Mission Flashback: Low Traction

The week after Christmas break ended, my cute little Cow Town was slammed by Winter Storm Gandalf and then settled into an inversion related sub-zero deep freeze. That combination of winter weather woes resulted in ice and snow covered roads in and around town.

Last week, our temperatures rebounded, ice and snow melted, and my streets were clear...for about 36 hours. Then more weather arrived and returned the roads to death-trap status. This was not good news for the very large part of my brain that is devoted to worrying about driving in bad weather. Not good at all.

Thankfully, I have been blessed with good friends who volunteered to drive to rural ward conferences (Thanks Sue!) and even more rural (rural-er?)  family home evenings (thanks Woodhouses!).

Even though I haven't done any slipping and sliding in my car this week (have I mentioned how much I love Sue and the Woodhouses?), I was still reminded of the slick Canadian roads and the not-so-helpful little "NO TRACTION" signal that would light-up on our dashboard whenever the roads got slick (Really, No Traction Light? The car currently has no traction? Thank goodness you alerted us to the lack of traction because we never would have figured it out just sliding though intersection after intersection!)

That little light became the inspiration for one of my favorite mission songs, co-written by the lovely and talented Sister Reese, who would sing harmony whenever we performed it. My recent road situation resulted in an additional post-mission verse and a hankering to sing with Sister Reese once again. I feel a road trip coming on...once the roads have melted and are no longer being used as nature's weapon of choice to attempt to do me in, that is.

Super Sister Songwriting team of Reese and Haws.

Low Traction

  (Written January 3, 2001)

To the tune of "O Ye Mountains High", LDS Hymn #34

 

Here in Can-a-da high

The snow falls from the sky

making roads all around us oh so slick!

 

Our car slides to the right

And we scream out in fright;

Thank Heaven anti-lock breaks do the trick!

Playing snow basketball in the Stratford Branch parking lot on P-day.

Low traction! No traction!

Hear our anti-lock breaks sing!

As across town we slide,

It's one heck of a ride!

We just pray we sur-vive until spring!

Stratford Sister's Apartment

 

In my post-mission life

I still face snowy-strife

Icy roads often make me fume and fuss

 

When I feel my car slide

Now there's one real bright side

No mission tag means I feel more free to cuss!

One of the many snow-covered streets in my cute, yet potentially deadly, Cow Town.

Low traction! No traction!

Hear my anti-lock breaks sing!

As across town I slide,

It's one heck of a ride!

I just pray I sur-vive until spring!

On The Bright Side...

So... remember how the heater in charge of heating my classroom hasn't worked for, like, the last five years?

Well, five years minus the week it was working last year. But I don't really count that week because, while it was giving off heat, the heater was also giving off semi-noxious fumes.

Please don't confuse those semi-noxious fumes with the obnoxious fumes that waft off of the 8th grade boys. Those fumes are a subject for a completely different post.

This post is about the ongoing saga of my heat-less classroom. Or at least, it was when I started it...

Anyway, when the school year began I had already resigned myself to the idea of spending yet another winter teaching while wearing multiple layers of clothing, gloves, a scarf, and wrapped in a blanket while a chorus of buzzing space heaters drowned out the sound of 30 sets of almost-completely-permanent-grown-up teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Then, one magical morning in September, my principal appeared in my room bearing glad tidings of great joy... my classroom (and the other areas in my immediate vicinity) would be getting a brand-spanking-new heater! That would actually heat things! Without poisoning me or the kidlets! It was like Christmas morning! With heat! And no semi-noxious fumes!

Of course, the ginormous non-poisonous heating heater needed to replace the old one... on the roof of the school right above my classroom. That meant that a crane would be involved. And THAT meant that I was going to have to vacate my classroom for a day so as to ensure that none of the kidlets were in danger of being squished in any giant crane/old roof related accidents.

 

And so, for one day in September, I hauled all of my teaching stuff to a room on the other side of the building where I taught the very confused kidlets.

 

Well, before the teaching could start I had to wait for the kidlets to find the room, and then explain to them why I wasn't in my room. Then  it took a little longer to assure them that I would eventually be returning to my real room, before showing them where the pencil sharpener was and explaining why I couldn't bring my smart board with me. But then some teaching happened.

 

 When school ended, I started wheeling my stuff back to my original room, only to be told that the new heater didn't fit the connections into the building from the old heater. The very nice maintenance guys then explained that eventually, when they figured out how to connect the new heater to the old hook-ups, I would have to vacate my room yet again.

 

And a week or so later, I did vacate the room, but only when the giant crane with kidlet-crushing potential was actually in use, which happened to coincide perfectly with my kidless prep time. It was quick and painless.

 

I didn't see or hear from the maintenance guys for almost a month afterwords. Then, just as I started redecorating my room with a nice Octoberish-theme, I found out the crane and a small army of maintenance guys, electricians, and heating guys would be invading my classroom yet again.

 

So Monday morning, I once again moved five classes (four subjects) worth of stuff out of my room, through the lunch room, out of the commons, down the hall, and into room 148.

Where I found a cheerful note from my very kind, new-heater-facilitating principal.

But then Monday in room 148 turned into Monday and Tuesday in room 148.

When I found out that Monday and Tuesday in 148 was in danger of turning into Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in 148, I politely explained to the maintenance guys that Wednesday in 148 was not an option because a sub was taking my classes that day. "You see," I explained, "the kidlet wig out when they have class in a different room. The kidlets also freak out when they have a sub. Therefore, having a sub in a different would cause a wig-out-freak-out of massive proportions precluding any learning of any kind from happening that day."

Then the maintenance guys repeated that my room was probably going to be off limits again on Wednesday.

Then I told them that I would cry, which resulted in them telling me that they could probably work around the kids on Wednesday after all.

So the kidlets will only have to have half of a freak out tomorrow with the sub, and they can do that freaking out in the comfort of our usual classroom.

On the bright side, there is a good chance that, sometime in the next two weeks, the new heating, poison-less-heater will be ready to do some heating. My little sojourn in the 140's hallway also provided me with a renewed appreciation for my classroom... and some great material for example poems for our rhyme scheme lesson.

Also, with all of the constrution work going on in the room, it gave Iron Man a chance to try out a new, safety-oriented look. The maintence guys thought Iron Man's hard hat was pretty entertaining...

... Although they thought Anita, our sentence dissection nurse, was just disturbing.

 

But, thanks to those disturbed maintenance guys, my room will eventually have heating capabilities this winter. Which means that the temperature in the classroom will be high enough to allow me to open the back door a crack every now and then to let out some of the obnoxious fumes emanating from the 8th grade boys.

Bright side indeed!

Warm/Winter Weather Wanderings and Wonderings

One year ago, I was in the purposeful process of packing for my momentous move to my new apartment.

One of the major selling points (or renting points, as the case may be) of the new place was its proximity to my place of employment. I can walk from my awesome new apartment's aperture to the outside opening of my classroom in mere minutes, providing I don't participate in any impromptu parent/teacher conferences along the way.

I quickly discovered that one of the perks of my personal promenade is the potential for pondering that takes place as I plod along down the path to school (My apologies for the over-abundance of repetition of consonant sounds at the beginning of words. I reviewed alliteration with the 7th graders this week and still have not recovered).

As the seasons changed, so has my train of thought as I traipse to and from teaching.

At the start of the year, I walked to and from school almost every day, except when after-school meetings at the library or the district office didn't leave the requisite trekking time in my scholarly schedule.

I would leave a little earlier in the mornings (in an attempt to be off the streets before they were flooded with ambulatory kidlets), and use those minutes of calm and quiet to arrange my thoughts for the day.
Thoughts that needed arranging included:

Wow. It is a beautiful morning!

The wind must have shifted to the east because the cow aroma is coming through much clearer today with only subtle hints of horse manure.

I need to make copies of that alliteration assignment before first hour.

I wonder if spending a whole class period on alliteration will have any negative and/or annoying effects later on?

Don't forget to tell Student X how much fun it was to read his poetry assignment.

Who would have thought that there are so many words in the English language that rhyme with "fart".

If I send two emails every day this week, I will be close to hitting my parent-contact goal.

Should I talk to the school counselor about how my fear of parents has resulted in my sentences that contain the phrase "parent-contact" also nearly always including words like "hitting"?

Did I turn off my flat iron before I left home?

If I turn around and walk home to check status my flat iron, will I still have time to make copies before first hour?

And of course...

Yikes! Is that dog jumping higher today or did the fence somehow get lower?

Does my medical insurance cover dog bites?

What would be more painful, teaching all day with a dog-related injury or trying to put together sub plans so I can go to the ER?

How is it I can remember all of the names of my 200+ kidlets, their seating preferences, who they are holding hands with at lunch this week, and their favorite skits from "So Random", but I can't remember to walk on the dog-free side of the street?

Despite the large number of vicious dogs lunging at my throat, my walks to and from school in the fall were a great chance to reflect, de-stress, and breath deeply (or not, depending on which direction the wind was blowing).



But over the last few months, I have gotten out of the habit of starting and ending the school day with a 2 1/2 block constitutional. Much to my (and my exercise-needy backside's) dismay,the combination of the colder weather and a lazier me have resulted in fewer school day strolls.

But when (what was supposed to be) a big snowstorm was set to roll in this week, neither the low temperatures nor my high level of slothfulness could overpower my unwillingness to drive in the snow.

So, on Wednesday morning, I bundled up, left my car in the carport, and set out for school on foot. As I stepped out into the flurry-filled morning, I instantly noticed a change in my mental meandering.

Now my walking thoughts were more along the line of...

• It's kind of chilly.



• Like, really chilly.



• I hope I don't slip and fall.



• If I do slip and fall, I hope it isn't in front of one of my kidlets homes.



• If I do slip and fall in front of one of my kidlets' homes and their families laugh and point at me through their kitchen window, can I count that as a parent contact?



• What if I slip and fall and hit my head and the parent asks me if I need them to call 911?



• If the paramedic or ambulance driver who comes to take me to the hospital is the mother or father of one of my students, can I count THAT as a parent contact, even if I am only semi-conscious?
  It is so interesting how, when the air is colder, the cow aroma takes on a whole new array of subtle nuances.

Anyway, to make a long blog post only slightly less long, the content and quality of my walking-to-school thought processes change significantly with changes in the weather.

I thought about extending this little personal study into the thoughts that I have while driving back and forth to school but, as anyone who has ever seen me drive can attest, not a lot of thinking goes on when I am behind the wheel.

Sad, but true.

Which means that, even when the sidewalks are icy and the blood-thirsty dogs are out in force, it is still much safer for everyone if I walk to school.

The point of the particular post: Winter walking can wilt and wither the wondering of wandering women when wintry winds whip them down the whirling way.

And alliteration should never be taught for 72 minutes at a time.

Some Fascinating Girls

Setting out to prove once again that the P.A.B. is the coolest branch to have ever sprouted from deep-rooted tree of the LDS church, our Relief Society packed up last night and took off for the great outdoors.
Well, it wasn't the whole Relief Society. There were a lot of things going on this weekend so only a few of us were able to attend this fabulous RS Retreat. It was the few, the proud, the dedicated, (...the dateless...) who bundled up and followed our fearless leader Lacie into the wild unknown territory of Melcher.

While there are some who would scoff (in this case, scoffer = President Jones) at calling our over-nighter to a meticulously restored and beautifully furnished stone house a "nature retreat", I feel it is important to point out that we were "roughing it" in many ways. For example, if we hadn't have discovered the owners manual for the state-of-the-art stove in the kitchen, we could have starved to death or, even worse, had to eat our pizza cold. And while we weren't exactly sleeping in tents...
...I would like to point out that my room only had one single flower arrangement. That's right. Just one (insert gasps of concern here). The bundle of dried lavender on the antique dresser didn't count. It fit into the category of potpourri.
And the bathrooms (all three of them) may have had flush toilets and hot running water but look at that tub...not a Jacuzzi jet in sight!
But we were willing to suffer through these deprivations in the name of sisterhood. We went to Melcher to strengthen our Relief Society bonds and lift each other's spirits.

We conversed (and ate Snickers), and listened to an inspired spiritual thought delivered by Krystal (and ate caramel corn).

And after Krystal's inspired spiritual thought, we got down to business (and not just the business of eating more Snickers and caramel corn).

Sister Hobson had packed this book, The Fascinating Girl by Helen B. Andelin, first published in 1969 (way, way before cute little Sister Hobson was born, of course). According to the dust jacket, "The Fascinating Girl is written to single girls and provides a step by step guide how to gain the attention and interest of men and eventually win the particular man of your choice."

Needless to say, we were all on the edge of our seats anticipating some life-changing counsel. After all, both Sister Hobson and Sister Jones had copies of this book and they both gained the attention and interest of some of the greatest men we know, so that gave Helen some serious street-cred in our minds.

It was, of course, a life changing experience. As Sister Hobson read to us, we soaked in the pearls of man-catching wisdom like this important rule: If at some time or another you are stuck with a masculine job in the presence of men, do it in a feminine manner and thus show your helpless dependency...This means to struggle with it or show some amount of incompetence...be your true feminine self, and men will come quickly to rescue you because you appear dependent and in need of their help. We learned the "Do's and Don'ts for the Feminine Manner," including: Don't use your hands in a stiff, brusque, efficient, firm or strong manner. Do walk lightly, with knees slightly straight (Sister Jones was kind enough to model that one for us when her good (yet scoffing) husband walked in and we could tell that he was impressed by the way he looked at us in a confused manner before quickly retreating back to the basement). Don't use the following qualities of voice: loudness, firmness, efficiency, boldness, over softness, or timidity, dullness, flat tone, mumbling, monotonous singsong.
One of our favorite lessons was "How to be Saucy" wherein we learned that... The key to child like anger is this: Your anger, your spunk or sauciness must be mostly pretense....One of the best things to do is to pout, or protrude the lower lip...Some other things to do are to stomp your foot, shake your head, open your eyes wide, place both hands on your hips, or square your shoulders and lift your chin high. These are only a few of the outward signs of sauciness.
When it was time to go to bed, we reviewed other important tips like...The main thing is to avoid a matronly look....to learn girlishness in dress, visit a shop for little girls and study their clothes. You will observe full skirts, pleated skirts, jumpers, petticoats and pantaloons... Ribbons and flowers add girlishness to hair styles as do barrettes and bands. Men love these touches...High heels are feminine, but they are not girlish. It is best to have both kinds [of shoes].
While the above information would have been very helpful in attracting the kind of man featured on DATELINE: TO CATCH A PREDATOR, we found another piece of fashion advice more helpful: Should women wear pants? ... When you do wear pants, soften the effect by color, material or accessory. You may have to wear a ribbon in your hair, for example, or a scarf at your neck. The most feminine pants, for special occasions, are made of such things as white lace...they can be beautiful and extremely feminine.

Krystal couldn't help but smile as she dreamed of white lace pants. We did become somewhat distracted from our lessons in "Fascinating Girlhood" when we woke up to discover a mid-October snowstorm had made our mountain look like it was wearing its own pair of giant white-lace pants.
But even the threat of being snowed in couldn't keep us from continuing to practice our new man-catching skills. Here is Fearless Leader Lacie fixing our delicious and fascinating breakfast. We tried to complement her on her wonderful muffins, but she reminded us that : A man likes a girl to be rather modest about her domestic interests rather than to advertise them. For example, a girl who tends to apologize for her cooking is more attractive than one who brags about it. The modest girl implies, "Oh, I am not very good at this yet, but I intend to be some day." She promises better performance in the future and gives the impression that other things have taken her interest right now.

Ruth and I tried practicing timorousness as we prepared to go home this morning. What? You don't know what "timorousness" is?!?

I guess that shouldn't surprise me because, according to Helen, "Timorousness is little understood by women of today, and yet it is a most bewitching charm of womanhood. It can be described as an air of timid fearlessness, of self-conscious modesty and of pretty confusion."

Here are Ruth and Kristi (on the front row), demonstrating "timid fearlessness", while (from the right to left on the back row) Jessica, Lacie, Sister Jones, and Timbri are being self-consciously modest, and Krystal, Sister Hobson and I are showing off how "prettily confused" we can be. Before we packed up to leave, we decided to take one more group photo outside in the blizzard to prove to the scoffing-scoffers once and for all that we did venture out into "nature" during our retreat.
Of course, as we were loading our blankets and licked-clean Snicker's wrappers, we did try to...demonstrate [our] helpless dependency upon men, and let them know either by asking or some outward appearance of weakness, delicacy or incompetence that [we were] in need of some masculine assistance.
And it must of worked because President Jones did hop out of his truck to open the cattle gate for us on our way back down the mountain.

"Thank you, kind Branch President, for coming to the assistance of we helpless and dependent Relief Society sisters."
It's a shame there weren't any big strong members of the Elders Quorum back at the branch building to help me dig out my snowbound car...
...or to shovel my sidewalk when I got home. I tried acting "saucy", sticking out my lip, stomping my foot, and walking with slightly straight knees to attract a man who could rescue me from my dependent incompetence with the masculine task of digging out my stairs, but to no avail.
I had to shovel them my self...while wearing pants that were NOT made of white lace.

Don't tell Helen B. Andelin.

Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad (or Pie-Induced Social Interactions)

Well, summer is officially over here in Idaho.

The cooler weather has set in and the first frost has fallen .

September is beautiful, isn't it?

Just kidding.

Everyone knows we don't get our first real snow storms till October.

But I wasn't teasing about the cooler weather. This is how it really looked outside today. A little grey with some attempts at rain and, of course, the ever-present Idaho wind. But cooler weather meant that I could finally enjoy some of my favorite activities: wearing sweaters, reading books while wrapped up in warm blankets, and baking.I love hard-core cooking, but I don't get to do a lot of baking in the summer because of my lack of air conditioning. My stove may look harmless, but turning it on when it is even mildly warm outside transforms my apartment from this...

...to this. Not fun. And since I do not reside in a nudest complex or belong to a clothing-optional religion, I avoid turning on my oven in the summer at all costs.So I decided to take advantage of the cooler weather today and bake. Since reading about "buttermilk pie" on my sister-in-law's eldest sister's blog http://karlennandben.blogspot.com/ this week, I have been wanting to give it a try. So I found a recipe and whipped up some delicious custard filling.
This is where I have to make a confession.

Don't tell my mom (a.k.a Princess Perfect Pie Crust), but I used a store-bought pie shell. It's not that I can't make pie crust. I can. I make it all the time. But instead of using it as a pie shell, I roll it flat and sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar to bake as pie crust cookies. When I need a pie shell, I worship at the alter of Marie Calendar because...and this is really hard for me to admit...I am pie-shell challenged.

Seriously. If there was a school for pie shells, I would ride the short bus.

If there was a pie shell ISAT, I would score somewhere between "below basic" and "lobotomized".

My pie shells are so ugly, the first time I brought one to a ward Halloween party, the scouts put it in the spook ally because it was the scariest thing in the building.

But since my store-bought shell wouldn't hold all of the butter-milky goodness I was forced to make a small shell to avoid a taste-waste of tragic proportions. Bet'cha can't guess which shell is mine...

Poor little pie crust. Too bad there isn't an "extreme pie shell makeover" show. At very least, this pathetic pastry warrants an appearance on Dr. Phil. Especially after being set so close to one of Marie Calendar's geometrically perfect crusts. Talk about inferiority complexes. This is like me sitting next to Angelina Jolie on a park bench...or it would be if the good looking pie had a bunch of tattoos and had adopted a bunch of foreign tartlets.

But both pies turned out pretty darn good, even without self esteem counseling. (Kar - your post has changed my life. I LOVE this pie. Really. Now if you could just blog some easy to follow instructions on how to get a date, your blog would officially be the best thing that has ever happened to me).

I had some extra ugly pie crust dough left, so I made some cookies. Cookies that I ate while wearing a warm sweater.

Sweaters, check. Baking, check. The final step in my perfect cool-weather day was to curl up on my couch to read my new book (the one my kidlets and I have had a running release-date countdown going for since school started). Then the phone rang. Then there was a knock at my door. Then the phone rang again. Then another knock.

So my book was abandoned as I spent the afternoon with Elizabeth and Adelle and then the evening with my new friend and fellow teacher Jill. Normally I don't have that much social interaction in a day...or in a week....or ever...but since word has gotten out that I have stopped handing out 7th grade spelling tests and red pens to everyone who comes through my door, people assume it is safe to visit me. Of course, some of today's social interactions were the result of word getting out that I was handing out slices of buttermilk pie at the door. That means, if I want to have a shot at getting my book read before a mass of kidlets breaks down my classroom door Monday morning to discuss it, I am either going to have to stay up all night reading or eat the rest of the pie, thereby removing the social interaction catalyst.
Hummm...I really do need my sleep, so I guess the pie will just have to go (So Kar, if your next blog post could be about how to get a date with a boy who doesn't mind going out with an anti-social chick with a butter-milk-pie-inflated-backside, I would really appreciate it).