STEVEN HARPER PIZIKS
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An Intermittent Web Log about Writing, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Autism, Adoption, Harps, and Sundry Other Topics

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November 25, 2005: Our Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Day brought freezing cold and blowing snow with it.  I slept way, way in--still recovering from camp.  I took the pies out of the freezer to thaw when I got up in preparation for baking.  As a family we spent the morning indoors, though I had to go to the store for a few things and discovered all kinds of baking stuff on sale, so I stocked up on stuff for Yule.  Drove back carefully because the roads were covered in ice, and no salt trucks in sight.

When I got back, I found two big pieces missing from the blueberry pie crusts.  Mackie had grabbed a handful of crust from each pie and eaten them. I was furious.  I had to run back to the store to buy some crusts to repair them.  (No time to make my own.)  But this was eventually done and the blueberry pies went into the oven, taking the last of our frozen blueberry crop with them.

At last we bundled everyone into the car to drive over to Uncle Paul and Aunt Kristi's house.  The rest of my family was there, which was great--I wasn't sure if my sister was going to make it or not, since she lives far up north.

The children were shooed into the basement rec room.  Poor Brie was the only female in a roomful of boys and periodically came upstairs for air. However, the children all played together wonderfully, and we didn't have to referee a single fight.  (!)  I see this as no small feat when you put six boys in a room with a single video game system.

Dinner was delicious, with some amazingly tender, juicy turkey.  The pies were well-received as well, especially by Sasha.  :)  After supper we talked and played Balderdash, just as we did last year.  I forget who won, though it wasn't me.  Heh.

On the way home, Sasha announced that he had a new favorite food: pie.  He thought a moment, then said that his favorite American foods also included hamburgers, french fries, chicken, Coke, Sprite, Fanta and that his favorite people in America were Daddy, Mamma, Aran, Maksim, Grandma, Granny, and a long list of others.

"You do know what he's doing," I said to Kala.  "He's listing what he's thankful for, all without realizing it."

Once home, we rushed into the house to get out of the wind.  Whooo, it was cold!


November 24, 2005: My Favorite Simile

My GET FUZZY calendar recently turned up the strip that contains one of my favorite similes.  Rob says to Bucky, "You ran by my door faster than a French border guard with track shoes and a coupon for cigarettes."

I =still= laugh.

November 23, 2005: A Thanksgiving Blessing

Several years ago, Kala and I knew a Witch named Lady Serenity, a plump, jolly woman with a catchy sense of humor.  Her way of being thankful, she once told us, was to recognize that she lived in abundance, with more than what she needed.

One day at a gathering, Kala and I decided to do a town run and we asked Serenity if she needed anything.  "Soap," she said.  "I'm out of soap."

At the store, we came across a huge display of soap on sale dirt cheap. Whimsically, we loaded up over a dozen bars.  Back at the camp, we arranged them on a platter and paraded solemnly into Serenity's campsite to present them to her.

"May you always live in abundance," we said, to laughter and applause from her camp-mates.  Serenity accepted them with gleeful abandon.

The next day, Serenity came to visit us and said, "I thought about you this morning while I was naked."

As a result of all this, we now have our favorite blessing: "May you always have enough.  May you always live in abundance!"  Absolutely appropriate for this time of year.  So:

May you always have enough.  May you always live in abundance!

November 23, 2005: An Evening With Snow

Today I slugged through school, doing the minimum.  Too brain-dead for much more (though I had to run a full-blown, regular class for my bratty freshmen, since the majority of them are unable to handle any kind of down time).

And it began to snow.  And snow and snow and snow.  My drive home was slow and careful.  After supper, I wanted nothing more than to conk out on the couch with a book or some TV, but Sasha begged and begged me to play outside with him in the snow.  Since he would never have another first snow in America, I finally agreed.

Mackie and Aran wanted to play to, so I decided to haul them and Sam down to the meadow so Sam could get some exercise and there is more room to play. Bundled everyone into the car and drove carefully to the field, whereupon they all exploded out of the car.

We had snowball fights, tried to build a snowman (the snow wasn't sticky enough), played tag, played Fox and Geese, played Follow the Leader, played Red Light, Green Light, and played a game from Ukraine that Sasha taught us.  There was much running and shouting and wrestling as well.

Eventually Mack got cold and tired, so we came home.  The boys munched on popcorn while I drank hot cocoa (which none of the brood wanted).  Now I'm
even =more= tired!

November 22, 2005: Long Days at Camp

Late Sunday morning I loaded up the car with sleeping bag, pillow, clothing, snacks, and Corey for a camping trip.  In late November.  Dearie, dearie me.

Leadership camp is an attempt at Whereever Schools to teach 50 students how to break boundaries and become better communicators.  (The idea is that these students will spread what they've learned.)  This is done by having the students and the trainers participate in several large-group activities interspersed with "communication training sessions" in small groups.

It's exhausting work.

We arrived at Nameless High School with all our camping stuff on Sunday.  Once everyone had arrived, we loaded all the equipment into various cars and vans, got the students onto the bus, and drove to the Whereever Outdoor Educational Center.  We weren't tent camping at this time of year, of course--the Center has lots of indoor facilities and a two-floor bunkhouse, which we divided into male and female floors.

Once everyone was settled in, we met in a large group for lunch (nothing, including eating, begins until every single person is present in order to foment group cohesiveness), then did some large-group icebreakers.  We also broke into small groups for our first communication training sessions.

The small group sessions are always with the same group of students and the same male/female team of trainers.  Trainers are drawn from the staff of Nameless High School, and they included teachers, counselors, custodians, and para-professionals.  We went over the format of the sessions with the students, then brainstormed a list of topics to discuss, chose one, and ran with it.  For confidentiality reasons, I can't give specifics on what went on in the group, though I can say that the group was tentative at first, but very quickly grew into a cohesive, open group.

More large group activities followed, with a second communication training session after supper.  Then two people from Oakland Community College came in to give a swing dance lesson as a social event.  The students were hesitant, even scornful, early on, but then got into it.

That ended at 10:30, and everyone had free time until the 11:30 bedtime. The night was clear and crisp, if a bit chilly, and a large group went down to the volleyball court to play in the semi-darkness afforded by the outdoor lights.  I brough Corey down and played for an audience that grew steadily larger and larger.  I even sang some ballads and told "The Theft of Thor's Hammer" and "Dragon Lovers," both of which the students seemed to like quite a lot.

Once everyone was in bed, it was lights out at midnight.  The trainers slept in an adjoining bunk room, meaning we weren't in the students, but I still didn't get much sleep.  Different place, strange noises, etc.

Monday dawned dark and early.  Once everyone was up and breakfasted, we split into groups to go through various teamwork, puzzle, and trust activities.  The most dramatic of these was the trust fall.  One person climbs up onto a head-high platform while the rest of the participants form themselves into a human net.  The climber turns his or her back on the others and falls backward off the platform into their arms.  Everyone in the group did it, though one of the trainers had to overcome considerable fear to do so.  (No one was =required= to do it, of course.)  I'm always completely fearless when it comes to these things, so I did it without a tremor.

The weird thing was the pair of women who led us through these activities. We walked out into a place in the woods and met them there.  They took us through the activities, returned us to the meeting spot, said some final words, and bid us farewell.  Then they walked into the woods and disappeared.

"So where did they go?" one of the students asked, mystified.  We never did find out.

The rest of the day was large group activities broken up by meals and many, many communication training sessions that continued even after supper.  Late in the evening we had a bonfire.  When I arrived there, it turned out that several students had been asking for me.  News of my harping and storytelling had spread, and they wanted more.  I was willing to oblige despite my exhaustion--performing would relieve some of the stress.

Another trainer was telling a strange-but-true ghost story when I arrived at the fire, and when he finished, I stepped in and asked, "Do you want another story?"

This was met with a huge "YES!"  So I told "How Humanity Got the Gift of Fire, or Why the Eagle No Longer Has To Hunt For Lunch" (my own twisted version of Prometheus stealing fire).  They liked it quite a lot and immediately demanded another.  I sang "Mother Berchte's Coming To Town," then told the story that goes with.  They liked that a lot, too.

A bit of drizzle sifted down just as the story ended, and most of the crowd dispersed back to the bunkhouse.  I and a few others stayed, and the drizzle stopped a few minutes later.  We had the fire to ourselves!

Yesterday when I was harping, I met a student named E--- who was fascinated by Corey and who did a fair job of playing him.  E--- had his guitar with him, and at the bonfire, we played around with each other.  That's always fun, especially around a campfire.  We weren't able to do it for long, though--Corey can't keep his tune when his front is warm from a fire and his rear is cold from the air.

At last it was time for bed.

After breakfast the next day, the students had some free time while we trainers had a meeting, after which we did wrap-up activities in both small and large groups.  The bus arrived to bring everyone back to Nameless High School just after lunch, and we went our separate ways.  An exhausting but productive three days.

I arrived home just before the boys got out of school.  I was, in fact, unloading the car when I heard a thin, "Daddy!" float down the sidewalk.  I looked up and saw Sasha running toward me from the bus stop, thrilled that I was home at last.

The evening was spent in unpacking and catching up on e-mail.  I also watched SUPERNATURAL and SMALLVILLE on the couch with Sasha snuggled up to my left side and Mackie snuggled up to my right.  (I had to cover Mackie's eyes a few times during SUPERNATURAL.)  They refused to budge.  It was very cute.


November 19, 2005: Sasha, Hamburgers, and Harry Potter

When I got home from school on Friday, I asked Sasha and Aran if they wanted to go see HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE.  Aran said he didn't want to because "Harry Potter is too scary."  Sasha was reluctant because he was playing City of Heroes.  I finally announced I was leaving soon and anyone who wanted to go with me could.  Sasha shut down the game and got his coat. It was just him and me.

First stop was at a fast-food place for hamburgers.  Sasha was, as usual, chattering away at a mile a minute in a mixture of Ukrainian and English. When he paused for breath, I said to him, "Sasha, do you like America?"

Sasha knows enough English to understand this question.  He said, "Yeah.  I like."

"But America is scary," I observed.  =Scary= is another word Sasha knows, and he nodded.

"America scary, yes," he said, gesturing at the window and the country beyond it.

"When Mama and I went to Ukraine," I said, "Ukraine was scary."

Sasha's eyes widened in disbelief at this ridiculous statement.  "No," he said.

"Oh yes," I said.  "Ukraine very scary.  No talk.  No understand.  No nothing.  Very scary for Mama and me."

He thought this was hilarious, and he burst out laughing.  "No!" he gasped.

"Yes," I said.  "But we go to Ukraine so you and Maksim come home.  With Mama and me.  We want you in our family."

"No, no," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes.  We go to Ukraine just to bring you home.  You and Maksim."

He looked thoughtful after that, and we went on eating.

That done, we went to the movie theater.  It was 4:40, plenty of time before the 5:00 show listed on the theater's web site.  Except when we arrived, the time boards said a 4:30 show was playing now and the next show started at 7:00.  What??  Fortunately, I was able to snag tickets from the electronic kiosk.  Sasha and I bolted down the hallways and entered the theater just as the previews were ending and the movie began.  Whew!

The movie was wonderful, if a bit rushed.  (Though it would be impossible for it =not= to be so.)  Sasha is very touchy-feely after many years of emotional neglect, and he spent most of the movie snuggled up against me, pretending to be more afraid than he was during the scary scenes so he'd have an excuse.  :)  I don't know how well he was able to follow the story, but he seemed to enjoy himself.

We got home in plenty of time for him to dive back into computer games for the evening.  :)

November 19, 2005: Sasha and Ukraine

At his last counseling session (I wasn't there but Kala was), Sasha said he was unhappy with America and that he had decided he should go back to Ukraine and live with his sisters.

Anya gently told him, "Sasha, if you went back to Ukraine, you couldn't live with your sisters.  You would have to go back to the Internat."'

At this, Sasha burst into tears and fled the room.  Anya went after him and calmed him down, then told Kala that this is fairly common among older adoptees.  When things get frustrating in the new country, they think back to their native land and see it as a place where things may not have been great, but at least you knew the language and the rules.

November 19, 2005: Sasha's School, continued

Sasha told his classmates and his teachers that he was going to attend a new school.  I think to his surprise, his classmates reacted with dismay. "Don't leave, Sasha!  We like having you.  You can't go!"  His teachers were also dismayed and Kala received several phone messages from them.

When Sasha came home that day, he announced that he didn't want to go to a different school after all.  Sasha and Kala visited his potential new school the day after that, and Sasha continued to maintain he didn't want to leave his current school.  So now we're in limbo with it.  We'll have to discuss it with him through Anya.  Fortunately, we don't have to decide right away. It's not like the new school called and said, "We have a slot open now, but if you don't take it, we have to give it to someone else."  The school has openings that have remained unfilled, so we have time to decide pros and cons.

November 19, 2005: Thanksgiving Prep

My brother is hosting Thanksgiving this year, which is nice for us (he's much closer than my mother), but rather sucks for my mother and sister (who live far away).  Oh well.  For one year, everyone can put up with the drive. :)

I'm supposed to bring dessert.  However, I'm leaving for the leadership camp thing tomorrow and won't get back until late Tuesday.  I doubt very much that I'll be up to much on Wednesday as a result, so the baking had to be done today.

Pies, of course, are the order of the day for Thanksgiving.  I did cheat a little by buying the crusts (too much else going on today to make them myself), and baked two pumpkin pies.  They smelled wonderful, and I put them into the freezer.  I also assembled two blueberry pies =without= baking them (using frozen blueberries from our stash) and froze them as well.  Just have to pop them into the oven Wednesday evening and everything'll be perfect! We're good to go!

November 17, 2005: Fifteen Years

Fifteen years ago today, Kala and I got married.  Whoa.  Fifteen years!

November 11, 2005: Newspaper Interview

I was interviewed a couple of weeks ago.  The reporter also visited my class one day to see what we were up to and to interview a few students.  A photographer stopped in as well.  The story appeared in yesterday's OAKLAND PRESS as the lead story in the Features section (big picture above the fold of me teaching), and it was very well done.  The pictures were great, too. Unfortunately, I can't post a link--the OP isn't on-line except to paying subscribers.

The story was about the media literacy class--what it's about, what the students learn, and so on.

I got congratulations and positive comments all day.  J---, our principal, sent out a school-wide e-mail alerting everyone to it and thanking me publicly for my professionalism and dedication.  The media lit class thought it was massively cool, too.  I laminated a copy and posted on my room's bulletin board so they could all see.

We had a staff meeting after school that day, and J--- made a special mention of the article and how fine it was to see one of Nameless High School's teachers praised in the newspaper.  The article was mentioned on this morning's announcements (which are done by students on close-circuit TV like a news broadcast), complete with a picture of it.

I'm living on my fifteen minutes of fame.  :)

November 10, 2005: Sasha's School

I swore I would never do this.  It never occurred to me there would be situations where I might even consider it.  Yet here we are.

Sasha's starting to open up to his counselor some more.  I was startled to realize that Sasha didn't know we were aware of why he was removed from his mother's home.  On the other hand, no one had told him we knew.    I kind of figured he would have realized Kala and I would have had the court documents, but no one seems to have told him about how the adoption actually worked.

Anyway, I digress.

Sasha has been having trouble at school.  Some of the other students (not ones from his class) have been bullying him, calling him names and making fun of the fact that he doesn't say much.  Sasha is small for his age and unable to defend himself verbally--and he is unable to tell a teacher (or us) when a kid is bothering him.  The names of the other kids are foreign to him, difficult to remember and pronounce, compounding the problem.  At parent-teacher conferences, his teachers said they're aware of the problem and are working on helping, but of course bullies are masters at hiding it from teachers, and Sasha, largely defenseless, is an easy target.

Sasha also struggles with the curriculum, of course.  He says his math teacher keeps giving him problems that are too easy (though he won't do them to show he knows how) and the other classes are bad for him because he doesn't understand what's going on.  There are exceptions (art class), but school is an overall bad place for him, and he dreads going every day.

Anya suggested we put him in a different school and recommended one in Ypsilanti. Anya's daughter, who speaks Russian, is a student there, as do some other students who speak Russian.

It's a charter school.

I hate the idea of charter schools.  They drain resources from the public schools. The state's philosophy on them seems to be, "The public schools are doing poorly, so instead of giving them more money to help them cope, let's open competition schools instead and take money =away= from the public ones."  (In Michigan, the money follows the student, so when a student enrolls in a charter school, the public schools lose money.)

However, Anya thinks Sasha would do better in a smaller school, where more--or even all--the students will get to know him and the staff can keep a better eye on him.  The charter schools in this area are also a little more more European in structure, so Sasha might feel more at home there.

We did some research.  There are actually three charter schools in our area, and all three are chartered under the same organization.  The one that Anya's daughter attends doesn't have any openings for sixth grade and they have a long waiting list with a lottery.  The second school has openings, and the third has a short waiting list.

Kala contacted the third school and is in the process of enrolling him there.  They have a dress code (dark slacks, white shirt, tie for boys), so he'll need some more clothes, and there are no buses, so we (and by "we" I mean "Kala") will have to drive him every day.  He'll start the Monday after Thanksgiving.  His last day at the current middle school will be Thursday.

We'll see how this works out . . .

November 9, 2005: UWG, With Guest

Monday night we had our usual Untitled Writers Group meeting, but with a difference--author and editor Esther Friesner attended.  She's visiting us folk in Ann Arbor to while away the time between World Fantasy and WindyCon.

We had a full slate, actually.  Our maximum number of submissions for a given evening is four (manuscripts are handed out at the previous meeting so people can read at their leisure), but last time a member who was being critiqued missed the meeting, so we had five.  We also had an extra critiquer, so each MS had eight readers instead of seven.  Five manuscripts + eight readers = a lot of time.

I suggested that we start critiques at 7:30 instead of 7:45, and that people arrive at the meeting site at 7:00 if they wanted to socialize.  Our host Jonathan was emenable, so that worked out.

As a final change, I suggested we put a temporary moratorium on our custom of buying time.  Each critiquer in our group is allotted three minutes to speak.  To fund the snacks, we charge fifty cents per minute to critiquers who go over. We put a temporary halt to this practice to save time.

I got there at 7:15, and the mini party was in full swing.  Much delicious food was laid out, including blackberry pie and chocolate souffle.  At 7:30 we cracked the whip and got down to critiquing.  Esther was initially reluctant to participate in the critiques, but Sarah persuaded her to do it, and she acquitted herself well.  :)

The critiquing lasted (with two breaks) until 9:45 or so--pretty good for forty critique speeches!

November 8, 2005: World Fantasy

My, it's been a bit since I've posted.  Terribly, terribly busy.  Running like a chicken with missing head.  First chance to post.

So, World Fantasy Con.  Fellow UWGer Anne Harris and I rose at a horrifyingly early hour on Friday (4:30 for me) for the drive to Madison.  We had planned
to share the driving, but it turned out Anne hadn't driven a stick shift in years.  She tried it in a gas station parking lot about halfway across Michigan,but it didn't work well, so I  stayed in the drivers seat.

We made excellent time--I drive like the wind--and arrived in Madison without incident.  Came across Laura Anne Gilman in the bar almost immediately and spent
a great deal of time catching up.  (I haven't seen her in almost two years.)  Laura Anne had lined up glasses of single malt and was trying to convert everyone around her.  I dutifully tried them, but found most of them awful and only one vaguely palatable.  I'm a complete Philistine when it comes to alcohol, I'm afraid.  James put in an appearance as well.

Dinner was spent with the Seton Hill mafia (Jen, Maria, Mike, and me, though more SH people were there).  Afterward was some shopping on State Street, a bit of party-hopping, and a fairly early bedtime.

In the morning I met Lucienne, Ye Agente.  Most people do tea and sympathy, but we did waffles and strategy.  Afterward, the two of us did a quick tour of the farmer's market that surrounds the capitol building in Madison and spent extensive time at the excellent toy store nearby.  I bought remote control robots for Sasha and Aran for Christmas (they're both robot crazy right now) and a bird flashlight for Mackie.  It rotates through different colors when you press the tail, and he'll love it.

I spent the rest of the day doing . . . not much.  I wasn't on any programming and the day was fairly nice for November, so UWGer Karen Everson and I went shopping down State Street.  I enabled her into buying a beautiful peackock shawl.  I also bought Al Franken's new book TRUTH as a Christmas present for Kala.  (Don't tell her.)

I was forced to go into economy mode for this con, though.  The room was expensive (since I got a leftover that wasn't eligible for the con discount) and right now, we're still deep in debt from the adoption.  I ended up eating at the con suite for the remainder of the convention --the money I would have spent on food made up for the hotel room.  When a large group of friends went to an upscale restaurant for supper on Saturday, I bowed out, much as I would have enjoyed the company.  Forty or fifty dollars will buy a lot of holiday presents for the boys.

So I had lunch at the con suite (some nice sandwiches were available) and then ran into Laura Anne, Sarah, and Karen.  They hadn't eaten lunch yet and were going hunting for some.  I tagged along, and we ended up at a bakery/coffee house, where the ladies dined on various breads, rolls, and cheeses with tea.  As the only male present, I sat in the corner of the booth, my back against a stack of pillows, and declared myself a pasha surrounded by my women, to everyone's general . . . amusement.

We had some wonderful conversation.  Somehow we got to talking about both food and authors and I had an inspiration.  "How would you describe a given author's writing in food terms?" I asked.

We got almost two hours' conversation out of it.  Mark Twain (catfish which must be prepared well to be appreciated, served with unexpectedly spicy tartar sauce), Terry Pratchett (creamed herring--people who don't like it don't understand why afficianados keep going back for more), Isaac Asimov (a buffet with a dozen different tables and where most of the guests only eat from one section), and many others.  We even braved our own writing.

At 2:30 a worker came over and gently told us they actually close at two.  Oh dear!  We quickly vacated, but not before Sarah snabbed a bag of croissants (deeply discounted because the bakery was closing for the day).

Forgot to mention the mass book signing!  We authors all showed up at 8:00 on Friday, collected a name sign, and found seats at tables in an enormous ballroom. Sarah, Anne, and I clumped together, and I was surprised to sign several books.  Sarah and Anne did, too.

Saturday evening, as I said, I scrounged supper in the con suite, then wandered around looking for something to do.  Everyone was out to dinner somewhere, so there wasn't much going.  At last I ran into Lucienne, who was also wondering where everyone was.  We hied into the bar for drinks (well, Cokes and mineral water, anyway) and vowed to make our =own= Circle of Cool People.  Within a few minutes, another couple joined us (I forget their names), and then Esther and Sarah came into the bar, and we had quite the Crowd of Coolness.  Ha!

We continued some of the conversation in Sarah's room (Esther did her rendition of "The Lizard Washing Carol"), and when that petered out, I did some party hopping and heard about an open-mike event down in one of the conference rooms.  Ellen Klages made up a song called "Shadow Dirt" on the fly and John Haldeman sang a funny song about the woes of the slush pile.  I told "Mother Berchte," which was very well received.

Conked out in my room just after midnight and woke up at 5:30 completely unable to get back to sleep.  At 6:30 I gave up, rose, showered, and packed.  I decided to do a small splurge and look for a reasonable place to get a hot breakfast (the hotel's was too expensive for what you got), and found absolutely nothing around the hotel.  So I had bagels in the con suite.

Anne had a panel that morning, but we met in the lobby beforehand to load up the car.  I said various good-byes while Anne put in her appearance, and then we drove home without major incident.

Very tired, though.

November 3, 2005: Conferences

Yesterday was Parent-Teacher Conferences, and it's a horrible, long day.  I taught all day, then went down to my table in the gym, where I talked to parents all afternnon and evening.  Because the district delays the comp day for it, I had to teach all day today, too.

November 1, 2005: Halloween and Samhain

Hmmmm . . .

A bit of sadness.  Our coven has pretty much evaporated.  After ten years (a billion in coven years), I think we're done.  It was the children that killed it, of course.  It's really hard to meet regularly when all of us have children under the age of thirteen.  So at the moment, Wyrd Roots is a family tradition ("fam-trad") coven.

We started with Halloween.  Sasha discovered we had a Superman costume from last year (when Aran wore it) and he really, really wanted to wear it instead of the ninja costume, so we let him.  This meant we had Superman and Batman in a team-up!  Mackie was very cute in his Thomas the Tank Engine outfit, too.

Earlier in the day, Sasha indicated that he didn't really like the idea of going trick-or-treat because he didn't speak English and he wasn't at all certain about the whole thing.  I told him all he had to say was "trick-or-treat" and "thank you," both of which he could handle perfectly well.

I also used the translator program on-line to tell him something about Samhain:

Today is a sacred day for our family.  Other people do not celebrate in this day, as we celebrate in this day.  Today is New Year for our family.  We think about people which died last year.  We talk also, that ghosts can return tonight.  We give food to the ghosts, and we kindle candles for ghosts.  We take the statue of goddess in a house for the winter.  We put on black clothes.  Your mother and I are happy, because you can join in with us.

Sasha didn't know quite what to make of this, either.  I think he was nervous that the whole Halloween thing was some sort of put-on and he'd look stupid.

After supper, my mother-in-law arrived.  She was going to hand out candy at our house so both Kala and I could take the boys out trick-or-treating, and she had a clown costume with her.  Aran excitedly dashed into his room to get his costume on, and Sasha began to understand that yes, people really =do= dress up.  He got into his Superman costume, getting excited himself. A small bobble came up when we realized we only had two plastic pumpkins for carrying candy, but I found a red tote bag and asked Sasha if he would use that and let Mackie carry the pumpkin.  Sasha refused but Mackie seemed okay with the bag, so it was all right.  We lit the jack-o-lanterns on the porch and off we went.

The weather was perfect--a hint of chill so you didn't get hot wearing a costume but not cold.

At the driveway of the first house, Sasha looked at me and said, "I don't know, Pop.  I don't know.  No, no."  But Aran trotted right up to the door, knocked firmly, and shouted "Trick-or-treat!"  Our neighbor came out to distribute candy.  The change in Sasha was instantaneous.  He sprinted to the second house and bellowed, "Trick-or-treat!"

Not long after this, Sasha realized Mackie's tote bag would hold a lot more candy than the measely pumpkin, so he readily traded.  Ah, the motivating power of greed.

And so we went around the neighborhood.  Aran and Mack tired out before too long, so Kala took them home and I continued onward with Sasha.  Sasha wanted to go by himself, but I wouldn't let him.  Not only did he not yet understand all the rules about which houses you could knock at, I wasn't going to risk him getting lost in the dark neighborhood when he didn't speak enough English to ask for help.

Sasha eventually returned home with a heavy, heavy bag.  He and Aran finished the evening by standing on the porch to hand out our candy.  A light rain started right after we ran out of candy, ending another year's trick-or-treat.

After trick-or-treat time, my mother-in-law went home and we readied the house for Samhain.  I realized that although Sasha (and Mack) may not entirely understand what was going on, understanding wasn't necessary--only participation.  Understanding could come later.

I baked cinnamon apples, scooped out pomegranate seeds, and poured cider. My mother-in-law had brought over a giant cookie shaped like a pumpkin, so we added that to the table.  I had wanted to light up the outdoor altar with candles so we could all go out and bring the Goddess statue in, but it was still raining.  Instead, I put the statue near the sliding glass door to the back yard and put lit candles at her feet.  I set Aran and Sasha to putting candles all around the house while Kala set the table, including a sixth place close to the open sliding door.

Everyone went around the house and lit all the candles.  Then we shut off the electric lights.  Mackie is scared of the dark, but he seemed fine with all the candle light.  Out near the back door, the boys lit incense sticks which we stuck into the ground near the Goddess statue.  We sat down at the table, toasted the sixth seat, and I served up the apples, seeds, cookie, and cider, including the sixth plate.  After everyone had eaten, we brought the Goddess inside and placed her on the indoor altar.  Kala removed the God statues, wrapped them in black cloth, and placed them under the altar, where they'll stay until Yule.  Then we went back upstairs and blew the candles out.

As the house grew darker and darker, Mack become more and more nervous.  I offered to pick him up, and he clung to me like a nervous monkey. Downstairs we gathered around the altar and extinguished the candles one by one until the entire house was dark.  Mackie had a death grip around my neck, but he didn't cry.  After a moment in darkness, we brought the lights back on, and the Samhain rituals were ended for another year.


October 30, 2005: Weekend, With Boys

This weekend the weather was quintessential autumn.  The trees splashed colors against a perfectly blue sky, the air was crisp, the sun was bright. Sam the Dog hadn't gotten a decent walk in days because I've been so exhausted, so I told Kala that I was taking him out.  Mackie wanted to come, too, so I decided to take him along.

The nature area with the lovely trails, streams, and ponds where I used to walk Sam has been destroyed for a soul-less housing development, so now I take him back to the place where I used to take him--the field not far from our old house.  It's a meadow-y place with a few trees scattered around. The ruins of a nursing home, now covered with weeds, stand in the middle but are easily avoided.

Sam ran around doing doggie things and I realized it was the first time I'd been alone with Mack for quite some time.  We played with the frisbee and looked at the airplanes Mackie pointed out.  (We live twenty minutes from Detroit Metro Airport, so there are always lots of contrails in the sky.) We chased after Sam and explored piles of dirt.  Mack liked it quite a lot and so did I.

Back home it was lunchtime, and then I took Aran and Sasha to see WALLACE AND GROMIT.  It turned out to be a good choice because a lot of the movie is done without dialogue, making it easy for Sasha to follow.  It was also great fun in and of itself, with a whole lot of jokes for the adults in the audience (the signs were especially good--MIDDLE AGE SPREAD on a jar of food and MAY CONTAIN NUTS on a box used as a hasty piece of clothing, for starters) and a long hommage to King Kong at the end.

I also wrote quite a lot that afternoon and rounded out the day with CITY OF VILLAINS.  :)

October 30, 2005: Difficult Week

This week has been difficult.  On Tuesdays I have training sessions for the leadership camp, and they go until 4:30.  Thursdays I have a standing appointment in Ann Arbor and have to leave right after school.  That runs until 4:00.

Sandwiched in the middle I have Wednesday, when I can get home from work at 3:00 or 3:30, a reasonable hour for someone who leaves the house at 6:15 in the morning.  Except this week I ended up having to deal with a major legal issue involving my classroom and some of my students.  I can't go into details here for obvious reasons, except to say that I'm not in any kind of trouble.  However, I still have to deal with the paperwork and the meetings. The upshot was that on Wednesday I had to stay until 4:15.

Friday was the end of the marking period, and because my prep time and after-school time was eaten up by the issue mentioned above, I was behind on grading and recording, so I had to stay late =again.=

Very tired of being tired.

October 28, 2005: George Takei

So George Takei is gay.  How interesting!

http://www.afterelton.com/people/2005/10/takei.html


October 25, 2005: Sasha's Counselor Again

This morning Sasha knew he was supposed to see his counselor Anya today, and he made it clear that he hated the idea.  He became pouty and stubborn. Kala bundled him into the car after school today, however, and hauled him over to Jewish Family Services.

Things went better than expected, however.  He talked more with Anya this time around, and she was able to explain more about upcoming holidays to him and he talked a little about school.  So maybe he's getting used to the idea of talking to her.

October 25, 2005: Rosa Parks

Rosa Parks died the day before yesterday.  Her life and the power of her deeds, of course, are discussed at great length elsewhere.  I'm just wondering:

--Will the funeral be in Detroit or Montgomery?  (Or will there be a service in both places?)
--When will it be?  (Detroit area residents like myself want to know.)
--Will the President attend?  (He will if he knows what's good for him, but W isn't famous for knowing this.)

Operating on the assumption that the answer to question three is "yes," I love to think about:

--how the pre-bus Rosa Parks would have responded if anyone had told her, "You will live to a ripe old age and the President of the United States will attend your funeral"; and
--how the various citizens of Montgomery would have reacted if they had been told (and somehow made to believe) that the President would attend the funeral of the woman who started the bus strike.

Food for thought . . .

[later]

For the record, they =are= having services in both places.  Montgomery, AL first, then her body will be flown to Detroit for a funeral on November 2.  Parks will lie in state from six a.m. to midnight and will be buried in Detroit.

October 24, 2005: Mackie Weirdness

This morning at 4:15 I woke to thumping footsteps out in the hallway.  I got up to investigate and found Mackie running up and down the hallway with no shirt on.  He saw me, sprinted to the living room, and jumped on the couch.

"What are you doing up?" I demanded.

"Want watch TV!" he said.

"You need to go back to bed," I said.  "It's too early for TV."

"No."  And he pulled the afghan over himself.

I (and possibly Mack) knew that if I picked him up and put him bodily back in bed, he would scream, cry, and wake up the entire house.

"No TV," I said.  "You can sleep on the couch."

And I went back to bed.  Sometimes ignoring the behavior is the best way to stop it.

Mackie has also taken to hoarding food in his room.  Although this is a common behavior for orphans, it's unusual for Mackie.  He's a little on the young side for it, and he also just started it last week.  Most kids who hoard food, AFAIK, start right away, not three months after they arrive in their new homes.  We've found jars of peanuts, bags of crackers, and entire bottles of juice in his room.  He'll get over this eventually, of course, but it's annoying right now.  One time he spilled all the peanuts on his bed and it took forever to clean up.

October 23, 2005: Carving and Crisp

Yesterday we went to a farmer's market and bought pumpkins.  Maksim refused to choose anything except a pie pumpkin, but Sasha and Aran chose some
nice-sized ones.  I got one, too, and bought a peck of apples as well.

Today I made apple crisp, which we had for dessert after a dinner of tacos. Aran and Maksim liked the crisp quite a lot, but Sasha didn't much care for it.  He wanted Oreos, the little traitor.

Then we carved jack o' lanterns.  They don't do this in Ukraine, of course, and the boys found it rather novel.  We put them out on the front porch with candles.

October 20, 2005: Little House

Yesterday I was in the bookstore when I saw they had Laura Wilder's "Little House" books on sale--buy two, get a third free.  I had been looking for something
to interest Aran in reading (I'm secretly hoping to lead him into Harry Potter), and it occurred to me that these books might do it.  So I bought the first six.

Yesterday evening, I sat down with him and read the first chapter of LITTLE HOUSE IN THE BIG WOODS.  He was a little restless at first ("We're going to stop after one chapter, okay?"), but then settled into it right around the description of hog butchering time.  The bear and deer hunting bits also interested him quite a lot.  ("We can read two chapters, if you want," he said.)

I finished the first chapter, and then Aran read part of the second chapter aloud to me.  After a couple pages, he stopped and said, "Can I look at this book myself?"  And I agreed that he could, of course.

We'll see if we can keep this up.  We haven't been able to find books that interest him now that he's outgrown Junie B. Jones.

October 19, 2005: Children's Television

We're doing children's TV in media literacy.  For this, I tape a selection of non-PBS kid shows.  We watch them in class and dissect both the shows and the commercials.  Questions we consider include:

--What age group is this show meant to appeal to and how do you know?
--What elements in the show appeal to that age group?
--How does the show try to hold a child's attention?
--What sales techniques do the commercials use to sell their products?

I taped four shows and we watched two today.  The first was JOHNNY TEST, a WB show about a kid who's supposed to be 10 but sounds and acts like a teenager (since kids are usually interested in someone who's a little older than they are).  His twin older sisters are mad scientists who have altered Johnny's dog so he can talk, and Johnny is always getting himself and his sisters and his dog into trouble.

The show set our teeth on edge.  The class sighed with relief when it ended. The show rushes along in a series of sharp jerks, and all scene changes are accompanied by a WHOOSH! noise.  The animation reminds me of THE POWERPUFF GIRLS cranked up on amphetamines.  No shot lasts for more than a second or two, and
loud rock music plays almost continuously in the background.  Fart jokes and other bathroom humor are given prime play.  It was awful, from beginning to end.  I could see little kids coming away from it, shaking, jittery, and over-stimulated.  Just awful!

The second show was LOONYTUNES UNLEASHED, a really weird-ass WB show (and I don't mean "weird-ass" in a good way).  A meteor hits the earth in the future, transforming all the people in the world into animal versions of themselves.  The Loony Tunes characters all become superheroes.  Jack Rabbit (Bugs Bunny)
is the leader.  Wile E. Coyote is a gadgeteer.  Tasmanian Devil is a dumb, strongman type.  Road Runner is a speedster.  And so on.

In the episode we watched, a company starts selling cute little fluffball bio-pets that mutate into rampaging monsters if you feed them chocolate.  (Where have we seen that before?)  The Toons have to stop it, of course.

The show can't seem to decide whether it's comedy or adventure.  There isn't quite enough humor to make the utter ridiculous setup work and the adventure is too serious for the silly setting.  One of my students called it "the whoring of classic characters."  It was definitely dreadful.

Tomorrow: BATMAN and POKEMON.


October 18, 2005: Costumes

Sunday afternoon we went costume shopping.  There's a warehouse-type store not far from us that opens every year for the month of October, and it's great fun to shop there.  Fantasy Attic, Ann Arbor's best costume store and our usual choice, has unfortunately become Too Expensive for our current family.

Sasha and Mack were utterly fascinated by the place.  The inside is all done in black, with acres of costumes, makeup, decorations, animated statues, and other Halloween stuff.  The gigantic gargoyle near the front occasionally bursts into life, complete with fog and rumbling music.  This scared the bejabbers out of Mackie, but Sasha and Aran loved it.

We warned Sasha beforehand that he would get one (1) costume.  There would be no going back, and if he changed his mind later, it was tough cookies.  On the way to the store, he wanted to be a pirate.  When he arrived he wanted to be a swordsman or knight.  He eventually settled on a ninja.

Aran, meanwhile, glommed onto a Batman outfit, and Mackie jumped up and down when he saw a Thomas the Tank Engine costume.  (He doesn't watch the show, but he loves trains.)  We also let the kids explore the store for quite some time.

At home, costumes were donned, and role-playing commenced.  Aran teased me out into the back yard, where I became a super-villain.  Mackie was Aran's sidekick--it turned out his Batman costume had an extra mask in it.  The game went on for quite some time.  Aran asking to play let's pretend.  Amazing how it comes naturally to him now after all those years of teaching him how to do it.


October 18, 2005: Triplets

Ray and Kelly, friends of Kala's, have triplets.  Ray and Kelly are originally from Michigan but live in Arizona.  Kelly had her 20-year high school reunion, and she brought the whole family for an extended stay "back home."

Kala, in a fit of insanity, volunteered to babysit the triplets (who are seven) while Ray and Kelly attended the reunion.  This would involve the kids staying overnight.

"Goodness," I said pleasantly when she announced this fact, "you're going to be busy."

"You are too," she said.

"True," I sighed with regret.  "I'm under deadline and will be writing this weekend."

So Kala roped her mother into coming over, too.

The visit actually went very well.  They arrived a little early (ten instead of noon) on Saturday, and after some initial visiting, everyone except me headed out to the Henry Ford Museum.  Whoa!  House to myself for the first time in  . . a long, long time.  I spent the time at my computer.

Three hours later, the group returned.  The trip had been highly successful.  All six kids enjoyed it very much and everyone was well-behaved.

Supper came next (lasagna), followed by Ray and Kelly's departure.  I Melva arrived, and I vanished back into my office, hard at work.  The six kids played together, watched videos, drew pictures, and did the usual kid stuff until bedtime.

In the morning, Ray and Kelly arrived at 8:30 and we all went out to breakfast at the Bomber, a local diner we like quite a lot.  Again, the kids all behaved very well.  ("Whose kids are these?" Kelly demanded.)

And then the visiting family left.  Overall a painless, if busy, weekend.

October 12, 2005: My First Sale

Lordy, lordy.  I just found out my first professional sale is on line.  It's at:

http://www.motherearthnews.com/library/1981_July_August/Mother_s_Children__I__a_Hare_Raising_Kid_

I was thirteen, and I got $100.

October 13, 2005: An Explanation

People often ask me how I manage to teach full time, write novels, teach long-distance grad school, and raise three kids all at once.  Lynn Johnson of FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE provides the answer.  Michael's life is mine:

http://www.fborfw.com/strip_fix/archives/001426.php


October 12, 2005: Sex and Evolution

This is a very interesting site, I think.  Much fun to read:

http://www.futurepundit.com/archives/cat_human_mating.html

Some of the conclusions are a little farfetched (such as drawing a conclusion between testicle size in various primates and the rate of female infidelity within the species), but quite a lot of it is much fun.

The blogger missed something, though.  He quotes a study that seems to indicate that women with high IQs are less likely to marry, while men with high IQs are more likely to marry, then goes on to offer several possibilities about why this is:

>>One possible cause of this result is that many smarter women find it
>>beneath them to be wives. Or perhaps they are too choosy in wanting higher
>>status men, whereas the men are not as choosy about status of females and
>>hence can find a suitable mate from a much larger pool of women. Men are
>>more driven to seek physical beauty and youth as a result of selective
>>pressures to seek fertile mates. Whereas natural selection favored a
>>female preference for higher status men as better providers.

He forgot the most obvious possibility: that men avoid marrying women who are smarter than they are.

October 11, 2005: Sasha and the Tutor

Yesterday Sasha was supposed to meet with his counselor, but our insurance company hasn't approved the visits yet, so he met with his tutor instead.  I ended up
taking him.

Sasha did =not= want to go.  He was pouty and stubborn and grabbed his school binder with bad grace.  When we arrived at Jewish Family Services, he refused to get out of the car.  I finally got him into the building and met his tutor, Andre.  (Kala and Sasha had already met him once, briefly.)  We moved into a little classroom/conference room with slightly battered furntiure, a white board, and a world map on the wall.  Notes on English verb conjugation covered the board.  Push pins were stuck all over the map, I think to indicate where various students came from.

I asked Andre first if he would translate a couple of things for me.  The first was to explain to Sasha what Halloween was about, but he didn't want to listen.  He folded his arms and turned his back in his chair.  I also asked Andre to ask Sasha what he might like for Christmas, or at least to think about it.  Sasha met this with equal stoniness.

When I got out his notebook and opened it (he was supposed to have math homework), I found nothing in it but a lot of blank paper.  I asked Sasha about this, but
he denied having any homework to do.  This belied what his teachers were saying, and I wasn't happy with him.

When we met with Sasha' ESL coordinator last week, she asked if we could get a diagnostic test for math and reading done on Sasha.  So I asked Andre if Family Services had one.  He left and came back a few minutes later with a test.

Sasha refused to do it.  He put his head down on the table and sat.  Andre and I tried to coach him into doing it, but he wouldn't budge.  We left him alone in the room for several minutes to see if he would try when we weren't standing over him, but when we came back, he hadn't even picked up the pencil.  He kept repeating "I don't know.  I don't know" over and over, though I know very well he can do some math because I've seen him do it.

At last I started showing him fingers.  The first problem was 3+3= , so I held up three fingers.  "Skilka?" I asked.

"Three," he said reluctantly.

I put up three fingers from my other hand.  "Skilka?"

"Three."

I put both hands together.  "Skilka?"

"Six," he said.

I pointed to "six" among the multiple choice answers.  "So you =do= know the answer."

With more pushing and cajoling on my part, Sasha did the first set of problems.

Except he got almost all of them wrong.

He was fine with single-digit math, but double-digit addition and subtraction was beyond him.  He had some idea of what was involved, but his answers were based on guesswork and estimation.

I can't say I'm surprised.  Before the Internat, school for Sasha was nothing more than a place to get food and maybe wash up a little.  I didn't imagine school at the Internat taught him much, and I'm seeing that I was right.

So now we have the problem of getting Sasha caught up.

October 10. 2005: Sasha vs. the Tub

It came to our attention that Sasha wasn't getting clean when he took a bath.  That yummy corn chip smell was the first clue.  Not only was he not bathing well, he wasn't changing his underclothes regularly.  The last time she did laundry, Kala noticed he only had two pairs of socks in it.

Now I supervise him in the tub, make sure he washes everything.  His hair is actually a little problematic--it's very thick and heavy, meaning water and shampoo don't penetrate all the way unless you're careful that it does.  Sasha usually isn't.  He wants to give himself a cursory rinse-off in a shower, or dive in and out of a bath,   meaning he wasn't getting clean.  Not sure if this is a Ukrainian thing or a twelve-year-old thing.  I don't remember refusing to change my socks and underwear when I was twelve, though.

I suppose this is one problem teenagehood will cure.  Watch this space for future complaints that Sasha's bathing empties the hot water heater and that he takes an hour in the bathroom.

October 10, 2005: Running the House

I had a cold earlier this week (yet another one), and Kala caught it.  But she seemed to have gotten it much worse.  She called me at work today, asking me to come home right after school because she felt awful and couldn't deal with kids.  I arranged for a sixth-hour sub and came home early.

Made supper for the brood, cleaned up, did some Seton Hill paperwork, and then somehow ended up outside on the back lawn in a five-way wrestling match with me, Sasha, Aran, Mack, and Sam.  The testosterone levels went off the scale!

The boys still fight amongst themselves, but they're learning to play together better.  Aran is making bigger advances in this arena every day. In many ways, this is hardest on him--he has to learn to be a brother, something Sasha and Mack already know how to do.

October 9, 2005: Weekend Away

So as I said, the boys spent the weekend at Uncle Paul and Aunt Kristi's. Their son Caleb was all for it.  Their daughter Brie took one look at the prospect of having three =more= boys in the house for the weekend and fled screaming to a friend's house for the night.

Paul and Kristi took the brood to a petting zoo and to one of those family arcade places.  You know the type--where you run around playing Whack-a-Mole type games for tickets you redeem for novelty prizes, pausing only long enough to eat junk food.  Paul said Sasha's eyes went wide when he saw the place, then he gave Paul a hug and said, "I love you!"

Ah, the keys to a child's heart.

They stayed up late, of course.  Kristi reported that she put all four boys in Caleb's room and put a movie in the DVD player.  Mackie fell asleep while Aran, Sasha, and Caleb watched THE MUPPETS TREASURE ISLAND.

In the morning (late morning--my god, we both got to sleep in), we called over to make sure everything was okay, then drove up to collect the brood. Mackie didn't freak or cry once, apparently.  This possibility was our main worry.  Not sure if he's just adapted very well and not worried about abandonment or if Sasha and Aran's presence kept him happy.

October 9, 2005: A Chosen One

Every year, the Whereever high schools send about fifty students to a leadership camp for four days (two of which are over a weekend).  The camp is supposed to teach them leadership skills and tolerance (usually of other races, but since Nameless High School has so very, very few racial minorities, I suspect it'll focus on stuff like tolerence toward sexual orientation, avoiding clique behavior, etc.).  The idea is that these students will return from the camp and spread the ideas and behaviors to others among the student body.

Naturally, they need people to facilitate, and teachers are about the handiest.  Every year they ask who wants to go, and every year the counseling department gets a long list of interested people.  For although the idea of spending four days with a group of adolescents in a campground makes many mortals shudder, most high school teachers (me included) =like= working with teenagers.

I've put my name on the "interested" list several times but have never been selected to go.  Part of the problem is that they prefer a mix of age, race, and gender, and white males in their 30s aren't exactly in short supply. This year, however, one of the teachers in charge of the camp zipped into my room and put out his hand to shake.

"Just wanted to come down and congratulate you," he said.

At first I thought he was talking about the adoption, but most people don't offer to shake hands at that, so I said, "For what?"

"We want you to come to leadership camp," he said, and added, "I want to hear you play the harp."

We laughed about that, and he went on his way.

So now I'm going to spend four days in November at a campground with 50 teenagers.  Go me!


October 8, 2005: Unexpected Silence

Um . . . sure.  Okay.

My brother and my sister-in-law had offered to have Aran and Sasha over for Saturday night.  We jumped on that offer right quick!  We were a little wary of Sasha's reactions to the idea, but he got excited when we explained it to him, so that was cool.  Mack, however, got upset that he wasn't going.  Very upset.  We told him that he would visit Aunt Sarah, Uncle Tim, and Alexander later, but it didn't pacify him.

When Paul and Kristi arrived to pick the kids up, however, Paul said, "And where's Maksim's stuff?"

Eh?  He had been planning to take all three of them.  Kristi had been thinking like we'd been, that it'd be just Aran and Sasha, but Paul said he wanted all three of them, and Kristi was up for it.  I asked Mackie if he wanted to go, and he did.

"Ni Mama, ni Papa," I said.  "Ce parasho?"  No Mommy, no Daddy.  Is that okay?

He nodded firmly.  So we threw together an overnight bag for him, put the child seat in Paul's SUV, and off they all went.

Whoa.  It's so =quiet= around here.  You can hear the clocks tick.

October 8, 2005: Unexpected Treat

I have in my Communication I class three exchange students, one from Japan, one from France, and one from Korea.  It makes for an interesting time when speeches come around.

Today the Korean student gave me a ziplock bag with six pieces of sushi in it, though she told me quite firmly that it wasn't sushi--it was kim bop (I think that's what she said--she speaks very quietly).  The Japanese, she said, took the idea of packing raw fish in rice and wrapping it in seaweed from the Koreans.  So this was the =original= stuff.

It was quite cold when she gave it to me, so I thanked her and put it into the staff refrigerator.

Because of my earlier bad experience with raw fish (one that lead to Ryder's Syndrome), I was wary.  But the lunch schedule had been shifted around that day because of the assembly, and I ended upt eating lunch at 10:00 in the morning.  By the end of the school day, I was very hungry.  So I ate the stuff.

It was very good.  :)

October 8, 2005: Long-Ass Friday

This past week has been spirit week, leading into homecoming.  Nameless High School has had a homecoming week ever since it opened, despite the fact that this is the first year they've actually had alumni who might come home.  It always amuses me to see the startled looks on my students faces when I tell them that Homecoming is supposed to have nothing whatsoever to do with them--it's for the people who have already graduated.

Anyway, Friday we had shortened classes to accomodate a pep assembly.  I hate pep assemblies, me.  Why does the football team get all this attention? Why doesn't the robotics team get a pep assembly?  Or the drama club?  Or any other group that actually deals with ACADEMICS?  So I wasn't in a great mood to begin with.

Then, during fifth hour, the fire alarm went off.  I narrowed my eyes.  We'd just had a fire drill two days ago, and we had no more scheduled until spring.  I was pretty sure this was the result of some stupid piss-head playing a prank during homecoming week.

Experience at Some School taught me that whenever the fire alarm goes off unexpectedly, I should grab my coat, wallet, cell phone, and keys, just in case we aren't allowed back into the building.  I did all this as my kids filed out of the room and outdoors.  The weather was cold and breezy.  We stood outside, far away from the building, for about twenty minutes--a further indication that it wasn't a fire drill.

Another teacher confirmed this while we were standing out there.  She said that the adminstrators had received a theat saying that something in the auditorium would explode.  Nothing did, of course, and we ended up back inside.

This effectively wiped out fifth hour.  My sixth hour is the same subject, so it also destroyed that class, since I need to keep the classes together. By day's end, I was very tired.

The police are working on tracking down the hoaxster, and they're very good at it.  The ones at Some School were all caught.  Part of the problem, you see, is that high school students who do this sort of thing almost never do it alone.  It's never just A.  It's A and B and C.  In order to look cool, one of them invariably brags to a friend (swearing him to absolute secrecy), who tells another friend, who tells two more, and so on.  Eventually it reaches the ears of someone who knows that (gasp!) it's =wrong= to make bomb threats, and they let the authorities know who it is.

It'll be fun to watch them fry.

October 6, 2005: Disturbing Marriage

This story greatly disturbs me:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/po/20051006/co_po/pakistanmenmarrygetdeaththreats

Two men were "married" during the past week in a tribal ceremony in Pakistan, according to international news reports.

The union -- between a 42-year-old Afghan refugee and a 16-year-old tribesman in the Khyber region bordering Afghanistan -- is Pakistan's first same-sex marriage,
the BBC reported.

People of the same sex are not permitted to marry, however, in the conservative Muslim country. Homosexuality is also punishable under the country's sodomy laws, with possible prison sentences ranging from  two years to life.

An Urdu-language newspaper reported that the older man in the pair paid the 16-year-old's impoverished parents for permission to marry their son. The sum was reportedly 40,000 rupees (almost $700).

Tribal leaders in the region told the pair to flee or be killed, because they broke tribal "values and ethics."

***

I'm not disturbed at the idea of same-sex marriage here.  What disturbs me is that this guy bought a teenager from his parents.  I doubt very much that love--or any serious attachment--was involved.  On top of it all, the tribe members are upset not because a 42-year-old man bought himself a teenage husband, a boy young enough be his son.  They're upset because it's a same-sex relationship.  If a teenage girl had been involved, no one would over there would be upset.

This is wrong in so many ways.

October 5, 2005: Maksim and Ronald Reagan

Maksim has something in common with Ronald Reagan--the idea that ketchup is a vegetable.

No foolin'.  Mackie puts ketchup on his plate and then eats it with a spoon. Blarrgghh!!


October 4, 2005: Russian Finger Food

Kala went to the grocery store Sasha's counselor told us about, and there she bought, among other things, a whole bunch of frozen meat dumplings. They were small, just big enough to be a forkful.  Kala steamed them up and baked some tater tots.  She also put fresh grape tomaotes and baby carrot sticks on the table.  It was an evening of finger food!

The dumplings were very, very good, and terribly pernicious.  You eat "just one more" because they're so small, you see.  Sasha loved them.  We'll definitely get these again.


October 4, 2005: Another Evening Out

My mother came down last Saturday so Kala and I could go out for an evening, mostly so we could see SERENITY.  Mom showed up in the late afternoon, so we
visited until it was time for us to head out the door.

We started off by going to Miki for Japanese food.  I had a bento box and ate many tasty things that I had no name for.  Kala had tempura shrimp and we shared sushi for an appetizer.  Yum!

Then we went to see SERENITY.  I liked it except for one thing which I won't mention here for fear of spoiling it.  The movie was nicely self-contained, too, so if you haven't seen the TV show FIREFLY, you can still see SERENITY with no trouble.  In fact, definitely go see it.

And then home.

My mother stayed the night, and Mackie actually slept in until 8:30, for a wonder!  I made a big pancake breakfast for everyone, and then my mother zipped off to visit my brother.

A fine weekend.

October 1, 2005: Today's Best Line

On NPR: "A new poll shows that two-thirds of Americans believe they didn't evolve.  The other third agrees with them."

October 1, 2005: Who Gives a Flying . . .

. . . fuck?

http://www.freep.com/news/mich/fanatic1e_20051001.htm

The whole school rivalry thing--such a massive, idiotic waste of time.

"Oook oook--U of M better than MSU!  We crush you!"

"Oook oook!  Will not!"

"Oook ook!  Will too!"

Some people need to find a =real= hobby.


September 28, 2005: Married, With Corpses

On Sunday I took Aran and Sasha to see THE CORPSE BRIDE, figuring it would be more silly than scary or gruesome.  Far as that goes, it was fine for both of them to see.

As for me, I found it decent enough.  A fun view for the animation, but not spectacular.  The songs were cute but not memorable.  The humor was amusing but not hilarious.

Burton went, I think, a little too far in showing the world of dead as bright and colorful while the world of the living was dull and dreary.  It was =too= dreary, in fact, and it was often hard to see what was going on because everything was so monochromatic.  We got the message, Tim--you can turn down the loudspeaker.

Aran and Sasha qute liked it.  As I said, a nice little film, but nothing I'm panting to see again or rent on DVD.

September 28, 2005: Eeeeeeyyyaahhhh!

Oh no!  Nononononononononono!  [sound of much weeping]

I noticed yesterday that Sasha is showing signs of hair on his upper lip.  Ohhhhhhhhhh man.  I thought we'd have a few months at last, maybe even a year!  He can't be hitting puberty yet.  Nooooooo!  Not yet not yet not yet!

I shall go quiver in the corner now.


September 27, 2005: Step Thirty-Eight: Michigan Court

Michigan residents who adopt from a foreign country need to file for a certificated of delayed birth registration, which is equivalent to having a Michigan birth certificate.  This is very handy, since it puts a Michigan birth certificate on file with the county, meaning if the original is lost, you can get another one.  This also gives the boys Michigan paperwork, which various offices and officials will more easily accept.  (Yeah, I =know= their Ukrainian birth certificates are perfectly valid and legal, but try convincing a bureaucrat who's never heard of Ukraine.  Nothing makes pencil-pushers more nervous than an unfamiliar piece of paper.)

To get these certificates, we had to make an appointment with a clerk of the county court, and the appointment was today.  I threw my sixth hour out of my room the moment the bell rang and sprinted for the parking lot--the appointment was for 3:30, and it was in downtown Ann Arbor.  All concerned children and adults must be present.  Kala had already picked the boys up from school and was heading down to the courthouse to meet me.

After a perfunctory security check at the main door, I was admitted to the courthouse proper.  It's a weird mishmash--elegant marble walls clash with grimy tile floors and fluorescent lights.  Kala and the troops arrived and we headed for the elevators.  Mack almost freaked--I had forgotten he's scared to death of elevators and has to be held by Mama or Daddy when he's in one.

On the third floor, we found the appropriate office, alerted the people on the other side of the high counter that we had arrived (a bit early, as it happened), and sat down to wait.  This was interesting, since the boys had come in straight from school and had nothing to entertain themselves with. Juggling three bored, active boys in a courthouse waiting room--challenging at best.  But at last the clerk ushered all five of us into a tiny conference room.

We signed two forms.  The very nice clerk took Mack and Sasha's citizenship papers, their Ukrainian birth certificates, the adoption decree, and my and Kala's IDs, left to photocopy them, and returned everything to us.  We wrote a check--$150 per kid for the filing fee (ohhhh man--we thought this kind of stuff was over with) and another $40 per kid to get copies of their new birth certificates.

And then we left.

Despite getting socked for more money, it was nice to deal with efficient, polite officials who were actually in their offices when they were supposed to be and who got the job done with minimal fuss!

September 26, 2005: JCC

The series of phone calls Kala made about a counselor for Sasha led her to the Jewish Community Center.  They have on staff and on call several counselors who speak Russian and/or Ukrainian.  Kala made an appointment with one of the counselors for today, and since I was home with "just" a cold, I went with.

The building is very much a 70s structure, complete with rock exterior and raw wood flying buttresses.  The interior was crammed with boxes of foodstuffs--we assume hurricane relief supplies, not the stereotypical "You're so thin!" thing.

We met with a very nice, plump woman who speaks Russian.  The three of us talked about Sasha's background and what sort of help he might need.  We eventually set up twice-weekly meetings for him in the evenings.  One meeting will be with a counselor, the other with someone who can help him with school-related issues.  The counselor also gave us some ideas about motivating Sasha at school more.

The counselor we talked to said she was glad to see us getting involved with this sort of thing so quickly.  A lot of people, she said, don't do this for a couple years.  Dealing with Aran, however, has made us very proactive with this sort of thing.

Mackie, meanwhile, played quietly on the floor with some stuffed animals. He barely spoke throughout.  He wouldn't even make eye contact with the counselor when she spoke Russian to him.  The counselor noticed this and said that, at another meeting, she could give us tips and warning signs for "the quiet ones."  We laughed a little at that.

"Mack is just very, very shy with new people," I told her.  "He didn't say a word to us most of the time we visited him in the orphanage, and we worried that something might be wrong with him.  But the moment we got him to our flat in Kyiv and shut the door behind us . . . yap yap yap yap yap.  He wouldn't stop talking.  He rarely stops talking now."

So we'll see what happens next.


September 26, 2005: Yrrrrrrgghhh!

A cold is making its way through our house.  The boys barely noticed it. Kala slept a few hours and was fine.  I was floored by it.  I'm functional, but I decided to stay home today anyway.  Didn't want it to get worse.  No energy.  Bleah.  I just got over strep and now this.


September 24, 2005: New Bread

We're getting fallish weather.  This means the days are in the seventies and the nights are in the fifties.  This always brings out the farmer in me. Harvest time!  Use the produce!  And I end up doing stuff in the kitchen.

Today I bought some sun-dried tomatoes and found a recipe for bread that uses them.  It's in the machine now.  This was followed by cookies, and the dough for them is chilling at the moment.  Later today or tomorrow I'm going to make apple crisp--if the boys will quit devouring the apples, that is.

September 21, 2005: Sasha and English, Part II

Having posted an entry about Sasha's resilience, we now have the other side  . . .

Sasha is resisting English.  He doesn't speak it at home unless he's forced, and his ELL (English language learner) coordinator says that he's stubborn and pouty when she asks him to do work.  She also gets the impression that he has some anger issues, which we already knew.  Kala and I had been hoping that once school started and he was with kids his own age, he'd start =wanting= to learn English.  Sasha's ELL teacher said most kids are eager to learn English for at least their first year. After that, their enthusiasm often tapers off. ("I know enough to get by.  I don't need to learn any more.")  Sasha is unusual in this regard.

So.  Now that we know things aren't really improving, we're moving into "finding help" mode.  We've set up a meeting with Sasha's teachers to share ideas. Kala
did a whole mess of sniffing around (calling the Ukrainian Community Center in Warren, posting a "help!" notice on various web bulletin boards that deal with Ukrainian adoption, etc.) and finally came up with the name of a  counselor in Ann Arbor who speaks Ukrainian.  The counselor also knows someone who helps Ukrainian kids with homework.  Kala's made an appointment with him on Monday to discuss what Sasha might need and how best to help him.

Meanwhile, I had a talk with Sasha via computer.  I told him that I had talked to his teacher and I was worried about him not learning English.  I told him that he needed to learn English and speak it more often, and that if he didn't, I would have to start the one-on-one lessons with him again.  (A dire threat couched in kind terms--Sasha hated the English lessons, even after we got  Aran and Mackie in on them.)  The next day, Sasha took great care to show me some of his English work from school.  The subtext was clear: "See?  I'm doing my work!  See?"

We'll discuss it with the therapist, of course, but I suspect one thing we'll do is ask his teacher weekly for an e-mailed report on Sasha's progress.  If the report is good, he can continue using the computer.  If it's shaky or bad, no computer until the following week.  We'll also schedule regular sessions with the counselor.  With some luck and work, this'll help Sasha find his feet.

September 20, 2005: Oh, Good

It's looking like the final manuscript for the Luna City novel has been accepted and a check is on the way.  Whew!


September 20, 2005: Relience

Sasha is an amazingly resilient kid.  He lived a life of poverty and neglect for the first ten years of his life, then his father died and everything got worse, then he got yanked into an orphanage, where he was separated from his baby brother.  Then two strangers who don't speak his language bundle him across the ocean to America, where he lives in a new house with a new family and attends a new school.

Through it all, Sasha has remained overall cheerful and happy and affectionate.  The touchiness he showed earlier has improved vastly in the last few weeks.  Kala and I have been watching carefully for signs of problems and haven't seen any.  As I said, resilient.

September 17, 2005: Eating Out

Yesterday we piled the boys into the car and braved eating out with them.  Kala was tired of Red Robin, though, and wanted to eat at Applebee's--technically kid-friendly, but not kid-oriented, either.
 
For some reason, Aran got it into his head that terrible monsters waited inside the restaurant.  Kala asked the greeter if monsters were allowed at Applebees, and she said, "Certainly not!"  But even that wouldn't calm him down.  We got settled in the booth with Sasha and Maksim, but Aran was growing more and more agitated.  He kept bursting into tears and threatening to start wailing, like he does when he gets seriously upset.
 
I took him outside for a walk.  After a short time, he said he wanted to back inside and "find Mama," so we did, and he was fine after that.
 
Sasha tried to climb under the table to play with Mack's feet, and I told him to sit up properly.  A bit later, Aran and Sasha started talking louder and louder, almost shouting, and Kala and I both hushed them: "It's a restaurant.  We talk quietly."  Then there were the obligatory trips to the bathroom, which had to be arranged with minimal fuss and maximum subtlty.  Until the food came, in fact, it was full-time kid management.  It would have been easier to stay home and order out, but our philosophy is that the younger kids eat in restaurants, the better they learn how to behave in them.
 
We were about halfway through the meal--the boys calmed down considerably once their orders came--when the older couple at the booth behind us got up to leave.  The man abruptly stopped at our table and touched my shoulder.
 
"I just wanted to tell you it was nice to see you control your children," he said as his wife nodded agreement.  "Most people don't do that."
 
Startled, I thanked him, and he left with his wife.  Huh.  They must have seen a lot of out-of-control families.  :)

September 17, 2005: Writing Burst

On Thursday afternoon, I sat down at my computer and, after several days of illness, started writing again.  I wrote eight pages in one sitting.  Friday I wrote seven more.

Go me!

September 17, 2005: Post-Strep

I stayed home from school Tuesday and Wednesday.  Wednesday evening was the annual back-to-school night when parents can come in and meet the teachers,
but I canceled out.  Felt bad about that--I haven't missed one of these in my entire teaching career, but I was sick, so that was that.

Thursday I taught again and ended up spending lots of time trying to get caught up and do lesson plans for next week.  It was a lot of unsnarling, working out what the sub had or hadn't done--and yelling at my fifth hour, who had been monsters on Wednesday, according to the sub report.  I don't tolerate my students treating subs with anything less than angelic behavior, so I'm running fifth hour like a police state until I'm absent again and the students have a chance to regain my good graces.

September 13, 2005: Blargh

Yesterday after lunch, I started feeling a little achey, like the inside of my clothes were burlap rough.  Not good.  My fifth hour had an assembly, so I spent it putting together sub lesson plans in case I was truly getting sick.

By sixth hour, I was feeling really crappy.  I set my students to writing in their journals so I could just sit and I left as soon as I could get out of the parking lot.

At home, I checked my temperature.  100.3.  And my throat was getting sore. Checked my tonsils with a mirror and a flashlight.  Aw no--little streaks. Called the doctor's office and said I think I have strep.  They luckily had an appointment open in half an hour that very afternoon.  Feeling worse by the moment, I clambered into the car and drove over.

Yep--strep.  Got the scrip for anitbiotics, called the school for a sub, called Comrade Sarah to let her know she should watch Alexander carefully. I didn't give him a kiss or anything like that, but I did carry him several times when we were at the park yesterday.  Mackie, though . . . we'll have to watch him carefully.  He kisses Daddy all the time.

Spent last night not sleeping well, despite lots of medication, and stayed in bed until well after nine.  Today I'm =very= tired and feeling crappy.  I hope I can go in tomorrow.  I don't know what my kids'll do, to tell the truth, if I'm not there.

September 13, 2005: A Day of Boys

Sunday Comrade Sarah needed a babysitter for Alexander while she and Tim attended a local book festival, and we said she could bring him over here. There were no tears or tantrums when Mommy and Daddy left.  About an hour later, I decided to take them all to the park, since it was so nice out.  At this announcement, Alexander burst into tears that Mommy wasn't coming back. Spent a few minutes reassuring him that Mommy was coming back, that we'd go to the park, come back, have a snack, and then Mommy would come.

He finally seemed to accept this, and we all went to the park, except for Mack, who was napping.  Sasha wanted to ride his bike down and meet us there, so I let him.

We all played at the park for about an hour and a half.  Alexander dozed off on one of the benches for a few minutes, then perked up when we went to a nearby convenience store for juice.

It's weird hearing normal English coming from a child.  I'm used to Sasha's Ukrainian, Mack's mishmash of English and his native tongue, and Aran's singsong lilt.  So when Alexander comes to visit, I keep expecting him to sound equally odd, and it's a bit startling when he doesn't.

Thence home for a snack and more exploration of the playroom.  I was making potato soup for supper when Sarah and Tim arrived to pick him up, and we invited them to supper.  We had a big traditional Sunday family meal, after which the kids went back down into the playroom while the adults talked around the table.

September 11, 2005: Night Out

Last night Kala's mother came over to take the kids off our hands so Kala and I could have a night to ourselves, our first since we tripled the kid quotient in our household.

We were a little worried about how Mack would react.  At least one of us has always been home with him until now.  He usually cries when one of us leaves for somewhere, though this is in large part because he loves going places in the car and feels left out.  So when Melva arrived, she distracted him and we slipped away.  We later learned that he looked through the living window and saw us leaving, whereupon he climbed up on the couch and waved.  "Bye, Mama!  Bye, Daddy!"  No tears at all.

We first went to La Shish for supper and got the sampler platter for two. It's enough middle-eastern food for four, actually, and we ate until we could eat no more.  Kala had the bag of leftovers in her hand when we left, but a couple miles up the road, we realized it was nowhere in the car.  We still don't know where it went.  Dang!  There were two or three more meals in that thing!  But it was nice to eat in a =quiet= restaurant that doesn't have a kids menu.

Then we decided to go see a movie.  Not much was playing, though--we're between the summer and fall movie seasons--so we decided to go see THE BROTHERS GRIMM.

Oh man.  Major mistake.  Bad, bad movie.  It couldn't decide whether it wanted to be comedy, horror, or BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, and it failed at all three of them.  Heath Ledger's dithering, stammering portrayal of Jakob Grimm made me want to hit him.  Matt Damon mumbled half his lines.  The French General villain character was neither scary nor horrifying.  He was just gross and sometimes grotesque.  His Italian lackey was embarrassingly badly done, both acting-wise and writing-wise.  Most of the writing was uneven and sloppy.  The dialogue was often ridden with cliches.  The pacing was uneven.  Every time the brothers went into the woods and the movie started builidng momentum and getting interesting, they would abruptly stop and go back to the village.  Even the technical side was poor.  The makeup =looked= like makeup.  I could easily make out the eyeliner on most of the male characters, and the female protagonist looked like a cadaver half the time.  They even managed to make Matt Damon look ugly, and that takes some doing.  It was absolutely dreadful.

Ah well.  Two more weeks to SERENITY.

We left the stinker and drove to Depot Town, where we got ice cream and took a nice nocturnal walk down by the river in Frog Island park. When we got home, the boys were in bed.  My MIL stayed the night, and in the morning, she got up with the boys, so Kala and I were =both= able to sleep in.  A very nice night, even if the movie sucked.

September 11, 2005: Duck Season!  Fire!

We have a set of Loony Toons cartoons on DVD.  Aran and Sasha's hands-down favorite is "Wabbit Seasoned," which has the famous "pronoun trouble" scene. You know the one--where Bugs and Daffy argue in front of Elmer Fudd about whether it's duck season or rabbit season.  They both think it's hysterical. A true classic.


September 11, 2005: Tears

I don't handle seeing Mack or Sasha cry well.  Not even when the tears are petulant, petty, or uncalled-for.  I tell Mack it's time for bed, he bursts into tears, and I find myself feeling sorry for him.  I tell Sasha that he's played City of Heroes for two hours already so he can't play anymore today, he cries, and I want to tell him he can play anyway.I don't, of course.  Mack still goes to bed, Sasha is still banned from the computer.  But I still hate seeing them cry.

Aran cries at the drop of a hat--low pain threshhold, low emotional threshhold--so it doesn't upset me.  Mack and Sasha, though . . . I guess I still see them as deprived orphans who never got anything, and I feel bad about witholding something.  The image of Mack crying when we had to leave him at the orphanage is also still hard with me.  I know they also need to learn that they =can't= have everything.  They have the potential to be spoiled, just like any other children.  But my first instinct when they cry is still to give in.

At least they don't know my mind works this way.  Otherwise I'm sure they'd use it against me.  :)

September 10, 2005: Awwww

A few days ago, Sasha had been put to bed.  I was downstairs on the computer when I heard footsteps on the stairs.  It was Sasha, out of bed way past bedtime.  I was following him into the playroom to scold him when he picked up a white teddy bear, tucked it under his arm, and went back upstairs to bed.  He sleeps with it every night and won't sleep without it.


September 10, 2005: Names

When I was little, my family (and almost everyone else) called me "Steve."  But at school, there was often another Steve in my class, and to differentiate my teachers often called one of us "Steve" and the other "Steven."  My grandmother and my aunt Lynne have always called me "Steven." So I was used to hearing both.

When I entered high school and got a job at a fast food place, I discovered that when someone shouts something from a  distance, you can't make out consonants, only vowel sounds.  This means that the words "meat," "cheese," and "Steve" all sound pretty much the same, especially in a hot, noisy fast food place.  It became really awkward to turn my head or ask, "What?" every time someone said "Cheese."  So I told everyone to call me "Steven."  Since the fast food place had a policy of having the order taker at the drive-through state his or her name ("Hi, my name is __________. May I take your order, please?"), I got used to calling =myself= Steven.

When I started started college, I continued using my full name, and my new friends there never knew me as Steve, only as Steven.

When I moved to Germany for a year, I discovered the Germans don't shorten the name "Steven."  So for an entire year, everyone I talked to called me Steven.

Now just about everyone calls me "Steven."  Only a handful of family members shorten my name, but it sounds strange to my ear.  I think they all know no one else calls me "Steve" anymore.  Half the time I have to make myself remember to respond to that name.  I don't think of myself as "Steve" at all.

My sister was always "Beth" when we were growing up, though her full name is "Bethany."  I know my parents wanted a daughter named Beth and thought about naming her "Elizabeth," but they were afraid people would call her "Liz" or "Lizzie" instead of "Beth," so they named her "Bethany."

My sister hardly ever uses her nickname anymore, I think.  She goes by "Bethany" much like I go by "Steven."  She's never  actually told me this (rather like I've never actually told various family members I don't use "Steve" anymore); it's something I've figured out over time.

My brother Paul, of course, doesn't have to deal with issues surrounding =his= name. :)

September 6, 2005: My Sister

My sister Bethany was in the newspaper today:

http://www.cadillacnews.com/articles/2005/09/02/news/news10.txt
Dentist saves gas by riding horse to work

By Sally Barber, Cadillac News

CADILLAC - When gas prices skyrocketed Wednesday, dentist Bethany Piziks decided enough is enough.  Thursday morning she left her Olds Bravada in the garage and rode her horse to work.

"It felt powerful not to drive today and use gas," she said.

Only kids on a school bus run gave the doctor and her four-legged ride, Gypsy, a second look as they made their way to the office. But it wasn't a trip Piziks made to garner attention.

"I'm for alternative transportation, like horses, bikes, walking, scooters - anything that can save our resources," she said. "I'm really passionate about that."

Piziks' alternative to the automobile, her 17-year-old quarter horse, made the four-mile trek in 40 minutes. Her bike gets her to the office in 15 minutes and the Bravada makes the journey in five minutes.

"We need to find other forms of transportation," she said. "I know it won't go back to horses, but we have to do something because the gas won't last forever. If we can do something before it becomes an emergency, that would be great."

After her morning workout, Gypsy spent the day grazing behind Piziks' Paluster Street clinic. Patients enjoyed their doctor's "take your horse to work day." Many paid the horse a visit before leaving. Piziks seized the interest and opportunity to share her belief that we should all take personal responsibility for preserving resources.

"I'm doing my part," she said. "If everyone would do just a small thing, it would make a huge difference."

September 5, 2005: So Glad

As a place to live, Michigan has many strikes against it.  Brutally hot, muggy summers, bone-crackingly cold, icy winters.  Dreadfully conservative politics.

But the more I think about it, the more I'm glad to be here.

In Michigan, we do =not= get earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis, severe droughts, or city-sized forest fires.  The worst we get are tornados and Republicans, both of which usually do small, localized damage.  (No, this is not an invitation to any deities reading this newsgroup to make changes.) Nothing we get up here will flatten an entire city, county, or province.

For this I'm exceedingly grateful.


September 4, 2005: Mack and Bedtime
Mack's sleep problems continue.  When we put him to bed an hour earlier than Sasha goes, Mack stays awake until Sasha comes to bed.  Once they're together, Mack wants to play.  He talks and climbs into bed with Sasha and generally keeps his brother awake.  Sasha, never a morning person to begin with, is exhausted in the morning.
 
We've approached Aran about him and Sasha sharing a room so Mack can have his own room and not bother anyone, but Aran freaks at the idea, so that's a no.
 
We've finally started putting Mack down in our bed at night.  Sasha goes to bed an hour later, and we go to bed an hour after that.  With no one to stay awake for, Mack falls asleep faster.  Then when =we= go to bed, Mack has had two hours to fall fully asleep.  Sasha doesn't wake up for much once he's out, either.  So we can carry Mack into their bedroom and put him to bed.
 
Sheesh.

September 4, 2005: Sick Sasha

Yesterday Kala found Sasha wrapped up in the afghan on the couch watching TV.  He was half-awake and shivering.  He denied that he felt bad, but his forehead was terribly hot to the touch and she checked his temperature.  103!  She quickly gave him some meds and his fever came down to 100.  (We suspect it may have been pumped higher because he was all wrapped up.)  Later that evening he threw up.  By eight, he was in bed.

He denied he was sick until the evidence was incontrovertible.  I wonder if getting sick at the orphanage was a dreadful ordeal (no good meds, being forced to lay in a bed with no entertainment) and that's why Sasha denied it so vehemently.

This morning the fever was gone and he seems fine.

September 4, 2005: City of Heroes to the Rescue

Sasha likes to team up with other people when he plays City of Heroes.  The problem is, he doesn't fully understand what's going on or how to be an effective team-mate--or even communicate with the people on his team.  I've given up trying to police it, since he starts and joins teams willy-nilly.

A while ago, I decided to show him how teaming up is supposed to work.  I had him create a character on my account and I created one on Kala's account.  Then I teamed us up and showed him how to do everything.  I think he got it, finally, and he really liked playing with Papa.

Today he asked if the two of us could team again.  I really had stuff I needed to do, but I gave in and we ran a few missions.  Sasha really liked it.  When I told him I absolutely had to log off (about two hours later), he asked Aran to team.

This surprised me.  Aran and Sasha don't get along that well.  Neither of them can communicate well with the other, and they fight more often than play together.  But City of Heroes, it occurred to me, might be an ideal "filter" to get them together.

They each created a new character on my and Kala's accounts.  I set them up as team-mates and let them go at it.  They did very well, actually, and cooperated (for the most part) on missions.  They played "together" for a couple hours, in fact.

Maybe this will start them down the road to becoming more like brothers instead of just two boys sharing the same household.

September 4, 2005: Sasha School Update

Sasha seems to be adjusting nicely to school.  He now rides the bus in, though Kala picks him up--he still isn't certain about getting the right bus home.

He campaigned hard to ride the bus, actually.  He was quite upset when Kala wouldn't let him ride it on Wednesday, in fact.  We told him he could ride it on Thursday.  He wanted to know how much it cost, and was amazed when we told him it was free.

When Kala picked him up on Thursday after school, she ran into his Title I teacher and learned a few things.  The reason the counselors signed Sasha up for drama
was at her behest.  Turns out the Title I teacher is also the drama teacher, and the class has only ten students in it.  She thinks the class would be a good way to get Sasha to speak and practice English, and Kala agreed.

Sasha has a parapro assigned to him for the first four hours of the day.  (!)  The parapro isn't with him during the elective sessions (one of which is drama) or for the last hour of the day, but this is more than we anticipated, so we're very pleased.  His teachers (and the parapro) are focusing on teaching Sasha English and how to function in the school.  This year, content is secondary.  One of the elective teachers went around and photographed various things in the school and the parapro made flashcards so Sasha could learn the names of different locations and objects.  We're quite happy so far!

September 4, 2005: Second Day Back

Thursday was the official first day for teachers.  The morning was taken up by a looooong staff meeting, as it always is.  We met our interim principal, too.  Our original principal was promoted out of the building, and the district hasn't found a replacement yet, so they persuaded a retired principal to take the job for a year.

Then it was more in-class work doing the myriad small things that need doing.  The biggest one of these was fiddling with the new computer.  The new system is ZenWorks and it comes with its own share of annoyances and headaches.

It was a fairly laid-back day, since I'd gotten the most time-consuming stuff done yesterday.

September 4, 2005: First Day Back

Wednesday was my first day of school.

I had actually come back one day early--my second day of religious holiday makeup.  I spent the morning setting up my classroom (again).  First I redid the boxes on the cabinets, then I dragged the furniture around to where I wanted it.

The standard at Nameless High School is for teacher desks to be under the ceiling-mounted TV at the front of the room.  I don't like this.  It puts my desk on stage and makes it a central focus.  It also means I can't sit at my desk and see what's on the TV, a requirement for media literacy, a class where I often have to pause and cue videos for discussion.  The problem is, the only phone jack is under the TV.  In my old room I solved this with a loooong phone cord and a lot of duct tape.  This year, I remembered our old cordless phone from home.  (We're without a landline now.)  I plugged it in and discovered it worked.  Perfect!  I can leave the receiver on my desk.

Once the desk and cabinets were where I wanted them, I reset the student tables.  There's just not enough room in the class with each of them standing alone.  The classroom gets crowded and congested.  It occurred to me that I was wasting a lot of space by having to keep a set of aisles between every table.  If I put the long ends of the tables together (so groups of four students would be facing each other), I would eliminate half the aisles and free up floor space. Setting the tables sets on a diagonal and staggering the arrangement lets all the students see the board.  Only four can't see the TV, but they can turn their chairs as needed.  I also have a huge "stage" area at the front by the board.  Perfect!

Throughout the course of the day, three different teachers stopped in my room for various reasons.  All three of them admired my setup and made noises about using it themselves.  Go me!

After a quick bag lunch (I thought about going out, then decided I shouldn't spend the money), I started in on lesson plans and making copies.  This was just time-consuming, since all the classes were ones I've been teaching for a while: English 9, Communication I, media literacy, mythology.  The media lit class's packet had an Internet worksheet on it about product placement, though, and I checked the web site to be safe.  The web site had been radically changed.  Drat.  I had to redo the entire activity from top to bottom.

Made lots and lots of copies and laid them out on a table in the classroom, and I was ready for students!

August 31, 2005: Black and White

from this Live Journal post by LJ user antoine_s
http://www.livejournal.com/users/interdictor/33784.html?thread=267000#t267000

The media.

White people "find:"
http://news.yahoo.com/photo/050830/photos_ts_afp/050830071810_shxwaoma_photo1

Black people "loot:"
http://news.yahoo.com/photo/050830/480/ladm10208301530


August 30, 2005: Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

We hit $3.00 per gallon in Ypsilanti today.

August 30, 2005: What????

George Bush made a speech in which he called upon us 'mericans not to waver in the face of nearly 2,000 soldier deaths in Iraq because American credibility was at stake.

What????

America =has= no credibility anymore.  This fool destroyed it, carefully, deliberately, and repeatedly.  When Sasha saw Bush's picture on the news story on my computer, he made a face.  "Bush?  Blech!" he said, and made spitting motions at the computer.

An under-educated twelve-year-old from the sticks of Ukraine knows and hates Bush.  Doesn't that tell you something?

August 30, 2005: Sasha's Second Day

Today we decided to have Kala take Sasha to school.  Sasha tends to cling more to me, and we figured maybe he'd be less reluctant to be left there if Kala was the one taking him.  They left at a quarter after seven.  By eight, they weren't back yet, so I drove Aran to =his= school and came back home. At nine, Kala showed up.  Sasha had eventually said she could go home.

Kala also told me that they'd brought in a parapro to help Sasha in class and that the school knew of a seventh-grader who speaks Russian, so they're clearly putting together a network to help him.


August 29, 2005: Sasha Starts School

Yesterday was Sasha's first day at school.  Got up at 6:30 and forced Sasha to eat something for breakfast.  (The boy doesn't in the morning unless you stand over him and order him to.  Most days we don't care, but on school days he has to eat--it's long time to lunch.)  I figured I'd eat when I got home from dropping him off, so I showered instead.  Bundled Sasha into the car with his new backpack o' school supplies, and off we went.

The middle school is attached to the high school, creating a huge, complex building.  The door connecting the two buildings, however, is kept closed and locked during the so middle school and high school students don't mix. Sasha stared at the place, wide-eyed.  He'd been there before, of course, but he hadn't seen it =busy= before.  He counted seven school busses lined up in front and was amazed.  I didn't tell him that Willow Run has way more than seven busses.

Sasha, I knew, was nervous, even a little frightened at going to this place, though he tried to hide it.  Rather than just drop him off, then, I parked the car in the visitor lot and walked with him into the building.  Signs everywhere told us to pick up schedules in the cafeteria, but I'd gotten Sasha's schedule at the orientation, so we gave that a miss and headed upstairs to the classrooms.  They were locked and empty.

We went back down to the cafeteria and I asked a couple staff members where we were supposed to go.  None of them had a clue.  With Sasha following me like a confused duckling, I interrogated more people until finally someone said, "Try the gym."

A fair number of students were in the gym.  A custodian hit a switch, and the bleachers, which had been stacked flat against the wall, hummed forward on hidden motors.  Sasha thought that was massively cool.  Kids stampeded into the bleachers to sit down.  Sasha climbed up along one side and sat about five rows up.  I stood nearby where he could see me, and we watied.  I thought they were going to have an assembly to start the school year, but a few minutes later, a computer tone sounded and all the kids stampeded down the bleachers and out the door.  Sasha gave me a puzzled look and I shrugged.  The gym must be where everyone goes if they get to school too early.

We went up to the classroom, which was now open.  I reintroduced myself to his first teacher, Ms. Swanson.  (Sasha has three teachers all told.)  We found Sasha a seat, and I asked him if he wanted me to stay or leave.  He definitely wanted me to stay, so I did.

Once all the other students had arrived, the teacher started a get-to-know people activity--write three questions on a card and interview people you don't know.  I wrote three questions for Sasha and told him what they meant. With the teacher's help, we got Sasha to interview a couple of his classmates.

Then Ms. Swanson got everyone into a circle and had each student identify themselves by name and, if they wanted to, give one thing they were wondering about middle school.  Sasha was reluctant to join the group, but eventually did, and he gave his name.  Ms. Swanson explained to the class that Sasha was from Ukraine and that he didn't speak English yet, so the class would have to help him learn.

After that came a tour of the school.  I asked Sasha if he wanted me to leave or stay.

"Leave," he said.  "No--stay!"

So I stayed.  I was really regretting not eating breakfast, and I was starting to get a lack-of-caffeine headache, but I stayed with him.

After the tour came short meetings with their elective teachers.  Sasha has a music class and a drama class.  I might try to get the latter switched to art, but we'll see.

By now, Sasha was starting to melt down.  He asked to go home several times, though he didn't seem =too= distressed until around 10:00.  The first day ended at 11:00, so I decided to leave with him.  In the hall, I ran into Ms. Swanson, who had been checking on English Language Learner information.  She said the principal has to deal with it (which surprised me--seems like a teacher or counselor job to me) and he was going to make some phone calls about it.

And then we left.

Little worried.  I hadn't counted on Sasha being quite so intimidated.  I can't go in to school with him after tomorrow because school's starting up at Nameless High School.  Kala can't go with him because she'd have nowhere to leave Mac.

August 29, 2005: Flying Spaghetti Monster

A group is trying to stop Kansas from putting intelligent design into the state science curriculum.  They maintain that the universe was created by the Flying Spaghetti Monster (may you be touched by one of His Noodly Appendages), and that if intelligent design is put into the science curriculum, then the intelligent design theory of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster must be given equal time with that of Christianity.

http://www.venganza.org/

They also conclusively show that global warming is tied to the diminishing number of pirates in the world.  No, really!  Go look.

August 28, 2005: NYT Sigh

Even the New York Times, that bastion of newspaper integrity, can't resist using fear tactics to make us read.

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/08/28/nyregion/nyregionspecial2/28liblow.html?ex=1282881600&en=69414336488a2f70&ei=5089&partner=rssyahoo&emc=rss

The entire story is about what =might= happen =if= a big hurricane got as far north as one did in 1938.  The winds =could= do this, the floods =might= do that.  And exactly what should we readers do about it?  Quiver in fear and desperately read the newspaper, apparently.

August 27, 2005: Ukraine Pictures

I finally sorted through all the pictures we took of our adoption trip to Ukraine.  (There were well over a thousand, mostly thanks to Sasha.)  I've posted a bunch of them so you can see what happened.

Pictures are at http://www.sff.net/people/spiziks/adoption/pictures.html

My adoption journal, in case you haven't read it yet, is at http://www.sff.net/people/spiziks/journal.html

August 27, 2005: It's So . . . Big!

Finally saw the local newspaper.  The YPSILANTI COURIER ran a huge article on me, complete with photos and cover flats, on page three.  Whoo hoo!  A
well-done article, too.

It's also on-line at http://www.ypsilanticourier.com/stories/082505/loc_20050825004.shtml

August 25, 2005: Eeeeek!

Today Kala and I decided to pack the kids into the car and go out for breakfast.  On the way in, I noticed gas prices at the corner station had come down by eight cents to $2.51.  "Hmmm," I though, "better fill up on the way home."

We passed several other gas stations on the way to the restaurant, all of which boasted the same price.

An hour later, we had eaten and were driving home.  The first gas station we passed had a new price: $2.75 per gallon.  So did the second and the third. What the hell?  It went down eight cent overnight, then a few hours later jumped almost a quarter?

The station closest to our house still had gas for $2.51, and lines were already forming.  I dropped the family off, turned around, and waited in line for the slightly-cheaper gas.  Then I drove home, got the other car and the gas can for the lawn mower, and waited in line again.

So what's the price where you are now?

August 25, 2005: Maksim Sick

Maksim's fever developed into a full-blown flu that lasted almost two days. He was throwing up all night and feeling awful.  And since Sasha shares a room with him, he wasn't getting much sleep, either.

Interestingly, whenever Maksim felt like he had to throw up, he ran to the bathroom.  Someone has clearly trained him in this.  It's weird that even in a child this young, someone else has had a major hand in his early upbringing, a total stranger I'll never meet or know.

On Wednesday, he was feeling better.  Kala took him and Sasha to the doctor's to get their TB tests officially read.  They were both upset about going, though we tried to explain that there would be no shots this time. Kala reported that when they got to the doctor's office, Maksim started screaming, even after Sasha told him there were no shots involved.  He calmed down once it became clear that this was the case.

The doctor also said that because Maksim had gotten so sick, she would see about changing his immunization schedule so he wouldn't get so many at the same time.

August 23, 2005: Supermyth!

Today I finished an essay for one of BenBella Books's pop culture essay anthologies.  This one's about Superman, and I wrote an essay arguing that Superman qualifies as mythology.  Since I teach Superman as mythology, it was pretty smooth, easy writing.  Fun!

August 23, 2005: Orientation

Today Sasha's school held an orientation for sixth graders.  The vice principal gave a little speech and I got various forms to fill out.  Sasha and I stood in line to turn them in to various secretaries, though in our case, turning them in consisted of me saying, "I already filled this out when I registered Sasha last week."  I still had to stand in line, though, because the secretaries who gathered the forms had to initial a list saying the forms in question had been turned in.  We had to trade the initialed
list in to get Sasha's schedule.

Willow Run Middle School is based on the "house" system.  For sixth graders, this means the same group of kids stays together but see different teachers during the day.  I was expecting Sasha to have five or six teachers, but he only has two.  There was no English Language Learner time on his schedule, and I asked the scheduling secretary about that.  She said that there are two ways WRMS handles ELL kids.  Either they're pulled out of class for English lessons or a tutor comes into the child's classroom.  They'll have to decide which to do with Sasha.  I suspect they'll give him lessons.

There was supposed to be a tour of the school, but the crush of parents standing in line at various tables kind of blew that out of the water.  We found Sasha's classrooms, though, and looked at the library through the windows.  Sasha was surprised to see all the computers in the library.

Now we need to buy him school supplies.


August 23, 2005: Oh-Wutch

Monday morning Mac and Sasha had a doctor's appointment for the first round of immunizations.  They got three shots each and a TB stick.  Both of them were in some pain.  Maksim got most of his shots in the thigh, and he had a hard time walking.  Whenever he stood up, he would say "Oh-wutch," which is how he says "Ouch."

Later that evening, he developed a fever of 101.  We put him to bed, but the fever meds wore off in the night and woke up at three a.m. crying and feeling sick.  He's still feverish today.  Poor little guy!


August 23, 2005: Orientation

Today Sasha's school held an orientation for sixth graders.  The vice principal gave a little speech and I got various forms to fill out.  Sasha and I stood in line to turn them in to various secretaries, though in our case, turning them in consisted of me saying, "I already filled this out when I registered Sasha last week."  I still had to stand in line, though, because the secretaries who gathered the forms had to initial a list saying the forms in question had been turned in.  We had to trade the initialed
list in to get Sasha's schedule.

Willow Run Middle School is based on the "house" system.  For sixth graders, this means the same group of kids stays together but see different teachers during the day.  I was expecting Sasha to have five or six teachers, but he only has two.  There was no English Language Learner time on his schedule, and I asked the scheduling secretary about that.  She said that there are two ways WRMS handles ELL kids.  Either they're pulled out of class for English lessons or a tutor comes into the child's classroom.  They'll have to decide which to do with Sasha.  I suspect they'll give him lessons.

There was supposed to be a tour of the school, but the crush of parents standing in line at various tables kind of blew that out of the water.  We found Sasha's classrooms, though, and looked at the library through the windows.  Sasha was surprised to see all the computers in the library.

Now we need to buy him school supplies.


August 23, 2005: Sunday BBQ

Sunday we went up to my mother's for the twice-delayed family barbecue.  In addition to my siblings and their kids, various extended family showed up, which was very nice.  Sasha and Maksim finally got to meet more of my family.

My brother Paul hitched the little red wagon to the lawn tractor and gave rides around the apple orchard.  Maksim and Sasha ended up with several "Welcome to America" presents, including an interactive map of the States, a football, and some remote control toys.  The cousins all played well together.  Mac got really cranky because he hadn't had his regular afternoon nap, and I was finally forced to put him down for one in my mother's room at 5:00.  We had much delicious picnic food with my home-made apple crisp for dessert.  It was a fine visit.

August 23, 2005: Saturday Festival

This past weekend was the Ypsilanti Heritage Festival.  It's a street fair that spills into a nearby park, and it has artsy-crafty merchants as well as an historical section, where people in eighteenth and nineteenth century dress do demonstrations of various things.  I took Aran and Sasha down to have a look.

The weather was sprinkly for a while, which freaked Aran out.  I got him calmed down, though, and the sprinkles finally stopped so the sun could come out.  The boys got balloon animals from a clown and a toy bow and arrow each from the wood toymaker's tent.  A local choir was singing songs from FIDDLER ON THE ROOF, of all things.  Some trained dogs ran an obstacle course. Sasha bought a small wooden flute (way overpriced, and Sasha is learning the hard way that when your money is gone, you can't buy anything else).  We rode the carousel and looked at classic cars and at dune buggies and motorbikes.  Aran cycled through phases of whining to go home and becoming interested in what we were doing.

A disappointment was the soap vendor.  Last year I bought a bunch of home-made herbal soaps to use for hand soap in the bathrooms.  We're on our last bars, in fact, and I was planning to get more at the festival.  But this year, the soap vendor had very little inventory, and none of the ones I liked from last year.  Oh well.


August 19, 2005: Step Thirty-Seven: Citizenship

We got a packet of papers from our adoption agency.  It told us we needed to apply for citizenship papers from the government.  To get said papers, we're supposed to fill out a long form and send it to the government along with the boys' passports, a copy of the adoption decree, and, oh yes, $200 per kid.

This struck me as wildly unfair.  We're required by law to get social security numbers for the boys, and to do that, we have to prove citizenship. Anything the law requires of all its citizens can't have a fee attached, but apparently this dichotomy slipped through the lawbooks somewhere.

We filled out the forms, but at the moment we're flat broke, barely able to buy groceries, in fact.  It's gonna be that way for a while.

And then I got an e-mail from an adoptive parent who'd read my blog, specifically, she'd read the entry in which I'd complained that we couldn't prove citizenship for the social security office.  The parent said that all we had to do was wait for BCIS to send us the citizenship papers.  I blinked.  They were sent automatically?  The info from our adoption agency said we'd have to apply for them.  So did the info from the much-hated Hands Across the Water.

That same day, we got two manilla envelopes in the mail, each addressed to one of the new Piziks boys.  Inside each was a certificate of citizenship and a letter from the President (or one of his speechwriters, anyway).  Well, nice!  We don't have to pay the fee, and now we can get soc numbers for the boys.

August 18, 2005: Hey!

Okay, I take back all the nice things I've thought about BIG TOP.  Humph!!

http://ucomics.aolsvc.aol.com/news/bigtop/2005/08/18/


August 15, 2005: Okay, This Is Why . . .

the news media can't be trusted.  They claim they don't sensationalize, but they do, and here's more proof (as if we need it):

TAP WATER CHEMICALS MAY PROVE LITTLE PREGNANCY RISK

NEW YORK (Reuters Health) - Although some studies have suggested that certain chemical byproducts in tap water raise a woman's risk of miscarriage, new research suggests that the threat is small, if it exists at all.

The chemicals in question are byproducts of the chlorination process used to kill disease-causing pathogens in the drinking-water supply. Some of these byproducts, including a group of chemicals called trihalomethanes, have been shown to cause cancer and reproductive problems in lab animals exposed to high doses.
In addition, some population studies have found an association between low-level exposure to these chemicals and a higher risk of miscarriage and poor fetal growth. Other studies, however, have found no such relationships.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20050816/hl_nm/tap_water_dc

Check that headline.  "[M]ay pose little pregnancy risk."  So there's a risk--oh no, wait.  It's a little risk.  But the chemicals only =may= pose a little risk.  The risk might be much higher!  Better read that story to see! (Fear tactics?  We don't use fear tactics.)

And then the first sentence.  Notice it mentions chemicals raising risk of miscarriage =first=, even though that's not what the story is about.  A correct lead should be "New research shows byproducts in tapwater cause little or no risk of miscarriage."  But that wouldn't be scary enough, would it?

Bozos.

August 15, 2005: Eye-Licking

Those of you who know of the Terrible Eye-Licking Incident will appreciate this one:

http://ucomics.aolsvc.aol.com/news/bigtop/2005/08/14/

August 14, 2005: The Party

Since my mother was already planning to come down for the festival, she decided to attend my mother-in-law's birthday party with us instead.  The beginning of the day was riddled with snafus, though.

I got up with the boys this morning, made a batch of bread in the bread maker, and put some banana bread in the oven to use up some old bananas. That went okay.

Then Mom and my grandmother arrived, and then we got word that the party had been delayed.  Original start time was noon, but now it would begin at two. We didn't have anything in the house for lunch for eight people--we'd been planning to eat at the party.  So we sat around and snacked on banana bread and chips for a couple hours.

We left for the party--and ran straight into construction.  Only one lane was open on our side of the highway, and it was one of those closings for which you can see no reason.  No workers out on the road, no construction vehicles, no visible construction--just five miles of highway narrowed down to one-third capacity.  As a result of this delay, a twenty-minute drive took almost an hour.  So we arrived =after= Kala's mother got there.  We missed the big moment.

The party itself was nice.  Lots of food (too much, really), lots of relatives.  We'd brought our inflatable bouncy castle and set it up in the back yard.  The kids loved it.  Sasha was quite popular with his new cousins, most of whom are female.  They all wanted to play with him, and they chased each other around and through the house constantly.  But Sasha is good-looking, a new face, and exotic.  I imagine school will be the same way for him.

Kala's uncle Bruce was in town, and he'd requested I bring my harp, since he had his guitar.  I got out Corey and found that Bruce also had his banjo.  Kala's mother had her accordian. (Yes, she plays the accordian.)  So we had the world's most unusual combo there in the living room.  We played a lot of American folk music and a tiny bit of Irish to round out the day.

August 14, 2005: Scheduling Frustration

What is it about the weekend of August 13 that makes everyone do everything all at once?

The Sunflower Festival in Warren (a Ukrainian culture fest) is this weekend. Naturally, all the cool stuff happens on Saturday.  Boomchyk, a muppet who speaks Ukrainian, was putting in an appearance, along with a variety of performers.  We made plans to go.

Then my mother called.  She wants to have a family picnic at her house on August 13.  Many of my relatives haven't met the boys yet and would be there.  I persuaded her to reschedule the event for the following week, and my mother said she'd like to come down to the festival with us.  Cool!

Then Kala's grandmother called.  She's scheduled a surprise birthday party for Kala's mother (whose birthday is over Labor Day weekend).  No, she can't change it--she's invited fifty-odd people and it's too late.

Great.

We reluctantly decided to attend the party.  Not because we dislike the idea of the party, but because we'd already made plans, gotten someone else to redo =their= plans, and then =still= had to reschedule.

I have the feeling that this is a popular weekend to do gatherings like this because next week is the weekend before Labor Day and few people want to go anywhere: "Oh, we're going out of town all Labor Day weekend, and I don't want to go anywhere the weekend before.  So let's do that family thing =two= weeks before Labor Day."

Next year we're going to tell everyone that no, Saturday of the festival is non-negotiable and whoever wants the pleasure of our company is welcome to attend the festival with us.


August 9, 2005: Registration

Today Kala visited her sister in Royal Oak and I had the boys by myself.  At one point, I packed all three of them in the car and we drove down to the junior high school.

We'd mad a mistake earlier, you see.  We'd been thinking that Sasha should be going into the sixth grade and we'd place him in the fifth.  But Sasha is =twelve=, and twelve-year-olds have =finished= sixth grade.  Sasha should be going into seventh but will be in sixth.  Hoo boy.  We're really hesitant to hold him back two grades, you see--he wouldn't graduate until he was 20, in that case.

Sixth grade is in the junior high, so that's where I had to go.  We'll talk to the guidance counselor later about his exact placement later, but for now we had to turn in paperwork.  The admitting secretary wasn't happy about the lack of records, but there was nothing we could do about that.  Sasha has no school records, and that's the way it is.

The school also asks for his social security number, but he doesn't have one yet, meaning I was able to leave that blank without fighting.  The only person who needs Sasha's social security number is the IRS and his future employer, but try convincing someone else of that, especially when everyone else idiotically surrenders it without a fuss.

I also had to tell them that the health department is working with our doctor about immunizations, and that'll take a few weeks.  Sasha will need English Language Learner services, and the secretary marked him "special education," which is incorrect--you actually =can't= mark ELL students as special education students.  It's a funding thing.  But we'll straighten that out with the counselor later.

I had Sasha sign the technology use form, though he had no idea what it was and I couldn't explain it to him.  And then we were done.

August 9, 2005: The Attention Span of a Twelve-Year-Old

Sasha has the attention span of a--well, you know.

He plays City of Heroes as much as we'll let him, but he never sticks with one character for long.  He gets bored quickly and builds a new character. As a result, he has seven or eight different characters, none of which are higher than fourth level.  He sees my high-level characters who have a variety of powers and who can take on large groups of villains without breaking a sweat, and he wants to do that, too.  I've explained to him that I've been playing CoH for a year now, with most of my play time going into two characters.  So they're powerful.  Sasha skips from character to character and doesn't understand why he isn't going anywhere.  Sigh.

August 9, 2005: Yeah!

A very funny comic about teaching:

http://www.dailystar.com/dailystar/opinion/87355.php

August 5, 2005: We Have Grass!

Last night I watered the grass seed before going to bed, but it showed no signs of life.  This morning when I went out again, the ground was covered with a thin growth of inch-high new grass.  It went sproing! overnight.

August 5, 2005: Limiting Computer Time

Sasha has discovered how to do missions on City of Heroes, which means his interested in the game has jumped.  Yesterday he spent four or five hours playing.  This is too much, especially because Aran figures that since Sasha plays on the computer so much, =he= can play a lot more, too.  My computer, however, is not primarily a playstation.  So this morning I told Sasha that he gets two hours a day in two one-hour segments.  I set a timer when he got on.  There was pouting when I told him his time was up, but at least he's doing something else now.


August 5, 2005: Half-Successful Research Trip

I had some research to do in downtown Ann Arbor, so yesterday I left Kala in charge of Ye Offspring and headed off.  First stop was at the new YMCA building.  The protag of the current WIP uses the place to work out, but I'd never been there.

Drove down Washington to the new building.  It's a spiffy brick affair that straddles its own parking lot.  I climbed the stairs and found myself looking at a wide reception desk.  Behind it was a waiting area with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the swimming pools.  A muscular man in a speedo was toweling himself down in front of said windows as I entered.

"Show-off," I muttered, and headed for the desk.  I explained to the clerk that I was a novelist (I never say "writer," since people usually equate that word with "unpublished") whose main character was using the Y and could I look around even though I wasn't a member?

The clerk called the manager, who came out and gave me a tour.  V. nice. One part I couldn't see, of course, was the women's locker room (I had to content myself with the men's), and this was a little problematic.  I'm not planning on giving extensive descriptions of the women's locker room in the book, but you never know, and I've learned over the years that women's locker rooms are often different from men's.  The usual way to structure a men's locker room showers is to have an open locker area for dressing and a huge open room for showers.  In the same building, women's locker rooms often have curtained dressing areas and private shower cubicles.  Men, the architects figure, don't mind strolling around naked in front of each other, but women are more modest.  It's stupid thinking, as if modesty is tied to gender.

So I asked the manager if the men's and women's locker rooms were the same. She said they were--both have private showers but open locker bays.  The different locker room design idea is dying out these days.

Then I headed over to the social security office.  This wasn't research, but a family-based errand--getting soc numbers for the boys.  The government building in AA is connected to the post office.  I had to show ID (why, I don't know--you don't have to be a citizen to get access to the building) and put my backpack and umbrella through an x-ray machine.  Upstairs at the soc office, I discovered that despite what the directions on the forms say, the birth certificates that list Kala and me as Sasha and Maksim's parents aren't sufficient to get soc numbers.  We have to have proof of citizenship, and for that we have to write to BCIS.  Great.

Next I stopped at Amir's for lunch--a ham sandwich with cream cheese, cucumbers, and bean sprouts.  The latter make it a =healthy= sandwich, of course.  :)

Then I hiked waaaaaay across the Diag to the other end of downtown and Ulrich's, which sells art supplies.  I'm working on an outline for another Luna City book and wanted to see chisels, knives, and other art implements you could use for murder.  Unfortunately, the staff at Ulrich's said they don't carry art supplies anymore.
"Those are down at the Michigan store on State," said the clerk.  "Do you know where that is?"

"You mean the one I passed half a mile back?" I said too brightly.

Another half mile later, I was all the way back where I had started.  The Michigan store's art department, however, only carried wimpy-ass exacto blades and plaster knives.  No good murder tools there.  I guess I'll have go to a hardware store to look at stone chisels and wood knives.  Or look on-line.

I'd wanted to next visit Nichols Arboretum to see what species of trees they had there, but I had a doctor's appointment soon and had to put the trip off.  So my research trip was halfway successful.

August 4, 2005: The Boys and the Doctor

Yesterday we took Sasha and Maksim to the doctor for an examination. Melissa gave them a once-over to look for obvious problems--none--and then discussed vaccinations.  She actually had to call the health department first and see what they required, since Sasha is considered an adult for vaccine purposes.  He'll need a whole series of stuff, it turns out, and Melissa has to work out a timetable for administering them.  Same for Maksim.  We'll know more later.

Meanwhile, she ordered full blood work on both boys, checking for all those nasty blood-born viruses, anemia, blood type, and so forth.  For this, we had to drive down to the hospital lab.  Sasha was looking truly apprehensive.  I had explained to him before we left that his blood would be drawn.

I accompanied Sasha to the cubicle with the phlebotomist, an older man. Sasha bore up pretty well, especially considering that his blood didn't flow well and the phlebotomist had to move the needle around in his vein.  He teared up a little but swallwed them back when we went back to the waiting room.

Kala went back with Maksim.  Sasha decided to go with, and we let him, figuring if Big Brother was there, Maksim would be less upset.  I stayed out front with Aran.  When Kala returned, she said Maksim did perfectly fine. He barely noticed his blood was being drawn.

Results come back in a couple weeks.

August 3, 2005: Altaring

I like an outdoor altar.  I adored the one we had at our old house on Ford, with its rough shelves of shale and a little niche for our Mother Goddess statue.  I'd wanted to move it to our new house, but it just wasn't feasible.  :(  Last summer there was just no time or energy to come up with something new, but this summer I felt the need to do something in the yard that didn't involve a garden, so off I went.

At the rear of our backyard is a red garden shed.  In the space between it and our neighbors' wooden privacy fence sat a matching gardener's workbench. It's just a narrow, waist-high table with a 5' tall ivy trellis forming the back.  I decided that if I turned the workbench around and used it to block off the space between the shed and the fence, I'd have a perfect niche for an altar.  The shed, the fence, and the workbench would create space walled in on three sides, with the way "in" at the back.  You have to go around behind the shed to enter the area, making it more secluded and private.  Our house backs up onto a field, so no one behind can look directly into the space.  Nice!

I removed the bags of topsoil and mulch from the workbench and discovered it was sitting on some square brick flagstones.  Once I moved the worktable where I wanted it, I pried up the flagstones, hosed them off, and set them aside.

I wanted stone structures in the altar area, but I had to abandon the idea of the elaborate niches and shelves we used to have because I simply didn't have enough rocks.  I had the six brick flagstones, a few pieces of shale from our old altar, and four round flagstones painted the colors of the four directions.  Not much in the way of stone.  Then I remembered the stupid circle out front of our house.

The previous owners had built a ring of square gray bricks around the maple tree out front, filled it with dirt, and made a flower bed.  I hate it as too cutesy-poo.  Trees don't need flower beds.  So I went out front, pulled the bricks up, and hauled them to the backyard.  This was seriously sweaty work.

I had a pile of bricks and flagstones now.  First I set the four round flagstones at each of the four directions.  By sheer coincidence, the eastern flagstone ended up at the entrance to the altar area.  (East is the traditional direction for entering a circle.)  North ended up beneath the worktable-cum-altar.  Perfect!  North is where the Goddess statue should sit, but she's made of concrete and is susceptible to erosion.  The altar would give some shelter.

Next I made two stacks of bricks, set a flagstone upright behind them to make a backing wall, and balanced a piece of slate on the top, creating a niche to further shelter the Goddess statue.  Beside it, I used more bricks and slate to create a set of rough shelves for candles, incense, and other offerings.  On top of the altar I put our offering bowls and the green man sundial we bought some time ago.

A large part of the ground in the spot was bare from the workbench and flagstones sitting there for so long.  I loosened and aerated the soil (more sweaty work), then spread grass seed over it.  Now I'm watering it several times a day hoping it'll grow well.

It'll look nice, I hope, when it's all done!

July 28, 2005: Perfection

My suspicions are justified.  Aran has perfect pitch.

A couple days ago, Aran dragged out all our drums and lined them up on the floor in front of Corey so he could drum to my playing.  His rhythm is a little rough but good overall.  Today we were doing it again, and at the last song, Aran left the drums and ran over to Corey to play the final note, as he likes to do.

I decided to test him.

"Close your eyes," I said.  "Let's play a game."

When his eyes were shut, I played a random note, then muffled the strings so he wouldn't see it vibrating.

"Open your eyes," I said.  "Which one did I play?"

He unerringly went to the correct one and plucked it.

I did it again and again, using different notes in different octaves.  Aran made only one mistake out of twenty-odd attempts.  He often played the note in a different octave, but it was always the right note.

Aran, of course, wanted Daddy to close =his= eyes and do the same thing.  We tried it, but I couldn't come closer than one note away.  I have a good ear, I know, but my pitch isn't perfect.

So Aran does have a talent.  We asked him if he wants to learn piano, and he said "no."  We asked if he wants to learn the harp and he said "yes."  I'll have to call my old harp teacher . . .


July 25, 2005: Printer Project

Yesterday Sasha indicated he wanted to send some pictures to the Internat in Zhytomyr.  We spent considerable time picking out and printing some of the hundreds of photographs Sasha had taken at the Internat (he wanted to send his friends their pictures) and of pictures he had taken in America.  I also had him write a letter.  Everything's been bundled into an envelope, and we'll mail it today.


July 25, 2005: Hot

Yesterday the temperature climbed into the mid-90s and it was so muggy you could get a good drink by standing outside with your mouth open.  Today it's supposed to be the same.  Sasha wants me to go bike-riding with him and he pouts when I tell him it's too hot and I ain't goin' nowhere.


July 24, 2005: Eek!

Today my computer froze in mid logout.  (I've set it up so I have a login and the kids have a login.  And ne'er the twain shall meet.)  I shut it off with the power switch.  When I restarted, the stupid thing refused to work. It didn't even pause at a Blue Screen of Death.  It would try to reboot, then suddenly I'd be back at the Dell logo again.  Not good.

I got out my boot disk and slotted it in.  After some wrangling, I finally got it to give me a C: prompt.  It refused, however, to show me a directory. Uh oh.  I ran chkdsk and sat nervously as it slowly checked the hard drive. Many minutes later, it told me it had found an error but it said nothing about correcting it.  I exited and rebooted the computer.

Success!

Whew.

July 23, 2005: Grand Theft Auto

Congress and the gaming industry are in an uproar because the video game Grand Theft Auto has recently been revealed to have hidden graphic sex scenes which can be unlocked by a hack now widely available on-line. Details are at  http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=638&e=5&u=/nm/20050722/en_nm/media_game_dc if you want 'em.

Okay.  Let's take a look at this.

In the game Grand Theft Auto, you play a drug dealer who has to run around on various drug-deal errands.  In order to get around, you steal cars from other people, shoot police (and bystanders, if you like), and crash through public property.  You also rise higher and higher in the drug dealer heirarchy by performing various criminal deeds.  You can meet and have (off-screen until now) sex with prostitutes and get your money back when you're done by beating the woman up.  The game glorifies drugs and violence and has long been on the hit list of various parent groups.  It was rated for teens and older.  Until now.

The gaming industry's watchdog group responded to the sex by slapping GTA with the video game equivalent of an NC-17 rating (AO--Adults Only).  Many stores now refuse to carry it.

So.  Now the truth is out.  GTA has sex in it.  Yes, you can watch your completely unrealistic avatar receive oral sex from and then pound away at a hooker.  And everyone is just outraged.

No one got this mad when the game first came out.  Yes, people were upset.  But you can kill a street person and watch his head explode in a bloody cloud, and the game doesn't deserve an AO rating?  Put two people having sex in there, though, and whooooooaaaa baby!  Send the kids out of the room! Pull it from the shelves!  It's okay to slaughter hundreds but not have sex with one.

I'm not saying the game is just good fun.  It isn't.  It's a horrifying piece of trash that SHOULD HAVE BEEN RATED AO WHEN IT FIRST CAME OUT, not  merely when it showed two people in pursuit of an orgasm.  Is this society screwed up or what?

July 22, 2005: Harry Potter Commentary, Including Spoilers

So don't read this if you haven't read the book.  Of course, the longer you go without reading the book, the more likely it is it'll be spoiled for you, since more and more people will assume that you've read it by now and will mention things to you.

Anyway.  My thoughts on the book:

I knew Dumbledore was going to die.  If =I= were writing the series, he'd've died in this book, too.  Harry has to face Voldemort alone, and Dumbledore's death is the best way to explain why he isn't helping.  I hope Rowling has no plans to bring him back from the dead.

I have the feeling that Snape is going to be exonerated.  We know he took the Unbreakable Vow to help Malfoy, and I suspect he did it to further ingratiate himself to the Death Eaters.  The Vow forced him to kill Dumbledore, since Malfoy couldn't do it.  Despite Harry's misgivings (and despite the fact that Harry was right about Malfoy being up to something), I think Harry's wrong about Snape and that Dumbledore was right to continue trusting him.  Snape did what needed to be done.  Dumbledore was so badly wounded that one of the other Death Eaters would have killed him eventually. By doing it himself, Snape dispelled any lingering doubts about his supposed loyalty to Voldemort, and Dumbledore's death thereby furthered the fight against Voldemort.  If Snape =hadn't= killed him, one of the other Death Eaters would have, and Snape would still be suspect.

It was very sad when Dumbledore's portrait showed up in the headmaster's study.

Here's a thought.  Dolores Umbridge was officially headmistress of Hogwarts for several days.  So when she dies, will her portrait grace the walls? Scary idea.

I had a "D'oh!" moment when Snape was revealed as the Half-Blood Prince. Who else would it be?  All the clues were there--the old book was in Snapes's old classroom, and who else would be so talented at potions? Rowling did some fine misdirection with it.  Hermione's insistence that the Prince could be a woman and Slughorn's ongoing references to Lily's talent at potions were clearly made to have us think Harry's mother was the Prince. It worked quite well, especially since Rowling carefully avoided having anyone speculate the Prince was Lily Potter.  "Ah ha!" thinks the reader. "That means it =must= be Lily, since no one in the book suspects her!"  Nice work there.

Rowling gathered up plot threads from all five of the previous books and wove them into this one.  If she had all this mind from Book One, then I must applaud her long-term writing skills.  If she made it up as she went and managed to make it all fit at the last minute, then I must applaud her short-term writing skills.  Either way, she earns applause.

July 21, 2005: Lawnmower Boy

While we were taking our customary evening bike ride, Sasha begged my permission to mow the lawn.

Oh, say it ain't so.

I took him out to the garden shed, showed him how to start the mower (he's =just= able to get the motor to turn over), and turned him loose.  I followed him around for a bit to make sure he got the hang of it, then at his insistence, went inside the house.  He's out there now, happily mowing away.

I'll have to enjoy this now.  I imagine next summer the idea will be met with rolled eyes and muttered curses.


July 21, 2005: Sasha and the Dentist II

Kala took Sasha to the dentist today for his extractions.  I spent the morning keeping track of Aran and Maksim and trying to keep the house from blowing up.  When Kala and Sasha came home, Sasha was in tears.  Kala reported that although one extraction was easy, the second was harder and it hurt him quite a lot.  I felt awful, having spent a lot of time reassuring him that the pain would be minimal.

We spent a lot of time comforting him (and dosing him with liquid codeine), but he was still obviously upset and hurting.  I finally called the Ukrainian dentist and left a message with her office.  She called back a while later and explained to Sasha that Mom and Dad hadn't been lying about the pain; they just didn't know it would hurt, that the teeth had to come out, and that the pain would go away soon if he continued to take his medicine.  This calmed him down quite a lot and he became much more cheerful.

The teeth, brought home in a little wooden case shaped like a happy tooth, were horrible.  One was half gone.  Both were brown and deee-sgusting.  They definitely had to come out.

July 19, 2005: More Tidbits

I was making copies of all the adoption records we have so we can put the originals in a safe-deposit box when I came across yet another document we hadn't noticed before.

It was the death certificate for Sasha's father, and it seems to be the =original.=

It creates more questions than it answers.  According to the English translation, he died of a stomach ulcer in the Crimea.  The Crimea?  That's a gazillion miles away from Lugyny.  What the heck was he doing down there? I don't know anything about Ukraine's medical system and how socialized it might be, but if Sasha's father had severe medical problems that required him to be in a big-city hospital, why not move him to Kyiv, which is much closer?  Was he on some kind of trip?  Had he fled his pregnant common-law wife and son and died unexpectedly?

Sasha, presumably, would know some or all of this, but we can't really ask him yet.

July 19, 2005: And Speaking of Harsh

This was posted on an adoption board by someone named "Ernie."  FRUA stands for Families for Russian and Ukrainian Adoption, a non-profit organization.

I'm up on my soap box here and addressing this to the people in the government system of non-American countries - the elected officials, committee members, bureaucrats and people that oversee various orphanage functions and the children left with out parental care. Not just those in Russia, but Ukraine, Belarus, Georgia, and the other countries of the former Soviet Union that FRUA members have adopted from.

I am tired of reading in the papers all kids of stories pointing fingers at Americans and adoption agencies for the corruption in your adoption systems. We here in American and the other countries where citizens live that adopt your children know full well that the blame is not on us the parents and the agencies. The blame belongs squarely on your shoulders. It is your system that is corrupt and forces people to pay bribes to accomplish what should be with out having to pay and wait.

You blame agencies and accuse them of illegal activities. Clean up your own house so that the system and people running that system are not extorting money from adoptive parents and the agencies.

You have judges that for a price of around $500 USD will waive the 10 day waiting period. It gets paid because the family wants to get home and start their new lives as soon as possible. In most cases these families have no idea it was paid on their behalf. It is not the family nor the agency this is paying the bribe, but corrupt judges that are refusing to do what is right unless they are paid money. In our country this is called extortion.

It is not just limited to Judges. In case after case of extortion it is an official, either appointed or elected, that has their hand out asking for money to do what they should be doing. Do not blame adoption agencies or families for paying these extortion fees. Do not try to change adoption laws to make it harder for families to adopt from your country. Get rid of the criminal element that is extorting this money just to do their jobs.

You change all kids of laws and talk about a need to check up on the safety of the children after they are adopted, but you do absolutely nothing about ensuring their safety and well being while in state care. You have orphanage workers that are abusing kids and who knows how many kids they are abusing. Kids are beaten, raped, and abused in your orphanages by the directors and workers there, yet you do nothing to stop this. You have orphanage directors that are using the kids as prostitutes and in pornography, yet you do nothing to stop that. In many cases the customers for the prostitutes and pornography are local politicians and mafia (which are one in the same in many cases). You do nothing to track the number of deaths in orphanages, not to mention do something about it, yet you jump all over adoptive parents when something goes wrong after adoption.

You claim that foreigners are adopting all your children and these kids are your future. You know as well as I do that these kids receive a sub-standard education and are treated as second class citizens. This is your future, a group of undereducated second class citizens? I sure hope not. The facts published by your own governments show that most of these kids end up living in the streets, abusing drugs and alcohol, live as prostitutes and thieves, and about 10 percent commit suicide. Do you really believe that the future of your country is drug addicted criminals and prostitutes? We here in other countries don't.

The problems are not the adoptive parents of America, Canada, Italy and other countries. The problems are right there in your own country. The answer is not to shut down adoptions or make it tougher for foreigners to adopt. The answer is to clean up your own mess. Arrest and prosecute the pornographers and abusers that you have running orphanages. Prosecute the elected official, judges and other bureaucrats who simply refuse to do their day to day job unless someone pays their extortion fees. These people are the real criminals, not us adoptive parents.

***
I wholeheartedly agree.

July 19, 2005: Overdosing on Saccharine

I just got back from surfing around a bit and reading other blogs from people who adopted from Ukraine.

Blarg!

If you want people who make Pollyanna look suicidal, read the blogs of people on their adoption trips.  (No, this is not an invitation for anyone to do a Google search, sift through the several hundred blogs to which I'm referring, find the handful which run counter to what I'm talking about, and post the URLs.)  Some slightly-exaggerated samples:

"Oh my--our judge didn't wave the thirty-day waiting period.  Goodness, we'll just have to fly home and scurry back to this marvelous place next month.  Oh well.  Every day is one step closer to parenthood!!!"

". . . and then we found out the orphanage didn't tell us that Viktor regularly set fire to his bed and to one of the orphanage puppies.  Well, shame on them!  We'll just have to work extra hard as parents and shower dear little Viktor with wots of wuv to make up for it!"

"We had two delayed flights and then customs lost our papers, so our trip home lasted 44 hours instead of 10, but we're a family now!!!!  Isn't everything great????"

"We're home now, and we haven't slept for three days straight because of all the problems with Natasha.  It's hard, but we just love her to pieces and are happy about everything!!!!"

This is why I wrote my adoption blog the way I did.  Yeah, it's sometimes gritty and sometimes harsh and sometimes I re-read it and I relive the magic of seeing Sasha and Maksim for the first time.  Most importantly, it tells the =truth.=  It's exactly the kind of blog I wish I could have read before I left.  Pollyanna is no help.


July 18, 2005: Sasha and the Dentist

On Thursday I took Sasha to the dentist.  He was clearly nervous and trying not to show it as we drove there.  I don't think they do much for pain management in Ukraine.  Sasha =has= seen a dentist at least once--he has tiny fillings in some of his teeth--but I have no idea under what circumstances.  I think he was half-expecting some sort of torture.

We arrived at the dentist's office in due course and signed in.  Before I could even finish the forms and paperwork (whereupon I got my first taste of having to answer "unknown" to a list of "Has the patient ever had . . . " questions), they called him back.  I went with him.

A 40-ish hygienist named Justine got Sasha settled in the chair and I explained the circumstances of his presence in the U.S. and in this particular dentist's office.  Justine took a look in Sasha's mouth and said she'd need to take an X-ray.  Sasha was still looking uncertain, and I think it wouldn't have taken much to get him to bolt for the door.  The X-ray was painless, of course.  A bit later, Justine called up a computer chart of human teeth to start a record for Sasha, and this fascinated him.

Dr. Fluent came in next.  She raised the chair and leaned it back, which Sasha thought was pretty cool.  Then she examined his teeth at greater length.  Two molars, she said, need to come out, but they're baby teeth, so it's okay.  I wasn't sure how to explain this to Sasha, but then Dr. Fluent said she's good friends with a dentist up in Flushing who speaks fluent Ukrainian.  Should she give her a call?  I quickly agreed to this.  We waited a while--the other doctor needed to be paged--and Sasha channel surfed on the little TV hanging from the ceiling.  Eventually the other doctor called back and I talked to her.  Turns out Ukrainian was her first
language and she's quite active in the Ukrainian community in Michigan.  Her office is about 40 minutes away from our house, and we may end up going to her for later treatments.  She said she doesn't charge for treatment given to Ukrainian and Russian orphans, but I reassured her that we have wonderful benefits, so charge away!

She got on the phone with Sasha and explained to him that two of his baby teeth are sick and need to come out, but they'll numb him up good so he won't feel it.  He seemed to accept this with equanimity.

I decided to make the extraction appointment for next week, partly to give the insurance company more time to get him on my benefits and partly because we'd already been at the office for an hour and a half.  So we'll see what happens on Thursday.  In the meantime, Dr. Fluent gave Sasha a prescription for an antibiotic and a painkiller.

In the same vein, I discovered last night that Sasha doesn't know how to brush his teeth.  It wasn't something we'd supervised back in Kyiv, so we didn't realize.  He hasn't been brushing his teeth at all--just pretending to.  Last night I told him to brush and I stuck around to watch and make sure it got done.

Apparently there's a product for tooth-cleaning that's more like a cream than a paste, and Sasha isn't familiar with toothpaste at all.  He asked for toothcream, and I told him all we had was paste.  He then squeezed about six inches worth of paste onto his toothbrush.  I thought he was playing around and admonished him, then put the right amount on his toothbrush.  Sasha started brushing, and it became quickly clear he had no idea what he was doing.  Oh dear.  But why would he know?  He got little or no parental attention all his life, lived in dirt-poverty, and possibly didn't even own a toothbrush.  He certainly didn't bring one home from the Internat.

I picked up my own toothbrush and demonstrated, having him follow along with what I was doing.  This went much better.  The entire thing was rather spoiled when I next caught him trying to eat candy in bed.  Sigh.

July 16, 2005: Got the Potter

This afternoon I drove down to Common Language's new location to pick up my Harry Potter book.  Not only did I find a parking space right behind the store, the meter still had time on it.  True magic!

Inside the store, the friendly clerk pulled my book and I browsed a bit. Four copies of OFFSPRING!  My offer to sign them was well received.  The store had clearly had a Harry Potter party last night, and I asked the clerk how it went.  She said it was a lot of fun.  They had something like 30 people there--a good turnout for a small store like this one.  People were in costume, and they had trivia contests and drank butterbeer and ate everyflavor beans.

The clerk also told me that Borders flagship store in downtown Ann Arbor ran out of copies before their pre-orders were even filled.  They had a huge party, but it didn't go down well.  People didn't have a good time, she said.  Probably had something to do with the dozens and dozens and dozens of people who didn't get books.  Oopsie!

On the way home, I drove past Borders.  Not a single HALF-BLOOD PRINCE in the window.  Dearie, dearie me.

July 16, 2005: A Furor

There's a novel in this.  I'm putting it next on my list to work on:

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.ListAll&friendID=7428306&Mytoken=20050716075345ML

Since a lot of people are furious, I'll reserve mine for other issues.


July 14, 2005: Step Thirty-Six: Forms

You didn't think the steps were actually =over=, did you?

You're supposed to register Ukrainian adoptees with the nearest Ukrainian embassy within thirty days of their arrival in the States.  I don't know what happens if you fail to do so, but whatever.  Our adoption agency sent us the form, but only one, so I had to run to an office supply store to copy it.  The embassy also wants the kids' Ukrainian passports, a recent photo (we used the extras from when we got their passport pictures taken), a copy of the Ukrainian court's adoption decree, and an SASE, presumably for the return of the passports.

I put all that together, signed the forms, and stuck them in an envelope, ready to mail tomorrow.


July 14, 2005: Feeling Frantic

The tests came back--Kala has strep throat.  I've been running the household single-handedly for the last three days, and it's been really hard.  Today I absolutely =had= to go up to Whereever in order to get insurance forms so the boys would be on my benefits.  I'd been planning to handle that little errand when I did my religous make-up day this week, but I can't leave Kala alone with the kids all day.

I took Aran and Maksim with me after exacting heavy promises from Sasha to behave himself and leave Mama alone.  On the way up to the school, I ran into construction traffic on the highway.  They were shoveling tar onto potholes.  Took me over an hour to get where I needed to go.  Went to the administration building and discovered the benefits lady takes lunch at 1:00, when I was there.  Fortunately, someone else gave me the forms.  I filled them out, left them with a note, and drove back home.  Naturally, the construction crews had by now moved to the other side of the highway to continue their patchwork, so I got involved in another traffic jam.

Got home at 2:00.  None of the boys had eaten lunch, and I had a doctor's appointment at three.  I threw together lunch for all three of them, got them settled in front of the TV (Sasha went out to ride his bike), swallowed a sandwich and fled.  Stopped at the office supply store on the way home for some copies, then got home in time to make the boys supper, with many interruptions.

Just before supper, Sasha came in from riding his bike and hid in his room. I went in to check on him and found him leaning his head against the wall, trying not to cry.  He didn't want to tell me what was wrong, but I prodded him and eventually learned he had been riding his bike with M--- (Aran's friend) and M--- had cut him off.  Sasha had crashed and skidded.  His left arm and shoulder were badly scraped.

I got him into the bathroom and persuaded him to remove his shirt so I could check for broken bones and sprains.  I didn't see any.  He was clearly afraid that what I was going to do would hurt.  I cleaned the scrapes as best I could (scrapes are so hard to get clean without causing serious pain), then got out some antibiotic ointment.  Sasha protested mightily when he saw this, and I imagined that whatever they applied to injuries in Ukraine hurt like hell.  I reassured him that it wouldn't hurt, but he cringed when I applied it.

Then came supper and the cleanup.  I managed to eat, myself, but just barely.  Then came general supervision of children until bedtime.  Kala felt well enough to give Maksim and Aran their baths, which was a major help.  And now I'm here at the computer.

July 14, 2005: Very Sad Post

This is not a happy post, everyone.

Today Kala was going through some of the documents in the massively-thick folder we got from the courthouse in Zhytomyr, Ukraine after the adoption was finalized.  She discovered to her surprise that almost all the documents had an attached notarized English translation.  One was dated February 20, 2004.  It was very hard to read, emotionally.

Rather than tell you what the document contained, I'll reproduce it here, complete with translator errors and misspellings:

Having examined in the open sitting in Lugyny township the case concerning the action of the Prosecutor of Lugyny region in the interests of the minor children Aleksandr Volodymyrovych Angelidin and Maksim Viktorovych Danylchuk against Mariya Yosypivna Danylchuk concerning deprival of her parental rights.

Established:

The Prosecutor of Lugyny region applied to the court with the action in the interests of the minor children A.V. Angelidin and M.V. Danylchuk against M.Y. Danylchuk concerning deprival of her parental rights, explaining that she is a mother of two minor children but during the last 3 years she deviates from her parental obligations, abuses alcohol, there is no food in their home, their home is dirty.

M.Y. Danylchuk has been warned about deprivation of her parental rights, but she did not improve her behavior, she continues to abuse alcohol, deviates from her parental obligations, does not cook for her children, her house has no heating, and as a result there are no conditions for normal life and study of the children.

At the court hearing the Prosecutor supported the action.

The defendant protested against the action and explained that she uses alcohol only on social occasions, takes care of the children.  The walls in her house are black as the stove emits smoke.  She is going to go to the forest to bring some firewood.  There is no food in the house - no vegetables, no cereals, no bread.  There is no money.  She is going to borrow money to buy some food.  Neither she nor her lover or adult daughter have job.  They live owing to the child welfare (for her son Maksim).  She asked not to deprive her of her parental rights.

Having heard the explanations of the Prosecutor, defendant, witness, opinion of the representatives of the Tutelage Body, having examined the materials of the case the court considers that the action is to be satisfied on the following grounds:

The witness Yanovych V.M. explained that the defendnat abuses alcohol, deviates from her parental obligtaions.  Her son Aleksandr, the student of the fifth grade, even can not read.  He comes to school very dirty and his teachers have to wash him.  He says that he eats only at school.  He steals money from his classmates and teachers.  There were cases in the late autumn when he spent nights in the hay-cocks.  The defedant carried her younger son on the sledges and almost froze him.  The witness considers that in the interests of the children M.Y. Danylchuk must be deprived of her parental rights.

In accordance with the Home study it is evident that the defendant lives together with her lover Prymenko V.Y. and her minor children in the house which has been given for them by the Village Council.  The defendant does cultivate the land given to her together with the house.  She does not keep a caw, pigs or poultry.  The defednat does cultivate the land 0.79 hectare. There is no normal conditions in the house, there is no food even bread.

The only source of income for the fmaily is child's maintenance which is used to buy alcohol, but not to buy food or cloths for the children.

[various legalese snipped]

The Tutelage Body of Lugyny region asked to depirve M.Y. Danylchuk of her parental rights in relation to her minor children. . . .

This conclusion was supported at the court hearing by the representative of the Tutelage Body Borova O.M.  She insists upon deprivation of the defendant of her parental rights and she expalined the court that this family has already registered as a troublesome family during 4 years.  In December 2003 Commission visited this family.  The house was dirty, untidy, there was dirty linen.  There was no food in the house except a bucket of potato.  Two years old Maksim had burn scars; it was 9 p.m. but Aleksandr was not at home.  The defendant even did not know where her son was.  As there is no food at home, Aleksandr constantly steals food from his neighbors.  The only source of income for the family is child's maintenance.

[more legalese snipped]

[I]n the interests of the children, in order to protect their rights, life and health, the court considers it is necessary to deprive the defendant of her parental rights. . . .

July 13, 2005: Latter Days

Today I watched LATTER DAYS on DVD.  It was a nicely-done film overall. Predictable, but nice.  It's been done before, though.  There's a stock plot for the gay coming-of-age movie, you see:

Boy A, who hasn't admitted to himself he's gay, meets Boy B, who is way out of the closet.  A starts to fall for B.  B falls for A.  A is unsure of himself.  Finally A and B get together, but A's family/church/friend learns of the situation and freaks.  A and B are separated and miserable.  After much soul-searching, A finally leaves his terrible family/church/friend for true love with B.

LATTER DAYS follows this plot to the letter.

I'm glad the movie was made--anything that gets sympathetic same-sex relationships in front of an audience is a good thing.  But I'm really, really hoping to see more films in which the main character is gay or lesbian, and THAT ISN'T THE MAIN FOCUS OF THE MOVIE.  The stalwart secret agent goes home after dealing death to evil-doers and kisses his husband hello.  The hard-working doctor outwits the serial killer and unwinds by having dinner with her girlfriend.  It's why I wrote the Silent Empire books the way I did.  We have plenty of oh-god-I'm-gay-now-what books and movies out there.  Let's do something else with it now, shall we?

July 13, 2005: Computers, Sibling Rivalry, and Toothaches

Kala is sick again.  It started with a fever last night and she felt horrible today.  I'd been planning to go up to Nameless High School today to work off one of my religious holidays, but obviously couldn't now.  I had boy duty all day.  Between eight and noon, all I did was get people dressed, fed, and cleaned.  And I managed to clean the kitchen.

At noon we attempted a trip to a school playground, but it was over 90 out, so that lasted only about fifteen minutes.  Sasha wanted to stay, but he was overruled by Aran and Maksim.  Back home, I set up the sprinkler thingie, but only Aran and Maksim played with it.  Sasha claimed he didn't want to. I think he was in a snit about leaving the playground so quickly and was punishing us by depriving us of his fine company.  Sure kid--go right on thinking that.  Meanwhile, we're having fun with the nice cool water.

Then came lunch.  Aran and Sasha ended up on the computers, so I watched a DVD while Maksim napped.  I negotiated several computer problems as well. Naturally, Aran never needed help when Sasha did, and vice-versa, so I kept making multiple trips to the basement.  At one point, Aran reported that Sasha had hit him.  This sounded suspicious to me.  Sasha had never hit Aran before, and certainly not over the computer.  I figured Sasha pushed Aran away and Aran interpreted this as hitting.

Sasha later told me that he was afraid he was in trouble.  He knew Aran had talked to me.  Sasha said he pushed Aran away from the computer while he was using it and he didn't hit.  I told Sasha it was all right.

Kala went to the doctor and came back to report it was probably a secondary sinus infection from the first time we were sick.  She had dropped off prescriptions for antibiotics and painkillers at the drugstore.

An hour later, I went to pick up the scrips and stop at the store for frozen pizza for supper--no energy to cook anything else.  Just as the pizza was coming out of the oven, Sasha told me his mouth hurt.  A bit of questioning turned up the fact that one of his molars was bothering him.  I hadn't looked in his mouth before, and did so now.

Oh dear.

I'm no dentist, but even I could see the decay in two molars.  A third molar was half-gone, and the exposed surface was an unhealthy-looking brown.  No wonder his mouth hurt!

We'd been planning to make dental appointments for both kids as soon as the insurance paperwork went through, but it's clear we have to get Sasha in tomorrow.  Meanwhile, I called my sister, the dentist, and confirmed my thoughts.  She also told me how to slow the pain for him and what might happen tomorrow.

The fun part will be explaining this to Sasha.

You know, today was supposed to be a =quiet= day for me.


July 13, 2005: How Much Do You Recycle?

How much do you recycle?

http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=585&e=6&u=/nm/20050712/sc_nm/life_garbage_dc

NEW YORK (Reuters) - Author Elizabeth Royte went on a yearlong pilgrimage to "Garbage Land," trekking through landfills, paddling through trash-filled waters and smelling sewage treatment plants -- all just to find out what happens to the things that people throw away.

Inspired by environmental campaigns, Royte started in her Brooklyn home, tracking the path of everything from recycled paper to discarded computer parts and the septic sludge she flushed down the toilet. She chronicled her quest in the book "Garbage Land: On the Secret Trail of Trash," (Little, Brown) which was to hit stores on Wednesday."I thought this would be a fun adventure," the 45-year-old science writer and journalist told Reuters. "I didn't really understand how hazardous, dangerous or polluting what we threw out was to other people far and wide."

***
Around our house, we recycle everything the recycling people take.  We also have a pile of used batteries awaiting recycling--the company doesn't take them and we're trying to find out if the big plant in Ann Arbor will take them.  BSM (Before Sasha and Maksim) we put out one bag of trash a week, two if we'd done serious cleaning or had company.  These days, we're up to two bags.


July 13, 2005: Teaching to the Test

See, this is what the educational community is stuck dealing with.  And it's from my home state, where I teach.

Study Great Ideas, but Teach to the Test
By MICHAEL WINERIP
Published: July 13, 2005
GRAND RAPIDS, Mich.

BECKY KARNES, a high school English teacher, recently completed a graduate-level writing course that she loved at Grand Valley State University.

"The course taught us better ways to teach writing to kids," said Ms. Karnes, a 16-year veteran who is finishing up her Master's degree. "It showed you ways to stretch kids' minds. I learned so much, I had my eyes opened about how to teach writing."

Ms. Karnes learned all sorts of exercises to get children excited about writing, get them writing daily about what they care bout and then show them how they can take one of those short, personal pieces and use it as the nucleus for a sophisticated, researched essay.

"We learned how to develop good writing from the inside, starting with calling the child's voice out," said Ms. Karnes, who got an A in the university course. "One of the major points was, good writing is good thinking. That's why writing formulas don't work. Formulas don't let kids think; they kill a lot of creativity in writing."

And so, when Ms. Karnes returns to Allendale High School to teach English this fall, she will use the new writing techniques she learned and abandon the standard five-paragraph essay formula. Right?

"Oh, no," said Ms. Karnes. "There's no time to do creative writing and develop authentic voice. That would take weeks and weeks. There are three essays on the state test and we start prepping right at the start of the year. We have to teach to the state test" (the Michigan Educational Assessment Program, known as MEAP).

More at
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/07/13/education/13education.html?ex=1278907200&en=3d7a79e5b3bdea89&ei=5089&partner=rssyahoo&emc=rss

NYTimes requires free registration, but I've never been spammed by them.


July 13, 2005: Potty Training

Not a post for the non-parent types or the squeamish . . .

You wouldn't think you'd have to toilet train a twelve-year-old, but it happens.  Sasha, thanks to Internat upbringing, has . . . interesting bathroom manners.  He has no modesty and never bothers to shut the bathroom door.  He thinks nothing of dropping trou and pooping near some bushes at a playground if no toilet is available.  It's hard to explain to him that this isn't acceptable, but we're working on it.

Maksim has his own troubles.  There's something poignant about a toddler who empties his own potty chair.  That's what Maksim--along with all the other orphans at his orphanage--were trained to do.  We've gotten him to stop doing that, partly because it's not something he should have to do and partly because there's the threat of spillage and associated sanitary issues.  Now the main issue is that he wants to be a Big Boy, and Big Boys stand up to go potty.  This means Maksim stands in front of his potty chair to use it.  His aim is awful.  The problem is, we don't often catch him at it until it's nearly over.  We're trying to convince him to stand on a stool and use the main toilet, but he's a little intimidated by that.

We clean our bathroom.  A =lot.=

July 12, 2005: Go Me!

They finally posted the short-listers and winners for the Spectrum Award. (OFFSPRING, you will remember, was on the long list.)  Once again, I made the short list but didn't win.  All four Silent Empire books were short-listed, however, and I'm the only author with four finalist nominations in a row.

So go me!

http://www.spectrumawards.org/2005.htm


July 12, 2005: Helen Keller Moment

Today Sasha and I took our daily bike ride.  (I lost five pounds on the trip to Ukraine, despite all the eating, and I have yet to gain it back.  Sasha makes me get out and exercise a lot.)  We ended up at a school playground and here we had Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller at the water pump--Sasha created his first, unprompted, English sentence: "I am in the park."

Yay!

July 10, 2005: Fantastic Four

I'd heard terrible things about the Fantastic Four movie, much to my disappointment.  However, it seemed like a good movie to bring Sasha and Aran to.  They both like superheroes, and Sasha would be able to follow most of the action.  Sasha was enthusiastic about seeing another movie, Aran less so when he learned it wouldn't be SHARK BOY AND LAVA GIRL, which he loved as much as I hated.

I don't see why the reviews were so vitriolic.  It wasn't a brilliant film, but it was entertaining and fun and worth seeing.  It doesn't stick strictly to the comic book continuity, but so what?  I enjoyed it and will probably buy it on DVD.

My biggest complaint is that I =still= don't understand why they bleached Jessica Alba's hair and not Chris Evans's.  I mean, the Storms are all blonds!

The previews I saw on TV, incidentally, focused on the number of times Sue Storm is caught naked or nearly so and how she turns invisible to avoid scrutiny.  The movie, though, shows a great deal more beefcake than cheesecake!  Chris Evans/Johnny Storm keeps burning his clothes off, and he spens a fair amount of time wearing nothing but a hastily-grabbed object wrapped around his waist.  I was laughing about that.  Previews are so inaccurate.  :)

July 10, 2005: Last Couple of Days

I started feeling gross on Thursday and was fully sick on Friday--fever, fatigue, aching, coughing.  Kala started feeling bad Friday and was sick on Saturday.  The boys haven't shown any signs of it, and we think delayed fatigue and general stress of the new family depressed our immune systems or something.

On Friday, my in-laws took Aran and Sasha for most of the day, giving us some relief.

One thing that's been frustrating is that we've been =trying= to go to the water park.  Early in the week, it was too chilly, then it was rainy/stormy. When the weather finally cleared up perfectly, Kala and I got sick.  Then the weekend came, and we didn't want to go then--way too crowded.

Sasha's much calmer now than when he first arrived and much easier to deal with.  Maksim continues to put up a major fuss whenever it's time for bed, and we're forced to leave him crying himself to sleep.  It's that or lay down with him for an hour or more, and we simply can't do that.  Maksim has to learn to fall asleep on his own.

We've had to get over our reluctance to let Maksim cry.  At the orphanage, the only time he cried was when we had to leave him, and it was heart-breaking.  Now he cries when a) he can't get his own way; b) when he gets hurt; or c) at bedtime.  Only b) rates parental comforting, but it was hard for a while because the crying sounds the same in all three cases and it reminds us of leaving him at the orphanage.  But we're pretty much over it now.

Today Sasha and I went out for a bike ride, our first in several days.  When we got back, we were hot and sweaty, so I pulled the water thingie out of the garden shed.  The water thingie is a short pillar that hooks up to the hose and spurts water in three different directions depending on how you turn a little wheel on the front of it.  Sasha and Maksim liked it quite a lot, and we even managed to get Aran involved.  Sasha's a bit of a control freak.  He continually wrested control of the wheel for himself and tried to ensure everyone except him got hosed.  I finally had to firmly order him away from the wheel so others could get a turn.  Maksim eventually started shivering and we had to stop, though Maksim didn't want to quit and was quite upset at the idea--even though his lips were turning blue!

July 8, 2005: Sick

Yesterday I was sick and miserable.  Today I'm slightly sick and miserable.  Today Kala is also sick and miserable.  The boys are watching a lot of TV and visiting their grandparents.  Bleah.


July 5, 2005: Sharks and Lava

I knew it would be awful.  I knew it would be a chore.  I knew it would be horrifying.  But I did it, and I survived.

Yes, I took Aran and Sasha to see SHARK BOY AND LAVA GIRL.

I figured a movie would be a good little outing and give Kala a break.  I seriously considered BATMAN BEGINS but balked at the two-and-a-half-hour length.  SB/LG is only 90 minutes long and, I figured, would probably be easier for Sasha to follow.

Decision made, I went up to the living room.  Sasha discovered the Loony Toons DVDs and was watching them, laughing.  He's never seen Bugs and Daffy and the others.  The cartoons are also easy enough to follow without sharing the language.

At any rate, I asked Sasha if he wanted to see a superhero movie by saying "superhero" (which is the same in Ukrainian and English) and "kino," ("movie" in Ukrainian), then repeating these concepts in English.  Sasha didn't want to go at first--he wanted to finish the cartoons.  When the current cartoon ended, I stopped the DVD player and said, "Kino?  Superhero movie?"

Sasha nodded and got out THE INCREDIBLES.  He thought I'd wanted to watch a DVD.  I shook my head and mimed driving.  "We'll drive to a theater."

Sasha got it then, and was very excited.  Aran was happy, too.  I bundled the boys out the door and into the car.  Kala stayed home with Maksim.  We had to go quickly in order to make the 2:15 show, but I turned our slight tardiness into an advantage--we couldn't stop long enough in the theater lobby for Sasha's new-found materialism to kick in.  He didn't get a chance to ask for anything, though he did point out and read the signs for "pizza."

I thought the "in 3D" part of the ads was a joke.  Nope.  It was a 3D movie, complete with 3D glasses--pink for girls, blue for boys.  And it was dreadful.  My expectations weren't high, but man--horrible dialogue, total lack of tension, no serious threat to anyone likeable, no real story.  And oh yes--did you get the theme?  That dreams and imagination are good things? Did you?  Huh?  Did you get it?  Are you sure?  We could repeat it again, in case you missed it.  Really.  Watch--we'll say it again.  Are you watching?

Shark Boy says, "If you snooze, you win."  Boy, did =he= have it right.

Sasha and Aran, of course, loved it.  I was hoping for some over-the-kids'-heads bits for the adults, but nope--nothin'.  Ooof.  I deserve a medal or something for this.

And then we went home.


July 5, 2005: Go Me!  In a Big Way!

Wow.  About two weeks before we left for Kyiv, I told the editor of the Luna City mystery novel that it would be late, terribly sorry and embarrassed. How about August 15, a month later?  Ye Eddetor said this was fine.  Still, I was upset.  I have never turned in a novel late.  I've always turned each one in early, thenk yew.  Worst of all, this is my first novel for this editor--not a great first impression.  So I was seriously unhappy.

Buuuuut . . . I finished it today.  Final draft is done, and ten days earlier than the original deadline.  Best of all, Ye Eddetor wants electronic format only, so I don't need to print out several hundred pages of manuscript.  Go me!


July 4, 2005: Family Movie Night

Tonight Kala and I decided to do a family movie night with the boys.  We popped corn, got out soda (Sasha loves Sprite), and put THE INCREDIBLES in
the DVD player.  It went very well, actually.  Sasha liked the movie quite a lot, and even Maksim got into it for a while.  And then, replete with junk food, the boys were sent to bed.

Aran went straight to sleep, but Sasha was kept awake by the popping and booming of local fireworks.  He got up for a while and played on the computer before being sent to bed.  He put up only a token resistance before turning in.


July 4, 2005: Sasha and Resistance

Sasha is, I think, the kid who claims to hate parental directives but who secretly craves order and rules.  Yesterday at supper we had spaghetti. Sasha decided he didn't want even to try it and would instead fill up on bread.  We wouldn't let him.  Eventually he left the table and stomped into his room.

Okay, fine.  If he doesn't want to eat, he can go hungry.  But he'd left his plate at the table, and this is not allowed.  After a short interval, I went into his room and ordered him back to the table.  He came fairly readily.  I pointed at his plate and at the sink.  "You have to put your plate in the sink," I told him.

He sat down and ate his spaghetti instead.  He misunderstood what I was saying and thought I was ordering him to eat. But he didn't complain or pout about eating his dinner, either.  He =wanted= me to tell him to eat.  I think after a year of running wild at the Internat, where mealtimes and table manners are not enforced, he's secretly glad that someone's ordering him to the table, since it indicates that someone cares.

I hope he gets over this soon, though.  It makes mealtimes a serious chore.


July 3, 2005: Sasha and TV

Things have calmed down around the house now.  Sasha isn't quite as volatile or demanding as he was when we arrived.  His attention span has lengthened, as well.  He'll watch an entire movie, for example, instead of wandering off after ten minutes.  He's getting more used to our house.

He's working his way through our animated Disney collection.  Kala's been trying to pry him away from the VCR, but I'm disagreeing.  Disney movies are fairly easy to follow, even if you don't know the language, and I think Sasha is learning some English from them.


July 3, 2005: Toy Story and Family Visit

Today we cleaned the house--a much-needed chore.  The place was just filthy. We made the boys clean up the playroom, which looked like an earthquake had wracked it.  When it was all over, we gave Sasha his allowance--$10.  He was excited by this, but it didn't keep him from asking for twenty.  At least the refusal didn't result in a pouting fit.

I've learned, incidentally, that the best (read, "easiest") way to say "no" to Sasha is to treat his requests as so outrageous that I couldn't possibly say "yes," even when the request/demand is serious.  He asks for more money, and I laugh.  What a funny kid!  He makes jokes.  Ho ho ho.  I ruffle his hair with a grin, and walk away.  It's a trick I use in my classroom a lot, but without the hair ruffling.  I think that my students, and now my son, believe that I'm too thick to understand that the request is real, so it's not worth the effort to get upset.  Sighing and rolling the eyes is a more usual response. Much better than a tantrum.

Anyway, we needed a few things at the toy store--a toy box for the boys' bedroom, for one thing.  I needed to write, though, so Kala volunteered to take her life into her own hands and take all three boys by herself.  She returned, and reported that everything went perfectly well.  Sasha discovered that $10 doesn't go nearly as far in America as it does in Ukraine and, as a result, only bought a package of red licorice whips. Everything else cost too much.  A good lesson, quickly learned!

Later, my in-laws came over to visit.  This included Kala's sister, Stephanie.  I was a little leery of filling up the house with people again so soon after we got back, but everything went very well.  We grilled hot dogs and hamburgers and ate them with chips and potato salad.  Maksim charmed everyone with his general cuteness, and Sasha lapped up the attention from his new grandparents.  Stephanie stuck around for the evening fireworks, too.  A good visit.

July 3, 2005: Fireworks Around the Piziks Household

Real ones, too.  Not the metaphorical variety.

Two days ago, I bought a bunch of fireworky stuff.  Big box of miscellaneous fireworks, a pair of big candle-type fireworks, and a whole mess of sparklers.

Last night as it was getting dark, I brought out the sparklers.  Sasha had, with some of his own money, bought a bunch of pop-streamers too, and we set everything off in the back yard.  Paper streamers popped across the yard, and we all made bright, squiggly lines with the sparklers.

This evening I brought out the rest, and we set them off on the driveway. In Michigan, fireworks that leave the ground are illegal unless you have a professional license, so everything sat stationary as sparks fountained into the air, whistles shrieked, and sparkles popped.  Even Aran, who usually hates loud noises, loved it and lit a few of his own.  Sasha, of course, wanted to light everything in sight.  Maksim watched from the safety of his tricycle.  Great family fun.


July 2, 2005: Sasha and English

When I taught Sasha bits of English at the orphanage, he readily acquiesced, though I used the camera as bait.  "English first, then camera."

Today when I announced to Sasha it was time for an English lesson, I got very bad pouting.  He didn't want to sit at the table.  He turned sideways in his chair (away from me) and wouldn't look at me.

Ooookay.

I set a kitchen timer for 45 minutes to show him how long the lesson would last, then started with simple commands from the ESL book I'd bought.  Stand up, sit down, raise your hand, raise two hands, open your book, close your book, etc.  I did it each activity at first to demonstrate, then phased out my physical involvement.  I got grudging responses at best, despite lavish praise and compliments.  A couple of times when I got silly with it, he allowed a tiny smile, but it never lasted.

Once the warmups were done, we progressed to the alphabet and numbers 1-10. Here, Sasha started sniffling and was holding back tears, though he kept his face turned away and partly covered with his hands.  I was puzzled.  Why was he so upset?  I couldn't figure it out.

I finally dragged him (verbally) down to my office and called up the Ukrainian translation site.  I'm pretty sure the site delivers some mangled sentences, so I tried to keep mine simple.

"You must learn English," I wrote.  "Few people in America speak Ukrainian."

No response, though he did read the translation.

"I will teach you.  I want to help you."

No response.

"Did you have bad teachers at the Internat?"

Sasha shook his head.

"A new place is scary.  You must be scared sometimes."

Slight nod.

"Mama and I love you.  We want to help you."

No response.

Inspiration struck.  "Are you afraid you will forget Ukrainian if you learn English?"

Pause, then clear nod.

"You will not forget Ukrainian if you learn English.  I learned German and Spanish.  I did not forget English."

A glance at me.  Tiny smile.

We went back upstairs, but the lesson was still difficult.  I opened the bag of tricks I use on passive-agressive students, but with limited success.  At one point, Aran saw us raising our hands and he laughed.  I scolded him and said it wasn't nice to laugh like that during Sasha's lesson, though it was more for Sasha's benefit than anything--Aran wasn't being malicious, but Sasha wouldn't know that.  Aran sat on the couch in the living room (we were in the dining room) and did the lesson along with us, following the commands and saying the words.  At one point, Sasha removed his watch and dropped it on the table, his usual Major Pouting signal ("I don't want this thing you gave me.")  I was rapidly losing patience, but kept my voice low and continued praising him whenever he did even the smallest thing.

At last the alarm went off.  Sasha fled to his room and flung himself across his bed.

I sat and thought.  This must go beyond fear of forgetting his native language.  Why was he so upset?  After a while, I formed a theory.  Sasha may feel like he's being singled out, even punished.  After all, Aran and Maksim didn't have a lesson.  The solution seems obvious--involve all three boys.  Aran, of course, would be an excellent model and it would help Aran interact with his brothers more.  Maksim can benefit from the lessons as well, though he'd be just fine picking up English as he goes.  I'll try this tomorrow and see what happens.


July 2, 2005: Names

Sasha usually calls me "Father," though it usually comes out closer to "Fazza," since he can't do a "th" sound yet.  For a while he called me "Tato," which is Ukrainian for "Dad" or "Daddy."  Maksim started calling me "Papa" but now calls me "Tyta" (y = oo).  A variant of "Tato"?  I'm not sure.  Aran calls me "Daddy."

Sasha calls Kala "Mother," though with the slurred "th" while Maksim and Aran call her "Mama."

I'm not sure why I ended up with all these variations while Kala ended up with only two.  It's weird.


July 1, 2005: Book Shopping

Sasha, of course, needs English lessons.  I'm planning to teach him this summer--starting today, in fact--but I don't know where to start.  I can teach German and Spanish to English speakers, but teaching English as a second language to someone whose primary language I don't speak, that's something else entirely.  Many of the methods I already know will work, but it would help lots if I had some sort of structure--vocabulary lists, themed units, that sort of thing.  I can make my own, but it's so much easier to use someone else's.  Why reinvent the space shuttle?  First, though, I have to find the plans.

I tried to do some web surfing on the subject, but I didn't really find anything useful.  So today it was off to the bookstore.  The Evil Empire (Barnes & Noble) in Ann Arbor lies halfway between the University of Michigan and Eastern Michigan University, both of which turn out a fair number of teachers.  As a result, their selection of teaching books is better than any other store in town.

I really needed to get away, too.  See, the two "harder" boys glommed onto me.  Aran's always been Daddy's Boy, and Sasha has become the same. Whenever he has a question, request, or problem, he comes to me, and I end up dealing with most of his poutings and tantrums.  Maksim, the "easy" one, glommed onto Kala.  In the past few days, I've felt like a telephone operator in the midst of some sort of natural disaster.  It hasn't been uncommon for both Aran and Sasha to hit me up at the same time, and their needs are always vastly different.

One advantage of being a two-parent household in which neither parent has a day job is that you can dump the kids with Ye Spouse and get away for a while.  So away I went.

First I stopped at the Evil Empire and found a really good ESL (English as a Second Language) exercise book.  I also bought a grammar exercise book that I thought looked good--my ninth graders can always use some fun exercises.  And then I bought a small pile of fiction.  Ha!

While I was perusing the family section, a clerk led an older woman to the section with books on autism.  I asked her if she was dealing wtih an autistic child, and she said her grandson, age five, was just diagnosed.  I told her about Aran and we talked for a while.  I gave her the number of our play therapist and the number for the Washtenaw County Family Advocacy office, which is in charge of getting the State of Michigan subsidy to parents with special needs kids.  I hope the information is useful to her.

I realized I hadn't had lunch yet, so I stopped at Panera for a roast beef sandwich,  I perused the ESL book as I ate.  Then I went to Kmart, where I picked up a box of assorted fireworks.  Sasha really likes fireworks, so I figured they'd be fun.  And I bought water balloons.  Mwah ha ha ha!

And then home, after some refreshing time away.



July 1, 2005: It's 10:00 . . .

. . . and Sasha is =still= in bed asleep.  My, the house is quiet.


June 30, 2005: First Day, with Boys

Maksim woke up around three a.m. and cried.  He gets scared whenever he's alone.  Kala went in to lay down with him until he fell back asleep.

Me, I woke up around four, managed to doze a little, and finally rose around five.  Showered, dressed, and came downstairs to sort through the mountain of e-mail and newsgroup messages.

Sasha got up first.  He zipped about the house, moving from one activity to another, rarely finishing anything.  He'd put in a DVD, watch it for a few minutes, then go do something else.  There's just so much to do, you see! And he's looking for those boundaries.  The pattern goes:

1. Sasha asks to do something he shouldn't do.  (Sometimes he'll start doing it, as if that lends credibility to the request.)
2. I tell him "no."
3. He continues doing it or, alternatively, begs to do it.
4. I say "no" again.
5. Sasha folds his arms across his chest, sets his face in half-snarl, half pout, and stares down at the floor.
6. I ignore him.
7. Sasha finally stops pouting.

I'm the one that Sasha has attached to, for better or for worse.  Even when he's mad about something, he usually comes to me first whenever he needs something or something's bothering him.

Maksim, on the other hand, has got to be the easiest kid in the world.  He rarely cries and loves everyone and everything.  He makes faces by stretching his mouth and eyes with his fingers, and they're just hilarious and cute.  He seems most attached to Kala.

Once everyone else got up, I made scrambled eggs and Pop Tarts for breakfast.  This went over well.  Next, it was Deal with Boys Day.  Sasha and Maksim need to learn where everything is and how everything works and what is and is not acceptable behavior.  As I said, this is easier with Maksim than with Sasha.

Kala and I also unpacked, sorted mail, and did various and sundry other necessary tasks.  I tracked down a web site that does on-line translations from English to Ukrainian.  Score!  If the German translations are any indication, the translations aren't great, but they get the point across.  I showed Sasha, who was very impressed.  It aids communication, since Sasha can read.

I wrote to Sasha that we had to go to the store because Maksim needed some things.  Sasha also needed a watch.  (Hard to tell him to be home at a certain time when he doesn't own a watch.)  And then, I wrote, we would go to another store to buy him a bike.

This excited Sasha greatly.

At Target, we bought a potty chair and a few other things for the Maksim, along with a digital watch for Sasha.  In the middle of this excursion, the skies opened up and it began to rain.  Water thundered down and wind tore through the parking lot, overturning small cars and SUVs.  This impressed Sasha.  I don't think Ukrainian thunderstorms get quite so violent.  When it let up a little, I ran out to the car and drove it up to the door so we could continue.

We decided to stop for lunch at Red Robin.  It was a little nerve-wracking, two adults trying to manage three boys.  They outnumber us now, you see. Sasha tried to fill his pockets with packets of sugar from the table and pouted when I made him put them back.  When his cheeseburger arrived, he stripped it of the bun and the cheese and ate just the meat.  Orphan Adkin's diet?

The rain had slacked off a bit by the time we arrived at the Student Bike Shop on Maynard in downtown Ann Arbor.  Sasha was excited, barely restraining himself from jumping all over the place.  The clerk helped us pick out a red Schwinn 15-speed mountain bike Sasha really liked.  It was reasonably priced, too.

Back home, we got the bike out--and the power died again.  The storm has long passed, and now the power goes out?

Sasha happily rode his new bike around.  I went with him a few times.  M---, Aran's friend, came over to play.  Kala went grocery shopping and took Maksim with her.  You'd think that's help, but it didn't--she had the easy one, leaving me alone with three active kids in the house and no electricity.

The day was spent activity-hopping.  Kala got home from the store, and still no power.  Sasha and I went out for another bike ride.  We played chase in a parking lot for part of it.  I pretended I was twelve again for a while.  I suppose your children do this to you.

When we got back home, the power was still out, so it was hot dogs on the grill for supper.  Sasha wanted some cookies before dinner and tried to take them from the jar.  I told him to put them back.  He refused, and I took them away from him.  He fled to his bunk in silent wrath.  Supper was ready a few minutes later, and I went in to get him.  He wouldn't come, and I snapped at him to get his Ukrainian butt to the table RIGHT NOW.

He came, but sat at his plate, refusing to eat.  That was fine.  If he wanted to go hungry, he could go hungry.  Whenever this happened back in Kyiv, Irine would try to force him to eat, against my and Kala's advice. Our strategy toward pouters is to ignore them completely.  Pouting gets boring really, really fast.  And a few minutes into supper, Sasha nibbled on a Dorito.  Then another, and another.  Then he covered one with . . . ketchup?  Ewww!  Kala and I shuddered elaborately at this, which amused Sasha greatly.  A few minutes later, his plate was empty.

More bike riding followed supper.  The power came back on as well.  Now more thunderstorms are rolling in and it's time for bed.

Tomorrow we'll have to begin some formal English lessons for Sasha.

Ukraine Adoption Journal

My adoption journal has its own page.


May 30, 2005: Semi-Aborted Weekend

Friday was the all-district comp day for parent-teacher conferences, which means Memorial Day weekend is a four-day weekend for me.  Yay!

I had actually planned a short getaway, camping in southwest Michigan at a little campground I like.  (Everyone else in Michigan goes north for this sort of thing, and heading west lets me avoid the horrifying traffic.)  But as the weekend grew closer, the weather report grew ickier and ickier. Showers, chilly weather, clouds.  Blech.  I'd already paid the campground, and they don't refund canceled reservations, and I wasn't sure what to do. It's no fun tent-camping in the rain, but I'd paid the reservation months ago.

I decided I'd go anyway.  After all, I was by myself and if I didn't like it, I could easily come home.  My main intention was to write quite a lot on the laptop and get caught up on the Luna City book.

Late Friday morning I packed up the car and plunged straight into . . . terrible traffic.  This was odd--usually traffic west is quite light.  After an hour of near-stoppage, I found the reason--construction zone.  One lane open.  Yeesh.  It took over an hour to work through it.

Drove through some very pretty western Michigan country and arrived at the campground.  Set up camp.  Ate supper, got out the laptop and finished a chapter.  Went on a hike and finally went to bed.

In the morning it was COLD.  I could see my breath.  As I lay there in my tent, I realized that I didn't really want to be there.  I wasn't into it at all, and the idea of spending two more days there left me thinking, "Meh."

Well, all right then.  I packed up my site and left.  Ate breakfast at a pancake restaurant I like, then decided that every time I go to South Haven, I go down to the lighthouse on Lake Michigan.  Why break a tradition I like? I had lots of time, so I drove through the downtown area, parked, and walked out to the lighthouse.

The lighthouse is just a little automated thing on a long artificial spit that juts out into the lake.  I sat at the end of the spit with my feet hanging over the water and watched the water for quite some time, trying to imagine what it looked like a hundred or a thousand years ago.

And then I drove home.  I've spent the rest of the weekend writing on my main computer, playing computer games, and playing with Aran.

May 29, 2005: Madagascar

Yesterday Kala and Aran went to see Madagascar.  Kala thought it was hilarious and I hadn't seen it yet, so today we decided that all three of us  would go.

 Meh.

It could have been so much better.  The dialogue fell just short of actually funny.  The psychotic penguins should have stolen the show but didn't quite. The characters fell just short of interesting.

There wasn't really any tension.  And in the end, all the characters were just the same as when they started.  I kept waiting for a theme to show up, but nothing did.  It could easily have been "Wishes come true, but with a price" or similar, but that never materialized.  The ending was blah.

Give it a miss, folks.

May 26, 2005: Step Thirty-Four: Phone Visit 2

Tuesday we had a phone consultation with the doctor who'll be examining the child(ren).  He's in Chicago, and the examination will be by pictures and e-mail.

This consultation was a lot less stressful.  It didn't tell us much we didn't already know, though he did tell us what sort of pictures to take.  (I would never have thought to take pictures of both ears, for example.)

Leaving in one week.  Yeek.


May 24, 2005: Aran's New Friend

We're being quietly happy around here.  Aran has a new friend.

A while ago, we met some neighbors who live one house down.  They have an infant and a three-year-old.  Michelle, the mom, pointed out a house just across the dead-end court where we live and said a six-year-old boy named M--- lives there.  I'd seen him dribbling a basketball in the driveway from time to time.

Two days ago, M--- was outside with his basketball and Kala took Aran over to see him.  They played basketball for a while, then Aran lost interest and came back home.  M--- followed him.  They rode their bikes for a bit, and Aran again lost interest.  He parked his bike in the garage and came inside. M--- took his bike home, then trotted back over to our house and knocked on the front door.  I brought him in and, after a few nervous moments with Sam the Dog, M--- and Aran played video games for quite a while.  I dashed over to M---'s house to introduce myself and tell his parents where their son was.  They had just moved in and were working on the house.

Kala fed the boys both lunch and not long after, it became clear that Aran was heading toward a meltdown after continued social contact.  So we sent M--- home and told him he could come back another day.

Today when I got home, I passed M--- playing basketball.  When he realized I was home, he zipped right over.  Aran had just gotten home from school, and  the two of them went out back to play with Aran's boppy swords.  They've been doing a variety of things together, and M--- seems to like playing here.

M--- is just the kind of friend Aran needs.  He and Aran are about the same age psychologically.  M--- is also very outgoing and forthright, leader kind of kid who will continue to pursue the friendship without being prompted.

We're very happy about this.

May 23, 2005: Step Thirty-Three: Phone Visit

Last week we did a conference call between me, Kala, the adoption agency, and another couple who's also adopting in Ukraine.  The agency went over what would happen when we arrived in Ukraine and various things to expect. They spent a great deal of time going over stuff that could go wrong so we'd know what to do.  By the end of the call I was wrung out and exhausted.

The other couple, incidentally, has the exact same appointment day we do. We're also on the same plane on the Amsterdam-Kiev leg of our flights to Ukraine.  We're planning to stick together where we can.  The adoption agency says this is the first time they've had two families in Ukraine at the same time.

A week and a half to go before we leave.


May 21, 2005: Ah, Small Town Politics

I'm on the human reproductive health committee at Willow Run Schools.  On the committee is a man named Bobby Gilstrap.  (I feel perfectly fine reproducing his name here since the meetings and business of the committee are public record and he has his own rather extensive web page.)  Bobby is the epitome of the southern good ol' boy.  He's also a minister for a Southern Baptist church.  He's fairly quiet at the meetings, but on Friday, he e-mailed to the entire committee an article with a short note that said something like, "After what we discussed at the meeting last night, I thought this article made some interesting points."  Kala and I had a phone
conference with our adoption agency that evening and couldn't attend, and now I'm regretting that.  Here's the article itself.

http://www.bpnews.net/bpcolumn.asp?ID=1836

Pop out and read it.  I'll wait a sec.  (It's short.)

. . .

Back?  Okay.

You can probably imagine my reaction.  I got the article at school during first hour.  My students were taking a test and I had papers to grade, but I was seized with fury.  I couldn't let this pass.  Even at a glance I could see a few problems with Throckie's little piece.  So I revved up Google, did a little research, and learned a few facts of interest.

After reading up on the cases dear Mr. Throckmorton cited in his little column, I fired off the following letter to all members of the committee. (What--me sarcastic?)

***
Hey, all--

A right-wing columnist with some biased views and distorted information. What fun!  Let's take a look at what Mr. Throckmorton said:

--"teaching homosexuality"  I've noticed this phrase used a lot, and it's invariably used by people like Mr. Throckmorton.  "Teaching homosexuality" makes it sound like the schools want to teach kids how to be gay or lesbian, and it's a loathesome, filthy piece of propoganda.  "Teaching =about= homosexuality" is better.
"Teaching about sexual orientation" is more proper.  You can't =just= teach about what homosexuality is without talking about heterosexuality and other facets of sexual orientation.  Unless, of course, you're Mr. Throckmorton.

--"The curriculum and accompanying resources were so biased that a federal judge issued a temporary restraining order to halt the implementation of the changes."  Dearie, dearie me.  Mr. Throckmorton makes this sound so dreadful, doesn't he?  "So biased."  And yet, mysteriously, he himself isn't telling us the full story.  Check this out: http://houstonvoice.com/2005/5-13/news/national/index.cfm  It's a news article that gives a wee bit more detail than our dear, unbiased friend Mr. T.  The article says, in part:

"The judge's ruling came in response to a lawsuit filed by the conservative groups Citizens for a Responsible Curriculum and Parents & Friends of Ex-Gays & Gays, which argued that the new curriculum violates their freedom of speech because it doesn't include discussion of 'ex-gays' and that it violates the Establishment Clause by promoting some religions over others. The plaintiffs also claimed that the curriculum could endanger children by inducing them to become gay and to have unprotected sex.

"Judge Williams found that 'the imminent threat to Plaintiff's First Amendment rights constitutes irreparable harm.' But the judge did not agree that the curriculum would lead to harm through increased sexual risk-taking and called the plaintiffs' reasoning, 'highly speculative and attenuated.'

" 'Indeed, as [the school board] points out,' wrote Judge Williams, 'many studies conclude that lesbians are in one of the lowest risk groups for a variety of STDs, including HIV/AIDS.' "

Oopsie!  Seems like unbiased Mr. Throckmorton left out a few facts.

--"After a father complained, the school board voted 4-3 to remove "The Misfits" by James Howe from the elementary school as a read aloud book. The author of the book has said publicly that he had wanted to write "The Misfits" with a homosexual character in order to change beliefs concerning homosexuality."

My, my, my.  I suppose I have to admit Mr. Throckmorton is correct here.  Oh wait-no he isn't.  James Howe has publicly stated his support for "no name calling" programs led by teachers to stop harrassment of GLBT students. (Now =there's= a scary program!  Imagine the horror of a bully-free school system.)  The "change beliefs about homosexuality" statement is completely Mr. Throckmorton's invention.  In other words, Mr. Thorckmorton lied.

--"In Massachusetts, a father was arrested because he refused to leave his son's elementary school until the principal agreed to follow Massachusetts parental notification law concerning sexual content in instruction. The father, David Parker, wanted to introduce the subject of homosexuality to his 6 year old rather have the school do it for him. Schools officials declined to notify the father as required by law and provided books to kindergarten students that portrayed homosexual couples alongside heterosexual couples."

That poor man!  He was =arrested= because he protested the school exposing his son to such an evil book?  Good heavens!  We should-oh wait.  You mean there's something Mr. Throckmorton isn't telling us?  http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2005/04/29/arrested_father_had_point_to_make/

Apparently so.  The father showed up, made his views clear FOR TWO HOURS. He then refused to leave school grounds and was arrested for trespassing. Parker claims that the school failed to notify him that his son was about to receive sex education.  Oh, you mean notify like "send home a copy of the book that we're using in class"?   And since when does showing a same-sex couple as the head of a family ON ONE PAGE OF A STORYBOOK count as sex ed? Notice that Parker isn't complaining about the multitude of SAME-SEX parents in the book or the SINGLE PARENTS in the book, all of whom presumably had sex at some point.  No, no.  Everyone knows that same-gender couples are all about sex while opposite-gender couples never touch each other.  (Boy, do I feel sorry for his wife!)

--"Parents such as those who brought suit in Maryland are offended by the continual specter of unsafe schools raised by the educational establishment. Are schools unsafe because of traditional beliefs concerning homosexuality?  Where is the research to that effect? The school system has produced no evidence."

Technically, I suppose, Mr. Throckmorton is correct-the school system produced no evidence . . . to Mr. Throckmorton.  (I don't trust Mr. T enough to assume the school system provided no evidence to the parties who were actually involved.)   But don't take =my= word for it.  Let's ask, say, the FBI.

In the FBI report "Hate Crime Statistics | 2003," 8,715 criminal offenses were identified as being motivated by hate. Of these offenses, 1,430 - or 16.4 percent - were crimes based on the victim's actual or perceived sexual orientation.  You can read the full report at http://www.fbi.gov/ if you like.  Apparently Mr. Throckmorton didn't.

As a secondary school teacher, I can tell you that gay and lesbian students =are= afraid and that schools are unsafe for them.  Just walk down the hall and count the number of times you hear "gay" and "fag" used as casual insults.  Just this year I've had two gay students in tears in my room because they've been threatened and harrassed.  Another straight student of  mine told me he gets bullied and harrassed because other kids =think= he's gay.  I know that dear Mr. Throckmorton wouldn't count this information because it isn't a scientific study, despite the fact that =he= feels perfectly free to create his own information out of thin air.

A quick search on Mr. Throckmorton's name, incidentally, reveals that when it comes to religion, politics, and sexual orientation, he's about as unbiased as Jerry Falwell at rabbinical conference.  A truly reliable source--if you're the gullible type who believes everything you see in print.

In the future, it might be best for individual members to do a little background research before forwarding such . . . interesting articles to the rest of the committee and wasting our valuable time with inane twaddle.  I know Kala and I would appreciate it.

--Steven

***
I haven't heard back from anyone on the committe.  No one's reacted to  Bobby's e-mail or to mine.  (I have the feeling they're standing back to watch the fireworks.)  Bobby's e-mail responded with a robot reply that he was out of town until Monday on a church retreat.  How convenient for him.

It's one of my finer pieces of shredding, if I say so myself.

I'm furious with Bobby, of course.  Not because he apparently holds the same views as Throckie there or that he apparently wants to bring these ideas into the committee.  (Kala and I will fight him, of course, but that's what a committee is all about.)  No, I'm furious with Bobby because he apparently thinks that I'm stupid!  He apparently thinks that I'm dumb enough to read this column and buy it at face value!  His lack of respect really pisses me off, majorly.

The less-insulting alternative, of course, is that =Bobby= is stupid and actually believes whatever he reads in print.  But I'm a charitable soul who hesitates to call someone else a close-minded, bigoted, fuck-all of an idiot.

Watch this space for fallout.


May 20, 2005: CSI Blech

SPOILERS BELOW

I don't like Quentin Tarantino's work, which means I approached the CSI season finale with dread.  It was going to suck, I was sure.

I wasn't disappointed.

There wasn't enough plot for more than an hour, but Tarantino dragged it out for two.  I can't count the number of times I got annoyed with CSI personnel standing around staring at something when they =should= have been working on the case.  It made no sense.  Long, dragged out scenes that were supposed to be emotional fell completely flat because they just went on too long.

The black-and-white scene in the morgue was just stupid.  It screamed "time filler."

And you want plot holes?  Good heavens, it was worse than anything George Lucas could have kicked up.  Let's take a look:

If the dog was a trial run and whatsisname found explosive paraphernalia under the dog's coffin, why didn't anything blow up when the team pulled the dog out?

The whole point of dumping the dirt was to =stop= the bomb going off.  But it did anyway.

They hosed the coffin with a CO2 extinguisher to kill the ants.  Very nice. Except that pumping that much CO2 into an enclosed space would have suffocated Nick pretty quick.

If Grisham is such an expert in entymology, why didn't he recognize fire ants (which are rather famous) right away?

A kidnapper who asks for ransom is =not= classified as a terrorist.  (You have to make demands of a national government for that.)  Any police department in this situation would have conjured up the ransom money right away, if only because the dropoff is the easiest place to nab the kidnapper. According to my cop friend, this is standard policy.  The difficulty in getting the money was just another cheap time-filler.

=I= figured out Nick was being held in a nursery during the daughter's interview.  Why didn't the CSI people?

How did the kidnapper know he'd have a chance to grab Nick at all?  The barfing cop just coincidentally looked away long enough, and that was what the kidnapper was counting on?  Right.

When Nick was in the back of the van, he clearly heard someone clattering around at the van's back doors.  Nick braced himself to kick whoever opens them.  Then a hand reached around from =behind= Nick to gas him with ether. It's clear the kidnapper worked alone.  So who was banging on the van's back doors?  And why didn't Nick notice someone scooting up behind him?

Nick's kidnapper looked to be in his mid sixties--late fifties, if you're charitable.  He definitely didn't look like the kind of guy who could, in a single evening, haul a muscular, 190-pound man into the back of a van, haul him back =out= of the van, place him carefully in a coffin, and bury it under three feet of dirt.  And again, no accomplice was ever mentioned.

I'm going on about this because I hate seeing a show I like get butchered like this because the producers figure someone like Quentin Tarantino would be way cool to have, just because he's a Big Name Director.  Definitely an episode to forget.

May 18, 2005: Unexpected Sex

I was working on the Luna book a while ago and this bit of sex just slipped unobtrusively into the scene, set up residence, and refused to go away.  It wasn't in the outline, it wasn't in my head.  It was just . . . there.

"Stop that!" I said firmly.  "There =is= supposed to be a sex bit, but not until later."  But the scene just kept going.  So I let it run its course.

Pretty good sex scene, too.

May 18, 2005: Bwah ha ha ha!

Kala and I watched the season finale of THE SIMPSONS.

Oh, man.

I didn't catch the name of the episode's writer, but I want to shake his hand, then bow down and worship at his feet.  Since the show was a hard slam at religion (all of them), the reaction is appropriate.

Kala and I were pausing the episode to laugh so often that it took us forty-five minutes to watch the show.  Some of the examples that stayed with me:

LISA: Well, =I'm= a Buddhist.
PRIEST (played by Liam Neeson): Pfffff.  Yeah.  I'd like an imaginary friend, too.

and

NED FLANDERS: Once you go jewish, there's no turning back, with their snippity snip snip snip.

and

PRIEST (to Homer and Bart): If I did that, I'd be the worst priest ever.  Well, except for . . . (lowers voice) =you= know.  (long pause.  Another long pause.  Homer gives a small cough.)

and

SIGN ON CHURCH CAMPGROUND: Next week: Springfield Witches Coven

There were many, many "Did they =really= say that?" moments.  A couple lines were definitely shocking.  Just shocking!  Oooooo, they're going to get mail.  =This= is what THE SIMPSONS are supposed to be about.

Best.  Episode.  Ever.

May 15, 2005: The Common Heard

We discovered that several people in the UWG play musical instruments, and for some reason we have a preponderance of fiddle players--four of them, to be exact.  I play the harp, of course, and Sarah's husband Tim plays various instruments as well.  So we formed a group-within-a-group: the Common Heard. We just muck around with various bits of music.

We had a gathering at my house yesterday afternoon.  Several of us got together and fiddled around, so to speak.  Aran was fascinated by the violins.  We also ate some yummy gingerbread, cookies, and other snacks. Various children were in attendance, and we were able to put them in the basement playroom while we played in the foyer just outside it.  I like having a house big enough to entertain in, and one in which people can bring their kids without worrying that said children won't have anything to do. (As Kala put it, "People are bringing their kids?  Hmmm . . . I don't know if we have enough toys for more than fifty or sixty.")

It was a fine afternoon.

May 14, 2005: Getting Fuzzy

Okay, this is why I love GET FUZZY:

http://www.unitedmedia.com/comics/getfuzzy/archive/getfuzzy-20050514.html

Every panel has a joke in it, and they're all freakin' hilarious!


May 12, 2005: IEP

Aran's IEP (Individual Instructional Plan) session was today.  These happen twice a year--once at the beginning of the school year and once at the end. We sit at a round table staffed with a small crowd of people: me, Kala, Aran's classroom teacher, his social worker, his occupational therapist, his gym teacher, his speech therapist, his private speech therapist, and his play therapist.  We figure out where Aran is now and where he needs to go, educationally speaking.

It was an expensive session.  Aran's play therapist and the speech therapist we hired both charge by the hour, and it was a two-hour session.  Hoo boy.

It was also exhausting.  You know how you kind of phase in and out during a two-hour meeting?  Not here.  Kala and I both stay in full-alert mode. Every single thing has to be analyzed and checked.  Every word is important, every fact and report absolutely essential.  It requires absolute concentration, and it's exhausting at the end.

But it's done until next school year.


May 12, 2005: Free Speech for a Talking Penis

http://www.freep.com/news/mich/naughty12e_20050512.htm

 A penis that tells jokes on late night public access television may be expressive of something. But it is not the kind of free expression protected by the First Amendment, the Michigan Court of Appeals has decided, confirming the indecent exposure conviction of the show's producer and host.

Timothy Huffman, 47, who lives north of Grand Rapids, was convicted in Kent County after the penis episode aired twice in spring 2000 on the Grand Rapids public access cable channel GRTV.

In affirming the conviction in an opinion released Wednesday, the appeals court said any "incidental restriction" on the First Amendment is "no greater than is essential to the furtherance of the governmental interest in promoting public morality by prohibiting public nudity."

Huffman, whose defense was assisted by the American Civil Liberties Union, claimed the three-minute segment, "Dick Smart," was an expression of free speech and not obscene.

***

=So= proud to be a Michigander.

May 12, 2005: It Can Be Announced . . .

Oh dear.  Never thought this would happen.  But it has.  No, really. Totally true.

Ready?

Promise you won't tell?

Well, actually you can.  Tell everyone.  Gotta get those sales up!

Here's the thing:

. . .

I've sold a novel to Harlequin.

No foolin'!  I really have.  Got the news from Ye Agente yesterday.  It's to their Bombshell imprint.  They're not "traditional" romances in which the relationship is the main focus.  Bombshell books are thrillers with a female protagonist and a romantic subplot.

It's been great fun to write so far.  Ye Eddetorr is interested in it as a series, too.

I wonder if I should warn her that my editors usually end up changing careers after working with me . . .

Nah.

Harlequin, of course, wants me to take a female pseudonym.  Kala and I had great fun coming up with possibilities:

Dakota Montana
Ashley Windswept
Georgeann Wyndham-Higgins-delaCourt-Regeant-Smith
Bunny Wigglesworth
Hooty McBoobity
Kismet Jones

Once the laughter settled down, however, I settled on this one:

Penny Drake

It's a good one.  Distinctive and a bit unusual without being weird.  Easy to pronounce.  Easy to spell.  A short, no-nonsense last name with a hard consonant that makes it sound action-oriented.

It's also my mother's name.

Mom thought the idea was hilarious when I ran it by her, and it passed muster with Ye Eddetor.  So now I'm Steven Piziks, Steven Harper, and Penny Drake.

May 12, 2005: IEP

Aran's IEP (Individual Instructional Plan) session was today.  These happen twice a year--once at the beginning of the school year and once at the end. We sit at a round table staffed with a small crowd of people: me, Kala, Aran's classroom teacher, his social worker, his occupational therapist, his gym teacher, his speech therapist, his private speech therapist, and his play therapist.  We figure out where Aran is now and where he needs to go, educationally speaking.

It was an expensive session.  Aran's play therapist and the speech therapist we hired both charge by the hour, and it was a two-hour session.  Hoo boy.

It was also exhausting.  You know how you kind of phase in and out during a two-hour meeting?  Not here.  Kala and I both stay in full-alert mode. Every single thing has to be analyzed and checked.  Every word is important, every fact and report absolutely essential.  It requires absolute concentration, and it's exhausting at the end.

But it's done until next school year.

May 11, 2005: Stupid People

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/12/nyregion/12baby.html?ex=1273550400&en=dd07ec86263ea11b&ei=5089&partner=rssyahoo&emc=rss

When Rochelle Ludwig became pregnant last year, she and her husband, David, debated whether to find out the sex of their baby early. Knowing that a routine sonogram at 20 weeks would most likely provide that information, they ultimately resisted the urge to look.

Laura and Lloyd Rosenbaum also thought it was important to be surprised. "When we thought about the excitement when the baby is born and you hear, 'It's a
girl!' or 'It's a boy!' - we didn't want to give up that moment," she said.

But the Ludwigs and Rosenbaums wanted someone to know, behind the counter at the baby store.

Maybe it is another example of big city neuroticism. Or maybe it is the ultimate in practicality. But the Ludwigs and the Rosenbaums are among a growing number
of Manhattan parents-to-be who do not learn the sex of their baby early, but still want the nursery decorated when baby arrives. So they choose two sets of furniture, clothing and bedding, then ask the store owners to call their obstetrician to find out whether to submit the order in pink or blue.

"It's a New York mentality," said Dr. Ricky Friedman, an obstetrician on the Upper East Side. "With the new technology at our disposal, just about anyone who wants to know the sex of their baby can. But for about half of our patients, who want to be surprised, they still want to be fully prepared, and everything still has to be planned perfectly."

***

There's more of the article--this is only a piece.  I saw this and just about barfed.  These people want the sex of their child to be a surprise, but they want to have everything decorated, chosen, and coordinated as if they =did= know.  Talk about the ultimate in neurotic having-and-eating-cake!  One woman interviewed later in the article arranged for her =mother= to know what the baby would be, and said mother painted and decorated the nursery.  To keep her daughter's utterly agonizing curiosity at bay, the mother actually padlocked the baby's room.

I see this as the ultimate in self-centeredness.  They're arranging for someone else to handle all the work so they can have their little surprise.  Me, me, me.  Ooooooo, I'm in =agony= because I want to know but I also don't.  Grow =up=, people.  You're caring for a baby, not a dolly.

And it's sexist, to boot.  If you're so stuck on blue being for boys and pink being for girls, then use green, yellow, or purple.  As if the baby is going to notice or care.

May 11, 2005: Sith Snarf

PvP is a hilarious cartoon for all the SF/F geeks out there.  This one about REVENGE OF THE SITH had me howling:

http://www.pvponline.com/archive.php3?archive=20050510


May 11, 2005: Yipe!  Yipe yipe yipe!

This morning I woke up, rolled over, and looked at the clock.  6:18.  Yipe!  I usually =leave= at 6:18.

One advantage of shaving my head is I always look presentable, even if I've just rolled out of bed.  Shower?  Skip it!  Shave?  Going for the scruffy look today.  Kala packed my lunch while I was brushing my teeth and scrambling into my clothes.  Snatched up some yogurt to eat in the car, and I was out the door.

Arrived in my classroom about three minutes before the tardy bell rang and got an extra hour of sleep to boot.  Go me!

May 8, 2005: Nature Over Nurture

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=585&e=2&u=/nm/20050509/sc_nm/health_pheromones_dc

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - A compound taken from male sweat stimulates the brains of gay men and straight women but not heterosexual men, raising the possibility that homosexual brains are different, researchers in Sweden reported on Monday.

It also strengthens the evidence that humans respond to pheromones -- compounds known to affect animal behavior, especially mating behavior, but whose role
in human activity has been questioned.


May 7, 2005: Luna City Eleven

Finished the rough draft of chapter eleven.  On to chapter twelve!


May 6, 2005: Aran's Birthday

Aran turned eight years old today.  He was very excited, and leaped out of bed this morning shouting, "It's my birthday!"  He took frosted cookies to school with him as a treat for his classmates.  When we picked him up after school, we told him he got to pick the restaurant for supper.

"Red Robin!" he said without hesitation.

Red Robin is a burger-and-fries place that's on a level with Big Boy, though it tends to be noisier and sillier.  Aran loves it.

"All right, then," I said as we pulled away from the school.  "Red Lobster it is."

"No!" Aran said.  "Red =Robin.="

"Oh.  Sorry.  Off to Red Robot."

"Nooo!  Red =Robin!="

"Right, right.  We're going to Red Roof Inn."

"Robin!" Aran shouted, laughing.

We arrived at the restaurant, and Aran announced to the greeter that it was his birthday, and he repeated it to the server.  Naturally, this meant that toward the end of the meal, a series of clapping, chanting servers paraded over to our table with balloons to sing a birthday song and announce to the other customers that it was Aran's birthday.  He loved that, too.  He would have gotten a free sundae, but we have the only kid in the universe who doesn't like sundaes (or hard ice cream, for that matter), so we passed on that.

Back home, Daddy had baked and decorated a cake.  It was on the table surrounded by presents.  Candles, singing, and torn wrapping paper followed. Aran got an expansion to his wooden train set, BROTHER BEAR on DVD, an 11" Martian Manhunter action figure (bought on eBay for an exorbitant rate and now ruined as a collectible forever), and two Curious George books.  He also got birthday cards from Grandma Penny and Grandma Karow.

A nice birthday celebration.

May 6, 2005: Unclear Antecedents

I was editing a snippet of the Luna City book and came across this make-out scene in the rough draft:

"Noah shivered and brought his own fingers up to touch the smooth skin of her face. Ilene's breasts pressed into Noah's chest. They parted, and Ilene's eyes grew bright with anticipation."

Ooookay.  Let this be a lesson in making sure your antecedents are clear!

It took me several minutes to stop laughing.

May 5, 2005: Tsk Tsk Tsk

I just came back from the restroom here at Nameless High School.  I washed my hands in there and saw two empty condom wrappers on the sink.  I suppose it was the height
of hilarity to an adolescent.  Wouldn't someone just be =shocked= to come in seeing this on the counter?  Let's hide in the bathroom stalls and snicker at their red faces.

Please.  They weren't even good condoms.  They were Durex--cheap, extra-thick, no sensitivity.


May 5, 2005: Bad Daddy!  Bad Writer!

There's been some stress around the Piziks household in recent weeks.  Nothing I can really go into here, but it's been . . . difficult.  Said stress has now been resolved, and happily.  A major load has been lifted.

The stress made it hard to write.  I do write under stress, but not as well, and the words don't flow as well.  So yesterday when everything came up much rosier, I thought, "Hey!  I can get some serious writing done now!"

And then . . .

City of Heroes released its latest upgrade.  Ohhhhhh man.  I was a bad daddy: "Hey, Aran--want to watch a nice, long movie?"  I was a bad writer: "What's one day?"

I played all afternoon and evening.  Bad daddy!  Bad writer!

It was fun.

May 4, 2005: Feelin' Weird

I don't feel like I'm going to be a father again.  This adopting through Ukraine thing feels like a fantasy, a dream.  I just write check after check, fill out form after form, run errand after errand.  There's no sense of impending child or children.  Not even standing in the kids' room staring at their beds makes it seem real.  The place just feels like a guest room, empty and sterile.

It's because there's no =real= evidence of the kids' existence, of course. Kala isn't pregnant.  There's no real due date--just an appointment with some stranger in what is, by all accounts, a run-down little office in a building I've never seen.

When you adopt from countries that subscribe to the Hague Convention, you get a portfolio of information about the child.  You get pictures and a medical history.  You get a name.  There's some physical evidence that the child exists and will one day be yours.

I don't have any of that.  And I've been working on this adoption for nine months longer than I should have.  It just keeps going, running like a hamster in a wheel that goes nowhere.

It feels strange.


April 30, 2005: Froods and Towels

Last night Kala and I dropped Aran off with John and Erica so we could go see THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY with some long-time friends.  Said friends were both 42 years old.  (Fans of the book will know why this is important.)

We had a nice dinner near the theater (honey BBQ steak for me--yum), then browsed at a local Borders for a bit.  I signed four books.  :)

And thence to the theater.

I'm sorry to report that the movie was =great= fun.  I know this disappoints all the True Fans of Douglas Adams (tm).  Loosen up, guys and gals!  Sheesh. I think the fans who scream about how "awful" the movie is are of the type who complain because the movie:

a) left out their favorite bit of dialogue
b) didn't cast someone who looks like what they imagined the character to look like
c) doesn't have characters deliver lines the way they think the lines should be delivered

Whine, whine, whine.  You don't like it, go make your own movie.

Anyway, speaking as someone who can quote long passages from all the books, the movie was enjoyable, madcap, and fun.  Many, many things were changed, and I didn't mind.  The director handled the Guide itself beautifully. Arthur, Ford, and Trillian were all well cast.  Zaphod, though . . . he got very annoying about halfway through the movie, and not in a good way.  I was ready to smack him with a shovel.  He =did= have two heads, though.  Really. No matter what the trailer shows.

Marvin was great!  And we even got a ravenous bugblatter beast of Traal! Kala caught a reference to the TV show.  Beneath a sign in a Vogon office building was a little robot which, she said, was the model used for Marvin there.

The film wasn't perfect.  The pacing got a little murky in the middle, and I think people who are completely unfamiliar with the books might have a little trouble following parts of the plot.  But still worth the price of admission.

There's a coda, too, so stay for the credits.

We got back to John and Erica's at 10:30 and discovered Aran was still up and playing video games.  (!)  Erica told us he played the whole time we were gone and he had to be pried away from them for supper and bathroom breaks.

Kala and I briefly considered getting Aran some kind of video game system, but that put the kibosh on the whole idea!

April 28, 2005: Not Again!

I just found out John Morgan, the guy who inherited editing chores for the Silent Empire over at NAL/Penguin, quit to take a job at DC Comics.

I seem to have killed another one.

Let's look at the tally, shall we?

Laura Anne Gilman.  Edited Silent Empire.  Left Roc in mid-series to become self-employed.

Amanda Ayers.  Edited IDENITY.  Left Pocket to become a stay-at-home mom.

Jessica McGivney.  Edited THE NANOTECH WAR and EXORCIST: THE BEGINNING. Left Pocket to study library science.

John Morgan.  Edited OFFSPRING.  Left Roc for DC Comics.

So.  Who's next?

April 27, 2005: Never Thought I'd Say This

You guys aren't going to believe this, but . . .

I'm staying at Nameless High School. Totally true.

I wasn't planning on it.  I'd filed my Right of First Refusal, which would force the district to transfer me back to Some School.  I'd notified the department head at Some School about my teaching preferences.  I didn't hear anything more.

Then I ran into M---, the woman who's currently teaching media lit at Some School.  I asked her if she knew anything about the situation.  She said Some School would need to add 1.6 English teachers next year.  V. good--there was still a position for me.  Then I asked her about the media lit class.

"There are two sections next year," M--- said.  "I'm teaching them.  I requested it."

"M---!" I said in shock.  "What the hell?"

She ducked her head.  "Well, transfers are always iffy and they decided it would be better if I were lined up to teach it in case you didn't come back. Otherwise the class would go to a new hire who new nothing about it.  I also enjoy teaching the class."

I was still shocked.  D---, the department head, =knew= I had filed Right of First Refusal, that I would be coming back.  And not only that, schedules are always, ALWAYS fluid until late May.

I aborted the conversation before I cracked M--- across the face.  I had given her all the materials I had created because I thought she was my friend. Instead, she neatly stabbed me in the back.

Next I talked to D---, the English department head at Some School.  He said I was slated for English 9, English 10, and a section of college writing "as you requested."

I had requested nothing of the sort.  English 10 was way at the bottom of my possibles to teach.  Media lit and mythology were much higher on the list. I asked D--- if we couldn't just swap the college writing for media literacy.  It would be a one-to-one switch with M--- and therefore wouldn't add more classes to prep for.

"You have =two= sections of college writing," D--- said.  "Give it a rest."

Snippy enough for you?

I don't really like teaching college writing.  I never quite know what to do with high-level seniors, and in a class that has no literature component, I don't really know what to do with class time.  "Here's how to write the paper.  Now go home and write it.  Hmmm . . . looks like we have a week of class time left."  Also, =two= college writing courses means a hell of a lot of papers to read.

And I would spend a year watching M--- gloat over media literacy, with no guarantee I'd be teaching it the following year.

Meanwhile over at Nameless High School, the vice-principals, the principal, and the English department head had all asked me, "What would it take to get you to stay? We really, really like what you're doing and we want you here." And then the dept. head said there were =three= sections of media lit next year, and they'd be mine.

Not only that, Nameless High School's getting a huge influx of freshmen next year, and it's possible they'll need me to teach a section or two of health.  The health/PE department head was enthusiastic when I mentioned to her that I would love doing it, anyway.

So.

Some School is closer.  Commuting to Nameless High School adds half an hour total driving to my day.  Teaching at Nameless High School, however, would mean I'd be teaching five sections of classes I like or love.

TEACH AT NAMELESS: Half an hour of annoyance + five hours of teaching great classes in a building with people who want me there.

TEACH AT SOME SCHOOL: Half an hour of shaved driving time + five hours of frustration and difficulty with backstabbing bastards.

Which would =you= pick?

Today I made it formal.  I contacted personnel and told them I was revoking my Right of First Refusal.  (It's a one-shot deal, and I can't get it back.) Then I e-mailed my principal, the vice-principals, and the English department head.  I didn't notify anyone at Some School.  Let them find out whenever the administration gets around to telling them.  I'm certainly not ready to help them out.

S---, the first vice-principal to approach me about staying at Nameless High School, let out a small cheer when he got the news and enthusiastically pumped my hand. The English department head let out a hefty, happy sigh of relief.

Later I was in the main office and I had gone several steps past the principal's office when she shouted my name.  I halted and went back to her office to see what was going on.  Abruptly, she zipped around her desk and swept me into a big hug.

"Thank you for staying!" she said.  "I'm =so= glad you'll be here next year. You're a fine teacher, and I'm relieved you aren't leaving us."

Didn't see =that= coming!

So now I'm a Namelesser still.  If you had told me last year at this time that I'd be much happier at Nameless High School, I would have laughed scornfully in your face.  Strange old life, isn't it?

April 24, 2005: Vampire Joke

One of the characters in the Luna City murder mystery novel collects vampire jokes.  While hunting for some on-line, I came across this one.  It made me snarf, so I thought I'd share it.

 A vampire flies erratically back into his cave with blood all over his face. He perches to try and get some rest, but before too long, the other vampires smell the blood and gather around him. They ask feverishly where he got the blood.

Knowing they won't let up until he tells them, he finally says, "Okay, follow me!"

He flies out of the cave, across a valley, over a river, and into a dark forest.  Deep in the forest he stops, and all the other vampires gather around in an excited frenzy.

"Okay," says the first vampire, "see that big oak tree over there?"

"Yeah, yeah," reply the other vampires, drooling in anticipation.

"Well I fucking didn't."


April 23, 2005: Senate Bills

Two Michigan Senate bills are currently in committee.  Created and advanced by Republicans, the bills together would do two things:

1.  Create a new government-run insurance agency which would be the sole source of all teacher benefits in the entire state of Michigan. Private-sector benefits of any kind for teachers would be illegal.

2.  Make it illegal for teacher unions (both local and state) to use benefits as a bargaining point in contract negotiations.

Outrageous!  And for so many reasons.  My benefits would be determined by a government agency in Lansing instead of a joint decision by the school board and the teacher union.  If the government agency decided to reduce benefits, there would be absolutely nothing--NOTHING--I or anyone else could do about it.  By =law=.  We couldn't even threaten to strike or quit!  Teachers in Michigan usually have pretty spiffy benefits, partly because we have a strong union and partly because we've often accepted low or no salary increases to keep the benefits at a high level.  There's no =need= for these laws.

It's a clear attempt by the Republican party to cripple teacher unions, of course.  The Republican party in this state (with the blessing of the national party) has been gunning at the Michigan Education Association for years and years.

I wrote a paper letter to both my senator and the governor expressing my distaste for these bills and urging them both to oppose the legislation.  I got back a letter from Liz Brater, my senator, which said she plans to vote against the bills if and when they come before the senate.  I also got a letter from Governor Granholm which said she hasn't yet fully examined the legislation, but she doesn't see a need for these laws.  I'm reading that to mean she's leaning toward vetoing if the bills ever get to her desk.

I feel a little better.

April 23, 2005: Slut Kitty

My mother also had an unexpected guest at her house.  See, Mom lives out in the country and has a barn on her property.  As a result, people often think this is the ideal place to dump unwanted dogs and cats.  ("There's a nice barn over there for her to sleep in, and lots of mice to hunt.  She'll be just fine."  Never mind that the barn has no grain in it to support mice and that wide chinks in the boards let wind whistle right through it and that most domestic cats aren't experienced enough to hunt for themselves.  Kitty will be =fine.=)

Anyway, a recently-dumped cat found its way to Mom's porch, bringing the dump tally out there to over a dozen.  She was a little tuxedo cat, very cute, barely out of kitten-hood.  Mom had put some food and a piece of carpet on the front porch for her until she could figure out what to do with her.  The cat was friendly in the extreme.  I mean, Poltergeist is a love-kitty (he loves everybody and you're next), but this one was a little slut!  (Love me!  Love me!  Oh, =please= pet my head!  Purr purr purr purr!)

As it happened, my sister's cat had recently vanished.  She decided to take slut-kitty home with her, so that turned out well.  I'm glad she did, because otherwise I have the feeling slut-kitty would have ended up with us . . .


April 23, 2005: Moving Grandma

My grandmother, age 88, is having more and more trouble living in an apartment by herself.  My mother recently retired and decided that it would be best of Grandma moved in with her.  For the past few weeks, she's been moving bits and pieces of Grandma's stuff over to her house, but the end of Grandma's lease is coming up and there was still furniture to move.

Enter the Grandkid Moving Service.

My brother, sister, and I (along with assorted SOs) went up to Saginaw today to haul the big stuff around.  Naturally, the weather cooperated just =beautifully.=  I mean, the last =month= has been dry and warm with temperatures in the 70s.  And today we got a mix of rain and snow blowing through on a chilly, wet wind.  Grrrrrrr . . .

When we arrived at my mother's, we found the house in disarray--lots of stuff in boxes and things stacked here and there.  It ain't easy combining two households, even when one of the households was only a one-bedroom apartment.  First job was to rearrange some furniture.  Grandma's getting the downstairs bedroom and my mother is moving upstairs, but Grandma didn't want the double bed.  My mother didn't want the guest room bed.  So we dismantled the guest room bed, stored it in the basement, and moved her bed upstairs.  We moved a few other pieces of furniture around and vacuumed and dusted behind them.

Then it was off to Grandma's apartment.  John, my sister's SO, has a large covered trailer and a truck to pull it, so we drove over there and hauled stuff down the elevator from the ninth floor.  We were able to do it all in one trip, which was an unexpected bonus.

Hauled it all back to the house and set up Grandma's new bedroom.  I also fixed my mother's computer.  She'd had to dismantle most of it to move it and she couldn't get some of the peripherals connected properly.  She'd also been forced to shift a bookshelf so it partially blocked the phone outlet. The splitter no longer fit there--just the one phone cord.  This meant choosing between dialup and the telephone.  Mom chose the phone, of course, and lost Internet access.

I looked at the shelf for a long moment, then got down on the floor in front of it and yanked one corner forward about half an inch.  Ta da!  The motion pulled the shelf away from the wall and revealed enough space for the splitter.  Click, click, done!  When I reported to my mother that she had Internet again, her eyes widened.

"How'd you do =that=?"

"Spatial relationships," I said.  "It's a guy thing."

We ate an indoor picnic lunch of sloppy joes, baked beans, potato salad, and fruit.  And thence home through the yucky weather.


April 23, 2005: Eight Inches . . .

Of =snow=?

(And what did you =think= I meant?)

The weather service is predicting snowfall tonight and tomorrow to reach as much as eight inches.  Sheesh.  Welcome to Michigan . . .

April 20, 2005: The Horror:

My poor wife.  She subbed for a teacher today who teaches theater and graphic design.  A note on the board said for graphic design to watch a video on Adobe Acrobat.  Except the kids had finished Adobe Acrobat last week and were doing a different program.  The theater design class's plan was to "finish painting sign for talent show."  Except the talent show was last month.

But the worst was yet to come.  The theater classes were (inexplicably) watching the second movie in the Left Behind series.  Kala had to watch it three times.  Oh gods.

She said it was so hard to bite her tongue.  (Me, I would have cheerfully shredded the movie anyway.  Teach the students some critical thinking skills.)  She gave me some highlights:

A news broadcaster announces "to the entire world" that the True Messiah has arrived.  (And the people in China, India, Japan, Southeast Asia, and large chunks of Africa care because . . .?)

A female character wears black from head to foot until she is "saved."  Then her wardrobe (with no explanation) suddenly shifts into light colors.  (The director came from the school of "the audience is stupid" symbolism.)

The only female character in heels is the secretary to the Anti-Christ. (Well, okay--high heels =are= evil, though probably not in the way the director was thinking.)

When all the fundamentalist Christians disappear, the =entire= world is flung into utter chaos.  (Sure.  See note about China, India, Japan, SE Asia, and lots of Africa above.  And I'd be willing to bet most government officials wouldn't disappear anyway.)

Lordy.

April 20, 2005: The Things We Learn

I have a word origins daily calendar.  Today's entry: pollution.  It comes from the latin word =lutum=, meaning "mud."  From this came the verb =polluere=: "to turn to mud," which later came to mean "to defile" or "to soil."  When it was adopted into English in the 1300s, it meant "to discharge semen," and from there it came to mean "to defile" and from there it came into its current meaning.

Dearie, dearie me.

April 18, 2005: Still More Hitchhiker's Guide

We're planning to go see THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY with a group of friends, all of whom will be 42 years old--but only for the week the movie opens.  Weird . . .


April 17, 2005: Dustiness

It's so =dry= out.  It hasn't rained in ages, and everything is dusty.  We took Aran to the park this afternoon and came home covered in dust.  It's caking the inside of my nose and making me sneeze.  Rain is in the forecast for Tuesday.  It can't come fast enough.


April 16, 2005: Power Loss

I called Kala from the parking lot at the Rally to tell her I was on my way home and she told me we didn't have power!  Something had gone POP in the junction box in the neighbor's back yard and the power went out.  Aran got quite upset--he'd been watching THE INCREDIBLES.  It wasn't so much that the show was interrupted and more that he couldn't get the DVD out of the player.  That really bugs him, for some reason.  Kala reported a truck was parked on the street in front of the house now, so with luck power would return soon.

And lo, by the time I got home, power had been restored.

April 16, 2005: A Rally of Writers

Today was the annual Rally of Writers conference in Lansing, our state capitol.  I was engaged to give my usual workshop on how to format a manuscript and submit it correctly, in return for which I get a small honorarium and bookselling space.  I was also going to meet up with a woman who's been in e-mail contact with me about the UWG.

So.  On a fine, dry spring morning, I drove the hour up to Lansing without incident, easily found parking, and headed into the convention center. Checked in with the very nice people running the event and set up my books on my table space.  The participants were in the first workshop of the day (I was scheduled to present during the second), so everything was quiet. When the workshop got out, the author room was flooded with people, several of whom stopped by my table.  To my great gratification, several bought books.  (Last year I sold barely half a dozen.)  I chatted with various participants until it was time for the second set of workshops.

Got my overheads and handouts together and headed into the room.  Healthy crowd of about thirty.  Went through the usual speech, answered the usual questions, and ended nicely.  Also met up with Kathy, the e-mail lady, and we headed off for lunch.

On the way to the restaurant district of downtown Lansing, we passed a crowd of mostly orange-clad people heading down the street.  It was either a parade or a demonstration; we couldn't work out which.  They were carrying signs that gave basic information about the Sikh faith and many of them were drumming.

The Greek restaurant Kathy and I went into looked a bit overwhelmed, and we in fact sat at our table for quite a while without seeing a server.  We were finally forced to leave and duck into a cafe across the street, where we ordered sandwiches which came fairly quickly.  Then it was back to the Rally for another session at my table.  I sold even more books and contacted a local bookseller who wants to do a signing.  (Comrade Sarah--he wants you too, and Anne.)  And then home.

April 14, 2005: Hitchhiker's Guide Snarfing

Okay, no matter what the movie is like, this trailer had me rolling on my office floor and laughing until the tears came.

http://hitchhikers.movies.go.com/index.html

Choose Trailer 3.


April 13, 2005: Moon Writing Update

Finished the first draft of chapter eight of DEAD MAN ON THE MOON.  Onward!

April 11, 2005: One Sick Puppy

So Kala came down into the basement family room this morning and was hit by a pretty harsh sewer smell.  Sam the Dog had . . . er, well, it was nasty. All over one of the family room rugs.  Big ol' =naaasty.=

Was it good luck or bad that it was on a medium-sized throw rug instead of on the tile?

Today was trash day, so she just rolled the rug up, took it outside, and dumped it on the trash pile.  Unfortunately, there are no basement windows to open for air, so she made do with lots of Lysol.  Then she made an appointment with the vet for late this afternoon.  They wanted a . . . sample, something Kala was all-too-able to provide.

Turns out Sam has some kind of lower-tract bacterial infection.  The vet gave out antibiotics and special dog food for a few days.  Sam acts perfectly fine, but ohhhhh lordy.  He'll be spending his time in the backyard for a while.

April 10, 2005: Library Talk

Yesterday Comrade Sarah and I had an engagement to talk at another library, this one in Redford.  I picked her up in some gorgeous springtime weather and we headed out.

We found the library with no trouble.  It was a lovely new facility, complete with a small coffee shop in the entryway.  (If it brings people into the library, more power to it!)  One of the librarians, you see, had discovered a great deal of interest among the local teens for setting up a writers group, but they didn't really know how to go about it.  So Sarah and I were hooked into giving a talk on the care and feeding of writers groups.

We had a small but interested audience of teens with a variety of writing backgrounds and desires.  Some wrote just for fun, some wrote with an eye to getting publishing, all of them indulged in fanfic.  So Sarah and I went over how the Untitled Writers Group was run, how to critique a manuscript, and tips on keeping a group going.  From there we segued into how to get published and fielded lots of questions.  There was also cake.  It was an interesting, nicely-done little talk, overall.

April 9, 2005: "C Is For Cookie--Sometimes"

Okay, how many of you can sing "C Is For Cookie" all the way through?  Don't be shy in admitting it--Cookie Monster isn't!

However, SESAME STREET has announced that Cookie Monster is getting a bit of a makeover (along with the rest of the show) in an attempt to promote healthier habits among children.  He has a new song in which he admits that "A Cookie Is a Sometimes Food."

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/n/a/2005/04/07/entertainment/e123204D96.DTL

This is sparking a fair amount of outrage--among adults.  What??  Cookie Monster is cutting down on the number of cookies he eats?  How could they =do= that?

Yeah, well, SESAME STREET changes with the times, everyone.  It can't stay the same.  Kermit's gone, you know.  Elmo is in charge.  Snuffy isn't a secret.  Mr. Hooper died.  Gordon and Susan are divorced.  And in a country where obsesity among children is a problem, a show which focuses on educating them has become more health conscious.

Don't fret.  Cookie Monster will still gobble cookies.  And he ends the song "A Cookie Is a Sometimes Food" with the question, "Is it sometimes now?"

"Yes," he's told, and he scarfs down a plateful.


April 8, 2005: Step Thirty-Two: Tickets

Today we bought plane tickets to Kiev.  This took a bit of research, actually.  Two airlines--the American airline Northwest and the Polish airline LOT--have adoption fares, ones that are cheaper and allow greater flexibility in changing dates and passenger specifics than "normal" flights. We settled on Northwest for reasons discussed upstream, and today I called to make the actual reservation.

I discovered that Northwest wants the name/s of the child/ren in question for the return flight.  I told the ticket agent that we won't know them until after we arrive in Kiev.  She said that meant we'd have to buy tickets at the counter in Kiev for a higher price, but Northwest would refund the difference later.  I asked what the one-way counter price would be.

It was $1,900 per child.

I blinked.  "The child one-way fare is five hundred bucks more than the adult two-way?"

"It is," she said, not unkindly, "but Northwest will refund you the difference later.  You'll ultimately pay only the normal amount for a child on an adoption flight."

Problem is, at this stage in my life, I don't have four thousand dollars I can let out of my sight for an unspecified amount of time.  "What would happen if I gave you the name of the children now and changed them later?"

"That would count as an alteration in the flight plan," she said, "and the adoption flights don't charge for that.  But you might be told there's no room on the flight."

"What do you mean?" I said.  "Wouldn't it be just like cancelling one ticket and immediately buying another?"

"Yes, but the cancelations don't always show up right away as an available seat."

Oh great.  On the other hand, the worst that could happen is we'd have to wait a day or two for another flight, right?  After a quick consultation with Kala, I went with the odds and gave her the names Everett and Garth Piziks for the children's tickets.

We fly out the evening of Friday, June 3 and arrive Saturday, June 4.



April 6, 2005: Nice News

OFFSPRING has been long-listed for the Spectrum Award.  :)  So has fellow UWGer Anne Harris's book INVENTING MEMORY.

http://www.spectrumawards.org/2005.htm


April 1, 2005: Terror

The single word that earns the most fear in any language is "shark."  I've always been scared of sharks--or anything else in the water that's bigger than I am.  This includes sharks, whales, boats, and ships.  The idea of diving down and swimming under a ship fills me with unreasoning terror, though I'm fine if I'm =on= one.  And you could never convince me to climb into a tank with a large marine animal of any sort.  All this long predates the first time I saw the movie =Jaws.=

And then this happened a few weeks ago:

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2005/03/25/earlyshow/main683081.shtml

Ohhhh man.  Not that I'd have ever gone on such a trip in the first place, but after this incident, I'd be huddled in my bunk sucking my thumb and making little whimpering noises for the rest of my life.


April 1, 2005: Final Names

We've settled on a second boy's name: Garth.

So.  Boys will be Everett and Garth.  Girls will be Faye and Iris.

At least =that's= settled.


March 31, 2005: Writing Update

I've been alternating between writing and doing general household stuff this spring break.  Today I finished the first draft of chapter six of the moon murder and got a couple pages into chapter seven.

I also rearranged a couple cupboards in the kitchen to make the dishes more accessible and ran some errands.

At about ten to four, Kala called to say that she'd just gotten off her sub job and gotten a message on her cell.  Aran (who is at daycare during break) needed to come home because the child care facility had lost power.  I dashed out the door, not sure why they hadn't called =me=.  On the way, I called Kala back to ask if she knew what time the message had come in.

"About three-thirty," she said, "so it's only been about twenty minutes."

Oh.  That's okay then.

I arrived at the school where the daycare had been set up and found the place dark.  (I learned later that today's high winds had caused a transformer to blow.)  Several parents had arrived to pick up their kids, though in the end, I didn't see a screaming need to hurry--or even close down.  The water was still on, the light in the room was still perfectly good, the kids were calm.  But since I was there, I brought Aran home anyway.

March 27, 2005: Little House

I caught on DVR the first episode of the new LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE mini-series.  Watched it today and rather enjoyed it.  Some reviews I've seen of it complained it was slow, without much plot, but geez guys--were you expecting pulse-pounding action and riveting exchanges of gunfire?  (I did, however, want to slap the fool who gave Pa a pump-action shotgun.  In those days, "pump action" meant the motion you made ramming powder down the barrel.)

This version remained much closer to the book than the TV series (which was actually based on ON THE BANKS OF PLUM CREEK and LITTLE =TOWN= ON THE PRAIRIE), though it departs here and there.  Despite what the TV show might tell you, Laura wasn't present when the wolf pack ran Pa down on the prairie.  Laura never met a little Indian boy down by the river.  And everyone was just so darn =cute.=  Ma and Pa Ingalls are stunningly beautiful and amazingly handsome, respectively.  Even Mr. Edwards has a devilish amount of good looks to him.

But you expect that from Hollywood these days.  At least they kept everyone pretty scruffy, even dirty.  The show does a good job of showing how scary it must have been trying to cross wild country with no one to help you if something went wrong.  I was a little surprised to see the scene in which the Ingalls encounter the couple sitting on their wagon, alone, their horses stolen.  The couple refused to come along with Ingalls, insisting instead to remain with their wagon and their stuff.  It was a single small scene in the book that's never, to my knowledge, been done on TV, but one I remember clearly from the first time I read it.  Ingalls caught the fear and depression of the couple with amazing clarity, considering she was writing children's literature.

The show also did a fine job of showing the strong connection the book Laura felt to her father, their closeness, the way they thought alike.  (And how Ma and Mary had a similar relationship.)  I'm interested in seeing the next episode.


March 25, 2005: Step Thirty-One: Airlines

There are two airlines that operate in this area and have adoption flight rates--Northwest and LOT.  (There may be others, but I don't know which they are and I haven't looked yet.)  This afternoon I called both to get flight information.

A woman who adopted through "our" agency had done a cost breakdown of both airlines when she went, and she reported that LOT had a much lower rate but
was less flexible.  (Adoption flights only went out twice a week, so if you missed one, you had to wait until the next one.)  Northwest's rate was quite a lot higher but was more flexible.  I'm well aware that in a national survey, Northwest rated second-lowest in customer satisfaction.

I called and discovered that a couple prices had changed in the interim. Northwest has a slightly higher fare and no penalties for changing return flights.  On the way out, there's a short layover in Amsterdam.  On the way back, there's a short layover at JFK.  (This, the airline operator pointed out, means the children wouldn't have to get a visa, as they would if we stopped in Amsterdam on the way home.)

LOT has a $150/person penalty for changing return flights.  On the way out, there's a layover in Chicago and in Warsau.  Same for the return trip.  If you assume we'll have to pay the penalty for changing flights, LOT is about $80 cheaper, total.  If you assume we =don't= pay penalties (fat chance), it's about $380 cheaper.

I'm willing to pay $80 for the easy layovers.  I'm also willing to pay $380 for them.  So unless I turn up another airline that does adoption flights from Detroit to Ukraine, we'll go with Northwest.

March 25, 2005: Nicely Slow First Day

Kala is subbing at the boys' prison during spring break (where are the kids going to go, after all?) and Aran is up at my mother's.  This means I had the house to myself this morning.  I slept way, way in.  Finally got up lazily, had breakfast, and did little things--cleaned the kitchen, made bread in the bread maker, ran a bit of tax paperwork over to our new accountant.  Then I took Sam the Dog for a nice long walk.

Got home and wrote a bit.  Kala came home (she only worked half a day), and we decided to go to downtown Ann Arbor for lunch at the Irish pub there.  I had shepherd's pie, she had fish 'n' chips.

"People are going to think we're in a mixed marriage," I said.  "Protestant and Catholic."

Back home, I finished the rewrites on chapters one and two of the Luna City murder mystery and then completed the first draft of chapter four.  My goal is two more chapters over break.

Now I'm updating my blog.  Such a nice day.


March 25, 2005: No Aran

My mother has retired from nursing and can now be a full-time grandmother. Naturally, Kala and I made quick plans to ship Aran up to Saginaw.  Mom came down on Thursday to pick him up and we'll go get him on Monday.

This may well be the last time we'll be completely kid-free for a long, long time.


March 24, 2005: Post-Conferences

Thursday I had no energy.  I don't understand people who work a thirteen-hour day, then come right back to work and do it again.  And again. I work a thirteen-hour day, and I expect the next day off.  Or, barring that, I figure on a slow, relaxed day.

In any case, I still had a huge pile of papers on my desk leftover from when I had the three-week cold/flu thing.  I also had to make lesson plans for the week after break.  So told my students it was Don't Bother Mr. Piziks Day, slotted a SIMPSONS DVD into the player, and attacked my desk.

I got the papers graded, though it took me the entire day.  I stayed an hour after school finishing up lesson plans and making copies, and finally, FINALLY got out the door.

I'm now on spring break!  Go me!


March 23, 2005: Spring Conferences

I was wrong--they weren't dead.  Quite.

You have to understand that spring conferences are always slow.  Parents of upperclassmen figure they've done enough conferences, so they don't show. Parents of underclassmen figure they went to fall conferences, so why bother?  On top of it all, conferences this year were on Wednesday evening. Thursday was the day before the beginning of spring break, meaning lots of people are making travel arrangements and dealing with More Important Things.  And then came the weather report--severe nastiness on the way Any Minute Now.  In theory, it all added up to a slow, slow, slow night.

But my prediction was a bit off.  I got about 25 parents in six hours--slow, but not dead.  Although I rarely had a line, I did have enough people stop by to break up the monotony.  The nasty weather passed to the south, which was part of it.  I got a fair number of essays graded as well, and I yakked too much with my fellow teachers.

At 8:30, I stacked my papers, snacks, pens, clipboard, and notes on my rolling chair and fled toward my classroom to gather my coat.

A moment here as we appreciate the my power to set trends.  When Some School's new building went up four years ago, all of us teachers got nice, comfy rolling desk chairs and the 100-year-old solid wooden horrors were tossed on the rubbish heap.  When fall conferences came around, I showed up at my table in the gymnasium and realized I didn't relish the idea of sitting on a plastic folding chair for six hours.

I trotted back to my classroom and rolled my comfy, padded chair down to the gym.  Several teachers and parents stared at me.  A few laughed.  It was quite a trick to maneuver the chair down the long row of teachers (there wasn't much room), but I did it, and my butt wasn't blistered at the end of the evening.  I was the =only= teacher that did this, and I took a fair amount of ribbing about it that night and the next day.

But then spring conferences came around.  I stacked my stuff on my chair and rolled it firmly down to the gym.  A moment after I arrived, four other teachers left their tables and somewhat sheepishly reappeared with their own chairs.  The custom spread, and within two years, almost everyone was rolling their chairs right on down as if they had always done it.

Ha!

Anyway, at Nameless High School my conference table was on the upper deck of the gym, so I had to take the elevator.  Four other male teachers were heading in the same direction, steering their own chairs.  We crowded into the elevator, chairs and all.

"This is like a sitcom," someone said.

"Yeah," I said.  "Or a locked-room movie.  The elevator will break down and we'll spend the next six hours trapped together.  Get ready for big-time male bonding.  Who wants to be the first to confess something?"

But it wasn't to be.  The elevator worked just fine, and we headed back to our rooms, got our coats, and went home, exhausted.

March 23, 2005: Step Thirty: Expired

We have been informed that the documents in our adoption dossier have expired.

Ukraine policy says that all documents may not be a year old.  Normally this isn't a problem, since Ukraine doesn't normally take very long to assign travel dates.  However, between the horrible bitch at Hands Across the Water and the shakeups in Ukraine's adoption procedures, it's been a year since we finished obtaining our documents.  This means we have to provide notarized, apostilled documents again.  We have to get the police check (both state and local) again.  We have to have the physical and blood workup again.

I can =kind= of see the above as necessary.  We might have murdered someone in the past year.  We might have gotten some dread disease in the past year.

But I have never gotten a real explanation as to why they think our marriage certificate will expire, why our passports (which ALREADY HAVE THE TRAVEL VISA IN THEM) might be no good, and why Kala's name change document may have changed.

There are days I want to punch these people in the face.  Kala and I are looking to adopt older children with siblings--the hardest group to adopt out next to kids with extreme special needs.  We're willing to give a home to and love children no one else wants.  You would think Ukraine would try to work with us.  But no--they've worked against us at every freaking turn.  Kala and I are treated like beggers and supplicants when we're trying to help.

March 19, 2005: Oh Great

The trouble with writing a book and doing the research at the same time is that you sometimes find out something that contradicts what you've already written.  In this case, I heard from the chief medical examiner of Wayne County some stuff about dead bodies, and now I must rewrite.

Sigh.

March 19, 2005: Voices from Childhood

Okay, how many of you had this conversation with your mothers?

http://www.ucomics.com/clearbluewater/2005/03/19/


March 19, 2005: Mute

Because I teach all day, my voice hasn't had a chance to recover from the virus.  By the end of each day, I can barely speak at all.  So this weekend I'm not talking.

I'm carrying around a notepad to facilitate communication.  Aran thinks this is hilarious and he wants to write notes back.  So my notepad is covered with notes half in my writing and half in his.

Aran loves the new Edna doll (Aran isn't allowed to play with her because last year Kala bought me a Beaker doll as a joke and Aran played with it enough for him to feel it was his, so I don't want a repeat performance), and he wanted to see me make her talk.  But she responds to voice commands, which I can't use right now.

"Why can't we use Edna?" Aran asked.

I wrote, "Because Edna can't read."

You know what the suckiest part about my bad voice has been?  I can't sing. Not a note.  Been that way for almost a month.  I hate it.  I'm used to singing in the car, singing with my harp, singing when I work.  At the moment, any attempt at controlled pitch =hurts= and it comes out sounding like my voice has been run across a belt sander.  I hope this weekend of silence works!

March 18, 2005: Bought One!

At Toys R Us, I came across . . . Edna!

What do you mean, "Edna who?" dahling?  Edna Mode, of course.  From THE INCREDIBLES.

She's voice activated and responds to certain phrases.  If you ask for a makeover ("I'll wave my usual fee, darling.  =This= is for =art!="), she'll give in with minimal arm-twisting ("You ask too much, darling!  But I accept.") and then ask if you like red or black.  Your response will dictate her next response.  She has several answers to each thing you can say to her, actually.  It's too much fun to have her perched above my computer.

March 16, 2005: Strep

Aran's short culture (taken at the hospital yesterday) came back negative for strep.  Today the results of his long culture came in =positive= for it. The hospital called Kala to tell her and phoned in a prescription for antibiotics.  So Aran didn't have my flu--he had strep throat.  (!)

When I went to the doctor about my flu last week, he gave me a prescription for antibiotics to use at my discretion, in case it became clear I'd developed a secondary infection (since I'd seemed to be on the mend when my symptoms got suddenly worse).  I'd filled it already but hadn't used it. I'm using it now!

Sheesh.

March 16, 2005: Extra Prep

My English 10 classes all have the same history teacher.  They've been working on a big project, a 50s and 60s fair.  Everyone had to put together some kind of booth display about some facet of the 50s or 60s.  This meant that today, on the day of the fair, my first and second hours were competely empty.  I watched BUFFY episodes and graded many, many papers.  It was nice.

March 16, 2005: More Hospital Trips

Aran's flu got very bad yesterday, and Kala took him to the doctor.  He was keeping nothing down, his fever was high, his lips were cracking, and he wouldn't speak above a whisper because his throat hurt.  The doctor said Kala should take him to urgent care because Aran was so dehydrated.  She did, and called me.  I had just gotten home from school, so I put together an entertainment bag with books, the portable DVD player, and some DVDs.  By now it was after five o'clock, and I was starving (lunch is at 10:30 to me), so I picked up some fast food.  (This shows how hungry I was--I loathe fast food.)

At the hospital, I arrived just as the nurse was calling Aran from the waiting room into the treatment area.  Aran was examined by a nurse, then a doctor.  We learned that our primary care physician's office hadn't called urgent care with details about Aran, so they had to start from scratch.  The PCP will get an irate call later.

The doctor was greatly worried about Aran's dehydration and wanted him rehydrated via IV.  We waited and waited for the IV nurse to arrive.  We finally went out and announced to the nursing staff that we could have gone home and rehydrated Aran orally by now and we were leaving in five minutes.

This created The Big Stall.  A nurse came in to talk to us about Aran's condition to keep us there until the doctor could come back.  (As a member of a medical family, I recognized this tactic for what it was, but allowed it because I knew the doctor would speed things up.)  At last the IV nurse arrived.  She tried to insert the needle into Aran's hand and couldn't find the vein.  Naturally, Aran was screaming about this.  She got a new needle and tried again and again couldn't find a vein.  I was about to yank her away from my son with a firm, "Thank you, we're leaving" when she at last got the needle in.  Lots of tape and an IV followed.  Aran watched THE INCREDIBLES on DVD.

By nine o'clock, the bag was empty, but Aran's lab results showed his bicarb levels were a little low.  The doctor wasn't sure if she should admit him or not.  Half an hour later, she decided not to.  I headed out first to get rehydration supplies from the drugstore.  Kala checked Aran out and drove home.  We all arrived at ten o'clock.  Kala tried to give Aran some fever meds and discovered we had almost none left.

After teaching all day and barely spending half an hour at home, I was tired and pissed off, so I stormed out of the house and was forced to drive clear across town to a twenty-four hour store.  If my dear spouse had =told= me we were out of fever meds earlier, I could have bought them at the drug store, which was closing just as I left.

I got home at nearly 11:00, but was too tense to sleep well.  It wasn't a good night for anyone.

March 14, 2005: Relief--and Spread

It feels so nice not to be dragged-out tired all the time.  I can climb stairs!  I can teach all day and write all night!  I can take the dog for a walk!  Such freedom.

Except now Aran's sick.  He started showing signs late Friday and was full-blown sick on Saturday.  Sunday he showed signs of recovery, but he threw up Monday morning.  He developed a fever.  His voice is hoarse, and he's sneezing a lot.  Poor little guy is miserable.

I wish we could get him to =rest= more.  The moment he feels a little bit better, he bounces off the couch or out of bed and wants to run around the house.  Unless someone watches him every moment, it's almost impossible to make him sit or lay down.  He won't read, and TV bores him quickly.

He's also taken to freaking out over taking medicine.  Kala realized that sometimes the reason he throws up is that he gets so worked up about taking liquid or chewy medicine, he makes himself sick.  Today he threw a terrible fit over his medicine and threw it all up twice in a row.  Kala finally told him he had to calm down or she would take him to the doctor, who would give him the medicine in a shot.  This dire threat got him calm enough to take his meds.  When I got home from school, his first words were, "Mama said I would have to get a shot."

We'll see how he feels tomorrow . . .

March 13, 2005: Getting Back in the Saddle

I haven't written a thing for over two weeks.  The deadline for the Luna City book is making me nervous.  Writing is also like exercising--if you stop for an extended period, it's really hard to get started again.

Yesterday I wrote a little, with limited success.  I managed a little over four pages before my brain refused to continue.  Today went rather better. I did five pages of new material with extensive modifications on older stuff.  The first draft of chapter three is now done, and it was a hard section--describing the scene where the body is found.

But it's finished and I'm feeling satisfied.  I've really got to rev up the horses, though, if I'm going to have this done by mid-July.


March 11, 2005: Finally Mending

Today was rather better.  My voice is still hoarse, and it squeaks on me once in a while (to the great amusement of my students), but I don't feel constantly drained.  A little coughing and runny nose.  I think the worst is over at last.

Now I'm just worried about losing two weeks of writing time, with a looming deadline.  Yikes!


March 7, 2005: Worse?

I am misery itself.  You're supposed to get =better= over time, not worse, but today I feel awful and I'm running a fever for the first time.  What the hell is this?

I'm going to the doctor this afternoon.


March 6, 2005: I'm So Sick of Being Sick!

I've been sick for a solid week now.  I hate this.  I don't even remember what it's like to be well.  I can't get any writing done--or anything else, for that matter.  It's =awful.=


March 2, 2005: Bleah . . .

Not much posting here because I've had a very bad cold which has sucked the energy right from me.  I teach, come home, sleep or watch TV, and go to bed.
Bleah.

February 28, 2005: Stressed-Out Genius

I am a stressed-out genius.

On Friday, my computer booted up straight into a Blue Screen of Death. I brought home an XP boot disk and got it up and running again.  Whew! Problem solved, I thought.

Saturday, I left my computer running while I ran some errands.  Came back to a slightly different BSOD.  The computer refused to reboot, even with a boot disk.  My blood was running cold.  I'd made backups of my data files, but I would lose my e-mail, address book, and the journal I'd kept of my newsgroup for several years running.

Made a frantic call to fellow UWGer Erica, who is an official Computer Person. It was eventually decided that, short of bringing the hard drive to a dealer,I'd be best off trying to reinstall Windows.

Nervously, I set about doing this.  Finally got the stupid machine going again.  My desktop was gone.  I checked my data files.  All still there.  I checked my programs.  They were all there, but the icons weren't.  I tried to run various programs, but none of them responded.  Well, I could reload the original software.  No biggie there.

E-mail was completely gone.  So was my address book, my newsgroups, and my journal.  A couple hours' worth of hard drive scouring turned up nothing.  Ohhhhhh, I was upset.

On Sunday, I went down to the electronics store to get McAfee.  Norton was part of the culprit in my computer crashing, but I still needed virus protection.  While I was there, I came across a program that specialized in recovering lost data.  It was relatively inexpensive and I decided to spring for it on the off-chance it would work.

I got home, loaded the program, and told it to look for e-mail.  It found only the folder set aside for e-mail in the newly-reloaded version of Windows.  The files, of course, were blank.  I was ready to bang my head against the keyboard.

Except . . .

The folder found by the recovery program was in a hidden sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-sub folder of the "Important Personal Stuff" folder set up by Windows.  I also noticed that the pre-crash "Important Personal Stuff" folder still existed. The recovery program hadn't searched it.  Hmmmmm . . .

When I reloaded Windows, everything went into the default mode.  I had long ago ordered Windows to reveal hidden files and folders, but the default mode is to, well, hide them.  I'd forgotten this, but the recovery program searched these hidden folders anyway.

I went into Windows Explorer and ordered it to reveal hidden folders.  Then I checked the name of the sub-sub-sub-etc. folder found by the recovery program.  I wrote down the pattern of directories, then opened up the pre-crash version of the same series of folders.

The e-mail folder still existed!

With great hope, I told Outlook Express to look into the hidden pre-crash folder and import what it found there.  Poof!  Everything was restored as if it had never been lost.

Great relief!  Much rejoicing!

The recovery program didn't find what I wanted it to, but it did show me how to find it myself.  So it was worth the price!


February 24, 2005: Near Yikes

My computer froze last night as I was shutting down, so I had to disconnect the power.  Today Kala called me at school to say it was booting up straight into a blue screen of death: "unmountable boot volume."  Uh oh.

I surfed around the net at school and found a few solutions, but all of them involved a boot disk, and I couldn't remember if I had one.  I called our IT person.  She didn't have one, either, but the IT person in my "old" high school had one.  A few quick e-mails later, and the boot disk was left in her mailbox for me.

I picked it up after school and, after some finagling (the instructions I had neglected to tell me you have to push F12 to get the computer to boot from anything but the A: drive), I finally got the computer to boot from the CD.  Fixed up the problem, and now I'm back.

Thank heavens!

February 21, 2005: Snow Day!

Yesterday it snowed steadily almost all day.  The snow turned into sleet and freezing rain overnight.  This morning was to be my first day back at school after our week-long mid-winter break.  I was brushing my teeth at 5:30 when my phone rang--no school.

An extra day's break!

February 20, 2005: Autism Article and Comic Strip

Clear Blue Water is a mediocre comic strip that has occasional flashes of brilliance and insight.  The main characters have five children and recently learned the toddler is autistic.  They've started some therapy with him. Result?

http://www.ucomics.com/clearbluewater/2005/02/20/

I've been through that exact thing.  When Aran was three and had all but stopped talking, we'd finally gotten him to speak a completle sentence.  Excited, I told a friend of mine, who off-handedly said, "My son is two, and we can't get him to shut up."  I wanted to smash his face in.

On a more positive note, we have here a really interesting article here about an autistic man:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/weekend/story/0,,1409903,00.html

I have to wonder--if Daniel were in America, would the article have led with the fact that he's partnered to a man named Neil, instead of casually mentioning it at the end?  I really liked that they did it that way.


February 19, 2005: Two Hours in the Emergency Room

Today I announced my intention of taking Sam the Dog for a walk, and Aran announced he wanted to come along.  We bundled all concerned parties into the car and drove down to the nature preserve.  Sam the Dog rushed around, as is his usual habit, while Aran and I walked together.  Aran ran ahead of me then, and I let him.  He was out of my sight for several minutes, but I found him along our usual route.

A bit later we encountered a huge fallen tree.  We climbed up on this, and in the ongoing campaign for Aran's Play Therapy (tm), I turned the log into a pirate ship.  Things were going very well until Aran tripped and fell face-down off the tree.

He didn't move for a split-second, then he started screaming.  I wanted to snatch him up, but not only had he fallen in such a way that I couldn't reach him very well, I also knew it would be a bad idea until I could figure out how badly he was hurt.  But try explaining to an injured, autistic seven-year-old that he needs to stay where he is until Daddy can check him over.

He got to his feet on his own, and I lifted him carefully over to the main trunk of the tree, telling myself I didn't need to panic.  He was in obvious pain, but he was conscious and nothing was protruding at an odd angle.  I had him wiggle fingers and toes.  I checked his head for lumps.  I asked him if he could see Sam (to check for blurred vision).  Then I asked him if he could walk.  He could, but he was limping badly.

"What parts hurt, Aran?" I asked him.

He managed to tell me that his arm and his ankle hurt him.  Did he want me to carry him to the car?  He said he did.  The car was a good quarter mile away, but I carried him there.  Sam stuck close, clearly concerned.  Aran was cradling his right arm and screamed whenever something jogged it.

We got home.  Kala and I checked him carefully.  Nothing was swollen.  His upper thigh had a bad scrape on it.  But he wouldn't raise his right arm and he was shivering violently.  He answered questions about whether he hit his head or not inconclusively.  (The worst thing about having an autistic child is when he's injured and can't tell you what's wrong.)  I feared shock and decided we needed to take him to the hospital.

Got him into the car and rushed over to the emergency room.  We were seen fairly quickly, I think because Kala told the staff that Aran is autistic and we couldn't tell if he had hit his head or not.  The doctor examined him and said he had to go to x-ray.  About half an hour later, they put him in a wheelchair (which Aran thought was pretty cool) and took him down.

X-ray proved problematic.  Aran has a very low pain tolerance and he stubbornly refused to let the staff move his arm to position for the x-ray. Kala and I finally got him to do, though he was crying and in pain again. The wheelchair ride back to his room calmed him down.

A few minutes later, the doctor came in and told us Aran's radius had a greenstick fracture and the ulna had been bowed but wasn't broken.  They put a splint on him and told us to take him to a doctor on Monday for a cast. Aran accepted the splint with equanimity and said it made his arm feel a little bit better.  His limp was caused by a contusion to his thigh, which we discovered Aran was calling his ankle.  No treatment needed there.

And now we're back home.  Total time spent in the ER: about two hours. Pretty good, actually, especially for a weekend.


February 19, 2005: Chapter Two

Got a first draft of chapter two on the Luna Investigations book.  Go me!

February 18, 2005: Spiritual Aran

African-American history month has leaked into Aran's music class.  At the moment he's in the family room singing:

Thank God Almighty I'm free at last,
Free at last,
Free at last,
Thank God Almighty I'm free at last,
Free at last,
Free at last!


February 17, 2005: Starting Over

I've finished chapter one of the Luna City novel, though it's more of a prologue than a chapter.  Chapter two . . . yeesh.  I wrote two pages of it, went back over the material, and realized it was like rotten squid thrown at a Red Wings game--it stank on ice.  I let it sit overnight.  This morning I figured I started a little too late and backed up.  Now it seems to be working, but the first two pages are out the window.  They shall never see the light of day, if I have anything to say about it!


February 16, 2005: More Names

As I mentioned upstream, we're wrestling with boy names.  We seem to have settled on Everett as one.  Now we just need a second one.

Further names we're considering:

Garth
Neil
Mitchell
Fletcher

Though these aren't necessarily finalists.

February 15, 2005: Another Therapist

We've hired a speech therapist for Aran.  We know that he shares speech therapy time with a group of other kids, but most of them need the more physical side of speech--helping form certain sounds and phonemes, for example.  Aran speaks very clearly; he needs help with formulating replies and responses.  He knows what he wants to say, but the words don't always come.

Unfortunately, when he's in speech therapy at school and the therapist asks Aran a question, one of the other kids often jumps in and answers if Aran doesn't respond right away.  Then Aran simply echoes that kid's answer.  It isn't very helpful to him.  Budget cuts don't allow for any one-on-one time for Aran and a school therapist, either.

We asked our various contacts for speech therapists and we finally settled on one.  Her only available time was early Tuesday afternoons, which was when Aran got his speech therapy at school.  We figured that this would be better for him, though, and decided we'd just pull him early from school every week for it.

Then the therapist canceled three appointments in a row for various reasons before she even met with Aran.  We decided enough was enough and ended our non-relationship with her.  A little more asking around turned up the fact that Aran's pre-school speech therapist had recently retired and was taking on a very few cases privately.  Kala gave her a call and set up a weekly appointment with her and Aran in our house right after school every Tuesday. Perfect!

She's had three sessions with him now.  We'll see how much it helps.

February 14, 2005: Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day turned into a multi-day celebration around here.  Yesterday, the day before V-Day, I got up with Aran while Kala slept in.  I dug into the freezer for some of last summer's blueberries and made blueberry muffins that came out of the oven just as Kala got up.  They were very good and Kala like them very much.

Kala gave me a box of Godiva chocolates.  Ha!  For once =I= get the chocolate.  And they're mine mine MINE!

Ahem.

Today, Kala didn't get called in to sub anywhere, so she took Aran to school and the two of us went out for breakfast.  It was very nice to be out with just Kala. (I'm sure such stolen mornings will be even rarer come summer . . . )

On the way home, we stopped to get the oil changed on the car.  The mechanic was a chatty guy with a New Jersey accent.  He asked, "So what are you doing for Valentine's Day?"

I gestured at the oil change place.  "This is pretty much it."  Kala slugged me.

Happy Valentine's Day!


February 12, 2005: Outline

I got the first draft of the outline done for the Luna City Investigations book.  Hooray!  Go me!


February 11, 2005: Fight

A couple days ago I was heading for the main office during class change time.  In front of the library doors was a circle of students.  Uh oh.  This formation always heralds something nasty.  I pushed through and found two boys punching each other in the face.  I heard the dull smack of knuckle on meat and bone.

My hands were full of books and papers.  I set everything on the floor, then broke up the fight.  I nabbed Kid A, but Kid B vanished into the crowd.  No other teachers were around.  I couldn't pursue; on the other hand, it's not like it would be hard to find out who Kid B was.

Escorted Kid A to the office, reported the incident to the vice-principals and on-duty deputy sheriff, and went on my merry way.


February 11, 2005: Breeeeak!

I'm on mid-winter break.  A whole week off!  Yay!

February 8, 2005: Female Lust

So last night at writers group, I was being critiqued on a piece in which the (female) viewpoint character meets her Romantic Interest and gets flashes of lust.  A great discussion ensued about whether my handling of the topic was a) realistic; b) overdone; or c) not enough.  The concensus seemed to be that the character's reactions needed to be pruned back a smidgeon, but were otherwise good.

After the formal critique was over, the discussion continued around the snack table during the break.  The females discussed what fires female lust and how/whether it was different from the male variety, while I mostly listened. The discussion got quite specific, sometimes.  ("Mmmmmm . . . broad shoulders.  Something about a fine pair of shoulders that make you want to reach out and . . . "  "Biceps that are developed, but not too much."  "White t-shirt! Is there anything sexier than a white t-shirt?"  "A black one."  "Smell! Oh god--the right smell just makes me . . . ")

It was very entertaining and informative.  I love my writers group.

February 7, 2005: Names

Last night I realized something--Kala and I need to pick out names.

There are varying theories about the "best" way to name adopted children.  The main ones are:

1. Give the child an entirely new name (first and last).

2. Give the child a new first name and move the "old" first name to middle name status.

3.  Keep the child's original name.

Kala and I decided on a combination of #1 and #2 for ourselves.  If the  kid in question has a difficult name for English speakers, we'll take option 2.  If the name is something like Dmitri or Aleksander, we'll take option 3.

However, if we get two kids, and one has a difficult name while the other has an easy one, we really should take option 2 for =both= children as an equality thing.  This means we need to have enough names to go around, covering all possibilities.

Since we could also end up with two boys, two girls, one of each, one boy, or one girl, we have to have four names--two for boys and two for girls.  We still remember the names we'd picked out for Aran before we knew he was a boy, so we'll go with those: Faye and Iris.  We'd only picked out one boy name--Aran--and we obviously can't use that again.  So the race is on to pick two new male names.

One problem with being a writer is that you tend to use names you like for characters.  I like the names "Evan" and "Ben," for example, but they're not usable, since they appear in my Silent Empire books.

So we're working on boy names right now.

February 7, 2005: The Author Speaks

Thursday Comrade Sarah and I ran the Sarah and Steven Show at the Ypsilanti District Library.  Topic: The Nuts and Bolts of Writing.  Good thing I have no qualms about public speaking and don't need any "warm-up" time--I had thought it was set to begin at 7:30, so I arrived at 6:58, figuring I'd have half an hour to set up.  Oopsie!  I strolled in with my materials and found Sarah and a healthy-sized audience nearly ready for the program to begin.

And begin we did.  We went through manuscript format, how to find a market, how to submit, and so on.  Stuff that writer workshops rarely go over.

The audience was large (almost thirty, I think) and receptive, asking many good questions.  When it was over, Sarah and I sold a few books and answered a few more questions.

The last people left, and I realized I was starving.  Sarah and I hopped across the street to a nice coffee shop, complete with (fake) fireplace.  Ordered cake and hot apple juice, ate, and warmed ourselves in comfy fireplace chairs.  A fine evening--and we got paid for it!


Feburary 5, 2005: Step Twenty-Nine: Travel Date

Today, at last, we got our travel date letter from Ukraine.  It's in Ukraine or Russian (I can't tell the difference), with bits of it translated in parentheses.  Our appointment is set for June 6, 2005.

Hmmmm . . . looks like I'll miss exam week.  :)


February 3, 2005: Richard Simmons?

http://www.personal.psu.edu/users/b/m/bms269/Movies/richard.wmv

Richard Simmons doing improv.  My brain hurts!  This may not be safe for work.

February 2, 2005: Step Twenty-Eight: Visa Arrival

Our passports came back today with our travel visas in them.  They're these heavy yellow stickers that take up an entire page of the passport, with a validation stamp in black ink positioned half on the visa sticker and half on the passport page.  Our names appear there, in English and Ukraine, along with the dates of the allowed travel window.

Kala called the adoption agency to let them know.  She learned that two other couples were recently given travel dates, but there's some confusion. Travel dates are supposed to be issued in the order that dossiers were approved, and the couples come out of sequence.  Also, one couple's travel date is in March while the other's is in May.

We're still waiting . . .

February 2, 2005: The New Project

The SF murder mystery I've been contracted to write is the first novel of an in-house series.  This means it's kind of like writing a Star Trek book--none of the material belongs to me.  Except unlike Star Trek, everything isn't already created.  The editor of the line created the basic set-up of Luna City, two characters (the chief investigator and the doctor), and the basic idea for the first novel (where the body is found and under what conditions).

The rest was up to me.

I came up with the reason behind the corpse's odd location and fleshed out the two characters.  Then I talked to Ye Eddetor on the phone.  He liked my explanation for the murder.  We worked out another main character to add and a subplot.  In an e-mail later that day, Ye Eddetor added a couple more ideas. Then I sat down to write the bible.

Ye Eddetor had the =end result=, you see.  Luna City is actually built around a research facility that eventually metamorphosed into a university. Neat idea.  But how on Earth (or Luna) did all this happen?  I had to create an entire history, complete with historical figures.  Then I had to work out what technology was available.  Travel, biology, medicine, weapons, computers, entertainment, and more.  Then I had to create a Luna City culture.  Then I had to create fuller backgrounds for the three main characters.  Then I created supporting cast.

I e-mailed all of this to Ye Eddetor, and his response was mostly positive with some things he thought needed tweaking or even serious changes.  I wrote back, he responded.  This went on for three days until everything finally got hammered out.

It was a little weird.  The people and the situations I created will affect every single novel that follows.  If the books take off and other authors are added to the series, they'll be writing about characters and situations =I= created.  I therefore went out of my way to come up with characters that would work well under this system.  However, since =I= have to write about these people right now, they needed to be people that I would enjoy spending a book or three with.  I think I succeeded.

Now I'm working on the outline.  I keep thinking I have to have it done in a week or less, but I really don't.  Though the deadline for the finished novel is July 15 . . .

January 30, 2005: On Being the Mentor

Okay, how did this happen?

Somewhere along the line, I became the Guy to See about writing.  See, I teach high school as my day job, and word gets around about my books.  And every once in a while, a student comes to my classroom asking if I'll read his or her and give comments.

I usually agree to it, though I preface it.  "I don't say nice things if they aren't warranted.  I'll read it carefully and I'll tell you what you're doing right and what you're doing wrong.  I don't pull punches.  I'm always polite, but I don't believe in sugar-coating the truth."

And so every year I get three or four students who regularly feed me material.  One of them I eventually accepted as an independent study student in creative writing.  If she keeps it up, we'll see her name in print in five or six years.  In any case, though, they're all high schoolers, and young still.  (They hate hearing they're young, but I tell them that since I'm now twice their age, I get to call them that.)  This means the writing is difficult to red-line--where do you start?  Sometimes it's painfully bad.  Sometimes there's a glimmer of something.  A few times I've said, "Nice!"

I write comments in the margins.  For what it's worth, the most common problems I see are:

--Lack of sensory information in the setting.
--Telling instead of showing, or other lack of detail.
--Lack of emotional responses from the viewpoint character
--Grammar problems, especially with dialogue puncutation

It's rough work, but I still find myself doing it.  I sometimes ask myself why this is.  I already critique mansucripts for my own writers group and for the Seton Hill program; I don't =need= more.  And yet, I take them on. Hell, I would have =killed= to know a professional novelist when I was in high school, and I would have wiped out a small city to get critiques.  When I was young, I thought writers were people who lived in glamorous places like New York or San Franscisco or London.  They weren't farm kids from rural Michigan who fed one end of a horse and shoveled up what came out of the other.  It was a long time before I learned that plenty of writers grew up in similar circumstances.

I suppose it's also that when they bring their manuscripts in, I remember struggling to write when I was a teenager.  I remember looking at scenes that I =knew= were flawed and not knowing how to fix them.  But there was no one to tell me how to do it.

And though I'm a writer, I suppose I'm still a teacher who can't say "no" to a student who wants to learn.

January 30, 2005: Heating Bill =:|

We got the heat bill.  You know--the one that covers all that sub-zero weather we've been having?  It was almost double what it was last month. Eesh.  And yikes!

January 27, 2005: Phobos

Phobos Books, a medium-sized publishing company, is starting a series of science fiction murder mysteries set on the moon.  I just got the news that I'm writing the first book.  Working title: DEAD MAN ON THE MOON.

Yay!

Deadline's July 15.

Yikes!

January 26, 2005: Russia Again

I just got a contract offer for a Russian version of NIGHTMARE.  This means the translation of DREAMER sold well enough to warrant more!  Nice.


January 25, 2005: The Sting

A while ago, Jim McDonald organized a sting against Publish America, a vanity press which pretends to be a real publisher and who claims to reject 80% of the manuscripts they receive.  Thirty SF authors each wrote two chapters of a novel =without= reading what the others wrote, slapped 'em together in more-or-less random order, and submitted it to Publish America.

Publish America accepted the book immediately.  The information has gone public.

You can read the manuscript at
ftp://ftp.sff.net/pub/people/doylemacdonald/sting/StingManuscript.rtf

You can read the acceptance letter at
ftp://ftp.sff.net/pub/people/doylemacdonald/sting/Sting_acceptance.rtf

You can read the sample contract at
ftp://ftp.sff.net/pub/people/doylemacdonald/sting/Contract.pdf

As Jim says, NEVER let it be said that PA is not a vanity publisher.  NEVER let it be said that they have a selective process for choosing manuscripts.

January 23, 2005: Climbing Back On

Today, all snug and warm in my well-heated office, I completed another chapter of a different project.  Go me!

January 23, 2005: No Jury Duty

I called the jury duty number on Friday.  I don't have jury duty.  This is overall nice, though it's annoying that I had to spend a couple hours making sub lesson plans just in case.  Grumble.


January 23, 2005: The Great Blizzard of 2005

It started snowing very late Friday night.  When I got up on Saturday, I was quite glad I had opted out of ConFusion.  Snow was shin deep and piling higher.  A knee-high drift just outside the back door was also piling up. It snowed and snowed and snowed.  The Enterprising Neighbor Kid (tm) came by to shovel our driveway and walk for a fee, which we were happy to give him. We stayed inside most of the day.  I baked bread and made cookies.

It finally stopped snowing around four, though blowing snow was everywhere. Sam hadn't been walked in a while, and I needed to Get Out Of the House, so I decided to take him to the nature preserve.

The car was almost completely clear of snow.  I thought the Enterprising Neighbor Kid had cleared it, then realized it was just a side-effect of the wind.  Man!  Our subdivision hadn't been plowed yet (main roads and highways, I'm sure, needed constant work), and snow came almost halfway up the hubcaps.  I backed out and did the midwestern snow drive, the one where your tires are spinning but since you're edging forward, you know you don't need to stop.  Edged the car into a slightly busier subdivision road with many tracks on it, and drove very cautiously down to the nature preserve.

Sam bounded out of the car and into the snow, which was a foot deep or worse.  My boots come most of the way to my knees, and they still weren't quite high enough!  Sam rushed around, plunging in and out of drifts.  I walked along with him, trying to decompress and destress.  We climbed hills and broke new paths.  I tried an earth meditation, but this is difficult in winter when the ground is frozen and unresponsive.  I switched to air, and the moment I did, a wind whipped through the clearing around me.  I was perfectly warm, despite the snow in my boots.

Around sunset, I collected Sam and drove back home.


January 23, 2005: Why I Missed ConFusion

Three days before ConFusion (about the best midwestern con in existence and one that can easily hold its own on a national level) I realized that I didn't have any panels or activities scheduled for Friday.  My first panel was for Saturday morning at ten.

I thought long and hard, then called the hotel and shortened my reservation to just Saturday night.  With final exams ending and a lot of stuff to do for the new semester, I wasn't looking forward to rushing around to pack and get ready, then trying to navigate rush-hour raffic to Troy.  I could go Saturday morning, spend the night, and come home Sunday.  This would also save us money for the adoption.

Then I got that rejection I mentioned upstream.  It was more upsetting than such things usually are.

Then I got the news that we were getting a huge blizzard starting late Friday night.  It was supposed to snow and snow and snow right through Saturday evening.

I didn't relish the idea of driving through a blizzard in early-morning darkness.  I also, oddly, wasn't looking forward to the con itself.  You would think I would be, but I wasn't.  I wasn't looking forward to telling people that OFFSPRING will be the last Silent Empire book and that, no, I don't have anything under contract right now.  I love going to cons, and I love being a writer, but when a writer goes to a con, you do a fair amount of talk about writing.  I usually love that, too, but I just wasn't up to handling it this time.  Couple that with the blizzard and the looming adoption expenses, and I decided to cancel.

Next year, then.

January 21, 2005: The Day of Many Compliments

Apparently if you want praise, you only have to post in your blog that you never get any . . .

On Thursday we had a department meeting.  The counselors were present, and I was asked to give a brief explanation of the media literacy class.  I did, adding that the class is open to all grade levels and all levels of ability. "I take them all," I said.  "The class is designed so that students who struggle with English and will be on equal footing with AP students."

On Friday while I was grading my final set of exams, a counselor came in to talk about a student I'd have next semester.  The student has Aspberger's Syndrome, and she wanted to brief me on it.

"My son is autistic," I said.  "So I already know how to handle Aspberger's."  Then I went on to interview  =her= about the student.  Does he have sensory integration problems?  Does he stim?  What kind of social adjustments are needed?  And so on.  She was startled and a bit impressed. I also showed her the first weekly packet for media literacy, which has my lesson plan for the week on it and all the assignments for the week inside it.

"I rarely deviate from this," I said.  "It happens, but not often.  This'll will probably help X----."

Later, I was down in the office and one of the secretaries told me she'd been hearing lots of compliments about me lately.  One person had been truly impressed that I said I took all levels of students in media literacy.  Another thought my organizational skills were admirable.  Yet another said that Some School must be pretty upset at losing me to Nameless High School.

It's nice to know that people say nice things about you!

January 20, 2005: Rather Better

Today was better.  No disasters, but I'm just bloody tired all the time.

The irony is that the rejection came at the same time I got a spat of fan letters saying how much they enjoy my books.  Always a nice spirit-raiser, that.

January 19, 2005: Breaking the Curse

When you're having a terrible cycle, freezing it in cold, hard words breaks it.  Or that's my theory, anyway.

Yesterday I got a rejection about a project whose prospects had looked very, very good.  I'm a professional author and I deal with rejection all the time.  This one, though, was really hard and very upsetting.

Last night I had trouble sleeping.  Finally my alarm went off.  I shut it off and lay there for a moment, waking myself up, then got up.  That was when I saw my alarm had somehow gotten reset for midnight.  I'd only been asleep for an hour or so.  I reset my alarm and crawled back into bed, but I was awake now and it took me a good hour to get back to sleep.

At 5:30, I got up after too-few hours of restless sleep and found we'd gotten a fair amount of snow.  I left early and on the two-lane road leading to the highway, I got stuck behind a driver who was going way, way slower than necessary.  The road was clear, with snow just blowing across it.  Nevertheless, this driver, equipped with a four-wheel drive jeep, was only going about thirty on a fifty-mile-an-hour road.  Traffic was too heavy to pass, so I was stuck behind him for five long miles.

Although the road leading to the highway was good, the highway itself was only fair, and I barely topped sixty all the way to the second highway, which was really bad.  Forty miles was the best we could do on a seventy-mile-an-hour freeway.  I called the school to tell them I was going to be late, but my first hour's semester exam should be findable by a sub.  I finally arrived twenty minutes late to school, bustled into the building, and discovered the sub couldn't find the exam, so the students were just sitting around.  I have a handful of students who take exams with tutors or special education coordinators, and they were waiting for me as well.

I found the exam, handed it out, and set everyone to work before I even took my coat off.  Less than a minute later, a student pointed out that two pages from the middle of the exam were missing.  My original had the pages in their proper place, which meant the copy machine had sucked multiple pages through the feeder without my notice.  Fortunately the sub was still there and could supervise the class while I ran down to the workroom to copy the missing pages.

A while into the exam, Kala e-mailed me that Aran's new speech therapist has canceled =again=.  This makes three times out of three.  She hasn't seen Aran even once.  The therapist called "nice and early," as she put it, so Kala could still accept a subbing assignment.  Someone needs to tell her that "nice and early" to a sub is =not= 7:55 in a district where school starts at eight.

I don't want anything more to go wrong.  I need to perform a banishment.  I need a success in my life.


January 18, 2005: New Keyboard

My ergonomic keyboard is old and it sounds like chattering teeth when you use it.  However, my new computer is black, and I haven't been able to find a new ergonomic keyboard to match it.  I did come across one that cost an ungodly amount of money because it's wireless.  I don't =need= a wireless keyboard and stingy me refuses to pay for one.

Today I stopped in at an office supply store because one of my students spilled stuff all over my desk calendar and I needed a new one (at said student's expense, I might add).  There, I found an ergonomic, wired, decently-priced black keyboard.  Yay!

Nabbed it, got it home, plugged it in.  My computer found it without trouble, but called it a "New Human Interface Device."  Someone at Microsoft has been reading too much Star Trek.  But it works!


January 15, 2005: Gay Sex Weapon

Okay, does this sound like the premise to a really bad gay erotica novel or what?

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=101&e=1&u=/po/20050115/co_po/airforceproposalsoughtgaysexweapon

or

http://www.gay.com/news/article.html?2005/01/14/1

"The Pentagon briefly looked into making a weapon that would render enemy troops sexually attracted to one another, according to an official document uncovered by a watchdog group that monitors research into biological and chemical weapons.

"The proposed aphrodisiac was part of a weapons development plan circulated in 1994 at the U.S. Air Force Wright Laboratory in Dayton, Ohio. An outline of the plan was discovered by the Sunshine Project and posted on its Web site.

"The aphrodisiac chemical would be designed to make enemy soldiers sexually irresistible to each other. The resulting widespread homosexual behavior, the proposal suggests, would cause a "distasteful but completely non-lethal blow" to morale."


By the end, I was laughing so hard, tears were rolling down my face. 

Snarky comments might include:

"But what if we invaded =Greece=?"

"So =that's= why my sergeant-major looks so cute."

"A spray aphrodisiac?  Where do I sign up to test it?"

It's funny because it's true . . .


January 15, 2005: New Teaching Philosophy

When you're a teacher, there's a tendency to avoid accepting praise for your work.  If our students give stellar performances, we tend to say, "I don't know if it's me or if it's just that they're a great group of kids."

This is partly out of the Puritan ethic of modesty and partly because you  can have two sections of the same class, teach the same way, use the same activities, and have one do great and the other do rotten.  In other words, you don't know if it's you or if it's the kids.

Me, I've gotten a fair number of accolades from parents and students over the years, some verbal, some written.  I mentally save these moments, but I also acknowledge that it wasn't just me.  Parental involvement plays an enormous factor, and no one can make a kid do anything (including school work)--you can only make them wish they had.  So the student has a major role in it, too.  I suppose I can take credit for getting the ball rolling, but not much more.

On the other hand, I've gotten praise from the school district only five times in ten years.  Three of those times were on my pre-tenure evaluations, which said I was doing a good job.  Two of those times happened when two administrators happened to observe my students deal with an unexpected situation in my classroom, and they both let me know by e-mail that they credited the success to my classroom management skills.  That was five years ago, and I haven't heard a kind word since, not even when I single-handedly created (out of thin air) one of the most successful and needed English classes in the district (media literacy).

So my new philosophy of education is this:  If the district is going to try to penalize me when my students do poorly and remain silent when they do well, I'm going to stand on a chair and loudly proclaim that my students' success is due to me and my hard work. 

Someone has to say it, and I guess that someone has to be me.


January 14, 2005: "Go me!" Moment

Every marking period, the English 9 and 10 students have to do an essay test.  The second and fourth such tests count as 25% of their marking period grade.  We English teachers loathe this.  A single test essay that counts for 25%?  Bad policy, for a host of reasons.  However, the mandate stands.

In addition to this little trick, the district requires us to fill out paperwork about this essay.  On a rubric scale of 1-6, we have to record how many students in each class earned a one, how many got a two, and so on.  Then we have to figure out what percent of each class earned a four or higher.
 
All your classes are supposed to have 70% or more students earn a four, five, or six.  If even a single class doesn't meet this standard, you have to explain (on the form) what concepts your students aren't doing well with and what you currently do to teach those concepts.  Then, at a special meeting, you're supposed to indicate what you intend to do to address this weakness.

As you can readily see, there are some inherent problems with this system.  Many English teachers don't teach ninth and tenth grade, meaning they don't have to do all this extra work their colleagues are saddled with.  It also blames the teacher for problems that may be outside of his control.  Non-English speakers, special ed students, and the kid who comes to school one day in ten all have to write the essay.  Even the most fantastic teacher in the world will have low scores and then have to justify his poor teaching.

I gave the essays, graded them, and started the stupid worksheet.  When I ran the numbers, all my sections came out at above 70%.

So since no one else will say it--go me!

January 12, 2005: Um . . . Okay

The following is a segment of e-mail my dear, dear agent sent me:

>if you decide to go Greek, let me double-check that your choice isn't
>taken.

Um . . . right!  Will do!


January 12, 2005:  Twenty-Seven: Visas

The National Adoption Center (NAC) in Kyev has a liaison between the NAC and the various adoption agencies that handle Ukrainian adoptions.  Her name is Lena. Yesterday, Lena called our agency to tell them that Kala and I need to apply for visas.  We don't have a travel date, but the visas take a few weeks to process, and we'll need to have that taken care of.  Since visas are good for six months, that means we'll (in theory) have a travel date between February and July.  Sooner is likelier than later, though.

January 12, 2005: Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday.  I can no longer say I'm in my mid-thirties, but in my late thirties.  Sigh.

On the other hand, my mother turned sixty a couple years ago, and she was sighing over this.  My grandmother, who will be eighty-eight in a couple weeks, gave her a long look.

"Sixty," she humphed.  "Sounds mighty young to me."

It snowed unexpectedly and dreadfully that morning.  Between three and five inches.  I listened to the radio when I got up and heard the closed school count rise.  Started with Saline.  Then Ann Arbor.  Then Linoln.  Then Ypsilanti. Willow Run (the district in which I live) became an island of open schools surrounded by a sea of closed ones.  Further north where I teach, the districts were universally open.  My usual standard is that if Willow Run closes, I call in.  However, Willow Run was open and I really need to save sick days for the adoption, so I drove in.  Took me 75 minutes to do a 45 minute drive.  Yuck!  And they closed Willow Run five minutes after I'd left.

At any rate, it was actually a very, very quiet birthday.  Kala's been sick for several days with bad bronchitis, and hadn't quite recovered yet.  Aran doesn't fully understand birthdays yet, so we didn't really do anything.  For once, Aran was cooperative at the dinner table, eating most of a casserole we call Phony Lasagna, so that was nice.

My sister called, we talked, I played City of Heroes.  And then to bed.


January 9, 2005: B&J

Owh!  Brad and Jennifer are breaking up!  I feel a little verklempt!  They won't be having beautiful babies together.  (pauses to put hand on chest and purse lips)  My world is fawling apart.  Tawk amongst yourselves . .
 
January 8, 2005: Pennsylvania Weather

It's gorgeous here.  Really!  For January.  It must be over 50 out, which means the rain feels nice instead of nasty.  In June this would be awful weather, but in January we all say, "How lovely it is!"

Perspective.  It changes your world.


January 8, 2005: Back at Hogwarts

I thought I was done at Seton Hill University.  I was wrong . . .

A couple months ago I got word that SHU's Writing Popular Fiction program was in need of mentors, especially mentors in F/SF.  I said I was willing, and was greeted with enthusiasm.  And now here I am--a spiffy new Adjunct Faculty with four students.

The mentor/student meetings were scheduled for Thursday, but I couldn't take that time off work to come to Hogwarts, so myn meetings were rearranged for Saturday.  I left Friday straight from school and headed for Pennsylvania.
 
SMALL MISHAP #1: Got an hour down the road before I'd realized I'd left my CDs at school.  D'oh!  I had a single talking book with me, one that wouldn't last all the way there and back.  Boredom on the road--a terrifying prospect!

SMALL MISHAP #2: In Toledo I got caught in a dreadful traffic stop.  Not a slow-down.  A full stop.  Nothing moved, no nearby exits to dodge down, nothing.  I sat and sat.  I ground my teeth.  I sat some more.  I read a book.  I sat some more.  I tried to find traffic info on the radio.  Nothing there, either.  So I sat.
After about twenty minutes (which feels like a day when you're just sitting with nothing to do), the traffic abruptly started moving again, as if someone had popped a cork and we were all little champagne bubbles.  I saw no sign of what had stopped us, either.

Found the hotel with a minimum of getting lost, went to a restaurant for a late supper, and passed a Best Buy.  Ah ha!  Went inside, browsed the music section, and came away with three CDs--a new Gaelic Storm album, an album of miscellaneous Celtic music, and a Margaret Cho comedy CD.  Yay!  Car entertainment!

Returned to the hotel and slept suprisingly well.

In the morning I checked out and headed down to the university for a breakfast meeting with the program director.  Got some paperwork to fill out, and now I have free time to kill until my noon student meeting.  My other meetings are early evening, so I won't get out of here until seven or so, meaning I'll arrive home midnightish.

January 6, 2005: Snow Day

Much snow, overlaid with sleet last night.  School was called off this morning, but only after I was up and showered and halfway dressed.  So I'm up.

Snow day!


January 3, 2005: Superteacher!

Today I started the final unit in mythology class--Superman as modern mythology.  I spent way too many hours gathering appropriate comic books and other materials for the unit.  I also spent much time on-line looking for lesson plans and ideas.  After all, I reasoned, someone else out there must be doing it, right?

Wrong.  I couldn't find a blessed thing except the occasional outline for a college lecture class.  So I'm on my own.  I just love breaking new ground.

Hmf.


January 3, 2005: Professor

This is really weird.  I'm now a writing mentor for Seaton Hill's creative writing Master's program.  I have four students.  (!)  Have to find out what my exact title is.  Probably "assistant adjunct tertiary professorial assistant" or something.

At any rate, the bi-annual residency is this coming weekend.  I'm supposed to meet with my students on Thursday evening, but I can't give up two sick days for it, and the program coordinator arranged for me to meet with them on Saturday.  That means I can leave Friday right after school, arrive in Greensburg to spend the night, have my meetings, and go home Saturday evening.

I have to critique four manuscripts from each student over the course of the semester and write an evaluation for each one at the end.  I'm paid, of course.  It won't make me rich by any means, but it'll pay for more adoption expenses.

So now you may call me "professor."  :)


January 2, 2005: Heat

My office is in the basement.  It's carpeted, with finished walls and a drop ceiling.  If it weren't for the high, thick windows, you'd think it was a main floor bedroom.
 
Except . . .
 
Like all basements, it's frocking =cold= in winter.  Even with the warm weather we've been having.  And when it got down to single digits, it was uncomfortably chilly, even with layers of clothing.  So I bought a space heater.
 
I haven't had a space heater in probably fifteen years.  They've changed a bit since then.  :)  The one I bought is about the size of a gallon of milk.  It oscillates and has a thermostat.  It shuts off if it tips over.  And it heats my office to a nicely comfortable level.  It's =very= nice to type with warm hands!


January 2, 2005: New Year's Quiet

We had a quiet New Year's celebration at home.  My sister-in-law came over, and we watched videos, ate junk food, sipped champagne, and watched the ball   drop.

I read somewhere in a news article that something like two-thirds of Americans said they preferred to spend New Year's as we did--as a quiet evening at home.  We set the trend!  :)

So the question is, did you spend a quiet or noisy New Year's?


January 1, 2005: Happy New Year!

I'm glad 2004 is over.

I'm hoping 2005 will be better.

Happy New Year!


December 31, 2004: Winter?

It's over 60 degrees outside on this New Year's Eve.  Curiouser and curiouser . . .


December 28, 2004: Tsunami

Death toll is up to almost 60,000 people.  I've a hundred photos of death and devastation, including the photo gallery of corpses lined up in a church.  Can you imagine trying to find your parents or your children in such a line-up?  If you find them, you're devastated.  If you don't, you wonder if that's good or bad.  I saw a picture of a weeping man carrying the body of his son--Aran's age--through the streets.  I can't imagine.

I made a donation to the Red Cross.  They accept donations on-line at http://www.redcross.org/  and at http://www.disasterrelief.org/GiveHelp/  It take a bit for the Red Cross's donations page to load, but stay with it. You can use your debit card.  Two weeks from now, will you miss $20?  Or $50?


December 28, 2004: King's Books

Since we were in the area (downtown Detroit), we decided to look up King's Books, a place we'd heard of but had never visited.  King's Books claims to be Michigan's biggest used bookstore, and we wanted to check it out.

After a few uncertain turnings, we found the place, and it was exactly what a used bookstore should be--an aging four-story warehouse with old-fashioned wooden doors and metal-latticed windows.  It's heated by radiators.  The place is as drafty as an English manor, and strategically-placed fans told us the store has no AC in summer.  Strings dangle from overhead lights, and patrons are encouraged to shut the illumination off when leaving a section. The interior is brown wood and hard floors, and it smells of old paper and dust.  All four stories are crammed with a labyrinth of rooms and stacks. Hand-lettered signs tell you where you are what's in each room.  Several employees are stationed throughout to offer help as needed.

We spent some time in the folklore/mythology section, but I didn't find anything I =had= to have.  Aran found a selection of Peanuts books in the kids' section (he's currently into Charlie Brown and Snoopy), and we let him get one.  On the way up to the SF/F section on the third floor, we made a family stop at the restroom and I stumbled across the Ireland section.  I came away with a set of (then-contemporary) history books about Ireland from the late 1800s and early 1900s, =exactly= what I need for that idea that whapped me upside the head on my way home from school last week.  It's an omen!

The SF section had absolutely =none= of my books.  Apparently my novels are treasured.  Yay!  The section after Zelazny was conspicuously absent of Zettel as well.  :)

Picked up a couple things in the SF section and wanted to stay longer, but growling stomachs and impending hunger headaches forced us to leave.  The cashier totalled up our purchases on a calculator and used an old-fashioned port-a-print machine to run my debit/credit card.  The only evidence of high-tech in the entire place, in fact, were the walkie-talkies used by the employees.

We'll come back another day, you may be sure . . .


December 28, 2004: Step Twenty-Six: More Fingerprints

Fingerprints on file with INS expire.  During the year in which they're "good," you might perpretrate a Nefarious Scheme (tm) against the government, so you have to run the checks again.  Your prints are stored electronically and could simply be run through the check again, but that isn't good enough.  You have to make an appointment and go down to INS to get printed again.  It's stupid and it's frustrating.  At least it doesn't cost anything.

Kala made our appointment for today, when neither of us would be working. Said appointment was also at eleven a.m., well past rush hour.  We put Aran into the car with his INCREDIBLES LeapPad book and headed down.  We were a bit worried--last time we got a letter confirming our appointment.  This time we only had a phone call from Examiner Teske, the person in charge of adoption immigration for this part of the country.  Her office is in Sault Ste. Marie, in the Upper Peninsula.  We wondered if not having a letter for a renewal was common or if we'd get there and discover we'd have to come back with the proper paperwork.  Kala had saved Examiner Teske's voice mail on her cell phone, just in case.

We arrived at INS with no trouble.  INS appointments aren't like doctor or dentist appointments, where you check in and they call you up.  It's more like a time-frame for you to arrive.  This is, I imagine, to spread out the times when people come down there.  A transgendered guard checked our IDs and asked to see our paperwork.  When we said we never got any, she took our IDs over to the fingerprint area to see what was up while we waited a little uncertainly.  The guard came back and said everything was fine--our paperwork was at the fingerprint desk.  Whew!

We checked in at the fingerprint desk, filled out a short form, and waited about ten minutes for a print tech to do us up.  Done!


December 28, 2004: Memory Lane

Also at Best Buy, we saw those plug-and-play video games.  Lordy, how things have changed.  The P&P games are a joystick that you plug into your television and POOF!  You have 80s video games.  Aran loves Ms. Pac-Man, Galaga, and Mappy, and one of the P&P units had all three games on it, plus some others.

Geez.  At one time, the electronic equipment required to run Ms. Pac-Man required a mother board the size of a shoe box.  Now a single chip hold a whole mess o' games, and it all fits into a joystick.  How things have changed!  I'm sure in a couple decades, the games we rave about now (City of Heroes, Halo 2, Everquest 2) will be quaint and charming.


December 28, 2004: Ye Electronik Store and Ye Olde Mill

I knew putting the treadmill in the basement playroom was a mistake.

Back in our previous house, the treadmill was in the living room.  This made exercise easy.  I told myself that if I wanted to watch an hour-long TV show, I had to spend at least half an hour power-walking and five minutes cooling down.  After Replay neatly removed the commercials, this left only about five minutes of on-my-butt time.  I watched between three and four hour-long shows a week, so I got some decent exercise time in with my TV.

In our current house, however, the living room is too small to accomodate the treadmill, and we were forced to put it in the playroom.  The playroom does have a TV and DVD player, but there's no cable and no Replay.  The screen is also tiny, very difficult to see from the treadmill.  You can see where this is going.  My exercise regimen dropped to near nothing.  Most of it involved accompanying Sam the Dog on walks every other day.  And lately it's been too freakin' cold to even consider going outside.

Recently for the holidays Kala and I got a Best Buy gift card.  A scheme hatched, and I said, "Hey!  There are supposed to be all these post-holiday sales on.  Let's go down there and see what we can find."

This we did.  Traffic was fierce, but we finally made it into the store, parked Aran at the video game demo station (he loves going to Best Buy for just this reason), and checked out TVs.  Kala was gunning for a flat screen, and I liked the idea.  After some checking, though, I pointed out that what we could afford was low-end.  "If or when we get one," I said, "I'd rather do it when we have the money to get a really =good= one, you know?"

Kala agreed this was a good idea, so we went to the "regular" section and chose a nicely-affordable TV there.  Paid for it with the gift card and our own cash, then hauled it out to the car.

Oops--we'd forgotten to drive the hatchback.  Our prize wouldn't fit in back seat or the trunk of the Cavalier.  We handed the TV over to the store's custody so we could zip home and trade cars.  We finally got it home, and I hooked it up to all the various thingies in the living room, then lugged the old TV downstairs.  I hooked it up to the DVD player, and voila!  A nice, big screen I can see from the treadmill.

It doesn't have cable or a Replay unit (I'll have to wrangle cable to it later), but that's okay.  I got the third season of 24 on DVD for Yule. My favorite actor Kiefer Sutherland doing suspense.  V. nice to exercise to.

Today I got back on the treadmill for the first time in months, trotting to 24.  I'm pleased to report that my workout was almost at the level it was before I'd quit.  It shall continue!

December 26, 2004: Christmas Celebrations

We visited Kala's family the weekend before Christmas and had a very nice visit in the bachelor pad shared by her brother and sister.  (They get very annoyed whenever they get mail to "Mr. and Mrs. Gast.")  It was =cold= out, let me tell you!

On Christmas Eve we went up to my mother's house for another family celebration.  More food and merriment.  I brought along a double batch of piragis, and everyone fell on them like ravenous beasts.  Have to make more now.  :)

Aran came away with a great many Justice League thingies--action figures, comic books, and so on.  The Hawkgirl one and the Green Lantern one I bought on eBay are now forever destroyed as collectibles, thereby making everyone else's more valuable.  Aran likes them out of the package better anyway.  :)

It continues to be bone-cracking cold around here.  It's no fun to go outside, so we're staying in lately.  We're planning on taking Aran to the indoor coffee playground place to play later today.  Brrrrr!


December 23, 2004: Much Snow

Last night was our first major snowfall.  It was about shin-deep this morning.  Our enterprising neighbor kid (who's about 10 years old) knocked on our door, offering to shovel our walk and driveway for $10.  We were happy to take advantage of his industriousness.

It was a perfect day for baking.  At my mother's request, I made two batches of piragis for Christmas Eve up at her house.  This took a couple hours, since I had to cook bacon, saute onions, fry ham, make the dough, and form the dumplings.  The bread maker was a major help--no kneading.  They came out smelling fine and tasting finer.  I also made chocolate comfort cookies, equally wonderful.

Then we all went for a family frolic in the snow at the nature preserve.  I made noises about going sledding, but ultimately realized it would wipe me out for the rest of the day, and I still had stuff to do, so the idea was nixed.  Aran loved tromping over the frozen pond, and Sam burrowed in the drifts.

It was a tiring but satisfying day.


December 21, 2004: Yule Celebration

Tonight was Yuletide, and we had a very nice coven celebration.

This year's ritual was a first in that all the coven children were there, though P----, just a week old, only put in a brief appearance.  Also there were Aran and R--- and Baby (the children I was au pair for over the summer).  Before the ritual actually began, one covener and I did some silly magic.  My coven-mate put on a long black cloak, then sat Baby at his feet and whipped his cloak shut.  Then he whipped it open.  Peekaboo, Pagan style!  His sister R--- thought this was hilarious.  Then I snuck up behind my cloaked friend, slipped under the cloak, and whisked Baby out while the cloak was closed.  When the cloak opened--gasp!  Baby was gone!  R--- looked amazed and a bit worried until R--- reappeared, safe and sound.  Then we did the same trick with Aran under the cloak, and R--- thought this was just the coolest thing ever.  Magickal Witches we are!  :)

The childrens' presence made us truncate the usual ritual, which has a lengthy meditation.  Instead, we placed candles all about the room, lit just one, and sanctified the space.  At this point we often listen to the coven bard (me) tell a Mother Berchte story, but this year, Aran told it instead. He gave a recitation that charmed everyone present, including R----.

After that, we welcomed back the God and the remaining candles to commemorate the sun's return.  Just as the last candle was lit, Mother Berchte pounded on the door, demanding entry.  She stomped barefoot into the room, muttering and complaining.  Aran thought this was massively cool. R--- was a little wary.  Baby was still too young to notice.  Berchte handed out presents, checked the children for tenderness, dropped a rose on the altar, and left.  We opened the presents.  I got the extended RETURN OF THE KING set (oh my, yes), a collection of gladiator movies on DVD (much fun there), and a lint roller (a hint?).  Aran got Flash and Wonder Woman action figures, which he ruined forever by taking them out of their original packing.  (The horror!)

And then we went upstairs for food and conversation.  Patrick was crying and crying and crying.  I asked to hold him and tried quieting him to no avail until finally I turned him over and held him over my shoulder.  He went instantly quiet and fell asleep.  Whew!  We hope he stays that way for a while.  His parents report that he rarely sleeps for more than an hour at a time, and then only if he's being held.

And thence home.  A fine Yule it was!


December 21, 2004: Whap!

Yesterday on my way home from school, an idea for a stand-alone novel hit me hard.  The premise dropped into my mind with almost perfect clarity, and I fine-tuned it on my way home, at which point I ran to the keyboard to get it all down before I forgot any of it.  It was very exciting.  You know how it is--you can't type fast enough, and more possibilities come to you with every word.  What grand fun--a Yule present from the Muses!

Now it's sitting at the back of my head, simmering.  I have a few scene snatches.  I know what the main characters look like and their basic personalities.  I have a plot.  I have settings.  I don't have a name for my antagonist yet--he's remaining stubborn about that--but it'll come.

Interestingly enough, this book would probably be marketable more as magic realism than fantasy, which is mega-cool.  Wider audience and all that.  (And yes, I maintain that the difference between magical realism and fantasy is the marketing department, but I can only do so much to change the publishing industry.)

We'll see where this goes.


December 19, 2004:  Brrrr . . .

V. cold today.  Single digits.  Good day for hot drinks.


December 19, 2004: All the Shoppin'

This year my shopping was made sooooo easy by the invention of two things:

1. The Pledge
2. The Internet

The Pledge was taken by my family this year at Thanksgiving.  We swore we would do gifts =only= for the children.  That's Aran, Brie, Caleb, and Jason.  (The Pledge only applies to extended family, which means spouses still receive gifts.)  Well, dang!  I only have to buy gifts for four children and my wife.

I usually love holiday shopping, actually, but this year the (now much slowed) adoption has eaten up all extra resources, so cash is tight.  I also have a really, really short break--I teach until Wednesday.  Makes it hard to get out to the stores.  (I know, I know.  The non-teachers who have no break at all are rolling their eyes and playing tiny violins of pity.  And you all didn't go into teaching because . . . ?)  All this made shopping a bit problematic this year, and the Pledge made things so much less stressful.

The Internet made things hugely easier, too.  I bought almost all of Aran's presents on-line.  A single trip to the toy store took care of the rest.

I also bought several presents for Kala on-line.  I won't list them here because I don't know if she reads my blog or not.  I did have a heart-stopping woo hoo! moment went I saw that MURPHY BROWN, Kala's all-time, hands-down favorite TV show, was =finally= coming out on DVD.  But then I saw the release date isn't until February.  Dang!  But I did get her several other nice things.

On a day when Kala didn't get called, she went over to the mall and finished shopping for the other kids.  Ta da!  We were done!  And it was fun and it was unstressful and so very nice.

December 15, 2004: Firing Sam

Sam the Dog is =so= fired!

When I left this morning in frigid temperatures and 6:30 darkness, I noticed the doors on the Escort were open a crack.  I nudged them shut and left for work.

This afternoon when I got home, Kala told me the Escort's CD player had been stolen.  The doors were probably open slightly because the thief or thieves didn't want the sound of a slamming door to wake anyone.  It apparently worked so well that Sam the Dog didn't even wake up.  Some watch dog!

We're actually not that upset.  The car's original CD player broke long ago, and we took it to an auto electronic shop to be fixed.  They installed another CD player as a temp, but never called us back about the original. We forgot about it, then just said, "Screw it."

Except the engineers who designed this CD player were stoo-pid.  It's really, really hard to operate.  The buttons aren't labeled at all (not even with symbols), and they're placed so that their position gives you no clue as to their function.  Removing CDs is a complicated, three-step process. The display is hard to read.

We were almost laughing about the theft.  "I actually just threw it away and =told= you it was stolen," Kala said, "so I can get a new one."

The thieves, meanwhile, braved freezing temperatures, icy winds, and dark of night for a piece of junk.  Ha!  I hope the five bucks they'll get for it at a pawn shop are worth it.

December 13, 2004: UWG :(

I =hate= missing writers group.  Writers group is a mainstay of my life--one Monday evening every other week in which I socialize with my Peer Group (tm).  I've been doing it for over ten years now, and I rarely miss.

Today at school, however, I found myself staring at an enormous pile of papers, many of which were long overdue for grading.  If I've had it for more than two days, I get edgy.  My students did the work, I should grade it.  And the only way to get it all done was to take the stuff home.

I assembled the pile and stared.  Then I got out my ruler.  Over three inches thick.  Oh, =man=!  Why do I have to be a Good Teacher and assign so much homework?  There was no way I would get this done and be able to attend the UWG meeting.

Responsible Me squared off against It's All About Me and won.  I sighed and e-mailed the group the terrible news that I would be absent.  (And Lisa had said she was bringing extra home-made snacks, too!)

At home, I ate an early supper, got out my lap desk, and camped out on the couch with a tall glass of diet Cherry Coke.  I also put SUPERSIZE ME in the DVD player so I could simultaneously preview it for my media literacy class.  Three and a half hours later (a little more than an hour per inch), I was finished.  My brain is leaking out of my ears, but I'm =finished.=

And I'm collecting a homework assignment tomorrow.  Gaaaaahhh!

December 12, 2004: Another First

Aran has made his first-ever "For Christmas I want" request.  He says he wants a FINDING NEMO book for his Leapad.  We bought it for him, even though it's below his reading level.  If he's managed to develop to the point of realizing how this present thing works, and then being able to vocalize such an abstract concept, he can have whatever he wants.


December 12, 2004: Decorating Day

Today was decorating day.  We brought all the Yule decorations out of the basement and set up the stand, then headed out to get a Yule tree.  The farm we used to visit doesn't sell trees anymore (sniff), so we went to a farmer's market and got one there.  Found a nice one in quick order, brought it home, and went to work.

Aran actually helped extensively this year.  In previous years he was either uninterested or crabby, but now he wanted to put ornaments up.  We took many pictures.

I had Aran set up my Goddess creche while Kala set up her nativity scene. This is where we get into the compromises of marriage.  I'm not one for abstract Yule designs or for pop culture Christmas stuff, but Kala likes both.  So I put up with her idea of nice and she puts up with mine.

Kala, you see, has a complete collection of plastic figures from the Charlie Brown Christmas special.  Dearie, dearie me.  (I have nothing against the Christmas special--I'm just not particularly enthusiastic about the plastic figures, me.)

We also disagree on music.  Mine tastes run more traditional, Kala's run more modern.  So we alternated CDs while we worked.

We broke for lunch, did more decorating, went to the store for a few things we needed, returned home, and did the last bits.  Everything's done now, and looking nice.
















December 11, 2004: Creche, Revisited

On Thursday, I went from school straight to downtown Ann Arbor.  I had many, many errands to run and had bundled them all into one trip.  Hit the comic shop for more Fantastic Four for me and some Justice League stuff for Aran, then did some miscellaneous Yule shopping, then stopped for supper at the Irish pub (delicious shepherd's pie and potato soup), then looked for animals for my Pagan creche.

No luck.  I mean =none.=  Orchid Lane had a couple of little animal statues, but the style wasn't what I wanted.  I hit Crazy Wisdom, Falling Water, the Michigan Store, even some antique stores.  Nothing!

This was really disappointing.  Like many families, we had a nativity set while I was growing up, and one of the great annual traditions was setting it up and fighting with my siblings over what piece went where, sometimes losing, and sneaking back to rearrange it to my satisfaction later.  I haven't had one for years, and want one.

Today (Saturday) I took a friend's advice and hopped over to Ann Arbor/Saline Road, an area of stip malls, mega-stores, and much traffic. There, as advised, I found a store that sells Christian stuff and went in.

It was very, very weird.  I felt like an imposter or trespasser.  This place was definitely not marketing to me.  The book section, for example, sported many books that would either make me scream with horror or howl with laughter.  The store also had an extensive selection of creche stuff.

One collection--very popular, if the amount of shelf space allotted to it was any indication--had quite the variety.  Found a baby easily enough.  The Mary figure was too . . . Mary-y for what I wanted.  But the artists had also created a whole bunch of =other= people to populate Bethlehem, including lots of different women.  I examined several and came across one female figure who was spinning yarn with a drop spindle.  Perfect!  My new Mother Goddess figure.  They also had a goat!  I was suprised at that!  Few creche collections have goats in them because of the whole sheep/goat story in the bible.  Grabbed that, and a trio of cats, and a deer family, and some other animals.  Yay!

Tomorrow after we set up the Yule tree, I can indulge in setting up my nativity set.  Maybe I can squabble with Aran over what piece goes where . . .

December 10, 2004: The Smartest Thing I've Ever Done

A while ago, a woman walked into my classroom and introduced herself as L----.  She wanted to talk about retirement accounts.  I discussed mine with her at some length (I have a 401K) and told her I would consider moving my account to her firm, Company I.

Not long after that, I got a frantic call from D---, my representative with Company M, which holds my current account.  He wanted to meet with me.  He did, and showed me various account options to improve my current portfolio.

Both reps threw many, many numbers at me, and I frantically scribbled as many as I could, but it was confusing.  I finally called each of them and said, "I want to meet with both of you together."

You would have thought I was asking them to take a seat in an iron maiden. D--- was a bit recalcitrant, but finally agreed to the afternoon appointment I'd set up.  L---- said she'd rather meet when a colleague of hers could be there, and said colleague could only do certain evenings.  She left a voice message asking me which evening worked best.  I loathe evening appointments and was annoyed that L---- was putting me off.  I left her a voice message.

"I will be in my classroom on Thursday at 1:30, ready to discuss my retirement options," I said snippily.  "I expect anyone who wants to handle my retirement investment portfolio to be there without excuses.  D--- has already said he'll attend.  I hope to see you, too."

And lo!  Promptly at 1:30, both of them appeared in my room.  They took seats and looked at each other with polite loathing.  I was a little nervous at first, then told myself, "This is my money, and I'll do with it as I please.  I have something they want, so when I snap my fingers, they will jump through any hoop I hold up."

Feeling more in charge, I said, "This will be like arguing a case before the Supreme Court.  The justices there have already seen the specifics of the case; they just ask the lawyers questions.  That's what I'll do here."

And off we went.  A couple of times things got a little heated.  What the two of them didn't know is that between my father (an experienced salesman) and my media literacy studies, I've learned an amazing lot about sales techniques.  I'm not good at using them, but I can spot them instantly.  My experience with students also tells me when someone is dancing around a question.  I zeroed in on points that D--- and L---- were avoiding and made them answer.

I was also looking for a particular effect, and got it.  D--- pointed out holes in L----'s programs, and L---- brought up questions about D---'s company I wouldn't have known to ask.  Competition keeps 'em honest.

I have to say that D--- and Company M came across as the better possibility. However, L---- promised to e-mail me a bit of information she was lacking right then, so the jury's still out.  I'm going to make an appointment with my accountant and run the two companies past him and see what =he= says, since he works for me and not Company I or Company M.

I am so evil.

December 6, 2004: Good Sign/Bad Sign

Lately Aran has taken to refusing hugs from me.

"We don't hug because we're mens," he says.  "We hug womans."

This is sometimes followed with, "We can hold hands."  (I try not to laugh at this one.)

Most boys start the "no hugs from Dad" thing when they're around five. Aran's other emotional behaviors are closer to this age, but his intellectual development is normal for age seven.

Anyway, Aran won't hug me anymore, which is sorrowful (because, like most dads, I like hugs from my son) but also hopeful (because he's showing more signs of normal behavior).

Aran does maintain he wants to hug Hawkgirl.


December 6, 2004: Well, Dang!

Last year in the post-Christmas sales I bought a nativty stable that had, to me, a Pagan feel to it.  My idea was to build a creche for the newborn God and his mother the Goddess and fill it with figures of wild animals.  A baby and a mother figure--easy to find.  And last year, Target had many, many creche figurines.

On Sunday, I decided to brave the crowds and hit Target for some figurines. The crowd was actually quite light for a Sunday afternoon.  I checked the Christmas area--

--and found only a tiny, scanty selection of figurines.  None of them were what I wanted.  Bummer.  I tried Meijer up the street.  Nope.  None.  On the way home, I stopped in Depot Town (Ypsilanti's historic downtown area), which houses several curio shops and antique stores.  Very scanty selection, none of them suitable.  What the heck?   Aren't people doing nativity scenes anymore?

On Thursday I'm hitting downtown Ann Arbor.  Orchid Lane oughta have something good.


December 5, 2004: A Visit from Baby Jack

We had offered to babysit John and Erica's infant son Jack for an evening so they could get some time alone together, something they haven't had since his birth.  (!)  They brought him over yesterday afternoon and we shooed them out the door.  "You're wasting valuable alone time," I said.  "Out!"  They fled.

I had mentally braced myself to be the primary care-giver in this case.  At a UWG meeting, Jack seemed to find my voice fascinating and soothing.  When I was talking, he stared at me in utter fascination.  When I stopped talking, he cried.  So I figured he would glom onto me.

He didn't.  He fastened on Kala.  After dealing with a mega-attached baby Aran, this was actually a pleasant surprise.  Jack was fine for about half an hour, then he cried, and Kala gave him a bottle.  Half an hour later, he cried, and Kala changed his diaper.  Aran read him ARE YOU MY MOTHER?, and Jack laughed and giggled at the different voices Aran used.  Then he happily munched a zwieback cookie in his car seat while we ate supper.

The cookie made a mess of his face.  Erica had warned us that Jack freaks whenever someone washes his face, but it Needed To Be Done.  Kala ran a baby wipe over his cheeks, and he didn't react at all.  Did he only freak when his parents did it?  After it was over, though, you could see the realization steal across his face.  "Hey!  Someone just washed my face!  I have a reputation to uphold!"  And he screamed.  So we gave him another zwieback cookie, and he quieted right down.

Erica and John showed up some time later, looking decompressed and less stressed than when they had left.  They had gotten to eat at a Real Restaurant and everything!  So everyone had a nice evening.

December 5, 2004: Shopping for Aran

Yesterday morning we decided to run some errands, including shopping for Aran.  In previous years, Aran's autism stopped him from noticing that his parents were buying presents for him.  We could shop right in front of him, and he was completely oblivious.

This year, for the first time, Aran has begun showing interest in Christmas and Yule, and he notices what's put in the shopping cart.  He's also started asking, "Can I have that?" at the store.  Although this is a welcome development (if several years late), it also means we have to . . . dispose of Aran if we want to shop for him.

We called up fellow UWGer Erica and her husband John to ask if they would watch Aran for a bit.  Aran's easy to sit for at their house, since they have a video game system for the TV, and Aran will happily (and quietly) play games the entire time.  So they were willing.  We dropped Aran off, then headed off to the stores.

Aran's heavily into super-heroes.  We bought him all the Justice League figures we would find--Batman, Superman, Flash, Aquaman, Wonder Woman.  We couldn't find Martian Manhunter or Green Lantern, though.  Hawkgirl, of course, is up on eBay.

We got him some super-hero tree ornaments, along with an Operation game (we're hoping it'll help hand-eye coordination) and a Sorry! game (which is similar to, but more complicated than, his Trouble game).  We also ran across Squishy Pillows, which Aran said he liked quite a lot when he saw them during a previous excursion.  His therapist says Aran needs a tactile way to decompress, so we bought him one with that in mind.  Finally, we have two collections of Justice League comic books (based on the TV show) on order at the local comic shop.

We figured that's quite enough, so we're all done!  Now I just have to shop for Kala.

December 4, 2004: Shopping for Hawkgirl

Aran's favorite Justice League character is Hawkgirl, but she's left the show.  This means they stopped making her action figures and they're hard to find.  I've checked eBay, and of course they're all touting MINT CONDITION and ORIGINAL PACKAGING!  Said condition and package will last all of three
minutes once Aran gets his hands on them.

I put in a bid on a resonably-priced Hawkgirl figure for him.  We'll see what happens.


December 2, 2004: Or Fer . . .

http://www.al.com/news/birminghamnews/index.ssf?/base/news/1101896768316400.xml

MONTGOMERY - An Alabama lawmaker who sought to ban gay marriages now wants to ban novels with gay characters from public libraries, including university libraries.

A bill by Rep. Gerald Allen, R-Cottondale, would prohibit the use of public funds for "the purchase of textbooks or library materials that recognize or promote homosexuality as an acceptable lifestyle." Allen said he filed the bill to protect children from the "homosexual agenda."

***

So all of =my= novels would get yanked, including IDENTITY.  What a bozo.  The article also says that books in current public collections would be removed from the shelves.  Hitler would have applauded.

December 1, 2004: Barbie

[singing] I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world!
Life in plastic, it's fantastic!
You can brush my hair, undress me anywhere.
Imagination, life is your creation.

This week and next we're doing music in media literacy.  Today we discussed Aqua's Barbie song.  The class, who usually heard the song when they were eight or nine, is invariably startled at the bondage and sexual imagry in the song.

"Is this something children between eight and twelve years old should be listening to?" I ask, to a roomful of shaking heads.  "So why does the music company market this song to that age group?"

And the discussion begins.

The only problem is that the song gets stuck in my head for the next day or two afterward.

November 26, 2004: Comics

For various reasons, I've been taking a look at comic books again.  I stopped collecting in the mid-90s because I realized I was buying comics on Friday (when they came in), and next Friday would roll around and I still hadn't read the ones from last time.  I realized the writing had gotten pretty crappy, or my tastes had changed, or both, and I had stopped caring about the characters and it was time to quit wasting money on something I no longer enjoyed.

Today I picked up some compilations of FANTASTIC FOUR and X-MEN to see what's been going on lately.  I have to say that the X-MEN I read was utter junk.  Bad art, badly-written story, utterly nonsensical characters and situations, even for a comic book.  Complete drek.  I didn't think it could get worse, and then I hit the scene with Wolverine and Sabertooth holding a conversation while peeing side-by-side in a men's room at a club.  It wasn't gritty (as I think the writer intended); it was just idiotic.  I didn't finish the compilation.

FANTASTIC FOUR, on the other hand, was pure joy!  The new writer has taken a slightly new spin on a worn, tired-out group and made them =fun= again.  It made me laugh, it made me turn pages to see what happens next, it made me love characters I'd almost forgotten about, and it made me unhappy when I got to the end of the compilation.  Want more!


November 25, 2004: Honkin' Huge Block o' Chocolate

To Thanksigivng, my brother brought, I think mostly as a joke, a block of semi-sweet Ghirardelli chocolate the size of a library dictionary.  We used a screwdriver and a hammer to chisel bite-sized chunks off it, though there was still a ton of left over by the evening's end.

Paul didn't want all of it.  Me, I knew I'd use it.  Lots of it, with Yule and Christmas coming up.  I offered to take most of it off his hands.  :) The problem came with how to carve it up.  I tried using a butcher knife, but all the swinging and thwacking made my mother edgy.  Mom doesn't have any commercial-weight, heavy knives, either.  I thought a moment, then searched the basement and came up with a big hacksaw.  I washed it carefully, then got Paul to hold the block upright while I went to work on it.

We gathered a small audience, and my sister took a hilarious picture.  We finally carved up the block into manageable pieces, bagged 'em, and took 'em home.

Now I just have to decide exactly what to make.  :)


November 25, 2004: Thanksgiving

The storm blew through, leaving Thanksgiving day cold and mostly clear.  We drove up to my mother's house in Saginaw and discovered things weren't quite
as hunky-dory as had at first seemed.  There were lots and lots of traffic slowdowns (several were unexplained--possibly the leftovers of an accident or near-accident) and we passed at least six mishaps--out-and-out accidents or just someone who had slid off the road.  Traffic was fairly heavy.  In Michigan, everyone goes north for just about everything, and we were part of that crowd.

We arrived safely, though, and met up with much family.  My sister and I engaged Aran and his cousin Jason in a long-term snowball fight.  Alliances were made and betrayed, treaties were signed and broken, and hundreds of missiles flew.

Later came turkey, stuffing, potatoes, yams, salad, pie, and more.  We ended the evening with an enormous game of BALDERDASH (seven well-educated players--dearie, dearie me!), which my mother won quite handily.

Aran and his cousins made a grand mess on the living room rug folding paper airplanes.  They also played many, many video games.  Aran conked out early on the nicely dull drive home.

And here we are!  :)


November 24, 2004: Pre-Thanksgiving Storm

Wednesday started out cool and rainy.  I knew I'd be missing a lot of students, so I didn't plan much.  Caught up on odds and ends.  I brought Corey in, which my students always find interesting, and I did some storytelling, too.

By fifth hour it was snowing.  By sixth hour, it was snowing hard.  By 3:30 (about an hour after school got out), it was sleeting.  It usually takes me 45-50 minutes to get home from work, but this time it took an hour and a half.  The combination of holiday traffic and bad weather really slowed things down.  I didn't feel particularly stressed or upset, though; just drove steadily with a book on tape.

Arrived home safely and was glad I didn't have to go anywhere that night.  It was very nice to stay in my cozy, dry house!


November 24, 2004: Step ???

Yeah, we're watching what's going on in Ukraine very closely.  No word on what it means for international adoption.  There might be no impact at all, it might slow them down, it might kill them entirely.

Geez.


November 23, 2004: Can Drive

Every year at this time the high schools hold canned food drives.  Student activities sets a school goal, which involves 20 cans per student.  The first hour that brings in the most gets a pizza party.

Some teachers go all-out for it, and I've found this to be actually detrimental. "Why should we bring in cans when we have no hope of winning the drive?" the students complain.  "Mr. -----'s class wins every year because they don't do anything else for two weeks."

This, of course, completely misses the point of the drive.

To combat this, I spend some time with my first hour class going over the REAL reason for the drive and how they can do a simple thing to help.  Then I set a =class= goal.  If the class meets that goal, I tell them, I'll do a party day in class.  Unfortunately, I've never had a class meet the goal yet.

This year, the class goal was 450 food items.  When I got sick last week, we only had 60 cans.  When I returned, however, I found a student sitting on a huge pile of canned goods that various kids had brought in that morning.  The grand total was 830 cans.  (!)

So now we're going to have a breakfast party on the day before winter break.  Go them!


November 22, 2004: Ogres

Aran's been watching SHREK 2 a lot lately.  Today while I was writing, I had an 80s mix playing and Aran came in during a Cyndi Lauper song.  He listened
a moment, then got excited.

"Ogres just want to have fun?" he asked.

Just when you think a child can't get cuter . . .


November 22, 2004: Sam's Incredible Journey

Saturday morning we noticed Sam the Dog was gone.

It must have started Friday night.  One of us let him out to the back yard for a while.  He usually barks when he wants back in.  We didn't hear from him and forgot all about him.  This morning, Aran bounded into my and Kala's bedroom as usual, and I asked him to let Sam out.

For reasons you'll understand in a moment, I mention here that Kala had been talking about taking Aran to get his hair cut today, though she couldn't now because she wasn't feeling good.

Aran dashed out of the room, calling to Sam.  No response.  Uh oh.  I thought back and asked Kala if she remembered letting Sam back in last night.  She said she hadn't.  I got up to check.  House empty.  Back yard empty.  Cats looking suspiciously pleased.

"Sam isn't here," Aran reported.  "Maybe he's getting his hair cut."

Neither of us was up to searching the neighborhood for him.  We were both sick, and it was rainy out.  We'd just have to hope he came back.  Morning passed, afternoon approached.  No Sam.

Then Kala got a phone call.  When she hung up, she said it had been the people who'd bought our old house.  Sam was there.  The silly dog got out, wandered away, and went home to the wrong house!

I pulled on a jacket and drove over, muttering to myself about stupid dogs. When I arrived, I found a thoroughly drenched, very confused-looking Sam in the back yard.  He was ecstatic to see me.  Our former neighbor was also there.  I greeted our house-buyers and they said they'd woken up this morning to find Sam in the yard, and he showed no signs of intending to leave.

"I'm surprised you recognized him," I said.  "You couldn't have seen him more than once or twice, and that was months ago."

"That was me," our neighbor said, and of course that made perfect sense.  Our neighbor had recognized Sam immediately and told the new tenants who to
call.  Mystery solved!

Sam, meanwhile, smelled terrible.  Like most big dogs, he rolls in the worst-smelling filth he can find whenever he gets a chance, and he'd had a whole night-ful of chances.  So, half-sick though we were, Kala and I were forced to give him a bath.  This he didn't like in the slightest.  But now he's home and dry and fed.  Dumb dog.

Good thing we didn't move here from Colorado!


November 30, 2004: Crude Sexual Fantasies

Okay, on a TV show I watched recently, a character made a reference to someone having "crude sexual fantasies," and it occurred to me that I've heard this phrase often.  It also occurred to me that in order for crude sexual fantasies to exist, sophisticated sexual fantasies must also exist. Right?  So why do we never hear  about them?

And what's in a sophisticated sexual fantasy anyway?


November 22, 2004: In Recovery

The poisoning seems to be over and I can Do Stuff, though I tire easily.  Taught today, but kept things low-key.


November 20, 2004: Life in Suckage Mode

Although I'm feeling better overall, I still feel awful.  Walking from one end of the house to the other is tiring.  I stayed home from work both Thursday and Friday, so this makes day three that I'm feeling horrible.

To compound it, Kala's feeling sick as well.  Different symptoms, though.  She seems to have picked up some sort of flu while I get food poisoning.  Great.


November 18, 2994: Awful Anniversary

Yesterday was my and Kala's fourteenth anniversary.  Go us!  We went out to dinner at Haab's.  I had chicken.  By the time I got home, I was horribly ill.  I was terrifyingly sick all night.  Fever of 102.  Stomach pain.  I made myself throw up, which made me feel a little better, but the entire night was just awful.  Couldn't sleep, couldn't stay up, pain and discomfort every moment.  I had a fever of 102.

This morning I'm feeling a little better, but nowhere near normal.  I'm barely functional.  Called the health department to report it, ended up leaving a message on someone's voice mail.


November 17, 2004: Almost on NPR

This afternoon on Talk of the Nation, they were discussing the National Book Award and the impact awards do or don't have on a book's popularity and/or
sales.  The guest mentioned several book awards other than the NBA but didn't mention the Nebula or Hugo.  Just for the hell of it, I called the number--and actually got through.  (!)  I explained to the answerer that I was an SF writer and wanted to comment on SF book awards.  The lady put me in the phone queue.

I was rehearsing what I would say.  Something like, "I'm a science fiction writer and reader--I write books under the name Steven Harper [have to sneak
that in]--and the SF community has two awards . . ."

I waited through the whole show, and in the end the lady came back on and said, "Sorry!  The current caller will be the last one."

Sniff.


November 13, 2004: A Saturday

Saturday was spent in various and sundry activities:

--Playing with Aran and his Bob the Builder toys.  This involved much more DEstruction than CONstruction, though.
--Writing
--Playing City of Heroes
--Taking Aran to a second showing of THE INCREDIBLES, which he liked very much.

A mundane sort of day. :)


November 12, 2004: Friday Evening

I got home to the news that Aran had been in (started) his second fight of the week.  I seem to be better at extracting information from Aran about these incidents than anyone else, so the phrase, "Wait until your father gets home" seems to be operative, more for practical reasons than anything else.  After a long talk (during which Aran kept bursting into tears because he knew I was angry with him), Aran spent an hour alone in his room and had no TV or computer privileges all evening.

Instead, I ordered him to come with me to escort Sam the Dog on a walk. Aran used to like doing this, but lately he'd been avoiding it.  This time instead of asking, I told him to put his shoes on; we were going.  (Part of me is wondering if me being not-at-home due to conferences and several after-school meetings has put Aran on edge, so this was a way of reaffirming my presence to him.)  The dying autumn day was decidedly nippy and fresh. Sam bounded around, and Aran and I played different imagination games.  I also pointed out a flock of geese flying overhead and explained to him about migrating birds.  Don't know how much of it took, but I tried.

Aran wanted to run for a while, so we did that, too.  When Aran runs, he tends to let his arms and hands flop all over the place, so I taught him how to hold his hands and elbows.  He picked it up quickly.  His gym teacher says Aran loves to run in class, so we'll have to make sure he does it right.  :)  Maybe he'll run track in high school.

After a brisk jog, we gathered up Sam and headed back home, where we made chocolate chip cookies together.  Another breakthrough--I cured Aran of his fear of the mixer.  He's been afraid of it because of the noise it makes.  Today I was able to show him that it's not really loud at all and I even convinced him to use it himself.  We made a nice batch of cookies and ate several when they were done.


November 11, 2004: Long Week

This long and stressful week is =over=.  At last!

--Parent-teacher conferences, a fourteen-hour day
--A day of workshops afterward that turned out to be more tiring than usual
--Aran got into two fights this week
--Every parent in the world seemed to want to meet with me
--Every special ed teacher in the world wanted my presence at IEP meetings

It was run, run, run all week, with no break, and me taking migraine meds every evening before bedtime so I wouldn't wake up with a headache.


November 11, 2004: Step Twenty-Five

We now have a registration number from the National Adoption Center for our dossier.  We're hoping a travel date will come soon.


November 8, 2004: Human Repro Committee

Kala and I have been invited to join the human reproductive health committee for Willow Run Schools.  Mwah ha ha ha!  We agreed with enthusiasm!  It'll  be fun--I don't have to worry about the politics of my job down here.  It'll also be good because in my experience, the conservative branch of such committees is more  vocal than the liberal side.  Kala and I will change all that.

Again I say, mwah ha ha ha ha!


November 5, 2004: Family Evening

This evening I have to say I was feeling disgruntled.  I got home at 5:00, very hungry (I eat lunch at 10:30) and wanting to eat.  Kala suggested going out for dinner and seeing The Incredibles, and I rather reluctantly agreed.  The main reason I did so was because I knew if I stopped moving and didn't go tonight, there was no way I'd go tomorrow.

But Kala didn't sign off the computer until I almost snapped at her to get moving, and Aran wasn't getting his shoes on, and I was getting more pissed off by the minute.  It wasn't them, of course--it was just the end of a fucking long day, and I wasn't in the mood to make it longer.  I knew this, but still wanted to yell.

Instead, I pulled the time-tested male trick of getting in the car, starting it up, raising the garage door, and racing the engine.  Implied message: Move your ass, or it'll get left behind.  Kala and Aran bustled out the door and got in.  I was afraid rush-hour traffic would be horrible, but it wasn't in the least difficult, which was a nicety.

At the restaurant, we had an autistic meltdown over one of the few points of Aran's development Kala and I disagree on.  Whenever we go out to eat, Aran insists on sitting next to me.  Sitting next to Aran in a restaurant is a challenging proposition because Aran tends to prod, poke, toy with, and get otherwise physical with his seat-mate.  He also tends to perseverate certain patterns or gestures.  Keeping him within appropriate bounds is an ongoing task, and there's really no way for the parent sitting across the table to help.  The work falls to me because Aran always sits next to me.  He refuses to sit next to Kala.  Eating out becomes a bit of a chore for Daddy as a result.

Kala maintains that Aran should learn sitting next to Mama won't bring the world to an end, or even blow up a small South American country, and she usually tries to persuade him to sit next to her.  Sitting somewhere else will teach him flexibility.  I maintain that seat choice is a minor point, and I'd rather focus on appropriate restaurant behavior to his seat-mate (me).  I also don't want to deal with the meltdown that will probably arise from a new seating arrangement.

Today Kala (probably sensing I was already kind of tired and wanting to relieve the pressure) insisted that Aran sit next to her, and enforced the idea by sitting down on his side of the table.  Aran exploded.  Then he collapsed under the table, crying.  Kala got him up into his seat, but he wouldn't stop crying.  We finally changed seats around, but it was too late--Aran was distraught and unhappy about everything.  The restaurant was stupid.  The food was stupid.  Everything was stupid.  (This is Aran's favorite word for describing anything he's mad at.)  I spent several minutes calming him down, and by the time his food arrived, he was all right.  But it was more work than if I had sat next to him in the first place.  Sigh.

After dinner, we zipped across the street to the movie theater and just made the 6:05 showing of The Incredibles.  Aran loves Pixar animation, so this was one of the few movies we could see as a family.  When we first told Aran we were going to see a movie, he said, "I don't want to see a movie.  I want to go home."

"The move has super-heroes in it," I said.

"Oh!" he said, perking up.  "Okay."

The movie was great fun.  The animation, as always with these things, had moved into new territory, and was truly amazing.  A fun story, sharp dialogue.  Very enjoyable!  Aran liked it a great deal, and the evening ended on a much more positive note.

And then home for bath and bed.  For Aran.  I'm still up.  :)


November 5, 2004: Long-Ass Day

Today was the last day of the marking period.  Arrived at school this morning at 7:10.  Taught all morning, did a working lunch at my desk, taught all afternoon.  Only real break was when my media lit class watched the second half of Beauty and the Beast for the violence unit.  (We ended the unit with a list of warning signs for an abusive spouse.  Gaston showed 11 of 15.  The Beast showed 9.)  Graded papers, met with two different people, did a whole mess of parent e-mail, and finished lesson plans for next week. The dismissal bell rang, and the students fled.  I remained.  Dealt with a student who came in for detention (a constant tardy problem), talked with another student who had a bunch of makeup work to turn in, received more need-an-immediate-response e-mails, made copies for next week, sorted several stacks of papers to correct, caught up on the makeup work, exported grades.

It was now 4:10.

Tidied up the classroom, made sure materials for Monday were ready to go. Packed up my stuff, grabbed the four-inch stack of papers . . .

. . . and said, "Forget it."  I just worked a nine-hour day.  Yesterday I did the same.  And on Tuesday I spent two hours grading papers at home after working an eight-hour day.  Left the papers on my desk.

No schoolwork this weekend.  I need a break.


November 5, 2004: PTC

Yesterday was Aran's parent-teacher conferences, and for once things went  amazingly well.  Aran is progressing very well academically.  We're still   working on the impulse control and aggression problems, but things have improved there.  We passed on some of the information from the report Katie (his therapist) wrote after she observed him, and it will help.

It was a fine thing to come out of PTCs without feeling drained, frightened, and unhappy.


November 1, 2004: Wild Talent?

When I play Corey and come to the end of a song, Aran likes to run over and  play the last note.  Just now I was (still am) in my office listening to some music.  When the song came to an end, Aran ran over to Corey and plucked a final string.  He had correctly identified the last note in the song by ear.

Hmmmmm . . .

UPDATE

He just did it again, twice more.


October 31, 2004: Samhain Evening

We packed up all our gear and drove up to the meeting house for Samhain.  It turned out to be a gorgeous night, with perfectly still air and crystal-clear stars around a waning moon.  Inside we put Aran to bed in the rec room downstairs (he conked out and stayed that way for the entire ritual).

We all had assembled and were setting up the ritual areas when one of the coveners said he was having a spiritual problem.  Not a crisis of faith, but something else entirely.  It was a little nerve-wracking, actually, but we dealt with it and dealt with it well.  We ended up doing some unexpectedly powerful work.  We found out later that during this time, the young daughter of our host covener quietly got up and crawled into bed with her daddy because she felt nervous.  (Daddy is a former member who left the group because he didn't have time to keep up.)

Once we dispelled the problem, we cleansed the house and the ritual began. We decided to set up the first part outside on the deck in the light of the waning moon.  We finished inside around the feasting table just after midnight, toasting those who had passed away this year.  It was an unfortunately long list.  But they will all be remembered.  The ritual was satisfying and reaffirming, exactly what we all needed.

We cleaned up, gathered Aran into the car, and drove home.  Fell into bed around 2:30 a.m.


October 31, 2004: Samhain Afternoon

Today we raked the front lawn (saving the back lawn for tomorrow in the hopes that the wind will overnight blow everything into a nice neat pile for us).  Then we did various relaxing things around the house.  Aran was looking forward to Halloween and Samhain, terms he uses interchangeably, and this is the first time we've ever seen him act that way.  It's both harsh and heartening.  Harsh in that for the first six years of his life, Aran didn't react in the slightest to any sort of holiday (so the holidays became a reminder of what we don't have instead of what we do).  Heartening in that he does seem to be picking something up at last.

Anyway, he wanted to be Superman for Halloween this year, and that's the costume we got him.  After supper, it was time for trick-or-treat, a fine Pagan custom.  I took him around this time, since Kala's done it every year in the past.  We went around the neighborhood, and Aran liked it very much. As it happened, I put on my black leather jacket, black boots, and black duster hat, and Aran said, "You're Slyder!"  (Slyder is my City of Heroes character.)  So we got to go around as Superman and Slyder, which Aran thought was great fun.  He even turned to Kala and said, "Bye, Aran's mom!"

We went trick-or-treating, though after about three blocks, Aran started getting tired.  He wanted to go home.  We crossed the street to work our way back, but after four or five houses, Aran announced he wasn't Superman anymore--he was just Aran.  So we skipped the rest of the houses.  Got to be the only kid in the world who's ready to quit after half an hour of trick-or-treat!

We didn't see a whole lot of other kids out there.  One was dressed as Batman, which Aran thought was cool.  Back home, Kala said it'd been pretty dead, so to speak.  We had laid in a serious supply of candy, since this is a large subdivision and we figured we'd get a ton.  Nope.  Got about thirty or so, which meant we gave candy away by the handful when they =did= show.

Now that Halloween is over, we're getting ready for Samhain at another covener's. I've made baked apples and Kala's made sloppy joes (a traditional Samhain food in our group for various reasons).  Now we have to pack up the ritual gear and head out.  Aran will sleep anywhere, so he'll conk out in a guest bed while we honor and celebrate the lives of those who have gone before.


October 31, 2004: Time Changes

The time change was last night.  We reset all the clocks in the house, but missed Aran's watch.  When Aran noticed the discrepancy, we had autistic meltdown.  I reset his watch, but then he got upset because his watch read 9:08 and the digital clock on the stove read 9:07.

We'll know for this spring.


October 30, 2004: Serious Fog

We're having unseasonal weather of late.  Very warm (high 60s).  Last night, we were socked in with velvety-thick fog.  I took Sam for a walk down in the nature preserve, and it was very otherworldly.  Fog closed in, distorting sounds.  A few frogs peeped in the distant water.  Shadows moved and glided, then froze.  You could hear the leaves sliding off the trees, tapping bare branches on their way down to the ground.

Sam stuck close to me most of the time, as if he were nervous.


October 27, 2004: Gold

The big maple tree in our front yard has gone all gold.  When the sun sets, it hits the tree just right and our living room gets flooded with warm, golden light.  It's very pretty.


October 27, 2004: Reaarangement

At the moment my desk at school is in a front corner of the classroom, right under the wall-mounted TV/VCR combo.  I don't like this.  It means that when  my students watch a video, they can also see me at my desk.  But that's where the computer hookup is, so that's where my desk is.

Earlier this week, I found a computer hookup in a =back= corner.  This means I can rearrange my room so it's the way I like it.  And guess what?  I have
two students who owe me detention.  Yes!  Slave labor.


October 26, 2004: New Foods

We have discovered a new food that Aran eats with great enthusiasm. Unfortunately, it's filet mignon.

Sigh.


October 25, 2004: Dink-Head

Some dink-head posted in my web page guestbook a message saying, "Very helpful site.  Thank you," followed by a URL that looked like part of a signature.  I checked.  The URL sends you to a search engine, and if you try to leave the search engine, you get redirected to an adult web site.

Dink-head.  I deleted the entry.


October 25, 2004: Ahem!

I came across a political . . . slogan which I'm sure has been bandied about for quite some time, but was new to me today:

November 2--Day of Celibacy
No Dick.
No Bush.


October 24, 2004: Smallville Gripes

Actually, this is more a gripe about Hollywood in general and the way it portrays high school.  It's just that the show SMALLVILLE has really been getting stupid lately about this stuff.  Okay, producers, listen up!

1.  High school cheerleaders do =not= wear little bikini-esque halter-tops. Not only do they violate most school dress codes, you'd have parents up in arms.  ("You expect my daughter to wear WHAT?")

2.  High school cheerleaders do =not= indulge in dirty-dancing style cheerleading.  ("You expect my daughter to do WHAT?")

2.  Cheerleaders do =not= practice on the football field right next to the football team.  This is dangerous, for one thing (a badly-thrown ball or a tackle gone awry could topple a pyramid of practicing cheerleaders), and for another, you'd have the girls trying to attract the attention of the boys and the boys trying to attract the attention of the girls.  No school I'm  aware of does this.

3.  Cheerleaders do =not= practice in uniform.  They wear shorts or sweats or other workout clothes.  Uniforms are saved for games and dress rehearsals.

4.  Not all high school football players are assholes.  (You wouldn't know this by watching SMALLVILLE, though.)

5.  Not all high school cheerleaders are manipulative bitches.  (You wouldn't know this by watching SMALLVILLE, either.)

6.  You don't get a letter jacket after playing on a team for three days.

7.  Not everyone in high school worships the football team and/or the cheerleading squad.  Not everyone wants to be quarterback, and not everyone cares who won or lost yesterday's game.

8.  High schools don't leave storage rooms, closets, boiler rooms, science labs, and other such areas unlocked, so it's usually quite impossible to have a private rendenzvous / assassination attempt / romantic interlude in one.

7.  High school newspapers come out maybe four times a year at most.  Reporters for high school newspapers don't do investigative journalism, scoop the local paper, or get nosy with administrators.

8.  High school newspapers =do= have some sort of advisor or teacher.  They are not run by the students alone.

Wake up, Hollywood!  The stories are much more interesting if you get it right.


October 20, 2004: Chasing Jason

Since we're ending the Greek mythology unit, I'm showing JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS in my mythology class.  The movie holds up very well, despite (or perhaps because of) the outdated special effects.  Sets, costumes, and acting are all outstanding, and the class has been watching closely, even enthralled.

October 17, 2004: Bovine Product Adjustment

I'm learning the boundaries of my new-found lactose intolerance.  Processed milk products such as yogurt, ice cream, and cheese don't seem to bother me.  Liquid milk, on the other hand, is a problem.  Chocolate milk is the worst.  I tried two swallows of it Sunday evening and felt so miserable on Monday that I almost went home sick.  Hot chocolate is the same way.  Lactose pills don't help, either.  I seem to handle white milk =if= I take a lactose pill with it.

Fellow UWGer Erica tells me that chocolate milk is made from milk that's already started to go sour, so this may be the source of the extra sensitivity.  No more choclate milk--ever!  :(  But I can still have cookies and milk, if I'm careful.


October 16, 2004: Hooray for Yuck!

October and November in Michigan usually make up the rainy season, but this year we've had almost no rain.  We went over three weeks in August/September with no rain at all, the longest period on record.  The trees look dry around the edges, and the woods feel like a tinderbox--one spark and FOOM! The fall colors are muted instead of bright because the trees are so thirsty.  Dust coats everything.  I went out for a bike ride a few nights ago and came home covered in dirt blown in from the farms and fields.  About a week ago, we got a tiny rainstorm, but it didn't do more than dampen things a bit.

Yesterday and today it's been raining more seriously.  Cold, yucky, soaking rain.  Hooray!

October 15, 2004: Zap!

Well over a month ago, I got the annual notice that Whereever Schools would provide employees with the chance to get a flu vaccine for a small fee.  I always sign up for it--it's a bit more expensive than the doctor's office or health department, but the convenience makes up for it.  I can pop over to the administration building right after school, get zapped, and go home.  No waiting, no appointment.

This year I signed up like I always do.  Then came the news of a vaccine shortage.  I thought the program would be cancelled for us, but the day of the vaccine, I got an e-mail reminding me to go.  Well, all right.  I'm a teacher, and schools are a major place for spreading flu.  I figured the state still wanted school employees to be vaccinated in order to slow the usual spread.

I went over and got zapped.  When I got home, I saw on the news that the state had ordered injunctions against giving the vaccine to anyone who wasn't high-risk--infants, small children, and the elderly.  I also learned the vaccine I got was through a private doctor who'd gotten in just under the radar with this.  He gets quite a lot of money out providing the vaccine for over two hundred people in less than three hours.

I have mixed feelings about this.  On the one hand, I got a vaccine that should have gone to someone else.  On the other, I won't be spreading flu to a hundred-plus students a day.


October 12, 2004: Suspicious Money

A few days ago, I got a letter that looked quite official.  It said that HUD might owe us money.  To claim it, please fill out this form and attach one of the following pieces of paperwork.  For more information, please call the number below.

Right.

I've gotten forms like this before, and after reading carefully, I invariably discovered that it was an ad in clever disguise.  Just after Aran was born, for example, I got a letter that looked very governmental and told me to enclose various forms and a check so I could get an official copy of Aran's birth certificate and social security card for him.  The address was on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington DC.  Careful reading, however, showed that the place was a =service=, not a government agency.  And the address was a post office box, not a building number.  In other words, these people made a good living tricking new parents into thinking you had to go through them to do all this.  We sent the forms directly to the government and everything came back just fine.

I was suspicious of this letter as well, but I couldn't find anything in particular that made this clear.  Maybe it =was= legit.  Hmmm . . .

Today Kala called them, and it turns out the letter was indeed from HUD and that they =do= owe us money.  We refinanced the mortgage on our previous house less than five years after we bought it, which paid of various FHA insurance fees early and means they owe us a nice chunk of money (since the fees are charged up front).  This is much simplified, but it's the gist.

It'll be a good addition to the adoption fund.

October 11, 2004: Migrating Animals

This evening around sunset I took Sam the Dog for a walk down in the naturepreserve.  The air was crisp and chilly, the sky clear and growing purple.  A small flock of wild geese honked overhead, passing low enough for me to hear the wind whistle through their feathers.  In the near distance, more loud honking.  I realized one flock (or part of a larger one) had settled down for the night and these others were joining them.

I turned back to head for the pond.  Got there just as the last twilight was fading from the sky and saw dozens and dozens of geese floating on the water.  They paddled unhurriedly away from Sam and me as we approached the pond.  The honking grew quieter as they settled in to sleep.  A tranquil scene.

Sam, meanwhile, bounded into the six-foot tall reed beds nearby.  I heard an odd fluttering, and I though Sam had disturbed more geese.  I heard no honking though, and no other avian protest.  And then about twenty or thirty tiny winged forms zinged past me into another reed bed.  Bats, also no doubt on a migratory  journey.  An appropriate encounter for a witch in October.

October 10, 2004: Old Friends

At the mediaware store (right next to the houseware store) Kala and I came across a collection of Warner Brothers cartoons--Bugs, Daffy, Porky, Sylvester, and on and on.  We snabbed them and watched a few when we got home.

Yay!  I now own the famous "Rabbit Seasoned" ("Shoot me now!") and various other old friends.  I discovered, however, that some of them had been edited for airing during the after-school cartoon hours of my childhood.  Remember that bit in "The Rabbit of Seville" when Bugs lathers up Elmer Fudd's face? Well right after that, Bugs slashes Elmer's face over and over with a straight razor and he screams in pain with every stroke.  Later he shows up with bloody slash marks all over his face.  I definitely don't remember =that= part!  It's something straight out of Itchy and Scratchy.

Others I barely remember.  The send-up of "Truth or Consequences" with Daffy and Porky I only vaguely recall.  It's funnier now that I know more TV history and get more of the jokes, though.

October 10, 2004: Kitchen Frenzy

My and Kala's flatware collection has always been the motley collection of stuff that we had in college.  Nothing matched, most of it was cheap, and all of it was kinda junky.  Some of the spoons are a really nasy tin that, when tapped on a plate, makes a really annoying sound.  We decided we needed Flatware for Grownups.

We headed down to the local shopping center, negotiated some harsh traffic, and finally found ourselves at a houseware store.  Located flatware, browsed, chose, bought.  Came home, dumped all the old stuff into a box for our kids when =they= go to college, replaced with the new.  Spiffy!

Also made bread and started a batch of molasses cookies.  Got halfway through before I remembered that the recipe I have makes only two dozen, so I supplemented with half a batch of oatmeal cookies afterward.

For supper, we'd thawed out some 3" thick filet mignion pieces wrapped in bacon.  I twisted tinfoil around them, set them on the grill for ten minutes, then removed the foil for finishing.  Came out perfectly!

All in all, I spent about three hours in the kitchen today.  I'm done, thank you.  Kala can clean up tonight.

October 9, 2004: Troll Shift

While writing up the Trollboy outline, I had a character do a shift on me.

Pokk, the dwarf who joins Trollboy's group, was originally supposed to be a mediocre craftsman living among genuises.  All dwarves are talented to some degree at making things, but Pokk is only average--for a dwarf.  And he hates this.  Then he starts interacting with humans in the human world and discovers that there, his average craftsmanship is stunning and breathtaking.  This is a revelation for him.

Except . . .

As I wrote the outline, I realized that Pokk hadn't really created much, and we spend only about a third of the book on Midgard.  The rest of the time we're in Asgard or climbing Yggdrasil, the world tree.  And then I noticed that both the significant events Pokk takes part in aren't constructive--they're DEstructive.  He manages to defeat the locks holding Freyja's fortress shut.  He unravels the chain holding Thor captive.  So now we have a character shift.

Pokk is still a mediocre craftsman among dwarves.  His main talent, however, lies in taking things =apart.=  He's one of those kids who loves to dismantle the lawnmower and his bicycle, but can't put them back together again.  Although this talent can be handy, it would be anathema to dwarven society, making Pokk an outcast.  With Trollboy, he learns that his talent can be useful.

We'll take it.

October 7, 2004: Troll Snarl

I'm looking for two mythology books.  One of them,  D'Aulaire's Norse Gods and Giants, is out of print and either expensive to buy or impossible to find.  I really, really want a copy of this book and of D'Aulaire's Trolls.  The Troll book seems more widely available for a reasonable price, but the other is rare and costly to own.  Trolling the net, so to speak, isn't as helpful as I had hoped.  Sigh.

It's not just research I want; these books were ultimately the reason Trollboy was born.  The Troll book in particular mentions that Norse trolls have stone splinters in their eyes that make them see themselves as beautiful instead of ugly and their homes as splendid instead of squalid.  From this, I got the idea for Trollboy.

The Ypsilanti library has both books, but I want to own them.  I may have to content myself with borrowing.

In the stories I've read so far, trolls are always shown as strong, ugly brutes who eat human flesh when they can get it.  Giants are big and strong, but some are quite beautiful while others are ugly or even inhuman.  Some a smart, some are stupid, some are ordinary, some are powerful magicians.  In other words, they're regular people with a height advantage.

It's also interesting that they have a multi-faceted relationship with the Aesir.  Thor kills hundreds of giants in his career as warrior god, yet in other stories, he enjoys the hospitality of a giant's house.  So giants aren't automatically the enemy.  This makes good story fodder!

The main villain in Trollboy is shaping up to be the giant Hrungnir.  He was the one who tricked Thor, Loki, and Thjalfi with illusions.  Thor thought he was lifting Hrungnir's cat to show his strength, but actually he was lifting the Midgard serpent.  Loki tried to out-eat a giant who turned out to be wildfire in disguise.  Thjalfi tried to out-race a giant who turned out to be nothing but a thought.  When Thor discovered this, he tried to kill Hrungnir, but everything vanished--another illusion.  He's perfect for Trollboy's story, so back he comes.

October 2, 2004: My Weekend

I didn't end up going anywhere or doing anything special last night.  It's a three- to four-hour round-trip drive to my mother's house, and she lives north of Ann Arbor.  In Michigan, everyone goes north on weekends because north is where the cottages and campgrouds are, meaning traffic in that direction was dreadful.  Add to that dinner and visiting, and I didn't get home until after nine.  (Traffic coming home was easy, since everyone was going the other way, but I'd been up since 5:30 and I was a bit tired.)  I surfed and played computer games without interruption for a few hours, then went to bed.

This morning I cleaned the house.

Yeah, I cleaned the freakin' house on my weekend home alone.  I prefer a clean house, and between me being sick last weekend and Kala coming down sick this week, the house has gotten a little out of hand.  I hate clutter, I hate dust, I hate dirty carpets.  They make me feel restless.  So I spent the morning getting all the cleaning chores caught up.

The weather is yucky out--cloudy, drizzly, a bit chilly--but I'm actually enjoying it.  Getting the house cleaned up during this kind of weather feels homey and cozy.  Maybe later I'll do some bread or cookies.  Since the family baker (me) has been sick lately, we haven't had the usual good bread and cookies around, and have made do with store-bought stuff.


September 19, 2004: My House

Many years ago on an episode of Home Improvement, Tim planned to take the boys to a monster truck rally / tractor pull thingie (Cue announcer: "MONSTER TRUCKS ON SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY!"), and then abruptly realized he hadn't bought a ticket for Jill.  He apologized profusely and asked if it bothered her that she couldn't go.

Jill looked at him for a beat, then said, "House to myself on SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY!"

This weekend, that's me.

Kala's aunt Sandy, whom she hasn't seen in several years, is having a big birthday party in Springfield, Illinois, and various family members are flying or driving in for it.  It wouldn't be practical or feasible for all three of us to go, but Kala wanted to go on her own.  Fine with me--I get weekends away at cons every so often, after all.  And then it occurred to me . . .

"Hi, Mom!  Oh, everything's just fine.  You?  Wonderful!  Listen, it's been a long time since Aran's been up for a weekend visit, and I was thinking this weekend would be perfect.  Well, that's great!  I'll bring him up on Friday after school."

House to myself for the WEEKEND!  WEEKEND!  WEEKEND!

September 29, 2004: Trollboy's Talking

Trollboy and his friends are talking to me at last.  I know who the young woman in the hood and scarf is.  And just as Aisa was telling me the last bits of her story (and I realized with that lovely I-got-it chill what's going to happen to her in the book), up popped a dwarf.  Not a Tolkein dwarf, but a Norse one--bent, twisted, cranky, and rude.  He stomped into the story and demanded to be part of it, though at first he wouldn't tell me what could possibly make a dwarf leave the tunnels under the mountain to travel Denmark with a trollish human and a runaway slave girl.

So I had to figure it out from the hints he gave me.  And the reason isn't earth-shattering, but it is interesting.

And just when I thought I had my central cast, one more figure dashed up and asked if he could come, too.  His name is Thjalfi, and he's really fast on his feet.  He also is missing a gap in his memory.  One day he was living with his elderly father and his younger sister, the next he was standing in the ruins of their home with gold in his pocket.  Dad was dead, sister vanished, and no one knew what had happened to them.  Thjalfi has hazy memories of a huge man with bristly red hair, an enormous hall, and a footrace, but that's it.  He wants to find his sister and learn what happened to him.  He also needs to leave town for other reasons, and Trollboy's little group is the perfect way to do so.

I have a cast.  All I need is a story.

September 28, 2004: First Offspring Review

This from Ye Agente:

Romantic Times gives OFFSPRING four stars and says, "Set on an intriguing world of trees, dinosaurs and interestingly horselike sentient aliens, Harper's book creates a compelling universe where no one bats an eye at same-sex relationships and, in fact, the portrayal of Kendi and Ben's relationship is refreshingly normal."

We'll take it!

September 26, 2004: Angel Grrrrrr

I got my author copies of FIVE SEASONS OF ANGEL yesterday.  It looks really spiffy.  My and Laura Anne's essays shine like jewels . . . with a small flaw in mine.

The word "evangelist" was changed to "evAngelust" throughout my essay (except for the first use).  I couldn't figure out how this happened at first.  It wasn't in the page proofs I got, and the odd capitalization certainly wasn't anything normal.

I think what happened is that in another essay, another author wrote "Angelis" instead of "Angelus" several times.  Rather than make each correction by hand, the typesetter told the computer to replace "Angelis" with "Angelus," not realizing that this would also convert "evangelist" to "evAngelust" in my essay.

Ummm . . . oops?

I e-mailed the editor, who was horrified, and said future editions would be corrected.  He also said that my assessment of what happened was indeed correct and that another copyeditor noticed the typesetter's change but figured I was being cute referring to an evangelist as an evAngelust and left it in.

Can I smack the typesetter upside the head now?

September 25, 2004: Oh, Good Lord

http://www.motorcitybuffy.com/

A Buffy media con here in Detroit.  Check out the ticket prices.  Gak!  As Kala put it, "It's not only that I don't want to spend that kind of money--I just don't want to spend a weekend with people who do want to spend that kind of money."


September 25, 2004: Cranky

Thursday evening I wasn't feeling so hot, and I spent much of the night trying to decide whether or not to call in sick at school.  In the end, I didn't.  By the end of the day, I felt truly icky.  Only a very bad cold, though, and not flu.

Today I'm being cranky.  When I get sick, I act like a wounded animal and tend to snarl at anyone who tries to come close.  I'm spending the day alternating between sleeping, watching TV, and playing computer games.  I'm revelling in crankiness!


September 23, 2004: Shrink Consultation

Today Kala and I consulted with a pscyhologist who specializes in adoption issues.  This was on the advice of another parent who adopted from Ukraine. Said parent wished she'd consulted before going instead of after, so consult we did.

I had to take the entire day off school to do so--the only appointment the psychologist had was from nine to eleven in the morning, and I can't take a half-day off in the middle.

We dropped Aran off at school and drove up the Livonia to meet Doris Landry, the psych in questions.  She went over stuff to do with our new children while we're in Ukraine and stuff we might need to be ready for after we got home.  Quite a lot of it was nerve-wracking until I realized that Doris only deals with children who have serious problems about adoption, so her perception is a little skewed.  She later told us that only about 10% of adopted older children need therapy.

A chunk of the stuff she told us about the reactions of foreign-born children to US adoption we knew or had inferred.  The rest was informative, but it was a lot of information to absorb all at once.  Doris did say that Kala and I seem more realistic and balanced in our expectations than many of the parents she works with, and this is, of course, because of Aran.

The tips she gave about handling the kids while we were in Ukraine were practical and useful, too.  So it was worth the day off school.  :)


September 15, 2004: Aran and Randall

Aran likes the movie MONSTERS, INC. but we're running into a problem with it.  Lately he's been doing things with Randall, the camouflage villain of the show.  For example, when Aran's upset about something, he cries or even screams that "Randall is squishing me."  And then he'll grab Randall off his back and throw him away or demand that Kala or I do it.

He also blames Randall for doing things like messing up his alarm clock or just being mean to him.  Today when we told Aran not to swing on the (purely decorative) pillars by the front door lest they break and fall on him, he burst into tears and told us that he didn't want Randall to fall on him.

It's at its most disconcerting when he does this in public.  I wonder if he does it in school.  We'll have to ask.

I don't know quite what to make of this.  With Aran, it's impossible to tell if he's aware that this is just pretend, or if he really thinks a camouflaged Randall is somehow making his life miserable.  I can't tell if it's a good sign or a bad one.  Could be good in that Aran's imagination is actually developing to the point where he can't always distinguish between fantasy and reality.  Could be bad in that he may really believe Randall is real because TV appears real to him, and his autism won't let him realize it's only pretend.  I'm inclined to lean toward to the former idea, since he knows that the superhero games he and I play in the woods are just make-believe, but I'm still a little uncertain.  He may actually think Randall is real.

On the other hand, lots of little kids are afraid of movie monsters, thinking they're real.  I've just never seen a child act the way Aran acts.  Of course, I don't have any other frame of reference.  I really have no idea how a "normal" seven-year-old should be.  Is this normal and fine, or is it something to worry about?  Maybe Randall is an imaginary enemy instead of an imaginary friend.

In any case, we've shelved MONSTERS, INC. to let Randall fade away.

September 14, 2004: Votes that Count

Today there was a small millage election for various Ypsilanti and Ann Arbor area schools.  Special education is going to be cut back =unless= a yes-vote on this millage passes.  Naturally Kala and I both went out to vote yes; our child has an enormous stake in this.

Turnout is so far, as you may imagine, low.  Which means my and Kala's yes-votes have enormous power.  Ha!  Let's hope it passes--Aran and so many children like him can't do without the services they get at school.

Addendum

Unofficial results are in.  The millage passed in every district except Milan:

http://wash.k12.mi.us/comm/results.cfm

In Willow Run, it was 233 for to 191 against.  Yay!  (Though someone needs to smack Milan voters upside the head.)

September 12, 2004: Bunnies and Pancakes

A colleague of mine says he wants a poster-sized version of this for his classroom.  I think I do too.

http://home.cfl.rr.com/syberghost/bunpan.jpg

September 12, 2004: Step Twenty-Four

Our adoption agency has sent all the newly-required supplementary materials to Ukraine.  Now we wait some more.

September 12, 2004: A Moment of Fame

Last night a friend of mine turned thirty, and his wife had arranged a small surprise gathering at an entertainment complex he likes.  The complex has games that range from video to VR to skeeball to shuffleboard.  Sort of a Chuck-E-Cheese on steroids and cocaine.

At any rate, the group of us was waiting to start a game of Battle-Tech, a shared video game in which a dozen participants climb into small booths to control video robots which go around shooting each other.  You give your robot a screen name so the other players know who you are (allowing you to kill your friends with greater efficiency), and I chose "Kendi" for mine. When the game operator asked where the name came from, I said, "It's a small magical lizard from Australia.  I named the main character in my books after it."

A bit later, the game operator asked The Annoying Question.  "You said you write novels.  Have you had any published?"

Marion Bradley hated this question.  "No one asks a plumber if he's ever fixed a sink or a doctor if she's treated a patient," she always said.  "Why do they ask writers this question?"

"Nine books and counting," I said.  In the course of this explanation, I added that I'd written a Star Trek: Voyager book.

"What was it called?" he asked.

"THE NANOTECH WAR."

His eyes went round.  "=You= wrote THE NANOTECH WAR?  That was =you=?"

This took me a little by surprise.  Most of the time when I mention my books, the novelizations for IDENTITY and EXORCIST: THE BEGINNING get the big reactions (at which I usually give a small mental sigh).  NANOTECH never gets more than a polite nod.  Today I had a small inkling of how Stephen King might feel.

"That was me," I said.

"I haven't read it yet," he said, which cooled my initial reaction, "but all my friends have, and they keep telling me I've =got= to read it because it was one of the best Trek books ever!  Now I definitely have to read it. This is so cool!"

Okay.  I'll take it.  :)

September 11, 2004: My Fourth Hour

As I mentioned earlier, I have English 9aa ("aa" for "advanced") fourth hour.  When I first saw the class list last week, I blinked.  Nine students? That can't be right.  The minimum number for a class to exist is 17, though certain classes can fly at 15.

I checked with the vice principal in charge of scheduling.  "That's what the computer has," he said.

Oooookay.  I guess I'll have a tiny class.

The day before school started, I checked the computer again.  Five students now.  What the hell?  And on the first day of school the list was down to a mere four kids.  And one of them was a tenth grader who'd failed regular English 9.

Aaaaaall rightie!  Guess I'll run the class more like a seminar.  Believe it or not, I was less than thrilled about this.  A class this small would mean I'd spend a hell of a lot more time on lesson preparation, though I'd gain some of it back by not having much homework to grade.  I also checked with the tenth grader's counselor about his presence in the class.

"J--- will probably do fairly well," I said, "since he'll get lots of individual attention.  Unless he's an attendance problem."

"I'll check into it," Ms. T--- promised.

By Friday, the class was down to three--I'd lost another freshman.  This was getting ridiculous!

As it happens, I needed to collect a couple of classroom sets of grammar books, and I hoiked my tiny fourth hour into helping me.  On our way down to the book room, I ran into the vice principal again.  I introduced my little trio.

"This is my fourth hour," I said.  "All of them."

"Yeeeeaaahh," he said laconically.  "This class is going to be dispersed, probably early next week.  You'll be given something else to teach."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Communication I," he said.

"That would be a fourth prep for me," I said.  By contract, the school can't give me more than three different classes to prepare for without my permission, and I wasn't going to give it for Communication I, a class I like but don't love.

"Oh.  Probably mythology, then," he said.

A bit later in the day, I was talking to my department head, who told me the vice principal had been talking about adding a section of media literacy. "But he was worried about the cost of adding the class."

Still later in the day, a counselor told me the same thing, but added that the VP wasn't sure because at Some School the class was listed as being only for 11th and 12th graders, and they needed something more wide-ranging.

After school, I tracked down said VP.  "Couple things about media lit," I said.  "Not sure why Some School's catalog lists the class as only junior and senior--I had all class levels in it last year.  Age doesn't matter for that class.  The cost is free because there's no textbook, and for media lit I'd be willing to take a fourth prep."

So next week I might be teaching a section of media lit again.  We'll see.


September 11, 2004: The First Week Back

The first week of school is always chaotic, hectic, and difficult.  Everyone in the office needs a million forms, and they have to be filled out RIGHT NOW.  Kids are screaming for schedule changes (sometimes legitimately, sometimes not).  Everyone's trying to get used to their schedule.  Me, I ended up:

--gaining and losing and then regaining tables in my room to accommodate fluctuating numbers of students in various classes

--filling out well over two dozen forms, with four or five more still sitting on my desk

--tracking down teacher editions and copies of workbooks which should have been =handed= to me when I walked through the door and dealing with the fact that I still don't have everything I need

--tracking down counselors to ask 1) why my third hour English 9 class has in it 10 freshmen and 12 sophomores; 2) why my fourth hour advanced English 9 class has in it a sophomore in it who failed regular English 9 last year; and 3) why said advanced English 9 class has only four students in it (yeah, I know that's usually a dream position, but I knew damned well it wouldn't remain so once Someone High Up noticed, and I wanted the situation resolved sooner rather than later)

--setting up my voice mail (which was more complicated than you might think, since the number used to be the principal's and she still had messages in the voice mailbox)

--trying to make lesson plans for a class I've never taught and one I haven't taught in seven years

--tangling with the monumentally user unfriendly computer grading program to get my classes set up

--trying unsuccessfully to get my room computer to communicate with my printer

and more, more, more.

I stayed most days until 3:00, and Friday I was there until 4:15.  This weekend was an utter relief!


September 7, 2004: Always a Bridesmaid . . .

I hear Trickster made the finalist list for the Spectrum Award, though it lost to Nalo Hopkinson's Salt Roads.  So far all the Silent Empire books have been Spectrum finalists, though, and I'm the =only= author to be nominated three years in a row.  So go me!


September 4, 2004: Whoops!

I just realized that I have enough material for my YA SF book to create a submissions package.  I was just pottering along, not noticing that I'd reached this point.  Cool!


September 3, 2004: Unfortunate Name News

According to the Latvian and Finnic Linguistic Convergence, "Piziks" comes for a word meaning "runt."

http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/070070809X/ref=sib_books_pg/103-1479052-4652606?%5Fencoding=UTF8&keywords=piziks&p=S04Z&checkSum=Ol9iRCQibK8O4TAwOLjST8RmpkKOgSJWnNNisu8cV8M%253D

Related meanings include "trifle" and "unreliable person."  Oh dear!


September 1, 2004: Neener, Neener, Neener

I'm generally opposed to "outing" closeted individuals.  However, when said individual actively opposes equal rights for GLBTs and then goes around soliciting gay sex, I feel compelled to fling open the closet door and shout, "Nyah nyah!" with the best of them.  To wit:

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=101&e=1&u=/po/20040831/co_po/congressmanquitsafterblogsayshesgay

A Washington, D.C.-based blogger triggered the resignation of U.S. Rep. Edward L. Schrock, R-Va., with accusations that he solicited sex with men.  Schrock, a vocal opponent of gay rights and proponent of several anti-gay laws, announced Monday that he will not seek a third term in Congress.

September 1, 2004: Back to School (Me)

Today was my first day of school.  I got up at my school-year ungodly early hour and took way too long driving to my new school.  How nice.

I spent the early morning unpacking boxes and setting up my room.  I spent the late morning setting up my computer, uploading files, and fighting with the damned hard drive, which kept freezing up and crashing on me.

I also tried to pin someone down about my special ed load.  I teach four required English classes--two 10s and two 9s.  (My fifth class is mythology, an elective.)  Out of these four classes, I have a special ed team teacher for three.  Why, I wanted to know, is this?  No one else I know of has this many team teachers.  Do I have extra large numbers of special ed kids?  And why is this so?  They're supposed to be spread around evenly.

I talked to my English department head, and she told me to talk to the vice principal in charge of scheduling.  I went to him, and he directed me to the special education department head, who wasn't in today.

Uh -huh-.  We shall pursue this, you betcha.  Even if nothing changes, I can happily make life miserable and difficult for everyone involved.  This is an advantage of being outspoken and vocal--everyone gets to suffer along with me.

I spent the late afternoon trying to make lesson plans but not getting very far because I kept having to fight the computer and because I was hampered by not knowing exactly where to start in English 10--Native American literature?  Puritan literature?  The Crucible?  I still don't know, actually.

I'm also saddled with Edith Hamilton for the mythology textbook.  Her writing is dry and dusty, her myths are flat and dull, and her introduction is puffed-up and pompous.  It also makes mistakes, such as contending that ancient Greece had the first mythology of any complexity.  I'm sure the Sumerians, Egyptians, and Mesopotamians would beg to differ.  I've despised Hamilton's book since I read it as a teenager, and I was interested to discover that I still think it's a piece of shit as an adult.

So I can spend my semester passing this prejudice along to my students while setting them to read Bullfinch's mythology and, in addition, teaching Norse, Hindu, Native American, and Chinese mythology.

On the way home, a car accident backed up the highway and added forty minutes to my drive.  It wasn't a fun day, I'm afraid.


August 31, 2004: Back to School (Aran) and Back to Water Park

Thursday was Aran's first (half) day at school.  It went very nicely and without incident.  He likes his teacher and his seat and his classmates.  At the end of the day, Kala and I went down to talk to his teacher about how to handle Aran in class and what sort of needs he would have.  This meeting also went well.

After lunch, we went back to the water park, where we met fellow UWGers Catherine and Sarah and their offspring.  Again, a fine time was had by all--probably the last swim run of the year.  Summer is drawing to a close.


August 29, 2004: Gay Gops

Why would any sane GLBT person join the republican party?

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=101&e=1&u=/po/20040828/co_po/gaysingopcallplatformslapintheface

It gets even stupider.  When the goppies stated their platform, the GLBT members were shocked--shocked!--to discover that said platform pushed for not only a total ban on gay marriage, but a ban on recognizing "other living arrangements as equivalent to marriage."  How could our fellows do this to us? they whine.

If you pet a rapid dog, it will bite you.  Duh.

August 27, 2004: Very, Very Bad Day

It's amazing how you can wake up on what you think is going to be a perfectly ordinary day, and then it turns into one that makes the top ten list of horrible days.  Many small, bad things happened today, but there are two that are horrible.

First, Kala called Detroit schools to see if her application was all in order, and they told her they needed to have on file a copy of her teaching certificate complete with the science certification on it.  (The one she took the test for.)  She called the Michigan Office of Teacher Certification to ask how long it would take to get one, and they handed her devastating news.  It turns out the Detroit recruiter who'd told Kala that passing the science test would grant her K-8 science certification was wrong.  She needs to have a degree in some field of science--her Bachelor's in cardiac rehab isn't enough.  So she isn't eligible to teach in a high-need area, which
means Detroit isn't interested in hiring her.  And nowhere else around here is hiring teachers of any stripe.

Thank you, No Child Left Behind Act.

Not long after that, we got e-mail from our adoption agency.  Ukraine, it seems, is getting inundated with dossiers from people who want to adopt. They have many, many more now than they did last year at this time.  They don't have more kids to adopt than last year.  Rather than just tell everyone, "It'll take longer to get a travel date," the National Adoption Center has elected to make it harder to get your dossier approved.

They're doing this by changing the rules.  Marriage certificates are now only good for one year after issue, for example; after that, you need a new one (stamped, notarized, and apostilled).  They need a copy of our doctor's medical license (stamped, notarized, apostilled).  The results of the HIV test on the medical form now have to be followed by "the number."  (What number?  The new regs don't say.  Just get that number on there.)  One of the letters we sent now needs to have a phone number on it.  (It didn't need it before.)

All these changes are RETROACTIVE.  This means that if your dossier had been approved (as ours had), it now needs to be modified to meet the new standards.  And--another new regulation--if your dossier has been rejected three times due to these retroactive changes, you are permanently refused. Our dossier has, as far as we know, been rejected twice for modification, though we aren't sure if it was rejected by the Consulate or by the NAC.  We also don't yet know if the new three-strikes rule starts now or if it applies to all dossiers from the moment they came in.  Our agency is trying to find out.

You can tell these rules are created solely to discourage people or to give them a reason to reject applicants.  Who cares about the HIV test number? What good is an American phone number to them when they don't call?  What good does the doctor's medical license do them?  It's not an attempt to stiffen the requirements to be adoptive parents--the only thing they've changed is the paperwork.

It would make so much more sense if they simply stopped accepting new dossiers or said, "The wait period will be extended."  But instead they're making everyone run around on stupid errands and upping the (already high) cost.

Right now appointments are booked through December, meaning the earliest we could travel is a couple weeks before Christmas.  The earliest.  And I hate to think of what it would be like to get a travel date for, say, December 15 and discover on December 20 that Functionary X's office is closed until New Year's, so please plan to stay until then.

It hasn't been a good day.


August 25, 2004: Cover

My scanner is on the fritz, so I couldn't post the cover to OFFSPRING anywhere.  But now it's up on Amazon and I've swiped it from them.  It's out in November, folks!

You can read an excerpt at http://www.sff.net/people/spiziks/offspring.html

The cover blurb is at http://www.sff.net/people/spiziks/WritingSH.htm

August 24, 2004: Interviews

Two interviews with me came on-line at the same time!  You can find them at:

http://www.bookhelpweb.com/ or http://www.bookhelpweb.com/authors/piziks/piziksprint.htm

and

http://www.quartertofour.com/bloodynews/interviews/piziks.html


August 22, 2004: The Kid, the Witches, and the Hope Chest

This weekend was the annual Ypsilanti Heritage Festival.  It's a combination art fair / carnival / re-enactment thing which includes a rubber ducky race on the Huron River.  We were supposed to go with Comrade Sarah and Baby Comrade Alex, but I didn't get Sarah's phone message until late at night, and she had already left by the time we called in the morning.  Ah well.

Aran, Kala, and I wandered about the place.  Aran likes carnivals, so he usually does well.  We shopped at some of the art stalls and bought some herbal soaps.  Aran got to play mini-golf, which he loves.  I finally tried butterfly fries, which are flat, spiral-cut french fries that come with cheese, sour cream, and chives.  They look delicious, and they only come in huge servings, so we got one plate for the three of us.

The cheese was really cheapo gunk, the sour cream was too heavy, and the chips themselves cooled so fast they were cold by the time the three of us sat down with them.  I didn't much like them.  Aran hated them.  Kala thought they were okay, but not great.  Chalk it up to experience.

We also visited a stall that sold cedar stuff--cedar chests, cedar cupboards, cedar bench chests.  Kala saw a hope chest that she liked quite a lot and pointed out we really needed a coffee table.  So we decided to get it.  The maker delivered it today on his way home from the festival, and it's looking mighty spiffy in our living room, which now smells pleasantly of cedar.

Later we learned a coven member had arrived at the same stall mere minutes after we did.  He and his wife wanted to buy the chest, but the merchant had to tell them it was sold.  Small Pagan world!  If I were fabulously wealthy, I'd wrap it elaborately and leave it on their doorstep, but I'm not, so I won't.  :)

Meanwhile, Aran had been asking (nicely but steadily) for a chocolate milkshake.  On the way back to the car, we stopped at an ice cream place and got one for him.  He'd been dragging for a while, but her perked up greatly and happily sucked it down.  It was very cute, actually, the way he got so happy over that milkshake.

We also stopped and saw a puppet show by a small local group.  It was about smeet frogs in the Huron River.  Smeet frogs are Alaskan frogs that fly like flying squirrels and are the only known amphibians with body hair.  They're also supposed to be tasty, and they've been hunted to near extinction. Ypsilanti's Frog Island is one of their stopping places on their annual migration, and they pass though in June and in October.

Anyway, Aran was captivated by the show, which had its moments but was overall mediocre  The best part was the group of rubber ducks that had decided Enough Was Enough, they were tired of being forced to race down the Huron River without wages, and they were forming a union.  They had their own quacky version of the IWW's labor song, and it was very funny.  The kids didn't get it, but the adults did.

And thence home.

August 18, 2004: Computer Snarfs

We have a second computer now, a no-frills one.  Kala is tired of not getting computer time because I need to write, and the laptop is still a pain to wrestle with.  Its graphics card is pretty crappy, so we're going to replace that, but everything else works nicely.

Kala also said she didn't like the picture I'd put as the background on the desktop.  "What?" I said.  "You don't like Sean Astin as Sam?"

After we got the computer hooked up, Kala went upstairs for a moment and I went straight to lordoftherings.net.  I downloaded a picture, and when Kala came back down, she saw on her new computer a lovely picture of Samwise Gamgee.

What?

She has now replaced it with a picture of Tom Welling.


August 14, 2003: Ukraine-ness

This weekend is the Sunflower Festival in Warren, which is a largish Ukrainian festival.  About half the world's sunflowers are grown in Ukraine, hence the name of the event.

Kala and I attended with Aran in tow partly for the cultural aspects, but mostly for the contact aspects.  We're still trying to find someone to teach us Russian or Ukraine.  We were also looking for Ukrainian music and a Ukrainian cookbook or two.  Some Ukrainian =sheet= music would be a major bonus.

We drove for a good 45 minutes to Warren and wandered about the festival for a bit.  It came in three sections--the carnival, the food/shopping area, and the miscellaneous area.  The carnival was your standard traveling carnival with small rides and games, which Aran liked quite a lot.  The food/shopping area was where we got a pretty good lunch of food I can't spell. :)  We also got two CDs (one of folk music and one of narrated children's stories), a cookbook, and two videotapes that use puppets to introduce Ukrainian children to English and Ukrainian to American children.  Score there!

We also talked at length to a woman who adopted a couple kids a few years ago.  She gave us some leads of Ukrainian lessons and also the name of a local psychologist who specializes in dealing with foreign-adopted children. "I wish I had consulted with her before I adopted," she said.  "You should call her for an appointment right away."  So we shall.

And thence home.  An excellent outing!

August 13, 2004:  Moving Aran

On Thursday we moved Aran to the smaller bedroom.  It was easy enough, and Aran accepted it with equanimity.  We also, at my insistence, put all the boxes of clothes we've been saving in the basement.

"I'm not going to have our new kids arrive and see stacks of boxes waiting in their new room as if the whole thing is only temporary," I said.

This we did.  And Aran seems fine in his new digs.

Yesterday the furniture company left a message saying they'd deliver the new bedroom stuff between noon and three on Friday (today).  Last night I didn't get to bed until =very= late, so I didn't wake up until about ten.  Kala had already gotten Aran to child care and left for her subbing job.  I had just stood up when the doorbell rang.

Sam set up his usual ballistic-missile barking.  I yanked on some sweats and answered the door.  Furniture guys!  Bright and early!

Oh well.  One advantage of shaving one's head is that one never looks disheveled, as if one had been in bed and asleep not two minutes ago.

They brought the stuff in, assembled it, and left.  We now have a bunk bed/loft arrangement for our coming children.

August 12, 2004:  Household Gripe

Our main computer has turned into a game center.  City of Heroes is so often run that whenever one of us logs off the game, we elect to return to the startup screen rather than exit the game altogether so we don't have to start CoH from scratch.

I'm starting to feel the pressure, actually.  I made the "mistake" of admitting that I can write just fine on the laptop.  This means that I now have to write on the laptop.  Usually I don't mind--I can sit on the couch instead of an office chair, and the laptop has web access if I need to look something up.  But the main computer has the ergonomic keyboard, the private room, and the music library.  I prefer to write there.  I write faster there.

I don't feel like I can tell Kala she can't play CoH because I need to write, since if I play, she should get an equal amount of time.

Precognition

In other news, I was straightening up the house this morning.  You can't really listen to the stereo while vacuuming, so I amuse myself by reciting pieces of literature I've memorized over the years or by rehearsing lectures for my classes.  Today I was reciting a segment of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. ("The best drink in existence is the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster . . . The effects of drinking a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster are like having your brain smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.")

When I checked my e-mail a few minutes, I found an invitation to write an essay for an upcoming SF non-fiction anthology.  Subject?  The The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.


August 11, 2004: Breaking Bad Habits

Kala and I have the bad habit of forgetting to take something out of the freezer to thaw for supper and then deciding to have either grub supper (in which you grub around the kitchen for whatever you can find) or ordering out.  Yesterday I once again noticed a lack of thawed something for supper, and I decided enough was enough.

I took some of the chicken breasts we'd just bought out of the freezer. They're restaurant-style breasts, meaning they're thinner and they're shrink-wrapped.  I thawed them quite easily under running water.  While that was going on, I put together a blueberry cobbler and made saffron rice.  The chicken went on the grill.  So we had a nice supper of barbecued chicken, rice, bread I'd made the day before, and blueberry cobbler for dessert.

We'll break this habit yet!

August 10, 2004: Blue Day

Today I scheduled us to go blueberry picking.

This was an annual event when I was growing up.  It and June's strawberry picking were like bookends to the summer.  I was an old hand at it.  Kala is a different matter.  My mother-in-law's idea of "roughing it" is to stay at a hotel with an unheated pool, so you can imagine how often Kala did farm-y stuff when she was younger.  Kala was generally opposed to the idea of spending a day picking little blue globes off scratchy bushes, but I pointed out that was cheerfully accepting of the idea of eating blueberry muffins, blueberry cobbler, blueberry pie, and blueberry pancakes.

"I'm the duck from that story about the chicken that wanted help baking bread," she admitted with cheerful candor.  "Not I!"

"You can't have the blueberries without the picking," I said.

"We could buy a flat or two," she said.

"California blueberries?" I said.  "Never!"

We did keep Aran home from child care so he could be part of this.  This morning we got up early, piled several bowls, the tupperware cake holder, and the dutch oven into the car, and headed out to the blueberry farm in Dexter.

The weather was perfect for berry harvesting--mostly cloudy, dry, slight breeze.  We got buckets from the stand out front, threaded our belts through the handles, and set to work.  Aran thought it was great fun and kept up a running commentary on our progress.  We steadily filled buckets.  I was just settling into the Zen of the moment, when you just pick and move, pick and move, and are the most productive, when Kala announced it was almost time to leave.  I blinked.  I was ready to stay until three or four o'clock.  On this, Kala remained firm.  No way was she staying that long.  Aran started getting tired, too.

We left an hour later with the dutch oven and the cake holder filled with berries.  More than Kala wanted, less than I did.  Isn't marriage all about compromise?

We got home, and I winnowed them while watching an episode of CSI.  They're now in bags, ready for the freezer, with a whole bunch set aside for some fresh baking.

August 9, 2004: Fix 'n' Shop

Today was shop 'n' fix day.  Kala had the day off, see, so we dropped one car off at the mechanic--a rear wheel made a scraping noise--and went off to shop for furniture.

See, we have absolutely no bedroom furniture for the future children, whoever they are.  We needed to rectify this. First we hit the back-of-the-truck furniture store, the one which always looks to be teetering on the edge of bankruptcy and which is probably laundering money for someone.  When we got there, they were having a parking lot sale.  The store itself was sealed off with police tape.  Oh dear.  They didn't have anything good anyway, so we left.

At Tyner Furniture on Michigan Avenue, we found a good arrangement--a twin bed that sat on a loft made of a book shelf on one side and a dresser/desk on the other.  A bottom bed fit perpendicular to this arrangement.  It had the added bonus that it could be split up between individual bedrooms at a later date and wouldn't outgrow the kids.  (No cutesy colors, teddy bears, or frou-frou thingies.)  The salesman was quite helpful and clearly didn't expect to see us back when we said we were going to look elsewhere before making a decision.

We went to Art Van next and found nothing but frilly, girly furniture and kid beds in bright, primary colors on cheap wood that would have the kids screaming for replacements by the time they were ten years old.  Nope.  The next two furniture stores had nothing at all.  The fourth had junk.

The salesman at Tyner was, of course, pleased to see us again, and even more pleased when we ordered a matching dresser.  All will be delivered on Friday.

The car, it turned out, had a sticky emergency break which was fixed for $70.  How nice is that?


August 8, 2004: Imaginary Robots

Aran would play in the house all day long if left to his own devices, so today I told him we were "going exploring"--his term for going outside in the woods.  Sam came with us.

When we got there, Aran, of his own volition, decided we were out there to "kill robots."  We spent considerable time running up and down the trails as superheroes zapping imaginary mechanicoids into oblivion.  Aran's preferred weapon was a mace like Hawkgirl's.  We teamed up with Wonder Woman, Hawkgirl, Superman, and Green Lantern.  Aran's superhero name was Veen, the origin of which escapes me, but I wasn't going to question it.

This was the first time Aran has done such extensive role-playing without dolls, puppets, or other props.  Except for the lack of vocabulary, he was acting like a normal seven-year-old.

August 5, 2004: Autism Panic Attack

Last night I had another Autism Panic Attack (tm).  Worry and fear about Aran's future became overwhelming, accompanied by "How did I end up with an autistic child?"  I hate when that happens.

August 4, 2004: Just Drifting Along

The past couple weeks have been long and lazy.  I have the house to myself all day, since Kala's still subbing at the prison school and Aran's at child care.  My brain doesn't write well before 10:30 or 11:00, so I spend mornings puttering around the house or playing City of Heroes.  Then I usually write until it's time to pick Aran up.

I like being home alone during the day.  It's quiet, I can do what I want, and I don't have other people making demands of me.  I get a lot done--and sometimes I get nothing done.  And it's all good.

And oh yes--My novelization of The Exorcist: the Beginning is starting to appear in bookstores.  The move opens August 20.  We'll see how it looks.  :)

July 29, 2004: Peter

I missed the new Peter Pan movie when it was in the theaters at Christmas, so I rented it.  And I'm really sorry I missed it in the theater.

Jeremy Sumpter is perfect in the role.  He looks, sounds, and acts exactly the way Peter is supposed to.  He's thoughtless, selfish, socially inept, and doesn't care what other people think.  He's also funny, charming, rogueish, and oddly romantic.  He wants to have fun, he wants adventure, and he refuses to look at the coming horizon of adulthood--because he doesn't have to.

I also greatly enjoyed the restoration of Pagan symbolism, obvious in the book, conspicuously absent from the movies I've seen.  Peter is the oak king of old.  Whenever Peter leaves Neverland, winter comes, and when he returns, spring comes with him.  He consorts with fairies, lives feral in a tree, and dresses in leaves.  Hook is the holly king, the older man locked in a battle he must lose.  The clock in the crocodile's stomach ticks away what time he has left, until he finally succumbs to the inevitable.  Nice.

The sort-of romance between Peter and Wendy was carried off very well; child-like rather than childish, tentative, a little awkward, and free of sexual overtones despite the budding sexuality that sparks it.

I also loved the music, and "watched" the ending credits twice for the theme song.  I ended up buying the DVD and the sound track.

As a trivia note, I learned that Jeremy Sumpter is a tall, tall lad.  He's sixteen now, and 6'1".  Most of that height was unfortunately added during the filming of Peter Pan, when he was thirteen.  Sumpter started out at 5', but during the months of filming, he grew eight inches.  (!)  The window to the Darlings' bedroom had to be rescaled and rebuilt four times so he could fly through it without cracking his head.



July 22-24, 2004: Art Fair
Thursday
Thursday was horrifyingly hot and muggy with thunderstorm looming on the horizon.  It's obviously Art Fair.

Art Fair (the fourth Wednesday through Saturday in July) is a downtown Ann Arbor EVENT which takes over most of the city for a week.  It's several street fairs sewn haphazardly together that sprawls over many, many city blocks and something like one and a half millinon people visit it.  There is every imagineable kind of art for sale, some lovely, some tasteful, some tacky, some stupid, some useful, some useless.  Ann Arbor residents have a love-hate relationship with it.  I usually love it, but then, I don't work downtown or for a store that puts out Art Fair sale stuff, forcing employees to work twelve-hour days to staff the place.

Yesterday Comrade Sarah and I headed down to look about.  We took a bus from her house so we wouldn't have to deal with parking and first hit the non-profit section of the fair.  This is where non-profit organizations set up information booths.  We came away with Vote for Kerry buttons.

The weather, incidentally, was lovely so far--humid but cloudy.  The heat wouldn't hit until later.  The crowds were also very light, it being Thursday and a weekday.  We stopped for a breakfast of sandwiches at Amer's, then hit the streets.

We then examined many booths.  While trying on a silk shirt, Sarah opened her purse, and her Visa card leaped out.  It jumped into the vendor's hands squeaking for attention.  Sarah bought the shirt and recaptured the Visa card.  Later we saw a booth with many teapots, and the Visa card wiggled out of Sarah's purse, ran itself through the vendor's machine, and forged Sarah's signature on the charge slip.  The teapot wrapped itself and flew into Sarah's hands.  That's our story, anyway, and we're sticking with it.

We also found Jeff Lewis's booth.  He's the harp maker guy I know, and he's new to the fair.  I'd been planning on bringing Corey down to play on the streets on Friday and Saturday when the crowds are thicker, but Jeff said I could play outside his booth.  This is perfect.  I don't have to haul my harp around, I still busk and make adoption money, and Jeff gets the publicity.  If someone tells me I can't play on the street, I just point to Jeff: "I work for him."  Perfect!  It's easy to gather a crowd for Jeff's booth, too--in the thirty seconds I played a quick melody on one of Jeff's wonderful harps, about ten people gathered to listen.

Just before lunchtime, Sarah decided her credit card was getting a little too aggressive, so we decided to head home, our heads stuffed with art.

Friday and Saturday
This is weird.  I went down to Art Fair Friday and on Saturday, expecting the usual huge crowds, traffic jams, and crammed streets.  Usually on Saturday, you can only walk a slow shuffle.  Not this time.  Lots of empty space on both days.  Little traffic.  I even saw vacant parking spaces only two blocks from the fair! This is highly, highly unusual.  I played harp on the streets for almost four hours and came away with barely thirty bucks.  Bad, bad daily take, so I went home.

Saturday the crowds were still light.  I decided to peruse more of the fair and see if the crowds would thicken, but by one o'clock, no such thing had happened.  And the weather was so perfect, too.  A few fluffy clouds, a cool breeze, low seventies, dry.  By all rights the place should've been packed.

Part of the change seems to be that the fair is much bigger this year.  I found two new areas that hadn't existed before.  With more area to disperse in, the crowds appear lighter.  But that doesn't explain the lack of auto traffic and ready availability of parking.  Don't believe Bush--the economy is clearly nowhere near recovery.

I ended up just coming home.  Low crowd density = little money for buskers.


























July 19, 2004: Chicago, Without Pictures

We went to Chicago over the weekend, and I took a lot of pictures, but my camera keeps messing up disks.  I'm not sure what's wrong with it--all I know is that my computer can't read the pictures.  So my blog is momentarily picture-less.  Sigh.

Friday afternoon we packed up overnight stuff and headed west to Chicago for adoption purposes.  Naturally, this being Michigan, we hit road construction during our first ten minutes on the highway.  It was =bad=.  It took us over an hour to go fifteen miles.  Very frustrating.  However, it could have been worse.  Traffic was unusually light on the other side of the highway, and eventually we passed the cause--an accident that had closed all lanes. People were being shunted off the highway and through Dexter.

The rest of the driving went fine.  Aran travels very well, and never asks, "Are we there yet?" sort of questions.  As long as he has a few books and the occasional snack, he's fine.  We'd made reservations at a Best Western just outside of Chicago, and we arrived there just fine.

An aside--Aran insisted on calling this "going on vacation."  We couldn't dissuade him from this.  "Vacation" carries connotations of various fun-time activities, and that's not what we were really doing.  I was afraid of disappointing him, but I couldn't figure out what to do about it.

The hotel, it turned out, was pretty crappy.  For the same money, we could have stayed at a much nicer hotel I knew about in downtown Chicago, but we had no way of knowing what this place was like.  It was dingy, light bulbs were missing, and the room had a strange smell.  When we went into the hotel restaurant, we saw no waitstaff in evidence, though a whiteboard had the evening's specials listed on it and couple sitting at a corner table had water glasses and silverware in front of them.  We sat down hesitatingly and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  We heard clattering noises from the kitchen area, but we couldn't see anyone in there, and no one came out.  We waited some more.  Finally we decided enough was enough.  It was clear that even if we got noticed, the server wouldn't be very attentive; the person didn't even poke a head out to see if there were more customers.

We went to the front desk and asked where the nearest restaurant was.  The desk worker said the hotel restaurant was open, and we explained what was going on.  The desk clerk was apologetic and offered to go with us back to the restaurant to rouse the server, but we declined and extracted directions to a Cracker Barrel instead.

The Barrel was very busy, but we go seated and served quickly.  Much better choice.

The hotel =did= have a swimming pool, so Aran was able to indulge.  After that, we watched TV until bedtime.

In the morning, we decided to risk the hotel restaurant because it was there.  We did get served, but the meal was definitely mediocre, and how hard is it to make decent breakfast food?  Gad.  We resolved never to stay in this place again and headed out to the Big City.

We arrived in downtown Chicago quickly and easily and found the adoption agency, but we were a good hour early.  This was because we'd gone to bed at 11:00 our time, but it was 10:00 Chicago time, and we were up early as a result.  We weren't sure what to do with an hour.  Kala and I would have spent the time wandering around looking at the neighborhood--it was a fine morning--but that would bore poor Aran.  On impulse, I ducked into an enormous nursery/garden store.  It had indoor and outdoor areas, and was filled with city garden stuff--interesting pots, self-contained ponds and fountains, smaller shrubs and trees.  In short, everything you'd need to garden when you live in a large city and have only a little space to work with.

Aran found it fascinating.  The statues, the weirder pots, the plants, the flowers--it was all good.  Kala decided we should get some flowers for our adoption coordinator, and we settled on some exotic-looking lilies that the clerk arranged in a vase for us.  They even had a public restroom--score!

At the appropriate time, we crossed the street to the adoption agency.  Jane was delighted with the unexpected flowers, and we had a look at the office we'd been calling steadily for the last several months.  Jane gave us many documents all neatly arranged with sample copies that showed you how to fill them in.  (You may think this silly, but when you're filling out documents for an orphan and it asks for the parents' names, do you fill in the birth parents' names or your own name?  What address do you use for Ukraine paperwork?  What about phone numbers?  And so on.)

When the meeting was done, we had an hour and a half before we were supposed to have lunch with half a dozen other couples who are also adopting from Ukraine.  We decided to head down Lake Shore Drive to the Natural History Museum, since Aran might like the dinosaurs, but on the way I caught sight of Navy Pier and the ferris wheel.

"Let's go there," I said.  "Aran might like that better."

This turned out to be the case.  Aran rode the huge ferris wheel, the spinning swing, and the carousel, and spent considerable time in front of the funhouse mirrors.  He enjoyed himself very much, so we were glad we chose this place.

We drove over to Ukraine town (yep--Chicago has a Ukrainian area.  You have to drive through Mexican town to get there) and found the Ukrainian restaraunt, where we met the other adopting couples over lunch.  I had borsht and a dish I can't spell, but was the Ukrainian version of the pierogis my grandmother used to make.  Very filling, dreadfully fattening, and very delicious.

Then we headed home, and enountered no road construction whatsoever along the way.  :)


July 15, 2003: Au Pair Thursday

On Thursday morning I had an extra kid, the child of a friend of Mama.  I didn't mind--it was actually easier with the two of them because they could amuse each other.  It also shortened R---'s morning wailing about Mama.  The kids played very nicely until lunchtime when he went home.

After lunch, I took Baby and R--- outside again.  It was a gorgeous day--warm but not hot, no humidity, slight breeze sighing through the trees surrounding the house.  The swings were great amusement for both kids. Finally I brought them in, put R--- down for her nap, and went down into the rec room with Baby.

Later, Mama noticed a small problem with Baby and called the doctor's office to describe it.  He called back today and said Baby needed to come in right away.  As in RIGHT NOW.  Mama asked if I could stay with R--- longer, until Daddy got home.  I said I could.  We packed up everything for Baby, and they fled out the door.  (Baby is fine, by the way.)

Suddenly I had the easiest job in the world.  R--- was sound asleep and I had no baby to watch.  I cleaned the kitchen again and would have moved on to other areas of the house, but I don't know where various things go when they're put away, so I gave that up and surfed the net for a while.  Then I watched Monster on DVD.  A well-done movie, but relentlessly depressing and I wish I hadn't watched it.  Read for a while, then got R--- up from her nap.  I was in the kitchen figuring out what to make her for supper when Daddy came home.

"I'm in the kitchen, honey!" I called, to his great amusement.  And then home.



July 14, 2004: Au Pair Wednesday

On Wednesday, I discovered that the walkout basement rec room was finished. (It hadn't been, last I knew.)  Well, that was a help.  Wish I would've known earlier--much easier to keep the little ones away from Mama when they can't see her.  I took snacks, juice, diapers, and other supplies downstairs, then brought the kids.  Predictably, R--- didn't like this arrangement.  She cried for Mama over and over, weeping and wailing like she was going to die.  Mama tried to ease the transition by holding her for a minute and giving her a hug, but the cries didn't stop.

"Out!" I told her.  "There's no way to make her feel better about it, so shoo!"

Mama went upstairs, filled with mommy guilt.  R--- continued wailing.  I knew hugging her and holding her wouldn't help in the slightest--it never does in these cases--so I sat down on the floor with a toy that flashed lights and made music.  And I completely ignored R---.

After about a minute, the wailing stopped.  I continued playing with the toy.  R--- climbed up onto a chair and looked at the toy with interest and longing.  Still I ignored her.  Finally she came over and tapped at it.  I gave it to her, and after that the day was fine.

Baby was fussy.  I spent most of the day holding him.  If I put him down, he'd start crying.  Been through this with Aran.  Oi!  It was a fine day, so we went outside on the swingset, then came in for lunch, and then it was R---'s naptime (she's takes--no lie--a three or four hour nap in the afternoon).  This was easier because I could wrangle just Baby.  I also cleaned up the kitchen and straightened up the play area.  I ended up leaving before R--- woke up.

July 13, 2004: Au Pair Tuesday

This week I'm being an au pair.  One of our coveners is a part-time lawyer who works at home.  Her husband has a full-time job out of the house.  This week she has to finish a brief, however, and she can't pull it off with a toddler and an infant at home.  So I've been roped into being an au pair.

I arrived at the house this morning and got the two little ones occupied so Mama (still dressed in her pajamas) could shower and start working.  This turned out to be more complicated than I realized--her office area is in the living room, so the children naturally wanted Mama to amuse them instead of me.  Solved the problem by taking the kids outside to play.  We did the swings and the bikes and the garden hose.  Mama breast feeds, so I got two breaks while this activity ensued.  After lunch, the toddler went down for a nap (very unwillingly) and the baby was content to bounce in his bouncy chair, so I cleaned up the kitchen.  And then it was time to go home.

July 7, 2004: Spectrum

Oh!  TRICKSTER is a nominee for the Spectrum Award:

http://www.spectrumawards.org/2004.htm

The list of finalists hasn't been made public yet, I guess.

July 7, 2004: Cover Flats

I got cover flats for Offspring.   I had to take a picture because my &*$% scanner isn't working right now.  Hmmmm . . . Kendi keeps getting whiter and whiter. 


July 7, 2004: Zzzzzzz . . . snuh?

Oh man!  I woke up this morning at ten o'clock!  I guess I needed the sleep, probably because I haven't been sleeping well the last few days.  I'm awake now, though.

So what's the latest you've ever slept by accident?

I've also started posting pictures again.  Go me!


July 6, 2004: Busy Household

Yesterday, Kala put a bunch of stuff down the garbage disposal and forgot to run it.  Then she turned on the dishwaster.  The result--a clog.  It didn't respond to drain opener, so, in a foul mood, I pulled the underside of the sink apart.  Nothing.  I ran a snake through the pipe as far as it would go.  Nothing.  By now it was ten o'clock.  I was . . . unhappy, and Kala knew it.  I left the pipes disassembled so we could all a plumber in the morning.  Kala did, and one was scheduled to arrive between ten and noon.

Today was also Radon Day.  The guy to install the radon remediation system in the basement was to arrive at nine a.m.  He actually arrived ten minutes early.  (!)  After some shuffling of stuff in the basement, he got to work, and there's currently much hammering and sawing and pounding in the back room down there.  We're going to lose a shelf--the new air shaft will be there--but it's a small price to pay.  (What they charge to install the system is another matter . . . )

While the radon guy was working, the plumber showed up--an hour early.  (!!)  He ran his much longer snake through the pipe (keep your smarmy comments to yourself,) but got nothing.  So he filled the sinks with water and went outside.  He pulled the stopper from the pipe out there and fed the snake in with intent to hit the clog from the other side.  This worked, and the sinks drained.  Final cost?  Two days worth of substitute teaching for Kala.

Steven is thrilled.

Sam, of course, alternated between ballistic, excited, and mystified with all these people coming and going from his house.

July 2, 2004: Today's Writing

Today I rose late (Kala took Aran to daycare), took the dog out for a nice, long walk in the woods with birds singing and the air still cool from the previous night, and had a leisurely breakfast of home-made hashbrowns.  Then I got out my laptop and headed to the back yard.

Unlike our previous back yard, this one is quiet..  No roaring trucks, motorcycles, or SUVs.  Just occasional neighborhood noises.  I set a lawnchair beneath the maple tree and used a lap desk.  I wrote for about three hours in the shade, with warm summer breezes wafting over me.  Two squirrels played tag in the next yard over, much to Sam's annoyance--"Why can't they do that over here," his expression clearly said.

Went inside for a quick lunch and a little net surfing (okay, I was playing City of Heroes) while the battery recharged, then came back out for more writing.  Finished the first chapter of a YA SF book.  Nice!  I want to work like this every day!




July 2, 2004: Hosers

Some hoser posted a huge chunk of advertising on my SFF.net guestbook, then had the nerve to claim that it was okay since I was using HTML to make said
guestbook.  If I minded, I would use spam-proof codes that prevented him from posting ads.

If he didn't wear a bullet-proof vest, it must mean he wouldn't mind if I shot him the goddam chest.

I deleted the entry.


July 1, 2004: Eeevil Game

Oh dear.  I'm so sunk.

A couple months ago I saw a notice that a new multi-player on-line game was going up, a superhero game called "City of Heroes."  I played another superhero computer game a couple years ago and really liked it, but I've never tried an on-line game before.  So when City of Heroes debuted, I didn't look it up.

Then a friend of mine who likes superhero role-playing games (as do I) e-mailed me about the game and suggested I play.  He was playing, so we could do team-ups and stuff.  I also realized that I hadn't bought myself a graduation present.  This tipped the balance, and I decided to check it out.'

Holy time-suckers, Batman!  This is awful.  It's as bad as Everquest is reputed to be.  Man o man.  I've put in too many hours on it already.  But wait--it gets worse.

Kala, who also likes superhero pencil-and-paper games, watched me play over my shoulder and said, "Maybe I'll just create a character.  Just designing the costume looks fun.  I won't play, though."

Famous last words.  Yesterday alone she clocked three hours.  Now Kala and I fight (gently, of course) over who gets to play.  The laptop can't handle the game, so it's one at a time.

Oh dear.

July 1, 2004: Gleep!

I was out walking in the woods today, picking more blackberries to munch.  I bit down on one, and a strange taste that had nothing to do with blackberries filled my mouth.  I spat everything out and discovered I had bitten into an enormous daddy longlegs that had blended in with the berry.  It squirmed and wriggled on the ground.  Gaaah!  I squished it to put it out of its misery and looked at future blackberries more carefully.


July 1, 2004: More Hitting

I had a phone consultation with Aran's play therapist, and we outlined some things to do to head off some of the hitting.  I've written a couple of social stories for him about dealing with anger.  Kala will illustrate them and we'll go through them with him.  I also discovered that Kala hadn't discussed Aran's autism with the staff at the new daycare.  So today I went down there and did this.  I told them that you have to tell Aran what he can do instead of what he can't do and that time-outs don't much work as a punishment.  I also tracked down a couple of things that might have been making him more sensitive than usual--noisy areas of the center, a staff worker that tried to cool the children down by tossing a little water on them (Aran freaks out at that), disruptions in routine.  We'll see if this helps.

I never, ever once thought I'd become an expert on autism.  I wish I hadn't had to.


June 29: Autism and Hitting

Yesterday evening Kala called, very upset.  It seems Aran has turned violent at daycare.  He has a friend, or someone he calls a friend, named S---, but lately Aran has been hitting him.  With his fist.

The first time it happened, Kala took away his computer privileges for the day and he said he wouldn't hit anymore.  The next day, she told the daycare workers to call her immediately if he punched S--- again.  But when she went to get him, they said he was still doing it.  (They hadn't called.)  S---'s mother is understandably upset and wants Aran banned from the daycare.  Kala and I are upset--I won't have a bully in my house.

The problem is figuring out how to deal with it.  The daycare uses time-outs as punishment, but Aran =likes= time out.  The consequences don't faze him.  He hates losing computer time, but that's an abstract punishment, and he doesn't readily connect it to hitting.  My suggestion is to force him to stay a foot away from one of the daycare workers as a punishment, but that's hard on the worker in question.

Aran also tried to hit me twice in the days before I left for Seton Hill.  The second time he did it, I hit him back exactly the way he hit me.  This devastated him (emotionally--the physical pain was slight).  He cried for an hour in his room, but he hasn't hit me again.  I wish there were a way to get S--- to clock Aran a good one.  The hitting would stop instantly.  But there's no way to do that.

We think this is happening because of the move and the new daycare and the fact that I'm gone right now.  Too many changes, and they're freaking him out.  I've noticed Aran is definitely on a short fuse these days--little things that didn't bother him now get him majorly upset.

We're trying to contact his play therapist, but we've learned she's been laid off (the PLAY project is, for reasons unknown to us, in jeopardy), and her e-mail may no longer be any good.  If she doesn't respond, we'll try to get someone at the project to call her and tell her to call us back.

I can see huge problems coming.  If Aran reacts this way to these changes, how will he react when one or two new children come to live with us?

June 29: Fencing

When we bought the new house, it had a gap in the fence, a space about eight feet wide between the corner of the house and the neighbor's fence.  This won't do with an autistic child and an active dog, and we had to remedy the situation.  Quite some time ago, we bought a section of wooden fence and sunk posts in cement to hold it up.  Then our rainy summer started and then it was the end of the school year and then I had the residency at Seton Hill.  So the fence stood there, undone.  Today I declared it Must Be Finished.

The hard part was making the gate for it.  I sawed the fence section into two pieces, then got out the hinges Kala had bought some time ago.  Kala set them against the smaller piece of fence and announced this was the way they went.

"You're positive?" I said.

"Absolutely."

Okay.  Using my trusty drill and the accompanying screws, I had the hinges on the gate in a trice.  Then I tried setting the gate against the posts. You can guess what happened--the hinges were on backward.  Swearing never again to do this without checking, I unscrewed the hinges, flipped them over, and re-did them, with Kala meekly handing me screws.  =Now= it worked.

The easy part was supposed to be nailing the stationary section up next to the gate.  But the nails I bought were too thick and threatened to split the support boards on the fencing.  I went back to the hardware store to buy one size thinner, hoping they'd be long enough, and the hardware store guy reminded me that pre-drilling the holes would prevent splitting.  D'oh!

Brought the smaller nails home, pre-drilled the holes, and everything went perfectly.

We couldn't get a latch for the gate--it doesn't line up perfectly enough--so next time we're at the other end of town, we'll get a huge hook-and-eye arrangement for it.  In the meantime, we'll hold it shut with a bungy cord.  Now Sam and Aran can run around the backyard unsupervised.  Go us!


June 23-28: Seton Hill Report

Hmmmm . . . I took many pictures with my digital camera, but my computer can't seem to read them.  So this part'll be pictureless, I'm afraid.

Sunday: At Last!

Sunday morning was my last ever workshop!  Yay!  It was on creating a mystery series.  And that was done at noon.  A special lunch for graduating seniors came next, followed by a brief graduation rehearsal.  Then I had about an hour of free time, in which I packed so as to zip out of there right after the ceremony.  I also went downstairs and fiddled around on the big harp until it was time for the ceremony to begin.  The pianist was late (?!), so the ceremony didn't start on time, but at last everyone was where they were supposed to be.  At the appropriate time, I strode across the stage in my robe and silly hat, got my Master's hood, my Master's diploma, and my Master's handshake.

So now you all can call me "Master."

Zipped upstairs when it was over, threw everything into the car, and drove home quickly and without incident.  Arrived at around Aran's bedtime.  He was very happy to see his Daddy.  Sam the Dog was happy to see me, too. Even Poltergeist demanded to be acknowledged.

And so I'm settled back in my nice, comfy home.  :)


Saturday: Pitching

Saturday I sat through another critique session, followed by yet another workshop after lunch, this one with the visiting editors and agents.  In the late afternoon, the advanced students were each granted a ten-minute pitch session with an editor.  I asked my agent if I should sign up for one, and she said, "Why give up ten minutes with an editor?"  So I signed up.

The session went very well, and the editor asked to see a full novel proposal.  So Ye Agente will send it to her on Monday.  Cool!

Saturday evening was spent in the parlor.  I broke down and fixed up the big harp one last time and played for quite a while.


Friday: Can I Teach, or Can I Teach?

Friday morning was a teaching session.  This is a three-hour block in which three graduating students teach newer students a one-hour lesson about some aspect of writing.  I took them through the process of formatting and submitting a manuscript.  It went very, very well, and my advisor had nothing but compliments for me afterward when he gave the critique of my lesson.

At the risk of sounding pompous, I wasn't surprised that it went well.  Hey, I do this for a living, and for someone who's used to keeping ninth graders focused on boring old adjectives, teaching graduate students is a piece of cake.  It's kind of like praising a gardener for knowing the difference between two kinds of roses--he bloody well better, since it's his job.  My lesson bloody well better be good--it's my job.

Though it's always nice to hear praise for one's work, no matter how unearned.  :)

After that was lunch, and a workshop called Writing to Your Strengths: Targeting Your Niche.  Its target was romance writers, but I chose it in order to check out something different.  It was pretty interesting, and I learned a few things about the romance market I hadn't known.  I don't plan to write romance at this stage in my career, but you never know, so the knowledge won't be wasted.

I spent the evening holed up in my room writing and feeling virtuous about it.  :)


Thursday: Living with Divinity on a Slow Day

A straightforward day.  Story critiques were in the morning.  (Nothing of mine was on the chopping block.)  After lunch was a workshop on emotion in writing.  The guy who was supposed to teach it (Gary Braunbeck) was hospitalized with a minor heart attack, so another teacher took over.  I sat in the back and worked on chapter three of a WIP.  Dreadful of me, perhaps, but the workshop topic was the sort of thing I was already familiar with.

Then came supper and a completely free evening.  (!)  The non-seniors had mentor meetings, but as a graduating senior, I had none.  I turned in a copy of Trickster to the library so they could put my thesis on the shelves, then went down to the bookstore and paid $40 for a graduation gown.  That ticked me off, I have to say.  You get this acrylic-y thing that you can't wash or dry clean (says the tag) and you're only going to wear once.  I can't even use it for ritual work because the sleeves are weird--it's a code to indicate I have a Master's degree.  Maybe I can trim that part off and use it in emergencies, when my usual ritual robe is dirty or something.

Then I went for a nice long walk through the woods halfway down the hill upon which Seton Hill is perched.  The blackberries were in seasons, and I had sort of a moveable feast, munching them as I found them and noting how berries from different blackberry patches had different flavors.

After that, I went back to my room and finished writing chapter three of the WIP.  That was a major woo hoo!  That chapter has been stalling out on me for months, but at last the first draft is finished!  On to the rewrites!


Wednesday: Becoming a God

Wednesday started off with a discussion of Dhampir, the chosen book for the residency.  I found it a disappointment, me.  Many of the members of the discussion group agreed, though someone else pointed out that if it's target audience was teens (especially teen boys), it probably succeeds very well.  And we left it there.

Then was a meeting for graduating seniors, in which we got Information.  It was lunch, then more seminars.  I had chosen one on collaboration titled, "Playing Well With Others."  It was a great irony that only five people signed up for it.  :)  It was pretty good, and I actually teamed up with my arch-nemesis Andy Devitt to write a collaborated scene that turned out pretty well.

Then was breaktime and supper.  My thesis reading was tonight at eight o'clock--the last one.  (!)  In the meantime, I ran a couple errands in town, then dressed nicely and headed over there.

My thesis defense took place in a carpeted classroom with padded chairs and a small sound system.  (They gave me a microphone.  Dearie, dearie me.)  About twenty people were there--the biggest turnout I've ever had for a reading.  :)  Jim Morrow introduced me, then I got up.

Nervous?  Nah.  It was just like being at a con.  I gave a very brief introduction and read from chapter three of Trickster.  For those of you who've read it, I chose the scene in which Harenn finally meets Bedj-ka and then the scene in which Ben tells Kendi how he wants to have children.

During Harenn's scene, my throat started to thicken up.  I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on or why this was suddenly becoming a hard scene to read emotionally.  Then it hit me--Harenn was waiting for her child almost exactly as Kala and I are waiting for our children.

After the reading came some questions (again just like a con panel) and I was done.

Afterward, I got lots and lots of congratulatory remarks, most of them about how wonderful my reading was, with appropriate voices and accents.  (I got a couple more this morning at breakfast.)  V. nice.  Jim and Diane (Diane Turnshek was my second reader) signed my forms and it was finished.  I have become a Seton Hill god!  :)


Tuesday: Driving and Arrival
Packed up the car with five days worth of stuff and drove across Ohio and part of Pennsylvania to Seton Hill.  The trip was mercifully dull and boring, thank you.  Despite the fact that the drive takes between five and six hours, I prefer it over flying.  Not only is it way cheaper, it also means I can bring lots of stuff!

Arrived, met up with a couple other graduating seniors, and headed off in search of someone who could check us into our rooms.  Hmmm . . . office of student life was wide open, but the desk was unoccupied.  The owner of the desk finally arrived and was rather ticked that we'd been waiting inside her office.  With freezing politeness, we pointed out that her stated hours were five o'clock, that we had arrived at four-thirty, and that we had waited fifteen minutes for her.

"Security has your keys," she snapped.  We didn't feel her worth the effort of replying, so we went down to security and got our keys.

Hauled all my stuff up to the fifth floor of the dorm (the boys' floor), scammed a quick supper in the cafeteria, and attended the opening reception, where I hooked up with more familiar people.


June 19, 2004: Russian!

Today in my mailbox I found a small package wrapped in brown paper and tiedwith twine.  It had enough stamps on it to start an independent nation. Puzzled, I plucked it out of the box and saw the return address from a publisher in Russia.  Light dawned!  DREAMER was translated into Russian many months ago, and these must be the author copies.

I opened the package.  Hardbacks!  With the original cover!  And I can't read a word!  :)







June 18, 2004: The Camping Trip, or a Weekend With Water

Aran's excitement about going camping with Daddy had been growing over the days leading up to it.  Every hour or so he would announce, "I'm going camping with Daddy!" to all within hearing range.  On Thursday morning, he wanted to leave right away, but I had to tell him, "We can't leave until after lunch because we have to pack."
 
Packing for this little jaunt took all morning.  In addition to camping gear, I cheated by packing the portable DVD player and Aran's electronic book in case it rained and we were stuck in the tent for several hours.  The weather report said scattered showers were possible, and I didn't want to take chances.
 
I was barely halfway through loading up the car when Aran jumped into the back seat and fastened his seat belt.  He was ready to go!  I had to tell him we weren't ready to leave yet, but he wanted to stay in the car.  It was very cute.  Finally got the car loaded, and I made Aran eat at least a little something for lunch before we left.
 
It only took 45 minutes to get to this KOA campground.  I didn't realize that it was =right= on the highway.  As in, the highway borders directly on the campground.  It was bloody loud, and after ten minutes I couldn't understand why anyone would want to stay here.  But Aran didn't seem to notice, and this was more for him than for me.
 
We checked into the campground.  The place has a fairly large water slide, a swimming lake, a fishing lake (catch and release), boat rental, a playground, and various other amusements.  In other words, lots to do, which was why I chose it.  Only a scattering of other campers and RV users were there on a weekday, so it was mercifully uncrowded.  Aran helped set up the tent, then just wanted to sit inside it and look through the mosquito netting.  The weather was sunny, hot, and muggy, and I was sweaty.
 
"Do you want to go swimming?" I asked Aran.
 
"No."
 
We repeated this conversation several times until I finally said, "I want to go swimming.  We have to put on our swimsuits now."
 
Once we got down to the water, naturally, he didn't want to come out.  We swam for well over an hour.  Throughout it, I asked, "Do you want to try the water slide?"
 
He answered, "No."  And sometimes he said, "I don't know."  And sometimes he said, "Maybe later."
 
"Is the water slide scary?" I asked.
 
"Yes.  No."
 
The water slide isn't free, and I didn't want to pay the admission only to have him refuse to use it.  I finally took him into the campground office and played the Autism Pity Card.
 
"My son is autistic," I said, "which means he sometimes has trouble explaining what he wants.  I =think= he wants to try the water slide, but I don't know if he'll have a meltdown when we get up there or not.  Can he try it once without paying?  Then if he likes it, I'll buy the admission tickets."
 
The manager agreed, so off we went to the top of the slide.  Aran was a little nervous, but tried it and just loved it.  And then we got a bonus--the lifeguard working the slide said they were only open for another half an hour, and she didn't care if we used it for free.  This we did, and Aran adored every moment.  I knew he would--he loved the water slides at Cedar Point--but convincing him of this was a real trial.
 
After the water slide closed, Aran wanted to swim some more.  This we did until ominous black clouds rolled over the sun.  Once they were overhead, I got Aran out of the lake and went back to the camp site to batten down.  We got everything done just in time for the storm to hit, and it was a pretty powerful thunderstorm.  Aran wasn't sure if he should be scared or not, but Daddy wasn't upset, so he decided not to be.  The storm turned into simple rain, and Aran fell asleep, exhausted from water fun.
 
The storm left a great deal of standing water around.  Although our tent wasn't in a puddle, the site turned pretty mushy.  The whole campground was.  I got out the portable stove to make supper while Aran played with the camera.  (His photo essay can be found here.).  After supper, he wanted =more= swimming.  Well, all right, except we only had one halfway dry towel.  We swam until it was almost sunset.  I started a campfire and showed Aran how to make s'mores, but he didn't like them in the slightest.  And then it was bed-time.
 
Inside the tent, I spent an hour killing mosquitos.  Aran lives in absolute terror of them because a cloud of the stupid things once descended on him and sent him into a full meltdown.  The only way Aran would agree to close his eyes was if he knew every single bug in the tent was dead, and it was a long time before he let me turn out the light.  I didn't sleep much at all.  Aran is a restless sleeper, and the highway was ungodly loud.  Aran slept fairly well, though.
 
In the morning, we went swimming one more time, but the air was chillier and Aran was shivering.  At last I announced it was too cold to swim anymore, so we went back to the site, dressed, packed up, and came home.
 
Aran very much enjoyed himself.  :)  Much father-son bonding.


June 15, 2004: Camping--Sort Of

I'm going to take Aran on a little overnight camping trip to a KOA campground in southern Michigan.  Yeah, I know--visiting a KOA campground and calling it "camping" is like wading in a bathtub and calling it "swimming," but Aran has never been camping before, and I don't want to be stuck way far away from various amenities with a seven-year-old who's gone into autistic meltdown because he can't do a certain thing or eat a certain food.

We're leaving Thursday and returning on Friday--a little jaunt to see how it goes.  If it works well, we'll do longer ones at less wussy campgrounds.

The plan:

--Arrive late afternoon/early evening at campground.  Set up tent.
--Explore campground.
--Go swimming.  (This place has a water slide, so this activity will doubtless eat up a lot of time.)
--Eat supper.
--Start campfire and see if said seven-year-old likes toasted marshmallows and/or s'mores.
--Send hopefully exhausted seven-year-old to bed in the tent while Dad reads by campfire.  (This seven-year-old, no matter how exhausted, will not sleep if Dad is in bed next to him, so Dad has to wait until he drops off.)
--Rise at what Dad thinks is too early an hour but suits seven-year-old just fine.
--Make breakfast.
--Go swimming again.
--Do other activities until seven-year-old gets bored.
--Strike camp and go home.

We'll see if this particular plan survives first contact with the enemy.


June 14, 2004: Step Twenty-Three

Today we got notification that Ukraine has accepted our dossier.  Now we just have to wait for a travel date.  Our agency says one should come in about three weeks.  (!)

June 9, 2004: Apologizing

Sorry about the lack of photos this week, everyone.  I just haven't had time to deal with the camera.  I'll do more later.

June 9, 2004: Eating

This week my eating habits have been very poor.  Tuesday was the end-of-year picnic for Some School teachers, and I ate a little more than I should have. Today the chair of the English department invited what he calls "the cool people" over to his house for lunch (this included moi), and I ate two chicken salad croissants with potato salad.  Tomorrow I'm going out to lunch with a friend and colleague for the final time this year.  My Weight Watcher Flex Points (r) (tm) are almost gone, and it's only Wednesday!  This weekend when I'm out of town, I won't keep track of points at all.  Dearie, dearie me.

On the other hand, I lost two pounds last week and another one so far this week for a total of 16 pounds so far.  I weigh 185 now, down from 201.  So I can handle a bad week.  :)  The goal of 175 is still possible!

June 9, 2004:  Fleeing

I need to Get the F*ck Away for a while.  And I am.  I'm planning a weekend camping trip in western Michigan this weekend.  Just me, a tent, and a campground I like out there.  Reading, hiking, trips into to town to Grand Haven's wonderful movie theater, loafing, harping.  No computer, no grades, no Nameless High School, no family.  Just me.

June 9, 2004:  Tingling

I need to see my doctor.  When I sit at my computer at home or at school, my left shoulderblade tingles uncomfortably.  It's probably something to do with my chair or the way I'm sitting.  I use an ergonomic keyboard and a stationary trackball mouse (which got rid of my hand and wrist problems), so I don't think they're the source.  This hasn't been a problem before, though.  Maybe I need a chair with more back support.

June 9, 2004: Rejecting

Ye Agente informs me my fantasy novel proposal was rejected.  The editor didn't feel drawn into the protagonist's world, she didn't much like the main character, she couldn't get into the plot (though she thought the ending was clever), and she didn't feel it was the right direction for the line she edits.  So other than that, Mrs. Lincoln . . .

Sheesh.

It's heading to someone else now.

June 9, 2004:  Working

This year's exam week was supposed to be easy, what with three of my classes having already taken them in mid-May.  But it's turned into a difficult, nasty week.  I'm continuing to loathe my situation.

So far, Nameless High School has invited me to a beginning-of-the-year retreat for the teachers next fall (a tradition apparently begun when the school first opened and one I politely declined), a tour of the school (scheduled for tomorrow at 11:00, when I couldn't possibly make it, so I also declined), a photography appointment for my picture ID (also scheduled for a time when I couldn't possibly make it), and an end-of-the-year lunch party (which I could make but politely declined anyway).

Apparently the welcome wagon never closes over there.  How nice.  But I have better things to do with my time.

Yesterday we had an awards ceremony at Some School.  It was a semi-serious sort of thing.  I wasn't a nominee for anything, but at one point in the two-hour proceedings, the principal called the people who were transferring away from Some School up on stage.  I got up there with the others and abruptly realized I felt degraded.  "Look everyone--here are the schmucks we're dumping."  I refused to look at the principal even when he called my name, and my face (caught on video for all to see) was set in a horrific scowl I couldn't break--one I didn't want to, frankly.  I seriously considered walking away in the middle of the principal's insipid "we're so sorry to lose these people" speech, but even I couldn't bring myself to make such a serious snub in such a public place.  If I could do it over again, I would simply refuse to mount the stage.

As you can see, the anger has not lessened one tiny bit.

June 5, 2004: No-Labor Labor Day

In an attempt to save money next year ($144,000 out of an $8M budget), the school district decided it wanted to change next year's calendar and delay the start of school until September 7, the day after Labor Day.  Since the State of Michigan requires schools to provide 1,042 hours of instructional time per year, the lost hours would be made up by extending the school day by 15 minutes.

The savings comes because each bus driver and cafeteria worker would lose between $800 and $1500 in hourly wages.  The schools also wouldn't have to pay for supplies, utilities, and some custodians for that time.  Teacher pay would remain unaffected, and teachers would still be expected to cover the same amount of material, despite the lost time.

Three weeks ago, the school board proposed, voted on, and passed a budget with the new start day figured in.  Except . . .

The school board has to set the calendar in conjunction with the teacher union.  In other words, they can't make changes without the okay of the teachers, and they hadn't asked us.  Oopsie!

Here's the problem--the bus drivers, custodians, secretaries, and cafeteria workers have a really sucky union, with almost no power at all.  It was unable to influence the board's decision.  The teachers union is extremely powerful, and has, in fact, about the same amount of power as the board.

This means that the teachers union was put into an interesting position.  We have the power to decide this conflict, even though it's not really a conflict for us.  A lot of teachers are saying, "Start two weeks earlier at the same salary?  I'm there!"  But on the other hand, we're saying, "Except the bus drivers and cafeteria workers lose out."  The teachers are the deciding factor in a salary fight that doesn't involve us.

The teacher union talked to the support staff union, but there was no clear consensus about how the support staff felt about the delayed start.  Some of the people (usually ones who worked part-time or who had spouses with full-time jobs) were happy about it.  Others (people who's primary income stemmed from their school job) were unhappy.

In the end, the members of the union voted.  Today the results came in.  We start school the day after Labor Day.

Since it's now out of my hands, I suppose I can celebrate.  Two more weeks of vacation!


June 1, 2004: Preserved Nature

I was riding my bike over the weekend to explore "my" new neighborhood and I took a particular turn down a short little half-street that ended at some woods.  A narrow trail led into the trees, and hopes rose high.  I climbed off my bike and wheeled it up the trail, filled with hopeful anticipation.

You have to understand that I grew up out in the country, where our nearest neighbors were a quarter-mile away.  We had pastures and woods and fields all around us, and I became a child of the outlands.  My brother and sister and I played in the woods and lived with the silence, the animals, and the trees.  I lived like this until I was sixteen and we were banished to the city, which I hated.  Sterile, noisy, brightly-lit, artficial.  Horrible.  Unfortunately, I haven't yet been able to afford to move back out into the country, so now wherever I live, I locate the closest rural or faux rural area and use it as my getaway.  I walk a lot, do some mental writing, and just pretend I'm the only person within a hundred miles.

On Ford Boulevard, the closest area was a tree-scattered meadow behind the corner strip mall.  It was really a poor substitute--traffic noises were still quite loud, the ruins of an abandoned nursing home attracted drug traffic, and there weren't enough trees.  Still, it was better than nothing.  It worked, more or less, for four years.

The new house, far as I could tell, had nothing around it.  The closest place I could see was a tiny playground about five blocks away--even worse than the meadow.  I could ride my bike up Prospect Road to Geddes, a more-or-less rural place, but in winter, this wouldn't work well.  I was getting despondant about this and wondering how my mental health would survive this otherwise nice new house.

So it was with rising hope that I saw this trail leading into a patch of wooded land.

The narrow trail led deeper into the trees, and I got more and more excited.  Back here I found hills and thick woods criss-crossed by a network of narrow trails.  If I had been twelve, it would have excited me into disrhythmia--the hills are perfect for dirt-bike riding, and judging by the tracks, they were often used for exactly that.  The adult me, however, doesn't much go for jumps and ramps anymore--when 90 pounds hits the ground, it's not a big deal.  When 190 pounds hits the ground, it hurts.

At any rate, I explored these delightful wooded hills until they abruptly ended in an open field.  New houses were visible in the distance to my right, while straight ahead and to the right lay more trees.  For a horrible moment I thought I had hit a new development zone and that the area was going to be torn out.  Then I noticed ancient corn cobs on the ground.  This was a field left fallow for a year, then.

I crossed the wide field, still wheeling my bike, and reached the woods on the far side.  There, a small amount of searching turned up another trail.  A few feet into the shady trees, the trail made a T-intersection.  To the left and right, it wound off into the woods, like Little Red Riding Hood's path.  Immediately ahead of me was a sharp drop-off that ended in a flood plain hidden beneath green ground cover.  In the distance, just visible, was a creek.

How much better can it get?

I hid my bike in some undergrowth and started walking, enjoying the birds and the quiet and the green.  And then I found trees with numbers painted on them.  Oh no.  Were they marked for ripping out?  Was this place going to be developed.  Much later, I found trees with metal tags nailed into them.  In Michigan this usually means the trees are part of a nature preserve, and the tags identify the age and species.  Hooray!  If I'm reading it right, the place won't be touched ever!

After more exploring, I figured I'd better head back, since it was getting close to supper time.  Back home, I told Kala about the place, and Sunday I wanted to go exploring some more and exercise Sam in the bargain.  Kala suggested I take Aran with me, and I suggested we =all= go.  So we did.

Sam adored it.  He got to plunge in and out of the undergrowth, following fun new scents.  Aran liked running up and down the hills quite a lot, and Kala found the place nice.  "Good for ritual work," I said, and she agreed.

On Monday, I wanted to walk around more thoroughly, so I took Aran and Sam again.  "We're going exploring!" Aran proclaimed.

We wandered the trails some more, and this time I took a turn down a trail I hadn't checked before.  Aran and Sam followed, chattering and bounding, respectively.  The trail crested a hill, and we found ourselves looking down at a small lake.  Or maybe it was a really big pond.  As you like.  Reeds and rushes surrounded it, and a scattering of lily pads floated on the surface.  Neat!

The trail led around the lake, which looked unfortunately mucky and unsuitable for wading.  Then we came across a teeny-tiny sandy area, almost a beach.  Aran wanted to go into the water, so we took off our shoes and socks and went wading.  Aran liked this quite a lot.  We heard frogs and caught pollywogs and tadpoles and saw a tiny water snake.  It was great fun.

On the way back, walking in our bare feet with our shoes around our necks, the breeze picked up, carrying the sweet smell of purple blossoms.  I was ten years old again, running barefoot through the woods, and the air smelled like summer--flowers and sunlight and bicycles and comic books.

Oh yes--this is a good place.


May 29, 2004: Observations

Observations on Living in Our New House

1.  This place is much, much quieter.  This morning we had all the windows open to the fresh spring breeze, and the only sound was birdsong.  No cars barelling past at 45 mph, no idiots blasting rap "music" loud enough to rattle the windows, no jerks with racecars fueling up at the corner gas station and tearing down the street.  Just quiet wind and chirping birds. This is lovely.

2.  This place was previously owned and decorated by a domestic goddess who cared more about appearance than convenience.  I'm sorry, but no matter how
well it's scotch-guarded, white carpeting is folly in a house that actually gets lived in.  And the bathrooms were re-done with an eye for form instead of function.  The main bathroom, for example, has no place to hang towels so they're in easy reach when you get out of the shower.  In fact, there's no place to hang more than two towels at all, and the former owners were a family of five.  (We suspect they were a one-use family--use the towel once and throw it in the laundry.)  There are mirrors and glass doors everywhere, and they attract fingerprints like free drinks attract authors.  The former lady-of-the-house--and it was clear the house was her domain, not her husband's--must've done a couple-four hours of housework a day to keep the place so perfect.  It'll go downhill during our tenure, I'm afraid.

3.  The carpet will go within the year.  I'm thinking beige.

4.  You really can't smell radon.

5.  I'm glad we no longer live close to a corner with three gas stations, but I also rather miss being able to pop down to buy milk or lawnmower gas. I wouldn't trade the quiet for the convenience, though.

6.  We have a fat, sassy squirrel who's clearly used to using our yard without fear of reprisal.  (The previous owner had an indoor-only cat and no dogs.)  Sam will no doubt whip him into shape.


May 25, 2004:  The Great Move and the Sucky Transfer

On Friday I went to school for half a day, taking half a day off so I could get more moving stuff done and close on the new house.  At the end of this half-day, the principal called me into his office to deliver the official news that I was being transferred to Nameless High School.

In addition to upsetting me in general, this has had the added effect of destroying my motiation to do anything extra as a teacher.  Because my commute has been lengthened further, I'll be arriving at school five minutes before classes start (per the contract) and I'll be leaving five minutes after the final bell rings (per the contract).  I will be unable to meet before or after school with students.  I will be unable to serve on committees.  I will be unable to do a host of things usually associated with teachers but are not actually part of the contract.  Nameless High School is not getting a good teacher as a result.  I'm certainly not inclined to give them one.

At any rate, I arrived home and set to work with more packing.  We'd gotten down to the difficult part.  I always laugh at TV commercials that show a couple moving into a new home and have said couple sitting among a forest of neatly-labeled boxes, laughing at the "mess" and eating take-out pizza.  The reality, of course, is nothing like this.  How do you pack a dehumidifier?  What sort of box do rakes, hoes, and snow shovels go into?  Answers: you can't, and none exist.  The lawnmower has to be drained and the gas disposed of.  A mountain of trash goes out to the curb.  A series of terrible thunderstorms sweeps through the area.  Do we pack the refrigerator stuff now or tomorrow?

We rented a U-Haul truck to bring a load of stuff over to the new house.  Kala and I loaded it and left it in the driveway, awaiting the close.  At three-thirty, we headed down to close on the new house.  We were late arriving--flooded roads and accompanying bad traffic put everyone off schedule.  But the closing itself went without a hitch.

Once we got home, Comrade Tim and I took the truck over to the new house to unload it while Kala took Aran over to my brother's to spend the night.  Tim and I discovered that the U-Haul was leaky, and several boxes had gotten wet.  Then we spent the rest of the evening packing more and more.  And then yet another thunderstorm smashed down on us.

We got up on Saturday at six o'clock and ate a quick breakfast at a downtown restaurant. 

We had loaded some heavy stuff into one of the cars, and about half a mile down the road to the new house, the engine started laboring and it stalled out.  I smelled oil.  We took the car back and unloaded it, but now it has to be looked at.  I was fighting migraine headaches by now, and this wasn't helping.

The movers arrived and quickly set to work.  We finished the last bits of packing, including the difficult stuff from the garage and the basement.  The weather was hot and sticky, but I wasn't doing any lifting--no way.  The sofabed was a nightmare to get out of the basement, but it finally came out.  The treadmill turned out to be easier than we thought.  The only thing the movers couldn't get out was the dining room table.  This struck me as odd, because we'd gotten it in, and without dismantling it.  In the end, we left it there and decided to see if the new owners wanted it.

At last everything that could go on the truck was on it.  We'd hired a neighbor to clean the house for us, so she set to work as we drove off.  The unloading at the new house went quickly and smoothly, which was nice.  We paid and tipped the movers and did some rudimentary unpacking.  We set up Aran's room to make the place immediately familiar to him and dug basics out of the bathroom and kitchen stuff.  My mother, meanwhile, drove down from Saginaw to Royal Oak, visited my brother's family for a while, then brought Aran over to his new house while Kala went over to our old house to hand the keys over the new owners.

Aran hated it.  He cried and threw trantrums and demanded that he had to go back to Uncle Paul's house.  He freaked and screamed and howled, and Mom and I couldn't calm him down.

In the end, we had to go back to the new house because we had to meet Kala.  Aran was still upset.  We handed the keys over to the new owners, who didn't want the table.  Mom and I looked at it and figured out what the movers had been doing wrong.  We muscled the table out and put it on Mom's truck, then wished the new owners luck and left.  Ford Boulevard is no longer our street.

Back at our new house, we finally got Aran calmed down.  We got our bedroom set up well enough to sleep in, then split up.  I started work on the office (the computer had to be set up well enough so the cable guy could re-hook the Internet connection Sunday morning) and Kala went to work in the kitchen.  This kept us going until about eight, when exhaustion finally stopped us from continuing.

On Sunday, we went back to work.  The cable guy showed up and got the Internet back on, though my laptop won't connect with the home network properly--Novell keeps getting in the way.  I have to get the disks and remove it entirely, which should solve the problem.  I'll have roving Internet on my laptop. Cool!

The rest of the day was spent with more unpacking.  And more and more and more.  And more.

The house is still in chaos, but I'm hoping by Memorial Day almost everything will be done.

If you want to see more pictures of our house and our move, click here.


May 17, 2004: Prepping for the Move

We've started serious packing for this Saturday's move.  Kala's packed much of the living room stuff (books, videos, toys, closet stuff) and I've packed up most of the office.  Everything's in boxes, and the place echoes. Posting around here will slow for a while.  Onward to the next packing job!


May 13, 2004: Sinks and Lawnmowers

The hot water side of our bathroom faucet started leaking about a month ago.  It got steadily worse, until the drip turned into a steady dribble.  I don't know how to fix a leaky faucet, so I revved up Google to find out.  Found a couple pages in short order, assembled the necessary tools, shut the water off, and carefully dismantled the faucet per the directions.  I took the innards to the corner hardware store (gonna miss that place when we move) and asked if they had o-rings in the proper size.  The owner showed me two little repair kits--one for the faucet array and one for the spring-and-washer beneath it.

"The problem's more likely to be the spring and washer below," he said.  So I bought both kits.  (Lesson one, folks--shop at your local businesses.  I doubt anyone at Lowe's or Home Depot would have told me about the spring-and-washer kit.)

Came back home and replaced the o-rings on the faucet innards, then popped the washer and spring out of the lower part.  This took a pair of needle-nose pliers and a certain amount of swearing at having to work in a tight place with bad light.  (Insert smarmy remark here, if you like.) Finally got them out and the new ones in.  Reassembled the faucet and tested it.  No leaks!  Whew!

Then came the lawnmower.

Our lawnmower keeps dying and the throttle is broken and it stalls out a lot and we've been borrowing the neighbor's over and over, so today I broke down and bought a new one.  Went to Lowe's, and they had next to nothing.  Went to Home Depot, and they had =lots.=  A clerk I talked to said they stocked up well because last year they ran out.  Glad I was for them!

Flirted with getting an electric mower, but it occurred to me that my knowledge of small gas motors is limited, and my knowledge of small electric motors in nil.  So I opted for what I knew.

The one I picked has more horsepower than the old one.  Got it home and assembled it.  Kala revved it up and tried it out.  It slices!  It dices! It mulches!  It doesn't stall out, even over extra-long grass.  Good mower. :)


May 9, 2004: Ukraine Yard Sale

Apparently there's some linguistic variation on this.  When you sell a bunch of used stuff from around your house, is it a yard sale, a garage sale, or a rummage sale?  Here in Michigan we use all three interchangeably, whether there's a yard or garage involved or not.

Anyway.  Very early Friday morning, Kala's mother came over and the two of them started setting up the yard sale while I left for school.  There was some drizzle early on, but other than that, the weather stayed dry.  The stuff lined the driveway and spilled out onto the front lawn.  We had dishes, books, appliances, clothing for all ages, shoes, toys, puzzles, games, lamps, cribs, and more.

As is usual in these things, people arrived before everything was quite set up.  One guy, Kala reported, appeared at 7:30 and helped her and Melva carry stuff out of the house, then bought several older things.  An antiques dealer, no doubt, wanting to make sure he saw everything.  Another woman dashed into the yard and eagerly snatched up the little carousel horse and bought about $100 worth of other stuff.  (!)  Turns out she collects horse figurines.  When I called around lunch, Kala said it had been very busy all day.

When I got home at 3:00, things slowed down considerably, though we had a number of customers.  At five we called it a day and spent a great deal of time hauling some stuff into the garage and covering the rest with plastic drop cloths.  This was quite a lot of work.  Good thing we did, though, because it rained for most of the night.

Saturday morning was cool and cloudy.  We got everything back out of the garage and uncovered the tables.  Minimal loss due to water damage.  This time the morning was very quiet.  No customers at all, in fact.  I told Kala I must be garage sale poison--whenever I'm around, the customers vanish.  I countered this by going inside to get the portable DVD player and putting in a video.  Naturally, people started arriving almost immediately.

One of the items we received was a combination blender/mixer.  It had a central motor that could either turn the blender blades or run the beaters, depending on how you put it together.  It also had a dough hook.  I really wanted it, but left it out for sale.  Later I was in the house and came across a box Kala and Melva had missed.  In it was a food processor.  I was going to bring it out, then noticed that the motor part was missing--it was just blades and the safety cover.  Then I realized it went along with the blender/mixer.  That was the final straw.  I brought the whole thing into the house and replaced it with our own blender and little food processor.  Both of them sold, and I got a professional-level food thingie.  Cool!

We sold more stuff, though not nearly as much as Friday.  We'd been planning to close down at three, but people kept pulling up, and we ended up staying open until five, when we firmly shut the gates.  The only thing I kept besides the aforementioned kitchen appliance was a set of popsicle molds and a potato slicer.  Kala kept a Christmas cookie jar she liked.  Everything else that didn't sell we dumped at the curb for Monday's trash.  It created quite a pile.

Less than an hour after we finished that chore, the secondary crowd showed up--trash pickers.  They've been going through the stuff fairly steadily yesterday and today (Sunday), pulling up and going through the boxes.  I generally don't mind, except some of them are really rude about it; they dump stuff out of boxes, pick out what they like, and leave the rest on the grass.  And I have better things to do than stand out there and supervise them, so they do as they please.  Jerks.  I hope they get flat tires on the way home.

Meanwhile, we counted the money.  We make about $600, all told.  That'll pay for most of a round-trip ticket to Urkaine.  Yay!


May 2, 2004: A Nice Review

In the May issue of SF CHRONICLE, we have a review of Path of the Just, the superhero antho in which Steven Harper has a story.  The review says, in
part:

" . . . [E]very story has its strengths, while some stand head and shoulders above the rest.  My personal favorites had to be Steven Grant's 'Citizens' . . . and 'Ion Shells' by Steven Harper, which looks at an unusual relationship blossoming between a superhuman thief and the hero who keeps running afoul of him."

He also mentions "Covalent Bonds," by fellow Untitled Writers Grouper Erica Schippers in a positive light.

We'll take it.


May 1, 2004:  Beltaine and Borers

Blech!  It's not even fifty degrees out, it's cloudy, and it occasionally drizzles.  One covener has severely hurt his back and can barely walk, another is still recovering from a birth.  So not much going on Beltaine-wise.

This morning I went off in search of chemicals, actually.  Our ash tree out front needs to be treated against Asian emerald ash borers (stupid global economy), so I looked up the process on-line.  The web page I found about this problem said uninfected ash trees need to be treated before the end of April--I'm hoping one day won't make a difference--and it gave the exact specific chemical I need to use.  I measured the circumference of the tree at 96", which meant I'd need 96 ounces of Bayer Advanced Garden Tree and Shrub Insect Control, then headed out.

The first two stores I went to were out.  No surprise, I guess; there are a lot of ash trees around here.  A worker at one place said their store out on Jackson Road still had some but I should call to confirm.  Naturally I didn't have my cell phone, and I didn't want to drive all the way out there only to find they didn't have any either..  I'd have to go home.

On the way, I passed Wal-Mart.  I loathe Wal-Mart and everything it stands for.  However, it occurred to me that they might have this stuff.  I went in and found it almost immediately.  I gritted my teeth, told myself I was saving a fine tree, and bought three bottles.  I still feel dirty, though.

BAGTSIC is easy to use, fortunately.  You just mix it with water and pour it around the tree.  This I did in short order.  Ta da!

At closing, we'll tell the new owners that they'll probably want to treat the tree again and hire an arborist to do a more extensive treatment in late May or early June.

Saving trees--isn't that what Beltaine is about?


April 29, 2004: Adventurous Day

I started with an oh-shit morning.  This happens when you wake up, look at the clock, and say, "Oh shit!"  The clock in question read 6:18, and I usually get up at 5:25.

You are looking at an unshowered man.

Bolted out the door and got to school only ten minutes later than my usual 7:00 (school starts at 7:20).  Whew!  Let's get moving.  Start the day with media literacy, then segue into the stupid MEAP test, go to lunch, teach college writing, and head into another section of media literacy.  At about 1:40, the PA came to life.

"Good afternoon, students and staff," said our principal in a cheerful voice.  "We're going to conduct a fire drill in just a few moments. Teachers, please tell your students to take their belongings with them." And the fire alarm went off.

Naturally my own alarms were working overtime.  1) Fire drills are always at the beginning of class, never in the middle.  2)  They are never announced. 3) The kids generally don't take their stuff with them.  The whole thing smelled like a bomb threat or similar.  So I threw my own stuff into my satchel, grabbed coat and keys, and headed outside with the kids.  Moments later, a fire truck came screaming down the street and hurtled itself around the corner to the front of the building.

Naturally speculation ran rampant, but we didn't learn anything.  At least the weather was warm, if windy.  The buses arrived and the assistant principals told the kids they could go home at the normal time of 2:10.  I spoke to said AP, and he said there was an "immediate threat" to the building, though he wouldn't say what it was.  I'm still thinking bomb threat.

Once the kids were on the buses, I went around to the front of the building to go home, congratulating myself on having grabbed my own stuff. (Actually, after the Year of Many Bomb Threats, I grab my coat and keys whenever there's a building evacuation, even if it's just a drill.)  Many police cars were in evidence, and one of the officers directed traffic to expedite people getting out.  So now I'm home.

From oh-shit to evacuation in six easy hours!


April 26, 2004: Feed Me!

[Homer voice] Me so hungy . . .

I knew this was going to happen.  Weight Watchers' point system has a breakpoint.  When you cross it, your points (ie, your daily food allotment) drops markedly.  I was one pound above it last week, and since I lost weight this week, I dropped below it.  So now I'm "allowed" even less food.

Mmmmm . . . food . . .


April 25, 2004: Ukraine Yard Sale

I sent out the following letter via e-mail to lots of friends.

***
As most of you know, Kala and I are in the process of adopting two children from Ukraine. We've paid most of the fees to the adoption agency, but there'll be travel expenses and the fees the Ukraine government charges. Most of these fees we'll be able to meet on our own, but we won't quite make it. So we're looking for help.  May 8 and 9, we're holding a fundraising yard sale, and we're looking for stuff to sell. If you have kids clothes, small appliances, knicknacks, CDs, books, dishes, or other salable items, please bring them by and we'll take them off your hands! If you have stuff you'd like to donate and can't bring to us, let us know and we'll be glad to come and get it. All proceeds will go to our Ukrainian Adoption Fund.

In the meantime, your attic gets cleaned out, we're closer to completing our adoption process, and two lonely children will get a good home. Let us know if you can help. Thanks!
***

Pray for good weather and many customers, everyone!

April 24, 2004: Book Signing With Kazoos

Had a four-hour book signing today at Kazoo Books in Kalamazoo, along with Comrade Sarah, Anne Harris, and Jacqueline Carey.  Kalamazoo about a two-hour drive west of here, so off I went in my trusty Cavalier.  The drive was nice, and I had fine spring weather.  Found the bookstore easily enough and walked right in.

Kazoo Books is a used and new bookstore set up in what used to be a house.  It’s very large, with three floors of shelves and an enormously fat cat named Tink.  I was later told that the owners put Tink on a diet but he didn’t lose weight.  Eventually they discovered the customers were feeding him!  Now they have signs posted around the store asking people not to do that.

Anyway, I met the very friendly store owners and got a tour.  (The place is big enough to warrant one.)  The SF books were in the basement (rather like those stereotypical SF readers), and I found the workers unpacking and shelving a whole slew o’ boxes.  It seems some guy died and his heirs found box after box after box of SF and F novels in his house.  They called Kazoo Books.  “How much would you charge to haul them away?”

“Er . . . ”

Despite temptation, the owners paid for the books and quintupled their SF collection.  Some of the books were really old and pulpy.  A worker and I found two erotic SF novels translated from French--the adventures of a sexologist and her great adventures in space.  Despite temptation, I didn’t buy them.

Also found some Chicks in Chainmail books, which I signed.

Upstairs, Sarah and Anne and Jacqueline finally arrived and we went to our assigned places.  We had comfy armchairs set next to tables loaded with our books.  I signed a set right off for a collector, then had a lull, then signed several more.  Many people wandered through, and Sarah and I engaged in long, relaxed conversations with them, punctuated by more signatures and browsing about the store.

Somewhere in all this, the owners made a serious misake.  They gave us all Kazoos.

The fun began when Sarah and I marched off in search of the food table, kazoos clenched firmly in our teeth.  We did a duet of “It’s a Small World After All,” and segued into a Sousa march.  We were followed by the owner and a pair of giggling customers.  Anne and Jacqueline’s table was at the other end of the store, so Sarah and I went to visit them.  We did a quartet of “Pomp and Circumstance.”  (Only later did we learn someone had a video camera rolling.  Oh dear.)  Later, we added “The Bridge Over the River Kwai” and the University of Michigan fight song.  The customers were alternately fascinated and horrified.  Sold a few more books, though.

And then home.



April 23, 2004: "Die" With a "T"

Dieting sucks.  It works, but it sucks.  It’s been two years since the last diet, so I guess I’m not doing all that badly--especially since I seem genetically inclined to a little bit of heaviness.  I weighed 220 pounds last time I dieted (I’m 5’11”, in case you were wondering), and I got down to 180.  This time I’m at 200, and I’m going to shoot for 175.  Supposedly I should weigh between 160 and 165, but I’d look like an absolute stick if I managed that.  In any case, wrist measurements indicate I have a large frame, so I don’t need to go that low.

I’m hungry all the time.  In theory this means I’m doing something wrong, but I can’t figure out how to avoid it.  So I’ve turned it into an iron man thing for myself.  “I don’t need food!  I’m a tough guy.  Tough guys can handle being hungry.  Whadda you mean your stomach’s growling?  Wimp!”  Testosterone is a fine thing.

I still want to eat more.

It’s been five days, and I’ve lost a pound.  My goal is to lose between one and two pounds a week.  That way, I’ll have almost reached my target weight by the time we travel to Ukraine (assuming we go this summer).  This is another motivator--not wanting to be a stereotypical fat American in Europe.

April 23, 2004: House Update

Goodness!  I haven't reported here lately about our house hunt!

We do have a new house.  I think I mentioned it was our Emergency Backup House in case we didn't get the one down in Sumter, which is what happened. The plusses of the house:

1.  It has three bedrooms upstairs, a guest suite in the fully-finished basement (with attached bathroom), and an enormous office space in said basement.  Lots of room, in other words.

2.  It's on a very quiet street in a quiet neighborhood.

There were two snags with the EBH:

1.  It's in the middle of a subdivision with no parks or vacant land within walking distance.

2.  The owners didn't want to move out until June.  We need to be out of our house by mid-May.

The first one I'll just have to live with until we move again.  The second we got around by offering the owners full list price with a mid-May move-in date.  Money talks--they accepted.  Unfortunately, there was one more snag:

3.  The seller's disclosure listed levels of radon in the basement at 4.1 microcuries per million.

According to the CDC and EPA, you're okay with radon if you're below 4 microcuries per million.  We requested another radon test.  Results came back: 5.3.  (!)

Okay, let's put this into perspective.  According to the EPA, if a thousand non-smokers lived in a basement with this level of radon over a lifetime, three of them would develop lung cancer.  In other words, a teeny-weeny chance of any kind of problem.  Also, radon can be remediated with the installation of a simple ventilation system, to the tune of about $750 in Ypsilanti.  (I did some poking around, incidentally, and learned Washtenaw County is listed as having extremely high levels of radon overall.)

So we added a rider to the offer.  The owners can either put in the ventilation system or credit us with $750 at the sale.  I suspect they'll go for the credit, and we'll do it soon after we move in.

Chances are the huge office area will become the kids' playroom and my office will be the guest bedroom.  My own bathroom!  :)


April 22, 2004: Non-Slipped

Today we received notice that "only" three teachers from Some School would receive pink slips and those three have already been notified.  I am not among them.  Good news for me, I suppose, but it's awful for those three.

April 20, 2004: Pink Slips

This Friday is pink slip day.  Whereever teachers who are getting pink slips will be called into the principal's office that day to receive the news.  Many, but not all, of those teachers will be rehired after June 30.

Pink slips are based first on department, then on seniority.  The district looks at how many secondary English teachers they have, then lays off the newest ones.

The district by law has to balance its budget by June 30, you see, and right now Whereever is heading into deficit spending.  Laying off teachers is a way of balancing the budget.  Most, but not all, will be re-hired.  The district never knows exactly how many teachers it needs until enrollment figures are finalized in August.  In years when they don't have a deficit, this isn't a problem.  This year it does.  Once it has the final enrollment numbers, the district will recall many of the pink-slipped teachers.  Some won't be recalled, though.

The thing that's making a lot of people angry is that the district is sitting on $20 million in fund equity.  This is a rainy day fund.  The district is only releasing $7 million, and none of that is going toward personnel.  We believe it's not just raining, it's flooding.

Not that I'm wishing harm on any of my colleagues, but I'm really hoping I'm not among those slipped.  Not only is this a really bad time for a teacher to be out of work, but we'd also have to halt the adoption process. 

It seems unlikely that I'd be slipped, since I'm in my ninth year and there are lots of English teachers who were hired after me, but you always wonder.  I could be, for example, given a pink slip with the (unofficial and unstated) assumption that I'll be rehired, but I'd still have to give up adopting for now.

April 19, 2004: Prison Subbing

Kala has finished her student teaching, but she obviously doesn't have a job.  She looked into subbing for Detroit, but with all the looming layoffs, they aren't hiring any subs.  She reactivated her status as a sub with Willow Run, Aran's school, and then went in to interview at the boys prison where she worked for two years.  They hired her immediately and she's subbing there two days this week.  Income!


April 14, 2004: The Lion King Performance

You know things are going to go well when you get a good parking space.

We arrived at the Masonic Temple about half an hour before showtime and ended up with a parking space right next to the theater itself. Parking was cheap--five bucks! I thought it would be fifteen or even twenty.  Anyway, we arrived, made a trip to the potty, and found our seats without incident. Aran was excited the whole time and kept asking how much time was left before the play started, to the great amusement of the people sitting in front of us. At last the curtain went up and the show began.

It was wonderful! I want the masks and costumes for ritual work, and I want them now. The combination of people, costume, and puppetry was grand, grand, grand. "The Circle of Life" was just as stunning as it was at the Tonys, only better because it was live. Despite narrow stairs leading up to the stage, they still brought the elephant and rhinocerous in through the house. The assemblage of a giant Mufasa head for the scene in which Simba talks to the spirit of his dead father brought much ooo-ing and aah-ing. Rafiki was, of course, a big crowd pleaser. The actors playing the hyenas were having way too much fun. And the wildebeest stampede was done amazingly well.

Aran was enthralled through most of it. He got excited during a lot of the dance scenes. Some of the louder bits were much for him (the geysers whooshing out of the stage floor made a lot of noise), but he didn't want to leave. He spent a lot of the show holding my hand or with his arm around me, but he never wanted to leave. Since the show started at his usual bed-time and it was =way= late for him, he did nod off during some of the slower songs in the second act, but he never once got cranky, unhappy, or upset. Kala said half the fun of being there was watching the expression on Aran's face.

It was a fine, fine evening.


April 14, 2004: The Lion King Preparation

We have three tickets for THE LION KING stage production tonight.  We've been trying to prep Aran for it for weeks--buying the movie on DVD, playing the music, saying, "We're going to go see a play!" and so on.  This morning when I got up with Aran and mentioned it, however, he said, "No!  We're going to see a movie!"

"We're going to see a play about Simba," I said.  "People will wear clothes that make them look like animals."

After several moments of this, Aran changed his mind about the movie.  "We're going to stay home tonight," he said firmly.  No amount of persuasion could budge him, and I could see the warning signs that if we insisted without persuading, the evening would turn into a disaster.

I got on-line and found some pictures of the show.  "See?  Here's what we're going to see."

"No!  We're going to stay home tonight!"  This was followed by a crying jag.

I surfed around some more and found the opening to the show from the Tony Awards.  (It's at http://www.lionking.net/movies/circleoflife-tonys.mov , if you're interested.)  I showed it to Aran, who still looked unhappy about the entire affair.

"Is it scary?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, but he said it in the tone I've come to recognize as meaning, "I'm just saying 'yes' because I don't know what else to say."

We watched the opening again.  This time Aran said, "I don't want to wear a costume."

Hmmmm.  At school, going to see a play often meant audience participation.  Maybe this is what was bugging Aran.  "No, we're not going to wear costumes," I said.  "We're just going to watch."  I ran the opening again and pointed to the audience.  "We're going to sit here and clap our hands.  That's all."

"Yeah," he said.  "We're just going to clap our hands.  And we'll say, 'Cool!' "

I let him watch the opening scene several times and I think he's happy about going to see it now.  We'll have to see.


April 13, 2004: Armed and Dangerous

Aran got hold of our digital camera today and I assembled the results into a photo essay.  He's pretty good with a camera!  There are four pages total, the first of which is at:

http://www.sff.net/people/spiziks/photo1.html


April 12, 2004: Adoption Step Twenty-One

It's arrived!  The BCIS approval letter came in the mail today.  The US government has granted us permission to bring adopted children into the United States from Ukraine.  Another major hurdle cleared!

Now we pay another adoption agency fee and the fees to the Ukraine government.  It all totals about $20,000 dollars.  I really need to sell another book.


April 12, 2004: A New World Order

Sam gained some serious weight at Mom's.  I think she fed him more than we do and he didn't get quite as much exercise.  Last night I took him out for a walk, to his great joy, but he didn't dash around with his usual amount of energy.  When he got home, he fell asleep in the office while I wrote.  He got up about an hour later and was moving stiffly, as if he ached.  Definitely needs more exercise.  I'll have to whip him back into shape!  Here he is in his favorite position--reclining.

Interestingly, he's also no longer afraid of my cat Poltergeist (pictured to the left).  Poltergeist terrorized Sam into submission when he was a puppy, and even as a ninety-pound adult dog, Sam always made way for Poltergeist.  He even let Poltergeist eat from his bowl and get first dibs on cooking leftovers.

Today Kala gave Sam a dog biscuit, and Poltergeist tried to take a bit of it.  Sam snapped at Poltergeist, who hissed and slunk away, clearly bewildered.  I'm wondering if the house has a new beta animal!  (The humans are all alpha, of course.)


April 11, 2004: Easter Trip

Kala and I usually don't do anything except play Jesus Christ, Superstar on Easter Sunday, but this year we decided to go up to my mother's to visit, since all my siblings and their spouses would be there as well, and so we could retrieve Sam the Dog, who was banished while we were selling the house.  I baked bread to bring and made some Mexican corn dip, a new recipe that comes out creamy and spicy and is horrifyingly addictive. You just can't stop eating it.

Sam was bouncily excited to see us, and Aran was glad to see Grandma Penny and Aunt Beth.  My brother Paul called, unfortunately, to report that he had two flat tires on the highway and would be somewhat delayed.  We munched on the corn dip, which no one could stop eating.  :)  Everyone finally arrived safely, however, and we ate ham and chicken.  Aunt Beth hid Easter eggs outside and we held a hunt for the four kids.  We also had a birthday among the children, and Mom had made a bunny birthday cake.  This photo is just before cake dissection and distribution.  Kala's the one who looks surprised.  Next to her are sis-in-law Kristi and my brother Paul.  Grandma Karow is blocked by John's elbow.  Beth and Mom are bent over the cake.  The kids are remaining nameless, since I don't want to post their names on the web.

At one point I was washing up in the kitchen.  My hands were dripping wet and I noticed my sister was standing with her back to me.  I flicked water on the back of her neck and made sneezing noises.  She freaked.  "Awww!  I can't believe you did that!  Gross!  Disgusting!  Yuck!"  Pause. "I have to do it to Paul!"

And she did.  Paul froze, then freaked.  The entire house was dying laughing.  Old joke, new audience.  :)


April 10, 2004: Electricity

While we were waiting for our realtor to call, I rewired the light fixture in the kitchen ceiling fan.  About a month ago, the bulb went dim--wire problem instead a bulb problem.  A couple days ago, it went out competely, and no amount of coaxing got it to work again.  The fan worked fine, but the light was dead.

This morning I shut off the power and dismantled the fixture.  The wiring was shot, as was the pull-chain switch.  I had already bought a new light socket, so I set to work.

Right off I was stymied--the socket wasn't quite compatible with the fixture.  The fixture has a metal shell that the glass shade hangs from. The part of the new socket that takes the wires wouldn't feed through the hole in the shell.  So I took the shell and the socket to our little local hardware store and talked to the friendly owner.

"I either need a new shell or a new socket," I said.  "Do you have either one?"

He thought a moment, then produced . . . a thingie.  The thingie was a tube with pipe threading on the outside, as if it were a hollow screw.  He screwed it into the top of the socket and poked it through the hole in the shell.  Ta da!  The wires could be fed through the thingie and down into the socket now.

I thanked him, took everything home, and discovered that the thingie lengthened the top of the socket and prevented me from attaching the shell to the light fixture.  How nice.  I spent a frustrating half hour with a hacksaw and finally managed to saw the thingie in half.  =Now= the shell fit right.

I stripped the wire ends and set to attaching them to the light socket.  The directions that came with the socket assumed I knew what "terminal screws" and other such things were, and I had to delve into my meager understanding of electricity to figure it out.  It took quite a lot of wrangling and swearing to get all the tiny screws and the recalcitrant wires to go where they were supposed to, but I finally did it.  I put in a light bulb (apparently it only takes one Pagan to screw one in), restored power, held my breath, and flipped the light switch, fully expecting something to fizzle, explode, crackle, or otherwise act in an ominous manner.

I got a perfectly calm white glow.  Eureka!

April 10, 2004: Horrible Day

Yesterday Kala and I did a marathon of house viewing, and we saw one a ways south of here, and it was wonderful!  Out in the country, a fair chunk of land, woods all around, a dirt road.  The interior was fantastic.  It was the best house of all the ones we saw.  This house, we knew, we would stay in until we retired.  We wanted to put in an offer and the selling realtor said someone else was already putting one in.  And then we found out yet another person was putting in an offer.

We hurriedly made an offer slightly over list price.  We had several things going for us--no house to sell, the two realtors work for the same realty, high offer.  The sellers were getting all three offers this morning at ten. At one, our realtor called us.  They accepted someone else's offer.

It turned out one of the offerers said he'd take the house as-is.  No inspection, no radon test, no pest inspection.  The seller jumped at that and accepted.

Kala and I were upset.  I mean really upset.  It's partly that this house pleased both of us mightily--no small thing in a country mouse/city mouse marriage--and partly that this is the third house we've really liked that's been shot out from under us.  It's partly that I'm so very tired of house-hunting.  And it's partly that we're tired of settling.  We settled when we moved to Rhinelander; we settled when we moved to Mt. Pleasant; we settled when we moved to Spice Tree in Ann Arbor; and we settled when we moved here.  Since we're under a deadline, we'll probably have to settle again--unless something comes on the market in the next two or three days.

We did go to an open house for a place not far from us.  The interior is wonderful and meets all our family and business needs.  Downsides: the sellers don't want to move out until June, though that may be negotiated, and it's smack in the middle of a subdivision; not my idea of a fine location.  We'd be moving again in a couple-three years.

Anyway.  It's been a horrible, dreadful day.

April 9, 2004: Schlumpy House Day

Right now the house is a mess.  Corey is sitting in his case by the door (the result of a trip to school for a lesson on Elizabethan music), clothes are lying on the easy chair in the den, my desk is cluttered up, books and manuscripts are piled on the filing cabinet, Aran's school things are scattered all over the dining room, and the beds aren't made.

What a mess!  This will have to be rectified after we get back from looking at houses.

April 8, 2004: The Day Before Break

Today I am demonstrating my savvy as a teacher.  It's the day before spring break, you see, and the kids are potentially squirrely.  So . . .

In media literacy, they're trading samples of music with each other and interviewing one another about their musical tastes.  This is followed by a video on whether music and the media have an impact on teen suicide.

In English 9, we're starting Greek mythology.  I started by telling them my story "How Humanity Got the Gift of Fire; Or Why the Eagle No Longer Has To Hunt For Lunch."  My storytelling skills are pretty good, if I say so myself, since I'm able to keep a group of freshman absolutely quiet and attentive for fifteen minutes straight.  This is followed by a scavenger hunt--whichever group find the most correct answers to a series of mythology questions, wins.

You'll notice that there's no lecture, no worksheet, and very little sitting still time.  Go me!


April 7, 2004: Sniff!

I'm losing my slave!  Today was Amie's last day of teaching.  She's tying up a few loose ends for a couple other classes today and tomorrow, but to all intents and purposes, she's done.

I actually have to work.  Whimper!

Though overall I'm glad to be back in the classroom.  It feels weird to be at school and not teaching.  I also like teaching (most days), so it's nice to be back.

And yet I'm strangely looking forward to spring break next week . . .


April 7, 2004: Bzzzt!

The house on Cross has failed inspection.  Sigh.

The contractor was there for forty-five minutes before discovering minor problems with the roof and major ones with the foundation.  Bug infestation, wood in contact with ground, concrete spread over weakened foundation areas, and more.  So Cross Street is a no.

This gives us a bit of a deadline, since we have to be out of this house by May 21.  Yeek!  We're looking at many, many houses on Friday during the day, since Kala and I both have that day off.


April 3, 2004: Budget Cuts

This year is the year when all the state budget cuts hit hard.

Previous to this, many school districts were able to make the cuts in ways that didn't show--reducing supply budgets, not hiring new teachers and increasing class sizes by one kid each, cutting librarian positions, etc.  But we just can't do it anymore.

I feel it was a grave mistake to make invisible cuts in the first place. The initial round of cuts should have been painful and visible to the public.  "Sorry--we just don't have money to fund sports programs.  They're gone.  If you have problems with that, you need to complain loudly to the state government."  "Sorry--we don't have money for a library.  It will be shut down effective immediately and the librarian will be teaching in a classroom.  Please take complaints or problems to the state government."  "The football field is closed because we can't afford the upkeep.  Please complain to Governor Granholm."  With parents around the state up in arms,
the legistlature made have taken steps to increase school funding by, say, changing Proposal A, which forbids property tax to be used to fund schools. But the districts made the cuts in such a way that the parents didn't see them.

In Whereever, our class size went up an average of one kid per class to 29.  On paper this doesn't sound like much--until you realize that for every class that has, say, 21 students in it, another class will have eight more, or two classes will have four more each.  In practical terms, this means required courses such as English 9, Integrated Math, World History, etc. end up with huge, huge numbers because not as many kids sign up for various electives.  Excluding media literacy, of course, where I'm bursting at the seams with 34 and 35 kids per class.

Whereever has also shut off between half and two-thirds of the lights in the hallways to save power.  The halls are dark, gloomy, and depressing, and you simply can't see well.  I received a letter once and was trying to read it while walking back to my classroom.  I had to give up because the lighting was just too dim.  The heating system has been reduced by two degrees (and in practical terms, this means some rooms are fine and others--mine--are so cold I wear three layers).  The cooling system, when the weather gets hot, will be raised by two degrees (and since my room faces south, I imagine good old room G105 will roast).  I was given exactly $50 to buy supplies for the entire year, and when one box of dry-erase markers costs $15, you can imagine what I was able to get.  (Usual budget for the
year per English teacher is $150.)  All these cuts are invisible to the parents.  The kids don't talk about big classes at home, nor do they complain about the dark hallways, the freezing classrooms, or the lack of teaching supplies.  So the parents think everything is hunky-dory.

And now in Detroit, 3,200 employees (teachers, support staff, administrators, etc.) will be laid off.  In Whereever, papapros and secretaries are being eliminated, and an unknown number of teachers will be pink-slipped.  No administrators, however, are losing their jobs.  The student-to-teacher ratio will be increased to 29, meaning those classes with 32 or 33 will next year have 34 or 35.  An English teacher at Whereever Northern High School has 160 students because she has 32 kids in five classes.  The school board has announced its intention to invoke a clause in the teacher contract that allows them to renegotiate teacher salaries.

Interestingly enough, the school is sitting on $19 million dollars in fund equity.  This money is supposed to be used for rainy days.  But the board says they'll only release $7 million of it, and none of it for staffing. The board refuses to let the rainy day fund drop below $12 million, despite the fact that the flood waters are rising fast.

And in this atmosphere, Kala will be looking for a teaching job.

April 2, 2004: Conference Night

Oh yeah!  Conferences were deader than a SFWA party without booze.

I sat with my student teacher and we waited for parents.  We got one or two, then we waited.  We got one more, then we waited.  And waited and waited and
waited.  Conferences are held in the gym, with four long parallel rows of tables set up for the teachers to use.  Between the rows are sets of chairs for waiting parents to sit on.  I never saw more than three or four parents waiting total.

I had no papers to grade, thanks to my student teacher's efficiency, and no lesson plans or other clerical work.  My laptop's battery only lasts an hour at a time, so there was no point in bringing that.

So I brought the portable DVD player.

I hid it behind the free-standing sign with my name on it and popped in a movie.  It had to be silent with subtitles, but hey--it was entertaining. Watched Finding Nemo and Shrek in between the tiny scattering of parents.  The teachers sitting on either side of me leaned over to watch from time to time, and every other teacher who wandered by expressed mock jealousy and general admiration for such a good idea.

I was a little afraid that an administrator would see and I'd get yelled at for unprofessional behavior, but two different assistant principals saw it and either thought it was a small computer or just failed to comment.  Go me!

April 1, 2004: No April Fools, Thank You.  Conferences!

Today, Thursday, we were supposed to have Parent-Teacher Conferences.  But they're tomorrow, and and it's truly stupid.

District policty states that we can't have conferences on the same night as a board meeting, so PTCs were moved to Friday.  (This despite that one of the middle schools held their conferences on a board meeting day.)

It's going to be dead, dead, dead.  Spring conferences are always slow to begin with, and now they're on a Friday.   As is the start of the Jewish Sabbath.  As in the Sabbath before Passover.  As in Friday-let's-go-out-and-do-something-tonight.  I'm predicting a parent every twenty minutes.

March 25, 2004: Pancakes

This morning when he got up, Aran was very hungry and begged for pancakes for breakfast.  Since we weren't on a schedule, I made them for him.  This is my recipe:

DADDY'S HONEY-CINNAMON PANCAKES
1 egg
3/4 cup milk
2 tblsp olive oil
1 cup flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 tblsp cinnamon
2 tblsp honey
1 tblsp baking powder

Allow small child to break egg into bowl.  Fish out bits of shell.  Beat egg with wire whisk until fluffy.  Hand wire whisk to small child and allow him to continue beating.  Add rest of ingredients and let small child attempt to mix them together.  Wipe countertop, take whisk, and finish beating together.  Heat griddle until water dances on it, making small child laugh.  Pour blobs of batter onto hot griddle.  Tell small child that wielding a spatula is probably better left to Daddy.  When one side is golden-brown, turn once.  Serve with syrup.

VARIATION:  Substitute a ripe mashed banana for the honey.


March 24, 2004: Gutters

The gutters on the windward side of the house pull away from the roof every spring.  This is probably because ice dams up in the gutters and weighs them down.  Since the house inspector is coming on Friday, I figured I'd better do something about them.
 
It's a gorgeous near-60s day out, cloudy though it is, so out came the extension ladder and the hammer.  I leaned, I climbed, I pounded, and everything's fixed.  The best kind of home repair--quick and easy!


March 24, 2004: Hives

Last night when I got Aran out of the tub, I saw he was covered in red welts and hives.  I showed them to Kala, who was shocked through.  Aran wasn't showing any breathing distress or other problems, but Kala declared, "He has to go see a doctor right now!"
 
Since Kala was recovering from stomach flu, that duty fell to me.  I bundled Aran into the car while Kala packed an entertainment bag.  This consisted of a book (for me) and the portable DVD player with videos (for Aran).  It was damp and rainy and dark out.
 
The local hospital has gotten rid of its urgent care facility and merged it with emergency care.  Cynical me suspects that the reason for this is that they can charge more for the same care by labeling it "emergency" instead of "urgent."  We have really good insurance, though, so I let the insurance company worry about it.  I had other things on my mind.
 
The pediatric section of the emergency room at St. Joseph's was pretty busy.  I registered, then sat down and played hand puppets with Aran for a while.  Hand puppets are literally that--hands.  It's a game my mother started when my sister and brother and I were children who needed to be kept quiet/entertained in church.  She would shape her hand into a puppet like the head of Kermit the Frog and talk to us.  Since we were in church, the puppet had to be quiet and it had no voice.  It seemed to hear itself, but we couldn't.  To small children this was hilarious.  My mother was pretty good at inventing silly situations for the hand puppet, and it kept us entertained not only in church but on long car rides and similar situations.  It never spoke, though.
 
Oddly enough, when I was an adult in college, I demonstrated the hand puppet to some of my friends, and they thought it was absolutely hysterical.  I kept it up now and then, and of course I do it with Aran.  I've discovered (rather to my dismay) that I'm better at it than my mother was.  It's like that day you realize you're taller than your parents, or that you can do things they can't.
 
Aran loves the hand puppet, but we were already well past his bedtime and he was getting cranky.  For my next trick, I pulled out the portable DVD player and popped in a Scooby-Doo video.  I saw a couple other kids looking at the player with longing and thought about putting it out on one of the tables and declaring it a public movie theater, but decided against it.  We'd probably be called in right in the middle of a video and that might upset some of the kids, so I left well enough alone.
 
Eventually we were called in.  A nurse checked Aran and asked if he'd eaten or come into contact with anything new that day.
 
"I can't think of anything," I said.  "He may have had something at school, but trying to get an autistic kid to eat a new food is difficult at best.  We haven't changed laundry soap or bath soap.  His shirt isn't new.  I don't know what's causing it."
 
She showed us into a treatment room, and eventually a doctor came in.  He said Aran wasn't in danger of anaphylaxis or anything like that and that Benadryl would be fine.  They gave him some and we left.  (Though it sounds short, we were actually in the treatment room for something over an hour.  Aran slept on the bed and got seriously ticked whenever someone woke him up to examine him.)
 
When I got home, Kala remembered that Aran had eaten Coco Wheats that morning for the first time in his life.  I'd forgotten about that--I was on my way out the door when he sat down to eat breakfast.  We're wondering if there's a coloring agent in there that he's allergic to.
 
In the morning, I stayed home to let Aran sleep in, and when I got him up, the hives were completely gone.  So I packed him off to school and now I have another day off to write!
 

March 23, 2003: House Hunting Without a License

We received an offer on our house.  It was too low, so we countered.  The offerers countered our counter.  We countered one more time, and they accepted.  Whoof!  It's for a little less than we'd like, but we want to move.  I want a bigger house, and I want the move out of the way before any Ukraine travel.

This offer has been in the works for a while, but I didn't want to mention it here until it was final.  Of course, it isn't really final until the contractor's inspection and the radon test and the pest inspection, but as far as I know, the house has no major problems a contractor would say "Yipe!" to, radon levels are fine, and we don't have termites.

We've also been house hunting.  On Sunday, we decided to do some drive-bys on places we'd found on the net, and one of them was on Cross Street about three blocks east of (and uphill from) Depot Town.  The house is in Ypsilanti's historic district, and the area is rapidly becoming the hot new real estate zone.  Ann Arbor property rates and taxes have gone so high that a fair number of people are fleeing to Ypsi, where everything is more reasonable.  The historic district near Depot Town is the most popular area, and the area where Comrade Sarah lives (near Eastern Michigan University) is the second-most popular.

Anyway, we started doing a drive-by on this place and discovered the realtor was holding an open house.  Well, hey!  We strolled right in.

A bit of explanation about the exterior.  The current owner painted this place a bright, robin's-egg blue.  Kala calls it shocking blue, but I maintain it isn't that bright.  Anyway, we've driven past it any number of times and saw the For Sale sign on the lawn.  We always laughed--"Who'd want that house?"

Er, um, well . . .

We went inside and discovered the interior is just stunning.  Brand new kitchen, lots of counter and cupboard space.  New bathrooms (a full and a 3/4), one of which has a jetted tub.  Living room in front, family room in rear.  Four bedrooms, though one of them leads into the master bedroom, like in a railroad flat.  It has built-in bookshelves and would of course become the office.  The other three bedrooms are nicely-appointed.  The big one upstairs is definitely a kids' room and will become one.  Enormous garage.  Decent-sized yard, fenced in.  Flagstone walkways.  Three porches.  And more.

The house is 175 years old.

Drawbacks: It's on Cross Street, which is a through street and a bit busy, for all that it has a 25 mph speed limit.  The basement is a fieldstone basement with a low ceiling and a stone staircase that's a real trip to get down.  It was originally a Michigan basement (with outdoor access, like the Gales' basement in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz), but the additions were built straight over the doors, and it's now accessed by a set of trap doors in the laundry area.  (Aran thought this was seriously cool.)  Anyway, it's a damp basement, meaning the floor is usually a little wet.  Expected in a house of this age.

There's also been some settling, though the current owner says there hasn't been any since he owned the house.  Again--175 years.  Stuff settles.

There's also that dreadful blue color.  But that can be remedied with several cans of paint and a week's worth of work.  However, since the house is a registered historical house, we'll have to get permission from the historical society to work on it.  I doubt that'll be a problem, though.  ("You want to repaint it?  Please!  And hurry!")

We also looked at some other houses yesterday with our realtor.  One we drove past and said, "No!" without even getting out of the car--it's smack in the middle of Ypsi's crack neighborhood.

Another looked nice in the picture, but it turned out to be on the corner of a really, really busy road in Belleville (Haggerty, for you locals).  Across the road from some old warehouses.  And a transformer station.  And it had no appliances.  Or updates.  Or a fence.  It needs about $30,000 worth of work and it's in a dreadful location.  So no.

Another was just gorgeous, with amazing updates and a huuuuuuuuuge yard (you could play pro football in it), but it had three bedrooms and no office area.  Too small.  So no.

Another claimed to have three bedrooms, but there were only two that we could find (at the top of a spiral staircase that looked way cool but would probably turn out to be an annoyance eventually).  We think the family room, which you could close off with a pair of French doors, was meant to be the third bedroom.  Pretty, lovely house, but not kid friendly and not enough sleeping space.  So no.

Another house looked lovely from the outside and had a backyard the size of a soccer field, fenced in.  The exterior looked like a storybook cottage.  It was right next to a nice wooded area, and it was at the end of a cul-de-sac.  But the inside--oh dear.  Smoker house, so it smelled of tobacco.  Three small bedrooms.  Several light fixtures that either didn't work or were burned out.  Little things here and there that needed fixing--broken closet doors, drippy faucets, etc.  So no.

So far the house on Cross is looking like the winner.  We'll probably write an offer by the end of the week.


March 22, 2004: Make Me Barf

http://www.salon.com/books/feature/2004/03/22/midlist/
Reader Advisory: By the end of this story I will have broken the most sacred rules of modern authordom. I'll tell you how much my publishers have paid me for the books I've written. I'll tell you how many copies each of those books has sold. I'll share with you some of the secrets, lies and euphemisms told to me by my publishers, editors, publicists and agents in their efforts to comfort, pacify and motivate me, and I'll share some of the salient facts that make those secrets, lies and euphemisms such common industry currency.
 
(If you're not a Salon.com subscriber, you can get access for a day by watching a short commercial.)
 
I wrote a letter to the editor.  It goes:
 
To the editor:
 
Sorry, but as another mid-list author, "Jane Austen Doe" gets no sympathy from me.  The poor thing is in tears because her first advance was a mere $150,000 for hardcover?  She's upset because her latest book only got her $80,000?  And now she feels the day job she was forced to take has sucked her writing dry?
 
Please.  As a mid-lister with seven books on the shelves and two forthcoming, I've never gotten more than low five figures for a novel--and that was for a media tie-in.  My other advances were for =four= figures.  As in less than the ten thousand Doe calls desperation money.  I've taken a mid-career pen name to dodge low sales figures.  None of my editors have mentioned book tours, publicists, or GOOD MORNING, AMERICA.  I would give my left foot for advances like hers.
 
Oh yeah--I write a book a year while holding down a full-time job, maintaining a marriage, and caring for a son who has special needs.  Yet the muse still sings to me.
 
Get over yourself, Jane.  The rest of us have.

--
Steven
http://www.sff.net/people/spiziks


March 20, 2004: Happy Equinox from the National Adoption Center!

Just got this from our adoption agency.

The National Adoption Center (NAC) of Ukraine would like to inform prospective adopting parents of the following:

According to provisions of the new Family Code and Adoption Decree #1377, effective January 1, 2004, the NAC will no longer release information about
adopting parents' registration numbers and dates of their appointments to third parties, including to facilitators or others who have obtained the parents' Power of Attorney. All communication between the Center and prospective adopting parents will be conducted only by direct exchange of official letters. In order to expedite and facilitate communication, the NAC has suggested, as an option, that families may wish to include one or two prepaid, self-addressed international express mail
envelopes (DHS or FedEx) with their dossier. These envelopes will be used by the NAC for mailing registration and appointment letters to U.S. families.

[some details snipped]

Sincerely,

American Citizens Services
Consular Section
U.S. Embassy in Kiev, Ukraine

So what this means is that the NAC won't talk to the Ukrainians to whom we've granted power of attorney--they'll only talk directly to us.  It all adds up to more delay.

Our adoption coordinator, however, tells us that just because it says this doesn't mean it'll actually operate this way.  She suspects things may continue operating as normal.  We'll have to see.


March 14, 2004: Altar

I'm itching for spring because I'm dying to do repairs to our backyard rock altar.  Every spring so far it's kind of been my job to go out back and clean it up.  I don't often like yard work, but this job I do enjoy.  I take out the dead leaves and pull out weeds and long grass.  Some of the stones will have shifted or fallen, and I put them back in place.  To me it's a sign that winter is indeed gone for another year.

Our rock altar, if you've never seen it, is made of chunks of slate piled up to make a bunch of low shelves and alcoves.  It's shaped like a half-moon with a special alcove at the bend for our Mother Goddess statue.  We bring Her in at Samhain so She doesn't have to endure the winter elements, then put Her back out on Beltaine.

Whenever I take a trip someplace, I bring something back to put on or in the altar.  Usually it's a rock or stone, but there are other things, too.  When I visited San Diego, I brought home a lot of seashells I'd gathered on the beach and put them into alcoves and among the stones.  There are semi-precious gemstones out there, too, along with ordinary polished rocks and crystals.  When we take our adoption trip to Ukraine, we'll have to bring home rocks from that country as well, probably ones our new children choose.

When we move, we want to dismantle it and take it with us.  I don't want to start one over from scratch!

                        Our Rock Altar, Pre-Cleanup


March 14, 2004: Adoption Step Seventeen

Yesterday we sent a huge packet of stuff to the new adoption agency, along with a really big check.  The stuff included various personal documents, letters of application ("Please let us adopt a couple kids.  We promise to be really good parents."), power of attorney documents for the guys who'll be our guides/coordinators over in Ukraine, and similar documents.  The only documents we have left to gather are new doctor letters certifying our good health (Ukraine just changed the format they want, so we have to get them redone) and an FBI/state police background check that says we haven't been convicted of any crimes.

The doctor letters we should be able to get Monday or Tuesday.  The police letters--not sure.  We got fingerprinted at the local police station last week and mailed the cards to the Lansing state police on Saturday.  We'll just have to hope they're fast.

Interestingly enough, we're learning a few things about Hands Across the Water, our old agency.  The director at the Family Resource Center (our new agency) said Ukraine doesn't require certified copies of our birth certificates.  She also said we only need to turn in one copy of our tax return from last year.  However, the director at Hands was emphatic that we needed multiple copies, certified and official, of our birth certficates and marriage license, along with our tax returns from the last three years.  Since my writing forces us to use Schedule C, our tax form is fifty or sixty pages long, so three copies makes an enormous pile of paper that doesn't come cheap at the copy shop.  Official certified copies of birth certificates and marriage licenses are also freakin' expensive.  We spent at least $300 on copies and certification costs.  Now it turns out none of it was necessary.

You know, I don't care that the Family Resource Center is more expensive than Hands Across the Water or that they're in Chicago instead of Ann Arbor.  I am, in fact, wildly happy that we switched. 


March 14, 2004: House Showings

Yesterday our realtor showed our house to a woman who was seeing five houses on the same day.  Ours was number four.  The woman really, really liked the house and talked about writing an offer, but figured she should see the fifth house just in case.

You can probably see where this is going . . .

She saw the fifth house and wanted that one instead because the kitchen was bigger.  She wrote an offer the same day.  Sigh.  Maybe the inspector will find things wrong with the place and the woman will withdraw.  (Kala crossed her fingers and chanted, "Cracked foundation!  Cracked foundation!")

We also had an open house today, but the weather was really gross--sloppy snow and a cold, wet wind.  Marj, our realtor, said only one couple came, but they like the house quite a lot and wanted to know about average monthly energy bills.  We gave Marj the info over the phone and said if they want to see the house again today, we'll vacate again.  So we'll see.

March 13, 2004: Autism and Fear

So a couple nights ago I'm lying there in bed and suddenly I get terrified. I mean, really scared.  What if . . .

What if Aran isn't able to take care of himself when he grows up?  What if he never develops to the point where he can be independent?  Who will help him?  Who will take care of him?

I get these night terrors every so often, and they ain't fun.  I'm glad I don't teach elementary school--it's bad enough mentally comparing Aran to random kids I see in stores or on the street.  I don't know that I could live with that on a regular basis in an elementary classroom.

During the day, I don't have as many terrors about this.  I can look at Aran's schoolwork, for example, and see how wonderful his writing is and how good his math skills are and how much he likes playing with other kids.  And Aran's imagination is becoming more and more active.  He has two sets of imaginary friends--the Powerpuff Girls and someone else I haven't been able to quite figure out yet.  And yesterday we played a rather elaborate imagination game that involved a chicken puppet (played by me) and some imaginary hatching eggs.

But I still get these bouts of fear.  Sigh.


March 12, 2004: Penguicon!

My preliminary schedule for Penguicon is:

Fri 1800 -- Kill Wesley (with Wil Wheaton).  I hope Wil has a sense of humor.  On the other hand, it'll be in a room full of people who definitely won't be there to see me, so I have the feeling I'll need the sense of humor.

Fri 2100 -- Reading.  Fortunately I'm not scheduled opposite anyone more famous than I am.

Sat 1100 -- Gender of SF (with Neil Gaiman).  SF has a gender?

Sat 1400 -- Signing (with Wil Wheaton, Neil Gaiman, and numerous other people).  This will probably be an exercise in humility.  "Hey, guys--I know you want Wil's and Neil's autographs, but I've written some pretty cool books, too.  Guys?  Um, hello . . . ?"

Sat 1900 -- Humanity 2.0 (with Comrade Sarah).  I have the feeling this one's going to turn into our famous nature vs. nurture discussion.

Sun 1000 -- Keeping Up in Science and Tech (with some people I don't know).  I'll be in the "I can't" camp.

Sun 1300 -- I Loved It When. . .  The good stuff about Star Trek.  No criticism allowed!


March 10, 2004: Vanity

Wanna know if a vanity plate is available in Michigan?  Here y'go:

http://sosntsl01.sos.state.mi.us/plates/papsteps.asp

Select a plate design, then go to the next step and see if your up-to-seven-letter-word is available.  Some that are:

KWIJIBO (anyone get that reference?)
CRMULENT (or that one?)
BELTAIN
BELTANE
HRND1
KENDI
SILENT
COREY
HARPER
SNU SNU
GRFNDOR

Some that are not:
BEN
HOMER
MARGE
KALA
STEVEN
COOKIES (this one from Aran)
BUFFY
WATCHER
SAMHAIN
XANDER
VORKOSGN
VORPATRL
ATHENA
ATHENE
HARPIST
SLYTHRN

You can do this for hours.


March 7, 2004: House for Sale

Since we're putting the house back on the market this week, we asked my mother if she could take Sam the Dog again, and she agreed.  Sam loves my mother and her house, so he was thrilled to climb into her truck and head up to Saginaw with her.

Today we worked on cleaning the house and readying it for showing.  It was much easier than last time, since it only involved cleaning and not maintenance.  We washed walls, windows, floors, and carpets.  We reorganized closets and the office.  We straightened up the garage and put a whole lot of trash out by the curb.  Next we have to organize the back room of the basement.

Pray for a quick sale, everyone!  We really need to move this spring.  Adoption looms!


March 6, 2004: Penguicon

I'm appearing at Penguicon in April.  I am:

--on a panel with Wil Wheaton
--on a panel with Neil Gaiman
--doing a reading (hopefully not opposite Wil Wheaton or Neil Gaiman)

Feel free to express your seething jealousy at length!  :)

And in the news today, this seriously and totally creeped me out:

http://www.local6.com/news/2900371/detail.html

A frog with three heads and six legs.   The photos made my skin crawl.


March 4, 2004: Legal Again!

I got my new teacher's certificate a while ago--good through 2009.  Today I took it over to the administration building so I could sign and have notarized the teacher's oath on the back:   "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support the constitution of the United States of America and the constitution of the state of Michigan and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of teacher according to the best of my ability."

I wonder if the stupid DMA passes if I'll end up recanting?

I've also learned that the next Chicks in Chainmail book (Turn the Other Chick) will be out this November--in hardback.  (!!)  I have a story in it, so watch this space for details.


March 3, 2004: Easy Job

On yesterday's SIMPSONS syndicated re-run, Homer is at his workstation with his feet up.  He's eating donuts.  Lenny comes in and Homer says to him, "I have to leave early.  Cover for me, will you?"

"Sure thing, Homer," Lenny says.

Homer leaves.  Lenny puts his feet up and grabs a donut.

That currently describes my job.

Today the schedule is two-three-four-five, meaning second, third, fourth, and fifth hours meet.   I have third hour prep, and my student teacher has the rest of my classes.  In other words, I'm not teaching today at all.

Not that I'm doing nothing.  I still have to prepare the packet for next week's media literacy class and e-mail a parent.  Poor, overworked me!

Actually, it feels weird, like I'm going to get into trouble or something because I'm not standing over my student teacher's shoulder every moment, taking notes and helping her improve.  This, of course, would be the wrong approach.  I've been coaching her for a month and a half now, and she's at the point where she needs to work without interference, figure out what works and what doesn't on her own, with advice from me as she needs it.

I'm also dreading the day after spring break, when Amie will be gone and I'll abruptly be teaching five classes, something I haven't done since early January.  I'm sure it'll be like coming back from summer break--going from a relaxed, easy pace to a wild, frenetic one.  But that's a ways away yet.

Meantime, there's research to do!  Did you know that if you type "artificial chocolate" into a search engine, you get next to nothing on how the stuff is made and instead get long lists of commercial sites selling stuff that contains "no artificial chocolate" . . . ?  Makes researching the process of making artificial chocolate really, really hard.


February 27, 2004: Dear Diary, Today Was the Best Day Ever

I'm having the best day ever so far.

1.  Another English teacher came across an article about me in PAGES magazine, one I didn't know about.  It was a half-pager in their science fiction/fantasy section, complete with color cover pic of TRICKSTER.  Very nice!

2.  At this point, my student teacher has taken over three of my five classes, so I'm having a relaxed, slow kind of time at school.  This should last until spring break.

3.  I got a surprise call from Channel 8 news and had an extremely interesting conversation with the people over there.

4.  The teacher whose wedding I played at said she received a lot of fine compliments about my harp music.

I'm just having a ball!


February 27, 2004: An Encounter With the Media

A few days ago, I wrote a letter to Kristi Andersen, the reporter that did the story about ASIMOV'S magazine being sold as a school fundraiser even though it was "full of stories about sex, drugs, and molestation."  In the letter I (rather sarcastically) thanked Andersen for giving me the chance to show my media literacy classes a perfect example of biased reporting.  I wrote the letter as a teacher at Whereever Some School High School (which is in the same state as Andersen's channel) and I included the school's address and my voice mail number.

Friday, I received a voice mail message from Patty McGadden (sp?), the news director at Channel 8.  Would I call her back?

Rather startled, I did.  It turned out that McGadden took great exception to my letter and how I was planning to use the story.  She said that Asimov's
rebuttal had lies in it, in particular the point that claimed Channel 8 called the magazine "pornographic."  "We never used that word in the report," McGadden said.

She also had the impression that I hadn't seen the video, so I told her that I had, and that I'd also bought the magazine and read Asimov's response to the story.

"Kristi Andersen said the magazine was--I quote--'full of sex, drugs, and molestation,'" I said, "but when I read the magazine, I only found two stories that dealt with these topics.  Why did Andersen misrepresent the amount of sexual content in the magazine?"

McGadden said that she didn't have the magazine in front of her, so she couldn't really comment.

I also asked about the discrepency in the two reports about the relationship between QSP and Asimov's and how they severed ties.

"There does seem to be some fuzziness about that," McGadden said.  "Kristi would know more."

McGadden also went on to say that they've received a lot of e-mail and letters from people all around the country complaining about this story (many from
people who didn't see the video, she said), and that it's clear Asimov's has a "publicity machine" it's using against Channel 8.

I blinked at this.  Asimov's with a publicity machine?  After a moment, I realized what she meant.  I think she figured they were getting so many letters from all over because Asimov's had gotten word out and was pushing people to do this.  As far as I know, Asimov's doesn't have a big publicity machine (I could be wrong) and their only response has been on their web page.  Channel 8 got so many letters because of the fans and the writers who posted stuff about the story on-line, I'm guessing.

I didn't contradict McGadden, however.  I was talking to her as an English teacher, not as an SF writer.  I did ask more questions.  We really got into it over the phone, with me asking pointed questions about how the story was presented and McGadden rebutting, though I think McGadden was angrier than I was.

"It's clear you have your point of view and that you're not open to our side," she said.

We almost hung up on each other, and then I decided I wanted to hear more, so I backed off a little bit.  A bit later, McGadden asked if I wanted to talk to Kristi Andersen.  Surprised (again), I said, "That would be very interesting," I said.  "I do intend to talk about this to my class.  They'll be fascinated."

"Just don't upset her," McGadden said.  This last sounded odd to me--aren't news reporters used to dealing with irate or argumentative people?--but I promised I wouldn't.

Andersen came on the line, and this time =I= played reporter.  I asked her questions and let her talk.  I asked why she used the term "adult content," when most people see the term as equalling "pornography."

Asimov's, she replied, uses the term "adult" themselves.  (I'm condensing, but that was the gist.)

I told her that I presented the video to my students with no introduction, then had them read Asimov's rebuttal amd let them thumb through the magazine in question.  "The universal consensus among my students," I said, "was that the report incorrectly portrayed Asimov's as a sex magazine.  What's your response to that?"

Andersen said she felt QSP (the fundraising company) came off as looking worse for not putting an "over 18" label on the listing in their catalog.  "QSP did this for other magazines like ELLE and GQ," she said.  "QSP didn't put that label on Asimov's, though they should have."

I also asked about how QSP and Asimov's severed ties with each other.

"There's some uncertainty about that," Andersen said.

"Then why," I asked, pointedly but politely, "did you report it as a fact that QSP dropped Asimovs over the issue of adult content?"

The main point, Andersen said, was that the two companies severed ties with one another, and we [the station] wanted to run the story to alert the local parents.  The deadline arrived before they could clear the matter up.

"We've gotten many phone calls and letters from parents and school superintendents thanking us for running this story," she said.

Our conversation, I might add, was very polite and calm and civilized, and we hung up on fairly good terms.

My opinion?  I think that Andersen truly believes the story was good reporting and as unbiased as she could make it.  I do rather disagree with her, for what it's worth.

February 26, 2004:  Speaking of Sexism

I think as a society we're in Stage III of Steven's Sexism and Entertainment Scale.  The scale runs thusly:

STAGE I: Sexim is acceptable, expected, and even written into law.  Women in stories (whether print or otherwise) are emotional wimps, prizes for the hero, sex objects, or meek housewives and mothers while men are action-oriented, emotionless, problem-solvers, and breadwinners.  Assertive women are portrayed as shrews while men with emotions are portrayed as weak and ineffective.

STAGE II: Sexism is no longer legal, but still present and accepted socially.  Fictional women are allowed to take action, but only within carefully-proscribed boundaries, and they still have to fulfill their original gender roles (becoming the woman who can do it all).  A few fictional men take emotional risks, but only in stories geared toward women.

STAGE III: While sexism is present, it's socially considered an evil.  There is a conscious effort to put fictional women into active roles and fictional men into less active ones, but it only happens when the author/creator makes a conscious effort, and it shows.  Such fictional women and/or other characters often comment on how action-oriented they are and how they break the stereotype.  ("I am no man," says Eowyn in Return of the King.)

STAGE IV: People are people.  Sexism is part of history, and people shake their heads at the silly ideas of their forebears.  Gender plays no role in deciding who can do what in entertainment fiction.  Women can be weak or strong, men can be weak or strong.

Comments?  Reactions?  Put 'em in my guest book!


February 26, 2004: Wishing for Blissful Ignorance

Sometimes I don't like being a media literacy maven.  I mean, the analytical part of my brain seems to be always switched on.  Usually this is a good thing--I never, ever take broadcast news at face value.  I keep careful track of what information I give out and to whom.  I catch overt, covert, and/or clueless sexism and racism in movies and on TV.  Usually this is good.  It helps me gather material for teaching my media literacy class, for one thing.

But there are times when I wish I could just shut that part of my mind off for a while.

Case in point: yesterday I went to the store for cheesecake fixin's.  I snabbed cream cheese, sour cream, butter, and eggs.  And while I was there I noticed that soda was on sale, so I grabbed some of that.  Chip dip was marked way down, too, so I grabbed that.  And while I was down the bakery aisle buying fruit topping
(not on sale), I noticed that flour (which I didn't need) was on sale and reached for some--

--and stopped.  It's not saving money if you buy something you don't need, and I was falling into the supermarket trap: put things on sale to lure customers into the store, where they'll hopefully buy things they didn't intend.  I walked away from the flour, past several other things that were now shouting "Buy me!  Buy me!  You just got paid!  You have the cash!", paid for what I had, and left.

Okay, I'm going to admit it here--I =like= buying stuff.  All five years I was in college and for the first six years of my marriage, I lived hand-to-mouth.  Savings accounts never had more than fifty or sixty bucks--in a good month.  No health insurance.  Buying clothes on clearance.  Working multiple minimum-wage jobs to stay afloat.  Praying the car wouldn't break down this summer so we could maybe catch up a little.

Now that I have a full-time job and some security--hell, we're planning to adopt two kids AT THE SAME TIME and travel halfway around the world to do it--I find it's really nice to have what I've always wanted: disposable income.  And I live in a society that's dying to help me dispose of it.

I'm well aware of this fact, and usually it's a good thing.  It helps keep spending under control.  But I sometimes wish I could fade into a happy buyer's fog and just Get Stuff without analyzing what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.

Shut up, brain.  Leave me alone for, say, an hour at a time.  Just long enough to dispose of this income.


February 23, 2004: Exorcist

For everyone who’s been wondering what’s up with the The Exorcist IV: the Beginning:

 http://www.nytimes.com/2004/02/22/movies/22HOLS.html

 (It’s free to register, and I’ve never been spammed by them.)

 

February 22, 2004: Science Fiction Scandal

Good heavens!  A scandal has broken out over Asimov’s science fiction magazine.  Sex!  Drugs!  Pornography!  You won’t believe your eyes.  Or maybe you will.  First, the reporter uncovers a horrifying story:

http://woodtv.triton.net/video/realbox.php?ontv=Target8_Magazine_Fundraiser&cat=news

(Text version is at http://woodtv.com/Global/story.asp?S=1645394&nav=0RclKpQF if you can’t do video.)

And in our very own state of Michigan!

Okay, now that you’re all in cardiac arrest, take a look at what Asimov’s had to say about the story:

http://www.asimovs.com/_issue_0403/response.shtml

Hmmmm.  Can it be that the reporter was biased?  Can it be she was taking information out of context?  My illusions have been shattered!

And since my media literacy classes are just finishing up a unit on broadcast news, I figured I’d use this on Monday when I get back to school.  Already wrote up a worksheet.  It’s at

http://www.sff.net/people/spiziks/sfscandal.html

The media gets it wrong.  Who’d have thought?


February 22, 2004: Chocolate

Hard at work now on the chocolate book.  Finished chapter one (which I actually started almost a year ago and set aside) and am now deep into chapter two.  I just described a table groaning with chocolate desserts and candies.  Oh man!  I'm seriously afraid I'll gain weight while writing this thing.

February 22, 2004: Rough Drafted
I've switched word processing programs.  I've used WordPerfect for years, shunning Microsoft Word as non-intuitive, difficult to use, and all but impossible to trouble-shoot.  I still like WordPerfect (I'm using version 9), but I recently ran into a snag.
 
A while ago, we put a whole bunch of stuff into storage in preparation for selling the house and moving.  Although the house didn't sell (and we're going to try again this spring), we didn't pull the stuff out of storage.  Why bother, when we'd have to put it all back again?  However, I stored a whole bunch of software, including my WordPerfect disks.
 
I also got a new computer in my classroom this year, and it doesn't have WordPerfect on it.  With my software in storage, I can't load the program onto my school computer.  If I want to work on something both at home and at school, I run into compatibility problems.
 
So now I'm using Rough Draft.
 
Rough Draft is donationware, downloadable at http://www.rsalsbury.co.uk/rd.htm .  It's writing software, and that's =all= it is.  No graphics, no tables, no pictures, no sound bytes, no animations.  No desktop publishing.  Just text.  You can use different fonts and you can underline and italicize and do all the stuff a writer needs to do.  It saves everything in RTF so other programs can read the files easily, and you can have up to 100 files open at once, which is nice if you write like I do and save each chapter as a separate file.  I can have the entire novel open at once, if I want.  It also has an automatic notepad so I can jot comments as needed without using the odd-looking comment functions of WordPerfect or MSWord.  The Rough Draft comment is more like a scrap of paper you keep next to the desk blotter.  Rough Draft has a spell-checker, and it's easy to insert characters that have accents, tildes, or other diacritical marks on them.  It also has three settings: normal, screenplay, and stage play.  You select the function that matches the piece you're working on and RD formats it for you as you go.  This is handy for screenplay writers, who have to do a lot of centering and weird margin work.
 
Rough Draft does have its quirks.  It doesn't paginate, so you can't tell at a glance how many pages the current piece runs.  It's an English program, so the dictionary is set to check for British English (though you can easily set it to the American variety).  It doesn't have an autocorrect function that replaces, say, "teh" with "the."  It's difficult to get a page to print with the header I want.
 
But it does just about everything I require of it, it's easy to use, and I was able to put it on both my home and school computers.  Highly recommended.

February 20, 2004: Science Non-Fiction

Science is catching up with my books:

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=585&e=1&u=/nm/20040204/sc_nm/health_israel_babies_dc

See?  Kendi and Ben are good scientific ground.  :)


February 20, 2004: Bread and Cutenesses

I made bread in the machine today--my own recipe which involves lots of honey and olive oil--and put the loaf on the counter to cool about an hour ago.  One of the drawbacks of the machines is that the tops of the loaves come out very light and fluffy while the bottom comes out dense, even tough.  The bread also looks like a giant mushroom if it rises above the bread pan and spreads sideways, as this one had.

Just now Aran came into my office with his mouth full.  He stared at me for a while, then wandered out again.  He came back, still chewing, then left.  The third time he came in, I pried myself away from the computer long enough to ask, "What are you eating, Aran?"

"Bread," he said.

"Bread?" I asked.  "Where did you get bread?"

"From the kitchen."

Aran had never gotten bread out of the bread drawer before, nor can he reach the knives to cut himselfl a piece of the home-made stuff.  Wondering what was going on, I followed Aran out into kitchen and saw him lean over the fluffy side of the bread and take a big bite, as if it were cotton candy. The entire top of the loaf had huge chunks bitten out of it, and it looked like it had been worried by a giant mouse.  Aran was chewing happily.

I probably should have been annoyed, but I had to laugh instead.  Trying not to lose it completely, I got out the bread knife and sliced the entire top of the loaf off.  "There," I said, still trying not to laugh.  "If you want more than this, tell me."  And I put the rest of the loaf into a bag.

Sheesh.


February 20, 2004: The Excitement Never Stops

It's raining today.  Yay!  Melt, snow, melt!

Aran, like me, is on vacation today.  This morning we breakfasted on honey-cinnamon pancakes, after which I had Aran write a pair of thank-you notes to my mother and grandmother for the Valentine's Day cards and money they'd sent him.  Then we went out to run errands.  Went to the housewares store for new shower curtain rings and a few kitchen utensils that needed replacement.  Aran used his gramma money to buy some Elmo stickers, some M&Ms, and a set of Spongebob paper plates that he thought were really cool.  Stopped on the way back home to get the oil changed.

And now we're home watching the rain.  An ordinary day.  :)


February 18, 2004: The Importance of Good Grammar

A lawsuit that would have forced the mayor of San Francisco to stop issuing same-sex marriage licenses was thrown out of court because of a grammatical error.  Now when my students complain, "Why do we have to learn grammar?" I can tell them.


February 17, 2004: Yeah, Baby!

I just finished the first draft of chapter three for the Irish fantasy novel.  I now have enough material to submit with an outline (once the rewrites are done, of course).  Go, go me!


February 16, 2004: Mid-Winter Break So Far

This morning Kala got Aran up and ready for school (tomorrow I'll do it), so I got to sleep way in.  (Which was a fine thing, since I was up until well after midnight typing like a madman on cocaine.)  Rose at eight--deliciously late when you're used to 5:30--and ran for half an hour on the treadmill.  Cooked a leisurely breakfast of scrambled eggs, new bread, and hot chocolate.  Wish it could be like this every day!

Spent a big chunk of the morning reading a manuscript from my Seton Hill critique group.  The needed a great many comments and it took a long time to
do.  I suppose there's nothing stopping me from just breezing through and dropping a little comment here or there, but I can't quite bring myself to do that.  The teacher hat sits too firmly on my head.


February 15, 2004: Pages

Twelve pages on the Irish fantasy novel today and counting.  Go me!

I've been writing off and on all day, working with frequent interruptions.  Aran wanted to play Chutes and Ladders.  Kala needed to check her e-mail.  Aran wanted me to play a game of Mappy while he watched.  The dog wanted attention.  Kala was going to the bookstore and did I want to come along?  Aran had to get ready for bed.  Kala had to use the main computer for homework, forcing me to relocate to the laptop.  And so on.

I think the reason I'm still going is that the constant interruptions have let my mind refresh itself and avoid turning to mush.  Oddly enough, today I think the interruptions have =helped= me write rather than hindered me.