I know a young lady, 24, who has two kids. I met her at college, she seems like a nice kid, (Kid, where did the time go?), drug and alcohol free, she was living with her mother and stepfather, trying to hold a job down and go to school. I helped her find an apartment last week, low income housing, as she was having trouble getting along in a small house with two kids where she really wasn't wanted.
I go to lunch with her between classes, we study together over french fries and coffee. Yesterday I received a frantic call from her. "What are you doing", she asked. "I'm sitting here doing some homework and being lazy", I tell her. Something about her voice set of alarms in my head, so I said, "You Ok?" She said she had an argument with her mother, her step dad just pushed her and all her stuff was now sitting in the front yard, could I come and help her pick up her stuff, could I let her and her two kids stay with me until she could get in her apartment?
She can move into the apartment on December 1st, a few days away. Ok, I agreed to come over and stuff my car with her stuff and let her stay here. We loaded her car to the roof, loaded my car to the roof, drove it all here and put it in the shed, then headed back for another load, this time we found a friend with a pick up truck. We loaded his truck to the gills, stuff on the front seat, boxes unpacked and shoved into any available corner of his truck, and did likewise with my car. It's the next day and we have two cars in the driveway stuffed to the roof, still to be moved into the shed. Her kids were on the way back from Iowa, on a visit with their Father and his family. They arrived at 4am this morning. We had to drive to the Walmart parking lot to meet them as they would have NEVER found this place in the daylight, never mind the dark of night.
Two very tired, confused and worried children piled out of their carseats and into my car, questions tumbling out of their little 4 and 6 year old mouths. They are very well behaved, I put them on the couch and they went right to sleep.
What about living on the street in third grade? That is the young mother's story, she missed third grade because she was following her mother around from drug house to drug house, wearing her mothers cloths, until her father found her and took her to his house. She stayed away from the mother until she grew up, just last year came to live with her, well, that didn't work out, so for the next few days I have a surrogate daughter and two surrogate grandkids. Should be fun!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Quitting is not an option
I'm taking an algebra class at the local college. It's been a really, REALLY hard hill to climb, but I'm getting it. I discovered today that I'm confused in class NOT because I'm dumb but because the instructer goes, 1) too fast and 2) jumps all over the map before anyone can figure out what she's doing. Today I was (for the first time in my LIFE) ahead of the teacher. I jumped ahead in the book and pre-learned stuff she hadn't covered yet. I got it, my homework was a breeze, I GET it.
In class today, she covered the above-mentioned lesson. Even though I knew the material, she had me lost in no time. I sat back to observe, why was I lost? What happened to my hard-earned knowledge? She was writing and demonstrating problem 'A'. A student asked a question about problem "A' and she scrapped problem 'A' and started a whole new one. Same concept, different numbers. I looked around, the students were frantically writing out the new problem, and by the time they got it written down, she was DONE doing it and moving on. Another student asked her to slow down, could she explain the new problem step by step.
Are you ready? She scrapped THAT one and wrote out a THIRD one to demonstrate. Again, the students frantically wrote the equation down and by the time they got it on paper and looked back up to the TV to watch her do the problem, she was done again.
The student next to me tossed her pen down and sat back, looking at me in exasperation. She slipped a note over to me; 'I'm so lost!' the note said. I slipped an answer back to her.
'Get a problem out of your book that provides an answer, then play with the thing until you figure out how the book arrived at that answer, you'll learn alot' was my note. The poor kid closed her book and walked out.
It has taken me three months to get over my fear of the evil numbers that chased me in my dreams, and realize I CAN DO THIS. Will I ace the next test? Probably not, but I won't fail it either. I was going to quit the class, take the zero and figure the book out on my own. I took a week and a half off, just skipped class, but I didn't quit.
To my great sister, I thank her for the tall, refreshing glass of confidence she gives me when I need it!!
In class today, she covered the above-mentioned lesson. Even though I knew the material, she had me lost in no time. I sat back to observe, why was I lost? What happened to my hard-earned knowledge? She was writing and demonstrating problem 'A'. A student asked a question about problem "A' and she scrapped problem 'A' and started a whole new one. Same concept, different numbers. I looked around, the students were frantically writing out the new problem, and by the time they got it written down, she was DONE doing it and moving on. Another student asked her to slow down, could she explain the new problem step by step.
Are you ready? She scrapped THAT one and wrote out a THIRD one to demonstrate. Again, the students frantically wrote the equation down and by the time they got it on paper and looked back up to the TV to watch her do the problem, she was done again.
The student next to me tossed her pen down and sat back, looking at me in exasperation. She slipped a note over to me; 'I'm so lost!' the note said. I slipped an answer back to her.
'Get a problem out of your book that provides an answer, then play with the thing until you figure out how the book arrived at that answer, you'll learn alot' was my note. The poor kid closed her book and walked out.
It has taken me three months to get over my fear of the evil numbers that chased me in my dreams, and realize I CAN DO THIS. Will I ace the next test? Probably not, but I won't fail it either. I was going to quit the class, take the zero and figure the book out on my own. I took a week and a half off, just skipped class, but I didn't quit.
To my great sister, I thank her for the tall, refreshing glass of confidence she gives me when I need it!!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
A Visit to Hellen Kellers House
Today was an interesting day. I started the morning off with my usual cup of coffee and strong sense of boredom. I've been sort of 'shut down' for just about six weeks due to having a cast on my right arm. that changes on Monday, my arm will be free.
But back to today: Where was I? Oh, yes, Bored-Outta-My-Ever-Lovin'-Mind. I decided that I was going to go find a mall. Having come from a HUGE city (compared to my current tiny town), I was jones-ing big time for a mall, an Olive Garden, Panera Bread, anything OTHER than Sonic or McDonalds. Where to go, where to find a mall? Hmm, Nashville would work. NAH, been there, done that. I know, I'll go south, into Alabama. The city of Florence is not too far across the line, Yeah, I'll go there.
Being a big-bad tough truck driver for ever, I figured didn't need a map, so off I go. I accidentally got on the Florence bypass, (hey, at least Florence is big enough for a by-pass!) and found myself in a small town named Tuscumbia. NO, I wasn't lost, just temporarily misplaced. Or just riding around, or, well, ok, I wasn't sure which way Florence was at this point. I decided to take a right at the next light and it was there that my day's destiny was changed. The sign on the sidewalk read, 'Helen Keller birth place' and the arrow indicated 'this-o-way'.
Cool, I thought, as I obeyed the arrow instructions and turned that-o-way. I wandered through the old town of Tuscumbia (where ever that was in relation to Florence) following 'this-o-way' signs until I happened upon a bigger 'Here you are!" sign. The house sat back from the road, surrounded by huge, 200 year old trees and a perfectly manicured yard. I noticed that one of the shutters on a window was sagging slightly. Entering the house I found my self in a breezeway, typical of old homes, where two older women greeted me and took my 6 bucks for a tour.
They explained the life of Helen Keller, her teacher Annie Sullivan, and said that most of the furnishings and clothing I would see on the tour were original. The first room to the right as I walked through the breezeway was the parents room and some vintage cloths. To the left was the parlor. There was a fire place in there, a Victorian style sofa, Mr. Kellers desk and an old pump organ.
The organ was small, with beautiful guilded scrolling on it. The two foot pedals were covered with a cloth that was much like burlap and very ornate. The keys were smaller than today's piano or organ keys, and the key board itself was very short. I believe it was 61 keys. There were 4 'stop' knobs, two on each side of the keyboard, on the back board. In front of it was a small, round stool, on claw legs that were carved very nicely. The seat was covered with a buttoned velvet, tan in color. So what do I do? I open my big mouth and say:
"That looks like it would be fun to play!" Well, these tow old ladies lit up like lightning bugs mating in the spring, and clasping their hands under their chins, squeal in unison,
"Can you play it?" "Well," I started to stammer, " I guess I could figure out a song on it."
End of conversation, right? NOT! I continued my tour, walked around the grounds and headed for my car. From behind me I hear, "Oh, you come back, you promised to play the organ for us!"
Oh, boy, what did I get myself into, I wonder? I DID play one once, about a million years ago, so here goes nothing. They nearly dragged me into the house again, got the tiny padlock key out and unlocked the gate into the parlor. Next thing you know, I'm sitting on a 100 year old stool in front of a hundred year old organ.
Tentatively, I press one of the pedals, yup, it worked, I could feel pressure building as i pumped air into the antique. I played a few notes, it sounded wonderful. The sound was bold and rich.
"Aren't you supposed to pump both pedals," another tourist asked me. "Yes", I say and get both my feet moving. I played Amazing Grace on it. It took a lot of balance and strength to stay on the stool while I pedaled (like riding a bike) and played. With each push of my feet, my body wanted to lean back. I heard murmurs of appreciation behind me and requests to play more. I declined, the old instrument probably hadn't been played in years and I didn't want to be the one to break it.
I took advantage of being allowed into the off limits area and looked closely at some of the things in the room. Helen's braille book, a family photo album, the fine china set on the dining room table and the silver tea set from England. I was really honored, to get such a treat for a lousy 6 bucks and a 70 mile drive!
But back to today: Where was I? Oh, yes, Bored-Outta-My-Ever-Lovin'-Mind. I decided that I was going to go find a mall. Having come from a HUGE city (compared to my current tiny town), I was jones-ing big time for a mall, an Olive Garden, Panera Bread, anything OTHER than Sonic or McDonalds. Where to go, where to find a mall? Hmm, Nashville would work. NAH, been there, done that. I know, I'll go south, into Alabama. The city of Florence is not too far across the line, Yeah, I'll go there.
Being a big-bad tough truck driver for ever, I figured didn't need a map, so off I go. I accidentally got on the Florence bypass, (hey, at least Florence is big enough for a by-pass!) and found myself in a small town named Tuscumbia. NO, I wasn't lost, just temporarily misplaced. Or just riding around, or, well, ok, I wasn't sure which way Florence was at this point. I decided to take a right at the next light and it was there that my day's destiny was changed. The sign on the sidewalk read, 'Helen Keller birth place' and the arrow indicated 'this-o-way'.
Cool, I thought, as I obeyed the arrow instructions and turned that-o-way. I wandered through the old town of Tuscumbia (where ever that was in relation to Florence) following 'this-o-way' signs until I happened upon a bigger 'Here you are!" sign. The house sat back from the road, surrounded by huge, 200 year old trees and a perfectly manicured yard. I noticed that one of the shutters on a window was sagging slightly. Entering the house I found my self in a breezeway, typical of old homes, where two older women greeted me and took my 6 bucks for a tour.
They explained the life of Helen Keller, her teacher Annie Sullivan, and said that most of the furnishings and clothing I would see on the tour were original. The first room to the right as I walked through the breezeway was the parents room and some vintage cloths. To the left was the parlor. There was a fire place in there, a Victorian style sofa, Mr. Kellers desk and an old pump organ.
The organ was small, with beautiful guilded scrolling on it. The two foot pedals were covered with a cloth that was much like burlap and very ornate. The keys were smaller than today's piano or organ keys, and the key board itself was very short. I believe it was 61 keys. There were 4 'stop' knobs, two on each side of the keyboard, on the back board. In front of it was a small, round stool, on claw legs that were carved very nicely. The seat was covered with a buttoned velvet, tan in color. So what do I do? I open my big mouth and say:
"That looks like it would be fun to play!" Well, these tow old ladies lit up like lightning bugs mating in the spring, and clasping their hands under their chins, squeal in unison,
"Can you play it?" "Well," I started to stammer, " I guess I could figure out a song on it."
End of conversation, right? NOT! I continued my tour, walked around the grounds and headed for my car. From behind me I hear, "Oh, you come back, you promised to play the organ for us!"
Oh, boy, what did I get myself into, I wonder? I DID play one once, about a million years ago, so here goes nothing. They nearly dragged me into the house again, got the tiny padlock key out and unlocked the gate into the parlor. Next thing you know, I'm sitting on a 100 year old stool in front of a hundred year old organ.
Tentatively, I press one of the pedals, yup, it worked, I could feel pressure building as i pumped air into the antique. I played a few notes, it sounded wonderful. The sound was bold and rich.
"Aren't you supposed to pump both pedals," another tourist asked me. "Yes", I say and get both my feet moving. I played Amazing Grace on it. It took a lot of balance and strength to stay on the stool while I pedaled (like riding a bike) and played. With each push of my feet, my body wanted to lean back. I heard murmurs of appreciation behind me and requests to play more. I declined, the old instrument probably hadn't been played in years and I didn't want to be the one to break it.
I took advantage of being allowed into the off limits area and looked closely at some of the things in the room. Helen's braille book, a family photo album, the fine china set on the dining room table and the silver tea set from England. I was really honored, to get such a treat for a lousy 6 bucks and a 70 mile drive!
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