Theme Week #4

1. Write about it as close to black and white, just the facts as you possibly can.

I wandered down the hallway of my children's elementary school for Open House night.  Parents, kids, aunts, grandparents, cousins - filled the hall, all going in every direction.  My daughter tugged my hand and plowed forward.  Thank goodness she knew where she was going, because I had no idea.  As we headed toward her classroom, I looked around and noticed the same cinderblock walls that had been there for... well ,a long time since I could remember them from when I went to this same school.  Miranda's hand pulled loose from my own as she jogged ahead and into a doorway.  She was so excited about Open House, about showing me all of the neat things that she was doing in third grade.  With a wave to her teacher, I headed toward my little girl.  She was standing proudly by one of the small desks.  She was very excited about having a real desk of her own, not just a table with a cubby like last year.  I got to see a couple of projects that were laid out for parents to see examples of what their kids were doing all day, and a quick tour of the room to see the different areas for math, reading, and the older computer in the back. 

"It's from the olden times, Mrs. B. says it's ancient!" my daughter whispers.

I sighed because I recognized the admittedly older computer.  It looked much like the brand new ones we got in eighth grade.  After the tour, I spent a few minutes talking with her teacher and signing up for conferences.  My daughter convinced me that we had to say hi to her teacher from last year on the way out, however I threw in the condition that if she was busy with other parents we would have to pass.  As it turned out she was busy, and regardless of my daughters whining, we headed out the door and back to our house.

2. Then write about it so that the basic facts are there, unchanged, but you throw in a little fancy stuff to improve the story--you make the girl a blonde instead of a brunette, you add a few horsepower to the engine, you buy a few more dollars worth of clothes than you actually could afford--all this done, not to lie, but to make the truth sharper and, if you will, even truer.

I wandered down the crowded hallway of my daughter's elementary school for Open House night.  Parents, kids, aunts, grandparents, cousins, dogs, cats, hamsters, etc - filled the hall, all going in different directions.  A sea of people.  My daughter, barely restrained my my grasping hand, pulled me forward with single-minded purpose.  Thank goodness she knew where she was going, because in this craziness I could barely tell which way was up, forget trying to find her classroom.  As we headed toward her class, I looked around and noticed the same cinderblock walls that had been there forever... well not forever, but a long time since I could remember them from when I went to this same school.  Dotting the walls were samples of student writing and artwork.  I could see tell that we were nearing the third grade rooms as the printing got neater and the artwork contained less fingerpaint.  Miranda's small hand slipped loose from my own as she sprinted ahead and through a a nearby doorway.  She was so excited about that night, chattering on for hours about all of the neat things that she was doing in third grade.  With a wave to her teacher, I headed toward my little girl.  She was standing proudly by one of the small desks, like Vanna White next to the new puzzle, the name tag along the top bore her neatly printed first and last name.  She was very excited about having a real desk of her own, not just a group table with plastic bins for her crayons like last year.  She showed me her paper skeleton, they were studying bones last week, and a couple of other projects that were laid out for parents to gush over.  We also went on a quick tour of her room.  She showed me the reading area, the small desk with math games, and the computer area.

"It's from the olden times, Mrs. B. says it's ancient!" my daughter whispered, pointing at the sad computer sitting in the back of the room. 

I sighed because I recognized the admittedly, older computer.  I remember how excited I was when my eighth grade class got a brand new computer, one that looked quite the same.  Truth be told, it probably was the same ones.  I smiled at my daughter and reminded her that "ancient" wasn't a nice way to describe how old something, or someone, was.  After the whirlwind tour, I spent a few minutes chatting with her teacher about how Miranda was doing.  Nodding when Mrs. B. exclaimed at how nice and polite my daughter was in class.  Who was this child she was talking about?  She reminded me to sign up for conferences before I left, and turned to the next set of parents.  I could have sworn she gave the same exact script about their child.  As we once again braved the crowded hallway, my daughter convinced me that we had to say hi to her teacher from last year on the way out, however I threw in the condition that if she was busy with other parents we would have to pass.  As it turned out she was busy, much to my relief, and I wrangled my daughter toward the exit.  Whining just a bit, she joined me and we headed out the door and back to our house.


3. Finally, start with the same material but let it off its leash. It originates in fact, but winds up as fiction. Now the details aren't changed to tell the truth in a new way--they're just pure fiction.


My daughter and I entered her school and hit a wall of people.  It was Open House night.  There must have been three or four adults for every child attending the school packed into the little hallway.  Parents, kids, aunts, grandparents, cousins - filling the hall, milling about, heading off in small clumps in every direction.  I closed my eyes and sighed quietly, this is not what I wanted to be doing tonight.  Hubby was going to owe me big time for this one.  Interrupting my quiet moment, my daughter yanked on my hand to get my attention, and began plowing forward.  I mumbled apologies as I was dragged through and around other bewildered parents and family.  Thank goodness I didn't wear sandals, my toes were safely protected from being stomped on inside of my sneakers.  Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Miranda darted through the crowd.  I nearly lost my grip on her little hand, but managed to hang on as she towed me (hopefully) toward her classroom.  As we headed down the hall, the crowd thinned a bit, and I could see the old cinderblock walls that had been there for... well a long time, since I can remember them from when I went to this same school.  They were a bland tan color now, dotted with art and writing from the students, not like the awful green that I still shudder to remember.  I completely lost my grip on her hand as she pulled loose and ran into a classroom, hers I hope.  She was so excited about tonight, about showing me all of the neat things that she was doing in third grade.  I took a deep breath and entered the room.   Her teacher was circled by eager parents and children near the far side of the room, so I figured that I would wait to try to talk with her.  I waved in her direction and headed toward Miranda, who was dancing in anticipation.  She was standing by one of the small desks, proudly gesturing to the neatly printed name tag along the top.  I smiled as I wondered how long she would be sitting in the middle of five other desks, being a chatty person by nature,  was sure that she would be on the end within the month.  She was super excited about having a real desk this year, not just a round kiddy table with a plastic bin like last year.  Samples of her work were sitting on top of the desk.  Apparently they was supposed to reassure me that she was learning something besides social skills in class.  The paper skeleton that was on top was interesting, until Miranda told me that they were going to make clothes for it next week.  How do paper dolls fit in to the "No Child Left Behind" policy?   The teacher still appeared to be rather bogged down with parents, so we went on a quick tour of the classroom to see the different areas for math and reading.  There was a sadly older-looking computer in the back. 

"It's from the olden times, Mrs. B. says it's ancient!" my daughter whispered, as she pointed to it.  Excellent.

I sighed because I recognized the admittedly outdated computer.  It looked much like the brand new ones we got in eighth grade.  I wondered briefly where all of the tax dollars were going for technology since they apparently weren't going into this classroom.  After the tour, I waited my turn to spend a few minutes talking with her teacher.  The scripted exclaimations of "She's doing great" and "It's so much fun to have her my class this year" didn't do a lot for me, I had heard her saying the same things to the last mom.  She happily gestured to the board at the front of the room and reminded me to sign up for conferences.  I was tempted to "forget," but Miranda had heard her teacher and dutifully reminded me before I could slip out of the door.  I don't understand conferences.  I live in a small town and see my kids teachers almost daily at the post office, store, or when I pay my water bill.  I know if there is any problems that I get a phone call, so I just don't understand the concept of a whole meeting of scripted conversations.  I signed up for the conference, maybe something interesting would come up in the mean time and I would have something to actually talk about.  Leaving the room, my daughter squeaked about visiting her teacher from last year.  I didn't like her teacher last year, and I think the feeling was rather mutual, so I was not excited about visiting for fun.  I reluctantly agreed, however I threw in the condition that if she was busy with other parents we would have to pass.  Luck smiled upon me, as we looked in the room and the teacher was mobbed by her own circle of parents.  In addition, one child was lying on the floor having a temper tantrum, rather loudly.  I refrained from smiling, chastizing myself that it wasn't nice, and teachers work really hard, and blah, blah, blah, whatever, serves her right.  At this point I really just wanted to go home, my crazy, loud, children-filled house was nothing compared to this zoo.  This time I was the one that plowed ahead, tugging my daughter along, searching for the magical Exit sign that would release us from this madness.  Finally, we reached the doors.  I sent a sympathetic smile to a couple of parents bracing themselves to enter, and pushed on the doors to escape into the night.  I would call tomorrow to cancel the conference.

Theme Week #3

I sat down at the island in the kitchen for a break.  Dinner was bubbling merrily on the stove, newly washed dishes dripped in the drainer, and the oven was heating for the dinner rolls - this was my break before the rush and confusion of getting dinner on the table and wrestling the kids to eat it. 

Sitting at my laptop, perusing facebook for oh-so-important updates in my friends lives, I get an instant message,  "Hello?  Are you there?"  It's my mom, typing from Africa.  I wonder what they think of facebook in Africa?

As soon as I begin typing my reply, the phone rings.

"Hello?.....Hello, is someone there?"  The phone has been wierd lately, or the telemarketers are  hesitant to talk to me since I went off on one last week. 

I hear a crakling noise just as I begin to reach for the disconnect button, so I wait to see if someone answers.

"Hi there [static], can you hear me?"  It took me a minute to figure out the voice disguised under the static and echos.  How was Mom calling me from Africa?

"Mom!  How are you doing?  Gosh, how are you calling me?  Did you leave Tepa early or did someone finally get cell reception where you are at?"  Machine gunning questions at her, I know, but I hadn't talked to her in  over a week or so except for facebook.  Usually we talk on the phone every coupld of days.

"[static] on the computer, something called scype.... lag time between when I talk and you answer... hear me ok?"  This is the first time I have heard her voice since she went over to Ghana, and I was a bit overwhelmed for some reason.  Here I am sitting her old house, the one that we bought from her because I was in love with it, sitting right underneath the hanging pot rack that she found at an estate auction, missing her terribly all of a sudden.

"Yes I can hear you ok, can you hear me?"

Silence

"I miss you a lot.  I really liked your blog about market day.."

"Yes I can hear you.  How are the babies?

I was so glad to hear her voice, but it was becoming apparent that this conversation was going to be a lot of work on both of our ends.  Neither one of us could figure out whose turn it was to talk with the delay between here and Africa.

I took the initiative to catch her up to date in one big blurb so then she could tell me all of her stuff.  "The kids are great, we all love reading what you are doing.  Branden got 4th in cross country, Derek has a job interview next week, and I get to go to Miranda and Colby's open house tonight.  Hubby and I are good too, but we both have a cold.  So we have to take turns passing the box of tissues back and forth all night, it's driving both of us crazy."

I could almost picture the words traveling over the ocean to reach her.  I waited, knowing that she was probably just now hearing what I had said.  Glancing at my laptop screen, I see that she is typing to me on facebook again.  I watch the little icon blink while holding the phone to my ear just in case.

"Sorry, it disconnected.  I'm not real sure how to fix it since this computer is a Mac"

I hang up the phone with a little ache in my heart.  I should have let her talk instead of me telling her all that stuff.  Slowly typing out my response about how glad I was to hear from her and how cool it was that she was able to call through the computer, I wished that she was home.  I wished that I could pick up the phone and call her back just to hear her voice.

"tell branden and derek that im proud of them.  make sure you take a picture at open house so i can see it and dont let hubby hog all the tissues, make him use toilet paper instead, lol.  i have to go, its late here and we have an early morning.  i will try to be on here tomorrow about the same time.  kisses to all of you"  and then she signed off.

I got up and put the phone on the charger.  I glance at dinner again, figuring it was about time to set the table.  Instead of heading to the plate rack, I drag a chair over to the sink so that I can climb on it to reach the small cabinet there.  I pull out the "holiday plates" the ones that we use for Thanksgiving and other fancy-dinner holidays, and start rinsing them off and carefully drying them.

"Why do you have Nana's dishes out?  We aren't using them tonight are we?"  My oldest son looks at me curiously, apparently wondering if it's some holiday he forgot about.

"Yes we are.  I just thought that maybe using these plates tonight would be kinda like having Nana with us for dinner."

Theme Week #2

It was an amazing sunny day and the room blazed with light from the big windows in the apartment my mom and I shared.  We were sitting on the floor in the living room, just my mom and I.  Mom had just gotten a pair of speakers for her stereo and was putting  her name on the back of them in magic marker.  She was so excited about those speakers for some reason.  Later that night we had a little dance party, me and my mom.  I put on my favorite little dress, the yellow one with the bright sunflowers and the little shrug that went with it - it was the one that I had bought for my first grade school pictures that year.  We danced around to "My Sharona", spinning and twirling, the new speakers filling the room with music.

Next thing you know, Mom got a new stereo.  It was so cool and shiny, with lots of buttons and two tape players!  We set it up between the two big brown speakers Mom had from before.  It sat in our new living room after the big move from Oklahoma to Maine.  It was nice to see something the same when everything seemed so different.  We didn't have a dance party that night, the baby was sleeping, but Mom and Larry and I listened to "I Love Rock and Roll" and "Eye of the Tiger" until my bedtime at 8 o'clock.

That stereo moved to the new house too.  A big old farmhouse in a little town.  I would use it in the "other" room (I don't know why we had a formal living room, it didn't make any sense) to play the tape for my cheering routines.  The music had shifted from AbbA to Madonna, and "Into the Groove" echoed through the house until it was time for my brothers and new baby sister to go to bed.  Then I would sit on the floor, leaning against the speakers so I could listen with my headphones until it was dark.

After the house burned very few things survived, unless they were in the "other" room.  Miraculously, the stereo didn't get seriously water damaged and it went to the new apartment that Mom moved into.  I would take the baby over on nights that my brothers and sister were at their dad's house.  Mom and I would listen to TLC's "Waterfalls" through the CD player plugged into the old stereo while having a glass of wine and cooing over Mom's first grandson as he fell asleep to the music.

The old stereo didn't survive Mom's move to Tenessee.  When we went down to visit her and Tom, they had a spiffy new pile of electrical components to stream music through the living room and out onto the deck by the pool.  This time, Mom and I were sitting outside in the jacuzzi listening to the music spilling from my teenage sons room as he talked on the phone with his girlfriend.  The name of the song must have been somewhere buried under the heavy bass beats and rapper chorus.  As darkness fell, and the swell of the cicadias' song drowned out anything but the thoughts inside my head, I rose and headed inside to tell the kids to turn off the music and head to bed.

Journal #7- tuesday

Not a super day for me.  Felt terrible this morning again so took a quick (or not so quick depending on how you look at it) trip to the doctor's office to see if I will survive.  He assured me that I would and sent me on my way with a prescription.  I hope that it acutally works to make me feel better.  Class was good, and I treated myself to a stroll through the dollar store.  I love that place, I know it's foolish, but I just do.  You can find the craziest things, that you just have to have of course, there.  Today I acutally went in with a plan.  I generally buy the kids' body wash, shampoo, and little scrubby poofs there, since they go through 5 or 6 times the amount that hubby and I do.  They must coat their entire bodies with it to use that much, I dunno, but as long as they are cleaning themselves I really can't complain.  I must have gotten a bunch of other things, since I spent $30 there but I can't think of anything else except my iced tea that I drank on the way home.  Hmm, well I am sure that whatever it was, I really needed to get, lol. 

Buoyed by my small shopping spree, I decided to make a real live dinner, in the oven even!  I even managed to make something for dessert!  My hubby will probably have a heart attack when he gets home, but he'd better not or he can eat mac and cheese for the rest of the year for all I care :)  After dinner homework went well, and I even managed to get my son to agree to take a shower instead of having to argue with him about it.  I can't wait until the teenage "I don't need a shower" turns into "I better shower a couple times a day so I don't smell" like it did with my older son.

My mom was able to get online and blog a little about her adventures so far in Africa.  She went over as part of an organization that gets together 10 or so nurses from across the country and they go over, bringing medical supplies, to help teach at a nursing school in Ghana, Africa.  I don't even know how she finds things like that to do, but she did, and as I type she is in Ghana for the next week and a half.  To journal a bit about her adventures and keep in touch with us in the states, she used the notion of blogging (stolen from me and my course on blogger).  So she has entered the computerized world of blogging online, although I have to admit it's really just kind of funny to me that she is.  Tonight's blog was about some of the food that she ate there and learning some of the local language.  I'm not sure if she will need Twi, even in Tennessee, but I think it's really kinda neat for her to be able to go and see first hand what a totally different culture is like. 

Gosh, looking back at what I have written so far it's seems that I didn't have quite so bad a day after all.  I wonder what tomorrow will have in store for me?

Journal #6 - friday

I love fridays, but today was kinda sad.  My mom is, as we speak, in a plane heading to (of all places, I know) Ghana, Africa.  There is some long convoluted story and reasoning that she is going to Ghana, but to sum it up, she is taking part in a really great program that gathers medical professionals to go and take medical supplies (stethoscopes, and gowns and stuff) and also help to teach at a nursing/medical school at a hospital in Ghana.  I think that she was getting really nervous about going, because when I talked to her earlier today she was kinda mushy and a little sad.  She was really stressed about having to teach such a large number of students at one time, and trying to pack everythign that she would need in a suitcase that was a maximum of 62 linear inches (I still don't know quite what this means, but I was supportive regardless).  So she was kinda sad, I am having this seriously difficult time making a rather big decision, so we griped and complained and verbally patted each other on the back until we both felt a little better.  I was thinking about it a little while after I got off of the phone with her, about how cool it was that she and I were able to talk to each other and maybe help to make each other feel a little better, even if we could't do a whole lot to help.  I know that for me just talking it out, arguing it with myself out loud, makes it easier if I am trying to make a decision.  When I do that I don't have to worry about hurting anyone else's feelings, or what someone else might think, or if I am just agreeing with the other person to be polite, or letting someone else influence my decisions.  But when I am talking it out with my mom, I don't have to worry about that then either.  I realized today, that is a rare thing.  I hadn't really thought about it before, but I have almost always been able to do that, and I really hope and wish that everyone has an opportunity to have someone like that in their lives.  Gosh, what terribly deep thoughts I am thinking tonight - profound even (lol).  Well back to the mundane.  I think that tomorrow I will spend some time bribing my children to get some work done.  Maybe they will want to think deep thoughts with me, I might pay extra for that. :D

Journal #5 - Thursday

There are days that I sit in the evening, with my allowance of decaf for the night, and reflect on my day - tonight was one of those evenings. Today was a VERY busy day. I took turns trading off and on my student hat, mom hat, and housekeeper hat, but I also had a situation to deal with that had made me quite unhappy (well, angry actually). I don't like to fight with people, I don't like confrontations, I would rather work things out. On the other hand, I don't back down from a disagreement, I will not agree just to keep the peace.

The situation was one where I was unhappy about something, and felt that I had a right to have the situation taken care of by the party responsible. I did not expect said party to agree with me, and had decided that this was a time that I needed to stand up for myself. So I got the kids showered, fed, dressed and off to school, then grabbed my things and headed to class myself. Due to the rather pointed emails that I had made last night regarding my difficulties, I got a call on my cell phone as I was headed to class. As I explained the situation, and what steps needed to be taken to rectify it, I was not encouraged. The response I got was one that I was expecting, "Sorry, I don't think that we can do that." Hmm... Well, since I was now under the power of my second cup of coffee, I calmly (mostly) explained my side of the situation and the reasoning behind the request I was now making to fix it. Silence on the other end of the call told me that I was not getting very far with the calm and rational :( Taking a breath, I explained with a bit more oomph that this situation was UNACCEPTABLE (that was always my mothers keyword, if it was unacceptable you better watch out) through no fault of my own, and I certainly wasn't going to be penalized for it. Perhaps the woman on the other end of the phone heard the capital letters in my voice, or maybe she has a mother much like my own, but she suggested that she could speak with someone else in her office about it and would call me back. I am not unreasonable, and since I know that this woman was just doing her job, and that it really wasn't her fault to begin with, I was more than willing to see this as a step in the right direction.

To make a long story short, or not so short I guess, she did call me back a few minutes later and told me that they would indeed be able to work this situation out for me. To my credit I did thank her for her help, since I really did appreciate that she was willing to hear me out and see what she could do, and then did my little happy dance as I bee-bopped toward class. As I said, it was a busy day with lots of things going on, but the one thing that I will take from this day, was that regardless of whether or not I was feeling overwhelmed, frantic, picked on, or unappreciated, I stood up for myself. Not only that I was able to stand up for myself to work out a difficult situation, but that I was able to carry myself and act in a way that I can point out to my kids and show as an example of how you can be assertive and a strong person without being mean or condecending to others. Gosh, I might even have to tell my mom so she can pat herself on the back for doing such a great job as my example. :)

Journal #5 - Wednesday: Blog Interrupted

So today is Wednesday and my last journal entry was Sunday.  No, we have not had a cosmic realigning of the days of the week, however the little town of Winterport has had a cosmic interruption of sanity.  I realize that Route 1 is a main throughway for traffic, since the interestate is not convienently close.  I live right on Rt 1 as a matter of fact, so I can attest to the amount of traffic that uses this little unimpressive road for daily commuting and travel.  What I do not understand is the town's sudden (although it is something that I am sure has been in the works for quite some time) desire to cut down a forest worth of trees to allow for 100 feet of culvert on each side of the road.  Trees that were peacefully living along the the road long before there was commuter traffic to and from Bangor, have been savagely pruned, chopped, crushed, and ground to wood chips apparently to allow for the expedited flow of water along side of the road.  Secondary to that whole topic, is the fact that some genius in the tree-hacking crew must have miscalculated and managed to damage the rather obvious power and utility lines that were running along the roadway.  Thus interrupting the ability for my profound blogging and successful harvesting of my FarmTown crops.  I am not going to mention the ridiculous flaggers (why are they called flaggers when they hold stop signs and not flags anyway?) on perpetual cigarrette and cell phone breaks while leaning on said stop sign.  If only we were all so lucky to have that kind of job, huh?  Anyway, not a good day for me.  Frustration abounds at my house today for some reason.  As a result my husband has declared that EVERYONE is having an early bedtime tonight so that "everyone" can wake up in a much better mood tomorrow.  I am going to ignore his pointed look at me when he said it, but will perhaps take it under advisement.  Maybe I need a nice relaxing job, like leaning on a stop sign?