Mastadon Sighting

On April 26th, I venture that the majority of human beings are out in the sun--hiking, biking, gardening, flashing--they're out there. But we here at Rancho Brrrrr-Lake-You-Bet-Your-Snowbootie-O's are hunkered down in the house in sweatshirts, hats, and earmuffs. And at that we're STILL seeing our breath! Turn up the heat, you say? Build a fire? AND ENCOURAGE THIS WEATHER??? Not on your sweet longjohns!!! Now, don't get me wrong. We CHOSE this--we can live where we want-- and we're willing to duke it out with winter so that we can bask in the perfect summers. But People!! We've way passed the six month mark of winter, and even though the grass is greening and some apparently over-evolutionized birds are out there singing, it has gone beyond acceptable. Paco has diverted his energy to drilling holes, sanding stuff, and I think he's going to fill in some old house meets new house wall gaps. I took, like a coward I admit, to my knitting loft. I pulled out all my projects and put them in see-through ziplock bags. Then I laid out all my needles (does this sound like I NEED SPRING FOR ALL THAT IS DEAR AND SACRED'S SAKE!!!!?????) by size on the floor in descending order. I admit that I'm just this side of slobbering. Then I organized all my yarn (have I ever mentioned that I have enough yarn to knit my way to all nine planets and home again?) by fiber and weight. I tidied up all my knitting paraphenalia, and then I inventoried my spinning wheel oil and stuff. And the FROST-ing on the cake, then I began knitting a snowman--Mr. Flurry. Now that is pathetic. For diversion I think I'll de-burr Mugsy. He defies this weather to keep HIM inside and runs through the corral with happy abandon. He still has his winter coat/burr magnet and is starting to resemble an alpaca. We're waiting for the temperatures to stay above 18 for at least two days running before we shave him down for his Summer Skivvy Look. But if the weather doesn't change Mugsy'll soon look like a mastadon, Paco's drilling will inevitably hit electrical wires, and I'll start knitting nosewarmers for one and all. Let's hope it doesn't come to that...

Send in the Clowns

Today's journal writing topic in 7th grade Writing was "Describe someone with whom you live." These journal topics ooze from my very pores. If one can be termed "topic gifted" I think that would be I, thank you. So I assign stuff I want to read about--that's an old Indian trick I learned about three millenia ago after reading 9 dozen essays devoted to summer vacations. Today several of the kids shared about pesky brothers, cute baby sisters; one kid even snuck his britney spaniel in as a "someone". But my favorite came from Miss "K" who volunteered to read her entry describing her 22-year-old brother by telling a rodeo story. It seems this brother was riding some rodeo animal (bull, bronco, psycho lamb)--I don't remember. But this animal bucked him off and then the hoof came down on the brother's ear ripping it off!!! "Whoa! Back up!" I exclaim. Yes, I'd heard right. What next???? We're all on the edge here!! She's holding her audience!!!
"So the clown picked it up out of the dirt, brushed it off, and handed it to him," says 7th grader reporter/sister. Now we're whooping, "What next????"
"Well, they all went to the hospital and it got sewed back on." End of story. Just another day in the life of a brother. And rodeo clown. I wanna meet THAT guy!
I love 7th grade. I find it superior in oh so many robust ways.

Cyto-whosm???

I "accused" one of my students today of being unfailing and bottomless blog material. Mr. "W" (the same bloke who had his eyes forcibly bikini waxed with tape a few months ago) has this retainer that he flicks constantly out of his mouth sort of like a lizard tongue. Retainers in seventh grade are a common sight--lots of dental moving and shifting, orthodontic appointments, and tons of metal flashed up at me. But Mr. "W" can't leave his alone. Today he was flipping it in and out in and out, and it flew out onto the carpet (a veritable ocean depository of seventh grade scum, sputum, and booger remnants). I said, "Mr.'W', someday that retainer is going to land in something which could very well infect you and cause twitches." He replied, "That already happened last week out in the field. It landed in the cytoplasm (his words EXACTLY) from the newborn calf. But I washed it off in the trough." Oh...Cytoplasm...Trough...Way too much information. I can't wrap my head around where else that retainer has been. Better him than me. If I came across cytoplasm I think I'd call Ghostbusters, and anything with trough conjures up images of green moss, water skippers, and the beginnings of plagues capable of wiping out whole countries. We do actually have a trough here at Rancho-Take-a-Your-Money-and-Wave-Bye-Bye. As soon as the snow blanket melts here, perhaps we'll sidle some little llama bodies up to it. Or a piggie. Or a lamb. Maybe Mugsy. But I hope to NEVER EVER find a retainer in it. That's just wrong.