Aurora's Light

Creative magic of window displays

2008-12-20T17:36:00.003-06:00

When I was very small, my parents took me downtown Des Moines to see the Christmas windows at Davidson's department store. There were so many people there, admiring the windows, but of them all, I was proudest, for it was my grandfather who had created these displays.

Recently my dad found pictures of those windows, which he posted on his website.

The days of department store window displays are long gone. What draws shoppers now is not the creative magic of illusion, but something else, something less noble, something less Christmas.

Out walking this fall

2008-10-31T10:33:00.007-05:00

On October 17, we went for a fall walk in our little town. If we think we have to drive "up north," to see the fall colors, we may fail to see the beauty that exists right outside our own front door.

Click on the thumbnail below to take you to more pictures.

Fall Walk 2008

Final pictures

2008-09-23T18:03:00.004-05:00

Finally, I have added the final pictures to the web album. I'm sorry for the delay. Once it was actually done, I guess I simply enjoyed being in the kitchen versus taking pictures of it.

Just when you think you're done, you're not

2008-09-08T19:52:00.004-05:00

I should have written this post awhile ago, but I may have been too frustrated. What you see above is a hole in the counter where the sink was, but then wasn't. Here is the brief, sad tale of two sinks.

The first sink was not level, but after shimming and caulking, it looked pretty good. The inconsistency faced the back, so no one would notice. Then we put water in the sink, and after a couple of days we noticed a one and a half inch rusty line starting from the drain--a crack. Our plumber agreed this was not good and ordered a new one.

Sink two arrives and before it goes in the "old" one comes out, only maybe it should have been checked over very carefully. Maybe I should have looked. But I didn't. I was out on the deck trying to stay out of it. I was reading peacefully when Mike came out and said, "You need to come have a look at the new sink," and I could tell by his tone of voice that things were not good.

This one was worse! There was what looked like a chip on the left front corner exposing the cast iron. No caulk would cover that one.

Remember now, the first sink was out in the truck already. Here's where our patience was tested. "No," we said, "You don't need to put the other one back in." But can't we have someone inspect the next sink to make sure it's not flawed.

I'll leave out the really interesting part where we call the plumber and set things up and miss phone calls and all that, but skip to Friday (four days later) when the third and final sink was installed. It's not perfect either, but it's perfect enough.

There were a couple of other glitches, too, after Mike triumphantly tore up the building permit (I think he tempted fate by doing that).

The building inspector decided only fifteen minutes after he left our house for what we thought was the last time that yeah, those two outlets in question need to be GFI outlets. We had to get Steve the electrician back for that.

But the glitch I love best was when the plumber used a hand cart to bring in sink number two instead of waiting for Mike to help him carry it (those cast iron sinks are HEAVY!!) and he nicked up the brand new stair metals. So, I had to call and ask them to pay for replacements. I hate doing stuff like that.

As of August 25, everything was done. It wasn't quite Thanksgiving, but it was close.

Is today the day?

2008-07-29T20:20:00.002-05:00

The plumber came (about three hours later than we expected, but what's a remodel day without some stress, right?) and now the plumbing is done: sink, faucet (old one, but looks new), dishwasher, garbage disposal, toilet in half bath, sink and faucet in half bath.

Sorry there are no pictures yet, but soon.

There is some minor clean up to do, some putzy stuff, touch up paint in the half bath/laundry, and the sprayer leaks, so they're coming back to put a new one on (hopefully soon).

It looks great. It all works. And the days of washing dishes in a tiny bathroom sink are over.

I could almost cry. But no. I am too stoic for that.

Today is July 29, and we have lived without a real kitchen for 2 1/2 months. Today is the day we have it back.

Hallelujah!

Getting close to done now

2008-07-18T09:09:00.003-05:00

The counter went in yesterday. It looks great. And the counter top guy is named Steve, so he's Steve #4.

The only thing left on the cabinets is a door that will come in next week when we're on vacation.

Steve the electrician is coming today to put the vanity light in the bathroom and put the cord on the dishwasher.

The plumbers will be here on Tuesday after we get back. Once that's done, then I think we're done. I will have some minor painting to do, but minor is the key word.

These are exciting times in the Hogue kitchen. I made toast on the counter in the kitchen today. What a pleasure!

We love the hardware

2008-07-07T16:53:00.002-05:00

even though it was not (NOT) included in the price of the cabinets. It's beautiful! For more pictures go to the web album.

Welcome Mya

2008-07-07T16:48:00.005-05:00

Mya Grace was born on June 30. She weighed about 7 1/2 pounds and was 20 inches long. She's got dark hair and looks a lot like her sister Ella did when she was born. More pictures

She's a serene baby so far and we love her, of course. Grandpa now has four girls!

It's starting to look like a kitchen around here

2008-06-25T16:37:00.003-05:00

Here is a good look at our west wall. The cabinets are maple, with natural finish. The doors are inset with raised panels. So far, there is no hardware on, but the doors will have some retro looking latches, not knobs, and the drawers will have cup pulls.

Friday, June 27 is going to be a busy day, too. The carpenters will be here putting up the casings/moldings. The counter guy will come to measure. The window guy will be here to help us figure out our window, which we can't do, apparently. The cabinet guys will be here to put up the two cabinets in the laundry/half bath.

It's looking closer to finished. The floor should be here in about a week, I HOPE! Once that is done, the stove, refrigerator, washer, dryer, and bath vanity can go in.

We leave for Minnesota on June 19, and if it's not all done by then, I may need to have a good scream out in the yard in the dark.

Let me know what you think. Leave a comment!

The painting is "done"

2008-06-22T18:44:00.004-05:00

Click on the picture to take you to the web album to see more pictures. There are better views of the colors: clear yellow in the bath/laundry and morning breeze in the kitchen. They'll really look nice when the rest of the "furnishings" are in place.

The cabinets are scheduled to come tomorrow, June 23, and the electrician will be here to do switches, outlets, and hopefully lights on Wednesday.

What the hail?

2008-06-22T18:43:00.002-05:00

About ten minutes ago, a nasty little hail storm ended. We got only pea sized hail, luckily, but boy did it come down hard. This has been one crazy June!

Mud is good

2008-06-18T07:51:00.004-05:00

Whoever would have thought a kitchen full of mud would be a good thing? Drywall mud, that is. They did the first layer on Friday and now, it is Wednesday and we're ready for the walls to be finished. The boss (Steve) stopped by last night and said it would be, but so far, no one is here. Patience!!!!

I am supposed to be able to paint this weekend, and we've penciled the cabinets in for Monday.

Walls coming on Wednesday

2008-06-09T20:00:00.002-05:00

Although Mike says he'll believe it when he sees it. We had a little trouble getting Steve (#3) the drywall guy to get back to us with an estimate. It took a call to his son (actually his daughter-in-law answered the phone). She pestered him. Steve couldn't be nicer and we hear his work is phenomenal. He's just not so good at office management, voice mail, etc. Oh, well. His price was pretty nice, too.

I am getting excited, because walls will make the space seem like a room again.

I will still be working Wednesday (Friday is our last day), so I hope Mike will take some in progress pictures. If not, I'll post whatever I can.

Minnesota Morning

2008-06-03T18:41:00.001-05:00

My dad made this little video and it got caught in my spam filter at school, which seems a bit like a fish in a net. So, I thought it needed to be released back into the lake.

Sometimes one must venture outside

2008-05-31T19:57:00.003-05:00

It smells fabulous outside. The lilacs are in full bloom.

I thought I'd begin a new public web album: Garden Pictures. I will update it now and then.

Another great day at the Hogue's

2008-05-31T19:54:00.002-05:00

Our carpenters ordered our insulation for us, and for a brief time I really thought they were going to install it for us, but no . . . .

So we did it ourselves, plus stapling the vapor barrier (not shown in this picture).

As of today, we are at a standstill. The next step is the drywall, and we are still waiting for our second estimate.

Window from the outside

2008-05-31T19:52:00.002-05:00

Leslie wanted to know what the window looks like from the outside, so here you go.

We need to finish the drywall before the window can be "unpacked," so what looks like little blocks in the corners are cushions for the between the glass blinds. I'll also paint it before I let the blinds down.

The window is in

2008-05-29T19:11:00.003-05:00

Steve, the carpenter, put the window in today. I make the distinction that it was Steve the carpenter because our electrician is also Steve and we might be hiring a drywaller named Steve, too. Mike thinks that we should only have people named Steve do work for us from now on.

The dumpster is full

2008-05-27T17:58:00.004-05:00

All we can say is, thank goodness it's full. I can't believe we hauled out 12 yards of crap, bit by bit, piece by piece, bucketful by bucketful. It took us five days (I suppose four and a half) to get the demolition done.

In addition to the dumpster, we filled 12 33 gallon trash bags with insulation (the old blown in kind that is not fun to take out of a wall). What a mess.

Today, May 27, the electrician finished the rough in work (or whatever you call it). He'll come back later to do the finish work.

The carpenter was here today also, getting the framing started for the pocket door between the kitchen and the bathroom.

We've still not got a drywall contractor. We're hoping to get a couple more estimates.

Right now, at six p.m., Mike is using the shop vac to clean up sawdust. He feels like anything he can do to help will save money. I hope so.

We've sort of gotten used to living all over and I think losing a kitchen might not be as bad as losing a bathroom. We can still take showers and live a normal life upstairs.

Still, we're in the building up stage now, not the tearing down, and that feels good.

Kitchen update for May 21

2008-05-21T18:43:00.004-05:00

This is the west wall, where the sink and stove will be. It's ready to go. The electrician came on Monday and today. He's got all the boxes in.

Also, I have realized that I cannot do much after a day of work. I realize my teaching job is not strenuous, but I seriously don't have any energy to do demolition after school. I tried to take a few pieces of lath out tonight and it was like I had no muscles at all.

Thank goodness we've got a three-day weekend ahead to finish the demolition.

Mike's "new" job

2008-05-21T18:41:00.001-05:00

Last night Mike asked if I had mentioned in my blog that he was working again at Burkart Ford, though only part time. I guess I didn't mention that. But he is, and it's going okay so far. He's making some money and getting out of the house once in awhile.

Getting there

2008-05-18T20:06:00.004-05:00

It's Sunday night and the wall you see here is actually finished. It was a beast, though. Getting the plaster and lath or sheetrock (both were there) was only the beginning. This was the wall that had it all, including blown-in insulation and some old rolled insulation, and a fan to contend with (that helps keep the dust out so we've not taken it out yet.

There are a few tricky spots yet that await the drywaller's suggestions: a hole in the chimney where a stove pipe probably was at one time is filled with cement; lath in one corner goes into the hallway and we don't want to ruin that wall; and the sloped ceiling under the stairs keeps telling me to leave it alone, that he can put drywall right over that (at least this is what I want to happen).

Tomorrow is Monday. I have to go to work. Maybe I should say I get to go to work. The electrician is coming. Hopefully he will find that the open walls will mean easy work for him.

Since Friday we had the door to the dining room (where the refrigerator is) covered in plastic and taped off. We did not open it until tonight, and even then we just lifted a corner. So for two days we've been walking around to the front door if we need something from the refrigerator. And the coffee maker and microwave are in the family room. Talk about a bad kitchen arrangement. I feel like I'm camping, having to walk outside to get to food.

We've worked hard and there's more to do, but soon, the really dirty stuff will be done.

It's ugly . . . in more ways than one

2008-05-17T20:49:00.002-05:00

We've finished up our second day of demolition. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be. Our kitchen is built so weird. What I mean is that some walls are plaster and lath. Some are sheetrock over old wool insulation. Some are plaster and lath over loose blown in insulation. Thank goodness only the exterior wall is insulated.

I have never seen so many nails. The dust is not that bad, though right now my lungs feel a little hazy. I know we have to do this and it is satisfying to be as far as we are (nearly done with the kitchen and ready to start on the walls in the bathroom), but the weather the last two days has been fabulous and I want to get out in the garden, too.

Our electrician comes Monday and I need to call the carpenter. I want a pocket door between the kitchen and the bathroom so we can have more light and so the door doesn't stick out.

Oh, and we bought (ordered) our new microwave today. It will be nice to have that over the stove and free up counter space. Also, it will give us a fan directly over the stove and a light, you know, like normal people have.

Well, it's nearly nine p.m. and we've not eaten yet. We're going to heat up leftovers and probably go to bed early, just to lie down and stretch out.

So, the bad news is . . .

2008-05-12T18:10:00.003-05:00

that we are going to have to take out the walls in the kitchen and the bathroom. The additional labor, not to mention mess (MESS!!!) will give the electrician an easier job. He's excited. The drywaller likes the odds too. We are the only people who don't like the idea of going down to the studs. C'est la vie.

AND, it was a huge waste of time to take off any wallpaper. I guess that we tally that up as inexperience? And our carpenter says, "when you take down the walls, you never know what you will find." Hopefully no bodies or?? Because, you know, an old lady died going down the basement stairs a long time ago, so the legend of our house goes, and Laura believes she still haunts us. I have no sense that this is true, but . . . .

See new pictures in the Web Album.

The New Hogue Kitchen is Underway

2008-05-08T17:23:00.003-05:00

Our kitchen renovation began with our commitment to sell the Mustang and our down payment to Wieser's Cabinets the first week in April. We have been slowly but surely doing our part to get the kitchen ready. I am going to update the photo gallery to reflect changes if you're interested. Click on the photo below to see more.

After removing wallpaper from the south wall of the kitchen we found our family "time capsule" in our signatures and comments written on the wall. Grandpa and Grandma Olson helped us with the installation of bead board paneling. We stripped the old cabinet doors, painted the cabinet bases and bead board a rich blue, and wallpapered. That happened in 1995. Kevin and Laura had not graduated from high school yet. The funny thing was what Mike had written: "Boy, this cost too much." He had NO idea.

We're ready now for some very nice maple cabinets, inset style with some cool retro hardware, a black (not granite) countertop, a new laminate floor (oh how we have hated our floor), a new window even (hello shades from the morning and afternoon glare), and more. We'll be moving our stove to the wall by the window (west side) so that we gain a lot more counter space and a more functional space. We are going to have drawers that are easy to open.

I have wanted this for awhile but really didn't think it would ever happen. I don't really believe in meant to be, but this does all seem like things are falling into place in a good way.

Keep watch for updates. The window and sink both arrived today.

Kitchen Renovation 2008

Neglect

2008-05-02T21:05:00.003-05:00

The worst thing about having too many blogs is neglecting some of them. I was bored tonight, so thought I would play around. I wish Blogger would have more themes, and more customizable themes, but this is kind of cool for a nice change.

I hope not to be so neglectful in the future.

Snow day

2008-02-06T16:53:00.000-06:00

This is some winter. We are experiencing a significant weather "event" today, signficant enough for Jim Cantore to have been standing outside the Calatrava today to show the snowfall in Milwaukee. But weather is weather and not always the news. What's news is that this is the "worst" storm in quite awhile. We've more than met our season average for snow and it's only February 6. In Wisconsin that means that we've got at least eight more weeks of winter. Spring? What's spring. We'll go right into summer for awhile first, and then when school lets out, then it will be cool, like spring.

But, lest you think I'm complaining, I'm not. We're all safe and sound, we don't have water in our back yard (like my dad) and we are not homeless from a tornado, or worse.

Maybe all this snow will be good. The water level of lakes has been down lately. Maybe this will fill them up a bit.

A subborn pair

2007-12-29T15:16:00.001-06:00

Olivia and Ella are cousins who are only five months apart in age. They are both strong-willed little girls who bring us great joy. Olivia is definitely an alpha female, and she loves to instruct. For example, this Christmas, Ella was admiring the tree, but also touching all the ornaments. I gently asked her to look, but not touch. Olivia must have heard me because she soon came over and told Ella, calmly, but with authority, "When people have trees, you don't touch 'em." Ella listened and just as soon as Olivia turned to walk away, she stuck one finger out in defiance to touch. I laughed inside at Ella's resistance to her cousin's admonition. I feel as if I would have done exactly as Ella did, thinking as I did so, "You can't tell me what to do." And yet, I would also have done exactly as Olivia did and instruct a younger sibling or cousin. I was always bossy, too.

Another thing made me see myself in Olivia this Christmas. We were given pictures of the girls and in one Olivia has a bit of a pout on her face. The pose was near the end of the session apparently and she was tired of smiling for the camera. A bribe from her dad got her to stay to be photographed, but he could not get her to smile. In the picture, her eyes are a bit red, her cheeks flushed and she looks somewhere between petulant and down right mad. But the result is precious and lovely all the same.

I think of myself at five years old, at my birthday party in the backyard with grandparents in attendance. I am in a pretty red dress and I am crying my eyes out, just because someone wanted to take my picture.

Stubbornness is a fine quality. It translates into determination and endurance, both necessary qualities for success in life. Of course, we stubborn ones must know when to bend and when to break for those we love. And we do. We learn. We grow. And the way is sometimes tearful, but mostly wonderful. Mostly fun.

Mackinac Experience

2007-07-31T16:40:00.000-05:00

This isn't a very good picture of the Mackinac Bridge on its 50th birthday, but I did take it myself; it's not a postcard. And we crossed it on the day of the big celebration, although we were on our way home and did not stay for the festivities.

I feel like I'm the last person to have had the Mackinac Island experience. All I can say is, "are we going again next summer?" I could live there, horse poop and all. After all, what do you think makes all those flowers grow so huge?

We spent three days in Michigan. The first, having just arrived after about a seven hour drive (despite what Yahoo maps says), we just stayed in Mackinaw City and looked in all the shops. We had dinner at Audie's, which had a wonderful white wine from Portugal that complemented our whitefish dinner.

We took the ferry to the island on Thursday and spent six hours there, renting a tandem bike (which I had never riden before) and shopping and eating and simply being amazed at the beauty of the place. Did I say, I could live there. Of course during the summer, there are just thousands of people there everyday, but I think it might be peaceful anyway.

We were lucky to find a great place for lunch. The "bistro" for the Island House Hotel had lawn dining behind the hotel. We were two of only about twelve people there and our table beneath the shade of a tree was perfect, as were our margaritas, as was our food. And it was quiet, away from the bustle of the street.

On Friday, while overcast and even rainy at time, we headed south and west. Our first stop was Petosky, recommended by friends. We "lucked out" for every Friday in Petosky is sidewalk sale/farmers' market. The worst part was finding a place to park, which didn't take as long as I thought it would. We bought cherries and blueberries at the farmers' market and had a fabulous breakfast at a little placed tucked back from the street called Chandlers. Chefs actually cooked for us, a rarity and something I would gladly pay for again and again.

In the afternoon we drove up the Old Mission Peninsula and visited some wineries, tasted some wine and bought two reds and two whites.

Then the sun came out and we found a nice public beach in Traverse City to hang out on for awhile and I read Harry Potter.

It was a great little vacation.

Weed free is no fun

2007-07-07T09:55:00.000-05:00

I am no lawn goddess, but our yard, overall, is weed free. On my walk this morning I realized that our lawn, as far as vegetation goes, is also no fun.

When I was a child, the weeds and plants in the yard provided tools for our imagination. Candy and I used to make salads out of some of the weeds. We never ate them. We knew they were only pretend salads. Isn’t this a healthy reality check for children? Of course the flowering weeds provide bouquets for Barbies and for mom. Who hasn’t given Mom a beautiful bouquet of lush dandelions? And she loved it right.? Well moments of joy like that don’t just grow freely in your backyard. Oh, wait a minute. They do. Or they used to.

10 fun things about a weed-filled yard:

Open and close the little yellow flower heads of the Yellow Meadow Vetchling (pictured above). This is just fun.
Make necklaces out of morning glory vines or Convolvulus, Great Bindweed (get up early).
Make salads out of the leaves of the Great Plantain. The plantain’s shoots, tall spikes with little beadlike seeds, are fun to strip off to add to the salad like little veggies.
Dandelion leaves are also essential in a pretend salad. They add a mixed-greens look. They are also healthful in a real salad.
The tall stemmed yarrow, feverfew, and daisies make beautiful arrangements in a vase, literally. Their leaves are spicy and fragrant and make a nice potpourri for the playhouse or makeshift tent. I have heard they also keep insects away.
Dandelion flowers have countless uses from bouquets to turning your sister’s nose yellow.
Eat clover leaves. They’re sour. When you’re sick of that, look for one with four leaves. You could get lucky. While you’re playing with clover, smell the flowers. Do this often so that when you’re an adult, one whiff of the clover flower will transport you back in time.
The chicory flower is one of the most beautiful blues in the world. Add it to your bouquets. Or make a bracelet out of the flowered stalk.
Blow wishes with a dandelion puff ball.
Learn about weeds and plants. Just by writing this, I did.

Nice sites for learning about weeds.

http://www.theseedsite.co.uk/weeds.html

http://www.dgsgardening.btinternet.co.uk/weedlf.htm

http://128.104.239.6/uw_weeds/extension/weedprofiles.htm

Transcendence

2007-06-28T18:24:00.000-05:00

Picking raspberries is a transcendental experience. I like to go out early, before nine. It is best if it is sunny, but not too hot. One cannot wear sunglasses though. It is impossible to tell the ripe from the unripe with sunglasses on.

I pick each berry one at a time, holding my container in the other hand. I suppose some would say that this nearly daily routine could be tedious, but I like to think of it as meditation time, and so to rush it would be counter productive. Each berry must be ready to pick. If the berry requires a tug, it wants to stay a day longer on the stem. Let it be.

There are also berries that must be rejected. Perhaps they got sunburned. Those who hide themselves well will become overripe. I toss those to the ground and they may produce a new plant or simply nourish the soil. None are ever really worthless.

The birds will help themselves to a few, but the nearby mulberry tree is a more enticing lure than my berry bushes. I have never needed to protect them from the birds.

The rabbits are another thing altogether. They eat the woody canes in winter and essentially destroy my new crop. The new fence worked beautifully.

The work I put into managing my berries adds to my enjoyment of picking them. There is weeding and watering, of course, but in fall, the old canes must be removed and the new growth needs pruning. The wayward shoots need to be tamed in spring. But, the reward for my labor is vigorous and healthy berries. I have far too many for my own needs, as usual.

As I pick each berry, I know that I will give many of them away. This too is worth working for, since my raspberry gifts, whether fresh, in desserts, or in jam are received with such enthusiastic joy that every effort on my part is worth it.

The best part of raspberry season, besides the transcendental moments when I am alone with them in the sun and solitude is when Olivia and Ella and someday Shelby and whoever else may come along, wander out to pick and eat them. Sometimes I think that I have worked all these 17 years to maintain the raspberries just waiting for granddaughters to be excited by the prospect of “another one.” I suppose that one day they will be less enchanted by the presence of fresh raspberries just right there to reach out and take, but right now, they think it is wonderful and yummy.

Early Raspberries

2007-06-20T17:38:00.000-05:00

There is nothing I would rather do this time of year than work with the plants in our yard. And there is a lot of work to do. Sometimes I wonder if I will be able to do all of this when I am older. I spent three hours yesterday weeding and de-grassing the grapes. I had let it go too long, so the punishment is mine.

The raspberries are early--like two-three weeks early. It is still June and I picked about a cup of berries today--not a lot, I know, but for June, it is. We've been eating our lettuce and I planted more today. I have three squash plants that I hope will bear fruit.

I am off for a road trip with my mom tomorrow, and it will be fun. But the yard still needs attending to.

All things in their own time.

It's raining and it is a good day to write

2007-06-03T15:53:00.000-05:00

I cannot even believe it, as Olivia would say, but I haven't written in this Blog in awhile. Let's see, what has happened since? Well, only that Shelby was born on April 4. She is our 3rd granddaughter and a stunning beauty as are the other two. She started smiling about two weeks ago. We love her, of course.

It has been a good spring. In two weeks I can say goodbye to grading papers, but as it was raining today, I finished more independent reading booklets than I thought I would have. So, I will be further ahead tomorrow, which is good.

Beginning last weekend when Dad was here, we re-landscaped the west side of the house. Just before the hard rain fell, I got everything planted. Whew! My neighbors like the results. I also think it looks really great. We put in some shrubs and some day lilies and replanted all the bulbs that were there: tulips, a few narcissus, and star flowers. I am sure none of them had been divided in awhile. I know I never did, and we've lived here 17 years. So they're all detangled now and in looser soil, not in compacted clay (how they ever popped their heads up in those conditions and bloomed is a mystery). I have taken all the iris out and most of them will find a new home on the east side of the house, my next project. I gave some to Shana and some to my neighbor who put them where I can still enjoy them.

A rainy day invites reflection and today I feel blessed. Life is indeed good.

What do you want?

2007-02-07T19:46:00.000-06:00

About two years ago, my doctor asked me a very simple question. She asked, "What do you want?" Sometimes the simplest things are the most compelling. Of course, since it was such a simple question, I had to ask for clarification. "What do you mean?"

She meant, what do I want for myself, for my life. Beyond that, what do I want for my health in that vision.

I thought about all of that for some weeks. She'd been warning me about my bad numbers--weight, cholesterol and blood sugar--all leading me to diabetes. I didn't want that.

Then I realized that I needed to answer the opposite question. What don't I want?

I don't want diabetes.
I don't want to be fat and tired.
I don't want to take a lot of drugs--Lipitor etc.
I don't want to die too young.
I don't want to be old.

So, then, how would my life have to change?

I am now walking about 15 miles a week on my treadmill or outside in nice weather, though I have built up to that. I started much slower. I am using hand weights for strength. I am eating much more carefully. I use Selfdietclub.com to keep me honest with my calories. It's so easy to underestimate how much I really eat. New calorie levels give me a better sense of what I need to feel full. I still eat anything I want, but I don't have to have ice cream every Sunday. (And Ben and Jerry's frozen yogurt is really good, with a lot less fat).

The result is that since then, I have lost 21 pounds. All the cliches are true. Eat less--exercise more. Losing weight is a slow process that comes about as a result of life changes.

I still have down days. When the scale goes back up a bit, I get frustrated. And I'm not near my goal (I would like to lose 20 more pounds), but as of today, I have crossed over the halfway mark. That makes me feel really good. My BMI is still classified as overweight, but I'm happy to say it's no longer in the obese category. I have come a long way. I look better now than I have in a long, long time. And what's more, I feel better, too.

My motivation comes from many things:

I love to wear nice clothes. This is definitely more fun when I think I look good in them.
I have more energy and less stress.
My second chin is almost gone.
I have some muscles. : )
Others are noticing.
I may even be excited to get a new swim suit.
My bad numbers are turning to good numbers, without drugs, and my doctor is proud of me.

Mostly, my motivation comes from my granddaughters. I want to be a young grandmother for them. I don't want to be too tired to run and play. There are two pictures I see when I walk on my treadmill. One is of the two of them. It is sweet and a joy to look at. The other is of my sister Candy and me with our two grandmothers. I miss them. I wish I could have known them longer.
It's all of this that keeps me going.

Is it a sign

2006-11-28T21:15:00.000-06:00

that almost each time I come back to my computer the same picture is on the screen saver slide show, the one of my sister holding Ella, our second granddaughter? It is such a sweet picture and there is a gentle quality of summer light that makes me feel warm and weightless all at the same time. And this picture exudes love, too. I love this picture. I am glad to see it often.

As for a sign?? A message to me how much my sister means to me, how much I love her--yeah, I think it's a sign.

Studio 60

2006-10-17T20:38:00.000-05:00

This is a great show. I find myself hanging onto every word. It's not that the actors are irrelevant--they're not. They're great (and I don't know why, but I love Matthew Perry). But the reason to watch is the writing--the writing is amazing. And tonight, was the best...so far. Harriet's story, Jordan turning down crap, Sting singing Fields of Gold and playing the lute. I didn't want it to end. When does television do that?

Timothy Busfield is great. Amanda Peet. Everyone--down to the least character. And that opening scene with Judd Hirsch. Wow. Talk about Shock and Awe, in a good way.

I think Aaron Sorkin is a genius. He's all about the right stuff. Either that or he has my demographic group pinned so carefully that he knows exactly what to write to draw me in.

Television is too much about the lowest of who we are instead of about finding ways to find the best in who we are and who we could be.

I think of the violence in schools this year. Most schools are safer than students' homes. But perhaps the nation thinks schools are dangerous places (let's arm our teachers! ludicrous). If media covered what is right instead of what is wrong, what would happen?

I know, I know, journalists must tell what is real. But tell it all.

This is a long way away from a pseudo TV review, but one thing Studio 60 is saying so far is that TV should be better than it is.

This goes for news, too, which from what I can see is not news--it's entertainment, choreographed entertainment.

So, whatever. Watch Studio 60. It is fabulous!!!

Pictures of my grandmothers

2006-09-20T19:29:00.000-05:00

are here and there in my house. My grandmothers were big influences on me in many ways. My grandmother Payne (my mother's mother) died too young, lived a too hard life, but she also was so full of joy and fun that I remember her strength and support. My grandmother Therkelsen (my father's mother) lived to be 92, probably older than she expected to live. Her sorrows were that she buried her only daughter and her husband, both too soon. She was someone I always considered sophisticated and worldly, though she would not have thought so. She loved her family dearly.

Both of my grandmothers loved me beyond what I can ever know. How do I know this? I know because of how I love my own granddaughters. It is beyond even what we feel for our own children, for imbedded in that love for grandchildren is our fierce love and pride for our own children, which makes our love more complex and more joyful.

My grandmothers are both gone now, and not knowing if there is a heaven or not, I think of them as living within me somehow. There are spirits among us and theirs are with me. They remind me to be strong. They remind me that times are sometimes hard. They remind me that women understand what must be done and said. They remind me that within me is the will to do what I can do. And they remind me to laugh.

I need this.

Today was a hard day, for no earth-shattering reason really. I just experienced a failure to communicate with someone I work with about something that means a lot to me. I sometimes let frustration evolve into anger and that's not good.

So tonight I passed by Grandma Payne's picture and I knew she was with me. I think she'd probably give me a hug and tell me not to worry about what happened today. I know she would not be diminishing my feelings or saying the situation was not important. But she'd be meaning that in the great view of my life, there is so much more to think about and be happy about. Grandma Therkelsen would be agreeing.

And they are right. I am glad these women are still in my life. I feel their wisdom at important moments. They always know exactly the right thing to say.

Sunflowers

2006-08-22T15:26:00.000-05:00

My neighbor planted sunflowers
as he does every year because
his daughter loves them,
but neither he nor she
are watching the goldfinches
flutter among the giant leaves
in search of the seeds.
Neither of them hears
the little song of the gold birds,
who seem sources of light
even against the radiant
yellow flowers themselves.
Neither of them knows
this is their gift to me.

Summer dwindles

2006-08-15T15:34:00.000-05:00

We returned from a week up at the lake in Minnesota last Friday night, and since then the speed of summer is accelerating. In addition, Mike says "it feels like Fair time," and that, of course, means back to school around here. This summer was more or less blissful. We got a couple of big projects done on the house, worked in the yard (nurturing the raspberries back from near annihilation by the rabbits), visited with family, watched granddaughters grow, and more.

I haven't read much. I suppose I've spent too much time on the computer. But one sometimes needs a break from reading. I have almost finished The World is Flat by Thomas Friedman and it is probably the most important book I've read lately, maybe ever (as a teacher). Every teacher, administrator, and especially parent should read it.

I've also reread Macbeth to see if I want to bring it in to my AP class this year, but I'm feeling rather so-so about it. All that murder. I have decided to let my students pick the play we read. I hope that will work out well in the end.

I did enjoy, immensely, a book of short stories by Alice Munro called Runaway. More about this and other books at Polliwog Journal.

Filling time seems less stressful for me this summer. I think I have really been able to relax and do "nothing." I'm seeing this as a personal milestone for me and know that just as a bear hibernates to ready for the active season I also must rest in order to endure the long days ahead.

I will be teaching an overload again and 2007 will be my 17th year as yearbook adviser. Despite that, I am looking forward to school this year. New freshmen are always an exciting challenge. My upcoming AP class promises to be the best class yet (no exaggeration!) and they're now working on reading and thinking about Sophie's World. And my juniors were one of my favorite freshman classes in recent years--so many good kids there.

I write this while both granddaughters nap and the breeze blows the curtains in and the sun-warmed air invades the house as if it knows we want it here. I know I must treasure each waning moment.

I got bit by a horse

2006-07-09T18:22:00.000-05:00

A percheron no less. We went to watch my neice in a horse show this morning in Illinois. While we waited for her second ride, a woman was struggling to mount her horse and I asked if she needed help.

All I needed to do was to hold the reigns to keep him in place. "He's just a baby," she explained about her beautiful four-year-old, who didn't quite understand yet that he has to stand still if she's going to get in the saddle.

What I didn't expect was for him to bite my thumb. As no damage was done, I come away from the experience finding it more funny than anything. I found out after it happened that I should have smacked him in the face. I don't know if I could have done that. My sister told me later that geldings take a little more rough discipline but mares get their feelings hurt.

My niece already has a wonderful relationship with her four year old mare Nautica, a very pretty thoroughbred who was too slow for the racetrack but who is perfect for a child learning to ride.

It was a fun morning and I enjoy watching horses and people with their horses. The symbiosis needed to succeed should teach us all something about getting along in the world. We have to communicate, listen, teach, and love.

Nature is messy

2006-06-20T21:48:00.000-05:00

Don't get me wrong, I love symmetry too. My sister is a minimalist and symmetry is important to her. As far as plants go, she hates to have a mess. I am speaking of outdoor gardening. My son is somewhat of a minimalist, also. He can't stand to have junk around. Maybe its more pragmatic on his end, I don't know.

Well, to my point about nature. As I was outdoors tonight relaxing by a fire in our chiminea while the twilight hour crept ever so slowly upon us (for these are the blissful longest days of the year--and for those of us who crave light, they are precious days), I was noticing several things about my garden. I had just planted the last (I promise) flowers of the year. I bought a few more annuals and a couple more perennials today and planted them before we started the fire and began to relax. My garden is not elegant. It is not extravagant. But it is also not all that neat and tidy. For one thing, I love spring tulips and daffodils. Besides the fact that they're beautiful in masses when we're so used to snow and grey and bleak, they are symbolically important to me. They come from one bulb. They have one bloom, one fulfilled life before they "die." This transience requires our attention and deserves our humble respect. But then, after flowering, the plants present a problem for the neat-ish gardeners. For in order to have strong bulbs for the next miraculous spring, one must let the greens die back at their own pace, which is somewhat inconvenient for someone who wants those spring things to be done with so the summer things can have their own space.

Right now, my garden has its little moments of beauty nestled amid disarray and dying. Life is beginning and ending.

This is how it must be. This is how it is. I understand the all too human need to create order from chaos, but sometimes, most times, life is simply messy. Life is chaos. Life is change--flux--disorder--and on and on.

Therefore, what is beautiful to us must not be simply the waxy, perfect tulip, but also the golden brown decay of its leaves and stem as they return their nutrients to the soil. Life is beautiful and death is life. It is all one. To know one, we must know the other. Does it follow that we must love both as well?

Little seedlings off into the big world

2006-05-30T18:14:00.000-05:00

Two years ago my neighbor gave me some of the pink heirloom tomatoes he had grown. They were so good that I decided to save some seeds so I could grow my own. This year, not trusting that my "homemade" seeds would germinate, I planted way more than I needed. Even after I pinched back the extras to let the strongest of the bunch develop, I had more little seedlings than I could use. So today, I took about six tiny plants to school for a teacher who said he was interested. Later he told me that since he could only use two, he gave some to two other teachers and hoped that was all right with me. All right? It's wonderful. My little orphans have a home and now others will enjoy their fruit.

I thought about how producing food should maybe be like this. We grow what we can and share what we can't use. We don't charge. We share. Sure, we wouldn't ever grow a banana in Wisconsin, but we can do many fruits. I think of how many of my raspberries wither because I simply can't use them fast enough, or eat them all. Even the birds can't get the surplus.

The other day at lunch, another teacher was surprised that I had started tomatoes from the seeds that I kept from the fruit. "You can do that?" she asked. In my head I was thinking, well of course you can do that. Where do you think seeds come from, Fleet Farm? But people who aren't gardeners, who aren't growers, would not know that I guess.

My first recollection of being a grower was when I was about 11 years old. I planted some lima beans in a patch of city soil near the house that was, as I think about it now, probably as leeched and sterile as dirt can be. But the straggly plants grew and I had some beans. I remember being told that no one likes lima beans, but to me, these lima beans tasted like success, like winning. I've had a fondness for them ever since.

Over the years I have continued to develop my love of growing things. I grow flowers more than vegetables now, but I also grow grapes, raspberries, asparagus and of course, tomatoes. I will never have an immense garden like my great aunt Florence used to have, a garden that seemed like it could feed the entire town, but the pleasure of growing, of working in the dirt, and of sharing the harvest belongs to me nonetheless. I hope I am never too old for this joy.

Doors closing

2006-04-27T20:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my two year term as NEWSPA board president ended effectively. Door closed. Last Monday, the book club that I had been in for three years ended. Door closed. In one week the masters program that I have been in for 18 months will be at an end. Door closed (maybe even gleefully slammed).

As I was driving home tonight from that very class I thought of that old saying about when you close one door another opens, or is that windows? If the saying is even half true, then I should be expecting a door and a half to open for me soon.

I think I am ready to move in transformative ways in my life. I think I am ready step through a new door.

New doors are scary. We are so used to what lies on the other side of the doors we pass through each day, almost so comfortable that we could navigate as if we were blind, that we take what's there for granted.

I think I am ready to walk through a new door, knowing that everything there will be new and different. My steps will be unsteady. My heart will not be bold but timid. My mind will need to be sharp. I will have to pay attention.

I'm ready. I hope the door doesn't squeak too loudly.

Never tiring

2006-04-17T19:14:00.000-05:00

of the view of the Gulf of Mexico from Seahorse Landing, we were excited to arrive again at our favorite spring break destination and were sad, almost mournful, to have to leave.

The weather was perfect this year, hovering around 80 degrees each day. And the sun, the elusive sun (in Wisconsin), was out brilliantly each day as if showing off. I didn't mind even when my tender skin reacted violently against it.

The days were lazy, the evenings early, and the mornings were spent walking literally from one end of the island to the other. We ate great seafood, one of my true pleasures, unfortunately, but I figure that if you're going to eat shrimp and grouper and such, you should get it from its natural environment. I grilled mahi mahi one night, caught the night before I bought it. The filet I chose came from a fish that the girl at the fish market described this way: "he was a long one, wasn't he?" I agreed he was.

The art show was a fun opener to our week. We all wished we had more money and space than we do, but even so, I bought a small, lovely blue bowl, hand-shaped from recycled glass.

Later in the week, I bought three pieces of pottery made by local artists: a tiny lavender vase, a large indigo vase, and a stunning red bowl. All made it safely home, though the rearranging of our other items sent our suitcase weight to 49.5 pounds, just barely under the limit.

On Wednesday, we took a day trip to Rainbow Springs State Park and navigated three canoes down the Rainbow river, marvelling at the peace, the beauty and the absolutely clear water, seemingly as unpolluted as a river in Eden would have been. It was a superb day.

I am not sure why, but this year as we drove away, I seriously wondered if we'd be able to come back next spring also. And it's not just the location that I love so much, it's also our company of good friends that makes the week so great. We are lucky to have been able to go for four years in a row. What I hope is that things will stay the same. What I know is that things change. So, who knows? Today I can only look into the future in small increments of time. Next March or April is a whole lifetime away. Still. . . .

Dead cat

2006-03-13T19:52:00.000-06:00

I am thinking that writing Haiku in my head as I drive to and from work might be a good mental exercise. I thought of calling them The Ditch Poems, as this first one came from something I saw in the ditch. But then, I hate to be too conscribed. : )

Dead cat is really
A chunk of dirty snow
It will melt in spring

Movies

2006-02-21T20:06:00.000-06:00

I won't be totally Oscar ready this year (meaning that I've seen all the nominated movies), but I've seen a few. One problem is that going out to the movies is very expensive and we tend to just go to see movies worthy of the big screen. Sometimes we just really, really want to see a movie and we go. But lately we've been paying $3.95 for our InDemand movies and on our little home theatre, we're pretty happy. So here's what we've seen in the last couple of weeks:

Cinderella Man: Excellent movie. What a great representation of the Depression. It couldn't have been more gritty, I don't think. I'd watch this again.
Crash: I wasn't prepared for how uncomfortable and real this movie is. It is the most honest depiction of racism I've seen. I think that Matt Dillon's character redeemed himself, somewhat, but I don't think he chose his redemption--it was thrust upon him. So then does it count? This is not a happy movie, but it is an important movie.
Hotel Rwanda: Talk about a movie that's not happy! This one hurt so much to watch because it is real. Millions were slaughtered. Racism is not just white America against anyone who isn't. People will always find ways to hate. Of course, what is hate really about? Power? Money? Don Cheadle was amazing in this movie. It was very good and I'm sure I won't be able to watch it again.
The Wedding Crashers: My sister told me she thought this was the funniest movie ever. (She's not-so-secretly in love with Vince Vaughn). It was good, but funniest ever. Not to me I guess. These guys were far too old to be so shallow and crass. I know, lighten up. It was funny.
The 40 Year Old Virgin: First of all, the premise is completely unbelievable. But there were some funny moments, some silly lines. I wouldn't rank it as one of the best movies I ever saw.
Broken Flowers: Now this was just weird. It was good, in a weird way. I liked Bill Murray's neighbor, the wanna be detective, Winston. The movie was a good example of how one's imagine can get the best of one. And I think Don's girlfriend was forcing him to examine the romantic nostalgia of his past and get over it, once and for all. That was cruel and clever. But maybe that's not what really happened after all. Who knows?
The Bad News Bears: Okay, this one was purely for fun and because I kind of like Billy Bob. He was a bad, bad man as Babu would say to Jerry. But after watching Greg Kinnear, he had an epiphany. I just don't know if a rat killing, whiskey drinking, kid exploiting former baseball player would be ready for a real epiphany. Still it was funny overall.
The Constant Gardner: I had no idea what to expect, but this movie was really good. The subject is topical and I have no problem believing that it is being replicated in the real world. I know that Bill and Melinda Gates and even Oprah are spending a lot of money in Africa on health care and to fight AIDS, and I hope that they have some influence over the corporate greed of the pharmaceutical companies. I don't know. After all, when have "we" ever cared about millions of African people.
Munich: Wow! This is violent, but what else could it be? I think it was good that Spielberg wove the story of the abduction and murder of the athletes through the movie. After the main character comes back to Israel to debrief, Geoffrey Rush asks him, well, what did you learn. He expects him to tell him all the names of the contacts he now knows. But he gets no answer at all. I wanted him to say that violence does not solve anything, that violence only begets violence. Meir wanted revenge and to show that Israel was strong. Instead, all the men she sent out on their mission were destroyed by it. The message seems more than important to us after September 11.
King Kong: (though we saw this awhile ago) It was exciting, but there were too many "yeah right" moments. It was a visual roller coaster and I admit that I couldn't really watch the top of the Empire State Building scenes. That's too high up for me. I know it was all fake, but still, I can't watch it. I enjoyed it while we were watching it, but once it was over, it was over. I couldn't take anything away from it, not even the tenderness of the beast falling in love with the beauty. I wouldn't watch this one again. But this was one we had to see on the big screen, so we did.

Surviving the In-Service of '06

2006-02-18T14:27:00.000-06:00

KAJ asked me in an email, "What have you learned today?" Here is my answer. I have learned that the kindness of strangers is necessary to life. Either that, or it is good to prompt small acts of redemption.

Thursday, our teaching staff was at Lakeland College for an In-Service on using data to compel questions, discussions and hypotheses about teaching and learning. As part of the leadership team that planned (for over a year) for this day and the days that would follow, I was not thrilled about the impending blizzard, but hoped, like others there, that we could get some work done before we ventured out in the snow.

We ended up leaving as early as 11:00 (instead of almost four if the weather had been good). It was treacherous driving. Whiteout conditions, eight inches of snow (that had accumulated in only three hours), and me with my little Taurus.

Janis called me, imploring me not to try to make it home in my car. You'll never make, she said. Our good friends in an Explorer were in the ditch. So taking her pleading to heart, I left my car at Lakeland and went home with another teacher who was driving a big 4x4 truck. It was slow going, but I got home safely, and so did he.

The next morning, while windy, was sunny and bright. The roads were remarkably clear. Mike and I loaded up the van with shovels and other things and headed out to retrieve the car. We expected it to be drifted shut; we didn't expect it to be plowed shut. There was a five foot wide by five foot high wall around the car, and nowhere to go with the snow. Standing there looking at how much snow we would have to move to get to the car, Mike said, "This is just mean." They didn't have to plow us in like that. We thought maybe they did it to teach us a lesson or just because they could. After all, who leaves a car in a snowstorm overnight? I began regretting that decision by the moment. But then Mike reminded me, I could be in a similar situation only in a ditch.

We started shoveling. The freezing temperatures had hardened the snow to stone. Then the shovel Mike was using, broke. It wasn't too good to begin with. We would need another shovel. Mike was on his way home when he saw a Lakeland employee driving a little snowblower thing. He stopped and gave him this story. Say, there's a woman in a parking lot over there whose car is plowed in and she's only got a plastic shovel. I don't think she's going to make it on her own. Could you help? The guy said he would.

He arrived in a big truck with a plow on the front and began by plowing away the snow in front of the car as much as he could. That didn't do much. Then he started shoveling the rest of the snow in the front. Mike took the shovel from me and continued what I had started, digging a tunnel to the driver's door. You had to stand on the snow bank and dig down. Finally, he was able to get the car door open. Thankfully, the car started.

I don't know what kind of silly hope we all had to think we'd be able to drive the car out, but we tried. Within a few minutes it was clear that we weren't going to be able to do that. Then the Lakeland guy asked if I wanted him to pull me out.

"Yes, please," I said, thinking "what other options do I have at this point?" So he went to get a chain and we tried to clear away more snow from the front tires.

As he hooked the chain up to the the car and his truck, I was thinking that this might not even work because this parking lot was full and he couldn't back the truck in straight. He was on an angle. But it did work, and our car slowly emerged from its snow cocoon.

"Thank you so much," was all I said to him and he got in the truck and drove off. The place where the car had been looked almost like it had been molded around the car, and the shape of the car left its impression.We would never have been able to shovel it out alone. If we did, it would have taken all day, hours and hours, and it was getting colder and colder. It would have been a Herculean effort, and I have never been much of a Hercules.

We worried about being able to drive it with so much snow packed in the wheel wells, but I didn't have any trouble. As the car started to warm up on my way home, I was grateful for the kindness of strangers. I thought that I should have paid him. He was helping us for nearly an hour. But then I thought, hey wait, what if he was the one who plowed me in to begin with?

When we talked about this later, Mike commented that he had not said which parking lot I was in, just that it was a lot over there, and about how the guy drove immediately to the car as if he knew right where it was. Mike thought, too, that maybe he was the one who plowed us in.

If he was not the one, he was very kind to help us and Karma will repay him. If he was the one, then perhaps the act of freeing us from his trap was an act of redemption. If so, then he will feel better for it. All I know is that I was never so happy to be driving home, warm and safe.

I wonder what it's like. . .

2006-01-31T19:16:00.000-06:00

There is a Matchbox 20 song that goes "I wonder what it's like to be a rainmaker. . .". The song is really about wondering what it would be like to have power, but maybe even more, control. I'm not so worried about either of those things, but tonight I am wondering what it would be like to be in a job where people, as a rule, respect you. Really, there is so much anti-teacher sentiment out there, and the right-wing media has spewed their vitriole against us for so long, that it is no wonder that the public perceives us as incompetent.

Therefore, when you meet with parents, they have, as their foundation for their relationship with you, not the fact that you both care about their kid, not the fact that you have probably more education than the two of them put together, not the fact that you are a professional who, gasp, might actually know what you're talking about. No, none of that. They have at the foundation of their relationship a deep-rooted belief that you are an idiot who gets too much money for working at a part time job (nine months).

How else do you explain the effrontery of parents who treat you as a servant. How else to explain rudeness that they would not dare show to someone they truly respected.

Teachers are a necessary evil it seems. The law says our kids must go to school until they are 18. You gotta have teachers, I guess.

Well it is no wonder that new teachers barely make it past their fifth year. They are not devoted enough, or reminiscent enough to remember a more romantic view of teachers, to stick it out. They see the bullshit for what it is. They realize that they don't have to take the abuse, the disrespect, the hours of tedious work for pay they realize is low when they compare it to what their professional peers in other careers make.

Well one of these days George Bush and all his cronies are going to get their wish. They will have destroyed public education in favor of privitized schooling in America. But you know what, the result will be the ultimate in irony, for who among the corporate ranks will submit to the rigors of educating the masses, who are tired, poor, and in need of compassion. That would be too sordid. After all, no one in the "real world" really wants to be with kids all day, especially other people's kids. They'll pine for the old days when teachers cared and teachers taught instead of tested. They'll romanticize the idea of who we were. They'll beg us to come back.

It snowed!

2006-01-21T09:12:00.000-06:00

I know, it is Wisconsin. Snow isn't supposed to be news. But we haven't had snow since before Christmas and this is just particularly pretty. I took this picture in my back yard. I kind of like the sun glaring in the lens. We also haven't seen much of the sun either, so a day like today just makes you feel wonderful.

No Direction Home

2006-01-17T21:08:00.000-06:00

From *paper,* 9/26/05, after watching No Direction Home, a Scorsese biography of Bob Dylan.

Bob Dylan says of his early prolific years that he wrote a lot of songs in a short time. The process was so new to him and he felt like he was doing something new or that he had found something no one else had found. This got me thinking that I sort of understand this. I'm not saying that I have ever been prolific in writing or that I have ever found something new, but to feel on your own as he must have felt, to feel as if at a particular moment you alone are discovering something unique is an empowering feeling, one that, it seems to me, is a uniquely human feeling, probably a function of our frontal lobe that allows us to perceive beyond ourselves, to project, to invent, to imagine, to, in essense, exist beyond reality. Therefore, it is possible that each of us has, at some time, felt, while in the midst of a new process (or not) as if we have found or discovered (in idea or emotion) something no one else has.

It's an isolating feeling, perhaps the root of existential angst. For if I am the only one who gets "it" right now, at this moment, then I am truly alone.

Another thing I found interesting was the comment about how Dylan had somehow "tapped into the consciousness of the time." (I wonder how a northern Minnesota boy who seemed to have been nowhere could so easily do this, but he did). Dylan was singing what many people felt and could not say. It was as if, this observer pointed out, Jung's idea of collective consciousness was something Dylan had come to know and be a part of.

And this made me think also of the millions of people who aren't Bob Dylan and who aren't me and who may be thinking the same thing at certain moments in their lives--that right now, I am extraordinary. How many people have said, "What I feel and know is nothing anyone else knows"?

I don't exactly know what I am trying to say, but if there is an energy in this discovery, an energy that comes from giving our brains a chance to show what they can do, perhaps, then what happens if that energy is not expressed through art or positive channels, or what happens if it's not expressed expressed at all? What happens to the supression of this great energy of the masses, the energy of collective consciousness? Does alienation turn to despair? Then what? Who is this generation's Bob Dylan who expresses what we feel but cannot say?

Finding old words

2005-12-30T19:20:00.000-06:00

The day after Christmas I got it into my head to clean out a closet, one that hadn't been touched in any important way (except to cram more into it) since we moved into this house over 15 years ago. I tossed out all but one copy each of the Lakeland College Mirror (the campus newspaper I edited for two years), thinking, who needs all of this. I also threw away old notebooks from classes. I guess if I haven't looked at it in all that time, then I probably won't again.

I know I'm only fifty (barely, let you not forget!!!), but I sometimes think about those days when our kids will have to clean out this house. I don't want to be embarrassed from the afterlife, if there is one. I want to rid the house of all but the essential junk.

So what's essential? I could eliminate even more boxes from that closet, that's for sure, even though Mike says the transformation is remarkable. You can see the floor for one thing, but now he has a goal to transform his side of this same closet in a similar way. He's got more to do. He's got about a zillion baseball cards on his side.

What to keep though? What would not be embarrassing, but maybe relevatory instead. I know it was a kind of sappy book, but in The Bridges of Madison County, the children found their mother's belongings and her secret life was revealed to them. They came to understand her after her death as they never did before she died. I'm not saying I have a secret life, but there are a lot of manuscripts in this house, and poems, and journals, and things I just wrote that exist in the house almost like ghosts, invisible, but lending a certain spirit all the same. I would keep all of those. Some are in a box now, while others are still scattered, even beyond my immedite recollection.

I found two old journals in that clean sweep of the closet, and reading them has taken me back in time, not only to events of the past, but also to who I was in the past. In some ways, I was struck by how different I am, but I also realized that things I cared about then are things I care about now. What makes me me, in essence, is the same after all these years.

I know that one day, they'll be reading those words and wondering who I was, who I really was. Or maybe they'll read my old words and think, yep, that was mom. I don't know.

I don't always know about people's perceptions, even those of my own children. It's rare that we express such things. We talk instead about gardens, sports, funny things, and of course, now we talk about granddaughters. But the elemental aspects of our being--these are things that stay unspoken. These are the spirits that whirl about the house at times, that intertwine themselves with the colors and the things we've chosen to express who we are. These are the ideas that find themselves in poems or in stories. But we don't talk about them.

I guess that's the way it is with everyone. After all, no one wants to be too weird. And words are only words. It's more important to just be near one another and to laugh. It's more important to just be.

Pick 'n Save

2005-12-21T18:35:00.000-06:00

That’ll be $148.50, the cashier said to the woman in front of me

“That’s why you have to study hard
and get a good job” I told the boy
in front of me at the checkout, the
boy with five dollars and a bag of
carrots. “Groceries are expensive,”
I continued. He nodded and smiled.
I wondered as he left if there would be
new noses on snowmen or if the
carrots were to eat. Then in the parking
lot he was walking with his friend,
seemed more like ambling, even, in
the cold—no hats, no gloves, but a
cell phone on which they were
beginning a conversation—and
a bag of carrots. Yes, study hard.
You don’t want to end up like that
woman there, just sitting in her car alone,
smoking. I can barely make out her
form in the cloud, but it’s cold so she won’t
open the window. You don’t want
to be cold and alone in your car with
cigarettes instead of walking with
your friend with carrots.

What's Absurd?

2005-12-08T12:16:00.000-06:00

Passing not one, but three, beer trucks unloading their goods in just a block and a half in Sheboygan Falls on my way out of town yesterday. Even I think this a lot of beer. Or is there a "beer time" in Sheboygan Falls? Maybe it was only a coincidence.
Teenagers who struggle to communicate without the "F" word. Actually, they don't struggle at all. I struggle not to hear it. Whatever happened to shame? Why is public speech no longer any different from private speech? Where is civility?
It's been 25 years since John Lennon was killed. Wasn't that just yesterday? How could it be so long ago as this?
This candle has been in my classroom for ten years, and today I lit it. It was a present from a former student, which one I no longer remember. So why not burn it? What am I saving it for? The flame is lovely. I am enjoying it.

There's more:

People who don't put the carts away after shopping. After all, whose job is it if not theirs? I just hate that kind of behavior, like kids tossing trash in the halls because they think it's the custodian's job to pick up after them. Maybe this one is more infuriating than absurd.

Then what's even worse than that is when someone parks the car in front of the cart return so you can barely get your cart in there, which wouldn't be that big of a deal but it's about 5 below zero with the wind chill factor.

NCTE National Convention 2005, Pittsburgh, PA

2005-11-25T13:39:00.000-06:00

It was a great four days. Pat and I were roomies again. I didn't attend as many sessions as I thought I might (though this is harder to do when you're involved in three sessions and a workshop). I became engaged in a lot of really interesting conversations though, and as Eric Crump revealed to us on Saturday morning, "Conversation is not an enterprise designed to yield an extrinsic profit, a contest where a winner gets a prize, no[r] is it an activity of exegesis; it is an unrehearsed intellectual adventure" (Michael Oakeshott). And so I had a variety of intellectual adventures. What I loved most was that each person I spoke with really "got me." Granted, most people I conversed with were techies, but not all, and contrary to what you may be inclined to think, I talked about more than computers in English. I even talked at length about non-professional writing and how I need to give myself a summer to do it (thanks, Maja).

I am grateful I got to hear Isabel Allende speak about writing. She begins all her books on the same date and writes until she is finished. She never lets anyone else read her work until she is "done," but I thought it was interesting that she doesn't read it either. She just moves forward in her drama, for her books are all playing out in her head. As a child, she would animate the characters of Shakespeare's dramas using sticks and cutouts. To this day, her characters move about in her fictional settings. She imagines everything in her books including smells, sounds, and even how people's voices sound.

Our CyberEnglish presentation went well. We had about 30-35 people in attendance. While I don't think we were as organized as we were last year, we did have excellent questions and a good discussion. I think we could do a full day workshop on just CE.

I LOVED the idea session with Nick Carbone and Eric Crump. It was so fun to share ideas. It was so exciting to think about the "great expectations" for the future. I have no idea what the future of technology in education will be like, but I would like think I will be ready as each new door opens.

Our talkie dinner was fun, but honestly, I never saw so much food go to waste. It was truly a shame. I still can't get over how 48 people from all over the country can sit down together for a lovely, wonderful dinner. And it was extra special that our listmom, EC was there. He even played his mandolin for us.

I am glad to be home, but I hope I can go to Nashville next year, too. I hope I will always be able to immerse myself in environments where unrehearsed intellectual adventure is the norm.

Great Lakes Writers Festival & Listening

2005-11-07T13:26:00.000-06:00

Friday, November 4, I took seven students to the Great Lakes Writers Festival at Lakeland college where we heard Larry Watson and Beth Ann Fennelley read. It was an amazing day. First of all, any time high school students are on a college campus, it's as if they feel their potential. It changes their view of who they are and what they might be.

"I was blown away by Beth Ann's poetry," Ashlie said. I know what she means. So was I. And Larry's prose was stunning. Add to this the fact that all of my students' work was featured in the workshops, so both of these writers talked about the students' work.

At Dairy Queen later (for I never take students anywhere without stopping for ice cream before we go back to school), we talked about the day and what our favorite thing was. For most of them, the best thing was having a pro talk about their work. For me, it was being able to give them this experience.

Earlier that day, during a lull in the open mic session, Ashlie was writing a poem. I asked her if she keeps track of all of those things she writes. She assured me that she did, that everything was quite accurately organized in a binder.

I used to do that, too. When did I begin to lose track of those spontaneous bursts of poetry? I may not have even wondered about this except for this morning, as I was cleaning out a drawer at school and paging through a couple of old steno pads (thinking I should throw them away since they have only a couple of pieces of paper in them), I found a poem--no context, only a title and in a notebook labeled 1999.

Leaving Lakeland last Friday I felt sad because the interaction with excellent words went by too, too quickly. I miss that environment, where noticing and writing are what we do more than anything else. Writing poetry for me now is an accident, a moment in time that, as is evident by my find this morning, will soon be forgotten. I have become different moments. Here is a an old moment.

Listening

Just now, were you stopped in mid thought
by a sudden impression like a slight change
in temperature upon the back of your neck
or the hint of a cool draft coming up from
somewhere usually undisturbed?

Were you struck by the oddity of the interruption,
having been so deep in concentration, so chained
by purpose that you were able even to shut out
the ticking of your antique clock, the occasional
voice and the hundred busy sounds of your usual day?

Messages come in envelopes, in person, in bytes,
through fiber optics, and even in bottles adrift
for days upon the glassy sea, homing in on
stranded recipients like slowly guided missiles.

But this message has come to you through
time and space and is delivered by a subtle
nudge of consciousness--so subtle that it is
only later, when you are in your dreams,
in the world free from physical laws
and daily rituals, only then, when your soul
itself rises transcendent to float upon
the irridescent surface of reality,
only then, if you are listening, will you
understand that I have been reading your
poem and I have seen, in just one perfect
moment, what you have seen, that I now know,
precisely what you have known.

But what should I choose to read?

2005-10-13T21:10:00.000-05:00

Driving home from the soul sucking class (an 18 month masters of ed leadership program) is always an interesting reflective experience. My initial thoughts are always that these classes are killing me. Resentment, anger, frustration (sense a negative tone here???) give way to dullness for a few miles until the lyrics of the music I am listening to prompt strains of thought. Tonight it was Coldplay. I can't pinpoint a specific phrase. I think with Coldplay I connect with the sound as much as, or even more than, any lyric specifically. Coldplay makes me want to connect with my soul.

Tonight's resentment and anger came out of the fact that we were assigned nearly 100 pages to read and discuss and not only that but . . . (well, you get the picture). I simply cannot do it. I have not the actual time in my life nor the physical strength to do it after I do the things I am paid to do (who even gets to do what they want to do?).

And somehow I got to thinking about what I should read and not what I'm assigned to read. It came to me that I think I need to read poetry. I don't mean that I want to read poetry. I mean that I need to read poetry.

I need to read, instead of lend out, the Ted Kooser books that I got last November and haven't even broken the bindings on. I need to visit Elizabeth Bishop who has been upstairs waiting for me for longer than a year. I need to listen to Billy Collins again. I need to read poetry to find what is essential.

What's essential is not 100 pages on Systems Theory, as if a business model is ever going to "fix" a school anyway. And I am not even sure that I need to be in this program, but I cannot quit now. I have to see it through. I only have 16 Thursdays left. I think I have enough soul for 16 Thursdays. But it's close.

I need to read poetry. I need to listen to true voices. I need to commune with pure hearts. I need to coexist with humanity on a simple, quiet level in the plane of words and ideas.

I am seriously worried that if I don't, I am going to forget who I am and nothing I do in the future will matter because it won't be me doing it.

Barn raisin'

2005-09-20T19:33:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday, we were at Laura's house while a crew helped Luke work on siding their house. It felt like what I imagine an old-fashioned barn raising must have felt like--the community gathered to build for a neighbor in need. Luke's best friend, who luckily is a carpenter and therefore an expert, was there. Kevin was there, Luke's step dad was there, and two men from their church were there. Later, Luke's high school aged brother was there, and two of his friends showed up to help.

The women, Laura and I, were in the kitchen whippin' up a mess o' food. (I think you have to talk like that at a barn raisin'). Grandpa was helping with babies and with whatever else was needed. It was festive, though obviously hard work. The Badger game was on the radio, the sun was shining, and progress was swift.

It felt good to be among people who were all there to help the process. I imagine that if I were younger, and less tied to my job (not to mention other responsibilities) I would like to be in the Gulf region helping to rebuild. It pleases me to think of cleaning up, remaking, and restoring. I won't go, but instead sent money for others to do the actual physical work. It is, after all, a monumental task ahead, and progress will be slowly evident. It should be families and communitites who live there who rebuild, not legions of control freaks from the north who just love putting things in order. It should be the displaced and the homeless who wield the hammers in remaking a community and their homes.

Thoreau was a spoiled rich kid, I think, whose whimsical experiment by the pond was made possible by the fact that he was not really poor and living off the land. Still, he learned a thing or two while he was there. He believed that to "own" a house one had to build it or have a hand in building it. Habitat for Humanity knows this to be true. Laura and Luke will feel pride in their home for all the work they have put into it. And eventually, people of the gulf region will be better off if they're the ones to rebuild their lives to fit their own vision of what they should be.

In awe

2005-09-04T15:20:00.000-05:00

I loved my babies. I loved my toddlers. I loved my teenagers. And I love my children now that they are parents. Why don't I remember being entranced by them, in awe of them? I swear, I could stare at these granddaughters for hours, just entranced. What's the difference? Time probably, or maybe level of responsibility and concern. After all, the mommy mode is high vigilance and serious. The grandma mode is relaxed and full of time and nothing but love.

I am so glad I get to feel this. It is probably the most amazing thing that has ever happened in my life, and lots of amazing things have happened that I'm grateful for. But Olivia and Ella are remarkable gifts that I can't get enough of.

Product placement

2005-08-30T16:29:00.000-05:00

I was laughing out loud as the crate that dropped from an airplane landed on a "perfect" house in the Showtime sitcom "Weeds." The sound was tremendous and woke the husband from a sound sleep to find 24 oz. bottles of Coke, with lime, I think, popping open and shooting all over his bedroom. Fizz. Why this struck me as hilarious, I'm not sure, but I know I'd never seen anything like that on TV before. Can you imagine? A crate falling from the sky and landing on your house, crashing through your roof and releasing its cargo, bottles of Coke that are exploding all over and you not sure if it's a nightmare or real?

Surely their insurance will cover the damage (oh, yeah, it's just a TV show) and no one was hurt, so maybe that's why it was funny. Plus, what in inventive use of product placement.

On the other hand, I was thinking later about how maybe the show's writers were making a social statement, a commentary on our culture. After all, maybe Coca Cola (and all sodas) are ruining our national health. As a teacher, I see how many kids are getting fat from too many soft drinks, too much junk food and very little physical activity. And how early do they start drinking Coke now, or Mountain Dew? In a show I saw awhile ago about the early days of softdrinks and back then, both Coke and Pepsi companies refused to advertise to children or teens. They knew their products were healthful for kids. But now? It seems one of their primary audiences is kids.

I remember that when we were kids it was a huge treat to get Pepsi on a Saturday night with popcorn. We only got a small amount, like 8 oz. But we did drink a lot of Koolaid, which is not much better except that it doesn't have the carbonation. However, and this I did not know but my sister told me was the case, our mother only added half the sugar that she was supposed to .

As an adult I drink way too much Diet Pepsi and while it doesn't have the sugar, it's full of all kinds of things that will eventually kill me. Why can't I quit? I did once, but came back. I miss the shock of carbonation first thing in the morning that seems to wake me up as much as the caffiene. I love it cold, really cold, which means cold out of the fridge and then on ice. That's probably not good for me either. But I'm a grown up and I am making this decision for myself, knowing I could make other, more healthy decisions.

When I see parents buy 24 oz. bottles of soda for their kids I cringe, knowing that they are doing real harm and probably making fat cells that their kids will have to suffer with for the rest of their lives. Parents need to say no to the corporate machine that lures their children in.

Still, the Coke bottles exploding into the "perfect" life of this family on "Weeds" was just too, too funny and the most original thing I've seen on TV in a long time.

Ocean views

2005-08-13T19:16:00.000-05:00

We just got back from our trip to Virginia. It was great. We took two boat trips, one day trip to Smithfield and one overnight trip to Cape Charles. While docked at Cape Charles, we launched the dingy (see picture of Mike driving it) and used it for tooling around a bit. We also went to the Tiki Bar for lunch on our way back home. To get there, we anchored off shore and took the dingy into shore, except for Candy and me who abandoned ship about fifty yards from the beach and swam in. The water was wonderful. We ate steamed shrimp for lunch that day. We saw lots of dolphin playing. The sway of the boat on the water even stayed with us for a few days after we were back on dry land. It's like the motion became part of us in an organic way. We needed to readjust to being "still." I will write more later, but I just wanted to say what fun it was. I love the ocean. I love water. I love the blue and the green and the sky that goes on forever.

I didn't want it to be Severus

2005-08-06T10:54:00.000-05:00

What is it in me that refuses to believe (what song is that from?) that people are inherently bad. I have never wanted to agree with Harry Potter that Snape is evil. All the signs were there, the dark brooding, the blatant abuse of Harry and his friends, but I thought there was some good there, lurking behind the facade, that would be revealed to us one day and explain his noble side, his selfless side.

I am still stunned at what happens at the end of HP and the Half-Blood Prince. But I won't mention it in case anyone actually reads this Blog and I would spoil it for them. This book, like none of the others, leaves me wanting to know what happens next. I am sure Rowling has it envisioned. I read an interview with her in which she said that she imagined the entire seven years back there in the beginning before the first book was finished. It would be interesting to know if she has veered off her path at all. I hope she has. I hope that characters developed "on their own" and that stories went places she had not thought they would.

You know you're getting old when

2005-07-30T17:51:00.000-05:00

you leave a bowl of grilled zucchini in the microwave--completely forget about it--and discover it after a week away from home. Stinky. I can't believe it did that. Well, I can. When the thought of waking up at four a.m. to head out on a long journey is on your mind and you are trying to remember if you packed everything you need without the help of a list (for the first time in your life), zucchini doesn't seem to be so important. Moldy zucchini is not a nice welcome home present, though.

But our vacation was nice and the lake is beautiful. We had a relatively cool week and two nights under 50. One night it got down to 42 degrees, which is fine if you're in the cabin, but we were in our tent. We can still rough it at 50 years old.

Neither one of us caught a fish. We each had a couple of strikes, but caught nothing. We were out to try three times, too. Oh, well. We had nice boat rides.

Life's too short...

2005-07-21T10:05:00.000-05:00

Life's too short, they say, to spend it doing something you don't enjoy. So....Goodbye Mr. Dostoevsky. Maybe I'll pick you up again later, but for now, I have gone to Hogwarts (or its general universe).

I am not even through chapter one and feel now that I should be in a race with Luke, who, last I heard, was through chapter six. But that doesn't really motivate me to rush. I have sort of adopted a new attitude lately--one of less urgency. I get things done, but not necessarily immediately, if not sooner, like the "old me." I am not sure if this feeling about time will serve me well when I go back to school, but I think I am happier and less stressed out.

It all began with my soul-sucking master's program. At first I was so worried about reading every little thing and doing my best on every little thing, but then I started to see that each consecutive class was simply a different twist on the one before it. They all look and feel about the same. The redundancy may reinforce their main points, but it does feel like it wastes my time. I keep thinking, "yeah, I got this already, like months ago." So my motivation to put my heart into all of it diminished.

Then my mentor told me something that really made me think about my attitude. She admitted that I won't use 3/4 of what I learn in that program. She gave me permission to do less and stay sane. I can't explain how freeing it was when I took her at her word and began actually to do less (not slacker work, exactly, but not knock-myself-out-work either). And this was the beginning of my new attitude.

For example, right now, it's almost 10:30 a.m. and I should be doing something else, something more productive. But Ray Charles is on the CD player and my brother is on MSN Messenger and I am Blogging and I am not particulary motivated to move, though my good angel is giving me that shame on you look and telling me that sloth is one of the seven deadly, you know.

So, Harry Potter instead of The Brothers Karamazov and Blogging instead of laundry and. . . well. . . . So, peace instead of stress, for as long as it lasts.

Flying a kite by the highway

2005-07-20T15:56:00.000-05:00

Flying a kite by the highway

Upon the bank that flanks the highway

keeping out the noise of traffic stood

a boy of 13 (or so) flying a small kite.

He had just enough wind to sail it barely

above his head, our eyes

on his on us.

Harry Potter #6

2005-07-15T21:14:00.000-05:00

The new Harry Potter comes out tomorrow, and mine will arrive by mail soon, Amazon.com tells me. I was geeky enough to pre-order it months ago. I don't think I'll have finished The Brothers Karamazov by the time it arrives though. I seem to only be able to read 6-8 pages of that a day. So let's see, it will take me 80 days total to read that book. Unacceptable. I'm going to have to speed up. I refuse to give it up. I think if the print weren't so small I would have an easier time. But I think the large print version would weigh about ten pounds, so I'd be fatigued that way. No win.

Luke, my son in law is re-reading book five so he'll be primed for The Half Blood Prince. He's been speculating about who the half blood prince is. One guess is Snape. I thought perhaps Lucius Malfoy, since he hates half-bloods so much. Seems like people who hate something are often afraid it's true about them. I wondered if it could be Voldemort. And Luke says someone will die in this book. Who will it be, we wonder? He's been listening to the pre-release "hype" more than I have, I guess. He also told me that about 100 books were accidentally released early in Canada and had to be recalled. What a mess that would be. "Yes, we know you paid for it, but no, you can't keep it yet." Apparently, if they sent it back, whomever let them slip out would have the books autographed by the author before returning them.

It's just a book, for crying out loud. Granted, it's one that thousands (millions?) of kids will line up late at night at the local bookstore waiting for. And because of it, the U.S. Postal Service had to be warned that there would be an increase in parcel deliveries. And before anyone has even read it, it's guaranteed that it'll be made into a movie. But it's just a book--a children's book!

So why did I pre-order it months ago in giddy anticipation?

After I read the first one, The Sorcerer's Stone, I thought that I would have loved this book when I was 8 0r 10 and how there weren't all that many books for kids that I liked when I was a kid. I hated the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew type books. Honestly, I found them tedious for some reason. I'm still not much of a mystery fan. And yet, there's some mystery in HP, isn't there, or is it suspense?

I read something today that said that HP books are plot driven and that J.K. Rowling doesn't rely on character development much. Maybe Ron Weasly is fairly flat, but in book 5, Harry did seem far more complex. Still, I don't know if that's the reason I enjoy them. I like the place she has created: Hogwarts. I love the interior and exterior landscapes. I love the way people travel and the names of things. I love the connections to myth and culture (talk about allusions). Okay, I wouldn't have "got" the allusions as a kid, but all those things sound so cool.

Everything in HP's world is normal except it isn't. The characters have magical powers, but they don't just shirk their way through life. They mostly "do" everything we would do. I think Harry and Ron (well, maybe not Ron) manually make their beds each morning. And even their magic seems somewhat symbolic of the real power that we muggles have: courage, persistence, love.

It's what's inside that matters, not that one can fix a pair of broken glasses with a spell, but that one is a true and honest friend. Harry and Hermoine and Ron are like Bilbo Baggins in a way--they're just ordinary (not human ordinary) beings who find, through extraordinary circumstances, what they're made of. Isn't it the same for all of us?

Independence

2005-07-05T19:45:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was the 4th of July. Ella was one month old. She is doing so well and we are happy. It is hard not to worry about her still. I think that will pass with time. It rained yesterday also. While this may not seem worth mentioning, it really is. We are in a drought and rain is wonderful. So while we didn't see the sun until about 7 p.m., it didn't matter. Our town holds its festivities on the 3rd always (arbitrarily picking its own day, I guess) and we had family over and sort of watched fireworks. Due to construction at the site where they usually shoot them off, they had to move, and we didn't know it. We can usually see almost everything from right in our backyard, but this year, we could only see colors through the trees. Ah well. We had babies here and we've seen fireworks before. It was fine.

So yesterday it was cloudy, rainy, and quiet. It was nice. We chipped away again at cleaning out the basement (a task that has needed to be done for years). I read. I started The Brothers Karamazov, a book I bought (intending to read) in 1989. It's starting slow. Dostoevsky sure likes commas and interupting clauses and phrases. I'm not sure I like his intrusive narrator, but I have to keep at it. After all, I have over 800 pages to go.

I also caught up with photo albums, putting straggling photos in their places. All year I have, we have, been trying to clean up, straighten up, toss out junk, to, basically simplify. (Talk about commas!!!!). It's a freeing experience to have less junk about.

I also have come to the conclusion that I don't have to keep every book I've ever read. It's insane. I have way too many books. (I can't believe I'm saying that).

Today I was back at work (for a three day stint) and it felt sort of normal. One of the teachers I was working with said, can you believe it's only been three weeks since school ended. I couldn't. I think we've done so much. I am trying to cram so much into summer since I feel each day like it is closer to ending. Time is relative, I know, but I swear, it goes faster in the summer, which is kind of ironic since we have more hours of daylight, so it should seem like there is more time.

I have also been picking raspberries. Despite the drought, with good watering, our yard is looking beautiful and bountiful. It's a pleasure to simply sit and watch. I used to think that sitting and watching birds was a "geezer" thing to do, but it's fun. We love watching them fly in to the feeder and the bath, their rituals, their territorial behaviors. We have a variety of beautiful birds who visit us.

What does it mean to be free and independent? Maybe it's just doing what we want, when we want and being free to choose. I don't know. Right now, we have so few obligations--so few "have to" things to do. I like this aspect of being older. We have each other. We have time. We have the solitude of our backyard and birds and flowers and an occasional game on the radio. We have company when they want to see us. We have love. We have joy. We have everything. I can't imagine wanting any more.

Summer and time

2005-06-28T09:14:00.000-05:00

Maybe it's the yard work, the babysitting, the papers to write (yes, one more, due in two days, but then that's it until August), the meetings, the . . . well, you get it, but I haven't written here for too long. Why is it that in my mind summer is this endless spanse of time filled with nothing but "hmmm, what will I do today?" That's how it seems, but that's never how it is. Is there some sort of cultural norm at work here? The one that says teachers have the whole summer off?

My problem is (and I admit it's a problem), I can't do nothing. I really can't. So when I am faced with week of blank days on the calendar, I feel I have to fill them in, as if my inner secretary just hates empty spaces. On the other hand, now that Mike is home every day, every day is Saturday now, we are doing more together and since he can relax and do "nothing," I am doing a bit more of that too. One night we listened to the entire Brewers game on the radio and sat by the fire and talked. It was really nice.

Last night was my book club and we discussed The Kite Runner. It's a great book, the author's first novel (and I'm jealous). We had a really good talk about it.

Today we're going to pick strawberries. This is something we've never done together before, so maybe it will be fun. I hope it won't be too hot.

Both babies are well. Ella is growing. She's healthy and she feels content to be with her mom and dad. Olivia feels content to be with anyone, right now. They're such joy.

I hope it won't be long before I write again. There's not really anything in the world I feel compelled to comment on. I'm trying to pay little attention to the news and more attention to my life. I know that the head in the sand method is not good all the time, but once in awhile it's freeing.

Summer is not a time of pure freedom, but compared to the rest of the year it is more so. I have to remember to cherish each day.

Ella's arrival

2005-06-09T21:29:00.000-05:00

Our second granddaughter, Ella Mae, was born June 4. We are thrilled with her. She is lithe and dark haired and a fighter, as she has had to be. Her birth was rough. As she struggled to breathe, she was taken to the neonatal icu in Milwaukee. We are hopeful that she will come home soon, as her progress has been steady and she appears now to be quite healthy and happy.

We may take the miracle of birth for granted. Babies are born everyday. But as I watched Ella's monitor recording her breathing, I was reminded that life can also be fragile. Surrounding her in the icu are other babies fighting to live, some very, very small, others born with all odds against them. And I realize we are lucky, even though the agony of leaving her there, going home with no baby, is very hard on her mom and dad.

Our little Ella looks a bit like her dad. When he was born, at just over four pounds, he was wisked away by ambulance as well. I did not see him for over a week, as I was very sick, too. But after that, after feeling sorry for myself, we nursed him for three weeks to a beefy five pounds before they let us bring him home. For a long, long time he did not cry when he was hungry. We had to wake him up to feed him. It was a vigil to monitor his growth. But by one year, he was almost chubby, and now, at 5'11", you'd never know he was so tiny.

It will surely be like this for Ella too, and one day, these days will be foggy in the mind. It will be only about today and tomorrow and about how lucky we are to have her with us.

Momentous day

2005-05-31T19:53:00.000-05:00

How do I say how amazing it is to have one's husband finally leave a job he has hated for years--for today to be the last day? I can't think of a way to say it. I don't know how to express how happy I am, for him, and for me, too, because he will be happier, which means we will be happier. He stuck it out in the way that couples stick out a bad marriage for the sake of the kids, for the sake of our kids and for me, so that I could get two masters degrees, so that I could edge my way to the top of the pay scale so that we could not only survive, but even live well on one income.

When he first voiced his desire to quit, when he first said it out loud to anyone but me, he said it in front of my sister, Candy, and his conviction inspired her to leave a job that had turned into hell for her. Her situation was sadly different from his. She was still working with people she loved at a restaurant she loved and under its previous and long-time owners was like home and family to her. But the new owner was mentally fickle and his unpredictable and unreasonable torrents of anger towards her were hard to live with. When an attractive offer came her way from someone who knew her reputation, the only thing holding her back was the sense of family towards the co-workers who remained. She was like the older sister who leaves an abusive home, knowing as she does that the brothers and sisters who remain will bear the brunt of anger she would have helped absorb. What gave her courage to leave was Mike's resolve. You inspired me, she told him.

As is any major transition in one's life, this move was hard for her. To leave anything, good or bad, that we have become familiar with, is hard. We get comfortable in our joy and in our sorrow. But she is happier now, that is certain. And I know that when the days ahead show us that we can, in fact, live on one salary, Mike will be happier than ever before. Our second grandchild is expected any day now and he has promised to babysit. He is the best grandfather already with five-month-old Olivia, and he is ready to love again and again.

This gift to us is remarkable, this gift of freedom from a daily grief that robs the soul of what honors it best. No one should work long in a job that demeans, that limits, that fails to recognize the value of the self. No one.

Rambling towards anything

2005-05-16T18:17:00.000-05:00

It's been awhile since I sat down to write something fun. Oh, there was that 25 page paper for my master's class. Wait--that wasn't fun. On the other hand, I have to admit that in the writing of it, I learned something, that is, clarified some ideas that had been bobbing about in my head.

My AP class is painting a mural for their end of the year project, and despite a couple of students who feel disconnected from the process, it's going well. What I am almost jealous of is the creative energy that exists 3rd hour. The worst thing about being overly busy in my job and in my class (working towards a better/different/higher paying job) is that there is no time for me.

Am I losing myself? I don't know. I just don't know. What is it that I want to do and if I want to do it, why am I not doing it instead of what I am doing? Every summer I say I will do something I want and every summer I find myself engaged in things that proceed from necessity or duty. Perhaps this year will be different.

I am reading Ishmael by Daniel Quinn right now, and it is provoking thought like nothing I've read in awhile. It's an intriguing and frightening book. I am thinking that it would make an excellent addition to our AP curriculum. I think that I must include it. For if what Quinn suggests is true, is true--then we must "indoctrinate" all young ones in our species.

In the meantime, it keeps me thinking.

As for writing, I need to rediscover my creative side. I need to slide away into another dimension, perhaps so quietly that no one will notice. As I have taken to writing letters during my evening classes, I could as easily, perhaps, write poetry or chunks of a novel that I somehow refuse to finish. I could develop an ending that hasn't revealed itself to me. I could...oh that's the thing, I could. I simply must, if I decide I must, and not put blame on time or duty or circumstance. What did Yoda say, "there is no try, there is only do."

May Day

2005-05-06T16:17:00.000-05:00

My only true memory of a real May Day was from 1960. I was five. We lived in Marion, Iowa, a small town, then. Candy was three, but old enough to participate. We made little baskets, out of paper, I think. Then we filled them with flowers from around the yard, maybe violets and other things, maybe even dandelions (I don't really remember what kind of flowers). I do remember taking a basket to Mr. and Mrs. Gates' house, the older couple who lived next door, and leaving it there. After we rang the doorbell, we ran, for May baskets were to be a surprise gift of spring. It was fun and exciting and we loved it.

A few years ago, elementary children from the school down the block left milk cartoon planters of flowers like marigolds and zinnias on our porch and on the porches of our neighbors. Wrapped around the half cardboard cartoon was paper, which they decorated with crayons. We were lucky to get these little gifts for a few years in a row, and I treasured them. However, being the busy person I hate being, I never took the time to let them know I did.

Sadly, there have been no May "baskets" lately. I miss getting those plants. I miss the notion that the kids were excited to decorate the cartons and plant the seeds. I think they must have loved watching their seeds sprout and grow. I miss the idea that those kids whom I didn't know cared about us and we cared about them. May baskets are a good idea--a little act of giving that helps us feel connected and reinforces community.

What kind of American English do you speak?

2005-04-26T13:34:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry, but these blogthings are so interesting. I'll stop now. : )

Your Linguistic Profile:

65% General American English

20% Upper Midwestern

10% Yankee

5% Midwestern

0% Dixie

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

What kind of blogger are you?

2005-04-25T21:10:00.000-05:00

You Are a Pundit Blogger!

Your blog is smart, insightful,
and always a quality read.
Truly appreciated by many, surpassed by only a few.

What kind of blogger are you?

No one prepared me. . . .

2005-04-08T19:41:00.000-05:00

No one prepared me for being a grandmother, Jane Fonda told Larry King this week. She told him that being a grandmother has opened her heart in a way she didn't know it could be opened. And then she paused, and in her mind I imagine she was off into the realm of the inexplicable, where what you know and feel has no words that can define or express because words will only diminish. Those who are there with you are there only through their own similar experience.

Then King made the often made comment about grandparenting, that it's all the fun without the responsibility. I have heard this many times, of course, and I guess I never thought about it that much in the past. After all, it seems right. But the second he said it, something in me rose up in rebellion: NO! It does not mean that. And Jane said as much. There is responsibility. It's just different. Grandparents, she said, can have a tremendous influence on their grandchildren's lives. Grandparents can say things parents can't, she said.

Yes, yes, yes! She was exactly right. I want to be the kind of grandmother who teaches Olivia, who helps her experience life. I want this like I've never wanted anything before. I feel that I can be a better parent with her than I was with her mother. And yet, I do not want to be her mother. And this is another amazing thing--to watch your own child be a natural and gifted mother. She's so good at it, as if she has always known what to do. Perhaps it is instinct in some way, to love and nurture and teach our young.

And the love we have for Olivia, the way that our hearts have opened up, is nothing we were prepared for. I can't even explain it. But I know exactly what Jane Fonda was unable to tell Larry King.

Being a grandparent is like having a new life. And now I can't wait for June and baby number two.

Spring Break 2005

2005-03-27T11:02:00.000-06:00

Cedar Key Sunset

It was bound to happen. The weather was a disappointment. We had more clouds than sun this year in Florida on Spring Break, so this spectacular sunset was a gift to us. On our last day, it rained nearly all day and if you couple that with the fact that vacation was about to be over, it was sort of depressing. On the other hand, we had a nice meal with friends, we were wearing shorts and sandals, and we weren't working: so all in all, it was great!

Perception of age

2005-02-17T21:10:00.000-06:00

I was sitting next to a young woman tonight in my Ed Leadership class and we were conducting an interview simulation that included questions about leadership and learning. She's a relatively new teacher--three years. As we each tried to answer the questions, it became apparent to me that my experience gave me some advantage, and that she, being young and a new teacher, had not even had opportunities to formulate ideas about some of these questions. On the other hand, I had not only had opportunities, but I had also thought pretty deeply about a few of them.

"Wow," she said, "how'd you think of that? I would never have thought of that." My reply was reflexive and I said, "I'm just old." She laughed and told me, appropriately, that I wasn't old.

I think when I said it, what I meant was, "I've had a lot of experience. I've learned a lot, lived more, and so on." What she took from my reply was that I considered myself old. And I guess it got me thinking. She thinks I think I'm old. Hmm. Do I?

Well, I am going to be 50. Turning 30 was a singular crisis in my life because I thought it meant that I finally had to grow up. And even though I was never an immature idiot--have been, in fact, always a bit more mature than others my age--I had then a conception of adulthood (30+) that "life as I know it will now end, or death now approaches swiftly," or some such nonsense. But really, 30 terrified me. It was an age threshold that I could not fathom the other side.

Fifty simply amuses me. I have never been more comfortable with who I am than I am with who I am now. (It makes sense, just read it again). I really don't look like I'll be fifty in a few months (unless everyone is lying and my self concept is completely skewed). And I feel about the same as I have for years. I need to stretch my arms out further to see small print if I've forgotten my reading glasses. I don't have as much energy (but to be fair, I'm working myself harder than ever also, so that might account for part of it). Mostly, 50 is a time of great joy, so far. I have been, done, seen, learned, imagined much, and know now what I want to accomplish still. I am sure I didn't know all of this when I was 30. My biggest problem now is figuring out how I will be able to do all I want to do. And yes, there is a finite sense of life now, but not one that hovers too closely.

What I think is, I have to stop saying, "I'm old." I say it now because it amuses me, because I don't feel old, I don't look old, I don't act old. I say it now because it's ironic, at least to me and to my husband. But what if one day after I've said it too often, what if it becomes true?

I have often heard elderly people (I hate that word, so what instead? aged? old?) people say, "Don't get old," as if one could choose not to. And then there's the phrase "you're as old as you feel." But maybe it's more. Maybe old is a concept of self, sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe those who have said "Don't get old" have lost the idea of themselves as young and they cannot regain it. Maybe they forgot how it feels to think, act, feel, and be young.

I have known old people who never got old and young people who seem as if they were born old. I want to be who I am as long as I live. And really, I am not old. I think my spirit might be old, but my eyes are not old. My heart is not old. My love is not old. My passion, my will, my idea of life are not old.

So, I think that as much as I love irony, for what English teacher can resist it, I will no longer say in response to anything, "I am old." I have a different prophecy to fulfill.

Up North

2005-02-15T18:17:00.000-06:00

This past weekend, Olivia's mom and dad took her Up North to visit her grandparents. And while there, she went ice-fishing. I knew she'd start early because her dad loves fishing, camping, and hunting, but four weeks old? And yet, why not? I have a feeling she won't remember this first trip, at least not consciously, but maybe somewhere she will. Maybe she'll always have an idea that she loves to fish and be outdoors. I hope so.

I came to appreciate fishing too late in my life. As a child, we had many opportunities to fish. Somewhere along the way, I decided I would rather clean the fish than catch them. But why? Cleaning was something that grossed out my siblings. It was something that made me feel grown up, perhaps? It was a solitary thing to do, something I often enjoyed. After fishing, others were off playing, adults were preparing for dinner or doing other things, and I would be by myself scaling, gutting and fileting.

But to be honest, it wasn't just that. There must have been some moment when I felt that I wasn't good enough at fishing, that I wasn't doing it right. Even as a child I avoided things I couldn't do perfectly. I'm less ruled by such silly perfectionist notions now, even though I have not entirely grown out of it.

Fishing for me now is a sublime experience, especially when I nudge myself out of bed early and get on the lake while it is still and everthing around is serene, when the world is waking up and stretching before it gets too hot. I love the challenge of a long cast that doesn't wrap around a fallen log or get snared in a tree. I love the sound of the line and lure coming back through the water. I love the anticipation of catching a fish, but I also don't care if I don't catch anything. Just being there is what matters.

Fishing is thinking time. It's loon watching time. It's eagles soaring time. It's when no phones are ringing and no one wants me for anything I have to do. It's my time. Someday, I hope that I can go fishing with my grandchildren, and if I can, I will try to get them to appreciate the treasure of simple time. But if they are like most children, they will, as we all did, have to learn this on their own.

Living in the sky

2005-02-05T11:23:00.000-06:00

The Taos Pueblo sky.

I finished reading Death Comes for the Archbishop this week and my second reading, after having been almost everywhere Cather writes of, was a bit more transcendent as the images on the page connected with the images in my memory. If pressed to choose, I would have to say that Willa Cather is my favorite writer. She understands people precisely and she is able to take in landscape and recreate it so that readers are there with her, seeing the sunset behind the plow, watching the fields of grain move like gentle ocean swells undulating, feeling the temperature of the sun as it rests on the skin. She is amazing. Maybe I like her so much because she does connect with place, and we all are who we are, not only because of the people in our lives and our experiences, but also because of the places we have lived and the landscapes we have interacted with.

Near the end of Death Comes for the Archbishop, Father Latour (the archbishop) and Eusabio (his Navajo friend) ride to Santa Fe, which Cather tells us is just under 400 miles. This passage is about the New Mexico landscape.

The weather alternated between blinding sand-storms and brilliant sunlight. The sky was as full of motion and change as the desert beneath it was monotonous and still,--and there was so much sky, more than at sea, more than anywhere else in the world. The plain was there, under one's feet, but what one saw when one looked about was that brilliant blue world of stinging air and moving cloud. Even the mountains were mere ant-hills under it. Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky. The landscape one longed for when one was far away, the thing all about one, the world one actually lived in, was the sky, the sky!

This passage made me miss being in New Mexico, for the days here lately are tediously gray. Peeks of sun that impudently burst through the clouds make us giddy for little, tranquil moments, but then they are gone. We live upon the earth in Wisconsin. For most days the sky does not reveal itself to us so grandly as it did to Father Latour. We are wrapped under cloud blankets for most of the year and as a result, I think, we work, and we work, and we work even more, our feet planted in earth, longing for the days when we can live in the sky, when our souls can transport us with them into the brilliant blue world of stinging air and moving cloud.

Welcome grandchild one

2005-01-26T17:40:00.000-06:00

Olivia on her birthday!

To say we were thrilled with our new granddaughter is an understatement. We loved her instantly. And how could we not? She is beautiful and serene. She already has personality. And each time we see her, it is hard to leave. The in-between times leave us wondering how she is. There is an anxiousness for her to grow a bit faster, for we want her to know us as we know her. But the days go by too quickly as it is, and it is a fool who wishes time to pass sooner than it must. She will grow by the clock we all are timed by and we will wait.

Land of Enchantment

2005-01-09T15:51:00.000-06:00

at Bandelier National Monument

Our Christmas present to ourselves this year was a trip to New Mexico. We flew into Albuquerque on Christmas Day and unfortunately had to head home on New Year's Eve. They don't call it the Land of Enchantment for nothing.

What I loved most was the light, as I expected to, having heard about it from various sources. The sky in this picture is fairly accurate: bright, even shocking blue, a wisp of a cloud. The sun lives here, whereas in Wisconsin, the sun visits on occasion. We love the sun, too, but it must prefer mountains and the spirits of the ancient ones.

We visited several interesting places from our home base in Santa Fe. First was the Bishop's Lodge, where the real life counterpart to the bishop in Willa's Cather's novel Death Comes for the Archbishop lived. I read that book so long ago I had forgotten all but the image of two priests riding mules making their way down a step canyon. I have picked it up again, now, and see that my experience in New Mexico is reinforced as I read it. While Cather was there only one month in 1915, New Mexico obviously changed her life. This book came twelve years after her visit there. Some places, like some books, become part of who we are. We also went to El Santuario de Chimayo, and I brought home a tiny bit of sacred dirt. The area is also famous for chili peppers.

The High Road to Taos is beautiful. Every turn through the hills brings a new spectacular view that no mere camera could ever capture. Taos itself is wonderful, the old square with shops and restaurants provided us with a retreat, some excellent drinks and snacks before we visited the Pueblo. Taos is where Lori Beringer was when she painted the piece we have hanging in our house. I loved the painting the minute I saw it a few years ago. It is of geraniums (my favorite flowers) in a window sill. Lace curtains let the bright sun in and just beyond this view is a ledge of snow. I think this mix of snow and sun was something I am not used to. It's beautiful and especially with the cobalt sky behind it.

At Taos Pueblo, adobe dwellings have stood for centuries. The Taos Indians still live there. They burn cedar and pinon and the air smells warm and sweet. The sun seems to imbed itself into the buildings, warming them, lighting them, coloring them a rich, sandy-coral color. Is it a coincidence that coral and turquoise are often seen together in Indian jewelry. These are the colors of New Mexico. And silver is the glint of sun off anything that has the strength to reflect it instead of receive it.

Perhaps my favorite place we visited was Bandelier National Monument. We arrived early and were alone for most of our hike along the trails. I have never communed with any place so ancient before. It was the most amazing day. We saw ruins, petroglyphs, desert bordered by forest, mountains, deer, eagles soaring. It was almost overwhelming to simply breathe it all in and to imagine people living here in carved out caves in the sandstone, learning and worshipping in Kivas, working, playing and carving the stories of their lives in the sides of these porous hills.

Santa Fe was great, too. We ate very well. And as we were on a quest for the perfect Margarita, enjoyed that as well. Santa Fe is a place you might have to visit to appreciate. It is hard to describe how a city with no building over three stories, all of which are either authentic adobe or stuccoed to replicate that look, is elegant. But it is. There is a simple elegance here, and being December when fires are blazing, the smell of cedar and pinon is prevalent everywhere. It was busy with families on skiing vacations. Our friends saw Jack Palance at the LaFonda hotel.

While we won't be taking more Christmas vacations, I think I would like to go back to Santa Fe and the surrounding areas again. Perhaps a summer view would be worthwhile after I reread Cather and map out a spiritual sojourn for my own.

One other thing I picked up on this trip besides some Indian made jewelry, other souvenirs and a rug (the colors of New Mexico) was St. Francis Assisi. I adopted him. I am not Catholic, but find myself a student of a Francisian university now. I like his philosophy of life and I think that Father Latour (in Cather's novel) felt the same way. Spiritually, I connected more with the ancient ones, but I figure it doesn't hurt to have a saint on one's side. Hopefully he'll have me.

Visits

2004-12-22T18:01:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, near the beginning of our annual yearbook Christmas party, a former editor came for a visit. "I guess I came on the right day," he said, though I am not sure he wasn't a little disappointed to find me surrounded by an exhuberant staff of over 20 whose plates were filled with sugary treats, all anticipating the gift exchange to come.

He is 26 years old now, working on his PhD at University of California at Berkely. Of course I was completely lost but also mesmerized as he explained to me what he's working on. William always was the smartest student I ever knew. I see he's gone stratospheres away from who he was in high school, and yet not. While his vowels sound a little more west coast than Sheboygan-y, some of his mannerisms are the same. It was a nice visit. He brought a book he bought for me on topography. "A book on fonts," I asked him? "What, do you think I'm a dork." "I know you are," he said. What a sweet thing to say.

And that's really what amazes me, that after all these years and the places his life has taken him, he still thinks of me and knows I'd love a book on typography.

And today, in my mailbox, was a copy of Prodigal Summer, a gift from a former student who was also a long term sub for us last year. As it was Kiira's first teaching job, I mentored her for those few short months. Now she has her own classroom in Colorado (which in itself was a result of a trip of true faith that amazed me). It was so good to hear from her.

These "children" of mine who are off on their own now all over the country are a source of pride. I'm not always sure how much I've contributed to who they are, but maybe I have in a little way. You never know but something that you say or do will change someone, somehow. Even in a little way that opens a door or turns a light on. So when they visit and let you know how great they're doing, it is a joy.

Now tomorrow, when I go back among my current students who have not quite figured out what it is they want or where it is they could be going, I must remember that nothing I do or say is insigificant. A flippant remark can injure. A kind gesture can heal a small wound. A look of understanding can create a bridge.

It is an honor of great responsibility to be a teacher.

Poems in December

2004-12-13T21:10:00.000-06:00

The snow was falling lightly, swirling so it couldn't "stick" as we say because of a brisk, chill wind, when I went to my car after book club tonight. Knowing we wouldn't see each other until late January, we hugged, this group of women and I who have known each other now for over two years.

We, the committed, the true club, have read dozens of books: fiction and non fiction. And for December we read poetry, some by others, some by ourselves. And through words, we have come to know each other in fundamental ways. Like we know about love and loyalty, honesty, hardship, about mothers and daughters, about dying, about growing. In all stories, we see something of ourselves, something we know to be true about women.

To be content with yourself, we said tonight, is the beginning of true happiness. We decided that this revelation doesn't happen before one is 40. And only when one is content being who she is, can one be truly beautiful.

How amazing to know women like this, who aren't overwhelmed with becoming, but instead are satisfied with being.

Indy, conclusion

2004-11-27T10:41:00.000-06:00

This photo was so dark and grainy, I decided to stylize it in PhotoShop. So now, it's kind of a painting. Left to right: Nancy, Ted, Me, and Pat. The room was dark, but the ideas were brilliant. : ) Nancy provided the theoretical foundation for the rest of us who talked about how CyberEnglish works in our classrooms. Ted, of course, the founder, inspired us all.

Indy, continued

2004-11-26T16:19:00.000-06:00

The main reason I went to Indy was as a co-presenter. Ted, Pat, Nancy and I did a session on CyberEnglish that seemed to be well received. We were first up, pre-convention actually, but we had a decent crowd. It was nice to be done with that and ready to just relax. Pat and I were great roomies, and it was good to have a convention buddy.

I was also there to learn, if I could, some strategies for struggling readers to take back to our district. See my Polliwog Journal on this.

The most unexpected surprise of the convention, for who has time to peruse the lineup prior the the event (chagrin), was being able to hear two women whose wise voices have enlightened me. The first was Azar Nafisi who wrote Reading Lolita in Tehran. I was in tears several times as she spoke about what I know is true but too often forget about the power of literature and as she spoke about what I wish were not true about the political climate of the world.

Louise Rosenblatt was there also, 100 years young--truly. She spoke better, more clearly, and with more humor than I would on a good day. What a mind. What inspiration. She reminded me (all of us sitting, some in chairs, some of us on the floor) that as teachers we are to find ways to help our students come to the text and make their own meaning. We can never make meaning for another.

I also sat in on the ACE meeting, which was a true joy, being surrounded by techie types. And I met Angelo Bonadonna from St. Xavier University face to face for the first time. He and I have been collaborating on Web Pals for two years. Rich Rice was also there (as incoming chair he should be). He's a great guy with a lot of really cool experiences integrating technology into English classes. He has also helped me out with web pals.

The exhibits were grand. Aisles and aisles of books, technology, books--did I mention there were books? I felt a little unsure about the presence of the huge publishers. The name McGraw-Hill has bad associations for me now--testing and friend of the No Child Left Behind president George Bush. It's hard not to imagine the self interest and political drive behind a law that increases testing at all levels. Someone's got to supply all those tests and all those books to help all those teachers help all those kids so they won't be left behind.

And who wouldn't be ecstatic to be mingling in the midst of 10,000 English teachers?

On my last day, Sunday, my dad, Jan, and my sister Kelly and my niece Morgan came down from Fort Wayne to visit me. I took them over to the exhibit hall to get an idea of what it's like and showed them the ACE booth, which looked a bit like a shrine to Pat and I (so we were proud of that of course). We walked around downtown a bit, saw monument circle and ended up having a drink and a snack at the Hard Rock Cafe. I enjoyed seeing them if only for awhile and especially enjoyed having my dad see me in "my element." I think he liked it too.

The only bad thing was being away from home so much before Thanksgiving and before a yearbook deadline and having a huge paper due for my masters class. Oh well!! It was a fabulous experience.

Indy, to get started

2004-11-24T19:49:00.000-06:00

Here are Gloria and I at the Heinemann booth in Indy.

I will write more, much more about the 40th National Council of Teachers of English Convention, but for now, here's this little artifact. I have long admired Gloria Pipkin and her courage. I have "known" her as an online colleague for almost five years, but to meet her finally in person was a singular joy. Read At The Schoolhouse Gate: Lessons in Intellectual Freedom to see what I mean about courage. Wow! What a cool day!

On becoming a grandmother

2004-11-13T15:14:00.000-06:00

I love it, of course, when people tell me I am way too young to be a grandmother (and I know for sure that I'm not old enough to be married to a grandfather), but age is a relative measure of life. The truth is, it's pretty cool to be young grandparents. And the good thing is that we should have some energy to play with the two new little ones soon to enter our lives.

At this point, I'm not even focused on the babies themselves, Laura and Luke's due in January and Kevin and Shana's due in June. I'm more fascinated by the gradual changes in my own children. I am pleased at how they have each shaped their lives. They each married very well, they have created warm homes, and they continue to value things of need instead of want. Those years of childish selfishness have vanished completely. They have become adults who are generous with their love and their time.

They will make good parents. They have solid foundations. They have good sense. And I can see that each of them is ready to love in ways that will amaze even themselves.

Of course, I can't wait to hold the babies and I imagine we will spoil them as is expected of us, but the best part for me will be in watching our children be parents.

So while age may not a good measure of life, love is. And right now, life is really, really great!

Blah, blah.....

2004-10-19T18:14:00.000-05:00

This entry is coming to you more out of guilt than for any other reason. I am sure I have no insightful little moments to relate, although I did think of something Blog related a week or so ago. Life, lately, is me trying to maintain the momentum I need to get through the day.

That sounds so positive!!!

So first of all, we were in Madison two weekends ago, the city of progressive idealism and hippies and farmers markets and the arts and diversity. Ah, I love it there. Add to that the fact that the weather was spectacular--one of those late fall weekends that you must absolutely cherish because you know that the snow will fall soon. And we visited Kimber, former photo editor, but more than that. She has been like a daughter to me in a lot of ways. We had a lot of fun, looking off the upper decks at Monona Terrace, where Frank Lloyd Wright understood Madison's light as if God explained it to him personally. The lake was full of sail boats and people fishing. To breathe the air that Saturday afternoon was like the gift of breathing itself.

On Sunday morning we drove outside of Madison to Kim's aunt and uncle's house (the millionaires, I should add). While Kim says she really couldn't live in that house, both Mike and I thought, yeah, no problem. We could live here. The walk to the lake was great, Scout, their old lab wheezing his way to find us. And at the shore he dove in like a young pup, enthusiastic and vigorous. We may be able to learn a lot from an old dog. Life is short, so take each day as a gift and live it, and even if there is algae on the water, just dive in. It will feel great.

I showed Kim my Blog that weekend also, and now, my audience is fuller. I started all of this really for myself as a place to write. It's so convenient to just log in and blog (now a synonym for write, it seems). But as my family and friends become aware of this web space of mine, I wonder if it will change how I write. I wonder if I will hold back or if I will be overly conscious of what someone, of what they, will think.

I talk to my students about the power of audience all the time. When they publish their writing on the web and anyone, potentially, could see it, they no longer write just for their teacher. The effect of audience for them is that they begin to write what pleases them because they don't know exactly who will see it. And yet, I don't think that until this Blog I realized that knowing that your mom or dad might read your work would affect it in another way. I didn't realize that it might circumscribe your voice if you are overly aware of them as reader.

In the best way we learn, by doing, that is, I have come to understand something essential about the relationship of writer, reader and text, a relationship that continues to evolve through technological innovations and continues to redefine what it means to be a writer.

Swimming lessons

2004-10-02T13:21:00.000-05:00

I often leave school late. After five p.m. our high school is a different place than it is during the day. Right now the fall sports teams are finishing practice around five or volleyball players are warming up for the night's game. But the halls in the academic areas are essentially silent. After a long day, I am ready to head home. I lock my door and make my way past locker after locker and notice that in addition to the quiet there exists a certain smell when a school is empty. It's not a bad smell, not a good smell. It' s not quite a clean smell even if the custodians have been busy emptying trash cans and sweeping floors. It is the smell of stillness--a bit crisp, a bit sweet--a subtle, reassurance that school is school.

I make my way toward the gym and eventually to the pool area, and the energy of places-to-be, things-to-do people buzzes. Even though I am ready for quiet and a chance to unwind, here, suddenly, I am amidst Moms, Dads, big sisters and brothers and legions of the little ones all at school for swimming lessons. Wet headed six-year-olds in colorful flip flops and towels dragging on the floor barely attached to their backpacks wait to be picked up while others are heading in to the locker rooms. Moms and dads head up to the balcony where they will watch their children float and kick. It is a scene that has altered little from one year to the next since the pool was built at the high school several years ago.

While I was both a student swimmer in my very young days and also a parent of two children who learned first to just put their faces in the water and blow bubbles and later showed their bravura in diving off the high dive and swimming under water for a long, long time, this ritual was something that happened in the summer. My sister and I walked ourselves to the public pool for swimming lessons and walked ourselves home. Those years were idyllic for us. We took to the water as naturally as to breathing. We "lived" at the pool. I don't recall that either of our parents came with us. Going to the pool was how we conducted ourselves in the summer. But we did it on our own.

It was a little different for me and our children because I sat with other moms to watch lessons. But then, once they had achieved a safe level of proficiency as swimmers, they were ready to be on their own, just as my sister and I were. I rarely accompanied them to the pool after that.

But these days, it seems swimming lessons, or other lessons, or perhaps any children's activity, is a whole-family activity. I'm not saying this is good or bad. It's just different from my life. And all this family activity does take its toll, I imagine, on the order and operation of the home. Maybe modern moms handle things in a modern way: the cell phone. I can't be sure, but I am almost positive I heard Mom giving washing machine operating instructions to Dad or perhaps to an older child over the phone this week. "Push the top button when the red light comes on," she said into the phone as an impatient little boy tugged at her to "come on, Mom." She shook him off with the gesture that meant, "shh, I'm on the phone."

Swimming lessons probably last 45 minutes, but there's the time it takes to get to the pool, to change, to dry off, to get home. Is Dad or Mom home making dinner, for if a lesson is starting at 5:00, dinner needs to come after for hungry kids. Or will the busy family stop at McDonalds? Then there may be homework or church or a meeting for soccer or .... See, I thought my life was busy. On the days when I leave work late, I sometimes worry that growing up is harder than it used to be and that being a parent is less fun and that being a family requires so much effort because it sure seems like that's the way it is. I hope I am wrong. I hope there is still time for quiet moments for parents. I hope there is still time for children to be children away from their parents, for unstructured play. I hope there is still time for kids to do things on their own so they can feel independent and strong.

And I hope that everything isn't called in on a cell phone or picked up on the way home.

Feeling pesky

2004-09-17T20:28:00.000-05:00

I am feeling downright pesky tonight, as if anyone who says the wrong thing or rubs me the wrong way will hear what I have to say about it. I am sick of the enforced complacency that the Bush administration desires. First, we will fight terrorism by going on with our normal lives. Well, duh. What else. But hidden there is perhaps the message that none of us peon citizens need concern ourselves with foreign policy or politics. We can let George W. and his band of brothers handle it all.

I see how well that's been going.

And at school this year, I am starting to see how changes we've been forced to make because of budget cuts and because of No Child Left Behind and because of other political controls have dissolved our once great school into the kind of place where we only serve the masses--one size fits all. Fit in or lose is the way it is becoming. There is only so much one classroom teacher can do. School climate is not so great! If we're all supposed to fit in, then we're all becoming automatons!!!

Where are the thinking citizens who made this country a country in the beginning. As long as "I" wave a flag and lock my door and keep to myself, hey, it's all good????

Arrggghhhh!!!!!

What school means to me...

2004-09-15T18:23:00.000-05:00

It means I have SO MUCH LESS time to myself and therefore so much less time to write. What discipline it must take to be a real writer, to isolate oneself from the demands of living and making a living. No wonder so many exist in poverty for awhile or forever. There is not much I really have to say. I have already extended my work day by a couple of hours and I have yet to read the assignment for tomorrow, so that's another hour.

I suppose I feel a little bitter. I wanted to be a teacher for the connections to students. If only we could learn and explore together each day and not have to have grades. But then how would we prove our accountability.

Ramble, ramble.

Will there be time enough? Next summer I am 50 and there is much left to do in my life, some of which I have not even begun to dream of.

I must learn to simplify, simplify, simplify.

Another one, but I survived

2004-08-25T18:51:00.000-05:00

It was my 49th birthday only days ago and I not only survived, but it was a darn good day. And the day after that, we went shopping and I spent money on a few things I didn't need. That's always fun.

One of the only bad things about my birthday, besides getting older, is that it signifies the end of summer and back to school. There was no smooth transition this year. I am being drawn back into school as violently as a person being dragged by a runaway horse. Well, okay, it's not quite that bad. But whereas before I would spend a few weeks quietly contemplating the new year and easing my way into my preparation, this year, with working so much on the house, I have barely given school a thought. This is not good. It's good in some ways in that I have really been removed from all that. But now, I'm really under stress to be ready.

Still, this will be my 15th year, and I can almost do this in my sleep. I just have to go and get into the schedule and get accustomed to the bells again and not having more than about 10 minutes to eat lunch and having to answer about 15 questions at once all day long and I'll be just fine.

Second coat

2004-08-16T14:03:00.000-05:00

I just finished putting the second coat of polyurethane on the floor and the stairs today. I have to say that after all the work, it looks pretty good. Not new, but like a 115-year-old house would look. The distressed look can be beautiful, right? I still have to put in the quarter round molding, paint the sides of the stairs and the other woodwork, and touch up the walls. And tonight we go look at carpet. We want a runner up the stairs and rugs in the hall. After 15 years, the work we have left to do on this house is almost done.

Today as I contemplated that idea, I wondered what I would do during summers from now on. Ha! What an idiotic thing to think. There is never a lack of things to do. Working inside precludes working outside, so I haven't weeded as I should have been, I haven't kept up with watering, keeping the things outside clean, etc., and it looks like it. And in only two weeks, I am back to work full time, so any other grand plans will have to wait.

I am starting to feel that awkwardness, a sort of half depression, half anxiety that comes with the two major time transitions that occur each year: end of school year and beginning. Since the second week in June, I have not been living according to bells and short increments of time. The rhythms of summer are less jarring, easier, more tranquil. On the other hand, tranquility can lead to periods of inactivity, aka relaxation. During these times, I don't get much done. Ah well.

But now, I know that each hour ticking away means another hour less to accomplish what I wanted to accomplish during a time (summer) that seemed so vast and limitless when it began. Perhaps I should think not on what won't get done and focus instead on what did get done. Certainly this has been a productive summer compared to others.

Right now though, I am going to turn on a movie and laze about for a few hours, letting images come to me without effort on my part to create them. I might even take a nap, though the decadence of that idea shocks me somewhat.

Brrrrrr....or Why I live here

2004-08-11T17:09:00.000-05:00

My friend Lee recently returned home (Sheboygan County, Wisconsin) from a trip to Los Angeles to reminisce with old friends. As we watched his photo slide show on his laptop, I had to agree, it is beautiful there, and the weather, well, as he said, almost perfect all the time.

As teaching colleagues, he and I have had philosphical discussions about all kinds of things, but in the middle of the worst months in Wisconsin, February and March, we sometimes wonder why we live here. I mean, when we're in Florida on Spring Break, we are all thinking, hey, what if we moved here! When it's cold and damp and the wind goes right into your bones and you can't warm up no matter what and you haven't seen the sun for three weeks, Wisconsin can be a hostile universe. And today for example--it's August and Milwaukee recorded a record low high temperature: 60 degrees. Brrrr....

And in summer, it's always cooler by the Lake (Michigan, if you don't know your geography). Cooler by da Lake, some might say. So I was thinking all those PGA guys are freezing their butts off over at Whistling Straits and wondering, it's pretty and all here, but why would anyone want to live here.

So here's the answer. This was my drive this morning: I saw a young girl leading her cow to the barn (the county fair is only weeks away). I saw a hawk soaring overhead. The fields are blooming with wildflowers or fully green or gold with their crops. And every once in awhile during my 20 minute drive, I fancied the illusion that I was the only car on the road. My drives to and from school are more or less similar to this one. I have seen pheasants gleaming in the sun. Sometimes the sunsets are so amazing I wish I had a camera.

Which would I prefer, hour long drives to get fifteen miles on a six lane freeway (free?), or peace and solitude on country roads? Sure, the weather is not always nice, but snow can be beautiful, too. And it's not so crowded here. I think that in Los Angeles or places like that, I would feel claustrophobic.

Besides, surviving winters is built into me. Some of my ancestors are Scandanavian, and we're a stoic lot. It makes us tough to live here and at least it's not Duluth. That place is built on rocks on the shore of Lake Superior (which means north, not great). You gotta be able to chew on nails to live there.

I didn't think I could be inspired by a speech...

2004-08-04T15:53:00.000-05:00

...but I was wrong. I missed Barack Obama's speech at the Democratic National Convention and having read it I am very sorry I did. I hear his delivery was as good as what he had to say. I imagine I would have been in tears had I seen him. I nearly was as I read it.

Illinois is lucky to have this man representing them because he believes in people and in their dreams. He is not, it seems, a little man residing in the pockets of corporate dictators but is, instead, a man of vision, a man who understands our country's past, a man who desperately wants what is right and good for all of us.

I have not been excited about a politician in a long time. If Obama were running for president we would be very lucky. But we are not worthy of him yet in that role. As I thought the other day that he would make a fine president and considered his qualifications, I knew he would not be electable, not yet. He's too ethnic--not Mayflower white enough. I don't know when we will be able to move beyond that picture of what a president should look like, but I think it better be pretty soon.

What gets me about this election is that almost no one is talking about how to make "MY" life better or any American's life better. And like Obama said in his speech, I don't expect government to do things for me that I can do for myself, but I am sick of government gorging itself on more government. I am angry that my money goes for ridiculous waste (including an immoral war) while elderly forfeit their health because they can't afford overpriced drugs, while children live in poverty and hopelessness, while the middle class erodes, while the rich get richer, and while everything keeps getting more expensive at the same time my ability to spend decreases.

I think the saying "anybody but Bush" is funny, but it's not so comforting. I'm not convinced that Kerry will be a great leader. He does talk about the right things, just not well. And he doesn't seem warm or genuine. I know Clinton was not always the most "moral" of men as president, but his personal life aside, he was, or seemed to be intelligent and he was well spoken. He brought us out of a deficit and left things in pretty good shape. He might have done better with foreign policy, but I didn't hear of scandalous offenses happening under his watch (they may have, but I don't remember that). And while he might have been lying to me, I didn't get the feeling that he was. I almost never believe anything Bush says. He doesn't even have an honest face.

A president should be a great speaker. He or she should be able to put words together eloquently, words that are honest and real and that have a purpose that reeks of integrity. Presidents of the past were scholars. They read. They were orators. Obama seems like that kind of president. Maybe he will be one day. Until then, I will go with the only real choice given to me, John Kerry, and hope that he can find a way to make federal government be about people and not corporations.

I can hope.

Peace and rain

2004-07-29T17:51:00.000-05:00

It's raining! I know we complained about all the rain this spring, but now we need this rain. My tomatoes need this rain. I need it too--for the peacefulness it brings.

I was back stripping and sanding today. We rented a sander to sand the hallway upstairs and the results were okay, I guess. We certainly aren't going to hire out to do this for a living. There is much to do yet even thought it seems as if we have made a lot of progress already. My goal of being finished by Sunday may prove unrealistic.

So, after cleaning up and putting away for the day, the rain invites me to relax. And I will.

Sunday: art & music

2004-07-19T08:10:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was very fun. We started at the art festival. It was crowded, so that was good. I kept hoping people were spending money, keeping these artists in the arts. There were people from everywhere, it seemed. And everywhere you looked there was something beautiful I wanted to buy. I also noticed that art now means pottery, jewelry, functional sculpture (like lawn decorations and bird feeders--I saw one for 300 dollars), some textiles, but not much in the way of painting. There were only a couple of painters there. We bought a mirror--it is hammered tin and burnished copper. It's going in a downstairs bathroom to be the focal point. so that's functional, but it's also not like any other mirror. We wouldn't be able to pick one up just like it at Target or Pier 1. I got a necklace, too from my favorite jewelry makers at The Corner Studio in Sheboygan Falls, a great store where two women hand-make everything and they'll make just about anything you want.

Then we went to our friend's backyard, where about 25 people were gathered to hear his band play for the first time in an open air venue (in preparation for an upcoming gig) and I think for the first time for a real audience. Now this was truly fabulous. This group of guys, none younger than 35 or even 40, were rockin' their hearts out for us. The weather was great, everyone had a personal cooler with beer or whatever, and the songs were all the great songs from our past. They were really good, too, really into it. It was just great. I wish them well. These guys all have real jobs, but they deserve some success with their music, too because they love it so much.

Art and music are those things we don't take much time with day to day. They're background design mostly, posters of famous art on our walls, a radio or CD playing in the background while we do our more important work. To have been immersed as we were yesterday in art because it was there for us was a true gift. I can't imagine a better way to spend a Sunday.

Renaissance soul

2004-07-13T08:32:00.000-05:00

My profile says that my restlessness manifests itself in things like blogging. As I sit here at my computer this morning, avoiding the necessary task of stripping my stairs (yuk!), I recognize that I may be a Renaissance Soul. As I get older, I have become less and less able to focus on one thing until its completion. I am always inventing things for me to do or saying yes to ideas others propose. My husband thinks, or he knows, that this is not always a good thing. I can become overwhelmed.

I said to my brother in law the other day as a matter of fact, "Rob, you're a linear thinker, aren't you?" and he agreed he was. I wonder what it is like to think in terms of connecting point A to point B before moving on. I often think my brain functions like a ball in a pin ball machine, careening off the sides of the machine, setting off lights and buzzers, making seemingly random connections at times when I ought to just let it drop straight down to where gravity wants it to go. Why can't I be like that? Why ask why? I am not.

So, my task list grows, and each day I engage in something different, and each day I remember that I meant to do this or I promised to do that. Even making a list has become, at this point, kind of meaningless. I mean, if I don't have an appointment with someone who will get mad at me if I don't show up, I tend not to keep promises to myself that today I will do this thing or that.

Is it an illness, this variety, this restlessness? I think I am "in love" with the new, with the possiblity of beginnings. I love things that begin in nothing and end in something, which can be said for a lot of things. I love that I can create, make, shape, change, mold, affect, direct. . . .

So, it's a power thing? A God complex? Is it a sickness?

I gotta go to the stairs now. If I don't get those stripped, sanded, stained and varnished, I'll never get my runner and my stairway will never be as beautiful as I envision it will be.

See that's the thing. This creating, affecting, making process requires work, too. So, I'll crank up the music and get into the process. I'll lose myself in the work, become one with the evolution from ugly to beautiful. And while I do that, my mind, the pinball, will make connections with hundreds of ideas for processes yet to immerse myself in and I will think of how eager I am to begin again, and again, and again.

Miraculous technology & kindness

2004-07-11T09:22:00.000-05:00

Only 16 hours after having his ribs sawed apart and his arteries replaced, my father was sitting up in bed, alert, smiling (happy to be alive, the doctor says about most patients at this stage in their recovery), and excited to see us.

We were excited to see him, too. Eight of us (four children, two spouses, one grandchild, and his wife) had waited nervously the day before as he was taken off to that unknown realm, his heart and his life in doctors' hands. It was as tense an experience as I have had. I am usually the one to "go under," having had several surgeries, so now I know how it feels to wait. But, he goes home today, Sunday, only five days after his surgery.

Besides having my dad back, healthy and strong, I have come away from this experience believing in and grateful for medical technology. I am also reinforced in my belief that most people are good and kind. If we watch the news, we may have a false (disproportionate) sense of the violent nature of human beings. Television in general presents us with a negative view of people, showing us in sitcoms, reality shows, even commercials, how stupid and incompetent people are. My experience with the people in Duluth, the doctors, the nurses, the staff, the hotel staff, everyone, was really positive. These people were kind. They cared about how we felt. They wanted to answer our questions. They were just nice.

I suppose it could be easy to fall into a sense of being insulated, thinking "I'm all alone" and therefore against the world. We are encased in private spaces--cars, cubicles, headphones. We have our own private communication devices--phones, handheld computers, mp3 players, pagers, etc. Things are small and personal. Despite all of that, we do live in a public world and we live parallel experiences to others. It is more important than ever to recognize our community and to cultivate a culture of kindness.

Independence Day

2004-07-01T18:34:00.000-05:00

Independence Day or the 4th of July is just ahead. While most people think of it in terms of pyrotechnics and/or beer, I think we ought to consider it more deeply. Yes, of course, we ought to remember Jefferson and Adams (McCollough's biography is superb, btw) and their Declaration of Independence for without them we'd be, well we'd be British. But what if we thought of Independence Day as a day when we declare our freedom from something that has weighted us down. For example, this Independence Day, I am going to free myself from . . . . Hmmmm. . . . That's the hard part. I will have to think about that. Yes, as those rockets burst brightly overhead, we should all free ourselves from some burden--junk in our basement (you could burn it on your driveway like in Six Feet Under), guilt, oppression, twenty pounds, or whatever. Freedom. If there is no social freedom, there must still be individual freedom. Let's not let it get away. Make a decision this year to be Independent!!!

New computer $@%^#!

2004-06-30T18:00:00.000-05:00

I just got a new computer and I should be happy and I am, but I'm also exhausted. The transition is exhausting. I think I have my e-mail working again, but you never know. And I liked my old keyboard better, but this one is black and the new computer is black, so I have that aesthetics issue to deal with. I like that it's faster and that the monitor is really sharp. I like that the hard drive doesn't grind like a food processor. But, it was sad "putting down" the old one. She's going to a good home, but like an old comfortable shirt, I was used to that computer. Now, I have to get used to this one.