In Memorandum

Last week, my laptop died.

It was a dismal and distressing development, but not completely unexpected.

Poor Speed was getting on in years and had been showing signs of impending system failures for the 11 or 12 months. He was whirring and clicking and grinding and making all sorts of other pitiful noises. And despite his name, Speed had slowed, dragging his feet on the simplest of tasks.

But even after observing (and quietly lamenting) all of those symptoms, I was still in denial about the eventual end result of his issues. I made sure the most important of my photos were safe, but dropped the ball on backing up the other things that he had been hanging onto for me. Hence the dismay and distress mentioned previously.

Thank heaven for my natural propensity for pack-ratted-ness.

 It was bad enough losing my recipe files and my three year collection of ward conference talks, but I would be a basket case if I hadn't kept hard copies of my 2 1/2 years worth of Sunday school handouts and five semesters worth of institute lessons.

I have always felt that my worksheet hording habit was one of my more endearing qualities, but this is the first time it has actually paid off in a tangible way. Yeah me!

Speaking of my endearing qualities, you may have noticed that I have a tendency to name inanimate objects. For example: my car (Bling) , my blender (Juan) , my tv (Phil) , my camera (Tina) , the yearbook camera (Chad) , my ice cream freezer (Rose) , and a variety of other inhabit my home, my classroom, and my life.

 It's endearing, right?  In a cute and quirky and not at all in need of shock therapy kind of way.
I promise.  And you have to admit that Speed was a great first name for a laptop with the Surname of "Acer". A crazy person wouldn't be able to come up with something as clever as that.

At least, that is what Rose the ice cream freezer was saying over the weekend. And Rose has never been one to sugar coat things. She is very pragmatic and strait forward, almost to the point of being cold hearted.

Unlike Dante, who tends to be a bit more hot headed. Yep. Not crazy at all.

For a day or so, I thought I could make due with Dante to meet the majority of my Internet and computing needs. But I was wrong. Turns out that writing talks, preparing institute presentations, typing book sale info, working on lesson plans, putting together end of course assessments, and blogging all require an actual computer. (But don't worry, Dante. You and I will always have Where's My Water? and my Atolia novels.) So I spent money that I didn't have (Who needs new school clothes? It's not like appearances matter AT ALL in a junior high setting) and got myself a rebound laptop.

And for my sweet mother who was wondering how Hamish came by that particular moniker....

I also have a tendency to fixate on things, especially during the summer. Endearingly quirky, right?  At least that is the story I am sticking to until school insurance covers electro shock therapy. And even then, I will probably name the shock therapy machine.

History Repeating...

I spent the last few days hanging out at the homestead, celebrating my mother's favorite holiday: The 4th of July. And as everyone we have ever met assembled on my parents front lawn for the parade, I started having some flashbacks to my childhood. And because I can't afford therapy, I decided to blog about it.

My parents have lived in this house for thirty-something years, and every year my dad has run the Scout Camp/Girls Camp snow cone fundraiser from our driveway. All six H kids served time as snow cone sales people, and this year the torch was passed to the next generation as Warren introduced Kenna to the fine art of snow cone selling.

While I was trying (unsuccessfully, it turns out) to find photos of the original H kids selling snow cones, I found some other old photos that correlated to this weekend's activities.

For example, I found this photo of Spencer and Mikey (and Warren) cuddled up taking a snooze. This past week, Spence and Mikey and their very understanding brides spent the holiday in NYC... sharing a hotel room. History repeating itself once again!

And then there was this photo of Greg napping on the couch. And no, it wasn't taken at Christmas time. I'm not sure why the santa hat is there...

Which mirrors this photo of Greg sleeping in the same living room on a different couch (but possibly still wearing spider man undies) this week. Tradition!

And speaking of Greg and traditions, here he is getting ready to set off for his first day of school.

Yesterday, my parents sent him off to school again... this time so he can get back to his job at the BYU bookstore.

Greg should be pretty used to being shipped off by now...

...but at least this time he got to ride in style on the shuttle instead UPS ground shipping.

The theme of the 2012 4th of July Holiday: The more things change...

... the more they stay the same.

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Parts 1 & 2

I love cell phones.

I don’t love them because they make life easier, even though they do.
I don’t love them because they can make travel safer, even though they can.
And I don’t love them because they are just so darn techy-awesome, even though they are.

I love cell phones because of their ringtones.

Ringtones make my heart sing!
They also make my phone sing…and rap and shout, and (on some special occasions) cluck like a chicken.

The first “personalized” ringtone I downloaded oh so many years ago was the witched witch music from The Wizard of Oz. It was awesome. And addictive. Very addictive.

As of this particular moment, there are 18 personalized ringtones on my phone, each assigned to a special person or group of people.

A few years back, I added the Law and Order Cha-Chang sound to my phone as a text message alert sound. As a fan of the original Law and Order (You’ll always have a special place in my heart, Detective Briscoe!), hearing that particular ringtone everyday made me happy. But then the original Law and Order was canceled, along with roughly 28 of its spin-offs .

Law and Order from Mindy Haws on Vimeo.

Currently, the only Law and Order still in production is the sex crimes version that I refuse to watch due to my long-held belief that sex crimes should not be considered entertainment (Yes, I realize that is a bit hypocritical since the majority of the shows I enjoy are crime-based, but my varying levels of hypocrisy are not the topic of this post, so we will have to revisit that another day). Since I didn’t want to give everyone with within earshot of my phone the impression that approve of that particular TV show, I decided I needed a new text alert sound.
And what better text alert sound could there be than Harry Potter shouting the all-important dementor-repelling spell at the top of his lungs?


Harry from Mindy Haws on Vimeo.

But as the title of this post implies, what seemed like a good idea while sitting in my parents' kitchen turned out to be a little embarrassing in other situations.


I know what you’re thinking.

You are thinking, “But Mindy… In what situations could Harry Potter shouting ‘Expecto Patronum!’ at high volume be embarrassing?”
Well, as it turns out, it is embarrassing in pretty much ANY situation where people other than junior high kidlets or my nephews are present.

But as embarrassing as it can be to have my phone shout spells in an emotionally charged voice while I sort books in the library, make copies at the institute building, or interview applicants for the two English positions at my school, I still haven't changed the text alert sound. I just can't do that to Harry. I mean, the poor guy has been through so much already. Banishing him from my phone becuase I happen to live in a muggle-rich envionment just seems selfish.

And while we are on the topic fictional characters to which I have developed an unhealthy attatchment...

I have become completly obsessed with the BBC's Sherlock, the best show in the history of television. Sure, there are far worse things to be obessed with (anything and on the E! network, for example) but my fascination with these modern-day retellings of the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle classics is wreaking havock on my summer. Buying the DVD's seemed like a good idea at the time, but now doing anything other than rewatching them seems like a colossal waste of time.
 
For example, my schedule last Wednesday looked like this...
5 a.m. Walk with Diane A.
6 a.m. Work on mission prep lesson
8 a.m. Water the Barker's garden
9 a.m. Aqua-Zumba!
11 a.m. Organize classroom file cabinet/rewrite lesson plans
1 p.m. Interview potential 8th grade English teachers
4 p.m. Sort books for library book sale
5 p.m. Finish mission prep lesson
7 p.m. Teach mission prep lesson
9 p.m. Download new ringtones
 
But what I wanted my schedule to look like was this...
Morning: Watch episodes of Sherlock
Mid-Morning: Watch episodes of Sherlock with commentary
Afternoon: Start e-mail campaign  to convice the BBC to make more than three episodes every 18-months.
Evening: Rewatch the end of episode #3 from season two over and over looking for more clues, while trying not to cry each time John begs his best friend to stop being dead.
Night: Download Sherlock ringtones (This, by the way, is the only item on this list that I actually accomplished that day)
 
You can see how that could be a problem, right?

I guess there is always the chance that I could injure myself setting up for the library book sale and have no choice but to recooperate on my couch while watching Sherlock over and over... But that would probably just result in another, "It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time" post.

An Open Letter To The Very Nice Young Man Who Teaches Swimming Lessons Next To My Aqua-Zumba Class

***Note to the Reader: The photos used in this swimming-pool/swim-lesson oriented post have been harvested from the Internet because 1)Cameras often develop issues after spending time in a splash-heavy environment and 2)My camera and I don't want to end up being discussed by Nancy Grace and her panel of "experts" on HLN.***

Dear Very Nice Young Man who teaches swimming lessons to a group of what appear to be nine-year-old boys in the part of the pool that is immediately adjacent to the part of the pool where my Aqua-Zumba class meets,

I would like to start out by congratulating you on a successful first week of swimming lessons with this particular group of Stetsons and Harleys (For those of you who don't spend much time at our local pool, it  appears that every boy in every swimming class, along with a significant number of the teachers, are all named either Stetson or Harley. FYI, the girls are all named Jacobi).  I believe that your lessons have qualified as "successful" for two main reasons.

First, only a minimum of nervous sobbing could be heard from your part of the deep-end (Truth be told, much more sobbing was taking place in the Aqua-Zumba section... especially during the body-roll part in that third song. That can be sooooooo upsetting).

Second, the only paramedics present were there to cheer on their own kids in the class and not to resuscitate anyone. And while we are on this particular topic I would like to point out that, while some of the older ladies in Aqua-Zumba find the presence of the ambulance in the pool parking lot to be a comforting thing, I personally have found it to be somewhat unsettling. Foreboding, even. But moving on...

Our actual town swimming pool where I have spent my summer mornings for the last three and a half years.

So, nice work on the limited crying and total lack of drownings. But since I have been spending a good amount of time kicking and splashing and (insert sound of sobbing here) body-rolling in close proximity to your Harleys and Stetsons, I couldn't help but notice that you have having a difficult time getting the boys to learn different swim strokes.

A visual approximation of the Aqua-Zumba class that I started attending this month with my friend and visiting teacher, Stephanie. I am still waiting for you to join us, Valerie and Elizabeth!)

Now, I am in no way claiming to be an expert in the teaching of swimming, but as a sister of four brothers and the aunt of five nephews, I do know a little bit about apparently-nine-year-old-boys.

I think your problem is the way you are presenting the choice of strokes to your students.

I know that you are getting frustrated with their insistence on choosing to practice the backstroke over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

But really, what do you expect them to choose when presented with the other two options  that you give them along with the backstroke: the butterfly and the breaststroke.

A visual approximation of Harley and/or Stetson.

Of course they are going to say, "Backstroke!" every time.

What self-respecting nine-year-old boy is going to request, in front of his peers, to learn the butterfly? These are boys named Harley and Stetson. Some of them have been driving tractors  and hay trucks for two years. Most own some sort of firearm and have in fact used said firearm to shoot and kill several furry and/or feathered critters. Do you really think one of them is going to raise his hand and say, "Please, Mr. Swim Instructor sir, I implore you to tutor us in the ways of the graceful butterfly stroke," ?

Sorry guy, it is never going to happen.

You can always tell them that is what they are going to learn, and they will do it. But if you give it to them as a choice along side the backstroke, they will chose the backstroke every time.

If you want them to chose that particular stoke, I suggest renaming it. Try something like, The Blood-thirsty Pterodactyl Super Swoop Stoke of Death.

"Good morning Stetson, Stetson, Harley, Harley, and Harley. Today you can pick between practicing the backstroke or The Blood-thirsty Pterodactyl Super Swoop Stoke of Death. Which shall it be?"

I think you know what the answer.

You have the same type of problem with the other choice that you offer: the breast stroke.

I can pretty much guarantee you that the phrase "breast stroke" is never going to be uttered by any of those nine-year-old boys. At least, not while they are in a public area where their older brothers, their parents, a few off-duty paramedics, and 18 little girls named Jacobi could possibly hear them.


"Stetson! Did you hear what the swimming teacher just said? Hurry! Somebody chose 'backstroke' before he says it again and I have to drown myself in embarrassment!"


One or two of them might get up the courage to whisper it at day camp when their den leader is out of earshot being treated for heat exhaustion, but then it will be out of a desire to get a bigger laugh than the kid who told the snot joke and not for educational purposes.

Of course, once those same boys hit the 8th grade, you won't be able to stop them from saying it. A creative few may even use that phrase as their chosen name for their new hunting dogs, but then they will no longer be your problem.

They will be my problem.

I can see the haiku and shape poems now...

So in closing, I would like to pass on this piece of advice: If you are going to give a group of nine-year-old boys a choice between practicing the backstroke, the butterfly, and the breaststroke, and you DON'T want them to chose the backstroke every single time, RENAME THE OTHER STROKES.

Seriously. These are the same kids who routinely put their swim trunks on backwards. I don't think they are going to figure out that you pulled a name switch-a-roo on them.

Sincerely,
Miss H

Wherein I Learn to Never Doubt Diane

You would think that, after seeing her work her magic in a giant singles ward, a tiny singles branch, a nice-sized institute program, three stake Relief Society meetings, and many other meetings, trainings, conferences, dinners, and family home evenings, I would know better than to doubt the Lovely and Talented Sister Diane.

And I usually do know better.

When Diane says we should serve doughnuts after a broadcast, I say: Glazed or sprinkles?

When Diane says the main shade for our meeting color scheme should be pink, I say: Blush or rose?

If Diane were to recommend quacking like a duck, I would say: Mallard or Bufflehead?

If Diane were to suggest toilet papering the Stake President's home, I would say: Regular 1-ply or quilted 2-ply?

But I have to admit that, when Diane gave me this cute little shirt (emphasis on the LITTLE) and told me that it was "one size fits all", I caught myself thinking that perhaps, just this once, she might not have all of her Mallards or Buffleheads in a row.

I mean, the shirt (while a lovely shade of sage green) is the size of the doggie sweaters that my mom keeps wanting to buy for Chloe the neurotic bat-eared rat dog.

How could  a shirt (despite having a delightfully silky texture) only slightly wider than a dollar bill really fit all? Sure, Diane was wearing the same shirt, but in pink, when she gifted me with the green one, and it did fit her really well, but still.

Since I was headed to IF (home of the many-sized H* women) for the Father's Day weekend, I decided I would put the one-size-fits-all claim to the test.

And guess what?

Diane was right.

We had such a great time trying the shirt on everyone in a two-ward radius, we couldn't resist picking up a few more in different colors. How could we not, considering they are only $5. 

I can't believe I ever doubted Diane.

It will never happen again.

Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to brush up on my duck calls and start pricing 2-ply quilted toilet paper, just in case.

iDrive

At the junior high, the last thing the teachers do before we leave for the summer is have a quick, informal "check out" meeting with our wonderful principal.

 

I felt pretty well prepared to check out this year, prepped for all of the regular questions.

Yes, my final grades have been verified.

No, I don't have any big plans for the summer.

Yes, I would like to keep my keys.

Yes, I am going to spend way too much time in my classroom during the break.

Yes, I am prepared for the custodians to tease me about that.

Yes, the walls of my classroom are poster-free.

No, there are not any unruly 8th graders locked in the costume cupboard.

Sure, a couple of unruly 8th graders could fit in the costume cupboard, but if we were to put them in the cupboard we would have to get the costumes fumigated because, by this point in the year, most 8th grades smell more than a bit ripe. Etc.

 

But there was one question I wasn't quite prepared for:

Uh, what was that? Do I want to go to Oregon next week? Ummmm... Sure. I hear Portland is very nice this time of year.

 

Actually, the destination was school district in a little area outside of Portland. I was asked to be part of a team (with two other teachers and our very cool assistant principal) to visit several schools in the district. My principal, the superintendent, our tech guy, and a couple of school board members had taken a school tour a few weeks earlier and had been very impressed with that district's use of technology in the classroom.

Impressive was a good word for it. Kids of all ages, and in all classes, used iPods and iPads to do all sorts of amazing things. We had only been observing in the first classroom for about six minutes before I had three lesson plans partway written in my head.

 

The trip could have been a nice way to start the summer break. I got to stay in a very nice hotel room and eat in restaurants that exist outside of my valley.

 

I also got to spend several hours in Powell's Books, an amazing bookstore that takes up a full city block. I can't even begin to tell you how amazing that place is. I thought I was going to hyperventilate when I walked in to floor (not a room, a whole floor!) that housed tens of thousands of kids books. That book store, in and of itself, could have been the highlight of my summer. Maybe the highlight of my year.

 

Did you notice the two could have been's up above?

Yeah, this experience was great, but could have been greater if not for...

The Rental Car.

 

Since I was the only member of our little observation team with a credit card, I got to help out by using said card to secure the rental car we desperately needed for our tour. I didn't mind the using of the credit card part at all. In fact, I was happy to put it to some sort of good, helpful use.

The problem was that, because my name was on the card that was used to secure the car, I had to drive the freaking car. In Portland. That is a problem for several reasons including, but not limited to...

• I am a very bad driver.
•  I am an even worse driver when there are more than three other cars on the road with me.
• There were a lot more than three cars on the road with me in Portland. A heck of a lot more than three.
• No one else in the car with me had any idea where we were supposed to go, so we had to trust the GPS.
•  I lost my ability to trust GPS devices over spring break when my brother's homicidal GPS kept trying to talk us into driving into the Niagara River. You know, the part ABOVE the falls. Recalculating indeed.
• The weather was stormy and I had to drive on very large, very confusing, very congested roadways in blinding, wretched rain.
• I am a very, very bad driver.

 

I mean, I worry about driving on these roads...

 

 So roads like this IN BAD WEATHER... forget about it!

 

 But luckily for me, and the three other folks in my car, and the tens of thousands of people in the cars around us, prayers are answered and we all survived. And I did get to see some awesome educators in action, sleep on fancy pillows, eat in nice restaurants, and buy a few out-of-print books that I have been hunting for. So I guess I should probably consider the trip a success.

 

And I probably will... after the rain-soaked-freeway-themed nightmares  stop, that is.

 

I wonder if therapists take credit cards?

Boise Engagements Bring Burley Showers

Thanks to a happy convergence of callings, circumstances, and events, I have been handed the opportunity to (legally) attend my dearest, most darlingest, singles branch for three Sundays in a row. Today was my second Sunday back and, as I listened to the many, many announcements (one for every night of the week!) I felt a wide range of emotions.

There was a little sadness because they were no longer MY activities.

There was some confusion because I couldn't figure out how those many, many activities use to fit into my schedule.

And then there was the numbness in my backside brought on by the hard, plastic chairs to which my bottom has become unaccustomed. Ouch.

I was also feeling pretty thankful for the little branch reunion we had the day before at Krystal's bridal shower. Sure, the shower itself was wonderful, as was spending time with Princess Smoothride-McSpeedster herself. Life around this cute little cowtown hasn't been the same since Krystal headed up to the big city.

Celebrating her upcoming nuptials gave us former branchers a chance to reconnect with each other and with some of the current branchers (we love you, Bonnie and the Lucas women! Even if we didn't get any photos of you!) .

Friends, food, laughter, lingerie: it was just like old times! Minus the lingerie,that is. The lingerie was new. At least, I am assuming it was new. I mean, I didn't go to every activity, but... you know.

Instead of playing the usual shower games (Thank you, shower-planners for not making us play shower games!) we gave Krystal advice, watched her open gifts, and listened to her answer questions about her soon-to-be-hubby. In that process, Krystal learned a few things about Reed, and we all learned a few things about Emily and Lisa and their familiarity with the products Victoria keeps secret at the back of the store.

But knowledge about Reed's dream car and Lisa and Emily's familiarity with products that made her blush for a full thirteen minutes, wasn't the only thing Krystal received. She also got a whole host of things that will make her future home smell and look beautiful, and enough cooking supplies to ensure that she will have no choice but to follow President Sager's counsel to cook her hubby breakfast every morning.

She also got some of those other kinds of shower gifts.

I was feeling pretty good about the cheerleader ensemble I put together for my good friend Krystal, but started second guessing myself when I saw all of the kitchen-related gifts she received. I thought that my first idea for a shower gift would have fit better with the theme of the day...

Oh well. I guess it could make a pretty nice wedding gift too.

The afternoon provided Krystal with many useful gifts, and a few fun gifts too.

Those of us who attended came away with wide smiles and satisfied sweet teeth.

But that wasn't all.

After getting to rub shoulders with some of our favorite branch folks, Timbri and I also came away with a plan for a branch reunion, complete with friends, food, fun... but probably not lingerie. We'll wait for the next shower to break that stuff out again.

But when we do, watch out. My sister sent me some cute ideas for lingerie-themed cupcakes and sugar cookies that I'm sure Lisa and Emily will approve of.