Laurie Kessler-It's Going To Be All Write

Christmas, My Way

2011-12-18T10:18:00.000-08:00

After marrying Doug, he bought me the most beautiful tree I had ever owned. It had multi-colored fiber optic lights and was an amazing Show on a Tree. It was expensive, too, around $250, but it was definitely worth the price. I loved sitting in the living room with a steamy cup of french roast, staring at this spectacular tree my husband was so proud to surprise me with.

As the years went by, the tree gained as much sentiment as it had razzle-dazzle. Now a decade with Doug, each Christmas brings out a meaningful trip down Memory Lane since I have made it a habit to buy ornaments on just about every vacation we've taken together, both over the holidays, and any other times. But it also has ornaments from family, friends, and previous students, as well as quirky decorations that remind me of funny, special, or unusual events (like the flying squirrel I won in a sweepstakes last Christmas). Whatever each represents, all touch my heart--or my funny bone-- in some unique way.

The fiber optic wonder that was The Tree eventually stopped working. For a couple years, we dressed it up with clearance sale twinkly lights, but it was so big and such a back-breaker for my poor husband that we finally settled on a smaller, less dazzling, tree this year.

One December, I put myself through this self-inflicted guilt-trip: my tree was too ordinary, I decided. The ornaments didn't match, and well, shouldn't they all compliment each other? I would stroll passed these decorative marvels in various department stores and think: I should put my creativity to good use and create a themed-tree, too, like "everybody else"? Decorate it with delicate lace bows, for starters. Then flock it--make it look snowy like an east coast White Christmas (even though I live in a snowless part of the west coast). I'll get high-end shimmering lights and glitzy gold bulbs-- dress her up real fancy-like. Yessiree, won't she be the Belle of the Ball?

Driving past other homes, Themed Trees taunted me as they preened through immense windows. I was embarrassed by my ordinary tree with the Rite Aid twinkly lights standing in for the broken fiber optics, and the sentimental hodge-podge of ornaments hung from the branches in no particular order.

But that rash of "ought to's" and "shoulds" quietly passed. I stopped comparing myself to others. My tree is decorated to suit me and my husband--it's a Kessler Family Tree. And even though the Artist in me loves all those designer-trees I see each year--I really do!--my tree isn't meant to be showy (like the tree in my classroom--now there's an entirely different blog entry :-))).

This year, we finally replaced our first tree (with the broken fiber optics) with a smaller, more manageable one for Doug to haul out of the storage closet each holiday season. It has white lights that don't twinkle, and it's full of ornaments that don't artistically compliment one another. But this simple little tree fills me bubbly up to the brim with feelings of gratitude and joy because each ornament has meaning, or a silly story behind it that I love chuckling at, once again, as I unwrap it from it's crinkled tissue. No, they don't "match", and only a few were costly, but this tree makes me happy.

I love our tree because I love the life it represents. And I still enjoy sitting with a steamy cup of joe staring at it. This is Kristmas the Kessler Way, even if on the cheap, and I like it just fine.

Merry Christmas!

Teddy Bear Picnic

2011-11-28T07:46:00.000-08:00

Alas, another Teddy Bear Picnic is upon us. A picnic with teddy bears?

Yep. Every December, Bakersfield City Schools has an annual fundraiser to bring in money for innovative teacher grants. The idea is to put a themed basket together with a teddy as a centerpiece. In previous years, I arranged a Bakersfield Jam Basketball Team basket (complete with autographed mini-basketball by the guys), a Barry Manilow accessorized basket, called "Have a Very, Beary Christmas", and this year, it's autographed books. Combining donated books from the Kiwanis Club of Kern and generous writers from The Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators, I managed to create, for our Noble School contribution, a sweet lil purply-poo bear surrounded by books and whimsical doo-dads: cotton candy body spray, flavored lip balms, a jewelry holder, a giant purple pen, a package of Smencils (scented pencils-- a huge favorite with the students at our school this year), a water bottle with groovy peace sign holder, best friends necklace, showy head dress, Tinker Bell sunglasses, sparkly-fuzzy 3-piece journal set, and a Dora the Explorer cloth book bag. Braving the mobs on Black Friday, I happily bounced around the Valley Plaza mall finding various items for my basket.

The wide variety of themed baskets is always a joy to oogle over, and come December 8th, my sister, Jena, and I will be at the brunch bidding on our favorites.

Want to donate a basket to our district? Or maybe you'd like to just show up, eat, and bid on your favorite creations. Either way, go HERE for details. Hope to see you there! :-)

The Final Product

2011-11-20T13:45:00.000-08:00

It's a magical tree in a classroom environment full of garden-themed wonders and natural surprises (like the Monarch butterfly hanging from a leaf on the tree).

For my students, it has been friend, comforter, and a portal to greater dreams.

Thank you so much, Kathi-Briefer Gose, for your amazing artistry and generous gift of time.

We all LOVE our tree. :-)

Here are photos of the other parts of my class:

Fall outside my classroom window:

Winter outside my classroom window:

Making Progress: The Tree in Room 28

2011-09-04T12:29:00.000-07:00

We are slowly piecing her together.

My artist, Kathi Briefer-Gose's friends mailed more branches from San Diego, CA and Texas, but we still have gaps to fill.

Still, with the twinkly lights now on, and much of the leaves added, it is truly magical to sit in my room with the overhead florescent lights out, reveling in the delightful ambience. :-)

Yeah, it's all good.

A New Year

2011-08-27T17:06:00.000-07:00

My new school year begins feeling relaxed. This is the first time I have felt this way in years. Now that we have a new interim superintendent--and now that he has returned ALL subjects to the daily schedule--there is a feeling of normalcy once again. I am so grateful.

The photo to the left shows a pepper tree (similar to a willow tree) being constructed in my classroom. Although not yet finished, I can already tell it is going to be soooo awesome. My artist, Kathi Briefer-Gose, designed and built this beauty. The arts and crafts store in town, Michaels, ran out of the pepper branches, and had no more in their warehouse, so Kathi has friends mailing branches quite similar to the ones you see here. They are coming from outside the city, so we await their arrival via UPS, or the US post office. I will add white lights, too, so it promises to be magical.

I am feeling accomplished after 10 months of continuous work, first with Andrae Gonzales' successful campaign in October/November (for me) of last year, which saw him ascend to the board with more votes than any other candidate. His victory created a new synergy with other board members, and he went to work right away with transparency issues. His diligence paid off, and we are now awaiting a permanent replacement to former superintendent Mike Lingo (he retired early).

Shortly after Andrae got elected, we co-sponsored the screening of a movie titled Race to Nowhere, with my teachers' union, the Bakersfield Elementary Teachers Association, or BETA. It highlights the insanity of the federal law No Child Left Behind, and the crazy things it has done to our public schools. I worked for about a month on this, getting a screening date, a theater (Andrae got that), financial backing (BETA & Andrae's Children First group), and then creating enough buzz to generate interest. Our union president, Brad Barnes, helped by printing color flyers to advertise this event, and they went out, en masse, to our members. Andrae whipped up interest via his Children First group. The results were a full house of interested teachers and community members.

I also served on the Bakersfield City School District report card committee (resulting from trustee, Bill McDougle, questioning the old number system that no parent understood). As a result of my participation on the committee, I brought important issues to the attention of our interim superintendent, D. Kent Ashworth. One being, if we are going to leave science, s. studies, art, music, and PE on the new report cards, we will have to teach them (in many of our low performing schools, these subjects had been omitted from the daily schedule) As a result, he met with district admin, and returned all subjects to our daily schedule. I feel proud, and overjoyed that this fella' acted immediately.

I participated in several Bakersfield Elementary Teachers Association protests, informational pickets, and one grade-in, where about 75 teachers went to the Marketplace, a local outdoor shopping mall, and graded papers to show how much work we do after hours. Our voices were heard, our protest signs were seen, and we added necessary visibility to educational issues.

In much of my spare time, I wrote e-mails and letters to Powers that Be about the dreaded No Child Left Behind Law. My opinions are added to others. We need to continue to chip away at this.

I have attended all but one school board meeting, and video-recorded many parts of the meetings since Andrae was added to the board. Although I have discontinued the video-recording (to give myself some much needed downtime), I will continue to attend the monthly meetings.

Also, I am a part of the District Leadership Team this year. We are shaping a new vision for our district. I am thrilled to be a part of this process.

21 new first graders sit in my classroom, and we survived the first week. I love my new lil babes! It's going to be a great year! God, what an awesome feeling to be happy again. :-)

Ventura/Oxnard, Mandalay Resort Itinerary

2011-07-23T15:37:00.000-07:00

Southern California, here come the Kesslers!

Let's take a peek at our itinerary (be sure to check out the links leading to each daily destination):

Monday 7/25/11
Arrive approximately 2-3 p.m. Check into Mandalay Resort. Perhaps a short bike ride along the beach after that? Dinner and fine wine to follow.

Tuesday 7/26/11
Ronald Reagan Library (so we can get some a' that LOL going)
40 Presidential Dr., Simi Valley, CA
(805) 577-4000
Hours 10-5PM
Cost: $12 + $9 for a senior (which one of us is that?)

Wednesday 7/27/11
Channel Island Excursion Day Trip
3600 Harbor Blvd., Oxnard, CA
(805) 642-1393
Check-in @ 8:45AM; Return to harbor @ 4:30PM
($56 regular admission; $51 for seniors)

Thursday 7/28/11
Commemorative Air Force WWII Aviation Museum
455 Aviation Dr., Camarillo, CA
(805) 482-0064
Hours: 10-4PM
Admission: $7

Friday 7/28/11
Return to Bakersfield

Pismo Ninja

2011-07-20T09:46:00.000-07:00

My husband snapped this photo over lunch in Pismo Beach and titled it "Pismo Ninja".

But what is a Pismo Ninja?

The ability to stare out of a hotel window in a meditative state, mystical reflections dancing in my mind. Special thanks, gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean....Pismo Ninja.

The time to stroll along the beach, sea breeze teasing my senses, waves rushing up to greet me. No hurry, no worries.....Pismo Ninja.

Supping from a cup of creamy clam chowder at the pier, seagulls call, inquiring, "How are the clams, dear traveller?"....Pismo Ninja.

Photo sessions right and left, my husband inspired, catching rare moments in time....Pismo Ninja.

The pleasure of shutting off the cares of the world, if even for a day or two.....Pismo Ninja.

Sleek, intense look behind California shades, she stares into the frothy top of an ice cold brew, and ponders her next move, upon returning to civilization....Pismo Ninja.

Cash Channing Kessler

2011-07-08T20:07:00.000-07:00

Cash Channing Kessler, welcome to Planet Earth, via San Luis Obispo, California. With a birthdate like 7-7-11, and a name like "Cash", we fully expect to stand behind you at the craps table in Vegas.

The Kessler Kornucopia

2011-07-02T03:04:00.000-07:00

It's been a veggie-tastic season. We've got three kinds of cucumbers--Armenian, common, and lemon--five types of tomatoes--Better Boy, Patio, Beefsteak, Cherry, and Yellow Pear--and a variety of other stuff, including jalapenos, poblano peppers, artichokes, asparagus, yellow bell peppers, thyme, basil, oregano, and rosemary. Each year, I become a better gardener, and am learning about different fertilizers, light, and soil needs.

This year, I also planted raspberries (2), blackberries (1), grapes (1), and blueberries (2). I added this collection to my strawberries, which managed to make it through the Bako winter just by being in a planter that hung from a branch of a tall growing bush, thus giving it serendipitous protection. The only sick plant is one of my blueberries, which suffers from a severe case of iron deficiency. It is currently in the intensive care unit of my mind, being pumped full of Ironite and fertilizer used for acid loving plants such as azaleas and camelias, both of which we also have. We'll see if the patient survives. Already, the chlorosis-suffering, lime greenish new leaves are darkening a little.

I can't say we're saving huge sums of cash--afterall, how expensive are veggies?--but it's nice to be able to come home from work, saunter out to the backyard, and clip the fixings for a salad. The Patio variety of tomatoes has disappointed us with their blandness, but the cherry tomatoes, bright orange when ripe, are the star of our garden and add a sweet burst of flavor to our salads. Recently, the Beefsteak tomatoes are ripening, and the two I've sliced up are really tasty. Whew. I'm eager to try the Better Boys now coming into yummy redness under our office window in the backyard. The Yellow Pear tomatoes are so-so, and unfortunately, have to compete with the cherry tomatoes that yield enough to add 5-10 tiny spheres of pleasure to our salads each night.

Anyone who gardens knows the joy of consuming fruits and veggies from their own backyard. There is a primal satisfaction in knowing one can plant, tend to, and grow their own food. It's fun, too, and I most enjoy sharing photos of my successes on Facebook, as well as viewing others' accomplishments.

Yeah, it's all good. Happy harvest, everyone. :-)

When God has Greater Say

2011-06-08T10:06:00.000-07:00

I did an interview with a man who makes a living talking to spirits. He's done this for as long as he can remember. His name is Hans Christian King.

During the course of the interview, we talked a bit about his childhood, and he told me a story that impacted me more as a teacher than as a writer.

The story goes something like this: He had always seen, heard and been guided by disembodied spirits. It was a way of life for him. Being a child with this gift in the spiritually dark times of the 40s and 50s didn't help. People called him a freak, but didn't hesitate to ask his mother if Hans would give them a "reading" if they suffered from marital or work related problems. It always puzzled him, but he was a good boy, and gave these hypocrites their readings.

He never did well in school. He suffered from ADD and dyslexia, and consequently, failed more than his share of tests. One day, at the tender age of nine, King hit rock bottom. This is what he told me: “I was coming home from school and was so depressed. I sat on a bench and just started to cry because I failed another test.

And, I said to Spirit (his unseen Guides) — they had been with me forever — I said, ‘What is all this? I mean, why me?’ And this very big voice came out of the bench and said, ‘Hans, in your case, less is more. The less you know of what they think you should know, the more you will learn about what we think you should know. And what we think you should know is what will benefit you and mankind. And from that day, I never worried about it again.”

Now, it doesn't matter for the purpose of this blog entry whether you believe in psychics, mediums, fortune tellers and the like. I tell this story not to get you to call Hans and ask for a reading, but because, as a teacher, it struck me very profoundly how God had more say in his test scores than his teachers did.

And so I got to thinking, how often does God do that? Shut our brains down in school because Divine Will didn't like the lesson(s)? How often does God prefer you fail a test because hey kid, you have other things to do, and what Spirit sees as necessary isn't in the school curriculum.

There is much talk today about the failure of public schools. Teachers are being blamed for just about every poor test score a child gets. And I have always thought, ever since this interview, who do we think we are that we have usurped the will of the Divine to insist that what we know as mere mortals is more important than what God knows?

I have since then pondered with great frustration over the handful of students in my class each year that stymie me. What am I doing wrong? How can I change up this teaching strategy to get this baby angel to understand and retain the information I am trying to give him? And more vexing: what if I have no control over this child? What if God has other plans?

I am not saying this to wiggle out of my responsibility as a teacher. It just begs the question.

What do you think?

New Life at Bakersfield City Schools

2011-05-28T07:57:00.000-07:00

New beginnings for Bakersfield City School District. With the early retirement of Mike Lingo--hittin' the road two years earlier, to be exact--we wait in anticipation for the arrival of our new leader. Meantime, our interim supt. is Dr. Christine L. Frazier, who is currently Kern County's superintendent of schools.

It is unusual to have a phantom chief waiting in the wings. Typically, the escalator of power moves up a step, and there you have it. But this is not a typical situation. Lingo, by springing his request to get out of his contract sooner than expected, dropped an important bit of business into the laps of the five board members late into the academic year. I suppose he thought "business as usual" was in operation--move the assistant superintendent up, right? (that would be Al Capilla) But, no. With the addition of two new members to the school board, business is anything but usual.

So here are a couple of dates to mark on your calendar. The first is June 21st--that is the next school board meeting (moved from the original date of the 28th). It will be held at 1300 Baker Street, Bakersfield, CA, 93305. Trustees are expected to hear from three search firms who will choose a few likely candidates from a national pool of possibilities.

The second is June 22. At the Bakersfield Elementary Teachers Association office at 837 "H" Street, BKF, 93304 (across from St. Francis Church), educators are welcome to talk with the board members and express their opinion on what qualities a competent superintendent should have. Refreshments will be served, so come and share. And be sure to RSVP at 661-327-4567.

Andrae Gonzales, one of five trustees for our district, came up with the idea to give Mr. Lingo a parting gift of historical significance. So, an early drawing of Horace Mann Elementary (click on link for video) was presented to him by school board President, Rick Van Horne. Lingo was a student at that school, as well as a teacher.

So, a fond farewell, and a joyous new beginning!

Bolting Out of the Gate: Great Beginnings in Kid Lit

2011-05-22T11:35:00.000-07:00

One day, I had enough. This was over a decade ago, but it was the day to end all days. That day.

I sifted through my students' narratives. They all started the same. "One day...".

This must have been a great day for all fourth grade writers, I mused, because according to their opening lines, they were all there. That same, fateful day.

So we had a talk. First, I praised them for their fantastic stories. They had it all. Multi-paragraphs? Check. Strong verbs? Check. Beginning, middle, and end? Done.

But how, I asked, did everybody's exciting adventure start on the same day? What are the odds of such an amazing coincidence?

I glanced around the classroom. Dozens of chapter books lined the bookshelves, so I pulled some out and read the first sentence of each to my students:

From Bud, Not Buddy, by Christopher Paul Curits, (1999); 2000 Newberry Medal Winner:
Here we go again.

From A Wind in the Door, by Madeleine L'Engle, (1973):
"There are dragons in the twins' vegetable garden."

From Tuck Everlasting, by Natalie Babbit, (1975):
The road that led to Treegap had been trod out long before by a herd of cows who were, to say the least, relaxed.

From Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone, J.K. Rowling, (1997):
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

From The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DiCamillo, (2003):
This story begins within the walls of a castle, with the birth of a mouse.

From The Whipping Boy, by Sid Fleischman, (1986); 1987 Newberry Medal Winner:
The young prince was known here and there (and just about everywhere else) as Prince Brat.

It got their juices flowing, and we practiced coming up with strange, wondrous, and even absurd beginnings. It was fun!

And it worked. Her Royal Highness, Queen Kessler (that's me), made a decree throughout the fourth grade kingdom: from now on, no story shall start with "One day...." or "Once upon a time...." (unless we're penning fairy tales). Furthermore, thou shalt not tweak the "one day" starter with "One Saturday...." or Monday or Tuesday or any other day of the week.

And one day, it worked! It was a grand day, and we all lived happily ever after. Well, maybe not all of us, but it was a good start.

Moon Over Manifest: 2011 Newberry Winner

2011-05-21T11:41:00.000-07:00

She is a writer's writer. That is the first thing that struck me when I began reading Moon Over Manifest, the 2011 Newberry Winner.

This is not an amazing "new" story-- the plot itself is not what's extraordinary. Rather, it is the storytelling that is delightful. Clare Vanderpool is an impressive wordsmith. While reading, I highlighted my favorite lines just so I could return to revel in them. For example:

"There wasn't an ounce of bustling to be had. Just a few tired souls holding up a doorway here and there."

And:

"A typewriter sat on a cluttered desk, its keys splayed open with some scattered on the desk like it tried to spell explosion and the explosion happened."

Moon Over Manifest is historical fiction, and Vanderpool did what I thought was a big no-no in the world of children's lit: she wove together two separate stories in two separate times. This is a tried-and-true adult novel technique, but I always understood that kids couldn't follow the back-and-forth of it all. Well, the Newberry committee begged to differ (and before that, an editor and a publisher).

The story follows a young girl named Abilene Tucker. She is wandering Depression era America with her lost soul of a father, hopping trains, stopping at un-named towns filled with god-knows-who, doing god-knows-what. Survival is the name of the game. When Abilene turns 12, her father seems to feel that a life of blowing in the wind isn't for a young lady, so he sends her to the only town he stayed in long enough to call "home": Manifest. And this story is all about that theme: Home. Where do we belong? Who do we call family, and what are the stories they tell? When the people of Manifest gradually reveal their histories, Abilene discovers her own narrative tucked away in the far corners of Manifest's forgotten past.

But again, it was Vanderpool's wonderful storytelling that kept me clicking on my Kindle's "next" button. After all, this story is laced with multiple characters telling their own stories, so I guess you better be a good teller of tales yourself. So here's some more of my favorite lines, as a tribute to the Storyteller in all of us (and because I like re-reading them, too):

"He tried to gather up some papers and scraps of wood, as if there were traces of his mismatched life that he hadn't wanted me to see."

"My heart sunk like a five-gallon bucket of disappointment."

"He says that places not that far west of here are so dry people shrivel up like November leaves and blow all the way to California."

"As I tiptoed up the rotting stairs, they creaked and groaned, cussing me for stepping on their aching backs."

"'Sit down,' she said, her voice thick and savory like goulash." (describing a Hungarian fortune teller)

"Memories were like sunshine. They warmed you up and left a pleasant glow, but you couldn't hold them."

"There followed a most painful silence that hovered like hot, moist air before a big rain."

Clare Vanderpool is the Queen of Simile and Metaphor. I like that. And I definitely like returning to some of her better literary creations just to savor them. Her words and phrases are like a collection of spices that transform a potentially pedestrian meal into a food lover's delight.

So, Bon Appetit!

Elevating the "Trust" in the word "Trustee"

2011-05-01T15:06:00.000-07:00

"We can get up here and play to the crowd," Mr. Rick Van Horne said in a recent article about last month's school board meeting. "But we have to make tough decisions."

He was referring to Mr. Andrae Gonzales specifically, a newly elected trustee, speaking to a healthy crowd of community members and supporters who regularly attend the monthly board meetings. In two recent Bakersfield Californian newspaper articles (HERE and HERE), Van Horne has made it sound like Mr. Gonzales was voting merely to play to public sentiment. Furthermore, he has insinuated that Mr. Gonzales, a newbie, is asking procedural questions of no relevance, and thus wasting the veteran's time. According to one of these two weekend articles, Van Horne also hinted that Mr. Gonzales might actually be disrupting the work of district administrators. "Our job, he said, "is to oversee. But there's a fine line between overseeing and interfering. I just don't want to see ourselves interfering with what the (administrators) are doing for a living."

Interfering? Curious that he phrased it this way. I have attended all of the school board meetings since Mr. Gonzales and Ms. Pam Baugher have been elected, and during those meetings, I have heard Mr. Gonzales a) list countless Bakersfield City School District events he has attended, b) ask tough questions of Mr. Mike Lingo, the superintendent, and c) ask necessary questions re: information that should have been placed in the agenda on a monthly basis long, long ago but wasn't. Are those newbie questions? Why didn't Mr. Van Horne ask these things of Mr. Lingo? God knows, the "old pro" has been around long enough. In fact, why hasn't he asked anything?

During the last five meetings, I have heard Mr. Rick Van Horne ask NO questions at all. He's been nothing more than window dressing.

Mr. Van Horne, are we to assume that asking questions about a pastry budget in the thousands of dollars is "interfering" when endless cuts have been made to the classroom? Is it wrong to ask Mr. Lingo if he indeed gave a "directive" to reduce student suspensions by 40% so that the district could save money? (Hey, about those gilded donuts the district admin is snacking on). Am I to shoot off an angry email to Mr. Gonzales for having the chutzpah to ask where the monthly financial reports are--reports that were supposed to be in the agenda anyway? Why didn't YOU ask that?

Does Mr. Van Horne have an ax to grind with a fellow board member who is simply doing his job? If you ask me, I think this coach turned trustee, accustomed to the cheering crowds during a football game, is suffering from a bad case of "Andrae Gonzales Envy", a condition made most notable by recent comments he made at the last school board meeting. It was, for me, the funniest part of the evening, because this "experienced" trustee has rarely been seen at BCSD events over the last several years. He stated that the exhaustive attendance at events by "certain board members" (read into that Mr. Gonzales and Mr. McDougle) has made some other unnamed trustees "elevate their game". Frankly, he was referring to himself, and it's a pity he didn't have the guts to say that....or the respect to compliment his "newbie" colleague for showing him how the job should have been done long ago.

One of the Bakersfield Californian articles linked to above started this way: "When Andrae Gonzales stepped into the standing room-only board room at one of his first meetings as a Bakersfield City School District trustee, he got something few such officials anywhere ever get -- a standing ovation." Mr. Van Horne, we are still waiting for you to do or say something that can similarly rouse us. Take the Andrae Challenge and we'll be standing and applauding your next entrance, too. I'll be in the front row with my video camera, so don't forget to wave.

Highlights from our School Board Meeting

2011-04-27T09:46:00.000-07:00

The photo to the left is from last month's board meeting. Future meetings will be held in the auditorium, and although it brought up new logistical problems for me re: video recording, I was happy to see the district accommodate all who wished to attend.

That said, some notable highlights: Lillian Tafoya reported on her attendance at a National Board Members Association Conference. Speaking at the conference was Daniel Pink, author of the book Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us. Incentives (or "pay for performance") is not what motivates teachers, he reasons. Rather, they're more interested in "autonomy, mastery, and purpose". I was cheered to hear Lillian share this with the community members and teachers in attendance last night, because it reveals what an impressive impact Mr. Pink had on her. She also shared a few comments given by Condoleeza Rice. [To see Lillian's short speech, click HERE].

I was also thrilled to hear trustee Rick Van Horne talk about how enthusiastic attendance by "other board members" at various BCSD events has encouraged the remaining trustees (meaning him?) to "elevate their game" and join in the attendance of as many events as possible--kind of like a friendly competition. I know that Andrae Gonzales and Bill McDougle, especially, are whirligigs, and I frequently hear how happy teachers are when they see our trustees at the students' special occasions and events.

The dynamics of the board interactions, overall, are different, and much more is being accomplished because of "new blood". See THIS article in the Bakersfield Californian. Although I was curious about Mr. Van Horne's assessment that "much" of the questioning by the new board members was due to a "lack of board experience", I was even more bothered by his insinuation that trustees shouldn't "interfere". He said, "... there's a fine line between overseeing and interfering. I just don't want to see ourselves interfering with what the (administrators) are doing for a living." When so much good has been done in such a short time, I don't know why he would say such a thing, especially when I am aware of next to no questioning by him during the meetings. In fact, this last meeting was the first time in several months I heard him address the audience, and it was in reference to what I wrote about above: these so-called "newbies" are forcing him to "elevate his game". Maybe now he'll ask more questions, too. [This paragraph was added on May 1]

The bad news of the evening, of course, was that McKinley Elementary is no longer year round, and one-day GATE at Owens Primary has been eliminated. Can't say I was surprised. We face even more cuts next year. [click on the link for a news story via the Bakersfield Californian newspaper]

On a lighter note, I was amused by the dark, plastic skirt s that were hung from the tables where the district administrators and trustees were sitting. Talk about budget cuts! It's like someone dug into their kitchen cupboard and cut open a few Hefty trash bags to decorate the stage. ;-)

The one problem for me is the length of the meetings now, which last two and a half to three hours. My only suggestion would be to move the presentation highlighting a BCSD school (one per meeting) to the END--the very end. Although we are all proud of our schools and the great work we are doing, these presentations add 20 minutes or more to an already long night. One speaker was "bumped", meaning, she was asked to not speak due to the unusually large quantity of people who wanted to address the board. I felt badly for her. The public should have a right to address the board on issues important to the evening's agenda--a presentation by a principal should have been "bumped". Again, not that showing off our school pride isn't important-- it certainly helps boost teacher morale--I just disagree with the choice of priorities as well as the placement of the presentation on the schedule.

A Generous 7-11 Clerk? Who'da Thought?

2011-04-26T22:18:00.000-07:00

Do you think "generous" when you see a 7-11 clerk? Not that they aren't, but that's not my first thought.

Tonight, after two hours of a school board meeting, I left to go home, stopping off at a nearby 7-11 to grab a single beer, a Bud. I grabbed my cerveza, a pack of fruity gum, and went to the counter to pay. Ahead of me was a homeless man, or a very dirty home owner. He's fumbling through his pant pockets and muttering something to himself. The clerk, an impatient man of exotic origins, rolls his eyes and shifts his weight in annoyance. I look away in embarrassment.

The man in need of a shower, now patting his shirt pockets for small change, mumbles, "I know I had it here somewhere," which only further irritates the clerk with east Indian good looks.

I glance down at the counter and see a scattering of dimes, nickels, and pennies. Next to that stood a medium coca-cola sweating the moment out in a white plastic cup . Would his buyer please hurry up and pay?

Now I'm rolling my eyes and shifting my weight in annoyance. It is but a few moments later when I remember that I had put several quarters in my pocket this morning. That I rarely do, but they had been adding up on my bathroom counter each night when I emptied my pockets, so I trusted my impulse to take them today, and I did.

"How much more does he owe?" I finally ask the clerk .

"Fifty cents," he huffs.

I dig into my pocket and produce two quarters. The hobo says, "God bless you, ma'am," and I reply, "No problem." Really, I'm just glad to be rid of him.

I pay for my stuff, and then a miracle happens. The clerk, in an accent from some far-away land, launches into a monologue about how every day he "nickel and dimes it", giving a little bit here, and a little bit there, until "It adds up!" he fumes. "Sometimes, I give, in one day, four dollars," he implores, looking at me like, Can you believe it?

Four dollars? Imagine. If I were a clerk eeking out a pauper's living on some corporate fat cat's pay, I would fuss about four dollars, too. Ya' know, that's pretty generous. And since it is, I let him spew on....and on and on and on. I feel I owe it to him, so I give him a good $5.00 of earnest listening (I'm feeling pretty generous myself tonight). I let him get it off his chest, and then I leave, feeling one good deed brought another....nevermind the smelly guy with a medium coke now digging through the trashcan for dinner.

Musing from an Acid Queen

2011-04-21T10:22:00.000-07:00

I got blank stares and loving warnings.

"You're not really going to paint the pool over spring break, are you?"

"Yep. I've got to. Has to be done before the temperature goes over 90 degrees."

More blank stares. And then silence.

"I'll admit the acid washing freaks me out a little," I add to the silent stares. "Got any advice?"

"Yeah. Don't do it."

And so, befitting my pig-headedness, I listened to no one and dove right in. I bought a $15 safety suit at Lowes, in the paint department--my yellow rubber ducky suit, I like to call it--a $30 respirator with pink filters (for the feminine touch), a $4.00 role of blue tape (to secure the wrists and ankles to prevent acid leaks) and hopped into the white plaster oasis.

The recipe calls for 50% acid to 50% water, and a whole bottle of acid did just that, in my lime green bucket, filled the other half of the way with water from our hose. I grabbed my backyard cat, Diego, who was playfully rolling around in the deep end of our pool, waiting for me to jump in and join him. "Cat fur and acid not a good mix, boy," I say, scooping up my scampering friend as he attempts to bait me into a game of catch-and-release. I plunk him down in the garage, with the door closed, so he can't race around the back, scramble over the fence, and dart into the pool.

I started at 11:00, and didn't finish until 1:00. I scrubbed every stitch of that stained plaster. Doug stopped off at home for lunch, and to check and make sure his daring wife wasn't passed out from acid fume inhalation at the bottom of our V-shaped pool. I happily waved from the bowels of the deep end. He snapped a shot for Facebook, titling the picture "The Acid Queen". That's me, gratefully breathing easily through my respirator, smelling only that "new plastic scent" that comes with the first use of it.

When I unravelled myself, cutting through layers of tightly wound blue tape that protected me from acid leaks, my clothes were completely wet. I looked as if I had showered without stripping to my birthday suit. I was utterly exhausted, but content. I did it, I thought! The worst part is over.

Not quite. The acid wash had to follow a second cleaning with TSP, a cleaner used for heavy duty work such as this. Another two hours of scrubbing, followed by two more hours of rinsing, and then scooping out 30+ buckets of water that had collected at the drain. Pail by pail, I dumped the toxic soup down the drain, with each pail climbing the steps to the shallow end, lifting my weary body onto the patio deck, and marching into the kitchen. The trick is to empty the bucket without splattering. I finished by 5:00 p.m., and to tender, plump filet mignons that Doug b-b-q-ed for us in celebration (still one of the best buys at Costco, those filets).

I think Doug is truly amazed I did this. Heck, I'm truly amazed I did this. And it was crazy to everyone but my older sister, who met me for lunch at a local Vietnamese restaurant the next day and spoke matter-of-factly about the whole affair. Beauty queen that she is--for she's a lovely feast to any man's eyes--she has never shirked from hard work. We spoke of the pros and cons of the different types of paints and new rock-pebbled finishes to replace traditional plasters, and ate lunch like a couple of professional remodelers. She didn't bat an eye over the absurdity of it all, because to her type-A soul, it was normal.

Friday, Doug and I will tape the tile and paint the plaster the least expensive color of boring white, and thus buy ourselves a few years time. Hopefully, we'll save for a better quality plaster or pebbly bottomed finish--the fancy, schmancy kind. But I won't do it myself. Although elated and proud of my accomplishment, I think I'll pass on the TSP scrubbings, rinsings, buck haulings, and dangerous acid washing, and pay someone else to do it. Yeah, that's a victory I'll pass to hardier souls younger than my 48 years.

The Bliss of Downtime

2011-03-12T11:16:00.000-08:00

I have been very busy since August of 2010. I returned to school in a new grade level assignment and worked extra hard to be prepared so that I wouldn't fail. I jumped into the last month of Andrae Gonzales' campaign for one of two Bakersfield City School District trustee positions, and was thrilled to participate in his eventual victory. [Of all who ran, Andrae received the most votes, beating out the 3 others by over 300 votes]

My hard work has paid off. I am happy in my first grade assignment--I love this six-year old world I got thrust into--and I am overjoyed to witness the beginnings of Andrae's good work on the school board. I'm now video-recording all BCSD board meetings, have taken on the role of organizer to bring Race to Nowhere to Bakersfield, and have decided to stick around and participate in Andrae's nascent Children First group, which will meet for the third time March 17th. The negotiations to fund Race to Nowhere have taken longer than expected, and my husband jokes that sometimes he feels he is married to a politician, but it's all been worth it. I regret not one day. Busy? Heck, yes. Happy? You betcha.

But all this activity has resulted in me savoring what little downtime I have. I don't think I appreciated those times so much before. For example, last week, I sat at a Starbucks waiting for Andrae to arrive so that we could work on some minor details for Race to Nowhere. He was running a little behind, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. As I sat with my Cinnamon Dolce Latte at a small table by the window, the late afternoon sun floated through the glass and made me feel serene. It was a beautiful day, my corner of Starbucks was quiet, and my coffee drink was yummy. It was about 15-20 minutes of simple bliss. An extraordinarily ordinary moment, the likes of which I was so grateful for. I got a serendipitous opportunity to empty my busy little mind and just BE. It was really nice. I plan on allowing myself more moments like those.

Happy weekend, everybody.

Whispers of Spring

2011-02-11T15:36:00.000-08:00

I love the toasty fires that warm me to the core during these long winter months, but there's nothing like the coming of spring.

It's still February, but the trees around our school are beginning to tease me with their first little blooms.

And when a breeze flits in, waving the sun-starved branches over my car like a magic wand, I can hear it gently whisper, Spring is near.

The Shadow Side of Obama/The Shadow Side of Me

2011-02-09T11:56:00.000-08:00

I am a life-long Democrat. I ushered in Clinton, suffered through eight years of Bush, and cried tears of joy when Barack Hussein Obama became our first black president.

And mostly, I like what he has done. But, because I and my colleagues are hurting so much under his current educational policy, I can't revel in his presidency. During his State of the Union address, all I did was brace myself for the inevitable politico-speak about teachers. Sure enough, it came. He didn't disappoint. He applauded himself for Race to the Top. It's not a race. It's an education.

I am especially angry because I donated money and time to his campaign with the understanding that he would transform education, moving away from test mania, (as he had promised), toward a more humane and authentic instructional environment. He lied to me. He took the money and ran.

This is like a stain on his presidential shirt. It won't go away. I stare at it. I can't help it--it's so noticeably there. I suffer it's stench, because it has soured for over two years. It stinks, it's ugly, and I want to wash it out. But I can't.

This is the shadow side of Barack Obama in my school teacher's mind. And his shadow brings out my shadow: festering anger over being blamed and publicly humiliated for problems way beyond my control; sadness over the realization that I almost quit the teaching profession last year; frustration over not being heard.

I want to enjoy my president. I want to enjoy the Democrat this life-long Democrat helped elect, both with my time and my money, my heart and my soul. But I can't. So I sit in the shadows and I pray. I pray for his transformation, and I pray for mine.

And I wait for the Light to melt away this professional dark night of the soul.

A Commitment to My Fellow Teachers

2011-02-07T07:31:00.000-08:00

I have come to the conclusion that the value-added analysis of teacher effectiveness is a joke. I read the Los Angeles Times' article on this, and then took the time to study individual scores of teachers from LA Unified School
District. After that, I read the teacher comments underneath their so-called "ratings". It's all a sham, and the LA Times should be ashamed of themselves.

Basically, a teacher is rated on a sliding scale, from "least effective" to "most effective". But the score is based on how many points, on average, a teacher's students improve on the state test each year. So, if you are lucky enough to get a group of kids in the middle, you have a better chance of increasing test scores than if you get kids on either end of the academic achievement spectrum.

Let me explain. In California, there are five groups of academic achievement: Advanced, Proficient, Basic, Below Basic, and Far Below Basic. In most other states, there are only four groups, minus the "far below basic" set. In California, we've raised the bar from the get-go, because in our state, a student has to be either "proficient" or "advanced" to have passed the state test. In most other states, they have included the "basic" group as passing, too. So we look bad next to the rest of the nation, even though the reality is we have higher standards.

Now, to continue: as someone who once taught 4th grade, I used to covet the "basic" group at the beginning of the year. They are one step from "proficient", and can make greater gains than any other group. For the sake of discussion, in a class of 30 kids, if I received 13-15 kids who scored "basic" in third grade, the odds are very good that my class will show dramatic gains by the end of fourth grade (emphasize the word "dramatic"). Of course, that can only happen if the kids have regular attendance, were with me from the beginning of the year, don't have issues with eyesight/eye glasses (that was a major problem in my class last year), aren't suffering emotionally from a dysfunctional family, aren't homeless, and finally, aren't a child of an "absentee parent", which unfortunately, is often times the case in our inner city school district; many parents in the working class shoulder 2 or 3 jobs just to make ends meet.

When I studied the ratings and comments of teachers from LA Unified, I was astonished to read the truth behind one "least effective" rating of an elementary school teacher. I wish I could remember her name, and if I do find her in the data base again, I'll link to her bitterly humorous response (sadly funny to me, that is). In her rebuttal, she stated that she had the top performing students in her class for the last few years, and that there was not much room for them to "grow" because they were already "there". Where does an Advanced student go from the top, she mused? Consequently, because the ratings system is based on how much growth her students made, she looked like she didn't improve her kids' scores. But her "least effective" rating was posted online for all the world to see anyway. With wounded pride, she went on to explain that she is often requested by parents, has never received a poor evaluation, and has--as all teachers have--donated countless hours of personal time, as well as countless hundreds of dollars in materials and prizes, to her students. She finished by thanking the LA Times for publicly humiliating her for no good reason at all. [In spite of her response, the newspaper stands by her rating. Sick.]

I read other responses from the least effective set. They ranged from teachers complaining that their students barely spoke English, to bemoaning the fact that their classes had excessively high turn-over rates. The list of woes reads much like what I stated above: kids suffer from psychological/emotional problems, have medical/dental/visual handicaps, have absentee parents, have high absentee rates themselves, are homeless, etc., etc., etc. America would do well to read that list as a form of enlightenment, as opposed to "excuses". People come in all shapes and sizes and from a wide variety of backgrounds, the likes of which are completely out of the hands of some humble, public servant who can barely get by on their modest income.

So, here is my personal commitment to my colleagues across the nation: from now on, I refuse to post photos on Facebook or here in this blog of certificates of merit stating that I had the highest test scores for: a Unit, quarterly, or yearly test. There simply are too many variables, and in the final analysis, why would I make another teacher hide her face in shame because her class was one to two percentage points behind my class? And esp. because her class is stacked with far greater challenges than mine, or less "basics"--or middle-of-the-roaders--than mine? Or kids with high absentee rates......as said, the list goes on.

From now on, I commit to cooperation, not competition. I refuse to allow a bunch of desperate politicians to goad me into clawing my way to the top of "I'm Better Than You" Mountain. I won't gouge anyone's eyes out as I'm prodded to scramble for that trophy, mostly forged out of greed, narcissism, and hate.

And that about sums it up, teachers.

[For an outstanding blog entry with greater detail, see HERE. It's titled

New study: How L.A. Times teachers data is flawed

and is in The Washington Post. This came out shortly after I wrote mine.]

Reflections on a Holy Man who wanted to be like Jesus

2010-12-25T08:20:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading Holy Man: Father Damien of Molokai, by Gavan Daws. I bought the book because I wanted to know what inspires a person to volunteer to work in a community plagued by a disease that will eventually kill him. That disease was leprosy, and Father Damien replaced his older brother Pamphile, who contracted typhus and couldn't make the long voyage to Hawaii from Europe. But Damien willingly stepped in to take his brother's place--he wasn't forced or cajoled. The fact is, he was elated when church authorities gave him permission to step in for his brother (who later recovered, btw).

So why commit one's life to certain death? According to a second book I've started, Saint Damien of Molokai: Apostle of the Exiled the authors state, "Among the De Veusters [Damien's original family name], vocations to the religious life flowered as a result of their mother's teachings. She read to her children often from a book about the martyrs and saints of the past. Also, in that age, religious vocations were considered normal acts of generosity, not unusual sacrifices." (emphasis mine)

Damien admired most, and wanted to emulate, those who worked with lepers. It is uncanny how much he resembles a description of one of his later heroes. In Chapter 3 of Holy Man, Daws writes, "... as Joseph De Veuster, [at] nineteen years old, he renamed himself in religion [and] chose to be called Damien after an ancient physician-saint, one of two brothers who went among the sick and were martyred for Christ. The hero of the new Damien was St. Francis Xavier, a name evoking that of St. Francis of Assisi, who found the strange sweetness of God's spirit in the embrace of a leprosy victim...."

Xavier, like Damien, had extraordinary energy and was passionately committed to a simple existence. "He was sturdily useful, " Daws explains of Xavier, "and cheerful on the voyage out; had no appetite for fine food and no aversion to dirty work; was a devoted nurse always to the sick, and indeed sought out leprosy cases to tend; .... This was the hero of Damien, another athlete of God." (emphasis mine)

Damien was originally supposed to share his assignment on Molokai with three other priests. The plan was to rotate the men so that no one person would have to shoulder such an enormous burden. But when the newspapers got hold of the story of a white man joyfully stepping into the land of the Hawaiian lepers, the church realized they had gotten a serendipitous dose of good publicity, and let fly the misperception that Damien alone agreed to do this. "We care not what this man's theology may be," wrote the editor of the Nuhou, three days after Damien went ashore, "he surely is a Christian hero." And so it was agreed amongst the Catholic authorities that this indeed would be a mission solely for Damien.

Damien was thrilled to be singled out as the one priest to serve the settlement of Kalawao. "You know my disposition, " he said in a letter to the provincial, "I want to sacrifice myself for the poor lepers."

And that he did. What was so extraordinary--for those of you who don't know the history of leprosy on the Hawaiian islands--was that up to this point, no white man who did not have leprosy had volunteered himself for this post. This would remain a sore point for the more powerful Protestants of the islands. I inwardly laughed as I read about the spiritual envy Protestants suffered as a result of Damien getting international publicity. Later, toward the end of Damien's life, as he crept near death from the hands of leprosy, even his Catholic superiors would demonstrate hilarious amounts of unholy jealousy, over not only the attention lavished on him, but over the charitable donations he was receiving, too. So much for Christ-like behavior, dear men of God.

But in my opinion, therein lies the core problem with men of the cloth at that time: Damien--for all his commoner simplicity--was truly a great man for going to serve people he knew he would die ministering to. Plain as that. I truly believe that any religious person familiar with Damien's work had to grapple with the fact that Damien was more Christ-like than they were. Mirror, mirror on the wall.....It is a holy act to sacrifice oneself. Christ did it. So did Damien.

I admire Damien, and had chosen him as my personal saint a year ago, because he is a superb role model for those of us humble folk who want to do good in the world. He was not well-educated, he did not write beautiful sonnets celebrating his service, and he was as full of "flaws" as any of us. But still, he was a great servant of God. No need to levitate, battle demons in the night (as Padre Pio did), or lead elaborate masses. No need to wait until perfection is attained. A simple, hard working shmuck like you or me can do just as much good. I would never knowingly step into harm's way to serve God as Damien did--thus his saintliness, right? But I can be of some use in this ol' world of ours, just as I am: imperfect, but eager, hard-working, and compassionate. Like Damien, one need not be a rock star.

Merry Christmas, everybody!! :-) Feliz Navidad!!

Rain, Rain go away....even though we really need you.

2010-12-20T15:07:00.000-08:00

It's been raining almost non-stop for three days, and even though dry, dusty, polluted Bakersfield really needed the water--and the cleansing-- it's getting to be an overkill experience, Mother Nature. Geez! Tell Persephone to stop crying, or Zues to stop drinking, or....whatever. Tell them something!

My husband, Doug, drained the pool for the first time in seven years, and the pool's filling up again even as I write this. I've rescued four fully grown toads from the "pond" forming in the deep end--water with three chlorine tablets. Heck, I even kept one warty thing who's personality enchanted me. Yeah, toads have personalities. ;-) Yeah, I'm an eccentric 48 year old who grooves on backyard wonders, esp. my happy, healthy, California toad community.

I look at my flooded backyard--so perfectly sprinkled with fairy-sized rain water puddles-- and marvel at the daring my toads still have venturing into that chlorinated, leave-cluttered mess at the bottom of our pool. Or maybe I'm amazed they still fall in. I haven't figured out which is the cause of their precipitous plunge from our patio to the 10-foot depths of yuckiness gathering like an aquatic ground-zero around the pool drain.

In-between laundry and dishwasher loads, I save another adult toad from the bowels of a biblical deluge and am grateful I can. It takes 4-5 years for a toad to reach sexual maturity, and I'd hate to lose those swingin' singles just waiting for the Bakersfield heat to arrive. Them and the crickets....oh, how I look forward to those lazy, joyous, and DRY summer nights. Soon.

My German Stepfather Escaped from Adolf Hitler--sort of

2010-07-22T15:41:00.000-07:00

I visited the Museum of Tolerance in Los Angeles yesterday and memories resurfaced of my German stepfather's escape from Adolf Hitler.

My stepdad, Dr. Joseph Heilman (a medical doctor) was living in Germany and dating a Jewish girl when Hitler began his freaky rise to power. He remembers being in a beer pub and watching Hitler mesmerize the patrons with his fiery, hate-filled speech. "He was so close I could have touched him," my father mused. He also told me he was instantly afraid of this man; he foresaw nothing good coming from him.

As the days passed and Hitler took control of my father's country, more of his friends fell under the Nazi spell. It frightened him. Once, over lunch in a local restaurant, my father said, "My friends were singing the praises of Hitler and talking about people who they would turn in to the Gestapo. As I sat there eating my meal, I realized I could be next." (because he was dating a Jew). With the help of a German lady friend, Liesl (lee-zul) he was able to obtain a one-way ticket out. However, as he was boarding a plane for the United States from England, he was caught with a German passport, taken immediately into custody, and sent to Bombay (now Mumbai) in India and placed in an internment camp for the duration of the war.

While interned, the British learned that my father was a physician and thus used him as a doctor. He had to make the rounds in several languages, although he only spoke German and English at the time. But by the end of the war, he was fluent in nine languages. He said, "Every day I would write down one complete sentence from each language I had to speak." He spent his evenings memorizing them.

The British were very civil to my father and to the others in the camp. Because he was a good doctor, and intelligent, the British played tennis with him. They also engaged in many stimulating political conversations. Because my father hated Hitler, this wasn't a problem.

Other Germans in the Bombay camp, however, never gave up hope that Germany would prevail. My father would call them fools, esp when the Americans entered the war and the tide was sure to change. But they held fast to their demented dreams of world domination.

My walk through the Museum of Tolerance was a beautiful and intensely emotional experience. Except for a brief mention of German dissidents--more journalists, than anyone else, I think--there was really no further mention of those Germans who helped their Jewish friends hide or escape. Nor did they mention the many Germans, like my father, who tried to leave but were captured and held in internment camps.

Even though I understand that it's a Jewish memorial created to remember the horrors inflicted upon close to six million Jews, it is a pity that it's so single-mindedly focused. Others suffered too--such as the gays, the physically and mentally challenged, and Germans who hated Hitler as much as the very people being slaughtered. I can't express to you the lifelong inner pain my father carried with him in spite of going on to lead a happy and productive life in America. He was scarred for life, carrying memories that only as a very old man could he finally cry about. To truly create tolerance, one must embrace the suffering of all, not just the few, and applaud the selfless acts of those who valiantly battled to put an end to this horrific chapter in World History.

Gratitude

2010-07-12T15:15:00.000-07:00

I am filled with gratitude today. I feel good because I have a wonderfully goofy, compassionate, and intelligent husband, for starters. We have an affordable, middle-class home, and when I see all those Haitians living in tents on the evening news, I look at our humble, two-story house and see a mansion. When I think of all those people who's livelihoods have been destroyed by the BP "spill", I know how lucky we are not to be forced to deal with a shattered way of life--all because of the reckless disregard of one arrogant oil company. At night, I close my eyes for a moment and soak in the gratitude that our lives are not in turmoil. Thank you, thank you! I think, (followed by a huge sigh of relief).

We are fortunate. We both have good jobs, peaceful relations, and fun times with friends. We have a beautiful garden filled with gorgeous flowers and yummy veggies. We have the technology we need to stay on the "bleeding edge" (as one of my university profs used to say), and Doug has the camera equipment he desires to find joy in his photography. Heck, we even have new bikes. Although we are not rich, we have enough, and therefore, I feel "rich" in blessings, security, love, and plenitude.

Our cats don't know it, but they have it good. Ha!

And that's my blog entry for today. :-)

(This blissful moment is brought to you by a serene summer afternoon in Bakersfield, California)

[Cue butterfly flitting on purple Lily-of-the-Nile]

And....cut! Fade to black.

Watch Out Bakersfield, Here I Come!

2010-07-11T11:13:00.000-07:00

I got me a racing bike, even though I'm not a racer.

It's a beautiful ride! Makes me feel like a kid again, especially when Doug and I circumnavigate Challenger Park, our half-way point.

We used to belong to the gym, my husband and I. All of their cardio equipment had individual TVs. It was great...for awhile. Soon, we grew bored. We were often tired after work, too. Also, we only get a few hours together, Doug and I, during the work-week, so we decided to spend it with each other, even if that meant sitting on the couch watching TV or a movie.

But now we have bikes, and it feels so free. I don't put earphones on and listen to my MP3 player. Neither does Doug. We cruise the neighborhood streets listening to the birds chirp, the cars whiz by, and the whir-whir of our wheels turning. The breeze cools us on these hot summer rides, even though it is morning.

When I bike around the park, I smile. It's a joyous feeling, coasting on the cement path. We curve in and out and around the playground. We stop to sip water, wipe our sweaty brows, then return home.

Life is good. :-) I love my new bike.

Homeless 101: Meals on Wheels

2010-07-10T11:48:00.000-07:00

There are homeless on street corners everywhere. I see them all the time while driving. But what am I supposed to do? Flip a U, park, and then take them to McDonald's?

I was struck by no epiphany while cruising passed "cart pushers" who made their living dumpster diving. This idea of packing freezer bags full of nutritious snacks and mini-hygiene items came to me while I and my fourth grade students were sending "care packages" to the men and women serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. Many of them are homeless for short periods of time while away from the base. Reading through their requests on anysoldier.com, I soon was putting mini-travel packs together, I realized. The soldiers, airmen and women, and sailors asked not for laptops or iPods, but for pistachios, summer sausage, crackers, protein bars, peanut butter, and powdered mixes to put into their bottled water. To stay clean, they asked for baby wipes, explaining that sometimes (some of them) would go for two weeks without showering. Frequently requested items were hand sanitizer, wipes, liquid soap, chapstick, shampoo, toothpaste and toothbrushes. Sounds funny, but their little military stores always run out of toiletries as soon as they get a shipment in, and many of them go without basic necessities for weeks.

That was my (slowly evolved) "Aha!" moment. I realized that the homeless on the streets of America who battled heat, rain, ice and hunger had needs similar to soldiers at war.

So I hatched the idea of "care packages for the homeless". I started packing freezer bags full of food that didn't need to be refrigerated, and as the soldiers taught me, I packed separate bags for toiletries and socks (because sunflower seeds with the smell of wipes or shampoo is not a good combination).

Now here's my philosophy on food items: they need to be nutritious. Some of you may think, "Who cares? They're lucky to get anything at all", but in my many observations of street people, I have noticed that a portion of the population are chubby. Seems odd, doesn't it? But think about what most people feed the homeless: bread and starchy foods figuring they need to bulk up. What happens, however, is that they get packed with calories which puts on weight but gives them no nutritional value. Most homeless don't exercise--they sit around. They eat old hot dog buns, left over fries, pizza crusts--whatever they find in the trashcans, because these things keep longer after they are thrown away than meat or veggies, which go bad quickly. So, stale bread it is for breakfast, lunch and dinner...and then, let the sitting begin. Or the sleeping. They don't jog their breakfast off.

The ones that are thin, whether young or old, still need nutrition. They obviously aren't getting well-balanced meals. So if you want to pack the calories on, do so with nuts, peanut butter, and protein bars. These can be purchased inexpensively in bulk from Costco, CVS, or any .99 cent store. Dried fruits keep well, too, and give them the vitamins they need: raisins, apricots, dates, etc. Again, they are nutritious, and they won't spoil. A homeless person can nibble on a bag of almonds and raisins throughout the day.

Sure, I get that the waitress accidentally ordered a second stack of pancakes when you asked for only one, and then said, "Keep it. My mistake." So you have her box it up, and then head over to the old guy slumped against the alley wall and hand it to him, complete with butter, maple syrup, and a plastic fork. No problem. He'll relish it, certainly. I have had these situations myself. Once, while Doug and I were in Pasadena, we stopped for pizza before heading over to the Ice House to see Bill Maher. It was a two-for-one pizza night, even though we could only eat half of the first one. So we boxed up the second pizza, and then gave it to an elderly African America woman laying on the sidewalk of Colorado Blvd. Boy, was she delighted to get that!

But we're talking Meals on Wheels here, people. Stuff you can keep in your car, and then when the moment presents itself, give to a hungry, filthy homeless person. You simply unroll the window, dangle the bag at the end of your outstretched arm, and when they see it and realize you are intending this for them, they trot over and grab it. Easy. No pulling over, going into the nearest 7-11 and buying a hot dog with everything on it. You don't even have to get out of your car! How cool is that?

I always ask them if they need toiletries, because some say "No, just the food will do. God bless you." And then they shuffle or scurry off. Just keep that in mind. Why waste your money?

Homeless 101: Meals on Wheels is just for the average person driving to work, or to the supermarket, who happens across a homeless guy and really wants to help but doesn't have the time to stop. You don't go looking for homeless people, you just come by them in your day-to-day travels, and you're ready.

I used to apologize to Spirit (or my Spiritual Guides) when I couldn't stop my car and feed someone. I'd think, "Sorry, I just can't stop. I'm in a hurry. Next time."

What would Jesus do, I then wondered. Maybe he would do something like this. Who knows? But it works.

It's His World, We Just Live In It

2010-07-09T10:13:00.000-07:00

My cat is a narcissist.

Now you may think, "All cats are stuck on themselves", but my 15 year old black cat, Simon, aka "Fatty Boy", has taken it to new levels.

When we first got him as a companion for our one other cat, Precious, usually called "Poopie", it was the biggest mistake we ever made with her.

Firstly, he took control of all Poopie's favorite napping spots: at the end of the couch, curled up in her lambskin kitty bed, and sprawled out in-between Doug & I on our bed. Poopie went into a terrible shame spiral, so we had to force him out of the bedroom whenever we went upstairs to read each night. She has now regained dominion over all sheets and blankets on the king-sized.

As if control of napping spots weren't enough, this neutered male cat followed poor Poopie, a female chocolate-faced Persian, everywhere and tried to muscle his way into cherished perches on certain window sills. For years, Poopie endured this abuse, until she finally learned that a nip on the butt and a swipe of her de-clawed paw at his uni-fanged face backed him off. Sometimes. Sometimes she had to hiss, too. But at least her re-established property rights on the window sill behind my computer are intact again. Now, god forbid, Fatty has to share.

Lately, Fatty Boy has taken to long, plaintive yowling whenever we aren't on the couch in the living room. Last night, after Doug and I finished watching Fried Green Tomatoes, we gathered around his Mac to watch a few iMovies that he had made. Gosh darned if Fatty didn't start the howling. Doug kept shouting out, "Shut-up, Fatty!". But he persisted, until Doug finally yelled, "SIMON, SHUT-UP!!" His alpha male bark did the trick, finally.

Fatty still hollers out for us, though, whenever we aren't on the couch. He likes to sleep in-between us, with his paws draped over the remote controls--it's his way of staying in contact with us, touching something this person, Doug, seems so infatuated with. If the black boxes with buttons are something Doug reaches for a lot, then Fatty figures he'll nap next to them. However, when we go upstairs to bed, Fatty will whine and whine. We've taken to just letting him cry, the big baby. Soon, like all infants, he settles down and goes to sleep. In the darkness, we can feel Poopie jump on the bed and assume her favorite position by my head.

If throwing a yowling fit doesn't work, Fatty will flick the wooden cupboards open just enough so that they fall back closed with a loud banging sound. God, that's annoying! Bang, bang, bang. Silence. Bang, bang, bang. At times, I've had to run into the other room and shoo him away because I can't think when he does that, especially when I'm writing.

Ah yes, it's The Wonderful World of Simon, and we just live in it. It's all about him, or at least he thinks so. Heck, he probably even thinks I'm blogging about him. Whatever would give him that idea?

The Ritual of Eating

2010-07-08T09:05:00.000-07:00

Where do you have breakfast?

Me: at the computer reading Facebook or the on-line newspapers.

You:__________________________________

Lunch?

Me: at the computer reading Facebook or the on-line newspapers.

You:__________________________________

And dinner?

Me: in the living room on the coffee table. Doug and I watch the local news at this time.

You:_________________________________________

Part of altering my eating habits includes changing the places I choose to dine. My hypnotherapist, Stephanie, explained that we're making associations when we combine food with driving, reading the newspaper, watching TV, etc. Makes sense. If we follow the logic then, most of my food connections are linked to bad news, a little good news, and fun on Facebook. I hate to eat lunch at work because I am always rushed and don't get to enjoy it too much. Consequently, I pack a sandwich and a small bag of chips (all organic, of course) because I consider this a "comfort meal". Breakfast I love during the school year because my husband fixes me a poached egg on a piece of wheat bread, and that is a culinary delight I always jump out of bed for. Doug has the egg yolk's texture perfect: a little hardened, a little runny. Dinner I also enjoy because Doug and I are home from work; we get to sit down, watch the news, and relax. During commercials, Doug mutes the blare of advertisers, and we talk between news stories.

That has now changed. The Kessler's have reclaimed their kitchen table. Woohoo! Even though I am the one at the Los Angeles hynotherapist's office, Doug has always wanted to return to the kitchen table to eat anyway. And so we have, starting this morning. I bought a cheerful sunflower bouquet to pretty up the dining nook, and this morning, for the first time in several years, we sat down together with organic, cage-free scrambled eggs (and toast for Doug). We chatted, even though I was a little bleary-eyed (I am not a morning person), and we enjoyed each others' company, free of distractions. It felt good to be back at a location once considered the sacred dining space.

You So Want One

2010-07-07T08:37:00.000-07:00

...as said, for the next five weeks, I will be making weekly drives to Los Angeles from Bakersfield, California to be hypnotized skinny.

I have four or five pounds to lose, and I've lost that much weight easily many, many times. I've also gained that much weight many times, and just as easily. Oprah, eat your heart out! Sister, we are on the same see-saw, being tortured by the same incessant commercials, print ads, radio jingles and pot lucks.

And holidays.

...and Goodie Days, Friday Fiestas, Happy Hours, and yes, even wine tastings!

I've probably lost hundreds of pounds in the course of my 47 years and yet I've never, ever been fat. The most weight I've put on this 5 foot, 3 inch frame of mine was 140 pounds. That much on my lean, 5 foot, 11 inch sister looks voluptuous; on short people it just looks fat.

I am being hypnotized and programmed to pay attention to the things that trip me up on my journey to losing that love handle of mine--for the up-teenth time--so here's my first realization:

We live in a culture of constant temptation.

I noticed this driving home through the streets of Los Angeles. While Ms. Riseley was hypnotizing me into eating mini-meals packed with protein and complex-carbohydrates (leafy green veggies), advertisers were hypnotizing me into eating macro-meals packed with grease, fat, hormones and calories! Everywhere I looked, there were ads for junk food tempting me to eat, eat, EAT: on the side of buses, on bulletin boards, on posters plastered over the front windows of convenience stores--the list goes one. Pity is, they're not tempting me with salads, apple juice, and a handful of almonds. They are making me salivate for Kentucky Fried Chicken's new Double-Down and Jack-in-the-Box's REALLY BIG Chicken Sandwich (that simply is another version of the Double-Down, only with a bun and more calories). McDonald's has quarter pounders, double quarter pounders, and if those aren't big enough, they now have a variety of Angus burgers to choose from.

When my husband and I watch sports events, the siren's call of pizza and beer is irresistible. Oh, and Taco Bell has re-invented the tortilla again. They have Bacon Club Chalupas, Gorditas (which are fatter tortillas with more crap crammed inside), Chrunchwrap Supremes, and Enchiritos. Worst of all, they have that wrapped in a $2 meal! It even comes with a bag of Doritoes and a tall cup of carbonated sugar water!

Heck, I'm getting hungry writing this, and I just ate breakfast.

Sigh.

I'm being programmed by Ms. Riseley to live a healthy, well-balanced life style, but I'm being re-programmed by corporate America to be a glutton. McDonald's ad for it's burgers reads simply: You so want one. Is that the devil in that bright yellow and red clown suit? Well, it sure ain't Jesus.

A Little Ways Can Seem a Long, Long Ways

2010-07-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

Needing a little push in the direction of losing 4-5 pounds and keeping them off, I looked up a good hypnotherapist in the Los Angeles area and paid for five sessions over the course of five weeks.

Now, dear reader, you may find this a drastic move for so little an amount as five itty-bitty, teeny-weeny, little polka dot bikini pounds, but ever since Doug and I joined the wondrous world of wine tasting (both at others' homes and our own), I have developed a love handle. Yes, it is a modest roll of flab that lovingly flirts with disaster as it gently peeks over the edge of my pants begging to be set free, but it will not get its way. I plan to slap it back into my slender-shaped pre-wine tasting glory. Period.

So, I had my first session today, with a sprightly gal named Stephanie Riseley, who lives in a tasteful part of Los Angeles, in a place once owned by Rita Hayworth--how cool is that? There's lots of window space, a cool breeze that teases the Bakersfield heat out of my brain, and a comfortable, laid back, southern California feel to the spacious second floor upon which Ms. Riseley works her magic.

Driving home, I decided that blogging about my adventures in hypno-flab loss would help me to stay honest about the things Ms. Risely is asking of me. Those things are: eating only at the table (and not in front of the TV or computer), exercising daily, and listening faithfully to her relaxation/meditation CD made esp. for my plump little self. I also need to start paying attention to the messages of sabotoge that appetizer lovin', wine slurpin' part of me sends to the other 90% of me that eats all organic fruits, veggies, poultry and beef. Yep, I am nine-tenths of the way there, and have a little ways to go. But oh, how long a road that last stretch home can be.

Your Resumé: How Far Back Does it Really Go?

2010-07-05T10:55:00.000-07:00

It was a rare temperate day in the sun-baked city of Bakersfield, California. I made my way into the massive reception area of the Doubletree Hotel and took a seat on the plush couch to wait for my appointment with Hans Christian King, the California native who has spent a lifetime talking to disembodied spirits.

But I wasn't there for a psychic reading; I was going to interview him for an article. At that time, I had no idea what I'd do with the information, but I eventually got three sweet little stories out of our meeting (see left margin for links to these stories). A very generous and loving man, Hans spent two solid hours with me talking politics, prosperity, intuition, and all things bright and beautiful about our little town of Bakersfield.

One offhanded question would lead me into a whole new field of research. "Whatever happened to the Revolutionaries?" I asked. I was bothered by what I perceived to be a lack of the American Rebel spirit in our modern-day souls (this was two years ago). Hans mentioned a fellow by the name of Walter Semkiw, who wrote a book titled Return of the Revolutionaries. In it, Hans informed me, Dr. Semkiw writes about the reincarnation of some of the founders of our country.

What? The founders of our nation are back? (!)

Gosh, I didn't mean, "Whatever happened to the American Revolutionaries and have they reincarnated yet?" I meant to communicate a lack of the fighter spirit in our population at that time. However...after our interview, I did purchase the book, more out of curiosity than anything else.

...and then I bought another book on reincarnation, and then another.... Who'da thought there was so much research in this field?

Then I had to have a past life reading. Yep. One thing lead to another, and well, I just had to know.

In the uppermost corner of Walter's site, on the left side, there is a link that reads "learn about your past lives", and this leads to information about Kevin Ryerson, a spirit channeler who became a household name in the late 1980s after Shirley MacLaine broadcast "Out on a Limb", a national TV mini-series based on her book by the same name. I clicked on that link because I needed to know: Just how far back does my resumé go?

It turns out, in one prior existence, I was a writer in Egypt (!). There was a female pharaoh, Hatshepsut, and she was on the progressive side of politics, you might say. She wanted to focus Egypt's attention on commerce and trade--never mind the wars, boys (although she did lead a few minor campaigns). Apparently, according to Ahtun Re, the Spirit guide who was being channeled, (and an old Egyptian himself) I helped promote Hatshepsut's ideals via my writings. Unfortunately, my writings were destroyed when the future leader, Thutmose III, tried to erase any and all contributions his stepmother made. Darn. Wouldn't that have been an interesting vacation? Going back in time and reading my own stuff? Or maybe I should say, "looking at my own stuff", since I can't read hieroglyphics.

I was also in the Mayan civilization, as something like a scribe, who recorded the psychedelic babblings of shamanic trips to the Otherworld. I guess the Mayans were good record keepers, as well as the keepers of some mighty powerful drugs.

And I was a shaman myself in New Mexico, along the Rio Grande river. I was part of the Tiwa people who lived in the pueblo of Kuaua--people who were later controlled by the Spaniards. Francisco Vasquez de Coronado arrived in 1540 looking for the fabled Seven Cities of Gold. He first took over some of the adobe shelters, which my people graciously allowed, but then over-stayed his welcome. So, a slight rebellion ensued. Coronado had his soldiers fight back, and subsequently, over 200 Indians were slaughtered, some of whom were intentionally trapped in their homes and burned alive. According to Ahtun Re, I foresaw the inevitable sugjugation of my people in the not-to-distant future, and as someone he described as a "realist", I lead a small band of them away to freedom. I (my current self) took a trip a few months ago to visit Coronado State Monument, located in the same area in which I, as a shaman, lived. The painted murals on the kivas were part of ceremonial rituals-- my husband, Doug, and I were able to view these wondrous creations, although we were not permitted to photograph them. [See Doug's photos of our visit to Coronado State Monument here.]

I learned of several other lives I've had on this great planet of ours, but overall, I was described by Ahtun Re as a "transformational being": an individual who oftentimes comes in during times of transition on the Earth. That sounds like something I might add to my resumé.

Probably the most interesting piece of information Ahtun Re gave me, however, had nothing to do with me--it had to do with Doug. My husband had a fascination for Lewis and Clark at the time we met, in September of 2002. America was gearing up for the bicentennial celebration of the famous Corps of Discovery expedition, and Doug was reading all about it. We were married in the actual bicentennial year: 2003, on June 9th. Curiously, my maiden name is "Clark". Anyway, Ahtun Re informed me that Doug was a shaman with the native Americans on the Oregon coast when the members of the expedition spent the winter of 1805-06 cooped up at Fort Clatsop. This was the winter it rained incessantly and about drove the men crazy. Doug specifically helped William Clark obtain salt. Getting salt for preserving meat and fish was a big deal (it was also the only seasoning they had), and Clark was assigned with the task of doing this. My husband, back then, helped William Clark succeed in this task, and did so during that long, wretched winter when the members of that legendary expedition were in short supply of just about everything.

I should also tell you that Doug framed the map of the Lewis and Clark expedition and proudly hung it in our new two-story home, purchased in the bicentennial year of 2003. This was several years before my reading with Kevin Ryerson, and what actually prompted me to ask Ahtun Re, his Egyptian spirit guide, why my darling husband would spend more money framing a replica of the Lewis & Clark map than he would framing his own photographs (it's true!). The portraits of Lewis & Clark hang on both sides of this expensively framed map, too, by the way.

But it was the little "this-n-thats" that Ahtun Re wove into his description of my shaman husband that really sealed the deal in helping me to believe that this past life existence might actually be true. For example, describing him as taller than the usual height of his people, which he is in this life, and saying he was "something of a prodigy", which he was in this life. Mention of a burial ceremony and "the Octopus Tree" were especially intriguing because Doug is a social worker in hospice---he helps people to die as comfortably and gracefully as possible. The Octopus Tree was used to usher people safely into the afterlife. That one gave me goosebumps. Kevin, I might add, has never met my husband, and my reading was over the telephone.

So now I am all about this Dr. Walter Semkiw and his research into the past. He has started an Institute for the Integration of Science, Intuition and Spirit, IISIS. In the pages of this site, you can read extensively about his work, as well as the work of others.

Oh, and by the way: did I mention that Dr. Semkiw was John Adams, second President of the United States? He was one of those revolutionaries Hans was talking about, only he meant those now reincarnated. (Sigh) It's a crazy world.

The Organic Wonderland

2010-07-04T09:50:00.000-07:00

Doug and I went to Whole Foods Market in Valencia yesterday. Sheesh, what a drive! We were stuck behind a traffic accident for 52 minutes before we got passed the toppled big rig and the immense crane moving it out of the way.

Which made our safe arrival into the parking lot of Whole Foods even more welcome. Now we were not only hungry but ready to relax over a healthy lunch at a table inside the store.

Doug chose the fabulous pizza (see the photo above) and I had a chicken teriyaki bowl. We took our time savoring lunch, mine with a steaming cup of organic Kona RainForest coffee, Doug's with a sweet, bubbly pear-flavored Italian Spritzer, also organic.

After eating, it was time to shop. We bought 2 pounds of ground beef, a whole chicken for cooking in our smoker, and two chicken breasts for my original tex-mex salads, all organic. At the fish counter, we purchased 2 slices of wild caught salmon, and a pound of wild caught shrimp w/ cocktail sauce--the latter we ate last night while watching Casablanca on Blu-Ray and sipping Pisato Pinot Grigio, a fabulous wine that was chosen to compliment our shrimp cocktails. Finally, we stocked up on a brand of low calorie Ranch and Cesar salad dressing--the 365 brand that we can't get anywhere in Bakersfield-- as well as an organic brown mustard.

Anyway, we have some great photos from inside the store here. Doug shot these during two separate visits. You'll see the line of tables where we eat, as well as other, randomly selected, parts of the store. Enjoy! Oh, and have a happy, healthy and safe 4th of July celebration.

Happy Birthday, America!

The Whole (Organic) Truth, and Nothing but the (All Natural, No Preservatives Added) Truth

2010-06-30T07:25:00.000-07:00

Whole Foods Market is celebrating their 30th year in business this September, so they're having a party in their birthplace of Austin, Texas.

As part of the celebration, they are asking loyal customers like myself to tell the world in 300 words or less why we love shopping at their store.

As most of you don't know, the nearest Whole Foods Market is an hour and 15 minutes away from my city of Bakersfield, but I so enjoy going to this store because it's like an organic & natural foods Disneyland. They have the most amazing variety of cheeses in their own kiosk, a huge display of meat, fish, and poultry that outrivals any Albertsons or Vons, and a huge food court. This all added to the regular supermarket shopping aisles. Doug and I make monthly trips to Valencia to visit this organic foods wonderland, and so I set about the task of penning an inspirational little diddy to enter into their "A Heart as Big as Texas" essay contest. Thirty winners will be selected to celebrate the BIG 3-0 in Austin Texas in the middle of September. Victors will get an all expenses paid joy ride to the birth place of Whole Foods to whoop it up with everyone else for a weekend. So, just for silly little fun on a silly summer day, here is my entry. The deadline is today, and the winners will be notified in mid-July, so wish me luck.

My entry (it's unabashedly sentimental, but, whatever):

It takes an hour and fifteen minutes to drive to the nearest Whole Foods Market, but once a month, my husband and I make the trek to Valencia, California from Bakersfield to buy the organic groceries we are unable to get in town.

You are probably thinking, “They must be crazy,” and well, we are. We are crazy for healthy living, and we are crazy over the thought of extending our lives free of medical bills that would be far more expensive than monthly sojourns to Whole Foods.

Once sunny afternoon last year, I made the trip to Valencia on my own just to have lunch and relax on the patio in front of the store with a good book. I was a school teacher on summer break, and my husband was working during the week. When I arrived, I bought a slice of pepperoni pizza and a cup of coffee from the Food Court, and then took it outside to enjoy. At one point, a man walked by me, and through the corner of my eye, I noticed him studying me quizzically. He passed casually by a second time, and on his third pass, I looked up to acknowledge him. So he stopped, smiled pleasantly, and asked, “Are you a team member?” (Employees of Whole Foods are referred to as “team members”). I apologized and told him I wasn’t, assuming he was a manager, but I felt kind of special. Something about me made me seem like a member of the Whole Foods family, and as a loyal customer, in a way I was.

It makes my heart fill with pride every time I think of that afternoon, because I love our monthly trips to Whole Foods. Yeah, I guess I am a team member.

It's not Choking Yet

2010-06-23T06:54:00.000-07:00

This is my third attempt at growing an artichoke plant to maturity. I thought this would be an easy thing; apparently not.

So here it is, year #3, and I feel like I'm a nurse in the ER, constantly monitoring a patient that may take a turn for the worse at any moment. I've peppered the surrounding area with snail bait, misted the leaves with an organic bug spray (because something other than a snail was snacking on the leaves a few weeks back), and watered faithfully in this cooker of a Zone 9. Actually, we've been blessed with a cool summer thus far, and I'd like to think the pleasant weather had something to do with it's success. Who knows?

I planted, this time, in a brick planter with organic soil mixed in with outdoor potting soil; a healthy base is the first start. Still, I bought organic fertilizer and sprinkled that around the planter, too, mixing it in with the soil before digging a tiny hole that would become home for this touchy-feely, toddler- staged plant.

It is now about six weeks old as a Kessler plant, meaning I've had it planted in our backyard that long, and the prognosis looks good. No longer do I wake up to leaves nibbled on by tiny brown bugs that live on the back and feast from the bottom-up. Lightly dousing the leaves with organic buy spray during the Lakers/Celtics final series half-times seemed to do the trick. And recently, I caught only one thievin' fool of a snail crawling around the planter--a rare sight with the slug bait--so I plucked it from the dirt, dropped it to the patio cement, and squashed it. The slimy body became bird food; I later swept up the shattered shell. Sorry dude, it's a jungle out there. I show no mercy, especially when it comes to my beloved artichoke plant.

In the photo, you currently see other plants around it, but if I succeed in getting this plant to take, and if I can baby it through next winter, I will have a well-established artichoke plant that will need the entire planter to spread and mature. I'm okay with that. I'll plant my sage, basil, and other annual herbs in planters nearby. Hey, I can innovate.

There's a nifty lil' web site from the California Artichoke Advisory Board. There are tabs along the top of the homepage. The tab all the way to the right has a corner for kids. If you have kids, or if you are still one in middle age (as I am), have at it!

My Crazy Method for Learning Spanish

2010-06-21T08:27:00.000-07:00

As some of you already know, I purchased Rosetta Stone to learn Latin American Spanish. At $635, it was an expensive commitment, and so committed I am. Or crazy. I spend 4-6 hours each weekday cramming Spanish words, phrases, and sentences down my throat. As said, it's crazy, but at least I am crazy in two languages now. Estoy loca. See? That is me being crazy in Spanish.

Rosetta Stone is a marvelous program, and well-thought out. It has several necessary components: listening, speaking, reading, and writing. The entire series of slideshows is created in pictures and words. But not a single word of English is uttered. For someone like me who has had a couple years of Spanish in high school a hundred years ago, I can easily navigate my way through the conjugations of verb tenses occurring in the various lessons. But that was Level One. Now I am in Level Two and am being introduced to the use of pronouns in all their various grammatical tasks. Being a person who needs to know the patterns, I purchased a few books to assist me in more rapidly moving through the five levels of Rosetta Stone. These books are: The Everything Spanish Practice Book, by Julie Gutin; Spanish for Educators, Second Edtion, by William C. Harvey, M.S.; Spanish Verbs, Second Edition, by Christopher Kendris, Ph.D., and finally, I bought a naughty little book titled Hide This Spanish Book 101: A Countdown of the 101 hottest Spanish Expressions, by Isabel Mendoza (from Berlitz).

This last weekend, while vaguely watching the 110th U.S. Open Championships in golf, I worked through lessons in The Everything Spanish Book, finally figuring out what all this "lo, la, le, te, and mi" business was (they're pronouns). It almost reminds me of Julie Andrews singing "do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do" in The Sound of Music. Remember that lovely movie? Anyway, I worked my way through possessive pronouns, possessive adjectives, demonstrative pronouns, indefinite pronouns, and relative pronouns. I gotta say, though, that I didn't even know about all those nuanced differences in English, let alone Spanish--the terms, I mean--so now I'm learning all the myriad parts of speech, too. Pretty cool. Later I will move on to still more pronouns: interrogative and exclamative, and then get down to the serious business of testing-- audio tests provided by the writer of the book on CD where she reads sentences, and I have to write them down in her oversized workbook and circle all those sneaky little pronouns in all their various forms.

But the book Spanish for Educators is a no-brainer. Soy una maestra, I am a teacher, so I have to know how to say things like ¿Lo olvidaste?, Did you forget it?, ¿Mentiste?, Did you lose it?, or ¿Robaste?, Did you break it? During the inquisition that follows children fighting on the playground, I'll need to ask these questions: ¿Qué pasó?, What happened?, ¿Dónde pasó eso?, Where did it happen?, ¿Quién vio lo que pasó?, Who saw what happened?, and ¿Discutiste?, Did you argue? These are all basic survival skills of a teacher on yard duty, and hey, ya' gotta have 'em handy.

I use the Verbs book for obvious reasons: I look up verbs when I need to remind myself of how to conjugate them. I also thumb through the book now and again to learn new verbs, and as many as possible before the new school year starts.

Finally, my naughty black book full of colorful Spanish phrases not found in any textbook is a necessity for understanding the street language that may spew from the mouths of babes on rare occasions. (Sigh) Yes, I may need to understand the swearing that occurred during that hypothetical playground fight mentioned above. It'll happen, I know it will.

All in all, I feel good about my progress. My greatest asset is my daily dedication to the long hours of learning. Nothing comes easily. Ya' gotta be willing to work hard, and well, I've never been afraid of hard work (just don't always like it). ;-)

This summer's Rosetta Stone

2010-06-20T09:19:00.000-07:00

It's all about the Spanish this summer. I had a couple of writing projects I wanted to work on these next two months, but I felt that the acquisition of Español was more crucial. I have been working in a school for 12 years now with a fairly large bilingual population, and communicating with the parents is always difficult when you have to track down a translator. So, now I will be my own translator. And who knows? Maybe I'll be a future translator for popular children's books. It is an endless sky for dreaming, and more colorful in two languages. :-)

Spring!

2010-04-10T15:18:00.001-07:00

Oh how I love the arrival of spring!

In March, I am greeted by my yellow and white irises, followed by white alyssum bulging onto the patio cement. Gorgeous creme, maroon, yellow, and orange-red roses blossom around our pool, while purple, white, and yellow daises bloom under them as "border plants".

But it is the jasmine I especially wait for.

Each year, I plant a little more, so last April, I started two small jasmine trailers up the arch that leads to the side of our house. This spring, it is so spectacular that I thought I would share a photo of it. Unfortunately, the sweet fragrance that wafts into our living room cannot be shared, but trust me, it is heavenly!

Dirty Little Secrets of the Common House Sparrow

2010-01-10T10:48:00.000-08:00

The common house sparrow has always been one of my favorite birds because it is a survivor. Some people dislike them because they displace other, prettier, birds, but I respect their ability to Out Play, Out Wit, Out Last so many others. They remind me that sometimes, the plain and the boring--the resourceful endurer-- blends in better than the exquisitely showy flash-in-the-pan type of bird.

House sparrows are not specialists and have learned to live on the waste of others, as has our beloved urban San Joaquin kit fox, that Bakersfield city dweller that loves leftover cheeseburgers as much as mice and crickets. House sparrows are opportunists and scavengers, but they are skittish enough to scram when the bully on the block, the western scrub-jay, arrives to dominate the feeder. But there you see another survivalist's trick: know when to step aside. The humble sparrow would rather live to see another day than pit themselves against a bigger bird. If you visit the links to Cornell University's bird guide site, you will see that the range of the scrub-jay is not as wide as that of the beggarly little house sparrow.

So three cheers for that boring, plain, and ugly little Survivor, the common House Sparrow! Here's lookin' at you, kid!

The Resolutions "Thing"

2010-01-03T10:09:00.000-08:00

I don't normally make New Year's resolutions because I've never believed them effective. But a Bakersfield College professor and friend, Helen Acosta, wrote a nice intro to her list, explaining how to be successful keeping your promises to yourself. She wrote:

"In Sway, the Brafman brothers explain that when you set several goals you are more likely to meet them than if you set only one. Why? Two different sways: commitment and loss aversion. If you set just one goal then you aren't losing much if you don't keep it...you are just losing one thing. However, if you set several goals and don't keep them well...you are a failure! Look at all those things you've LOST! As a result, we commit more fully to goals when we make several at once..because we are so very afraid of loss.

In the Paradox of Choice I learned why these goals have made me so much happier. When we set goals that are attainable and we frame our lives around them we become what Schwartz calls satisficers rather than maximizers. Maximizers are never happy. They are always searching for the maximum benefit. They always want the perfect, the best, the most. Satisficers are happy with the good without needing the best. That is why satisficers are HAPPY! When I set my new years' resolutions I am setting a group of attainable goals that simplify my life...this leads to greater happiness!"

Ok, so here goes:

Continue nurturing, tending to, and enjoying the finest part of my life, which is my marriage to Doug.
Continue to fine tune my priorities at work so that I have more time for myself outside of work
Finish a first draft of "Pidge", my children's chapter book, by this time next year.
This summer, volunteer at the Bakersfield Homeless Center at least once a week.
Clean out the closet under the stairs--discarding most of the useless junk--by the end of the summer.
Continue to fine tune my relationship to the Divine, praying daily to be a clear vessel for grace in the world.
Vary the foods we eat for dinner, so that we don't fall into a rut. Organic food is delicious as well as the best for us, but we have to experiment with different dishes to sustain our commitment to this lifestyle.
Explore the east side of California more, taking weekend "day trips" to enjoy and photograph the area.
Send dear friends and family a "real" birthday card in the snail mail--something to hold and cherish--something more permanent and personal than a Facebook birthday greeting. (I've been getting lazy)
Start a compost pile, since Doug did for me what I couldn't do for myself, and that was put the darn composter together.

There you have it. I will check back with myself next year and report the results.

Happy 2010!!

More Community Service? Hey, I gotta work!

2010-01-02T11:20:00.000-08:00

Doug and I drove downtown to look for Sheryl Lynn, my homeless blond, middle-aged woman with a shopping cart for a mobile home. Day #3, and she still has not returned to Westchester Bowl. Once again, we roll through the parking lot scanning the hallways of the nearby businesses, but she is nowhere to be found.

Doug zig-zags through a few nearby streets, and I see an old guy curled up in a filthy, striped sleeping bag on the grass in front of a business. He is out in full view, on a sunny day, snoozing away. I need to get rid of these sandwiches that I made for Sheryl, so I ask Doug to pull over, and then I hop out with the entire bag of toiletries and food, and say, "Excuse me, sir."

The old guy lifts his head in annoyance. He is disoriented because I have woken him up. "Huh?" he says, squinting his eyes.

"Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?" I open up the plastic Rite Aid bag and prepare to pull out the bologna sandwiches.

"No, I've just been fed," he says, probably hoping I'll just go away. But I persist. "How about some clean socks?"

"No, no thank you. I got everything I need." He pulls the dirty sleeping bag back over his unkempt head of gray and white hair, and then returns to his nap.

So Doug and I go looking for somebody else. We cruise through the huge parking lot behind The Village Grill and sister businesses, and spot a guy dumpster diving. Doug unrolls his window and sticks his hand out with the two sandwiches packed in baggies. He asks the guy if he wants to eat, and when the fella sees what the offering is, he says, "Sure," and takes the food. He was very kind and thanked us. Doug wished him a Happy New Year, and after returning the good wishes, he returned to work.

My days of wandering the streets of Bakersfield for hungry homeless people are over, except for Sheryl Lynn. I will keep my eyes open for her, and if I find her, I'm not too sure I will write about it anymore; I am concerned about allowing her privacy and dignity. If I can help transform her life in any way, she has the right to do this without my plastering the process all over a blog.

Meantime, as 2010 rolls in for a lazy, sunny afternoon type of start, I turn my thoughts to new beginnings. I am no longer allowed to post photos of my students on my class website, and so after six years of building a cool site for my students and parents to enjoy, I have decided it has to come down--what am I going to do with it now, right? After I finish here, I will go into my Yahoo Business account and cancel my monthly auto renewal. I have processed the loss of this already, since being told of the new school board ruling several months ago at the beginning of this school year, so it has now reduced itself to a final "good-bye". In it's place will be extra time for me and my writing (You know, it takes time to build and maintain a website). This, ultimately, is good. And as I turn my sights to a morphed sense of purpose, I already have decided to take this summer off, even though I am burdened with dental bills forever lurking in the shadows of my pocketbook. Life is flying by, and I am deciding to not worry about those perpetual bills hanging over my head like Ziggy's constant companion, the gray rain cloud. No, I'll just take longer to pay them off. So there. Anyway, I really want to get back to my children's chapter book titled "Pidge", about an eleven year old girl who walks out on her rich, greedy family and takes a city bus to Mill Creek @ Cental Park to live amongst the homeless. I am already three chapters into this story, which I started last summer, after teaching five weeks of summer school...to pay off dental debt. Boo hoo.

Happy New Year, everybody.

Finally, Sunshine

2009-12-31T13:27:00.000-08:00

It's been a dreary two days of overcast and rainy weather while feeding the cart pushers and Baker Street drifters, so what a pleasure to cruise my usual "route" in the glorious sunshine as I passed out sandwiches today. I learned that coffee is a big hit on cloudy, overcast days--especially rainy ones like yesterday--but not as popular on sunny days like today, even if it is Winter. And that's fine.

My route started with Sheryl Lynn, who was not stationed in her usual spot in back of the bowling alley this morning. I wound my way around Westchester Bowl, but still did not see her. So I parked and scouted out the hallways of the modest businesses that line the other sides of the large parking lot. Sheryl Lynn has a well-loaded shopping cart, and I couldn't imagine her going very far, but dang if I could locate her.

I have to be honest with you: I have decided to keep a merciful eye on this woman because she is a woman, and rather young, too. The other women I see out in the streets always seem to be older, like in their 50s or so. Sheryl Lynn looks to be in her mid-40s. But the street hardens and ages you, so she could very well be in her mid-to-late 30s. Eventually, I will ask.

Today I went to Rite Aid to look for New Year's napkins or party hats before driving downtown to hand out my free lunches . Silly me, but I thought it would be kind of fun to put sandwiches and chips inside a 2010 party hat, like a boxed meal, only in this case, it would be a coned meal. The people I feed could choose to wear the hat tonight or not. This is not cruel. Believe it or not, I have witnessed some playful moments amongst the homeless, and some of them would have warmed to the idea of goofing around a little at midnight. God knows they'll be out and about, mingling with those who do have homes as they race outside to greet the new year.

But Rite Aid had nothing to celebrate the arrival of 2010 with, and as I started to leave, I realized that, like the soldiers I send care packages to, Sheryl Lynn could probably use some socks, underwear, and baby wipes. (Heck, I even bought tampons for her, because I'm not sure if she's menopausal or not.) Soldiers often times don't get to bathe or shower for 2 weeks or more at a time. After all, they are in a war zone. Thus, a very popular and oft requested item of those serving in Iraq and Afghanistan is baby or facial wipes. Alas, helping them has helped me with Sheryl Lynn. Who'da thunk those two things could converge and coalesce?

So there I was, cruising around the bowling alley after checking out at Rite Aid, looking to hand Sheryl a plastic shopping bag full of socks, underwear, baby wipes, and tampons. I threw in her usual two sandwiches and two bags of chips, and pre-poured the coffee so that I would be ready to pass it all through the unrolled passenger side window when I finally found her. But she was nowhere and anywhere. Amazing how invisible a person with a loaded shopping cart can be.

But I trust the unfoldment of all things cosmic and ordinary, and so I continued along my route scouting out vagrants. I passed out my peanut butter and bologna sandwiches, threw in a cup of steaming hot coffee whenever it was wanted, and succeeded in giving away everything but Sheryl's two sandwiches, which I gently tucked between her new white socks and tan underwear in the Rite Aid shopping bag. I made one last swing around Westchester Bowl and the surrounding area, but when I still didn't find her, I was forced to give those last two sandwiches to a fella in a residential neighborhood off of 24th Street--a lucky find as I was driving home. He, too, was a cart pusher.

We will see how things go, and if I find Sheryl again sometime this weekend, I'll let you know.

Journey to Bakersfield's Underbelly

2009-12-30T14:25:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I got this crazy notion that I would feed the homeless around Bakersfield. I'm old enough now to not bother with analyzing my wild impulses, so I bought the biggest and cheapest jars of peanut butter and jelly, as well as whatever wheat bread was on sale, and got to it.

My husband and I have fed the homeless at Central Park in the past. It did not escape my notice that many were chunky or even obese. This originally surprised me, until I realized that these people eat mostly starchy foods that pack in the calories but not the nutrition. Consequently, they gain weight, but lose energy, health, and eventually, some (if not all) of their teeth. Hence the wheat bread and peanut butter--it's healthy. The chips are a treat to go with the nutritional sandwich. Tomorrow, instead of peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches, they will get peanut butter and bologna sandwiches. And yes, they will be made with the ever so healthy wheat bread.

Yesterday, I did not bring the two carafes of coffee mixed with creamer like I did today. It's been a couple of years since Doug and I have fed the Bakersfield homeless, and so I was rusty. Worse, when Central Park got renovated, the destitute souls who called that patch of grass "home" were scattered like leaves, and I had no idea where to find them.

So I cruised around the new Mill Creek Park looking for hungry people. I found none. I did discover, with some disappointment, that the stream that used to meander through the park was almost empty; it had more Styrofoam cups and other nondescript trash in it's bed than water.

I then drove to F Street because I vaguely remember seeing cart pushers in the vicinity of the bowling alley by the Carl's Jr. When I got there, I spied my first (chubby) homeless woman outside the back entrance to the Westchester Bowling alley. I was excited--my first customer!

I saw that she was sipping a hot cup of coffee while staying near to her beloved shopping cart. So I asked if she would like a sandwich. Most of the time, they jump at the chance of an easy meal. I have become accustomed to that wide-eyed, desperate look that overtakes them. I handed her two sandwiches, and two bags of chips, which she grabbed and stashed somewhere in her huge pile of junk. She thanked me, and even though she already had coffee, I sensed her need to get as much as she could while the gettin' was there, and so I offered her another cup of coffee. Homeless people are hoarders, and I knew she was stocking up. She gladly took my offer. So into the bowling alley I went, and ordered two cups of coffee, the second being for me, because it was a cold, chilly morning. When I returned, I handed her the coffee, and she took it as if it were her first. So who's counting?

As I turned to leave, I asked what her name was. Sheryl Lynn, she replied as she busily secured the lose ends of crap that stuck out of the nooks and crannies of her cart. I said I would pray for her, but she waved it away and said "Thanks" as if that were the last thing she needed. Well, you can't eat prayers, I get that. And I was not offended, not in the least--I've learned not to take things personally when a person is living out of a shopping cart.

I walked through the old business offices in the area because I once saw a guy sleeping in the bushes after business hours. But nobody was there. So I got back into my gray HHR and cruised 30th street. Soon, I spotted another cart pusher moving at a rapid pace across the street, toward a building with a huge sign that read "Instituto Hispano Americano". I followed him, but boy, was he moving fast! By the time the light turned green for those of us in vehicles, this fella had made it all the way across the cracked asphalt and into a nearby set of double doors. His cart was parked outside, so I waited. But I realized that he may not come out for awhile, so I flipped a U and journeyed to the back of the huge concrete box called Instituto Hispano Americano. Nobody there. I returned to the front and discovered that my second hungry person had come out of the building and was pushing his cart onward to...where ever. So I rolled down my window and said, "Are you hungry?" I held a sandwich and a bag of chips out the unrolled window. As typifies the starving, he made a fast break for the food. I asked if he wanted one sandwich or two, and he said, "Two", so into my bag I dug for a second P and J special and another bag of chips. Like Sheryl Lynn, he quickly stashed it somewhere in the bowels of filthiness that made up his worldly possessions, and then hurried along, like a man on a mission. Because he had a huge gray trashcan stacked on the towering pile in his cart, I knew he was "working", meaning he was dumpster diving for cans.

I don't remember my final words. Did I say "God bless you"? Many times I do, but sometimes I don't. I try and trust my gut which, as said earlier, is suffering from a rusty intuition. But nevermind--I was thrilled to be succeeding in my task of feeding the homeless. I drove on.

Soon, I ended up along Baker Street, and learned that this area of town is teeming with homeless people, mostly older men. So have the bulk of them relocated here? Baker Street is surrounded by dirty old hotels that house people on disability and SSI checks, so this must be the perfect seedy retreat for the forgotten. And many were just wandering, I noticed, up and down the sidewalks on either side. I guess you have to keep moving, I don't know why. To stay warm from the cold? To not be arrested for loitering? Who knows?

I took to rolling down my window and handing out the lunches, it was that easy. Most were grateful, some seemed surprised. Some snatched the meal from my outstretched hand, careful to avert their gaze. Others looked me deep into my eyes, as if to study and memorize the rare sort of person that does something crazy like this. Regardless, I was happy to have located enough hungry people to unload the entire day's rations.

Today, I repeated my tour of duty, starting with Sheryl Lynn, who is now "Yes, ma'm-ing" me. My hot coffee was the real treat of the day, though-- I could sense that from all on this drizzly, wet Wednesday. One old guy in a wheelchair said, "Ooo, it warms my hands!" and that made me happy. Another old timer said, "Well, aren't you sweet?" Most thanked me, but one guy blurted out, "I love you!" like a gleeful child. All in all, I'm back in the saddle, and lovin' every minute of it.

Death Valley

2009-12-29T06:26:00.001-08:00

"Welcome to Death Valley National Park, the largest American National Park outside of Alaska."

That was the opening line in the park guide, and taken as words alone, it meant nothing--the meaning didn't register. It wasn't until we drove around the 3.3 million acres of breathtaking beauty that the meaning finally sunk in.

Enormous Death Valley is like an eerie rock-scape on a planet in another solar system. But the layering of colors in the surrounding mountains makes it a beautiful kind of eerie (click on the top picture to enlarge and see the "marbled" look up close). I tried to imagine what the first settlers to this area--the Shoshone--felt like as they gazed around. They must have arrived in the Winter, because this place is not hospitable in the summer. But they decided to stay, and soon learned that moving camp to higher elevations makes the summers tolerable. The highest point in the park, Dante's View, at over 5,000 feet above sea level, towers over the lowest point, Badwater, at -282 feet below sea level. Sure, it's hot as hell in the summer, but with such extreme changes in elevation, a group of people can easily make due.

We stayed for two-and-a-half days, from Saturday, December 19th, to Sunday, the 21st. We visited many, but not all, of the hot spots: Dante's View, Zabriskie Point, Badwater, Golden Canyon, Artist's Palette, and the Devil's Cornfield. The drive to the bee hive-shaped charcoal kilns was too far away, and we were leary about taking non-paved roads, so we didn't make it to the Racetrack where the mysterious moving rocks are, but we plan to go back in the spring (hopefully) to see the park again when it is sunnier, but not too hot.

I think my point is this: Doug and I thought of Death Valley as a one-day visit. We'd see all the sites, which could easily be viewed from the safety of our car. In a one-loop drive around the park, we would curve back around to Furnace Creek, our hotel, where we'd spend the rest of the day enjoying the view from our balcony with a glass of fine wine or a bottle of imported beer. Not so. Not even in the two days of wandering around the park did we see half of it. It is indeed that big and mesmerizing--truly unforgettable. Ken Burns' new special about our parks being "America's Best Idea" sums it up perfectly.

For a slideshow of Doug's exquisite photos, visit:
http://dougkessler.smugmug.com/Travel/Death-Valley-2009/10699605_PXjXS#745079128_wMUsT

So what is Afghany-land, anyway?

2009-12-27T13:18:00.000-08:00

Ok, it's really Afghanistan, although I've read posts by some soldiers who call it "Afghany-land", or something similar. Kinda sounds like an amusement park, only there aren't any roller coasters, and every once in awhile, one has a tendency to get shot at.

We are there to keep close to Pakistan, where the Big Boys are--those we need to take out, if it's possible to "take out" a guy somewhere in a cave thousands of feet above sea level. They have no running water, no electricity, no laptops, no cell phones--there is nothing to make it easy to spot a guy who's garb matches the beige and brown of the monotonous landscape, and who's DNA makes him look just like all the other tribal guys in the area.

But we are still there, because Obama has decided it's better to be there than to not be there. And we try to "nation build" although, according to a book I'm reading called The Taliban and the Crisis of Afghanistan, this country "shares many of the features that social scientists have identified as favoring insurgencies the world over--rough, mountainous terrain, poverty, popular mistrust of the state, large family size (allowing sons to risk becoming militants), foreign support and cross-border sanctuaries, as well as transportable commodity (in this case, opium) for financing."

There are at least eight climatic zones in this god-forsaken patch of land. They range from the monsoon region in eastern Afghanistan to the snow-and-frost covered central highlands and the sandy deserts of the southwestern province of Nimroz, "the land of the noontime sun". This complex landscape has given birth to a diverse human population that is hard to tame, let alone understand. One of the goals of the soldiers in Afghanistan is to "win the hearts and minds of the Afghan people"--you can see how this might be a tall order for a bunch of 18-21 year olds on their first deployment to the area.

I and my 4th grade students at Noble Elementary School in Bakersfield, California have taken on six different units in Afghanistan. One guy, a Staff Sergeant Jason Dillon, is responsible for monitoring and guiding the progress of schooling for girls, grades 1-7. I boxed up a bunch of crayons that I bought real cheap in bulk, and sent that out with some other stuff left over from supplies my sister gives my class each year-- things like mini-staplers, ink pens, gel pens, colored paper she loaded us up with when her business closed, and lots of hard candies the girls can enjoy in-between their scanty meals. I once earned some prizes from Highlights Magazine for Children, for 7+ subscriptions some of my students purchased. One prize was a bungee cord that strings across the classroom over the heads of the school children. It comes with a row of clips, so you can hang drawings from it, like you would clothes on a clothesline. I thought that would be a pretty cool American splash of cultural flavor. Shortly, I will send lap-sized chalkboards and chalk--these are left over from years ago, before hand-held dry-erase boards came into vogue. No one uses chalkboards in the classroom anymore, but I can see how they would be the perfect addition to a one-room class with a dirt floor, wooden benches and tables, and a lone blackboard at the front.

I have always believed the children, immersed in an American educational experience, however modest, are inclined to look more favorably on us than hardened Afghanis who trust no one, not even their own leaders. Children still are our future, and these girls that Sergeant Dillon has taken under his wing will never forget the small kindnesses shown them, even if their parents scowl at him and his unit when dropping the kids off....if they still have parents. Stay tuned. We'll see how reports from SGT Dillon go.

Merry Christmas, or Confessions of An American Soldier Junkie

2009-12-25T12:45:00.000-08:00

It happened somewhere between my reading Caroline Myss' book, Defy Gravity, about the seven graces and shadow passions in our lives, and...something else, whatever else I was doing, shortly after Thanksgiving. I was on Facebook, there was an ad that I clicked on, and now I'm a donating fool to some twelve different military units in Iraq, Afghanistan, Kuwait, and the United Arab Emirates. I, and my 4th grade students at Noble Elementary School, are donating fools that is.

Thanks to the website anysoldier.com, the process of choosing a military contact person and then sending a "care package" has been made easy. And easy is good for us non-military types fat on cup o' noodle soups, microwaveable Chef Boyardee pasta dishes, and lots of hot cocoa--favorites of many service men and women who regularly dine on MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) and Middle Eastern sands that forever swirl up their nostrils and down their parched throats. Yes, getting a flat rate, 12x12x5 inch military box packed with carbs, artificial sweeteners, and preservatives is often the only thing that brightens a soldier's day.

We take this for granted, our microwaveable lives. I've taken to daily reads of soldier posts on anysoldier.com, just to get a sense of what items are most requested. You'll be surprised to learn what those are. Ready? Toiletries and snacks. Yep, you read that right. Our kids need deodorant, toothpaste, toothbrushes, mouthwash, body wash, shampoo, disposable razors, lotions, foot powders, and facial wipes. They need them in abundance, and they need them in Iraq, Afghanistan, Kuwait, and even the United Arab Emirates. The supply stores almost always run out, they complain, and from what I understand, it is not uncommon to go two weeks without showering because either the water in the pipes is frozen, there are no showers or running water at all, or they simply don't have anything soapy to clean themselves with.

As far as food goes, they are fed MREs that the soldiers describe as "repetitive". Many, not all, have 110v electricity, and so they plug in their microwaves, coffee makers, and mini-refrigerators to make themselves feel as "at home" as possible. In conexes, CHUs, tents, or trailers, they wait....for me and for you. So please send American snacks and/or "anything you can microwave", they write, and for those in the front lines with the harshest conditions (meaning no electricity and no running water) send hard candies that don't melt in your pocket, trail mix, pistachios, beef jerky, and powdered lemonade or Snapple mixes to flavor their bottled water.

I can't remember if I prayed to God to fill me up with one of Myss' seven graces or if I just stumbled into something that lit a spiritual fuse, but when I clicked on the link to anysoldier.com and picked my first contact person--a Sgt. Jessica Duffy in the US Army--I knew I was on my way to a new chapter in my life, a life that is already forever altered. To think, a soldier firing out of some rat-hole in an Iraqi neighborhood, unbathed for two weeks and in desperate need of a Snickers fix, might smile just a little at the thought of finally showering with that body wash some teacher in Bakersfield just sent him, and then dining on a piping hot, spicy shrimp picante Cup o'Noodle soup, compliments of her students.

So Merry Christmas to you all-- in Afghanistan, Iraq, Kuwait, United Arab Emirates and where ever else you might be. Eat up! Soup's on me! (or God--I still haven't figured out which).

Death Valley, California

2009-12-20T21:33:00.000-08:00

Hello, from Death Valley!

Happy Holidays to All!

(This is my wonderful husband)

The Collaring of an Endangered Kit Fox

2009-10-03T11:30:00.000-07:00

She set out eight cages in the dry summer fields of Eastern Kern County in hopes of capturing at least one of those smallest of North American canids, the San Joaquin kit fox. They are endangered, yes, but they are also blessed with a small cadre of research ecologists trying to save them from an uncertain future.

Dr. Brain Cypher, the man in charge of the Bakersfield office of the Endangered Species Recovery Program, was away on some other business that day. But his longtime sidekick, Christine Van Horn Job, was setting up cages in an area called Bena (pronounced Beena), which is noted more for its landfill than its four-footed creatures scampering around the neighboring hills. I tagged along with a video camera in late August in hopes of capturing a bit of the good work being done in the background of our busy lives. But it was the next day, when I was away at work as a school teacher, that Christine's assistant got the best footage of a live fox with the digital recorder I left behind.

The kit was a young female, as evidenced by teeth that were in pretty good condition. While Christine examined her, the kit maintained a relaxed vigilance, forever alert but never becoming dangerous or threatening. I was surprised, in fact, at how calm the captured animal was--wouldn't humans flail about if put in the same situation? The fox wasn't drugged; if she wanted to put up a fight, she could have. But she didn't, and as Christine sat straddled over the tiny fanged quadraped, one couldn't help but marvel over the serenity of the entire operation.

Here is a composite of Christine examining (and later collaring) the one lone female they caught in the desolate fields of the southern San Joaquin Valley. What's exciting is that the little critter, after being released, lingered before disappearing over a nearby hill. Consequently, we got a great look at a randomly captured fox now destined to help save the future of her kind.

http://www.youtube.com/user/LaKessler11

Enjoy!

Studying a Nocturnal Kit Fox

2009-07-31T07:06:00.000-07:00

Reseacher Samantha Bremner-Harrison had to figure out a way to study the elusive San Joaquin kit fox. They are nocturnal, tiny, and don't bother to stop and pose for their National Geographic close-up. Given this mix of challenges, Bremner-Harrison had to figure out a way to observe these smallest of North American canids.

Her first solution was to place stains, or dye marks, on their fur. Through a capture-and-release technique, the foxes would be lured into a cage with meat or fish, and then, once caught, marked with a horizontal or vertical "line", or double-striped with horizontal or vertical patterns. In this way, she could tell the little critters apart.

That done, she began to take note of the boldness or shyness of the individuals. In preparation for a relocation project, Bremner-Harrison will use these notes to help Dr. Brian Cypher, the assistant director of the Endangered Species Recovery Program, ESRP, decide which foxes would be best moved onto protected lands. If they are too bold, they lack enough fear to stay put and therefore have a tendency to wander away, making their expensive relocation a wash. If they are too shy, they may not adapt well, or get eaten by predators. The trick is to get a good combination of both boldness and shyness, because a healthy mix of various types can make the gene pool robust and ensure a better chance at long term survival rates for the overall population.

One of the studies done to differentiate between boldness or shyness was to introduce both positive and negative stimuli into the kit fox environment. Positive stimulus was simply a bowl of imitation crab meat set out. Negative stimulus was faking the presence of a predator prowling about outside the den. This second one was tricky to imitate, so Bremner-Harrison bought a remote-controlled jeep, cut the top half off, affixed a board to the wheels, and then put a stuffed canine of sorts on top of the board. To make the cuddly thing scary, a CD with a fox/wolf fight was played as the motorized predator was driven, via remote control, around the den.

The relocation of Bakersfield's endangered kit fox has not happened yet, but plans are in the works. Cross your fingers that the good folks at the Endangered Species Recovery Program can get enough funding to begin within the next 5-10 years.

Summer in the Pool

2009-07-30T07:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I floated in the pool and listened to Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything

Even though I had a recording of an interview to transcribe, I took the time to "float and smell the roses"....as well as watch the hummingbirds flit around the Lillies of the Nile, and laugh at the scrub-jays hiding excess peanuts around my patio. Life is good not just for me--there is nectar for all.

I have a follow-up appointment with my periodontist today. Dr. Koh will be checking an implant he put into my lower jaw two weeks ago. After that, I'll do a little transcribing, and then head on outside to enjoy more of my pool in these triple digit summer days that are so common in Bakersfield.

Blissful Day Off

2009-07-27T09:08:00.000-07:00

Spending time in the backyard with my scrub-jays, doves and sparrows. Having the first taste of a summer day off after five weeks of summer school and one week of training for a new reading series.

Heaven.....

Operation Toad Rescue

2009-06-25T09:16:00.000-07:00

Ever since my husband and I stopped using pesticides in the backyard, we have seen a bountiful return of toads, and that's good, because I love the warty things. Even though our yard is Toad Paradise, complete with standing puddles and scads of crickets, lacewings, flies and other yummy bugs, we do have one lethal danger: our pool. Because there is no way to get out once they fall or jump in, we often used to find bloated dead toads in our skimmer. Because of this, I tried many things to help save them: I floated pieces of thin plywood in the water, created a ramp with my raft, and even kept the water level lower so that they could perch on the tile entrance to the skimmer hole and wait for me to save them. Needless to say, the next morning, I would be filled with delight when I'd check the pool and spot a big, beautiful toad sitting in zen-like serenity on his wooden lifeboat.

I've saved about 24 adult toads in the last two summers, but something funny has happened in our backyard this summer: I am only rescuing baby toads from the pool. Thus far, I have saved about 6 or 7 pee wees and am baffled that there are no adults. I wonder: have the adults learned not to go near Poison Pond? Are there any adults left?

One night, with flashlight in hand, I checked our yard for grown-ups and discovered there were plenty hopping around. Who knows? Maybe the dozen or so babies that I save this year will remember the sting of chlorine and desperation of swimming around and around and never again go near the big, bad pond. Let's hope so.

Here is a video of a cute little guy I rescued yesterday. As you'll see, he was sitting on the pool hose, trapped and unable to swim to freedom.

Male House Sparrow

2009-06-21T08:39:00.000-07:00

I'm all about urban birds this summer. Well, I'm all about any urban animals lately, since my interest lies in how we as humans can share our space with non-domesticated animals--this, or take over their lands and push many species into extinction!

Cornell University has a great project that kids can easily participate in. It's called "Celebrate Urban Birds". Go to http://www.birds.cornell.edu/celebration

Folks from all around the world are helping the scientists at Cornell collect data on birds found in urban settings. Have fun!

Here is a short little clip of a male house sparrow on my backyard wall. He is getting ready to drop down to a feeder that is set on a patio table below him.

Western Scrub Jay

2009-06-06T13:12:00.000-07:00

I got some great footage of a scrub jay taking a peanut away from our feeder. First, he tried to crack it open by banging it against the wood. When that didn't work, he eventually took the whole thing away.

For more info about this jay, go to:

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Western_Scrub-jay/id

Toad Season!

2009-05-30T09:32:00.000-07:00

Frogs and toads are in peril these days. I was reading an article in National Geographic about a virus that is killing frogs around the world, en masse. Because of this, when the summer heat ushers in another season of backyard toads, I am always grateful to see them out and about, healthy and very much alive.

For the last two Octobers, as the remainder of our die-hard toads are seen grabbing a final meal before hibernating, I catch one and keep it over the winter, fattening it up on crickets. When late May rolls around, I release the warty little critter back into the yard. The toad I had this last winter was so much more interesting than the previous one. I mean, he explored the space! He tunneled under his pond, searched the four corners of the aquarium, rearranged the furniture, and definitely took control of his surroundings. My first one just ate and got fatter and fatter, ballooning into obesity as it hid in its wooden tunnel. Maybe its no small wonder, since I easily caught this one in my cat's food bowl in the patio! This year's toad I had to chase down across the front lawn and into the bushes! Who would have guessed that toads, like dogs and cats, can have such distinct personalities.

I love toads, and am so happy this weird frog virus has not made it to my yard. At least, not yet. :-(

Kit Fox Shade

2009-05-18T06:12:00.000-07:00

'Tis the season when we Bakersfield residents might see a lethargic kit fox dozing under a car in town. Normally sheltered from the blazing heat in an underground burrow, some still end up above ground after the sun comes up. Yet another Wal-mart won the right to progress into full construction, and with that right, several dozen kit foxes have been booted from their grounds. That means, if we see these little canids under cars around the area, it might not be a good sign.

Cornell University's Lab of Ornithology

2009-05-16T08:09:00.000-07:00

While writing, I pause in-between paragraphs and glance out my window to enjoy the birds. Male house finches are especially beautiful, and I have red ones, as well as the orange and yellowish variants of the species.

Cornell University's Lab of Ornithology has an amazing website devoted to bird enthusiasts as well as ornithologists. They give you photos, videos, sounds, range maps, similiar species guide, and much more.

Here is their page on the ever so common house finch. I like to click on the audio with my window open and watch the reaction of the birds at the feeder. Fun!

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/House_Finch/id

Backyard Birds Video

2009-05-10T10:06:00.000-07:00

Featured in this video:

house sparrows, finches (red breasted ones), and a special guest appearance by my cat, Simon.

My feeder is set outside my office window so that I can peer up from my laptop every so often and watch the silly antics of these little critters.

Enjoy!

Backyard Birds

2009-05-09T09:28:00.000-07:00

One type of bird that is a frequent visitor to our backyard is the dove. These are my elegant winged friends who are not only lovely, but sound beautiful as well with their distinctively mournful coo-OO, coo-coo-coo. http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Mourning_Dove/sounds

They are not as bold as the sparrows and finches, but rather, will hold back until it's not as hectic at the feeder. Then, they will swoop down and dig in just like the rest. Bon appetit!

Birds

2009-05-06T07:50:00.000-07:00

It's all about the birds for me this spring. I have house sparrows and finches--I love watching the activity. I have a neighborhood cat that also loves watching the activity. ;-)

Sunday Morning Breakfast

2009-03-29T14:49:00.001-07:00

Doug makes the best scrambled egg concoction. It's mixed with fried potatoes, sauteed onions, and garlic, all organic. The best!

Pink hat compliments of Toys R Us.

Wind Wolves Preserve

2009-03-22T13:56:00.000-07:00

Had a lovely afternoon with my hubby at Wind Wolves Preserve. According to the pamphlet Naturalist Gaby handed us at the entrance:

"On the San Joaquin Valley floor, the preserve is a 30-square-mile veritable sea of grasslands with remnant stands of saltbrush. These grasslands are home to the endangered San Joaquin kit fox and blunt-nosed leopard lizard, and one of the largest strands of the endangered Bakersfield cactus. Rolling grasslands rise from the valley floor and transition into classic California blue oak and valley oak savanna with extensive riparian wetlands. The oak savanna rises into juniper and pinyon pine forests that ascend into stands of ponderosa pine and big cone spruce.

Wind Wolves Preserve is in an ecologically unique region where the Transverse Ranges, Coast Ranges, Sierra Nevada, western Mojave Desert and the San Joaquin Valley converge. Due to elevation ranges for 640 to 6,005 feet, the preserve has an impressive array of landforms and habitats that serve as a critical landscape linkage and a wildlife corridor between the Coast Ranges and Sierra Nevada.

Tule elk were reintroduced to Wind Wolves Preserve, the southern-most extensive of their historic range. The elk herd has grown to more than 200 and the California Department of Fish and Game estimates the preserve can support up to 2,000 tule elk."

Although the beauty of wildflowers carpeting the area lasts only a few weeks, it was definitely worth the visit. Teachers at my school enjoy taking their classes on fieldtrips here.

Visit their website at http://www.wildlandsconservancy.org/twc_preserve_wind_wolves.html

The Organic Life

2009-03-09T06:09:00.000-07:00

Ever since my husband and I signed up to receive our weekly box of organic fruits and veggies, we've been hooked on organic foods that go well beyond produce. The taste of foods grown organically is superior to those that aren't, and grass-fed meats are better, too.

I suppose since I am reading The Grapes of Wrath, I'm thinking about the leader of Abundant Harvest Organics, Vern, who reminds me of the importance of being able to shake hands with your farmer. His weekly newsletter, laid across a bed of fresh vegetables in our box each week, is frequently full of stories only a guy who grows his own food could tell. From marveling at the beauty of a spring morning as he surveys an orchard, to the way he keeps his soil pesticide free, one senses his closeness to nature, and inevitably, to God.

Some have criticized Steinbeck for being overly sentimental, but if you spent a day with Vern, you would understand how a farmer falls in love with his land, and ultimately, becomes one with it.

Read Across America

2009-03-02T06:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, our teacher union, BETA, sponsored the annual Read Across Bakersfield event at the Majestic Fox Theater. This old movie house was opened on Christmas Day, 1930, and so you can imagine the history it has seen. Thirty years ago, my sister and I used to sit in the balcony and enjoy a double feature with a bucket of popcorn. Today, the Fox hosts mostly off-beat events, has-beens trying to crank out a buck, and up and coming "stars", such as Lisa Williams, a talented medium who will contact loved ones who have crossed over on March 5th. We chose to hold our Dr. Suess celebration at the Fox because management offered it to us for FREE.

Here is a shot of two local news anchors on KERO Ch 23, Jackie Parks, and her husband, Todd Karli. They MC'ed for us.

Over 500 people attended Read Across Bakersfield, which had face painting, tattoos, games, and other booths to wile away the time until the showing of "Cat in the Hat".

Doug

2009-02-24T16:49:00.000-08:00

Here is my husband, back in the saddle and smiling again.

:-)

Seeing Spring Crawl from Hibernation

2009-02-23T06:26:00.000-08:00

Our plum tree is the first thing to bloom in our yard. It's blossoms encourage me to start tending to my garden again, and to get at that dust- whipped patio. I so look forward to spending some time outdoors.

Soon.

Turning 60

2009-02-22T11:28:00.000-08:00

My husband tells me that at the age of 60, it's about time he got a tattoo. Well, I suppose this decision was helped along by the arrival of his daughter-in-law, Cynthia, and her tatoo making kit. So, on Friday, while I was trying to stay awake in a court house full of potential jurors, Doug took the plunge. I arrived home to see not only his first and only tatoo, but also a statement of his love for me. Made me feel good. So, what do you think?

Avila Hot Springs

2009-02-17T08:42:00.000-08:00

I was thrilled when Avila Hot Springs created a "reduced fee" for those of us that soak for a short time and then leave. From 7 a.m. to noon, it's only $6.00 per person now! wOOt! This is really fab because Doug and I used to pay $20 ($10 each) for a half hour dip--you had to purchase an "all day" pass no matter how brief your stay was. Hey, that extra $8 buys us half a breakfast now....

California Sea Lions

2009-02-16T10:52:00.000-08:00

Just finished my Avila Beach travel article for "Bakersfield Breakaway" in The Bakersfield Voice. Next to the hot springs, my favorite part of visiting Avila is the wildlife. Well, by the looks of these sea lions in the picture, there's hardly anything wild about them. But they aren't trained pets, either. Avila has been having problems with the sea lions using private vessels anchored in the bay as sun decks. Yep, it's true. Some folks have taken to hosing them off the boat. That may work if you're present, but if you're not, don't expect these 500 pound blobs of sea lard to follow the rules!

When I was 16....

2009-02-13T06:22:00.000-08:00

I was heavily involved in theater during my high school years. I was also a huge fan of Charlton Heston, mostly because my mom liked him, so I did, too.

In 1979, Heston was playing in A Man For All Seasons at the Ahmanson Theater in Los Angeles. My mom got the two of us tickets, so I decided I would give him a picture that I drew after the show.

When the great day arrived and it was time to see the play, I was so excited! LA was a big city for this Bakersfield girl, and the hub bub of people milling around before the show was thrilling. So, during the intermission, in my heightened sense of awe and wonder, I penned a short note to Heston. I don't remember what I said, but apparently, at one point, I asked him how dreams come true. Mom and I went backstage after the show to meet him, and it was at that time that I gave him my artwork and the letter. A week or so later, I got a response. Here is what the typed letter said (my last name was "Clark" then):

Dear Miss Clark,

Thanks for the your letter and for the drawing of the flower: I'm grateful for both. I'm also pleased you enjoyed Man for All Seasons. I did too.

How does one make dreams come true? I don't know. But I know that if one stops dreaming, you'll never know. I dream a lot. Please accept my best wishes and good luck.

And then he signed it in the distinctive way that I knew was his signature.

I've lost a lot of personal mementos over the years, grew up to be a liberal, and watched Heston become increasingly conservative. Nevertheless, this letter has stayed with me over the years. I'm glad I saved it. It inspires me to this day. Where ever you are, thanks Chuck!

Science in the Classroom

2009-02-12T06:26:00.000-08:00

Here you see a "Saturday Science" group making observations about different sediment samples for a later activity studying a fake core. They are simulating something that geologists do all the time--study dirt. I wish I could do extensive labs like this more often but it takes so much time to put one together. Also, we only have 45 minutes to teach Science during the regular school day. "Saturday Science" allows a two hour time block, and it's a real luxury, believe me.

At Seventeen

2009-02-10T07:41:00.000-08:00

When I was seventeen, life was forever and old age was something that happened to other people. This is a photo of me just shy of graduation. I got it taken at some Los Angeles company that preyed on young folks that wanted to be "stars". One of those silly, starry-eyed fools was me. I did get a nice composite together (that's an 8x10 headshot in front, four "character shots" on the back), but after they took a hefty chunk o' change, they weren't much help after that.

Anyway, I gave this photo to my sister, and over the years, it ended up in a dusty cardboard box in her ex-husband's garage (don't ask me how). My older sister's daughter found it and thought it was a younger version of her mom. "Nope," my sister replied, "that's your aunt." Later, they passed this expensive dandy of a shot back to me, now part of ancient history.

Becoming a Presence On-line

2009-02-09T11:02:00.000-08:00

As a writer, I have to be found in a Google heartbeat. They teach you that, these visiting editors and publishers who speak Wisdom at writers' workshops. I guess it pays to belong to the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI). I suppose it also helps to lurk and read the e-mails of all those published authors who are on the listserv of our central California chapter of SCBWI.

Along with this blog, I have a MySpace page, a (more active) Facebook page, and I just yesterday started to build a full-fledged website that will soon have links to my clips as well as chit-chat about whatever current project on am working on. Whew. As a school teacher, I have a website to keep up with as well. Double-whew. Busy, busy.

Kernville Eatery

2009-02-07T12:00:00.000-08:00

Cheryl's Diner in western-themed Kernville has a staff so friendly I almost feel like I'm in a folksy Disney movie about a horse name Flicka. Family owned, Cheryl works the floor right along with daughters, friends of daughters, and various other extended family members. My husband, chatty as the rest, gets Cheryl to pose in-between taking orders and cleaning tables. Is this face etched with mischief or what?

Kern Valley Oscar Winners

2009-02-01T12:24:00.000-08:00

Here's a little known fact about Kern Valley: many movies have been filmed there, including three Oscar winners, which are pictured here. Click on the photo to enlarge it--you'll see each 8 x 10 movie still more easily.

(top photo)

"Treasure of Sierra Madre" with Humphrey Bogart and Walter Huston. Filmed 10 miles N. of Kernville.

(middle photo)

"Stagecoach". Horses and stagecoach crossing Kern River near Tillie Lake with John Wayne standing on back of stage.

(bottom photo)

"The Defiant Ones" with Tony Curtis and Sidney Poitier crossing the Kern River 7 miles N. of Kernville.

Pismo Beach, California

2009-01-31T16:44:00.000-08:00

Pismo Beach never grows old for Bakersfield residents either chilled to the bone in winter or frying their brains out in the summer. My husband, Doug, and I always find our way over to the coast whenever we can. After clam chowder in a bread bowl at the Splash Cafe and a leisurely stroll down the beach, we settle in on the balcony of whatever hotel we're staying at, pour ourselves a drink, and mellow to cool jazz and the calming sound of ocean waves.

A favorite spot of ours is Pelican Point, where there's a restaurant/bar with outdoor tables. During one visit, Doug snapped close to 400 photos of pelicans coming and going before getting lucky and capturing this gliding beauty, complete with a beam of heavenly light piercing the clouds in the dark sky. A definite winner!

Travel Writing

2009-01-26T18:15:00.000-08:00

Just when I think I'm done with travel writing for awhile, another one sneaks up on me and begs to be written, or re-addressed as a possible submission again. So I have sent Westways magazine a query for a Kernville Day Trip, and as for that Pasadena Day Trip...still waiting to hear from the curators of the Pasadena Museum of California Art and the Pacific Asia Museum. I think they got busy and forgot about my last few questions, so I'll zip off another message to the ladies to serve as a gentle reminder.

This photo is of the mighty Kern River, which eventually leads to Kernville, just past Lake Isabella. I love this river, and used to spend a lot of quiet time on and around its banks before I got married.

My hubby, the photographer

2009-01-21T19:16:00.000-08:00

If I'm writing an article that requires photos, usually Doug, my husband, will take the pictures, with few exceptions. This month, Doug finally got a showing of his own at a local theater. The drama playing there is called "The Good Life", but the theme of the gallery is "Road Trip". Here is a photo that I took of Doug in front of his six large photos, all featuring a road and a dramatic sky-scape.

One word....

2009-01-20T18:28:00.001-08:00

...Obama.

2009-01-12T07:53:00.000-08:00

Travel writing is fun because I get to sightsee and eat at a great restaurants. Could life be any grander?

Two weeks ago my husband, Doug, (who is my photographer) and I went to Pasadena to visit two lesser known museums and then eat @ a fabulous Brazilian restaurant on Colorado Blvd. in Paseo Colorado. Porto Alegre is modeled after the brazialian cowboys' way of life, esp. their style of b-b-q-ing. What makes this place exciting, though, is the way they serve you: they bring 15 different meats to your table on a skewer and then cut it fresh right there on the spot. You get to nibble on a variety of meats until you find one that esp. tickles your fancy--then bring on the second or third helpings! Honestly, it's hard not to fill up before you've tasted 10 meats, but it's nice to know you could pig out if you wanted to.

$35.50 per person. Does not include drinks or dessert.

2009-01-06T16:45:00.001-08:00

Today my husband, the photographer, showed me how to upload a photo into a blog box, so here you have it.

I am waiting to hear from Highlights Magazine for Children regarding an article I wrote concerning the conservation efforts of the Endangered Species Recovery Program (ESRP) for the San Joaquin kit fox. They have expressed interest in publishing the story but I don't yet know when.

My focus was on the urban fox. Currently, there are about 300-400 kits taking up residence in the city limits. Interestingly, they are doing better than their country kin, the non-urban kit fox--those guys have a tendency to get eaten by coyotes, and consequently, don't live as long.

Here's a photo of an urban kit fox escaping the extreme Bakersfield heat by curling up under a car.

(Photo taken by Christine Van Horn Job with ESRP)

2009--New Beginnings!

2009-01-05T16:54:00.000-08:00

Hello Everyone!

Welcome to my new blog in a new year!

I decided it was time to start posting some of my previously published work along with corresponding photos. I have seen other writers' blogs and have been getting a few ideas on how to create an interesting format, so please be patient while I develop this--there will be more as the days go by.

Thanx!