An Open Letter

Dear Student Who Gave Me a Super B-wordy Look This Morning,

I do apologize for not seeing you right away at the intersection. To be fair, though, your dumb frat boy boyfriend was driving and didn't really "stop." I did let you go first, though, so the super b-wordy look and mouthing of some obscenity was probably out of order. This is a college town, remember, and your professors do take part in town life. This includes driving. I would just be a bit more careful about who I mouth things to. I remember ALL of my students. Maybe not names, but certainly faces. I remember your face, super b-wordy looker, and would know it if you walked into my classroom.

Dear CSG Employee,

I am kind of a local, and more importantly, a regular. Sometimes, I just order a hot tea, but many times, I order a 27 dollar lunch. I take off my coat, set myself up in a corner, then come order. You probably see this. So, why do you ask, every-gd-time, "This is to go, right?" It just seems rude. I realize working the 1 pm-4:45 pm is a hard shift, but customer service skills really should be a priority for you.

Dear SoDak Wind,

Please stop. You are making NoDak look bad.

Dear Raziel's,

Your chicken vegetable soup was delicious today. Thank you.

Grandma Flo

My Grandma and I spent 4 hours on the road together over the holiday break, and she told me stories, stories, stories.

When they were building the interstate in North Dakota in the 1940s, my grandma and her sister went to the city, and they couldn't figure out how to get off the exit ramp. They looped round and round.

She also is quite the hip lady. She's been out to the local lesbians' house in our area for a karaoke and wine party. She said she had a real nice time, and those girls fixed up the house real nice. She's also got a gay best friend. He graduated with her in 1946 from Napolean High School, and he now lives out in California. He calls her up all the time and gossips in low German and when he's home, he'll get a polka or a waltz out of my Grandma.

She told me about her first days of teaching in a country school and how she had to shovel coal, and how when she was 22 and faced with 32 second-graders, she got so mad at a kid one day that she yanked on his ears. He had jug ears and was asking for it.

She told me about dating my Grandpa's younger brother before dating (and marrying) my Grandfather. They were Methodists and rich, and my Grandma was Catholic and poor and came from a bar family. The wrong side of the tracks, indeed. She told me about the time she was driving to her uncle's wedding and her car broke down, so she walked 2 miles to the church in heels and a dress.

My Grandma turns 81 in February and I am asking her for all her recipes.

Oh, There's No Place Like Home

for the Holidays.


Best Part of Midnight Mass:

Great Aunt Bernie socking my dad in the gut during the Sign of Peace.


Say What?

While rummaging for batteries so we can play Taboo at my G-ma's house:

My mom: Ma, you got any double As?

G-ma: No, but I have hard-boiled eggs.

All of us: Dying laughing.

G-ma: What the hell's your problem? You can make deviled eggs out of them!


Things you only say to your 9 and 12 yr old boy cousins:

"Gross! I don't want your spitty marshmallows on me."

"First Name. Middle Name. Last Name. I don't ever want to hear you say that word again."

"If I get anymore bony knees driven into my back, I will kill you. And you."

"It's a good thing you have an Xbox and a Wii and a PlayStation. How are your reading skills?"

"Toothbrush? Deodorant? What do you think?"

"How many frickin' pops do you need a day? A million?"

"Hey, let's go steal the grownup table's salt."


Please, Will You Play With Me?

While playing Catchphrase with my cousins Tucker and Trevor and my aunt Betsy:

Me to Bets and Trev: Hey, you guys, when it's Tucker's turn, let's guess completely wrong answers.

Tucker: OK, guys, this is something you hit a baseball with! (pantomimes swinging)

Me: A tennis racket!

Betsy: Um, wearing slippers!

Tucker: No! C'mon! OK, I like to do this, and I hit a baseball with it!

Trevor: Ketchup!

Me: Cheez-its!

Betsy: Ramen noodles!

Tucker: (on the verge of an aneurysm) No!! You guys!!

beepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeep!

Me: Oh, Tuck, time's up. You lose, man.

Tucker: You guys are so stupid!

Me: Well, Tuck, you gotta give better clues, man.

Snow Day

The homestead:


The monster driveway:



Evergreen:


Prentis Park:



Prints:


My street:


I am ready for some sledding now, I tell you what.

I had a real nice day yesterday

holdin' babies and such.

Diciembre

I am proud to be a part of a block that shovels as diligently as I do.

Last evening, I shoveled while B made delicious baked pork chops and brownies. Not as one, mind you, like some Simpsons' casserole, but one for dinner and one for dessert. It was about 6 pm, and the whole block was outside shoveling. I caught up with my neighbor, John; I moved strips of the lightest snow from one side of the drive to the other; our Christmas lights were on in full force; it all was a little Griswoldy.

I give my last final tomorrow, and will also collect 39 final portfolios. Marathon grading? Sure. But then I will be done and won't worry about teaching until January 19th. Yessir. I've gotten a major leg-up on next semester's stuff, and am looking forward to a hard-partyin'. sleepin' all day, lotsa-drinkin' January. We'll see.

I like when a student asks me a question during their final exam, and I pretty much give them an example of what I am looking for, and they still narrow their eyes and say something like, "well, I don't know anything about that." Really? You haven't been awake and out into the world for the past 4 months? Well, that's cool, I guess.

The campus I teach at has had some interesting things going on lately. I am not so much in the loop, as I commute, but get all sorts of nutty e-mails about flowers being sent to this person, braided pastries for sale from this person, a student making threats against a faculty member, this dean taking (or not taking) another job. I never get any context, just a lot of two-line e-mails about what may or may not be going on.

Today at lunch, a man in a camo jacket touched my back like he knew me.

We are supposed to get more snow, and lots of it, tomorrow night. I don't mind, as I got some good boots. The birds that winter here have been hanging out on the feeder in the front yard: juncos, nuthatches, and some giant doves that B accuses of mating with pigeons.

I recently came across a poem by Pat Mora titled, "Immigrants." I've tried to approach 201 as a cultural studies course, and so made my advanced comp students write on it. I'm blown away:

Immigrants

wrap their babies in the American flag,
feed them mashed hot dogs and apple pie,
name them Bill and Daisy,
buy them blonde dolls that blink blue
eyes or a football and tiny cleats
before the baby can even walk,
speak to them in thick English,
hallo, babee, hallo,
whisper in Spanish or Polish
when the babies sleep, whisper
in a dark parent bed, that dark
parent fear, Will they like
our boy, our girl, our fine American
boy, our fine American girl?

CPJ

This is every effin' CPJ kid in this town: