Truth In Advertising

Last weekend, my husband and I worked together, vending our wares at a festival called Western Welcome Week. 80,000 people or so show up to this thing. We vend at the farmer's market that is on a connected street to the festival, so the market could glom on to the success.

This was the biggest single craft fair that I have ever seen. Not too much direct competition for our stuff, but overall, a lot of competition. Our day ended up being less than an average take for a farmer's market day. We will remember this for next year.

Looking for the silver lining, I remembered that I was given some promotional material by a young girl. I accept all promotional material that is handed to me, so that I can examine it to see if I can get ideas for my own promotional material. Let's look at this particular specimen, shall we?


You can see that I have obscured the town. Look at the cover, here. You can see that this is 8.5 x 11 paper, in a blue color, with the title "(town) SMALL BUSSINESS." IN ALL CAPS. Okay, and so I asked myself, "Are they targeting small businesses? Is this a directory of small businesses? No, it says 'business,' singular. Furthermore, business doesn't have a double-ess after the u. WTF?" Naturally, I decided to open it up and satisfy my curiosity.





Um....okaaaaay. I have obscured the name of the company, and its address. Wouldn't you think it would be more effective on an advertisement of any kind to have your serivces made very clear throughout the entire ad? Is this an ad for a restaurant? A custom shoe shop? No, $15.00 isn't very much for shoes anymore, and who "PRE-- PAY"s anyway? Okay, okay. I'll tell you. The ad is for "cleaners." What do they clean? Why do they insist that I pre-- pay? Oh, and do I get the dollar off only when I pre-- pay, or only when I bring in the flyer, or both?

Yes, I can surmise that it is an ad for clothes cleaners. My point? These ads are shit. I can't wait to turn the page.



Hmmm. No more cleaners, here, as evidenced by the font change, and the fact that it says "nails" at the top. I'm not going to get uppity and wonder what kind of nails. I get it. Again, I can bring in the flyer for a discount. (Anybody else annoyed by the alternate spelling of "flier?") This is a good marketing tactic--people will hold on to your flyer if they must bring it in later, thereby putting your business in front of their faces for longer. I'll give you that.

What I won't give you are props for your misspelling of "company." Nor for the misspelling of "suite" in your address. Nor for the glaring typo, "sullset," where it should be the two words "full set." Nor the fact that you are putting this "speacial" ad out in front of everyone, claiming that your companie is "American." Don't claim me, lady. And for the love of Pete, will someone please tell me what the hell "doabetic " foot care is? This nail companie has a very low opinion of their target market if they think we will overlook these glaring errors. I couldn't. I couldn't look away. It's like a train wreck. Let's keep going.


Wow. That particular chemical that you don't use must really be bad. Were you exposed to it, and it damaged your kindneys? What were your sysptoms? What are sysptoms? I find your ad confusing. I might just break down. On my nails.

Moving on:





Wow. Great color on this one. Big font size. Random word "reference" at an angle. Hmm. What kind of reference? Do you want me to refer you to someone? Well, I can't, because why are you going to shop and "do transportation" while cleaning the house? Oh, now that I've said that, I realize that you are offering to do MY shopping and transport yourself while doing it. I get it now.

Except that I'm still not going to hire you because you are the same woman who is supposed to be doing my nails at your companie. You are obviously overworked to the point that you can't be bothered to spell check your flyer. For your companie. You can, however, make words go slant-wise on the page. Nice touch. Try touching the "spell check" button as well. It just takes a second.




Within this 8.5 x 11 flyer, there is an actual flier. It is a tri-fold brochure for the nail companie. Apparently, we didn't have enough eye damage from the big booklet. Luckily, most of the text in this brochure is spelled correctly. I am especially excited about the reflexology message that I get with my pedicure. What exactly is this message? "Relax, bitch, while I clip your toenails?" Or perhaps, "Lady, you have got to pay me now. I've got a house to clean and then go shopping. Thanks for visiting my nail companie." Maybe the message is, "Take care of your kindneys!"


My ghetto camera doesn't do this justice, so you are going to have to squint. But believe me, it's there. Yes, we know this is a classy companie, because they have a dollar sign ($) in between the beginning of their companie name and the end.


This is possibly the worst example of print advertising that I have ever had the pleasure to experience. The only redeeming factor, in my opinion, is the fact that these folks went face-to-face, handing them out. That takes balls.

Especially when the ad might cause blindness.

Best. Spam. Evar.

Spam in my Yahoo mail (which I no longer use, for obvious reasons), reproduced below. Hilarious, since I already have plenty of education:



Re: Uni Diploma = more earning power


Just call this number: X XXX XXX XXXX

admix aiken quo agony young.addend ... haifa fallow halma spurge tumult.
adverb acorn.lambda omen blink ice papery.
your impact blare.

Press!

I got some press today, in the form of a great review from a customer, on her blog. She featured my business in her review of the Louisville Downtown Street Faire.

Thanks so much, Manisha!

Debating quasi-fiction: what is a memoir?

James Frey pissed off Oprah.

This much we know. The whole situation made me wonder, however, how much does the general reading public know about literature? In general, I mean.

Memoir: (noun) 1. A historical account or biography written from personal knowledge or special sources; an autobiography or a written account of one's memory of certain events or people. 2. an essay on a learned subject; the proceedings or transactions of a learned society. (Oxford American Dictionaries)

The emphasis there is obviously mine, and of course it is meant to prove a point. James Frey pissed off Oprah because his memoir was fictionalized. What scholars of literature may learn at university includes a discussion on fiction vs. nonfiction, and lots and lots of semantics. It seems to me that James Frey pissed off Oprah because Oprah's definition (or perhaps her fans' definition) of memoir is very much the first part of the first definition--she wanted the account to be historically accurate. Please note, however, that accuracy is not included in the definition. And good writers embellish to make good writing--all the time!

Nan Talese felt she was ambushed on Oprah's show, and this is the reason I bring this up today. She was told the show would be about James Frey only minutes before the show aired. She was told there was a change in the show's plan. For live television. They had a last-minute change in their entire show that all the producers had been working on for so long.

It made great television, and Talese was used toward that end. Her vigor in defending herself, and publishers by proxy, shows her anger toward Oprah and the whole situation. Good journalism means you must use the element of surprise, I guess.

It just seems to me that Oprah was upset because she'd defended Frey, and felt she'd been made to look like a fool. Frey and Talese both were made to look like fools on her show. The audience clearly thought memoir=absolute truth. The general viewing (and presumably, Oprah-book-reading) public thought the same, as well, judging by the response the show got. There was a lot of press around this issue. The publisher was ordered by a judge to give folks their money back!

That seems to me, in America, very extreme. A scholar of literature myself, I don't have a problem with a memoir being fictionalized. Memoirs are entertainment--competing with other forms of entertainment, such as bike riding, seeing a movie, or drinking oneself into a stupor. A memoir isn't a "how-to" nonfiction book, designed to instruct the reader. A memoir is a collection of memories. All of our memories are colored by our emotions at the time. I hate certain songs on the radio because they were on the radio when my first serious boyfriend broke up with me. This doesn't mean the music is bad. I might write it that way, however, and that is my right. I might also fictionalize parts of the story to make it more engaging to read, rather than, "He broke up with me. I cried for a week."

I digress. I think this whole situation is made very sticky by the fact that Oprah herself is also in the entertainment business. Ripping Frey a new one on her show was sure to be good television. Having unprepared reactions from Nan Talese would also make good television. But this situation was borne from a simple misunderstanding of literature, in my opinion. Talese didn't get to say much of what she wanted to say on that show, as she felt "ambushed."

I think this whole thing is an example of folks going along with the crowd. In this case, I wonder if Oprah felt compelled to go along with it, because so many folks in the viewing public were upset. Let's remember---many of those folks are not literature scholars! It seems to me that Oprah was trying to put a scholarly bent on things when she called up Larry King and tried to defend Frey. I just don't think the public, in general, was academically prepared to hear it.

And that's okay. We are not all scholars of literature.

I love that Oprah gets people to read. Are they reading other things, though? Or just what she recommends? Getting to be an author on her show is The Show--like being put in the major league of baseball. It's the big win. Instant best-seller, right there, overnight. Not many authors at all get that chance, and it is random chance. It's one woman, controlling what goes on her show, and what influences the minds of millions. I suppose she felt a responsibility to all those folks who expressed their outrage at being duped.

And perhaps Nan Talese feels a responsibility to tell her side of the truth. She is telling her memoir. We must all decide if it is fiction, or not.

Caveat emptor, people.

Finished Harry Potter!

I did it! It's finished!



I am still trying to catch my breath. Good lord.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

I am on page 163. I can barely catch my breath.

We love this guy.

My husband and I both love good food, and both love to dream about traveling. I say "dream about" because we don't have the money for actual travel.

In any case, a great show to watch is Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations, on the Travel Channel. He travels all over the world, showcasing the people and their food. Bourdain's sardonic wit matches mine very often, and he is a truth-teller, which I appreciate. In the show he is often smoking, and just as often drinking/hung over. Great TV.

He is also a fabulous essayist. The Nasty Bits is a compilation of articles and such. I cannot comment on his fiction[see 7-10], as I have not yet read it. If it's anything like his essays, I'm putting them on my hold list at the library.

So congratulations to him and to his crew, as they were nominated for an Emmy Award for one of their episodes--Beirut. They were nominated under the "news" category--when in Beirut, a conflict broke out, so the film crew shot the whole episode about the conflict instead of the food, as they couldn't do their cook's tour anyway.

Good job, folks! I hope you win it!

Teeny bit o' fun.

I was thinking of putting some art on my walls. Then I found this blogthing. Coincidence?

Who Should Paint You: Andy Warhol

You've got an interested edge that would be reflected in any portrait You don't need any fancy paint techniques to stand out from the crowd!

What Artist Should Paint Your Portrait?

A Prairie Home Companion

One more.

This is funny because of the stage manager's reactions, not so much for the bad jokes.

Haven't y'all seen this movie yet? If you enjoy Garrison Keillor, you'll like it.

A Prairie Home Companion - Whoop I Ti Yi Yo

Friend Steve moved to Montana a year ago. Well--about a year ago.

I've not stopped pining for him. We taught the children every day together, for about 4 years straight.

Thankfully, we both embrace "technology" in the form of instant messenger systems, and keep in touch. He is trying to convince me to move up to Billings and teach with him. He called me cowgirl when he was saying this.

Therefore, this one's for Steve. That was a long intro just for a youtube video.

Absinthe for sleep aid

So I'm watching the Price is Right, which is good and correct for me to do, as I am on vacation.

A commercial comes on, for Lunesta. In this commercial, there is a gorgeous green butterfly, hovering over the faces of these folks who are sound asleep, all with a little smile on their faces.

It looks at first glance, though, like a green fairy. Which makes me think--did the advertisers mean for me to think about absinthe?

Vacation!

The difference between having a good boss and a bad boss is the difference, at the end of the school year, between feeling worn out and burnt out.

The past few years, I have felt burnt out at this time. Absolutely finished. Murderous, even, when I saw children on the street. Or the principal.

Now, I feel worn out. Like my job was difficult, but now it's done. I think that's more appropriate.

We are getting ready to leave for a week--traveling to Iowa. When we get back, it will be a whirlwind of activity again. So I'm going to focus on doing a lot of sitting, and iced-tea drinking, and visiting, while watching the children run through the sprinkler.


p.s. the giraffe is the result of a google search for "children in sprinkler." ???

Your Sunday Night Creativity

This is so cool!

GOD DAMN IT!!!

One of our neighbors has a landscaping business. My husband enlisted him to fix our lawn mower. In exchange, the dude wanted the use of our rototiller. Cool trade. No problem.

He also offered to buzz the weeds in our large flower beds, as they were taking over. Sure. No problem.

Except that HE CUT OFF MY FLOWERS TOO.

EVENING PRIMROSE IN FULL BLOOM? CUT TO THE BONE.

NEW SALVIA? SHREDDED.

BRAND NEW COLUMBINE WITH A BLOOM ON IT??? Gone!

WHY THE FUCK DO I BOTHER????

Check out the competition

I think, more often than not, people go through their lives with some level of depression. I mean, it's the rare person who is happy ALL THE TIME. Every single minute? Even when a toe is stubbed? Very rare.

So I've been tired and feeling mildly depressed, nothing that a good night of sleep won't fix, but it's annoyed me just the same. When I feel like this, I usually take action, somehow. Tidy up the bills. Create an email list for marketing. Go online and do some marketing.

I was doing this, talking on some Yahoo groups, when I discovered The Competition. You see, I've written and published an ebook, and I place ads sometimes on the Yahoo groups where I participate. On one of these groups, I saw an ad for someone else's ebooks. Hmm. Okay. I clicked the link, thinking that I was going to see something similar to what I have on my website.

It is a handmade site, obviously. The propaganda is FULL of typos, which made me think, "Why would I want to buy your book? You obviously don't care about clarity or editing." Furthermore, just in the text on the website, the writing was clunky and just not attractive. The whole experience left me feeling like, "Hey, my site is great. Glad I went with a web guy, instead of doing it myself."

Then I went to her purchasing page. You see, I still thought I might purchase one of her books, for research, to see what my book is missing. Until I saw the prices. $19.95 for a soap making ebook? It went on and on. The same price for a lotion-making book. Etc. Etc.

Holy crap! There is NO WAY that I was going to spend that much money on my competition, when she can't even write good marketing text on her website, obviously doesn't know publishing basics or ignores publishing basics, and the whole thing just looked so "handmade" and "homegrown" that I suddenly felt a whole lot better about myself and my efforts.

I suppose it's not the nicest thing, to bash the competition like this. Therefore, I won't give you the link to her site. I will let you know that I feel so much more confident in all my writing and publishing efforts, my depression has completely lifted.

Perhaps the coffee helps.

Nostalgia

Please tell me that you remember high school talent shows.

Please tell me. No? Then watch the video.

I am ROTFLMAO!

Because I need some fun

...then you do, too. Enjoy.

Subtle differences

The differences between being self-employed and being an employee are quite obvious:

1. No guaranteed paycheck vs paid each month
2. Commuting to work vs walking to your office
3. Having an office/room/cubicle vs having whatever you choose to have as an office
4. Being clean and well-presented every day vs jammies
5. Doing what you are told vs doing what you choose
6. Being paid what they allow vs making as much money as you can
   

However. Comma.

Some very Very VERY good benefits are much more subtle. One of them presented themselves to me today. This benefit is becoming more and more of a motivator for me to be self-employed. It used to be the money potential only.

Now, it is this:

7. Being forced to suck up other people's SHIT because you HAVE to get along with them to get the work done vs choosing who the FUCK I will deal with.

GOD DAMN IT!

Okay. I feel better.

For my brother...

...whose birthday is next week. He had a fantastic collection of Transformers when he was a kid.

Happy Birthday, Tim.

Review

I recommend going back and reading through every single one of your blog posts sometime. I guarantee, it will be enlightening.

Going back through mine (I'll save you the time, don't worry), I found out that I have been "working" on a book for two years. Two years! And no nearer to publication. That's just unacceptable.

My idea to get us out of debt through online publishing has been in the works for over one year. There has been some progress with this, and I plan on doing more. I just have to make a little money to get things rolling with that. So that's good. Actual progress, there.

I can't believe how cranky I was two years ago. I can't believe my husband is still with me. I was really unpleasant. Things are better, now. I'm not as cranky.

I also can't believe how much I was working. I still work a lot, but I will never do three jobs at once like I was before. Self-employed at three jobs? Maybe. Employed elsewhere at three jobs? No.

The coffee tastes really good this morning. I'm still hopeful. This year is going to be a busy one for soap, but it will be good. If I'm in at the third market I applied to, we will be full-time soapers this summer. If DH can help me, then we'll be fine.

Summer is decidedly not here yet, as evidenced by the SNOW outside. I hope this is the last wintry hurrah, but I'm not as desperate about the cold as I was in the winter. We've had a few warm days, and I let the warmth sink into my bones, so I'm okay with this, for now.

I think I'll go make some scones. Happy weekend, everyone.

What can I do to protect my hip?

I was perusing a web site, and saw an ad with that headline. "What can I do to protect my hip?" There was a photo of an attractive woman with grey hair and a mild expression on her face.

I failed to read the rest of the ad, I found the question so appealing.

How To Protect Your Hip

1. Wear iron pants.
2. Hire an entourage of bodyguards to walk with you wherever you go, on your weak hip's side.
3. Wear those padded shorts for linebackers.
4. Massage it lovingly.
5. Get one of your attractive bodyguards to massage it for you.
6. Oh, yeah, that's the stuff.
7. Move to an area with no hills.
8. Avoid dancefloors.
9. Wear a low-slung, spiked leather belt.
10. Never get out of your comfy chair. (No! Not the comfy chair!)
    

Biscuits, Fairies, and Scientology

The Adventures of Ann and Amy


The Musical

The title of this post started a while ago, when I shared with friend Steve that I was having a morning of fun with our mutual friend Ann. We were planning on having breakfast at Lucile's, and then going to the metaphysical faire. When Steve signed off from his instant message, he said, "Enjoy your biscuits and fairies." So there you have it.

The day started with Ann buying a Starbucks coffee, while I got some cash. I asked her why she was buying a Starbucks, when the breakfast place had good coffee. She replied that she wanted, "Sugary, syrupy goodness," and would have nothing less. I have to support that.

Being a former restaurant server, I worried that her coffee would get cold in the car, as I knew that restaurants did not allow outside food and beverages. When we got there, she brought in her coffee, like there was no issue at all. I didn't notice this until we sat at our patio table, when our server said, "I'm going to ignore the Starbucks coffee. Would you like some beignets? A half-order, perhaps?" Ann readily agreed.

I had never had beignets, so I went along for the ride, and as you can imagine, it was a good ride. Yummah! Our farmer's eggs and Hank's eggs were delicious, and the portions were very large, so we couldn't finish them. I did finish my biscuit, though. I know my priorities in life.

Afterward, we turned the corner, hitting the curb, and went on our way to the metaphysical faire. I had been to it several times, but Ann had never been there. I had never attended so early in the day, so I didn't know if there would be a line.

There was. But it wasn't long.

When we first entered the building, still in line, we were greeted with songs about medicine eagle feather woman, sung in a lovely fashion by two older women in prom gowns. That was how the faire started.

We made the circuit around the whole thing. Around the edges of both rooms we found the readers--psychic readers, palm readers, tarot readers, etc. There were also massage therapists, reflexologists, and Chanty McGee. We chose not to visit him this time.

We found the person who would give Ann her reading, signed up, then walked off to find the folks from the Inner Connection Institute, who do free aura cleansings and chakra balancing. We had this done, and it was awesome. Those are great folks, and they offer this service for free. It was very refreshing. I felt happy afterward.

This may explain the insane giggling fits later.

Anyway, after the aura cleansing, we went for our readings. Ann to hers, and mine to a new guy. He taped the session, so I could listen to it again, which was very cool. Instead of a regular tarot reading, he led me through a guided meditation, in which I could find the answers to the questions I had, by myself.

We found ourselves wandering around the vendors after that. Prayer flags, ugly jewelry, some cool jewelry, some cool art pieces, and t-shirts that "felt hempy."

"Hmm. These t-shirts feel hempy. They are hempy!" Ann exclaimed, after looking at the tag.

"Hempy?" I asked.

"It says it right there."

We walked on, perusing things that will clear your personal environment of bad energy, lots of cool rocks and mineral thingys, and came upon the Grand Court Jester of the faire.

Dressed in a colorful jester's hat, colorful clothes, and perched precariously upon a high stool, she chanted, "Chakra photos! Get your chakra photos here! Chakras!" and such.

I shit you not.

We walked on toward some books and tarot cards, distracted by the belly dancers in full costume, who were walking around freely. We saw a dude playing a didgeridoo, only the end of it was placed RIGHT AT some dude's head. Ann and I both agreed that would freak us out.

Of course, a visit to the metaphysical faire isn't complete without being accosted by scientologists. Even though it is clearly posted at the entrance, "No proselytizing," they set up shop selling Dianetics books. Apparently this is okay, but pushing scientology is not. So anyway, we were accosted by them, asking us if we wanted a free "stress test." Um, sure.

So we sat down. Dude handed me what looked like two skinny soup cans with no labels, attached to which were roach clips and wires, leading to this electronic thing with a dial and a meter. He asked me to, "Think about different situations in your life." I found this bizarre, but did as asked. At one point, the needle on the meter moved.

"Mmmmm," dude said, nodding and giving me a knowing look. What he knew was a mystery to me, but it appeared that he pitied me somehow. "What were you thinking about, just then when the needle moved?"

"I have no idea," I said, truthfully. I was shocked by the bizarre nature of this "stress test."

"What about your relationships?" he pressed. I thought about it. The needle didn't move.

"They're fine, " I said.

"Hmm," he said, "Lemme try something, " and turned the dial on the machine.

"He's trying to make the needle move by adjusting the machine. This is total bullshit," I thought, but stayed there to fuck with him.

He then asked, "Are you married?"

"Yes." No needle movement.

"Do you have children?" he asked, and the needle moved.

"Mmmmmmm," he said, with that look of, "Man, are you fucked up," on his face.

"I imagine most mothers carry some stress about their children. She doesn't stress me out," I said. At this point I saw Ann, standing in the thoroughfare. I placed the soup cans on the table. "I'm leaving now," I said with a smile.

"But wait, let me show you this book," he said, rather quickly.

"No, thanks," I said. It was Dianetics.

"Have you heard of it?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Have you read it?" he asked, with a glimmer of hope in his scientologist eyeballs.

"No, I haven't. And I'm not going to. Goodbye," I said, and joined Ann.

She told me that the woman who was giving her the stress test tried to tell her that Dianetics wasn't about scientology.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. She was showing me the book, and on the back it has a quote from John Travolta. And then I saw another quote from Tom Cruise, and then I said, 'This is scientology!' and she said, 'noitisn't!' just like that. And I said, 'yes it is!' and she said, 'no it isn't. It's about a way to manage the stress in your life' but then I cut her off and said, 'yes, it is scientology!' and walked off."

At this point we were away from the stress testers, and I suggested we go back to them, and see if they ask us for a stress test again, and we would sit down, and when they asked us if we had stress, I would say, "Yeah, amnesia stresses me out."

And then the giggling started.

Then Ann suggested we sit down again, and when he asked me about what stresses me out, she could lean over, right in my face, and say, "I think it's time to go! Aren't you done yet???" and I could answer, "My friends," to the guy.

And then the giggling was laughter. Very loud laughter. A passserby remarked that she wanted some of what I was drinking. I assured her it was just Coke.

We decided later that we could sit down with the scientologists, and when they asked us what stresses us out, we could say, "People who lie about shit not being scientology when IT CLEARLY IS YOU IDIOTS IN THE DIANETICS SHIRTS! WHAT KIND OF FREAKS ARE YOU??" Insane laughter again.

By this time we were sitting down, waiting for Ann's massage appointment. We saw the woman before here, sitting in the massage chair, and you know how they have that cut out in the face pillow, so your face is open to the air? The dude put a hairnet over the face pillow, and Ann remarked, "My face is going to have net lines."

I said to her, "You've got more important things to worry about. Heed my words, you'd better not open your eyes while you're there. Because if you do, this is what you're gonna see," and I stuck my face right in her face, threatening to squat in front of the massage chair, waiting to pounce.

Insane laughter.

It was a great, great day. The joke now would be for Ann to say, "No it wasn't!"

"Yes, it was!"

"No it wasn't!"

The Reality of Married Life

Husband: What is the true meaning of this song, to you? (while listening to some sappy-ass song on a Thomas the Train video)

Wife: You need to leave me alone. You're full of shit today, and I just can't take it.

Husband: *bursts out giggling*

Pure joy.

I am not the biggest sports fan, but I was raised in rural Iowa, where there wasn't much to do. Participating in sports kept us all fit, and my father liked to watch Iowa Hawkeye football and basketball on the weekends, so I did, sometimes, too.

To brighten your day, I found this video of the Miami of Ohio team celebrating (.6 seconds prematurely, it turned out) their win over Akron. What I love about the video is the reaction of the team, the cheerleaders, the coaches, everyone, right after Doug Penno makes his shot. It is absolutely wonderful to watch.

It's just so instant. Instant joy. Just add sweat.

Best. Sick. Day. Evah.

Okay, it's the best because I'm not the sick one. My husband is. And I guess it's not really the best, because the best sick day is when it's 70 degrees out and I take a sick day to take my kid to the zoo.

So today is the second best.

But this thing I found might make it closer to the best. This is hilarious! I love it. I love that I found it on a Monday morning.

Tell your friends.

Weekly blogger.

Yep, that's me.

It's been a rough winter. We're not out of winter for three more weeks, but the effects of so much snow and cold are coming through. Our whole household has been ill in some manner: daughter got the stomach flu and a cough; papa got some sort of illness (probably a rough cold); I have had a cough for about three weeks, now. Had an asthma attack the other night. Made for a rough day at work.

When things like this happen, it's hard for me to keep up the pace that I'm used to, with the soap and other endeavors. I made soap last night, though, which was a good thing, because it helped to propel me out of the rut. I felt good about it. Action always combats complacency for me.

I wonder, what with spring coming, how others have their perceptions change. Does the sun and warm weather cause a reaction in all of us to act? Or is it just my turn in life?

Things seem very revolutionary for me, right now. Inside my head.


I'll keep you posted.

I've won my first Oscar!

My presumptuous headline aside (really...should we assume that I will win another? The answer is yes), I was honored with an Academy Award this evening!

It came via the lovely Sherry Lansing's acceptance speech for the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. In her speech she shared her Oscar with teachers, who are, "the ones who truly never give up on kids."

I'm paraphrasing. I wish I could find the text of her speech. If I can find it in the following few days, I'll post her exact words.

Until, then, thanks so much, Sherry. I accept! Sorry I didn't dress up. My loungy-jammies will certainly land me on the fug list. I promise to do better next time. I was caught unawares!

It's 2.5 hours before..

...the 79th Annual Academy Awards, and the red carpet is already happening. People are already arriving, in their finery, walking ever so slowly, with bright red smirks on their faces, while flashbulbs illuminate their perfect porcelain skin.

Well, some skin is orangey-Mystic-tan, but still smooth and glowing.

They arrive this early to take the red carpet slowly, I guess. To get the most exposure possible.

Yeah, I'm watching. This is where I get my fashion tips. *guffaws and spews root beer*

Shorts

Some people look stunning and lovely and even more fabulous than anyone thought they could, with little or no hair:






Some don't:

What you don't know.

I wonder how many posts I've started with that headline. I know it's at least one other.

What you don't know about public schools is probably a lot, if you don't work for one, or if you aren't closely connected otherwise. Teaching is a hard job, but one of the best things about teaching for me is that I have made a TON of friends. Schools aren't one room on the prairie, and as such, there are lots of opportunities to meet people and make friends.

The shitty part of all of it comes about this time of year, when the staff of a school sits down and looks at the budget. Of course, the budget is never increased, only decreased. This means that, most every year, "we" have to decide the cuts.

And that's what you don't know. People who work in schools make friends in a foxhole--it's a hard job, no matter what you are doing, and if you work there, you automatically share a special connection with everyone else there. We talk about our time in schools like military folk do: long-term teachers are invariably called "veterans."

So it's that time of year, and the cuts are in. And, of course, one of my best friends has had her job cut. Rather, her job is one of three that has been "redistributed," so she has to decide whether or not to interview for the two remaining positions.

For those who don't know, let me clue you in: THIS SUCKS.

It sucks for her, because she doesn't know if she wants to interview. If not, it means she has lost her job. If she does, she would be interviewing for a different job which she doesn't like. More than likely, I'm betting she chooses not to interview, which means I will have one less friend at work next year.

WHICH SUCKS!

We need as many allies as we can get, down here in this foxhole.

Finally.

I am looking out my front window, and see clouds, yes, but no snow. NO SNOW.

I would breathe a sigh of relief if I didn't think it would jinx the whole thing.

I can't see Pike's Peak today, but I can see the Sleeping Dragon. The foothills have snow on them, but the big mountains look black. I'm sure there is some snow up there, but they are just too far away. Even in this neighborhood, we've got a mountain view. Unreal.

The Olde Crone came off vacation this week, and the response was good. I had a sale to celebrate my return to the land of consumerism, and it is paying off. I've had about 5 orders in one week, which is a very good thing. I've sold a few books this week, as well, so that's a good thing, too. I love selling books. I only wrote it once!

Speaking of which, I should probably get started on my next one. Well, I've got two going right now. Jeez. Gotta focus my efforts.

At least it's not snowing. Depression doesn't help my writing, as I am not writing poetry.

Imagine that.

It's been about a week since I posted, and guess what?

IT IS SNOWING.

I'm going back to bed.

Not "ill" as such...

I am so positively SICK of snow.

And cold.

I'm moving to Paradise Island in the Bahamas. I swear I am.

Yes! Yes, the snow is pretty. And yes! It is peaceful when it snows, because of the sound-muffling quality of it.

I don't care anymore. I want it to be spring, with sunshine and crocus and daffodils and all that.

NOW!

Things are picking up.

Ever since I have started to begin each day with, "I am happy and grateful because..." my life, in all aspects, has taken a turn for the better.

I am not kidding.


I recommend this for everyone. Fill in after the 'because' with anything that you want out of your life. Say it as if it has already happened. That's the only way to make affirmations work.

And boy, do they work.

I am happy and grateful that my affirmations work!

I am either high on drugs...

...or a writer.


I just went to bed. All the way. Under the covers. Pillow just right. Snuggly.

And I got up to come to my blog because I had used a word incorrectly and needed to change it so I don't look like the world's most profound idiot on the internet.

Then, of course, after I had changed that, I had to delete a word.


This. THIS, is what it's like to be a writer. For those who don't know.

I'm going to bed "for the reals" now. I am. I don't care about typos anymore.

Any.


More.


p.s. after I wrote this post, I came back to edit it. I am seriously going to bed now.

Ambrosia--Nectar of My God

Scandalous headline, no?


Aaaanywaaaay.....

I went to the University of Iowa for my first degree. I was an English Education major. As an English major, I had the pleasure to take Fiction Writing class, as I think it is a requirement. I don't remember anything about it being required, except being terrified, so it must have been required, otherwise I wouldn't have done it.

You see, I am not a fiction writer. I knew this when I was 20, and I still know it. I write nonfiction. It's what I do best. But for some reason, I took Fiction Writing class.

I do remember my instructor's name: Charlie D'Ambrosio. I thought he should go by "Carlos" personally, but whatever. Charlie was a good instructor. He was not a professor, but a Master's Degree student who was going through the University's world-renowned Writer's Workshop. I was introduced to this Workshop format in this class. For those who do not know what that means:

• Everybody was required to turn in two pieces of fiction per semester.
  
• The day the writing is due, the student turns it in to the instructor's mailbox.
• The next day, all students in the class are required to pick up one copy of all the fiction pieces submitted.
• All students then take these writings home, read them, and comment on them. RIGHT ON THE PAPER.
• The next class, everyone shows up, talks about the fiction RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF THE AUTHOR AND EVERYTHING, and then all the students give that piece of writing back to the author.
  

The author then leaves class and goes straight to The Deadwood. Or perhaps George's. I prefer George's. Or maybe Tuck's. The author would then sit there and read through all of these comments, and weep into her/his drink of choice. Sometimes, this would last for hours.

Brutal? Yes. Necessary? Perhaps. It did NOTHING to help me get over my fear of fiction writing, of course. It only enhanced my loathing for fiction, and I was terrified when it was my turn, because I DO NOT WRITE FICTION.

So I'm reading the pieces for "my" week, and this one guy has turned in 40 pages! The requirement was "a minimum of 5 pages." I, of course, chose to turn in the minimum. But this dude decided to ruin our lives with 40 pages of some slick, fast-moving story about a guy and a woman, and I remember it felt like a romance novel, only I thought it was bad. I couldn't put my finger on why, though, because it was so slick and fast-moving. However, it was somewhat polished, and I could tell that this guy really got off on writing fiction. I made my comments and moved on.

The day came when it was "my" turn in class. Rather, it was my turn to sit through the agony of having my fiction picked apart, not unlike a bunch of birds picking at the carrion that is my carcass, only I'm ALIVE AND SITTING RIGHT HERE, PEOPLE. I CAN FEEL THAT! Luckily, 40-Pager was up before me, and we all talked about it. "Slick." "Fast-moving." "I liked the sex." Etc.

Then came mine. "Slick," was not mentioned.

However. Carlos D'Ambrosio, the man I have never ceased to love from the bottom of my heart, saved fiction for me. After both pieces were discussed (I remember now...each week we had to read two pieces), he took over and asked the class, "What's in here?" pointing to the 40-pager. "What's in this? What does it mean? Where is it going?"

We couldn't answer, really. Turns out, Slick was writing fluff. That's why I can't remember the story--there wasn't one.

And C.D'A. didn't leave it at that. He, on his own, without provocation from the students or anything, picked up MY piece and said, "It's unpolished. It needs mechcanical work. Get over it, people. THERE IS SOMETHING HERE. There is a story here. You can see it for yourselves. You can't deny it." And nobody did.

I almost cried, I loved him so much. I wish I knew where he was right now.*

That said, I have gotten over my fear of fiction, and write the occasional story. Short story. Mostly erotica. Seems that's the kind of fiction I might be good at.

Aaaaaanywaaaay, if you want an example of what the comments on your fiction might be like, go here. I almost peed** my pants when I read this, because THE COMMENTS ARE VERY CLOSE TO THOSE ON MY PAPER.


*Oregon, apparently

**from laughing

Check out those archives

I just realized that, come February, I've been blogging for 3 years.

Jeez. What a loudmouth.

I hate resolutions.

Therefore, I will not make any. Instead of publicly resolving anything, this year will probably be the one where I take action, instead.

Because I am a cynical bastard, I hate all of the "end of the year" crap. Even so, I am a hypocritical bastard this year, because I am looking at the shelves in the kitchen thinking, "Yeah, today is the best day to de-clutter all of this." Thinking that, because it's the first of the year, that it will set a good precedent.

Well, I'm going to de-clutter the shelves, and I'm going to feel good about it, and I'm not resolving anything.


Except maybe to drink a little more. In general.

Quasi-drunken phone conversations on New Year's Eve

"You can't make out with a St. Bernard. Well...you can, but it's just wrong."



HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I was tagged.

Or called out, however you want to look at it. Do people really learn stuff from these? *sigh*

Here goes:

ABCs of Me(me)

A- Available or taken? Available for what?

B- Best Friend? Izzy, I suppose. Sometimes my daughter. Myself. I often feel alone.

C- Cake or Pie? Pie. Pumpkin. That I made.

D- Drink of Choice? Coffee or water.

E- Essential Item? My lappy.

F- Favorite Color? Purple and green.

G- Gummi Bears or Worms? Bears.

H- Hometown? Currently? Denver, Colorado Recently? Denver, Colorado Originally? Amana, Iowa.

I- Indulgence? Time by myself at Lake Steam Baths. It's not expensive--the time away is my indulgence.

J- January or February? February--my birthday, my daughter's birthday (same day), my dad's birthday, Eric's birthday, Debbie's birthday.

K- Kids and names? Kira!

L- Life is incomplete without? My girl. My husband.

M- Marriage Date? October, 1996

N- Number of Siblings? 2--one sister and one brother

O- Oranges or apples? Clementine oranges

P- Phobias/Fears? Insects. Financial insolvency.

Q- Favorite Quote? "Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it." -- Goethe

R- Reason to Smile? My daughter's.

S- Season? Fall.

T- Tag three people! Must I? Fine--SueEllen, Esri, and some random blogger to be reavealed later, upon participation.

U- Unknown Fact About Me? I'm actually quite intelligent.

V- Vegetable you hate? Raw tomatoes.

W- Worst habit? Too much talk, not enough action.

X- X-Rays you've had? Teeth, lungs, ankle bones.

Y- Your favorite food? Roast chicken.

Z- Zodiac? Aquarius/Capricorn/Leo

End-of-Year Post

I am tired.

"The Year That Was" makes me want to barf. I am tired of the Top Ten Most Awesomest Stuff That Happened in 2006 articles in the paper/magazines/blogs. Sick of it!

I'm also sick of the snow. Perhaps I'm a bit touchy from the cabin fever. Strap yourselves in, folks.

Instead of recapping this past year, let's make my annual wish list, shall we? We shall. In the spirit of manifesting the life we want, we shall now proclaim the End-of-Year Post to be:

How My Life Is Now: A List of Affirmations

Those who practice affirmations should know that, to do them correctly, one must say them as if they are already true. Example:

I am a publishing magnate.

Okay. Here we go:

• I live in a lovely home, situated on one acre, in a lovely part of the world.
• I drive a stylish, safe, and useful vehicle.
• I wear lovely clothes.
• I am wealthy.
• I carry this handbag.
• I wear this jewelry.
• I wear this watch.

This is too much fun. I'll add to the list more, later.

The funniest of the Internets.

Viewer discretion advised. And also prepare yourself to laugh. Go pee first, then read it. Hilarious!

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it. I hope Santa brought you what you wanted.

I got:

• two extra days of vacation (no word yet on whether or not we'll have to "make them up"--probably will, but for now, I'll take two extra days when the kids were insanse)
• over 2 feet of snow
  
• my daughter, opening presents and saying "present" and "help me, mama" and "it's a toy!"
• nice dinners with my immediate family
• nice Christmas Eve with husband's family, including cousin J, who ran around like a maniac with my daughter, which is hilarious to watch
• time to myself to take a bath and read Entrepreneur magazine
• coffee every morning
• time playing in the snow with my kiddo--she's never had the opportunity to do so, so that was a hoot--we built a snowman, making the eyes, nose, and arms out of carrots for the neighborhood squirrels. Oh, and the snow "man" had boobs.
  
• time in the evenings watching "family" movies: Ice Age, Madagascar, March of the Penguins

Too, too many benefits to list. Got a couple of lovely gifts from my hubby, as well. But please note how many times the word "time" is listed above.

Bless you all.

SNOW DAY!

SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!


You think kids get excited about a day off? They've got nothing on the excitement that teachers feel.

Whiny and petulant

Do you know what it's like to hate your job, and not be able to quit? I suppose Drew Carey would tell me that I belong to an exclusive support network called "Everybody" and they meet at "The Bar."

But man, I tell you, it's tough. It's tough when, ever since I had a kid, I've wanted to stay home more than anything. I knew, somehow, that I was supposed to be home with her, supposed to be there for her every single minute.

But I can't. I have to go away to work every day.

And now? Now she has autism. And nobody knows why, of course. They say it isn't our fault. They say it's not environmental, not because of a lack of vitamins, not because of trauma. They say it's genetic. But if it's something she was born with, then who the hell else do you blame? She came out of my body. I birthed her. Therefore, I am to blame.

But it isn't that simple, is it? Disabilities aren't that simple. Placing blame isn't often helpful. Even "pinpointing a cause" isn't helpful, because it's in the past, and she is here, now, and I have to help her. But I have to go away to work every day. It's torn me up ever since the day I had to return to work, and it still tears me up. Tears me up worse, now, since her disability sounds so stinking severe.

It's put me in a bit of a tailspin.

It's also affected my holiday spirit, to be very frank. I'm not as excited about the holidays as I normally would be. I'm not depressed, just stressed out. The whole thing makes my stomach hurt if I think too much about it.

Her face is here, right in front of me, taped to my computer. At home, her face is my desktop picture.

I suppose she was born to me for a reason. But I've got to be done with the blaming pretty soon. It's tiresome.

And I've got to be self-employed, soon. Every day feels very, very desperate.

A funny.

Just for you.

Feeling snarky? Then watch this...

...because even though it's a bit glurgy, it's true.

Three trees!

This weekend holiday has gone by far too fast. However, it was full of family and friends, and for that I am grateful. I didn't do much of anything for business, which is rare.

It felt good.

Thursday we had a nice group at our house for the feasting. The next day I went shopping, which I don't normally do. I got a few great deals--800 thread count sheets, a new pre-lit tree, and a bunch of fleece fabric on sale. Friend Ann came over around 10am (yes, all that shopping was very early), and I helped her sew some blankets for her boys.

She then joined me for some afternoon shopping, during which time I purchased gifts for my DH. It was so nice to be out shopping with a friend--this is something I very rarely do. I am most often shopping alone, or with my 3-year-old.

Saturday was spent filling a soap order, shipping it, and then dropping off my sewing machine because it was injured. It didn't die, but it did curl up in a ball and refuse to move. So I took it in to be serviced, and can you imagine? They gave me a loaner sewing machine, so I could get my holiday projects done. I love that place.

I then went antique shopping with friends Esri and Joe, and we had lunch. Went home in the afternoon and was pleasantly surprised to learn that Friend Steve was on his way up to Denver, and did we want to get together with him and some friends? Of course! So I hosted the party, and Ann came over yet again, as did Carla and her brother, Jeff. We sat around and played games and had drinks, and went to bed far too late.

Then today it was time for holiday decorations. I dragged out all the boxes and went on my yearly treasure hunt. You see, each year on the day after Christmas, I go to the sales to buy ornaments and accoutrements for half price. Of course, I forget what I've purchased, so every time I decorate, it's a surprise. I love it. I opened up the new tree I purchased on Friday and of course, one-half of one string of lights didn't work on the pre-lit tree. I had to augment the lights--no big deal, as long as they all continue to work.

I Freecycled my old tree. It was claimed within 9 minutes and gone within one hour. I love Freecycle, and encourage everyone to try it. You'll be hooked.

So I decorated and decorated, and now our house is very festive. We have a few more lighted goodies out front, and lots of lights inside. I also cleaned the kitchen and did the dishes, did a load of laundry, put away 3 baskets of laundry, and cleaned the catbox.

Hmm. A relaxing vacation? Somewhat.

...Can't....Move.....

.......ate........too.............much.........

Getting ready

We weren't going to have a huge Thanksgiving at our house. It was just going to be us and Friend Jerry.

Well, Jerry can't come, and neither can his wife Maxine, because they both have to work. So Izzy invited Friend Pete, who can come.

Then CB decided to make up a story about how they made a scheduling mistake at work, and scheduled him when he's not supposed to be scheduled, and therefore can't have the Thanksgiving at his house that he was going to have for his RF and his F, which he had decided upon AFTER being invited to our party, and is now bringing his kids to our party. Along with a family friend, who is not C like CB is.

So! Instead of 4 people, we are having 8 adults and 3 kids.

Gotta get more cleanin' done.





CB = Crazy Brother

RF= Random Friend

F= Family

C=Crazy

Sunday, blessed Sunday

So THIS is what Sunday is supposed to be like. Shopping at Target at a leisurely pace, eating when I feel like it, instead of on a schedule, really enjoying my coffee, reading the paper, doing research, buying books on the internet....

Yeah. All that's missing is a nap. Maybe next weekend.

you've really got to read it.

Anybody who wants to help publicize my new blog is welcome to do so:

Caught In Class

I find it funny. However, people who think all schoolchildren should be strung up by their toes might not want to read it. Or maybe it will change your mind. I don't know. Go there and find out.

Gifts for Yule

I'm participating in my first-ever craft fair, today and tomorrow. Come on down if you are in the neighborhood.

What it's like.

Since Friday, I have made:

• 168 bars of soap
• 40 tubes of solid lotion, filled, labeled, and shrink-wrapped
• 50 lip balms, filled
• 50 lip balms, labeled and shrink wrapped (this is a low estimate)
• 41 sugar scrubs, made, filled, labeled, and wrapped

*collapses*

Ghetto Halloween Rules.

1. Have decorations up. Carve a pumpkin. Leave your light on. Then, leave the house and don't leave out any candy.

2. Send your children out for trick-or-treating with no coat.

3. Send your children out alone. In a city.

4. Send your children trick-or-treating with no costume. None. What is that?

Okay, I'm done.

New blog! Please tell your friends!

I have created a new blog! It will rival all the others for hilarious content! To wit:

Caught in Class


Enjoy. But tell your blog friends first.

NaBloWriMo is over!

Today is the last day of October, and thus ends NaBloWriMo. Thanks to those who participated. I learned a lot, and read a lot, and mostly, I blogged a lot. And that's what it was all about. *sniff*

For those who didn't participate, consider it for next year! Perhaps we'll have a ton of folks doing it. I'll keep the blog, and post there every once in a while, to keep it active.

'Twas fun! Now it's over. *sighs* At least I made it through. I think I only missed two days, and blogged extra to make up for it.

I can't believe I did another project. It just goes to show you: if you want something done, ask a busy person to do it.


But don't ask me.

Tuesday, Bloody Tuesday

*teacher walks in with a bloody finger*

Teacher 1: damn it! I cut my finger on a box.

Other teacher,who borrows first teacher's room: Eew! You're all bloody. You're Bloody McGee.

Teacher 1: It fits for Halloween, anyway.

Student writing a scary story: Miss! I need your finger to put blood on my paper!

Teacher 1: No!

Other teacher: Stop that!

Student: Well then, can I have the stapler?

Both teachers: NO!!

Scary

I sat down to blog yesterday, and it didn't happen. Why? I don't even remember. That's how busy I've been.

Oh, and you want scary? Today at school is the Halloween Social. 360 11 to 14-year-old kids, slithering around with each other on the dance floor.

*shudder*


My duty is in the other gym, face painting. Much more palatable.

Call for Change

MoveOn.org is awesome. Grassroots politics is my kind of thing. I love that we can use the internet to reach so many freakin' people, and get the word out about important issues as quickly as one can blog.

Toward that end, I'm doing my part to blog for the Call for Change. Click the link and read more:

My work here is done.

GOD DAMN IT

I missed the best day of the year. I've done this before. You would think, as a sleep-loving person, I would have remembered it. And I did! Last week, I remember saying, "Oh! Next Sunday will be so sweet! We get to sleep an extra hour!"


Um...no. I am up.


As compensation, my husband said he would put our daughter to bed tonight, so that I can get the extra sleep I missed. Wanna take bets on whether or not I get it?

Parent-teacher conferences

You'd think that after those student conversations, and that headline right up there, that this post would be witty, thrilling, and altogether entertaining.

Well, you would be wrong if you thought those things, because parent-teacher conferences are rarely fun. I enjoy meeting parents and talking to them. I rarely have a parent who is "angry" or "upset" or "criminally insane." But we sometimes do. One learns to live with it.

So last night I stayed after school, ate some pizza provided by the principal, took off and went to my own parent conference at the elementary school, came back, and stayed until 8pm. This morning, we were there from 8am-12pm, and then we had a 1/2 day off. So here I am, dull and listless. Barely blogging.

One learns to live with it.

Spinning

Beginning of class:


***student spins around and around***

Student: I'm spinning.

Me: (blank stare)

Student: *stops* I'm dizzy.

First interaction this morning

Me: Good morning!

Girl : Miss, what have you had?

Me: **hold up Starbucks cup**

Girl: Miss, you need that to go away from you.

More conversations from the trenches

Me: Okay, we're writing our definition for "handbag." "A handbag is a fashion accessory that is a container that holds stuff. It is..." (pauses for students to continue the definition)

Student: ...flammable.




***************************

Regarding a student who was using some lotion:

Student: Why does he use lotion?

Me: He has dry skin, like anybody else who uses lotion.

Same Student: Touch my skin; it feels so silky smooth.

Me: No.

More adolescent conversation

Student 1: Ms. B calls Patty "Peggy" all the time.

Patty: Yeah! She says, "Hey, Peggy, Peggy, Peggy!"

Me: And what do you say?

Patty: I don't answer her.

Me: Good call.

Student 1: She should call you Krabby Patty.

Patty: Shut up!

My conversation

Period 5, my classroom:

Student 1: *stares at the smudges on my t-shirt*

Me: I know, I know. I'm a mess today.

Student 1: Why?

Me: Because school is a dirty place.

Normally Potty-Mouthed Student 2: You're telling me!

Sooooo cooooold

It was so cold this morning! I wore my heavy coat for the entire market. The sun was out, but my tent is in the shade of two large trees, so to get any warmth, I had to stand in the thoroughfare. When I started packing up, I could take my coat off. And it took my fingers about another hour before they were functioning normally.

Despite the cold, I had an average day at the market. It wasn't busy at all, but people were buying from me. I love it! I think the other soaper was gone today, so that might have helped.

I'm now preparing for the craft fair in earnest. I'll be making soap most every day this week. Stay tuned.

Day off

I had to earn my day off this week. We didn't get home from our "stuff" until around 7pm. I just ran home from work, picked everybody up, and took off, so I wasn't really "home," just chauffeuring people.

We saw that it was snowing last night, and also checked the weather forecast--ugly and crappy. My words, of course. So we called the farmer's market manager and said we weren't coming. I have to go tomorrow because of the street events, but it isn't supposed to snow, at least. It'll be super-cold, though. For a market.

Next week is the last market! Three weeks until my craft fair!

Shanghai Travelogue

My friend Esri is traveling in Shanghai with her husband (on business). You can read about her trip here.

Today, let's think.

Today, let's think about our health. Let's think about what we can do to give ourselves a little more balance. Take some down time. Breathe in and out. Don't make lists. Don't plan meetings. Don't prepare for anything. Just sit and enjoy.

What's that like?

Are you able to do it? Are you able to just sit and enjoy something? Anything? I find myself, more and more unable to do so. It is unhealthy and ultimately damaging, so I'm going to do something about it. I'm going to enjoy something hysterical. Something wild.


Something like this. Because that's just hilarious.

sleep, finally.

I got 9 hours of sleep last night. Today, then, was amazing simply because I felt better. And man! I never knew exactly how productive I am when I get some sleep. It was amazing!

gotta run. the pumpkin bread is coming out of the oven soon.

Celebrity "Exhaustion"

Okay. I am quite tired. Last night, the cutie didn't fall asleep for a long time. Then, at about 2am, she woke up, crying. Why? She kept grabbing her legs/knees and saying 'owie.' Leg cramp?

Or maybe she had a nightmare, we decided. After talking to our school psychologist, he mentioned that night terrors start when kids begin having "stranger danger" or a fear of new people. She did start going to school just a couple of weeks ago, so maybe she's processing all that stress.

In any case, I'm tired as hell. Made the soap last night, but can't tonight because my oil order isn't in. I am literally out of the necessary materials. So, I am taking the night off from soap making. I did cut the soap from last night, and it smells great, and whoopity doo I don't give a shit anymore would someone just please let me sleep?

Alright, then.

p.s. why "celebrity exhaustion?" Because I don't believe them. I don't think they know what exhaustion is.

Snow!

First snow of "this" fall/winter! It's sticky and thick and wonderful! No more allergies!

Of course, the children were wacko at school. Why does that happen? Why does a change in the weather make them crazy? Probably the same reason the full moon does. Also, they are hormonal and wacky on any given day, and many of them are also just plain terrible.

Yeah, I said it.

So I came home from a VERY productive day at work (how did that happen?), and became very productive at home. DH had been doing his usual Tuesday basement remodeling with Friend J., so I made dinner: fresh-baked scones (yeah, I can bake), scrambled eggs with cheese, and sausages. And coffee.

After the past few days, I needed some early-evening coffee. DD has been staying up very late at night. Of course, today she won't fall asleep right away because she didn't go outside--bad weather. However, when grandma comes over on Tuesdays, she's often worn out because grandma plays with her a lot.

We'll see.

I have to make a half-batch of soap tonight because I'm almost out of palm oil, and don't have enough for my standard batch. I do have enough to make a half-batch I think, which will be good because I have to make felted soaps for my holiday craft fair.

One more day almost down.

*KOOOOOFFF!*

Add to that...

...my daughter's last private speech therapy session for the year on Friday, making soap every night (did I say that?), and lots and lots of coughing.

Lots of coughing.

Our money is running a little short this month. It's driving me crazy. I have to pay business bills (small ones), and our yearly wastewater bill. I also have to arrange my daughter's papers so she can be evaluated at a hospital to "rule out" autism spectrum. (read: maybe)

I still feel like I'm going a mile a minute.

How fast...?

How fast does your week fly by? I've already got my whole week ahead planned out. In my mind, my week is already over, and it hasn't even started:

• write IEPs on Monday, and send them "Downtown"
• prepare for Wednesday's meeting on Tuesday
• Wednesday meeting after school
• Thursday meeting at 10am to fix someone's wagon
• Friday--two IEP meetings and bring food for breakfast club

There. See? It's all done already.

So...can I sleep in tomorrow, because it's Saturday?

Bronchial Death Walking

I caught the crud. I guess it was about 4 days ago. It started with a bit of a sore throat, and just a little mucus. Barely anything, since I have asthma anyway. Then, just like that, it hit me like a frieght train--lungs full of mucus that STUCK. Coughing incessantly wouldn't budge this stuff. I woke up a couple of days ago, and coughed, and it felt like my sternum was being ripped out of my chest by a giant with sadistic tendencies--he never really ripped it out, he just tortured me by pulling at it each time I coughed.

Bastard.

So I got some meds, and I've been taking them for three days. They help, but I'm still fighting this. Every morning is really rough. And, of course, I can't afford to be ill. I'm just going to keep moving, and hang on until I have a day when I can sleep.

Which will be......

Why?

Why do I feel so poor? Why am I obsessed with money? I've got everything under control, but it feels like I'm out of control with obsession. I have to know where every penny goes. I have to know exactly how much money is in our account, every day.

It's so frustrating, because we do have enough money. We do.

Why?

Blew it already.

Well, I made it 9 days before blowing it altogether.

Oh, well.

I'm not going to stop blogging this month. I wanted to start NaBloWriMo to help myself write every day. And I do think about blogging every day, even if I don't do it.

But I didn't. I missed two days.

I have no excuse! I am lame!

Except that I've been very ill with horrible bronchial crud, and last night was our anniversary and we went out to dinner.

But still.

Stressing out

Why do I stress out over other people's stuff?

We are scrambling during October, because we have to have all of our special ed paperwork done by November 1, even if the paperwork isn't due until Nov. 30th. Everyone around the district is doing this, so our situation is not unique.

Still, I get overwhelming stress when I'm going through the list that Downtown sent us, and finding mistakes. I found no less than three items that were current (not overdue as they had on their list), and they hadn't processed paperwork that we had sent down over a week ago.

Furthermore, I get upset when I come across paperwork that is overdue that was on Slacker's caseload. Slacker is the dude who didn't do his paperwork last year, and now since we are all scrambling, I have to do it. Or the new folks at the school have to do it. Or people at other schools who are finding his 8th graders from last year.

I sent him an email, telling him what his slacking had done to me. I didn't ask for anything--I simply told him the effect of his actions. Of course, he hasn't emailed me back, and I don't expect him to. Ass.

So my question is this: I only have a few meetings this month (5 total, I think). It's more than usual, but I can handle it. Why do I get all stressed out over other people's stuff?

Gotta see the sky

My daughter has become proficient in bedtime stalling techniques.

"Snuggle?"

"Bath!"

"Read this?"

The most effective one of all, though, is, "Sky?"

We go out front, sit on the steps, and look at the sky, and we talk. We talk about our day, and what she's going to do tomorrow. We talk about the moon, and how bright it is, or if it's hiding, we wonder where it might be. We talk about the color of the sky, and the weather.

She's got me pegged.

Caterpillars

I grew up in a humd climate. Out in the boonies, essentially. I wasn't a farmer, but it was a farming community. And heavily wooded.

I am so grateful for having that opportunity as a child. What a luxury, to have the freedom as a child to run where I wanted, explore what I wanted, and not have to be within sight of my parents. We lived in fear of everyone's parents--it was a small town. Any breaches of conduct would make their way to my parents' ears before I made it home.

The fall leaves in my hometown are spectactular.

I'm not fond of insects, but I do have fond memories of finding caterpillars. Crawling around in bushes, climbing fences, running through the fields, were all prime opportunities to find one. They were the big, fat, orange and black ones. Does that mean they turned into monarchs? I have no recollection.

Can you feel those tiny little feet, rippling, rippling over your finger? Watching the furry thing contract with a big back hump, and straighten out? They weren't as soft as they looked.

How long could I sit there with one of those? On a cool fall day, with the trees' leaves changing, a breeze blowing by? It must have been hours at a time.

Colors

This morning, in my very small class of 8 students, 4 were wearing red t-shirts. I took note of this, because the students wearing them were not the stars of the class--in fact, had histories of getting in trouble.

So I made note of who they were, on a slip of paper, and put it in my pocket without telling them. I did, however, ask, "What's up with the red?" so they knew I had noticed.

You see, they think teachers are stupid. At least, they act like it.

So a few minutes into first period, our "security" guard comes to my door, and tells me that they have a tip that some girls are going to fight, so I should keep my ears open for that. Also, she told me that a lot of kids were wearing red, and to be aware of that. Okay. Thanks. I'll be aware.

First period ends, and I walk into the hall. I always have a recess whistle on my school keys, and apparently for good reason. I found myself in a sea of red, which was clumping right by my door. I was practically included in this bizarre huddle of adolescent humanity. It smelled faintly like pot and incense and unwashed bodies. I heard one of them say, "Someone snitched on us!"

I blew my whistle. "Get to class, people! Let's go!" I said in my usual, hustle-it-along manner. Right then, another clump, this time of girls, congregated right in front of me. "Get in that classroom!" I barked, and they jumped and skittered away.

It became very apparent that the hallway I was in was to be their staging area. I pulled out my ace in the hole:

"I will personally give every one of you lunch detention if you don't get in a classroom. NOW!"

Empty hallway. Bell rings.

All kids wearing red were systematically called to the auditorium.

When third period ended, I had some time off. I wandered down to the auditorium to see what was going on. It was a sea of red and black--apparently, two factions had decided to show themselves that day. At the back of the auditorium were no fewer than 7 police officers and school security personnel. I estimated that there were 80-100 students sitting there.

It was one helluva day, but we as a faculty did it: there were no fights at our school today.

Memo to Manager Dude

To: Manager Dude
From: Me
Re: Your absolutely bizarre requests

Dude, seriously, you have GOT to be kidding.

Last year, at our school, we had a teacher who did not do his work. He did not finish all of his special education paperwork before he left. As you know, being a sped professional yourself, this causes frustration and anger for those left behind, as that paperwork, by law, must be finished on time. Of course, this now falls to us.

And, according to the edict handed down from on high a week ago, we must all now have ALL paperwork that is either overdue, or due in October and November FINISHED by November 1. We have to get all our paperwork done a month early. This is causing more anger and frustration, as we are all now stretched to the limit, barely functioning as teachers, unable to plan for lessons because we are having about a quadruple amount of meetings than we are used to. This is happening all over the district.

So you email me, and say that, because some dude at my school didn't do his paperwork, I have to go to the high school where the student is, and do it?

Dude, are you high?


Let me know,

groovygrrl