Taking Inventory

I just looked back and realized that I've been blogging since the middle of March ... How crazy!

Even after all those months, I'm still not quite sure that I have "the hang of it" yet. I mean, part of me bemoans the lack of comments and wonders if I'm just that boring or inconsequential that no one feels compelled to respond. Then, the other part of me writes each blog entry and thinks: "Gosh, I hope that no one reads this!" It's like I want the recognition and the validation that what I'm doing is making some sort of difference, but I also want to fly under the radar.

I guess, you can't really have it both ways.

Anyway, to those of you that do routinely read my ramblings, thanks for sticking around! My sitemeter actually shows me that some of you come back ... On a consistent basis (!?), no less ... So I must be doing something right.

Hopefully, once (if?) I land a job for the fall, and get back into the swing of teaching, I'll have more stories and worthwhile anecdotes to share. Right now, the wells are pretty much dried up and I'm chugging along without much inspiration, but I do enjoy the challenge and coming up with something every now and again. I'll be gone all next week with the in-laws, so maybe I can accumulate some material there ...

Rise and SHINE!

Why is it so hard to find a good (insert choice word here) these days?

I have heard that statement ring true for many things over the years: a man, a pair of jeans, a television sitcom, a steak, a job ... But, right now, the good thing that I'm looking for is a dual alarm clock.

My husband and I have been using his old alarm clock since we got married, and he used it for many years before that. It is obviously a hand-me-down, and it has seen better days ... But it works. You can't fault it for working. However, with us both waking up at different times on weekday mornings, it just makes sense to "update" and get something that will only have to be set once, rather than pressing our luck each morning as the alarm is groggily set for the second, and third (my husband has a weird morning routine) time.

The main problem here is not the clock itself, or even the features that the clock must have to be considered a good purchase. We are easy with that. The problem comes in the display itself ... No, too big or too small is not an issue either (I can't see anything that's more than in inch in front of my face without my glasses, anyway) ... The problem is the brightness with which the numbers are illuminated.

I have found, in all my years of alarm clock using, that red numbers are the only way to go. Green numbers are like having a neon sign next to your head and blue numbers are like the reflected rays of the sun as they would appear under an inch of crystal Caribbean water.

So, why on earth would I agree to getting a blue-numbered alarm clock?

"It has a dimmer feature," he said. "It should be just fine," he assured me.

Not so much.

Even with the dimmer turned on, half of our bedroom was lit up like the streets of Las Vegas! We actually had to cover the thing up in order to get to sleep ... It was seriously that bright. What kind of light bulbs are in these things, anyway?

Maybe I'll have to just break down and buy the red-numbered clock I saw online and shell out the $5 shipping cost. Yes, it will be more than if I just purchased it in the store (where it seemingly does not exist), but if we must update to a dual alarm, it might as well be something that we can live with.

Bittersweet-ness

I spoke with one of the other teachers from my former school today.

I was sort of pressured into it, since she called late last week while I was away and left a message in which she said: "I heard it through the grapevine that you aren't coming back next year. Why didn't you tell me? You could have told me. You should have told me ..."

I pretty much knew this call would come sooner or later.

She was right, I should have called her, but I just feel sort of silly calling to tell her I'm not coming back even though I have yet to find another job. That sort of "leap" just isn't like me, and probably speaks volumes as to how unhappy I truly was at that school. She'd never say it, but I think she sees my coming and going in a year as a proverbial "slap in the face." She's been there for more than 25 years, so why can't I (a "good" teacher, as she has described me) just stick it out until I actually find something else?

The sixth grade science position has been a revolving door for the past three years ... And I just helped it to spin around one more time.

Anyway, the conversation went by quickly and painlessly. She wasn't mad or disappointed as the tone of her phone message had suggested. I suppose that she's just the type of person who wants to know what's going on in my life and if it will still intertwine with what's going on in hers.

But, there is a point to all of this ...

During our conversation, I found myself asking about "my kids."

Which ones have registered for the upcoming year? Which ones are not returning? How did they do in summer school? I was oddly sad to hear her mention them by name, and realize that I will probably never see them again. There will be no more stories and jokes on Monday mornings ... No more discussions about bodily functions during Health class ... No more PG-13 (even though they are still too young) movies before holidays or vacations ... No more trips to the "prize box" filled with dollar store goodies ... No more chaos or gossip before the Tuesday and Thursday tutors show up ...

Ten years from now, will any of them even remember me? Will they think back of me positively and see that I was actually trying to help them? To teach them more than just science?

I hope that they will.

Three Years

It's been three years and I'm still happily married.


I'm not surprised, really. I had a feeling that things would work out this way after our first, yet unofficial, date.

I was sitting at home, bored one summer evening and he called me.

"Do you want to go out and do something?" He eventually asked. "Grab something to eat? Catch a movie?"

At this point, we were merely friends (as I had the tendency to constantly remind him), and I knew he had other intentions. I didn't want to encourage him by going out, one-on-one, but I was really hungry and there was nothing good to eat in the house ...

"I guess we could," I said, as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

"Really?" There was a pause, like he hadn't expected me to take him up on the offer. "Okay ... I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes was about the time it took for him to drive from his house to mine. I certainly didn't need any time to get ready or primp or anything ... We were going out as friends. Strictly friends. No big deal. No need to actually look nice or anything.

When he showed up at my house, I was on the front porch waiting for him. I walked over to his parents' car (he had his license, but no car of his own) and got in. "Where to?" I asked.

He had it all planned out. He was taking me to a casual little restaurant that his parents used to take him to. It was movie themed (right up his alley) and everything had a catchy, if not corny, name. It wasn't much of a "hot spot," that evening, so we were seated in a cushy little booth right away. There was a piano player providing music and everything ... The mood was light. As always, we were having a good time.

We ordered our food: a "Humphrey Bogart" for him and some chicken fingers for me.

Things were going well (the conversation, the company, the food ) until the piano started a rousing rendition of The Entertainer. If you know this piece of music, you know that it starts slowly and builds and builds, getting faster and faster and faster until it just cuts off and stops altogether.

I found it to be an interesting choice of dinner music and made the comment: "This makes me want to start shoving food in my mouth," as I quickly brought the chicken fingers up to my face, one after the other, pretending to scarf them down.

Finding this particularly amusing, he agreed and we laughed and laughed as the song continued to play. Not more than five minutes after it had ended, he excused himself and disappeared into the men's room ... He was feeling sick.

Apparently, the laughter and the "Humphrey Bogart" didn't mix.

As I waited for him in the bathroom, our server brought the bill and I started going through my purse to find my part of the dinner.

A good fifteen minutes or so later, and he returned, looking pale and miserable. He apologized, and dug into his wallet, too, so that we could get out of there. Well, wouldn't you know, he was short on cash! In his excitement to get out of the house for our "date," probably with minimal questions, he didn't grab money.

He looked over at me sheepishly. "I'm short by a couple dollars," he mumbled.

"No problem, I've got it," I replied, going into my purse again.

I swear, his face went a little more pale ...

To this day, we look back on that date and chuckle about the "bad Bogart" he must have ordered, the quickening pace of the music, and the fact that he owed me money when all was said and done. I'm pretty sure that's not quite the event he had in mind when he called me that summer evening.

"Some date," I'd say, bringing it all back. "It just about sums us up, doesn't it?"

He'd just smile that quirky smile of his and sigh.

So, here we are, nearly ten years from that first, unofficial date, and three years into our life together as "husband and wife" and we're still together.

Maybe it's time to head back to that restaurant, for old time's sake, and give the "Humphrey Bogart" another try. ;)

Middle School Lessons (#5)

Since I can't think of anything else in my own life worth posting about, I've decided to take a look at my notes from last school year and come up with another lesson ... Not only does this give me something to tide over my handful (Is that an exaggeration?) of readers, it reminds me just why I'm still searching for that new teaching position and not giving up.

Lesson #5: Appearance is everything

It’s really very interesting how one child’s demeanor and/or behavior can be one way in class and a completely different way after class.

For instance, one of my 7th graders was a tough, street-smart girl named Francesca. In class she was loud, rude, disrespectful, and lazy … But, at the end of the day she was probably the sweetest, funniest girl you could ever want to meet. It’s a good thing she liked me (or, maybe, at the very least tolerated me) because she could totally snap me in half like a twig if she wanted to. One good push from her and I’d be flying out the window or rolling down the stairs … ;)

One day, she visited me after school. It must have been the day report cards were handed out, because she was carrying it along with her. As we talked, she laid it on one of the desks, so I went over and glanced at it.

I’ve told my students many times, especially during those instances where I hear whispering behind my back or notes being “secretly” passed, that I didn’t want to become a teacher because I loved children … I did it because I’m nosey and have to be up in everyone’s business all the time.

The kids laughed at this. They thought I was joking.

“Look, Francesca,” I said, pointing to at her grades. “You should be really proud of yourself. Your science grade has gone up from an F last quarter, to a D this one.”

She just smirked at me and shrugged, seemingly at a loss for words (something that rarely ever happens during class as I am trying to teach a lesson).

“Maybe next quarter you can raise it even farther and bring it up to a C …” I pressed on.

“That would be fine,” she said.

“And look at this: Your effort and conduct have both gone up from unacceptable to needs improvement.”

Francesca looked at me very seriously. “You can raise my effort if you have to, but keep my conduct right where it is … I don’t want the other kids to think that I care about school or something.”

I just looked at her for a moment. “What does it matter if the other kids see that you’ve gotten a satisfactory in conduct? It’s good to care about your education. Don’t you want to get the most out of it? I mean, if you have to be at school, you might as well try your best.”

“I have a reputation to uphold,” she replied. “I don’t care if you give me all A’s, just keep the unacceptables.”

After our conversation ended, she left my room for the afternoon and went on her way. She probably didn’t give a second thought about what she had said. She was honest. It was the truth. How many other students were just like her? How many other students acted up or didn’t try because that’s what they wanted their classmates to see?

It amazes me how powerful peer pressure truly is on this age group. I don’t remember having these issues when I was in school. I didn’t care if people thought me to be a dork or a nerd … It was who I was and I was comfortable with that. Even if Francesca does care, it saddens me that it might be at her own expense. If she continues on this path of “unacceptable” conduct, she might hold herself back when she could be getting ahead. The Cleveland neighborhood that she lives in isn’t ripe with possibilities, and, to get out, a person really has to rise above all the negative influences that surround them.

Hopefully something will snap Francesca out of her current way of thinking.

Hopefully she’ll see that she can do so much better, that she deserves so much better …

Sisters

If you would have told me, five years ago, that I'd be spending days on end with only my sisters, I would have either rolled my eyes or laughed in your face.

I'm the oldest of three, each of us separated by about three years. While that distance in age is not really all that large, eventually it was just enough to keep us from completely getting along and truly being "friends" (or even just cordial in some instances). Up until becoming teenagers, we really didn't have any problems. We peacefully shared a single bedroom for many years, coexisted in a house with only one bathroom, wore each others clothes and shoes, had "sleepovers" together, and enjoyed many other sisterly things ... But once Middle Sister hit about sixteen (making me nineteen), the fireworks began to fly!

I guess I'd have to step back, here, and explain that I was definitely a major "goody-two-shoes." As the oldest, I did everything I had or was expected to do ... I set the example. I obeyed rules and curfews without question and basically kept order in the house by calling out my sisters if they were doing (or had done) anything wrong. This, obviously, built up some animosity ... Especially between Middle Sister and myself, and really came to a head once she had become established in high school and I had gone away to college. We just didn't get along ... At all. I hated her friends and how she acted when they were together and she hated me. She resented that I ratted her out when she had an unchaperoned summer party at my parents' house and couldn't understand why I didn't "trust her" after that event. She said that I "thought the worst of her" and that I was "out to get her." Neither of these things are true, but I can certainly see where she'd arrive at this conclusion.

Things were awkward for many years, but around 2005 they started to get better. I was done with college, preparing to get married, and she was there for me, as a bridesmaid. Youngest Sister was also part of the wedding, and, although she was still in high school, had reached a level of maturity that you don't usually expect from the person you always considered to be "the baby."

Maybe it's true that you need to move out of the house and that that little bit of distance makes things so much clearer. Maybe time really does heal all wounds, and it just takes a couple of years to end up at the same point in life.

Either way, I just spent the past three days with and/or around my sisters, and we, surprisingly, had a great time!

• Tuesday: Middle Sister and I broke in our new golf clubs at the driving range, and picked out towels, bath mats, and a shower curtain for the bathroom at her "new place."
• Wednesday: All three of us went to the beach and laid out for a couple of hours, and talked, joked, and gossipped like real sisters should do.
• Thursday: Was Youngest Sister's 20th birthday, so we spent the evening celebrating at a family cook-out. The three of us got the party rolling by forming our own three-piece "band" and rocking out on Youngest's new Play Station.

Like I said to start out this post, if you would have told me, five years ago, that I'd be spending days on end with only my sisters, I would have either rolled my eyes or laughed in your face.

This is one instance where I'm happy to be proven wrong.

Bragging Rights

My husband is kicking butt in his "Human Biology" class.

What began as a very tentative, I-might-have-to-drop-this-if-I-can't-figure-it-out course, has now become something of a confidence booster. With his accelerated summer session nearly over, he is scoring 100% on all of his assignments and continuing to achieve high 80-90% on his lab practicals and written exams. Other students are coming to him for advice on test-taking and general questions, and, instead of me acting as his 24-hour tutor, he has figured out how to hash through the material, get it, and study for himself ...

And this is the same guy who mumbled and muttered about how he could never understand science or do biology.

Ha!

I married a natural, a genius, if you will.

Let's hope that next semester goes as smoothly ... Right now it seems as if the bridge is strong and true.

Solitude

Having been home, alone, on my summer break for over a month I'm starting to have some mixed feelings. During one of the many hours spent on the computer, I was able to find a quote that seems to sum everything up perfectly:

"There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall."

~ Sidonie Gabrielle

It seems to me, that I'm currently locked in the second type of solitude: the bitter tonic. I'm still grateful to be home, relaxing, instead of rounding up a bunch of pre-teens or teenagers for a lesson about eukaryotic cells, yet, there is something that is increasingly unsatisfying.

I've always been a productive person for as long as I can remember. As a child, my summers were spent divided between swimming lessons, softball, Kool-Aid stands, and organized neighborhood games of kick-the-can ... There was always something going on, and I was always at the head of it. As a teenager and on through my college years, I spent my summers not only working and saving for the future, but also catching up on the latest novel and spending time with my friends and eventually my newly acquired boyfriend. So, as an "adult" just out of college, landing a position in a research facility was wonderful for me ... I could multi-task to my heart's content and fill my days up as I pleased. Tissue culture, assays of all kinds, documenting results and preparing presentations to present them, all kept me adequately busy. Even during my short span as a teacher, there were always lessons to write or worksheets to create. There was always something that I could be doing, and, right now, that's just not the case.

Sure, sure ... I could clean or dust or vacuum or weed the garden, but you get to a point where the things you have to do become so monotonous that you could easily progress to the "poison" type of solitude. I am a homebody and I love a clean house as much as the next person, but if my days were spent constantly cleaning and tidying up, I'd want to be anywhere but at home ... And that prospect scares me a little bit. I don't want to become the type of person that has to be out and doing something in order to be happy. I don't want to forget about the little things, the quiet moments, the simple things in life.

It certainly doesn't help my situation that I'm still stuck in a limbo in terms of work next year. I've already quit my former teaching job at the private school, making a huge leap of faith and hoping to make the leap to high school, as well. Despite the fact that my choice was the farthest thing from my usual rational, logical approach, I still feel good about it. However, I've yet to land that new high school position, and it's starting to wear on me, and, more disconcertingly, those around me. My husband (the optimist, remember? Ha!) is very concerned about what is going to happen in the fall. I think he has visions of me loafing around on the couch, getting fat from ice-cream and boredom, and sponging away what's hidden inside our savings account until there is nothing left. Little does he know, that vision scares me as much as it does him, but for different reasons ... And not the getting fat stuff!

If I'm stuck at home throughout the fall, I will most definitely go crazy and start "beating my head against the wall." I've already run out of things to do right now, God only knows what I'll do then. At this point, all I can do is keep my head up and keep focused on the job market. By now, any last-minute contracts will have been either returned or declined, so there should be one last surge of available positions before school starts. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Too much of a good thing, they say. And, boy, they weren't kidding ...

I just hope that I can bring things back to "normal" so that I'll, once again, fully enjoy the peace and quiet that solitude can bring.

Green-eyed Monster

One fine afternoon, I was sitting on the couch, reading. My cat, Isis, was laying across my lap, stretched out, purring, and utterly enjoying herself.

The jiggle of the key in the door (my husband was home from work) prompted her to perk up, and a low growl started building up in her chest. She hopped down from the couch, crouching in the middle of the living room, her growl getting louder and more insistent as she looked from the direction of the door and back to me.

When my husband finally made it across the threshold, the sound of the door and his feet prompted Isis to run to her usual spot behind the couch, growling and muttering all the way.


Now, I’m no animal behaviorist, but, apparently, there are some deep seeded feelings between my cat and my husband.

The funny thing about all of this is that, before I got married, I didn’t even like cats. I come from a long line of cat-haters, in fact, and didn’t want to be within ten feet of a stupid cat. So, for this cat to have claimed me, and not him, bothers my husband like you would not believe. He goes so far as to say that he hates this cat and would give her away if he had the chance. I’m smarter than all of that, however, and know that’s not actually the case. Deep down, he loves her and wants her to love him too.

It seems that I have two green-eyed monsters on my hands.

If only we could all just get along!

Old and New

A couple of weeks ago, while shopping at Target for a birthday present, I took a peek over at the shoe aisle. My absolute favorite summer sandals were in dire need of retiring, and I knew that I wouldn’t have the inner strength to trash them if a worthy replacement had not been found. As I perused the shelves, looking for something that might be worthy of taking their place, a quirky slip-on caught my eye:

It was colorful, cute, and reminiscent of the Keds I used to live in as a kid. I could see myself wearing it with shorts, Capri pants, jeans, skirts … Anything!

Perfect!

Upon finding a pair that fit my big feet (success!), I happily scooped them up under my arm and brought them to check-out.

Although my original sandals had been retired and removed from my house (so that I couldn’t have any second thoughts), and I was excited to wear my perfect new summer shoes, they sat in their Target bag for at least another week. Visits to houses with dogs would mean dirty footprints, a cluster of rainy days meant mud … And I was not keen on getting my new shoes messed up so quickly. I told myself to be patient. The glorious day would come …

When the opportunity finally presented itself in the form of some evening errands, I happily popped on my new shoes and made my way out the door. I paid a bill at Lowes, looked for cabinet door pulls at Home Depot (because Lowes didn’t carry the ones we wanted), and then took a trip to Wal-Mart …

Gosh darn it if my “perfect” shoes didn’t give me two, nasty blisters!

As I made my way home, I mourned my original sandals. Never had they given me a blister. Never had they done anything detrimental to my flat, somewhat gross-looking feet. I cursed myself for letting them go, for throwing them away because they were dirty and old. I should have known better. I should have known that these new shoes, no matter how lovely and cute they were, could just not compare. How could I have been so foolish? If only I could retrieve my original sandals from the dumpster!

Today, now that my blisters have healed, I've decided to adopt a different outlook. I peek into my closet at my new shoes and a small smile creeps across my face. They are cute. I do like them. They certainly deserve a second chance … I mean, you can’t blame a new friend for being different than an old one, that’s just the way it goes. No two people are exactly alike, so why would shoes (something even simpler) be any different?

As I wait for my next "new shoe" opportunity, and try to push the negative thoughts from my mind, I can only hope that my feet have accepted this new "friendship" as well, and have toughened up appropriately so that my heels will not be rubbed raw.

The Next Morning

Although I'm still uncertain and waiting for the results of my metaphorical storm, I can plainly see the "new life" sprouting from the real storm last night.

The flowers in the front of my house are either (finally) budding or blooming, seemingly awakened by the nighttime rain:

Hopefully, my storm will produce something even more wonderful.

Waiting the Storm

There's a storm rolling in tonight ...

The air is changing. It smells different. It feels different.

The dark sky spontaneously lights up with natural fireworks. A quick flash! and then nothing. A moment of calm. A moment to breathe before the next display.

It's not raining yet, but it's coming. I know it's coming. The familiar tapping on the windows and rooftop is on its way. The soothing pitter-patter as the water falls back to earth will be heard before long.

There is a sense of excitement... Electricity. An anxious pause as the sky prepares to open up as it moves along its path, loud and in control.

In the sheer force and power of the storm there is a real chance for destruction ... But when it's all over, there is the opportunity for rebirth. The grass is greener, the flowers invigorated, the earth washed clean.

I feel as if I'm caught in my own storm ... All of the elements are in place around me, and I'm waiting. Just waiting for the next phase to begin. Waiting for the rain to fall and the thunder to roll. Waiting for the storm to pass so that I can move on, fresh and new, and ready to conquer the thing that lies ahead.

Yes, there's a storm rolling in tonight. I think I'll sit on the front porch and watch it.