed, so teaching her is a challenge for me, but Buddy is ambidextrous, so I'm curious to see with which hand he crochets.
Devan and the other boys zooming down the zip line from the tree house, screaming with delight.
Holding hands in a family circle, praying before meals.
Having my mother and her friend join us, even if only for a few hours.
My husband singing Christmas carols softly, holding my hand, and watching the barely controlled chaos that is our family Christmas.
Spending our last Christmas Eve at my mother's house. What a bittersweet moment, knowing that this house will be sold, the house where she has lived for 40 years, the house my late daddy built. Reminding myself that she is moving on to a new and happy stage of her life, with a man we all love and respect. Realizing that with more than 50 members, we have just outgrown Christmas at anyone's house, and knowing that it won't be the same at another place, but reveling in the fact that we still want to get together, and will find another place.
Rejoicing that our two soldiers
both returned from war this year, safe and healthy.
Realizing that, as usual, I made some mistakes on the family calender, and making notes to myself to correct them next year.
Remembering past Christmases, with those who have gone home before us, and with whom we will be reunited one day.
Watching a video of our family Christmas from 25 years ago.
My parents had four kids. We are all still with our spouses, and among us produced 12 children, who in turn have married and had children--16 and counting, with another due in the spring. Our oldest grandchild will be 15 in the spring, so we are a few years from expecting great grandchildren, but oh how quickly the years go by, and how soon all our grandbabies will no longer be babes, but adults, with families and lives of their own. I pray that we will continue to share each other's lives, and to make new memories to add to those of Christmases past.
Merry Christmas, and the happiest of New Years.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Folger's Vanilla Biscotti
An empty package of Folger's Vanilla Biscotti has been on my kitchen cabinet for quite some time. I saved it to remind me that I needed to write a product review, but I kept putting it off, mostly because when I saw it was when I was working in the kitchen, and not when I was at the computer.
However.
Folger's e-mailed me months ago and asked if I would be willing to write a product review, in exchange for receiving a free sample. I said, why sure, because I love free stuff.
So they sent it
And I drank it.
And it was good.
In fact, it was very good.
I have only been a coffee drinker for a few years. In fact, since I started low carbing. Cutting back on sugar had the strange side effect of enabling me to appreciate the flavor of coffee.
I always loved the aroma. I often said that if coffee tasted the way it smells, I would love it.
But of course it didn't.
Until now.
Folger's vanilla biscotti tastes exactly the way it smells.
A lovely rich vanilla flavor.
I drank it every day for a week, and didn't get tired of it.
I would still be drinking it, if not for the price. At forty-five cents an ounce, it's just more than I am willing to spend for my daily caffeine fix.
But for special occasions, yes indeedy. Yummy.
And by the way, if you folks at Folger's have anything else you would like to send me a free sample of, I will be happy to write any number of product reviews.
Of course, I can't guarantee that they will all be as good as this one.
At least, not unless you are going to send packets of cash in plain brown wrappers.
In that case, we can talk.
However.
Folger's e-mailed me months ago and asked if I would be willing to write a product review, in exchange for receiving a free sample. I said, why sure, because I love free stuff.
So they sent it
And I drank it.
And it was good.
In fact, it was very good.
I have only been a coffee drinker for a few years. In fact, since I started low carbing. Cutting back on sugar had the strange side effect of enabling me to appreciate the flavor of coffee.
I always loved the aroma. I often said that if coffee tasted the way it smells, I would love it.
But of course it didn't.
Until now.
Folger's vanilla biscotti tastes exactly the way it smells.
A lovely rich vanilla flavor.
I drank it every day for a week, and didn't get tired of it.
I would still be drinking it, if not for the price. At forty-five cents an ounce, it's just more than I am willing to spend for my daily caffeine fix.
But for special occasions, yes indeedy. Yummy.
And by the way, if you folks at Folger's have anything else you would like to send me a free sample of, I will be happy to write any number of product reviews.
Of course, I can't guarantee that they will all be as good as this one.
At least, not unless you are going to send packets of cash in plain brown wrappers.
In that case, we can talk.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Decorating for Christmas
Jeana's posts about Christmas got me to thinking about Christmas trees and decorating for Christmas. The trees I grew up with were real trees. My daddy nailed crossed pieces of wood to the bottom to make them stand up. We decorated with tinsel, glass balls, tons of icecicles, and lots of angel hair, which always made me itch but I loved adding it to the tree. The angel on top floated in a cloud of feathers and angel hair, and it was my favorite decoration.
The tree skirt was a layer of cotton wool sprinkled with glitter. Nearby, a block of styrofoam was the foundation for a tiny sleigh and reindeer, sliding along among a forest of miniature trees.
When Wick and I married, we started with a small tree, two boxes of blue glass balls, and blue and gold tinsel. It was the color coordinated tree pictured in store windows, and to frame it we outlined the front window of our apartment in blue lights. But somehow the tree looked sort of sad to me--sort of sterile and impersonal.
As the years passed, we added decorations we received as gifts, or found on clearance, and then came the decorations our children made. We also started the tradition of giving each child an ornament, so that when our kids married, they would have the beginnings of their own Christmas traditions.
One year I made an Advent calendar for the kids. I didn't have a pattern; I just started cutting out shapes from felt and gluing them together. I put a green tree shape on a piece of red for the background. The calendar part was outlined in gold rickrack. For each day from December first to December 25, there was a different ornament made of felt, gold paint, and glue for the tree: candy canes, fancy globes, a toy soldier, a teddy bear, a gold star, an angel. Each day we moved one ornament from the calendar at the bottom to the tree, and counted the days left until Christmas.
There were always Nativity figures, as ornaments on the tree, or sitting on a table, and always the one with the wooden stable and all the animals gathered around the manger containing the baby Jesus under the tree.
Another year I made stockings with bears on them, and a matching tree skirt. Jeana made a lap quilt from matching fabric, for my mother, and we made fabric ornaments for the tree.
One year we spent hours painting wooden cutout ornaments for the tree. I still have a few of those.
Once our kids were grown and married, I started making new stockings. For the girls, angels in crimson robes with gold sashes. For the boys, angels in red shirts and denim pants. Each one has a gold felt star with the appropriate name on it. I still fill each stocking, no matter where we have our family Christmas, with miniature candy bars, nuts, tiny toys, socks, and a small stocking gift.
When our kids were small and our pockets empty, we made most of our gifts. One year we saved pretty glass bottles and jars, soaked off the labels, spray painted the lids gold, and added some decals for decoration. I bought a big box of Epsom salts. We added a little food coloring, some perfume, stirred well, and poured the bath salts into the bottles and jars as gifts for Nanaw, Grandma, and all the aunts.
As our family grew, I started making a family calendar every year. Everyone's birthday, all the anniversaries, each new baby, the special days of our lives, laid out on the new year's calendar. One for each family unit. All year long, as I check my calendar for appointments, I also see the dates for each family member. I stop to say a prayer, try to remember to send a card, shop for a gift, or make a phone call. The family calendar keeps them always before me, always on my mind and in my heart and in my prayers.
After all, the tree, the decorations, the gifts, it's all about family. The family we came from, the family we created together, the family that has grown each year, the love we have for each other, and the blessings God has bestowed on us.
Merry Christmas. May God bless us, every one.
The tree skirt was a layer of cotton wool sprinkled with glitter. Nearby, a block of styrofoam was the foundation for a tiny sleigh and reindeer, sliding along among a forest of miniature trees.
When Wick and I married, we started with a small tree, two boxes of blue glass balls, and blue and gold tinsel. It was the color coordinated tree pictured in store windows, and to frame it we outlined the front window of our apartment in blue lights. But somehow the tree looked sort of sad to me--sort of sterile and impersonal.
As the years passed, we added decorations we received as gifts, or found on clearance, and then came the decorations our children made. We also started the tradition of giving each child an ornament, so that when our kids married, they would have the beginnings of their own Christmas traditions.
One year I made an Advent calendar for the kids. I didn't have a pattern; I just started cutting out shapes from felt and gluing them together. I put a green tree shape on a piece of red for the background. The calendar part was outlined in gold rickrack. For each day from December first to December 25, there was a different ornament made of felt, gold paint, and glue for the tree: candy canes, fancy globes, a toy soldier, a teddy bear, a gold star, an angel. Each day we moved one ornament from the calendar at the bottom to the tree, and counted the days left until Christmas.
There were always Nativity figures, as ornaments on the tree, or sitting on a table, and always the one with the wooden stable and all the animals gathered around the manger containing the baby Jesus under the tree.
Another year I made stockings with bears on them, and a matching tree skirt. Jeana made a lap quilt from matching fabric, for my mother, and we made fabric ornaments for the tree.
One year we spent hours painting wooden cutout ornaments for the tree. I still have a few of those.
Once our kids were grown and married, I started making new stockings. For the girls, angels in crimson robes with gold sashes. For the boys, angels in red shirts and denim pants. Each one has a gold felt star with the appropriate name on it. I still fill each stocking, no matter where we have our family Christmas, with miniature candy bars, nuts, tiny toys, socks, and a small stocking gift.
When our kids were small and our pockets empty, we made most of our gifts. One year we saved pretty glass bottles and jars, soaked off the labels, spray painted the lids gold, and added some decals for decoration. I bought a big box of Epsom salts. We added a little food coloring, some perfume, stirred well, and poured the bath salts into the bottles and jars as gifts for Nanaw, Grandma, and all the aunts.
As our family grew, I started making a family calendar every year. Everyone's birthday, all the anniversaries, each new baby, the special days of our lives, laid out on the new year's calendar. One for each family unit. All year long, as I check my calendar for appointments, I also see the dates for each family member. I stop to say a prayer, try to remember to send a card, shop for a gift, or make a phone call. The family calendar keeps them always before me, always on my mind and in my heart and in my prayers.
After all, the tree, the decorations, the gifts, it's all about family. The family we came from, the family we created together, the family that has grown each year, the love we have for each other, and the blessings God has bestowed on us.
Merry Christmas. May God bless us, every one.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Another Chirstmas Memory
When I was little, we lived with my grandmother (mama's mother).
On Christmas Eve, my aunts and uncles and cousins came to spend the
night.
We made pallets on the floor with piles of quilts, and at least
one year I remember sleeping at the foot of the bed, between the
grownups' feet and the wooden footboard.
Somehow during the night, rolled in layers of quilts, I slid down between the footboard and the mattress, and when I woke up, I couldn't figure out where I was, or how to get out of
the tangle of quilts.
Our house had gas heaters, and I remember Granny B warning us
little girls to be careful standing in front of the heaters in our long
flannel nightgowns, fearing that we would catch on fire.
The warm air would lift our gown tails into the air, like hot air balloons.
On Christmas Eve, we had to wait for Granny B to get home from
work before we could officially start Christmas. She worked at
Skillern's Drugstore, and often didn't get home until 10:30 or later, with
stories of men coming in just before the store closed, to buy a box of
candy for their wives or mamas, or a pipe and tobacco for their daddies.
On Christmas Eve, we opened gifts from each other, but the
presents Santa brought didn't arrive until every last child was in bed
asleep. I always tried to stay awake to hear the sleigh bells, which Uncle
Grady solemnly told us he heard every year when Santa landed on the
roof.
One year, Christmas Day came on Sunday, and of course we couldn't miss church, so Santa Claus came early that year. Late Christmas Eve night, my daddy and my uncle Jim took all of us kids to buy fireworks,
and when we got back, Santa had come!
My daddy said he started with our house that year, and that is why he came early.
With so many relatives, and so many children, the floor under
the tree was filled to overflowing with presents on Christmas morning.
Each of us had a stocking, with a whole orange or tangerine that we
didn't have to share, a whole shiny red apple, nuts in the shell, hard
candy, and some kind of toy.
One year we all got paddle balls--paddles with red rubber balls attached by rubber strings. We spent hours trying to hit the balls with the paddles. When the ball came off the string, Daddy or
Aunt Ruth would fix it by pushing a piece of matchstick into the ball
to hold the rubber string in place.
When the elastic wore out, our mamas and daddies collected the paddles so we would stop hitting each other with them, and next time somebody needed a spanking, they would use
the wooden paddle.
More than once, one of us nearly swallowed one of the
little red balls, that were just the right size to go down a little
kid's throat.
My aunt Clorine made the best divinity in the whole world,
sweet, rich, creamy,
melting on my tongue like snow flakes.
Aunt Ruth's fudge was
straight out of dreams of sugar plums.
Fruitcake, studded with sweet
pecans and jewels of candied fruit,
mama's chocolate cake with hard icing,
Granny B's chocolate and lemon merengue pies--
mmmmm.
I can still taste them in my dreams.
On Christmas Eve, my aunts and uncles and cousins came to spend the
night.
We made pallets on the floor with piles of quilts, and at least
one year I remember sleeping at the foot of the bed, between the
grownups' feet and the wooden footboard.
Somehow during the night, rolled in layers of quilts, I slid down between the footboard and the mattress, and when I woke up, I couldn't figure out where I was, or how to get out of
the tangle of quilts.
Our house had gas heaters, and I remember Granny B warning us
little girls to be careful standing in front of the heaters in our long
flannel nightgowns, fearing that we would catch on fire.
The warm air would lift our gown tails into the air, like hot air balloons.
On Christmas Eve, we had to wait for Granny B to get home from
work before we could officially start Christmas. She worked at
Skillern's Drugstore, and often didn't get home until 10:30 or later, with
stories of men coming in just before the store closed, to buy a box of
candy for their wives or mamas, or a pipe and tobacco for their daddies.
On Christmas Eve, we opened gifts from each other, but the
presents Santa brought didn't arrive until every last child was in bed
asleep. I always tried to stay awake to hear the sleigh bells, which Uncle
Grady solemnly told us he heard every year when Santa landed on the
roof.
One year, Christmas Day came on Sunday, and of course we couldn't miss church, so Santa Claus came early that year. Late Christmas Eve night, my daddy and my uncle Jim took all of us kids to buy fireworks,
and when we got back, Santa had come!
My daddy said he started with our house that year, and that is why he came early.
With so many relatives, and so many children, the floor under
the tree was filled to overflowing with presents on Christmas morning.
Each of us had a stocking, with a whole orange or tangerine that we
didn't have to share, a whole shiny red apple, nuts in the shell, hard
candy, and some kind of toy.
One year we all got paddle balls--paddles with red rubber balls attached by rubber strings. We spent hours trying to hit the balls with the paddles. When the ball came off the string, Daddy or
Aunt Ruth would fix it by pushing a piece of matchstick into the ball
to hold the rubber string in place.
When the elastic wore out, our mamas and daddies collected the paddles so we would stop hitting each other with them, and next time somebody needed a spanking, they would use
the wooden paddle.
More than once, one of us nearly swallowed one of the
little red balls, that were just the right size to go down a little
kid's throat.
My aunt Clorine made the best divinity in the whole world,
sweet, rich, creamy,
melting on my tongue like snow flakes.
Aunt Ruth's fudge was
straight out of dreams of sugar plums.
Fruitcake, studded with sweet
pecans and jewels of candied fruit,
mama's chocolate cake with hard icing,
Granny B's chocolate and lemon merengue pies--
mmmmm.
I can still taste them in my dreams.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
A Christmas Memory
This time of year I often fall asleep remembering Christmases past. The earliest Christmas memories I have are from when I was about three.
I remember the ceramic mug a friend of my mother's from church made me, a three-dimensional impression of Santa's face, with a gentle smile. I remember the smell of the Christmas tree, and the crackle of wrapping paper as Mama wrapped mysterious boxes. I remember my grandmother warning me not to go into her closet, telling me that if I did, a spider would get me. I remember riding on Daddy's shoulders through the Sears Roebuck store, to look at the biggest model train set in the world (I don't know if it really was, but that is how I remember it). I remember the tricycle Daddy had to adapt; I was too small for it, and couldn't reach the pedals if I was sitting on the seat. So he screwed blocks of wood to the pedals so that I could push them. It was thrilling, riding around the dining table, leaning forward to see over the handlebars! I remember that I got a little doctor's kit, complete with "medicine" bottles, filled with the little colored sprinkles we normally use to decorate cakes. I promptly spilled some on the hardwood floor in the dining room, and then rode my tricycle through them, grinding the sprinkles into the tire treads, where they stayed forever. I remember the sparkly icecicles, the gold and silver tinsel, the bright lights on the tree.
Most of all I remember the Nativity scene under the tree, and how Mama and Daddy crouched on the floor, holding my hands and letting me gently touch each figure as they told me the story of the baby Jesus' birth.
I love Christmas.
I remember the ceramic mug a friend of my mother's from church made me, a three-dimensional impression of Santa's face, with a gentle smile. I remember the smell of the Christmas tree, and the crackle of wrapping paper as Mama wrapped mysterious boxes. I remember my grandmother warning me not to go into her closet, telling me that if I did, a spider would get me. I remember riding on Daddy's shoulders through the Sears Roebuck store, to look at the biggest model train set in the world (I don't know if it really was, but that is how I remember it). I remember the tricycle Daddy had to adapt; I was too small for it, and couldn't reach the pedals if I was sitting on the seat. So he screwed blocks of wood to the pedals so that I could push them. It was thrilling, riding around the dining table, leaning forward to see over the handlebars! I remember that I got a little doctor's kit, complete with "medicine" bottles, filled with the little colored sprinkles we normally use to decorate cakes. I promptly spilled some on the hardwood floor in the dining room, and then rode my tricycle through them, grinding the sprinkles into the tire treads, where they stayed forever. I remember the sparkly icecicles, the gold and silver tinsel, the bright lights on the tree.
Most of all I remember the Nativity scene under the tree, and how Mama and Daddy crouched on the floor, holding my hands and letting me gently touch each figure as they told me the story of the baby Jesus' birth.
I love Christmas.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Regularly scheduled blogging will return soon
Wick and I went to Branson, MO, the weekend before Thanksgiving. We brought back a major case of food poisoning. Thanksgiving was not even a blip on the radar screen, as we took turns hanging our heads over the porcelain altar (aka the toilet). We missed Thanksgiving at my mother's, with over 50 people, all of whom are her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, for the first time in 37 years. We missed the four-day weekend at Jeana's with our kids and grandkids. We missed Black Friday shopping (which we would have experienced only vicariously, through Scott and Scott relaying their experiences camping out on the Best Buy parking lot). I even missed two days of work on the Monday and Tuesday after Thanksgiving.
Where we got the staphyloccocal infection remains a mystery.
It was, however, the "gift that keeps on giving"---headaches, joint pain, etc. etc. etc. and no I am not going into the details.
Suffice it to say that even now, my mother's cornbread dressing, complete with giblet gravy and cranberry sauce, which she carefully dished up and froze for me since we missed the festivities, still has not been claimed from her freezer.
For now, I am sticking with chicken noodle soup, jello, bananas, and Propel flavored water.
Bleaaahhh.
humbug.
Where we got the staphyloccocal infection remains a mystery.
It was, however, the "gift that keeps on giving"---headaches, joint pain, etc. etc. etc. and no I am not going into the details.
Suffice it to say that even now, my mother's cornbread dressing, complete with giblet gravy and cranberry sauce, which she carefully dished up and froze for me since we missed the festivities, still has not been claimed from her freezer.
For now, I am sticking with chicken noodle soup, jello, bananas, and Propel flavored water.
Bleaaahhh.
humbug.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Nine Weird Things About Me
HolyMama tagged me for this. At first, I thought I would have trouble thinking of nine things. Now I'm thinking....only nine?
1. The pillow I sleep on is flat--really flat, quite worn out, in fact.
2. But I can't sleep unless I have a big fat body pillow against my left side.
3. I still like to sleep with a teddy bear.
4. I want the room to be absolutely dark. As in *no* light at all. No reflections. No lights on tvs that never go off. No lighted alarm clock dials. I'm talking dark, people.
5. I like to sleep in a cold room, winter or summer, under a pure cotton sheet and a home made quilt.
6. I am not an early morning person. Do not talk to me early in the morning. Even if I sleep until 10:00, when I get up it is still early morning, until I have had two cups of coffee with cream and a significant amount of time to actually wake up. Just because my eyes are open does not mean that I am awake and fully functional.
7. During the week I eat the same breakfast every day: two slices of crisp bacon, and an ounce of cream cheese.
8. On weekends I sleep late, and eat brunch, and then only one other meal that day. Brunch is usually an omelet with cream cheese, ham or bacon, onion or chives, sometimes olives, sprinkled with grated colby cheese, topped with On the Border salsa, and two pieces of buttered toast (low carb bread, please), one with lc orange marmalade on it. Oh and coffee. At least three cups. Or two cups of coffee and a cup of cocoa.
9. I am so serious about number 6 that Jeana's kids (my grandbabies) tiptoe around giggling in the mornings, saying, "Shhhh! Quiet! Don't wake up the MiMi monster!"
Which of course wakes me up.
I'm tagging Katie for this meme.
1. The pillow I sleep on is flat--really flat, quite worn out, in fact.
2. But I can't sleep unless I have a big fat body pillow against my left side.
3. I still like to sleep with a teddy bear.
4. I want the room to be absolutely dark. As in *no* light at all. No reflections. No lights on tvs that never go off. No lighted alarm clock dials. I'm talking dark, people.
5. I like to sleep in a cold room, winter or summer, under a pure cotton sheet and a home made quilt.
6. I am not an early morning person. Do not talk to me early in the morning. Even if I sleep until 10:00, when I get up it is still early morning, until I have had two cups of coffee with cream and a significant amount of time to actually wake up. Just because my eyes are open does not mean that I am awake and fully functional.
7. During the week I eat the same breakfast every day: two slices of crisp bacon, and an ounce of cream cheese.
8. On weekends I sleep late, and eat brunch, and then only one other meal that day. Brunch is usually an omelet with cream cheese, ham or bacon, onion or chives, sometimes olives, sprinkled with grated colby cheese, topped with On the Border salsa, and two pieces of buttered toast (low carb bread, please), one with lc orange marmalade on it. Oh and coffee. At least three cups. Or two cups of coffee and a cup of cocoa.
9. I am so serious about number 6 that Jeana's kids (my grandbabies) tiptoe around giggling in the mornings, saying, "Shhhh! Quiet! Don't wake up the MiMi monster!"
Which of course wakes me up.
I'm tagging Katie for this meme.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
We Wanted to Meet
Last weekend was We Wanna Meet, in Ft. Worth. About 2 dozen bloggers got together for a couple of days of eating, laughing, shopping, and getting to know each other.
Most of us had "met" each other through our blogs, so in a sense we already knew each other. How much fun it was to match faces to names, to find out that they were all just as cute, as sweet, and as funny as I had imagined, and to share some time together.
Kelsey (Holy Mama) brought Seth, and a cuter, sweeter little dumplin' you would be hard pressed to find (Seth, not Kelsey--although she is cute, she is too tiny to be called a dumplin'). Our daughter Jeana (http://www.laughter4daystocome.blogspot.com/) graciously consented to her daddy and me coming for lunch on Saturday, mainly I think to prove that we are real, and really as smarty-pants as we appear on her blog.
Lauren (http://ahumbleheart.org/blog/ brought her adorable daughter, who has the most beautiful long hair and the sweetest smile.
Chili (http://donttrythisathome.typepad.com/justdont/) had me laughing so hard my tummy hurt.
Shannon http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/ is as cute as her cartoon, and I recognized her immediately.
Shalee http://shalees.blogspot.com/ is a hoot in real life, just as she is on her blog.
Minnie http://minniemoments1.blogspot.com/ is as cute as a button, and her laugh is infectious--no, not like a disease, but like something you want to catch.
GiBee http://kissesofsunshine.blogspot.com/ brought her little guy, and he is darling--sweet as his mama.
These are just a few of the dear women we met last Saturday at the Ft. Worth Botanic Garden restaurant. The whole afternoon was .....well, it was indescribable.
Meeting total strangers who we felt as if we already knew.
And not a single disappointment in the bunch.
The restaurant is by reservation only, and we had to share the space with other parties, some of whom I am sure must have wondered who we were, and why we were all laughing insanely. They were just totally missing out, not being at our tables.
There was also a wedding going on, and the person who made those arrangements must have lived to regret it. She opted for the front room, which is large and airy, but is also where everyone walks in the front door, and we kept that door swinging all afternoon.
They had the reception buffet and cakes set up in the center room, which is where we had to walk through to get to the ladies room, and we kept that path pretty well populated too.
We tried to get them to share the leftover wedding cake, but they really frowned on that, so of course we had to order our own sinfully rich, sweet, and fattening desserts. I like to think, though, that all the laughing we did worked off a few of the calories. And even if it didn't, it was sooooooo worth it!
Funny, cute, sweet, hilarious, and beautiful inside and out. That's what they are, those mommy bloggers who wanted to meet in Ft. Worth last weekend.
I can't wait to see them again.
Most of us had "met" each other through our blogs, so in a sense we already knew each other. How much fun it was to match faces to names, to find out that they were all just as cute, as sweet, and as funny as I had imagined, and to share some time together.
Kelsey (Holy Mama) brought Seth, and a cuter, sweeter little dumplin' you would be hard pressed to find (Seth, not Kelsey--although she is cute, she is too tiny to be called a dumplin'). Our daughter Jeana (http://www.laughter4daystocome.blogspot.com/) graciously consented to her daddy and me coming for lunch on Saturday, mainly I think to prove that we are real, and really as smarty-pants as we appear on her blog.
Lauren (http://ahumbleheart.org/blog/ brought her adorable daughter, who has the most beautiful long hair and the sweetest smile.
Chili (http://donttrythisathome.typepad.com/justdont/) had me laughing so hard my tummy hurt.
Shannon http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/ is as cute as her cartoon, and I recognized her immediately.
Shalee http://shalees.blogspot.com/ is a hoot in real life, just as she is on her blog.
Minnie http://minniemoments1.blogspot.com/ is as cute as a button, and her laugh is infectious--no, not like a disease, but like something you want to catch.
GiBee http://kissesofsunshine.blogspot.com/ brought her little guy, and he is darling--sweet as his mama.
These are just a few of the dear women we met last Saturday at the Ft. Worth Botanic Garden restaurant. The whole afternoon was .....well, it was indescribable.
Meeting total strangers who we felt as if we already knew.
And not a single disappointment in the bunch.
The restaurant is by reservation only, and we had to share the space with other parties, some of whom I am sure must have wondered who we were, and why we were all laughing insanely. They were just totally missing out, not being at our tables.
There was also a wedding going on, and the person who made those arrangements must have lived to regret it. She opted for the front room, which is large and airy, but is also where everyone walks in the front door, and we kept that door swinging all afternoon.
They had the reception buffet and cakes set up in the center room, which is where we had to walk through to get to the ladies room, and we kept that path pretty well populated too.
We tried to get them to share the leftover wedding cake, but they really frowned on that, so of course we had to order our own sinfully rich, sweet, and fattening desserts. I like to think, though, that all the laughing we did worked off a few of the calories. And even if it didn't, it was sooooooo worth it!
Funny, cute, sweet, hilarious, and beautiful inside and out. That's what they are, those mommy bloggers who wanted to meet in Ft. Worth last weekend.
I can't wait to see them again.
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