Mumsy

Our school district recently purchased new copy machines. Copy machines that are supposed to do everything but butter your toast in the morning (if I had time to read the manual, it might be able to do that, too). It wasn’t long after one of the new machines was placed in our department that we felt the need to give our friend a proper name. The label on the side of this wonder machine was “Workcentre.” Hmm….that looked like British spelling to us so we brainstormed a list of British names and soon christened our lady of copying bliss, Mumsy. And Mumsy does, indeed, have a mind of her own.

Her extensive menu of options clearly indicates a woman of educational breadth and fine standing. It wouldn’t be prudent to offer a menu that does not demand mental gymnastics for simple tasks. Surely we would become slothful idiots if we only had to make one choice for each task.

When I want to copy a sheet that is double-sided my choices are:

1 to 1

2 to 1

2 to 2

1 to 2.

Hmmm…….I think I’ll pick 1 to 2 because I have 1 paper with 2 sides. WRONG.

 Okay, I’ll try 2 to 2 because I have 2 sides and I want to copy to a 2 sided paper. WRONG.

Grrr….let’s try 2 to 1 just because I’m almost out of options. Yes, Mumsy finally nods her head and gives me the results I am looking for.

If I want to copy a page in a book, I gingerly place my book in alignment with the indicated markers on the glass screen. I close the lid as carefully as possible and start the maze of touch tabbing. Let’s see, I have a bound object. I just want the left page. I want 40 copies. No, I don’t want anything stapled. Yes, I think I want the copy on regular sized paper and only one side.

Beep, beep, beep, beep…..holding my breath…..out comes a paper the size of my bath rug. No, Mumsy, I do not need the whole book copied.

Several attempts later, I just rip the page out of the book and go back to my 1 to 1 menu, hoping for the best.

Mumsy is positioned in our department by an interior window that faces the hall. I can’t tell you how many times I see my colleagues looking down at her. Their brows are furrowed, their fingers are positioned with an indecisive hesitancy, their lips are moving as they cajole dear Mumsy into submission and set her into motion. Sometimes for the good, sometimes not.

The mother of all moments, however, is the dreaded paper jam. Gone are the days of sticking your hand into the bowels of a copier and wrestling the offender out with sheer guts and determination. Mumsy demands a team effort before she will give up a misfeed. After all, lessons need to be learned. I won’t even attempt an unjamming experience anymore without the assistance of my much more mechanically inclined co-worker. She positions herself on the floor next to Mumsy’s belly, while I call out three screens worth of instructions:

Lift lever 3a.

Turn knob 2b clockwise two times

Lower lever 1c

Turn knob 4c counter-clockwise

Lift lever 4a

Rotate knob 2c three times to the left

Lower lever 1d

Grab your partner and do-si-do………

I wish I was making this up…..well, the do-si-do part is maybe a stretch, but the rest of it is amazingly close to reality.

I think there are three life lessons Mumsy wants to teach us.

1)     Always be prepared. If you need copies for a class that is soon to arrive, it’s best to have them finished yesterday.

2)     Life is complicated. Sometimes you just have to problem solve your way through it and hope for the best.

3)     Teamwork is a precious thing. If you think clearing a paper jam is more fun on your own, you haven’t met Mumsy. She will make you thankful for your friends.

As Seen On TV

As a card carrying insomniac, I have an arsenal of ways to combat the wide-eyed and bushy-tailed moments of the middle of the night. One of my frequently used methods of attack is watching dull programming on television. There is certainly no shortage of infomercials hawking products of varying degrees of usefulness.

Here is my review of a few products.

1)     Pajama Jeans—looks like denim and feels like PJs. Is there a reason people want to stay in their jammies all day? Sure, the stretchy material might be comfy, but from the looks of the model, the faux denim is nearly painted on her derriere. Definitely not for me and my ampleness.

2)     Snuggie—guaranteed to keep you warm and look fashionable at the same time. I guess if looking like a lame leopard is your idea of chic, order two or more (always a discount for that move). I’m pretty sure I would get snaggled up in the thing and never be able to shuttle toward the cupboard for evening munchies. I’ll stick with my ratty robe.

3)     Easy Feet—1,000 rejuvenating bristles clean and massage your feet while you stand in the shower, no more bending to tend the tootsies. Obviously this one is targeted toward the over 50 crowd. I’m going to go on record right now and state that it’s going to take more than a suction-cupped Easy Foot to massage my feet into loveliness. I prefer to just wear shoes.

4)      Ronco Veg-o-matic—slices and dices and so much more. Although the appeal of perfectly sliced onions without crying is alluring, I have little use for another appliance in my small kitchen. Besides, that Ronco guy looks kinda creepy to me.

5)     Forget-me-Not pocket recorder—speak into it and never again forget directions, to-do lists, and your anniversary. Okay, I must admit that this intrigues me. Wandering around in the Hy-Vee parking lot in the middle of the winter looking for my car is reason enough for me to consider shelling out $12.98 for the little memory wizard. However, it would be just a matter of time before I lost that gadget, too. I guess that is why you should always order two.

6)     Loud and Clear—looks like a Bluetooth but is really a sound amplifier, a.k.a. hearing aid. I’ll stick with reading lips, thank you.

No need to worry if you miss the “once in a lifetime” offer. Most products are available in the “As Seen On TV” aisle of your local drug store. Therefore, I don’t have to rush to my phone in the middle of the night and place my order. 

Maybe it’s time to go back to the off-air test pattern. No money down for that one and a snoozer for sure.

Moments

I looked at my post-9/11 middle school students this week and stated, “I hope you never experience in your lifetime the Moment.” I explained to them that many folks of my generation can give you the time and place that they experienced life changing news. For me, it was the assassination of JFK, the explosion of the Challenger space shuttle and the imploding of the twin towers by hijacked planes. Moments that have been forever seared into my brain with vivid imagery and accompanying emotions.

Ironically, the two books I finished reading this week happened to be written during the time of the 9/11 attacks. Each author explained how they dealt with the freshly inflicted pain. One author was finishing a time of solitude in a remote cabin in the Pacific Northwest. He shared that he felt a desperate need to connect with other people, the very thing he had been running from during his self induced seclusion. The other author, Barbara Kingsolver, stated that the only way she could bear such enormous grief was to peel away the layers of humanity and look for the small changes, the small wonders of life.

Small wonders do indeed abound around us. In my many years of teaching school, I have been blessed with many such wonders. Here are a few:

1)     The tough kid, JH, who had an I’d-rather-be-anywhere-else-than-in-school-demeanor, reached out and helped the young lady sitting next to him turn the page in her textbook. The young lady had cerebral palsy and often struggled with the simplest of tasks. JH was my small wonder that day.

2)     JE, a young man living in desperate poverty, received a treat as an award for a task well done. Within minutes he offered his treat to a classmate because he felt his classmate was having a bad day and needed a day brightener. Thank you, JE, for brightening mine.

3)     The blind girl, TE, offered to push the wheelchair of SM on a trek through the hallways. TE explained that her legs worked and SM had the eyes to guide the way. I am blessed by the memory of that sweet symbiotic relationship.  Two little girls, giggling down the hall, unaware of the gravity of their personal challenges. And, yes, a wall or two was sideswiped, but it was a moment of amazement for me.

4)     JG, sitting in my room before school for the umpteenth time due to missing assignments, looked up as I answered the phone. The caller shared the news that a colleague who was struggling with cancer had just died. As tears welled up in my eyes, JG kindly asked if there was anything he could do to help. Well, JG, just having heard you ask the question was balm enough for the moment.

Moments are like the colorful stones of a necklace. Some stones are large and gaudy, demanding immediate attention. Others are small and delicate, sparkling with subtle brilliance.

Carousel

(I'm the chubby one in the middle. My older bro is starting the party early and my little sis is getting all the attention. Some things never change.)

It was my birthday this week. No surprise that at my age, it can be a bittersweet moment. It’s always good to rejoice in another year of living, but subtracting my birth year from the current year is not always the kind of math I look forward to. I must admit that I felt a sense of nostalgia this time around as I reminisced on birthdays gone by.

I am from a family that takes a less than festive approach to birthdays. The obligatory Happy Birthday greetings were always stated and a favorite meal was prepared. Gifts and grand parties, however, were not on the radar. I guess our large family could be given a party status on size alone, so why waste time with outside invitations and other frou-frou?

One birthday treat we did receive was a made-from-scratch angel food cake. Twelve egg whites, beaten to just the right consistency with a little sugar and flour, were transformed into a light- as-a-cloud delicacy. This was our treasured luxury. And as if the sweet treat was not enough, my mother placed little cardboard carousel figures around the perimeter of the cake as a nod to the joy of a child’s birthday.

Last year a couple of my sisters took me out for lunch and throughout the meal it was evident that they had bigger and better things in store. There was much tee-heeing and “you just waits” as I squirmed through my meal, wondering if things were going to get embarrassing or just plain fun. As we left the restaurant, my sibs had all they could do not to break out into a full sprint toward the surprise awaiting me in the car. They reached into the back seat and pulled out an angel food cake and, you guessed it, the cake was surrounded by the little carousel figures. In that moment, I was profoundly struck by the fact that a few inexpensive equine cut-outs is sometimes all it takes to make one feel very special indeed.

Ode to the Birthday Cake                                         

The horse on the carousel

Spends hours chasing its tail

Up and down and all around

Spinning in a motion so slow

Never knowing when it will be

Time to stop

Or time to go.

(Thanks for stopping by on my birthday week.)

44 North

Confession time. When a brisk, cool breeze pushed its way through my part of the world this morning, I tingled. Not because I was cold, but because I was filled with joy. And dare I say it aloud? I’m a hater. A heat hater. I’m not a fan of summertime weather. There. I've said it. Most of my life I have been retreating inside as soon as the mercury approaches eighty degrees. Well, that’s not entirely true. My sisters will tell you that I’m inside no matter what the temperature, but that’s another story. 

As someone who was born and raised at the 44^th parallel, I’m well aware of the change of seasons. I know what it’s like to tromp around in a hay field in ninety degree weather with only the singing grasshoppers enjoying the day. I’ve been caught in snowstorms with my fingers gripping like crab claws on the steering wheel, hoping the direction I was going matched the road. I’ve listened to the twittering of birds as the tree buds emerged from their dormant branches. I’ve watched the colors of fall burst forth with breath taking grandeur. I know the difference between cool and warm fronts and it’s the cool fronts that I live for (thank you, Canada).

I’m pretty sure that we are born with a propensity toward one group or the other. I don’t ever remember being enthralled with the summer months; whereas, my sister could not get enough of the warm outdoors (I still think one of us was switched at birth). As a kid, I tried to find ways to stay occupied in the house during the summer while my sister scampered outside at first light. Many years later, I am still most likely found reading a book in July while my sis zips around on a motorcycle, geocaching to her heart’s content. I’m Tundra, she’s Jamaica.

I’ve put together a little guide to help you discern the difference between the two groups of people. (Just in case one of them is lurking in a neighborhood near you.)

Tundras

·       Love goose bumpy weather

·       Rejoice in cool fronts

·       Get benout (Dutch slang for crabby) when it gets warm

·       Keep their window shades pulled during the summer

·       Avoid outdoor concerts

·       Believe air conditioners are the greatest inventions ever

·       Look albinoish without the pink eyes

·       Endure July and August

Jamaicans

·       Love warm weather

·       Migrate south whenever possible

·       Own lots of T-shirts and flip flops

·       Enjoy deck furniture

·       Loathe snow

·       Dream of lake homes

·       Like sports involving greenery

·       Celebrate July and August

As I brush up against the age of retirement, I am struck by the fact that the Tundras are in a bit of a quandary. Where do we go if we want a change of scenery? We certainly don’t think about moving south for the winter. Shuffleboard and golf carts are probably not in our future. Alligators and rattlesnakes won’t be our neighbors. Pool parties will not be on our invitations.

Anyone know of a golden age community in the Yukon Territory?