All posts in October 2019

Sub! Bump, crash, giggle, whisper, talk, whisper, talk, talk, talk, bathroom, push, bump, pout, bathroom, bathroom, giggle, kick, scatter, color, tear, line-up, dawdle, noisy, run, shriek, stairs, art, fall words, anaranjado, leaves, hojas, Halloween, paleta, amarillo, handout-scarecrow-haystack-October, spelling, scissors, paper scraps, some work, anti-work, work? giggle, push, scraps, scrapes, words, two good efforts, independent read. Hah! Book? No! Loud, louder. Hide sharpener I. Loudest. Untidiness · disorder · disarray · clutter · heap · shambles · rumpled · rumbled · litter · tangle · jumble · muddle · mishmash · chaos · litter · confusion · disorganization · turmoil · sight · [more]

Recess! Alone. Lunchtime.

Two hours to go. Sigh. No. More. Elementary. School. 2nd. Grade. Goodbye.

(And somebody kicks one girl hard enough to trigger an incident report. Fortunately, I am not responsible for the lunch line. Recess monitors handle that while teachers eat lunch.)

Zombie phrase for the day: Put the scissors down.
Buhhhh duhhhihhhdurr dowww.

P.S. Here we see the one big whammy in subbing. So you sign up to cover meetings. But then two teachers call out sick. Suddenly you have a full day with one group plus a number of extra kids from the second teacher’s class who have been dispersed to different teachers throughout the building. And the alleged lesson plan mostly does not match the materials you are given. Worksheets in the plan do not exist.

Jocelyn. Not. Happy.

KINDRED SPIRIT

Soft walk, low tones
Fading, gray-blond quiet
Sun-soaked truthstillness
The orbit shifts in time
half notes falling into
emptying wine glasses.
Later we drink green tea frappucinos
or passion tea.
Questions unasked.

MAN AND CHILD
Boys across the table
I like the simplicity of boys.
Old boys, young boys.
Eating chicken and cornbread.
Sam has a point.
Boys don’t do drama
(ordinarily).
I like the quiet of boys,
Who are quiet
Even when screaming
From the sidelines
As the ball rockets
Past the goalie.

_______________________________________________________________________

PAPERS ON THE BACK PORCH
Papers in trash baskets
Papers in boxes
Papers on boxes
Papers in buckets
Papers on tables
Papers under tables
Papers behind chairs
Papers behind bricks
Papers in laps.
Papers on books.
Papers under books.
Papers inside books.
Papers disguised as phonebooks,
When I came
One-by-one, I moved papers.
Recycle overflowed.
But the papers reclaimed
My new hole for a chair.
I say to my elderly parents,
Who are watching me as
I study the porch.
“Papers are everywhere.”
Mom says,
“Aren’t they supposed to be?”

________________________________________________________________________________________

ZOO2
Tapirs, meerkats, emus, bears, giraffes,
no-zebras, gone-elephants, bored-gorillas
walk sprawl inside rugged display cages
boulders, pools, streams, ledges,
shrubbery disguises nappers, lurkers
Hiding, sleeping, ambling, staring,
Playing, climbing, diving, oblivious.
Where is the fish?
Where are the leaves?
They ask a few times each day.

ZOO 1
Toddler taps, bored-gorilla taps back.
Man, the Gorilla’s Videogame.
Stone barriers form the edges of his screen.
He must be frustrated at his lack of a joystick.

ZOMBIE PHRASE FOR THE DAY:

dUHHH BAHHBUMMM IHH GU-IWAH IHZZZ AHHHH AAHAHHAA EHHDD HAAWRWN MAAHHH DEEE.

The problem with gorillas is I always get hair in my teeth.

Fiona the Aging Acura is either failing or trying to kill me. Her coolant was quietly slithering out onto the pavement, leaving Ben the Mechanic to add fluid and scratch his head at the sneakiness of it all. Her seams seemed intact, but… nevertheless, the check engine light was on and that coolant had gone… somewhere. Yet I continued to drive Fiona, the light off for a brief while after my visit to Ben.

Flash forward a few weeks: I am headed to Mundelein, into the North Country. The check engine light had come on the day before, but I was going to keep my promise to be a science teacher, and it’s not like I never ignored a check engine light. Shortly into my journey, I get a VSA light. I look this up at the stoplight and am left to consider the meaning of a “Vehicle Stability Assist” light. Stability could be considered a sobering word. I know it’s my damn “Vehicle” — it’s not like the dashboard lights are going to warn me about someone else’s vehicle — Fiona’s too old for those tricks — or the state of the Impeachment process. And who is assisting whom? All four tires seem to be on the ground and behaving properly, so I persevere. A few miles later, I will get the exclamation mark in a triangle light. The car is now saying, “Will you listen to me, bitch!?” My temperature gauge is beginning a small creep above the middle, nothing that looks catastrophic but that needle has my attention. Only a few miles to go.

I make it to West Oak Middle School. I then Yelp auto repair and find Apex Auto Repair, only 1.1 miles away in Mundelein. I wish to give Alex at Apex five stars. In a previous adventure, I found Akin’s Auto Repair in San Jose this way, and I also give Akin’s five stars.*

Alex replaced a valve and I went on my way. Was Fiona grateful for my attempt to keep her in coolant? Hardly! This weekend she staged a Honk-In!

My next adventure:

I innocently emerge from the library, enter my car and suddenly the horn begins blasting. And blasting. I try a number of the alarm-gone-wrong fixes without luck. I drive away from the library, honking loudly as I make the slow circle to the exit. I am now driving around town honking with my lights flashing. A couple of people flash lights back at me. In sympathy? To tell me car is broken? Umm… thanks for the support guys, but I have the situation nicely out-of-control without wondering about the strange responses of other drivers. The car quiets itself and I manage to get to a Starbucks drive-thru. It’s past two and I haven’t had lunch. Opening the windows seems to be safe. Then I open the sunroof a few minutes later and Honk! Honk! Honk! I make my way home, horn blaring at decibels that jangle my poor nerves raw.

Current status: Fiona is fine as long as I don’t try to lock her doors. I played with the key and the lock and she seems to have settled down. The Red Light of Screaming Doom by the driver’s side door lock has gone off. I am afraid to lock the girl, though. The Master Plan has us car shopping in November. Was Fiona listening when Albert and I discussed the prospective new car during one drive? Is this her revenge? Or an attempt to get us to put so much money into her that we will keep the aging Acura awhile longer? I can’t say, but my current strategy involves sticking ear plugs in the glove box. November is only a month away.

Not that I don’t plan to keep Fiona. I can’t imagine she is worth much and I have always been fond of her.

*Great daughter moment: We are driving to her school and I am listening to a grinding noise. I say, “How long has that noise been there?” She says: “You think it’s a bad noise, don’t you? (My fiancé) thinks so too.” I claimed the car and went to Yelp.