Catching Up

I’ve been very, very busy.  And very, very negligent.  Since there is no way to thoroughly blog about all my recent activities, I am going to resort to my favorite form of communication:  the list.  So here is a list of some of the highlights of the last two months.

1.  My amazing sister Kim moved last-minute-style to Utah.  I love having her so close.  Two of her boys even attend the school I used to teach at–Crescent View Middle School.  Walking the halls with those two, helping them find classrooms, was certainly a blast from the past.  I can’t even express how grateful I am that I now teach at a school with air-conditioning.  Poor sweaty teachers.  Poor sweaty children.

2.  I went on a pioneer trek and didn’t die.  That’s quite an accomplishment.  My ward went up and up and up to the Uinta Mountains for two days.  We even wore pioneer garb.  On purpose.  And hauled up or were dragged by–depending the direction of the slope–a hand cart.  I now have much more respect for my ancestors.  I, of course, have to say that.  But it’s true.

3.  I went to Bear Lake, twice.  One time with Amy’s family.  One time with Paul’s.  Both time with Mom.  Other than the lack-of-variety of food choice at the numerous restaurants (even I can only have so many shakes), it’s a great place to visit.  I have reaffirmed my suspicion that I am a closet speed-demon.  I love jet skis.  I love to go really, really fast on jet skis.

4.  I went with Holly and her sister Jill to the Utah Shakespeare Festival in Cedar City.   It totally reawakened my love of theater–especially Shakespeare productions.  Kim and I used to attend the Oregon Shakespeare Festival quite frequently.  I miss those days.  I plan to make a longer trip next summer.  Thanks to Holly, I also discovered an AMAZING restaurant called The Painted Pony in St. George.  I still dream about my entree. It was a tenderloin “burger” on a toasted french roll with blue cheese and onion.  OH MY GOODNESS!  I think I’d even take this over chocolate.  It was THAT good.

5.  School started.  It’s stressful.  I love my classes:  Honors English 11 and AP US History.  It means I have all advanced, and comparatively well behaved, students.  On the other hand, it also means that the preparation and grading is overwhelmingly intense.  On a side note, however, if the school squeezes one more meeting into our hectic schedule, I am going to combust.  And that would be messy.

Well, I think that’s the highlights.  The lowlights I can’t remember.  Or, I am currently in denial.

 

There and Back Again

First, I want to know if anyone is as big of a geek as me and actually knows the reference to the title of this blog.  Probably not.  It’s a Lord of the Rings thing.  Most of my friends are not scifi/fantasy nerds like me.    I’m amazed they let me be their friend.  (No, I’m not a Trekkie.  I’ve got my limits).  Regardless, here’s my update:

 

My California trip was great.  I spent about a week with Kim and her family, and then attended a 7 day conference at Stanford that focused on the Great Depression and Word War II–but more about that later.

 

It should be noted that my sister warned me to bring a sweater since the Bay Area is a lot cooler than L.A. area I grew up in.  At that point I had already packed a bunch of shorts and short-sleeve shirts, but I crammed some warmer clothes in.  Sooooo glad I did that.

 

Sarcasm.

 

Other than the evening I arrived, and the day I left my sister’s house to go to the Stanford conference, it was in the 90s.  Oh yeah, did I mention that people in the Bay Area also don’t bother installing air conditioning  because of their cool and tepid year-long weather.  So glad I brought that sweater.   Again, sarcasm. 

 

We did our best to manage in the sweltering heat:  fans, air-conditioned movie theaters, ice cream, etc.  Kim and I even took 6 of her kids to Great America–a theme park that has a water park in it.  The amazing part is that I only got two little stripes of sunburn where I clearly missed with the sunscreen.  That’s kind of a record with me.  Despite the overly warm weather–which Kim insists is unusual–I loved being with her and her family.  I have to admit, however, that I wasn’t the usual doting aunt.  Stupid 900 page book of doom.  (See previous post).

 

Speaking of the book of doom, the Stanford experience was amazing.  And a lot of work.  The conference went from Sunday to Saturday, and we used every minute of it.  Our agendas started at 8:00 A.M until 9:00 P.M.  There were 24 teachers–from all over the U.S.–in attendance.  Because I’m feeling too lazy to describe everything, I’ll think I’ll sum up with my top ten things about the conference:

 

10.  When you are with fellow teachers, there is no such thing as a “stranger.”  (Although, there can be strange people.  After all, we do voluntarily  teach teenagers.)  No matter how different the state or school we hailed from, we all had a lot in common.  It was easy to make friends.

9.  We had private studio apartments to stay in with daily maid service.  After spending a week with Kim and her amazingly large brood (and 2 of the 8 children no longer live at home!), it was nice to have this kind of spoiling. 

8.  Speaking of spoiling, even the food at Stanford’s mess hall was gourmet.  Gus behaved terribly, however.  Aghhh!

7.  Speaking of Gus, the only day I could really eat anything substantial was Wednesday when we went into San Francisco.  I had the most amazing hamburger in the world from a burger joint called Taylor’s Automatic Refresher at the Ferry Building.  Granted I couldn’t eat the bun, but it was otherwise delectable!

6.  I didn’t get any new blisters from all the walking.  And there was A LOT of walking.  And walking tours.  And more walking.  And then we walked some more. 

5.  I was only asked 3-4 weird questions about Mormons and Utah.  That’s better than I expected.  The fact that I don’t drink seemed to be the most interesting fact to my fellow educators.  One teacher said she only drinks in May when the school year can’t quite finish soon enough.  At the final dinner party though I got to be the “designated walker” once the alcohol was served.

4.  The campus was bea-U-ti-ful.  I have a picture of the church in the middle of Stanford’s main quad below.

3.  I took about 40 pages of notes on the Great Depression and World War II.  And I didn’t even mind.  The lectures were THAT good.

2.  Speaking of amazing lectures, David Kennedy rocks.  (There is a photo below.)  I couldn’t believe I was with this top scholar at Stanford  learning about one of my favorite subjects.  I’ve learned that not all professors are necessarily good teachers.  He’s a great teacher.

1.  Ghiradelli square.  Hot fudge Sundae.  Need I say more?

 

I was able to snap a few pictures with my camera phone.  (Who has room for a real camera when they have to cram in a sweater in their luggage?)  🙂  They are below.

 

On my way….

I am currently sitting at the SLC airport waiting for my flight to San Francisco.  So far there has been no sign of my crippling claustrophobic fear–usually associated with flying.  But I’m not on the airplane yet. 

 

It also helps that I am exhausted–from trying to close my suitcase.  That took real effort.  I was thoroughly out of breath by the time I was done.  Despite my mantra of  “Pack light.  Pack light.” I barely managed to zip close my not-so-slight suitcase.  

 

I am also quite tired because I stayed up late reading–until 3 AM.  With my conference looming and only 218 pages (yes I’ve made progress) read of my 800+ paged epic tome assigned for this conference, it seemed appropriate to stay up reading.  And I finished my book!

 

Of course it wasn’t the assigned book.  It was Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis.  It’s the story after Prince Caspian in the Narnia series.    I’m not too panicked, however.  The conference doesn’t really start until Sunday.  I’ll be staying with my sister Kim for a few days first.  I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to read.   Except that 6 of her 8 children are still living at home and probably will want a little of my attention. 

 

Oh well.  I work/read best under pressure.  I think.   I better get back to reading.

 

 

 

Just So You Know

Just so you know:

 

1.  I’ve now read 118 pages of the 871-paged book I need to read for my Stanford conference.  (I just like writing Stanford over and over again.  It makes me feel smart.  And special.)  The book really has 936 pages if you include the index.

 (Perhaps you can’t tell from here, but this really is a very large, dense book.)

2.  I’ve figured out how to get photos from my phone onto my blog–so some of my older posts now have photos to go with them.  My favorite is my student/superman photo. (You have to scroll down to see it.)

3.  I’ve now caved into peer pressure, or should I say “kin pressure,” and started a Facebook account.

4.  I’m not reading my 871-paged book because of things like texting, updating my blog, reading others’ blogs, or playing with Facebook.

 

School is out for the summer!

It’s official.  School is out.  It was actually supposed to be out last Wednesday, but I received a special invitation to go to a “summer camp” on Thursday and Friday.  This summer camp was the brain child of Jared who, again, clearly doesn’t have enough to do.  Anyway, the school picked some teachers to attend a two-day seminar on collaboration and team-building.  Supposedly we were picked because of our leadership potential.  I just think they chose people who would likely say yes.  (I’m not sure what that says about me….)  The important thing, however, is that we were paid.  And received free shirts.  And food.  And books I will never read.  It’s all about the swag. 

 

So, here I am, my first official day of summer break–or first week day I don’t have to go anywhere–and this is what I’ve accomplished so far:

1.  Sleep in to an unearthly hour.  Normally I can’t sleep in that much anymore.  But I guess I was tired.

2.  Read the first 5 pages of the 800+ page book I need to read by next week for my Stanford conference.

3.  Gave up reading and checked my friends’ blogs. 

4.  Decided to update my own.

Yep.  It’s going to be a summer of accomplishment.  I can feel it. 

 

Actually I have quite a few goals which I will work on this summer.   One of which is to make some goals.  I’m kidding.  Maybe.

 

The fact is, however, I actually a little sad that school is out.    This year I had really great students and it was a little tough to see them go.  More importantly, however, I am sad because I’m losing two great friends and colleagues, Diane and Adrienne, who’ve both decided to move back to their mid-west roots.  I blatantly stole some of Diane’s photos from her blog to post here.

 

 

I am going to miss these folks.

 

Jenny hosted a fabulous good-by party Friday night for them.  She created a nifty slide show of the photos she took that night and posted them on her blog.  I don’t know how to steal–I mean borrow–those photos, so click here to see that site.

 

Well, I’ve procrastinated long enough.  I better get back to that reading. 

 

This one time I wrote something new…

It’s been a great couple of weeks.  I haven’t had much time to write.  Mainly because of the end of the school year rush:  grading, fine sheets, check out sheets, disclosure statements, book collecting, book inventory, room cleaning, whining-honors-kids-who-all-think-they-deserve-an-“A”-because-they-exist, etc.  But with yearbooks distributed and seniors graduated and sent on their way, I thought I’d finally update my blog.

 

Give me a second here….

 

Not quite sure what to write about.

 

I think I’ll just list the highlights.  (Holly often makes fun of me for my need to use numbered lists.  I can’t help it. It’s the way I think.  I wrote a [kind] letter to a guy I was breaking up with, and if it weren’t for my dear friend Jenny, I would have formatted it in a numbered list.  True story.)  Here goes:

 

1.  The chemistry teacher at JHS allowed students to use a strong odored chemical called butyric acid.

2.  I saw Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull with 12 fellow Parley ward members.  It was okay.  But the company was good.

3.  The AP chemistry students didn’t follow the directions for handling butyric acid.

4.  I decided to accept the offer from the Gilder Lehrman Institute to go to Stanford for a week in June to learn from the prestigious historian, David Kennedy.  They promptly sent me his Pulitzer prize winning 800+ page book to read in the next few weeks.  It’s called Freedom From Fear.  Ironic–considering the size and density of the thing.  And I love to read.  I just hate being assigned to read.  Again, ironic–considering my profession.

5.  Due to the mishandling of butyric acid, its smell permeated the school.  And I really mean permeated.

6.  I have a new calling to teach Relief Society.  Actually this is the third time I’ve been called to be a Relief Society teacher, so it’s not that new of a calling.  It’s one of my favorite though.

7.  After the first wave of butyric acid odor infestation started to die down, some other chemistry students discovered the “qualities” of butyric acid and snuck some out of the lab and distributed it around the school.

8.  M.L. from my ward said I am “seductive and know it.”  I think it was a compliment.  And he was actually serious.  I just batted my lashes, blew him a kiss, and wondered what on earth he was talking about.  (I’m kidding–about that last part).  😉

9.  One of the “deposits” of the stolen butyric acid was really a smearing of the stuff along the J-hall.  My classroom is in the J-hall.

10.  When I saw my photo in the school’s yearbook, I said, “Well.  I’ve had worse.”  Adrienne’s immediate (and serious) response?  “No.  It’s not good.”  So much for my ego. 

  (Here Adrienne shows off her own photogenic-ness).

11.  The butyric acid incident happened 6 days ago.

12.  I went to a pine wood derby race on Saturday.  For adults.  Really.  The race track was computerized and everything.  It was a “Tri-Ward” activity–which means it was for the three single adult wards (ages 31-45) in the valley.  Someday, when I am a grown up, I am going to go to a pine wood derby competition and not have to participate.  Instead, I’ll get to watch the kids.  Like sitting at the grown up table at Thanksgiving.  Mindy’s car beat the bishop’s so his first counselor bought six of us dinner.  I’m not quite sure on the logic of that–but I got some free food.  Not much though.  Stupid Gus.  (Who is Gus?  See The Beast Within below).

13.  The butyric acid smell is still going strong.

14.  One of my students proposed to me last week.  He was on one knee and everything.  That’s now my fourth proposal.  Total.  All 4 were from students.  Despite the hand-crafted, scotch-tape ring, I turned him down.  He is the first to actually have a ring.  One young man wrote the proposal in frosting on a sugar cookie.  He still didn’t get an “A”.

15.  I found out that the chemistry teacher allowed the original perpetrators of the butyric-acid-olfactory-crime to play with the stuff a second time.  She’s new.

16.  Holly threw a tremendous mini-mingle on Sunday.  For those not up to LDS single slang, a “mini-mingle” is when people from the ward offer to host a dinner party and then other members of the ward are assigned to go there.  This one wasn’t that much of a “mini.”  We had 20+ people there.  She had a shish-ke-bar.  It was a make your own shish-ke-bob meal.  Well, we had a shish-ke-bar.  She was in another….place.  Completely.  I believe some refer to it as “La La Land.”  Ahhh the joys of crushes.

17.  Butyric acid smells like vomit.  Exactly  like vomit.

 

Well that’s it.  That sums up the exciting events of the last two or so weeks.  Of course, there were lots of other things too–some boring, some interesting.   But I think I’ve rambled on long enough.  And I’ve got to have some secrets.  🙂  But, at least I wrote something new.

 

I Thought I had a Brain Cloud

Okay,  I’ll be honest.  I’ve written–or attempted to write–a few blog entries this week that I haven’t published.  They just weren’t very…interesting.  So, since it’s Friday, I’ve decided to write about last weekend.  After all, the experiences of a LDS, single, not-in-her-20s-anymore, woman are probably somewhat entertaining to my friends and family.  Like watching a train wreck.

 

Friday, May 17th.  I taught school.  I went to dinner with two friends:  one delightful female; one handsome male.  It was lovely.  Good friends.  Good conversation.  Good food.  I rediscovered my love for the avocado egg rolls at the Cheese Cake Factory.  And I “Columbused” my new favorite cheese cake:  white chocolate raspberry.  (I’m experimenting with the word “Columbused”, meaning, “discovered.”  I don’t think it works.  Votes?)  We also watched the Jazz game.  That wasn’t so pleasant.  Wait a moment….

 

Sorry.  I got a little emotional.  I’m okay now.  It’s just that when I realize some of my family members like  the Lakers, I get a little choked up.   Actually, I don’t have problems with the Lakers, the referees on the other hand….

 

Overall, it was a fabulous evening.  (At least I hope it was since this dinner was part of motivational “deal” for my friend to go through with an important, but unpleasant medical procedure–which she bravely did.  And then suffered complication after complication.  Yep.  I feel really good about that one.)

 

Saturday was a lovely day.  Warm weather.  Blue skies.  Regional Single Adult dance….Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself here.  After telling several friends that I wouldn’t join the ward in the morning miniature golfing/driving range activity, I conceded to a last minute invitation from Denise.  It was a beautiful day and I didn’t want to spend it indoors.

 

Thanks to a kind gent in the ward, who let me have his left-over golf balls, I was able to do a little showing off at the driving range.  And by “showing off” I mean “most of the time I actually hit the ball instead of missed it.”  I just have so much natural athletic  prowess that I really have to struggle to be this humble.  Despite this obvious “talent,” others were kind enough to give me hints on perfecting my swing.

 

You know how in movies when a girl is taught to golf (or hit a tennis ball) it’s really romantic?  A handsome guy reaches around her and helps her her swing, and despite a little awkwardness, the two clearly feel the chemistry? 

 

That doesn’t happen in real life. 

 

At least not to me.  Instead it was several men standing around watching me–all giving me different directions–while I tried to do what they said.  “Straighten your arm.”  “Let your left arm lead.”  “Center your stance.”  “You need to move your hips more.”  Of course, I didn’t feel foolish at all.  (And by “at all” I mean “I’m totally lying.”)  I had fun, regardless.  I’m a trooper, what can I say?

 

Because enough is never enough in my world, I decided to follow up this esteem-building outing with a Regional Single Adult Dance.  Again, I blame Denise.  And Brady.  I totally caved to peer pressure.   So, a very large group of “older” singles merged upon the University of Utah’s institute building to have a rockin’ good time.  There were also some speed dating options available–for braver folks than I.

 

The dance itself was fine.  And by “fine” I mean the music was usually hard to dance to, there were numerous eccentric–but-not-in-a-good way–people, the room was hot, and the dance floor was teeming with people literally old enough to be my parents or grandparents.  Seriously.  This is not an exaggeration.  At all. 

 

Despite some of the more “interesting” folks present, I refuse  to “hold up the walls” at a dance, so we gathered in a few brave Parley 7th-ers and got our groove on.  Plus, moving, rather than standing, helps my legs not ache so much (thanks to my fibro “if-it-weren’t-for-the-pain-I’d-think-it-was-in-my-head” myalgia.)   We had a blast with “Cotton Eyed Joe” (does that song ever end?) and other such numbers.  And gratefully, there were some friendly (and more importantly, not scary) males around for the slow ones.

 

(An aside:  I don’t think I can count the number of times I’ve “spoonerized” the phrase, “My legs ache.”  Instead it comes out, “My eggs lake.”  This is an awkward comment to make.  Especially for a female.  The frequency of which I do this, of course, means I’m a genius.  Or my legs hurt a lot.)

 

One fine fellow, dressed in all black with a 80s skinny white tie, joined this dance “group” and made moves like I’ve never seen before.  I think his flowing, there-is-no-way-that-could-be-natural blond locks almost  hid the fact that this man was clearly past the age of 55.  Or has spent his entire life time under the cruel, beating down sun.  Two upstanding male members of the ward became a human blockade near the end of the dance number and he, not surprisingly, moved on to greener pastures.

 

This is getting way, way, too long.  Who knew I could be so verbose?  (No comments on that one please.)

 

I’ll sum up Sunday as follows:

 

1.  I should have sat on the stand during Sacrament meeting so I didn’t have to get up two times, with nothing happening in between, to give the opening prayer and the temple thought.

2.  The Stake President came to our Sunday School “relationship” class.  This isn’t usually something to write about, but the man next to me kindly reminded me that I shouldn’t pinch his backside while the Stake President was visiting.  Which, sadly, is not actually a stretch for me at all.

3.  I attended a fireside given by Elder Ballard at the Salt Lake Tabernacle.  It was a good talk.  And I almost had a claustrophobic panic.  Because the Tabernacle is so small.  Or not.  At all.  To defend myself, I must explain I was sitting in the middle of a long row–which means there is no easy way to get in and out.  Hence, the near-panic.  And it was a little warm in there….. Yep.  I wish I had more of good cause or reason why, but I don’t. 

4.  And some other stuff happened.  Some pleasant.  Some not so much.  Like being a third wheel.  Or something.

 

It was an interesting weekend.  As will this one be, I’m sure.

 

But before I go, I will finally explain the title to this overly long blog:

 

Ever since I had a severe case of mono, I’ve been a wee bit of a hypochondriac.  A little Joe Versus the Volcano. Just a bit though.  Anyway, for the past couple of weeks I’ve been haunted by this strange dusty/woody smell.  No one else but me seems to be able to smell it.  I’ve gone to great lengths to find the source of this smell.

 

That’s pretty normal?  Right?

 

Not if you’re me. 

 

Clearly, I’ve seen too many movies about hypochondriacs.  In Bandits  a main character believes he has a brain tumor because he can smell burning feathers.  Now, I have no idea if that is a true symptom or not (anyone know?), but that’s what I kept thinking about with this annoying, lingering aroma.  Well, I didn’t really think I had a brain tumor, but I thought maybe a sinus infection or it was a symptom of dehydration or something.

 

Then, one day while applying lotion to my hands and arms, I had to move around my bracelet to get it out of the way.  All of a sudden, I caught a strong wave of that dry, dusty smell. 

 

It was my bracelet.  Yep.  I have a newish bracelet with large beads made out of cedar-type wood.  Interesting how the time frame of this smell and my purchase of this adornment occurred about the same time, isn’t it?  And yes, I was walking around for two weeks thinking I was severely ill because I was wearing a new bracelet.

   (Yes.  This is the offending “bracelet of doom”.  Scary, isn’t it?)

Why do I admit to this stuff?

 

Ms. C.’s Most Wanted

The government, in their infinite wisdom, has instituted year-end tests for many subjects (i.e. math, English, science, etc.).  For those not schooled in the ways of educator jargon, these tests are called “CRT’s” or Criterion Referenced Tests.  The school must have 95% of all students take all of the various tests during a two week window. 

 

That means inconveniently ill, vacationers, and chronic non-attenders must be chased down by their teachers.  Accordingly, the school’s counseling center has issued a “Most Wanted” list which has been circulating through school-wide email.  If a teacher sees one of these MIA students, they are to march these students to the proper “authority” so that they can be appropriately dealt with…I mean given their tests.

 

So, for three or four days new emails kept popping up as teachers would add names to the Most Wanted list.  Gratefully, since I teach all honors students, and honors students are OCD about their grades and attendance, I didn’t need to add to this ever-growing list.  However, after about the 40th email, I felt a little left out.  So, I improvised.  I emailed the faculty and submitted my “Most Wanted” list:

 

1.  Daniel Craig

2.  Gerard Butler

3.  Brad Pitt

 

Not surprisingly, I received a few emails from colleagues who praised me for my fine choices.  Most notably, female colleagues.

 

What is surprising, however, is what happened the next day.  In the morning, the faculty was greeted with a “master” list created by the school counselors which consisted of all the teachers’ most wanted.  Right smack in the middle of “Ms. Brown needs Bobby Joe and John Doe” was my list, “Ms. C needs Daniel Craig…”  I thought it was cute that they included my joke.

 

However, right after that email, the counselors sent the following email, with the header “Ms. C’s Most Wanted List“:

 

“You may remove them from your list!!

Wouldn’t we all like to have them!!  You can fool some of the people ALL of the time but you can only fool Nancy and David until 6:00 p.m. After NOT being able to locate their answer sheets, we finally figured it out!!  That is what the CRT’s can do to people!!  I do think it is worth a candy bar however.  We won’t be fooled more than a few times. 

~~Nancy and David 

P.S.  Do counselors get even?”

For the record, every time counselors bump up your class size to 40, they are getting even.  If we’re taking score, I’m sadly very, very behind.  (Like competing with Holly in pool.  Or bowling.)  Anyway, Jared the Ceramics Guy, who clearly doesn’t have enough to do (do you have to get a degree to teach ceramics?), responded to the faculty the following:

“I don’t know, you may not want to give up so fast.  I found their student ID cards (strangely hidden in a stack of papers that Shannon left in the faculty room).  Keep looking, and keep up the great work!”

And then he sent the following pictures as attachments:

And people wonder why I like teaching high school.  It’s all becoming clearer now, isn’t it?

 

The Beast Within

Gratefully, life has not afforded any grand drama over the last two weeks.  The downside, however, is that I haven’t had much fodder to write about.  Regardless, at the not-so-subtle hints I’ve received from two friends today, I will press on and blog.  I’ll start with a classic tale of mortification:

 

Sunday, May 11th.  It was a beautiful day.  The sun was out.  That air was crisp and cool.  It was Mother’s Day.  I went to church.  Now sometimes Mother’s Day can be a tad uncomfortable for the extremely single members of Parleys 7th.  However, I am usually determined to remain positive on this holiday, and this time around was no different.  In fact, I was quite cheery. 

 

Sacrament meeting proceeded as usual. And then, during the quietest, most sacred part of the meeting, it happened.  Now it must be noted that my ward is very, very reverent.  No children.  No babies.  No Cheerios.  Just adults.  Normally, this is one of the most pleasant parts of being in a singles ward–even at 30+something.  But I digress.

 

The Sacrament was being passed. 

 

I started hearing noises. 

 

 Loud, gurgly, rumbling noises. 

 

It was a mix between a hungry-stomach rumble and an incoming Cessna plane.   Not only was it loud.  It was constant.  Continual.  Persistent.   Perpetual.  Ceaseless.  Unremitting.  Endless.   The source of the sound?  My throat–or more correctly–my esophagus.  (Which I have just decided to nickname “Gus:  The  Beast Within”).  Two large pills and a glass of water were fighting for dominance in my delicate, and oh-so-damaged, esophagus.  I don’t know who was wining, but for sure, I was losing.

  

Gratefully, I was sitting next to a supportive friend, who first tried to ignore said noises, until it was impossible to do so.  Like trying to ignore an oncoming train.   I was doing my best to summon the earth to swallow me whole, while intermittently (quietly) giggling in despair and trying to muffle the noise with my wee hand on my throat.  Finally, said friend put an arm around me and asked, “Did you forget to feed IT this morning?”  After the longest 10-15 minutes of my life (and a few odd stares from the people in the row ahead of me), the ordinance was over, and I was able to flee to go get a drink of water.  I then returned to my seat and had no further problems. 

 

Other than the total embarrassment. 

  

I believe my face invented new shades of scarlet.

 

Did I mention that this friend just happens also to be an attractive male?

  

He is a friend, nonetheless, but it just makes this experience so much more…more….perfect.

  

Speaking of being ladylike, refined, and all other positive traits of womanhood (or the lack thereof), the Elders Quorum of the ward put on a lovely dinner for the Relief Society the night before as a “celebration of womanhood.”  Despite the fact that it was a thinly-veiled effort to distract single women from the potential pain of Mother’s Day, it was a lovely experience.  No matter the purpose, it is nice to be appreciated.  And I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised at the efforts the men in the ward went through to create a nice experience.  

 

There was a delicious formal dinner, prepared by a professional chef/new member of the ward.  (Gus was surprisingly well-behaved).  This was followed by an entertaining, and more importantly, sensitive and diplomatic (yet sincere) program which consisted of a talk and three musical numbers.  I use the words “sensitive” and “diplomatic” because there are inherent land-mines when a male peer must address a vast group of unmarried females on the subject of womanhood the night before Mother’s Day.  Or really any day.  It was most impressively done.  All of the musical numbers were also well done.  Gratefully, the person to my right wore a flame-retardant dress.  

 

That last sentence may seem like a non-sequitur, but it isn’t.  

 

Without a trace of cynicism or sarcasm, I must say that this night stands out as probably the most pleasant and touching of all my experiences with Parleys 7th.  Bravo Elders Quorum and the Bishopric.

 

And now, like a large, purple, chewy piece of tapioca that continues to haunt me, I will end by telling about my lunch today.  Actually, I just did.  I joined some friends (West Valley Lunch Bunch) at a Vietnamese restaurant.  Apparently, this place is known for delicious  smoothies–with large, purple, chewy pieces of tapioca at the bottom.  While not a huge fan of tapioca, I thought, “Why not? I’ll try it.”  And since the aforementioned damaged esophagus or “Gus” was in a particularly rebellious mood today, it seemed like a creamy cold drink would be just the thing.

 

And it was…

 

delicious. 

 

The smoothie part that is.  The marble-sized balls of tapioca (that I am sure were actually increasing in number inside the drink) were rather slimy, tasteless, and extensively chewy.  Like rubber.  However, I am not a coward (unless it involves tight, claustrophobia-inducing spaces or asking guys out) and so I persisted.  It must be noted that the straws for these drinks are very large–to accommodate the grape-sized and grape-colored pieces of starch.   The straw was not transparent, but it was still evident, by the looming black shadows, when these bits-o-goop would creep their way up.  I caught several of my less-adventuresome friends wincing as these globs of dark matter climbed steadily closer to my mouth.  They weren’t the only ones.

 

I, on the other hand, watched as they downed warm and savory chicken and rice dishes.   Or an interestingly garnished, but enticing, beef soup.   Now, I don’t regret my choice.  The mango flavored drink was very good.  I wanted to try it.  And I would have drank/chewed more, but sometimes it takes awhile for food to “behave” properly–thanks to Gus.  But I have to admit that the texture of the tapioca has been haunting me–and not in a good way–the rest of today.   It’s as if I can still sense their presence.  It’s not….good.

 

And in case anyone is wondering, I googled “tapioca”.  Not surprisingly, Wikipedia has an entry.  While not the most academically trusted website, I’ll believe it’s information in this case.  This is a partial definition:

 

“Tapioca is essentially a flavorless starchy ingredient, or fecula, produced from treated and dried cassava (manioc) root and used in cooking.”

 

I’m not brave enough to look up “fecula.”

 

So.  Thus ends my latest attempt at blogging.  And like my life, it’s a mix of the embarrassing, the good, and the unfortunate.  But, at least, V. Pearce likes my hair.

 

And, yes.  The last sentence is a non-sequitur.

 

Why I can stand teenagers

When I tell people my profession I usually get one of the following responses:

 

• “You’re an English teacher?  It makes me nervous to speak (or write) around you.”
• “You’re an English teacher?  I hated English.  I hate to read.”
• “You teach high school with teenagers?  On purpose?  How can you stand them?”

 

Now, anyone who knows me is already giggling at the thought of the first response. Like all humans, I make frequent little mistakes when I’m writing.   Unlike most humans, however, I make frequent big mistakes while speaking. 

 

These verbal errors, where I switch the first letters of words, are known as Spoonerisms.  I guess in the late 1800’s there was a Reverend William Archibald Spooner of Oxford that was infamous for these mistakes.  I’ve also been told that a propensity towards them shows intelligence.

 

If that’s the case–I’m a genius.

 

My most notorious example occurred while teaching the novel, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  In a class discussion I “spoonerized” the main character’s name.  Think about it….Huck Finn.  Need I say more?

 

Not surprisingly, I shocked many of my poor students.  And they haven’t let me forget it.  Sadly, this event occurred not too long after October’s General Conference in which my father had spoken.  My students caught on that we were related.  (One student wanted extra credit for taking notes on his talk.  He even brought them in to show me.  We had a nice discussion about the separation of church and state).  I cringed a little when my students barraged me with comments like, “Miss C.!  Imagine what your father would say?!”

 

But even with this type of teasing, I really do like  teenagers.  (As for those poor, poor, lost individuals who hate English and don’t like to read…. I have nothing funny to say.  It’s just too sad for words.)  Once a person gets past the bravado and defensiveness of those in late adolescence, it is shocking to discover that there are some nice ones out there.  Some of them are even funny–on purpose.

 

Just this week I had two prime examples. 

 

While starting another round of state testing, my students were moaning because I have to read the lengthy, yet obvious, instructions on how to complete the test. (“Select your answers from one of the four possible choices.  Now find your answer document.  Fill in the corresponding circle for that question number with the same letter as the answer you’ve chosen.  Make sure to fill in the circle completely with a no. 2 pencil.  Make sure to breathe in an out. Blah. Blah. Blah.”)  A rather smart kid, Nick, tried to talk me out of going through these instructions.  The conversation went as follows:

 

N:  Ms. C, can’t you just pretend to read the directions.

Ms. C:  I’m sorry I can’t.  After all, there is just a limit to how cool a teacher can be.

N:  But you’re so far below your cool quota, I think that you could get away with it.

 

Isn’t it sad that a rather insulting little cuss is one of my reasons for liking teenagers?

 

The second example happened two days ago.  This week is “Spirit Week” at the high school.  That means that the sophomores, juniors, and seniors compete in a series of events, including trying to get the most students to dress up for the various dress up days.  Tuesday was dress-as-your-favorite-character day.  So I wasn’t that surprised to have one of my honors students show up in a complete business suit.  I knew it had to do something with the dress up day. 

 

However, just a few minutes before the school day ended, he stands up and announces loudly, “Duty calls!”  Within a few moments later this 17 year old boy, strong-and-stocky, has his suit on the floor and he is standing there in a Superman outfit.  I’m talking the whole royal blue unitard and cape.  He then flees the room with his cape trailing behind him, and runs down the hall.  Needless to say, the class was nearly on the floor, rolling in laughter.  Me too.

 

Now that takes nerve.  And it’s one of the reasons why I like teenagers.

 

It was equally as funny when he sheepishly returned to class to collect his suit.  I wonder if the real Superman has that problem.

 

Anyway, as I have recently been contemplating a career change and thought about the options out there, I am a wee bit surprised to how much I’ve learned to like this age group.  I actually can stand teenagers.

 

It might be because I equal, and do not exceed, them in maturity.