Christmas is almost here and every year there are a couple of old memories that tug at my heart from when I was a child. It seems so long ago, but then it doesn't. Isn't life funny that there can be a song, a fragrance, an old saying and like a fairy sprinkling memory dust, we are thinking about things that happened fifty years ago. Don't ask me about what I ate for lunch last week, I won't remember, but there are some things that we take with us, hidden in a little pocket in our brains and our hearts. Take it out, cherish it and smile.
Christmas 1964, the Beatles Invasion was still going strong in the US which included Amarillo, Texas where our family lived at the time. My brother, Gary, was thirteen and very much into the Fab Four. In February, with the help of a snowstorm, he had convinced my dad to let us stay home from church and watch the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. We watched Bandstand all summer, every Saturday, and I was probably one of the only first graders in my class that knew words to "I wanna hold your hand." I had even convinced my mother to allow my hair to be cut in a pixie which I referred to as my "Beatle haircut." Gary always knew the newest songs and I was very influenced by most things he enjoyed.
Mom and Gary took me to Sears to see Santa Claus. He had arrived by helicopter earlier in the day and there were broken candy canes all over the parking lot. (I hate to think what would have happened to our car or to us if we had been parked there when his transport hovered over the crowd.) As I was not a perfect child, the moment of truth came when it was my turn to sit on Santa's knee. My mother had made a few "phone calls" to him in my presence during a couple of naughty episodes so I wasn't about to lie and really commit a mortal sin. There was a tightness in my chest as I moved closer and closer to the front of the line. Suddenly, there I was moving like a sleepwalker up to the man in red. I was very solemn and serious when I climbed on his knee. He asked me the dreaded question, "Have you been a good little girl?" In a panic, I looked at my mother! "He knows when you are sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows when you've been bad or good..." HE KNOWS! HE KNOWS! My mother, seeing the dread in my eyes nodded encouraging at me and I told Santa, "Well, most of the time." I don't know what he said, but I didn't get a lecture or a frown. I believe we parted on good terms. I left with a solid candy cane that did not come from the parking lot and hope.
We had a silver Christmas tree that came in a box. The first year, my mother decorated with blue glass ornaments. The following year, my brother and I convinced her to let us decorate it with our other ornaments so it had a little more personality. Because it was aluminum and a fire hazard, there were no Christmas lights on it. We didn't have the cool rotating color wheel, so it reflected the lights from the lamps in the living room. [It was a two year commitment in our home due to the mutiny led by my brother and me. I believe it found a way to my dad's office for company celebrations.]
On Christmas Eve, we spent the night at the farm. My mother's parents lived on a farm outside Tahoka, Texas. There was always a large Christmas tree that was real, not artificial and definitely not silver. It was decorated with an assortment of ornaments that were child friendly, tinsel, a star on the top, and it had those big bulb lights that someone deemed to be a fire hazard in the seventies. Before bed, we ate popcorn and drank hot cocoa made by our Pa. I was surprised that he could "pop the corn" (as he called it) in one of my grandmother's cooking pots but I was really impressed that he made the cocoa just like my mother did! When you are six, you don't always make the connections of where your mother learned how to do things. :) Bedtime meant snuggled in the roll-away bed in the back bedroom while my brother slept in the big bed in the same room.
It always amazes me how little sleep a person, especially a child gets on Christmas Eve. Santa was coming, wrapped presents were waiting, and I had a hard time sleeping. At least I think I did! At some point during the night, I remember my brother asking me if I was asleep. I remember following him through my grandparents' room to my parents room to ask if it was time to get up. I can still see my my mother's face never leave the pillow as she told us to go back to bed. Back across the house, through my grandparents' room, and back in bed. We did this several times that night. I remember my grandmother asking us on one of our trips if we were alright. We were pretty quiet because my mother made that horrible startled face and sound when each time we woke her to ask if it was time. Lying in that cozy roll-away, I suggested we sing some Beatles songs. I don't think Gary argued because I remember singing "Listen, do you want to know a secret" together until my grandfather, in his undershirt and boxers made an appearance and told us to be quiet and go to sleep. No arguments. No pleading. Just two heavy sighs and a whole lot of quiet.
Morning finally came before daylight and Gary and I were sprung from our back bedroom chamber of quiet. The tree was lit, the room warmed by a Deerborn butane heater, and Santa had been there. When had this happened? I didn't see anything during any of our pilgrimages through the living room. But there it all was, laid out for us to find. A soft bodied doll with blonde hair who cried when you tipped her over with a blanket and layette and treasures for my brother. I remember showing her proudly to my grandparents. They checked all our gifts out. My grandmother and my mother made breakfast and preparations began for aunts, uncles, and cousins to arrive for our traditional Henry Family Christmas celebration.
Most people think of Christmas songs like Silent Night, Silver Bells, or I'll Be Home for Christmas to recall special memories. Fifty years later and the Beatles remind me of my brother and Christmas.
"Listen, (Do Wah Do) Do you want to know a secret? (Do Wah Do) Do you promise not to tell? (Wo Oh Oh) I'm in love with you."
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Pretty Paper
Every year at Christmas, I find myself being the official present wrapper for almost every present that is not for me. This is not limited to my immediate family, but my parents, too. It is not unusual for my dad to pull me aside the day before the gift giving and he will show me his stash for my mom and he always has a question for me. "Will you wrap your mother's presents?" I never just say, "Sure Dad." I usually make faces, act like I have been punished, to which he will wink and smile because he knows I will wrap his gifts. It's a little ritual we go through. He and I have some gift giving history.
When I was a child, we lived for a few years in Lubbock, Texas. My mother was a housewife. Before Christmas, my mother would take me shopping with her and we would at some point end up in Dunlaps Dept. Store. I remember Dunlaps having very nice clothes, shoes, jewelry, and perfume. Mom would take me to the department where there was something that had caught her eye for my dad to buy her for Christmas. I learned at a very early age the nuances of different Christian Dior perfumes. I could pick out Daniel Green "house shoes" from the shoe department. And by the age of eight, I knew what cameos were. It was shopping school and I was a willing little student! A week before Christmas, Dad, Gary, and I would go Christmas shopping for Mom. We would traipse into Dunlaps and I would lead the guys to her favorites. Dad usually followed my lead but he always liked to have a little surprise that she wasn't anticipating. Like a red pants suit. (Dad loves red.) A few purchases later, we would take her gifts to the gift wrap department, choose a lovely wrap with a bow or decoration, and then we would make a big production of trying to hide it behind all the other gifts under the tree. On Christmas morning, there would be her beautifully wrapped gifts and she would exclaim that they were so lovely, but why were we spending money on gift wrap. Every year, she would set aside the bows and decorations so they could be saved along with the gift boxes. (There were years some of our boxes had to be ten years old or older!) A week or so after Christmas, she would take the red pant suit back. She likes purple.
Years meant moves and this little tradition continued for Dad and me. In Houston, it was Foleys or Battlesteins. In Oklahoma City and Tulsa, it was Dillards Brown-Dunkin. In Little Rock, it was Dillards and Cohns. Back to Houston and Foleys in 1977. No matter where we were, we took an evening and shopped for Mom. Every year, there were lovely packages from Dad for Mom.
My first job was wrapping gifts at Dillards in Little Rock in the evenings and on weekends during the holiday season. I learned the ins and outs of wrapping quickly, storing gift receipts and tags in an envelope for the buyer, and how not to waste paper by measuring efficiently. I was paid minimum wage and on the evening of December 24, my job was over. I was allowed to wrap my own presents at the store and we were allowed to take home the "odd gift wrap" that wasn't very popular. There were a few years Hanukkah wrapping paper was found under our Christmas tree because it just wasn't a big seller. My dad was one of my customers. He liked the idea of a company discount.
I left home in January, 1981 and moved to Arizona when I married Bosco. For years at Christmas, I dutifully wrapped our family's gifts, but as the years passed, the holiday season seemed more like a chore than what the season is supposed to represent. I did most of the shopping, most of the financial stressing, the shipping to our Texas family, and those pretty packages gave way to printed boxes. No tissue. No bows. Items wrangled into the boxes from Walmart and taped shut. No one seemed to notice. Then, gift bags came along. I moved from the printed boxes to gift bags. No tissue. No bows. Most were stapled or taped shut. You get the drift. Until my dad came. Then, I would carefully wrap my mother's presents, laying a sweater or blouse in tissue, measuring the good wrap I had hidden away, and a lovely hand tied bow on the outside.
When I retired, I decided that I would stop complaining about Christmas. I promised to embrace my gift giving with the love intended and I would wrap everyone's gifts with thought and consideration. So, I do still complain a little and I have put gift cards in those funny little holders. Yet, overall almost all the gifts coming from our home have been wrapped in pretty paper with a hand-tied bow on the top. This year, I tried very hard to focus on the love behind the gifts and to wrap them with care. It's like giving a little part of ourselves or our family.
We will not be in Houston on Christmas day and they are not coming to Arizona this year, so I don't know who will wrap his gifts for her. I wonder if there will be a red outfit for her to return. She still loves purple.
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Crowded streets, busy feet hustle by you
Downtown shoppers Christmas is nigh
There he sits all alone on the sidewalk
Hoping that you won't pass him by
Should you stop better not much too busy
Better hurry my, my how time does fly
And in the distance the ringing of laughter
And in the midst of the laughter he cries
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Oh, oh, pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
-Phillip Brooks
When I was a child, we lived for a few years in Lubbock, Texas. My mother was a housewife. Before Christmas, my mother would take me shopping with her and we would at some point end up in Dunlaps Dept. Store. I remember Dunlaps having very nice clothes, shoes, jewelry, and perfume. Mom would take me to the department where there was something that had caught her eye for my dad to buy her for Christmas. I learned at a very early age the nuances of different Christian Dior perfumes. I could pick out Daniel Green "house shoes" from the shoe department. And by the age of eight, I knew what cameos were. It was shopping school and I was a willing little student! A week before Christmas, Dad, Gary, and I would go Christmas shopping for Mom. We would traipse into Dunlaps and I would lead the guys to her favorites. Dad usually followed my lead but he always liked to have a little surprise that she wasn't anticipating. Like a red pants suit. (Dad loves red.) A few purchases later, we would take her gifts to the gift wrap department, choose a lovely wrap with a bow or decoration, and then we would make a big production of trying to hide it behind all the other gifts under the tree. On Christmas morning, there would be her beautifully wrapped gifts and she would exclaim that they were so lovely, but why were we spending money on gift wrap. Every year, she would set aside the bows and decorations so they could be saved along with the gift boxes. (There were years some of our boxes had to be ten years old or older!) A week or so after Christmas, she would take the red pant suit back. She likes purple.
Years meant moves and this little tradition continued for Dad and me. In Houston, it was Foleys or Battlesteins. In Oklahoma City and Tulsa, it was Dillards Brown-Dunkin. In Little Rock, it was Dillards and Cohns. Back to Houston and Foleys in 1977. No matter where we were, we took an evening and shopped for Mom. Every year, there were lovely packages from Dad for Mom.
My first job was wrapping gifts at Dillards in Little Rock in the evenings and on weekends during the holiday season. I learned the ins and outs of wrapping quickly, storing gift receipts and tags in an envelope for the buyer, and how not to waste paper by measuring efficiently. I was paid minimum wage and on the evening of December 24, my job was over. I was allowed to wrap my own presents at the store and we were allowed to take home the "odd gift wrap" that wasn't very popular. There were a few years Hanukkah wrapping paper was found under our Christmas tree because it just wasn't a big seller. My dad was one of my customers. He liked the idea of a company discount.
I left home in January, 1981 and moved to Arizona when I married Bosco. For years at Christmas, I dutifully wrapped our family's gifts, but as the years passed, the holiday season seemed more like a chore than what the season is supposed to represent. I did most of the shopping, most of the financial stressing, the shipping to our Texas family, and those pretty packages gave way to printed boxes. No tissue. No bows. Items wrangled into the boxes from Walmart and taped shut. No one seemed to notice. Then, gift bags came along. I moved from the printed boxes to gift bags. No tissue. No bows. Most were stapled or taped shut. You get the drift. Until my dad came. Then, I would carefully wrap my mother's presents, laying a sweater or blouse in tissue, measuring the good wrap I had hidden away, and a lovely hand tied bow on the outside.
When I retired, I decided that I would stop complaining about Christmas. I promised to embrace my gift giving with the love intended and I would wrap everyone's gifts with thought and consideration. So, I do still complain a little and I have put gift cards in those funny little holders. Yet, overall almost all the gifts coming from our home have been wrapped in pretty paper with a hand-tied bow on the top. This year, I tried very hard to focus on the love behind the gifts and to wrap them with care. It's like giving a little part of ourselves or our family.
We will not be in Houston on Christmas day and they are not coming to Arizona this year, so I don't know who will wrap his gifts for her. I wonder if there will be a red outfit for her to return. She still loves purple.
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Crowded streets, busy feet hustle by you
Downtown shoppers Christmas is nigh
There he sits all alone on the sidewalk
Hoping that you won't pass him by
Should you stop better not much too busy
Better hurry my, my how time does fly
And in the distance the ringing of laughter
And in the midst of the laughter he cries
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Oh, oh, pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
-Phillip Brooks
Monday, November 17, 2014
A Grace So Amazingly Wonderful
Today was not a bad day, but it was a day my husband and I had to do something really hard. For sometime now, our old Labrador, Grace, has been going downhill physically. She had lost most of her muscle tone, she struggled getting up from her bed, avoided sitting, and we could tell that she just didn't feel really great anymore. We both knew this was coming and had made the decision that it was time, but neither one of us wanted to rush it, either. But today, I just knew it was time to put Grace down.
"Jana Selchow's Gracie Lu Freebush" was not an impulse buy. For one and a half years my kids and my husband nagged me about getting a puppy. We already had an elderly yellow Lab named, Poppy, and the tribe felt that she needed a companion. Each week, they would search the dog section of the classified ads in the Tucson paper and every week there were either no affordable listings or I found some excuse to "sink their battleship". My excuses were logical. Money was tight/We were too busy/Poppy didn't seem to be lonely/It needs to be a black Lab/No Corgis!/No hounds!/More dog poop to clean-up/It's winter, who gets a puppy in winter?/Etc... I held them off four 16 months for my own selfish reasons. I did not want to replace the Lab who started it all, Gussie. Because in the end, it was she and me with our vet when she crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. I didn't want to do it again, but I didn't want to say it out loud. However, after 16 months of lame excuses, I caved.
The advertisement for black Labrador puppies in the Tucson paper was found by Bosco. He told the tribe that the phone number looked like it was from McNeal, which is close to our home. I called and asked if one of the puppies was a female, and there was one. They only wanted $200 which fit our budget. I asked for the address and we hit the road for the McNeal area. What we encountered was not what I expected. Our first Lab came from a small kennel in the backyard of a Tucson home. The next one came from a friend. When we drove up Frontier Road to a huge dog/horse training facility we were not prepared for what we saw. "Zauberberg," we learned was an uber special training home for dogs that are used for protection, law enforcement, and other jobs that require specialized canine behavior. We just wanted one to hang-out with Poppy and love the family! These dogs could wear their own uniforms and fight crime! However, we found three pups in a chain-link kennel that just wanted to be petted. A black male, a black female, and a German Shorthair that was being trained as a drug sniffing dog. Of course, the kids loved the female and I walked away with the owner to write the check for our bargain basement dog from the exclusive training facility. After I wrote the check, I filled out the AKC papers and registered her name as "Jana Selchow's Gracie Lu Freebush or Jana's Amazing Grace". (A nod to Sandra Bullock's character in 'Miss Congeniality' and God's love)
She was adored by all of us, no exceptions. Gracie was held, petted, pampered, and even Poppy didn't seem to mind her. Two weeks after she came to live with us, I came home from a PEO meeting to find the family staring at our precious puppy lying in the grass in the backyard. She couldn't stand and she whimpered when we moved her leg. A call to our mobile vet left us distraught when he said she had probably broken a hip and euthanasia would probably be the kindest thing to do. We called the veterinary hospital, but as it was after hours, we could not get through to a human voice. Meg and I carefully lifted her and put a towel under her belly to hold her up but not put weight on her back legs. That seemed to help. She used the restroom and actually wagged her tail. We carried her like that and took her into the house. She spent the night in the sewing room on big pillows and we all took turns taking her outside every few hours for breaks. She drank water and ate a little, so we had hope. The next morning, I called the doctor's wife from the veterinary hospital at her school where she was a counselor and she called her husband. We all said our goodbyes in case he had to euthanize Gracie. I had three phone calls at work that morning. Two from my kids whose hearts were breaking and finally one from the vet who said he thought he could help her. Gracie Lu had her broken leg repaired by the surgical insertion of a long metal pin with a mesh cage wrapped around the area to keep it from splintering. The vet, Dr. Michael Ames, charged us a minimal fee and gave us back our puppy. She recuperated under the supervision of the family, slept in a crate in Meg's room, and napped each day in the family room. Six weeks later, the pin came out and she needed water physical therapy. As we have no swimming pool or pond, we snuck her into a pond on the golf course in the evenings and the pool at my mother-in-law's condo. Gracie never walked with a limp, but we did everything we could to keep her from re injuring that leg.
Gracie, aka Grace, never rescued anyone from a burning house. She never had to protect us from a home invasion. She never rode a skateboard or surfed, but she would retrieve anything we threw for her. She tolerated a younger Lab named Miley until Miley died unexpectedly but she shamefully never seemed to miss her when she was gone. We like to think she could have been a hero-dog who worked for US Customs or the CIA, but we'll never know about that. She lived her life in the backyard of our home, greeted us happily every time we saw us, and made us feel like we were the most important things in her life. We all felt that we were her favorite person. She had that way about her. Everyone liked Grace.
Time really does seem to fly. Poppy lived for a few years training Gracie to be an old dog in a young body. Meg went to college, graduated, got a big girl job at really big company, moved to Kansas City, KS, moved to Quincy, IL., met Kevin, got married, and still works for the big company. Jordan went to high school, graduated, went to college, met Tiffany, graduated, got a teaching job in Phoenix, married Tiffany, and is teaching agriculture at that school in Phoenix. Every time they came home, they wanted to see "their dog". And every time they came home, she was waiting for them.
Bosco retired first and she spent her days with him. He would mow the yard and she would follow him and roll in the clippings. He would let her hang-out with him in the front yard and she never left the property. She was so good. Once, when I was leaving for school, I heard a "woof woof" from the direction of the front gate. There she stood with her head sticking out looking at me like, "Uh-oh, look what Dad left open!" She stayed where she knew her boundaries were. When I retired, she came to know me as the person who would feed her a little more or share a snack. Always a happy face. Always there.
She did have a flaw. She hated cats, especially our cat, Sophie.
This spring, when our vet came to give her her shots, he examined her closely and told me that she didn't need them anymore. He also told me that winter might be hard on Grace. Like a prediction coming true, she seemed to age more and more each day. We brought a new dog, Luke, into the family and that sparked her up for a while, but it didn't slow down the aging process. One minute she would look so weak and frail then zip! She would chase a ball across the yard! But lately, not even fetch could make her happy. We knew it was time and I made the call.
Logic and the heart are often at odds. Someone once told me that the most important two events in life were to see life begin and to see it end. Together, Bosco and I walked Grace to the alley where the man with the shots was waiting. She went very sweetly, full of trust, and we never left her side. Until this, she had never left our sides. Logically, I know this was the right thing to do. It is responsible and it is kind. Heartwise, as I spoke to her, petted and loved on her, I felt such a loss. There will be other dogs because I can't imagine life without one. But I don't think there will be another dog like Grace.
"Jana Selchow's Gracie Lu Freebush" was not an impulse buy. For one and a half years my kids and my husband nagged me about getting a puppy. We already had an elderly yellow Lab named, Poppy, and the tribe felt that she needed a companion. Each week, they would search the dog section of the classified ads in the Tucson paper and every week there were either no affordable listings or I found some excuse to "sink their battleship". My excuses were logical. Money was tight/We were too busy/Poppy didn't seem to be lonely/It needs to be a black Lab/No Corgis!/No hounds!/More dog poop to clean-up/It's winter, who gets a puppy in winter?/Etc... I held them off four 16 months for my own selfish reasons. I did not want to replace the Lab who started it all, Gussie. Because in the end, it was she and me with our vet when she crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. I didn't want to do it again, but I didn't want to say it out loud. However, after 16 months of lame excuses, I caved.
The advertisement for black Labrador puppies in the Tucson paper was found by Bosco. He told the tribe that the phone number looked like it was from McNeal, which is close to our home. I called and asked if one of the puppies was a female, and there was one. They only wanted $200 which fit our budget. I asked for the address and we hit the road for the McNeal area. What we encountered was not what I expected. Our first Lab came from a small kennel in the backyard of a Tucson home. The next one came from a friend. When we drove up Frontier Road to a huge dog/horse training facility we were not prepared for what we saw. "Zauberberg," we learned was an uber special training home for dogs that are used for protection, law enforcement, and other jobs that require specialized canine behavior. We just wanted one to hang-out with Poppy and love the family! These dogs could wear their own uniforms and fight crime! However, we found three pups in a chain-link kennel that just wanted to be petted. A black male, a black female, and a German Shorthair that was being trained as a drug sniffing dog. Of course, the kids loved the female and I walked away with the owner to write the check for our bargain basement dog from the exclusive training facility. After I wrote the check, I filled out the AKC papers and registered her name as "Jana Selchow's Gracie Lu Freebush or Jana's Amazing Grace". (A nod to Sandra Bullock's character in 'Miss Congeniality' and God's love)
She was adored by all of us, no exceptions. Gracie was held, petted, pampered, and even Poppy didn't seem to mind her. Two weeks after she came to live with us, I came home from a PEO meeting to find the family staring at our precious puppy lying in the grass in the backyard. She couldn't stand and she whimpered when we moved her leg. A call to our mobile vet left us distraught when he said she had probably broken a hip and euthanasia would probably be the kindest thing to do. We called the veterinary hospital, but as it was after hours, we could not get through to a human voice. Meg and I carefully lifted her and put a towel under her belly to hold her up but not put weight on her back legs. That seemed to help. She used the restroom and actually wagged her tail. We carried her like that and took her into the house. She spent the night in the sewing room on big pillows and we all took turns taking her outside every few hours for breaks. She drank water and ate a little, so we had hope. The next morning, I called the doctor's wife from the veterinary hospital at her school where she was a counselor and she called her husband. We all said our goodbyes in case he had to euthanize Gracie. I had three phone calls at work that morning. Two from my kids whose hearts were breaking and finally one from the vet who said he thought he could help her. Gracie Lu had her broken leg repaired by the surgical insertion of a long metal pin with a mesh cage wrapped around the area to keep it from splintering. The vet, Dr. Michael Ames, charged us a minimal fee and gave us back our puppy. She recuperated under the supervision of the family, slept in a crate in Meg's room, and napped each day in the family room. Six weeks later, the pin came out and she needed water physical therapy. As we have no swimming pool or pond, we snuck her into a pond on the golf course in the evenings and the pool at my mother-in-law's condo. Gracie never walked with a limp, but we did everything we could to keep her from re injuring that leg.
Gracie, aka Grace, never rescued anyone from a burning house. She never had to protect us from a home invasion. She never rode a skateboard or surfed, but she would retrieve anything we threw for her. She tolerated a younger Lab named Miley until Miley died unexpectedly but she shamefully never seemed to miss her when she was gone. We like to think she could have been a hero-dog who worked for US Customs or the CIA, but we'll never know about that. She lived her life in the backyard of our home, greeted us happily every time we saw us, and made us feel like we were the most important things in her life. We all felt that we were her favorite person. She had that way about her. Everyone liked Grace.
Time really does seem to fly. Poppy lived for a few years training Gracie to be an old dog in a young body. Meg went to college, graduated, got a big girl job at really big company, moved to Kansas City, KS, moved to Quincy, IL., met Kevin, got married, and still works for the big company. Jordan went to high school, graduated, went to college, met Tiffany, graduated, got a teaching job in Phoenix, married Tiffany, and is teaching agriculture at that school in Phoenix. Every time they came home, they wanted to see "their dog". And every time they came home, she was waiting for them.
Bosco retired first and she spent her days with him. He would mow the yard and she would follow him and roll in the clippings. He would let her hang-out with him in the front yard and she never left the property. She was so good. Once, when I was leaving for school, I heard a "woof woof" from the direction of the front gate. There she stood with her head sticking out looking at me like, "Uh-oh, look what Dad left open!" She stayed where she knew her boundaries were. When I retired, she came to know me as the person who would feed her a little more or share a snack. Always a happy face. Always there.
She did have a flaw. She hated cats, especially our cat, Sophie.
This spring, when our vet came to give her her shots, he examined her closely and told me that she didn't need them anymore. He also told me that winter might be hard on Grace. Like a prediction coming true, she seemed to age more and more each day. We brought a new dog, Luke, into the family and that sparked her up for a while, but it didn't slow down the aging process. One minute she would look so weak and frail then zip! She would chase a ball across the yard! But lately, not even fetch could make her happy. We knew it was time and I made the call.
Logic and the heart are often at odds. Someone once told me that the most important two events in life were to see life begin and to see it end. Together, Bosco and I walked Grace to the alley where the man with the shots was waiting. She went very sweetly, full of trust, and we never left her side. Until this, she had never left our sides. Logically, I know this was the right thing to do. It is responsible and it is kind. Heartwise, as I spoke to her, petted and loved on her, I felt such a loss. There will be other dogs because I can't imagine life without one. But I don't think there will be another dog like Grace.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
The Randomness of ADD or Unusual Thoughts at the End of My School Day
I am not sure, but I may or may not have ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder).
I can concentrate on certain things for long periods of time like politics or taxes, but then suddenly, like the dogs in the movie "UP" something "squirrel" catches my attention and my prior thoughts are lost. Somewhere. Deep. In. The. Horizon. Or are these just random thoughts?
Definition: Random - proceeding, made, or occurring without definite aim, reason, or pattern
This could describe much of my thinking process. One minute I am working on a lesson about chlorophyll, then I am searching for a chart and out of the corner of my mind I see an ad for a book about autism which prompts me to search "Autism Spectrum and Gifted Students." Suddenly, I hear a song playing in another room and I need to download "Muskrat Love" to my phone because it is an amazing love song from my freshman year of college.
ADD? Probably. Sigh...
Here are my random thoughts at the end of my teaching day, November 12, 2014.
I can’t get the song Ventura Highway by America off my mind.
One of my second graders was wearing a leather motorcycle jacket in class.
A leaf rubbing is beautiful but some of my gifted kids kept trying to color it in.
I miss my flip flops.
Why can middle schoolers and elementary students take really good selfies but I look nervous and/or cross-eyed?
You have to look closely to see autumn in the desert.
Muskrat Suzy, Muskrat Sam
Do the jitterbug in muskrat land
And they shimmy
Sam is so skinny.
LOL!
I can concentrate on certain things for long periods of time like politics or taxes, but then suddenly, like the dogs in the movie "UP" something "squirrel" catches my attention and my prior thoughts are lost. Somewhere. Deep. In. The. Horizon. Or are these just random thoughts?
Definition: Random - proceeding, made, or occurring without definite aim, reason, or pattern
This could describe much of my thinking process. One minute I am working on a lesson about chlorophyll, then I am searching for a chart and out of the corner of my mind I see an ad for a book about autism which prompts me to search "Autism Spectrum and Gifted Students." Suddenly, I hear a song playing in another room and I need to download "Muskrat Love" to my phone because it is an amazing love song from my freshman year of college.
ADD? Probably. Sigh...
Here are my random thoughts at the end of my teaching day, November 12, 2014.
I can’t get the song Ventura Highway by America off my mind.
One of my second graders was wearing a leather motorcycle jacket in class.
A leaf rubbing is beautiful but some of my gifted kids kept trying to color it in.
I miss my flip flops.
Why can middle schoolers and elementary students take really good selfies but I look nervous and/or cross-eyed?
You have to look closely to see autumn in the desert.
Muskrat Suzy, Muskrat Sam
Do the jitterbug in muskrat land
And they shimmy
Sam is so skinny.
LOL!
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Fat Suckers
Last Saturday, I had the pleasure of having my hair and make-up prepared for my son's wedding with my new daughter-in-law's bridal attendants. I tried to be a fly on the wall in the room as I was definitely over the age limit for this event. While I was waiting for some well needed backcombing, the girls were getting out their shoes, dresses, and to my horror, "shapewear." You know, "Spanx" like products. Not a single girl wore more than a size 14 and quite a few still could wear clothes from the pre-teen department. Aghast, I asked one of the young ladies WHY were wearing shapewear? I mean, she probably weighed 90 pounds after a double cheeseburger deluxe from In and Out Burger. Sheepishly, she answered, "Because my thighs sometimes sweat when I am nervous." Okay, I get it. Sorta.
I like to call my shapewear, Fat Suckers, because that is what they are intended to do. I suck in my fat and wiggle into the camisole (doesn't that sound sweet) and for the rest of the day, said fat hides on my sides, under my boobs, or possibly on my back. This prevents my buttons from popping open when I take a breath because no one wants to lose an eye in an unfortunate accident. Fat suckers are fashion scientists invention for us to take the areas of our body that are not toned, thin, and tend to dance a little jiggle when we walk and keep it corralled, so it doesn't lose control. It is related to control top pantyhose. Control. As in control that fat and strap it into submission. I have considered duct tape from time to time, but it is hard to get the residue off my body.
Being Southern, all my life I heard my mother and other influential women remind me that "good foundation garments" are essential. I remember asking Mom what a "foundation garment" was. She explained that it meant a good supportive brassiere, decent panties, and a girdle. Thank God, science intervened when I was in elementary school and panty hose was invented so I never had to experience the torture of a girdle. So, I never doubted that certain parts of us were not meant to do the happy dance in public. Private, yes. Like when we are taking off the bra at the end of the day and you can feel relief and also take a deep, well needed breath! This is probably why I do some of my best thinking and problem solving after hours. I probably have been starving my brain from enough oxygen flow. So, when I realized I was truly losing the battle of the jiggle, I invested in some shapewear.
I bought it at Costco. I love that you can buy floor cleaner, produce, a case of toilet paper, a beach umbrella, and undergarments without walking more than a few aisles in a warehouse setting. So, after washing it, drying it, I was soooo excited to put on the miracle fabric which would forever change my life and camouflage those years of Hostess cupcakes! I held my breath, wiggled into the camisole, yanked it down, and was forced by inertia to lie down on my bed for a while while the room spun. That tends to happen when I feel like I am going to pass out. Finally, I worked my way to the edge of the bed, sat up, bent over to find my breath, and stood up. Holding on to the dresser for assistance, I looked in the full length mirror across the hall, and thought that my camisole wasn't too bad. I wore it that day, the next, and by the following week, I could actually hold a lengthy conversation without losing focus or blacking out. This was the start of my relationship with my fat suckers.
I wear them regularly, but on certain occasions, I have had to make some decisions regarding my health and my fat suckers. Like the time I was visiting Chicago for a sweet friend's wedding. Meg and I had attended an after wedding breakfast in downtown Chi-town. I had worn a pair of nice capris, a knit top, and not wanting to embarrass myself self by releasing the jiggle in a different environment, my black fat sucker. Did I mention that it was late summer, hot and humid, with little to no breeze coming off Lake Michigan? As we planned, Meg and I walked about 10 blocks to Navy Pier after a full, rich breakfast. As I said earlier, there was little to no breeze to cool me down and I suddenly felt like I was going to go down for the third time. Cold water did nothing to revive me and I was wondering if we were going to have to call 911. While Chicago is nice to visit, I didn't want to die there. Meg hustled me to the restroom where I stuck my head in the sink and she put a cold wet paper towel (Thank you Jesus, Navy Pier is not a "green" facility) on the back of my neck. Meg was kind not to ask if this was a hot flash, but wondered what was wrong with me as she was warm, but definitely not overheated. I told her that I thought I should take off my fat sucker since it was made of non-breathing nylon and lycra. The look she gave me was pathetic. Her eyes spoke the phrase before her lovely mouth said, "Really, Mom? You wore your fat sucker?" I staggered to an empty stall, tore off my shirt and released the jaws of death and put my shirt back on. I swear my temperature dropped 10 degrees! We shoved it in her purse and my fat sucker had to see the wonders of the Chicago architectural tour hidden in the bottom of a lovely Michael Kors bag.
There should be a warning label that they can be bad for your health. Two years ago, I read an article on MSN.com about how people were suffering health complications from shapewear. Some brands were actually interfering with digestion and organ function for wearers. Now, while I can attest that my fat suckers can be an appetite suppressant, I have never had any long term health concerns from wearing my Spanx. Personally, I think these people probably bought a smaller size than they actually needed. It's like shoes. If you squeeze your foot into a smaller size than you really need, you will be rendered cripple. If you squeeze your butt, stomach, or boobs into a size too small, you can experience liver failure. Duh!
Back to preparing for the wedding...
One of the bridesmaids struggled to pull up her shapewear boxers while a couple of others looked on confused and concerned. One lovely said, "Keep on pulling, you almost have it." Finally, I said, "Pull and jump at the same time. It's like the pantyhose dance." There was a lot of giggles and the young lady took the advice. It did make me feel a little better knowing that we all share the same struggles, no matter the age difference or the size. Even if they wear shapewear and I wear my fat suckers.
I like to call my shapewear, Fat Suckers, because that is what they are intended to do. I suck in my fat and wiggle into the camisole (doesn't that sound sweet) and for the rest of the day, said fat hides on my sides, under my boobs, or possibly on my back. This prevents my buttons from popping open when I take a breath because no one wants to lose an eye in an unfortunate accident. Fat suckers are fashion scientists invention for us to take the areas of our body that are not toned, thin, and tend to dance a little jiggle when we walk and keep it corralled, so it doesn't lose control. It is related to control top pantyhose. Control. As in control that fat and strap it into submission. I have considered duct tape from time to time, but it is hard to get the residue off my body.
Being Southern, all my life I heard my mother and other influential women remind me that "good foundation garments" are essential. I remember asking Mom what a "foundation garment" was. She explained that it meant a good supportive brassiere, decent panties, and a girdle. Thank God, science intervened when I was in elementary school and panty hose was invented so I never had to experience the torture of a girdle. So, I never doubted that certain parts of us were not meant to do the happy dance in public. Private, yes. Like when we are taking off the bra at the end of the day and you can feel relief and also take a deep, well needed breath! This is probably why I do some of my best thinking and problem solving after hours. I probably have been starving my brain from enough oxygen flow. So, when I realized I was truly losing the battle of the jiggle, I invested in some shapewear.
I bought it at Costco. I love that you can buy floor cleaner, produce, a case of toilet paper, a beach umbrella, and undergarments without walking more than a few aisles in a warehouse setting. So, after washing it, drying it, I was soooo excited to put on the miracle fabric which would forever change my life and camouflage those years of Hostess cupcakes! I held my breath, wiggled into the camisole, yanked it down, and was forced by inertia to lie down on my bed for a while while the room spun. That tends to happen when I feel like I am going to pass out. Finally, I worked my way to the edge of the bed, sat up, bent over to find my breath, and stood up. Holding on to the dresser for assistance, I looked in the full length mirror across the hall, and thought that my camisole wasn't too bad. I wore it that day, the next, and by the following week, I could actually hold a lengthy conversation without losing focus or blacking out. This was the start of my relationship with my fat suckers.
I wear them regularly, but on certain occasions, I have had to make some decisions regarding my health and my fat suckers. Like the time I was visiting Chicago for a sweet friend's wedding. Meg and I had attended an after wedding breakfast in downtown Chi-town. I had worn a pair of nice capris, a knit top, and not wanting to embarrass myself self by releasing the jiggle in a different environment, my black fat sucker. Did I mention that it was late summer, hot and humid, with little to no breeze coming off Lake Michigan? As we planned, Meg and I walked about 10 blocks to Navy Pier after a full, rich breakfast. As I said earlier, there was little to no breeze to cool me down and I suddenly felt like I was going to go down for the third time. Cold water did nothing to revive me and I was wondering if we were going to have to call 911. While Chicago is nice to visit, I didn't want to die there. Meg hustled me to the restroom where I stuck my head in the sink and she put a cold wet paper towel (Thank you Jesus, Navy Pier is not a "green" facility) on the back of my neck. Meg was kind not to ask if this was a hot flash, but wondered what was wrong with me as she was warm, but definitely not overheated. I told her that I thought I should take off my fat sucker since it was made of non-breathing nylon and lycra. The look she gave me was pathetic. Her eyes spoke the phrase before her lovely mouth said, "Really, Mom? You wore your fat sucker?" I staggered to an empty stall, tore off my shirt and released the jaws of death and put my shirt back on. I swear my temperature dropped 10 degrees! We shoved it in her purse and my fat sucker had to see the wonders of the Chicago architectural tour hidden in the bottom of a lovely Michael Kors bag.
There should be a warning label that they can be bad for your health. Two years ago, I read an article on MSN.com about how people were suffering health complications from shapewear. Some brands were actually interfering with digestion and organ function for wearers. Now, while I can attest that my fat suckers can be an appetite suppressant, I have never had any long term health concerns from wearing my Spanx. Personally, I think these people probably bought a smaller size than they actually needed. It's like shoes. If you squeeze your foot into a smaller size than you really need, you will be rendered cripple. If you squeeze your butt, stomach, or boobs into a size too small, you can experience liver failure. Duh!
Back to preparing for the wedding...
One of the bridesmaids struggled to pull up her shapewear boxers while a couple of others looked on confused and concerned. One lovely said, "Keep on pulling, you almost have it." Finally, I said, "Pull and jump at the same time. It's like the pantyhose dance." There was a lot of giggles and the young lady took the advice. It did make me feel a little better knowing that we all share the same struggles, no matter the age difference or the size. Even if they wear shapewear and I wear my fat suckers.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Joey the Garden Cat
A few years ago, one of my facebook friends shared a page about "Joey the Garden Cat" from Little Rock, Arkansas. At the time, Joey had been diagnosed with bone cancer and was going through surgery and recuperation. At first, I was a little amused in that "Oh, how sweet, it's a little cat" kind of way. You know, when you see something cute and immediately dismiss it or forget about it? But as I read Joey's story, from his and his mama/agent's point of view and I looked through the pictures she posted, I became intrigued. See, I learned that Joey was no ordinary little cat.
Joey was a local celebrity in Little Rock. He lived in the KTHV television station and was often an announced guest on the news shows. It was not unusual to see Joey stroll across a set as if he were on the crew, hop up on the interview couch looking for some attention, or even be perched on the news desk as the day's news was shared. Joey was pretty famous, too. Local artists created paintings with his likenesses for animal rescue charities. His face was the subject of mugs and t-shirts. And he definitely had more followers on his facebook page than anyone I know or follow. Joey was famous!
Did you notice that I used the word rescue in his charities? See, Joey was a rescue in an unusual sort of way. Joey followed another rescue cat to the tv station one day. Larry, the Garden Cat had been befriended and eventually adopted by a couple of KTHV staff members. They saw an animal in need and did the right thing. So, first there was Larry, the Garden Cat. Larry seemed to have a pretty nice life with the studio and was obviously well-loved by many. He also had his own fan base. So, one day, Larry brings a young little friend to the Weather Garden. The little guy is gray, black and white, thin, skittish, but loves hanging with Larry. Larry keeps bringing him home for meals and eventually some care. The little guy becomes "Joey" and a new friend joins the KTHV family. Larry stayed an outside cat, living in the studio weather garden, and was known to come and go. And one day, he didn't come back. After a search, his remains were found near the studio. No one knows what happened to Larry, but his death did not look like foul play. An then there was just Joey.
Reading and following Joey's story each day gave me some interesting insight to the KTHV family and what they were willing to do for the little cat. When he was recuperating from his cancer surgery, he had visitors from the staff. News anchors, guests, and others regularly went by to check on the little guy. He seemed fond of lovely ladies, but he did have a special relationship with one anchor, Tom Brannon. And every day, I read the updates and pictures posted by Joey or his mama/agent. One day, while searching my facebook page for the Joey report, Bosco asked me what I was reading. I had to come clean, I was following the progress of a young cat fighting cancer. You might find it ridiculous, but I found myself praying for him, too. See, I believe cancer hurts everyone it touches, even a cat who lives 27 hours from me.
Joey recovered and time passed. Joey's daily activities and life found itself posted regularly on facebook. People posted rescue stories around Little Rock and the state and you could see that Joey's page was helping animals find good homes and/or care. Recently, he had a health scare, but he seemed to be doing well. Then, I read that Joey had passed away. His mama/agent was on a well deserved vacation and he was being taken care of and surely spoiled by KTHV staff members when he became ill. Joey did not recover, this time. As I read it, I felt so sad for his mama/agent, Theba Lolley, who was not there with him when he crossed over. I felt so sorry for people I have never and probably never will meet, who shared their love and care for a little cat.
I've always heard that we should do our best to make our "mark" so that it helps ourselves and others. It's funny how a little stray cat in Little Rock made such a huge effect on the lives of so many people. Just think how much of an effect our lives could be. Starting with mine.
Read about the KTHV Garden Cats:
Larry's story: http://host-36.242.54.159.gannett.com/news/article/63228/267/Larrys-Story?fb_locale=zh_TW
Joey's story: http://archive.thv11.com/news/article/63229/267/Joeys-Story
Joey was a local celebrity in Little Rock. He lived in the KTHV television station and was often an announced guest on the news shows. It was not unusual to see Joey stroll across a set as if he were on the crew, hop up on the interview couch looking for some attention, or even be perched on the news desk as the day's news was shared. Joey was pretty famous, too. Local artists created paintings with his likenesses for animal rescue charities. His face was the subject of mugs and t-shirts. And he definitely had more followers on his facebook page than anyone I know or follow. Joey was famous!
Did you notice that I used the word rescue in his charities? See, Joey was a rescue in an unusual sort of way. Joey followed another rescue cat to the tv station one day. Larry, the Garden Cat had been befriended and eventually adopted by a couple of KTHV staff members. They saw an animal in need and did the right thing. So, first there was Larry, the Garden Cat. Larry seemed to have a pretty nice life with the studio and was obviously well-loved by many. He also had his own fan base. So, one day, Larry brings a young little friend to the Weather Garden. The little guy is gray, black and white, thin, skittish, but loves hanging with Larry. Larry keeps bringing him home for meals and eventually some care. The little guy becomes "Joey" and a new friend joins the KTHV family. Larry stayed an outside cat, living in the studio weather garden, and was known to come and go. And one day, he didn't come back. After a search, his remains were found near the studio. No one knows what happened to Larry, but his death did not look like foul play. An then there was just Joey.
Reading and following Joey's story each day gave me some interesting insight to the KTHV family and what they were willing to do for the little cat. When he was recuperating from his cancer surgery, he had visitors from the staff. News anchors, guests, and others regularly went by to check on the little guy. He seemed fond of lovely ladies, but he did have a special relationship with one anchor, Tom Brannon. And every day, I read the updates and pictures posted by Joey or his mama/agent. One day, while searching my facebook page for the Joey report, Bosco asked me what I was reading. I had to come clean, I was following the progress of a young cat fighting cancer. You might find it ridiculous, but I found myself praying for him, too. See, I believe cancer hurts everyone it touches, even a cat who lives 27 hours from me.
Joey recovered and time passed. Joey's daily activities and life found itself posted regularly on facebook. People posted rescue stories around Little Rock and the state and you could see that Joey's page was helping animals find good homes and/or care. Recently, he had a health scare, but he seemed to be doing well. Then, I read that Joey had passed away. His mama/agent was on a well deserved vacation and he was being taken care of and surely spoiled by KTHV staff members when he became ill. Joey did not recover, this time. As I read it, I felt so sad for his mama/agent, Theba Lolley, who was not there with him when he crossed over. I felt so sorry for people I have never and probably never will meet, who shared their love and care for a little cat.
I've always heard that we should do our best to make our "mark" so that it helps ourselves and others. It's funny how a little stray cat in Little Rock made such a huge effect on the lives of so many people. Just think how much of an effect our lives could be. Starting with mine.
Read about the KTHV Garden Cats:
Larry's story: http://host-36.242.54.159.gannett.com/news/article/63228/267/Larrys-Story?fb_locale=zh_TW
Joey's story: http://archive.thv11.com/news/article/63229/267/Joeys-Story
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Field Trip High Anxiety!
When I was a much younger teacher and sponsor of various student organizations, I would take my middle school students on field trips and even overnight trips to Tucson and Phoenix. Once, I even coordinated a trip with 25 high school students and 60 middle school students where we were gone for two days! I always had great support from teacher friends that I could persuade (strong-arm) into going with us. Yes, it involved a lot of work, but they were always a lot of fun, nothing bad ever happened, and I still have fond memories of those adventures. So, when I decided to take my 2nd through 5th graders to Tucson to see the Tucson Symphony Orchestra, it seemed like a really great idea.
Did you read the part about how I planned all those field trips when I was much younger?
Reality set in several weeks ago after I submitted the paperwork for not just one field trip, but four. Yes, four. How could I take the little kids on a field trip and not do something wonderful for my middle schoolers??? Let’s be fair. Or should I say, I lost touch of my sanity several weeks ago!!
Earth to Jana:
There is 50 second through fifth grade students and about 100 middle schoolers in my program. They come from eight different schools. That is a lot of paperwork to collect and track down!
I started waking up around two o’clock thinking about all the things I needed to do for each field trip.
I couldn’t go to sleep until really late because I began worrying about forgetting vital things for the trips. (barf bags, baby wipes for the potential barf, permission slips, etc…)
I started having stomach pains thinking about all the things that could go wrong taking 50 seven-to-eleven year olds out of town.
I actually wrote the date of one of my field trips as the date for my future daughter-in-law’s wedding shower!
I dreamed about the lists for the field trips.
I started worry about things that could go wrong. (stomach flu, raging diarrhea, projectile vomiting, bears in the forest, alien abduction, zombies, etc…)
I had a very scary nightmare that wasn’t related to a field trip, but it scared me all the same!
I am 55 going on 56 and maybe I am a tad too old to do this kind of thing!
On the first field trip, I took seventh graders to the Cochise College Aviation Department to fly simulators and to experiment with the “unmanned aircraft”. They don’t like to use the word “drone”. Everything went well. It was local and the college fed the kids lunch. Oh, the kids really liked the simulators and all, but they were ecstatic about the cafeteria!
SODA! FRESH PIZZA! CUPCAKES! ICECREAM!
Okay, they were a little hyper when we went back to school.
On the second field trip, I took eighth graders to the Chiricahua Mountains to tour the Southwest Research Center. It was great! The kids were fantastic! I left the wienies for the hotdogs at home and had to spend $75 of my own money buying them a hamburger at a café or else they would have eaten a “macaroni salad dog” for lunch.
On third field trip, I took my sixth graders to the high school to the Agriculture Department for hands-on activities. Yes, they could have lost fingers, eyes, and set themselves on fire, especially with the welding torches, but the only injury was a splinter from a picnic table. I didn’t forget the food and we ate the forgotten wienies from the eighth grade field trip! No loss!
Today was the “BIG EVENT”!
(Cue the tympani!) THE SYMPHONY!!!! (Fanfare!)
Six amazing chaperones who volunteered to help. The lunches were all packed, the kids were all waiting, the bus was late, but not too late. No one was left behind during the restroom break. I think most of the kids washed their hands. I remembered to dispense one student’s medication ON TIME. We were on time. The concert was totally awesome and that is not just my opinion. We ALL made it home alive! No vomiting, poop explosion, bears, aliens, or zombies, unless you count the bags I have under my eyes from sleep deprivation!
Four out of four field trips in two weeks and except for forgotten wienies, everything turned out well.
Not bad for an old retired teacher!!!
Did you read the part about how I planned all those field trips when I was much younger?
Reality set in several weeks ago after I submitted the paperwork for not just one field trip, but four. Yes, four. How could I take the little kids on a field trip and not do something wonderful for my middle schoolers??? Let’s be fair. Or should I say, I lost touch of my sanity several weeks ago!!
Earth to Jana:
There is 50 second through fifth grade students and about 100 middle schoolers in my program. They come from eight different schools. That is a lot of paperwork to collect and track down!
I started waking up around two o’clock thinking about all the things I needed to do for each field trip.
I couldn’t go to sleep until really late because I began worrying about forgetting vital things for the trips. (barf bags, baby wipes for the potential barf, permission slips, etc…)
I started having stomach pains thinking about all the things that could go wrong taking 50 seven-to-eleven year olds out of town.
I actually wrote the date of one of my field trips as the date for my future daughter-in-law’s wedding shower!
I dreamed about the lists for the field trips.
I started worry about things that could go wrong. (stomach flu, raging diarrhea, projectile vomiting, bears in the forest, alien abduction, zombies, etc…)
I had a very scary nightmare that wasn’t related to a field trip, but it scared me all the same!
I am 55 going on 56 and maybe I am a tad too old to do this kind of thing!
On the first field trip, I took seventh graders to the Cochise College Aviation Department to fly simulators and to experiment with the “unmanned aircraft”. They don’t like to use the word “drone”. Everything went well. It was local and the college fed the kids lunch. Oh, the kids really liked the simulators and all, but they were ecstatic about the cafeteria!
SODA! FRESH PIZZA! CUPCAKES! ICECREAM!
Okay, they were a little hyper when we went back to school.
On the second field trip, I took eighth graders to the Chiricahua Mountains to tour the Southwest Research Center. It was great! The kids were fantastic! I left the wienies for the hotdogs at home and had to spend $75 of my own money buying them a hamburger at a café or else they would have eaten a “macaroni salad dog” for lunch.
On third field trip, I took my sixth graders to the high school to the Agriculture Department for hands-on activities. Yes, they could have lost fingers, eyes, and set themselves on fire, especially with the welding torches, but the only injury was a splinter from a picnic table. I didn’t forget the food and we ate the forgotten wienies from the eighth grade field trip! No loss!
Today was the “BIG EVENT”!
(Cue the tympani!) THE SYMPHONY!!!! (Fanfare!)
Six amazing chaperones who volunteered to help. The lunches were all packed, the kids were all waiting, the bus was late, but not too late. No one was left behind during the restroom break. I think most of the kids washed their hands. I remembered to dispense one student’s medication ON TIME. We were on time. The concert was totally awesome and that is not just my opinion. We ALL made it home alive! No vomiting, poop explosion, bears, aliens, or zombies, unless you count the bags I have under my eyes from sleep deprivation!
Four out of four field trips in two weeks and except for forgotten wienies, everything turned out well.
Not bad for an old retired teacher!!!
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