School Teen Zombies

It was a strange morning. It's 6:00am-ish - the time Copper can't stand to wait anymore for his walk and starts whining. It's fall. It's cold out, a kind of misty fog hangs in the air. And it's dark. Daylight savings time only makes it worse, making it so dark I can't see to my feet some mornings. But today is dark enough. We head out on our walk, the dogs tags jingling in the stillness. Copper keeps stopping dead in his tracks and staring off into the distance. I think it's a rabbit, but I don't see anything. "Go," I tell him. He walks a bit, then stops up short again, his ears perked, eyes intently staring down the side street. I look and finally see what has captured his attention. Teens walking down the street, their too-early-morning shuffle walk, shoulders slumped under the weight of their book bags, hoodies pulled up over their heads so no one can make eye contact with them. Through the dark and the fog, they look like zombies coming to get us. "Go," I tell Copper, and we quicken our pace, only to come up upon more of these school teen zombies, all shuffling to their converging point down the street - the bus stop - where they will be shuttled off to the their mass sarcophagus and their brains feed with education.

Newest Craze

My newest food craze lately: peanut butter soup.

Okay, sounds gross, I know, but if you google it, there's actually a number of recipes for this deliciously healthy, tummy filling goodness.

Mine is much simpler than those recipes, though. I just mix peanut butter (crunchy preferred) with hot water and chili paste (crushed chili sauce). It's a very simple version of Asian peanut sauce watered down. Fish sauce is a nice addition, but not necessary. To the broth I add veggies - broccoli and tomato are especially nice - and rice noodles or rice if I have it. This is so easy to make, I'm keeping peanut butter and chili paste at work so I can make a quick bowl of it when I've forgotten to pack a lunch. And for winter, what could be better than a soup with spicy hot broth?

For Desperate Moms

To be fair, the sign on the men's room door was the same. Taken at a public rest stop in Michigan.

Scrappy at Delta

My division chair, Roz, training Scrappy to take over after she retires this year.

How I Spent My Summer 'Vacation'

With this being the final week before I return to Delta, I thought it was a good time to take an inventory of the past couple of months. It seems like every summer, I feel like it's a constant struggle to have a summer - you know, those 'lazy dayz' we remember from our youth of hanging out on the beach, long bike rides, falling asleep in the hammock with a good book. It's been a long time since I've felt like I've had a summer like that. All the same, I can look back and take into account a lot of activities that otherwise would not take place during the school year. Enjoyable? Not? I won't say...

What I've read this summer:
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
Lilies of the Field by William Edmund Barrett
Jaws by Peter Benchley
Precious by Sapphire
Aesop's Fables
the new editions of my film text and my ENG090 texts (most of them, anyway - okay, enough of them for now!)

...and of course, dozens of poems and short stories in lit mags, and five hundred million e-mails.

Still working on:
The Case for God by Karen Armstrong
Native American Myths

Still plan on reading:
Star Island by Carl Hiaasen

Movies I've seen:
Inception
Salt
Fish Tank
Robin Hood
Whatever Works
The Last Station
Crazyheart

Places I went:
Oklahoma
Chicago
Racine, Wisconsin
Traverse City
Traverse City
Traverse City
Lansing
Charlevoix

Days Spent at the Beach:
1 rock hunting in Charlevoix
1 evening swim on the penninsula in TC

House Projects I finished:
Put the side porch screens up.
Painting two rooms and a hallway.
Planted flowers that I then had to water.
Cleaned my room and filed receipts for the past four months.
Cleaned the basement (not that you can tell it now).
Cleaned the garage (ditto).
Cleaned the gutters.
Cleaned the fish tank.
Packed, cleaned house, and helped move the Hills from TC to SC.

Visitors to Bay City:
Dave from Oregon
Dave from Oregon
Lindsay and Ian from Oklahoma
Brian and Ben and dog from Naperville, IL
Terry and Stacy and family with dog (RIP Muddy) from Caledonia, NY
Lisa and Emerson from New Orleans, LA
Dave from Oregon

New Additions to the Family:
Copper

TC Seasons

Remember this picture from a previous blog?








Well, here's the same area, six months later.







I love the changing seasons in Michigan.

What Dave Brought

This is what we can look forward to when our friend Dave visits - fresh fish. The night before we had fresh walleye - batter dipped and deep fried with onion rings. This night it was fresh whole trout - pan fried with coleslaw, french bread, and baked garlic with fried morel mushrooms and fresh tomato to smear on the bread. Lovely lovely lovely.

What's for Dinner?

So, this is a typical Thai dinner at our house - and one of those meals I LOVE to make because of all the prep. This is veggies and tofu - so we have (from leftish to rightish): canned straw mushrooms, red pepper, yellow pepper, carrots, lime juice, jalapeno, onion, garlic, coconut milk, green chili paste, bitter greens, fresh Thai basil, and deep fried tofu. And on the tele? James Stewart from Rear Window making a great face at my culinary masterpiece.

A Trippy Trip to the Post Office

Only on a Monday could this have happened...

I go to the post office to mail several packages. The woman ahead of me in line asks for a form to get a PO Box. She slowly walks away from the window as she scans the form. I step up. Valerie begins weighing my packages and affixing postage labels. Just as she is checking the zip code on the final package, the lights blip off. A brief power outage. Val looks at her computer - the machine had shut down and was rebooting. "The battery backup didn't work," she explains. "This has never happened before." She becomes quite flustered as she can only stand and wait for the computer to come back online. Other workers come and go and look over her shoulder at the situation. They've never seen this happen either. No one is quite sure what to do, and all we can do is wait for the computer to come back online.

In the meantime, the woman who took the PO Box form is back asking questions, "So if I don't have an address and I don't have a car, I can't get a PO Box?"

Val answers, "That's right. You can't get a box, but you can get...oh, what's it called...?" She turns to her co-worker, "What's that called when you can get mail without a box?"

Her co-worker answers, "General Delivery."

"Yes, that's it. General Delivery. I don't know why I couldn't think of it. This computer situation has me all flustered. You can get General Delivery, but only at the main post office across the river."

"So I can't get a PO Box?" the woman's voice is rising as she asks this question.

"No," Val responds, "not a box, but you can still get your mail General Delivery across the river. We don't have General Delivery to the branch offices."

"So I guess the homeless don't get their mail then, do they!" the woman shouts as she throws the form at Val and storms out of the post office.

"They do get it," Val calls after her, "across the river. General Delivery..." Val looks at me, "Did I explain that wrong or something?"

I assure her what she said made perfect sense, it just wasn't the answer the woman was looking for.

"It's just this computer thing has me so flustered. This has never happened before."

As she goes on apologizing, and I assure her I'm fine with waiting and that it's not her fault, the customer at the window next to me is arguing with the postal worker about how much it costs to send a box.

"It's just a jar of jam," the old man says.

"Overnight will be twenty-one dollars, express delivery is five ninety-five, and first class is five seventy."

"But it's not even worth that much. Why does it cost more to send it than it's worth?"

"The rate is based on distance and package size," the worker tells him. She is calm and patient with him. "You can have it there in two days for five ninety-five or by next week Saturday for five seventy. Those are the least expensive options."

"The five seventy, then," the old man says. Apparently it isn't worth the twenty-five cents to have it get there five days sooner.

He finishes up his transaction and leaves, and a skanky young white girl with bad piercings and worse tattoos steps up to the window with an express mail box.

Val's computer comes back online. "I'm going to have to re-enter all of the packages," she tells me.

"That's fine," I assure her, interested to hear what's going on next to me.

The young woman is sending a package she wants insured for $800. She's sending it to Nigeria. The postal worker asks if it is an item the young woman has sold for that much money. The girl tells her it is, that it's been sold, but she hasn't gotten her money yet until she provides the seller a tracking number. Flat out, the postal worker tells her, "This is a scam." She goes on to explain to the woman that the post office has had numerous complaints about such exchanges - that the seller won't give the money until they get the tracking number, but once you have a tracking number, it means the package has been sent and cannot be retrieved. She flat out tells the young woman that if the item is really worth $800, that she's not going to see her money for it. The young woman explains that it was handled on PayPal and PayPal is holding the transaction until the tracking number is put in. Again, the postal worker tells her, and now Val chimes in, that the scammers use PayPal, and that just because PayPal is being used doesn't mean it's not a scam.

The young woman's boyfriend or husband or whoever he is steps up to ask if she really wants to send it now that they've had three postal workers tell her it's a scam. The young girl tells him, "I hear what they're saying to me, but I still know I have to do this. If I lose the money, it's on me."

"Can you lose eight hundred dollars?" the postal worker asks her.

"No," the young girl says, "but I'm so desperate for money, I have no choice."

The postal worker tells her she has to do what the young girl wants, but she strongly advises against sending the object without first receiving payment. The young girl tells her she understands and proceeds to send the item.

Val finishes my transaction. There are ten people now standing in line behind me. A homeless woman is probably trudging across the bridge to see about getting her mail general delivery, all the while cussing out the postal worker who had nothing to do with government regulations. The young girl next to me is about to lose eight hundred dollars she doesn't have, and it will be on her, and she will feel a much greater sense of desperation in the ensuing days because of it. And next week Saturday, somebody is going to get a jar of jam that wasn't worth the postage it cost to send it, but that will be appreciated more than any dollar value that could be placed on it.

On the Way to OK

On the way to Oklahoma, we stopped in Springfield, Illinois. I had no idea it was the home of Lincoln, but Casey said he had studied a lot about Lincoln and the Civil War when he was younger and so would like to see it. Sure! I don't really care much for history and war history especially, be when we got downtown, I really enjoyed waling around the "Lincoln neighborhood." It's two blocks of homes that have been preserved and created into a historic site with museums. We were able to walk through one neighborhood home on our own, but to go through Lincoln's home proper, we had to get tickets (which were free) and group up with a tour guide. Neither one of us were really into that, so we just enjoyed walking up and down the two blocks, reading the markers in front of each of the homes, and then headed on downtown to an art fair going on. The park ranger who took our picture in front of Lincoln's home had told us about it, and we couldn't think of a more perfect way to start our first official vacation together. The weather, however, did not cooperate so well. A steady light rain started, and, had it been our own town, I'm sure we would have stayed, but traveling and knowing we had to be somewhere, the rain was more incentive to get going. A great stop, all in all, completely unexpected and very enjoyable.

Graffiti Me

I love street graffiti. Well, I love most anywhere you can find graffiti, bathrooms, hallway walls, table tops... I'm not talking gang sign graffiti, although that has its place and merits in terms of art and culture. What I appreciate are cool images in unlikely places, subtle graffiti, symbolic, or poetic graffiti that gets the viewers to think. Nothing is cooler than cities who encourage and allow sidewalk art in the summer months. It doesn't have the same appeal of unlawfulness as unsanctioned graffiti has, but it does allow a unique canvas and the time for artists to develop a whole different kind of art. Either way, I'm a fan, and snap it up when I can. Here's a few I caught last time I was in Traverse City. Some of these will definitely be going up on my office door!

Disruptive Thought

I'm battling disruptive thought this week - when something happens that I don't like, and it keeps coming in and disrupting my thought until I can deal with it. Usually it's work-related stuff - a situation occurs, and until I can deal with it and remedy it in some way, it keeps coming into my thinking. Or, it may actually be a memory - something that happened years, even decades ago, and it will come into my thoughts and leave me feeling agitated and uneasy.

I know meditation can help with this, so I've been trying to be sure to include some time for that - short spans a few times a day. Helping or not? Hard to say.

I had worked one issue around and around in my head so much that when I finally had the opportunity to let it out (in a meeting with my colleagues), I have a sneaking suspicion I came off sounding like a raving lunatic. I didn't mean to, and it's not at all how I had envisioned the whole matter going, but there I was, gesturing with shaky hands, having a hard time breathing, feeling as though I was foaming at the mouth (not sure I wasn't), and these people looking at me wide-eyed, probably wondering if my head was going to start to spin.

Okay, so I lost it. And while this will now become the disruptive thought that enters my head (as to why I had to lose it like that), a part of me is okay with it. I just might be that crazy, old lady who goes off at what she perceives as social injustice - and maybe that's not such a bad thing. And maybe, just maybe, having people a little freaked out about someone who is passionate and adamant about what they believe is not such a bad thing. Maybe having people know that I make a better friend than enemy is not such a bad thing. And maybe, just maybe, they will appreciate having me on their side. If not, well, then it's going to be a lonely path to my retirement...

TC in My Veins

I just got back from a very short weekend trip to Traverse City to visit the 'rents. I was only there for two mornings, but for each one, I got up and went for an hour-long walk with the dog down to the bay, then back around through downtown.

I love walking TC year round. Having grown up there, and going back to visit, "off season" is my favorite time of year. It truly takes a 'native' of any area to be able to see the beauty in a place in its off season. The bay wasn't frozen over, but there was still a lot of ice along the sand - creating a cool icy sand cliff all along the shore line.

And even though the water was colder than cold, I stuck my hand in it each day, just to touch it, to feel it. I suppose once you consider yourself 'from' a certain place, you always have a special connection with it. And who, if they are from Traverse City, doesn't have a special connection with the bay - enough to make us walk to it in the dead middle of winter and stick our hands in the water. If we can get through the ice, that is.

Minnows in the Snow

Today was a tease. It was sunny all day. I took an hour-long walk down to the river. There were more people out walking today than I have seen out all winter long. And dogs. So many dogs with their owners. It's as if the thaw of the day released them from their homes, and they all came out to walk the path that was once so familiar to them in the warmer season.

Yet, as I walked along, smiling, nodding, saying my hellos to the suddenly cheerful people, I was reminded of the truth of this month. That it is still Winter. That March is waiting, just around the corner of the week, to come in like a lion and gorge itself on the tasty lamb. The frozen river was dotted with ice fishers. Snowmobilers raced up and down the icy freeway. "The Hill" still had enough snow to entertain the dozen or so children running up and sliding down.

Oh, yes, Winter, today was your flirtation with us poor northerners. Lifting your skirt just enough for us to see dainty petticoats of green grass. But, just like in the cartoons, there's a bear-jaw trap waiting there, should we reach out with our ungloved hands to touch you. Step onto the grass as though it were time to run barefoot through the daisies, and we'll find ourselves frozen into the mud. Let our minds relax into believing this sun could actually warm any portion of bare skin we expose to it, and the next day, I know, we'll find ourselves reddened and frostbitten. You are a tease, oh February Winter, and we are your bait, like minnows in the snow.

It's Cold Where I Live

And barren. For months. Boats don't leave the river. Leaves don't grow on trees. People don't sit in the park and drink beer from paper bags. It's blue and it's gray and it's cold, all day, every day. It can be warmer when the sun shines, but only if the wind isn't blowing. And the wind is almost always blowing, just a little, just enough to need to pull that scarf up over your nose so your nostrils won't freeze. We stay indoors. We make soup and bread and drink whiskey and beer and wine and pull blankets up over our noses when we sleep at night. We wake up in darkness and wish only to not have to pee so bad that we can stay under the covers just a little while longer. Yes, it's cold where I live.

A Contrast Study in Old Men

Old Men Who Give Old a Bad Name

January 4: Waiting at the pharmacy for my prescriptions. I'm looking at the remedies on the shelves for cold sores, chapped cows udders - the salve for which I guess works great on human hands and lips, lice shampoos, etc. I hear an old man come in and start off complaining how his insurance won't cover his prescription. Right away, he blames "Bama" for it all. How he's spending all our money in other countries instead of here. How he's making a mess of health care. How we're all gonna die and it will be his fault. But it won't matter anyway because somebody's gonna shoot him soon enough. What a mess he's made of everything. I don't turn around, and instead examine ear drop solutions. If the old badger were to engage me, I'm not sure he'd like what I have to say to him. The only thing I could think to say would be: "With all you have to complain about, what are you doing to make the world a better place? What do you do that you get out of bed for every day where you think to yourself, 'This will help to make the world better for everybody.'? Because you bitchin' about it isn't doing anybody any good." Cocoa butter lotion. I could use some of that.

Old Men Who Give Old a Good Name

January 5: Waiting room to get my blood drawn. The only other person there is an old man. He smiles and says hello to me. I smile back, say good morning. He comments on the cold. Not as bad as it has been, I say. He says he's been in Kentucky. Tells me about the flea market he went to, "As big as from here to Euclid" he says. That's at least six blocks away. I tell him he had it good. Missed the worst of the weather. He laughs and tells me he's seen plenty in his day. I tell him I hope he sees plenty more. He laughs, and I laugh with him.

We have plenty of role models for our old age all around us. What kind of role model will you be? What kind of role model are you?

January 2010

Walking through Midland Street, Bay City, Michigan
January 1, 2010 at 8:00am

Down to the River Walk with Scrappy. A thin layer of fluffy snow hides the ice patches, catches us on occasion, but neither of us fall. Nobody else around, but the tracks of humans and their dogs. Who else would get up so early on New Year's Day? Dogs, not their people.

The snow on Midland street is trampled through. Outside the Lumberbaron, brightly colored confetti is frozen to the sidewalk, black styrofoam takeout boxes litter the lot, red and white checkered pizza slice papers tumble along in the wind.

Lucky's still has their outdoor speakers on, some inane rock and roll ballad blares as we walk past, then fades to dissonance in the cold. The guy with his chow mix walks on the other side of the street. "Your dog doesn't like mine," he said to me once. His chow barks, snaps and snarls - would attack us if that leash broke - that guy has a skewed perception of which dog has the issue. "Happy new year!" I call to him across the street, over his monster's snarls. He nods and waves, tells the dog to shut up after we pass.

Dorr's restaurant is open for breakfast. Cheese omelet with potatoes is the special today. The waitress leans heaviy onto the counter, looking out the window but past us walking by. Her hair hangs in loose clumps out of her pony tail. Here she is not five hours later, ready to serve the hungover patrons who won't remember playing grabass with her last night, or that they stiffed her on the tip. She's tired, but she'll remember.

A crumpled black jacket lays in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the last bar. It's lightly dusted with snow, and I think to pick it up, but then decide against it. It makes it's own kind of art there: NYD 2010 - The Morning After Sidewalk. At least there wasn't any puke - not on this side of the street anyway. I'm sure on the Mean Chow side there was some - usually by the Westside there's a pile, along with frozen pee that starts partway up the building wall and makes it's way down the sidewalk.

Oh, to think of all the fun I miss by staying home on New Year's Eve, not going to the bars until midnight and then drinking until 2am. I can't remember the last time I side the other side of midnight, let alone 2am. No, I'll take these mornings any day over late nights. The cold, crisp calm of winter morning sunrises. The quiet walk down to the river, frozen over and still. Empty city streets. This is a much better way to start a new year, and hope it stays just as dull the whole year long.