Ode to the Last Month of Summer Vacation

The bookshelves are covered
All four walls are bear
Her desk, it is empty
Miss H isn’t there.

Why not? Duh! It’s summer!
She’s got family to see
Her nieces and her nephews,
Like Maxwell and Kylie.

But she especially likes it
When her family comes to chill
Mikey’s been here twice, so
Now he’s back in her will.

She’s not lugging home papers
There are no report cards to send
Instead she eats snow cones
And walks the river with friends.

And speaking of her friends
There is suddenly more time
With Ratha and with Liz
To visit and to dine.

By the end of the school year
Grammar sure felt like a chore.
Now instead of yelling, “Conjunctions!”
Miss H happily hollers, “Fore!”

No more 5 a.m. walks
Now it’s 6 a.m. swims
In water so cold
T hat a penguin would cringe.

F.H.E.’s are the best
With good company
Boating and jet skis
Supervised by Kristi.

Now the book sale is over
And the fair’s almost here
Summer’s sure flying by
The new school year is near!

But don’t cry for Miss H
Her summer has been super fun
And when the day comes
To her classroom she’ll run.

Because, to tell you the truth
Although summer’s a blast
Miss H is always happiest
At the head of a class.

Beam Me Up, Scotty

As school was winding down last spring, I received an email about a NASA camp for kids that was going to be held at my school over the summer. The email said that, in addition to providing a full week of educational fun for the kidlets, the NASA program was also going to provide a couple days worth of training for teachers. "Science and math teacher training in the middle of summer?", I thought, "REALLY? That is a horrible idea!"

And then I signed up.

Now, I am in no way the type of teacher who spends the summer in classes and in-services or, heaven forbid, in masters degree programs. I am the type of teacher who spends the summer swimming, visiting family, playing around with friends, substituting in primary, spearheading library fundraisers, organizing my classroom, and working on lesson plans. So why did I decide to sacrifice some of my rapidly disappearing summer days to build rockets?
Well, I didn't sign up for NASA camp because I want to follow in fellow Idahoan Barbara Morgan as a teacher in space. Me, ride in a spacecraft? I don't even like roller coasters.

I am very interested in space in the same way I am very interested in sharks, volcano's, camping, and blind dates. They are fun to study/watch from a distance, but I wouldn't want to actively participate.
Likewise, I did not sign up for NASA camp because I was bored. I wish I was bored. I dream about being bored. And of napping. I dream about napping a lot. Is that weird? To dream about sleeping while you are sleeping? Maybe I should look for a psychology camp to attend next summer...

I also didn't sign go to NASA camp because I enjoy science and math. To quote one of my favorite t-shirts, "I am an English teacher. You do the math."
I signed up to take an astronomy class in college once because I am a girl and, as such, I enjoy looking at the stars. I think they are pretty. Or I did think they were pretty until that first astronomy class. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that astronomy is only 5% pretty stars and 95% evil, brain-melting math. I don't think my love of the stars, or my college GPA, will ever recover.
Want yet another reason why I didn't sign up for NASA camp? Well, it sure wasn't because I have tired of the freedom to use the washroom whenever I want to. When you only have the freedom to piddle at will for three months of the year, the decision to give up even a few days of that freedom is not easily made.


The fact that participants received a free university credit wasn't the deciding factor either. A contributing factor, maybe. But certainly not the deciding factor.
But despite all of those un-reasons, why did I spend last week at NASA camp?

Because of this kid.

For two spring breaks in a row back when he was in 1st and 2nd grade, my nephew Bentley challenged me to space knowledge competitions. And both times, he beat me.

I, a professional educator, was intellectually spanked by a kid who, at the time, consistently put his clothes on backwards.

It might sound petty and/or puerile, but I spend the week at NASA camp because I can't lose to him again. I can't.

But now I am ready for him. Bring on the questions about gravity and shuttle history and Mars rovers and space toilets. I am ready for it.

Just as long as none of the questions require math.

Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to use the washroom. Because I can.

I Saw The Sign(s)

Four billion years ago, I wrote a post about some of the signs that adorn my cute little cow town. It was a fun post that focused on quirky, small town type things, like how a large percentage of our street signs are mounted on wood posts instead of metal poles.

That's how we roll 'round these parts. Old school. Wooden sign posts. High school rodeo teams. Festively decorated feedlots at Christmas time.
And the high school proms? They have actual promenades. You know, where the cute couples stroll around at a leisurely pace while their parents and other assembled townsfolk oooh and ahhh? The smaller schools (the ones with graduating classes of under thirty kids) hold their proms in smaller venues where they can actually promenade down fancy staircases. Old school, baby.

I love that our signs give folks a nice taste of our local flavor.

And how convenient was it to pair the USDA office with the dental clinic? If you show up a little early for your six month check-up and cleaning, you can flip though the latest government report about how engineers are using dynamic flux chambers to measure the emission rates of gaseous compounds from manure on dairy barn floors. Much more informative than a copy of People Magazine from 1987, eh?

And if there was any doubt about the prevalence of religion in our culture...

Back when I thought I was brave enough to buy a house, I really paid a lot of attention to street names. Rocky Road was never an option because it is outside of the boundaries of my preferred Stake of Zion, but it could have been fun. And naming a street "Dennis"? Love. It.

I looked at a house on Schodde (pronounced "Shoddy") Avenue. I would have really enjoyed being a Schodde housekeeper, a Schodde gardener, and even a Schodde cook.

And even though I know that "Normal Avenue" was named after the old Albion Normal College (a college for teachers) there would have been so much potential for jokes had I moved there.

The signs around town are usually very helpful and instructive...

... but they can be entertaining at times too.

And I love that the roadkill joke is on a veterinarian's marque that just happens to be located about two blocks down from a taxidermist's shop.

This one went up at the start of last year's fishing season. I liked it so much that I thought about buying some worms from them. But then I remembered that I don't fish and realized that I would just end up releasing the worms back into the wild.

I noticed this one as I drove back from the golf course this morning. Address written in Sharpe? Classy!

My brother Mikey was introduced to this sign when he visited me last month. I don't think he had seen a two-way, one lane road since he left the jungles of Brazil two years ago. I think he was very impressed...

... and maybe just a little bit fearful for his life. Something like this may not work in towns that have actual traffic, but the folks around here are happy to take turns when they happen to meet another vehicle traveling in the opposite direction. We are a very polite people.

We can also be very strait forward and precise when we want to be. No flowery verbiage or superfluity of words needed here.

Of course, sometimes the signs can be a bit misleading. For example, I don't know that "airport" would be the right word to describe our cute little beet field with a strip of pavement down the middle.


But this sign is pretty helpful. The end (or maybe the beginning? I don't know. I've never actually seen a plane on it...) of the runway is less than 100 yards off of Main Street, so the warning is very heartfelt and pragmatic.

While the airport sign may be a tad misleading, this one is either depressingly optimistic or a mean spirited lie.

City center? CITY center? In Heyburn? Do you know what is the CENTER of Heyburn? The post office, the police station, an abandoned barn, and what I'm sure is a very nice laundromat called the Wash Tubb.

False advertising? Perhaps. Had I been in charge, I probably would have rejected "City Center" in favor of something like "Halfway Through the Hamlet" or "The Heart of the Village" or maybe even "Post Office."

But with so many other wonderful signs around (Remember A&S Auto from the other post? A&S Auto, [insert immature giggle here] Remember?!?) I don't want you to walk away from this post with a negative feeling about the local signage.

Therefore, I am going to end this post with my all-time favorite local sign.

I've posted this photo before (I think it was in the same post that had the picture of the straw bales being used as road construction cones) but I think it is well worth re-posting.

It is a sign that really communicates the local flavor.

A sign that practically screams "BURLEY!"

A sign that makes me smile every single time I see it.

I love this sign.

It is a great example of the no nonsense, salt of the earth, hard working, clean living community that I have become a part of.

It just doesn't get much better than that.

Family Photos

Last week, all 19 members of my family got together for the first in about 4 1/2 years. And. We. Had. A. Blast.

Over the course of six days, there was hugging, visiting, swimming, swinging, teasing, chasing, shooting, racing, wii-ing, laser taging, rock climbing, skee balling, movie watching, eating, more eating, game playing, zoo exploring, even more eating, parade cheering, firework viewing, primary attending, BBQ-ing, ice cream making, ice cream eating, and even a baby (Bubba) Daniel Blessing.

We also took some photos.


And when I say "some" photos, what I mean is A LOT of photos.

And when I say "a lot" of photos, what I mean is A HECK-OF-A-STINKING-LOT of photos.

No matter where we were, or what we were doing, there was always at least one camera out and working.

But usually there was more than one.

We took photos outside.

We took photos inside.
We took photos of people doing all sorts of things.
We even took photos of people taking photos!

A few of us were able to multi task, like Aunt Deb who could push the photo button and the baby's swing at the same time.

Photos, photos, and more photos.

Everyone got in on the action.
EVERYONE.
Seriously. EVERYONE.

But not all of the flash bulbs going off belonged to cameras. A giant, symbolic idea flash bulb lit up pretty brightly over my favorite brother-in-law's head, prompting him to ponder aloud, "If everybody is taking photos already, why are we paying this guy to take more?"


Right after that, my camera beeped at me to let me know that my memory card was full, and then Kylie asked if she could borrow my camera to take a photo of a stick, so I never heard if anyone answered his question.

I guess when you add up the 1000's of photos that were taken and then divide them by 4 1/2 years, the total doesn't make us look too freakish of a family... it's what's in the photos that do that.

I love my freakish family! Lets not wait 4 1/2 years to hang out next time, ok?