Here's mud in your eye...

I've never cared much for March. Let's be honest. I detest it. It's that nasty precipice month that you have to cross over to get from winter to spring. Here in Brrrrrrr Lake it's made even less desirable by a constant tease--mud, snow, snow, mud, wind, snow, mud, wind. You pretty much have to take a combo meal for the whole month. This year has been particularly challenging because of the undue amount of snow that's fallen. So I whine. And WHINE! And WHINE!!!!! If March were a snowman, I'd kick its head off and scatter its coal eyeballs!!!!! There!!! Take that you ugly month! AND THAT! We escaped to Denver to do the grandkid/zoo/dog vs. cats/family mediation thing. No snow there. Even sun. But then the second we round the bend to within sight of Rancho El Haddo--there you go. A blizzard. And reverting to a former theme...what's with the houseful of dead flies??? Can anyone shed some light on that? It looks like one of those ice age spontaneous storms (you know. The ones that supposedly froze mastadons mid sentence) blew in immediately obliterating all flies who had taken advantage of an empty house in which to breed! Eeery. Back to the mud. Why mud? Why wind? I need answers here! I sure hope April sashays in and restores my faith in life. And soon!!!! Our porch is covered with our muddy shoes that we've had to kick off. We're feeling very white trashy. Maybe we should just succumb and do what I read about in a 7th grade essay the other day. Let's all just fill the corral with water and wrestle! How redneck does THAT sound? Slide in it. Throw it. Make pies. Mud facials. Tackle each other. Should this truly appeal to any of my readers (and I know you're out there...you skulkers, you) come on out. Wear something disposable. Remove all jewelry. What happens at Chez Hadd, stays at Chez Hadd...

Cabin Fever

We have a condition in the tundra here known as Cabin Fever. Those acquainted with it know that you don't mess around when you're trying to cure it. They also know that ignoring the malady can result in ax murders, poor shoe purchases,or unexplained disappearances of family pets. I woke up today with a raging case of it. One would think that with TWO (count them, readers! One! Two!) snow days off of school last week--20 bigs ones WAY below here in Brrrrrr Lake--I'd be in rare form, ready to compose concertos or redo entire floors of ye olde farmhouse here. But no. I was in a funk. So I put on ABBA and danced around in the kitchen while my bacon was sizzling. Feeling better. Then I wrestled with the Mugster. A tiny fit of funk still growled from deep down. So then I cuddled up in our library with 8 episodes of The Office and finished my American Girl doll sweater. A friend called to invite me to a High School Musical Fest. Seeing some blue sky now... Paco (I'm going to use code names for people in my blog from now on...10/4 Good Buddy)-- is enticing me to ski with him out in our field. Cabin Fever BE GONE! Should it creep wickedly back, I am prepared to fight it with quiche cooking as I write and an evening of C.I.B.---(Catalogs in Bed)--1)Rev up the electric blanket to about a "6" 2)Slither into flannel 3)Load up with all manner of seed, gardening, knitting, Mother Earth News, and toy catalogs 4)Spring into bed and stick cold feet on Paco's back 5)Grab the lion's share of blankets over to my side 5)Read, comment, circle, and underline as you watch the night grow darker and colder 6)Dump all magazines on the floor (avoiding dog preferable) just as you drop off...zzzzzzzzzzzzz

Secrets

So if I didn't post it here, you would never know that on this date January 15, 2008, I have broken each and every resolution that I made on New Year's Day. Are you shaking your head in disbelief that I'm so weak, or are you nodding in sympathy? Actually we've had an overdose of deaths lately, and it's been a full-time job just to keep the funks at bay. Here's another secret. One of my resolutions was to be a dynamite IN YOUR FACE blogger! I got a blogging book and blogging lessons for Christmas! I was vying for Rookie Blogger--all in my mind. I think I'll take it easy on myself, though. After all, one of my students dropped my camera so I can't start posting pictures yet. And I have another question. Is the average age of bloggers in the late twenties or something? Thirty somethings? No blue hair blogs out there????? Find me one of those I can join!!! Varicose veins. Paid down mortgages. Knitting calluses. I'm reading blogs written by yuppie overachieving home educators!!! Running circles around me and cooking to boot! Help me out here!!!

Who's the Adult here?

Today during some down time (roughly translated that means I'm not standing in front of my class as the authority figure), one of my boys had taken scotch tape and taped one of his eyes from his eye brow down. That looked like an open invitation to Kid #2 to rip it off. How do I describe this? Think waxing. Think removing old bandages when you were a kid. Fortunately one of the merciful components of being a seventh grade boy who would think to tape his eyes is an apparent lack of pain receptors. But I'm so embarrassed to admit that what should have been me leaping across my desk to grab Kid #2 by the freaking scruff of his neck was me breaking out into uncontrollable guffaws with the rest of the class. It was hysterical! Do you ever look around waiting for the REAL adult to show up and make things all better only to realize that sadly you are now that adult...?

Beatles Italiano

When I look in the mirror I often gasp. Who is that and where did she come from? Graying temples, little crease lines around my lips. And then if we head south...let's not. In my mind I feel young. I have never been more comfortable with who I am or what I'm doing. But recently I was brought up short by a triple dose of generation gap-itis. One of my seventh graders asked me if the Beatles had come from Italy. I stopped dead in my tracks. Then I just turned slowly, walked to the window, and looked out over the street below. Is it possible that an entire generation (and I hold his parents responsible) will enter adulthood (however loosely we define that) not knowing the Beatles???? No Hey Jude, Revolution, Martha My Love, Here Comes the Sun?? NO HERE COMES THE SUN??? Can anything possibly fill that gap? It was a grim moment. I realized that not only am I waxing old and cracking as I do it, but the world I'm entering is peopled by short humans who will never know the 60's or Reagan or black and white TV or nickel ice cream cones or wearing dresses to school every day. And even though I can plaster my classroom walls with Beatles posters and teach poetry from a superb book called Beatles to Beowulf, it will just never be the same as turning on Ed Sullivan and watching America ape out as four mop tops direct from ENGLAND bounce around on a stage and change society as we knew it. And that is truly a sadness.

Remembering Wayne Johnson

My brother-in-law died in Minneapolis today. Exactly two weeks ago we received news that he had a massive brain tumor; then he had surgery; then he developed a fever and now he is gone. He stopped speaking a few days ago, but he did reach for a piece of fudge offered to him. I smiled when I heard that. In honor of his passing I'd like to record my best memories of our ten year friendship as the spouses of a brother and sister.
--canoeing the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota (and talking forever afterwards about the size of the insects!)
--camping on Lake Superior
--hiking all day near Lutsen Ski Resort, Minnesota
--biking 40 miles along an old railway track to Red Wing, Minnesota
--chomping on huge grilled turkey legs at a Renaissance Fair near Minneapolis
--Thanksgiving feasts
--eating decadent caramel cashew sundaes at ButterBurgers MULTIPLE days in a row!!
--shopping doorbuster sales at Kohl's!
--receiving Wayne's homemade caramels without fail at Christmas
--big friendly bear hugs and a kiss on the cheek every time we met
--feeding the missionaries during the Christmas holidays
--meatballs at IKEA
--watching the slide show of Diane and Wayne's marvelous adventure in Alaska
--teaching me how to rollerblade around Lake Harriet in Minneapolis
--strolling through Boys' Town in Omaha on a beautiful autumn day
--taking a day to explore the Bridges of Madison County in Iowa (Mugsy insisted on sitting on Wayne's lap the whole time!)
--taking pictures of each other in front of John Wayne's birthhome also in Iowa
--bar-b-ques at Carefree (summer home of our parents-in-law)
--meeting for the first time and cutting up vegetables for Don and Mitzi's 50th wedding anniversary together at the sink as we got acquainted
--eating those gigantic hamburgers and taking a boat trip around Duluth, Minnesota
--exchanging gifts
--giving Wayne and Diane the two bit tour of Bear Lake and Montpelier a year ago
--a taco party when I came for Charlie's birth in February--the last visit with Wayne
--lively conversations about Mormonism and Lutheranism
I have only good good memories which I shall recall always with fondness. Good bye dear friend.

Remember the Ugandan bandits?

My loyal "following" will remember a past post with a tragic story involving a brother-in-law, Uganda, several years of faithful journals saved on a hard drive, and FBI coming to the rescue. Right? We Thanksgiving-ed with this family including the FBI nephew of mine. I am so so sorry to report that it was all in vain. Two missions to Africa recorded meticulously in detail were not retrievable. We can only hope that they fell into gentle hands and will eventually end up loosely veiled as a pop novel in Ugandan bookstores and libraries. That reminds me of another missionary robbery tale. Brazilian thieves this time. Tabernacle Choir cd's and player instead of a computer. However THIS time the cd's were returned to the missionary's front step the next day. I guess the MoTab's not the hottest seller on the Brazilian black market...