Dunk Tank.

Not a typo. For the love of Jane, what on earth would possess me to volunteer to sit in a dunk tank during Homecoming week, in Minnesota, outside, when the high is supposed to be 57 degrees? Why I ask you, I beseech you.........WHY? I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow.......if I make it. I already have kids saying they are bringing in bags of cash. Great. Fantastic. You played baseball? A pitcher? STAR pitcher, you say? Wonderful. Congratulations.

Maybe it should be drunk tank. Cripes.

Gladiators.

Ah. Il Colesseo. The Colosseum. Home of the Gladiators, Christians, Lions, Slaves and Russell Crowe. Even though it is in different shape than it once was in its heyday; it still is magical. You can picture it, your mind's eye filling in the floor, seating area and imagining it as it once was.

Further, thinking about what actually took place there gets your mind thinking. Horrible, tragic ends of lives were met here. Without most spectators blinking an eye, I can imagine. We in modern, more "civilized" times, cluck our tongues at the barbarian-ness of it all. I say, judge not lest you be judged, Mr. and Mrs. 21st century.

We still are fascinated by others' suffering. Financial ruin, celebrity fallings and missteps, humiliation of the mighty and not so mighty. Look at our abundance of reality TV for the sake of real and created drama, often consisting of one's humiliation, shame, or misfortune. Is it all an attempt to make us feel better about our lives in some small (I use this both figuratively and literally)way? Natural disasters, the war, your neighbor's dirty, ugly secret.

I think that might be a small corner of the reason that we got rid of TV. News, reality TV, vapid sitcoms, whatever. The argument could be made that if you don't say anything, it won't change. Couldn't getting rid of it all together being a statement in and of itself?

Teenagers beating up older people caught on video camera, school shootings, celebrities who are famous for being famous or drinking/drugs or misbehaving, whatever it is. It is enough to just want to move to somewhere else.

But....we can't and we don't, for the most part. We play the hand we are dealt. And there is goodness in the world, their is righteousness here, and there is kindness. Check this out if you get a change today. I mean, chance. Hmmmm. Maybe if you need a change today?

Never, Ever Run Away. Capital R, Capital A.

We are going to step in the way back machine to revisit an episode from childhood. It is not morbid, not disturbing, nor anything that will make you silently weep for me. Nothing like that. I must have been 4 or 5, maybe 6 but probably no older and was mad at my mother for some reason. Perhaps I was not allowed to do something or I had gotten scolded for something I probably shouldn't have been doing...the reason, specifically, escapes me. It may or may not be selective memory at this point in time. So. I decided that I wasn't going to put up with it anymore and I was running away. Overreaction? Yes. Melodramatic? Check. True? Yep.

I had at the time a suitcase (I believe it was called a train make up case or something) that was little, opened at the top like a jewelry box, had satin lining the top and bottom and had a mirror installed inside the top lid. It was blue and it....was....cool. So, it became my Running Away Bag. Now, the letters have changed at this point as I have created....already....different dramatic scenarios in my head. Running away, making it on my own, I'll show Mom, maybe making it big in Hollywood, being taken in by a mega wealthy kind family, you get the picture. So.

I pack my Running Away Bag with the absolute essentials according to a 4/5/6 year old. Toothbrush (dental hygiene always important...you'll note I forgot the toothpaste.), Barbie Doll WITH a change of clothes, coloring book and crayons (not the big 64 pack, just the regular 12 count box) and a change of underwear. Probably a cookie or two. Or ten.

I walked across the backyard, through the neighbor's back yard and realized, as I was walking down the next street over....I had to go to the bathroom. Uh-oh. Not BATHROOM, just bathroom. Now the dilemma begins. I was mad at my mom, and a stubborn brat that day. I had never gone poddy outside, so that would be interesting. But...I was mad at my Mom and I was determined I was not going back to the house. I had made a clean break, always look forward, there is no going back (Mind you, I was two backyards away...it wasn't like I had walked miles and miles.)

At that time, the other side of the street was still prairie grass and no houses. The grasses were tall, I was shorter than I am now....I could do it. Big girls went poddy outside if they had to go. I was an independent woman, no one could tell me what to do, NO ONE was the boss of me! So, across the street I went. I found a clump of tallish grass, pulled down my shorts and worried (But not too much) about peeing on my shoes and started peeing. Buzzing ensued. Huh?

Seems I had taken up camp right on top of a ground hornets' nest.....or whatever flying, stinging insect lives in the ground. RIPPED my pants back up, running and screaming the whole way (across the street and two backyards) home, followed by---what I imagine today a cloud that looks like the cloud that follows Pigpen in the Peanuts---screaming and crying for my Mom.

Who, quite frankly, could have been a little more relieved to see me after I had Run Away. Yes, she had no idea that I had, in fact, Run Away, but she could have "sensed" it, grieved, sat on the back step (if we had a back step) crying and wringing out her handkerchief scanning the horizons for her lost, beloved daughter. (Really....it is pretty shocking my mom is not a drinker. I cannot fathom dealing with my drama from her perspective.) So. Let's just say that absolutely none of that scene happened.

What did happen was she started screaming at me and (from my perspective) slapping the crap out of my arm, my head, my back, my stomach. I am thinking, "What gives? How the hell did she know I was even Running Away?" From her perspective: Daughter. Running at her. Screaming bloody murder. Crying like all get out. Bees/hornets/stinging things sticking out of her skin, flying all around her. WHAT THE HELL DID SHE GET INTO??

She is screaming in a continuous rotation, "WHAT?!?!? What happened? Where are all these coming from? WHAT??? I can't understand you when you are crying and screaming!! Get inside! Go! Go! Get inside!" Repeat. All the while, me with the wailing siren kid scream of unintelligent babbling. Maybe a air-sucking sob or two. Or ten.

At this point, we are now inside the house, with the swarm still swarming. My mom has a flyswatter in one hand, a dishtowel in the other, flailing around like some sort of Transformer Superhero who secret skill is Windmill Arms of Death. (Still screaming at me: WHAT DID YOU GET INTO???) Little bastards never knew what hit them. She swats at me, she swats at the air, she swats at the ceiling, the door, the chair, the stove. They were everywhere. Me still crying, sobbing, sucking in air, standing in the middle of the room, arms hanging limply at my side, snot running down my face, bees/hornets/stinging things buzzing around me and occasionally dive bombing my head.

Once Windmill has gotten most of them, we are headed towards the bathroom, maybe it was the bedroom. I am still screaming/crying/sobbing. Clothes off. Still screaming. They were inside my shirt, in my hair, thankfully, I don't remember any in my shorts or grunders. That would have been...not good. My mom is checking me over for stingers still sticking out, and I am instructed to get into bed. She leaves and comes back with a bowl with baking soda and water mixed into a paste.

Later, I am laying in bed arms and legs spread out, covered in white baking soda paste-y dots all over---mostly arms and legs but also my stomach and neck....and face....and feet. My mom pissed as hell that I scared the bejeezus out of her with my screaming and crying and swarm of pain following after me. When I confessed to running away, she softened up. I think she was confused and I can no longer remember the reason for the Running Away in the first place, so I don't remember her reaction to that information.

She stayed with me for a while until I fell asleep (worn out from all that Drama.), caressing my head (where there wasn't a paste-y dot), soothing me and telling me it would be okay. Occasionally, she would have to climb up on the bed to swat at a errant insect buzzing up in the corner of the ceiling.

I am picturing my dad coming home from work and asking how our day was and getting this story, peeking in on me playing on my floor with my Barbies, covered in baking soda paste dots. Ahhhh, parenthood. At this point, my younger brother was around, I don't remember what he was doing. but from my mom's perspective, two kids and the Flying Stinging Insect Incident makes for an unusual (Usual??) day. If I was five or six, then she could have possible been pregnant with my younger brother or he was a very tiny baby.

Really. I am surprised my mom doesn't drink.

She Surfaces....

I feel as though I have been underwater and far, far away. It has been two...three(?!?!) days since I last blogged. If you're Catholic, you KNOW you just thought of confessions. (I was raised Catholic and actually lied in my first official confession. I guess I was already doomed to hell after that...anything subsequent is just icing, right??) I didn't realize how much I missed checking in with you.

Why the delay? Well, there were stitches to remove from my head, a birthday dinner to prepare and serve, and yep.......already.......wait, wait for it.....Parent Teacher Conferences last night until 8pm. Plus, and here is where you will be jealous of my superior intelligence.....back at school this morning at 7:15---after a 12.5 hours day yesterday. I decided to crack down on foot dragging test maker uppers. Those students that delay and delay hoping the test that they skipped in the first place will go away. I gave a test on Wednesday and told kids they could make it up Thursday as I would already be at school for conferences. But, I had to offer a morning option for those with jobs and extra curriculars. So, I just tacked on the next morning. Without thinking. Friday morning. After conferences. Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice. I was the one who was dragging.

So, I shall complete a meme I lifted from Goldfish, who lifted it from Sunshine ( I feel like I am talking about the Strawberry Shortcake Mafia....I am no better with the appellation of So There Then Gal). It looked fun, you and I can get reacquainted and we shall merrily go forth. Thanks Goldfish (And indirectly Sunshine).


1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME (first pet, current car): Sparky Cavalier

2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME (fave ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe): Chocolate Slide..wait. That sounds way too close to a bathroom incident...I'm gonna lie (It's not like it will be the first time.) Chocolate Mule

3. YOUR NATIVE AMERICAN NAME (favorite color, favorite animal): Green Dog

4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name, city where you were born): Marie Edina

5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (the first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name): Berhe

6. SUPERHERO NAME (2nd favorite color, favorite drink): Yellow Sparkling Water (SERIOUSLY?!?!?! Why the bathroom theme??)

7. NASCAR NAME (the first names of your grandfathers): Matt Reinhard

8. STRIPPER NAME ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy): Beautiful Swedish Fish (STU-pid.)
9. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME (your fifth grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter): Schmidt San Diego

10. SPY NAME (your favorite season/holiday, flower): Spring Poppy

11. CARTOON NAME (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now): Watermelon Jeans

12. HIPPIE NAME (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree): Oatmeal Linden


Over and out.

Ruined Names...

One of the casualties of being a teacher is that names get ruined.....forever. If we had decided to have kids, we'd be severely limited for name choices. There are names that I will never be able to utter without a student's face flashing in front of my eyes. Sorry to break it to ya, but it is almost never the good kids that stick out this way. It is the kids that make me question my sanity in career choices on a daily basis, if not a minute by minute crisis intervention inside my head. Those are always the ones whose names I remember.

There are also the multiples. I usually have a couple Brittanys ( or Britany or Britney or Brittney....arrgh.) in a quarter, if not a class period. Then there are the Ashleys, Amandas, and Alyssas. Kaylas, Kylies, and don't even get me started on the Kristen/Kirsten conundrum.

Boys are usually pretty straight forward: tons of Mike/Michaels, many Jakes, Joshs or Jacks, each class is always good for a Cody/Kody or two and maybe a Casey for good measure. I realize names are cyclical...but from a teacher viewpoint.....they all hit at once and I feel like a frazzled parent somedays that runs through all the kids' names (and sometimes the pets' names as well) before they hit on the right name for the kids that they are talking to or yelling at depending on the situation.

Can we just make a rule that you spell your name in a manner that doesn't take me twelve minutes to sound out like a first grader before I figure it out... Ctefani? I realize that you are forming your identity, but I am less concerned with how you are spelling your name today/this week and more concerned with how you are doing with the curriculum. Sorry. ( Disclaimer: I have never had a student with this spelling, I actually knew someone who spelled it this way when I was in junior high. I wonder if that was a phase or if she is still spelling it that way?)

Drama Queen....

When it comes to the botanical world....I love myself some drama. Sure it can be said that everything doesn't have to be all showy....take a look at vegetables. Great for you...good looking? Not so much. Although, I do like the look of carrot tops, for some reason.

Nope. For me, the bigger the drama, the more I usually like it. I like the unique, I like the colorful, fragrance.....I have never really been into smell. In fact, if it "smells" I probably won't like it, with a few exceptions. Roses? Sure, they are pretty to look at, but the smell turns me off of growing them. It's too powerful, don't like it. Marigolds have a double whammy against them, as do geraniums--in my book. It may be the reason is that everyone and their Aunt Gertrude has them, I don't really like the tiny petals and I think they reek. They stink to my nose parts.

These above are zinnias, but not ones that I have ever grown. I like them because they aren't trying to be showy. I know I just said I like showy, but I am capricious, I can change on a dime, at the drop of a hat. I might like this in a flower garden of just green flowers. For....wait for it...the dramatic impact of a variety of flowers all in the same color family.
This one I believe is called something like "Angel's Halo". It is a green bush/tree that has a wispy-flowery-stem-y thing most of the summer. Then in fall, the berries arrive in this floating halo configuration. I really like it, it makes me want to eat the juicy berries, but I would probably die. Actually I have no idea if they are poisonous, I just wanted you to think I live on the edge of danger most of the time...even on my walks.
These are globe amaranth. I just like them because they look like Dr. Seuss flowers. Or gumdrops. Or both. I like their compact simplicity.
I can't remember what these are, I looked at the label tags that you can see, but have since forgotten. I like the drama of a mass of color. Bright, obnoxious color. The kind you can't ignore.
Here's are some up closer. I want to say Mexican something something for the name, but who knows? I cold be totally making it up. Wouldn't be the first time.
This is one of my all time faves. Morning glories. They bloom in the morning and are a vine that crawls over anything and everything. It is pretty much a weed. But I like it.
This is a variety of hibiscus that can grown here and weather the winter. I don't know that I would choose white if it were going into my garden, but it might be kind of cool if it glowed in the night light.

I really don't like most flowers that smell. Except lavender, I do like lavender. And wisteria. In small doses. I don't know what it is about smells. I hate, hate, hate going down the laundry detergent aisle at the store. All the scented stuff. I have to breathe through my mouth.

Air fresheners. Don't get me started. I get car sick when I am in my dad's car because he always has some sort of air freshener hanging somewhere.

Drama. If I can't find it, I create it.

A Good Day.

No one says that anymore. "A good day to you, sir." "It was a good day." Today...today was a good day. For no particular reason, which is the best kind of good days. I walked with my mom and her friend this morning--a beautiful morn, crisp-ish, fall weather, yet warm enough to wear shorts, bright sun, fall leaves beginning to appear yet summer flowers sort of still blooming. Then I went to the co-op to buy bread flour because we are out and they sell it in bulk. I love the bulk food section at the co-op. All these things that I might like to try, but you know what.........I don't have to buy a big honking bag of it. I can take a taste size portion. It just makes so much sense.

Then to the cobbler. No one says cobbler anymore unless they are talking about desserts. I am here to bring it back. It just seems so much more civilized to say cobbler rather than shoe repair guy. Then, home to clean, roast more peppers, cook steel cut oatmeal for the week (We reheat it each morning: supes dupes good.), pickled some eggs (I hope these turn out better than the last...they were gross. Way too sweet, like there was a cinnamon or clove flavor or something. Ish.), still doing laundry, work on the powerball project, went to the goodwill to drop some stuff off, made pizza dough for supper, dug up the rosemary plant from the garden to pot so I can have it indoors this winter, walked Sophs, and just in general puttered. Tonight, we eat homemade pizza with homemade pepperoni and fresh mozzarella and roasted peppers. Then, we'll maybe watch a movie and just enjoy the evening. Tomorrow we are off to Fargo for family portraits, so it is good I got all that done. I am gonna gag pretty soon with all this positiveness oozing from me. But I do love me a productive day of puttering. Things that needed to be done, but that I was in the mood to do; serendipity, my friends, serendipity.

You can bet your sweet ass I made a list, though.

Grown Home

This is a grown house, designed by Lois Walpole for the place where I do some of my walking. It is really quite interesting. Obviously for decoration here, not for actual living. Most everything is living and formed into the shape of something you might find in an actual home. Such as a bed. Like deeeees:

Or a table and chairs, like so:

I find it all interesting because I picture fairies and elf-ish type characters (fun fairy tale ones, not the Hobbitt-y ones) living in places like this for real. I picture myself shrinking down so that this would be from their perspective, and I would be fairy sized and this could really be my home. And my fairy friends could come over and have tea and crumpets at this table and it would all be so very wonderful.

Do you think I should cut back on the cold medicine or the gin first?

Time Travel

If you could time travel for real, 'when' would you go to? This may or may not be the social studies nerd in me to even be asking the question. I have a couple times: I couldn't pick one. And these are in no particular order. And this wouldn't be just a jump back in time and then return. You'd have to get a real feel for it; if you wanted to, I might consider letting you stay in that time if you really liked it. I'm cool like that.

--Roarin' 20s for sure. Just to see all the things going on; new inventions (cars, movies, radio, telephone, light bulbs, electricity--all that was brand new and changing fast), Great Gatsby type parties (Yeah, I am pretty sure I would be part of the upper class....right. I am now?? It's like the version of everybody thinking they were someone famous in a former life...if you are into thining you had a former life), plus changes for women with the vote and fashion and new freedoms in society. I would just want to see it all unfolding.

--But, I'd want to get back here before 1929 and all the whole Great Depression thing that comes after. That I will keep in the history books, please and thank you.

--1860s with Westward Expansion...everyone moving west to claim their homestead. The conflicts, the hope, the new beginnings. I want to see a town spring up overnight and see how people survived out on the prairie. The American Dream, right? I'd love to be there to chronicle it all from the immigrants' perspective, the Native Americans' perspective, the older than first generation Americans' perspective.....go sit in a Mercantile General Store somewhere and just people watch.

I think that is why I like playing this mind game of "What would you..." or "What if...". In this case, I like watching people and making up their stories for myself. It would be fun to add in the factor of a different era.

---Ancient Greece or Ancient Rome. Of course, again, as part of the upper class. Why make it miserable? Sure, I could get that perspective as well, but why not dream big, yeah?

---The 60s in the United States. All the changes, all the conflict, all the upheaval, all the drama. I love drama and change. They might or might not be two of my favorite pastimes, it could be argued. Plus, again, with the people watching.

---Victorian England. Just because. I am not a huge fan of conventionality, strict moral edicts, restricted society or that ilk. But it would be cool to be walking around in it knowing that I could leave.

If I Were a Melon..

How sweet would this be? If I were a melon, this is how I would want it to play out. Hanging around, in my hammock, soaking up some rays, getting all fat and juicy. No dirt napping for moi. I love the idea of trellising melons (if you are dyslexic and transpose the "m" and the "l", you get lemons. How fun is that?). Watermelon is my favorite fruit. I might have to try this in my garden next year. I am hoping to be in our next house by planting season, cross your fingers, K? I have big plans. My first successful year with tomatoes has motivated me more than I thought it would. The canning/freezing trend is one I see continuing at our house. I'd like to branch out and am truly considering seed catalogs this winter to peruse in the snowy tundra of Minnesota. I shall read them and pine for spring. But for right now, it is 7:05 pm and still 74 degrees....it is absolutely beautiful out. Later.

Ah, Italia...

Fashion choices aside (hey it was the early 90s...man, those shorts are high waisted.), I like this picture. It is one of our day trips to Venice when I was working in Padova. Maybe 20 minutes east on a train and you are in Venice, or at least the train station. Then, you either walk across a bridge, hop a vaporetto (basically a city bus...except for the the fact that it is a boat.) or catch a water taxi and you can go anywhere in Venice.

I love Venice. Simply because there are very few places like it on earth, and it is my favorite water city simply for that fact and the fact that it is in Italy. We would go for the day when we lived in Padova. I felt very cosmopolitan. It became a common, normal thing to do:

"What do you want to do on our day off this week?" "I dunno. I guess we could go to Venice again." Who says that???

You go, you walk around, you shop a little, you people watch, you cannot get lost people. It is an island. I mean you can get disoriented---sure, you can get frustrated if you are actually trying to find something...but dollar for dollar, you cannot find a better place to just meamble, I mean--meander. I actually like meamble better. You are ambling and meandering: walking at a slow, but steady gait, sort of with a purpose but in no general direction. A perfect description of how to best take in Venice on your first trip.

Venice at Carnivale was the only time in my life I have been physically picked up and moved without my consent. There were so, so, soooo many people in the Piazza San Marco (Where this picture was taken in the spring time after Carnivale had come and gone). People were pushing and not really shoving...but trying to move. I was literally picked up off my feet and moved about 2 feet. I can't imagine the claustrophobia if I were short. Seriously. You wouldn't be able to breathe. But it was worth it; the costumes, the drama, the people watching. Everything. I heart it. I love it.

Efalumps and Woozles.

Winnie the Pooh video, I think...I can 't remember who I was babysitting or nannying years ago, but they loved this video that had the Efalumps and Woozles song on it. I watched it approximately a bajillion times. A rather dark and scary, psychedelic bad LSD trip video. Where some character (I can't even be sure if it was Pooh) was being chased down by the Ephalumps and the Woozles. I am surprised more children who view it aren't scarred for life.

This tree always makes me sing the song that is the soundtrack for that part of the video. I think it reminds me of Dr. Seuss and something that he would have drawn as a tree...and it has come to life. "Form of a Tree, Shape of an Elephant"---I realize that it was always some form of water, and never a tree...but that would not necessarily work here. I live by my own rules, people.

Maybe because it reminds me of Snufalufagus from Sesame Street? I have warped my childhood elephants all into one: Horton (Who Heard a Hoot, apparently) and The Efalump, and Snufalufagus. I am surprised Dumbo didn't make an appearance; although, not really. I never really cared for Dumbo. I mean the character is fine, I just never really got into the movie. (I hated the part where they dressed him up as a baby clown and made him deal with the fire flames.)

I had a bunch of Babar books when I was little that my mom would read to me or I would just look at, but they never really put a hook in me. He seemed nice, but kinda snootysville. Wow. Where was I?

Anyway, this tree is on my walk that I occasionally take, and I always end up singing a few bars in my head as I walk by. I have a couple things going for me regarding this:

1.) I am singing in my head and not out loud.

2.) You are the only ones that know about this, so far.

3.) I understand it is a tree and not some scary monster come to life. Which could be troubling if I were writing about that. I can pretty much predict a drop in readership should that ever happen. Or.....maybe a rise---checking in on the nut job who thinks trees are elephants.

Espalier. Espal--huh?

So. I have an itchy gardening finger today. It has been raining for the past two or three days. A good, steady, cold, fall soaker. I could technically go out and harvest some stuff, but I probably won't as we have been to my parents the whole day and Sophs has me on LockDown and won't let me out of her sight.

I really wanted to dig up my rosemary plant to pot for over the winter, but the ground is way too wet to do so. I have peppers galore to also harvest, but won't most likely. I probably will just talk about all the things I could be doing in the garden, but won't actually get out there and do. Yep. That sounds about like how it is going to go.

If (when?) we should some day, get some land, somewhere, here is one thing I would absolutely want to do. It really could be done anywhere as the whole point of espalier is cultivating fruit trees is tiny spaces. I could start one in the spring, but probably won't as we are listing the house. Although, who knows how long it will take to sell it. I might think about it.
I could start it at the next house, that we are planning on being a fixer-upper...so we should be there for at least a couple years. And, if it is back in the city, it won't matter as the trees don't need the normal amount of space. That's the whole point. Here I am going on and on about espalier and I haven't really explained it.

It began in the Middle Ages in monasteries where there was limited space inside the walls for regular fruit trees growth. It is the practice of pruning and training the limbs of fruit trees (or other plants, such as some vines) to maximize space. You can train them up against a wall. This can help retain heat, which technically could help someone in Minnesota (me) grow a variety/species of tree that might not normal grow here. I think that a lemon tree might be overreaching it a bit, but perhaps a variety of apple or pear not usually seen here? Basically, it is growing a tree in two dimensions instead of three. Here is a picture I took yesterday when my mom and I went on a walk at the Arboretum. We occasionally make the trek there, walk, and go home. It is really neat to see everything on the Three Mile Walk route as it changes for the seasons.
I love the way they look. This one is a Honey Crisp apple tree. You can see one ripening on the middle trunk there. I cannot wait for Honey Crisps to be available. They have a short season, I am not even sure they are available outside Minnesota, but they are lovely. They were "created" (?) here at the Arboretum, by the University of Minnesota. Some crossbreeding/hybriding of various secret apples. I wait for them, I eat them, and I am not even really an apple "fan".

You don't really need a fence. This summer, when we were lunatic enough to take 40 high school kids to Europe, they had trees pruned in the medians that were sort of like this, but denser. Just regular trees, not fruit trees. I think the fruit trees need more support because of the weight of the fruit before harvest time.

I love the way it looks. All neat. All tidy. All fertile. It symbolizes patience. For me, that is challenging. But......that challenge is one of the reasons that I garden and one of the reasons I enjoy gardening. You can't rush it, no matter how badly you want to---there is no instant gratification. It is, by definition, a study in patience. Could this activity be my summer school version of Waiting 101 and Waiting 102 that I have failed miserably this---and every---year??

Lists.

Some people have a security blanket. Some people have a talisman. I have lists.

I love to make lists. I have been known to put things on them that I have already done that day; such things, that had I started the list earlier, would have been on said list. 

So. So what? They count. Yuh- huh, they do so. 

I have purchased special mini-mini legal pads specifically for lists. I have specific pens I liked to use or really sharp pencils. I KNOW I am a freakshow about this; I don't care. I like lists. I like trying to figure out how much I can get done in a day (Have rarely succeeded to this date), I love, LOVE, El-Oh-Vee-Eee checking things off (Although I don't check them off. I cross them out with a thin line sometimes so I can still read what I did. Sometimes I cross them out so you CAN'T read what I did at all. A Blackout Bingo approach. Very satisfying.).

Sadly, I often have multiple list going at once. It drives some people in this house crazy, I know this, but I can't seem to stop making new lists. It is a fresh start, a new page...a new list of things to do. Eventually, I do finish a list either by completing everything or transferring the last or last couple things to a new or previous list. There are at present, three lists in rotation in my world.

My grocery list. Begun earlier...in fact, upon returning from the last trip to the grocery store. They didn't have the kind of soup we wanted, so I started the next list and put that on it first. I add to it as the week goes and we finish staples or supplies.

My getting the house read to put on the market list. This one is almost done; just a few loose ends. Yes, we put the house on the market two months ago, but I can still have a list about this. I checked the rule book.

My To-Do list for today. I actually did not "write" this one. I found a new tool. This has amped up my freakshow level quite a bit if I continue to use this on a regular basis. For now, I was just playing around with it. I downloaded Firefox to our Mac today; it has been a little slow with the Safari Browser and I was hoping this might change it. So. On the Getting Started page they had a link. I clicked. The skies opened up, people, and the Angel Choirs sang. Click Here.

Did the choirs sing for you? The Alleluia chorus? A website devoted to list making. And you can send them to your phone and get reminders and you can send them to your calendars (If you use them; which I would if I could be organized about it) and you can send them to your Blackberrys.......which I don't have. But if I win the lottery, I will buy one and I will need one because I will have lots of money to do lots of things with and I will need a lot of lists. Oh my. I need a second.

Let's just say I like lists and leave it at that, shall we?

What Do You Daydream About?

Me?

The different ways that I WILL spend the PowerBall when I win it. This takes up a large portion of my walking time, my drive time, occasionally during class when the students are watching a video or working in groups, falling asleep, when I wake up and am lounging in bed, car trips, plane rides, probably in church if I ever went (that could be helpful, yes??)....pretty much a lot of the time.

It is fun. I don't daydream to escape my life; I love my life and where I am at. I do it because that is my personality; I have always daydreamed....pretending I am in a movie (What would the soundtrack be playing right now if this were really a scene? Things like that.), practicing speeches if I were to become President, playing "What If..." constantly. Things like that. I have had the same theme for about 5 years and kept telling myself that "When I win the PowerBall, I will be able to do just that." Then, last spring, things were set into motion that would begin to make that dream a possibility without having to win the PowerBall. It might take a little longer, but it can still happen. I didn't realize the power in that. Truly.

Seriously. I don't know that I have ever dreamt as much about something like this idea before in my life. Not whom I would someday marry, not what my wedding dress would look like, not what I would be when I grew up. And now.......it is actually coming to fruition.

It is scary. (What if it bombs? What if no one "gets" it?)

And powerful. (I helped make this happen...the kernel, the nugget of the idea was my doing. Not the whole thing, mind you. There is no way I could have set the wheels in motion on my own. I know exactly zero on starting this kind of endeavor.)

And inspiring. (What the hell else have I not been doing that I can just up and "do"?)

And mature (Wait. I can just have an idea and I can make it happen somehow? I don't have to ask permission?-----yes, I am 38, what about it? I still feel like a kid sometimes and I think that is a good thing. Young at heart, baby, young at heart.)

And passionate. ( I never would have even come close to persevering if it were something about which I was not this passionate. I would like to think that I would run with a good idea, but the truth is, I would have blown it off long ago.)

I am not quite ready to share "THE" Powerball idea, but I am just damn excited the meter is on. I'll keep you all posted.

Another Milestone?

We heard back from the lookers. Seems they are looking elsewhere. And that is about all I have to say about that.

As of last night, Sophie, seen here in this updated photo:

...has stopped using the door that she always uses. She has been having trouble getting up the stairs. No more power from her back legs has been a reality for a while...she quit sleeping upstairs on the second floor sometime around Christmas-ish, was it? So. She now uses the proper front door through the porch as there is only one low step. No longer will she have to battle the 3 big cement steps at the side door.

I have mixed feelings about this, I guess. While I am glad I will not have to worry about her falling and hurting herself, or watch her fall or try and help up her back end while holding the screen door open like some Cirque du Soleil contortionist....it hurts a little tiny bit.

It's one more thing that she can't do. When the people came to look at the house this weekend and were a little bit early, they both commented individually at different times to the effect of: "Is she sick?"

Nope. She just moves that slowly and deliberately. I don't like to think about the next couple "milestones" too much. But, being realistic things that are unpleasant eventually happen. I get that. I know it is coming. We have had multiple conversations about when it does and the best way to view it (And that really helps to remind myself of when I get a bummed out perspective) is this: We rescued her when she was 9-ish. That was 4 years ago. Do we love her the best we can? Yep. Have we done everything thing we can to make the end off her years comfortable and happy? Check.

Done and done.

And to end on a note that is not as depressing as this post: She is laying next to me and about five seconds ago ripped ass audibly for an extended "gas bomber" of about...wait for it...no joke: 5 seconds. Count to 5. I think we can all agree that that is a friggin long time to expelling some air. ----------And now the perfume. Thanks, Soph.

Some Days....

I love my job. Really. I am that much of a teacher nerd. Although, I would venture to guess that most teachers get into teaching for two reasons. One: because they absolutely love teaching. They are teaching maniacs. Freaks, if you will. The other, less subtle, reason. Summers "off".

Probably not so much for the million dollar contract and endorsement kick backs, yeah?

Back to me being a nerd. There are days when I leave my classroom, or I am standing at the whiteboard writing something, or I am thinking about how a lesson went and I think:

"I seriously get paid to do this for a living."

It happens a lot during the first couple weeks of school for a variety of reasons:

ONE: I forget over the summer all the small annoyances associated with this job (Every job has them). TWO: I get to know a bunch of new students and make cool connections with them; we get to know each other as people, not as "teacher" and "student". This is one of my favorite parts of teaching....

--seeing the shy kid raise his hand and commenting on it later to him how it was a really well spoken idea

--the Body Snatched Students start sleeping in and my Real Students start showing their personalities and testing me to see how much of their true selves they can be in my class.

THIRDLY: I sometimes feel like I am "play acting". Not in the sense that I am faking it, just that I feel like it is just so much fun to be a teacher, that it can't be real. That it can't really be what I "am". FOUR: I still feel fresh, not burned out as many of us our right before winter break or.......the middle of May when everyone is sick of everyone else and chomping at the bit for summer. I have a ton of energy and big plans for the year.

Don't get me wrong, I blow no smoke, my name isn't Susie Sunshine, I do not skip to my classroom at 7:30 every morning, and I don't put smiley faces on papers when I correct them. Inevitably, there is a yin and yang. Every up has its down. Any other relevant cliche. Inevitably, of course, there are days where there was maybe just ONE too many dramatic sighs, eyerolls or tooth suck. Those are the days where I might tend to think, just for a brief moment: "I don't get paid enough for this s***...."

Waiting 102: Pretty Much Failing the Class.

We had a showing, as you know, on Sunday.

They came back for a second showing yesterday.

They torment.  We have heard nothing.  

Dear Nice Lady,

Please tell us you want to live in this house.  You will really like the house.  I met you because you came early and I think it would be a really good fit...the house and you.  See how I am not even calling it our house?

I think it---the house---wants to be your house.

Can you hear that?  

I think the house is pleading for you to call your realtor who will call our realtor who will call us and tell us that you also think it would be a really good fit....the house and you.

Think about it, K?

K.  Enough thinking.  Pick up the phone and start the circus.

Huh.  I was thinking what a great movie moment that would have been if I had finished typing and the phone rang and it was our realtor and it all was coming true---just as I was creating it.

What's it like in my world, you ask?  

Pretty.  And shiny.  And full of people who are too nice to torment me any longer and decide to buy our house. 

 (Dang it.  It's not going to work, huh?)

K, call me back, K?

Pepper Roastin'.

Remember this from yesterday? Today, we are going to look at one way to roast peppers...red, green, hot, mild, sweet. The whole sordid lot. There they are, top right, having been picked minutes earlier from my garden. I have found that they are easiest to peel after roasting if they are fresh. The fresher, the better.

My mother in law works at a hospital and gave me a surgical tray one year for Christmas. It was seriously one of the most useful and beloved Christmas gift ever received. It is about the size of a half cookie sheet, shaped like a jelly roll pan with higher sides and just perfect for this, or most any, cooking or baking job.

My broiler is in the oven as opposed to a separate unit below; turn that baby on and put all the peppers in for some roastin.

Now, there are a lot of different ways or locations to roast peppers.

In Bulgaria, every fall at my bloc apartment building, people would roast over open fires and do multiple humongoid bags in one day. They were making lutenitsa, among other things, which is a roasted pepper spread.

When I lived in Santa Fe, I witnessed (in a parking lot of all places) a huge hopper for the green "Hatch" chili peppers being roasted over, again, an open fire. This hopper was like a Bingo numbers cage on steroids. It was made out of wire and was on a rotisserie that could constantly be turned to jumble the peppers so they could all get flame licked.

I have also seen then done on a grill, but this seems to take longer if the grill on top is keeping the peppers from direct flame. Think of the time to roast a golden brown marshmallow vs. the nuclear option that produces a flaming ball of molten mallow.

In a pinch, I have also roasted a pepper over the gas stove burner with metal tongs. Don't judge.

This is after a couple minutes. They are not ready to turn yet, you want the side to be completely black. You may hear some popping; that is the skin of the pepper bursting open to release the steam that is being built up inside the skin. If you are able to be patient and sit and watch the peppers during this first stage, you will see the skin bubble and form a blister before it turns black.

Now, these are mostly ready to turn to a different side. You can see some of the pepper juice and water from inside the pepper that has leaked out through the burst skin. Unavoidable....or at least I haven't figured out how to avoid it. I am thinking that turning more might prevent the skin from bursting, but then I am not building up the heat in the oven because I am constantly opening and closing the door.

Maybe it wouldn't make a diff.

This is after turning multiple times to get all surfaces blackened. You can see all the juices that have leaked out have also blackened.

Time to carefully move them to the paper bag. They can be pretty fragile, especially if they are stuck to the pan.

Any paper bag that can fit all the peppers and can still close can do. I usually use a paper lunch bag. If you are going mega-batch, you could potentially use a paper grocery bag. This is a bag from the liquor store that is a little bigger than a lunch bag. (Gin, if you must know.)

They don't need any special treatment at this point, other than having the bag closed.

Then, let them sit in a place that is out of the way for 15-ish minutes.

Unless you are me and you forget them because you are also in the process of peeling a butt load of tomatoes at the same time.

No matter.

The beauty of using the paper bag is that I just rip it open and make a place mat for the peeling stage. The peppers are soft, pliant and still warm at this point.

You want to make sure that you are using a variety of pepper that has pretty thick walls....peppers that have a lot of "meat" on them. Then there will be something left after you have peeled the skin a way. If the variety is too thin, you peel a hole into the pepper when you peel and there is nothing left.

The same thing will happen if you roast too long on one side...there will just be charred everything instead of peppers that have been roasted.

These peeled very nicely. It is a huge mess, but totally worth it. There was actually one pepper that the entire skin peeled off in one huge piece. I was going to take a picture but my fingers were all gunked up.

Make sure to take the seeds and the top off. You can take the veins that run up and down the sides, but sometimes I leave those in. If you have some seeds that stick to the peppers, it is no big whoop.

You won't suffer any catastrophic side effects or anything.

Now, I just have to soak the pan. Most of this will come off with soaking and scrubbing. I pretty much just use this pan for roasting, so I am not too concerned with getting every little bit off.

If you are the type to be concerned with things of this nature, use an old pan or one you have already designated for roasting. Don't use your all time fave. You will have tragedy.

Multi-tasking.

SO. Lots on my To Do list today. Here's part of it:

Roasting those peppers in the upper right, making Sugo (tomato sauce) from all those tomatoes, and a crap load of pesto to freeze from all that basil.

AND I just got a call that we have a showing tomorrow at 3:45pm. So, now I can add spiffin' up the plantation to my list of things to do. Nesty McNesterson is totally my mood today, so I got that going for me.

Plus, I can procrastinate correcting the homework assignments I brought home from Friday.

Comparisons

Teaching is like traveling to another country. With each August countdown, there is a flurry of preparation, a mental whirlwind of checking and re-checking lists, sure---absolutely positive---I have forgotten some crucial item.

I lay awake the night before the first day of school as I do the night before a journey begins. Anxious. A thousand ‘what-if’s’ running around, bumping into one another in my mind, jockeying for position in the forefront of my brain. “What if I oversleep?” “Have I packed_________?” “Did I make that seating chart for second block World Studies?” “What was the word for ‘Thank You’?” “How will I deal with the myriad of mishaps on the first day of school that could make or break me for the semester depending on how I deal with them?”

Eventually, the confidence in myself as a resourceful traveler and a competent and resourceful teacher takes over and eases the traffic jam in my mind….each worrying ‘what-if’ finding its luggage on the baggage carousel and leaving the terminal of my head.

The alarm goes off and I am too focused, too busy to worry and stew on the ‘what-ifs’ of the night before. I have a new journey to begin today. There is a familiarity to this movement. It is a new kind of comfortable anxiety. It is the anticipation for the unknown ahead that is finally about to become the commonplace.

I focus on getting the necessary tasks done, checking in for my flight, making sure I have all my lesson plan materials for the first lesson of the year and then I wait. Wait for that first boarding call, that first bell to signal students to start trying to find my classroom.

The plane breaks through the clouds on its descent and I get my first glimpses of the new landscape that will be my home for the next couple months as my first students tentatively enter my classroom. The first view is still too distorted to be able to see what it will “really” be like---the area viewed from above is a patchwork quilt, the students still unknown and unrecognizable.

The bell sounds--signaling it is safe to remove your seatbelt and signaling the start of class—and I am full steam ahead. Again with the tasks of getting luggage, taking attendance, finding my lodging, finding a way to put the new faces with new names.

But in all the flurry and activity, in the back of my mind, I am taking in as much as I can. The license plates on the cars look different and the streets are narrower, that-girl-in-the-back-appears-to-be-easily-distracted-I should-move-her-seat-closer-to-the-front. The radio playing in the car lends a surreal quality to the normal activity of riding in a car, but it doesn’t sound familiar and the scenery flashing by I have never seen before, yet there is a familiarity to the people walking the sidewalks, living their lives. I am back in my classroom after being gone for a couple months and it is again filled with students and the teaching gig is familiar but it is all new faces I have never seen before….so it appears familiar, yet it is not. Again, there are a myriad of brief flashy thoughts that dart in and out of my mind as I go about my business of starting the journey, starting the school year.

That first night, I get into bed, exhausted, depleted from the effort it took to take EVERYTHING in, as much as I can all at once and still complete the tasks I had to do that day in beginning my new journey. With each successive night, I become less exhausted and more aware that I am less out of my element and more at ease in the surroundings.

After a couple weeks, I think back and reflect upon my first impressions…do I even remember them? What stood out as so different? It seems so ‘normal’ now. Were those first impressions of the city, of the students, correct or was I basing those impressions on a previous experience because it looked/sounded/acted the same? I have discovered how to navigate the new streets and alleys and I have learned everyone’s name and their personal quirks unfold daily before me.

Without me being conscious of it, a couple months have passed. Where did the time go? The anxiety is long, long gone and I am in full stride of living overseas or teaching in a high school and the newness has worn off. Right before winter break, everyone is chomping at the bit to have a week or so reprieve and have a chance to recharge and reevaluate how it is all going. After a couple months in another country, I want a break, a reprieve a chance to re charge. I don’t want to have to remember words if foreign languages, I don’t want to have to listen to high school students give excuses why they don’t have their homework, I don’t want to have to figure out the different system to send a letter, I don’t want to have to remind students to bring their books to class. The newness has worn off and I just want to be comfortable and in control of my life again.

Thankfully, this quickly passes and things turn to a more positive light and what was difficult before suddenly seems to be a breeze and everything just sort of falls into place with only the occasional road bump to break things up and make it a unique and interesting experience.

Before I realize it, I am at rehearsal for graduation reading the names of students that a few years earlier I wasn’t sure they would be walking across the stage or those that I can see great things destined for them. Before I realize it, I am packing my bags to return ‘home’, and yet this has become home.

It is bittersweet. I am happy to be returning to my family, to the States, to home and all things familiar and comfortable. I am happy that another school year has finished with its own unique successes and new relationships forged and deepened.

But.

In the back of my heart, I long to make the experience just a couple days longer, make one more connection, see one more light bulb go on. I realize that the closing of a chapter is happening. No matter how many times a student comes back to visit my classroom to say hi, or how many times I return to visit a country, it will never be the same. I close my classroom door for the last time and I step off the plane onto America soil. Already, as I get into the car to go home, I think……”next year”, “next trip”…..