Jena

My friend Jena died this morning. My dad called to tell me this afternoon. I am so sad for her parents. And I can't believe that she is gone. Jena has always been there, just a house away from home. Her family already lived there when we moved onto the street. I wasn't even three yet. So I don't remember much before Jena and I were friends. Our birthdays were 12 days apart, and we always celebrated those together. We went to school together and we played together for days on end, then "hung out" together once we outgrew playing, watching TV and videos, listening to Motley Crue and Guns N' Roses, and experimenting with makeup. I borrowed her clothes when we would go out dancing. The summer after we graduated from high school, we got old enough to sit on her porch in the summer drinking Diet Cherry Cokes and listening to Garth Brooks. She permed my hair when she was in cosmetology school, and teased me that I looked too much like a co-ed when I wore sweats at home for the entire Christmas break. And for years and years we talked. I would get in trouble in high school for talking on the phone with her for too long. Later, she was the nearby listening ear for long hours when my parents were getting divorced. And even though we ended up running in different crowds and taking different paths in life, we always visited when I went home. And even though I'll still visit her parents, I really will miss visiting her.

A Night with the Green Pen

I correct my students' work in green. When they correct their own work, they use red, but I use green so as to make the page look less like it's bleeding. I suppose that on some alien planet there is a teacher who uses red ink because her blood runs green. But at any rate, tonight I've been up correcting papers. A big stack of them. And I'm only half through it, and today at school I'm sure to get another stack. But I'm going to quit for tonight and get a couple hours of sleep before going back.

I love this time of year because many of the students tend to be at their best. It's splendid to look at the papers and see how much they have learned, and to see the new ways they're using the language creatively. My third and fourth years do a journal every week. They are so fun to read, especially when the topic allows them to really be creative. I also love this time of year because most of the first years are finally settling down a bit. There is a break through point where the language seems a little less foreign--it usually begins to hit some of the students after about a semester, although for some of them, it hits the next year. For one student, this is the fourth year of working with the language and it's finally opening up. I get this mental image of their heads just opening up and light streaming in and out.

I love teaching!

Glory, Glory!

My luck has held--longer than I had dared to hope.

Tomorrow we have yet another day of weather-related school closings. I do love a stolen day. Nothing gives me more pleasure than having a planned and structured day abolished with nothing to take its place. Now, of course, since I am also a world-class procrastinator, there is plenty of work to do here at home to get ready to go back to school on Wednesday, but I'm terribly happy nontheless, and I'm probably even more excited for a snow day than the kids are, in spite of the fact that some might frown on that. Frown away. I'm sleeping in tomorrow.

Goodbye, Johnny

I know that this blog is resembling paparazzi celebwatch recently, but Johnny Carson's passing has invoked some memories that beg to be written about. When I was growing up, Johnny Carson was an institution at my house. My dad is a night owl who loves a good joke (two traits he passed on to me), so as I hit high school, it wasn't uncommon to be called into the living room to watch the monologue or to see who Johnny had on the show. Dad would be laying on his stomach on the floor, with his chin on his fists while his elbows dug into a couple of pillows to prop him up, and with his knees bent so that his feet (always in dark socks) were up in the air. And he would chuckle at the jokes and explain who unfamiliar guests were and it was always a good chance to laugh together, especially since we tended to ruffle each other's feathers a good bit back then. So we would watch together for a while, then maybe I would head back downstairs to finish my homework, or if it was summer maybe I'd stay up and watch longer, but at any rate humor from Carson was a unifying force. And the guys on late night now are good, but no one can touch Johnny Carson. It's too bad to see someone like that slip from the world, even if he had been out of the public eye for a while.

Winter bulbs

It has happened! My amaryllis plant is beginning to bloom. It's amazing how you can watch the thing grow for a month, then one day, it looks like it might bloom, and the next, there is a fantastic flower in full glory. The bulb I planted boasts petals that varigate from white centers to reddish pink tips and it's gorgeous. Today is a day when I could really use a digital camera to show it to everyone. I took pictures with my film camera instead, and in about six months when I finish this roll, I may remember to post pictures. I really don't hate film. In fact, for some reason I feel that negatives are one of the miracles of the modern world. It's just that there will always be days like today when my postmodern insistance on immediacy is forced to take a back seat to a system that really works perfectly well. So for today, my flowers will be a joy for me alone.

On a related yet completely different tangent, I wonder why so many bulb flowers come from the Netherlands? One would think that bulb flowers would be more widely dispersed. Or were the Dutch somehow the only ones to culture them to the forms we so admire? Somethng to look into on a day when I'm not writing semester exams. But thank heavens in the mean time. It doesn't feel so wintery in here with such an springish beauty sharing my house.

note: Since posting this, I have learned that calla lillies are from Africa, and amaryllis comes from South America. Phew. Just because my bulbs were cultivated in Holland... but this makes much more sense!

Does she need glasses?

Sure, she's pretty, but has anyone else noticed how much Melania likes to squint (glare) at the camera? EVERY PICTURE. She looks pouty and unhappy. I wonder if she'll start smiling now that she's actually married to the money--or if it will just get worse as she waits for The Donald to drop dead...

Words from The Edge

Last night I had a dream that involved attending a U2 concert in an ampitheater. So in my dream, The Edge catches up with me. He is under the mistaken impression that I was stalking Adam Clayton. In reality, if I were a celebrity stalker, Adam Clayton is the last of the band that I would stalk. In my dream, I wisely kept from The Edge the fact that he would actually be the first on my list. So I didn't scare him off, and he started talking, and spouting words of wisdom that I wanted to keep, so I wrote them down on the dirt on the hill inside the ampitheater, while some kind of hunt and capture war went on in the background. Just as I was finishing, security chased the last few of us out of the ampitheater, but once back at wherever home was (some kind of tunnel world), I realized that I had to have those words, so I set off to break into the ampitheater, riding a high wave and dodging police helicopters as I went. Of course, security caught me as I got there, and I was just beginning to make progress in persuading them to let me go look for the words when the dream ended. It feels a bit like the Hitchhiker's Guide--somewhere in my cerebral landscape, the answer is written in the dirt, but I don't know that I'll pass that way again.

Madness

Last night one of my students came upon a mugging. Thankfully, there was a group of people between him and the girls who were getting mugged (by two guys at gunpoint/knifepoint). He had stayed late at school for a basketball game. He left here at 10:00 and didn't get home until after midnight. He says that the muggers had demanded the girls' purses, one handed it over, the other said no, and the mugger with the pistol put it right up against her forehead, so she handed it over. One of the girls was also deprived of her expensive shoes. I know that this student is almost an adult, but I still am so outraged that someone would cause so much fear anywhere near him. He is a great guy with a big heart and he deserves a much better world than this one.

Back in the Saddle Again

Today my third years were correcting dialogues they had written over Christmas break, and I was poking my nose in and helping out here and there--I was pointing something out on a dialogue, when my spunkiest student protested, "To err is human!"
"But to speak Italian is divine." My response was immediate. It took them just a second to realize how quickly and perfectly the comeback had arrived.

I rock.

Christmas Break, Day 16

If I could reach out with my mind and snap one thing in half, it would be the car horn of the person who comes to my apartment complex and honks and honks for someone to come out. I don't know who the honker or the honkee (not to be confused with honky) are, but I hate that horn. It comes at normal times, like now, a Sunday evening, but it also comes on holidays (like Christmas) and at times that should be peaceful, like early Saturday morning. It's an every-other-day occurrence at least, and the horn does not stop until the person comes out. A simple solution for this would be cell phones. The honker politely calls the honkee on the phone as he/she is approaching, and the honkee answers and says "I'll be right down" or "I'll be down in five minutes" or whatever, and if the honkee takes too long to come out, the honker can make a slightly irritated call to the honkee, but the peace is kept for the rest of the apartment complex, which would have no idea of what is going on, and could go on sleeping in on a Saturday morning.

School is back in session tomorrow and I still have lesson plans for the week to write. I hope I don't have to write any tests this week. I would just like a normal week of teaching to ease back into things. I've been reviewing in my mind what I thought I would accomplish over Christmas break and comparing it to the reality of what I've done:

1. Goal: Make chocolates. Result: Not done. Centers are ready for dipping, but we'll see when that happens.

2. Goal: Make caramels. Result: One batch, thought I would do more, but haven't. Still need to cut and wrap the one batch.

3. Goal: Clean house. Result: Sort of done. Christmas isn't put away yet, but I figure I can use Epiphany as an excuse--if I take stuff down by next weekend, I can just say I was celebrating that.

4. Goal: Lots of R&R. Result: Sort of done. I spent way too much time chasing around and shopping. Must shop less in the new year. This will involve learning to plan and make a list so I can make fewer trips to the store.

5. Goal: Go see The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou and Ocean's Twelve. Result: complete.

6. Goal: Finish preparing for the PRAXIS test and make an appointment to take it. Result: not even touched. Must go ahead with the appointment making this week in spite of feeling unprepared for math section.

So here is what I did instead of finishing all of these goals:

1. Chasing around shopping. See above.

2. Rearranging bedroom to make room for exercise bike.

3. Lots of talking on the phone. I hope Amilynne's bill isn't sky high this month.

4. Other things as explained in other blog entries.

Well, I must make some lesson plans or pay the consequence tomorrow.

Christmas Break, Days 14 & 15

So with this I reach across two years...

I regret to say that I spent my last moments of 2004 at a dance. It was horrible and boring, and I even spent some time hiding in the bathroom just because being outside of the bathroom was such a boring prospect. I am swearing off church dances forever. They play stupid music, trying to play a bit of everything thereby screwing up any prospect of playing any danceable music, and I really don't remember the last time I met a new person at a dance because people come in with a crowd and stay with that crowd until they leave. The night would have been salvageable had I been invisible. I admit that the people watching at such a place is fascinating. There was one group I could have watched all night--beautiful people, the women in beautiful dresses and insanely capable in spike-heeled shoes, salsa dancing and having so much fun. (Yes, the dj had enough sense to play a salsa music segment, which was fun and very danceable.) Unfortunately people tend to notice if someone they know is sitting and watching the dancing for too long, and they come over with pity, slightly annoyed, to try to pull the watcher back onto the dance floor. So I hid in the bathroom to ease their discomfort and mine.

Let it not be feared that the trip was a total loss. The reason I actually went was to hang out with the girls in the car on the way there and the way back. Had a blast on the way there. Less so on the way back--I think people were pissed at me for being bored at the dance and didn't have much to say to me. Which is nutty because I went there knowing the dance itself would suck, I just wanted the journey. So I fell asleep for the first half of the trip back, then woke up and tried to trace my way back into the conversation. Who knows.

So anyway it's the new year. I spent the day in bed with a book, Eragon, quite engrossing and had I been wise I would have just stayed in bed with the book last night too.

A vile little nudging is worming its way back into my consciousness: I have to go back to school Monday. There is much yet to do to prepare, as I have done nothing toward that end in the past two weeks. Tomorrow will be a busy day.