Offense Taken

 I teach social skills. When I started over ten years ago, my friends often told me that many of their co workers could use my class. I will admit to seeing some overlap with my students and all the adults I see and hang out with.

The two biggest reoccurring themes I see:

Compromise= everybody gets something, nobody gets everything

This idea of compromise is tough in this all or nothing climate. As a board member for my Condo HOA, there has been considerable conflict over bollards and bollard sleeves. First the controversy seemed to be about the color - fluorescent yellow. I can understand the desire to look at other color options. I mean , we're not an airport. But that wasn't good enough; there is one community member who has been very vocal at community meetings and through emails. For her there is only one way to fix this hideous issue:  the removal of all bollards on her street. 

"Our street wants the barriers/bollards removed entirely from our street immediately" Carol stated with emphasis at the virtual meeting. "Those bollards are an absolute EYESORE!"

When this problem didn't get taken care of fast enough for her she began putting up hand made fluorescent pink signs asking the other community members on her street to email all board members with complaints and demand that we "make Woodley (her street) great again!"

Unexpected behavior = uncomfortable thoughts and feelings from others:

At an early fall party with other teachers I was shocked to see a fellow teacher behaving unseemly while eating from a big bowl of snacks. He was standing over the bowl, picking out his favorite parts of the snack mix (coincidentally, the same parts that are my favorite), the cheesy ones! He was licking his lips and fingers and double dipping. I saw several other teachers watching with looks of disgust and shock on their faces.

"Eww, do you see that? That is terrible." One of my close friends said to me as we were standing in the kitchen talking.

"Yeah, that is gross." I agreed shaking my head, thinking,  Well there goes my appetite.

His "spidey senses" must have been tingling because he turned and asked us, "Something's gross?" He looked panicked for a minute. "What's gross? Is it what I'm eating?" I think he was worried he was actually eating something that was bad.

"Well... the way you're eating that mix is grossing us out." I told him, looking him in the eye."I mean, I don't want to eat that now."

I guess I'll never be out of a job.

First Rule of the Strange Club

A few years ago, I was walking with my friend and our dogs through a little shopping center. As we walked by the CVS, I saw a man standing outside the doors to the store wearing oddly fitting clothes and muttering to himself. I started watching him, because I wasn't sure how cognizant he was about people and the space around him ... and I wanted to be out of the way in case something went sideways. 

As I was watching, he looked up and we made eye contact. First rule of how to act when someone or some animal is acting strangely: Don't make eye contact. It encourages engagement.

"Shit!" I muttered to my friend "Now he's probably going to follow us," I was whispering, I didn't want to bring any more attention to myself than I already had.

"WHAT?!" Lauren yelled, "WHO's following us?" 

"Don't look back - keep walking." I instructed, hoping to salvage the situation.

About three minutes into the walk home, I heard some strange noises behind us and the dogs started dancing and tapping nervously.

"Do you hear that?" I asked Lauren,  "What does it sound like to you?"

"Umm, someone making strange noises," she said flatly.

"Yeah, but, does it sound like someone is barking?" I asked her.

"Actually, yes, it does sound like that." she anxiously.

We kept walking but by silent agreement, we walked faster. It seemed like no matter how fast we walked, this guy was walking faster. I knew because he was still barking and it was getting closer and closer to us. Lucy was unnerved by the noise, she kept trying to turn around; she was practically walking sideways trying to keep this guy in her sight.

He was going to be right next to us any minute.

"What should we do?" Lauren asked.

Without warning, I spun around and yelled, "Hey!" I put my hands up in the universal stop gesture, "You are too close! You're making my dogs upset!" 

He was still barking but he looked me in the eye and smiled. That made me mad.

I took a step closer to him, "I'm going to let the dogs bite you!" I said with the creepiest smile I could muster. "Over and over. I won't stop them. They're just going to keep biting you." I threatened.  Thankfully, the dogs were barking, growling and sounding mean.

"Back off!" I made a pushing gesture with my hands. It was like I had magic in my hands. He took a few steps backwards. And Thank Goodness because Lauren, her dog, Bug, and Lucy were all behind me - waiting for me to take care of business.

"You stay there and stop following us!" I yelled, and then whispered to Lauren, "Come on, hurry, let's go"

We hurried through another complex to get to our houses but he didn't stay still. I could hear him walking and barking as we were hurrying through the courtyards.

In the time since, I have occasionally seen him when I walk Lucy, but I steer clear of him. He is always staggering around and barking, and other people are always trying to ignore him.

Just last week I took the windows off the Jeep to enjoy the beautiful weather we were having. As I came to a stoplight on the ride home from school, I noticed an odd man walking with a staggering gait. I was watching him because he was kind of close to the street. And then I heard it, the barking.

As he approached the corner, I was thinking to myself, Don't do it, Heidi. Don't do it.

I did it. I just couldn't stop myself. I turned my head and looked. We locked eyes. 

"Hi Lady," He smiled at me and gave me a little wave.

I gave him a chin nod and a sneer and turned my head to look forward.

"Hi Lady," he sing-songed and then began barking. I stared straight ahead as he danced and barked, worried he would approach me in the wide-open Jeep. He kept it up until the light changed and I drove away.

I never learn my lesson.

Oh Honey

We have a plot in a community garden, but I have to admit, I'm not much of a gardener. Although I AM an eater - so I have to be willing to do my part. I hate to weed. The white beetles and grubs in the earth  FREAK ME OUT.  In my defense. there was one time when I was sitting on my little weeding seat, and I felt pain on my legs. Ants - all over my legs climbing under my shorts hem. What happened next was embarrassing to all involved. There was jumping, stamping, screaming and maybe, yes, crying. 

All gardeners, whether they like gardening or not, have to commit to 4 work days over the season. On work days, there is a list of "chores" that need to be done. The list includes weeding the garden for the food assistance center, weeding the flower gardens in the common areas, weeding the fence line, weeding the bee garden, (do you sense a pattern here?). BUT, if you get there early and sign up (there's only 2-3 spots depending on equipment functionality)... mowing the grass. 

I get there early and sign up to mow the grass. I can barely help weed my own garden, so there is no way I'm signing up to weed some other garden! But... no matter how early I get there, if a guy shows up for the work day, the women in charge let the men mow the lawn. No matter when they get there. No matter if they signed up for it. No matter if I'm standing in front of a mower.

"But I signed up!" I explained as earnestly as possible with my hands palms up and bobbing, "AND I was here early! I should be mowing right now!"

"Oh Honey," the older woman said with a patronizing look, "Just let the men mow." She patted my hand, "That's what they like to do."

The blood pressure spike I felt after that exchange almost made me pass out. I decided I needed to find another way to do my part. So...

Over the winter I took a Bee Keeping class. Our community garden has bees and I thought this would fix all my garden problems.  Bee keepers are a kooky bunch. They all know a lot about bees - it is fascinating. I'm lucky, because I'm not establishing my own hive. The hives are in the garden, working. I just join the other bee keepers and help care for the bees. Problem solved.

This past Saturday was the first meeting and work day of the new season. I got introduced as a new bee keeper and stood with my new pack, feeling large and in charge. 

"No fighting for mowing for me this morning," I thought, smirking. 

Patricia, head bee keeper, said the magic words, "There's too much activity in the garden this morning." she said as she shook her head. "The bees are already ready to swarm, everyone needs to steer clear today." She looked at me and winked, "You can go home, we'll call you when they swarm."

I can't wait!

Dial T for Tracey

Last week, I got my hair cut. My stylist recently moved locations and I now have to park in an unfamiliar garage. Believe it or not, I find this nerve wracking. As you may know from a recent post, I am of the directionally challenged tribe. No directions make sense to me. I must be told how to drive somewhere by the landmarks I might see, not cardinal directions. 

"Get on the highway like you're going to school," my dad used to tell me to get me on the highway going in the right direction.

My stylist asks me after every cut, "Which way are going to turn when you get out of the garage?"

"To the right," I reply with raised eyebrows.

"Right!" she exclaims. I always feel like I should get a sticker after answering correctly.

BUT... the elevators in the parking garage are funky. Not all the elevators go to all the floors. WHY?!?! Why would someone engineer it this way? 

When I got to the lobby, I pressed the down button and one of the "bad" elevators opened it's door. I let the doors close and waited a few minutes and pressed the down button again. The same elevator opened.

"No," I groaned. I tried this two more times all to have the same elevator open. I then tried getting on, pushing buttons, not getting off, and going back up to the lobby. I stepped off the elevator, waited a few minutes and pressed the down button again. Yep, the same elevator opened. At this point, I was getting frustrated and frazzled. 

I had noticed that the "bad" elevator had a button marked with an M. I thought, "What the hell, I'll try it."

It put me on P2. I needed P1. How does M equal P2? How? 

I thought, "I give up." I called Tracey.

"I can't get to the right floor in the parking garage!" I whined to Tracey as soon as she picked up the phone. "I've tried and tried. I can't do it!"

"Wait, what?" Tracey said, "Where are you?"

"I'm in the PARKING GARAGE!" I whisper yelled (no telling who was around).

"Umm..." Tracey started.

"I go up in the elevator, I go down in the elevator, I get off the elevator, I get in the elevator." I think I was wailing now. "It doesn't matter. It's the 'bad' elevator, I can't get to the right floor!"

"What floor are you on?" Tracey asked (I don't think for the first time.)

"P2," I said taking a deep breath.

"And what floor do you need?" Tracey asked patiently.

"P1." I moaned.

"Well... what about the stairs?" Tracey asked.

"The stairs?" I parroted back to her.

"Yes, the stairs, aren't there stairs by the elevator?" she asked again.

"The stairs?" I asked again.

"Yes, the stairs." Tracey emphasized the word stairs. "Usually there are stairs near the elevators. Look for them." Tracey directed me as you would a 5 year old.

"You want me to walk up the stairs?" I questioned. There were a few moments of silence.

"Uh... well yes," Tracey replied, " It doesn't seem like a terribly unreasonable request." 

"Oh, ok," I said with chagrin, "I'll walk up the stairs."

I walked up the stairs to P1... and there was my car. Right where I left it.

Til Tuesday?

Happy March 31st!

 I started this challenge because so many of my colleagues were writing and I hoped they would be pleasantly surprised if I joined. It's motivating to have people read my writing and sometimes commenting on it. Some days it was hard to find something to write about, but I was always happy when I finished it. 

About halfway through the month, I told my brother about it and he asked for the link. This was interesting, because, what if I wanted to write about him? 

"You have so many great stories to tell," he said encouragingly, "You should keep going after the month is up."

I'm not sure how I feel about that idea. I do have stories to tell. But, I'm not going to lie, I'm looking forward to not having to worry about what I'm going to write tomorrow.

I like the idea of Tuesdays always being an option. Maybe I'll see you guys on a Tuesday.

On The Road Again

 "We do road trips right," I told Tracey on our way home from Buffalo. 

"You think so?" Tracey asked.

"Yep," I nodded, "I've thought about this a lot."

What makes a road trip great? Heidi's criteria.

• Plan Your Stops

"Are you ready to stop?" Tracey asked me about 2 hours into the trip.  

"Well, I think Lucy would like to get out." I replied, 

"Then let's go a little further," Tracey thought for a minute, "I know of a better stop for Lucy." 

Of course, she was right. 

• Good Snacks

"Hand me some of that leftover cheesecake from your mom's dinner party." Tracey said, "I cut it in small squares so we can eat it without a fork." 

"Sweet!" I replied, "But I'm gonna eat the vegetables and dip because my blood sugar is too high for me to eat cheesecake right now."

• Good Games/Playlists/Podcasts/Books

"Can we be finished with Name that Tune and listen to the book for a while?" I asked, "It's gonna be a bit before I can play another game after the beat down you gave me in Name that Tune and Yitch Yitch." 

"Sure, let's listen for a while." Tracey paused, "But first, let's do a recap about where the story stopped."

• Good Company

There is no better company to my mind than Tracey and Lucy. 

 

Party Post-Mortem

"What did you think of the party? Was it a good one?"I asked my brother this morning about my mom's 80th birthday party that we hosted last night.

"Well... there were no problems," he noted. "That was a good sign,"

"What kind of problems are we talking about? Like snafus in the running of it? Or like mom fighting someone?" I inquired. I think those are two different criteria.

"Either," he said.

"Hmmm," I thought. "He was NOT everywhere."

What does make a party great?

According to Bunny Holmes, The 5 Core Elements of a Great Party are:

•  Attended by Good People: 

"Oh, you put the compost directly into the garden bed?" my cousin Jacque (Dad's side) asked my cousin Sandy (mom's side). "Do you use all of your food scraps?"

"Well, we have pet pig, so all of our food is repurposed," Sandy replied. 

"You have a pet pig?" Jacque asked, "Is it potty trained?" she seemed skeptical about this. 

"Oh sure, she lets you know when she had to go outside AND when she wants to be covered by her  

 blanket." Sandy answered with a smile and a smirk.   

• Beautiful/Appeals to the Senses. 

The scent in the party room was roses (from the flowers bought for the birthday girl) with an        underlay of cooked beef.  I found it a little nauseating, but everyone else seemed to think it smelled really great in there.

"Those flower smell amazing... and is that prime rib I smell?" asked my Aunt Kathy when I greeted her at the doorway.

 "Yes and yes," I replied with a wide smile.      

            

•  Grants you permission. 

We played two games of BINGO with prizes! CASHOLA! My brother was the BINGO caller and my cousin Kristin had no trouble letting him know how he was doing.

 "Next number: N 57, N 57," my brother called out loudly.

"You're doing it wrong," Kristin yelled at him, "You're supposed to say N 57, N 5-7," she                reprimanded him.

"My apologies." Mark replied, rolling his eyes.

        .            

•  Dangerous/ Exciting. 

I believe any party with several participants over the ag of 75 is dangerous.

"Did you just take my picture?" my mother asked my cousin Denis. "DON'T EVER do that again. I don't want that to end up on the internet!" she yelled a little shrilly.

"It's just going in Tracey's album not online," he tried to tell her placatingly.

"Well I don't believe you, they always end up on the internet." she retorted with a serious side eye "I don't like that!"

"I promise, Aunt Louise."

        

• Makes a Good Story. 

          Recap:

✅ Attended by Good People.       

✅ Beautiful/ Appeals to the Senses 

✅ Grants You Permission 

✅ Dangerous/Exciting 

✅ Makes for a Good Story 

I rest my case.  

Trendy

Here in Buffalo, there is a coffee place called the 7Brew. It's a drive through coffee place and it's wacky. This place is so trendy and popular that they have a guy who has to direct traffic. He has to make sure all the cars turn in form the same lane... no cheating coming from the other direction. You have to go to the end of the line and take the next spot.

"Start the stopwatch!" Tracey said once we were in line behind about 100 cars waiting to give their order.

This place reminds me of long ago, drive in fast food places, circa 1950. Once you are waiting in line in your car, the waitress comes to your window to take your order. In our case, we had two people, one was in training. The trainer was carrying some suspicious jug full of clear liquid. The label on the bottle said it was mocha flavoring but it was clear! SUS!

I'm not sure why the trainer was carrying the jug around. In my head, he was going to clock the trainee with it, or pour it over her head, or maybe shake it violently at rowdy customers?

Thank God Tracey had enough sense to make everyone pick out what they wanted before we drove there.

With 4 drinks to order, we had a big gap between us and the car ahead of us. 

"Let's move up," the trainer suggested.

"Should we try to drive at your pace?" Tracey asked.

"Yep," he replied. I really wanted Tracey to go fast, then stop, then slow, then fast.. just to see if the waiters would try to stay with us. But she did a nice job of keeping a slow steady pace they could mimic and walk along beside us.

By the time we received our orders and were on the way back to my mom's, the stopwatch said, 25 minutes. The coffee was fine, but not sure it was worth the wait. I never did get any clarification about the jug of mysterious liquid either.

Functional

Before we got Lucy, I was mesmerized by zoo and aquarium trainers using tricks and treats to teach their animals to get used to the way they had to be touched or manipulated to conduct an exam. This seemed genius to me, so while I was teaching Lucy the usual tricks (sit, give a paw, lay down, roll over), I was also trying my hand at "useful" tricks.

For example, Lucy's curly hair soaks up water and gathers snow on her legs like a runaway snowball going downhill, so it usually takes wrestling and "Twister" like antics to get her back paws wiped. One day it finally hit me: I could teach her to give me her back paws just like I taught to give me her front paws! Easier said than done. There was quite a bit of kicking going on during that learning process.

Next, I saw videos of orangutans and chimpanzees showing their teeth so they can get brushed. Of course, I thought, "Lucy should do that! Dogs mouth hygiene is just as important as humans, right?" We must have gone through at least 3 tubes of beef, peanut butter and mint flavored dog toothpaste. Lucy is NOT a fan of the mint flavored; noted by the way she spit it out and slammed her mouth shut whenever the tube came out.

I used to babysit a friends toddler. When she would see me eating something, she would come over to me and say "Ah." and wait with her mouth open. I thought "Eureka!" Lucy takes several pills depending on the season of the year. The best functional trick I ever taught Lucy is to say "AH".  

When Lucy needs to take a pill, we used to have to hold her mouth open and try to shove the pill as far down her throat as possible. Which caused much gagging and puking or simply spitting the pill out. Now I give the command: "Say Ah" and she opens her mouth wide. 

Next up: she has GOT to learn to pick up after herself and I know just what to do!

Yitch and a Ride

"Horses on my side!" Tracey pointed out "Yitch Yitch! 20 points!"

"Yep, you're killin' it," I responded. 

"Oh no! Not another cemetery on your side!" Tracey said with snicker, "You're back to zero."

We were in the car, on a road trip to Buffalo. We had already gone around the dial a few times in Name that tune. Victor unclear (ok - it was Tracey, it's always Tracey - it's the early 70's tunes knowledge).

Yitch Yitch was another game we were playing. I'm not really sure of the rules. It's a game Tracey's father made up for her family when they were on a road trip. The rules seem awfully flexible to me. I mean, what the hell is "Yitch yitch," anyways?

"I think broken out windows should be minus 20 points," Tracey stated, she was practically rubbing her hands together in anticipation of the slaughter coming my way. There were several on both sides of the road. "And, there is a log cabin on my side, too! That's another 20 points!"

"Well I think broken down houses should be minus 50 points!" I exclaimed, pointing at one on her side.

"Ok," Tracey agreed. We drove along, chatting, eating popcorn and talking about my family drama.

"Oof - is that two broken down houses on your side?" Tracey winced. 

"Yep, game over, I admit defeat." I gave her a chocolate covered caramel for her conquest.

Read Aloud

 One of my students is reading The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins for the 8th grade dystopian unit. This is a student who has some significant focus issues, so one strategy we use to address the issue is to read it aloud together. We take turns: I read, he reads. This approach has been working really well until today. Today he decided he wanted to read it with character voices.

His Katniss voice is very "sex kitten": breathy, a little high and when he reads it, she pauses in very disturbing places. Imagine it: ' So...I'll be in a ...coal miners outfit? I ask...hoping it won't be... indecent.' I was waiting for him to wink and leer at me after that reading. But I don't think that's how he meant it; he just doesn't have too many "girl voices" in his head. Which somehow makes it more creepy and unsettling.

"How do you like my Katniss voice?" He asks.

"Umm... It's not really how I hear her voice in my head," I replied carefully.

"What?!? Why? It's a great girl voice!" he insisted, his voice raised indignantly.

"Well, I don't know. She's a strong girl; she feeds her family by hunting food and trading it - she's tough. The voice you use doesn't sound all that tough to me," I tried to explain.

As we continued reading the book, it became apparent that he was so engrossed in his voices that he wasn't actually comprehending what he was reading. When I told him so, he was very perturbed about this observation.

"You are so worked up about the character voices that you aren't paying attention to what you are reading," I informed him. 

"Not true! I AM paying attention!" he exclaimed.

"Really? What did Cinna do to Katniss' costume for the opening ceremony?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Um... I'm not sure." he said sheepishly.

"They LIT her on Fire!" I said, stunned, "How did you miss that?" I shook my head, trying to clear it.

"Look, I know you like using the voices. When we finish the book and finish the assignments, you can reread the book and record yourself. It can be as if you are performing it for an audio book. You can listen to it over and over if you want." I was really trying to sell this idea so we could continue reading the book for class.

"Oooh! That's a great idea! I'll do it!" he said excitedly.

Mission accomplished.

Two Little Kitties

After we got Lucy, our older cat, Penelope died. This left a big cat hole in our family.  It was technically my turn to pick the next cat. At the time, I wasn't sure I wanted any more cats because whenever we traveled, we left them and it made me feel bad. 

In lieu of explaining this to Tracey, I declared, "I only want an orange Maine Coon cat. That's it; no other kind of cat." I gestured with my arms crossed and spread them wide, using the universal "no way" gesture. I was sure an orange Maine Coon was rare and not so easy to find; therefore, I would get some time to figure myself out.

Tracey found one the next day. She showed me the picture when we got home from school. There he was, My sweet Milo, looking straight into the camera. He's a good looking guy. We called the rescue organization and they convinced us that one kitten was a BAD idea. 

"One kitten is a recipe for trouble. Cats are nocturnal - who are they going to play and mess with if there's no other cat around?" the rescue spokeswoman asked me. I fell for it. I did not want to get woken up by sharp kitten claws and teeth.

"Is Milo bonded to any other cat?" Tracey asked. 

"Yes, there is a white Angora kitten here that he is attached to. They spend a lot of time together." she responded. 

That weekend we had a home visit planned for the kittens and the foster mother to check out our house and set up. We had a conversation with Lucy, who was about 6 months at that point. 

"Look - be on your best behavior - no chasing!" I warned. We kept her on a leash.

When the volunteer opened the cat carrier, Milo waited for Tibby to come out first. Tibby is the undisputed leader of the pets in our house. She is vocal; you never have to wonder if Tibby agrees with what you're doing. When we came home from the movies one afternoon, it was Tibby swinging from the curtains. Milo hadn't worked up the courage to climb them yet. It was Tibby who got stuck at the top of the sliding screen door every night over the summer; and it was Tibby who climbed onto the book shelves to try to sleep behind all the breakables. 

Milo often gave away her whereabouts by sitting under where she was, looking at her and meowing. When she sneaks into the bathroom without you noticing and you accidentally close her in - Milo stands outside the door scratching and meowing until we let her out. 

None of my pets are allowed in the kitchen when I am preparing their food. I don't want them under foot. My cats wait in the dining room until I give them the release word to come in. (Lucy won't come near the kitchen; she does NOT want to get in trouble) Milo, mostly, waits on the rug, sitting and watching. Tibby circles like a shark; waiting for me to turn my back or lose focus. Then she tries to dart into the kitchen. I usually growl at her or make the universal "Ah Ah!" noise and she stops and runs. They have both learned the trick "Walk away." which means turn around and literally - walk away.

They can both play the shell game, and are seriously good at it. They can "touch" things on command. Which is a good command for focus. (I'm not allowed to teach them to turn the lights on and off)

One night when I was scrolling on my phone, I came across a video of two cats wearing hats, ringing a bell for a treats. I'm still not sure what the hats had to do with anything, maybe entertainment value?

"My cats can do that!" I exclaimed. "No problem!"

Tibby and Milo ring bells for treats.  I taught them using the clicker. The command is "Ding" and a point. After they ring the bell, I click the clicker, which is the signal that they have done what I wanted and that a treat is coming. They make it very clear that the treats don't come fast enough. They will ring the bell faster and harder and and stare at me. We're working on a jazzy version of "Jingle Bells".

They do not wear hats while they perform. I hate the hats; I think they make the cats look like aliens. 

Who's a Good Girl?

 In 2003, there was a hurricane named Isabel that was supposed to come through Arlington. When it became clear that Isabel was really going to be more of a rainstorm than a hurricane, we decided to travel to Pennsylvania and get a puppy. FINALLY! We knew she was cream colored and on the way to get her we were testing out names. I was sure I wanted her to have the name of a flower. We were almost settled on Daisy, but then we met her and it just didn't fit. It came to us as we were driving away; her name would be Isabel. 

I picked her up and stared into her eyes, "Isabel, a strong puppy named after the hurricane that got us off school so we could travel to get you." I declared; she promptly threw up.

After such a grotesquely endearing beginning, you can imagine; puppy training was not as joyful as I thought it would be. She snatched the socks right off our nephews' feet when they were sitting on the couch. She was atrocious on the leash and really thought all tissue on the sidewalk was a delicacy left for her and her alone. Isabel routinely waited until we got back inside from a potty break to actually go to the bathroom. She would run behind a chair in our living room and squat.

"That's it!" I yelled. "I'm hanging a sign around her neck 'Free puppy to a good home.' I am NOT attached!" I shouted, standing hipshot with my hands on my hips and a mutinous expression.

"Umm... I am." Tracey noted.

Of course, those were just puppy pains. Isabel turned out to be an amazing dog. As my first dog, I couldn't wait to get home form school everyday to teach her tricks. (I was an assistant at this time and could come home right after the bell rang.) She got much better on the leash; she knew all the standards: sit, down, stay, roll over - both ways, give her paw. 

But she also learned to limp when I used my fingers to point a "gun" at her and say, "Bang!" once. When I said "Bang Bang!" she would drop down and crawl toward me. If I said "Bang Bang Bang!" she would roll over and "die". 

We have a two story house. I often forgot things on the bottom floor of the house and would yell down to ask Tracey to throw something up top me. I got the idea that Isabel should be able to carry things up to me when I needed something. That was when I taught her the "Take it to Heidi" trick. As a golden doodle, she has a very soft mouth and could even carry fragile items like my vial of insulin, a baggie of corn chips, or my eye glasses.

My favorite trick that I taught Isabel though was "Oh no!". I would say this and point to whatever I "dropped" on the floor and Isabel would run over and pick it up for me. Then, and this is the kicker, she would wait for me to ask her to "give it to me" before dropping it.

"I'll never have to bend down ever again!" I crowed to Tracey after she got it down pat.

The Class Menagerie

Over the years, I have had quite a few classroom pets. I had a fish tank in a console TV painted like a cow, several lizards, skinks and geckos, two hamsters that one student kept putting together so they would continue to have babies (and eat them). There were also three turtles: one painted turtle (Toulouse), one snapping turtle (Snappy) and one box turtle (ByeBye 'cause he kept trying to escape), and two gerbils named Thelma and Louise. 

All of these classroom pets were "gifts", I didn't procure any of them. Some of them learned tricks and some did not; it depended on when they came to the classroom and if they were sharing "quarters."  

Toulouse was an only turtle for about two years before any other turtles showed up. He had turtle food that he would eat in a pinch, but he truly loved a good cricket- preferably still alive. In the beginning, I would pour the crickets out of the bag and into the tank, usually in the water and they would drown and Toulouse would eat them begrudgingly. He would swim by them multiple times, push them with his claws, and finally touch them with his beak before eating them. 

I taught Toulouse to follow my finger out of the water and get on his sunning perch where I would put some food, at first vegetation, so he understood I wanted him to eat up there and not in the water. Eventually, I could walk up to the tank, wait for Toulouse to look at me, and shake the bag of crickets. He would swim quickly to his perch and rest with his head raised, waiting for me to open the tank and shake some crickets onto the perch. That boy could MOVE when crickets were involved. Snatch and crunch.

A few years later, one of the more senior science teachers had to retire unexpectedly, and all of his classroom pets had to relocate. This is how I acquired ByeBye and Thelma and Louise. I taught ByeBye how to run an obstacle course. He liked it at first but the reward at the end never seemed to make up for the fact that he ended up back in his enclosure.  A student took him home one summer, and not surprisingly, he didn't come back. I'm sure he was happier wherever he finally escaped to.

Thelma and Louise were characters. They had a huge tank, it spanned almost one whole wall. When it was time to clean their tank, I would put them in the gerbil balls and let them run around the classroom. They were able to navigate those balls out of my classroom and down a very long hallway. Sometimes it took me 10 minutes to find them when the tank was clean. Thelma and Louise were not "holding gerbils." They would bite your fingers to the bone if given a chance, and I had to wear fireplace gloves to handle them. I did teach them to hop onto my palm when it was time to get in the balls, though. This trick came in handy later when Thelma and Louise got sick. 

Thelma got sick first; one of her back paws was swollen and red. I was so worried about her that I took her to a vet. Unbeknownst to me, not all vets treat small animals. Small animal vets are not that easy to find, but I found one, about 45 minutes away. She had cancer and he gave me some medicine for her pain.  I decided to turn the vet bill in to the school accountant. Two days later, I got called into the principal's office.

"Ms. Neunder, I understand one of your class pets is sick?" my principal asked me.

"Yes," I answered sadly. "Thelma. She has cancer, and I'm worried she's in pain."

"And she is...?" 

"A gerbil," I told her

She looked at me over the top of her glasses. "Ms. Neunder, I know you take great care of all the animals in your room." 

I nodded.

"And I will pay the vet bill this time. She paused and shook her head. "But the school cannot be responsible for the medical treatment of your classroom pets."

I got it. I did. But that was the end of my animal adoption program.

Bingo!

 Once I decided I was going to stay in Virginia for a while, I moved out of the summer host family's house and into a house with a group of friends. One of the guys, Larry, had a 1 year old cat. He and his brother were the only siblings left of a litter of six. The owner's 3 year old daughter named them: Happy Birthday (nicknamed Happy) and Bingo Was His Name Oh (nicknamed Bingo). Bingo lived with us.

Bingo was part Maine Coon and quite biddable. I would sneak into Larry's bedroom once I knew he'd fallen asleep and snatch Bingo right out of his arms and take him to my bed to sleep with me. Often, I would wake up in the morning and Bingo would be gone. A quick investigation would find him back in bed with Larry, seemingly waiting patiently for me to come get him. (At least, that's the story I'm sticking with.)

When Larry moved to Colorado, he asked me to keep Bingo until he got settled. A few weeks later he came back to get him. That was a no.

Bingo was motivated by food. He loved food so much, I had to take the gravity dry cat food dispenser away because he wouldn't stop eating the food. He would just sit at the food bowl and eat and eat and eat. After that fiasco, he got fed twice a day with additional treats for tricks. That restricted diet turned out to be just the motivation he needed to perform like a circus animal.

Bingo was able to sit with no problem; that trick happened fast with the usual training method of holding the treat over his head so that when he looks up to keep the reward in his eyesight his rump goes down... Voila! Next he learned to give me his paw. And then the other one. We moved on to lie down - easy. But roll over, that was hard. Until he lost some weight, he had a hard time rolling his significant belly over. He had to build momentum by rolling a little at a time over and over until he could successfully get his belly to the other side. He kept at it though to get that one measly treat at the end.

But my favorite trick was when he learned to jump into my arms when called. I had treats stashed all over the house so I could reward his behavior. All I had to do was call him and pat my shoulder and he would jump up. I loved that trick.  

Pavlov's Goldfish

Growing up, my mom ruled the roost. Everyone followed her rules. That included the pets. I grew up with the unspoken knowledge that all animals can be trained. I was witness to the dog only defecating along the fence line in our backyard. The cat only bringing mice to the side door. The dog was allowed upstairs in the bedrooms but not the cat. The cat was allowed in the basement in the rec room but not the dog. There was NO rebellion in the Neunder house (at least, not from the pets).

From an early age I was given the care of the pets as one of my jobs, with the understanding that we all would follow the house rules, of course. This was the beginning of my love of behavior.

When I moved to Virginia, I worked at a summer pool teaching swim lessons, water aerobics, coaching the swim team and guarding. I spent many hours a day in the guard room where we had a fish tank. It was filled with 5 goldfish and one grey goldfish. The gray fish, named Fred, harassed the goldfish; he would chase them around the tank and keep them away from the food when they were all fed. This upset many of the kids who came to watch the feeding and see the fish. So, I decided to teach Fred to stop his shenanigans. Every time Fred would chase the goldfish when I was around, I would put my hand in the tank, catch him, kiss him on the "lips" and say, "Now Fred, stop that. Leave the other fish alone."

This delighted the kids. Eventually, Fred recognized me and would swim to the other side of the tank if I came close to the tank. I didn't even have to put my hand in the tank. This, of course is only using negative reinforcement; this isn't recommended for training anymore. 

But Fred was only the beginning...

I Call Shotgun

I hate to drive. 

I guess in the beginning, at 16, I liked driving because it symbolized freedom to me. I was lucky because my father was an insurance agent and he seemed to know of an endless supply of crap cars for me to "drive until they die". 

I had a car in college that I drove my friends around in. I had some good times behind the wheel. I went to undergraduate in Erie PA, right on Lake Erie. There was always snow. A lot of snow. Before the plows came, some of the frat guys I knew would elect to go "bumper riding" on my car. This was where they would hang on to the bumper of my car and I would drive them through the snow banks. I'm still not sure why they wanted to do this. But I was willing to pull them behind the car as long as they could hang on. 

When I moved to Virginia, all the crap cars got old. I was leaving pieces of cars and whole cars all over the place. It seemed I spent more time bumming rides, walking and riding my bike than I did driving an actual car. 

But, believe it or not, crappy cars were the least of my problems. Questionable direction sense is the real problem. I am the person who gets lost even with the GPS system telling me where to go. It always seems like it's not actually time to turn until it's too late! 

I find myself yelling at the map in the car, "Now?! Turn now?!" 

I have to take the same route everywhere I go. I am unable to deviate. Shortcuts are not my friend. 

Just the other day I made the executive decision to go around Washington Liberty high school because school was dismissing. I thought, "Just go around the block, how hard can it be?" 

First, I ended up in a parking lot. Then, I was in a neighborhood I couldn't get out of - I drove around that neighborhood for at least 5 minutes trying to figure out where I was in relation to where I wanted to be. Finally I found Quincy! And then I realized I had ended up exactly where I started.

I hate driving

Where I'm From

Where I’m From 

 

I am from green and orange shag rugs, 

from Mr. Clean, Cheer and Ivory Soap, 

from “Da plane, da plane!” and Morgan Fairchild on The Gong Show. 

I am from the house next to the creepy vacant lot, 

from the crabapple trees with caterpillars writhing out of their pods 

after we set them on fire. 

I am from dinner at 4:00pm, 

dishes immediately after and salt and vinegar chips before bedtime. 

I’m from, “Feed the animals!” and “Did you take the dog for a walk?” 

and Sally-sits-by-me. 

I am from “Gotta take my eyes out,” and “Can you get my feet?” 

no direction sense, and the ability to scare small children. 

I am from Ted and Helen, Frannie and Fred, 

from “everything has a place” and “everything in its place.” 

I’m from chores first on Saturdays, 

and round trips to the beach in Canada, 

all before Mom had to go work at 3:00pm. 

I’m from Barbie dolls, Hungry, Hungry Hippos, and The Justice League, 

from “wubba, wubba, wubba” and “Ms. Jackson if you’re nasty,” 

the Go Go’s, Madonna and alt rock. 

I am from Catholic school, half-day Mass on Fridays, 

and blue plaid uniforms with brown shoes and white socks. 

I am from Buffalo, New York – 

chicken wings with blue cheese, beef on weck 

and peanut butter sandwiches – cowboy style. 

I am from my little brother Kevin – “Ima put my lulus in my lellow leeppers” – 

Gus and the exploding butt, 

and the rusty nail up my nose when Mark pushed me down that time. 

I am from the pictures of my family 

that I stole 

from the bookcase in the living room 

to take with me 

when I left for Virginia.

Shout out to George Ella Lyon.

Who hasn't done this one? But it makes me happy!
 

 

Happy St. Patrick's Day

 Shenanigans: tricky/ questionable or mischievous practices or conduct.

"You're lucky you're wearing green Ms. Neunder." One of my students said to me this morning as she made pinching motions with her fingers.

"Really?" I asked her with a raised eye brow, "Who's lucky I'm wearing green?"

She smiled sheepishly and sat down.

Tomfoolery: foolish or senseless behavior.

This afternoon, as I was walking Lucy, I saw three boys on the edge of the grassy hill in our complex. Two were on their bikes, and it was clear they were gathering the nerve to ride down it. It's a pretty steep hill, probably 40 feet, and a muddy mess right now from all the rain. One boy was holding a flip phone up and out, ready to record. 

As I walked away, I heard a crash and a thump, and one of the boys yell, "Oh no! I didn't get that! That was epic! I need that footage! You need to do that again!"

Malarky: untrue/insincere or foolish talk.

Growing up, the lore for my mother's side of the family was that we were of Irish descent. A few years ago my parents went to Ireland for a vacation. While my parents were there, they went on a tour. The docent was showing the Americans a map of where certain family names originated from. 

"Where's my clan? The Mack?" my mother asked, not able to find the family name.

"In Scotland." the guide answered.

A Very, Very, Very, Fine House

 I like going on vacation. 

But, I love coming home from vacation more. I love opening the front door and having my cats greet me. (They are usually in the same spot they were in when I left and promised I'd come back. I wonder, do they go back to those spots for the waiting part of their day?) Although, Tibby, the white cat, always has a LOT to say when I get home.

I love seeing my bed. I think, "It looks so inviting! I can't wait to get in there!" (Maybe a little hairy from said cats. Ok a lot hairy... but that's what the blanket covering the bed is for!) All my pillows are there; the special blanket that makes Lucy lay right on top of me like a canine weighted blanket; the heating pad, already plugged in and ready to go in case I get leg cramps in the middle of the night.

There's also the couch I love to sit on when I watch TV with Lucy cuddled up right next to me, and a blanket on the back of it to cover Lucy with if she gets cold.

The shower has all my stuff in it, the bathroom all my products, the shelves have all my tools for making me presentable for work.

Ahhh. It's the best feeling in the World.