The Minnow Is in Port

My friend Pie's spirit has left her body around 5:30pm CST. She is now with all the others she has loved who have gone before her.

She always said that while she might be dying she was having to much fun to die. Up till Monday night she really was having to much fun to die, but after Tuesday it wasn't fun any more.

I will always remember her as she was last week, a wild woman with a wicked sense of humor and the kind of courage I'd never seen before. She is at peace and out of pain and with those she loved the most.

Gilligan's Island

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip.
That started from this tropic port, aboard this tiny ship.
The mate was a mighty sailin' man, the skipper brave and sure.
Five passengers set sail that day, for a three hour tour, a three hour tour;
The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed.
If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Minnow would be lost;
the Minnow would be lost.

The ship took ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle,
with Gilligan, the Skipper too, the Millionaire, and his Wife, the Movie Star, the Professor and Mary Ann, here on Gilligan's Isle.
So this is the tale of our castaways, they're here for a long, long time.
They'll have to make the best of things, it's an uphill climb.


My friend Pie and I were casual library book sale acquaintances. We ran into each other at book sales & the post office. We'd chat about books , E-Bay and this and that, the sort of things semi strangers talk about when they find themselves waiting in line.

At the last of the Spring sales she mentioned that her shoulder hurt and she was going to have to go to the doctor. I sent her a "how are you doing" e-mail, she fired back that she'd broken it and the doctors suspected bone cancer was the cause. She mentioned she couldn't pack her books so I offered to help out. And I did.

By July she'd broken her leg also, the bone cancer was advancing at a rapid pace and it was apparent that her house was unliveable due to the piles and piles of books heaped in and on every available space. So I started packing. And packing. And packing. 150+ boxes of books later you could see the floor.

And as the books staggered out the door our friendship deepened. She got sicker, I learned more about emergency rooms, home nursing , ambulances, hospice, caregivers than I ever thought I needed to know.

I also learned about humor, courage and that it's possible to face the unspeakable with a smile, a laugh and a joke. And that while one could be dying, one could also being having way to much fun to die. I learned that people who knew each other only through the internet could come together and become a family. And that pink plastic flamingos are as important as pain meds.

I told her that sometimes I felt like one of the passengers on the Good Ship Minnow. I signed up to pack a few books and here, 5 months later I was still on the island.

But now The Minnow is heading toward her final port. Pie is at the hospice in patient care hospital, sedated to almost unconscious because the pain is unbearable.

God Speed my friend, blue skies and fair winds on your final voyage and thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking me along on the ride.

The Texas Trophy Wife

My Beloved won a weekend at La Cantera Golf Resort in San Antonio and since it's our 9th anniversary it seemed like a perfect time to take advantage of it. The golf here is primo and that is where she's spent the day. Me, I went thrifting and came back to hang out at the pools and the lobby and observe the march of the trophy wives.

Men who can afford trophy wives are usually avid golfers (both golf and trophy wives being an expensive habit) so resorts like this are prime places to observe the species in action.

La Cantera has multiple pools, including one that is blessedly adults only and that caused schism of the trophy wives. Those with children were relegated to the kid friendly area, those who hadn't bred yet were soaking up sun in the over 21 section.

However , despite the divide they all still had the "look". Tanned, very thin, high cheekbones (compliments of the best plastic surgeon in town), blond streaked hair pulled into a pony tail, well done boob job and very large diamond engagement ring. Since they were around water they left the tennis bracelet in the room. Designer bag, designer swim suit, designer manicure and pedicure completed the picture.

Many trophy wives feel need to cement their position (or ensure generous child support should they be displaced by a younger model) by quickly producing several slim blond children within a very short time period. Men take up trophy wives to feel "young again" and I guess having children the same age as your grandchildren by wife #1 are yet another way to recapture one's lost youth. The wives were all trailed by an au pair who obviously does the scut work. Trophy Wives never have that frazzled look that so many full time Moms acquire, nor do ever appear in public in anything but the most perfectly coordinated of outfits and full makeup. Full time, hands on Moms also tend to sport comfortable shoes, baggy clothes and hair in need of trim and are doing well to put on lipstick.

The childless ones were stretched out on the chaise loungers acquiring a future case of skin cancer - they never go in the water since it would ruin their hair. They sipped tall, frozen drinks adorned with little parasols and flipped through fashion magazines.

Later they retired to the lobby where they sunk into the overstuffed furniture and drank Cosmopoltians and other chi-chi drinks in the wide mouthed glasses with slender stems. The attire of choice was capri pants in tropical prints, matching shirts, dangleing earrings, a floating diamond necklace and high heeled sandals. Hair was released from the pony tail and worn shoulder length in an expensive tousle.

I've always wondered just how one becomes a trophy wife? Is this a career goal, something one is groomed to do by one's mother or is this a job one just falls into? In these days of feminism and career woman it's always a bit disconcerting to see women totally tieing their identity and their economic security to that of a man.

And just what happens to a trophy wife when she becomes slightly tranished and is put away in the cabinet in favor of newer, shinier version ?

Food shortages!

The grocery stores are starting to reopen so I set forth to replenish the larder. There was plenty of produce, bread , meat, milk and frozen foods (the stores in my part of town did not loose power for any length of time).

Some shelves were still bare, which I expected.
Canned Soup - The Campbells kids went to someone else's house to play
Water - it had rowed to another stream
Coca Cola - everyone decided to give the world (and themselves a coke)
Toilet Paper - well it is one of necessities of life
Batteries - the Energizer Bunny finally fizzled.
sausage - cooks up well on the barbie

Kitty Litter! Yes kitty litter and dry cat food were not to be found. Somehow I don't recall seeing those on any list of essential hurricane supplies.

But then we all who really runs the world don't we!

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Woke up this morning to gray skies , light rain and a steady breeze. Cranked up the computer to find an e-mail from from my E-bay bookselling buddy who lives near us. They have power and there isn't any standing water in the streets. She said she's seen more rain during a summer thunderstorm. Hurricane Rita turned east and traveled up the Texas/ Louisiana state line.

My Beloved deems it safe to head home. When she makes up her mind, she is a Woman on a Mission. We load the car, corral the cats and barrel down Hwy 6. It's smooth sailing all the way to Houston. In the rear view mirror we see a constant stream of cars - it's apparent that others have the same idea. Since we were only 100 miles north of Houston we are at the forefront of the returnees.

All along the road we see abandoned cars in the north bound side, mute testament to the gasoline problems of Thursday's mass exodus north. The authorities are asking people to postpone their return but of course nobody is listening. Everyone wants to get home to their own bed. Plus, deep down we all remember what happened in New Orleans and thus feel a deep primeval urge to go home and protect our property.

We pull in and the house is just as we left it, other than some broken tree branches. Unload the cats who make a mad dash for their favorite chairs, turn on the TV and fire up our computers.

We have power, water, cats, intact windows, internet and satellite service. All is well in our little world.

And we are so very grateful.

The Calm Before the Storm

....is an apt phrase indeed. Rita is still churning in the Gulf of Mexico. It has been eerily still for the past 2 days, hot, humid, sticky, not a hint of a breeze. The kind of weather where you break out in a damp sweat just going out the door. It's been overcast and hazy, no clouds and grayish colored sky. Even the birds have been still. Not one drop rain and the plants are parched.

One of the worst parts of the hurricane is the........

Anticipation,
Anticipation
Is making me late
Is keeping me waiting....
lyrics by Carly Simon

It's out there, you know it's out there and you can't do anything about it. You can't make it go away, all you can do is leave, and given the gridlock of the past 3 days that wasn't even an option for many. The TV switches to 24/7 coverage and you are drawn to it like a moth to a flame. There really isn't a great deal of news and the anchor people keep repeating the same thing over and over again. But you just can't turn away - for some reason pictures of reporters in rain slickers being blown about are so compelling. You feel like you are suspended in time, enveloped in jello, stuck in the muck. All you can do is wait for the oncoming train to come barreling down the tracks and hit you upside the head.

You can wait, watch and wait some more. It it truly an exercise in patience and a lesson that no matter what, Mother Nature always holds the trump card.

Trying to Reason...

Trying to Reason with the Hurricane Season by Jimmy Buffett

Squalls out on the gulf stream
Big storms comin soon.....
There's something about this Sunday
It's a most peculiar gray
strolling down the avenue that's known as a1a....
the wind is blowin harder now
Fifty knots or thereabouts
There's white caps on the ocean
And I'm watchin for waterspouts
It's time to close the shutters
It's time to go inside......

And a most unreasonable hurricane season it has been. Houston is about to get the "big one". Alicia was our last Strom of any consequence and she blew in (and blew out every window in downtown Houston on her way out) in 1983.

Rita looks to be big, mean and dangerous - a lady not to be trifled with. The powers that be decided that she shouldn't be and ordered and encouraged a major evacuation. 4+ million residents took to the highways, 4+ million residents came to a total stop.

My beloved started fretting about our 32 windows so we took off too. Her old boss; who lives in a small town about 100 miles north of Houston kindly offered to shelter us and our furry friends. I packed some clothes, my passport, my computer, my great grandmothers pearls ,the cats and off we we went.

The freeways were parking lots so we took the back roads out of town. Once we left the city limits we encountered pockets of gridlock but compared to many we fared very well. I used to be a long distance cyclist and spent many a mile on the north county roads during training rides. My beloved had ridden her motorcycle over them also and we had a County road atlas, which is much more detailed than a road map. We took back roads, patched roads, dirt roads and occasionally dead end roads but we reached our destination. Took us 7 hours to make what is normally a 2 hour trip. The folks on the freeways weren't moving at all so we feel fortunate to be someplace with A/C and wireless internet and confused cats.

And now all we can do is cross our fingers and hope for the best. ET and I both have something in common - we want to go home!

The Melting Pot has Congealed

Disclaimer- this is my opinion not that of my school nor my school district. It's not meant to be a slur on bi-lingual teachers. All bi-lingual teachers I've encountered have been caring, dedicated and go far and above the normal call of duty. One even writes a mean blog. And many are as frustrated by the system and it's results - or lack thereof as I am.

And on that note...let the rant begin......

We, like many schools have many, many students for whom English is not their first language, thus we have a bilingual program. The object is to teach the child in their native language so they can easily transistion to learning in English. Often it works, sometimes it doesn't.

When it doesn't the results are depressing to the extreme. The bulk of the students in the fifth grade bilingual classes are native born Americans. Yet, on the average their writing and reading level in English is that of a 2nd or 3rd grader and their conversational English isn't much better. They have been together since PreK, they are completely inbred and rarely make friends outside their own classroom. There are number of double retainees, meaning they are 2 years older than their peers - 12 going on 13. Many of these kids have multiple strikes against them - terribly dysfuntional home life, undiagnosed learning disabilities, families who don't value education, no motivation,no inner drive, parents who don't speak English and don't think their children need the skill either.

The result is- kids who drop out as soon as they can (if not sooner) and go forth into the world basically illiterate.

I don't know what the solution is, but the present system isn't working.

Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue

Last Saturday was Constitution Day. Bet you didn't know that did you? You would if you worked in a school receiving federal funds. We MUST observe Constitution Day. It's the law. Only school was not in session on Saturday so we were allowed to observe it on Friday. I guess it's a movable day, just like Memorial Day and Washington's Birthday.

It seems very ironic to be ordered to teach about a document stressing Freedom of Speech and the rights of the individual at a specific day, on a specific time. All schools teach "The Constitution" but we usually wait till it fits into the scope and sequence of the curriculum. This time of year, when it comes to Social Studies, Columbus is still sailing the ocean blue.

My principal delegated "The Constitution" to me, since I see all the kids and she could assure the Powers that Be that yes, we were properly observing the day, the event and most importantly the law.

Constitutional law is tricky enough to keep legions of lawyers employed. Try explaining it to Spanish speaking 5 year olds who aren't sure what country they live in , much less how it is governed. After discovering to my shock that even some of the 5th graders were none to sure of the name of their country:
"Houston"?
"Harris"?
"Texas"?

I scaled the lesson back to the basics.
"Your classroom has rules, our country (and again, what is the name of our country?) has rules. We call those rules "The constitution". Then I read The Preamble, stopping to interpret every word. 200 years ago language was ever so formal.

Thus we observed the law, in letter if not in spirit. Whether the kids remember any of this is a totally immaterial question. It's another one of those sound bite government quick fixes that is supposed to solve all the education problems and only results in photo opts.

Old TV...It's Bad, It's So Very Bad....

My girls gave me a DVD set of "Dallas" for my birthday. Back in the late 70s, early 80s I was addicted to that show - right along with most of America.

But oh, it has not stood the test of time. It's more like a bottle of Ripple wine than an aged Merlot. The acting is wooden, the sets cheesy and the dialogue is contrived. And sexist, oh is it sexist - the comments the men make about "pretty girls" and "are you really a secretary" seemed normal at the time. Now they make my jaw clench.

The late 70s were not a high point when it comes to fashion or interior decoration. Plaids, prints and palms appear to have been the standard. Big hair, big purses and high heels at all times. The script supervisor appears to have been in the twilight zone - Pam, wearing a fur coat talks to Lucy who wears a bathing suit. At a formal ball some of the guests are in evening gowns and others in leisure suits (and oh were those ugly!). Artifical was the fabric of choice. Garish green gold and brown the predominant colors. .

In one episode JR sports a "beeper" and everyone marveled at the new technology. In Dallas phones have cords and secretaries type on IBM Selectrics. E-mail, laptops, cell phones, IMs, personal computers, and the internet have yet to make an appearance.

And yet, I'm going to watch it all the way through - just so I can once again find out who shot JR!

And This is America?

Just like much of the rest of America I've been alternately depressed, astounded and ashamed at the debacle in New Orleans. Whenever I think we've reached our nadir we seem to sink a little lower. The Bush administration has egg on their face and dog doo-doo on their shoes. The head of FEMA prior claim to fame is running a horse camp. The Shrub is to busy planning future sitathons on Trent Lott's porch to worry about the citizens of New Orleans. His mother seems to have spent way to much time reading biographies of Marie Antoinette - but then they do share a similar hair color. And Houston's population has just increased by 50,000. All in just one week. What does next week have in store for us?

New Orleans has always inspired authors and this week is no different....

Don't You Know Me, I'm Your Native Son...
Notes from Inside New Orleans
By JORDAN FLAHERTY

I just left New Orleans a couple hours ago. I traveled from the apartment I was staying in by boat to a helicopter to a refugee camp. If anyone wants to examine the attitude of federal and state officials towards the victims of hurricane Katrina, I advise you to visit one of the refugee camps. ......

click below to read the rest.

http://www.counterpunch.org/flaherty09032005.html

I told My Beloved that as soon as the city is back on it's feet that we are going back. The coffee and bengits at Cafe du Mond are calling my name.

But It's Twilight on the City of New Orleans

But it's twilight on the city of New Orleans,
talk about a pocket full of friends.
Halfway home and we'll be there by morning.
With no tomorrow waiting 'round the bend.

Singing good night, America, I love you.
Saying, don't you know me, I'm your native son?
I'm the train they call "The City of New Orleans".
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

City of New Orleans by Steven Goodman

People are dying, people are stranded and people are looting. The Governor has asked everyone to evacuate the city. The city that so many have loved, lived in, visited and written about is drowning. The city that has inspired some of America's greatest literature, music and dance is no more. The city which preserved it's history has no future.

I am heartsick and the only thing I have lost is memories. The people of New Orleans have lost everything.

Flamingos!

The internet commuity is second to none. It's brought people together in ways we never thought possible. My friend "Pie" is a active member of a Question and Answer board on E-bay. When she became ill they rallied round as her personal support group. Cards, cakes, flowers, stuffed animals, phone calls and visits are pouring in - all from people who have known her for years but have never meet her in person.

Last night, with the assistance of some local members her yard was flocked- 30 plastic Flamingos, all adorned with the names of the donors arrived - complete with giant greeting card.

30 plastic pink Flamingos - $150. 1 heart full of joy - Priceless.





Pink Flamingo Kind of Love - Howard Rebecca Lynn c2002

Life is great without the clutter
Pass the apple butter
I can't believe this heat
Ain't it simple,ain't it clever
How good we go together
Like june bugs on a string
If our yard was an ocean
And we were sitting' in our lawn chairs
I wouldn't feel any more emotion
Then I do now,
all I want's a
Sprinkler on the garden hose and
Aim it at the patio
Iced tea,you and me
Pink flamingo (kind of love)
Let the clothesline be our fortress
Gas up the tiki torches
Sun up,sun down,
big dreams,small town
Pink flamingo kind of love

Pink Flamingo Kind of Love - Howard Rebecca Lynn c2002

The Circle Game

There’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

The Circle Game by Joni Mitchell

This song seems to summing my life at the moment. My friend "Pie" who is ill is really, really ill. In fact she's dying. At the same time our next door neighbors just welcomed their first child into the world - a healthy, longed for baby boy.

Thursday night I went to her house to help her with some odds and ends. Then I came home and cuddled a 2 day old baby.

The ending of a life and the beginning of one - all in one night.

They Just Don't Get It

They just don’t get it.

Hospitals are very strange places. They are supposed to be set up to accommodate people who are in pain, immobile, handicapped and not in the best of heath. The elevators are all hung with signs proudly proclaiming their mission. The walls are adorned with pictures of happy, healthy ex-patients. But somehow they always manage to miss the boat.

My friend who is ill was admitted to the emergency room of one of the premier cancer hospitals in the nation. We arrived at 11am and she was not admitted to her room till after 7pm , giving us 8 hours to observe the wheels turning, creaking and frequently stalling.

To set the stage – she has a broken leg, a broken arm and her other arm is very weak and her hand has no strength due to complications from a cancerous tumor. She’s not exactly an ideal candidate for the Susan Koman Race for the Cure.

They plop her a room, drape one of those gowns over her clothing , hook her up to an IV with multiple tubes and then hand her a specimen cup and point her toward the bathroom.
The cup has a lid, she’s tethered to an IV and has extra layers of clothing to contend with.

We decide modesty be dammed and I go in to help her. We get the gown tangled in the IV tubes, I who have 2 good hands can’t get the cap off the wretched cup and there is no pee forthcoming. Time for the old camp trick of sticking your hand into warm water. It works. We break into gales of laughter and make so much noise we alarm the staff. I guess they don’t hear many hysterical giggling fits.

That taken care of she gets back into bed and tries to nap and I read. Hours crawl by. Dinner time arrives. Dinner, which is delivered consists of a turkey wrap, a carton of juice and a bag of baked chips, everything wrapped and sealed in plastic containers. And just how is she supposed to open it, much less eat it? I’d pilfered a couple of straws from the cafeteria so the juice is manageable. I chop the wrap into pieces with the oh so helpful (also hermetically sealed in cellophane) plastic knife and we manage somehow.

Half way through dinner the phone rings. It’s on a table, against the wall, a good 5 feet from the bed. Not only can she not answer it, but I can barely stretch the cord far enough so she can talk. It’s transportation. They will be “right down” to take her to her room. “Right Down” is hospital speak for 2 hours.

Helping someone who is coping with cancer is definitely a reality check in just how inaccessible many “handicapped” facilities really are.

And that no matter how grim it gets there is always something to laugh about.

Even if it’s just a urine specimen cup.

Writing in a Stupor...

Such a 10 days it's been....to wit:

• Our Assistant Principal quit and we got a new one - all within the first week of school.
• School is still in session and summer vacation seems oh so far away.
• My car developed some odd and interesting problems
• My computer keyboard gave up the ghost entirely. Even 3 hours on the phone to India (and all the kings men) couldn't put it together again.
• The school district tech wizards decided everyone needed to change their password to a "strong" password. Which unleashed total chaos.
• My friend who is ill ended up back in the hospital. Emergency rooms are not fun places to while away a Sunday.

Never has a Friday been so eagerly anticipated!

1 Down, 179 to Go...

Today was the first day of school. One thing I like about teaching is that every year really is a new beginning. New kids, new teachers, new lessons, new inititives, new projects. Every 365 days you really do have a chance to experience "the first day of the rest of your life". I think that's one reason many teachers are optimists (you have to be to stay in the biz) - we really do have more opportunities than most people to write on the clean slate of life.

Many of my favorite kids came back (and a few that aren't). All teachers play favorites, anyone who tells you they don't is lying. Hugs and smiles all around. Our students pretty much like school. They get 2 good meals, routines and well expressed expectations. No matter what one reads about the spontaneity of childhood, children are creatures of habit. They like knowing what's going to happen and thrive on routine.

The library opened up first thing, we had full slate of classes and checked out 270 books. After many renditions of Alistar in Outer Space I have a sore throat and a sore back.

I think a hot bath is in order.

Why Teachers Dread In-Services

For parents, the school year begins with a trip to the mall for clothes and school supplies, for teachers it begins with a round of in-services. Sometimes they are very, very good, but when they are bad they are horrid.

I suffered through one today and I now have the perfect recipe for "a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad in-service".

Neglect to inform point people at the site what will be required in terms of equipment and logistics.

Stuff 100+ people into a small room. Do not add the presenters who are running late.

Require the 100+ people stand in a long line to sign in because you haven't enough sign in sheets.

Waste 50 minutes while the presenters try and figure which groups need to move to another room because there aren't enough chairs or tables.

Sort out the groups and discover you haven't enough handouts, journals and other essential supplies. Some people will have to do without. Which makes it impossible for them to participate.

Finally begin presentation. Pretend your audience is 7 years old, the same age as their students.

Assume your audience knows nothing about the topic. Do not change your assumption, even when it becomes very apparent that this is an incorrect assumption.

End the presentation early but inform the audience they must stay for another 45 minutes because it's supposed to be 4 hours long.

At that point all the teachers in the room got up to go to the bathroom and forget to return.

It was a total waste of a morning.

Hurts..

Feet hurt.
Knees hurt.
Back hurts.
Shoulders hurt.
Throat hurts.
Head hurts.
Brain hurts.

9 hours on your feet teaching an in-service will do that to a body!

Galloping Through the Day

Up at 5:30,dress, feed cats, tend to cat litter boxes, zip through Starbucks, at work by 7am. Hang flags, unpack stuffed animals and puppets (I have hundreds), set up new books, tinker with Accelerated Reader, catalog Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, try to help new teachers feel less confused, shuffle 2 months worth of mail and muse on math manipulatives, schedule classes, answer questions, questions and more questions. Lesson plans still await me. Set Outlook profiles, fiddle other teacher's computers - it's amazing what happens when you plug the thing in!

Leave work, duck in and out of the rain drops and zip in and out of the post office, office supply store, grocery store and dollar store.

Home to unload, opt for bread, cheese and fruit for dinner. Answer e-mails, list books, tend to auctions.

Head upstairs - I have books to pack before I sleep.

Can you tell summer break is OVER?

I expect to spend the next week in an exhausted stupor.