Happy Father's Day!

Every day at work, I see what happens to children who don't have fathers in their daily lives. The children know they are missing something, and go looking for that love and male support in all the wrong places. I always knew I was lucky to have such a great dad, but now that I see what happens to a person without a good dad (or communities without enough good dads) I appreciate mine even more.

Dad, you gave me life, love and support. You spun me around and tossed me in the air, and I felt like I could fly. You hauled me around the farm for years, taking care of me all day while mom was at work. When we were walking around the farm, you held my hand. You gave me tons of hugs, even though you didn't come from a huggy family. They were great hugs, bear hugs, where you almost couldn't breathe for a second.

You didn't get too mad when I pulled stunts like locking the doors of the truck and crawling out a window opening so small you couldn't get your arm in. That time when I was four and I started bidding at an auction, you actually bought the sheep for me.

You're not a big talker, but you let me yammer away for years. Once, I was singing in the yard and came in, asking to listen to the professional recording of the song. You told me it was prettier my way. You kept the postcard I sent you while on vacation when I was eight. You would drive your car to the end of the driveway to pick me up after school if the weather was bad. Then you'd wrap me up in blankets in front of the kerosene heater and give me a cup of cocoa.

You made me feel pretty and smart. You believed I could do anything, and made me believe it, too. Except for the sports. You were wrong about the sports. I am not now, have never been, and will never be any good at softball. But I love you for believing otherwise.

You were protective of me, and always told me to stand up for myself. Sometimes we would fight, and I'd start crying. You wouldn't want to apologize, but you wouldn't want to fight anymore, either, so instead you'd make me laugh. I'd get mad at you for using that tactic, but end up giggling anyway.

You have such a good sense of humor. Some people might not see it because you're the strong, silent type, but you're the first to laugh when something's funny. You're also great at seeing the funny side of the hard moments in life. And if someone can get you talking, you tell a great story. It's all in the timing, "or whathaveya."

When I was graduating from high school, I was trying to decide what I wanted to be. We were discussing it in the truck one day. I wondered whether I should choose something safe or something adventurous. Though (being a very practical man) you did encourage me to take some business classes, your main advice was, "You're special. Whatever you choose will work out fine, but don't sell yourself short." My jaw dropped at such a declaration. That statement has helped me to be brave at times when I might otherwise have played it safe.

When I became an adult, it was hard for us at first. You didn't know how to treat a grown daughter, and I didn't know how to behave as one. But when I told you what I needed, you did your best to do it. You've become a great listener, and so supportive. I love you so much.

Like mom, you made it so I never even understood the saying "You can't go home again." I'm afraid I must finish my letter to you the same way I finished hers: the words "Thank you" are so inadequate, but they're all I've got. Thank you, Dad.

Partying and petty larceny.

It's been an eventful week. Wednesday, Madrid and I rushed to finish our grades because they were due the next day (as described in the previous post). We were stressed afterwards and decided to unwind by going to Red Bamboo for dinner, followed by a gathering called Pub Night. We joined up with my lovely fashion benfactor, Jenny Levy. She was a little crabby from the weather and our train-delay-lateness, but I think we cheered her up.

The next day I had work, followed by grad school, followed by a reunion with VAL! Yes, my best friend Vali was visiting from Seattle. We met up at Coffee House Bar where we had delicous food and chatted for hours. It was amazing to have her back.

Friday, I got a new cell phone (the old one died). Then I threw on a new Jenny's Closet dress and met up with Laura, Melea, Reesa and Pete at Off the Wagon. It was all too fratty for me, but we quickly moved on to a comedy club. Most of the acts were rough and kind of awkward, and Melea was drunkenly heckling everyone. Cringe, cringe, cringe.

We decided to go to Solas, and that was more fun. Ryan and Dom and Sam joined us. I was enjoying talking to Sam, who is a documentary filmmaker and editor. The place was packed. You had to jostle people to get to and from the bathroom (which is when I think they carefully unzipped my purse, reached in and took it. Took what? You'll see.) While coming back, I saw my friends dancing and joined in. When the song ended, two big, blonde football-playerish guys came over, flirting and saying, "Oh, man! We were coming to dance with you. How's it going, Erin?"

I was instantly creeped out. "How do you know my name?"

"I was in your math class."

"No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was. Where are you from?"

"Iowa."

"Exactly! We were Hawkeyes together."

"Nice try."

"Just kidding. We were Cyclones together. You know Troy Davis?"

"I know of him."

"We blocked for him."

"What did you say your name was?"

"He's Mike. I'm Kevin. And she's Jessica," referring to a passing girl who looked freaked out that he knew her name. Then he grabbed a random guy walking by. "Who are you?" The guy they grabbed looked confused.

"I'm Aaron."

"Oh, so is she!" He let Aaron go, and Aaron--looking relieved--took off.

"Well, Kevin," I said, "you obviously know your school mascotts. Aren't there better things you could do with your brain cells?" Then I turned back to my friends.

"How's it going?" Sam asked.

"Those guys are tools."

"How did they know your name?"

"I don't know. Maybe they have a deal with the bouncer where he gives them the information he sees on girls'...IDs!"

All of a sudden, an alarm went off in my head: Name, ID. ID, wallet! I opened my purse, and sure enough my wallet was gone. They had stolen my wallet and gotten my name off the ID. I had been careful, but if a thief really wants your stuff, they're going to get it. By the time I got to the bouncer, "Mike" and "Kevin" were as gone as my wallet. Just in case, I checked the floor, the bathroom and with the bartender. From asking around, I found out that at least three girls (including a friend of Aaron's) had gotten their wallets and/or ipods stolen that night. I think I was the only one whose head the guys messed with, however. What, were they trying to get my wallet and my number? "Kevin" wanted to screw me over, then actually screw me? So weird.

Don't worry, I cancelled my credit cards and filed a police report. By that time it was 5 a.m. At 10 a.m. I had brunch with Val, then sent her back to her hubby in Seattle. That cheered me up. (The brunch part, not the sending her back part.)

I could let this theft dim my faith in people or in New York. The thing is, all I have to do to get my faith back is think of all the kind people who helped me out: the bouncers, the bartenders, the cops, the phone operators for the credit card companies, and most of all my friends. They helped me search the bar, under cars and in trash cans nearby (where thieves often dump ID and wallets after taking out the cash), and gave me a little emergency money and hugs. What are two weird guys' treachery in the face of all that kindness? Not much.

Floods, fun, and student breakthroughs.

So when the story left of, my feet were soaked, and my hair had been chopped off by a crazed prima donna stylist. I left the salon and stomped, fuming, to the Subway. There were tons of us crammed into the station, and there were all these wierd annoucements every minute or two. None of them seemed entirely truthful however. ("There's a slight delay on the 6 line. And all 4s and 5s are running on the 6 line. And everything running on the 6 line is a little delayed by water on the tracks. But a train's coming any minute." Sure. I believe you.)

So I decided to go catch a bus. I stood there for twenty minutes. No bus. I walked uptown for twenty blocks. No bus. Then I did catch a bus, but it took us 40 minutes to travel 20 blocks. I walk faster than that! All in all, it took me 1 hour and 45 minutes to get home. (It usually just takes 30 minutes). And my feet had been wet for three hours.

Trains all over the city were shut down by the flooding. Carolina called and offered to drive Laura and I to a restaurant for dinner. I was crabby but agreed in the hopes it would cheer me up. We went to the Blue Angel Thai Lounge, and it was great. We had a little too much fun playing with the salt and pepper shakers, which were shaped like little people. The waiter even brought us and extra set! Then we went to Soundz Lounge for frozen apple martinis. So cheap and so delicious!

The next day I went bargain shopping for summer clothes. I went to New York & Co., The Gap and H&M. For $150 I got a pair of pants, a skirt, a dress and 8 shirts! I rule. Unfortunately, my mood was a bit spoiled by the wrap-around mirrors, which showed me just how messed up my hair was. But the next day the guy fixed it, so...whatever.

Then Wednesday, my school randomly decided the grades would be due THE NEXT DAY! And my students haven't had finals yet or turned in their portfolios. It was like a neon sign proclaiming "This is not a real school!" Grr.

On the other hand, today I had a heart-to heart with a student, David, who's done no work for me this year (well, none since September). I've tried talking to him several times (and many other strategies), but Friday he decided to open up. David told me he'd given up on passing. I replied that the Assistant Principal had asked for his work to see if he was eligible to go to 8th grade and I'd had nothing to show her. I told him he didn't want to be in the same situation, and that doing work might not help him pass at this point, but it could help him get ready to pass next time. It could also show he's trying to change, which will affect his class placement.

HE STARTED WORKING! His spelling and vocabulary are better than I thought. I was so happy. I had thought I was banging my head on a stone wall with him, but it turns out the 3,000th time is a charm.

Cute clothes. The hair? Not so much.

Life's been strange since I posted last. Memorial day I went to my friend Jenny Levy's house. I played with her kitties and we watched ALIAS while I went through her closet and tried on pretty designer dresses. You see, she's lost weight and can't wear them anymore. My favorite is a little Betsy Johnson dress that I can't stop wearing. Then on Thursday there was an early dismissal (yay!).

On Friday it was raining cats and dogs, and by the time I got to the train station, my feet were soaked. I decided to make the best of it and get a hair cut. You see, usually when I go for a haircut, my hair is on its best behavior. This makes it harder for the stylist for avoid cowlicks, etc. I get to the salon on 14th St, and get this Eurotrash stylist. I have met many, many sweet, non-trashy Europeans in my day, but he was not one of them. He was straight up Eurotrash, like "Eesn't my hair cute, how the spikes stand straight up een the air? Ahnd don't you love my designer t-shirt? Well you should, because eet cost more thahn your rent."

I should have run away, but I didn't. I told him I wanted a trim with layers. He asked how short he could take the sortest layers. I showed him. He then cut most of the hair to that length with random parts shorter and random parts about the length it was when I walked in. He didn't have time to blowdry it, so I went home (a saga I will describe later).

While shopping the next day, I discovered that my hair looked horrible. The layers were clumsyand choppy with random parts much longer than the rest, and it came to a point in the back. AARRG! So Sunday I called the salon, and the guy who answered the phone told me to come on down. When I got there, the nice guy who'd answered the phone asked me who had given me the cut. I pointed out Mr. Eurotrash. Then he asked me the problem with the cut. I showed him the randomness and pointiness. He looked puzzled by his coworker's actions.

Then Mr. Eurotrash came over.

"Thees ees not my fault."

"I didn't say it was anyone's fault," I replied, "I just want it fixed."

"Eet ees your hair's fault. Eet dried all curly and..." Up 'til that point I was polite but then I got mad.

"First of all, I told you it was curly. That's why I said, 'Keep the layers to encourage the curl.' Second of all, I asked you to dry it so we could make sure it looked right and you said you didn't have time. Third of all, isn't it your job to make any hair look good? Besides, I've dried it and straightened it, and these random parts are still four inches longer! You can't blame that on curling."

"You weel haf to wait half an hour. Then I weel help you."

"What? I've already been here half an hour!"

"Ah, but you deedn't make an appointment, did you?" he asked, smuggly.

"Your boss told me to come right over!"

"I'll take care of it!" the boss exclaimed, probably upset that the other customers were witnessing Mr. Eurotrash's prima dona act. He expertly snipped away to even out the layers. Unfortunately, the result was even shorter hair. I guess the children with cancer will have to wait a little longer for my next donation to Locks of Love.

Overheard in New York

This really tickled my funnybone...though I don't know why. I just felt compelled to share. It's indicitive of the kind of thing one hears here on a regular basis.

That Really Gets My Goat

Woman: No, I'm telling you, I'm right! He couldn't eat the Trix because he was an adult rabbit, and Trix were only supposed to be for kids.
Man: Well, I always thought it was just because he was a rabbit and not a person.
[A period of silence -- the woman looks down at her food.]
Man: What's wrong?
Woman: I'm just really getting tired of you always being wrong. --Michael's Restaurant, Broadway & 34th St, Astoria via Overheard in New York, Jun 1, 2006

Also:

I Think She's Watching You

Kid #1, looking at the Mona Lisa on Da Vinci Code poster: Hey, look! It's her again!
Kid #2: Who is this lady? She's everywhere! --Downtown 1 train via Overheard in New York, Jun 3, 2006

Heh.

Happy weekend!

Memorial Day weekend should be a calm one. My friends and I decided to take it easy after our road trip last weekend.

It was a weekend of mixed emotions for me. Saturday would have been my graduation day, but I had to postpone until August. Now I don't know if I'll have a ceremony at all. So I was bummed. But it was my friend Carolina's birthday, so my girls and I decided to drive down to a casino in Connecticut. Carolina found a dirt-cheap (but nice) hotel room online. We did a little gambling and Saturday we went to Mystic, home of Mystic Pizza. We shopped and ate at the famous restaurant and had an all-around nice time. That night I was a little depressed, and it didn't help that Laura and Reesa were constantly calling or texting their boyfriends (at least three times a day each).

I've always believed that when you're hanging out with your girls, you should focus on your girls. When I brought this up with them, they told me, "You don't understand because you're not in love." Mmm-hmm.

First of all, I maintain that even if I were in love, I'd limit it to one call a day. He'd be lucky to get that, frankly. Second of all, that's sensitive of them. Especially since I recently got my heart a little smushed at the end of the most serious relationship I've ever had. Thanks, guys. But Carolina talked me through it, and by the end of the night she and I were shimmying it off on the dance floor.

Tonight I'll watch a movie and go to bed early. Tomorrow I'm going to Target (which is like a day trip here) and tomorrow night I'll go out with my ladies. Sunday I plan to go to church and then get my work done so that I can relax all day Monday. Relaxation, Yay!

That said, it's kind of a strange "celebration." It's supposed to be a day to remember the sacrifices those who died to protect our nation. In Iowa Mom and I would go place flowers and flags on the graves of our relatives, but here it gets lost in the picnicking and the sales. It's such a serious subject and I try to keep it in mind. I hope you do, too.

I have a new niece!

Big sister Brooke, along with Mom and Dad, are happy to announce the birth of Courtney Rose Kiley.

She was born at Covenant Hospital in Waterloo, IA on Wednesday, May 17 at 7:23 a.m.

Courtney weighed 8 pounds, 7 ounces and was 20 inches long.

(P.S. J.B. and Erika think she might have red hair. J.B. called me to tell me all about it, and I could hear Erika adding details in the background. It was cute.)

Me vs. Trish Darrow

Last year, my best NYC friends' names were Lex and Drew. Well, there was also my crew of ladies (Madrid, Laura and Carolina), but Lex and Drew were my first real friends here. We bonded early on in our fellows training. One day Drew expressed interest in dating, but I told him I didn't feel that way about him. He replied, "We'll have to work on that." I disagreed.

But then he never acted on it, so I figured he'd realized I was right. He hadn't. I was oblivious all that year as we struggled through our teaching and grad school classes. In the meantime, he was also working on his comic book, ArchEnemies. In June Drew told me we couldn't be friends anymore. It sucked, but he was right. I miss my friend, but our friendship wasn't good for him.

Now I can't hang out with him, but I can read his web site, his comic book, and the blog of one of his comic book characters, Trish Darrow. If Trish were real, she and I would be pals. In fact, we are eerily similar. First of all, see picture above. That's me rockin' the blue hair for Halloween 2004 and Trish, who rocks the blue hair every day. Also, Trish and I both have acute senses of smell. Seriously, we've been tested! We're both 26 and living in NYC. We both love to doodle (though I only doodle on paper and don't approve of vandalism).

I adore 50% of her favorite bands (We both love The Clash, The Ramones, Green Day, Reel Big Fish Save Ferris, Evanesence, The White Stripes, Weezer, They Might Be Giants and Josie and the Pussycats). I also love 50% of her favorite movies (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Garden State).

How much is coincidence and how much is a friend stealing my personality for financial gain? You decide. Honestly, it could be mostly coincidental. If that's the case, then it really makes sense that he would like me. He invented a girl he liked, then met one a lot like her.

If he stole my personality...well, when you're writing it's natural to draw, consciously or subconsciously, from your real life experiences. And they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. You know, if Drew and I still hung out, he would probably claim that I'm stealing Trish's personality. Heh.

One way or the other, though I can no longer hang out with Drew, it's nice that I can still be entertained by his personality through his work.

P.S. At the beginning I mentioned Lex. We still hang out when she can spare the time away from her girlfriend.

Happy Mother's Day

Okay, I know this is not my family blog. This is the uncensored version, but I'm posting my Mother's Day tribute from Girl Out of the Country (erinkiley.blogspot.com) anyway:

One day, while flipping through the channels I saw a program on PBS called Mother Daughter Wisdom. Dr. Christiane Northrup wrote a book and gives talks on the connection between emotional health and physical health, and she had a lot of salient points on the connection between mothers and daughter and the effect that relationship has on your health.

Anyway, when the show started, I loved my mother and all the great female role models in my life. By the end of the show, I really loved my mom and my female role models. Really loved. I had to pick up my phone and call my mommy on the spot. I don't remember what Dr. Northrup said exactly...I think basically she was outlining all the ways it can mess up your health if you have a bad mommy, with a few examples of bad-mommy-having. This highlighted for me the benefits of my own good-mommy-having.

Thanks to all the smart, nurturing, brave women in my family who support me. But thanks, most of all, to my mom.

Mom, you gave me life, love and support. You cooked for me. You changed my diapers and did my laundry. You didn't have a nervous breakdown when I was a tiny little girl and you would wake up some mornings and I was GONE and you would have to search the farm frantically and find me up in some TREE somewhere, even though you had taken the precaution of hiding all my clothes in a dresser that was practically in your bedroom.

You believed me when I was sick, and even though my teachers told you I was a hypochondriac, you kept taking me to doctors until we found Dr. Gold and he fixed the problem.

You took me on Girls' Night Out to the movies and the symphony and to touring Broadway shows. You indulged my passion for old movies and let me watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and Grease every day for a year. You gave me the theater bug by letting my haunt the Bittersweet Theater while you and your friends rehearsed.

You taught be about feminism and choice. You let me be an overachiever with a million activities and responsibilies (which, in turn, complicated your life). You told me it was okay to say "No," when people ask for help, too (even as you were trying to master that skill). You told me, at least a million times, "Be a problem solver, Erin!"

You let me cry when I needed to. You told me not to be a teacher. You were incredibly supportive when, six years later, I did become a teacher. You made it so I never even understood the saying "You can't go home again." The words "Thank you" are so inadequate, but they're all I've got. Thank you, Mom.

Hot night. And ow.

I had a great weekend. I went to a "Fellows Happy Hour." Actually, the only Fellows there were me, Sara and Caroline, but some of their friends were there, too. They were really fun people. I was wearing makeup and a cute little dress and had my hair down and naturally wavy. Sara didn't recognize me at first.

"Wow! You clean up good! I was thinking, 'Who is that beautiful girl walking in here?' And then I realized it was you! Seriously. You look great."

Heh. On the one hand, she was so complimentary about how nice I looked. On the other hand, do I look that bad normally? Well, to be fair, she usually only sees me right after a hard day of teaching.

It was great to have new conversations with new people. Then I met up with Madrid, Jen, Laura, Carolina, Jenny, Reesa and Pete. We chatted and drank for a while. Then Madrid and Jen took off and the rest of us went dancing at Opal. Laura, Carolina and I stayed the longest, shimmying into the early-morning hours. We were the hottest girls in the room, though not the prettiest. You see, the Opal crowd is rather preppy. The other girls were all so concerned about their hair and makeup and manicures. We were just concerned with dancing with abandon. That attracted the men like flies! But in the end, we shooed them all away and Carolina even drove me home. Yay!

This week has gone by quickly, but the kids have been stressing me out so much I'm getting stabbing pains in my stomach. My pre-ulcer hasn't been this exacerbated in years. I've put myself on a bland diet, and I hope that will help for now. I had been thinking about staying at my school, but I guess this means I need to look for a new place to work.

Happy Birthday to Me!

April 29 was my 26th birthday, and I had a lovely time. I spent most of the day relaxing in my apartment. I watched The Muppet Movie and cried during the finale ("Life's like a movie. Write your own ending. Keep believing. Keep pretending. We've done just what we set out to do... thanks to the lovers, the dreamers and you!") You can laugh if you want, but I've always found that scene so moving and inspiring. I'm glad I haven't outgrown it.

I fielded some birthday calls from the family, and that night I joined my best friends. Laura, Madrid, Chris and I met up at La A'nnam for supper. I didn't want to carry leftovers around, so I ate and ate and ate WAY more than usual. My friends could have warned me. The could have, but they didn't.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I said.

"No," Laura replied. "Don't go yet. I'm telling you a story."

"But I have to go to the bathroom."

"No."

"Why not? What, did you get me a cake," I joked, "because if you did, they're sure to bring it the minute I leave."

"No, we didn't get you a cake," she replied, just as a waiter carried up and adorable chocolate cake with a fudgy center and they all began to sing. So I was stuffed to the gills, but of course I had to eat it anyway! And it was fabulous.

Then Chris went home. The girls and I bought a deck of cards and met up with Carolina at Blue and Gold for some libations, conversation and card-playing fun while listening to the best jute box around.

The card game was Cat's Circle of Death, a game I've never played without having a great time. I'm not sure I'm following the rules correctly (because it's a drinking game, and it's hard to remember the rules of a game you've only ever played while under the influence of booze). Here it is as closely as I can remember: An ace means you get to make a rule. Cards 2-5 mean you take as many drinks as the card says. Cards 6-10 mean you get to "deal out" the number of drinks on the card (for example, you draw a nine and make Carolina drink three and Laura drink six). A jack is a "social," so everyone takes a drink. A queen means "questions," which we play as a round of "Never have I ever" (eg. "Never have I ever worn handcuffs," and if you have, you drink). A king means "kategories" (for example, "Types of beer" or "Beatles songs" and the first person who can't think of one drinks).

Madrid quite evilly made the rule "Any time a 9 is played, anyone whose birthday is April 29 has to buy a guy a drink and get a guy's number." By the end of the night, I was VERY popular, but I the bartender probably thought I was a total slut. You see, somehow the 9 got played SIX TIMES. I was too drunk to really call my friends on their cheating.

"But I've got four numbersh already. Did you guysh put that 9 back in the deck?"

"No, we swear," Laura replied.

"Well, then you bitchesh sent me out on a six!"

"Oops," Madrid replied. "Oh, well. Go!"

I make it home safely an woke up the next morning with a crumpled pile of numbers on my bedside table. My twenty-sixth year? So far, so good!

Good day.

Today has been a surprizingly good one!

It's poetry month, and I've got all my students digging deep to write poems about an emotional moment. It could be any emotion, whether happy, sad, angry, scared, nervous, etc. All I asked was that it be true, and they describe how their bodies felt when they had the emotion. Some of them are struggling with that concept, or with the concept of turning a story into a poem.

On the other hand, some of them are getting it, getting it in a way that takes my breath away. Literally. I get all...what's the Yiddish word...verklempt. The kids tease me about it, but they beam with pride when I get so excited. One girl really struggles in my class, but she wrote an amazing poem about her father dying. She had a strong understanding of what words could be omitted and how to break the lines to make it poetic. She also did a great job of explaining how her emotions felt: "I began to shake// like I was freezing.// My mother held me// like she was trying to make me warm." When I told her she got an A on the project (actually, in New York it's by number, so she got a 4), her jaw dropped in disbelief. "Really? A four, Ms. K?" Then she asked me again at the end of the period, perhaps afraid I would change my mind. I don't think she'd ever gotten a top grade in language arts before. I know she never has with me. I'm so proud! And she's just one example.

Eighth period, my students were kind of rowdy. One girl, nicknamed Bzanka, has been driving me nuts lately. Instead of doing her work, she kept leaning back in her chair and distracting the kids behind her. I warned her to stop. Later in the class, she fell and before I could help it, I cracked up. The kids have never heard me all-out laugh before, so that caused all of them to go crazy laughing. Bzanka was fine, and I apologized for laughing at her, still laughing until my eyes teared up. Not laughing at the silly things my students do (trying to derail my lessons) is part of the job discription, but it felt good to let down my strict facade for a moment.

During the extended day, I was talking to a student about her lateness. She replied that I'm late sometimes, too (which is regrettably true, though I have improved a lot) and that I run on "CPT-- Colored People Time." I admonished her that she shouldn't say racist things, not even against her own race. I added that it was a stereotype. I know lots of black people who are prompt and lots of white people who run late. "Nope," she replied. "It's like my aunt...Grandma says she'll arrive late to her own funeral. I think you're black, Ms. K." Then I realized what she was doing with her teasing.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Monae." Her face broke into a big smile. She was excited that I had recognized her teasing for the compliment it was. Then she gave me "pounds," a show of respect done by tapping her fist against mine.

That reminds me: I've added shaking hands with my students to our classroom routine. They have to shake my hand and tell me they're ready to be scholars before they come into my room. Class 705 used to run into my room, chasing each other. Now they stall for a little bit by refusing to shake hands, or by trying to give me pounds or jive-shakes (there's probably a better term, but I'm not cool enough to know what it is. I'll ask them tomorrow), but once they get in the room, they're more tranquil. Well, April's almost over. Just May and June to go! Wish me luck.

Hooligan

When Tut died, I was really upset-- partly because I loved him and partly because I was losing yet another part of what it meant to be home. At Christmas, it was strange to be in a random apartment instead of the house but it was so comforting to have Tut crawl into my bed in the middle of the night and curl up on my torso, purring.

Hooligan is not exactly comforting. Petting a cat is supposed to be soothing and lower one's blood pressure. Petting Hooligan, on the other hand, requires nerves of steel. At any moment, he could snap and claw you. I was reminded of this the hard way my second day of vacation. I was on the couch, working on my research project, and he jumped up on the back of the couch really near my head. I was happily petting him when he suddenly scratched me. I was rather miffed. Then dad came home and saw Hooligan perched by me.

"Huh," Dad mused. "He doesn't usually do that." Hooligan usually sleeps on chairs that are pushed in at the kitchen table, or under the kitchen island. It turns out, my homecoming was making Hooligan atypically social. He really did like me. He wanted to be near me and lay by my head and purr. He just didn't want me to touch him. Once we came to that understanding, I began to enjoy my furry, purring couch decoration.

Iowa

I had thought I might travel around Iowa visting family, friends and cultural attractions. Did I do any of that? NO! Will I do any of that? No. Thursday Mom picked me up from the airport. It was a fabulous 88 degrees out! We went to a local restaurant for supper, the the Maundy Thursday service at church.

Friday I was getting some much needed rest at the apartment, though I did walk the dog three times in the glorious sun. That night I went to my friend Jessy's pretty new apartment in Johnston to see my Des Moines friends.

Saturday was spent and Unkie and Helen's farm, working the sheep with Mom and Dad. Helen made us a wonderful lunch (pork tenderloin sandwiches!). Then Mom and I decided to pick out a movie to watch together. I wanted one we could all enjoy and that would keep Dad awake, so I got Mr. & Mrs. Smith. I liked the movie, and I thought Mom would enjoy the comedy and Dad would enjoy Angelina Jolie. I think I was right.

Sunday, we went to Waverly to see J.B., Erika and Brooke. Brooke is cute as can be, and smart as a whip. She's not even two and she can already sing the alphabet song. I know that everyone is convinced that their baby relative is the cutest and smartest, but mine actually is.

Yesterday I spent the day working on grad school assignments. Grandma Carol and Grandpa Kenny came over for supper. It was so nice to see them, especially since I didn't get to the last time I was in Iowa. Grandma is toying with writing her memoirs, and she should because it is a dramatic and fascinating story. By the time she was 23, she was widowed with three kids. I told her I didn't know how she managed it. She laughed and said, "I didn't have much choice!"

Today I did more grad school stuff, and that's the plan for tomorrow, too. Tomorrow night, though, I've been envited to my cousin Hannah's concert and supper after. Then, Friday morning, Mom will take me to the airport and I'll fly back to New York. It goes so quickly!

Hoo-ah!

I can do this. The surgical interns on Grey's Anatomy save lives without sleep. Navy Seals fight guerrilla forces without sleep. New parents raise tiny babies without sleep.

I'm a surgical intern, a new parent, a Navy Seal! Okay, no, I am clearly not ANY of those things. I'm a grad student with my Master's portfolio and a major research project due...not to mention lessons to plan (including one for an observation) and papers to grade and students to educate. And all without sufficient sleep.

I'm really trying to get everything done, but I'm not sure I'm going to make it. Oops. Admitting doubt and weakness is not very Navy Seal of me, is it? Well, that's yet another reason why I do not belong in the armed forces.

At least I'm coming home to Iowa on Thursday. Hooray! Then I can sleep.

No life...

I've been so busy lately, working hard at school and grad school. It's a case of too much to do and too little time, with everyone expecting so much. No one cares what else I already have on my plate. I know you all can relate to that, right?

Now that I'm single, I have a little more time to get things done. I haven't gotten much chance to use that time so far, though, since I was recovering from the flu. The doctor said sometimes it can take weeks. Ugh. I finally feel better, but I'm still exhausted because of all the stuff I have to do and DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME. It throws me off completely.

But right now things are going pretty well with my students. They say the cutest things. Last year a student told me teachers smell like books. Last month, one student insisted on saying over and over and over that I have "no ass." One of my little, pre-pubescent boys tugged my sleeve and sweetly said, "Don't worry, Ms. K. You have a nice ass." So many things were wrong with the whole scenario!

Today a student was dawdling at dismissal and I told her to hurry up.

"Miss, for once I want to stay and do my work and you want me to leave."
"Well, I want to go home. You know I have a life outside of school, right?"
"Do you really want me to answer that, Ms. K?"

Ha! The funny thing is, lately she's been pretty much right.

Weird quiz, pretty picture

My friend Gwen's boyfriend, Nathan had a strange quiz posted on his blog. I think it's related to some kind of online roleplaying game. The illustration was cool, so I decided to take the quiz, too. Here are my results: The test tracked 4 variables. Compared to other people my age and gender, I scored higher than 29% on Combativeness, higher than 39% on Sneakiness, higher than 64% on Intellect and higher than 91% on Spirituality. According to the test I am a---

Mystic Theurge 44% Combativeness, 33% Sneakiness, 76% Intellect, 69% Spirituality

Brilliant and spiritual! You are a Mystic Theurge. Score! You have a prestige class. A prestige class can only be taken after you’ve fulfilled certain requirements. This may mean that you’re an exceptionally talented person, but it probably doesn't. The Mystic Theurge is a combination of a cleric and a mage. They can cast both arcane and divine spells, and are good at both, making them pretty terrifying on the battlefield. They have more raw spellpower than just about any other class. You're both intelligent and faithful, but not violent or deceitful. I guess that makes you a pretty good person.

Nothing like a random internet quiz to let you know you're a pretty good person. If you want to take this random quiz, too, go to http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=1532690756472625027

Tut

Mom called Friday with bad news about my gorgeous cat, Tut. We got him when I was 8. I was supposed to just get Sheba, my crazy Siamese (who died when I was 12 after she ate all the strings from a roast).

When we went to get Sheba as a tiny kitten, we could hear Tut purring from across the room. Mom instantly knew we had to take him home. He was a mighty hunter from the beginning. Once, he jumped to catch a fly and landed in the toilet. He was also adventurous. We would come into the kitchen in the morning, and his tiny kitten self was way up on top of the refrigerator. We couldn't quite figure out how he got up there. During a sleepover when I was 13, my friends and I were amused to discover he loved Doritos: he was dragging them out of a bowl on my dresser. And he once caught a bat! I called him my puma, because he was so grand. He would stretch out on my torso. His head would be nestled into my neck. His front legs would be on my chest, his back legs on my hips, and his tail would reach down to my knees. My puma.

He had a stroke, and Mom had to have him put to sleep. She told me earlier this month that his health had declined. It was hard on her to have to do it, but I appreciate it. Poor Mom. She's had to make that decision so many times in my life. It's sad to think I'll never cuddle with him again. It was one of my favorite things about visiting home. I dreamt that I was there when he died, that the whole family, and all the family friends who loved him were there. I was happy to be there for him at the end and woke up crying.

Flu bug

It's been two weeks since I posted. The Monday and Tuesday after my last post, my students had their big statewide math exam and a nasty stomach flu was going around. Tuesday after the exam, by kids were all stressed out, so I did a readaloud from Freak the Mighty (an excellent book) and started showing the movie version, The Mighty (which is also excellent). I planned to compare them with a Venn Diagram after. The kids were really getting into it. It's a great story of two boys who become friends, and one starts the movie as a struggling reader, but ends it as a writer. Watching my students get so involved, I was smiling. Then I felt like I was going to cry all of a sudden. I wondered what was wrong with me. Some of you who know me well recognize the foreshadowing.

"Hmm...Erin mentioned a stomach flu, and she always gets rather emotional when she's sick..."

Yep. I was violently ill, so I had to yell for someone to watch my room, then run to the bathroom. They sent me home shaking and near tears. I had to walk eight blocks to the subway, then ride the train home, hoping the whole time that I wouldn't be ill again. I called the doctor for an appointment. They told me not to come in, but gave me great advice on how to get better. The next day I felt fine, so I went back to work and finished out the week.

Last week was pretty uneventful. I was swamped with work and grad school, and I was exhausted. Friday after work I went to the doctor because I thought I was sick again. They said it was probably more like "sick still," as it can take weeks to fully recover from the recent stomach flu strain. She also said that my recent weightloss seemed okay: at 127 lbs. I'm still in the healthy range and I have a healthy diet. If I inexplicably lose more, I can meet with the Fordham nutritionist, though. She said to rest up this weekend, so I did. I stayed in all weekend, and now I'm more than a little stircrazy. Wish me luck with the busy week ahead.

Gimme a break, gimme a break...

So, it turns out that our real breakup is going almost as well as the semi-breakup went. On Wednesday, Mr. B and I squabbled about how I dismissed my students from class (and I firmly told him to chill out so we could discuss it rationally. He did and we did). Other than that everything has been amiable. Yay!

It's been a busy week with tons of homework from grad school, and my weekend was so boring and solitary. I couldn't get together with my best friends. Lex was off dating. Madrid was celebrating her recent engagement and making wedding plans. Carolina was in Cape Cod for a conference. Laura's boyfriend's dad died of cancer, and (of course) she was very upset.

The negative thing about being a nurturer and independent is that your friends don't always feel the need to nurture you. And this is terrible and selfish, but a death in the family definitely trumps a breakup, so I don't expect to be comforted any time soon. Laura will need it more, and I'll comfort her gladly.

Actually, my out-of-town friends have been stepping up in the comforting-Erin department with calls and online messages. Mom's also been checking in, though she never brings up why. I love you, too, Mom!

And now I have to get ready to go back to work tomorrow where I will face a room full of ghetto tweens. But I'm going to make it...right? Right. Sure. Six and a half months down, just three and a half months to go until summer vacation and, if all goes well, college graduation. If an independent study a few other Fellows and I need gets cleared, I'll be done with my degree by the end of June and officially graduate in August. I might even get to take part in the May graduation ceremony. For now it's all up in the air. Wish me luck.

Break it up, part II

Monday, I was nervous about seeing Mr. B post-breakup, but it went okay. Tuesday he came to my classroom to chat, and the rest of the week he was really friendly.

"Wow," I thought to myself, "This breakup is going really well!"

Then on Friday he called me, and I was so happy to get the call. You see, a part of me hoped he was calling to apologize and get back together. Well, I was half right.

"You seemed really distant all week...like you didn't want to see or talk to me," he said.
"Well, things were awkward, especially on Monday, but that's normal, right?" I replied.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you used the words 'time,' and 'space' and said I could see other people."
"I wanted to think things through and I didn't want you to feel like you had to wait around for me, but I still want to see you. I think this time apart was really good for us. How do you feel about it?"
"Well, I definitely thing it's good things didn't go on the way they were with us fighting..."
"Exactly!"
"But...but I'm still stuck on you not trusting me."

He told me, again, how he trusts me not to hurt him, but that he wouldn't take back his wrong, hurtful accusation. He was actually annoyed that I was so focused on it.

"If you want to throw away something that could be good over something so petty, fine," he fumed.
"I can't be with someone who doesn't believe me," I said.
"I'm not asking you to be with me."
"Well, exactly," I replied, "So I hope we can get along like we did this week."
"No, I just meant...why can't we just go out and spend time together without all this commitment stuff?"
"I don't care about commitment. Let me put it this way: I can't date someone who doesn't believe me."
"Fine," he responded tersely, "Call me if you change your mind." Say what! That almost made me laugh, the nerve of it.
"Oh," I replied brightly, "I'll do that." But don't hold your breath, I thought.

Break it up!

I think Mr. B. is history. In a post last week I mentioned that Mr. B and I had a big fight. We were supposed to get together this weekend to talk it out, but when I called him to see what was going on, he sounded weird. I said, "Should we break up?" He said "No," but then the words "time," "space" and "see other people" were uttered. So, in other words, we've broken up without actually breaking up.

Don't worry, I'm fine. I will probably miss him, but the fact that we were fighting so much this early in our relationship was a pretty good sign that we weren't meant to be. It is possible that he actually means that he just wants a little time and space, so don't hold me to this broken-up thing. Although I doubt that, and even if he does mean it, I'm not sure I would want him back unless he can treat me better.

Oh, well. I'm a 25-year-old single girl in NYC, and that's not a bad thing to be.

Must not shop...must not shop!

I am in a very materialistic mood. I’m tempted to shop, but instead have decided to focus on some things I love and already own:

My i-pod Shuffle. A gift from Mom and Dad, it supposedly holds 90 songs. I’ve crammed on about 130 songs. It’s the soundtrack of my life, and it makes life’s mundane tasks more fun. It also makes it easier for me to ignore weirdos who try to talk to me on the subway.

Uni-ball Signo gel pens (medium point in 8 colors). These pens are my new favorites, a recent switch from the Pentel RSVP (to which I’d been loyal since high school). The Signo pens are pretty, comfortable to hold, long-lasting and write more smoothly than any gel pen I’ve ever tried. Love, love, love!

Pentel RSVP, I have not completely forsaken you. I recently found the RSVP Mini, which comes with a hole in the cap and a key ring! You can use the hole to tie or hook it to things so the pen doesn’t get lost. I have one in my purse, I’ve tied to my journal, one is hooked into my backpack, and I wear the last one on the lanyard I wear while teaching (yes, I know it’s geeky, but I have to have my keys and a whistle to call deans in case of emergency). The RSVP mini is love of my teaching life! Unlike pens I’ve had in the past, I never misplace it.

Dove Toffee Tango Cookies. The chocolate and toffee layers are luxurious! The shortbread-ish cookie layer keeps it from being too rich. Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum. Warning: It is impossible to just eat the suggested serving size.

Yoga Booty Ballet workout system. The name? Ridiculous and embarrassing. The results? Worth it. For about $40 I got DVDs with 4 workouts and a guided meditation, a little “squeezy ball” and a diet guide. I had to buy my own 3 lbs. handweights for one routine, but they were cheap at a local sporting goods store. Each workout is a weird combination of yoga, funky moves and ballet moves. The diet guide is insane and should be ignored (two days of fasting? I think not!) but the tapes are fun. One is cabaret, one is hip-hop and the other two are generic YBB workouts. The variety keeps me from being bored, and the different workouts are different lengths, so I can pick according to my schedule. I feel energized (and it helps burn the calories from all those Dove Toffee Tango cookies).

Acupressure massages. It is delicious torture. The masseuse’s fingers and knuckles dig in to knotted muscles and attack them until they beg for mercy and you are relieved and relaxed. (Okay, technically this isn't "something I own." It's more of a service I have purchased in the past.)

Stila eye shadow and lip gloss. I use a lot of Estee Lauder makeup, but these Stila products have proved fabulous additions. The eye shadow color is called Crystal, I think, and highlights my brow-bone (as recommended my Carmindy from What Not To Wear). The lip gloss is nearly clear. I have a terrible time finding lipstick because my natural color makes it look weird…I can’t explain it. The Stila salesperson said that was my mistake: “You’ve naturally got a beautiful, strong lip color. Don’t hide it; use something sheer with just a little peach tint so you’re not so pink-pink-pink.” And my makeup life has been so much easier ever since.

Next post, I hope to focus on less-material things I love.

Screaming and Dreaming

Okay, not screaming, but fighting. Oh, the fighting...with Mr. B...again...some more. I've become one of those girls who is constantly fighting with her boyfriend, and her friends don't understand why she puts up with it. I don't entirely get it either. No, I do get it; sometimes Mr. B is amazing and very sweet and romantic. But during last night's fight...oh, I still cannot believe what he said to me, and I'm loathe to print it.

Basically, he accused me of lying about something important, and in doing so, broke my heart. I squeaked out between sobs, instant tears streaming down my face.

He went on to tell me I was probably telling the truth, but he could never really be sure because he wasn't there and he hasn't known me long enough to trust what I say. But I shouldn't be insulted by that because he doesn't even trust his mother. He later added that he trusts me to make good choices and not do anything to hurt him, but he doesn't trust me enough to believe whatever I say, and that I'm crazy and "fucked up" to expect him to. He also said I was "on my high horse" about my virtue, like I thought I was "the Virgin Mary Immaculate." Wow. Then he got mad that I was obsessing about his accusation, when that wasn't the point of his argument anyway. The point was that he felt pressured to spend every Saturday with me and didn't like the pressure. Well, he definitely won't have to worry about me asking him to hang out any time soon. I wonder if that was the point. Right now Mr. B stands for "Mr. Big Dumb Boyfriend." Whatever.

Last night, I had a dream that I was putting on a play, and everything was going wrong. I wasn't an actor in the play. I was a stage manager or something, running around trying to keep this calamity of a play going. At one point a pitcher of water was spilled on the stage and me. I was trying to sneak out of the auditorium. Then, a child acting on the stage broke character. Instead of addressing a line to the actors on stage, the little blonde looked at me and said, "What do you think, Erin?" The spotlight operator turned the spot on me, and the audience turned to look at me. Then I began to sing:

"It happens.
Sometimes you lose track
of where you're going.
It happens.
Sometimes you lose track
of who you are.

When that happens,
stop and look around you.
Stop and look within you.
Find that guiding star.

Everyove
trips and stumbles
while walking life's highway.
Everyone
wanders and wonders,
'Am I playing the right part?'

When that happens,
stop and look around you.
Stop and look within you.
That's the place to start."

And then I woke up. Proof I've watched too many cheesy musicals? Could be.

Happy Valentine's Day!

I hope you all had a lovely Valentine's Day. This was only the second Valentine's day of my life with a boyfriend (the last one was Doug way back in 1996. I had my braces removed that day and was cheerleading at a basketball game. He surprised me by showing up with flowers. Aw! He was sweet. He didn't make me laugh, but he was nice).

Saturday, Mr.B and I had Korean food as the snow began to fall. At dinner, we got into some deep conversation. I admitted that some of his criticism bothered me. He said he didn't want to be dishonest or keep things bottled up. I replied that I didn't want that either, I just want him to think, before criticizing, about how it will make me feel. "If you feel it will hurt my feelings too much, don't say it. If you still think it's worth it, okay." He agreed to that. In the course of the conversation, Mr.B also informed me that he was with his last girlfriend for three years and they broke up just before he finished college (About 4 or 5 months before we got together). Wow. This was more than he had ever told me, because for him former relationships are taboo. Anyway, it explained a lot about how he acts with me...simultaneously intense and committment-phobic. I'm not looking for long-term committment, either, which makes it about perfect. I just which he'd relax and let things be a little more casual sometimes. (He'd probably say the same about me.)

Saturday Mr.B ended up snowed in at my apartment, and didn't get dug out until late the next day. So Sunday we made omelettes for breakfast and ordered pizza for lunch. I hadn't had pizza in ages. Mmm...pizza.

Mom and Dad's 34th anniversary was Sunday, so I sent them roses. I'm happy for them and proud and feel very lucky to have such a role model for love and relationships lasting a lifetime.

Tuesday I was in my classroom eating lunch with Mr. B when I noticed a gift bag on my desk.

"Did you put that there?" I asked.
"No," he replied.
"Huh," I said, looking quickly at the tag. "No name." I put the bag down and went back to eating.
"What was in the bag?"he asked. I opened it again and saw a cute book (no inscription) and a little box of chocolates, and told him so.
"Who would care enough to give you that?"
"Maybe Madrid."
"You know," he mused, "some people would say chocolate isn't good for you."
I laughed, because Mr. B has been teasing me that chocolate is directly responsible for my cavities. "So," he continued, "who would care enough about you to get you the small box of chocolates?" I laughed, finally realizing the game and thanked him. "How long would you have kept believing me?"
"Probably forever."
"You're so gullible."
"I've told you before, I'm credulous!"
Then I gave him the card I wrote for him. It was a letter telling him all the things I like best about him. (Though I left it at home, I also got him a feather pillow to keep at my place since he admitted that he doesn't sleep as well without one.) He liked the letter.

It wasn't an incredibly romantic day, but it was nice. The thing is, I've always loved Valentine's Day, boyfriend or no boyfriend. I loved the way it makes people who aren't normally romantic show people that they care. I like the sugar hearts with the printed messages and the girls walking around proudly carrying roses and the discounted candy February 15. You don't need a luvah for that, but if a Valentine is what you crave, then may a chubby flying infant shoot you with an arrow. Happy hunting!

I don't have the energy to come up with a cute headline.

In my last post, I was raving about my boyfriend's skill in the kitchen. Since then, what's happened? Well, Tuesday I stayed home sick. I had a temperature and a virus, according the the Fordham Health Services staff. Thursday I was supposed to have an observation. I stayed up late the night before trying to prepare...and then my principal stood me up! That night, I went home and slept from 5 p.m. until 6 a.m. the next day (Friday).

Friday night I went to the dentist. Unfortunately, I have some cavities and they have to re-do my root canal. This is the part where I would gripe about my dentist, but one should not speak ill of the dead. In fact, it's probably pretty tacky that I mentioned it at all. I can't help it. I'm crabby because I spent many hundreds of dollars on a painful proceedure...I had to have four fittings for my crown...and now it turns out to be FAULTY! Sorry, I'm a little bitter because my tooth hurts (though only when I eat hot or cold stuff) and I have to get a new root canal and possibly buy a new crown. Grr.

Later that night, I met up with Laura, Carolina and Reesa (I have no idea how to spell her name, actually) for jazz at the planetarium of the Museum of Natural History. Then we had dinner at Mill Korean and dessert at the bakery next door. It was awesome. Then next day, I did not get to see my boyfriend, which was annoying, so I cleaned my room instead and threw out a garbage bag of stuff. I love doing a good purge like that, and now my room looks so cute! And Sunday...I don't really remember Sunday, which is kind of wierd, right? I guess nothing too exciting must have happened.

Monday at school was crazy, because our school switched to extended day, changing my whole schedule. After the extended day, we had a meeting, followed by grad school. It was a very long day.

Today I exercised for the first time in weeks. It feels good to get back to working out! Now I should be grading instead of writing to you fine people. So I guess I should. It's wonderful that you guys are reading my blog and posting. I feel less like I'm talking to myself.

Blog Therapy

So, I'm doing that thing where I cheer myself up by writing in my blog. It makes sense: writing is my passion. We should spend time every day on the things we're passionate about, right? Isn't that the key to happiness? Well, it's worth a shot, at least.

I'm sick (with a virus and a fever), so I stayed home from work and went to the doctor. Then, when I got home I wanted to talk to my boyfriend. Now, when I'm sick and menstural (both of which are currently true) I'm more emotional than usual. Anyway, Mr. B. had a rough day...and all of a sudden he started giving me work criticisms/advice. Now, intellectually I realized he was trying to be caring and supportive. It's the whole "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus," "Women just want men to listen to their problems, Men want to solve their womens' problems" thing. It's a widespread, hard-wired thing.

Don't take it personally, I told myself, he is trying to be helpful. But it was making me upset, so I told him I wasn't up to it.

"This is your problem," he replied, "You're bad at taking criticism."

"Yeah, I am," I replied, "Especially unsolicited criticism from my boyfriend, who has less teaching experience than I do." Oops. Ouch. That one kind of jumped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

I apologized, and rephrased that it's tough for me to accept criticism from anyone, but that I've gotten better at accepting it from supervisors and people with a lot more experience. "But with my equals..."

"And the emotional component with us probably doesn't help," he replied, thoughtfully.

"Exactly!"

In the end, he apologized, saying that he was probably transferring his anxiety over his bad day onto me. Then I replied that I knew he was trying to be helpful, and that his advice was a way of showing he cared.

In retrospect: Oy.

I talked it out with Rosa and Gwen, and they both made me feel much better. Hooray for girlfriends! Girlfriends are so wonderful at clearing up boyfriend anxiety. If only they were sufficient for clearing up anxiety over government issues, such as the imminent appointment of Alito to the Supreme Court and the oppression that may well result. Aargh! Ladies, if you value a woman's right to choose, you better speak up now!

I can do this...I can go back to work tomorrow. I can teach well. I can handle my students. I can finish my grad school work. I can get along with my boyfriend.

My man cooks!

It occurs to me that recently I've mostly been posting the trials and tribulations of my relationship with Mr. B. I recently discussed it with my ladies, and we came to the following conclusion: he's probably not "the one," and that's why we fight. However, we have a lot of fun together and are a pretty good couple. I like him a lot. He is smart, funny, has great taste in music (and is a good musician), is athletic and is a wonderful cook. (He's not photogenic, but you can't have everything!)

This is the gorgeous surf and turf dinner created for my dining pleasure by Mr. B: steak, lobster tails, rosemary potatos, green beans and chardonnay. He also makes amazing chicken cutlets, home fries, lemon-garlic salad dressing/marinade, chicken thighs, etc. In short he's a culinary genius. He's also really good at taking prefab-food and spicing it or preparing it differently to make it taste great.

That's a pretty good metiphor for his role in my life right now. He spices up the ordinary stuff and make life more palatable. :) Okay, I don't think I'm an emoticon person, but it was worth a shot.

More Poetry

I just realized that most of my family has never seen one of my poems, and what is the first one I gave them on the sister site, Girl Out of the Country? A rather bittersweet one. So, to balance it out, I presented a few that are more approachable:

[Note: I had to remove these poems because I found out lit mags won't publish work that's been published on a blog. Oops.]

Poem Response

Last year, I first read an amazing poem by Philip Booth. A man was teaching his daughter to swim, but he was also teaching her how to approach love without fear. I instantly fell in love with the poem. Then, this week I was inspired to write a responding poem. His is so hopeful and comforting. Mine seems sad and disillusioned, but it's not about giving up. It's about one of those moments when life gives you pause. Here's the original and my response:

First Lesson by Philip Booth

Lie back daughter, let your head
be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you. Spread
your arms wide, lie out on the stream
and look high at the gulls. A dead-
man's float is face down. You will dive
and swim soon enough where this tidewater
ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe
me, when you tire on the long thrash
to your island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.


[Note: I had to remove this poem because I found out lit mags won't publish work that's been published on a blog. Oops.]

Sugar High...

Madrid and I went candy shopping today. We spent a good fifteen minutes in the candy isle of a local pharmacy, seriously contemplating which candies to choose. Eventually, I chose Hershey's Dark Chocolate Kisses, Hershey's Hugs and a Big Kat (I wanted a regular KitKat, but they were sold out). Madrid went with Reese's Peanutbutter Cups and a pack of funsized FastBreaks, I think. Oh, but that's not the point.

The point is, in the midst of our serious quest for calories, I realized something--

"Know what's great about being a grownup? You can buy candy whenever you want. Remember when you were a kid and you wanted candy but you couldn't have any?"

"Oh, I know! That was aweful," Madrid replied.

"I was such a sugarholic! When there was no candy around, I would do disgusting things."

"Like what?"

"I would find tubs of Cool Whip my mom had frozen and eat it by the spoonfulls. I would gnaw on blocks of almond bark. I ate straight brown sugar." I didn't even tell her about the "marshmallow salads" Aunt Helen let me make. If I remember correctly, they were just mini-marshmallows, chocolate chips and maybe a couple of raisins. I'm lucky I still have most of my teeth.

"I've got one," Madrid replied. She's a Southern girl, and Southerners are known for their love of sweet tea. She put a new spin on it: "I used to suck on tea bags dipped in sugar. Oh, and I made Life cereal and margarine sandwiches. I would spread some margarine on the edge of my bowl, dip two squares of cereal in the margarine and stick them together to make a tiny sandwich. It's disgusting to me now, but at the time it made perfect sense."

"When I was desperate for s'mores, I'd improvise by putting semisweet chocolate chips and mini-marshmallows between two vanilla wafers and pop it in the microwave."

"Actually, that sounds kind of good."

"It kind of is, and if you don't have chocolate chips and vanilla wafers, you can lick the filling from an Oreo and put the marshmallows between the chocolate cookies."

"Wow, you were inventive...and starving, apparently."

"I went through this phase where I would make toast with strawberry jam every night at midnight. My parent would come into the kitchen: (grumbling in parent voice) 'What are you doing? Go to bed!'"

"And you were like, 'Mom and Dad, I'm STARVING! I am a GROWING girl, and I need the calories!"

"Heh. Those were the days."

Yes, back then we had the metabolism to eat all the candy we want. Now that we no longer have the super-high metabolism, we finally have the autonomy and cash to buy all the candy we want.

Please share your disgusting childhood sugar-fix stories in the comments section.

Too Perfect:

So I've been in the apartment for 41 hours and I'm all depressed and stir-crazy. Friday my principal treated me (and several other teachers) rather shabbily, and I made the mistake of taking it personally. I was in tears for a while, and I was going to discuss it with her, but in the end decided it was pointless. I'm not going to change her mind, and I would just get more frustrated. I've decided to take it up with my union representative instead.

I usually go out with the girls on Friday and Mr. B. on Saturday, but he and I discussed it and were going to switch it up. That way, I might actually make it to church on Sunday morning (which I didn't due to a particularly annoying "visit from my friend," as my students euphemistically call it. Hee). Well, after I got the girls to agree, Mr. B. begged off, saying he was too tired. Straw. Camel's back. You get the picture. I told him that was fine, but started crying after we hung up the phone. Laura called back asking if I wanted to meet her at La Paella (a fancy tapas restaurant) and then have drinks with her and Carolina at Solas, which is just two doors down.

The food was amazing. Then at Solas, we got our favorite corner table in the Red Room upstairs. Then we had a State of the Relationship summit. Laura asked if it's worth it if things are this tough so early in the relationship. I'm asking myself the same thing. I guess what I'm trying to figure out if this is a normal level of trouble. I don't want to settle, but I also don't want to wait forever for something too perfect. I think Too Perfect is the new name for my novel. Heh. If nothing else, all this silly angst is good book fodder, and blogging has cheered me up yet again.

Happy New Year!

Must be time to update the blog! I went back and added photos to the Iowa entries. Now for the new info! Thursday I went to Unkie and Helen's house for a sleepover. We had a big pizza dinner. Connor liked his miniature rocket set, and Hannah liked her windowpainting kit. (It's less messy than it sounds.) Connor and I played chess. He beat me, of course, but I got him down to two chess pieces and we were kinda in a stalemate. We were getting bored, so my king committed suicide.

When I think about staying over and Unkie and Helen's house, I automatically think of pretty quilts over electric blankets. I was not let down. Hannah and I bunked together. I woke up with something in my back. What is that? I wondered, An elbow? A knee? No. It was her head! She had twisted around until she was curled up with her head nestled in my spine. Heh. The next morning, Connor made us ham, egg and cheese sandwiches.

Then Mom and I went to see the new house. It's a pre-fab house, and they're buying the model that people tour, so it's got all the bells an whistles. It's a little too airy and modern for me (I like cozy, old-fashioned houses) but it's nice. My favorite thing is the kitchen...I just wish it had walls!

That afternoon, I had supper with Grandpa Russel and Grandma Norie. Then I dropped Mom and Dad of in Woodward and rushed off to Des Moines for drinks with the ladies at Star Bar. I had a chocolate strawberry martini and a slice of white raspberry cheesecake while opening presents. Jennifer got me a book I've been covetting for a while. Jessica knitted me a cunning hat and scarf set and gave me two DVDs (in a gorgeous box that I adore). Kelly got me a pretty pink sweater which my boyfriend assures me makes my breast look huge...so thanks, Kell.

Speaking of the boyfriend, he had told me we weren't going to spend New Years together, but when he picked me up from the airport, he told me he wanted to after all. (Actually he claimed that he's already told me he changed his mind...but that's a topic for a different post.) So he ended up coming out with me and my friends.

For lunch we went to Jackson Hole dinner for enormous burgers. After that, we hung out at my place while I unpacked. We watched some TV, then had Chinese food while flipping back and forth between a movie (Anger Management...meh.) and a football game (meh.) At least the food was really good! Later we joined up with Laura, Madrid and Madrid's luvah, Chris, for an amazing house party. (This was my second New Year's Eve at that party.) Laura's boyfriend, Ryan, showed up before midnight. We had a great time and for the first time in my life, I had a boyfriend to kiss at midnight.

On Tuesday, I had to go back to work, which was kind of painful. The kids have been acting all crazy, and they make me want to quit my job. Some of the kids are great, but right now the obnoxious ones are drowning them out (especially class 705), and I'm just not bad-ass enough to keep them in line. To be fair, only the deans and one math teacher, Mr. P, are bad-ass enough, so I can't blame myself too much. Oh, well. I never thought it would be easy.

Sorting it out.

Yesterday, Dad convinced me to go out to the farm and go through the wreckage to see if there was anything I wanted to keep. I bundled up, then walked in through the missing front door. Things crunched under my feet. The stairway looked just the same, but the rooms upstairs certainly didn't.

We went in J.B.'s room first, where I found a blue glass perfume bottle that belonged to my great grandmother.


Then we went to my room. In one place, the wall was cracked, and my curtains had gotten sucked off the window and through the wall (see photo at left).

My books were strewn everywhere (see photo below). Then I found my greatgrandmother's jewelry box. It's gold and plays "Sunrise, Sunset." I know it's not valuable, but I love it a lot. Inside was my ruby necklace. Then I picked up a few favorite books and some photographs.

In the attic, I found a box of my clothes. I sort of wanted to keep all of them, but in the end I just took my favorite jeans from high school (at some point, I'd already pinned a note on them that read "Please keep."), my brother's football uniform, a 4-H t-shirt and a Woodward-Granger (my high school) t-shirt. Then I salvaged a couple toys: a metal top that still worked, and a green, wooden grasshopper on wheels, with legs that moved up and down as you pushed it on the floor. Then I resigned myself to leave everything else behind to be destroyed with the demolition.

It was the possibility that was hard...the possibility that something I loved might still be intact, but hidden. But I made myself let go and walked away. Then Dad and I exited through the entirely-missing wall of their bedroom. I couldn't believe how much smaller it looked. It was like at funerals, when the person in the casket looks so much smaller than they did when they were alive.

My favorite tree survived, but I got a bit crabby when Dad told me they might tear it down, it and my second-favorite tree. I told him I was cold, and he said "Okay," but soon got caught up in showing me where the new house would go and pacing out the footprint.

"Daddy," I eventually interrupted, "I'm really cold!"

"But we're visuallizing!" he exclaimed. "Well, I guess I'm visuallizing you as a popsicle, and I'm not having to work very hard."

We realized I wasn't wearing a hat, so he put one on me, then we transfered my salvaged stuff to the semi-trailer they rented to hold our stuff. After that, I helped him load gates into the truck. (In all fairness, I had volunteered to do so the day before, but I hadn't been shivering and damp then). "Oh, sheesh," Dad said, "I better get you inside before I end up giving you pneumonia from this whole deal."

Then we drove over to Unkie and Helen's house.I believe that I've already mentioned on this site that Unkie and Helen and their daughters were like my second family growing up. Unkie is watching Dad's flock for him, and one of the ewes lambed early. Unkie is pretty generous, but he warned my dad that his sows farrowing and dad's ewes lambing would be too much. I imagine Helen's cancer doesn't make it any easier. So dad and I built a small pen for the ewe and her lamb, and Dad's looking for someone else to take on the ewes who are about to give birth. When we saw it was a Dorset ewe that had just had a lamb, Dad and I both chuckled that we (and Unkie) needn't have worried. Dorsets are wonderful mothers.

While I was there, I joked with Unkie, played with his Border Collie puppy, Callie, and arranged with Helen for me to come spend the night on Thursday.

That night, I fell asleep on the couch at 8, Mom and Dad sent me to bed at 9 and I slept until 7 a.m. this morning. Then I chatted with Mom, had breakfast while watching "You've Got Mail," walked the dog and took a three-hour nap. I must really be sick, because I am not a napper (as anyone who ever took care of me as a child can attest!) I wanted to go with my parents and some kids who are friends of the family to see Jolly Holliday Lights in Des Moines this evening, but I had a headache so I decided to rest some more in the hopes of finally kicking this bug.

Wish me luck.

White Christmas. (Warning: long one!)

Some people who know me give me credit for being adventurous. I'm not afraid to uproot and start my life over with new careers, new locations and new friends. The truth is, I'm rather traditional. It was the knowledge that my home base would always be there that let me go off to Spain or New York or wherever. I knew that my home and my family would always be there waiting for me.This was my first Christmas, my first time home, since my home was destroyed. That concept of home "always waiting for me" was easily disspelled. But my family has been here for me like always before, and hopefully forever after.

Saturday, my flights were delayed and delayed and delayed. I was sick and stressed out and started crying when I called to tell my parents when to come to the airport. A stranger who passed me to board his flight said, "Merry Christmas, dear. I hope it gets better." I thanked him and laughed at how pitiful I'd apparently become.

I didn't get to Iowa until after midnight, I think.We went home and opened one present each. My one present was an iPod Shuffle (YAY!). The next morning we went to church. Everyone was so nice and supportive. Mom and Dad asked if I wanted to go the the farm. I said no, because I was not in the mood to cry, but we ended up going anyway because they'd promised J.B. a load of firewood.

As they tossed walnut logs from a destroyed tree into the bed of Dad's pretty new truck, I circled the shell of what was our house. It wasn't just the structural damage that made it a shell. It was that the house was empty and cold. Without us living there, it had shrunken somehow. Tears streamed down my face, but I wiped them away and stopped sobbing before I met up with my parents. As we drove away, past the razed hillside that used to be an orchard, my dad said, "See? That wasn't so traumatic, was it?" But my face fell. "Oh," he chuckled sadly, "maybe I spoke too soon." I couldn't stop the tears then, but they didn't last too long.

We sang along to carols as we drove to see my brother, J.B.; sister-in-law, Erika and my niece, Brooke. When we got there we all hugged. Brooke was shy for the first five minutes, but instead of trying to hold her, I got down on the floor and played with her. Thus, we were fast friends. We had a soup supper (a Christmas tradition in our family). We opened our presents. I loved mine, Mom and Dad seemed to love theirs. J.B. loved his Dukes of Hazzard boxed sets, Erika loved her stamps (she's very crafty) and Brooke seemed to dig the books I got her. She loves to read, and I loved reading to her. Erika estimated that I read Brooke 253 books.

The next day, I changed Brooke's clothes, played with her and read her "The Polar Express," which lulled her into a morning nap. Cuddling her was so wonderful. She's so smart, right at the age when she's constantly picking up the language used around her. Mom sang her a lullaby, and she tried to sing it back to Mom, which was the cutest thing I'd ever seen until we were driving away and I saw Brooke in the window saying "Bye-bye! Bye-bye!" until we pulled out of sight.

Then we went to Uncle Jay and Aunt Dea's house for another soup supper. (Good thing I love chili!) I got to see my first cousin-once-removed (I think) for the first time. Logan is just as cute as can be, and it was hard for me not to hold him, but I restrained myself due to this nasty cold. Megan (my cousin and Logan's mom) was quoting "Anchorman" and holding the DVD. "Oh," I said, "I got that for my boyfriend for Christmas." This resulted in an instant uproar by my cousins (Jenny and her husband, Sam; Megan and her husband, Josh).

"Woah, woah, woah, guys! Calm down. I did not mean to make a big announcement."

"Well," Jenny replied, you just did."

Then Mom piped up that you could see his picture on my blog. Soon it was being booted up. The cousins informed me that they'd been through it, and now it was my turn. "No, I'm fine," I replied. They laughed and informed me that they'd be watching for big announcements. Then Sam started his own blog.

Now admittedly, I've not had a real boyfriend since the '90s, and I rarely mentioned the guys I casually dated. As such, I can't blame them for getting all worked up. The truth is, my life is up in the air right now. I don't know how it will turn out, professionally, geographically or romantically. I try to just take everyone's interest as a show of love.

Nothing says 'Happy Holidays' like a transit strike!

Yes, it's heartwarming...the sight of seven million New Yorkers bustling frantically around the city, not buying presents or looking at window displays but just trying to get to work and back home again. I've been bumming rides to and from work, and it hasn't been too bad. Luckily, I had most of my Christmas shopping done.

I've been rushing around like mad to get done all of the things I need to get done this week: the shopping, wrapping, packing, cooking, cleaning, laundry, lesson planning, etc., etc. On top of that, to save a little cash, I decided to make jewelry for some people's presents (see above). Yeah, I'm insane. I had also hoped to take a picture of myself in front of the Rockefeller Center tree (to frame for the grandparents' presents), but it's more than forty blocks from here and it's too cold to walk that far.

This Christmas is going to be weird. I'm big on tradition, and this year the house is gone. The old ornaments are gone. I won't even get to Woodward in time for the Christmas Eve church service. On the other hand, I'm really looking forward to seeing my family, friends and pets. I think that will be strong enough to hold me together.

A fight with my...boyfriend.

Last weekend, darling Laura's boyfriend met up with us.

"Oh, I'd hoped your man-friend-type-person would be here," he said.

"My 'man-friend-type-person?'" I replied.

"Yeah. I didn't know if you'd had the official boyfriend-girlfriend talk."

"We haven't." In truth, I thought the idea of an official boyfriend-girlfriend talk was lame...and yet I found myself broaching the subject with Mr. B.

"So, the other day Ryan said, 'I'd hoped your man-friend-type-person would be here,'" I said.

"Your 'man-friend-type-person'?"

"Yeah, he said he didn't know if we'd had the official talk about what to call each other."

"Ah," he said, laughing, "'man-friend-type-person' works." Heh.

But he officially crossed into Boyfriendland when we had our first fight this weekend. After work we went for drinks with a co-worker. Then Mr. B. said he might order a black and tan. I said I didn't understand how the Guinness floated on top of the other beer because Guinness seems so dense. He tried to explain it to me which just made me feel dense. I tried to understand, but I couldn't, which made me feel frustrated and dumb and insecure. So I said to him, "Forget it." But he tried to continue explaining, so I gave him a whithering look and told him to drop it.

Then, in the car, we began discussing an illegal habit of his. He was talking about how normal his little habit is. I said I think fewer people indulge in it where I'm from, especially teachers. Well, he took this an an invitation for debate and wanted me to statistically back up my opinion. I got annoyed, because everytime he discusses his habit he says the exact same things and only wants to hear what he wants to hear. So again, I said to him, "Forget it."

[AAARGH! What just happened? I finished this blog entry, and a chunk of it just disappeared! Where was I?]

Okay, I said "Forget it," and he went off. He said that I refused to let him be right and that trying to avoid those arguments showed something about my personality. It told him that I probably wouldn't care enough to go through the important arguments (one example he gave was 'the virgin thing.'). There was ranting (on his part) and a little screaming and crying (on my part) but eventually we managed to calmly get our points across. Then he played his guitar for me for the first time. It was really nice. We followed that up with a Ben Stiller movie (Keeping the Faith) an some making out before bed. In the morning, we had a mini-fight (it was an aftershock, really), but were on solid ground by breakfast, during which we flirted over our eggs in the diner.

That night I went out to good old Solas (my favorite bar--above, left) with the ladies. We used to go every Friday, but somehow fell out of the habit. The bartender greeted us warmly and remembered our favorite drinks. The next morning, I made it to church (Park Ave. United Methodist--above, right) for the first time in a month and sang with the choir (Vivaldi and Christmas carols, which I adore). It sounded and felt amazing.

The last ten days...

Quite a bit has happened since I wrote last. I remember nothing about December 5...perhaps something traumatic occurred and now I'm blocking it out. December 6 my counselor wasn't available for our normal session, so I went to a great store called Beads on Fifth. I've been making jewelry for Christmas presents, and I needed supplies. Since then, I've made six pairs of earrings and two necklaces.

I've noted that when I first met Mr. B, I was struck by the urge to bake. A while back, I bought a bunch of apples, but hadn't had time to actually make the pie (from scratch!) until Wednesday. It was a dutch carmel apple pie with a lattice crust (see photo above). I think I over-worked the shortening in the bottom crust, but the top crust was perfect and flaky. The filling was breathtaking, if I do say so myself.

Thursday...yeah, I blocked that out, too.

Friday I went out with my ladies. It was fun, but I had to go home earlier than usual because I was exhausted. The insomnia...she is back.

Saturday, I went to Mr. B's for dinner (his family is out of town). He made me chicken cutlets with garlic pasta and we had my pie and ice cream for dessert. He's a great cook. Also, there was much making out. More on this another time, perhaps.

Sunday I did laundry and turned a few black bananas into a loaf of yummy banana bread. I also planned my lessons. I also chatted with my parents. Mom said Hooligan has made to move to the apartment in town. She also told me Aunt Helen, with whom I'm very close, has lung cancer. Lung cancer! She's never smoked. Unkie never smoked. It's so unfair. But the doctors seem to agree. They said she's so healthy that she'll probably be okay.

Monday I had a tough day at work. Well, it started out all right. I had to video tape a grammar lesson for my Fordham final. I taught it to 702 and they were great. My 803 class was good, too. Then the tide turned: Kids in class 705 were swinging belts and I couldn't get anyone to come help me. Between that and having a cold, I almost cried. I then had a long staff meeting in which my administrators were trying to manipulate the staff. Usually our staff gets along well, but that day we were all CRABBY. On the plus side, that day I bought this miracle elixir called Zicam. As I see it, there are three possibilities: 1-Zicam is a wonder drug that has done wonders with my cold symptoms. 2-It's the placebo effect. 3-The cold is just running its course. I say who cares, as long as my nose no longer feels like it's full of jello, I can pronounce the letter d, and I don't sound like I've been gargling gravel.

Tuesday I finished the paper to go along with my grammar lesson video, which was due that night. My Fordham field advisor watched me teach and he thought I did a great job. 803 was okay, but 705 went nuts again. After school was Fordham, after Fordham was counselling (Quick summary: 'Props on getting the paper done on time! Don't try so hard to impress your dad. Don't be afraid to go for your dream and write. Good luck with the holidays!' Thanks, Angela!) I went home and made earrings (that was pair 6), then went to bed. I didn't get to sleep until almost midnight, though. Yes the insomnia continues. I must get more that six hours sleep soon or I will snap.

Today the kids were decent. It was photo day, and no one warned the teachers, so we were crabby at our administration...again...some more. Then, because it was so cold, Mr. B. gave me a ride to the train. On the way to his car, we ran into some of my students on the street. They went nuts, screamming that they had caught us. They were giddy, surrounding us like the paparazzi. Seeing us walking together was, to them, a sure confirmation of their suspicions. This shall feed their need for drama for quite some time.

Tomorrow, I'm going to see one of my students play basketball and another dance during the halftime show. It's the first time students have invited me to one of their activities, and I'm proud that they want me there.

Fresh snow, fresh start

Last night was rough. Mr. B was late for our 7 p.m. date. Usually, he calls when he leaves his house, then again when he's almost to my apartment. At first, I panicked. On Friday I told him I had plans with Laura during the day Saturday. He said I could call him to let him know when we were done. I said, "No, let's go with 7 on Saturday like normal. I'll call you if that changes." Suddenly, I was stricken with uncertainty. Was I supposed to have called him? I left a message: "Hey, it's Erin. It's after seven. Are you okay? If I was supposed to call you and I forgot, I'm sorry. Please call me."

Half an hour later, the guilt was gone and I was 50 percent worried, 50 percent pissed off. Either something was wrong or Mr. B was pouting, which is a dumb and passive way to deal with a situation. I called a few friends for sympathy and advice. Then, at 8, I called him again. This time, he picked up. "Hello," he answered with no notable tone in his voice. "Where are you?" I asked. "My cousin's. Why?" "Why? I thought we had a date for 7." "We do," he replied, "Why, what time is it now?" "It's 8 o'clock!" "A.M. or P.M.?" "Are you kidding me?" I asked, incredulously. "No, I'm not kidding. It's 8 p.m.?" "Yes," I said, "It's 8 p.m. What are you in a basement? Didn't you notice that it's dark out? Are you alone there?" "Yeah, I'm alone. All the shades are closed because my cousin's in China, remember?" "How drunk did you guys get last night?" "Not very! I don't know what's wrong with me. Do you still want to hang out?" "Yes. Just get over here, okay?" (In his defense, my first year of teaching, I slept that long a few times. It's a stressful job.)

He came over and we ordered in Chinese food. Then we went to see Rent. It was a little hard for Mr. B to get into it at first, I think, but by the end he was on board. Actually, the hardest part for him was probably me silently sobbing during the refrain of "I'll cover you." Up to that point, I'd managed to hold it together, but I knew that refrain was going to kick my emotional ass. Sure enough, it did. (That said, I really enjoyed the adaptation.)

I love Rent, but it's tough for me because my uncle Carl died of AIDS when I was 12. No one told me it was AIDS for a long time, and even when they did tell me, they couldn't really talk about it. He was an artist and gay and used drugs. He was part of a community of friends what was whittled away by AIDS. He was the first one in the family to see the artist in me. I loved him in all of his eccentricities. Back then people didn't know how to discuss AIDS...or they didn't know how...or they didn't see why they should. Now time has passed. We've all become more aware and less scared.

The first real snowfall of the year fell last night. It covered the streets of New York with a white hush. That fresh new start doesn't change what lies beneath, but it lets us see the world around us in a new way -- with new beauty and new hope.