Grandpa's Legacy

Yesterday at school was on of my favorite lessons, where I read an essay about my grandfather and sing a song that goes with it. It's interesting that when I have really unruly classes I feel like not taking the risk of singing to them. After all, some of those kids might take the opportunity to do other things while my attention is on my performance. It wasn't like that, however. Somehow, many students respect the risk I'm taking. They don't all show it, but some are surprised that I would write that or perform it. They see me differently and I think that's important. So many students see teachers as random boring adults who are only there to yell at them and try to get them to do things they don't want to do. It's good for them to see teachers as real people who are also living out significant stories. If it bridges the empathy gap even just a little, then it's a powerfully important lesson. It's not just entertainment; they see that I was a child, that I loved my grandfather, that I used his diamond ring as a symbol in my own life, and that I take the inspiration of how he faced death and apply it to my own life. That may be too deep for some of my students, but on some level, they feel a universal truth. We all take inspiration from the people we love and we find ways to honor their memories when they are gone and we are still here.

My dad has a framed drawing of Grandpa with the quotation, "A smile never hurt nobody." Grandpa has been gone for many years, but he is well remembered in Dad's picture and in my essay which I read to my class every year. It's a powerful magical spell, especially if it inspires students to pay tribute to those they love as well. Let the ripples and waves go out from there, hopefully making the world a little bit nicer. Like Grandpa said, "A smile never hurt nobody."

Freshman English Class, Worth Remembering?

So, it's been a while. Homecoming faded away, teaching went back to normal (at least as normal as it gets), and even the limerick war died out. In an effort to keep things interesting, I run a mock trial based on James Hursts's "The Scarlet Ibis." It's a really beautiful story and while not all of the students "get" it, they do get into arguing about whether the main character is guilty of anything or not. It always seems to go better than I expect. I have so many rowdies that it seems like turning them loose on an assignment like this is just asking for trouble. However, for the most part, they seem to enjoy the diversion and they really do get to know the story. So, ultimately, it works.

Now we move on to their writing skills. It's a whole extra set of frustrations, but it's also a chance for so many wonderful tributes that students can write and keep for themselves forever. I honestly believe that if they do their best on this assignment, it doesn't matter so much what grade they get as the memory they preserve. Students sometimes write wonderful things that might otherwise remain unsaid. Those are the times when they need to express themselves with words that will live on long after their freshman English class is over. I give them an example about my grandfather complete with a song I wrote. Sometimes the effect is magical. Sometimes not, but it is worth a try. If it's memorable enough, they'll take something with them.

Homecoming 2010

Homecoming has come and gone. It was really fun and very memorable. For fear of rain we packed up our equipment prematurely and gave up playing live at the Thursday rally. Instead, we used the cd. The paper printed a picture with a whole lot of dancers with their hands in the air out on the football field. That was really cool, but the live band looked sad when it was over. Anyway, we still had Friday. The only thing wrong with that was that our guitarist, Jesse, got sick and had to miss that, too. He's one of those nice guys who deserves better.

Still, we cheered, I rapped (ha!), I announced, I sang, I danced. It was silly, good fun and the team won the game as well. Through it all, the professor was a regular rock star. It was his most fun week of high school. He rocked the keyboards, the drum line, and he had fun at the dance. I guess what I feel the most about all of this is thankful. A couple of my colleagues expressed amazement that I would get out and lead the students in a dance. I'm kind of surprised myself. In high school I was always too afraid to dance. I guess it took me years to get up the nerve, but there are some high-schoolers out there, mine included, who will never forget the fun we had together on Homecoming 2010. I love this town and I love this school. I hope the multi-media class makes a video that preserves it well.

Magic Spells, Lessons, and Dancing

When considering teaching, I've always enjoyed the wizard metaphor. For me, the greatest magic spells are the ones that are the most memorable. So for the young romantic, the special gesture or surprise note that sticks in the mind of the one he loves is the most powerful magic. There's always an element of risk as well because spells like that can just blow up in your face and burn you to the ground with embarrassment.

Another obvious parallel is the teacher who takes a risk to reach some students. Tomorrow is the beginning of Homecoming Week, a time when at least some of us go out on a limb to celebrate with the students. I know I'll be laughed at tomorrow, but it's all in good fun. I'm particularly lucky that my son is so cool about accepting the embarrassing things I do. Some kids would be mortified by a parent who is a teacher who participates in the goofiness of Homecoming. Lucky for me, the professor just has fun with it. In fact, he's in on some of it. He'll be playing the keyboard at the pep rally.

I, on the other hand have to start "the dance." That's right. An old, bald, bearded man will step onto the gym floor and start the dancing. I won't be alone; the dance and drill team will join in and so will the cheerleaders, but the hundreds of others, including students, teachers, and even administrators could very well back out. I guess it's the risk that provides the adventure and whether they join in or not, it will still be one of the most memorable times at the school for many students. That's a spell worth casting.

Years from now they'll say, "That guy was crazy." And if they smile and laugh when they do, then the spell will be an obvious success. Don't you want people to smile when they remember you? I think it's worth the risk of a little embarrassment, and it's just going to be so much fun, even if it's just me and the girls. There's a country song called "I Hope You Dance" that I often think of when I'm afraid of being embarrassed. It reminds me that dancing and living with embarrassment or ridicule is so much better than sitting there, wishing you had the courage to go for it. I want my students to have that kind of courage and so, in the spirit of Bob the Tomato I say, "It's for the kids," and jump right in. I know I won't regret it.

Macbook

I believe the school district has been wildly successful with the idea of giving all the teachers Macbooks. I say this because now I spend more time working than ever before. It's easy. "The kids are on the home computer," is not an excuse anymore. Not only that, but when everyone at home is otherwise occupied and I find myself with no one to talk to, I can always update the gradebook. And then when that's all done, here I am blogging away as if my random thoughts matter. It's kind of cathartic, I guess, or maybe that's pathetic. Whoa, I'm thinking in rhymes. I suppose I should use this creative energy to further the limerick war.

There was a dog from San Diego
Who often would chew an old leggo
Until he learned about
How it hurt coming out
And he switched to a comfortable eggo

There was an old coot from New York
Who would not, could not use a fork
Or a spoon, for that matter
To scoop up his batter
He'd use nothing else but a spork

(These are really starting to get lame.) :)

To Catch a Thief of Life; Fear

It's interesting how fear paralyzes us. The unknown can be so scary that people just want to curl up on the floor and waste what little time we have. I have students who are so afraid of embarrassment that they'd rather fail and be stuck retaking my class forever just because they don't want to speak in front of the class.

I always try to make a big deal out of it when I know someone is facing their fear. Sometimes this is counterproductive because some people really don't want any attention at all. Most often, however, it draws smiles.

The thing I hate the most about fear is what it steals from us. I can remember times in my life when I was too afraid to take a chance and I know I lost those opportunities. Nothing I can do about it now, but I do regret those times.

A few years ago, I was asked to be the speaker at our Homecoming rally in central park. It was a first for me and I thought I should do some kind of a welcome. I'd always wanted to sing Queen's "We Will Rock You" at a pep rally so I just stepped up to the mic and did it a capella. Silly as it sounds, taking that chance will forever be one of my favorite memories. I had kids who never liked our pep rallies coming up and cheering me on. I really felt appreciated. The risk was that I'd look like an idiot and be laughed off the bandstand, but instead, every year I have people asking me if I'm going to do it again. I'm a bald, bearded English teacher and for a few minutes each year they let me feel like a rock star. How lucky is that?

Now, I'd like to distinguish the kind of risks that I want people to take. I'm very much a safety first kind of guy so I hate hearing about reckless drivers, experimentation with drugs, and promiscuous behavior. The risks I want to see people taking are the kind that make awesome memories and never hurt anyone. I had a silly friend who started to sing "America" at the end of a small town fireworks display. I was afraid that people would see him as making fun of their little town since we weren't from there. I was kind of uncomfortable with him because he thought things like that were funny. However, on this occasion everyone around us joined in and it turned into a poignant moment where patriotism swells and I was proud to be standing and singing with total strangers. That's a risk I wouldn't have taken, but I'm glad I was there for it.

We seem to live in an age of fear politics. I wish that more people would recognize the damage that fear does to us. People who are not like us are as they are for reasons that we should try to understand. Religion in particular is too often twisted to turn people against each other. That's the worst of blasphemies. All of the world's major religions agree that we should take care of each other and love each other. Fear of each other's differences erodes the American spirit, or any spirit for that matter. Some people even want to tell the rest of us "how" to be American. As Americans we usually don't respond well to overbearing commands.

So I appear to have started babbling. Step up to the mic and belt out your freedom. You'll find others like you who appreciate your taste. Face your fears and live strong. Don't let fear steal anymore life from you.

Limerick time.

There once was a dancer named Katya

Whose favorite food was foccacia

Spinning dough in the air

She danced on a chair

But she slipped and her doughball went splatcha!

It seems we're all hard up for rhymes these days.

A CIA agent named "Louie"

Was on a case that got quite gooey

He stepped in some gum,

Got glue on his thumb

And found himself sticky and chewy.

Phew! Maybe I'll think of better stuff later.

Homecoming Dreams

Over the past few years it has become apparent that our high school's Homecoming celebration needs something new. I've tried adding music to the pep rally and I LOVE that part. It's the speaking that reeks. I'm a speech teacher and coach so I've been asked to speak at pep rallies fairly often. I've done a good job, but they don't ask me because it's such an honor; they ask me because no one else wants to do it. It seems to me that it should be an awesome time that everyone wants to be in on. Unfortunately, despite some excellent efforts by a few really enthusiastic students and teachers, a growing majority seems to think it's all a waste of time and we should just get it over with.

I've talked to quite a few people and we're laying the groundwork to fight this apathy. We're going to hit this celebration with music that includes singers, a rock band, and the marching band. We're going to get the school dancing and we're going to put it on film. We're going to show the world that we love our school and that we love each other. I'm sure we'll have plenty of kids who think it's stupid, but those are the ones who hate everything. We can't please them so we might as well have fun and extend the invitation. Who knows? Some of them might figure out that it's more fun to join in than to always look down on everyone else. I want to be inclusive and give everybody a chance to be a part of something fun and little by little we're getting more and more people excited. It's going to catch on and we're going to have a great time. Well, those of us who choose to will. I sincerely hope that's all of the school and even some of the community.

I guess I'd better continue with the limericking:

There once was a marching band drummer
Who thought wearing wool was a bummer
Still he beat the skins
Rocked the beat with his friends
Yeah, he was a true up-and-comer

There, to make up for my "vicious attack" on the professor's rhyming skills.

The Cubs had another bad year
Making fans cry in their beer
The faithful cheered on
'Till each game was done
Facing next year with no worse to fear

(I'm a KC Chiefs fan; I feel your pain.)

My doggy lies here at my feet
Waiting for her nightly treat
To my chair she's adjacent
And ever so patient
With a resolve as hard as concrete.

Time to reward the pooch.

The Professor Hits the Drumline

There was a professor named Chuck
With limericks he pushed his luck
To get a third rhyme
He was not sublime,
He sometimes rolled 'round in the muck.

This is in response to the professor's comment on my last set. I mean, really. "Fred, head, and MOPEDS?" Really?!?

Oh well, I would have helped him with that line if he wasn't in such a hurry. He's off now to play the snare drum in his first high school marching band show. He's excited and concerned all at once. He's excellent with music and I know he's practiced his charts both playing and stepping, so he'll be fine. He's in a great group and they have a lot of fun together. I know lots of kids in the band and it's a real blast to watch them all. Maybe I'll learn how to embed video. That would be good to know.

I finished Merle's Door. Yeah, I cried quite a bit. He really stretched out those last days. Still, the guy knows the love of dogs and the final image, for me, is the most endearing. I'd go into more detail, but it's time to get back to silly limericks.

(ahem)

There once was a puppy named Jake
Who had thirst he never could slake
He'd drink and he'd wag
'Til his belly would sag,
Yet found room for ice cream and cake.

There was an old ninja named Woo
Who mastered the art of Kung Fu
He could drop from the sky
And kick you in the eye,
All while reciting Lao Tzu

The king of Peru loved his beans.
He always had some in his jeans.
Not coffee, but jelly,
He grew a fat belly
Now he's man enough for two queens. (ewwww)

That's more than enough.

Reading MERLE'S DOOR

I've been reading Merle's Door by Ted Kerasote. It was a birthday gift from my dad. We both love big dogs. I currently have a dog who is half golden lab and half(almost certainly) husky. Except for her excitement for dogs passing by, squirrels, bunnies, cats, and raccoons, and anyone newly visiting us, she is docile and kind of sleepy. She'll get very excited for the first few minutes that anyone new comes through our door, but give her three minutes and she'll be contentedly lying under the table. I love my dog.

Kerasote is an excellent observer and explainer, backing up his observations with actual scholarly research. He's both amusing and instructive. I've read 300 pages and I'm bracing myself for the end. His dog Merle is unique, intelligent, affectionate, and getting old. When I started to read this book, my wife looked at me and said, "The dog's gonna die." She's not insensitive. It's a well-known fact that most dog stories end with the death of the dog. Marley and Me is the most recent commercial success to put us dog lovers into tears and I know that the last fifty pages of Merle's Door are going to be the best kind of difficult.

They say that tragedies like Romeo & Juliet are supposed to be considered uplifting because they make us think and bring out the best in us. I've taught that for years without thinking too much about the lift to the spirits. I never really feel that. I see the lessons it teaches and I do feel the "lift" of excellent drama expressed in poetry, but I don't feel the moral lift that experts say I'm supposed to get. It sounds silly, but dog stories help me to understand what I'm supposed to be getting from tragedy. When I read a good dog story and, as always, the dog dies, I feel sad, but also the urge to be a better person, to love better, to enjoy what I have more. All of us only have so much time, and dog's lives are so short that they teach us about the importance of every moment. It's a cliche, but everyone who loves a dog knows that their lives are short and they make us look at ourselves. When Ted Kerasote is 48 in the book and Merle starts to show his age, I look at my own 45 years with resignation for the things that are behind me now. My dog is 5. When I turn 48, she'll be 8, just like Merle in the book. It's only coincidence, but when my dog starts to show her age, I know I'll be right there with my own aches and pains. They've already started. I also know how difficult it is to lose a beloved dog. I'll never forget the last walk and the last time I held my boyhood dog Barney. It's burned into my consciousness affecting the way I see the world. Dogs guide us in more ways than one.

Enough seriousness; the limerick war is apparently raging, complete with trash-talking and all sorts of erroneous claims. I must get back and do my part.

There once was a limerick war

Combatants joined in more and more

With insults in verse

The rhyming was terse

Laughing casualties rolled on the floor.

One said, "It's the best kind of war,

A fight without maiming or gore.

I call you a twit,

You make my sides split

With rhymed, metered trash talk galore!

The professor, composing his crimes

Was attacked by a dancer in rhymes

Her rhythm was bad

As a Hosbond in plaid

But she learned and we're in for good times

More Nonsense

And then there were three composing limericks. One of the professor's friends has joined the madness. This could turn into an avalanche of verse. We'll see.

There was a truck driver named Bob

Whose friends all rebuked as a slob

He left his abode

And took to the road

Spilling two tons of corn on the cob

It's that time of year, ya know.

More Bad Poetry

It seems that the gauntlet has been thrown down for limericks. How delightful. This bad poetry could continue indefinitely.

There once was a walrus named John
With Paul, Ringo, and George he played on
He heard a man say,
"Beatles with an A"
On a flaming pie, then it was gone.

The band knew at once it was right
The name stuck, the band played all night
The girls all did scream
Musicians did dream
Beatlemania did ignite!

Maybe not the best, but I know how much the professor loves John Lennon and the Beatles, so he might get a kick out of these. I'll be watching his blog for the next challenge.

Bad Poetry Day

Here we are again in that hyper-emotional hormone drenched whirlwind we call high school. It's been a typical first day, and yet one that I've anticipated for years. Ever since my wife first became pregnant around 15 years ago I've wondered, "What if one of our kids is in my class some day?" That day is here and so far I have not totally embarrassed him. In fact, it's just good to see him there. This morning when the entire student body was crammed in the gymnasium and I was walking past the freshmen, a smiling face was suddenly near me with an outstretched hand to high-five me. You can call it corny, but I think he's about as cool as he can be.

Now, if you're in the market for bad limericks, he's just getting warmed up at Random Thoughts with Professor Chuck. As I've done before, I will now attempt to answer his limerick with another that's just as bad.

(ahem)

There once was an old chef from Sparta
In love with his seamstress named Marta
He gave her roast goose
In cheese and fruit juice
With a greasy wet smooch a la carte.

Yup, it's bad poetry day. I bet mine is worse. :)

My Guardian Angel

Yesterday was the first Teacher Day and school starts next Wednesday. I got up and walked the dog. Then I watched a little TV. I caught the end of a travel show about Italy and watched all of the next one on Edinburg. Then I put a mix of cds on, classical and jazz, and even a little Bela Fleck banjo. From there I went to the kitchen.

When I have the time, I love to cook. The rest of my family was still sleeping, so I had some purely creative time in the kitchen. I mixed three eggs with a little milk. Then I stirred in a little salsa con quesa. To that I added some chopped green pepper, onion, black olives, and green olives with pimento. I was already frying bacon in another pan, so I started this omelet in a new pan and added some shredded deli ham and a slice of American cheese, also torn. I slapped this creation onto a plate with toast and bacon and thoroughly enjoyed it with grape juice.

When I got down to my last bite, the thought hit me. Without knowing it I had just spent my morning with my aunt Jane. She's been gone for years, but I think of her so often that I sometimes refer to her as my guardian angel. Aunt Jane loved walks, travel shows and especially cooking shows, and most of all, cooking.

I'll never forget a walk around the old neighborhood with Aunt Jane in which she noticed yellow irises growing in a ditch. It's because of Aunt Jane that irises are one of the few flowers that I can identify. We went right home to get the right tools and she dug a few of the wildflowers to plant in her own garden. She always made things prettier. And tastier.

My aunt Jane was the best cook in the family. Whenever I spend time in the kitchen, making bread, sauteing mushrooms, or creating some new omelet I always feel comforted. A calm comes over me and I chop vegetables, listen to music, smell and feel the food as well as taste it. The last time I visited Aunt Jane in a hospital in West Virginia, we sat quietly and watched cooking shows on the Food Network. Just being with her always made me feel like somehow I was the most wonderful person in the world. I miss that.

When I was attending the University of Northern Iowa I had an art class in a big auditorium and every day of that class we saw the most interesting paintings projected on a huge screen. One day I took Aunt Jane with me. She never went past high school and was never very intellectual, but she had such an intuitive sense for beauty and art that I just wanted to share that experience with her. Having her around always made things better. It's probably because she loved me so much that I felt like I could do no wrong. It's a real confidence builder to have someone like that in your corner.

I'm about to start a new school year. My days will be packed. I will get buried in assignments and every once in a while I might even lose perspective. I'll be dealing with a whole range of kids, some of whom have never felt the kind of love and support that my family has provided for me. Everybody should have someone who makes them feel the way Aunt Jane made me feel. There's a lot of hurt out in the world and we need more Aunt Janes. Everyone should feel the calm and love of a guardian angel. I know that I've been blessed with mine.

Spelling and Inspiration

So my little slide show worked and now it has had 70 views. Granted, a dozen of those are mine because I was just so happy that it worked. It's at this point that my loving family points out that I misspelled a word. (If you didn't catch it, I'm not going to tell you.) I'll eventually get in there and revise it, but I don't have the password at the moment.

Little errors like that could make a real wizard's spells backfire in a big way. In my case an english teacher who makes simple spelling mistakes can take a lot of flak. Luckily, I have a secure base of allies. For instance, my mom just got me a dragon for my birthday. It's a desktop statue of a winged, imposing snouted beastie with huge claws wrapped around a wooden post. Dragons are not only awe-inspiring; they're just plain inspiring. Spelling errors or no, I'll probably be compelled to write more soon. Mom knows.

Progress

I posted a slide-show on my wife's facebook page using photopeach. It was a small thing, just pictures of friends at my birthday party with captions I added. At the time I was cursing it because I had to download the pictures three times. Twice I somehow erased all my work and had to start over. Frustrating, yes, but i little while ago I heard myself saying, "That was fun." I love creative projects like that; I just hate it that I'm so slow on the learning curve. When things like that begin to work I can see myself really loving technology . . . selectively.

For instance, I use a program called "Finale:PrintMusic" that allows me to arrange music. I use it so much that I've forgotten all the steps I had to go through to learn it. Because I use it so much I love it. So if I persist in my efforts to add presentation tools to my students' assignments, I'll get there. More importantly, I might be able to create a few more memorable presentations for family and friends. Yeah, that really IS fun.

Fred's 45th on PhotoPeach



If this worked, it's even more progress.

Technology; Making Life Easier?

I'm not stupid, but my talents are not technology-based. I enjoy creativity in music and wordplay and abstract thinking, but the world is more and more about who can find the quickest computer solutions. I have always been a slow thinker and a slow worker. It's my knowledge retention and my creativity that make some people think I'm smart, because when intelligence is measured in terms of speed, I don't appear very smart. There are many kinds of intelligence and just lately the skills of manipulating computer applications have become the more valorized form. I must admit that makes me jealous because it's not my realm.

Now I'm not trying to whine here; I know that this is the wave of the future and I am doing my best to keep up. I took two Web 2.o classes this Summer and I still become easily frustrated because things don't go my way very often. I want to keep my students interested with some of the best new computer tools, but I don't want to waste class time with a lot of glitches that I can't solve on my own. I know I can't avoid all problems, but I do need to develop a level of confidence in a few more computer applications. I know my literature, but I need to facilitate student learning with the most effective tools.

Okay, it sounds like a lot of buzz words, but it amounts to this; I've become an old dog in the field. I still have plenty to contribute, but my talents are less valorized now and I need to keep changing with the times. It's both difficult and frustrating, but I'm not alone. Many teachers feels the way I do, and almost every techno-geek I've ever met has been willing to help. It's humbling, but necessary to keep seeking help and keep taking risks. That's what we ask our students to do. It's also important to remember how valuable our individual talents are, whether they are the most valorized or not. That's a good lesson for students and teachers alike.

Listening to the Cosmos, or at Least the Radio

I'm turning 45 tomorrow, or as my OLD Dad would say and has said, "half way to 90." I swim in the morning and the pool has been closed for maintenance for the past two weeks. So, trying to get back into shape is a delicate process for an old guy who's half way to 90. My back stiffens up pretty regularly now and everyone says you've got to stretch more. That's good, because swimming helps with that.

So I show up at the pool and go to the locker room. I have a little habit of listening for messages from God in the songs on the radio. As I prepared to swim, the song was "You Had a Bad Day." I like the sound of that song, but I hate it when they play it in the morning. I think, "Come on, give me a chance first." When I hit the water, it was "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me." Okay, I had to laugh. I could go negative with the line, "Losing everything is like the sun going down on me," or I could go back to that whole listening for God idea. Corny, right? What if God was saying, "Don't forget Me today"? I liked that interpretation and, after all, we get to choose our own interpretations. That's the one bit of life we have control of. We can't choose what happens to us, but we can choose how to take it. I decided God wanted me to keep Him in mind and I giggled. I finished my swim and while I was driving home Supertramp was singing "Give a Little Bit." I've never really listened to the words to that song, but today the line "I'm goin' home," just popped out. It was a small thing, a bit of synchronicity that added order to my little world.

Hey, I know it's not all about me, but it is nice to feel included by the cosmos now and then.

Queen of the Neighborhood

I remember as a kid back in Waterloo, Iowa the first time I met my new neighbors, the Kaune's. I was unaware of being in the presence of royalty. I was just a kid sitting on the front porch steps watching this nice couple, cheerfully buying red, white, and blue Bomb Pops from the ice cream man for every kid who was out in the street that day. They had recently moved in across the street and it was a grand gesture that was helping them to rapidly make friends. Being a dutiful little boy, I knew that I had been told to never take anything from strangers and so I had retreated to the steps in front of my house to view the spectacle from a safe distance while everyone else gathered around the ice cream truck. Their names were Linda and Gary and they noticed me sitting there watching and brought one of the big, colorful popsicles to me. I was shy and embarrassed. I politely refused and went inside. They could have stopped there, but they knocked on the door and gave the popsicle to my mom so that I could still have it, but not from a stranger. It was just that kind of thoughtfulness that was soon to make them neighborhood royalty and it wasn't long before I could never think of them as strangers again.

I should clarify; Gary was an ex-drill sergeant with a desk job in drafting who drove stock cars on the weekends. His demeanor fell somewhere between Randy Travis and John Wayne and still does. He has much more intelligence than the stereotype good-ol'-boy and the charisma to lead people, but he's not the royalty type. To him, the king will always be Richard Petty and even with that due respect, his favorite will always be the Intimidator, the bad boy, Dale Earnhardt. Gary's realm was the garage where you could "kick tires and talk dirty." That's what he said, but he was always mindful to keep it rated G for all the kids who liked to hang around.

It was Linda who was queen of the neighborhood. When she made treats she didn't just call her boys; she called all of us. She was a small, blond woman who kept her hair fashionably short and neat. Her appearance was dominated by a round freckled-face smile accompanied by a husky, wheezing laugh. She talked very fast and was always full of stories. She would sit at our dining room table for hours "holding court," cigarette in one hand and Diet Pepsi in the other. She loved to yell at my dad in a hilarious mock anger that he was forever trying to inspire with needling remarks, double entendres, and sarcasm. She always took the bait and put on a performance, scolding and gesturing, the pitch and volume of her voice escalating and her speaking accelerating. Sometimes I wondered if she'd stop for air, but she always did pause for Diet Pepsi. I was once sent on a special trip to the store for the apparently addictive beverage so that Linda wouldn't slip into withdrawal. Performing such an errand for someone else may have seemed absurd, but in service to the queen I was a loyal subject, happy to comply.

The biggest "Linda legend" in the old neighborhood is the roof incident. The details are forgotten, but Linda was probably cleaning the glass on the door to the roof of her house and somehow got locked out. She was sitting out on the roof patiently waiting to be rescued, a damsel in distress. As I remember it, Dad discovered her predicament and thought she should perform before being let in. She cheerfully complied with an unforgettable tap dance on the roof. Such a queen endears herself to her subjects with her own humility. And that sense of humor was always one of her best qualities.

To Dad she was always lovingly known as "the Dingbat" and life was more entertaining with her around. Out shopping with Mom she once launched into "The Teapot Song" right there in the store. Mom is excessively shy, but she smiles when she tells the story because she loved Linda so much. Another time we had a Halloween costume party that included a scavenger hunt. One of the items was a bra. There would be 50 bonus points awarded if it was "still warm." That part was only a joke, but I'll never forget Linda as Raggedy Ann pulling her hands into her shirt and working a warm bra out of her sleeve. Priceless.

If you wanted to get Linda talking, it didn't take much, and her family was her favorite subject. I've heard stories about her parents, her siblings, her husband, her sons, and most recently, her granddaughter, her biggest joy right up until the end.

In her 60's Linda was suddenly taken by cancer. She was supposed to have six months, but she was gone in less than six weeks. I thought I'd see her one last time in the summer, but she was gone too soon.

I got the news by cell phone at my niece's wedding. I left the noise of the dance to step out into the quiet of the moonlit night to call Dad. I'd be stopping by the next day and I knew things were not looking good. He told me she was already gone. We talked for a few minutes and I went back inside. The music was throbbing and many of my wife's relatives were standing around talking, but at that moment there weren't many people dancing. My twelve-year-old daughter ran up and grabbed my arm. "Dance with me, Daddy." I thought for a moment of my fallen queen. Linda would dance. I followed my daughter onto the dance floor and the dance goes on.

New Look; Bad Limerick

So, thanks to Professor Chuck, I've got a new look and a hit counter. The professor is much more adept at such spells than I am. I'm much better at abstract thought than practical application. It's the kind of thing that makes me seem out of touch and behind the times.

I don't have much to say today, so I'll follow suit with the good professor and offer up a limerick(not a dirty one, just twisted).

There once was a bunny named Mike
Who rode everywhere on his trike
But he went too far
Didn't yield to the car
And is sadly crushed on the turnpike.

I think that's more than enough for now.

Songs: Pictures in My Mind

I don't find near enough time to write, but occasionally, like in the Summer, I have a little time to devote to just thinking. When inspired I like to channel my creativity into writing songs. I love the ancient image of the bard who served as teacher, historian, poet, entertainer, musician and possibly more. So most of my songs deal with real people and either their stories or the effects they've had on those around them. For me, playing an old song I've written brings back memories as effectively as going through a picture album. I have several sets of friends who got married within a few years of each other. Then they started reproducing and we had baby-parties every year for a while. I'm still behind on baby songs, but the only reason I remember all those names is because I wrote songs for them. I'm terrible with names, but I'm not bad with lyrics, so it's a memory aid for me. It's like taking pictures in my mind.

"Into the West"

Most people have never heard of Radagast the Brown. He's a ver minor character in Tolkien's THE HOBBIT and LORD OF THE RINGS. He's the third of the Istari mentioned after Saruman the White and Gandalf the Grey. He's kind of a nature protector who talks to the animals and is able to gather information very quickly because of his wide ranging sources. He's one of the many minor forces for good that collectively add up to the force of good that ultimately defeats the great evil of Sauron.

So, for me, wizardry has always been a metaphor for teaching. It's not about fireballs, lightning bolts, and being able to fly. The effective "spell" is the lesson that starts a fire in a student's heart, that electrifies a student's mind, or makes someone realize the abilities that can make him/her soar. Words and music are key components of this inspiration. The greatest spells are the very few that last in the memory and go on inspiring long after they have been cast, spinning off in a ripple effect that never ends.

So when students ask what happened to Radagast, I tell them he went into the West and became an English teacher.