"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)