RUAFRK?

Our neighbor has a license plate that reads "RUAFRK2."  Every time we walk by it, I have to wonder if the driver realizes how ambiguous this seemingly clever message really is.

Perhaps it means, "I have another car in which I am a freak.  This is an additional freak car."

Or does it mean, "I'm a freak, and I hope you're one as well"?

If both answers didn't frighten me so much, I'd ring the bell and ask.

Our Christmas Conundrum

The longer we live in Maryland, the more I feel torn between two homes.  Never is that more evident than at Christmas.  Matt and I have spent the last few Christmas mornings in our own house, which is wonderful.  All the while, however, we find ourselves missing our friends and families back in Minnesota.

In other words, part of us sings "Crabs for Christmas"


...while the other part sings "Rusty Chevrolet"


We are a people torn between two Christmases.

Simple Gifts

Dear Santa,

I don't need anything fancy this year.  A few days away from teenagers and in the company of my dear family (both two- and four-legged) is all I really need.

And maybe some new socks.

But that's it.

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

There was an article in Washington Post Magazine not long ago entitled "What Is Your Teen Thinking?"  It said that the part of the brain that thinks ahead and considers consequences hasn't yet been developed in teenagers' brains.  In other words: nothing new.

A few days later, I brought the magazine and much of the rest of my newspaper to school.  My speech students wrote storytelling speeches inspired by something they found in the newspaper.  One young man found the magazine article and said, "'What Is Your Teen Thinking?'  Is this all about sex?"

I told him, "It's actually about the fact that your brain doesn't consider the ramifications of stupid decisions."

He thought for a moment and said quietly, "C'mon.  You and I both know that's the same thing."

Opposites Attract

I read a study recently which found that siblings are more likely to be different than alike.  Scientists think it has something to do with expanding the gene pool. 

I heard an interview on Thanksgiving with the creator of Modern Family who said, regardless of how different they are, siblings are always bound together.

Happy birthday to someone with whom I have hardly anything in common, but whom I love and adore...like a sister.

Good dog

When he's not terrorizing my stuff, Barley loves to help out around the house.  Just this week, he helped me decorate the house for Christmas.

He tested the outside lights to make sure they were all working:

And he warmed up a nice place in the corner for the Christmas tree:

What a good dog.

Bad dog, IV

Let's put this nicely: Barley has a bit of an attitude.  This has been evidenced here, here and, most recently, here.  And those are just the ones I've taken pictures of...and been comfortable sharing.

What we've noticed with all these "bad dog" moments is that Barley never seems to target Matt's stuff.  He's always gunning for me.  Just this week, we came home one night to find that all the papers for my Master's capstone project had been knocked off the table and spread all over the floor.  It was as if he rifled through them with his paws, just to be sure they were spread out evenly and mixed up thoroughly.

For the Glory of the Corn

When Matt was in college, he and his Fargo college friends used cans of corn as wagering currency.  It was more fun than just betting a quarter on something.  One of them would make an outlandish claim, and another would simply say, "Can of corn!"

So it made sense when we first moved to Maryland (and brought Matt's family's Thanksgiving bowling tradition with us) that we would also incorporate the can-of-corn wager.  Since I first wrote about this tradition, the illustrious can of corn trophy has passed hands five times. 

This year, the now-expired (and likely botulism-laced) can was won by an exuberant Kris:

...which meant that Austin, last year's winner, had the humiliating duty of handing it off.

It's a good thing we don't take these silly traditions too seriously.

Grammar Violations

I've had several requests to share with readers the weekly grammar violations I teach my students.  No, really.  People have asked.  Real people!  Most of the violations we cover in the first couple months of the school year are my biggest pet peeves.  They're also some of the ones I already wrote about in a guest post at The Marketing Mama.

But there are others.  Oh, there are so many others.

I'm going to begin by tackling the difference between then and than.  Then is used when discussing sequence, and than is used when discussing preference.  For example:

I came, I saw, then I conquered.

I would rather study grammar than anything else.

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

Yesterday was definitely chili weather.  It rained all day, and the air was damp and miserable.  I made a big pot soon after I got home from school, and it was bubbling away when Matt got home from work. 

He walked in the door and asked, "Mmm... What smells so good?" 

"I made chili," I replied.

"Oh good," he said.  "I haven't farted enough today."

From Matthew, this is high praise indeed.

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

Today, I hit my students with the Earth-shattering news that "alright" is not a word.  It's "all right."  As students are every year, they were dumbfounded, baffled and even a little angry.  We had the same conversation we have every year about the addition of conversational (or "nonstandard") words into the dictionary.  I told them the inclusion of words such as "d'oh" and "ain't" in the dictionary doesn't make them words that educated people use in intelligent speech and writing.

One student interjected, "But what about in songs?  People use 'ain't' in songs all the time!"

Judging by the below-the-equator pants and previous comments from this student, I replied, "I don't think we should look to rap artists for proper diction."

He shot back, "No!  You know that song, 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough'?  That ain't no rap!"

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

Matt got me a wonderful shirt for my birthday.  It's from the Library of Congress, and it says "I cannot live without books," a great quote by one of my favorite presidents, Thomas Jefferson.  Naturally, I wore it to school yesterday. 

One of my more vocal students looked at my shirt and said, "You are so weird."  He soon realized his mistake, and quickly said, "But in a good way!"

Candy, anyone?

We had no trick-or-treaters last night.  Not one.  Zero.  This left us with just a little bit of leftover candy.

But I swear I heard kids outside.  I thought I even saw a few when I glanced down the street.  So why would no one stop at our house?  Perhaps our welcoming committee had something to do with it.

Stapling the Bulletins

At the end of last summer, one of our pastors--and someone I'm lucky enough to call a dear friend--left her position as Assistant Pastor of our church to become the lone pastor of her own church.  Kristin's departure made for a rough summer, and I remember crying for most of the week (okay, month) before she left.  People reminded me that she wasn't dying or even moving to a different area code, but it was a rough road nonetheless.

Soon after she left, I visisted her at her new church.  When I got there, she and her secretary were having a discussion about whether or not to staple the bulletins for Sunday morning.  "Should they be stapled?" Kristin asked.  "I just don't know.  Are they usually stapled?  Would you want a stapled bulletin?"  This went on for a while until Kristin asked the secretary how it's usually done.  Apparently, they usually weren't stapled.  So they left it at that.  No staples.

Last weekend, Matt and I drove out to Westminster for Kristin's installation as the new pastor of her very lucky church.  Once again, I found myself crying.  But this time, I wasn't sobbing or feeling sorry for a loss.  I was smiling.  She was so at home, so comfortable.  And while I'm still sad that I don't get to see my friend every week, I'm happier to see her so fulfilled and content where she obviously needs to be.

And at her installation, the bulletins were stapled.

Fall Getaways

Without a doubt, fall is my favorite time of year.  Even though I know fall will eventually leave me and I'll have to take up a tumultuous affair with winter, I still love it.  Matt and I have taken advantage of this most wonderful of seasons with a few stereotypical autumn getaways.

We went apple-picking in Westminster, Maryland.

(and nearly risked our lives climbing trees)

And we celebrated our anniversary in Frederick, Maryland.  Since this was a milestone anniversary, Matt let me handle all the details.  I booked us a room at a wonderful bed and breakfast, much to my husband's chagrin, as evidenced here by his "this is what people who stay at bed and breakfasts look like" pose:

That night, we enjoyed a "Taste of Frederick," opting for drinks and appetizers at Volt, the trendy hotspot, and dinner at the more affordable and low-key (yet equally tasty) Acacia down the road.

Our waiter at Acadia was a rather uptight young man named Frank.  Matt thought it would be hilarious to say to him, "I have to be frank..." then say something ridiculous.  For the rest of the meal, every time he saw Frank coming, Matt would threaten to say something like, "I have to be frank: this food is terrible," or "I have to be frank: have you ever waited on anyone before?"  Thankfully, restraint won out.

The next day, we visited some of Frederick's historic covered bridges.  All "Madison County" jokes aside, they were nice.  Anything historical is always nice.  But they were just bridges.

This fall has been one of great family time with Matt.  I'm so lucky to have a husband who indulges my frou-frou whims and finds ways to laugh at the seemingly mundane.  Memories like these make our endless love affair with winter just a bit more bearable.

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

Hamartia (ha·mar·ti·a) -noun: A fatal flaw.

Student's written response: "My hamartia is that I over think thing."

Fighting Sirens

Whenever a fire engine passes within earshot of our house, Barley's hound dog instincts kick in, and he does his best to warn us.  He's so helpful.

'Weather' or not, here comes our anniversary

I knew Matt and I were taking a weather gamble when we decided to get married in mid-October in Minnesota.  I told myself not to stress about something I couldn't control.  I calmed myself down by reminding myself that, even if the weather was terrible on our wedding day, we would still have 50 anniversaries to enjoy good weather. 

The week before our wedding was cold and rainy.  But October 15, 2005, was stunning: 70 degrees and sunny.  We couldn't have asked for a more perfect fall day.

Then came the first of those 50 anniversaries.  On our first anniversary, October 15, 2006, we went to Hawaii and were greeted by an earthquake and subsequent power-outage.  The highlight of the island-wide blackout was the several hours we spent sipping Big Gulp margaritas out of paper cups at this Mexican restaurant:

The next three years were much of the same.
October 15, 2007:  Brutal cold snap
October 15, 2008:  Wind, rain and hail
October 15, 2009:  Cold, damp, drizzly and miserable

And now we've come to October 15, 2010.   We're celebrating our fifth anniversary with a weekend getaway, just in time for the massive nor'easter moving its way up the east coast.

Pearls of Teacher Wisdom

I was out of school at a meeting late last week, and another--far more seasoned--teacher covered one of my classes. 

I saw that teacher in the copy room this morning.  "So that class I covered last week," he began.  Little good ever comes from copy room conversations that start this way.

"They told me how hard your class is," he continued.  "Keep up the good work."

He's well-seasoned for a reason.

Jock Juxtapositions

Kickball...
Each teacher in our school has an assigned "duty."  Some stand in the cafeteria during a lunch shift.  Some monitor the parking lots before or after school.  I drew a short straw this year, so I'm on "coverage duty."  When a teacher is out for less than a full day, another teacher is sent to cover for him or her.

Usually I'm sent to cover in the foreign language department or for another English teacher.  I once had to cover for the Dance teacher, but she left her students wonderful busy work.  Then last week, I was notified that I would be covering for a gym teacher.  This teacher left me the following instructions: "After the girls change, take them out to the field hockey field.  Lead them in stretching and running, then start a game of kickball."  We have a field hockey field?  We used a random field behind the school instead.  What kind of stretching and running warms you up for kickball?  We skipped that part.  That left us 27 painful minutes of kickball.  The only contribution I made was when a girl yelled, "Our team is doing good!" and I replied "Your team is doing well!"

Football...
I spent much of yesterday at our first Speech competition of the year.  During one intense round of Exposition speaking, a very nervous sophomore was trying to convince us that "David Miliband will not, in fact, make the Labour Party less electable."  Meanwhile, the equally intense Baltimore City College High School football team was going through its pre-game grunting and hollering just below our classroom.  I don't remember much after, "David Miliband will not, in fact, make the Labour Party less electable."

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

We're reading Oedipus in class right now.  Today, I introduced the idea of "hamartia," or a tragic flaw.  Oedipus's hamartia was his extreme arrogance (also known as "hubris"), and it ultimately brought upon his downfall.  I asked students to write about their own hamartia, then asked for volunteers to share their flaws.  One of my Asian students, who has only been in this country for a year or two, raised his hand:

"My hamartia is that I a bit racist.  You know, the Chinese, we eat the rice.  You white people, you all eat the bread.  And black people, they eat the fried chicken."

Thankfully, this class has a sense of humor.  I told the student that cultures are more than their carbs, and we moved on quickly.

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

About a half hour after first period began one day this week, I heard a knock at the door.  There stood a student, earphones in ears and iPod blaring so loudly I could hear the poser gangster rap he was listening to. All electronics--cell phones, iPods, you name it--aren't allowed in school.  We're supposed to confiscate the devices when students are caught texting, covertly listening to music, etc.  I'm a big fan of this rule.

Me: "Thanks for joining us.  And thanks for the iPod."

Student: "But I just got here."

Me: "True.  But the rest of us have been here for a while already."

Student: "Can't I have a warning?"

Me: "You're a sophomore.  You've had a year to be forewarned."

Student: "But my mom is going to crucify me."

Me: "You should've thought of that."

Student: "But I didn't!"

Another student, under his breath: "What an idiot."

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

As I was mentally preparing myself for the torture that is Back-to-School night, Matt sent me this email (forgive the vulgarity, but sometimes it just works too well):

"Capitalization Matters: It's the difference between helping your Uncle Jack off a horse and helping your uncle jack off a horse."

I'm a Lutheran 'til I die

This was an overwhelmingly Lutheran weekend.  

Matt and I went to the Prairie Home Companion "Summer of Love" tour on Friday evening (with some Lutheran friends, naturally) at the beautiful Pier 6 Pavilion in Baltimore's Inner Harbor.

We had wonderful seats (thanks, Garrett!), and we could've reached out and touched Garrison as he walked through the crowd:

Yesterday morning was an equally Lutheran experience: Rally Sunday.  It was so good to be back at church with our awesome high schoolers.  They've done more thinking and reasoning about their faith and their place in the world's faith community than most of the adults I know.  They're an inspiration.

In honor of all this glorious Lutheranness, I thought I'd share a song that aired on this weekend's Prairie Home Companion rebroadcast.  It was written in 1999 when the ELCA merged with the Episcopalians.  You can also cross your fingers and try to listen to the song here.

"I'm a Lutheran" by Garrison Keillor

Hello from Minnesota.
You call it pasta, we call it macaroni,
and thank you very much,
yes, I believe I will have more. And

I was raised in Iowa, went to Concordia,
Swedish, I'm proud to say.
Got a job at Lutheran Brotherhood,
And I never was sick one day.
Bought a house in south Minneapolis
Over by Cedar Lake
If you ask me this latest merger
Was nothing but a big mistake.
Now I have nothing against Episcopalians
I believe in an open door
I'm sure it's good to get new ideas
But we never did it that way before.

Praise heaven, I believe
Praise heaven, I believe
I'm a Lutheran, a Lutheran, it is my belief,
I am a Lutheran guy.
We may have merged with another church
But I'm a Lutheran 'til I die.

We are a modest people
And we never make a fuss
And it sure would be a better world
If they were all as modest as us.
We do not go for whooping it up,
Or a lot of yikkety-yak.
When we say hello, we avert our eyes
And we always sit in the back.
We sit in the pew where we always sit,
And we do not shout Amen.
And if anyone yells or waves their hands,
They're not invited back again.
I'm a Lutheran, a Lutheran, it is my belief,
I am a Lutheran guy.
We may have merged with another church
But I'm a Lutheran 'til I die.

We've got chow mein noodles on tuna hotdish
And Jello with cottage cheese,
And chocolate bars and banana cream pie,
No wonder we're on our knees.
This is the church where we sing Amen
At the end of every song.
The coffee pot is always on
Cause the meetings are three hours long.
The blessed tie that binds our hearts
Is cream of mushroom soup
We do not walk through the door alone.
We wait and go as a group.

Praise heaven, I believe
Praise heaven, I believe
I'm a Lutheran, a Lutheran, it is my belief,
I am a Lutheran guy.
We may have merged with another church
But I'm a Lutheran 'til I die.

Episcopalians are proud of their faith,
You ought to hear em talk
Who they got? They got Henry the 8th
And we got J.S. Bach.
Henry the 8th he had six wives
Trying to make a son.
J.S Bach had 23 children
And wives, he had just one.
Henry the 8th'd marry a woman
And then her head would drop
J.S. Bach had all those kids
Cause his organ had no stop.
Praise heaven, I believe
Praise heaven, I believe
I'm a Lutheran, a Lutheran, it is my belief,
I am a Lutheran guy.
Episcopalians I don't mind
But I'm a Lutheran 'til I die.

Once in awhile we go to shows
But a Lutheran is not a fan.
We don't whistle and we don't laugh
We smile as loud as we can.
If you come to church, don't expect to be hugged,
Don't expect your hand to be shook.
If we need to know who you are,
We can look in the visitors' book.
I was raised to keep a lid on it,
Guard what you say or do.
A Mighty Fortress is our God
So he must be Lutheran too.

Praise heaven, I believe
Praise heaven, I believe
I'm a Lutheran, a Lutheran, it is my belief,
I am a Lutheran guy.
Episcopalians I don't mind
But I'm a Lutheran 'til I die.

(c) 1999 by Garrison Keillor

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

My students have been busy in the library this week, researching countries in order to create a story that follows the "Cinderella" archetype, but in a specific culture.  One of my African American students chose to research Germany.  I don't think he'd ever read anything about Germany before.

Student: "So... Can my Cinderella's ball be this Oktoberfest thing?"

Me: "No."

Student: "Why not?  It looks like it's kind of a big deal there."

Me. "Your Cinderella can't go to a beer festival.  Pick something else."

Student: "I've been looking through this book, and I gotta say... I don't think there is anything else."

The First Week: An adventure in clothing

Even after being absent for months, it's amazing how quickly I fell into an old routine.  After just one week, my hyperorganization devolved into shockingly June-like behavior:

Sunday night: Agonize about what to wear.  Show Matt three different choices.  "Which one makes me look the most serious?"  Place most intimidating-looking outfit neatly in bathroom for ease of dressing tomorrow, including shoes and undergarments.

Monday night: Ask obligatory "What am I going to wear tomorrow?" question.  Quickly choose one of yesterday's rejected outfits.  Place all clothing choices in bathroom.

Tuesday night: Choose last of Sunday night's rejected outfits.  Move it to open space of the closet.

Wednesday night: Tomorrow is Back-to-School night.  Choose standard "Parents will think I'm a real professional" outfit.  Move to open space of the closet.

Thursday night: Home from Back-to-School night close to 10:00.  Exhausted from impressing parents, entertaining children, preparing lessons and grading papers.  Couldn't care less how professional or intimidating I look.

Friday morning: Wake Matt up by searching frantically for any work-appropriate--and clean--ensemble.  End up wearing a shirt with a pink stain on the front.  Pretend I didn't notice stain until I got in the car and wear stained shirt anyway.  Vow to return to my organized ways next week and chuckle at the hopelessness of that promise.

Guest Grammar Gig

I was flattered to write a guest post on the Marketing Mama blog today.  I'm such a fan of this blog, and I'm delighted to have the chance to contribute to it.  The post features my top 10 grammar pet peeves, or a snapshot of the type of "Grammar Violations" we cover each week in my class.  Due to popular demand (seriously), I'm going to post my Grammar Violations here each week.  Stop back for some roaring fun with grammar (or just to marvel at the fact that I'm teaching material to 10th graders that you probably mastered in 5th grade).

I'm also happy to take requests.  You know, those pesky, "I've always wondered about the difference between..." grammar questions.  No request is too small or seemingly simple, and all requests will be kept anonymous.

I'll leave with an introductory lesson I imparted on some appreciative parents during Back-to-School Night this evening: Avoid alliteration. Always.

"Did I Miss Anything?"

In Maryland, another new school year began this week.  Some poor souls even had to begin last week.  We've only been back two days, and yet the same old questions have resumed:

"Is this for a grade?"

"Will this be on a test?"

"Are you collecting this?"

And my personal favorite...

"Did I miss anything yesterday?"

Yes, I did have students absent yesterday, the first day of school.  Someone needs to talk with them about the fine art of a first impression.

In honor of those teachers who have already answered that last question (or ever have or ever will), I'm sharing the poem that my students will analyze in class tomorrow.  Hopefully, the message will stick.

"Did I Miss Anything?" by Tom Wayman

Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours.

Everything.  I gave an exam worth
40 percent of the grade for this term
and assigned some reading due today
on which I’m about to hand out a quiz
worth 50 percent.

Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning.
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose.

Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel
or other heavenly being appeared
and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
to attain divine wisdom in this life and
the hereafter.
This is the last time the class will meet
before we disperse to bring the good news to all people
on Earth.

Nothing. When you are not present,
how could something significant occur?

Everything. Contained in this classroom
is a microcosm of human experience,
assembled for you to query and examine and ponder.
This is not the only place such an opportunity has been
gathered,

but it was one place,

and you weren’t here.

Bureaucracy Conspiracy

I've been spending a lot of time at our local Post Office lately.  I know.  Envy me my summer vacation.  Slowly but surely, I've been unloading some of the dozens of books we've accumulated while Matt finished his Master's degree and I plug away at mine.  Now the pile that used to look like this

...is about half the size. 

About a week ago, our local Post Office started inspecting all packages that customers claim are media mail (the books, music, etc. that ship at a lower rate).  If a customer has already sealed the package, the employee at the counter opens it and inspects it.  If it really is a book or music, the customer fills out a form, the employee fills out a form, and a certificate authenticating this bureaucracy is mailed with the media in question.  If the item wasn't really a book or music, the customer has a good deal of egg on his or her face and he or she pays the normal rate.  The first time this happened, I was told that it was new protocol from the Postmaster General.  Not being a stranger to bureaucracy in my own line of work, I didn't question it.

A few days after that first encounter, I visited a different local Post Office.  I left my package open so it could be inspected, and the employee sealed it without looking inside.  I told her it was media mail; I paid the media mail rate.  Since it's summer and I have little else to do, I tried this experiment at two other Post Office branches at different points in the Baltimore area.  Neither of them made me fill out a form or even questioned that I was sending a book.  Take a look at the size of some of the books in that picture, and you'll see why it wasn't an issue.

I went back to the first Post Office this morning, questioning this alleged memo from the Postmaster General.  So as not to arouse suspicion, I left my mailing envelope open so it could be inspected.  While I was at the counter and the employee began to inspect my envelope, I asked why this is the only Post Office of the four I've visited that inspect media mail so thoroughly. 

The employee paused.  He looked at my envelope.  He looked at me.  He appeared nervous.

"This isn't media mail."  He handed the envelope back to me. 

"Yes, it is.  It's a book."

"No.  What's this?"  He pulled out the packing slip that I was shipping with the book.  The single sheet of paper that was tucked in between the pages.

"That's just the packing slip."

"Sorry.  You can only ship the book.  If you ship anything with it, it's not media mail."

He was on to me.  And I'm on to you, local Post Office.

This isn't over.

Education Irony

This weekend, I ordered the textbook for the class I'm taking this fall.  The book is on its 9th edition, which means it's been edited nine times.

Nine times.

Take a good look at the cover and find the irony.  Recall that this book is required reading for an education class.

An education class.

International Homeless Animals' Day

Since 1992, the third Saturday of August has been observed as International Homeless Animals' Day.  As most of my readers know, we adopted Barley from a local animal shelter.  Shelter dogs often come with problems, and Barley was no exception.  He would bite (hard), he guarded his food and growled when he ate, and he refused to settle down.  He was constant work and not at all the rosy picture I had of dog-ownership.

Because Barley was so difficult, we sought the advice of a specialist.  By this time, Barley was full grown--no longer the cute brown furball we brought home six months earlier.  The specialist listened to our story and asked plainly, "Do you know what any shelter would do with this dog?"  We shook our heads.  "For every dog like this one, there are a dozen healthy, well-adjusted dogs waiting for homes.  They would put him down within 24 hours."  So we spent the next several months working with Barley so that he could stay with us. 

While he's still a handful (as evidenced by the crockpot episode, habitual counter surfing and other modes of attention grabbing), he's so much better than he was, and I can't imagine our lives without him.  His cuddles and kisses more than make up for his occasional lapses in judgment.  I think the struggles we had initially brought us all closer together, and if I had the chance, I'd do it all over again.

Sadly, many of those healthy, well-adjusted shelter dogs (and most of those who need extra care) never get a second chance.  Thanks to the International Society for Animal Rights and its annual International Homeless Animals' Day, more exposure is being given to this important issue.  You can read more about the day here and even attend a local event.  You can also honor dogs like Barley who never find homes by watching ISAR's moving tribute, which may just inspire you to adopt a cute furball of your own:

Customer Service Snafuus

I love a good customer service confrontation as much as the next person--probably more. But I've had two in recent days that have just been bizarre.

Matt and I went to Dairy Queen this week, and I ordered one of their new mini Blizzards. They're the perfect size--just enough ice cream, but still way too many calories. I ordered a banana split Blizzard, my personal favorite, and the cashier (who resembled a 16-year-old Shaun White) started into a diatribe that was apparently intended to convince me to order something else.

Mr. White: "Are you sure? That Blizzard comes out really runny. Like Blizzard soup."
Me: "That's okay."
Mr. White: "I mean, are you really sure? It tastes like ass."
Me: (Slightly more baffled) "Yes, I'm sure."
Mr. White: "Seriously. It's disgusting."
Me: (Totally confused. Can they not make it, or does he just not want to?). "But this is what I want."
Mr. White: "Fine. Our pain is your pleasure, I guess."

The fact that he just didn't want to make my mini banana split Blizzard was confirmed when the Blizzard-making employee behind him let out an audible groan when he saw my order (to which Mr. White replied, "Sorry, dude. I tried to talk her out of it.").

Had I realized what was happening sooner, I would have enjoyed one of my now-infamous confrontations with a cashier. But because the situation was so bizarre, I had to resign myself to contacting Dairy Queen when I got home. Just a few days later, the owner of that particular Dairy Queen franchise called me at home. She knew the employee just from my description of the incident, and she wanted to apologize. Her husband also used the opportunity to perform a little market research on the mini Blizzard, but that's beside the point. The three of us had a lovely conversation about the immaturity of teenage boys, and she even sent me a few coupons.


Later this week, a call from Sears woke me up far too early. They were calling to confirm my order and asked that I call them back to set up a time for delivery. They used my name in the message and obviously called my number--but I never ordered anything from Sears.

So I called the toll-free number left in the message, imagining some poor person out there not getting his or her washer, dryer, refrigerator...who knows? The woman on the phone took my name, telephone number and zip code. She said, "I'm finding no deliveries with your name to your zip code. I promise, nothing will be delivered to you." I tried to tell her that I was more concerned about the poor person who wasn't going to get this order, to which she replied, "I'm finding no deliveries with your name to your zip code. I promise, nothing will be delivered to you." Because that seemed to be the only phrase they taught her at the Indian call center, I had to let it go. Stay tuned for an anticipated post about where to store the sub-zero refrigerator I never ordered.

Magical History Tour: Silly Signs

The only low point of my history vacation was my tour of the Battle of Lynchburg. Unlike other Civil War battlefields I've toured, none of this battlefield was the same. It was hard to imagine soldiers marching through a field when the field is now a K-Mart parking lot.

Still, there was a bright spot to the tour: some ridiculous signs. First, the sign in the battlefield's visitors' center:

This appears to be helpful; however, the parking lot I pulled into looked like this:

Thank goodness there was extra parking. The inside of the visitors' center was even more ridiculous. I tried to buy a battlefield audio car guide from a man who I thought worked there...since he was the only other person in the building. Apparently, the center was actually closed. The man was preparing for a Civil-War-era music concert he was playing there that night. He was nice enough to take my $10 anyway. He even broke my 20.

One of the stops on the Battle of Lynchburg tour is now a synagogue. I don't remember what that parking lot was during the Civil War, but I do remember what the "No Parking" sign looks like now.

Take my advice: Thou shalt not waste $10 on a tour of the Battle of Lynchburg.

Magical History Tour: Montpelier

On the last day of my historical odyssey, I visited the home of James Madison, fourth president of the United States, father of the Constitution and good friend of Thomas Jefferson.

James Madison grew up at Montpelier, then a vast tobacco plantation. He spent much time there before, during and after his two terms as president. Madison spent hours in an upstairs study, surrounded by newspapers and books. Just as Jefferson served as Secretary of State for John Adams before becoming president himself, so Madison was Jefferson's Secretary of State. Also like Jefferson, Madison consequently spent a great amount of time in France. And while Monticello is heavy with French architecture thanks to Jefferson, so our Constitution is heavy with French enlightenment thanks to Madison. When all was said and done, Madison was the primary author of the Preamble to the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, and he was responsible for our three branches of government and their system of checks and balances. Still, some of Jefferson's French architectural influences are present at Montpelier, especially the dome over his "temple," which doubled as an ice house.


After his presidency, Madison continued to philosophize with his good friends, especially Jefferson. They spent many hours traveling the 30 miles or so between their two homes, a journey that took about a day in the early 1800's. The two men even had reproductions of the same painting of Mary Magdelene in their parlors. When I first arrived at the end of Montpelier's driveway, I imagined that Jefferson must have been very acquainted with the same view.


James and Dolley Madison entertained hundreds of other guests every year at Montpelier. Even when he was too old to walk up and down the stairs, Madison lived in a study near the dining room, and was wheeled next door during meals to discuss politics and philosophy. The back lawn of Montpelier was also filled with activity, from games to barbeques, all of which were overseen by the plantation's significant enslaved population. Madison's first-floor study was the large window on the lower right of the picture below, so even when he was too weak to go outside, he was still able to be part of the excitement.


Unlike Jefferson's Monticello, whose later owners recognized its historical significance (and left it alone!), the subsequent owners of Montpelier completely restructured the building. When it was finally willed to the U.S. government from the DuPont family in the 1980's, historians had to remove two wings that had been added and move door frames and fireplaces to their rightful places in the home. So while Monticello still looks just as it did in Jefferson's day, much of Montpelier is still being excavated. The architectural restoration is complete, but historians continue to hunt for historically accurate furniture and excavate the yards.


James Madison was the last of the Founding Fathers to pass away. In earlier years, three of the five Founding Fathers died on July 4th: John Adams and Thomas Jefferson on July 4, 1826 and James Monroe on July 4, 1831. As Madison was nearing the end of his life in June, 1836, his doctors wanted to give him medicine to keep him alive until July 4th. Madison replied that he entered the world naturally, and he intended to leave the same way. Ultimately, he died in his study on June 28, 1836, less than a week shy of Independence Day.

Though Dolley moved away from Montpelier soon after James died, the spirit of the Madisons remains on the back lawn. There, visitors can join John and Dolley in one of their favorite leisure activities, perfect for traveling English teachers.

(Those statutes are life-size, by the way. I would have fit in SO well with the Madisons.)

Back to School

Preparing to go back to school is much like the grieving process.

First, denial: "What? It's August already? No! It can't be!"

Second, anger: "I had SO much to get done this summer, and I've done none of it. None!"

Third, bargaining: "Okay, if I get some work done now, maybe I can enjoy the last few weeks of summer."

Fourth, depression: "Only two weeks left. That means only ten more weekdays to sleep in. Only ten more days to do what I want. Ugh." Much like traditional grieving, this stage seems to last the longest.

Fifth, acceptance: "I get to see my kids again. I get to have more of a purpose again. I get to feel the satisfaction of a tired brain again. Fine, yes, I'm also getting a bit bored."

And while I hate (loathe, really) the Target back-to-school displays that pop up right after the 4th of July, I come to enjoy the commercials by this time of year. This one especially helped me move to Step 5.

Magical History Tour: Appomattox Court House

On the second day of my vacation, I spent the morning in the town of Appomattox Court House, Virginia, site of the end of the Civil War.

The war never should have lasted as long as it did, but it labored on for years thanks in large part to the leadership of General Robert E. Lee. But he became outmatched when Lincoln appointed General Ulysses S. Grant to lead the Union army. Grant was aggressive, and he sent troops into the heart of Confederate strongholds. The Union army may not have been successful in Appomattox Court House, but a communication error left the Confederate soldiers without a renewed food supply. After a week of hard fighting, Lee surrendered to Grant on April 9, 1865.

There weren't many buildings in this small town in which to house two generals and their staffs. Moreover, there just weren't that many people in town at the time, what with a battle raging just a few miles away. They were finally able to use the home of Wilmer McLean:


Mr. McLean left his previous home in Manassas, Virginia, when the First Battle of Bull Run destroyed much of his kitchen and fireplace. Ironically, his desire to escape the Civil War brought the surrender to his front parlor:

General Grant brought just one or two men with him, and he sat at the large marble table on the left:

General Lee was flanked by an army of supporters (pun very much intended), but he was relegated to the smaller wooden table:

After the generals left the McLeans' home, other soldiers immediately realized the historical significance of what just happened, and they took anything that wasn't bolted down. Just a few years later, also recognizing the home's historical significance, historians dismantled the house brick by brick so that it could be preserved (more Civil War irony) in Washington, D.C. Unfortunately, funds dried up quickly, and the house was left in a pile until the mid-20th Century when the town was named a National Historic Park and the house was reconstructed.

The surrender was an incredibly generous one. Lee was not forced to give up his sword, and every member of the Confederate army was given a pass to travel home without being harmed. Over the next several days, the passes were printed in the town's tavern:

Though generous, the surrender did call for the Confederate army to lay down their arms. They marched down the main street of Appomattox Court House and presented guns, flags, etc. By all accounts, the Union forces were quietly respectful of the brothers they had been fighting against just a week before.

Addition for my mom: this picture of the Appomattox Court House court house (now a very informative visitors' center)

"I am (Not) a Vegetarian"

I post this poem in honor of Matt and most of his family. I'll keep it in mind the next time I pass on the fleischkuechle (deep-fried dumplings filled with seasoned ground beef) at a family gathering.

"Why I am Not a Vegetarian"
By David Oliveira

It's not that I love animals less,
a case could be made I love them more—
and it's not that I love vegetables less,
I love them rare,
nothing more savory than raw celery
clawing and kicking its way down the gullet.

What I find hard to stomach is vegetarians.
If there is a vegetarian at the table, we all
get called in to be witnesses at a police lineup.
Cheese, eggs, fish,
each suspect paraded for identification—
pronounced innocent, guilty,
please take two steps forward.

And it's not like there is just one canon
for the good host to worry about.
Each vegetarian comes with a different menu.
Most won't eat anything that had legs,
though many eat fish, a fin nothing like a leg,
And eat shrimp, that have legs
which count as fins since they come from the sea
and taste so good in a Newburg sauce.
Oysters are problematic, without legs and from the sea,
but mostly eaten alive, like carrots.
A few pass on eggs because of the latent leg potential,
though pasta is usually okay,
the potential hard to realize under the marinara.

One friend doesn't drink milk
but asks for extra au jus
for his mashed potatoes. I haven't the heart
to explain what kind of vegetable the "au" is
or how many get squeezed to make a cup of "jus."

Don't misunderstand,
I admire those who stand on principle,
however vague, who doesn't admire
the resolve of, say, a Jerry Falwell,
to bear the weight of so much conviction
he can hardly walk to church.
Praise the Lord for limousines.
As my mother would say,
"Live and let live—
Just keep the details to yourself,
And pass the ketchup, please."

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

I'll finish writing about my Magical History Tour soon. In the meantime...

When I was out shopping the other day, I bought Matt a new shirt. They had plenty of pink shirts, but I made sure to avoid those. I told Matt about this later.

Matt: "Real men wear pink, Rachie."

Me: "But you don't own anything pink."

Matt: "Exactly."

Magical History Tour: Monticello

Last week, I took advantage of my delightful summer schedule and visited a few historical hotspots that I'd been wanting to see since we moved here. I spent three days in and around Charlottesville, Virginia. I spent my first day at Monticello, the beautiful home of Thomas Jefferson.


"Monticello" means "Little Mountain" in Italian. The house is built on the top of a mountain, completely unheard of at the time it was built. Jefferson was raised in a home at the base of the mountain, but he loved spending time at the top of it as a child. When his father died and Jefferson inherited the land, he (read: slaves) leveled the mountain and built a house on top of it.

Jefferson was an avid reader. He once wrote, "I cannot live without books," and "...read good books because they will encourage as well as direct your feelings." He would visit this little shelter in the middle of his mile-long garden to read and watch the sun set.


I couldn't take photos of much of the interior of Monticello, but I was able to take photos inside the iconic dome. Before he became president, Jefferson was Ambassador to France and Secretary of State, so he spent much time in Europe. Jefferson modeled Monticello after the buildings in Europe, many of which had domes. The dome of Monticello served little purpose other than to be an architectural marvel.

That dome is most usually viewed from the back lawn of Monticello, and this view was reason enough for Jefferson to construct it.

It was the first dome built in the United States, and it inspired the domes of the U.S. Capitol and the University of Virginia. As the University's founder, Jefferson oversaw its construction from the porch of Monticello. His influence is pretty obvious.

Jefferson modeled much of the little details of Monticello after European influences as well, from his dumbwaiter...

To his 16-foot-deep ice house...

To his deceptive windows. One-story houses were stylish in Europe, so Jefferson made his three-story home look like it was only one story by playing with the windows.

Even the beds at Monticello were influenced by the French. Instead of free-standing beds, residents and visitors to Monticello slept in cubbies to preserve the room's architecture and use of space.

Jefferson wanted to preserve space elsewhere in Monticello as well. He thought that a grand staircase would only suck up space, so he included two of these high, narrow staircases instead.

Perhaps the most important lesson Jefferson learned in France was the art of French cooking. More accurately, the enslaved members of his household learned the art of French cooking.

They would catch fish from the river at the base of the mountain and preserve them in this pond until they were ready to cook them.

They also learned how to brew beer and make wine.

All of this took place in the tunnels under Monticello, or the "Crossroads."

When Jefferson died, he was buried on the grounds of Monticello. He didn't want his presidency to be included on his epitaph, as he never particularly enjoyed being president. Instead, he asked to be remembered as the author of the Declaration of Independence and the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom (which allowed Virginians to practice any religion...or no religion) and as the founder of the University of Virginia.