We went on a hike. It was beautiful. I loved my family and the overcast day and all the creatures great and small whose paths we encountered. I wanted to capture the moment. I wanted a family photo. Maybe not this one.
The 9 YO looks genuinely happy, but the rest of us don’t appear enthusiastic. This isn’t the moment I had hoped to capture. We tried again.
Oops. Darn timer. One more time.
We could do better.
And here we lose the 9 YO. Nevermind. Some moments are best preserved in memory alone.
The poet, Populist Pugilist, is a criminal public defender. By that I mean he is a public defender of criminals and not a public defender who is criminally inclined. I’m pretty sure that’s what he is. Yes, he’s ridiculously principled. If he wasn’t my friend, I’d shrivel away from the brilliant light cast by his steadfast honor and dignity. He’s also smart, compassionate, and far, far away. He’s missed at Thanksgiving.
On the other hand, his job and his ear for poo and/or sage advice has provided the Universe with a great deal of entertainment in the form of his daily quotes. I’ve determined they belong in a collection so while I haven’t copyrighted anything on this site, please know I will hunt you down, plant incriminating evidence, call the cops and make sure you have a lousy lawyer. Or, I’ll just let Populist deal with you. If I haven’t mentioned it, he’s a Brazilian kickboxing mo fo with a pitt bull’s determination. So, you know, you’ve been warned. This poo is copyrighted because I said so and I’m pretty sure that’s the only standard that needs to be met.
Without further ado, Populist’s first collected court quotes:
I can’t pick a favorite, but I do admire the thought process of the guy who justifies his flimsy defense with the current state of the economy. That dude watches the news! I also find the guy who excuses his large stashes of cash, drugs, and phones with seemingly normal lifestyle choices to be steeped in logic. Such rationality could be put to use in more honorable pursuits, I’m sure. It is reassuring to know that Populist is there helping these guys out and apparently at least two judges agree.
Todd-o, who is in need of thousands of dollars in dental care including an “elective” crown (I think that means either Todd-o wants a golden grill or insurance companies are stupid), underwent minor outpatient surgery last week. During the course of setting up that surgery, two cancerous bumps were discovered and removed from his nose. YAY nose scabs! Toward the end of the week, Todd-o got to feel the glory of state budget cuts resulting in increased tuition. OUCH. I guess we’ll be having him over more often for dinner, which is really in my favor anyway.
As you can imagine, Todd-o is in need of some good news. It may have arrived this week along with several empty packing boxes that have been dragged into the home of loud, inconsiderate, and surprisingly tolerant of high adult tenant to square footage ratios neighbors. Todd-o alerted Mike the Mormon who responded with this poster.
Click on it for the full-sized image in all it’s clever glory.
A guest post from Bob, on-call photographer & wheelbarrow operator.
Working hard?
(Jacques, I shoveled shit today. What did you do?)
I channeled Miss Emily Litela today as a parent chaperone on a field trip to the subversive produce mecca of the 17th Street Market, though I didn’t realize it at the time. For those of you not fortunate enough to be reared by parents who worked late into the night, thus allowing you unfettered access to comedians like the brilliant Gilda Radner, take a gander:
Oh, Big Brother and I spent hours dotting and crossing on Mom’s chalkboard! Perhaps this goes some distance explaining why I’m such a teacher groupie, or why I adore the cardigan, or why I can’t pee in the ocean. I think this skit was probably the inspiration behind my brother and I silently, or loudly, saying, “Vacuum!” to one another, though we did occasionally say, “Olive juice,” as well. There was no sport in letting our parents presume we liked each other. Our alliance was forged in secret. Such subversiveness allowed us far more nefarious activity than we otherwise would have enjoyed. When Big Brother is watching over you, you get to hang out at Expresso Royale. Oh, yes. And it went without saying there was nary a snitch about our willfully impious cherry vanilla Italian sodas or peppermint tea brewed in a French press. OUI!
That must have been when all went wrong. Espresso Royale, secret codes, and Miss Emily Litela. “Vacuum? I just did it yesterday. F*** you? Oh. That’s different! Nevermind.” But today was about olive juice with the kid I can actually claim to love in public without Olympic eye gymnastics. Hawt Mz invited us to name our favorite part of the market. Just because I played rugby doesn’t make me a fish fan, but I gotta say the fish monger was my favorite. Brett must have known because he took a picture. And looky who’s there with me!
Yes! I looked deep into the eyes of Emily Litela and hadn’t a clue as she and I mirrored each other’s every move and gesture and indoctrinating comment to future voters of America. At the same time, I think I’m an adequate foil to Hawt Mz, who made fun of me for taking my group to the frozen food isle to admire the ice cream and define decadent for first and second grade students. That’s right! They can’t hear POTUS tell them to stay in school, but it’s totally cool for Emily Litela to define decadent. And that my friends, is nefarious.
If you were paying attention, I attempted to record in my widgets the books the kids and I read this summer. I didn’t do such a great job. The kids read at night when it was too dark for me to see them and it is such a PITA (pain in the ass – via a Solar Rock pal) for them to speak to me, much less tell me what they read. I didn’t do much better recording the books I read. For example, I read a book from the Dear Dumb Diary*
By far our favorite was Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. I must admit, the series isn’t without it’s drawbacks. It’s highly predictable and repetitive, and is critical of the Water Cycle. On the other hand, I enjoyed the Dantesque undertones and the cameos of Melville, Voltaire, Congreve, Woolf, Flaubert, Beckett, and many, many others. Also, the kids and I have been discussing what makes a villain or volunteer. Are you a bad guy if you tell a lie, commit a tiny bit of manslaughter (or at least assault), or neglect to care for your fingernails?
We have yet to read the final book – The End. We don’t have to overly savor that book. In 2012, when my kids insist the world will end in spite of my years, YEARS, of experience with such bogus predictions, all of which I survived, Lemony Snicket is scheduled to present a new four-book series. Between The End and the end (2012), I’ll be attempting to read through all the Newbery Award winners. Care to join me?
Summer reads that I managed to compile in a list-y, link-y format (will someone please return them to the bookshelf?):
The Invention of Hugo Cabret
Flat Stanley
* Did I mention I am a sellout Amazon Associate? I am and even managed to make $2 off you suckers!
Today was the first day of school for Arizona Wildcats, and in a sense, for my son too. Today, a week into school, the 9 YO was assigned a teacher, Mr. Dub*. I’m not complaining (anymore) because 1) he had the most amazing, stupendous, wonderful substitute teacher and 2) his new teacher is gonna be good. One of the things Mr. Dub told us was that he didn’t believe in punishing kids who complete their work early by giving them busy work, but would rather give them tools to help them think more deeply about the subject. Also, he talked about presenting materials in multiple ways rather than in repetitive ways, to catch students how they learn whether it’s visually, orally/audibly, or tactilely (really, people should not let me make up words).
Video courtesy (I presume since I didn’t ask permission) of www.notonthetest.com.
As a mother who tried unsuccessfully to limit wasteful (in all senses of the words) tests (mostly as mandated by NCLB) administered to my innocent children and only quit under threat of meanness (so much for parent rights), I love Mr. Dub’s theory of helping children approach their learning (he is in great company among educators, most of whom would rather not be scripted or teach to the test). Sure, some things have to be rote, but not everything. For example, Stupendous Sub taught math using block printing of Islamic tiles. Oh, she is sooo smooches and cream.
Whatever. I just want to show a photo** of the 9 YO explaining to his art teacher from last year why he wrote “Schookson” (Pima) or “Cuk Ṣon” (Tohono O’Odham) or “Chuk-son” (“Indian”) or “Schuk-shon” (Pima) in the sky. Using water color and collage techniques she showed him (over the objections of some hum-hum), 9 YO won a Postal History Foundation art contest in both his age group and over all age groups. (Nine YO’s friend and his little brother came in 4th and 3rd place!)
And also this photo** of the 7 YO with her first teachers, her family, in Sabino Canyon.
Uh, the family is off camera. The critter isn’t actually part of the family and 7 YO’s not going to start a family any time soon so no kissing toads, or frogs. Not yet.
And that’s how you teach a kid (as if I had a clue).
* Names have been changed because I’m fun like that.
** My photos were prettier before Ultimate made me freak out about size. I may have to ignore him. Happy Birthday, Ultimate!
Todd-o and I separated the wheat from the chaff last night. Before you go casting me as a crunchy wheat berry hippie, also know that I just polished off a package of Zingers with Suzy Q’s set aside for tomorrow. Diabetes update to follow.
Threshing wheat works nicely, whether by hand or machine. Threshing schools is not such a lovely task. (Winnowing sounds more poetic and does involve a gentle breeze, but it’s not expedient for this transition.) Guess what about charter schools in Arizona! Yeah, that’s what. Needs threshing. Unfortunately, where politicians talk about “government schools” one would expect to see various programs like open enrollment, magnet schools*, and vouchers pop up. In effect, these options overwhelm parents leaving us second-guessing every decision we make with regard to our children’s education. At the same time, these programs suck resources from neighborhood schools and skim the perceived cream. Icky chaff!
How do we find top-notch students to segregate whisk away to bastions of learning? We could always test them, but when the best indicator of test performance is zip code (Google “Volvo effect”), then why bother with the tests at all? Just check out the vehicles in the pick-up lane. Put those kids with their parents’ money in one preci$ely located school easily identified by realtors and watch them soar. Of course those left in the time/talent/treasure void may not perform as well as a group and therefore we should punish those kids by closing down their schools and refusing to educate the former enrollees unless their parents manage to secure digs where property taxes are higher, swing their own college education, and give up on any service sector/civil servant jobs in favor of something tastefully white collar. Of course, a few children will slip past our ivy gated communities and we will laud them as an example of why the rest are truly undeserving.
* I’m not a hypocrite as my kids are special. They attend magnet schools where everything is perfect in accordance with the needs of my gifted and talented (and gorgeous) children. Magnet status, btw, didn’t prevent 1/3 of the faculty getting riffed and the total absence of a librarian at the 9 YO’s school. On the other hand, they have a part time attendance clerk because someone should watch after Adequate Yearly Progress.
Recently I finished a dish rag I’d been knitting for two years solid. I gave it away straight away, so, no photos. I thought perhaps I could finish a few verbal projects here. I’m terrible at tying up loose ends. I’ll tell a tale like Nugget has joined the Peaceable Kingdom or Apples to Apples: An Ethnography of the Apple Store, and then leave it at that. It’s not that I don’t want to finish the story, it’s just that I’m a lazylou. I also have a 9 year quilt in the closet with my other skeletons. While unfinished is the way I roll, a little catch-up wouldn’t kill me.
The Apple store totally took care of me. New battery, new battery charger, new battery connection, new keyboard plate, and totally wiped down and cleaned up. The outcome feels as luxurious as getting my car detailed, which I’m totally going to do one day so that I know what it feels like to have my car detailed. The best part? The cost of parts and services was over $400, but they charged me nothing. I may not understand the store setup and perhaps I’m doing it all wrong, but I’m not sorry I drank the Apple juice.
Nugget decided to join the rest of our flock and even spent two nights perched with them. Unfortunately, the morning after proved to be no honeymoon. Buttercup would have none of it and, fearing a reprisal of the earlier victimage at the beaks of the Borton birds, Nugget quit roosting with the rest, choosing instead the grapefruit tree. We tired of retrieving her and so have reverted to roosting her ourselves in her segregated cell. I’m at a loss with her. I hate to see outcasts so if you have a suggestion, please let me know.
You may have noticed from my Twitter feed that we were scrambling to find new digs. The landlady called to say she was ready to move in and was sending a contractor over here today. Being a glorious F-Friday, I overheard the contractor tell landlady that she should budget six months just to draw up plans for the renovations. She didn’t say we could stay for those six months, but I’m feeling more relaxed about the situation. Even better, I’ve spent the last seven days on overdrive trying to pare down our possessions in preparation to move. In other words, the house is uncluttered and light weight. In fact, we had a discussion over dinner that we should invite all three of our friends over for a party then tell them how embarrassed we are the house is such a pit. Get it? We’d come off as Model Home folks. Ah, we are so funny. Okay, not really. There’s still much to clean and even cleaner probably wouldn’t approach your level of cleanliness.
Fluffy and Puffy are, for the most part, gone. Must be time to weed again!
Oh, I am so exhausted! It takes the wind out of a person to attend to the details. There is no way I’m going to do the dishes now.
Something wonderful happened on Monday – betts* returned from Mexico. Oh the glory! I straight away stole her son for swimming and hot dogs. He loves him some hot dogs because his mother is a veggie eater. I guess that makes me the awesome mom and I can’t tell you how appreciative I am that betts* gives me that.
Today we relived old times by pulling weeds under the blow-torch that is a Tucson summer sun. Pull, chat, sweat. Pull, chat, sweat. Later Mr. Mechanical, who is still single ladies, showed up to pull weeds with us. The cathartic rhythm of the task at hand and the resultant feeling of tidy accomplishment set me straight for weeding possessions at home. We do need to make space for Landlady, who I still think shouldn’t move in with us nor force us to move out.
I took some bland snapshots that I am going to force you to endure. It may appear as though we pulled everything but the two birds of paradise, but we kept other stuff according to betts*’s aesthetic. She is, after all, a professional landscaper. Even so two birds were the order of the day as we also saw two house finches about four feet away from us as we worked.
At the top of the mound is a lovely little home for ants. We weeded the crap out of their abode and they didn’t like it. Nope, they didn’t. Not one bit. I swear it was all betts*’s doing as I totally identify with being uprooted by the powers that be, but the ants didn’t see it that way. Nope, they didn’t. As I innocently bagged the weeds upon project completion, those ants came after me. I guess I had a bit of a reaction.
I added the arrows since the 9 YO indicated that the non-swollen hand looked to him as bitten because my normal arthritic (not really) knuckles are so prominent. He also said the hand that had been bitten looked younger. Perhaps ant bites can be used in place of Botox?
I also have a huge blister on my index finger from pulling weeds without using gloves. That blister irritates me most of all because it’s at that spot where I turn locks, the car ignition, and the water faucets, but more importantly because I can’t get a good photo of the blister. The children have nicknamed the blister Fluffy and later thought the swollen knuckles should be called Puffy.