Posted tagged ‘school’

“A heart that loves is always young.”

February 14, 2011

It is a sunny but windy Valentine’s Day with the weather already in the 40’s. It sounds like a good day to take a ride. This winter Gracie and I have only made short forays to do errands because of the cold so a warm day is an invitation to go about and explore. She’s outside now burying a new bone.

I remember being eight or nine on Valentine’s Day, a day so special I’d be jumping out of bed eager to get to school. I’d bolt down my breakfast and start off for school carefully carry my treasured valentine box all the way. We made our boxes in school during art a day or two before Valentine’s Day. My box started its life as a shoe box, but all the decorations have made it a work of art. Paper frills are around the edges. Red crepe decorates the sides and red construction paper is on the top around the mail slot. Last night was spent at the kitchen table writing out my valentines and picking and choosing the lucky recipients. The valentines aren’t fancy but they are fun and colorful. I wrote my name so big it didn’t fit on the first few valentines, but I did much better with the rest. On the front of the envelope I wrote my friends’ names. I didn’t want to forget anyone. In my school bag my mother put the cookies, my contribution to the party.

Lessons on Valentine’s day lasted an entire week, or at least it seemed that way. All of us were excited and barely able to stay in our seats. After lunch was one lesson then time to put the books away. It was party time. The nun had us bring out our boxes and we had to go one row at a time to put valentines in our friends’ boxes. I remember sitting there hoping someone would drop an envelope in my box. I was never disappointed. After all of the rows had finished, it was time for cookies and candy and opening our valentines. Lots of munching and lots of giggling finished out the day.

We’d walk home talking about day. When I got home and out of my school clothes, it was time to look over my valentines again and again.

Happy Valentine’s Day

May your valentine boxes overflow!

“I read Shakespeare and the Bible, and I can shoot dice. That’s what I call a liberal education.”

February 13, 2011

The shoots in the front garden are even higher now. Every time I come home I give them a quick look. They are my reminders that springtime is getting closer, and as the morning is only 32°, those reminders bring hope and thoughts of warmer days and gardens filled with flowers.

I went out for breakfast as I always do on Sundays. The place was unusually crowded, but we found a booth and chatted our way through eggs and bacon. While we were there, a former student came up to say hello. I didn’t recognize him until he said his name then it all flashed back. He was a kid in my office all the time, mostly for disrupting classes. I remember he once offered a  suggestion during one of our discussions after he’d been tossed from class. He figured if I let him cut class, he wouldn’t be in class to disrupt it. As logical as his argument was, I had to explain that class cuts were also problems requiring consequences. He was caught either way: coming or going. We got to know each other that year, and I came to like him. One on one he was personable and funny. In class he was a horror.

It’s been a long while since I’ve seen him. He is now a man in his mid 20’s who told me he is taking classes at the local community college. I told him how proud I was for him. He beamed.

I never saw a class disrupted when I was in school. In elementary school whispering or note passing were the worst offenses, and most times the nun just called the name of the offending whisperer and the whispering stopped. She’d take the note being passed or asked that it be read aloud. That was the worst. We never had detention as a consequence, but we had sentences. Writing “I will not whisper” a 100 times might be the punishment for multiple infractions. I never got that far. I knew better. I was also really good at not getting caught.

“He’s a gentleman: look at his boots.”

January 28, 2011

Most times I am a quick study and learn easily. Yesterday I overdid and last night I woke up every hour or so in pain, and it’s still here this morning. I guess I keep trying to find the line between okay and ridiculous. Obviously I went over that line yesterday. I do have an addendum about yesterday and locked doors. My plowman was here when I left for an appointment. I told him the de-ice stuff for the steps was inside the house by the door as was his check. He was fine with that and I left. When I got home, I was locked out again. My plowman had noticed my storm door was ajar and he’s a good guy so he closed it. I called my friend Tony and told him he’d need a step ladder. I’m thinking of putting a stepladder permanently against the back porch. In the summer I’ll put plants on it so people will think it a gardening design. How pretty to see the morning glory vines climbing the ladder.

Today is a white day. The sky is white. The trees have a layer of white from the wet snow, and the ground is covered. The sun came out yesterday and melted some of the snow. Last night it froze. Ruts of ice are on the sides of the road and on the pathways. Going out makes for a strange sort of dance of stepping in one place then moving to the side then across and back all with tiny steps which remind me of the Mikado.

I seldom stayed home from school. We, my brother and sisters and I, were all pretty much a healthy bunch. We walked to school on the coldest or the wettest or the snowiest day of the year. It didn’t matter.

This time of year presented to every kid the greatest of all challenges: putting on and taking off boots. Back then they were rubber and they went over our shoes. In the morning, at home, my mother would hold the boots while we pushed and pushed until our shoes were all the way inside then she’d tuck our snow pants into the top of the boot. When we got to school, we’d sit on the floor to pull off our boots. Usually our shoes came with them, but that was just fine. We’d pull out our shoes, put them on and go into the classroom. All of that was the easy part. It was getting dressed to go home which presented the biggest challenge. If the boots were wet, the shoes just wouldn’t go inside all the way, and the bottom part of the boot would flop around. Pushing the shoes in with my hands sometimes worked, sometimes didn’t. Lots of days I’d walk home in my shoes, the boots in my school bag. My mother was never happy when I came home with wet shoes, wet socks and cold feet. Neither was I.

“Hearing nuns’ confessions is like being stoned to death with popcorn.”

October 15, 2010

Last night I opened my bedroom window so I could fall asleep to the sound of the rain. I heard the wind and I heard the raindrops tapping on the overhang near my window. It was a lovely way to drift off to dreamland.

The day has yet to make up its mind. Should I be sunny or cloudy?

Yesterday I put the storm door on the front. While I was retrieving it from the cellar, I happened upon a dead mouse. By the looks of it, the mouse had met its heavenly reward a while back. I’m figuring Maddie was the mighty hunter. Fern is the queen who sleeps on a couch pillow.

I used to moan and groan when my mother woke me up for school. Nothing is worse than being torn from a warm bed, forced to eat lumpy oatmeal and made to walk to school in all weather. A kid’s lot is a tough one.

Nobody does well sitting in the same place most of the day, especially if it’s a confining desk, but the nuns kept us in line, mostly from fear of both them and our parents. I don’t ever remember a kid acting up in class. Whispering was the extent of our misbehavior, and you had to do that just right or risk wrath. You ducked your head behind the person in front of you and used a mixture of whispers and hand signals to get your message across while at the same time keeping an eye on the nun in front. Short messages had the best chances of success.

If you got away with it, talking in class was a deed worthy of song, one to be remembered in the annals of time and to be reenacted over and over during recess.