Wednesday, October 27, 2004
continued
For those that asked what might happen to the worst gumball machine prize in the history of childhood (see post below) if I added water - I made a little movie:
Just Add Water
music by the roches
Just Add Water
music by the roches
Labels: save as draft
Monday, October 25, 2004
the truth about gumball machines
Growing up, we did not have much money. This became evident when we went grocery shopping. We shopped in warehouse-like grocery stores where we bagged our own groceries. I believed that a blue box of genuine Kraft Macaroni and Cheese was a luxury item. We bought one two-liter bottle of Coke per week. When we were shopping with my mother, she would bribe us to get us to behave (after having children, I believe that all mothers bribe for behavior in grocery stores). But rather than offering us a special treat from the grocery aisle, we were always lured by the promise of twenty-five cents for the gumball machines.
The temptation of a quarter was enough to put me on my very best behavior. I was obsessed with the gumball machines, because one of them advertised the chance to win a real, working, spy camera! The camera was displayed, pressed against the glass in all of its glory, the size of the palm of my hand, and just the thing to turn me into a neighborhood Harriet or Encyclopedia Brown.
Every week, I tried to win the camera. I peeked through the glass and located the plastic container that held the treasured prize. Slowly, as the machine emptied, the camera got closer and closer to the bottom. I tracked its progress, and pocketed my cheap, bendy metal rings and rubber pencil toppers with faith that each passing visit brought me closer to the coveted camera.
Finally, I prepared for THE day. I did extra chores to earn spare change. On our last visit to Albertsons, the gumball machine had been close to empty. I knew that a pocket of quarters would be all I needed to finally own the fabulous camera. When we got there, I rushed to the gumball machine and saw that the unthinkable had happened. Someone had come by and refilled the machine. The prizes that had been near the bottom - within grasp - had been pushed all the way back up to the top. The truth slowly dawned on me. Gumball machines are built to deceive. The prizes on the outside, the spy cameras that lure you to trade your money for a chance to twist the handle, will always remain just out of reach.
A few weeks ago, I was with my kids and they saw a row of gumball machines. They begged for a quarter so they could try their luck. I made an attempt to warn them. I told them that they would be disappointed, that gumball machine prizes are horrible. "Please", they pleaded. I handed them each a quarter.
My daughter got a bendy metal ring. My son got the worst gumball prize in the history of childhood.
"What is it?", he asked. I held the prize in my hand. "It looks like a baggie of blue dirt", I said. He was confused. "What do you do with it?" he asked. I told him that, without a doubt, he had received the worst gumball machine prize ever.
My son shook his head. "You were right Mom", he said reverently. "Gumball machines are a scam ."
Some lessons have to be learned the hard way.
The Worst Gumball Machine Prize Ever
The temptation of a quarter was enough to put me on my very best behavior. I was obsessed with the gumball machines, because one of them advertised the chance to win a real, working, spy camera! The camera was displayed, pressed against the glass in all of its glory, the size of the palm of my hand, and just the thing to turn me into a neighborhood Harriet or Encyclopedia Brown.
Every week, I tried to win the camera. I peeked through the glass and located the plastic container that held the treasured prize. Slowly, as the machine emptied, the camera got closer and closer to the bottom. I tracked its progress, and pocketed my cheap, bendy metal rings and rubber pencil toppers with faith that each passing visit brought me closer to the coveted camera.
Finally, I prepared for THE day. I did extra chores to earn spare change. On our last visit to Albertsons, the gumball machine had been close to empty. I knew that a pocket of quarters would be all I needed to finally own the fabulous camera. When we got there, I rushed to the gumball machine and saw that the unthinkable had happened. Someone had come by and refilled the machine. The prizes that had been near the bottom - within grasp - had been pushed all the way back up to the top. The truth slowly dawned on me. Gumball machines are built to deceive. The prizes on the outside, the spy cameras that lure you to trade your money for a chance to twist the handle, will always remain just out of reach.
A few weeks ago, I was with my kids and they saw a row of gumball machines. They begged for a quarter so they could try their luck. I made an attempt to warn them. I told them that they would be disappointed, that gumball machine prizes are horrible. "Please", they pleaded. I handed them each a quarter.
My daughter got a bendy metal ring. My son got the worst gumball prize in the history of childhood.
"What is it?", he asked. I held the prize in my hand. "It looks like a baggie of blue dirt", I said. He was confused. "What do you do with it?" he asked. I told him that, without a doubt, he had received the worst gumball machine prize ever.
My son shook his head. "You were right Mom", he said reverently. "Gumball machines are a scam ."
Some lessons have to be learned the hard way.
The Worst Gumball Machine Prize Ever
Sunday, October 24, 2004
waving and saying thank you
I started blogging as a part of a research project for a class on teaching writing. I was not writing at the time. I did not consider writing to be a part of who I was. I did not think of myself as a person who wrote.
There was a time when I loved to write, a time when I wanted to be a writer. In elementary school, I wrote and illustrated little stapled together books and created page after page of terrible imitation Shel Silverstein poetry. When I was in the fifth grade, Ronald Regan was elected president and I sat under the table and wrote a long story about the hostage crisis. In middle school, I carried an extra notebook that I filled with poems and stories. I was always writing.
During my freshman year of high school, my gifted English teacher arranged a "writing workshop" with an MFA student from Florida State. The grad student came in and absolutely tore up our writing. I had always been praised for my writing, which I suppose was good by high-school standards. Finding out that someone thought it was crap was a shock to my system. The graduate student got reprimanded for not treating us as the young, inexperienced writers we were, and our next batch of papers received glowing praise. I wasn't buying it. I had seen what she really thought, and I never wrote fiction again.
I kept writing poetry, although I stopped showing it to people. Writing was my secret, a way to express longing and pain, hope and despair. I kept what I wrote hidden, and kept myself similarly locked to most of the people I met. Eventually, I got married, and had two children, and I stopped writing altogether.
Last year, I enrolled in graduate school and began writing papers. In January, I took a class on teaching writing and part of the syllabus required us to do creative writing. We were also required to do a research project on some aspect of teaching writing. I decided to research blogging, and I started a blog to see how the system worked. At first, I was planning to only post the writing assignments from my class. I never imagined that I would start writing for myself.
Early on, I got encouragement from two fellow bloggers. Jon Barlow was the first person I talked to about web logs, and he was kind enough to let me interview him for my project. Once I started blogging, he encouraged me and linked to my blog from his site. Jeremy also started reading, and he became a true friend. In the beginning, I kept writing largely because I had a friend reading.
At the same time I started blogging, I also started practice teaching, and my supervising teacher started reading my blog. I found that our relationship immediately deepened. It took me a while to connect the fact that she seemed to really "know" me, to the fact that she was reading my blog. I realized that, perhaps, a large part of the reason that I felt isolated was that I simply did not trust people enough to let them see the real me.
I have been blessed through the keeping of this blog. It has made me much more open in all of my relationships. I have found a hand full of true friends as a direct result of keeping the blog - people who I never would have known otherwise. For me, writing has been a sort of bridge. I have always been a pretty guarded, introverted person. I hate small talk. I hate superficial relationships. I have a hard time knowing how to make friends, because I have so little patience for the "getting to know you" part of the process. I am still much more open on the blog than I am in daily life. But writing has made me want to reach out more, to take down my defenses, and to trust. I've become more willing to give rather than take, and this has carried over into all of my relationships. When I skip a few days of blogging, my husband reminds me that I need to write.
And so, I am grateful for these gifts today. I am grateful for the way I unintentionally fell into keeping a blog. I am grateful for the friends and readers that encourage me, that see me waving through my words and take the time to wave back. I had no idea that I had lost something until I found it again.
There was a time when I loved to write, a time when I wanted to be a writer. In elementary school, I wrote and illustrated little stapled together books and created page after page of terrible imitation Shel Silverstein poetry. When I was in the fifth grade, Ronald Regan was elected president and I sat under the table and wrote a long story about the hostage crisis. In middle school, I carried an extra notebook that I filled with poems and stories. I was always writing.
During my freshman year of high school, my gifted English teacher arranged a "writing workshop" with an MFA student from Florida State. The grad student came in and absolutely tore up our writing. I had always been praised for my writing, which I suppose was good by high-school standards. Finding out that someone thought it was crap was a shock to my system. The graduate student got reprimanded for not treating us as the young, inexperienced writers we were, and our next batch of papers received glowing praise. I wasn't buying it. I had seen what she really thought, and I never wrote fiction again.
I kept writing poetry, although I stopped showing it to people. Writing was my secret, a way to express longing and pain, hope and despair. I kept what I wrote hidden, and kept myself similarly locked to most of the people I met. Eventually, I got married, and had two children, and I stopped writing altogether.
Last year, I enrolled in graduate school and began writing papers. In January, I took a class on teaching writing and part of the syllabus required us to do creative writing. We were also required to do a research project on some aspect of teaching writing. I decided to research blogging, and I started a blog to see how the system worked. At first, I was planning to only post the writing assignments from my class. I never imagined that I would start writing for myself.
Early on, I got encouragement from two fellow bloggers. Jon Barlow was the first person I talked to about web logs, and he was kind enough to let me interview him for my project. Once I started blogging, he encouraged me and linked to my blog from his site. Jeremy also started reading, and he became a true friend. In the beginning, I kept writing largely because I had a friend reading.
At the same time I started blogging, I also started practice teaching, and my supervising teacher started reading my blog. I found that our relationship immediately deepened. It took me a while to connect the fact that she seemed to really "know" me, to the fact that she was reading my blog. I realized that, perhaps, a large part of the reason that I felt isolated was that I simply did not trust people enough to let them see the real me.
I have been blessed through the keeping of this blog. It has made me much more open in all of my relationships. I have found a hand full of true friends as a direct result of keeping the blog - people who I never would have known otherwise. For me, writing has been a sort of bridge. I have always been a pretty guarded, introverted person. I hate small talk. I hate superficial relationships. I have a hard time knowing how to make friends, because I have so little patience for the "getting to know you" part of the process. I am still much more open on the blog than I am in daily life. But writing has made me want to reach out more, to take down my defenses, and to trust. I've become more willing to give rather than take, and this has carried over into all of my relationships. When I skip a few days of blogging, my husband reminds me that I need to write.
And so, I am grateful for these gifts today. I am grateful for the way I unintentionally fell into keeping a blog. I am grateful for the friends and readers that encourage me, that see me waving through my words and take the time to wave back. I had no idea that I had lost something until I found it again.
Labels: save as draft
Friday, October 22, 2004
blog explosion
There is a site called Blog Explosion that works as a sort of search/referral engine for blogs. You join and get referrals to your site by blog surfing in their network. At first, I was skeptical about it - but so far, I have been impressed. I really like the fact that they have a good number of international bloggers, and it seems like a great way to find new blogs that are outside the circles that you link-hop in.
Anyway, if you are interested in that sort of thing - you ought to check it out.
And if you are visiting this site while surfing Blog Explosion - welcome, and thanks for dropping in.
Anyway, if you are interested in that sort of thing - you ought to check it out.
And if you are visiting this site while surfing Blog Explosion - welcome, and thanks for dropping in.
Labels: save as draft
comparative literature
I am trying to teach my ninth graders how to write a formal essay. A big part of this has meant wrestling with the computer labs (which are not hooked up to printers!?) at the school, in an attempt to teach my kids basic word processing.
My mantra has been: "Times New Roman, 12 Point Font, Double Space". My students don't know how to type a paper. They don't know to indent paragraphs four spaces. They don't know to put titles it italics. They do know about clip art.
Yesterday, I had to convince my students that clip art was not acceptable in their formal essays (on The Odyssey). I stopped one student who was writing his entire essay on a background of Spongebob Squarepants. "No Spongebob", I told him.
"But", he argued, "Odysseus was a sailor and Spongebob lives in a pineapple under the sea."
My mantra has been: "Times New Roman, 12 Point Font, Double Space". My students don't know how to type a paper. They don't know to indent paragraphs four spaces. They don't know to put titles it italics. They do know about clip art.
Yesterday, I had to convince my students that clip art was not acceptable in their formal essays (on The Odyssey). I stopped one student who was writing his entire essay on a background of Spongebob Squarepants. "No Spongebob", I told him.
"But", he argued, "Odysseus was a sailor and Spongebob lives in a pineapple under the sea."
Labels: save as draft
stealing beauty
I came across an ad for Dove, and I was intrigued by the tag line that said it was a part of a "Campaign For Real Beauty". I went to the website for the campaign, and downloaded their research findings because I thought that it might make an interesting essay topic for my students. As I read through the research, I came across this section:
Ownership of the Word “Beautiful”
Study data reveal that “beautiful” is not a word women willingly associate with themselves. In the study, women were given a list consisting only of positive or neutral adjectives to describe their looks (including; “natural,” “average,” “beautiful,” “sexy” and “gorgeous”) and asked to choose the one they felt most comfortable with. By an overwhelming majority, women around the world are most comfortable using the words natural (31%) or average (29%) to describe their looks.
♦ Only 2% of women around the world choose beautiful to describe their looks, fewer even than choose “attractive” (9%), “feminine” (8%), “good-looking” (7%) or “cute” (7%). Analysis reveals that this lack of identification with “beautiful” holds across all age groups, with only 4% of 18-29 year-olds choosing “beautiful” as a word to describe their looks. " campaign for real beauty
I suppose that this information is not anything that I have not read before. Years ago, I read the book Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of adolescent Girls, and it changed the way I taught. Still, there is something about the way that these results are worded that hits me. "Study data reveal that 'beautiful' is not a word women willingly associate with themselves".
I've been thinking about this, and trying to come up with something insightful to write about it, but I keep coming back to the idea of words I would "willingly associate with myself". I wonder if a large part of my spiritual numbness and blindness comes from an unwillingness to associate words with myself. If I can't name joy, peace, kindness, love, and beauty in my own heart - how much more will I be unable to name Christ there? And if I am not helping others be naming beauty and value in them - how much more am I missing seeing Christ?
Ownership of the Word “Beautiful”
Study data reveal that “beautiful” is not a word women willingly associate with themselves. In the study, women were given a list consisting only of positive or neutral adjectives to describe their looks (including; “natural,” “average,” “beautiful,” “sexy” and “gorgeous”) and asked to choose the one they felt most comfortable with. By an overwhelming majority, women around the world are most comfortable using the words natural (31%) or average (29%) to describe their looks.
♦ Only 2% of women around the world choose beautiful to describe their looks, fewer even than choose “attractive” (9%), “feminine” (8%), “good-looking” (7%) or “cute” (7%). Analysis reveals that this lack of identification with “beautiful” holds across all age groups, with only 4% of 18-29 year-olds choosing “beautiful” as a word to describe their looks. " campaign for real beauty
I suppose that this information is not anything that I have not read before. Years ago, I read the book Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of adolescent Girls, and it changed the way I taught. Still, there is something about the way that these results are worded that hits me. "Study data reveal that 'beautiful' is not a word women willingly associate with themselves".
I've been thinking about this, and trying to come up with something insightful to write about it, but I keep coming back to the idea of words I would "willingly associate with myself". I wonder if a large part of my spiritual numbness and blindness comes from an unwillingness to associate words with myself. If I can't name joy, peace, kindness, love, and beauty in my own heart - how much more will I be unable to name Christ there? And if I am not helping others be naming beauty and value in them - how much more am I missing seeing Christ?
Labels: save as draft
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
best.quiz.ever
naming
My japanese name is 松尾 Matsuo (tail of a pine tree) 歩 Ayumi (walk, deeper meaning: walk your own way).
Take your real japanese name generator! today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.
thanks to steph (originally)
Labels: save as draft
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
my dad
my favorite picture of him
what brings us together
I grew up watching weddings. To be more specific, I grew up watching my father perform weddings. The ceremonies were a thrill for me because afterwards, my father would always un-pin the single rose from his lapel and hand it to me.
One of the things I grew to love about my father's weddings, is that he always seems to eschew the obvious verses (the love chapter from Corinthians, the "leave and cleave" verse, the "whither thou goest" bit from Ruth) in favor of more obscure texts that he feels capture the true essence of marriage.
His tendency to veer from accepted liturgy was not always successful. Once, he ended his pre-vow meditation with verses about Adam and Eve from Genesis. This sounds nice enough, but his last words to the young couple were "and they were NAKED, and were not ashamed."
When I got married, I reminded my father to please not use the "naked and not ashamed" verse. He didn't. Instead, he used a verse from Proverbs. Since then, I have heard him say that this is his favorite verse about marriage.
I like my Dad. I like knowing that after forty years of presiding over weddings, and counseling couples, and speaking at marriage retreats - he still bows to the mystery of it all.
Proverbs 30
18 "There are three things that are too amazing for me,
four that I do not understand:
19 the way of an eagle in the sky,
the way of a snake on a rock,
the way of a ship on the high seas,
and the way of a man with a maiden.
One of the things I grew to love about my father's weddings, is that he always seems to eschew the obvious verses (the love chapter from Corinthians, the "leave and cleave" verse, the "whither thou goest" bit from Ruth) in favor of more obscure texts that he feels capture the true essence of marriage.
His tendency to veer from accepted liturgy was not always successful. Once, he ended his pre-vow meditation with verses about Adam and Eve from Genesis. This sounds nice enough, but his last words to the young couple were "and they were NAKED, and were not ashamed."
When I got married, I reminded my father to please not use the "naked and not ashamed" verse. He didn't. Instead, he used a verse from Proverbs. Since then, I have heard him say that this is his favorite verse about marriage.
I like my Dad. I like knowing that after forty years of presiding over weddings, and counseling couples, and speaking at marriage retreats - he still bows to the mystery of it all.
Proverbs 30
18 "There are three things that are too amazing for me,
four that I do not understand:
19 the way of an eagle in the sky,
the way of a snake on a rock,
the way of a ship on the high seas,
and the way of a man with a maiden.
Friday, October 15, 2004
math
Monday, I went to Arden and Lily's school for parent-teacher conferences. Lily's teacher surprised me when she proclaimed that my daughter is very good at math. On her standardized tests, she scored at the highest level in every single math section.
Math?
I used to say that the only two qualities I was looking for in a mate were 1) someone that was tall - and 2) someone that was good in math. My reasoning was simple. I wanted any future children of mine to have a fighting genetic chance. I knew that no "math genes" would be transmitted from my half of the heredity equation.
As it happened, I married someone who is both short and terrible at math.
My son (the oldest) has always lagged behind in math. Every report card we got last year included a note: "Please make math flash cards and practice math facts". His math deficiency was expected. My attitude probably did not help. I found it difficult to work up much conviction about the importance of those math facts. We would go to Barnes and Noble for flash cards and end up with the latest Series of Unfortunate Events, or Artemis Fowl book instead.
So I was slightly taken aback when the teacher told me that Lily was excelling in math, and was naturally gifted in mathematics.
This morning, I stepped into my shower. Lily took a bath with bath crayons last night. On the inside rim of the tub, she wrote this equation:
A Heart + LOVE = Happiness
I want to stick that on my flash card.
Have a lovely Friday friends.
Math?
I used to say that the only two qualities I was looking for in a mate were 1) someone that was tall - and 2) someone that was good in math. My reasoning was simple. I wanted any future children of mine to have a fighting genetic chance. I knew that no "math genes" would be transmitted from my half of the heredity equation.
As it happened, I married someone who is both short and terrible at math.
My son (the oldest) has always lagged behind in math. Every report card we got last year included a note: "Please make math flash cards and practice math facts". His math deficiency was expected. My attitude probably did not help. I found it difficult to work up much conviction about the importance of those math facts. We would go to Barnes and Noble for flash cards and end up with the latest Series of Unfortunate Events, or Artemis Fowl book instead.
So I was slightly taken aback when the teacher told me that Lily was excelling in math, and was naturally gifted in mathematics.
This morning, I stepped into my shower. Lily took a bath with bath crayons last night. On the inside rim of the tub, she wrote this equation:
A Heart + LOVE = Happiness
I want to stick that on my flash card.
Have a lovely Friday friends.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
woe to thee
Last week, my son Arden (who just turned eight) started reading his Kid's Devotional Bible at night. He started doing this on his own, and my husband and I were pleased. A few years ago, when he moved up to kid's church, we bought him his own Bible. We found one that contained the complete Bible (which I thought was important, as I remembered my own Sunday School past with its Bible book memorization relays and Old Testament stories) written in slightly simpler language.
Last night, my husband came into the room where I was working and told me that he had walked in on Arden's devotion - and that Arden was in the book of Leviticus. He said that he had told Arden that he might want to read something different, but that our son said he wanted to keep reading where he was.
What Arden wrote in his blank book:
Suppose a person sacrificeses one of his children to Molech. It doesnt matter if he is and isrealite or and outsider.
Todays devotion is boring.
Chip and I read this together. "Right underneath that passage, it says a man should not have sex with another man", my husband told me. I protested, "It's a Kid's Bible. " Too late, we realized, only the words are simplified.
We just stood there for a minute, trying to think of the right response. Trying to be parental. Finally, I spoke.
"Looks like you have an old and new covenant to explain". My husband shook his head, sighed, and walked back into my son's bedroom to tackle deep theology with an eight year old.
"You go, Preacher Daddy!", I yelled behind him.
Last night, my husband came into the room where I was working and told me that he had walked in on Arden's devotion - and that Arden was in the book of Leviticus. He said that he had told Arden that he might want to read something different, but that our son said he wanted to keep reading where he was.
What Arden wrote in his blank book:
Suppose a person sacrificeses one of his children to Molech. It doesnt matter if he is and isrealite or and outsider.
Todays devotion is boring.
Chip and I read this together. "Right underneath that passage, it says a man should not have sex with another man", my husband told me. I protested, "It's a Kid's Bible. " Too late, we realized, only the words are simplified.
We just stood there for a minute, trying to think of the right response. Trying to be parental. Finally, I spoke.
"Looks like you have an old and new covenant to explain". My husband shook his head, sighed, and walked back into my son's bedroom to tackle deep theology with an eight year old.
"You go, Preacher Daddy!", I yelled behind him.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
he had me at vanilla brown sugar
Yesterday, I took the kids to Jakes, because I saw that they opened a brand new store - in my neighborhood. This was very exciting news. Especially since I heard that they had a new flavor (Meanie Halloweenie) that included chunks of those candy corn-like orange pumpkins.
I adore disgusting candy: those caramels with white cream in the middle, Fun Dip, Circus Peanuts, Zots, Nerds, Sugar Babies, Pez. I go right past the premium chocolate candy. Keep your Twix, Snickers and Milky Way. I want a box of Hot Tamales, or a Tootsie Roll.
My taste in candy disgusts my husband. He has been known to make me brush my teeth after eating Circus Peanuts. He says they smell like nail polish. Whatever.
I love Halloween because my kids discard the nasty candy - the candy I happen to love. Every year, I admit that my heart quickens just a bit when I see the first bags of candy corn and pumpkins begin to line the supermarket shelves. It's almost as exciting as seeing the first yellow Peeps and Cadbury Creme Eggs. If there is anything I love more than nasty candy - it is seasonal nasty candy.
So, I head that Jakes made candy pumpkin ice cream - and three weeks ago, they opened a store right down on Main Street. I had to go and check it out.
I went with the kids and, lo and behold - Jake was there. The real Jake. Jake himself. Mr. Ice Cream. In the flesh.
He was nice. He bent down and talked to my kids, face-to-face. He asked their names and what their favorite flavors were. He was just the way you wold think a guy that made ice cream ought to be. I told him that I had a blog and I had written about his ice cream. More than once.
He asked what the web address was, and I wrote it down for him. Then I realized - perhaps I would come across as a creepy Jakes Ice Cream stalker if he read my blog. It's just that, you know - he has this ice cream made with Krispy Kreme donuts and coffee. And there's the Vanilla Brown Sugar, and the Cotton Candy that tastes just like Cotton Candy. And now, Halloween Pumpkin ice cream.
Later that night, I got an email from Jake. He thanked me for what I wrote on the blog, and he said hello to my children. He remembered them by name.
And when I went to bed, the world seemed a little nicer. So thanks Jake. Thanks for everything.
I adore disgusting candy: those caramels with white cream in the middle, Fun Dip, Circus Peanuts, Zots, Nerds, Sugar Babies, Pez. I go right past the premium chocolate candy. Keep your Twix, Snickers and Milky Way. I want a box of Hot Tamales, or a Tootsie Roll.
My taste in candy disgusts my husband. He has been known to make me brush my teeth after eating Circus Peanuts. He says they smell like nail polish. Whatever.
I love Halloween because my kids discard the nasty candy - the candy I happen to love. Every year, I admit that my heart quickens just a bit when I see the first bags of candy corn and pumpkins begin to line the supermarket shelves. It's almost as exciting as seeing the first yellow Peeps and Cadbury Creme Eggs. If there is anything I love more than nasty candy - it is seasonal nasty candy.
So, I head that Jakes made candy pumpkin ice cream - and three weeks ago, they opened a store right down on Main Street. I had to go and check it out.
I went with the kids and, lo and behold - Jake was there. The real Jake. Jake himself. Mr. Ice Cream. In the flesh.
He was nice. He bent down and talked to my kids, face-to-face. He asked their names and what their favorite flavors were. He was just the way you wold think a guy that made ice cream ought to be. I told him that I had a blog and I had written about his ice cream. More than once.
He asked what the web address was, and I wrote it down for him. Then I realized - perhaps I would come across as a creepy Jakes Ice Cream stalker if he read my blog. It's just that, you know - he has this ice cream made with Krispy Kreme donuts and coffee. And there's the Vanilla Brown Sugar, and the Cotton Candy that tastes just like Cotton Candy. And now, Halloween Pumpkin ice cream.
Later that night, I got an email from Jake. He thanked me for what I wrote on the blog, and he said hello to my children. He remembered them by name.
And when I went to bed, the world seemed a little nicer. So thanks Jake. Thanks for everything.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
and now for something completely scary
This is not a joke:
Come to Atlanta and make a date with the handsome and sexy Dr. Murphy! He has Botox!
You don't want to look like his pet dog (see lower right hand corner of sign), do you?
(Sign photographed by me at Phipps Plaza)
Come to Atlanta and make a date with the handsome and sexy Dr. Murphy! He has Botox!
You don't want to look like his pet dog (see lower right hand corner of sign), do you?
(Sign photographed by me at Phipps Plaza)
lie to me, but do it with sincerity
He is the kid that made a five in my class. He made a five because he never came to class. Literally.
I would see him in the hallways. "Are you coming to class today?", I would ask. "Yeah", he would nod. He always seemed sincere. "I'll be there".
He never showed up.
The social worker sent me an email; I had to fill out a referral form because he had too many unexcused absences. I filled out the form. He came to me between classes. "Man, why'd you write me up?", he said. I told him I had to, I had gotten an email telling me I had no choice. "Why didn't you just lie?", he asked. I looked at him, speechless. "I don't lie."
That day, he came to class. Halfway through, he asked to use the bathroom.
"If I let you go, you won't come back", I said. "I'll come back." he assured me. "I promise." A half an hour later, one of his classmates asked me where he was. He never came back.
A few weeks later, he stopped by my class again. It was during last period, my planning period. "I have to go to court because of you", he complained. I told him it was not because of me, it was because he never came to class. He told me his aunt was going to come by to check on him. "Tell her I have been in class all week", he said.
"But, you haven't been in class at all", I replied.
"Come on, you can lie." He smiled.
"No," I told him. "I can't."
Last week, he started coming to class. "Do I really have a five in here?", he asked. I looked him in the eyes. "Yes", I said - "because you never came to class".
"Come on, I only missed one or two times."
I looked at him, incredulous. "You were never here"
"You can say I was. Aren't you going to make something up for me?"
"No", I told him. "I'm not".
He came to class every day that week. He did not turn in anything, but he came to class.
On Friday, he stopped by during my planning period and sat down in front of my desk. He had not known that I live across the street. I live in his neighborhood. He talked to me for an hour. He told me not to take it personally, he has not attended school without skipping since the seventh grade. He is just waiting until he turns sixteen and can drop out.
I asked what he will do after he drops out. He said he could work for his family and paint houses (except he hates the smell of paint). Or, he could do landscaping (but he hates the heat).
I told him he ought to at least try school for a semester before he decides to drop out. I told him that he ought to come to class, and see what it is like. He told me he would try.
Today, he was not in class. The computer had him listed in OSS (Out of School Suspension).
During my fourth block planning, my door opened and he slipped inside. "Don't tell anyone I'm here", he said.
"Aren't you suspended?", I asked.
He smiled. "Yeah, but can't I just stay in here?"
I told him that he was not allowed on campus. I couldn't let him hide out in my room.
"Come on, " he smiled. "Aren't you going to lie for me?"
I handed him the work that he had missed. "No." I told him. "You have to leave."
He paused by the door on his way out, and turned to tell me one last thing: "I'll see you tomorrow."
I know he might be lying, but I'm going to choose to hope not.
I would see him in the hallways. "Are you coming to class today?", I would ask. "Yeah", he would nod. He always seemed sincere. "I'll be there".
He never showed up.
The social worker sent me an email; I had to fill out a referral form because he had too many unexcused absences. I filled out the form. He came to me between classes. "Man, why'd you write me up?", he said. I told him I had to, I had gotten an email telling me I had no choice. "Why didn't you just lie?", he asked. I looked at him, speechless. "I don't lie."
That day, he came to class. Halfway through, he asked to use the bathroom.
"If I let you go, you won't come back", I said. "I'll come back." he assured me. "I promise." A half an hour later, one of his classmates asked me where he was. He never came back.
A few weeks later, he stopped by my class again. It was during last period, my planning period. "I have to go to court because of you", he complained. I told him it was not because of me, it was because he never came to class. He told me his aunt was going to come by to check on him. "Tell her I have been in class all week", he said.
"But, you haven't been in class at all", I replied.
"Come on, you can lie." He smiled.
"No," I told him. "I can't."
Last week, he started coming to class. "Do I really have a five in here?", he asked. I looked him in the eyes. "Yes", I said - "because you never came to class".
"Come on, I only missed one or two times."
I looked at him, incredulous. "You were never here"
"You can say I was. Aren't you going to make something up for me?"
"No", I told him. "I'm not".
He came to class every day that week. He did not turn in anything, but he came to class.
On Friday, he stopped by during my planning period and sat down in front of my desk. He had not known that I live across the street. I live in his neighborhood. He talked to me for an hour. He told me not to take it personally, he has not attended school without skipping since the seventh grade. He is just waiting until he turns sixteen and can drop out.
I asked what he will do after he drops out. He said he could work for his family and paint houses (except he hates the smell of paint). Or, he could do landscaping (but he hates the heat).
I told him he ought to at least try school for a semester before he decides to drop out. I told him that he ought to come to class, and see what it is like. He told me he would try.
Today, he was not in class. The computer had him listed in OSS (Out of School Suspension).
During my fourth block planning, my door opened and he slipped inside. "Don't tell anyone I'm here", he said.
"Aren't you suspended?", I asked.
He smiled. "Yeah, but can't I just stay in here?"
I told him that he was not allowed on campus. I couldn't let him hide out in my room.
"Come on, " he smiled. "Aren't you going to lie for me?"
I handed him the work that he had missed. "No." I told him. "You have to leave."
He paused by the door on his way out, and turned to tell me one last thing: "I'll see you tomorrow."
I know he might be lying, but I'm going to choose to hope not.
what i have been up to
I could say, "If I never see another English paper again as long as I live.........".
But this is my life. Most days, it's a life I am glad and grateful to have.
Other days, like Friday, I get an email halfway through the day, reminding me that final semester grades are due MONDAY.
A reminder would have been nice at the beginning of the week. Clueless new teacher that I am, I had no freaking idea it was the end of the semester.
All those boxes in the picture? I graded all of that in the past three days.
Grades are in. Most of my kids passed (although one kid made a 5 - and yes - a five - it's not a typo).
I'll post tonight. I promise.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
i am now, officially, addicted to jakes
because:
they have the best flavors on earth.
you get to eat in cool rooms like this:
and (as if it could get any better), they sell used books.
they have the best flavors on earth.
you get to eat in cool rooms like this:
and (as if it could get any better), they sell used books.
fellow wanderers, pt. 2
During my last two years of college, I was involved in a charismatic church. For the first (and only) time in my life, I had an older woman who acted as my spiritual mentor. Lisa had a gift for one-on-one ministry and she was amazingly comfortable with prayer. Anytime that I had a problem, I could visit or call her on the telephone and she would stop what she was doing and offer up long, detailed, spiritual warfare-heavy prayers on my behalf.
Shortly after I got married, my husband and I moved to Tennessee so that he could attend seminary. Lisa and I stayed in touch through phone calls and occasional visits. Whenever I talked with her, she always told me the same thing. "God has put it on my heart to pray that you find a friend". I thought this was a strange prayer for her to be offering for me. I was married. I thought this meant that I did not need any friends. My husband was my friend. That was the way it worked - the whole, "I married my best friend" thing. Still, every card she sent me ended with the same words: "I am praying that God sends you a friend".
My father is an ordained minister and a marriage counselor. He refuses to do premarital counseling. This has caused problems, since - well - it is technically a part of his job. He defends his refusal by explaining that people who are engaged are temporarily insane. According to him, God causes this insanity of "falling in love" because otherwise, nobody would ever willingly commit to marriage. There is no point in counseling someone who is insane. My father believes that counseling should be saved for after the wedding, when the insanity subsides and the bride and groom wake up one day and wonder what they have done.
I have heard my father preach on this subject. He tells a story about waking up one morning, and looking over at my mother sleeping beside him, and realizing that he married her because he thought that she was going to magically meet all of his wants and needs. He says that he looked at her and it dawned on him that not only was she not going to meet every single need that he had, but that she married him thinking the exact same thing, that he was going to take care of all of her wants and needs. According to my dad, this was the point when counseling would have been helpful.
Even though I had heard this story, I made many of the same mistakes when I got married. I expected that Chip would meet all of my needs for support, friendship, validation, companionship, understanding, encouragement, fulfillment, conversation, and etc. When Lisa told me that God put it on her heart that I needed a friend, I thought she was crazy.
I have been married almost twelve years. In that time, I have come to see that both Lisa and my father were right. My husband has many wonderful qualities, and I have never had a single doubt that he is the only person I could be (and stay) married to. He is my perfect mate. But he is not similar in personality to me. (When we got married, my father said that "the nicest boy in the world" had married "the most determined girl in the world"). Chip is enthusiastic, friendly, and sociable. I am introspective, and uncomfortable in groups. He is nice. I am determined. My father went on to say that he thought that a marriage between the nicest man and most determined woman would be an unbeatable combination. He was right. Our differences make us well-matched. We round each other out. But we don't finish each other's sentences. We don't want to see the same movies. I have to explain some of the things I think to him, because he does not get them automatically.
For a long time, I got frustrated by this. But within the past few years, I have started making friends. Fellow-wanderer friends. Soulmate friends. Friendship does not come naturally to me, but I am slowly learning to receive friends into my heart. The friendships I have made lend grace and understanding to my life. Chip has seen me grow and be challenged by them. As I developed friendships, and he was relieved from the burden I had unknowingly placed on his shoulders, I began to be able to be a better friend to him. I became more grateful for him than I had ever been.
I hold onto things too tightly. I expect too much out of people. For years, I held onto Chip too tightly. I wanted him to meet all of my needs, and I never stopped to consider that my demands were both unfair and harmful. This past year has been about learning to let go of my tendency/desire to take, and to learn to give.
A few weeks ago, I had an awful day and I was just grumpy and mean. We had a babysitter and a date lined up, but Chip told me that perhaps what I needed was to go out with a friend. I went out with one of my soul mate friends. We finish each other's sentences. When I came home, I was in a better mood. I told Chip that he was my perfect mate.
"You're my perfect mate," I said, "But you are not my soulmate".
He started to protest.
"Think about the people that are my soulmate-friends", I told him. "We all have similar history and hurts, and so there is an understanding that is unspoken. You know what I have lived through - would you even want to be my soulmate?"
He smiled. "No", he said. "I absolutely would not."
I have been married for almost twelve years. I hesitate to write about marriage because it is so complicated, and I don't want to seem like I have answers. I don't have answers. Most of the time, it remains a complicated mystery to me.
One thing I am learning, is that each person I let myself love increases my ability to give, my ability to love. The more I give, the more I have to give, and the less I feel compelled to take.
I can see now that Lisa was right to pray that God would send me a friend. I am grateful that her prayer was answered.
I am so very grateful.
Shortly after I got married, my husband and I moved to Tennessee so that he could attend seminary. Lisa and I stayed in touch through phone calls and occasional visits. Whenever I talked with her, she always told me the same thing. "God has put it on my heart to pray that you find a friend". I thought this was a strange prayer for her to be offering for me. I was married. I thought this meant that I did not need any friends. My husband was my friend. That was the way it worked - the whole, "I married my best friend" thing. Still, every card she sent me ended with the same words: "I am praying that God sends you a friend".
My father is an ordained minister and a marriage counselor. He refuses to do premarital counseling. This has caused problems, since - well - it is technically a part of his job. He defends his refusal by explaining that people who are engaged are temporarily insane. According to him, God causes this insanity of "falling in love" because otherwise, nobody would ever willingly commit to marriage. There is no point in counseling someone who is insane. My father believes that counseling should be saved for after the wedding, when the insanity subsides and the bride and groom wake up one day and wonder what they have done.
I have heard my father preach on this subject. He tells a story about waking up one morning, and looking over at my mother sleeping beside him, and realizing that he married her because he thought that she was going to magically meet all of his wants and needs. He says that he looked at her and it dawned on him that not only was she not going to meet every single need that he had, but that she married him thinking the exact same thing, that he was going to take care of all of her wants and needs. According to my dad, this was the point when counseling would have been helpful.
Even though I had heard this story, I made many of the same mistakes when I got married. I expected that Chip would meet all of my needs for support, friendship, validation, companionship, understanding, encouragement, fulfillment, conversation, and etc. When Lisa told me that God put it on her heart that I needed a friend, I thought she was crazy.
I have been married almost twelve years. In that time, I have come to see that both Lisa and my father were right. My husband has many wonderful qualities, and I have never had a single doubt that he is the only person I could be (and stay) married to. He is my perfect mate. But he is not similar in personality to me. (When we got married, my father said that "the nicest boy in the world" had married "the most determined girl in the world"). Chip is enthusiastic, friendly, and sociable. I am introspective, and uncomfortable in groups. He is nice. I am determined. My father went on to say that he thought that a marriage between the nicest man and most determined woman would be an unbeatable combination. He was right. Our differences make us well-matched. We round each other out. But we don't finish each other's sentences. We don't want to see the same movies. I have to explain some of the things I think to him, because he does not get them automatically.
For a long time, I got frustrated by this. But within the past few years, I have started making friends. Fellow-wanderer friends. Soulmate friends. Friendship does not come naturally to me, but I am slowly learning to receive friends into my heart. The friendships I have made lend grace and understanding to my life. Chip has seen me grow and be challenged by them. As I developed friendships, and he was relieved from the burden I had unknowingly placed on his shoulders, I began to be able to be a better friend to him. I became more grateful for him than I had ever been.
I hold onto things too tightly. I expect too much out of people. For years, I held onto Chip too tightly. I wanted him to meet all of my needs, and I never stopped to consider that my demands were both unfair and harmful. This past year has been about learning to let go of my tendency/desire to take, and to learn to give.
A few weeks ago, I had an awful day and I was just grumpy and mean. We had a babysitter and a date lined up, but Chip told me that perhaps what I needed was to go out with a friend. I went out with one of my soul mate friends. We finish each other's sentences. When I came home, I was in a better mood. I told Chip that he was my perfect mate.
"You're my perfect mate," I said, "But you are not my soulmate".
He started to protest.
"Think about the people that are my soulmate-friends", I told him. "We all have similar history and hurts, and so there is an understanding that is unspoken. You know what I have lived through - would you even want to be my soulmate?"
He smiled. "No", he said. "I absolutely would not."
I have been married for almost twelve years. I hesitate to write about marriage because it is so complicated, and I don't want to seem like I have answers. I don't have answers. Most of the time, it remains a complicated mystery to me.
One thing I am learning, is that each person I let myself love increases my ability to give, my ability to love. The more I give, the more I have to give, and the less I feel compelled to take.
I can see now that Lisa was right to pray that God would send me a friend. I am grateful that her prayer was answered.
I am so very grateful.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
still here. kinda sorta.
sorry for the lack of posting/responding. my daughter has been sick and i've had limited time to write. i hope to post tomorrow. until then, thank you for your comments and for checking back. and if you could send a prayer that my daughter's ruptured eardrum will heal without needing surgery, i'd be grateful.
Sunday, October 03, 2004
yesterday, i got so old
thank you to all my lovely friends who left me birthday wishes. i'm grateful to have made so many true friendships through blogging.
so yeah, i'm even older now. but, despite being almost mid-way through my thirties, i still feel like a kid. i keep waiting for someone to come and bust me for impersonating an adult.
with my birthday, comes my favorite month:
October
And the trees are stripped bare
Of all they wear
What do I care
October
And Kingdoms rise
And Kingdoms fall
But you go on...
...and on...
U2
so yeah, i'm even older now. but, despite being almost mid-way through my thirties, i still feel like a kid. i keep waiting for someone to come and bust me for impersonating an adult.
with my birthday, comes my favorite month:
October
And the trees are stripped bare
Of all they wear
What do I care
October
And Kingdoms rise
And Kingdoms fall
But you go on...
...and on...
U2
chip's hearse
