Holiday Interval

In between tree and stay-up -til-midnight time is this lull that prepares us to ease back into the non-holiday world of January. I've enjoyed the usual things that I enjoy about Christmas-lights, cards, decorations, gathering of friends, the fun food. The music is not so fun unless I listen to the classical station and hear beautiful sounds that seem so Christmasy but are less familiar. I confess: I get tired of hearing "Jingle Bells." And, while I'm being honest, having 64 Christmases under my belt has made me just ever so blase about it all. But two events really stand out just as two or so events stand out every year. They are the happenings that make each holiday season special in its own way. This year the stand-outs were Christmas day brunch AND dinner with our friends Ed and Penny and our family gathering at Amy's house which was all pleasant and devoid of any sweaty family drama.
I'm wrong. There were three outstanding events. Another notable time was the card making party I had with my beloved women relatives from the Woodland, WA area. I have come to absolutely cherish these girls and get as excited as a little kid to spend time with them.
So that "little kid at Christmas" feeling was there more than I thought it was. The camaraderie of friends twice in one day, the family at peace watching the grandgirls enjoy the magic of Christmas and the excitement of being with my favorite relatives made this Christmas as special as all the others.

Good-by Owl

Three last venues stimulated and amused us. The Leach Botanical Garden was a beautiful setting. We offered books from our festive table in the Manor House and absorbed huge quantities of good energy emanating from all the volunteers who maintain this facility and sponsor the Holiday Sale. My grandgirls visited and fell in love with the place and enjoyed the roles of "models" as the media representative snapped fun photos of them. We left happy and still basking in the goodwill that fills all the nooks and crannies both inside and out of this lovely place.
The next place was fascinating. We were invited to participate with 40 or so other Oregon authors at the Holiday Cheer Book Sale at the Oregon Historical Society. This was by far my favorite experience in book peddling. We sat by and near big name writers like Robert Michael Pyle, Brian Doyle, Sarah Lee Lawrence, and the great Ursula K. LeGuin along with the always around Gerry Frank, the noted mystery writer Philip Mongolin and many interesting others. I was truly thrilled. These people are my life long heroes. I've seen LeGuin many times around town and have always wanted to speak to her so I took my chance toward the end of the day and approached her as she was gathering up to leave. I shook her hand and just said, "Thank you. I've taught your stories for years and years." She understood exactly what I was saying and returned a firm shake along with a winkly,"You're welcome." We sold lots of books and went home exhilarated by this academic setting of a book sale that was attended by many well-turned out Portlanders.
Our last venue was at the Holiday Market in Eugene. A special big room was set aside for books and authors with the usual Saturday Market to one side and the holiday artists and crafters to the other side. And we got to look at Eugene all day. All the old hippies were out joined by new age punkers threading their way through the throngs of university students and holiday shoppers of all shapes and sizes. Even the Fairy Lady strolled about sprinkling fairy blessings on vendors and shoppers alike. Again we sat in between two well known Oregon writers and sold plenty of books ourselves. During the day, we ate fabulous organic pasties, sampled lush chocolates and had a couple good opportunities to eyeball all the wares of the Market as we made our way through the wafts of incense and homemade soap.
What a day and what a way to experience our last official sale of the good little book called Owl Grove. Good-by to that magical place and we are already in the early stages of our new adventure. I hope to make an announcement soon.

Week 10, Owls, Final exams

(Tues a.m.) Week 10 was anticlimactic with students pushing to get the research project completed by class time on Thursday. I always feel nervous about this part of the curriculum because students always act as if they know exactly what to do to document claims for a research paper. No matter how many times I monitor and check, I am always reassured somehow that they're on track. Then they turn in their papers. As usual, things fall apart and I begin to doubt my own teaching skill with this. Granted, research is not my favorite thing and I can barely keep up with all the changes being made, so I always struggle trying to do the "right thing" and get this successfully under the learning belts of students. So as I graded the papers, I was dismayed that what seemed like many demonstrated only the barest hint that they knew what this assignment was all about. And then I graphed/charted the scores. There were plenty of A's and B's, some C's, and more D's and F's than I'm really comfortable with but the stats show that the assignment "took." (More later.)
(Tues mid-afternoon) I am at the main campus. This will be my last official office time so I have set about clearing things up and out. Mary's drawings are off the walls along with some colorful visuals I created from last year's Linnea calendar. I recycled some old student papers, shelved the books I don't want to take home and left the drawers free of any personal items. The only thing I will leave is my beloved John Travolta poster. This interesting object was given to me years ago by my friend Kristi who knew what a fan I was (and still am even though he's old and worn like everyone else I know). It's a kitschy thing done in airbrushed pen and ink depicting an all seeing John Travolta whom the artist wants us to see as an attractive and powerful man. I have taken the poster to my Writing 122 classes many times and used it as the basis for arguing about art. It has produced some of the best discussions and some of the best writing I've seen in all my tenure.
But somebody in the office doesn't like the poster. She (or he) turned John's face toward the wall. If only they knew how much learning energy came from that poster, she might think twice before banishing John's face from sight. So I think it only appropriate that I leave the poster here in the office for others to contemplate. I wonder how long it will last? I just might be able to find out if ever I decide to teach another class. But I'll just quietly leave John in the hands of the current and future office occupants.
So good-by, office. (More later.)
(Tues p.m.) I took my last walk across campus with my hood up and the raindrops coming down stepping around a small group of laughing students who were obviously as relieved as I am to be finished with final exams for the day. I took one last short cut through the student center to say good-by to my favorite server, Robin, but she was no where in sight. The usual guitar players were there and the usual loud game players were clustered around the tables by Counseling Services. I felt like the only person in the building as I took one final trip down the elevator in Randall Hall. The basketball players weren't even practicing. Then out the door and into the dark parking lot for one last time. I heaved my backpack into the car for the last time and vowed to retire it to a fitting place soon. As many and varied as were the memories that were floating around and through my mind, I didn't feel any sense of loss or sadness or nostalgia. What's done is done. My tent is folded and I have stolen silently into the night and left the days of teaching behind.
(Next time: the truth about the owls.)

Week 9

This week is shortened because we will eat turkey and give thanks and then start to turn on the Christmas machine. Yay! I love it.
The weather is dicey. I remember one year (maybe it was 1985) when Thanksgiving Break became a whole week long because of snow and ice. I remember the relief I felt to be away from some ultra challenging classes. I taught one class in someone else's room using other people's curriculum that contained lots of films and videos that I had to preview ahead of time. That was tricky because the films were always checked out to someone else and once or twice I had to show something that I had not seen before. That made me real nervous and with good cause. Trying to pull off a lesson with unknown material and to keep the attention of a classroom stuffed with hostile learners was gut grinding. The extra snow days gave me extra days to breathe.
This week my current classes were placed in the hands of the research librarian who would present some new ideas about finding sources for research projects. That means I had to turn the class over to someone else. Again, that can be a nerve wracking situation. How will the students respond to a new face and new ways? Will they buy into the presentation or will I need to suddenly become the scowling heavy and remove someone for a "little chat"? Once the students are in front of the computers, will they sneak onto porn or game sites? Will some disappear on the trip over to the library? Will "Lester" (a made-up name) go all bonkers and ask questions that relate to his own strange and skewed perspective of the world? Will they all grow bored and then disturbingly restless as the librarian begins instructing about "truncation" and other really cool features of search engines like Google?
The whole "free" day of a guest teacher is fraught with worry and anxiety. And then, to top it all, snow and ice diminished the class counts by about 40% so this vital and by now urgent piece of research procedure will be left in the hands of the students themselves. The term is too far gone to schedule a make-up session. Week nine had a dramatic ending.

Week 8

Retirement is becoming very real at this point. Students discovered that my name is missing from the winter term schedule of classes and quizzed me about that a little closer than I was comfortable with. I am still having trouble vocalizing my intention to step away from my professional career because I don't think I've totally accepted the idea yet.
Acceptance gets more possible when I realize that yesterday was the last day I'll ever execute a lesson that includes mostly direct teaching. Oddly, I was nervous when I started the morning class and even had to excuse myself to wander down the hall for a minute just to gather my nerves. I revisited my first year of teaching and the way I felt when it was my turn to teach a unit and all my plans and lessons had to be reviewed in our team meeting time. Then as we'd make our way into the large lecture area, I'd have to fight hard to keep the butterflies at bay and the shaking hands and knees under control. I felt somewhat the same as I presented this last lesson.
And then last night, a message from the department leader requested someone to take a couple of classes winter term that haven't been assigned yet. One of them is my favorite class to teach, at my favorite time and will be held in my favorite classroom. That was hard to ignore. I did not respond, though.
I have at last accepted my own absence from future classroom settings. . .I think.

Week 7

A Veterans' Day away from school is almost more special than any other kind of day off except maybe for a snow day. No fancy meals to cook, no extra cleaning to do, no gifts to buy. It's just the person with the day off and plenty of good options to consider. I lingered over morning coffee and the crossword. I did this and that pleasant little thing around the house. I went to the Mall for serious Christmas shopping. That requires focus and solitude since the Town Center is probably my least favorite place on earth. Even so, it's pleasant to make the rounds and have some of those gift ideas jump off the shelf and into my arms. At home, a bite of lunch and then I put my feet up with my book in my lap and drifted into a wee nap. I put the finishing touches on some dinner for Pat and then left to join my knitting group. No papers to grade. No lessons to process in my mind. No driving to either campus and no parking anxiety. Just me and my own personal world. Peaceful and pleasant all day long.

Week 6

Adjunct faculty members share officespace. That makes sense in every way. I've had good relationships with the people I've shared officespace with over the years. Kevie is a young and hip instructor whose fashion sense and thin, willowy build make her a favorite with young students and a favorite of mine because of her glib yet earnest approach to the world. She's slick and she's smart and she's also a young mother of a young teenager. We've had many an interesting conversation about managing the lives of teens.
My favorite office partner is Randy. He teaches more regularly at PSU where he seems to fit in comfortably with the more liberal, globally involved scene there. Here at CCC, he is a favorite of all the students because of his charm, wit, and intelligence. He is also seriously involved with what he does in the classroom and his followers can't help but take his lead. He and I have grown our own sort of closeness over the years. I admire his life perspective and the yuppie lifestyle he and his wife have in the fashionable Laurelhurst area of Portland.
Then there's Sue. She arrived on the scene a few years ago and right away assumed her position in what I consider to be my desk area in the office. My books, files, and wall space all lend themselves to my personal identity. But I am forced to use the alternate computer which makes me put my back to the door. She holds student conferences in the office during my office hour time which interrupts my paper work and shuts down my telephone communication. In the absence of her students, she tells me constantly about life with her dog, garden, daughter, cooking, travels in and out of the metro area, and all manner of opinion about teaching and student management. She approximates my age but is new to teaching having spent many years as an RN. Impressive, huh?
Sue is not my favorite. Actually, she annoys the hell out of me on any number of levels, not the least of which is her obvious desire to get hired full time and her obvious lack of tact and diplomacy when it comes to paving the way toward that end. Still, she's a good instructor in spite of the fact that she displays a negativity toward students that I neither follow nor understand.
I was troubled to learn that her teaching schedule would match mine this term in that we would both be on different campuses at the same time. I was relieved to learn that I was the only one using office space at the other campus and never ran into her at the main campus. Whew. What a relief.
Until this morning that is. Lo and behold, my arrival at the other office found her sitting in "my" desk. My level of botheration rose. So I hugged her. I asked about her doings. And, sure enough, she got out the pictures and started in on an update of her life. I listened. I was polite and focused. When it was time for class, I sincerely wished her a good day.
Chances are I won't see much of her the rest of the term. So I was glad for a warm and friendly moment. But I won't miss Sue. I'll just always wonder if she manages to get on full-time.
P.S. Those are real names of real people.

Week 5

A student from last winter term requested a letter of recommendation so I squeezed in some time to do this by getting up extra early one morning last week. I let her know that the letter was ready. Did she want to pick it up or should I mail it to her? She'd maybe pick it up after my p.m. class the next Tuesday. Great. But she didn't show and had let me know in an e-mail sent about the time I expected her to arrive. I e-mailed back. Would she like to pick it up at a different time or should I mail it? No reply for two days. Then she asked that I mail it to her, but she did not send an address. I e-mailed back asking for that information. No reply yet. I don't think she is taking this letter of recommendation as seriously as I am. What do you think? And never mind that I had to manipulate the language to show this student in the shining light of deserving.
Another student asked to stay after class ostensibly so we could go over her essays. What we really talked about is her life. She is 17 years old and has a five year old son. Yes. She became pregnant when one of the men living in her household forced himself on her. She barely knew what it meant to have a period. Yet this young woman is putting herself through college, raising her son, working as a translator and found a safe place for her younger sister to live. She is determined to rise above her circumstances and carve out a good life for her son and for herself. She is well on her way in spite of being robbed of a childhood.
I don't know whether or not I'll miss these personal encounters with students. Sometimes they just cause too much of an emotional response from me.

Week 4

This last fourth week of school is about that elusive event known as the "teaching moment" where teacher and students are interacting on the same plane absorbing and reflecting an epiphany of knowledge gained at precisely the same time in each of our brains at once. We all celebrate this oneness together with a kind of supernatural energy that causes a weird educational euphoria for all of us. It's rare and it's worth the wait. I try to make it happen as much as I can.
Well. It certainly did not happen in my morning class. I tried 16 ways to Sunday to tie together the current readings and a language exercise with a writing assignment due next Tuesday. I only managed to get quizzical looks from student faces. They could not understand my expectations. In desperation, I stood in front of them and waved my arm and hand in the air as if I were erasing everything that had happened in the last few minutes. Then I moved my body to another teaching area in the classroom and came up with a different way to explain the assignment. I think it worked. We'll see on Tuesday.
I thought about this experience several times before my afternoon class when I'd have to deliver the same lesson and make the same assignment. I came up with a new strategy that hit right on. The "teaching moment" occurred just after the assignment was made. Students began talking about what topics they would choose to write about with a lively enthusiasm not often witnessed in a writing class. One young man actually stood up and asked happily, "You mean I can write about types of zombies? REALLY?"
"Absolutely," was my sincere reply. And then he went on to tell the whole class about his plan to get this essay completed. He took off after class announcing his intention to get started right away. And then he came back into the classroom and "oh, yeah-ed" me with, "This is the first time I've ever, ever been truly excited about a writing assignment." His response mimicked what was going on in several other corners of the classroom just then. We all "got it" at the same time.
I will definitely miss these extraordinary moments when teaching and learning come so seamlessly and so speedily together that we all feel as if we have had brain growth at precisely the same time.

Week 3

In the writing class this week we studied and discussed the tricks about writing in the descriptive mode. We took a close look at some of the essays in the text that featured description starting with Momaday's fabulous piece "The Way To Rainy Mountain." I loved watching the students figure out how he presented the simple narrative of visiting his grandmother's grave by folding it into word pictures of the Kiowa landscape. His ancestors were defined by the land that nourished them and he was wildly successful helping the reader "see" Rainy Mountain at the end of the merciless desert. The acceptance of the struggle to get through the heat and harshness of the land is something we white people don't really understand. When the students undid all the layers of the details in the story to discover how another ethnic group defines itself was a joy.
But the real joy of the week came when my four year old grandaughter really and truly read a story called "Ted and Peg." This thinly plotted bookette only had one or two descriptive words in the whole thing. Sentences featured the short e sound and I won't give anything away by letting you know that after Ted and Peg met, he wanted to paint his hen red. LiLi read every word sounding them out carefully with only a little help from me. It was a miracle. I was one of the very first people on earth to experience one of her very first reading experiences. It happened during our "nest rest" time covered up with our favorite blankets while the sun and a little autumn breeze whispered through the open window above us.
Magic for college students was, I have to admit, outshone by the reading of "Ted and Peg" by the proud and delighted LiLi.

Week 2

Ten piles of papers arranged in perpendicular stacks of five waited on the desk for my assessment and grade. I needed to complete two and part of a third stack of papers per day for four days to be comfortably ready to return them to the students by the next class meeting. The papers were journal entries about reading and writing habits and unforgettable places. I read about a hated fourth grade teacher who made a terrified little girl read aloud. She hasn't liked reading since. Two students made Baghdad with its heavy heat and second by second danger come alive. Someone else wrote about tending horses with her dad in the way back part of Montana. It reminded me of cowboys riding the range in the days of the Old West. One woman wrote about the loss of eight cousins to a house fire. And another writer described the "forest" next to his boyhood home where he and his friends built forts and trails to their own young boy specifications. Others wrote ineffectively about "awesome" trips to Disneyland, Hawaii, and the Oregon Coast. They don't understand yet that those meaningless words just lie flatly on the page not even attempting to kick up some life into the experience of wind-whistling rides or a sun that sinks into a tepid sea like a slowly dipped teabag. But they all try and if some essays jump off the pages while others just lie there barely breathing, it's all okay. I finished them in time to read more of my murder mystery before taking them all neatly graded and commented upon back to class.

Week One

Hello Terry,
My name is A. Student and I have been attending Clackamas for 2 years ago just wrapping things up this year and trasfering out!
I was supposed to take MWF classes due to working full time, but have to now switch to TTh. Your class works perfect for my schedule and I was hoping if I come to class prepared on thursday, and have an add/drop slip, did attendance today look like there is any room? If you could shoot me back an email and let me know that'd be great!

Thanks so much for your time,

A. Student



A. Student,

You may check in with me at the beginning of class to see about space availability. Your first assignment is to re-write your e-mail. Type it up double-spaced with all the errors corrected. I will review the content of the first day for you. For now, think about the power of language.

Terry

Last First Day II

And then came Thursday. I attended three consecutive two hour meetings with very little breaks in between. The first was a workshop presented by the keynote speaker. His technology broke down. Several minutes later after two techies managed to plug in the correct cord to the correct outlet, he did a power point presentation complete with an exact handout of what we were intended to look at while he talked. I read the handout in about five minutes. I don't like power points. I think they're way over used and do little if anything to keep listeners/learners engaged. This seemed such a glaring contrast to his learning theory as presented the day before. His gig rescued itself, however, with his showing of Father Guido's Five Minute University as an introduction and an activity called "Cooky Assessment" in which small groups of us compared ideas about how to measure the goodness of a chocolate chip cooky based on appearance only. The president of the college and a really smart chemistry doc were in my small group so it was really fun and interesting. The rest of the two hour power point was average. I took a few notes and left thinking that maybe I could go on for another few terms based upon how my methods seem to line up with the latest brain research.
Next: the part time faculty luncheon and meeting. We peeled our cold pizza out of the cardboard boxes, poured ourselves some lukewarm soda, and ate while we listened to our union leaders update us about negotiation progress. One of about 15 issues has been agreed upon. And we were reminded to attend board and negotiation meetings so "they can see that we're watching them." This sort of language always makes me uneasy in that I don't feel comfortable in the "us v. them" role. I prefer being with colleagues when we talk about teaching even if power point presentations are the method of delivery.
Then I hurried off to my mid afternoon department meeting that went on til after 4:30. You would think that being with my English department fellows would calm me down. Introductions were followed by something that I've completely blanked out but it took a long time. There was a discussion about Moodle. Apparently our department blog will morph into this. I don't know what Moodle is and I don't want to. After a snack of raisins, natural almonds without salt or flavoring and the darkest chocolate in the world, we began to share our concerns about plagiarism. I don't have any. I've never had much trouble with this I think because I'm careful about assignment design. And then one of the gang got up and used the doc camera to share his reading notes from his big summer read called What Is College Writing? I will refrain from comment here. And then we talked a lot more about plagiarism with several department members detailing (and I mean detailing) some of their experiences with plagiarizing students. I could not get to the parking lot fast enough.
The only thing that sort of made me feel better was after I finished telling Pat all about my day, he responded, "Well, try doing that and then driving home from Seattle afterwards. In traffic." That made me feel a tiny bit better.
This. Is. My. Last. Term. Of. Teaching.

Last First Day?

Inservice week. I began the week by delivering a workshop called "The First Day of School" in which I helped teachers understand how to effectively manage space, time, information and persona involved in the first day of school or class. I qualified my expertise by describing how I've conducted over 50 successful first days of school. I used a paper manipulative to share ideas about all the topics I mentioned a few sentences ago. I was interactive with the attendees. I gave some hints about student management that help to preserve the dignity of both the student and the teacher. I demonstrated how to keep students actively involved. I talked about how to execute an explanation of the course content in one or two sentences. I sensed that the workshop was a success. Maybe I'll just keep on teaching for a few more terms rather than to truly retire at the end of the quarter based on this confirmation of my teaching methods.
Then Wednesday I attended the all staff/campus general gathering in the gym where we ate cold powdered scrambled eggs, something that looks sort of like sausages and drank someone's fair effort at making coffee for the masses. I listened to the deans introduce the new people on their staffs. Then the deans sang a long song called "Acronyms" that attempted to include every committee in the college that has letters that describe its purpose. It was kinda cute. For about five minutes. But it went on for about 12 more minutes. I'm not kidding. Next, the president spoke. She delivered a really good speech. If she'd been in my speech class, she would have earned extra points for quality and presentation for basing her content on a nifty kaleidoscope metaphor and numbering her major points so you could easily keep track of when she'd finish. And finally, the person I'd been waiting to hear, our keynote speaker Terry Doyle, delivered his speech.
The speech began with his validation of his role as presenter by telling us that he'd had over 80 first days of school. He described what we can do to be more effective educators: involve ourselves in the learner centered process. We can do this by focusing attention on space, time, content and personalities. Yes, it did sound familiar and,boy, was I glad I'd presented first! I left even a little more determined to keep teaching.
Then came Thursday. My epiphany completed itself. I'll tell you about it in the next few days because this entry, like most all my others, is too long as it stands.

City Pics

I didn't take my camera with me on our recent trip to San Francisco. I wanted to experience my own perspective rather than that of the one behind the lens. I've discovered that photo ops often rule how I "download" my time when I travel and that the trip becomes more about the camera than about me. So I'll share a few word pics to let you know about this amazing trip.
Picture us in a narrow alley in China Town. We're in a line to see a fortune cookie factory. Ahead of us is the doorway through which you see a dark, narrow little room where three Chinese women sit one behind the other rolling discs of cookie dough into fortune shapes after they've slipped in the paper fortunes. Notice the "boss" moving back and forth between them keeping them on task and reminding us to pay 50 cents per picture.
Envision an intimate, darkened theater. There are seats for about two hundred people with small tables in the first two rows. We are sitting in the first row laughing at the spectacle of male dancers dressed in poodle dog costumes standing beside a hugely coiffed Sarah Palin figure singing about how Snow White can find a husband. There are several full and empty beer steins in front of us. We're watching "Beach Blanket Babylon."
Study the group as we make our way around Angel Island on Segways. We are neatly in line as directed except for Pat who is seen out of line and zigzagged to our left where his stunt riding has led him straight smack dab into the hillside. Again, notice the hard laughter.
See the seven of us sitting on the steps facing Macy's in Union Square. It is a beautiful night and we are eating cheesecake in celebration of my 64th birthday. There are a few homeless people scattered around us and the sidewalk in front of us is full of walkers even though it is past 9:00. The sparkly lights of the tall buildings all around us illuminate the area in a magic sort of way.
And just imagine the cityscape as seen from an Edwardian balcony in the Buena Vista area of San Francisco. The Bay Bridge is in the horizon, Union Sqare and the rest of the city is in the middle distance and just below us two floors is the tiny manicured knot garden of our hosts. The sky is an outrageous blue and the sun dominates all.
Finally, a shot of us on the ferry sitting with our faces in the cool breeze yet warmed by the big sun to the west of us. The Coit Tower can be seen to our right and Alcatraz is close by to the left. We are sharing our outside deck seats with all manner of young people returning to the city from their adventures in the nearby locations where they have been bike riding, walking, picnicking and otherwise spending leisure time in the rare Bay Area sun just as we were.
It was unbelievable. It is like that every time we visit The City.

Tree Hunt

It's time to consider what to do with the ugly, bare spot left in my sister's lawn because of the loss of the 50 year old maple in one of last spring's storms. We figured we'd just plant a tree or three and compose a little mountain woodsy sort of landscape with some found objects and our communal artistic ideas. I can sort of see it already.

So within the last few days, we've explored five different nurseries. We've covered a fair piece of ground up and down the I-5 corridor including the famous Al's Garden in Woodburn. Guess what? It isn't all that easy to find conifer trees to purchase here in our naturally thick with conifers Oregon. We were really surprised.

After some real time browsing at actual nurseries and some internet exploration, Bobbie decided she likes mountain hemlocks and alpine firs the best. Pat and I know that alpine firs are not that easy to find and mountain hemlocks can be tricky to locate as well but, boy, did we find some good ones in a Salem area nursery. I won't say which one because their trees go on sale tomorrow and you'll all probably rush out to buy the very trees we want. I'll tell you about this fabulous source after we've made our purchase. Suffice it to say that this place has great nursery stock and helpful though rather unsmiling clerks. Their nursery stock is beautifully cared for and thriving in an accessible and very navigable lot.
And the gift shop has some great stuff in it too.

So we'll finish our research on soils (we want to berm the trees up a bit), figure out yards to units (Pat's job), and get on with the buying. Someday soon all three of us will be out in Bobbie's front yard creating the new piece of landscape and planting something new in the place where my dad cautioned my sister to let the twiggy little maple alone all those years ago.

Writer's Block

Oh, um. . .what to write about? Need to update the blog-no more fancy trips just the one long and hot weekend in Prineville keeping cool by the swamp cooler or breezing in the boat on the Reservoir all with fun friends-slept on memory foam mattress and bought our own on the way home but it's the new and improved one with memory gel along with the foam or some such thing and, boy, is it comfortable and my back feels better than it has in a long, long time-thinking lots about turning 64 next month especially with the Beatles' song "When I'm 64" running through my head many times per day-want to get in touch with my Stayton friends for a walk in the Wilderness (maybethisweekendifyou'rereadingthis?) so did a practice walk in the cool of this morning-was lovely but I was puffing a bit-it's the extra weight which is driving me crazy but I can't resolve what to do and I can't believe I'm actually putting that thought out into cyberspace-yikes!and fall will start next week with childcare responsibilities shaping our schedules again but then it's off to San Francisco to see our Derek and Brian special friends for some Bay Area fun and hi jinks before I have to prep for the in-service workshop I'm doing. That's it! A blog update!

Alaska is. . .

• Anchorage-big, wide, clean, friendly
• the Snow City Cafe-french toast stuffed with mandarin cream cheese
• a great yarn shop with friendly knitters and local yarn
• Talkeetna-a rustic, historic village north of Wasilla
• the cabin way out there where we could hear the salmon jumping as we sat by the campfire
• sun until nearly midnight when the daylight just dims
• Homer-a little town that thinks it's big but it can't compete with the mountains and the water around it
• Seward with its gorgeous Resurrection Bay and the police officer who spent his shift shooing off a mama bear and her three cubs from the out of town bridge where they were fishing
• big sky, big mountains, wildlife
• SERIOUS fishermen and women who wear their waders all day long and even in town
• a secret restaurant that is rated one of the top ten in the USA by the food network
• a place that needs to be revisited

Real life in Real Time-Mendenhall Glacier

The power of Alaska is easy to see on the trail to Mendenhall Glacier outside of Juneau. Hike along with wildflowers beside you and icy streams gurgling down the hillside to your right. See some bald eagles perched above in the trees. Study the huge striated rocks that are so wondrously cut and colored by the glaciers that you just want to stuff some into your day pack to take home. And then you begin to hear the roar of the huge waterfall that is just to the right of the glacier which you begin to glimpse as the trail curves. And then there it is: the awesome edifice of ice that looks like some sort of fantasy created for a ride at Disneyland and then you realize that this thing is absolutely real and absolutely not created by any human hands. With the fog lifting above it and the waterfall bellowing just to the right of it, the glacier commands your perfect attention and you just stare and stare.

Floating Quarters

Alaska was amazing. I have no words to describe the power of Glacier Bay. We sailed in on a sunny, blue sky day on water that was as smooth as a mirror that reflected the glaciers and mountains all around us. The glaciers are interesting and we learned a lot about Marjorie Glacier and the Grand Pacific Glacier but the power comes from floating through the bay which is so refreshingly cool and clean and so sharply focused in the bright air. The glaciers and the ice floes are a deep sky blue. I cannot even imagine what it must have been like for the likes of John Muir and others who went up to study the glaciers and that whole stunning ecosystem. I feel so fortunate to have been there.
The towns of Juneau, Skagway, and Ketchikan are clever little villages obviously started by hearty souls who wanted gold and had an itch to explore this last frontier. The people in the shops, even though most are newbies anywhere from a few years to several decades of inhabiting, have this special acceptance about their environment which rules every move they make. It was comical to see the fans on in Ketchikan on a day of about 65 degrees which they felt was a heatwave. They are warm and welcoming to all the tourists.
The cruise itself was okay. I was highly aware that we were living on a gigantic floating mall that sucked money straight out of the guests at every turn. It was difficult not to feel like a packed in herd of cattle being shuffled from one deck to another to spend money. And the impact on the environment is not something I even want to think about. Food rules. I don't get that even though I am one of the world's most enthusiastic foodies. Why does everyone base the quality of a cruise on its food? And how do you know if the food is better on this cruise or that? I could find something good to eat any time day or night. Lots of it was mediocre, but there was plenty of good stuff to choose from as well.
But I absolutely love going to bed with the ocean singing outside our deck door and waking up in the morning at a new port or just lounging in bed with the sun streaming over a calm ocean onto our bed. That, folks, is the absolute height of luxury.
More about this later along with some photos.

Spacebook

My nephew refers to social networking sites as "Spacebook" which brings "LOL" to family members. (Did I use that texting acronym correctly?) These first two sentences give all readers the level of my knowledge about this area of technology. Actually, these first two sentences tell a lot about my level of knowledge about ALL areas of technology. And that's okay by me. I'm pretty much at peace with myself about what I don't know. I really think that if I know too much more, I'll just use up more of my good life moments in front of the flat screen which is exactly what I don't want to do. I have way too much real life to live.

But here's what I really would like to know about social networking and it has to do with something I learned from the aforementioned family members just yesterday. They told us about a major piece of family news that involves another family member whose life has become explosively controversial over the years. And they learned the news on "Facebook." My question and what I want to know: Why do people feel so comfortable posting intimate bits of personal knowledge for all the whole world to see? Why don't they call, or even better, visit the pertinent people who will be affected by the big news and tell them in person? What is happening to face to face communication? Is it easier to just spit out all your personal life problems all over the keyboard and thus onto all the flatscreens of everyone you know? And is nothing sacred anymore? Managing the ego's need for recognition for a large on-screen audience seems like one is answering all of Dr. Phil's questions even before being asked on to the show.

But then notice how often I blog. . . .

Paper and Plastic

I was headed down Highway 213 on my way to Dallas this morning to see my old friend Arlie who's laid up in an adult care home. I stopped at McDonald's for one of my favorite breakfasts (big confession to all my green and healthy eating friends here), a sausage egg McMuffin. One of my great pleasures is to munch this while cruising along this verdant road which is deep within the very definition of "Willamette Valley" with all the crops sprouting and the farmers walking around their properties and the small stands here and there selling scrumptious local berries. But I hadn't even left McDonald's; in fact, I'd barely gone 20 feet before I slowed down to throw the straw wrapper and the bag containing the McMuffin into the trash. I thought, "Hmmm. . .those paper products only lasted seconds, mere seconds before they were relegated to the landfill. Not good."
After my visit with Arlie (whose condition remains a mystery after a lengthy hospitalization, many tests, and still unbearable back pain), we traveled down 99E to Monmouth where we picked up some strawberry shortcake at Burgerville and then proceeded to the park to eat it under the shade trees next to where kids were climbing monkey bars and blowing bubbles and playing in the fountain while their families, relatives, and friends were barbecuing up the picnic lunch. It was a scene straight out of an old page of "Life" magazine. When we left, we carted two heavy weight cardboard boxes, two ultra sturdy plastic forks, and two large napkins to the garbage can. Those disposables lasted about 20 minutes from brand new to old junk.
Then on my way home (and could we just keep this a secret, please?). I stopped yet again at Burgerville for a cheese burger and some fries. I even asked for salt. These burgers remind me of the ones we used to eat at Bob's in Salem in the 60's and 70's. They have the same warm flatness which is mooshed together with the "special sauce" and has the thin cheese oozing out the edges. This is exactly what we ate for a special lunch in high school when we somehow scraped together enough money to have "hot lunch." Only the high school cafeteria ladies at North Salem made them much tastier. But that was back in the day; Burgerville is as close to those burgers as I can get these days. So the whole business of eating one brings back all sorts of good old memories to mull over as I complete my drive home. The scraps from that "meal" lasted from Canby until I pulled into my driveway and threw them into our own garbage can along with some uneaten french fries. I'd finally hit my saturation point with fast junk food. And look at all the paper and plastic products that lasted for only MOMENTS during this day of bad eating before I abandoned them to their fate in the landfill. How sad that they couldn't have lived any longer.

Empty Stage

Rolling through the end of the night on our way to Owl Grove was almost fun and almost exciting and certainly strange. I had forgotten how truly closed the world almost is at 4 a.m. The night approaching morning was dark, still and quiet. It wasn't even raining.
We steathily made our way out of the car and waited at the edge of the grove until just enough light let us make our careful way to the shelter closer to the grove. We strained our ears and scanned the dark sky. We heard lots of robins. No hoots. No wingspans crossed the sky. When the light increased a bit more, we made our way slowly through the trees. We found the old nest. We had to wait even longer to conclude that it was empty. And still not a single hoo-hoo-hoo. Then when it was almost totally light, we were able to see evidence of chalky owl poop at the base of some of the trees. They had definitely visited the grove, but their physical and audible absence at this point informed us that they had not nested in this part of their territory this year. We stayed until we were sure of this fact and then made our way back to the morning proper. We formally closed the last page on the adventure part of Owl Grove and will only re-visit it if we happen to be in the area and when we are marketing the book.

Time and Sound

I was talking to my students about visual and oral presentations of argument yesterday. I took them back to Elizabethan times when Shakespeare's audiences were more dependent on the spoken word to get meaning than they were on visual effects or the printed word. After all, most people then could neither read nor write. So they took lots of information in through their ears rather than their eyes. Hence, they were more attuned to the spoken language of the play to understand what sort of light was crossing over Juliet's balcony because there was no electrical source of illumination. Props, light sources and pyrotechnics were not part of the way they took in their world views at the time.



Then I brought the students to the speed changes that have occurred in my life time. My parents had an alarm clock. They wound it every night. They could plainly hear it tick, and if they wanted to know what time it was, they had to turn on a light. They were awakened by an ugly and irritating ringing sound that had to be shut off by touching the right switch. So they were very involved in the process of informing themselves about time. Much of what they learned about time depended on sound.



I have a device in my bedroom that looks nothing like a clock. It shines red, digital figures on the ceiling at night that inform me not only of the time, but also of the temperature outside. It makes a steady buzzing sound in the morning that can be easily tapped to allow me ten more minutes of sleep. At this point there is no message on the ceiling but the digits appear on the device itself. I am much less involved in how I get information about time. I simply use my eyes with very little involvement for my ears.



So that's an example of how contemporary people take in information. We are much more used to accessing our experiences through sight. We use flat screens to learn about our daily lives and take in gigantic special effects when we are entertained at the movies. We are persuaded to consume through graphics of all kinds, many of which require no words to influence us.



Tomorrow morning I will experience a more gentle awakening. My sister will rouse me around four a.m. so they we can be at Owl Grove by dawn. We hope to re-trace the parent owls of last spring and discover if they are raising a new family in the same place this season. We will depend entirely on our ears for information access as we hike through the wooded area and strain our ears for owl noise. We will need to depend almost entirely on the sounds in the environment to learn what we need. We'll communicate with each other at a bare minimum. It will be interesting to see how well we take in information the old-fashioned way. No brightly lit trails, no hidden speakers, no road signs, and not a single arrow will point us on way. Our ears will have to do the majority of the work.

Details and Multi-tasking

I'm at the liquor store. It doesn't open until 11:00 and I wonder why. But I take some time to continue reading the interesting article in "The New Yorker" about these people from the United States who lived in China for many years and then moved back to the U.S. The differences between the movers there and here was amazing. In fact, the difference in the social behaviors between the people of the two countries was amazing. And then I go into the liquor store after being pushed aside at the door by the people who wanted to be first. So as I'm looking for some "good" vodka and pretending like I know what that is, I get sidetracked with watching the customers-the man with the rubber hand, the tiny, fat woman with a voice like a cartoon character, the furtive man in the business suit-until I finally just grab something and stand at the back of the line to pay. My, those customers are fast! They all know exactly what to buy.

On the way home, I study a woman I've seen once or twice who gets on the #33 bus wrapped in a long, fleecy, self-belted garment that's really a robe. And then I go to my knitting group and one of my co-knitters tells this story about her parrot which she's had for 33 years and how if you get a parrot you'd better prepare for a life-long commitment because they live as long as humans do. Her parrot's name is Hawkeye and she gave him away once for five years when her children were small because he imitated their crying and that drove her crazy.

Riding back, my friend JoAnn told me this awful story about these friends of hers whose daughter died. The child's father, who's really a strange person, took custody of their granddaughter and he won't let them see her. They are in the process of trying to gain visitation rights so the lawyer advised them to have lots of people sit with them at court so the judge can see all the support they have. And they didn't tell the father of the child so he was there with only his new wife and his parents.

So I'm talking on the phone with my sister. I sit in my dark bedroom so I won't be distracted. But I'm really trying to keep from multi-tasking while I'm talking to her and which she can always sense. Then she gets all over me because I don't remember details. But how can I when the world is so full of Chinese moving men, liquor store customers with rubber hands, a parrot that sounds like a crybaby, and a mean father who won't let his eight year old see her grandparents???? No wonder life's details escape me. No wonder I'm no good at multi-tasking anymore.

Friendly Skies, Where Are You?

We leave for Hawaii in two days. What a celebration this will be! Brian and Ashley's wedding and a vacation in Maui! My lesson plans are written and delivered to the subs, the mid-term was created and given today and I've asked for coverage for my tutoring sessions. Warm weather clothing and sunscreen has been purchased, reading material is lined up, the portable knitting project has been decided upon and we're eating up what's left in the fridge. Stacks of clothing, maps, guidebooks, snorkel equipment, and shoes are waiting on a card table especially set up for the purpose of packing with the four carry-on's waiting underneath. Pills are counted out. The paper and mail have been stopped. The house will soon be clean. Neighbors are notified and rides have been arranged.

But I can't find out where I'm supposed to go to get my anti-fear of flying injection. Does anyone know? Why don't I know this? Maybe I missed a class on this subject when I signed up for the other freshman requirements. Or perhaps I was absent when everyone else received the antidote. It's blatantly obvious to me when I study all the other flying passengers that they know things I don't know. They learned how to sit on an airplane without deep breathing. I haven't caught anyone else popping prescribed pills. They even SLEEP. Is there a kiosk at the Town Center that hands out free pamphlets about flying without fear classes and where they're located? How do I tend to this problem that has somehow gone unattended all my life? Am I the only person out of the loop about how to be casual about flying?

Much Better Than My Thoughts on Poetry

"Where does a poem come from?. . .I do everything to words. I'd be happy to send them to Florida or buy them hot dogs, anything, if they'll just come through. . .The most important thing in a poem is silence. . .Must poetry have music?. . .the poem at the end of the world. . .Writing poetry is a kind of rapture, saying the unsayable, a conversation with the world, a record of time spent in jail, anger. . ."

and here's a good poem

How Poetry Comes to Me

It comes blundering over the

Boulders at night, it stays

Frightened outside the

Range of my campfire

I go to meet it at the

Edge of the light

by Gary Snyder

All this from the book The Language of Life by Bill Moyers and all for Nancy.

Extreme Eating

My goal is to lose 50 pounds by the time we leave for Maui in two weeks. I've already lost nine pounds. Yes, I know this is ridiculous. Every weight loss "plan" is ridiculous for the simple reason that they don't work. Oh sure, the extreme eater can lose a few pounds here on Weight Watchers, a few pounds there at Jenny Craig and maybe even some pounds on her own with plan and forethought, but the lbs. will slowly "inch" themselves back on.

What's up with that? Easy. We are eaters who are food obsessed and food addicted. Eating is a solemn ritual for us even as we dive bomb into the Safeway chocolate chip chunk cookies, holding one in our mouths and two in our hands as we juggle the phone and the current reading book on our way to the recliner. And, if you don't know about them, those Safeway cookies are BIG. It's all part of the ritual, I say. Just the thought of reading my book accompanied by the pleasure of sweet texture and chocolate can bring on a food high. Havarti cheese on Triscuits, any flavor of Ben and Jerry ice cream, a pile of hot pancakes with too much butter that is melting into syrupy pools on the plate. . .PASTRAMI ON RYE WITH SWISS! You get the idea: they produce a rush, a euphoria, a sense of total well-being and happiness that can be repeated with each little food binge.

Deprived of these sensual eating experiences, we go slightly mad. What's fun about 3.5 ounces of lean meat served up with a single fruit, a naked vegetable and a scrawny piece of Melba toast? And add in the lack of a fitting dessert and you have a dinner partner who is raging and crying inside.

These eaters need to figure out this major life challenge is not managed in little journals of food diaries or in groups of cheering dieters but inside their own heads. It all makes sense even to me. But I still take on whatever new diet gimmick comes along just to "give me a jump start" and then I'll be able to eat healthily on my own. Yeah, right. Wish me luck in Hawaii.

News About the Owl

Bobbie and I will spend the day in Pacific City at the Birds and Blues Festival this Saturday. We'll do three readings and maybe sell a few books while we're at it. But we'll for sure enjoy the speaker and just hanging out with folks who like birds. Maybe we'll hear some music as well! And we'll take our cameras and get some cool beach photos. All in all, it will be fun. If you're in the P. City area on Saturday, drop in and see us. In fact, do go to the Coast; it's supposed to be nice there and there might be a chance for us all to see Spring weather for another day.

April 25 we'll be at the Irvington Artisan Market. They've asked us to join their "local artists" group and we feel honored about that. It should be a good gig for everyone. I hope I can manage to get the ad in the photo section on my page here. (Sorry. It didn't work. I don't know why. Sometimes computer stuff is just too much for me.)

You can read a little more about these two events at the website.

Two Falling Trees

Last Friday the spring wind storm took down half the 50 year old maple tree that lived in my sister's yard so graciously for all that time. She remembers grabbing its twiggy beginning and being told by our dad to treat it gently because it would become a big shade tree someday. It did but it found its end in the wind of last week. In fact, it fell across a moving car, blocked the street and caused neighborhood chaos for hours. No one was hurt although the two passengers in the car were scared to pieces. Another two feet and the story could have ended in a deadly way. So when Bobbie came home, neighbor Diane was handling the media, neighbor Sue was handling all the emergency vehicles and all the neighbors were enjoying the spectacle. Many commented on the sadness they felt at losing this iconic tree and my sister is really mourning its loss.

Here at home, my friend Karalee is dying of cancer. She is like a tree herself in the strong, comforting, no-nonsense presence she has provided in the forest of life. She remains cheerful, positive and engaged in living even as the trunk of her shrivels and whitens. She is taking her leave with poise and dignity. I have boundless admiration for her and appreciate being a part of the family as we do what we can to help her take her place in eternity. Good-by, Karalee. You are falling not to the ground but into the universe.

The Dud

Actually, students had more of an "unresponse" than anything else to the suggestion that I use the "f" word in class. I think they are so used to it that it doesn't make the impression it once did. I tried to encourage someone to say he/she would be offended but there were no takers. I can tell you, however, that as a young teacher in 1967 I would have lost my job and been ridden out of town on a rail accompanied only by my team teaching mates and some enlightened students who still keep in touch with me. My, my how the passing of time changes things.

Not Really

I didn't really use the f-bomb. I just posed it to the class as a "what if." I don't think I have it in me to say that word in the classroom setting. My regard for my profession is way too high. I can think of other ways to shock students. One way is to ask them to raise their hands if they are listening. . . .

What Happened (read the post below first)

Nothing happened other than an orderly report to the new classroom. We settled in and then had a truly interesting conversation based on an article I read in The Oregonian earlier this month about people raising their middle fingers to police officers. The writer managed to report an incident and its background without ever revealing his own perspective. The discussion was a successful place to jump off to an effective start in a class based on the writing mode of argument and persuasion. Their responses to the idea that I could use the "f" word in class surprised me. What would you guess they said?

The Five Minute Blog

The second class of the new term will start in mere moments. The lesson is ready, the roster is prepared, and the scope of the term is in my head. But today is April 1. And I have to move the classroom to a different location. The department secretary prepared a nifty little sign that I will hand walk over to the building of the original classroom, announce the change and then post the sign on the door before we leave en masse for the new classroom site. Will this change be impacted by any sort of April Fool prank? How could it? Let me know if you come up with an idea for prankability with this unusual change. I always try to anticipate how students will react but am not always as successful as I could be.

I'll return to this blog later today and let you know what happens. Stay tuned and have a happy April 1 yourself this good day.

For Lee L. and other Knitters and Teachers

These past five days have been paper and knitting driven for me. A stack, a BIG stack of research papers has commanded my attention and must be finished by tomorrow. I deal with these grading challenges by separating the papers to be graded into piles of five or six and handling the reading load determined by the number of days I have before they are due back to the students.

It's always easier to grade papers that are well-presented so I experience a little thrill whenever these pop up in the pile. It's horrid and even painful when the papers are so bad that I can easily tell that they were thrown together at the last minute. It's even worse when I know I've worked hard to teach the research process at a level where it can be understandable for students. That's the part that bothers me the most. And that's why I try to turn up new teaching tricks every time this comes up in the curriculum. And I won't even say anything about the MLA changing the format for Works Cited entries.

At the same time that I'm grading these papers, I am also working to complete a knitting project that I'm not supposed to be working on. It's the one for the baby sweater that I bought the yarn and pattern for at our all girl beach retreat. Peg and Tracie took us to this yarn store I didn't even know existed after all the times I've stayed in Seaside. Of course I had to buy a project in spite of the fact that I have two projects underway and others waiting in my stash. But this project is tempering the pressure I feel to get the papers graded. "Five more papers and I can work on my knitting for a while" has become the mantra for this five day period. And my thinking constantly returns to the challenge of figuring out just exactly what the pattern means for the sleeve knitting portion of the project.

So paper reading and a new knitting project rule the current world for me. Hmm. . .but then there's Season Two of "Breaking Bad" to factor in.

Watching

Since I'm sort of retired, I have more time to watch TV, an activity I used to scorn. None of that couch sitting, time wasting stuff for me. After all, we don't want to turn into real live Fahrenheit 451 characters, do we? BUT. . .yesterday was an exaggerated exception. I managed to watch The Hurt Locker, The Academy Awards, a Trailblazer game and The Barbara Walters Special almost all at once. It only took one movie order, one program DVRed, and one channel switching process. Don't get me wrong; I'm not proud of this but I was visually entertained for several hours even if my rear end and lower back did get cranky.
I just came from tutoring a student who is finishing up a paper on the subject of greed in The Little Foxes and Uncle Vanya. My thinking skills seem to be in tact

News Flash!

Notice to all the owl lovers: As of today, I have relinquished the bulk of my Owl Grove information to the website at www.wirthwhilebooks.com. The site will become the public entity of owlgrovegirl while this blog will remain for the private enjoyment/amazement of myself and my little band of followers.

On the Web!

I am building a website! I don't have a clue about what I'm doing. Brian says he will help me this weekend and that will be good. In the meanwhile, have a look at www.wirthwhilebooks.com. It's starting to look like something. All suggestions and tips are welcome.

The Grove Revisited

It was like we were returning to a magical kingdom when we went back to Owl Grove last Sunday. The whole area simply took on a green shimmer and sparkle as we pulled in. We kept our excitement quiet and moved slowly through the trees hoping and hoping to find evidence of last year's nesting pair. We looked for thick, chalky owl poop around the bases of the trees. We found it. Two trees wore lots of poop and we decided they were perching trees since we couldn't spot a nest. We found pellets under a couple of trees. A couple of the pellets were fresh and at least one was bone bare from one of last year's meals. Last year's nest showed no signs of occupancy but we decided that the female could have been hunkered way down in the hole. And then we heard it: a distinct warning trio of hoots. We decided it was the male cautioning the female to keep extra still and quiet. We were delighted. We have evidence that the pair has returned to their nesting territory. We drove away content.

The Owl at One Year

This gorgeous weather reminds me that Bobbie and I are coming up on a year since we started the owl adventure. And, my, that adventure has taken us from the excitement of discovering the owl to the book writing and then to all the venues we've been to market the story. Just recently, I spoke to the Lutheran Educators Winter Conference and Bobbie and I created an exhibit to share at the Literacy Conference in Salem. That same day she did several book talks so the owl covered lots of ground that day. We still have books to sell and events to manage and we look forward to all the interesting people still to meet. If you haven't read the book, we still have lots to sell. Just post a comment and I can send you one or you can order one through wirthwhilepub@gmail.com.

And Back Again

It was a big house and it was FULL of women. We were 13 (if I counted right) all together and we were all related in some way or other. We just did girl things and shot out in all directions in Seaside, Cannon Beach and Gearhart but we all came back in the evenings to be many parts and pieces of my dad's and my brothers Gary and Bill's lives all resting comfortably under one roof-safe, sound, happy together.

Seaside: There and Back Again Twice-A Five Minute Blog

(Class starts in 14 minutes. I'm ready.) We spent two days and one night in Seaside last weekend. I will spend two days and two nights in Seaside next weekend as well when my sister and I join our up north relatives for some fun time together. In between the two trips, I will like thinking about the warm sun and blue sky and no wind in Cannon Beach as we zigzagged from shop to shop. I will recall the sound of the ocean when we finally figured out that that was the sound we were hearing behind the shouts of the card game, the whir of the ceiling fan and the dull rattle of the TV that no one bothered to get up and turn off. And even though my sense of smell is nearly non-existent from too many years of lap swimming, I can still sense the brisk tang of the air as Pat and I walked along the Promenade in the early morning. One good cup of clam chowder and three tastes of Pat's excellent bowl of clam chowder with its just right thickness and its take a few seconds to smack the lips to figure out the clever seasoning and I'll happily make the return trip in a few days. It will be a different Seaside experience next time but many things will remain the same. (Class in four minutes. I can hear the door clanging open then shut. Time to go.)

By the Time I Get to Phoenix

Pat and I just returned from a trip to the sun, the blue sky and warm air all wrapped around Montezuma's Castle, the red of Sedona, the amazing historical sights of Jerome and unforgettable vegetation. I fell in love with the cacti, especially the saguaro. They are everywhere and they look like motionless desert inhabitants. History can't say what happened to some of the tribes of long ago such as the Sinagua who lived in the cliff dwelling at Montezuma's castle, but I say they are all alive and patrolling the land in the form of these stately growths that thrive in the desert. The Desert Botanical gardens in Phoenix pay tribute to all manner of these hot weather wonders as well they should.
Combine all that with time spent in the excellent company of who is probably my oldest friend left alive, and I say it was a trip of a lifetime. What a joy to spend time with this kind, generous and full of personality friend in the gorgeous setting of her home. Her husband Irvin is absolutely the host with the most. The best two cacti in the desert are there in honor of these two wonderful people.
And, yes, there are owls in Arizona. The native people obviously had high regard for them as they show up in their art work everywhere. And I had to look twice at the several owls I saw on, of all places, TV antennae. So the elders of the modern retired tribe have reverence for them as well. But the owls weren't real. They were just used as odd ways to adorn the otherwise ugly spires of TV land.

Secret Messages from North to South

Sarah and Kelly: Any sign of the sun yet?
Mary Mac: This is YOUR year! You won't believe it!
Peg: Don't forget your knitting next month.
Tracie, DeAnn, and Lisa: Are you counting the days?
Brian: Sorry. Sports do not rule.
Ashley: Super invitations!
Amy Lou: Don't get sick.
Sheila: Time to choose a date to create the site.
Kathy H: I miss your comments.
KW: Have you started (or finished) the February project?
IW: You're still the Queen of us all.
Bobo: Baby your voice.
Lee and Sarah: The Glock has awfully good fondue.
John: You were right. I lost your card and it's time to think about dates to wander in your wilderness.
Susan: I want to hear about the grandboy.
Jill and Steven: How was Christmas?
Irvin and Cheryl: See you Thursday!

Unresolved

I'm not about to fool myself with New Year's Resolutions this year. I'm especially not going to make any promises about my aging body which is moving lower to the floor and sagging more almost weekly. No amount of stringent dieting seems to keep it from this strange movement that is never discussed in women's magazines.
I can't do too awful much about my skin either. The sight of my own back is scary with its new spots, lines and funny little lumps. I might visit the dermatologist to get rid of some annoying growths that periodically cause me to adjust my clothing in unbecoming ways, but that's it. No expensive creams or lotions for me.
Anything that older women do to their faces that involves going to fancy doctors is not an option I choose. I want my face to go out the way it came in-natural and untouched. Same goes for my hair which is now snowy white and which I find that I rather like.
Those little veins that have appeared here and there on my legs are a nice purple color. The batwings on my upper arms aren't all that bad and I'm not wearing orthopedic shoes yet. I do confess, however, to wearing comfortable, low shoes and I think about how much I walk rather carefully these days. And so what if I have to clothes shop at speciality stores so I can get a decent fit?
I am what I am. I resolve to TRY to make good eating choices, get some exercise regularly and stand up straighter than I used to. That's it.