'Twas the Last Day of July: A Veteran Teacher's Lament

an original poem written by the poster...

'Twas the last day of July, and all through the town
Kids and teachers not excited, and wearing a frown.
Bins full of crayons crowd the isles at Target,
Moms anticipating August; we trying to forget.

The sun brightly beckons, the days are still long.
Why does everyone think, we sing the same song?
Everyone likes getting new clothes and shoes,
but when it's for school, it brings on the blues!

The sales begin in the last week of June,
"Hot Fun in the Summertime" 's my ringer's tune.
Halloween items creep in by the end of July,
Christmas will be September if we eagerly comply!

I'd like to propose to slow down and enjoy
the time we have before called to employ.
The novels I collect from August to June
Are only half read, time will be up soon!
The writings I yearn to put down on a page,
will have to then wait for another stage.

For I'll be busy with students, and parents to please,
Who argue for their children to get A's with ease.
Doing the work of administrators who say it's my job;
Preparing kids for tests whose creativity they rob.

While I look forward to meeting my brood of one-fifty,
I must admit that my summers are nifty.
A time to relax, to rejuvenate,
A time to recoup so I can relate
To kids who come eagerly through my door,
Wondering if she'll be nice, or think I'm a bore.
To the kids who work hard and the kids who are lazy,
To the kids who who are quiet, and may think I'm crazy!

And what to her sun-shaded eyes should appear?
But "Back to School" sales
and a fleet of school buses in the rear view mirror!
"Horrors!" she thinks as she pulls down the sash,
"School will be starting, going back in a flash!"

Back to the bell that rings to say we can walk,
when we can pee, and when we can talk!
Back to the alarm that has been turned off,
And cafeteria food from which we trough!

Now don't get me wrong, it's not the job I dread,
But when asked, "So school starts soon?"
I yearn to rip off a head.
"Must be nice..." is another phrase that gets me riled,
"...to get paid for not working!" makes me want to defile.

On Merriman and Webster, Glencoe and Holt!
On Prentice and Hall! I just want to bolt!

Back to my bed, under sheets that are clean,
Back to my patio with Anita Shreve!
Back to my home free of cat hair and clutter,
When school starts back, I just want to shudder!

But soon I'll be walking on the freshly waxed floors,
And thinking of ways to decorate my door.
Down locker-walled hallways with disinfected air,
To an unconditioned room at the top of the stairs!
To colleagues with tans and stories to tell,
To professional meetings I know so well.

The first day of school comes, too soon, I have said.
Smiling faces of children tell me I've nothing to dread.
Former students have grown, three inches or so,
And when they say, "Hi!" my heart starts to glow.

I want to let go of school issues past,
And tell everyone, "ENJOY SUMMER WHILE IT LASTS!"

American Beauty

"...you see a (woman) who's hardly there. Look closer."

headbanging and jetskiing

My headbanging and jetskiing days are truly over. Not that I've done much headbanging in the last ten years, but my friends warned me that banging my head like a rock star while playing air drums in my younger years would catch up with me. Now, who really knows what causes one to have a neck that goes out of place on occasion. It could be accumulative abuse over the course of a lifetime. I mean, throwing myself out of trees with the boys in the neighborhood while playing Johnny Quest probably didn't help. We'd compete to see who could land on their backs and get the breath knocked out ourselves the hardest and longest. Sometimes I would win. It could also be from getting rear-ended twice in car accidents. I never really got hurt by it, not bad anyways. I have slept on some bad pillows in my day, and even on towels and rolled up jeans. My chiropractor chews me out for sleeping with my arm under my head.

I went out on the jet ski Sunday. It was only for a twenty minute or so ride, and the bay was smooth. The lake was pretty choppy, though. It was Fred's new ride, and it is a lot bigger and smoother on the water than our Tigershark. I was going 35 and feeling like I was flying! I used to get up to 45 on the Tigershark, flip it around a little. I thought I took a leisurely ride Sunday. I guess it's how you have to put your arms out on the handles, something about the positioning that never fails to mess up my neck.

It's Wednesday, and I'm still suffering. Really, it isn't worth it. David and I went to see "The Dark Knight" last night, and I spazzed out so bad that I could hardly get out of the chair. It was one of those moments that my body literally froze and I couldn't move. I practically had to get on my knees to crawl out of the chair. The chairs in the theater have given me trouble in the past, and I should have known better than to go. In any case, I'd rather have a SeaDoo little five person boat to jet around in; like the kind that has the sunbathing hull in the front.

I don't miss the headbanging. I didn't really quit because of my neck. I just mellowed a little and grew up a tad. I will miss jetskiing. There's something about opening up just past the wake and taking off on the water by yourself. It's exhilarating.

AARP....fuuucccckkkk.

I'm not turning 50 until October. My first solicitation for membership in AARP came in the mail today. What the fuck. I went to the mall today to buy the Victoria's Secret PINK Body stuff that Heather uses. Since I cleaned her room and closet to prepare for the move I have been dousing myself with her body spray. Loved it so I thought I should buy my own. I used to be able to buy cute bras and panties at Vicki's, so it was depressing to see that the only 38D bras in the sale bin were push-up bras that only God knows would wear. What 38D woman needs a push-up bra??! My boobs would be so high I could rest my chin on them! That's just dumb. There were at least five in the bin so you know that no one bought even one.

Anyway, while schlepping through the mall in my flip flops (cute, but too big because they stretched) I felt like a fat assed middle aged woman. Of course, I was comparing myself to girls who were maybe 18. It was so easy then to be cute. Didn't even have to work at anything but a tan then. I shopped in Coldwater Creek and Chicos, being very careful with what I picked out to try on. It's tough to shop in those stores because it's a fine line I walk trying to find clothes that look nice on my size 12 body and still feel like a ten, and also, I need to be very careful not buying something that borders on "old lady" clothes. Even though they have clothes with embroidery on them at Forever 21, when there is embroidery on the clothes at Coldwater it can be "old lady". I did, however, walk out of the mall with a cute top from Forever 21! Ha! Then I get home and find the fucking AARP card in the mail. Talk about blowing the wind out of your sails.

I don't even know what AARP stands for. I don't want to know yet. I think RP stands for "Retired Person", but I don't have the luxury of that title for at least another six years, and that's if I'm lucky. I glanced at the benefits, and there was something about eye care discounts. It's something I probably should look at, just for the discounts. But I think I'll be getting more in the mail...I can wait.

Moving

I could write about moving, since I should be getting my shit together to sell my latest place. Thoughts about my first home creeped in today...Who knows why thoughts creep into our minds. Scents bring them on for me. And random thoughts that lead to others and end there. Anyway, my first home was my grandma's house. My mom was 16 and my dad was 20 when they found out they were expecting me, so my mom moved into my dad's place, and his place was his mother's. It was a cement block house with two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, bathroom, a back room that was my bedroom but didn't seem like a bedroom, and a big enclosed porch. I have a lot to say about that place, and will save it for later.
We moved from there when I was five or so, while my mom was pregnant with my brother. It was pretty exciting, because I found out I was moving right next door to Billy, a kid who rode my bus and was in my grade. We were friends. We once made a pact under the stars in the grass between our yards that if we didn't find other people we'd marry each other. I guess making the pact that we would get married to each other would mean we were boyfriend and girlfriend and we didn't want to mess up our friendship.

The house in Norrisville was where I grew up. Since this chapter isn't about the homes themselves, but about moving, I'll stick to the point. I moved from there when I was 17. I graduated from high school with no real direction and ended up in beauty school. That was better than the Navy, which was the other option. See, I had to do something bigger in my life than get a job and live life in Pennsylvania. That never crossed my mind, nor my parents'. I moved into my cousin's house, and less than a year later, moved back home. I can't really remember why. Maybe it will come to me.

Some of the best times of my life were in the next place I lived, a boarding house for girls in Erie. The room was $45 a month, and we shared a kitchen and a bath. It was fun. And it was the first time I truly felt I was on my own at 18. On hot nights the girls and I would drink cold beers and watch TV in front of the fan in our nightgowns and underwear. I learned how to make stuffed pork chops there with Stove Top stuffing.

I moved into my friend, Ginnean's house she was living in. It was her grandmother's house, but she lived there by herself. That was short-lived. I didn't feel very welcomed there. My 'boyfriend' had contributed to that feeling. He was a brute-ass, looking back.
I moved back to my cousin's place in Ohio for a short stint, then into an apartment of my own on Dorothy Drive in Parma at $100 a month. It was a cute place, but I still felt like it wasn't "mine" because it was the upstairs of my cousin's brother's place. Then I moved in with Joe, a house on West 12th. We had fun there, but it felt like I was just living in his house, which, I was. We bought a house together in Brunswick. Leia was born while we lived there. Her nursery was pale green with little baby animals on the wallpaper. We moved to Valley City. We always used to drive that road and wish we lived there someday. And we did for almost twenty years.

I got my apartment in Strongsville. I met David while I lived there. Was there for two years, then bought my own place, a cut townhome from an old guy who flagged me down on the street. I got to know Carl and Betty pretty well and when Betty died, Carl made sure to call me. We took him out for wings and a beer one time at Cleats. I took some peonies that were Betty's favorite to his apartment the following spring, but other people were living there. I found out later that Carl passed away.

David and I just bought our own house in Meadowood. It was on the market one day. We both fell in love with the open floor plan and the wooded, manicured lot with very little grass. I hope to be there awhile.

All in all, I lived in ten places. Meadowood will make eleven. We talk about making it twelve, somewhere down the line. Somewhere near water, somewhere warm. Doesn't everyone who grew up in the northern US dream the same?

Hmmm...

I had something to say today, but it took me so long to make the blog that now, I can't remember what it was. ADD does that to a person. Now all I can think about is everything else I should be doing instead of this.