Halloween

It’s been remarkably calm at Burpie Cow Wow. That makes me nervous.
This was my day.
I had time to chat with the kids and teachers who came in to use the lab.
I helped Mondale with a web page question (and wasn’t I cheerful and unrushed?)
The exceedingly kind and pleasant new head of school stopped by my classroom to see me (like about the fourth time this year and I’ve been here for twenty-five years under four different heads and I can only remember one classroom stop-by from any of the others) Anyway, he was letting me know that there would be a candidate coming next week for the new position (a position created at my request!)
I had a coffee and pastry (both good) left over from the prospective parent tour, and btw the tours have been enormously popular this fall and we are way ahead on applications for next year.
There were no techno-emergencies at all, none. Well, one person, The AD, sent me an email about his acting-out computer, which turned into a whine-fest about how hard his job was and how little time he had to do it and how he needed a reliable computer, oh, and his printer needed ink cartridges, too. But he was very careful to mention, “This is not an angry email, just one of frustration.” So I cheerfully spent my lunchtime setting up a brand new computer for him (which I had ordered for a teacher who was fired during the summer) And he practically cried, he was so happy. I left him some ink cartridges too.
In the afternoon, I played about 4 rounds of widget Sudoku while updating system software on several laptops.
I read and responded to my email. Someone sent me a thank you note for computer tip I bestowed the day before. (Really! A thank you note)
I went home BEFORE 4:00 PM.
This was very unusual. It hasn’t been all that nice this year so far.
We changed Internet service providers at the beginning of September and everything went wrong. And that’s my fault, my responsibility. I signed the contract for these (non) providers. They wouldn’t respond to our complaints about the poor service. They generally made my and my network colleague’s life miserable. People at Burpie were freaking out (with good reason) The email was erratic. Internet service – when you could get on the Internet – was at a speed reminiscent of 1994.
If that wasn’t enough, we needed to orient a record number of new teachers and what new teachers want to know is how to get their email and how to get help with all their hardware and software questions.
We also launched a new interactive website with which everyone at Burpie needed to interact. That was a ton of training and complaining.
There were too many new computers to configure and set up.
I bought a ton of projectors because everyone wanted a digital projector, oh, but they really want them permanently installed in the classrooms, not schleppable.
Nothing seemed good enough, and I couldn’t make a dent in the task list, and there were so many angry incomprehensible meetings and I wanted to run away…
Then it all stopped.
Ten days ago we borrowed a router from a nice Internet company and swapped it for the one provided by the bad Internet company and the network has been humming along smoothly since then. The maintenance staff has agreed to permanently install at least a few of the projectors. All the new computers are in place. Most people are using the web site – using it well enough. The technologies are working. Heaven help us.
I just can’t really relax though. In the movies, when you think you’ve slain the beast it always rises and sneaks up behind you.

For The Record

I needed the distance of a few days before I could even write about this.

In 1963 country singer, Skeeter Davis, had a big crossover-to-pop charts hit with her record The End of The World. If you can't remember what the tune is - click
That year the Mets were finishing only their second season of play, in The Polo Grounds, by the way, before moving to Shea. They won 51 games that season (and lost 111) It went like this for quite a while. They wouldn't outwin their losses until that magical 1969 season. That kind of season will come again, I hope.

My friend, Frank, a loyal Metsie, has reprised Skeeter's hit for us in his elegy to game 7.

The End of The World
Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world,
`cause the Mets ain't playin anymore?

Why does my heart go on beating?
Why do these eyes of mine cry?
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
It ended when the Cards broke the tie.

I wake up in the morning and I wonder why ev'rything's the same as it was.
I can't understand, no I can't understand, why Wright can't hit nuthin no
more!

Why do the Redbirds go on singing?
Why do the stars glow above?
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
It ended when that last pitch hit Molina's's glove.

Leaves Fall

Halloween is around the corner.
This snapshot was taken on the front stoop on Halloween, 1991. The class was lining up for their parade around the neighborhood. The featured goblin designed and made this mask himself. He was a wildly creative boy. After graduating from Burpie...he went on to the premier art/engineering school in NYC, Cooper Union.
His life ended last weekend in a tragic accident, jumping roofs at a late night party.
Going through my "school" picture boxes, I found several of him and his classmates. It was one of my best teaching years, my first back in the classroom after a two-year stint as acting director. It seemed so entirely managable - a little band of eight-year-olds. The year was a supremely calm and enjoyable time. I do remember that this little guy travelled to the beat of his own drum and did not particularly take to management, but he was very funny and a great deal of fun.
This week I found myself pondering the children we teach today and wondering which of them will leave this life before the adults - who spend theirs trying to shape them. Are there any early signs?

Subversion of the Best Sort

Two year-olds love music and can quickly learn rhyming verses when they are sung by the beloved voices of moms, nanas and pre-school teachers. His dad, the Yankee fan, was away for the weekend. And so it seemed the perfect time for a little good-natured indoctrination. How about thoses Metsies!

I Have Nothing To Report

I could tell you about the dinner party I hosted to raise money for the school, you know, What was my menu? Who were my guests? How was the dance party afterwards at the 5th Ave music venue? Or I could post cute pictures of the grandson and the funny things he says.
But no. I don't feel like being cheerful or positive.
Lots of problems at work. One thing seems to get fixed and two more things break. I'm in way over my head. In the circle I'm currently traveling in people are actually screaming and spitting at each other.
I will stick it out. I always do. But I'm not happy about it. This misery has to end, one way or another.

Makes Great The Life

Mactech-husband's family (maternal side) held a reunion this weekend. We gathered in an Elk's club on the shores of the Navesink River in Red Bank, NJ, the scene of the last family reunion (paternal side)
It was a warm and humid night by that pretty river where the rows of shrink-wrapped boats seemed prematurely hoisted out of the water. I brought my camera but both batteries were dead (a testament to the generally chaotic nature of my life during September) I'll have to wait for the shared family photos on this one.
The picture that appears here is of the invitation. "Strive, strive I urge..." which balloons from that serious gentleman's face paraphrases a Robert Browning quote that was a favorite mantra of Tim's grandfather.

"But try," you urge, "the trying shall suffice;
The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life."

"Grandpa" was born on the south side of Chicago near the stockyards before the turn of the century. he died in the late seventies. He was a self-made man who yearned to be a priest early in his life but was told by his parish pastor, a wise and practical sort, that his family needed him to help support them financially. He took it to heart.
He started by selling newspapers on the street (while his mother sold sanitary belts, a new invention, door to door). He eventually became the Secretary of Agriculture for the State of Illinois. He might have gone to Washington, but a Republican, Warren G. Harding, won the 1920 presidential election.
He moved his family east, to NJ, sometime around the stock market crash and while the story that's told has him going flat broke three times - he landed on his feet each time and the family prospered. He was a larger than life presence in the lives of his grandchildren and they told the stories, funny and poignant to prove it. One of my favorites is my sister-in-law's story about her first job after college in the early seventies. He was passionate about education, travel and career choices. She was afraid to tell him that she had landed a job as a sex-educator. When she finally sheepishly told him, he bellowed throwing his arms in the air, "Why I think that's wonderful! Your nana and I didn't know anything when we got married."

Three of Peter Emmet's six children are living. There are thirty-three grandchildren, forty-five great-grandchildren and six great-greats (one of which makes an appearance on this blog quite often.

It Was

It is cooler this morning but the sky is exactly the same as it was that day.
I had handed Tim a stack of late invitations to our daughter's wedding to be mailed from work(anyone who lives in my neighborhood knows it has the worst post office in the city) The Trade Center had its own zip code and a fairly high percentage of employees who read and spoke English. They processed a huge volume of mail daily and they did so fairly well. I had to rush off to school that morning because I needed to straighten out some problems with a big order of toner cartridges. A lack of toner can provoke life and death reactions early in September.
I distinctly remember registering the beauty of that morning and enjoying it because I knew it was not going to be an easy season. Tim had just been diagnosed with prostate cancer. In between after school appointments to taste potential wedding cakes and have wedding clothes altered, I would be meeting him at various doctor's offices throughout Manhattan to listen to the merits of radiation versus surgery, surgery versus radiation. This was the start of my 20th year at my school we had a new head for the first time. How would that go? (another story)
In my computer lab I was simultaneously on the phone with my toner vendor and checking e-mails when the school custodian came in to ask me if I had an antenna for the TV in the library. I remember feeling very annoyed with him. Couldn't he see I was busy? What the hell did he need to watch on TV anyway? It wasn't yet 9:00 AM. He didn't want to tell me but he did. He knew where my husband worked. A plane had hit the Trade Center.
The rest of the morning is a blur in my memory. A kind of static-y numb steeliness took over. I went directly home watching the huge plume of black smoke take over the sky. The housekeeper was there and I sent her home. I didn't want anyone around me except the one person who wasn't there. The phone eventually stopped working but until it did, it rang and rang, our daughter at work at 200 Park, crying uncontrollably. Our son, from the midwest where he was beginning law school, The brothers, sisters, relatives, friends. I had no information for them except what the television was showing us all – that the first plane had hit awfully close to the 88th floor where Tim's corner office had a most breathtaking view north and west.
I'm not sure what time it was. I heard his voice out on the sidewalk and ran to the door. Neighbors were out on the street crying and hugging. The invitations were still in his bag.