In Zeal and Awe!

"A Snake Story" (Created using Littlebirdtales.com)

2011-06-22T10:50:00.001-05:00

Click to view my story.

Great Blogs for Teachers

2010-10-13T21:54:00.005-05:00

Do you teach? Do you like reading blogs in your limited free time? Here are some great blogs I found while scouring the interweb!

Two Writing Teachers

Created by Ruth Ayres and Stacey Shubitz, two writing teachers who live 565 miles apart, this blog offers ideas for inspiring students to write.

Jim Burke: The English Teacher's Companion

From the author of The English Teacher's Companion is a blog that will amuse and inspire you. Jim Burke is famous for assisting teachers with his insight. His blog will not disappoint you.

On The Shoulders of Giants

Written by Ariel Sacks, a teacher in Brooklyn, New York, this blog features reflections on teaching. A recent post reveals that she attended a televised event on NBC. I found this teacher's reflections intelligent and thought-provoking.

Top Twenty Teacher Blogs

This article lists the top twenty teacher blogs in varying categories, including "Best for Tech Wannabes," "Best Hands-On Activities," and "Best Tell-it-Like-It-Is." The latter is my favorite of this collection. Written by Mimi, this candid, hilarious blog is titled "It's Not All Flowers and Sausages." I can agree with the author's comment in the introduction: "Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but sometimes a girl has gotta vent."

Do you want to join the fun of blogging? Try these sites

to create your own blog:

Blogspot

I personally really like blogspot. It is very easy to create new posts, the background choices are neat, and the site is free. Get started here.

Edublogs.org

Calling itself "The Most Popular Education Blogging Service" may make this site appealing to you. The home page boasts the site is used by major universities such as Stanford and Cornell. It's also free, and your students can blog on Edublogs.org, too. Here are Ten Easy Ways to Use Edublog to Teach.

Wordpress

Wordpress is also a free blog site, and I've noticed many blogs have been created using wordpress. One thing that makes Wordpress special is the home page; it features other Wordpress blogs you may want to follow.

Kidsblog.org

This blog site allows you and your students to blog for free. This one is also advertised as being safe because it does not use student email addresses.

Crazy Crop Duster!

2010-07-20T01:19:00.000-05:00

Scotty filmed this kamikaze crop duster earlier this month.

My Future According to EPCOT

2010-07-20T01:10:00.001-05:00

This is a video about my future made by the psychic geniuses of EPCOT.

Best Parking Lot of 2009!

2010-07-07T17:34:00.005-05:00

My husband sells concrete. I know what you're thinking: EXCITING! Yes, it is. Because my husband sells concrete, I know when all the new businesses come to town, I know how many square feet of concrete each new business requires, and I know who wins the honors awarded by the Tennessee Concrete Magazine. I had been anticipating the arrival of this publication since January, and when it arrived this April, I thought I would have to take a personal day so that I could read and re-read the results of their annual contests.

The magazine awards top-notch designers in various categories, including Commercial Building, Best Concrete Artisan, Best Finishing, Best Concrete Home, and--my personal favorite--Best Concrete Parking Lot! The winner of the 2009 Best Parking Lot design is Kevin Fortney, who created this amazing lot for Franklin High School in Williamson County. The article on page nine of the magazine reveals that Mr. Fortney "wanted to create a showplace parking lot for the entire county."

Though I feel the new parking lot for the Shoney's located off Kingston Pike was a strong competitor, Fortney obviously worked his magic here. It is a parking lot anyone would feel privileged to use. You can almost see the smile on the front of that big celadon Buick, can't you?

Baby Bird Update

2010-07-07T17:11:00.000-05:00

We no longer have baby birds. When I awoke yesterday morning and checked the box, only one bird was perched atop the dry grass. I looked all over the yard for the two lost birds, but they were nowhere. I picked up the box and took it inside. After feeding and watering the lone bird, I threw away the old shoe box and found a new one. I packed the bottom with fresh grass and plopped the little feathered stranger into the new box. Placing the bird in its new home on the back deck, I figured the bird would be safer. I left it alone for a few hours. I didn't check it again until 2:00 p.m., and at that time the bird was gone.

I like to think all three baby birds learned to fly overnight, and they are now traveling onward. One day years from now I'll get pooped on by a thrush, and it'll remind me of our three little visitors. However, the bird that poops on me probably won't be one of the three birds we kept in a shoe box on our front porch. That's because they're probably dead.

Baby Birds

2010-07-05T20:10:00.001-05:00

Today Taylor found a baby thrush. It was brown, and its little mouth was light pink when it open it wide for food. I grabbed the bird and placed it into Taylor's pink metal bucket and showed it to Scotty, who said we should wash our hands immediately. I asked him what birds eat, and he said we should throw the bird away. As we stood at the edge of the gravel driveway arguing over the demise of the baby bird, I looked over and saw the dead mama bird on the ground under a tree. She was stiff and covered in ants. So, where was the chirping coming from?

Taylor looked around and squealed when she saw another baby bird peeking at us from behind the tree. Now we had two baby birds to rescue. I called my friend Kim Crews, who works for the Reelfoot Lake Research and Teaching Center. I used to teach at Kim at OCCHS, and I know she knows her stuff. I told her we had a dead thrush and two baby birds. She told me where to buy wax worms, and she asked me to bag up the mama bird and put it in the freezer for her.

I grabbed a large shoe box and ripped the lid off. Taylor and I put on our gardening gloves before heading to the back yard, where we stuffed the box full of dry grass. We then went to the front yard to retrieve the birds. I tackled the mama bird with a freezer bag, and Taylor ran after the baby bird that wasn't in the pink bucket.
Stuffing the mama bird into a freezer bag was impossible. She was too big for the Glad freezer bag, and the ants had started to eat away at her natural beauty. Taylor screamed as the baby bird ran toward her, so I gave up on the mama bird and helped Taylor grab the baby bird and plop it into the shoe box. I added the bird from the pink bucket, and the two immediately lifted their mouths into the air for food. I left them on the porch and took Taylor with me to the local gas station that sells fish bait/baby bird food.

We drove to Preuett's gas station and a clerk helped me pick out a small plastic cup of wax worms and a Styrofoam box of night crawlers. She told me to keep them in the fridge, and she even opened the box of night crawlers to ensure they were alive. One raised its head from the black soil in the box and nearly crawled out onto the counter. Kim told me mama birds chew worms for their babies, so I would have to chop these worms up and feed the birds using tweezers. And I thought today would be boring!

When we arrived home, I grabbed the tweezers, poured water into one of Taylor's sippy cups, and walked to the front porch to go to work saving baby birds. I tried the wax worms first. They're small and easy to grab with tweezers. I pressed a worm to one bird's beak, but the bird's eyes were closed, and it didn't respond. Taylor tried, too. I picked up the sippy cup and poured a small amount of water on a bird's beak. This worked well; the bird nodded its head in appreciation and opened its mouth for more. I popped a worm into the bird's open mouth, and it gobbled it up and waited for more.

The other bird was smaller and not as hungry. I tried the water trick, but the little bird shook its head in annoyance. It took a lot of contrivance, but I finally made the second bird eat two wax worms and drink a small amount of water.

We took the shoe box to the back yard and let the bird walk around in a shallow bowl of cool water. I emptied the box of the old grass and replaced it with fresh grass. After we put the bird back into the shoe box, we left them on the deck for a few minutes.

We decided to see if Opie could respect our avian guests, so we let him out to have a look. He stopped in front of the shoe box and tilted his head to one side. Then he moved his head closer to the birds. I thought, "Oh, he's saying hello." He was actually saying, "You look delicious." Before I could stop him, he had snatched one of the birds in his mouth. I screamed, and he let it go.

I moved the shoe box to the front porch and attempted to feed the critters more worms. I was letting them each have a drink from the sippy cup when I heard a familiar sound in the yard. I stood up to get a closer look. It was a third baby bird. I ran out to it, and snatched it up in one hand. This one was much stronger than the other two. It was obvious he had developed more fully and was almost ready to fly. He fought me as I ambled to the shoe box, and I actually dropped him onto the dry grass of the shoe box. He froze with his face pressed into the bottom of the box, but after a moment he hopped up and bobbed out of the box to the edge of the porch. I picked the little rascal up and force-fed him water and a wax worm before returning him to the box.

So, that is how three baby birds came to live on our front porch. I have no idea what they're going to do when we leave for Disney this weekend. I don't think we can get anyone to feed them worms while we're gone. We'll have to wait and see.

Webbstock!

2010-07-04T23:31:00.000-05:00

Webbstock 2010

Last night Scotty and I attended Webbstock in Greenfield, Tennessee. Hosted by Tommy “Red” Webb and his wife, Sheila, this first annual event featured great live music by the Lonesome Drifters, Tennessee Hellhounds, Old Haul, Lewd Minx, Soup Street Shootout, Eric Brewer, and Jason Webb. Red had cooked a whole hog, and the meat was yummy. Over a hundred people drove way out to Meridian Road for the gathering. It was relaxing and fun!

Roll Call Questions

2010-07-04T11:12:00.001-05:00

1. Do you eat Fruit Roll-Ups?
2. What's your favorite kind of soda?
3. What were you doing this morning at 7a.m.?
4. What were you doing fifteen minutes ago?
5. Are you any good at math?
6. What were you doing last night?
7. If you saw your last ex right now, what would you say?
8. What is your dream job?
9. Did you sing along to the radio this morning?
10. Last thing you received in the mail?
11. How many different beverages have you had today?
12. What's one thing you wish to change about yourself?
13. What do you wish for?
14. Have you ever drawn your name in the sand when you went to the beach?
15. What's the most painful dental procedure you've had?
16. What is something in front of your house?
17. Any plans for Friday night?
18. What did you do last weekend?
19. Do you have a secret crush?
20. Who is your favorite cousin?
21. Do you dislike anyone right now?
22. Something you are excited about?
23. What is your favorite flavor of JELLO?
24. Are any of your great-grandparents still alive?
25. Describe your key chain.
26. What is on your mind right now?
27. When was the last time you spoke in front of a large crowd?
28. What kind of winter coat do you have?
29. Do you have any nicknames?
30. What color is your toothbrush?
31. Name one person/animal who made you smile today.
32. What is your favorite candy bar?
33. What is your favorite ice cream?
34. What was the last thing you had to drink?
35. Name one thing on your to-do list.
36. What was the last thing you ate?
37. Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
38. What was the last sporting event you watched?
39. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?
40. Who is the last person you sent a text message to?
41. Have you ever gone camping?
42. Do you prefer Chinese food over pizza?
43. What is something you have planned to do this weekend?
44. What is your favorite thing to order at McDonald's?
45. What is your favorite number?
46. Who's the last person you talked to on the phone?
47. How many states have you lived in?
48. Biggest annoyance right now?
49. Last song listened to?
50. What is a song you like right now?
51. Describe your favorite pair of shoes.
52. Are you jealous of anyone?
53. Name one person you love.
54. What is your dream car?
55. Do you like cats?
56. Describe a dream you have had.
57. Have you ever been to Six Flags?
58. How did you get your worst scar?
59. Who is your favorite cartoon character?
60. Who is your favorite rock star?

Ray Bradbury Theater

2010-06-30T11:35:00.003-05:00

Today I'm watching The Ray Bradbury Theater series. I bought over sixty episodes on Amazon. Creeepy!

The Finger of God

2010-06-29T21:25:00.000-05:00

I thought I was going to die. The filing cabinets were shaking, the lights were out, and I found myself grabbing for the hand of a woman I had met just weeks before. Screams were coming from some distant place, but the scariest sound—the most frightening part of the whole ordeal—was the roar I heard over the screams. I chanted, “Oh God Oh God Oh God,” as I stared up at the ceiling. We were huddled together in my professor’s office at Union University. The date was February 5, 2008. We shouldn’t have been there.

As the sky darkened earlier that day, my anxiety was building. The principal, with an uncharacteristically nervous voice, had notified all students at Obion County Central High School that the school would be closing early. She also told everyone that the rule about cell phone use was temporarily set aside so that students could call their parents. Panic ensued as students ran to look out the window. It was my job to calm the students and try to focus them on some semblance of an English lesson, but a terrible storm was eminent, and I knew I had to drive an hour to Jackson for a night class.

As soon as the students were out of the building, my principal made another ominous announcement: “Teachers: I have been informed that the approaching storms can produce tornadoes. You might be thinking of staying and working, but you must leave and go home. I repeat: GO HOME!” I couldn’t go home. I had to drive to Jackson and sit for a three-hour night class and later drive home.

Other universities in Jackson and all over West Tennessee had cancelled evening classes, but when I emailed my professor, she assured me that our class was still meeting. My husband begged me not to go. Colleagues said I was crazy, but this professor had warned us on the first night of class that attendance was required. She stressed the importance of attendance by stating that our grades depended on it.

I arrived at the Penick Building just seconds before sheets of rain began to fall. I was early for my 6:00 class, so I went to the room and waited. I heard thunder outside, and several professors gathered in the hallway and talked about how serious the weather was becoming. One man proclaimed that he was leaving early, and I heard a woman in the group say that she was headed to her community’s tornado shelter. And I continued to sit in the classroom because my professor had not cancelled class.

The professor arrived, and so did the other four students in the class. Everyone was present. Everyone but the professor was concerned about the weather. One student said she had driven forty minutes from Hardin County in heavy rain, and the other two, who were from Jackson, said they assumed class was cancelled until they read the email the professor sent to all of us. One student asked if she could keep her cell phone on since she was worried about the safety of her child, who was staying with a sitter.

We diligently took notes as the professor lectured and the storm raged on. After about thirty minutes, the student with the cell phone raised her hand. “I think we need to go,” she said. “My dad just texted me that tornadoes have wiped out Memphis and are headed our way.” The professor reluctantly gave us permission to leave, but only one of us did so. We couldn’t drive home in this weather. We were stuck. I can’t speak for everyone in that class, but I was becoming bitter.

I was staring at the doorway, feeling panicked and no longer pretending to listen to the professor. At 7:30, a janitor jogged by our room and panted, “Come with me. We have to get to the hallway.” I looked at the man’s gray uniform, and for a moment I thought I was looking at a deity who would lead me away from certain death. We followed him until we got to the hallway, which was quickly filling up with students from all over the campus.

“I have a better idea,” my professor said, “Let’s go sit in my office. It’s an internal room with no windows.” This was the smartest thing the lady had said all day. As we followed her through the cavernous offices, the sirens began to whine. We got inside, closed the door, and that’s when the lights went out and the tornadoes hit the campus, including the Penick Building. It was thirty seconds of complete terror.

When the roar faded away and the lights returned, we left the professor’s office and walked dazedly in different directions. I eventually found a hallway where I could get decent cell phone reception, and I called my husband. “It’s all over the news. Union was hit. I’ve been worried sick about you. When are you coming home?” he said. I couldn’t answer. I just sat on the floor and cried. How would I get home?

I waited another thirty minutes before pulling on my black hooded rain coat and racing to my car. The light poles weren’t working, but when lightning lit up the area, I could see that the car parked beside mine had been smashed by a tree. I jumped into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine, but then I didn’t know which way to go. The sky was still rumbling, and sirens were ringing out from every direction. The smell of gasoline filled the air, but I didn’t know why. I drove around to the north entrance, but was soon stopped by a group of emergency workers. I turned around and drove to the south entrance, where I was able to exit. After taking two detours caused by downed trees, I managed to reach my home at 10:00 p.m. I crawled into bed with my husband and baby girl and fell asleep watching the somber weather report on WBBJ.

The campus suffered $40 million in damages, and thirteen students were trapped in a dormitory before emergency crew members could rescue them. At my school the following day, I told my story again and again. “Yes, I was at Union last night when the tornadoes hit. Nope, classes weren’t cancelled.” When the day was over, I checked my email. One email was from the professor with whom I had spent the harrowing evening. I saw that she sent it at 5:00 the day before, long after I had already left for Jackson. The message said, “I’m sure you’re all worried about the weather as you travel to class today. Our provost has assured me that if Union University was in any danger of being hit by a tornado, we would cancel classes. As things stand, Union is not cancelling classes tonight.” Good thing the asshole isn’t a meteorologist.

Roll Call Questions

2010-06-28T21:29:00.000-05:00

“Good morning. Please answer today’s roll call question when I call your name. Today the question is, ‘What color is your toothbrush?’” The students are quiet as they listen to the answers, everyone learning another new fact about their classmates. Allison, the beauty queen, has a green camouflage toothbrush. Wesley, the president of the FFA, has a purple toothbrush. Some students giggle and others stare around the room as everyone answers the question.

I don’t remember what year I started using roll call questions. Eric, a former student who now works as an administrator at my bank, sometimes walks over and suggests new questions while I make my deposits and withdrawals. He was in my senior English class my second year at my current school, and I can still picture his red, smiling face in the row near the air conditioner. He usually arrived just as the bell rang and cheerily asked, “What’s the question today, Mrs. Warren?” as he ambled to his seat.

I started the question of the day because I couldn’t always get the students to answer “Here” when I called their names. I required the students to answer so that I wouldn’t have to look up from my grade book repeatedly, and I needed everyone to be quiet so that I could concentrate and take an accurate roll. Some students wanted to just lift their arms or grunt like wild wolves, so roll call questions became a quick solution to make everyone say something so that I wouldn’t mistakenly count anyone absent.

In 2003 I typed a list of 180 roll call questions, and in the years since then I have also printed several personal quizzes from online. I threw a few pages of Family Feud questions into the mix, too. I have questions like, “What is your favorite candy bar?” and “Name two things in your wallet or purse without looking.” (Not all roll call questions are questions.)

I recently added a new one. I close my eyes and pick a name from the class roster and call on each student to tell us something he or she has in common with the chosen student. Sometimes I ask the class to name one thing they like or admire about the chosen student. I make sure every student in the class is picked at least one time. Because I have seniors, the students have had enough experience with one another to think of answers. Sometimes they think of several.

“What was the last sporting event you watched?” reveals information about the teams the students support, and students like the chance to proclaim their love for a team in front of their classmates. I also ask, “What is your favorite number?” and, “What is something you have planned to do after school today?” I sometimes ask questions such as, “What do you think of when you hear the word medieval?” to focus them on the unit.

“What is a song you heard on the way to school?” is a fun question. “What is your biggest pet peeve?” is a question that produces interesting answers, and it inspires us all to share recent experiences. If I hadn’t asked, “How many states have you visited?” I wouldn’t have learned about Crystal’s extensive travels. Taking the extra ten minutes allows every student to be heard every single day.

I tell students that I do not accept “I don’t know” for an answer, and when a student doesn’t put thought or effort into an answer, I exclaim, “F in roll call!” and pretend to mark it in my grade book. The students know they don’t really get a grade for roll call, but they usually strive to think of good answers. I’ve noticed the students try really hard not to repeat someone else’s response. Sometimes a student further down the list will blurt out, “You stole mine,” if a classmate says the same thing he or she was thinking.

After the students get used to it, roll call becomes an important—if not essential—part of the class. This is both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes I can’t find a question on my many lists that I haven’t already used, and that leaves me standing at the front of the room, shuffling through papers as my students tap their feet, click their pens, and sigh. Sometimes I have so much material to cover that I forget about it, and the students have to remind me. On days like that, I’m not really listening to their answers; I’m wondering how I will possibly finish it all before the bell rings.

One February morning, I learned how roll call questions can be used as leverage. It was one of the first sunny days of the year. Streaks of sunlight filtered through the blinds, which was a refreshing sight after months of darkness and cold. It was a reminder that spring was on its way, and the warmth and light was not wasted on my students. When I walked in, I saw that Lauren was sitting backwards in her desk, chatting vigorously with Bradley. Aaron and Martin were out of their seats and squatting next to Tabitha and Adrienne, who were massaging their shoulders. A group of girls in one corner were singing loudly. I smiled and walked to the front of the room.

Moments after I arrived, the bell rang. Some students walked to their seats, some started to get to their seats but became distracted and stopped to talk again. I could feel my heart pounding a little faster. Announcements began, and I had to tell them to get quiet and sit down. My temperature was quickly rising, and I struggled to keep my composure. After the Pledge of Allegiance, I turned around to see two students standing beside their desks. Laughter echoed around the room.

“No roll call today,” I said calmly as I started the presentation to begin class.

“What’s the question?” someone in the back asked.

“Oh, there is no question. You aren’t ready for a question today.”

The room became still and completely silent. I walked to the computer, brought up the first slide of the presentation about William Blake, and proceeded to give notes just as I would any other day. My tone was not angry, and I moved around the room at my usual pace. After I grouped the students to read and discuss Blake’s poetry, Levi called me over to him. “If we’re really good, can we do roll call at the end of class?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “But I will have a roll call question for you tomorrow if you’re all quiet and seated when the bell rings.”

That morning was the only time I haven’t asked a roll call question to begin class in at least seven years. After that day, all of the students were quietly seated when the bell rang. Sometimes the more astute kids had to remind the others about missing roll call, but taking away the roll call question that morning worked. During second block that day I realized one problem with taking away the roll call question. The office secretary buzzed into my classroom to ask me about first block. Apparently, I had forgotten to take attendance.

To the Elevator Who Tried to Kill Us

2010-06-19T13:16:00.001-05:00

I’m worried about you. That was a bold, impulsive move today. What were you thinking? Are you too infrequently used to feel important? Have you lost your sense of value, of purpose? Do the elevator maintenance workers come to the building and forget you’re here?

Maybe you still remember your construction, the glory days when sparks flew and dozens of mechanics worked on you. During those days you were welded, sanded, painted. Men kneeled down and installed computerized mechanisms that brought you to life. You lit up with joy at the prospect of being a moving, animated machine. You would even make sound. You would meet people. Your spirits were elevated.

On your way to Brehm Hall, safely strapped onto a flat-bed truck, you gazed absently at the “WIDE LOAD” sign and the flashing lights. You thought about the days to come. They would be exciting. You would greet people with open doors and eagerly await their choices. “Where are we going: One, two, or three?” You were ready to serve.

The installation was a little awkward. You felt bulky and heavy. You cringed every time you heard your body slam into the opening; the screeching sound of the chains and the cursing sweaty men alarmed you. You suddenly felt doubt. “Where am I?” Nobody answered. The dark hallway ahead stood empty. “Where are the people?” You wondered who would push your buttons, make you light up.

The first few times you were jostled into action felt good. You even moved a little faster than you had to. You wanted to send the message that you could do the job well, perhaps betters than the other two new guys. You would become the favored choice.

But weeks went by, and the hall before you remained dim. You tried switching floors. It was all the same. When you sounded your tones as your doors opened and closed, the sounds echoed throughout the empty space. You saw scores of college students pour in through the front entrance, but seldom did they turn your way. Classes were dismissed, and students ran by you without seeing you. You might as well have been a stainless steel wall.

Occasionally an unsmiling, hurried custodian vacuums your floor and shines up your stainless steel doors and rails. It feels good to have company, and you attempt conversation, chiming a most pleasant “ding” as if to say, “Thank you, my friend.” The custodian’s reply is the sting of Lysol on your buttons.

You realize decades after you were installed that you are an outsider. You think to yourself that you might as well be the only one of your kind on the planet; you never see or hear about other elevators, after all. You blame your pain, your hurt feelings, your broken heart on the architects of Brehm Hall who saw a need for another elevator where there clearly was no call for it. You blame the students and faculty for not being more aware of their surroundings. Can’t they see you? Don’t they know you can help them? In your darkest moments, you blame your creators. They hadn’t succeeded in making you fit enough, attractive enough to fulfill the needs of the people.

Late in the evening, when all the lights are out and you are surrounded by the insensitive Brehm ghosts—who do, in fact, exist—you weep so bitterly that your gaskets rattle, your fixtures shake. You try to get comfortable; you shift from floor to floor, opening your doors wide in hopes of finding someone somewhere who needs you. Nobody is there to comfort you, give you meaning, and you shake with reckless abandon.

When morning comes, you are still drowsy from the restless night. The sun takes hours to finally, reluctantly creep into your tomb. Your doors are closed as you wait patiently, resignedly for the day to end.

You almost didn’t notice us at first. You were deep into your self-loathing when something inside you told you to open up. Five ladies stood outside your doors on the first floor. “Is it summer now?” you asked silently. You saw we were wearing short sleeves and cropped pants, sunglasses perched atop our heads. We stepped inside you and you closed your doors behind us as quietly as possible.

“Where are we going, ladies?” you asked with a cheery tone.

We laughed. You waited as we talked among ourselves.

One of the ladies, a brunette with a huge mouth, turned and looked carelessly at your display. After a second of delay, the brunette loudly punched the buttons for floors two and three.

“You want to go to floors two and three?” you asked, excitedly.

We laughed again. We didn’t know you were irritated. Despite your pain, you lifted us safely to the second floor and opened your doors. You watched as we leaned forward slightly, evaluating the prospects of the second floor. Nobody stepped off, and we laughed again at our own antics.

The anger boiled up inside you until all you could do was rise up to the third floor and stop. You couldn’t open your doors. Your anger was too painful. When you couldn’t hold it any longer, the shaking began.

Useless Things

2010-06-12T23:19:00.001-05:00

This list was inspired by all the things that are useless. You probably have a few of these in your junk drawers at home. The list is comprised of stuff I don't want.

This is a bread keeper from Lillian Vernon, a great company to explore when looking for useless things. When I want to make a sandwich, there's nothing I want more than to try to squeeze the bread up through a plastic sleeve. You could even use the container to store other things, like lightning bugs.

This little gem is a cell phone holder. If it's too small for your cell phone, you should strongly consider getting a new phone because this is a must-have!

This car seat cover helps keep the little one's seat cool when it's hot outside. Created by Jiffy Pop, this is a handy tool for all parents who want their children to be as comfortable as possible on those blazing hot summer days.

These geese and their clothes are astonishingly cute. A great mix of whimsy and Americana, these geese can grace your own front lawn for only $12.99 each!

These adorable critters are called "Good Advice" Frog Plant Pals. Buy these so that they can sit in your flower pot and serve as a constant reminder not to see, hear, or speak of them.

Vampires Are Sexy

2010-06-01T20:43:00.000-05:00

Fast Hands!

2010-05-31T20:19:00.000-05:00

This is a book about the seductive art of sign language.

Published in 1974 by Parents' Magazine, Handtalk is, according to the introduction, "the first of its kind for young people on two ways that deaf people talk: finger spelling, forming words by letter with the fingers of one hand, and signing, making a picture or sign with one or two hands for each word or idea."

I used to check this one out all the time during my days at Parsons Junior High School. I didn't learn any sign language from it, thought. I just loved the pictures.

Let's begin our study of the hand-alphabet.

Try these fun practice activities before continuing: Go through the entire alphabet, forming each letter to match the pictures on these charts. Go through the entire alphabet backwards. Spell out your name. Learn how to sign a loved one's name. This might impress said loved one later. Spell out your name backwards. Now, spell out your loved one's name backwards. Learn a sentence that might be useful in a real-world situation. Here's an example: "Where is the bathroom?" Spell out your favorite curse word. Spell out your second favorite curse word. Spell out the longest word you know.

She's making the sign for "quiet."

I'm thinking I wouldn't want to wind up in her concentration camp.

He's a bug. He's also a Charles Manson look-a-like.

I already knew most of these. Who doesn't already know the signs for hello, alligator, ice cream, and xylophone?

From The Practical Encyclopedia of Good Decorating and Home Improvement (1970)

2010-05-27T19:41:00.000-05:00

For a complete look at home decorating disasters, go out and buy Interior Desecrations (James Lileks) or check it out of your local library. Here's a website about that book: http://www.lileks.com/institute/interiors

I found my creative home designs in The Practical Encyclopedia of Good Decorating and Home Improvement, published in 1970. I have all six volumes. These pictures are from volume one.

I get irritated by the home buyers on the HGTV series House Hunters because they complain about stuff they can change, like the old couch in the living room. I have to admit I simply cannot see beyond the yellow drapes to make this room look anything less than absurd.

Wallpaper on the ceiling? Really? I bet the new owners torched it for the insurance money.

The title of this segment is "Family Rooms for Older Homes."

The books says, "Here's a perfect example of a fmaily room that was added on to an older home. This multi-purpose room, added to an old section of the house, was designed to integrate dining, living, and kitchen facilities."

I think we should ask the dog what he thinks. Oh, he's showing us.

This is what Dante saw as he descended into the deepest level of hell. Can you hear the screams?

I think I have that chest-of-drawers.

Birth Control by Design

Judging Books by Their Covers

2010-05-27T18:55:00.000-05:00

What is a hunky guy like Joey doing with some loser sea lion? Or is that a seal? I guess it's true what they say: "All the good ones are into deep sea diving."

From the inside flap: "Joey's courage and skill soon won him a fine reputation. But when he finally had all the jobs he wanted, the coming of Alaskan statehood threatened to change everything--to revolutionize the salmon industry and ruin all he had struggled to gain."

I think the plan to "revolutionalize the salmon industry" involves switching out the meat product. Just a hunch.

Who's in trouble? Bark once if you know the answer.

They have made one of my favorite John Wayne films into a book.

The book cover teaches all budding artists a lesson: "If you can't draw the horse's body, use a bush."

From the inside flap:

"Forced to ask herself whether her father was indeed a criminal, Karen comes to rely on her own instincts and judgment in a tale of near-Gothic suspense. Part spoof and part tingling romance, Through a Brief Darkness is a major contribution to the suspense genre for young people."

My response:

Here we have an example of an unfortunate placement of someone's face.

Stuff I Like!

2010-05-26T18:50:00.000-05:00

This is the beginning of a new topic I am posting. The title is self-explanatory. These are in no particular order.

1. I like "Stuff White People Like." While I don't actually like everything on the list, I think the website is hilarious. A few things listed include bottled water, ugly sweater parties, Juno, David Sedaris, and Apple products. Three things on the list that I don't like are hummus, Vespa scooters, and modern furniture.

Read it and see what you think:
http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/full-list-of-stuff-white-people-like

2. I like quirky and unusual art. I decorate the library at school with abstract and nonrepresentational art that my beloved former students have painted. I just love looking at something that doesn't exactly make sense because it stirs my imagination.

For a laugh, check out the Museum of Bad Art. It's art too bad to be ignored. Here's their website:
http://www.museumofbadart.org/collection

3. I like Pop-Its! They're cheap, they keep my daughter entertained for about ten whole minutes, and clean-up is not necessary (as long as we're using them outide.) I don't care what makes them work. I like to think of them as magic.

4. I love the Tennessee River. A River Rat by birth, I feel completely calm and at home on the Tennessee River.

Humorous and Exotic Book Covers

2010-05-19T13:03:00.002-05:00

I'm completing the end-of-the-year inventory process at the high school library where I work as a media specialist, and I have both enjoyed and hated the work. I like cleaning and organizing. It's fun to see what books we have and to get rid of the old ones. It's quite tiring, however, to pull out every book from the shelves and enter the barcode number of each one into the computer.

To make things a little more exciting, I've decided to start "collecting" interesting book covers. Check out these jewels.

Oh, the things I would write in such a letter. I would begin with, "WHY WON'T YOU RETURN MY CALLS?" Copyright date of this book: 1987

When designing a book cover, it's important to remember not to include EVERY element of the book in the cover art. Here we have the fair, and an "urgent" note, and a wolf, and a boy on a boat, and a confused and/or excited girl. It's not fair!

This is the original title for the novel that would later become Love in the Time of Cholera.

I congratulate the cover designer for his ability to accurately depict two complex subjects together in a single work of one-dimensional art. I also like his choice of the color blue for the sneaker color. Simply genius.

I know bulimia is a disease and that it should be taken seriously. I also know it makes people lose dangerous amounts of weight. What I didn't know is that a person with bulimia can shrink to become smaller than her food. It's obviously an insurmountable disease, as is that loaf of bread to that tiny lady.

A Dog Story

2010-05-11T14:41:00.003-05:00

As this is my first post, I feel the need to set the tone for my blog. This story won't exactly do that.

I shall begin my blog with a story about my dog, but please know that not all of my blog posts will be stories. Not all of my blog posts will be about my dog or other animals, either. I guess you could say I really don't have a theme here.

I happen to have a dog. We've had him for seven years now. He's a seventy-pound mixed-breed blonde canine with intelligent brown eyes. Sometimes he's a barking, scratching maniac, and my daughter adores him. His name is Opie.

One night last week, as I was sitting on our deck in the light of the full moon, I heard a shuffling sound around the perimeter of deck. Opie became aware of this noise, too. I could see him standing in the moonlight, his nose pointed forward and his body frozen with interest. When I said his name to make sure he was okay, he cut his eyes at me as if to say, "Stay out of my business, lady."

Opie had already bounded over to the other side of the deck before I realized he had moved at all, and when I looked to see what all the fuss was about, I was startled to see a small brown thing--possibly a snake--lying near his front right paw. Opie didn't even acknowledge me as he stared at the object. he tilted his head sideways to get a better view of his new "prey," but he never took his eyes off of it.

I grabbed a fly swatter and slowly padded down the deck steps in my pink house shoes. When I got a closer look, I could see that the object of Opie's interest was not a snake, but a small furry animal. I wondered if it was still alive. I licked my lips and grasped the fly swatter with both hands as I crept closer to it. Opie's attention remained focused, and I felt assured that he would defend me if mortal combat ensued.

Boosted by the confidence that my attentive and slightly insane dog would pounce on and kill anything that posed a threat, I soon found myself standing directly above the object. To my surprise, however, it wasn't a small brown mammal, but a steak. It was a juicy grilled t-bone steak that Opie had perhaps buried and more recently retrieved. It had been cooked medium well, I think. I was impressed yet confused. When had my husband given our dog an entire uneaten steak? If Opie had snatched the steak on his own, how did the missing steak go unnoticed?

I backed away slightly, thinking Opie required more privacy before eating his bounty. After I had stepped a considerable distance away from his newfound meal, I saw that he wasn't eating it. He turned his head toward me and gazed up into my eyes. Because I know I will never win a game of stare-down with Opie, I looked away. My eyes fell upon the mysterious brown object lying on the pavement in our back yard. I realized then what Opie had found.

The small brown object was not a snake, nor was it a furry brown carnivorous rat. It also wasn't a nicely cooked hunk of beef.

It was a mud clod.

The End