Grieving Gardener

There are just some weekends so special and rare, they are for the history books. Dinner company so compatible that one wonders where the time went when the check arrives way before the night should be through. Thoughtful gestures so kind that it makes one happy to be alive. This last weekend was full of those things, overflowing with one special moment after another.

Friday afternoon at 3:30 the weekend was ripe was possibilities. Starting things off by sharing a meal, surely the next few days were headed in a wonderful direction.

On an given Friday night, there’s nothing better than pizza for dinner. On Friday, that certain Marine hand-delivered a Take and Bake pizza to one exhausted teacher. With the correct ratio of cheese to sauce to meat, the dinner was the perfect ending to a wonderful week with students. Of course, the quality of the pizza wasn’t the focus. Laughter and great conversation filled Winterpast. If a house could smile, she was, but not as happily as I was.

On Saturday, Oliver and I took a trip across the desert to see his girlfriend, Sam. She’s the one that trims his nails and cuts his curls. On his last two visits, he’s come home with a bow tie looking absolutely adorable with his new haircut. It was a good thing because Oliver needs to look his best for new a friend. With her very long legs and golden hair, she has turned Ollie into a blithering idiot. She’s much younger at 1.5 years and her antics remind me of how much Oliver has matured every time they romp and play. It seems they’ll have many more playdates. It just wouldn’t be fair to keep such a budding romance from blossoming.

Saturday night, my presence was requested on a real, honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned dinner date. How refreshing to know that chivalry is not dead. That a certain gentlemen might still ask if you are available, and then drive you to a restaurant where you’re invited to order your choice of meal. The Tri-Tip platter, complete with mashed potatoes and cold slaw was mine. So darn tender and delicious. I can’t really tell you if the place was busy or not. I was a bit distracted by great conversations and some very blue eyes.

Yesterday was a day of remembrance of 9/11 at the firehouse. How nice to join hands with a group of friends on such a sad day. The firehouse was cleared of trucks and covered with a sea of 508 beautiful flags (the number of first responders and Flight 93 passengers and crew). Each one had a paper attached with the name of a Fireman (343 died that day), Police, Military, and members of Flight 93 with a small story about how they died. I read about a man that ran into the Pentagon several times to bring others to safety. His mother was told he would have lived if not for Carbon Monoxide poisoning. How senseless. We can NEVER FORGET.

The evening ended with an annual viewing of “Come From Away”. If you haven’t seen it or don’t know about what happened at Gander, Newfoundland, please do some research. “Come From Away” is an award winning Broadway musical written about something wonderful that happened on 9/11. Research some of the characters that were involved that day. I found it on Apple TV. It is not typical in any way and a story you won’t soon forget.

This weekend showed me that I’ve finally found the balanced life for which I’ve struggled to attain and achieve. I love my work and students. Winterpast is the coziest of nests. Oliver is coming of age to be a great dog. I’ve made new friends in the dusty little wide spot along the interstate that I call home. Now, the biggest hole in my puzzled existence just might be filled with a true companion.

Be thankful for all the good thing that happens each day. Life throws plenty of downs coming with certainty. But along with those heartaches, there are plenty of moments that are absolutely golden. Focus on them. String them like pearls in your day. It looks just like happiness when you’re through.

More tomorrow.

The dreaded Week 6 waits just around the bend. Throughout my teaching career, I’ve observed that the worst happens during Week 6. Everyone has usually had enough and finally has the courage to say something about it. I’d hoped that the Zephyr winds would blow away past experiences, leaving me to truly enjoy my last year of teaching with littles. Week 6 is just part of my teaching experience. It will come and go.

Yesterday, my room was in the 90’s with only two small household fans to blow a little air. You. Cannot. Imagine. By the end of the day, 6 kids were missing for one reason or another. I wish I had a mom that would take me out of the heat. The only escape is the Office. Sad, but true. The only place in the main building with air. Go figure. Even 15 minutes of AC would help to lower my core temperature. But, that isn’t to be.

Along with the heat, we are coming up on a huge test. Computerized, it is a big one. Hours for littles to sit and think, typing their answers into a glowing screen. 6 year olds. Something isn’t right with this. A few of my kids still don’t know their letters. Such is school in the 2,000’s.

I’ll be gone until next Monday to regroup. A certain gentleman suitor is taking up some of my free time these days. Papers need correcting. My Friday Newsletter needs writing. Oliver needs his ears scratched. And, quite frankly, I need a moment to regroup.

Of course, everything will settle. Week 7 is always a glorious affair. This year will be no different. It’s the Dance of the School Year.

If you have a spare prayer, please send it my way. Cover the teachers and children in my school with good wishes. Please pray that everyone lives through this heat.

More on Monday.

It’s all come back so easy. Every mentor teacher I’ve ever known whispers to me throughout the day, reminding me of helpful little tips to make the day go smoother. My kiddos are coming right along, learning that our minutes are valuable. High expectations produce wonderful results and I’m amazed at how fast the littles I started the year with are growing into real students.

At this point, we are a classroom family. Yesterday, the sweetest thing happened. It has every year I’ve taught.

A very active little boy was having a hard day. An impulsive 6 year old, he’s one of my youngers. For the first three weeks of school, his name is one blasted through the room.

“Davey.”

“No, Davey.”

“Please sit down, Davey.”

“Davey, we’re waiting.”

DAVEYYYYYYY.”

His mom contacts me every evening to check on his behavior for the day. A teacher needs to be gentle when talking with parents. My expectations are extremely high, as I mentioned. These littles are going above and beyond as they follow my lead. They are kind and funny. I’m expecting them to turn into scholars (which, by the way, they will by the end of the school year).

Good Lemonade has a little lemon for flavor and a lot of sugar for sweetness. I think of that ratio when making a call to parents. Sandwiched thoughts come out in a certain order. Good traits. The problem. Suggestions for a better day. A final compliment. The conversations usually go well.

I always reassure parents that their child is a unique creation. A wonderful work of art. Face it. They all are. Every single one of them. If a teacher doesn’t believe that in her soul, she shouldn’t be teaching. My conversations with Davey’s mom are that way too. Davey is one of my kids, now and forever more.

Yesterday, I was helping my class with their laptops. Consider that picture. 20 littles each with a laptop, working on programs leveled to their ability. Silence. Focus. Learning. Davey needed something but I was helping another child with a problem.

With a little tug on my sleeve, I heard, “Mom……….I mean Mrs. Hurt.”

There it was. Just once more in my life, I was waiting for the sweetest of little slips. Yes. We are a family. Our relationships are intense and critical. Smiling, I turned to help Davey for another time. He is growing into a responsible and respectful Eagle even if his daily Mom reports have a little more lemon than sugar on some nights.

Teaching is full of surprises. Just when I had our day planned so carefully, a wrench was thrown into the works. One of my teaching partners called in sick. There were no substitutes to be found. Yesterday, I had four guests and a ghost (absent student). Five names added to my roster. Five more children added to my class at a critical time for behavior. My students are just getting to know what I expect. Distractions are not helpful.

My room yesterday was the hottest it’s been. Hot air was adding to the sweltering temperature. Not much better than a classroom in India. At least those classrooms have windows that open.

With an afternoon of frazzling complications, recess outside on the gravel playground was a welcome relief. The kids were running off their own frustrations while catching up with the latest news from their friends. All of a sudden, my gal pal teacher friend came quickly, telling me to go look in my room.

There, on my desk, sat the most exquisite bouquet of delicate flowers imaginable. Star Gazer Lilies. White roses. Babies Breath. A work of art. In this sweltering, messy little classroom sat something from the outside world. Delicate, fragile, and right from the florist.

I won’t share the words on the card. Just know, it’s something I will keep forever, the message now etched in my heart.

The rest of the day, I got plenty of questions about my flowers.

Was it my birthday?

No.

Anniversary?

Uh, think again on that one.

Late Labor Day?

Early Columbus Day?????

Younger women would never consider the possibility that a old veteran teacher with her hair in a bun just might have an admirer. My mentor teachers stood open-mouthed and in awe as I left for the day tightly clutching my vase of flowers. The heat in the room was too much for them. They needed to come home to the cool oasis of Winterpast.

Hopefully today will be a better day. With a few more hours of testing, my littles will learn more today. It’s kindness day, so I’ll be wearing my jeans and kindness t-shirt. The one that says, “Kindness is my super power.” I need to make sure my shirt doesn’t lie. It’s all about patience, love, respect, and kindness. Being back in the groove is a delightful place to be.

More tomorrow.

A Letter from a grateful heart.

Dear God,

Thank you for the amazing miracles and blessings you have given me this summer. Scales have fallen away from my eyes, allowing me to see my world as it really is. You have blessed me with countless friends this summer, and now, I have a solid and beautiful foundation on which to place the bricks of my life, one by one. I belong in this desert town, as sure as the desert heat, Zephyr winds, and the mustangs you send to greet me in my yard.

My summer of miracles started with something as simple as renewing my Driver’s License. Such a silly task. Shouldn’t have been a game changer, but it was. I learned I could still focus and retain facts not becoming bogged down on the “What If’s” because 95% of them never happen anyway. I was so scared I wouldn’t pass a test, written or otherwise, that I was ready to be an Uber customer forever. How silly was that? Of course, my license arrived in the mail four days later, renewed for more years than I care to drive.

You brought me my new set of girlfriends, all giggly and wonderful. An assortment of women that share similar traits and goals. We fear the same things and yearn for the same knowledge. The same, yet uniquely different, together we shine like jewels on a crown. These days, wherever I go in this dusty little wide spot in the road, I find them. They text often to check on me. I go to lunch and get plenty of hugs. Your blessings have overflowed and grown me a garden of girlfriends.

I’m getting good at realizing when a miracle really truly occurs. Like finding the energy and organizational skills to run herd on 20 littles at 66 years old. You’ve given me the sweetest kids in town. Even the difficult personalities are beyond adorable with their clear little eyes and amazing hearts. You wanted me to experience the classroom one last magical time, and now, here I sit in a sea of papers. So tired every night, I drop in my tracks at 7:30 to do it all again the next day. Although physically tired, my brain has needed this assignment. Of course, you knew that. These kids will be my 1st Graders long after they have 1st Graders of their own. It just works that way.

You healed my God Mother when she was so darn sick she almost died, not once but on many occasions this summer. You saved her so I can go to her side one more time allowing us to share more secrets and laughs. You gave her the strength to phone me yesterday, making my summer of miracles almost complete. You knew I still need her wisdom and caring. I still need to visit the ocean I love so much to hug the best Auntie in the world.

Now, you’ve introduced a new character into the mix. Someone I have yet to name in this blog made of two years of healing words that have mended my broken world. This person’s life is built on the same solid foundation as mine. Both healing from losses that shook our worlds. Both kind, compassionate, and funny. Both recycled teenagers ready to tear up the town. Appearing out of thin air, perhaps the final miracle in my summer of miracles.

You sent someone that mirrors much of my life. Blending our families from a very early time while both enjoying long term marriages to high school sweethearts. One from a family of five boys. One from a family of five girls. Both from exceptional country families that know how to fix things and make them new again. Both dog lovers, although both severely bitten in the face as children, with almost identical memories of the medical treatment we needed.

God, my life looks a brighter now. New door are opening to experiences for which I have been praying.

My summer of faith, acceptance, boundaries, and patience is about to hand over the reins to my favorite season, autumn. This time around, the season will be brighter. Of this, I have no doubt. Never did I imagine a life could transform as much as mine has during this, my Baptismal year. And I’m only in month 9!

God, you’ve given me more than my share of miracles this summer. I’m blessed beyond measure. If I never received another until you call me home, I would’ve received far more than I ever deserved, the last the one being the one I’ve prayed about the most.

God, in Jesus name, watch over me and the kids today. Our school needs hallways of angels flapping their wings because it’s so very hot. Please let me find a smile for every child in my room, even when they are so 6-ish. Let me find patience for my co-workers and be the good in my world. Take bitterness and hardness out of my heart and let me turn on my light for everyone to see. A smile costs nothing. A hug, the same price.

Thank you, Lord, for this amazing life. Can’t wait to see what’s next!

Forever yours,

Joy

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.