>things to do when the big frost is on the way

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>– harvest the last of the broccoli, including the leaves, for the rabbits
— take one last picture of the flowers on the deck
— put on a sweatshirt and resisting turning on the heat
— pull up a few bean vines for the rabbit hutch — what a treat!
— harvest the last zucchini, even though it’s really too small
— bring in a batch of tomatoes to ripen indoors
— offer the rabbits one last helping of fresh cabbage
— pick the last bit of parsley and stray carrot greens for a bunny treat
— wonder if rabbits binge eat like humans do
— wave goodbye to the late-growing hollyhocks
— pick some late rhubarb for one last batch of muffins
— think about packing away the shorts and capris
— think about getting out the warm sweaters and sweatshirts
— stir the compost pile
— inhale deeply the scent of the smoke from the neighbor’s woodstove
— bring in a few logs for the fireplace
— think about cleaning the fireplace: nah, maybe tomorrow
— marvel at the early darkness
— drink cinnamon tea from my Pillsbury Doughboy mugs and feel warm and cozy

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>Tricky, mom, tricky

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>I “hid” vegetables in the sloppy joe mix last night. Tee-hee; hohoho; BWAHAHAHAHA!!!
To you family members who ate it and didn’t even notice: so there! It tasted good. You even had seconds.
And you of the nutrition police: does this excuse the Fritos I ate while I was cooking?

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>Late, late, late

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>I have a pet peeve. No, it’s not a cute and furry little pet peeve. It’s something that irritates the heck out me and irritates Amigo (a.k.a. El Grande), too. We (he) had an appointment yesterday. The doc’s office is out of town, about a forty minute drive. I left work and raced (as much as anyone can race through three school zones) over to Amigo’s school to pick him up. We hit the highway immediately, and got to the doc’s office at 3:55 for a 4:00 appointment.

I understand that offices of any kind can run behind as the day goes on.
I understand that any type of medical office can experience emergencies that interfere with timeliness.
I understand that things come up. Sometimes. Now and then.

40 minutes late. He saw us 40 minutes late. We had our 15 minute appointment, scheduled our follow-up, and were out the door.
40 minute drive, 40 minute wait, 15 minute appointment. Hold on — that was more like a 12 minute appointment and 3 minutes to schedule for next time. And we arrived five minutes early. Any way you push the buttons, the math doesn’t work.
Go back to the understanding mama of two paragraphs earlier. Where were we? Oh, yes. I understand that things come up. Sometimes. Now and then. But every time?! Every stinking time we come in? Does this clinic EVER run on time? This is typical, folks, typical. Never, ever has this doctor seen us on time or even close to it.
I plan to wait until I’m calm — or maybe I shouldn’t! — and write the clinic. This is so…so unprofessional. So inconsiderate. So doggone rude! He has more education than I do, charges more per hour, holds more titles than I do, but does that mean my time is worth so little? I’ll answer that myself.
No. My time is worthwhile. My child’s time is worthwhile. It’s time to shop around for another doctor who will respect our time as well as our medical needs. Darn, I wish it were easier.

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>Inside the Blogger’s Studio

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>I’ve been tagged by Mom-nos for a new set of questions. These originated on the Bravo show “Inside the actors’ studio” with James Lipton. At the end of each in-depth interview, the host always asks these ten questions. Ordinary people like bloggers often have interesting answers, too. Here are mine.

What is your favorite word?
Touchdown! (Okay, can you tell I answered these on a Sunday afternoon?)

What is your least favorite word?
Should. Shoulds are bogus.

What turns you on (creatively, spiritually, emotionally)?
Reading. Gardening. Learning new ideas.

What turns you off (creatively, spiritually, emotionally)?
Narrow minds, closed minds.

What is your favorite curse word?
Drat. I don’t swear (okay, I RARELY swear), so I’ve found alternatives.

What sound or noise do you love?
Simple sounds: silence, the wind blowing through trees, rain falling

What sound or noise do you hate?
Whispers: Even with my hearing aids, I can’t understand whispers.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Writer or Poet

What profession would you not like to do?
Hold political office. I could work for a candidate or office-holder, but my skin is too thin to ever campaign.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you enter the pearly gates?
Whatever She says, I’d just like to be able to hear it without straining or asking her to repeat herself.

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>The re-naming of the son

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>El Grande is taller than I am. He has been for at least three years now, and he keeps getting taller. However, he seems to be earning a new nickname. He’s still tall, and will continue to be tall, but he seems to be attracting furry friends, including our own rabbits and the dogs next door. Today he formally introduced one dog to Grandma. “Shelby, this is my grandma. Grandma, this is Shelby.” The dog seemed to acknowledge the introduction while stretched out on the driveway enjoying being petted. We’d have a cat if it weren’t for my allergies, too. My brother has been cat-sitting long term for a relative that couldn’t bring her cat into a new apartment. The cat dislikes everyone — except my family. The Evil Feline actually likes my Husband, La Petite, and El Grande. We could take it in — but it would make me wheeze, so we won’t.
So anyway, El Grande needs a new name. From this day on, the tall one will be known as El Amigo de los Animales, or Amigo for short. Unless, of course he reads the blog and tells me that he likes being El Grande better. (Um, gee, kiddo, if you’re reading Mom’s blog, tell me what you think!)

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>Taking a break from reading instruction and contemplating environmental science

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>Or: I’m taking a well-deserved break from correcting Comm. Arts papers, and thinking about my compost bin. The first load of laundry is in the dryer, the third in the washer, and I’ve finished one stack of time-consuming but valuable paper-correcting. I’m taking a coffee & blog break to clear my mind.
We had one frost warning already this week. Soon we’ll get a killer: a killing frost that’ll mean the end of my vegetable garden. We’ll let the bunnies roam freely in the garden and finish off anything they consider edible, and then we’ll leave the garden gate open for the Wild Ones who roam the neighborhood. They can browse and take shelter there when the blizzards hit.
Serious cold weather also means the end of active composting. The black bin absorbs enough heat to keep the process going in cool weather, but not when the snows fall and the thermometer sinks below the freezing mark. This month I’ll add the last scraps to the compost bin, followed by a final layer of fallen leaves if they fit. Then I won’t see it until springtime. Sniff. Sigh.
The environmentalist in me feels more than a little twinge of guilt the first time I throw a coffee filter full of wet grounds into the garbage. I know it’ll decompose quickly in the compost, but there are limits to time and endurance when I know that it’s too cold for the process to work well. By December, I’ll be resigned to the idea and no longer feel guilty. I’ll simply look forward to spring.
For non-composters, here’s an example of how pretty compost can be. The top photo is the “before” picture, complete with leftover carrots (too soft for bunny food), rhubarb leaves, and watermelon rinds.

Isn’t this pretty? Even garbage can be aesthetically pleasing if you know what to look for.
And below is the “after” shot. There are still a few wood chips from the rabbit litter that didn’t decompose completely, but the rest of the former waste has turned into a lovely deep brown that will be added to the garden soil next spring.
The cute pink shovel was La Petite’s when she was a little girl. Cute but sturdy, it still comes in handy for mixing and turning the compostables.

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>The cold is going away. Thanks to a week of taking herbal remedies and not-so-natural remedies, I’m breathing almost freely now and I slept drug-free last night. Woo-hoo! I’m still exhausted.

The biggest disadvantage to spending a school week feeling under the weather is that I fall behind. My schoolbag is heavy, heavier, and heaviest tonight. Add to that the work I didn’t get done while dealing with the trauma of a popular student moving away today (tears all around for the entire afternoon) and I don’t even want to think about what’s waiting on my desk for me Monday morning.

My to-do list will get done, though. A typical Saturday in the life of this teacher looks like this:
Wake up. Start coffeepot. (Notice how those two go together?)
Skim newspaper.
Sort laundry.
Start first load of laundry.
While first load washes, correct response papers from reading class.
Move wet, clean laundry to the dryer. Start new load in washer.
Correct comprehension test papers from reading class.
Fold clean, dry load. Rotate next load into dryer and add another to washer.
Score writing assessment papers.
Take periodic breaks from scoring to rotate more laundry through its cycles.
Analyze writing assessment scores.

Did anyone notice what’s missing? This type of day is a work-at-home-in-pajamas day. I often stay in my “loungewear” until the laundry is done and I’ve let the water heater fill up again. Then, and only then, I shower and get dressed and feel presentable enough to go out in public. Some weekends I amaze even myself at how much I can accomplish in my pajamas! Hmmm…if I need to change careers, I should find one that lets me work at home in my pjs.

But in the meantime: next weekend, math!

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>Tribute

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>Tonight after school we gathered to remember a friend. “We” means teachers, other staff, parents, and students who wished to honor the memory of Mrs. S., a kindergarten teacher who died suddenly last spring. We planted a tree outside her former classroom and put in a garden along the playground that we now call “Mrs. S.’s Kinder-Garden”. But the best way for me to honor her memory is to reach into my heart and tell you about her.

The kids called her Mrs. S. I called her C.
C. was teaching in her dream job. I remember when she got the job: full day kindergarten, a fabulous school, not far from home. How she beamed! She kept saying, “It’s exactly what I wanted!” And it was a perfect fit for her. She had large classes — too large, really, for kindergarten — but she handled them with ease, the experience of years and the knowledge and understanding of the children’s ages. We teased her that she looked like a mother duck with a looong line of ducklings behind her when she walked them down the halls.
Students, parents, and teachers adored her. She called me one night and asked, “What’s this ‘Terrific Teachers’ thing on TV? Why are they coming to see me?” Well, C., it’s like this. You ARE a terrific teacher, and parents from your class want to be sure that you know it.
I still have trouble putting her in past tense. Yes, she was a terrific teacher, and a terrific person as well. When my father died, she was one of the first to hug me. She didn’t say a word until she knew I was ready. C. could always make the lunchroom feel light-hearted, even on a tough day. She was the reason I came to the lounge to eat lunch instead of working through lunch eating at my desk.
I dressed in Green Bay Packer garb today because C. wouldn’t miss a chance to wear her green and gold. Through thick and thin she backed the Pack. We commiserated when they lost and celebrated together when they won.
C. was one of the most understanding and caring people I’ve ever known. She knew when (and how!) to cheer someone up, and when to let them vent their troubles.
Her death came suddenly. She was on a field trip with her students on a Monday morning and went home that afternoon not feeling well. By Wednesday she had been hospitalized, and on Friday morning we were told that she was not expected to live. Still giving even in death, she donated her organs for transplant.
I miss her every time I walk into the school building. There’s a hole where her smile and laughter used to be. But she’d be upset with me for being sad; she’d want me to go on and enjoy teaching, enjoy the Packer games, enjoy her tree, enjoy the garden, and enjoy life.
It’s fitting that she will be remembered through a flower garden and a tree. Like her influence, these will live on. Like her, they’ll make me smile. And they’ll remind me how precious life is.

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>Where’s Waldo? Does he serve cappuccino, too?

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Where’s Waldo? Well, if you can’t find him now, just fill the mug with hot liquid (preferably Folgers) and all of the faux Waldos’ shirts will fade away. This mug has been in my collection for a long time — at least 13 years. I ordered it free with a few labels from cans of Spaghetti-os and a miniscule shipping and handling fee. It has served up tea, hot cocoa, and of course, coffee. I’ve had a lot of fun with this mug over the years, including watching people stare at it in the teachers’ lounge. It was worth the shipping and the stamp. And yes, we still eat an occasional can of funny-shaped pasta.

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