As of Yet, No Reply

From: tania@XXXXXXXX
Subject: Question
Date: April 30, 2009 12:06:35 PM EDT
To: "Principal"@XXXXk12.org
_______________________________________________________________

My third-grade daughter, Lola, came home with a remarkable story I'm finding hard to believe. She claims that the classroom has been taped off to the size of the trailers they will be schooled in next year and that they're being "trained for the trailers." She says they're learning how to use less space.

I do hope this story is a product of her wild imagination, because I'd hate to think the kids are having to suffer prematurely for what is already a minor tragedy of government priorities. It's bad enough that they'll actually be assigned to trailers next year, but restricting them now would be like making someone with a degenerative disease go ahead and use a wheel chair while he can still walk.

Is my child telling the truth?

Thanks for clarifying.

Tania Rochelle

Happy Birthday Jack!

Today, Jack--first-batch baby--is 17.

How the frik did this happen?!

20 Years

On the 20th anniversary of my sister's death, a poem by Marie Howe. (I couldn't get it to format correctly!)


What the Living Do


Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably
fell down there.

And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes
have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we
spoke of.

It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight
pours through

the open living room windows because the heat’s on too high in here, and
I can’t turn it off.

For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street,
the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying
along those

wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my
wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.

Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called
that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to
pass. We want

whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss – we want more and more and
then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the
window glass,

say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing
so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m
speechless:

I am living, I remember you.

Marie Howe, from her 1998 collection What the Living Do

Worse and Bad

Georgia, who turned 20 this month, came in from Athens yesterday and spent the night. This morning:

TR: George, run up to Publix and get me some tampons.

Georgia: No way! Forget it!

TR: Pleeeeeease... I'll give you a twenty and you can keep the change.

Georgia: Really? Hmmmm...let me think about it.... Fine. But I'm going just like I am.

TR: That's great. I think you should mess your hair up even more and buy nothing but Tampax and a chocolate bar.

Georgia: You realize this will be the first time I've ever bought them.

TR: You're such a baby.

Rarer than Dragon Teeth

New Favorite Songwriter

Dr. Scholl's

Jack: Whatever possessed you to buy those?

TR: I think they're fun.

Jack: Why don't you return them and buy yourself some shoes?

TR: These are going to be good for camping and stuff.

Jack: You going camping by yourself?

Winter Games

In order to make up for rain cancellations, Lola has four--count 'em, FOUR---games this week. Tuesday and Wednesday's games were played despite the single-digit temperatures up on the windy hill that is Sandy Plains Park. Tuesday night, I went to the game straight from the Y, still damp from sweating, and had to leave after about 20 minutes of suffering. Wednesday night, I went dry and prepared with Snuggli, but Mother Nature had stepped up her own game.


Notice, everyone is wearing parkas, standing with shoulders hunched to ears; no one is sitting on the iced metal bleachers.


Coach Biggy and his daughter, who is apparently immune to cold.


Perfectly good view of Lo batting. (Girl SMACKED the ball.)


Heater running.



Call from the field:

BIggy: Get out of the car, Tania.

TR: I tried, can't. Sorry.

Biggy: Worst. Mother. Ever.

Once Upon a Time, I Loved Her

How could she commit such a heinous crime?!

Freaks at the Beach, Part 4

Nappy-nap.

New Favorite Running-on-the-Beach Music

From the Heading West cd, five stars:

A.M. Conversation

Biggy: Today is the day I'm gonna get my tan on.

TR: Could you please not use that phrase, Bert?

Biggy: What?

TR: You know--'get whatever on.'

Biggy: Oh, like 'Get my drink on, get my pants on, get my breakfast on'?

TR: Yeah, stop it already; I'm warning you.

Biggy: Hey, how do you put cheese in eggs? Do you stir it into the raw eggs or wait until the eggs are in the pan?

TR: Are you about to get your scramble on?

Biggy: Yep.

TR: I'm not going to tell you.

Then I Had Words With the Neighbors

Freaks at the Beach, Parts 2 & 3

Freaks at the Beach

Biggy, Lo, and K.

30 Seconds of Gulf Coast

for my sister, Kelly, who would have been 44 today.

Followed by some Skynard:

Ten Years With Him

Now that I've given George her due, it's time we celebrated my accomplishment.

TWENTY

Happy birthday, George!

Hidden Camera

I was trying to get footage of the daily dinner fight-and punch-fest between Jack and Lo, but all I got was a little chitter about the upcoming beach trip and how Biggy drinks a soda.