First of all, "smh" is Facebook-ese for shaking my head. And if you spend as much time as I do on social media, you probably want to respond with "smh" far more often than the easily clicked on "like." I often end a FB session by swearing to myself that I need a break from the craziness. But the next day, or maybe within the next hour, I'm back on the Book. I can't help it; I just can't. So smh, here I am to talk about recent stories that make me crazy.
Alex Trebeck: Poor Alex. In the kids' Jeopardy competition, one young lady was eliminated from the final round. The look on her face clearly displayed her sense of shock when Alex waved bye-bye because one can't continue to a final round with a negative balance. Those are the rules of the game. The rules are explained to the contestants before the game. I'm sure the children and their parents signed a folder full of papers explaining and re-explaining the rules. But this kid was "traumatized" and her parents were pissed. They demanded the station refilm the ending in a kinder, gentler way with their precious child. Alex balked, as well he should have. The ending was not refilmed. However, Alex was so disturbed that he wanted to quit Jeopardy. Quit over one helicopter parent? One? Oh Alex, welcome to my world, the world of the public school teacher. What teacher hasn't had his/her job threatened by a parent whose child did not earn an "A"? If we walked out of the classroom every time we were attacked by an upset parent, there'd be a real crisis in education. No teachers.
School Takes Away Blind Boy's Cane : First of all, certified professional educators did NOT bully the kid and take away his cane. A bus driver took the cane because the boy was throwing it around as he was listening to music. It was dangerous. Why the driver gave him a pool noodle makes me smh, but my guess is that he wanted the kid to have something safe to use to tap along to the music. (Can someone tell me why he had a pool noodle on the bus?) Anyhow, after the bus driver was reprimanded, after school officials immediately returned the cane when they were notified of the situation, the mother decided she needed to inform the news media. Why? So this would never happen again? Or, so they could garner attention, public sympathy, and maybe even a few financial donations. People love to donate money when they see a story on FB that screams the world is unfair. Who knows? I just had to smh over this story.
A Joke Gone Wrong : One of my FB friends posted a story on her page, something about scientific proof that men's intelligence is inferior to women's. It was a joke. A joke. One person wrote a scathingly nasty comment to her about keeping "her hate" off his page. He wrote it to humiliate her and I guess prove his superior intelligence. I just had to smh. First of all, she didn't put anything on his page. The joke was on her feed. If he doesn't want it on his page, he has to remove it. It's so simple, just click on the upper right hand corner and poof the offending post is gone. No need to embarrass her. I just smh, because I'd already met that idiot on a comment thread where he told me to get off my high horse. I wanted to tell him I was riding a donkey and he could kiss my ass, but I simply responded that I liked my horse and wasn't getting off. But seriously, he wants me off my high horse, yet he is entitled to ride his? Are you shaking your head yet?
Merry Christmas vs Happy Holidays : These memes give me gas. Seriously, I have asked and have yet to receive an answer. WHO is waging war on Christians by denying them the right to say Merry Christmas? Who? I want names. Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! Happy Hanukkah! I hear them all this time of the year. Soon there will be Kwanzaa greetings being shared. I've seen Christmas trees, menorahs, and manger scenes in all kinds of secular buildings. Why make a mountain out of a molehill? What is gained by feeling attacked as a Christian because the Walmart cashier wished you a happy holiday? Whatever happened to returning the smile and the greeting. Christians are not being persecuted because store workers want to be inclusive of all the holidays celebrated in December. How ridiculous. So I shake my head and tell myself that next year I'm going to send Season's Greetings cards to these people and sign them Happy Holidays! Love, Jesus. No I'm not....but I thought about it while smh.
So there you have it. I smh at all of the nonsense, but I keep going back for more and more. We can all benefit from the wisdom of the immortal Taylor Swift, so I leave you with these words:
I gotta shake, shake, shake shake, shake it off
Shake, shake, shake shake, shake it off
Shake, shake, shake shake, shake it off
Shake, shake, shake shake, shake it off
Friday, December 19, 2014
Friday, November 14, 2014
Holiday Shopping
It was only a few days after Halloween that I began to notice the proliferation of commercials devoted to shopping for Christmas presents. Here we go again, I thought, celebrating Christmas at the mall. Equating holiday festivities with the mall. Making the mall displays the new-age manger scenes. The mall...with the focus on expensive flashy gifts.
After what I saw today, I'm writing to suggest you expand your priorities this holiday season.
My church had a food and winter clothing give away. I arrived a little late and was stunned by the sight that greeted me. We had tables and tables of clothing and food. We also had almost ninety people surrounding those tables trying on clothes and filling small bags with canned goods. Unfortunately, we couldn't provide coats for everybody who needed one. While we had food, we had an over abundance of corn and carrots, and a real shortage of meat products. We had no toiletries.
Yet, the people we helped were thankful and appreciative. It was heartwarming to see the joy on an old woman's toothless face as she snuggled into the warm coat that fit her like a glove. I brought miscellaneous scarves and socks that I threw together as an extra donation. They were gone within minutes of being displayed. People thanked us profusely for providing these treasures for them. One woman said to me that I'll never know what a difference this help makes in her life.
So readers, I am asking you to do a different kind of shopping this season. Shop through your closets for those coats you no longer wear, the extra hats, scarves, boots, and gloves that get shoved in the back of the closet and are rarely worn. When you're checking the local paper and websites for entertainment activities, look for the appeals for donations. Many schools run coat drives. Many churches distribute clothing and food to the needy. Help them! Donate! Be generous.
If you live in the Havre de Grace area, St. John's Episcopal Church (PO Box 306, 114 N. Union Ave. in HdG) needs your help. Every Friday from 10-12 we open our food pantry. Because of the dedicated work of coordinator Nadine Anderson, the church is now receiving donations from the Maryland Food Bank. They have provided a great variety of canned goods, but the Pantry could use some supplemental help. There are items always needed but not often thought of when people donate food. Food pantries need the following: canned meats (tuna, chicken, salmon, and Spam, Maryland people love their Spam), dried/ shelf-stable milk, dried fruits (raisins, apricots, pineapple), canned spaghetti products, cereal, cookies, soups, stews, crackers, baby food, pet food, coffee, tea, and juices. Diapers are always needed. Toiletries are especially longed for. The people served by the church would really appreciate toilet paper, feminine products, soap, shampoo, deodorant, laundry detergent, baby wipes, and the like. Call the church at 410-939-2107 if you would like to help this mission. Your donations will be appreciated by many. Clean the clothing before you donate it. Dirty coats and clothes help no one. Make sure the dates for the canned goods you donate have not expired. Food pantries will toss expired food rather than chance making people ill.
This season be alert to the pleas from local organizations for coats, clothing, and food. Those requests are everywhere. Don't sit back and figure somebody else will donate. Be that somebody! This holiday season can be so much more than a trip to the mall.
After what I saw today, I'm writing to suggest you expand your priorities this holiday season.
My church had a food and winter clothing give away. I arrived a little late and was stunned by the sight that greeted me. We had tables and tables of clothing and food. We also had almost ninety people surrounding those tables trying on clothes and filling small bags with canned goods. Unfortunately, we couldn't provide coats for everybody who needed one. While we had food, we had an over abundance of corn and carrots, and a real shortage of meat products. We had no toiletries.
Yet, the people we helped were thankful and appreciative. It was heartwarming to see the joy on an old woman's toothless face as she snuggled into the warm coat that fit her like a glove. I brought miscellaneous scarves and socks that I threw together as an extra donation. They were gone within minutes of being displayed. People thanked us profusely for providing these treasures for them. One woman said to me that I'll never know what a difference this help makes in her life.
So readers, I am asking you to do a different kind of shopping this season. Shop through your closets for those coats you no longer wear, the extra hats, scarves, boots, and gloves that get shoved in the back of the closet and are rarely worn. When you're checking the local paper and websites for entertainment activities, look for the appeals for donations. Many schools run coat drives. Many churches distribute clothing and food to the needy. Help them! Donate! Be generous.
If you live in the Havre de Grace area, St. John's Episcopal Church (PO Box 306, 114 N. Union Ave. in HdG) needs your help. Every Friday from 10-12 we open our food pantry. Because of the dedicated work of coordinator Nadine Anderson, the church is now receiving donations from the Maryland Food Bank. They have provided a great variety of canned goods, but the Pantry could use some supplemental help. There are items always needed but not often thought of when people donate food. Food pantries need the following: canned meats (tuna, chicken, salmon, and Spam, Maryland people love their Spam), dried/ shelf-stable milk, dried fruits (raisins, apricots, pineapple), canned spaghetti products, cereal, cookies, soups, stews, crackers, baby food, pet food, coffee, tea, and juices. Diapers are always needed. Toiletries are especially longed for. The people served by the church would really appreciate toilet paper, feminine products, soap, shampoo, deodorant, laundry detergent, baby wipes, and the like. Call the church at 410-939-2107 if you would like to help this mission. Your donations will be appreciated by many. Clean the clothing before you donate it. Dirty coats and clothes help no one. Make sure the dates for the canned goods you donate have not expired. Food pantries will toss expired food rather than chance making people ill.
This season be alert to the pleas from local organizations for coats, clothing, and food. Those requests are everywhere. Don't sit back and figure somebody else will donate. Be that somebody! This holiday season can be so much more than a trip to the mall.
Monday, November 3, 2014
A-muse-in' about Cruisin' - a compare/contrast essay
I used to comment after a Carnival Cruise that I'd been on the WalMart of cruises. Today I returned from a seven day sail on the Norwegian Sun. What can I say? If Carnival is WalMart, then Norwegian must be the Dollar Tree.
Norwegian seems really excited about its freestyle eating plan. Guests can eat at the main dining room anytime they wish, no assigned dining times. That's nice, but Norwegian doesn't seem very excited about enticing guests to eat there. The food was fine, but nothing special. I was waiting for something like the prime rib and lobster night that Carnival offers, but there was nothing comparable on the Sun. Lots of chicken and pasta...the cheapest dishes to offer. When the chef's specialty of the night is lasagna, that's not so special. My theory is that Norwegian wants you to dine at one of their specialty restaurants where they charge anywhere between $15 to $40 per person for a good meal. Since the main dining rooms were often rather empty, this marketing technique seems to be working for them; but it left a bad taste in my mouth. Carnival's evening meals were delicious, the staff knew us by name, and they even danced for us.
One expects to be pampered on a cruise. Our room steward was a nice guy, when we saw him. However, I had to call every day about something. I'm not a complainer, but when there are two people in a room it helps to have a bath towel for each person. And every single day I had to call and remind them of that fact. Sometimes we got ice, most times we did not. More than twice I had to wash with shampoo because he couldn't remember to refill the bath soap container. A few times I had to stick his cleaning rags in the hall. I like to think he left them there so we'd be sure to recognize that he actually cleaned the room.
I like to gamble. I hated Norwegian's policy. My preference is to charge to my shipboard account as I go along, and I could easily do that on Carnival. Then, when I had my big wins, I could gamble on their money and stop using mine. Norwegian won't provide that service. They will be happy to let you put $100 at a time on their nifty gambling card for a nifty little service charge. You have to spend it all though, there are no refunds. Since they have the tightest machines on earth spending that amount wouldn't be hard to do, but it didn't take me $100 worth to realize they were giving me nothing. Nothing at all. I found myself explaining the machines to many novice gamblers..after they'd lost their $10 in as many seconds and were completely befuddled as to what happened. When one woman cheered the $9 win it took me $20 to get, I shook my head in disbelief. Oh these poor people... Norwegian was set to make a bundle off them.
Their pillow mint policy left me speechless. After two days of no pillow mints, I called to see what was happening. Was the ship out of mints? No. You only get pillow mints when you become a gold member. That happens on your third cruise. No pillow mints until your third cruise??? Carnival stewards actually turned down the bed and delivered the mints, sometimes four, yes four, at a time because I liked them! I told the nice Norwegian girl that the promise of pillow mints would not be enough to entice me to take two more cruises. I don't know how many times you have to cruise with Norwegian to get a bathrobe, but Carnival provides them them for virgin cruisers as well as the long-timers.
Anybody who has cruised is familiar with the towel animals that greet you each evening with your pillow mints. The Carnival animals were the kind you wanted to photograph because they were so clever. Sometimes Marie and I got a towel animal and sometimes we didn't. We were luckier than our friends Mirah and Sara, they never got animals. One night, Marie and I couldn't figure out what our animal was. We thought maybe a turtle or a butterfly; it was hard to tell. So, Marie flipped the animal over while trying to figure it out, and the towel cylinder in the middle popped up like a towel animal on viagra. We decided to treat Mirah and Sara by sharing our towel animal with them, and yes, we delivered it upside down.
The entertainment on the Sun pales in comparison to the shows I've seen on Carnival. In fact, we actually had more fun looking at the picture wall and the horrible photographs. Where do I begin? Pictures were uncentered, backgrounds were cluttered with other people or their feet and arms, eyes were closed, backgrounds wrinkled; these pictures wouldn't pass Photography 101. The poses were hysterical. I actually wanted to buy one lady's picture. She was running away from the porpoise with a look on her face promising that once she found a harpoon, that fish was going to be a sandwich. Another woman made Mirah laugh every night with her latest Top Model sexy pose. One night she dramatically posed herself by sprawling out on the staircase and looking up at the photographer with Playboy eyes, french-kiss mouth, and propped up boobies. Another time she posed sideways with her Playboy eyes, french-kiss mouth, and back bending popped out boobies. We looked for her on the ship and found her wearing a Steelers shirt. That explained a lot. My favorite,though, was the mother and daughter team. Daughter was in her sixties and looked every day of it. Mom must have been in her eighties. They were biiiig girls wearing the same exact dress. Their picture had Mom inside an empty frame, daughter holding the frame, and the two of them looking dreamily into each other's eyes. I had to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from howling at that one. Next time you cruise, don't look only for your pictures, enjoy the classics. Carnival lets you discard pictures you don't want. Norwegian doesn't. Maybe they're hoping that people like me will buy the funny ones. I thought about it, porpoise lady!
Don't let me discourage you from cruising. I had a wonderful vacation! Just don't let the little things like an ebola quarantine, people falling overboard, engine fires and a three day power outage with non-flushing toilets, or a capsized ship keep you from booking a Carnival cruise. It's all about the pillow mints, and Carnival will give you as many as you want.
Norwegian seems really excited about its freestyle eating plan. Guests can eat at the main dining room anytime they wish, no assigned dining times. That's nice, but Norwegian doesn't seem very excited about enticing guests to eat there. The food was fine, but nothing special. I was waiting for something like the prime rib and lobster night that Carnival offers, but there was nothing comparable on the Sun. Lots of chicken and pasta...the cheapest dishes to offer. When the chef's specialty of the night is lasagna, that's not so special. My theory is that Norwegian wants you to dine at one of their specialty restaurants where they charge anywhere between $15 to $40 per person for a good meal. Since the main dining rooms were often rather empty, this marketing technique seems to be working for them; but it left a bad taste in my mouth. Carnival's evening meals were delicious, the staff knew us by name, and they even danced for us.
One expects to be pampered on a cruise. Our room steward was a nice guy, when we saw him. However, I had to call every day about something. I'm not a complainer, but when there are two people in a room it helps to have a bath towel for each person. And every single day I had to call and remind them of that fact. Sometimes we got ice, most times we did not. More than twice I had to wash with shampoo because he couldn't remember to refill the bath soap container. A few times I had to stick his cleaning rags in the hall. I like to think he left them there so we'd be sure to recognize that he actually cleaned the room.
I like to gamble. I hated Norwegian's policy. My preference is to charge to my shipboard account as I go along, and I could easily do that on Carnival. Then, when I had my big wins, I could gamble on their money and stop using mine. Norwegian won't provide that service. They will be happy to let you put $100 at a time on their nifty gambling card for a nifty little service charge. You have to spend it all though, there are no refunds. Since they have the tightest machines on earth spending that amount wouldn't be hard to do, but it didn't take me $100 worth to realize they were giving me nothing. Nothing at all. I found myself explaining the machines to many novice gamblers..after they'd lost their $10 in as many seconds and were completely befuddled as to what happened. When one woman cheered the $9 win it took me $20 to get, I shook my head in disbelief. Oh these poor people... Norwegian was set to make a bundle off them.
Their pillow mint policy left me speechless. After two days of no pillow mints, I called to see what was happening. Was the ship out of mints? No. You only get pillow mints when you become a gold member. That happens on your third cruise. No pillow mints until your third cruise??? Carnival stewards actually turned down the bed and delivered the mints, sometimes four, yes four, at a time because I liked them! I told the nice Norwegian girl that the promise of pillow mints would not be enough to entice me to take two more cruises. I don't know how many times you have to cruise with Norwegian to get a bathrobe, but Carnival provides them them for virgin cruisers as well as the long-timers.
Anybody who has cruised is familiar with the towel animals that greet you each evening with your pillow mints. The Carnival animals were the kind you wanted to photograph because they were so clever. Sometimes Marie and I got a towel animal and sometimes we didn't. We were luckier than our friends Mirah and Sara, they never got animals. One night, Marie and I couldn't figure out what our animal was. We thought maybe a turtle or a butterfly; it was hard to tell. So, Marie flipped the animal over while trying to figure it out, and the towel cylinder in the middle popped up like a towel animal on viagra. We decided to treat Mirah and Sara by sharing our towel animal with them, and yes, we delivered it upside down.
The entertainment on the Sun pales in comparison to the shows I've seen on Carnival. In fact, we actually had more fun looking at the picture wall and the horrible photographs. Where do I begin? Pictures were uncentered, backgrounds were cluttered with other people or their feet and arms, eyes were closed, backgrounds wrinkled; these pictures wouldn't pass Photography 101. The poses were hysterical. I actually wanted to buy one lady's picture. She was running away from the porpoise with a look on her face promising that once she found a harpoon, that fish was going to be a sandwich. Another woman made Mirah laugh every night with her latest Top Model sexy pose. One night she dramatically posed herself by sprawling out on the staircase and looking up at the photographer with Playboy eyes, french-kiss mouth, and propped up boobies. Another time she posed sideways with her Playboy eyes, french-kiss mouth, and back bending popped out boobies. We looked for her on the ship and found her wearing a Steelers shirt. That explained a lot. My favorite,though, was the mother and daughter team. Daughter was in her sixties and looked every day of it. Mom must have been in her eighties. They were biiiig girls wearing the same exact dress. Their picture had Mom inside an empty frame, daughter holding the frame, and the two of them looking dreamily into each other's eyes. I had to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from howling at that one. Next time you cruise, don't look only for your pictures, enjoy the classics. Carnival lets you discard pictures you don't want. Norwegian doesn't. Maybe they're hoping that people like me will buy the funny ones. I thought about it, porpoise lady!
Don't let me discourage you from cruising. I had a wonderful vacation! Just don't let the little things like an ebola quarantine, people falling overboard, engine fires and a three day power outage with non-flushing toilets, or a capsized ship keep you from booking a Carnival cruise. It's all about the pillow mints, and Carnival will give you as many as you want.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Catfish
I just watched another Dr. Phil show about an older woman catfished out of her life savings by an African con artist. I think Phil's done three shows on this topic. I sit here shaking my head and wondering how these women can be so fricking stupid. And then I remember that one of the men in my past was a con of a similar kind. Yes, even I was once conned by a romance crook.
It happened about twenty-five years ago when I was participating in the singles scene through a newspaper and dance venue called The Little Black Book. The dances were a lot of fun, I must admit. However, I didn't meet this guy in person. He called me after he saw my picture in the paper, and he thought I was cute. We met and started dating. I ignored so many red flags that had I been a bullfighter I'd have been torn to shreds. We didn't date for long, and I didn't lose much money to him, but I may have continued to ignore those red flags if he hadn't committed a fatal mistake by making a pass at my friend Cheryl. She didn't want to tell me, but I'm so glad she did because he and I were DONE at that moment. Unlike these women on TV who were presented with tons of evidence of fraud and then continued to defend the guy, I needed no more. Getting out of his grip was tricky, but he wasn't dangerous, and he quickly moved on to his next patsy. I wonder if he watched today's show from a jail cell? I sure hope so.
There's lonely. And there's stupid. I've been both. But these women on TV are probably also mentally ill. Perhaps "love sick" should be a certifiable and treatable mental illness for the geriatric set. Old people get foolishly stubborn. (I should know; trying to talk me out of one of my political opinions is futile.) But how can one get so old that wisdom doesn't come with age? Shouldn't this woman have seen enough of life to know better? And why is she so lonely? She has children and grandchildren. She has family. Right?
Wrong. Seems like she's been hugging that computer instead of the family tree.
We are so caught up in the busyness of our daily lives. I live only an hour and a half from my nieces, yet maybe I see them once a month? And even then, only between their sleepovers with their friends. That's not much of a family life for me. In fact, it helps to have Facebook to see what's happening in their lives. Don't misread me because I am not complaining. (I get awfully cranky when I'm around anybody too much.) But those golden olden days, days when a social life meant being with the family, have gone the way of rotary phones and party lines. I'm guessing Norma, the seventy year old from today's show, misses them and went looking for love in all the wrong places.
Keep an eye on the old people in your lives. Talk to them frequently. Bring the grandkids around to visit. Invite them to dinner. And the moment Grandma mentions the new boyfriend, invite him to dinner too. If anyone asks what's on the menu, tell them fried catfish.
It happened about twenty-five years ago when I was participating in the singles scene through a newspaper and dance venue called The Little Black Book. The dances were a lot of fun, I must admit. However, I didn't meet this guy in person. He called me after he saw my picture in the paper, and he thought I was cute. We met and started dating. I ignored so many red flags that had I been a bullfighter I'd have been torn to shreds. We didn't date for long, and I didn't lose much money to him, but I may have continued to ignore those red flags if he hadn't committed a fatal mistake by making a pass at my friend Cheryl. She didn't want to tell me, but I'm so glad she did because he and I were DONE at that moment. Unlike these women on TV who were presented with tons of evidence of fraud and then continued to defend the guy, I needed no more. Getting out of his grip was tricky, but he wasn't dangerous, and he quickly moved on to his next patsy. I wonder if he watched today's show from a jail cell? I sure hope so.
There's lonely. And there's stupid. I've been both. But these women on TV are probably also mentally ill. Perhaps "love sick" should be a certifiable and treatable mental illness for the geriatric set. Old people get foolishly stubborn. (I should know; trying to talk me out of one of my political opinions is futile.) But how can one get so old that wisdom doesn't come with age? Shouldn't this woman have seen enough of life to know better? And why is she so lonely? She has children and grandchildren. She has family. Right?
Wrong. Seems like she's been hugging that computer instead of the family tree.
We are so caught up in the busyness of our daily lives. I live only an hour and a half from my nieces, yet maybe I see them once a month? And even then, only between their sleepovers with their friends. That's not much of a family life for me. In fact, it helps to have Facebook to see what's happening in their lives. Don't misread me because I am not complaining. (I get awfully cranky when I'm around anybody too much.) But those golden olden days, days when a social life meant being with the family, have gone the way of rotary phones and party lines. I'm guessing Norma, the seventy year old from today's show, misses them and went looking for love in all the wrong places.
Keep an eye on the old people in your lives. Talk to them frequently. Bring the grandkids around to visit. Invite them to dinner. And the moment Grandma mentions the new boyfriend, invite him to dinner too. If anyone asks what's on the menu, tell them fried catfish.
Monday, September 22, 2014
So, what do you do all day?
I just completed year seven of my retirement. I had hoped by now that I would no longer be asked the question, So what do you do all day? I seem to be running out of answers.
My pat answer when people ask about retired life has always required a big grin and a reply like this, "Great! I can do whatever I want when I want." However, the truth of the matter is that I have been retired for seven years now and I am running out of ideas for what I want when I want. Ideas that don't involve a lot of money, that is.
I have spent many hours reading. A good book can keep me tied to a recliner for hours. I have read many good books in seven years. But, I'm hitting a dry patch. Too much of what I've read lately is mediocre or repetitive. I don't even finish the downright awful stuff. My book club's latest choice has received rave reviews, so I'm hopeful. But, then what??
I could do chores around the house, I guess. I'm trying to downsize my possessions so that when I die my nieces don't have to spend months swimming through my junk. Every time I attack my office, I don't get very far. I hate throwing away something I might need. And trust me, if I throw it away, I will need it. A recent example involved stories I wrote as a kid. My friend Joan Nobile and I wrote mini-books about people who interested us, those people specifically being Julie Andrews and Thomas Grugen, our handsome gym teacher who lived with his mother in a home a few blocks away from the school. I threw them away one day while cleaning out a filing cabinet. About six months later, I was reunited with Joan through Facebook. We were reminiscing about how we had written stories together the last time we saw each other some forty-five years ago. She flipped out and was so excited when I told her I still had them! Well, I had had them up until six months ago. Damn.
Gardening exhausts me. I think it's because I am so short. I was trimming the bushes in front of my house with the electric trimmer I bought for $8 at a yardsale. It's a great tool, but my arms ached the next day from holding it so high and tight. I need to cut back the lilac bush, but I'd have to stand on a ladder to do that. And I'd need my chain saw which is even heavier to hold and control. Can you visualize the potential disaster as bloodily as I can? Bending to plant bulbs? Oh, my knees and back ache just thinking about it. I may be short, but I'm not that close to the ground. I had nice petunias this summer, as long as I replaced the hanging pot every month. Who can't grow petunias? Me! A friend from the pool confessed that she had artificial flowers scattered throughout her garden. From the road they look good. And, for those of us on fixed incomes, they are a lot cheaper than hanging gardens.
Volunteering! All organizations are looking for volunteers, right? No they're not. They are looking to regularly schedule people who are willing to work a parttime job for no pay. I tried that this summer when I volunteered at my church to run the office while the regular secretary was on vacation. I enjoyed the job, and I love helping my church, but I ran into some problems trying to schedule the rest of my life around my "work" days. That's not quite doing what I want when I want, is it? I will continue to volunteer at my church. Grace Place is a wonderful thing for me to do. So is the Food Bank. But, I'm not so sure I want to go to all the meetings involved with being a volunteer. I hate meetings; they give me a form of PTSD directly related to all the faculty/in-service meetings that traumatized me during my thirty years as a teacher. I shudder at the mere mention of meetings. Meetings are the reason I won't consider any kind of a club, no matter how much I like red hats.
Walking is free. I could walk. I would lose weight. It would take up a lot of my time because I walk a sloooooow mile. Yep, walking! That's what I can do. Did I mention my aching knees and back? I think I will take a walk tomorrow. It's too dark right now. Guess I'll take Trixie with me for some Mommy and dog-ter time. Oh wait, not tomorrow. Trixie will be having dental work. Maybe I'll go without her. No, that's cheating. She would love to walk with me. Oh ok, I'll walk tomorrow, with or without her. That's one hour down.....or maybe just a half hour. Unless it rains.
I really should start doing what I had planned to do when I retired seven years ago. I promised myself I would take day trips. But, I haven't done much of that because those day trips can add up. Gas is expensive. If I'm parking in the city, that's a chunk of change. Then there's the expense of lunch. Perhaps there's an admission cost. Day trips can cost a lot. I spent one afternoon taking a day trip to see the sunflowers in Harford County. They were breathtaking!! And free! I took lots of pictures. I'd love to do more things like that, so I am asking for your ideas.
What are some interesting ways to spend a day? I don't know how many of them I have left, and I'd sure like to live each one to the fullest.
My pat answer when people ask about retired life has always required a big grin and a reply like this, "Great! I can do whatever I want when I want." However, the truth of the matter is that I have been retired for seven years now and I am running out of ideas for what I want when I want. Ideas that don't involve a lot of money, that is.
I have spent many hours reading. A good book can keep me tied to a recliner for hours. I have read many good books in seven years. But, I'm hitting a dry patch. Too much of what I've read lately is mediocre or repetitive. I don't even finish the downright awful stuff. My book club's latest choice has received rave reviews, so I'm hopeful. But, then what??
I could do chores around the house, I guess. I'm trying to downsize my possessions so that when I die my nieces don't have to spend months swimming through my junk. Every time I attack my office, I don't get very far. I hate throwing away something I might need. And trust me, if I throw it away, I will need it. A recent example involved stories I wrote as a kid. My friend Joan Nobile and I wrote mini-books about people who interested us, those people specifically being Julie Andrews and Thomas Grugen, our handsome gym teacher who lived with his mother in a home a few blocks away from the school. I threw them away one day while cleaning out a filing cabinet. About six months later, I was reunited with Joan through Facebook. We were reminiscing about how we had written stories together the last time we saw each other some forty-five years ago. She flipped out and was so excited when I told her I still had them! Well, I had had them up until six months ago. Damn.
Gardening exhausts me. I think it's because I am so short. I was trimming the bushes in front of my house with the electric trimmer I bought for $8 at a yardsale. It's a great tool, but my arms ached the next day from holding it so high and tight. I need to cut back the lilac bush, but I'd have to stand on a ladder to do that. And I'd need my chain saw which is even heavier to hold and control. Can you visualize the potential disaster as bloodily as I can? Bending to plant bulbs? Oh, my knees and back ache just thinking about it. I may be short, but I'm not that close to the ground. I had nice petunias this summer, as long as I replaced the hanging pot every month. Who can't grow petunias? Me! A friend from the pool confessed that she had artificial flowers scattered throughout her garden. From the road they look good. And, for those of us on fixed incomes, they are a lot cheaper than hanging gardens.
Volunteering! All organizations are looking for volunteers, right? No they're not. They are looking to regularly schedule people who are willing to work a parttime job for no pay. I tried that this summer when I volunteered at my church to run the office while the regular secretary was on vacation. I enjoyed the job, and I love helping my church, but I ran into some problems trying to schedule the rest of my life around my "work" days. That's not quite doing what I want when I want, is it? I will continue to volunteer at my church. Grace Place is a wonderful thing for me to do. So is the Food Bank. But, I'm not so sure I want to go to all the meetings involved with being a volunteer. I hate meetings; they give me a form of PTSD directly related to all the faculty/in-service meetings that traumatized me during my thirty years as a teacher. I shudder at the mere mention of meetings. Meetings are the reason I won't consider any kind of a club, no matter how much I like red hats.
Walking is free. I could walk. I would lose weight. It would take up a lot of my time because I walk a sloooooow mile. Yep, walking! That's what I can do. Did I mention my aching knees and back? I think I will take a walk tomorrow. It's too dark right now. Guess I'll take Trixie with me for some Mommy and dog-ter time. Oh wait, not tomorrow. Trixie will be having dental work. Maybe I'll go without her. No, that's cheating. She would love to walk with me. Oh ok, I'll walk tomorrow, with or without her. That's one hour down.....or maybe just a half hour. Unless it rains.
I really should start doing what I had planned to do when I retired seven years ago. I promised myself I would take day trips. But, I haven't done much of that because those day trips can add up. Gas is expensive. If I'm parking in the city, that's a chunk of change. Then there's the expense of lunch. Perhaps there's an admission cost. Day trips can cost a lot. I spent one afternoon taking a day trip to see the sunflowers in Harford County. They were breathtaking!! And free! I took lots of pictures. I'd love to do more things like that, so I am asking for your ideas.
What are some interesting ways to spend a day? I don't know how many of them I have left, and I'd sure like to live each one to the fullest.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Not so amusing...domestic violence
Right now, the video of Ray Rice beating his wife in the elevator of a Jersey casino is the talk of the Facebook feeds. This is just my observation and opinion, but men and women seem to react to it differently. Both are shocked. But the men seem to focus on the lack of punishment meted out by the Ravens. The women seem to focus on how could she let that happen and go back to him. I'm not surprised by either view.
Domestic violence is a crime that our society is not always sure is a crime. It's not a new crime, and the way it plays out in the media isn't new either.
I'm in my sixties. I vividly remember a block party one summer when I was a kid (not my block, but where friends of our family lived). At one point in the early evening, there was a loud ruckus from the corner rowhouse. The men gathered together to go do their neighborly duty, stop the drunk husband from killing his wife. The women gathered not so much to comfort her, but to make sure she was ok and make sure she didn't aggravate him again that night. No one gave any thought to calling the police because nobody thought this was anymore than family business. A crime to beat your wife? No, just a family dispute. Once the men had intervened, the event was over and the party continued. And life went on, pretty much unchanged.
In my working years, I knew too many women who had banged into open doors, had fender benders in a car that had no dents, tripped over toys that turned them black and blue from head to toe, wore sun glasses inside the workplace because their eyes were sensitive to light, or wore long sleeves and turtlenecks during hot weather because they were "cold." No amount of makeup hid what those women were hiding; their husbands, many of whom were "pillars" of the community, were beating the hell out of them.
If the police were called, they counseled the men like my father's generation did. Then they moved on to "real" crimes.
I do not believe it is up to the Ravens to punish Ray Rice. What he did is a crime, supposedly punishable by the law. But he isn't in jail and he will play football again. If he's good this season, mark my words, all will be forgiven and forgotten.
In fact, as I read the shocking statements about this event on a friend's page, I am convinced he is already on the way to forgiveness:
I would take a couple punches for half his salary...
At least Rice didn't kill anyone. Baby steps.
I am a GIRL/WOMAN and my father taught me , if you hit a man his reflexes are So fast, you ARE going to get hit back. If she HAD NOT hit him, I'm quite sure she would have not received what she put out! WOMEN WANT EQUAL RIGHTS, KEEP YOUR HAND TO YOURSELF!!!
I am not going to discuss why his wife didn't leave him. There are too many complicated reasons why women don't leave. The fact remains, though, none of those reasons are criminal.
These are just a few disturbing revelations about domestic violence:
---Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women between the ages of 15 and 44 in the United States, more than car accidents, muggings, and rapes combined. ("Violence Against Women, A Majority Staff Report," Committee on the Judiciary, United States Senate, 102nd Congress, October 1992, p.3.)
--- There are 1,500 shelters for battered women in the United States. There are 3,800 animal shelters. (Schneider, 1990).
--- One woman is beaten by her husband or partner every 15 seconds in the United States. (Uniform Crime Reports, Federal Bureau of Investigation, 1991
--- A battering incident is rarely an isolated event.
I leave you with this thought:
Battering tends to increase and become more violent over time.
Domestic violence is a crime that our society is not always sure is a crime. It's not a new crime, and the way it plays out in the media isn't new either.
I'm in my sixties. I vividly remember a block party one summer when I was a kid (not my block, but where friends of our family lived). At one point in the early evening, there was a loud ruckus from the corner rowhouse. The men gathered together to go do their neighborly duty, stop the drunk husband from killing his wife. The women gathered not so much to comfort her, but to make sure she was ok and make sure she didn't aggravate him again that night. No one gave any thought to calling the police because nobody thought this was anymore than family business. A crime to beat your wife? No, just a family dispute. Once the men had intervened, the event was over and the party continued. And life went on, pretty much unchanged.
In my working years, I knew too many women who had banged into open doors, had fender benders in a car that had no dents, tripped over toys that turned them black and blue from head to toe, wore sun glasses inside the workplace because their eyes were sensitive to light, or wore long sleeves and turtlenecks during hot weather because they were "cold." No amount of makeup hid what those women were hiding; their husbands, many of whom were "pillars" of the community, were beating the hell out of them.
If the police were called, they counseled the men like my father's generation did. Then they moved on to "real" crimes.
I do not believe it is up to the Ravens to punish Ray Rice. What he did is a crime, supposedly punishable by the law. But he isn't in jail and he will play football again. If he's good this season, mark my words, all will be forgiven and forgotten.
In fact, as I read the shocking statements about this event on a friend's page, I am convinced he is already on the way to forgiveness:
I would take a couple punches for half his salary...
At least Rice didn't kill anyone. Baby steps.
I am a GIRL/WOMAN and my father taught me , if you hit a man his reflexes are So fast, you ARE going to get hit back. If she HAD NOT hit him, I'm quite sure she would have not received what she put out! WOMEN WANT EQUAL RIGHTS, KEEP YOUR HAND TO YOURSELF!!!
I am not going to discuss why his wife didn't leave him. There are too many complicated reasons why women don't leave. The fact remains, though, none of those reasons are criminal.
These are just a few disturbing revelations about domestic violence:
---Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women between the ages of 15 and 44 in the United States, more than car accidents, muggings, and rapes combined. ("Violence Against Women, A Majority Staff Report," Committee on the Judiciary, United States Senate, 102nd Congress, October 1992, p.3.)
--- There are 1,500 shelters for battered women in the United States. There are 3,800 animal shelters. (Schneider, 1990).
--- One woman is beaten by her husband or partner every 15 seconds in the United States. (Uniform Crime Reports, Federal Bureau of Investigation, 1991
--- A battering incident is rarely an isolated event.
I leave you with this thought:
Battering tends to increase and become more violent over time.
Time will tell, Ray Rice. Time will tell.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Labor Day Blues
When I was a kid, our neighborhood had a block party the last Sunday in August every year to "celebrate" Labor Day. It centered at the D'Aprile's house, but was played out on the whole block. It was a great time! Good food. Good friends. Neighborhood kids roaming wild into the night. One year was particularly memorable; Mrs. D'Aprile went into labor and delivered a son. The party went on, even though she was at the hospital laboring away. I used to love those parties and running wild with the neighborhood kids. However, I still can recall that awful sense of dread that filled me when I'd go to bed. School. Work. Schedules. Ugh.
Labor Day is my least favorite "holiday." What can you say about a day that signals the end of fun and the return to a regular work schedule? Yes, I know I am retired. I know I don't have to go to work. However, once again, committee meetings will command assigned evenings on my schedule. The pool is closed, even if the day is a sunny sweltering ninety degrees. Routine. Requirements. Short, short days. And eventually winter. Yep, nothing much to celebrate about Labor Day, is there?
Maybe..... Maybe not.
Barack Obama believes Americans should celebrate Labor Day because workers are the foundation of civilization:
It was the labor movement that helped secure so much of what we take for granted today. The 40-hour work week, the minimum wage, family leave, health insurance, Social Security, Medicare, retirement plans. The cornerstones of the middle-class security all bear the union label.
However, I suspect many more of you are willing to celebrate Labor Day for the same reason Bill Dodds does:
Labor Day is a glorious holiday because your child will be going back to school the next day. It would have been called Independence Day, but that name was already taken.
Whatever the reason, fire up the barbeque and enjoy your weekend!
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Back to School Snit
I'm in a snit. Yes, I know I promised myself to not write when I'm feeling snitty, but this wouldn't be the first promise to myself that I've broken. I'm in a snit, and you get to hear about it.
I am so angry with the Harford County Council that I am beside myself. They recently voted to increase the salary of the County Executive by 25%. Why are they giving him such a generous raise? Because they can. Because they want to. Why does he "need" such a raise? Well, dear readers, it's because he hasn't had one in a long time. I mean seriously, how can one live on $105,000 per year? And hey, they didn't pass the bill giving the council members big fat raises, so what are we complaining about? As Billy Boniface has said, the county executive is not paid nearly as well as many neighboring county executives.
Try selling that to the teachers of Harford County. Teachers have been denied raises and step increases for six (or is it eight now?) years. For six years their contracts have been ignored. For those six years, the cost of living has increased, health care costs have increased, taxes have increased...why, the teachers in Harford County are earning less now than they did six years ago. Yet, the governing board of this county pats itself on the back claiming they have done their part and it is up to the school district to manage its money. Teachers are leaving for better paying counties. The cream of the crop graduates avoid Harford County for neighboring districts that pay better. Are all the teaching positions (especially math, science, and special ed) filled by highly qualified professionals? They weren't, the last I read. That is not doing your job. That is not how you show you care about the education of the children of Harford County. You tell us that education is a number one priority when you run for office. I call bull!
I will agree, however, that the Superintendent of Harford County needs to work a lot harder to distribute the money that the school district receives. She won't do it by adding more admins to the fold. She won't do it by cutting support staff. She won't do it by ignoring contractual pay scales. And she sure as hell won't do it by charging kids $25 for each activity that they wish to participate in at school. Thus the crux of Rant, Part II.
I am so angry about the fee collected by Harford County for kids to play sports and join clubs. Was there any accounting to the public of how much money was collected and where it went? Was there any consideration about adjusting the fee, and by that I mean lowering it, according to its effect on the students of Harford County. Good grief, this county pays a bundle for tests and assessments - who's assessing this fee? Where's the data proving this is a good and necessary fee?
I am a teacher. Yes, I am a retired teacher, and every time I open my mouth to criticize Harford County, I hold my breath that they don't start chipping into my retirement benefits. But, first, I am a teacher.
Kids need extra-curriculars! They need clubs where they feel their interests are important. They need sports for the physical benefits as well as the ultimate benefit - a possible college scholarship. Seriously, how dare the school district charge kids $25 a piece to participate in a community service organization? And don't try to bullsh*t me with the old we don't charge the kids on free and reduced lunches because they can't afford it. Guess what! Your middle class families can't afford the fees either. How many kids are being denied such an important part of a public education because of this policy? I can't answer that question. Assessment-happy Harford County hasn't gathered? released? any data.
Yes, I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore. Oh wait.....yes I am. Because I can't do a darn thing about it, and those of you in charge know it.
I am so angry with the Harford County Council that I am beside myself. They recently voted to increase the salary of the County Executive by 25%. Why are they giving him such a generous raise? Because they can. Because they want to. Why does he "need" such a raise? Well, dear readers, it's because he hasn't had one in a long time. I mean seriously, how can one live on $105,000 per year? And hey, they didn't pass the bill giving the council members big fat raises, so what are we complaining about? As Billy Boniface has said, the county executive is not paid nearly as well as many neighboring county executives.
Try selling that to the teachers of Harford County. Teachers have been denied raises and step increases for six (or is it eight now?) years. For six years their contracts have been ignored. For those six years, the cost of living has increased, health care costs have increased, taxes have increased...why, the teachers in Harford County are earning less now than they did six years ago. Yet, the governing board of this county pats itself on the back claiming they have done their part and it is up to the school district to manage its money. Teachers are leaving for better paying counties. The cream of the crop graduates avoid Harford County for neighboring districts that pay better. Are all the teaching positions (especially math, science, and special ed) filled by highly qualified professionals? They weren't, the last I read. That is not doing your job. That is not how you show you care about the education of the children of Harford County. You tell us that education is a number one priority when you run for office. I call bull!
I will agree, however, that the Superintendent of Harford County needs to work a lot harder to distribute the money that the school district receives. She won't do it by adding more admins to the fold. She won't do it by cutting support staff. She won't do it by ignoring contractual pay scales. And she sure as hell won't do it by charging kids $25 for each activity that they wish to participate in at school. Thus the crux of Rant, Part II.
I am so angry about the fee collected by Harford County for kids to play sports and join clubs. Was there any accounting to the public of how much money was collected and where it went? Was there any consideration about adjusting the fee, and by that I mean lowering it, according to its effect on the students of Harford County. Good grief, this county pays a bundle for tests and assessments - who's assessing this fee? Where's the data proving this is a good and necessary fee?
I am a teacher. Yes, I am a retired teacher, and every time I open my mouth to criticize Harford County, I hold my breath that they don't start chipping into my retirement benefits. But, first, I am a teacher.
Kids need extra-curriculars! They need clubs where they feel their interests are important. They need sports for the physical benefits as well as the ultimate benefit - a possible college scholarship. Seriously, how dare the school district charge kids $25 a piece to participate in a community service organization? And don't try to bullsh*t me with the old we don't charge the kids on free and reduced lunches because they can't afford it. Guess what! Your middle class families can't afford the fees either. How many kids are being denied such an important part of a public education because of this policy? I can't answer that question. Assessment-happy Harford County hasn't gathered? released? any data.
Yes, I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore. Oh wait.....yes I am. Because I can't do a darn thing about it, and those of you in charge know it.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Summer Breeze
I'm sitting at the kitchen table as I write. The sun is shining and a gentle breeze is wafting through the open windows.
It is August in Maryland. What the hell is going on?
I don't understand this summer. I have not used the air conditioner for days at a time. If you know Maryland, that is not typical for the summer. Do you remember the Twilight Zone episode with the two women in an abandoned apartment building? The sun is melting them, water is rapidly disappearing, and they are sweating profusely as they fend off a crazed stranger willing to kill for a glass of pineapple juice. Now that's a pretty typical Maryland summer.
The grass is still green and lush. The produce this summer, while expensive, has been absolutely juicy. Just luscious! The sweetest peaches ever. The slurpiest cantaloupes. The most tender sweet corn. Bing cherries as big as prunes. It's a vegetarian's heaven.
Facebook friends fill their pages with descriptions of daytime bike rides, trail walks, and jogs. In July? In August? In Maryland? This time last year it sometimes felt too hot to leave the house to go to the pool.
What a blessing this summer has been, especially after such a brutal winter. And what a blessing it is to be retired and free to enjoy each day to the fullest.
It is August in Maryland. What the hell is going on?
I don't understand this summer. I have not used the air conditioner for days at a time. If you know Maryland, that is not typical for the summer. Do you remember the Twilight Zone episode with the two women in an abandoned apartment building? The sun is melting them, water is rapidly disappearing, and they are sweating profusely as they fend off a crazed stranger willing to kill for a glass of pineapple juice. Now that's a pretty typical Maryland summer.
The grass is still green and lush. The produce this summer, while expensive, has been absolutely juicy. Just luscious! The sweetest peaches ever. The slurpiest cantaloupes. The most tender sweet corn. Bing cherries as big as prunes. It's a vegetarian's heaven.
Facebook friends fill their pages with descriptions of daytime bike rides, trail walks, and jogs. In July? In August? In Maryland? This time last year it sometimes felt too hot to leave the house to go to the pool.
What a blessing this summer has been, especially after such a brutal winter. And what a blessing it is to be retired and free to enjoy each day to the fullest.
Monday, August 11, 2014
The Unexpected End of a Life
The news today is heartbreaking. Robin Williams chose to end his life. Those of us who were his fans could hardly believe this information. There are so many rumors spread on the internet that many of my friends were actually waiting for the announcement that this was a hoax. It wasn't.
His isn't my first experience with suicide. My grandfather, a retired Philadelphia cop, ended his second wife's life and then took his own. I remember his death. I specifically remember being put to bed in my parents' bed because I was hysterical. However, I didn't know how he died until I was an adult. My family kept the details from me, the child, and then just never got around to telling me the truth. I was shocked when my mother told me the news she thought I had always known. It explained a lot.
Years ago, I had a wonderful pen pal named Keith. He lived in California, was about my age, and he loved to write. We wrote for years, joking about our miserable love lives, analyzing the world's problems, discussing books, movies, and TV shows. One day I was headed out to the mall for a serious shopping spree and the mail lady delivered a fat brown envelope with a familiar return address, but an unfamiliar name. In it was a heartbreaking letter from Keith's mother and all of the letters I'd ever written him. He had saved them. She thanked me for being such a good friend to him. I questioned what kind of a friend I was to not know, to not be able to help, to not be able to stop his suicide.
A friend from college, married with children. Gone. A young teacher I worked with. Gone. A friend from church. Gone. A young man from my early theatre days. Gone. Too many former students. Gone.
What is it that makes some of us fight to live while others give up? Why do some people realize they can get through the bad times, no matter how bad they are? It's not religion and it's not love, for I have known people who've had an abundance of God and family, but just couldn't survive their lives. What is it?
Who knows? Nobody really. Not even William Shakespeare who wrote many years ago about the struggle.
His isn't my first experience with suicide. My grandfather, a retired Philadelphia cop, ended his second wife's life and then took his own. I remember his death. I specifically remember being put to bed in my parents' bed because I was hysterical. However, I didn't know how he died until I was an adult. My family kept the details from me, the child, and then just never got around to telling me the truth. I was shocked when my mother told me the news she thought I had always known. It explained a lot.
Years ago, I had a wonderful pen pal named Keith. He lived in California, was about my age, and he loved to write. We wrote for years, joking about our miserable love lives, analyzing the world's problems, discussing books, movies, and TV shows. One day I was headed out to the mall for a serious shopping spree and the mail lady delivered a fat brown envelope with a familiar return address, but an unfamiliar name. In it was a heartbreaking letter from Keith's mother and all of the letters I'd ever written him. He had saved them. She thanked me for being such a good friend to him. I questioned what kind of a friend I was to not know, to not be able to help, to not be able to stop his suicide.
A friend from college, married with children. Gone. A young teacher I worked with. Gone. A friend from church. Gone. A young man from my early theatre days. Gone. Too many former students. Gone.
What is it that makes some of us fight to live while others give up? Why do some people realize they can get through the bad times, no matter how bad they are? It's not religion and it's not love, for I have known people who've had an abundance of God and family, but just couldn't survive their lives. What is it?
Who knows? Nobody really. Not even William Shakespeare who wrote many years ago about the struggle.
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Kids and the Single Woman
Kids are exhausting.
That's probably a strange thing for a retired middle school teacher to say. I mean, after thirty years of seventh graders, that fact should be no surprise. But, I never had my own for 24/7. There's a difference.
For two weeks this summer, my tiny house held not only Trixie and me, but it was filled with two kids who were excited about attending horse camp. The first week I had both nieces with me. Two weeks later, Billie was back for camp with her BFF, Alex. I was up each day at 7:30 am fixing breakfast and packing lunch. I drove back and forth to camp for twenty to twenty-five minutes ten times a week. That's a lot of gas. I used even more gas to drive to our evening activities; heaven forbid these kids feed and entertain themselves. Another meal - exhausting! And the chatter!! Non-stop. I felt like I was cantering on Coco and Ariel.
Camp is over. The kids have finally all gone home. I should be resting and relaxing, but I can't. I'm restless. The house is too quiet. OMG. I miss them!
A day ago, I was ready to change my name and not tell anyone. Now, I miss hearing "Aunt Barb!" A day ago I was tired of fixing dinner. Now, I'm trying to figure out what to have and I'm too apathetic to do anything about it. I want to hear Alex exclaiming that my pasta is the best she's ever had. (My recipe? Tri-colored pasta and Hunt's spaghetti sauce sprinkled with Parmesan cheese.) I want Billie flipping out in joy because sloppy joes are on the menu with a side of Eastern shore cantaloupe. Yes, dinner was different a day ago.
No trip to horse camp is complete without dips in the pool. I had such fun with the girls at the swim club. When Reba and Billie were here, they got along well and we laughed a lot. I was so proud of them. They were well-behaved and appreciative. They made Baxter smile when they thanked him for cook-out night. I saw adults thank him, but no other kids. Mine made me proud; oh, but I said that already.
Yesterday, I took Alex and Billie to the pool cook-out. They gobbled their food and raved about how good it was. They thanked Baxter for cooking and me for taking them. But, they especially made me happy when one of the children asked to play with them. She is a shy girl, and I think she has some trouble making friends. Billie and Alex explained their game and she joined right in. They invited her to eat dinner with us, and she was happy for the invitation. When it was time to go, they walked over and hugged goodbye. That warmed my heart. What good, good kids.
Kids are exhausting. And exhilarating. I'm blessed to have two "daughters" that I keep at my sister's house (and my "almost" daughter who lives with her mom). I'm so glad they enjoy coming to Camp Aunt Barb once or twice a year. They give me an excuse to buy junk food. I'm on the go instead of on the couch. And for some reason, I sleep like a log when they're here.
Children make your life important. -- Erma Bombeck
That's probably a strange thing for a retired middle school teacher to say. I mean, after thirty years of seventh graders, that fact should be no surprise. But, I never had my own for 24/7. There's a difference.
For two weeks this summer, my tiny house held not only Trixie and me, but it was filled with two kids who were excited about attending horse camp. The first week I had both nieces with me. Two weeks later, Billie was back for camp with her BFF, Alex. I was up each day at 7:30 am fixing breakfast and packing lunch. I drove back and forth to camp for twenty to twenty-five minutes ten times a week. That's a lot of gas. I used even more gas to drive to our evening activities; heaven forbid these kids feed and entertain themselves. Another meal - exhausting! And the chatter!! Non-stop. I felt like I was cantering on Coco and Ariel.
Camp is over. The kids have finally all gone home. I should be resting and relaxing, but I can't. I'm restless. The house is too quiet. OMG. I miss them!
A day ago, I was ready to change my name and not tell anyone. Now, I miss hearing "Aunt Barb!" A day ago I was tired of fixing dinner. Now, I'm trying to figure out what to have and I'm too apathetic to do anything about it. I want to hear Alex exclaiming that my pasta is the best she's ever had. (My recipe? Tri-colored pasta and Hunt's spaghetti sauce sprinkled with Parmesan cheese.) I want Billie flipping out in joy because sloppy joes are on the menu with a side of Eastern shore cantaloupe. Yes, dinner was different a day ago.
No trip to horse camp is complete without dips in the pool. I had such fun with the girls at the swim club. When Reba and Billie were here, they got along well and we laughed a lot. I was so proud of them. They were well-behaved and appreciative. They made Baxter smile when they thanked him for cook-out night. I saw adults thank him, but no other kids. Mine made me proud; oh, but I said that already.
Yesterday, I took Alex and Billie to the pool cook-out. They gobbled their food and raved about how good it was. They thanked Baxter for cooking and me for taking them. But, they especially made me happy when one of the children asked to play with them. She is a shy girl, and I think she has some trouble making friends. Billie and Alex explained their game and she joined right in. They invited her to eat dinner with us, and she was happy for the invitation. When it was time to go, they walked over and hugged goodbye. That warmed my heart. What good, good kids.
Kids are exhausting. And exhilarating. I'm blessed to have two "daughters" that I keep at my sister's house (and my "almost" daughter who lives with her mom). I'm so glad they enjoy coming to Camp Aunt Barb once or twice a year. They give me an excuse to buy junk food. I'm on the go instead of on the couch. And for some reason, I sleep like a log when they're here.
Children make your life important. -- Erma Bombeck
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Independence Day
As a child, I looked forward to the 4th of July. My family's was the fifth house in a row of eleven houses. On that day, the neighborhood came out for a block party. The kiddy pools were filled for the kiddies, and the beer coolers were filled for the adults. The neighbors barbecued (with charcoal) and partied late into the night. I don't remember fireworks. We surely weren't driven to see any; the picnic tables and barbecues blocked the garages. And the adults were really happy plopped in their lawn chairs and downing their brews. We kids had ice cream, sparklers, "punks," and fireflies. It was a good time.
As an older teen and young adult, we had moved, and I don't remember much of a big deal being made about the holiday. Sometimes we went to a parade where Dad marched as a Pearl Harbor Survivor. Many times there were picnics with "The Survivors" that followed. Occasionally we'd hear of fireworks at Villanova University. Sometimes we went, most times we didn't.
And then I was hired to teach in Harford County and I was introduced to a Havre de Grace Fourth of July.
I belonged to the Tidewater Players, a local theatre group. Each year we built a float for the parade. I think the first one I worked on was Hello Dolly. We had a staircase from which Rita Hurst would descend wearing the magical red dress. There were five or six tea tables with handsome tuxedoed waiters bringing trays of champagne glasses to the beauties sitting at them and dressed in long dresses, hats, and elbow length white gloves. Those gloves looked great as we waved to the crowd. Songs from the musical played from the cab, and the crowd loved us. My favorite float was South Pacific. Rita and crew built a paper mache mountain. We had a keg and spigot with running water so Lilma could wash that man right outta her hair. We were dressed in Polynesian garb or sailor suits and the colorful float won a nice award. Harry Malin, our group's beloved founder, played a drunken sailor catching a nap in the dinghy. He was in his glory. Afterwards, we would picnic at Flossie and Harry's home. We'd watch the fireworks on Ernie M.'s boat. We'd hit the carnival, and round out the evening at an Aberdeen bar. Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end.
For the past thirteen years, my family has come from the Philadelphia area to give my sister's kids a real Havre de Grace Fourth ( or Fifth or Sixth depending upon the day the holiday falls) experience. They check in at the VanDiver Inn in Hdg. (One year I called my sister in a panic because I'd been to an event at the Inn and realized she probably hadn't made her reservations and it might have been too late. No problem. When Helen called John, her rooms had already been penciled in the reservation book.) The day before the event we have a real Maryland eating experience, crabs and chicken at the River Shack in Chestertown, MD. Our spot to watch the parade is guaranteed by the VanDiver. We like to sit on the porch for the great view, and because the fans blow and the food and drinks are close. Afterwards, we nap off our Sangrias or go to the pool. We'd then barbecue at Dee Ashby's house. We no longer barbecue; we order food from Pat's and let them deliver it so we don't have to deal with the traffic. (Smart move, huh?) We used to watch the fireworks at Dee's house, but the trees have grown too tall. Now we hike to the hospital parking lot and watch from the top level. Perfect view, and no fighting the traffic to get out of town. This year was an especially perfect holiday because the weather was crisp and cool; unheard of for HdG in July!
I hope you had a joyous time celebrating Independence Day. If you didn't, then next year you must plan a trip to Havre de Grace for a true small town USA flag waving celebration! Stop by the VanDiver Inn, and I'll treat you to a Sangria.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Who needs Vegas?
Yesterday while floating in the pool (before a child pooped in it and closed it for the rest of the day), a few of us were talking about dollar bills and the chat turned to male strippers. I chuckled recalling my favorite stripper story, so I decided to share it with you today.
Many years ago, it was a big occasion in Ceciltucky when the male strippers came to Port Deposit. They had been booted from Perryville and were homeless before the PD VFW offered the show a venue. It was a big event - lots of food and all the beer you could drink. Remember that beer detail, as it plays a big part in the events of the night.
Cheryl, Cindy, and I arrived hours before the show began because we wanted front row seats. We came armed with board games (these were the days before smart phones) and books to pass the time. The weather was iffy, and threats of a huge snowstorm kept a potentially huge audience at bay.
When the time arrived to start the event, the food was plentiful and lots and lots of beer was imbibed. Lots of beer. More beer than I could even contemplate drinking these days. The men danced. And stripped. And stripped - down to string bikinis. Oh my! We each had a favorite dancer and being in the front row, we were pulled on stage to dance with the guys. We kept our clothes on, thank you very much.
It began to snow. Heavily. Some of the women left. We just drank more beer and the strippers had to work all that much harder to make an honest night's wage.
There was lots of money to be had.
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At some point in the evening, the media was admitted to the VFW in order to report the story. When warned of their presence, many of the women scurried to the bathroom. Others hid their faces. But not me!!! Oh no! I had beer power! In front of the cameras, I hooted and hollered and waved a fistful of dollar bills. The cameraman loved me.
Eventually, the fun had to end. They ran out of beer. We ran out of dollar bills. The snow was treacherously covering the back roads. We said goodbye to our newly purchased buddies. And I sloppily said goodbye to my former students who had been just as surprised to see me as I had been to see them. We promised each other that what happened in Port stayed in Port. (For the record, I was not driving as a mini-blizzard had covered the roads and I was beyond buzzed.)
Picture this. The middle school. Monday morning. Homeroom. A student says, "Ms. S. My dad was watching the news Friday night. He told me you were on it!" I had previously prided myself on not lying to my students, but you can bet I told him that he must have seen somebody who looked like me. He believed me. Because we all know teachers have no life outside of the classroom.
Many years ago, it was a big occasion in Ceciltucky when the male strippers came to Port Deposit. They had been booted from Perryville and were homeless before the PD VFW offered the show a venue. It was a big event - lots of food and all the beer you could drink. Remember that beer detail, as it plays a big part in the events of the night.
Cheryl, Cindy, and I arrived hours before the show began because we wanted front row seats. We came armed with board games (these were the days before smart phones) and books to pass the time. The weather was iffy, and threats of a huge snowstorm kept a potentially huge audience at bay.
When the time arrived to start the event, the food was plentiful and lots and lots of beer was imbibed. Lots of beer. More beer than I could even contemplate drinking these days. The men danced. And stripped. And stripped - down to string bikinis. Oh my! We each had a favorite dancer and being in the front row, we were pulled on stage to dance with the guys. We kept our clothes on, thank you very much.
It began to snow. Heavily. Some of the women left. We just drank more beer and the strippers had to work all that much harder to make an honest night's wage.
There was lots of money to be had.
At some point in the evening, the media was admitted to the VFW in order to report the story. When warned of their presence, many of the women scurried to the bathroom. Others hid their faces. But not me!!! Oh no! I had beer power! In front of the cameras, I hooted and hollered and waved a fistful of dollar bills. The cameraman loved me.
Eventually, the fun had to end. They ran out of beer. We ran out of dollar bills. The snow was treacherously covering the back roads. We said goodbye to our newly purchased buddies. And I sloppily said goodbye to my former students who had been just as surprised to see me as I had been to see them. We promised each other that what happened in Port stayed in Port. (For the record, I was not driving as a mini-blizzard had covered the roads and I was beyond buzzed.)
Picture this. The middle school. Monday morning. Homeroom. A student says, "Ms. S. My dad was watching the news Friday night. He told me you were on it!" I had previously prided myself on not lying to my students, but you can bet I told him that he must have seen somebody who looked like me. He believed me. Because we all know teachers have no life outside of the classroom.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
The Passing of a Great Guy
I whined a little bit on Facebook that I'd drawn a blank on blog topics. A friend advised me to give it up and go out and have an experience. Well, I had one. I went to the funeral for a friend's husband. He died suddenly, unexpectedly, and harshly while they were vacationing for the weekend at their summer home. This kind of grief is so big that it's hard to breathe.
When did life shift so drastically? When did I stop going to weddings every month to now, when I seem to be attending funerals on a regular basis?
Today was brutal. Over 300 people formed lines as long as those in Disney World to greet the family and say a prayer for their husband, father, friend. Young children sobbed through the service because their Pop-pop wasn't going to play baseball with them anymore. Joyce, his wife and my elementary school friend of fifty-five years, stood with her grieving children for more than two hours greeting the mourners. I sat with my friends, so sad that we weren't celebrating a girls' weekend at this, our most recent gathering. Paul was a great guy, full of life! We met a year ago, but he knew me through Joyce and he treated me like a long-time friend.
Paul was a registered organ donor. We were given green rubber bracelets with the phrase Donate Life in English and Spanish. I have marked my license to indicate my willingness to donate any part of my body anybody could ever want after I'm gone. Hopefully, I expect to use it all up before I leave this Earth. Honestly, who knows if I will? I urge you to consider being an organ donor. None of us know when our time will end, but it would be a comfort to our loved ones if we could live on not only in their hearts and memories, but in the actual living body of someone once in need. There's tons of information on the internet to get you started.
The following quote reminded me of Paul, a man who both lived and loved life. He will be missed.
"The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."
When did life shift so drastically? When did I stop going to weddings every month to now, when I seem to be attending funerals on a regular basis?
Today was brutal. Over 300 people formed lines as long as those in Disney World to greet the family and say a prayer for their husband, father, friend. Young children sobbed through the service because their Pop-pop wasn't going to play baseball with them anymore. Joyce, his wife and my elementary school friend of fifty-five years, stood with her grieving children for more than two hours greeting the mourners. I sat with my friends, so sad that we weren't celebrating a girls' weekend at this, our most recent gathering. Paul was a great guy, full of life! We met a year ago, but he knew me through Joyce and he treated me like a long-time friend.
Paul was a registered organ donor. We were given green rubber bracelets with the phrase Donate Life in English and Spanish. I have marked my license to indicate my willingness to donate any part of my body anybody could ever want after I'm gone. Hopefully, I expect to use it all up before I leave this Earth. Honestly, who knows if I will? I urge you to consider being an organ donor. None of us know when our time will end, but it would be a comfort to our loved ones if we could live on not only in their hearts and memories, but in the actual living body of someone once in need. There's tons of information on the internet to get you started.
The following quote reminded me of Paul, a man who both lived and loved life. He will be missed.
"The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Dirty Laundry
There's an expression about not airing your dirty laundry in public. I'm not sure if people remember it. In fact, what I've witnessed leads me to wonder if that piece of sage advice is ever shared in modern families.
The things that make it to television shock me. I don't watch Tori Spelling's "reality" show, but a lot of others do; so, clips of it run constantly on the talk shows. Tori and her husband are in marriage counseling because he cheated on her. Rather than seek help privately, they have invited the cameras to their sessions and are putting it all out there for America to watch. This particular session was brutal - yelling, accusing, crying, snotty nose sobbing, whimpering, cringing. Well, I was cringing anyhow. Why are they doing this? The obvious answer is money, but how much is the going rate for selling your soul to the devil? or the television network? I have no hope for that marriage. If they really wanted to fix it, the healing process would be between them and their counselor. Not them and their counselor, their director, their producers, their sponsors, their nosy neighbors - all million of them peeking through Tori's virtual windows while sitting in front of their televisions chomping on popcorn.
Facebook drama is a phenomenon that puzzles me. Why would a person fight back and forth with family members on their pages for all of their "friends" to witness and offer opinions? Dr. Phil, another hotbed of dirty laundry flapping in the wind, hosts all kinds of people whose families are in crisis. Sooner or later, one of the members reveals the Facebook fight that became the snake pit of the family feud. No wonder people are such messes. They have all 200 of their most intimate friends telling them what to do. Do these Dr. Phil people go back to their communities as celebrities? Do they give autographs? Take selfies with their fans? Do these Facebook voyeurs turn the corner at the grocery store to avoid their "friends" in real life? Or do they block the produce aisle to discuss the daily drama?
No matter what you think of country music, listen to Miranda Lambert's Mama's Broken Heart.
i cut my bangs with some rusty kitchen scissors
i screamed his name til the neighbors called the cops
i numbed the pain at the expense of my liver
i don't know what i did next all i know, i couldn't stop
word got around to the barflies & the baptists
my mama's phone started ringin off the hook
i can hear her now sayin she ain't gonna have it
don't matter how you feel, it only matters how you look
go & fix your make up, girl it's just a break up
run & hide your crazy & start actin like a lady
cause i raised you better, gotta keep it together
even when you fall apart
If nobody in your family is going to warn you not to air your dirty laundry in public, let Miranda's mom and me be the first to do so. Consider it a public service announcement.
The things that make it to television shock me. I don't watch Tori Spelling's "reality" show, but a lot of others do; so, clips of it run constantly on the talk shows. Tori and her husband are in marriage counseling because he cheated on her. Rather than seek help privately, they have invited the cameras to their sessions and are putting it all out there for America to watch. This particular session was brutal - yelling, accusing, crying, snotty nose sobbing, whimpering, cringing. Well, I was cringing anyhow. Why are they doing this? The obvious answer is money, but how much is the going rate for selling your soul to the devil? or the television network? I have no hope for that marriage. If they really wanted to fix it, the healing process would be between them and their counselor. Not them and their counselor, their director, their producers, their sponsors, their nosy neighbors - all million of them peeking through Tori's virtual windows while sitting in front of their televisions chomping on popcorn.
Facebook drama is a phenomenon that puzzles me. Why would a person fight back and forth with family members on their pages for all of their "friends" to witness and offer opinions? Dr. Phil, another hotbed of dirty laundry flapping in the wind, hosts all kinds of people whose families are in crisis. Sooner or later, one of the members reveals the Facebook fight that became the snake pit of the family feud. No wonder people are such messes. They have all 200 of their most intimate friends telling them what to do. Do these Dr. Phil people go back to their communities as celebrities? Do they give autographs? Take selfies with their fans? Do these Facebook voyeurs turn the corner at the grocery store to avoid their "friends" in real life? Or do they block the produce aisle to discuss the daily drama?
No matter what you think of country music, listen to Miranda Lambert's Mama's Broken Heart.
i cut my bangs with some rusty kitchen scissors
i screamed his name til the neighbors called the cops
i numbed the pain at the expense of my liver
i don't know what i did next all i know, i couldn't stop
word got around to the barflies & the baptists
my mama's phone started ringin off the hook
i can hear her now sayin she ain't gonna have it
don't matter how you feel, it only matters how you look
go & fix your make up, girl it's just a break up
run & hide your crazy & start actin like a lady
cause i raised you better, gotta keep it together
even when you fall apart
If nobody in your family is going to warn you not to air your dirty laundry in public, let Miranda's mom and me be the first to do so. Consider it a public service announcement.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Now Where Did I Put That?
My goal today was to find two of my possessions that have been missing for months. How could they be lost? I have a small house. These things have their places, but they weren't there.
I spend a lot of my retirement looking for lost objects. To be fair, I spent a lot of my working time looking for lost objects. I have the prayer to St. Anthony on speed dial in my head.
Last July, I lost my keys. That is a panicky loss. I retraced my steps, emailed some HdG businesses to check their Lost and Founds, and tore things apart in the search. Luckily, I keep a spare key at my friend Dee's house, so the loss wasn't a complete disaster. The keys did turn up the next day, in my sister's purse. Don't ask either of us how they got there because we'll just point the finger at each other.
My high school yearbook went missing for years. Years! I exhausted all possibilities in the search for that book, but it was gone, and I mourned its loss. A few months ago I decided to clean out the closet in the rarely used back bedroom. I pulled a laundry basket full of linens out and emptied it so I could refold what I wanted to keep and discard the rest. When I placed the navy blue basket on the floor to give me more room, it felt heavy. There, at the bottom of the basket, was my navy blue yearbook. How in the world did it end up there?
If I didn't know better, I'd think I had a problem like the one my buddy L. has. Stuff disappears in his house. Then it reappears. Then more stuff disappears and reappears. I told him that he has a ghost. He denies it, even though his dog refuses to go down into their basement. But that's another story. I don't have a ghost. I have a memory deficiency.
Today I was determined to find my jewelry making tools. I had checked everywhere in the house, and this time I found them in my office where they were supposed to be. They are kept in a black container that had fallen behind something else. So, the room was straightened up a bit and the tools were recovered. Winning!
I've been looking for my CD case for so long, I was starting to think I'd have to get some modern technology thingie and download/upload/unload, whatever one loads, all of my music. I had been so frustrated for so long that I had convinced myself the guys at Jiffy Lube had stolen it the last time I had my car serviced. Yep, they couldn't wait to get their hands on my show tunes! Today was clean all the trash and junk out of my car day. And I found my CDs tucked into a pocket in back of the passenger seat. Hello Dolly!!
According to my scientific research on the internet, we spend roughly one whole year of our lives looking for lost items. I don't know about you, but I need a better system to keep track of things. As I age, time becomes more precious, and I'd much rather spend that year drinking margaritas on a sunny Mexican beach.
I spend a lot of my retirement looking for lost objects. To be fair, I spent a lot of my working time looking for lost objects. I have the prayer to St. Anthony on speed dial in my head.
Last July, I lost my keys. That is a panicky loss. I retraced my steps, emailed some HdG businesses to check their Lost and Founds, and tore things apart in the search. Luckily, I keep a spare key at my friend Dee's house, so the loss wasn't a complete disaster. The keys did turn up the next day, in my sister's purse. Don't ask either of us how they got there because we'll just point the finger at each other.
My high school yearbook went missing for years. Years! I exhausted all possibilities in the search for that book, but it was gone, and I mourned its loss. A few months ago I decided to clean out the closet in the rarely used back bedroom. I pulled a laundry basket full of linens out and emptied it so I could refold what I wanted to keep and discard the rest. When I placed the navy blue basket on the floor to give me more room, it felt heavy. There, at the bottom of the basket, was my navy blue yearbook. How in the world did it end up there?
If I didn't know better, I'd think I had a problem like the one my buddy L. has. Stuff disappears in his house. Then it reappears. Then more stuff disappears and reappears. I told him that he has a ghost. He denies it, even though his dog refuses to go down into their basement. But that's another story. I don't have a ghost. I have a memory deficiency.
Today I was determined to find my jewelry making tools. I had checked everywhere in the house, and this time I found them in my office where they were supposed to be. They are kept in a black container that had fallen behind something else. So, the room was straightened up a bit and the tools were recovered. Winning!
I've been looking for my CD case for so long, I was starting to think I'd have to get some modern technology thingie and download/upload/unload, whatever one loads, all of my music. I had been so frustrated for so long that I had convinced myself the guys at Jiffy Lube had stolen it the last time I had my car serviced. Yep, they couldn't wait to get their hands on my show tunes! Today was clean all the trash and junk out of my car day. And I found my CDs tucked into a pocket in back of the passenger seat. Hello Dolly!!
According to my scientific research on the internet, we spend roughly one whole year of our lives looking for lost items. I don't know about you, but I need a better system to keep track of things. As I age, time becomes more precious, and I'd much rather spend that year drinking margaritas on a sunny Mexican beach.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Barbara Walters is Retiring
I've watched Barbara Walters all my life. I think she was a real pioneer in the news world who threw open the door to serious women journalists. She's retiring today, and she sure knows how to throw a celebration. Right now I'm tearing up as all the female television journalists influenced by her gather to honor her.
I envy her the retirement bash she's having. After thirty years of teaching middle school children, my career ended with a fizzle instead of fireworks. That year I'd lost about two months of school due to a broken leg. My mother died. I was not up for celebrating.
I'd had intoxicating plans for Ms. Snyder: The Final Tour (which, of course, would have to wait until after state testing). One thing I wanted to do was a book of my students' writings that I'd planned to bind for our school library. I wanted to do a showcase presentation of students performing their original poems, stories, skits, etc. accompanied by food, decorations, and important guests. I'd hoped to make those last few months so creative that the kids would remember that particular language arts class for years to come. I almost considered staying another year so I could do The Final Tour with the next group of students. Almost being the key word. :-)
Then, I wanted to host a bonfire in October. I'd planned to have it catered (food is always important). But most importantly, I wanted to invite all of my former students and their families to join in the fun and to bring any papers they may have held on to for burning in the fire. But, I broke that same leg again in July, so .... no bonfire for me.
This is the season for retirements. I hope everybody who retires has a wonderful experience. I hope they are honored at parties. Remembered for their good works. Joined by loving family and friends. Celebrated like Barbara Walters!!
No matter how a career ends, the next step in life will be enjoyable. Retirement can be great. While I may not have been able to kick up my heels at the end of my career, I do recognize and celebrate every day of health and freedom that I experience in retirement. People tell me I look younger; but well-rested is probably more like it. Whatever happens, I feel lucky to be retired. I know many people who probably won't experience this luxury as the economy dictates they will need to work the rest of their lives just to survive. And that's a damn shame.
If you are retiring, do like Barbara Walters. Celebrate your career. Remember the good times. Enjoy the kudos. Do not worry about how you will fill your days. They will fly by, and you'll wonder how you ever got anything accomplished while you were working.
Congratulations on your retirement Ms. Walters! And for any of you teachers getting ready to retire, invite me to your bonfire. I still have papers that need to be burned.
I envy her the retirement bash she's having. After thirty years of teaching middle school children, my career ended with a fizzle instead of fireworks. That year I'd lost about two months of school due to a broken leg. My mother died. I was not up for celebrating.
I'd had intoxicating plans for Ms. Snyder: The Final Tour (which, of course, would have to wait until after state testing). One thing I wanted to do was a book of my students' writings that I'd planned to bind for our school library. I wanted to do a showcase presentation of students performing their original poems, stories, skits, etc. accompanied by food, decorations, and important guests. I'd hoped to make those last few months so creative that the kids would remember that particular language arts class for years to come. I almost considered staying another year so I could do The Final Tour with the next group of students. Almost being the key word. :-)
Then, I wanted to host a bonfire in October. I'd planned to have it catered (food is always important). But most importantly, I wanted to invite all of my former students and their families to join in the fun and to bring any papers they may have held on to for burning in the fire. But, I broke that same leg again in July, so .... no bonfire for me.
This is the season for retirements. I hope everybody who retires has a wonderful experience. I hope they are honored at parties. Remembered for their good works. Joined by loving family and friends. Celebrated like Barbara Walters!!
No matter how a career ends, the next step in life will be enjoyable. Retirement can be great. While I may not have been able to kick up my heels at the end of my career, I do recognize and celebrate every day of health and freedom that I experience in retirement. People tell me I look younger; but well-rested is probably more like it. Whatever happens, I feel lucky to be retired. I know many people who probably won't experience this luxury as the economy dictates they will need to work the rest of their lives just to survive. And that's a damn shame.
If you are retiring, do like Barbara Walters. Celebrate your career. Remember the good times. Enjoy the kudos. Do not worry about how you will fill your days. They will fly by, and you'll wonder how you ever got anything accomplished while you were working.
Congratulations on your retirement Ms. Walters! And for any of you teachers getting ready to retire, invite me to your bonfire. I still have papers that need to be burned.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Words
I love words, reading them, saying them, writing them. Occasionally I'll read a word, and it fills me with warmth because I like it so much. The words bowl and platter are like that.
I'm not sure why I like those words. Maybe they create images of abundance: a Thanksgiving table and a dinner full of specially prepared foods eaten by special people. Bowl. Platter. Fill 'em up. On the other hand, I don't feel the same about plate. Turning nouns into verbs frequently annoys me. When did people start plating their food? Did they gold plate it, silver plate it, or arrange it on a plate? When did the word plate go Hollywood?
Text makes me respond differently. It is also a noun that's been turned into a verb, but I like it. I like the word text, the hiss of the x and the crispness of the t. What I don't like is when people add an s to the word. They no longer can pronounce it. What they manage to say often sounds like a synonym for testicles, and it makes me cringe.
When I drive my niece to school, I pass the sign for a neighborhood called The Enclave. Enclave, I love that word. It sounds rich, sophisticated, exclusive, and secretive. Someday when I write a book, my people are going to reside in a suburban enclave. Or maybe they'll end up renting a row house in Philly. I'm not sure yet; the book hasn't been written.
Plump is a favorite of mine. It's not because I'd rather be referred to as plump instead of fat or obese. But plump is a delightfully round word. It defines itself when you say it out loud. One must plump their cheeks to pronounce the word plump. It's fun to say!
Snot's ok. Mucous and phlegm make me gag. I think that relates to my former profession. I dealt with seventh graders and snot was an everyday occurrence. But, if something turned into mucous or phlegm, that usually meant there was a lot of it and my stomach churns at the thought.
Conversate kills me. Where the hell did that word come from, and why do the people using it think it makes them sound intelligent? Have a conversation or converse about a situation. If you're going to conversate, do not do it around me or I'll have to give you an on the spot grammar lesson.
The word retard disturbs me. If you are one of my former students, you better remember the correct pronunciation and definition of the word, and use it only when referring to slowing down the rusting process. For most of my life, the term retarded referred to people. It was a descriptive term in a time when words like Down Syndrome or mentally challenged did not exist. While such a use of the word is now outdated, some folks still use it to describe people in a derogatory fashion. When did that happen? When did insulting someone with that term become commonplace? Why? And don't get me started on the currently in vogue variation of the word, libtard. Anybody who hopes to impress his/her Facebook friends with the superiority of his/her conservative opinion only makes him/herself look ignorant by using such a word.
I need to make a list because I know there are other words I love or love to hate, but I can't recall them right now. Maybe a Words: Part 2 will be a future blog. What are your favorite words? What words make you cringe? Feel free to share.
Friday, April 18, 2014
When I Get Older, Losing My Hair Many Years From Now???????
My dear friend, Cathy Beaver, sent me a birthday card that made me laugh out loud. She included a very funny list of things that made getting to our age a great thing. I will be sixty-one three months before her, so here's a list for you readers, and especially Cathy, of my things that make old age not so bad. (I borrowed a few of hers, though, because they were important enough to be repeated.) Feel free to share your favorites about the joys of getting old.
1. Bathing suits. It no longer matters what you look like in a bathing suit. You're old, it's expected you'll look bad. So get a bikini if you want. Who cares?
2. Movie tickets. The senior discount makes my matinee movie ticket cheaper than a kid's ticket.
3. Senior moment. That expression excuses a multitude of mistakes. And you can't use it if you don't have some gray hair.
4. Large print books. We need them. If you are requesting a wait list book at the library, the large print books are faster to get and help you to skip merrily up the list.
5. Picking things up. Young people are eager to help old people pick up things they have dropped. It makes them feel good to help, and it saves grandpa/grandma's back.
6. Cataract surgery. I no longer need glasses to drive or to see (other than reading). Young people pay a lot of money for lasik surgery. My medical plan covered the cataract surgery with no charge to me.
7. Relating musically to kids. Young people will be fascinated to learn that many of the songs they were introduced to on Glee originated during our youth and we know all the words. They are awed to realize some of the songs originated before they were born.
8. Retirement. We can stop worrying about getting or losing a job. Workplace drama no longer keeps us awake at night. We don't have to work anymore if retirement gives us a pension. Mine does. :-)
9. Less shaving. I used to shave my legs every other day. As I've aged, maybe I do it once a week. The hair barely grows.
10. Off-season vacations. Dee and I took a cruise at the end of January. It wasn't crowded and there were very few children to run up and down the halls, take over the swimming pool, and push all the elevator buttons at once. The price was less than the cruise I took during the summer that was crawlin' with kids.
11. Comfortable clothes. When one is no longer dressing to seduce, it feels good to wear clothes. Low heels. Stretchy waistbands. Flowing blouses. Ahhhhh..........
12. No fear of dying young. 'Nuff said.
1. Bathing suits. It no longer matters what you look like in a bathing suit. You're old, it's expected you'll look bad. So get a bikini if you want. Who cares?
2. Movie tickets. The senior discount makes my matinee movie ticket cheaper than a kid's ticket.
3. Senior moment. That expression excuses a multitude of mistakes. And you can't use it if you don't have some gray hair.
4. Large print books. We need them. If you are requesting a wait list book at the library, the large print books are faster to get and help you to skip merrily up the list.
5. Picking things up. Young people are eager to help old people pick up things they have dropped. It makes them feel good to help, and it saves grandpa/grandma's back.
6. Cataract surgery. I no longer need glasses to drive or to see (other than reading). Young people pay a lot of money for lasik surgery. My medical plan covered the cataract surgery with no charge to me.
7. Relating musically to kids. Young people will be fascinated to learn that many of the songs they were introduced to on Glee originated during our youth and we know all the words. They are awed to realize some of the songs originated before they were born.
8. Retirement. We can stop worrying about getting or losing a job. Workplace drama no longer keeps us awake at night. We don't have to work anymore if retirement gives us a pension. Mine does. :-)
9. Less shaving. I used to shave my legs every other day. As I've aged, maybe I do it once a week. The hair barely grows.
10. Off-season vacations. Dee and I took a cruise at the end of January. It wasn't crowded and there were very few children to run up and down the halls, take over the swimming pool, and push all the elevator buttons at once. The price was less than the cruise I took during the summer that was crawlin' with kids.
11. Comfortable clothes. When one is no longer dressing to seduce, it feels good to wear clothes. Low heels. Stretchy waistbands. Flowing blouses. Ahhhhh..........
12. No fear of dying young. 'Nuff said.
Monday, April 14, 2014
A Few Laughs
Time for something uplifting. Believe it or not, there are things in this life that make me laugh. It's about time I shared. I'm going to talk about some of the people I encounter in my life. I will try to keep them anonymous.
Remember my neighbors across the street? The ones I used to watch beating their bubble Christmas decorations into standing upright? Well, guess what? It's April, and those decorations are still lying dead in the front yard. I've known that people don't always take down their lights, but these are the first people I've seen turn their front yard into a bubble decoration graveyard. I laugh every time I drive past.
Last week at church, a woman who appears to me to be in fine health, asked me for recommendations for songs to be played at her funeral. I was flabbergasted. What advice would you give her? It was awful for me; all I could think of were Beatles songs. I Don't Want to Spoil the Party, So I'll Go. She's Leaving Home. Eleanor Rigby. Maxwell's Silver Hammer. I went with Amazing Grace, but she rolled her eyes and turned her back to me because everybody has that one.
Remember the guys in my Cane Fu class? They've gone from distrusting me to everybody wanting to be my personal tutor. Because I just don't do it right. And they're correcting me for my own good because they don't want me to get attacked and not survive. I have to stop hitting like a girl. Kicking like a girl. Walking like a girl. Last Thursday, I had one guy behind me swinging my arm like you might teach someone how to golf, another beside me telling me to follow his moves, and two on the sidelines giving directions. I've never been so popular. I've begged Terry at the Senior Center to try to get another woman to take the class and the pressure off me. No luck.
Friday, I tried a new class at the Senior Center, chair Zumba. I injured my knee a while ago, and regular Zumba cripples me for a few days after each class, so I figured I'd try that class. The instructor's good. I worked up a sweat, and my arms felt the burn. But my classmates, oh my classmates. There are a few women my age and above who work out in a way I'm used to doing. But the rest of the class is the happiest group of adults you'll ever find. They are mentally challenged adults bused in from a local assisted living center. I laughed the whole afternoon, not AT them but WITH them. They were so happy to have a new person in class, and they made sure to tell me I was doing good. One of them, a blind gentleman, heard the beginning of Tom Jones's Delilah and he just belted it out. He had a deep bass voice, and we gave him a round of applause. But the best part was Pharrell What-his-name's Happy. That's a powerful song. People who had been sitting there kind of flapping their hands, perked up to dance. Everybody was singing along and dancing with joy. As soon as the music stopped, they all sat down again, somber, like a switch had been flipped. But, I was still smiling. I love that song and its effect on people. I'm going to enjoy that class...I think.
Winter was rough on me. March wears me out; I hate that month. But it's April! It was sunny and warm today. Time to realize there is joy to be had in the simplest of things (and people).
Remember my neighbors across the street? The ones I used to watch beating their bubble Christmas decorations into standing upright? Well, guess what? It's April, and those decorations are still lying dead in the front yard. I've known that people don't always take down their lights, but these are the first people I've seen turn their front yard into a bubble decoration graveyard. I laugh every time I drive past.
Last week at church, a woman who appears to me to be in fine health, asked me for recommendations for songs to be played at her funeral. I was flabbergasted. What advice would you give her? It was awful for me; all I could think of were Beatles songs. I Don't Want to Spoil the Party, So I'll Go. She's Leaving Home. Eleanor Rigby. Maxwell's Silver Hammer. I went with Amazing Grace, but she rolled her eyes and turned her back to me because everybody has that one.
Remember the guys in my Cane Fu class? They've gone from distrusting me to everybody wanting to be my personal tutor. Because I just don't do it right. And they're correcting me for my own good because they don't want me to get attacked and not survive. I have to stop hitting like a girl. Kicking like a girl. Walking like a girl. Last Thursday, I had one guy behind me swinging my arm like you might teach someone how to golf, another beside me telling me to follow his moves, and two on the sidelines giving directions. I've never been so popular. I've begged Terry at the Senior Center to try to get another woman to take the class and the pressure off me. No luck.
Friday, I tried a new class at the Senior Center, chair Zumba. I injured my knee a while ago, and regular Zumba cripples me for a few days after each class, so I figured I'd try that class. The instructor's good. I worked up a sweat, and my arms felt the burn. But my classmates, oh my classmates. There are a few women my age and above who work out in a way I'm used to doing. But the rest of the class is the happiest group of adults you'll ever find. They are mentally challenged adults bused in from a local assisted living center. I laughed the whole afternoon, not AT them but WITH them. They were so happy to have a new person in class, and they made sure to tell me I was doing good. One of them, a blind gentleman, heard the beginning of Tom Jones's Delilah and he just belted it out. He had a deep bass voice, and we gave him a round of applause. But the best part was Pharrell What-his-name's Happy. That's a powerful song. People who had been sitting there kind of flapping their hands, perked up to dance. Everybody was singing along and dancing with joy. As soon as the music stopped, they all sat down again, somber, like a switch had been flipped. But, I was still smiling. I love that song and its effect on people. I'm going to enjoy that class...I think.
Winter was rough on me. March wears me out; I hate that month. But it's April! It was sunny and warm today. Time to realize there is joy to be had in the simplest of things (and people).
Thursday, April 10, 2014
In Memory of My Mom
I did it again today. I turned to the telephone thinking I'd call Mom. It was a very brief lapse of reality, but it surprises me that seven years later, I still want to call my mother and discuss something with her. We rarely had really long talks, just lots of snippets whenever the need to chat presented itself. Towards the end of her life, I could barely talk to her. My throat thickened when I tried to get the words out. I remember one perfectly beautiful early evening when we should have had a talk. My sister and the girls were out. I was sitting by her bed in my wheelchair (my leg was broken). The outside door to her room was open. It was spring. The air smelled sweet. As the sun set, it warmed the room. I heard children playing across the street. Mom was in and out of consciousness. She wanted her dog to sit on her bed, but Mitzi was like me. She was sad, and no matter how much she loved my mom, she would not get on the bed. My Trixie came to the rescue. She snuggled up on Mom's side, and didn't move. I'd never seen her so subdued and gentle. Mom and I both petted her. I kept sitting there thinking, Say something! Now! You might not get another chance. But I couldn't talk, and I still feel incomplete (guilty?) for all of the things I wish I had said. But we communicated in a way. When our hands touched as we petted Trixie, we'd stop petting and hold each other.
April 11 marks the seventh anniversary of Mom's death. What I could barely survive one day at a time has now been survived for 2,555 days. What follows is the eulogy I delivered from my wheelchair with a three year old Billie sitting in my lap, trying to make me not sad.
*************************
I used to get really frustrated with my students who wouldn't write because they didn't know what to say. They never shut their mouths in class, so how could it be that they didn't know what to write on a piece of paper? Well, I understand very clearly now because of the difficulty I've had starting this eulogy. I wanted it to be so right, so perfect, that I couldn't even start it. I wanted to make sure I did my mom justice. Finally, I realized I don't have enough words in me to do her justice. So, I'll share my memories with you and hope that you all will continue to share your memories of Mom with us.
My mom was a lot of fun. All of us have memories of the good times. I can remember sitting at the dinner table many times over the years, drinking coffee, eating dessert, and laughing so hard that I'd have to make a dash for the bathroom. Mom liked a party. She went on cruises with my sister and her friends...maybe some of you have heard the story about the nude beach or the scavenger hunt on the ship. Ask Helen, she'll be happy to tell you. The D'Apriles hosted the annual Labor Day party for many years. Dad would often be in bed long before Mom even got home. Probably the most fun my mom had was when she hosted the traditional Christmas dinner at our house. Fifty years of dinners! All the relatives came and families grew, but we always managed to crowd around the dining room table for dessert and family stories. No matter how much work it was, Mom was always happy at the end of the day as she tucked away the china and silver for another year.
My mom was full of love. Never did we experience it more deeply than when the little ones came into our lives. First came Lien and Laurel, Mom's unofficial grandkids. Mom babysat them, went to their school events, baked Laurel her apple cakes, and remembered them every birthday. When she finally had her own official grandchildren, she was thrilled. I remember the moment she and Reba met for the first time. It was at the D.C. airport. Helen held Reba as she introduced them and they just stared at each other, sizing each other up. After that, the whole family practically lived with my sister in Virginia. Billie came to live with us about a year ago. She made Mom laugh all the time with her funny expressions. Billie is a real waterbug, so Mom was well-known at the swim club. She took the girls there on many hot days and jumped in the water with them. Everybody knew Reba and Billie's grandmother and everybody called her by name, Bubbe. Each weekend when I'd call home, Mom couldn't wait to tell me the latest Reba and Billie stories.
My mother was generous. In the lean years when I was a new teacher, I never came home to visit without having gas money tucked in my pocket before I left. She took us and our friends to plays, out to meals, on day trips, and insisted on picking up the tab. Her generosity is a legacy left to her children. I know that I give freely in the way my mom did, as do my sister and brother.
My mother was strong. She was very ill these past few years, but she was determined to live for her children and grandchildren for as long as she could. Whatever it takes was her motto. We were really lucky to have doctors who saw Mom as a person. Dr. Morgan, Mom's dialysis doctor, was an angel in all of our lives. I was constantly awed by my mother's determination. I remember one time when she had to have surgery to open up a dialysis access that had clogged. Because my dad was seriously ill and she needed to be able to go to the hospital to be with him as soon as possible, she took the surgery without the anesthesia. Having recently had surgery myself for the first time, I can't imagine how she did it.
After my Dad died, Mom went to live with Helen, the girls, and my brother. We laughed about the Snyder Compound, but it was truly a wonderful living arrangement. Although the noise could be deafening at times, there was nothing more melodic to my mother than the sound of her children and grandchildren laughing. My siblings took great care of Mom. When she could no longer drive herself to dialysis, Glenn was up at 5 in the morning, three times a week, to take her. The care my sister gave her allowed Mom to come home at the end and spend her final days with her family. Whenever she was awake, Mom would say how glad she was to be at home. I cannot thank my sister enough for making that possible for my mother. The one thing Mom was concerned about was that we would take care of each other after she was gone. I think in taking care of Mom we learned to take care of each other. And maybe that's why she was finally able to let go.
We will miss our mother.
April 11 marks the seventh anniversary of Mom's death. What I could barely survive one day at a time has now been survived for 2,555 days. What follows is the eulogy I delivered from my wheelchair with a three year old Billie sitting in my lap, trying to make me not sad.
*************************
I used to get really frustrated with my students who wouldn't write because they didn't know what to say. They never shut their mouths in class, so how could it be that they didn't know what to write on a piece of paper? Well, I understand very clearly now because of the difficulty I've had starting this eulogy. I wanted it to be so right, so perfect, that I couldn't even start it. I wanted to make sure I did my mom justice. Finally, I realized I don't have enough words in me to do her justice. So, I'll share my memories with you and hope that you all will continue to share your memories of Mom with us.
My mom was a lot of fun. All of us have memories of the good times. I can remember sitting at the dinner table many times over the years, drinking coffee, eating dessert, and laughing so hard that I'd have to make a dash for the bathroom. Mom liked a party. She went on cruises with my sister and her friends...maybe some of you have heard the story about the nude beach or the scavenger hunt on the ship. Ask Helen, she'll be happy to tell you. The D'Apriles hosted the annual Labor Day party for many years. Dad would often be in bed long before Mom even got home. Probably the most fun my mom had was when she hosted the traditional Christmas dinner at our house. Fifty years of dinners! All the relatives came and families grew, but we always managed to crowd around the dining room table for dessert and family stories. No matter how much work it was, Mom was always happy at the end of the day as she tucked away the china and silver for another year.
My mom was full of love. Never did we experience it more deeply than when the little ones came into our lives. First came Lien and Laurel, Mom's unofficial grandkids. Mom babysat them, went to their school events, baked Laurel her apple cakes, and remembered them every birthday. When she finally had her own official grandchildren, she was thrilled. I remember the moment she and Reba met for the first time. It was at the D.C. airport. Helen held Reba as she introduced them and they just stared at each other, sizing each other up. After that, the whole family practically lived with my sister in Virginia. Billie came to live with us about a year ago. She made Mom laugh all the time with her funny expressions. Billie is a real waterbug, so Mom was well-known at the swim club. She took the girls there on many hot days and jumped in the water with them. Everybody knew Reba and Billie's grandmother and everybody called her by name, Bubbe. Each weekend when I'd call home, Mom couldn't wait to tell me the latest Reba and Billie stories.
My mother was generous. In the lean years when I was a new teacher, I never came home to visit without having gas money tucked in my pocket before I left. She took us and our friends to plays, out to meals, on day trips, and insisted on picking up the tab. Her generosity is a legacy left to her children. I know that I give freely in the way my mom did, as do my sister and brother.
My mother was strong. She was very ill these past few years, but she was determined to live for her children and grandchildren for as long as she could. Whatever it takes was her motto. We were really lucky to have doctors who saw Mom as a person. Dr. Morgan, Mom's dialysis doctor, was an angel in all of our lives. I was constantly awed by my mother's determination. I remember one time when she had to have surgery to open up a dialysis access that had clogged. Because my dad was seriously ill and she needed to be able to go to the hospital to be with him as soon as possible, she took the surgery without the anesthesia. Having recently had surgery myself for the first time, I can't imagine how she did it.
After my Dad died, Mom went to live with Helen, the girls, and my brother. We laughed about the Snyder Compound, but it was truly a wonderful living arrangement. Although the noise could be deafening at times, there was nothing more melodic to my mother than the sound of her children and grandchildren laughing. My siblings took great care of Mom. When she could no longer drive herself to dialysis, Glenn was up at 5 in the morning, three times a week, to take her. The care my sister gave her allowed Mom to come home at the end and spend her final days with her family. Whenever she was awake, Mom would say how glad she was to be at home. I cannot thank my sister enough for making that possible for my mother. The one thing Mom was concerned about was that we would take care of each other after she was gone. I think in taking care of Mom we learned to take care of each other. And maybe that's why she was finally able to let go.
We will miss our mother.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Bill Horner
The past two days have been Spring-like. Looking at the tree in my front yard gives me hope that warm and sunny weather is on the way. You see, the buds are forming on my pear tree. When it explodes into blossoms, Spring will have finally sprung. That's my semi-scientific theory about the change of seasons. I ought to know, as this tree was a gift from my favorite science teacher, Bill Horner.
Bill was a science teacher at my middle school. Correction, he was more than a science teacher, he was a legend. And rightly so. Walking into Bill's classroom was always an adventure. Students never knew what was going to happen. It could be an actual rainstorm, thunder and all. Maybe it would be an experiment using sulphur and turning the hallway into one long stink bomb. Whatever happened, it was guaranteed to be fun. Kids moved in science class. Learning was hands on. Kids laughed. The teacher laughed. And everybody learned... a lot.
I always felt sorry for the science teacher who shared the other half of the team with Bill because very, very few kids wanted to be in that class. Parents intervened and used all of their influence to make sure their kids had the Horner experience. One year, the last of the Miller kids was assigned to the other teacher. Bill had taught all the Millers (and there were a lot of them) and he was very fond of the family. So, he approached the principal and asked to switch classes with the other teacher in order to teach the last Miller. The other teacher, a newbie to our school, was indignant when his request was granted. In fact, she cried and whined to anyone who would listen about how unfair it was. I tried to explain the unspoken politics of a small close-knit school so she'd know not to take it personally, but to no avail. She pouted the next few years, until she got a transfer.
Bill was a legend in the classroom, and he was the life of the party outside of it. The best parties were held at Bill's, and you were only invited if he wanted you. It took me a while to break into the circle, and I felt like I'd won a prize when I got my first invite. His Christmas parties were the best. Great food. Lots of booze. Enough people to pack his tiny house to the brim. He was the leader of the faculty fraternity. I'm not sure what all those guys did when they got together, but every now and then, a story would leak. One year, I knew the guys were going over to his house for a guy thing on one of the last days of school. I decided it was time to desegregate that party, so a few of us brave women also stopped by for a beer. He laughed when we showed up at the door, but he handed out the cold ones and we stayed for a few.
Bill was my friend. I used to tell him all the time that I wanted to marry him for his money. The kids thought we made a good couple. In fact, one of the mothers of a student we had in common invited us both to dinner one time just to try to get a spark going between us. I loved that man. He used to tell anybody who would listen that I was the best English teacher in that school. I wasn't, and I know that. But, I just beamed when someone would tell me what he said. He used to type encouraging letters to everybody. I treasure those he sent me. As I said, I loved that man.
When he finally reached his last day of teaching, it was a day during which the whole school honored him. Everybody wore neckties because Mr. Professional Teacher always wore a tie. My kids wrote a play portraying him as getting a college education during the dinosaur years. They sang "The Wind Beneath My Wings" to him, and everybody teared up. He was one of a kind. I was honored to teach with him and blessed to know him.
If you are reading this, and smiling to yourself with your own Bill Horner memories, please leave your stories in the comments section for all to see. I never want to forget him.
Bill was a science teacher at my middle school. Correction, he was more than a science teacher, he was a legend. And rightly so. Walking into Bill's classroom was always an adventure. Students never knew what was going to happen. It could be an actual rainstorm, thunder and all. Maybe it would be an experiment using sulphur and turning the hallway into one long stink bomb. Whatever happened, it was guaranteed to be fun. Kids moved in science class. Learning was hands on. Kids laughed. The teacher laughed. And everybody learned... a lot.
I always felt sorry for the science teacher who shared the other half of the team with Bill because very, very few kids wanted to be in that class. Parents intervened and used all of their influence to make sure their kids had the Horner experience. One year, the last of the Miller kids was assigned to the other teacher. Bill had taught all the Millers (and there were a lot of them) and he was very fond of the family. So, he approached the principal and asked to switch classes with the other teacher in order to teach the last Miller. The other teacher, a newbie to our school, was indignant when his request was granted. In fact, she cried and whined to anyone who would listen about how unfair it was. I tried to explain the unspoken politics of a small close-knit school so she'd know not to take it personally, but to no avail. She pouted the next few years, until she got a transfer.
Bill was a legend in the classroom, and he was the life of the party outside of it. The best parties were held at Bill's, and you were only invited if he wanted you. It took me a while to break into the circle, and I felt like I'd won a prize when I got my first invite. His Christmas parties were the best. Great food. Lots of booze. Enough people to pack his tiny house to the brim. He was the leader of the faculty fraternity. I'm not sure what all those guys did when they got together, but every now and then, a story would leak. One year, I knew the guys were going over to his house for a guy thing on one of the last days of school. I decided it was time to desegregate that party, so a few of us brave women also stopped by for a beer. He laughed when we showed up at the door, but he handed out the cold ones and we stayed for a few.
Bill was my friend. I used to tell him all the time that I wanted to marry him for his money. The kids thought we made a good couple. In fact, one of the mothers of a student we had in common invited us both to dinner one time just to try to get a spark going between us. I loved that man. He used to tell anybody who would listen that I was the best English teacher in that school. I wasn't, and I know that. But, I just beamed when someone would tell me what he said. He used to type encouraging letters to everybody. I treasure those he sent me. As I said, I loved that man.
When he finally reached his last day of teaching, it was a day during which the whole school honored him. Everybody wore neckties because Mr. Professional Teacher always wore a tie. My kids wrote a play portraying him as getting a college education during the dinosaur years. They sang "The Wind Beneath My Wings" to him, and everybody teared up. He was one of a kind. I was honored to teach with him and blessed to know him.
If you are reading this, and smiling to yourself with your own Bill Horner memories, please leave your stories in the comments section for all to see. I never want to forget him.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Winter Blahs
This has been a rough winter. Icy. Gray. COLD. Expensive. At times, my SAD was crippling. I was musing about the things I've done to perk myself up, and I wonder how many of you did some of these things, too.
I frequently visited the travel pages on the internet. Never has a trip to the Caribbean looked so welcoming. Honestly, I think I warm up about ten degrees just looking at a picturesque beach. I even took a cruise this February. I plan to take a vacation next February, too. Those warm days in Nassau seem so far away.
I curled up in a blanket in front of the space heater and read a lot of books. Sandra Dallas is my new favorite author. Her pioneer women survived winters that made mine look like a vacation in comparison. It is not too late to add to your reading list. Pick out something by Sandra, sit back, and enjoy.
I cooked some yummy meals. Food Lion sells stuffed scallops. I'd buy a package of them, each deliciously stuffed on the half-shell, and warm them in a 400 degree oven for thirty minutes. During that cook time, I sauteed asparagus in olive oil and Marsala wine. Oh yummy. Unfortunately, I baked. I grazed. I gained.
Some of my closets were cleared of excess junk. I often read posts from minimalist friends on Facebook. My goal is a place for every thing I own. Hopefully, those things without niches will find new places: on the yard sale tables, with friends, at the consignment shop, in the trash.
I discovered new television addictions. Just what I needed, right? Thank you Adrian O. for hooking me up with Shemar and Criminal Minds. Do you know how many times a day one can catch an episode of that crime show? Enough times that I can start figuring out who the unsubs are and why they do what they do. TCM, Turner Classic Movies, shows great stuff and it's commercial free. Has anyone here ever seen Autumn Leaves? What a movie! Marty, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Boy With the Green Hair, Where the Boys Are, How to Marry a Millionaire, Sleepless in Seattle, and the list goes on and on. Did I mention no commercials? Check it out.
I bought stylish winter hats. Two of them, in fact. Both seem inspired by Downton Abbey (see above TV reference). I enjoy wearing them and people frequently compliment my chapeaus. A kind word always brings a warm smile on a cold winter day.
Tomorrow marks the first day of Spring. The crocuses are poking through the hard soil. The trees are starting to bud. The grass, when you can see it, is turning green.
The weather people are calling for another snow storm next week. Sigh.......
I frequently visited the travel pages on the internet. Never has a trip to the Caribbean looked so welcoming. Honestly, I think I warm up about ten degrees just looking at a picturesque beach. I even took a cruise this February. I plan to take a vacation next February, too. Those warm days in Nassau seem so far away.
I curled up in a blanket in front of the space heater and read a lot of books. Sandra Dallas is my new favorite author. Her pioneer women survived winters that made mine look like a vacation in comparison. It is not too late to add to your reading list. Pick out something by Sandra, sit back, and enjoy.
I cooked some yummy meals. Food Lion sells stuffed scallops. I'd buy a package of them, each deliciously stuffed on the half-shell, and warm them in a 400 degree oven for thirty minutes. During that cook time, I sauteed asparagus in olive oil and Marsala wine. Oh yummy. Unfortunately, I baked. I grazed. I gained.
Some of my closets were cleared of excess junk. I often read posts from minimalist friends on Facebook. My goal is a place for every thing I own. Hopefully, those things without niches will find new places: on the yard sale tables, with friends, at the consignment shop, in the trash.
I discovered new television addictions. Just what I needed, right? Thank you Adrian O. for hooking me up with Shemar and Criminal Minds. Do you know how many times a day one can catch an episode of that crime show? Enough times that I can start figuring out who the unsubs are and why they do what they do. TCM, Turner Classic Movies, shows great stuff and it's commercial free. Has anyone here ever seen Autumn Leaves? What a movie! Marty, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Boy With the Green Hair, Where the Boys Are, How to Marry a Millionaire, Sleepless in Seattle, and the list goes on and on. Did I mention no commercials? Check it out.
I bought stylish winter hats. Two of them, in fact. Both seem inspired by Downton Abbey (see above TV reference). I enjoy wearing them and people frequently compliment my chapeaus. A kind word always brings a warm smile on a cold winter day.
Tomorrow marks the first day of Spring. The crocuses are poking through the hard soil. The trees are starting to bud. The grass, when you can see it, is turning green.
The weather people are calling for another snow storm next week. Sigh.......
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