"Present"

New poem inspired by a first grade class.

                        "Present"

When we had a sub today
While our teacher was away,

Taking roll call for the day
"Present" is what she had us say.

That made me grin from ear to ear
'Cause when my name's called, I shout "Here!"

Instead, today I showed no fear
I spoke out "Present" loud and clear.

Not so Neighborly

 

 

 

 

Did you know that you can’t park your car on an unpaved surface in Ontario, CA?  I recently found that out when I found a bright yellow citation from the Code Enforcement Division for parking in the dirt next to our driveway. 

 

Believe me – having a paved parking area for my car is on the list of home improvements. I just wish I had known there was a code against it sooner so I could have pushed the driveway project ahead of the tool shed Dave built for me that’s become Mimi’s Clubhouse.

 

 

When I moved into my current address last August, I didn’t think that parking was going to be an issue. There seems to be plenty of parking along Fourth Street, but there is no stop sign between Mountain Avenue and San Antonio Avenue so people tend to speed making it a very dangerous road. Half the people on my block who have parked on the street have had their vehicles hit by speeding cars. The first week I parked overnight in the street, the side view mirror on my car was knocked off; I found it in the gutter, two doors down. That was a minor inconvenience. My poor next-door neighbor tried to have a taxi cab business, but when he had to park on the street because a different neighbor had complained there were too many cars in the driveway or some such nonsense, his parked taxi was rear-ended by a hit and run driver and so he lost both his vehicle and his source of income.

 

 Our driveway is short and narrow. If Mama doesn’t pull up far enough, my car’s rear end hangs over the sidewalk. Thank goodness I didn’t get a citation for blocking the sidewalk because the fine for that is even higher than for the one I got for parking on an unpaved surface. We have a lot of foot traffic from people walking to and from one of the shopping centers on the corner of Mountain and Fourth. People walking, skateboarding or pushing strollers have never had any complaints about me parking on my own property.  In fact, many pedestrians stop to chat about the Little Free Library that sits in our front yard.

 

 

 

Rumor has it that it is a single neighbor who requests special attention be paid to violations of city ordinances that only he seems to be aware of. However, if this particular neighbor was really concerned about following protocol, he would not have an illegally constructed room addition behind his house.

Ontario has many ordinances and laws that create revenue for the city. I wish that the politicians were more concerned with traffic safety instead of ridiculous ordinances that only get cited when a nosy neighbor complains to the city instead of walking down the street and telling me in person, “Hey, did you know that it is against city rules to park on an unpaved surface? You could save yourself a fine by keeping your car on the driveway or street.” Instead, I get snuck up on at 6:30 in the morning at the same time as our household is supposedly receiving a “gift” from him. Some neighbors are not very neighborly.

 

Is VolunteerMatch.org Legit?

A disheartening experience and ensuing letter.  Has anyone else had this problem?

 

Dear VolunteerMatch,

I looked up volunteer opportunities to my local library online and was taken to an application that I diligently completed. However, when I did not hear back from the library, I called them as is suggested on the verification from your organization. As it turns out, the library does not accept online applications, which leads me to believe that you have linked yourself to them without their permission. Therefore, please remove me from your mailing list. Your website is misleading to those of us who like to volunteer without having information taken on false pretenses.

 

Spots

Spots

My body's full of polka dots
Everywhere I see red spots

     My arms --- DOTS!
     My legs --- DOTS!                                   

Lots and lots of polka dots

There's even one on my buttocks!

Tattle Tales

Inspired by a third grade incident.

Tattle Tales

 

He moved after the freeze bell rang,

Dropped paper on the floor,

Broke Tommy's eraser,

And ran ............ all the way to the door.

 

     He ate candy at his desk,

     Always leaves a mess,

     And never does his best!

 

Yesterday, he threw the ball and
Hit Marcos in the eyes.

But, I've been really good today.
               Can I have a prize?

The Beauty of Writing

It was unconventional, but it worked.  The 3^rd grade students had traded papers with their neighbors and were correcting their morning work when I heard a paper rip and saw a student crying.  I pulled the girl in pigtails aside and handed her a tissue to wipe the tears beneath her glasses. “What’s the matter?” I asked.  When no words would come, I had her take three deep breaths. I waited patiently until she could confess she ripped her classmate’s paper after her table group teased her for spelling a word wrong. She wiped away more tears as I called over the perpetrator.  “I just told her that she spelled “what” wrong and the others asked me how she spelled it. Then she ripped my paper and started crying.” “Well, you hurt her feelings and need to apologize,” I said.  “I’m sorry,” said the girl. “And you need to say “It’s OK” I told the first student. “It’s OK,” she sniffled. “And, you also need to apologize to the paper for hurting it.”  I tried to be serious but it was so absurd I started laughing. The student’s tears also turned to laughter and she did apologize to the paper then returned to her seat. I got the class’s attention because I saw this as a teachable moment. “The beauty of writing,” I said, “is that you can always edit it.  It is more important to get your ideas on paper first and then worry about the rules of grammar.  In Teacher College, they taught us to encourage students to use ‘invented spelling’ where you write things down the way they sound so you don’t lose your flow of thinking. Then, you can always go back to correct spelling and make other changes.  That is what is so wonderful about writing – that you are able to edit your words.”

Not That Riviera

On Friday the 13th, my phone rang at 7:00 a.m. with a plea from my step-mother, Tina, to please come help her move my 300-pound father from his bed to his wheelchair. I jumped out of bed and into the shower, then packed an overnight bag and drove the 30 miles from Ontario to Montebello, during Friday morning traffic. Upon arriving at their house, Tina was frantic, but Dad was lying on his hospital bed in the living room, like a large lump of bread dough covered with a brown and orange afghan. His right foot was uncovered, revealing a soft cast there to protect his right ankle that was fractured when he fell down the porch stairs three days ago.

Most of the day was spent waiting. First we waited for the case worker to connect with a coordinator. Next we waited for Nurse Monique to come evaluate the situation and make the decision of what action to take to help Dad. In the meantime, the decision was already made that he should go to rehab for physical therapy to strengthen his legs and ankles enough to support himself enough to move around.

Before Monique came, we spent about an hour getting Dad from bed to potty chair. First we swung his bad right ankle over, then his left, until both legs were dangling over the edge of the bed. It took us several attempts to get Dad to stand because he needed to rest between tries. Tina supported one of his arms and I supported the other while Dad tried to help himself up. He winced with the effort because of the pressure on his bruised ribs and the weight on his ankle. Eventually he was standing, supported by the arms of the chair. Step-by-step we worked together to rotate his body around to sit on the potty chair, Tina pulling his shorts down before he sat. It must have been uncomfortable for Dad to have to sit on a hospital chair naked from the waist down with his adult daughter in the same room with him, because he lost the urge. 

We spent some more time turning Dad on the chair in a better position to see the television. The television was Dad's lifeline. He was most secure holding the tv remote, but somehow we lost the it twice. We watched several cooking shows and Perry Mason in black and white. Next up was Ironsides, but we didn't get to watch the back-to-back Raymond Burr shows, because a message came on the tv screen that the company did not receive their bill payment. This led to the photo above when I brought Dad his laptop so he could get online to see if other checks were unpaid. You might think he felt undignified, but he said the situation didn't bother him and the cable company said the they were good payers, so not to worry. 

Monique bounded into the room, took his vitals, and gave us the low down. She said that she had arranged for a bed in the nearest convalescent hospital and that an ambulance was going to transport him to the facility and it was also arranged to pick him up and return him for his orthopedic doctor appointment on Monday morning. She warned us that the facility was understaffed and it was a good idea to be friendly to the nurses and spend as much time as possible next to Dad.

An ambulance was scheduled for 4:45 but when it arrived, the two EMTs wanted to call for backup to hoist Dad onto the gurney. So we waited some more. The second crew arrived  around 6:00 pm.  The four of them rolled Dad onto a crisp white sheet, and with an EMT at each corner and Tina holding his cast, they lifted him onto the gurney 1,2,3. 

We followed the ambulance to the Riviera Convalescent Home, just ten minutes away. There was some confusion about the room. I thought, "We waited all day to get into a bed there and it still wasn't ready?" An old guy in a wheelchair, whom I secretly dubbed Super Vet because of the large American flag sticking up from behind his head, was hovering in the hallway. The ambulance crew wheeled Dad into the room and one of the female EMTs immediately raced out saying, "There's a naked lunatic back there." We could hear constant moaning and the steady beep of an alarm. We followed the bed into its space and were assaulted by the stench. Three nurses filed by carrying towels and plastic bags. They passed our small curtained off area between the naked guy and Super Vet to clean up the mess completely nude man had made on the floor. Nurses continued coming in and out, each with their own explanation of John.  "He's not right in the head," "He's like a baby," "He's a little touched," they explained as the moaning started and stopped and the alarm continued. Finally, one of the nurses turned off the alarm. 

Tina went straight to a supervisor to see about a room change. The supervisor apologized for the mistake. The hospital had put Dad into the nursing home side because he is 86 years old. At his age, they assumed he was senile or had other long term problems. They found him a bed on the convalescent side where he belonged. He was there to gain strength through physical therapy for 2 to 3 weeks, not move in. We asked to see the room first. If it was unacceptable, we were moving hospitals. Thankfully, the other side of the hospital was completely different. There were only two beds in that room; it was clean, had a closet, a television, and most importantly, no lunatic. 

While the hospital staff prepared the room and the paperwork, we waited between the lunatic and the super nosy vet. Super Vet lived in the curtained off section closest to the door. He was obviously long-term and acted like king of the old crazies hallway. His section of the room was decorated with a large American flag behind his bed, personal mementos on the other wall, and big blue butterflies on the outside of the door. As soon as the nurses were done with John, Super Vet rolled his flag-wielding wheelchair into our space to find out what was going on and warn us not to leave anything out because there were thieves in there. He was more annoying than the lunatic because we couldn't ignore him. 

The supervisor quickly took care of the room change and apologized for the misunderstanding. The whole situation was something I never would have imagined. The staff at the facility was very understanding of our panic. They were friendly and helpful. Two nurses arrived to move the bed to the other side of the hospital. They got Dad settled, inventory taken, and brought him toiletries and a welcome bag with a little bear in it. It was now 9:00 pm and I was ordered home with love and appreciation.

I was so glad to have had that experience because it opened my eyes to the issues surrounding old age. I saw how much room all the necessities of age take up. In my parents' small living room sat a hospital bed, a potty chair, a walker, and a wheelchair. Any movement took some rearranging.

I never knew the end of life could be so dramatic; that there were places where there are moaning naked men and people walking their wheelchairs down the hall past others who sat slack-jawed holding onto teddy bears. I saw the difference between where they put the people who lived the rest of their days on county dollars and those who were there to rehabilitate their bodies. 

On this ominous day for bad luck, we felt blessed. My folks were very appreciative of the service provided by CareMore, the emergency technicians, and the Riviera staff. Everyone was extremely helpful. polite and matter of fact. I think they all understood what we were going through and were respectful of our needs.

What Feminists Look Like

 

 

 

Super Man





It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Superman!

My "final" for the Mementos & Metaphors poetry workshop series at the Ovitt Community Library with David A. Romero was a reworking of the Week 1 assignment to write a poem about a family member using an object closely associated with that person. I chose to write about my son Ben and called it Super Man.

My son is a hero.
The boy who idolized Superman in his youth
Now fights for truth, justice and the American way
For the non-Americans in the Inland Empire.

My son is a hero to the latino and latina immigrants.
He flies to the street corners
To hold up his cape-like banners
In peaceful protest of racial profiling.

Faster than a speeding bullet,
My super man will rush to heed the call
Of the disempowered and downtrodden among us.

He will race to the police check points
To protect the rights that we all uphold:

     The right to be treated as human beings
     The right to live in community without violence, and
     The right to have economic justice and no abuse of power.

My son is a hero
Who knows that truth and justice are not the American way,
That capitalism promotes the separation into classes,
That the white patriarchy has caused social and economic imbalance
That has lasted for centuries.

So now, he is a hero to the anarchist way
With x-ray vision to a world that is
More egalitarian, more spiritual, and incorruptible.
Look! It's a bird, it's a plane,
It's Equality for All!

 

Silly Starters

Writing a poem is discovering.

~ Robert Frost

 

 

I bought a book at the teacher store to allow the students to choose a daily journal topic. Last week was the first time I sat down to write with them. Two days in a row the assignment was to write a poem. Here are the two I wrote.

 

Day #1: Write a poem about a puppy that wants to be a person.

I'm a little puppy

Who owns a little girl

I love to run and jump with her

More than anything in the world

 

But what I want the most in life

Is to be just like my friend

Because if I could talk, I'm sure

Our chats would never end

 

We'd speak about the flowers

or what dresses we will wear

We'll sing about most anything

And dance without a care

 

I'm a little puppy

Who wants to be a girl

So I can run and dance and play

And wear my hair in curls

 

Day #2: Write a poem about a monkey that cannot stop laughing.

 

I saw a monkey in a tree

Laughing so hysterically

Ha ha ho ho hee hee hee

 

He chortled and giggled

Until there were tears

I think he had been

Laughing for years

 

That poor monkey

Could not stop his glee

Ha ha ho ho hee hee hee  

 

 

I actually had a hard time writing the second poem and so did the kids, but I shared my strategies. First I brainstormed about the most important elements of the assignment: monkey and laughing. Some of the words I thought of for monkey were: banana, tree, tail, swinging on a vine, and ooh ooh. For laughing I wrote down hysterical, chuckle, giggle, laugh until it hurts, cry, tee hee, ha ha. Then I thought about the words that went together. The students usually have about ten minutes to write and they can be very creative. I'm glad they like to share with the class too. They let me share my poems last week and it was fun to read them.



 



Voice for the Voiceless

Where does discipline end? Where does cruelty begin? Somewhere between these, thousands of children inhabit a voiceless hell.  ~ Francois Muriac

Because of the Coffee House Writer's Group Meetup, I started attending a 4 week poetry workshop at the Ovitt Community Library in Ontario. As I told my fellow CHWGers, my poetry usually runs in the veins of romantic love or children's poetry, but these workshops are expanding my repertoire. I respect the fact that the first presenter advocated poetry with a social conscience. And, although I have written rhyming children's poetry that is meant to be read aloud as a performance piece, David Romero's idea of Spoken Word Poetry is new to me. His concept is for us to write long poems and then memorize them to be performed and judged by an audience.

Monday's workshop was titled "The Voice of the Voiceless." Presenter Matt Sedillo performed his work called "Gerald Ford" that was really a look at the life and wisdom of a homeless man. In his very powerful voice, Sedillo contrasted the sorrow the American people felt over the death of our former president, Gerald Ford, and the lack of compassion and the fear we feel for a homeless man, although at any moment, any one of us could be in the same tattered shoes.

Our assignment was to write a poem for any voiceless person. My partner wrote about an old man whose family put him into a nursing home. I have always tried to give voice to the children. My poem was inspired by the upstairs neighbors I had in Colorado Springs, Colorado, when I lived in some government projects there. It is called:

Mom and Dad on Crack

 

I get to stay up as late as I want and jump on the bed until I collapse from exhaustion.

Mommy and Daddy are busy doing their own thing.

They go into the bedroom and tell be to Stay Out because I am not allowed to

play with lighters, and besides, the smoke is not good for my lungs.

 

In the morning, I get up and make my own cold cereal

And then I wake up Daddy to take me to school.

Sometimes I wish I could have a hot breakfast, like pancakes or eggs.

But at least,

I get to stay up as late as I want,

I get to wear whatever I want,

and

I hardly ever get yelled at because

Mommy and Daddy are in the bedroom

doing their own thing.

So now I have this memorized and plan to present it next week. If you are interested in attending the last two workshops, here is the information from the Ontario Library website.

Poetry Workshop- Mementos & Metaphors

Posted Date: 3/6/2013 7:00 AM

David A. Romero will present his four week workshop "Mementos & Metaphors": Poems of Family and Identity. April 8, 15, 22 and 29 from 7:00 - 8:30pm in the storytime room.

 

And thank-you to my new writing friends at CHWG!

http://www.meetup.com/CoffeeHouseWritersGroup/

 

Nickname Queen

Today’s Quote:

”The harder I work the better my luck seems to be.”

            ~Thomas Jefferson

My number 2 son says I have more names than a rapper.

It all started with my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Elam, at Cleminson School in Temple City. She called me Giggling Gertie and embroidered a smiling Gertie onto my embroidery sampler project. When we moved to Covina, my school nickname became plain Giggles. A lot more kids at Charter Oak Elementary knew me by Giggles than I knew by name.

 

In high school, my mother was constantly rhyming everything, so I became Diana Banana, Banana, Banana-Butt, or plain BN. Alex Kristofka, my neighbor, never shouted anything but Diana Banana at me. Banana-Butt is strictly reserved for Bettina-Butt. Most people called me Banana, because I have a-peel. Get it? Pam’s family always called me Banana Caboose or Caboose because it was close to my maiden name, Cobos. I even utilized my nickname in my sophomore presidential campaign with the slogan, “Vote Diana for Top Banana.” I worked my brand and won!

 

I think you get a lot of nicknames if your given name is three or more syllables. Some people just can’t handle more than one syllable at a time. That means I’ve been called both Di and D. Those got morphed into Big D, Lady D and Lady Di. I like being associated with the good-hearted former Lady Diana Spencer who later became a Princess. I skipped princess status to become Queen of Outer Space. One year, I even wrote down Queen as my occupation on my kids’ Emergency card at Hawthorne Elementary. I didn't think the office ladies would notice, but they did and made mention of it a time or two.

 

People always confuse the names Diane and Diana. This is irritating for both of us. One time it created a problem when I took a temp job working with a Diane at a Colorado Springs cemetery. People would call and ask for the wrong Diane/a, so they suggested I use a nickname. Shorten my name to Di? Clients might be reminded of dying; not a good choice. How about my initials? D.C. didn’t work either. They stand for Death Certificate. Finally, they suggested using my middle name. Well, my middle name is Cleil. You are supposed to enunciate each letter sound in my name, but no one in the office could say that final “L”so they called me Cleo.

 

Because I was a competitive swimmer, I became Diana Dolphin. I used Dolphin as my Camp name and in every situation where I work with kids outside of a regular classroom. At my current job as an after school program leader, I am Miss Dolphin. And because Diana was the goddess of the moon, I chose as both my e-mail name and my brush name dolphinmoon.

 

I had hoped to establish myselfin the teaching profession as an innovative thinker with the name and logo Mrs. Bubbletree. I even wrote a little poem and put it on a profile brochure with the byline, "Grounded in standards & bubbling with ideas." People either love the name and remark on its creativity or they say that is childish and unbecoming of a serious professional.

 

Every time I make a new group of friends, I get a new nickname. Besides my long term names, like Banana and Giggles, I am also part of the Bitchen' Chicks (I'm number four, B4). I am also La Giggles, Flower Girl, Sugar Toes, LL, Thumper, the combo Mama/Sister/Friend, COBOS, and my grandma name, Mimi.

 

 

One time I met a person who felt that nicknames were insulting. I think nicknames are endearing. They mean that someone really understands you in a certain way and makes a pet name for you as an intimate reminder of your bond. What's your favorite nickname? 

             

                         

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                  

Everton

     The town was near the ocean. There was a fountain in the middle of the concrete square that was surrounded by office buildings. Around the fountain were vendors hawking their wares from folding tables. Some of the vendors had umbrellas to shield them from the sun. People milled around the tables, ate from food carts or sat upon the many benches spaced around the center. I noticed a photographer coming toward me. I watched as he took a picture of a young woman. He talked to the woman for a minute and then as he was taking the photo, she vanished.
     The photographer then came up to me and said he needed my help. He wanted me to take pictures of people to save them from the disaster about to strike out planet. I had been chosen and we didn't have much time. He explained that I must take the photograph, while speaking each person's name and telling them that they were going to Everton. He stressed again how urgent this project was and said I would know who to photograph. I grabed my camera and began to take pictures. Each time I would ask the person's name, push down the button on my camera and hold it down as I spoke to him or her, and then watch them disintegrate into nothingness. No one seemed to notice what I was doing in the crowded square. I wondered where Everton was. I wondered if the people I photographed were safely transported. A sense of urgency began to overhwhelm me. I wondered why I could not take pictures of two or more people together thinking it would be much quicker. I saw a family sitting on a bench. I went to the youngest girl and asked her her name. "Gloria," she said. I told her, "Gloria, I am sending you to Everton." I walked around the square choosing others and repeating the process with each one. I searched out my own family and sent them all to Everton. I left the square and walked to the shore. I wanted to find more people to photograph. I was on the sand now and I saw the swells begin. "A tidal wave is about to begin" I thought to myself. How could I get to safety? In answer, I watched a dolphin swim towards me. It scooped me onto its back and we rode the crest of the tidal wave until the dolphin deposited me onto a concrete riser with a tall steel rod sticking out of its middle. I stood on the small circle of concrete, holding on for my life as the water swept past me with great force and rushed all the way to the mountains. I stood there clinging to that pole for long hours waiting for the water to recede. The water finally settled into a large lake covering the basin between beach and mountain. When the water started to sink into the ground, I went back to the town center. I wanted to find out if there was anyone left who I needed to photograph and if anyone else had been left behind. And, I wanted someone to photograph me.
     It was strange how the town square looked unaffected by the tidal wave. It was dry and sunny. The tables and the vendors were in exactly the same places, only now the vendors seemed somehow different. Every vendor seemed distant and cold. A man called out to me from behind his table, "You have beautiful hair!" I thought about my shiny straight auburn hair as I looked his way but soon realized that he only wanted me to buy the hair care products he had for sale, so I just said, "Thank-you," quite tersely and walked on. I thought that everyone was out here just to make money and they would say anything to trick others into buying their products. The atmosphere was so different now - it seemed heavier or something. I wanted to get out of there! I wanted to get to my family. I started asking people to take my picture but now I couldn't remember the name of the town I sent everyone to. The first woman I went up to seemed nice. She was browsing at a table. She was pretty in her flowered headscarf and dark sunglasses. I hoped she would remember the name of the town. I hoped she wanted to go with me where the others had gone. She told me that she had wanted to go but it was too late now. "Besides," she said, "the camera won't work now because it has gotten wet." I looked at the camera. It was clear now, not black. It did look like it had water in it. But when I walked up to a man, the camera was black again. Relieved,  I told him I needed to get my picture taken, that my family had gone to another town and I wanted to go be with them, but I couldn't remember the name of the town. I asked him if he remembered the town and asked if he wanted to go too. He said that the name of the town didn't matter. I could choose any name I wanted when I got my picture taken and it would whisk me out of here. I didn't believe him. I wanted to go to the same place as everyone else, not to someplace by myself. The people here knew about the camera's ability to transport me, but everyone had a different reason as to why they could not take my picture or have theirs taken by me. Finally, one woman told me that if she took my picture when she wasn't supposed to, she would be destroyed. I was getting frantic and decided that the only way I could escape this planet was to take my own photograph. I didn't know if it would work or not. If I just could remember the name of the town. And then, it came to me. I remembered that when I first was asked to take photos of other people, I was unsure if my teacher was saying Eberton or Everton. I figured out he was saying Everton, like we would be safe for ever. I held my camera at arm's length, said "Diana, I am sending you to Everton," and snapped the picture.

Ear Trouble

Exhaustion. Frustration. Pain.
My life today.

I came home from my day long trip to the County Hospital and took a nap. When I woke up, all I wanted to do was sit and watch television. I picked up the remote and flipped around my basic stations. The first 15 channels were on commercial and 13 out of those 15 were for cars. That reminded me of my terrible day at the county hospital because when I arrived in Colton, there were no parking spots available. I was among a dozen or more cars that were circling the lots hoping to find someone leaving or a place far enough away that hadn't been reached yet. In other words, there were too many dang cars there and the last thing I wanted to see was the media telling me that we needed more cars on the road that needed places to park. Aargh.

My experience in the hospital was just as frustrating. Once I walked the distance to get to my 10:45 appointment, I had to wait in line to check in, then I had to wait outside the ENT door to ask a question. Once I learned that even though I was late because of the parking situation, there were still 7 patients ahead of me (they always triple book in the ENT area). I was glad though, because I wanted to use my waiting time, which is typically 2 hours past the appointment time, to go downstairs and get my pain medication refilled. The pharmacy was as crowded as the parking lot. I waited in line to check in, chatted with the people next to me when I did find a seat, and then got called up to the second window about 20 minutes later to get the label for my prescription. I was told the next waiting session was going to be another hour and a half. After about an hour, I waited in the prescription line hoping that when I got to the window, my Rx would be ready, but even though I only would have had to only wait 20 minutes more, it was already almost 1:00 and I wanted to get back upstairs for my scheduled appointment since the 2 hour wait time was already up.

Upstairs again, there were still 3 people ahead of me, but the nurse said to stick around since they were just follow ups. So I had a snack and took some ibuprofen (since I hadn't picked up the pain pills) because my head hurt just behind my right ear. I got called in through the clinic door and waited some more. I was there to hear about the reading of my CT scan 2 weeks ago. My original follow up was in October, but I was a squeaky wheel and they moved my appointment up. I didn't get to see the handsome doctor. Instead, I saw a resident. Although he was pretty cute and nice too, he didn't tell me what I expected to hear. I expected to hear that the choleastoma had grown back and they would remove it and I could hear better and have no more pain. Instead, he told me that the CT showed that everything was normal. What? If all is well, then why have I had pain and trouble since last November? The resident ventured a guess that it may be caused by dental problems. I said, if it's my teeth, then why do I have discharge from my ear? Then he suggested it could be my nerves and maybe I should see a neurologist. Iasked him if he was going to refer me to a neurologist. He said, "No, your primary care physician has to do that. But, I will make a note on your chart recommending it." So I left disheartened and confused. What am I to do now?

I kept thinking of how long it took the medical profession to find my ear problem 12 years ago. I heard almost the same thing last time. Doctors were diagnosing punctured ear drum, infection, or saying nothing was wrong. I even had one Blue Cross doctor tell me I wasn't having pain. That really irritated me. How could he know that? So, I am not giving up on this. I decided I should have a copy of that CT scan to compare to the CD I have from one follow up visit in Colorado. Getting a CD took another 45 minutes. First I got sent to the basement to Medical Records where they told me they can order printouts but not CDs. Medical Records sent me to Radiology upstairs. Radiology asked for my information and I was surprised to have the clerk say I had a face scan. I said, "No, it was supposed to be my ear." He explained that the maxillofacial scan x-rays the jaw area up to the ear. That really worried me because the last growth went straight up from right above my eardrum and was working its way up to my brain, destroying all the inner ear bones along the way. It makes me think that the CT scan was not complete enough. But maybe the neurologist will find something.  How long it will take that to happen is anyone's guess. It has taken me 10 months to get this far. I hope my issue will be resolved before another 10 months passes. My worst fear is that my head will explode and then the doctor wills say, "I guess something was wrong after all."

In the meantime, I look forward to becoming addicted to pain pills...NOT.

RQB 3

 

"Advice is what we ask for when we know the answer but wish we didn't."

Daughter's design.

   When I lived in New Mexico, I joined the Las Placitas Presbyterian Church. They were such a great group of people! I was involved in working for and then coordinating some Vacation Bible Schools there, then also singing alto in the church choir.
   I met my first friends through the church: Liese, Irene, and Sandra. It was Sandra who got me involved with Placitas Elementary where I did my student teaching and hooked up with Liese to initiate a Drama Club. I also very much enjoyed working with Sunflower my first year of VBS. I always use the name Dolphin when I work with kids informally and my "helper" chose the name Sunflower. It wasn't until later that I learned she was a PhD & so I changed her name to Dr. Sunflower.
   The choir at LPPC was a very fun group. Our director, Bob Boughton was so awesome. He taught us, wrote music and lyrics, and planned all the offerings. What a talented man! The laughs alone were worth the trip up the hill, but more important was the beauty of the music that was guided out of our small but mighty choir. I'm surprised Nancy did not include her quote, originally from St. Agustine, "When you sing, you pray twice," which she was fond of saying.
   Isn't it nice to have such fond memories brought up by 2 pages of quotes. Miss you all!

RQB 2 Red Quote Book

Don Halquist was one of my favorite professors and one of only 3 truly inspiring teachers I have had in my life. Don was my Microcomputers in the Classroom teacher at the University of New Mexico, Albuquerque. I was in the Post Baccalaureate Teaching Credential Program there, which I thoroughly enjoyed. One reason I liked it so much was that most of the students were about my age and working towards a second or even third career. Don Halquist modeled teaching practices rather than telling us about them and he showed concern for each of his students. He really encouraged me in my learning, offering guidance when I had too many ideas. Thanks, Don!

 



 

 

 

The Red Quote Book

One of my Facebook friends seemed so surprised that someone else said they were putting her quote in their quote book, that I wanted to share pages from my first complete quote book.

I was inspired to create a Quote Book when my daughter gave me a red hard-bound book with blank unlined pages for my birthday in 2000. That is the kind of book I favor for my journal writing because it lends itself to either writing or drawing. My daughter included a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt on the front page. Since I was preparing to move out of state, I thought I would follow her lead and collect quotes from people I was leaving behind as well as those I would meet. It took about 4 years to fill the book. Some people drew pictures, others wrote poems. I added a lot of art work. My favorite medium used in the book is crayons, but I also have a variety of colored ink pens, pencils and markers that I used. The book is unconventional in that there were no rules. I told people that they could write on any page in any direction and so that is how it is. I will post a few pages at a time. Here are the first few.

Discovering Ontario - Preschool Gymnastics

   Today I saw my grandson perform for the first time at his new gymnastics class. His mom put him into a preschool gymnastics class at Frequent Flyer Xtreme Gymnastics. I was very impressed with the large, clean facility. I believe the business is fairly new so if you are interested in gymnastics (and who isn't after watching the Olympics this week?), check out their web site: www.ffxgym.com. The fliers I picked up explained that FFX Gymnastics has a 21,000 sq. ft. state-of-the-art facility; and that they have classes for all ages and abilities, tumbling, cheerleading practice times, a gymnastics team, and they offer birthday parties. That is a lot of options.
   Little Logi began his class in the dedicated preschool area where Coach Trevor guided him through a circuit training that introduced cartwheels, handstands, balance, and coordination. Logan loved all the jumping, tumbling, and then bouncing on the trampoline. He told me about Coach Trevor all the way to class and when class was over, he got into his car seat and said, "That was fun!" Just what parents and grandparents love to hear. That is money well-spent!

Rocky the Squirrel

Quote of the Day:

Discipline determines Destiny.

~ Dr. Charles Randall

  Sorting through papers to find teaching ideas, I came across this wonderful writing exercise presented by Jeanne Whitehouse Peterson, my University of New Mexico professor of Children's Literature and children's book author. She came to Placitas Elementary School in Placitas, NM to lead an in-service workshop. I would like to share my journey.

Layered Writing Workshop by Jeanne Whitehouse Peterson

Materials: 1 sheet white paper & pen or pencil.
Directions: Fold paper in half hamburger style for 4 writing sides. Direct students in four 2 minute writing exercises.


(Cover)

Step 1: Think of a place, inside or outside, that you feel comfortable in; a place that delights you, or speaks to you, and write about it.


If I could be anywhere, I would love to be in the rez swimming pool in my workout suit, swimming laps and feeling the pull of my arms against the water. I love the freedom from weight that the water provides. I like the  physicalness of moving my legs up and down in a flutter kick and the mindlessness the exercise provides.

Step 2: Reread. Highlight or circle 2 or 3 words that jump out at you. 

Step 3: Choose one of your highlighted words as a title for the next 2 minute write.



(Inside Front Cover)

Step 1: Follow the last train of thought or let your chosen word guide you.

Step 2: Write for 2 minutes or so.

 Mindlessness

To be free from thinking and rethinking is such peace. I love to sit in my closet, my sanctuary, and center myself with incense and candles. I sit unthinking and let images, colors, shapes or ideas come to me without effort.

Step 3: Again, choose a word or two words you like. 

Step 4: Use your choice as a title.



(Inside Back Cover)

Step 1: Write for 2 minutes.

Thinking and Rethinking

To be going to school, learning a trade, and continuing my spiritual growth is a constant process of thinking & rethinking. I have thought my whole life that learning is a spiral and I see it, feel it, live it, now more than ever before. Every new thing I learn must be incorporated with what I thought I already knew. Each time, I realize I have come full circle, but on a higher level.


Step 2: There is always a common thread in the first 3 writings. Find your commonality, then on the back, write about something totally unrelated.


(Back Cover)

Step 1: Write for 2 minutes or so on your unrelated topic. 

Rocky the squirrel

Was a funny creature.

He was small and furry.

We gave him seeds and

he stuffed them in his cheeks

as if we would never

feed him again.

As an orphaned baby

He clung to the rabbit skin

We provided as a surrogate mother.

As he grew

We gave him more and more freedom

And then one day,

He left.

Just like a child.

Step 2: Notice how the 4th piece always ties in somehow.

What a cool exercise. What do you think was the overall relationship?