Stocks are up!

Each morning I corral the kids and we assemble in a "community circle" where our class sit in a circle and share whatever is on our mind.  Some share what they are doing after school.  Others tell what they are looking forward to.  Some tell about a new toy or level achieved on a video game, etc.  I always share something too.  This day I share that I put gas in the car on the way to school and I was surprised it cost $53 to fill the tank on my small red car.  Before I even finish a student piped up...

"Oh, that's because the stocks are up!  There is a lot of demand!"

Now, aside from my sheer look of  surprise I couldn't help but look to the other adult who works in my class, which we do often when we hear something of interest.......... and we burst out laughing. 

This youngster is a listener, people.   He has heard something about high cost and stocks and demand, but did he have the inside scoop on why gas is so expensive right now?.......  Who is to say?

No Patience

In only 3 minutes I was to write down everything I could think of to the following prompt... "Things You Have No Patience For..."  - While 3 minutes is not nearly enough time to exhaust the list of things I have no patience for, it was a good mind-jogging exercize.  Post a comment to this thread and list what you have no patience for.  Isn't it funny how the mind wanders from one topic to the next when you are given the constraint of only 3 minutes...

Things I have no patience for…

1. People who pull in front of you in traffic and then slow way down so they can cut into the next lane too causing half of the morning commute to slam on their brakes to avoid a pile up.
2. When the car won’t start.
3. When the toilet won’t stop running and you have replaced the flapper and done all the “tricks” you know to stop it.
4. People who give in to their kids every time they want something.
5. When I do something that hurts someone else and I don’t want to admit that I screwed something up.
6. When the hotel swimming pool is closed on the hottest summer day of the year!
7. People who are rude to restaurant servers.
8. My own lack of determination that seems to crop up from time to time.
9. The choices of what to watch on basic TV – Maybe I mean the lack of viable options to select from.
10. When I have self-doubt.
11. When the alarm won’t set and you have closed every window and door, but it still won’t allow you to turn it on stating there is a “fault code”.

A Bus Trip in Mexico

A few months ago I took a holiday with a friend who I have traveled on a zillion trips with over the years.  This time we settled on Cancun, Mexico for a 2 week R&R.

We loaded up on pesos and boarded a jet.  Nine hours later we were stomping on the fine sandy beaches, soaking up the hot-hot sun and taking in the sight of beautiful blue water.

A few days into this R&R trip we peeled ourselves off of the beach chairs and ventured out on a city bus to leave the safe haven of the resort.  We bounced down the road and got to the open air market.  It was great fun being summoned by the shop owners.  They were yelling things at us as we would leave one store and attempt to decide which store to go to next.  Things like……“It’s my turn!” and “We have everything you need.”  “Senor! Come here- We have great price!” and so on.  (Mexican markets in tourist cities of Mexico are THE place to go if you want to increase your self esteem.)  They were doling our compliments to us and nearly begging us to come in and look at their wares.  These things are good for the ego and mental health of those who tend to lack self-worth.  I highly recommend it.

After a few hours of this we stomped back to the bus stop, had our 7 pesos for bus fare and were headed back to the resort. Or so we thought.  Bus # R-2 makes the loop to our hotel and we were on it. All was well.  Yet, as we passed resort after resort nothing looked familiar.  I wrote it off as being in an unfamiliar city. Twenty minutes into the ride I realize that we are going in the wrong direction.  We leave the perceived safety of the resort zone and head in to downtown Cancun.  (Honking galore! – The Mexicans are horn happy.)  My friend and I look at each other and burst out laughing as we both come to the conclusion that we are headed for an adventure all the while assuring ourselves that this R-2 bus will eventually swing back around and dump us off at the Westin where our luggage was.  It isn’t five minutes later when we seem to be leaving downtown and are now on dirt roads.  It is now well after 10:00 p.m.  What’s more? We are the only two Gringos on the bus and my friend leans over to me and says, “Hey, I have ALL of my pesos in my purse.  How safe do you think we are?”

I look at her and wrinkle my brow and ask, “How many pesos do you have in there?  She whispers, “6,000”.  Not the best with math I do some quick accounting and realize she is toting around over $500 USD.  Now I know why she is concerned.  No time to think as the bus comes to a stop in front of an abandoned house and a peddler cart with some type of carcass roasting on a stick.  There are several locals having a bottle of Coke outside of the abandoned house and six other buses parked out front with nobody on them.  My friend quickly dubs the abandoned house “The Bus Depot”. –

It isn’t until now that the driver looks back at us and speaks something in Spanish, the likes of which neither my friend nor I can figure out.  So, we nod.  He motions us to come forward and escorts us off the bus.  He doesn’t speak English.  We don’t speak Spanish and we are now outside of the abandoned house/Bus Depot with the peddler, the locals and my friend’s 6,000 pesos in her purse.

So, here we are standing on the dirt street eye-balling the spinning dead carcass on a stick that is sizzling and of course all of the locals are staring at the two Gringos.  We wonder who will make the first move.  Will someone ask us to help them?  Is it customary to offer some pesos for some directions to an R-2 bus that will take us back to the resort?  What does one do at 10:45 on a Wednesday night on the side streets of Cancun with a purse full of Pesos and no sense of direction and no ability to communicate in the native tongue? – Well, I tell you what we do.  We smile….a LOT, and we watch the bus driver talk to the locals at the carcass roasting stand.  We see the locals look at him and look over at us repeatedly.  We wonder what he is saying.  All the while I am wondering if we will be the two tourists that are made an example by the drug cartel. I keep an eye out for machetes as they seem to be the weapon of choice for the beheadings I read about in the newspaper just before our trip. - ALl the while I have this mental thought pattern I can't help but acknoweldge that I have racist tendancies.  What else could I honestly call my fear of safety on this side dirt road in Mexico? - Racism.  But, no time to get self reflective and make promises to change my ways because another R-2 bus wheels up to the abandoned house/Bus Depot. 

Was it karma or an act of intervention by God?  I can’t say for sure, but either would have been just fine by me.  It doesn’t park, but instead opens its doors and we hop on- Drop another 7 pesos into the fare chamber and stumble to the first two open seats.  We don’t know where this R-2 goes, but we have high hopes it will take us back to our suitcases…..and it does.

Marriage or Maui?

I was parked at the block center this afternoon having a chat with a few boys who were building elaborate structures.  Let me preface this conversation by saying that for some reason "Marriage" is a hot topic with this class of Kindergartners.  As the conversation unfolded below I quickly grabbed a piece of paper to jot down the conversation so I wouldn't forget it.  The following is the best I can make out from my scratch and memory of the convo. today...

Boy Number 1:  If I don't get married, I can't have kids.
Me: Do you think you will get married?
Boy # 1: If I find a girl, yep.
Me: Are you looking for one?
Boy # 1: I am gonna look in every classroom in this school to find one. (He has determination and tenacity- Extra point on the next trimester report card for this kid.)
Me: What about ___(I inserted name of a female classmate)?  Could you marry her?
Boy # 1: No, she already has a boyfriend.
Me: She does?! (News to me)  Who?
Boy # 1: Some guy.
Me: You don't know who it is?
Boy # 1: No, but she told me she has a boyfriend.  So, I know it's true.
Me: So, everything she says is true?
Boy # 1: Yep.
Me: Oh.....What if you don't find a girl to marry?

(Then a newcomer to the conversation emerges....)

Boy # 2: Then he will live with me and my cousin in Hawaii.
Me: - (Intrigued by this latest invitation, I turned to Boy # 2) - Why Hawaii?
Boy # 2: Because they don't have schools in Maui.
Me: (puzzled) - No schools in Maui!?  How do they learn anything?
Boy #2: Well, there are schools, just not that much. We only saw one when I was there.
Me: Oh....
Boy # 1: Yep, I am gonna live with him and his cousin if I don't get married.
Me: (To Boy # 2) Do you want to get married?
Boy # 2: Why would I want to do that?

Then I couldn't help but wonder the same thing and I rested my line of questioning.

Late Night Sweet Tooth Troubles

I realize I have written about late night food runs a number of times here.  A pattern of my bad behavior is emerging. Even though I am an adult, I can’t shake this sweet tooth.  It is like a curse, but yet there is something about it that is empowering as an adult.  The benefits of being an adult with a sweet tooth are many. Take for example, the freedom there is in ordering dessert before your meal when dining out.  (I highly recommend this.)  There can be a drawback, though.  When dining with someone you have never had a meal out with before it can be alarming to your table mate(s).  Be ready for disapproval, but I encourage you to see it as an opportunity to educate these people on how to live.  I am proud to say I have converted a few folks to the “dessert before dinner” mindset. (You have served your purpose in life if you accomplish this cross over thinking in a handful of people.)

            There can be trouble with this sweet tooth adult life.  Take for example, last night. It was 10:45 in the pm.  I couldn’t shake the need for a sugar fix before bedding down.  So, I threw on my flip flops that I bought in the Honolulu airport a few December’s ago.  I threw on my coat and stomped to the car in my pajamas, yet again.  (It has become common practice for me to stomp out of the house in the night in my pajamas on the hunt for something sweet, for fries or for a large Pepsi Cola.)  I looked like Boo Radley last night, but this was of no consequence as I needed a giant slice of Cheesecake or some mammoth sized piece of Chocolate Cake.  With my sugar pang guiding me, I sped down the interstate headed toward downtown.  There is only one grocery store in the entire Seattle area that I have found to have the best dessert cakes and this situation dictated a visit. 

Parking downtown is always a nightmare, especially on a weekend night. With an addiction to sugar you tackle this challenge without second thought. After four laps around the block and no street parking available, I resolved that paying $8 to park in the parking garage was my only hope.  (I tried not to do the math but couldn’t escape the fact that the parking was going to cost more than that slice of cake.  Addiction makes bad decisions like this seem logical.)

I found a parking spot next to the exit.  We call that Rock Star parking where I come from.  I envision the stars are aligned tonight since I got this stellar parking spot and exit the car. As I stomped down the street toward the grocery store (appreciating that it is a 24 hour joint) I paid no attention to the passersby who must have wondered who I was with my pj’s and flip flops donned and took the opportunity to visualize the store floor plan in my head to try and calculate the fewest steps it would take to get to the cake section.  I do this with success, get the cake and begin the death march back to the parking garage to get my car out of hock.

As I rounded the corner it became clear that there was a problem far greater than addressing this need for sugar.  The parking garage doors were closed.  The lights were off and there was no sign of an attendant.  Mmm Hmmm, this is going from good to horrific in an instant, people.  Panic set in.  It is only now that I see the sign on the door that says, Garage Hours 6:00 a.m. – 11:00 p.m.  I look at the time which is now 11:08 p.m..  This is no good.  There is another sign that says, “After Hours Release $50.00” and it listed a number to call.  Here I stood in my flip flops and pajamas thinking there is no way on God’s green Earth that I am paying $50 to get the car out of hock all for this one slice of $6 cake.  Suddenly my sweet tooth was faced with forking over $64 in total for this late night run.

The Sweet Tooth Gods were out last night, folks.  The door to enter the garage wasn’t closed all the way and I managed to get in sight unseen.  Instantly the quest to get a slice of coveted cake became a James Bond thriller for me.  I checked to see if anyone saw me skulk in the garage.  It appears I had gone un-noticed.  (Be advised: flip flops are loud in parking garages at night and in the dark.)  I stumbled around and found the car.  That in itself was noteworthy.  Finding a car in a darkened garage can be deadly.  Then I was hit with the even greater challenge of how was I to get out of the garage after hours.  For about thirty seconds I envisioned the opportunity that lay ahead of me….. to slam through the gate like they do in the movies as if I were on a mission to get away from a murderer or gunman behind me. Then I quickly realized that with my lack of driving skill I would most likely take someone out on the other side of the gate and plow into some parked car or something.  I didn’t want to be hauled down to the clink in my pj’s and flip flops on a Saturday night.  The idea was quickly erased from the short list of possibilities.  It was only then that I caught the glimpse of movement behind me.  Another sneaky Pete was in the garage.  They got into their car and began driving toward the exit.  I followed.  I saw them stick something out their window and wave it in front of the exit booth.  Like magic the garage door began to rise!  It was Bonnie and Clyde time, people.  I pushed the accelerator to the floor and managed to slip out the gate with this card holding patron and was thrust into the free world.  (Apparently you can be a card holder and get out of this garage and not need to mess with the toll booth.)

Freedom is good, friends.  So is chocolate cake at 11:20 p.m. on a Saturday night in your car racing down the freeway in your flip flops and pajamas.

Marbles and Minds

Five year olds are intuitive.  I was reminded of that today when one youngster whizzed by me on his way to his mailbox saying, "I lost my marbles!"

Me: (In hot pursuit behind him)  "How many did you have and where did you have them last?"

Him: "No, not those kind.  You know when someone says they lost their marbles?"

Me" (Nodding) "Yes?"

Him: "It means they lost their mind cause "mind" and "marbles" start with the same sound.  So, some people just say "marbles" instead of "mind". That's all."

Who knew?

Bumble Bee Beer

Now, we all know someone who says things just for the benefit of seeing how taken off guard you will be or to try and see if you'll notice the absurdity of their statement.  Today, for the first time, I wondered if five year olds are now subscribing to this very practice.  Let me lay it out for you....

I was wheeled up next to a student having a chat about her writing.  Out of nowhere one of her tablemates said to me, "I drink kid's beer."

Me:  Oh? I didn't know there was such a thing.

Her:  "Yes, there is.  It has bumble bees on the can."

Me: "You drink a whole can?" - Clearly by the inflection in my voice any skilled "story teller" could see I was perhaps doubting what they said and at the very least showing an increased level of concern.  Though this particular student didn't miss a beat, if in fact she was trying to pull the wool over my eyes.

Her: "No, I just have a cup full."

Me: "Do your mom and dad know you drink beer?"

Her: "Yeah, I only have it when my dad has his beer."

Me: "And this is a kids' beer??"

Her: "Yep, it's good!"

I was out of questions by then because what was I to do with this sort of information?  Do I dare stomp over to the phone and ring up this child's dad and ask for the 4-1-1 on the beer drinking festivities at their house?  Surely not, but it was a fascinating story and shared with such conviction and skill for an on the spot interrogation that I couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was true.

So, of all you beer drinkers out there, where does one get the Bumble Bee Kids Beer???

My Enemy Vulnerability visits me on the Tube

Not wanting to look like the usual boob that I always seem to come across as I take great measures to "blend in" and "fade into the woodwork" when in an unfamiliar situation.  This is a long standing strategy I employ. Of course this is when my old friend "vulnerability" always swings by for an unwelcome visit.  The more I try to blend in and look self-sufficient, the louder my friend seems to get. Quieting him is a daunting task.

I'm visiting two friends of mine who are on posting from the Canadian Government in London.  Now, I don't have to go far to be out of place, but put me across the Atlantic Ocean and you are sure to see my "out of sorts" at their best.  Or rather, my worst as I will try to blend in and look like a local.  (I do this in my own city that I have lived in for 9 years already.  So, you can imagine how being in another country only exacerbates the situation.)

So, on my first day alone in town while my friend's were at work I stomped down the steps outside of their flat and headed right down the road.  It took me about twenty paces before I realized the tube station was to the left.  About face.  Why in the world I would care is beyond me, but I did a nonchalant look to the left and right to see who might have noticed this error in direction.  (Now, why I think anyone would even be paying attention to me is beyond embarrassing.  Nobody is that noteworthy that others would even be calculating your moves or even caring, but when you are destined to be vulnerable, this is what you do.)

As I rounded the corner I saw the tube station sign and dug for my "Oyster" card.  All the locals use these cards. Good thing I too have one.  I couldn't possibly buy a one way ticket each time I hopped on the tube.  Only tourists do that, right?  So, I use the card that the locals use to help foster this sense of being a "local".  I did take note of what felt like a small mob behind me queuing up to swipe their Oyster card so they could come through the gate and get on a train.  (Remember, pressure like this can send the anti-vulnerable over the edge.  What if I swipe the card wrong, or the gate doesn't open to let me through, or worse yet, WHAT if I drop the card and hold up the line. - All unsubstantiated fears, but very real to the mentally under developed like myself.)  It is with great satisfaction that I report my finesse in swiping my Oyster card and being granted access to the tube station.

This was only the first of many challenges.  Not wanting to be viewed as a tourist I did a quick glance at the hieroglyphics and multi-colored lines of different trains running across the giant map on the wall.  Eastbound trains to Platform 1.  Westbound trains to Platform 2.  Hmmm.... Where am I going?  The map is confusing at first glance and there are a million stops on each line, but where am I going?  East looks good.  So, I careen off to the side and head to the Eastbound trains. 

Oh, there are more opportunities to look the part of a tourist...... When you get down the set of stairs to the tracks there is more bad news.  There are two lines servicing these tracks. Mmmm Hmmm.. Which one am I going on?  Apparently the District Line and the Circle line are both whizzing by.  So, I hop on the District Line.  That seemed about right.  I was headed to Notting Hill. (Notting Hill is West of where I am, not east, but only those who look at the map or ask would know this.) Wouldn't you know it? - I was on a train and heading in the wrong direction.  What's more, you ask?  I was on the wrong train.  I needed to be on the Circle Line, not the District Line.  That realization won't come until much later.....a few train rides later in fact.

So, after three stops I look at the map and realize I am headed in the opposite direction of Notting Hill.  I wonder if the passengers sitting next to me were able to see the complete sense of disbelief on my face at the instant I made this realization.  An audible "oh crap" was emitted from my airway as I stood up instantly as the train was still in motion.  Now, did I think that the train would stop mid-track and let me hop out because I was headed in the wrong direction?  I don't know, but I have never been one to think things through. So, I stood in the middle of the aisel on my unstable tourist feet as the train whizzed down the track toward God only knows where.

Maintaining my cool as we screeched to a hault at the next stop, I then hopped off, minding the gap, and stomped up the steps to get to the other side of the platform.  (All was well.  This was a minor hiccup.)  I came back down to the opposite side of the platform and to where the Westbound District Line would be coming.  A few minutes pass and the District Line whizzes up and I hop aboard, minding the gap.  Now, it isn't until ten minutes into this journey that I realize, once again, that I am heading even further away from Notting Hill than I thought possible.  Wouldn't you know it, I needed to be on the Circle Line which happens to run on some of the same tracks as the District Line.  (A lot of information to manage in your mind when you are also trying to blend in and not look vulnerable or like a tourist.)

So, I have another "oh crap" moment and leap to my feet making my way to the door to be sure to be the first one off the train at the next stop.  I stumble out of the train, sort of minding the gap, and breeze by another tube map.  ( No need to look at this map on the wayy because I did some ground work on the train by looking at the tube map that is plastered to the space above the windows.  I was in luck because it also showed the Circle Line and I was able to see what I needed to do without looking like a tourist. - Dare we call it good karma?)

Because of the way the trains go I needed to visit my friends on the District Line heading East ONE more time so that I could catch the Circle Line since I missed the connection stop.  So, a total of four trains and I am rock solid!  I am headed to Notting Hill.

So, what is it about being vulnerable that has such a hold on me?  This is the question I am pondering the entire time I am train hopping below the streets of London.  What is it about looking like you are not a "part of the masses" that is so undesirable to me?

Though I wonder how I could ever let something as simple as asking for directions or looking at a map in public have so much control over me.....It leads me to the notion that I have heard time and time again....It is said that only when you let go of the "need" for control do you really ever get free from this fear of vulnerability. So, let's rally people!  Let's ban together to let down this fear of vulnerability, I say!  .......Or, maybe I just whisper it...

British Pounds

It has been said time and time again that a "fool and his money soon part".  This is true.  (I am often a fool.)

  However, The night was ripe for good fortune, people!  London seemed like a great place to part with my money.  And so,  my friend and I stomped into the Connoisseur Club Casino on Kensington High Street.  We whisked by the front desk only to find that we needed to whiz back and present a passport or other form of identification to be granted access.  (The Brits run a tight ship, people.)

So, after completing the mini form and having our identifications scanned into the system for God only knows who to see and hack into we were ready to "invest" our twenty British Pounds and to win big!

We stormed into the casino which by all American standards was to the liking of a cloak closet (tiny!)...HOWEVER, you know that old saying, "Big things come in small packages"? - This should be plastered to the entrance way of the Connoisseur Club. There were 8 slot machines in total and just as many gaming tables.  A small bar was banked next to the slots.  We settled in with our 20 pounds and began the play.  As we watched the pounds rise and fall a posse formed in the casino bar.  Then still more members joined.  Within fifteen minutes nearly 100 members of the Chelsea Chamber of Commerce were in attendance and ready to have a fun filled evening.

We muscled our way from machine 5 & 6 to machines 7 & 8 (It's a quick three steps to the right) and bellied up to the bar for a re-fill.  It was here, at machine 8, that the glorious magic happened. 

Now, I failed to tell you that it took a bit of time to figure out the British slot machine.  You slide your pounds in.  (That part seemed easy enough.  I do that in America with the US Dollar.) In the US you just start pushing the play button.  The Brits are a clever bunch, I tell you!  You must then "transfer" your deposit to the bank on the machine in order to access it to play.  Of course we had to get assistance with this step from the bartender, Kelly.  (The Brit's loved helping us, of course. Foreigners in despair are always a highlight for anyone no matter your nationality.)   Once our pounds were "transfered we noticed that the Chamber group had tray after tray of hors'dourves.  Kelly, the bartender, told us to please help ourselves.  So, we did!  We were snacking on fried chicken, mini suasages and some Thai pockets (not my personal favorite, but for free I will choke most anything down.)

So, here I was in full play mode.  (I had upped my bet to 40 pence.)  It was then that the glorious magic happened on the game Wild Buffalo!  The reels droped stacked Wild symbols on three rows next to each other!  Any of you who frequent the casino know what that means!  Then the lights started blinking and lines were flashing. Each pay line was 2 pounds!  I cleaned this place out of British Pounds, people.  That's right a 40 pence bet netted me 60 British pounds!  Great fun!
I cashed out to find 60 coins dropping to the bin below (I love the old school slot machines that shoot out coins, which are long gone in the states except for the bank of questionable mini casinos on Fremont Street in Downtown Las Vegas).

I contemplated carrying my 60 pounds in my pocket, but feared the weight of these coins would make my trousers fall. So, I looked at my gambling friend and London resident and with a nod we agreed that we must find the cashier. (Of course he was at the back of the casino and on the other side of this Chamber mob.)  So, we pushed our way through the Chelsea Chamber of Commerce Brits (Pardon, Excuse me, Pardon, Pardon) and cashed those coins in before stomping out the front door!

We love the British Casinos! They are bloody good!

Milk, Blood and the Bell

3:29 p.m. this past Wednesday afternoon...

"My tooth came out!" exclaimed one thrilled six year old. I looked over and saw blood running down his lip and chin.  Hmmm, no big deal I have been witness to at least three hundred baby teeth being yanked, twisted, pulled and "longed" out of a youngster's mouth.. 

As I lept up to get a tissue for the youngster I hear, "Your milk!" which, of course, catches my attention and causes me to pause mid-reach for the tissue to turn and see what appears to be a pint of milk running out of the bottom of a backpack into a puddle on the floor. I issue a command, "Grab some paper towels and open up your backpack." (Screams from a few students near by fill the room as they are splashed with sprinklets of milk as the bag's owner tosses the bag aside to leap up and get the paper towels.)

Then the trivecta!!.......The dismissal bell rings and twenty-four five and six year olds are thrust into an all out panic because they are going to "miss the bus" if I don't dismiss them at that very second.

Is it karma or is it just the lluck of the draw this Wednesday afternoon?