It Was Addiction

When I started teaching at the local community college, I was completely caught off guard by the deluge of essays about alcohol and meth addiction/rehab/relapse. For years, most of the narrative papers from my school have been about this struggle, the loss that comes with it, the day-to-day recovery.

I'll tell you what, it's heartbreaking, reading these stories of parents offering their 13 year-olds methamphetamine, of kids being taken away/given back/taken away again. Homes are lost. Jobs are lost. Marriages dissolve.

But in many of these papers, there has been hope. These students have been to the bottom, and have found it isn't pretty, and they've learned that they can make things better for themselves. They can choose to stop using, they can join support groups. They can decide to live again.

Now, though, there's another problem. A different problem. A new one.

For the first time since I've been teaching, the big theme is unemployment.

Sadly, it does make sense.

Oregon's unemployment rate exceeds that of the national average, and in our county here, it's two whole percentage points higher.

My students write of being laid off, of looking (and looking and looking) for work, of being turned away for body piercings or heavy-lifting requirements.

They are losing their homes, their families, their self-worth.

In these stories, I'm not seeing the hope, the will, that comes with the addiction essays.

I'm seeing desperation. Devastation. Despair.

I would like to see this turn around. Of course, I would like to see the job market explode. But, realistically, I want to see my students be stronger, be more active, to take control.

I want them to clean themselves up and look admin. right in the eye. I want them to shake hands with a firm grip, leave behind sparkly applications.

I want them to learn a little from each rejection, to get more determined, more wise, more driven from it.

I want them to keep trying.

About Oahu

Four blocks up from the Hilton Village is an Oahu few tourists choose to see.

It's just past the canal that runs through Waikiki, a vessel for rainwater run-off and hotel sewage, that crew teams paddle their boats over. Just past this canal, barely out of range of the luau ukulele, are high rise apartment buildings strewn with strings of drying laundry, with strings of children running up and down the stairways. With skateboarders in the parking lots.

Between these skyscrapers are tiny, flat-roofed huts, upon which mango trees release their fruits that roll onto the dirt. The siding of the huts is plywood and aluminum, and lizards slip in and out of the chain-linked fences.

Piles of trash wait on street corners: stained, saggy mattresses; broken bookshelves. Diapers spilling from opened bags.

In the afternoons, tents sprawl around swings and slides: a city park for the homeless, whose scruffy shoes park outside the door flaps.

There are feral cats and enormous cockroaches and birds who sing above it all.

There are few big gas companies and no "mainland" banks.

Each street you cross has a disabled pedestrian with a tiny arm, a shortened leg, a hunched back. The result of lack of prenatal care? Of alcoholism? Of nuclear fallout?

For these kama aina ("Children of the Land"), Life Cereal is $9. A loaf of French bread is $7.29. It is cheaper to eat a McDonald's Big Mac than an apple. And a two-bedroom apartment costs
$1,200/month.

There are lots and lots of service jobs--hotels, restaurants, shops--but really, no other industry.

And the public schools are irreparable.

You'd think this poverty and collapsed infrastructure would get these natives down.

Not so much.

On Saturdays, they open their trunks and drag their Weber Grills over the sand, and they raise canvas roofs and play the guitar from their tattered Coleman camp chairs. They gather as brothers and sisters and cousins and grandmas, and they grin and flip their ono chicken, and shoot around the soccer ball at Ala Moana Beach.

The sun sets and the coffee-colored babies sleep on turtle-printed towels, and everyone listens to Auntie talk-story about the time before the Hilton Village and the skyscrapers, the time before the '60s. Before Life was so expensive. The brothers and sisters and cousins, they listen. And they eat the bread Auntie has made from the bananas in her yard.

What's Fascinating About SEA?

"How could you spend five weeks studying South East Asia," I've been asked since I've been home.

It's a good question, really.

Those ten (or eleven, depending on how you count them; different post) seemingly insignificant countries on the way other side of the earth wouldn't appear to affect us much here in the US.

In order for me to make sense of it all myself, I deconstructed everything I learned at the National Endowment of the Humanities' Institute (on Oahu). Oh, we had experts--speakers flown in from Indonesia, from Wake Forest and other east coast universities, from California, from the midwest. We were learning about things as they were happening. It was crazy.

Then, I reorganized all that information according to discipline, and analyzed it for a so...what? Where does it all lead?

Here's what you might find interesting:

The islands and mainlands are diverse in many more ways than they are unified: by geography, outside influence (including that of South and East Asia, Europe, and the US), religion, political authority, culture, and the 1,000 languages among them.

Japan bombed Pearl Harbor for access to SEA's rubber, oil, tin, iron; and to prevent US access to it.

The concepts of time (minutes, hours, days) and printing emerged with Buddhism in the region.

Indonesia is the world's fourth largest country. (And is the largest per-capita Facebook-using nation!)

While globally, the birthrate is declining, in Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines, it is spiking.

This region shares the same issues as the US: our relationships with China, terrorism, trade, the environment). Our citizens also strive for human, labor, and women's rights.

It comes down to the dollar; 6 of the 10 or 11 nations rank in the top half of world economies, some of which have catapulted themselves from the bottom within the last several years.

Is it clear--the economic power here?

That's one of the places all this goes.

I found the bottom line with SEA film scholar Wimal Dissanayake, a bright, lovely man, who said pointedly: "While SEA is a rapidly expanding region, it is severely understudied."

This area is sure to keep rising, in wealth, in population growth, with technology.

And???

Do you know how the US will be affected by that?

By trade, sure.

But also in our higher education systems. We'll be competing for the earth's top potential innovators. Within the next 20 to 40 years, our classrooms are likely to be filled with the greatest thinkers on the planet.

And, since 4 out of 5 foreign scholars end up staying in the US when they complete their programs, we'll be competing for jobs, too.

What do you think? Is that good or bad?

Will more and more university slots go to Jakartans, Manileños, taking up seats from Americans who "deserve" them?

Or will the ambition of these academics add to our melting pot, spawn our creativity, help us stay a super power?

Who Is Valedictorian?

Your odds are better at being one of Ashland High School's valedictorians if you're female, from a two-parent family, and have worked hard enough for 12 years to want to take a year off.

AHS, which consistently ranks in the top 3% of US News & World Report's "Best High Schools," has a legendary Speech & Debate Team, an honorable Math Team, a Quidditch Club, a Gay-Straight Alliance, Knit Wits, Model United Nations, Multicultural Club, Pagan Club, and Crew. Every year, the Drama Department partners up with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival to produce, direct, costume, and choreograph a professional-level musical. (This year's performance of "Chicago" rivaled the production I'd seen on Broadway of Sacramento.)

According to the Medford Mail Tribune, of AHS' 14 Class of 2011 valedictorians, 12 are female. Eight of 12 are listed with parents of the same last name. Many scholars are in Honor Society, have math honors, played soccer, are musicians.

And several are planning on taking advantage of the new trend; they'll take a "Gap Year" of travel or volunteer service, or dabble in the arts before heading back to the books at Stanford, NYU, Pomona, or George Washington to study neuroscience, physics, engineering, or journalism.

I know some of their parents: professors, doctors, authors, entrepreneurs.

This morning at breakfast, Dave and I sat by an AHS grad from a few years ago. She went to Harvard for a year, and returned to work at an Ashland coffee shop.

A simple, quiet girl from my own high school in California went to Berkeley and is now the headmaster of a private school in Marin County.

You never can tell, I guess, who will succeed, and at what. Part of the fun mystery of life is the element of surprise.

Maybe it will be an AHS 2011 valedictorian who cures AIDS, or maybe it will be the kid who sat in science in the middle row, who graduated 60th in a class of 200, who went to community college first.

Will They Come?

China is building progressive billion-dollar ghost cities.

It's true.

The People's Republic is subsidizing middle-of-nowhere construction of metropolises, with high-rise housing, schools, musuems, even mosoleums.

The goal is twofold: thin out the crowded established cities, and bring farmers to factories to produce more exports.

Incredibly, there are 6-20 of these population-primed places--including Ordos, in inner Mongolia--that stand ready to receive their 1 million citizens. And, in standard China fashion, there's no hurry. Real estate investors recovered the first year what they needed to break even on costs. If they take the next 10 to profit, that's perfectly reasonable.

And it will take a long time for the profits to start coming. Because no one is moving in. Streets, buses, parks, restaurants: everywhere is empty. That's the first problem. The second is mantenannce. Landscaping, building, and road upkeep are lagging. But China will wait, as it's good at doing, for the cities to boom, certain they will, while we in the West think this is pretty creepy.

Here's Why

I haven't been blogging:

Because somehow we're five whole weeks into the term already.

Because I've been ironing out a new speech curriculum.

Because Dominic has had track meets at the middle school.

Because my sister Erika and her husband Ryan and their incredible 11 week-old baby came to visit from Sacramento.

Because I'm writing a little, and thinking about e-books a lot.

Because with a monthly grocery bill total of over $1500, that's oodles of shopping and unpacking and cooking!

Best Easter ever? Writing group pizza! Four writers, four men, eight kids hopped up on marshmallow eggs.

How about you? You getting any writing done?

HOW Good Is My Man?

So good, that when he reads a rant I wrote about him -- about how much he's gone, how much more he could do around the house, how he checks his stocks while I'm slaving over lasagna -- he tells me, "It's good, babe. But there's a typo. I think you forgot a 'the'."

Christmas Is Over...And Just Beginning

Our Christmas was teeny. There was an advent calendar, some stockings, and the "tree" was a five-inch-tall manzanita twig stuck in a vase and draped with ribbons. I spent around $30 on each kid: an owl wallet stuffed with local coffee cards for Daney, a duffel bag with fishing lures in it for Dominic, and a fire fighter Lego bin with a Star Wars action figure for Rees.

My aunt Mary had sent the kids lovely things: books, music, Legoes, hiking boots.

After everything was all opened, we went on a walk and played games.

That was Tuesday. So Christmas is over.

But.

Tonight we'll be at my dad's near Sacramento. And the family party there, well, it's hard to describe.

All I can say is that I spent more on the feathers for it than on the gifts I bought for my babies.

Stay tuned.

And have yourself the most joyful holiday!

Outside Shot

So, I have a reputation for being a bad sports mom.

I don't wear the jersey and go to every game, clanging a cowbell.

But I'm trying.

The deal was that if Dominic (13) didn't play football this year, I'd step it up as a basketball mama. I would go to more games. I wouldn't bring any papers to grade there. I would pay attention, and at the end, I would know whether Dominic's team won or lost.

Last night, Dave and I drove an hour and a half to Klamath Falls to watch our boy on the court. From under the basket, he waved at me enthusiastically. I love that kid.

By the third quarter (44-24, Klamath Falls), I got a little antsy, though. A grandma sitting near me was scribbling down her shopping list, and I was coveting, obsessing over that notepad.

Eyes on the game, I couldn't stop thinking. What if education drew the same support that sports did?

What if parents drove an hour and a half twice a week for Brain Bowls, Odysseys of the Mind, Spelling Bees, music recitals? And what if half the school showed up to watch?

What if teacher to student ratios were 1:6?

What if money used on transportation for coaches' stipends and team transportation were matched in school libraries?

What if the learning process used the team concept, where students shared a common goal and worked together for months to achieve it?

What if academic school pride matched that of the athletic kind?

What if hordes of parents got together to cheer on students with math?

What if kids practiced reading and writing for two hours every day after school?

What if the arts were as valued as baseball?

What if weeklong celebrations like homecoming revolved around science instead of football?

The bottom line is that athletics are great. They keep kids fit, involved, and out of trouble. I played soccer forever, was on swim team, joined college intramurals. I married a two-sport college athlete; together, we made us some sporty babies. I know the stats, too: higher SATs, lower drug use.

But, from the bleachers, I can't help wondering why if a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of these young athletes will go on to use their talents professionally, what is happening with the much larger number of them who won't?

My New Favorite

store is.... HARBOR FREIGHT!

This is a tool place, and I LOVE it! Every Sunday, Daney and I clip their coupons out of the San Francisco Chronicle, and we hit up the wide aisles of wire and screws and containers for both of those.

We buy our battery tester for $2 minus 20% and get a free pair of utility scissors, a free flashlight, and a free electrical meter with it.

Last week we got a six-piece screwdriver set.

Of course we don't just shop.

One big question we ask ourselves every time is why all women work in a store like this, with wire and screws and containers for both, with toothless man-customers, under the blaring flourescent lights.

Of course we feel guilty buying this stuff made in China, wrapped in plastic.

But we get all crazy guessing what we might get next Sunday with our coupons. We're waiting for the something that will make all our boys here green with envy.

This Is Where I Stop Fooling Myself

It's been going on for a few years, now:

I buy myself a fancy little coffee at a fancy little place, and I consider it free of carbs, calories, and sugar because I didn't see the barista put any in the fancy little cup.

I mean, I could make a fancy coffee myself. But it would require my actual observation of fatty milk and sweet flavory things. And then I would know for sure that maybe it wasn't the best thing to be coating my teeth, stomach, and thighs with.

But I can't keep forking over four bucks to trick myself.

It has to stop.

I'm have to go out abd buy some cream and some caramel syrup. It might be just as unhealthy as the java in the fancy little places, but it will definitely be cheaper!

Let There Be Light!

There's this lamp on my mind--a little lamp with a little beaded shade you might've found on a cabaret table in Berlin in the '20s--that caught my eye my first year at San Francisco State. I was riding the bus home, and there it was on Mission Street, right in the window: the light of my life.

I must've passed that thing a hundred times before I finally went into the shop one day and asked about it.

"It's a Tiffany Lamp," the woman told me sternly. "It's $300."

I wanted that lamp so badly. But of course I didn't have the three bills to flip for it.

Twenty-one years later, I still remember what that lamp looked like. And even more, I remember how bad I wanted it.

I wanted it more than I had wanted anything so impossible.

Until now.

Now, I'm wanting something terribly badly and terribly impossibly.

And if it happens to happen, the first thing I'll do is order that little red Tiffany Lamp I've already found online.

Yes, But Does It Have Literary Merit?

My boys were begging me to buy the new "Halo: Reach" game for the X-Box their uncle had just given them.

All I'd heard about the "Halo" games was bad, bad, bad. Bad premise. Bad violence. Bad language.

But I checked it out anyway. 4 1/2 out of 5 stars. A new "team" approach. Great graphics. For around 60 bucks.

The economics weren't an issue. Dominic said he'd pitch in $15, and a $20 gift card came with the purchase, so I'd really only fork over $35.

Like everything else that comes through our door, though, I wanted the game to have some kind of literary merit.

We bought it.

"Play with us," the boys then begged, after they'd "tried it out" for a couple of hours.

I did the usual Mom Thing: "I'll just watch you guys play."

Nope, they wanted me to play.

So there I was, sitting on the edge of the sofa, controller in hand, bumping my character -- Noble One?-- into a rock over and over and over.

"Mommy, follow me," Dominic told me.

I couldn't find him. I just kept running, er, jumping my guy into rocks and water and over bridges.

"Mommy, you're shooting me," Dominic said as kindly as he could. "Now you're just running into a wall. And why is your night vision on? And why are you throwing granades at yourself?"

Okay, this "Halo," it has absolutely no literary merit. But I can't tell you how long and hard we all laughed at my "skills."

My Baby's A Miracle!

Nine years ago, Reesie needed some saving after he was born all quirky.

A little premature with really underdeveloped lungs, Reesie was Mercy Flighted to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) at Rogue Valley Medical Center.

After almost two weeks on the ventilator, Reesie pulled through like the (quarter of a million dollar) fighter we now know he is.

Every year since 2001, Reesie has joined hundreds of other thriving survivors at the Children's Miracle Network's Miracle Baby Reunion for cake, carnival games, face painting and a stroll past the NICU windows, where brand new miracle babies warm under blue lights.

Today we saw 10 week-old triplets -- all girls-- and Rees' one-on-one NICU nurse, Karen.

What a super special celebration, Reesie Roo!

CONTAINERS!!! (and pants) (and other stuff)

Last weekend at the Ashland High School Water Polo garage sale, the boys and I scored!

While the boys stocked up on containers--tackle boxes filled with tackle boxes, Pokemon Tupperware, tiny plastic boxes for Star Wars guns--I rifled through the pants, and came out with two pairs of jeans each for them.

After an hour, Dave took them home, and Daney and I stayed for hours, browsing the books and the jewelry and other lovely girl things.

The biggest treasures of the day: a four-pack of vintage Star Wars figures for $1!, little blue and silver earrings for Daney, and a turn-of-the-century vaudeville novel for me! Mmm hmmm!

Gas & Groceries -- Day Two

I had really good intentions.

I mean, I had logged 300 miles with 3 kids over 8 hours without spending a single penny. I did it, but it wasn't easy.

The second day was going to be easier, right?

We got up and had bagels and went on a long lizard walk (that's where we watch rocks for little lizards perching on them).

Then we had delicious juice spritzers and sandwiches and fruit salad with marshmallow cream at Erika's house in Folsom. We lounged around like the lizards we'd found earlier.

We were happy and rested and full-bellied.

So why did we stop at the fruit stand on the way home and flip 28 bucks for cookies, muffins, and peaches?

And that wasn't all.

Later, for dinner, we took ourselves and my dad to Taco Tree. Another $28. Whoops.

Must. Try Harder. Tomorrow.

Total for Day Two: $56.00

Only Gas & Groceries? Day One

So the kids and I added a little twist to our trip from Ashland, Oregon, to Auburn, California. While Dave stays home raking in the overtime, we thought we'd try not to spend any extra money beyond gas and groceries. Could we make a 300 mile drive without spending a dime?

The way out of town was hardest. I knew I wouldn't have access to Noble Coffee for over a week, and I had to really restrain myself from grabbing a creamy caramel latte. So I conjured up my own concoction -- definitely not as yummy -- and we hit the road.

Our first stop two hours in was Redding's Turtle Bay Museum/Aquarium.We're members of the International Association of Science & Technology Centers, so admission was free. So was the Wild Animal Show.After watching monarchs hatch and painted ladies land in the Butterfly Garden, we had our packed picnic at the Paul Bunyan Park.

A few more miles down I-5, we stopped to sample some treats at the Olive PitRees' fave was the smokey garlic.

Before pulling into my dad's driveway, we'd piled ourselves silly with library books (I still have my card from when I was a little girl).

It was a night of laughing with Erika and Ryan, and chasing around the eight ducks that Mac is raising. And of course, there were Legos. Lots and lots of Legos.

Total Cost for Day One: $0.00!!!

Dog Days

It's pretty quiet out here in the Blogosphere.

Are you writing? Reading? What else are you doing with the last days of summer?

The kids and I are all packed up for a week-long trip to my dad's near Sacramento, while Dave rakes in the overtime.

During this part of the year, I'm not working, so I'm not paid. And it seems that the kids cost five times more than usual, with pool passes and movies tickets and lost flip flops. And the food -- the food!!! The grocery bill has definitely tripled, easy.

I should be writing.

I know you know that feeling.

But there doesn't seem to be any opportunity to do it.

Did you read Tuck Everlasting? Do you remember the intro, where Winnie's drying up from the "dog days" of summer?

That might be us writers.

But.

September is right around the corner.

When the leaves are turning colors, and the kids go back to school, and there's that buzz in the air, but a lull at the same time. An excellent time to pick up a pen...


imgage from www.worldofstock.com

How I Know For Sure It's Summer

Because my kids are going a thousand miles an hour in a thousand different directions.

Because there are kids I've never seen before eating pizza and Popsicles in my kitchen.

Because the grocery bill has doubled.

Because the water bill has doubled.

Because there are paint ball splats all over the front lawn.

Because Reesie is barefoot -- even in the bank.

Because I'm blogging about every five days.


How about you? How do you know for sure that it's summer?

I Don't Seem Like That Kind Of Person

Today I took my writing classes to the college library for a teensy schpiel on the perils of plagiarism, as well as to gather some info. for the upcoming Big Paper.

There are all kinds of topics: health care, corn syrup, quitting smoking, female snowboarders, faith-healing, dieting fads.

One younger man came up to me at the end of class and asked how he could flush out his essay on the history of the NBA.

Well, I told him, you could integrate the anthropological implication--like how Dr. J's game and attitude and image were completely different from Allen Iverson's. What would the legendary Larry Bird say about a guy like LeBron James?

These troubled, trash-talking, tattooed players are role models. Even though they don't want to be. Should they be held accountable for values? That could definitely be explored.

So could the media's exploitation of them.

Then there's the economic implication: the salary the players are getting--which is controversial in itself--and the cut their agents and owners take.

Plus, there's the politics: the draft, recruiting, contracts, unions...

My young student looked at me with big eyes. "Wow," he said. "You don't seem like the kind of person who would know all that."