Part of the Club

So I'm officially part of the club. It's not a very exclusive club. Nor is there anything secretive about it's membership requirements. Almost anyone can join. There are really only two: you must be female and you must be expecting. Since I now meet both requirements, like thousands before me, I'm an automatic member. But still, not everyone can so it feels like an accomplishment; like there is something exclusive about it.

Maybe it's because for two fairly simple requirements, it's not that simple to meet both of them. The first requirement excludes half the population. The second, isn't always as easy as people would hope. For something that has become so scientific, getting pregnant really is just some inexplicable miracle. People can spend years trying using perfect timing and millions of dollars in "foolproof" medicine only to realize that all the perfect science still doesn't guarantee anything. And then of course, there are those who specifically try avoiding the club entirely only to find that the science of avoidance has eluded them just as easily.

So in the end, I guess because there are only two requirements, it's that last bit of dumb luck that makes this membership extra special.

Perhaps I might feel differently had I never visited a "trying to conceive" website. There are entire communities of women (and I suppose some men though not surprisingly, they don't make themselves known) who share the intimate details of their personal lives in a desperate attempt to have a child. And some of these women are truly desperate. So much so, they've abbreviated as many words as possible so they can get right back to the baby making process I suppose. It's somewhat frustrating when you first find yourself on one of these pages because you can hardly understand what they are saying.

"Hello ladies! DH and I have been TTC for 1 yr. I'm 8 dpo and keeping my fingers crossed. The 2WW is SOOO hard though!!! My BBT has been elevated but I feel like AF is right around the corner. I felt this way last month though and BFN! :( My CM is really milky now. Is that normal? Oh well, we'll BD again tonight JIC!!! Wish me luck. Baby dust to u all!" (Translation will follow.)

I consider myself very lucky that we did not have to try and try. But since it also didn't happen on the first try, I can understand the need for these websites. These poor women grasp at any ray of hope and obsess over the slightest twitch or pain or feeling wondering if the miracle will touch them. Another month seems like an eternity and makes even the spiritual-less throw prayers to the heavens. They offer support to the unlucky and genuinely seem happy for the lucky. I don't know that I could be so gracious but I suppose if I had spent some more time in that club, I'd feel differently. When you are trying to get pregnant, the entire world seems pregnant except for you (which doesn't go away when you are pregnant. I think it's just part of the initiation period). So while I do poke fun at their lingo, I do hope the baby dust works. As one of the newest members, I'd gladly welcome them to this club. The exclusive one.


TRANSLATION:
"Hello ladies! DEAR HUSBAND and I have been TRYING TO CONCEIVE for 1 yr. I'm 8 DAYS PAST OVULATION and keeping my fingers crossed. The 2 WEEK WAIT (FROM THE DAY YOU OVULATE UNTIL THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR MISSED PERIOD IS ABOUT 2 WEEKS) is SOOO hard though!!! My BASAL BODY TEMP has been elevated but I feel like AUNT FLO is right around the corner. I felt this way last month though and BIG FAT NEGATIVE (PREGNANCY TEST)! :( My CERVICAL MUCUS is really milky now. Is that normal? Oh well, we'll BABY DANCE (SEX) again tonight JUST IN CASE!!! Wish me luck. Baby dust to u all!"

His Cheating Heart

I feel bad about Tiger. I know I shouldn't. He's an adulterer. But still, he's Tiger. He showed us that world-class athletes could be classy. He showed us that if you just believe in yourself, you can win even with a broken knee (or whatever is broken making you think you should quit). He showed us that hard work pays off. For as unreal and tough as he seemed on the golf course, he seemed genuine and kind off the course. I liked him. I still want to like him. But now he's gone and ruined it for both of us.

Maybe it's that I feel bad for knowing he's an adulterer. Does it really matter if he was a family man or a sex addict? Because either way, he's still really, REALLY, good at golf. The best. So why do I care? I suppose because like it or not, I know that he had a pretty wife. He had two small kids. I've seen pictures of them laughing and looking like a regular, normal family, only blessed with good looks and lots of talent. Now, I could blame this on the media. They put those pictures in front of my face and forced me to look. But that's not exactly true.

I was interested in his personal life. I wanted to see the pictures of his kids. I liked when they showed his wife and kids at tournaments. It made me like him more. Despite all that raw talent, he was also a normal guy. Uncertain of his celebrity status but gracious in the acceptance of his life. If I feel betrayed now, imagine what Elin must be feeling.

And now, like with all train wrecks, I can't not look. It's like Jon and Kate. How can you not be just at least a little bit interested? Once the wheels come off the track, I get why people watch. What I still don't get though, is why I care about his personal life in the first place. Why do I care about any celebrities personal life? Clearly, with the ever-expanding tabloid business, I'm not the only one.

Why do we get so obsessed with other peoples lives? Is it that we are projecting? For some people, I think yes. I think many people wish they were constantly in the spotlight. They wish the world was watching their every move and people spent hours reading about and looking at pictures of their latest vacation in People magazine. I cite reality TV and Facebook as irrefutable evidence of such people.

But then there are those of us who don't quite fit that profile, but still enjoy a gossip magazine or two. So what about us? And why do I feel like I should apologize for this? I know Tiger thinks we should have the courtesy to give him his privacy but how can he think we wouldn't want to know more about the strange stories that seem to be emerging daily about the accident, the endless stream of "classy" women, the mother-in-law, the pills...He's been in my living room for years now. Wouldn't it be more strange if I didn't care?

Prizing Potential

October already. Where did September go? People always muse about how quickly time passes and I always think, "maybe if you stopped talking about how quickly the minutes are passing, you'd be able to really enjoy them by doing something more productive." There. I just wasted 3 sentences and 1 minute and 45 seconds going on about the time. Time I'll never get back.

Now I could blame the lack of posts on the fact that I have been busy with school and all that comes with that. You know the speech - we teachers do not really get off at 2 nor do we really work a mere 5 day/40 hour week. I have been busy. But now, into my fourth year, I kind of feel like I have a handle on this teaching business. So, in fact, I have had some time to write. Trouble is, I've had nothing to say. Every time I think I might have something, I start, hoping that if I just type the first few words, the rest will come like they usually do.

• But this is as far as I've gotten in the past month.
• Fall is upon us. The leaves are getting that orange hue. This isn't good.
• My computer battery running out. What's interesting about this?
• I have my own desk and office now - away from the TV, the kitchen and other distractions. This just makes me feel worse about not being able to utilize it.
• I'm striving for financial maturity. The Mr. and I are trying to get smart about finances which means I have to start
• Rosh Hashanah. Shananah. Hananah. Ha ha. Happy New Year.

You can see why none of these made it to publication. The trouble is, I often start with nothing and end up finding something to write. So I've been stuck. Dead end after dead end. And clearly you people have been at a loss without my words of wisdom, constantly wondering, "when will there be a new post?" All you dedicated blog readers have been so kind not to complain about the endless checking, with no new post.

And then Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. And I have a renewed hope.

If our President can win arguably the most prestigious international award after only 9 months in office...surely all I need is one good article. One good post to get into the hands of one desperate publisher and then I'll get an award…a column…syndication…an appearance on Oprah. I will talk about how I really don’t deserve such praise is. I'll talk about the months and years of writing when no one cared and highlight how my experience has been no different from every struggling writer. I'll explain all the hours spent writing and revising and bloody fingertips from typing into the night. The sacrafices my fingernails have endured; how the changing landscape of written word, from newspaper to internet to cell phone to tattoos on the human body has been just one more obstacle to becoming “a writer.” I’ll be ever gracious in explaining that I will accept my award on behalf of all writers. And then I'll panic because then I will have to really show that I can write and I deserve the award, that I'm not just some old lady hacker whose grandmother insists is the next Maureen Dowd.

Obama says he wants to decrease troops in Iraq. He also says he wants to increase troops in Afghanistan. He says he is open to negotiate with North Korea. He says he wants to work with the United Nations. He says he wants to end unilateral involvement in world affairs. He says he wants Israel and Palestine to find peace. Obama has said a lot. He has said the “right” things. He talks of peace and communication. Do I think he can achieve any of it? Will he leave the world more peaceful than when he entered into office? He’s got the potential to. He might. There are plenty who hope so. But since when do we award Nobel Peace Prizes to those with potential? That’s like putting my unwritten novel on the bestseller list.

Living in the Moment!

August is the Sunday of months.

To many, it is a month of relaxation. It is a month to go on vacation, wear flip flops, eat ice cream. For some parents, the end of perhaps a long and tiring summer with kids constantly underfoot. For some, probably their favorite month.

For teachers, however, it is a sad and anxious month. Much like Sundays, you know you should enjoy the peace of the Lord's day but you lose the moment focusing instead on the fact that it's all going to change before you can say, Amen. The proverbial calm before the storm. Or, for those teachers who lie and claim they do it for the love of the children, I supposed they also claim August is a exciting and like the Sunday before Christmas.

It's not that I actively dislike teaching. Once I get back to school, I remember it's not so bad after all. And there is a part of me that looks forward to starting new. New kids, new lessons, new chance to be better than last year. But still, the days seem to pass more quickly, my heart beats a little faster and my dreams start to include scenarios like walking into school at 10 after missing the first three periods and panicking because the classroom has turned into a mess of kids running and screaming and not listening to a word I am shouting. To be fair, it's not all August's fault. The dreams really during the last week of July. And school doesn't even officially begin until September but by then it's a reality. Like the humidity on those long days August just hangs. Heavy.

By August 13, you convince yourself that you still have time. Time to spend the day doing nothing or everything. But then you're reminded of all the things you said you were going to do over the summer and have not done. Paint rooms, buy curtains, organize "important" papers, organize email, real fun stuff. And then the heaviness is back.

But then you think I don't have to go to work today or tomorrow so why not just relax. And this is it. This is what all the great philosophers - Buddha, Jesus, Aristotle, Oprah - preach to help us achieve the ultimate happiness and peace. Live in the moment. Forget about yesterday, stop looking ahead to tomorrow. You'll never get this moment back right now. Embrace it.

Sounds great but who really lives this way? People say they do. People cheer the negative Nancy's like me on with their chipper, "just enjoy today! Don't think about what you're going to do on the first day yet! Enjoy the moment!" Really, their just suddenly chipper because they've been resenting the fact that you have had the entire summer off and really are just glad to see you join the rest of the schmucks in the working world. How can you not think back to yesterday or ahead to tomorrow? Isn't this human nature? Aren't we supposed to learn from the mistakes of our past and plan for our futures to be successful? How does one really "live in the moment"?

More importantly, what does one do when she has such pressing and profound questions? ...Look it up on the internet, of course. I kid you not, there are multiple, yes, multiple websites devoted to teaching you, yes you, how to live in the moment.

WikiHow offers you 6 easy to follow steps and even includes helpful tips at the end! I'll skip the detailed instructions and give you the highlights. 1. Take notice of the world around you. 2. Focus on whatever you're doing. 3. Smile when you wake up. 4. Commit random, spontaneous acts of kindness. 5. Minimize activities that dull your awareness of the moment. 6. Be thankful for what is. And the tips: Play with kids! (They included the exclamation point - such emphasis!) Forgive, listen to music, participate in active conversation. (I assume blogging doesn't count but I am focused on what I am doing so does this count???)

The next Google entry was an article. The author writing anonymously (?) for the Times of London takes a slightly different angle: consumerism. We are so busy trying to make the moment better, that we lose it. (He or she sights a recent trip to Namibia where the facial was too short and the massage was too long...) "If every advert promises you success if you'd only buy this car, wear this watch, acquire this handbag, then dissatisfaction with what you have and what you are is an inevitable outcome." So he or she has found something to blame for our inability to live in the moment but no handy "how to." Perhaps if he/she and I were actively involving in this conversation!

Other inspirational quotes follow: "Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is mystery.
Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present!!" Great but what to do with this present now that it's unwrapped?

eHow offers another list. Commonalities between this site and WikiHow: play with children, let go of hate/anger, do nice things for people, forget about "what if" and realize "what is". Same idea.

Maybe it's that easy. But I tend think a little looking back and ahead is human nature and not such a bad thing.

What if we could speed up time or slow it down when ever we wanted? What if it could be summer forever? What if August never ended?

Oh but wait, August will end. Today will be just as long as yesterday and just as short as tomorrow. This is what is. Forget about what if. This is what is. I hate that. Ah...I did it again. Let go of the hate! But wait, stop thinking about that, focus on what I'm doing! I have to go do something nice for someone...find some kids...

Living in the moment is important but should we really beat ourselves up if a few days (or a month) goes by and we miss the 6 step process to enlightenment? In this moment, I am focusing on the anxiety that comes with the start of a new school year. This is my moment. I'm living it.

Good Morning, America

I'm not proud of what I'm about to tell you but in the interest of being honest, I must confess, I watch Good Morning America. Not everyday, of course, I'm a teacher. I have to work for a whole 9.5 months a year. And then in the summer I like to go for a run in the mornings. But I don’t run everyday and I’m not running for two hours these days so there it is. I watch GMA. I have convinced myself it’s better than the Today show. It’s Al Rocker and Diane Sawyer. Al is unwatchable and Diane, I like to think, is a real journalist. But really, the more I watch, the more I am disappointed that she smiles and nods through all the drivel. My shame in tuning in stems from a smattering of the following stories covered this week:

"Revealing Look at JFK, Jr." – JFK, Jr.’s personal assistant visited the set because while she has never before discussed him, she now feels compelled to break her silence about the deified figure. But first:

"The Bachelorette" Sneak Peek – Ed or Kipton? Who will Ms. Bachelorette choose? Five minutes eaten up with more endless questions and clips designed to intrigue. I don't watch it. I'm not going to watch now that I've seen the teaser. And because it airs on ABC, there was a follow up story the next day about she and the triumphant suitor who are preparing for happily ever after – and if their lucky, will be living the dream with more cameras to document for all the world to watch and criticize. If they play their cards right.

After a few minutes out on the streets of NYC talking to some tweens about the weather and perhaps a local news break (almost as equally useless), we’re back to JFK, Jr.

This five minute segment consisted of four minutes talking about the legend of the doomed son of Camelot and one minute talking about a program he started called “Reaching Up” which is celebrating it’s 20th Anniversary. The program was an effort to provide quality health care to those who do not have it and what with Big O’s new health care reform, isn’t this the perfect time for said assistant to reveal the intimate details about her time with John Jr. He’d be so proud.

Next we have, "Beauty Secrets on a Budget" – In this useless segment, GMA’s own make-up assistant, looking a bit rough around the edges proceeded to talk about foundation on the face of a white women, eye shadow on the face of the Asian woman, and lipstick on the face of the African-American. Essentially, she read the label of a drugstore product and mentioned two or three other moderately priced products. But didn’t everyone laugh at the universal truth that you walk into a drugstore needed one thing and walk out with 20 things you didn't know you needed.

"Should You Work for Free?" – 5 minutes hearing about how more and more people are taking “adult internships.” Some executive producer somewhere must have decreed: “In this depressed economy, 80% of your stories should revolve around “getting people through these tough times.” The other 20% apparently should revolve around celebrities – living or dead.”

Every morning now for a month, at least one segment has to do with the late, great, MJ. More segments wasted on endless speculation.

"Can Certain Foods Arouse Your Brain" – I couldn’t even stay to watch this one. It was time to run.

What I find most amusing, is how each of the anchors can discuss these issues with the utmost seriousness. They all speak with the classic news anchor intonation and they always end with, “you can read more on our website.” How many more times can we ask who the bachelorette will choose?

There website is under the broad category of ABC News. But my point is, and I do have a point, is any of this news? Is any of the 24 hour coverage of breaking news stories, really news? Andy Rooney said that Walter Cronkite wasn't so sure that 24 hour news was a good thing. I think I agree. We should be well informed. We should know what is happening in our world. We should want to know. But instead of news we get, headlines about the beer Obama drinks and what was in Michael Jackson’s closet before he died (clothes).

In an article published by the US Department of State, author Deborah Potter says, "News is what is new; it’s what’s happening. Look it up in the dictionary, and you’ll find news described as 'a report of recent events or previously unknown information.'”

I have witnessed lots of events recently that have been previously unknown. I witnessed a mangy looking fox creep frighteningly close to me while I was relaxing by the pool. The fact that foxes could wander so close to civilization and be equally frightened by me was previously unknown to me. I witnessed throngs of people clog the aisles of Walmart, in the middle of a rainy summer day. Using Walmart as a place of entertainment for your antsy kids on a rainy day was also previously unknown to me. But I don't think either of these events really qualifies as "news." And this is the problem as I see it. With Twitter, cable TV and those know-it-all bloggers, everything is technically news. Who am I to say “certain foods can arouse your brain” is not news?

To help navigate through the "foxes in the backyard" vs. "Obama on health care" news, people have tried to classify news as "hard" or "soft" - there are news magazines, there are infotainment shows. I suppose I should take GMA for what it is. Information. Not news. Not soft news. Just arguably useless information. So why do I continue to watch? Because I am holding out hope for the segment titled, “How to tell if that foul smell is coming from vermin that has died under your pool shed.” Now then, I’d log on to the website.

Remembering the Dearly Departed

Perhaps it's been the long respite from BIB (Balling in Bethel) or perhaps people are just too busy. Or maybe Bethel and all it's jungle-like glory. But I'm afraid I'm down to a readership of one. But that's not why we write, right? So today, I fight through writer's block with a bright and sunny, summery topic - death.

It's seems as though the top summer '09 stories are death: Farrah Fawcett, Steve McNair, Robert McNamara, Ed McMahon, Walter Cronkite, Frank McCourt, and there's one other guy but I'm forgetting who. Hmmm. I wanna say like a singer or dancer or something. And that's only 7 and we all know deaths come in 3s so there must be at least 2 others.

So, in this Summer of Death, it's only fitting that BIB pays tribute.

To Farrah: May you rest in peace knowing you inspired millions of tween, teenager, twenty somethings and mothers to not only feather their hair, but also to have the courage to pore gasoline over their lying, cheating boyfriends and husbands when all else fails. With your super cool karate moves, your freedom to hang loose, and your pearly white smile, you truly were an angel.

To Steve: I mean no disrespect here, but what were you thinking? Despite your infidelity, no one deserves to die like that. So, may you rest in peace knowing you have given millions of scumbags the valuable lesson to not cheat on your wife - especially with a 20 year old who is still trying to figure out love.

To Robert: You were quite candid in the Fog of War admitting mistakes were made regarding that whole Vietnam fiasco. May you rest in peace knowing you have cleared your conscience and it is now up to our current world leaders will use your lessons wisely. But why, why, why couldn't you tell us who killed JFK. You have left us with this only Oliver Stone and countless other conspiracy theorists to pontificate about this mystery.

To Ed: There was Johnny Carson and Dick Clark, bit parts in sub-par movies, and according to Entertainment Weekly, one of the greatest sidekicks but to so many of us, it is those oversized checks that we will associate with your memory. For the optimists among us, it was the promise of a better life, for the pessimists among us, it was a constant reminder of how unlucky we are. May you rest in peace knowing that if nothing else, you kept thousands of magazines in circulation.

To Walter: As the most trusted man in America, you made us a better informed society. You lived an extraordinary life witnessing hundreds of monumental events. May you rest in peace knowing that whatever becomes of the news, you are the epitome of honest, informed, professional reporting. A true legend.

To Frank: I now have Angela's Ashes on my list of books to read. (And, if my recent trip to the Bethel Public Library is any indication, so do hundreds of others. May you rest in peace knowing your memoirs will speak for themselves.

And finally, to Michael: You were odd. You were mysterious. You may have been a child molester. You were a smooth criminal. You were not Billie Jean's lover. May you, King of Pop, finally, once and for all, rest in peace.

Wild Kingdom

The signs have been there all along. Footprints in the snow. Reminants of chewed bag and bird seed in the garage. The eerie feeling of eyes peering at you through the dark as you sit inside your warm and comfy home. And of course, the unsettling pitter-patter of four legs crawling above you as you watch TV in the basement before you have any furniture.

Yet somehow, despite (or perhaps because of) these signs, I was under the assumption that we were the ones moving into the house, which just happens to be amongst more rural and natural surroundings. But as winter turned to spring and now spring is turning back to winter – (I think that’s fair considering 32 out of the last 42 days have been raining and cold according to our local meteorologist) – I am beginning to wonder if it is we who have wandered into the wilderness into a home that does not belong there.

Aside from those pesky mice we thought we were rid of, we next encountered foxes. The evidence was there even before the first sighting. There was the mysterious “droppings” on the pool cover and the footprints that didn’t quite seem big enough to be a deer nor small enough to be a rabbit. Then, early one morning, George calls me into the backroom. He was staring out the window pointing. Two baby foxes were sitting quietly on the steps of the pool. They appeared to notice us but didn’t move. They didn’t even seem to flinch. Later that day, I came home from work and there were about six little fox pups playing with one another on the pool deck. For the next few days, our backyard served as their playground. I called animal control. For a hefty fee, I found someone who would take them to a safe place and for free, I found someone who said they would scare off rather easily. We did the latter. And it seemed to work. Until this week when we came home from dinner and found 2 foraging in the front yard.

Then there was the snake. At first, I was thinking the shrubs around the pool might be nice. They’d offer a bit of color and easy to maintain. I was wrong. They take up valuable real estate, are littered with weeds and worst of all, house a snake (or multiple snakes I’m afraid). Of course, I come to know this because I was trying to be a good homeowner and take care of the weeds. Normally, I wear my stylish gardening gloves but on said day, I decided I would quickly pull what I could manage with my naked hands. It would make for a better story if I said I plunged my hand into a tangled web of green, felt the squirm of something moving and wrestled it out of the shrub with my brute strength but that would be lying. Instead, out of the corner of my eye I saw something move, whipped my hand up nearly dislocating my shoulder and screamed like I’d just seen the devil as I jumped up and ran to nowhere in particular. I crept slowly back over and the snake, calm as can be was resting on top of the shrubs. A few days later I went back to the scene out of curiosity and saw abandoned snake skin marking the territory.

Then there was frog. Again, the culprit? Shrubs by the pool. We had heard a deep, loud croaking for a couple of weeks but couldn’t quite place where it was coming from. Shortly thereafter, George found him taking in a few laps in the pool one morning.

And of course, you can’t have the wild kingdom without deer. We’ve spotted a few in the backyard recently and just today, there was a buck, complete with antlers and doe companion.

What we did not expect is some oversized rodent/mole thing. It was brown and squat and surprisingly fast. It came out one afternoon with the sun after a morning of rain and clouds.

The mice are still around. Perhaps trying to escape the rain, two managed to find their way back into our basement ceiling, another one wrapped up in a rug in the pool house and a chewed up “Sham-Wow” under the sink, indicate they have friends.

After all this rain, next may be an alligator or shark.

Ah, country living.

Tweet: (n.) a chirping note

Every year, the good people at Merriam-Webster take a look at all of the words in our lexicon. They erase oft not used words from the books and replace them with younger, hipper words. Every 10-12 years, they “completely re-edited and revise” their dictionary. (Though, the difference between an “update” and complete revision and re-edit is not specified.)

According to m-w.com, “During the past 150 years, Merriam-Webster has developed and refined an editorial process that relies on objective evidence about language use...”
After 150 years, I should hope the process is developed and surely, with a name like Webster, it must be refined. But beyond this, I couldn’t find much more clarification (in my 5 minute search). I’m sure the process involves some sort of strict protocol, as opposed to the wordsmiths just arbitrarily adding and deleting as they please – “Newspapers? Hmm, they’ll be gone within the year, delete. Frappaccino? Everyone knows what that is. Add.”

I feel like there is usually a bit of a buzz when new words are added, though I cannot prove this. But I’m sure it’s one of those stories they highlight on Yahoo! news or AOL. Recent additions include: crunk, ginormous and DVR.

I have no issues with editing the dictionary. Clearly, I find it rather interesting. But I am going to swear off the English language if the definition of “Tweet” is edited.

I have admitted I have mixed feelings about social networking sites. I am a self-confessed Facebook creeper. I creep around looking at what other people post but rarely post myself. I understand there is a narcissistic aura to the whole thing. Who wouldn’t want to know what I’m thinking, doing, did last weekend? But I do think, for some, there is an earnest desire to reconnect with people and genuinely try to keep in touch. (And then there are the noisy creepers but they are harmless.)

Of course, before Facebook, there was MySpace and there is still LinkedIn – but who’s on that? It’s not like some teeny bopper, look-at-me-and-my-drunk-friends, gabfest. It’s “for professionals.” Snooze.

And then there’s Twitter. Hailed as the “SMS of the internet” (that’s Short Message Service, Dad), it is also considered a social networking site. Users get 140 characters to say whatever is on their minds. You can then sign up to “follow” your friends (or strangers?) to “keep in touch.” That’s it. You write: Busy blogging. Betcha can’t wait to read what I have to say. Then your best friend’s brother’s cousin can read and respond, “that’s great, Jane. Can’t wait to read your first novel!” All the Senator’s are doing it. Jon Stewart is talking about it.
And in this over-stressed society where people would likely have infinitely more time and less stress if they stopped talking about how stressed they are and how much time they don’t have, Twitter might have the 140 character answer.

The tweet: Your abbreviated shout out to your peeps. As you twitter about your day like a chicken with it’s head cut off you can tweet, tweet ,tweet to your hearts content. You can get the latest news from your Uncle Fred who is following Senator Dodd and read that he was going to a meeting with Finance Committee. Or, “did you hear there was an earthquake in California today? I did. My friend Jeb twittered about it.” No ROFL in So Cal today.

The thing is, it’s not the concept that I find so offensive. It’s the language. Twittering tweets? It just sounds so silly and useless…not at all like blogging.

(For the record, newspapers is still in the dictionary, frappaccino is not.)

When Pigs Flu

Ahh Spring...the grass is greener, the air is warmer and there is a refreshing sense that world keeps turning. For thousands of years we've endured, war, famine, storms, and lived to tell. The difference between then and now however, is the harmless beast we know today as the media. When the plague hit Europe in the 1300s there was a mass hysteria of rumor and speculation about armageddon. Throughout towns and churches, people told of the terrible darkness that was descending upon the land. Today, we don't really go downtown (or to Church for that matter) and we have oodles of new medical information and still mass hysteria is upon us – this week, it’s the swine flu, or as the Mexican’s like us to say, the H1N1 virus. Thanks to the monster known as the media, we no longer have to wait for our neighbor to tell of us of the impending doom, we have CNN, MSNBC, Fox News and the 100 other 24 hour news stations to keep us well informed of the spread of this not so deadly disease. Seven hundred years later and we still have problems with misinformation and rumor complicating our understanding of what is really happening.

Pandemic – (adj.) – occurring over a wide geographic area and affecting an exceptionally high proportion of the population. (Merriam Webster Online).

The CDC has announced the pandemic level has been raised to “phase 6” – but I think somehow people are confusing this with the Department of Homeland Security’s highly effective “threat level” scale. Phase 6 being, Osama bin Laden just landed at JFK.

A simple, “why has the pork industry insisted we refer to the swine flu as the H1N1 virus” question and discussion helps the freshmen to believe that yes, in fact, in the Middle Ages they really did believe the Plague was sent by evil spirits.

“So why is the death toll rising in Mexico,” those curious Easton and Redding students ask.

“Why did the death toll in monasteries and among priests rise when the Plague hit and why did the Jewish population fair better?”

“Priests performed last rites for the dying and monks lived in close quarters in monasteries making the disease spread more quickly.”

Then we look at the population density of Mexico compared to the US. Pop/square km in Mexico is 53. US is 31.

“That’s not THAT big a difference,” says Johnny Paininmyass.

“So what about the Jews? Why were they able to better survive the Plague?”

“They were spread out all over Europe,” Johnny persists, “but I still don’t see how this explains why Mexicans are dying and people in the US are not. I think either our government is lying or we really should be panicking.”

Finally, my studious Jewish student speaks up. “The Jews were spread out but they also had better hygiene. The Torah says you must wash your hands before every meal.”

“So?”

At this point most of the class gets that the US has better health care standards and puts Mr. Painintheass in his place. I love it when they do it for me.

Yet again, the headlines have helped to bring the age old adage some relevance. History does repeat itself. So…like Johnny says, “why bother learning about this stuff then.”

Right, why bother? Let’s just close all the schools and air them out a bit. This will surely save us from the deadly pandemic, keep the world turning and pigs from flying.

Good Fridays

Since every Friday is good, today should be called Great Friday. Or even better, The Greatest Friday. Because really, for the Christians it is the greatest Friday. That is, if one is to believe that Jesus died on an actual Friday. Of course, being a history teacher has slightly altered my view of religion starting with the fact that with all of the adjustments to our modern calendar over the year, there’s really know way to tell if Jesus actually died on a Friday. Not to mention that it is now widely accepted that Jesus was actually born somewhere between the year 4 and 6. (But don’t worry dad, this isn’t the part when I say I’ve denounced all religion and become atheist or agnostic.)

In a public school system, we have to take the faith part out and just give the facts as well as we can piece them together. And when you are only looking at the facts, you realize no matter what religion you believe in, they all rely heavily on nothing more than faith itself. In World Geography, we talk about Hinduism. The kids always get a kick out of the stories of Gods with multiple heads and animal features. They read the story about how Brahma grew four heads because he was infatuated with a women and is now able to see in all directions. Inevitably the class asks, “they really believe that?”

And then I remind them of the part human/part divine man named Jesus who walked on water, changed water into wine, cured many afflicted with incurable diseases and rose from the dead. Is this any more believable? (You should see their heads spin when they learn the Muslims, Christians and Jews all have the same foundation of belief – the stories of the Old Testament.)

And all of these religions claim they advocate peace and loving your neighbor and turning the other cheek and yet we are all still killing each other insisting our ridiculous stories are the “truth.” But really, what does it matter? In the year 2009, when we’re supposed to have answers from science and history, we’re still asking the same questions.

I know what I believe. And you know what you believe and can’t that be enough? My God says it is.

March Madness

It's that time of year again...there could be a blizzard or a heat wave, students are showing early signs of senioritis insisting on wearing flip flops and ski hats, we are reminded once again that college is more than just nerdy coeds traipsing around campus (it's about how well they fit into our brackets), and we teachers have to be on the lookout for chalk in the erasers. Yes, friend, the never-ending month of March has finally morphed into April. 

March was indeed madness. (As I seem to spend 80% of my time at school, most of the madness seems to be happening at school.)

The drug bust - Yes, the faculty and administration is aware there is a drug problem at the school but only with a very small population of students. We work tireless to promote healthy living and educate on the dangers of drug use and most specifically the dangers of "gateway" drugs. While the police and a drug sniffing dog were brought in to patrol the hallway, the suspect was apprehended, arrested and will likely be expelled. 

As if that wasn't enough to cause quite the buzz in school...

The illnesses - Schools are breeding grounds for germs. I get that. I've spent the majority of my life in schools. I understand that without a full February break, there is the argument that students become sicker and germs spread that much more easily. But I'm am now convinced that JBHS must be built on some sort of cesspool of bacteria based the frequency of odd illnesses. I'm not exaggerating when I say that for the past two months, about once a week, there is an announcement just before the bell is supposed to ring, "teachers, please hold your students in your class until the bell rings. We're going to delay it until further notice." 

The first time we heard this, there were lots of questions. "What's going on?" "Why can't we leave?" "Is there a bomb threat?" "No there is a fire." "There can't be a fire stupid, the alarm would go off." "Well, it could be like a little fire." "No, I bet someone died." "I bet someone broke into the school." "I bet it's a raccoon. I heard that happened once." When the bell does finally ring, it is followed by "teachers please check your email for an important message from Principal McMorran." Which does nothing to stop the incessant questions. "Ooh, when you check your email, will you let us know what happened." "I still say someone died." 

Now however, that this has become a weekly occurrence, all I get is "we're not going to still take notes now, are we? Class is still over, right?" The administration has been very effective at quelling the rumors with emailed explanations that read: "A teacher was feeling unwell and went to the nurse. Airing on the side of 'better to overreact, than underreact' the nurse called an ambulance so the teacher could be seen by his doctor. He was taken to Danbury hospital. If there is more you should know, we'll let you know." Sometimes, it's just been a case of vomiting and halls become blocked off - with the uncanny timing - during passing time. But so far this semester there have been multiple cases of vomiting. Multiple cases of students passing out and/or having seizures. And two cases of teachers feeling "unwell" to the point where an ambulance has taken them off school grounds. I mentioned this to my sophomore class a couple of weeks ago but they didn't really seem to think that anything freakish was happening. But in the past two weeks, there was another seizure and another student who got sick in the middle of the hall. Now, they seem convinced I am onto something. 

Maybe it's the sandals and mini-skirts in 40 degree weather. 

But it's not just in school illnesses. There are a handful of cases of teachers with long-term illnesses, family members who have died and/or are seriously ill and two former students who died from cancer all in this year. 

All I know is, I am not drinking the water. 

The Revival of the US

So we just finished a unit on the Roman Empire. I give the students a brief and fairly simple reading about the multiple causes that caused the decline of the empire. The reading was divided into “Internal Causes,” including political, economic and social problems as well as “External Causes” including the Barbarian invasions.

The following are a few excerpts:

Political: “They expected the emperor to look after their needs, but the vast size of the empire and widespread corruption made efficient government difficult…”

Economic: Even unbearably heavy taxes could not produce enough money to run the government. Roads and bridges were left unrepaired and there was an increase in crime…

nearly all trade and manufacturing disappeared…

Short sighted Roman leaders began to destroy the value of the money supply…

Heavy taxation destroyed the middle-class Romans. The payment of taxes and salaries during this time was often made in food or in clothing…

In the cities, heavy taxes and high unemployment contributed to declining prosperity…

Roman economy did not produce enough wealth to support a great civilization. What wealth was produced went into too few hands.

Social: The loyalty and civic pride that had once kept Rome strong had gradually decayed…

another social problem was a decline in morality…

devasting epidemics swept through the empire…

And now a sampling of headlines from the week:

“Stimulus Spurs Road Projects…”

In an article titled, “Congress Approves Budget Resolution,” the New York Times writes, “The ability of the diminished minority to delay the $410 billion bill signaled growing unease in Congress, among Democrats and Republicans, over the levels of government spending in recent months and the staggering increase in the federal deficit...A textbook example of why American have grown so fed up with Washington…”

“State’s Jobless Rate Rises to 7 Percent…” (NY state)

“Court Upholds Most Charges Against Ex-Governor…” Pick a governor, any governor (though this happened to be in relation to former Alabama Governor)

In an article about food contamination: “An examination of the largest food poisoning outbreaks in recent years — in products as varied as spinach, pet food, and a children’s snack, Veggie Booty — show that auditors failed to detect problems at plants whose contaminated products later sickened consumers.”

“Zac Efron Gets Condoms from Mom”

“Employee Sent Sexual Texts to Student”

The sad part is, it didn't take long to find the headlines. The good news is about 1/3 of the students made some connection between what they are learning and what they are living. The bad news is 1/3 were like, "how could you say we are morally declining? Gossip Girl teaches good morals." The really bad news, the other 1/3 could care less.

The decline of Rome happened in roughly three stages. 1. The Crisis of the 3rd Century, 2. A period of "revival" and 3. The Barbarian invasions.

During the second stage there was an emperor, Diocletian who was responsible for a series of reforms that helped to slow the decay and offer hope for a "revival." While his reforms did provide temporary relief, ultimately, his reforms were just band-aids trying to cover massive wounds in the empire.

I'm not saying we have to secure the borders because the Barbarians are knocking, I'm just saying, there are some striking similarities.

God bless the U.S.A.

Natural Born Killers

Juliette Lewis here. I'm typing from our slightly more put together TV room (now equipped with a brand new, fancy, shmancy, HD TV). Woody Harrelson is in his office. Our latest kill has been safely transported to the dump and we're just waiting for our next victim to scurry into our death trap.

In retrospect, I suppose it was niave to think that the mini mouse we heard a week ago in the ceiling was somehow seriously lost and misguided and completely, hopelessly friendless. But I believed this to be true. I tried willing it to be true and was happily living in this alternate reality created in part by the Man of the House. Unfortunately, when said Man was out one Sunday evening and I was studiously correcting papers at the kitchen table, I realized that believing our first mouse intruder was acting alone, was a foolish, foolish thought.

It sounded like a dog pawing at the door to get in. It was a distinct scratching noise and definitely coming from the basement. My initial thought was not "this must be another mouse" but rather, "who would've trapped a small child in the basement?" I know we have some empty spaces but they are certainly not for rent.

I hesitantly walked down the first couple of steps and the scratching stopped. I scared the beast. But my papers could wait. I was sure if I just froze, it would start up again. So I waited on the top step and waited until my muscle started cramping. Maybe it was just my imagination. Back to my papers.

I sat down an barely had time to get my pen back in my hand when the scratching started up again. It was definitely not my imagination. This time, I tiptoed as quiet as a mouse (honestly, I don't know who ever made up this expression) and hovered by the top step. There was something alive and unhappy in the basement and by my best auditory estimation, it was behind the door leading to where our water heater and extra refrigerators are. But what could it be. I maintained it was not a mouse because a little mouse would be able to squeeze under the door into the furnished part of the basement. Clearly this was an animal that would need sedatives and a pickup to haul away.

I shut the door to the basement, turned up the radio and tried to concentrate on mediocre explanations of the collapse of the Roman Republic. And finally the Man of the House returned. I told him there was a wild beast tearing at the door downstairs. He appeared neither surprised nor scared - like a true country living outdoorsman - and went downstairs. I heard some rustling, doors opening but no screams, scratching, growls or barks. Phone in hand, I was prepared to dial 911 at the slightest sound of struggle. But nothing. A couple of minutes later, the Man returns with a "nothing to worry about here."

Apparently, George had heard some more pitter-pattering in the ceiling, took a trip to Walmart, bought another trap and placed it ever so discreetly in the ceiling.

Fast forward to Thursday. I come home from work and notice a plastic bag hanging from the fence by the garage. Now my sister had an extra cable wire she was going to let us borrow and it's not unlike my father to be "passing through" and drop off some mail. And it is very unlike George to leave a plastic bag where it doesn't belong so I parked the car and went to investigate.

I must remember in the future, when a random plastic bag that looks like it could be garbage presents itself, and I didn't put it there to just leave it be. In the bag was another a third victim. Tiny, brown and forever stuck, just inches away from a delicious piece of cheese which hopefully he has gotten to taste in the afterlife.

I certainly don't want them in my house, but now that the numbers are climbing, I am not so sure why these glue traps are considered "humane."

I'm going to have a serious moral dilemma when spring comes and I want flowers and vegetables to remain untouched by the deer that I know graze in our yard when we are not watching.

Holiday. Celebrate.

I don't think I'm alone in saying that the end of The Holiday Season (January 1) is a somewhat depressing time. Sure there is hope and anticipation for the possibility and promise of the new year but let's face it, there is nothing jolly about seeing dried out, naked Christmas trees passed out on the front lawn waiting to be doused by the unforgiving heave of a big ole dirty plow. With the delicate, charming, twinkle lights snuffed out perhaps it's all just too much for some - those of us who still have the random wreath with a fading red bow hanging on their front doors. Spring is too far off to be thinking about and it's still dark when you leave for work in the morning and dark when you come home again eight or ten hours later.

Enter The Other Holiday Season - including such favorites as MLK day, Groundhog's day, Valentine's day and for some of us, the NBA All-Star game. For all it's foolishness with shadows, love notes and slam dunk contests, I've learned to love TOHS simply because in the darkest of winters, it's all we have. Much like the truncated February break that some schools, like JBHS have adopted. It's not a full week but if Monday and Tuesday are all I get then pop the popcorn, bake a cake for Abe and let's live Martin's dream. Sure, there is no benevolent man from the North to shower us with gifts nor a fuzzy bunny to hide from us some much loved chocolate, not even fireworks to dazzle us through these long, long nights. But these are considered holidays and causes to celebrate so celebrate I will. And you should too. Celebrate the fact that it's not just Madonna. As a species, in every nation, we recognize the need to holiday. Celebrate. Just one day out of life. It would be, it would be so nice. Here's to the Presidents, Punxsutawney Phil, and St. Valentine.

And then before we know it, it'll be time for our first annual St. Patty's day pool party! Cheers.

Mouse in the House

It's small, brown and very fast and has been spotted as early as our first morning here at the Estate. I first saw it in the garage on my way to work. It got startled when I opened the garage door. I saw a flash of brown run up the wall next to the door and dove into my car as fast as I could. As I was pulling out, it was defying gravity and scurrying along the ceiling.

The next morning, I tried doing both the mouse and I a favor and flicked the lights a couple of times before opening the door but alas, I did not wait long enough for the intruder to heed my warning call. A flash of brown darted from the back of the garage to the front and again I found my heart racing before 7 AM for the second morning in a row.

On the third day, I descending again to the basement. This time, I turned the light on, hit the garage door opener and ran back in the house to collect my things before venturing into the occupied territory. I reasoned he must have run out the open garage door and would realize that although the original owners had moved, there were new owners who are not pet people. I also reasoned it must be a he because if it's a she, then there is a possibility for babies and that's just too much.

Feeling quite pleased that my strategy worked and the mouse, while possessing super-hero abilities to run along the ceiling, was not smart enough to figure out how to get back in the garage. I did not see the mouse again for weeks.

My dad has been helping us transport furniture and supply us with essential home-owner stuff we have yet to purchase - puddy knives, sand-paper, etc. He and George were in the garage together and when I came down, it seemed as though I was interrupting them. Their conversation abruptly stopped and they had that "nothing to see here" look about them. Could it be, they were talking about how a new car might fit in the garage? Valentine's Day is coming up...I dropped the issue too and didn't think much of it.

A week or so later, George and I were headed out somewhere, I got in the passenger side door and he walked around to the driver's side but stopped and was investigating something. The mouse had reappeared. When I told him I hadn't see our friend in weeks. He confessed that in fact, he had. The creepy critter had apparently gotten into the bird seed which is what he and my father had been discussing.

I went back to sending morse code messages in the morning.

The other night we are watching TV in the basement (since the coffee table we have finally ordered has still not been delivered) and we hear what sounded to me like a pack of raccoons running above us and not just a quick scurry - more like a jog in a park. I was up the stairs I think before the commotion stopped. It took a while for me to come back down but George assured me it was safe and that it was just our tiny, harmless, field mouse looking for some warmth.

We put some traps out today but I'm hoping I'm not the one to find him either glued to some plank of wood or stuck in some plastic box. I'll go back to sending my secret call in the mornings and diving into my car without looking too hard and anything but the driveway behind me.

Good Karma

Jerry Seinfeld called himself "Even Steven." Some say, "easy come, easy go." Justin Timberlake sang, "what goes around, comes around" to some supposed Britney wannabe in a video. The Indians simply call it karma.

Every now and then the universe sends reminders that there is, in fact, a wizard behind the curtain. Maybe it's God or multiple gods or perhaps even Elvis but it must be more than just weird science.

Saturday night was "ladies nite" in the greater Bethel/Shelton area so my sister and I went out on the town. I put on my party sweater and thought I'd dress it up with some jewelry. Staring me in the face was one of most favorite bracelets from India. Like always, when I put it on, I can't help but think how much more I would love it if only it fit a little better. It's not so big that it just slides right off my wrist but just about...a nuisance more than anything.

About half way through dinner, I realized I was not wearing a bracelet. My first thought, was not "oh no, it fell off..." My first thought was that I had actually decided not to wear it because it's big and bulky and it was just my sister and I going out to dinner. I'd be home by 9 so why get all gussied up? But then the more I thought about it, the more I was sure I had walked out of the house with it on. I still didn't jump to "oh no, it's gone forever..." but I was thinking it may have fell off in the car. Between my big, bulky sweater and my big, bulky jacket and my big, bulky gloves, I figured it might have just gotten mixed up in all the bulk.

At the end of the night, I checked with the host. No one had found anything but he took my number in case it turned up...but that's like hearing, "we'll call you either way" after a job interview.

It wasn't in my car - but the parking lot was dark and the soft-top Jeep doesn't have much in the way of interior lights so I drove home with still a glimmer of hope that if it hadn't made it out of the house it would turn up and if not, it was just another lesson in placing too much emphasis on material goods. So what that I got it in India? Isn't it the memories that count? Isn't it the time we spent there that matters? If someone did find it, I was sure they would just keep it for themselves. Who wouldn't? Not that it was expensive or even looks expensive but still. I had to accept that it might be gone forever. And when I got home and took a better look, I told myself it was gone forever. And that was ok.

After a quick prayer to St. Anthony (who must get so sick of people like me only saying hello when they've lost something...) and sending good vibes into the universe (in case Saint A HAS stopped listening), I went to bed. If it were a movie, the camera would pan outside and show the wind picking up just a bit to indicate the universe was working on something.

And wouldn't you know it, a 203 number called yesterday afternoon and while I never pick up the phone if it's a number I don't recognize, I picked it up. It was the restaurant saying they had my bracelet. Good cosmic karma.

So today, thinking that MLK's dream while not explicitly stated, probably included a store where you could get nearly anything you need at rock bottom prices. Sure, you have to weigh the cheap prices against the moral questions of questionable business practices like gender inequality and sweat shops but Walmart insists they are cleaning up their acts. Plus, in these tough economic times, I know I'm not the only onoe shopping at Walmart.

I made my way to the home goods aisles. and stopped in the clock aisle. I've been in the market for an alarm clock and a small wall clock to replace the faux gold clock in our kitchen. Walmart however is no "Pottery Barn" and the aisles are often blocked by carts full of random stuff - like someone was in the middle of restocking the shelves and either got tired, bored or abducted by aliens. I left my cart on the end and made my way down to the alarm clocks.

As I picked up one of the small wall clocks, I heard a cart pass by in a rush. I walked to the end of the aisle to put the clock in my cart that has disappeared. I walked down a few aisles looking left and right but only saw a few people with empty carts - I had accumulated an assortment of non-essentials including my green Stop & Shop recycle bags. I walked back thinking maybe I left it in the opposite direction. Nothing. Everyone became a suspect. The old woman using her cart as her walker, the mother yelling at her toddler son to "shut his mouth," and the punk teenager that may or may not have been an employee. It wasn't particularly crowded so I continued to search.

I didn't jump to "theft" but the longer I searched in vain, the more baffling the situation became. We've all taken someone's cart by accident and soon realized it wasn't ours. But isn't it a universal law to return it to where you might have taken it once you make the realization?

Long story short, I got in line to check out thinking it serves me right to be advertising for Stop & Shop in Walmart. Since there was no one in the customer service line, I made a last minute decision just to see if a half-filled cart had shown up. The manager seemed none to pleased to have to help me and instead of acting crabby back to him, I smiled pleasantly and explained my situation careful not to choose words like, "thieves," "cheap," "dirty," "punks." He looked in my cart like he was hoping I had just overlooked the obvious. Then he picked up his phone: "Attention Walmart shoppers, if you have taken a cart with green recycle bags, please return it to customer service." After this did not work, he said he would "take a look" by the clock aisle. He disappeared for a while but I'm not sure how hard he was really looking. At this point I was ready to just check out but I was kept entertained by the random birds that were flying around the inside of the store. I counted three birds and zero doors open (for an extended period).

When he returned he just said, "how many bags did you have?" Then, "come with me." He took the tags of three Walmart cloth bags and put them in my cart. "Here, take these. Sorry for the trouble." I couldn't tell if he was sorry for my trouble or whether he was sorry for the trouble he put in to my problem.

Even Steven. Actually, I think I only had two bags and he gave me three. I'm expecting the world to right itself somehow tomorrow. Will let you know.