New year, new me
2026
my time
to gossip and bad mouth
judge others
watch reality tv nonstop
spend money on things i don't need, can't use
scroll my phone at dinner
limit myself to 1,000 steps
or less
each day
talk trash and borrow trouble
miss appointments
roll my eyes
live in fear
hold a grudge
dare the world to
knock the chip
off
my shoulder
Tragic fact: Horsehair worms can place their larva inside a cricket or katydid. When the larva grows up, it INFLUENCES its host, causing said host to jump into water and drown.
Note that this influence doesn't occur unless the host is already near water. It will not travel long distances to drown itself.
No one knows how this happens, but if you're a katydid next to some water, and a horsehair worm emerges from your body, my feeling is you would most likely jump in disgust and horror, inadvertently landing in nearby water, unhappily dying as you watch your horsehair worm cheerfully swimming away.
Last month the 3rdLanders found a swarm of flies partying about a smelly deer leg, easily identified by a hoof at one end. We had some disagreement about the deer's age. 3rdLanders believed the leg belonged to a baby deer (fawn). I surmised that an adult deer lost this leg. We wondered together about who dismembered the deer. Fox or wild dog were 2 possibilities. A few optimists asserted that, whatever its age, that deer could adapt to living with 3 legs and could have a long happy life.
I didn't dash their dreams, but come on people. Think it through.
If you're ever on our school playground, keep your eyes peeled. There's a lot going on out there.
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| Yellownecked Caterpillar |
My job has not been offering many pleasant experiences so far. A few good moments. A few engaged students. Overall, mostly bedlam and chaos.
Yesterday I got so exasperated at the constant talking while I'm talking that I looked up at the ceiling and moaned plaintively to no one, "I just want this to be over."
A few kids seemed to notice, but most kept on with their rigamarole and folderol. This is the kind of thing I'm dealing with right now:
Episode 1: While they were sitting on the rug not listening to my brief directions for their writing assignment, one kid secretly poked the kid next to him with a pencil. Over and over again. It's sad that the poked child would prefer the pain of a pencil jabbing into his thigh over telling the kid to stop so he could attend to the teacher's directions. When I finally caught on and stopped the pencil poking, 10 other kids decided to poke at each other, play rock-paper-scissors, or lay down on their backs while humming loudly.
Episode 2: I was attempting to describe the book choices for our upcoming lit. circles and mentioned the covered wagons of Sarah, Plain and Tall and The Indian School. A kid yelled out, what's a covered wagon. Everyone knows the pioneer experience is a big part of second grade curriculum and yet, 4 kids started explaining covered wagons all at once. 6 others began talking among themselves about who knows what. 2 others then decided they needed water bottle refills.
Episode 3: Out for extra recess, one kid faked injury when my whistle blowing signaled the end of recess. He lay on the ground screaming. Kids crowded around him to help and yelled out to me, "He's hurt! He's hurt!!!" I ignored this and waited with the others at the line until I couldn't take it any more. I yelled across the field for them all to get to line NOW. That's when the injured kid got up and sprinted to line with the rest of them.
There are other episodes to share, but I'll save them for another day. The upcoming week will bring additional moments where I experience despair and a frustrating sense that I lack even a modicum of efficacy where pedagogy is concerned.
The 3rdLanders are, perhaps, decent enough people in and of themselves but the classroom collective is a nightmare. Every day is a series of reminding and thanking and ringing chimes and singing directions and blahblahblah.
On Friday afternoon I took them out for a long recess. There was no point in working on the owl pellet lesson. As I sat on the bench, ruing my lack of teaching proficiency, a kid sat with me telling me about his weekend plans to organize all the foods in his kitchen cabinets. He went through various items and identified their categories. When he said cheezits would go with cheese, I asked, "Wouldn't cheese go in the fridge?" He nodded but offered no alternate grouping.
Redirecting the conversation to me and my problems, I asked him, "Am I over-reacting here? Am I being overly sensitive to the constant disruptions?"
He thought a moment and then said, "Maybe a little."
He's probably right. In addition to everything, self doubt plagues me right now.
I can't figure out how Israel could be #5. Israel has a hideous government. Israel does care about cultural preservation, but cares little for the cultural preservation of their neighbors.
Bhutan wasn't ranked last year because someone forgot to collect data on the 4 pillars, but they got an honorable mention. Bhutan is a happy place where I would love to visit.
They seem friendly and enthusiastic. For the first 3 days of school, we got rolling on some interesting work. On the negative side, there's a lot of talking over me as I'm giving important information to the group. I have explained why this isn't working for me many times, but so far I've not noticed much change in the chit chat kitty cat stuff.
I pointed out to the 3rdLanders that being quiet when a teacher is talking isn't some new directive that I've recently invented just for the heck of it. "Your second grade teachers also asked you not to talk when a teacher is talking, so I'm not getting why this is so challenging."
A kid said, "Our second grade teacher was very patient with us."
That's when I lost it a little bit and I am sad to say I raised my voice up a teeny notch when I strongly asserted, "I'M patient!!!" Everyone quickly reassured me with "You are! You are!"
I think they sensed that any implied accusation of impatience is a genuine trigger for me.
I have to accept that I'm me and they're them. I can be patient and they can listen attentively when someone is speaking. I've seen these things happen over and over again. We've got this.
Flash fiction I worked on over the summer months. Finished in the nick of time. School starts tomorrow with scintillating teacher meetings. I'm pumped!
Lichtenberg Scars
On his honeymoon on Alabama’s Gold Coast, Billy Bruton got hit by lightning and died. He was standing at the water’s edge drinking coffee, looking out across the gulf, enjoying the sensation of his new purple crocs filling and emptying with water as the morning tide rolled in and out.
The vacation rental, paid for by gifts to the wedding registry site was money well spent. Right on the water. They just arrived yesterday, but so far so great.
Billy would wait to swim with Amy when she woke up. He hoped the honeymoon would perk her up. For the past month, she had complained constantly about all the work that went in to the wedding on top of working full time at the vet clinic. He had to admit that he could have done more to help out. On the plane, he promised that he would make it up to her from this day forward.
Loud knocking got Amy Bruton out of bed. Had Billy lost his key already?
She slid the blind aside to see a police officer with an elderly woman a few steps behind him. She was holding a purple croc.
Officer Mills explained why he was there and the woman, Ellen, followed with her own retelling of Billy’s death which she had witnessed from next door. There was nothing she could do. Her husband Evan called 911. She was able to grab one purple croc from the water, but she couldn’t reach the other one.
“We’re on our honeymoon,” Amy explained, as if that detail could make things right.
Officer Miller walked Amy across the white sand to where Billy was lying dead amid a pair of paramedics and an elderly man who turned out to be Evan.
Amy stared down at the lightning tattoo of red lines branching across Billy's face, neck and chest. “His face…?” she whispered. Officer Mills gripped her arm tighter, too tightly really, like he feared she might take off running down the beach.
Evan piped up. “Lichtenberg Scars. Very common after lightning strike. They fade, usually in 1 to 2 days. Nothing to worry about if you plan on having an open casket.”
Amy stared hard at Officer Miller’s face. “Did it rain? Was it raining? Was there a storm?”
“Not a lot of people know this, but lightning can strike ten miles away from a storm,” said Evan. “If you can hear thunder, you’re at risk for lightning strike. A lot of people don’t know that. Standing in this water probably didn’t help him any.”
Amy’s breathing quickened. Officer Mills lurched her around and started back toward the rental, his grip the only thing keeping her on her feet. He leaned his head close to Amy’s. “Geez-o-Pete. I don’t think we need any more assistance from Professor Lightning right now, do you?”
Amy burst out laughing, but by the time they were inside, her laughter morphed to sobs. Officer Mills helped her to the sofa and moved a box of tissues closer. He went to the kitchen to call the department’s social worker. When he noticed the box of tea bags on the counter, he turned on the electric kettle.
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| Once the longest train trestle in the country. Now the 6th longest. |
Sometimes I get a bit bored and on edge when faced with stretches of free time. Then I feel guilty because I should be experiencing only gratitude and contentment on summer break. On top of the guilt, I will now add sensations of anxiety about my future retirement at age 65.
You may know that I have TENTATIVE plans to retire after this year, but do I really want to? On weeks like this one I question the whole 65 retirement age thing. Might retirement offer nothing but prolonged edginess and boredom? Will I struggle to find things to do with this life besides cutting and pasting magazine photos into my notebook? Will I be forced to sign up for exercise classes or volunteer at the hospital reception desk? Will I spend my days bingewatching television shows???
Too Much is good by the way. As is Secrets We Keep. And I saw Superman twice this week (once on IMAX). The new Superman has a sweet personality. Highly recommend.
What about the money situation? Will I eventually run out of cash and end up in a debtor's prison?
Long story short, I went into 3rdLand on Thursday in order to shut off the mental trouble talking and get the lay of the land. While there I suddenly decided that I should move into a new classroom. My current room has windows that look out onto a wall. The recently emptied room next door (insert tears here because I'll miss my friend the former occupant) has windows that look out on to trees and grass, the school garden, a quaint windmill, clouds and blue sky and sunshine. Why wouldn't I move?
I've always coveted this room, but I didn't ask for a move because of my generous and principled belief that younger teachers should move in there and live out their careers in one of the best rooms in our school. Come to find out, no one wanted to move at this moment in time. The room was going to be some kind of resource room for kids who may need extra help with learning???? I don't think so. They can do that in the room that looks out on to a wall.
Today's the big day. Husbandman and some pals are heading with me to get the job done. We will carry possessions from Room 204 to Room 205. All day if necessary. Possibly tomorrow as well. This move has taken my mind off my stress and woe, but will be challenging and time consuming. Every decision in life has both pros and cons and I've weighed these out carefully. The move goes forward.
My sister’s house in Florida sports a lovely patio surrounded by hibiscus. A sandhill crane comes to the bird feeder off and on all day long. You already know this if you’ve seen my recent Instagram photos. This mysterious winged giant, Phrasier, spent hours with me as I, coincidentally, spent afternoons reading a scintillating mystery by Kathleen West.
I loved Phrasier instantly and found him to be intriguing company. And yet, his presence didn’t jive with 2 irrefutable “facts” we “know” about sandhill cranes. Back home in Indiana, I could not get this darned bird out of my head. His migration and mating behaviors didn’t make a lick of sense.
I resolved to get to the bottom of why this crazy crane went against all accepted cultural norms of his breed. I could have reached out to actual ornithologists who work nearby on the IU campus, but I didn’t have that kind of time. Instead, I used two or more online sources to solve … the mysteries of the lone sandhill.
Research Question 1: MISSED MIGRATION? What was Phrasier doing hanging out in Florida in late June? Sandhills are phenomenal migrators. They travel thousands of miles in huge flocks. Husbandman and I have trekked to the Goose Pond staging area to admire their mixing and mingling. Was Phrasier staying behind on a whim? Or was he stranded, shunned, kicked to the curb by an unfeeling, inflexible flock?
Research Question 2: BACKYARD BACHELOR? Sandhill cranes supposedly mate for life and, unlike many married humans, they share all nesting and child-rearing responsibilities. Why was Phrasier hanging out with old human beings on a patio eating bird seed made for lesser birds when he could be off with a mate living his best life?
I’m sad to report that while I came up with no conclusive answers to my research questions, I’m definitely getting closer to the truth about the lone sandhill, thanks to my deep dive into the crane literature. Here are the tentative results of my study.
Finding #1: I’m happy to report that Phrasier is no castoff reject. He is most likely a permanent resident. 5,000 sandhills live in Florida year round. Born in Florida, they’ll die in Florida. That’s the way they like it.
Finding #2: Phrasier will find true love in time. As with humans, it can take awhile before the sandhills meet their true loves. Many don’t marry until their seventh birthday. Phrasier's probably young---sowing wild oats, reaping abundant bird seed.
Finding #3: Phrasier and his ex-partner may have called it Splitsville. Between 2 and 7 percent of sandhill marriages end in divorce, which is impressive when compared to the 43% divorce rate of human beings. Crane divorce might result from territory choices gone awry, but some crane couples split due to personality clashes. Maybe Phrasier destroyed his marriage with his overly confident, devil may care attitude. Maybe his mate questioned his work ethic. The good news is that divorced cranes remarry, if not this breeding season, then the next.
Finding #4: Phrasier might not be one bird, but two. I texted my sister about this theory and she confirmed that right after I left she figured out that 2 cranes were visiting the feeder, but she forgot to tell me. She has named the second one Nell. Why do Phrasier and Nell visit the feeder separately? Are they sharing nesting responsibilities elsewhere or simply pulling some type of childish prank? Either way, it’s great to know that they seem to be doing fine.
In conclusion, there are many factors to consider when studying the lone sandhill so keep an open mind while you’re doing your research. We don’t yet have all the answers about Phrasier's way of life, but we do know that this fascinating bird merits future study.
Now, let's get to the point of the matter. Why do I like book #4 so much? Using a bulleted list, I'll now provide my reasons.
Making Friends Can Be Murder...
* has a fun quirky PREMISE. Women named Sarah Jones work to figure out who killed another woman named Sarah Jones, but there's other stuff happening they don't know about, so they sleuth along and get the job done together after a slew of twisty turns.
* is a PAGE TURNER. How do some writers create books that grab hold and don't let go? We may never know, but I read this book in 2 days. When I wasn't reading it, I was thinking about when I could get back to reading it.
* is a MYSTERY with some ROMANCE on the side. BONUS! I love romance and I don't care who knows it.
* is refreshingly NON-AGEIST. Not only does the book feature strong, smart women characters, all the Sarah Joneses are different ages. Not super typical in books about women who are not in the same family. The age differences make for some funny conversations and text threads, but the way they support one another is also absolutely endearing.
* is set in marvelous MINNEAPOLIS, one of our greatest American cities. You know how Anne Tyler sets all her books in Baltimore, where she lives? Well, come to find out, KC sets all her books in her home town of Minneapolis and references to key landmarks feature importantly throughout the book.
There are other reasons I love the book, but we'll stop there because I don't like to spend a lot of time writing these blog posts, but if you feel like reading Making Friends Can Be Murder, you definitely should!
New year, new me 2026 my time to gossip and bad mouth judge others watch reality tv nonstop spend money on things i don't need, can...
