A thicker skin (plus a new coat)

I had my painting class last night. God. I enjoy the physical act of it, but it is hard on my ego. Last week, we worked on color values, and to practice we had to paint a selection of black-spectrum buttons on black paper, and then a selection of white-spectrum buttons on white paper. I sucked at it. I have never been good at faithfully copying stuff anyway, and the colors were hard for me to replicate. I also misunderstood the homework and felt embarrassed, although as a teacher, this is information that can be put to use in the future. File under, "empathy when someone misunderstands her or his homework."

Last night, we did a variety of things, but I just felt like the teacher kept going to the other new students and saying, "Wow!" "Good!" "You've really got it!" etc., and just kind of looking at mine without comment. I keep meaning to grow a thicker skin, and then forgetting to do so. Instead I just keep buying new jackets, which is not the same at all.

Anyway, it reminds me of the time in junior high school when my teacher, Ms. G-W., gave everyone in the class an adorable nickname, usually consisting of some form of their real name with "-ski" tacked onto the end. For example, Brad became Bradski. Jennifer became Jenny-ski. These names were said lightly, with a shared fondness or secret implied. My name, however, stayed exactly the same. No -ski was added, and the voice returned to normal seriousness when it was said, placing me firmly outside her whimsical circle. In retrospect, this is a fantastic thing. I might have gone down an entirely different path if I had been wrapped into this little sorority training group. At the time, though, I took it as further proof that I didn't fit in and had deserved to be left by my one good friend for the cheerleaders. I know. I'm like the only person you have ever heard about having a hard time in junior high. All I can say is, good thing for the Cure and the Smiths, who were there through thick skin and thin (mostly thin). See how Robert Smith stuck by me even when I was alone in my room, all sullen, with a shower cap and panty hose on my head?
Take that, Ms. G-W! What a shitty teacher. I'm sure she thought she was a great one.

Anyway, I didn't really mean to go down that path, because my painting teacher is not shitty. She is good, and she is honest. I'm kind of lazy and ridiculously crave validation. I'm starting a skin-thickening program right now. Please hurl insults at me when we meet so that I can use it to better myself. Is that Am I Hot or Not? website still around? I am so posting a picture of myself in a bathing suit right now.

OK, maybe not. I am in one of my semi-annual Unsuccessfully Attempting to Date phases. That may be a good enough skin thickening exercise in itself.

I did get a new coat for fall. The welcome-back letter came from the superintendent. One must cope somehow.

Eggplant picture

Finally, the much anticipated eggplant picture! See how Michigan-esque? Sure, the thumb area is a bit exaggerated, but still. I can't use it to show you where I live, however, because it's already been cut up and marinated with tomatoes and basil. Yum! Here's the recipe I used (loosely):

Marinated Tomatoes and Eggplant

1. Turn on broiler.
2. Mix together 3 T. balsamic vinegar, 2 T. olive oil and 2 cloves of garlic, crushed.
3. Cut up 2 small eggplants (mitten-shaped optional), toss with half the dressing, and broil for 3-4 minutes. Toss/turn pieces over, and broil for a few more minutes.
4. Cut up 2 or 3 tomatoes (any shape OK)
5. Combine tomatoes, eggplant, remaining dressing, and 2 T. or so chopped basil.
6. Let marinate for at least an hour, up to overnight. Serve chilled.

Michigan-Shaped Eggplant

Today this eggplant-loving Michigan girl scored big at the farmer's market:

A Michigan-shaped eggplant.

(where is the USB cord for my camera???)

Michigan is in a terrible way, economy-wise. People are losing their jobs, their homes... The auto industry is going belly-up. It's hard to feel great about anything.

Our mitten shape, however, is a constant, economy-proof source of joy. This eggplant celebrates what's right about Michigan, minus the upper peninsula.

(If only you could see it! Where is that cord?)

warm beer in a cold mug

I am, indeed, drinking warm beer in a cold (frosted) mug in recognition/celebration of the following facts:

1. Despite waving her frightening fingernails centimeters from my face during dozens of expansive gestures at our training today, my principal somehow did not put out my eye.

2. I have polished off a few more of the walnut-stuffed pickled baby eggplants that Chris and I bought in Skokie. I am always fearful of them, as is she, because they may or may not be properly sealed, and the labels are usually translucent from oil - but from the jar, or another source? It's kind of sketchy, but we like them anyway.

3. There was actually a frosty mug in the freezer when I wanted one!

opening the conversation

Do you know about the durian fruit?

The durian is known for its powerfully rank smell. Its smell is considered so bad that is in fact banned from many public places in Thailand, Singapore, and Malaysia. I have tasted the durian only in dried form. It tasted fine, but with a weird aftertaste that I think relates to its infamous smell.

Do you know about the peanut?

The peanut is known to cause allergic reactions in a growing number of people. Unlike most other food allergies, a peanut allergy can be airborne. The slightest trace of peanut dust can be like anthrax if it hits the right set of nostrils. Consequently, "peanut-free zones" are set up in schools and some other public places.

Do you know about tuna?

Tuna has an incredibly strong smell. To people who like the taste of it, this strong smell apparently is a good one. To people who do not like the taste, the smell is nightmarish. Take me, for example. One whiff is all it takes for a major gagging reaction to unfurl. One whiff. I bring this up because of recently being in a close-quarters tuna situation, in which the person next to me in a closed-up, airless conference room LINGERED over a tuna sandwich over the course of several hours. Lingered, I tell you. For hours I breathed through my mouth, waiting for her to please, god, finish the sandwich and throw the remains far, far away. In the meantime, I couldn't focus on the conversation or add to it, so I'm sure I came off looking like a mouth-breathing imbecile. All of my resources were engaged in not becoming sick from the smell - the overwhelming, gut-wrenching smell!

This has also happened to me in an airplane. An airplane must be a tuna sandwich-free zone! I'd totally support the airlines in searching carry-on luggage for tuna sandwiches before boarding.

Please, tuna eaters of the world, do not enjoy your sandwiches and salads in closed-in places. I'm gagging right now just thinking about it - even the memory of the tuna smell is that strong!

And don't even get me started on the time I bought what I thought was a plain roll at a bakery in Japan only to bite in and discover that it was FILLED WITH TUNA. I can't go back to that dark place to tell you what happened next, but I will say that it was the impetus for me to get serious about learning to read more Japanese...

limoncello

That is the limoncello my mom and I made. We soaked the peels of about 5 lemons in vodka for four days, then today we combined 1% milk and sugar and cooked it up, combined it with the infused vodka, and bottled it to take on our annual "up north" trip with the fam. It's good. I had never had a creamy limoncello, and generally I don't go for creamy things, but my mom found the recipe and really wanted to try it, and it is lovely.

Mollie says that when she texts my name it comes out as 'Messhut." I think that might be my new name for my apartment.

The days lately are weird. I guess I did injure my back, and it's causing my legs to hurt, too. I am trying to rest a lot, but as a result, I can't sleep at night from the inactivity. I am going out and doing things, but not exercising except for stretching. It also seems like I keep wearing the same shirt. That is an unrelated issue, though.

I'm taking a painting class and it feels great. I can't wait until I get to try out my new skillz on F.I.A.T.

So, I finally made peace with the fact of getting an occasional pedicure, and now this. That is completely horrific. Jen says that it is also horrific to people who aren't terrified of fish as I am. Is it true?

I am so tired. Partly because my sleep was marred by a bad feeling in my back and legs. I have had this before and I think it is a spinning-related injury. I got up at around 3 to google "Spinning lower back" and got quite far through one article before I realized it referred to using a spinning wheel, not pedaling on a bike going nowhere at a gym. Apparently the spinning wheel can also aggravate the lower back. The tip-off, finally, was when the author suggested switching to a kitchen chair. It just didn't seem as effective as a bike.

Beware the 'Zilla!

Having reliable internet access at home has made a huge difference in my life. Yes, I caved and stopped relying on unreliable others. Now I can do all the important stuff I need to do, like finally confirm that, yes, the woman in my one Pilates DVD is indeed the actress who played Kathy, Buffy's evil roommate! Critical stuff like that...

You might be interested to know that the monster that lives in Lake Merritt in Oakland has been named Merrittzilla . I find it kind of cool.

One benefit of the aforementioned New Bed is that in moving the dreaded Old Bed (which I gave away on freecycle) I found the ring I have been missing for many months now. The one that a student noticed was missing from my finger, which made me feel like my students watch me a little too closely, perhaps. But anyway, it is back on the middle finger of my left hand, like it had never been gone. Yea. I feel that my good luck begins now.
It's weird because I'm restless, kind of, but I don't feel like going anywhere. Usually when I feel this way I just want to go somewhere, anywhere. But I don't. I want to stay home, but in a new kind of way. What would be a fresh, interesting new way to stay home? Probably I will just read my Amy Hempel book. I actually haven't just stayed in and read in awhile.
I put up some of my pictures from NM on the post a few below.

I have a new bed, and it's lovely. It's all about newness - new bed, new mattress, new sheets, new quilt. Newnewnew. I went with a quilt because no matter what preventive steps I take (tying the corners, mild sedatives, etc.), my duvet always slips out of its cover and I get all tangled up in it. It is a really gross feeling somehow and I'm DONE. Anyway, I love my new Bed plus Accessories, even though I keep bumping my knee on the corner of the frame. That's just my bed's way of reminding me not to take it for granted. Really, it's more than a bed. It's a receptacle for my hopes and dreams. I can tell my bed anything and it won't judge me. I am trying to stay on its good side by not filling it with magazines like I did my old bed. I got up and put my magazine in the living room last night when I was ready to turn off the light. I want to be a good steward of this bed, you know? I made it today and even tucked the quilt into the sides because then it looks very modern and streamlined. I propped the first set of pillows against the slanted headboard and then I propped the other pillows, the ones with the shams, over those. It was very responsible of me.

Did I mention that the quilt is reversible? The other side is orange!!! This is why I picked out sheets with red, orange, and pink stripes. The quilt was $48, marked down from $200. Because it's reversible, I consider each side to have cost only $24. The real savings will be in better sleep from not having to wrestle with it all night like I did that stupid duvet.

So, that's what's new with me.

Caring about deer

Today, when I pulled into my parking lot, a deer was meandering about between the cars.

I see them all the time on my way to and fro school, often in various states of decomposition along the side of the road. Never in my parking lot, though. I felt bad for it. It so does not belong in this parking lot. I just kept looking at it, trying to convey to it that if it wanted to follow me, I would lead it to safety. But I don't think it got my drift. I tried English, French, Japanese, hand movements, interpretive dance, etc., but still it just stood there frozen, as though in proverbial headlights, too dense to get the message.

I also have been thinking that I would like to build some bridges across the roads specifically for deer to use for crossing. But I'm worried that, again, I wouldn't be able to communicate this news to the deer population, and the bridges would go unused. You know?

Big Brother figure wanted

Blogger is taking an agonizingly long time to add photos today, so I can't be bothered with it for the last post right now. Maybe I'll put them on my flickr page one of these days soon.

The last post is really, really long. I don't expect anyone to actually read it. I think that was more for myself.

I have committed to writing 20 minutes a day. It reminds me of a post from last summer, when I was writing every day and, basically, laughing at Hemingway. He had what seemed to me to be ridiculously easy writing goals for himself. But here I am, unsure whether I can actually manage 20 minutes a day (or a cumulative total of 100 minutes a week). I sure as hell have the time. I have vast acres and long swaths of time. But I also have a bad case of ennui. Ennui cripples me. How do I shake it?

My favorite bar in Detroit is Cliff Bell's. It's so fancy and beautiful. I had been there before, but never to see music. Jen and Deborah and I went to see ladies play music Sunday night. There are little tables with chairs to sit in while the music is playing, which seemed exotic. It also seems like a natural/inevitable progression in my life. I may suddenly be too old to go to bars where I have to stand up to watch the music. My pins enjoy a break now and then.

Last night I watched the Wilco documentary, I am Trying to Break Your Heart. It added melancholy to my ennui, although I'm not sure why. So now I have melennui.

I think it has to do with the creative process, and people living their real creative potential. I feel like I flee from my creative potential, or that it inhabits my home in the form of dust bunnies. At the retreat, the vast, epic chunks of time were motivating, not frightening. I think, sadly, that I feel like I'm not quite real if I'm alone too much. I need to know I'm being watched or something...

A lot of detail about my trip

I'm at the Albuquerque Airport - I mean, Sunport, as it is really called. Anyway, one important outcome of this trip is that I can now confidently spell "Albuquerque." That's new.

It feels like I have been gone many weeks, have walked many moons, etc. It's weird, because my trip turned out not really how I thought it would, but so much better. Although I did have a few footwear issues, my fears of the previous post did not materialize. Instead, I accomplished a lot at the retreat (which seems like forever ago now) - I felt good about my writing, met very cool people, and realized that I like being in a place with really good-smelling air. After the retreat, which was at Pretty Fancy Place just outside of the city of Santa Fe, I went into the city and dropped my new friend Jenny off at the super gorgeous, amazing, and fancy-ass inn/resort where her friend worked and so where she was staying for cheap. After touring the grounds, opening the door to the eucalyptus steam room, drinking fruit-infused water in the lobby, and learning about the place's rich history, including a resident ghost, I moved on to my accomodations, which can only be described as a motor lodge with plastic-y bedspreaded rooms. Oh well. It was within walking distance to a lot of bars, you know? So way better, really.

I had major culture shock in Santa Fe. It seemed like just super-expensive shops and galleries, older, wealthy tourist ladies in vaguely southwestern-themed clothing, and ultra-exclusive-everything. Ugh. I hung out there Sunday night, when I got in, and just wondered where the real people like to go. I had dinner at the fancy inn with Jenny and her nice friend, Maggie, then wandered around more, and I decided to go on a road trip the next day. I got up early and took the "high road" to Taos (as opposed to the quicker, less scenic (so they say, but it's also amazing, I found out on my way back) "low road"), stopping at little towns and sights along the way. Dude, it totally changed my feelings about the whole area. It was so beautiful, the whole way. I loved the little towns, which were so not glamorous in any way, although they have been somewhat artified as galleries have moved in. No matter; these towns are just so lovely in their way. One place I stopped was Chimayo (accent over the o), home to the Santuario de Chimayo, with its supposedly healing dirt. I got there at 9:00 am, which is when it opened (yes, I hit the road early this day), and as I went through the church, I just felt so scared. I have always been scared of religious things. This was just full-on creepy. There were bleeding Jesus images everywhere, in all types of art media. There was a wall of crutches that people had left after rubbing the holy dirt on their legs and being healed. There were offerings - photos, baby shoes, crosses made of twigs - all over the church and grounds. Whoa. It was seriously frightening to me, although I guess I can't explain why. Supernatural things are just creepy to me, I guess. OK, anyway, the dirt is in this little room off the main chapel. You have to duck through a low doorway, and then you see the hole in the concrete floor. Down in the hole is the miracle-giving dirt, with plastic sand shovels stuck in it. If you bring your own container (or buy one for $2.50 in the gift shop), you can get some for yourself.

I hadn't brought a container.

I loved the town of Chimayo. It is also known for its weaving, although I have the wool thing and so couldn't get into that. ("The wool thing" refers to an allergy). I just liked driving the windy mountainous little roads and seeing the half-falling down houses, which I don't mean in a demeaning way. I find that far more beautiful than big, new houses. There were tiny, nicely signed restaurants and art galleries stuck in here and there. A dog growled at me and prevented me from going into one local artist's place. The local artists aren't rich people from Santa Fe. They are people who live there and are supposed to, and also make art, and, in some cases, have mean dogs.

To speed things along, I will say that after leaving Chimayo, it was one incredible "blink and miss it" town after another. I eventually wound my way to Taos, had lunch at an outdoor burrito place, and felt an almost immediate need to get out of Taos. Also arty, rich, expensive (although later I'd change my mind about this). I went to Taos Pueblo. It was the best part of my day. I looked around, took a tour, talked for a long time with a super cool woman who lives on the pueblo and makes paintings, soap, etc. (see picture of her painting), ate fry bread for the first time, and got drenched in a sudden thunderstorm. The artist was concerned that her teenager daughter only wears black these days, and I was able to talk her down on that. I felt comfortable enough that I could ask her what she felt about all these tourists (like me) hanging around the place where she lives. She said she got upset at some ladies the day before who asked her how she goes to the bathroom, but that for the most part people are sensitive and that she can't remember it being any other way. I read that tourists sometimes think that the pueblo residents going about their daily lives is some kind of re-enactment, for their tourism pleasure, when in fact they are actually just cooking their food/getting their water/etc. I guess my thing is that I do some reading beforehand, you know?

After getting soaked at the pueblo, I drove to the Rio Grande Gorge bridge. It is a bridge of some distinction, and you can walk across it and look at the deeply cut gorge below. There were thunderstorms all throughout the area - I could see them in the distance at that point - and the wind made me a little reluctant to lean to far over the railing of the bridge. It swayed like crazy when trucks went over. I normally don't have a height worry, but I guess I do have a thing about falling into a gorge. I got back in the car and drove further on, to the Earthship settlement, where I learned all about these super sustainable homes built of old tires and cans, and with all kinds of off-the-grid features. It was actually quite beautiful. I liked going from the pueblo, which has been there for at least 800 years, to the super-futuristic earthship. Past and future actually had quite a lot in common.

Still not ready to go back to Santa Fe, I instead drove up, north of Taos, to Arroyo Seco. I loved this little town, at the base of Taos Mountain. Beautiful and small and cool in a not-too-arty way. I met a nice older cowboy-like gentleman who welcomed me to town and was very disappointed that I wouldn't be able to make the Fourth of July parade. He gave me his business card, which indicates that he is or aspired at one time to be a New Mexico senator, and said that next time I'm in the area, I should call so that he can show me around on horseback. I gave him my email address, swept up in the friendliness of it all, and he has already emailed me, lamenting that he could neither show me around on his horses this time nor welcome me to the Fourth of July parade.

Finally, I went back to Santa Fe, had dinner at the Cowgirl Hall of Fame place, which was pretty cool, and then met up with Jenny and Maggie for music (Maggie is an awesome musician) and drinks at Jenny's hotel.

The last full day in Santa Fe, Jenny and I walked around, went to the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, which I have long wanted to go to, sat by the pool at her hotel (although she had already checked out - so rebellious!), and drove up a mountain to 10,000 Waves, the super fantastic Japanese-style spa, where we used the Women's Communal Bath. Oh my god. It was a heavenly rotation of hot bath, sauna, cold plunge; hot bath, sauna, cold plunge; lie around on the deck; repeat. I felt so good after that. If I lived there, I would be there all the time.

We went to Albuquerque (see, I know how to spell it) that night, got a hotel room near the airport. Jenny left early the next morning, but my flight wasn't until afternoon, so I went to Old Town Albuquerque - disappointing, since again it seemed to exist solely for tourists. I hung out just long enough to eat a bowl of grilled vegetables with salsa and guacamole, then left for the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, a museum. I liked that a lot. There was an exhibit focusing on seven prominent Pueblo women artists, and their work was lovely.

Later: Airport. Change planes in Denver. The closer I got to Detroit, the worse things got. The seat in front of me broken, forcing my knees into my lower lip, practically. The guy across the aisle clipping his nails and letting the clippings float through the air like confetti. Super crazy turbulence. Lost luggage.

Finally, got the luggage back. Got my phone in proper working order (I had to get a new one in NM and they programmed it in such a way that I could see that I had messages, but couldn't get to them). Normalized my food and alcohol consumption (both of which were super high, like the elevation of Santa Fe). Made a laundry pile.

Now my trip sort of seems like a dream.

(will add photos later)

Collard wraps, travel plans

Last night I made collard wraps. Big leaves of collard greens were flash-boiled, marinated, then rolled around a semi-delicious filling and cut into small rolls. I got the recipe from the book The Balanced Plate, but I didn't really follow her recipe for the filling, which I think is why it was only semi-delicious. Anyway, it was an exciting and pretty dinner.

I am going to Santa Fe in a couple of days for a writing retreat, and then staying on a bit to meander on my own. I'm worried about the writing thing, which is a professional article kind of writing thing. I already feel like I'm going to be the worst writer, the least academic, the laziest, etc., and have the least comfortable footwear on top of it. Maybe I should get some new shoes before I go.

I'm also in a mild (extremely mild) panic about meandering on my own, for some reason. I could count the times I have meandered new places on my own on many hands. It is not a big deal. I think I just shouldn't have read the guide book. The guide book made me feel like I should go everywhere and do everything, that I will be missing out on massive life experiences if I don't rent a car and drive to every canyon, pueblo, and top-notch margarita place in northern New Mexico. I was just planning on walking, going to the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, drinking and eating good things, and going here as many times as possible. I guess I'll just see how ambitious I feel.

The last week of school was weird because school was canceled every single day because of a power outage. On the last day of school, the kids just had to come in and get their stuff out of their desks.

It's summer and I want to see bands and go to barbecues and sit in the sun and wear skirts. That's my agenda for the summer.

New F.I.A.T. and clean hair

I was thinking about just abandoning this di altogether, since I barely ever write anymore. But Mollie liked this little story about, not surprisingly, my hair. It is a favorite topic, after all. I saw my mom Friday and she said my hair looked nice, and I said, "I can't remember when the last time I washed it was." Then I started really thinking about it, and it was not good. I am out of my normal exercise routine, which seems to dictate my hair washing. Anyway, I started worrying about it a little and decided I'd wash it before bed. But I kept falling asleep on the couch. I would wake up, and decide to go to bed, then remember about my hair, be unable to muster the energy to get up and deal with it, and fall asleep again. This kept happening until around 2:00 am, when I decided to go to bed without washing it. I remember worrying that my head would slide off my pillow, but I don't think it did. Then I woke up around 4 and the first thought was, "I should wash my hair right now." Like it really couldn't wait until morning? Luckily I fell asleep again before I could actually follow through.


So, nice, huh? I thought I'd share with you that my hair was pretty dirty on Friday. It's nice and clean now.


Mollie liked that story, and Pam liked my new way of drawing F.I.A.T. She thinks it's a little more urban, kind of edgy - the citified cousin of the previous F.I.A.T., with a sleeker look and sharper lines. I think her words were something like, "He's always moving so fast." Compared to that less sophisticated version, you know?

Trash Talkin' the Dalai Lama

It's a snow day again, our fifth and last one before we have to start adding days to the end of the school year. Right now there are 61 days of school left, and I'd like to keep it like that. This morning I slept in, read a little, then dug out and got in my car. I heard on the radio that the Dalai Lama is coming to Ann Arbor, and that he hasn't been there since 1994. Uh, yeah, I remember Dalai Lama Visit 1994. That is most likely the root of my displaced anger at the DL. That day, and the drunken night when Jen and I read some bits from a book of his that she was supposed to read for class, and we realized that all of these gems of wisdom were so stereotypical, basically boiling down to "Be nice to other people," and "Do the right thing."

So, in 1994 I was working at the hippie day care, and the owner was a Buddhist, and she asked if I'd be willing to work at the day care on the Saturday of the dalai lama visit so that people from her temple or whatever could drop their kids off before the big show. I dumbly agreed, without really getting enough details. The day came, and dozens of kids showed up, ranging in age from like 2 days old to fifteen, and I was supposed to somehow entertain them all. They were all named Rainbow, or Aura, or other such things. It was a horror show of unmet needs, gluten-free baked goods shortages, and botched craft projects. I blamed the Dalai Lama, and still do, and always will.

Here's one website's Dalai Lama words of wisdom for the day: "I always have the feeling that I'm just another human being." Huh. Me too, DL. me too...

arabic phrase book

Today I left my laptop in my car at the mall while I was attempting to hunt/gather lip gloss. I put my coat over it, the same smoky bar coat that I was trying to air out on the way there by driving pretty fast, with the window all the way down. So,my laptop is my most expensive possession, except for my car. You'd think I would have rolled the window up before going into the mall, right? Nope. Not me. I just left it wide open for over an hour (lip gloss being a harder goal than it sounds). Amazingly, my laptop was still there! So was the coat.

Mysteriously, there was also an Arabic phrase book in the back seat.

F.I.A.T., alone at the Majestic Cafe

Chapstick Chapstick Chapstick

I can't act like I really understand what a Zen koan is, but I do know it's a kind of riddle or story given to a student by a teacher. It seems nonsensical to begin with, but after meditating on it, it suddenly seems really super deep.

Example:

Hui Neng once approached a student who was sitting in meditation. "Why do you spend so much time sitting?" he asked. "Because I want to become a Buddha," the student replied.

At this, Hui Neng picked up a brick tile from the floor, and began rubbing it with his robe. "Why are you doing that?" asked the student. "Because I want to make a mirror," Hui Neng replied.

"But Master," said the student, "no amount of -- oh, wait, I get it! Very funny, very funny."

So, I bring it up because of two recent moments that made me think of Zen koans:

Third grade student: Did you watch the Superbowl last night?
Teacher: No. I watched a show about elephants.
28 third grade students: (laugh to point of tears)

They really got how funny it was, you know?

Second example:

Student: I found this Chapstick on the floor.
Teacher: That Chapstick? I threw that away yesterday, and the day before! Who keeps putting this Chapstick on the floor?
Student: It's haunting you!
Teacher: Put it in the garbage if no one is going to claim it.
Student: What if we find it again tomorrow?

OK, maybe that one isn't really like a Zen koan. I just like it. The cool inside joke in my classroom right now is that various things are haunting me, the teacher. Another cool thing going down at the moment is to combine "mad" and "sad" to make "smad." It seems like something I would teach them, but they just came up with it without me. I'm touched and proud.

Winter stories

Happy Groundhog Day! I totally forgot about it, which is unlike me. Apparently, there will be six more weeks of winter.

That's a little less daunting to me today than it was yesterday at this time, when I still had this apprehension hanging over my head. That apprehension reached its natural apex around 6:15 yesterday evening, near a dumpster behind the Berkley Front.

See, I take one major spill every winter. I can't predict how or when, but I always know it will come, usually in front of a bunch of people and/or while wearing a skirt. It's a lot of what-if to live with. Once it comes, though, the pressure is officially off, and I can be all nonchalant about snow and ice.

Last night was the night. One minute, chatting with Alice about how we both are wearing high heeled boots in the snow and ice, the next moment, on my ass in a giant, cold puddle of slush. I cut my finger and bruised my hip, but the worst part was the total soaking of my jeans. So Alice and I went into the bar and found Deborah and Tim, where we learned that Tim had also fallen into what sounds like the same puddle, getting his jeans similarly soaked.

This past week, I only worked two days. It went like this: Sick day, snow day, work, work, snow day. Winter is the time to be a teacher. Also, summer.