It is what it is

I think I received a negative paycheck. There was so much taken out I wanted to call the President. But no. We're going to call Malu and see if she'll come and explain all of this to us. But I don't think I want to understand it. I want it to stop! Call the President somebody!

Make me pay back student loans while I'm teaching these kids? Call the President! Pay the PG & E bill that goes up and up and up every month? Stop! Call the President! Make me teach a roomful of my Social Security earners on less money a year per pupil than any other state? Call the po-lice!

It'd be great if the mob ran schools. We'd have everything we need and no kid'd ever be out of line.

Eff you, pay me.

(p.s. I don't want to ruin the gangster mood, but the picture is from happy hour last week, before we knew about the money.)

This is the last email I sent today!

Hi!

Just kidding - Hi.

I am going to a work "retreat" in Marshall near Point Reyes tomorrow. It's an overnight. Today was my first day back. My room was wrecked, but my meeting left me, as the first meeting of the year often does, cautiously optimistic. Some of my things are missing: my electric sharpener (this is not such a bad thing), some books and my iconic black stool. I went into all the classrooms and looked for the stool. Along the way, I picked up a dia de los muertos rubber stamp, some poetry books - for people who like that, 3 x 5 index cards and a brown stool. All of these things are from the classrooms of teachers who left. A couple of new teachers already put stuff in their rooms, so I couldn't see if there was any good "learning space" carrion. I don't know if these actions are reflective of teacher culture and show the implications of crappy budgets, or if it's just me - I'm a vulture.

Saturday night - busy? I have a plan.

(This photo shows a wall in Granada in the southern part of Spain. It was 40 degrees centigrade that day. I think the figures were melting on the wall. That's why they look that way.)

The real thing

He had just hit his head after falling down - his dad had admonished him for spitting in the fountain. I don't doubt that over the centuries, this was not the first little boy to spit in the beautiful waters of the Alhambra, watching the glob separate and spread out until it rode a ripple to the edge of the small pool. After a smothering hug from his mother and assurances from his father that he was, in fact, just fine, he stood up and saw her.

She saw him at the same time. Naked baby doll in a similar clutch, she stood still and time stood still and they just looked at each other.

The spell was broken when mom and dad started positioning the boys for another photo. He slowly turned to face his father's camera, rubbing his head while he looked up.

This is getting ridiculouser and ridiculouser

"Welcome to JFK International Airport. When you arrive at gate 23, take the escalator towards baggage claim. We hope you have an enjoyable s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-stay here in New York City. If New York City is not your final destination..."

And it went on. And on, and onandonandon. While we stood, suffocating, on the airless tram to gate number nobody knows (the 23 thing was just the available track), that message played on an unforgiving loop complete with track skipping every single play.

People were crying. People were hungry. Delta did not offer vouchers for anything to eat over this 5 hour saga. We were supposed to board for take 2 at the same gate as a flight to Barcelona. Our people were trying to get on that flight. Barcelona people didn't know what was going on. The flight crew didn't know what was going on. THe gate agents were confused as to why there were so many people asking about a middle state.

Shellshock. Short term PTSD. Delta = nemesis

Picture #1: ethereal looking Minneapolis crying girl and dad
Picture #2: pilot - "Are you piloting the flight to Minneapolis?" "I don't know. I think...I don't know."
Picture #3: "This is getting ridiculouser and ridiculouser!" You took the words right out of my mouth, sister.