My Hermit Weekend

A while back, I read this quote by Mark Twain: “Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."  This struck a chord with me, and my first instinct was to hurl myself into insurmountable credit card debt by booking trips and enrolling in classes.  I talked myself out of it, because in twenty years, I’ll regret that I didn’t show more financial prudence and restraint. Mark Twain probably didn’t have car payments to make when he wrote that. But it did make me think about doing smaller things that I usually hesitate to try due to some rationalization, valid or not.
One thing I’ve thought about doing was a silent retreat. I liked the idea of being completely alone in silence, but I has afraid that I’d be instantly bored or go crazy and develop alternate personalities, just for the company. As a three-day weekend approached, I decided to sail away from the safe harbor and give the retreat a try.  I found the New Camaldoli Hermitage online, after having read a little blurb about it in Sunset magazine.  The hermitage is in Big Sur (one of the most beautiful areas I’ve ever seen,) and the price was right: $80 a night for my own little silent cell, with a view of the ocean and three meals a day. Sounded heavenly. I live alone, so I could do a silent retreat here, but there are my dogs to tend to, and my MacBook, and WiFi, and a thousand distractions.  I wanted to be completely cut off from everything. I’m also a total freak about silence, especially at night. I’ve moved out of perfectly good apartments because of noisy nocturnal neighbors.  It’s one big reason I won’t buy a house, because I’m afraid I’ll move in and find out that I have clog dancers living upstairs or heavy metal enthusiasts next door, and I’ll have to put the house back on the market before I’ve unpacked.
The route to the monastery is up Highway 1, which runs along the coastline. Several times, I pulled over to admire and photograph a view.  I stopped for about an hour at the San Simeon Elephant Seal sanctuary and watched elephant seals sleep, swim, and sun themselves.  They went on their elephant seal way, completely oblivious to the line of people behind them taking photos and videos.
The Pacific Coast Highway through Monterey is a white knuckle ride.  Its windy, blind turns and distracting views are at once relaxing and nerve-wracking. I would be nervous about driving it at night or after a rainstorm.  Still, there’s nothing like California coastline to remind me why I love this state.
The hermitage is in Lucia, up a windy, narrow driveway which is two way, although there are long stretches where my car took up the entire lane. I prayed that there were no oncoming cars, and immediately started to stress about leaving on Sunday because of the drop offs and soft shoulders. I put it out of mind, and went into the bookshop to check in. I was greeted warmly by a friendly monk who told me about meals and nice walks around the site. I try to access my Catholic school etiquette to recall if he was to be addressed as Father or Brother. I couldn’t recall, so just resorted to repeating “Great. Sounds good.” He told me I’d be staying in a “cozy” hermitage called Kairos.
No kidding. Kairos was a small trailer with a kitchen and bathroom and single bed. I was wary as I pulled up to it, but as soon as I settled in, I did appreciate its coziness. It was surrounded by trees and bushes, with a view of the ocean from the porch. 
There was no cell phone service, which had seemed appealing to me when I made the reservation, but now made me edgy.  I’m always a little nervous when I’m off the grid. I always assume someone is trying to reach me for some catastrophic reason.
The silence was very profound.  I kept whispering to myself in a distracted way, and wondered if that was the first sign of schizophrenia. I became keenly aware of how I always have some kind of noise on in my house, whether it’s music, the TV, or just a fan.  The only sound I heard as I sat on my porch was chirping birds and slight rustling in the foliage.
I walked around the grounds and took some photos.  I headed down the long drive towards the PCH.  There are some beautiful vistas, so I kept walking, almost to the end. I then realized that I now had to walk over a mile back uphill. Curses. I huffed and puffed my way up, stopping frequently to catch my breath under the guise of taking more photos.  Maybe one thing God wants me to learn from this is that I need to exercise more.
Other retreatants walked by, and it was very difficult not to smile and say hello. I had to clamp my lips together. Some people ignored me completely, others smiled and nodded. 
At 5:30, I went up to the kitchen with my dinner pails to get dinner. It’s left out in the retreat house kitchen, for the retreatants to come pick up at their leisure.   Bread, soup, and breakfast items are available 24 hours a day. Lunch, the main meal, is served between 12:30 and 1:00, and all meals taken back to your hermitage, to be eaten in solitude. As I walked in to get dinner, a man was there, getting his meal, and again I struggled with not making chit-chat to fill the silence. I looked at the books on the shelf of the small lending library as he finished up.  He left, and I dished out my own salad and soup. I almost spilled the tureen of soup as I pulled it out of the fridge. I stood in frozen horror for a moment, wondering how I could rectify that if I had actually done it. Could I go find a monk and offer to make more? Could I just leave it and run? Luckily, I wrangled it back into the fridge, and headed back to my hermitage. I left my meal there, grabbed my camera, and ran up to the main drive again to watch the sunset. It was spectacular.  The colors against the wide expanse of water were sublime and constantly changing.
In the dusk, I headed back and ate dinner on my porch, slurping my soup because no one was around, and I like doing it. After dinner, I washed all of my dishes and made my bed up. It was 7:15 and I wonder if it’s too early to go to bed, despite the fact that I wasn’t the tiniest bit sleepy.  I fought the urge to clean out my purse or play Angry Birds on my iPhone. I thought about eating all of the snacks I brought, despite being full from the delicious soup and salad. Recalling that I have iTunes on my computer, I started to cue it up when I stop myself. I came here to revel in silence, and at least for the first night, I was going to try.
I went outside on my little patio to look at the stars. The night was clear and there was almost no light pollution, yet it was unnerving how dark and quiet it was. I heard rustling in the bushes nearby, and instantly my Woody Allen instincts kicked in. I was sure it’s a machete-wielding lunatic.  I grabbed a flashlight and shone it towards what I’m sure was my oncoming violent end. It’s a squirrel, scared out of its little wits by my beam of light.
I went back inside. I wondered how my dogs are doing. I broke down and watch a clip from “The Ricky Gervais Show” that I have stored on iTunes, and that made me less lonely.
I read until I got sleepy and I was proud that I lasted until 9:30.  Once I turned off my light, it was pitch black.  It’s discombobulating to sleep in utter darkness and silence.  I slept well, but my dreams were very vivid and it was hard to shake them when I woke up. The dreams weren’t particularly insightful. In one dream, I showed Leonardo DiCaprio my new purse. Without a word, he took it and walked around with it for a few minutes, then threw it in a trash can and walked away.  I don’t think there was any kind of message in that, and I laid awake, thinking about my new purse. I drifted off, but was woken up suddenly by an owl hooting outside of my door.  The sound was sad, then comforting, then annoying, then comforting again. When I was on the verge of throwing a shoe at the door, the owl flew off.
In the morning, I woke up right before dawn, and looked out my window. The ocean is beautiful, lavender and azure, and dead still.  I thought about getting up and taking pictures, but my bed was warm and comfy.  I decided to shoot for the next morning.
I got up a couple hours later, took a quick walk, snapped some pictures of some birds, and then went to grab a yogurt and some sugar from the retreat house kitchen. I brought my own tea and some zucchini bread, so I headed back to my hermitage and made breakfast.  On the way back, I ran smack into a herd of deer, grazing by my door.  I watched them and waited for them to amble on, but they were in no hurry. Clearly they’re used to humans, but I was hungry, so I walked straight up between them.  I made breakfast and ate it on my patio.  I washed the dishes and made my bed. It was 8:15.
I tried to go on the internet. My AirPort picked up WiFi signals called MonksEast and Monks South, but they were password protected. Those rascals. Just as well. I reminded myself again that I came here for the cloister experience.
I decided to take another walk. The room instructions request that retreatants don’t walk along dirt roads, because of poison oak and “to maintain the cloister of the monks”. But I had already explored all of the approved routes, so I pledged to avert my eyes from any monks I encounter and watch where I step, and I set off down the dirt road that ran past my place. I was rewarded with another spectacular view of the ocean and the Monterey coast.  I found a bench and sat for a long time, soaking in the sun and silence.
I came back, read for a little bit, then decided to go up to the gift shop and look around. The cloistered monks spend their day in prayer and reflection, but clearly they have some free time as well, because the gift shop stocks some of their art, along with books, jewelry, and religious knic-knacs.  The only people in the shop were a monk and a woman who must have been their secretary. She was prattling on about a coworker, and it was such a sharp contrast to the silence of the past day. The monk was listening intently, occasionally trying to interject but was ignored by the woman. It reminded me of the Seinfeld episode, when Kramer takes a vow of silence until Kathy Griffin’s character makes him cave.  “You got to shut up!” he bursts out. “You talk too much.” I wonder if the monk was thinking the same thing, or if he enjoyed hearing conversation, no matter what the subject.
I bought a St. Francis of Assisi statue and a coffee mug. I wanted to look through the books, but I couldn’t listen to the woman any longer. As I get older, I have less and less patience with idle chatter. It bores me and grates on my nerves.  The monk seemed a little relieved to come ring me up and escape the barrage of nattering.
The lunch bell rang at 12:30. I grabbed my dinner pail and walked up to the kitchen.  Lunch is all vegetarian and served buffet style. There were two men in the kitchen when I walk in, whispering to each other. They look guilty when they spotted me, like they’d broken the silence rule and I was there to bust them.  I smiled, said nothing, and started to load up my plates. Lunch was delicious; rice and veggies, artichokes in a cream sauce, roasted potatoes, vegetable lasagna. I took a little of everything, and headed back to Kairos.
I looked up the word Kairos and learned that it’s a Greek word that means an opportunity, a propitious moment for decision or action. It would be a perfect place to do some serious thinking. I don’t know if I’m here seeking any insight. I’m open to God nudging me in the right direction, if I’m messing up. I don’t think I am, though. Is that supreme arrogance? Maybe. I sometimes wonder if I should be a teacher. It tires me. But I think work tires me in general, because I’m lazy. Well, not lazy, just unindustrious. When I have a day off, I do get out and do leisure things, but they’re things that I enjoy doing, not that I have to do. If I could get paid for going out to lunch, going to museums, reading, napping, playing on the internet, and sitting in the park with my dogs, I’d be delighted to go to work every day. I feel like I’ve made the right life choices. If God disagrees, I’m open for discussion. But it’s going to take more than some psalms to get me into the negotiations.
After lunch, I slipped into the church to look around. It’s beautiful and simple. It reminds me of a Quaker meetinghouse, with rows of chairs facing each other and no decoration. There’s a simple altar and a small crucifix suspended from the ceiling.  I like that. I get squeamish about churches with a huge, bleeding Jesus staring tragically down at the churchgoers.  I get what He went through and I’m sorry He had to do it; I don’t need to be distracted by a bloody, torn corpse. I sat for a few minutes, but as what always happens when I’m in a church, I get antsy to get outside. I said a quick prayer and left.
I got my evening meal, more artfully this time. No near spills, and I don’t forget anything. After stowing my meal in my kitchen, I went to watch the sunset.  Again, beautiful.  I began to stress about the ride home the next day. Windy roads; Sunday traffic. There’s no way around going home, so I put it out of mind and went back to eat dinner. The meal was carrot and rice soup, and salad. I really, really LIKE soup and salad, and I wondered why I don’t eat more like this at home.
Decided to give looking at the stars another try.  Once more, it was awe-inspiring, then that freakin’ owl started up again, and suddenly I felt very sad. I started thinking about physicist Brian Greene on the Colbert Report, explaining how our universe might just be one of many, and Stephen bellowing, “This has to stop! I can’t feel any more insignificant than I already do!” I get that. It’s times like these that I understand that I’m a tiny person on a tiny planet in a tiny galaxy of what might be a tiny universe. I crawled into bed and read until I got sleepy.
I’m jarred awake in the middle of the night by something walking on the roof. It sounded big. I mean, human big.  How could someone get up there, and more importantly, why? My heart pounded and I fished my pepper spray out of my purse,  Whatever it was leapt off (or FLEW off, maybe? My mind filled with swirling, supernatural images) and I drifted back into an uneasy sleep. That blasted curvy driveway wheedled into my thoughts again.  Let it go, let it go. What will be, will be.
Woke up to another beautiful dawn.  Packed up, cleaned up the hermitage (per the request of the monks. I didn’t mind. They kept me, fed me and left me alone for 48 hours. It was the least I could do.)
Packed up the car, and headed down the drive, praying and watching with one eye for any oncoming vehicles and the other on where I could pull off if need be.  I met no one, and heaved a sigh of relief until I remembered the 20 plus miles of twisting highway that I still had in front of me. I’m not a nervous driver unless I let my imagination run wild. I squelched it and plowed on. 
It was an uneventful ride home, with the scenery that I love best in the world.  I enjoyed my time at the hermitage very much, and I can see the allure of such a simple life. On the drive, I thought that I could live a cloistered life very easily. If I had my dogs.  And my books. And my computer and digital cable and my camera and my car, because you HAVE to have a car, right? Ok, so maybe the monastic life isn’t for me, except the occasional weekend.  But I may be able to inject a more simple aesthetics into my everyday life, and be my own brand of monk.

Christmas Tree 2010

As I decorate my Christmas tree, I’m reminded of different themes I've adopted over the years.  One year, it was all blue and purple ornaments; the next year was all red and green. One year was all angels, and another was all Santas. I went through a Victorian stage and a rustic folk art stage. I would comb through stores, looking for decorations that fit my motif, and then ponder my creation with a tiny dose of smugness at my aesthetic vision. Some years, as I channeled Martha Stewart, I’d even tie in a ‘gift wrapping’ theme with my house decorations.  I have no idea where that person is now, but she’s long gone. I still love to decorate my house, but now the theme is “Ornaments That Have Managed To Not Get Broken.”  I have a 6-foot-tall fake tree that I bought at KMart eight years ago for $20. It actually sheds pine needles, like a real tree, but I think it’s due to a lack of quality design rather than whimsy.
In my first apartment back in Philadelphia, I bought a real tree.  But, being the scatterbrain that I am, I was lax about watering it and by December 20, it was a fire hazard.  By the time I’d dragged it to the apartment complex dumpster, it was a bare stick trailing a path of pine needles. I splurged on another one my first year in California, but my pug Albert viewed it as his very own pee-post, to be marked on repeatedly, even though he was the only male dog who came near it. It’s been a plastic tree for me ever since.
It’s strange that I decorate a tree at all. I don’t spend the holidays here and there are no gifts underneath it for a significant other or children. I do it because it makes me happy to see it lit up at night, and because it’s something I’ve always had. So the tradition will stand at least until every plastic needle has fallen off the plastic frame, or every ornament is broken. Until then:
O Christmas Tree! O Christmas Tree!
Such pleasure do you bring me!

I'm a Big Meany

I made two students cry today.  I take no joy in this, but I do have to admit to a grim satisfaction.  Both are two of about a dozen students who have exerted little effort into my class, and are now failing. It’s only the first quarter; they have ten weeks to bring their grade up before it pounds their GPA.  But suddenly the gravity of an impending F has struck the masses, and these two were bold enough to suddenly take action.  Both approached me at the beginning of their respective class periods to ask if they could do extra credit or be excused from some missing assignments.  Now if a student is experiencing some trauma at home, or has been classified by our Special Ed department as needing some accommodations, I’m more than happy to work with the student to improve their grade.  I never excuse an assignment, but under the right circumstances, I’ll extend the deadline or allow the student to do alternate, but equally rigorous, work.
These two students do not qualify for that kind of courtesy. Both admitted that they just didn’t do the work because it bored them, or they didn’t feel like it, and now they’re in trouble at home because of the resulting grade. One girl, as an excuse as to why she didn’t turn in a literature project, said, “Well, I just don’t like to read.”  I told her that I didn’t know what kind of response she expected from me, as I am an ENGLISH TEACHER. I didn’t go into teaching for the money; I went into it because of my love of the subject matter. And this was an interesting assignment: I let the students choose their books, reminding them ad nauseum to choose a book about a subject they love. As a result, if I have to read one more literature log on Twilight, I’m going to suck the blood out of a deer myself. But at least the kids are reading, and I have to remind myself of that.
This student stared at an open book for five weeks during Silent reading time in class, then informed me the day the assignment was due that she didn’t like the book she choose, so she wasn’t going to do the project. Now this same girl is one of two students asking to do extra credit, which means I have to think of an assignment, and then grade it when they decide to hand it in. I told both kids the same thing: “You choose not to do the work I assigned, so why would I give you more work? How is that fair to your classmates who did the work they were supposed to, when they were supposed to?”  That’s when the tears sprung into their eyes.  I think because I am basically good-natured in class, they were not expecting me to be so inflexible on this. But I couldn’t shy away from teaching them a lesson.
So maybe English class isn’t their cup of tea. I get that. But this is a bigger issue. Even if an F goes home on the quarter grade report, maybe they’ll learn that sometimes in life, we have to do things that bore us. I wish life could be all house parties and days at the beach, I really do. But life involves a certain level of drudgery and routine for most of us, and it’s an unavoidable evil. It’s better that they learn that blowing off a required task results in an “F”, rather than a pink slip. Or that they have to explain that failure to their parents, rather than to the family of a person whose death they inadvertently caused because they didn’t pay close attention to a prescription’s directions or the instruction manual for heavy machinery.  They have to learn how to learn, and deal. 
So, in each case, I handed the kid a tissue and told them to go outside to get themselves together.  I don’t feel badly about it, and I’m sure they muttered every expletive in their vocabulary about me.  It’s a cliche to say that they’ll thank me someday, but I can send this little lesson out to the cosmos and hope that the result down the line will make each of these kids a slightly better person. I’m not holding my breath for a Thank You card, though.

I Feel The Earth Move Under My Feet

I have been reminded yet again by "CBS Sunday Morning" that we Californians are long overdue for The Big One, the catchphrase used for the massive earthquake that will basically level the state. The San Andreas fault runs just north of where I live, and is the geological culprit that gets the most press. But the state is rife with faults, any one of which could be ground zero for a big, destructive quake. 
It’s easy to shrug it off and just go to the beach. Aside from insane real estate and traffic, life is California is enjoyable. The weather is temperate, the people are pleasant, the scenery is lovely. There’s a reason people come west to live.  But it is on the cusp of several tectonic plates that are rubbing against each other, and each time a deadly earthquake hits someplace else in the world, we Californians are reminded that it’s not a matter of “if”, but “when”.  And when it does happen, will we be prepared? And what will our enjoyable life be like afterward?
I didn’t live here when the Northridge quake hit, but my friends who did all have horror stories, ranging from broken plates to sudden unemployment, due to destroyed businesses.  We occasionally have little trembles, but aside from being unnerving, they don’t disrupt my day that much.  The Northridge quake was a 6.7 on the Richter scale, and caused billions of dollars in damage. The death toll and the damage from the Big One, potentially a 8 or above, will be unimaginable. The state will be crippled, no matter how many drills and reinforcements are put into place now.
Geologists and seismic researchers remind everyone that that there’s no way to predict a quake. They can watch the buildup of stress along a fault line, and point out where the weak points may be, but when a quake starts, there’s usually only a few seconds of rumbling before the shaking begins. We are warned to have a plan and an emergency bag. I have one with a first aid kit, some cans of tuna and some water, but it’s impossible to know what will be needed, if power and water is destroyed.  My sad little red backpack doesn’t seem like it will be of much help if utilities are knocked out for weeks or even days. I also worry about my dogs’ survival.  These creatures are my kids, for all intents and purposes, and how will I keep them healthy and safe in a massive disaster?
Life is a gamble, and there isn’t a place in America that isn’t prone to some kind of natural disaster, whether it be hurricane, floods, tornadoes, and crippling blizzards.  All I can do is make sure I have my emergency pack and my camping equipment in a place where I can find them quickly, and just pray I’m home when it happens, so I can take care of myself and the dogs.  Beyond that, I’m powerless, and I know it’s pointless to worry.  Now I think I’ll go sit outside in the warm sun.

Little Red Schoolhouse, Malta, Colorado

Schoolhouse
Originally uploaded by WhizzoChocs

I used to drive by this place when I went to visit my parents. It always struck me as so desolate and sad, and the perfect place for a ghost or a murderer's hideout. It's located in Malta, a dot of a town near Leadville, which is itself a dot of a town. It used to be a bustling railroad stop, but now it's a depressing turn in the road, surrounded by slag heaps and debris. This schoolhouse has no sign that I could ever spot, so I never knew the history behind it, but it's clearly taken care of by someone. The view from the front door is amazing; the Twin Lakes and an unobstructed view of the Rockies. I always wondered what it would be like to have been the teacher here. It would be very cold in the winter, but lovely the rest of the year.
Sadly, my parents moved away from Chaffee County, so I have no reason to drive through Leadville anymore, but I think on my next trip to Colorado, I may take a spin through the area.

New Camera

Ventura Harbor in the morning
Originally uploaded by WhizzoChocs

I saved some funds and used birthday money to buy a FujiFilm FinePix S2550HD camera. It’s so sweet, the nicest camera I’ve ever owned. It’s got all of the proverbial bells and whistles, which I spent a good part of last night figuring out.
I walked around the harbor today, taking photos of boats and seagulls and flowers. I felt a little self-conscious about carrying and pointing a camera, like I was a spy or lonely perv. I wanted to try the burst mode, but I felt a little shady standing in the parking lot, trying to get a photo of a flying bird. It was almost comical because the harbor is packed with seagulls, but every time I pointed the camera in one direction, a bird would fly over my head from another direction. It was almost like they were plotting together to make me spin around wildly. The final insult was when I lowered my camera, a great blue heron soared right over. I actually jumped up and down with annoyance. I’ve read that in photography, patience is as important as talent, so that’s clearly something I’m going to have to work on.
I daydream about being a freelance photographer and writer, traveling to tourist attractions and historical sites and publishing my stories. And then when I made enough money, I’d buy a sweet RV and travel the country year round, documenting and describing parks and urban projects and festivals. And then I’d win the Nobel Prize and then... OK, my daydreams do evolve to the point of delusion. I accept that. Until all that happens, I’ll post things here. Here’s my first photo.

A Day in the Life of WhizzoChocs

In Doris Lessing's novel 'The Golden Notebook', the narrator notes everything that happens to her on one day. It's a good writing exercise because it forces me to notice details and connect abstract thoughts to concrete things. So here is my day, for your reading pleasure (I assume it's for your pleasure, or you'll stop reading right now.)
I sleep through two alarms, but I'm finally nudged awake by the mutt, who must have gotten tired of listening to the beeping. It's raining, so I try to get inspired to take the dogs for a walk.  I give the mutt her first dose of medicines.  She has Cushing's Disease and has to take expensive but life saving meds three times a day. I scroll through Facebook and Twitter on my phone, while I sip a cup of coffee. It's Green Mountain coffee which I have delivered every six weeks.  It's a luxury, but it's my one culinary indulgence. I don't spend money on good wine or food, so I can justify it.  I can't put off the dog walk any longer.  I dig out raincoat and Crocs for me, and wrestle the harnesses onto the dogs, who have figured out that it's raining, and yes, I'm still making them go out in it.  As a tight pack, we trot up to the park and then I let them go to do their business.  The mutt relieves herself quickly; the ten-pound dachshund is a little more delicate and looks at me morosely.  I check the traffic report on my phone and discover that there's an accident on my route to work, so now the morning pace must be accelerated.  I scoop the dachshund up, and we walk quickly back home.

I feed the dogs, make some toast, have another cup of coffee.  I used to watch the comically inept local news for traffic and weather, but now that I have apps for both on my phone, I can sit in silence and darkness without the TV on.  It's a nice way to gather strength for the day.

Get dressed. Decide against the outfit I picked out and opt for jeans and a thermal. My fashion style has slowly deteriorated (or evolved, depending on how you look at it) over the years. I used to wear skirts and blouses, or dresses, usually with panty hose and high heels. I now choose comfort over professional appearance, and my command of the classroom has not diminished. Take one last gulp of coffee, put a little eyeliner on, then I'm out the door.

The traffic is terrible.  The accident mixed with the rain doubles my commute time.  I pull into the parking lot just as the first bell is ringing and ignore the good natured ribbing I get from my students who are clustered around my door. 

My first period is very funny.  It's mostly boys and they're all good kids. They have a final draft of an essay to hand in, and despite my numerous reminders and warnings about excuses, my podium is rushed like I'm a vampire heartthrob by teens with a dozen stories about why they don't have their assignment. I wave them away. I've been teaching too long to listen to the same stories students have been offering since the start of civilization.  Well, maybe Roman students didn't claim that their printer broke, but I'm sure their excuses were as lame and hackneyed.

I hand back a test and we go over it as a class. We're reading "Of Mice and Men", so I read aloud to them and ask questions. They seem to be enjoying it, if only for the cursing.  I remind them that tomorrow is Silent Reading day.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, my five classes read a book of their choice for 15 minutes.  I actually have them do it because I want to be able to read for 75 minutes, twice a week.  I don't care if they like to do it or not. I'm tempted to make it a daily event, but it really does cut into class time.

Second period is my prep period. A friend and colleague emails me to ask if I can help her proctor the SATs on Saturday.  I had planned to go spend the day at the Autry Museum of Western Heritage  but I need the money.  Besides, SAT testing is a nice block of time to get some grading done. And if I get enough grading done, I can put it aside and read the new Bill Bryson book which I just got and am enjoying very much. The museum can wait until another week, so I say yes.

Third and fourth period roll by.  The juniors are reading "The Crucible".  My mood sours a little as the day progresses, but I chalk it up to PMS.

At lunch, my classroom is a refuge for students trying to escape the rain.  There's a nice chatter about the upcoming weekend, and Homecoming dance.  A student comes to me to tell me that his stepfather has pancreatic cancer and that's why his grade is suffering.  I have no reason to doubt him, so we talk about what can we do that will improve his grade without adding extra stress.
Fifth and sixth period round out the day.  I stay late to enter grades into the online gradebook. I think about just doing it at home, but I get so little schoolwork done at home. My attention span whittles down to nothing, and it's just easier to do as much as I can at school.
Drive home is much better than morning ride. I'm listening to "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" on my iPod.  I really haven't been enjoying it until the last few days, where the story has picked up and it's finally interesting.   I think about how thankless my job is, but then I realize that I've never heard of a job where workers get sincere thanks.  Maybe that's just not something we humans should expect from our careers.  Maybe the paycheck is enough.
Get home, and dogs are ecstatic to see me again. Clearly they had convinced themselves that I was never to return and they were abandoned forever. The frenzied greeting of my dogs never fails to make me smile.
I putz around on the computer, while eating hummus and crackers.  The rainclouds clear out so I walk the dogs along the bike path behind my house. There are eucalyptus trees along the edge, and the smell of their wet leaves is heavenly.  After we get back, I feed the dogs, pour a glass of wine, and rummage around the fridge for dinner.  I've got a bunch of leftovers on the verge of going bad, so I saute some asparagus, heat up the rest of a casserole, and wash and destem a basket of strawberries.  I watch the Simpsons and Scrubs and read friends' blogs. 
It's now 7 p.m.  Not an account of a full day, but the plan is to watch reruns of Seinfeld, then Ghost Hunters.  I'll take a shower, pack a lunch, get the coffeemaker ready, and pick out something to wear.  I want to get to bed early, because I'm really tired and I have the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in.  I anticipate a delightful sleep.