Random Observations

Just a few observations about the last couple of days.

Finally found an acceptable blog name for my husband. I hated "hubby", but couldn't think of anything better at the time. Now he's my Main Man.

Friday night, Main Man and I went on a date. Life is so much easier since our oldest passed his babysitting course. We can actually maintain some semblance of spontaniety. Unfortunately, in this sad, sorry little city we live in, there really isn't a lot to do on a moment's notice.

We ended up going shopping and then out for drinks. I bought a few things, but my favourite is a black swingy skirt with colourful embroidery. I wore it to church this morning, and felt very girly. I shop so seldom that I'm not very good at it. I hate trying things on.

Going for drinks was fun; just the two of us talking about life. It never ceases to amaze me how two adults can spend so much time together, but seldom complete a conversation. The odd thing is that, often when we do go out, just the two of us, it takes a while to get in the groove of conversation. Guess we're out of practice.

I took the boys to the park yesterday and we had a "picnic" (really just snacks). The sun was brilliant, and I sat on a bench and read while they played in the playground. It's a summer tradition for us to try out lots of different playgrounds in the city. This year will be no different, I expect, even though our oldest will be on the cusp of being too old for it all. He still seemed to enjoy himself yesterday with his brothers. We're very fortunate, really. Sibling rivalry can be an issue once in a while, but, on the whole, all three of our boys are very close.

Oldest son had a friend over for a sleepover (wakeover?) last night. They had a ball. We rented an Xbox (we will never own one), and the movie King Kong for them, and they camped out in the basement with their sleeping bags and pillows, snacks and drinks. They even allowed the other two boys to hang out with them until the little ones' bedtimes. Of course, there was no such thing as bedtime for the wakeover boys, who awakened me at 5 am with their laughter. Aaaaaah - to have that energy!

Dose of Reality

Isn't it amazing the ability children have to jolt you back to reality?

I was sitting at the computer this morning, visiting blogs and writing emails, when the boys began to awaken. Soon, it was a contest to see how many different reasons they could come up with to get me to get up from the computer to help them with something. Eventually, the older two, who are quite capable, were asking me to prepare their breakfast. (BTW, their dad was in the kitchen with them, reading the newspaper.)

Finally, I exclaimed, "What's up! Why can't you guys get your own breakfasts?"

The reply from my five-year-old was, "Well, I'm sorry you have to feed your kids, but..."

Ding-dong - Reality calling!

Brokeback Mountain

You would have to have lived under a rock over the past few months to be unaware of the subject matter of Brokeback Mountain. I just finished reading the novella by Annie Proulx, and it really is quite a beautiful story of forbidden love.

What I found completely uncanny, though, was how incredibly close to the details of the novella Ang Lee kept when he directed the award-winning movie. Right down to the dialogue. Probably the only deviation from the book that I noticed was that, when Ennis visits Jack's parents toward the end of the story, Jack's mother is described as heavy-set, and in the movie, she is rather petite.

It probably took me about the same time to read the novella as it did to watch the movie, too.

Not sure if I would recommend the book or not. I loved Annie Proulx's The Shipping News. I can't really say that I loved this story, but I think it is an important one to experience. Whether you decide to read the book or see the movie doesn't really matter because they are so similar.

Glossophobia

I heard somewhere that more people fear speaking in public than fear death. I can believe it.

Today is the oratorical assembly at school. I bet there are some students who didn't sleep very well last night.

At least we ease them into it a bit at a time. Kindergarten to Grade 2 students perform a choral speaking poem; there's safety in numbers. In the Grade 3, 4, and 5 classrooms, there is a class "poem-off". Then two students from each class are chosen to recite their poems at the school-wide assembly today. Then, in the Grade 6, 7, and 8 classrooms, the students write their own speeches, practice (and practice and practice) them, and perform them in front of their classmates. Again, two students from each class are chosen to go on to today's big assembly.

I teach a split Grade 5/6 classroom, so I found this year's "play-offs" to be quite interesting. This is the third year that the Grade 5 students have been preparing and reciting poems. They knew what they were doing and what was expected of them, and this improved their confidence.

The Grade 6's, on the other hand, were writing a speech for the first time. They still did really well, but it was interesting to see their hesitation as they worked their way through this new experience.

It was a neat twist to see the Grade 5's dive in to something with an air of confidence, while the Grade 6's slowly took their time getting used to the water.

By the way, after you read this, will you please take a second to send some good vibes to all the students getting up to speak in front of their whole school today? I'm sure there will be some knocking knees and perspiry palms.

Wiki-fun-ia

This came from midlife mama . Thanks for the great idea.

Go to Wikipedia. Look up your birthday (excluding the year). List three interesting events, three births, and three deaths, including the years they happened.

Here are mine:

Events: 1537 - The first complete English-language Bible (the Matthew Bible) is printed, with translations by William Tyndale and Miles Coverdale.

1957 - Launch of Sputnik I, the first artificial satellite to orbit Earth,
and first Avro Arrow rolled out of main plant.

1983 - Hooters restaurant first opened in Clearwater, Florida, United States.

Births: 1626 - Richard Cromwell, Lord Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland (d. 1712)

1946 - Susan Sarandon, American actress

1976 - Alicia Silverstone, American actress

Deaths: 1226 - Saint Francis of Assisi (b. 1181)

1970 - Janis Joplin, American singer (b. 1943)

1989 - Secretariat, American race horse (b. 1970)

On another note, I heard a funny thing on David Letterman last night. Ray Romano was telling about when he met his wife. He said one of the things about her that caught his eye was that she was a pretty girl with glasses. He says that pretty girls with glasses are the best kind of pretty girls because when they take off their glasses, not only do they get more attractive, but so do the men they're with. (Ha! Love it.)

the birth house

I read the birth house by Ami McKay last week. It is the story of Dora Rare, a seventeen-year-old girl who becomes apprentice to a midwife in Scots Bay, Nova Scotia, during World War I.

the birth house is a story of women: excited, anxious women who are apprehensive about giving birth, purposeful women who long to have babies, and despairing women who are carrying babies they don't want. Dora and her mentor, Miss Babineau, help any woman who seeks their aid, and they are literal lifesavers in their tiny remote community.

The book explores the evolution of the attitude toward the birth process. The doctor in charge of the new maternity hospital located down the mountain brags of technological advances allowing women to peacefully sleep through the birth and awaken with a healthy pink baby in her arms. Surprisingly, it is the men of Scots Bay who seem convinced that this is the ideal, and Dora and Miss Babineau encounter difficulties continuing to help the women of the community, many of whom still want their assistance despite their husbands' interference.

I found parallels between this book and the media-pervasive "TomKat" birth situation. Would he let her have an epidural? Would she be able to make noise if she felt compelled? As the birth house asked, "Just who is in charge here, anyhow?!"

I recommend the birth house, especially if you are interested in historical fiction. It is a peaceful, life-affirming book that gently persuades women to take charge of themselves and their lives.

Back in the Land of the Living

Took a few days off - a few days away.

Took the boys to grandpa's farm for a spring getaway. They had a blast. I had a rest. Hubby Dearest had a little time to himself. Everyone's happy.

The boys spent a lot of their time "renovating" my old playhouse. You could hardly call it a playhouse even when I was their age. It was actually the old porch from a deserted farmhouse on some land my dad bought. I don't know why my dad had it hauled onto our farm, but he did, and I inherited it as a playhouse. The boys used old lumber from a nearby delapidated granary and remodelled it. They even painted a sign above the door - "Bed and Breakfast". What fun!

I had some much needed time to vegetate. Man, I was in complete Brussels sprout mode! I watched daytime TV (and they only get three channels there), I did crossword puzzles, and I took advantage of the opportunity to relive my childhood among the springy new-ness of the farm, especially the baby calves. One thing I didn't do, surprisingly enough, was read. I finished two excellent books right before I left for the farm (watch for reviews soon), and didn't have enough time to get another page-turner before the trip, so I was stranded for four whole days.

Hubby had a few days to himself as he went through (what I'm told is) the intense withdrawal effects of quitting smoking. He specifically chose a time when the boys and I would not be around. Not sure if his intention was to spare us the agony of being around him during this time, or to spare himself the agony of being around us during this time ( and, yes, there is a definite difference). He went out with friends a few times when we were away, and he had the support of his own little blog community, so he has managed to cope reasonably well. I'm pretty proud of him. I wonder if he's as proud of me, coping with the withdrawal of not having anything decent to read for four days.

Anyway, the whole family seems to be a little more cohesive after our little time away. I guess absence really can make the heart grow fonder.

The Bottom of the Ocean

I feel really down today. No reason. Just 'cause.

When some people are sad, they can express it with such poetry, such cadence. Not so with me. There's no music, no rhythm, no lyricism when I'm sad. There's just a massive weight at the bottom of the ocean. With luck, I can move it soon.

I shouldn't be writing this. I'm known for being upbeat, the one to make others laugh, to help them see the funny side of things. What will people think?

Actually, no one will know, I'm sure. I'm not sure why I even thought people would be interested in reading a blog by me. It's been good for me, though. The discipline, the exercise of writing. Every week, I expect students to jump in and write something for me. It's been a real lesson for me to be on the other side of the process.

Well, I was determined to write every day, so I guess it can't always be interesting, can it?
Not with someone boring like me, anyway.

Hey, aren't there really high-paying jobs for people who are boring at the bottom of the ocean? I should check that out!

Perfection

The sky is that deep seamlessly perfect blue that only happens on a perfect spring day. Pussywillows purr in the neighbour's tree. Tiny spots of emerald show themselves on our front lawn.

Best of all, the harmonious cacophony of the laughter of boys sings through the open window, permeating our house with the sounds of spring.

As I stand at the sink, I see our youngest and his best friend up in the treehouse, methodically planning a play to which I will be treated in a few minutes. Complete with wigs and full costumes, the drama could involve aliens, superheroes, anything the five-year-old imagination could conjure. Yesterday, it was the story of a taxi-driver who saved the day when he refused to give a ride to a bank robber, allowing him to be caught by the policeman, who happened to be the taxi-driver's twin brother.

The front door opens to welcome the older two boys who've been cruising the neighbourhood on their bikes. This time, they enter with treats - munchies, chocolate milk, gum. They've been to the confectionery a few blocks away. They helped their dad clean up the backyard earlier in the day, and their well-earned greenery was burning a hole in their pockets.

I'm curled up on the couch now, with a good book, a steaming cup of tea, and the blinds open wide, letting the sunlight blanket me in its warmth. Although it's hard to see it at the time, sickness has a definite purpose in my life. If I weren't still "on the mend", I would never sit down to appreciate the perfection of the day.

A Good Good Friday

Today is truly a Good Friday for the McMynn family of Vancouver. Every good wish I have today I send them as they celebrate the release of their beloved son Graham from his eight day horror of captivity.

Isn't this situation every parent's worst nightmare?

And once a child starts college, I know that there are still many worries for a parent, but I assume abduction is not high on that list.

I can only imagine- and cringe at - the anguish that must have throbbed through the McMynn home.

And I love to imagine the jubilation that must have resounded upon the news of his safe rescue.

Hallelujah!

Sick or Treat

Well, today I was too sick to go to work - just in time for the Easter break. Lucky me.

I've encountered an interesting phenomenon with this bout of - I don't know - sickness. Whenever I start to feel slightly better after an illness and begin to regain my appetite, I always allow myself the indulgence of eating whatever I feel like for a little while. You know - comfort food time.

Well, this time, even though I'm giving myself that permission, all I feel like are things like yogurt, strawberries, celery (Yes, that says celery!), and light soup.

You see, I've been eating very healthily since Christmas and have managed to lose a bit of weight. I'm not even worried right now that I will gain it back because I've had no appetite lately, and I actually have ground to make up.

Here's an example. Yesterday, some wonderful parents from our school dropped off some treats for the staff. There was a wide variety of munchies, including some Heavenly (with a capital H) chocolate chip cookies. I was firmly in my comfort- I will allow myself to eat anything - stage, but I had no interest at all.

Was I sick or what?

Let's hope we're finished with that soon. I mean, the Big Bunny arrives in just a few days. I want to be able to enjoy my chocolate!

Another Day, Another Dollar

Still sick, but not sick enough to stay home from work. I came home yesterday afternoon to get a bit of rest, and left things in a mess, so it's more work to figure out what a substitute should do than to go myself and run the show.

No creativity here, so here we go with another quiz.....

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Black Comedy

In your life, things are so twisted that you just have to laugh. You may end up insane, but you'll have fun on the way to the asylum. Your best movie matches: Being John Malkovich, The Royal Tenenbaums, American Psycho

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?
http://www.blogthings.com/ifyourlifewasamoviewhatgenrewoulditbequiz/


I haven't even seen any of these movies. Maybe I should.....

Lazy Hazy Day

Who Should Paint You: Alfred Gockel

All American yet funky, you inspire an artist's imagination And while not everyone will understand your portrait, you will!

***Who Should Paint You: Alfred Gockel***


All American yet funky, you inspire an artist's imagination
And while not everyone will understand your portrait, you will!


What Artist Should Paint Your Portrait?
http://www.blogthings.com/whatartistshouldpaintyourportraitquiz/

Your Inner Child Is Sad

You're a very sensitive soul. You haven't grown that thick skin that most adults have. Easily hurt, you tend to retreat to your comfort zone. You don't let many people in - unless you've trusted them for a long time.

***Your Inner Child Is Sad***


You're a very sensitive soul.
You haven't grown that thick skin that most adults have.
Easily hurt, you tend to retreat to your comfort zone.
You don't let many people in - unless you've trusted them for a long time.


How Is Your Inner Child?
http://www.blogthings.com/howisyourinnerchildquiz/




And, since I am told I should go to Dublin............

Your Irish Name Is...

Orla O'Mahony

***Your Irish Name Is...***


Orla O'Mahony


What's your Irish Name?
http://www.blogthings.com/irishnamegenerator/



I'm feeling a little sick and very tired, and thought I would take the lazy blogger's way out this morning. If you try these out, let me know how you do.

A Long Way Down

I finished Nick Hornby's book A Long Way Down last night. I'm still wondering how I feel about it. I didn't find it particularly memorable, actually.

Four main characters share this book: Martin, a former morning talk show host whose career took a nose dive after he was imprisoned for sleeping with a fifteen-year-old girl; Maureen, a single mother coping with an extremely handicapped son; Jesse, a foul-mouthed teen who feels neglected since her older sister vanished and became the focus of her parents' lives; and JJ, a former rock musician who recently broke up with both his band and his girlfriend.

The four of them meet on the top of a high building on New Year's Eve, as each of them are getting ready to - you guessed it - jump.

They manage to talk each other out of it, and the remainder of the book is the story of how this unlikely band of people, with absolutely nothing in common except their shared experiences on that fateful New Year's Eve, form a bond and - in their own ways - support one another.

I found it difficult to relate to any of the characters, frankly, I suppose because all of them have values and attitudes so completely different from my own. More importantly, though, I could not fathom the characters actually relating to each other. They are so mean-spirited to one another one moment, then kind to one another the next. Sometimes the motivations behind their behaviours were vague.

I've read other works by Hornby and thoroughly enjoyed them. This one, not so much.

Sabre Sunday

Palm Sunday today. Seems like the longest service of the year.

This year, the children of the Sunday School joined the Senior Choir in a beautiful anthem. They even got an ovation - not a common occurrence with our congregation. The kids looked so angelic in their choir gowns - all three of our boys were in long black cassocks and white surplices. Of course, without their surplices, they were pretending to be Neo from The Matrix. Sometimes, I think these boys know just a little too much about movies - even ones they haven't seen.

The whole thing reminded me of a Palm Sunday years ago when the two older boys were about six and four. I had prepped them as well as I could beforehand, telling them that they would be receiving crosses made out of a piece of palm frond, and that these crosses would slightly resemble swords. Under no circumstances were they to use them to sword fight in church - no circumstances (repeat, repeat, repeat). You parents know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, sure enough, within ten minutes of receiving said crosses, I was removing them from the hands of D'Artagnan and Zorro, declaring through clenched teeth, "What did I say about sword fighting in church?"

"They aren't swords," was the reply. "They're light sabres."

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!!!!!

An Evening in the Life...

Enjoyable evening last night.

Got home from work to find that hubby dearest and the three stooges had planned supper out. Of course, "planned supper out" simply means that they had decided we would go out. No one had decided where to go yet, so I was able to observe the ensuing argument among the four of them, as they all made the assumption that "Mom would rather go to....." (plug in their own favourite restaurant)

Oddly enough, the argument was useful, as they finally (sort of) agreed, mostly because the chosen restaurant was Dad's favourite, and he's not only the biggest, he's the driver.

Had a to die for chicken taco salad, the two youngest fry had chicken fingers and fries and loved them (and the chicken actually resembled chicken!), and hubby and the oldest shared a pizza. Hubby declared it the best pizza he'd ever tasted. That's saying something!

Then, home just in time to call up a friend to go for a planned coffee date. Left the rest of the family to settle down to a dark house and the DVD of Forrest Gump (no popcorn - everyone too full from supper out), and out for a girls' night out.

Great convo! We came to the conclusion that we are married to the same man - at least when it comes to doing dishes. Why is it that when we wives go out for the evening, the husbands leave the dishes until we drive into the driveway? Is it because they are worried they won't receive the deserved recognition unless we observe them performing the task? Or is it that if they leave it long enough, we'll do it for them? Feel free to leave your own observations, girls, in the comment box!

Anyway, off to a busy day today. I'll be at the church from 8:30 to 1:00, then off to school for the dress rehearsal of our musical performance next week from 1:00 to 7:00. Hope hubby and the boys don't forget what I look like.

Oh - got to add this. I was thinking of Europe again last night. Funny thing is, Dublin is one European city I didn't get to visit. Guess I have to now....

You Belong in Dublin Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions.
You're the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl... or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.


What European City Do You Belong In?
http://www.blogthings.com/whateuropeancitydoyoubelonginquiz/

Hitting the Curb

Don't really feel much like writing today, but I'm trying to be disciplined about it.

It's Friday - I'm tired - busy week. Didn't sleep all that well last night. Kept waking to thoughts of "what I haven't done". You know - all those little things you meant to do over that last few days that escaped your mind. Generally, they escaped your mind because they weren't important, but at three in the morning, somehow they become monumental.

Recycle day today. Busy-ness and laziness have made me miss the last two or three, so had a real pile to deal with.

By the way, my husband (still trying to think of a catchy blogname to refer to him - one I can put in print, anyway), a professional writer, tells me that it is now acceptable to end sentences with a preposition. Not sure where he got that info, but I trust it. Well, maybe not enough to share with my fifth and sixth graders.

Anyway - back to recycling. Boy, is my mind going in a million directions! It probably took me over a half hour last night to sort through the stack we had managed to stockpile in the cellar. Luckily, most of the people (me!) who deal with the stuff remember to rinse. Otherwise, it would be pretty grody.

Don't you wish you could just sort all your cares, concerns, and complications, and cast them on the curb for someone else to concentrate on?

Those Who Can, Teach

Can someone know you better than you know yourself?

I spent a year in Europe when I was seventeen. It was an annus mirabilis. I grew up that year.

When I returned, my mother had enrolled me in the College of Education. I was livid. No way was I going to be a teacher - just a teacher.

What I really wanted to be was a psychologist. I was the kid in high school who helped everyone - male and female - with their problems. I saw that as my vocation.

Besides, what eighteen-year-old likes their mother making decisions for them?

Once I realized that my mother's scheme was inevitable, my plan was to take the first year of Education, then switch over to Arts for my second year. Thing is, there's a little thing called momentum.

By the time I finished first year, it seemed too much like work to switch over. Besides, after putting some research into it, I discovered that you don't get far in Psychology without your masters. I wasn't quite sure I was willing to invest seven years. I wanted to make money ASAP.

Alright, alright, Mother, I'll be a teacher - but I'm not going to like it!

In the fall of my fourth year, I became an intern teacher. I taught with a brilliant experienced teacher in a classroom of wonderful fourth graders. I was hooked! There wasn't a day I didn't come home with an interesting story to entertain whoever would listen.

No two days are ever the same when you work with children. This job never gets boring. In fact, I could use a little boring now and then.

I suppose my only complaint about the job has absolutely nothing to do with the kids; it's the homework. I remember a classmate of mine in college telling me that we were entering a profession in which we would have homework every night of our lives. I laughed it off - yeah, right! It's true though. I do take July off. But the homework starts up again in August, when I start preparing for the new school year.

Despite this, I am right where I was meant to be.

I still wonder, though - how did my mother know that, when I didn't?

More Mud Wrestling

My adventures earlier this week with mud wrestling, as Mentok so lasciviously put it, stirred a long buried memory from my mind.

It was my oldest brother's high school graduation. The whole household was buzzing with activity as my brother was shouting at my sister to hurry up, as they were heading into town - he to pick up flowers for his escort, she to get her hair done, as she was attending as an escort for one of my brother's friends. My mother, in addition to the usual womenly tasks necessary to prepare for a notable occasion, was putting together a huge batch of coleslaw. As the mother of an eleventh grader (my sister), she was acting as one of the caterers for the graduation banquet. My father was out on the farm, doing what farm fathers do.

No one was paying any attention to me.

In the vacuum of my three-year-old space, I decided to go for a walk. Besides, the vinegary-mustard smell of the coleslaw dressing cooking in the kitchen was making me feel sick. I headed to the pasture to play with my four-legged bovine friends.

The calves knew me well. I had played with them often. Always under my father's watchful eye, though. The mothers seemed to trust me; I was small and familiar and unthreatening.

We played quite well, until I decided to test my new rubber boots. How high could the water of the slough come up without running in, soaking my feet. Hasn't everyone played that game at least once?

The rubber boots worked well. No water touched my toes. Before long, however, I was firmly stuck.

I was stuck out in the middle of nowhere. No one knew where I was. And who knew how long it would be before they even realized I was gone? Mom thought I was with Dad. Dad thought I was with Mom.

And we had just bought the boots the day before. There was absolutely no way I could simply take them off and leave them so I could escape.

As you can imagine, it wasn't long before I was crying. I was helpless and hopeless. Who would rescue me?

Funnily enough, it was some unlikely heroes (or should I say heroines) who saved the day.

As I stood there stuck and crying, the cows began to approach me. I'm not sure if it was curiosity or concern at first (after all, they were mothers), but soon, their interest was far more basic. Tears equal salt; salt equals licking - for cows, anyway. Soon, I had a huge herd of them crowding around, trying to lick away my tears.

As frightening as that was, it was the event I needed, as my father soon became curious as to why the cattle were clumping up in such an unusual place. They had never shown much interest in the vast grassless space of the slough, and they were generally smart enough to stay out of the mud (!), where they could get stuck.

Upon approaching to investigate, my father discovered me and rescued me. I don't really remember if his reaction was one of anger or relief, but I suspect it was a bit of both.

My brother's graduation day turned out to be a fairly memorable one for all of us.

Coffee......Coffee........

You Are an Espresso

At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

Stuck in the Mud

I was on outdoor supervision yesterday at recess time. Basically, one day out of every six school days, we pull a shift wandering around the playground, making sure the kids don't do anything dangerous and being there when someone tattles on someone else.

My colleague and I (we work in teams of two) were commenting on how last time we were on supervision, about 10 days ago, the kids were tobogganing and building snow forts, while yesterday they were in rubber boots and shirtsleeves playing in puddles (despite repeatedly being told not to get wet). Anyway, spring has definitely sprung here.

One of the most interesting events of yesterday's "snoopervision" was that I had to physically remove a first grader from the mud. I was making the rounds, telling kids to get out of puddles, when this one little guy says to me, "I can't. I'm stuck!"

Sure enough, the little mucker was almost up to his knees in thick mud. As he tried to pull his feet out of the mud, the only progress he could make was to take his feet out of his firmly stuck boots.

Seeing as how I haven't been to the spa for a mud bath lately, I gladly (!) jumped in and helped the little guy tug his boots out of their holds. I have to say, though, that I made it so clear that he was never to go in the mud again, that I'm afraid he won't be too excited to come visit me in the school library anytime soon. Frankly, I think he might be a little terrified of me!

Spring Cold

I hate waking up with a cold.

It's spring outside - finally nice enough to spend some time out there, amongst the living, and I feel like curling up in bed with a cup of tea, a box of tissues (and I don't mean Barbie-sized!), and a good magazine. The way I feel, I wouldn't have the attention span for a book.

But, no, I'm up and at it the same time as always. Why? Well, I travel in a circle where you don't take time off for things like colds or headaches. I work with some very dedicated people. Also, though, I'm a teacher, and preparing for a substitute teacher is often more work than showing up and getting the job done yourself.

I'll just make sure not to touch anyone or breath on anyone, and to wash my hands a million times, and I'll take two oranges in my lunch, and I'll snack on chewable vitamin Cs.

Gee - just thought of something. Maybe God's getting me back for the fishnets! (Just kidding.)

Fishers of Men

I'm wearing fishnet stockings to church this morning.

Actually, they're not exclusively fishnet; a few lacey flowers bloom amongst the netting. Still, it's the most rebellious thing I've done on a Sunday since I told the minister that I thought one of his comments was rude (another story to be told at another time).

I teach the preschool Sunday School class. Think they'll notice?

My mother-in-law is coming for brunch after church. Think she'll notice?

Does this reveal something about me?

That I'm a perpetual conformist with an insurgent streak trying to get me to swim against the current.

Ahhhh - those fishnets.

The Crazy Man

Just finished reading The Crazy Man by Pamela Porter. Fabulous!

Set in a small Canadian prairie town in 1965, it is the story of 11 year old Emaline. Unlike many young adult novels, this is neither a series of madcap adventures, nor a display of interminable self-pitying retrospection. Although the events in Emaline's twelfth year are unusual and original, never does it dip into contrivance or pretention.

The story begins in an intensely depressing manner. Emaline is a passenger on her father's tractor when she suddenly jumps off to save her beloved dog, Prince, from running beneath the blades of the discer they are towing. Fortunately, Prince is saved. Unfortunately, Emaline lands in front of the blades, and sustains serious injury to her leg. Her father is overwhelmed with guilt, and, once Emaline is safely recovering in hospital, he promptly shoots Prince and walks off the farm, leaving Emaline and her mother to figure out how to seed their fields when neither of them knows how to drive a tractor.

Emaline's mother decides her only option is to hire a patient from the "mental hospital" outside of town to do the farmwork. Hence the titled "crazy man".

Please don't let the shocking beginning of this book prevent you from picking it up. The story is a beautiful one, a poetic one, magnified by the verse style in which it is written.

"With tears in your eyes
everything looks different.
Like a watercolor painting.
the trees look prettier. All that winterkill,
the dead branches that spring storms
nipped in the bud,
smear together with the green."

To be honest, I thought the verse style would annoy me, but it didn't at all. It enhanced the story immensely.

If you get the chance, please read Pamela Porter's The Crazy Man.

Barbie Tissues?

My kids are watching Saturday morning cartoons. I think they sometimes find the commercials more entertaining than the programs.

Did you know that they have Barbie-sized tissues that pop out of Barbie-sized tissue boxes?

Wonder if Barbie-sized nasal spray will be next....