Sometimes, it's easy to forget how absolutely bazaar some aspects of my life really are until a conversation with someone outside the family leaves them stunned, jaws agape, sometimes speechless. They take a few seconds to think, then they chuckle like I just gave them the punchline to a poorly conceived (or delivered) joke, and wait for me to say, "Just kidding!"
Although I'm a very imaginative person, even I would never make up a story so rich in kooky details as mine! No one would buy it!
In speaking to my co-worker at the gym where I held one of four part-time jobs last year while attending graduate school full-time and raising four children, it happened! I was telling her that because the middle of my three older brothers is on his 10th marriage, I have at some point had 14 sisters-in-law. The newest in my growing collection of these is Jin (pronounced "Jean") from China, who my youngest brother met on the Internet after the death of his wife of 25 years from ovarian cancer. He had decided that American women are too independent and don't believe in submissiveness, and that's not what he wanted this time around. He wanted a good, submissive woman, so he met, fell in love, visited (in China) this 40-something-year-old woman, proposed to her and married her. After a 24-month courtship/marriage, the paperwork was finalized and she flew to this country for the first time to join my brother in his love nest in Ashland, Alabama, just this past August.
Today, I received in the mail a letter from UAB about the graduation ceremony this December where I'll receive my Master's Degree in Elementary/Early Childhood Education. This will happen only two months prior to my official 20-year college reunion! Yes, in February of 2006, the University of Montevallo will be honoring the class of 1986, and I will be the youngest attendee at a mere 41 years of age. I hope that many of my friends from UM will show up, but the ones of which I'm most fond probably never graduated, and don't go to dorky functions like class reunions. So, there I'll be with all the SGA geeks, the Baptist Student Union stiffs, and the fraternity and sorority lemmings. My fellow Bohemians will be out partying (or home with their kids) just like every other Saturday night of the year.
So, why should I go? Because I look fucking GREAT, that's why! I'm in better shape than I have been since I was 17 and a naive (not for long) freshman on that beautiful campus. I want to wear a knockout "little black dress" and wear my hair long and flowing and surprise the SNOT out of everyone I see that pretty-but-chunky Rebecca has held up very well with age.
Plus, I feel like a very accomplished person earning this Master's Degree. I was the first of my siblings to earned a Bachelor's Degree and now will be the first to earn a Master's. It may sound vain, but I truly feel like I'm blazing the path for the next generation of Owens children and, certainly, Montalbano children.
I have it all: marriage, four beautiful, smart children, education, job, house, and fitness! Who could ask for more? From the outside, it appears that I have everything. Only a select few know how frightened and crumbley I feel inside.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Saturday, August 13, 2005
The Teacher
This past week I assessed students for number concepts and computational skills, and I assessed their writing skills. I am very excited and I wanted to let you know that on Friday, I was able to facilitate meaningful learning in each of my four classes of noisy, boisterous, extremely loud and social 6th grade students (24 to 28 students per class).
In groups of four, they were given a grocery store sales paper and instructed to come up with a grocery list of items they would purchase with $30 (pretending there is no sales tax). The groups discussed, fussed, mussed (and probably "cussed") before they finished their lists. Then, they totaled their groceries and subtracted that from $30 to find their correct change. The reporter for each group then crowed out their list, and the rest of us checked their math. Those who accidentally went over $30 were told to do what I had done when I made that mistake; put an item or two back and recalculate. (The boys who put beer on their list to go with the pizza were instructed to put it back and get sodas!)
They were all engaged, they had fun, they constructed meaning, and the observing math coach (2nd period) was thrilled! It was unnerving because of the noise, but it was truly FANTASTIC! I'm now planning for next week. I told them to find out the MPG in their family's car and to note the price of a gallon of gas over the weekend. We're taking a road-trip! (an imaginary road-trip)
In groups of four, they were given a grocery store sales paper and instructed to come up with a grocery list of items they would purchase with $30 (pretending there is no sales tax). The groups discussed, fussed, mussed (and probably "cussed") before they finished their lists. Then, they totaled their groceries and subtracted that from $30 to find their correct change. The reporter for each group then crowed out their list, and the rest of us checked their math. Those who accidentally went over $30 were told to do what I had done when I made that mistake; put an item or two back and recalculate. (The boys who put beer on their list to go with the pizza were instructed to put it back and get sodas!)
They were all engaged, they had fun, they constructed meaning, and the observing math coach (2nd period) was thrilled! It was unnerving because of the noise, but it was truly FANTASTIC! I'm now planning for next week. I told them to find out the MPG in their family's car and to note the price of a gallon of gas over the weekend. We're taking a road-trip! (an imaginary road-trip)
Monday, August 01, 2005
Time . . . .
Time puts such an interesting perspective on events and people in your life. It never ceases to amaze me how I can feel like someone is SO important to my very existence that I may not be able to continue to breath without their constant communications.
However, the sun rises and the sun sets. Every day I wake up, and every night I go to sleep. The people flow in and the people flow out. People buzz all around speaking their "speak" and doing their thing. And I watch.
I peek out of my shell and pretend to join them sometimes, but it doesn't change their rhythms or rhymes. I'm welcome to run along with them, but they run whether or not I go. And if I don't show, they just keep running.
I'm forty years old, and I still don't understand this. In my own country, in my own city, and in my own home I am lost in translation.
I can still get angry, but the anger hurts only me. I can cry, and that helps now and then. But when you get right down to it, that's just a snotty pressure valve - if you have tissues, then let 'er rip!
Reminds me of that little ditty at the end of Monty Python's Life of Brian. "Always look on the bright side of life." (you know the rest of the words)
Whooptee f*&king DO!!!!!
However, the sun rises and the sun sets. Every day I wake up, and every night I go to sleep. The people flow in and the people flow out. People buzz all around speaking their "speak" and doing their thing. And I watch.
I peek out of my shell and pretend to join them sometimes, but it doesn't change their rhythms or rhymes. I'm welcome to run along with them, but they run whether or not I go. And if I don't show, they just keep running.
I'm forty years old, and I still don't understand this. In my own country, in my own city, and in my own home I am lost in translation.
I can still get angry, but the anger hurts only me. I can cry, and that helps now and then. But when you get right down to it, that's just a snotty pressure valve - if you have tissues, then let 'er rip!
Reminds me of that little ditty at the end of Monty Python's Life of Brian. "Always look on the bright side of life." (you know the rest of the words)
Whooptee f*&king DO!!!!!
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Life-Alteringly Good Nap
Only when there are projects to complete and final exams to prepare for could a nap be THIS GOOD!
I FEEL like I've slept for weeks and my eye's are still dreamy-looking and morning-puffy. It's 4pm and I'm yawning and stretching like it was 7am. Delicious.
I dreamt in color with smells. In the dream it was Sean's birthday and there was a party at his parents home. When I arrived, there were oil lamps burning and scented candles. The warm light and delicate aroma filled the house and it was welcoming and wonderful. Friends began arriving. Carmen was there, but dream Carmen had a thick and beautiful accent. She was tall and elegant in a very short orange and yellow dress with an exotic print.
There were relatives there, too. The only man there besides Sean and Mr. Corley was Sean's uncle. The rest of us were women, all these women. They (we) were all dressed in beautiful things, white linens and breezy silks, all feminine and relaxed. We were drinking wine and having cheese and grapes.
It was almost 8pm and still daylight, so we were all going outside and coming back into the house, mingling and enjoying ourselves. We were waiting for someone to arrive before the party could start, but I can't remember whom. Sean was very relaxed and happy, laughing and joking with each little pocket of people he passed and posing for pictures with guests. I was glad to be there, and everything was warm and happy.
I just like to record dreams while they are still fresh, especially when they are so vivid.
I FEEL like I've slept for weeks and my eye's are still dreamy-looking and morning-puffy. It's 4pm and I'm yawning and stretching like it was 7am. Delicious.
I dreamt in color with smells. In the dream it was Sean's birthday and there was a party at his parents home. When I arrived, there were oil lamps burning and scented candles. The warm light and delicate aroma filled the house and it was welcoming and wonderful. Friends began arriving. Carmen was there, but dream Carmen had a thick and beautiful accent. She was tall and elegant in a very short orange and yellow dress with an exotic print.
There were relatives there, too. The only man there besides Sean and Mr. Corley was Sean's uncle. The rest of us were women, all these women. They (we) were all dressed in beautiful things, white linens and breezy silks, all feminine and relaxed. We were drinking wine and having cheese and grapes.
It was almost 8pm and still daylight, so we were all going outside and coming back into the house, mingling and enjoying ourselves. We were waiting for someone to arrive before the party could start, but I can't remember whom. Sean was very relaxed and happy, laughing and joking with each little pocket of people he passed and posing for pictures with guests. I was glad to be there, and everything was warm and happy.
I just like to record dreams while they are still fresh, especially when they are so vivid.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Today
My head hurts.I hurt.
My Auntie is dead and buried.
My brothers have spoken their piece and left, as usual.
My school projects are ALL finished, and I have two final exams next week.
My laundry needs DOing, and I'm hungry.
I am not an intense curiosity, nor an acquaintance, nor a convenience to be experienced for entertainment. I am a dreadful inconvenience, because I am a real, 3-dimensional person. I require and I enrich. I give AND I take. I do give 150%. That's what it's all about. Saying "I can't" simply doesn't cut it with me. Saying "I'll try" simply doesn't cut it - that's a complete cop out and truly means "I'll placate you with meaningless words and put out no effort whatsoever." I was raised to say "I can" and "I will." Then, only say it when you really mean it, when you really intend to BE THERE.
I do say "I won't" from time to time.
I won't be limited, especially not by ME.
I won't be ignored.
I won't give up, give in, give out, or give nothing.
I won't waste one second of this life - not any more.
With great power comes great responsibility.
When one is priveledged beyond belief, innately intelligent, educated, cultured, loved, and nurtured (as I am - as anyone reading this blog is), one MUST give. "To whom much is given, much is required."
I'm done.
My Auntie is dead and buried.
My brothers have spoken their piece and left, as usual.
My school projects are ALL finished, and I have two final exams next week.
My laundry needs DOing, and I'm hungry.
I am not an intense curiosity, nor an acquaintance, nor a convenience to be experienced for entertainment. I am a dreadful inconvenience, because I am a real, 3-dimensional person. I require and I enrich. I give AND I take. I do give 150%. That's what it's all about. Saying "I can't" simply doesn't cut it with me. Saying "I'll try" simply doesn't cut it - that's a complete cop out and truly means "I'll placate you with meaningless words and put out no effort whatsoever." I was raised to say "I can" and "I will." Then, only say it when you really mean it, when you really intend to BE THERE.
I do say "I won't" from time to time.
I won't be limited, especially not by ME.
I won't be ignored.
I won't give up, give in, give out, or give nothing.
I won't waste one second of this life - not any more.
With great power comes great responsibility.
When one is priveledged beyond belief, innately intelligent, educated, cultured, loved, and nurtured (as I am - as anyone reading this blog is), one MUST give. "To whom much is given, much is required."
I'm done.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Procrastinator Extraordinaire
Yes. I've done everything I can possibly do to wait until 10 hours and 51 minutes before class time to write this paper. Well, I have much of the drafting done, I have the order together in web form and I'm on page 3 (of probably 10 or so pages total), but I'm really putting this off.
No MORE! I've drunk a Monster Energy Drink, I've worked out (weights AND cardio), I've chatted with a girlfriend about men, I've played with the kids, I've eaten take-out Chinese for supper, I've been to the art show downtown AGAIN ( where I saw hunkey Mexico City men dressed in traditional Aztec costume performing Aztec dancing WHOOOOOOO! chhhhhhhhhOT!), I've been to see my dying Auntie in the hospital, I've sat and chatted with Mom and Dad and worked part of the crossword puzzle, and I've sipped coffee. I even took a soaking bath when I got dressed for the day. REAL procrastination.
Now that I'm home, sitting down at the computer, all resources gathered and right here in front of me, I think I'll change clothes!
I'm the queen of procrastination!
No MORE! I've drunk a Monster Energy Drink, I've worked out (weights AND cardio), I've chatted with a girlfriend about men, I've played with the kids, I've eaten take-out Chinese for supper, I've been to the art show downtown AGAIN ( where I saw hunkey Mexico City men dressed in traditional Aztec costume performing Aztec dancing WHOOOOOOO! chhhhhhhhhOT!), I've been to see my dying Auntie in the hospital, I've sat and chatted with Mom and Dad and worked part of the crossword puzzle, and I've sipped coffee. I even took a soaking bath when I got dressed for the day. REAL procrastination.
Now that I'm home, sitting down at the computer, all resources gathered and right here in front of me, I think I'll change clothes!
I'm the queen of procrastination!
Happy Valentine's Day!
My Funny Valentine
Words and Music by R. Rodgers and L. Hart
My funny valentine;
Sweet, comic valentine;
You make me smile with my heart.
Your looks are laughable;
Unphotographable;
Yet, you're my favorite work of art.
Is your figure - less than Greek?
Is your mouth - a little weak?
When you open it to speak, are you smart?
Don't change a hair for me;
Not if you care for me;
Stay, little valentine, stay!
Each day is valentine's day.
Words and Music by R. Rodgers and L. Hart
My funny valentine;
Sweet, comic valentine;
You make me smile with my heart.
Your looks are laughable;
Unphotographable;
Yet, you're my favorite work of art.
Is your figure - less than Greek?
Is your mouth - a little weak?
When you open it to speak, are you smart?
Don't change a hair for me;
Not if you care for me;
Stay, little valentine, stay!
Each day is valentine's day.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
A few words on dying . . . .
A little part of me died today. (Good riddance, by the way.) The part that died is the immature little kid who can't take the rough stuff of a sick, dying relative; the one that is so busy crying, she can't even say the things that need to be said, or hug and kiss that saint of a woman lying in a hospital bed who played such a big part in my whole entire life that I consider her a second mother.
I made myself stay until I could speak. I held that puny, whiny little kid-self down under the waters of reality and drowned it mercilessly: my bare hands around its throat while it twitched in the throes of death. Then stillness and calm took over.
I sat beside her and held her hand. Unable to keep check on her pulse because of tremors in her body, I watched a spot on her neck where the skin would rise and fall with each pump of her heart. It was irregular, but ever present: she is not yet ready to go.
Her breathing is shallow, and her body is too tired to allow her to speak. She acknowledged me with her eyebrows, and nodded or shook her head in answer to simple questions. This small amount of response let me know that she saw me: she heard me. My cousin and I exchanged memories of our childhood spent in the far corners of Aunt Estelle's yard eating wild onions and sneaking cherry tomatoes ("tommy-toes") right off the vine. In the house, cousin Melanie and I would eat peanut butter on a spoon right from the jar and drink ginger ale from Auntie's beautiful green glasses and pretend it was caviar and champagne. Auntie almost smiled at that one.
I was able to say "thank you" for a few things, too. I thanked her for always having instant grits available for my breakfast, for letting me drink out of those fancy green glasses that accompanied her best china, for always keeping a bagful of little sample lipsticks from Avon in all the colors a proper lady might choose to wear when she dressed up, for allowing me to rummage in the drawers of her daughter's (my cousin Martha's) dressing table where she kept hairbows and makeup, for allowing me to play with lightening bugs and sleep on a palette in the living room floor.
We talked about how her husband, Uncle Troy (dead ten years now) ate Total cereal for breakfast every morning of his life, and watched only ball games and the news on his TV no matter how much we whined to watch Gilligan's Island or Bewitched. I talked about her taking me downtown to Pizitz for a day of shopping, and letting me ride the escalators all the way up to the 6th floor and back. Martha said HER preference was to be left in the hat department, which Aunt Estelle always did and then collected us when she was done shopping and ready to leave the parking deck down the spiral ramp, which was always a thrill.
We laughed and talked and remembered, and Aunt Estelle would squeeze my hand or raise her eyebrows or almost smile in agreement with us. It was a wonderful way to spend the day, after the death of pathetic kid-self.
I'm so glad I was with her today, and I would love it if I could be there when she dies. I would be thrilled to hear her last breath and watch the peace with which she leaves this world. She is certain of what awaits her beyond the last pump of her heart, and I need to be there. I'm going to take the laptop and sit with her tonight, working on my final paper of the semester between talking sessions and listening to her shallow breath for any indication of change. My cousins have all been so faithful to be with her every day of this last hospital stay, just as she has been faithful with every member of the family who has been hospitalized.
To Aunt Estelle:
Whenever you're ready to leave, I'm ready to let you. I release you, and you don't have to worry about my fear of your dying. Thank you for all you've done and all you've been in my life. Thank you for a lifetime of giving and sharing.
Love,
Becky
I made myself stay until I could speak. I held that puny, whiny little kid-self down under the waters of reality and drowned it mercilessly: my bare hands around its throat while it twitched in the throes of death. Then stillness and calm took over.
I sat beside her and held her hand. Unable to keep check on her pulse because of tremors in her body, I watched a spot on her neck where the skin would rise and fall with each pump of her heart. It was irregular, but ever present: she is not yet ready to go.
Her breathing is shallow, and her body is too tired to allow her to speak. She acknowledged me with her eyebrows, and nodded or shook her head in answer to simple questions. This small amount of response let me know that she saw me: she heard me. My cousin and I exchanged memories of our childhood spent in the far corners of Aunt Estelle's yard eating wild onions and sneaking cherry tomatoes ("tommy-toes") right off the vine. In the house, cousin Melanie and I would eat peanut butter on a spoon right from the jar and drink ginger ale from Auntie's beautiful green glasses and pretend it was caviar and champagne. Auntie almost smiled at that one.
I was able to say "thank you" for a few things, too. I thanked her for always having instant grits available for my breakfast, for letting me drink out of those fancy green glasses that accompanied her best china, for always keeping a bagful of little sample lipsticks from Avon in all the colors a proper lady might choose to wear when she dressed up, for allowing me to rummage in the drawers of her daughter's (my cousin Martha's) dressing table where she kept hairbows and makeup, for allowing me to play with lightening bugs and sleep on a palette in the living room floor.
We talked about how her husband, Uncle Troy (dead ten years now) ate Total cereal for breakfast every morning of his life, and watched only ball games and the news on his TV no matter how much we whined to watch Gilligan's Island or Bewitched. I talked about her taking me downtown to Pizitz for a day of shopping, and letting me ride the escalators all the way up to the 6th floor and back. Martha said HER preference was to be left in the hat department, which Aunt Estelle always did and then collected us when she was done shopping and ready to leave the parking deck down the spiral ramp, which was always a thrill.
We laughed and talked and remembered, and Aunt Estelle would squeeze my hand or raise her eyebrows or almost smile in agreement with us. It was a wonderful way to spend the day, after the death of pathetic kid-self.
I'm so glad I was with her today, and I would love it if I could be there when she dies. I would be thrilled to hear her last breath and watch the peace with which she leaves this world. She is certain of what awaits her beyond the last pump of her heart, and I need to be there. I'm going to take the laptop and sit with her tonight, working on my final paper of the semester between talking sessions and listening to her shallow breath for any indication of change. My cousins have all been so faithful to be with her every day of this last hospital stay, just as she has been faithful with every member of the family who has been hospitalized.
To Aunt Estelle:
Whenever you're ready to leave, I'm ready to let you. I release you, and you don't have to worry about my fear of your dying. Thank you for all you've done and all you've been in my life. Thank you for a lifetime of giving and sharing.
Love,
Becky
Thursday, April 21, 2005
You gotta have friends . . .
Blogging entries will continue to be few and far between until finals are finalized (May 2 ish).
Meanwhile, the sun still rises and sets on this hard-working, stressed out, 40-year-old Rebecca version 4.0.
Life with all its wonder and beauty, its questions and confusions, its pain and plagues assaults me daily with a dose of at least one each. Moments are stolen for me, just me, that I get to savor and remember and treasure.
I had several moments today:
My friend Sean, ever my best counselor, lets me vent, dump, pour out, or cry at the drop of a hat with a ready ear. Today, with stormclouds approaching and wind blowing in from the North, we were able to just sit and BE. There was no drama, no goofiness, just friends watching passersby and having a bag-lunch together. (O.K. there was a little drama - I was present, after all.)
Met author Daniel Wallace tonight and heard him speak. He's tall, incredibly handsome, intelligent, articulate, and quite witty. WOW! Delicious.
My friend Lisa B. called me to have a drink, so I chose Coca-Cola (YAY!!!) and we chatted about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness (translate: love) that we women (real women) seek all the time in so many STUPID ways.It is SO tough replacing Daddy-love from men who are definitely NOT "ya daddy" and yet we just won't f***ing give up trying. Must be programmed into our DNA.
Lisa had me crying like a baby within minutes: the dam of emotion I had shakily held back all week with SO much weirdness in my life just BROKE and the water fell. Unlike my irrational fears, I WAS able to stop, so it was probably just enough of a release to get me through the weekend and my last 2 writing projects for the semester.
Wonderful jewels presented to me today that I will hold forever. Thank you my friends. (and babe-a-licious Daniel Wallace!;-)
Meanwhile, the sun still rises and sets on this hard-working, stressed out, 40-year-old Rebecca version 4.0.
Life with all its wonder and beauty, its questions and confusions, its pain and plagues assaults me daily with a dose of at least one each. Moments are stolen for me, just me, that I get to savor and remember and treasure.
I had several moments today:
My friend Sean, ever my best counselor, lets me vent, dump, pour out, or cry at the drop of a hat with a ready ear. Today, with stormclouds approaching and wind blowing in from the North, we were able to just sit and BE. There was no drama, no goofiness, just friends watching passersby and having a bag-lunch together. (O.K. there was a little drama - I was present, after all.)
Met author Daniel Wallace tonight and heard him speak. He's tall, incredibly handsome, intelligent, articulate, and quite witty. WOW! Delicious.
My friend Lisa B. called me to have a drink, so I chose Coca-Cola (YAY!!!) and we chatted about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness (translate: love) that we women (real women) seek all the time in so many STUPID ways.It is SO tough replacing Daddy-love from men who are definitely NOT "ya daddy" and yet we just won't f***ing give up trying. Must be programmed into our DNA.
Lisa had me crying like a baby within minutes: the dam of emotion I had shakily held back all week with SO much weirdness in my life just BROKE and the water fell. Unlike my irrational fears, I WAS able to stop, so it was probably just enough of a release to get me through the weekend and my last 2 writing projects for the semester.
Wonderful jewels presented to me today that I will hold forever. Thank you my friends. (and babe-a-licious Daniel Wallace!;-)
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Happy 57th Anniversary, Mom and Dad!
Mom and Dad unlocked my front door and walked in at 8:30 this morning.
No, it was 9:30 and I had forgotten to "spring forward" the clocks last night. Having nowhere to be at any particular time on the Sunday after Easter, it didn't seem all that important.
After hugging Mom and kissing her, I went to Dad who whispered as I hugged him, "Today's our 57th anniversary." I gave the raised eyebrow of the goofball child who didn't even look at the calendar where that important date is marked to remember and get them a stinkin' card. I said, "Happy Anniversary, Mom! Happy Anniversary, Dad!" Lame. Very lame.
In 1998, I had been so organized that I prompted my siblings (after getting permission from Mom and Dad) to help me throw them a grand 50th anniversary party, complete with a vow renewal and reception! It was absolutely wonderful, and so many of their lifelong friends showed up to celebrate with them. My sister-in-law Kathy actually cooked a good bit of the food (she could cater anything!) and we had a fancy cake, punch, and beautiful butter mints - just like a Southern Baptist wedding. I can't believe that was just 7 years ago, and Noah wasn't even a year old.
Mom looked radiant in the dress she wore to my wedding only 5 years earlier, and Dad was ever-handsome in a dark suit. They were both as happy as they could be, surrounded by their 4 children with spouses and all 10 (at that time - now 12) grandchildren. They had accomplished what they set out to do all those years ago.
They are a great success as a couple!
Educated? No, not formally: Mom has her diploma and Dad has a GED.
Fabulous careers? No: Mom was a full-time housewife (except for a brief working adventure at the local textile factory when she needed new carpet for the house and was too stubborn to let Dad set the budget for it) and Dad was a military man and then worked for the power company.
Wealthy? No: but they own their home and their cars outright, they are well invested and insured, and they have enough put back to live comfortably.
They have done what they chose to do with their lives, and they've lived (and continue to live) an excellent example for their children. Today, they are part of my daily life and the lives of my husband and children, and they make a difference for us every day.
Thank you, Mom and Dad, for deciding to get married and have children. Thank you for staying married. Happy Anniversary.
No, it was 9:30 and I had forgotten to "spring forward" the clocks last night. Having nowhere to be at any particular time on the Sunday after Easter, it didn't seem all that important.
After hugging Mom and kissing her, I went to Dad who whispered as I hugged him, "Today's our 57th anniversary." I gave the raised eyebrow of the goofball child who didn't even look at the calendar where that important date is marked to remember and get them a stinkin' card. I said, "Happy Anniversary, Mom! Happy Anniversary, Dad!" Lame. Very lame.
In 1998, I had been so organized that I prompted my siblings (after getting permission from Mom and Dad) to help me throw them a grand 50th anniversary party, complete with a vow renewal and reception! It was absolutely wonderful, and so many of their lifelong friends showed up to celebrate with them. My sister-in-law Kathy actually cooked a good bit of the food (she could cater anything!) and we had a fancy cake, punch, and beautiful butter mints - just like a Southern Baptist wedding. I can't believe that was just 7 years ago, and Noah wasn't even a year old.
Mom looked radiant in the dress she wore to my wedding only 5 years earlier, and Dad was ever-handsome in a dark suit. They were both as happy as they could be, surrounded by their 4 children with spouses and all 10 (at that time - now 12) grandchildren. They had accomplished what they set out to do all those years ago.
They are a great success as a couple!
Educated? No, not formally: Mom has her diploma and Dad has a GED.
Fabulous careers? No: Mom was a full-time housewife (except for a brief working adventure at the local textile factory when she needed new carpet for the house and was too stubborn to let Dad set the budget for it) and Dad was a military man and then worked for the power company.
Wealthy? No: but they own their home and their cars outright, they are well invested and insured, and they have enough put back to live comfortably.
They have done what they chose to do with their lives, and they've lived (and continue to live) an excellent example for their children. Today, they are part of my daily life and the lives of my husband and children, and they make a difference for us every day.
Thank you, Mom and Dad, for deciding to get married and have children. Thank you for staying married. Happy Anniversary.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
The Team is BACK!
You just have to recognize a truly great day every time one actually happens. In this world of stress, anxiety, and trouble, you MUST appreciate every great thing that comes your way.
Today was GREAT! Although my body aches in several key and obscure spots (thank you, Johnny Gregg, personal trainer [oooowwwww!]), I had a day like I haven't had in over a year or so. This day was one in which the family was really a team. We took care of so many mundane little things, but we did it in a way that I feared we had lost.
Last night, I had done an online search for some ideas for cooking ahead like in the book "Once a Month Cooking" (which I've never purchased). This morning I gathered the grocery store sale papers and put together a 4-store neighborhood shopping list - 3 items here, 4 items there, etc. We would only need to go to Wally world for two items!! OK, three, and while we were there we'd get the Incredibles DVD for family fun tonight.
I took our grocery cash from the envelope system we started on March 1, and we headed out. In each store, Chris, the children and I all participated in getting the list items, leaving the rest, and getting out of there fast! It was like a big game! We ignored marshmallow peeps, chocolate eggs, and all the chips and baked goodies - except for the free samples. Chris and the kids got MANY sugar grams. I wasn't interested, but don't nominate me for sainthood or anything. If they were givin' out samples of big fat fried rice, I would have lined up two or three times!! Cookies just don't do it for me.
We finished the neighborhood grocery run, dropped off the haul at the house for instant refrigeration and headed to buy shoes for the men and hit Wally world. Chris heated up the van, and all children konked out for a good 20-minute POWERnap. (Me, too.) Afterwards, we hit Wal-Mart and did our thing.
Back home, it was poetry in motion. Chris washed and put the chicken into the huge stock pot while I put in the carrots, celery, and onions. I put on two pans of ground beef and started it to browning. I sliced onions and sauteed them in butter while chopping the zuchini (sp?), then put it on to simmer for squash casseroles. Chris swapped out the wash and left to go get shelving to improve our laundry area. Mount Washmore is getting the better of both of us, and we need to improve our system.
It's now 7pm. The kids are watching Incredibles after their supper. The beef has been browned, drained, and put into dishes to cool for packaging in 2-cup ziploc bags for the freezer. The chicken will now be put on to cook at 9pm for about 4 hours, and cool for about that long. In the morning, we'll get the meat from the chicken and package it the same as the beef, return the other stuff to the pot with more water and make FABULOUS broth for soups and casseroles later on. The squash casseroles will be mixed and bagged, ready to thaw, coat with topping and bake on a hurried night in the future. Beef will be used for tacos, sloppy joes, beef-vegetable soup, or spaghetti with meat sauce, and chicken will be ready for chicken salad, chicken/broccoli/rice casserole, chicken pot pie, chicken enchiladas, and chicken lasagna. This 24-hours of work between lunch today and that time tomorrow will make the next month SO much easier around suppertime. We'll do it again before summer session, because it looks like I'll have to take night classes again, leaving Chris here to do the whole supper thing. Having the menu plan on the fridge and stuff ready to go in the freezer will make that whole thing smoother and healthier.
This work will also save hundreds of dollars in convenience foods and happy meals!
Great teamwork. My husband really has his priorities straight and knows how to take care of this family! Plus, he'll handle the gross chicken parts. I like that.
Today was GREAT! Although my body aches in several key and obscure spots (thank you, Johnny Gregg, personal trainer [oooowwwww!]), I had a day like I haven't had in over a year or so. This day was one in which the family was really a team. We took care of so many mundane little things, but we did it in a way that I feared we had lost.
Last night, I had done an online search for some ideas for cooking ahead like in the book "Once a Month Cooking" (which I've never purchased). This morning I gathered the grocery store sale papers and put together a 4-store neighborhood shopping list - 3 items here, 4 items there, etc. We would only need to go to Wally world for two items!! OK, three, and while we were there we'd get the Incredibles DVD for family fun tonight.
I took our grocery cash from the envelope system we started on March 1, and we headed out. In each store, Chris, the children and I all participated in getting the list items, leaving the rest, and getting out of there fast! It was like a big game! We ignored marshmallow peeps, chocolate eggs, and all the chips and baked goodies - except for the free samples. Chris and the kids got MANY sugar grams. I wasn't interested, but don't nominate me for sainthood or anything. If they were givin' out samples of big fat fried rice, I would have lined up two or three times!! Cookies just don't do it for me.
We finished the neighborhood grocery run, dropped off the haul at the house for instant refrigeration and headed to buy shoes for the men and hit Wally world. Chris heated up the van, and all children konked out for a good 20-minute POWERnap. (Me, too.) Afterwards, we hit Wal-Mart and did our thing.
Back home, it was poetry in motion. Chris washed and put the chicken into the huge stock pot while I put in the carrots, celery, and onions. I put on two pans of ground beef and started it to browning. I sliced onions and sauteed them in butter while chopping the zuchini (sp?), then put it on to simmer for squash casseroles. Chris swapped out the wash and left to go get shelving to improve our laundry area. Mount Washmore is getting the better of both of us, and we need to improve our system.
It's now 7pm. The kids are watching Incredibles after their supper. The beef has been browned, drained, and put into dishes to cool for packaging in 2-cup ziploc bags for the freezer. The chicken will now be put on to cook at 9pm for about 4 hours, and cool for about that long. In the morning, we'll get the meat from the chicken and package it the same as the beef, return the other stuff to the pot with more water and make FABULOUS broth for soups and casseroles later on. The squash casseroles will be mixed and bagged, ready to thaw, coat with topping and bake on a hurried night in the future. Beef will be used for tacos, sloppy joes, beef-vegetable soup, or spaghetti with meat sauce, and chicken will be ready for chicken salad, chicken/broccoli/rice casserole, chicken pot pie, chicken enchiladas, and chicken lasagna. This 24-hours of work between lunch today and that time tomorrow will make the next month SO much easier around suppertime. We'll do it again before summer session, because it looks like I'll have to take night classes again, leaving Chris here to do the whole supper thing. Having the menu plan on the fridge and stuff ready to go in the freezer will make that whole thing smoother and healthier.
This work will also save hundreds of dollars in convenience foods and happy meals!
Great teamwork. My husband really has his priorities straight and knows how to take care of this family! Plus, he'll handle the gross chicken parts. I like that.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Head still swimming!
After spending the past two full days in a writer's conference, listening to published author after published author talk about "the craft" of writing, MY HEAD IS JUST SWIMMING!!
I've got great ideas on developing characters for my fiction work!
I've got to try some of these great techniques in dialogue like dialect and the concept of "voice" and the rich volume of unspoken information that comes from the simple, yet schema-laden language my characters use.
I want to examine the rhythm and cadence of my language (if I have that), and see where I can tweek and shore up this, that, and the other!
I'm encouraged that I DO in fact have a story to tell, and that I should definitely continue writing it DAILY!
There is just SO much to process. I took my moleskin journal and used about half the pages taking down every pearl (or dung plop) of wisdom I could, flying through page after page of notes scratched double-spaced and frenzied so I don't forget the FLAVOR of the authors' messages, much less the overt content.
There are questions in my mind that I want to ask and get answered by Rick Bragg, the Pulitzer Prize-winning, former-pulp-wooder-come-published author. He's so entrenched and proud in his impoverished Southern heritage (rightly so - and me, too), and I want to know how he reconciles the worst of racism that goes hand-in-hand with the best of what we love about our people. I know it must exist in his family because of where and when he's from, and I MUST hear his thoughts about it - through writing or speaking. Milam Propst, also, SAME question. Hers is obviously a non-impoverished upbringing, but Proper Southern anyway with the beautiful threads of our heritage woven all through the blanket of her life; are there the threads of racism there, too?
Coming to appreciate my Southern-ness, I embrace the "turnip greens and dumplin's" heritage that produced me. I want to know EVERYTHING about my family and write it down and preserve the treasure that is this close-knit, centrally-located, co-dependent family that with the future (hopefully distant future) death of my father will be gone forever. Mother is one of 13 siblings, and Daddy is one of eight. All of my generation, my 61 first cousins (absolutely true, though some are now dead) and I, are dispersed and see each other rarely - with only the most attentive of us actually knowing when we see another cousin (and even fewer choosing to greet them as such instead of hiding behind the tissue aisle at the Wal-Mart).
I'm definitely off on a tangent. POINT is, and I did have one, that I'm abuzz with ideas and energy. I'll probably need to "thoe back a coupla cole' ones" to get to sleep at all." The great news is that is was 'bout 78 degrees here in Birminnhayim today, not a freakin' cloud in that gorgeous, God-blessed Southern sky! We'll sleep with the winders open and listen for the crickitts and frawgs (but that probbly won't hap'm for another munth). OK. enough.
I've got great ideas on developing characters for my fiction work!
I've got to try some of these great techniques in dialogue like dialect and the concept of "voice" and the rich volume of unspoken information that comes from the simple, yet schema-laden language my characters use.
I want to examine the rhythm and cadence of my language (if I have that), and see where I can tweek and shore up this, that, and the other!
I'm encouraged that I DO in fact have a story to tell, and that I should definitely continue writing it DAILY!
There is just SO much to process. I took my moleskin journal and used about half the pages taking down every pearl (or dung plop) of wisdom I could, flying through page after page of notes scratched double-spaced and frenzied so I don't forget the FLAVOR of the authors' messages, much less the overt content.
There are questions in my mind that I want to ask and get answered by Rick Bragg, the Pulitzer Prize-winning, former-pulp-wooder-come-published author. He's so entrenched and proud in his impoverished Southern heritage (rightly so - and me, too), and I want to know how he reconciles the worst of racism that goes hand-in-hand with the best of what we love about our people. I know it must exist in his family because of where and when he's from, and I MUST hear his thoughts about it - through writing or speaking. Milam Propst, also, SAME question. Hers is obviously a non-impoverished upbringing, but Proper Southern anyway with the beautiful threads of our heritage woven all through the blanket of her life; are there the threads of racism there, too?
Coming to appreciate my Southern-ness, I embrace the "turnip greens and dumplin's" heritage that produced me. I want to know EVERYTHING about my family and write it down and preserve the treasure that is this close-knit, centrally-located, co-dependent family that with the future (hopefully distant future) death of my father will be gone forever. Mother is one of 13 siblings, and Daddy is one of eight. All of my generation, my 61 first cousins (absolutely true, though some are now dead) and I, are dispersed and see each other rarely - with only the most attentive of us actually knowing when we see another cousin (and even fewer choosing to greet them as such instead of hiding behind the tissue aisle at the Wal-Mart).
I'm definitely off on a tangent. POINT is, and I did have one, that I'm abuzz with ideas and energy. I'll probably need to "thoe back a coupla cole' ones" to get to sleep at all." The great news is that is was 'bout 78 degrees here in Birminnhayim today, not a freakin' cloud in that gorgeous, God-blessed Southern sky! We'll sleep with the winders open and listen for the crickitts and frawgs (but that probbly won't hap'm for another munth). OK. enough.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Writing conference this weekend!
I'm going to a writer's conference at Birmingham Southern all day Friday and Sat. There will be sessions where people talk about character, plot, dialogue, etc. I hope I will be totally inspired and meet some local writers with whom I can meet and have critiques.
It would be really great to have people who are doing what I'm doing (writing - not necessarily children's stuff) who are just "in the flow!" I'm really looking forward to it. I bought a moleskin journal, and I'm going to take that instead of a tacky notebook. I'll take some WordSnob cards, and run home and beef up the website if I actually distribute any of them.
Hey! You're right! I could blog this! Believe I will.
You wouldn't believe what Jessie's writing now. Her "Fire Girl" piece has illustrations that blow me away. This Rurouni Kenchen (spelling?) comic book thing has had quite an impact on her illustrations, and they are SO improved. The body structure and positions of the characters are amazing, and the details are just phenomenal (spelling?).
Things are going great with school and fabulous with work. My new moisturizer is helping my face look a bit glowier, too, which helps my outlook on life. (Swear!)
I've been working out daily and that makes things better, too. Thought about you today. Ate at Surin.
Good chatting with you.
It would be really great to have people who are doing what I'm doing (writing - not necessarily children's stuff) who are just "in the flow!" I'm really looking forward to it. I bought a moleskin journal, and I'm going to take that instead of a tacky notebook. I'll take some WordSnob cards, and run home and beef up the website if I actually distribute any of them.
Hey! You're right! I could blog this! Believe I will.
You wouldn't believe what Jessie's writing now. Her "Fire Girl" piece has illustrations that blow me away. This Rurouni Kenchen (spelling?) comic book thing has had quite an impact on her illustrations, and they are SO improved. The body structure and positions of the characters are amazing, and the details are just phenomenal (spelling?).
Things are going great with school and fabulous with work. My new moisturizer is helping my face look a bit glowier, too, which helps my outlook on life. (Swear!)
I've been working out daily and that makes things better, too. Thought about you today. Ate at Surin.
Good chatting with you.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Black Sabbath
Nothing feels warm or comforting.
Nothing is bright and full of promise.
Nothing feels fantastic.
Nothing fabulous, nothing wonderful,
Nothing surprising, nothing hilarious.
Nothing is beautiful or incredible.
Nothing is precious or unique.
Going through the motions, without the emotions.
Wondering why should I bother.
When I quit, the world continues just the same.
It is gray outside and black inside.
Happiness is a million miles away.
Where are all those stars?
___________________________________
That was written Saturday, Feb 26.
Follow-up report written on Wednesday, Mar 2:
I'm doing so much better. I had some upsetting things happen in the past several weeks that really had me down in the dumps. Plus, it had rained or been overcast for days and days.
We've had 2 sunny but cold days in a row and that sunshine really helps.
I worked out Mon, Tues, and today, and I'm POSITIVE the endorphins are helping. I hadn't worked out in a solid week, and had only done about twice/week before that for several weeks. NOT good for all KINDS of reasons. I was feeling fat, frumpy, ugly and unkempt. I was bearly wearing any make-up. EGADS! - a Southern woman's greatest faux pas!
Nothing is bright and full of promise.
Nothing feels fantastic.
Nothing fabulous, nothing wonderful,
Nothing surprising, nothing hilarious.
Nothing is beautiful or incredible.
Nothing is precious or unique.
Going through the motions, without the emotions.
Wondering why should I bother.
When I quit, the world continues just the same.
It is gray outside and black inside.
Happiness is a million miles away.
Where are all those stars?
___________________________________
That was written Saturday, Feb 26.
Follow-up report written on Wednesday, Mar 2:
I'm doing so much better. I had some upsetting things happen in the past several weeks that really had me down in the dumps. Plus, it had rained or been overcast for days and days.
We've had 2 sunny but cold days in a row and that sunshine really helps.
I worked out Mon, Tues, and today, and I'm POSITIVE the endorphins are helping. I hadn't worked out in a solid week, and had only done about twice/week before that for several weeks. NOT good for all KINDS of reasons. I was feeling fat, frumpy, ugly and unkempt. I was bearly wearing any make-up. EGADS! - a Southern woman's greatest faux pas!
Monday, February 21, 2005
Turnipgreenzel: A Southern Spoof on Rapunzel
Turnipgreenzel: A Southern Spoof
By Rebecca Montalbano
Roles for the play:
Narrator
Tom Talbert
Tina Talbert
Tess, the terrible taxidermist
Turnipgreenzel, the talented, long-haired storyteller
Tim Tullman, the talented tailor
Tuck Tanner, the minister
Ten siblings (chorus)
Narrator: Tom and Tina left their tidy little tin trailer to tell the entire Talbert tribe that after ten years of marriage, they were expecting their first baby! Their home sat behind the two-story Tudor-style estate of a truly terrible taxidermist named Tess, who tortured them for even the tiniest trespass.
Despite her tacky personality, Tess was a talented gardner who tended her vegetables intently. Tina began to crave turnip greens, and having no garden of her own, became more and more tempted by Tess' tasty-looking turnips. One Tuesday, Tina told Tom:
Tina: I'll just DIE if I don't have a taste of turnip greens, Tom!
Tom: I'm determined to help you, Tina. I'll tiptoe to Tess' garden and tear you up a ton of turnip greens!
Narrator: And so, he did. Tina ate them all in ten seconds!
Tina: They taste terrific, Tom! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Narrator: Tom thought Tina was content, but she was twice as tempted the next day.
Tom was too hasty this time, and Tess heard him trespassing.
Tess: Tom! Turn loose of my turnip greens!
Tom: Oh, Tess! I truly regret my transgression, but Tina's craving turnip greens and our baby's due next week. I was trying to tame her turmoil with these turnips. How can I make it up to you?
Tess: Turn over the new baby to me.
Tom: That's terrible, Tess!
Tess: Look, Tom. You need my turnips, and I need a toddler. Well?
Tom: Better to take the turnip greens and keep Tina, but Tess, this is truly terrible.
Narrator: A week later, the baby was born. Terrible Tess the taxidermist named the baby Turnipgreenzel and took her to a tower to keep her safe from troublemakers. Hiding her deep in the woods, Tess raised happy little Turnipgreenzel who was soon a truly lovely teenager with long, flowing tomato-red tresses.
Years passed with Tess visiting daily. The only way in or out of the tower was the single window at the top, from which Turnipgreenzel would tie her tresses to a hook and let them tumble down for Tess to climb up. While alone, Turnipgreenzel would sing and practice her storytelling by talking to the birds who flew to visit her.
One day, a talented young tailor named Tim Tullman traipsed by and heard her telling tall tales to a turtledove high in the tower. Tim listened intently to her tales and fell totally in love with Turnipgreenzel. When Tess arrived, Tim hid in the trees.
Tess: Turnipgreenzel, toss your tresses to me!
Narrator: Down came the long braids. Tim watched in utter amazement as Tess traversed the tomato-red tresses to the high window. When Tess left, Tim climbed up to see the talented storyteller. Turnipgreenzel was terrified, having never seen a man. Tim told the timid girl of his love for her, tenderly took her hand, and asked her:
Tim: Will you marry me?
Narrator: Turnipgreenzel was tickled!
Turnipgreenzel: Yes!
Narrator: Tim, a talented tailor, took her measurements and told her:
Tim: I will return tomorrow with a wedding trousseau and a minister!
Narrator: Leaving quickly, he dropped his tape measure and business card. When Tess returned the next day, she found the tape measure and business card before Turnipgreenzel could tell her of the betrothal.
Tess: Turnipgreenzel, you terrible traitor! I trusted you!
Narrator: Tess angrily trimmed off the tomato-red tresses and tossed Turnipgreenzel out of the tower on her tail-end. Teetering, she trudged down a tree-lined trail trying to understand why Tess was so angry. Turnipgreenzel came to the Tudor estate of Tess and read the sign out front:
Turnipgreenzel:
Tess Tawanda, Taxidermist.
Try my famous 'Tout your Trout' Trophies.
Narrator: Turnipgreenzel saw a twinkling silver trailer in the distance and heard happy children playing. When she arrived at the trailer, Tom and Tina saw her and knew she was their long lost baby.
Tom and Tina (in unison): Come give me a hug, baby!
Narrator: They took her into their open arms and introduced her to her ten brothers and sisters. Turnipgreenzel was thrilled to have a huge family after living alone for the past twenty years.
Meanwhile, back at the tower, Tim arrived, terribly excited about marrying Turnipgreenzel. Tuck Tanner the minister was with him and watched as Tim climbed the tower to the window.
Tuck: Be careful, Tim. That looks terribly dangerous!
Narrator: Terrible Tess met him at the top and threw him to the ground, too. Tim landed on his tailbone and began to twitch from spinal trauma. Tess had a heart attack from her treachery and died instantly. Tim, tormented by his new tic, went searching for Turnipgreenzel in his Toyota with Tuck in tow. He found her playing Marco Polo with her ten siblings in the above-ground pool beside the satellite dish behind the tin trailer.
Turnipgreenzel: Marco!
Ten Siblings: Polo!
Turnipgreenzel: Marco!
Ten Siblings: Polo!
Narrator: He ran to her side, trembling and twitching with every stride.
Tim: Tess threw me out of the tower, but she was terminated by a heart attack!
Turnipgreenzel: Oh, no. Poor Tess! Are you all right, Tim?
Tim: Tess gave me this terrible tic when she tossed me out of the tower. Will you still marry me?
Turnipgreenzel: Truly, Tim, you're my type - twitches and all! Yes, I'll marry you!
Narrator: Her tears streamed down onto him and Tim was healed instantly as they embraced. Tim and T'zel (as she decided to call herself) were married that day, and the entire troupe of Talberts and Tullmans lived happily ever after!
By Rebecca Montalbano
Roles for the play:
Narrator
Tom Talbert
Tina Talbert
Tess, the terrible taxidermist
Turnipgreenzel, the talented, long-haired storyteller
Tim Tullman, the talented tailor
Tuck Tanner, the minister
Ten siblings (chorus)
Narrator: Tom and Tina left their tidy little tin trailer to tell the entire Talbert tribe that after ten years of marriage, they were expecting their first baby! Their home sat behind the two-story Tudor-style estate of a truly terrible taxidermist named Tess, who tortured them for even the tiniest trespass.
Despite her tacky personality, Tess was a talented gardner who tended her vegetables intently. Tina began to crave turnip greens, and having no garden of her own, became more and more tempted by Tess' tasty-looking turnips. One Tuesday, Tina told Tom:
Tina: I'll just DIE if I don't have a taste of turnip greens, Tom!
Tom: I'm determined to help you, Tina. I'll tiptoe to Tess' garden and tear you up a ton of turnip greens!
Narrator: And so, he did. Tina ate them all in ten seconds!
Tina: They taste terrific, Tom! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Narrator: Tom thought Tina was content, but she was twice as tempted the next day.
Tom was too hasty this time, and Tess heard him trespassing.
Tess: Tom! Turn loose of my turnip greens!
Tom: Oh, Tess! I truly regret my transgression, but Tina's craving turnip greens and our baby's due next week. I was trying to tame her turmoil with these turnips. How can I make it up to you?
Tess: Turn over the new baby to me.
Tom: That's terrible, Tess!
Tess: Look, Tom. You need my turnips, and I need a toddler. Well?
Tom: Better to take the turnip greens and keep Tina, but Tess, this is truly terrible.
Narrator: A week later, the baby was born. Terrible Tess the taxidermist named the baby Turnipgreenzel and took her to a tower to keep her safe from troublemakers. Hiding her deep in the woods, Tess raised happy little Turnipgreenzel who was soon a truly lovely teenager with long, flowing tomato-red tresses.
Years passed with Tess visiting daily. The only way in or out of the tower was the single window at the top, from which Turnipgreenzel would tie her tresses to a hook and let them tumble down for Tess to climb up. While alone, Turnipgreenzel would sing and practice her storytelling by talking to the birds who flew to visit her.
One day, a talented young tailor named Tim Tullman traipsed by and heard her telling tall tales to a turtledove high in the tower. Tim listened intently to her tales and fell totally in love with Turnipgreenzel. When Tess arrived, Tim hid in the trees.
Tess: Turnipgreenzel, toss your tresses to me!
Narrator: Down came the long braids. Tim watched in utter amazement as Tess traversed the tomato-red tresses to the high window. When Tess left, Tim climbed up to see the talented storyteller. Turnipgreenzel was terrified, having never seen a man. Tim told the timid girl of his love for her, tenderly took her hand, and asked her:
Tim: Will you marry me?
Narrator: Turnipgreenzel was tickled!
Turnipgreenzel: Yes!
Narrator: Tim, a talented tailor, took her measurements and told her:
Tim: I will return tomorrow with a wedding trousseau and a minister!
Narrator: Leaving quickly, he dropped his tape measure and business card. When Tess returned the next day, she found the tape measure and business card before Turnipgreenzel could tell her of the betrothal.
Tess: Turnipgreenzel, you terrible traitor! I trusted you!
Narrator: Tess angrily trimmed off the tomato-red tresses and tossed Turnipgreenzel out of the tower on her tail-end. Teetering, she trudged down a tree-lined trail trying to understand why Tess was so angry. Turnipgreenzel came to the Tudor estate of Tess and read the sign out front:
Turnipgreenzel:
Tess Tawanda, Taxidermist.
Try my famous 'Tout your Trout' Trophies.
Narrator: Turnipgreenzel saw a twinkling silver trailer in the distance and heard happy children playing. When she arrived at the trailer, Tom and Tina saw her and knew she was their long lost baby.
Tom and Tina (in unison): Come give me a hug, baby!
Narrator: They took her into their open arms and introduced her to her ten brothers and sisters. Turnipgreenzel was thrilled to have a huge family after living alone for the past twenty years.
Meanwhile, back at the tower, Tim arrived, terribly excited about marrying Turnipgreenzel. Tuck Tanner the minister was with him and watched as Tim climbed the tower to the window.
Tuck: Be careful, Tim. That looks terribly dangerous!
Narrator: Terrible Tess met him at the top and threw him to the ground, too. Tim landed on his tailbone and began to twitch from spinal trauma. Tess had a heart attack from her treachery and died instantly. Tim, tormented by his new tic, went searching for Turnipgreenzel in his Toyota with Tuck in tow. He found her playing Marco Polo with her ten siblings in the above-ground pool beside the satellite dish behind the tin trailer.
Turnipgreenzel: Marco!
Ten Siblings: Polo!
Turnipgreenzel: Marco!
Ten Siblings: Polo!
Narrator: He ran to her side, trembling and twitching with every stride.
Tim: Tess threw me out of the tower, but she was terminated by a heart attack!
Turnipgreenzel: Oh, no. Poor Tess! Are you all right, Tim?
Tim: Tess gave me this terrible tic when she tossed me out of the tower. Will you still marry me?
Turnipgreenzel: Truly, Tim, you're my type - twitches and all! Yes, I'll marry you!
Narrator: Her tears streamed down onto him and Tim was healed instantly as they embraced. Tim and T'zel (as she decided to call herself) were married that day, and the entire troupe of Talberts and Tullmans lived happily ever after!
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Thoughts about Mom today.
Most people who lose a loved-one do so suddenly - one fell swoop: heart attack, car accident, stroke, aneurism . . . POOF! Gone.
They go from having this person they love in their lives to NOT having anything but their intact memories of that person. There's a funeral where all who love that person come to tell you how sad they are for your loss, and they cry with you, tell you what they love about that person, and they bring you food.
With Alzheimer's disease, I started losing my mother YEARS before I even knew it. The changes in her were so subtle, so gradual, and so private that I did not know parts of her were simply disintegrating.
When I finally realized it, I was (am) just so ANGRY at her for getting this disease! How could she become incompetent? negative? paranoid? I argued with her, I blew up at her, I walked her down paths of logic so many times . . . pointlessly, because logic was gone, the will to argue was gone, all purpose was gone.
This anger completely consumed me, until about five years ago, when I bought this little book for her for Mother's Day. It was a hardback book filled with printed pages, chapter after chapter, that evoked memories of childhood and helped you think about different aspects of your mother. Then there were blank areas for you to write in your memories about YOUR mother - all to be given to her for Mother's Day.
I gave Mom her special book, like a kid giving her mom a handprint on a Valentine, thinking it was incredibly weak and lame as a gift, but it was all I could come up with at the time. Dad said she read it over and over and over, all weekend long. She wrote me a three-page thank-you letter for that $10 book.
The true gift given was to me, however. For so many years, I had been struggling with this Mom who was different, negative, paranoid, dependent yet resentful, and who was not a person that I liked at all. I responded with anger, because it was more comfortable than being weak and crying about it. I could not get a positive picture of Mom into my head. Then the book, with it's words and it's blank spaces and prompts, helped me to search my memories; to revive long-dormant pictures, audio tapes, and pieces of my Mom, and it helped me remember the wonderful, giving, loving, artsy, wacky woman who pushed me, inspired me, and influenced me every day to become everything she had no idea how to become - an educated, independent, self-fulfilled woman.
Back to those people whose loved ones die suddenly:
Their memory of that person is frozen at one point in time. I, however, watch my Mom's very being evaporate - molecule by molecule - imperceptably day to day. Every single day of her life she dies right in front of me, little by little by little. The amount of grief that I would've experienced suddenly had she died before this disease has now been parsed out over the last twelve or thirteen years (so far, with who knows how many more to come.)
Mom, wherever she IS spiritually, because it isn't heaven or hell, would be screaming at the top of her lungs - 24/7 - to be released from her miserable failure of a body. She, of all people, is too proud, too vain, and too obsessive about the well-being of her children to ever put them through this particular meat-grinder-to-the-psyche-and-body kind of hell called Alzheimer's.
Intellectually, I know that this time in her illness will serve to slake off selfish, hardened, and unneeded parts of my character, if I bear up under this unreasonable burden of (my) expectations.
Honestly, I'd really like for this to be over. I'd like for Dad to have rest and peace and time to regenerate and enjoy his golden years after properly caring for his wife of 57 years through this 20-year-plus tragedy.
I'd really like to have the relatives and friends visiting my house and the funeral home telling me all the things my mother did for them and how much they appreciate and admired her. They would tell me how she always talked of nothing else, but "Becky did this," and "Becky won that," and "Becky's going to so-and-so place." They would talk about their un-marred memories (and in so doing, give them to me) of the beautiful, strong-willed woman who believed in people, who saw things in them nobody else took the time to see, who helped them realize a dream. They wouldn't know anything about that woman that I see: that woman with my Dad who staggers because she's losing the ability to maintain a proper gait; the woman who looks for no person to talk to and no place to go; the woman who truly believes that her husband is viciously stealing her money and holding her against her will; the woman with that blank stare whose once-fiery eyes held the entire universe for me.
No. Thank God, most people will never meet that woman. Hopefully, Dad and I will be able to keep in our minds a holy place that contains snippets of Mom in all her beauty, love, and wisdom. That is my wish for her and for us.
They go from having this person they love in their lives to NOT having anything but their intact memories of that person. There's a funeral where all who love that person come to tell you how sad they are for your loss, and they cry with you, tell you what they love about that person, and they bring you food.
With Alzheimer's disease, I started losing my mother YEARS before I even knew it. The changes in her were so subtle, so gradual, and so private that I did not know parts of her were simply disintegrating.
When I finally realized it, I was (am) just so ANGRY at her for getting this disease! How could she become incompetent? negative? paranoid? I argued with her, I blew up at her, I walked her down paths of logic so many times . . . pointlessly, because logic was gone, the will to argue was gone, all purpose was gone.
This anger completely consumed me, until about five years ago, when I bought this little book for her for Mother's Day. It was a hardback book filled with printed pages, chapter after chapter, that evoked memories of childhood and helped you think about different aspects of your mother. Then there were blank areas for you to write in your memories about YOUR mother - all to be given to her for Mother's Day.
I gave Mom her special book, like a kid giving her mom a handprint on a Valentine, thinking it was incredibly weak and lame as a gift, but it was all I could come up with at the time. Dad said she read it over and over and over, all weekend long. She wrote me a three-page thank-you letter for that $10 book.
The true gift given was to me, however. For so many years, I had been struggling with this Mom who was different, negative, paranoid, dependent yet resentful, and who was not a person that I liked at all. I responded with anger, because it was more comfortable than being weak and crying about it. I could not get a positive picture of Mom into my head. Then the book, with it's words and it's blank spaces and prompts, helped me to search my memories; to revive long-dormant pictures, audio tapes, and pieces of my Mom, and it helped me remember the wonderful, giving, loving, artsy, wacky woman who pushed me, inspired me, and influenced me every day to become everything she had no idea how to become - an educated, independent, self-fulfilled woman.
Back to those people whose loved ones die suddenly:
Their memory of that person is frozen at one point in time. I, however, watch my Mom's very being evaporate - molecule by molecule - imperceptably day to day. Every single day of her life she dies right in front of me, little by little by little. The amount of grief that I would've experienced suddenly had she died before this disease has now been parsed out over the last twelve or thirteen years (so far, with who knows how many more to come.)
Mom, wherever she IS spiritually, because it isn't heaven or hell, would be screaming at the top of her lungs - 24/7 - to be released from her miserable failure of a body. She, of all people, is too proud, too vain, and too obsessive about the well-being of her children to ever put them through this particular meat-grinder-to-the-psyche-and-body kind of hell called Alzheimer's.
Intellectually, I know that this time in her illness will serve to slake off selfish, hardened, and unneeded parts of my character, if I bear up under this unreasonable burden of (my) expectations.
Honestly, I'd really like for this to be over. I'd like for Dad to have rest and peace and time to regenerate and enjoy his golden years after properly caring for his wife of 57 years through this 20-year-plus tragedy.
I'd really like to have the relatives and friends visiting my house and the funeral home telling me all the things my mother did for them and how much they appreciate and admired her. They would tell me how she always talked of nothing else, but "Becky did this," and "Becky won that," and "Becky's going to so-and-so place." They would talk about their un-marred memories (and in so doing, give them to me) of the beautiful, strong-willed woman who believed in people, who saw things in them nobody else took the time to see, who helped them realize a dream. They wouldn't know anything about that woman that I see: that woman with my Dad who staggers because she's losing the ability to maintain a proper gait; the woman who looks for no person to talk to and no place to go; the woman who truly believes that her husband is viciously stealing her money and holding her against her will; the woman with that blank stare whose once-fiery eyes held the entire universe for me.
No. Thank God, most people will never meet that woman. Hopefully, Dad and I will be able to keep in our minds a holy place that contains snippets of Mom in all her beauty, love, and wisdom. That is my wish for her and for us.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Quiltin' Bee at Big Mama's House
The beds are made, the dishes are done,
and the laundry's on the line.
Towels and sheets flap in the breeze,
soakin' up sweet sunshine.
Casserole's in the oven bakin',
and Jell-O's in the fridge.
Soon the neighborhood ladies will come,
walking up over that ridge.
Today we're makin' a log cabin quilt
for Aunt Elsie's grandbaby, Sue.
There'll be huggin' and stitchin' and talkin',
and later some good eatin' too!
Aunt Elsie's here first with the quilt top,
and batting and backing, too.
Spread the quilt out, layer it, roll it,
and clamp it on big wooden frames. Whew!
Bring chairs in from the kitchen and porch,
then get those in the yard.
Aunt Estelle heaves a weary sigh
and says, "Whoo, now that wasn't so hard!"
Aunt Ivy, Aunt Flora, and Aunt Estelle
work on the side of the quilt by the wall.
Mama Davis, Mrs. Hunnicut, and Aunt Grace
work on the side by the hall.
Big Mama and her baby sister Aunt Elsie
work on the end by the door.
My mother and I work on the other end,
but mostly, I play in the floor.
The quilt makes a magical hideout,
with plenty of light coming through.
I get to pretend and play with my doll,
and listen to gossip, too.
The food smells good and I'm sneaky,
so I steal just a little taste.
Then they give me a needle and thread
and teach me how to "baste."
I feel really big as I sew with the ladies
at Big Mama's Quiltin' Bee.
None of my cousins know how to sew,
just special, little ol' me.
At lunchtime, everyone takes a break
to stretch, and eat and rest.
The feast is waitin', and we all dig in
just as soon as the food's been blessed.
The ladies work until afternoon,
until they need to start supper at home.
We wave 'til they disappear past the ridge,
and we're all sad when they are gone.
Aunt Elsie's quilt will be finished next week
when the bindin' is carefully sewn.
She's proud of this wonderful gift
that would've taken months of workin' alone.
Together they'll craft many quilts this year,
each one a sight to see!
I'll always remember bein' at Big Mama's house
and enjoyin' the Quiltin' Bee.
and the laundry's on the line.
Towels and sheets flap in the breeze,
soakin' up sweet sunshine.
Casserole's in the oven bakin',
and Jell-O's in the fridge.
Soon the neighborhood ladies will come,
walking up over that ridge.
Today we're makin' a log cabin quilt
for Aunt Elsie's grandbaby, Sue.
There'll be huggin' and stitchin' and talkin',
and later some good eatin' too!
Aunt Elsie's here first with the quilt top,
and batting and backing, too.
Spread the quilt out, layer it, roll it,
and clamp it on big wooden frames. Whew!
Bring chairs in from the kitchen and porch,
then get those in the yard.
Aunt Estelle heaves a weary sigh
and says, "Whoo, now that wasn't so hard!"
Aunt Ivy, Aunt Flora, and Aunt Estelle
work on the side of the quilt by the wall.
Mama Davis, Mrs. Hunnicut, and Aunt Grace
work on the side by the hall.
Big Mama and her baby sister Aunt Elsie
work on the end by the door.
My mother and I work on the other end,
but mostly, I play in the floor.
The quilt makes a magical hideout,
with plenty of light coming through.
I get to pretend and play with my doll,
and listen to gossip, too.
The food smells good and I'm sneaky,
so I steal just a little taste.
Then they give me a needle and thread
and teach me how to "baste."
I feel really big as I sew with the ladies
at Big Mama's Quiltin' Bee.
None of my cousins know how to sew,
just special, little ol' me.
At lunchtime, everyone takes a break
to stretch, and eat and rest.
The feast is waitin', and we all dig in
just as soon as the food's been blessed.
The ladies work until afternoon,
until they need to start supper at home.
We wave 'til they disappear past the ridge,
and we're all sad when they are gone.
Aunt Elsie's quilt will be finished next week
when the bindin' is carefully sewn.
She's proud of this wonderful gift
that would've taken months of workin' alone.
Together they'll craft many quilts this year,
each one a sight to see!
I'll always remember bein' at Big Mama's house
and enjoyin' the Quiltin' Bee.
Friday, January 28, 2005
thirty nine and twelve twelfths
I am forty. . . . . no. that's not it.
Forty-year-old me . . . . uh-uh.
On the fortieth anniversary of my arrival on Planet Earth . . . . crap, no.
To celebrate the commencement of my forty-first year of life . . . Oh, GOD no.
I am forty.
Consumed with my own fortyousness, I must express inner thoughts from me. Oh, crap, how did this happen? How did this much time pass this quickly?
Yesterday, I was in my twenties, cryin' like a baby because I had turned 25 without having landed the 6-figure job yet.
Yesterday, I was 27 having ended a four-year marriage to a really nice guy, with my divorce papers in process, and the love of my life firmly on the hook, and a size 8 body to DIE for!
Yesterday, I married the man of my dreams, about whom I still fantasize and who takes care of our children and my aging parents.
Yesterday, I turned 30 and dealt with THAT.
Yesterday, I brought forth life and nurished it using only my body and finding out what all my body parts are really there for (even though they have great recreational functions, too.) Then another life, lost one, then another, and then another.
I spent my twenties trying (and failing) to find out who I was inside and who I was destined to become. I spent my thirties setting aside myself for my husband, my children, my parents, and my faith, until about a year ago. Today, I begin my forties.
With the knowledge that what I DO is no longer the be-all-and-end-all of WHO I AM, I will begin my new career with the greater purpose of 1)serving my family's need for income, 2)helping children become lifelong learners, and 3)revolutionizing the public school system from the inside.
Who I am is this:
I am wife, mother, daughter, neice, cousin, friend, lover, flirt, worker, artist, dreamer, workout queen, over-achiever, mildly obsessive-compulsive, writer, avid reader, blogger, nerd, tutor, and teacher.
Who I will be is this:
All that with more practice and equal enthusiasm.
I'm happy with the way I've spent my life so far. I didn't have a list of things to be completed by age 40 (Thank God!), so I'm not disappointed in standing atop this mountain and looking back at the climb. I've studied, I've worked, I've loved, I've reproduced. I've laughed and I've cried; I've guffawed and I've sobbed; I've giggled and I've had silent tears. It has all been very big and averages out to be very good.
I'm feeling better about this 40 thing. I had a daydream in which I had lost the rest of this extra weight and I was wearing a hot pink baby-doll T-shirt, low-rise faded jeans and long hair. The T-shirt said, "Yes. I'm 40!" It was a good picture. I think I'm gonna be OK.
Forty-year-old me . . . . uh-uh.
On the fortieth anniversary of my arrival on Planet Earth . . . . crap, no.
To celebrate the commencement of my forty-first year of life . . . Oh, GOD no.
I am forty.
Consumed with my own fortyousness, I must express inner thoughts from me. Oh, crap, how did this happen? How did this much time pass this quickly?
Yesterday, I was in my twenties, cryin' like a baby because I had turned 25 without having landed the 6-figure job yet.
Yesterday, I was 27 having ended a four-year marriage to a really nice guy, with my divorce papers in process, and the love of my life firmly on the hook, and a size 8 body to DIE for!
Yesterday, I married the man of my dreams, about whom I still fantasize and who takes care of our children and my aging parents.
Yesterday, I turned 30 and dealt with THAT.
Yesterday, I brought forth life and nurished it using only my body and finding out what all my body parts are really there for (even though they have great recreational functions, too.) Then another life, lost one, then another, and then another.
I spent my twenties trying (and failing) to find out who I was inside and who I was destined to become. I spent my thirties setting aside myself for my husband, my children, my parents, and my faith, until about a year ago. Today, I begin my forties.
With the knowledge that what I DO is no longer the be-all-and-end-all of WHO I AM, I will begin my new career with the greater purpose of 1)serving my family's need for income, 2)helping children become lifelong learners, and 3)revolutionizing the public school system from the inside.
Who I am is this:
I am wife, mother, daughter, neice, cousin, friend, lover, flirt, worker, artist, dreamer, workout queen, over-achiever, mildly obsessive-compulsive, writer, avid reader, blogger, nerd, tutor, and teacher.
Who I will be is this:
All that with more practice and equal enthusiasm.
I'm happy with the way I've spent my life so far. I didn't have a list of things to be completed by age 40 (Thank God!), so I'm not disappointed in standing atop this mountain and looking back at the climb. I've studied, I've worked, I've loved, I've reproduced. I've laughed and I've cried; I've guffawed and I've sobbed; I've giggled and I've had silent tears. It has all been very big and averages out to be very good.
I'm feeling better about this 40 thing. I had a daydream in which I had lost the rest of this extra weight and I was wearing a hot pink baby-doll T-shirt, low-rise faded jeans and long hair. The T-shirt said, "Yes. I'm 40!" It was a good picture. I think I'm gonna be OK.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Poem by Heath
Following is a poem written by a student in the 2nd grade class I taught last week.
It is not hot in winter.
It is not cold in summer.
The breeze feels so fine.
The bears come out like the hare.
In the West, the deer are here;
A fine time to fish,
A happy holiday for hunting.
The deer come out really good.
But the best thing about holidays is
You get to be with your
Family and friends.
Love, Heath
Needless to say, I'm quite impressed. What do you think?
It is not hot in winter.
It is not cold in summer.
The breeze feels so fine.
The bears come out like the hare.
In the West, the deer are here;
A fine time to fish,
A happy holiday for hunting.
The deer come out really good.
But the best thing about holidays is
You get to be with your
Family and friends.
Love, Heath
Needless to say, I'm quite impressed. What do you think?
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Substitute: Day 3 - Friday
On Friday, I returned to the same classroom as the 2 previous days and began the day with counting lunches and sending in the report and money. Afterwards, we moved right into our spelling test. I found one precious little second grader looking at her list in her desk to cheat, and I made her retake her spelling test later. After that, we had story time where I read "Ira Sleeps Over." The children responded by listening intently to the story and participating in answering all the questions I stopped to ask. Next, I re-read "The Story About Ping" to get the children ready for another art project. I had brought beautiful bright yellow paper and bright blue paper and clean, unlined white paper. I showed the children how to rip the paper into small pieces, then glue them onto the paper in the shape of an object. Some chose to work with torn paper, some chose marker or crayons, but all the art was very well thought-out and well-done. We went to computer-lab, but the teacher wasn't there that day, so we had additional class time. I had the children to the time worksheet they were supposed to have taken home for homework the night before. There were 3 pages, and the children worked diligently for the next half-hour and then we discussed the correct answers. Lunch was next, and then P.E. That afternoon, we did a back and front math worksheet on the same math facts the children had been tested on the day before. They had scored poorly, as a class, and I felt they needed more practice. Some were having difficulty, so I had them use their crayons and/or markers to count to work the problems. When they finished the sheet, we had another story: "Too Many Tamales." We stopped at appropriate points, and the children asked and answered questions related to the story. Afterwards, we discussed some aspects of Hispanic culture and briefly explored some Spanish words and phrases. The children enjoyed that. We packed backpacks and went out for recess. When we returned, the children finished projects or just sat and listened as I finished a Junie B. Jones book I'd started on Wednesday. We had a great day together, and the children behaved very well.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Substitute: Day 2
Today, with a full day of learning ahead of us, I began the day by taking roll and lunch. I began by reading "The Story about Ping" by Marjorie Flack. The children were quite attentive during the reading time, and seemed very engaged with the story. I had them pay close attention to the illustrations as I walked around the room.
When story time was over, I gave out unlined paper and asked them to get out their crayons. I asked them to draw a duck or a boat (or anything) in or on the water, use crayons, and show motion with their drawing. The resulting pieces were quite impressive, and the enthusiasm of the children about their work was surprising.
After the story and the art, we talked about the country of China. We located Alabama on the globe, and then China. We talked about the way people (and ducks) lived on houseboats in Ping's story, and how 1/3 of the population of China lives on houseboats. We used the word "population" when discussing China's overcrowding problem, and because it's in the "tion" word family, we decided to list many "tion" words on the board.
The discussion of China led the children to raise the issue of the deadly Tsunami and the current death estimates. I wrote the word "tsunami" on the board as another vocabulary word, and we discussed the disaster. The children were surprisingly knowledgable about the events causing the phenomenon and the discussion was quite lively. At 9:45, I left to go tutor and returned at 11am. The children and I explored more areas of Pings story, using mathematics to calculate the number of ducks who lived on Ping's houseboat.
At 11:40 we went to lunch, and I delivered the children to Ms. Miller's PE class at 12:15. From then until 1pm, I made copies of the reading and math tests to be administered that afternoon. When the children came back at 1pm, we took all three tests, finishing just in time for recess at 2pm. We returned to the room at 2:25pm and had time for read-alouds until 2:45. We then packed up and left the room at 2:50pm.
When story time was over, I gave out unlined paper and asked them to get out their crayons. I asked them to draw a duck or a boat (or anything) in or on the water, use crayons, and show motion with their drawing. The resulting pieces were quite impressive, and the enthusiasm of the children about their work was surprising.
After the story and the art, we talked about the country of China. We located Alabama on the globe, and then China. We talked about the way people (and ducks) lived on houseboats in Ping's story, and how 1/3 of the population of China lives on houseboats. We used the word "population" when discussing China's overcrowding problem, and because it's in the "tion" word family, we decided to list many "tion" words on the board.
The discussion of China led the children to raise the issue of the deadly Tsunami and the current death estimates. I wrote the word "tsunami" on the board as another vocabulary word, and we discussed the disaster. The children were surprisingly knowledgable about the events causing the phenomenon and the discussion was quite lively. At 9:45, I left to go tutor and returned at 11am. The children and I explored more areas of Pings story, using mathematics to calculate the number of ducks who lived on Ping's houseboat.
At 11:40 we went to lunch, and I delivered the children to Ms. Miller's PE class at 12:15. From then until 1pm, I made copies of the reading and math tests to be administered that afternoon. When the children came back at 1pm, we took all three tests, finishing just in time for recess at 2pm. We returned to the room at 2:25pm and had time for read-alouds until 2:45. We then packed up and left the room at 2:50pm.
Reading Tutor - Session 1
I began tutoring a struggling reader in 2nd grade today, and for documentation purposes, I'll call her Carla.
We met very briefly last week to learn each other's names, so today I began our 45 minute session by introducing myself and asking her about herself. She is a very sweet and somewhat shy little girl.
I asked her if she'd rather read to me first, or rather me read to her. She wanted me to read first. I chose a book below her reading level, and I read it to her, stopping to ask questions from time to time.
She then chose a book and began reading. She had great skills with consonants, but struggled with unfamiliar words only where the vowel sounds were concerned. She looks at the page for cues for unfamiliar words, but her decoding skills need work. I want to find a game that focuses on the vowels and vowel blends and work on that next week to see what that does for Carla.
We've already chosen the book we'll start with next week. The last activity in this session was a game with consonant blends. I wanted her to experience a great deal of success to build her confidence and put a very positive light on this whole tutoring thing. I'm looking forward to watching her progress in the coming weeks.
We met very briefly last week to learn each other's names, so today I began our 45 minute session by introducing myself and asking her about herself. She is a very sweet and somewhat shy little girl.
I asked her if she'd rather read to me first, or rather me read to her. She wanted me to read first. I chose a book below her reading level, and I read it to her, stopping to ask questions from time to time.
She then chose a book and began reading. She had great skills with consonants, but struggled with unfamiliar words only where the vowel sounds were concerned. She looks at the page for cues for unfamiliar words, but her decoding skills need work. I want to find a game that focuses on the vowels and vowel blends and work on that next week to see what that does for Carla.
We've already chosen the book we'll start with next week. The last activity in this session was a game with consonant blends. I wanted her to experience a great deal of success to build her confidence and put a very positive light on this whole tutoring thing. I'm looking forward to watching her progress in the coming weeks.
Anger Management: Reality Bites and Licks
I'd love to say that I'm perfect, I always consider the feelings of others above my own, and that I practice the Golden Rule every day. Reality, however, says that I'm controlling, self-centered, harsh, and demanding.
Joining me in the fantasy life in which I attempt to indulge every day of my life - the one in which I push every envelope, explore every facet of every interest, emote and stir emotion in others to a fevered pitch, making life a 9.8 on the Richter scale every day - simply doesn't seem to be on anyone else's "top ten list" of ways to spend their days.
I expect it to be, though, and I want that so much. Doing these things I do makes me feel very "Lost in Translation" much of the time. Occasionally, I think people are dismissing me because they aren't interested or because I'm not interesting, or even worse - that I'm immature. Sometimes I get angry because people won't stretch themselves to participate and find out how GREAT life can be. Then, when I have time to sit and really think, I completely understand how no one else on the freakin' planet would want to step onto this roller coaster I call my life no matter how much they love me. They do support me, standing on the platform and waving every time I rush by. I want, I long for these people that I love to choose to be with me in the front car of the coaster, buckled in - of course - but hands in the air, hair whipping in the wind, laughing until our stomachs ache at that which scares the rest of the world so badly that there are no other riders on the coaster, so the operator just keeps sending us through the ride over and over and over.
Most just shake their heads as they walk away toward the kiddie rides, politely waving goodbye. The faithful few remain on that platform, probably hoping I'll be finished soon and ready to see the rest of the park.
Reality bites: to be with them and experience connection, I have to get off the coaster.
Reality licks: I have someone to see the park with.
Solution? Probably Prozac.
Joining me in the fantasy life in which I attempt to indulge every day of my life - the one in which I push every envelope, explore every facet of every interest, emote and stir emotion in others to a fevered pitch, making life a 9.8 on the Richter scale every day - simply doesn't seem to be on anyone else's "top ten list" of ways to spend their days.
I expect it to be, though, and I want that so much. Doing these things I do makes me feel very "Lost in Translation" much of the time. Occasionally, I think people are dismissing me because they aren't interested or because I'm not interesting, or even worse - that I'm immature. Sometimes I get angry because people won't stretch themselves to participate and find out how GREAT life can be. Then, when I have time to sit and really think, I completely understand how no one else on the freakin' planet would want to step onto this roller coaster I call my life no matter how much they love me. They do support me, standing on the platform and waving every time I rush by. I want, I long for these people that I love to choose to be with me in the front car of the coaster, buckled in - of course - but hands in the air, hair whipping in the wind, laughing until our stomachs ache at that which scares the rest of the world so badly that there are no other riders on the coaster, so the operator just keeps sending us through the ride over and over and over.
Most just shake their heads as they walk away toward the kiddie rides, politely waving goodbye. The faithful few remain on that platform, probably hoping I'll be finished soon and ready to see the rest of the park.
Reality bites: to be with them and experience connection, I have to get off the coaster.
Reality licks: I have someone to see the park with.
Solution? Probably Prozac.
Substitute: Day 1
Today, after my morning class, I went to a nearby elementary school to substitute for a sick teacher. I had subbed there before, and was honored to be asked to return. A second grade class of 18 students awaited my arrival, and after a brief introduction and a scrambled together planning session with another teacher, we lined up and headed for lunch.
When we returned from lunch, we immediately set to work reading this week's story and discussing it. Although it was from a basal reader, it was a fun story about a boy kidnapped by cowboys and becoming one. We discussed words like imagination, stampede, and matador. We talked about "slang" and how cowboys might not speak formally. In the course of our interactions, I complimented a student on her handwriting while she wrote on the white board. I told the class that she was being quite meticulous. From looking at what the student was doing, the students figured out the meaning of the word! Voila - vocabulary lesson. Later, I asked them to fold a piece of paper vertically and saw opportunity for another quick vocabulary mini-lesson - vertical and horizontal. After an hour or so of hard hitting language arts, I offered them the opportunity to put their heads down and rest or come to the story area and listen to me read a story. I got about half the class to the story until they saw it was a "Junie B. Jones" book, then 3 or 4 others joined us. We read 3 chapters! They loved it, and it was the perfect activity for an unplanned day.
After story time, we had free art time, then cleanup and ready for the end of the day!
I was asked back to substitute tomorrow, and I'm very excited about the opportunity to work with these students again, and building my reliability and relationship with the administration at the school. I'd love to be a regular at their school, because the atmosphere is great and the teachers are helpful. Now, I'm going to put together a plan for tomorrow's activities.
When we returned from lunch, we immediately set to work reading this week's story and discussing it. Although it was from a basal reader, it was a fun story about a boy kidnapped by cowboys and becoming one. We discussed words like imagination, stampede, and matador. We talked about "slang" and how cowboys might not speak formally. In the course of our interactions, I complimented a student on her handwriting while she wrote on the white board. I told the class that she was being quite meticulous. From looking at what the student was doing, the students figured out the meaning of the word! Voila - vocabulary lesson. Later, I asked them to fold a piece of paper vertically and saw opportunity for another quick vocabulary mini-lesson - vertical and horizontal. After an hour or so of hard hitting language arts, I offered them the opportunity to put their heads down and rest or come to the story area and listen to me read a story. I got about half the class to the story until they saw it was a "Junie B. Jones" book, then 3 or 4 others joined us. We read 3 chapters! They loved it, and it was the perfect activity for an unplanned day.
After story time, we had free art time, then cleanup and ready for the end of the day!
I was asked back to substitute tomorrow, and I'm very excited about the opportunity to work with these students again, and building my reliability and relationship with the administration at the school. I'd love to be a regular at their school, because the atmosphere is great and the teachers are helpful. Now, I'm going to put together a plan for tomorrow's activities.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
DND527
DND527
A Short Story by Rebecca Montalbano
"Crap! I bit my tongue again! This disease is a real pain!" Sunti brushed off her genuine concern with a light chuckle.
Gorl and Mokti exchanged nervous glances before Mokti joined in the faux laughter. The disease wasn't supposed to progress this quickly, and the doctors and their research assistant knew it. When Sunti was diagnosed, they both knew instantly what lay ahead of them, but the speed of progression in her case was a mystery. They had a great deal of experience with the disease, not just because of their vocation, but also as a result of their own research, painstakingly carried out over the past eleven years.
On Earth, it was called Alzheimer's Disease, but on the station at the far end of the galaxy, it was called Degenerative Neural Disorder 527 - DND527. Sunti had been diagnosed just a year ago during her routine annual DNA screening. The symptoms had begun to manifest only months after the test results displayed on the MedTerm, but they shouldn't have been noticeable for another eight to ten years,.
Instead of Sunti losing her short-term memory or her ability to make rational judgments, DND527 was causing fine motor skill problems. Her sketches had become unrecognizable, she failed to enter her codes properly, and she kept having difficulty chewing and swallowing.
Most disturbing to both of them was that Sunti was completely aware of her diagnosis and the increasing intensity of her symptoms, both of which elude perception in most DND527 patients. Gorl kept a strong countenance in mixed company, but fell apart the second he and Sunti were alone together. He knew they had only months left to share, and he was already grieving the loss of his mate of 18 years.
Mokti finished her midday nutrients and exited the arboretum to check on her current group of cultures. As soon as Mokti was out of the room, Gorl scolded Sunti in a manner she had seldom experienced saying, "I have asked you many times to avoid attempts at humor where your medical condition is concerned."
"Gorl, she thought it was funny, too! Why can't you let me handle this in my own way, complete with occasional denial and self-deprecating humor?" Sunti tried another chuckle, but it exited her body as a quiet, tearful sob. Gorl quickly rushed to her and held her against his own heaving chest, wishing he could take her sentence and free her to continue this life and their research without the continued hindrance of this beast of a disease.
Frankly, he didn't want the burden of carrying on the work alone. No matter how close they were to a major breakthrough in the gene mapping of the Hideous Thief (Gorl’s chosen nickname for DND527), he was ready to hop a freighter straight to Okudu in Sector 12 where the climate was warm with lush rainforests and vast, sandy beaches. He'd give 20 years of his life to spend the rest of Sunti's together with her on the beaches of Okudu watching the double sunset in the pink-purple haze.
"Gorl, I will not give up! I know that distance in your gaze, and I will not throw my hands up and go on holiday! Dammit! That really angers me beyond reason!" Sunti stormed away to pout before going back to the lab to check on Mokti's progress. Gorl snapped out of his Okudu daydream, and polished off his midday nutrients. He went straight to Polar's physical training pod to work off his growing frustration.
"Dr. Uzhan! Come quickly!" Mokti looked up from her Gilascope when she heard Sunti enter the lab. "Dr. Uzhan, I think we've located it! I think we've found the gene! Look at this!" With a great effort, Sunti suppressed her excitement and calmly approached Mokti's scope. Looking down on the digisome micromap, she questioned her own perception. Was she seeing THE suspect gene they'd been seeking for eleven years? No, she couldn't even bear to venture a judgment.
"Gorl," she coarsely whispered into her wrist, "you must stop whatever you're doing and come to the lab. Quickly!"
Breathlessly, Gorl replied, "Are you ailing, Sunti? You sound very agitated."
Through gritted teeth, Sunti feigned calmness and said, "Stop punching and kicking that holoponent, and get over here." Gorl was finally beginning to get the best of the level 7 holoponent in his Jujitsu training, but the urgency in Sunti's voice compelled him to stop, run through the sonigienic and get to the lab.
"Yes, Mokti, yes! Sunti, this is it! We've located it! Let's isolate this and run it through the datacomp to isolate the true cases. We should have our agent of cause momentarily." They each sat down at a separate MedTerm and began synching. Soon the display confirmed their suspicions and legitimized their eleven years of hard work, uncomfortable isolation, and constant begging for continued funding from the Alliance.
The data were immediately en route to the Central Research Institute in the Earth city of Chicago. Within hours, the data had been received, a vaccine had been formulated and hypostreams were being administered to all patients of DND527, at every stage of the disease. Although the results wouldn't be immediately apparent, the faulty DND527 gene would have instantly been deactivated and the other genes would have been coded to begin repairs. Within days, sometimes hours, every patient on the planet diagnosed with the disease would be regenerating proper neural connections without plaques and tangles to interfere with the transmission of neural impulses. Their memories would not regenerate, but they would regain full neural function in less than one week. Some would not experience complete healing because of the decreased functioning of other major body systems, but with DND527 eliminated, they would be eligible for organ renewal within weeks.
The accomplishments of the Drs. Uzhan were being celebrated all over Planet Earth while Gorl quickly prepared the proper hypostream for Sunti. Mokti held Sunti's hand and anxiously monitored the MedTerm readouts for signs of healing. As soon as the hypostream entered Sunti's bloodstream, the neural readouts began to change. Atrophied neurons regenerated and began firing like tiny electrical storms in Sunti's brain. She rested in a dreamlike state as Mokti and Gorl wept with joy for the miracle they had been a part of on this day.
A Short Story by Rebecca Montalbano
"Crap! I bit my tongue again! This disease is a real pain!" Sunti brushed off her genuine concern with a light chuckle.
Gorl and Mokti exchanged nervous glances before Mokti joined in the faux laughter. The disease wasn't supposed to progress this quickly, and the doctors and their research assistant knew it. When Sunti was diagnosed, they both knew instantly what lay ahead of them, but the speed of progression in her case was a mystery. They had a great deal of experience with the disease, not just because of their vocation, but also as a result of their own research, painstakingly carried out over the past eleven years.
On Earth, it was called Alzheimer's Disease, but on the station at the far end of the galaxy, it was called Degenerative Neural Disorder 527 - DND527. Sunti had been diagnosed just a year ago during her routine annual DNA screening. The symptoms had begun to manifest only months after the test results displayed on the MedTerm, but they shouldn't have been noticeable for another eight to ten years,.
Instead of Sunti losing her short-term memory or her ability to make rational judgments, DND527 was causing fine motor skill problems. Her sketches had become unrecognizable, she failed to enter her codes properly, and she kept having difficulty chewing and swallowing.
Most disturbing to both of them was that Sunti was completely aware of her diagnosis and the increasing intensity of her symptoms, both of which elude perception in most DND527 patients. Gorl kept a strong countenance in mixed company, but fell apart the second he and Sunti were alone together. He knew they had only months left to share, and he was already grieving the loss of his mate of 18 years.
Mokti finished her midday nutrients and exited the arboretum to check on her current group of cultures. As soon as Mokti was out of the room, Gorl scolded Sunti in a manner she had seldom experienced saying, "I have asked you many times to avoid attempts at humor where your medical condition is concerned."
"Gorl, she thought it was funny, too! Why can't you let me handle this in my own way, complete with occasional denial and self-deprecating humor?" Sunti tried another chuckle, but it exited her body as a quiet, tearful sob. Gorl quickly rushed to her and held her against his own heaving chest, wishing he could take her sentence and free her to continue this life and their research without the continued hindrance of this beast of a disease.
Frankly, he didn't want the burden of carrying on the work alone. No matter how close they were to a major breakthrough in the gene mapping of the Hideous Thief (Gorl’s chosen nickname for DND527), he was ready to hop a freighter straight to Okudu in Sector 12 where the climate was warm with lush rainforests and vast, sandy beaches. He'd give 20 years of his life to spend the rest of Sunti's together with her on the beaches of Okudu watching the double sunset in the pink-purple haze.
"Gorl, I will not give up! I know that distance in your gaze, and I will not throw my hands up and go on holiday! Dammit! That really angers me beyond reason!" Sunti stormed away to pout before going back to the lab to check on Mokti's progress. Gorl snapped out of his Okudu daydream, and polished off his midday nutrients. He went straight to Polar's physical training pod to work off his growing frustration.
"Dr. Uzhan! Come quickly!" Mokti looked up from her Gilascope when she heard Sunti enter the lab. "Dr. Uzhan, I think we've located it! I think we've found the gene! Look at this!" With a great effort, Sunti suppressed her excitement and calmly approached Mokti's scope. Looking down on the digisome micromap, she questioned her own perception. Was she seeing THE suspect gene they'd been seeking for eleven years? No, she couldn't even bear to venture a judgment.
"Gorl," she coarsely whispered into her wrist, "you must stop whatever you're doing and come to the lab. Quickly!"
Breathlessly, Gorl replied, "Are you ailing, Sunti? You sound very agitated."
Through gritted teeth, Sunti feigned calmness and said, "Stop punching and kicking that holoponent, and get over here." Gorl was finally beginning to get the best of the level 7 holoponent in his Jujitsu training, but the urgency in Sunti's voice compelled him to stop, run through the sonigienic and get to the lab.
"Yes, Mokti, yes! Sunti, this is it! We've located it! Let's isolate this and run it through the datacomp to isolate the true cases. We should have our agent of cause momentarily." They each sat down at a separate MedTerm and began synching. Soon the display confirmed their suspicions and legitimized their eleven years of hard work, uncomfortable isolation, and constant begging for continued funding from the Alliance.
The data were immediately en route to the Central Research Institute in the Earth city of Chicago. Within hours, the data had been received, a vaccine had been formulated and hypostreams were being administered to all patients of DND527, at every stage of the disease. Although the results wouldn't be immediately apparent, the faulty DND527 gene would have instantly been deactivated and the other genes would have been coded to begin repairs. Within days, sometimes hours, every patient on the planet diagnosed with the disease would be regenerating proper neural connections without plaques and tangles to interfere with the transmission of neural impulses. Their memories would not regenerate, but they would regain full neural function in less than one week. Some would not experience complete healing because of the decreased functioning of other major body systems, but with DND527 eliminated, they would be eligible for organ renewal within weeks.
The accomplishments of the Drs. Uzhan were being celebrated all over Planet Earth while Gorl quickly prepared the proper hypostream for Sunti. Mokti held Sunti's hand and anxiously monitored the MedTerm readouts for signs of healing. As soon as the hypostream entered Sunti's bloodstream, the neural readouts began to change. Atrophied neurons regenerated and began firing like tiny electrical storms in Sunti's brain. She rested in a dreamlike state as Mokti and Gorl wept with joy for the miracle they had been a part of on this day.
Monday, January 17, 2005
I drive me completely crazy!
Admittedly, it's not a long-distance drive (in the South, we'd say "fur piece") or anything, but I absolutely don't understand myself sometimes. When faced with the syllabi (plural for syllabus, because syllabusses sounds so stupid and syllabi doesn't?), I'm plunking down the necessary time to read about 40 novels between now and May, no less than 4 textbooks, countless articles, and who knows what else! I'll also write multiple entries in my journal (as an assignment), create a literature file entry for each book I read, and write multiple papers for each class.
What is it inside me that drives me to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'll do all this work and make and "A" in each class while taking care of 4 small children, my house, my job, my husband, my friends, and my fitness needs? If I weren't taking these classes that had these assignments neatly listed with due dates on a piece of cheap copier paper, would I do anywhere near this much mental work? NO!
Why is the business of my LIFE and enriching it with literature and writing activities less important than these stupid classes? Why don't I have a sense of urgency and importance about every day that I have on Planet Earth?
I could die in my sleep having never written the great novel. I could be in a traffic accident tomorrow having never read all the classic novels, never having seen a Broadway musical, never having been to the opera or the ballet. Yet, if you have a PhD after your last name, and I'm paying you gobs of money to complete a transcript, and you hand me a cheap piece of copier paper with a schedule of activities on it, my little brain just sets to work to figure out the best way to accomplish everything you ask and MORE! That is quite maddening.
Maybe that's why faith is so difficult for me. God Almighty didn't give me a syllabus when I decided to believe in Him. He didn't give me a "to do" list, a timetable, or even a set of precise instructions. He provided a great basic direction in the Bible, and I really appreciate it, but I think way too much to be left alone with all this time, money, resources and energy. God must be a constructivist.
What is it inside me that drives me to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'll do all this work and make and "A" in each class while taking care of 4 small children, my house, my job, my husband, my friends, and my fitness needs? If I weren't taking these classes that had these assignments neatly listed with due dates on a piece of cheap copier paper, would I do anywhere near this much mental work? NO!
Why is the business of my LIFE and enriching it with literature and writing activities less important than these stupid classes? Why don't I have a sense of urgency and importance about every day that I have on Planet Earth?
I could die in my sleep having never written the great novel. I could be in a traffic accident tomorrow having never read all the classic novels, never having seen a Broadway musical, never having been to the opera or the ballet. Yet, if you have a PhD after your last name, and I'm paying you gobs of money to complete a transcript, and you hand me a cheap piece of copier paper with a schedule of activities on it, my little brain just sets to work to figure out the best way to accomplish everything you ask and MORE! That is quite maddening.
Maybe that's why faith is so difficult for me. God Almighty didn't give me a syllabus when I decided to believe in Him. He didn't give me a "to do" list, a timetable, or even a set of precise instructions. He provided a great basic direction in the Bible, and I really appreciate it, but I think way too much to be left alone with all this time, money, resources and energy. God must be a constructivist.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Story Draft: Going to Auntie's House
My Aunt Estelle's house was right up the street from ours, and that's where I always wanted to be.
Because she wasn't my mother and didn't bear the burden of making sure I grew into a proper young lady, Auntie always let me be myself. I knew she loved me like crazy, and I always wanted to go to Auntie’s house.
Auntie never had children of her own, and she loved having me visit all the time. When I spent time with Auntie, she really talked to me, and she always listened when I talked to her - no matter how much I had to say. So, I always wanted to go to Auntie’s house.
Instead of stopping to play with me, she would always let me help her. If she was cleaning, she'd let me sweep and dust.
If she was cooking, she'd let me stir the pot.
If she was shopping for groceries, she'd give me a few items to find and even let me have my own buggy to push!
If she was quilting, she’d give me a needle and thread and let me sew with her. It made me feel very grown-up, so I always wanted to go to Auntie’s house.
Sometimes, she would let me dress up in her high heels and fancy costume jewelry. She'd call me "Miss Astor" and tell me how lovely I looked.
We would have a tea party and she would serve me fizzy ginger ale in a juice glass. I'd pretend it was champagne, and we'd talk real fancy like we were well-mannered rich ladies. It was so much fun, and I always wanted to stay at Auntie’s house.
When Auntie took me downtown to go shopping with her, she let me ride the escalators! I'd ride those escalators from the bargain basement (where Auntie always shopped) all the way to the 6th floor, and then turn around and go back down again.
When it was time to leave, Auntie would buy me a chocolate éclair from the 3rd floor bakery. It was the best treat in the world, and I always wanted to go downtown with Auntie.
In the evening, we would shell peas or string green beans or shuck corn together on the front porch. We would talk about the garden, the yellow jackets, and the sunset.
At night, we would listen to the katydids sing outside the open windows and enjoy the gentle breeze that always blew in the summertime. Auntie would say my prayers with me and tell me about the olden days when she was a young girl, and I always wanted to spend the night at Auntie’s house.
Auntie is 93 years old now, and my little children love to go to her house. Whenever they get bored or lonely, they tell me, “We want to go to Auntie’s house!” I just smile and hold their hands, and we walk across the street to see her, because even now I always want to go to Auntie’s house, too.
Because she wasn't my mother and didn't bear the burden of making sure I grew into a proper young lady, Auntie always let me be myself. I knew she loved me like crazy, and I always wanted to go to Auntie’s house.
Auntie never had children of her own, and she loved having me visit all the time. When I spent time with Auntie, she really talked to me, and she always listened when I talked to her - no matter how much I had to say. So, I always wanted to go to Auntie’s house.
Instead of stopping to play with me, she would always let me help her. If she was cleaning, she'd let me sweep and dust.
If she was cooking, she'd let me stir the pot.
If she was shopping for groceries, she'd give me a few items to find and even let me have my own buggy to push!
If she was quilting, she’d give me a needle and thread and let me sew with her. It made me feel very grown-up, so I always wanted to go to Auntie’s house.
Sometimes, she would let me dress up in her high heels and fancy costume jewelry. She'd call me "Miss Astor" and tell me how lovely I looked.
We would have a tea party and she would serve me fizzy ginger ale in a juice glass. I'd pretend it was champagne, and we'd talk real fancy like we were well-mannered rich ladies. It was so much fun, and I always wanted to stay at Auntie’s house.
When Auntie took me downtown to go shopping with her, she let me ride the escalators! I'd ride those escalators from the bargain basement (where Auntie always shopped) all the way to the 6th floor, and then turn around and go back down again.
When it was time to leave, Auntie would buy me a chocolate éclair from the 3rd floor bakery. It was the best treat in the world, and I always wanted to go downtown with Auntie.
In the evening, we would shell peas or string green beans or shuck corn together on the front porch. We would talk about the garden, the yellow jackets, and the sunset.
At night, we would listen to the katydids sing outside the open windows and enjoy the gentle breeze that always blew in the summertime. Auntie would say my prayers with me and tell me about the olden days when she was a young girl, and I always wanted to spend the night at Auntie’s house.
Auntie is 93 years old now, and my little children love to go to her house. Whenever they get bored or lonely, they tell me, “We want to go to Auntie’s house!” I just smile and hold their hands, and we walk across the street to see her, because even now I always want to go to Auntie’s house, too.
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