Friday, March 16, 2018

Wearing of the green

Happy St. Patrick's Day! These photos are from when Nicole was in my class six years ago. 
This was one of the most fun days in my classroom. I dipped a tiny foot shaped sponge in green paint and made footprints all over the room. Then I dumped treasure such as pennies and gold trinkets and shamrocks on the floor. The students tracked the leprechaun right to the bathroom, where they noticed green footprints on the toilet paper and on the toilet seat. You should have heard the squeals when they noticed a drop of green food coloring in the toilet. That was the number one thing they wanted to show their parents. The leprechaun used their toilet! 

I placed a paper leprechaun (mouth cut out) over a green soda bottle and gave the children different lengths of beads to "feed" the green guy. This requires concentration, and hand-eye coordination.

We made a trap for our leprechaun and I recorded the childrens' responses on paper to these questions: Where will YOU keep the leprechaun if you catch him? What green things will you feed him? Funny answer: "You know that secret place where Daddy hides his money from Mom?" 

Then the kids cut strips and pasted them to make a rainbow on their papers which they had scribbled green. I glued a photo of their face onto a paper leprechaun and they were delighted to discover theirs in the hall.

 I really enjoyed teaching preschoolers. Kids were so eager to learn and I used play as a learning tool.

Saturday, March 10, 2018

So rob me of an hour's sleep, see if I care

Today we set the clocks ahead so there will be more evening daylight. I LOVE this day. It is a breath of fresh air, a promise of things to come. And because the sun is shining and the temperature will be in the mid fifties, I wrote a poem. Our daffodils are in full bloom, while our poor friends in the Northeast are buried under 17 inches of snow and expecting another storm.

Spring Artwork

Spill golden forsythia o'er the hillssplash barren earth with daffodils.

Smudge hedgerows purple, dark and light;
tint azalea blossoms raspberry bright.

Rouge ruby red on pansy cheeks,
daub dainty smiles that glow for weeks.

Paint winter’s lawn with sage and jade.
knit spring on every branch, and blade.

I lost all my phone contacts, so if you want me to have your phone # please email me or message me on face book. Now to go out and take some pictures with my new gadget.


Monday, March 5, 2018

Miles of smiles

 Alex is six months old, sitting up pretty much by himself, loves to grab Liam's face and bring it close to him. He loves squash, bananas, peaches, well we haven't found one thing he does not like. I think he looks like Spanky from Our Gang The Little Rascals in this photo. He has big blue eyes.
 Liam continues to prove he is the best big brother ever. He is having such fun finger painting with shaving cream on the back door. "I like Paw-paw's blue cream better than yours," he said referring to the gel cream. He is reading three letter words and very interested in learning, but he still prefers physical activity, and has a description for every park I have taken him to.
"Can we go to the red playground? Or the one with the curvy slide? The one by the bridge with too many street lights? Rocket park? He is a bright boy.
 The other guys that make me smile are inseparable. Sassy cat still has a mouth, but his meows are quieter unless we are preparing his food. Then he yowls. Must have been traumatized being out on his own for that month before we rescued him.

This cat loves Bill, and I must say, the affection is mutual.

We were at the Goodwill and I saw what I thought was a hamper with mesh sides for five dollars. It's 36 inches long by  18 inches high and wide. I noticed a zipper, and read the tag: Warning Do Not Leave Pet Unattended for Long Periods.

Sassy took right to it. We zip him inside and he gets to sit outdoors on the patio with us and watch the birds, squirrels and rabbits, rather than just observing from the window. He loves it.
My rash is nearly gone. Shingles doesn't fade in a week, so I imagine it was an allergic reaction or auto immune response to something i touched or ingested. 

Sunday, March 4, 2018

Scratching like a monkey

Elvis sang these lyrics: "Itching like a man on a fuzzy tree."

We ate at Qdoba Mexican food on Monday, and I had a terrible allergic reaction to WHAT? I don't know. My underarms and neck broke out in a burning, almost unbearable itchy, red, raised rash. A hot shower was my only relief. The itching is subsiding and the rash is finally going away today. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

 Benadryl has become my best friend, but it makes me drowsy, so I have been snoozing a bit too much. Promise to check blogs and post tomorrow. I am hoping to stay awake for the awards.

Thursday, February 22, 2018

Dehydrated, mortified, and almost petrified

Freezing rain and winter weather makes me yearn for summer. Some summer memories are best forgotten, though.

The administrator at my new school planned an evening luau on the school parking lot to kick off the new school year. Faculty, parents, and students were in attendance. We wore long, colorful, lightweight dresses. The stifling humidity and no breeze whatsoever plastered hair to foreheads, underwear to hineys, and dresses to every body part they touched.

Those who indulged in alcoholic beverages, laughed, and mingled, were less concerned about the sweat pouring down their foreheads, cleavages, backs, and cracks. I was the new hire and the lone teetotaler, suffering in the oppressive heat.

The only breeze anywhere was down the steps in the hotter-than-hell parish hall where the bathrooms were. 

Someone had set up a round, industrial-size floor fan outside the johns. Even though I did not have to use the bathroom, because I had sweated every ounce of fluid out of my body, I couldn't take it another minute. I crept down the church steps, made sure both bathrooms were empty and I was alone. Then I raised my dress thigh-high and stood directly in front of that commercial hot air blaster. Staring at the ceiling, enjoying the cooling process, I did not hear Andy's dad. I looked backward over my shoulder when he said, "Well that's one way to meet the new teacher."

I would have cried if I'd had any tears. I was mortified.

Saturday, February 17, 2018

My heart aches and my fingers are cramped

Heartbroken and overwhelmed with the world situation, friends' and family members' illnesses and deaths. Life gets in the way of happiness some days.

There are things one can do something about, and there are things that happen despite our interventions and best intentions.

On a positive note. I am writing and submitting one new thing a day. So ta-ta, I am off to submit FLASH FICTION. I read it to Bill and he said, "Wow! That even had me interested."

I'll take that as a compliment. Sometimes I surprise myself.


Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Still the one!

Here's the scoop!

                                                         “WE  DO”

            I was driving to work when I heard my name announced on the radio as a winner of a complete wedding package. I shrieked like a maniac. The woman driving next to me asked if I was in labor. A little old for that! I was a divorcee in my mid-forties engaged to be married in April, 1994.
          On a whim, I submitted a parody of the song, "He Ain't Got  a Barrel of Money" to a local radio station’s Valentine’s Day contest, and it was selected. I called my husband at work and bellowed into the phone, “Meet me at the court house by 5:00 p.m. to pick up our marriage license.”
         “Calm down. We have two months. What’s the rush?” 

         “The rush is, we’re getting married on Valentine’s Day. I won a contest.”
         “Have you been drinking?”
         “You know I don’t drink.” 

          I explained that the wedding would be performed at the ornate, elegant Grand Hall of the Hyatt Regency located in Union Station, St. Louis’s once-bustling train station. It would be broadcast live and covered by local television media as well. I told him all about the things we had won: wedding bands, tuxedo rental, flowers, photos, morning and evening reception, hotel package and more. What I didn’t tell him was that I was not the only winner.

            We checked into the hotel the night before. As we sat in the balcony restaurant overlooking the vestibule, we observed other guests arriving. The couples came in droves. Women carried gauzy white wedding gowns, sleek satiny dresses and beaded, sequined veils.

             My fiance looked bewildered. “What is this, a bridal convention? There must be twenty sales people down there hawking dresses.”
            “I counted twenty-five. It’s not a bridal convention, it’s a mass wedding.” I mumbled.

            “A what?” he asked incredulously.

            “Uh yeah, they’re getting married too.” I looked away.

            “With us? Are you kidding?”

            “Uh no, but I’ve decided, I’m not going to go through with this anyway.” I looked him in straight in the eye.

            “What! Why?”

            “Those girls are all young brides with long wedding gowns and gorgeous veils. I’ll be the only one in a white suit with an embellished sequined collar. I’m just not going through with this.” My voice rose and his eyes widened.

            “What now? We’ve registered. Does this mean you don’t want to marry me?” He was getting perturbed and my tears began to flow.

            “No, it means I’m not going to be the only one not wearing a wedding gown!”

            “Is it too late to go buy one?” He was serious at seven o’clock at night.

            That comment convinced me that he was definitely THE ONE, and I made every effort to be pleasant and proceed with the wedding, regardless of my attire.

            In the morning we made our way down the corridors and onto the elevator with other couples in formal wear. I breathed a sigh of relief when I spied two women my age wearing similar suits and white silk hats.

            “You feel better now?” my betrothed asked. “See, out of twenty-five brides, you are not the only one in a suit. You look glamorous.”

            When we entered the Grand Hall with its ornate gilded ceiling and intricate carvings, Bill gasped audibly. It looked like prom night in the 1950s. There was so much chiffon and so many guys in monkey suits with adoring women clinging to their arms.

            “How the hell many people are getting married with us?”

            “Ninety-seven other couples.” I winced. (The call letters of the radio station sponsoring the event was Y 98, thus 98 couples.)

            Simultaneously all couples repeated their vows and said, “I Do.”

            Not many women can say their husbands married them twice in two months, but we did it again, as planned in April.

             Twenty-four years later Bill is STILL THE ONE!