I can finally make this public. I will be teaching full time by the end of the month! The Electronic Classroom of Tomorrow, aka ECOT, has called me in for all the HR paperwork and training my heart can desire. In addition, they have scheduled someone to come out and set up my own Internet work line.
Right now, the hubby and I are having some conflicting ideas of where I'll set up shop in the house. He thinks I'll be fine in the living room since the strongest wireless connection is there. I think that's a terrible idea because I can't sit comfortably and work in there and would prefer to neaten up the office, which is currently more of a book repository (our combined library is more than our shelf space). We'll see how this pans out when the cable guy comes out on the weekend.
Migod, even after a full month of pretty much knowing I had this job in hand, it's still so crazy knowing that I was one of the lucky people to land a full-time teaching job. It's even crazier that I'll be telecommuting instead of driving halfway across the county as I have been for the past three years. I'm hoping to put my first paycheck towards that bicycle I had been eyeing this summer. If I'm not going to be running around a "brick and mortar" classroom, I'm going to need a reason to stay in shape.
BTW, I will be blogging about my school experiences, but that will be in my super secret journal that allows me to make entries private for friends. Let me know if you're actually interested in reading, and I'll send the link!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Thursday, August 07, 2008
RIP Laptop
Unless my second opinion from The Laptop Guy yields an ability to repair a fried motherboard for under $300, I may offer to sell what's left (including a new hard drive) for scrap. Crudbunnies. According to my first opinion, I had neglected to unplug it during a lightning strike or some other power surge, and the whole thing went to hell one system at a time. I don't totally trust that first opinion, which explains why I'm getting a second one.
It's been an interesting week. Rockmaster hubby is still playing with bats all night and stumbling to bed between 3 and 4 am. I've been trying to amuse myself during the evenings, including taking myself out to dinner last night for amazing green pizza (The Hulk from Bono TO GO) and the most decadent nutella crepe I could imagine. The sugar high kept me going well through The Daily Show.
To be honest, I'm enjoying the opportunity to explore The Town of Cow on my own. I like going out and hanging with the guys over a beer, or just sitting with a book over a plate of something yummy.
It's been an interesting week. Rockmaster hubby is still playing with bats all night and stumbling to bed between 3 and 4 am. I've been trying to amuse myself during the evenings, including taking myself out to dinner last night for amazing green pizza (The Hulk from Bono TO GO) and the most decadent nutella crepe I could imagine. The sugar high kept me going well through The Daily Show.
To be honest, I'm enjoying the opportunity to explore The Town of Cow on my own. I like going out and hanging with the guys over a beer, or just sitting with a book over a plate of something yummy.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Good deed by the drama queen
A quick word of advice. If you're scheduled to give blood in the morning, make sure to get a good night's sleep as well as a good breakfast with PLENTY of fluids. I kinda screwed this up on Saturday and almost took a nice belly flop trying to get to my cookie and juice. Thankfully, another donor saw me start to swoon and got someone over to help me to a cot. It was a little embarrassing having to lie down right at the entrance while swathed in cold towels. Apparently I sweat like a maniac when my blood pressure crashes.
Ah well, at least I didn't hoard my spare pint. Just need to be a little smarter about it.
Ah well, at least I didn't hoard my spare pint. Just need to be a little smarter about it.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Doing well!
My laptop is repaired after the hard drive completely fried itself. I blame the summer heat. Now, the hubby and I are disagreeing on setting up things. He wants me to be able to run it as a thin client on our fileserver (which was built from the bones of my old desktop). I want to use my computer independently but back it up on the fileserver in case disaster once again strikes. Considering I didn't know what a thin client was until a few months ago, he probably has logic on his side. Hey, as long as I can take it to Stauf's or Luck Brothers and work over a cup of coffee and a pastry, I'll be happy.
Retook a technology test this morning for one of the schools thinking of hiring me. I think I passed, although I'm really rusty on PowerPoint. If that goes well, I should be okay for work this fall. The trick will then be to at least tithe onto Mastercard that which is Mastercard. Since we're now talking about taking advantage of the buyer's market and looking for a house in the next year, I should make sure our credit isn't wrecked.
The odd thing is, I'm enjoying this. It took me a long time, but it's fun to be an adult. Being married is pretty good too, even the nights when I'm on the couch to avoid the snoring upstairs.
Retook a technology test this morning for one of the schools thinking of hiring me. I think I passed, although I'm really rusty on PowerPoint. If that goes well, I should be okay for work this fall. The trick will then be to at least tithe onto Mastercard that which is Mastercard. Since we're now talking about taking advantage of the buyer's market and looking for a house in the next year, I should make sure our credit isn't wrecked.
The odd thing is, I'm enjoying this. It took me a long time, but it's fun to be an adult. Being married is pretty good too, even the nights when I'm on the couch to avoid the snoring upstairs.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Grampa's feeling better
I'm assuming he is, because he apparently went out on a date a couple of nights ago. I'd call to ask how it went, but I don't want to embarrass him too much. Considering this was his first FIRST date in seventy years, I'm sure it was a little nerve-wracking for him.
Must admit, I was surprised when my dad told me about it. Grampa swore he was never going to date and would live the rest of his years on his own. I'm glad he decided against this. He's a good looking man who acts at least fifteen years younger than his age, he has most of his original teeth, can still drive at night and can ballroom dance like a champ (I could barely keep up with him at my wedding reception). Hell, I would consider signing him up for an AARP edition of The Bachelor!
I'm really, really happy that he isn't relying solely on my parents for company. I really, REALLY hope the lady he's seeing has good hearing, so every other word in the conversation isn't,
Must admit, I was surprised when my dad told me about it. Grampa swore he was never going to date and would live the rest of his years on his own. I'm glad he decided against this. He's a good looking man who acts at least fifteen years younger than his age, he has most of his original teeth, can still drive at night and can ballroom dance like a champ (I could barely keep up with him at my wedding reception). Hell, I would consider signing him up for an AARP edition of The Bachelor!
I'm really, really happy that he isn't relying solely on my parents for company. I really, REALLY hope the lady he's seeing has good hearing, so every other word in the conversation isn't,
WHAT???
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Faceache and other annoyances
Well, yesterday was my first day back to work without prescription painkillers since my wisdom teeth were yanked. I was hurting so much, my ears started to ache and pop. Stupid me left for the office without bringing any Advil with me. Thankfully, one of the new accountants had four left, so I'm gulped them down as I typed. Today, I'm back home and back on the Tylenol with codeine.
Rockmaster hubby went on one of his purchasing benders and came home from Target with a flat screen television. I was NOT happy because I wasn't consulted or even warned (he had just gone out for some generic pharmacy stuff) until I tripped over the box in the kitchen. While I can understand why he picked it up (we had HD cable with a crap screen, the set was on sale, it was the last one), I was upset that he didn't call me with this plan. We probably would have argued a bit but then I would've given in, but I was out of the loop. He finally realized that I was sincerely upset, not about the television (which I might figure out how to use in a month) but about the lack of discussion. He apologized profusely, especially since I threatened to leave all the sets in the house tuned in to "I Love Money" if he does this again.
Once I've signed a contract with a school and once he's secure in his current job or elsewhere, I'll breathe a lot easier. We'll be able to live the DINK (duel-income, no kids) lifestyle at that point, and I won't mind an impulse purchase near as much. Fortunately, we still have plenty of savings so I can buy a bicycle soon.
Rockmaster hubby went on one of his purchasing benders and came home from Target with a flat screen television. I was NOT happy because I wasn't consulted or even warned (he had just gone out for some generic pharmacy stuff) until I tripped over the box in the kitchen. While I can understand why he picked it up (we had HD cable with a crap screen, the set was on sale, it was the last one), I was upset that he didn't call me with this plan. We probably would have argued a bit but then I would've given in, but I was out of the loop. He finally realized that I was sincerely upset, not about the television (which I might figure out how to use in a month) but about the lack of discussion. He apologized profusely, especially since I threatened to leave all the sets in the house tuned in to "I Love Money" if he does this again.
Once I've signed a contract with a school and once he's secure in his current job or elsewhere, I'll breathe a lot easier. We'll be able to live the DINK (duel-income, no kids) lifestyle at that point, and I won't mind an impulse purchase near as much. Fortunately, we still have plenty of savings so I can buy a bicycle soon.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wisdom-less
Teaching interview was yesterday, wisdom teeth removal was today. Both went surprisingly better than expected. I'll post more details when I'm feeling a little more with it.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
A Challenge!
The Challenge:
- Post 3 things you've done in your lifetime that you don't think anybody else on your friends list has done.
- See if anybody else responds with "I've done that." If they have, you need to add another! (2.b., 2.c., etc...)
- Have your friends cut & paste this into their journal to see what unique things they've done in their life.
1. I ran away with the circus for a weekend. It's a long story, but I got to pet a lion and my friend did NOT elope with the dog trainer, so it had a happy ending.
2. I rode a zipline course through a rainforest in Alaska. It was breathtaking, even when I got stuck and had to pull myself about twelve feet.
3. I modeled a t-shirt for a Famous Amos Cookies ad. I was in fourth grade and kept complaining that the cookies had raisins in them.
- Post 3 things you've done in your lifetime that you don't think anybody else on your friends list has done.
- See if anybody else responds with "I've done that." If they have, you need to add another! (2.b., 2.c., etc...)
- Have your friends cut & paste this into their journal to see what unique things they've done in their life.
1. I ran away with the circus for a weekend. It's a long story, but I got to pet a lion and my friend did NOT elope with the dog trainer, so it had a happy ending.
2. I rode a zipline course through a rainforest in Alaska. It was breathtaking, even when I got stuck and had to pull myself about twelve feet.
3. I modeled a t-shirt for a Famous Amos Cookies ad. I was in fourth grade and kept complaining that the cookies had raisins in them.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Two years? Wow...
Well, today is our second wedding anniversary. I'm honestly glad to say that it hasn't been easy, but it's been a partnership in progress. There were times that we were absolutely miserable and staring at each other like we were total strangers. However, I always make it top priority to make sure neither went to sleep mad at each other. It seems to do the trick. Every night, we talk through what's been bothering us about the day. It smooths things over so I don't sit up at night wondering what's wrong.
One of the downsides of marrying later in life is that we're a bit jaded. The last two years have been reteaching ourselves and each other to stop reacting as if we're still in the relationships that didn't work. This has not been easy because we've had some doozy exes, but it's worth it to look to the other side of the couch and know my decision was a wise one.
At least we're comfortable enough with each other that we went out for Mexican food and didn't hold back on eating the beans.
One of the downsides of marrying later in life is that we're a bit jaded. The last two years have been reteaching ourselves and each other to stop reacting as if we're still in the relationships that didn't work. This has not been easy because we've had some doozy exes, but it's worth it to look to the other side of the couch and know my decision was a wise one.
At least we're comfortable enough with each other that we went out for Mexican food and didn't hold back on eating the beans.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Buzz buzz
The Rockmaster hubby and I wound up at Cafe Brioso from 6-11 last night for a Barista Jam. Tons of amazing lattes as well as demonstrations of how to use their espresso equipment, all for $5 (proceeds went to a charity purchasing bicycles for Rwandan citizens). I made a fairly decent espresso using the standard equipment and the guidance of a Cleveland barista named Wiggles. The hubby played with the pump machine that intimidated even the experienced baristas who had never seen one before (we heard it could possibly explode if used wrong).
The actual Jam was a latte foam decoration competition, with each entrant making three huge lattes and making designs using only the milk pour (no help from toothpicks or whatnot). The surprise winner was a guy from Grove City, beating out local favorite Chester from Luck Brothers. I slucked down his winning latte (SOMEONE had to drink these things once they were made) and can vouch that it was delicious as well as beautiful.
The only problem was that I was still wide awake until about 3:30 am and the cat STILL woke me up at 6. I should have dragged the hubby to the Tip Top with everyone else for the after party. A small amount of whiskey and conversation might have taken the edge off the coffee jitters.
The actual Jam was a latte foam decoration competition, with each entrant making three huge lattes and making designs using only the milk pour (no help from toothpicks or whatnot). The surprise winner was a guy from Grove City, beating out local favorite Chester from Luck Brothers. I slucked down his winning latte (SOMEONE had to drink these things once they were made) and can vouch that it was delicious as well as beautiful.
The only problem was that I was still wide awake until about 3:30 am and the cat STILL woke me up at 6. I should have dragged the hubby to the Tip Top with everyone else for the after party. A small amount of whiskey and conversation might have taken the edge off the coffee jitters.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Reading Lists!
Taking a page from a Live Journal friend, here's a list from LibraryThing of 106 most read books. These are my results. Bold titles I've read, * titles I own but have not read, and Italicized titles I've begun but not finished. It definitely gives me some plans for summer reading!
Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell * (got it for my birthday but it's too big to carry to school)
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion*
Life of Pi
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
The Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel: the fates of human societies
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged (I got through the first chapter and loathed it)
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales (I even read the parts not assigned in class)
The Historian : a novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible : a novel
1984
Angels and Demons
The Inferno (and Purgatory and Paradise)
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (I should get this out of my car)
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-Five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon*
Oryx and Crake : a novel
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers
Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell * (got it for my birthday but it's too big to carry to school)
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion*
Life of Pi
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
The Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel: the fates of human societies
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged (I got through the first chapter and loathed it)
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales (I even read the parts not assigned in class)
The Historian : a novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible : a novel
1984
Angels and Demons
The Inferno (and Purgatory and Paradise)
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (I should get this out of my car)
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-Five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon*
Oryx and Crake : a novel
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers
Friday, April 18, 2008
Earthquake?!?
I was woken up at around 6:40 this morning to the bed lightly shaking. I thought it was the cat, but Pandora was downstairs. Turns out a 5.2 earthquake all the way in Illinois made it all the way to Columbus. Pros slept through it, heavy sleeper that he is, but BOY was he excited by the news of the tremor.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Once Upon a Time, Part 1
This is a story that popped into my head sideways. I'll be posting what I have a little at a time in the hopes that I'll decide where to take it next.
We were twelve, my sister Emily and I. It was early August, and the heat draped on our skin with beads of sweat and mud. We were too young to go to the cotillions with Mother and too old to throw dirt clods with the neighborhood kids, so we stuck together for company. This was okay, since Mother taught us that we’d been born together, so we might as well stick together. The neighborhood kids also couldn’t get over that we were two girls that looked exactly alike, so they tended to be a little distant with us.
I could never understand how anyone could mistake the two of us. As far as I was concerned, Emily was the pretty one. She had a pretty that came from deep inside her and radiated across her face. Mother said that she was graceful, but to me, that was what made Emily pretty. I was the one with my nose in a volume of Grimm Brothers or Hans Christian Andersen. It didn’t make me “the smart one”, just the one who looked for mermaids in the lake and fairies in the trees. Emily didn’t laugh for making her search with me, but maybe that’s because there was nothing in our reality that was as much fun as my fantasies. Mother never questioned my attachment to these stories because she knew Daddy used to read them to us. Emily would fall asleep after the first page, but I would stay awake, begging for the next chapter. Daddy left one night while we were sleeping, but he gave me his books and Emily his watch and wedding band before he closed our door for the last time.
Emily sat underneath the tree I was trying to climb. She had picked Black-Eyed Susans on our walk to the lake and was braiding their stems into a wreath. She barely needed to touch the flowers; they arranged themselves because Emily wanted them that way. That was part of her grace making everything pretty like her. My hands were quickly blistered from the effort of the climb up the sharp bark, and I was thankful I’d worn jeans instead of short, or my knees would have bled into the wood.
The image of giving my blood to the tree suddenly caught in my mind. “Hey, if I pricked my finger and fed three drops to the tree, do you think the dryad in it would wake up?”
“Dryad? I can’t remember, what’s that?” Emily looked up at me, but her fingers continued to lure the flowers into place.
“Dryads are forest nymphs, kind of like fairies. I read about them in Daddy’s Bullfinch’s Mythology.” I scrambled to a thick branch to catch my breath. “They can turn into trees when they want to hide from satyrs chasing them. Satyrs are half man, half goat, I think.”
I watched her turn this thought in her head. “Wow, I’d run from them too, I’d bet.” Her hands slowed. “Do they have goat’s heads or legs?”
“They have human heads and chests, but from the waist down is all goat, so they run really fast. Nymphs can run too, but dryads can turn themselves into trees so they don’t have to run.”
“That’s clever of them.” She held the completed wreath between her slender fingers. “This would be a perfect crown for a dryad, wouldn’t it?”
I nodded, “It would, but only as long as you didn’t pick the flowers from the trees they’re hiding in. It would be like pulling off one of their fingers.”
“Eeew, Sarah!”
“It’s true.” I tried to bring the exact story to the front of my head. “A woman picked a flower from a tree that was really a dryad in hiding. The dryad was so mad that she turned the woman into a tree and wouldn’t turn her back.”
Emily’s forehead creased in a frown. “That isn’t fair. Did the tree have a sign that said, ‘Warning: Dryad’? I’m sure the woman didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
I shrugged and ran my hands along the bark. “I didn’t make up the story. It’s the way things were. It just doesn’t happen as often now that it isn’t ‘once upon a time’.”
“Is that why people don’t believe the stories as much as they used to? Because ‘once upon a time’ was so long ago?” She looked up at me while placing the wreath on her own head.
“Once upon a time was probably a much better time for the dryads, the satyrs and everyone else.”
We were twelve, my sister Emily and I. It was early August, and the heat draped on our skin with beads of sweat and mud. We were too young to go to the cotillions with Mother and too old to throw dirt clods with the neighborhood kids, so we stuck together for company. This was okay, since Mother taught us that we’d been born together, so we might as well stick together. The neighborhood kids also couldn’t get over that we were two girls that looked exactly alike, so they tended to be a little distant with us.
I could never understand how anyone could mistake the two of us. As far as I was concerned, Emily was the pretty one. She had a pretty that came from deep inside her and radiated across her face. Mother said that she was graceful, but to me, that was what made Emily pretty. I was the one with my nose in a volume of Grimm Brothers or Hans Christian Andersen. It didn’t make me “the smart one”, just the one who looked for mermaids in the lake and fairies in the trees. Emily didn’t laugh for making her search with me, but maybe that’s because there was nothing in our reality that was as much fun as my fantasies. Mother never questioned my attachment to these stories because she knew Daddy used to read them to us. Emily would fall asleep after the first page, but I would stay awake, begging for the next chapter. Daddy left one night while we were sleeping, but he gave me his books and Emily his watch and wedding band before he closed our door for the last time.
Emily sat underneath the tree I was trying to climb. She had picked Black-Eyed Susans on our walk to the lake and was braiding their stems into a wreath. She barely needed to touch the flowers; they arranged themselves because Emily wanted them that way. That was part of her grace making everything pretty like her. My hands were quickly blistered from the effort of the climb up the sharp bark, and I was thankful I’d worn jeans instead of short, or my knees would have bled into the wood.
The image of giving my blood to the tree suddenly caught in my mind. “Hey, if I pricked my finger and fed three drops to the tree, do you think the dryad in it would wake up?”
“Dryad? I can’t remember, what’s that?” Emily looked up at me, but her fingers continued to lure the flowers into place.
“Dryads are forest nymphs, kind of like fairies. I read about them in Daddy’s Bullfinch’s Mythology.” I scrambled to a thick branch to catch my breath. “They can turn into trees when they want to hide from satyrs chasing them. Satyrs are half man, half goat, I think.”
I watched her turn this thought in her head. “Wow, I’d run from them too, I’d bet.” Her hands slowed. “Do they have goat’s heads or legs?”
“They have human heads and chests, but from the waist down is all goat, so they run really fast. Nymphs can run too, but dryads can turn themselves into trees so they don’t have to run.”
“That’s clever of them.” She held the completed wreath between her slender fingers. “This would be a perfect crown for a dryad, wouldn’t it?”
I nodded, “It would, but only as long as you didn’t pick the flowers from the trees they’re hiding in. It would be like pulling off one of their fingers.”
“Eeew, Sarah!”
“It’s true.” I tried to bring the exact story to the front of my head. “A woman picked a flower from a tree that was really a dryad in hiding. The dryad was so mad that she turned the woman into a tree and wouldn’t turn her back.”
Emily’s forehead creased in a frown. “That isn’t fair. Did the tree have a sign that said, ‘Warning: Dryad’? I’m sure the woman didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
I shrugged and ran my hands along the bark. “I didn’t make up the story. It’s the way things were. It just doesn’t happen as often now that it isn’t ‘once upon a time’.”
“Is that why people don’t believe the stories as much as they used to? Because ‘once upon a time’ was so long ago?” She looked up at me while placing the wreath on her own head.
“Once upon a time was probably a much better time for the dryads, the satyrs and everyone else.”
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Me To You (an older poem of mine)
You are to me the full moon,
Sometimes shrouded in clouds
Only around once in a while.
But when you are here with me,
You are clear and bright
Illuminating the right path
With just a touch of lunacy.
What, then, am I to you?
You are to me the exotic,
The combination of the Orient
With its grace and rhythm
And Italy’s brilliant colors.
I can count the many trips
Your heart takes between them.
I watch but dare not follow.
What, then, am I to you?
Am I the innocent child
Who amuses you for a while?
Or maybe the wide-eyed student
You wish to fill with wisdom?
Calm and patience flow from you
While I am so coltish and wild.
There is little I can offer
There is less you can use.
You are to me a sorrow,
A dream I can never have.
Only a shadow of what jewels
Lie outside my weak grasp.
You are so tantalizing.
You keep so distant
As we stand under the full moon.
What, then, could I ever be to you?
Sometimes shrouded in clouds
Only around once in a while.
But when you are here with me,
You are clear and bright
Illuminating the right path
With just a touch of lunacy.
What, then, am I to you?
You are to me the exotic,
The combination of the Orient
With its grace and rhythm
And Italy’s brilliant colors.
I can count the many trips
Your heart takes between them.
I watch but dare not follow.
What, then, am I to you?
Am I the innocent child
Who amuses you for a while?
Or maybe the wide-eyed student
You wish to fill with wisdom?
Calm and patience flow from you
While I am so coltish and wild.
There is little I can offer
There is less you can use.
You are to me a sorrow,
A dream I can never have.
Only a shadow of what jewels
Lie outside my weak grasp.
You are so tantalizing.
You keep so distant
As we stand under the full moon.
What, then, could I ever be to you?
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
A Book Review (of sorts)
Reclaiming Icarus: Reading The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky
I had never heard of David Dornstein until days after his death. It was Mr. Stefanisko, my 11th grade history teacher, who gave this person life and death in my mind. It was the last class of the day, shortly before Winter Break, when Mr. Stefanisko came into the room. His beefy face was damp and his eyes were unnaturally puffy and red.
After a few moments of catching his breath, he spoke. “I am assuming everyone in this classroom has paid enough attention to current events to know about the explosion of Pan Am Flight 103.” We all nodded, but our teacher stared beyond us all. “The school has just received the news that David Dornstein, one of my very best students, was on that flight. He was flying home from Israel, and he apparently had a copy of his first novel with him, the only copy.” Mr. Stefanisko’s voice broke with the last of his control, and he sobbed openly in front of the room. I sat in the front row, close enough to touch him, but I sat still in my seat, taking in the current event that was the explosion of an airplane over Lockerbie, Scotland, and giving it a name. It was then that I realized that this David Dornstein must have been Ken Dornstein’s brother.
Ken Dornstein graduated from my high school just as I moved to CHS to start my sophomore year, but my parents were teachers at the school and had given me copies of Ken’s work from the school newspaper. His final piece comparing writing the perfect college essay to eating frog’s legs was a study in pretzel logic. My grief in hearing about the older brother was the thought that he may have been as brilliant a writer as the younger one.
These were the thoughts that went through my mind when I found Ken Dornstein’s The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky on the shelf at Barnes and Noble. I quickly made the purchase, ran home and flew through the first section. The emotional recall that Ken was able to bring from himself pulled out that memory of Mr. Stefanisko breaking down in class, and I left the book on my shelf for over a year.
This was a mistake.
There are many lessons to be learned in this memoir of two intertwined brothers. From the stoic standpoint of a writer, this is a brilliantly researched and faithfully written piece of nonfiction. Every quote made in the book is substantiated by an immediate source, most often David’s own fanatical journal writing. Ken makes much in early sections about how David wrote about his predictions of an early death in an air accident. This unsettling but almost romantic image is tempered by the remembrance that David’s predictions coincided with the death of a beloved local celebrity in a skydiving accident. The link is substantiated in David’s journals, and Ken is able to move forward in his research rather than being bogged down in the tragedy.
Ken’s connection to own his grief and his obsessive need to “find” his brother lead the surviving brother to start “The David Project”, where he spent years reading through David’s journals and interviewing those who had any kind of influence on David’s life. Through a chance encounter on a train, Ken became reacquainted with Kathyrn, David’s college girlfriend. This meeting would lead to a complicated relationship that runs parallel to “The David Project”. Ken’s mixed feelings of love for Kathryn and guilt for stealing her away from a brother who could not claim her made for a story equally compelling as his emotions regarding the truths he continued to uncover about that brother.
Simply put, there was no novel.
This truth was one that had me run to the phone to call my parents. Did Mr. Stefanisko read this book? Did he know that “The Tragic Twist” reported about his star student was an unfounded myth? Sadly, they let me know my favorite history teacher is in a nursing home with dementia and probably would not even remember that David, Ken or I ever existed. Mr. Stefanisko had always had a touch of madness to his teaching persona, so this did not surprise me.
The madness of the teacher may also explain his emotion connection to his student. While Ken moved through David’s journals, he was able to piece together a story of a mentally tortured older brother he did not know. David suffered as he felt an artist should, but his writing did not grow as he thought it would. The elder brother’s mental health devolved over time, which the younger brother traced back to a possible molestation in David’s childhood. In this passage from David’s journal, he realized that he needed professional help:
YOU NEED TO STOP WRITING IN THIS NOTEBOOK, DAVID… Your life is not the biography of your life that you imagine. You can’t live a book. You can only live a life and if you’re lucky on day you will write the book of your life. But it needs to be done in that order…
Ken continued to research and write David’s life while living his own. He graduated from Brown in his brother’s footsteps and moved to California, then to Boston, where he moved in with Kathryn. His search for remnants of David took Ken to Lockerbie, The Hague and Israel, where he spent time with Rina, David’s last love before he boarded Pan Am 103. What Ken found was the real tragedy in David’s life was not his shocking death, but that he left Israel and Rina behind.
I emailed Ken Dornstein shortly after reading The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky:
When your book about David came out, I bought it immediately, but it took much time for me to get past that first chapter. I picked it up again on Monday and dealt with people asking what was making me tear up, then giggle. For me, it answered the biggest question about the Dornstein Family: would Ken keep writing after he left CHS?
Within a few days, Ken wrote back, remembering my family and our high school teacher:
Thanks so much for this thoughtful, sweet message. Just thinking of Mr Stefanisko being hit with that awful news creates such a sad scene in my mind. I'm glad you got some amusement from the book, among all of the bittersweet parts of it--most people don't know it's okay to laugh in some spots because of the gravity of the topic.
I'll do my best to keep writing, although my day job keeps me quite busy.
All the best,
Ken
Ken is definitely busy. Aside from being a Senior Editor and Producer for Frontline, he and Kathryn married and have two children. Neither are named for their late uncle.
I had never heard of David Dornstein until days after his death. It was Mr. Stefanisko, my 11th grade history teacher, who gave this person life and death in my mind. It was the last class of the day, shortly before Winter Break, when Mr. Stefanisko came into the room. His beefy face was damp and his eyes were unnaturally puffy and red.
After a few moments of catching his breath, he spoke. “I am assuming everyone in this classroom has paid enough attention to current events to know about the explosion of Pan Am Flight 103.” We all nodded, but our teacher stared beyond us all. “The school has just received the news that David Dornstein, one of my very best students, was on that flight. He was flying home from Israel, and he apparently had a copy of his first novel with him, the only copy.” Mr. Stefanisko’s voice broke with the last of his control, and he sobbed openly in front of the room. I sat in the front row, close enough to touch him, but I sat still in my seat, taking in the current event that was the explosion of an airplane over Lockerbie, Scotland, and giving it a name. It was then that I realized that this David Dornstein must have been Ken Dornstein’s brother.
Ken Dornstein graduated from my high school just as I moved to CHS to start my sophomore year, but my parents were teachers at the school and had given me copies of Ken’s work from the school newspaper. His final piece comparing writing the perfect college essay to eating frog’s legs was a study in pretzel logic. My grief in hearing about the older brother was the thought that he may have been as brilliant a writer as the younger one.
These were the thoughts that went through my mind when I found Ken Dornstein’s The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky on the shelf at Barnes and Noble. I quickly made the purchase, ran home and flew through the first section. The emotional recall that Ken was able to bring from himself pulled out that memory of Mr. Stefanisko breaking down in class, and I left the book on my shelf for over a year.
This was a mistake.
There are many lessons to be learned in this memoir of two intertwined brothers. From the stoic standpoint of a writer, this is a brilliantly researched and faithfully written piece of nonfiction. Every quote made in the book is substantiated by an immediate source, most often David’s own fanatical journal writing. Ken makes much in early sections about how David wrote about his predictions of an early death in an air accident. This unsettling but almost romantic image is tempered by the remembrance that David’s predictions coincided with the death of a beloved local celebrity in a skydiving accident. The link is substantiated in David’s journals, and Ken is able to move forward in his research rather than being bogged down in the tragedy.
Ken’s connection to own his grief and his obsessive need to “find” his brother lead the surviving brother to start “The David Project”, where he spent years reading through David’s journals and interviewing those who had any kind of influence on David’s life. Through a chance encounter on a train, Ken became reacquainted with Kathyrn, David’s college girlfriend. This meeting would lead to a complicated relationship that runs parallel to “The David Project”. Ken’s mixed feelings of love for Kathryn and guilt for stealing her away from a brother who could not claim her made for a story equally compelling as his emotions regarding the truths he continued to uncover about that brother.
Simply put, there was no novel.
This truth was one that had me run to the phone to call my parents. Did Mr. Stefanisko read this book? Did he know that “The Tragic Twist” reported about his star student was an unfounded myth? Sadly, they let me know my favorite history teacher is in a nursing home with dementia and probably would not even remember that David, Ken or I ever existed. Mr. Stefanisko had always had a touch of madness to his teaching persona, so this did not surprise me.
The madness of the teacher may also explain his emotion connection to his student. While Ken moved through David’s journals, he was able to piece together a story of a mentally tortured older brother he did not know. David suffered as he felt an artist should, but his writing did not grow as he thought it would. The elder brother’s mental health devolved over time, which the younger brother traced back to a possible molestation in David’s childhood. In this passage from David’s journal, he realized that he needed professional help:
YOU NEED TO STOP WRITING IN THIS NOTEBOOK, DAVID… Your life is not the biography of your life that you imagine. You can’t live a book. You can only live a life and if you’re lucky on day you will write the book of your life. But it needs to be done in that order…
Ken continued to research and write David’s life while living his own. He graduated from Brown in his brother’s footsteps and moved to California, then to Boston, where he moved in with Kathryn. His search for remnants of David took Ken to Lockerbie, The Hague and Israel, where he spent time with Rina, David’s last love before he boarded Pan Am 103. What Ken found was the real tragedy in David’s life was not his shocking death, but that he left Israel and Rina behind.
I emailed Ken Dornstein shortly after reading The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky:
When your book about David came out, I bought it immediately, but it took much time for me to get past that first chapter. I picked it up again on Monday and dealt with people asking what was making me tear up, then giggle. For me, it answered the biggest question about the Dornstein Family: would Ken keep writing after he left CHS?
Within a few days, Ken wrote back, remembering my family and our high school teacher:
Thanks so much for this thoughtful, sweet message. Just thinking of Mr Stefanisko being hit with that awful news creates such a sad scene in my mind. I'm glad you got some amusement from the book, among all of the bittersweet parts of it--most people don't know it's okay to laugh in some spots because of the gravity of the topic.
I'll do my best to keep writing, although my day job keeps me quite busy.
All the best,
Ken
Ken is definitely busy. Aside from being a Senior Editor and Producer for Frontline, he and Kathryn married and have two children. Neither are named for their late uncle.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
REPOST: The Chicken Incident
This is one of my assignments from my Nonfiction Writing Class. Please enjoy, even if it's at my expense...
The problem with family folklore is that the story gets so terribly drawn out and exaggerated. In my case, I am the victim of The Chicken Incident. This is a story that happened when I was a toddler, so I can't exactly give my side of the story, but that doesn't stop everyone in my family, including my little brother who obviously wasn't there, from telling the legend. It wouldn't be so horribly bad if they would pick better times to retell it. The guests at my rehearsal dinner just HAD to hear about The Chicken Incident? I'm just relieved my husband didn't simply stay out after his bachelor party after the sheer terror of the tale.
So what WAS The Chicken Incident? To be honest, I'd heard the story told by so many people that I wasn't quite sure of the details anymore. It was time to swallow my pride and go to the source. I had to call my parents and get the cold, hard truth. After all, they were the ones who allowed The Chicken Incident to occur. My father, sadly, was of little help remembering details other than he thought it was the fall. He quickly passed the telephone to my mother, who had already started giggling with her memories.
It was the autumn of 1974, the last full year of my reign as an only child. We had gone through almost the entire area of the Philadelphia Zoo with me kept off my feet and close to them. This was a good idea considering my unique style of exploring the world. Even at the age of two, I had a voice that could be heard for several city blocks. I also had skipped learning to walk and went straight to running on tiptoe. It was in my best interest to keep me from running headlong into the lion pit, so I am grateful in retrospect that I was not allowed to play with the pretty kitties.
Finally, they brought me to the petting zoo. There were already children my own age running around excitedly, playing with the goats, sheep and other animals. Released to stand on my own two feet, my arms shot into the air and waved wildly as I barreled past the smaller creatures and stopped before the largest cow I could find. Once I was nose to nose with the cow, I screamed with delight! The cow mildly turned her dark eyes on mine, and then licked me from my coat collar to my hairline. I screamed again, and then ran over to a goat to continue the process, my arms still waving, my feet still on pointe. I screamed at a sheep, and then ran over to a chicken I had passed at the entrance to the petting zoo. The chicken and I were almost the same height, but she had a half inch on my small, compact frame. We stood no more than a foot from one another.
I screamed happily at the chicken.
The chicken fell over backwards without a sound, her feet straight up in the air.
The denouement, according to my mother, was that a young man working in the park came running over, looking extremely upset. He insisted I be removed from the petting zoo immediately because I was upsetting the animals. My parents looked around at all the animals that were still standing and decided to not take their chances. We went home, my parents laughing the whole way and long into the evening. Of course, they had to tell everyone about The Chicken Incident. As my mother put it, "What are the chances your kid can do this? It was incredible!"
The problem with family folklore is that the story gets so terribly drawn out and exaggerated. In my case, I am the victim of The Chicken Incident. This is a story that happened when I was a toddler, so I can't exactly give my side of the story, but that doesn't stop everyone in my family, including my little brother who obviously wasn't there, from telling the legend. It wouldn't be so horribly bad if they would pick better times to retell it. The guests at my rehearsal dinner just HAD to hear about The Chicken Incident? I'm just relieved my husband didn't simply stay out after his bachelor party after the sheer terror of the tale.
So what WAS The Chicken Incident? To be honest, I'd heard the story told by so many people that I wasn't quite sure of the details anymore. It was time to swallow my pride and go to the source. I had to call my parents and get the cold, hard truth. After all, they were the ones who allowed The Chicken Incident to occur. My father, sadly, was of little help remembering details other than he thought it was the fall. He quickly passed the telephone to my mother, who had already started giggling with her memories.
It was the autumn of 1974, the last full year of my reign as an only child. We had gone through almost the entire area of the Philadelphia Zoo with me kept off my feet and close to them. This was a good idea considering my unique style of exploring the world. Even at the age of two, I had a voice that could be heard for several city blocks. I also had skipped learning to walk and went straight to running on tiptoe. It was in my best interest to keep me from running headlong into the lion pit, so I am grateful in retrospect that I was not allowed to play with the pretty kitties.
Finally, they brought me to the petting zoo. There were already children my own age running around excitedly, playing with the goats, sheep and other animals. Released to stand on my own two feet, my arms shot into the air and waved wildly as I barreled past the smaller creatures and stopped before the largest cow I could find. Once I was nose to nose with the cow, I screamed with delight! The cow mildly turned her dark eyes on mine, and then licked me from my coat collar to my hairline. I screamed again, and then ran over to a goat to continue the process, my arms still waving, my feet still on pointe. I screamed at a sheep, and then ran over to a chicken I had passed at the entrance to the petting zoo. The chicken and I were almost the same height, but she had a half inch on my small, compact frame. We stood no more than a foot from one another.
I screamed happily at the chicken.
The chicken fell over backwards without a sound, her feet straight up in the air.
The denouement, according to my mother, was that a young man working in the park came running over, looking extremely upset. He insisted I be removed from the petting zoo immediately because I was upsetting the animals. My parents looked around at all the animals that were still standing and decided to not take their chances. We went home, my parents laughing the whole way and long into the evening. Of course, they had to tell everyone about The Chicken Incident. As my mother put it, "What are the chances your kid can do this? It was incredible!"
Monday, March 24, 2008
REPOST: My 2008 Top Ten Goals
These were from January. I do this instead of resolutions, as I can assess them and review them on a regular basis. Here they are!
1. Audition for Opera Columbus. I've chickened out twice now. I have my audition pieces picked now so I'll know them too well to be nervous in the spring.
2. Write a little every day. How can I get published if I'm not writing? Hell, I have a computer on my lap a majority of my time at home.
3. Get at least two interviews for a full time teaching job. I've already had one in a large school district, but I need to get more practice! Time to get proactive.
4. Pay at least a third off my credit card. It's only one card, but ugh, I've wracked up a high debt.
5. Get some quality time with my niece. This one may be tough since we live a good distance from NYC, but it'll be worth it when she recognizes me from one time to the next.
6. Write a will. Maudlin, no? Well, Pros and I have been married for a while, and we're both getting older.
7. Take better care of Pandora. The guinea pigs are pretty self-sufficient, but I've manage to overfeed the cat into diabetes. She's doing much better, but I worry that I've cut her life span dramatically.
8. Cook with my husband. I've found that we get along really well in the kitchen when we work together. He's patient in showing me the best techniques to avoid slicing off a finger. Now, if I can only get him to wash a dish…
9. Restart my training schedule. I've been working with an amazing trainer, but I had to put that on hold while we got our income situation improved. Hopefully, this will pass.
10. Go out with friends at least one night a month. This follows up on my goal from last year of making new friends. I love Pros, but I need to have my own life as well, or we'll both resent each other.
1. Audition for Opera Columbus. I've chickened out twice now. I have my audition pieces picked now so I'll know them too well to be nervous in the spring.
2. Write a little every day. How can I get published if I'm not writing? Hell, I have a computer on my lap a majority of my time at home.
3. Get at least two interviews for a full time teaching job. I've already had one in a large school district, but I need to get more practice! Time to get proactive.
4. Pay at least a third off my credit card. It's only one card, but ugh, I've wracked up a high debt.
5. Get some quality time with my niece. This one may be tough since we live a good distance from NYC, but it'll be worth it when she recognizes me from one time to the next.
6. Write a will. Maudlin, no? Well, Pros and I have been married for a while, and we're both getting older.
7. Take better care of Pandora. The guinea pigs are pretty self-sufficient, but I've manage to overfeed the cat into diabetes. She's doing much better, but I worry that I've cut her life span dramatically.
8. Cook with my husband. I've found that we get along really well in the kitchen when we work together. He's patient in showing me the best techniques to avoid slicing off a finger. Now, if I can only get him to wash a dish…
9. Restart my training schedule. I've been working with an amazing trainer, but I had to put that on hold while we got our income situation improved. Hopefully, this will pass.
10. Go out with friends at least one night a month. This follows up on my goal from last year of making new friends. I love Pros, but I need to have my own life as well, or we'll both resent each other.
I have decided...
... it's time to resurrect this blog. I am heavily considering killing my MySpace account within the next month, but I love having an outlet for some of my writing. Besides, now that my intensely talented brother is on board the Blogger train, perhaps it is a sign that I need to punch my ticket again.
Sorry, bad metaphors there.
I'll probably have to update a few things, perhaps move some choice stuff over from the old blog, but I can handle a little less comment traffic for a little more contact with those I care about.
I'm BAAAACK!!!
Sorry, bad metaphors there.
I'll probably have to update a few things, perhaps move some choice stuff over from the old blog, but I can handle a little less comment traffic for a little more contact with those I care about.
I'm BAAAACK!!!
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