Jet Skis

Last Family Home Evening activity with the Fiance's family was to make sure the new jet-skis were properly working. Oh darn. I got to ride behind The Fiance down almost the whole length of Utah Lake. It was great. He goes really fast since he's done it a lot---and then there was me (insert appropriate Moo cartoon) with my turn to learn how to drive: gooOOOooo, stop. GOOOOOooo, stop. goOOOOOOooooo.,stop. Jet ski and Fiance because Moo drives slow: WHUMPH! WHUMPH! WHUMPH! It's best fast since it's not so bumpy. Fiance is patient. :)
Afterwards, you would also have been entertained by me running through clouds, and I mean CLOUDS, of mosquitos. It was all I could do, when I realized what they were, to not dance in one spot and yell with my arms flailing---like the Bryan Regan skit about the little bee, or the invisible spider web, or Sarah when she claimed she couldn't eat the shredded lettuce on her tacos because it would make her run out in the street and yell "TAXI!" --Moo

Bus Ride

I ride the bus. (you can already see where this is going). It's frustrating, and annoying and slow (sometimes). But, during those awful moments, every so often something clicks for me. And then it all becomes extremely funny. Just such a moment happened today. The bus was late picking me up. When we got to the transit center, the driver waited for a while until all the people had boarded and then got off the bus to buy a coke. Even though we were late. But, that's chill. By the time she got back though, there was a person in a motorized wheel chair waiting to board the bus. So that took a while. As she was hooking the wheel chair into place, she couldn't find a place to put the second strap, so she said, "Do you have your brake on?" (she had to repeat that a few times until the person comprehended the question) Wheel Chair Person finally said, "Yeah. I have my brake on."
"Well," she said, "I hope that will hold you." (ack! That is Unsafe!) (don't worry, nothing tragic happens to him). By this time there was a pack of people waiting to get on the bus. After the eternity it took for them to load, there was another wheel chair person waiting to get on. The wheel chair person's name is Reuben, I know because his very loud sister was yelling at him to come and get on the bus. My hopes for making it to work on time were shattered, but before I could sink into despair, enter: Singer.
Singer gets on the bus, with a medium length pole under his arm. He keeps turning around in the isle way, the pole clearing a path each time he moves. Finally Reuben says, "Give me that before you poke someone's eye out." Singer looks happy and hands the pole over.
"Hee," he says. Then, in a loud, almost monotone voice he sings, "Reuben, Reuben, Reuben, my brother. I love him! Reuben, Reuben, Reuben my bro-u-u-ther." Moments later, with renewed zeal, "Reuben, Reuben, Reuben, him look so good, him look so goo-o-o-d." The whole time, Reuben is beaming and looking around. Sister, who had gotten on first and is in the back of the bus, yells out to Singer, Hey where are we going!" Reuben says, "Ask the driver where this place is." Singer tries to do it, but the driver tells him to stand behind the white safety line. Singer loudly chants with a sorrowful look, "Yeah because last time I fell over. I fell over. Fe-e-ll O-vvvv-er."
A guy standing by Singer says to Reuben, "That's where you want to go. In that building, so take this next stop." From the back of the bus, Sister, whose seat buddies are telling the same thing, hollers, "This is where we want! What we just passed. Hey, pull the cord!" (directed to Reuben and Singer)" Singer looks at her with an exaggerated seriousness, his face puckered, his finger to his lips and says, "Shhh."
By that time, we had reached my stop, and as I was hustling off the bus, I could hear their shenanigans continuing. The thought of those three kept me smiling all the way to my office. --Lu

Mr. Good

Disclaimer: I'm writing stories that may not be entirely The Truth. Because, when you write about a teacher who is somewhat of a legend at your school, then it's not always clear what is myth and what isn't.

***

In high school, I had a teacher named Mr. Good. In the years before my time there, some students had gotten their hands on a picture of young Mr. Good. Naturally, they made it into a poster that filled an entire bulletin board. The caption read: He's Mr. Good and there is no Mr. Better.

I read that poster practically every day for a whole school year. I tended to agree with the sentiment. After all, when a coach came to Mr. Good to borrow a desk, Mr. Good demanded to barter. As a result, he acquired a baseball cap in exchange for the desk. Then he proceeded to wear the hat (embroidered with our high school logo) to class for the next few weeks.

Another time, Mr. Good was assigning seats and ran out of desks. (It was probably about then that Mr. Good became self conscious about the baseball cap). So what did he do? He assigned the spare kid to the couch in the back corner of the room. During the next few days, Mr. Good put on a pretense of being sorry about the dearth of seats, but since every other kid in class coveted the couch seat, and the kid himself finally said, "Really, I like it here. I don't need a desk," the couch became a permanent assignment.

And there were other perks to being in Mr. Good's class: bad kids got sent to "the Veranda" (the walkway just outside the classroom door), at Christmastime, we sang songs and put on skits about government, and on bring-your-child-to-work day, his 7-yr-old daughter taught us about the planets (during an entire hour of "AP Government").

So, it really shouldn’t be a surprise that we all agreed: he WAS Mr. Good, and there WAS no Mr. Better.

Fast forward some years. I'm at work, and I hear about someone's client. The last name? Betters. --Lu

***Note: As I'm sure you noticed, there were some "high class" words in there like "dearth" that I wouldn't normally use--that's all thanks to my friend Marge's amazing editing skills. Thanks also to everyone who contributed (knowingly or unknowingly) to the stories about Mr. Good.

****P.S.: That book Moo "recommended"--Love in the Driest Season--is great. Post coming soon. BUT! don't read it if you don't like descriptions of the aftermath of war, BECAUSE, the author was a news correspondent and describes some of the horrific scenes he encountered while reporting. Nothing is described in great detail, but if you are squeemish, be warned.

overheard

As I was walking past a back yard, a little girl's voice drifted over the fence, loud and clear, "Daddy! Daddy! We found a magic pencil! Look! A magic pencil!"

What does a magic pencil look like, I wonder? --Lu

book-o-rama

Recently (read: since last week), I've been on a reading binge. Big time binge. Why? I'm here, in the same place I was last summer and the one before that and it's hotter than sin outside. And The Rock goes to bed at the unseemly hours of 8:30 or 9. Can adults do that of their own free will? (I know, I know, plenty of people do just that every night.)

So here's a list of some books I've enjoyed in the past weeks, (and a shout out to you if you recommended them):

• Empire by Orson Scott Card (p.s. I'm not an Orson Scott Card maniac. Just FYI.) You want action? done. You want some political commentary (or at least thought provoking look at American politics)? done. Fast moving, not space alien sci-fi like some of his others. If you read it PLEASE tell me so we can chat about it.
• The China Study by T. Collin Campbell and son. One man's attempt to prove via gobs and gobs of scientific studies that diet can prevent cancer, heart disease and many other ailments. If you already suffer from those things, his theory is that a change in diet could actually reverse or at least lessen the impact of the problem. There's a section on how food manufactures and lobbies impact what and how we think about food. (does anyone know if this has been challenged? I'm guessing yes...)
  
• The Changeling Sea by Patricia McKillip. A short, sweet and definitely fantasy story. You can read the official summary yourself, because if I give one, it will just spoil it for you.
  
• The Ear, The Eye, and The Arm by Nancy Farmer. A mystery/adventure story set in Zimbabwe in something like 2120 (or was it 2021?). The kids of a defense leader are kidnapped and three detectives with special powers attempt to find the kids. The story is mostly focused on and told from the perspective of the kids (so I'm not sure why the detectives stole the title).
• And Moo, who is refusing to write anything on the blog right now due to a bad case of goo-goo eyes, has recommended Love in the Driest Season by Neely Tucker--the story of how a couple adopted a child from Zimbabwe. NPR did a story on it, so if you want a summary, look it up on NPR (I'm being lazy about posting a link for you all, sorry). I just checked out the book today, so I'll give you an update when I'm done.

Housekeeping

So, a few of you have sent in comments on the last post...They are great. I love reading comments. HOWEVER, I'm having difficulties with my computer, so the comments won't show up right away, but I am reading them and appreciating them.

As for my real housekeeping issue: there is a smell at my house. It's new, it's exciting, and it's bothering me! It's not a rotting smell, it's not a stinky feet smell, it's a synthetic smell. I don't think it's our bikes (which live in the house, the rationale for which anyone in Tucson will readily discern), and it's not our "new" couch. What is this mystery smell?

Once I had a different mystery smell (my neighbor smoking in his apartment)--the smell itself wasn't the mystery: our apartment smelled like a motel--you know that odor of someone-has-smoked-here-just-not-right-at-this-minute-smell? That one. The mystery was, Where was the smell originating? Mystery solved: the neighbor. During that time, I was wondering if I was imagining the smell sometimes, so I asked a friend if my house smelled funny. She said, "Well I don't know what it smells like in here normally, so I don't know." Good point.

So I'm stuck in the same position once again, except the uncertainty of WHAT is causing the smell is almost more troublesome than the smell. Until I figure it out, I'll be at my apartment taking up-close wiffs of everything it might possibly be (so far I've smelled the couches (twice) and the bikes, and the garbage (ok, I just took it out, because I've already tried that before and regretted it.) What else is there to smell? --Lu

chicken mania

Once I thought I might want to own some chickens. This started when I was reading the book Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen (I found a copy of it at a thrift store for 25 cents! I love that kind of price!) . (it has a chicken right there on the front cover...subtle indoctrination from the start!) It's a teen fiction book, it's a short, light read, and the main character owns some chickens. And that is where I learned that chickens lay eggs whether there is a rooster or not (I know they need a rooster if you want chicks, but I didn't know the egg laying was spontaneous. Pitifully ignorant, I know.) The book also contains the notion that eventually, hens lose their drive and egg-laying begins to peter out. That got me thinking: Is that true? So I started an unofficial poll. (it's a fun poll to take because you can really catch people off guard by asking, Have you owned chickens?) The answer I've come to is that chickens' desire doesn't drop off just because there isn't a rooster around (if you have had different experiences...let me know because, well, read on...).

And that means that yes, I could own chickens someday. Fresh eggs, little clucky hens with names like Gladys and Marigold = my future.

This future all depends on there NOT being a rooster involved. My aversion to roosters started the first time I met one. When I visited Karl's work (located in a small southern Arizona town), there was a rooster nearby (read: next door). It cock-a-doodle-doo'ed (you try spelling that and see if you fare any better!) all day long. Every 15 seconds (or less) there was another crowing. My nervous twitch started after 2 minutes and 10 seconds. That is how long a rooster would last at my house--because on second 11 I would be rooster hunting.

In conclusion, I'm wondering if this city-girl desire for some hens of my own is something anyone has advice about...please let me know so I can start making realistic plans for my future chicken coop. --Lu