My Early Education

I’m not sure where I came across this photo. This is a photo of the elementary school where I spent my formative years. It looks pretty much as I remember it, except I don’t see the coils of barbed wire.

The kindergarten was housed within the gable end section on the right, which included the built-out area. On the inside of that built out area was a semi- circular wooden bench seat that was used for “group time”.

My earliest memory of this place is of going to the school with Mom to register me for kindergarten. I don’t remember a whole lot about that day- only that they had a dollhouse in the classroom which, to my prekindergarten sized body, seemed enormous. On one side of this dollhouse were two hinged doors which opened to expose the fine miniature furnishings.

I never remember playing with this dollhouse- whether this was by my choice or not, I can’t say with certainty, but I suspect I wasn’t allowed. Another thing about that day is that I remember going along willingly. I think this might have been the first and last time that happened.

I have a few vague memories of the kindergarten class as well.

All I remember about the first day was the feeling of queasiness-  not only being away from home, but of being surrounded by a bunch of strange kids that I didn’t know, and of trying to figure out how I fit in.

I remember another day when one of those kids had brought in a little toy car for show and tell. This little car was maybe three or or four inches long and it had a little spoked wheel on the underside and a pull-string on the back. At the end of each spoke was a little suction cup. When you pulled the string, the wheel would wind back and then you could stick it to some surface, let go of the string and watch it go. That was pretty cool.

What was especially cool was that the proud owner of this prized possession decided to demonstrate its amazing capabilities by sticking it to the wall, which he did, and when he let go of the sting, the car not only shot up the wall but actually made it several feet onto the twelve foot high ceiling- whereupon the kid immediately burst out crying.

This result of this was that the classroom instantly broke into two different camps. In one camp was the teacher, Miss Kent, who did her best to console the kid and assure him that the janitor would be able to get the car off the ceiling. The other camp consisted of all of the kids- each of whom thought that this was the funniest thing we had ever seen in our lives. I can’t speak for the others, but what made this especially funny was the fact that it wasn’t happening to me. I didn’t know it at the time, but this would pretty much be the last pleasant memory of what would soon become a years long soul crushing experience.

I soon learned a lesson from Show and Tell- which was, if you were going to bring something to Show and Tell, then it should be something pretty innocuous- certainly nothing with any emotional attachment. I once brought in a flashlight that had been given to me as a gift by an aunt. By the time I was done showing it, I learned that not only was my flashlight not considered cool, but neither was my aunt. From then on, anything that mattered to me stayed at home.

When I went to kindergarten, classes were a half day long. Even though they were only a half day, the half day was divided with a nap time. For nap time, large exercise mats were laid out on the floor. If you were one of the lucky ones, you got to lay down on one of these cushioned mats. If you weren’t, you had to lay down on the semi- circular window seat. I napped on the window seat.

One time, I made the cardinal sin of actually falling asleep during nap time. There’s nothing wrong with falling asleep- as long as it’s in the comfort of your own home. But all kids know that you don’t fall asleep at nap time. Nobody does.

But on this particular day, I was lying at the far left end of my ever-so-comfortable oak window seat and the next thing I knew, I was hearing hushed talking. As I lay there blinking and struggling to wake up, it slowly dawned on me that entire class was now occupying the remainder of the window seat- and I was the focus of their attention. Just what I didn’t want to be.

I had realized that being the focus of attention in school meant one of two things. It meant that you either excelled at something, or it meant that you were different. And if you were different, the best you could hope for was that, if you kept your mouth shut, maybe over time you could blend in and join the ranks of the faceless masses.

But I had fallen asleep. Nobody falls asleep at nap time... except me. And now it was all out there. I had fallen asleep. And I liked my flashlight. And I loved my Aunt.

And we hadn’t even gotten to the hard stuff yet.

I don’t remember much about the intense academic challenges in kindergarten- other than math. Math- such as it was, was taught by using something called “Cuisenaire Rods”. These were little wooden rods, starting at one centimeter cubed. The next rod was one centimeter by one centimeter by two centimeters long. Each successive rod would grow incrementally in length for a total of, I think, ten rods. But the really important thing is that each one of those rods was supposedly a different color..

The purpose of the rods may have been to teach math in some fashion-which I have yet to grasp, but what they taught me was that I was even more different than I had already been foolish enough to reveal.

I couldn't figure out why the color of one rod was called “purple” and another one was called “blue”- when they were both the same color. I had the same problem with the brown and the red, and the same problem with the orange and the green. Everyone else seemed to be having a pretty easy time of it, but I couldn’t figure out what the heck was going on- and we hadn’t even gotten to the math part of it yet.

In my utter confusion and in my desire to avoid the spotlight at all costs, I learned that if the teacher asked the class to hold up the red rod, I would have to wait a split second and see if the other kids were holding up the short red rod or the long red rod. And then I would pray that the teacher would not go around individually to see how good we were at this grueling test of our intelligence and conformity.

As if this mind bender wasn’t enough, it was made even more confusing by the crayons. At the beginning of the school year, each of us were given a brand new box of large Crayola crayons. The box contained eight or so crayons and while the so called blue and the so called purple still looked identical, it wasn’t the brown and the red that looked the same. Instead, it was the brown and the green.

I never had to worry about things like this at home. I never even read the labels on the crayons. If I liked the color of a crayon, I just used it. Who cared what it was called?

My life in school was only just beginning.

When I look at this photo, it's with a mixture of memories and emotions- all involving dread and anxiety.

I mentioned elsewhere that this school was torn down many years ago. And I think I mentioned that in it’s place is both a playground and an empty park. Somehow, both seem fitting to me. One represents joy and innocence and playfulness. The other, emptiness.

---

I picture myself walking slowly through a now empty park. The sun is beginning to set behind me. I hear distant echoes of children playing, but there is no one around.
I’m looking for something.
Did I lose something? 
I can’t remember.
I feel something hard beneath my foot.
I look down at the worn patch.
A small rock? 
It feels... different.
I bend over and brush away the dirt, trying to break it free. I pick up a small piece of wood. It feels smooth and I examine it- slowly turning it over and over in my hand.
Was this part of a toy?
I can see that it was painted- but in the dim light, it’s difficult to make out the color.
What was this for?
I kneel down and I use the rod as a tool- and I scratch halfheartedly at the surface of the dirt.
I expose parts of an old, broken doll house- but I can’t be sure.
I stare at the shapes, trying to focus, but they’re difficult to make out in the fading light.
I stand and stare back down at the crushed toy. The jagged pieces are harder to see at this distance.
I realize that it’s quiet now.
When did the children stop playing?
I stand still...straining to hear...anything. Nothing.
I stand still...trying to remember...what?
Why am I here? 
How did I get here? 
I’m not sure.
I’m not sure.
I’m not sure of who I am.
I need to leave. 
It’s getting too dark... and I’ve left my flashlight at home.

In Perspective

When Rachael was very, very little, she got a hold of my recipe book and drew in it. For some reason, this was a big deal to me at the time.

About a day or so later, it was no big deal.

About a week after that, it kind of made me smile. And shortly after that, it grew into one of those things that I looked back on with fondness.

Since then, I've often thought about it, and how some things that might seem like such a big deal at the moment, may take on a whole new meaning as time passes.

Sometimes I open up the recipe book just to look at Rachael's picture- and it still makes me smile.

My Order Arrived...

...from Amazon and it is currently sitting in the box in the hall. What could it be? Well, it's not a rubber raft, I'll say that much.

Dear Diary..

Sorry it’s been so long...

Thursday night, about a week or so back, Sam and I went to the grocery store to do last minute shopping for the upcoming weekend. It felt odd to be there on a Thursday evening. Saturday is usually our day, but we were not going to be around on Saturday.

When we got to the store, we were both surprised to see that they were giving out free samples-particularly on an off night like Thursday (of all things!). And while these were not his regular Saturday “Sample Ladies”, these strangers were offering free food- so, time to make new friends.

On Friday, Jake came back from his three weeks of floating somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. He had flown into Boston the day before but for some odd reason, needed to rest up before driving home. He sounded happy but looked worn out.

Friday evening, since it was what Sam calls “Monk Night”, Sam and I made popcorn and watched another episode of our “Monk” DVDs. This has become something both of us look forward to and though we’re only about half way through the third season, every week I wonder what we can replace it with once we’ve watched them all.

Saturday was our annual family reunion and celebration of Mom’s birthday. On the way to the picnic site, we picked up Rachael at the bus station. She had managed to get about a week off from work, which translated into a mini-vacation at home for her- and a mini vacation for me as well.

It felt odd heading to the picnic site in my car. We’ve been having this annual event for, I’m guessing, about twenty years or so, and this was the first year we were not going in a van. It still feels strange. There’s no sense in having a van anymore, but I miss it at times like that.

Like usual, we were the first of the families to arrive. Helaina met us at the site, having left from her boyfriend’s. Thankfully she was able to bring a good chunk of the supplies I had stuck her with the night before. That was another thing that felt strange- heading over separately to the picnic site. Still, the whole family was together. The first time since..when?

I always do the cooking and every year it feels like I’m starting the grill way too early. And by the time I’m done, it always feels like I didn’t start it up early enough.

The day seemed to go by faster than usual. Before I knew it, it was late afternoon- barely enough time to take Sam to feed the animals and to squeeze in a ride on the mini-train. I think Sam would have liked to play some mini-golf too, but we ran out of time, and I think for both of us- energy.

We unloaded the car when we got home and spent the rest of the night in various stages of zoning out. Jake hooked up with a few of his close friends- and was back shortly after nine- a testament of his energy level. (As I write this, I’m kind of wondering whether this happened Saturday night or on Friday night- it’s a little hazy, though I’m kind of amazed that I remember any of this stuff at all).

Whatever night that was, I know that Rachael headed up to bed early- something about having to get up around 3:30 in the morning to catch a bus for a four hour bus ride home to make it to an all day family reunion- seemed to be wearing her out. Sam spent the better part of the evening on the computer, like usual, and since it was Saturday night and Helaina was at home, we watched an episode of “Stargate SG-1”.

Watching something together with Helaina on Saturday nights has been a tradition longer than watching “Monk” with Sam on Friday nights. I can’t remember how it started, but we watched all of “Danger Man” together- and there were others mixed in there as well. And like “Monk Night”, I wonder what we’ll move onto next- not because I care a lot about what we’re watching, but rather, who I’m watching it with.

Sunday was more grocery shopping- this time for Jake. He was going to be heading back to school on the following day and I figured that since it would have been well over three weeks since he was “home” the last time, he was probably going to be needing some food. I would have been happy to do this even if it hadn’t been three weeks. The three weeks was really just an excuse. So we went grocery shopping and I spent the rest of the day grilling much of what we bought, and packing it up so he could freeze it when he got back.

I took Monday off from work so I could spend some time with Rachael. I hadn’t expected to be spending a significant portion of that time together at a tire store- but that was just fine. We were there to get new tires for Jake’s car while he was at the dentist- and before he had to head back to school. Rachael and I spent the time cracking jokes- about the constant news that was cycling on the TV, about the other customers, about ourselves- you name it. The car took a little longer than expected but I think it’s safe to say that it was the best time I’ve ever had at a tire shop.

Once back at home, Jake loaded up for his ride back- clothes, guinea pigs, food and supplies, and then he left. It always goes too fast.

It was back to work for me for the rest of the week- up until Friday. I had a doctor’s appointment on Friday morning, then I spent the day again with Rachael doing what we would normally do- running some errands together and going down to Grandma’s for a nice visit. Before long, it was time to head home and get some dinner for Sam- which in this case meant bringing him to the grocery store. And since it was Friday once again, it was also “Monk Night”.

On Saturday morning, Rachael and I went over to the Farmer’s Market. We passed a lot of nice looking vegetables, but since that’s all I would be doing with them at home- looking at them, I didn’t buy any. We ended up buying some bagels and I ended up buying some local maple syrup. It’s not that I’ll use it, but Helaina and Rachael seem to like it. Plus, the lady that was selling it seemed nice.

We got home in plenty of time for Sam and I to run our Saturday errands, but shortly it was time to take Rachael down to the bus station for her ride back to the city. We arrived at the bus station early, so Rachael and I walked around a comic book store before before heading back to wait for the bus. The bus, unfortunately, was on time and we said our goodbyes and I went back to the car and waited for the bus to pull away.

The day was one of those hot, humid days where the smell of diesel lingered in the air a certain way. I’ve written about this before, about how that certain smell, which has to be just right, takes me back to the joy and excitement of long ago summer days, waiting for the train to take us down to Biltmore, and to the excitement, but sadness, of when we would wait for the train when we would have to leave for home again. I wondered if the smell would someday hold the same meaning for Rachael. I waited until the bus pulled away.

By now, it was Saturday night and another night watching “SG-1”. By Sunday, it was Sam and I- like usual. Several days earlier, Sam had asked about seeing “Ant-man”, and this seemed as good a time as any. It had been a long time since we had gone to the movies together, and I don’t think it had ever been just the two of us.

I got a quick lunch for Sam and then we caught the mid-day showing at the local theater. The small theater was more crowded than usual for a mid-day showing. There must have been close to a dozen people there.

Most of the fun was sitting there listening to Sam. Before the movie started, the theater ran a number of commercials. They also mixed in some “fun facts’ and what they define as “trivia” clips. Sam would take it all in. When they would show a “trivia” blurb such as, “Chris Pratt was a fan of the original Jurassic Park…”, Sam would silently read it and then say, “Hmmm. That’s interesting! That guy liked the original Jurassic Park!”

It was pretty much that all the way up until the movie started. Once the movie started, it switched to the occasional, “Ha! That’s funny!” or my favorite, “I can’t believe he’s doing that to another sheep!” (you’ll have to see the movie for the context). In a lot of ways, it was like “Monk Night”- only with a few more people around.

In may ways, it was a busy week. But in may ways, it would have been considered an ordinary one week, years ago. But, busy or ordinary, it doesn't matter to me. I'll take it either way.

My Friday Morning

What you see here is a picture from the local combo platter known as the RMV office and the visitors greeting center. Why the state had decided to combine these two unique facilities, I have no idea. But I'm pretty sure it involves budget cuts.

On the downside, this arrangement makes crowds even larger than it would have been at either one of these two facilities. The crown is not unlike the one you might have the pleasure of mingling with, if you're lucky enough to be called for jury duty. This one hay have wont in the "Oder" category though.

On the plus side it offers anyone coming to visit our state, a taste of what it's really like- and if they don't get back in their car and keep driving, it's their own fault.

I had the pleasure of spending a significant portion of my life there today, to get new license plates for what used to be mom's car. It's amazing how slowly time crawls when your there. The thing about the registry is that it seems to have its own time zone. The unique thing about this time zone is that time runs backwards, yet you still get older.

To help pass the time in the long wait, they have a screen in front of you that flashes things such as Hollywood Headlines. They never display any actual headlines, it just keeps playing the words Hollywood Headlines over and over again while you wait and wait and wait. Occasionally the monotony of this is broken up with an advertisement warning you against scamming your car insurance company.

Usually, there were two women behind the RMV counter, allegedly serving the crowd. Occasionally a third woman would come out from some back door, but as soon as she came back, another woman left- apparently to go on break- though it may have been that they were taking turns to look at the crowd through the security monitor out back- and laugh.This patterned maintained the highly efficient customer to employee ration of 157 to 1.

At least you can sit in comfort on the hard maple benches while waiting for your number to be called. I sat there as they called off the numbers, trying to detect some pattern that still eludes me: I107, Z100, E108, A109, I109, C102, A110, B100. On and on it went. These weren't even Bingo numbers.

Every time, as a new number was called, everyone would lean forward, clutching their ticket- as if this time, this time(!) they were going to hit the big one, they were going to be the Big Winner.  When it wasn't their number, everyone would slump back against the hard maple seats in unison, glare at the one lucky winner who had just stolen their rightful place at the counter, and wait for the next big spin of the roulette wheel, over and over.

Occasionally while waiting,, a mother would stroll in holding the hand of a young child. Clearly they were looking for the bathroom. But when they see the large crowd the mother's eyes widen and her mouth hangs open and with her stunned expression, you can almost hear herself asking, What are all these people doing here? What are all these benches? Is this the line for the bathroom???

She has no idea what kind of hell she's walked into, and you can see, as she slowly bounces off of every wall- like one of those aimless child toy bumper cars, that she's looking any door that might be unlocked- even if it's just the exit.

This scene plays out several time and it's always the same- someone bounces in through the entry, they hit a wall of confusion and oder and their expression instantly changes. Some wonder aimlessly, some stand in silence trying to decide how badly they really have to go. One woman spent upwards of ten minutes muttering over and over to herself, where's the bathroom- as she wandered around the room aimlessly- even stopping to look inside the occasional trash can.

As I sat on the bench,  another woman came in and sat next to me. This woman woman reeked of some kind of combination of stale deodorant and garlic. Sadly, it was actually pleasant by current standards. She sat there for few minutes while I jotted down numbers, then she then asked me if I knew if this was the right place to re-register your boat. I don't have a boat but I'm pretty sure that if you're in line and you don't know whether this is the right place to be or not, it's probably not the right place to be.

I suggested that she check out the paper forms that were at the front, by the door and if they have one of those forms, then most likely, she was in the right place. She thanked me, got up to check for a form, and then came back and sat down. She said there were no forms there, but she chose to wait anyway. I began to wonder if this was something she does everyday, just for the company.

All this time, more numbers were called, Z101, I110, C103 ... Eventually, my number was called and it was my turn to be glared at. But it was all worth it because of the polite, royal treatment I received from the friendly RMV worker. She talked to me like a long lost friend and informed me "no credit cards- cash or check only" and then, when I handed her my check, pointed out that my phone number wasn't printed on it, but, because she was so nice, she accepted it anyway.

I left, triumphant, new plates in hand, still thinking about those numbers. I still can't detect what the pattern is, but I'm pretty sure if I can figure it out, I might win the lottery.

Notes From Around the House

Found this note from Sam while cleaning off the dining room table...

Today's Brief Comment

My heating pad has four settings: High, Medium, Low and Off. I don’t know why they do this. The only settings I’ve ever used are High and Off. If something’s bothering me enough that I have to try and figure out where I left the heating pad to begin with, then I’m probably not going to be screwing around with Low and Medium.

Our Fourth on the Fifth