Well Aware

Yes, I know that our national economy is in what appears to be a free fall.

And yes, I know that our state just cut millions of dollars from education, and that teaching jobs are bleeding out of schools like a dog bite to an artery.

I know also that there will be around 37 displaced Language Arts teachers in the Seattle district alone, and I know that the district and union will be obligated to find jobs for those displaced teachers.

Yes, I'm aware that that means that the first and second year teachers currently working in schools will be "RIF'ed"-- fired-- since they don't have continuing contracts, to make way for the displaced teachers who have more seniority.

And yes, I know that that means I'll be competing for jobs against many, many other young, exuberant, passionate teachers-- who actually have a couple years experience under their belts.

I'm aware that I can sub.

And I also know that the subbing pool will be completed flooded with newly RIF'ed teachers, and other hopeless recent graduates like myself.

I know that, so long as I can get connections in schools, I probably have a good chance at subbing in them.

I also know that, since my school is CLOSING, many of the potential connections that I would have had from my student teaching placement will be washed away like spit in a stream.

And, just for the record, I also know about the Swine Flu.

I know that God has my best interests in mind, and that He has a plan for me, and that if HE wants me to be a teacher, He'll make me a teacher. I know to pray, and I know to hope, and I know to be patient. Even in the face of such dismal circumstances.

I know all these things.

So can we please stop talking about it?

Monday Morning Jitters

Even after being in my student teaching school for the last 7.5 months, and even after teaching countless lessons, and even after taking over the classes full time for the last three weeks...

On Monday morning, I still feel like hiding under my covers.

Usually that lets up when I see the kids. Hopefully the trick works this morning as it has before.

I had too many things to do and too many big thoughts this weekend to blog about them. I need, like, a mental colander. Oh wait-- they invented that, didn't they?

Anyway-- sorry about the lack of blogging. Once I distill some of these big quandaries flying around overhead-- and get my frickin' homework done-- I'll try to share.

Also, I know most of you link to me from Annie anyway, but how awesome is this girl?? Give her a congratulations if you haven't already.

Good luck with the Monday beast, everyone.

Friday...

Is such a good thing.

Even when the job is fun, Friday...

IS SUCH A GOOD THING.

I'm having a guest speaker come in today to talk to the kids about his experience growing up in Kenya. His name is Moses-- and his story sounds amazing! Should be a fun way to end the week.

Despite the vast majority of recent posts that would indicate otherwise, I DO have thoughts about life that don't relate to teaching. However, when so much time is spent doing one fantastic, exhausting, mind-scouring activity... That activity DOES tend to take over for a while. Still, might try posting some posts this weekend that are less about the classroom, and more about life in general.

Have a great Friday everyone. We made it one more week!!

Bubbling Over

It's 9:30pm. I got up this morning at 7:00am, taught all day until 3:15, went to my grad school class from 4:30 to 7:00pm, came home, ate dinner, and now I need to grade the kids' blog comments.

But I can't do that just yet. I am too FULL.

I am too FULL of excitement, and joy, and inspiration. I LOVE what I'm doing. I love this job! I LOVE teaching!

In the morning, I still sometimes get anxious, and get little butterflies in my stomach. And then I pull into school, and I see all my students-- hanging out, talking, smoking outside the nearby cafe, in their funky outfits-- and I get so EXCITED to see them! I get so excited to talk to them about what they're doing THAT day, what they're thinking TODAY.

I love reading their thoughts on their blogs, and I love reading their comments on one another's. I love seeing a kid like Tre, who got out of juvy earlier this year, who gets contacted by his parole officer all the time, who is HUGE and tough, but who has warmed to Viola and I slowly but surely... I love seeing Tre blog-- write TWO blogs, two whole blogs, when he hasn't turned in a SCRAP of paper all year. And even though the two blogs were about pot and drug cartels (but the first one was about how pot was BAD-- "Things fall apart, like if I have a relapse"), I love that he WROTE, and that he even found a picture to accompany the second! And I love hearing Tre advising his buddy Andre-- who has also been failing all year-- on HIS blog, and I love seeing the two of them check their friend George's blog together and hearing Tre then say, "What?? George hasn't posted anything yet? Loser!"

I loved watching Siaba give a Powerpoint presentation on her childhood in Africa. I loved her passionately describing the city that she lived in, in Cote D'Ivoire, which she pointed out was developed and advanced. And even though I didn't love seeing her break down and cry when describing the war in her country that forced her family to leave, which has killed some of her family members and countrymen, I was unforgettably touched, and moved. And though I ache when I think about the emotional pain she clearly harbors, I love thinking of how we might be able to help her process through some of it by writing, and I love HER.

I love telling them about Tikambe and Clayton-- two of the kiddos that I worked with in Africa-- and seeing the whole class grin as I imitate sweet Clayton's swagger, and tell them about how his cool, sagging jeans always slipped below his naked bum. I love asking the kids to think about joining me in saving money to join up with the Spilling Hope project, to help send money to Uganda to dig fresh-water wells. I loved seeing their eyes change, and grow deep and serious as I told them about how many people die in Africa because of the lack of access to clean water, and I loved that, when I asked them, "Is think something we want to work together towards? I don't want to harass you by forcing you to participate in a charity, but if you want me to bring in a jar or something to collect our change or our cash to help kids like Tikambe or Clayton, I WILL" ... I loved that they told me to YES, bring something in.

I love their poetry. I love their comments on each other's blogs, and their exquisite encouragement of one another. I love their vulnerability, and their strength, and their awkwardness, and their individuality. I love their passion, and their weird outfits. I love their tenacity, and their moods. I love their humor.

Maybe it's not TEACHING so much that I love, but THEM.

No. I love the teaching too.

What a privilege it is, truly-- to be given a role to play in these kids' lives. They are letting me in, and I am overwhelmed and overjoyed with who these kids are. It is the most delightful thing to get to TEACH them-- to invite them and guide them to further discovery.

There are bad days, I know-- I have recorded many a bad day on this blog. But this isn't talking about one SPECIFIC day-- it's not as though I just had one particularly good DAY. This is a bubbling up of the last several weeks-- no, not even that: of the whole year. I have gotten to KNOW these kids... And I love who they are. I love what I'm doing. I love the role I get to play as their teacher.

Whatever difficulties or bad days may come, today, I KNOW: this is what I am meant to do.

And I love that.

Aaaand, one more thought from Theo.

(See previous blog.)

Okay, thank you. I apologize for getting irritated. Things at the time were not running smoothly. I am in a much better mood now, though.

As much as I dislike to say it, I guess I that makes sense and I should learn to accept that. One of the biggest issues I have in life is equality. I guess you could blame that on my astrological sign. (Libra; I follow it almost sentence by sentence) It gets scary sometimes.

There isn't any need to discuss further. It was a just a little thing I needed to clear up from my mind before it escalated into something irrelevant.
So far, I'd say you are doing a just fine job at this whole blog thing. Actually, this whole blog thing is brilliant. It connects a piece of everyday teenage life to education in a fun way, and it is quite enjoyable. I look FORWARD to logging on and seeing if I got any comments! ^_^

See you in class tomorrow (If you read this before then).
- Theo

YAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!!!!

More Feedback

This time, from Theo (who got an 11 out of 15 on a blog about Lutefisk) to me.... And then again, from me to Theo.

Are these blogs expected to be at least 3 paragraphs long? Are they expected to be an edited/revised story soon-to-be pubished in a book?

You have given us no guidelines on what is expected out of our blogs EXCEPT that they are supposed to be like freewrites. FREEWRITES, to me at least, are a rough collecting of thoughts on a particular literary subject. My mother as well doesn't agree how this went down.

Sorry to be kind of brash and blunt, but I don't agree with your grading methods. I have read other blogs that have gotten perfect grades when they have had less content, even shorter lengths, and more terrible conventions (if I understand correctly what conventions mean) than my own blog.

I don't know if it was you that gave me the grade on my late essay, but I didn't agree with that, either. Late work is typically 50% straight. Instead, I got counted late AND for the things I did wrong. That is hardly fair.

I'd appreciate a response this time,
Thanks, Theo

Thanks for the comment, Theo! Please don’t ever hesitate to ask me about grading methods, or to instigate a discussion if you feel like grading is unfair. You’ll want to talk to Viola about the grade on your essay, but I’m happy to discuss the blogs.

“Are these blogs expected to be at least 3 paragraphs long?”
Generally, yes they are. I’m looking for content that would fill about a hand-written page. If it’s a poem, then I look more for quality and evidence that the poem was carefully crafted than length. But prose: yes. Shoot for about three paragraphs, or, a couple big meaty ones.

” Are they expected to be an edited/revised story soon-to-be pubished in a book?”
No. Of course not. However, those of you that have given me writing on the side and who have proven to have great writing potential ARE held to a higher standard. I don’t grade you against each other as much as I grade you against yourself; your last blog was about an “11″ from Theo, because– as I’ve told you before– I know what you can do and that WASN’T your best. Would you disagree?

Many of you are at many different skill levels; if I graded you the same way I graded a freshman that was still learning English, you wouldn’t ever improve. You would never get grades that indicated you had more to learn– and we ALL have more to learn.

However, one aspect of these blogs– which I think I like, actually– is that it forces me to be accountable with ALL of you as to how I’m grading… Because, as you pointed out, you can ALL see it. It’s forced me to be as fair as possible.

Within that, you are ALL graded on:
Length: was it about the length of a handwritten page?

Conventions: did you spell things correctly, and use proper grammar? (This is a stricter standard than how we graded freewrites at the beginning of the year, when you were not expected to have proper grammar or spelling. However, it’s the end of the year, and you SHOULD know more; plus, there’s a spell-checker option when writing the bogs.)

Content: I look for depth of thought, and effort. This is probably the area that is graded most individually.

As far as numbers go, for this unit, a blog is given:
Full credit if turned in by Friday (the due date.)
Docked 10% if turned in by Monday
Docked 50% if turned in anytime that following week (up til the next Friday)
Given no credit if turned in anytime after that.

“I have read other blogs that have gotten perfect grades when they have had less content, even shorter lengths, and more terrible conventions.”
We can discuss grades on the other blogs if you want– I DO want to be consistent in how I’m grading, so your help with that is welcome.

Does that help answer all your questions? I AM still learning, and these blogs are a brand new project, so I do appreciate your students’ feedback on how I can improve for next time– it sounds like clearer guidelines would have been helpful for you. We can talk about this more in class if you want!

They tell us to take a Sabbath.

The profs at grad school, that is. They say to take one day off a week. "You need it!" they say.

But who has time for sabbaths?? I teach all week during the days, grade every evening, do homework somewhere inbetween, so weekends are my only time to apply for jobs which I MUST DO. So yesterday, I graded blogs, and today, I'm trying to bust out another application.

But it is sunny in Seattle, and everyone is out enjoying it. One friend's facebook status update is: "Carly is rollerblading, longboarding, and biking on Alki beach with the girls."

I was invited. I turned her down to work on the application. I could be at Alki right now, getting a sunburn and riding my bike. I CAN'T STAND IT.

I saw another friend at church. "Kickball this afternoon, Greta!" he said. I turned him down. "Have to work on an application...!"

BAAAAAAH.

I am all woebegone.

The problem is, I AM still trying to pack in stuff with friends around everything else, which means that, at present: I am tired and grumpy. Last night was dinner and drinks out with friends, and it was a blast, and I did not get enough sleep.

And I tried napping but felt guilty for not working. And so still: I am grumpy. And resentful for not getting Sunday fun. And clearly, blogging instead of working on an application because of aforementioned grumpiness and distraction.

They tell us to take a Sabbath. "You need it!" they say. I need it.

But when??

The Downside of Spring

Ugh.

Stayed up too late last night having fun with friends, but I'm paying for it now.

Working with 4th period now-- which is typically the angelic focused class-- but they're all over the place today.

Adding to tired grumpiness and crazy 4th-period'ers is the job situation stress: EVERYONE at my school, which is closing down (have I mentioned that...?) is freaking out about jobs, and it is so CONSTANTLY tense.

Adding to tired grumpiness, crazy 4th'ers, and stressed out teachers is the fact that close to 30% of students have skipped class this week.

It's sunny. It's warmer. We're doing standardized tests in the morning, so many kids don't even NEED to show up until 11:15, at which point, they simply don't.

I saw two boys that were absent yesterday at a nearby cafe, when I was driving home after school. Today, I pulled them aside.
"I saw you yesterday at the cafe, but you were gone in class. Tell me... is there ANYTHING I can do to help get you folks to class?"
They were a flurry of protestations and denials.
"No, I'm asking sincerely, I'm truly soliciting your opinion: I know it's spring, the weather's getting nicer... I know that kids are going to want to skip... So what can I do to get people to still come to class?"

"It's not you," one kid replied. "I just didn't feel like coming. There's nothing you can do, it's just us."
I sighed. "We put a lot of effort into planning lessons for you guys that are engaging, and interesting, Kyle. When you don't come... it's hard not to take it personally."
He shrugged. "It's not you. I just didn't want to go."

Last Friday, when we had similarly low attendance, one kid in 5th period said, "So we're talking about Africa and then starting the book, right?"
"Yeah!" I said, laughing. "Do you guys talk to each other out in the halls about what we're doing in class that day?"
He grinned and nodded. "That way we can decide whether or not to come!"
My smile disappeared. "So..." I paused. "How should I interpret the fact that so many people are missing?"
His grin disappeared as well. He shrugged.

It's hard not to take it personally.

I posed the same question to our sparse 4th period today. "We're coming up on the really nice weather. What can I do to get people to come to class? I'm a new teacher, I'm trying to do the best I can to get things right, so tell me: from YOUR perspective... How do I keep you all from skipping class?"
The suggestions were random and mostly joking.
"Give us cupcakes every day!"
"Let us go outside!"

Viola has warned me about the utter disintegration of student focus when taking a class outside. I sighed.

It's not me, they say. Viola, the student, other teachers, say. It's not me. But when I plan these lessons that I think are fun, engaging, IMPORTANT... and 30% of our classes simply don't show up...?

It's hard not to take it personally.

Potent Pancakes

For our blogging project, the kids requested that I create a blog as well. With this blog, my teacher blog for grad school, and now the plethora of blogs created via this class project, you should all be informed that I'm basically taking over the blogging universe.

"Week Two's" prompt read as follows: "Using the internet, find the most unusual, surprising cultural tradition from your own ethnic heritage that you can-- this can be a wedding, funeral, holiday, meal, etc. In your blog, describe the tradition in your OWN words, and your thoughts about what it would be like to experience it firsthand. You're encouraged to describe that imagined experience with detail."

My response then, for MY "class blog."

Responding to Prompt 1:

I’m a mix of many different European “flavors,” but Irish and German probably make up the largest percentages of my respective ethnic pie chart, so I checked out examples of Irish festivities.


On one site, I read about the Irish version of “Fat Tuesday,” which they call, “Shrove Tuesday.” Apparently, when the Irish were experiencing one of their famous famines, they still wanted to observe the gluttony which is commonly practiced with gusto on the day before the Lenten season. However, at the time, with no fats or meats to spare… They only had eggs, milk, and butter with which to feast. So?

They decided to make pancakes.

Every “Fat Tuesday,” the Irish– those particularly in the Dingle region– enthusiastically observe “Pancake Tuesday,” by making and EATING as many pancakes as possible. RANDOM! In earlier days, a girl’s eligibility to be married was apparently equated with her pancake making skills. Bad pancakes… equaled no hubby. Haha!

My imagined Shrove Tuesday experience…

I stared down at the frying pan, already in a sweat. Mama O’Neill– who wasn’t my mother, of course, but who insisted on being called so by everyone under 50– hovered at my elbow. “Remember, dear!” she chuckled in her lilting brogue. “Ye’d best mix it well, ‘lest the men-folk think ye be lackin’ in the kitchen… Or in the bedroom for that matter!” She threw back her head and cackled. “The two go t’gether, so they say!”

I thought of Willy Brian, who I’d promised my first stack to– thought of his ruddy cheeks, and wide, bright smile. I’d made the batch of butter myself, collected from our cow this morning– but had spilled the salt during the churning. I’d tasted it earlier, and had been utterly dismayed by its brackish taste. In vain I’d tried to steal some of mother’s from the larder, but she’d whisked me out the door to attend the Shrove Tuesday festival before I’d had a chance. And here was Mother O’Neill, watching, hawk-eyed, as I mixed up the batter. I felt the sweat roll down my neck.

“Don’t be nervous, lass!” she cackled again. “It’s only your love life at stake!” Her wized wrinkles danced on her face, wiggling in inexplicable patterns as she laughed. “Here.” She shoo’ed me out of the way. “Let me try a bit.”

She lifted a spoon of batter to her mouth, and tried it. Then, with a great cough, she spewed the mixture all over the circle of batter in the frying pan, already cooking. I cringed. She turned to me, her sparkling blue eyes now full of jesting concern.

“Oh darlin’. Ye’d best serve Willy a Guinness or two before you feed him that!”

Apres le Sneaking Blogging

In 12 minutes, I will get in my car and drive to a job fair. I have 24 beautiful resumes, and 24 beautiful cover letters, all tucked away into 24 beautiful folders.

Perhaps something will come out of this?

Today, I had to proctor the middle-school WASL. As the kids straggled in, I introduced myself, and smiled at them, and shook their hands. During the break, a couple of girls that Viola and I had taught in Swing last semester came over to talk to me.

I had resigned myself to the possibility of teaching middle-school next year-- there are more Language Arts jobs there than in High School. Talking to the girls, I thought to myself, "You know, middle school might not be so bad. You can still reason with them and have conversations about big people things."

And then the test ended and they all went BERSERK. One kid, the first test finisher, spent the rest of the hour -- while other kids were finishing the test-- making as many various and annoying noises as he could. Once the kids all finished, some of the boys decided that wrestling-- wrestling!-- was a good idea. I broke it up, but honestly?? And even though, after breaking up the wrestling, the kids mostly kept it under control, there was still a hair-straightening party in one corner, and arm-wrestling in another-- which was, apparently, the more subdued concession from the boys.

And I thought to myself, "Please God, not this."

We'll see...?

I've started a blogging project with the kids. (I would like to thank Blogspot for providing a venue through which it was possible to discover the many merits of blogging. I would also like to thank Annie Parsons, without whose inspiration, blogging may have never commenced...) And I am LOVING this project so far! The kids are doing such a fantastic job... They responded to a poem for the first assignment, and kids who have not turned in a SINGLE piece of paper all year long have written insightful, interesting blogs! AND, I required that they comment on one another's blogs, and they're so sweet...! They're encouraging, and kind, and bring up other points that the blog made them think about... I got the warm-fuzzies all weekend long, reading them.

Sometimes, kids are so great.

One more minute before leaving. Cross your fingers or say a prayer for me. Sooner or later, someone will hire me right?

Sneaky Blogger

I'm in second period.

The kids are all working on a Powerpoint project.

And I am blogging.

(Sneakily.)

Last week was exhausting: there was a ton of upfront "teacher time" which required massive energy on my part. We started a new book on Friday, and so I read the first 20 pages of Things Fall Apart in a nice clear, loud, expressive voice to FOUR different periods.

Fell asleep that Friday at 9:30pm. Woke up the next morning at 9am. Was knackered indeed, and relished every minute of those 11.5 sleeping hours.

After that, I resolved, "Less of me; more of them." I believe students learn better by discovering new information on their own anyway-- it helps them learn better and also keeps ME from crashing and burning.

Still: I now have time to sneaky blog, and can't help feeling guilty. Eep.

That's all for now-- should supervise the kiddos!

Knackered.

I am.

SOOOOO

e x h a u s t e d.

And, especially after reading this woman's post, all I can think about/want to do is eat soft goat cheese with crackers and wine, and maybe some chocolate truffles.

But... thinking of standing in the Friday afternoon check-out line at the market is too much to bear.

I feel like a zombie. I keep sending text messages, trying to arrange meeting-up plans for going to a Good Friday service tonight, and I can't spell any words right.

Ey kant spel enny werds rite.

Resorting to cave man utterances now:

Kitchen.

Food. Must. Something.

Church.

Cross. Nails and thorns: Jesus.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you Lord.

And then...?

BED.

Grandpa's Girl

School was much better today-- thanks for asking. :)

A couple weeks ago, Heidi was up visiting me in Seattle and observed a couple of new habits I'd picked up. These included:
- Filling up my coffee mug with hot water to heat the cup before putting the coffee in
- Cooking bacon in the oven, rather than in the frying pan
- Cooling the bacon pan outside, on the stoop

After seeing these, Heidi commented, "You are sooooo turning into Grandpa!"

It's true: these are classic Gramps maneuvers.

But so what? I LIKE having a hot mug for my coffee-- it helps the coffee stay hot longer! And I LIKE cooking bacon in the oven-- it's less messy! And I LIKE cooling the pan out on the stoop-- it rescues the kitchen from permanent bacon-aroma!

I mean, you know-- COOL that I'm picking up the idiosyncrasies of a 79-year-old man, but... whatever. The Gramps has good ideas.

The latest habit I've adopted is perhaps my favorite: I'm listening to an audio book in my car. I LOVE IT. My entire life, I have LOVED being told stories. I loved being read to-- I loved LOOKING at books, even before I could read... I love plays, I love novels, I love picture books... And I LOVE being told stories. Dorky to admit I listen to books-on-cds, but I loooooove it.

Right now, I'm listening to Atonement, by Ian McEwan. What a story. I got it from the library before a long drive out of town last weekend-- it made the three hours there and the three hours back FLY by. The story has me enraptured-- I've become totally lost in the descriptions of the lazy hot afternoon in the Surrey countryside... Of the bizarrely erotic moment when Cecelia strips off her outer clothes in front of Robbie and plunges into the fountain... Of the dinner, and the delicious, horrific tension... Of the thick dark night that the search party scatters out into... Of Briony's frenetic fantasies... Of Robbie's exhausted walking through the war-torn French countryside...

I get of school now, jump into my car, and once more am transported into this delectable story. It's such a chocolate truffle, every time it begins again.

And the best part is! It solves the problem of hardly EVER have time to read for fun. On breaks, I gobble up books, but I'm always bemoaning the fact that there are so many books out there that I HAVEN'T read yet. Maybe it's cheating to listen to them rather than read them-- but what a great way to use this otherwise wasted time in the car! I'm becoming more well read! Sort of!

It's totally my new favorite thing.

Anyway: I probably WON'T be picking up Grandpa's appetite for peanut-butter and mayonnaise sandwiches, nor his habit of wearing a nightcap to bed... But the audio-book thing is a stroke of genius. Oh, the STORIES...!

Flip-Flop

Not referring to the sandals today. Unfortunately.

Today, I started my official "full-time" teaching for the next eight weeks. This means: I'm the boss.

Sort of.

In any case, it means: I'm the one doing the teaching. I'd planned a technologically whoop-de-doo lesson to kick off our new unit on Things Fall Apart, which entailed setting up all our students with blogs. I was nervous that things wouldn't work or that kids wouldn't like it, and blah blah blah, and was NERVOUS.

Also, ack: full time now! Equals NERVOUS.

So third period, I was nervous, and couldn't talk, and bumbled my way through the lesson. There were some frustrating classroom management moments (just a few kids in particular who DO tend to be difficult-- not, I hope, just for me) and at the end of the lesson I thought:

"I'm going to burn out so fast. Why did I pick this as a career? This is hard. The kids are hard. Thinking up lessons every day is hard. Trying to sell the kids on the lessons is hard. Why didn't I just choose a job that entails worrying about ME, not the learning and educations of all these kids? Is it too soon to start a second career? My second career was going to be relationship counseling, but I haven't been married yet. My second career was supposed to start after my first career but my first career hasn't started yet. I'm probably not even going to be able to find a job next year. What am I gonna dooooooo, BAAAAAH."

Etcetera.

But then fifth period (we only had third and fifth today, since it was a Block day) saved me. I know: FIFTH period! The notoriously difficult period! But I had my sea-legs at that point, and was comfortable giving the lesson, and the kids were good during class, and had fun starting up their blogs. So then after THAT class, I thought:

"I can do this. It's fun. It's engaging. I'm good at thinking up creative lessons. I'm good-- mostly-- at keeping the kids in line. This career will be fulfilling. This career will be fine. This career is do-able. I could be good at this. I might even be great at this. I might even love this."

Etcetera.

So it was a tiring, difficult day, and it was a fun, engaging day. And I might burn out so fast, but I really hope I don't. Thinking I need to get a skin thick enough to ride these good vs. not-so-good classes so that ONE of the latter doesn't send me into a downward spiral where I bemoan, and doubt, and quit.

Must not be a flip-flop. Must be a boot.

Or... you know. Something.

Ah, Spring!

I just have such a crush on the weather right now.

Cherry blossoms are out, their petaled arms thrown open, faces exultant and raised to the sky. Leaves are bursting out of buds with clench-fisted determination. Sweaters are cast aside, summer clothes are dug out of chests and drawers and shaken out, greeted happily. We get our first flip-flop blister of the year, and rejoice: because we're wearing flip-flops! We get our first sunburn, and rejoice: because we're in sunshine!

(She rhapsodized with flushed melodrama and made grand gestures with her arms, almost tripping herself.)

When the weather gets like this in Seattle, EVERYONE GOES OUTSIDE. There are no excuses: you must, must, must drop what you're doing: and BASK.

Yesterday, after getting back into Seattle from a weekend away, I threw on a tank-top and ran to meet up with my friend Meg at Greenlake. I found her with a bunch of our guy friends, "slack-lining." That's where you string a rope between two trees, and try to walk across it-- like a tight rope, but closer to the ground. And... you know, "slacker." I tried walking across and was wibbly-wobbling when suddenly both my feet slipped off-- BUT: monkey style, I grabbed the branch above me to catch myself. Cool, yes? Quick like ninja, HAH! But: in the grab, I ended up stabbing my hand on the branch. Like, deep. And it bled, and I bled through band-aids, even.

So one goal for this blog is to just get sympathy for my stabbed hand. Another goal is to make you feel impressed with a story about me slacklining and grabbing onto a branch superfast.

Regardless: I was barefoot at Greenlake, swinging on tree branches.

My birthday pedicure finally saw its debut.

I was SLEEVELESS.

I wore sunglasses.

I smelled flowers.

And today I went for a walk, and was in a running skort, which is short, which meant my legs were OUT, which meant that there was a great expanse of WHITENESS, but that is okay, because they were soaking up SUNSHINE.

So the other goal of this post is to simply express that I'm so happy spring seems to have finally ARRIVED! Eleven weeks left until school gets out and it's officially summer-- count 'em!

April Fooled Me

When I was in high-school, I befriended three boys on a bus ride to a youth-group summer camp. They entertained me with descriptions of when they had fooled people by telling them far-fetched stories.

"The trick is to have three people tell them together," one said, enthusiastically.
"Right!" another said. "Because one person is the main one telling the story--"
"And then someone else jumps in, and is like, 'Oh yeah, I heard something about that on the news!'"
"-- Yeah! And then the third person jumps in and confirms it: 'Me too! On CNN!'"
"By doing that, you can totally convince people of ANYTHING."

"Wooow..." I said: convinced.

"But we would never do that to you," one of them said.
"No," scoffed another. "Of course not. We like you too much."
"Awwww," I said, pleased.

"You know what was a crazy story that turned out to be TRUE though?" one asked.
"What?" I said, wide-eyed.
"When Linn Shwann, the Japanese synchronized swimmer, completely threw the 1988 Olympics."

Before I knew it, these three boys had told me the entire-- TRUE (not true)-- story of Linn Shwann, the Olympic Japanese synchronized swimmer, who had upset her favored Japanese team by swimming to the bottom of the pool, sitting on the tiles, and vehemently blowing bubbles.
"And of course, the two things that MAJORLY dock you in synchronized swimming--"
"Are touching the bottom, and blowing bubbles!" one of the boys finished, emphatically.
"Why did she DO it??" I asked incredulously. "Didn't she want to win??"
"Well, they think that Switzerland paid her off," one of the boys supplied, matter of factly.
"Switzerland had held the title for the last three Olympics. There was no way they were going to lose it to Japan. And Linn Shwann just happened to be the most susceptible target."

"Woooow...." I shook my head, dumb-founded. Convinced. FOOLED.

They all burst out laughing. I had completely fallen for it. I hadn't even questioned WHY THEY WOULD BE TELLING ME A STORY ABOUT LINN SHWANN, THE OLYMPIC JAPANESE SYNCHRONIZED SWIMMER. Ridiculous.


Years later, I was out with friends, celebrating my 22nd birthday. Two boys were there that I was only just getting to know. I heard one of them mention that he had grown up in Oklahoma.
"Cool!!" I said. "I always picture Oklahoma being full of cows and farms. 'Ooooook-lahoma!'"
"Seth grew up on a farm," the other friend said.
"You DID??" I asked, excited.
"Yup!" he nodded.
"Did you, like, collect the eggs from the chickens, and milk cows and stuff?"
"Oh yeah. Every morning. Mom cooked the eggs for breakfast, and then sent us out to muck the stables."
"That's so cool!!" I said. "I've always wanted to collect eggs and know how to milk cows!"
"Oh yeah," he continued. "Our house was actually a converted barn. The hay loft was the master bedroom-- it actually was really cool, there was a big balcony where they used to pitch hay out of the double doors."
"Seth grew up on the rodeo circuit too," Ben continued.
"You DID?" I asked.

And they continued. And elaborated. And expounded.

Until finally, Ben said, "Greta, Seth never lived on a farm."
I stopped. Looked at him for several seconds, confusion etched across my forehead. "What?"
"His dad is a doctor. And they live in, like, this super advanced architecturally technological home."
I was crushed. "Really...??" I looked at Seth, devastated. "So you really DIDN'T collect the eggs every morning...?"


Yesterday, I signed into Gmail, and noticed an advertisement for their newest Google Feature: "GMail Autopilot: the emailing tool that assesses your personalized writing style, and can then send automated replies to your emails!"

This concept horrified me, and I immediately announced as much via Facebook Status update:

"GRETA is completely horrified by the concept of Google Autopilot. Some computer writing FOR me?? What incentive am I going to give my students to learn to write?? BAAAAAA."

Seth-- that same Seth-- was the first to respond:
"haha you liked that too? i think it's a good attempt at their april fools day joke :) kinda like when i told you i grew up on a farm!"

. . .

I stared at my computer screen for a good fifteen seconds. Considered. Shook my head and furrowed my brows. Then, finally: typed a response:

"What? That was an April Fool's Joke?

... I am the most gullible person alive."