Being sassy is a gift..

 

There so many things we get to do as we grow up and then old. Some memories make a dent in my brain and then have to be expressed. Here:

*In first grade, my teacher kept me after school until it was dark because I refused, and I mean refused to draw a turkey with its tail feathers up and all different colors.  I drew turkey after turkey, each time with its tail feathers down.  I kept telling her that 1) only male turkeys raised their tail feathers, and 2) they were speckled brown.  Seeing wild turkeys most of my six years, I knew this to be the truth.  She finally gave up.

*I once said “Son of a bitch” to my sixth grade teacher.  A boy dared me to say it.  You see, I really didn’t know it was swearing.  My brothers, father, and grandfather said that phrase several times a day.  I didn’t get in trouble, but it was a close call. She asked what-did-you-say? I thought quickly, responded "some of it itches".

*My brother Robert could persuade me to do almost anything.  Once he talked me into cleaning a catfish he had caught.  I had cleaned other fish, but they had scales.  The catfish had to be skinned.  I did it, but never again.

*In sixth grade (obviously a big year) a kind neighbor discovered that I loved art.  She painted in oil, producing lovely stuff.  One day she showed up at our farm house with all sorts of almost empty tubes of oil paint, a variety of brushes, and a “How to Paint” book by John/Jon Gnagy.  Her kindness set my love for art on fire.  I will never forget her.

*When I was a young mother with three children, my husband’s family owned real estate company purchased a hotel in Ireland.  We sold everything we owned, packed up the rest into a crate the side of a small garden shed, and moved to County Cork.  For three + years, we owned and operated the property along with my brother-in-law, Patrick.  Oh, the stories I could tell on that.

*When we returned to California from Ireland, I started/re-started teaching at the age of 37.  Everyone assumed I was very experienced and a ‘master teacher’.  It was the steepest and most exciting learning curve I have ever had to do.  I loved it.

It pays to be a woman who can become a sassy and strong lady. The stories go on.

February is OVER!

This is about the most boring calendar of all.

February has ended, Praise Be to God!

February was also a scary month for me as a teacher. 

Amazing changers of history

 

For a month with Washington and Lincoln’s birthdays, and being Black History Month, February was always the longest month when I was teaching.

Factor in stinkin' Valentine's Day (oh, how I hate Valentine's Day Parties at school), February was awful.  There was so much that could be taught, but limited time.  Time, never enough time, it seemed.

Oh, how I hate school Valentine parties.

By this point of the school year, several levels of learning needed to be reached by my students.  Needed?  Absolutely must happen!   

Some students seemed to reach a glorious epiphany about the end of January, and all the math, spelling, reading, and learning came together in an explosive “AH!  HA!  I UNDERSTAND!”

There would be current of electricity connecting student to student, until the room was alive with this burst of comprehension.  Man.  I cannot tell you how that felt to me as the teacher.  Words cannot do that justice.

But, then…there were other students who had hit a wall in December, and never seemed to come back all the way from Christmas Holidays.  The first days of January were turning back into the early days of September.  They and I would spend the rest of the year playing catch-up. 

Some did catch up, but some did not.

So glad February is over.

Oh, the days of college....

"What should I do?  What career should I pursue?"

Going away to college…just writing the words hauls up the memories of anticipation and excitement.   

Since 8^th grade I had been planning for college.  My future career changed frequently, depending on what book I was reading at the time.  One day I would decide to be a nurse, after reading the biography of Florence Nightengale.  The next day I wanted to be a doctor, after reading about Louis Pasteur. 

With college, the options opened wide for a farm girl from an isolated rural area.

I still can sense the nervousness of signing up for classes and planning the schedule.  Buying the books was a shock; $28 for one textbook!  Can you imagine! 

But those years are long past.  I have taken many post-graduate courses, bought many textbooks ($150 for one textbook!).  Even now, when the local community college course catalog arrives, I find myself looking through it with that same sense of excitement.

But things have changed, as the needs of life change.  The course titles for my group are very different.

Take note of the recent classes for the workforce and community development:

*Let’s make a bikini!

*Backyard chickens!

*Mastering the 
Bandsaw!

*Tie-Dye, parts 1, 2, and 3!

*What Were You Born to Do?!  Find out!

*Be Forever Stress-Free with EFT!

There are, of course, other courses for vocation and career changes.  Those courses will be invaluable to the younger generation seeking careers and such.  But, for me?  A person who lists "writer" as an occupation?

Somehow, I am drawn to “Mastering the Bandsaw!”

Not the 'Good Napkins', but....

This is the second day of school for Bright Eyes.  Already, she and her little clutch of friends are striving for good behavior, and most importantly, “table points”.
 

courtesy of Bing.com

Rules are there for a reason.

Unless you are familiar with the discipline plans and rewards used in an elementary classroom, that means nothing to you.  “Table Points” are the points a cluster of six students called a ‘table group’ can earn by sitting up straight, paying attention, folding hands in front of them, or remaining silent when the world around them is wreaking wild havoc.

The table group who garners the most points throughout the whole week gets to choose prizes from the Treasure Chest.  “Oh. My. Goodness.  This is so big, like, you know, Grandma!  And, we were the first table group for the school year, too.”  Bright Eyes now sounds like every teeny girl in Disney™ television shows.  It makes me sad, and a little cranky to be honest.

You, too, can choose from the treasure chest!

So, Bright Eyes hopped into the van, grasping her prize from the Treasure Chest.  It was a small zippered bag, like a girl would carry in her purse for lipstick and such. She had so much to tell about her day, and she had to buckle in before she could examine her treasured prize.

There was silence from Bright Eyes as my daughter drove, letting Sunshine fill in the news of her day.  Then, “Mommy, what is this?”

From the treasured prize, Bright Eyes pulled out three Tampons™, and held them up for her mother to view in the rear view mirror. She was told that they would talk about those things at home.  But that was never enough for Bright Eyes; she knew a brush-off when she saw it.  So Bright Eyes tore them open, and speculated about their uses.  Not a flashlight…oh, look, here’s string…she swung the tampons around on their strings…No, this isn’t a telescope. Here, Sunshine!  You can play with this one…”

This looks like a good book.

When they all arrived home and the front door closed, my daughter (God bless her.) gave Bright Eyes an abbreviated explanation; she took the Tampons away.  Then she called the teacher, who listened in silence.  The Teacher said, “Oh, dear.  I’d better called Bright Eyes’ best friend.  She picked the same thing.” 

Ahhh.  The joys of teaching.  The joys of learning.