Back to School, Baby

Teacher Me is back at work. I am totally in the swing of things.

Four days of class, and the **!!?! teacher has given homework and a quiz?! Yes, she has. Scores are posted, baby. I've even kept a handful of kids after school. Naughty naughty! Didn't do your homework.

The toughest thing about going back to work is bedtime. It is really, really hard to turn off the Olympics on TV. Damn, I love those athletes. So sublime. So amazingly good looking. Faster, stronger, higher. Inspirational. Makes me proud to be a people.

A note about the photos: The ladies are taking a break from a frentic shopping day in SF's China Town. The beach is my old neighborhood - the end of Seabright Avenue in dear old Santa Cruz.

Triathlete? Me again?

The photo proves one thing only - that I crossed the finish line at the Wharf to Wharf run. Six long miles. Big deal.

Next is the Mermaid triathlon. Yes, TRI, as in three events. It's a "do-able" event, I tell myself. In terms of distances. And it's right in my own backyard. Swim in the Monterey Bay, about a 1/4 mile around the goofy old cement boat. Then bike for 11 miles. Finally, a 2 1/2 mile run. Anyone can do that, right?

Maybe I'll be the only person in my age group. That would be great! I'll win a trophy! First place finisher in the 55+ age group AND the last person to cross the finish line. What a distinction!

Playing Tourist Again

Elene, Erin, and Mary Jo are just the kind of friends with whom you want to spend a day in San Francisco. The agenda of each, gathered together and sequenced just right, produced a perfect day.

Erin purchased silly stuff in China Town. Gifts for her co-workers, perhaps? A dollar goes pretty far on Grant Street.

Mary Jo, on the other hand, probably needs a loan to get what she wants. It's a condo just a few steps down from Coit Tower.

For Elene it's shoes, shoes, shoes. Nevertheless, she purchased sleek new black pants instead. We insisted.

No day in The City is complete without some Italian food in North Beach, and of course a coctail or two. Cheers!

School Daze

An apple for the teacher is clearly inadequate. What I really need is a life raft.

The desks have been scrubbed. There are 75 notebooks ready to be given to students, thanks to super “back to school” deals at Target. My classroom won’t be this clean and tidy again for at least 9 months. The trouble is, I’m nervous as hell. I can’t quite remember what to do when the students arrive.

This happens every year. I forget how to take the very first step. Should I smile and let on what a nice person I am? Or should I maintain a stern demeanor? They say “Don’t smile until after Christmas.” This is supposed to establish my alpha dog position. They also say that students learn more when they genuinely like the teacher, and therefore try to please her. It’s a coin toss, really. Either way, you’ve got only a dime.

Coldest Day Ever: Summer in San Francisco

"The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco."
It turns out Mark Twain did NOT really write or say this. Nevertheless, I can vouch for the statement’s veracity. I spent the day shivering in The City (capital letters – very serious). Destination: The Palace of the Legion of Honor. Exhibit: Women Impressionists.

Driving up the coast from Santa Cruz provided many lovely vistas of the deep blue sea. Progressing north, it darkened, cooled, and darkened some more. By the time we three happy teacher-ladies emerged from the car at Lincoln Park, it was down right frigid.

There were no cold temperments in the images we viewed in the museum. Each of the lovely paintings by Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassat, Eva Gonzales, and Marie Bracquemond is gently warm, pink, and glowing. In these images, life is calm and quiet. Children are sleepy and chubby. Ladies are extremely well dressed, never stressed. I could almost hear the music of a pianoforte, and smell the tea wafting from the drawing room. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that Jane Austen was just down the hall, writing with a quill pen. Of course Austen lived a hundred years earlier than these painters. Still, the world depicted by the impressionists seems to have changed not at all from the one in which my dear Ms. Austen lived.

You may ask: why these photos with the above blather about pink ladies? No photos were allowed of the impressionists' work, but I was free to snap away at Chihuly's giant blown glass masterpieces. They are stunning, beyond beautiful.

Am I Home or on Vacation?

Am I on vaction? Yes.

Am I home? Yes.

I had lunch today with teacher friends out on the Capitola Wharf. Looking from the water toward the village and beach - it is so darn cute. Hundreds of Junior Lifeguards kids were running about in their red or blue bathing suits. Absolutely precious.

Speaking of children.

The days of summer vacation are dwindling. Twelve days till the job officially begins again. I don't dread it, but I am not wishing for time to fly, either.

Mentally and physically I am on the job already. I have been in my classroom two days so far, applying elbow grease to the desks. Translation: I have been scrubbing (hard!) the seats of the 36 desks in my room. I can do about a dozen at a time before the sweat inside the rubble gloves grosses me out, my back aches, and I quit.

I have a challenge ahead of me. After six years of teaching 6th graders, I will face 8th graders instead. The change is my choice. The good news: I will have students I know. The bad news: I will have students I know.

During the last few days I've read S. E. Hinton's The Outsiders. It is the standard 8th grade novel at our school. But I'm thinking TWO novels are better than one. I'm half way through Huckleberry Finn. Wouldn't that just be a perfect fit for the part of the year when the kids learn about the US Civil War? Oh yeah. Maybe I had better brush up on that subject, too.

Summer Ritual Run

There has to be a good reason to set my alarm clock to blast off on a Sunday morning at 7:00 AM. The Wharf to Wharf race qualifies. It’s a tradition, a ritual. The course winds along the coast for six miles from the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk to Capitola village. It’s just me and 14,999 of my closest friends.

This year Ed dropped Connie and me off at the mouth of the San Lorenzo River. We walked across the railroad trestle to the Boardwalk, which itself is a fun thing to do. We joined all the other runners milling around, looking for their friends. Everyone starts out clean and fresh, jumping around and stretching to keep warm and dissipate the excitement. Unless you’re standing in a port-a-potty line, in which case you’re tapping your foot and squeezing your thighs together.

The gun fires! The race begins! You don’t move. Connie and I passed the starting line at two minutes after the gun. NOTE: I must remember to subtract those two minutes from my race time.

Amazingly, I found myself running along in the pack as if I were still a runner. By the time I passed The Hook and those other famous surfing spots along Pleasure Point, the aromas and energy had evolved from “fresh” and “energetic” to something more seasoned and plodding. The pace really grinds to a crawl after you cross the finish line and join the bottleneck in Capitola village. There is no way to avoid rubbing sweaty shoulders with your fellow runners. Yes, today I shared bodily fluids with strangers.

To commemorate her first Wharf to Wharf, I proudly presented my t-shirt to Connie, the bandit.

Changing the subject - - I'm posting my new red, black, and white cow and bull pictures. Seeing them at the San Telmo feria (a Buenos Aires street fair) I immediately extrapolated to Ed and me. I learned that it is impossible to line them up on the wall so that neither assumes the alpha bovine position. After many holes in the wall I gave up on the equality thing. You’ll see that I’ve allowed Mr. Ed a slightly superior place. For now.