Ramblings of a Third Grade Mind

Educational Pit Stop

2012-01-21T08:50:00.005-06:00

What I said:

“You can press the accelerator as hard as you want, but at some point your car’s not going to go any faster. If you’re in a Ferrari you’re set, but if you’re driving a KIA you’ve got a long way to go… Either way, if you always drive at your top speed, pretty soon you’re going to blow your engine!”

We were looking at the 2011-2012 Math TEKS (Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills) for grades K-6. The TEKS tell us are what the state has decided we must be teaching. It also lets us know what will be on the state’s new STAAR standardized test.

When I was in college studying to become a teacher the catchphrase “Developmentally Appropriate” was being tossed around like hash at the local diner. Every lesson we planned and every activity put together had to take into consideration not only where the students are educationally, but also what they are developmentally ready understand.

However, the more we looked at the TEKS we saw an all too familiar and disturbing trend. Math skills that only two or three years ago were on fifth grade level, were now popping up at the fourth grade level. And things from the fourth grade TEKS are now in the third grade TEKS, and so on and so forth.

The real trouble is we have fat cats in Austin who have never met a child who wasn’t from a well to do, nurturing home. So they can’t understand why EVERY child can’t just get the help he or she needs. When you live in a home where your mother and father value education, and have the time and ability to help you understand your homework, then you are in luck… you’re also in the minority.

The state, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that the way to fix its national educational rankings is to demand that elementary school students be instructed at developmentally inappropriate levels. Each year the “rigor” of the required educational materials increases, and the same students fall farther and farther behind. I’m sorry, but when you’re teaching pre-algebra to third and fourth graders there is something wrong.

So, when does it end?

Do we start having all kindergarteners take the PSAT? Maybe we can require preschoolers to pass a Play-do calculus exam. Or wouldn’t it be better if we introduced improper fractions to a child in the uterus?

If this were an Indy 500 race, every student would be in pretty much the same well tuned, ready to race vehicle. But Texas’ students are looking more like a bunch of cars at the local drag strip. Some of them are ready to race, but most are in desperate need of a pit stop.

A Sudden Gush of Warmth

2012-01-11T18:58:00.002-06:00

I love teaching for more reasons that I can name.

When you are surrounded by young minds and young hearts who not only enjoy being around you, but also think you’re cool…well baby, you’ve got it made.

When you’re at the grocery story and small bodies with large voices rush at you while screaming your name…you feel like a movie star.

When every joke you tell explodes the room with laughter… you start to believe you’re truly funny.

When a parent comes to you and says, “I’m an physics professor at SMU, but my son tells me I don’t understand how to divide correctly, can you help me?” … you know you’ve hit the big time.

When parents of former students who are now in high school see you in line at Starbucks, and jump up and pay for your coffee… you see you made a difference.

When a high school senior, number six in his graduating class, asks you to come to the districts Top Ten Graduates Luncheon as his most influential teacher… you realize your life has been meaningful.

And finally, when a student walks up to talk and calls you “Dad”… you get a sudden gush of warmth in your heart.

7 Degrees

2011-12-24T07:59:00.000-06:00

It’s funny what a difference 7 degrees can make.

If you have 7 degrees from universities, that boosts your credibility.

If you have 7 degrees less than 360, you don’t quite have a circle.

If you have 7 degrees lower on your thermostat, you’re sleeping in a cold room.

I came home from school last Wednesday (12/14/11) and noticed a slight chill in the air. Thanks to our programmable thermostats, I just assumed it wasn’t’ time for the heat to come back on so I didn’t give it a second thought.

I had been home a couple of hours when I realized something was wrong, and of course by this time it was almost 6:00pm, so there was no way to get anyone there before Thursday.

The repair guy, Ryan, shows up on Thursday (12/15/11) and discovers we have a bad blower motor. Not a huge problem, fairly easy to replace, not too expensive. However, they can’t find one Dallas, and it will have to be ordered. Should be here in a week (12/22/11). I’m sorry, but we live in Dallas, Texas. This is a fairly large metropolitan area, and you’re telling me these guys can’t put their hands on a blower motor for a Lennox furnace??? Turns out… they can’t.

To our surprise it shows up on Monday (12/19/11). Ryan comes back and spends, what seems like to me, a long time up in the attic. When he reemerges he informs me that they sent the wrong motor. It looks the same, but it is 240 volts and is designed for Canada’s electrical systems.

It wasn’t too bad at first, but now we’re down in the 30’s.

On Friday morning (12/23/11) our thermostat read 55 degrees. And baby, it was cold. I bought some space heaters and after about 30 minutes the temperature was at 62 degrees. So I think we’re going to make it until next Tuesday (12/27/11).

Like I said, it’s funny what a difference 7 degrees can make.

"coffee"

2011-12-16T07:27:00.003-06:00

I wrote this poem for my school, but decided to share it...just to prove that I am still writing!

enjoy,
Hugh

"Coffee"

Our year is almost over, and it’s time for us to shout,
So lift your head, strap on a smile, there isn’t time to pout

We have a lot to do today, before we close the door,
So grab a cup of “coffee,” and down your gullet pour

Yes “coffee” is the PC term, for whatever soothes your pain,
Mrs. Lesher brews a tasty cup, too much you’ll go insane

With “coffee” cup in hand, spiked just the way you like,
It’s with a smile and sweet “Hello!” that we’ll greet every tike

Then any time the day gets hard, just grin and take a sip,
And let your “coffee” warm your soul, and try hard not to slip

For you’re on stage for one last show, the whole class watching you,
So keep your cup close by your side, it’s “coffee” through and through

You’ll play the role fantastically, and wait for curtain call,
Then stagger as you walk them out, and try hard not to fall

And as you wave goodbye to each you can almost hear them say,
“My teacher drinks Mrs. Lesher’s coffee every single day!”

So take your final nip of “coffee” at least until next year,
Have a safe and healthy holiday, that’s filled with “coffee” cheer!

A Day of 2's

2011-12-14T06:41:00.001-06:00

I decided to write something brand new today,

But the darn number 2 just would not go away

I could not pinpoint why there was 2 on my brain,

The cause of this quandary I tried hard to gain

With 2 on my mind as I started to rhyme,

When I realized that 2 is not odd, yet it’s prime

And while that brought a smile to this poet’s cute face,

The idea of 2 I still could not erase

As my fingers keep pecking away at the keys,

I suddenly thought, “Hey! I’ve got just 2 knees!”

I couldn’t keep 2 of things out of my head,

If I’d had big 2 guns, I might just be dead

2 hands and 2 thumbs where too much to bear,

2 ears and 2 eyes, but I just didn’t care

With 2’s all around me I was feeling shut in,

And that when 2 nightmares, they both did begin

2 feet, arms and elbows when would these 2’s stop?

2 left shoes, 2 right shoes Dragnet had 2 cops

My shirt’s missing 2 buttons, so I felt so confused,

If I had 2 narcotics, I think both would be used

I put my head down, feeling much like a fool,

When I suddenly realized, we’ve just 2 days of school!

My Left Shoe

2011-12-13T06:03:00.000-06:00

I woke up yesterday morning and wrote this poem.
It just came out of my head, and that's all the explanation I have.

enjoy,
Hugh

My Left Shoe

I woke up this morning, like I usually do,

And there was no trace of my silly left shoe

I searched and I searched, for what felt like a year,

But my shoe’s AOL, then I let out a cheer

For you see, no left shoe is a wonderful thing,

My mind started soaring, my heart it did sing

If I’ve got no left shoe, then possibilities are endless,

Without a left shoe, I can never be friendless

With my thoughts marching on, I advanced to the door,

I walked with a limp, my left foot touching floor

But that didn’t stop me, I couldn’t slow down,

The floor might be cold, but my face wouldn’t frown

Left shoe revelations were popping up fast,

There was no sign of ending, I knew they would last

My left foot unclothed, made the world come alive,

To feel the world’s wonders, I just had to stride

With my new worldly view, about to explode,

My heart held a message, that I had to unload

I searched for a pulpit, or someplace to speak,

My fingers shook hard, my knees getting weak

And when my left foot found a place it could stand,

I looked down to find my left shoe in my hand.

Compensation Strategies

2011-12-11T10:54:00.005-06:00

I don’ t know what it is about me that makes it extra hard for me to cope with difficult students. Actually, I do know and it’s called a Closed Head Injury. I’ve been running and hiding from that label for almost 22 years, but I’m not as young as I used to be and somehow it always seems to sniff me out.

I think back to a time when I was deep in denial about the severity of my injuries. I had doctors and therapists telling me that things like multitasking, problem solving and frustration tolerance were typically problem areas for Closed Head Injury survivors and I needed to learn some strategies to help me compensate. I, however, would listen and think, “Yeah, but you don’t know me! This may be how it is for your other survivors, but I’m atypical.” But I had no idea.

I have a couple of students this year who, for some reason, just seem to push all my buttons. It’s driving me crazy. Top that off with the fact that this time of year is hard for those very same students, and you have a lit bomb with a very short fuse.

For most of my students the Christmas season is fun. They look forward to the usual things. Time off from school, seeing family, more food than they can eat, lots of presents, but most of all time off from school. I grew up in this world and it makes sense to me.

I know there are other worlds out there, but they always seemed so far away. I have to keep reminding myself that for some of my students time off from school means staying home alone. It means no breakfast and no lunch and sometimes no diner. It means no positive interactions with anyone. It means watching TV and getting glimpses of what the holiday season means...just not for them.

In 1991, when I was in Cognitive Remediation Therapy working on compensation strategies for my stupid closed hear injury, nobody offered any compensation ideas for how to handle being face to face with a nine year old boy who is ignored at home unless he misbehaves. And nobody gave me any strategies for compensating when you find a child who is saving empty food wrappers in her backpack. And no one bothered to tell me that someday it would take every ounce of strength not to burst into tears.

Yes, I have some students who are pushing my “compensation strategy” buttons on a daily basis.

But maybe my buttons needed to be pushed.

School Shopping

2011-11-21T21:21:00.005-06:00

We spent last weekend in Birmingham, Alabama and Greenville, South Carolina. No, we weren’t on vacation, (although Greenville does have an amazing downtown!) the three of us were checking out a couple of universities for Macy.

I know what you’re thinking; “Hugh, you’re way too young to have a child who is old enough for college!” And believe me, that is exactly what I’ve been thinking. I mean it’s not like I’m a few days away from being 50 or something… but, I digress.

First, we checked out Samford University in Birmingham. We were all blown away. They rolled out the red carpet for us. The three of us got to sit in two different classes and took a very detailed tour of the campus. We loved it.

Next, we went to Furman University in Greenville. Before our trip, I happen to have mentioned to a couple of people that we were going to see Furman. And each person said the same thing. “You’re going to love how beautiful it is!” I would just nod in agreement and go about my business. I mean how beautiful can it be? Really?

Let me go on record here and say, I was, nay, we were amazed. When you look at it online, it does not do it justice. If you ever find yourself in Greenville, SC do yourself a favor and stop by for a quick peek. It’s worth the effort.

We were at Furman on a Saturday, so going to class wasn’t an option, however we had an informative tour, learned great deal and went away happy to have made the trek. Plus! We were given a very interesting bumper sticker. Scroll down and see what you think.

Both of the schools are small liberal arts universities that specialize in faculty and student interaction as the basis of a quality education.

Where will Macy end up matriculating? Your guess is as good as mine, but for now we’re having fun shopping.

Furman University...that's the first thing I thought of too!

Unexpected

2011-11-11T05:42:00.000-06:00

A fifth grade boy at my school passed away last Wednesday night. Yesterday was a hard day at my school. If you pray, please say a prayer for his family and his very shaken and confused classmates. At their age, elementary school students shouldn’t have to be asking these kinds of “why” questions.

Thanks

Hugh

If the Walls Could Talk

2011-09-17T07:23:00.005-05:00

I’ve written before about the strange and stupid things that have popped out of my mouth while teaching. And you’d think after almost 20 years of teaching (damn, I’m old!) that I’d have developed some kind of verbal 10-second delay mechanism to help filter my words. Sadly either that option wasn’t available back in 1964 when I was born, or my parent decided not to pay for the upgrade.

Whatever the case, I find that every two to three years I’ll be in the hallway with my class after recess and I’ll shout something like, “Boys! Keep your balls in your hands!” And the whole class explodes in laughter. Teacher included.

However, this isn’t about something I said, but rather about something I heard.

Last week I had taken my class to music and I was headed back to my classroom, when I walked by a kindergarten class taking a restroom break.

I was waving to and high-fiving some of the brothers and sisters of students in my class as they sat in the hall. (As the only male teacher, I enjoy a kind of celebrity status at my school, and I can’t ignore my fans) I had just passed the class when from behind me I heard the teacher, in a very calm tone, say, “Steven, is that where your pants belong?”

A smile spread across my face as I fought the temptation to turn around and gawk. I just walked back to class happy to have been at the right place at the right time.

I’ve been at Moss Haven Elementary for 13 years. And baby, if the walls could talk...I bet they’d tell some funny stories.

Gary Update

2011-09-04T17:00:00.003-05:00

On the first day of school I barged into Gary’s class (I set this up with the teacher ahead of time) and pointed straight at Gary.

“Get out in the hallway young man, and you know exactly why!” I barked.

You could have heard a pin drop and all eyes were bouncing between Gary, his new teacher and me. Looking a little startled, Gary shot a glance back to his teacher. “You better do as he says,” And Gary followed me into the hall.

I turned around in the hallway and Gary had a grin from ear to ear. “You’re just trying to fool me. I’m not really in trouble! And he gave me a hug.

We’ve had two weeks school, and I haven’t seen anything but a smile on Gary’s face. This boy who was so cold and closed off has become a whole new person. It is as if Gary has given himself permission to be a child again.

According to his teacher, Gary has friends, is working hard and doing a good job. School isn’t just a place his mother makes him go anymore, it’s a place he enjoys. And as a teacher, that’s my biggest goal. Students who enjoy being at school have fun learning. And when you’re having fun learning…the possibilities are endless.

I do my best to check on Gary each day. I told him to come see me if he needs anything, and we’ll figure it out.

Gary should be proud.

He’s come a long way.

Our New Pool Boy

2011-07-03T09:49:00.001-05:00

We moved into our home about three years ago. I had never owned a pool before and I was a little nervous about taking care of my first pool. To make matters worse, I had heard horror stories about people who tried to manage the pool’s chemicals on their own. So I decided to leave it up to the professionals.

I hired a pool guy who a friend trusted recommended and went about my business. With the pool guy there were two options:

Option #1: He comes and takes care of balancing the chemicals, empties the skimmer baskets, uses the net and cleans all the leaves and dead bugs out of the pool. This costs $150 per month.

Option #2: He comes and takes care of balancing the chemicals and I clean the pool myself. This costs $75 per month.

I went with option #2.

At first, cleaning the pool really wasn’t all that hard. However, as time moved on I began noticing small things that I wasn’t happy with. For example, the green algae that I was cleaning off the walls of the pool pretty much weekly, was beginning to grow at an alarming rate. What were weekly cleanings, became daily, then twice daily. I was getting frustrated and exhausted.

I headed to the Leslie’s pool store for help. I had become friends with Len, the manger sometime in my first year of pool ownership. His wife is a teacher in my district and he and I just clicked.

Len helped me solve the algae problem and I haven’t scrubbed the pool walls in over a year. He also tried to convince me that I could easily take care of the pool’s chemicals, however, I was still hesitant to do it myself.

It wasn’t until recently when I happened to be home two weeks in a row when the pool guy came. I watched expecting to see him take water samples and test the chlorine levels then head back to the truck to build the right mixture of chemicals to add to the pool.

But that was far from reality.

Two weeks in a row all he did was walk up to the pool, throw in a scoop full of what I assume is chlorine and leave. He was only spending about 60 seconds in my backyard! That’s only about 4 minutes a month! At this rate was paying this guy about $280 bucks an hour…and I had to solve the algae problem myself???

I decided to take Len’s advice and manage my pool myself.

I’m on my third week as the New Pool Boy and I couldn’t be happier. I take a water sample to Leslie’s pool supply where they test it for free, tell me what I need to add, and I’m out the door. It takes about 10 minutes.

And for a guy who likes building things and working on stuff… being a pool boy is a dream come true!

I’m having a blast taking care of the pool, it looks the best it has in three years and I’ve got 75 extra bucks in my pocket. If I had a beer I’d be in heaven!

But my boss is pretty strict…

Gary

2011-06-15T16:18:00.019-05:00

When you’re a self-contained, elementary teacher each year is a new panorama of people and personalities. You have students who walk in confident and students who walk in unsure. You have students who walk in dressed to the nines and students who walk in wearing rags. You have students who walk in happy to be there and students who walk in angry that summer went too fast. However, on the first day, almost everyone walks in quiet and a little reserved.

Not so for Gary.

Gary began the year in the class next door, but after an exceptionally difficult first day (a day I won’t go into the details about) he spent the next six weeks in the district’s alternative school. Suffice it to say, you don’t go to alternative school for being tardy, or throwing French fries at lunch. It’s for serious offenders, and it’s not a very fun place to be.

When Gary returned he was, for several reasons, placed in my class. He walked in loud and mad at the world, a fact that instinctively caused me to spring into drill sergeant mode and I never looked back.

“Son! You are NOT going to walk in my class like that ever again…is that clear?”

“Yea…”

“I said, is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes sir.”

“Now, get in your seat, get to work and I’d better not hear a peep out of you! If you feel like you have something you just gotta’ say you had better raise your hand young man. Do you understand me?”

“Yea…”

“I said, do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes sir.”

And that was how our mornings began for the next 12 weeks.

Now I feel the need to go on record here and say that for me, “drill sergeant mode” is not a role that I enjoy. Don’t get me wrong, I play it well, but it’s very out of character for me. And as you may already know, prolonged exposure to anything can have a detrimental effect. Just like spending too much time around things like the sun, radiation, or asbestos, if a teacher spends too much time in drill sergeant mode sooner or later it takes its toll. Drill sergeant mode can keep you tired and make you cranky.

However, my biggest drill sergeant fear is getting lost.

If you get lost, you get off of your normal path then you can’t find your way back to an area that’s familiar and comfortable. You wander around and survive as best you can. The cast of Gilligan’s Island got lost their lives were never the same, but they always seemed to have fun.

Getting lost in drill sergeant mode works much the same way, only without all the comical endings to the trials and tribulations life throws at you. If you get stuck in drill sergeant mode your teaching effectiveness and your teaching joy fly right out the window.

Because it was all Drill Sergeant Hugh could do to keep Gary in line, I started getting lost.

Luckily I had enough students who didn’t need Drill Sergeant Hugh to help me see what was happening. I made a conscious effort to turn my back on the drill sergeant and fight anger with kindness and acceptance.

It wasn’t easy…

My emotions, thanks to a closed head injury, are right at the surface, so keeping my cool when I was being ignored and yelled at didn’t always happen. I took each day one at a time and went home happy if I hadn’t barked at Gary.

It was sometime in late November or early December when I got my first peek into Gary’s personality. He had been in my class about 10 weeks and I had never seen anything resembling a smile on his face. I don’t even know what we were doing, but I walked up behind him, patted him on the back and made some kind of goofy remark. A huge grin spread across his face and he even laughed a little. I think he could see the surprise in my eyes, and his smile quickly bounced back to a frown.

But it was too late.

You see, by smiling at my dumb joke he showed me that he wanted to laugh and be happy, but maybe he just didn’t have the courage.

Over the next several months Gary and I bonded. Don’t get me wrong, Drill Sergeant Hugh was never far away, and he came out of hiding when he was needed. However, he normally would pop in and be gone in a matter of minutes. You see I learned that if I simply talked with Gary using a calm voice and expressed my disappointment with his behavior, then drill sergeant Hugh usually wasn’t needed.

Positive changes were happening. Gary is smart…really smart. However, his behavior usually got in the way of his learning so I don’t believe his teachers in the past had been able to see it. Nothing against them, but with some students it can be hard to focus on anything other than their behavior. Fortunately, for some reason, Gary started to let me peek behind his iron curtain and I got to see how smart he really is.

But changes were happening in me too. This boy who took every ounce of my strength, every ounce of my patience was chipping away at my heart. What I learned is that you can’t fight anger with kindness and acceptance without opening up your heart. When your heart is open, I mean wide open, you don’t get to pick and choose the people you’re going to let in. If the door is open all kinds of people, good and bad alike, come shuffling in.

One day, after a problem in the hallway, I pulled Gary aside and said, “What’s happening?” and “Who are you? Pal, I thought we had gotten past this kind of behavior. When you first came to my class this is how you acted, but all this had changed. I want the New Gary back. New Gary has become one of my favorite students…please bring him back.”

I was speaking from the heart and even as the words left my lips I knew they were true. I don’t think Gary had every heard anything like that come out of a teacher’s mouth. He sat down in the hallway and cried.

He tried to talk, but his blubbering lips couldn’t form words. I put my arm around him and told him to walk to the restroom and pull himself together.

I walked back to class wiping tears from my eyes.

I knew that this fourth grade boy had been bouncing from school to school since kindergarten. He was actually an overflow student from another school in my district. A few days later, when the principal told me his mother had written a letter requesting a transfer for his fifth grade year I was shocked. She talked about all the positive changes she had seen in Gary and how happy both she and Gary are about finally having a good school year. I told the principal that it would be a mistake not to give Gary a transfer.

Yep, when you’re a self-contained, elementary teacher each year is a new panorama of people and personalities. You have students who walk in confident and students who walk in unsure. You have students who walk in dressed to the nines and students who walk in wearing rags.

And sometimes you have a student who walks in and changes your life forever…

The Brewery Reopens

2011-05-30T07:43:00.001-05:00

Back in September of 2009, I wrote about my beer tree. You can read that here.

After a recent 3^rd and 4^th grade pool party at my home, I noticed a wet spot on the brick patio that had attracted the attention of several small insects. I simply assumed that one of the partygoers had spilled their juice box. I washed it off with the hose and didn’t give it a second thought.

However, when not only the spot, but also the bugs returned on the following day I was a wee-bit more intrigued.

As I knelt down at the spot to investigate the eight inch diameter, insect infested spot, I was almost hit by a drop of something from above. Looking up I saw two foaming white spots on one of the lower branches of my red oak tree and the words BEER TREE flashed in my memory.

That’s when I saw the inch and a half long bugs. These guys are boring beetles, and they were the brew-misters who had first opened my tree keg back in 2009. Matthew the Arborist told me that, while it can be a little messy, it doesn’t hurt the tree.

So what’s up at the Atkinson house?

Looks like we’re busy brewing tree beer and giving all the critters in the neighborhood an easy fix.

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio.

And for now it’s open bar…

It's Somewhere Past Midnight

2011-05-13T17:06:00.002-05:00

It’s somewhere past midnight,

But I don’t know quite when

When the urge to start rhyming,

In my brain did begin

I fought the temptation,

With all of my might

I tried to sleep deep,

I fought the good fight

However, I found myself,

Perched at the keys

I was rhyming away,

Sometimes on bended knees

I found I was caught,

In rhyming’s tight noose

I was starting to feel,

A bit like Dr. Suess

I was writing of students,

And teachers and books

Of dwendars and dweeners,

Of grindars and grooks

There were hoopers and heezers,

And mooks by the dozen

I had mongos and meezers,

There were grooks and one grozen

I awoke with a jolt,

With this thought in my head

Suess would like all my poems,

That is, if he weren’t dead!

TAKS Poem

2011-04-26T16:35:00.000-05:00

I wrote this poem for the faculty at my school. I hope you enjoy.

In the book of Revelation John tells of a beast

With 666 as its mark

Scholars know that this beast is quite evil

And that our last days will be dark

But for us there’s a beast with a much different tag

Yet it’s evil and vile all the same

A beast with a power so awesome

That at times I dare not speak its name

It could be I’m just superstitious

Or maybe I’m just being wise

But our beast has a name that’s both tempting and cruel

With a flavor that we all despise

Do not be confused by its cute outer shell

For it has several tricks up its sleeve

It will lure you in close…make you think that you’re safe

Then cause pain that you will not believe

So stand strong and cheer loud for our heroes!

Our last line of defense…yes they are

Wave your banner with pride don’t be bashful

Cuz these kids, they have really come far

And I find myself talking like Yoda

“Mind what you’ve learned…save you it can”

See our beast has an unfair advantage

For it was not created by man

Yes, our beast is a hideous demon

And in each of our hearts it strikes fear

But take ease in the words I am saying

It only comes round once a year.

HAPPY TAKS DAY!!!

Letter to Legislators

2011-04-25T17:42:00.000-05:00

I wrote an email to my state Senator and my state Representatives asking them to do what’s right regarding education in Texas. I decided to post it here with the hope that it might inspire someone else to do the same thing. Read what I wrote and feel free to use it as a model for a letter of your own, change it a little to make it your own, or even copy it word for word and pass it off as your own. You can click on the link below, put in your zip code and find the names and email addresses of your local Senators and Representatives.

Thanks,

Hugh

http://www.fyi.legis.state.tx.us/

Dear Senator _____________________ ,

As a teacher and parent in your district, I’d like to ask, nay beg, you to work extra hard to do what’s right for the educators in our state. Ours is not a profession one chooses in order to get rich. Ours is not a profession one chooses in hopes of becoming famous. Ours is a profession filled with people who help children. We work long, sometimes thankless hours in an attempt to make a difference in the lives of young people, as well as the future of Texas.

We don’t have the luxury time necessary to drop what we are doing to come to Austin and let our voices be heard. We need you and every legislator to stand up, speak for teachers and do what’s right.

Thank you for not making a hard job even harder.

Sincerely,

Hugh H. Atkinson

4^th Grade Teacher

Moss Haven Elementary

Richardson, Texas

End of TAKS

2011-04-24T22:34:00.002-05:00

I don't think it's big surprise to anyone that I'm not a fan of the TAKS test. I'm all for accountability, but a flawed system is a flawed system. That being said, here's my latest Last TAKS Year poem.

Enjoy,
Hugh

It’s funny how sometimes,

At this time of year

I start to write poems,

Without any fear

I’ll write them with gusto,

I’ll write them with strength

I’ll write them with laughter,

I’ll write them with length

I write about people,

Of every persuasion

I write about people,

From every nation

I write and I write,

And then I write some more

I find that I write,

Sometimes when I snore

But this year’s been different,

Just a wee-little bit

I find that my writing,

Has gone straight to poop!

And I’m not sure what’s different,

I’m not sure what’s changed

Could it be that my students,

All seem quite deranged???

When you can’t take a breath,

And your mind stay at ease

Then you walk out to recess,

But you can’t feel the breeze

If you try to eat lunch,

But you can’t keep it down

And it seems that your face,

Always has a frown

Could mean that it’s time,

For a fun restful break

A nice change of our pace,

Is what we all should take

YES, after next Thursday,

Our TAKS days are through

And I’ve got a plan,

For just what we should do

We’ll each grab a bottle,

Then rush out the door

We lift them up high,

And then start to pour

A bottle with water,

Or soda is fine

But it could have some liquor,

Like vodka or wine

Whatever your passion,

Whatever your taste

You should drink it all,

And let none go to waste

But we’ll each raise a glass,

In the air let it linger

And bid farewell to TAKS,

With a raised middle finger

School Poem

2011-04-12T05:52:00.004-05:00

About this time every year, I start writing poems and emailing them to my entire school faculty. A few people never even open the email. However, well more than half of my fellow teachers not only read my poems, but they tell me that they look forward to them. I decided to post them here.

So enjoy!

Sometimes without warning, my brain starts to write,

It’s an awful compulsion, I’ve learned not to fight

So I sit at computer, or pick up a pen,

And that’s when the terrible mind games begin

From hither and yon, words pop into my mind,

And I cannot escape, I can’t leave them behind

And there are some people, and here’s what they say,

“I wish that for me words would happen that way!”

But I tell you, my friends, it isn’t all dreamy,

With bright painted flowers, and spas that are steamy

And it isn’t carefree like our dear Dr. Suess,

With his nice dipple-dongers, or the bright schinickel-shnoose

How I wish I had bongers, or wee-willy-winkers,

And glangers and glongers or fee-filly-finkers

But those kinds of words are just too hard to find,

Cause the words that I have are regular kind

Oh sure I’ve got TAKS, and next year I’ll have STAAR,

And I know there is Lesher, Goncalves and Barr

But I need something with just a wee-bit more spice,

An old fashioned scandal, is sounding quite nice

So get out there and dig up some dirt for me please,

That’s right! Work the streets, see whose palm you can grease

For the one thing that makes my poems even odder,

Is having to write them without any fodder

Allow me to close with these words about TAKS,

There are just two more weeks, lift a glass and relax

Chinese Baptist Church

2011-03-19T14:43:00.000-05:00

Growing up in El Paso, the son of a Baptist minister, I attended worship in a Chinese Baptist church three or four times before the age of 8. About the only thing I remember about those services was being able to sing (at least the first verse) of most of the hymns that were sung. I also remember not being able to understand a single word that was spoken from the pulpit, and being mesmerized by the way the words were written in the bible. I’m pretty sure I spent the sermon part of the service trying to figure out the Chinese language… I never did.

However, that was probably 40 years ago, so time has neatly stored most of my memories of those days away in the dark recesses of my mind and tagged most of them with the a sign that reads, “unrecoverable.”

I haven’t thought about those days for many years now. To tell the truth, it wasn’t until I had returned to worship in a Chinese Baptist church that I even remembered I had ever experienced it before.

Now, it may seem a little odd, but my father is currently the pastor of a Southwest Chinese Baptist Church in Houston, Texas. The church’s pastor left and Dad is the interim pastor while the church searches for a new pastor. This new pastor must be a person who can speak, read and preach in Cantonese.

I know what you’re thinking, “Hugh, I didn’t think you were of Asian descent.” You are correct, I am not. You many also be wondering about my father’s command of the Cantonese language. I’m proud to announce that after a couple of years, Dad can quite clearly pronounce several phrases in the native tongue of his congregation. I’ve heard him say, “Hello,” “Thank you,” “May God be with you,” and of course, “Which way to the restroom?”

Anyway, Melissa and I headed south to Houston last Friday with our good friends Winji and Darryl. Winji and Darryl, both being Chinese, were a little curious about my dad’s current pastorate. Together, we went down, spent the weekend in Houston, and experienced a service that had to be translated from English to Cantonese, or Cantonese to English depending on who was talking at the time.

In the end I was really impressed with both the church, my worship experience and my dad’s ability to pause every few sentences and wait for the translator to catch up. I knew he was going to have to be doing that, but I hadn’t really thought about how it could chop up your thinking as well as you words.

It was easy to see why my mother and father enjoy Southwest so much. The people are friendly and very welcoming. After the service we went out to eat at Dad’s favorite Chinese restaurant. And I’m here to tell you that the food was good and unbelievably plentiful. It literally just kept coming and coming and coming.

In the end a good time was had by all.

So if you’re I Houston and looking for a church whose service is half in Cantonese and half in English, give Southwest Chinese Baptist Church a try. If you do, tell Pastor Atkinson that you read about it here. Who knows, maybe he’ll take you to his favorite Chinese restaurant.

what have i become?

2011-03-07T18:47:00.001-06:00

When you’re a teacher, nay, a human being, and your first thoughts are not about the physical and mental well-being of a child, but rather is he or she going to be able to pass the TAKS test, and if not, how it will reflect on you… then baby, you deserve everything you get!

I’m quite positive there is a dark, lonely corner of hell with my name on it…

Dinner With Friends...

2011-03-06T08:00:00.000-06:00

Last night I sat down, and had dinner with friends,

And when we start to talk, well the fun never ends

We’re sitting enjoying a great southern meal,

When the sound of gas passing, broke up the ordeal

I glanced at my wife, and she shot my glance back,

When it happened again, we were under attack!

There is one lovely lady, a lawyer I think,

Who was blaming her husband for making things stink

Not having hard proof, she would not win the case,

Cause there were prime suspects all over the place

And that’s when the voice of our hostess, piped-up,

“Those sounds you are hearing, they come from our pup!”

First a moment of silence, and next a loud roar,

The whole room fell apart, what we heard was dog snore!

Turns out their small dog, had crawled under the table,

They swear he was snoring, but that could be a fable

The evening’s enjoyment, kept rambling on,

We ate fried jalapenos, until they were gone

Playing foosball we learned, with a wink and a nod,

That it’s bad etiquette, if you grab a man’s rod

There was talk of all kinds, soaring round in the air,

Conversations-a-plenty, for we hadn’t a care

One by one couples figured, it was time to go,

And that put an end to, the night’s halftime show

But the one thing that stuck, down deep in my heart,

Is that fact that a dog’s snore, sounds much like a fart!

What’s in a Name???

2011-03-05T13:23:00.006-06:00

I haven’t written in a while. I’ve think about it almost daily; however, it never seems to get accomplished.

I blame it on the season. You see, for me, and every public school teacher (at least those teaching 3^rd to 12^th grade) this is TAKS season.

Not Tax season, although it is that as well, but TAKS season.

For those of you not in Texas, or who don’t have children in public school, TAKS stands for; Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills.

TAKS season is a stressful time for me. I tend to worry and borrow trouble, so that only adds to my stress. Top that off with two days of after school tutoring to 4:30, and Saturday School (an evil spawn of the devil!) and I get home too weary to write.

I know, that you know, that I’ve written and whined about the TAKS test for years. But what you may not know is that this is absolutely the last year I will ever complain about the TAKS test. After June 3, 2011, TAKS test complaining is a thing of the past…at least for me. “Why?” You may be asking. Well, I’ll tell you. It’s all because this is the last TAKS test year.

After this year the test will is called STAAR. I think it stands for:

State of Texas, Academic Assessment Registry, or Response, or Retrospective, or some other “R” word.

Amidst all the hub-bub of the faculty meeting where we first learned of the new test, I found myself wondering not whether this test would be the same format, not whether it would be longer or shorter, and not if it would still be multiple choice or short answer. In fact I didn’t find myself wondering anything about the test at all. What my brain had fixated on was “Who?” Who had the super cool job thinking up the acronyms for these tests?

I WANT THAT JOB!

Here are a few I came up with:

Knowledge Readiness Assessment of Progress – or K.R.A.P.

Progressive Observation Of Progress – or P.O.O.P.

State of Texas Unified Process of Intelligence Determination – or S.T.U.P.I.D.

State Hierarchy of Intelligence Testing – or S.H.I.T. (Sorry Mom!)

Let me know what you think, and feel free to add to the list. Who know, maybe I’ll email the list to Governor Fancy Hair.

P.S. I didn't realize until after I had posted my story and went back to reread, that three fourths of my acronyms are slang terms for fecal material...Hmmm? I wonder how I really feel?

It Turned into a Six-Day Weekend...

2011-02-04T07:05:00.000-06:00

Monday seems so long ago. I woke up at 5:00AM like usual, went to school, had after school tutoring and came home like normal. Little did I know that from Tuesday on, normal and me would become like the poles of a magnet.

I got the first no school call early Tuesday morning.
And my face had smile.

I got the second no school call late Tuesday afternoon.
And my face smiled again.

I got the third no school call late Wednesday afternoon.
And my face had a grin.

I got the fourth no school call late Thursday afternoon.
And I rolled my eyes.

I watched the news Thursday night and all the channels reported that Dallas may get a light dusting of snow, but more than likely travel conditions in Dallas and the surrounding areas would be, for the most part, okay.

I woke up at 6:00AM looked out the window and saw this:

Turning on the news I learned that the storm had taken a “slight” shift. This shift allowed Mother Nature to dump six to eight inches of snow on the city.

While six-day weekends are nice…I wonder when I’m going to be making up those extra days?

Update:

2011-02-01T18:49:00.003-06:00

At 6:27 PM I got the call.

"Hello RISD family. This call is to inform you that, due to inclement weather, school is canceled for Wednesday, February 2, 2011."

The message continued, but I didn’t hear a thing.

Looks like I’ll be sleeping late tomorrow!

Hmmm…should I be thinking “Hat Trick”?

I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

19 Degrees

2011-02-01T17:22:00.001-06:00

I woke up at 5 o’clock this morning, made a cup of coffee and sat down in front of the TV. I knew, from watching the news Monday night, that there was a good chance that school would be canceled due to the weather. However, it was 35 degrees, so I really didn’t think it was going to happen.

To make a long story short, I got Tuesday off!

Melissa had some pretty important things happening at the hospital today. It was somewhere around 8:30 (she was walking out the door) when she got a message saying the morning meetings were canceled, but come in at noon. She left at about 11:30, and came home about an hour later. Turns out she only made it about five maybe ten miles before she had to turn around and slowly make her way home.

At 3:00, I made my way to he grocery store thinking that the roads had to be better. I mean, come on! It was afternoon and the sun was out.

I was wrong…

Turns out roads were covered in ice. There was some water in the tire grooves, but other than that it was solid ice. When I got to Kroger, the parking lot was a huge sheet of ice about half an inch think in some places. I got my few things, somehow got back to my car without falling down and carefully limped home.

After I got home I checked the weather app on my phone. The temperature was 19 degrees…the high for they day. Tomorrow’s forecast is low 13, with a high of 21.

I’ve been teaching for 17 years, and so far I’ve never missed two days in a row due to the weather.

Maybe this will be one for the record books.

I’ll keep you posted.

Haves & Have-Nots

2011-01-03T10:49:00.006-06:00

I have some students in my class who live in half million-dollar homes, get everything their little hearts desire and basically want for nothing. We return to school after the Christmas break (OOPS! I meant to say, “holiday break”)and they have loads of new stuff to show off and exciting tales of amazing trips to talk about.

If that were the case with 100% of my students then we’d come back from the break and all would be well with the world.

However, the percentage of my students who live in the above-mentioned situation, albeit high, is nowhere near 100.

I also have some students in my class who live in government-subsidized housing. These students get far less than what they desire/need. Basically, they want for everything. Sometimes even food.

This is one reason coming back to school after the break is emotionally hard for me. I enjoy seeing the students and I even enjoy hitting the books again. However, what I don’t enjoy is the new awareness. The new and painful understanding I see on small faces. I believe that it is in 3rd and 4th grade when these young minds first see the difference. Innocent eyes are opened to the harsh truth that it may be 2011, but we’re living in a class system.

Sadly, the veil between these two dramatically different worlds usually falls first for the less fortunate. They get a peek into an existence they can’t hope to understand. They see, possibly for the first time, that some kids don’t just have more they have A LOT more.

The differences are subtle, but detectable. They don’t really matter, but they make a difference. They’re faint, yet all too easily seen.

It isn’t about children who are happy or sad. It isn’t about home lives that are healthy or dysfunctional. And it certainly isn’t about academic success. It’s about how much you have and how much you don’t have.

So who are the “Haves” and who are the “Have-Nots”?

I’ve known for quite a while… but my students are about to become aware for the first time.

And for some it’s all too painful.

Fruition

2010-12-19T17:49:00.005-06:00

Fruition:

fru·i·tion (noun)

fru-i-tion ( froo ish’n)

Completion
Enjoyment of intended outcome
Plant’s fruit production

Fruition. It’s a funny word. To me it sounds like a kind of sports energy drink.

It’s meaning, however, is all too clear…

If you’ve finished a project, completed a race, conquered a foe in battle, or simply written and posted things on your blog in some semblance of the way you have intended, then you have “Fruition.”

Sadly, the latter is a chore I have failed to “bring to fruition” for one day shy of a month.

Let me start by saying that I’m not writing this as anything like an excuse for my lack of posting, but rather as a kick in the pants for myself. It's an attempt to get back in the habit of writing. A jump-start if you will.

This has been an extremely hard first semester at school. An overabundance of change creates a situation where finding a routine is extremely difficult. I am a creature of habit. And as such, I desperately need to have a daily schedule that is consistent and methodical. I can then plan my lessons and plug them in where they go and my days, and weeks work great.

I think, as much as I hate to admit it, that it probably has something to do with my head injury. Even as I’m writing that last sentence it pains me to admit that I have some form of disability. Could I still be battling denial after 20 years?

This year, changes from the state and district are trickling down to my level almost every other week. It feels like some big wig at the top of the educational mountain drops an idea the size of a pebble that begins rolling down to the trenches. Then it starts a kind of snowball effect as gains size and momentum. I’m at the bottom of the mountain feeling like I’ve got things under control when this new idea boulder comes bouncing down the pike and shatters my routine to bits.

I also feel like the left hand isn’t always talking to the right hand. We have every available minute of the day accounted for, yet one of the pebble chunking guys at the top decides that his pebble (since it will only take 20 -30 minutes out of the day) really needs to be a priority. Never mind that there are dozens of other guys up there. Each with what seems like a good idea and pockets full of pebbles.

All that to say, by the time I get home I’m exhausted and even though I’ve thought of several things I could write about, I need something mindless to do. And writing is far from mindless, at least for me.

So there you have it… a glimpse inside the world/mind of a Texas teacher.

I’m off until January 4, 2011. My plan is to neither think about school nor act in any way on its behalf.

I’ll try to keep you posted on how that works out for me.

I'm Not Dead...YET!

2010-11-20T07:03:00.000-06:00

A lot of new stuff is making this a pretty hard school year. I think my writing, or rather lack of writing, is a direct result of the stress from school. I've started a couple of stories, but just haven't had the time or the energy to finish them.

Please don’t give up on me. Check back from time to time, if only out of curiosity or boredom.

If you pray, please pray that I can grab this tiger by the tail and not lose my head in the scuffle.

Thanks,

Hugh

Finding My Sea Legs

2010-10-07T06:00:00.005-05:00

I’ve been on four cruises in my life. If you do the math, that works out to one cruise every 11.25 years. I don’t know why that makes any difference, but stick with me here.

Every cruise, no matter how large the ship, I always spend the first several hours finding my sea legs.

Even though the ship really isn’t rocking all that much, I still end up walking with a serpentine motion as I’m headed down the hallway to my room. At first it is so unfamiliar that I find myself banging into the walls on either side of the hall as I work my way to wherever it is I’m going. If I’m somewhere without walls to bump into I tend to keep going until something or someone gets into my way. Which, on more that on occasion, has been more than a little embarrassing. (But that’s a story for another day)

However, usually by bedtime on the first day I find, that while I may still be moving down the halls with a wee-bit of zig to my zag, I’m not actually running into walls anymore. I just look like I’ve been drinking, which, come to think of it, I probably have. Out on the decks I’ve figured out how to navigate with nothing more than the occasional collision with objects or fellow passengers. I’m not quite sure whether finding my “Sea Legs” has allowed me to move about the ship without swaying, or that the motion of the ship has simply becomes so commonplace that I don’t notice it anymore. I think it's kind of like white noise. Either way, the waters calm down and I get to enjoy the cruise.

In a lot of ways the beginning of a new school year is exactly like that…that is without all the drinking. (wink-wink)

Things start out a little rocky and I find myself bumping into walls and the occasional educator. However, as days become weeks I usually find my sea legs, get into the groove and the water suddenly feels smooth.

This year the water has be exceptionally choppy. I haven’t had this much trouble finding my sea legs in quite a few years. I can’t put my finger on exactly what the difference is. Which tells me it’s bound to be more that one thing.

One thing is we have a new reading curriculum. It’s good and I like it, but changing your whole reading program is huge. I also have a couple of very needy students who suck up time and energy. I suppose that could be part of it as well. I’m also seeing that it’s not just me. There are several seasoned veterans at my school (please don't mention that I referred to them that way!) who are also finding the water a little rougher than usual this year.

This is the seventh week and the waves are still pretty choppy, but at least I’m keeping my head above water.

If you pray, please pray that my seas will settle soon.

I’m getting tired of wearing a lifejacket.

Mike the Singer... Round II

2010-09-18T15:07:00.006-05:00

I’m reposting this for Keith. I originally posted this back in November of 2004.

Enjoy,

Hugh

Mike the Singer

Now Mike was a guy

And he loved to sing

And Mike, he would sing

About most anything

Seems his focus was people

On every occasion

And he’d sing about folks

Of most any persuasion

One day, his songs told

Of a guy on a Harley

Whose clothes were a mess

And his face, it was gnarly

By the look of this guy

You could tell he chewed nails

And I’m certain he’d broke

Out of quite a few jails

Without thought for his safety

Mike started his song

And at first the guy sat there

Like nothing was wrong

When Mike got to the part

About a gross nasty smell

The biker guy looked like

Things weren’t going well

The biker guy stared

With a twitch in his eye

And he seemed to be thinking

Of ways Mike could die

When the song turned to baldness

The guy lost his cool

From a bag he produced

A quite strange looking tool

As he headed toward Mike

People started to hide

But the guy dropped his tool

He sat down, and he cried

See, Mike’s song didn’t change

Not even one part

But he touched that mean biker dude

Deep in his heart

The biker got up

Wiped his face with a sigh

Then he drove that weird tool

Right straight through Mike’s left eye

The biker was touched

That’s all I can say

And Mike learned

A valuable lesson that day

You can’t sing about bikers

Without one single care

That is, not unless

You’ve an eye, you can spare

Here is the comment Real Live Preacher, my brother, left back in 2004. His comment really made me laugh... and I kind of like the idea of Dr. Suess meeting Quentin Tarantino.

Dare I admit I'm your brother?  

Yeah, this is real live preacher.  

Okay, I remember when you wrote this, some years ago, and sent it to me. When I got to the end, I was horrified and disturbed, then laughed at the "eye you can spare" line.  

Then I felt crappy at having laughed. Then I felt mad at you for dragging me all the way to the end and then turning into Dr. Seuss meets Quentin Tarantino.  

As if anyone has an eye to spare...  

I don't know man, you one weird duckie!

Conversations are Odd...

2010-09-12T09:01:00.013-05:00

I went to a dinner party last night at the home of some friends. There were five couples and the conversations were quite engaging. I decided a poem was in order. However, as I was writing the poem this morning I started feeling a bit like Dr. Suess…I think you’ll see what I mean.

Enjoy

It’s funny the way conversations do flow,

At times they start off rather dull and quite slow

They muddle along and don’t go anywhere,

You sit with eyes glazed pulling out locks of hair

You’re sitting there wondering why words have to suck,

When someone blurts out the phrase, “Mickey the Muck”

Then you listen as some bloke recites this odd ballad,

Next someone’s telling tales of massaging a salad!

The night’s conversations take off into space,

No topic’s taboo…no not at this place

We talked about names both funny and strange,

About raccoons and chimneys and goats on the range

We spoke of odd habits and scrum-dilly-dinkers,

We mentioned blum-bloomers and twee-twilly-twinkers

We solved the world’s problems at least in our head,

There was no need to plan the things that you said

There were shots of Tequila that some of us had,

It went down rather smooth and it wasn’t half bad

We laughed and we chatted long into the night,

And everything clicked cause our world was all right

When names of our kids became topic of choice,

I decided I had thoughts I needed to voice

Name your child how you like, on creative wings fly,

If you choose “Kitchen Counter” well, that’s just TMI

It was somewhere past midnight when things settled down,

And our conversations had gone round and round

We hugged and shook hands saying bye to each friend,

Conversations are odd, but they all have to end

Twenty Years Ago Yesterday

2010-09-09T06:47:00.004-05:00

Twenty years ago yesterday Melissa and I were in the car accident that would change our lives forever

Twenty years ago yesterday I woke up in the morning and had no idea my life would never be the same

Twenty years ago yesterday in some ways feels so far away

Twenty years ago yesterday in many ways feels like today

Twenty years ago yesterday is a day that took over my life

Twenty years ago yesterday is a day that has haunted me

Twenty years ago yesterday is a day I’ve cursed with every ounce of strength I could muster

Twenty years ago yesterday is a day I can finally thank the Lord for

Twenty years ago today was the first day of a brand new life

History of Cut & Shoot Texas

2010-09-06T22:13:00.006-05:00

One of my comments on my last post asked how the small, oddly named town got its name. I had no idea, but in my mind I had dreams of a town named for a descriptive, yet quaint kind of farming or prospecting metaphor. Not so.

Here’s what I found:

Cut & Shoot is a city in eastern Montgomery County, Texas, United States, about 6 miles east of Conroe and 40 miles north of Houston. The population was 1,158 at the 2000 census, at which time it was a town; the community only became a city in August 2006.

The City Hall of Cut and Shoot, Texas

According to local legend, Cut and Shoot was named after a 1912 community confrontation that almost led to violence. According to differing versions of the story, the dispute was either over:

· The design of a new steeple for the town's only church, or
· The issue of who should be allowed to preach there, or
· The conflicting land claims among church members.

Whatever the circumstances were, a small boy at the scene reportedly declared "I'm going to cut around the corner and shoot through the bushes in a minute!"

This statement apparently stayed in the residents' minds and was eventually adopted as the town's name.

Sadly, the townsfolk must not have been all with us. I mean come on! You’re building a church and having a fight about the steeple, BEFORE you even have a name for your town? What kind of people are we talking about?

And then the best name you can come up with is something a boy yelled about cutting around a corner and shooting through some bushes…I can’ believe the town lasted more than a week. What’s more I guess they’re lucky the town’s not called, “I stepped in dog poop!”

Using Cut & Shoot logic I’m surprised we don’t have a string of towns across the state called, “Tag, you’re it!”, or “Dad! I’ve got to pee!” or “Here, pull my finger!”

And there you have it…more that you ever wanted to know about the less than romantic name origins of an obscure little town in southeast Texas.

Note:

I could be wrong, but I do believe my mother actually lived in Cut & Shoot back in the 1940’s. Maybe I should ask her about the name. However, by the time she lived there those poor people had been living with that goofy name for over 30 years. My guess is that boy had been strung up, or run out of town long before she got there.

Update:

2010-08-22T09:28:00.001-05:00

I realize, thanks to the poetically worded comments from the one of my blog’s readers, as well as conversations with my mother and a friend who may or may not be that same poet/commenter that my postings have not been very regular. I’m working on that. Be patient. However, I decided to write a kind of update to let you know what's been going on.

Snakes:

I wrote twice about the reptile fun we’re having here, so I thought I should let you know what’s up with the snakes. I haven’t seen any more like the three I wrote about. My hope is that the extreme heat is keeping them all back at the creek. I did find a pencil-sized snake in my pool a few days back. He was black… which automatically makes me think Water Moccasin. However, he was so small and so quick in the water that I couldn’t tell if his head was a triangle.

Playing it safe, I simply chased him around the pool for about five minutes with my net. After wearing him out I scooped him up and dumped him over the back fence so he could find his way back to the creek.

My hope is that he went back and told all of his snake friends to stay out of that crazy man’s yard.

Bridge Fishers:

Shortly after writing about the city bridge fishers I drove by and there were about 15 people standing on the bridge looking over into the water. They were laughing, talking and having a grand time. I only saw about 5 poles, but there were a lot of people excited about the day’s catch. However, the temperature here began to rise and Dallas started its 18 to 20 days in a row of triple digit temperatures. Ever since then I haven’t seen any of our city bride anglers. Maybe they’re out there after dark.

Fun Lunch:

I had lunch with some of my friends from college a couple of weeks ago. I hadn’t seen most of them in over 20 years. It was fun. The only strange thing was how much everyone but me had aged. Hmmm, I wonder why? Maybe it’s the long hair…who knows?

Anyway, someone brought a yearbook from my sophomore year. I don’t remember doing anything strange or weird, however, it doesn’t run contradictory with any of the other things I did in college. So when they showed me my picture from that year, while it made me laugh, it really wasn’t a big surprise. Check me out below and see what I mean. Oh! Be sure to check out my hometown. If you ain’t from Texas, and even if you are, you may not be aware that there really is a city (let’s call’er a town) with that name.

Bob and Suzy Dance:

My daughter is on her school’s drill team. This drill team has an annual tradition called the “Bob and Suzy Dance”. This is a dance at the halftime show of a home football game in which the girls and their fathers dance together.

For those of you who know me, allow me to clarify: Hugh Atkinson will be dancing, on purpose, in the halftime show at a regular season football game. The date is October 29, 2010. The place is the Wildcat Stadium on Church Street right next door to Lake Highlands High School. The time is right after the second quarter. If you come to the game, come prepared to be amazed!

Back to the Books:

I’ve been back at school officially since August 16^th. However, I’ve been up there off and on in my un-air-conditioned classroom since about August 5^th, just to set things up. It’s only been about 2 ½ months, but I tend to get used to not being there, so I like to ease back into things. I find that working my way back up to a full day makes the whole year much better. I’m not sure why that’s true, but I think they call it age. I prefer to call it teaching experience.

When school’s back in session my writing tends to dwindle. I’m not sure how much less of it there could be, but trust me; I’ve got a plan to help me stay focused and write. I can’t tell you what it is, because that will jinx it.

Thanks for stopping by

Herpetologist Needed

2010-07-22T14:08:00.004-05:00

I know that the types of non-venomous snakes far outnumber the number of venomous snakes…at least in Texas. As for the venomous variety there are but four: the rattlesnake, the corral snake, the copper head and the water moccasin.

Thanks to the noisy tail extension on the first, the handy little chant I learned as a Cub Scout (Red and yellow kill a fellow, red and black friend of Jack) for the second and the rather distinctive markings of the third, I’m pretty sure can identify these three at least 9.735 times out of 10.

The water moccasin is a wee-bit more difficult for me to pin down. I think of them as being pretty much black, but have seen some, through glass and in pictures, that were a myriad of colors. I know that the inside of their mouths are white, hence the nickname “cottonmouth,” but I haven’t had any luck in catching one mid-yawn. I tired telling him to say, “AW!” but he just ignored me. Truly, the only way I know of to see the inside of a water moccasin’s mouth is for me to be close enough for him to strike. And to me, that’s called finding out the hard way.

I only want to know what kind of snakes I’m dealing with. If they’re harmless then I’ll just leave them alone. Truth be told, I like having the harmless kind around. However, if they’re the Indian shoe variety I’m going to have to take a more proactive approach to the snakes’ and my living arrangements.

I don’t know exactly what “proactive” measures I can take, but I’ll have to find something. Looking online, I have noticed a product called, ‘Snake-A-Way’. The reviews I’ve read look promising, but I’ve only found a couple. I also don’t know if it is safe for people and pets.

So this brings me to my need…

I need a herpetologist who can help me know exactly what kind of snakes are in the pictures. I would also like anyone who has used Snake-A-Way to let me know if it’s any good. We’ve had three snakes on the porch this summer. The first one was the black snake, but I got caught up in the moment and forgot to take any pictures of him before I opened the door and he left in a hurry. The second snake is the one I killed and the third one I simply chased away.

Snake #2 – The one I killed

Snake #2 again

Snake #3

Thanks for any and all herpetological help you can lend.

I can pray the fish are biting...

2010-07-06T12:39:00.001-05:00

I live in a part of Dallas that has several little streams, or creeks, or rivers, or some kind of winding body of water that moves, if only slowly. At least some of them feed into the ponds in my neighborhood.

Regardless of size, shape, or purpose, these streams are in Dallas, the largest city in North Texas. I’m not talking about rivers out in the middle of nowhere, these are creeks with major roads going over them and huge building all around them.

You can imagine my surprise when I’m out, not two miles from my home, and I see a family fishing off a bridge that’s is on a pretty major road. There was a man, a woman, and a small child in a stroller. Come to think of it I never actually saw a child, but only a stroller. I suppose the stroller could have been their bait bucket or their tackle box. If I happen to see them again, I’ll try to do a more thorough job of observation.

That being said, as I sat waiting for the light to change and I watched the man cast his line out between the trees I was forced to wonder about the socioeconomic standings of my city. The buzz on the streets is that Dallas; or rather Texas in general, is faring quite well in these hard economic times. Relatively speaking.

I had to wonder: Are people living that close to me so hungry that their best option for a meal is fishing off a bridge in a creek that couldn’t have been more that five feet deep? If there are, why haven’t I noticed before?

Even as I’m writing that last sentence…I know that answer.

It’s not that I haven’t noticed, it’s that I choose not to see.

I drive by that same creek everyday. Every single day. Sure I would have noticed people fishing, but that’s about it. I’m quite certain that there is poverty and need all around me, but I live in my own little world, cut off from those things. Even if those things are right around the corner.

Driving back home about 45 minutes later they were still there. Only this time the man was giving a casting lesson to a man who wasn’t there on my first drive by.

They were laughing and seemed to be having a good time. That made me feel better.

I fought the temptation to go back and ask the man about fishing off a bridge. Only because every conversation starter I could come up with sounded hollow and fake. I didn’t want this man to think I was making fun of him, but that’s how everything I said in my head of made me feel.

I drove by again a few hours later and they were gone. I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again.

Who knows?

I also don’t know if or how this is going to change me. My hope is that it will change me, but I just don’t know how yet.

What I do know is the next time I see someone fishing off a bridge in the middle of a city I’m going to stop what I’m doing, close my eyes, and ask God to please let the fish be biting.

So Whatever Happened to Chivalry???

2010-07-03T13:02:00.003-05:00

Let me begin by stating right up front that I’m no shining example of chivalry myself. Sure, I hold doors for ladies, I always try to let members of the fairer sex go ahead of me when possible, I go around and open the passenger door of the car for women when I’m driving, and I even do my best to remember to stand when a lady is leaving or coming to the table when dining.

Come to think of it…maybe I AM a shining example of chivalry!

For whatever that’s worth, yesterday I witnessed what has to be the most abhorrent display of UN-chivalrous behavior known to man.

It’s pouring down rain. I mean raindrops the size of grapefruits and there were millions of them. I’m driving somewhere to do something when I see this man and woman walking down the sidewalk.

The first thing I noticed was that they had only one umbrella and it was over the man. My first thought was, “Man! What a jerk. He should give his umbrella to the lady.”

However, the closer I got I realized that not only was she lugging some kind of bag in her right hand and he was carrying nothing, but in her left hand SHE was holding the umbrella…

OVER HIS HEAD!

They were probably a foot and a half apart, so it wasn’t one of these, “Hey, lets share the umbrella,” things. Oh no, the entire umbrella was over him and she had her head down just watching her feet and trying to keep the drops from hitting her face. She was drenched from head to toe!

This guy was being a complete jerk.

Maybe I’m being too judgmental.

Maybe there is a really good explanation for his seemingly UN-chivalrous behavior.

Maybe he has the same odd affliction that the Wicked Witch of the West had and getting wet causes him to melt. And he wasn’t holding his own umbrella because both of his hands were broken.

Maybe he was on his way to do surgery and needed to keep his hands sterile.

Maybe they were doing an experiment on the effects of rainwater on women who are carrying heavy loads.

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe. Blah, Blah, Blah…

Make all the excuses you want, but what I know is that this guy was making us all look bad. At least all us men.

So what can we do?

Practice!

Take every opportunity you have to display your chivalry and make being chivalrous a habit. And maybe, just maybe it will become cool, again.

So whatever happened to chivalry?

I think we just got out of the habit.

I'm Hugh aka Marlin Perkins

2010-06-23T07:28:00.005-05:00

In case you weren’t around in the late 1960’s or early 1970’s, Marlin Perkins was the host of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. Marlin knew everything there was to know about animals. Or at least his teleprompter did. Whether he was truly an animal expert, or he simply did a good job reading the cue cards, every Sunday evening he would bring a “Wild Kingdom” right into your living room. Yep, when I was a boy, the name Marlin Perkins was synonymous with African animals.

Our house backs up to a wooded area plus a body of water of some kind. I‘m not sure if it’s a creek, or a pond, but it’s some kind of at least semi-natural body of water. I guess it’s my own, somewhat slightly less, wild kingdom.

There are four or five of these creek/pond bodies of water in my neighborhood and about 1/3 of the houses, like mine, back up to them. Most of the houses that back up to these creeks have backyards that are landscaped right down to the water. Some even have little docks with paddleboats and there are fountains out in the middle of the water. For some reason, ours is the only one where there are woods between the water and the back fences of the houses. Maybe that’s to blame.

I’m not sure why, but for the last few weeks we have been inundated with wildlife of one kind or another.

I wrote about my snake adventure, but what I failed to mention was that the snake I killed was actually the second snake I found on my sun porch. The first one was much smarter and took off as soon as I opened the door.

Last August, I wrote about finding two baby opossums in my grill. I chased them off, but I’ve had two more opossum sightings in the last week.

We’ve also had an armadillo as well as a raccoon marching around in the yard. Top it all off with me finding a turtle in my pool last night. He was only about as big around as a baseball, so I snagged him in my pool net and slid him under the fence.

We’ve only lived in this house for a little over a year, but I’m beginning to feel a bit like I’m trapped in one of the lost episodes of Wild Kingdom. I half expect Marlin Perkins to knock on the door with a microphone and begin recording:

“Here at the Atkinson household you have to walk carefully and keep your eyes peeled. Up ahead in the foliage we can detect the distinct territorial marking behaviors of Didelphis virginiana, more commonly known as North American opossum. A marsupial, the opossum has been around for about 70-80 million years, which makes it one of the oldest surviving mammals. While not commonly considered dangerous, it can be quite fierce when cornered.”

I’ll keep you posted on any future Wild Kingdom adventures I happen to have.

Super Post-Man

2010-06-14T10:12:00.002-05:00

This morning I realize that I hadn't posted anything in over a month, then I post not one, but two things on the same day!

All I can say is, "I'm not sure what got into me, but don't get used to it!"

Hugh

SNAKE!!!

2010-06-13T20:57:00.009-05:00

He was brave; I’ll give him that. Brave and stupid!

So I tried to put myself in his shoes, so to speak…

“I’m laying there, minding my own business, when one of those giant, four limbed creatures heads right at me with some sort of long stick thing that has what looks like grass or hay sticking straight out of the end. (For Keith: It’s a broom!) He starts poking and hitting me with the grass end.

At this point I’ve got several options.”

1. I can stay put and hope the giant goes away

2. I can make a run for it and try to get off of this little sun porch thing

3. I can move behind something big, coil up and hide

4. I can rush towards the big creature and try to confuse it.

It is at this point at which my ability to mimic the self-preservation habits of a snake goes woefully astray. For you see, were I a snake, my first instinct would be to flee. Head for the hills. Get the heck out of Dodge.

However, not for our little legless friend. Oh no, he charges straight towards me. Well, kind of squiggly straight, but at me all the same.

So he charges ahead, but I hold my ground. That is until Melissa and Macy start screaming for me to shut the door. Truth be known, I thought I had him, but my sudden retreat gave him a boost of confidence. That’s when he coiled up and hunkered down. I decided to go outside and come in the same door that he had used to get onto the porch. Then I could chase him off he porch without any chance of him actually getting into the house.

I carefully sneak around through the backyard and enter the sun porch. Then, using the broom to keep a healthy distance between the two of us, (At this point I’m pretty sure he’s not venomous, but I’m no snake expert, so he could have been) I start to usher him towards the now wide open door. I’m urging him toward the door when all of a sudden I hear a hissing sound from behind me.

Understandably startled, I spun around half expecting to see Melissa and Macy laughing at me through the window. However, they hadn’t moved. That’s when I remembered the air freshener we have out there. It’s on a timer and sprays a small mist every 30 minutes. But when you’re chasing a snake and then suddenly get the feeling that they’ve got you surrounded, a chill runs up your spine.

Cursing the air freshener, I returned to my snake relocation duties. After finally getting him outside, I jokingly turn to Melissa, point to the snake and pretend to cut my throat with my finger. Knowing full well that my animal rights activist wife would in no way want this poor snake to be harmed.

Much to my surprise, she vigorously begins nodding her head in agreement. I’m not sure why she had this sudden change of heart. Maybe it was the fact that it was a snake. Maybe it was the fact the he had broken her unwritten law and actually come into our house. (If only on the sun porch) Maybe it was the fact the Melissa had crossed back over from the dark side and now believes that snakes are bad. Whatever the reason, the death penalty was back on the table, and I was the executioner.

Being the true man’s man that I am, I rushed to the garage, grabbed a hoe and trudged off to kill the dangerous beast and protect my family.

I think being chased around a sun porch and then shoveled out the door with a broom had tuckered out my scaly opponent. By the time I got back with the hoe he was moving off towards the grass, so I glanced back to see if the governor was going to step in and give him a stay of execution for his trespassing crimes.

But clemency was not to be. Both of my ladies were jumping up and down screaming, “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!”

It took three blows to finally slay the beast. Oh, and they were powerful blows. Not accurate, but powerful all the same. And what difference does accuracy make when you’re dealing with such extreme raw power?

When it was all said and done, I scooped up the still twitching body of my opponent, posed for a victory photo, threw him over the fence and then washed the blood off the porch.

Yes, Mother Nature was angry that that day, and it was not only my job to tame her wildness, but also to send a stern warning to her slithering allies.

“Stay off the sun porch, or you’ll meet the business end of a farm tool!”

** Disclaimer: I realize that the snake doesn't look all that large in the photo, but the lighting and the camera angle both make him appear much smaller than he actually was... Trust me, he was HUGE!

The Beauty That Is Sky Ranch

2010-06-13T08:54:00.006-05:00

Sky Ranch is a Christian camp that has been around for years. It’s in Van Texas, a thriving metropolis with pert-near 1,000 residents, that’s only about 100 miles due east of Dallas. Not being from North Texas, I had never heard of either Sky Ranch or Van Texas. Not until 1987.

I was a senior in college, when a friend of mine talked me into applying for a summer camp counselor position at Sky Ranch. And so began my infatuation with this amazing place.

The summer of 1987 was a magical time. I had a blast as a counselor, and I learned a lot about who I was and what I wanted to do with my life. I also happened to meet the young lady who would, a mere year and a half later, become Mrs. Atkinson.

However, that was 23 years ago, and today, I picked my daughter up after she spent a week at Sky Ranch as a camper. She has been a camper at Sky Ranch before, but it was five or six years ago. And back then she simply went to Sky Ranch…the regular camp. This time she went to “Quest.”

Quest is a weeklong experience where they have the time of their lives doing all kinds of fun activities, but they also have at least four bible study times each day. They go to have fun, but also to explore what they believe about God and why. The counselors are a bit older than the regular Sky Ranch counselors, and my impression was a bit more grounded and confident in their own walk with the Lord. At least that was my impression after talking with them for a few minutes.

We hadn’t been there long when we met her counselor. She immediately begins telling us what a blessing it has been to spend the week with Macy. As well as how much she has learned from our daughter. She got tears in her eyes as she told us about our daughter.

I’m fighting back tears, (I actually did a pretty good job this time!) but she goes on and on with story after story about Macy and what an amazing girl she is. I’ve thought that for years, but come on isn’t thinking YOUR daughter is the greatest girl in the world, just part of being a father?

We found Macy standing in a crowd of teenagers all tearfully saying goodbye, and then it happened. One by one, each of the counselors and several of her fellow campers came up and just gushed about what a special person Macy is and what a blessing it had been to have Macy at camp this week.

After having been a Sky Ranch counselor, even if so very long ago, I know that when parents arrive what they need to hear is that their child is special and wonderful. Counselors look for whatever they can to brag about to make that child’s parents feel proud. But this was different…this was from the heart. These counselors and fellow campers recognized in Macy a quality that sets her apart. It is a quality that’s hard to define, but a pleasure to be around.

Sometimes as parents we need reminders. Reminders of not just what an awesome person your child is, but reminders of what an awesome person your child is becoming. Oh sure, we know they are, but it’s kind of like the crystal bowl that sits on our dining table. I know it’s beautiful, but it’s there 24/7. I’ll either walk right by without paying much attention, or I’ll complain about how dusty it is. However, when I take the time to pay attention, I’m always blown away by how gorgeous it really is.

So that brings us to the beauty that is Sky Ranch.

Sky Ranch took my child, showed her the time of her life and helped her mature in her faith. Then they gave her back to me and refreshed my awareness of what a gorgeous young lady my daughter really is... on the inside as well as on the outside!

Thank you Sky Ranch.

Me No Writing...

2010-06-09T13:39:00.003-05:00

I noticed today that it has been over a month since my last posting. While I’m not known for posting very often, I do usually put something online at least two to three times a month. However, in my defense, this end of year at school has been a pretty hectic end of year. I don’t know what exactly it is that has made this year all that much more difficult.

Thinking back I can only find a few things that stand out as stressful:

#1. Half of the teachers on my grade level have left teaching, at least for a while, to take care of family.

#2. My class had a particularly hard time with some of the TAKS test concepts. This always seems to make the end of the year, the time when our scores come back, a nail-biter. (However, all my students passed everything!)

#3. Some of the parents of students on my grade level, not of my students mind you, made it their mission to make things hard for the entire school. I guess this is a “Trickle Down Stress” kind of thing.

Call it stress, call it anxiety, call it laziness, call it whatever you will, but I haven’t been in much of a mood to write. This is my first full week off, and my hope is that not only will my desire to write be renewed, but I will also have new fun experiences of which to write about.

Take for instance my resolution to begin working out the first Monday after school was out. That was this last Monday and I did begin working out. My plan is to work out Monday through Friday for 45 minutes to an hour. It’s Wednesday and so far I’ve worked out every morning. I feel pretty good, even though I can barely move in any direction without experiencing severe, sharp pain.

Yesterday, I was at Walmart and this guy asked me to help him put this huge box into his SUV. Without thinking I just grabbed one end of the box and hoisted it off the ground. Luckily for me something akin to adrenaline must have kicked in. I'm standing there holding this box with what feels like a baby elephant inside with burning pain shooting all through my body, but I didn’t drop the box. I’ll keep you posted on my progress and pain.

All that to say, yes, I am still alive and I hope to be writing more soon.

Hugh

Senior Class 2010

2010-05-03T06:43:00.003-05:00

The 2010 Senior Class of Lake Highlands High School is a special class for me. Among them, like drops of water in the ocean, are a few who were third graders in my first class as an intermediate teacher at Moss Haven Elementary School.

Some, due to life and families, moved on and I have no way of knowing where they are or what has become of their lives. For them I don’t, and possibly never will, know anything about the turns their lives have taken after leaving Mr. A’s class.

However there are a few who, due to younger siblings, church connections, parental friendships and just us staying in touch, I have been able to keep tabs on. If only from afar.

Matthew is one of these special individuals.

Matthew is very smart, internally motivated and just plain fun to be around. His father was in the Corps at Texas A&M and so naturally Matthew’s big post-high school dream (at least in the third and fourth grades) was to follow in his father’s footsteps. A fact which allowed the class and myself to be the recipients of daily reasons/reminders of why A&M is better than UT. (I mean TU…sorry Matthew!)

Matthew made it his mission in life to point out imperfections in my lessons. Since it gave him a chance to pipe up and correct the teacher, he was always carefully listening for any mistake I happen to make. If I looked over and saw his hand in the air and a smirk on his face, I could be fairly positive I had misspoken in some way, shape or form. But I loved it.

I had fun with Matthew in more than one way.

From time to time, I would purposely multiply or divide something incorrectly, or I’d misstate some trivial piece of information, just to see if he would catch the mistake.

Next, I would find some piece of UT paraphernalia and place it dangerously close to his “Texas A&M Zone.” This would usually result in either my losing the UT bauble altogether, or finding it on my desk mutilated a day or two later.

Sometimes I would hide pictures of Bevo, UT’s Longhorn mascot in his textbooks. I would know he had found the picture when I heard the sound of tearing paper accompanied by a tired voice groaning the words, “NOT AGAIN!”

And then there was the time I hung a poster of Bevo on the inside of the window to my office facing the entire class. To the poster, I added a speech bubble and made Bevo say, “I love Matthew!” That one made him cry…perhaps it was a bit over the top. I removed the speech bubble after about six weeks.

Matthew left my class 9 years ago and is about to graduate from high school. He’s in the to ten at his high school. Not the top ten percent mind you, but rather the top ten graduates. A huge accomplishment.

The district is having a luncheon to honor these top ten students, and each student was asked to invite one teacher to sit with them.

Matthew asked me.

He had to have had second thoughts as I stood there staring at him with the puzzled look on my face.

I somehow managed to blurt out, “I’d be honored.” And he gave me a hug.

Later, I burst into tears as I told Melissa.

I only hope I can keep it together at the luncheon.

Matthew, I’ve been teaching for 16 years…and you just made every bad day I’ve ever had all worth it.

Thank you.

Maddie Update

2010-05-02T08:55:00.003-05:00

Sorry I hadn’t given a Maddie update, but sometimes no news is good news…or so “they” say.

Anyway, Maddie isn’t fully back to her old self again, but she’s much, much closer than she was three weeks ago. We were getting a blood test about every two to three days. Now we’re down to once every week to ten days.

Dr. Murray is primarily looking at the levels of two things, the B.U.N., and something called Creatanin. (I’m sure it’s spelled wrong, but it all sounds Greek to me!)

The B.U.N. is supposed to be somewhere in the 20’s. A month ago it was about 290. The Creatanin is supposed to be about 2.5. A month ago it was close to double digits.

Friday, April 23^rd the B.U.N. was about 65 and the Creatanin was 4.6ish. Dr. Murray drew some blood on Saturday and we should get the results on Monday.

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been giving her daily, 200cc fluid injections. However, Dr. Murray has bumped it up to 300cc. I’m pretty sure 1cc is equal to 1ml. If that’s true, then I’m putting in a little less than a third of a liter of extra fluid each day.

It’s sometimes a little bloody, but not that hard to do. I’ve done it more that a dozen times now and it’s second nature now. Truth be told, I could probably show Dr. Murray a thing or two how to do it without sticking your own thumb. A mistake I won’t make twice.

As for Maddie, our big struggle now is getting her to eat. Evidently the levels being off make her a wee-bit nauseated. We’ve discovered she likes milk on her food…go figure.

At this point I think Melissa and I are both cautiously optimistic about how things are going.

I’ll try to remember to keep you posted

Thanks for asking.

Denial...Sometimes It's What Keeps You Going

2010-04-11T09:41:00.003-05:00

We got Maddie, our dog, from Operation Kindness, no-kill animal shelter here in Dallas. She’s been a part of our family for about 10 years.

The first week of March, Maddie was trotting back down the hallway to her bed after breakfast and her morning constitutional, when she let out a loud yelp and started limping. I assumed she had a sticker or twig stuck between the toes of her paw and had stepped down just right to make it hurt. I carefully checked her paw and couldn’t find anything. I also noticed that I could squeeze her paw fairly tight and she didn’t care. That’s when we took her see to Dr. Murray.

Now, I know Dr. Murray has, on occasion, read my blog, so I’ve got to be careful not to give him a big head. That being said, Dr. Murray is an amazing veterinarian! We’ve had at least five different dogs and cats over the last 12 years who have had Dr. Murray as their primary care physician. He’s cared for and loved on each of our pets like they were his own. And on more than occasion he’s cared for and loved on us as we said good-bye to a friend. He cares for the owners as much as the pets, he’s got the whole ball of wax covered. (I also heard he plays a pretty mean game of golf, but that sounds too good to be true.)

Anyway, turns out Maddie tore her Achilles tendon and needs surgery.

We were scheduled to go on the cruise the very next week, so we scheduled the surgery for the Monday after we returned, and we boarded Maddie with Dr. Murray while we were gone. It seemed like Maddie was going to be back to her old self relatively soon.

Not so…

The plan was to get back from the cruise on Sunday, pick Maddie up on Monday after school and take her to the animal surgery center and she’d be home by Wednesday.

Right after school on Monday I got a call from Dr. Murray.

“Maddie has had some kind of a reaction to one of the pain meds she’s been on. She’s stopped eating, is very lethargic and just isn’t herself. I’ve already canceled the surgery. She’s got to get better before she can handle something like that. You should probably just take her home for a few days, we’ll get her back to normal and then reschedule the surgery.”

I brought Maddie home, hoping being home would help her appetite return, but it was no good. She was up most of the night with liquid coming out of both ends.

She went back to Dr. Murray the next morning.

Maddie spent most of the next week doing in-patient care with Dr. Murray during the day, and at a local Emergency Animal Clinic at night.

She was a mess.

Here’s where the denial comes in. You see, I think down deep inside I knew how bad off Maddie was. However, I just didn’t think about that, or talk about that, or listen to people who were talking about that. If I didn’t entertain such notions, then they wouldn’t become a reality.

Healthy? Not entirely, but it’s a natural part of the (or at least my) grieving process.

I know I’m going to have to say good-bye to my furry little friend one day, but hopefully not any time soon.

I'll keep you posted.

Note: As for Maddie, she’s not completely out of the woods yet, but she’s come a long way. We’re taking it one day at a time and doing everything we can to get as much liquid in that little dog as possible so her kidneys won’t shut down. It’s a roller coaster ride and we’re holding on with white knuckles, just waiting for that last big plunge.

It's a Small World...

2010-03-28T14:31:00.003-05:00

Over Spring Break we went on a cruise. Our ship was Royal Caribbean’s Oasis of the Seas. It’s that new 6250 passenger, larger than life ship that started cruising earlier this year. Both the ship and the cruise were pretty amazing.

However, this story isn’t about the ship. Don’t worry I’ve got some stories to tell about the ship and all that we did, but this is about a really bizarre thing that happened on one of the islands we visited.

Our ports of call were St. Thomas, St. Maartin (that’s how they spell it) and Nassau.

So we’re on St. Thomas, one the Virgin Islands. We had walked around, shopped a little bit and had basically just been lazy. It ended up with the four of us, Melissa, Macy, Page (a friend we took with us) and me just sitting on the beach with hundreds of other people. We started getting hungry, so Melissa walked down the beach and found Thor.

Thor is a large, animated island resident who either works for one of the beach restaurants, or he simply makes money by looking crazy, taking people’s orders and playing waiter for tips. Either way, Thor has a very colorful personality that made eating on the beach much more fun than it usually is.

Anyway, the four of us, and the group next to us, both ordered from Thor. The group next to us had about six adults and their kids. They were ordering some pretty festive drinks and seemed to be having a pretty good time. I was a little jealous of the drinks, but I knew I had to somehow actually make it back to the ship, so I decided not enjoy one of their festive beverages.

Thor shows up, gives us our food and tells us he’ll be right back to collect the money. I get my money ready and start walking toward Thor and the festive drink group to pay. When suddenly, the guy from the festive drink group who is talking to Thor starts to look familiar. He had on dark sunglasses and that made it hard to be sure. That’s when I turned to Melissa.

“Look at the guy talking to Thor. Is that Tracy Ward?”

“No way…well, maybe.”

“Last time I saw Tracy he had hair, but I’ve seen him on Facebook, and it’s all gone now. So that could be him.”

At this point I yell, “TRACY!” He never stops talking to Thor.

“I guess not, it’s hard to tell with his sunglasses on.”

“Hugh, isn’t that Kathleen?”

It was at this point that I realized I had traveled thousands of miles from home, and was sitting on the beach next to my old buddy from my college days at Hardin-Simmons University, as well as, Seminary. We were actually headed to Tracey’s house back in 1990, when we were in the accident that changed my life forever. Come to think of it, Tracey is one of the few people who actually read this blog. Go figure?

Turns out it was Tracy Ward. We talked, laughed and hugged. Of course it never occurred to either one of us to take a picture, but the memory is all I need.

Turns out, if not for Thor’s loud “Hey! Look at me!” kind of personality, I may have never realized that I was soaking up the sun right next to my old friend.

Then we saw each other again at the airport as we were leaving Fort Lauderdale. Tracy got a picture of us on his iphone standing outside the airport. At least that was something.

Yep, it really is a small world…But I wouldn’t want to paint it.

Thor

I had to say something...

2010-03-06T08:45:00.010-06:00

I have written about this before, but it’s on my heart and this is my best outlet.

When I see small children afraid to come to school, not because of missing homework or bullies, but rather because of a standardized test called TAKS (Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills), it breaks my heart and infuriates my soul at the same time.

The state of Texas is doing a serious disservice to lives and futures its people by putting our children through this kind of an “educational” ringer.

The biggest worry that a third grader should have is getting cooties, not passing some damn standardized test!

We have lawmakers in Austin (and Rick Perry is the main one) with no educational training who are sitting in their ivory tower and tossing out educational reform ideas like an old, blind man feeding handfuls of pebbles to a flock of hungry birds. He has no idea that the pebbles aren’t food, and that they are actually killing the very birds he’s trying to feed, so he keeps on throwing. He hears voices all around pleading with him to stop throwing, but instead, out of frustration, he starts throwing larger and larger stones. If a bird dies, he just starts throwing harder. He has an inexhaustible supply of stones, and there is no end in sight to this bizarre pattern.

These lawmakers have never spent time down in the trenches. They have never had to stand by and watch a third grade girl pull her own hair out by the handfuls, because she so afraid of failing this giant test. Not because she cares about the grade, but because she knows that, even though the scores are kept “confidential,” everyone will know if she passed, because if you fail you’re put into a special reading group. And that will make her different.

These lawmakers have never had to find discreet ways of looking under a child’s long sleeves to see if he’s started cutting himself again. And they sure haven’t had to watch this same boy’s mom crumble into a sobbing mass when they tell her that it’s happening again.

These lawmakers have never had to use a translator to tell loving parents that their child, mostly because English isn’t spoken at home, is going to have to repeat the third grade. And then look across the table at the child and try to convince her that she isn’t stupid.

These lawmakers have never had to watch as the joy that should be daily in Kindergarten, is washed away with the promise of “better first grade readers.” Oh sure, it sounds great, but they are forcing teachers to use developmentally inappropriate testing with these small children.

What’s the bottom line for these lawmakers? It’s not quality education. It’s not brighter futures of the children of Texas. It’s not the mental and physical wellbeing of their constituents.

It’s Money.

The better we score on these tests, the more money the state gets. The more money the state gets, the more stones the lawmakers can buy for the old man.

I know Governor Perry recently led the charge for Texas to keep some of its educational autonomy by opting out of President Obama’s education program, but don’t let that fool you. We still get federal money. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure we didn’t turn down ALL of the federal funding.

So what can you and I do?

Scream.

Yell.

Make Noise.

Let the lawmakers know that we don’t like what’s happening…make them listen to us for a change.

Mine is only one small voice, but together maybe we can stop that old, blind man before he starts throwing boulders.

Thanks for listening,

Hugh

Backwards Epiphany

2010-02-12T17:49:00.005-06:00

I was watching myself sleepily drag my brush through my hair in the mirror a few days ago when it occurred to me that I only ever see myself backwards.

Then I realized that the only way anyone ever sees himself or herself is in a mirror and that means backwards. Oh sure, I’ve seen myself in photographs and videos, but to be perfectly honest, I never look like I think I should. Quite possibly my dissatisfaction with my appearance in pictures may have something to do with the fact that to me the image is flipped.

And what about all those other people who hate having their picture taken? You know the ones. They’re always sticking their hands in front of their faces and yelling obscenities at the photographer. (Well, perhaps not all of them use obscenities, but you get the point) Maybe, they just don’t like seeing themselves backwards either!

Standing there half asleep, with my brain trying to soak this in, I start wondering about other things that look backwards to me. First, my hair is really parted on the other side. Next, my ring is really on the other hand. The little scar on my face is really on the other side. And the list goes on and on and on.

Then I began to wonder. Who’s really seeing backwards? Am I getting a backwards view of reality, or is reality getting a backwards view of me? Maybe my hair really is parted on the side I think it is, but you just can’t see it correctly.

That’s when I started to get worried. I mean what if it’s more than just the physical things about me other people are seeing in reverse.

Could it be that my whole world is backwards from reality?

Come to think of it, there have been times when I have deemed things to be funny, or cool, or stupid that other people have either failed to see the humor in, or simply considered to be no big deal, or thought they made perfect sense.

In these situations, who was right and who was backwards? Even as I’m writing that last sentence I’m forced to wonder, why can’t backwards be right?

Years ago I had a dyslexic child in my class about whom the district’s diagnostician said, “This child has the most sever case of dyslexia I have seen in 25 years of testing.” Bob didn’t know right from left, up from down or front from back. This poor guy didn’t know if he was coming or going.

With my new everything’s backwards quandary, I found myself thinking about Bob. I had to laugh when I thought about Bob in front of a mirror. I bet mirrors were Bob’s greatest fear.

But maybe, just maybe, they were his greatest joy. Maybe, for Bob, everything he saw in the mirror made perfect sense. Maybe he could do that “try to trace the star while looking in the mirror” thing better than anyone. Not because he saw things different, but because he saw them way they were really meant to be. For a brief moment, I started to envy Bob. However unlikely, there is a chance that he not only sees things differently, but maybe he sees them the way the way God intended. Who knows?

And there you have it, my backwards epiphany.

So what does this backwards epiphany mean? Your guess is as good as mine. I’m just writing things for you to read…

Or maybe you’re just reading things for me to write...

Record Breaking Snow

2010-02-12T08:57:00.009-06:00

I've lived in Texas all my life and this is the first time I've seen it snow for 15 straight hours. That much snow creates a pretty impressive picture. Let me share a few with you.

Enjoy

A look out my garage

View from the street

I live in Dallas, Texas... my street is not supposed to look like this!

Tree in the backyard

I just liked this one

And finally, me in the snow

(Melissa thought I was crazy)

There's Just Something About A Quirky Kid

2010-01-16T06:45:00.019-06:00

Over the last 16 years I’ve had every imaginable kind of kid in my class. I’ve had football stars, future head cheerleaders, and everything in between. And while I can’t think of a student who I couldn’t find something about to like, I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for the quirky kids.

I’m not sure exactly why. Maybe it’s the fact that no one needs to be liked more that the a quirky kid. Maybe it’s because I just want to see that quirky tortoise beat that over-popular hare. Maybe I simply like to root for the underdog. Whatever the reason, I think I can identify with the quirky kid just a little bit better. Who knows why?

If the conversation turns to quirkiness, students I’ve really enjoyed teaching, or yes, even smart kids, my thoughts always turn to Miles.

Miles was in my class quite a few years ago. Miles is by far the quirkiest student I’ve ever had, he is also quite possibly the most gifted student I will ever have. I was drawn to him right from the start.

Miles came into my class with a wealth of knowledge that was light years ahead of most of his classmates, and in many cases, his teacher too. However, I truly believe that he was unaware of this fact. In his mind the game had a level playing field and he was just one of the players.

I’m not sure if I really ever taught Miles anything, with the possible exception of the lesson that stabbing one’s self in the leg with a pencil is NEVER a suitable self-punishment for misspelling a word. A stunt that he only pulled twice in my class, (both times on the first day of school) before we had a hallway heart to heart that was quite intense and to the point. (No pun intended)

I also don’t know if he knew he was a little different, but just didn’t care. Or if he had no idea, so it just didn’t matter. Either way, Miles marched to his own beat, but if you wanted to tag along, Miles was happy to have you along for the ride.

Miles’ dad was some sort of scientist, I think. He had a great sense of humor, an infectious laugh and was really fun to be around.

One time he volunteered to be the parent reader. Most parents brought picture books, or grade level appropriate novels, but oh no, not Mile’s dad. He brought a book about nuclear fusion. When I tried to tactfully question his choice of books he told me that this book was hilarious.

“You see,” he said, “this book was written so long ago that most of the concepts, that at the time were considered to be earth shattering revelations, have long since been proven to be false. Or, simply no longer have any real meaning in today’s nuclear world. We’re going to have a blast with this!”

I just nodded and sat back to watch the show.

Imagine, if you will, a room full of third and fourth graders sitting on the floor with a scientist and his child sitting in front of them. Both the father and child are reading from an outdated, college level, nuclear textbook, while the class is sitting there trying desperately to recognize even one word.

I was actually very proud of the whole class. You could have heard a pin drop. Their glazed eyes and vacant expressions said everything you needed to hear.

As it turned out, Miles pretty much had the entire book memorized. Occasionally he would blurt out something like, “Oh Dad! Flip over to chapter six where they talk about molecular co-adhesives of binomial fusion transformations!”

Then dad would say, “Oh yeah! That’s back on page 267! This is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard!”

He’d turn back, read the section, and father and son would be sitting there in tears. Meanwhile the class was hoping I would get the hint and put an end to the madness. But there was no way, because the three of us were having the time of our lives!

They were having fun poking fun at antiquated scientific theories that nobody else in the room, including me, had any hope of understanding. I was having a blast watching the other students squirm, drool and contemplate suicide.

In the end, a good time was had by all! (Well, maybe not the lesser-gifted 99.9% of the class, but only I was watching them.)

Like I said, there's just something about a quirky kid that calls to me. Maybe birds of a feather really do flock together. I don’t know.

What I do know is, if you’re a quirky kid, and your name is on my class list…then baby, you’ve found a home!

where's MY global warming???

2010-01-09T10:19:00.004-06:00

I woke up this morning and the temperature was 11 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s around -11.667 degrees Celsius, and baby, that’s cold.

I live in Dallas Texas…it’s not supposed to be 11 degrees in Dallas Texas!

Now, before all you people up north start with your, “That’s not cold!” or “Come up here to Wiss-caan-sin, and we’ll show you cold!” Let me just say that, yes, it’s colder up there. However, that’s not what I’m talking about.

You see, I live in Texas. One thing I like about Texas is that we DON’T have days where the temperature is only 2 degrees above single digits. And we sure don’t have a full week with temperatures blow freezing!

And what about all this global warming talk? This morning, as I was letting the dog out to do her business, I had to use a stick to break through about a half-inch layer of ice on our fountain. I also had an ice/leaf glacier that had formed on the surface of the pool. It was kind of cool and I had fun playing continental drift, but that’s beside the point.

I’m beginning to wonder that this whole global warming thing wasn’t just some giant hoax masterminded by the Republicans and the Democrats so they would have something big to blame each other for.

All I know is it is 11 degrees Fahrenheit and my fountain is frozen, and my pool needs water, and I can’t add any water, because my hose is also frozen, and I’m cold and I don’t like it.

So where’s my global warming when I need it?

Russell to the Rescue

2009-12-29T22:39:00.005-06:00

I’ve had many flat tires over the years.

On my first car, the 1974 Camaro, I burned a hole through the rubber trying to smoke the tires.

Thinking back, I can remember changing many a tire. When I was in college, I even had a blowout on 635, the LBJ Freeway here in Dallas. I pulled over and changed it right there on the highway. I’m lucky to be alive!

However, I haven’t had a flat in years. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that on my Trailblazer, while I know technically what has to be done to get the spare tire lowered, I don’t actually have any working knowledge about how to get the spare tire down from its little spare tire hideout.

Oh sure, I can work the jack and get the lug nuts off, and truth be known, given time and the opportunity, I could figure out the whole “tire lowering” thing.

But when it’s dark, and it’s raining, and you have a car full of loud ninth grade girls it is hard to have the mental skills necessary for that kind of mechanical problem solving. At least it is for me.

So you can imagine my shock and awe as my wife and I are driving our daughter and five of her friends home from Chili’s when we get a flat tire.

As it turns out, Russell, the dad of one of the girls, hops in his truck and comes to give me a hand. I was hoping Russell would at the very least have a flashlight, which he did. Russell also had a floor jack, a crossbar lug wrench, and he had a wealth of knowledge about how to lower the spare tire on a 2005 Chevrolet Trailblazer…. Go figure!

In the end the tire got changed, no girls got injured or even wet and I didn’t even get all that dirty. (Only because I let Russell do most of the work. After all, they were his tools!)

Yep, I’ve had many flat tires over the years.

Maybe next time I’ll be a little bit more like Russell...

First White Christmas

2009-12-28T09:57:00.009-06:00

I’m 45 years old and I have never experienced a white Christmas…

that is until this year!

While it didn’t actually snow on Christmas day, it did snow Christmas Eve, and we did have snow on the ground on Christmas morning.

And baby, in my book that’s a white Christmas!

I got some pretty impressive pictures on both Christmas Eve and Christmas day.

See what you think.

So was my Christmas White?

You be the judge!

Funny Man

2009-12-18T06:22:00.002-06:00

When you’re a guy who like to be funny, and you’re around people on a daily basis who think you are hilarious…well baby, you’ve got it made!

That’s how it is for me every single day. At least, that is, until summer vacation.

Never mind my audience is a room full of nine and ten year olds who aren’t allowed to boo or walk out. If you’re keeping your audience (captive or not) in stitches it’s great for a comic’s ego.

Sure, the adults in the building think I’m funny too, at least the hip adults do, but they aren’t my core audience.

You see, my crowd has a fascination with cooties, nose picking and bodily functions. All I have to do is ask someone to quit picking their nose, and the room explodes with laughter. It doesn’t matter if this person was actually picking, because the room still falls apart.

Truth be known, it actually works better if he or she wasn’t engaged in the afore mentioned behavior, because their violent protests create even more giggles.

Yep, I may only be a teacher, but I’m livin’ the stand-up comedian’s dream…

Go Figure!

2009-12-13T17:29:00.003-06:00

I realize that my postings were happening at a frequency of about one per month. Then suddenly, as if by magic, I blast out three postings in a week.

I'm not sure what's gotten into me...maybe it's the hair.

Go figure!

Shocking Results...

2009-12-13T17:26:00.001-06:00

I was being the dutiful son-in-law and helping my mother-in-law hang her Christmas decorations. She didn’t have a lot of lights to hang, but it was a cold, drizzling day so I believe that will award me some extra jewels in my crown when I get to heaven.

“Don’t you mean IF you get to heaven,” I can hear people like K-Dog saying, but I just don’t listen to those people.

Anyway, I’m just about finished hanging the lights on the first part of the house, when I plug them in to see how I need to adjust the strands.

I noticed some haphazard spacing between a few of the rows of lights that’s on one of those prickly holly bushes. As I grab the lights I feel this sharp prick in my finger. Thinking it was just the holly bush I just ignored the pain and kept moving the lights.

That’s when I felt the jolt.

Now, the sensation you get from a jolt of electricity is not something new for me. I do enough “handy-man” type of work around my house that I’ve touch more than my fair share of live wires. I also worked with an electrician at Peacock Chevrolet in Houston while I was in high school. I made everyone in the shop laugh uncontrollably on several occasions when I was knocked on my butt after grabbing the coil wire of a car before turning off the engine.

As it turned out, there was a broken bulb on the cord that I didn’t see. When I grabbed the cord, my finger landed on the exposed negative and positive leads. This was only a 110 connection, so I wasn’t ever in any danger. If that was all that had happened I wouldn’t have thought twice about it and wouldn’t even be writing this post.

However, probably half an hour later, as I was driving home my iphone made an odd noise. I pulled it out and the message on the screen said, “No SIM Card.”

I was very puzzled, tried to use it and nothing. All my contacts where there and the games would play, but I couldn’t make calls.

After restarting the phone everything works again. No problems at all.

The only thing I can assume is that the shock somehow went through me into the phone and caused some kind of a glitch. I may find other problems later, but for now it’s business as usual.

I am, however, quite intrigued by being a human conductor. My class is just finishing up a unit in science on electricity and magnetism. I can’t wait to tell them about their teacher’s Christmas light adventure and its shocking results…

In Search of Neon

2009-12-12T09:37:00.001-06:00

And so I’ve got this very creative friend…Let's just call him K-Dog.

K-Dog is forever pulling out some new thing he’s into that just exudes creativity. His latest thing is neon signs.

He told me about his fascination with neon a few months ago.

“What I do is find some cool, old neon sign, take a picture of it, and then I can digitally rebuild it. The whole process is really amazing!”

At first I was intrigued and curious. I like neon as much as the next guy, or at least I thought I did. Come to find out, K-Dog will research each sign to find out its history. He’ll know things like when and where it was made, when it was placed on the building and probably even the brand and size of boots worn by the workmen who installed it.

For some, like the signs on motel chains such as Holiday Inn, he tries to find out where any of the surviving neon signs might still be up and working.

K-Dog is a neon nut!

I’ve only seen a couple of his digital, neon re-creations, but I was blow away.

I know of two really cool neon signs here in Dallas that K-Dog hasn’t seen. One is pretty nice, the other one is really amazing. I’m not going to say anything more about them, because K-Dog and I are going to go on a Dallas Neon search sometime over the Christmas break. And since K-Dog is one of the few readers of my blog, I don’t want to give it away.

However, rest assured that I’ll post some before and after pictures of any of the neon signs we happen to find that K-Dog ends up rebuilding.

Long Hair

2009-12-06T13:20:00.009-06:00

So I decided, back on March 5^th of 2009, to just let my hair grow. I’ve kind of had long hair before, but this time it’s different.

You see, before now, when I’ve had long hair, parts of my hair would be long (like the back for instance) but I’d keep the rest in check by getting it trimmed about once a month…or so. Now I don’t have any actual pictures of this, but rest assured it was in no way a mullet.

Anyway…

On March 5, 2009, I was getting my hair trimmed and I just decided to not go back for two months. Before I knew what was happening, two months turned into three and then into four.

By this time my hair had gone through several stages or phases. I would wake up one day and discover that I couldn’t get my hair to work right at all and that it was time to get it cut. However, after a week or two of procrastination, I would wake up and find that it was working again. Then, almost on schedule, a couple of weeks would go by and I’d be right back in the same “bad hair” dilemma I had been in only a few weeks ago. Once again I would fully intend to go get it trimmed, but just wouldn’t get around to going. And the “Good Hair/Bad Hair” thing would start all over again.

I began to find the whole “Good Hair –vs– Bad Hair” situation a wee-bit comical.

At this point I decided not to go to the barber for anything other than getting my sideburns trimmed until 2010. And that brings us to today. Having long hair has been a true learning experience for me. I've learned some valuable lessons that I couldn't have learned with my previous do.

Some of the things my long hair has taught me:

1. Washing long hair is nothing like washing short hair. I see now why my parents gave me a buzz-cut until the third grade.

2. If you have long hair, the wind is not always your friend.

3. If you’re a guy with long hair, people talk to you about art and other cool things like you actually know about them.

4. And if your boss asks you to cut your hair, this is sexual harassment. This never actually happened, it just occurred to me.

Over Thanksgiving, my family was walking to a little restaurant near my parents home when, due to the wind, my hair was being kind of funny. Luckily for me, my daughter captured it on film.

Check out Hugh’s funny hair pictures below.

Me trying not to laugh.

Me doing I don't know what...but looking rather dumb.

I don’t know how long I’m going to let it get…but I’ll keep you posted.

When Your Age Rounds to Fifty...

2009-11-14T16:58:00.000-06:00

I woke up yesterday and realized that my age rounds to fifty. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been aware of this for quite some time. I have actually gone to great lengths to and taken great pleasure in reminding my brother of this fact.

However, I somehow thought it would feel different. I can’t exactly put my finger on just how I thought being closer to fifty than to forty was supposed to make me feel, I guess I just didn’t feel very enlightened. Whatever that means.

So far life closer to 50 is not all that much different than life closer to 40, with the possible exception of my hair.

I’m 45 and my hair is the longest it has ever been in my entire life. I don’t know why I decided to grow my hair long…I just did.

So in a nutshell, that’s what is happening in this old man’s life.

As for the hair, I’ll keep you posted. I may even tack some before and after pictures.

Wouldn’t that be kooky!

Faux Pas

2009-10-16T18:15:00.005-05:00

Yes, you may have heard of,

What some other folks saw

Of that which I speak,

Is Hugh’s verbal Faux pas

I was tying the bow,

On my UPS lesson

When I strayed from my plans,

And my thoughts started guessin’

We’ve all had that happen,

At least from time to time

And the truth is that usually,

Things work out just fine

You start to say one thing,

And your brain turns to wood

Your thoughts take a twist,

And don’t work like they should

Most times you just mentally,

Shuffle each word

And the message you meant,

Is the message folks heard

But then there are times,

When your brain turns to goo

And you say something that,

You just didn’t mean to

You sense your mouth moving,

And your thinking just falls

Then you hear yourself mutter,

About “Bob’s two balls”

You try to stay cool,

But you look up to see,

Your whole team’s eyes widen,

And then they all flee

You sense the night’s over,

So you bow low your head

Then you exit stage left,

With your face very red

Last night, as I was talking with a group of parents about our math problem solving strategy, I was trying to make a point about the difference in the amount of reading comprehension involved in math these days as opposed to back when I was in elementary school. I said something like;

"Back in my day, math word problems would be like Bob has two balls and Dave had 3 balls, how many balls do they have all together?"

Laughter is the last thing I remember.

Isn't life just a wonderful thing?

A Visit From A Farm Animal

2009-10-03T10:50:00.006-05:00

There aren’t all that many farms or ranches in Dallas anymore these days. Oh sure, we live less that 20 miles from South Fork. The former Ewing ranch made famous decades ago by the mildly popular television show Dallas. Perhaps you’ve heard of it…

Anyway, other than that I don’t really even know where you’d go in Dallas to find an actual working farm. (South Fork hasn’t been a working farm in years)

However, even with the lack of farms here in Big-D, we found ourselves on the receiving end of a visit from a rather pesky little farm animal.

The animal in question is both pink and plump with a flat nose and a curly tail. And no, I’m not talking about Wilbur from Charlotte’s Web…for us it was nothing than mundane!

Our little friend goes by the name “H1N1” and carries with him a basket of little goodies with things like a cough, sore throat, fever and chills.

That’s right it’s everyone’s favorite, the Swine Flu!

To tell the truth, for now, only my daughter has gotten to see our little pink bundle of joy, and the rest of us are washing out hands constantly in an effort to avoid any pork related illnesses.

So far, so good.

When did the other white meat get to be such a nuisance?

Fun with Head Injuries...

2009-09-26T08:06:00.009-05:00

Our daughter was having what we could only assume was some form of migraine headache. After several months of visits to the pediatrician, the pediatric neurologist and a sleep deprived EEG, we were finally at what we hoped would be the final doctor’s appointment for at least six months if not a full year.

Doctor Zinser, the pediatric neurologist, was walking us through all the ins and outs of the “Alice in Wonderland” migraines that our daughter was experiencing.

To make a long story short, especially since this isn’t the true crux of the story, she’s doing fine and hasn’t had a migraine is quite a while.

The real story is about a funny thing that happened while the whole family was with Doctor Zinser.

He had a medical student with him who was simply there to get her feet wet, as it were, in the field of pediatric neurology. Suddenly, Doctor Zinser fires off a question to the student doctor.

“So at what age is the frontal lobe fully developed?”

All eyes shoot across to the student who we had all but forgotten about for the last 20 minutes. “Um…20?” Was the timid, stuttering answer.

“Nope, 25.” Was the somewhat stern reply from Doctor Zinser.

Turning back to us, the parents, but really speaking to the medical student, he said, “Now this is pretty amazing. I’ll gently tap the forehead and due to the fact that she’s only 14 and the frontal lobe of the brain is not fully developed we will see some twitching in her lip and under her eyes.”

He went into much greater detail than this, but it’s not like this happened yesterday, so I have no idea what he said.

Using his reflex mallet he tapped her head and sure enough, the twitching began. I don’t mind telling you I was VERY intrigued.

“What would happen if you did that to me?” I asked without ever taking my eyes off her face.

“Nothing at all. Do you want me to show you?”

The words weren’t even all out of his mouth when, sounding somewhat like a girl who was just ask out for her first date, I gleefully shouted, “Are you kidding? Of course I do!”

As he began tapping my forehead I started to experience what felt like twitching under my eyes.

Melissa told me later that my eyes were actually twitching more my daughter’s had.

He paused, obviously more that a wee-bit puzzled. Melissa said that, while his face never changed expression, she saw in his eyes a look that said, “Oh Crap, something’s wrong, what do I do now?”

That’s when Melissa jumped in and blurted out the words, that saved the day for our doctor friend, “Hugh probably should have told you that he is a diffuse axonal head injury survivor.”

In a blink of an eye, the good doctor's demeanor went from panic, to relief, to interest. And I had to give the streamline version of my head injury story. One I’m sure he’s all too familiar with, but was intrigued by all the same.

He explained that my brain’s frontal lobe must have been pretty severely damaged and other parts of my brain took over and learned to do whatever it is that the frontal lobe does. Therefore, my frontal lobe didn’t have the chance or really even the need to fully develop.

It’s not very often that you get to snap a doctor to attention like that.

Yep, as far as practical jokes go…this head injury thing is turning out to be a gold mine!

And So I've Got This Tree...

2009-09-12T09:27:00.005-05:00

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio. It is a red oak tree that’s tall with a wonderful spread of branches that create a nice, comfortably shaded sitting area. We have some patio furniture under it and everything looks nice.

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio. A few months ago this tree, after I rather stupidly cut a low branch off, started leaking sap onto our nice new patio furniture. The sap was leaking out of the spot where I cut the branch off. I simply moved the furniture, and sprayed some black pruning sealant on the stub of the chopped off branch, then went about my business.

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio. Some days go by and I discover, much to my chagrin, that insects have come and not only eaten through the pruning sealant causing it to leak again, but they have also started boring through the bark on other branches and now my tree is leaking sap in half a dozen other places.

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio. As it turns out, this tree is becoming somewhat of a sap sprinkler. Each and every day there are new spots on the patio and the furniture and we have bugs of all kinds all around the tree. At this point I begin to get concerned that there may be a chance we could lose our wonderful tree.

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio. A friend suggests that we call an arborist (or tree doctor as I enjoy calling him) to assess the condition of our now ailing tree. Dr. Matthew, the arborist, comes and makes a “yard-call” to check out our tree. He inspects the sap on the ground and furniture, takes a look up through the branches and says, “Yep, you’ve got boring beetles. They bore holes through the bark and the tree creates the sap to fix the holes. However, the sap is what is attracting all the other bugs, plus more boring beetles. It’s an endless cycle. We could give the tree some injections and that would kill the beetles as well as make the sap that the tree makes taste bad so the boring beetles won’t come back. It will cost about 160 dollars.”

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio. After weighing the cost of the anti-boring beetle injections against the cost of dead tree removal and replacement, I decided to go ahead and have the tree doctor administer his medication. He came, made the injections and in 48 hours the tree was leaking much less sap and things were getting back to normal…or so it seemed.

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio. A couple of weeks pass and the tree’s sap leakage is right back to the amount that it was before the injections. So I call Dr. Matthew and he comes back for his second yard-call. He couldn’t find any trace of the boring beetles, but after scraping, smelling and probably even tasting several bark samples, our tree doctor came back with this diagnosis. “What you have here is a fungus, but not just any fungus. Now, this isn’t a fungus that is usually found in red oak trees, that’s what’s so fascinating! Your tree’s bark smells like apple cider that means it’s in the fermentation process. What’s happening is the insects that have been coming to eat the sap have introduced some kind of yeast to the tree. And so the sugars in the sap, combined with the yeast from the bugs is fermenting to create alcohol. Basically, your tree is making beer.”

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio. And now, living in my tree are a bunch of alcoholic bugs who are spending their days lapping up keg after keg of my homemade tree beer. Not to mention the fact that our two baby opossums, the ones from the grill, have made this tree their home and have also been eating the sap. Which explains why their little squeals sound slurred and they’ve been seen staggering around with bloodshot eyes.

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio. According to my tree’s doctor, this condition isn’t life threatening for the tree and there’s nothing you can do but wait and hope it stops. Our tree is just an easy fix for all the alcoholic critters I’ve created in the neighborhood.

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio.

And for now...it’s open bar!

Somebody Moved My Cheese

2009-08-30T14:31:00.002-05:00

I played around with the settings a little bit...even added a picture!

May do more later.

Hugh

Fun With Wildlife

2009-08-23T19:09:00.008-05:00

School starts tomorrow and we decided that it might be fun to grill some steaks for dinner.

Now, while I haven’t actually used my larger grill in well over a year, I do in fact own two grills. Don’t ask why, because I’m not actually sure what the reasoning was behind getting two, suffice it to say, I’ve have, or rather I used to have, two grills.

I usually use the smaller, newer of my two grills. It just works a little bit better. However, we decided that grilling some corn sounded good, so I went out to see if I could even still fire-up the big grill. We moved to this house in May, and I hadn’t done anything more than push the large grill into a corner on the back porch and forget about it.

I pulled it out from the corner, opened the top and was greeted by not one, but two hissing opossums!

Slamming the lid shut, I did a ten-foot, standing long jump. After I landed I’m sure I looked like Fred Sanford as I stood there holding my chest and panting.

They scared the crap out of me!

In my defense, opossums are really ugly! And even if you were expecting to be face to face and six inches away from one of these little guys, I dare say you’d be on pins and needles. So, when it’s completely unexpected you’re lucky if you don’t need to change your pants.

Being the loving and concerned wife that she is, and thinking I had just blown myself up, Melissa started outside to check on her husband.

When I told her what had happened any concern for me flew right out the window, and the new object of her affection our were newly discovered grill squatters. Carefully reopening the grill, we found that the two opossums were actually babies who seemed not only extremely frightened, but also somewhat malnourished.

This is the point at which Melissa begins talking about, only kind of in jest, us keeping them as pets. I don't think I ever even responded.

We called animal control and explaining that we had two opossums in our grill. A somewhat perplexed operator explained that animal control doesn’t actually provide grilling instructions. After a hearty chuckle on our end of the phone, we did our best to help her understand that, while lighting the grill did cross my mind, varmint extraction and not food preparation was the actual reason for our call.

It was about then that we noticed, as we peered through the window, that the sicklier of the two youngsters was actually beginning to venture out. After comically breaking several laws of physics, she somehow managed to move from the grill to a nearby bush. Seeing this, we started rooting for the second of our grill’s residents to move out as well. However, he didn’t seem to be ready to leave the nest. At this point I rushed to the garage and found a stick about four feet long. I came back and poked a now very irritated opossum until he finally got the hint that he had worn out his welcome.

As soon as both were out I closed the lid and pulled the whole grill around to the front of the house for tomorrow’s scheduled bulk trash pick up.

I know what you’re thinking…we still have two baby opossums under a bush in our backyard.

Let me tell you that that is the least of my worries. You see, behind out house is a creek that is surrounded by all manner of plant life, not to mention snakes, armadillos, opossums and who knows what else. We’ve found snakes in the pool and seen both armadillos an opossums roaming the yard. So now that these two trespassers are free from their grill prison, I’m sure they will have no trouble finding their way back to their real house, or their mom, or their whatever it is they have out there. At least not after it gets dark.

While I’m on the subject, how in the hell did they get inside my grill in the first place?

I couldn’t find any openings large enough for them to fit through. If they did happen to somehow squeeze in from the bottom, then they would have to lift the grill rack and then climb up through a small gap to get on top. I know they have opposable thumbs, but come on…that’s a bit much!

In the end, the opossums are gone, I didn’t get bitten and we still grilled steaks!

I guess we can say that in the end a good time was had by all!

Well, maybe not the opossum I poked with a stick…but he as being stubborn!

Watering less really does pay...

2009-08-12T12:03:00.000-05:00

Our old house didn’t have a sprinkler system, so I really didn’t know anything about setting the zones, or setting the watering days, or setting the watering times. Basically, I knew nothing.

Our controller is a Toro, (a brand I’ve heard nothing good about, but that’s for another story) so I read the book and figured it out. However, I had no way of knowing how long to set each zone to “sprinkle”. In my old yard, I would set the sprinkler in the yard with the hose and leave it on for about 30 minutes, but for some reason this seemed too long for each zone to be on. So I decided to cut that in half and set it to water for 15 minutes per zone, seven days a week.

Then I got the first water bill…$569.27!

What I failed to take into consideration was the fact that my yard has eight zones. 8x15=120. That means I was watering my yard for two hours each day. Something had to be done.

Thanks to the rather rainy summer we’ve been having here, and the early settlers in Dallas we rarely ever have any real watering restrictions. Back in the 1800’s, evidently, the Dallas city or county leaders had the forethought to buy or trade for all the water in the surrounding lakes that is below 30 feet. (This number could be wrong, but you get the idea) This means that in the summer when the lakes levels drop and all the surrounding cities are limiting the watering days and times, because they have to buy most of their water from Dallas, Dallas city residents are leaving the faucets on while they brush their teeth, they are watering whenever they want to and basically just pouring water down the drain.

But I digress…

My mother-in-law, who lives in one of those surrounding cities, told me that she is allowed to water on three days a week and she does so for 10 minutes per day. Her grass is always green and her yard looks nice so I decided to alter my watering plan.

I was watering 15 minutes per day and seven days a week for a total of 840 minutes per week. Now I’m watering four zones for 10 minutes and four zones for five minutes, but only three days a week for a total of 160 minutes. That’s a difference of 660 minutes a week, or 2,640 minutes per month.

Yesterday, I got my new water bill and it was 400 dollars lower!

That’s when I realized watering less really does pay…

And my yard still looks good!

My Dog

2009-08-02T10:24:00.003-05:00

I recently noticed a skill my dog has that I am extremely envious of. And no, I’m not referring to places she can lick, or her ability to eat things straight out of the cat box.

What I envy is her ability to completely trust somebody.

I’m forced to assume, simply because I’ve not seen any evidence to the contrary, that there is no “maybe” for dogs. For them it’s either yes or no, black or white, wrong or right. There’s nothing in the middle.

I believe that, because of this dichotomy of emotions, she is able to completely trust someone. At least until that someone does something to change that and then she will be completely unable to trust this someone.

It’s all or nothing.

In our house we have tile in the hallway. Maddie, my dog, likes to lie there because it’s cool. If I’m walking down the hallway, I can step with my foot landing two or three centimeters (about ½ inch for you non-metric folks) away from her nose and she doesn’t even flinch. I believe that until I bop her in the nose once or twice, which I don’t plan to do, she will continue to trust me not to hit her, and therefore simply lay there without moving.

Maybe it’s the result of caution, maybe it’s result of fear, maybe it’s result of having an older brother…I don’t know. What I do know is that I could never have that kind of trust in a person. Not even a really good friend.

I think it would be wonderful to be able to trust that way, but alas, if I’m lying on the floor and somebody is walking in my direction…I’m getting out of his way.

Yep, for me life is all about NOT having someone’s shoe that close to my face.

Ever!

Randy, my closest Canadian friend

2009-07-20T09:47:00.002-05:00

So we’re in Cabo. We get up in the morning and head down to the breakfast buffet at around 8:30 – 9:00. I know you’re thinking that’s way too early to be getting up on vacation, but for some reason we were up, so why not.

Anyway, we’d go down, eat breakfast then head out and find a chair by one of the pools. PTH (Prime Tanning Hours) are 10:00am – 2:00pm, so we pretty much had that covered.

But back to breakfast. The buffet breakfast ended at like 11:30, so we were by far some of the first ones there, and the large room was pretty much empty when we were there. Don’t get me wrong, there were people, but the size of the room allowed for people to be seated fairly far apart.

We sit down, order our juice and coffee, then we head over to get our food. Did I mention it was all included? It was kind of like being on cruise, only without the lifeboat drill and the constant rocking…but I digress.

When we get back to our table, it was a two-topper with a second two-topper only inches away that could easily be pulled together to accommodate a party of four, there are two people sitting at the table only inches from our own. A bit of a surprise, with all the other tables around, but I just shrugged and said hello.

Randy and his wife, whose name I can’t remember were fun breakfast companions. Randy is about six foot-five, with a white flattop and one of those black cable design tattoos on his arm.

They’re from Canada and so the weather was extremely different for them. We were laughing about something when Randy told me I look like his doctor back home. So from then on whenever we ran into our new Canadian buddies, Randy called me Doc.

After breakfast we were sitting by the pool when I said, “You know, Randy is probably my closest Canadian friend.”

We both laughed and I had the strange desire to say…

”No way eh?”

You Just Can’t Tell About Some People

2009-07-16T09:43:00.004-05:00

Melissa and I spent a few days at an all-inclusive resort called Riu Palace in Cabo San Lucas. I had never been to an all-inclusive resort before, so I was a wee-bit skeptical. I mean, they tell you EVERYTHING is included and you start to wonder. My first question was, “Do they mean food, drinks, shows, everything? Or, do they mean everything as in the bed and the bathroom and the sheets and the pillows, everything?”

However, this post isn’t about the legitimacy of the “Everything’s included” promise, but suffice it to say, “Yes!” everything was included.

I want to tell you about the most unexpected and probably the most incredible thing I witnessed on the entire trip.

Allow me to set the scene:

Melissa and I had taken the 20-minute cab ride into Cabo San Lucas to have dinner and look around. Melissa had done some research and found a couple of restaurants we decide to look for, but after asking our driver about them he suggested a place called Pancho’s.

Now in Texas, Pancho’s is a chain restaurant known for its inexpensive, semi-edible Mexican, or rather Tex-Mex food. It’s a buffet style with a Mexican flag on each table that you raise when you need your waiter to bring you more food, or more drinks, or more anything. In college, because of the prices, my roommates and I went several times a week. These days, however, it’s not a place I frequent.

That being said, we were both a bit reluctant to take our new friend’s dining advice. He said he could drop us off at Pancho’s and there were different restaurants all around and we could choose after he let us off. So we agreed on Pancho’s.

I couldn’t imagine Pancho’s Mexican Buffet from Texas had a location in Cabo, but we had already driven past a Home Depot, a Bridgestone Tire, a Blockbuster video, and of course a Starbuck's so I had still had my doubts.

As we pulled up in front, it was easy to tell that this Pancho’s had nothing more than spelling in common with his Pancho’s neighbor to the north. Needless to say we were very happy.

The food was wonderful, but that’s also not the incredible thing that happened.

We had been there probably fifteen to twenty minutes, when this very large and very loud group of Americans came in and were seated at three tables pulled together right next to us. There were at least five couples, plus about eight kids between the ages of five and twelve. Turns out it was the birthday of one of the ladies. A very loud, very blond, very busty lady.

Our first thought was, “Is it too late to move?”

We had drinks and our food was on its way, so we just decided to sit back and enjoy the show.

We were sitting there being both amused and repulsed by our new neighbors. I’m mean we’re sitting in this place full of people, where about half to three-fourths appear to be local residents and I was suddenly very embarrassed to be an American. We were trying to pick up any hints about where these people might be from and praying it wasn’t Texas.

Right about then a small girl, maybe eight years old, with a plastic tray full of about 20 little bobble head toys walked up to our window, held up the tray, kind of half shrugged and in a very timid voice said, “Three for Five?” Melissa was mesmerized with the goings on of our American friends and wasn’t looking, so I gestured for her to wait while I turned to get Melissa’s attention.

I guess the little girl thought I was telling her to leave, because when I turned back she had moved do to the window by the loud table.

At this point there was a shift in the Force, and I rediscovered that you just can’t tell about some people.

One of the men in the loud group, who was sitting next to the window, saw the girl, stood up and started yelling for his group to, “Shut the F**K UP!” He took the girl’s tray, quickly counted the toys and yelled, “Let’s just give her 40 bucks for the whole tray!” He glanced over at us and Melissa didn’t hesitate to let him know that we wanted in. He handed Melissa the tray and I dug out eight dollars.

Melissa picked the three she wanted, then he dumped the tray on their table an handed it back to the girl with the cash.

With a tear in my eye, I walked over to shake this guys hand. Turns out they’re from Orange County California. I was little embarrassed to tell the guy that saying, “I’m from Orange County”, didn’t tell me a thing about where they were from, so I just gave an approving head bob.

The rest of the evening was very enjoyable. Suddenly, our new Orange County friends didn’t seem all that loud anymore. Well, except for the busty birthday girl, but then she spent most of the night at the bar. A fact that made both us and most of her group very happy.

Like I said, you just can’t tell about some people.

But sometimes that’s okay.

My Car Got Hit...

2009-07-08T08:25:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, I’m running some errands with my daughter and we stop at Walgreen’s to pick up a prescription plus some last minute camp things for her. We walk out door and the first thing I notice is a huge white scrape down the back of my car.

I was livid!

I don’t know how you are about your cars, but taking care of mine is a big deal to me. I might go for weeks without washing them, but that’s about it. I think it comes from working as a mechanic in high school and college, but the fact of the matter is things like this on cars is a HUGE deal to me.

I get to the front of my car…there’s no note from a sorry and regretful driver. There is nothing or no one anywhere around. After being calmed down by my daughter, thank you Macy for keeping me from flying off the handle, I angrily, but calmly drove home. If she hadn’t been there I probably would have gotten a speeding ticket too…so thanks again.

When I got home I reassessed the damage and found not only scrapes, but also a nice sized dent just behind the door. The fact that the dent has two creases going in different directions suggests that this person (and I use that term lightly) hit my car, stopped and had to readjust their wheels and then move again. This is on the passenger side of my vehicle, so there is no way this person didn’t know they had hit my car.

I’ve only hit a car in a parking lot one time. However, I managed to find a scrap of paper and leave the guy my name and phone number. He called a day or two later and was so impressed that I had left my name that he said just forget about it. It was an old truck with several other dings, but I left my information all the same.

Now for the “glass half full” assessment:

The damage goes right up to the door, but the door only has a small scratch. Damage on doors usually hikes up the price of repair.
Also, after using some rubbing compound to clean the white paint off, the once glaring, almost neon, blemish on the side of my SUV is now only marginally noticeable.

BUT IT’S STILL THERE!!!

Next week I’ll go to Herb’s Paint and Body to get an estimate, then decide if I even want to speak with my insurance company. I can’t imagine I will, but you never know.

And to the “person” who hit my car:

If by some strange and quirky twist of fate you actually can read, and you actually happen across my blog, and actually are able to figure out that I am talking about you, and you actually feel some remorse for the grief you have caused me…

Don’t call, don’t write, don’t try to contact my in any way. You see, with me, it is too late to do the right thing. You missed that chance when you drove off without leaving a note.

However, what you can do is this. The next time you hit a car in a parking lot, take the high road and leave THAT person a note.

This is the only apology I will accept.

Just me on my soapbox.

Thanks for reading.

Don't Mess with Texas

2009-07-06T11:35:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been driving somewhere when you get a really fun idea? It happened to me just the other day.

Don’t Mess with Texas is an anti-litter campaign that was started several years ago. There are signs and billboards on the highways, bumper stickers and even t-shirts with this logo. I don’t know how successful the campaign has been in reducing litter, but it is highly recognizable by most Texans.

A few days ago Melissa and I are in the car when we see a big SUV in front of us with not one, not two, but three Don’t Mess with Texas bumper stickers…and of course I start wondering about the driver of this car.

I imagine he was thinking something like this, “If I put only one or two of these stickers on my car people might not pay attention and really stop littering, BUT if I have three stickers in a line across the back, then that is sure to make a difference.”

I mention something along those lines to Melissa and we chuckle a bit. It could have stopped there, but the antagonist within me took over and here’s what came next.

At the next light, we pulled up next to this guy and I rolled my window down. Just as the light turned green, I tossed my mostly empty Starbuck’s cup right at his car. It hits at eye level on the passenger’s side windshield and slides across to the driver’s side with coffee splashing out as it went. It bounces off the windshield wiper and rolls down the hood. That’s when I wave and hit the gas.

Now, before you start thinking that I’m crazy, or some kind of monster, let me assure you that while the events mentioned above did both cross my mind and bring a smile to my face, they never actually happened. Yes, common sense mixed with a healthy dose of self-preservation kept me from seriously considering my trashy idea. (Pun intended) I mean for all I know this guy was a pistol packing, anti-litter vigilante with a chip on his shoulder.

But you have to admit…it would have been funny.

Picky Trash-man???

2009-07-03T12:07:00.003-05:00

Dallas has those big grey cans that either gets grabbed via remote-control by the driver then hoisted up and dumped, or they have a couple of guys who pull the cans over to a lift on the back of the truck.

In our old neighborhood, we had the driver/remote-control system and it didn’t matter what I put in that can. As long as the top closed, I could have put a person in there and nobody would be the wiser. (I’m not admitting to anything here, I’m just saying…)

In our new neighborhood, we have the guys pulling cans to the truck.

So I’m heading down the driveway just as the trash truck pulls up to empty our can. They’re blocking the driveway, so I just sit in my car and watch.

The guy gets to our can, opens it and looks inside. He shoots a half-frown glance in my direction, then reaches in and pulls out some pieces of wood and throws them on the sidewalk. Next, shaking his head, he yanks my can over to the lift on the truck.

I was dumbfounded.

By definition trash is: discarded, unwanted, or worthless material or objects.

This was a trash-man working on a trash-truck, does he get to decide (for me) what materials or objects are worthless or unwanted? Or shouldn’t he, by definition, simply pick up the objects I deem to be “trash” and haul them away?

The gauntlet has been thrown down, but I promise you this…somehow, someway these few boards I have WILL be taken by this picky trash-man.

Once again, I’ll keep you posted.

Month to Month

2009-07-01T22:58:00.008-05:00

We recently moved into a new house and we all love it. The new house has a family room and we had to buy some new furniture. The sofa we bought has six, 36 inch square pieces. Three of the squares have a back on one of the four sides, two of them have a back on two of the sides that forms a corner, and one piece has no back at all.

When we first picked them out I had the idea of having a different pattern for each month of the year. That way we’d always know what month it is based on the arrangement of our sofa. We kind of laughed about it, but in the back of my mind I thought, “Hmmm, could I really do this?”

The sofa arrived on about the 15^th of May and we set it up like the pictures below.

As June was winding down, I just didn’t have the gumption to move anything. I started to see my monthly seating arrangement as nothing more than a pipe dream. A nice idea, but one that I would never see actually happen.

Then it happened.

I was sitting at home, with all of my honey-do projects finished for the day, when I had a new sofa arrangement vision. It was a work of art! So unconventional, yet so practical, so easy, and so user friendly. Check out the pictures below.

Now I see that I’m going to have to open my mind and let the month’s sofa pattern find me. To tell the truth, August is Melissa’s turn, so I’m sure it will be great.

As for future sofa patterns…I’ll keep you posted!

First Time's a Charm...

2009-06-24T10:12:00.003-05:00

I did something today that I’ve never done before…and baby, it felt good!

It was 8:00am and I’m out cutting the yard. I don’t know where you are, but I’m in Dallas and it was hot. Not “HOT!” but hot all the same.

Let me put this in perspective: It was eight o’clock in the morning and already 85 degrees, with a projected high of around 102 for the day. To me, that’s hot.

So anyway, I’m cutting the grass on our new, much larger yard. On our old house, cutting the yard took me about 30 minutes. This new and improved bad boy takes me every bit of an hour. Needless to say, when I got done I was HOT and sweating like a pig! I was so hot I was beginning to get a headache.

That’s when I get the idea to jump in the pool.

It’s never occurred to me to do this before, simply because I’ve never had a pool before.

I was headed that direction and started wondering if my sweaty body would get the pool dirty. Then I thought, “Who cares! I mean isn’t that what the chlorine is for?”

I jumped in, crossed my legs, sank to the bottom and sat Indian style on the bottom for what felt like an eternity.

I came up, wiped the water out of my eyes, ran my hands through my hair and I felt incredible.

Yep, I do believe I’ve started a new tradition.

Now I get it...

2009-06-19T14:03:00.002-05:00

There’s this guy at my church, who reads this blog. I’m not sure how often, but I do know that he reads it, which puts him in a very exclusive and rather small collection of individuals known fondly to me as “My Readers.” I’m quite certain you can count them all on one hand and still have fingers left over.

But anyway, at church there is this guy, we’ll call him Pablo.

Pablo and I teach Sunday School together and we were just hanging out and taking attendance before the lesson started, and our conversation went something like this:

“Let me see your hands.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, I assume they’re broken, or burned and bandaged.” Looking down and toward my hands. “Nope, hmm? I just assumed since you’ve posted nothing since May that there must be some kind of problem…but I don’t see anything. It just makes you wonder.”

“Hey! I’ve been busy. I’ve had all the end of school stuff, we just moved and …”

Pablo just rolled his eyes and nodded his head.

And that’s when it hit me.

Pablo is a nice guy, a little socially inept, but a nice guy all the same. I’ve been posting here for three or four years, and in that time I’ve had a couple of posts that “tons” of people read. I don’t know how they found them, but these few posts had more than their fair share of readers. And that felt good. However, unlike my brother’s RLP blog, I didn’t really have any true Third Grade Mind followers…not until Pablo.

So for Pablo I’ll try to do a better job of keeping up with my writing schedule.

Note: Don’t you worry about Pablo. He’ll read this, but he won’t have any idea “Pablo” is really him.

Exemplary

2009-05-20T22:33:00.003-05:00

In Texas public schools we have the TAKS test. For teachers, it’s the equivalent of a mandatory, educational prostate exam given by a doctor with a frozen finger. Students, schools, districts and even communities are rated based on these scores.

The TAKS test has four scores. The highest is Exemplary, then Recognized, Acceptable, and finally Low Performing. For the schools, this is a pass/fail test and each school is ranked based on how many of its students pass or fail.

We got the preliminary scores back from the state and it looks like my school, Moss Haven, is Exemplary for the second year in a row.

It’s funny, but I have mixed emotions and I’m not sure how to feel. On the one hand, I’m feeling pretty good. My students take Reading, Math and Writing tests and all of my students passed all three tests.

However, there is a part of me that despises these tests. This is the same part of me that screams, “Traitor!” at the top of its lungs every time I look in the mirror. For you see this part believes I’ve turned my back on true education and sided with the “Let’s teach them how to take tests,” faction of the education war.

I hear the rationalizations everyday…”We’re not teaching them to take tests, we’re teaching them educational life-skills. Life-skills they will hone throughout their public school experience and then use to be successful either in college or out in the workforce.”

I want to believe it…

I try to believe it…

I think some days I do believe it…

But then I go to school and I see the faces of my third and fourth grade students. These are faces whose biggest worries should be about things like Barbie, GI-Joe, ballet, and little league. Not whether or not they are going to pass some huge, scary test.

Yes, my school is Exemplary for the second year in a row.

And I’m very proud,

I guess…

Moving...

2009-05-15T06:28:00.002-05:00

Moving is a pain in the butt!

There's the packing, the unpacking and all the little glitches along the way. First we had no electricity, then we had some electricity and finally we have most if not all electricity. It's been a crazy, mixed-up world.

However, after about a week, things are finally getting back to normal...well, kind of!

I'll keep you posted as best I can.