Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow...

...is the big run, and I am feeling mighty anxious. It's my first ultra trail run (50k - which is 31 miles for those of you who live in the United States). What makes this run special is that it draws world class runners from all over the country. Apparently, it's the start of the ultra running season, and serious ultra runners are working towards a qualifying time for the Western States 100m.

Of course knowing that I'll be competing against *real* runners - people who know what they are doing out there - is ridiculous. And embarrassing. Oh, it will only be embarrassing when those people are sitting in their lawn chairs that will be lined up along the last mile of the trail so that they can cheer on people like me to the finish

....because I will be walking that last up-hill mile.

Luckily, I know for sure that there is at leas one 63-year-old woman signed up for this race. And I'll tell you straight up - I'm not afraid to knock her down just so I can pass her at the end of the race.

That is if I can catch up to her in that last mile...

Seeing...

Tonight as I close my eyes,
forgetting what has transpired,
looking beyond the last frame
ignoring the creak and tremble
siren, rush, and electric hum,
releasing until unrestrained -
I will fling myself and tumble
head first into
inspiration




Check out Dave King's thoughts at Pics and Poems in his post Kandinsky did it first...(and read the post he references too) in regard to Wassily Kandinsky. Actually, Kandinsky is really a catalyst for King's thoughts about creating with eyes shut tight.

Along that same vein, I've often found that I am feverishly creative in the last moments before I drift off to sleep or right before I become fully conscious just as I am waking up. Some of my favorite pieces have been scribbled on whatever scraps of paper I can find on my nightstand, in fact. Perhaps I need to tap into that more - to value the artist's vision more when I am seeing with my eyes shut tight.

Nigeria Q & A

"Do they have technology?"

"How do they view homosexuality?"

"What exactly is "female circumcision"?

These were the burning questions my students had for the special guest speaker who visited two of my classes earlier this week.

My dear friend - who happens to be Nigerian and a member of the same tribe highlighted in African novelist Chinua Achebe's book Things Fall Apart - generously agreed to work the visit into her hectic schedule. Since the majority of my students are reluctant readers, I thought that hearing first hand what it is to be Ibo and Nigerian would help draw them into the novel (as if Things Fall Apart couldn't do that on it's own, but the novel does lack a critical component practically required by many of the readers in my classes - and I quote - "lasers shooting out of heads, killing people").

I wish I were joking about that...

My students were immediately enraptured by my friend, "Chikosi." Who wouldn't be? Chi is beautiful inside and out, and her voice is strong and smooth and melodic. She sat tall on the stool at the front of my classroom, all smiles, and was crowned in tightly plated hair - a river of braids - tiny ropes - that fell to her lower back and were neatly secured between her shoulders in a bundle. She was dressed all in black, a combination of sheer and silky, leather and pleather - head to stiletto heeled boots - looking more like a fashion model than a lawyer/wife/mother of three. My students were mesmerized by every syllable from "hello".

More than that, she was smart and articulate and sincere; every question was answered honestly, completely. I learned so much about Nigerian culture that day - more than I've learned over the past few months in my study and research in order to prepare for teaching this novel.

Although, I confess, I was afraid to have her visit because my students have the potential to be kind of...naughty...and chatty...and disrespectful. Typical teens, you know.

But they were good! And they listened! And they were polite and asked questions!

Okay, they really did ask about circumcision, but Chi answered succinctly without hesitation.

Chi was great! And now my students know a little bit more about what Nigeria (a country) and Africa (a continent) really is, and they have encountered the reality of who an African woman is today.

Plus there was that brief, yet insightful, biology lesson...

"No Line on the Horizon"

Looks like I will be staying up late for the next week. U2's new album will be released on March, 3 in the United States, so in honor of the release, U2 is performing on Letterman every night this week!

Yeah, we don't HAVE TIVO.

Poetroad is seriously considering driving around tonight to see if he can buy the album at midnight. Right, he does know about this new crazy technology called "MP3s" that are downloadable right to his computer. But he wants to HOLD the disc in his hands. And perhaps hear the rush of gossamer wings and angelic voices singing "LAAAAAAAAAA" as he unwraps the jewel case.

UTI, TMI

When I woke up this morning, I knew immediately that I was ill. And in pain. And that this illness would require a doctor visit and antibiotics. Not a big deal - just a little urinary tract infection (which I realize will be TMI for some readers here, but I promise that there is a point in me telling you all this little detail...).

Someone in line casually asked me if my illness was going around.

"No." "As far as I know, urinary tract infections are not contagious," I wanted to add.

To be fair, I'm sure that person meant no ill will (most likely...). Nevertheless, the inquiry began a brief and awkward discussion of me telling the truth yet allowing the other person to believe something completely different.

Feeling embarrassed, I disengaged from the conversation as quickly as I could and instead became engrossed with hair driers - as if I were carefully studying each particular model with the scrutiny a scientist might study a Petri dish for positive signs of bacteria growth.

Eventually, I picked up my prescription and got the heck out of there.

Next time I find myself in that situation, I will be better prepared with my response. Here is the list so far of possible "reasons" [all fake, I assure you] for my future pharmacy visits:

1. Gonorrhea flare up.
2. Picking up husband's Viagra prescription.
3. Picking up MY Viagra prescription.
4. Bleeding hemorrhoids.
5. Picking up my methadone because, you know, I'm trying to shake that dirty heroin habit.

Ah, Pierre, you shouldn't have...

No, really. No one wants to see a 70 year old man fold in half and touch his nose to his knees (and, he let me know, that he could have contorted himself more fantastically right there in front of the "Grind" coffee shop, but he wasn't wearing the right clothes to get the job done).

While I didn't hit the trails yesterday, I did wake up early and run around suburbia in order to get in my daily run. In the last leg of the run, I took an extended break at the Grind - the local coffee dive - and met with my "girz" for our once a month chat 'n pray.

Afterward, I took a few minutes to stretch before running the last two miles of my run. That is when I met Pierre. He looked like this younger version of Jack Lalanne. (When I say young, I mean the "70 years young" look.)

Speaking in a lovely accent, French I suppose, Pierre told me that he was an accomplished yogi. When he was younger and living in Monterrey, he sudied two and three times a week from an infamous yogi.

"Oh, so can you wrap your leg behind your head?"

"No, not in these clothes. But if I had on the proper attire..."

I was a little disappointed that I wouldn't get to see the entire show, but that thought dissolved as Pierre pulled in close.

"I am a psychologist. Where do you live?"

"I live in this area - a few miles from here."

Pierre came in closer. He paused to read the caption on my sweatshirt. I explained it was from a church camp.

"Church, too? Well, you are the compete package, then. You and I would have been perfect together. A perfect match."

As we chatted about this and that, I tried not to be distracted by the neatly trimmed forest of ear and nose hair that encroached proper ear and nose boundaries.

"And no children, I suppose?"

"Actually, I have four daughters."

"Well, then, that is something else we have in common! I also have four daughters. The youngest, she is 23 and a UC Davis graduate."

"Wow! That's wonderful. You must be very proud. Do your daughters live close?"

"Ah..."

His pause was pregnant with regret. I wondered about his past - a life lived half a century ago - that included yogi study and psychology and the Monterrey coast.

"Well, my children do not live close. My children, they are divorced, I am very sad to say, and living here and there. But who am I to judge as I also am divorced. You understand, as I assume you are also divorced."

"But I'm not divorced. I'm married; I just don't wear my ring when I am running because my hands swell when I run."

"You tease a man, so, and give him false hopes! You are married!"

We laughed uncomfortably.

"I'll let you run home now. And I promise I will not run after you."

I didn't look back to see if he was following me.

And that's the news from the American River Canyon...

Apparently, between work and running and cooking dinner and NOT cleaning my house, I've lost time to be creative. Speaking of creative, you have to drop on over to Faith's blog, "Stones from my Heart" to check out some very cool collages. I left her blog thinking, "I wanna do that!" If I ever figure out the "how," Faith, I'm dedicating my first one to you and your lovely blog.

Ooops...I got lost for a second there...reading poetry at Keeping Secrets again. :)

Back to the post. Since I have no time to be creative, I'll talk about running. Three more weeks to race day, and I'm still wondering how Irongirl talked me into tackling this run. If she tells you it was the other way around, don't believe her.

Here's the low down on the race: 50K, American River Canyon, rugged trail run, popular trail race with many expert runners competing (not against me, mind you...I'll be competing for "last runner") - REAL ultra-runners competing and not "wannabe" runners like me who hardly know how to run correctly let alone run correctly for 30+ miles, March 14.

That being said, in light of my defeatist attitude, it might not surprise you to know that yesterday was a difficult training day for me mentally and physically.

Here's the low down on the run: didn't feel confident from the beginning of the run, wanted to cry on the first ascent at mile four, started feeling very ill by mile ten due to the sudafed/caffine-laced-energy-jelly-beans/two-cups-o-coffee cocktail surging through my body, walked some, wanted to quit several times (but what was I going to do seven miles deep into the wilderness - we all know that walking would take longer than running back to the car), stopped at the port-o-potty at mile 13 (yeah, I know. too much information. get over it. it's my blog. remind me later...i have a poop story to tell you all), and we still ran that 15+ miles faster than we did the week before.

Wow. That was THE most mentally challenging run that I've ever...run. Irongirl calls these types of runs "mental training days." She ain't kidding.

And yet, it was beautiful up there in the canyon.

rugged mind numbing ascent.
you seem unfazed, which is
maddening. I trudge along,
regardless, imitating
your form; full foot, heel to toe,
and I walk 'til i reach the
mossy covered tree seven
paces up then run to the
next; run and walk and run from
tree to tree to rock to tree
and slog through stream and muddy
muck and slip and slide and run
to the top, to the top. Where
is the top? Winding, descent,
ascent, descent; steadily
climbing but not completely
aware under canopy
of evergreens and live oak,
brushing fern and moss and rock
and ruddy salamanders.
Then I break through at the top
and wonder how far I've come
and how much longer it would
be until I turn around
and head down hill, away from
the light, to be enveloped
by the inviting darkness
once more.

In the last few moments of Valentines Day...

...let me say Happy Valentines Day to you all!

Poetroad gave me one of the best Valentines gifts ever - new trail running shoes and the opportunity to spend part of my day running with irongirl up in the American River Canyon. We ran 15.5 miles (I swear, I think for 10 of those miles we were running up hill - how is that possible?). It was brutal. It was beautiful. My legs hurt.

For Poetroad's gift, I sent him away (okay, I didn't really "send" him...he just drove downtown) to see the Prologue of the Amgen Tour of California. Today Poetroad saw some of the top cyclists in the world, including Austinite Lance Armstrong (photo 1) and newly off drug suspension rider Tyler Hamilton (photo 2). Later when we watched national coverage of the event together, I saw Poetroad there - on TV - in the front of the crowd snapping this photo of Mr. Hamilton. Very cool.

Phew. Made it through another week....

and only once did I hear, "This class is boring...because..." (cue drum roll...) "We are always doing stuff in here."

Hmm. What the heck are you doing in all of your other classes!?

You know you are a successful teacher when you've been accused of "doing stuff" in your class.

Check out what Karen said...

I loved what Karen said so much over at Keeping Secrets that I had to share part of the post here:

"Of course, I believe that all writing is autobiographical in many ways. It shows the deepest heart of the writer, revealing parts that are not apparent to the rest of the world. Writing reveals, and poetry may distill the essence of the person most of all. Yet, as much as it reveals, it also allows one to become someone else, and therein is the rub for those who know the writer. Which person is authoring the piece? Is it the one who is opening her heart for all to see, exposing her truest self, or is it the one who is creating a new reality that has little to do with the author herself but provides a wonderous landscape in which she may wander? Maybe the answer is both."

Yes. She gets it. But I wouldn't expect anything less from a poet. :)

Sometimes I'm afraid to share what I write or think here because I know that some readers - readers that I care about dearly - will make false assumptions or judge me harshly. No one wants to be judged. Other creative types, however, such as Karen, get it. We want to go there. We want to linger in someone else's thoughts, moods - someone else's landscape - for whatever reason. Perhaps we find a commonality, which is comforting to say the least, but more than anything we are intrigued by someone who thinks or acts or believes differently. It's a bit like what I imagine an actor might do in order to prepare for a role...step into someone's shoes and walk around awhile.

Thanks, Karen, for making that post even though your secrets aren't so secret anymore.

A poem i'm working on

Not sure what to call it yet...


glassy eyed we wander
through endless isles of solitude
greeting cards, post its, lamps
nothing in the cart but randomness
through veiled despair
we linger at the precipice
of the 1000 count sheet set that we pretend to admire

"Ginger Ale reminds me of my days in the Boy Scouts."

Really? How?

"Well, we had our pack meetings at the American Legion Hall. We had to walk through the bar to get to the meeting room. They always had cases and cases of Ginger Ale there. We took some every time."

You stole Ginger Ale from the bar?!

"Yeah, we were the renegades."

Renegades? Funny how things haven't changed much.

Mile 17

I'd like to stop now.

And then?

That would be it, then, I guess.

How would you get back?

The same way I came.

But how?

Walk, I suppose.

Yes, you could walk.

That would take too long.

Yes it would.

What are my other options?

Keep going, I suppose.

I knew you would say that.

What did you want me to say?

Nothing.

I see that you aren't walking.

Like I said, that would take too long.

Right.

Ok...maybe this will only be exciting to me,

but I just found out on Friday that I PASSED *ALL* THREE OF THE CTEL TESTS!!!!

For those of you not in ear shot when I was whining and moaning about having to take these tests back in December, listen to my tale of woe...

Actually, it all started back in August when I was hired to teach at the local high school. California is all desperate to hire teachers, etc., etc., I thought it would be a cinch to transfer my current credentials (you pick a state, I thought, ,I'm licensed to teach in three states). Not that simple, I learned. Besides having to fill out all of the forms, submit the finger prints (twice), pledge my faith to California with the promise of a blood sacrifice (okay, not really, but it *felt* like that's what they wanted), I ALSO had to take a few hundred tests (okay, four tests). So I put down my first three hundred dollars (not an exaggeration) and made an oath to attempt to pass the holy trinity of the California Teacher of English Learners tests. This battery of tests is only offered twice a year, and while one does not have to take all three tests on the same day, there is an awful long wait-time in between test opportunities. I wanted to just get the whole thing over with. Of course I signed up to take all three that fateful December day.

I mean, I had a whole 6 weeks to study from the time I dished out the cash. SIX WEEKS! AAAAAAHHHH!

After I saw the content of the tests, I thought, "Who am I kidding. This is crazy."

But I pressed on. And I called Maria (PJDs wife) and asked her to graciously loan me a few of her textbooks. Which she did. And then I left them there. And then Peter and Maria graciously brought them somewhere where I could meet them and get the books. Where I got lost. But then they found me, and all was good.

To make a ridiculously long story shorter, I got lost on the way to the testing center on the day of the tests. Then I found a throng of other dazed and confused late lost people and found my way to the testing center. On the way in, the guy I was walking with assured me, "I've taken these tests three times already and they never start on time." Great. That sure boosted my morale.

To make matters better, I sat by another ENGLISH teacher who was on her second try. She only passed one test the first time around. And, she said, the only reason why she passed that test was because she took quite a few linguistics classes in her undergrad work - practically minored in linguistics. Great. More morale boosting.

Then the guy next to me kept letting out a heavy sigh every five minutes during the test. This went on for the first three hours. And continued after the break and went on for the *next* three hours. A girl can only take so much out-of-normal-context heavy sighing. I wanted to kick him.

Afterward, I was quite sure I didn't pass any of the tests. There were a few answers I didn't know, and the essay questions were not easy (oh, yeah - didn't I mention that I had to write *four* full length essays in addition to taking three 90 + multiple question tests????????). Even the best BSer would have had trouble getting around the fact that they were looking for specific terminology to be used competently. For example, one question might read, "name the sociocultural and sociopolitical factors that affect a language learner's development and, in light of that, describe specific instructional strategies for an intermediate language learner currently enrolled in a sheltered bilingual program so that these factors do not hinder language acquisition." *Easy* stuff like that.

I was doomed. There was no way. I decided to just forget about the whole thing and gear up for the next round. And then I got an e-mail on Friday...saying, in bold letters beneath each test, "PASS."

I had to go to the web page and confirm those preliminary scores. Couldn't believe it! Of course only the typed document is official (wouldn't that really *bite* if there was a mistake!).

Anyway, I'll let you know in a few days if it is official or if this has been just another delusion from my feverish nights from last week.

Feeling Good

Not everything about last week was straight from the pit of hell. I was able to catch up on my blog reading, for instance. :) I might even go for a jog today (last week ruined my training schedule!).

Again, thanks for the well wishes! I will be posting more soon as I have some fantastic news to share! (well, it is fantastic to me anyway...)

Sick and tired

This week, I had the pleasure of contracting the flu. Up until a few hours ago, I was thinking that, perhaps, death might be the merciful option. Being run over by a truck might have felt more pleasurable.

My toe muscles hurt. The backs of my eyeballs hurt. My teeth hurt. Anything on my body that could possibly feel pain *hurt*. And the sweat. A 500 lb fry cook manning the grill during the dinner rush at the local Grease Shack Trucker Grill might sweat more, but barely. I changed my clothes three times today.

Fortunately, the fever has ended! And as long as I keep my talking to the minimum, the extreme coughing fits are bearable.

I might even attempt to go to work tomorrow.

Fabulous

"Fabulous" is my four year old daughter's favorite word.

"Do I look fabulous, Mom?"

"This outfit is fabulous!"

"This cheese sandwich is fabulous!"

"You are a fabulous mommy."

"My sisters are fabulous!"

Of course her other favorite word is "poop." Go figure.

Hop on over to "The Clarity of Night"...

...and check out the talent in Jason Evan's latest short fiction contest entitled "Ascension." Look for my entry entitled "Karma." (Yay, Aerin, I met fiction writing goal for the month!)

Happy reading!

What might that scent be????

So I was checking out my favorite cheapskate shopping site - craigslist - and came across an advertisement for "Lotion, candles..." etc., etc., and "Biblical Oils." [No, I wasn't shopping for lotions or oils. And if I were, I would hardly buy them from a freelance lotion dealer. Well, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't.]

Of course curiosity got the best of me, so I clicked on the link to find out what kind of "Biblical Oils" someone might be selling right here in Sacramento. I was thinking "special anointing oils" - you know, the kind of holy anointing oil that is blessed and used for healing or an Exorcism or something such as that.

Turns out that these oils are not those kind of oils, but they do come from Israel in a range of "biblical scents."

"John the Baptist Musk"? "Essence of Shepherd"? "Eau de Trinity"?

Apparently, I there is more room for crazy here...

You are right. I don't need to commit to one more thing in my life. (Did I mention that I am currently training with my good friend and trail running partner Telle to run a 50K in March?) That being said, I have been avoiding this commitment - the commitment of "writing to be read" - for quite awhile... No time like the present, eh? Here is the challenge:
Aerin at In Search of Giants is hosting a writer’s challenge to foster inspiration and community. It's pretty low-pressure: 1000 words a month. At the end of the year, you'll have a total of 12,000 words, which is not even half a NaNo entry. Go here to sign up!

BONUS: If you sign up for this challenge by January 14, your entry to the Ascension Clarity of Night contest counts as all 1000 of your words for January!



Thanks, Aerin, for laying down the challenge! Now go sign up, people.

"To sleep..."

"...perchance to dream..."

Hamlet III, i

Never mind the dreams. I would just settle for some "sleep." Since Poetroad has been gone, I have not been sleeping well. Maybe 3 hours a night? And then I lay awake until the sun begins to rise and eventually fall asleep for a few more hours...if I'm lucky. Totally sucks.

Fun with dirt and other readings

The best part of vacation is that I have a chance to do stuff that I usually don't because, let's face it, I'm not organized or disciplined enough to schedule these activities into my life. Unfortunately, the stuff that gets pushed into the margins and avoided are activities I really enjoy doing...such as *reading* a book. Not so this vacation.

So far, I went running in the mud, up and down hills, in a storm, and around the track, I went for a walk on the beach, and I read five books in the past two weeks. Of course one book that I read was for work (Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe - and I will share my thoughts on this book eventually, but I have much more to think about before I attempt to share those thoughts). The other four books I read, however, were for the sheer pleasure of being transported into another world.

You might have heard of the Twilight Saga - a four novel series by Stephenie Meyer of which book one was recently made into a movie. Honestly, I originally decided to read the first novel of the series since this is a popular novel with my students, and I wanted to know what all the fuss was. So although the story is marketed for teenagers, once I began reading, I was hooked; the teen audience intent didn't matter.

In book one, Twilight, Meyer introduces readers to the life of teenager Bella Swan who moves from Arizona where she lived with her mother to Forks, Washington in order to live with her dad for awhile. In Forks, Bella meets and falls in love with her soul mate, Edward. Of course her destiny with Edward is complicated by the fact that her true love might not actually have a soul since he is a vampire.

Love, vampires, battles, part myth and part mysticism, and the Northwest. I was totally sucked into the story from page one.

Surprisingly, what drew me to the story more than anything else was the setting. There is something undeniably mystical and magical about the coastal region in the Northwest. Although this story takes place in the Olympic Peninsula, the rugged beauty of the land, the dense, mossy forests, the typically overcast days, and the rain could easily describe more than half of the Oregon and Washington coastal region. My mom was born in Newport, Oregon, and most of her family still lives there now. Needless to say, throughout my childhood the Oregon coast was practically my second home - it's still one of my favorite places to visit.

Don't get me wrong - I know I could not live there again. But I have to admit that my soul sometimes aches to clear a path through the mossy forests and dense underbrush again. Maybe that's why I've taken to trail running this past year. I yearn to be there. And in particular, I feel that yearning more strongly when I travel from Corvallis to Newport. It's as if I'm entranced...or possessed...by an intense longing that I consciously know can never be requited. My creative side wants to be there. My logical side (do I have that side?) knows that living there would kill me. Literally.

Besides the setting, I was also intrigued by the plot of the novel on several levels. You should know that I am not a fan of romance novels or love stories. Still, the second draw to the novel was the love story. Sappy. Ridiculous. Close to home. I was 18 when I met Poetroad. I knew within a week that he was "the one." He knew it too. In Twilight, Bella is merely 17 when she meets Edward. From the beginning, she knows they belong together - for better or worse. I understood that. Of course their relationship is complicated - there is the whole human vs. vampire thing, for one. But I liked the symbolism (unintentionally written in?) of the type of struggles all couples face.

There is more to love about this series - realistic characters, intricate but believable plot, treachery, scary stuff, sad endings, happy endings. I won't spoil it for you any more than I have, though. You should know that these novels are more of a fun read than literary genius. Most of the complaints I've heard regarded repetitive language and metaphors. And even though one of the main characters is a vampire, there is a moral quality that constrains the plot. For example, when some of the characters finally do get around to it, the sex scenes are hinted at rather than described. Which is one other reason why I *liked* the series. It's a good novel to read *with* your teenager.

Happy Holidays!

Blessings to you and yours this Christmas and in the New Year!

Finals WEEK

Winter break is almost here! I NEED a break.

Pass the turkey and slap the salami.

A random post calls for a random post title. (Can't wait to see what people will Google to find this post!)

I've been lovingly tagged by Peter to join in on the fun with the "seven random or weird book facts" meme. Frankly, I am glad to have a reason to ignore planning and grading for a few minutes (or at least "think" about planning and grading but not actually *follow* through with doing it).

1. Does a deck of cards count? What if these are cards that have writing on them rather than numbers? A few months ago, I confiscated a deck of "SEX!" cards from a sophomore boy in one of my classes. The cards (and I only know this by reading the outside cover of the cards) have tasks printed on each one - rub your partner's...(you fill in the blank), etc. The idea is to draw a card and complete the task with your lover. So I threw the cards into my file cabinet (right next to the "nude man" pen I confiscated the previous month) and forgot about them for awhile. Even though I asked the boy several times to please drop by after school and retrieve his "cards," the cards remained in my desk for a month or more. Eventually I threw them out. About a week ago, the boy finally dropped by and asked for the cards. He said, "My mom and dad are looking all over for them." I said, "Oh, so sorry, I threw those away! Well, you know what you have to do, right?" "Yeah," he replied, "I gotta go to that shop and buy them some new ones."

2.The first book I remember reading was a volume of Dick and Jane that was one of my older brother's textbooks. I was four. Even though Dick and Jane and Spot lived in a nice little neighborhood that was nothing like my neighborhood, I marveled at every word and picture. I wondered why the police never visited the house across their street. Seriously, though. Wait. I was being serious. Anyway, Dick and Jane offered the world a nice big slice of Americana like no other book from that time period could. Except for the "Little Black Sambo" series. And that's all I'm going to say about that because I just keep getting more and more sarcastic with every word I type. Am I really that jaded? (Don't answer that!!)

3. My brothers and I used to play "library." In the first grade, I organized all of our books alphabetically by the author's last name, and then I made individual "call" numbers that I taped on the spine of each book. I can't remember what my system was, but it made sense to me when I was in the first grade. Ironically, my daughters also like to play library whenever they visit grandma and grandpa's house. The old set of Funk and Wagnalls and 100+ Reader's Digest condensed books compilations are perfect for that game.

4. Dalene tagged me awhile back on Facebook to join in on her discussion regarding a list of "must read" books. I have to say that no author has moved me of late as much as Flannery O'Connor has. Last year I read the novel The Violent Bear it Away, and I was ruined. No matter what I have read after reading that novel, it just doesn't move me - disturb me - the way O'Connor's writing does. I used to think that Faulkner was the master American novelist. Compared to O'Connor, his writing is perfunctory.

5. Like Peter, I like to savor every word when I read. It might take me a month or two - or a year - to finish a book, especially if I am captivated with the story line or the characters or the topic. Then again, I plowed through Crime and Punishment in a manner of days.

6. There are a few books that make me cry or *move* me no matter how many times I read them. One of those books is S. E. Hinton's The Outsiders. Another is Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton.

7. No one I know reads more books than my mother does. She loves to read mysteries. I think she has read every Agatha Cristie book that was ever written.

As for the tagging...I'll have to get back to you on that one. Lily - secret blog. Anthony - secret blog. Jess - up for posting on your public blog? For sure, Dalene, consider yourself tagged. Anyone else that bloggs and reads this, well, you are tagged too.

*TAGGING UPDATE: Aerin, you are definitely tagged. Lily played. Dalene, where are you. Who else has a writing blog that wants to come forth?

Crazy Train

Just to make my life more difficult, I decided to change the Honors curriculum mid-semester.

Gee. I'm having some fun now.

Please make this crazy train stop.

News Flash

Poetroad caught the mouse and released it back into the wild (aka "the field"). I wanted the mouse dead,but daughter number three cried hysterically at the mere mention of the word "dead" used in conjunction with the word "mouse."

"No! Noooooooooo, motherrrrrr! You know how mutch I looooove little creatuuuureth!" she sobbed. "I want to take care of iiiiiiit. Don't kiiiiiiill that cute little mooooousth!"

Sticky traps work well for such a predicament. Although the cute little mouse is missing quite a bit of fur now.

My dog...

is full-on grooming my cat right now. Weird.

Of course...

merely seconds after making that post, I saw the mouse again! He dashed out from the sink back up into his same little hiding place under the button panel that regulates the oven. The poor little guy must have been thirsty. And when I say "poor little guy," I mean "soon to be disposed of rodent."

Ironically, today there was a mouse cavorting around the bathroom that is directly next to my room at school. Both the girls and boys in the hallway were screaming and scattering as the brown fuzzy rodent exited the ladie's room.

I hope she washed her hands first.

And one more thing...

I have great friends! Not only did Ch@ndy take a looooong train ride to Sacto so that she could be here for my first marathon, but Maria, Peter and family joined us for a pre-marathon barbecue on Saturday. AND Anthony spent all day Sunday here too with the crew.

Thank you, Ch@ndy, for helping me cook and clean. Thank you, Peter, for driving Maria here. Thank you Maria and Ch@ndy for making sure my kiddos got where they needed to be on Sunday morning. Thank you for meeting me on mile 19 - that was a terrific surprise! Thank you Anthony and Maria and Ch@ndy for being there at the beginning and the end of the race, for the cool signs, for taking photos, for the fries... You all are so thoughtful!

Thank you, friends, for acting as if it were a normal occurrence when flies buzzed all around and a MOUSE cavorted on the stove while we ate and chatted around the dinner table (btw, I haven't seen a fly or that pesky mouse since; very strange).

Thank you, most of all, Poetroad, for indulging my wild obsessive compulsive behavior that sometimes include a house full of people at a moments notice, my training sessions that sometimes last hours and hours, and these silly notions of running marathons.

I love you all!

First things first...

Way back in May, I made the original "pact" to train for a marathon with Dalene and Ch@ndy. When I moved to California, I knew immediately that if I wanted to stay motivated and train successfully, I would need to find a new running partner (although there was always a hope that Hannah would move here...there was only a hope; Hannah actually said she would only *visit* me here).

And then I met Telle. Not only did Telle introduce me to trail running, but she took me on runs that totally kicked my butt. Week after week, each run we tackled out on the American River Canyon trails was the most difficult and longest run that I ever ran. Before I met Telle, I never dreamed that I would actually run three miles up hill or for four hours non-stop. In 100 degree weather. Telle told me that it was good to train in extreme conditions. She is the experienced runner, after all, so I figured that's what all runners do to train for races. You know - kill themselves. The sweating, the bleeding, the blisters, the puking (okay - I never actually puked, but Telle did, and there were a few times when I came really close to puking).

So somewhere in the training process, Telle suggested that we run a trail race at the end of August: "Run on the Sly." Even though I had never run even a simple 5k before - heck, to be honest, the only race I had ever run was one leg of a 400 relay race when I was in elementary school - I thought, "Why not run a 20 mile race. I've got to start somewhere."

And that's what we did.



It was a chilly Sunday morning up in the Sierra foothills near Jenkinson Lake. Prior to the race, we planned every detail regarding what we would wear and eat for breakfast and eat on the trail and how much water we would pack in our hydration packs, etc., etc. Telle brought her cool watch that has some type of GPS system and rings a bell at each mile marker. I brought a blue bandanna that I used as a hat until my body warmed up in the sub 50 degree temp. Yeah - I am a wimp when it comes to "cold." (Next time I will bring gloves too.)

We had a plan to break up the run into thirds. The idea was to mentally run each section of the race as if we were starting from mile one all over again. After all, saying, "Wow, I only have 6 more miles to go," doesn't seem as daunting as, "Wow, I still have 14 miles to go!"

Also, under wise advise from our Sensei/mentor/coach/Telle's boss, "The Dentist", Dr. Misono, we knew to "walk up-hill and run fast down hill." Although a novice runner might be tempted to run continually because "it's a race," trail running is very different than a regular road race. All runners *walk* up the steep hills. We knew this because Dr. Misono graciously took us on several trail runs, and, quietly, yet encouragingly, while running behind us, Dr. Misono would know exactly the right thing to say at the right time to help us run on and on - or to not be afraid of walking - so that we could finish the run - which was always the goal.

Miles 1-14 came and went quickly in the race. Telle and I chatted as we ran for the first 10 miles or so. We stopped at the aid stations to down some electrolyte juice, take pictures and video of our progress, and then continued on our steady pace to finish in around four hours.

Around the 14 mile mark, I tripped and fell. I scraped my knee pretty badly, and dirt and rocks were now embedded in my hip and hand, but my injury didn't seem to bother me too much at that point. Luckily, adrenaline was on my side. Also lucky for me, Telle packed along some band aids. (Side note: Telle is notoriously bad luck for any running partner at a race. While the partner breaks a tooth, an arm, his glasses, and might even require a few stitches, Telle never even so much as breaks a fingernail. I'm lucky that I only scraped my knee on that run!)

Five of the last six miles generated difficult terrain to traverse. A few challenges were trying not to kill ourselves in the one mile descent through forest debris (in which, incidentally, another runner and I tailgated another gal until she pulled over to let us pass - we sprinted down that zig-zag path at top speed) or on the two mile ascent that seemed to never end.

Telle's legs cramped up somewhere around mile 17. I continued on to the finish line fairly easily. I even won a hat for my efforts (although I shouldn't have won a hat since I was fifth in my age group rather than one of the top three finishers. But I was too delirious to refuse the hat, plus, I didn't know for sure at that point where I had finished in my age group).

Anyway, I ended up running the race in 4 hours and 4 minutes. At the end of the race, I felt a slight twinge in my left hamstring. It was an injury that would keep me from training to my full potential in the coming weeks. Regardless of that slight setback, however, I knew that I would be ready to run the Cow Town Marathon in October.

Yes. And Yes.

I will see Ch@ndy soon.

I will see Anthony soon.

Rock Star Wing and company will crash at our house soon too (oh, if we could get Christy here too...hmmmmm).

I will run my first marathon this weekend.

I teach two sections of "honors" English.

Oh, yes. All good. Very good.

And on an even more positive note, I came home to a clean house today. This is not normal, and it is the kind of unexpected fantabulous "not-normal" surprise that I would like to walk - nay, run - into every day.

Geeze...

...not doing so well in juggling the ol' blog, taking care of a family, and working full time. The blog has cob webs - again, the house is a mess (okay - so that isn't any different than usual) and the pile of papers that need grading keeps growing...

Boo!

On a positive note...

I'll get back to you on that.

Coincidence? Maybe...

We knew from the start that a move to California would mean that I would have to go back to work. Even with the local economy in the toilet, it is still incredibly expensive to live her. I hit the job listings hard from day one. Unfortunately, there were no jobs available at the school where I wanted to work. I know, I know. One should not be picky when one is desparate to find a job.

Over June and July, I began the process of securing a teaching certificate in California - which is no easy task. Even though there is supposed to be a shortage of teachers here, there are a number of convoluted hoops one must jump through in order to earn a certificate.

As August neared - with no prospects of a job yet - I was beginning to lose hope. What kind of job is a degree in education good for - actually, two degrees in education - other than a teaching job?

And then one day, the high school job I wanted magically appeared online. The next day, I chatted with a friend I knew who worked at the school. Within an hour, he arranged an informal interview with the Vice Principal.



The preliminary interview went well. I had a sense that they would have hired me on the spot if the district would allow it. But the job posting was still active for a few more days, and the powers that be wanted them to interview more than one applicant - which is reasonable.

The only problem was that I was about to drive to Oregon and visit my family for a few days. Lucky for me, I got a call while I was in Oregon that they wanted me to have a formal interview on Monday of that next week. School started only one week later.

So I went to the interview on Monday morning (after spending 11 hours on the road the day before; yes, it took us
that long to get home), and I arrived at 9:00 am. My interview was supposed to be at 9:00 am. I was almost late!

And there was a nicely dressed woman waiting in the office too.

So I found the closest secretary to tell her that I was there, and the nicely dressed lady - Miss America Barbie dressed in a navy blue business blazer and skirt and matching pumps - said, "Oh, I need to tell her that I am here for the interview too!" I thought, "Crap. This much younger and more professionally dressed model is my competition? I am toast!" Needless to say, the gal told me that she had an interview at 9:30 and that there were five interviewees for this job. I thought, "bummer."

The interview went okay, but I went away knowing that I didn't wow
anyone. In fact, some of my interview answers were kind of dumb. For one, when asked what they might observe in my classroom on any given day, I responded much too quickly with, "Organized chaos." Yeah. That's exactly what a principal wants to see in a high school English classroom. Not.

So they didn't call me on Monday, and when they didn't call me on
Tuesday, I knew that I blew it. As the day wore on - 1 pm, 2, 3... by
5 pm I knew I didn't get the job.

I tried to be strong and "accept" it, but I was really feeling like a
total loser. That job was mine, and I blew it!

By 7 pm, I was totally sobbing. And then I realized that there was
nothing I could do about it, so I was trying to accept the reality
that I would have to find another job. The girls were telling me,
"It's okay, Mom. You can be a waitress! You've done that before!"

Their assurances that I could get a job at McDonald's or Applebees
wasn't really consoling me.

Then at 8:30 pm, the principal called my house and offered me the job. I couldn't believe it! She said that it took a while to get hold of my references as everyone is on summer break.

So, yes, I did get the job! Aaaaah!

Later, I apologized to Poetroad for getting all weepy about the job. He said, "It's okay honey. For a whole day, you were a loser. It's good to walk in someone else's shoes once in a while."

Indeed it is. Especially if those shoes are navy blue pumps that exactly match the skirt and blazer worn for a job interview.

I survived...

week one. Now what will I do?

Oh my. Much ado about something...

My life is so topsy turvy right now that I'm not sure when I posted last! Great news: I got a job. Although I am really exhausted right now...and it's only day two. Yikes!

So I am teaching 10th graders at one of the local high schools. Wow. This is going to be lots of work. Thankfully, I found my lesson plans from the last time I taught this class a few years ago. Unfortunately, each year I try to constantly "improve" (at least I hope that is what I am doing) my teaching techniques/delivery. Boo!

Finally...and the winning story, coming in under 200 words (although I did like Mimi's twisted tale too), was authored by Jerolyn: "The Mystery." Enjoy!

It was a dark and stormy night. Buford sat quietly sipping his tea from the beautiful china cup his mother had given him before leaving London – a small token, but one that reminded him of home. But as he reviewed his day, his demeanor became darker and darker despite the soothing respite. That blasted child had ruined everything. Well, almost. Now she would never bother him again…or anyone else for that matter....

How had she found out his secret? He had taken such care to keep it hidden. He was sure his friends and colleagues never suspected. Possibly his neighbors had an inkling; but never any proof. Buford had been very careful except for one thing; he’d forgotten the spoons. Not even a game of find-the-dead-bat kept her distracted. (However, she did take some time searching for her sandal she’d lost in the process.) Still, she wasn’t deterred from her quest for the truth. But I had to keep my secret hidden. No respectable Englishman uses boiled dirt for his tea.

I am in Oregon...

...visiting my parents, and you know what that means. Dial up. Yes, the digital age has not made it's way to the far reaches of this little country town. These few posts I make from Oregon, then, will be slim.

So I made it here in 9.5 hours. Pretty good time for a person travelling 500 miles with four girls and a dog. Coordinating potty trips is an art - I am not sure I've mastered that art yet.

My dad, the girls, and I trekked over to Seal Rock yesterday and visited with my grandma. We spent most of the day on the beach. Gorgeous weather for the coast - 65 degrees and sunny. Today, of course, it is raining here. It rained the first day we arrived too, wouldn't you know it. I haven't seen rain in more than three months. But is this drizzly precipitation really considered "rain"? The drizzle is one part of Oregon that I do not miss.

Headed for home on Sunday. I have a job interview Monday morning; send your prayers and/or positive vibes my way.

It is disgusting...

...how easily I can allow myself to be so distracted by the daily grind that I neglect this little space. I definitely need to dust away the cobwebs here, and to do that I'll need a little help. :)

Below is a list of items I've discovered and the location where I found each over the past four weeks.

* One leopard print sandal, size 8.5: found hidden in the shrub by the front door
* One skeleton - not in tact, but I definitely found the hip bones and at least 6 inches of the vertebral column: found scattered all over the back yard
* One small bat - think "billy club" - covered in blood stains: found in the very back of the cupboard above the refrigerator
* One china cup - white with gold trim: also found in a cupboard.
* Four spoons: two found under a tree by the back fence, one found in the dirt in the back yard, one found under a shrub in the front yard.

Based on that information, what do you think went on here with the previous tenants? Your job is to write a story (200 words max.) to unravel the mystery for me.

Post your story on your blog, and then leave the link in the comments section for this post. The scenario I like the best will be featured here on Monday, August 3rd.

I am here!

Oh my. I don't even think you want to know the details, but I'm sure the story will unravel over the coming weeks.

The short story is that we left Austin on June 5 rather than June 4 (it took a little longer for us to pack and get rid of stuff than we had hoped), and that gave us roughly 2.75 days to drive to Sacramento. That's right: 12 hour driving days in a moving truck and van stuffed with stuff, children, a dog, and a cat.

The best part of the move was that 15-20 people from our church were here waiting to unload and unpack our stuff upon arrival. Too bad Bob the property manager had his ring tone on "low" - but we only had to wait around an hour and a half for him to finally check the 20 voice messages and texts that Poetroad had been frantically sending him.

And we only had one incident of "poopee" [the three year old's description of diarrhea; she had no idea that her body could do such a thing]. Fortunately, we were only 15 minutes from the hotel.

I do love the location of the house we are renting. Cute exterior too. Great floor plan. The older two each finally get to have her own space.

There was only one teeny problem with the house. Okay...there are a few problems with the house. Let me put it to you this way: last night, I sanitized the closet in the Master Bedroom, and I scrubbed no less than three body fluids off the walls. Not to mention that the previous family dog used this closet - and all of the carpeted floors - as its personal bathroom.

Thankfully, I've convinced the landlord that he needed to replace the carpets. The upstairs will finally be fully re-carpeted today! In another week, the most offensive downstairs carpeting will be gone too.

There is more - but I will save that for another day...

I'm still here!

Don't go away, dear readers! There is much blogging to be done for sure, but between the packing and the packing - well, you understand.

When did I acquire all of this junk, by the way? If someone were to use a little accelerant and strike a match to it all, well, I wouldn't be sad.

Good news - the washer is fixed. It turns out that when a scarf, loose change, and sticks work their way into the motor, the motor for some reason stops working. Lucky for us, we bought the extended warranty. I'll have to be more diligent in checking pockets.

Speaking of laundry, before the washer could be fixed, I had the pleasure visiting the "Laundry Mat" east of where I live. It's the closest coin operated laundry in the vicinity, and I had to drive 25 minutes to get there. Crazy. Anyway, my two eldest accompanied me, and I hadn't realized how sheltered they were until that little adventure. This was a clean place too (well, not counting the inch layer of dust on the CEILING). So they gawked a bit. I don't know why. There were only two shirtless homeless guys hanging out on the bench out front, and two guys giving each other back rubs inside the place. They had their shirts on.

Anyway, more stories to tell when I get a chance - oh, and the inquisition. Thanks, Peter. :)

My Week So Far...

Two projects and reports due for daughters one and two;
Me up half the night Tuesday going poo;
Can not find a rental in Cali to move into;
Washer broke since Monday - too much laundry to do;
Cross your fingers that repair man will follow through.

Oh. Yes. I did.

Ok, ok. I haven't always been fashion savvy. I admit that. I don't know what happened in the 90s. Really. There was that grunge phase. Then there were the oversize vests. And jeans that were baggy and belted at the chest. Stirrup pants. Yeah. I wore it all.

But something happened at the turn of the century. I got rid of the frumpy wardrobe and opted to wear the hip and cool fashions. Well, hip and cool for a woman in her thirties.

This week, however, I think I bobbled the ball. Fumbled even. I bought these shorts:



To my defense, these are ultra low rise shorts, and I bought them from Old Gravy. I mean Navy.

Nevertheless, they are jean shorts. Jean shorts. Might as well slap an elastic waist band in there and call me "Ma."

And look at the pockets. Look how they cut across the front of the shorts. Those have got to be the most unflattering type of pockets available for a woman shaped like me - a pear.

You know what the worse part of this whole sit-chi-a-shun is? I put on the jean shorts, and they were comfortable. Darn it! And, AND, AND...even though I purchased the shorts in the size I normally wear, the shorts were very loose fitting. Which, of course, made me think, "Hey, I'm getting skinny again."

Double darn!

So I guess I'm keeping the shorts. Oh, I tell myself that I'll dress them up by wearing a hip Abercrombie or Hollister top, or, better yet, I'll pair them with some of my nouveau Punk wear. My fear is, though, that there will be a day that I'm feeling kind of tired or won't be thinking straight, and I'll throw on a baggy t-shirt and the jean shorts.

It's a slippery slope friends. Please, God, no. Tell me I'm not going down.

Brains or brawn?

If you were caught in a dark alley, who would you choose to come to your rescue: Chuck Norris or Stephen Seagal?

Sure,Seagal might look all muscley under that dark suit, but - let's be honest - he couldn't act his way out of an invisible box. I always joke with Poetroad that "Executive Decision" is his best movie...because his character dies in the first twenty minutes of the film. I know that Seagal acts (*cough*, *cough*)[delivering the lines "Check out these moves" and then slapping a sloppy kiss on his co-star is hardly acting]. I was sent this visual the other day as a testimony to his versatility as an actor:


Also, Seagal produces, writes, and, supposedly, is a musician too. Plus he has some serious karate skills.

Chuck Norris, on the other hand, acts, produces, writes, AND sings the lyrics to the "Walker Texas Ranger" theme song. He was a fighter AND a has a Martial Arts career. Plus he is the poster boy for "The Total Gym."

What say you? Who is the best - Norris or Seagal?

Kiddie Rhymes

These are the rhymes from your childhood used to help you choose a flavor of lollipop or a teammate for kickball. You know how they go:

"Eenie meenie minie mo, catch a tiger by his toe..."

"Ink a bink a bottle of ink, the cork fell out and you stink..."

Well, my six year old brought home this one the other day:

"Micky Mouse peed in the house. What color was it?"

Priceless.

Marathon Girlz

Ch@ndy is in, Dalene is in, I am in, and possible one or two others are in. Why not consider joining us?

Here is the plan so far: Ch@ndy and I (and others) will attempt a practice marathon this fall - possibly this marathon in Sacramento. Dalene will be attempting to redeem the Chicago marathon experience that was utterly disasterous last year (if you remember, high temperatures caused officials to shut down the marathon early. Dalene was on mile 20 when that happened. Can you believe it?!!! All of that hard work down the toilet!!). And then all of us girlz will converge in 2009 to tackle a marathon together. Yay!!!

Speaking of toilets, Dalene (the expert racer here) has been generous enough to share her "marathons for novices" linky links, and - by far - I've found this article to be most useful:
Runner's diarrhea: How can I prevent it?

Sweet! Perhaps I won't have to invest in those thong running diapers Ch@ndy and I have been meaning to invent.

Happy Mother's Day Moms (and Dads who are both mom and dad)

And now for your reading pleasure, a Mother's Day poem penned by my 10 year old daughter, Kylie:

"If My Mom Were in Charge of the World"
(adapted by Kylie so that it talks about her mom)


If my Mom were in charge of the world
She'd cancel messy houses,
High taxes,
High gas prices
And also arguing.

If my Mom were in charge of the world
Soccer would be more popular,
Everything in the store would be on sale,
Everyone would get out of the house and exercise more.

If my Mom were in charge of the world
She wouldn't have too many toys in the house.
She wouldn't have the TV on for more than two hours.
Or "Be nice to your sister!"
You wouldn't even have any yelling.

If my Mom were in charge of the world
Curling up with a good book all day would be OK.
And everyone would be quiet while she read.
And a person who sometimes forgot to empty the dishwasher,
And sometimes didn't like to fold clothes,
Would still be allowed to be
In charge of the world.

That's my Kylie; she has a knack for telling it like it really is.

Speaking of hotness...

Yesterday it got up to 95 degrees here. My middle schooler had to run several races for the "mini-Greek Olympics" at school. The kids were outside all day in the hotness, and there wasn't a lick of shade at the track.

Don't worry, though. My daughter said that only three kids fainted.

Oh, and she won second in the 100, third in the 200, and her team was first in the 50 yard relay (I know! They hardly had a chance to pass the baton to the next teammate let alone run a few steps!).

In other news, I won "hottie" of the year and "Mother of the Century" from daughter number two. I'm a winner! Wait until you read the poem she wrote me...

Fisherstine laid down the proposition...

and I said "yes". My buddy from college, Dalene, is a driven woman. She doesn't do anything half-way. In fact, Fisherstine (a nickname that combines her married and maiden names) amazes me at all she has accomplished in her life. I couldn't even list everything as it would take too long, but she is the mom of four, she once owned a coffee shop, she teaches literature, and, more recently, has decided that she would like to run marathons. Last year, she ran her first (is that right, Dalene?). Currently, she is training for the Chicago marathon.

I've never ran a marathon. Heck, I've never ran more than 10 miles. But I need a running goal, so why not make it a marathon? Fisherstine suggested "Big Sur, 2009." While it looks to be a brutal course, why not start there? I gotta start somewhere!

Today, I ran my long run. It kicked my butt. Only 5.5 miles, but a mile of that is up hill. Which I walked. It took me 53 minutes to complete my run. Terrible time, I know. But I've got a whole year to train. And think how much faster my time will be when I can complete this little course without walking!

Big Sur, 2009 - here I come!

Because I could not stop for death, I sent my toothbrush

I heard a fly buzz
then it died on my toothbrush.
I didn't kill it.

It just landed there
and died. Now I have one more
reason to hate flies.

Speaking of poo...

What can I say? I have a three year old that has not mastered the art of pooping in the toilet yet. Or pooping at all. When asked if she needs to go, she replies, "Not now. I poop on Saturday." Well, okay then.

Consequently, much of my day is spent designing fiber-full meals and snacks. And here is one more detail that you didn't want to know: at night, sometimes I have poop dreams. Such as last night...

I had a dream that I was being held captive in an old building with fifty or more other people. I don't know why I was being held captive, but these guys were dressed in black and had guns. The building reminded me of the Reed Opera House in Salem, only there were more rooms on the main floor. Also, one of the bathrooms had only one toilet, and the other down side was that there were three entrances to the bathroom - all glass doors that could not be locked from the inside.


In this dream, I needed to go, well, poo, of course. The problem was that the only unoccupied toilet was this toilet described above. The guard insisted in being in there with me, which I didn't like at all. Not one little bit. But I couldn't wait any longer, so I agreed to allow him to be my chaperon.

Just as I was getting ready to...go...a whole lotta commotion was going on outside the door. One of my old high school friends burst in from the hallway. "Can't a girl get any privacy!" I screamed, and then I burst out the door on the other side of the room with chaperon in tow.

There must be another bathroom here that is more private, I said to myself. And then I remembered that there was a little unfinished bathroom on the top floor of the building. On the way, I convinced the chaperon that privacy was necessary because I would never be able to...go...with him in the room.

When I got in the room, I notice that there was a sky light above the scaffolding that would have been obscured by a drop ceiling had the bathroom been finished. I began scheming how I might be able to climb up there and open the sky light...

And then I woke up.

Now I'm not really a believer in dream interpretation, but I like to look at what this site has to say about dream meanings. Here is their take on several key elements in my dream:

Bathroom
To dream that you are in the bathroom, relates to your instinctual urges. You may be experiencing some burdens/feelings and need to "relieve yourself". Alternatively, it may symbolize purification and self-renewal. You need to cleanse yourself, both emotionally and psychologically.

To dream that you are in a public restroom with no stalls, signifies your frustrations about getting enough privacy. It may also indicate that you are having difficulties letting go of old emotions. If you reveal these feelings, you are afraid that others around you will judge and criticize you.

Toilet
To see a toilet in your dream, symbolizes a release of emotions or getting rid of something in your life that is useless.

Hostage
To dream that you are a hostage, indicates that you are feeling victimized and powerlessness. You may also be feeling limited in your choices or physically immobilized. Perhaps this dream is paralleling some situation/difficulties in your daily life or relationship. Alternatively, it suggests that a part of yourself is not be fully expressed.

Escape
To dream that you escape from jail or some place of confinement, signifies your need to escape from a restrictive situation or attitude. On the other hand, it may mean that you are taking an escapist attitude and are refusing to face up to problems that are not going away.

To dream that you escape from injury, from an animal, or from any situation, signifies your good health and prosperity. You will experience a favorable turn of events.

If you've read this far, you are either really bored or really bored.

Anyway, some or all of the above could be true. Or, more likely, I am frustrated that I cannot successfully potty train child number 4. I have learned in this process, however, that to make this potty training thing a control issue is NOT a good idea. Punishment only causes the child to retain the poop more. We don't want that! We want the poop to come out. We don't really care where it comes out at this point - as long as it comes out more frequently than just on Saturdays.

Okay, I'm making this situation sound worse than it is. It isn't all that bad, really. Slowly we are making progress. She isn't afraid to poop, and that's a relief.

A sale that keeps on giving

A few months ago, we received - and had to wear - t-shirts from Poetroad's job here that read (something to the effect) "Together as One" in bold blue letters across the front of the shirt. The design slightly resembled one of those popular 80s tees that said "FRANKIE SAYS RELAX." Those were cool shirts in the 80s.

I sold our shirts at the garage sale for a dollar each to a nice fellow that looked like he was a hard worker - possibly he works in construction or for a lawn care service. Great price for t-shirts that were only worn once.

One day, he will, perhaps, be mowing a lawn or doing some other odd job for a member of our former congregation. Maybe he will be cleaning out a garage (did you know you can hire someone to do that for 50 dollars an hour around here? I tried to get Poetroad to mention that I could clean garages, but he didn't want me cleaning out a garage for someone that went to our church...). Or maybe he will be one of the guys hired to drive the church shuttle on Sunday morning. Shuttle driving is not volunteer work here. They pay guys to do that.

I hope he will be wearing his "Together as One" t-shirt on that day. Oh, what I would give to see that.

Remind me never to do that again.

Friends don't let friends have garage sales.

I am completely exhausted because I had a garage sale on Saturday from 8-2. It took me all week to get ready for said sale, and by getting ready I mean to say I sorted through my junk. That was the most exhausting part of the process! And embarrassing - mostly because my older, wiser friend and neighbor Liz came over on Friday to help me sort through the junk in my garage.

Yikes. No one needed full disclosure of what kind of nonsense I neglect to throw away, but here is a partial disclosure: old magazines, junk mail, broken stuff, boxes full of stuff that I never unpacked from the last move.

Regardless of the humiliation, I must say that it was much easier to purge the garage with a friend. When Liz came across something that needed to be tossed, she didn't even need to say anything. She only needed to give me the *what in the heck are you keeping this for???* look.

I'll miss Liz!

Let me also mention that if you plan to have a garage sale, just use Cr@ig's List. By advertising on that site alone, I had more attendees than I have ever had at a garage sale before - and I know many of these people had to drive 30 or more minutes to get here.

So I'll spare you the dirty - but amusing - details. Know that I only slept four hours the night before, and know that if you mix an Armenian woman that bargains aggressively with a bargaining savvy Hispanic crowd, fun stuff happens. I bow in honor of their cultural intuitive abilities to wager a deal.

The best part of all of this is that I got rid of much stuff. And I've lost my ability to attach sentimental value to things. Almost.

Waiting

Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to get a flat tire. In the parking lot at my daughter's school. The middle school. I never liked going to middle school the first time around 25 years ago. I like it even less when I have to sit in a parking lot for an hour with my three year old waiting for a guy to come and help me change the flat tire. Actually, there wasn't any helping involved. He changed the tire all by himself. And, I was parked next to one of the few shade trees in the lot. That was nice.

In theory, I could have changed that tire all by myself, but towing around a three year old complicates things a bit. Those three year olds know little to nothing about personal space, and the tire changing scenario is no place to teach that lesson. Plus, we have a Triple A membership. Thought I should cash in on that.

So after I rearranged the original dental appointments, the 3 year old and I waited at the tire place for the unfixable tire to be replaced (my decision, not theirs). The tread was really worn, and we are planning to drive to California in a few weeks. I thought I might as well take care of that and get the necessary alignment so that the right front tire doesn't wear down to the nubbins again. For an hour and a half, we kept the other "waiters" and the tire guys pleasantly amused by performing a improvisational dance routine choreographed by the three year old.

Those tires were slapped on just in time for me to dash over to the middle school one more time (carefully avoiding the parking place where we picked up two nails in the tire the first time around), retrieve the 12 year old, and dash over to the dental office. Only to wait again. This time, we waited 30 minutes. And then the three year old and I waited another hour on top of that. Luckily, we sneaked over to Wendy's for part of that time as I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and her daily food intake since breakfast consisted of 3 lollipops.

Today, the 10 year old had her turn at the dentist's office. More waiting. This time we were in that office 2 1/2 hours from start to finish. Don't ask. It's too complicated and boring to tell the story behind that one.

The amazing part of all of this waiting is that the three year old didn't melt down once. Not once. Even though she was tired and hungry and thirsty the whole time. We spent over six hours sitting around waiting for stuff to happen over the last two days. I am lucky if I get six hours of sleep a night.

And now we are patiently waiting for the end of May to come so that we can be reunited with Poetroad. I hope I don't throw a tantrum between now and then. Cross your fingers.

Silver Lining

To be fair, the last few weeks were not a total bust. Two weekends ago, we drove to Houston to visit CJ. We spent one day at the NASA Space Center. Poetroad was in heaven. Here he is posing with the astronauts:



Here is the actual control room used for all of the earliest launches - including the infamous Apollo 13:



And, Hannah and I went for another mountain biking adventure. This time we traversed the trail at Muleshoe Bend Park. Let me tell you, this ride was definitely more enjoyable than our trek at Reimer's Ranch. We still had to navigate some steep inclines and rocky terrain, but neither of us were near the "puking tired" exhaustion that we were on our last little biking adventure. Here we are biking. We took a short rest next to Lake Travis. Notice the trees growing out of the water in the final picture.





Poetroad also got to visit the Mecca of left-handed guitar players while in Houston: Southpaw Guitars. It was a surreal day for him to say the least. Good times!

Another Meme - consider yourself tagged

Besides spending my day trying to rid the house of burnt potato smell (darn microwave never worked right in this house!), cleaning house, taking kids to this that and the other place, fetching forgotten projects and taking those to school too, calling and receiving calls from the dentist and the coach and the school, and sorting through and packing crap so that I can move in a month...there isn't really much to do around here. lol

Anyhow, it's much more fun to blog and ignore my duties for a few more minutes at least.

Sooooo, with that in mind...if *I* can take a second to play, you can too. Here is a meme from Aerin's blog In Search of Giants. Play along if you want.

Side note: some of y'all, friends, really need to create a public blog so you can play along too!

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences, uhm, sentences six, seven and eight.
5. Tag five people and post a comment to the blogger who tagged you.

My nearest book is totally boring. It is Write Source 2000 - not even the latest version, I am sure!

Here is the text:

Also, try writing about your work to sort out your thoughts and feelings about it. See what your classmates and teacher think of your writing. And make sure to consult your handbook for advice and writing models.

There you have it. Now it is your turn.

I'm officially old: The Hollister Experience

Being the sensitive mother I am to the plight of her tween, I finally succumbed to her incessant begging and ventured into Hollister to see if there might be something I could nab off of the clearance shelf. I remember what it was like in the sixth grade to be one of the only girls in school who did not own a pair of the coveted Sticky Fingers or San Fransisco jeans.

For all of you oldies (specifically, anyone who is over thirty or acts over thirty) - and for those who do not have a teen or tween in the house, Hollister is a brand of clothing. While Hollister caters to the preppies ("Dudes" and "Bettys"), it's the rich surfer look that defines the Hollister style. But instead of branding their products with a cute little alligator, a majestic eagle, or a pony riding polo player, their clothing is emblazoned with a seagull. I hate seagulls - more like sea rats. As any land lubber knows, seagulls - beyond being annoying - are also the poster animal of the garbage dump.

I digress...

As you've probably guessed, I'm not all that "into" branding or brand names, although I do appreciate that some brands signify "quality" and "attention to detail" over other brands. Still, is it necessary to charge $39.00 for a skimpy thin cotton tee that probably cost $1.95 to make? Not to mention the fact that somewhere in Peru or Vietnam is a sweatshop where the calloused yet nimble fingers of eight year olds work tirelessly to create said product?

I digress again...

Still, to know Hollister is to visit the store, which an oldie like you or me might have trouble finding at first considering that the store entrance is made to look like an old surf shack, and the store name is hidden somewhere beneath the fake palm branch jutting out of the fake weathered pier stump.

Once you enter the store, you'll notice that the music is really loud. No. REALLY loud. REALLY, REALLY loud. "I can't hear my own thoughts" loud. And this is coming from someone who is a rocker at heart and likes to listen to loud music...

Next you'll notice that the store is really smelly. Overpoweringly smelly. The kind of smell you would expect to be overwhelmed with at a martini bar frequented by single 40 something men drenched in Polo cologne. In fact, if you have chemical sensitivity, then stay away from this store (and the martini bar at happy hour on Thursday nights).

And, you'll notice that it is very dark in there. Only a few display tables and shelves are lucky enough to be illuminated by the canned lighting.

My Hollister visit was nothing less than memorable. I found the store, covered my ears, ignored the smell, and was able to feel my way to the back room where clearance items always are in any store. Quickly, I grabbed two shirts, pushed past the dense fake palm branches, and made my way to the checkout counter. At the counter, the sales boy mumbled something - well, his lips were moving, and I keenly deduced that he was actually speaking. Nevertheless, I could not hear over the din, so I smiled and nodded. He said something else (at least I think he did as his lips were again moving), left for a few seconds, and returned with another shirt just like the one I chose. I guessed that there was some problem with the tag of shirt number one, and nodded as I thought I heard him say "same size."

After I made my purchase, I returned home only to discover that he gave me the same size in the WRONG shirt. Both were yellow tank tops, but the patterns and styles were totally different. Which meant I would have to return to the store AGAIN. Mistake or marketing ploy? Hmmmm...

My second visit to Hollister was pretty much identical to the first, but this time I brought three of the four daughters. I let the two younger kids run amok. The sales girls seemed unaffected by our disruptive presence as they were too busy spraying the shirts with cologne.

To be fair, the sales girls and boys were very sweet. Mostly, they tried to hide their surprise at our aberration from normal shopping trends. Not one shouted,"Go back to Old Navy where you belong!" I made my exchange, we felt our way to the exit, and smiled and nodded at the sales girls at the entrance/exit as their silent moving lips indicated a "good-bye, shop here again" farewell.

The Beginning of The End

It's really happening. We are moving to California. Today, Poetroad began the journey to Sacramento. His new job begins next Monday.

I have to be honest. Leaving Austin is like breaking up with a lover who is no good for you. You know you *have* to leave, but every fiber in your being wants to stay. Poetroad and I have never been so attached to a place. It's a very strange feeling. I know Poetroad's heart aches. There are a lot of people here who are artists like us. You know - weirdos. We fit in here well.

That being said, Austin is just a city. Life will go on. Sacramento awaits, and there are memories to be made there.

So on our last night here, we went out to eat at a place that could be called "Austin Authentic" - The County Line: Home of the Big Rib. Notice the statue of the two headed calf on top of the building.



Here is Poetroad eating a big rib. Mmmmm! Tasty!



Definitely eat at The County Line if you are ever in Austin. Beware of one tiny detail, though: if you are looking for healthy options on the menu, this is not the restaurant for you. Vegetable dishes include potatoes (mashed or fried), baked beans, coleslaw or salad. They do not serve fruit. Make sure you order a plate of homemade bread for your appetizer - it's delicious. For the main course, I recommend the brisket or the ribs.

On Time

Being "on time" is overrated. Most of us got the finger-wagging-stern-reprimand as children to be "on time" *or else*. Or else you won't ever be hired...you won't keep a job...you won't have any friends...you won't succeed in life...yadda, yadda, yadda.

I've been to the dentist more times this past month than I have in five years. Not once has my dentist been "on time" to my appointment. Once she called and said, "We are running behind, so don't come in for another half hour." When I got there, I still had to wait in the waiting room another half hour. But this isn't new to any of you. How many hours, do you suppose, you've wasted in the waiting room at the doctor's or dentist's office? Are they all a bunch of losers because they are constantly late? If so, I want to be a loser like that.

JG was only late once this week, by the way. So as long as she wants to be a doctor or a dentist, she will do just fine in life. Or she could be an artist. Everyone expects artists to be in their own little world anyway.

Six random things about me

I was tagged yesterday by Poet Peter . Now the fact that I am joining in on this meme is fairly significant. Mostly because I am a lurker. There. I said it. And agreeing to play will force me to "out" myself. Ah, well. It's about time, I suppose. Anyway...

The rules:
a. Link to the person who tagged you.
b. Post the rules on your blog.
c. Write six random things about yourself.
d. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
e. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment at their blog.
f. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

Wow. At first I endeavored to share information that would be new to my readers. And then I realized that there really isn’t much that I don’t talk about here. Have I no standards?! Some of this will be old news. Really old news. Quite possibly, there won’t be anything new to read about me. Anyway, here are six facts the interest *me* about myself.

1. I like to eat peas.

2. I am a recovering emetophobe.

3. We found a gecko in a Barbie car in our house the other day. It was trying to make a quick getaway, I suppose. The cat likes to bring geckos in and “play” with them. I’m going to miss living in Austin!

4. Soccer is my favorite sport. Also, I like to run even though I can’t break an 8 minute 30 second mile. When I whine about that fact, Poetroad says, “Honey, I love you, but you aren’t built to be a distance runner.” Nevertheless, I still like to run long distances in this 5’3” 135lb frame.

5. I never learned to diagram a sentence. I prefer descriptive grammar over prescriptive grammar anyway! (I know - what a cop-out).

6. This week, I quit what I lovingly call my “un-job.” I was hired at a competitive rate to do some contract editing work for a company where their engineers survey properties, pieces of land, and such, assess the environmental impact certain activities have on the surrounding community, and then write reports about their findings. I’ve worked for them since November 2007, and to date, I haven’t edited even the tiniest e-mail or report.

Now, the people I'll be tagging...

Collette
Maully
Todd
Maren's Daddy

Score...scores...rose

Core...

About a week ago - the day I stayed (sty...dye...aye...sad...tad...date...dates...) up until three A.M. to edit Poetroad's paper - Drason challenged me to play a little game against him on Facebook. It's a word game akin to "Boggle." Needless to say, I lost that little game. I was trounced. Spanked (pane...panes...dank...span...pan...pans...end...). And being the competitive person that I am...and not wanting to be a total loser (lose...rose...role...roles...sore...lore...), I thought of a way to beef up my boggle-and-the-like-word-game skills (kill...sill...skill...). Over the past week, I've been playing these silly word games every chance I get. But after a week of doing this, something has happened to my brain (ban...rain...ran...bran). Now I am constantly thinking of words that can be made from other words. And making rhymes. Times. Mites. Site. This bites.

Always behind the 8 ball

It is April 15, and normally I would be frantically picking up tax docs from the tax prep people and then rushing over to the post office to stand (and stand) in line in order to ensure that my taxes were in fact delivered on time. This year, I filed my taxes online. And, in case you didn't notice, I said "I." Yes, people. Watch out for flash floods, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and the like today. Hell must have frozen over. Mrs. "numerically challenged" did the family taxes this year. And she did them by herself. And she did them a week early.

Of course this day (and the intervening week) couldn't be filled with peace. No time to revel in my euphoria. Poetroad has a 20 page paper due today. You remember what happened when his last paper was due in March, don't you? We didn't sleep the preceding week, and we worked on that paper up until the very last second before the stroke of midnight - right before he had to click "send" to ensure the the paper would be submitted on time. Perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit, but mostly I'm accurately describing the scene. And when I say "we," I mean to say that I edited the paper (You know how harsh I can be in my editing, right friends? Sometimes it sucks to be married to or friends with an English teacher.) and formatted the bibliography page. Which would be easy if Poetroad would stick to the minimum number of resources required for this research paper (six). But of course he used no less than four times that. I'm not kidding. You thought I was the only obsessive compulsive person in this family?

Anywho... back to work for me...