I am taking a break from measuring my practice against the IRA Standards for Reading Professionals. It is one of many homework assignments for my Tuesday night class. Last week, I finished my assignments at 5:45, just before the class met at 6:30, and I had worked on them for two or three hours every day. This week, we don't have quite as much, but only because one of the students in the class is a pathological talker and, because of that, the instructor didn't get around to showing us how to do this week's major assignment.

I worked with National Board candidates this morning. Let me just say again: GWB has ruined education in this country. I really think I might need therapy to deal with my feelings toward him, because now my animosity toward him has taken a disturbing twist: I now feel animosity toward anyone who supports him. I find myself avoiding people and situations where I might have to hear someone say something favorable about him. I have some very good friends I used to see regularly whom I now avoid because they are Bush fans. I love these people, but I am now so very bitter toward them that I just don't even want to see them. Therapy. Yes.

This morning was one of those times I needed to be able to clone myself. I needed to attend two things at the same time: National Board work and writing project work. That's what my life has come to. I know I have to work the second and fourth Saturdays of each month, and yet I scheduled a writing project staff development meeting for today in the Liberal Arts building at the exact same time I was supposed to be working in the Curriculum & Instruction building. Kim did the wp thing, thankfully. I knew I'd be spread too thin for this semester, but it couldn't be helped.


I got a lead on another part-time job for next year. A friend sent me an e-mail about it Friday. This one is almost as if I were walking down the sidewalk and someone stepped into my path and said, "Here's a wonderful gift for you." But, then, they've all been that way. And, of course, that is exactly what is happening to me since I decided to jump the sinking ship that is public education. First one friend said, "Here's a gift," then another said, "Here's a gift", now another has said , "Here's a gift." There's a story behind this, but it's personal I think. I wouldn't think so except that there are quite a lot of people I know who are jobless and in a mess, and here I am walking away from a job that pays me fifty thousand a year with really good benefits and lots of vacation time. So I don't feel quite right going around saying, "Hey, guess what? I decided to walk away from a good job, but it's okay because right away a whole bunch of other great ones just popped right up out of the blue." Just about the only bad thing is that I had to go ahead and start the part-time stuff now, and my teaching contract goes through June which means I'm overwhelmed with work, in addition to working on a graduate degree.

I need to get back to the homework now.

I emailed the link to Martin Luther King, Jr.’s letter from Birmingham jail to several people today, and I have had the most wonderful time reading their responses. I’ve gotten several e-mails from friends who lived in Birmingham during that time, sharing their own personal experiences. If I had permission to share their responses here, I would. Especially a long letter from a preacher friend who told me some very interesting things about King’s stay in that jail. I was glad to see that Bonnie posted the letter on her blog. I am enjoying reading her blog every day; it kind of reminds me to try to post a little here.

It was a hard weekend, mainly because I never sleep when I’m away from home, and also because several things happened Saturday night that kept me from getting any rest at all. In spite of all of that, it was great to see everyone and to get a good bit of work done. The next few weeks are going to be busy ones, and it’s nice to get some planning behind me.

I have a Tuesday night class this semester if I can ever get officially registered. I’m going anyway tomorrow night; I already have the textbook and everything, even though I’m not registered. I’ve let the instructor know I’ll be there and that I’m not registered. We’ll see how all that works out. I’ve read the textbook already, and so now I don’t really understand why I have to take the course. I learned a lot, I’ll try out all the strategies, so what’s the point of sitting in the class, you know? I know I have a problem. I know. I simply do not know what to do about it.

I saw several friends from the Gulf Coast this weekend. They are still living in FEMA trailers. Good grief. I am almost embarrassed to be around them.

I have finally remembered about "happies" and "purties". I don’t have time to write about them now, but I definitely will soon. Or maybe not. I’ll have to see the course syllabus tomorrow night before I’ll know what my life will be like from now until May. Now that I’ve started working on Saturdays again with National Board candidates, I already have less free time. I’ll have to drink a lot of carrot juice.

The List

Yesterday, before I went to do the grocery shopping, I told Hannah some things I wanted her to have done by the time I got home: hang clothes on line, feed Lizzie, and one other thing I can't remember. So then on the way to town, I started thinking about all those lists Mama left for us when she went to work. Angela brought up the lists on Christmas, and we all had a good laugh. Here's the story:

I always got up earlier than Angela, and I'd go straight to the list, which Mama always put on the counter under the wall phone. I'd read through, and a typical list would look something like this:

1. Wash clothes /hang out
2. Iron 5 of Daddy's shirts/pants
3. Cln bthrms (she'd start to run out of time, and use a form of shorthand)
4. vcm
5. dust
6. swp ktchn
7. swp prchs
8. run btrbean runrs up poles
9. pck tom.
10. ct okra
11. pck snapbeans
12. shell peas
13. Start supper:
bbq chickn
baked pot.
snapbeans

Sometimes the "shorthand" was worse than that. Sometimes it was completely indecipherable. By the time Angela got up, I'd say, "Well, I've figured out all but #4 and #7. You give it a shot." Sometimes, even between the two of us, we couldn't figure them all out. We didn't dare call Mama at work. That was simply not done. So, we'd just split everything up that we could decode, and then when we were finished, we'd meet back at the list and try to crack the more cryptic items. "It could be. . ." "Wait! Maybe it's. . ." "Do you think she meant. . ." "What in God's name have we not already done?"

Mama would come home, and if there were even one or two items on the list not done, she'd say "I guess tomorrow I'll just take that TV cord with me to work." We'd just look at each other. TV? TV? We were in the garden all day. We never got near the TV.

One day, number 17 on the list, under the Supper heading, was "pot. and dump." Pot and dump? What on earth? When Angela got up, I said, "I've exhausted all possibilities. Potatoes I'm pretty sure of, but dump? I give up." So we did the divide and conquer thing, and met back at the list at the end of the day. Pot and dump. Pot and dump. Pot and dump. What could it be? POT AND DUMP!!!!! We were pacing, pulling out our hair, wringing our hands. We'd started the roast, cooked the butterbeans and corn, sliced tomatoes, made the cornbread and tea. There was nothing for it. We'd be pot and dumpless.

So then Mama came home, and when she walked in the door, we immediately admitted failure. "We didn't know pot and dump, Mama. Sorry." Mama just shook her head and stood there looking at us. "Potatoes and dumplings? You didn't know potatoes and dumplings?" Well, no, Mama. We've never had that before. They don't even go together. Potatoes and dumplings? That's two starches in the same pot. How do you even make such a dish? Why would you want to?

Mama acted as if we had potatoes and dumplings twice a week. "You boil the potatoes and dumplings, then make a white sauce. My goodness. I make it every year." Well, not since 1965, I wanted to say. I've never in my life even heard of such a dish.

I really shouldn't be writing about cooking. The heating element in my oven went out Tuesday, and I'm beside myself waiting for the new one to come in. Why in the world should it take seven business days for a heating element to arrive? I can order anything I want off the internet and have it shipped next day. Then, when it finally comes, we'll have to wait for a serviceman to come out and put it in. I never realized how much I cook in the oven. I never cook a meal that I don't use the oven. Suddenly, I want roasted chicken, baked potatoes, asparagus, brownies, pineapple upside down cake, yeast rolls.

I think I am going to set the setting on this blog to private. Invitation only. I switched over to a new version and went into the settings menu, and it occurred to me that that is something I should maybe do.

Some good things have happened since I last wrote here. First, we had a great Christmas; I'll get the photos posted very soon (I keep writing that, thinking that if I write it enough it'll come true). Then, I found out it was my medicine that was making me depressed. It was such a relief, I'm not even going to be mad that nobody told me it might happen. I seldom ever take medicine, but the doctor convinced me my bronchitis was going to turn into pneumonia if I didn't take the medicine to make me cough that stuff out of my bronchial tubes. Anyway, I took the medicine, and dropped into a deep, deep funk. I don't even really know how to describe it. I wanted to sleep all the time; I didn't care if I lived or died. In fact, if given a choice, I would've chosen to die. Not to mention I was completely exhausted from coughing. Then one day we had somewhere to go and I couldn't sit there and cough all the way through it, so I didn't take the medicine that morning. I'd also skipped the last dose the day before, just because I was too tired to cough. By the end of the day, I'd missed several doses and, lo and behold, I was beginning to feel alive again for the first time in a week. Hmm. Needless to say, I quit taking the medicine completely. Then, on Christmas, I was telling my family my theory that the medicine had made me depressed and suicidal (really, I didn't want to live anymore), and Angela said, well wait a minute, what was it? I told her and guess what? The same thing had happened to her with the same medicine; she called the pharmacist and the pharmacist said sure enough, there's an ingredient in that medicine that makes a small percentage of people have depression symptoms. Why in the cat hair don't they tell people that? I would've stopped taking it sooner.

Another good thing is that I talked to Charles at the Atwood family gathering about my job situation and he totally understands it. He just went through the very same thing at a job he'd worked at for 40 years. He quit. I had been feeling like the caveman on the Geico commercials, like no one understood, but now that someone does (he's not the only one, okay?, but it helped so much to know that he seemed to fully understand that you just can't work under some circumstances) I feel so much better.

We had a great time at Gwen's last Saturday night. After the food and gifts and fireworks, the family tradition is that everybody sits around and sings and those with guitars play guitar. If there's a piano, then someone plays that, too. This year, the men all sang love songs they'd written. It got to be kind of funny, because they tried to outdo one another. Some of them were pretty darn good. Recordable, in my opinion.

I thought we were going to have the SMWP book swap here, because Kim said she hadn't heard from Patricia. I was sitting on standby, just in case. When I heard, I went straight into high gear: polished the silver, hired a sitter, made hors d'oeuvres (I looked up how to spell that, so I know it's right), hired Service Master to come and clean the carpets and upholstery, pruned the shrubbery and trees around the front of the house, reupholstered the dining room chairs, and bought a new outfit. Then come to find out, Patricia's having it after all. (Okay, none of this ever actually happened. I just wrote all that in case Patricia reads this. Really, I had not lifted a finger to prepare for it.)

The other night, Tim and I argued over whether or not water will boil faster if it's hot when you put it in the boiler. He says no; I know yes. He says he did some kind of experiment when he was in high school or something. Listen, I don't care if Jonas Salk, Madame Curie, and Bill Nye the Science Guy all say otherwise: I've been cooking for thirty years, and I know what I know.

I was going to write more, but I'm in the middle of cleaning out my sock drawer. I am so restless these days, I can't sit still. Nervous energy, I think.

I am taking a break from wrapping gifts. I have three to go, and I'm sort of putting it off because wrapping gifts is one of my favorite things to do. Really. I love making the bows. Last night I was in Dollar General looking for gift boxes, and there was this couple on the same aisle looking for bows. You know, those pre-made ones that come about a dozen to a package? They couldn't find any, nor could one of the girls who works there. Then, the woman half of the couple said well what in the world were they going to do, and then she went over to the box that had rolls of ribbon and said it's not like she knew how to make a bow or anything so the ribbon wouldn't do her any good. Well, what else could I do? I said hey if there's a roll that's already open I'll show you how to make one. So, I did my own little part last night to bring peace on earth right there on the Christmas aisle at Dollar General, just by showing that dear damsel in distress how to make bows. She ended up buying several rolls of ribbon so she could make more. I do what I can.


When I walked through the dining room just now, Lizzie was in there playing office, wearing one of my nightgowns and a pair of impossibly high heels Judy gave her to play in. When she saw me she said please, Mama, don't "disturve" me. She never wants anybody to listen to her when she plays. Sometimes she'll come into whatever room I'm in and tell me she's about to start playing wedding or school or office or whatever and please don't "disturve" her. I remember that from when I was little. When Angela and I got into playing something, like movies or TV (usually Bonanza---she was married to Adam and I was married to Little Joe)---we'd get so mad if Mama listened to us. Mama says the only time she ever heard the two of us argue was when Angela announced she was going to Morton and she "left" without giving me time to get my babies ready.


While I was wrapping gifts, I was flooded with memories of Zate's house at Christmas. Zate is what we called my Aunt Laura Zelle. She was my great, great aunt, really. She made beautiful velvet and pearl Christmas ornaments and knitted Christmas stockings. I can remember delivering stockings to Dr. Lucas and Coach Turk at USM. She'd taught them English at Copiah Lincoln and stayed in touch with them until she died. There were always pins everywhere; you had to be careful where you sat. When I think of her, I always think of the sad story of her unrequited romance. She was madly in love with a boy when she was in her twenties---he loved her, too. But Papa Weems would not have it. No way, no how. The boy was "beneath" Laura Zelle, and he forbade her to have anything to do with him. He married and had a family, but she never did. I guess she loved him til the day she died. How sad is that? I always harbored ill will toward Papa Weems for thwarting true love, but. . . .well, now that Hannah has started dating a little, I think I may have a little of Papa Weems in me. It's a terrible thing to be the mother of a teenage girl. When this boy (nice enough boy, well-groomed, honors student, tennis and basketball teams) comes to pick her up, I find myself wanting to ask for a writing sample, a family tree, give him an aptitude test of some sort. My Aunt Sandra always preached to us the importance of good genes, of marrying someone physically attractive and of above average intelligence. I wish there were some sort of test for that.

This morning I watched television for about three hours. I never do that; I had no idea what the morning offerings are. I watched a tad of The View because I'd seen all the hoopla on Fox and Friends about the Rosie/Donald thing. I watched a man named Les Feldick teach a Bible study. Not bad. I don't think I'd ever heard of him. I watched Kay Arthur teach about forgiving friends when you feel they've wronged you. I like Kay a lot and have a lot of respect for her, but right now I'm more into dismissing people from my heart. Of course, she talked about the whole prison thing, and how you yourself are really the one in prison if you won't forgive, but lately it seems to me it's more of a bondage to try to hang on sometimes. I'm ready to say "you choose your direction and I'll go the other one; if some kings take you captive, I just don't know if I'll gather my men and come after you or not." But, hey. I do know. I'd probably be the first to saddle up. I did find myself arguing with Kay about it, though. Talking out loud to the television and that kind of thing.

I read Esther this morning in The Message. I don't have anything against The Message, and I pull it out at least once a week or more, but I do find Peterson's style (is his name Peterson???) gets old if you read too much of it. I wouldn't want to read it every day. I found myself focusing more on Mordecai this year than Esther. I don't know why. Also, I just wonder about the Jews declaring their own feast day. Sort of seems extra-Levitical or something. I didn't read Deuteronomy yet. Last year, I read it in The Message, but I don't think I will this year. Maybe the Amplified version. I haven't decided.

Okay, speaking of reading, I finally made it to the Collins Library yesterday. I'm telling you, it's like walking into Cheers and hearing "NORM!!!" Really. Like coming home. David said, "You're here! You always increase my circulation!" (You know, I didn't see a thing wrong with that, but Tim has committed himself to teasing me mercilessly about that comment ever since I told him about it. He's made circulation jokes about every five minutes.)

My hair looks fine, but the whole experience turned out to be an emotional wringer for me. As it got closer to time to leave home, I didn’t know if I could go through with it or not. Finally, I called the salon and asked to speak to Danita. The receptionist told me she was with a client, but I actually whimpered (whimpered!) and told her this was life and death and that I must speak to Danita NOW. So when she came to the phone, I told her I felt positively adulterous, that this was akin to Tim seeing me go into a hotel with another man. She assured me that it was all okay (but don’t do it again), and that Megan would do a fine job. But then when I got to the shop, it seemed (was it my imagination?) that Danita was cool to me. I spoke, she spoke. I sat on the couch waiting and waiting for Megan to appear. I squirmed, picked up a magazine, squirmed some more. I got up and went over to Danita’s station, commented on how much I liked her new style (permed and really cute), felt the curls, patted her back. She seemed to "unstiffen". I asked about Lindsey’s baby, went and sat back down on the couch. Squirmed. Finally (finally!), Megan came from the back, looking all of twelve years old. Danita came over, told Megan to do a good job, that I was one of her most faithful (thanks for the knife in the back) clients. After that, I just sat in the chair numb the whole time. Just numb. I’m telling you, it was a wringer. Just wrung me right out. Tim said he likes my hair and will I be switching to Megan now? It turns out Megan is the one who cuts his hair. Of course I won’t be switching. I am faithful. This was just a lapse. A one-day stand.

One of the lead features on Yahoo this morning is a new study showing that germs make you fat. Well, hello! Do I not stand on the street corners telling people about enzymes and acidophilus and the importance of digestive health? Can I get anyone to listen? Maybe they’ll listen to Yahoo if not to a yahoo.

Kim was telling me yesterday she bought a nice framed map of the world on posters.com. I went there last night and poked around for a half hour or so. The one I want is one seventy-nine, plus delivery. I’m thinking about going to Hobby Lobby and trying to find one that I can frame myself. Never mind that I’ve never framed anything before. Tim loves maps and I was thinking that it’d be the perfect Christmas gift for him. (I haven’t been able so far to rent a cabin anywhere like I did last year.) If I’d ordered it last night before eleven and paid extra for shipping, I could’ve had it here on Saturday. I just couldn’t seem to click the mouse somehow.
The weather here is just not good. Not at all what I wanted for this week. Nothing like they’re having in Denver, though. How bad is that? And Jen told us yesterday she’s flying into Denver today. Was it today or tomorrow? Anyway, I saw on the news this morning there are 4,700 people stranded in the Denver airport. I hope it all works out for her.

Someone posted one of those NCLB parodies at the forum. I am immune to all of that, it seems. In the early days, when I’d read those (they were everywhere; remember the dentist?), I would somehow think there was hope. You know, if enough people would speak up and show the absolute senseless insanity of it all, maybe someone would listen. No. It’s not going to happen. Then when all the reports of corruption came out, the ties of the Bush family to McGraw Hill, the underhandedness of the NRP, the blatant lies, I thought well okay this is it. No. There are no WMDs in Iraq. Left is right, black is white, bad is good, and keep your mouth shut about it. When all of the good teachers have left, when the school years of billion s of children are wasted, the textbook and testing companies still have full pockets, and there’s not one single thing that can be done about it.

I had forgotten how funny Breathing Lessons is. I have laughed uncontrollably at times. Good medicine. My appetite has come back with a bang. Yesterday, I wanted every one of the sweet potato fries on Jen’s plate. Her chicken and mushroom sandwich, too. I even went by the bakery and bought a box full of homemade Christmas candy. I threw it all in the garbage, though. It was not at all good. I’m not a great candy maker, but even mine is better than that. They had divinity, Martha Washington, everything. And it was all thoroughly mediocre.

I was awake all night. All night. I don't mean that I was awake part of the night, or that I was awake every half hour. I mean I was awake all night. I don't really know why. Maybe it was the vanilla malt. My appetite is coming back, and yesterday around noon I started craving a vanilla malt. I wasn't hungry at supper, so I didn't eat anything, but around 8:00 I told Tim I must have a vanilla malt. Just three sips. We went to Sonic and I drank the whole thing. I didn't even really want it once I had it, but I drank it because it was there. Well, of course I have a milk allergy and I'm not supposed to eat ice cream. I was awake all night.

If you're ever in Seminary shopping at Piggly Wiggly and you decide to try to figure out how to get to my house on the backroads and you go up by the side of the store past the feed mill and then you keep going a ways and decide to turn on Speed Town Road because it seems like it would take you to Hwy. 535, and then you sit for a minute at the place where Speed Town Road forks into Frank Speed Road, and you decide to stick with Speed Town because Frank Speed looks pretty much like the road less-traveled, and then you wind and wind and wind around the winding road that is Speed Town, then you take a right onto Abercrombie/Knight Road and you end up at what looks like 535, don't turn left onto that highway. Turn right. Because you're not on 535 at all. You're on 588. So if you turn left you'll go straight to Collins, and not to my house. Just thought I'd share that information.

Yesterday morning (or was it Monday morning?) I watched the tail end of Bobby Flay's holiday show, and I saw him make a gingerbread trifle. He made gingerbread, then he mixed lemon curd with whipped cream, then he made a raspberry filling with raspberries and some kind of liqueur. It got me to thinking about the tastes of the Christmases of my childhood. Detsie made gingerbread with lemon sauce, sticky buns, and something we called ambrosia, which was oranges and coconut and I don't know what-all else. Detsie's cooking was completely different from Mama's. Mama is, of course, a world-class dessert maker. She can make anything, no matter how difficult the procedure. Then there was Mrs. Myrtle High, my Sunday school teacher. She made date-loaf candy and brought it in a little Christmas tin to church--the same tin every year. That tin was Pavlov's bell for me.

I started re-reading Breathing Lessons this morning. I got it from the library Monday. I did not, after all, go to Shirley's or the Collins Library. I went to the Seminary Library instead. I got Breathing Lessons, The Clock Winder, and a Barbara Kingsolver whose title I can't remember right now. I finished up The Accidental Tourist last night and was irritated that it ended the very same way it did the last six times I read it. Why does Macon choose Muriel every time? Why? He so obviously should stay with Sarah. It makes me mad every time I read it.

I might go ahead and read Deuteronomy and Esther this week, though traditionally I don't do it until the week between Christmas and New Year's. I sort of dread the Esther thing, since I've decided not to be an Esther anymore. I just don't want to. I've run out of steam. I always think of that guy who worked in the palace when Elijah was shaking his finger at old what's-his-name the king. I always think, well, I'm him instead of Elijah. Working from within instead of without. But I'm getting out now, and yes, it is sad in a way. Everything I did with the children in December, I'd think, "this might be the last time I ever do this with children" but then we'd have a meeting or get a memo and I'd think "I love teaching too much to stay in this situation."

Yesterday morning, I watched Proof of Life with Russell Crowe and Meg Ryan. How could anyone not love Russell Crowe? It came on again this morning at 2:30. I only watched part of it.

I've never been able to hide anything my whole life. Yesterday, I was in T.J. Maxx and I saw some lingerie I had to have. The girls were with me, and I hid it in the shopping cart (it's pretty, um, revealing) under the chocolate-covered cranberries, espresso beans, vanilla caramels, and pewter bowl. Then, when it was time to check out, I told them to go sit on the bench at the front of the store while I stood in line. The place was packed. Packed. So when I was finished and we were leaving, the alarm thing went off as we were walking out the door. I knew. The lingerie. Ink tag. All eyes were on us as we walked back over to the register. The girls walked back with me, and the cashier started pulling out all the clothes I'd bought. "It's the lingerie", I told her, and she pulled it out, held it up for everyone to see, found the ink tag, got it off, held it up again for everyone to see. Yep.

Today at ten I have a hair appointment and I'm worried sick about it. Danita was booked up until 2009 or something, according to the receptionist, so she worked me in with someone named Megan. I've been with Danita forever. We've been through everything together. Nikki's death, Preston's divorce. Everything. My hair.

At eleven, I'm meeting Kim and Jen at Chesterfield's for lunch. After that, I'm coming home to sleep, I hope.

I'm supposed to be putting together a resume and asking people to write letters of recommendation for me. Strong letters, according to the list of things I need. Not weak. I hate to ask people for those; they're all as busy as I am. I'm going to have to snap out of the reverie I've put myself into as a coping mechanism, and just get all this stuff put together this week. I don't know if I've written about this yet or not, but a few weeks ago I decided the only way to get through this is to distance myself from my work life. It's working really well, I must say. Last week, when they pulled in one of their big dogs to talk to me (she was only a little yipper, I can assure you), I sat at the conference table and observed the meeting from afar. I nodded, smiled. Well, okay, there was one moderately long speech that issued forth from me, but only one. And even that was almost just to amuse myself. When I explained to them that DIBELS is a dangerous decontextualized assessment tool that the district should never have purchased and that they have joined in selling out our children to corporate America, they looked at me as if I have six heads. Nobody can ever say I didn't try to inform their discretion.

I think I must've had a miscarriage yesterday. I've been in distance mode so long, I haven't been paying close attention to things. I woke up cramping and feeling very sick. Then there was a huge gush of blood and what looked like an organ of some sort. I bled for a few hours, then stopped. I was pretty much wiped out the whole day. Mama thinks I should go to the doctor, but I've been through this a whole bunch of times, and the nurse will just tell me to come if I run fever and continue to hurt. Which I haven't and I don't.

I did wake myself up enough yesterday afternoon to draft my Thanksgiving cards and e-mails. I try to let my friends and acquaintances know each year that I am truly thankful for them. Just writing the words makes me think about them fondly and helps me to know how blessed I am to have them. Watch your mailboxes and inboxes.

Sunday I was on the fringe of a conversation about whether or not God did indeed forgive the nation of Israel for crucifying Jesus. I was determined not to get into the conversation, but the first thought I had was that of course He did. But this person seemed to think He did not, because of the destruction of Jerusalem that came in 70 A.D.

All my writing project friends went to Nashville last week; some are still there. I stayed home, because I couldn't get the days off from work. I tried not to think of them there without me, and I succeeded until Kim sent me several e-mails Saturday night. Wish you were here.

Is there anything better than windmill cookies and strong coffee? I don't think so. That's what I'm having right now, as a matter of fact. Tim just called and said he's bringing supper home so I don't have to cook. Really, I don't mind cooking. It relieves a lot of stress; but so does writing, so it's all working out.

The best thing about last week is that I know for a fact that this week has to be better. That's how bad it was. It was pure-D awful. I showed my rear end at a meeting, and my only regret is that I didn't say more. I really do think it's time to ring the death knell on public education. It will never recover from this administration. I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think I am. Somebody's gonna' pay, though. I have to believe that.

Meanwhile, I am teacher of the world right now. I'm teaching my heart out, because I hear the clock ticking. I was reading on Susan O'Hanian's site an article written by a woman whose co-workers are saying they want to shut their doors and do what's right. She replied that she wants to OPEN her door and do what's right. What a sick sad environment, when you have to hide good teaching. I'm so glad my spine is made of steel. They're all afraid of me, really. But at the same time, I can't respect someone who's afraid of me. Know what I mean?

I spent Saturday at USM with Patricia, Sherry, and Kim. What fun. I need to do that every once in a while to get my bearings, see which way is north. If you think I'm gloom and doom, I have to admit it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be. It's a heck of a lot worse.

The other day I heard the song "Heaven Came Down and Glory Filled My Soul". I saw myself, about 5 or 6 years old, walking up the steps of Lake United Methodist Church. I was wearing a dress, stockings, black patent leather shoes, a red wool cape, and a muff. The muff was furry on the outside, and lined with sateen. (I guess that stuff is called sateen; that's what my aunt always called it when she called Mama to come over and get some: "Melvin's had sateen on sale for a dollar a yard. I got thirty yards so y'all can all line your coats with it this winter.") Well, anyway, back to the muff. Or was I getting back to the song? I don't know which way is north in this paragraph. I think I was going to write about the memory of the Sunday Angela and I sang that song at church, and I can still remember what I was wearing that day. I wonder if my cape was lined with sateen. I can't remember the inside of it.

I just remembered that even all my doll's clothes were lined with sateen. Mama would make them coats from our leftover fabric, and they were always lined and had brass buttons and everything--just like ours. Lately I've been wishing I could sew. There's no end to the ways I could make money from home if I knew how to sew. I've really been thinking about cooking, though. If I could get up a little business selling cakes, pies, cookies, maybe soups and casseroles.

We saw One Night with the King Saturday night. It was okay, but a little overdone in some areas.

It seemed like there was more I wanted to say, but I don't remember it. I was reading at the zolaboard about this whole Calivinism mess. Some of them actually think that when scripture speaks of "before time" and "before the foundation of the world" that it's referring to pre-Genesis. Surely they know that means after the exodus. Surely? And all those Romans verses they quote about the elect? Surely they don't believe their own interpretation of those. Surely?

Time for Rachael Ray.

Mama had surgery last week. She hates being an invalid, and suddenly the house is way too small for her and Daddy to cohabitate. She told me yesterday they might not make it to their 50th anniversary on the 29th of next month. Something to do with cornbread.

I've been blog-hopping tonight. I stayed home from the ballgame because it's too cold for Lizzie to be out, but she ended up going over to Judy's anyway. First, I thought I'd read. I'm deep into several books on reading comprehension, and a novel about slavery in Louisiana. That didn't work, though, because I can't stay awake and I'm afraid to go to sleep. So then I switched to television, but I don't have a long enough attention span to watch anything. I do have a movie on; kind of scary, but I want to see how it ends. Then I went to the forums, but I just can't get interested in talking to people about what the elephant feels like. Really, I don't even think we're feeling the same elephant at all. I can't talk to people who believe in the total depravity of man. They will tell you that of course they mean pre-"salvation", but they don't mean that at all. They don't believe they've been crucified with Christ. They don't believe in regeneration. They don't believe in new wine, new creation, oneness, submission. So, I switched to blog-hopping. Some people are as busy as I am, apparently, because they're not writing regularly. I did find some current posts on some of my regular stops, though. Vernon wins the prize for most frequent posting; Karen has the least.

My movie's heating up; need to stop a minute.

The heroine, a novelist who made four million dollars from her first novel and whose husband and his lover were trying to kill her, managed to get free of the chain they'd tied around her ankles (which, in turn, they'd tied to a heavy anchor) before throwing her into the sea. She surfaced and climbed onto the pier, and now there's a commercial break. Did you know that cervical cancer is caused by human papilloma virus, the Pillsbury Doughboy is still on their advertisements, drinking 24 ounces of milk every 24 hours can help you lose weight, and Night Guard can help protect your teeth if you grind them at night? Also, Febreze has a new product you can plug into an electrical outlet, DirectTv is having a Refer a Friend sweepstakes, and Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant are playing in a movie showing tomorrow night on Oxygen. Are there always that many ads in a commercial break.

Uh-oh. The heroine has followed her husband and his lover into the lighthouse and she's beating the everloving mess out of them. But wait! The lover is down, but the husband is up and is chasing her up the stairs of the lighthouse. Hmm. A hook is lowering itself from the ceiling and is now stabbing the husband. The heroine is on the balcony of the lighthouse. "Patrick" has followed her up and is giving her a seashell. Now "Patrick" has jumped from the balcony and has landed on the rocks below. The husband and lover, who are totally depraved?, will not get that four million after all. Now the heroine is standing on the seashore, looking out at the waves, and talking to a man with an Irish accent. A pretty woman has come out and is now hugging the heroine. Celtic music is playing. The heroine is getting into her SUV and driving away from the Irishman and the pretty woman.

I think I'll get back to the slave novel now.

I have eaten bagged spinach every single day this week. I always put spinach on salads and, as part of my health kick, I've been adding chopped cabbage and grape tomatoes as well. Now I read on yahoo that there is an outbreak of e. coli in 20 states and it has been traced to bagged spinach. Okay.

I am trying to pretend we are not doing this kitchen remodel. I have to distance myself from it mentally in order to endure the mess. I hate mess.

Jessica is having a terrible year. I am deeply burdened by it. She's already been in in-school suspension a couple of times. The teachers on the other hall do not even try to get to know her. It reminds me of Joe. I taught him for two years, and most of the time I spent defending him from the other adults in the school. Both of these children went through things when they were toddlers that no human should ever experience. Then they came to our school, a place full of Christians, and couldn't even get a cup of cold water. I just don't believe things like that go unanswered.

Lizzie lost her first tooth today. It's been loose for six weeks, at least. I thought it would never come out. I sent her down to the kindergarten so Janice could pull it. I don't pull teeth. I've never pulled one of my children's teeth. It's always sad to me when they start to lose their baby teeth. They have such a different look about them when those bigger teeth start to come in.

What in the world is reformed theology? I've been reading some things about it tonight, but I can't seem to wrap my brain around it.

I've seen a few lovebugs, but not anywhere near as many as post-Katrina. Last year, they were a pestilence of Biblical proportions. This year, I've seen fewer than ten.

I found this passage from a letter Thomas Jefferson wrote to a friend in 1820:

"I know no safe depository of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves, and if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with a wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them, but to inform their discretion."

I believe that, and I work so hard not only to try to keep myself informed, but to inform those around me (whether they want to be informed or not). However, sometimes I get really mad because I think people just don’t have enough backbone to do what’s right. There was a situation at the beginning of the year at school that was just flat out wrong. It involved a child in my class–a placement error–and I informed the principal of it the day before school started. I’m not going to go into details here, but it smacked of the whole "Texas Miracle" thing that of course turned out to be the "Texas Myth". Well, anyway, nobody wanted me to say anything about it, so I of course told everybody about it. I am first and foremost a child advocate. Anything less would be educational malpractice. So, for the first few days of school, I kept pointing it out and pointing it out.  All to no avail, I’m afraid.

I just read several entries from Jen’s blog, and I think maybe she and I are experiencing some of the same frustrations. Funny that I don’t know how to call in sick, either. It’s just so much easier to go to work than it is to plan to be out.
I see Leslyn has started a blog too, and Rachel e-mailed me that she signed up for one. It somehow makes me feel more connected to all of you. It’s funny how I check several blogsites of friends every day, and I get irritated if they go for a while without writing, yet I seldom ever write myself.

I found this passage from a letter Thomas Jefferson wrote to a friend in 1820:

"I know no safe depository of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves, and if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with a wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them, but to inform their discretion."

I believe that, and I work so hard not only to try to keep myself informed, but to inform those around me (whether they want to be informed or not). However, sometimes I get really mad because I think people just don’t have enough backbone to do what’s right. There was a situation at the beginning of the year at school that was just flat out wrong. It involved a child in my class–a placement error–and I informed the principal of it the day before school started. I’m not going to go into details here, but it smacked of the whole "Texas Miracle" thing that of course turned out to be the "Texas Myth". Well, anyway, nobody wanted me to say anything about it, so I of course told everybody about it. I am first and foremost a child advocate. Anything less would be educational malpractice. So, for the first few days of school, I kept pointing it out and pointing it out.. All to no avail, I’m afraid.

I finished three miles of a four mile workout, then ran out of steam. I really don’t have time to work out twice a day, but the 5:00 a.m. workout gets me going for the day and the p.m. workout helps relieve a lot of stress. I’m not going to be hard on myself if I don’t make it all the way through the evening one.

It was good to see the comments from Jen and Leslyn t his morning. I’m not sure I knew Jen had left USM. I’ll have to find out the deal with that. All the more reason for us all to get together. Of course, it’s ridiculous to even say that when Kim planned a dinner meeting last night and I didn’t go. She told me they discussed Maja Wilson’s Rethinking Rubrics. I’m sorry I missed that, but there was no way I could make it.

I was going to write something funny about the two visits we had Saturday: one from the preacher, the other from several members of the youth group at a church we visited last Sunday. They’d been by a couple of times to invite us, and last Sunday morning we decided we’d just go there instead of driving to Hattiesburg. (I could really write some funny things about the service; not that I’d ever make fun of anyone’s form of worship, it’s just that several things were really funny.) Anyway, we were in the middle of some serious yard-mowing Saturday morning when the preacher and his wife drove up. Now, I’m not big into wearing a lot of clothes when I push a mower, and we won’t even get into the hairdos I come up with. Suffice it to say, I think they may have been somewhat uncomfortable. Truly, and you may all laugh at me for this, I am from the school of thought that says you absolutely do not ever drop in on someone. I see that as a social faux pas. My sister and I are very close, and I always call before I go to her house, just as she calls before coming here. So, really, I was a little irritated that they just showed up. I invited them in for coffee or tea, but they declined. I really did want to talk to the preacher about the way he taught Hebrews 2 completely out of context, though. Or, at least, the first three verses. I was real surprised that his "text" was three verses, but Shontelle assures me that three verses is the norm.

Anyway, they finally left, and we mowed a while longer, then came in for a little lunch. Tim got back out to the yard before I did, and when I turned the doorknob to go back out, I saw the youth group in the driveway talking to Tim. (Shontelle says this was the "second team".) I decided to just stay inside until they left. No need to scare the children with my attire. So two drop-in visits, all because we went to church there one Sunday. I was more than a little confused by the whole thing. I mean, none of them asked us anything at all about our relationship with God or anything like that. It was just all about how they offer this and that and the other for the youth, and they offer this and that and the other for the elementary students. None of that interests me in the slightest. In fact, it all seemed rather secular, to tell the truth. Pizza outings and swim parties and volleyball games. I have nothing against any of those things, but I don’t understand why they think it will make us chomp at the bit to go to their church. Well, as I said, I was going to write something funny about it–I even had myself cracking up over it while I was working out–but I can’t for the life of me remember any of it. I promise I was not going to make fun of them; it was self-deprecating humor. Really. It was. But I can’t seem to recapture the wit.

Nine Eleven

I don't have much to say about the anniversary of nine eleven. Mary Lou is subbing right now for a teacher who had surgery. She came by today to tell me she will always remember that I'm the one who told her about the planes.

Today is Hannah's fifteenth birthday. A big one, it seems. I was in labor 22 hours with her. From 9:00 on the night of the 10th until 7:30 on the night of the 11th. She was two days past her due date. We'd had several fire drills at school the day before. I remember waddling out to that playground over and over, herding the children to our assigned spot. Mr. Carr would come out with the bullhorn and announce that we had to try again and get it faster. Finally, after the third time, he remembered my condition and announced that my class could sit the rest of them out. I was sure thankful. It was way too hot, and I was way too big.

I got an e-mail from Miles today. He sent me a link to a letter of his that is published in tomorrow's edition of The Guardian. He wants my thoughts on it. I'm not sure I have any--don't know much about foraging, really. (Here's the letter: http://www.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,,1870043,00.html). When I read The Poisonwood Bible I was struck by the way keeping food on the table consumed their entire day. Not to whine or anything, but truly that is the way it was here for at least a week after Katrina. A grocery store opened in Seminary six days after the storm, but there was nothing on the shelves. By then, we'd lost everything in the freezer and the refrigerators. I don't want to sound as if I'm complaining. I am not. We had food, for which I am eternally grateful. What I'm saying is that getting those meals on the table consumed my days. I am pretty certain I cooked some bad chicken around Friday of the first week, and I was praying hard the whole time we were eating that meal that we wouldn't get sick from it.

This year is killing me. I am taking good care of myself out of absolute necessity. I am eating right and back on a regular exercise program. It occurs to me as I am sitting here typing that what I desperately need is a support group. I need some people to tell me I can do this. Maybe some of the SMWP bunch can start blogging about our school days on the SMWP blog site? Anybody else having a bad year? Anybody want to blog with me about it?

Last night we were in bed, and just before I fell asleep I sat straight up and asked Tim, "Did I cook supper?" I absolutely could not remember cooking it. Since the middle of last week, I have been terrified of the possibility of dementia. That's when I found out my dear friend Will was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's. I knew the last couple of times I saw him that he was not quite himself, but I just sort of put it down to stress or whatever. I have spent the last several days reading everything I can find about the cruel disease, the symptoms, the things that might prevent it, etc. I am very burdened by it all. I think of the fear Will must be experiencing and my heart breaks. He had to quit his job as a pharmacist, of course.

Lizzie is outside right now in her artist's smock, playing with a large pot of dirt, a pitcher of water, and several packets of old seeds I found in my desk drawer. I can see her reflection in the computer screen. She will have to have another bath before we leave at noon. I am longing for just one day--one day is all I ask--at home, without appointments. Yesterday we had to have Hannah in Hattiesburg at 11:00 for cheerleader camp, then I had a meeting with Kim at 1:30. Today, we're meeting with some ladies from Sacred Heart school to plan some staff development for the upcoming school year. Then Lizzie has gym at 5:30, and we're thinking about going to watch the cheerleaders' 7:00 public performance. I also need to be making a math order, a book order for SMWP, and writing some "deep reflection" questions for the scoring conference. I am so very glad that I cancelled my Denver trip, because I think maybe the coast conference is going to be a lot of work. We've been having conference calls with Paul about it. He is very sharp and easy to work with, but he does expect hard work, which is fine and no less than I expect of myself.

The math camp went very well. I could teach math all day every day. I am pretty tired of literacy instruction, quite frankly. There's more to life than reading, writing, and reflection. (I cannot believe I actually wrote that.)

We had our first book discussion group at University Baptist Church Sunday night. We started out with Life of Pi. It's been several months since I read it, and last week was pretty hectic so I didn't even get a chance to skim back over it, which I regret. I should've done it Saturday, but I read "The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios" instead. I have two stacks of books, each nearly as tall as I am, to read. That's one reason I need a day at home. And I also have a list of seven or eight to buy today at Books a Million. Really, I should call the library and see if they have them. I made my first summer trip to the Collins Library week before last. It was great to talk to David again. He was reading a book about Reconstruction. He's always reading something interesting, and we always talk about it a little. He is a fixture of my Junes and Julys, but I never see him the other ten months of the year. I use the Taylorsville library then.

I am reading through my chronological Bible this summer. My plan was to read it through in thirty days, but that's not working out because I keep writing all these questions in the margins and I get all hung up on them. I think maybe I will post my questions each day on the forum, but then I haven't decided whether or not to renew the forum. The domain name expires in seven days.

Sick Today

Angela is president of the Weems Reunion now. All the other nominees have ridden mules and traveled to church in a wagon, but somehow she got the position. It's just not right. When I mentioned to her that I was going to contest the election based on the mule factor, she said she has ridden in Son's falcon hundreds of times and that's about the same as riding a mule. Typical twisted politician's reasoning.

We did not eat inside after all, thank goodness. Dinner on the grounds would not be dinner on the grounds if you ate it inside. It would be dinner inside, which is not the same thing as dinner on the grounds. Everybody knows that.   A couple of months ago, I wrote here about the reunion food and how miraculous it is that no one ever gets food poisoning from it. Now I'm sitting here wondering if maybe I'm the first.

The Parkers gave us a travel update, as usual. J.T., my cousin who has converted to Orthodox Judaism and lives on the West Bank, has had another child in the past year, Marian has married someone in Monte Negro and has an unpronounceable last name. Ellen has received some sort of prized residency in neurosurgery and will be moving with her new oncologist husband to San Francisco. On Lamar's side, Mac has been given a full professorship at Harvard Medical School. Mac was sitting across the aisle from me, and somehow he looks exactly like a Harvard professor all of a sudden. He didn't look like one the last time I saw him. Of course, he wasn't one the last time I saw him. On our side, we had a bunch of new babies to show. The Parkers travel, Lamar's branch rises rapidly in the medical profession (although 85% of the Parkers are physicians, too) and our branch reproduces.

I had a dream last weekend. This is notable because I rarely ever have a dream that I remember. In this one, Angela, Pat, Sissy and I were all staying in a hotel on the Gulf Coast. I don't know why. We were all sitting around talking, and they told me I had to get in the shower first. I don't know why. I looked around for my toiletry bag, but I couldn't find it because all their stuff was strewn from corner to corner of that room. I don't know why. Angela was in the middle of telling some sort of story, and the others were enthralled by it so I didn't want to ask them to help me find my stuff, but I needed it in the shower. I kept digging through all kinds of junk on the floor, and when I got over to the area where Sissy's things were, her little chihuahua dog attacked me. The thing grabbed hold of my arm with its teeth and wouldn't let go. I was trying to throw it off, and I was screaming even, but Angela just kept talking and Pat and Sissy were hanging on her every word. Finally, Pat saw the mess I was in and she told Sissy. Sissy walked over, pulled the dog off, paid no attention to the blood streaming from my arm, turned around and said to Angela,"So what happened next?" Angela looked at me, paid no attention to the blood streaming from my arm, and said, "You haven't gotten in the shower yet?" 

Unbridled Love

Psalm 32:9 "Be not as the horse or as the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle"

I have been meditating on this scripture quite a bit lately, thinking about how there is no pleasure for "horse" nor master if a bit and bridle must be used. In situations where I am "master", I just want to walk and talk and have my "servants" walk along and listen freely, not because they have to but because they want to. Think about it. Agree or disagree; it's neither here nor there to me what anyone else thinks. Some people can't operate that way, so they assume that no one can. Sad for them. God had more than enough power to get those grumbling children of Israel into the promised land, but He didn't do it that way. They didn't trust, so they didn't get in. If you take out the weighty matters, you take out the pleasure of God and also your own, because your only pleasure should be to please Him.


Yesterday was the first real day of summer break for me. Up until then, I'd had to go somewhere to work every day. I did do a little work from home yesterday, but at least I was home all day long. The girls spent the day in the pool with cousins (who spent the night here), and I spent the day doing yardwork. Summer stuff. I spent a little while reading a new book the FedEx man brought--about extending the name chart. It made me think about more ways I could be using organic vocabulary, especially in August and September.

The Belmont will be run Saturday, and I have to be at a wedding. It's family, so I have no choice, but why would anyone plan a wedding for Belmont day? I'm irritated a little. It will also be the third of June, the anniversary of the day Billy Joe Mcallister jumped off the Tallahatchee Bridge.   Most everyone knows that Angela and I grew up playing that old Bobbie Gentry album over and over and over, and that ever since we've been adults and lived apart, we call one another every June 3rd and sing the Billy Joe song together over the phone.   So Saturday is a big day.

I have mixed feelings about this year's Weems Reunion. This is what I'm hearing from the grapevine: Lamar is resigning as president, Angela will be nominated to take his place, Lovett Weems will be the guest speaker, we will eat inside. I'm not handling any of this well. First Katie Couric leaves the Today Show, now we'll be eating inside at the Weems Reunion. All in one week. I don't handle change well at all. AT ALL. We always eat outside under those big shade trees, but that's just it. Katrina took those out.  Also, I'm just not sure about Lovett speaking. I mean, sure, he's THE Lovett Weems, Mr. Methodist and all, but I'm hoping there will still be time for all our rituals, the family reporting, the arguing over the collection plate, the cemetary report. Otherwise, how can we even call it the Weems Reunion? And don't tell her I said this, but Angela is far too young to be president of the reunion. The president must be an older person who weeps throughout the program, must have ridden a mule to the post office, must have ridden in a wagon to Carr Church every Sunday. See, I know for a fact Angela has never ridden a mule anywhere, she's not the type to cry in public much, she rode beside me in the back seat of a Chevrolet to church on Sundays. I might change my mind, but at this point I don't think I'm voting for her.

Time Flies

This last term has gone at an amazingly speedy rate. I am feeling the effects of Katrina more than ever. She blew through here when we had been in school four weeks. Anybody who has ever taught early childhood knows that it takes that long to establish routines, individually assess levels, etc. You absolutely cannot have a two week break at the end of August. But that's what happened, and it took at least a couple of weeks to re-establish routines (these children had suffered severe trauma) re-assess levels (severe trauma), and get our bearings again. So at the end of September we were back to where we'd worked so hard to get at the end of August, and I can really tell now just exactly what the cost of it was to this school year. Around the first of April, I began to feel extreme urgency. And guilt, of course. Guilt always accompanies the last term because you look back at all that was left undone, or at least I do. I have a hard time seeing what was accomplished because I am so urgently trying to squeeze every minute out of the last days. This year, the loss of time found me focusing more on literacy and math and leaving a lot of other things undone, such as science/ social studies/health. All those things that are so vital for concept development. I've tried to cram it all in now, and it's been a whirlwind, to say the least. Right now, we've got going: moon journals, life cycles, plants/seeds, Mother's Day projects. Last week, I threw in ice cream making and a mariachi band for Cinco de Mayo.

Carrye wants us to teach a math camp this summer, so I find my mind on that a lot--how to secure a location, get the word out, set up the centers, etc. Then there's writing project stuff on top of it. I talked to Katie last week, and we reminisced about how we used to teach literature camp in my backyard in Petal. There was never a time back then when the two of us didn't have something in the works. She'd come in and say, "I need to make some money", and before she walked back out we'd have something planned. If you know how and aren't afraid of hard work, you can make a thousand dollars working five mornings a week, no problem. We'd plan the greatest learning experiences, going all out, pulling out all the stops. Then, at the end of the week, we'd hit the stores and "invest" our money in household furnishings. One Saturday, at the end of a camp week, we found ourselves at an auction in Hattiesburg. The auctioneer called us "outlaws", but she came away with a nice loveseat and two bird prints, and I got a round table, a sofa for my classroom, three side chairs (one of which I'm sitting in right now), and a painting. Tim and Rob weren't exactly thrilled when we called them to come and get our purchases, but they had to admit we really know how to stretch a dollar.