They show re-runs this time of year

I haven't been able to assemble enough functional brain cells to write new material (they are all on holiday), so I'm taking a cue from the television networks--I'm giving you re-runs. The following is an assortment of previously written poetry...because I don't want things to get too dusty around here.

Happy New Year, people.

Seeing Mars on Megan's Birthday

The planets fall in line this Virgo night
And offer up a view of distant Mars,
Glowing like some crazy bloodshot star
Through August haze and dirty city light.

I'm standing in the middle of the street
The third late summer evening in a row
To see what sixty-thousand years ago
Ancient eyes glimpsed. I wipe away the heat

And sigh, and turn toward the house but then
I see it burning pink against the pall.
It makes the others stars look gray and small
As if to glow as brightly would be a sin,

And I cannot believe I could have missed
It there two nights before, but then, today
Is Megan's birthday and she has a way
Of bringing things to light. I can't resist

The wonder juxtaposed beneath black space,
How on the evening of my sister's birth
Sixteen years later Mars is seen from Earth.
Next week it will be gone without a trace,

The stars resume their ordinary gleam,
But Megan is a light that will not dim
Like Mars, a fleeting planetary whim--
She shines in dark and day, in sleep, in dreams.


Southern Comfort

When the yelling was
particularly loud nights, days
found me hiding in the corner
between the sofa and the wall
in my mother's mother's house.
I could not escape

her presence,
her healing gifts:
a Push-up and a damp yellow
washcloth to cool my burning
hot cheeks. She gathered me
into her lap and talked

of things I loved--
watching birds, riding PaPa's tractor,
picking blackberries and walking
to the store for gum and pop. Before
the Push-up was gone I was
smiling again. The way she

wiped away the sherbet
and misunderstanding, I almost believed
that old yellow cloth was magic.
Seems like a century ago,
and now I find myself wishing
for Push-ups and magic washcloths

and the safety of a lap.
This girl could use
a gentle rocking, a cool cloth
against eyes that have seen
too much, and the taste
of soft orange sherbet

would be a welcome change
from swallowing the bitter pills
that life often prescribes.
I have grown up, and wise,
and I know the answers are harder
than this--but my little girl memory

still recalls the color and the cool,
the orange and yellow comfort
of a frozen treat and a cloth
so worn and thin I can see
my grandma's hand through its gauzy threads
reaching out to touch my face.

In case you weren't already convinced

Isn't he the CUTEST?

If I had to guess what he's thinking, I'd say it's something along the lines of, "Look, we need to talk. Why the hell is it so cold in here? I can't feel my ears, and if I had balls they'd be frozen solid. Are you trying to ruin my life by making me sleep with the dog for warmth?"

I got my first winter gas bill today, and the second thing I did after opening it was turn the heat down to 65. The first thing I did was make sure nothing was broken after I woke from the temporary state of unconsciousness I experienced upon reading the amount I owe to my local gas company. We're talking numbers too high for an English major to comfortably process. My self-diagnosed mathematical learning disability kicked into full gear and I started hyperventilating. I had to take deep breaths and put my head between my knees. It was like reliving the 5 minute class change before 8th grade math class, only worse. Worse, because these numbers are freaking DOLLARS, and even an English major can see that when I *gasp* subtract them from the treasury that is my state teachers' paycheck I will have considerably less than when I started.

So yeah, it's chilly in my house. The cat is now under the Christmas tree skirt, and the dog is lying in front of the fireplace. There's no fire in it, but Suzanna has always been an optimist. As for me, I can't feel my nose and my knuckles are actually cold from typing this post, so I think I'll burrow under the covers and go to sleep. Maybe the cat will join me. And if not, at least I still have my unfolded laundry to keep me warm.

See, I told you that's what he was saying

And the cat said...

Look closely. Make sure your sound is on. And yeah, my cat speaks with a Scottish accent. It's one of his many talents.

Twisted

Consider the following:

• Yesterday, before and after The Da Vinci Code, I washed two loads of laundry. I hate folding laundry, so I left the clothes in the laundry basket until this morning, when I dumped its contents on my bed, a self-imposed ploy to force myself to fold the clothes before I go to bed*.

• This morning Suzanna was acting strangely, like she was having trouble breathing and standing up. Although we later went on what seemed to be a completely normal walk, she IS almost 11, and she is my baby, and in typical "me" fashion I freaked out. So I left her in the house, and on my way to work I called Gayle and asked her to check on the dog sometime today, preferably around lunchtime. She said she would.

When I returned home this afternoon I found a frisky, completely normal Suzanna (perhaps she was pouting this morning because I made her get off the couch?) and THIS:

Please disregard the aforementioned pile of unfolded laundry and pay special attention to the BEAR dressed in my FAVORITE HOODIE and JEANS. It should go without saying that I almost wet myself from fear when I came around the corner and flipped on my bedroom light. I am surrounded by weirdos.

*Which I still have yet to do, and it's bedtime. Dammit. If you know me at all you know those clothes are going right back in the laundry basket.

I was abducted by a book

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. On Sunday around 10 a.m. I opened The DaVinci Code and was not seen or heard from again for almost eight hours. If you've read it--and you liked it--you know of which I speak. I couldn't stop. It was as if an unseen force was turning the pages. Eventually I became hungry and thirsty, but the book was relentless. I had to deal dirty: "Okay, okay, I'll read ten more chapters. Then can I have a snack? I'll just grab a box of Cheez-its, nothing fancy or time consuming." And the book agreed to my conditions. I warmed up leftovers for lunch, but I do not recall eating anything after my 6:30 p.m. crackers and soda, which I ate one-handed. My other hand was chained to the book. I felt I owed it to the characters to stick it out and stay the distance--what they endured lasted less than 24 hours, after all, and I just couldn't see stopping the action for, say, a meal, or laundry.

So that's why I didn't blog on Sunday. I know, I know, what about the previous THREE DAYS? That's right, I am at work after a four-day weekend. You'll recall my, er, concern about the impending winter weather from last Wednesday, and it did come--freezing rain and regular rain and temperatures hovering between 30 and 32 all day Thursday, and Thursday was a glorious day--no school, no kids, no work, no contact with the greater public. I knew we would have to make up the day on one of the two workdays built into Christmas vacation. Fine, I didn't mind losing one day. It was worth it.

But when my alarm went off at 6 on Friday morning I flipped on the television to confirm that we had a 2-hour delay, and why not?--the temperature was already 34 and the rain had stopped the night before. I saw all of the other school systems scroll by, all 2-hour delays, and I ALMOST turned off the TV and reset my alarm for an hour later, but I am an audio/visual learner and I needed to see and/or hear about the delay before I proceeded. There was no delay. In fact, THERE WAS NO SCHOOL AT ALL. I was furious. I went immediately to the window, sure that 6 feet of snow must have fallen unbeknownst to me during the night. But the ground was clear. The gradually lightening sky was BLUE. I could see SUNLIGHT. There was ice on the trees, yes, but it was melting. I could see and hear it melting. I later learned the reason for the cancellation: the bus parking lots were icy. I have always believed that the buses went to the kids, not the other way around, so I'm not sure why they couldn't salt the parking lots and send the buses out onto the clear streets. By 9:30 the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and it was 45 degrees.

I ended up going to work for a few hours on Friday, and because I got so much done I am able to sit here at work, at my desk, and blog on a Monday morning. I guess I shouldn't complain, even though my Christmas break is now TWO days shorter. If you are thinking, "well, not really, you just got those two days a little early," you should stop it right now. If you are a teacher you understand that a "true" vacation does not really begin until you know you do not have to go back to those sniveling immature excuses for--I mean, children--for several days. Long weekends are pleasant, but they are not "breaks." Hence, Thursday and Friday could not possibly be considered part of Christmas vacation because I was well aware that I'd be right back here today. In fact, I consider Thursday simply a recovery day from the plague of days that preceded it. As soon as I saw the cancellation notice Thursday morning I became semi-comatose. For a list of things I did NOT do on my snow day go here. What I did do would not constitute an entire post: I slept really late, watched "Little House on the Prairie" and "Magnum P.I." reruns, and ate. My brain and my body needed the maintenance time, like when websites shut down for several hours and are not operable. I was definitely not operable. By the time I finally became operable it was time to come back to work. See? NOT a vacation at all.

And so the real vacation will begin on Thursday, and then there will be plenty of time to do vacation-like things--shopping, cooking, my annual Christmas craft all-nighter. And if I'm lucky I'll be abducted again...there's quite a lineup of suspects on my nightstand, and I'm such an easy target.

You're never too old to learn something new about yourself

I watched "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" tonight for the gazillionth time and only just realized that the Grinch bothers me not because he steals Christmas from the Whos, but because he is mean to Max, his dog.

Urgent notice!

The National Weather Service has issued a winter weather advisory for my area. Up to a quarter of an inch of wintry precipitation could fall tonight. That's right! Enough snow/ice to make a footprint is coming this way! Local meteorologists and newscasters have warned people to take cover, and the grocery store lines are backed up all the way to the meat department. The dearth of bread and milk has prompted the governor to request aid from our neighbors to the south*, as people apparently ingest an abundance of sandwiches and milk during winter storms, and the local home improvement warehouse had sold out of rock salt as of 4:00 this afternoon. At school this afternoon some coaches were already discussing schedule changes in the event of a school cancellation on Thursday. Classes may have to be postponed until January.

Pray for me. If this weather event actually materializes I may actually have to go out in the streets and operate my car among people who cannot drive in March drizzle, much less the mere suggestion of ice and snow. Scary.

*I could be exaggerating. Just a bit.

Dear Diary:

Friday, December 9

Today during my 4th period class--a class that usually makes me wish I had chosen a less stressful career, like firearms testing or bounty hunting--we actually had a productive discussion. They did their work and volunteered answers to questions. They refrained from cursing. I didn't have murderous thoughts about any of them.

I should note that on Thursday I went to a workshop and left my classes in the hands of a competent substitute; my favorite class, my bright, energetic honors kids, got the worst report: rudeness, disrespect, failure to stay on task. My fourth period kids, these trash-talking potty mouths who are in my class because they have not yet earned an English I credit, got the best report. They were quiet; they did their assignment (a lengthy set of questions that accompanied the film "Rudy," the final activity in our "news-to-screen" unit) and were polite to the sub. When I read the sub's report on Friday, after I cleaned my glasses, caught my breath, and regulated my heartbeat, I decided that I would reward them by letting them have some "chill" time at the end of the period while they finished watching "Rudy." "Chill" here means "watch leisurely without having an additional assignment." It seemed like a feasible plan; after all, the first half of class had gone so smoothly. In retrospect I'm fairly certain I had been beamed temporarily to a parallel universe.

Barely two minutes after I pressed the "play" button I heard heated conversation in the back corner of the room. I detected an angry tone. I heard the scrape of a chair being moved abruptly across the floor. Before I could walk the 10 steps from my desk to the light switch there was a full-fledged fight in my classroom between two boys who, just moments earlier, had been exchanging civil if not pleasant conversation. I called the office for help, and within seconds the principal (we'll call her Principal), a woman who is at least an inch or two shorter than my 5'6" and more than likely matches me in weight, was in the middle of the fray. The fighters were locked in a bear hug when she arrived; no punches were being thrown because neither boy would let go, and I'd wanted to keep it that way until the resource officer arrived, so I'd assigned the biggest boy (we'll call him Tall Boy) in the class to keep them contained by blocking their path to other parts of the room. As soon as Principal entered the room she made Tall Boy move, and she proceeded to wedge herself between the fighters until she had successfully pried them apart. As soon as the bear hug was broken fists began to fly, and Principal, who was now in the middle of the two fighters, got slugged right in the mouth. Moments--no, a second--later the officer arrived, pepper spray in hand, and started shooting the vile substance in a circle around the area where the fighters were now on the floor pummelling each other. He sprayed both fighters, Principal, and three of my students who were trapped in the corner and were innocently trying to stay out of the way. The room had to be evacuated. Principal was bleeding, and two of my students required an eye bath.

Saturday, December 10

Took Suzanna to the do-it-yourself pet bathing center today, and not a moment too soon. I was starting to leave rooms as she entered them, and I actually caught myself wondering what would happen if I put deodorant on her. Just before we left the house I let her in so I could leash her, and she tracked red North Carolina clay all over the carpet. Cry for help? I think so.

One of the attendants at the bathing facility was grooming a standard poodle next to the stall I was using, and she attempted to make conversation over the roar of the doggy dryer. Somehow canine anal glands came up--I think I might have been responsible--and she said, "here, I'll show you how to express them." I can now say I've squeezed my dog's anus. It was not a pleasant experience for either of us, and we have agreed that I'll never do it again, ever.

Went to see "Goblet of Fire" again--took Gayle, as she had not yet been, and we both agree that it was a bad decision to have the dragon escape during Task 1. Waste of precious time. Ralph Fiennes IS Voldemort, though. Even his voice is frighteningly perfect.

Sunday, December 11

Went to my first ever piano recital today--as an audience member, that is. Gayle has been taking piano lessons since January. She could already play well before she started, and now she is one of the best students in the class, second only to a 16 year-old so-called prodigy who, in my opinion, didn't play all that well. Gayle played beautifully, but I had trouble sitting through the others, a combination of children and adults, most of whom were...bad. There were a few bright spots, but mostly they were not in time, they missed notes, and they had to stop for long periods to reposition their hands for the next bar. It was sad, and I was embarrassed for them, and while I know this is the point of taking lessons, it was difficult for me to see them struggle. When I have a kid I will happily take it to sports lessons--tennis, golf, swimming--but it will be hard to witness music lessons.

Monday, December 12

Stopped at the post office on my way to work for what I was sure would be a 5-minute errand. There were two people in line when I arrived--yes!--so I got out my wallet and waited anxiously. As it turns out, the short line curse that plagues me at the grocery store and Target applies at the PO as well. You know what I'm talking about--you automatically go to the shortest line thinking, "Ha! I picked the shortest line! You dumbasses who are in the long lines can eat my receipt!" but then you realize that the dumbasses are actually brilliant fonts of intelligence and YOU are the dumbass because the person at the front of the short line has either purchased 572 delicate glass objects that must be wrapped and bagged individually, or she wants to buy something that she dug out from behind some mismatched shoes and outdated shampoo and has not seen a price tag since 2001. Anyway, the man at the front of this morning's short PO line was a Hispanic guy who was sending a 36 pound badly wrapped box to another country--I think it might have been one of his kids, there was a corner left slightly open--and he understood "yes, "10 days," and "75 dollars." I was in the post office for 20 minutes.

Going to dinner with some Elon friends tonight. Drinking beer. I don't have to be there until 5:30, but I'm leaving now because if I sit in this classroom for another second I might kill the secretary, who has left the phone intercom engaged and is broadcasting her conversation and the blaring ring of the telephone to the entire building.

Dear Diary, I'm sorry I dumped all of this on you. I could have simply said "WTF?" I think that pretty much covers it.

You must remember this....

Fun! And such a good writing practice activity. I'm making my students do it, except they have to write a memory that they have of themselves with either Romeo and Juliet, you know, from when they used to live in Verona. BRILLIANT!

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL MEMORY OF YOU AND ME. It can be anything you want--good or bad--BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you're finished, post this paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.

Thirteen things I would do if two feet of snow* fell and cancelled school

*Who am I kidding? Here in NC two INCHES would cancel school. Anyway, story still applies....

1. Catch up on my magazines. I could paper my walls with back issues of The Progressive, Yoga Journal, and the Oxford American.
2. Mend the claw-shaped hole in my comforter that's been there for over a year.
3. Walk with Suzanna in the woods while the snow was still falling.
4. Make potato soup.
5. Call my mom--we always talk on snow days.
6. Read the rest of the Lemony Snicket books.
7. Watch "Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood" and "Steel Magnolias," and maybe even "9 to 5" for the gazillionth time.
8. Clean the baseboards.
9. Experiment with the hair straightener...again.
10. Paint my toenails.
11. Sun salutations.
12. Lie on the couch with a cat on my stomach and a dog at my feet and stare at the Christmas tree.
13. LAUNDRY!
    
    
    

Sense and sensibility

My mom, a loyal reader, suggested a post related to the five senses, and my sister followed through quite nicely. Here, after days of contemplation, is my contribution.

5 things you like to smell:
1. vegetable soup simmering on the stove
2. cloves
3. cold air
4. Earl Grey tea
5. baby lotion

5 things you like to taste:
1. beer
2. my mom's cornbread dressing
3. banana popsicles
4. ginger
5. brie

5 things you like to feel:
1. cold sheets against my skin
2.Chapin purring next to me
3. in control
4. the sun on my face
5. tired in a good way

5 things you like to hear:
1. rain
2. "Guilford County Schools will be closed today due to inclement weather"
3. my goddaughter talking in her cute little southern accent
4. the ocean
5. hummingbird wings

5 things you like to see:
1. birds at my feeder
2. snow falling
3. the tents at the Storytelling Festival
4. pictures of my grandfather
5. the first leaves of spring

5 things you don't like to smell:
1. body odor
2. the obscenely strong cologne my students spray in an attempt to cover their body odor
3. cigarette smoke
4. dog/cat food
5. that awful fake rose scent

5 things you don't like to taste:
1. hummus
2. anything really cold--hurts my teeth
3. licorice
4. sweet potatoes
5. that fluoride crap dentists use to clean my teeth

5 things you don't like to feel:
1. paranoid
2. out of control
3. out of the loop/ignored
4. inadequate
5. sticky

5 things you don't like to hear:
1. Michael Bolton and Aaron Neville songs
2. someone vomiting
3. stories about broken bones
4. the Presid--oops, I mean, someone using really bad grammar
5. snoring

5 things you don't like to see:
1. an animal that's been hit by a car
2. someone vomiting (especially on tv and in the movies--there is entirely TOO MUCH vomit in the movies these days!)
3. pubescent teenagers tongue kissing in the hallway outside my classroom
4. ignorance in action
5. indifference

People you want to do this: Whoever feels moved to do so.

Fine and dandy like a hard candy Christmas

Well, I guess this is the post you've all been waiting for. It's the post I've been waiting to write, actually. It's the one wherein I tell you that after six attempts and one failed pregnancy, I am still not pregnant, and it's the one where I announce, Ross and Rachel style, that I am now officially "on a break."

When I started this journey last January, charting and getting acquainted with the rhythms of my body, I was convinced that it would take no time at all once the inseminations began. Why wouldn't I think that? Except for a brief time during elementary and early middle school, during which I actually came close to failing the fourth grade, I have always been an over-achiever. I "get" things quickly. Pregnancy, to me, would not be an exception. I remember reading about women who had been trying for months, who were on all sorts of drugs and had encountered all sorts of horrendous problems, and I just knew I was not going to be one of those women. Now, almost eight months, three Clomid prescriptions, six inseminations, and one miscarriage later, I realize that the Universe probably got a good laugh out of my attitude. What's more important is what I've gotten out of it.

I'd love to say I'm more patient now than when I started, but that would be a lie, and there are already enough lies on the Internet as it is. What I am is more aware--of time, of my own humanity, of the immensity of my support system, and of the delicate balance that is life. This is not the end of my quest to conceive and birth a child; it's merely a drop in the bucket, and my self-inflicted break will be an opportunity to regroup, renew, and refocus my energy...not to mention a chance to lose these five pounds I've gained, rediscover my muscles, work on new yoga postures, and enjoy the spirit (and spirits!) of Christmas.

In the meantime, I'm paying my doctor a very lengthy visit. It's time for the usual tests and check-ups, but I want the works--if something isn't working properly I want it fixed. If you've been in my shoes and you think there's a test I should have or a question I should ask my doctor, do let me know.

And so you know, I'm fine. Really. Fine and dandy. I've already passed the lowest point--the point at which I was cursing the cramps that shook me wide awake at one in the morning, the point at which I could not shake the thought that had I not lost the pregnancy in July I'd be six months pregnant by now--and now I'm looking forward. I'm going to be SO happy for Emilin and Jen in a few months, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for Calliope and Amanda & T and Bri, and I have no doubt that someday we'll all be exchanging advice and telling stories about our kids on these very blogs.

Thanks for the support, friends. Now somebody make me a Cosmopolitan--I'm WAY behind.

Some questions for the DiGiorno people

1. About those instructions--"DO NOT EAT PIZZA WITHOUT COOKING." Are you kidding me with this? Did someone actually try to eat the pizza while it was frozen? And then did they write to you complaining that the FROZEN pizza was inedible? Because I'm not sure you took the appropriate action. If someone actually ate a frozen pizza WITHOUT COOKING IT, that person should not be allowed to drive a car to the grocery store to purchase your pizza.

2. And about the serving size information? FIVE? FIVE servings? WHAT? It's a SQUARE. I was never good at the math, but how do you slice a perfect square into fifths? Yeah, yeah, I realize I could just slice it into five long strips, but who ever heard of pizza strips?

3. And another thing--do you really think 1/5 of the pizza, which is less than two pieces, is a serving? Yeah, right, and a snack bag of M&Ms is enough for two people.

Thirteen things I should have blogged about in the past week but didn't

Note: I actually thought about my Thursday 13 post yesterday, but I thought yesterday was Wednesday and assured myself I'd have time to do it today, which is in fact FRIDAY, so somewhere out there in the Universe is a missing day!

Another note: I started this post during a lull in my 3rd period class. The kids were working quietly so I decided to take advantage of the time, but then someone needed help so I had to stop writing. Who do they think I am? It is NOW Sunday afternoon. I considered deleting the draft and moving on, but I'm sticking with the "better late than never" philosophy and I'm finishing it anyway.

1. The new Harry Potter movie
2. Why my dad's mother's bathroom still smells exactly the same as it did when I was a small child even though she has since moved to a different house in a different state...
3. ...and how I suspect it is because she still has the same towels, uses the same soap, and buys the same pink toilet paper
4. The great "horse shoes" war that took place in my family on Thanksgiving Day...
5. ...and how my step-mother and my Uncle E. teamed up and beat the crap out of my dad and my Uncle B. six times in a row...
6. ...and how my Uncle B. pouted for an hour because he doesn't like losing, especially to a woman
7. How disappointed I am that it has been in the high 50s/low 60s for several days--it's WINTER, for Pete's sake!
8. How I am more obsessed with whether or not I'm going to get Corey than whether or not I am pregnant
9. How Corey's father isn't interested in allowing someone else to parent his child even though he is jobless, homeless, and, according to his own mother, most likely selling drugs...
10. ...and how his (the father's) mother and aunt are gathering information to prepare for the next step, which will probably involve the Department of Social Services...
11. ...and how it scares the hell out of me to think of going through DSS court proceedings in order to get custody of a child I have never even met...
12. ...and how, in spite of #11, I am more frightened of leaving this child in a situation in which he is being neglected and mistreated
13. My mom's cornbread dressing--hands down, the best dressing on the planet, and how when I ate the last of my leftover allotment for lunch on Wednesday I actually picked up all the crumbs with my index finger and licked them off so I wouldn't waste any part of the dressing