Monday, December 24, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
The first crack of winter
The first crack of winter is on my thumb, as usual. The temperature dipped below freezing briefly, and here come the cracks.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Hunahpu and Xbalanque
Tomorrow is the last day of the long cycle of the calendar of the Maya. I read the Popol Vuh with my freshmen for many years, right after we read the Hebrew Bible. The creation story translated by Father Ximenez and Dennis Tedlock is one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have ever contemplated. It is right up there with Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, Ellison's Invisible Man, and Joyce's "The Dead." Enough said.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
International
Friends and neighbors, family and colleagues, we send you our love..
Japan
Thailand
France
Russia
England
Scotland
Ireland
Cherokee Nation
Germany
Holland
Japan
Thailand
France
Russia
England
Scotland
Ireland
Cherokee Nation
Germany
Holland
Monday, December 17, 2012
EGN and ABC
We have cats in our house, so we are occasionally a magnet for cats outside the house. They smell the food, they smell the cats, and they used to smell the catnip growing by the front door until I stopped growing it.
For the past couple of years, our visitors have been EGN and ABC.
ABC was an Abyssinian male about a year old who showed up one day outside the bay window of the dining room, leaping at butterflies that were fluttering around a pentas. When I found his family, who also have four children, they said they paid about $600 dollars for him, and the breeder from whom they bought him had already declawed him. He was making them crazy demanding to go outdoors, so they let him out during the day. I haven't seen him for at least six months. Either they have made him stay in, or he has run off or perished. With no claws and a silly disposition, he had not much in the way of street smarts or defenses. He was beautiful tawny irridescent brown. I could understand why they loved him.
EGN is a black shorthair male, about three years old now, who showed up two years ago during Thanksgiving and then again at Christmas. He also showed up at spring break. I never was able to find his family, although the family next door to ABC's family had lost a kitten almost a year before he appeared. ABC's family also has an outdoor cat they feed out the back door; the mother came over to look at EGN, and he let her pick him up, but she said he is not their outdoor cat. He may be eating some of their cat's food and getting by. Bob named him El Gato Negro. In the past, he demanded to be let into the house, threw himself against the windows, and tore the screens. Until Saturday, I had not seen him since last Christmas. My theory is that, if he does have a family other than ABC's, they go out of town for the holidays and leave him outdoors with a big bowl of dry food, filled up by a friend or neighbor. Raccoons and possums eat his dry food and he is going hungry. This morning when I went down to the street to get the paper before dawn, a small dark shape dashed from our front yard across the street. It was probably EGN. He still looks healthy and fit, so I am pretty sure he has a family most of the year.
Whenever a cat shows up and acts lost I feel responsible, not just out of sympathy for the cat but also because birds and lizards are at risk from a stray cat, as are our own cats. Then I start to see a pattern that makes me believe there are other people feeding these cats.
For the past couple of years, our visitors have been EGN and ABC.
ABC was an Abyssinian male about a year old who showed up one day outside the bay window of the dining room, leaping at butterflies that were fluttering around a pentas. When I found his family, who also have four children, they said they paid about $600 dollars for him, and the breeder from whom they bought him had already declawed him. He was making them crazy demanding to go outdoors, so they let him out during the day. I haven't seen him for at least six months. Either they have made him stay in, or he has run off or perished. With no claws and a silly disposition, he had not much in the way of street smarts or defenses. He was beautiful tawny irridescent brown. I could understand why they loved him.
EGN is a black shorthair male, about three years old now, who showed up two years ago during Thanksgiving and then again at Christmas. He also showed up at spring break. I never was able to find his family, although the family next door to ABC's family had lost a kitten almost a year before he appeared. ABC's family also has an outdoor cat they feed out the back door; the mother came over to look at EGN, and he let her pick him up, but she said he is not their outdoor cat. He may be eating some of their cat's food and getting by. Bob named him El Gato Negro. In the past, he demanded to be let into the house, threw himself against the windows, and tore the screens. Until Saturday, I had not seen him since last Christmas. My theory is that, if he does have a family other than ABC's, they go out of town for the holidays and leave him outdoors with a big bowl of dry food, filled up by a friend or neighbor. Raccoons and possums eat his dry food and he is going hungry. This morning when I went down to the street to get the paper before dawn, a small dark shape dashed from our front yard across the street. It was probably EGN. He still looks healthy and fit, so I am pretty sure he has a family most of the year.
Whenever a cat shows up and acts lost I feel responsible, not just out of sympathy for the cat but also because birds and lizards are at risk from a stray cat, as are our own cats. Then I start to see a pattern that makes me believe there are other people feeding these cats.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
The azalea formosa fiasco
I was teaching my last class of the day on Friday when I looked out my window and saw two custodians attacking the azalea formosa with hedge clippers. The bush was covered with flower buds ready to bloom in the spring and three flowers had already opened prematurely in response to a cold snap we had two weeks ago. I interrupted my teaching, opened the window, and demanded that they stop. They insisted the principal had ordered them to trim that bush and he would just send them back to finish it unless I spoke to him directly. I said I would speak to the principal and they stopped. They circled back fifteen minutes later, saw me watching the window, and moved on.
After school I sought out the principal and found him at his usual post for bus duty, outside the guidance office. I told him what had happened and he gave me the most probing look I have ever received from him. I could not interpret the content of that look until the following morning. At the time, however, he said it was challenging to find good employees, and that he had pointed at the silvertips and told them to prune them. It's completely the wrong time of year to prune the azaleas, he said. As I reflect on the incident now, it occurs to me that he is the most landscaping-savvy principal with whom I have ever worked. He holds regular Saturday school beautification days and new plantings appear throughout the year. As I thanked him Friday I said I was pretty sure he is the kind of man who knows when to prune an azalea.
Even though I had checked email at lunch and paid a rare social visit to one of the history teachers upstairs, I did not go to the New York Times website to look at the most recent headlines, as I often do, either at lunch or after school. As a result I was completely unaware of the school shooting in Connecticut earlier that morning. I turned on the radio in the car on the way home, which I seldom do, and that is when I learned what had happened.
It was not until I was reading the Times on Saturday morning after breakfast that I had even an inkling of what might have been going through my principal's mind when I approached him about the azalea bush. Twenty children and six adults were dead in Connecticut. All of the children were first graders, at the start of their careers as students. Among the adults were two teachers, one young and one my age, the school psychologist, and the principal.
Of all the things any of us expected to be dealing with that day, a gunman at school was probably not in the thoughts of any of us except the sheriff's deputies, the deans, and the principal. Because they are preoccupied with all that can go wrong at a school, the rest of us can carry on teaching and learning. I can imagine that my principal was in awe of the absurdity of our conversation at the end of a day when students and teachers had died in a bloodbath. He might also have thought that if the untimely pruning of the azalea buds was the worst crisis he had to deal with at the end of the day, that was fairly mild. He had these thoughts and several others, I now deduce from the expression on his face as I unfolded my story to him, the students all around us getting on their buses to go home.
After school I sought out the principal and found him at his usual post for bus duty, outside the guidance office. I told him what had happened and he gave me the most probing look I have ever received from him. I could not interpret the content of that look until the following morning. At the time, however, he said it was challenging to find good employees, and that he had pointed at the silvertips and told them to prune them. It's completely the wrong time of year to prune the azaleas, he said. As I reflect on the incident now, it occurs to me that he is the most landscaping-savvy principal with whom I have ever worked. He holds regular Saturday school beautification days and new plantings appear throughout the year. As I thanked him Friday I said I was pretty sure he is the kind of man who knows when to prune an azalea.
Even though I had checked email at lunch and paid a rare social visit to one of the history teachers upstairs, I did not go to the New York Times website to look at the most recent headlines, as I often do, either at lunch or after school. As a result I was completely unaware of the school shooting in Connecticut earlier that morning. I turned on the radio in the car on the way home, which I seldom do, and that is when I learned what had happened.
It was not until I was reading the Times on Saturday morning after breakfast that I had even an inkling of what might have been going through my principal's mind when I approached him about the azalea bush. Twenty children and six adults were dead in Connecticut. All of the children were first graders, at the start of their careers as students. Among the adults were two teachers, one young and one my age, the school psychologist, and the principal.
Of all the things any of us expected to be dealing with that day, a gunman at school was probably not in the thoughts of any of us except the sheriff's deputies, the deans, and the principal. Because they are preoccupied with all that can go wrong at a school, the rest of us can carry on teaching and learning. I can imagine that my principal was in awe of the absurdity of our conversation at the end of a day when students and teachers had died in a bloodbath. He might also have thought that if the untimely pruning of the azalea buds was the worst crisis he had to deal with at the end of the day, that was fairly mild. He had these thoughts and several others, I now deduce from the expression on his face as I unfolded my story to him, the students all around us getting on their buses to go home.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Blank Mousie and Stripe Mousie
Blank Mousie is a piece of purple rabbit fur that used to be wrapped around a black plastic mouse form. He has been appearing around the house impersonating a piece of poop, a hairball, or a ghoulish representation of anything nasty. When we realize it is Blank Mousie that we are seeing, we feel enormous relief.
Stripe Mousie is a stuffed polyester black and white striped mouse toy with a black braided tail. He came to our house in a wooden puzzle box, a gift from Molly and Friends, where we have purchased more than five towers made of cardboard and carpet. Frida loves Stripe Mousie. At first he looked like a French cat burglar, with a mask of yellow and black felt and whiskers. He was quickly reduced to his basic form: missile-shaped body and tail.
When Frida carries Stripe Mousie around the house, singing, we know she is having a good day. We stop to appreciate Stripey and thank her for bringing him to us. Our lives are enriched.
Stripe Mousie is a stuffed polyester black and white striped mouse toy with a black braided tail. He came to our house in a wooden puzzle box, a gift from Molly and Friends, where we have purchased more than five towers made of cardboard and carpet. Frida loves Stripe Mousie. At first he looked like a French cat burglar, with a mask of yellow and black felt and whiskers. He was quickly reduced to his basic form: missile-shaped body and tail.
When Frida carries Stripe Mousie around the house, singing, we know she is having a good day. We stop to appreciate Stripey and thank her for bringing him to us. Our lives are enriched.
Cabbage and kale
I just realized that I haven't planted any cabbage or kale and it's getting a bit late for that. It has been so warm that I had not even thought about fall vegetable plantings. The past five years I have had good crops of kale.
Last year it was too warm a winter and both kale and cabbage were covered with caterpillars before I could harvest them. It was discouraging, when I had fought off the possums from digging them up. This winter is shaping up the same way so far -- warm. I'm pretty sure that's why the yard has been invaded by a new vine which is native to Singapore. I wish we had Singapore's hummingbird moths too, because their caterpillars would eat the vine, but alas we don't have that balance.
On Friday afternoon while I was looking for our little cat Daisy, who had disappeared that morning, I found my back fence neighbor near our compost heaps. She said she was determined to eliminate the invasives. I was so focused on finding the cat that I didn't take the opportunity to discuss the invasives with her. I hope to do so in the future. She is retired and I am not, but I am hopeful because most of the invasives in my yard actually came from her yard, before it was hers. Bamboo, the little bush with the red berries and dark green leaves (she know the name of it), the Boston fern-- together we can wipe these out. Where the Singapore stink vine came from I don't know. It just popped up. But if we have another hard freeze winter like we had three years ago, I hope it will get a whollaping.
Cash register silliness
Yesterday I patronized the local store of an office supply chain instead of ordering printer paper through the mail, which is convenient and fast and inexpensive. I was rewarded with such silliness at the cash register that it has pretty much sealed my resolution to avoid the local store in the future.
The house brand of paper comes in several qualities, with the 100% recycled paper costing about three dollars more than the non-recycled paper that is nearest in price. I took a package of recycled paper up to the register and proceeded to pay for my purchase.
The first silliness was where to pay. I did see the sign that said "please go to the shipping department to pay", but there was no one at the shipping department. Seeing a woman paying at the checkout counter, I went to the checkout, only to have the saleswoman march me over to the shipping department.
The second silliness was the rewards program. It has been years since I received a discount on anything I have bought at this store. I used to buy a variety of supplies for my classroom because the teacher discount was helpful, but they gradually removed everything practical from the list of items eligible for a discount. I gave the saleswoman my rewards number and of course it made no difference.
The third silliness was the payment process. I know that using a debit card involves several questions at different stores and I try to remember to watch the keypad display for all of the questions. The displays say do I agree to the amount? do I want it all on this card? do I want to save homeless pets? enter my zip code, and so on.
Yesterday there was a new question: do I want my receipt on paper or through email? The fourth silliness came when I told the saleswoman I would like a paper receipt.
"Some people like it through email! Save the trees!" she chirped.
"I just bought recycled paper that costs more than your regular paper. I think I'm doing okay," I replied.
As I had parked my car before entering the store, I saw her walking into the store from the far side of the lot, and one whiff of her as she redirected me to the shipping counter confirmed that she was returning from her smoke break. I wasn't about to be lectured on saving the planet by a young woman who just had ground a cigarette butt under her heel in the parking lot.
In my mind, as I drove home, I imagined the board meeting where an executive proposes that the company add a step to the checkout process at their stores across the country. Convincingly, he argues that it will save the company thousands of dollars on cash register paper. (I would have to print out a paper copy for my taxes at home any way.) Customers like to unclutter their lives by keeping records and paying bills electronically, he continues. (I like paper. It is not as easily deleted by accident.) The clincher is when he points out that thousands of email addresses will be gathered in this way, even from customers who are not enrolled in the rewards program. (I am continually unsubscribing. Why do the emails keep coming? How did they find me in the first place?) These customers can now be wooed through email with special offers, bringing them back into the store for more sales. (They just lost what little was left of my business, but I'm not the typical consumer. I am willing to pay more for recycled paper.)
The upshot of all this silliness was that the incident yielded more entertainment than annoyance.
The house brand of paper comes in several qualities, with the 100% recycled paper costing about three dollars more than the non-recycled paper that is nearest in price. I took a package of recycled paper up to the register and proceeded to pay for my purchase.
The first silliness was where to pay. I did see the sign that said "please go to the shipping department to pay", but there was no one at the shipping department. Seeing a woman paying at the checkout counter, I went to the checkout, only to have the saleswoman march me over to the shipping department.
The second silliness was the rewards program. It has been years since I received a discount on anything I have bought at this store. I used to buy a variety of supplies for my classroom because the teacher discount was helpful, but they gradually removed everything practical from the list of items eligible for a discount. I gave the saleswoman my rewards number and of course it made no difference.
The third silliness was the payment process. I know that using a debit card involves several questions at different stores and I try to remember to watch the keypad display for all of the questions. The displays say do I agree to the amount? do I want it all on this card? do I want to save homeless pets? enter my zip code, and so on.
Yesterday there was a new question: do I want my receipt on paper or through email? The fourth silliness came when I told the saleswoman I would like a paper receipt.
"Some people like it through email! Save the trees!" she chirped.
"I just bought recycled paper that costs more than your regular paper. I think I'm doing okay," I replied.
As I had parked my car before entering the store, I saw her walking into the store from the far side of the lot, and one whiff of her as she redirected me to the shipping counter confirmed that she was returning from her smoke break. I wasn't about to be lectured on saving the planet by a young woman who just had ground a cigarette butt under her heel in the parking lot.
In my mind, as I drove home, I imagined the board meeting where an executive proposes that the company add a step to the checkout process at their stores across the country. Convincingly, he argues that it will save the company thousands of dollars on cash register paper. (I would have to print out a paper copy for my taxes at home any way.) Customers like to unclutter their lives by keeping records and paying bills electronically, he continues. (I like paper. It is not as easily deleted by accident.) The clincher is when he points out that thousands of email addresses will be gathered in this way, even from customers who are not enrolled in the rewards program. (I am continually unsubscribing. Why do the emails keep coming? How did they find me in the first place?) These customers can now be wooed through email with special offers, bringing them back into the store for more sales. (They just lost what little was left of my business, but I'm not the typical consumer. I am willing to pay more for recycled paper.)
The upshot of all this silliness was that the incident yielded more entertainment than annoyance.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Bebe
I have decided to sell my 2003 Buell Blast. I still love her and she's in great running condition, set up for commuting with lots of extras and comfort features. It just feels like the right time to simplify down to one motorcycle.
A couple of weeks ago Bebe was not her usual reliable self, balky starting and wanting to die at intersections. I was all suited up one Monday morning and she died in the driveway. I managed to get her back into the garage, with my husband's help of course. Instead of changing and taking the car, I took my other bike, the Lightning. I rode the Lightning for the rest of the week. I think that was the turning point.
For years, leaving the house before 7am in the dark, I preferred the easy handling of the Blast. The Lightning is powerful immediately. First gear is a rush already. But when I weighed maintenance, time riding them regularly, insurance, and so on, I began to be ready to let Bebe go. My husband observed, "You've outgrown her." Perhaps, but I still feel a strong attachment to her. If it were not for the Blast, I don't know if I would have continued to ride. After a bad crash on my first bike, it was the Blast that helped me regain my confidence.
She is now repaired and running well again. I will take a picture and make a flier, and I will ask a price that is reasonable for the market and reflects her quality.
A couple of weeks ago Bebe was not her usual reliable self, balky starting and wanting to die at intersections. I was all suited up one Monday morning and she died in the driveway. I managed to get her back into the garage, with my husband's help of course. Instead of changing and taking the car, I took my other bike, the Lightning. I rode the Lightning for the rest of the week. I think that was the turning point.
For years, leaving the house before 7am in the dark, I preferred the easy handling of the Blast. The Lightning is powerful immediately. First gear is a rush already. But when I weighed maintenance, time riding them regularly, insurance, and so on, I began to be ready to let Bebe go. My husband observed, "You've outgrown her." Perhaps, but I still feel a strong attachment to her. If it were not for the Blast, I don't know if I would have continued to ride. After a bad crash on my first bike, it was the Blast that helped me regain my confidence.
She is now repaired and running well again. I will take a picture and make a flier, and I will ask a price that is reasonable for the market and reflects her quality.
Sea and seeds
The grass is not growing; there is no reason to mow. Little islands of weeds are scattered around the lawn. They have sticky seeds that hang onto our socks and shoes and the cats' legs. Instead of pulling or mowing them, I went kayaking again in the Gulf yesterday, and today is for house chores and teacher chores.
We launched from the beach just before the airport on Cedar Keys. The tide was the lowest we've seen in a long time. The water was not as clear as it usually is this time of year, but we still had a good view of the shallower areas around Snake Key. Not much wind, so the surface was glassy with just a little gentle swell.
The juniors will be giving their Hamlet talks next week. Whenever a big project is approaching, I tell my students that I will check my school email until 8pm on Sunday night. I started doing this last year and it has worked wonders. Either having access or being told they might need me for some reason has reduced the number of emergency communications I get during my off hours dramatically.
My husband has been working Sundays for several months now. It was an adjustment at first, having only one weekend day together, but in my usual way I have taken advantage of the day to get ahead on laundry, bird feeders, watering the garden, grading, and planning. I also get some cooking done for the week ahead. It feels good to take care of details.
We launched from the beach just before the airport on Cedar Keys. The tide was the lowest we've seen in a long time. The water was not as clear as it usually is this time of year, but we still had a good view of the shallower areas around Snake Key. Not much wind, so the surface was glassy with just a little gentle swell.
The juniors will be giving their Hamlet talks next week. Whenever a big project is approaching, I tell my students that I will check my school email until 8pm on Sunday night. I started doing this last year and it has worked wonders. Either having access or being told they might need me for some reason has reduced the number of emergency communications I get during my off hours dramatically.
My husband has been working Sundays for several months now. It was an adjustment at first, having only one weekend day together, but in my usual way I have taken advantage of the day to get ahead on laundry, bird feeders, watering the garden, grading, and planning. I also get some cooking done for the week ahead. It feels good to take care of details.
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