Grieving Gardener

It’s hard for me to accept that 35 years ago today I again met VST on a warm summer evening in the Central Valley of California. Not intentionally. Just a random dinner meet-up at our 14th and 15th High School Reunion. Two very wounded people who happened to be good friends in choir sat and sparred over dinner. Who could have predicted the love story that would follow?

I hadn’t wanted to attend the shindig. After all, at that time, I owned and operated a one person house keeping business. As a single mother of two very active and sweet little boys, my dance card was full with school assignments and clients. On the side, I cared for our own little hovel in the barrios of Fresno on a street where the police used my front yard to lob tear gas at the apartments across the street.

On the good side of town, VST had just finished building his own bachelor pad across the street from a school chum we had in common. Peter Ambrose. What a character he was! Smooth as aged cognac, and about the same color, Peter worked the ladies. He had a different date every night of the week, with a steady chain of women in his stable. Peter was never at a loss for companionship. He was a “wealthy cattle baron”, or so he pretended in his mind.

Fast cars and fast women. That was Porsche Peter.

Peter and his family didn’t own a herd of pedigree angus on a huge California ranch. They simply found cheap cattle and fed them out. Dairy calves or cast offs from other herds, the cattle down the street never came to the Ambrose farm in the best of health. To the family’s credit, they healed and fattened their cattle, later sending them to market. They did alright, that crew. Living in a simple farm house in the middle of 20 acres, everyone knew the Portuguese family.

On the evening of reunion, I sat in clothes only hours mine. Hitting Macy’s at 3:00 pm, I put together a cute look of a straight denim skirt, long-sleeved cream cotton blouse, and a red bandana scarf. On my feet, I wore my very first pair of bright red heels. Never had I worn red shoes, but I did that night. It symbolized the anger I felt towards myself for wrecklessly spending $25 hard earned dollars on a party I didn’t even want to attend. At that time, I would collect Coca Cola bottles for the $.05 refund, often being the grocery money I needed to feed my family.

VST, on the other hand, was seeing someone. She had begged and pleaded to be his date to the reunion. As VST would later tell the story, he had one thought in mind.

“Why take sand to the beach?”

VST was learning about the hardcore bachelor life of his bestie, Peter. Thank goodness the high school bass singer I liked so much in high school was still there. He would never get down the bachelor moves because he was stopped in his tracks. He proposed 11 days after the dance. Of course I said “Yes”, never looking back.

So many wonderful things came from that night under the stars. A night that seemed to have crashed and burned before it began. Two people, closed off and angry at the world found each other and a new life. Best friends bloomed into lovers. Two beautiful people found that love was possible again after the pain and sadness of divorce. We lived. We really lived.

$25.00.

A mountain of money to both of us on that night.

$25.00

The best money we ever spent.

On the first anniversary of VST’s death, I chose happiness on that entire day. Setting down the Kleenex box, I put on the very shirt he wore the night we met and danced around the house. I fixed a special chicken dinner, remembering our awkward and angry dinner conversation. Closing my eyes, I remembered his arms around me during our first very slow dance. Every possible memory came back to me that day bringing comfort through a few tears.

VST, I know you’re up there smiling. I hear your slow, deep southern drawl calling me “Darlin'”. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t mourn your absence deep in my heart. That night was one that plays like a current movie in my head whenever I need to remember. We were something together, Dr. H. A force to be reckoned with. Two team mates. Business partners. A married version of “Thelma and Louise”. A couple full of dreams. A connection so deep, even death hasn’t taken you away. It never could.

Life has slowed to rest a moment at the corner of Happy and Content. Each day, I choose happiness in honor of the life we shared. You showed me how to be a great “other half”. You were the “One In A Million Guy” that fell for the prettiest Skoegard girl with the bluest eyes.

Happy Anniversary, VST. As always, I send you my love. Everything is good here on the mortal side. I hope you dance today. Save the last dance for me when I get there. Mrs. H

More tomorrow.

I need a serious vacation. I’ll be back on Monday with some good stories about picnics, ponies, and parades.

Whatever you do, wherever you go, bask in some Aloha spirit!

Mahalo for understanding. Every girl needs a good rest sometime.

More on Monday.

Oy. Vey. What a tale I have to tell.

Yesterday was another blistering day in the desert. The morning temperatures were not that bad. It does seem the AC keeps up until it doesn’t.

Then. It doesn’t.

By the time recess came, I was ready to go stand in the shade with the very dry 102 degree breezes to blow away trickling sweat. Of course, vanity would never let me wear a sleeveless dress without a sweater. Those of you that understand do. Bat wings are more appropriate for bats than ladies.

Yesterday was an active recess duty. The tetherball rope suspended the ball above the reach of the littles. Thankfully our newest teacher, who is only 18 year old, was nimble enough to release it. (She is already one heck of a teacher.)

There were the random cases of bumps and the blues. Racing littles. Hot littles. All very tiny and extremely active. It takes five adults to watch 100+ 1st graders. Even then, we had a boy breach the girl’s bathroom. The bathroom is the only respite from the heat and a great place to play when you are 5 or 6. The echoes are amazing when screaming during true play. And then, there is always the water which is cool and inviting.

Yes.

Yesterday was quite the busy afternoon on the playground.

As a grade level, we made the executive decision to decrease recess minutes from 30 to 20. Being so hot, it made sense to shorten time in the sun for everyone. At 1:35 on the dot, the first whistle blows and everyone freezes. When the second whistle blows, everyone trots off to their designated spots for pick up.

My class lines up in number order. By now, they know their numbers and count off as we enter the room. It’s important during events like fire drills, when stress levels are high. The lunch ladies love it, because the numbers place the children in alphabetical order. It makes everything easier. Number order is a wonderful thing.

Well, I was listening to the hot and tired children count off.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

7.

S.T.O.P. RIGHT. THERE.

There must be some kind of mistake. Hot? Yes. But we are missing 6.

Try it again.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

7.

Immediately I counted heads.

20 total. One absent. I needed a head count of 19, but only 18 were present.

18 little heads.

One missing!!!!!!!

Scanning the playground, my heart sank. I was on duty. #6 had escaped. The playground was empty. 100% empty. My students and I needed to get out of the heat.

Being in charge of 18 littles is not a post I could abandon. I closed the door, while one remained lost at sea.

Immediately, I bolted across the room to the intercom.

“Yes, Mrs. Hurt.”

“We have a missing child. Girl in pink. Did not return from recess. Please help.”

The other littles were oblivious. This was snack time with a touch of soft music. The overhead lights would be off for 10 minutes, making things feel a little cooler, if only in our imagination. I couldn’t believe there was an empty seat. One little empty seat. My heart was racing.

Continuing to check the playground through the window, the view remained the same. Empty. Gravel filled. Hot as anything. Still swings. Vacant basketball court. No one at the covered tables. My little had vanished.

Morning headlines were racing through my head.

“Mrs. Hurt Loses Her Little”

“One Little on the Run. Last Seen Playing Hopscotch.”

Just then, a heavy knock shock the playground door.

Upon opening it, I found a very tired Vice Principal and one tiny little holding a stolen flower. From where this flower was picked, I haven’t a clue, but it was already wilted. The lost was found.

Where did she go?

A friend can be a friend sometime. Sometimes, it’s straight up “Thelma and Louise”.

Two little girls decided to purposely hide and then go hunt for flowers. School and learning just wasn’t what they had in mind for the afternoon. Flower picking was a better idea.

Thank goodness all ended well. I counted heads frequently until 3:05. Thoughts of a fall fieldtrip to the pumpkin patch are on hold for now. Thankfully, my little Houdini was lost in a locked playground. The pumpkin patch would be another story entirely. We’ll try for a fieldtrip to the Christmas Tree farm. That will give everyone a couple more months to grow.

Whatever you do today, please keep eyes on loved ones. Hold hands crossing busy streets. Don’t lose anyone you love.

Yes. It’s a fact. I’m falling for my littles. But, after all is said and done, they really had me at “Hello”.

More tomorrow.

Hard to believe it’s Wednesday and August 31st. Good riddance to my least favorite month other than January. August is hell in the desert. At least in January, I can add layers of clothes. Heck in January, there’s always the chance of a random snow day.

Big plans are brewing for our Nevada Day Celebration as well as Veteran’s Day. I need to volunteer for some committees, but right now, I’m dancing as fast as I can just staying graded and prepared for the next day.

Nevada Day was officially celebrated on October 31st for years until the date was changed to the last Friday of October. Not every state has their own day, but we do. It’s a big celebration with parades and parties. Our school will be celebrating Halloween AND Nevada Day on the same day. That’ll be a no brainer for my littles. It’s Halloween. To heck with anything else.

In my neighborhood, there isn’t much action on Halloween. I guess that’s because I leave my lights off and hunker down in my bedroom. It isn’t much fun to wait for kids that don’t come because of the secluded nature of the neighborhood. Night in the desert is extremely dark. Our neighborhood is short on street lights. Thank goodness.

School has been hopping and it’s something to behold. Children treating property and adults badly. Never have I ever. So far, all onboard my ship are doing fine. There’s no time for disrespect, as I’m keeping them fully occupied while EARNING their respect. They are earning my respect, as well. But, other situations have arisen outside our classroom that are disheartening. And yes, some of mine were guilty.

People, even the little ones, are full of rage these days. Tied up inside and ready to explode. Littles lash out. Cry. Scream. They show signs of anxiety and fear. The world we live in is taking a toll. For that sadness, my heart hurts. They are littles and should be able to enjoy being just that. Little.

For this year, I’m in charge of teaching my littles to imagine. Today, we are going to take the afternoon and write an imaginary story about taking a trip to Disneyland. Half of my students have not been. Today, I’m going to front load them with images of Disneyland and maybe a couple videos. Then, we are going to write our story together. They will illustrate. Each student will add a part. It should turn out really cute. One for the wall on large colorful chart paper.

It’s time to change up my bulletin board outside my door to a fall theme. So many to choose from, Amazon will help me out. I just want this year to be full. Full of everything I’ve loved over the years. Mostly, full of children that learn so much it fills them up and spills out their ears. I hope I can get them to LOVE school. So far, they’re learning they can’t just race around like feral kittens. This is taking a toll on our learning minutes, but if not now, when?

Yesterday, after an extremely tough time with one little, we were together at the bus. There are some children’s names that wake a teacher up with a start during the night. After saying said name 56 times in a two hour period, a teacher gets a bit affected. Anyway, she looked up at me with the clearest and sweetest eyes.

“Mws. Huwt,” (her R’s are not strong yet), “I’m will-ly sohr-we about today. I’ll do bettew to-moh-wo.”

Now, that’s a total win.

Working on towards Week 6, which is my witching-week, I see activities occurring that must be squelched. A frisbee and the girl’s bathroom are a terrible combination on a hot day resulting in a lot of cleanup for the students involved. Actually, the same frisbee was also used as a weapon during afternoon recess resulting in an investigation by the Vice Principal. Frisbee is now history. Maybe in the spring.

The new shoes are a little dustier. The back backs are starting to lose their zippers. Mandatory bus pass zipper tags are being removed by parents, causing tears and frustration at the bus line. Kids are starting to go on fall vacations, causing extra work for teachers with the need for vacation packets. School is in full swing.

In a sea of 700 littles, the energy level is incredible. Everything from Kindergarten melt downs to 4th grade shenanigans, our school is a very busy place. I’m just in charge of making sure 20 littles move quietly from one place to another in a straight, quiet, and single line. Try that on for size. A lot can happen at the back of the line if you lead the front. If bringing up the rear, the front has a tendency to wander.

Oy Vey.

Onward and upward. I must run. Time for breakfast and some quiet work time before another day begins.

Whatever you do today, thank a teacher. Think back to your own school days and quietly bless the women and men that helped you through your childhood. I am sure mine are looking down from heaven. I hope they are saying, “Well look at that one. She’s doing alright.”

More tomorrow.

How did the internet capture my classroom so perfectly? The only difference is that the other ten would be talking, writing on the desk, hiding under them, poking Sally, making faces at Ben, asking for drinks or bathroom breaks, and otherwise not attending to the task of learning.

Oy Vey.

What was I thinking??????????

That’s the very point.

I WAS thinking.

This is the most fun EVER!!!!!!

My kiddos make up a deliciously adorable little group of people, truly the best I could’ve ever hoped to meet. I also have one adult in my classroom. I will name her the Goddess of All Things Right and Pure. She is not an Aide. She is my right hand adult in a sea of littles. Together we see all, hear all, and correct all. I am so blessed to have another grown up in the room. Without her, I would be at a definite disadvantage.

Miss Goddess has been at this awhile. She is a beautiful and quiet woman who is assigned to one particular child, while helping three others, as well. She is cheerful and competent. She has wonderful suggestions about improvements that are helpful. I trust her opinions about the things that are going on in Room 56. We laugh at the same antics and I love her already. I am blessed that she is there.

I plan to round up the moms very soon. Any mom that identified herself as a possible helper in the classroom will be commissioned. These children will learn in a quiet and focused environment if it is the death of me.

I will say that their attention is improving every single day. I’m getting more eyeballs on the teacher. Their writing is improving, even though they don’t know exactly what they are doing. Today, we need a lesson on how to hold a pencil, which most do not know. I still need to corral my left handers to give them some aide. The list of details is endless.

I’ve started assessing the words they know to find reading levels. Most are below Kindergarten level. A lot of improvement will be made this year. To be a grade level reader is our goal. I’m sure after testing the entire group, I’ll have some readers at 2nd grade level and some at Pre-Kinder. That’s the world of the classroom. One size doesn’t fit all.

Now, I’m in no way saying these kids are naughty children. They just don’t know what a real classroom is like. They are still wondering where the playtime, graham crackers, and milk went. Believe me, I’m wondering about where my daily Noon-Nap went. Retirement is just a fuzzy memory. Adjusting, we’re all finding our way in to the second day of the third week of school. Seems like yesterday that I interviewed? The time has flown and now the school by which I drove for two years is my daytime home.

The AC is “fixed but not working well”, according to a supervisor. No kidding. Nice until lunch followed by a brutal three hours of 90+ degrees. Everyone leaves at 3:30 when the day ends. It’s just too hot. Funny, no administrators come to my room in the afternoon. It would be lovely to see them in professional dresses and suits. I hope they come to watch a lesson at 2 PM. We look forward to their visit, as long as it is in the afternoon.

1st Grade Teachers are thinking about a field trip to the pumpkin patch. It’s still under consideration, as we all have classrooms full of very busy people. 105 littles on buses to a farm doesn’t seem like good thinking on paper. But then, neither does teaching 1st grade at 66.

I do find that I’m not so exhausted at the end of the day. Why, just yesterday I had enough energy to defrost some homemade spaghetti sauce and boil some noodles for dinner. That’s a step in the right direction. Last night, my grading only took an hour. I’m organized for the day. Things can only get better from here.

Yesterday, we worked through another guided drawing lesson. It’s so cute to watch them drawing. The resulting pictures warm my heart. We drew “Pete, the Cat” yesterday. Everyone was serious and trying to get their picture just right. Yes. 6 and 7 year old children are people at their finest in every way. I’m one lucky teacher.

This weekend is one that will be quiet and reflective. I plan to celebrate Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Monday will mark 35 years ago since I ran into VST at our 14/15th combined class reunion. A catered barn dance under the stars. A night that changed my life forever. He was 33, I was 31. Looking back, we were kids with kids. I haven’t planned all the festivities for this weekend, but there will be some laughter and some tears, I’m sure. I may need to call on the gal pals for dinner.

But, days away from the 5th, I need to focus. With Oliver fed and a shower and blog finished, I need to scramble some eggs and get on my way to school. The morning hours are calm and reflective. I can dream of all the things we’ll finish throughout the day. Thinking of the day before, I again move children from one spot to another, finding the one spot that the talking will be the least.

The 2022-23 school year goes on. It will be grand in every way. We’ll make it so.

More tomorrow.

This is a first for me. Living in the last bit of civilization before Gerlach, Nevada and BURNING MAN! How could I have forgotten that I should be ready? Due to Covid, Burning Man hasn’t been held the last two years. This weekend would be my first experience as a local.

Burning Man is a one week extravaganza in which people I do not understand fly, drive, crawl, bus, or bike all the way to the PLAYA to camp in the desert sun for one week. I must remind you, it is still very, very hot here. Desert hot. 100 degree + hot. The Playa offers no relief from the heat. The Playa is an ancient sea bed. Dry as a bone. Everything necessary must be trucked in and trucked out, including 2.5 gallons of water for each person, per day.

VST and I were once RVing and noticing vehicles covered in whitish-grey moon-dust. I mean covered. We didn’t understand what it was all about until someone explained that they were “Burners”, the name given to anyone who goes to Burning Man.

After a day with littles, I’d stopped by Subway to get Friday night Dinner-Lunch-Dinner in the form of a 12″ Cali-Fresh Turkey on Whole Wheat. This is now my favorite sandwich after a long day at work.

I had to wait for a very long time due to call in orders. Each order included five foot longs. This takes a minute to put together, so the sandwich artists and I started to talk.

“Well, they’re here, you know.”

Hmmmmm. Just exactly was this “They” referred to by the sandwich artist?

Seeing my confused expression, he continued.

“The “Burners”, Dude. They’re all over town. Buying out Walmart right now. You need to go over there and check it out.”

These “Burners” come from around the globe. Every part of our area is impacted. The airports are bustling. Transportation. RV rental stores. Everyone waits all year for the “Burners” because they drop lots of cash as they go on their merry way. In fact, the Subway was almost out of oil and vinegar for the sandwiches. That is only one very tiny example.

Although I haven’t been grocery shopping, I heard the shelves are bare. No more dairy, fruits, or vegetables. This wave of strangers wipe out the town twice every year, with their arrival and the following weekend with their departure. Our town is the last and first civilized spot they come to on their journey. We get hit the hardest. A city of around 60,000 people just stopping by.

These partiers profess love, kindness, and total respect for the environment, but each year, they leave behind thousands of pounds of trash, including at least 5,000 bikes. No error there. 5,000 discarded bicycles on public lands. It takes weeks to cart away the bicycles. They are often given away for free. I thinking of driving up to Gerlach next weekend to grab one.

With curiosity in a frenzy, I had to drive to Walmart to check it out. The parking lot was a sea of RV’s. But, there was something else very strange. Strategically placed at the end of the parking lot were 7 or 8 huge industrial sized dumpsters. These were all brimming with discarded packaging and garbage bags. Oh, I see. Totally environmentally friendly anywhere buy our little town, now left with the duty of discarding their trash at our small transfer station. It all makes perfect sense. Just leave the trash at the wide, dusty spot in the road off the interstate. No one will ever know the difference. Except the residents that actually live there.

The towns people here are amused with the antics of the burners. Even more so with the money they spend. The roach coaches were in full swing, as the number of restaurants are limited right now. Walmart was “burned” again this year. Now, we wait until they leave. Then things can return to normal.

One of the more bizarre stories is the legend of the woman that went into Walmart covered in body paint of the American flag. That’s all. Just paint. I hear she was asked to leave almost immediately, but not until a few hundred shoppers had time to look in amazement at the stars and stripes. Only at Walmart, for sure. Almost never in my little town, also for sure.

If you are interested in a front row seat, Google “Live Feed Burning Man”. It is a pretty good overhead shot of the playa and a video of how things are going. Tens of thousands of festival goers locked in a fence in the desert for one week. No one goes in or out once the gates shut. Only “Burning Man Rules”. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Stay tuned for any late breaking local details.

More tomorrow.

I’ve decided Thursday is the longest day of the week. I think someone snuck 6 extra hours in there somehow. All between the hours of 8:40 and 3:05. I have busy little hombres to control. As the children are becoming more comfortable, they are now showing themselves. Whew! What a bunch!

In our room there is every type of personality known to mankind. The only additional challenges I’m not facing are language barriers. I better not say that too soon, or I’ll get another student. Most of them are still six. I remind myself of that so many times in a day. When dealing with a group of kids like this, I have very high expectations because they are very bright children. Already, I’m seeing improvements. It’s a slow journey to January 9th, 2023, when they will transform into Almost-2nd-Graders.

In a typical day, one must be ready for fire alarms, unplanned messages over the intercom, visitors coming and going through the room, children running in, children escaping. Trip and falls that result in blood on the knee. Bloody noses. Frantic children racing to get to the bathroom. Children needing help with their math questions. All the while, the AC has been “fixed”. My room remains at 94 degrees in the afternoon.

I would suppose working in sweat shop conditions is shrinking my carbon footprint. I’ve noticed that 78 degrees when I arrive home feels absolutely bone chilling. Of course, I’m seeing red while being more environmentally green during the day.

Having a 30 minute, duty free lunch is glorious, except noon aides aren’t available, so we handle that, too. I think I got an 18.5 minute lunch yesterday. People always comment on how fast I eat. After 22 years of teacher lunches, you learn to pack a lot into 18.5 minutes. You listen to co-workers worst case scenarios and silently thank God he gave you the kids he did. You tell your worst and co-workers are saying that same prayer to themselves. God never messes up the class lists. He gives you the students you need.

After that exchange, there is barely time to speed eat, take a potty break, grab your whistle and get the kids. The days race by one after another while the kids learn and grown.

I’m happy to report that I didn’t misplace anyone at the end of the day. At least, I haven’t heard if I did. One student tried. Thank goodness for a tag team of administrators that stepped in and corrected the situation. I’m too old to chase anyone, let alone a little at 3:05 PM.

With every last Mustang (our mascot) rounded up and accounted for, I rolled out of Room 56 with my cart full of homework at 3:40, ten minutes after my duty day ended. Arriving yesterday at 5:30 AM, there is only so much time I should be giving away. It doesn’t come at the end of the day in a room that is 94 degrees and “fixed”. Besides, in my rolling cart at least two hours of homework is waiting.

After picking up pizza and a salad, I made it home to dark, cold, and quiet with a side of a snuggly pup. Oliver is handing our new schedule like a champ. I have a dog now and not a nutty puppy. As long as he has his meals on time, he isn’t too upset about my absence. He’s so happy to see me at the end of the day. His wiggles and antics make my day complete.

I need this weekend to regroup, plan, and carry on with next week. I’ll be back on Monday with a report on the antics at the afterschool meeting I’m attending tonight. What a marvelous idea to meet with adults after work. I’m planning to enjoy every single minute. They already know the darkest, coldest, and quietest place in town and let me in on the secret. It’ll be a new place for me. I feel lucky to have been invited to the inner circle of our school. I can’t wait to enjoy a wonderful evening with great teachers.

I’ll be back Monday.

Ahhh, the fire drill. Today is the first of many throughout the year. In 22 years, I’ve helped lead children through many fire drills, but this one feels different. Too many school tragedies make the serious nature of emergency procedures heavy and all consuming. I don’t see that my class feels that because they are so very small. I hope they don’t.

We have been practicing forming straight lines and walking quietly in the halls. Oh my. Have you ever tried to nail Jello to a tree? Or bagged lightning? These kiddos are adorable busy every second of the day. Their minds are absorbing every detail. They know incredible facts, with brains that race a million miles a minute. But, their bodies are 6 and 7. And, we have a serious lack of teeth in our group. I guess I fit in that respect.

The drill starts with ear shattering alarms, piercing the brain. I am sure these are heard in the next county. Why they are at that decibel in a room full of littles, I have never figured out. Along with the unsettling buzzing, there is are two strobe lights that flash repeatedly. This is to alert the deaf. Well, might be after the intense noise. Between the two parts of the alarm, the children must race to their pre-designated place in line. In seconds, we will be walking across the gravel playground towards the land of the lawn.

Movement must be in a speedy but silent straight line. I must grab the class roster and my paddle and three squares of paper. A green, a yellow, and a red. I hold up the green if I have my entire class with me. A yellow if one student is gone receiving services, like speech, or the red if there is someone that is unaccounted for. I’ve had principals that would sneak kids away just to throw a wrench in the drill.

This blaring and flashing lasts until every child, (almost 700) at our school, is accounted for. Usually within 15 minutes, we are back to penmanship and our ABC’s. Pretty amazing, actually. I hope today goes well. My class if full of amazing children. They need to rise to the occasion and do their best. I already know of four that melt down with loud noises. These littles have been through the wringer with Covid. They are survivors.

We have just started the chapter book, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe by CS Lewis. It is my very favorite read aloud, and I’ve read my copy to a countless number of children. I’ve never wanted to see the movie because it would destroy my own thoughts of Narnia. I’ve never read the other books in the series. Just this one is enough.

At first, I didn’t know if they would even be able to follow a story without pictures. Boy was I wrong. They are glued to every word. Even my most busy students are listening. The next day, we review what we read and go on. As we finished Chapter One yesterday, they were disappointed that we had to stop. So was I.

We’ve now experienced the first indoor thunderstorm of many. During an indoor thunderstorm, the children take three books and find a spot where they can stay “dry”. For 20 blissful minutes, we read quietly. Zero level voices. Mind on reading. When everyone gets ready, (just before the first hint of thunder, of course), the storm begins. Thank goodness for the blessing of a good cd player. Yesterday, every foot was under a table while every child was enjoying a great book. I haven’t met a kid yet that didn’t enjoy a good old indoor thunderstorm. I remember having a few when I taught continuation high school. Something are just too fun to miss. For somethings, we are never too old.

My grade book is filling up while my grading is stacking up. The dust bunnies again form along my baseboards. By 7 PM, I am completely exhausted in the best way ever. I hope I manage to tired my littles out because they do me in.

Friday afternoon has new meaning. A group of teachers meet every after school at a popular spot in town. From 3:30 – 6:30, they become regular women that have created magic for an entire week. With superpowers of kindness, love, compassion, and empathy at a low, they meet to regenerate for a weekend with family and friends. This sounds like the healthiest idea yet. I plan to join them this week.

That’s the news of the day. I’m off to prepare for the 9:20 event. Please keep me in your prayers. I’m really trying my best to stay out of trouble.

More tomorrow.

Whatever “normal” is. At least a New normal. My littles are a resilient little bunch. Even with an older gentleman substituting, they did their job wonderfully. I received a nice note from the substitute about the class and their behavior. The usual suspects were on the list for both good and not so good accomplishments. The huge stack of work that I’d prepared was completed. All seemed to have gone as planned.

But as with any absence, it takes a minute to roll back into routine, especially when a routine is just being established. That’s for both the children and me, by the way.

Preparing dinner for one isn’t something I enjoy, or even want to do on a good day. And after being with 20 littles from 8-3:30, I want three things. Low light, a cold room, and food service. At least two days a week, I’m going out for dinner. Not sure where, but I’m going out for dinner. It might even be to the city to the east. A drive might just do me good. I’ve exhausted all meal options in my town.

How is it that a town of over 20,000 can’t have a descent restaurant? Even the roach coaches that frequent the town are better than the stick and brick establishments. Dismal at best. Yesterday, I went to one of the six restaurants in town. It’s in a casino just on the east side by out of town park. I parked in a full parking lot, realizing this must be the place for the best food ever.

Not even.

Everyone was crowding in for the hot game of bingo. As I ate in hamburger and sweet potato fries in glorious solitude, the bingo guy droned on. For those of you that know me well, Hamburger and sweet potato fries is the only thing on the menu for me. The buns need to be grilled, there better be no “Secret Sauce” or mayo, and the meat need not be pink. Simple. Or it should be.

The loud speaker blared in the restaurant with Bingo numbers. I had to laugh at the voice of the man calling numbers. He sounded like he had smoked something other than cigarettes, had a few to many drinks during the day, OR just got done teaching 20 littles.

“B-4”.

An extra long pause.

“N-#”. Another extra long pause.

“O-something.”

“1,000 to the gal in the blue.”

My ears perked up at that.

$1,000?

Maybe I’m in the wrong game.

After finishing my dinner in a darker, cold, somewhat quiet restaurant, I drove home. Oliver was overly excited to greet me, for one reason only.

Dinner.

I was 30 minutes past his dinner. How could I? He was crazed after a day of crazy. I hate kennel cough. Oliver’s vacations at puppy camp help both him AND me. We get cabin fever. I’ll be glad when the kennel cough season is over. We’ll both appreciate his next visit all the more.

After one more hour the work of grading papers and entering grades in my grade book, it was finally time to stop. Last night’s soak in the hot tub was like a trip to the spa and Christmas all rolled into one. I’m so blessed to live in a silent neighborhood with brilliant sky hanging over the loveliness of Winterpast. I think I’ve never enjoyed the spa as much as I did during last night’s late summer sunset.

With that my day was over. It was filled with drama, the details of which I cannot speak. There were intense moments in which the teacher won, because this teacher always wins. There were sensitive moments of shared hugs, both adult and little. There was plenty of heat amid the ongoing saga of the broken air. There was a sweet apology wrapped in a smile and lots of work.

All this takes me back to the fall of 1996 when I was a brand new teacher with a brand new set of 1st grade littles. These adorable little kiddos were my first educational responsibility and they taught me so much. The very first girl who read her very first book while sitting very close to me made me cry. Remembering it as if it was yesterday, she is my inspiration. It wasn’t an easy journey for her to become a real reader, but, she made it. I know. I was the first person to whom she read an entire book.

Other things have made me cry through my 22 year career.

Mean, egotistical, vindictive principals and superintendents. A moldy room that made my littles and I sick for one whole year. The fencing of a community playground, ending weekend use. The death of 35 children over the course of 5 years as a hospital teacher. Useless spending of tax dollars. Wasted time on senseless professional development. Mean parents. Abused and psychologically abused children. The murder of a student. Cancer in a co-teacher.

Having lived out school drama for that many years, there was bound to be every kind of celebration and tragedy known to life. After all is said and done, school is just a micro-community.

I can’t explain how this summer of miracles has changed my life for the better. It’s become my favorite summer of all. That’s saying a lot because I hate summer with a passion. I’ve learned more about myself in the past three months than I have in a very long time.

I am finding that I’m stronger than I thought. Even though I’m exhausted at the end of the day, it’s a welcome feeling. I have tangible benchmarks and end goals that affect the lives of 20 littles. I’m teaching them about respect, kindness, goodness, and friendship. I’m also teaching them about time management and pride in a job well done.

How did I ever think for one moment that I was too old to teach? For goodness sake, I’m at my prime. So far, although physically beat up at the end of the day, by morning I’m repaired. With the right shoes and a good attitude, I plan to make it to June 2nd healthier and down a few pounds. That’s a win-win.

More tomorrow.

What a productive day I had yesterday! Different than my normal days since August 1 when I received the keys to my classroom. It was a change of scenery and purpose. I needed that more than you know.

Rising early, there was still a mound of work waiting for me. I’m now officially planned for the next two weeks of school. I still have nightly review to be sure I know exactly what I’ll be doing the next day, but to have the bulk of the work done will alleviate a lot of stress. Who knows, maybe I will actually get back to cooking myself a real dinner.

Leaving the house later in the day felt strange. Like I was doing something sinister. I should’ve been in my classroom preparing for my day with the littles as the Jeep flew down the road towards the Department of Education and then, Fingerprinting Express (FE). It is of the FE experience I will focus.

After my meeting at the mothership, it was on to FE in the biggest little city town to the north of the capital city to the east of me. The associates were bustling about getting ready for the onslaught of people coming for their services. I watched as they even mopped the floor. The place was immaculate. I was amazed at how many people need fingerprints from the DOJ. From police and teachers to ladies of the night. Everyone comes to one spot. FE.

I remember the first time I had fingerprints taken. It was in Virginia City, and let me tell you, it was creepy. Here I am in my mom jeans and hoodie, waiting for someone to help me. The jailer came to the front of a tiny jail and asked if I needed something. I told him “Fingerprinting”. His entire demeanor changed.

“Well, let me be the one to help you.”

This guy was linebacker big and cowboy strong. Quickly grabbing me by the elbow, he steered me into the actual jail. It would be there he would strong arm ten fingerprints out of me, rolling each finger in ink and onto a paper card. The one prisoner, (Judy Black’s suspected murderer husband), was within earshot of me. I was in the bowels of the jail. Bench seats had chains and handcuffs suspended on the wall above.

“Do I need to be handcuffed?”

His steel blue eyes were cold. He just looked at me and I gave him the first hand. Now, fingerprinting is tough for me. You need to relax your fingers and the person taking the fingerprints rolls them. Of course, in VC, there is not electronic anything. The guy didn’t even have on gloves. He just grabbed and rolled, five times on each hand. I must say, I felt sufficiently intimidated while promising myself I would never get in trouble in VC. EVER.

I LOVE VC’s Sheriff and deputies. They are the kindest men and women, always ready to help. They helped me so much the day VST died. But, I would not want to be arrested there. I think there are two sides to that story.

Yesterday was an entirely different situation. FE is in a strip mall store front. It almost looks like a kiosk you might find in Las Vegas or Universal Studios. Everything is done digitally, even registration. After waiting a little while, they called my name. The room where the prints are taken was dark. Very dark. Not tripping-because-you-can’t-see-dark, but almost.

The fingerprints were all done digitally and immediately forwarded to the Department of Education through my portal. In one day, I went from a locked account to a fully-licensed State of Nevada Credentialed teacher. The only thing that changed is that I’m $180 poorer and I have been fingerprinted at FE. Life goes on.

Now the fun begins. My grade book is set up with enduring standards and a few grades. I have appropriate lessons that will coincide with Common Core Standards. Funny. Just a few years ago, that was the phrase about which everyone was upset. Now, there are many things much worse. CCS’s just give teachers exact areas on which to focus for each grade level. Example. A first grade focus is phonics. The details can be found in a CCS. You can look them up per grade level. Teachers need to know the skills their students are to master during the year. It drives the curriculum.

On the way home, I happened to see an RV dealership with a row of travel vans. My Jeep turned off and I found myself in the showroom talking to a very nice salesperson. In the heat, he showed me several possibilities. A travel van has been on my bucket list for awhile. My silly dream of returning to the road. After two hours with this man, I can tell you one thing I have learned.

FERGETABOUTIT.

That ship has sailed into the night. I barely drive my pickup because of the size. Standing next to the vans, I realized all the reasons I will not be RVing anymore. The best part of that realization is that its okay. I am fully able to stay in any hotel I choose. Some may even include room service. All hotels accept dogs, so Oliver may or may not come with me. I can pack my Jeep full of every little essential I need and next summer, off we will go.

Sometimes in life, one needs to know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em. Yesterday was a wonderful day to accept the fact that my RV memories are wonderful, BUT, I need to make no more. That door is closed.

Driving home on the interstate, I took time to think of all the ways I have grown in the 2.5 years since VST left. It amazes me. I’m not that scared, frail woman who didn’t drive for 6 years. I am steering my own life and doing well. Not to say that an unplanned flat tire or wrong turn won’t change my course again. Things will surely happen. But for this moment in time, life is wonderful. For that I’m truly grateful.

Take time today to think of the next year and consider possible adventures. If you don’t dream it you can’t scheme it. Right?

More tomorrow.