May 2012

Originally posted in 2005, this sums it all up perfectly!
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She’s a little whacky. She hears her own drumbeat. All the kids in school wanted her as a chaperone, because she was the cool mom. When we were kids, she could rattle dishes in a two-mile radius when she said “no”. She was and is always there to listen. She’s always has accepted me as I am, regardless of my age. Yeah, she’s pretty neat. Happy Mothers’ Day, Mom.

So last night the surf was up on the Internet and I was bombing around from site to site, app to app doing nothing constructive. This usually leads me to YouTube where I watch something that will make me smile. The chosen videos usually have to do with old television shows; I find it a hoot to watch veteran actress Reta Shaw throw herself between Majors Nelson and Healey and scream “Dominate me, boys! I’ve always wanted to be dominated!”

Anyways, somewhere along the way I found a quiz to test for ADHD. Now, I’ve been tested for ADHD before and I’ve always passed with flying colors, so I was interested to see what this little internet gem was going to determine of me. Luckily, there were only six multiple choice questions, so I was able to focus long enough to determine that “ADHD may be likely.”

Well, duh.

The thing about ADHD is that it kind of falls into that whole label thing, where I don’t want to be a person labeled with ADHD. I just like to thing that these tendencies of mine are just part of that big label called “Me” and I am quite comfortable with that. I can deal with the rest of the stuff. I know what distracts me. I know when I’m going to get stuff done and when I’m not and I adjust my schedule and deadlines accordingly. Earl learned very early on about the way I tick and he’s always been patient. There are still a few areas of my life where I could make a sizable adjustment so I could be more productive and less ADHD like, but for the most part I’m getting through just fine and that’s alright by me. I don’t need a chemical assist to keep things on track. I wish others could be as lucky.

Heh, I have to admit that I was distracted and forgot what this paragraph was going to be. Well, that happens sometimes.

The other night I had a dream that involved, among many other odd things, my eighth grade music teacher and choral director. Now, I haven’t thought about this person in a good many years so I am at a loss as to why she suddenly appeared in my dream on Friday night, but there she was. This got me to thinking about her. The last time I saw her was after my last performance as Mr. Whitney in the musical “Anything Goes” during my senior year of high school. Somehow I had managed to get the three music teachers that I had during my high school years together in the same room and back then I thought that was kind of neat.

Thinking about this teacher reminded me of the few days I had as an introduction to student teaching when I studying music education at SUNY Fredonia right after high school. I’ll never forgot the feeling that I had when I stood in front of a room full of seventh and eighth graders at Cassadaga Valley. I perceived them as hostile, though in retrospect I didn’t really have a reason to think this way as I was only going to be around for a day or two. But it was right then and there that I knew that teaching junior high students was not going to be in my future.

Back to the teacher from my dream.

At my hometown one moved from the “little school” (K-6) to the high school (7-12, actually Junior-Senior High School). At the high school we were all mingled together, there was no separation by floor or wing. When I entered the high school at 7th grade, the choral and music teacher was a well-liked woman who was kind of built like a tank with an attitude to match. She was very popular, always had command of the room and a very talented woman. An definite alto, she could easily fill a room with her voice. I’d enjoy crossing paths with Miss Whitney again.

This favorite teacher decided to take a year sabbatical to pursue a degree in school administration. The school granted her the year off and for my eighth grade year, they hired a brand new, just out-of-college teacher to handle the music classes and choral duties for the year. Miss Moonan was somewhat soft-spoken and as a soprano she had a beautiful voice. She had a decidedly different way of teaching and handling the chorus. Since everyone in town knew everyone’s business, everyone knew that Miss Whitney would be back the following year, so essentially Miss Moonan was a substitute teacher for a whole year.

Now let’s think about that. Think about the horrid things that have been done, both in fiction and in real life, to substitute teachers. I vividly remember an English substitute teacher sitting in a corner, nearly in a fetal position because all hell had broken loose in the classroom to the point that the movable partitions between that separate the room from the adjoining classroom had started falling down. I remember another completely losing her breath and fleeing the room because someone had poured a bottle of cheap perfume in the ventilation system. I don’t even want to talk about the Home Economics incident when the microwave caught fire under a substitute teacher’s watch. Being a substitute teacher is a horrid position for those that are not built Ford tough.

I really think some wanted Miss Moonan to fail. I know that many classmates wanted her to fail. What did they have to lose, after all, Miss Whitney would be back the next year. Folks from the village came to the school musical (it was “Oklahoma” that year) hoping for a catastrophe. But there was none. The musical was wonderful, and while the chosen favorites may not have been in staring roles that year, the show went on. I have to hand it to her, Miss Moonan stuck it through and though students did their best to make her life miserable, she didn’t flee, she did her job to the best of her ability and she even continued her teaching career (albeit opting to move to the elementary school level). I believe she is still teaching today.

So I guess I dreamed about Miss Moonan the other night because I admired her for her tenacity. She stuck it through when the chips were stacked against her. And I admire that in a person. It’s a trait that I strive to find in myself. Stick it through and do what you got to do. I should have remembered that back in college. Perhaps I needed that reminder, the other night.

Thanks, Miss Moonan.

For the past couple of years, Earl and I have had a lawn service doing the mowing and the landscaping around The Manor. The reason for this is two-fold: 1. we are very busy people with our work lives and 2. I’m lazy.

Now I enjoy spending time outdoors but I have remarked in the past that I would rather push the snowblower up and down the driveway in lieu of driving the lawn mower around in circles so when given the choice of paying a service for either, we opted for lawn care. Earl made a call in the mid part of last week to see if they were available to take care of our lawn again this season and they answered in the affirmative.

As of Saturday the lawn service had not come to take care of the lawn and it was looking wicked shabby. Now, I’m not one that has to have a perfectly manicured lawn, but having a presentable lawn is important to me so it started bugging me a little bit when Tom (the cat) went out into the back lawn and all we could see was the tip of his tail. Luckily, his tendency to use his tail as a compass gave us the luxury to know which direction he was headed. I thought I saw the tips of his ears for a moment, but that was just wishful thinking. When he finally made his way back to the back patio, he gave me a dirty look.

I knew it was time to do something about the lawn.

I hauled the riding mower into the garage so I could get it going and I felt a certain amount of satisfaction when I could get the mower to make noises. It is on the battery charger as we speak and I am hopeful that tonight or tomorrow the lawn mower will be fully functional.

I looked around the garage for the push mower, figuring I could at least get some of the lawn under control using that but I was reminded that we ditched that wretched piece of machinery a few years ago. (I swear the wheels were from a shopping cart because they all wanted to go in a different direction. We were the only folks on the block that had a lawn with zig-zagging stripes.)

Earl and Jamie went out and bought us a new mower, which was assembled and put to good use. I felt great satisfaction as I pushed the mower all around the house, taming the lawn in the process. I was quite pleased with myself and it felt good to be doing something other than staring at a computer screen.

This morning Earl notified me via email that the lawn service was out finishing up what I hadn’t tackled yet with my new found piece of machinery.

I have to admit, my first reaction was “bummer”.

Now the lawn service was doing what we asked them to do, but we have decided that they’re only going to do it this month and then we are going to tell them that their services are no longer required. We want to make sure that the riding mower is actually going to start up as planned and then I will take on the taming of the lawn myself. It’s something that I really want to do. I have decided that this is an indicator that I am starting to approach middle age and that in a few years time I will probably be one of those annoying neighbors that mow three times a week, each time at 6 a.m.

It’s good to have something to look forward to.

I just awoke from a full night’s sleep. That’s right, a full night’s sleep. I slept the entire night through, without interruption and I slept nearly eight hours. I have not accomplished this feat in many months and I have not had a full night’s sleep on a Sunday night in many years.

I feel amazing. This is going to be a good week.

I was a pretty young kid when I first noticed the ringing in my ears. It’s a constant sound that I hear and I’ve heard it since I was pretty young (pre-bunk beds, which means since I was in first grade or so). My left ear rings louder than my right, but luckily both ears ring at the same pitch. I would go crazy if the ringing was at two different notes. It’s really high pitched and it’s not a note that I can identify. Sometimes it feels like it’s coming from the middle of my head but aimed at my left ear.

I have noticed that over the past couple of months the ringing has gotten a little louder and a little more noticeable, especially when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. I have to sleep with a fan on to provide white noise to mask the sound of the ringing in my ears or else it feels like the ringing is becoming overpowering as I start to drift off and then I get a little worked up about it. It’s loud enough where it can be distracting in overly quiet situations. Perhaps that’s why Earl has commented on more than one occasion that I have a tendency to fill in blank pauses during a conversation with my own brand of chatter. Perhaps that’s why I say “um” or “em” a lot between words.

I suppose that years of wearing headphones while I was on the radio and listening to music really loud as a club DJ (so I could seamlessly align the beats of dissimilar records) has taken it’s toll on my hearing. I’m saying “say again?” more than I used to. I know some folks find that annoying. I find it annoying. I try not to say it. I read lips more than I used to. I guess it’s part of the aging process.

A few years ago I went to an ear, nose and throat specialist to find out if there was anything that could be done about the ringing in my ears. He told me that there was little that he could do because that kind of thing is usually damage that can not be reversed. He offered to peel back my face and scrape around my sinuses if I wanted to. Apparently he had heard me make a sniffly noise that I didn’t notice. I declined the offer. That just sounded too weird.

I’m hoping that science will perfect that bionic hearing I’ve wanted since I was a kid before my natural hearing ability is completely interrupted by the constant whine in my ears. I’m not expecting a lot, just the ability to hear someone say my name from a half-mile away. The “doo doo doo doo” sound is completely optional.