Plinky asked me, “If you were a professor, what subject would you teach?”
Revolutionary War Living History Day
Well, right now I teach fourth grade, so I am in the profession. But, if I was a professor, I would teach United States History. I love the Revolutionary War period and also anything about the Lewis and Clark Expedition.
Plinky asked me, “Describe the first time you drove a vehicle.”
When I was sixteen, I couldn’t wait to get my driver’s license. But, I had to go through my mom first. The wicked woman took me every evening to the state police barracks to practice my raw driving skill.
They had a figure eight configuration and a place where you could practice parallel parking. The problem was that she made me do this in her beast of a Cadillac. How cruel.
She made me back around the figure eight. She made me drive it over and over and over again. I hated her. I hated that stupid boat with wheels. This was just so unfair to make me practice in such a large vehicle. I decided right then I would NEVER own a Cadillac.
On the day of my driver’s test, my mom made me drive my dad’s car. What the hell? I was confused. We took his brand new 1972 Mercedes and I whipped it into the parallel parking spot. I drove the figure 8 like a pro. I even asked him if he wanted me to drive it backwards. I was “Teen-age Driver of the Year” for sure. I passed with flying colors.
My mom didn’t say a word on the way home. She sat there like Cock robin, though. Smug lady.
When we got home, my dad asked if it worked? My mom smiled and said, “Yes, I’m such a smart woman.”
She was. And I finally told her that when my own daughter was learning to drive. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a Cadillac for her to learn to drive in.
We had a van, though. Worked this time too.
Plinky asked me, “Write a haiku about something that drives you nuts.”
Sugared-up students
not following directions.
Can I drink in class?
I have always loved having a tan. I just think I look healthier. No one told me during the 1960′s and 70′s that if I continued to lie out in the sun, I would get cancer. I was told I would look like a prune, but nothing about cancer. Not that I would have listened anywho. My sister owns a suntan center in our hometown. I laid in one of her beds one time, and decided it just wasn’t for me. The radio and electric fan in the background didn’t fool me. Artificial sunlight was not my cup of tea. Besides, I saw what it did to my sister. She has really fair skin and never could tan before. She looks older than me now and looks…..leathery. My sister and I don’t talk, so I kinda like how she looks.
In high school and college we would either use baby oil or nothing on our skin. Everyone in the neighborhood laid out on their back or side porches. We would even lie out on the roof of our apartment, because we knew that the black shingles attracted the sun. My mom ordered a “space blanket” that looked like aluminum foil. This, too, was supposed to attract the sun.
Well, you live and learn. Things have a way of coming around and biting you in the butt..or in my case, my face. Several months ago, I noticed a mole that didn’t look just right. I have a lot of moles and as I age, I keep getting new, “pretty” moles. So, I made an appointment with a new dermatologist and went to see her yesterday.
Well, none of my moles were of concern. I think you could draw lines and connect some, making constellations. Not that I have ever done that. Just saying you could. I have hundreds of moles. Hundreds. I have skin tags that wrap all around my neck. I’m quite the beauty. So, I was quite happy that none concerned her. She did notice that I had a lot of scars from previous mole removals. I do. I used to go to my previous dermatologist about every 2 years to have a mole or two taken off. They just bug the hell out of me. Why do people have to have moles anywho? They are stupid.
But, then we got to my face. Seems I have a pre-cancerous place near my nose. And maybe one in my ear. Sun-kissed. Or sun-cursed. I told her I had a scaly-feeling place that wouldn’t go away. Seems that you can usually feel it before you actually see it.
I was given a prescription for a lotion. It’s a very expensive lotion. I have to put it on my face every evening for a month. I guess that if there are pre-cancerous places on my face, they will start lighting up like a red bulb on a Christmas tree. This will be fun.
Maybe I shall start wearing a burqa.
Plinky asked me, “Describe what your laugh sounds like.”
Phyllis Diller research. AP ON TV PIONEERS OF TELEVISION
When I laugh very hard, you won’t hear laughter. It is one of those body-shaking, holding onto your stomach, mouth-open but no sound coming out kind of laughs. But, when something strikes me particularly funny, a one-syllabled Phyllis Diller laugh jumps out of my mouth.
Laughter is a big part of who I am. I try to get my fourth graders to laugh each day. Usually at me. It may be the only time they laugh during the day. You just don’t know what they go home to each day.
I have a quote on my facebook that is perfect for me. It says, “If you laugh at yourself, you will never cease to be amused.” Shirley MacLaine.
So, I laugh.
Plinky asked me, “What charities do you support, and why?”
Our tiny elementary school participates in a Penny Drive for St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital every year. They collected around $200 two years ago. Last year, I noticed that a fellow teacher started collecting her pennies about 2 weeks before the official start. She had them hidden in a jar behind her desk. The nerve.
“Hey, you are such a cheater.” I told her.
“Yeah. What are you going to do with about it?” she replied, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
Well, I went to the office and lodged a formal complaint and asked that her teaching certificate be revoked. I couldn’t let her beat me. She had to go.
So, our principal started a Penny War. Each teacher had to keep a jar out in the hall. Children would add pennies daily, but other students could add silver to the other classes’ jars, which would be bad. For example, a quarter, would take away 25 pennies. We were ready for battle.
Our war brought in $1,300 and warranted a visit from the local newspaper. Our picture was in the paper, and the story detailed how we sabotaged each other. This year we brought in $1,800. And another visit from the newspaper. We were cunning this year. I held war meetings and sent out spies because we knew that teachers were hoarding money in their rooms. We needed to know who to sabotage with our silver.
A teacher who was in fourth place going into week #2, taped a $5 in each of our jars, mocking us. I responded by taping two $5′s in hers. Next thing you know, people were putting $20 bills in jars. If I did my math correctly, that meant that 2,000 pennies had to be subtracted. Yikes! Teachers were reaching for their purses on a daily basis.
Last year, a fellow teacher had her kids come into my room and sing “Happy Birthday,” to me, and then the little shits held up their little bags with silver in it. I think they put $30 worth of silver in my jar that day. Some birthday present. We got her back though.
The kids had a great time at the reveal. The principal had a countdown, and classes were bringing out pennies at the last minute. Silver was being thrown in jars. One first grade class came out in the hall wearing indian headbands (our school mascot is Little Indians) and warpaint. They were ready.
In the end, we made a lot of money for sick children and our students learned that it feels good to give to others. I enjoyed the strategy of the game. Do we go on the offensive or hide and lurk? It was a great time.
I also give to other charities, but the St. Jude’s Penny Wars gets my picture in the paper. And isn’t that what really matters?
I thoroughly enjoyed watching Rich Rodriguez squirm during Saturday night’s loss to a hapless Penn State team. I am not a Penn State devotee by any means, but I am a fan of anyone who plays Michigan. Yes, I am a WVU fan and yes, I still hold a grudge.
The camera man for ESPN delighted me to no end, showing the many expressions and melt-downs of our former coach. I wanted him to lose. It looked like he was going to cry, in between his fits and childish rants. Well, a lot of coaches have fits and childish rants, but Rich’s are special. His make me smile.
So, today, I have been lurking on a Michigan football forum and their fans are already debating who the next coach should be. They want Rodriguez fired. Now. They are willing to pay us to take Rodriguez back. I can’t tell you how much fun this is to read. There was a friendly banter between a WVU fan and Michigan people. He offered to take back Rodriguez as the offensive coordinator if they give us Barwis, and would throw in Stewart, some ramps and pepperoni rolls to seal the deal. Funny stuff.
Most people think that Rodriguez will be fired this year. I hope that it is not before the Ohio State game. Right now Rodriguez’s record at Michigan is 13-19 and his Big Ten record is 4-16. I’m disappointed that it isn’t 0-16, but I will take that dismal record.
Would WVU take Rodriguez back? I think there would be a revolt in our wild and wonderful mountain state. He would have to sign a contract to coach for free. And Rita, his lovely wife, would have to relinquish her fur coats. I’m tired of seeing her wearing them.
No, I think it would be best if Rodriguez was a man without a sport’s team. And perhaps a man without a state. West Virginia doesn’t want him back. Oh,sure, there may be a few relatives and friends in Grant Town who would still erect a statue in his name, but they can’t see clearly.
There may be some junior high teams that need a coach. In Saskatoon, Canada. I guess he could ask around.
I joined a gym last June and went religiously through the summer. I really got my money’s worth. The place is great. It has a huge room for all floor equipment, facing a huge wall of windows so there is a lot of natural light. I was even going to Zumba once or twice a week. I bought my daughter a 1 month membership after she came home from Japan. But all that stopped.
I am having a hard time teaching all day and then even thinking about working out. I guess it would be great to work off the stress of the day. It’s just getting me there. I drive about 30 minutes on a windy-ass road to work, and the gym is about 10 minutes on the other side of my home. But, it really isn’t the commute. It’s the determination and willpower. I have none.
And this little piggie stayed home
I should go on Saturdays or Sundays though. But, Saturday is my errand day. I really don’t want to double back to go to the gym. But I should. I have eaten most of the bag of candy that I bought for the little Trick-or-Treaters. Serves me right for buying them a week before Halloween. I knew damn well I was going to open that bag.
I guess the best thing I can do is just sit here and complain about it. But, is that worth $56 a month?
I guess I should go to the gym.
So, I drove to buy a Sunday paper this morning and saw a lady standing with a sign by the road at the entrance to her church. The sign read, “COME TO CHURCH.” It was written on a piece of cardboard with a magic marker. She was wearing jeans and tennis shoes. So, of course, it pissed me off. This lady was making fun of panhandlers. I mean, if she wasn’t, wouldn’t she use a sign that was made from a print shop. She used a big piece of cardboard.
She was out there last Sunday too. I slowed down this morning, ready to roll down my window and say something, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. So, when she looked at me, I just made that circle motion at my temple with my index finger, you know, to let her know she was crazy. She is a crazy church lady.
I think a panhandler who hasn’t taken a bath for a few weeks should go stand by her next Sunday and tell her he wants to go to church with her.
Put this guy next to her..that will teach her
He could sit by her and her family. It’s all about fellowship, after all. You have to understand that this church has about a thousand members. They have a stage and speakers and a huge white screen so everyone can see what’s going on. But, yet they put a person out by the entrance with a cardboard sign. Stupid hypocrites.
