National Novel Writing Month

This initial post will be short. However, I will add to it from time to time this month.

As of today, November 2nd, I have signed up to take part in the National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to write daily on a novel or book-in-progress and write at least 50,000 words for it. I took part in this endeavor in 2011, and I did manage to write a little over 50,000 words in a novel called "Worldly Widow" that currently sits on my desk next to another unpublished novel called "The Clearwater House." Hopefully, one of them will see the light of a bookstore someday, but in the meantime, I am going to attempt to begin another novel, and this challenge is a good way to make me do the one thing I've always said I want to do with my life -- WRITE!

I will update here with word count.

Nov. 2nd -- 310 words.
Nov. 5th -- 1590 words.
Nov. 9th -- 3949 words.

Sadly, while this seems like a lot, I am waaaay behind where I need to be to actually finish 50,000 by the end of the month. November is always a difficult writing month for me because I'm busy most evenings practicing with my one-act team for the fast-approaching competition, and my days are full with teaching. It's very hard to find the time to sit down and write; however, I like the challenge of attempting to reach that goal by month's end. At my current pace, though, I won't reach 50,000 until late February. For now, though, I must stop for the day as I am dizzy. Maybe I'll come back to it later tonight after I rest my eyes and my brain.

Nov. 13th -- 6891 words.
Nov. 15th -- 8742 words.



Nov. 24th -- 10,398 words    According to the word count chart on the NaNoWrMo site, I should be at 45,000 words by now. Oops.

As you can see, I haven't accomplished much in the past nine days; however, I do like what I've written so far even though I'm not really sure where the story is going. I wish this novel writing month were any other month but November. One-act practices suck up most of my evenings this month, and, of course, teaching takes up all my days, so finding the time to write is extremely difficult. But, let's face it, if it were held any other month, I'd find other reasons to not write like I should, too, so there's no perfect month in which to do it, and I should feel pretty damn good about my word count considering all that I have to accomplish this month. I will still bravely attempt to make it to 50,000 words, but I don't see it happening, so I think I'll just give myself an extension on the deadline and continue it until the end of this year.

Sadly, though, I never did complete what I set out to do, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up on the book I've begun or on my dream to one day be a published book author. It's all about the journey, so I'll write when I can, and when November rolls around again, I'll give it another shot. After all, I accomplished this the first time I tried it, so I know I can do it. I'd really love to use it as a jumping off point for writing a book a year, so wish me luck, and someday, hopefully, I'll see one or more of my books in the hands of actual readers!

My Poetic Side -- yes, I have one!

It may shock any readers of this blog or even people who know me (of think they do) that I write poetry, but I do, so get over it! I'm not saying I write great poetry, but there are times the mood hits me for whatever reason and I feel compelled to get some thoughts down via poetry. Sometimes I want to capture a moment, sometimes it's a feeling, and sometimes I just feel the need to let out my smart-ass side in a way it wouldn't be expected. I've attempted a couple times to submit poems for publication, but I haven't yet had any success with that, so I'm saying "Shtick This!" to the standard way of publishing poetry and simply offering up some of my pieces for you to read right here. I hope you like them, but if you don't, oh well. More to follow, though, if I get any positive response about these. 

Poncho-clad child

Poncho-clad child of the seventies

proudly enveloped in the hand-knitted

product of a grandmother’s love.

Pink and white and fringed,

patterned in jagged stripes,

punctuated with buttons of tightly

packed thread. Worn as a child and

pre-teen before being discarded for

purchased jackets in the newer styles.

Packed away for thirty years and then

plucked from storage by another girl -- the

pretty daughter of that 70’s child -- who

puts on that forgotten poncho,

prized possession once again.

Preening before her mother’s mirror, she

pirouettes to watch its flare, and then

pauses to admire her reflection --

Poncho-clad child of the present.

By: Tammy Marshall

Home is . . .

A good book,

A deep laugh,

My family anywhere,

A dear friend,

A loving dog,

My reading chair,

A rainy day,

A sunny beach,

My inherited chinaware,

A long meal,

A kiss good-bye,

My memories we share.

By: Tammy Marshall

            One More Glimpse

My daughter walked down the street

to play at her friend’s house today.

I watched from the window as she

tromped through the slush on the road,

sliding her feet as if she were

skating over the icier sections

where the plow hadn’t scraped low enough. 

She clutched her coat around her,

preferring that to actually zipping it up. 

The breeze brushed her hair back

from her face and out of her eyes,

allowing her to avoid the many puddles

of melted December snow.

She walked away, and I stood alone,

following her every movement until

she turned the corner and disappeared

behind a house, but I waited, knowing

she would reappear, momentarily,

in the space between that house and

the next -- one more glimpse of her

before she slipped out of sight.

All too soon, I will stand alone at

this same window hoping and

waiting for one more glimpse of her

and wishing I could return to

this wintry day of her youth.

By: Tammy Marshall

Clicks

The first call awoke my roommate.

She plunked the phone on my bed. 

“It’s for you.  Him.”

Instantly awake at three a.m.,

my voice sang out a “Hello” to you. 

You slurred one in return, then mumbled

“I Miss You” and “I Want You to Come Over.”

Not “I Love You” or “I Want You Back.”

Come over? To do what? You? 

Disbelief.  Hurt.  Silence. 

A drunken apology for calling and a click.

No more sleep for me that night.

Tears, my only company.

The next call came a few weeks later,

once again in the wee hours of the night.

This time, my roommate ignored it

until I roused enough to answer.

Same routine – until the end. 

This time there was no real click. 

A fake hang up?  Why?

To listen to me cry?

To hear me beg for your return?

Then, finally, the real click,

the click that stabbed my heart. 

The click that showed there was no going back,

even if I wasn’t yet ready to accept that.

Another call a month later – 

almost the same as the others,

but with less crying on my part and

more inebriated sexual pleading on yours. 

One more attempt to lure you back.

One more refusal from you. 

One final, pitiful, sob from me. 

Again, you pretended to hang up.

I waited in silence; your confusion grew. 

Finally, in a rather sober-sounding voice,

you said, “Good-bye,”  Click.

Dry-eyed, I lay awake, listening –

the winter wind wailed for me.

The last call came a few months later,

a little past sun-up on a Saturday morn. 

Perhaps you’d struck out all night, so

in desperation, you called me, your cast-off. 

I asked, “Are you ready to try again? 

Can we get back together now?” 

“No,” you said. “I’m so happy without you.”

I sighed and asked, “If I made your life so miserable,

why do you keep calling me?”

Uncertain silence.  Prolonged silence.

Another fake hang-up.  Muffled bated breathing.

No need for either of us to wait anymore.

Click.  That time, it was me.

By:  Tammy Marshall

In the Absence of . . .

In the absence of insults, I gain confidence.

In the absence of ridicule, I try more than once.

In the absence of malice, I smile again and laugh aloud.

In the absence of discord, I sink into peace.

In the absence of selfishness, I search for love.

In the absence of bitterness, I taste life’s sweetness.

In the absence of jealousy, I stretch my wings.

In the absence of laziness, I seek out new challenges.

In the absence of slovenliness, I organize my world.

In the absence of pettiness, I see the big picture.

In the absence of deceit, I learn the truth.

In the absence of his absence, I find great company.

                Absence makes the heart grow and grow.

By: Tammy Marshall

#3

The birthstone sapphire ring from my youth

            . . . no longer fits.

The gold monogrammed 1986 class ring

            . . . lies neglected in a drawer somewhere.

The pearl ring gifted to me at graduation

            . . . reminds me of a broken promise.

The diamond engagement ring I once prized

            . . . is of no value to me now.

The plain wedding ring is gone from my finger

            . . . though its indentation yet remains.

(That, like the regret encircling my heart, will fade.)

My finger enjoys its freedom after all these years –

flaunts its nakedness, soaks up the sun, and sometimes,

to be daring, throws on something large and gaudy—

but now, and forever after, it will remain independent.

Others may call it my ring finger, but to me

it’ll be known as “finger number three.”

            Live free, Number Three!

By: Tammy Marshall

 Slogan

If I could choose a slogan for my life,

“It’s my time,” is what it would be.

Time for a change and time for me,

No time like the present to start anew.

I’m done doing time – now, I’m free.

Called “Time!” cuz I’m my own referee.

Threw him out of the game – too many fouls.

The team works better as us three;

We’re winning now as all can see.

I’ll have me a whale of good time,

From here on out I’m saying “Whee!”

And laughing until I hafta pee.

No more “Once Upon a Time” bullshit – enough!

It’s my time! Mine! All mine! Hee hee hee hee . . . .

By: Tammy Marshall

If a Friend . . .

If a friend cheers you when you’re blue, then laughter is the perfect pal.

If a friend lends an ear to your woes and a shoulder for your tears, then a Teddy bear is the pleasantest playmate.

If a friend lifts you up and helps you soar to new heights, then a colorful kite on a windy day is the coolest companion.

If a friend shares words of wisdom and advice when you most need it, then a well-chosen book is the smartest sidekick.

If a friend bolsters you in whatever you do no matter the wisdom or folly, then a form-fitting bra is the surest supporter.

If a friend provides great company without saying a word, then the sound of waves gently lapping the shoreline is the sweetest soul mate.

If a friend gives unconditional love and attention, then a dog is the best buddy.

And if a friend does all of the above and then some, then she must be you, my dearest, bestest, truest, greatest, belovedest, and foreverest friend . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Silvia.

By: Tammy Marshall

It only took twenty-three years . . .

This was my summer or year for making some of my dreams come true. In the last blog, I wrote about my whale shark expedition, so if you haven't read that one yet, please do so. In this one, I'm telling you about my Harley.

Yep, that's right, I finally got a ride again. Years back, many many years back -- see the title of this post for the exact number -- I owned two small Yamahas. I loved them very much, but I gave them up as I entered the realm of adulthood and responsibilities and bills and other excuses/reasons for giving up the freedom and joy of riding a motorcycle down the open road.

Granted, the bikes I once owned were small and didn't really have the power to go very far down the open road, but I still got enough of a taste of it that I've been craving it all these years and just waiting for the day I'd have enough money to buy a bike of substance.

That day never came, so I gave up on the having "enough money" part and just decided to pile on more debt. Who wants to be out of debt, anyway? What's the fun in that? I have no idea because I'll never know, so I can only imagine that it's no fun at all and thus justify my keeping myself in debt.

Back in April I fell in love with a 110th limited anniversary-edition HD Super Glide Custom. He was a beauty, and I couldn't stop thinking about him even though I knew I really couldn't afford him. But I also knew that the day when I truly could afford him or another like him would never ever come.

Two months later I returned to the store just to see if he was still there, and he was! That could only mean one thing -- destiny. He had spurned all other suitors and was patiently awaiting my return, so of course I couldn't let him down. Especially when he gleamed at me so seductively in the light of the showroom.

So, I signed the papers and bought him. I left him there, though, so they could attach saddle-bags to his frame. If he and I were to go out and have some excursions, I'd need a place to stow some gear. It took a little longer than I'd hoped before he was finally finished and delivered to my doorstep, but he arrived looking even sexier than I remembered -- and bigger and (gulp) scarier.

There he was sitting, gleaming, in my driveway and I was suddenly scared that I'd made a horrible decision. What the hell was I thinking? I'm a middle-aged mother of two, recently-divorced, long-time teacher and coach -- I have no business being on a bike. At least that was what the fun-sucking voices in my head were telling me until I sent them away to torment somebody else.

I got on and took off for my first solo ride in almost a quarter of a century! I sucked. My gear shifting was jerky, I wobbled a lot, I had a hard time holding the bike up at a stop -- basically, the voices came back and started yelling at me to cut my losses and give up.

But I soldiered on, and soon it was all coming back to me. It was glorious -- even though I still looked like I was about to fall over at any minute to anybody watching me. But with every short ride, my confidence and my abilities grew, and soon I was venturing onto the highway for short jaunts at high speeds.

I still have a lot to learn or relearn, and I still haven't gone out on any long trip. I figure for the rest of the summer and this fall,I will simply take it a bit easy and stay cautious. Then, when next spring and summer rolls around, I'll have the whole time to take my baby out and go places with him.

So, if you see a slightly plump, middle-aged blondish woman on a gorgeous bronze Dyna Super Glide, please wave -- and give me a wide berth (just in case) -- and know that I'm just out enjoying the ride and the road after far too many years of seeing it from the inside of a car.

Holy Holbox! I found Heaven.

For years now I´ve dreamed of swimming with whale sharks. No idea why really -- the big beasts have just fascinated me since the first time I heard of their existence and the fact that they are docile and actually enjoy human company (and not as a snack).

I thought that I would only be able to reach my goal of swimming with them by visiting the Seychelles, which are quite far away and quite a pretty penny to reach, so I tabled my dream until a day when money would begin to fall from the sky.

Then I somehow heard of the small island of Holbox off the north tip of the Yucatan Peninsula and the fact that the whale sharks migrate there as they follow their food, plankton, during the months of July through September primarily.

This couldn´t have been a better discovery for me than if I had somehow waved a wand and made it happen somehow. My best friend lives in the Yucatan Peninsula, and I was overdue a visit to her, so we worked Holbox into our plans.

The trip there from Playa del Carmen was an adventure in itself. Driving on unfamiliar roads that go on for kilometers and kilometers through dense tropical foliage in a deluge of never-ending rain is enough to make the most intrepid traveller second guess her desire to swim with the largest fish on the planet. But we trekked onward and finally arrived at the small town of Chiquila shortly after the storm finally broke.

Immediately upon our arrival in the small coastal town, a young boy appeared running alongside our car and directed us to his family´s (or his employer´s) parking facility. It was a luxury one, let me tell you, with a tin roof covering for the car that just barely contained space for her tiny Volkswagon to fit.

From there we took the equally luxurious taxi service of a boy on his converted bicycle who carried our suitcases and our two daughters while my friend and I walked alongside in the newly falling rain. I use sarcasm here, yes, but I loved every minute of the unique experience.

We arrived two blocks later at the dock and bought our tickets (80 pesos each) for the ferry that would take us the short ways to the island of Holbox. Due to the weather, we rode inside instead of on top as we would have liked to have done -- fortunately, on the return trip two days later, the sun was shining and we were able to enjoy a ride in the seats on top of the ferry.

The moment we got to Holbox, I knew it was special. My advance research had prepared me for the lack of cars and the abundance of golf carts, but I was still a bit astounded to see them being used and even painted up as taxis. We hailed one, if you can even call walking up to the nearest waiting driver and asking for a ride "hailing" one.

The streets of the town are all of sand, a very white, soft sand that has been pounded down by the tracks of the golf carts. I did discover a few vehicles besides golf carts on the island, but they were few and far between and most comprised of small motorbikes. People walk or drive their golf carts or ride their bikes.

We stayed at a lovely residence/inn, and the owners´ son was quite helpful in arranging our whale shark excursion; however, arranging one on your own is quite easy as there are an abundance of people offering rides out to see and swim with the sharks.

The following morning we awoke early and awaited our taxi. The man arrived and took us to the dock and walked us to our boat. There were many there awaiting their clients for the day. Each boat is small and can only accomodate anywhere from six to ten people.

Ours held 10 counting the four of us. In addition there was our captain, Diego, his assistant, the very talkative and heavily tattoed Marcelo, and our diving guide, Franklin. The others were a polite and quiet family of four and a very annoying late middle-aged couple who monopolized the assistant and made general pests of themselves during the dives. (If I ever return as I would like to, I will pay the extra money for a private boat to be sure I never have to put up with people like them.)

When the boats go out, it is anybody´s guess if they will even be able to find the whale sharks. They make no promises. They have to go out and search for them, and it is a very big ocean.

We drove for quite awhile, and then suddenly the captain pointed ahead and said "delfines." He came to a stop so we could have a good view of the dolphins frolicking and jumping out of the water. We didn´t get close enough for a really good view of them, but seeing them in their element was priceless.

Then we continued onward, and some of the passengers even dozed off to the lull of the boat, but not me. I didn´t pay 100 dollars to take a nap on a boat. I love looking at the water because I live nowhere near it in my real life, so the view itself was worth the money paid, and I revelled in it.

Then, quite suddenly, we came upon a collection of boats bobbing up and down in the water, and the moment I´d long dreamed about was there. Whale sharks! A bunch of them feeding on their plankton and swimming around the boats and near the people already in the water with them.

We slowed and came to a stop. And that´s when it hit all of us. Seasickness. Horrible, horrendous, hideous seasickness. We hadn´t felt it at all while the boat was clipping along over the waves, but once we started bobbing up and down with the waves we all felt very naseous.

Two, both men from the quiet family of four, of our party were suddenly vomiting over the side of the boat. At least my daughter and I managed to quash our need to hurl even though it was quite overpowering. My friend also managed to remain vomit-free, but her young daughter got quite ill, and she had to spend the whole time consoling her while the rest of us took our turns with the great fish.

The annoying couple of course had to be the first ones in the water. You can only go in two at a time with the guide, and you have to jump in quickly when a shark swims by and attempt to swim fast enough to keep up with it long enough to get a good look at it.

My daughter and I were the last to go in. Right before I jumped, a wave of nausea hit me hard, but I kept it down and managed to get into the water without throwing up on the way down. Being in the cool sea helped immensely and the seasickness vanished right away.

Sadly, I had a faulty mask and didn´t realize it until later, so the water kept rushing into my nose and I did more gagging on salt water than actual viewing of the sharks on my first time in the water. The reason to go two at a time is so that you can hold the guide´s hands as he attempts to keep you alongside the nearest shark.

The giant fish are just that --giant fish. They are breathtaking, though, and at no time did I feel any fear of them or the deep water we were in. This was probably mostly due to me trying to breathe and stay alive despite the water flowing up my nose!

We discovered that they are very quick, and just as soon as one appears he also quickly disappears. They are also very difficult to see from above in the boat because their coloration blends in perfectly with the water in which they swim, so I am hoping that the few photos I was able to take below the water with my waterproof disposable camera turn out (the photo above is not my photo but rather one I am borrowing from Google images).

I later took a second turn in the water with the annoying woman who swam off by herself and left me alone with Franklin, which was fine with me since he found a beautiful manta ray swimming nearby and pulled me along behind it for a ways. I also spent more time in the water actually seeing the sharks this time despite the fact that I still had the faulty mask --I just focused more on holding my breath and looking than on actually attempting to snorkel the way I was supposed to be doing.

You can´t touch the whale sharks, and I doubt I would want to anyway, although I can imagine a lot of selfish people out there who would want to do just that. They glide by so quickly that it would be difficult to catch up to one fast enough to touch it anyway, but they don´t need to be touched to be admired and appreciated.

I still cannot believe that I actually did it. I swam with whale sharks. I completed a dream. Now, of course, I want to return to Holbox to do it all over and to this time take some motion-sickness medicine before I get on the boat.

Holbox is a long, narrow island with a small population. I hope it remains that way and that cars continue to be banned by and large and that the streets never get paved. I hope the whale sharks continue to thrive and return there each summer/fall and that the number of people wanting to go out and swim with them is abundant yet not to the point where the selfishness and greediness of humans end up harming the most magnificent creature in the sea.

Summer Lovin'

There's an old saying that we teachers love because it's true that goes something like this: "The three best reasons for being a teacher are June, July and August!"

Sadly, in this day and age, summers don't really last all three months anymore; however, we still get the majority of that time off from school. Thank the good Lord for that! Hallelujah and Amen! The people who like to bitch and give us a hard time about all our "free time" should be very happy that we get that time off as well; otherwise, the loony bins all over the country would fill up fast with teachers losing their minds.

We need those summers to regain our sanity after a school year spent cooped up with children. Don't get me wrong, I adore my students, but I only continue to adore them because I get to spend time AWAY  from them. As they say, "absence makes the heart grow fonder."

Every time I hear a politician or simply a whiny parent who doesn't really want the job of truly parenting his kid complaining that schools need to run year round, I want to whap that person upside the head and say, "Are you out of your flipping mind?"

Not only do teachers need summers as down time away from the students, we also need them as down time away from administrators and from the parents of the students. Sadly, the parents are usually more problematic than even the worst behaving kids. We need to get away and first unwind from a stressful year and then reconnect with ourselves because we lose ourselves to the needs of our students and our schools during the year, and then finally we need to rediscover why we want to teach.

Yep, every single summer we spend at least a day or two or perhaps the whole damn summer thinking about why we want to teach. Face it, we're highly underpaid, we don't get the respect we truly deserve and we're often the brunt of finger-pointing from those who love to play the "blame game" for the country's problems. So, why in the world do we even teach? That is a question with many different answers and those answers change as the years roll on, and we find those answers during the summers when we have time to think about our career choice outside of the stress that comes with the day-to-day job of educating our nation's children.

Knowing that the summer break is out there, just around the corner, waiting for me with open arms and a cold beer, is often what keeps me going during an especially difficult year. If my school years just rolled one right into another with no extended down time to recharge my batteries, I would have quit teaching after two or three years and not continued past twenty as I have so far.

Sometimes when I get really burnt out with teaching and the problems it brings to my life, I start considering other jobs I might like to do, but with every singe one of them I end up ultimately thinking, "nope, that job's no good." Why do I think this? Because every other job I consider would only allow me two or three weeks of vacation time throughout the year, and that's just not something I can handle anymore.

I can't imagine working on a beautiful day like today. It's a lovely 80 degree low humidity cloudless afternoon. There's no paycheck or benefit package that would coerce me into working on a day like today when I could be working in my yard, reading a book outside, walking in the park with my dog, sitting in my porch swing, swimming laps or writing this blog instead. Granted that today is actually a Sunday, but there are people out there in all sorts of fields of business who are working at this very minute. More power to them, but I'm glad I'm not one of them.

The majority of teachers also use their summers to further their own educations as well as take some time off from teaching. I've done it myself in the past while working on my Master's Degree. It's not something I really want to do anymore, but I know many teachers who are studying like mad this summer to improve themselves and their teaching, so when the new school year begins, they are doubly ready for the students.

I'm older (and I'd say wiser), so I prefer to simply enjoy my summers now. June is coming to a close today, but July and about half of August are still waiting to be opened, and I plan to make the most of what is left of my time off from teaching, so when I return to my classroom, I will return a nicer woman than the one that told the kids to get lost at the end of May. Face it, when you are tired, you are grouchy. In May, I am tired.

Summer is like a long much-needed sleep that refreshes you, so you can face a new day. For a teacher, a new day is a new school year and new students.

So that you don't think that I'm just a big slacker and being completely selfish with my summertime, know this: I teach reading, so I read all summer to expand my literary base; I teach Spanish, so I travel to Mexico to expand my cultural and lingual knowledge; I direct plays, so I read scripts and watch quality movies for ideas; I coach flags, so I teach baton twirling to keep my hands nimble; I coach speech, so I keep a sharp eye out for pieces that would work well for oral interpretation, etc.

And for anyone who thinks that a teacher shouldn't have summers off, I invite you to Shtick This! where the summer sun does not shine!

I'm a Garage Sale Hypocrite

I admit it -- I'm a garage sale hypocrite. I absolutely hate going to garage sales, but I love it when people come to mine and buy the stuff I need to get rid of. Yes, yes, I know, I know. I already said that I'm a garage sale hypocrite, so get over it.

It's not that I wouldn't buy a used item from somebody else; it's that I don't want to spend the time driving from garage sale to garage sale and looking through piles of stuff for that one thing I might actually treasure. I have way too long of a list of projects that need to be completed and places I'd like to visit to spend my valuable weekends looking through other people's castoffs.

However, I know that there are a lot of people out there who actively seek out garage sales every weekend of the summer and go looking for bargains on barely used clothing (or in the case of a bunch of things I recently sold that were my son's -- NEVER worn! Grrr.), old items they can restore and sell for big bucks and whatever other oddity that sets their hearts to beating.

I think that avid garage sale shoppers view a garage sale the way I view used bookstores -- as treasure troves of things to be discovered. I also know that my preference for old, used books goes against my natural aversion to buying other things used. Again, I'm inclined to buy used items; I'm just not inclined to spend the time looking for the opportunities to do so -- after all, my cars have all been used, but I've actively shopped for them when I needed a new (to me) vehicle.

I recently held a garage sale in which I got rid of many things, and I will be having another one in a few weeks to, hopefully, get rid of the things I didn't sell on the last one and a variety of other things that I still plan to take out of my house. As I sorted out things for the last sale, I sadly realized that over half of my house is full of stuff that I either no longer use/need or stuff that has never been used/needed. That's what happens as children age and outgrow clothing and toys, and that's what also happens after a divorce.

A divorce is an enforced purge. Yet, it's a purge that is good for you. I not only unloaded a person who made me miserable for years, but in the garage sale I also unloaded things that reminded me of that misery. By selling them to strangers who will now put them to use, I've removed the stigma from my house while also giving new life to the things that were unwitting reminders of a person I just want to forget.

Of course, removing the reminders will never make me completely forget that person, but it's still been a wonderful cure for my soul. Where the offending couch that he always fell asleep on once stood is a cute little love seat I'm borrowing from my parents until I find the perfect piece of furniture that suits my taste and my new life. Knickknacks he liked and things from the wedding have been removed, and things I like have replaced them on my shelves.

I don't wish the items themselves a death in the local trash dump, so I'm glad that there are others willing to give them new homes -- I do, however, wish the memories associated with those items a permanent burial somewhere.

So, despite my inclination to avoid garage sales to buy myself or my children something, I'm glad that garage sales exist and I'm even happier that the country is full of people who do like to visit garage sales. They have allowed me to rid myself not only of the things my children no longer use, but also of the things that have left behind a nasty after-divorce-taste in my home.

Now I'm working little-by-little and day-by-day to make the house reflect my life, my style, my preferences. So maybe I need to revisit my garage sale aversion and check out a few for some treasures just waiting for a newly-divorced and blissfully happy woman to come by and give them the new life she's recently been given.

After all, I do need a ladder, more tools and a good buffet for my newly repainted dining room, so . . . anybody up for a garage-sale-shopping Saturday with me?

I Hate Trashy People!

I spend my days with teenagers, and most of the time they are a self-centered obnoxious bunch, but every now and then, they remind me why I continue to expend my time and energy on them -- they are also full of energy, surprises and actually quite generous of their time and the need to work to make a difference in our world.

As part of my job, I am the adviser for our local National Honor Society chapter. Yesterday, four of my NHS students and I spent two hours removing trash from the ditches of a road that leads into our town and where I often walk my dog. For some time now, I've been utterly appalled at the amount of trash littering the ditches and ruining what should be a lovely walk in the countryside. Since NHS students have to do community service work as part of their commitment to organization, I suggested that a few of them remove this trash in honor of Earth Day. They willingly complied, and they willingly gave up a few hours of their Saturday afternoons to walk the ditches with me on a chilly and windy April day.

While I knew that the ditches along this two mile stretch of road were laden with trash, I was still astounded at the end of our clean-up to find that we had acquired almost two full pickup beds' worth of trash! Along the way we removed numerous beer bottles and cans and discarded plastic gas station soda cups, as to be expected I suppose; however, surprisingly we also found a phone charger, a used diaper, a metal fork, a tire, a running board, various pieces of siding, and even an entire vacuum cleaner!

What the hell is wrong with people?  When has our collective laziness reached the bounds where we can't even place our empty cans in our cup holders in our cars and then throw it away when we get home? Personally, I don't understand this, and I never will. We are a society of consumers, and we have a trash system designed to manage the gross amount of stuff we throw out as it is without there being any need to toss crap out the window as we drive.

"Trashy" people disgust me -- and by that word I mean the ones who throw their shit along the roadways for everybody else to "enjoy" as we drive along or stroll along a road. I don't know what goes through their minds as they casually throw their bags of fast food containers out the window while cruising along at 65 miles per hours. What do they think happens with that stuff? It sits there and ruins the area for others -- both human and animal -- until considerate people come along and pick it up

Trash receptacles exist all over this world and for a reason, so use them. Keep a trash bag in your car if you don't like having trash sitting around in your car until such a time when you can clean it out. If nothing else, realize that other people use that road and want to enjoy the view of nature and not of your crappy trash, and realize that animals survive out there and can survive longer and better without your crap ruining their habitats.

Sadly, only one day later I took a walk with my dog along the road I'd helped clean up yesterday and already there are two new pieces of trash lying around. Trashy people need to stick their own crap into their own trash cans! That's where I'd like to see them actually stick it; otherwise, they can truly "Shtick This!"

Winter, Shtick This!

Dear Winter,

Go away! If that isn't clear enough, then let me add these -- Scram! Skedaddle! Shoo! Amscray! Leave! And get your white filth off of my lawn!

While you might be a welcome sight at Christmastime and even in mid-November when you haven't been around for awhile, here, in mid-April, you are no longer wanted. So, stop playing the bully and quit pushing Spring around. It's her time to shine.

I want to feel her lovely breath upon my cheeks as I walk my dog. I don't want your frigid gusts keeping me indoors any longer. I want to hear the birds chirping again like they were only days ago before you felt the need to rush back in for an encore -- nobody's clapping, Buster, so get off the stage.

The flowers are waiting to burst up from the ground, but they can't do that with an inch of solid ice preventing their progress. The leaves are about to spring forth from their branches, but you just might have killed some of them off in their infancy -- I hope you're happy, you homicidal maniac!

Seriously dude, nobody wants you here anymore. You've had your say for over six months, so if you haven't made your point by now, you're never going to -- so shut up! You can blow as hard as you want around my window frames and you can whistle through my gutters, I'm done listening to you. Blah, blah, blah is all I hear from you. Pack up your stuff and get off my property.

There are many people over the course of a day or a week or a month that I want to say "Shtick This!" to, but right now, Winter, you are numero uno on my shit list. Go away and don't let a tornado kick you in the ass as you go -- this is the Midwest after all.

You're like a spoiled little drama queen who has to have all the attention and just needs to step in and take all the fun away from anybody else who seems to be getting the love from others. Well, here's the hard truth from one Winter-hater -- Summer is the true queen while Spring and Autumn are the lovely princesses, and you're just the ugly step-sister. So, get over yourself and get out of my life!

Sincerely,

Your biggest hater.

A Teacher's Tirade

If you haven't noticed by not only the name of my blog but also by the content of many of my posts, I like to bitch and moan about things that I really cannot control -- things that get under my skin because they are ridiculous, asinine, ludicrous or simply annoying to me for whatever reason big or small. Students annoy me, I admit it, and the older I get, the more they annoy me -- it's an age gap thing I understand that, but there is more to it than that.

I realized the other day that my complaints to my students sometimes are misconstrued. One young man said to me, "If you hate teaching so much, why do you do it?" To be honest, I was quite annoyed at his question because I don't hate teaching, and that is when I realized that to teenagers who don't see the bigger picture it may very well come across as me sounding like I don't like teaching and that I don't like my students -- and both of those things are not true.

I found myself launching into a tirade to clarify the situation for him, and I realized that this blog would perhaps be a better place to make it clear what it is that actually annoys the hell out of me about teaching teenagers. Again, to be very clear -- I LOVE teaching when the students actually want to learn what I have the knowledge and expertise to share with them, and I LOVE my students even on the days that I want to walk away and never look back. Each kid is unique and special, and I believe, I firmly believe, that they all want to learn, but they too often let their attitudes interfere with their learning and definitely with my teaching.

It isn't teaching or the kids, per se, that drive me crazy -- it these three statements that I simply cannot tolerate anymore: 1. "Whatever!"   2. "It's good enough."   and   3. "I don't care."

Let's examine that damnable word Whatever usually said with unnecessary emphasis on the second syllable and a noticeable touch of sass thrown in for good measure. Basically, it is a kid's way of saying "Shut up, old woman. I don't need to listen to you. I'm young, and I know everything, so you can just keep talking and lecturing and moralizing, but I'm going to go right on behaving in a completely idiotic and inappropriate way no matter what you say." Or it can mean, "Well, you are right, but not in a million years would I admit that you are right because then I'd lose face with my friends, so I'll just say this really obnoxious word, so that I can retain my cool status and make others my age think I got the best of you even though I know you are right, but once again, I would rather die than admit that to you or anyone else." Whatever is a kid's way of telling an adult to "shut the hell up," and it is not acceptable to me. Also, it shows that the kid doesn't care to truly learn anything new -- he'd rather just go along happy in his own ignorance, and that is never good for getting an education. If all you want is for others to justify what little you already know, then why are you in school? What is the point? Whatever is snotty sassiness and ignorance all rolled into one extremely annoying word.

It's good enough. Whenever I hear that from a kid, I immediately ask, "For whom?" Certainly not for me because he is usually telling me this in response to me pointing out an error in a sentence or how his paper is really sloppy or something else that is easily fixable with a little effort, but therein lies the problem -- too many teenagers these days don't want to do the work to make something truly good or even exceptional. They'll happily settle for "good enough" to just get it done. Now, I'm not saying that this is just a teenage problem because that would be an understatement by far. I'm even guilty on occasion of both feeling and saying this sentiment, but usually when I do hear myself say this, I give myself a mental or even physical head-slap and remind myself that GOOD ENOUGH IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. "Good enough" implies that it can be better, and if it can be better, then it should be better, and you should take the time and put in the effort to make it better. This will not only help you, the student, to earn a better grade on the assignment, but it will also help you improve your work ethic which will, in time, help you earn more money and gain more promotions over your lifetime. You'll be known as an achiever and a person who doesn't settle for second best. So, when my students scoffingly say to me, "It's good enough," I tell them that the D or even F that they are going to receive on their assignment then is a "good enough" grade. In that light, they often rethink their attitude; unfortunately, just as often they simply shrug and walk off after saying "Whatever."

My final complaint concerns the ever-popular phrase of I don't care. Here is my take on that -- when you say that, this is what I hear: "I don't care about myself." Period. Simple. Sad. Pathetic. Pitiable. I have to ask, "Why don't you care? Why don't you care about yourself and your future? Why don't you care about others? Why don't you care about the school, the community where you live, the state where you reside, the country that has provided you with the right to not give a damn? Why? Why don't you care? Why is it so damn hard to give a damn?" Seriously, think about it the next time you casually announce that you don't care because plain and simple, if you don't care enough to care, then why the hell should I care about you? Why should I waste my time and energy and vast amount of knowledge about the subject I teach upon somebody who does NOT care when there is a wealth of knowledge-hungry kids living in impoverished conditions all over the world who would love for me to come teach them? Maybe you'd care if you went hungry every night. Maybe you'd care if you were homeless. Maybe you'd care if you lived under a regime that kept you downtrodden and miserable. Maybe you'd care if you had parents who gave a damn and instilled that within you like they should have. Maybe you'd care if you hadn't been brought up with a false sense of entitlement that you haven't even come close to earning. Maybe you'd care if you lost everything in a fire or a flood or a hurricane or a tornado or any other horrible catastrophe that can befall you at any given moment. Maybe you'd care if you stopped for one minute and really looked at the world and your place in it and realized just how much you need an education to get you ANYWHERE in this world. Maybe. But who am I to know this? I'm just a teacher. What the hell do I know?

So, again to my doubting students who think that because I complain about them and about my job that this means that I hate teaching or that I hate them, I say that nothing could be further from the truth. My problem is that WHATEVER will never be Good enough for me, and I simply DO CARE too damn much for my own good.

If I could convince all students out there of one thing, it would be to "Schtick this!" when it comes to their negative attitudes that only serve to interfere with the wonderful educations they could give themselves. CARE.      ACCEPT ONLY THE BEST OF YOURSELF.     SAY "YES, MA'AM" OR "YES, SIR" INSTEAD OF "WHATEVER."

Pet Peeves

In my freshman speech class each semester I make the kids give a short speech about one of their pet peeves. I tell them that it needs to be something grander than people drumming fingers on a desk or rapidly clicking a ballpoint pen, and I also tell them that it can't be a person. I want it to be something that truly gets their blood boiling a bit, so that when they deliver the speech, the audience can see their conviction.

Since these are freshmen I'm dealing with here, this assignment immediately elicits its fair share of groans and whines and complaints from the kids, which leads me to point out that they are demonstrating one of my biggest pet peeves -- people who complain before even trying something new.

Many of them will tell me that they don't have a pet peeve, which is usually stated in an attempt to get out of doing the assignment, but after I give them lots of examples from my own lengthy list (I'm easily annoyed -- I admit it -- and students putting forth more effort in their attempts to avoid doing work than they would if they'd just do the assignment is another of my school-related pet peeves), they all manage to settle on something that irks them at least a little bit.

They are usually flabbergasted at one of my top pet peeves, and it inevitably leads them to want to argue with me about it; however, arguing with the person about what bothers him or her is not allowed. The audience is simply supposed to listen and try to see the speaker's side of things, and as a teacher, I always hope that the kids will come away from this project with new insight into others and understand that everyone is entitled to her own opinion even if others don't agree with it -- but these are freshmen, so that is a bit of a stretch (yet I remain optimistic even while knowing it is foolish optimism).

The one my kids have the hardest time accepting about me is that I am NOT a Husker fan nor do I care one iota about sports in any shape or form. I tell them that my particular pet peeve is that it annoys me when others ASSUME that I am a Husker fan simply because I am a Nebraskan born and raised. I even attended UNL where the Huskers are based, but I did not go there to attend football games; no, I went there to get that important thing called an education, and, frankly, nothing pisses me off more than to be out shopping deliberately on a Husker game day Saturday when the stores aren't crowded (another pet peeve of mine is crowds in stores -- told you I have many) and then to have every single person I encounter in the mall ask me what the score is. I DON'T KNOW! If I gave a crap about the game I'd be home watching it or I'd be at the stadium in Lincoln (after paying enough money to feed my family for a month or more for the tickets) watching it live. I wouldn't be in a mall attempting to buy shoes undisturbed if I actually cared about the game.

Once I share my little tirade with my students, they first all stare at me mouths agape and then they all burst forth with noises of shock and dismay and outrage. How can it be that their teacher, a Nebraskan just like them, doesn't care about the Huskers? How can it be that anybody could dare to have her own interests that vary from those of almost every other Nebraskan? Shocking as it may be to them, there are LOTS of Nebraskans who do not care about the Husker football team or the volleyball team or any other Husker sports team. It's just that most of the others don't speak up for fear that the Husker nation will come after them with pitchforks and over-sized corn hats they'll use to beat them senseless with.

Sorry. I believe a university's main job (just like any school's main job) is to educate its students. The sports' craze annoys the hell out of me because it puts too much importance on the teams and winning and not enough importance on the students and on learning. This has always annoyed me, but I'll admit that the longer I teach, the more it gets under my skin.

That is true of my second pet peeve that I share with my students but which is my biggest pet peeve of all. I absolutely cannot stand it when people BRAG that they don't read. I've already devoted an earlier post to this very topic, but a few things bear repeating. When you brag that you do not read, you are basically announcing with pride that you are an imbecile. People who are illiterate are either unfortunately born unable to learn and deserve our pity, or they are oppressed people who live in horrible conditions where their governments deliberately keep them ignorant to control them and those people also deserve our pity. However, if you CHOOSE to be quasi-illiterate, then you are simply stupid, and you deserve whatever bad things happen to you because of your choice to be that way -- whether it is that you never rise above minimum wage or you never get a promotion but instead have to watch others pass you by or you don't get the girl of your dreams because you have no idea who Virginia Woolf is or any other of the myriad of things that could befall a non-reader.

I can understand not having time to read. I can understand struggling with reading, so it is just something that you don't do much because it is hard for you. I can understand putting off all the pleasure reading you might like to do because there are too many great movies or television programs to entertain you instead. I can understand all the excuses as to why people do not read more; however, I cannot understand the need to brag about not being a reader. Like I said, instead of going on and on about how much reading sucks and that you don't do it at all, you might as well go on and on about how dumb you are and how proud you are of your own stupidity.

I think that the more educated a person is the more easily he is annoyed by the actions of others. It takes almost no effort at all to walk a shopping cart over to any of the gazillion cart stalls crowding department store parking lots; yet how often do we still find shopping carts all over the lots? I have had a lot of education in my lifetime, and all that learning took a lot of work on my part, and I can't wrap my head around just how lazy a person has to be to somehow manage to push a laden cart all the way to her car yet not be able to get it either returned to the store or placed snugly between the rails with all the other carts.

This same line of thinking goes for putting anything away. If you use it, put it away. It's a simple concept. If you borrow it, return it; if you dirty it, wash it; if you break it, either repair it or replace it. The rudeness and laziness of others continues to confound me.

I could go on and on about my pet peeves. Most of them are very minor, but when you get down to it, they almost all revolve around rudeness and insensitivity. Here are a few more:

** People cutting in line.
** Students taking something from my desk without asking.
** People ignoring posted signs like "don't feed the bears" or "dogs must be leashed" or "no fishing from bridge, " etc.
** When people learn I teach Spanish and the first thing they say to me is "Why don't those Mexicans learn our language?" (this one will probably be a future post as it really gets my blood boiling to have this be the first thing said to me)
** People who misuse English and don't even care how they sound, especially when they are one of the same people mentioned in the pet peeve above this one.
** People who litter. Can't stand it. Seriously want to cause bodily damage to the person when I see this happen.
** People who criticize other cultures and types of people they've never even experienced or met.
** People who shove their religious or political views down your throat. Do they really think that is going to make others see things their way?
** People who care only about improving their exteriors and nothing about improving their inner-selves.
** Hypocrites.
** Repeat-offenders.
** Deadbeat Dads or Moms.
** Selfishness.
** Animal cruelty.
** Religious intolerance.
** Sexist prigs.
** Et cetera. Et cetera. Et cetera. (and, NO, I didn't misspell that, so please don't attempt to further annoy me by attempting to point out my mistakes)

Like I said, I have many things that annoy me. I try to be optimistic, but I'm not naturally that way, so sometimes it takes a lot of effort on my part to see the good in things. Fortunately, I have many wonderful students, fantastic children, great friends, fabulous parents and many other phenomenal people in my life that show me every day that the world, while full of faults, is still a great place to be. I am just a picky person, but that has also led me to pick the best people in the world to surround myself with, so I am glad I'm picky.

Wynken, Blynken, and NOT

Sleep often eludes me. It does no good to chase him either, as he is very nimble and swift and will only dart off to a corner somewhere and mock me like a naughty child picking on a decrepit old woman.

Those so-called "tricks" that seem to work for others have no effect on me. Counting backwards from 100? Nope. By the time I reach 96, my mind has floated away on some other thought stream and before I know it I'm all wrapped up in a bizarre inner-journey that only takes me further and further away from the Land of Nod I want to visit. Clear my mind? Hah! Impossible. If I could do that, all my sleep problems would be solved, and my days would be a lot more worry-free as well. Start at my feet and feel my muscles relax as I breathe deeply? Not happening. As I concentrate on trying to relax one set of muscles, I feel other groups tensing up in expectation.

The only real almost-surefire technique for me to fall asleep is to read for at least half an hour until I can't keep my eyes open any longer. Then I have to immediately shut off my lamp and pray that I'll be asleep in minutes because if I'm not, then I might as well turn my lamp back on and pick up my book again because if I don't do that, then my mind is going to start playing its cruel, uh, mind games on me with its buddy, Insomnia.

There are times when Insomnia visits so often that I've had to resort to a couple beers before bed to help lull myself to sleep, but that's not something I like to do very often. Insomnia or alcoholism? Not a great choice either way. I've also tried the over-the-counter sleeping pills, but I don't want to be reliant on artificial aids that could lead to other sorts of dependency. It's not advisable for me to report to work in the morning still feeling drugged -- not the best way to deal with teenagers (although I guess it couldn't hurt, either :) )

I've simply come to the unpleasant realization that I am a picky sleeper. I need complete quiet, utter darkness and lots of blankets. I like sleeping with somebody next to me, but I sleep better alone, and when there is a partner, I still need my space. Once I'm actually asleep, I'm a pretty heavy sleeper, but not like I was before I had children. Then, I could sleep through the heaviest thunderstorm; now, a light rain will wake me.

I don't do well in hotels unless I'm really really tired, but even then, if there is a lot of noise filtering through the walls from the hallway or other rooms, then I might as well watch TV all night or read because that beats lying in a foreign bed all night wide awake and tossing and turning. I've learned that if I truly expect to sleep in a hotel, then I have to pay the money and stay at a quality hotel and not any old run-of-the mill motel next to the interstate. Saving money does me no good when I'm too exhausted to drive the next day.

I'm not a napper either. I've never been one. Partly because I don't like wasting my time, and I see naps as time wasters, but mostly because napping usually takes place in the middle of the day -- when it's still light out! I can't fall asleep with light of any sort. I can, however, sleep in on a weekend well past sunrise, but once my mind registers that it is light outside and that the light is creeping into my room through a crack in my curtains, then I might as well get up because my brain will suddenly kick into overdrive, and then there's no going back to slumber-land.

I envy people who can crawl into bed, put their head upon their pillows and immediately be fast asleep. I simply cannot do that. Even when I've read myself into a stupor, turned off my lamp and snuggled under the covers, I will often have to beat my pillow into submission to get it into just the right shape to adequately support my head while also conforming perfectly to my neck. Believe me, if I didn't need sleep to actually stay alive, I'd say the hell with the damn activity completely some nights because it's just not worth the effort it involves sometimes.

Nothing aggravates me more than to be on the very brink of sleep and then either the dog starts barking at something, or my partner decides he wants to snuggle, or a sudden rain starts hammering against the roof, or the neighbor comes home in his loud pickup truck, or a fly invades my room, or any other of a myriad of annoyances suddenly crops up to rob me once again of the sleep I need.

I also can only fall asleep on my side, but I always wake up on my back. I have never been able to sleep on my stomach -- except on a warm tropical beach while sunbathing, which is also the only time I can truly nap (however, then I'm usually embarrassed because I'll wake myself up with my OWN snoring!). However, I cannot fall asleep on my back which makes no sense at all since that is the position I'm in every morning when I awaken.

All this writing about sleep is making me tired, but I know that it will be many hours yet before I actually fall asleep because I'm not in bed yet, I'm not snuggled under a bunch of covers, I'm not wearing my warm pajamas, and I haven't yet read for a half hour or better.

However, since this isn't the most exciting post in the world, maybe you have fallen asleep. If so, at least one of us is enjoying the Land of Nod. As for me, I more often visit the Land of NOT each night, so if you are in Nod, keep an eye out for me, and help me stick around longer than I usually do. My mind and my body would both appreciate a night of good sleep for once.

Dear future divorced self,

I write this to you from the past, which is the present right now, but as soon as I post it and when you later read it, it will most definitely be the past.

I write to you, a free woman, to remind you to not squander that hard won freedom. Breathe it in every single day. Relish it. Embrace it. Heck, fondle it a little even. Just be sure to love it every single minute. The war for it was a long one, but you came out alive -- scathed, most certainly, but alive and kicking nonetheless.

I speak to you from your not-so-distant past to remind you that you once lived here in misery, so if you from time to time find yourself feeling nostalgic for something you think you've lost, then allow me to send out a virtual-world slap to the face from the past you to the future you. Snap out of it, woman! You are better off in every single sense of the word than you were even a few months ago.

You can now focus on your dreams and on turning them into reality. You're going to be a published author, and you're going to be successful at it -- you now have the time to focus on your craft, and you can write more often in this blog that you currently neglect as badly as somebody once neglected you.

You can travel more now. Go swim with those whale sharks, see Macchu Picchu, fly over the Grand Canyon, drive to the Florida Keys, visit Alcatraz (and imagine somebody locked away there), feel the spray from Iguazu Falls, see a glacier before they become extinct, and revisit all those places you loved but never got enough time to appreciate with someone who hated to travel.

Read all those books crowding your shelves and all those you have yet to buy and all those that are yet to be published. Soak in the words of the Masters, and use them to become a better writer yourself. Learn from the greats and appreciate the wisdom packed into those pages.

Love your children every single day, and let them know that they are the most important people in your life, and they always will be. Show them that you are better and stronger for having finally broke away from the negativity holding you back for so many years. Let them know that standing on their own two feet is much more important than leaning on somebody else.

Treat your friends well, especially your best friend, and make many new ones. Have fun! Lots of fun! Make great memories because I'm looking forward to experiencing them someday myself.

Be willing to love again, but be wise about it as well.

Just know, my future divorced self, that I am here for you, and wherever you go, I will follow. I'm trusting you to lead the way and to make me proud. I can't wait to join you in the world of divorcees.

Sincerely and with love,

Tammy