Good-byes said too soon

I've been to far too many funerals for people under the age of 18. Really, just one is too many. Since I started teaching nearly a year ago, our school has lost three students tragically. I taught one of those students last year; another passed away this weekend.

Deaths of young people always seem senseless, but they often seem to be preventable as well. The teens I've lost have died by driving recklessly or by carelessly walking where they shouldn't have been. They're young and fearless: too young for death to find them.

I know someday, several years from now, Matt and I will have to let our children drive, take risks and learn from bad decisions. I just hope that they always remember how fragile a life can be, even a young one.

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

Last week, my students wrote in class about their personal faults or failings, or their "hamartia." One young lady wrote:

"Sometimes it takes me too long to finish assignments because I'm a perfectionest."

Hmm...not quite.

Master mechanic

After the carpentry craftsmanship exhibited earlier this month, I should stop being surprised at what a Renaissance Man my husband is.

A few months ago, a drunk driver hit Matt's car, totally smashing the bumper and fender. Thankfully, Matt was unharmed, but his precious 1996 Buick Regal (affectionately referred to as "The Oldsmobuick" in our house) was in dire need of repairs. Matt went to Crazy Ray's junk yard religiously, hoping to find a 1996 Buick that wouldn't mind having its bumper and fender ripped off. Last week, Crazy Ray's delivered the proverbial pot of Buick gold (in sea foam green).

Crazy Ray's Buick before Matt ripped it apart:

...and after:

I came home that afternoon to find the bumper and the fender in the middle of our living room. Barley and I tripped over it for two days until Matt was able to take apart his damaged Buick and replace it with the junk yard parts. Now, you'd never be able to tell that his car was in an accident. The Buick moans and squeaks and whistles as it lumbers down the road, but, in all fairness, it did that before the accident, too.

Always being one to get as much of a bargain as possible (as if $100 body work is a rip-off), Matt also took the cassette tape from Crazy Ray's Buick, and he's been rocking out to some funky R&B mix ever since.

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

One of my students' vocabulary words last week was "extol," which means "to praise extravagantly." While grading their quizzes, I came across this gem of a sentence:

"Whenever my dog goes to the bathroom outside, I have to extol it."

After I stopped laughing, I wrote on her paper, "What must you praise? The dog, or what it leaves behind?"

Swine flu? Make mine mad cow.

I share this clip for no other reason than to provide a sneak glimpse into the bizarre relationship my sister and I have. Every year for Christmas, she finds me the most obnoxious (she knows that's a compliment), animatronic gift imaginable. I've gotten everything from a flying bird or a bouncing frog to a mechanical gerbil in its own exercise ball. I won't even get into the enormous vibrating pickle she gave me last year. Let's just say there was more than one gaping face around the tree on Christmas Eve.

One year, she presented me with a plush version of this:



Imagine that in stuffed animal form, hopping up and down in the middle of your living room. Yes, that was my Christmas. And that is why I love my sister.

Master builder

The newest, most beautiful piece of furniture in my high school is the gorgeous podium my talented husband made for me. Who would have thought that this:

would lead to this:

and finally this?

Honestly, I don't really need a podium in my room. Rarely do I lecture my kids. And if I need to lecture, I walk around, up and down the rows. But my dad always had a podium in his room. He filled it with pictures of our family, and it became one of the (many) trademarks of his classroom. It's nice to have that spirit in my classroom, too.

And, talented as Matt is, he did have a little help from his apprentice, shown here, working hard in our laundry room/workroom:

Farewell, Keith Waterhouse

I wasn't too familiar with Keith Waterhouse while he was alive, but I wish now that I had been. David sent me a link to Mr. Waterhouse's recent obituary, which read, in part:

"His last column for The Daily Mail, 'It’s English as She Is Spoke Innit?,' written in May, dealt with language education. He was the founder and life president of the Association for the Annihilation of the Aberrant Apostrophe, a fictional organization dedicated to combating false plurals like tomato’s and road signs like the one he spotted near Sevenoaks, with letters three feet high that read BUSE’S ONLY."

After a long week of trying to make 15-year-olds care why "BUSE'S" is wrong, it's that much more depressing that someone who not only cared, but championed our cause, is no longer with us.

Click here to read more about Mr. Waterhouse, England's "All-Rounder."

Inside my wristlet world

I've been meaning to compose this "peek inside" post for quite some time. Rebecca suggested it while we were sitting on the D.C. Metro this summer, and I was methodically sorting, organizing, resorting and reorganizing the entire contents of my little wristlet. I've put off writing this post, however, since it seems--ironically--too self-indulgent for this overly self-indulgent medium. But I digress. And I allow you this look at the contents of my wristlet world:

1. Various insurance cards, all of which are especially useful if I never get sick and avoid all potential traffic accidents.
2. A check card with the worst photo I've ever taken. We'd only lived in Maryland a few weeks, and we had no idea that the bank would take our pictures THE DAY we opened the account. I hadn't showered. I was wearing old, broken glasses. I look terrible. Fortunately, I've had more than one clerk question whether the person on the card is actually me.
3. A Cabela's credit card. One guess whose idea that was.
4. A Barnes and Noble credit card, i.e. retaliation for the Cabela's credit card.
5. My Costco card. Again...no idea they were going to take my photo that day. Yuck.
6. A Maryland driver's license, right next to...
7. My old Minnesota license. Somehow, I had two before we moved (I think I lost one, then found it), and the DMV here only took one.
8. A ridiculous stream of loyalty and club cards. If a store has a loyalty program, I'm sucked in. I can't help it. Currently, I have an Aveda "Pure Privledge" card, a Staples "Teacher Rewards" card, a Barnes and Noble membership card, a Borders rewards card, a Farache "Frequent Facial" card, an underwear store rewards card, a "Cosi Card," and an Auntie Anne's "Pretzel Patron's Pass." And these are just the ones I have on me at all times, since most of my clothing and shoe store programs just send me coupons.
9. My membership card to the Smithsonian, and
10. My donor card for the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. We have to support the arts now more than ever.
11. A background check/fingerprint card for Baltimore County Public Schools.
12. An emergency "find-a-sub" hotline card, which I've never had to use
13. A very helpful, yet somewhat frightening, card from my union: "What should you do if you are assaulted by a student?"
14. My College of Notre Dame student ID card, perfect for discounts to movie theaters and other places that have a student discount but no teacher discount.
15. My expired ticket from the Las Vegas monorail, right next to
16. My SmarTrip card for the D.C. Metro.
17. My polling place card, just in case I forget where to go and need to vote for something immediately
18. A membership card for the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee, complete with a picture of President Obama, who, if memory serves, was never a Representative.
19. A business card from a homeless man I used to pass in the park every day. He also has a blog, which is worth checking out to see his picture and get a snapshot of the conversations we used to have. His tagline "Vatican, Finances, Mafia, Kalamazoo" pretty much sums it up.
20. Finally, and most importantly, my membership card to the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar. It's worth noting that this membership will be null and void if I use "myself" instead of "me."

Labor Day is just a walk in the park

Or, more accurately, it's a hike through Patapsco Valley State Park with Matt and Barley.
Thank you, labor unions, for the 5-day work week, the consecutive-day weekend, and time to relax and enjoy my beautiful family.

Arrogant alpaca and paper-pushing poultry

Matt and I went to the Maryland State Fair last night. The highlights of the trip were found in two of the animal buildings.

For some reason, Matt has always had an alpaca aversion. He says they're the stuck-up kid of the animal world. As soon as we came around the corner and saw this guy, Matt said, "Well, well, well. Look at this smug jackass."

He said it was the hair, like the alpaca was trying to look like Prince from the Purple Rain era:

And for me, there's nothing like a little signage snafu to make an outing worthwhile. Was it really necessary to add "office" to this sign? Were they concerned that people from Baltimore would have otherwise thought that the two men sitting inside were poultry? "Wait. Those guys don't look like roosters. I don't get it."

Anarky

There are so many things about this picture that I love.

I don't even know where to start.

Perhaps with a poster-size print matted, framed and displayed prominently in our home.


p.s. Thanks for the picture, Garrett!

Puppies behind bars

I'll never stop being amazed at the debt we owe to dogs. This story is worth the 20-minute investment. It made me miss Newark, and it made me cry more than once.

Don't forget to eat

I once heard a seasoned veteran tell a new teacher, "Don't forget to eat." I thought she was crazy. When you're hungry, you eat. What's to remember? Plenty.

The hardest part of these first few days of school has been getting back into my "teacher timing." Not with my classes and my students, but with myself. I teach four periods in a row, which means I'm trapped in my room for nearly four hours. The "good" drinking fountain and faculty bathroom are both on the other side of the school, so if I need to use them (and, not surprisingly, I usually need to use both), I have to leave myself at least 6 minutes (also known as 1 minute longer than passing time). Yesterday, I forgot to fill up my water bottle, so I was dehydrated by the end of the four hours. Today, I forgot to visit the restroom. And the less said about my unfortunate choice of a Fiber One bar for breakfast, the better.