A Girl Can Dream, Can't She?

My Dream is....

not for a romantic dinner for two (although that would be nice)
or a roomful of new Gucci bags and Prada clothes (or shoes?  what does Prada make? I'm pathetic.)
or a beautiful kitchen (wait, I take it back, that is part of my dream)....
or a shiny new Porsche

It sounds crazy and sort of frivolous or  just like I have no inspiration, but my dream is for a BEAUTIFUL DESK to work at.

Yes, I would love something that smells of the Nottingham forest
and looks shiny like the wicked stepmother's mirror
And is as hard and dependable as the oak tree I climbed in to read when I was a kid.

To be able to sit at a wide surface and spread my papers and writing out luxuriously, to feel the smooth finish beneath the brush of my fingers as I reach for a revised version of my work, or a student paper, or the copy of The Garden of Evening Mists which I just happen to be reading...

To have a place that is mine to dream, write, and wonder why and how and how long....

This is the great envy I have at present!  I am tired of writing from my bed with its unreliable sinking mattress and its mouse-like squeaky headboard!  I want a desk like real writers and dreamers and adults have.

The good news is....

I'm going shopping this weekend!

An Uninvited Guest

Living in Malaysia sure does provide some eccentric episodes to our lives.  But eccentric can sometimes even turn into dangerous (my life is sort of like an Asian Western movie:  John Wayne meets Bruce Lee!  okay, not really, but I like that metaphor).  And recently it came down to the life of a snake versus the lives of my children:  no contest.

(My husband would say I was being melodramatic of course, and no one was really in any danger.)

In my ignorance (supposedly), we killed a Boa Constrictor last night.  Yes, the boa constrictor had gotten into our house.  We got home from our week’s vacation in the Philippines to have our amah announce that she hadn’t slept a wink for two nights after a BOA CONSTRICTOR had crept across her chest as she lay sleeping in the middle of the night.  Holy Terror. 

Not much scares me more than snakes.  The worst tragedy was that she didn’t know where it had disappeared to, and we thought it could still be in the house.  

And if something seems a threat to my children, I rise up into the largest shape I can possibly turn into (metaphorically speaking, of course), and I scare the daylights out of it.  No one or nothing will harm my children if I can possibly help it! 

Of course, was I the brave soul who took the life of this poor creature?  Of course not!  Blood is creepy and disgusting, and I am against violence.  Our guard from the neighborhood had the dubious challenge of either throwing him into the ditch or of smashing the snake so he wasn’t a threat to my sweet children.

There he was (some people would say beautiful in his embroidered tapestry of brown and black, but sorry, I’m not one of them), as it coiled up against the wall outside the back door, with its caught prey in its tightly constricted loins.  A RAT, the rat that we’d been trying to catch for weeks now, lay sprawled in its grasp.  I will not post a picture because it is just too disturbing for words to see a snake (about five feet long, not huge but not small) coiled around its very last meal.

And the brave young guard of probably 22 years of age killed him with a large

 2 X 4!  I didn’t watch the scenario, or I would have had nightmares for weeks, but I was standing within earshot and my husband said the snake reared its ugly head and hissed as it realized its life, and probably more importantly, its dinner were threatened.

Sad some might say, or just disturbing, but at least we hit two birds with one stone (well, three birds, actually).  Rat:  DEAD.  Snake:  DEAD.  Children:  ALIVE.  Sounds like a win to me.

The Divine Beauty of a Kitchen Aid Mixer

Ahh, how I miss it.  I long for it: the sleek head, the long gallant lines of its neck, arching over the glistening bowl it cradles gently to itself.

It can mix and blend like nothing else.

It's always there when you need it, even though it might sometimes be in the way.

The Kitchen Aid Mixer.

What a delight it is, and I miss mine.  Terribly.

My good friend told me I should put it on my wedding registry as I was contemplating that long walk down the department store aisle.  But when she told me it easily costs $250, and sometimes more, I squawked, "Are you kidding?!"  In the beginning of my adult days I was a poor teacher, had just paid off a college loan, and couldn't imagine spending that kind of money on anything, let alone a KITCHEN appliance.  Wouldn't that mean I'd have to actually cccc-cooook?!

Well, I did put it on my registry, and am I ever glad I did.  Actually, no one bought it for us.  Not many people are really going to spend that much money on a wedding gift, unless they're your parents or something, and our parents bought our wedding album, and an Amana clock.  So there was no one left to buy the KITCHEN AID mixer.

Sniff, sniff.

We bought it anyway, with wedding money!  Yeah, for cold, hard cash!

It is a little heavy, a little bulky, a little full of itself, you could say.  But it deserves to be!  You can throw anything at it and it blends like a champ, without heaving layers of flour around the surfaces of your kitchen counters, like other mixers might, because the bowl has such high sides.

And the engine is probably strong enough to tote a small car through a muddy wasteland.  You never have to be afraid it can't do the job.  It's TOUGH and RELIABLE.

Cakes, pie crust, pie fillings, cookie dough, bread dough, anything you want, it can make!

But, the saddest thing is, here in Malaysia, I don't have my mixer.  No, the wattage is different here, so we couldn't bring my black beauty with us overseas.

So I'm stuck with a HAND mixer.  Of all things, a hand mixer!  And once you've tried a Kitchen Aid, it's like going from a Porsche to a Ford  (no offense, Americans.)  It's just so very sad.

So, I am dreaming of the day in June when I walk back into my kitchen back home in Ohio, and see my gleaming, superstar, black and chrome beauty!  My Kitchen Aid is waiting for me.  I know it's wishing, hoping for me to walk back through that door and make an apple crumble or oatmeal cookies.

It's a secret love affair.  Well, I guess it's not so secret any more.

The Ten Best Things about Teaching

Teaching.  I have to comment here about my chosen profession.  Teaching is highly overrated, some veteran teachers argue, and perhaps there’s truth in that:  in all honesty, what do you get for grading thousands of papers and putting up with foul mouths and ants in their pants day after day, month after month and year after year?  You get a big, fat receipt for an ancient VW bug you bought off of “Sam’s Used Cars” parking lot because that was all you could afford.  Holes in your t-shirts because you bought the cheaper ones since they were ON SALE. A master’s degree covered in dust, useless, after you find out that a master’s degree in education doesn’t do you any good.  In fact, it may even keep you from getting a better teaching position because no one will hire you with five years of experience and an advanced degree. 

But…and here’s the redeeming part, for those teachers ready to quit their jobs and become taxi drivers:

We DO have moments when light bulbs go off and redemption is found.

We get to see students at their worst, but also at their best.

We get to see our students accomplish things we never thought possible.
We get to see ourselves accomplish things we never thought possible!

We get to help change the world, one person at a time.

We can truly appreciate 60 minutes of quiet prep time.

If we work it right, we can teach where our children attend school.

We DO get 2 months of vacation time.

We receive notes of appreciation throughout the years, and gifts at Christmas.       

We get LOTS of Starbucks gift cards!  (My poor husband doesn’t drink coffee—he bitterly passes these to me each time he receives one.)

We get tears and laughter galore— to know we are truly alive!

If we’re lucky, we get to stay in hundreds of kids’ minds and hearts for their entire lives.

Every day, I am thankful that I am a “mover and a shaker” in the best sense of the phrase…I get to walk into my classroom and discuss Antigone, Macbeth, and 1984 with the next Gandhi, or Martin Luther King Jr. or J.K. Rowling.

I have the privilege of encouraging students to think, to write, to wonder and to dream.

I get to laugh when students show a surprising talent at playing Atticus in a classroom production, or smile when they make connections between the lack of privacy online and Orwell’s Big Brother.

Yes, sometimes I wish I drove a BMW, or had a million dollars in the bank.  Who doesn’t?  But those days are few and far between. 

Most days I feel I’m living life more than most.  And my VW bug?  Well, I've found it does get excellent gas mileage.

A little less about me

I am hoping this blog is not all about me and myself and I.  Many blogs seem to be one person's rantings, like an online diary so everyone can see just how human they are (or read that as.... base).  Why do we have to air our laundry on the world wide web?  It seems excessive.  Things we would never write in a letter to someone, or say on the phone, and of course not say to someone's face, we can say online for thousands of nameless, faceless readers to read! What is the sense in that?

Because strident attitudes and intense feelings are interesting.  They sell.  And ultimately with a blog we are selling some of who we are.  I don't mind "selling" myself just a little.  But I don't want to "sell out."

So this won't be just an online diary.  And it won't be all about me.

(Well, maybe just a little about me.)

I want to write about interesting issues and what I think is important:

Family.
Raising children.
Food.
Writing.
Books.
Faith.
And did I say books?

So tune in tomorrow and I'll have something about one of these, and I hope it won't disappoint despite my lack of ranting and raving.