Scratchy

It's a scratchy throat I'm feeling. It started with a very strange night's sleep. All night long I had to clear my throat of excess fluids. Then on the way to work, it felt a bit off. Just that little tickle in the back of my throat.
I didn't think much of it during the day until we had an assembly in the outdoor stadium nearby. One of my co-workers mentioned the foolishness of standing out in the drizzle/drips since he had had a head cold for a couple days.
Now I wasn't about to discuss the issue of being outside in the fresh air as being worse for him than being cooped up in a 20x20 room with 15 teens as he has smaller classes being a special ed. teacher and therefore a smaller room. Still, why do people still insist that you get a cold from being out in it?
What's more, it was a humid 68 degrees out this afternoon. That's not what I'd call frigid. That weather, though, is hitting Montana's eastern plains, so I'm told by a friend of a friend's posting on one of the few social sites I frequent infrequently.
Those folks who avoid outside when they have a cold are the same ones who have bottles of hand sanitizer in their environment and sneeze into their shirt arms because they don't want to spread germs. And any teacher who has seen students run around at recess during 5 degrees in January knows that they are constantly MAKING those little knuckleheads put on their coats. It's like they have ice running through their veins. By all indications - running, tackling, blocking, sliding - the cold isn't making them sick because they're the same ones you've told to put on their jackets all week and they still aren't absent. Come to think of it, you were telling them all last week, too.
So we need to think of a better name than a cold. Cold doesn't enter into it. Unless the pencil I sneezed on and let you borrow got more germy when I put it into my refrigerator. Or maybe the railings at the mall that you used were filled with liquid nitrogen to keep the bacteria activated. I think that's where water monkeys come from - the mall. Not inside railings.
So what are we going to call the scratchy throat, itchy tongue, runny mucus holes, and background headache that occur mostly during the winter when everyone is inside sharing airborne orgnisms and avoiding the low temperatures for fear of catching their death?
Should we call it non-observation disease or n.o.d? That seems to be what you feel like doing when you're in a meeting, doesn't it? Maybe pony disease would explain why you are a little hoarse.
The world is filled with new names from drug companies: Cymbalta for that pesky fear of silver on drum sets; Celebrex cures those sudden urges to rejoice spontaneously; Flonase helps something out of your nasal capacity. If they can come up with 24,000 names for the rearrangement of 20 amino acids, they certainly can come up with a new name that sounds as miserable as the uncommon viruses that we call a cold that makes us wish we could scratch that itch and itch that scratch just above our esophagus.
With all that scratching going on, you'd think it was baseball season. But that's not played in winter either, (unless you count winter ball in Puerto Rico).
"CHEW!"

What's with the penguins?

I have received two gifts already this school year.
A former student, who is quite the artist made three pictures for me to hang up in my classroom: one of a penguin with her face on it, a penguin with the face of her friend and my student for the third semester in a row, and one of yours truly's face on a penguin body. They are hanging up behind my desk. Why penguins? Because a long time ago I started collecting penguin pictures from old calendars and have many hanging in my classroom. No big deal about the penguins, but they sure are photogenic.

A gift from a student's family
5 years ago.

This morning I got a little penguin in plastic from another student who requested me for this year again. If you stick it in water, it'll grow up to 600% of it's 3" x 1.5" size. These presents come on the heels of some frustration with the admin who are putting pressure on the staff to reflect about their thoughts, find new methods to share, collect more data, and prove improvement. It's frustrating because what we really need, having adopted new textbooks, two of which represent new classes, is encouragement and appreciation for the extra hours we are putting in for the kids. We in the math dept. are working our tails off more since we lost one FTE (one teacher position), cut by the district so that we can better serve the students who have gone from a minimum of two credits in math to graduate to three.
There are no such things as budget cuts, the same work must simply be done by less people. Oh wait, the government has decreed that the teachers are at fault for students who are taking drugs, not lessons. The government has decreed that if the students who sit in class stoned don't pass the national or state exams we can get rid of the teachers and therefore the problem will go away because the government has solved it. It's beat up a teacher week in your state capital and your nation's capital so that the foolish decisions that they have made can be hidden.
In the mean time, the students still love their teachers, the actual students, that is. And they are willing to present these little gifts in appreciation.
Nope, they aren't little gifts. They're huge.

Boozers need heroes, too

 "Awesome concert" were the words used by "Alabama Beachlife" described on cmt.com's web site's report on their live broadcast of the One Love One Ocean performance on the Country Music Television channel on Sunday night. Jimmy Buffet must be this guy's hero.

 I happened to do a bit of channel surfing at about the time the concert started, found the performance and was intrigued. I remember a few Jimmy Buffet songs that hit the airwaves when I was in college and thought I might listen in. Who knows, maybe I'd find another fairly popular act that was out-of-the-mainstream to enjoy on my mp3 player which is not an iPod. (It's about 150 cheaper for the same functions.) I listened to 80 minutes of the concert before leaving for a walk in the park. Apparently, I missed hearing "Margaritaville" as the cmt.com's web site mentioned that the concert went an hour and a half without commercials.

There was an expectation to experience a show that would make me a fan or make me turn off the tube. It did neither.

After closely listening to the guitar work, the lyrics, the background vocals, the percussion the conclusion was: nothing special. The twenty- to forty-something audience, shown often, was not in love with the music they had paid to see. They were singing along at the beach, they were happy. They were not entranced.

Looking back at a few concerts while in my forties that had the power to captivate, such as The Blue Man Group and Piano Men (B Joel and E John) made the three hours feel like an out of world experience. Watching the DVD of Dire Straits at Wembley Stadium still installs goose bumps. The Jimmy Buffet concert didn't even goose the girls in the second row.

It wasn't bad. It wasn't awesome, it just was. While the the set-ups for the songs, explaining about the upcoming selections: "Son of a Son of a Sailor" and "Nobody from Nowhere" were intriguing there were no clever twists in the verse. The musical introductory measures to "Rumba Man" sung by the co-writer or writer or friend or somebody who came on stage to sing it, appealed. But then the thoughts didn't really lead towards touching or clever or sarcastic. Harry Chapin, Jim Croce, or Jim Taylor, would have spent some creative vibes on making the words just right. At the very least, Paul Simon would think up all sorts of alliteration. Time to create? Buffet MUST have had time to work on the message on all the beaches, bars, and honky-tonks that he claimed were home, mentioned often in each interlude between songs.

At least the instruments weren't off tune in the salty air. There was no special guitar work. The start of every song had the drummer hit his sticks together four times. Four four beat on your whole show? I learned all my first year piano songs in four/four time with an occasional three/four time thrown in to confuse me. These guys weren't confused. They made a big paycheck for being the same.

If you were offered to give a 1 -10 rating on this concert, you'd put down what you answered on your latest office survey. Five. This means you aren't finding anything to comment on, you don't like the topic much, but not enough to dislike it, either.

At the end of the show, one  could relate to the lyrics to the aforementioned Nobody from Nowhere. "We’re just waiting for a car to drive by, Just so we can wave..."

My mp3 player is safe from an additional artist. 

The reviewer on cmt.com's page might edit his or her comments when he sobers up.

What Is It With You?

So why did you pick me? When I walked into that pet store at the end of January where the local Rescued Pets group was showing you off to potential cat staff, why did you cuddle up to me and not let me leave without you? Why didn't you snuggle up to anyone else during that four hour stint of kitty-show-and-tell?

Why do you follow me around the house whenever I come in from someplace else? Why are you sitting on my lap right now - half on and half off, leaning against the keyboard shelf. This looks not-so-comfortable.

Did you know that you were needed? Many animals have a funny sense about these things.

Did you know that you were coming to a house that tended to spoil kitties with toys, good nourishing food (for cats) and a warm lap or two to choose from? You've come to the right place.

You must have known that you'd get the second blog, right after an ode to a family favorite. Somehow, you seem to know that we'll figure out what you mean by your squeaks, meows, and other slightly different vocalizations that you've been letting us hear. Maybe you're just playing mind games with us as you bat around krinkly sounding balls, pick them up, move them, and then drop them into your water bowl.

We know you aren't KB and aren't expecting you to take her place. We are sure you won't do many of the things that endeared us to her. Yet, you're finding new ones.

Why did you pick me? Did you see a sucker for a fuzzy face and did we need a little critter who practically melts into my arm when sitting on my lap? Or did you just know we needed your type here?

No Groundhogs here

Nope, It's not April. That's when the tulips start blooming and the plum trees (left) break out in color along the city streets.

Last year, the tulip festivals were about a month late and strawberry picking which usually lasts until the middle of June toward the end of July. We just had the warmest January on record. Now that February is wrapping up, we may have another record warm month thanks to El Nino. Of course, they are predicting that we'll have a drought by the middle of summer which is normally our dry season anyway.

As we walked through Tam O Shanter Park in Kelso, they were cutting the outfield grass and working the infield. Last weekend, RA Long high school's baseball team was preparing their field by removing the tarps as we drove to the grocery on Saturday morning. Is this what mild is supposed to be?

You've been watching the Winter, er...Spring Olympics from Vancouver. We're only 4-5 hours south and a few degrees warmer. At least the visitors from the cold places liked the weather.

I don't suppose you'd believe me that we're a bit disappointed that we haven't gotten in enough snowshoeing in the Cascades.

Snow

There is a common complaint in the Pacific NW about the rain during our rainy season. It has to do with, well, the rain. When I find others who have moved here from colder climes, we all have a similar response, I have found.

"You don't have to shovel it."

Back in 2002, Dee thought I might have trouble with the constantly-overcast skies during the winter. I haven't. There are these times during the day that we call "sun breaks". The rain stops for a bit and the sun shines through breaks in the clouds. Then it rains or showers or rain-showers or pours (rare).

It's been in the 40's here in the valley for quite some time and when it's raining, 40 can be bone-chilling. It has to do with a penetrating feeling that the humidity and temp and wind

combine for. It also might have to do with this body nudging half a century (less than a month a way). Man, that's weird to even think about...back to 40's.

When it's 40-something down here in the valley, it's 30-something up on the mountains. When the clouds clear, we get to see bright mountain tops which beckon us to come visit the fluffy white stuff.

It used to be skiing, the cross country variety, that drew us to the trails. Now it's snowshoeing. It's a bit slower, but safer, and it's more suited for ungroomed and tracked trails. The equipment is much lighter nowadays.

Gone are the heavy straps and wooden frames. Strong flexible rubber-like straps and titanium, aluminum (or something-um) frames make them easy to use as you sink a bit in fluffy white-stuff billowed in the forest. And when you get to gaze at the frosted trees in a clearing you find out why the nearly two hour drive is worth every minute.

So cold rain in the valley means a Saturday spent at a SnoPark in the Cascades where near the end of the morning's jaunt the white patches start appearing along the roadside at about 2500 feet. By the time you get up to 4000 feet, there are walls of plowed snow and ice five feet high. This, of course, will grow to 10+ feet soon. At the end of the day, it's a bit strange to come down and see only green trees and wet forest floor along the highway. At home, the roads might be dry and the snow shovel securely hanging on the garage. Unless we took it along up with us. Then it get's put back on the hook.

We don't shovel snow here. We visit it.