Has a birthday today!!!
I only tell you this because in all the years I've known him he has not acknowledged it. But I will.
It dawned on me today that my two dearest friends from the last decade are not only both grammar geeks, but both have birthdays eerily close to mine. And neither has met the other and at times both have doubted the existence of the other.
If they ever get in the same room at the same time I might just pee my pants.
Happy Birthday, Ted!!
Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
the better bread
10 years is not such a long time in a the scheme of things. But most of us, hopefully, are in different, better places than we were 10 years ago.
Everyone talks about that one, amazing summer they've had.
Mine was 1998. I'd just lost a ton-o-weight, was working four jobs, and didn't have a car. First I was living on my college's tiny campus with a guy WAY too into WWF and then off campus with the most awesomest roommate ever, Mory.
Dustin hates hearing about it. I've judged every summer since to the contentment I had that summer. Maybe it was the fact that when you don't have a car it makes you prioritize your needs. Or maybe it was the fact that the weather that summer was just about perfect while living in a bucolic setting. (Yes. Bucolic. You haven't seen magical beauty until you've seen an entire wheat field at dusk covered with lighting bugs.) Or maybe it was that I had more energy and happiness because the weight was gone. Or because I learned to drive stickshift after I convinced a friend to let me borrow his car by saying I already knew how to drive a stick shift.
Or maybe it's that for the first time in my life I fully embraced the new technology of e-mail to forge a friendship that, today, I couldn't imagine my life without.
Jill was different from all my other friends. It wasn't just that she was smart or that she was the first person who found me truly entertaining. Or that she was my first, and only girlfriend. Or that we were both Geminis.
She somehow knew me. And I mean *KNEW* me. I'd shared more with her and she with I than anyone in either of our lives. And insomuch I'd tell her, "you're the only one who really gets me."
When I came out after college, her phone number was the first one I dialed. It was a strange circle considering that we initially met my freshman year when I was evading a gangly boy who was pseudo-pursuing me.
See, it wasn't *just* that she 'got' me, she taught me more than most professors did. Mostly how to live and understand my own life.
Plus, as a good english major, she politely corrected and guided my writing.
And see these little paragraph breaks that conveniently separate my thoughts?
Thank Jill for those.
That summer of '98 we e-mailed daily. Often multiple times. I would sneak away from my jobs on campus to head to a computer lab. I'd type a few lines and scoot back to work. She was a summer temp for corporate America in Des Moines.
For some reason I can't remember, probably missing each other, she came to Waverly for the weekend of July fourth. She, with her car, rescued me from campus. We dressed up. We ate out. We lit sparklers. We crashed a tiny towns 'days.'
But things didn't stay wonderful forever. The summer ended. We both got back to being college students. We stayed close until shortly after college.
Then life happened. She went her way to live her life. I went mine.
It's been at least 6 or 7 years since I've seen her.
Until this last weekend.
I went to Denver this weekend for a choir festival with the Lawrence Children's Choir. I actually wasn't feeling well before the trip and didn't know if 12 hours on a bus with 75 kids would make me feel any better. But someone had paid my way for the trip (since I couldn't afford it) so I sort of had to go.
On Sunday my choir collegues and I were sitting at the Denver zoo arguing over the grammatical appropriateness of the phrase "me and Bob."
I knew only one person who would know the answer.
Jill.
I gave her a ring and in the middle of the call realized she was in Colorado. I didn't know where. But when she answered, I found out she had just bought a suburban Barbie Dream Home outside of Denver.
Once again, almost 10 years to the day, I was stuck on a campus with no car. And Jill was coming to rescue me.
We went to a fabulous Mediterranean restaurant for a four hour meal.
She still laughs at my jokes. I still think she's one of the smartest people I know. And while we're both in very different places than we thought we'd be 10 years ago, we're both, oddly, much happier people.
We've both got rockin' husbands now. My career is moving forward. She's finally out of the book business and able to relax.
And she still knows me and I still know her. Even after 10 years.
p.s. I've done my research on this "Me and Bob" question and am still not satisfied. Some have suggested that you take "Bob" of the sentence to see if it still makes sense. But that doesn't always work.
Like if I said, "Bob and I are going to the movies." You wouldn't say "I are going to the movies."
And the fact that you put the other person first is simple polite formality. That part I get and can accept.
But why can't I say "Bob and me??"
As Jill pointed out, I can only except change if I have a logical answer.
Everyone talks about that one, amazing summer they've had.
Mine was 1998. I'd just lost a ton-o-weight, was working four jobs, and didn't have a car. First I was living on my college's tiny campus with a guy WAY too into WWF and then off campus with the most awesomest roommate ever, Mory.
Dustin hates hearing about it. I've judged every summer since to the contentment I had that summer. Maybe it was the fact that when you don't have a car it makes you prioritize your needs. Or maybe it was the fact that the weather that summer was just about perfect while living in a bucolic setting. (Yes. Bucolic. You haven't seen magical beauty until you've seen an entire wheat field at dusk covered with lighting bugs.) Or maybe it was that I had more energy and happiness because the weight was gone. Or because I learned to drive stickshift after I convinced a friend to let me borrow his car by saying I already knew how to drive a stick shift.
Or maybe it's that for the first time in my life I fully embraced the new technology of e-mail to forge a friendship that, today, I couldn't imagine my life without.
Jill was different from all my other friends. It wasn't just that she was smart or that she was the first person who found me truly entertaining. Or that she was my first, and only girlfriend. Or that we were both Geminis.
She somehow knew me. And I mean *KNEW* me. I'd shared more with her and she with I than anyone in either of our lives. And insomuch I'd tell her, "you're the only one who really gets me."
When I came out after college, her phone number was the first one I dialed. It was a strange circle considering that we initially met my freshman year when I was evading a gangly boy who was pseudo-pursuing me.
See, it wasn't *just* that she 'got' me, she taught me more than most professors did. Mostly how to live and understand my own life.
Plus, as a good english major, she politely corrected and guided my writing.
And see these little paragraph breaks that conveniently separate my thoughts?
Thank Jill for those.
That summer of '98 we e-mailed daily. Often multiple times. I would sneak away from my jobs on campus to head to a computer lab. I'd type a few lines and scoot back to work. She was a summer temp for corporate America in Des Moines.
For some reason I can't remember, probably missing each other, she came to Waverly for the weekend of July fourth. She, with her car, rescued me from campus. We dressed up. We ate out. We lit sparklers. We crashed a tiny towns 'days.'
But things didn't stay wonderful forever. The summer ended. We both got back to being college students. We stayed close until shortly after college.
Then life happened. She went her way to live her life. I went mine.
It's been at least 6 or 7 years since I've seen her.
Until this last weekend.
I went to Denver this weekend for a choir festival with the Lawrence Children's Choir. I actually wasn't feeling well before the trip and didn't know if 12 hours on a bus with 75 kids would make me feel any better. But someone had paid my way for the trip (since I couldn't afford it) so I sort of had to go.
On Sunday my choir collegues and I were sitting at the Denver zoo arguing over the grammatical appropriateness of the phrase "me and Bob."
I knew only one person who would know the answer.
Jill.
I gave her a ring and in the middle of the call realized she was in Colorado. I didn't know where. But when she answered, I found out she had just bought a suburban Barbie Dream Home outside of Denver.
Once again, almost 10 years to the day, I was stuck on a campus with no car. And Jill was coming to rescue me.
We went to a fabulous Mediterranean restaurant for a four hour meal.
She still laughs at my jokes. I still think she's one of the smartest people I know. And while we're both in very different places than we thought we'd be 10 years ago, we're both, oddly, much happier people.
We've both got rockin' husbands now. My career is moving forward. She's finally out of the book business and able to relax.
And she still knows me and I still know her. Even after 10 years.
p.s. I've done my research on this "Me and Bob" question and am still not satisfied. Some have suggested that you take "Bob" of the sentence to see if it still makes sense. But that doesn't always work.
Like if I said, "Bob and I are going to the movies." You wouldn't say "I are going to the movies."
And the fact that you put the other person first is simple polite formality. That part I get and can accept.
But why can't I say "Bob and me??"
As Jill pointed out, I can only except change if I have a logical answer.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
30 is purdy
It's my birthday.
30 years ago today I was pushed forth from my mother's vaginal canal. And the world has never been the same since. (not saying I had anything to do with it. Just saying.)
I'm happy about a couple things.
1. My more veteran colleagues at school may no longer refer to me as just a 'pup' or just a 'baby' (not in the crying sort of way.) For the last 7 years of teaching I've heard, more than I can count, scores of my fellow teachers ask how old I am then follow it with , "Oh, you're just a pup." Or, "I could be your mother." Or, "You're just a baby." I'm hoping that stops at 30.
2. My gray hair is more justifiable now.
I know a lot of people make a big deal out of 30. I distinctly remember my ex-boyfriend fretting over it. At 26 he was freaking out because he's "on the down-hill slide to 30!"
But there will be no party. No big gifts. (we's too po) No saccharine slide shows.
However, birthdays are a good time to take stock of life.
30 facts in 30 years:
1. Held 19 paying jobs (20 if you count my new position)
2. Had 10 addresses
3. Moved 14 times
4. Lived in 4 states
5. Lived through cancer
6. Had 3 lumps and my tonsils removed
7. Had 4 dogs (two still living)
8. Ran 1 marathon
9. Ran 4 Triathlons
10. Sang in 4 operas
11. Had 5 voice teachers
12. Watched 1 grandparent die
13. Been to 7 countries besides our own (8 if you include Disney World)
14. Had 3 piercings (two of which I regret*)
15. Gotten two tattoos
16. Owned 5 cars (my latest was my birthday present to myself last year and my favorite)
17. Had two long-term relationships
18. Lost, gained, lost and gained a total of 200 lbs.
19. Volunteered at three different camps
20. Stopped believing in the Christian idea of "God."
21. Learned how to tile, cut crown moulding, wire a circuit breaker, change outlets and switches, hang light fixtures, replace faucets and cut trim.
22. Had 3 gardens
23. Discovered that weird feeling wasn't inadequacy, it was queerness.
24. Had 1 personal trainer.
25. Had and have been estranged from 3 best friends.
26. Became an uncle twice over. (Hi Big Mike! Hi Lil Jim!)
27. Learned that people don't all suck.
28. Discovered that I can't always be right.
29. Realized that there are things I can't fix.
30. (and my favorite) Taught over 700 kids about music.
So celebrate in any way you deem appropriate. If you know me from my early years, you may choose to drink jungle juice from a trash can. If you know me from my early-mid 20's, have a beer. If you've known me the last few years, have some wine (but not Merlot. I hate Merlot.)
*A note about those regrettable piercings. They were my nipples. I was going through a phase. They were only in a about year. But they've left my nipples with permanent bumps on the sides of them, like little testes on the sides of my nipples. And they still get infected. At this very moment, my left nipple is swollen and throbbing. Just thought you should know.
30 years ago today I was pushed forth from my mother's vaginal canal. And the world has never been the same since. (not saying I had anything to do with it. Just saying.)
I'm happy about a couple things.
1. My more veteran colleagues at school may no longer refer to me as just a 'pup' or just a 'baby' (not in the crying sort of way.) For the last 7 years of teaching I've heard, more than I can count, scores of my fellow teachers ask how old I am then follow it with , "Oh, you're just a pup." Or, "I could be your mother." Or, "You're just a baby." I'm hoping that stops at 30.
2. My gray hair is more justifiable now.
I know a lot of people make a big deal out of 30. I distinctly remember my ex-boyfriend fretting over it. At 26 he was freaking out because he's "on the down-hill slide to 30!"
But there will be no party. No big gifts. (we's too po) No saccharine slide shows.
However, birthdays are a good time to take stock of life.
30 facts in 30 years:
1. Held 19 paying jobs (20 if you count my new position)
2. Had 10 addresses
3. Moved 14 times
4. Lived in 4 states
5. Lived through cancer
6. Had 3 lumps and my tonsils removed
7. Had 4 dogs (two still living)
8. Ran 1 marathon
9. Ran 4 Triathlons
10. Sang in 4 operas
11. Had 5 voice teachers
12. Watched 1 grandparent die
13. Been to 7 countries besides our own (8 if you include Disney World)
14. Had 3 piercings (two of which I regret*)
15. Gotten two tattoos
16. Owned 5 cars (my latest was my birthday present to myself last year and my favorite)
17. Had two long-term relationships
18. Lost, gained, lost and gained a total of 200 lbs.
19. Volunteered at three different camps
20. Stopped believing in the Christian idea of "God."
21. Learned how to tile, cut crown moulding, wire a circuit breaker, change outlets and switches, hang light fixtures, replace faucets and cut trim.
22. Had 3 gardens
23. Discovered that weird feeling wasn't inadequacy, it was queerness.
24. Had 1 personal trainer.
25. Had and have been estranged from 3 best friends.
26. Became an uncle twice over. (Hi Big Mike! Hi Lil Jim!)
27. Learned that people don't all suck.
28. Discovered that I can't always be right.
29. Realized that there are things I can't fix.
30. (and my favorite) Taught over 700 kids about music.
So celebrate in any way you deem appropriate. If you know me from my early years, you may choose to drink jungle juice from a trash can. If you know me from my early-mid 20's, have a beer. If you've known me the last few years, have some wine (but not Merlot. I hate Merlot.)
*A note about those regrettable piercings. They were my nipples. I was going through a phase. They were only in a about year. But they've left my nipples with permanent bumps on the sides of them, like little testes on the sides of my nipples. And they still get infected. At this very moment, my left nipple is swollen and throbbing. Just thought you should know.
Friday, June 6, 2008
just pretend
like nothing happened.
It has been a very rough few months.
First Dustin lost his job. Then got it back.
When he went back to work they gave him an hours-long dress-down.
Then told him, "You're our guy. You're the one we count on." And handed him his raise.
And people wonder why I won't work in corporate America?
The house is still on the market and I continue to obsess over it. I just don't know how someone hasn't fallen in love with it like we did and pay asking price.
More projects have happened. Projects I couldn't do myself. (Drat!) I've learned that I hate working with contractors.
A window was rotting out of it's sill. Mind you, this house is 15 years old. (don't get me started on the "craftsmanship" that went into my beloved home.) When the window came out the entire bottom of the window crumbled, sill and all. I've heard it said about other things, and never believed it, but paint was literally the only thing holding it together.
However, like in the movie "Money Pit" every contractor said "Two weeks!"
Actual time until work was completed:
Window- 7 weeks
Mudjacking- 6 weeks
Chimney repair- 6 weeks
Well, the chimney is still not fixed. The guy pointed out that it had been leaking from the top for some time and the entire thing needed to be replaced. New estimate on completion- 3 weeks.
I wish I could do all that myself, but I don't do siding. Yet.
But I did replace the vanity in the master bedroom. I had tried to get around replacing the scratched, dull and yellowed double sink vanity by spray painting it.
Yes. I know it sounds a bit white-trash. But the stuff was supposed to end up with a factory finish.
The first coat looked like spray paint. I held the can too far away and it ended up with a rough finish. Not smooth. So I removed the paint, but in the process removed some of the vanity's top. And the second coat of white paint just made it look like a topographical map of a frozen tundra. So a new, custom ordered, vanity had to go in. Apparently the one thing that WAS custom in our contractor-standard house was the one thing I didn't want to replace. It was one inch shy of a standard size. I thought about buying the one inch longer piece and cutting it down. But I really couldn't afford to replace a replacement.
Augh.
However, I learned from that mistake and did the hall-way bathroom vanity correctly. And, no, you can't tell it's spray paint.
Then, right at the end of school, Dustin was having some major health issues. We thought it was cancer. And I was fretting the entire last week of school.
Oh, and applying for a new job while packing up my entire classroom because new carpet was going in the room the day after school was out while trying to plan and rehearse for a last-day-of-school concert with the 6th graders while finishing up grade cards and writing assessments (read- standardized tests) for next school year.
When the last day of school rolled around I was burned out. Physically, mentally, emotionally *done*. And don't think my principal didn't mention it to me. I didn't make excuses. I apologized but pointed out that there's still music in "musical chairs."
Turns out he has a bone-marrow disorder similar to cancer but not cancer. It's not curable but with treatment it's not fatal. He'll have to be on medication the rest of his life for it, though. Edit: This turned out to be a lie.
[side bar: I'm about to be vague with some of my terminology. All I can say is that kids are very internet savvy these days. A few well-placed key words into google and this blog would pop up. And I don't need kids, especially twelve to fourteen year-olds, reading this stuff. So I'm avoiding certain "key words" here.]
I applied for a new job teaching a level higher than I am now in the same district I teach in now (read- no pay raise). I've actually said that I'd never teach adolescents. Too many hormones. And this school, in particular, is over half economically-disadvantaged kids. (new term for "poor.") It's considered a "rough" school by this town's standards. Teachers either stay for a year or stay for a lifetime.
The program has been decimated by a series of three bad choral directors in a row. Each staying 1-2 years at the school. While the other three mid-level schools in town averaged 50-60 kids in their ensembles, this school had 28. And they stunk to high heaven. It was PAINFUL watching them perform.
Seriously, I had to keep from cringing. I felt like I was watching their adolescent pain being played out in front of me.
But I was approached by two of the other mid-level baton-wavers and one of the high school baton-wavers and asked if I would apply.
I turned them down flat.
And then thought about it.
1. There's no better program to walk into than the decimated one. It's better than building a program from scratch because at least there's SOME infrastructure and it's better than following 'god' because they'd hate me for not being 'god.'
2. I'd really like to have my own ch*r*l program again.
3. I'd like to teach a higher level ensemble some day. And they don't usually hand out those positions to low-level teachers.
4. I don't know if I'd ever have this kind of support from my peers again.
I had to go for it.
I applied. And got it.
Starting June 1st, I'm officially a teacher at a higher grade level. (did you get all that??)
Some bonuses:
I have a HUGE brand-new room with a 7-foot grand. They carved the room out of the old gymnasium. There's still holes in the floor for volley ball nets.
Plus it's in a very cool historic building. Built in 1923 as a high school to honor the local men who died in WWI.
AND I have a huge, beautifully restored 1923 auditorium. (sorry, no good picture yet) It was to be the centerpiece of the High School (my, how times have changed) so great care was taken in decorating it. When it was built it was the largest auditorium in Kansas. The windows in the auditorium have stained glass from Belgium. The same sculpture who did the plaster reliefs in the state capitol designed the plaster adornments for this auditorium. Very cool stuff.
In other good news...
I re-relandscaped the front yard. I dug up everything I'd planted, scraped away the mulch, strung a level line and discovered I'd accidentally sloped it towards the house.
My bad.
So I got out the shovel and regraded the whole mess AWAY from the house. And redid the contraption I'd put on the gutters so now it actually takes the water away from the house.
5+ inches of rain later and the basement is dry.
Tomorrow I risk my life on the roof trying to paint the new window.
It's been quite a month.
It has been a very rough few months.
First Dustin lost his job. Then got it back.
When he went back to work they gave him an hours-long dress-down.
Then told him, "You're our guy. You're the one we count on." And handed him his raise.
And people wonder why I won't work in corporate America?
The house is still on the market and I continue to obsess over it. I just don't know how someone hasn't fallen in love with it like we did and pay asking price.
More projects have happened. Projects I couldn't do myself. (Drat!) I've learned that I hate working with contractors.
A window was rotting out of it's sill. Mind you, this house is 15 years old. (don't get me started on the "craftsmanship" that went into my beloved home.) When the window came out the entire bottom of the window crumbled, sill and all. I've heard it said about other things, and never believed it, but paint was literally the only thing holding it together.
However, like in the movie "Money Pit" every contractor said "Two weeks!"
Actual time until work was completed:
Window- 7 weeks
Mudjacking- 6 weeks
Chimney repair- 6 weeks
Well, the chimney is still not fixed. The guy pointed out that it had been leaking from the top for some time and the entire thing needed to be replaced. New estimate on completion- 3 weeks.
I wish I could do all that myself, but I don't do siding. Yet.
But I did replace the vanity in the master bedroom. I had tried to get around replacing the scratched, dull and yellowed double sink vanity by spray painting it.
Yes. I know it sounds a bit white-trash. But the stuff was supposed to end up with a factory finish.
The first coat looked like spray paint. I held the can too far away and it ended up with a rough finish. Not smooth. So I removed the paint, but in the process removed some of the vanity's top. And the second coat of white paint just made it look like a topographical map of a frozen tundra. So a new, custom ordered, vanity had to go in. Apparently the one thing that WAS custom in our contractor-standard house was the one thing I didn't want to replace. It was one inch shy of a standard size. I thought about buying the one inch longer piece and cutting it down. But I really couldn't afford to replace a replacement.
Augh.
However, I learned from that mistake and did the hall-way bathroom vanity correctly. And, no, you can't tell it's spray paint.
Then, right at the end of school, Dustin was having some major health issues. We thought it was cancer. And I was fretting the entire last week of school.
Oh, and applying for a new job while packing up my entire classroom because new carpet was going in the room the day after school was out while trying to plan and rehearse for a last-day-of-school concert with the 6th graders while finishing up grade cards and writing assessments (read- standardized tests) for next school year.
When the last day of school rolled around I was burned out. Physically, mentally, emotionally *done*. And don't think my principal didn't mention it to me. I didn't make excuses. I apologized but pointed out that there's still music in "musical chairs."
[side bar: I'm about to be vague with some of my terminology. All I can say is that kids are very internet savvy these days. A few well-placed key words into google and this blog would pop up. And I don't need kids, especially twelve to fourteen year-olds, reading this stuff. So I'm avoiding certain "key words" here.]
I applied for a new job teaching a level higher than I am now in the same district I teach in now (read- no pay raise). I've actually said that I'd never teach adolescents. Too many hormones. And this school, in particular, is over half economically-disadvantaged kids. (new term for "poor.") It's considered a "rough" school by this town's standards. Teachers either stay for a year or stay for a lifetime.
The program has been decimated by a series of three bad choral directors in a row. Each staying 1-2 years at the school. While the other three mid-level schools in town averaged 50-60 kids in their ensembles, this school had 28. And they stunk to high heaven. It was PAINFUL watching them perform.
Seriously, I had to keep from cringing. I felt like I was watching their adolescent pain being played out in front of me.
But I was approached by two of the other mid-level baton-wavers and one of the high school baton-wavers and asked if I would apply.
I turned them down flat.
And then thought about it.
1. There's no better program to walk into than the decimated one. It's better than building a program from scratch because at least there's SOME infrastructure and it's better than following 'god' because they'd hate me for not being 'god.'
2. I'd really like to have my own ch*r*l program again.
3. I'd like to teach a higher level ensemble some day. And they don't usually hand out those positions to low-level teachers.
4. I don't know if I'd ever have this kind of support from my peers again.
I had to go for it.
I applied. And got it.
Starting June 1st, I'm officially a teacher at a higher grade level. (did you get all that??)
Some bonuses:
I have a HUGE brand-new room with a 7-foot grand. They carved the room out of the old gymnasium. There's still holes in the floor for volley ball nets.
Plus it's in a very cool historic building. Built in 1923 as a high school to honor the local men who died in WWI.
AND I have a huge, beautifully restored 1923 auditorium. (sorry, no good picture yet) It was to be the centerpiece of the High School (my, how times have changed) so great care was taken in decorating it. When it was built it was the largest auditorium in Kansas. The windows in the auditorium have stained glass from Belgium. The same sculpture who did the plaster reliefs in the state capitol designed the plaster adornments for this auditorium. Very cool stuff.
In other good news...
I re-relandscaped the front yard. I dug up everything I'd planted, scraped away the mulch, strung a level line and discovered I'd accidentally sloped it towards the house.
My bad.
So I got out the shovel and regraded the whole mess AWAY from the house. And redid the contraption I'd put on the gutters so now it actually takes the water away from the house.
5+ inches of rain later and the basement is dry.
Tomorrow I risk my life on the roof trying to paint the new window.
It's been quite a month.
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