Here we go again

The summer is wrapping up quickly.  A whole new year is about to begin.  I've been away from my blog for so long. Its time to get back to it.  This year, I want to document the trials and tribulations of teaching technology. Last year, I taught for Tacoma Public Schools on a replacement contract. It was a crazy year. A new year is about to begin. Any advice or words of wisdom are welcome on my blog.

Before last school year closed, something called Microsoft Teals came to my attention.  There was some encouragement to apply, which I did.  After the interviews and selection I was very excited to begin a journey toward offering AP Computer Science to students at a diverse and economically disadvantaged high school.  There were several administrative snags transferred to a school district department called "legal" and it didn't happen. There was no apology or anything offered. Sometimes, I feel as if teachers are treated as though we are subhuman. Obviously, that hurt and it was disappointing. I had spent time recruiting volunteers and had begun the process of building an alliance with the university. All my work it seemed, was pretty much in vain.  All of this added additional injury and some insult when the budget came out. After being interviewed for a job, signing a contract and being elated to be on contract at the very same school - I was told it was all a no go and I'd likely be at another school altogether. At the end of the year, I packed up my sad little computer lab in the trunk of my car.  I said farewell to my students and just rested. Believe it or not, time did heal me.  I was actually tired.  

What I wanted to learn was Java, so I signed up for the community college class. The district didn't pay for it, I did. I went with a colleague to a week long AP Computer Science training in Bellevue, Washington - which the district did pay for.  We had the chance to get our feet wet. After that I began my community college course.

 Lucky for me, I've found a supportive environment to learn Java.  Java is a language that has not been easy to learn. At this point, I'm not even sure I will be teaching APCS - but I wanted to learn this for myself. There is a part of me that is - "ha, ha so there" I learned it without your help or support.

 At some point, I applied for and was granted a job at another highschool. Actually, I'm at two different high schools. I'll teach three classes at one school and another two hour course at another.  One of the courses is for students who are participating in credit retrieval. I know that the district is partnering with a corporate partner who wants to teach kids how to repair computers.  I'll find out more as I conduct interviews, which begin on Monday.

As for now, I'm working on Java and doing my due diligence with regard to preparation.
Is it the calm before the storm? Yea - but I'm totally ready for the storm this time.
  

New Life

Someone just asked for my blog address.  Are you kidding me? Almost forgot that I have such a thing. Sooo what happened? Well, we get busy with other thing sometimes don't we?  Life? Yes, let's just call it life.

Backlash

Last week our writer found herself in dire straits. She imagined herself flying home for Xmas or some other break and never coming back. It didn’t matter that the house was rented out and she didn’t have anywhere to stay. She even said these things aloud…to people. It was the truth you see. The painful truth of how miserable it had been. Oh yea, that’s me, dammit. This person sounds like a loser. I mean if she’s going to give up the first time it gets a little scary and she has to go to a hospital that everyone here says is really nice.


The chemo drugs that were given for infectious diarrhea worked didn’t they? Oh yea, baby they worked so well my body backlashed against them. My hunt for Monistat began at the local Chemist Shaheen.

“What’s it for?”

“A yeast infection,” I said.

Long hard stare with black eyes that do not blink.

“We don’t have.”

“Do you know who does?”

“No.”

Next chemist, Watson… go fish

“Hey, do you have Monistat?”

“We have another brand.”

“Show me.”

“You want oral or cream?”

“I’m going for the cream.”

“It will take 10 days.”

Are you kidding me? I’m thinking, it should take 3 days. The commercial says 3 days! “How much?” leaves my lips….so desperate.

“200 rupees.” $2.50 more or less

“Okay, sold”

I hope this works.

Really, I hope it does. Its just a yeast infection. No I pray that it is. I don’t want to even think about it. It can’t get any more humiliating then this right?

I google the cream. Its called GynoTravogen and I read over the results on Wikipedia.

Pseudodoctoring on myself is scary, but I’m desperate and they can fix anything in the states if I really hurt myself right? Please tell me they can fix it! How on earth am I going to explain that I thought gyno-travogen made absolute sense to me ? Maybe, I should ask the chemist for some morphine too. Hmmm. Doesn't this sound like a fabulous Sunday night?

The work week began with a chocolate bar on my desk and a nice card saying sorry from my technician. Whatever happened with my tech last week had cleared. I hold my breath waiting for the follow-up infection, but there isn’t one.

So now my main worry becomes the papers on my desk. They are supposed to be and put into something called Edline or Gradequick. These pesky people called students keep asking me about their grades. Seriously? You want me to grade these, but I’m so grouchy.

"Miss, you have a rubric!" they whine

"You think there’s a rubric in life? Let me tell you about the rubric of life. Let's discuss this in my office."

"No, that’s okay, don’t worry about our papers this very minute."

The good part about reaching your limit is that the word no emerges. Heck the word hell no is going to emerge if I’m not careful. The good part is that I’m real careful. 

Crappin

We are at the hospital. Rilee has been sick for a week on and off maybe longer. I've had a nasty bout with a stomach ailment. Nothing but water comes out if anything at all. My intestines are in knots that crease and tighten on top of each other. Cramps, nightsweats, a passing chill and nausea are my constant companions. Did I say nothing but water is excreted from my body?

At one point, I told myself that food sickness & diarrhea were going to be a realistic evil. I thought we'd suffer a few times going into this adventure. Now it's every single day and the minute I decide to pretend it doesn't exist, to operate in spite of it, has only made what was bad worse. Eat whatever the hell you want has been my Bourdain like motto. It has been a recipe for disaster.

Sibte the financial advisor sat me down and said I need to inspect the nails yes, fingernails of my staff. I'm thinking over all the meals I've eaten. I may never ever eat again.

Elaine the nurse listens with a sympathetic ear. Her lovely British accent has a calming effect on me. She has now decided to send us to the hospital. She hands me a lime green sticky in the shape of an apple with a name and a time. She speaks with facilities so that a driver can take us.

Leaving school in Pakistan to go to the doctor is an exercise. It's not like we want to go to Disneyland. Just to the doctor. We don't want to excrete water from our behinds. Auub has the misfortune of being our caretakers. He parks outside of Shifa hospital. Rilee and I try to maintain our composure, but just going there, meaning the car ride makes us both queasy.
Following behind a seven foot man in light blue pajama pants and a free flowing shirt is tedious in the repressive heat & humidity. We walked half a block and I want to collapse.
We stay behind Auub like two baby ducklings. Rilee and I hold hands. He protects us from oncoming traffic and we do our best to stay with him. He's probably 50 years old, but daddy long legs strides once or twice and we take 2.5 little steps to his one.
The hospital is full. There are people swarming everywhere. Rilee and I stand out in our t-shirts and jeans, but I don't care. Too sick to care. Auub is patient with us. We go through reception...we see more people. Old, young, frail some unfortunately disfigured, some with wounds, some coughing. We circle around looking for a place to sit. Unfortunately, there are people far worse off than us, so I give them our seats. Auub circles around and says "Two together, you sit." We sit.

We see the doctor and the nurse. They weigh us and take our blood pressure. We hear a man throwing a fit at the front counter. He's yelling appointment in English. The rest is in
Urdu, but everyone stops to witness an adult temper tantrum. Even his sandals are unbuckled.

The doctor wears western clothes and has thick glasses . He speaks fluent English. He asks what happened. I explain to him that I've never been sick with this kind of illness. No illness other than the birth of a child has taken me out for a week.
He examines our tummies and asks more questions. He thinks we have food poisoning. We will have blood drawn, stool samples, and medicine. Auub makes a mad dash for the pharmacy line while Rilee and I collapse into the lab line. In two blinks of an eye Auub the magical creature is back.

He gets yelled at and told to leave, but he never leaves us. The lab tech double gloves and sticks the needle in. I say ow, it's a mean little pinching sensation. Auub laughs, but in a friendly way. It's over.

Rilee isn't as lucky. The lab tech misses her vein and once again she's jabbed. Tears roll down her cheek. Auub pats her head and for the first time Rilee is actual tough. The lab tech probes the needle in to my daughters arm. I'm watching her flinch.

Shortly after this we are shuttled back to school. Back in my office, there is a mound of paperwork to do, papers to grade, and then I notice my iphone alarm going off. Crap. What must I do now?

I pack up my stuff to head to sports event software training with Kashif, Junaid, and Kai. My girls burst in about half an hour in to the training. Realizing Rilee is dehydrated and sick we go home. My stomach grumbles and it seems to me, if eating were optional I'd pick that option.
On the way out, I stop by an office of a colleague having problems with our drive folders. I check his permissions and see they are all wrong. Tomorrow, I tell him the kids want to go home.
The day, which started off grim has been in a word "crappin". In adventure? Yes. A fairy tale with magical sprites and unicorns? No. It will continue because tomorrow is a new day my friend. A whole new day.

It was Arranged

The combination of clear blue water, pure sunshine, and lunch should make me happy. An obnoxious bird literally honked and a few wasps dive bombed us, but these events were laughable. So, are you married? Three pairs of hard brown eyes stared at me as I said, "No, divorced. " "How many divorces?"Just one," this question made me kinda smile actually. "So, are you looking?" "Huh?" That came from nowhere. So many questions. I carefully and politely said, "I'm happy."
"Well then", he said..we have a saying here in Pakistan. "What's that?" I asked. He then began to explain something about Pakistani men, but I clearly didn't understand it. This whole conversation was really perplexing. "I don't get it," I said. He sighed.

He explained lots of things to me. The concept of having more than one wife for instance. I'm not sure why, but it took me by surprise. He told me that it was quite common. Actually, I had no occasion to think about it one way or another. He said that there should be an age difference between a wife and a husband of 10-12 years. The husband should be older.

He then began to talk on arranged marriages. I have an arranged marriage, he announced.
You do?
Yes, I do.
I had been working and I remember my mom asked me if I liked this beautiful girl she had introduced me to. Just recalled that she was beautiful and that was it. So, I told my mom, yea sure.
Next thing I know we were engaged and then married.
All I did was work and she was also working, but then she got sick..an appendicitis. I had to sit with her at the hospital. That's when I fell in love with her.
One of the men is shaking his head. Its the unmarried one. He is always telling me, he does not want to get married. We move on to discussing other things and finishing up our lunch.

I'm not reminded of this conversation until I'm checking out at the grocery store three days later. There is a family, which consists of a young woman with an older man and their daughter. He is not happy with their purchases. He puts half of them back on the counter. She looks as though she does not care whatsoever. He has thick rimmed glasses and grey chest hair popping out of his polo shirt. He's wearing blue jeans and a fancy watch. His wife is fashionable and their child is wearing cut off jeans and a t-shirt. It didn't seem to me that there was anything out of the ordinary, but my mind immediately jumps back to our little conversation at the pool.

I immediately look around the store with a pair of new eyes and a whole new set of questions builds for our next lunch meeting.

Saviour

Don't you understand? The server spits nothing, but errors at me as though I've poisoned it. Walking into the server closet brought a UPS explosion. I thought a small bomb had gone off. There were stabilizers on the electrical lines and removing these seemed to help, but how would I have known that? The only thing I knew was that the wiring wasn't to any kind of US electical code. Wasn't there an international code? Why bother looking, why? The equipment that comprises the infrastructure threatens suicide on a daily basis. There are days when I advocate for assisted suicide, but I persist nonetheless. There seemed to be a pound of spaghetti on the floor twisted every which way. No, no that's my cabling. How can this be? The CAT 6 is twisted onto the electrical cords and I just want to scream mostly. Rip it all out. Oh wait, a power supply has died. We have a duplicate TCP/IP. We have overheating. Do we have another switch? Wait, I have to teach a class. Nothing works.

There is a beautiful woman with long hair in the bathroom. I'm convinced she may actually live in the bathroom, but I'm not going to ask. She is going to yell at me, because I'm not sure what I ate. It takes 8 flushes to get everything to clear. There is a 4th of July fountain pouring right out of my rear. Everything is taking so long. No one else is freaking? They just ask when its going to work again, as though someone tripped on a power cord.

Take a deep, deep breath just get through the day if nothing else. One foot in front of the other foot. Closing my eyes to participate in uncooperative sleep brings on a world where everyone is wandering around in black. There is a miscommunication because under our beds there is a hole so deep...it has no bottom. Somehow, a woman was thrown under a bed. The jokester thought he would hear a thud, but there was nothing. It wasn't what it appeared to be at all. There appeared to be a cluttered mess under the bed, just like normal. There were even soft items that accumulated and hovered on the top like clouds. He threw her under there to scare her. Now she was gone. My firefighter is telling him, she is gone. He definitively says, "There will not be a thud." I wake up confused, realizing that it was a nightmare. We dream our fears. We will not be saved.

First Weeks

A brand new day is like a fresh sheet of paper, clean and unspoilt. I tell myself that I may be psychic and have been trying to predict the outcome of the day based on any number of irrelevant facts. While lying in bed, I envision my outfit for the day. Black dress, purple grey scarf, and sandals.

Surely, if I actually manage to follow the plan,it is going to be a great day. If I can't even follow my own stupid directions clearly, it will lead to a lousy, bad day. For some reason I've come to realize that I'm quite naughty. Purposely, I'll reject the premonition thinking I can change the outcome of the day, by doing just the opposite of what my mind has come up with.Why would I want to reject my own premonition? Well let me tell you, secretly I suspect what I've envisioned is completely wrong and will lead me to a bad day. Who wants a bad day? That's when I pick the opposite route of my prediction. On a confident day, a day where I feel like following directions, I'll follow my premonition. Today is one of those days.

I've been playing this ridiculous game in my own head for a few years and realize that it is completely irrational, but I persist.

The first day of school - we all managed to get ourselves dressed and ready on time. The morning call to prayer was heard and sounds like a low hum. Its as though all the men in the world decided to sing a song in a low melodic voice at the same time. Its such a beautiful sound. That's what happens when you wake up at 4am. You have time to enjoy the morning hours.

I'm also happy to report that jet lag works in our favor with the 12 hour difference. Being late isn't a problem. I wake up 3 or 4am. The fact that it is decently hot maybe 85 or 90 and sunny also helps.Rilee has easily adjusted to the routine. She is difficult to wake. I've taken to jumping in her bed and saying good morning in her ear using a voice that is half muffled and imitates a muppet creature. She will usually wake smiling and laughing. I really wish that I had thought of this waking method before my youngest child turned 12.

Awake, alive and dressed the trip downstairs begins. I now make a conscience effort to have actual clothes on my body before going downstairs. Tanveer and Friek will be downstairs making breakfast and cleaning . I'm greeted with coffee, warm milk, sugar, toast, pancakes, cereal, and fruit. Taylor has already eaten.

I sit at the long, long table and eat my breakfast solo. It still does not feel quite right, kinda like a bad British film where everyone has a lot of help in their homes. Usually, I'm checking out McDonalds or eating an apple and trying to fly down Paseo Del Norte, so I'm not late for my own class. I tell myself to relax and consume a decent well prepared breakfast.

Huukumdad arrives for the driving lesson. I begin yelling at the girls as we sprint around the house at warp speed trying our best to have what we need for the day. Tanveer and Friek probaby think we are crazy. "Why oh why can't we put everything together in the evening so we don't have to rush? "

The trip to school begins. First of all, everytime I get in the car I go toward the drivers side, which is the passenger side. "Oh right." We manage to make it to our proper seats in the car. The driveway is long and narrow. Taylor points out that the guards have purposely placed their vehicles alongside the house because they know what a lousy driver I am. "Thanks for the vote of confidence!"

Cruising at 30mph on the left now. I tell myself to stay in the center of the road. To use my mirrors. That taking a left is the same as taking a right. That taking a right is like taking a left and making sure you go over to the furthest lane. Motorbikes pass all over the place. Try not to hit anyone. Be aggressive. Drive slow at intersections. No lights because the power could be disconnected. This is called load shedding.

The mountains are forest and jungle green. There is lush beauty everywhere. Lots of flowers in a beautiful suburb. There are beggars. There are trucks stacked with people. There are parks. There are street signs I try to remember and figure out. I'm developing a sense of familiarity and can recognize my neighborhood.

We make it to the school gate alive and well. I realize that today will be repeated over and over for the 200 days that comprise the school year. Its only the first day of the first week. Will my premonition come to pass? I've followed and done precisely what I'd planned. Perhaps, there are no good and bad days. Maybe I should just view it all as experience.

First Day of School

Today, August 11, 2011 is my first day of school in Pakistan. Crazy, but exciting. Ten days ago, we arrived in a hot, muggy airport @ 2am with six black roller-bags. Right outside the airport, we were greeted by many staff members and a smiling superintendent. I followed a school driver who took half the bags. He seemed at least 7 feet tall like a tall willowy tree. His luggage cart seamlessly glided over uneven pavement for him. Meanwhile, my cart darted in every direction and fell into every possible pothole. He told us his name, which I immediately mispronounced because I could hear my daughters laughing at me. Oh well. We were briefed and given packets of information, which filled us in on the most important basics. We were dropped off and fell into made beds. Sleep glorious sleep.

Two weeks have passed, and we are at yet another milestone. In a few hours, the driver will arrive and we will make the trek to campus. I'm still learning how to maneuver the streets & highway of Islamabad. The school driver also functions as my driving coach. Mostly he makes sure that I don't switch back into right sided driving mode. I drive too fast and need to develop the calm, smooth patience my driver has modeled.

Each trek out is like a mini adventure to me. Alongside the surbuban streets you will see vendors selling fruit. People are dressed in delicate, loose fitting pajama pants and long drapey tops called shalwaar kamiz. They come in a dizzying array of colors and styles. On the highway, there are donkey pulled carts alongside traffic. Its amazing to see women riding side saddle on motorbikes. Some of them even wear burkas with only their eyes visible. There are colorful trucks that are painted in bright wild colors sometimes filled to the brim with people who manage to cram and stick out every which way.

The call to prayer is a hum that fills the city. It brings me a sense of peace to hear it.

Right now, the house is quiet and still. Everything is unpacked and we are settled. We have eased into having a cook, housekeeper, and gardener who do most of the day to day chores. We are still becoming acquainted, but moving here has been mostly easy. There are some things which are different of course. Power outages, warnings of terrorism, and intermittant diaherrea.
My first day outfit is pressed and awaits me. The last minute work that needs to be done will be crammed in somehow.

I'm excited nervous and ready! Hopefully, its fun.

You Left The City of Angels?

Today is our last day in the states. The day started crazy, hectic and insane.

LA, LAX & LA Canada....The original plan was to get up early, pack up the car (with luggage) and head to West LA to avoid the traffic. We planned to buy snacks, travel toothbrushes, blankets, and other highly unecessary items. We packed up a rental car and followed auntie aka"Dr. OneBite" whose been navigating the mean streets of LA for many years. The nickname is a sad reality. Dr. Onebite is truly a medical doctor. My younger daughter gave her great aunt the unfortunate nickname for a churro incident that happened at Disneyland. My aunt asked for a bite of a churro and must've been hungry and ate over half. The name sticks with her today.

As we merged into traffic, my youngest daughter came up with a fabulous suggestion. Teleportation would virtually eliminate the need for traffic and the snaggled mess of chaos known as rushhour. "Do it!" I encouraged her as I felt my foot actually cramp up from resting on the break too long. My eldest daughter chimed in on our short-cited plan and told us that we probably couldn't teleport with our belongings. A minor drawback, traveling absolutely naked. Especially in an Islamic country. Well, there had to be something.

Out of nowhere, a black Mercedes appeared. It spewed out the equivalent of a 500 pack a day cigarette habit in the form of black, billowy clouds of smoke. Once the smoke cleared, we all screamed as if we were on a Magic Mountain Roller Coaster. We had lost sight of our beloved Onebite. I forgot to merge and ended up heading toward Pasadena. That merge is exactly two curvey lanes of hell. Somehow though, I found my way to something known as the "Carpool Lane Airport". No traffic at 85mph is a good thing. .

I'm almost positive that LAX needs to be blown up and rebuilt from scratch. When you drive in the area you'll see a sign that says "free shuttle." Do not think to yourself, but its so far away. Who on earth would want to park so far? Just take it. Do not park at the gate. Trust me. After circling the lot like a hungry hawk four times, I finally was able to park. The girls were dropped at the gate and waited with the luggage. Unfortunately, parking in Air China meant walking with a few bags to Delta. How hard can that be? Somehow time morphed ahead two hours, we were severely late for our flight. My leisurly walk to my kids from Air China turned into the sprint of a lifetime, which in the end included a bus.

The kids choose to sit with their bags outside. Why on earth hadn't I called them? The Delta line looked simply like a nightmare. Someone was told to, "monitor the situation" as we attempted to check luggage. We were overweight and did a crazy clothes toss in the airport to make everything fit. We made our first flight. That was only the beginnning. The excitement continued in the Texas airport. We arrived in Texas and transferred to Qatar. Edit copy paste. Well, it was totally the same thing. Craziness.

Once we got on the actual Qatar airline flight though, it was a pleasure. It was comfy. The flight attendants gave us lots of food and icecream at 2am. They even provided us with travel socks and the world tinest toothbrush and paste. I kept it. On board they had an entertainment system called Onyx. We all plugged into Onyx and the stress melted away.

Besides eating ice-cream, I found myself chatting with my neighbor who would fall in and of consciousness during the flight. He told me his name was Max and that he was going to Bangladesh. He had moved to the States for college, but had a family of his own now. He told me he traveled back and forth to see his family every year or so. The fact that he had a southern accent from Mississippi and was truly southern inspired me. We talked about the Andy Griffith show. He said that was his ideal living scenario. He liked small town rural living! "Different than your home?," I asked.

"Yes, way different." he responded.

I closed my eyes and placed my head on the tray table. "Goodnight Max from Bangladesh."

He chuckled and said, "Goodnight" while plugged into Onyx.

We'd wake up in Doha.

The adventure had begun.

A New Journey

For the past 3 years, Central New Mexico Community College has been my home. For the most part, I've enjoyed it. I thought that I'd retire here, always live and work here, there was little doubt about that. Now, I'm not so sure. I have absolutely loved living in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I had a really wonderful grad experience at University of New Mexico and its been great watching my girls grow up.

Now, a new journey has presented itself! I've always wanted to teach abroad. It was a dream that I gave up after the girls were born. Now, that I'm a single mom post divorce everything has changed. The girls are not babies and we are free to do as we please. After attending my first ever International Job Fair we are packing up our things and moving to Pakistan.

I know Pakistan is not for the faint of heart. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think that I'm doing something a little crazy. We are excited, we are nervous, we are thrilled. We have never lived or been anywhere non-touristy, so why not? Why not take a chance and do something adventerous? Why not, allow the girls to have a cultural experience that will make them richer in perspective and experience? Feel free to share in this experience with us! Any words of wisdom, words of caution, words of advice are welcome. Enjoy.

Group Projects Part 1

My daughter pulled an all-nighter. The first all-nighter, she was in elementary school and asked for coffee. This one, she was working on a "group project." The group contributed little and they are likely going to crucify her.

The group decided to make a skeleton model of the human body in laffy taffy. The group composed a list of materials consisting of a project board and laffy taffy. The night before the group work began I rushed to Target to buy these materials. A project board and a large bag of laffy taffy, no problemo.

When my daughter brought the group project home to work on it this weekend, it resembled a skeleton. She had the laffy taffy I bought, a few pieces the group contributed, and a glue gun. She worked on it on Saturday. We had to leave the house at some point to go somewhere. When we came back, we discovered Snowflake our dog had consumed the project.

I went to Target (again) and bought more laffy taffy and yet another project board. One good thing came from the consumption of the project. I suggested Taylor cut off the pieces of the project that were finished and remount them on a darker board. This made the project look a little better. Taylor had been concerned that several of the bones were not in proportion. The fact that she could redraw and remount some of those pieces solved the proportion dilemma.

Taylor stayed up all night working on the project. This morning, I found her English Project Board empty (due today sadly). I'm not sure what is going to happen.

When I asked her why the other kids were not contributing, she told me---they are busy. Taylor took it upon her self to do this project alone. Where did she learn such behavior? What is she doing correctly and what is she doing wrong?

If you guessed that Taylor learned this behavior from me then (ding, ding, ding) you are right! Now, I only need to take what I've learned here and apply to my own sad little life. Sad, because I should have learned these lessons a long time ago. Oh well. Sad because the situation is easily resolved in my sad little life. I can only hope that Taylor will see this and revise her behavior based upon seeing my revision. This is my theory anyway.

Let's see what happens.

Everyone's a little off...Monday

The grey primer colored Chevelle with jacked up back tires rides over gravel leaving a small trail of rock dust. Poof. The dust rises and falls. Nevermind, the fact that the gravel is the landscaping between my house and my neighbors and a few juniper have been killed in the process of parking. They are torn out of the ground and I see remenants of black landscaping paper everywhere. "I am home now." The car announces flatly in a voice that reminds me of Knight Rider only its a male version of that voice.

I'm outside shaking my head wondering why my daughter has bought such a piece of crap car. She's inside of the car telling it to open, so that she can get out. The trunk and the hood fly open following her directions... kind'ave. I instinctly close the hood and the trunk and shake my fist at the car and that's when the car reacts by shaking and emits a loud alarm noise.

Wait..That's my alarm! Grabbing the iphone to turn it off. I'm so tired and now and my other daughter is in front of me asking about the whereabouts of black stretch pants. After grabbing a coffee, taking vitamins, getting dressed, and helping the kids make their bus I speed to class. The dream is in the back of my mind still. I really hate what my mind does to things. How can it be at all helpful to dream such odd things? Stupid subconcious. Stupid traffic. Stupid crappin' to do list that never ends. Stupid news reports. Parking at the school lot finally. A sense of calm comes over me. Its just another day. Wait.

This class, didn't finish the agenda items from the last class, so the lesson plan has been spliced to reflect some changes. Luckily, there is enough repetitition in the lessons, so that the splice is basically seamless...to them, the students. I take roll and everything is familiar again. The people, the agenda, the activities. And just as I was settling in to calling roll the door bursts open as if Superman himself were making a guest appearance. "I'm late!" A young man in a screaming orange shirt stands in the middle of the room. He has a long ponytail all tied up in a bandana. He is wearing long basketball shorts. "Shall I come in?"
He sits down and begins pounding on his keyboard. I feel a little like Mr. Magoo when he opens his eyes for the first time. "Good morning" I manage to say, trying to be completely expressionless, because the truth is I am totally shocked. "Have a seat Mr...."
"No Mr. Just call me T."
"Oh" I say, putting a T meaning tardy next to Mr. T...who looks nothing like the real Mr. T. by the way. I'm thinking I really need another cup of coffee. Half the class is laughing and half the class is shocked, but we persist on through the agenda. What I notice, is that the students who have been absent already struggle. They have just a missed a few class periods, but still I notice. Now part of me knows these are the very people who don't want to be noticed, but still I talk to them and help them along. They don't glare at me , but I can't help it. They are the ones who need help.

T loves any and all attention that I give him. He is happy and cheerful. Now, there is a guy in my class with rough hands, dark glassess, and he looks like he just finished riding his Harley Davidson who scowls at me. I ignore all the scowling and tell him that he is sitting at a station that is too small. His knees are hitting the top of the table and he will be completely uncomfortable if he doesn't move. I correct him a few times and try to help him along during the course of the lesson. As class is excused, I can tell he is somewhat unhappy. He makes a big effort to apologize to me.

I try to tell him to go to the lab, that there's a learning curve and he really needs the practice.
"I was just apologizing to you" he said. I take that to mean he didn't want the associated learning curve speech. He grabs his backpack and leaves. Now, just like my dream I'm left thinking that I've managed to miss something big. Oh yea, once again I was too quick to react without giving a clear concise answer. Learning something new looks vastly different on everyone who hasn't had practice. I think that was his frustration and he needed reassurance. I think that's what the car wanted too. Oh well, there's always Wednesday.

First Day Back

So, I took the whole summer off.
Yes, the whole summer.
It was amazing!

But as they say in my world, "all good things must come to an end." Anyway, today was my first day back meaning no sleeping in and doing what I want to do. As luck would have it, I only had one class this morning. I got up at 630 am grabbed my coffee, vitamins, packed my lunch, and put on a decent outfit. On the way out, I reminded my youngest daughter to get on the bus. She was found in the bottom bunk with a towel wrapped on her head. She had on her school clothes, but was dozing under the covers.

"Get up!"
"Ooooohhh, I will"
"Do not miss the bus! I mean it."

I drove to school and absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary. I felt good, sang to the radio, and made it to a half empty parking lot. I was there an hour early, but figured I needed to prepare for class that I've only taught 16 million times. Upon entering the building, I saw several smiling faces. There was fresh coffee brewing, and I'm not sure why, but I don't remember school being this good. The elevator ride up was completely uneventful. Everything was just as it was when I left. My lab classroom awaited me and not that much had changed. Gasp, maybe some of the furniture had been rearranged. I opened up and revised my syllabus a bit. I printed out my student information sheets. At 8:15 my students began to fill the room. I took roll. Everyone smiled.

I asked who was brand new to the college and almost everyone raised their hand. The students listened to me as we discussed the requirements for the course. They asked a few questions and I helped them get logged in. My philosphy has not changed. I still believe that we are a community of learners and that we are here to help one another. After all of that, the students interviewed one another. They began to introduce one another. Everyone has a different story, but the story is really the same. They came here to learn. They came here to better themselves in someway. They are excited and eager. Now, as always there are characters in the classroom to be sure. After the class departed, three men stayed behind.

"You know, I have absolutely no computer skill."
"That's okay, I will help you."
We reviewed logging in and logging out. We went over how the three icons in the upper right control the windows.
"Thank you so much!"
"Don't worry, you are doing great!"
"You know, I kinda know how to type already, but I never got all this Windows stuff."
"Yea, you'll get it, we all have weaknesses and strengths."

As I ventured to the next station I saw a student who was really eager to send an email.
"Hey, sweetie!"
"It's Ms. Cole"
"Oh, yea - ummm I'm just really excited to have my own email account and I want to send something."
"Okay, I can help you with that."
We went over composing an email, but since the student could barely type it took a really long time. He pointed out each of his errors, shaking his head. "She will never understand this!"
"Well, let's edit." I said.
I showed him how to move his cursor backward and forward and suddenly a lightbulb went on in his head. "OOOHHH! Now what?"
"Click send"
"That's it?"
"Yep"
"So fast! You sure?"
"Yep!"

The final student had waited to long and was so patient I felt embarassed. "How can I help?" The fact that this man was a professor in another country made me even more self conscious."
"You explain to me how I do at home."
"Well, its probably not going to be exactly the same."
"You explain"
"Well, do you have a laptop?"
"Yes"
"Okay, bring it and I will explain."
"You review what you taught today."
"No problem."
I retaught logging in very, very slowly. Showing how you depress CTRL+ALT with one hand and hit DELETE with another hand to log in to the school system. I explained logging in and logging out in very simple english, demonstrating each and every step. The man watched me like a hawk looking over his bifocal spectacles. I felt like an insect. He thanked me profusely and told me he had to go.

Well, how could teaching make anyone tired I thought? Went to my office and read a ton of emails. I began revising the master syllabi and posting them to the discipline site. I helped lost people in the hallway. Old students stopped by to visit and I chatted with them, asking them how things were going. I went to see the new computer lab. I got everything ready for three classes tomorrow. I submitted my syllabi, my office hours, and listened to my messages. I responded to email messages.

At 4:45 my eyes were throbbing and I was tired of revising stuff for the website. One of collegues asked me to help her with her dissertation. Is it time to go home yet? I want to crawl into a hole and die and its what the first day. What am I whining for I'm asking myself? I have the best job in the world!

Library Fines for 5th Graders?

I am in receipt of your short note regarding library fines for 5th graders. I would like to know what has motivated the school to impose this fine. Is it to instill a sense of responsibility in our children? Is the library in dire need of funds? Why is it that the Rio Rancho Public Library does not impose fines and you do? I feel that this exhibits an inconsistency in the system and should be addressed. Additionally, is there some way that students can work off their fines?

There are surely some parents who may feel that their children are simply not responsible enough to return the books on time. Do we as parents have the ability to notify school personnel that we choose not to let our children check out books due to the implementation of the school fine? Does this interfere with your ethical responsibility as an educator to encourage your students to read?

Since the school has added an additional policy, I would like to point out that we were not given the full rationale and it was likely not outlined in the school rule booklet. Does this mean that the school is not following the appropriate protocol in implementing policy and procedure? Is there a process for such things?

As you can see, I have a lot of questions regarding this new rule. We live in a society where things should be questioned, where the common people have the opportunity to influence and be involved in public protocol. The questions posed here were probably discussed, but for some odd reason we, weren’t included in that discussion. I am curious about this discussion and would like to know what has motivated this policy.

Thank you for taking the time to answer and consider my questions. I look forward to your response.

They say its your birthday

The beautifully paved, forested path in Central Park (a manicured version of the real thing) complete with landscapers and slithering creeps is quizzical. Magical in the the kiss of summer and the whisper of fall, but almost poisonous in its juxtaposition. Alice in Wonderland, Oz, all of it luxury--but unreal, because it is afterall, largely unnatural. Walking foot over foot through the foliage observing every now and then, the curious New Yorkers with their accents and clothes. They are just like the display windows, only touchable in this setting. I'm sightseeing, taking it in, enjoying myself on vacation, but then in an instant everything changed.

A curious black little spec hovered carelessly in the air. A simple fly completing its lifecycle that lasts about a day perhaps. It was nothing and yet I noticed it. Obviously, it was a sick fly because it was flying as though it was intoxicated. Figures, it being a New York fly and all. And then, with the audacity of a sassy teenager, the translucent orange glow was unmistakingly spectacular in its simplicity. Was that? I had to see it again! Running, screaming, laughing down the path like a crazed New Yorker. Hey, do they come in different colors? Like jolly ranchers, like lights at Christmas, like a child's delight over the simplest occurence, icecream? It was worth a million birthdays at least. I ran through them and they flashed on and off. And to think, I thought it was a diseased fly.

Off the island of Maui, suspended from my parachute, being kissed by the ocean and toted through the air alongside the mooga mooga birds with a tummyfull of sweet pineapple. The rain? A simple mist that we try to replicate at home by purchasing a garden hose full of millions of holes and hang from the patio. Sweet in its attempt to recreate the experience, but hopelessly silly. And how can it be? One amazing thing after another? I'd just seen hundreds of spotted dolphins that same day play in the clear, kool-aid blue ocean. A manta ray breeched, leapt into the air like a whirling pancake and I'd seen it off the boat. I'd floated in the ocean, alongside a hundred other souls thinking it was weird because you could really drown, it was so big. Enormous. I didn't even comprehend enormous until then.

And now, today of all days my birthday, December 14th is really the moment of truth isn't it? I woke up with a certain sense of oh my gosh, its just another day, carry-on and whatever you do don't expect too much. Well, the whole birthday surprise thing is suspicious, isn't it? Wonderous things happen to other people who think just the right thoughts and are serious, and mostly perfect. You know the ones I'm talking about. They drive cars that don't ever break down, they don't have any cavities, and their clothes are never ever wrinkled.

Believe it or not, I'm the one, who gets the plain papered box, from ebay that's empty. The shipper says, no I put what you bought in there! So I take a picture of an empty box and email it. See? Technology at work.

I'm the one with the lottery ticket that doesn't even get one damn number on the day the statistics professor is giving a lecture on why the lottery is a waste of money (mathmatically speaking) of course. And I sit there, shaking my head thinking why am I so stupid? Even though it only costs a dollar, I've wasted a dollar, and I'm probably doomed because he's lecturing about it and... my gawd this lottery ticket is burning a hole right through my pocket. It might as well be up on the board flashing before our eyes. And oh yea, I'll end up with C or D on the probability test, because instead of learning probability I'm thinking about this damned lottery ticket. Curse you.

I'm the one who gets a rock - just like Charlie Brown on Halloween. Usually we all just laugh and toss the rocks and go buy a bunch of candybars, because all my friends get rocks too, but not this year. This year was totally different! I opened up the box and it just so happened, that what I thought was an empty box, full of losing lottery tickets, and rocks was really full of something that I just couldn't see.

Dreams my friend, dreams.

Black Market Final

I gave a final last night. Everyone seemed in good spirits except one student, "Old Man River." I've learned a lot from Old Man River this term. He's about 70 years old and has absolutely no patience with anyone in the class. He absolutely hates computers and to tell you the truth I do not understand why he is even taking a computer class. He tells me that they use computers for everything and has no choice. He waves his arms in surrender as his tells me this every class period over the last 15 weeks.

We have had many conferences. I learned that he hates group work, hates that the class is noisy, and does not think that I am stern enough. He told me that we do way too many activities. Anyway, he walked into the classroom about 15 minutes late for the final. I graciously handed him the final. He looked at it for 1 minute and then he left. I think he took the final with him! Anyway, I felt bad. Everyone said, "such a waste." He won't get credit now.

Let me tell you though, I don't think it was a total waste. That man had more fun doing research and googling then anyone in the class. He told me some fabulous stories about Paris, France. One of the course assignments is to use the internet to plan a dream vacation. In my demonstration, I show the students how I choose to visit Paris, France. We use a search engine to locate famous landmarks and cut and paste these landmarks to make an itinerary using a wordprocessor. Old Man River seemed delighted with the assignment and he went wild with the search engine.

He spent an hour after class telling me that Paris, used to be a relatively cheap place for him to visit before the dollar went into the toliet. He would smuggle one thing or another into Paris (he didn't say what) and sell it on the black market. He spent weeks there enjoying himself with his lady friends and only had smuggle in one or two little things. I liked the way he would smile and his clouded blue eyes would get big when he told these stories. He talked about riding a motor bike and drinking. I watched this man completely struggle with his assginment, but he got it done, and he seemed rather pleased with himself.

There are many days when Old Man River was grumpy. He said he didn't think he wanted to be a "worker". He didn't like all the requirements and BS that went along with taking college classes. I thought he meant "worker" in the Marxist sense. I could tell that Old Man River was no worker from the very first day of class. He did things when and if he felt like it. He took his time. He told me many stories about his civil disobedience and hunger striking fasts from the past. I told him that I liked my burgers and there was no way I'd be giving them up. I'm not sure if he found this amusing or not.

He would often criticize me for not knowing what life was really like before computers. He almost found it a disservice that I'd grown up curious about mainframes, and working on a Commmodore 64. He just thought I didn't understand, that I couldn't comprehend what life was like. It was almost like he felt that I was at least a couple of standard deviations away from really understanding him. He took it upon himself to stay after class to tell me what he thought of my teaching and how he felt everyone responded.

"You gotta put your foot down. End this group work business."

"Why? the research says that group work is good for students. We all learn from one another. Besides, that's one of the advantages of being together as community of learners."

Blank stare from Old Man River. He'd think for a moment and begin again.

"You go from activity to activity like a little hummingbird."

"But, we only did 3 activities in 2 hours"

"Too Many"

"Perhaps" He'd watch me deflate, and understand that his lecture had the desired affect on me.

He'd say, "I gotta get home now."

I'd drive home with all those comments reeling in my head. Why oh why, do I let this man get to me? On some level could he be right?

So now, as I grade my finals, I don't really have anything to grade for Old Man River.

In the back of my mind, I know that he is out there somewhere with a hard copy of my final. It won't be sold on the black market in Paris, but something tells me that I'd better change it next term. I mean, if I learned one thing from this man. Its that I can't underestimate Old Man River.

Tis' the Season

Hard to believe that full-fledged winter is upon us. A friend of mine reminded me that I haven't posted anything. I call myself a writer and I fail to write anything at all. Lots of things occur upstairs in my brain, but do I write about them? Negative. So, now that I've been reminded of my blog I'll post to it. Maybe someone on earth will read it. Doubtful, but it could happen.

The Biggest Piece of Meat

As someone who is recently divorced. I have spent the last few months trying to figure out what happened. I'm not sure if I have come to any conclusions. For what good it is, I have decided to write and publish my thoughts on the subject here. I've decided that it is cathartic to get these thoughts completely out of my system. I'm hoping that this brings me some peace. To the extent that it may help someone searching for answers about their own personal relationship and assisting them to coming to a conclusion this wasn't my intention, but if that happens I'd be pleased. For those of you I inevitably piss off. My apologies. If you don't like it, then don't read it.
I know that for some, the reasons of a divorce are private. Its something that you do not publicly discuss. Things just didn't work out and that happens 50% of the time here in US if the figures I've read are correct. I'm coming to believe that we should be more open about things. That there are times when privacy leads to misunderstanding and fear. That in order to come clean there are issues that are simply not private and maybe we should reconsider evaluating and discussing them openly. I also know that when people find out that you have divorced they begin to draw their own conclusions and gossip about you. I can only guess that its related to the whole privacy conundrum that I mentioned earlier and people feeling like they couldn't discuss it with you in the first place.

Before my formal divorce was underway, I had begun reading Laura Berman. She writes about women's sexuality and relationships. I listened to her just recently on Oprah and suddenly a light went on for me. Now, I know that Laura Berman may be a sore subject. I gave my ex some CD's of hers to listen to and he nearly went ballistic about it. He articulated that he already knew all of this stuff and I was the one who needed to listen. Well, if you don't like it don't listen, but I believe she says a lot of relevant things that men should know about and feel comfortable with.

On the Oprah Show, Laura Berman articulated that in evolutionary terms women looked for men who were able to provide them (and their young) with the largest piece of meat. Now that women don't necessarily need men to provide them with that, she said that it will be interesting to see how it impacts our relationships.

I can tell you that at first, that statement just like lots of other statements went into my memory and didn't connect to much. It wasn't until I had this dream about my ex that it really impacted me. In my dream, I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I screamed, "You didn't support us!" I was crying horribly and then I woke up and proceeded to cry some more.

In my relationship, I did not feel supported. I held a lot of resentment because I was the one who was financially accountable. My ex could care less if the bills were paid. He was irresponsible with money and he did not support his family. He contributed when begged, but I worked from the time my children were infants. I was constantly doing budgets and asking my husband to come up with his half of the finances in our household. I felt as though I was begging him to do what I knew good and damn well he should just do without necessarily being nagged about it.

In the book, and probably in the movie, "He's Just Not That Into You" I read one ridiculous scenario after another. I should have understood that his inability to support us, was his way of showing me that he really didn't love me at all, EVER. In the book they consistently write to a formula that goes something like this: If a guy does x or y that means? The answer is almost always, "He's Just Not That Into You". Now that hilarious commentary would have saved me a whole bunch of time, if I had bought into it, but I didn't. Plus, I just didn't take the book or the movie seriously, but I read it nontheless.

If that book is too annoying and you want a more formalized discussion you might read Hendrix because he also discusses the importance of the man being the provider in a relationship. I knew this stuff, but I readily disregarded it. Why? Maybe because I believe that women should work. I believe in equality and I don't think I necessarily need to be taken care of, because I can take care of myself. Unfortunately, what I failed to resolve is the fact that what I believe and the deep seeded biological maybe even instinctive messages were forcing me down another path altogether.

At first, my ex and I communicated about this issue. We even tried to try to work through it.
Unfortunately, the way that we worked through it was that I paid the bills and he needed to pay his half. Over time, I realized that it might be easier if I simply became the responsible one. I came to hate nagging him to pay. As I became more responsible and more financially successful I felt less enthused about my marriage. I could pay the bills by myself. This wasn't the outcome, I was working so hard for and now a decade had gone by. Yes, I wasted an entire decade!

Now that the bills were paid my ex-husband complained about affection. I couldn't see what he was moaning about. Shouldn't he be happy that his wife was taking on a majority of the financial burden? Shouldn't he be happy that he was allowed to pursue his vocational dreams, which included owning a non-profitable car business for several years? In any case, I completely withdrew physically from the relationship. "No meat = no affection" was my instinctive calculation. I didn't withdraw consciously, it was a subconscious thing for me. I couldn't figure out what was wrong no matter how much I read or how much therapy we scheduled. In therapy, I felt as though we never got to the heart of things and now I realize that there were just too many layers of resentment to overcome. Even though I repeatedly said the finances were okay, they really were not. I was paying the bills and I knew I didn't really need his contribution. His inability to support us ruined any connection that we had. Further, I didn't really understand why he had begun to treat me badly. I cooked, I cleaned, I paid bills, I worked and it seemed the more I did the worse off I was! Finally, I decided that he just didn't love me anymore and that's when I told him. He didn't even try to deny it. I have just come to the conclusion he didn't love me whatsoever.

I now believe that sometimes men chase attractive women who are smart, wonderful, and fun because that's what they are told to desire. It doesn't mean that they love you though. Even if you are in a marriage, it doesn't mean that they love you. So, for me the question now that I have figured this out is: What are you going to do now?

Well, I'm not sure just yet. I don't know if this evolutionary thing can be overcome. It does not mean that I won't date or go out, but surely I'm not interested in marriage or even a relationship at this point. I have lots of hobbies. My children, work, and friends keep me really busy. Maybe I don't even need anyone to love me. Love thyself and enjoy the steak ladies.

Rio Rancho High School Registrar Draft Letter

Lots to do today. First, I need to compose a letter supporting my daughter's disdain for the elective class schedule she was assigned. She was very disappointed by the fact that she didn't get a single foreign language. For a year now, she has been thinking of majoring in Linguistics. She thought that studying a foreign language might help her to decide if that is indeed her path. I want to articulate, that I too think that its unfair for lots of reasons. Last year, she let the computer choose her electives and she chose to take Robotics. She ended up with Dance and Study Hall for her other elective(s) and it was just okay.

She has been assigned Dance again, but I can tell she isn't interested in another term of Dance. She just isn't the Dance type if you ask me. She is basically a hard-core academic girl. If there was ever anyone to diagram a sentence I would pick my daughter over anyone else. She understands English and has been a reader since 3rd grade. She used to say that books were her friends. She was so taken by Mark Twain when she read Tom Sawyer she built a raft out of cardboard box and used to sleep in it during the 4th grade. I used to worry that she was overly absorbed with this story. Everytime it rained, I would think that my 4th grader was probably in an arroyo with the "raft" she constructed.

I don't know if other parents have these same types of concerns for their children. I just know how passionate Taylor has been about books and reading. My heart aches when I see that she is not being fufilled in her academic study. She is always willing to accept what we choose to give her. She does not have high expectations for her classroom experience. The Rio Rancho mid-high is quite crowded and she can tell that many of her teachers are simply tired. She accepts this condition because she is unconditionally empathetic and respectful of the human condition. She understands that there are many students far worse off then herself. She can always disappear into a book afterall. She therefore fails to challenge her teachers in academic discourse. Part of the educational process is to challenge and debate in order to gain deeper meaning. For my child, this isn't happening and I can tell you that I'm somewhat disappointed because this needs to happen so that she is able to grow at the higher levels of Bloom's Taxonomy.

When Taylor read some of the advice given to me regarding this topic on my facebook page she laughed. One of my friends recommended that her letter outline a new elective schedule where she would attend her chosen courses period. Additionally, it warned the Vice Principal to be prepared to throw her out of these classes.

Taylor's response to this was, your friend is recommending I become mutiness? She laughed about it. Taylor does not whole heartedly laugh alot. She is a serious girl. I'm not sure what exactly her letter will say, but I can tell you that she was upset. That she is disappointed. I think that you should try to give her a foreign language course, and if you cannot then you should provide her with an explanation.

Now, I know that as a parent and a licensed teacher myself, I could prepare a more academic discussion outlining the reasons why I think that you should reconsider. That, there are many things wrong with our educational system and some of the messages that are conveyed here should be addressed namely:

• Tay has helped Rio Rancho schools meet NCLB requirements since fifth grade when we relocated to this district. The way to pay her back for this is by giving her electives she doesn't want, so she can become demotivated because people who perform well and exceed requirements are not rewarded for their efforts in anyway. Additionally, they should be further conditioned to think that they are not deserving. This is a reality for many youth and we must present reality.
• US schools and culture has a long history of assimilation. An Asian language would be culturally relevent to me and my children. It shouldn't be allowed for this reason.
• We want to make sure that kids that have the ability and emotional academic stamina to study hard core subjects are well-rounded so we give them dance and other creative outlets for their own benefit. Nevermind the fact, that the United States is ranked behind other industrial nations in academics. The one size fits all model had better work at all costs.

I can only hope that these reasons are not pertinent, but there is a side of me that is concerned. Should I be? Is there any chance that you are infact demotivating my child? Does this have to do with assimilation? Are we progressing toward a "one model fits all" methodology that doesn't necessarily serve the needs of academically capable students? Again, I would like you to reconsider my daughter's elective schedule. I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,