Rain In My Kitchen

After digging my car out of ice Sunday morning at a friend's house I arrived at home to find the kitchen pipes frozen.
Already late to pick up my step daughter, I did my best to thaw them with no luck. After two hours I left and got Jordan. We had a great afternoon at my mom's house making Christmas cookies. On my way home I stopped at Menard's for space heaters and talked with a gentleman who told me how his kitchen pipes burst open last year in weather like this. I prayed the whole way home. When I got there I was in luck; the pipes were still frozen but nothing busted open.
I set to work with my hair dryer and space heaters and two hours later there was running water in my kitchen. YAY! The bathroom upstairs, though, nothing. By morning the bathroom tub was dripping so I thought it was a good sign. At 4:00 I left the house for a skin appointment and when I got back home an hour later I heard the rain. At first I thought, "oh good! Running water." Then I remembered there was running water in the kitchen when I left so I flipped on the lights and to my horror water was falling from every recessed light in the cieling. It was kind of cool looking so the first thing I looked for was my camera to shoot a picture but I left it at my parent's house the day before. Damn!
Tessa got up to greet me but wouldn't enter the kitchen. I dragged garbage bins under the leaks and looked for the phone book. A nice guy at Gilchrist plumbing talked me through shutting off the water and emptying the lines to get the water to stop wrecking havoc on my kitchen. The water was going through the kitchen floor and causing rain in the basement also. I mopped, I moved electric things out of the kitchen, and I opened a bottle of wine.
My roommate returned my call but I didn't hear the phone. "Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry you're there alone dealing with this. Jesus...I don't even know what to say. More money, more problems."
Yup.

tide

I looked at the ocean below my feet as I walked into it. It was pulling away from me and at the same time rushing toward me.
I kept walking and when the wave coming at me was bigger than I could jump over or turn my back to, I dove into it.

I could not help thinking, this is just like my divorce.

Undercover Racists

I really hate when white people think that just because you are also white that you believe the same racist thoughts they believe.

In talking to men I'm going to have to get better at dragging this sort of thing out of them if I'm going to ever go back to white. What...it could happen.

Case in point:

I'm out with Dora and we're talking to two men who say they are from Orland Park. I'm not fond of the South Side. I have this idea that it's racist. I don't know where I get that from. I'm trying not to judge people because of their neighborhood and they're pretty funny so we talk a bit. Some really pretty black girls walk by and the Taller one, Mike, says. "They're hot." I agree with him and he follows it with a story. "I was dating this girl in college and she took me to her home town in Kansas one weekend to meet the family and half of them were black." I'm nodding, maybe he was expecting a reply like, "NO! What did you do?"
He continues, "so I had to break up with her. You'd never know it by looking at her but what if it got more serious and we got married and had kids. You know? I just couldn't take that chance."
Now my head is bowed and I'm shaking it. "What? Would you?"
I say, "um...my husband is black."
"What? No! Really?"
"Yes, really." His friend is not even trying to bail him out and he begins to take on more water.
"A black guy? I'd never picture you marrying a black guy."
WTF? Why do people say shit like that?
I say, "Well it was nice talking to you."
Ok, get this...he says, "No, what? You're leaving? I won't hold it against you. I teach at an all black school."
I didn't think it could get worse. Those poor kids.

So how do you tell and undercover racist? What questions do you use to bring it out of them?

What was I thinking?

Whining about a missing bumper magnet?

I just got my President. My dreamy President!!

Keep the magnet.

Early Voting

It was the second to last day of early voting. I waited, with many others for nearly two hours to cast my vote and the experience was moving.

I live on the West Side of Chicago and found the nearest location through the Chicago elections website. The Westside Learning Center is on the 4600 block of Madison Avenue. I am often the only white person in businesses that surround my house, my neighborhood is extremely segregated and mostly African American. Perhaps this is why I was so moved while waiting with the others to vote. We were given colored cards with numbers on them. A voting commissioner would call out in intervals, "Orange cards, numbers 66, 67, 68, 69....." I was red 23, I had a while to wait.

There was a sense of solemn importance among us, a sense that we were participating in a historic election and we were happy. We were hopeful, we were part of something big. We waited and waited and waited. No one complained about the wait. In fact, we were downright jovial about it. I listened as the lady across from me described her favorite dish at a Jamaican restaurant when the lady next to me started laughing and said, "she's talking about food." We all laughed and shared our common hunger.
"Let's all meet up there afterwards!" Joked one young man.

People passed the time by quietly talking, texting, just sitting. There were a few children waiting quietly with their parents. No children cried or whined or ran about misbehaving. As if they sensed the importance of it all as well.

I don't pray very often. I say my nightly thanks before falling to sleep but other than that...nope, not much. Only when I really need to reach out. Like when Kira had Cancer, when my mom was in the hospital, when I thought Tessa was going to die, when I first felt the impact of the word divorce. Important times, like this election. So I sat in my chair and said a prayer.

When my number was called the first time I didn't hear it, I was deep in thought or prayer or something. Then it was called again. I was able to enter another room where the polls were. I was led by a voting comissioner to a poll and she held my arm on the way explaining the process of the touch screen to me. I actually got chills as I entered my vote.

I left that place smiling and was greeted by a man waiting outside with his yellow card "77." He flashed it at me and said, "I'm the last one today!" I smiled and said, "make it count, my friend!"

Someone Stole My Obama Magnet!!

Right off my car!!!

There's a cleaner than the rest of the car spot where it used to be and a hole in my Democratic heart.

Who would do this? Another Obama supporter? Nah...how could they?

A McCain supporter looking to break an Obama lover's heart? Is it a sign? A sign that another disappointment may lay ahead? That there just may be a way They can steal this election too?

Please don't let it be so.

Obama Rally

On Tuesday I received an Email from the Obama people inviting me to the Election rally in Grant Park. I'm on their mailing list because I bought a cool magnet for my car from them, an Obama T-shirt, and have given several times to the campaign. I was so excited to receive the invite that minutes afterward I was filling in the blanks to get my ticket emailed to me.

All I've heard from them since is requests for more money. I'm trying not hold this against Barack, I know he's not in charge of his email. But I can't help but feel a bit slighted. I'm sure there are people who gave more to his campaign, but are there any who have started as heated an email fight between they and their brothers over Obamam? Whatever...

I don't care...I just wanted to be there with everyone else who cares as much about this election as I do. Wether he wins or loses I wanted to be in the spot where it was felt most. The joy or the sadness. I wanted to feel it.

And now, I don't even have my magnet anymore. Guess it'll be me in my vintage style Obama t-shirt at a bar somewhere biting my fingernails until the end.

Portfolio Day

We've had some things occur at our school that make a lot of us nervous about taking field trips. Field trips can be really effective ways of sparking student interest and engaging them in education but law suits and accountability on behalf of the teacher is nerve racking.

This past weekend was National Portfolio Day at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Last year I offered to accompany kids as a club field trip, this year I helped them organize a time for them to all meet at the train and go on their own.

Nancy called me at 9 p.m. the night before, "hey! Um...I decided to go tomorrow and was wondering if you were going." I told her I wasn't but informed her of the plan. However, the next morning I was having coffee with Heather and J.P. while Jackson played with his trains and Sampson annoyed the fuck out of all of us when I looked at my watch. It was 9 a.m., the time they agreed to meet. I sent Nancy a text asking if she found the others. The reply was quick, "Yup we're at mcdonalds!!! Cuz we are hungry!!!!!" Her multiple exclamation points got me all fired up.and excited.
"Who all is there?" I asked her. She sent me back the names of five others. "Yay! Let me know if you guys want me to meet you down there."
Another quick reply, "ok well um yea!!! They want you to meet them down there!!!!" How cute is she with all those exclamation points?
I jumped in the shower and drove down to meet them. Jon waited in line for over two hours just to have a word with someone from his dream school, Parsons. The rest of us were in the old Stock Exchange room taking turns with all the Illinois schools. I was so proud of them and so happy theat I met them there. Priscilla was a little discouraged after speaking with her first rep but uplifted by the others. Nancy stayed peppy the entire time, Victor was a bit taken with University of Illinois and Illinois State. It's funny how a kid could decide on a school based on a five minute interview with someone that won't even remember them. Do these people who look at portfolios realize the dreams and feelings attached to the hands that present these drawings and paintings to them? We heard from Cindy through text, she had come also but we never saw her. On our way out we ran into Kelly who couldn't meet earlier because she was in a class.

That makes seven students who on a Sunday morning got up early and, unaccompanied by parents, met at a train and found their way into Chicago to learn about Colleges they may like to attend. I'm going to use this pride to get me through entering grades for first quarter report cards today. Yay kids!!!!!!!!!

Showering With a Friend

There were only two other ladies in the locker room when I entered, they had already showered and were dressing. I grabbed my shower stuff out of my locker and went to the shower area to begin my routine. I picked up my black plastic scrungie and poured some soap on it and then scrubbed my tummy. I moved up to my arms and was about to get my chest when I saw something emerge from inside the scrungie and then jump out.

It was the same inch and a half long roach I made the maintenance guy try to find that I saw in my locker last week. Dude must have been chilling with my soap and shampoo the entire time before he took a nap in my scrungie and then joined me in the shower.

Well of course I screamed. Dammit, I even cried a little. It took a few minutes for me to get the courage up to get my shampoo and finish the job. But only after Mary Pat came and took my friend away in a toilet paper body bag. Ironically she was once an exterminator.

Ah the perks of a free health club in your place of work.

First Lead Teacher Meeting

"Excruciating," Mary said after about twenty minutes.
I fought sleep. I doodled. A deer in headlights, then an abstract.
Ate some mints and offered a few to Mary.
Went to the bathroom just because I was bored.
Made lists: What I need to do today, Who I need to call, Ideas for my blog...
I counted how many calories I had eaten that day.

oh, another PowePoint. Now look, two Power Points at once on two screens.

I cannot be paid enough for this. Never will I be paid enough for this.

Cucumbers

This posting is from Monday. I haven't been able to log onto this site until yesterday so I'm doing a lot of posting of blogs I've written all week:

I took Friday off. Just needed a day, don't tell HR because I called in sick instead of calling it a personal day. I went out that night and stayed out, LATE. When I woke up Saturday morning I noticed I had missed a couple of calls and a few text messages. Two of them were from senior AP student, Reyes: "Hey, it's Reyes. Jon said maybe ud b goin into skul 2moro. If u do can u look 4 my wallet. I think i dropped it there. It's blue and one of those with a velcro strap. I'm real worried cuz it's got my license in it n stuff. Thanx" I notice he sent this to me at 12:01 a.m. Why do I give these kids my number? I send him a text telling him I wouldn't make it in but I'd look for it first thing Monday morning,he replies:"Ok thanx. I'm really buggin about it."
Sunday nite at 8:44:"Sorry to bother...but just wanted to give u a reminder abt my wallet tomorrow...thank u!" I get to work on Monday at 7:30, see no wallet. Send a text: "Sorry kiddo, no sign of ur wallet. :("
He replies: "Ummm cindy said that she saw it after i left and that she gave it to the sub...so wut wud he do with it?"
"Principal's office"
"So do I have to go get it?"
Why do I respond to these kids? "I'm not the one who left it here."
"So do I have to go get it? ...or?"
"Yes YOU have to get it, it's UR wallet. duh! And stop texting in school!"

Many funny things were said today. A note left by one of the substitutes: "Jose had cucumbers for you but we ate them." I saw Jose outside my room, his locker is right there, i asked him about the note and he held up a cucumber and said, "I love cucumbers." Then he snapped off an end of it and ate it. I cannot make this shit up. I laughed and he said, "we have a lot of them in my backyard."

Speaking about a day of silence held last year to acknowledge the difficulties of being homosexual:
Daisy: "Remember that day last year when you could shut up for gay people?"
Juan: "Shut up for gay people?"
Daisy: "Yea, you didn't talk so gay people would be respected."
Juan: "Oh yea, I remember that."

In AP Studio while drawing from still life:
Reyes: "Why am I sitting over here when I can't see the composition?"
Jon: "You say that as if you actually know what that word means." Discussion begins about a YouTube video, "Leave Britney Alone."
Jon: "It's a transvestite."
Javier: "Yea, a dude that still wants to be a dude but dresses like a woman."
Me: "Isn't that a cross-dresser?"
Jon: "Transvestite."
Javier: "Yea, cuz he still wants to be a dude."
Jon: "He hasn't gone full woman yet."
Me: "What about the guy that doesn't want to be a dude anymore?"
Nancy: "A guy that changes his wee-wee to a v-jay-jay is a transgender."
I think I've got it now.

Footlocker

At yesterday's faculty meeting we were asked to write Deans' Referrals for students out of uniform. Some of the most commonly seen infractions are jackets being worn, multicolored shoes and undershirts of different colors.

I was explaining the meeting and request to my first hour students, who are a pretty quiet group. "If you're wearing a shirt under your polo you need to be sure that it's plain white, ok? I've seen girls wearing those tanks with the lace at the top and bottom and those are ok as long as they are white." I try to be funny by asking a boy if he has any of those shirts, "It's ok if the white lace hangs out the bottom of your polo, we're told. So, that would be alright for you to do, ok, Jesse?"
He blurts out, "Foot Locker."
"What?"
"Huh?"
"Do you know a kid named Omar?"
"Um...yes he was in my night school class last year," I tell him. "Why?"
"He worked at Pizza Hut with me."
"Oh yea? How is he?"
"I don't know, I don't work there anymore."

Of course, that makes sense. Jesse can't find his sketchbook and asks for another handout to start over on the shaded face drawing. I give him one, he tells me he'll look for his sketchbook in his locker. After school he stops in the room to tell me he still can't find his sketchbook. "I know they took it because I made my cover real sick." Nobody steals sketchbooks. I tell him to check the other class cabinets. "No, I remember putting it in our cabinet, I'm telling you, they took it." I remember his cover and then it dawns on my that Jesse doesn't like tearing out his drawings so he turns in his whole sketchbook everytime an assignment is due. I file through the stack of things I need to grade and find his sketchbook. "Oh, Miss! Look at you! You made me look all over the place for that."
Sorry.
We talk a bit about the teacher that just dies. Jesse didn't know him, still he was moved by the somber mood of the school created by the loss of this man. "I hear he was real cool. Real good teacher, man. That sucks."

Legendary Teacher

One of our veterans passed away a couple nights ago. An English teacher that had been in the school for thirty three years. This guy was one of those characters you imagine when envisioning someone completely dedicated to the job.

I didn't know the man very well, at all, really. A self-described introvert he spent almost all of his time in the building with his own students in his own room. He wasn't the big voice that opposed administration openly, not the funny smart ass comic relief, or the crabby guy that should have retired years ago. He was just there to teach and teach well.

He was admired and respected by the kids, the one who taught them the value of the five paragraph essay. He may have had very few friends but I don't know anyone that didn't like him.

Today there were many emails sent from teachers to us all about him, to honor and memorialize him. Many of these teachers are alumni of the school and had him as a teacher when they were kids. I came to realize what an impact he had on so many, how powerful our words and teaching can be to the children we come in contact with every day. How awfully he'll be missed by so many. This man that was so quiet in passing me in and out of the main office, auditorium, cafeteria (only to get coffee). I spoke about him with Mandy last night, with Mariko, and with Kathy. Everyone had a different story of how he influenced them and their teaching.

Today Vince came in to my class during Sustained Silent Reading and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "I just needed a little cheering up," he said and left. I smiled and blew him a kiss as he walked out. I wondered how long before I lost a good friend this way.

Leaving the building today I glanced down a hallway and saw four students seated on the floor in front of an open locker and surrounded by balloons. I don't know what they were doing but the sight just touched me. Kids, on a Friday, on the floor, with balloons quietly speaking to each other. Nobody was rushing them home. What's the rush anyway?

We are in the service of these children and I can only hope I serve them well.

A Red Spoon

Brian came in my room at 7:40 to say hello. He looked over my desk and said, "hey, that's a really cool red spoon you have there, where'd you get it?" I had no idea what he was talking about. "Huh? Red spoon? That's not mine."
He said, "well, it was sitting right here next to your yogurt." I left my phone home that day, got a ticket on my way to work the day before that, misplaced a dress I was supposed to send to my mom and keep forgetting what day and time my chiropractor


Over the years I've found a lot of strange things in and around this school. One day a few weeks ago I was leaving school and found a wad of gum stuck to my windshield, the next week there were soccer ball imprints on my driver side window. One morning there was a puppy outside the main entrance of the building trying to get into the building, I brought him inside and called animal control. Another
year I rescued a kitten from being kicked by a group of obnoxious boys.
T ay I was checking my email while my AP students worked quietly and when I turned to look at them I noticed a cicada exoskeleton on my desk. Better than the mouse droppings that are usually sprinkled there, but still.
"Who put this on my desk?" There were smiles but no answers. I laughed, I mean, a cicada exoskeleton. "You guys know what I'm talking about. Who put this here?" They gave up John like he was Al Qeda.
Once while viewing a film in the auditorium I almost sat in a seat where an apple had been left to rot. It was so soft, to the touch it felt more like the fleshy cheek of a six month old.
l recall a conversation with another teacher who, last year, found a dried up slice of Bologna in a book from his classroom set. I don't think I can beat that.

During first hour I found a yellow post it in my gradebook with a note written on it by Brian, "I left the red spoon on your desk. :)"

Joint Custody

I'll be house-sitting for Heather again beginning tomorrow. I packed all my clothes last night and had Hubey stash Tessa's crate in the car. He and I have been texting and emailing about when we will each be responsible for her. Even so, we are both forgetful and try not to be so inflexible that neither of us can make last minute changes. This morning we had a text conversation that went like this:

H: When are you taking her?
Me: Can I get her on mon on my way to heathers from work?
H:Confused. Thought u were taking her 2nite? That's why u needed crate. Oops, u did mention getn acquatinted with sampson first. I 4got, no wonder I didn't have a time u were takn her. Sorry.
H: Any time is fine just txt me when ur able.
Me: Is this what it wuz like wit J? :) (his daughter)
H: Yep
Me: Im sooo sorry.
H: Yea, but aren't u sooooo happy we couldn't have kids....he totally saved us from an even worse situation.What would that have been like?!?! All for a reason.

That mad me sad. Not angry, just sad. Many people say the same thing and I know they don't mean to make me feel sad so I don't hold it against them. But here's the thing; I don't believe all things happen for a reason. As my husband for the past ten years I can't believe he doesn't know that by now. But since he'll not always be my husband I don't get mad at him for making such comments. He didn't mean to hurt me, that's what he believes and I can't be mad at him for his beliefs not matching my own.

I wanted so badly to have children, children with him. After getting married I remember a converstation I had with Donnawhere we discussed how many children we wanted. I said, "Four. More if we can afford it. I'd love to see how many combinations of Hubey and I we could make but I'll settle for four." I loved growing up in a big family and wanted the same as an adult. When it didn't happen I accepted it for being what it is. Just not what I planned and in life, you cannot always get what you planned for. I can't say we'd have made it through the first child to even get to second, third or fourth. But here is what I responded as my last text, and he didn't text me back afterward:

Nope, can't say im happy i never had ur child. Even if it is easier

Expensive Text

I have a friend overseas on a business trip. He travels frequently and claims that it's not as glamorous as it sounds. When you are aware of every hour that passes because of bells that ring every fifty minutes and you never take a lunch outside of your place of work because your lunch "hour" is only twenty five minutes, it's hard to imagine a trip overseas as anything less than glamorous. My youngest brother is currently in Mexico on business and his girlfriend is in Belgium. I'm completely jealous.

"You spend most of your time in hotel rooms and meetings," they tell me. I don't care. Those hotel rooms have cable and room service, right? The bathrooms are free of graffiti and have real mirrors not polished steel, right? You have lunch at cool restaurants not the cafeteria where women in scrubs and laytex gloves serve you from steam heated containers, right?

My friend sends me texts and pictures that make me smile. I text him after viewing a photo of a tall thin woman with an Afro smiling and standing next to a grinning shorter bald man, "Ur friends look fun! :)" He sends me another and I am reminded of an extremely expensive phone bill incurred while I was in Europe on sabbatical. My husband insisted that we talk daily. I warned him of the rates and worried that we'd be spending too much time on the phone and too much money on the time. "Don't you miss me? Don't you want to talk to me?" It wasn't that I didn't miss him it's just that we don't make that kind of money. I spent days on the Internet looking for the lowest price decent hostels to stay in and had saved frequent flier miles to pay for the flight. I'm frugal, I'm money conscious, I budget. I didn't work that hard to save money so I could spend it on talking to a man I lived with. "We have the Internet, boo," I'd tell him.

"You know that's not the same." I agreed to talk daily so that I could get him off the phone but he'd go on and on and on. When I got home the bill was $3000.00. No, that's not a typo, 3000.00 fucking dollars!!! When I told him about it he didn't even flinch. Nothing, like it was worth it to spend that much money on keeping track of me ac cross the ocean.

So, I get another picture from my friend and I reply: "hey, these texts aren't costing me 5 euros each, are they?" Then I call Sprint and learn that they don't, they cost twenty cents each. I am relieved.

I get the last picture from him at 9p.m., people dancing. Really, that is sooooo not glamorous.

New Boss

There have been some changes to the structure of our administration. The Board says they need to save money, we (teachers) think of it as another way to keep us divided and limit communication.

When I first started in this district I was hired by a Dean; Dean of Fine Arts. Our Dean was our advocate, our guy in a suit that was our voice and helped us look sane about the things we were most passionate about. Sane: us theater, dance, music and arts people. There is no longer a Dean, they were replaced by Content Area Coordinators, or CAC's. CAC's were teachers that taught only three classes a day, instead of two, and given a pretty good stipend for being in a leadership position. They didn't have as much say in decisions as Deans but they were all we had. The CAC's were all "fired" at the end of last year. They were replaced by Lead Teachers. They could, if they wanted, reapply for the Lead Teacher position. Lead Teachers do pretty much the same job as CAC's only for a lot less money and they also teach a full five classes. Our old CAC wasn't about to work harder for less money so she did not reapply. Nobody else in the department wanted the job. Administrators asked us all to consider the position.

My room is closest to all administrator offices and so I was visited my frequently by the most administrators and asked to take the job. I felt like I was being courted by many different suitors to go to a dance that I would have to attend by myself. My repy was always the same, "no."

"No, I'd be terrible at it."
"That's not what your colleagues say. They all suggested you when asked who would do a good job." Ok, that's a lie. Why do suitors always lie?
"No, I'd be terrible; I'm not organized enough. Also, I'm afraid my AP class would suffer because I'd spend more time on department issues than on them. My personal life is in limbo right now and I just don't think I can take on another responsibility."
Then, one Friday morning my Principal showed up in my room and asked me to take the job. "Why don't you take this position?" I repeated my usual also adding: "I never apply for or take on a job that I don't think I'll do well at and I really don't think I'll do well at this."
He said, "You'll be fine. This sort of thing looks really good on a resume."
I smiled and said, "where am I going to go?" He smiled too.
"Well, just think it over. You know what? Try it for a year."
So I agreed to take the stupid job. They sold me the crappiest car on the lot and now I have to drive this bitch for at least a year until I pay it off.

I sent out a note to all the teachers in my department cursing them all for not having the balls (ignorance) to take the position themselves. They know me, they all know I'm going to do terribly at this but I reminded them anyway.

I saw the video teacher this morning on my way in, "good morning boss!" was his greeting as he laughed at me. "Yea, yea. Good morning."
"Do we have a meeting today?"
"Uuuuuummmm...I think so. Yes."
"Are you running it?"
"Nope, our Assistant Principal."
"Oh, where is it?"
"Hmmm... uh...?"
"Hey, keep up the good work!"

Little Lady

So I got a little message from a Little Lady telling me how she thought my blog was funny and my life is interesting. I told her how much funnier this blog would be if I had written it back when she was in my class. I met her when she was a Sophomore in my Basic Art class. Little, cute, loud and funny Alba. She sat next to this really cute white boy named Kyle and they became fast friends. He called her "Little Lady." Alba is maybe five feet tall. Kyle promoted her when she ran for homecoming court. They walked the halls together; Alba yelling "VOTE FOR ME!" and Kyle following that up with "VOTE FOR ALBA!" If I remember correctly she didn't win. :( Kyle greeted her every day saying, "hello Little Lady." Alba wore a lot of polka dots, pink and little ribbons in her long black hair.

Their conversations with each other were like the classroom's edition of Erik and Kathy in the morning. If one or the other didn't show up it was unsettling quiet. A boy who never said anything asked Kyle on a day when she was absent, "where's the Little Lady today?" I don't think Kyle even knew the kid could speak.

Alba helped Kyle with his drawings, she was much better than he. One day he got a little too playful with her work and she belted out "Kyle, KYLE, KYLE!" The whole class stopped what they were doing. "Sorry." From then on if I saw him in the hall I'd yell out, "kyle, KYLE, KYLE!" and then LMAO.

There was a moment when Alba was somehow taken out of the class because of a schedule conflict and I went to her counselor with her to get her back in. The smile on her face afterwards was so priceless. Little Lady has an adorable smile.

Her senior year she was back in the room as an Advanced Placement student. She sat in the same place but with new buds, Erik and Edgar. She graduated in 2007, but before she left she arranged for the entire AP class to all write me a personal thank you note and on their last day with me they all walked up to me one at at time and handed me their pink envelope, said thank you and gave me a big hug. I felt like I was in a movie, those kids really got to me.

I'm going to have to write more about her, Little Lady.

Walking my dog in the hood...

She's big, she's beautiful, she's unusual, she looks fierce, she wiggles when she walks. So, she attracts a lot of attention. In my neighborhood many people are afraid of her and curious as well. The comments I hear most as I walk by with her:

"Ooo that's a big dog."
"You holding that dog? You holding it tight?"
"Daaaaaaaaaamn looka dat dog!"
"That's a big ass pit, right there."
"Don't nobody mess with you, do they?"
"You're well protected."

Questions I am most often asked:

"What kinda dog that is?" She's a bullmastiff and if I tell people that they most often reply, "a bullmaster?" So I repeat, 'bullmasTIFF.' Often I lie and tell them she's mixed because I'm afraid of her being stolen with intent to fight her or breed her.

"She have puppies?"
Nope, she's fixed.
"Why you do that? You coulda made a loooot of money!"
When I have a dog I have a dog as a pet, not a money maker. Though, with all this one has cost me it might have been a good idea.

"That dog bite?"
If it's an adult I answer, "Not unless she's got reason to." To children I say, "she doesn't bite children." The kids ask from a distance of at least ten feet and with my answer they come a little closer, then closer and ask:
"Can I rub her?"
Yes, they say "rub" instead of "pet." I can often say, "I'd say yes but she'll steel that bag of chips you're holding." They always then hold the chips closer to them, smile and run away.

"What you feed that dog?" This always makes me laugh. I mean, everything. I feed her everything. I answer, "dog food."

Huevos

In Spanish it means eggs. But it can mean the same thing that Balls means in English in certain context.

In the first weeks of school I use eggs on a white sheet of paper with one light source to teach beginners how to shade. On Friday I brought eggs to school without hard-boiling them first. Rookie mistake. One disappeared at the end of my last class. I alerted the Deans and they found the culprit before I got egg on my face.

This morning we began a new still life using simple geometric forms made of wood. Daisy asked, "Are you going to want our eggs first?" Laughter, and only in a school where many of the students are bilingual, Spanish being one of the languages.
"No Daisy, I don't need your eggs yet."
"So, we should just hold on to them?"
"Yes, hold on to your eggs."

I sit at my desk and try to take attendance. An IT guy had come in earlier and changed my monitor. He also changed my screen settings so the font and everything was HUGE. Sure, that made everything clearer but it also meant slower because I had to scroll all the time to see anything. I ask the class, "is anyone a computer genius that can help me?"
A boy says, "what do you need?"
"Everything is too big, I need it smaller." See, once you go that route you just can't seem to get to any other road. Daisy says, "he just said he knows how to get a virus, Miss."

Log of Funny Things Hansel Has Said

I told him I was going to keep a log of funny things he said so that I'd remember them after he left. He'd say something funny every day and I'd write it down on a little scrap of paper and tuck it in my binder or magnet it to my computer carrier. I lost most of those scraps and I never created a log of them but here are some of the ones I remember most:

Michael said something sweet to me so I blew him a kiss accross the room. Hansel said, "What are you doing? You aint got no lips! You just blew him air. Nothing is landing on his cheek but air right now."

I wore a new shirt to school and he said, "Nice shirt, what color is that? Pepto Bismol?"

One day he described in detail the path of air from a fart as it traveled through his boxers. I won't do that one justice here.

After returning to the room to check out some S.W.A.T. guys in the building the girls in class asked, "were any of them hot?" I answered, "oh man, one of them was once my student." Hansel helped me feel better by shouting out, "ohhhhh! Sit your old ass down! What? Are you teaching his grandkids now?"

Still on age...
I said something to the class about how being 40 was good and bad. Cherie dropped her paint brush and asked in a high pitch voice, "You're FORTY? Forty? My mom is forty!! How can you be forty?"
Hansel adds, "Yea, Forty? Damn, why don't you just turn to dust already? You're so old I'm suprised you can sit in that chair without an oxygen aid. I mean, if you added up the ages of all my friends you still wouldn't get FORTY!"

On the last day of school he came in the room proclaiming, "Yo, that was the last time I walk through that door for the first time of the day."

A New Relationship

Every year starts with September for teachers. I'm not a fan of the first day or the first week, for that matter. I don't know these kids, I want my old kids back, I miss my old kids, these kids don't know me. They look funnier than usual. This year our school implemented a dress code. The pants are khaki and shirts are white. It's a sea of beigeness out there. Now these kids seem even more uninteresting to me, they're all beige. Last weekend I went to Goodwill and bought giant men's shirts as smocks. White and khaki - not so safe in the art room. The shirts I bought are all blue and green. I encourage the students to color their hair blue and purple and pink. "You first," they say.

So now I must woo them and make them love me. When they fall in love I will love them back and enjoy my job so much more.

I receive text messages from former students. Hansel sends from the community college, "I'm in a drawing class right now, they're so slow. I have to dumb down A LOT!" Franco sends from same college, "what's going on? My new drawing teacher hates me. This class is so boring, we're doing stuff I did with you like soph year." Mari, at the same school, sends, "Hey! How are you? How's the new crop? Any diamonds in the ruff?" Vero, from SAIC, sends "Anyone going to any art openings tonight?"

My dad asked if my students stay in touch with me for long. They usually are pretty frequent they're first year out of high school. They become less and less in touch they older they get. "That sounds about right," he says. I get a call from Claudia, "you've been neglecting me lately," she tells me. I guess I neglect all the formers in September. I spend a lot of time developing my new relationships. I miss them most now, though. I miss them a lot.

I believe one of my greatest weaknesses as a teacher is also one of my strengths; I love my students way too much.

Poop Picture

So, I'm out with Heather and entertaining her with stories about my dating life. It sucks, but she laughs so there's that.

I'm explaining how it's really different this time around with technology. Last time I was in the dating world the most high tech form of communication I had was my pager. Now there's texting and email attached to your hip, if you like. I tell her how I sent pictures of myself sunbathing to a guy I'm seeing through my phone and she laughs. I show her the photos, "nice Lisa, not sleezy at all."
"No? Really? Because, you know, as an artist I'm seriously concerned about how artsy they are also."
"Not concerned about how good your breasts look?"
"Well, sure, there's that too."
She's laughing and scrolling through her photos. "Ok, here it is," she says when she locates what she's been looking for. "You've got your bikini shots, here's what I send to J.P. (who is out of town for several weeks)" She holds up the phone to show me a shot of little turds at the base of, not inside, the toilet. I'm LMAO.
"What is THAT?"
"It was a big day. Jackson pooped at the toilet, he didn't quite make it but at least he got the idea." I am trying really hard now to gain control again. "Please Lisa, send J.P. the photo of you in your bikini."
"NO! I'm not sending him a picture of my cleavage!"
"I just want him to see what other girls are sending their boyfriends."
So, I send him the photo with the message, "these are the sorta images I send my boyfreind." Then Heather re-sends the poop picture with the caption, "and this is the sorta picture I send my boyfriend."
Thanks to the snail speed of Sprint, or my Razor phone, or the combination of both, J.P. receives the poop picture first.
He calls Heather immediately. "J.P wants to know why he's getting the poop picture again," Heather tells me.
"Awww, damn! He got them out of order! Now it's not nearly as funny."
She's listening to him and then says, "J.P. doesn't have unlimited picture mail Lisa, he says everytime I send him the poop picture it costs him twenty five cents."
Really, was it the wine or is this not some funny shit?
"Oh, ok...he's getting your picture now. Yea? I know. Ok, now he gets it. He says nice photo Lisa."
"Tell him to send it to Cody." I tell her, Cody is twenty seven.

An Unintentional Brazillian And An Almost Dead Korean

I went to my mom's favorite nail salon to have my legs waxed. I'd gone there for a couple underarm waxes because it was really inexpensive. I don't spend money on my nails. I'm an artist. I'll dress up my hands with watches and rings but spending money or time on nails that are going to get banged up anyway just doesn't make sense.

Anyway...a nail salon that also waxes. I told Heather I used the place and how inexpensive it was and her response was, "just don't ever go to a place like that for a bikini wax." And I'm thinking, "duh."

So I head over for a full leg wax. I normally do that myself but again, it was so inexpensive there I figured I'd splurge. A different girl serviced me than the one that did my underarms. That was a bit concerning but the leg wax seemed to go ok. She tried to get me to sign on for a pedicure but I didn't have the time or money. She asked about a bikini wax. I thought for a moment, looked at my watch and said, "you know what? Ok, I think I could use it."

The girl's jacket had "Tina" embroidered on it and I remembered that my mom told me to ask for Tina so I felt safe. Even as Heather's words rang in my ears. They didn't have the cute little paper disposable panties that a nice salon provides, I had to take mine off. Guys...if you don't want to know anything more about what a woman goes through to look hairless in a bikini...read no further. It aint pretty.

This girl's English wasn't so good and as the waxing went on I wondered if she understood any fucking think I said. I told her that I was conservative with bikini waxes, not into the Brazilian thing. She scooped the wax onto her Popsicle stick and slathered it, well, pretty much everywhere. "Oh," I thought, "we're going that route. Um. Ok, I guess. Shit." Next the little swatch of fabric, press down, tear up.

Out loud I say, "um...don't take it all off, I don't do full Brazilian."
"Ok," the cute little Korean girl says and continues on her de-harvesting of pubes. Heather's words of wisdom ringing over and over in my head.

"Your hair too long, wax sticking." Well, this is what the fuck wax does, it sticks. That's why you use it to remove hair, it sticks to the hair, the fabric too and it all comes off together.
I ask her, "Have you ever done one of these before?"
"Uh huh!" She answers with a smile. Then she grabs a razor blade and starts cutting down the hair that "too long."
"What are you doing? Why are you using a razor?" I'm horrified. The whole reason I wax is that I really, really, really hate stubble.
"Hair too long for wax. Is stuck."
I want to kill this Tina girl. The booth we're in is by no means sound proof and I'm sure the ladies outside are hearing everything going on. I would have killed that girl if there hadn't been so many witnesses.

She gets uncomfortably close to the really tender area and I have to coach her on how to properly pull the strips off to avoid ingrown hairs later on. The manager outside yells something to her in Korean and she answers back. I imagine them saying something like, "Tina! You're not trying the Brazilian again, are you? I'm still paying for the lawsuit I got when you butchered the last lady's pussy!" And Tina is saying, "Don't worry, It's not a Brazilian, it's Native American. Mohawk!"

"Ok, done." She says in English to me as I sweat profusely and wish for a time machine. I look down at the mess she's created. "No, you're not done, what about here and here and here? It's not supposed to look like that." I coach her through more work. "Ok?" She asks as I get dressed, "you feel good?" I don't answer.

I walk out of the booth and now I KNOW all the pedicure ladies heard everything, the looks on their faces...
I paid and actually tipped that stupid girl.

Back at Mom's I am administered Neosporin and on the phone with Heather I am questioned, "what were you thinking?"

$127.00

I found another $17.oo in front of my house on the sidewalk a week ago. Add that to the first $20 bill I found and the other $20 bill I found in front of Heather's house and the $70.00 I got for trading in a gold chain I found on the crosswalk in Oak Park and I have earned a total of $127.00 this summer by looking at my feet.

Now I'm kind of expecting it. I'll even get a little mad if I don't find any more. Especially since when I took the gold chain in for cash I asked about how much I could get for my wedding ring. The high bid? $600.00. Not as heartbreaking as the divorce but still painful. I paid nearly $2500.00 for those stones.

I've spent waaaaay more money on myself this summer than ever in the past. I estimate a total of $3500.00 on eating and drinking out, salon and beauty fees, new clothes and shoes, lingerie and entertaining. I used to think I should pitch in on dates, even the first one. But now when I evaluate how much I have to spend to look the way I do I have changed my mind. What does a guy spend on looking good? How many times does he change his outfit before heading out the door to meet a girl? Does he even worry if his nails are in good shape? His legs are smooth?

Also, do guys even notice if a girl's outfit is in style or does he really only care how the body inside it looks? And my underwear...is it as important as I think it is?

Twenty Seven

I met my friend Karin out for dinner and a couple of drinks with a couple friends of hers. We went to the new hip area on Division, I cannot tell you how many areas like this I wish I bought property near ten years ago. I parked my car and on the walk to the place we decided to meet at I saw I guy riding his bike while reading and holding the leashes of three dogs. And yes, there were dogs attached to the leashes.

I was thirty minutes late, not really like me. The others decided to change location of dinner because there was a thirty minute wait. We spent the next forty five minutes walking up and down the strip trying to decide where to go to instead. We found a place that seated us outdoors even though, at first, they said they had no outdoor tables available. We did have a nice dinner and I loved Karin's friends. They were fun to converse with, they gave me dating advice as well. Advice from women on dating is not the same as advice from men, I'll get to that later.

After dinner we went to a bar that had outdoor seating, we were really in the mood for being outdoors. I noted the nice scenery, "those two guys at that table are gorgeous, but they can't be more than twenty seven."

"Oh," said Alana, "all the best looking guys are twenty seven. You'll see, every year older they are is one point less good looking."

"Awww, I can't date a twenty seven year old! That's just way too young!" I said.

"Then you're going to have to lower your standards on appearance." A host approached our table, a really good looking, well built host with plenty of hair. "Ladies would you mind if you moved inside, we have a time limit on how long we can serve drinks on the sidewalk and we're reaching it very soon. You can stay out here if you finish your drinks but if you'd like more then you'll have to go inside."

"Are you twenty seven?" I asked him.

"I'm twenty seven," he replied as though I just asked him how old he was. Not, "yes how did you guess?" It was as though, he too, understood he was at the peak of his handsomeness and was aware that we were in communal admiration. Bless his little twenty seven year old heart.

We moved inside and waited for a male friend of Alana's to arrive. When he did we asked him some dating advice. Karin asked about boat guy, I asked about trader guy. On both men we were advised that neither guy would be calling us again. "What? Why not?"

"Did he try anything with you?"

"Yea he did, but I wasn't going to sleep with him on the first date."

"You'll never hear from him again."

"What? He bought me a bottle of champagne."

"Traders and guys with boats have all kinds of money, they buy bottles of champagne for all their first dates. No sex, no second phone call." We had to believe him, he was drunk and had no interest in us, no reason to lie. Still, we pressed further.

"Yea, but I took my shirt off."

"So? What do you ladies have to offer?" He looked directly at our chests without any shame whatsoever, "What are you B cups? C's at the most? B's and C's are a dime a dozen, if you were DD's, maybe but those boobs aren't going to get you a second date without the big prize giving them some company."

On a different day in a conversation with JP I was advised NOT to go too far on the first date because of the whole 'why buy the cow when you get the milk for free' theory. However, I'm not for sale and really just want to share some milk, so then what? And is a twenty seven year old's opinion of milk different than a forty year old's?

What the Vet Said

A friend of mine told me he was curious about what the vet's advice was regarding the two dogs fighting, here it is:

Contessa is a bullmastiff and her personality is laid back boss of the scene. Sampson is a doberman and his personality is knuckle-headed, spastic, goofball. Tessa needs to feel in control at all times and Sampson is very much a guard dog, he probably insults her control of the situation in some way those times that she goes off on him. As long as he is respectful of her and her leadership there shouldn't be a problem. I am the leader of Contessa but I am to encourage her position over Sampson. When she sends him appropriate warnings, such as a snap or a body position that he shows respect for, I am to reinforce it by telling her, "good girl." I should allow her to control him without being too bossy.

I was already having them sit and wait for me to feed them and giving Tessa her food first, then Sampson. When I see them both I greet and give Tessa affection first, then Sampson. Tessa walks through doors first and sits on the couch with me while Sampson sits on the floor. She is not to boss him around without limit, however. If she does I need to distract her, interfere with their eye contact and intervene.

In the case of arriving home I am to let Sampson into the yard where he can run around like the maniac he needs to be at that time without getting in the way of Tessa greeting me and showing me love. When he calms down he can then share space with her.

Should a fight break out and I am unable to physically separate them by pulling Tessa off, one trick is throwing something at them like water or a shoe. I tried the shoe thing and it worked. Yep there was another fight, smaller one. Sampson looked at the shoe like, "huh? Where'd that come from and what am I supposed to do with it?" Since he was distracted Tessa left him alone.

After the big fight I was able to walk the two dogs, together around the area without any problem. I had Sampson on the right and Tessa on my left. There was some contest over who got to lead but the walks were successful. Tessa was back home with her dad this week enjoying her solitude and Sampson didn't seem to miss her.

Show us some love baby!

Heather's friend, Sharon, was in town so we all went out to eat at a little organic pizza joint on Division. Jackson flirted with a cute little blond that was six months older than him and the tables surrounding us all watched in amusement. When she left he was a little upset but got over it quickly.

Heather urged him to give Sharon a kiss but he played uninterested. She told him to show Sharon his muscles so he lifted his little arms up in a Mr. Universe pose and flexed his baby muscles for us. "Woa! Wow, look how strong you are!" I told him to show us his abs and he lifted up his little t-shirt and stuck out his belly. "Nice abs buddy!" We tried to get him to kiss Sharon again but he wouldn't. "Blow her a kiss, Jackson." Nothing.
"Jackson, a kiss! How do you show a girl you love her?" With that he grabbed his crotch and smiled.

The fight

On the night of the milestone Tessa and Sampson proved they still had issues with each other.

I got home shortly after midnight and greeted Tessa in the kitchen then let Sampson out of his crate. He ran around and around, inside and outside then back inside. Inside he ran by Tessa several times and on one occasion she snapped at him and he snapped back. I believe in letting dogs fight it out for up to three seconds, anything beyond that could result in visits to the vet emergency room. I did what I could to intervene.
Sampson's pinch collar had fallen off in his crate so he was naked and impossible to grab. I got ahold of Tessa's collar but she wriggled out of my hold and slipped her head out of the collar. There was a lot of growling and snapping and saliva. I got between them, holding Tessa back by blocking her with one leg and without any success yelled for Sampson to sit. Tessa squirmed away from me and chased him under the kitchen table and into the sun room, I followed. I grabbed Tessa's hindquarters and pulled her back and away from Sampson but he continued to challenge her with growls and barks and bared teeth. He came at her with his teeth and bit at her face so I let her go, or she got away from me, I don't know which. I was hoping Tessa would get him pinned to the ground and calm him down by holding him, as I've seen her do frequently with unruly boys, but Sampson is too fast and too agile. He kept getting away. When the biting began to really scare me I left them for the sink to grab some water to throw on them.
By the time I turned around to toss it at them the had stopped, standing side by side and both slouched and panting. I yelled for Sampson to go outside and after I got him out there I turned around and tossed the water at Tessa's face, "you idiot! What was that all about?" She kept panting and panting. I looked her over and she seemed fine so I let Sampson back inside. I ran a clean paper towel over each of them looking for blood but saw none.
The next morning I called the vet and made an appointment for Tessa after observing that the brow over her right eye was scratched and swollen and the white of that eye solid red. Before the appointment the two dogs shared space without incident but Tessa did make a couple of moves that worried me. My vet consulted me on how to make the situation easier to deal with. She spent an hour talking it over with me. (Pet Vets in Oak Park...they are the BEST!!!)
Then I had to call my soon to be ex husband and explain the whole thing to him. I felt like a single mom having to call her baby's daddy and tell him of an accident that occurred on my watch. Remember Kramer vs. Kramer? He was incredibly understanding about it. "You would've been yelled at if I had gone home and found her beaten up without explanation." As hard as I thought it was going to be, it was easier to tell him about the fight now that we're where we are. It was harder to talk to him about this stuff when we were married.

Milestone

Last night, for the first time since we arrived on Tuesday Contessa initiated play with Sampson. It was beautiful. We were sitting here in the green room, as it's called by Heather, the three of us. I was on the laptop with Tessa on the couch next to me and Sampson was on his bed. Very calmly, Contessa got off the couch and approached Sampson on the floor and began to sniff him. She took a step back and gave him a play-bow. "Good girl!" I told her enthusiastically and Sampson jumped up immediately. And then they played. Two big silly dogs playing lightly at first but soon bumping into each other and jumping up at each other wetting one another with their excitement created saliva.
I corralled them down the stairs and tried to lead them to the basement where there's no furniture, it's cooler, and more room. Just then Mandy called and needed more directions on where to park. The play had to stop for a moment while I took her call but it picked up again when I got them into the yard.
I was absolutely elated.

Sampson-Part 2

It's a really good thing that Sampson is good with Heather's baby because if he weren't he'd be in the shelter by now.

When she first brought him home he marked the entire house repeatedly. He also chewed up some pretty expensive blankets, baby toys and furniture. He was impossible to walk and really hard to train. He was sent to obedience school and learned the basics but his marking habit would have to be solved with surgery, you know, neutering. It's a good thing too, because he couldn't be within 3 feet of my dog without "showing interest" and drooling uncontrollably. Pathetic. He still peed at times for no apparent reason but it's less frequent now.

Sampson has more energy than any dog I've seen, crazy energy. He runs about the house madly chasing after every unfamiliar sound he hears. He returns to the baby's side and lays next to him after each bark led investigation. Sometimes, though, he uses his mouth to get the baby's attention. Nips at his ankles and his hands, he does that to adults as well. It's really annoying. No, seriously, really annoying! He doesn't stop, won't stop until you pay attention to him and cuddle him or pet him. He's getting better but it's still annoying so any tips in this department would be appreciated.

I am house sitting for Heather this week and have brought Contessa with me. I thought that her calm energy would rub off on Sampson but it hasn't totally, yet. Yet, I hope. She saunters around and he runs and runs. She lays down and he runs and runs. She gets up to move and he runs and runs. She sits down and watches him run. The only time he's still is when he's on his leash in the yard. He's approached her several times and she wants nothing to do with him. She gives him silent warnings, which he ignores so she snaps and lunges toward him. Sometimes he runs away whimpering like a little girl and stands ten feet away panting. Sometimes he runs away whimpering like a little girl and then stands ten feet away barking and half growling. He's never shown any more returned aggression than that but when it occurs I command him to come to me, sit, down and stay. Which he does. He seems to get that Tessa is his boss and I am her boss so that means I'm his boss too.

I'm hoping that by the end of the week here they'll be much more used to each other and calmer around each other. Again, any advice is welcomed!

Sampson-Part 1

I was walking my dog a couple months ago when I noticed a doberman I'd never seen before rummaging through a garbage can. I called 311 and was told Animal Control would come pick him up. Meanwhile, I called my dog-loving next door neighbor, Bonnie, and asked if she'd seen the stray. "Yea, yea. I saw him when I left work." Bonnie teaches at the elementary school on our block. "Thomas lured him into his house with a steak to protect him from the gang bangers on the corner."
I had dinner with Heather that night and told her about the dog. She and her ex-husband had four Weimereiners, one still survived but was dying. "I'll take the doberman!" She said after I told her Animal Control was very slow in picking up the stray. I made a couple of phone calls and the next day she came out with her family to meet the dog and see if he was good with her baby, Jackson.
We walked to Thomas' house and met the dobie. He was a little thin and his skin was dry but his nails seemed well maintained. One of his ears was badly cropped and so it pointed to the other one instead of sticking straight up. Though he looked and acted young, his teeth were in bad shape, most likely the result of eating only soft food. Thomas has two young boys and let us know that the boys loved the dog and didn't want him to go but his wife did not like dogs or he would have kept him. He seemed great with Jackson also so we put a leash on him and took off for my house.
On the way a lady saw us and approached saying, "hey! Can I talk to you all for a minute?" We paused and when she reached us she explained that we had her brother's dog. We were puzzled.
"This dog was roaming the streets for hours yesterday." I explained. "If he wasn't taken inside by a neighbor he may have been beaten for sport by the bat carrying gang bangers on the corner."
"Well we appreciate that, my brother would have been upset if that had happened."
"I don't think you understand," added J Paul, "you're talking to two women that would have called the FBI to search for thier dogs if one had gone missing." All they had to do was go accross the street. We didn't want trouble from a neighbor so we handed over the dog. She brought him to the the most impressive Victorian on the block and was greeted at the door by an older woman. "Don't bring him in here!" we heard her yelling, "I thought I was rid of him, don't bring that dog in here!" Heather, J Paul and I looked at each other, "should I go see what's up?" Head nods and "yesses."
I climbed the steps of the house and waved, the door was still open and the two women were having words on the threshold. "Hi! I said, "I was wonderin if we could get that leash back."
The older woman stepped forward and asked, "do you want this dog, baby?"
Confused, I answered, "Um...yes but she just told us it was her brother's."
"Yes, well my son brought this dog home without me knowing and this dog doesn't like my dog. They fight all the time. They don't like each other and my dog was here first. If you want this dog you can have him."
"Well, actually it wouldn't be me taking him, it would be my friend."
"Oh!" She said, "So he wouldn't be living close by? That's even better. Then my son won't see him and try to take him back here."

I've seen her son. He lives in the coach house and is often on the street without his shirt on, mumbling, singing, mowing the lawn. One day he stopped by my yard while I was outside gardening and began singing to me, "you are a lovely woman, yes indeed yes indeed." oh, uh, ok...thanks! "Look, look, look. Your dog aint so tough is he?" People always think my dog's a he. "Is he? Is he? Look, look, my dog is tough."
Contessa kept watchful eyed but would not approach this strange man or wag her tail. Maybe smelled all the liquor.

I got the dog back and handed him over to Heather and J Paul. He's been with them ever since. He and Jackson have become brothers.

Pluto Sandwiches

To get out of the house and away from my soon to be ex husband (stbeh), I have been spending a lot of nights at my bff's house. Heather lives in Licoln Park in a pretty fabulous house. She's been my most treasured confidant throughout every stage of my divorce/seperation and the way she accepts me into her home as a guest is most generous and most appreciated.

Heather's little boy, Jackson, is almost two. It's ben great fun watching him grow. He loves dogs as much as Heather and I do. He's very attached to his mom but he's also really independent. This morning when I woke up he greeted me in his diaper and t-shirt with his drill in hand and wearing safety goggles.

Jackson has, as every child does, an hour or so each day when he gets most crabby. He is offered milk, hugs, music and food at this time as pacifiers and he usually finds one thing that'll calm him down. One day he was being particularly crabby as he sat on his mother's lap and would not take anything to calm himself. So, I pretended to be eating a sandwich and asked him if he wanted a bite. "It's a Pluto Sandwich, you want some?" I offered it to him and and he stopped crying. He looked at my hand and then at me and I said, "it's really good! Mmmnnn." He leaned toward the sandwich, opened his mouth and took a bite. "Right? It's good, isn't it?" I took another bite and rubbed my tummy, "wow it's good." He leaned over for another bite.

I don't know what they put in those sandwiches but they work every time.

Doggy Blues

Two years ago I was vacationing at my family's summer house in the North Woods Wisconsin when my husband (soon to be "ex") called. "Are you sitting down?" He always said that when it was something really big, for some reason.

I sat and he told me that our dog, Contessa, was sick and "Lis, they don't know what's wrong with her." I waited one more day up North for the news of our dog's condition to change to something good. You know, like she ate something bad but she was fine.

Nothing changed and seeing the worry on my face made my dad tell me to pack so he could bring me home. The five and a half hour trip never seemed longer. To make it worse, no dog to greet me when I walked into the house. Empty, quiet, lonely.

By the time I made it home Tessa had been in constant veterinary care for forty eight hours. My husband had to take her to a specialty hospital a forty five minute drive from our house because our regular vet and the hospitals close by didn't have anyone that could tell what, exactly, was going on with our dog. I drove up to see her right away and spoke to our regular vet on the way. "Go see her Lisa," she told me. "She's dying and she might not make it home." I was completely shocked to find a lethargic dog with a swollen tummy and very little of the happy-girl-look she normally had in her eye. Her new doctor, a kidney specialist named Dr. Thornhill, told me he had tapped her tummy to see why it had swollen and found blood. They needed to open her up to let it out and find the source of the bleeding.

After surgery we had little more to go on. She still wasn't eating, her kidney function continued to drop and they found lesions in the stomach wall but no sign of what left them. Another day passed before the Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever test came back positive and the hospital was able to start her on the proper antibiotics. My husband and I visited her daily, sometimes together and sometimes separately. She was always happy to see us but too tired to show much enthusiasm. She swelled with water and grew bigger each day. She was admitted at ninety seven pounds and after eight days was one hundred and seventeen, but she hadn't eaten. Every part of her that could hold water was filled, her legs, her toes, her lips, her ears. Her neck hung with water weight so low that the feeding tube in her neck was being crushed by the overlapping skin. Temporary stitches were made behind her ears, like a hair clip, to hold the skin back and up behind her head. Her mouth was open constantly and her swollen tongue fell out of it from behind her swollen gums in a desperate attempt to cool her body and ease her nausea. After nine days my husband and I visited her together and Dr. Thornhill greeted us for the first time with a long face. "We don't have many more options. If she doesn't eat she won't get better and the feeding tube isn't going to be able to give her everything she needs to help her body repair itself. She's taken on too much water so we're going to try to relieve her of some by giving her a diuretic. We'll know soon if she's going to pull through."

I cried the whole way home. My husband refused to give up on her and told me so. I think he was a little mad that I had begun to lose hope. I dug out my rosary and prayed to the God I was no longer sure existed but had prayed to in time of need before. I posted pleas on Craig's List for people who had more pull up in Heaven to please say a word for my dog. I emailed all my friends and asked them to do the same. I talked to the little girls next door and asked them to help with their precious prayers. I was desperate.

The next day I drove out to see her and the technicians told me that she was too weak to come to the visiting room, I would have to visit her at her bed. I brought with me a pillow from our couch and two t-shirts one that I had worn and one that my husband had worn. The three items smelled like us and I hoped it would help remind her that we were with her even when we weren't. The technicians were kind enough to let me hold my baby for over an hour while she slept. I talked to her almost the entire time.

"Contessa, what are you doing in here? The sunflowers are filling with seeds and the squirrels are soon going to be raiding them without worry that you'll chase them away. A tick, Contessa? A tiny tick did this to you? You're a BULLMASTIFF! You are a strong defender of giant estates and you're going to let a tiny little tick take you down? Come on, now! Enough already, you have got to start showing this thing who you are. You are Contessa Medici Pookie Bear, Brindle Bullmastiff extraordinaire. Get up and fight already!" I did not cry once with her. I laughed and sang her songs and told her everything that was going on at the house while she was gone. Finally the techs kicked me out.

The phone rang at 11:20 that night. My husband spoke and I waited to hear the news. "Lis... that was Dr. Thornhill." Well, duh... "He said he couldn't believe it but Contessa is starting to look like she's getting a little better. She's lost some of the water weight and she ate something today." We hugged and cried.

A week later we brought our emaciated Bullmastiff home. She was now only seventy two pounds and carried with her a box of meds, another box of fluids to be administered subcutaneously three times a day, and a seventeen thousand dollar bill. (My knees went weak when I signed for it).

The meds were unbelievable. Thirty six different pills to be given at five different intervals throughout the day to a dog that didn't even want to eat her food much less pills that were making her feel sick. We tried hamburger, baby food, peanut butter, tuna, salmon, ice cream, all of her former favorites were now making her turn her head away from us and gag. Some mornings she was too weak to climb the stairs outside to pee, the only good thing about being so thin was I could now carry her. Slowly, our dog began to eat again and gain her weight back. Slowly.

So a couple weeks ago when she started to show signs of lethargy again I began to worry. I thought maybe she was reacting to the changes in her pack. Her dad and I no longer sat on the couch together watching TV with her, we didn't even sleep in the same room. We didn't eat together and throw her scraps when we were done, we were all three rarely in the same room. I thought maybe that was effecting her. When I spoke to her dad about it he began to notice changes also so I took her in to the vet to be sure.

My gut was correct, her blood work showed some weakness. Today I wait for the results but the vet feels she may have Addison's disease. This is treatable with medication but I can't help but feel so sad for a dog that has been through so much already. I think, that her Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever actually brought my husband and I together while we struggled to keep a failing marriage whole. We bonded and stayed strong for her sake and I believe the ordeal kept us together another year. This time around, even our dog can't save us but she has managed to get us talking again. We are more easily able to discuss necessities and move toward beginning our new lives without being hurtful to each other.

She truly is a miraculous dog. The love of my life.

What You Can Learn From a Bullmastiff

I've lived almost five years with this amazing animal and she has become my all-time favorite dog. She's taught me a lot over the years so I asked her to write out some advice on living life to the fullest. Here's what she said:

1. Get a personal trainer

That's right, let someone else worry about how much you eat and how often you exercise. It's easier and they are more honest with you about your weight.

2. Take naps every day.

3. Two shorter workouts a day are better than one long one.

I prefer early morning and early evening. This works out best for my personal trainer and the temperature is most favorable at these times. Also, the squirrels are most lively at these hours and busy eating so they're not as likely to see you coming.

4. Know when to move on.

Lie in the sun until you get hot then move to the shade. When you're too cold move back into the sun. On the same note: Walk fast through the sun and slow in the shade. Why torture yourself? Get to the shade quicker and then enjoy it.

5. Don't judge men by their height or color.

Hey, some of my best boyfriends have been white.

6. Chew your food.

Swallowing things whole is never a good idea, unless someone's coming and may catch you counter surfing. Savor your food.

7. Children shorter than eye level are more work than the taller ones.

They often smell like poop, they have no respect for your eyes and nose, they drool more than I do, and they repeat commands even after you follow them.

8. Be cautious of people approaching the back of the house.

Really, what sort of human picks at garbage? And the other ones, the guys that get really tall on the poles, that's just not natural.

9. People approaching the front of the house should be greeted respectfully.

Even the ones putting white envelopes in the little house with the red flag on it. And yes, even the ones with the little pamphlets that always wear suits and dresses.

10. Drink a lot of water.

I hear it's good for your skin and has all kinds of healthy benefits. I like it because it makes a really fun noise when I lap it up. It's really refreshing.

Nice Guns!

During the school year I rise at 5 a.m. to workout at school. It's convenient, it's never crowded and it's free. There are a group of women who swim regularly on Monday and Wednesday mornings and a couple others that use the gym along with me on the other days. We need to vacate the locker room by 7 so as not to be in the way of the girls who have zero hour Lifesaving. High school girls, contrary to popular Hollywood movie portrayals, are so insecure about their bodies they shower in their swimsuits and change into clothes completely covered with beach towels if all bathroom stalls are occupied. I am always sure to be timely about getting out of their way since a girl gave me the ugliest gas face I've ever seen when I was walking from the shower to my towel seven years ago. I am an adult, I no longer shower in my swimsuit. Poor kid, I don't know if she'll ever get over that. I certainly haven't.
I warned the others of the girls' reaction to me. "Little did she know," said Kim, a fellow swimmer, "you've got the nicest figure out of all of us!"
A couple of the older women, incredibly talkative and nearing retirement, have been discussing where they'll workout when the school is no longer an option. They visited and then joined a new health club in Oak Park and were really happy with it. It's a pretty sleek joint and is brand new.
"I'm a Y girl, myself." I told them as they bragged about their new memberships. They went on to tell me about all the state of the art amenities and cool classes they are able to take at their new shiny club. "That's all fine and good," I added, "but I'd miss the old Polish guys taking laps in their shorts and black socks."
It's summer time and I'm back at the YMCA. I go to Berwyn, I like it there. It's shiny enough and yet I never feel intimidated. I do, however, on occasion run into former and current students. They often don't recognize me because I usually dress a lot nicer when I go to work. I also don't sweat that much in the classroom. Not anymore.
I ran into a kid that was in my Photo class about five years ago, Trino. He was a soccer player and apparently still is. We caught up a bit and then continued our workouts. Forgive me here, because I don't know the exact names of machines but after doing some leg lift thingies and some leg presses I sat on an arm machine. The one where your arms are raised just above your shoulders so your hands and head create a pitchfork shape. You pull your arms toward each other til they meet in the middle, like cheerleaders do when they clap. I completed my second set and Trino walked toward me in the direction of the drinking fountain. He flexed his bicep at me and winked so I flexed my left bicep back. I did this, partly to be funny but also because I really am impressed with my arms. The older guy on the ab machine across from me chuckled and Trino asked, "so you come here mainly to work on your lower body?"

High Infidelity

Dora suggested that I write about our night together a couple of months ago:

I went to the suburbs to hang out with my parents and met up with Dora. We looked through the paper for something to do after filling our tummies with Mom’s minestrone and decided on an 80’s cover band playing at a bar we used to show our fake id’s to get into (back when those were necessary) called Durty Nellie’s. The original had burned down and the new joint was supposed to be pretty nice. It was pretty nice.

The band began with a Journey tune and the crowd went wild, Dora and I looked at each other and Dora asked, “They know this isn’t reeeeeally Journey, right?” I shrugged my shoulders. The band finished the first song and the lead singer addressed the eager crowd, “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Cheers and raised cups followed.
“How many of you out there are on our mailing list?” More cheers and raised cups.
“Friends on our MySpace?” Lots more cheers and raised cups.
“Well then, you probably are one of the people who voted on our latest poll asking what your favorite songs of ours are and tonight we have a treat for you. We’re going to count down your favorites all the way to number one!! That was number fifty-two, here’s fifty-one.”
I turned to Dora and asked, “They can’t possibly do that many songs, can they?” She suggested I lift her up on my shoulders so we could blend more. Instead we raised our fists in the air and yelled and whistled. “Woooohooooo!”
Somewhere between forty-five and forty we decided to take a break and move into the adjoining restaurant/bar for a drink served in a glass instead of plastic. We found a pub table between the bar and the door leading to the band and settled into conversation. Occasionally the door would swing open and we’d hear the lead singer cry “that was number thirty- two, here’s thirty one!” Journey, a little Styxx…”now for number twenty seven!” Soon the band took a break and much of the crowd filtered into our area for drinks, bathroom breaks and discussion of how awesome the band was. Our conveniently located table became hot real estate. A young man, counting his money moved close to us and asked if we minded sharing our table so he could set his drinks down. “Sure,” I said, “we sub lease that end of the table for $5.00 every fifteen minutes.” He threw down a fiver and continued to count his money.
“I was kidding.” Why would I have to explain that? Dora slid the bill back to him and he slid it back to me. Some people just don’t get me. Money -Counter’s friend did and tried to help out but Money-Counter was not hearing any humor that night. He bought us drinks and left his rent behind. He didn’t even use the entire lease.
Not thirty seconds later a woman asked the same favor of us. I decided that since the joke didn’t go so well the first time to just reply a simple “sure!” She bought four drinks and set them on our table and thanked us, “that was so nice of you ladies, I’m buying for all my friends, how are you enjoying the band?” She kept taking one step toward the table and one step back as she spoke to us. Stepping forward to talk and then back to listen. “We’re having fun!” we replied.
“Oh, my friends and I are having a blast! We’re celebrating one of my good friend’s 40th birthday, my name is Kathy-with a ‘K’ nice to meet you ladies.” Kathy-with a ‘K’ had on pleated stone washed jeans and a jean jacket, her hair was cut in a mullet. Not really a good cut for anyone but I think even less so for people with really curly hair like Kathy-with a ‘K’ had.
“So, is that short for Kathleen, then?” I asked her.
“No!” she seemed very pleased that I fell for that assumption. “It’s short for Katherine, but with a ‘K.’ Most Katherines spell their name with a ‘C’ but mine’s with a ‘K’!”
She told us of her plans for her 40th birthday party but as soon as the band came back on she excused herself, “they’re back on! I’ll see you ladies in there, right?” Dora and I shrugged, “Of Course! We have to hear what made it to number one!”
Dora asked me, “why is it that whenever anyone comes up to the table to talk to us they always talk to you and not me?”
“I don’t know, maybe they think you don’t speak English.” She punched me and laughed at the same time. “You bitch!”
We went back in at about number twelve and fed off the excitement of the crowd. We couldn't help but to dance and enjoy the music for what it was. At about number eight Dora asked me if I wanted to leave, “are you kidding?” I asked her, “we've made it this far, we have to see what number one is.” We laughed and I joined Dora dancing. Dora attracts a lot of attention when she dances because…the girl is really hot. And when she dances it’s hard not to imagine a pole close by.
Finally, number one came along and we held each other in anticipation, “what do you think it’ll be?” I asked her laughing.
“I got my first real six-string, at a five and dime…”
We looked at each other with complete surprise but the crowd was really excited. “What? Summer of ’69? That’s number one?”
If you can’t beat ‘em…we danced. We tried a connected robotic snake and were critiqued by a guy standing close by, “that was the worst robot I’ve ever seen.”
“I know,” I agreed and realizing that once again I was the one being spoken to and not Dora, “it’s her fault, she doesn’t speak English.”
He looked at Dora and smiled and then addressed me, “oh you’re going to let her take all the blame and she won’t even be able to defend herself?”
“It’s who I am.”
Dora asked me if I wanted to leave and the guy, looking surprised said, “Oh! You speak English!”
“LISA!!”
“What? Oh my God! You speak…when did you learn English? Has this whole exchange student from Cambodia been a lie all along? Are you even from Cambodia? First thing in the morning I want you out of my apartment! I can’t believe you speak English!”

The next day I got a text from Dora, in English: “If I find a Styxx cover band playing you wanna go?”
I replied: “Sure…but only if we go on their MySpace and vote a hundred times for ‘Come Sail Away.’”

Girl Bar

I don’t know how I got to be forty without ever experiencing a gay bar, I consider myself really open minded but have managed to get through the past twenty years attending only straight bars. I have a friend who is bi-sexual and has invited me several times to join her in attending “Girl-Bar.” This is a monthly gathering of mostly lesbians in a popular gay nightclub. Saturday night I took her up on the offer. I tried to get a straight friend to join me but it didn’t work out, so I drove out to Circuit alone and met Claudia there.

Claudia is pretty popular in this place; the go-go dancers really like her and so do a lot of women. She left me to get some drinks and was provided shots of tequila by some new friends at the bar. At one point a really cute little Latina wearing only jeans and a push up bra walked near us and Claudia said to her, "wow, that bra looks really good on you. You are so hot." The girl replied, "You’re really hot too." And they started making out.

I'm cracking up and ask Claudia's friend, Monica, if this happens a lot and she said, "to Claudia, yep." A 6 foot tall late 40's lesbian started flirting really heavy with me and I broke her heart when I told her I wasn't gay. "Why? Why do I always fall for the straight ones?" She asked. Claudia and Monica rescued me by dragging me on the dance floor. I've never been touched by so many people in my life. Literally touched, my waist, my hips, my stomach, my ass... and I was not even offended. If it were men I’d be all pissed off but I didn't care. I was completely comfortable.

I worked really hard at getting Claudia sober enough to drive home for an hour or so, we left at about 2...something? Outside a really gay man ogled at me on the sidewalk and I was really confused by that. I'm pretty curvy, what was up? Claudia explained how gender doesn't matter when people are only interested in sex. She told me that when she attends gay night (men) she has to sometimes hide in the bathroom to get away from all the men. “They tell me I look like a cute little boy.” Go figure.

Karma pays me back

When I first saw my house I knew I had to have it. I was leaving on a five-week trip to Europe and I told my husband to try and get it for us, which he did. I was so in love with that house, from first sight to dramatic move in. It soon became a symbol of my marriage in my dreams. Whenever my husband and I were fighting I’d dream of trees falling into the roof and damaging it. If we calmed down and talked over the possibility of divorce I’d dream of watching strange people come through it looking to buy it. I’m still in love with my house; I still very much love my husband. But the divorce is in progress and the “For Sale” sign went up last week

When we first moved in I was so pleased with how many neighbors would stop by and say “hello, welcome to the neighborhood,” while I was outside gardening. There were a lot of hustlers; I’ll call them, trying to sell me things like tropical plants, smoke detectors, and bags of socks. I’d wonder, “Where did they get those giant plants?” Soon, three large tropical houseplants were stolen off our front porch. My next-door neighbor asked, “Why you don’t lock your front gate at night?” So we started locking the gate at night. But during the day the mail person needed to get in, the neighborhood beat officer stopped by on occasion and the alderman’s clerks would come through as well. So we’d unlock the gate each morning.

One sunny morning a lady came to my door selling candy bars. For her kids, she said, “They go to St. Martin de Porres right up the street and they sellin’ these candy bars to help pay a tuition.” She was well dressed but the clothes were unkempt and she wore a lot of makeup and a wig. “You new to the neighborhood?” I explained that we had just moved in and really loved it so far. “For real? I stay wit my kids right up on Waller.” She gave me an exact address on the street next to ours. “Here my kids, right here.” She said as she pulled out her wallet and a photo folio filled with pictures of children. I asked her why the kids weren’t out here with her selling the candy. She laughed and said, “You know what? They should be here. I bring ‘em wit me when I bring you da candy.” I looked at a laminated page of fundraising candy that had to be at least five years old. I knew something was up but I completely played along with her. I told her what I wanted and she recorded my order in a spiral notepad. Wow, no phony order sheet, just a notepad, I wondered what was next. It didn’t take long to find out, she asked for payment on my 16.oo order. I told her I only had a twenty and she looked around. “Well, there a bank right over there. I’ll go and get yer change.”

I don’t know why I did what I did next. I just did it, without pause. I handed her my money and watched her walk away with it. I shut the door behind me and had another cup of coffee and wondered if even the kids were real. I had my husband put a new lock on the front gate, install a mailbox accessible from the sidewalk, and we started locking the gate all time after that.

The other day I was returning from a walk with my dog. On the sidewalk in front of my house just below the “For Sale” sign was a twenty-dollar bill. I thanked Karma and went inside.

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Carrie Bradshaw goes to Chicago streetfest

That's how I felt, like Carrie Bradshaw. I am not glamorous and when thinking of the most fashion conscious person they know, I do not appear first in the minds of my friends. Tonight, though, I felt like my resale store shoes were Jimmy Choos amid the freaky wierd get ups I saw on the oddest group of people I'd been surrounded by since that Renaissance festival I went to in the 80's.

I'm house sitting for a friend, who lives in one of the hippest neighborhoods of our city, two more friends are keeping me company. We're treating it like a vacation in our own city. We began with a bottle of wine at the house last night and then out for a couple martinis on a sidewalk patio. We ended the night eating cheddar cheese fries and char broiled hotdogs at the legendary Weiner Circle. Today started with brunch at a hip corner restauarant, my shoulders carry the color of the time it takes to eat lemon ricotta pancakes with a mimosa. We shopped in a bargain driven frenzie for two hours at a shoe outlet store where 7 pairs of shoes and a few more accessories were purchased between the three of us. Margaritas on another sidewalk (Nicole tried to order a white zinfandel and a martini but was scolded by the server for not recognizing the personality of the taco bar as one that would never serve such poor excuses for beverages).

In our new shoes and still rosy cheeks from the taco bar margaritas we headed out to see a favorite band of Dora's play at a local streetfest. I was bored by the description of the band before I ever even heard them. "Fun" and "happy" were used a lot. They were the kind of happy you see in couples that makes you wonder how miserable they are behind the smiles. What is wrong with this band...NO ONE is that happy. This guy has got to be a manic depressive. He frockiled on stage in his baggy blouse and floppy cowboy hat like Peter Pan. The people surrounding us were really odd, most wore flip flops, t shirts and other street fest t shirts. When I asked Nicole if she agreed that the crowd wa odd she said, "oh yea, streetfests always attract freaks. I don't know where they all are before they get here. I don't see people like this on a regular basis."
A young man in front of us danced his awkward ass off and the people with him held their hands above him as if giving him thier version of a dancer's high five. I imagined somewhere at a suburban home were his friends playing Dungeons and Dragons when one asks, "hey, where's Ben tonight?" Another answers, he's at a street fest in the city for a Why Store concert, the lucky son of a bitch. He's probably dancing his ass off right now getting all kinds of hot women."
"Yea," adds another friend, "he's a really good dancer." They all nod in jealous agreement.
A drunken girl is carried off by her boyfriend through the crowd.
A young man removes his shirt in front of us then squats to the street and pukes. He looses the friend he just made ten minutes ago and we move to a new area.
Dora does not want to leave yet. She dances and an odd young man sidles up to her and entertains a fantasy that she is with him while he imitates dance next to her. Why Store keeps singing happy music, one song blending into the next. The best thirty seconds occur when the lead singer inserts a few lines of Jim Morrison into his own lame repetitive music. I text a friend who is obviously doing something so much more interesting because I never receive a return text. Ohhhhh the humanity.
Why did I wear sandals? Beer splashes from tipping cups onto my toes, discarded aluminum and plastic jump around at our feet and scents of pechuli and stale breath waft around us.
The band finally ends its charade of bliss, the crowd ignorantly begs and encore and we make our way out of the crowd. I tell myself what a great blog post this will make.
On our way back to the house the cab drives us through a movie setting of Johnny Depp's latest film and finally I am entertained.

Foundation Friends

A couple nights ago I met with three friends that I have known since grade school. We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same high school, swam on the same swim teams and worked at the same swim and tennis club together. We've managed to maintain our friendship as adults and I treasure these women like no other friends. I'm writing this blog because one of them mentioned that she hadn't seen any recent posts from me. So Donna, this one's for you!

I love these women like sisters, having no sisters I can only imagine that this is true but I feel it must be. When we get together the four of us giggle like the girls we were when we first met. We remember every embarrassing moment of growth that we shared and forgive all adolescent mistakes. I love them for remembering things I have forgotten and for forgetting things I can't seem to forget myself.

When I see them I can't believe it was thirty years ago that we first flirted with boys. We played dunk in the pool with boys we had crushes on hoping that the cutest boy of all would pick us to lift and dunk mercilessly until chlorinated snot ran uncontrollably out of our noses. In high school we fought over which member of The Police would be our boyfriend, we all wanted Sting and no one wanted Andy Summers. "Ewwww! He looks so old!" In college we each attended a different school but, even without the Internet, managed to keep in touch through mail, phone and spring break visits. We talked each other through good and bad break ups, diets and final exams.

As young adults Heather was the only person brave enough to tell me I was making a mistake by marrying my first boyfriend. Donna was the only person I felt comfortable enough admitting that I didn't actually want to marry him. Jen may have been the first to high - five me when the engagement was over. (Donna was definitely the first to high - five me when she met the basketball player that helped distract me from the engagement!)

Heather was there to help me shop for the wedding dress that I wore when I eloped. All were there for me even when, most especially when, my parents would not approve of my marrying outside my race. I cried to them when I couldn't conceive and they were most sensitive to it when they became pregnant. Heather shares her little boy with me like I am another aunt and last year when I held him as he slapped the water in her parents' back yard pool I laughed with delight and said, "Oh Heather! Thank you so much for having this baby for me!" She laughed right back. She knew just what I meant.

All have been there for me through every step of my divorce, never judging, never preaching, always listening and offering laughter and a glass of wine when I need it most.

Donna and I argued at breakfast the other day. In high school the bad feelings may have lasted for days, in present day they lasted only moments.

I once was trying to describe to Heather's boyfriend how I felt about these three women and he put it so appropriately, "of course, they are your foundation friends!"

Donna, Heather and Jen: you are my dearest friends. I love you so much, I hope you know it and feel it the same way I do. I cannot wait until the next time we polish off 3...4? bottles of wine together!