Error Tonto

yesterday we made a mad dash for the Athens-Clarke County Library in between play dates. Jonah, Ryanne, and Savannah each got to pick one movie to check out. as are most procedures involving three tired children, the check out was a bit hectic. we pushed the movies through with out checking them much beyond making sure they were meant for little eyes.

on the way out, Ry and Jonah were walking ahead of us having a conversation. Jonah, the Super-Reader, looked at Ryanne's movie and informed her of some bad news. she turned around, and in an exasperrated/panicky voice says, "My movie's in Spanish?!" Sure enough, Prince of Egypt was actually El Principe de Egipto. I didn't know they spoke Spanish in Egypt. I held in my chuckle and suggested to Ry that she might as well learn a new language. It's best to do it when you're young. She was appeased.

we got to the car and Ryanne showed Mary Ann the movie. finally, we both started laughing like crazy. ¡Pobrecito! Ry was confused at why this was so funny, but shrugged it off and said, "well now is a good time for me to learn Spanish. i've been wanting to anyway." this morning, much to our amazement, the kids watched the entire movie.



a few hours later Jonah said, "Mom, i really didn't get what that movie was about."
Mare: "That's because it was in Spanish. It's about Moses."
Jonah, enlightened: "Ooooh, that's why there was a burning bush!"

turns out, they really did learn some Spanish. well, they learned something. Savannah spent the day speaking to herself in tongues, and when i noticed she hid behind Mare's legs. she did, however, sing me a song in her new language as she held my face between her two little hands.

what a sweet little girl! ¡dulce niñita!

Road Kill

there are many little creatures here that roam around as if unafraid. this guy was in Matt's mom's swimming pool, where we go every afternoon. it's a mole. a dead one. he should have watched his step.

the other day matt and mare and i were driving back from town. in the road ahead of us was a HuGE opossum. huge. ew. matt tried to miss it (or so he says), but to no avail. thunk, thunk.

i was distraught. matt!!! mare told me that we don't have to feel bad about hitting opossums, because they are so ugly.

matt says, "man that probably hurt. how'd it feel to get hit in the head with the bottom of the car?"

even spoken in the southern drawl, it's gross. i made matt turn around to go hit it again to make sure it was dead, so it wasn't suffering. he did, since he says he has no problem running over opposums.

much to my chagrin, when we got back it was gone. that is what i was freaking out about in the first place, that we didn't hit it hard enough and it would just crawl away and suffer. sigh. next time i'll ask him to speed up.

Jubal T.

i haven't posted anything on here for about ever. i would not be good at running my own business, with my tendency of a short attention span for projects. you should see my kitchen walls.

i am grateful today for family. my Uncle Jubal died last week and this has made me realize not only how much i love my family, but especially how significant is my mom's new borrowed time for life.

Jubal was Jubal Troope Ritter. he was named after a character in a Western novel my Grandma was reading when she was preg. when he referred to himself, he called himself Jubal T. he is really tall and skinny, with very dark skin. we all wondered (though never out loud to Grandma before she died, unfortunately) if Jubal was really from the same father as the rest of our aunts and uncles. i think he is Mexican. or Native American. he also has this incredibly thick, wild hair, which he often wore in a red bandana. he recently got dentures and they were bright, bright white. he was always excited to talk about his job, and he told me recently that he got a life insurance policy and he put me as the beneficiary. then later i heard that he told my cousin Jill the same thing. basically, he just liked to make people happy, even if it didn't always make sense. today is his 51st birthday. Happy Birthday, Uncle Jube.

it is not news to anyone who reads this that my mom has been sick for the past few months. that is actually the main reason i haven't updated the blog--the illness was the only thing going on in my life and it was difficult for me to talk about. i still really dislike discussing it. 'not sure why. but, i still appreciate the love and concern and the effort of inquiry that so many people have shown.

Mom was supposed to die in April. then, she was supposed to die before Mother's Day. well, today she is still alive and kickin'. walking, actually, which is significant as there was a time that she couldn't even get out of bed, couldn't even open her eyes, couldn't even recognize me. hooray for a healing body! she is now on schedule for a transplant, as long as she can last 6 more months. fingers are crossed.

her illness has been hard on me. but, i am very grateful: 1. to be able to serve her so intimately 2. to have a chance to be a better person. i like that my mom is giving me this chance to become better. it's a chance to love someone completely selflessly. there's not a person that one should/could love more selflessly than one's own mother. i committed a while ago that despite the hardship, i will not let myself be annoyed, bitter, or regretful. but, that i'd let my mama teach me one more lesson on loving.

this morning as we were talking about Uncle Jubal, Mom said, "Maybe he took my place in dying." Sad. Maybe he did. It is his last sacrifice. i am sorry for his life ending, but will continue to be ever grateful for hers extending.

Good Question

"Do you love yourself?  Do you love anyone more than yourself?"

the questions were given to me for the second time, in a hurriedly-folded note, thrust into my hand my a student before she left my classroom for the last time.  today was the last day of the semester, and my last day with most of my students.  it was written in my student's pretty curled script.

in Tuesday's class, i asked my students to write down any hanging topics they would like to discuss in our final period.  i got a range from, "How can I get over bad things that have happened in my past?" to, "I need help dealing with heartbreak," to "Do you love yourself? Do you love anyone more than yourself?"  i took teacher's liberty and paraphrased 7 of the questions, put them on cards, and passed them out for class discussion.  i'd changed up the above question to, "How do you know if you love yourself?"

my student who asked me is a beautiful girl who has recently moved from India.  she gets frustrated with me here and there, and she and i sometimes write notes back and forth to discuss things.  her last note communicated well her message to me that i had missed her point.  in fact, it was even re-written on the back of my paraphrased card.  

so, she gave me a second chance.  the bell had rung and we had some still time.  after she was sure i'd read her questions, she began shuffling through graded papers to let me know the answers needed to come now.  

"Are you asking these questions specifically to me?"

A single, determined nod.

"Do I love myself?  Yes."

An exhaled, ha! laugh.

"Lately, a couple of people have told me they feel that I don't love myself.  Sometimes people misunderstand each other.  But, I do love myself, even if sometimes I am not completely confident."

her eyes narrow, paper shuffling becomes more terse.

"I know that I love myself because I accept myself, even though I'm not perfect.  And I know I am important to the world."

still no verbal response.  suddenly it occurs to me that possibly she was looking for a philosophical conversation, not a confession.  i feel a bit vulnerable.  then, remember i am talking to the most private person i've ever met.  my confession is safe.

"Do I love anyone more than myself?"  hmmm.  pause.

she looks up, to see why i didn't finish.

i didn't finish because i don't know.

"i don't know how to measure love for other people with love for myself.  i don't know.  i do love other people."

another, knowing, laugh.

"Do you love yourself?"

she answers.

"Does your mother love herself?

i don't think she'd thought of that.

"Do you love anyone more than yourself?"

another answer.  i'm not sharing, because it's her private information.  

i was very intrigued by this conversation.  unfortunately right at this point, students began pouring in the room to discuss their sudden interest in getting good grades.  it reminded me of a poster one of my teachers had on her wall back in my day, "Lack of preparedness on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine."  i had to leave the conversation, and my philosopher's mother was waiting.  

her question is yet unanswered.  and i am not satisfied with her own answers.  the semester ended too soon!

The Notebook

i just found a notebook I used during my final semester of grad school at Penn. it has an empty section that i'm going to use now for study notes as i prepare to teach a sunday school class. each time i open it i find a new little treasure: contact info for the professor who kicked my intellectual butt and i admire him for it, especially since he helped me become a better academic writer; questions that led the last chunk of research i did on charter school authorization--interesting to see the thought process of the biggest project of my life; ideas for vocabulary instruction: concept circles, multiple contexts...; a sweet lesson plan Jill and i wrote to teach a short story through superstitions; chicken-scratch, shorthand notes i jotted down right after my then-boyfriend told me he loved me for the first time--it was in a parking lot outside the building my class was in, afterwards i ran to class (late) and wrote down everything. cute. and another thing, a short story i wrote during a dialect exercise for my English Methods class. it is untitled.

This is my dad. The picture shows just the two of us, 'cause it's just the two of us that's left. My mom and two brothers were in a car accident and died. I used to say they were killed, but when I used to tell people that word they thought I was being dramatic. At least that's what I think they thought of me. That was back when I cared what people thought of me. I don't, now. So I guess I can say that my mom and two brothers were killed in a car crash and it don't matter how I say it.

Before the crash, I used to help my mom with my little brothers. They were always running around and getting into trouble. I had to keep an eye on them for my mom on account of her headaches. She would just get really mad at them. I knew they didn't know any better so I just tried to keep them under control. This one time, though, I still feel really bad about it. When we came home from the store one night Matty showed me this pack of gum he stole. It was the Bubbalicious kind that you can pop bubbles with, that you can smell it clear across the room. Well he showed that to me because he was going to share it with me and Jonathan. I thought it was pretty nice of him to share. And I sort of felt bad for him because he was all nervous and too excited to eat it. But then I saw it and even though he told me to "shshshsh," I still told my mom. She was really mad and we had to take it back to the store and give it back and Matty was crying. Mom didn't care if he was crying. She just got a headache and grounded him for a week. Now I think...he was just trying to share with me. Maybe I shoulda just let that go and ate some gum with him.

So now it's just the two of us, me and my dad. Things are better now than after the accident. They're just different. But at least my dad isn't freaking out all the time. It's weird to see him crying and try to take care of things without my mom. And sometimes it's awkward with just the two of us alone, but we got to where we really like watching movies with eating popcorn and chocolate. Mom, that was her favorite mix in her mouth and so we eat that just when watch movies.


that's it. the dialect is heard better in my own handwriting. i wonder what made me pick such a sad subject. i can't recall, but i do remember that i was too timid to read it infront of the class, even though i wanted to. so there it is.

Girl Advice

i couldn't fall asleep last night because i was excited to see my students.  weird but true.  and it's a good thing school started again, because ________ needed to have a conversation.  it went like this, as he sauntered up to my desk after class:

him: "miss, have you noticed that people don't really hold hands anymore?"

me, not really paying much attention: "i have not noticed.  in fact, people actually still do hold hands."

him: "i hate holding hands."

me, now only pretending to not be paying much attention: "girls like it."

him, with a manly snarl: "i feel like i am going to, like, crush the girl's hand or something." 

me: "well, how exactly are you holding hands?"

him: "just holdin'.  then, my hand gets all sweaty and i feel weird when i have to let go to wipe it on my pants.  it's sick."

me: "don't let your palms touch.  just lace your fingers together, but don't smash the hands to each other.  and sometimes you can sort of change position or switch hands."

his eyes narrow in thought.

me, gently:  "holding hands is something ya just should do, if you like the girl.  it's nice.  it's most important that you grab her hand with confidence.  act like you know what you're doing."

him, shrugging:  "well anyway, happy new year."

hee hee.  cute.

The Red Tent

My maternal grandmother is dying.  She has a myriad of problems, and recently was given a month to live.  Right now my mom is staying the week with her up in Pocatello, so that she can help her put up all of her Christmas decorations.  My grandma loves Christmas, and I like it that my mom gets to help her set up for her last one. 

Last year I read a book called The Red Tent, written by Anita Diamant.  It is set in Old Testament Jacob's time, and is largely about the relationships of the women in his family.  The red tent was the women's tent, and therein did each girl learn about her role as a woman and the gifts of her mothers and sisters.  It's a good story, except for a few historical liberties the author took that I don't agree with.   Overall, it beautifully shows how women are bound together through family, experience, and understanding.

The women in my family are now in our own Red Tent.  With our matriarch leaving us, each is becoming very aware of how we are connected to her and therefore to each other.  Everyone that comes to visit Grandma somehow speaks to how strong she is.  With each telling all of her daughters nod, acknowledging that the visitor is correct and we know this because we too have pieces of her strength and pride that we carry.  Each of us has naturally picked up a role of caregiver, making sure Grandma is as comfortable as possible.  My aunt and cousins, especially, have been her constant companions physically and emotionally.  When we are all together it is like bees in a hive, buzzing around the queen because we love her.  I especially like to be near her, sitting next to her in the living room, or curled up with her in bed for a nap.  It is pleasurable to be so close to this woman from whose blood and spirit I've come.  

My grandma is dying now because she has chosen to.  She has been given options to prolong her life, but has determined she is content to be finished.  This has been a difficult concept for all of us to digest.  But despite our own wishes, we support her because we know we'd all expect the same liberty to choose our path.

Death is an uncomfortable thought, and I push the concept to the back of my mind until I have to deal with it directly.  Watching my grandmother face it with determination and sweetness makes me proud of her.  My mother, aunts, and cousins all feel that though we are losing a beloved, we are doing it in a way that helps us to understand ourselves.  And it is a definite blessing to be able to share these last days with her, hopefully showing such tenderness as is merited to a woman at the end of a long life.  We care for her instinctively not only because she is Grandma, but also because she is a model of each of us, taking our last steps in life.  One and the same.

man, i should update this one of these days.

There are better places to put your cell phone than...

the edge of the sink next to the toilet

the door pocket of your car, that throws everything out when slammed shut

underneath any sort of tire

the pocket of your dirty jeans headed for the wash

Dwight's jello

the dash bench in the front window (sizzle, sizzle)

your classroom desk, available to all students

a window sill, open for all to enter or exit

and

in the hip of your bathing suit.  especially when wearing said bathing suit while on "loading the waverunner" duty, which requires you to be in the lake.  hips included.

blast.

of course i am annoyed at the amount of money i cost myself for not thinking.   i am especially regretful of the notes i had tucked away in there.  like the ones i took recently while listening to an interesting 2 a.m. conversation at Huntington Beach.  irretrievable.  

blast.

p.s.  if my drowned phone had your number in it, please send it to me.

it was only 107 degrees today!  woot, woot.

Open Culture

i just found a great new site:

www.openculture.com

from this you can access many different FREE university lectures from some of the top schools around the country.  click on some of the samples below:

African American History: The Modern Freedom Struggle

Historical Jesus

Introduction to Non-violence

Man, God and Society in Western Literature

Death

Justice, A Journey in Moral Reasoning

Biology

Introduction to Human Nutrition

i am going to first go through The American Novel Since 1945

yum.

you can also download educational podcasts and learn Spanish.  

it's my new favorite site.

I Got Dumped

last Saturday i went kayaking with my roommate and friends down some river that is pretty calm.  it was my first time.  i loved it.  i love water.  i love boats.  i loved my rowing class in Philadelphia, so i figured this was just a rougher extension.  

mandy the roommate (my second roommate named Amanda, both of similar looks, come to think of it) put me in the lightest kayak.  i guess this means it naturally goes the fastest.  a mile or so down the river, i ended up significantly ahead of the rest.  just around the river bend, i noticed rapids and the river forking around a chunk of land.  i was unconcerned, as i'd already gone over a bit of roughness before when i was still with everyone, and it was all smooth sailin'.  since i'd noticed the others a bit worried about me making it over the first ones,  i was sort of excited to go at these alone and have to figure out how to balance and steer.  i was pocahontasly confident that such dexterity would come naturally. 

the elements of nature like to find ways to humble us when we consider them so lightly.

i did well over the first half of the stuff, adding to my pompousness.  then my kayak stopped heeding my direction, and began following a current that was headed for a big ol' bunch of trees hanging down over the river.  no biggie.  i made it past one branch.  then the next.  and i never had to deal with the third.  that's because somehow i was suddenly under the kayak instead of in it.  it was like someone had picked the kayak up like a cup of water and dumped me in the sink.  glass of heather on the rocks.  i thought at that moment that now would have been a good time for a life jacket, but i didn't dwell on that much. nor did i mourn more than an "argh" at my suddenly bare feet.  i was more concerned about keeping the kayak.  i grabbed it and snagged the oars.  realizing it wasn't going to flip back over (i'd forgotten to ask what to do if i got dumped) i just did my best to hop on top and ride it out.  

so, i lost my shoes by kept the boat.  fair trade.  i'd do it again.  that silly river, it was nothin'.  

I Didn't Mean Anything By That

a man answered a particular door i knocked on tonight, surrounded by little kids.  he said he was interested in the service, but could i come back in a month?  

then the following conversation really happened:

me: "no problem.  what's your name, sir?"

the man surrounded by kids: "(klfjeiojvklm)ike."  this was inaudible.

me: "hm?  Dike?"

no joke.  of all letters to chose to throw before ike, i pulled out a D.  so, like, Dyke.  

the man surrounded by kids:  cocks his head to the side--"Mike."

me:  half gasp, half shriek--"i can't believe i just asked if your name is Dyke."

both of us start laughing.  i am also grimacing.

me: "i'm really glad you have a sense of humor."

the man surrounded by kids: "i have to, look at all these kids."

me: "so can i still come back in a month?"

the man:  "yes."

a few hours pass by.  i am going back through the neighborhood, running to some houses that asked me to return that night.  

i see a man out on his lawn talking to some blonde girl.  i fail to make any connection to my earlier horror moment.

me: "hey!  how's it going?  do you have p----"

the man on the lawn with the blonde: "you were already here.  you're coming back in a month.  you called me Dyke."

blonde girl, laughing: "she called you what?  how did she know?"

me, escaping: "i'll see you in august."

Dyke: "can't wait."

It's Not Hot

these are the things i try not to let myself think while i am walking around in the 109 degree death heat:

"I am going to die."

"I can't breathe."

"My car is sitting in the sun and will be 130 degrees when I get to it, but who cares because I am going to die before then."

"My clothes are sopping wet."

"If I worked at McDonald's, I could be in air conditioning."

"Michael Jackson never had to do something like this."

thought like these, or my internal scheming about what i could go back and say to the huge scary man who yelled at me, only make me cranky.  so i try not to do it.  

but i am sure i will think of the perfect retort tomorrow.

It's like rain on your wedding day...a free ride when you've already paid.

ironic is this:

the day i moved into my apartment as a college freshman i met my across-the-way neighbors, two girls who were quite old.  one was 21 and the other, a returned missionary from Oklahoma, 23.  both single and completely normal.  neither realized the level of her life's despondency.

i thought then that if i got to 21 and was unmarried, i'd be embarrassed and die.  and, by the way SICK!  who goes to Oklahoma on a mission?  that girl should've stayed home.

three years later, as i opened my own mission call to Oklahoma City, my friend Jeff shrugged and voiced a similar sentiment: "you don't have to go, you know."  i knew that my attitude to the old girl across the hall had come back to bite me in the butt.  

to top off the irony of my 18-year-old know-it-all self, i am thirty and unmarried.  and remarkably unembarrassed.

fast forward a few years and a few singles wards:  Edmond, Philadelphia, Denver, Philadelphia again.  around late-April, early-May enter the Bug Boys into the ward dynamics.  they come in packs of 12, twenty minutes late to sacrament meeting souped up in their flashy ties, flip flops and bleached tips.   you know what i'm talking about.  they're halfway through their summer in your ward right now.  awesome.  i've always been, ahem, bugged by these people.

in the typical pride cycle of my life, i am now the Bug Girl.  i'm selling pest control for my cousin's company in Phoenix.  awesome.

this is why it's a good job for me:  i like walking all over the place, i get to wear a skirt, i talk to interesting people all day, i have a basically undeterrable demeanor, i am learning the names of all sorts of Arizona flowers, and i only have to commit to the job for two months.  perfect.  isn't it ironic?