Brenda, Research Detective Extraordinaire

I just noticed this new book out at Barnes and Noble.  I have a list of probably 13 books still to read this summer, but this one caught my eye.

Why? you ask.  Because I feel like a majorly important detective this summer.

I was given the task of taking all my Mother's bits of newspaper clippings and funeral programs and newspaper obituarys and letters and cards she kept for umpteen million years and see if I could find the story in them all.  Who were these people? 

Relatives?

Then they needs to be added to the families genealogy record or updated or whatever.

Friends? 

Well some of the stuff she kept like old letters and scrapbook memories and such I couldn't just throw away.  I tracked down (hopefully) a relative and mailed these artifacts back to their families.  Nobody seems to write letters any more and I can't frankly throw them away.  The person's handwriting is right there in front of you, they touched the paper that you are touching.  I must make the family decide if they are worth keeping, not me.

Business associates?

Humm, tough one here: I threw a lot of those momentos away.  Dad's work friends were just not close enough for me to keep memories of them and I think their families would have the same clippings and pictures, etc. Handled summarily!

But amongst all this I have wanted to call my Mom or Dad and ask them about stuff.  I'll bet 10 different times I've reached for the phone and duh... they are not talking calls any longer.

So I called my Aunt Lois, my Mom's sister.  She is the last remaining relative on my mother's side - of the previous generation.  "Aunt Lois, please tell me what your Grandma Fryer was like, what was her husband like?"  I never met any great grandparents except my great Grandma Potter - she died at 95 when I was about 5 - but I do remember her feeling my face (see couldn't see any longer)

and telling me, "Oh what a pretty girl".

Aunt Lois said my great grandma Fryer was a "neighborhood lady" meaning she liked to get with the other ladies in the neighborhood and talk and she knew all about the politics of the world.  Aunt Lois said,  "Grandma Fryer and Edward G Murrow were like one and the same person because Grandma Fryer never missed a program".  She said her Grandpa Fryer had more of a temper and was louder where Grandma Fryer was a lot calmer.

Aunt Lois said Grandma Potter was a sweetheart and Grandpa Potter was like a windup toy, anxious energy! so that he never walked slowly anywhere.  

I have found a chart my Mom had hidden away that was sent to her from relatives in England which gave the Potter ancestry clear back to 1500's.  So I've been verifying and adding all those.

I have found all the brothers and sisters and their birthdays from great Aunts and Uncles that I didn't even know I had.  I found the line of twins in the family.  I found names on old pictures and now can place them with the names on the family tree. 

I found out about relatives that died on the way to Utah as pioneers. I found sadly how many children used to die before reaching adulthood.

I am master detective with my trusty remarkable computer. 

My best find so far:  My grandmother's date book that was given to her as a gift just before she left England to come to America in 1913.  She wrote down the names and birth dates and death dates and marriage dates of everyone in her family for 98 years!  What a priceless treasure. 

And guess what?  On the date for the birth date of Mary Rosina Fryer, grandma wrote in parenthesis: "Aunt May".  I solved the mystery of who the heck Aunt May is!  (She was the unmarried 1st cousin of my Grandpa Clarence Fryer!) But everyone called her Aunt May.  I remember her quite well. 

 My Aunt Lois said Aunt May was fond of her "hot toddies".

So, do I need to read the new detective book out, that I copied above?  yeah, probably someday.  But for right now,

I am living the dream!

Here's a quiz: What's the difference between a baby and a puppy?

Answer? 

I don't know, I never had a baby (just a lot of babysitting) but I know the puppy is exhausting! 

Little Molly Merganthaler (yes, all dogs need official names, then you call them by nicknames like "Molly Lama" or "who's the little doggie" - yeah, real clever nicknames.  Then they say that dogs, like cats, have their own names they use just for each other.) 

Anyway Molly has to eat three times a day - 7am, 1pm and 8pm.  It took us 5 days to get that routine down.  Then very soon after eating she has to go out on a leash to do her peepee/poopoos.  Then you have to watch her intensely for the next three hours for any indication that she may have to go outside again.  She is a smart little pup, but really couldn't she just wave a paw or something when she needs to go out? 

Sometimes it is just a little whimpering, sometimes she just begins to wander off and sniff around.   But so far, no accidents in the house on the carpet.  Twice she peepeed in a $20.00 used plastic baby play pen and once on the plastic laid down around the cat box.  Way easy clean ups. 

 She absolutely is not allowed to step even quickly on the brand new carpet upstairs! no! no! no!

  In fact this is a DOWNSTAIRS dog!

    I need to upstairs to stay nice and besides, the cats rule the upstairs.

She pretty much crate trained herself - she sleeps in the crate every night and nap time. 

Terry is madly working to get a patio for the cats and dog finished ASAP.   A patio for cats has been nicknamed "Catios" for some time, I just added the dog part so now we are building a "Catiog" onto the back of the house.   The insulated doggy door has not yet arrived,

But the wired in area with the roof over it is nearly finished. 

We will have a cat door coming out of one of the windows and Terry will build high up cat runs for Timmy and Polly.  The the doggy door will come out near the bottom so the dog can go out to do his business but all pets can have grass to lay in if they want. It should be really neat.  It is attached to the south side of an enclosed patio we have downstairs so building a doggy door into the wall will not be a big deal at all.

Another Quiz:

   So what does old age do to you? 
ANSWER:  Makes you think you can handle puppies and build any damn thing on to your house that you want to, that's what it does.

Cleaning out my parents home getting it ready to sell

What can I say.  A flood of memories, some laughs, some cries.  I lot of uncovering mysteries about my parents like after moving at least six times they never threw away some of the silliest stuff, unbelievable after all the lectures about having to go to our rooms to clean!  What were they thinking, seriously!  and then some of the extremely tender stuff they saved, how thoughtful, why didn't they talk to me about it - I didn't know it meant anything to them at all and they kept it for all these years.

 

  Yeah, we waited nearly three years after my father passed away before tackling the house but it wasn't near so raw and painful as I think it might have been had we tackled this task immediately after the last parent left us. 

But I really, really hope I do not leave a mess to go through for anyone.  I hope I have the presence of mind to take care and clean out and distribute years before I am unable to!   Pardon me, I have to go clean out a closet.

Time zips buy - ZIP is a 15 point word.

  I am finally writing again.  and reading again.  Both are wonderful but come with their own hazards.  I live my books too much, I have to read them smartly so as not to be sucked into the fictional world never to return again to reality - seriously.
First I read the creepy, scary, downright grossly intriguing books by Michael Grant.  They are supposedly for middle school age kids - NOT!  I'd say high school at the least, and being an adult and reading them was a bit scary.  My friend described them as Stephen King and "Lord of the Flies" on crack!  Yeah - I agree totally.


But I could not put them down.  I read through 4 volumes, "Gone", "Hunger", "Lies", and "Plague" in like one month.  I can't wait for the next volume.  I love the kids in the book.  I relate to them, they are my friends.  And I worry so much about them that I just have to read the next book.

So what do I do in the mean-time?  I read Stephen King's "Duma Key".  I am so frightened that I can only read a chapter or two at a time, and I'm only 20 pages from the end.  But I live the dang books in my head.


Then to top it off, I have a bug infestation in my house (&*$# wet spring!) and I have had to clean and even take out drawers and clean the bottoms of dressers and cabinets.  I think we also may have disturbed their little homes when we remodeled.  But I dream weird dreams and then have to get up and clean more with tooth brushes and borax (which bugs hate).  I feel crawly things on me.  I see things moving in my peripheral vision, I hear chewing noises....

I LOVE SUMMER so I can just immerse myself in anything other than work.  

And truly there is no book or bug scarier than a room full of pubescent students especially if you have nothing prepared with which to entertain them for 40 minutes. 

My Favorite Poet/teacher just wrote this on his blog (see link in my list of links):
 ____________________________________________________________________________

  Why I suck as a teacher (except that I don't).

Posted by  Taylor Mali to Definitely Beautiful

I did a freebie gig at a middle school in Harlem today, and it was very challenging. There were only about 20 students in the class—sixth, seventh, and eighth graders all together—with almost as many City Year corp members in the room as well (college graduates who give a year of their time to work with inner city youth) so you'd think a veteran like me would find that easy, right? Wrong.

The majority of the students have very poor listening skills, and they talked and hit each other throughout the entire class. One girl in the front row spent the entire time playing games on her phone! Why did I put up with it? Aren't I to blame by allowing that kind of behavior to pass as acceptable? 
Well, sure. But I was a visitor to their classroom and there to talk about poetry. Didn't seem right to be all Mr. Behavior Cop. Many would have just shut me out completely after that. So I just did my best, using every trick I remembered. I was loud when they were quiet and quiet when they were loud. They told each other to be quiet so as not to miss what I was saying (except that telling each other to be quiet invariably involved yelling and hitting each other, which never worked). They interrupted my poems when I used words they didn't know, which is fine by me, except one of the words was "smugly." I guess the student thought it was a mixture of "smart" and "ugly"? 
When I gave them time to write quietly, it was hard for them to do either. Half the class preferred to write with big colorful markers instead of pens. There were more than a few pretty pictures of flowers. When I asked them to please work on what I had asked them to do, no one ever remembered what that was.
When the girl in the front row blatantly tried to show her neighbor, who was trying to work, something on her phone, I had to stop and tell her I found her behavior insulting to me. No big thing. She actually got better after that. In the end, I thought I had HORRIBLE control over the class. 
But of all the poet/teachers I know, I can only think of two or three who might have done any better with that group. Surprisingly, when the kids were gone and it was just me and the City Year corp members, they all said they were amazed at how well behaved the class was! "You got them to work! To participate! It was amazing to see them respond to you! I was trying to take notes on all the techniques you used!" 
A little perspective goes a long way.

So hurray for being scared in a fun, relaxing way with good books, cozy bugs and friends who are so competitive with "Words with Friends" (scrabble app for those with iphones - PS, I'm Babs1953 if you want to play!)  PSS - how many points for COZY?

I have never really liked April Fool's day

As a kid it was fun running in to tell my Dad that his car tires were flat (at the suggestion of my mother). And my Dad would always act upset and run outside to look at the car as my older brother and I would yell, "April Fool's" - but as I got older I didn't like being the one who could possibly end up as the brunt of the joke. I was too gullible, too shy.

So anyway, that is all I have to say about April Fool's Day besides that fact I am so relieved every year when there is no school on this particular day!

Especially for Lisa, here are pictures of my new Stanton carpet in my front room and the new laminate wood floor running from the front door into the bathroom. (yes, if you don't shut the front door and the bathroom door you can be seen sitting on the throne clear down the street - we just couldn't design any other way.

Intracranial Hypertension is a painful disorder in which too much cerebrospinal fluid is exerting too much pressure on the brain. It is a life-altering neurological disorder that can cause vision loss, blindness and severe, disabling pain that often cannot be controlled. There is no cure.

The hardest part about IH for me is that I can't do everything I used to be able to do.  Now, a day at work exhausts me - physically and mentally. It is all I can do to handle one outside thing and I don't always handle it very well. I have had to give up most everything else. I just don't have the energy anymore.

My brain thinks differently, too. Between the pressure and the headaches and the head-drugs, I just think a few beats slower. It is frustrating and I struggle to keep it from being demoralizing.

I have a headache most every day. On a pain scale of 1 to 10, 0 being no pain and 10 being the end of my rope [sit perfectly still in a dark room, no noise, cool temperature, trying not to pull my hair out in between throwing up sessions].  Most days, I'm at a 2 - 4.  I can handle that. I can have short spikes up to 5 -6 most weeks that last several hours. Once a month or so, I'll have a day at about a 7. During a day I can have what I call lightning strikes that are 7 - 9's that last about 3 -4 seconds.

I've learned to just forge ahead and ignore them as best I can.

I work hard to deal with the mental and emotional issues of having a chronic illness. It is a daily struggle to handle the internal “self talk” about all I've lost to IH, to not smack the people who think because I don't complain I must be better (or cured...), to keep my dreams about my future alive, to keep hope for joy and love alive, and just to make sure I am working hard to be ME and use the energy I do have on things that bring me joy. I want to be sure I use my talents to make my life good and happy and useful.

I happen to have IH. I don’t want it to become who I AM.

I am very lucky that the drugs control it and I don't need brain surgery in the form of a shunt. It is scary waiting for that possible day.  It may not ever come. It may be next month. The brain is a smart bugger and for a lot of people it learns to adapt around the drugs.  I hope it learns how to STOP doing this.

It is hard for people to understand. I look fine. I seem fine. I still work. I’m not doubled over in pain. I must be doing better. A number of very sweet and well-meaning people don’t seem to understand why I’m not doing [beads and necklaces] anymore or why I’m not as completely organized as I used to be. People don’t understand why I won’t lead groups or organizations anymore. They are flabbergasted that I say "no" now. They seem to think I’m being lazy. It is hard to explain that my brain is just different now. I just don’t have the mental or physical stamina I used to have.

Even exercise makes me ill. Very ill.  Exercise intolerance is pretty common. 
It is hard sometimes to want to do anything because I am afraid it will make my head hurt or it will exhaust me. I have to watch that or I'll spend my life watching the world turn without me.

But the truth is I can’t go all day like I used to be able to. The heat of summer is dangerous for me. Getting overly tired is dangerous for me. It isn’t merely an inconvenience. My brain is put under tremendous physical pressure and that is dangerous. Brain damage can occur. The spinal fluid bathes the optic nerves so a spike in pressure could crush an optic nerve and render me blind. It is hard to live with that fear.

People understand cancer, but people don’t understand this. They can’t see this. If I haven’t mentioned it in a while, they think I’m cured. But, it may not ever go away. This is something I will probably live with for the rest of my life. My life is different now. But it is good. I still have so much. I am very lucky. And I am grateful.

http://the-brain-pain-blog.blogspot.com

(Thanks to Pamela on the-brain-pain-blog.  She wrote the above on her blog with a few adaptation of mine in brackets.  She says what I have wanted to say for so long but didn’t know how!)

Food for Thought About Teachers...

Hey there, this was taken off a facebook blog but I thought it was interesting! :)

Thoughts About Teachers Pay.

by Brittani Andrews on Saturday, February 19, 2011 at 12:07pm

Are you sick of high paid teachers? Teachers’ hefty salaries are driving up taxes, and they only work 9 or 10 months a year! It’s time we put things in perspective and pay them for what they do - baby sit! We can get that for less than minimum wage.

That’s right. Let’s give them $3.00 an hour and only the hours they worked; not any of that silly planning time, or any time they spend before or after school. That would be $19.50 a day (7:45 to 3:00 PM

with 45 min. off for lunch and plan — that equals 6 1/2 hours).

Each parent should pay $19.50 a day for these teachers to baby-sit their children.

Now how many do they teach in day…maybe 30? So that’s $19.50 x 30 = $585.00 a day. However, remember they only work 180 days a year!!! I am not going to pay them for any vacations.

LET’S SEE…. That’s $585 X 180= $105,300 per year. (Hold on! My calculator needs new batteries).

What about those special education teachers and the ones with Master’s degrees? Well, we could pay them minimum wage ($7.75), and just to be fair, round it off to $8.00 an hour. That would be $8 X 6 1/2 hours X 30 children X 180 days = $280,800 per year.

Wait a minute — there’s something wrong here! There sure is!

The average teacher’s salary (nation wide) is $50,000. $50,000/180 days = $277.77/per day/30 students=$9.25/6.5 hours = $1.42 per hour per student–a very inexpensive baby-sitter and they even EDUCATE your kids!)

WHAT A DEAL!!!!