A Tribute to a Classy Dame

They say you never forget your first. And I certainly never will.

I was about 10 years old when my parents proudly returned home with their new, shiny red bundle of joy. They couldn't get over the cool spoiler nestled upon its sleek rear exterior. I was just excited because it was like a cool new toy for our family to enjoy.

The Honda saw me through some very critical events as I grew up. My first ambulance ride came after another motor vehicle T-boned our beloved car as we drove through an intersection downtown. I was fine. The car was not. It underwent some major reconstructive surgery before it was whole again.

When I was 16 years old, I inherited the Honda after my mom bought another car, an unworthy replacement for our red baby. I was happy to say that my first car was so dead sexy and loved claiming ownership of it.

The Honda was even a loyal companion as I returned to school in Washington after a semester away. It was my connection to home, and together, we explored the exotic world of Spokane.

When I turned over custody of my car to my brother as he turned 16, it was bittersweet. I was thrilled to have a new car, which was my 20 year old dream car, but sad to say goodbye to such a loyal friend. At least she would stay in the family and I would see her often.

Then, on Tuesday night, our beloved family vehicle was taken away from us. She was stolen outside a field as my brother played football with his school friends. This tragic turn of events left us all feeling shaken. Empty. We didn't even get to say goodbye. (Single tear rolls down cheek. Chin quivers.)

What now? What?

Devastating. I know. But, fear not, fellow readers, for my story has a happy-ish ending.

Two days after it was stolen, with my brother hopelessly chasing after it, it was found again. That's right. Like any devoted family member, it found its way back to us, although it isn't completely whole. It has come back with many battle scars, and many untold stories of the true horrors that take place in Tucson alley ways. But we are all hopeful that she will one day return to her former glory.

Welcome back, baby. We've missed you.

My Existential Crisis

I feel ineffective.

Life should be easier.

I want to move to a remote island with my dog, my surfboard, and my guitar.

(Note: Author may not necessarily own a dog, surfboard, or guitar.)

It's Funtastic!

Things that I would like to do over the next few months:

1. Go to Oktoberfest...for good beer and good German folk music

2. Take a fall canyon drive...because no place on earth is prettier than Salt Lake in the fall

3. Hike Mt. Olympus...because it didn't happen this summer

4. Meet Jack...and learn how to comfortably hold an infant

5. Go to a haunted house or corn maze...just for the hell of it

6. Carve a pumpkin...to fulfill the sick pleasure I get in squishing my fingers through pumpkin innards

7. Make apple pie...because I've never done it before

8. Have a fall bonfire...complete with blankets, scarves, s'mores, and hot chocolate.

Who's with me?!

A Most Delightful Holiday

As far as Labor Day weekends go, I would say that this has been an exceptionally pleasant one. I have been left alone this weekend to house/dog sit at my parents' house , which usually means intense and profound loneliness on my part. Sometimes Coldplay is involved, just in case I'm not feeling moody enough. Not so, this time around.

I rather enjoyed my Saturday, which I spent baking, visiting, and engaging in a sort of card game relay with some of my favorite people. The highlights being our hostess's interesting chocolate dessert and some extremely oversized playing cards. (Hostess's fiance must be overcompensating for something....)

I woke up on Sunday wondering how I would be able to handle spending the day with minimal human interaction, only to find myself craving more of the solitude that surrounded me. This was no doubt fueled by the peculiar weather. It hasn't rained at my house in months, but yesterday we received some relief from our dry spell. At about 6:00-ish it began to pour. It was wonderful. Very cleansing and calming. I couldn't help but sit outside on the patio for awhile just to take it in. It was good for my soul.

Did I mention that I spent the rest of the night watching "The Sound of Music?" This is an important detail since few films make me happier than this one.

By the time today rolled around, I felt completely rejuvenated. After last week I needed a weekend like this. I almost feel ready to head back into the classroom tomorrow. Almost.

And the after...

The view from the doorway...


The miniature desks that I keep running into, causing me to have unusual bruises all over my legs.

Esp. for Linds. It's my read aloud area!!!


In all, the first week was sooo awesomely intense. After I left school the first day, it took all of my energy to stop myself from sobbing hysterically. I don't know why. It was just that stressful. On the plus side, I have aquired about 20 student-made portraits of me and been told that I'm "the best second grade teacher" (direct quote) and had a successful sharing circle. Whew!

My Canvas

Suggestions are greatly appreciated.

And it begins...

I am officially freaking out about beginning my teaching career at the end of this month. I knew that I would start having physical symptoms over my nervousness, but I was convinced that I had at least two more weeks before they would appear. I was wrong.

Last night, I dreamt that I was in Saudi Arabia being chased by terrorists. Now, I have my own personal issues with paranoia (I've been called a hypochondriac on a number of occasions), but this doesn't extend into the realm of terrorism. So, I'm thinking that my dream is symbolic for my teaching-related fears. The classroom is my desert; the students are my personal terrorists. Call me crazy, but I don't think this is the best outlook to have as I prepare to start teaching.

The other symptom that I experienced is waking up feeling nauseated and full of dread...at 6:00 AM. A good 3 hours before I should reasonably be expected to wake up on a Sunday morning.

It seemed quite strange to me how suddenly and unexpectedly my fear hit me. Until 8 hours ago I had done a pretty decent job of repressing the knowledge that I was going to start teaching. But then I thought about the past 24 hours and realized that my symptoms were caused by a variety of triggers:

1. Yesterday I changed my calendar from July to August and decided to count the weeks I had left until the first day of school, just for the hell of it. I discovered there are 3 weeks to go.

2. I received a letter in the mail welcoming the teachers to a new school year. In this letter the school administrators had enclosed a detailed schedule of the professional development trainings the teachers will be attending the week before school starts.

3. Last night, a few friends came over to dinner. One of these friends is a fellow new educator who will be teaching at the college level starting in September. He has the first assignment already planned out for one of his classes...and probably the whole semester. Meanwhile, I haven't even began to set up my classroom, much less plan my curriculum. I want to cry.

My biggest fear: That this freak out phase will only get worse over the next 3 weeks.