bikes and flights

You probably already know that before they made an airplane, the Wright Brothers made bicycles. Back then (late 1800's) bikes were the main mode of transportation for people everywhere. Then, along came a little article, “Wheeling and Flying,” in the Aeronautical Annual, in which James Howard Means suggested a link between flying and riding bikes.

It's easy to see the connections:
The central importance of balance and control.
The need for strong but lightweight structures.
The chain-and-sprocket transmission system for propulsion.
Concerns regarding wind resistance and aerodynamic shape of the operator.

Let's look at these in regards to my life now.

The central importance of balance and control. Hmmm. Totally off balance and out of control. Maybe a bike will lend these things to my life?

The need for strong but lightweight structures. Strong? Sure. Lightweight? Hardly.

The chain-and-sprocket transmission..what???

Concerns regarding wind resistance and aerodynamic shape of the operator. I'm pretty sure I am not aerodynamic and I am also sure I provide lots of wind resistance.

So....what started me off on this tangent are the developments of the last few weeks. In the midst of my anxiety/panic attacks my husband decided now was the perfect time to begin to realize his boyhood dream of a pilot's license. So, off he went to the local airport and took a lesson. He actually flew a plane that evening! I secretly followed him there, thinking I would for sure see a spiraling out of control plane smoking to the ground, but he didn't crash. Woo hoo!

After the lesson, he did more investigating and discovered a pesky little thing called a medical clearance. So, a new reason to try to get in shape!!

All the while, gas prices climbed several pennies each day...making my commute a rather costly endeavor -and well, that has nothing to do with this, because my work is 40 miles away and I am not riding there. But, husband's is only two miles away and he might...and that will save money, right?

Sooooo, somehow we decided to start riding bicycles to get in shape. We trudged all over town to find bikes that wouldn't break the bank, and that we would be able to get our fat asses on. We landed at Target and I got this one:

After some adjustments and air to the tires, off we went on our first ride. I haven't been on a bike in years, but just like the old saying...it was easy. Just as I rounded the corner, I felt the wind in my hair and &$%#@$%^! A loud crunching and heard some metal jingling. My new bike was broken! Long story ...but another trip to Target, an argument with the customer service people, and I came home with this one:








And, by the way, this is not a bike, it is an "alternate form of transportation."

Husband got one, too, and we had a nice, although short ride around the neighborhood. My thighs hurt!

So, that Means guy was right, there is a connection between wheels and planes, but in our case, the connection is more cardio-vascular than aerodynamic.

windows

I've been looking outside from inside lately. Figuratively and literally. On a glorious weekend weather-wise, I've moped around, sleepy, not bathed, and slightly depressed only sneaking glimpses of the bright green and blinding sun. The cacophony of birds has been intriguing. I don't feel like writing about the junk on my mind, because it is not all settled yet, and that is well, unsettling.

I took some pictures at Williamsburg last weekend, and since this is a history blog, I'll provide some historical context.

These are colonial guard fife and drummer guys. They saw us taking pics of the governor's palace and exclaimed, "We'll give you a nice photo!" They promptly posed for us and all the other tourists. Is it bad that for some reason, I couldn't concentrate on the history?

Yes, I am sick.



Anyway, we toured the palace, which was awesome, but I was disappointed to learn that it was a rebuild. The original burned down. Other useless trivia: The first governor ( a royal appointed governor) was Spotswood (we named Spotsylvania for him - you know, the mall http://www.spotsylvaniamall.com). The lovely brick pattern is called "Running Flemish" and Thomas Jefferson used it on Monticello.

Inside the palace, I was all about being on the inside looking out:

This photo is of the front garden while we were in the orientation session.




And this photo was from the grand ballroom. I've been burned out on Colonial history for a long time, and the prospect of teaching it again as they shift our curriculum is not a pleasant one. Oh, it would be cool if I could teach what I wanted to about colonial times and the architecture, gardens and kooky stuff, but of course, I'd have to teach stuff I don't care much about.

We got lots of great pictures in Williamsburg, it really is a very photogenic place. I'm sure I'll post some more later as our trip included a torch lit fife and drum parade and ghost tour.

I am going to try to get outside today instead of just looking at life from the view inside here.

fifes and drums!

Our recent journey to Williamsburg was filled with fifes and drums and yankee doodle dandy and all that. We experienced a torch-lit night time jam session of drum geeks that was impressive, and loud, and well, kind of weird.

I have not blogged, but I have plenty of topics to blog about:

living with 21st century hippies (my kid who hates to appear on my blog... and her cohort)

timeshare sales experiences (such fun! ha ha -- we did not get suckered in--- well, sort of)

colonial history (I know we're all waiting to read this fascinating topic as if it hasn't been rammed down our collective throat all our lives in Virginia) hey, I learned new stuff in Williamsburg!

restaurants...and gps systems...gas and grocery prices...dog neutering (side note: all our animals are fixed) marriage sometimes can be affected adversely by bad gps systems and hard to find waffle restaurants.

leaving two teens in charge of the house for the weekend and wondering on a Monday evening what that strange odor is that permeates everything....

joy of all joys it is SOL week (s) ......which in Virginia means that the only thing of importance is the fucking SOl tests and making sure that we meet AYP. and like the kids probably now feel -- I could not care less.

Oh...and my husband has decided to use *his* disposable income to take flying lessons. He doesn't have life insurance. Nice.

I now know why it is my destiny to live here instead of the California coast which I love so much: no cliffs with crashing waves and rip tides in which to throw myself.

And in good news: I got a $28 bottle of wine!!! Ain't no better than the 7-10 I typically enjoy.

I found out that Thomas Jefferson (my colonial, Virginian, American, male, red-headed, gardening, gourmand, architectural, educated, liberal hero) has over 5,000 biographies dedicated to him! I walked along streets he did, I touched (even though I wasn't supposed to!) surfaces he once may have touched! And...I forgave him a little bit more for his enslavement of servants. If he freed his slaves, they would have been homeless and jobless in an at best hostile environment. I think he'd vote for Obama (like we all should) if he could.

ciao for now!

my mom

Once upon a time there was a little girl...
who grew up in Cranford
who was naughty
who was the smartest
who was chubby
who was funny
who was tough
who was kind

She grew up and was still all those things, only add "er" naughtier, smartester, chu(well, she lost the baby fat -see above pic) funnier, tougher and kinder. She raised us (almost singlehandedly but not quite) as her primary function. She can do anything, and has seen a lot of the world. She's been lucky and unlucky, loved and not so much loved. I am quite sure that she is better than your mom.

Once upon a time there was another little girl who grew up everywhere and nowhere, who was naughty -- hell, downright bad, the smartest --but didn't believe it -- but the above mentioned little girl always did, was the chubb--no surpassed that achievement to the fattest ever, is funny, is very tough and tries to be kind.

Although I'll never have as much artistic talent -- my mom can do art ha ha!! And I'll never play Beethoven --my mom CAN ha ha, I'll never crosstich across America one little x at a time, I'll never know the latin names for all the foliage not only at my home but the homes of the founding fathers, and I'll never be as tough and as kind as it has taken to stay with and be a loving loyal wife to my dad for 51 years and counting...the biggest "I'll never..." is the one that is the hardest to admit: I'll never be as good a mom. I'm the best I can be and I have made it the most important thing in my life, because she taught me to, but I can't top that one.

I can't claim it as my achievement, but I can offer this small gift to my mom, you now have one grandchild who has successfully completed one year of college. (Today, well tomorrow actually on mother's day, we'll go pick her up and bring her here.)

Mission accomplished!

Today I set out to do yardwork, clean my car, and run errands. I did them all in my disgusting, chewed up brown flip flops.

I got them all done! Well, one of my errands was to go to Borders and find a new book – but cancelled that one in favor of Target for some spring clothes splurges. I have a book to read – but I am reluctant to read it. I don't know why. Probably because I am obsessed with Inspector Banks, and Peter Robinson needs to write a new one each month. But, Donna Tartt, The Secret History is up next, and it's been on my shelf for a long, long time. My mom recommended it, and gave it to me. So, I will read it.

I managed to sqeeze in a pedicure, but I opted for the new OPI Chicago style color, and it may have been a mistake. I'll try it for a day or two, then decide. My feet were very calloused, and I was embarrassed for the nice pedicure lady because she was obviously wanting to puke. Oh, well.

The flip flops do have a history – I acquired them (there were originally two pair one for me and one for Kaiti – don't know where hers are) from my dad of all things. He was making one of his infamous trips to Wal-Mart (my folks live in the boonies of VA and Wallyworld is THE store to go to –everyday) My dad will buy anything if its on his list. So, I cleverly put “flip flops, size 7, and size 8, any color) on his list one day last summer. They arrived promptly along with the ice cream and assorted goodies (not wine – don't ask him to buy me wine – but he probably would).

I wore the flip flops to Sandbridge – a hidden, sort of, beach that mostly local VA Beachers go to. It was a sickingly hot day, with the sand burning my feet, and the warm water barely giving comfort from the stagnant humid air. But, Fun! Despite my 4 applications of Bull Frog Waterproof for Babies SPF 6000, I got a sunburn. But it came only in weird stripes where I must have missed some application.

I didn't wear the flips flops to school, as they are against the dress code, but I wished I could. They managed to live the rest of the year after September, until now, with only a few visits to the inside of the house. (My dog, Max, loves the flavor of flip flops). I discovered them when cleaning my car, buried under sweaters, Scott's dress pants to take to the cleaners for his conference last August! And under the beach towels used for the beach trip. Yes, they were still in the car. Along with 3 Santa hats, and several empty Vitamin Water bottles. (Add Vitamin water to the list of addictions if it isn't there yet).

I'm off tomorrow! Woopee!!! Oh, yeah, I'm off to have a root canal. I guess it's sad that I'd rather have a root canal than teach these days.

Adventures in Dog Sitting

This history of is more like the history of the last couple days in my life vs. something with a real historical connection.

I was asked to dog sit my friend's (we'll call her Sheila) doggies. It was fun, and gave me some time all to myself, and so I took pictures and pondered many things.

Here is how it began:




Just in case you can't read all those directions, complete with check boxes - I zoomed in on the funniest. This was for one night.
Note that Pete should have 3 green beans - not 4, and that Margaret should get 10. I diligently counted them out. Then I put the cut up chicken on the food and let it soak appropriately. By this time, I was thoroughly pooped (traffic was bad, long day at work, then I forgot the chicken!)

At 8:27 (not the 8:30 time on the dog's pink watch), I let them out, and back in. Then, a few hours later I got them ready for bed. There is a whole other page about the bedtime ritual - for dogs -

It was rather cute, as I retrieved the dog beds from the basement to carry up to the bedroom, I noticed something strange: no dogs!

As I turned the corner to the bedroom, there they sat in anticipation of their beds. And here I thought it would be a chore to get them tucked in properly. They obediently watched and waited while their beds were prepped, and then they snuggled in for the night.

Other observations I made during my alone time:Apparently, healthy cereal has some political connotations. What are "blossoms" when they come in a cereal box?? Surely, not blossoms as in flowers?? Scary. Of course, what would I know about eating healthy? I ate cookies with wine for dinner. (Hey, I was alone!)

Sheila is very crafty and creative and artistic, so I used her surroundings to try my hand at creativity: I call this "still life with bulbs":









I pondered my existence with the help of this character:
And, yes, he (she?) was sitting in silent judgement of my dinner choice. Fukking duck.

The dogs seemed to come out unscathed: Pete - in not-so-silent judgement

Then, Sam - who I was not allowed to photograph alone - according to Pete his all time protector:



And then finally, the very vicious dingo-like Margaret who will, in fact, kill you.

curricula....

Curricular
Curriculum...Latin, course, from currere, to run;

Watched Atonement yesterday. It was pretty good. Featured prominently was the evacuation of the British from Dunkirk. It was a major event of World War II, but American children don't get taught about it. In the UK it is integral to the study of the war (link if you don't know about it)
Recently when I was desperately searching for more stuff on the war to teach I ran across an activity that was created by a teacher in the UK. I quickly downloaded it and ran it off for my students to do while I was gone. I confess, I didn't really read it much, just wanted something quick and easy for the sub to do. Upon my return I scanned through the children's work and discovered that it had some errors on it, namely, the date of Pearl Harbor was wrong. Several of my students noticed it as well. I pointed out that it was from the UK, and my students were worried that the British students are not being taught about Pearl Harbor properly and it is so important to what we learn. I told them it was ok because they don't even know about Dunkirk.

It got me to thinking of how much of what we are taught - what is in the curricula - is perhaps wrong. Maybe even just watered down too much, the Virginia history curriculum (known affectionately as the Standard of Learning) leaves out lots of things I think are important (Douglas MacArthur - a Virginian and General during the war) and includes some stuff I struggle to get the kids to understand: "decreased regional variation in the latter half of the 20th Century." I don't "teach to the test" - I can't see the test anyway, but I do teach the curriculum, and try to enhance it where possible. I have tried to serve on committees that revise the curriculum, but I am usually not chosen, and even if I was, the process becomes so politicized as to be ridiculous.

My lesson plans are checked, my test scores analyzed ad nauseum, but no one really checks to see if what I am teaching is in fact accurate. So, that leaves me with little loopholes and things to entertain myself, such as answering students' questions very matter of factly as if I know for sure that it is the truth -- and you know what? They believe me!!! So, of late, I have been injecting some stuff for my own jollies; When studying the technological revolution of the 20th Century, a student asked very sincerely, "Who invented the internet?" I very sincerely replied, "Al Gore." When studying about reasons for various wars, I inevitably get asked "What is the reason for THIS war?" On my especially devilish days (normally, I say I can't talk about it until it's in the history books)... I say "Oil." They don't question me or challenge my authority at all. At least on that front.

Tomorrow I get to help revise the Code of Behavior Activity Package!! I think I'll have to keep my mouth shut on most of it.

BTW - Do you know what decreased regional variation is?

Teaching

Let's remind everyone what I do. I teach 12 year olds American history. I use movie clips (ala YouTube) music (ala my iPod) art, activities, and a book or two. I'm pretty awesome compared to my social studies teachers in school.

None of that matters. The birds are chirping and the hormones are RAGING! I could be handing out gold doubloons and they would ignore me. No matter, its not like I am judged on my teaching abilities by boring bubble tests given this time of year or anything. Whoops.

Rescue me!!!! 34 days to go!

My feet need you - just stop by anytime and swoop me up. You can take me anywhere -- hell, the parking lot is good enough for me!

Opiates

"...had a happy thought. Into the bowl in which their wine was mixed, she slipped a drug that had the power of robbing grief and anger of their sting and banishing all painful memories. No one who swallowed this dissolved in their wine could shed a single tear that day, even for the death of his mother or father, or if they put his brother or his own son to the sword and he were there to see it done..."


That is from Homer's Odyssey, one of the earliest pieces of literature in which there is a reference to opium. When I think of opium or opiates I think of things that people do to escape reality, to "feel good." Or maybe feel less bad. All this thinking was spurred on while wandering alone through the Trump Taj Mahal casino yesterday. I kept thinking of addictions, especially gambling addictions.

It was kind of a test for me, as some people, even me, thought that perhaps the casino would be dangerous for me and I would become addicted to gambling or something. I actually became quite disillusioned and bored very quickly. I can take it or leave it. I was amazed at the people in there sitting for hours mindlessly (or maybe not) pushing buttons (no more pulling the arm) on slot machines. What relief of life's pain is gained by gambling? I think it may be the feeling, however fleeting, of hope that comes before the dials stop turning.

I played Roulette, and it was fun. Except that it was very expensive, and I think may be rigged. I played the slots and mostly just lost a bunch of money without any real fun. Where do those people get all this money to just throw away?? Hundred dollar bills flashing across the tables, huge stacks of chips....I guess I don't have anything to worry about as far as becoming addicted to gambling. Thankfully, I do have a tightwad side to me, which I am sure rubbed off from Scott.

On the long bus ride home....and it was long....and filled with raucous laughter of the over 70 crowd and lots of loud snoring. (I do NOT snore - but the lady two rows back does- mouth open, drooling kind of snoring) I did a lot of thinking about addictions. How do people get addicted to gambling? Or, anything? And, what is an addiction, really? I often use the phrase, "i'm addicted to...." fill in with the latest thing....but I don't think they are real addicitions.

Once upon a time I was labeled a food addict. Considering that food is a requirement for sustaining life, I don't think one can be addicted to it itself. I am addicted to OVEReating - which is eating when not hungry and or eating too much. I am getting better about that, but I do love food. (Who doesn't?).

I do have what I call phases. Phases in which a certain food and or drink or even activity are very prominent in my life. They eventually wear out, then only return for sentimental appearances. Here is a list of my current and past phases of addiction/obsession.

Current:
Stacy's Pita Chips - naked or parmesan garlic. FAB U LOUS!!!!
Vitamin Water - the Revive flavor is the best
Chardonnay - Yellow Tail Reserve
Curry - my chicken red curry specifically
Naval oranges - I even eat the peel (not the orange part of it)
(all of these are in my weekly repertoire)

My current list is much better than my past one.

Ben and Jerry's was a big one. Now, I can't have more than one spoon of it. Also certain flavors came and went as obsessions with Cherry Garcia always topping the list.
Little Debbie I am ashamed of this one - there are no redeeming qualities in them.
Happy Meals Rarely made me happy, although ordering one always gave a thrill.
Pepperidge Farm Milanos still good - but I don't eat the whole bag in one sitting anymore, and rarely have them at all.
Chips and Dip
Hershey Bars - eaten one square at at time

All that being said, I still haven't solved my need for opiates. Opiates defined as things that bring a feeling of escape and hope, however fleeting. I wish I could substitute yoga or something for the various comforts I turn to daily. For now, I'll try to make them less unhealthy.

my feet....

I know you have been waiting, and not wanting to disappoint...here is the history of ......my feet.

There are no footprints of my feet at birth....my sister's have those of theirs, but my page is ....blank.





When I was little I was reminded that I am one of the lucky few to have had my feet in the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, and the Pacific. That does make me feel lucky, but I also want to have my feet in the Mediterranean again, and the Pacific again....and after a week like the past few I've had...I'd settle for the Atlantic. Hell, the Gulf would be alright. I hope that doesn't make me greedy.

When I was about 4, I stepped on a bee, the first memorable injury to my piggies. More memorable, is the endless tickling and the singing of that piggie feet song ....the phrase..."and THIS little piggie...." makes me cringe to this day.

These feet once sported angry cowboy boots that stomped through the dust and straight into the snow when they left California for the unknown and (thankfully) still untold horrors of Connecticut.

These feet once stood firm as they put a boot right in the ass of that ass who convinced them to go to Connecticut....although it took these feet a few years to get the courage.

These feet have walked the terrifying halls of "higher learning," only to have their owner wonder, what exactly is "lower learning?" and....something about "higher" made them laugh.

These feet walked the streets of D.C. at 3 am handing out flyers of a certain missing person.

These feet have skipped and danced and jumped with joy at the return of said missing person, and said missing persons achievements.

These feet have throbbed, stepped in cat shit, do not believe that stepping in dog shit brings good luck (MOM!) get dirty when walking around bare (IN the house) and are dying to explore different soils and different experiences.

These feet hold up these 200 pounds from 8 am to 5 pm most days with no break and they HURT. These feet have bunions, cuticles, callouses, blisters and need a pedicure.





If I had a paypal, I'd start a collection for my pedicure fund....and I know you would contribute....right?

long in the tooth

The expression means old, and came from horses of all things. As their gums recede their teeth look longer, so to say someone is long in the tooth is to say they are old.

Well, I'm not long in the tooth, but my teeth are old. And bad. I'm going to fight tooth and nail to keep them. I'm armed to the teeth with floss, mouthwash, toothbrushes, pastes, and luckily.....percoset. And antibiotics. Cliche much?

I have to have a root canal and a crown. I'm in agony, but I have to wait three weeks to start the process. Oh, well. I should have not let it go so long. I seem to always make my appointments for various things last - after everyone else. And then, sometimes not at all. My teeth have taken a back seat for too long. And I'll pay the price, and by paying the price I mean 3,000 bucks....

Sadly, after all that work, pain and money, I'll still have a funky mouth full of teeth. I've always been embarrassed of my teeth. I don't let it stop me from having a big mouth and grinning and laughing raucously.

We did a lot of laughing this weekend celebrating my sister turning 49. We laughed, sang, didn't dance (next time!) and ate and drank (but not too much...). It was nice to get away from everything. Now I have to face returning to school..not a pleasing prospect, but one I'll share in a later post!

Soccer moms

I am not sure if being one is good or bad or neither, but I am curious as to when the term originated.

According to Wikipedia, it gained popularity in the 1990's. Urban dictionary has some funny entries about them - apparently, they must be white middle class women with SUV's and conservative values. I guess that is why even when I was a soccer mom (literally a mom who had a kid who played soccer) I didn't fit in.

I didn't know the right snacks to bring when it was my turn, didn't bring the requisite lawn chair, never snapped any pictures, and sometimes I ran the field on the side lines during the whole game. I enjoyed that time a lot, and got a little misty the other day when I saw a girl of about 7 in the traditional Stafford soccer blues. I wanted to run up to her and say, "I used to have a little girl just like you." Thankfully, I held back. Although I had fun, and K had fun, I never could get "in" with the other moms. They had the right clothes, the right car, the right coolers, the perfect snacks. Sometimes, I came in work clothes right from school and graded papers in the bleachers. Much to their disdain I am sure.

Lately, I've been comparing today's mom with the moms when I was growing up. We had great moms -don't get me wrong. But, our moms were not obsessed with every detail of our lives. We were kids, we played, they were moms, they did what they did. My mom made me clothes for my Barbies but she didn't play Barbies with me. She sent me out to play, but didn't photograph every second of it. And, she never set up my circle of friends for me.

As I am grappling with the guilt of the empty nest, I wonder if I did my job correctly, because I see so many women who do it ALL, and I was so lacking. I see mothers now who detail their children's lives in elaborate scrapbooks. There are entire stores devoted to this practice. They make play dates for their infants, they put their children at the center of their life, and although sometimes that is necessary while raising children, sometimes it goes too far -- doesn't it? I used to see them lurking in the school long after dropping off their kids, when I taught in a more affluent area. I would want to tell them, "Go! Get a life!"

When we was too poor to have a camera or develop film, and K would do something awesome or perform in something at school, I'd catch her eye and make a camera with my hands and pretend to click. She and I had a special secret - she knew that I knew and was there. Once another mom felt bad for me and took a bunch of pictures at a concert and gave them to me. She was shocked when I didn't act super overjoyed. I've got the pictures right here - pointing to my head -- I told her.

The last few years I have struggled with the guilt of not being a soccer mom - a mom who does it ALL. I ignored her, sent her away, was annoyed by her sometimes, and led my own life. I have beat myself up over it long enough. (although I'll still do it more - hey I'm a masochist) I've got some pictures, even some videos, perhaps a baby book somewhere. I took her to soccer, field hockey, band concerts, dances, plays, competitions, back to school night, conferences....all that I could. I even played Barbies with her....but I led my own life, too. And that is ok. I guess.

I just wish my memories could be turned off sometimes like when I feel like blubbering in the grocery store when I see a brown haired little girl in soccer cleats. I'm glad I did take the time to just stand back and observe her growing up instead of orchestrating every second.

Yard Work

Once upon a time I wanted a big yard. I loved it for about a minute. Now, its a jungle of weeds, vines, more weeds, more vines, runaway hedges, patchy grass, wierd bugs, shedding trees and roadside trash. I hate it.

Oh, don't get me wrong....it has potential. It just requires a team of people to work on it. I don't have a team. Boo! I have worked out there since 10 am this morning and feel like I have not accomplished anything. Just to make myself feel better, here is what I DID do:

picked up 4 wheelbarrows full of twigs and branches and winter debris
hosed off the deck and deck furniture
raked out one ivy bed to reveal one peony peeking through
trimmed back one bush
removed a small amount of honeysuckle
chased the dog around the neighborhood as he got loose for about 1/2 hour
hung one mini wind chime on the new porch
and most importantly: called a landscape company to give me an estimate on work

I am no stranger to yard work. Growing up we had two Saturday morning choices: inside with mom or outside with dad. Sometimes it was both. We had to be like mules or something when outside, and interestingly, no matter what we did or how we did it, it was wrong. From pushing a broom, running the hose or carrying bricks --or the infamous slices of sod -- I always seemed to earn a ration of name calling and belittling. The lure to go back in and scour the tub with comet was overwhelming since that job I knew I could do and my mom never said I did it wrong. (I suspect I probably did do it wrong, but she just didn't care) .

Never the less, Saturday has always felt like a work day to me and as exhausted and sore as I am, I would feel worse if I didn't work very hard to clean house and do the yard.

Now, to punish (torture?) myself more, here is what I didn't do (yet) and need to get working on:
hedge trimming
weed whacking
mulching
more twigs and debris clean up
mowing (lawn mower still being repaired)
planting and transplanting
painting (shed - porches and deck)
removing the trimmings and twigs to the dump


....there's probably more. Ugh.

t-o-r-t-u-r-e

A long time ago, during the longest war the U.S. has every participated in, (but we are gaining ground!) a POW used Morse Code to blink the word torture. Jeremiah Denton http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeremiah_Denton was held prisoner for eight years by the North Vietnamese. When we learned of his torture and those of his fellow prisoners, we (the U.S.) was outraged. Rightly so.

Now, the U.S. policy on torture isn't so clear. Republican Candidate, former POW, McCain said, “Anyone who knows what waterboarding is could not be unsure. It is a horrible torture technique used by Pol Pot and being used on Buddhist monks as we speak.”

While the president said, "The bill Congress sent me would take away one of the most valuable tools in the war on terror," Bush said "So today I vetoed it," Bush said (March 8, 2008 - Google it!)

Now, you can think what you want, vote the way you want, (this is not an endorsement of McCain) however, think about teaching that stuff to 12 year olds. They watch the news, they know what torture means (have you been in a middle school locker room recently?). They can't understand why the president would veto an anti-torture bill when they are learning about torture used on American POWs. They can't understand why there was not a march on Washington for this issue! I wish 12 year olds could vote!

Ok, after I typed the last line, I thought of Hannah Montana. So, nevermind.

Speaking of torture, for 4 days a week I stand on my feet from 7:55 until usually 4:30 or 5:30 on high heels. I inherited my grandma's bunions. Why do I torture myself so? I'll tell you why......fashion bitches!!!! And, heels make you look 10 pounds thinner!!! Srsly!!!!

Changes

Ok- so I'll probably pramble on way too long to say that I've had a revelation in the last few weeks. It started a few months back when I discovered a blog oracle.tayker.com - actually acquaintances from www.fredtalk.com, which led me to wouldashoulda.com, which led me to iambossy.com, which may have changed my life in a way. I started reading both woulda and bossy daily. OK, obessively checking them multiple times daily. I love the stories of wouldashoulda's life raising small children, and I love the way bossy writes in general and her treatment of her family history.

I actually went to DC to meet Bossy on her famous road trip. I've been quiet about it so far, but I was blown away. I met a bunch of people who are way too cool for me, yet didn't act that way. And bossy herself is so courageous and brave and an inspiration. I feel stupid for cutting her off in mid-sentence when I saw her Obama button. I don't think she realized the world I live in -surrounded by the religious "right." I saw her Obama button and my mind just went *kapaow* Anywho, check out her blog and read her archives, her family history archives an all comments....then we'll talk.

I felt so scared going to a club in D.C. after school on a Tuesday. Alone. On the metro! I wore heels! And a stupid sparkly sweater! I met a bunch of articulate, funny, nice people -- fair trade.

I felt inadequate sharing our blog: stilltruckin. Not really a blog, but a way to communicate with the women folk in our family. It has been a great experience to write and read our lives. I only wish **we** would write more. Ahem. Nancy, Marianne, Zsuzsi.

Anywho, I found out that blogging has been going on forever, and there is a network of women bloggers and even women bloggers who apparently make moola off their blog! I'm not interested in the money, but the connectivity with other women world wide is historic! Which leads me to my shower the other day....

I was pondering my dorkiness and bossy's coolness, along with shallowgal, vuboq, merrymishaps, and the rest, when as I lathered my wintery leg hair growth for its spring shave: history!

I love history~ I always have - since my very early days here, I have recognized it's importance. I wrote a letter to Nixon when I was 9 about oil and Arabs. If only he would have listened! I tell my students all the time that EVERYTHING has a history. We joke about it, but it is true. I have them tell the history of all kinds of things, and it is fun. So, back to the shower, I thought why not have a blog with a purpose, a theme!!! (Ok, I overheard ALL of the blog women at bossy's gathering)

And such, The History of.... is borne. I love putting e's on the end of things. I have a ton of ideas on which to write...and have started to make a list! Bunions and socks being the only teasers I will leave here. I know I won't have the time or patience (until summertime) to put in pics and fancy fonts, etc. (even videos!) yet, but I have words! Lots and lots of words!

blah

I can't sleep late anymore. I keep waking up, listening to Scott snore and snorkle and choke, and then just get up. I've taken to sipping coffee in the living room with the laptop and Felix. Sometimes I watch infomercials.

I really want the shark steam mop.

We're going to Farmville and then Lynchburg today. Scott hasn't seen Kaiti's dorm room and she is not coming home for the 3rd weekend - a record. She's been working hard on school stuff and getting involved there which is a good thing.

I watched C-Span for a long time the other night. Barbara Boxer is awesome. She stands up for what she believes in and sticks to her word. Hillary wasn't even there for the vote. None of the pres candidates were. Politics has become too.....political. And strayed light years away from what it was intended to be.

Holidays rapidly approaching. I am not going to be stressed about them....I am looking forward to taking a break from school. The kids are draining me.

3-day weekend! I'm turning the phones off on Monday.

loss

a slimy puddle of saliva and tears
in front of the archway in my living room
a wail
a second moan/wail from Scott
.....

I keep reliving that moment at weird times.

It was Thursday. September something.

I wailed.

He said to talk.

I said, "I never told her how much I loved her, how much I wished I could be like her. She's beautiful, so smart, she has it all...."

Then the guilt washed over me and I was paralyzed. Lying in my puddle of tears and saliva. I just wailed. Sobbed. Sobbed. Sobbed.

I wished someone would pound a knife into my heart because it would have felt better than that pain.

exercise, reading, relaxing, life

I wish exercise had more instantaneous results. If I sweat, I want to look thinner right away.

Not much going on here. I am sick of having a depressing/depressed husband. He is never happy - cept when perhaps eating or sleeping. It is like dragging around eeyore -- if eeyore weren't cute and was dead. I am tired of scheduling a social life and activities only to have him complain and moan. It makes me very depressed and unhappy - and I just want to have fun. I know that there are "issues" in the world, but we have so much to be thankful and happy about I just can't stand always being brought down.

I am going to make a list of goals for the week and see if it helps me:
-calls -- temp agency, school
-fax - benefits office
-clean - floors and walls, usual stuff and upstairs, oh, and caulk the tub again
-paint - hallway and bathroom
-look - at tile for the kitchen backsplash
-fun: read --reading 3 books now! Ruth Rendell short storys (Pirhana to Scurfy), 13 Steps Down, and A Thousand Splendid Suns
swim - awesome time at pool last week - gonna repeat this week, hopefully without the sunburn
gym - also going to be brave and check out an aqua ex. class and do more exericise on the machines
nap - maybe in the hammock if the bugs will leave me alone
finish the scavenger hunt - only 5 more things to find.

uhhhh - that should be enough to keep the week going.

Here is what I am NOT going to do:
1. Worry about GD Money.
2. Try to drag eeyore along in my fun.
3. Visit my mother-in-law
4. Go to DC for fireworks (well, maybe not)
5. Overeat

summertime

I don't really want to get a summer job. I have one for two weeks lined up, but I want to stay home and read and do nothing. I need money to pay for tuition, and somebody needs money for school. It is very frustrating to have a teen home who doesn't really want to get a job. She only pays lip service to it, but if she wanted one, she would have one. The shit is hitting the fan because I am not giving her gas money anymore until she gets a job.

My arm is hurting really bad and I have 2 teeth that need to be pulled. That, plus the skin cancer on my face is getting me down. I refuse to make a list of all the things I should get done. Maybe I will do them, maybe I won't.

Sunday

Hanging around waiting for Scott to wake up. I've cleaned upstairs, just need to put sheets on the beds and towels out for guests. Cleaned most of downstairs -- our room needs to be cleaned, but he is in there snoring so I'll wait. I shoud be working on my school crap and perhaps I will go and get it in from the car in a few minutes. I've read the paper, had 2 cups of coffee and walked the dog. Decided that I don't need the house to be spotless for our graduation festivities. Don't even need all the projects to be done.

I am pretty adamant that I want to put this house on the market. I really think we'll like a town house better. A newish one. Brick. I want it to have a fenced yard, deck, more than one bathroom and real closets. The ones I've seen also have a nice basement area, with garage (Idlewild) so Scott can have his man room (geek room) and I can have an office area near the bedroom, and then a guest room/kaiti's room.

Kaiti is pretty much done w/school. She is sort of looking for a job. I dont' think she understands the importance. She will come September when there is no money for spending. Oh well. Hard way learner, like me.