December 25: George and I have matching pajamas now. I don’t think he finds it nearly as amusing as I do.
December 26: There was an accident a few miles ahead of us on the freeway. We were parked on section of the road for half an hour and we watched three firetrucks drive past. Addie howled along with each siren, and every time, someone in a car next to us would smile and roll down their car window so they could howl along with her.
December 27: The Pioneer Saloon is over 120 years old and dishing out old Fashioned in mason jars. The place is rumored to be haunted by either glamorous film star Carol Lombard or a prostitute killed in the women’s bathroom.
December 28: We spent half an hour inching across the blindingly bright neon lights of The Strip on our way from the Pinball Hall of Fame. Waunt pressed her face up against the window and a truck that drove past with an entire side lit up in an advertisement for call girls. She said that it reminded her of all the action movies set decades into the future.
“Awesome,” Dylan said. “We’ve already achieved dystopia.”
December 29: Due to the government shutdown, the bathrooms in the Valley of Fire were backed up and out of toilet paper. Trash mountains were heaped on top of every garbage can, but even that could not mar the beauty of the red and yellow stripes of the rocks. Stone the color of fire with the fluid rivulets of water.
December 30: We saw the worst of humanity this weekend. The history of atomic testing in the desert, the brutality of mobs throughout America, and the desperate crowd of people swarming every structure in the botanical garden of The Bellagio.
December 31: Every year at cosmic bowling, I somehow keep forgetting just how bad the free champagne they serve at midnight is. It is really, really bad.
much love,
hedgie
Monday, December 31, 2018
Monday, December 24, 2018
cloud of angry bees
December 17: We found out whose classroom we are sharing next semester. I have Mr. Patel’s room. Melissa picked that because she thinks he can learn a lot from watching me.
December 18: I sat next to Jen during the Mission Graduates Christmas party. I told Melissa I was worried about going deaf in that ear. She glanced around the table where everyone was on their third glass of sangria before the food even came out. “I guess I better get all the worker’s comp forms out,” she said.
December 19: Jaivon and Orlando were chasing each other around at recess and they ran into the bathroom. Orland told Jaivon to leave because he needed to pee. Jaivon left. That was the start of a rumor that quickly spread around the school that Jaivon raped Orlando in the bathroom. Merry Christmas.
December 20: Miss Maria decided that it was ugly sweater today. She had a sweater with a llama wearing a sweater. Miss Ana had one with a cat wrapped in working Christmas lights that said “Nope. Not Today.” Miss Connie borrowed my sweater that had the dog wearing a Christmas sweater and taped googly eyes on it.
December 21: Melissa looked out the window and saw a student precariously balanced on the banister of the second story staircase. She called for help on the walkie and stood by the hallway doors, looking up at him, not that there was much she would be able to do if he decided to jump. A few moments later, Mr. Powers opened the door behind the boy, wrapped an arm under his armpits, and tugged him back into the school. We tried not to think about what would have happened if Melissa hadn’t happened to look up when she did.
December 22: Nick’s dad wanted to play one of those old dance games where a little camera monitors your movement and recreates it with a bitmoji. Everyone said that they did not want to play, but he put it on anyway and trapped us all in the living room, watching him old white guy dance alone.
December 23: Nick, Christiana, and I made plans to make fudge with Oma, which Nick’s dad seemed weirdly bent on stopping. He decided to pull out his drone and was still telling us to play with it as we walked towards her house. He flew it just a few feet behind us and it buzzed like an approaching cloud of angry bees.
December 24: Within five minutes of arriving at the Cuffe house, George found the dog bed and was immovable for the rest of the night.
much love,
hedgie
December 18: I sat next to Jen during the Mission Graduates Christmas party. I told Melissa I was worried about going deaf in that ear. She glanced around the table where everyone was on their third glass of sangria before the food even came out. “I guess I better get all the worker’s comp forms out,” she said.
December 19: Jaivon and Orlando were chasing each other around at recess and they ran into the bathroom. Orland told Jaivon to leave because he needed to pee. Jaivon left. That was the start of a rumor that quickly spread around the school that Jaivon raped Orlando in the bathroom. Merry Christmas.
December 20: Miss Maria decided that it was ugly sweater today. She had a sweater with a llama wearing a sweater. Miss Ana had one with a cat wrapped in working Christmas lights that said “Nope. Not Today.” Miss Connie borrowed my sweater that had the dog wearing a Christmas sweater and taped googly eyes on it.
December 21: Melissa looked out the window and saw a student precariously balanced on the banister of the second story staircase. She called for help on the walkie and stood by the hallway doors, looking up at him, not that there was much she would be able to do if he decided to jump. A few moments later, Mr. Powers opened the door behind the boy, wrapped an arm under his armpits, and tugged him back into the school. We tried not to think about what would have happened if Melissa hadn’t happened to look up when she did.
December 22: Nick’s dad wanted to play one of those old dance games where a little camera monitors your movement and recreates it with a bitmoji. Everyone said that they did not want to play, but he put it on anyway and trapped us all in the living room, watching him old white guy dance alone.
December 23: Nick, Christiana, and I made plans to make fudge with Oma, which Nick’s dad seemed weirdly bent on stopping. He decided to pull out his drone and was still telling us to play with it as we walked towards her house. He flew it just a few feet behind us and it buzzed like an approaching cloud of angry bees.
December 24: Within five minutes of arriving at the Cuffe house, George found the dog bed and was immovable for the rest of the night.
much love,
hedgie
Sunday, December 16, 2018
hot dog day
December 9: Stow Lake notes:
Sound of man-made waterfall
Green benches dedicated in loving memory
Rock ledge around perimeter of water (except this spot)
Rocky dirt with a coke bottle lodged into it, murky green water
Yellowing leaves
On verge of being able to see breath fog up
Full of rented paddle boats during warmer months
Black and white ducks with the red eyes
Island of two trees and bushes
On a narrow corner across the street from the Japanese tea garden
Pagoda (Chinese Pavilion) with red pillars and green tile roof (to left of the island of trees)
Bushes of tiny white and purple flowers, dotted with lilies
December 10: Abel stepped out into the hallway and came to an abrupt stop. He wafted the air to his nose with a cupped hand like a sommelier over a glass of fine, red wine. A smile broke out across his face. “It’s hot dog day!“
December 11: Paolo has set upon the job of ruining Santa for everyone in his class. He told them that he asked his mom for a Drop Cam for Christmas so he can set it up and prove to them all that their parents are the ones setting presents under the tree.
December 12: The knitting elective was already shorter than most of our classes. Now it keeps getting days cut for holiday parties. If I want my kids to be able to finish their bunnies before the end of the term, I have to spend about two hours knitting their projects for a week.
December 13: Abel asked me if I had any plain paper so he could make the origami Christmas tree that was in his book. When I told him I didn’t, he went into my learning centers box and took six of my printed mystery math coloring sheets and immediately cut them up.
December 14: Her stomach filled with static.
December 15: Our Christmas tree this year is slightly shorter than I am, but just as skinny. Nick spent the rest of the trip holding it by the trunk with one hand like he was holding a scepter.
December 16: Addie has been drinking from the Christmas tree stand despite he full bowl of water in the kitchen. We keep fin dinging little droplets of water all over the wood floor from where it dribbled out of the sides of her mouth.
much love,
hedgie
Sound of man-made waterfall
Green benches dedicated in loving memory
Rock ledge around perimeter of water (except this spot)
Rocky dirt with a coke bottle lodged into it, murky green water
Yellowing leaves
On verge of being able to see breath fog up
Full of rented paddle boats during warmer months
Black and white ducks with the red eyes
Island of two trees and bushes
On a narrow corner across the street from the Japanese tea garden
Pagoda (Chinese Pavilion) with red pillars and green tile roof (to left of the island of trees)
Bushes of tiny white and purple flowers, dotted with lilies
December 10: Abel stepped out into the hallway and came to an abrupt stop. He wafted the air to his nose with a cupped hand like a sommelier over a glass of fine, red wine. A smile broke out across his face. “It’s hot dog day!“
December 11: Paolo has set upon the job of ruining Santa for everyone in his class. He told them that he asked his mom for a Drop Cam for Christmas so he can set it up and prove to them all that their parents are the ones setting presents under the tree.
December 12: The knitting elective was already shorter than most of our classes. Now it keeps getting days cut for holiday parties. If I want my kids to be able to finish their bunnies before the end of the term, I have to spend about two hours knitting their projects for a week.
December 13: Abel asked me if I had any plain paper so he could make the origami Christmas tree that was in his book. When I told him I didn’t, he went into my learning centers box and took six of my printed mystery math coloring sheets and immediately cut them up.
December 14: Her stomach filled with static.
December 15: Our Christmas tree this year is slightly shorter than I am, but just as skinny. Nick spent the rest of the trip holding it by the trunk with one hand like he was holding a scepter.
December 16: Addie has been drinking from the Christmas tree stand despite he full bowl of water in the kitchen. We keep fin dinging little droplets of water all over the wood floor from where it dribbled out of the sides of her mouth.
much love,
hedgie
Saturday, December 8, 2018
don't get murdered, okay
December 1: It was the weather that always made her think of Thanksgiving and standing outside of her childhood home for the first time in months. It was blindingly bright, but a chill had recently permeated the air, like the seasons were at war with each other and the weather couldn’t decide which side to be on.
December 2: The two glass blowing instructors kept assuring us that we were perfectly safe and they wouldn’t burn us, but it’s hard not to want to back away from them when they walk directly towards you with a long, metal pole that is a bright orange from being dipped in molten glass.
December 3: A convict escaped from the hospital near the school this morning. Then when program closed, Miss Melissa told me that there had been a mugging on the street that I walk home down. “Don’t get murdered, okay?”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
December 4: Knitting club has proven to be very frustrating. They have the process down when I am sitting next to them. I will watch them do ten stitches perfectly in a row, but right when I move to help out another student, they forget everything and scream that they need help before I can even sit back down.
December 5: Nick found a German Shepherd wandering the streets on his run home. He took the dog to the ACC instead of our apartment, which I feel is grounds for divorce.
December 6: Jen’s class wrote letters to Santa. We spent the morning trying to decipher what they wrote. We got stumped one one child who informed Santa that she had “been ben this year”. It took about half an hour to realize that she meant to write about how good they were, they were “bien”.
December 7: His family was its own self-contained unit that she had never been able to fit in to. The situation was like a shelf from IKEA. No matter how hard she tried to follow directions, there was always a screw or a plastic washer leftover. She was like that screw that would be put in a junk drawer somewhere and forgotten about. Not thrown away, but also not quite wanted.
December 8: In the circus tent, she flew high up in the air on two ropes and lit up by a dozen spotlights. Darkened exact replicas of herself were projected onto the walls, swinging and dancing in perfect sync.
much love,
hedgie
December 2: The two glass blowing instructors kept assuring us that we were perfectly safe and they wouldn’t burn us, but it’s hard not to want to back away from them when they walk directly towards you with a long, metal pole that is a bright orange from being dipped in molten glass.
December 3: A convict escaped from the hospital near the school this morning. Then when program closed, Miss Melissa told me that there had been a mugging on the street that I walk home down. “Don’t get murdered, okay?”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
December 4: Knitting club has proven to be very frustrating. They have the process down when I am sitting next to them. I will watch them do ten stitches perfectly in a row, but right when I move to help out another student, they forget everything and scream that they need help before I can even sit back down.
December 5: Nick found a German Shepherd wandering the streets on his run home. He took the dog to the ACC instead of our apartment, which I feel is grounds for divorce.
December 6: Jen’s class wrote letters to Santa. We spent the morning trying to decipher what they wrote. We got stumped one one child who informed Santa that she had “been ben this year”. It took about half an hour to realize that she meant to write about how good they were, they were “bien”.
December 7: His family was its own self-contained unit that she had never been able to fit in to. The situation was like a shelf from IKEA. No matter how hard she tried to follow directions, there was always a screw or a plastic washer leftover. She was like that screw that would be put in a junk drawer somewhere and forgotten about. Not thrown away, but also not quite wanted.
December 8: In the circus tent, she flew high up in the air on two ropes and lit up by a dozen spotlights. Darkened exact replicas of herself were projected onto the walls, swinging and dancing in perfect sync.
much love,
hedgie
Friday, November 30, 2018
buster
November 24: I finally met Max’s little one, Conrad. He gurgles in a way that makes him sound like he is purring all the time. He kept spitting out his pacifier and shoving my fingers into his mouth so that he could bite me with the two tiny and sharp teeth growing out of his lower jaw.
November 25: We picked up Wiggins and he immediately fell asleep in his dog bed in the back seat. When he woke up, dad wet over his responsibilities in the household, which include chasing Nora so much that she loses five pounds within the next two weeks.
November 26: For some reason, they decided to paint the hallways today instead of over Thanksgiving break, when the school was empty for an entire week. They forgot to put up signs warning people of the wet paint, and all day, we found students trying to wash light blue paint off their uniforms and out of their hair.
November 27: Buster is gone. While I am glad that I got to see her again, it doesn’t feel like I got to say a real goodbye. She wasn’t acting like herself for long at Thanksgiving and I wish that I had known that the summer Oregon trip was the last time I would really be with her.
November 28: It is, of course, the day I managed to have entirely indoor plans that the storm decided to take a break. It was damp, but rain-free the entire day.
November 29: Joanna informed me that if she asked to go to the bathroom today, I would need to excuse her immediately. She started her period last night. She’s ten. She even opened up her backpack to show me where she had stashed two week’s worth of pads. Janessa, also ten, shook her head slowly and said, “She’s growing up so fast.”
November 30: We got the results back from our Beacon Initiative evaluation. We did not score highly in “engagement” because we don’t utilize many interdependent skills in our lessons. The tool guide suggested that I establish a class treasurer. Problem solved.
much love,
hedgie
November 25: We picked up Wiggins and he immediately fell asleep in his dog bed in the back seat. When he woke up, dad wet over his responsibilities in the household, which include chasing Nora so much that she loses five pounds within the next two weeks.
November 26: For some reason, they decided to paint the hallways today instead of over Thanksgiving break, when the school was empty for an entire week. They forgot to put up signs warning people of the wet paint, and all day, we found students trying to wash light blue paint off their uniforms and out of their hair.
November 27: Buster is gone. While I am glad that I got to see her again, it doesn’t feel like I got to say a real goodbye. She wasn’t acting like herself for long at Thanksgiving and I wish that I had known that the summer Oregon trip was the last time I would really be with her.
November 28: It is, of course, the day I managed to have entirely indoor plans that the storm decided to take a break. It was damp, but rain-free the entire day.
November 29: Joanna informed me that if she asked to go to the bathroom today, I would need to excuse her immediately. She started her period last night. She’s ten. She even opened up her backpack to show me where she had stashed two week’s worth of pads. Janessa, also ten, shook her head slowly and said, “She’s growing up so fast.”
November 30: We got the results back from our Beacon Initiative evaluation. We did not score highly in “engagement” because we don’t utilize many interdependent skills in our lessons. The tool guide suggested that I establish a class treasurer. Problem solved.
much love,
hedgie
Friday, November 23, 2018
two types of alcoholic slushies
November 17: We had dinner at The Local Peasant, which had not one, but two types of alcoholic slushies. I drank both. I’ve never been happier.
November 18: The cabin sits on a series cinderblock stilts about a foot above the ground. Addie has been crawling under it all day. She can move pretty fast even when she was hunched over to fit. It was terrifying, watching her scramble towards me like a gigantic spider.
November 19: The Inn of the Seventh Ray is rumored to be Aimee Semple McPherson’s summer hideout. The creek that ran by the patio was completely dried out and they brought out portable heaters for everyone sitting outside. One was turned on too high and was quickly turned into a flamethrower.
November 20: The new Google site is the airplane hangar where The Spruce Goose was built. They were instructed to leave the original architecture alone, so the Google construction starts about five feet away from the walls. There was set of stairs blocked off from the main floor with a sign that describes them as historic stairs. They sit in the dark and lead to nowhere.
November 21: Heidi and Kate threw a surprise anniversary/Nick’s 30th birthday party for us. Heidi printed and laminated even more photos of us. How can she do these so fast?
November 22: Buster isn’t doing too well. She has an aggressive stomach cancer and there isn’t much anyone can do about it. She has spent the last week pooping nothing but blood. She constantly shivers and when I pet her, I can feel her tiny bones through her fur.
November 23: Dad had been desperately trying to find a new cold case to solve now that The Golden State Killer has been caught. He recruited Austin to help over text.
“Do you want to help me solve a crime?”
“Sure.”
“What skills will you be able to bring to our team?”
“I can pole vault.”
much love,
hedgie
November 18: The cabin sits on a series cinderblock stilts about a foot above the ground. Addie has been crawling under it all day. She can move pretty fast even when she was hunched over to fit. It was terrifying, watching her scramble towards me like a gigantic spider.
November 19: The Inn of the Seventh Ray is rumored to be Aimee Semple McPherson’s summer hideout. The creek that ran by the patio was completely dried out and they brought out portable heaters for everyone sitting outside. One was turned on too high and was quickly turned into a flamethrower.
November 20: The new Google site is the airplane hangar where The Spruce Goose was built. They were instructed to leave the original architecture alone, so the Google construction starts about five feet away from the walls. There was set of stairs blocked off from the main floor with a sign that describes them as historic stairs. They sit in the dark and lead to nowhere.
November 21: Heidi and Kate threw a surprise anniversary/Nick’s 30th birthday party for us. Heidi printed and laminated even more photos of us. How can she do these so fast?
November 22: Buster isn’t doing too well. She has an aggressive stomach cancer and there isn’t much anyone can do about it. She has spent the last week pooping nothing but blood. She constantly shivers and when I pet her, I can feel her tiny bones through her fur.
November 23: Dad had been desperately trying to find a new cold case to solve now that The Golden State Killer has been caught. He recruited Austin to help over text.
“Do you want to help me solve a crime?”
“Sure.”
“What skills will you be able to bring to our team?”
“I can pole vault.”
much love,
hedgie
Friday, November 16, 2018
equivalent of smoking two cigarettes
November 9: A nearby town is on fire, and it has sent plumes of ash into the sky. It is tinging everything with a red brown glow, making it look like golden hour before lunch time.
November 10: Nick sheared George and even trimmed his bangs. But he cut the bangs unevenly, so that it looks like he did them diagonally. It make George look like an emo kid.
November 11: Today, I hit 53,756 words for my novel. It is now officially the longest thing I have ever written.
November 12: Somewhere in Richmond, there is a beer waiting for me, courtesy of Ryan.
Armistice Brewing Company
November 13: The air quality is still at code red, so we had indoor recess all day again. It looks like it will continue this way all week. The kids are quickly becoming agitated and sickly. Yet, I still see hoards of people smoking as if they aren’t getting enough of that already.
November 14: We are teaching the Kindness Course again in program. I wanted to center my lessons around bullying because I knew my kids were having a lot of problems with that. The issue was that I was having a lot of trouble finding activities about bullying that they couldn’t bully each other during. They proved me right. We made poster about putting a stop to bullying. We decorated cutouts of our hands, signed it, and taped it on. They took the paper hands, folded down all the fingers but the middle one, and flipped each other off.
November 15: Due to the air quality, being outside for an hour is the equivalent of smoking two cigarettes. But the school districts are holding off on canceling school because they are afraid of losing government funding next year. Melissa joked about taking pictures of our kids all holding cigarettes with the caption “they might as well be”. When it was announced that school would be cancelled on Friday, Melissa wrote it on a piece of paper and slid it to me, knowing that saying it out loud in front of the children would spark pandemonium.
November 16: The school felt almost haunted all week. The front yard, normally filled with screaming children, was quiet and empty. The front gate screeched opened and slammed shut with a heavy thud. Everything was grey and obscured by smoke.
much love,
hedgie
November 10: Nick sheared George and even trimmed his bangs. But he cut the bangs unevenly, so that it looks like he did them diagonally. It make George look like an emo kid.
November 11: Today, I hit 53,756 words for my novel. It is now officially the longest thing I have ever written.
November 12: Somewhere in Richmond, there is a beer waiting for me, courtesy of Ryan.
Armistice Brewing Company
November 13: The air quality is still at code red, so we had indoor recess all day again. It looks like it will continue this way all week. The kids are quickly becoming agitated and sickly. Yet, I still see hoards of people smoking as if they aren’t getting enough of that already.
November 14: We are teaching the Kindness Course again in program. I wanted to center my lessons around bullying because I knew my kids were having a lot of problems with that. The issue was that I was having a lot of trouble finding activities about bullying that they couldn’t bully each other during. They proved me right. We made poster about putting a stop to bullying. We decorated cutouts of our hands, signed it, and taped it on. They took the paper hands, folded down all the fingers but the middle one, and flipped each other off.
November 15: Due to the air quality, being outside for an hour is the equivalent of smoking two cigarettes. But the school districts are holding off on canceling school because they are afraid of losing government funding next year. Melissa joked about taking pictures of our kids all holding cigarettes with the caption “they might as well be”. When it was announced that school would be cancelled on Friday, Melissa wrote it on a piece of paper and slid it to me, knowing that saying it out loud in front of the children would spark pandemonium.
November 16: The school felt almost haunted all week. The front yard, normally filled with screaming children, was quiet and empty. The front gate screeched opened and slammed shut with a heavy thud. Everything was grey and obscured by smoke.
much love,
hedgie
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