Tag Archives: Slice of Life Story

Audiobook Tuesdays

22 May

Books get published on Tuesdays. By that I mean that new books come out on Tuesdays. Don’t ask me why the publishers do this. They just do.

Because publishers publish on Tuesdays, I know that, when I get up Tuesday morning, I will have a message from my local library. You see, I am not an audiophile, I am an audiobookphile. I always have the maximum number of audiobooks on hold – sometimes I even exceed the maximum because I recommend books for purchase. When you recommend a book for purchase, you are automatically placed on its hold list, even if your holds are already maxed!!! Biblioheaven

This morning, when I got up, there were two new, just released audiobooks waiting for me. They are downloading to my iPad as I write. And I already added two books from my wishlist to my holds list, so my holds are maxed again and all is right with the world.

My next recommended book comes out in two weeks.

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In the meantime, I have 19 other holds to think about and several borrowed books to get through. The last month of driving to and from work will be just delightful!

 

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Testing is snot funny

15 May

SBAC testing is very serious, and yet, I couldn’t help but laugh at the cacophony of upper respiratory noises emitted during our first day of testing – a mix of allergies and a feverish upper respiratory thing that has had kids out for a week, was sweeping my classroom. So many kids had to get up for tissues during the test period that I decided to put a box on every table for the next class.

As I knelt to pull out the last tissue boxes from the cupboard, I uttered a small gasp. The last boxes, in a Target multipack, were perfect for test season.

 

Although all the teaching posters were covered, I decided these were completely appropriate.

 

Chicken pox? Chicken pox!

1 May

A colleague’s diagnosis of shingles (or chicken pox or maybe hand-foot-and-mouth disease – the doctors still aren’t sure) got several of us reminiscing about our childhood bouts.

I have a few distinct memories. I remember soaking in a tub of epsom salts and giggling with my twin sister as our mom covered us in pink polka dots of Calamine lotion. I still love the smell of Calamine lotion! But my most vivid memory is set in my bedroom.

My mom was a great bed-maker. We loved asking her to tuck us in at night, which meant pulling the sheets super tight and tucking them in. We’d squeal “tighter” and make her adjust our sheets until we felt sufficiently snug. Our old school flannel sheets with pink stripes were a comfort long into my teenage years, but chicken pox struck me and my sister around age five or six.

I remember being in bed during the day in my bed while my sister was in her own bed. I recall the room was dark when Mom came in carrying a tray with two bowls of strawberries. My sister and I were alert and excited. We were never  allowed to eat in our rooms, let alone in bed.

As she delivered a bowl to each of us, she said, “Whatever you do, don’t slop!” Mom was strict and I knew she meant it. She left and I did my best, but, you guessed it: I slopped.  Although I was trying my hardest, a slice of berry fell from my spoon and onto my flannel sheet, leaving a red spot I couldn’t hide from my mom.

I suspect I didn’t enjoy the rest of the berries, but I don’t really remember. I do remember worrying what would happen when Mom returned. I expected the worst.

But the worst never came.

Instead of getting mad, my mom got a cloth and rubbed out most of spot. She might have eventually changed the sheets, I don’t remember. I do remember feeling relieved and surprised, as though I’d had a great epiphany. It was my first step towards understanding that my mother was a much more complex person than I’d always thought she was.

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The second day is the hardest

3 Apr

The first day back
You are energized –
New month
New start
New unit
New stories about
Spring Break exploits.
There is a joy,
An excitement
In the air.

The second day is harder
You are tired
From the day before
From starting a new unit
From the kids’ renewed energy
And their old behaviors –
You didn’t miss those!
There is a fatigue,
Exhaustion,
In the air.

From the third day,
It gets better.
Established routines
Favorite units
Taught to fresh faces
Still a lot to do,
But sliding towards summer
There is an energy
A hope,
In the air.

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Ode to Dandelions

30 Mar

I saw these dandelions (Scientific nameTaraxacum) on a walk. As I said the Latin name, the rhythm of O Tannebaum popped into my head. A new song was born.

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Taraxacum, Taraxacum,
How yellow are thy petals.
Taraxacum, Taraxacum,
How lovely are thy petals.
Your leaves are green and edible
Your roots grow deep – incredible!
Taraxacum, Taraxacum,
How yellow are thy petals.

Taraxacum, Taraxacum,
How yellow are thy petals.
Taraxacum, Taraxacum,
How yellow are thy petals.
You’re often called a noxious weed
Your seeds fly far – that’s guaranteed!
Taraxacum, Taraxacum,
How yellow are thy petals.

Taraxacum, Taraxacum,
How yellow are thy petals.
Taraxacum, Taraxacum,
How yellow are thy petals.
Kids turn you into crowns and chains
Then return home covered in stains!
Taraxacum, Taraxacum,
How yellow are thy petals.

Canine good citizenship

29 Mar

My hands were empty when I arrived home. Lucy was with me, but the poop bag I’d been holding was no longer with me.

Literal and figurative CRAP! I thought. I, who rail against people who don’t pick up after their dogs had left, had left my own pick-uppage behind.

There was nothing else to do. Poor Lucy looked confused as we went out once more, retracing the path we had just taken. Fortunately, the sun was out and there were sniffs to be sniffed and her perplexity was soon replaced by curiosity and interest at each blade of grass.

Before too long, a flash of pink appeared up ahead on the sidewalk.

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Ironic that I dropped it near someone’s trash cans.

With my goal in sight I urged Lucy forward a little more quickly until I picked up the offending bag. At that point, Lucy and I slowed down, enjoying a more leisurely pace as we completed our walk around the neighborhood on this beautifully sunny Spring Break day.

Senior moments

28 Mar

At 53, I was the youngest of the three women who met for lunch yesterday. We meet a couple of times a year for lunch and it is always a fun time for catching up but yesterday’s get together could have been a stanza from Billy Collins’ poem “Forgetfulness”.

“Wait,” I interrupted at one point. “When did they get a divorce?” About 10 years ago apparently. Did I forget that, or did I never know? I have no idea.

The whole meal was punctuated with expressions of forgetfulness.

“It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“I don’t remember the name…”

“Oh, what’s that word?”

“It just slipped my mind,”

“My mind just went blank. What was I saying?”

What will we have to talk about when we are all in our 80s and 90s? I have no idea.

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