Friday, September 23, 2011

and what did I do today?

Dear sister,

Just a quick post to update you on how my first month of teaching is going.

One of my high school classmates just won a Pulitzer.

Another one of my other high school classmates was just on Jeopardy.

And I spend my days reminding 8th grade students that it is inappropriate to try to hide behind the radiator during English class.

Much love,
your sister

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

my life is complete

Dear Sister,

I met Wally.

And I sat on the Green Monster.

That is all.

your can-now-die-happy sister

Monday, September 5, 2011

shhh ...

Dear sister,

So, a few things have happened of late, all of which you know about, and all of which have kept me from remembering to blog to you. I mean, I remembered, but never at opportune times. It was always when I was doing something like sitting through new teacher orientations, signing up for my first-ever union card, working overnight shifts at PitS during the advent of a hurricane, lighting candles with Grandma during and after afore-mentioned hurricane, sitting through more teacher orientations, setting up my classroom, celebrating my 28th birthday and my godson's 1st, and/or listening to StrongDad and BeachMom's fret about Super Tiger. All of which has happened in the past two weeks (except for that last one which, as I know you know, has happened pretty much every day).

But since you already know about all of that, I thought I should tell you a few things that you didn't know. About me. That's right - there are things you don't know about me.

For instance, I am a gardener. I know, I didn't know it either, but the brothers at the monastery thought it was true and, as it turns out, I was pretty good at keeping the vegetable gardens growing. I even managed to keep some of the flowers alive, after diagnosing them with things like leaf miners and lily beetles and black spot mold. I tried to explain to the brothers that my success therein wasn't due to any inherent knowledge on my part but a somewhat haphazard combination of common sense, general information collected from the internet and the local greenhouses in town, and dumb luck. They were duly unimpressed by my confessions, and continued to refer to me as their "master gardener." Eventually I kind of gave up professing my innocence, and figured that even real "master gardeners" must have started somewhere.

I will take absolutely no credit for the zucchini growing rampant in the compost pile, though - that is obviously a force of nature unto itself.

Second, I am an adventurer. Stop laughing. Clean up the wine you just spat out all over your laptop. (Sorry for making you do that; I hope the keys are still all ok.) But seriously, someone said this to me recently. I went in to fill out all my paperwork with HR and they actually said, regarding summer paychecks, that I might want to take them all in one lump sum at the beginning in the summer, "so that I don't have to worry about them when I go off on another one of my adventures."

All this time I've found it funny when people are astonished to learn I was born in Kalamazoo, but let me tell you -- casually mentioning that I lived for a time in Alaska is an even better game. Never mind that it was only for five months, and that, obviously, I came home instead of sticking it out for the long haul. I am now the kind of person who goes on "adventures." And none of the people who have known me as a child can hear me say that and keep a straight face. (When I told Rolo about this, she laughed for a good five minutes and then giggled for another ten.)

So. There's that.

The last thing I would like to tell you is that starting tomorrow, roughly 85 or so eighth graders will take their turns walking into my classroom. Because I am now their competent, qualified, and generally all-around-respectable English teacher. I'm relying on your discretion and undying admiration of me to keep your mouth shut about this one as well. As this summer has shown, "fake it til you make it" can sometimes lead to hilariously successful results.

your tone deaf (as in, dammit-I-still-can't-tune-a-guitar-no-matter-how-many-times-I-try-to-pretend-like-I-can) sister