I have a sinus infection. My head is so wobbly I feel like a bobble head. My eyes want to spit out my contact lenses. My face hurts. My ears hurt. My teeth hurt. And when I cough, Lordy Jesus, mercy, I can't describe what comes out of me.
Have you ever watched the old rerun of "Flipper?" Remember how Bud and Sandy would ask Flipper questions and he would scream/squeak out an answer that only they understood? That would describe how I sound when I speak. I mean, I already feel like I sound like Minnie Mouse when I hear my phone recordings, but this is totally dolphin speak.
Imagine if you will... (Cue the music from Twilight Zone)
Bosco: "Hon, what do you want for dinner?"
Jan: "Squeak, squeak,whisper, squeak."
Bosco: "Did you say a tamale?"
Jan: "Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak!"
Bosco: "Tomato soup?"
Jan: "Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak."
Bosco: "I can't understand you."
Jan picks up a notepad and scribbles something quickly.
Bosco: "Oh, you would like something to drink? Okay, how about some juice?"
Jan/Flipper nods her head repeatedly.
The phone rings.
Bosco: "It's for you."
Jan: Eye roll. Heavy sigh...
Monday, October 26, 2015
Monday, August 17, 2015
Lions and Tigers and Bears, OH MY!
It is August, 2015 and summer is almost over. On Tuesday, I will start teaching my little program of gifted children for the Douglas Unified School District and I cannot believe my summer has passed so quickly. It was a quiet summer for the hubby and I. It started off with two trips, but week by week, it has gotten quieter and quieter. No overseas travel. No house renovation. No family reunions. Q U I E T. Except for the mountain lion and the bear.
During the middle of June, my friend Cynthia asked me to take a little daytrip with her to Sierra Vista. SV is an hour from Douglas and from time to time, we like to explore the treasures of Marshalls and Ross, eat a nice lunch, and maybe check out the sale rack in the Dillards shoe department. This time, she asked me to go with her to Huachuca Canyon to see the Elegant Trogons. [I had seen them earlier in the spring when my friend Judy took me on a lovely morning hike.] I remembered how to get there and I agreed to be her bird guide.
It was a beautiful morning to birdwatch. We drove through Ft. Huachuca, signed in at the base police station, and I directed her to the canyon. Everything looked the same and we were not the only people birdwatching that day. CB parked her car, we tied our cool snakes around our necks, grabbed our binoculars, and set-off in search of bird beauty. It didn't take long to find our feathered friends. We listened for their weird calls, spotted two males and a female, and considered our excursion successful. BRING ON THE SHOPPING! CB and I started down the canyon path, talking about our kids, when about 20 feet of us, in the forest, we heard the loudest and scariest screaming sound coming from the bushes next to the creek. It sounded very cat-like, except a thousand dicebels louder and more angry! The bushes were trashing and there was some type of struggle going on very close to us. CB and I stopped, of course, then started to walk very quickly and very quietly toward the car. I don't know what possessed CB to do what she did next, but she said in her West Texas accent, "Jana, keep walking and don't look back." Huh? I know the look I gave her was that, "Are you crazy?" look. She turned away from me and walked back about 10 steps, popped her binoculars up to her face, whipped around, speed walked back to me, and said, "Do you think you can run a little bit on your bad knee?" This time, I stopped, looked in the direction of the bushes and focused in. I saw some yellowish fur and whipped back around. Bad knee and all, we hoofed it out of the canyon until we could see the car. I asked Cynthia what she saw. She just shook her head. I asked her again and looked a little freaked-out. I told her, "Well, I saw something with yellowish fur!" Then, CB told me she was "pretty sure" she had seen a mountain lion's head. When we got into the car, we started to assess the situation. I told her I had seen deer the last time I had been there. A few minutes later, we saw four deer walking next to the creek. From the sound and the noise, I am sure the Bambis were short one of their friends. And we could have been dessert.
Later that night, I sat talking about the whole encounter with Bosco. Since he is a hunter, I asked him what we could have done if it had tried to attack. Calm as you please, he said:
1. You could run but you shouldn't turn your back on it.
2. You could try to fight it off.
3. You shouldn't play dead, you do that with a bear.
REALLY?!
1. Since I have two bad knees and I often limp on uneven surfaces, I would be attacked while Cynthia sprinted to safety.
2. Fight it off? What? Give it some kung fu moves that I use when I'm dancing to "Kung Fu Fighting?" I wasn't packing a machete or numchucks, what did he mean by fighting it off?
3. Don't play dead with a mountain lion? What if I faint?
Thankfully, we were both safe and when we reported it at the police station, the soldier on duty said, "We've seen a few in the area." Hmmm... Do ya think you could post a sign?
Cynthia left for Texas and spent a month away from southern Arizona. When she returned, she received some serious news that her mother needed her in Big Spring, Texas. She asked me to pick her up from the Tucson airport on Saturday, which worked well with my scheduled quilting class.
[See? Quiet activities.]
I picked up CB, we had a nice dinner at Zin Burger in Tucson and started for Douglas around 6:30. We talked all the way to Benson, St. David, and Tombstone. By the time we had driven by the Sierra Vista junction, it was dark.
[For those of you who do not live in southeastern Arizona and have never driven on Highway 80 towards Bisbee, the two lane road becomes a steep climb through hills and mountains. The desert is very dense with foilage, mainly mesquites, cacti, bushes, and trees. In the daylight, it is beautiful. At night, the two lane highway is dark and the driver needs to pay attention. Traveling west, you are next to walls of rock, but traveling east, there are some steep drop-offs past the shoulder of the road.]
I was driving my usual 5 mph past the speed limit when we approached the passing lanes. As I was trying to judge the distance between my car and the car in front of me I saw a large animal moving fast across the west-bound lane. I could see the outline of it from the light from a car heading west. I hit my brakes and swerved a little into the on-coming lane to see a BEAR run past the front of my Honda Accord. I screamed, Cynthia screamed, and we both were shouting, "BEAR! BEAR!" I think we screamed for awhile. When we finally calmed down, I called Bosco. On speaker-phone, he said, "A bear? A bear ran in front of you?" I know I had that "hysterical crazy" sound in my voice. And then he said it, "Wow! If you had hit it, it could have gone through your windshielf and landed in your lap." REALLY? So, for the remaining time in the car and then at home, lying in bed, I had visions of an injured black bear in the front seat with Cynthia and me.
Today at the golf course, Bosco told someone from the Bisbee area about what happened. The man said, "Oh, yeah! They're really active in the area this time of year."
First a lion, then a bear. Now, I'm a little nervous about tigers...
OH MY!
During the middle of June, my friend Cynthia asked me to take a little daytrip with her to Sierra Vista. SV is an hour from Douglas and from time to time, we like to explore the treasures of Marshalls and Ross, eat a nice lunch, and maybe check out the sale rack in the Dillards shoe department. This time, she asked me to go with her to Huachuca Canyon to see the Elegant Trogons. [I had seen them earlier in the spring when my friend Judy took me on a lovely morning hike.] I remembered how to get there and I agreed to be her bird guide.
It was a beautiful morning to birdwatch. We drove through Ft. Huachuca, signed in at the base police station, and I directed her to the canyon. Everything looked the same and we were not the only people birdwatching that day. CB parked her car, we tied our cool snakes around our necks, grabbed our binoculars, and set-off in search of bird beauty. It didn't take long to find our feathered friends. We listened for their weird calls, spotted two males and a female, and considered our excursion successful. BRING ON THE SHOPPING! CB and I started down the canyon path, talking about our kids, when about 20 feet of us, in the forest, we heard the loudest and scariest screaming sound coming from the bushes next to the creek. It sounded very cat-like, except a thousand dicebels louder and more angry! The bushes were trashing and there was some type of struggle going on very close to us. CB and I stopped, of course, then started to walk very quickly and very quietly toward the car. I don't know what possessed CB to do what she did next, but she said in her West Texas accent, "Jana, keep walking and don't look back." Huh? I know the look I gave her was that, "Are you crazy?" look. She turned away from me and walked back about 10 steps, popped her binoculars up to her face, whipped around, speed walked back to me, and said, "Do you think you can run a little bit on your bad knee?" This time, I stopped, looked in the direction of the bushes and focused in. I saw some yellowish fur and whipped back around. Bad knee and all, we hoofed it out of the canyon until we could see the car. I asked Cynthia what she saw. She just shook her head. I asked her again and looked a little freaked-out. I told her, "Well, I saw something with yellowish fur!" Then, CB told me she was "pretty sure" she had seen a mountain lion's head. When we got into the car, we started to assess the situation. I told her I had seen deer the last time I had been there. A few minutes later, we saw four deer walking next to the creek. From the sound and the noise, I am sure the Bambis were short one of their friends. And we could have been dessert.
Later that night, I sat talking about the whole encounter with Bosco. Since he is a hunter, I asked him what we could have done if it had tried to attack. Calm as you please, he said:
1. You could run but you shouldn't turn your back on it.
2. You could try to fight it off.
3. You shouldn't play dead, you do that with a bear.
REALLY?!
1. Since I have two bad knees and I often limp on uneven surfaces, I would be attacked while Cynthia sprinted to safety.
2. Fight it off? What? Give it some kung fu moves that I use when I'm dancing to "Kung Fu Fighting?" I wasn't packing a machete or numchucks, what did he mean by fighting it off?
3. Don't play dead with a mountain lion? What if I faint?
Thankfully, we were both safe and when we reported it at the police station, the soldier on duty said, "We've seen a few in the area." Hmmm... Do ya think you could post a sign?
Cynthia left for Texas and spent a month away from southern Arizona. When she returned, she received some serious news that her mother needed her in Big Spring, Texas. She asked me to pick her up from the Tucson airport on Saturday, which worked well with my scheduled quilting class.
[See? Quiet activities.]
I picked up CB, we had a nice dinner at Zin Burger in Tucson and started for Douglas around 6:30. We talked all the way to Benson, St. David, and Tombstone. By the time we had driven by the Sierra Vista junction, it was dark.
[For those of you who do not live in southeastern Arizona and have never driven on Highway 80 towards Bisbee, the two lane road becomes a steep climb through hills and mountains. The desert is very dense with foilage, mainly mesquites, cacti, bushes, and trees. In the daylight, it is beautiful. At night, the two lane highway is dark and the driver needs to pay attention. Traveling west, you are next to walls of rock, but traveling east, there are some steep drop-offs past the shoulder of the road.]
I was driving my usual 5 mph past the speed limit when we approached the passing lanes. As I was trying to judge the distance between my car and the car in front of me I saw a large animal moving fast across the west-bound lane. I could see the outline of it from the light from a car heading west. I hit my brakes and swerved a little into the on-coming lane to see a BEAR run past the front of my Honda Accord. I screamed, Cynthia screamed, and we both were shouting, "BEAR! BEAR!" I think we screamed for awhile. When we finally calmed down, I called Bosco. On speaker-phone, he said, "A bear? A bear ran in front of you?" I know I had that "hysterical crazy" sound in my voice. And then he said it, "Wow! If you had hit it, it could have gone through your windshielf and landed in your lap." REALLY? So, for the remaining time in the car and then at home, lying in bed, I had visions of an injured black bear in the front seat with Cynthia and me.
Today at the golf course, Bosco told someone from the Bisbee area about what happened. The man said, "Oh, yeah! They're really active in the area this time of year."
First a lion, then a bear. Now, I'm a little nervous about tigers...
OH MY!
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Dear Teacher
In honor of teacher appreciation week, I thought it was time to give a shout-out to a few of the teachers who made an impression and a difference in my life. As an educator of thirty-four years, I know that I did not get here by myself, that there were people (teachers) who would provide lessons that I would remember, draw on, and carry with me through my life. Some lessons were good, some bad, but all have had an effect on the Jana I am today. I am grateful to have had some truly wonderful teachers.
Dear Mrs. Fisher, (First Grade, Lawndale Elementary, Amarillo, Texas)
Thank you for surviving a complete year with me as a student. While you knew that I did not go to kindergarten and had difficulty sitting in my seat, I do not remember you ever striking me, yelling at me, or taking insults to heart. Thank you for making two visits to my home to let my parents know that even though I talked continuously and had difficulties understanding subtraction, I was a great reader and you could not recommend for me to be retained or "flunked" at the end of the year. Thank you also for letting my parents know that I had told you I wished a big black dog would run up and bite you when I was angry for losing my recess one day. Your patience was commendable and I am sure you have a whole crown of stars in heaven since you seemed very old to be teaching a bunch of six year old hooligans. Or at least one.
Dear Mrs. Blanton, (Third Grade, Webster Elementary, Lubbock, Texas)
Thank you for showing the class your slides of Mexico, Alaska, and South America during Geography. Seeing these interesting places instilled a desire to travel to exotic places. I was always impressed at how you could jump rope to one hundred wearing a pencil skirt, hose, and heels. I apologize for talking continuously during quiet time after lunch which provoked you to smacking the back of my legs with a ruler. Thank you for introducing me personally to the principal with whom I developed a friendly relationship over the next two years while at Webster. Did you know he bought me a coke to calm me from crying hysterically that afternoon? I also want to thank you for teaching me that to have a friend, I must first be a friend. That lesson has been a keeper!
Dear Mrs. McLeod, (Sunday School Teacher, Southcrest Baptist Church, Lubbock, Texas)
Thank you for volunteering to teach Sunday School to me for at least three years. It seemed like you were stalking me when year after year, when I found myself assigned to your class. My mother told me not to take it personally and to learn from your experience as you seemed much older than my grandparents. Thank you for writing me that very nice letter when I moved to Houston the summer before sixth grade. To learn that you joined another church the week after we moved gave me an eery feeling, but my mother told me that she was certain it was a coincidence. My aunt told me you retired from teaching Sunday School. I hope you enjoyed your retirement.
Dear Mrs. Ator, (Sixth Grade Reading Teacher, Anderson Elementary, Houston, Texas)
Thank you, thank you, thank you for being kind, loving, and having a wonderful sense of humor. Every morning, your class was a refuge for me as I was not a happy camper in my regular 6th grade class. I begged my parents to move me to your class, but they were traditionalists and felt that it would build character to stay in my originally assigned class. Your daily hugs were a life saver. I still miss you!
Mrs. Wallace, (Music Teacher, Anderson Elementary, Houston, Texas)
Thank you for being an amazing music teacher with whom I shared a love for show tunes! Going to your class every week was spectacular! I loved the way you made me feel valued and important to your program. Thank you for all the praise of being able to sing on tune, harmonize, and memorize song after song. I still have my music book that we made in your class. There are times when I break into song and you can bet it will lead into a rousing chorus of "Hey! Look Me Over!" P.S. I can still do the choreography to "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head."
Miss Black, (Summer School Math, Anderson Elementary, Houston, Texas)
Thank you so much for the first wonderful math experience in elementary school! You instilled in me confidence that I could convert fractions to decimals and back without erasing a hole in my worksheet. After a rocky sixth grade experience, you were a life saver!
Mr. Kurilko, (Foster Junior High, Tulsa, Oklahoma)
Thank you so much for making me laugh each day in Physical Science. I enjoyed making my own batteries, building a car out of blocks, and making it run! I am sorry that I caught my hand on fire with the leaky alcohol burner, but your knowledge of first aid really came to good use that day! You didn't even complain about the singed text books on my table that engulfed into flame when I dropped the burner. I still have a couple of little faint scars on my left hand. I think of you whenever I look at them.
Mrs. Teddly, (Horace Mann Junior High School, Little Rock, Arkansas)
Thank you for calling back later in the evening after I told you that you had the wrong number when you called my parents. Letting them know that I had not turned in required assignments and that I was struggling with math showed you cared that I did well in your class. Thank you for not taking this personally. I was in a dark place within puberty and I was having adjustment issues about moving to my third junior high in three years. I learned a tremendous amount during our semester together. I appreciate all your effort. PS. I have called many parents during my career. They always thank me for caring for their kids.
Mrs. Davies, (English, Parkview High School, Little Rock, Arkansas)
Thank you for being an amazing eleventh grade English teacher! I learned so much from you and became a much improved writer in the process. I loved the enthusiasm you put into your lessons. Who knew you could make The Scarlet Letter come to life by having us read and act out most of the chapters? Arthur Miller's Crucible became such a terrific reading experience after you explained the purpose behind it. Every American should learn about McCarthyism and how a "witch hunt" is an example of bad citizenship. I loved your class and I loved how you made me see what I could do with my talents. Everyone should have a teacher like YOU!
Mrs. Neville, (Chemistry, Parkview High School, Little Rock, Arkansas)
Thank you for understanding when my father brought me to school after he had learned that I cheated on a test in your class. It was noble of you to offer for me to retake it. My dad didn't agree and you saw the wisdom of his insisting I receive an F for that test. Thank you for not mentioning it to my friends and the other students. It was our secret. Also, thank you so much for all the offers of extra credit that semester. That was very kind.
Dr. Watson, (Education Professor, Ouachita Baptist University, Arkadelphia, Arkansas)
Thank you so much for teaching your students very valuable lessons for teachers. You stressed that:
1) Students do not want their teachers to be their friends. We can do more for them as teachers.
2) Students do not treat always their friends very nicely and why would we want that for ourselves?
3) Students will break your hearts if your cross the magic line into the "friendship zone". The best thing we can do for our students is to teach them.
Dr. "Pappaw" Mims, (Educational Economics Professor, Ouachita Baptist University, Arkadelphia, Arkansas)
Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful class in Educational Economics! Who knew that future teachers around America were not all taking this valuable course! I knew quite a bit about school finance before I had a job in a school district! It has helped me immensely! Oh, and sorry about the references to being an old man. I am now probably close to the age you were when I was in college!
Mrs. Snookie Dixon, (Pre-School Teacher, First Baptist Church, Arkadelphia, Arkansas)
Thank you for allowing me to intern in your class for my Early Childhood Practicum while I was at OBU. Being in your class taught me that little children are weirdly wonderful. Thank you for passing a pair of girls and boys underwear around the circle of students to answer the mystery of what everyone was wearing under their clothes. This stopped the boys from lifting the girls' skirts on the playground. And thank you for encouraging me to crawl under the table and spend some time with your student who refused to come out each day. I used this in a fourth grade class that I observed as an instructional coach several years ago. It helps to understand the safety of being under a table.
Mrs. Chapel, (Library Science Professor, Ouachita Baptist University, Arkadelphia, Arkansas)
I loved every class you taught and it was in your classes I saw the path I was meant to take in education. My mind was a sponge whenever you spoke and I felt so prepared when I left college. Who knew it would be six years later before I would sit behind a librarian's desk, but you made certain I was ready for the challenge. I still have the letter you wrote me when that happened. Thank you for seeing so many qualities in me and sharing them with me before I graduated from college. I know that as you are now gone from this world, you left a space at Ouachita that could never be filled. You hold a place in my heart. PS. Thanks for letting Brenda and I sunbathe on the balcony of the educational building during that Spring when the weather was so good! You were always young at heart.
And for all the teachers that I missed, thank you for being part of a profession that teaches all other professions. You have made a difference.
Thank you!
Dear Mrs. Fisher, (First Grade, Lawndale Elementary, Amarillo, Texas)
Thank you for surviving a complete year with me as a student. While you knew that I did not go to kindergarten and had difficulty sitting in my seat, I do not remember you ever striking me, yelling at me, or taking insults to heart. Thank you for making two visits to my home to let my parents know that even though I talked continuously and had difficulties understanding subtraction, I was a great reader and you could not recommend for me to be retained or "flunked" at the end of the year. Thank you also for letting my parents know that I had told you I wished a big black dog would run up and bite you when I was angry for losing my recess one day. Your patience was commendable and I am sure you have a whole crown of stars in heaven since you seemed very old to be teaching a bunch of six year old hooligans. Or at least one.
Dear Mrs. Blanton, (Third Grade, Webster Elementary, Lubbock, Texas)
Thank you for showing the class your slides of Mexico, Alaska, and South America during Geography. Seeing these interesting places instilled a desire to travel to exotic places. I was always impressed at how you could jump rope to one hundred wearing a pencil skirt, hose, and heels. I apologize for talking continuously during quiet time after lunch which provoked you to smacking the back of my legs with a ruler. Thank you for introducing me personally to the principal with whom I developed a friendly relationship over the next two years while at Webster. Did you know he bought me a coke to calm me from crying hysterically that afternoon? I also want to thank you for teaching me that to have a friend, I must first be a friend. That lesson has been a keeper!
Dear Mrs. McLeod, (Sunday School Teacher, Southcrest Baptist Church, Lubbock, Texas)
Thank you for volunteering to teach Sunday School to me for at least three years. It seemed like you were stalking me when year after year, when I found myself assigned to your class. My mother told me not to take it personally and to learn from your experience as you seemed much older than my grandparents. Thank you for writing me that very nice letter when I moved to Houston the summer before sixth grade. To learn that you joined another church the week after we moved gave me an eery feeling, but my mother told me that she was certain it was a coincidence. My aunt told me you retired from teaching Sunday School. I hope you enjoyed your retirement.
Dear Mrs. Ator, (Sixth Grade Reading Teacher, Anderson Elementary, Houston, Texas)
Thank you, thank you, thank you for being kind, loving, and having a wonderful sense of humor. Every morning, your class was a refuge for me as I was not a happy camper in my regular 6th grade class. I begged my parents to move me to your class, but they were traditionalists and felt that it would build character to stay in my originally assigned class. Your daily hugs were a life saver. I still miss you!
Mrs. Wallace, (Music Teacher, Anderson Elementary, Houston, Texas)
Thank you for being an amazing music teacher with whom I shared a love for show tunes! Going to your class every week was spectacular! I loved the way you made me feel valued and important to your program. Thank you for all the praise of being able to sing on tune, harmonize, and memorize song after song. I still have my music book that we made in your class. There are times when I break into song and you can bet it will lead into a rousing chorus of "Hey! Look Me Over!" P.S. I can still do the choreography to "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head."
Miss Black, (Summer School Math, Anderson Elementary, Houston, Texas)
Thank you so much for the first wonderful math experience in elementary school! You instilled in me confidence that I could convert fractions to decimals and back without erasing a hole in my worksheet. After a rocky sixth grade experience, you were a life saver!
Mr. Kurilko, (Foster Junior High, Tulsa, Oklahoma)
Thank you so much for making me laugh each day in Physical Science. I enjoyed making my own batteries, building a car out of blocks, and making it run! I am sorry that I caught my hand on fire with the leaky alcohol burner, but your knowledge of first aid really came to good use that day! You didn't even complain about the singed text books on my table that engulfed into flame when I dropped the burner. I still have a couple of little faint scars on my left hand. I think of you whenever I look at them.
Mrs. Teddly, (Horace Mann Junior High School, Little Rock, Arkansas)
Thank you for calling back later in the evening after I told you that you had the wrong number when you called my parents. Letting them know that I had not turned in required assignments and that I was struggling with math showed you cared that I did well in your class. Thank you for not taking this personally. I was in a dark place within puberty and I was having adjustment issues about moving to my third junior high in three years. I learned a tremendous amount during our semester together. I appreciate all your effort. PS. I have called many parents during my career. They always thank me for caring for their kids.
Mrs. Davies, (English, Parkview High School, Little Rock, Arkansas)
Thank you for being an amazing eleventh grade English teacher! I learned so much from you and became a much improved writer in the process. I loved the enthusiasm you put into your lessons. Who knew you could make The Scarlet Letter come to life by having us read and act out most of the chapters? Arthur Miller's Crucible became such a terrific reading experience after you explained the purpose behind it. Every American should learn about McCarthyism and how a "witch hunt" is an example of bad citizenship. I loved your class and I loved how you made me see what I could do with my talents. Everyone should have a teacher like YOU!
Mrs. Neville, (Chemistry, Parkview High School, Little Rock, Arkansas)
Thank you for understanding when my father brought me to school after he had learned that I cheated on a test in your class. It was noble of you to offer for me to retake it. My dad didn't agree and you saw the wisdom of his insisting I receive an F for that test. Thank you for not mentioning it to my friends and the other students. It was our secret. Also, thank you so much for all the offers of extra credit that semester. That was very kind.
Dr. Watson, (Education Professor, Ouachita Baptist University, Arkadelphia, Arkansas)
Thank you so much for teaching your students very valuable lessons for teachers. You stressed that:
1) Students do not want their teachers to be their friends. We can do more for them as teachers.
2) Students do not treat always their friends very nicely and why would we want that for ourselves?
3) Students will break your hearts if your cross the magic line into the "friendship zone". The best thing we can do for our students is to teach them.
Dr. "Pappaw" Mims, (Educational Economics Professor, Ouachita Baptist University, Arkadelphia, Arkansas)
Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful class in Educational Economics! Who knew that future teachers around America were not all taking this valuable course! I knew quite a bit about school finance before I had a job in a school district! It has helped me immensely! Oh, and sorry about the references to being an old man. I am now probably close to the age you were when I was in college!
Mrs. Snookie Dixon, (Pre-School Teacher, First Baptist Church, Arkadelphia, Arkansas)
Thank you for allowing me to intern in your class for my Early Childhood Practicum while I was at OBU. Being in your class taught me that little children are weirdly wonderful. Thank you for passing a pair of girls and boys underwear around the circle of students to answer the mystery of what everyone was wearing under their clothes. This stopped the boys from lifting the girls' skirts on the playground. And thank you for encouraging me to crawl under the table and spend some time with your student who refused to come out each day. I used this in a fourth grade class that I observed as an instructional coach several years ago. It helps to understand the safety of being under a table.
Mrs. Chapel, (Library Science Professor, Ouachita Baptist University, Arkadelphia, Arkansas)
I loved every class you taught and it was in your classes I saw the path I was meant to take in education. My mind was a sponge whenever you spoke and I felt so prepared when I left college. Who knew it would be six years later before I would sit behind a librarian's desk, but you made certain I was ready for the challenge. I still have the letter you wrote me when that happened. Thank you for seeing so many qualities in me and sharing them with me before I graduated from college. I know that as you are now gone from this world, you left a space at Ouachita that could never be filled. You hold a place in my heart. PS. Thanks for letting Brenda and I sunbathe on the balcony of the educational building during that Spring when the weather was so good! You were always young at heart.
And for all the teachers that I missed, thank you for being part of a profession that teaches all other professions. You have made a difference.
Thank you!
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Call Me Sissy
As I age aka "get older," I find myself a little more tolerant about somethings and very intolerant of others. Trust me, I have changed, but it has not been an easy road, especially when it comes to camping. Growing up, my family was not the camping type. We did not travel to the wilderness, throw down a tent and sleeping bag, and rough it. In fact, I am fairly certain my mother felt that roughing it was equivalent to staying in a motel that did not have a Denny's attached. On vacation, she actually would check out a reserved motel before we would stay in it. If it looked a little sketchy, she and dad would have a serious discussion, Dad would go into the motel office, and we would drive off in search of better digs. (You can only imagine how difficult it was to find a suitable restroom on a road trip!) So, camping was never an option of a fun, family get-away. However, once I saw a pair of flannel pajamas in the cedar chest and my mother said they were hers as she had worn them on a camping trip. The face she made when she confessed this information was like someone had invited a rat to the dinner table. I am sure Dad camped on occasion since he enjoyed fishing and hunting, but camping was something I did not know or understand.
When I was eleven, I was invited to a "camp-out" in my neighbor's backyard for her birthday. It was a great party! Sloppy Joes, cooking smores, games, spooky stories, our bedrolls (no, I didn't have a sleeping bag) laid out on the soft summer grass, until lights out. Little girls talking, giggling, and before I knew it, everyone was asleep under the West Texas stars except me. I listened to the sounds of the neighborhood that I had known for years and suddenly, they were creepy and weird. I tried covering my head to protect me from bugs and mosquitoes I felt on my face as I tossed and turned. I was a little freaked out when I rolled up my blankets and pillow and left through the gate to cross the street to my house and to my bed. The door was unlocked. As I padded down the hallway, I heard my mom call, "Jan?" I went into her room and told her I wanted to sleep in my own bed and she and Dad told me goodnight. The next morning, Mrs. Woodman was at the door asking if I had come home. There were no other camp-outs for birthdays or otherwise for several years.
In high school, our church's youth director planned a summer camping trip to a state park outside of Hot Springs, Arkansas. By then, I had several years of church camp under my belt and I didn't think twice about signing up for the week long adventure. We would sleep in tents, shower in the park restrooms, work and play during the day in the park, and perform our music and skits for the park's visitors at night. Doesn't it sound great? Twenty something teens and their chaperones, loving the outdoors, sharing quality time, and making memories. KUM BA YA! It was torture. First, the boys set-up their tents and I saw them sweep under the tents and dig a trench around them. Hmmm... Trenches? Then, the guys came over to our pile of canvas. As we were setting it up, it began to rain. No sweeping, no trenches, just let's get it up and throw your gear in it. The rain lasted all afternoon and most of the night. Our tent flooded and our bags and sleeping bags were wet before nine o'clock. With very little sleep and damp everything, the next morning we trudged up the hill to the restroom to try and freshen up. No warm water. Every day, there was no warm water. Even the creek and the lake was warmer than the water in the restroom. My mood never lifted and my spirits did not soar. My sleeping bag did dry out, but since it rained almost every other day, I mostly slept in moist conditions. Our group endured a tornado and spent several hours in the restroom near camp. Even with the Daddy Long Legs Spiders climbing over us most of the night, it was one dry night's worth of sleep. One evening, one of the older kids with a car offered to take some kids to A & W Root Beer for a snack. I practically clawed my way into that car! And when we were at A & W, I snuck away from the group and made a collect call to my dad. I remember crying on the phone and begging him to come get me. I described the horrific conditions and I even coughed a lot to try to convince him it wasn't a healthy situation for his baby, ME. The old man shocked me by saying I only had two days left and I should try to make the best of it. Lord, I was angry! It was a good thing that Mom met me at the church at the end of the trip because I didn't speak to him for a few days. And our youth director DID NOT ask me to share my life changing experiences with the church the following Sunday.
The summer before my senior year in high school, my closest friend, Machelle Yancey, asked me to go camping with her family. I was cautious and a little jaded as I asked her about camping. She assured me that we would be very close to facilities, we would sleep on air mattresses, her family would look after us, and if I wasn't happy, I could go home. Oh, and she told me we would water ski. This peaked my interest. Shell had told me all about skiing and she was sure I would love it. She loved going to Greer's Ferry and she convinced me that it would be the time of my life. She was right. Greer's Ferry Lake was amazing. It was beautiful, we were treated like lake-princesses, and I learned to water ski. I went every weekend with her family that summer and I went with them the summer before I left for college. It was some of the best times I had as a teen and a young adult. I will be forever grateful to the Yanceys.
In college, I didn't camp. Shell had married and my parents had moved to Texas. I still went skiing, but with different people. And I didn't camp. The summer after I was a newly married and living in Arizona, Bosco and I took a road trip with friends from college. Curtis, Monica, Karen Jean, Bosco, and I explored northern Arizona and we planned to camp at a little lake outside Flagstaff. Now, remember, I had been spoiled by the Yanceys and my husband did not read their guide on how to take care of Jana in the wilderness. As we were setting up camp, I made a little trip to the state park restroom. I opened the door and flies swarmed me trying to escape the stinkhole conditions of a non-flushing toilet. No sink. No electricity. Nothing remotely sanitary. Camp was set-up, dinner was eaten, and Monica, Karen Jean and I slept in my in-laws' van. The next morning, I jumped in the driver's seat, fired up the van, and drove us to a restroom with a shower about 20 miles from the campground. We left Bosco and Curtis standing there with a blank look on their faces and no explanations. I had not used the restroom since we had stopped for gas the day before and I shouldn't be held responsible for the state of my decision making or my renal system. Needless to say, we broke camp after breakfast, said goodbye to our friends from Arkansas, and I cried for four hours on the way home. I decided then, no more camping!
As the years passed, I did relent to a few overnight camp-outs, but I had to be baited with water skiing, someone's camper, a flushable toilet, or a 24 hour limit. I never acclimated to the experience. It just didn't appeal to me. Bosco took the kids camping during Spring Breaks and they always camped in the backyard several times a summer, so our kids never did without that joy. I always bowed out and plead that it was "Dad Time" and I didn't want to interfere with my idiosyncrasies. My kids have wonderful memories and I am glad for it. I was really happy with the situation, until one day, after Meg left for college, Jordan made his memorable plea. "Mom, would you please, please think about going camping with Dad and me? It might be fun and it's something the three of us can do together." Sigh... He sounded so sincere. So, I told him I would think about it. I did think about it until I would mentally black-out and go to my happy place of Inn Suites, continental breakfasts, and a swimming pool. Jordan didn't give up and he recruited Bosco in his mission. Finally, I conceded and gave into the battle. I would go camping.
My sister-in-law loaned us a pop-up camper that would reside at our house for a few years. We would take it places and I would camp. I may have given in, but it was not without terrorist's demands. I would have a make-shift shower, a porta-potty, and they would do my bidding as needed. This includes killing bugs, toting fresh water, and ignoring my whining and complaints as I was out of my comfort zone. I love my comfort zone, it's cozy and clean. :) Things went well, but after two days, they were tired of being my camping minnions. And by the third day, we were all ready to go home. This went on for a few years. The camper was nice, but it was cold and windy when we went to Quartsite. When it rained, it got a little leaky around the seams of the pop-out beds. And the porta-potty was a little exposed for three people to use for more than two days. When Bosco retired, he scouted Craigslist and found an affordable used camping trailer that we purchased. It had a bathroom with a shower, a flushable toilet, a kitchen with a microwave, a pop-out living area, and a queen-sized bed. Oh, it also has an air conditioner and a heater. Slick, huh? The pop-up went back to my sister-in-law, and the camper lives in our backyard.
It is nice. When there is no electricity within range, it hooks up to a generator. Gotta love it! I can shower, do my hair, listen to my tunes, and no one gets hurt. Well, unless the cold water line is plugged up and the shower scalds us. Yes, this has happened. Recently, we took it to Patagonia Lake and spent a couple of days with friends, roughing it. They have one, too, but they will not always use the conveniences as a need to commune with nature. I think. On the way out of the camp ground, I watched the villages of tents go by until I saw something moving out from under one of the tents. I looked closely as Bosco slowed the truck, preparing to stop at the dumping station. From under the tent popped a SKUNK!! IN. THE. MIDDLE. OF. THE. DAY! Ever heard of rabies? I screamed skunk and Bosco just laughed! I was beside my self! He said, "I thought it smelled a little skunky last night!" I nearly freaked! I won't even venture into what if land. It is a deep dark hole of unrest. At least my unrest!
CAMPING IS NOT FOR SISSIES!
When I was eleven, I was invited to a "camp-out" in my neighbor's backyard for her birthday. It was a great party! Sloppy Joes, cooking smores, games, spooky stories, our bedrolls (no, I didn't have a sleeping bag) laid out on the soft summer grass, until lights out. Little girls talking, giggling, and before I knew it, everyone was asleep under the West Texas stars except me. I listened to the sounds of the neighborhood that I had known for years and suddenly, they were creepy and weird. I tried covering my head to protect me from bugs and mosquitoes I felt on my face as I tossed and turned. I was a little freaked out when I rolled up my blankets and pillow and left through the gate to cross the street to my house and to my bed. The door was unlocked. As I padded down the hallway, I heard my mom call, "Jan?" I went into her room and told her I wanted to sleep in my own bed and she and Dad told me goodnight. The next morning, Mrs. Woodman was at the door asking if I had come home. There were no other camp-outs for birthdays or otherwise for several years.
In high school, our church's youth director planned a summer camping trip to a state park outside of Hot Springs, Arkansas. By then, I had several years of church camp under my belt and I didn't think twice about signing up for the week long adventure. We would sleep in tents, shower in the park restrooms, work and play during the day in the park, and perform our music and skits for the park's visitors at night. Doesn't it sound great? Twenty something teens and their chaperones, loving the outdoors, sharing quality time, and making memories. KUM BA YA! It was torture. First, the boys set-up their tents and I saw them sweep under the tents and dig a trench around them. Hmmm... Trenches? Then, the guys came over to our pile of canvas. As we were setting it up, it began to rain. No sweeping, no trenches, just let's get it up and throw your gear in it. The rain lasted all afternoon and most of the night. Our tent flooded and our bags and sleeping bags were wet before nine o'clock. With very little sleep and damp everything, the next morning we trudged up the hill to the restroom to try and freshen up. No warm water. Every day, there was no warm water. Even the creek and the lake was warmer than the water in the restroom. My mood never lifted and my spirits did not soar. My sleeping bag did dry out, but since it rained almost every other day, I mostly slept in moist conditions. Our group endured a tornado and spent several hours in the restroom near camp. Even with the Daddy Long Legs Spiders climbing over us most of the night, it was one dry night's worth of sleep. One evening, one of the older kids with a car offered to take some kids to A & W Root Beer for a snack. I practically clawed my way into that car! And when we were at A & W, I snuck away from the group and made a collect call to my dad. I remember crying on the phone and begging him to come get me. I described the horrific conditions and I even coughed a lot to try to convince him it wasn't a healthy situation for his baby, ME. The old man shocked me by saying I only had two days left and I should try to make the best of it. Lord, I was angry! It was a good thing that Mom met me at the church at the end of the trip because I didn't speak to him for a few days. And our youth director DID NOT ask me to share my life changing experiences with the church the following Sunday.
The summer before my senior year in high school, my closest friend, Machelle Yancey, asked me to go camping with her family. I was cautious and a little jaded as I asked her about camping. She assured me that we would be very close to facilities, we would sleep on air mattresses, her family would look after us, and if I wasn't happy, I could go home. Oh, and she told me we would water ski. This peaked my interest. Shell had told me all about skiing and she was sure I would love it. She loved going to Greer's Ferry and she convinced me that it would be the time of my life. She was right. Greer's Ferry Lake was amazing. It was beautiful, we were treated like lake-princesses, and I learned to water ski. I went every weekend with her family that summer and I went with them the summer before I left for college. It was some of the best times I had as a teen and a young adult. I will be forever grateful to the Yanceys.
In college, I didn't camp. Shell had married and my parents had moved to Texas. I still went skiing, but with different people. And I didn't camp. The summer after I was a newly married and living in Arizona, Bosco and I took a road trip with friends from college. Curtis, Monica, Karen Jean, Bosco, and I explored northern Arizona and we planned to camp at a little lake outside Flagstaff. Now, remember, I had been spoiled by the Yanceys and my husband did not read their guide on how to take care of Jana in the wilderness. As we were setting up camp, I made a little trip to the state park restroom. I opened the door and flies swarmed me trying to escape the stinkhole conditions of a non-flushing toilet. No sink. No electricity. Nothing remotely sanitary. Camp was set-up, dinner was eaten, and Monica, Karen Jean and I slept in my in-laws' van. The next morning, I jumped in the driver's seat, fired up the van, and drove us to a restroom with a shower about 20 miles from the campground. We left Bosco and Curtis standing there with a blank look on their faces and no explanations. I had not used the restroom since we had stopped for gas the day before and I shouldn't be held responsible for the state of my decision making or my renal system. Needless to say, we broke camp after breakfast, said goodbye to our friends from Arkansas, and I cried for four hours on the way home. I decided then, no more camping!
As the years passed, I did relent to a few overnight camp-outs, but I had to be baited with water skiing, someone's camper, a flushable toilet, or a 24 hour limit. I never acclimated to the experience. It just didn't appeal to me. Bosco took the kids camping during Spring Breaks and they always camped in the backyard several times a summer, so our kids never did without that joy. I always bowed out and plead that it was "Dad Time" and I didn't want to interfere with my idiosyncrasies. My kids have wonderful memories and I am glad for it. I was really happy with the situation, until one day, after Meg left for college, Jordan made his memorable plea. "Mom, would you please, please think about going camping with Dad and me? It might be fun and it's something the three of us can do together." Sigh... He sounded so sincere. So, I told him I would think about it. I did think about it until I would mentally black-out and go to my happy place of Inn Suites, continental breakfasts, and a swimming pool. Jordan didn't give up and he recruited Bosco in his mission. Finally, I conceded and gave into the battle. I would go camping.
My sister-in-law loaned us a pop-up camper that would reside at our house for a few years. We would take it places and I would camp. I may have given in, but it was not without terrorist's demands. I would have a make-shift shower, a porta-potty, and they would do my bidding as needed. This includes killing bugs, toting fresh water, and ignoring my whining and complaints as I was out of my comfort zone. I love my comfort zone, it's cozy and clean. :) Things went well, but after two days, they were tired of being my camping minnions. And by the third day, we were all ready to go home. This went on for a few years. The camper was nice, but it was cold and windy when we went to Quartsite. When it rained, it got a little leaky around the seams of the pop-out beds. And the porta-potty was a little exposed for three people to use for more than two days. When Bosco retired, he scouted Craigslist and found an affordable used camping trailer that we purchased. It had a bathroom with a shower, a flushable toilet, a kitchen with a microwave, a pop-out living area, and a queen-sized bed. Oh, it also has an air conditioner and a heater. Slick, huh? The pop-up went back to my sister-in-law, and the camper lives in our backyard.
It is nice. When there is no electricity within range, it hooks up to a generator. Gotta love it! I can shower, do my hair, listen to my tunes, and no one gets hurt. Well, unless the cold water line is plugged up and the shower scalds us. Yes, this has happened. Recently, we took it to Patagonia Lake and spent a couple of days with friends, roughing it. They have one, too, but they will not always use the conveniences as a need to commune with nature. I think. On the way out of the camp ground, I watched the villages of tents go by until I saw something moving out from under one of the tents. I looked closely as Bosco slowed the truck, preparing to stop at the dumping station. From under the tent popped a SKUNK!! IN. THE. MIDDLE. OF. THE. DAY! Ever heard of rabies? I screamed skunk and Bosco just laughed! I was beside my self! He said, "I thought it smelled a little skunky last night!" I nearly freaked! I won't even venture into what if land. It is a deep dark hole of unrest. At least my unrest!
CAMPING IS NOT FOR SISSIES!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)