I needed a trunk. After browsing for ideas at the build-it-yourself furniture store, I decided against the $80 thing and other not-exactly-what-I-want items displayed there and decided to try my luck at the locally run thrift store. I took Lady M, an expert of this sort of thing, with me.

Finally, Lady M discovered something and called out, “Hey, will this work?”

A close look at the Bronco orange, homemade cushioned chest reveals promise. Then we lift the lid to discover the words “Trunk Locker Foot Barracks” stenciled on the underside of the lid. “Look! It’s even a military trunk.” Lady M doesn’t have to say any more. I take it home.

It seems the cushion was a favorite residing place of someone’s pet. Ugh. After removing the smelly material and foam pad, I realize I need expert advice. I call Mama K.

“So, I found this trunk that used to be army green and is a horrid orange and now has sticky junk from the residue of the foam pad. Can you help?”

“Oooh! Bring it over! I have everything. We’ll see what we can do.”

We spend an afternoon stripping the paint off of the hinges and reveal their charm. Then Mama K scrapes at the orange mess on top of the lid to discover the trunk indeed belongs to this fine country of ours.


Original green, or close to it, is restored, as is the stencil to match the clean hinges.


The Fisherman comes over. “Look what I found at the thrift store!” He looks. “Hey! I used to have a trunk just like that!”

Priceless.

Thanks, Lady and Mama K.

Happy Fall to all! As the first day of a new, beautiful season, we shall look back on Summer with contentment as it slowly and gracefully slips away.

The world was indeed green as Summer entered with a few weeks of rain. Wonderful for plants and a bit of cool weather. After seeing my first batch of seniors off into the world, we rejoiced with our children as we celebrated their year of dance with a well-deserved recital. How they have grown and progressed into beautiful, confident dancers!

Our first real week of Summer ended with two glorious days of camping with dear friends where we formed a sort of “Fellowship” along a hiking trail (“What about second breakfasts? Or elevensies?”), chased the camp rats (some variety of chucks), and giggled at Little Sir’s candid comments, my favorite being, “I need a smoke,” as he sat down in front of the fire pit ready with a marshmallow and roasting stick.

After a few days of swimming and fishing, we celebrated this wonderful country of ours with a trip to the family cabin then a trip back home for the traditional parade and family picnic, during which time family members noticed one of us was not as chipper as he usually is. After repeatedly receiving a “fine” while inquiring about his health, they leave it alone, while I wait for said ailing one to let me know what he needs when he needs it. After voluntarily checking himself into the doctor’s, he returns home with us a day later to recuperate, rather quickly I might add, from a non-emergency appendectomy.

In another kind of doctor’s office, one sweetie excitedly began her orthodontic work. While she had a fairly easy procedure, yours truly sat in another chair waiting for a simple re-gluing of an appliance only to discover that said appliance was actually broken. When asked by the assistant how old the thing was, I quickly calculated and chuckled as I related it was as older than my high school diploma. A blank stare and she heads off to the office. The orthodontist comes over and asks me what’s up. He and I both laugh as I tell him they’ve gone to find my file and we imagine them digging through some box in a back room somewhere. It’s successfully retrieved, we get fitted for a new appliance, and both one sweetie and I leave with sore teeth.

A few birthday dinners and lake trips later, der Meister leaves for a week with the scouts while the rest of us journey south to visit family and partake of the local outdoor entertainment. Here in the land of Zion, the girls and I continue our summertime activity: a tour of our local temples. As we wander the grounds together we take photos, admire the flowers, look at the bees, and talk about the individual temples we are visiting: when they were built, which number they were in our state, unique facts about each. These sweet times prepare us for the unique opportunity of attending the dedication of the Oquirrh Mountain Temple together. Personal revelation is alive and well, and can come to you in the temple. What a blessing to have a place where your mind can be clear enough to hear the Lord’s desire for you.

Throughout the Summer, news arrived of new arrivals expected on both sides of our family, as well as for some of our friends. The blessing of babies for many.

Blessings continue as we gather in yet another hospital room for yet another, tinier family member, and watch as two priesthood holders bless a little one for her upcoming surgery and recovery. Said little one, a Bit T relation, has emergency surgery which leaves her one organ short and with a scar as wide as she is. The blessing: she recovered quickly and successfully and with all smiles she proudly shows off her scar.

The girls meet their new school teachers and become excited for the new school year. I successfully, albeit awkwardly, finish a summer tap class in which I became the oldest member (even surpassing the teacher) after our enrollment drops from 10 to 3, and in which I learn that after a certain age and certain events, one’s body does not behave the way it used to no matter how much one wills it. Turns become fewer, movement becomes slower, certain dance steps are not to be performed because, as one fellow dancer said, “I like my teeth.” I learned to appreciate the knowledge of dance teachers who know how to teach adults and adapt the style to them. And my appreciation of teachers who encourage even their adults students (“You’ve got it! You’re doing great!”) continues to increase.

We rejoice in receiving letters and electronic messages from both new and well-seasoned friends as they update us on the events of their lives and continue to make us smile with their lively personalities.

Hiking in the mountains one day, we see red leaves and realize that Autumn is on its way. We wake up one morning to smell that crisp, clean air through the bright blue sky that says Summer has left us and Autumn has arrived. The school bells start ringing, the mountains are brushed with red and gold, and that glorious cool air that reminds you that you’re alive rushes through you.

“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun,
. . .
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too —
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue . . .”
from “To Autumn” by John Keats

Happy Equinox to all.

Good morning! Welcome, students, teachers, and parents alike, to another fabulous school year!

As a few fellow bloggers have proven themselves to be capable of navigating and enjoying the YouTube channels, I have taken a spin around the dials with der Meister and—Ta da!—we found the most fabulous entertainment available, free of charge, for 10 minutes or less. (Usually less; people have little time to waste and necessities to consider: house to clean, books to read, email to check, blogs to read to get updated on others’ lives, lunch to eat . . . lunch? Oh, yeah! I wondered why we were drowsy, grouchy, and had an odd pang in our stomach.)

So, for your entertainment today, we have the following:
Incredibly cute British kids reenacting Doctor Who and Torchwood. (Fantastic use of the sonic screwdriver by “the Doctor,” and “Jack” has his reincarnating line down, “I’m fine!”) It’s cool that the parents video taped this awesome play time. See! Kids still play pretend in which old ruins are forts or castles, an oversized wrist watch can be Jack’s transporter, and an old phone both can be reimagined to be a very cool TARDIS. Forget the video games.

Here’s another one with the same kids where the Daleks attack. These are fantastic costumes and I think the kids should design their neighborhood’s Halloween costumes from now on.

While we’re on the subject of Doctor Who, check out these fantastic cakes from Cake Wrecks, the site listed in my side bar under “Weird Ones.” On Sundays, under “Sunday Sweets,” she posts photos of gorgeous cakes, often made for the kiddos. Castles, dragons, favorite book characters. This time, she devoted a post to Doctor Who. Amazing. I still think it would be cool to own a TARDIS.

And for all you awesome fellow sci fi/fantasy nerds—uh, I mean, uh, let’s see . . . aficionados (I am an English teacher and synonyms/euphemisms are my friend), here are some photos of Star Wars cakes. At least one of these is a wedding cake. Think about that.

There are two posts for Harry Potter. Love the sorting hat.

Some more fun cakes on reading.

To get back to the YouTube, this post references a cake that tries to induct a new holiday into our lives (what the baker was thinking to create such a phrase nobody yet knows). You have to watch the video (the first two minutes is all you need, really) just to see the reaction of the man at the counter. Think of who you could laugh with while celebrating this fine new holiday.

Speaking of books and odd cakes, all I can say about the pink elephant cake displayed here is . . why? (yes, pink. elephants. Oh, but check it out. It gets better.) Why the theme? Why elephants And why do I imagine Aunt Madam giggling almost uncontrollably as she serves this prize of a cake in the middle of the table to her awaiting guests? And picture Jeeves first staring, then trying to laugh unnoticed (come on, we’ve all covered it up with a cough before) as he lays eyes on this cake and watches the reaction of said guests? Personally, I love homemade cakes and appreciate all the effort. But the pirate one shown does get a bit . . . much.

And now for something completely different . . . here’s something fun and sweet I found on the YouTube. You might recognize this voice. It’s Mama K, my husband’s mum. Then go here, and here to hear a certain great music group, and here to listen to the Divine Miss Mae.

Can we navigate or what? : )

 We have reached the age of sibling squabbles. Mature interested parties who have already made great investments into their posterity, as well as those parties who took part in such squabbles, will remember this age of “I am right” accompanied by creative tones of voice and actions that demonstrate little patience and toleration for each other. With occasional moments of shock (“They’re already that big?”) along with humble gratitude and amazement for the blessing of parenthood as we watch our children grow up, we parents of these beautiful children occasionally have to tackle this new stage with various degrees of hit or miss. Luckily, I know the love they have for each other as this is also demonstrated in various ways which is sweet and encouraging to see. As I watch my children, I am often reminded of my own days growing up with my cousins and our many adventurous bonding experiences together throughout the years. One story from Aunt Patience comes to mind.

Aunt Patience is a fine woman from whom came many lessons. Her children and I were lucky enough to grow up together, and, as children will do, we often had our typical childish fights— who had the best treat, who got the special seat in the car, and, basically, who had the best and most of anything. As their almost daily playtime companion, I was used to these odd and, yes, silly squabbles and I admit to taking part in my share of them. As silly as many of these squabbles were, they were serious to at least one involved party at the time, and I was not always surprised by what would set someone off. Aunt Patience would try to make us see logic, but as children, logic is different for us than it is for adults, and we simply didn’t understand why adults couldn’t see the importance of our argument and the fact that we were right. Faced with us stubborn children (we all shared the same genes, after all), Aunt Patience did her best to referee, squelch, or simply ride out each fight to the end, smoothing any hurt feelings or egos as necessary.

When I was older, Aunt Patience told me of an experience that she knew I could relate to that happened when she and her children were giving a friend a ride home one day. Not being used to their rivalries, their friend was at a loss as to how to react when she uncomfortably found herself between the siblings when their fight started. Each was complaining that the other one was hogging all of the room in the back seat, and each argued that they had less room on their side of the car than the other. They discussed measurements using the universal and indisputable method of child measurement: they would measure their space with one hand against the door and the other against their leg, then carefully, so as not to disturb the measurement, they would hold up their hands to show each other exactly how much space was between those two hands. Every millimeter counted. (Admit it, you did this, too!) This would prove that the other sibling had far more space available on their side of the car, and should move over so other people could be more comfortable. Meanwhile, their friend simply sat between them in quiet surprise. They may or may not have been fighting for her right to space (it’s perfectly logical to justify your indignation when you claim to be fighting for someone else: “She needs more space! You’re hogging!”). Aunt Patience admirably kept her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road while trying to convince her children that the seats were made equally and they each had the same amount of space. Nonsense. She then watched in amazement as her children proceeded to change places in the back seat, climbing over their friend in the middle, determined to prove to the other that more space was available on their siblings’ side of the car. Declarations such as, “Oh, you have TONS of room over here!” and appropriate roomy wigglings were made before they switched their seats back. I had witnessed, and been part of, incidents like this before and laughed as I could easily picture this incident, and myself part of it either taking sides or trying to be non-judgmental (admit it—as children, one’s attitude depends on the day).

Looking back at my lucky time with Aunt Patience and her children, I realize that I was getting quite an education both in childhood and in parenting. Mothers earn their educational degrees in many fields through daily hands-on learning, luck, imagination, and a unique instruction book pasted together from whatever notes they’ve managed to accrue from the many moms in their lives. Aunt Patience greatly deserves her name, and my great gratitude, for letting us be children and loving us wholeheartedly for it.

We’re often told that we’ll laugh at unpleasant, embarrassing, or awkward incidents at later times in our lives. Admit it, we all have many. While dear Aunt Patience recounted this story, I was wiping away tears of laughter and understanding, reliving wonderful moments of my childhood with the people I loved . . . and hopefully her wonderful now-grown children, who I love dearly and forever hold deep gratitude for, are laughing as well.

As will often happen in our house, der Meister and I were recently discussing music. Our conversation came about because of a Father’s Day book I presented to der Meister entitled This is Your Brain on Music. Conversations of this sort usually take a variety of turns, this time covering, among other things, the skill of various music artists, the production value of various songs, and the reason for the various knobs and buttons on your music system.

Music is amazing. It makes those tiny goose pimples rush up and down our arms and up to our hair because the music or voice just did something so glorious that it makes our indescribable emotions want to pop out of our skin. It takes us back to our childhood of playrooms and make-shift stages, junior high school bus rides, and road trips. It warns us that a movie is taking a menacing turn and makes our children hide their eyes and cower in our shoulders. It makes our feet dance, sets the mood with a few choice notes, and conjures up entire story lines based on what we’re hearing. Music means something to us, often certain songs specifically. With this is mind, as part of an autobiographical project, I had my students create a playlist of ten songs that they felt represented them, with an explanation of why that song was chosen. This was cool because as the lists came in I could unmistakably see my students represented in their playlists and why they chose the songs they did. For the most part, they didn’t just choose songs for shock value or because “it’s cool” (which was against the rules, anyway). The songs meant something to them, reminding them of specific events, people, or moods. 

I tried this for myself wondering what I would come up with. I had made various lists of “favorites” before, but what ten would I choose if they had to represent me? It was hard. As I listened to different songs, I found myself thinking of who each song reminded me of rather than wondering how it represented me. I realized that by reminding me of my loved ones, they did, in a way, represent what mattered in my life, hence they were a part of me.

Both my parents love Bruce Springsteen and depending on the song, either one of them will come to mind. However, while hearing The Boss convince us that we were born to run, I think of my mum and how if she were in a crowded room and that song was in the background, she would belt out “woah!” with the man, with an fist punch to the air, indifferent everyone else around because, hey, “I’m singing with Bruce! Bruuuuuuccce!” After a rough day at school, Bruce and I would rock out together on that long drive home until I was sane and calm again.

As Tom Petty runs down his dream, memories of driving to California come to mind, as does memories of driving with my dad in general. We’d talk about the songs we’d hear on the radio, and on this particular drive he pointed out some of the lyrics from this song. I now know that Tom Petty is cool because he, too, wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh- wonders about Mr. Shannon’s runaway.

While hanging out with some friends when I was younger, we were tapping our feet or clapping against our legs to some music going on in the background. As I tapped along to the music, I noticed my friends glance at me then suddenly announce with disgust, “E, you’re off!” I didn’t know how to explain to them that I was tapping to everything I heard going on in the music, not just the beat. It’s what I heard and what didn’t. (Maybe dancing had something to do with that.) It wasn’t until later that I learned words like syncopation and down beats. Now I can point to Jimi Hendrix during his bought with manic depression, which brought about fantastic rhythms, beats, and sounds, to explain what sometimes goes on in my head when I hear music.

Other artists and songs come to mind, of course, but again, I have to distinguish between what I love and what represents me. One of those could be ELO reminding me to hold tight to my dream, which reminds me of my first year-long job search. Their message also came to mind at the end of this school year, and still pops up recently. Another would be Los Lonely Boys admonishing those nay-sayers and skeptics to leave me alone; I’m gonna do it my way because I believe that miracles happen.

So, I’m curious.

What are some songs you would choose for your playlist?

Three days to go and the class of 2009 will be on their way, with their younger classmates moving onward and upward. Throughout the year, I’ve been taught various lessons — or had various epiphanies, depending on how you want to see it — including:

• If you want a student to stay awake in class, feed him (and you find out that something simple like granola bars or fruit snacks go a long way)
• Some kids don’t eat from lunch to lunch, so that package of fruit snacks is most welcome
• Quoting “The Simpsons” impresses the fine youth, and one class gets jealous (and they let you know) when they have not been the recipients of said quotes when another class has
• Students are impressed when you give them an inexpensive, personalized gift that shows them you’ve paid attention and know them more than you let on
• The younger kids are thrilled to get a pad of paper, a pencil, and a sucker because, wow! It’s a present for us!
• You don’t always have to use your allotted funds for paper and pencils (see 1 and 2 above)
• When you have the choice between getting angry and yelling or laughing at someone’s suddenly bizarre, non-dangerous behavior, laugh — it makes you all much happier
• “Dorks,” “Weirdos,” and “Punks,” are safe endearments/exclamations of disbelief — and the kids get to giggle at you (and rightly so) because you use the word “dork”
• Show interest in their music, reading choices, or other activities — because you care about them and this helps them see that, and you just might discover some new music or books that you like because they share their favorites with you
• Some kids will do anything for those ten points of extra credit (even though the 20 point assignment wasn’t that hard or time consuming to begin with), so take advantage of their willingness (clean boards, clean floors, straighten rows of desks, etc.)
• Document everything. Because sometimes the incident you were doing everything to prevent is the very incident that will actually get administrators to act — and you have all of the documentation to prove you had appropriately followed protocol and it is now their turn to respond
• Have a fellow teacher sit in on meetings with administrators regarding above-mentioned incidents — they help you keep your head and can prove you handled yourself professionally
• You can be professional and still have fun with your students
• Be good to the fine ladies in the library and copy center — they help you to no end
• Ditto to the counselors
• And the office staff
• Secretaries (in any of our many office departments) really do know most everything, and all you have to do is ask
• If you’re impressed with a student, let their parent know — both the parent and child like it
• Parents like knowing what’s going on, and the positive messages are a nice relief from the negative ones
• Be the first one to say hello — eventually even those who have avoided eye contact for a while will once again start replying and calling you by name
• Greet your students by name in the hall ALWAYS — it shocks them at first, but then they like it and start talking to you
• High school behavior that occurred when you were in high school just keeps getting passed down through the generations (“I wonder what it would be like to snort this flavored drink mix?” Groan “Pay no attention to what is going on in that corner, kids.” Friend of said “wonderer,” “You guys are [dumbbells].” Don’t we ever learn?)
• Go to the assemblies — watch your kids have fun on stage and off, and you, too, can get “psyched”
• Get your own yearbook and have your students sign it— not only will you have a nice souvenir, but you’ll also get inspiring comments from your fine students such as: “You are my favorite teacher!” “I love your class!” “You are the best teacher I have EVER had!” “I appreciate all your help.” “You stayed very calm even though our class was crazy.” “You are a very tolerant teacher.” “You are a great teacher.” “You made things fun and interesting and not boring!” “You put up with me when others wouldn’t.” “Thank you for your help.” 

And that’s why they — and we — keep coming back. Because we love, thrive on, and live for the fun, crazy insanity!

Here’s something fun. Our channel 9, the local on-air educational network, must have its wave lengths crossed or something. We see the fine educational program but hear the jazz hour broadcast from the local University’s eclectic radio station.

This could be fun.

Especially when the McLaughlin group is paired with a fine Fitzgerald-like soundtrack.

Hee hee.

Discuss away, groupies. I’ll float away with the upright bass, dancing piano, and lovely voice.

Now I just have to wait for Mr. Ferguson and Friends to appear and my late night entertainment is set. (Who knew singing puppets could be so funny? It’s called late late night and time to go to bed, kids!)

Many events—such as Spring break, graduation preparation, eight (!) days of end-of-year testing, and a 7:15 a.m. emergency meeting about swine flu (message: please wash your hands and stay home if you are sick, thank you)—have been happening at the home of the Buffaloes where there is less than half of a term left of the year. (Already!) So, forgive the long post, but, it’s our life. And since you’re the one who came here, you must want to know.

First, as with all school districts in the state, ours is suffering from budget cuts. This includes a cancelation of all field trips and no free lunch for those of us on lunch duty. It also means the dreaded task of every principal: facing a reduction in force, i.e., letting some of your team members go. Some of us still in our first three years of teaching, including yours truly, are not having our contracts renewed. As we don’t have clout, tenure, or guarantees, we are the first to go.

Before we go any further, let all interested parties understand that we are fine, and somewhat relieved, with this development. As much as I love teaching, there were certain aspects I had to consider in regards to remaining at the Buffaloes’ home next year. My notification was, as a fellow English teacher aptly put it, an answer to prayer, though an answer I wasn’t clear on until it came.

A few red flags went off when I read a two-sentence email a couple of months ago stating an administrator needed to meet with me, and if I want union representation presents, please make arrangements. “Representation?” I thought, imagining a room with angry parents accusing me of saying something I shouldn’t have or being unfair to a student. As I’m trying to recall if any such incident has occurred, I go to my surrogate mentors, Herr and Frau Sweet. These fine people are both retiring after each having taught for over 40 years. Herr graciously lets me use his room during my prep period, and much advice and encouragement have come from him and his sweet Frau. (You know they are good people when they tell you they pray for you. Wow. And you can tell they are doing so for other fine teachers like yourself.) This fine German teacher wanted me to take over the excellent program he created, as well as some of his other classes because I have the necessary qualifications. He made a point of telling the higher-ups that he was leaving them with a highly qualified teacher to take over his position and he expected them to follow through. So, when I asked about this somewhat cryptic email, his wife quieted the nightmare scenarios in my head and said she knew of a few teachers who had been to such meetings with administration lately. I told them I wasn’t part of any union and didn’t know who to talk to about representation. They said they’d take care of that; I just show up at the meeting. After a few glances at each other, we parted, wondering, but suspecting, what was going to happen.

I started thinking about my current situation, and how I would feel if I was asked to leave. A few months ago I would have been devastated. Not that I don’t love teaching, mind you, rather, I don’t care for the atmosphere and conditions themselves. I had noticed that certain office folk avoided eye contact as we pass in the halls. Interesting. Then it seems that support regarding punishment is not coming from where it should be. I complain to the appropriate people about certain students’ behavior. No change in behavior. A student complains about the same students, as he is the recipient of said behavior. Said students get a slap on the wrist and get sent back to my class the same day. No change. Ahem. I talk to the informant’s mom, thanking him for backing up my complaints. Behavior continues. I complain to three (count them) administrators who come to my room when I call for them. I give them names, report the behavior, and the aforementioned student is there to back up me up. I tell them he has complained, too. They act serious about the complaint (as they should considering what it involves), say thanks and leave. Next class period, I tell this student that I’m still waiting to see what will happen and this decent student looks at me with a disillusioned stare and says, “I hate to tell you, Ms. E, but they’re not going to do anything.” Sadly, I notice he’s right as the students are no longer phased by trips to the office, suspension, or parent notification. I do my best to take charge and thankfully rely on the offered help of other teachers, since certain other support is not apparently available. When students don’t take the office punishment seriously and parents have been contacted with no change, there is little else I know to do. So we get creative—and annoyed as we realize that, from the looks of it, the students are the ones running this school, and they know it. And I’m the one who gets blamed for behavior that administration itself can’t control and let slide.

Then an incident occurs with funds. My school mentor, a good guy, tells us to spend our district funds or give it to another teacher to use before the deadline. The German teacher wants to buy dictionaries and asks if I can help pay for half. Of course! In return, he’ll let me have his English dictionaries for future classes, which is what I was going to use my money for. I talk to the appropriate secretary and the form is filled out. A day or so later, the form is returned with the note, “Rejected: not part of content area.” Hmmm. I show German teacher and ask him how I’m supposed to share my money if they don’t let me. He goes to talk to whomever and ends up ordering the books on his own. As we wonder about this, I start to feel like high school games are not just for high school students and hope I’m wrong.

The email comes and the meeting arrives. My mentor “represents” me. As I said before, I had been thinking, searching for solutions, and had come to terms with whatever the principal is going to say to me. (Do I stay or do I go? Alright either way.) As he starts talking, I realize what’s coming. I also realize that my mentor knows exactly what’s coming and, with a shock, I realize further that not one of us had prepared each other for this 1 1/2 minute meeting, and now there is no way that I can reassure my mentor, who has seen me upset before, that I am just fine here and he doesn’t have to worry. The principal gives his rehearsed, “as a first year teacher, you’re not guaranteed a renewal of your contract for next year, so thank you, but we choose not to renew.” And interestingly enough, I feel a huge relief wash over me and I almost smile as I take his letter and leave. This answers quite a few things for me. Half-way to the room I share with a fellow English teacher, I realize I left my poor mentor in the office. He pokes his head in the door a few seconds later and comes in very slowly. “Are you OK?” he asks me. Fellow English teacher looks at me, now aware of what my meeting was about. I smile genuinely and tell him honestly, “I’m fine. Really.” He walks in slowly and says, “Well, I feel sick.” Poor man hated how the whole thing was handled. I try to reassure him (I later find out he was depressed about this for a day), then go to break the news to German teacher, who took it relatively well. Just got a very hard, angry look on his face. Fellow English teacher says she was going to get the same message, but surprised them by giving them her letter of resignation first. As we leave for the day, she quietly asks me if I’m really OK, and as I try to explain my relief, she simply says, “So, it was an answer to prayer?” and I say, “Yes, I guess it was.”

Herr Sweet, concerned, tells me later that he feels the administration doesn’t like him, and he hopes their decision regarding my position wasn’t influenced by the fact that I associate with him and his wife. I, disgusted, told him that was the administration’s problem, and if that was the pathetic high school game they were going to play, they could have it.

As we hear about other staff leaving and wonder what is going to happen with our departments, a counselor comes to see me. With an excited look on her face, she verifies that I’m certified to teach German. The new high school needs a German teacher. Am I interested? Um . . . On der Meister’s advice, I get more information. The ensuing conversation is . . . confusing. All transfers and schedules have apparently been made for the new school, yet their language department is incomplete and up in the air. I ask what exactly would be offered in German. They don’t know. There is one class, but parents and students have expressed interest so there might be more. (Ah, so parents are raising their voice!) They had thought to bus the kids from there to here to take the language classes. (????) And there might be a chance to teach half of the classes here and half of them there at the new school. I told her I’m already not coming back to this school. Short awkward silence. (So, communication between departments doesn’t happen. Hm.) I ask about books. They don’t know about funding. (They offer a class and didn’t order at least a classroom set of books? Hm.) And they don’t have a French teacher either. I can’t help them there, I say. She’s sure the principal can give me more details, but of course just because I put in an offer doesn’t mean I’ll get the position. I tell her I’ll think about it and contact the principal myself if I want to. I leave thinking, “So they have no idea what’s going on with their schools. They suddenly realize they don’t have teachers they need and are now in a panic. And the best they can offer me is, ‘We need someone! But we just don’t know any details yet. But you can ask!’ You’re desperate for anyone and don’t collaborate with the administration so you even know what is going on or what I can do. This is not the way to run a department. I don’t want to be the teacher hired in desperation without anyone checking my credentials because you are in a panic and will take anyone. No thank you.” Herr Sweet is annoyed with the higher-ups and worried about his students who need college credit in languages. We hate to think of his finely crafted department falling apart.

Third term comes to an end. Grades were due by 3 p.m. At 11 a.m. ["Hey, it was literally the eleventh hour!" Thanks for the chuckle, Lady M], an administrator comes to me and tells me a parent complained that my grading scale is too hard. I try not to laugh as I look him in the eye and tell him I use the default grading scale for the high school (which the district is apparently OK with, as they helped us set it up during new teacher orientation) and I make any adjustments as I see fit. He says the other teachers don’t use that one. They use their own. (And I’m told this now?) He takes me into another teacher’s room and I feel like a problem as he dumps me in her lap before running out the door. I spend the time changing each grade by hand in the office with the kind lady in charge of grades because this made me half an hour passed the due time. There were a lot of things that went through my head here. “I’ve had this grading scale since the beginning of school, and now, third term, the day grades are due, the special parent calls and I have to change things. Interesting.” Another thought was that other teachers didn’t seem to worry about my scale. As one teacher told me, it’s a hard scale, but it’s doable. High expectations and all that. Yet another thought was how this situation seemed similar to a former one I was in years ago. I felt like they were complaining about any little annoying thing they could to make me not want to stay because they didn’t want me there, but had to keep me on for a while longer, so they’ll be picky until then. I hate feeling a bother and unwanted. Later, Herr and Frau Sweet ask me what administrator had said. I chuckled and said, “My grading scale is too hard.” They paused for a second then laughed outright. Their thought mirrored mine: Heaven forbid, we challenge the students.

Herr and Frau Sweet have contacts. I put my application out. (Again.) He writes a very complimentary, confidence-boosting letter of recommendation for me which makes me look at my progress in a new light. Someone actually notices that I am teaching and students are learning. He and I share some students and has, unbeknownst to me, asked them about their English class as he notices an improvement in their knowledge in his class. Wow! I feel I am a successful teacher, which I needed to have affirmed.

As we have heard many rumors about the German classes, we three get a good chuckle about a notification I get on a position that I am qualified for! It’s for the Buffaloes’ district, this high school, for an English/German teacher. I laugh outright when that comes my way in the mail. We are happy that German is apparently going to be continued, contrary to the many rumors about it being cancelled. (Even the state office of ed took interest in that. They want kids to go to college and kids need two years of the same language for that.) The Sweets laugh with me when we wonder what would happen if I applied.

So there you have it. The new developments. That and my seniors are very excited to have the year end. I’d love to see them all graduate, and hope they do, at least with my class.

Life is good and we are happy and—though it came in an unexpected way—rejuvenated, and excited for next year. Crazy, isn’t it? When school is great and fun, it is glorious!

Christ the Lord is risen today! The glorious sun is shining! It was a very welcome addition to the lesson I gave today in Relief Society. Along with joining in singing the wonderful Easter hymns (I love the alleluias!) I had the opportunity to teach one of Joseph Smith’s wonderful messages, this one on the holy calling of missionary work. Where some may wonder about not getting a “proper” Easter message, I find the message of saving souls because you love them and the gospel a fitting one for this day. And spending the day with family as you watch your grandparents smile at your sweet children who run in the sun in search of Easter eggs, then sharing the tasty chocolate Cadbury eggs you find in your basket just makes the day.

This lovely day follows a lovely weekend of ballet performances of a certain too-quickly-growing-up little dancer who enchanted us with her rendition of an underwater creature in the tale of Alice following the ever-elusive white rabbit. And then on the hour-long drive home, we hear the greatest classic radio rerun ever. “You’re listening to Casey Casem’s Top Forty Countdown!” Of April 1985. The Pet Shop Boys croon out their hit “West End Girls,” Falco fell from 2 to 4 with “Rock Me Amadeus,” Robert Palmer “jumped three spots” to number 3 with “Addicted to Love,” and The Bangles held number 2 with their new hit, “Manic Monday.” Prince had the number 1 spot. And for an extra treat, the station threw in “a countdown classic extra!” with The Moody Blues’ “Your Wildest Dreams.” Wow. I thought of quite a few of you while der Meister and I laughed and bopped along to these tunes. A fun ending to a week of Spring Break. It felt great to be able to play with my kids and take care of our house and the fine people in it. : )

Happy Easter to all you fine folks!

Pirate Queen sent this to me the other day via email. Who she got it from, I don’t know, but it cracked me up. Maybe all teacher applications should read like this. Then we’d know what we’re getting into. You fellow teachers will relate to these daily duties. I, thankfully, don’t have to be part of “lice duty.” Instead, I get to be the cell phone/iPod/etc. police and an informant for all instances of swearing (which Freshmen are fluent in). And, as you know, schools use whiteboards now, though I do most of my instruction on an overhead (thus gaining a check mark for “making use of technology” on my evaluation forms) because all but two of the teachers whose rooms I borrow have their own lessons on their board. “A few books” brought to mind the fact we English teachers here work with a classroom set of books. It might save on money, but it’s awfully hard for any student to make up the reading and related work when he can’t take a book home. A bigger problem when you think that we roaming teachers have to carry that classroom set around with us from room to room. That’s fine for a box of novels, but I hate to think what might happen if I plan on using those literature anthologies again. “Please take your book and follow me to room 200A where you will deposit said book outside the doorway so the next class can pick one up as they go in. Thank you.” The current German teacher, when he was asked personally to come build (become) the German department, demanded that each student have his or her own book or he wouldn’t take the position. Also, I don’t know if I exactly qualify for food stamps because of my level of certification (more expensive to hire, but more qualified for certain courses as some require a master’s degree to teach), but you get the idea. Wonder what some of your own job applications would look like, dear readers, if you ended up writing them?

And the simple but nice message at the end: Don’t forget to pray. : )

Here you go:

After being interviewed by the school administration, the prospective teacher said:

“Let me see if I’ve got this right. You want me to go into that room with all those kids, correct their disruptive behavior, observe them for signs of abuse, monitor their dress habits, censor their T-shirt messages, and instill in them a love for learning.

You want me to check their backpacks for weapons, wage war on drugs and sexually transmitted diseases, and raise their sense of self esteem and personal pride.

You want me to teach them patriotism and good citizenship, sportsmanship and fair play, and how to register to vote, balance a checkbook, and apply for a job.

You want me to check their heads for lice, recognize signs of antisocial behavior, and make sure that they all pass the final exams.

You also want me to provide them with an equal education regardless of their handicaps and communicate regularly with their parents in English, Spanish or any other language by letter, telephone, newsletter, and report card.

You want me to do all this with a piece of chalk, a blackboard, a bulletin board, a few books, a big smile, and a starting salary that qualifies me for food stamps. You want me to do all this and then you tell me. . . I can’t pray?”