31 October 2009
28 October 2009
Here are some topics asked about today.
Why the Vikings played so bad on Sunday.
Why my ex-girlfriend is so crazy.
How stupid it is for a Minnesota professional baseball team to have an outdoor stadium.
What should my major be?
Whether or not the Vikings will ever win a Superbowl.
Refutation of all organized religion.
Why the Vikings need a new stadium.
Do you see any themes? Many of these are actually acceptable topics (well, not the ex-girlfriend, or last Sunday's game, or your major). And I forbid writing on abortion, the death penalty, legalization of marijuana, euthanasia, gay marriage or gay adoption, and lowering the drinking age, which, as one student put it, takes out all the good ones.
Oh, research papers. So much to teach, and so little time.
Pray for us all. Unless you're the student who's going to refute all religion. Then, um, well, whatever.
19 October 2009
But V is not me. She loves Disney more than I'd like. She thinks Hannah Montana is cool, and iCarly is even cooler. She listens to my stories about her grandfather, and my grandparents, and my uncles, almost all of whom died before she was born, patiently, but I can see her four year old brain doesn't see why I'm rambling on so. Which is okay. I'm glad she listens. But I would love for her to feel a connection to these ancestors, whose stories I memorized years and years ago.
When we got to Patti Ann, my aunt Beverly's second daughter, who lived for three and half weeks in 1956, I told V about her. I said, "You know your Great Aunt Bev? She had five babies in her life. But Patti Ann died before she was a month old."
V said, "Why?"
"She had an enlarged heart, and it was a long time ago, and doctors didn't know how to fix her. She was very little."
"Oh." Then V knelt down on top of the grave, and spread her arms wide.
"What're you doing?" I asked. I'm not a stickler for cemetery decorum, but this seemed to be a little much, and I didn't want V to think she could be disrespectful here.
"I'm hugging her, so she won't be lonely," V said.
I couldn't help it. I cried.
Then she leapt up, grabbed my hand, and we walked to the car.
17 October 2009
The first thing I did was poll my students. I told them I have fair to midldlin' sewing skills, and I want something I can make rather than purchase. "What should I be for Halloween?"
"A color crayon."
"An M&M" Many of my students are single moms, and simplicity is a priority. I imagine their kids have lots of solid-color sweatsuits upon which black construction paper is taped.
"A drunk hobo" (which made me snort, actually)
A young woman, recently here from Somalia, said "A pregnant nun." I didn't even ask.
Finally, one of them spoke up and said "Can we think about this and get back to you?" I realized I was keeping them longer than they'd hoped just before a long weekend. Oops. So if they come up with anything fascinating, I'll be sure to report back.
But I thought I'd ask your advice. What should I be? I've sewn prom-dress level projects (with piping! though I never want to do piping again...) so I can handle whatever you propose, pretty much. It can't be too risque, though: I taught as a saloon girl one year, and was more than disconcerted by catcalls from students. Too creepy to even be flattering. So, you know. Be reasonable. Oh, and I need to be able to work in it. So a hibernating bear, while tempting, won't work out.
Thanks, internets! I just know you'll come up with something brilliant.
14 October 2009
09 October 2009
04 October 2009
Our route takes us through several small towns we rarely get to see, and as we pulled into Crosby (or was it Ironton) we noticed as a police car pulled out right in front of us. Hm.
Aha. It's a parade. In the middle of our four hour drive. Great.....I was totally not excited about this. I kept thinking if I'd only not stopped for that last bathroom break, we wouldn't be stuck behind a parade that means nothing to us. But I underestimated Shaun's school spirit abilities. As soon as we were sure we were in the parade, he laid on the horn, rolled down his window, and waved and hollered to everyone in Ironton (or was it Crosby?). I was embarrassed but also charmed, because his enthusiasm is contagious, even when I'm trying to be annoyed with him. Oh, Katie and Ben. Things will only go downhill from here....The rest of the Royal Court, all of whom are apparently on the football team. While we followed the parade, honking and cheering, we saw people come out of the main street businesses, grin broadly, and wave. Even my cold heart had to admit that was kind of sweet.And here, the final float, which contains either the entirety of a large football team, or all of grades 9-12. I'm not sure which. But they were cheering and enthusiastic, so I guess it doesn't really matter.
All in all, it only took about five extra minutes to cruise through town with the firetrucks and football players, and it helped us fall in love a little with a small town called Crosby (Ironton?).
We stayed at the Black Bear, which is a perfectly lovely place, but on the weekend we chose had a serious elevator breakdown (serious in that it was the elevator closest to our hotel room) and also closed the pool and spa area for all of Saturday. ALL of Saturday. So that was disappointing. Plus we didn't win any money, either. Dangit.But all of that helped us get out of our hotel and head to the Big Lake. Did you know Lake Superior contains 10% of all the surface freshwater in the world? I was impressed with that fact, so if you think it's lame, start your own blog and discuss amongst yourselves.Unlike last year, we didn't venture much beyond the shoreline: we had a fabulous meal at the Pickwick, enjoying a view of a sailboat on the lake-I-pretend-is-the-ocean. We enjoyed the magical lift bridge (kind of...it's a long story). And mostly we just liked being grown ups. Of sorts.
If you are a parent, I strongly recommend regular time away from your babe or babes. Just having the opportunity to miss V made me a better mama all over.
01 October 2009
She is the only person on earth who shares my father and mother with me, who knows what it was like when the terrible things happened, who remembers those odd holiday moments (driving home in a blizzard, the year we got a black and white TV of our very own) that are meaningless to everyone but me and her. She is the person genetically most like me in all the world. I can't believe how lucky I am.
Happy 35th, sissy. I love you.