Northern Noise

If I were 18 again, I think I'd study to become a heavy equipment operator or diesel mechanic.  Work when I want making decent money - hooray for affirmative action and non-traditional occupation quotas.  I would leave at the end of the day able to see what I'd accomplished  Granted, I wouldn't get to talk a lot about Shakespeare, except to myself, and I wouldn't get to laugh at teenagers.  But I'd accomplish something and I'd have choices about where and when to work.  I'd be outside and I'd be physically challenged.  If I were 18 again. But I'm not. Not even close.  And this path has been good so far.

So the boy gets this goop called Flarp! at a birthday party yesterday.  Who knew so much fun could come in a little container?  Flarp! is this florescent green "noise making putty." When it's squeezed, it makes, ummm, fart noises.  So you can imagine why my 8 year old likes it so much.  There was much "noise making" and innuendo about  gaseous emissions until bedtime. So the second part of this tale is that while Bob's away, Jed's been sleeping with me.  It's only the two of us, plus the dogs, in the house so we might as well bunk together.  Last night I put him to bed as usual, watched a little Eureka , and then went to bed myself as the boy snored. At 4:00 this morning, I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I got back upstairs, Jed was sitting up in bed.  " There's something in my pants ," he tells me. " What do you mean there's something in your pants? "  (This is a dangerous question to ask an 8 year old, espe

I'm not anti-American, or even anti-government. I am anti-war. I'm also anti-hate, anti-hypocrisy, anti-prejudice and anti-meanness.  There are a lot of people in this world that I don't agree with and some whom I don't respect for their choices.  But I don't believe any of us have the right to impose our moral beliefs on others, and I don't believe that self-declared morality provides any excuse to take away or diminish the rights of others.  No matter what religion you are, liberal or conservative, we all know what it means to be decent.  Be decent to everyone, assume good intent on the part of others, and protect those who can't protect themselves. Civil rights aren't an issue of a majority vote.  In our country we stand up for the rights of the minority - remember when slavery was legal, women weren't allowed to vote, it was okay to fire someone who was handicapped?   I don't want a president who is going to use his or her morality, or relig

Today I'm still pissed off at war and violence.  Syria is unimaginable, and the stories of civilians and families trying to stay safe and together are heart wrenching.  Republicans are out stumping that gay marriage isn't a civil rights issue, and that a woman's reproductive rights are subject to legislation.  So here are 5 more songs - protest songs, "fed up with it" songs,  "what the heck is happening in our country" songs, and two "it can get better" songs.   6) "Rich Man's War" - Steve Earl.  2005. Bobby had an eagle and a flag tattooed on his arm Red white and blue to the bone when he landed in Kandahar Left behind a pretty young wife and a baby girl A stack of overdue bills and went off to save the world Been a year now and he’s still there Chasin’ ghosts in the thin dry air Meanwhile back at home the finance company took his car Just another poor boy off to fight a rich man’s war  7) "Ohio." Crosby, Stil

Today I'm sad and a bit cynical.  Started off the day listening to news and interviews from Syria.  Then veterans returning from Afghanistan and Iraq.   Reminds me of the bumper sticker, "War is unhealthy for living things." So I've got protest songs on the brain.  Not just protesting war, although that's where I started today, but protesting injustice and plain ol' meanness. The first few that come to mind are as follows (not in any significant order): 1) "Eve of Destruction" - Barry Mcquire. 1965. The eastern world it is explodin', violence flarin', bullets loadin', you're old enough to kill but not for votin', you don't believe in war, what's that gun you're totin', and even the Jordan river has bodies floatin', but you tell me over and over and over again my friend, ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction.   2) "Fixing to Die" - Country Joe and the Fish. 1968. Yea

Sometimes, the wanderlust hits me.  Often it's when the seasons change, something in nature makes me want to evolve, to move, to transform.  Sometimes it's brought on by a song.  A good road song or an aural memory can take my mind away and try to make my feet follow.  Sometimes it just sneaks into the car and when I get to an intersection whispers, "turn left" when I should turn right. I spent some time traveling the roads in my car as a younger woman.  I remember how I felt stopping at a rest stop in Pennsylvania, knowing that none of the people in the world who knew and cared about me had a clue where I was at that moment.  I remember sitting and eating lunch on a bench at Mt. Rushmore, while the wind made the flag whip back and forth in the breeze.  I remember mountain biking on trails in McDonald County, MO, where strange plants and bugs and sounds made me feel like I was in a completely different world.  I remember the trucker at a rest stop in New Mexico givi

Finished both of the minor children's parent-teacher conferences.  Met with the boy's 3rd grade teacher last week and saw 5 of Aileen's 6 teachers today.  Nice to know that both of them are doing just fine.  We expect them to progress to the next grade and continue to learn as they go. When I was in the classroom, I absolutely loved parent-teacher conferences. Part of it was because I always enjoyed my students - teenagers are hilarious and brilliant (even when they try not to be). I also felt like it was really my job to say something good about the student to the parent or guardian who trusted me with them each day.  Don't get me wrong, I was never afraid to give a straight take, but I tried to do it while sending the message that my job was to help, not to label or condemn.  I was lucky in that my kids' teachers seem to like 'em okay.  As a self-declared master teacher myself, I sometime find myself questioning a teacher's assignments or methods.  Ove

Turned 43 yesterday.  A good day.  A weekend with my husband and a weekend full of educational "stuff."  A few days worth of Alaska State Writing Consortium, today the State Special Education Conference.  And to top it all off, I had to write a research proposal for a class.  Whew.  My brain is in education overload.   So what to do?  A little Monster Truck on the hotel television, and then a visit to the Sped Social Event.  (and no, Sped Social Event isn't as hilarious as it sounds).

So Bob's at a meeting.  Jed and I are flying solo.  I fed the kid a healthy dinner: chicken breast, lima beans, spinach and a glass of milk.  Me?  My dinner is mucho bueno!!  Can you all just smell and taste the delicacy that is a fried Spam sandwich with cheese?  Washed down with a smooth sip of Manhattan?? Ahhhh, life is good.  If I wasn't putting off homework to blog, it would be even better.

Bob and Jed finished the science fair.  Maybe more Bob than Jed, but its done and they're happy.  I made soup for Bob to take to work for the secretaries for Valentines' Day.  Jed did his Valentines for his class and I did some for the office and for Bob's office.  Edited a paper for a friend, sent a sample cover letter to another.  Got Valentines' cards and bags ready for our three kids.  It's now 9:41 and I should be heading to bed, but I'm a bit wound up.  You would think a 1/2 bottle of wine would mellow me out, yes? But at least the marriage is saved, the boy is happy, the dogs are fed, and my favorite hunka man asked me out on a lunch date tomorrow.  I still hate the Science Fair, but at least I'm back in good graces with my family. One day at a time, and the beat goes on.

There.  I said it.  I HATE the science fair.  When Jed was in first grade he swallowed a magnet.  Long story short, it made a great, and easy, science fair project for which he won first place in the school, and then the district.  That victory set up an expectation that we would do the science fair every year - and win. Last year it was Tsunamis.  I actually thought it was a great project and Jed learned a whole lot about Tsunamis. (In fact, he learned so much that he's traumatized every time he gets within 100 miles of a coastline, but that's a blog for a different day...)  He and his dad did some experiments, things didn't exactly work smoothly and I ended up having to do emergency caulking at the last minute.  Bob had to leave town before the poster board got started, so I stepped in to help with the posterboard.  Which I typically don't mind.  So we got it done, got it to school with experiment (mostly) in tact.   Jed was happy (mostly) although he didn't win

For Christmas my hubby gave me these awesome LL Bean flannel pajamas.  I was in them tonight by 6:00.  A glass of wine, a cup of ice cream, an old John Wayne movie.   The bad guy is named "Matt the Mute" and he's after Miss Sally and her dead uncle's money.  Good guys wear white, bad guys wear black, and the hero kisses the girl in the end.  Gotta love it. And gotta love Fridays.  And gotta love running water. 

I like to think of myself as a "mellow" person.  I'm not one who freaks out at the unavoidable or spends much time getting angry.  Now, I realize that not everyone who knows me would answer "mellow" when asked, "What's one word that describes Melanie?" but upon reflection I think most would agree.  Wouldn't they? Okay, so I do get excitable sometimes, especially talking about Shakespeare or Twinkies, but one can be enthusiastic and extroverted and simultaneously mellow, right?   And sometimes I do get a little focused, in what Bob calls my "field marshall" mode.  But one can be mellow while creating a plan for fixing the world that will work just fine as long as everyone does what I say when I say it, yes? For any who might doubt me, let me share this example.  Hypothetically, let's say a working professional  woman with a working professional husband lives in a comfy little house on a pretty little hill.  And let's say th

In 1997, I was living in Unalakleet, Alaska. The pipes from the water treatment plant froze, and the city flooded the system with Bering Sea water to keep the rest of the town's pipes from freezing & bursting. Drinkable water was available upriver, and on Supet Bowl Sunday, when his favorite Green Bay Packers were playing, Bob was taking a snow machine & a barrel upriver to get water. Now, umpteen years later, tomorrow is Super Bowl Sunday and we have no water. Unlike the situation years ago, where salty seawater ran from the faucets, my faucets are dry. The pipes aren't frozen, just one little spot coming out of the tank. Instead of living paycheck to paycheck as a new teacher, I'm what might be called a "professional," making a decent living. But some things never change, like cold weather and rotten luck. At least I've still got Bob to send out for water, and here I can buy cold beer to welcome him home with. What would life be like with a h

I'm sitting in my chair slugging through the homework.  All the while I hear the sounds of the boy, narrating his life and vocalizing the thoughts that come through his head.  I hear him singing, nonsense sounds, rhyming over and over.  He moves between opera and rap and sweetness to Christmas tunes.  Mostly its just background noise, but occasionally I tune in to the words.  So far today I heard a refrain of "feels like guacamole in my pants, pants, pants" and an operatic ditty with the words Afghanistan, frenemy, mountain, and blue (I couldn't make it out completely).   I heard the musical version of a Bey Blade attack from launch to destruction ("You're going down, down in a whirling frenzy of doom').  I even got an "I love my awesome mama" song as I prepared him lunch. A few minutes ago he looked up at me, smiled and said, "I don't know why I love singing, mama, I just can't stop!" Sounds like a good day to me.

The definition of depressing in sitting on a bed in a mediocre hotel room, eating Carrs' version of Echo Lake cheese on Triscuits while drinking cheap wine and watching old tv.  I can't imagine those folks who travel a lot and have to stay in hotels, although most aren't as cheesy as this one. So I think I'll drink a bit more wine from my styrofoam cup (no glass in this place!) and then hit the hay. Hopefully the sirens and neighbors won't keep me awake.  Tomorrow night I sleep in my own bed with my own man in my own home.                                        "Home is the place where, when you have to go                                           there,  they have to take you in. "                                                                                                   ~Robert Frost

Last weekend it was -50 at home in Fairbanks, and -6 in Anchorage.  I was in Anchorage.  Whew.  This weekend it's -13 at home and 34 above in Anchorage.  I'm in Anchorage.  Ugh. It rained while I drove from the meeting to the hotel.  It was hard to remember that earlier today was beautiful snow and blowing flakes.  Instead, ugly, wet, rainy much making roads slick and hard to navigate.  Weather in Anchorage is much like weather in Kenai, where I grew up.  Although my family thinks I"m crazy, I'll take Fairbanks over this southcentral muck any day.  Give me cold, cold that allows me a reason to snuggle down with my sweatshirt and slippers.  Give me consistency, so that I can plan and ski and know what to expect.  Give me a land with little wind, and cold, clear skies that let me feel the sunshine as it grows each day.  And give me cold over hot any day.  You can always put on more clothes, add a blanket, start a fire.  Heat can't be escaped.  It's oppressi