I'm home!

Making my rounds in the blogosphere today, so you probably already knew. :) Thinking about Karen and her Kitty (sorry for your loss!), I'd like to say we own a cat, but actually our cat owns us. :) She yelled at my husband every day while we were in Oregon (sometimes at 3 in the morning, she woke him to complain) because she wanted to know if we were missing or dead. And if we were alive, then why wasn't he busy looking for the missing children??!!

I missed you, Cali,
the valley snug between pines,
mountains, palms and sea.

Of course you know it was raining here...

Sheesh. Every time I visit...anywhere...it rains! Doesn't matter if it hasn't rained in the mid valley region in July since...well...since the last time I was here in July I suppose. Anyway, we went camping this past weekend in one of the warmer, non-rainy parts of Oregon, and it rained. Still, we managed to enjoy ourselves tremendously.

Although the weekend was a little damp, it ended on a dry note. Today we visited Ona Beach with Grandma. Somehow my rainmaker curse doesn't extend to this magical place in Oregon. The weather always seems to be perfect every time we visit this particular beach. The best part, of course, was being able to spend some time with Grandma before we head back home.

She's the girl friend...

...of the whirling dervish. Before I knew what one looked like, long ago in my child mind I imagined a whirling dervish was an animal akin to the tazmanian devil from the old Bugs Bunny cartoons. Just goes to show you that the old cartoons are only semi-educational. Although, I think I was watching a cartoon the first time I actually heard that phrase - Porky Pig once sang the words, "she's the girlfriend of the whirling dervish..." Only he probably said, "d-d-d-d-d-dervish."

Historically, the act of whirling is a spiritual ceremony practiced by the Dervish; it is in the whirling that the Dervish throw off what encumbers them. We have a similar concept in Christianity - there is a verse that says, "let us throw off everything that hinders us and the sin which so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us..." (C'mon - you knew there would be a reference to running right?!)

So even though I am neither a Dervish nor a Sufi, metaphorically I'll be doing a little whirling myself this summer. It's already been a whirlwind of a trip to Oregon (yeah - you knew I was here. Why else would I be blogging? On dial-up, no less!). And I've only begun the soul searching.

Unbelievable...

I've been on summer break for almost two weeks now, and I haven't really done anything on my "to do" list yet. And we are going to Oregon in a few days! So that means I'll have even less time to do stuff around here.

It might help if I actually made a physical list so that I could remind myself what it is I wanted to accomplish this summer...

Too maternal to be cool

I am not sure how we got into this conversation, but a few nights ago I found myself - face to face with my youngest - describing the tattoo I would like to put on my arm and shoulder.

"I'll have a big orange koi fish on my arm here, and maybe a bluebird over here."

"Really??" my four year old asked, wide eyed and incredulous at the very idea.

"Yes! Don't you think that will look pretty?"

And then from the other room, the 11 year old yelled out, "Awe, Baylie! She's just kidding you. MOMS don't get tattoos!

Warning: reader's review...

Vacation = reading for fun

In the past week, I somehow sneaked in enough reading time to finish the two latest works by Carlos Ruiz Zafon: The Shadow of the Wind and The Angle's Game. From the get go, especially true for TAG, it is apparent that Zafon admires Dickens. And while I am not a huge fan of Dickens (shhh...keep it a secret that the English teacher is not a fan of Dickens...I will admit that I like the social commentary and wit of Dickens but could do without a few hundred pages worth of the excessive descriptions), I enjoyed reading Zafon. Reading Zafon is like reading a tossed salad of Dickens, Poe, King, Doyle and G. Marquez with just a dash of sexual tension a la Esquivel (only the tension is not executed as well by Zafon as what is accomplished in Like Water for Chocolate).

Both TSotW and TAG are quazi-murder mysteries that take place in Barcelona at the turn of the 20th century. In both novels, the acquisition of a mysterious novel is central to the plot. While at times the tale unfolds in a Sherlock Holmesian fashion, there is plenty of poverty and sex infused with the surreal and macabre that separates Zafon's artistry from Doyle's.

Because of the (not so subtle) celebration of "story", I love the basic concept for both novels. Let's face it: this English teacher is a sucker for the celebration of the transformational powers of words and stories. But let me remind you that I am not a professional critic - I am just a reader.

According to the professionals, there are mixed reviews of Zafon's artistry, and I would have to agree with several points on both sides. For one, I must admit, especially in TSotW (the first novel in what will be a series), there are some literary cracks. Towards the end of TSotW, for example, much of the resolution is clarified in a note that is sent to the main character. After reading more than a chapter's worth of this "letter," I confess that I wondered more than once, "Either this letter is written with very tiny writing, or it is nothing short of fifty pages long. Is it even probable it could have been written by hand in the time frame given"? Wrapping up the plot in a neat little package like that, too, seems to be the easy way out. Another concern about Zafon's style, as seen in TAG, is that even though the plot is more compelling than the first of the series, some of the scenes in TAG are lost or forgotten, the parallel to Great Expectations doesn't always work, and some of the gore is over done.

Still, I can overlook a number of idiosyncrasies of an author if I am overwhelmingly drawn in by the story (even if the plot seems at times to be a bit convoluted - you can thank Dickens for that influence). True for both novels, the plot is nothing less than compelling. Also, Zafon's language is poetic - in particular, the concluding statement of almost every chapter is thought provoking and/or visually enticing.

Overall, particularly if you have diverse literary tastes, I would recommend both The Shadow of the Wind and The Angel's Game.

Patiently waiting....

...to find out if I still have a job. I already know that I've been transferred to the other high school that is on the other side of the Interstate. But, hey, at least I still have a job. For now.

Unfortunately, over the past month, my school district has been in the process of cutting almost 100 of the 550 certificated employees. Our student to teacher ratio was already 30-40 students per teacher before the cuts began. I can't imagine what the size of our classes will be with 100 fewer teachers. So the last round of cuts happened yesterday (62 teachers), and notices are going out today and Monday. I have no seniority, and, hence, I won't be surprised if I get a notice. Since I am a high school teacher, though, I have a better chance of keeping my job.

Still, the waiting is nerve wracking!

School is out: commence relaxing

Well. That was something else. While it's only an estimate, I think I slept approximately three hours a night from June 2 to June 12. Too many papers and projects to grade, so little time.

On a positive note, Poetroad graduated with his Master's degree this past Sunday. We celebrated by running a 5k in Florida.

onblur

fiery intangible images swirling,
only nothing is on fire, nothing burns.
rewind. repeat. the hope for a different
outcome is complicated by new variables.

if the problem is the place, avoiding
should be the answer. only it turns
out the place has no significance,
and providence turns the tables.

it's like the man who after rolling
his car three times, survives, crawls
onto the tracks, meets a train, is sent
into oblivion without a word. Unbelievable?

perhaps the solution is in running
straight for the flames. avoidance? Spurn
it. fight the urge to flee. look askance
at escape. run into the eye of the inevitable.

Baseball Experience: The American Way

So my friend, Chi, invited me to go to a baseball game last night with her, her children, her sister in law, and her mother in law. Oh, and little poet #2 went as well since Chi's daughter and my daughter are best buddies.

For starters, the seats were great - right on the first base line. And even though we were watching a triple A team play, with all of the vendors milling through the crowd and the between inning entertainment, the venue had a Major League feel. Right away they noticed that the chairs came equipped with cup holders. "Americans prepare for food and drinks for every activity," they giggled. "It's the American Way", I sarcastically assured them. Throughout the game, I explained some of the ins and outs of baseball to Chi (baseball is not as popular in Nigeria as it is here). Then Chi bought a round of nachos and hot dogs for everyone after the fourth inning (which, she was surprised to discover, ended after the third out...and it was taking forever to snatch that third out). I could not convince the sister or MIL to take a bite of cheesy nachos - which I assured them was also "the American Way." Chi noted that the nachos were a little spicy. "A little?" I puzzled. "You Americans don't know spicy," she giggled. And I know from experience that she wasn't kidding. Between one of the innings, the mascot shot hot dogs from an air gun into the crowd. Chi's oldest son caught one!

We left before the game was over. It was getting late, and it was a school night for the kiddos. On the way home, little Chi rode with me. The whole way home, all I could hear was giggling. Good times!

BTW: Anyone know how to fix my "Read More" widget? I'm not a JS pro, and even though I've had a looksy, I don't know how to fix it!

Post Mother's Day Run

cheering,chastising?
flutter, flitter, flyby
ladybug fanfare!

I went for a long run yesterday - 12 miles. I didn't really intend to run that far, but I kind of got lost. Even though I ran quite slowly (I averaged 12 min miles - boo!), the great news is that my hamstring held up well. :)

While I was running, the ladybugs were out in full force. I was worried for a while that I might accidentally eat one. Next time I go for a run, I'll take a bandanna and use it to cover my mouth.


Ladybug beetle - public domain image
(from Free Public Domain Photo Database: Ladybug on a leaf)

Who knew that a ladybug would be source of my undoing?

When it comes to allowing my children to explore the world around them, I am a champion of that. When it comes to my children bringing bugs into the house...not so much. Unless it is a ladybug, because those are relatively harmless. As long as they stay in the ladybug container/makeshift house, that is... But you know I have an over active imagination that tends to jump off of the cliff of "worst case scenario." So when Gracie decided to bring a ladybug "pet" into the house, within a few days, I had to put an end to that...

It was a Thursday evening when I suggested that Gracie consider letting her ladybug go.

"But mom, I love Roseycheeks. She is the best pet ever! And I promise that I will feed her and take care of her foreverrrrrr."

"There is no doubt that you are a great pet owner, Gracie. But don't you think that Roseycheeks will miss...flying? That box is kind of small, after all." Then I went in with the hard sell, "And she might miss her family."

"Well, I could go catch some more ladybugs. Then she won't be lonely."

DRATS! "Um, no, don't do that, Gracie. I'm concerned, though, that you are too attached to this ladybug. You've named her, and really she is a wild animal. You wouldn't bring, say, a fox, into the house and name it, would you?"

"I could find a fox around here?!"

"That's not the point, Gracie. Put the fox out of your mind. A ladybug needs to have space to fly around. She is used to being in the wild. And she has a mom and dad and maybe children out there that she could be flying around with outside."

"But I LOVE Roseycheeks, Mom!"

"I understand that you love her, honey. If you really love her, though, you would do what is best for her."

Gracie sullenly took the box outside, and then returned in a few minutes with her face contorted and on the verge of tears.

"What happened, honey?"

"I opened the box, and Roseycheeks crawled away without even saying goodbyyyyyyyyye!" And then Gracie dropped to the floor in a heap; the total meltdown began.

I cradled Gracie into my arms, wiped away her tears, and tried to explain that Roseycheeks was a wild animal. Maybe if Gracie went outside tomorrow, I suggested, she would see Roseycheeks again.

Between sobs, Gracie managed to squeak out, "How will I know it's her, Mom?"

"You could call her name?"

"How will she understand me, Mom? I dooon't speaaaaak ladybuuuuuuuuug!"

It's sad to say that until that moment I had not realized what I had done. It was just a dumb ladybug, for goodness sakes, and the kid clearly was attached to it. Even thought we all know that I'm only doing the best I can, I had to make this right - quickly. Gracie had to get to bed!

"I have an idea. Why don't you and I make a new, more secure ladybug house tomorrow and see if we can't find Roseycheeks and a friend to keep her company?"

"Really, Mom?"

"Really. But you have to promise me not to get too attached this time because ladybugs are meant to live outside. If the ladybug escapes, you have to be okay with that."

"I promise!"

It was almost ten o'clock before the entire ladybug saga played out and I was able to get Gracie to go to bed.

The next day, as promised, we made a new ladybug house and easily found two residents. The house sat on the kitchen counter for a few days.

After that, Gracie didn't pay too much attention to the ladybugs. The next week, though, her sister made a terrarium for ladybugs. While the colony receives little attention from the kiddos, it is prominently displayed in our living room. Just knowing it is there is enough for them, perhaps. And what do I care if they all escape and leave staining ladybug scat all over the house? We are only renting, after all.

Happy Mother's Day?

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree... So I shouldn't have been surprised when I opened the hand crafted Mother's Day card from daughter #2 and found it double dipped in sarcasm.

It looked so cute - a red heart that opened up to a pop-up heart nested in another heart. The inside of the card read, "You are the best mom in the universe..."

"sort of"

And then nestled in a pocket in the top left corner was a smaller heart emblazoned with the words, "You did the best you could."

My daughter laughed hysterically as I read the card, overwhelmingly pleased with her perfect execution of a joke she once heard a comedian say.

She slays me!

Really, I have to blame my dad for this one. Grandpa is notorious for being a joker - it's his love language (am I right, Jane D.?). You know you are part of the family if he infamously greets you with, "Why are you so ugly?" (which was completely ironic before my dad finally had his nose rebuilt a few years ago - he unfortunately shattered it as a teenager when he ran face first into a bridge pylon while he was frantically trying to save his little brothers from being swept out to sea).

So however the message is delivered this weekend, I hope you feel loved, moms. Happy Mother's Day!

Welcome to the wolf pack

"What do you need, Gracie?"

It was our typical Sunday morning routine. We stood shoulder to shoulder in front of my bathroom mirror; I put on make-up while she rummaged through my jewelry for sparkly or pink baubles to borrow that coordinated with her outfit. Then the seven year old looked at me and paused thoughtfully. We proceeded to carry on the most thoughtful and calm conversation I've ever had with this child - as casual as if she were merely breathing.

"What is that green stuff under your eyes, Mommy?"

"Green?"

"Yes. Those dark green patches under your eyes. Did you grow up in a wolf pack?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, your eyes remind me of a dog's eyes. You know, all droopy under there and dark looking. Did you used to be a dog?"

"Oh. Well, no, I was never a dog before. I've always been a human."

"You should put on more make up, then, if you don't want to look like you grew up in a wolf pack."

"Thank you, Gracie. I'm working on it."

Wow! I feel like I was on vacation...

Okay, I was on vacation.
From my job.
Only I never went anywhere.
Except for to Reno,
the editing chair,
soccer practices,
a soccer game,
and to the Jelly Belly factory.

Highlights include
hotel buffet meals,
late night paper edits -
introduction re-writes,
transition inclusions -
for Poetroad's grad papers,
a pulled hamstring,
a tie game,
and jelly bean eating.

Or are those the low-lights?

Reno

sickly sweet fragrance.
cherry blossoms decaying;
delicious, rotten.

crimson stars bursting -
bloom profusion - neglected
crabapple tree-shrub.

between cement and
asphalt, motor and neon,
dying beauty lives.

No, seriously, I WAS in Reno...

and while I was there, I ran downtown to check out what all this "biggest little city" hubbub is all about.

Yes, I actually RAN downtown from the hotel - a short four mile round trip run. Who does that? Who goes to Reno and jogs?!

Bonus: on the way back to the hotel I noticed that I had been gradually running up hill those first two miles. No wonder my pace was so slooooow (or at least that's what I'm blaming it on).

Anyway, the real reason for this post is to accept and give out an award...

Aerin, over at In Search of Giants, honored me with the I Love Your Blog award - totally cool!


1) Add the logo of the award to your blog
2) Add a link to the person who awarded it to you
3) Nominate at least 7 other blogs
4) Add links to those blogs on your blog
5) Leave a message for your nominees on their blogs!

I wanted to nominate my favorite blogging poets for this award because April is National Poetry Month. But then after doing a little research, I realized that many of you have already earned this award (or have currently been nominated by a fellow blogger for this award).

Oh, well - I guess you will just have to consider your blog *double* loved if you already have this award: pjd , Karen, Catvibe, Sarah , Faith, Julie, and Lorenzo.

Enough with the birthday pandering, already!

That word, pandering, is quite an interesting word, by the way. I didn't realize it had so much to do with pimping and sex...

Nevertheless, thanks for indulging the poet with your poetry. :)

So I chatted with my oldest brother for quite some time on my birthday. Seeing as though I'm a quasi-runner, turns out that we have lots to chat about now. When we were in high school, he was the tall and lanky record breaking distance runner of the family, and I was the short and squatty sprinter. But I always wanted to BE the distance runner...

Anyway, for the past few years, he has been training to compete in triathlons. He has the biking and running down - in fact, he makes the 17 mile ride to and from work several times a week, and then he runs for hour or so when he gets home; his other training days consist of him riding ten miles away to take swim lessons for an hour, and then he rides back home. He probably runs some more when he gets home too. Talk about crazy... We cook up quite a bit of crazy in our family, obviously.

He mentioned that I need to think of something "big" to conquer when I turn 40. Hey, wait a minute there bub. I'm just starting to enjoy 39. Besides, I've already run the 20 mile, the marathon, and the 50k races. And I'm not about to compete in a triathlon because, well, I would have to swim. Well, like, swim, swim. You know, something faster than what I can do with the old side stroke...

Coming soon: a random list of 38 accomplishments from the past year...

Happy Birthday Haiku Me

thirty nine in bloom
on three twenty nine oh nine;
your best haiku, please.

share a memory
or admit how you know me,
all friends, old and new.

roast me or toast me,
sing me your birthday wishes
in 5-7-5.

Just this side of
Just this side of
ever on the verge
yet never crossing over
never quite enough
never
never
running through, breaking past
on the fringe
on the cusp
unable to pierce the veil
tear down that which is invisible
yet cements
fixes
defines
but not quite embodies.
stand exposed; lay yourself bare
fillet from top to bottom and hope
it will be enough
even though experience whispers something
different
while you stand
just this side of.