Yesterday, I got up and went to the Easter services at St. Andrew's, Moretonhampstead, and it was a lovely service. It was good to reconnect with the Anglican faith. The priest was kindly, and based his sermon on a mini-Easter egg hunt with children helping find cut-outs around the church. He put the cut-outs together and gave a talk on skepticism and the resurrection. Very enjoyable.

After that, I didn't quite know what to do with my afternoon. I had thought about buying a book or two, and just kicking back, but my body now demands movement. Tonight, here in London, is the time for kicking back and relaxing. But yesterday, on a whim, I decided to walk to the miniature pony farm, 2.5 miles from Moretonhampstead. And I made it.

It was delightful, although of course mainly directed at under-10s. The ponies were obvoiusly wonderful and sweet, less than waist high. There were miniature donkeys, too, plus some bigger, normal-sized horses, goats, and other small animals. Anything fuzzy is all good to me. I had a blast. I'm not sure I'd want to do it again, but it was worth going once.

After that, I walked back to Moreton, and had only one leg cramp. I stretched, walked slowly for a while, and it went away, and I walked all the way back into town, about six miles total. I hurt a bit last night, and could have done with some aspirin, had I had any, but I made do. This morning, Alison took me back into Exeter St. David's to the train station, and she came up the opposite road. Just as we pulled in to the train station, I saw the very hotel where I had spent the night when I first arrived.

So now I'm in London, staying at a Holiday Inn near Heathrow. I decided against doing anything in London tonight; the hotel has movies and pay-per-view. I'll get up early in the morning tomorrow, have breakfast, then hang around the airport. I'll buy a book and read until my flight is called.

Finally, though, I can charge my phone and my Kindle! For whatever reason, the charger/adaptor I had didn't seem to work with Alison's plug, but this one does, provided I jiggle it a little. The plug in the bathroom switches to American voltage, so I can charge my iPhone. It'll be a great relief to get both charged. Maybe then I won't have to buy a book after all. I have plenty to read on my Kindle.

It's been a great vacation. I'm glad I took off an extra two days. When I get back, we'll have 10 more weeks of school, and I will be ready to see this year come to an end. I'm more than ready to start doing the credential work to be a school psychologist, in order to do something different yet stay with the district for my pension. I feel a need to get out of the classroom, having done the teaching gig for 20 years. Unbelievable, but it's time for a change. I don't want to burn out. I know I can handle teaching for as long as it takes me to get my credential, but it's going to be good to have something to be working on, a project that will keep me busy and open new doors and new experiences.

Next trip, though, I do plan to get a Britrail Flexi-pass and just go hither and yon, much like my sister wanted/wants to do. I want to go to the otter sanctuary in Launceston, in Cornwall, and be a keeper there. I want to go badger-watching in Tiverton. There was a place, the Lost Gardens of Heligon, I think, that sounded lovely. So next time, that is my plan. More later. I don't promise any more regular updates; the priority now is getting school finished with and logging on and starting my first course toward my credential toward the end of April.

What a great, nature-loving break it's been. Just what I needed!

What a brilliant, wonderful day! I'm sitting typing this to the sounds of tycho drumming done by my host, Alison, and her oldest son, Charlie. Her middle son, Guy, is into it, and the whole family have taken it up. It's great stuff; I think I heard a little bit of it when I went to Seattle the last time for the North West Folk Life Festival. Part drumming, part dance, part theatre, Alison says it's a great way to keep in shape and have a lot of fun. So wonderfully primitive-sounding, too!

Everything all worked out for the best today but it almost didn't. I woke up really early this morning and took a walk around the village. I had misread the sign and entirely forgot about the plans I made with Alison and Guy yesterday. I ended up, luckily enough, getting a ride to Buckfast with them. I'm sorry to say I stood up a taxicab. This village is so wonderfully small that Alison found me in the cafe (the only cafe) having coffee. We were already late, so the proprietor wrapped up my toast and put my coffee in a to-go cup and off we went!

Alison dropped guy off at his tycho drumming center place, which, she told me, had once been a major agricultural college but had closed, which I thought sad -- anytime a school is forced to close, that is Not Good for anyone, from children, to teens, to adults, to seniors, to the entire community a college can and should serve. So we left him, and Alison motored a few miles more to Buckfast, and dropped me off at the otter and butterfly place. Back at last! I was so thrilled. She then went on down to Lyme Regis to pick up her oldest son who's here tonight. I suppose whenever Guy gets done with his all-day drum rehearsal, she'll go and pick him up, too. It's been a long day for everyone here at Sparrowhawk, and although I'm just a guest who'll be leaving in (gasp) about 48 hours, it's been truly wonderful here. I do want to come back, but more about that later.

So in I went to the otter and butterfly sanctuary, and really got to observe today. The otter experience was phenomenal and a once-in-a-lifetime experience, which I would not have traded for the world, but it was very hands-on and intensive, and I didn't get a chance to walk around and observe carefully for as long as I wanted. Today I got that chance. I looked back at all the otters, and took more pictures, and then spent as much time as I could inside the very wet, very hot, very humid butterfly house.

The most wonderful thing about the butterfly house were the chrysalae (sp?) When they get ready to open, they start twitching! It's fascinating. The sanctuary has a signboard with the name in English and Latin, plus a picture, of nearly all the butterflies, and they have five or six sticks on which they gently glue the chrysalae, and group them by types of butterflies. They go through the greenhouse each night or so, I suppose, looking for chrysalae, harvest them, then gently glue them on these long sticks so people can watch butterflies emerging! In all, it takes about two hours or so for a butterfly to break free, then pump enough blood (or juice or pus or guts or whatever a butterfly has inside) throughout its body, including the wings. When they hatch, they're wrinkled and crumpled, so it takes a couple of hours for them to unfurl completely.

Although I bought an all-inclusive ticket that would have allowed me to go to Totnes on the old-fashioned steam train, then on to see the rare breeds animal farm, I just didn't have time. I had even wanted to hike up the hill, about a 15-20 minute walk, and see Buckfast Abbey, but the otters and butterflies cast their spell over me and I just couldn't leave. Tim, my new friend and the otter keeper at the sanctuary, greeted me when I was there for the 11.30am feeding, but he was doing an otter experience and couldn't talk in-depth; he also had to mingle and talk to other people and answer all kinds of questions about butterflies and otters.

I milled all around the steam train area from around 1pm to 3pm, debating on what I really wanted to do. So many options and choices! I told Dave, the owner of the sanctuary, that I'd like to be back at 3.30pm to help Tim with the last otter feeding of the day at 4pm, which is what I really wanted to do. That meant, though, that I wouldn't have time to go to Totnes, shop, look around, and go to the rare breeds farm, so that's an excuse to come back. I did go around, take pictures of all the old-fashioned steam trains, look at the train museum, and go around the train yards. Trains are interesting, up to a point, but it's a grimy business.

There were also some overgrown kids masquerading as middle-aged men or older who were model train enthusiasts. I stood for a while and watched the cute model trains run on the tracks they had set up. Apparently this is one of those all-in passions that these guys can talk about for hours. While I wasn't actively ignored, and was smiled and greeted, they were clearly more interested in their boy-toys than they were in meeting new people or making new devotees. This is something, it would seem, that is probably inculcated in childhood, and grows from there. I noted that they had only laid out half the available space for the model trains they had on this gala Easter weekend; the entire table ran at least 12 to 15 feet, and could accommodate a huge amount of track. There were at least three or four men there who were running their own model steam trains, and it was charming to watch these middle-aged adults with tiny little kettles of water, jogging along and refilling their toy trains.

I did note, with some dismay, that there were tracks for a tiny miniature train that ran all around the railway station, but it was either closed for the season or closed entirely. It looked to me like it might very well be a summer thing. I wish the miniature train had been running; I rather like them. I remember riding several of them here in Britain during previous vacations, and it was always a delight. Oh well, perhaps next time I come, some summer, it'll be up and going.

Onto the feeding at 4pm. Tim was glad to have the help and I was delighted to volunteer. I talked all about otters to a grandmother, mother, and young boy who came and watched the Asian short-clawed otters, Felix and Jasmine, and we had a good talk. But what I personally liked best about the whole otter volunteering experience was that Tim was the teacher and lecturer! I didn't have to teach, talk, or lecture. All I had to do was feed the otters! I could handle doing that after retirement -- never having to lecture again!

The otters adore Tim and think of him as "Daddy". He's been with them for nearly 20 years, and he's the main keeper and feeder, so he's the alpha human male. The otters certainly liked me and I think in time if I ever worked or volunteered there, they would, I hope, accept me as well. Like most mammals they can tell who likes them and who is comfortable around them. Tim said that the people doing the otter experience earlier that day, a mother and daughter (with the father along taking pictures), were a bit nervous, and the otters reflected that; they didn't come as close, and weren't as eager to take the food.

It was fantastic getting to feed the otters one last time. I finished at about 5pm, and walked up the drive, past the train station, and crossed the road to the petrol station -- and within moments met Alison and Charlie, so perfect timing. Alison said she was a bit early -- she had said she might pick me up as late as 6pm, which would have been fine by me -- but it was great. I was done for the day, and things were closing down, so I would have just waited anyway. There was a shop attached to the petrol station; if I had had to wait an hour, I would have just gone inside and bought a book or magazine anyway. So it was great that she showed up when she did.

From there, Alison drove all through the moor and it was spectacular. It reminds me of the English version of the Burren, except greener, of course. We stopped at a moor-side inn and had dinner there. And lo and behold in this wonderful out of the way pub, there was Otter Ale! I had Otter Mild, and Alison had the regular Otter Ale. I made a donation to some charity, and the woman behind the bar gave me six different otter coasters! I was utterly charmed. Had the bar not gotten very busy, I really wanted a picture of her holding the two Otter Ale pub handles. I couldn't get my picture, but it was a nice thought, and now I have my otter coasters, a real souvenir. (And I fully intend to look up the Otter Brewery when I get back home.)

Along the moor road, Alison and Charlie and I stopped off at a major tourist stop, a clapper bridge, and she took my picture. It's a fascinating thing: two long gigantic slabs of rock laid over a stream to form a rudimentary bridge. It reminds me very much of the same type of engineering works done at Stonehenge or any cairn site. Now at least I have one picture with me in it for my photo album, outnumbered, of course, 10:1 by otters. And butterflies.

We also drove by one of Alison's family's favorite swimming holes, a natural creek that only locals know about. I would not know how to get back out to it, so the secret is safe. It was just gorgeous, but the water level was low, a sure sign of drought. When I was in Paddington Station as I arrived, I noticed a sign that said London was in drought. Apparently it's not just London, but perhaps all or most of England as well. Alison exclaimed several times about the low level of the water, while Charlie went rock-hopping like a mountain goat. Normally, she said, you really couldn't go rock-hopping like that since the water would have been up around the tops of the stones, or at least made rock-hopping too slippery to do safely. I hope England gets the rain it needs!

From there, we finally got home. It's nearly 9pm now and I am tired. I had thought about popping down to the Co-op (Moreton's supermarket) to buy a book or magazine, but nothing doing. I'm going to bed very soon. I have my alarm set fairly early tomorrow. I can go to a 9.30am service at St. Andrew's, the 13th century church just a block away, right here in the village. An incredible day out, no doubt about it.

I slept in unbelievably late this morning until 10.30am; I think jetlag and the recent excitement had caught up with me. Plus I hadn't actually stopped and really rested since I started on vacation since 1st of April. It was good to sleep in, but my plans of going to Buckfast Abbey -- well, not today at least.

It was good, though, to take a walk around Moreton, as the locals call it. I started off from my hostel, went into town, took a right, and kept going. Honestly, it's only a few blocks' worth of houses, absolutely tiny. I came upon a woodland trail leading off into the forest; had I followed it completely, it would have taken me to Bovey Tracy, a couple of miles away.

I just didn't feel like following it all the way, though. Over the past couple of days, there have been hints of sleet, tiny little pellets, and off-again, on-again rain, typical for English weather right before Easter. I also didn't have my daypack with me, so no water, no P-mates, no portable toilet tissue in case I had to make like a bear in the woods!

But while I was on the trail, I met a man with two dogs, and we said hello. I met him going and coming; he had wanted to walk from Moreton to Bovey Tracy, but one of his dogs was blind and would not be lifted over the stile. Interesting things, stiles: it's like a mini step-ladder built into a fence, easy enough for humans to walk over, but impossible for animals like sheep, especially, to walk over. A dog, maybe, could climb under or through the fence, and maybe could be trained to climb a stile, but the guy I met today had an old, blind dog, so being lifted probably wasn't a good thing for an old dog. In fact, I was charmed: I asked the guy if I could say hello to the dogs and he said of course, so the dogs sniffed me and I petted them, and then the old, blind dog started barking a little. The guy said he gets grumpy if we stop anywhere too long; he's keen to keep on going!

But the trail was lovely. I could see coming back in summertime at some point and really hiking these trails and loving it. Right now, though, today, it was enough simply to get a feel for the village. It reminds me so much of Jena; it's impossible to get lost. Everywhere you go, you're within sight of a major landmark (tree, building, signpost, etc.) so you can know immediately where everything is.

One of the highlights of my trip today was coming upon the church, which has existed on that spot since the late 13th century. Clearly most of the stained glass is 19th century, perhaps some 18th century, but the church itself is ancient, and so very, very quiet. I was surprised it was open, and I went in and explored (honestly looking for a loo, but alas, it didn't have one at least that I could see). I so, so love it when the inner quiet matches the outer quiet. I'm drawn to cathedrals and churches like a month to flame. I spent a very enjoyable half hour in there, looking at all the stained glass, the hymn books, the prayers, decorations, architecture, and more. While I was in there, a man and woman on holiday from Newcastle came in and looked around, too. It was quite nice to pass time with people who also appreciate quiet and holy places.

Now it's 3.30pm, and I'm back in the information centre. It's a cold, rainy, drizzly type of day, so I'm not sure what else I want to do with my time while I'm here. I'll probably go back to Sparrowhawk, finish my book, watch a movie on my Kindle, then go back to the Union Inn and have dinner. Having just come from the Union Inn, I was fascinated: it's been in existence since the 18th century, if not before, when it was first a smithy. A three-footed black cauldron was excavated, and is on display in the back near the lavatories. After that, it became a public house, and was owned by the same family going back to the great-grandfather. The great-grandson owns it today, and from the information on the walls, he has two sons, so who knows, one or both of them may own it in the future.

It was good to sleep in and good to have a slow-ish day. I ate a good breakfast, then walked four hours. So I can't say I haven't had any exercise today; I covered all of Moretonhampstead and even tramped out in the woods some. What a great day. More tomorrow.

My flight from Los Angeles to London was uneventful, thank goodness. When I got to London Paddington, I had to make a choice: stay the night in London, which I had already booked, or push on to get as close as possible to Buckfast and the otter experience? I decided to let the people charge me for my night in London, and I pushed on to Exeter and spent the night. I regretted giving up my night in London, which I had booked months in advance before I knew about the otter experience, but I thought it far better to get as close to Buckfast as possible, given that I had a 10 am appointment.

Talk about feeling utterly shattered, as the English would say, as I pushed on from London to Exeter. I thought about drinking a 5-hour energy drink, but decided against it, and just struggled on. I knew I didn't need to feel jittery (or even particularly awake) on the train from London to Exeter, and I knew that when I got to Exeter and found a hotel, I didn't need five hours of energy, since I only had to stay up to 8pm. So I toughed it out. Fortunately, steps away from the train station, there was a hotel, the Great Western, and I got a perfectly serviceable (en-suite!) room for the night. And the next morning, April 3, I woke up, felt rested and energized, and was on UK time. Worth it to push on!

The next morning, I boarded a train from Exeter to Totnes, and then took a taxi to the Buckfast Butterfly and Otter Sanctuary. I was ridiculously early; I was there by 8am -- ever my father's daughter! -- and around the corner, only five minutes after I arrived, came Tim, the otter keeper. And he let me in early! I think he was glad of the help. I got to go behind the scenes and see him set up all the boiler pumps and turn on the water and such. I think he and I took an immediate liking to each other; I think he sensed immediately that my love of otters nearly matched his own. We got on really well, and he invited me back on Saturday, so I think I may go again. I won't have another otter experience -- he'll be doing that with someone else -- but he said for me to come round again, take more pictures, and just observe the otters and butterflies. I want to!

It turns out that this place runs on a shoestring. It takes approximately £80 a day to heat the greenhouse where the butterflies and chrysalae (chrisalises?) are kept, and Tim said that some days they don't meet that quota. The otters need meat and fish, which cost money too. He said the sanctuary pays him only a very basic wage, and he donates most of his time. I admire this guy; he was a former accountant for 20 years, got early retirement, and then found this place and has given it his all ever since.

But it was just GRAND. I got to feed otters. I got to play with otters. I got to clean otter ponds. I got nibbled on my leg (ow!) by an otter. I had otters sniff and bite my hiking boots - they loved the smell of the leather. I got to clean cages, and I learned from Tim over several hours (which did NOT feel like several hours in the least) some about otters, but it turned out that I already knew quite a lot, and that felt nice.

Tim and I talked all day long. One PM came unbelievably fast and I simply could not believe my time as an otter keeper was over. Tim said he had to go to Bath (his own dime; the sanctuary cannot afford to pay travel expenses, alas) and see about an injured otter, so he rode the bus with me part way, so we rode the bus and chatted.

I'm not sure if I was at the wrong bus stop or what, but I needed to check into my hostel at Moretonhampstead and it was getting to be later and later in the afternoon, heading toward early night, and getting colder. I waited at one bus stop for an hour, then went around the corner to the other bus stop. I asked a lady there to text a number that would give the times of the next three buses coming. Given that this is Easter holidays, public transportation isn't exactly running at full throttle. This place is a very cute, quaint little village, but faily remote. You really do need a car to get around here on the moors.

So I ended up hitching. The woman I asked to text the bus information absolutely insisted and would not let me pay for a cab at all. It turned out they were simply very nice people and her husband drives a gas truck for a living so he knows Dartmoor and Devon extremely well; she had a grandmother who lived in Moretonhampstead, and they lived only five miles back from the village. I was so, so, so grateful. I saved quite a bit of money on not paying for a taxi, but I insisted on getting their information and I want to send them a care package from Trader Joe's when I get home.

On April 3, late afternoon, I finally checked in at my hostel, fully loaded with backpack and travel bag, having never really offloaded all my baggage for two days! It felt great to unpack, unload everything off my back, and have a proper bed. And the place I'm staying, Sparrowhawk Backpackers' Hostel, is quite funky and bohemian. It's this gigantic, rambling old house that's been converted. It's basically a home-stay operation, although the owner, Alison, calls it an independent hostel. There are no locks, and alas no en-suite bathrooms. Nothing in the house matches and yet it all goes together in quite a charming, English, very artistic, bohemian sort of way. I rather like it and would stay here again. Anyone who has a gigantic bongo drum in her living room has my seal of approval!

And today, April 4, I went to Castle Drogo. This castle is the last castle built in the 20th century. It felt quite like what I imagine Downton Abbey to be like. The castle was built by Sir Edward Luytens, but given that it's 100 years old, there are massive problems with water and leakage. It is crumbling and needs a lot of restoration. Parts of the ceiling plaster have even fallen downstairs in the kitchen area. I cannot imagine what it's like for a family to keep up a pile like Drogo. Even if it is English Heritage and National Trust, there's always, I'm sure, the creeping fear of having something fall on a tourist, then injure or kill them.

What I loved about Castle Drogo was that, for its time, it was quite advanced with the electricity it used. Apparently the owner rather liked new gadgets, and they even had an electrified dining table. And yet, so much of it was old world, English, country living. There were servants' quarters, an extensive, mostly-underground and out-of-sight kitchen area. Personal tragedy hit Castle Drogo, too: they lost their eldest son in World War I, and it devastated his father. The oldest son's room is still intact, and there is a smaller room with his war memorabilia, medals, and photos. Also, some of the descendants still live on the upper floors, but of course the public couldn't go there. It's good to know, though, that the castle has people living in it and hasn't become just another museum of country living.

It's cold here in England, but this time I've packed for the season. I have two layers on top and the possibility of another layer underneath. My fleece jacket, soft scarf and fleece gloves have been the best thing I've brought. The last time I was in London, on another spring break vacation fairly recently ago, I don't think I had realized just how much weight and padding I had lost, and I was really cold and really miserable. I think last time I had brought a light jacket which was okay for a Los Angeles spring, but not nearly enough for a London spring with biting winds and rain. This time, I know I need more insulation and layers, since I've lost layers of fat, so I'm prepared. I've even brought a rain hat (which I used today some at Castle Drogo) and some rain pants if I'm hiking along the moors and there comes a downpour. At least I could sit down without soaking up water and remain relatively dry.

There is so much to do here, apart from moor-walking. There is a place fairly nearby to do zip-lines and rent a kayak (!) and do other outdoorsy, adventure things. There are pony encounters and more. I have a load of brochures to go through in my room, and I have to pick and choose what I want to do over the next few days so I can make the most of this. I'd like to try a walk or two, but I know that every day I'm here and out and walking, I'm exercising and burning fat and making muscle, so it's all good. I could come back here every spring break for several more years and never exhaust all there is to do.

So tomorrow, who knows. I'll update later. The air here is spectacularly clear. Walking in the woods today with no one else around me, and only birds chirping and small woodland animals running around, I felt so at peace. Finally, for a few days, the outer quiet has matched my inner quiet. And I need and want MORE of this. Ten more weeks of school; about 10 more years til retirement. I crave quiet!

I finally feel back to normal after 30 years, a whole generation, of fighting and utterly resisting fertility and all its implications. I LOVE menopause. I love being free of the fierce fiery need of sex; it's nice just having the glowing embers which can be fanned as wanted. I feel as normal now as I did at eight years old. And then, at nine years old, the world changed, much for the worse. I had my first period. I HATED it, every second of it, every month, for the past 30 years.

I love not having a period anymore.

I love not having to worry ever again about becoming pregnant.

I love not having to worry about messing up my clothes.

I love not having to field questions from well-meaning breeders about having kids.

Now, though, I suppose, the questions will change. The well-meaning breeders will begin to ask about grand-children, and express horror, shock, and disbelief once again when I say I have no kids or grandchildren, and seem perfectly content with the situation. Or I'll get the conversation- and friendship-ending "Oh" that encapsulates complete incomprehension over a childfree person's point of view and desires about life. But fuck 'em. Overall, though, most people are far more understanding of me as an older woman than they ever were as a young woman.

However, this year has proven unusual for my body. As I'm sizing down, I've had to have a number of chiropractic adjustments, not just for stress from school (a nice but YAPPY bunch of sweet, lazy slackers this year, and, I suspect, a lot of spoiled later-borns or babies of the family), but because my spine is adjusting and changing. At least once a month, I get an adjustment, sometimes twice a month or more. I feel tension, strain, and stress in my neck and shoulders, where I hold all my tension. I have heard from my health coach in Louisiana and from my trainer (unconnected so far as I know, so coming from two people who don't know each other and who haven't talked, this really has the ring of truth!) that I could possibly even gain a half-inch to an inch of height as I size down, because I won't have mass pressing on my spine, weighing me down. What a dream that would be!

I've spent more money the past two years on clothes than anytime in my entire life. I am sizing down in both outer clothes and intimates about every six months. I suppose if I were completely strict about staying on the Take Shape for Life 5-and-1 plan, I could size down faster, but this works for me. It takes me about that long, half a year, to get used to my new dimensions.

I am, alas, moving away from my old standbys and favorites like Lane Bryant, Woman Within, Roamans, even Jessica London, all really good, quality, plus-size catalog clothiers. Their size 14/16 is now beginning to hang on me! Sizing away from plus sizes scares me a little, but way more than that, it thrills me to begin to be in regular-size clothes. I have learned that my size isn't necessarily my size; I can be anything from a 14, 16, 18, 20. I can go from a large-sized large, mostly a basic XL, to a 0X or 1X depending on how snugly or loosely the item of clothing is sewn. It makes shopping for clothing a bit of an adventure, but worth it.

In fact, last weekend I looked up "regular size" clothing catalogs online, and requested several. One thing I look for when I do find one is that the styles match my style (basic, low-key, modest), and even more, that the sizing is consistent. One of the things I really appreciate about Woman Within and its sister catalogs was that one size was the same across many different types of clothes. I also appreciated that Woman Within and its other catalogs had good prices too. Some clothing stores are very expensive; great for when I get to a consistent size, but useless to me at this point when I'm replacing whole sections of my wardrobe twice a year.

I still don't know what size I'll end up. But what's fascinating is I'm having more "leptin reset" moments, where I'll get a flash of intuition about how my body will look at the next juncture of weight loss. I can really begin to feel muscles forming underneath, and the fat receding. That's been a mind-trip, and continues to be a mind-trip. What's been a particular mind-trip new thing is that all of a sudden, I can really feel the muscles on the inside of my knees starting to pull and respond. I have never felt that before.

I realized it was because I'm now standing differently. I no longer have the "big girl waddle" I did even 50 or 75 pounds ago. I'm standing differently so that uses different muscles. And I notice that because I don't over-pronate, or stand on the outside of my feet anymore, that means my shoes are lasting longer. I have to wonder now, looking back, if weight caused me to over-pronate so I walked differently, and was "hard on shoes" as my mother used to say, so wore them out quicker. Now I find myself not buying shoes quite as much -- just clothes.

It feels so good to be able to walk, and bend, and have energy, strength, stamina, and flexibility. I can't wait to go to England over spring break, and have my first active holiday of hiking. That's not that different from any other vacation I've taken; I walk all the time, nearly every day I'm on vacation. But hiking in the woods and on hiking trails will be new, fun, and different.

Eventually, I could even see myself taking kayak camping trips: talk about very low-key, inexpensive, close to nature, and quiet. I've explored so much of Europe, and although there is always more to see there, as well as all of Asia and parts of Africa, there is a lot to see close to home. I want the real freedom of modern life, which is not to be in credit card debt; that alone frees up so much money, time, and possibilities. But more and more, the older I get, the more simple I want my life to be. In first adulthood, I spent my time adding on; now in second adulthood, I find myself stripping away and making life simpler, more efficient, more streamlined.

I am menopausal and childfree. When I met my husband, he had had a vasectomy 10 years before I knew him, and was also childfree. However, three out of four of my nieces now have children, and those children are girls. The recent clamor over birth control is still vital, still newsworthy, worth fighting for. But the roots of it go back to the history of how men view women.

A while ago in chat (consider the source) I was trying to talk to a guy I knew somewhat. I know the guy's name, but I won't give him the honor of immortality. Let's just call him Lowlife Larry. I asked Larry, in the spirit of conversation, why he loved his wife, and the question seemed to flummox him utterly. Finally, he replied that she was good with the kids and kept the house clean.

This shocked ME. The truth was, he couldn't or wouldn't say anything about why he loved her as a person. He didn't answer with anything he loved about her personality, her mind, her spirit. What he loved was her usefulness. He loved how she made a good adjunct to himself. He loved that she played a very obedient second fiddle. She was useful, like a good pack mule.

That attitude encapsulates the whole birth control brouhaha. Lowlife Larry was and is of a kind with those particular males who don't see women as human beings first and foremost, with their own wills, destinies, likes, dislikes, and life plans. Lowlife Larry and men like him (alas, some unreconstructed, traditional women too) see women as adjuncts. They see women in terms of how useful a woman is in relation to themselves. Women are extensions of their needs, but not more than that. (Doubtless any ideas originating from a woman would be seen as "getting uppity" or "having ideas beyond one's station in life".) That a woman might have her own thoughts, dreams, ambitions, goals, and differentiated needs and wants isn't something, it seems, that enters the minds of men like Lowlife Larry, and when it does, the thought is profoundly unsettling.

And why is it so unsettling? Because the thought of viewing women as equals means these men would have to give up the pipe dream of viewing women as adjuncts, as add-ons, as useful pack mules. They'd have to give up the notion that women exist to bear their babies, clean their houses, and satisfy them in bed. They'd have to accept the reality that women are just as fully formed as they are, have their own dreams and goals, likes and dislikes. They'd have to start treating women as equals. For some unreconstructed males, that's terrifying.

Doubtless quite a lot of this is rooted in the dear, darling, charming misogyny of history and religion. No doubt some of this brouhaha over control (let's skip the "birth" -- this is the real issue: control of women's lives, and who has it) is embedded in the past reality of women's historic lack of voice, access to education, and their roles as producers of babies, with all the massive amount of time that entails. It's rooted in women's socio-political usefulness, as historical pawns to cement relationships between families to secure acreage, titles, and money. For centuries -- hell, millenia -- women did not have much if any access to education or, perhaps more poignantly, the time to write novels, to make their voices heard. They didn't have much, if any, leisure.

But as usual, technology and change outpace history. More women are now educated than men. Women out-earn men in the number of college degrees. A very recent (days-old) report now says that women out-earn men in some areas, and this trend is increasing across the board. The tide has begun to change, and indeed has been changing for some time, and this scares some men down to the marrow of their bones. History no longer allows them to take advantage of women. History no longer allows theirs (and hasn't for several centuries) to have the only voice. Men no longer define what life is, pr what the good life is. They no longer define how people are; they no longer have the voice of consensus and decision-making. The world is, for some just waking up, different, multi-hued, with many different perspectives. No doubt this leaves some men, particularly those who are blue-collar, un-educated, under-educated, not all that skilled, and/or conservative socially, feeling quite panicky.

Good.

So for my nieces, my great-nieces, for my female students, for all my friends of all ages, whatever their reproductive stage/agenda/role/choice in life, for all the women in the world, this is your fight. It is so not JUST about sex; it's about sovereignty. Clearly birth control does way more than just allow women to take control of their sexuality as vitally important as that is; it also allows women to treat symptoms of bad cramps, PCOS, and many other medical symptoms. And although some men would never admit to it, simply being on birth control doesn't make a woman instantly sexual or available or a slut or a prostitute, which is simply insane. (Where do they get this stuff? Who write their comedy?) Older women like me, those of us who know history, who have perspective and objectivity, who can see trends and patterns over time, we are with you, behind you, beside you, supporting you.

Every person in the world, regardless of gender, deserves to determine his or her reproductive choices. No one ever has the right to control another human being. People have the right to choose to have kids or remain childfree. If people choose to have children, they have the right to choose how many children and they have the right to choose to space out those children in a way that makes personal, social, economic, emotional, and spiritual sense.

This is, obviously, a fight that the Old Scared White Men will lose. They lost it already. They lost this fight before it even became an issue. Women have, throughout the centuries, taken control, as much as possible, of their own lives. Women will continue to do so. It is simply a social right, a civil right, a human right. It is simply reality and how things are.

Again: it's so not just about sex. It's about sovereignty over our bodies, our choices, our lives, our destinies.

So much has happened since I wrote last, and I don't really know where to begin. However, it's 8pm on a week night, so I'll be quick and just give an overview.

Monday I missed work. Today I missed work. It only occurred to me late last night that I had a blasted sinus infection. I had thought a weekend of rest would do me; it didn't. I thought one extra day of rest would do me; it didn't. I came home, felt nauseated, vomited, and felt like I was coming apart, so I slept a while. I realized sometime after I woke up that yes, I have a sinus infection. It's always so insidious! It always starts off with general malaise and fatigue. I feel the need to rest. I want to do things; the spirit is always willing. But the flesh says, no way. Do not get up. Do not attempt. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

So I'm on antibiotics and already feel better, not just from meds, but from knowing what's wrong with me. And I'm better knowing that by next Monday, this will clear up and I'll be back to being energetic. And THAT means that I can start pedaling and paddling!

A few weeks ago, I had my trike converted to electric, so I can take hills without ruining my knees. I hope to do that soon! I had every intention of starting as soon as I got my bike, but looking back, the sinus infection could have started a week and a half ago, and climaxed on Tuesday when I came home with a splitting headache and couldn't keep food down.

And I've bought a kayak! To back up, I took a "learn to kayak" class in January, and utterly fell in love with it. And even before that, I tried to take the class but it was cancelled for three weeks, because no one wants to kayak in mid-December. This is, however, southern California, so in mid-January, about a dozen of us paddled into Marina Del Rey. I had a blast. The first time I tried to rent a kayak, I got in the water, got my initial balance, then tipped over as I tried to push myself off the dock. I realized I simply pushed too hard. Disaster can be averted with a bit of skill in paddling.

We went about 4.5 miles. That night and the next morning, my shoulders were yelling at me. I had overexerted, but not egregiously. I took pain-killers and went about my business. And I began plotting and planning how to get MY OWN kayak. Turns out, I had about $400 and change in credit card reward points, so I used the points and bought a lime-green sit-on-top ocean kayak, a seat, a paddle, and a PFD or life vest. And then I got sick and couldn't go!

I still need to rig up my pulley system to keep my kayak stored downstairs, or investigate how much it would cost to store it at a facility. I'd rather keep it downstairs in our laundry room that's gated. It doesn't need to sit for an excessively long time on its side, or it'll warp, so I want to install two pulleys, and pull it up by the flat marine tie-down cords, and suspend it so our housekeeper can get in and out of the laundry room without tripping over it, or bonking her head.

And when I'm better, I want to start biking to school: four miles a day, 20 miles a week. That should burn some major fat and tone my legs. My goal is even though I must use the electric on hills, to KEEP PEDALING at all times. I'm still a bit leery about riding in traffic, but if I can do it, I want to. It's excellent exercise, a very green energy alternative, and fun.

The other thing that happened was Tuesday. After missing work Monday, I was looking forward to a field trip, thinking it would be a nice, easy break. We would board the kids on buses, take them to see a musical performance, and come back. It was a short day. And it was a total mess.

Overall it went okay; the venue held the performance for the students. It's just that all the kids wouldn't fit on the bus! About 20 had to be left behind, which was unfair. Some were deliberately pulled off the bus because they had rather stupidly posted some fight videos, which the school got wind of, so these kids weren't going to be rewarded with a field trip. The other kids were innocent, and just didn't get on the bus soon enough. However, those that did get on the bus sooner were all squished inside! And apparently the students had to wait 40 minutes on the bus after the concert was over, before they left and came back to school. I volunteered to take the left-behind kids, and those who didn't deserve to go, so we went and watched scary movies in my classroom.

When they all got back, the students I had been supervising asked if they could get some fresh air and go be with their friends. I said sure, no problem. We had stayed in the classroom for several hours watching movies. And by this time there was only 20 minutes left in the day. Some kid, taking advantage of the fact that only one adult, if one at all, was in the lunch room, started a food fight. We took care of it, but the principal was called, and the girls forced to clean up, but how stupid and stressful for all concerned.

Then, after all that drama, we sat down and had to plan out a semester's worth of curriculum in 90 minutes. THAT was when the creeping realization that I might have a sinus infection hit because the headache and pressure hit, and I was suddenly really, really sensitive to light. A migraine. The icepick. I was hungry but had no clue what I wanted to eat; I just knew I should eat. And yet we were given all these books, and told to plan our curriculum together, to be on the same page. Meanwhile my head wss throbbing more and more and more. We planned; I made notes; we all got SOMETHING together. And then I went home and started vomiting. Finally, I slept. And I called in sick again and took today off, got medication, talked to my doctor, and felt better, having taken the first dose, gotten a neck and back adjustment and a massage.

Still, our grades are due, and although I'm finished with 90% of them, there will be a few more papers coming in this week. I need to stay on top of it, and it's nearly impossible, especially tomorrow, so I will probably have to go in this weekend, which is fine: I rather like the expansive quiet of an empty campus. So peaceful! It's just that all of this has contributed to my being excruciatingly tired: end of the semester, grades due, gradebook due to be turned in, a stressful field trip situation, planning new curriculum without any time to prepare on my own (and think and reflect), plus pushing students to do a research paper in various steps. It's just been a lot.

I also know that from now, 1st February, to the end of June, I'll be tired all the time. I won't be so tired that I won't exercise; that's a given that I will. I'm just pretty useless socially. Every spring semester I think about how I'd like to get out more and do things and have lunch with our friends, but it never materializes. I work; I work out; I come home. That's my life from September to June.

But breaks are coming. Fortunately we have at least one day off every month. February has President's Day. March has Cesar Chavez Day on the 30th, which backs up into the whole first week of April off for spring break. I'm going to England, and will hike some of Dartmoor National Park! Then we have Memorial Day weekend, by which time I catch my second wind, and we start tying things up for the year.

This summer, though, will be shorter; we will start in mid-August and end at the end of May. So for this summer, we won't have eight weeks as usual, more like six or seven. I had thought about going to hike through Yosemite, Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks, or Glacier NP and the Tetons. Now I'm thinking next summer. When school ends this year, I'll go back to Louisiana and see everyone, then come back and just have fun here kayaking, swimming, working out, hiking. I may do day trips to some of the closer national parks here in California, or short two- or three-day breaks. But it'll be nice to be active and also spend time with my husband.

Anyway, time to go to bed. I have to realize every year that beginning at the end of the fall semester, and all through the spring semester, that I need to go to bed by around 8.30pm or 9.30pm at the latest. I need my sleep and just cannot function without it. More later if anything develops; otherwise, I'll post when I'm in England, which is not that far away. I cannot wait! I fly to London, then take a train to Exeter, then a bus to my remote hostel out in Dartmoor National Park. I hope it will be utterly quiet and peaceful like it was at the Vindolanda in Chester. I want to walk miles, see lovely Bronze Age ruins, and go to the Buckfast Otter and Butterfly Sanctuary and be an OTTER KEEPER for a half day. Entirely too much fun, and I am looking forward to it immensely.

More later! I need to take my last dose of antibiotic so the sinus infection keeps healing. It's such a blessing to feel better.

Yesterday's time in chat was particularly surreal, and I feel the need to blog about it because it's just so amazingly off-kilter from the real world. I've chatted for years, in fact, since 1997. I started when Yahoo chat still ran on a Java platform, when there were user rooms (which everyone who remembers misses!). It was a different, better world back then.

Chat back then used to be a lot better, mainly because it was a more educated college crowd. Chat was more civil, more witty, more urbane, more sophisticated. There were always spammers and trolls and bots, but they weren't rife. Those who simply could not use the language were laughed off, ignored, and otherwise shunted to the side. And there were, in the early days of chat, 99% English speakers. It was, overall, a rollicking good time, with lots of easy-going banter, truly funny, witty innuendos, kindness, and some very nice connections and yes, even friendships that blossomed. Chat was genuinely fun. People were in an ecstasy of experimentation with this new form of social interaction, and it was all in good fun.

Today, though, alas. Since everyone has gotten online, well... everyone is online. One can certainly judge the state of the world's literacy, for better or worse. Non-English speakers as well as native speakers quite often come into the room, and some spam and troll and repeat endlessly, and annoy everyone. Huge fonts are, alas, often the norm. After all, monkey see, monkey do. Men and women from all walks of life, all social classes, all backgrounds, nationalities, ethnicities are online. It's a melting pot, a salad bowl, and the Wild West all in one.

Add to it all the particularly corrosive mix of webcams and the hook-up culture, plus EVERYONE all over the world online, and you get the miasma we have now. Oy. And these days, in chat, it's devolved into a sausage-fest, where men talk about their "inches" and what THEY want, what THEY need, what little they have to offer, without ever once asking what women want. The patriarchy in the rooms is ridiculously over the top, oppressive yet in its own way, utterly laughable -- and easy to subvert. That's where I come in.

Over the years, I've been repeatedly attacked for being different. That's the only reason I can think of, the one reason that encapsulates a lot of smaller things. But what I really wanted to write about today is why I'm drawn back again and again to chat: because of the total disparity between real life and chat life.

Let's start off with real life:
-- my life is calm, quiet, orderly
-- I have autonomy and independence
-- I'm happily married
-- I've been gainfully employed for decades
-- I'm a yuppie, or just past being a yuppie
-- I have higher education and training in my field
-- I'm a teacher, reader, scholar, thinker
-- I do lots of activities and have lots of hobbies and interests
-- I've lost over 100 pounds over the years
-- I have family I'm emotionally close to, if not geographically
-- I have friends all over the world, thanks to chat
-- Overall, I'm fulfilled and reasonably happy, even though life has its inevitable challenges

HOWEVER... according to the chat carnival clowns, I am
-- a drama queen
-- a shit starter
-- one who goes about causing chaos and destruction
-- I'm unhappily married and in denial
-- I may or may not have a job, now or ever
-- I'm an abusive, mean, ugly, rude, bullying teacher (SO GERMANE AND RELEVANT in a chat room!)
-- I probably don't have the higher education I say I do; I'm just saying that for show
-- I consistently think I'm better than everyone else
-- I'm stuck up, arrogant, rude (mainly because I chat in instant messages one on one, not in the main room)
-- I'm a female first and last because biology IS destiny, and being human and one's own personality don't count NEARLY as much as gender first and last
-- I'm a dried up old prune because I don't have kids
-- I'm a dried up old prune because I am happy and outspoken about not having kids
-- Not having kids means I probably don't like sex
-- I'm not really married, but just saying that
-- I'm a redneck/coon-ass/trailer trash jumped-up wanna-be because I moved from Louisiana to Los Angeles
-- I have no friends online, have never had any friends online, will never have any friends online, because I don't chat in the room, and insist on chatting in instant messages. One-on-one communication isn't nearly as meaningful as room chat.
-- And I have no friends online, have never had any friends online, will never have any friends online, because I'm too picky about the men I chat with, won't go along with their agendas, won't follow, won't show, won't be objectified, won't do what they want sexually, insist on my own wants and needs, and regularly reject most males online because they just don't suit me

And the list goes on and on. I'm vastly amused by it all. But by and large, the one insult that's leveled at me consistently is the tried and true "bitch". What an all-purpose, handy-dandy, useful, all-encompassing, one-size-fits-all-uppity-women word! Apparently, I'm a first-class, gold-plated, card-carrying, long-time bitch for any or all of the following reasons:
-- I'm outspoken
-- I'm opinionated
-- I moved states and improved my economic condition
-- I married for love the second time around and made sure we were a good match
-- I divorced because my first husband was an emotional cripple, and I would not settle for less
-- I consistently don't settle for chatting with men online who are beneath my educational level; apparently my duty as a female online is to accept all men, encourage them, build them up, and coddle their egos
-- I violate social rules of chat by daring, as a female, having needs and wants, and having the audacity to speak up about what I want and need
-- I consistently don't settle for talking with non-English speakers online
-- I consistently keep asking for clarification and meaning, but as a female online, this is verboten, because I should just understand what's said immediately from any man (or woman), even if it's vague, ambiguous, poorly worded, or bizarre
-- I chose not to have kids because it didn't suit me personally
-- I travel the world
-- I have money enough to travel the world
-- I choose to chat in instant messages one-on-one rather than the main room
-- I walk my own path, do my own thing, at my own pace, for my own pleasure first and foremost
-- I set limits and boundaries about what I do and do not want online and in the real world; apparently women especially in chat don't have the right to set their own limits and boundaries, and men have the right to impose limits and boundaries on women
-- I take no verbal abuse
-- I talk back to abusers and dish it right back
-- I shame verbal abusers (aka this blog many times!)
-- I often simply ignore verbal abuse with the full knowledge that it says way more about that person than it ever does about me
-- I'm an introvert
-- I'm educated
-- I make no bones about the fact that I'm average-okay looking, not a super model, which is apparently subversive because looks are the be-all and end-all, how women are judged online as worthy to talk to and get to know
-- I make no bones about the fact that my intellect and personality is far more valuable, long-lasting, and precious than looks could ever be, which is subversive because what's inside isn't nearly as valuable as looks first and foremost
-- I ask questions, particularly "why" questions, that apparently put people on the defensive, which isn't my intent, when I'm simply trying to see how people think and behave and make choices the way they do
-- I'm selfish and rude, mean, cruel, a bitch, a whore, a cunt, etc. because I won't show a picture and risk having it shared all over the internet by men who trade women's pictures like baseball cards
-- I'm selfish and rude, mean, cruel, a bitch, a whore, a cunt, etc. because I won't go on cam and show my body, even though when I used to do that, I was occasionally ridiculed and called names. Apparently it's a woman's DUTY online, if she has a cam, to show every man who asks, without protesting, accept all comments, and continue to be a sex object for any random male's pleasure
-- I'm a feminist
-- I'm liberal
-- I'm a Democrat
-- I'm progressive and a firm believer in equal rights and peer/equal relationships between men and women
-- I insist on doing online only what I like, am comfortable with, and what turns me on, and if/when a man suggests something that I dislike, am not comfortable with, or that turns me off, I say no, which apparently I really should not, since all women in chat SHOULD be easy, accommodating, passive, receptive, and open to every kind of sexual suggestion there could possibly be, including all types of non-consensual taboo

And the list goes on and on. I suppose the biggest thing that I am consistently shocked by is how undermined I am constantly. In real life, this doesn't happen. In real life, I have a presence, a voice, both rather commanding if needed. I get things done in the world, am heard, listened to, understood, and I get along with everyone (well, except for PDSK, who's a special head-case all her own). In the bizarro world of off-kilter loony-toons chat, though, men regularly undermine women in any or all of the following ways:
-- presuming/assuming things about me
-- presuming/assuming my intentions
-- presuming/assuming what I REALLY meant
-- laughing at what I say
-- not taking anything or anyone seriously, yet wanting sex
-- being okay with the entire hookup culture
-- being completely blind/deaf to nuance in language
-- touching non-consensually (kisses, hugs, sex)
-- presuming that their sexual agenda will be followed without question, and with eagerness
-- never asking what I want, need, or like
-- being resistant to what I want, need, and like
-- complimenting randomly, then verbally abusing when I resist the compliment or don't return it
-- over-generalizing, having bad logic, being thoughtless
-- expecting women to make the conversation happen with minimal input from them, because (I guess) we're supposed to be the more accommodating, friendly, hospitable sex
-- seeing what I say only in terms of their own beliefs, not accepting another point of view
-- saying stupid bullshit they would never say in real life face to face, because of the anonymity of chat, and the fact that they can get away with it online
-- consistently asking really? are you sure? do you mean that?
-- expressing shock over any assertion or opinion or choice they don't approve of or that indicates independence of thought and motion

I should also mention that my job is regularly brought up, always out of context, and in the worst possible way. I consistently get asked if I'm a "hot teacher". I get asked if all the boys stare at me. I get asked if I have kids with crushes on me. I get asked far, far too often if I've ever fucked students. If that is not evidence of a totally messed-up, wrong-ass way of thinking, I do not know what is. However, I've found ways to counter these questions. First and foremost, I always ask what my looks have to do with my job and my competence. That usually brings them up short, and most of the ones who, in real life, might actually be nice, law-abiding, gainfully-employed citizens who vote and who love their families, see their stupidity and sexism, and back off.

And then there are the pedophiles in Yahoo chat, the truly sick motherfuckers who actually take delight in the fact that I might share their sickness and prey on children. These I regularly threaten to kill, if I ever find their names and home addresses. I do believe society should give out a $10,000 bounty per pedophile killed, without jail or probation; in fact, every pedophile killed should warrant not only a bounty but a medal. What a great way for teachers to supplement their income, remove harmful parasites from society, and make the world safer for children! Kill all pedophiles. Let Satan sort them out, because pedophiles are well on their way to hell anyway for being sick.

I also consistently ask these sexist morons, how is it even possible to tell whether or not a kid has a crush? What are the signs? And even if I do actually notice that a kid has a crush, what then? What should I do with this knowledge? What's the point of knowing? Being pushed like that often shuts them down, because whatever they answer is easily knocked down, due to its never being remotely realistic. Quite often I've said that if I ever did know that a kid has a crush on me -- something I've never known, noticed, wanted to know, or wanted to notice in 20 years -- it would absolutely freak me out and give me the heebie-jeebies.

IF I ever knew this (big if), I would distance myself from the boy, treat him EXTREMELY professionally, keep a LARGE professional distance, and never EVER be alone with that child for a nanosecond in the classroom. Many times if a child, male or female, has forgotten something in my classroom, I'll open the door, and stand OUTSIDE as the kid goes in, gets what s/he needs, and comes back out. That way, I cover my own ass and no one can ever accuse me of inappropriate conduct, molestation, or anything else. I'm happy to give up a few seconds of my time to model slightly extreme appropriate behavior so long as it keeps ME first and foremost out of pointless trouble! And if the child were an online social media acquaintance, I would perhaps even un-friend him, never "like" any status or picture, and keep my distance in every possible way. I would interact online ONLY after he was no longer my student and had gone on to high school.

And then there are times where I suspect the chat moron/bozo/fucktard really is a pedophile, so I push back, hard. Sure, I say, YOU BET I stare at young boys. They stare at me, so it's all equal, RIGHT? Why not? They stare at me, I leer at them. Works both ways for both people, right? right? right? Gotta love young minor children, they're just SO EASY to prey on! Way, way, way over the top, and the vast majority of so-called "males" online who bring this up by this point back down and back off, which is precisely what I wanted anyway. Those who do not back down, who actually encourage this kind of talk, I immediately cut off, with verbal abuse, as being less than human and worthy of being killed.

It just pisses me off NO END to think that there are actually some throwback, knuckle-dragging shithead proto-humanoids out there who believe that all males of any age, are allowed to look at and interact with all women, of any age, any way they want, and the woman should not only accept this interaction but actually be grateful for the attention a male is paying her! And the thought of a young minor child looking in a sexually suggestive way at an adult female, as a right and privilege, with the woman being powerless or helpless to stop him, is just repugnant beyond belief. VOMIT time. How the HELL could anyone ever really think this? Even if it's supposed to be a joke, it's too sick and sad ever to be funny. Yuck.

And so the question becomes, why chat? Why take the abuse that you know you are going to get? Why return over and over and be undermined, cut down, marginalized? Fair question indeed, but I suppose I am perverse. It amuses me no end to enter such an off-kilter, topsy-turvy, upside-down, turned-around world that is so off-base, insane, and twisted. I am amused. This is major entertainment, especially in the form of some online, such as KitchenSinkholeofDespair and SmallTownTeachCrone, and a few others. It amuses me no end to tune in, now and again, and watch these people self-congratulate each other, try SO HARD over and over to both ignore my presence and tear me down. I'm amused by the unstated social rules that are so conventional and traditional and downright RETRO, it's funny. I have to wonder if some of these people live in an emotional/mental 1950s state, perhaps even the 1850s.

I am amused. Thank you, chat. You're just so freaking awesome! HA!

I hadn't realized I had not posted since before the beginning of school, but typically, once school started, it revved up at 70mph and I have only now had breathing space to catch up here.

Our beginning of school was the worst and most incompetent I've ever experienced in 20 years of teaching. We had no rosters. Classes were horribly unbalanced: some teachers had 40 students in some classes, while others had fewer than 10. Teachers did not have what they needed in the way of supplies. Some teachers didn't know even what room they were supposed to be in right up until two or three days before opening day. And then it took the administration weeks to balance out classes, but it still wasn't done well. The administration dumped whole blocks of kids with the same letter of the last name in various classes, without regard to proficiency level.

And later we found out that one assistant principal is against gifted education, so she didn't really want to divide out the gifted students and create separate classes for them even though that's federally mandated. Fortunately the separation of honors/gifted did happen, but the foot-dragging and needless conversation about it (which had happened last year too) was particularly irksome. It was also her first year to do the scheduling, and we hope she had her trial by fire, learned what she needed to learn, and will be MUCH more competent next year -- and will start MUCH earlier next year with the scheduling. But we survived as teachers always do, and overall for me (and for my next-door colleague) it's a good group this year.

My one tough class is fortunately sandwiched between two gifted/honors, high-achieving, happy, productive classes. But this tough class is a woolly-booger of a group. There are several in there with IEPs, a couple with ADHD, and quite a few who are below basic and far below basic, and who have bad work habits that keep tripping themselves up. One little girl in particular is my real bete noir this year. I love her as a person, but as a student, she's unmotivated and has severe home life problems, so she acts out and talks out and talks back and both won't and cannot focus and stay on task. And while she's crying out for guidance, limits and boundaries, she's also pushing those boundaries with me and with all her other teachers, making her a royal pain. She did this last year, too. Such, such are the joys. Apparently there is a permissive, negligent father that she actually lives with, and her mother is absent and lives a couple of hours away.

Compounding that, we have double block schedule twice a week, so after Thursday, after this one period, the rest of my week is home free. Having this group for 90 minutes is DAMN difficult. And yet most of them are my favorite rapscallions. I just wish the maturity levels were just a bit higher so they would perform better and help THEMSELVES first of all, without me and all my colleagues having to apply SO MUCH external pressure on them. That gets old fast. However, I will muster up the strength and keep setting them straight, holding them accountable, and making them perform at their best, whether they like it or understand it or not.

So I break up the 90 minutes with several activities, give them time to get up and stretch because they are by far my most physically restless group. I have to have them speaking, reading, writing, listening EVERY SINGLE MINUTE or invariably a couple of them will just get up and wander. I have found with this group we cannot even stop to clean up and put the room back in order right up until the last minute and a half of the hour, or they wander. And these are eighth graders who have such poor impulse control! So foreign to me and the way I grew up and the people I went to school with, who were the honors/gifted group. But people are all different.

Working with my next-door colleague continues to be a joy, and fortunately Prima Donna Sour Kraut is on her way out in 140+ more days, not that I'm counting or anything! I will say that the budget cuts have hurt my school, and I'm sure all schools. We don't have all the supplies we need, and our copiers are constantly breaking down. We have lost quite a few teachers over the last few years, plus other personnel, and yet we limp along, make do, innovate, create, work together, and do what needs to be done, as teachers always do. But more money, more people would definitely help. And I know that's a common refrain across the country.

But overall, a good year, and a good group of students, as well as students who can improve. I need a bit more leverage with just a couple of kids to keep them in line and performing and not acting out as much as possible. One kid mentioned in a journal that she's on probation, so I might try to contact her probation officer. (I had her older sister a few years ago, and I think Little Sister is suffering massively from being in the shadow of Straight A Older Sister, and she hasn't found her niche yet. I just hope that the parents don't label Straight A Older Sister as "the smart one" and Little Sister as "the athletic one" and thus divide them like that, where they feel like they're only one way, and they can't be both intelligent/academic as well as athletic.) And Little Miss Cute Brat needs a phone call to her mother on a regular basis, since, according to our dean of discipline, sometimes the father doesn't even answer the phone. Can we say BREEDER, not parent as far as the "father" goes? Yeesh.

Fortunately in November, parent conferences are coming up. If we can get Little Miss Cute Brat and Little Sister in, along with parents, I'll consider this round of parent conferences a success. I know, as usual, that all the gifted/honors kids will come in, plus the regular kids who are doing well, and a smattering of others who aren't doing so well, but whose parents really care but who are working their butts off to provide for their kids.

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So that's that as far as school and work goes. On the personal side of life, things are doing okay. J--'s health is not good, but that is not news alas. My health, on the other hand, is great. My A1c is 5.8; my weight continues to go down slowly but steadily, and I'm getting more active, more fit, and developing more energy, strength, and stamina. My heart just breaks for J-- because love him as I do, it's up to him to move and get out and take back his life. It is ultimately his choice.

On Veterans' Day weekend, Sunday two weeks from today, I am going to take kayaking lessons! J-- asked me the other week what got me so enthused about kayaking, and I don't quite know. I just know that sometimes things just occur to me that I want to do and try, and this is one of them. As I become more and more body-positive and body-confident, the more I do, the more there is to do and try, and kayaking is something I cannot wait to do. Swimming is natural, and kayaking seems a natural fit, too, precisely because it is calm, contemplative, quiet, and yet active at the same time, an excellent workout for core and arms.

Then, on Thanksgiving weekend, a ski resort about 90 minutes outside of LA opens up where there is snow tubing, also another first. I had gone to a sporting goods store to buy a rashguard shirt for kayaking, having had good success wearing one this summer when I went wave-jumping at the Orange County water park. I meandered around the store, looking at the various types of sporting goods, marveling that I no longer felt like an imposter in a sporting goods store; instead, I felt like someone who belonged there. What a cool feeling that is.

And I found, near the ski gear, sleds! Not sleds with runners per se, but snow sliders. The helpful guy there said that he and his family actually used garbage bags, which cracked me up. He said his parents would take them out, find a hill, and say, "Go slide! Have fun!" And they as kids would troop up the hill, slide down on garbage bags, over and over, until they were tired. The place I'm going to has actual snow inner-tubes; I would imagine that even with a snow-slide, much less a garbage bag, that you'd feel every single root and branch and irregularity in the ground, directly on your butt and butt-bone. Thanks very much, I'll definitely take an innertube!

In December, I will go back down to Louisiana, so I'm counting the days for that, as well. I cannot wait to see my sister, who will be just months away from retirement! There is much to discuss with her about her next steps and transition to the next phase of her life. I trust that she will make plans and not just stop and do nothing; I can't see that happening. I could see her getting a small part-time job to keep busy and a little structured and to have some pin money, perhaps getting back into gardening, or who knows, maybe volunteering or being a docent at a museum. I'm sure she'll find her way and find the perfect thing to keep her busy and active. It's exciting! I know I will be looking to L-- to see how she does in retirement.

My good friend at school, L--, a male, is also retiring. I hope he finds his feet under him after retirement, and doesn't just stop. I do worry a little bit about L--, although he's close to J--'s age, is a big boy, and has taken care of himself for decades before I was born. I've seen in J--'s case, though, how big a transition retirement is. In the past couple of years, though, L--'s mother and 50-something brother died (the brother suddenly and without previous health issues), and except for cousins in another state, he's alone and has never married. He teaches, where he gets most of his social interaction from, and he manages an apartment complex where he lives; he now owns the building. And he does martial arts, too, plus he travels and he is active in other ways as well. But he's much like me and my sister and my husband, an introvert who doesn't need or want much social interaction, but who needs some. I've told him I hope he and I keep in touch after he retires, and I mean it. And I hope he finds his groove and finds activities that keep him fit and active plus provide a bit of socialization, too.

And in April, I'm off again to England! This time I fly into London, take a train to Exeter, then a bus to a remote hostel out in Dartmoor National Park, where I intend to have an active holiday roaming the moors and going on long hikes, taking pictures, seeing whatever Bronze Age and medieval relics I can, and reveling in being one with nature. And due to the schedule, I'll take an extra couple of days and come back on a Tuesday; until then, I'm working hard on having near-perfect attendance every month, so my school won't think I'm slacking, and won't begrudge me an extra two days. I've ordered a couple of books of day hikes around Dartmoor, and there are a lot of websites with various hikes. And I have a trusty map, also waterproof. This is going to be GOOD!

A short bus ride away is an otter and butterfly sanctuary, in a village that also is renowned for good walks, so that's one day trip I'm planning. An OTTER SANCTUARY! Can you believe it? What joy! I fully intend to pay the rather exorbitant fee and be a half-day otter keeper. Oh the joys: paying for the privilege of scooping otter scat and chopping up stinky fish! But the joy of actually feeding an otter, getting up close, having it take the fish from my hand, will be worth any fee. At the end of the otter-keeping session, there is room in the program to sit and play with the otters and get pictures taken. I truly can't wait. That would be my ideal job post-retirement: to retire to England or Scotland, work in a zoo or sanctuary or park, and be an otter keeper! Sigh!

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There is one other matter I feel I should mention. I chat online in Yahoo, and have done so since the late 90s. I've never been popular, and mostly that's because the inmates run the asylum. Being disliked by those who are sexist, racist, homophobic, passive-aggressive or otherwise dysfunctional is a mark of honor. Lately, though, a man messaged me and said that "someone" had found out a lot of information about me. I don't doubt it; I've been online since the early 90s. I'm sure I have a gigantic internet footprint. He suggested I might want to "do something" about all my information being out there, but I'm wondering, what is there to do, exactly? Seems like that horse left the corral a long time ago.

This guy also implied that since "other people" -- actually just him in particular -- "disliked" me so much that having my personal information out there might be "dangerous" to which I say, okay. It's out there. There isn't much I can do about that, so far as I know. So I asked him, what would you recommend? Of course there was no answer. I don't think even he knows; but this guy, let's call him KitchenSinkholeOfDysfunction, is notorious about not answering direct questions. It makes him feel "attacked" to be questioned. So do tell: is there anything you recommend that I do to better obscure my online footprint? Speak up if you know. If you do not speak up, I assume you are ignorant, and are just making shitty little sideways sorta-kinda-threats and trying to cyberbully because I as a strong-willed, highly educated woman threaten the hell out of you.

The implied threat was, if you don't act like I think you should act, I will use your personal information against you. So tow the line, be a good little traditional, soft-spoken, agreeable, nice female, even if the males online are jerks, or ELSE. Really, now. Seriously? Bring it on, sucker. Either make the threat outright, so you can be reported to Yahoo, or shut the fuck up. But know this: you and SmallTownTeachCrone aren't going to bully me. I know you read this journal; you said so in chat, because you are intensely curious about me. It's all very flattering, but I also notice that you both have problems speaking up for yourselves. You can't say if something makes you angry; instead, even though you are both in your 50s or older, you retaliate by making up a fake name based on my chat name, spewing shit, and acting like pissy little teenagers instead of like mature adults.

So, KitchenSinkholeOfDysfunction and SmallTownTeachCrone, I just can't take you seriously. Yeah, my information is out there; so is pretty much everyone's these days. Such is having a life online. The fact that you would attempt to threaten me, to extort me, to try to control me, says a lot about you, and none of it good, especially for people of YOUR age. What I would give for all of YOUR free time, that you have the TIME to go online, find out information about me, a random chatter, then contact me, and attempt to threaten/extort me. What a LOT of free time that is! Do you people actually ever work, or do you just hang out online and try to dig up shit on other people? Except your bullshit as usual doesn't work. You are powerless. And I, as keeper of the words, have the power to out you here for all to see for all time. So, YOU need to watch your step, or YOUR words will be put here for all to see and laugh at. Forever.

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I just got this from chatting. It's typical. I thought I'd share it.

littlesubjohnny: Hi want to Role Play? I'm the boy next door, age 14-18(42 in real life), that you let come over and swim in your pool. you let me in one day and go out to do some errands. When you come back you go to get your suit on and notice that your dresser drawers opened slightly. You look more and notice one of your vibes on the ground. you go to the window and see me swimming in the pool. you can't help but notice under my white suit I'm wearing a dark colored thong. Looking back at yoru dresser you notice your pantie drawer is ajar.

kat_whowalksbyherself: I plug in the vibes with a long extension cord, walk out, and say, "If I ever catch you going through my stuff again, this will happen, except for a lot longer. You're no longer welcome here ever again." And I drop the vibrator in the pool, shocking the hell out of you for a good 30 seconds.

kat_whowalksbyherself: I smile as I watch you, dazed and shocked and trembling, leave my pool and my property, never to return, having been taught a lesson the hard way that if you go through other people's shit, or you WILL get THE SHOCK OF YOUR LIFE, LITERALLY!

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He didn't respond. Too bad. That was fun. HEH.

It's now Saturday, August 27. Next week, I hit the ground running; I'll go into my classroom and get it all ready, or more realistically, I'll get it as ready as it can get in a week's time. That means

-- getting my keys for the year
-- opening cabinets and taking things out that I stored over the summer
-- putting supplies into the cabinet
-- putting the cabinet and all supplies in order
-- setting up my desk
-- hooking up all electronics
-- tracking down my media cart
-- putting in book requests
-- meeting new people
-- moving furniture around a bit more for optimal people/information flow
-- posting my syllabus online and on my door
-- taking most of a day to copy all spelling tests for the year
-- copy the routines and expectations of the classroom, plus the first "sign and return" paper
-- copying the first "get to know you" homework

But that's only the beginning. Our first day is a pupil-free day on 6 September, at which time we'll get lot of information and class rosters. Then there's even more to do, and not nearly enough time to do it all. I will

-- recopy the work due/report card deadline sign
-- make rosters on my grade program
-- start the first assignments
-- and do whatever else needs to be done, which I can't even think of now, but I'll remember when I get there and see what needs to be done.

Today, I go from 11am, possibly to 7pm to the Hammer Museum in Westwood, to help friends with the opening of their bookstore. I spent the last few days moving half their inventory from their store in east LA to the Hammer, lifting, toting, dragging, moving, schlepping, hauling, sorting, filing, shelving, etc. And I got a workout in the process. I have been nicely sore for the past couple of days. And yesterday, I worked three hours in my classroom and swam for an hour, too.

It's been a good summer overall, and I'm happy. The end of June was restful after school ended, and I had a couple of weeks to stay home with my husband and our cats and just decompress, plus get a few things done. Then July in Europe, which was amazing, and now I've had all of August, a full month at home, which has been restful and fun and relaxing. And we got a few more things done.

It's been a good system that my husband and I use, checking in with each other a couple of times a day, doing what we can given his sleep deprivation, sleep apnea and general tiredness. We're both hoping to get the CPAP mask as soon as humanly possible, so he can start getting sleep, and maybe losing weight naturally and getting his blood sugars under better control. This cannot happen soon enough!

However, even with the CPAP, the more I think of it, the more I think it would be a good idea to do an in-house move and switch my husband's office/study and our guest bedroom. It would make sense in a lot of ways, and be so much easier on his knees, lungs, and general health. And I think we could do this over the course of the academic year, then do the official move in summer. We could slowly pack up, clean up, and move boxes into various other rooms. And this is what it would take, a full academic year of considering, talking, moving, packing, cleaning up, cleaning out, throwing away, and planning.

So my sweet, when you read this blog, consider this "slow" move and all the implications. Pack up, clean up, clean out during the year, going about it slowly and methodically, and then next summer, do the official switch in August when I'm back (either back from travel or back in shape from the operation) and have your office downstairs, where it's much **cooler** and much more accessible. Just a thought. I think you would feel much more comfortable in a cooler, shadier office that's been cleaned up, and where we can deliberately make room for another humidifier. I think the stairs are getting to be a bit much, and I know it worries and stresses you to get behind on email. Anyway, food for thought. We have months yet in which to plan and strategize.

I'm looking forward to this year, but more and more I am thinking that I've DONE the teaching gig, and it's soon time to make a change, more than likely to school counseling or school psychology. I'd like for my last decade-plus to be out of the classroom, still working in schools, still working for the common good, still helping kids, but focusing on the ones who need way more help than I can give generally in the classroom. It's a thought.

However, I'm torn between starting it now, and waiting. I have about a year to 18 more months to go on my weight loss, to get down to 160, my ideal-for-me proportionate weight; this weight loss/work out regime is like a part-time job. I just don't think with work, caregiving at home, and my workout schedule that I could pile much more on my plate and still have time to read, rest, relax and recreate at home, and have a life.

So I think I will keep focusing on weight loss and working out for this year, and see where I am in June 2012. Either way, June 2012 will be win-win. If I'm at or near my goal weight, I'll have the tummy tuck, arm lift, and knee/leg liposuction, or I'll travel in July. In August, stick close to home with my husband and perhaps even do the in-house move thing.

Life is about to rev up again and get very, very busy. I'm ready!