Posted on August 20, 2004
At the beginning of August, my Ten Minutes A Day was on my first grade teacher, Mrs. Carey. Actually, it was how I couldn’t remember anything about her, except her name. So I asked for readers’ help in fleshing out the character of their first grade teachers.
Two people wrote in response, and I’ve gotten permission from each to share their impressions.
Kyle wrote: “My first grade teacher was Mrs. Marsiniack . . . although I’m pretty sure I’ve spelled her name wrong. My spelling abilities have only somewhat improved since the first grade. I basically remember what she looked like, and also her favorite saying. Anyone approaching her desk without first raising his/her hand would be informed, “You are invisible.”
As for developing her as a character I think that would be quite a challenge. As a first grader, I’m not sure I understood everyone’s role in the world. I never considered Mrs. Marsiniack as being my teacher for her job. To me, she just kind of lived in the room and was a teacher as if teachers were some alternate species of human being that just taught.”
I think Kyle’s description says as much about him as it does about Mrs. Marsiniack. Today, he is a computer wizard who likes the idea of being invisible and accepts that alternate life forms might exist. Perhaps this all started with the alternate species of human being called teacher.
Carol wrote: “Mrs. Porchey was my first grade teacher. There were two classrooms for each grade in the Crystal City Public School and I had the misfortune to be in Mrs. P’s. Her son was also a student in the same classroom and I wondered at the time how he must have felt to be her child in that classroom.
I remember her as being middle-aged (although at the age of six, anyone over 25 was considered middle-aged) and a bit thick through the middle. She was also extremely crabby. At least she was crabby with me. One time I did something that vexed her and she took me by the shoulders and shook me. When I went home to tell my mother and stepfather about the shaking I’d received, my stepdad became quite angry and said, “What does she think you are, a milkshake?”
Another incident occurred that I remember to this day. A girl in my class named Mary Jane was a slow learner. One would say today that she was being mainstreamed, but in 1949, that concept didn’t exist. Mary Jane was always dressed to the nines by her parents in fluffy, fancy dresses, and always, always wore black patent leather Mary Janes.
Two other girls in the class decided to play a trick on her. During recess one day, they convinced her that carbon paper was the equivalent of a paper towel and that she could dry her hands with it. When she did, of course, she got carbon all over her hands and her beautiful dress.
Mrs. Porchey immediately brought in the big gun, Estelle Bailey, the principal. They decided to punish all three girls by having Mary Jane stand at the front of the classroom, tell everyone how foolish she’d been, and to spank her. She cried so hard! The other two girls sobbed their apologies, but no physical punishment was forthcoming. It was so very cruel, especially for Mary Jane.
The next year I was blessed with having the beautiful and kind Miss Thusan as my second grade teacher. There is some justice in the world.”
If you have impressions of your first grade teacher you’d like to see out there on the Internet, send them to Anne@AnneBrandt.com.
See more 10 Minutes in category Nostalgia
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Posted on August 19, 2004
Okay, so I succumbed to one of the teases that AOL regularly throws at you when you log on to read your email. This one was a link to the “Baby Name of the Day.”
I am way past considering having more babies, but I did wonder what the name was. Such old-fashioned names as Mary, Elizabeth, or Anne have long given way to Tiffany, Brittany, and Daphne, as well as the colors of Amber, Violet, and Sienna. William, John, and James have been replaced with Hawk, Cleat, and Shad.
So what was the baby name of the day? I clicked on the link and it appeared: FLINT.
According to Pamela Redmond Satran and Linda Rosenkrantz, authors of Baby Names Now, “You can’t find a much tougher, steelier sounding name than this; macho to the max. Unfortunately, it also has over-the-top soap-opera-ish overtones.”
I’m not sure if ladies Satran and Rosenkrantz are serious, but let’s assume they are. Flint sounds steely all right, especially if you know its definition. Flint is a very hard stone used for striking fire. Farther down the small print of my Webster’s flint also means something hard and unyielding. Additionally, Flint is the name of a town in Michigan and the last name of a nineteenth century American physician.
I can think of several reasons, beyond dictionary entries, for not naming a child Flint. It’s harsh sounding, regardless of whether you coo the word in a newborn’s ear or are calling your five-year-old to come inside for dinner. It’s even harsh when the grown-up says, “I, Flint, take you Tiffany to be my lawfully wedded wife.”
Throughout Flint’s life, first teachers and then high school chums and ultimately business associates will ask where the name came from? And, if people live up to their names, Flint could be in for a difficult time.
There is a line in the poem “Maple” by Robert Frost that goes, “Name children some names and see what you do.” I advise anyone who plans on having a baby named Flint to read this poem first.
See more 10 Minutes in category Things to Ponder
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Posted on August 18, 2004
A few days ago I wrote about the shortening daylight as we inch toward the end of summer. I assume it’s pretty much the same each summer, with days becoming shorter more or less at the same rate every year.
But this summer there are other, more disparate signs that autumn will come early. Not the autumn date of calendar fame, but the one that the Farmer’s Almanac might report.
After the lawn mower man was finished last Wednesday he left a carpet of clean green in his wake, but by the next morning there were blotches of leaves here and there. Not big ones, but noticeable. The sycamores, in particular, had loosened their first rainfall of brittle brown leaves. Soon it will be an avalanche.
When the leaves really begin to fall, they cover the river to the point where I wonder if they will absorb all the water in it. Shards of gold and red and brown blend together and look like a moving tapestry heading to Lake Michigan six miles down the waterway.
Other early autumn signs abound. The bird life that entertained us all summer has suddenly disappeared. The day lilies are no longer blooming. Even the mosquitoes have lost their enthusiasm. And, last night for the first time, we slept with the windows closed.
See more 10 Minutes in category Changing Scene, Flora/Fauna
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Posted on August 17, 2004
For a long time now I’ve felt that Brittany Spears needs to climb off the stage, cover her navel, and go home. Instead I’m regaled via AOL and magazine racks at the grocery check-out about how she’s learning to be a step-mom to her fiancй’s two daughters, one of whom is only five weeks old.
This adolescent, who once toyed with a Las Vegas marriage for 48 hours, is going to be a stepmom?
It makes me shudder. But it also made me recall musical icons from other eras who were probably as shocking in their day as BS is to me in hers.
Remember Frank Sinatra? Although I wasn’t born yet, I’m told teenagers swooned at the very sight of him. And what about Elvis? He caused a swoon or two as well. When Elvis made his debut on The Ed Sullivan Show, the cameramen showed him only from the waist up because his gyrations were considered too lewd. Where is Ed’s cameraman when we need him now?
Of course, these heartthrobs lived at a time when men were expected to serve their country in the Armed Forces; and each of them did. We don’t have a national draft these days, but this gives me an idea. I could settle for a voluntary hitch in the Army as a next career move for Brittany.
See more 10 Minutes in category Annoyances, Nostalgia, Personal Pleas
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Posted on August 16, 2004
I spent part of the morning trying to change my long distance calling plan, inquiring about the recycling services of our trash disposal company, and following up on a couple health insurance questions. Since these issues all required telephone calls, the experience was a harrowing one.
I understand that live people are too precious a commodity to use unless absolutely necessary, but I remember when real human beings answered company phones with a cheerful “How may I direct your call” attitude. The menu system that replaced these people screams for improvement.
I am particularly offended when a robotic voice’s opening statement is, “Welcome to Widget World. For faster service, visit widgets.com.” This statement seems to me to distance the company from its customers even more than the automated telephone menu system itself does. Had I wanted to check my account online I would have done so in the first place.
Next comes a long line of button directions. If you want A, then push 1. If you want B, then push 2, etc. Being a self-sufficient type, I don’t call a business unless I have already tried to figure out the answer to my question by studying the monthly bill. I don’t call to learn my balance, the date of my last payment, or where to send a change of address. So by the time I’ve reached for the phone, my question cannot be answered via some preordained menu.
Other annoyances in the telephone world include 1) Having to listen helplessly to bombarding company commercials in the waiting period before a real person takes over from the robot person.2) Being told your conversation may be recorded for quality or training purposes (I don’t want to be an educational prop.) and 3) Hearing the signature all-in-one-breathe-closing of “Thank you for calling Widget World. We really appreciate your business. If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to call; and have a nice day.” (Whew!)
It’s become a game with me to see how quickly I can reach a real person, and I’ve discovered a little trick. You can usually by-pass the menu directions by pressing “O” and holding it down for about ten seconds. The ten seconds is the important part. This seems to distress the robot person and send you to the head of the line.
Pass it on.
See more 10 Minutes in category Annoyances, Personal Pleas, Technology
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Posted on August 15, 2004
Earl and I spent last evening organizing photographs of the various trips and events we’ve enjoyed so far this year. We put Costa Rica in one album and Alaska in another. As I slipped the pictures into little their plastic sleeves, I was reminded of how we do things.
We are not the type to do a lot of preliminary research before going someplace. Instead, we pick our destinations because they held some long time attraction to one or both of us, and we finally have the time and resources to find out what the allure really is. After we return from a trip, however, we’re apt to immerse ourselves in learning about those things we saw and, occasionally, those things we wish we had seen, had we done homework at the front end. We pour over our photos.
It’s a kind of backward way of traveling, and it usually means we end up going to the same place twice. For instance, we’ve been to Costa Rica two times, to Cooperstown in upstate New York twice, and to the Carribbean. We’re already talking about a return visit to Alaska.
There are also many other exotic places, both far and near, that beckon. We’re going through the Panama Canal in January; we want to see Tahiti and the Mediterranean, Greece and Ireland. Given our penchant for return visits, that’s several years’ worth of travel plans.
I doubt we’ll change our method of traveling – it’s too much of a new trick, old dog sort of thing – just as I doubt we’ll run out of places that call to us.
But the photos . . . ah, the photos. Putting aside any discussion of how one should approach the next trip, I relive the last one and smile.
See more 10 Minutes in category Travel
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Posted on August 14, 2004
Sometimes people ask how I come up with my topic for the “Ten Minutes A Day” column on my web site. They seem to think that it would be hard to find something to write every day.
The truth is that it’s hard to keep it to the proscribed ten minutes, since inspiration is everywhere. Actually, inspiration is not the right word, because not every essay is inspired or inspiring. Instead, what I find everywhere are ideas that might be worthy of the Andy Warhol fifteen minutes of fame, although I only grant ten minutes.
I once worked in the public relations department of a community hospital, and one of my jobs was to create press releases for the local newspaper. The challenge was to find things to write about that didn’t look like blatant advertising, and I got pretty good at it. Perhaps that was the start of stretching my imagination. This doesn’t mean to imply a stretching of the truth. Rather, the real skill lies in seeing connections and correlations, what ifs and maybes, in a world that often stops looking once it discovers the obvious and measurable.
I look out my window as I write this and the view begs for attention. How can the maple tree in our front yard be so beautiful? Why do birds shun the ceramic birdhouse that was a Christmas gift? What kind of family will live in the new house across the road? How can clouds look so soft but be so bumpy to fly through in an airplane? What are those black birds doing literally walking across the front lawn in formation? Well, maybe formation is my word.
So when others ask how I can find something to write about every day, I am amazed. I suggest we all look about with a wondrous eye.
See more 10 Minutes in category Things to Ponder, Writing
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Posted on August 13, 2004
The days are beginning to shorten. If I believe the weatherperson we’ve lost a minute and a half between morning and evening every day since June 21, when the sun was at its apex. A minute and a half times 53 days is a lot of sunlight, but there is even more than that to disappear before December 21, when we begin the reverse process.
It saddens me. Not because I dislike winter’s cold and dark days. Rather, because I must make the shift from outside to inside, from using the sun as a clock for my activities to using a real clock for my hibernating routine.
In summer, I try to be outdoors as much as possible. I waken to sunlit skies and revel in late evening sunsets. I exercise outside, whether it is biking or walking or rollerblading. In winter, I accept the indoor routine and am grateful that planting and weeding and mowing are done. For exercise, I turn to free weights and a stationary bike. In either season, I write just as I breath.
As it says in Ecclesiastes, “to everything there is a season.” It’s just that the winter season comes upon us more quickly than anticipated. And it stays in our hearts and homes longer than we might want. So, without further ado, I shall go outside and play in the sun.
See more 10 Minutes in category Changing Scene
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Posted on August 12, 2004
I’d seen the commercials of busy women trying to eat right while carting children, loading groceries, or running errands. I’d heard the announcer swear that Campbell’s® Soup at Hand® Soup was better than fast food while still being fast to prepare. So I decided to give it a try.
I’m a point-of-purchase practitioner, which means that if the packaging doesn’t attract me sitting on the shelf in the supermarket, then the product isn’t going to end up on my shelf at home. But the Soup at Hand® smiled knowingly as I came down its aisle. Resting with the more traditional Campbell’s® soups, its size and shape beckoned me. The new-wave container fit nicely in my hand. The illustration of a woman sniffing the aroma of New England clam chowder made me amenable. The styrofoam container practically jumped into my cart.
At home things became a little testy. Recalling those warm, fuzzy commercials on television, I realized none of them demonstrated how the cold soup on the shelf became hot for the busy women and their chores. However, the directions on the label were simple enough: remove the plastic sipping lid; remove the protective inner foil covering; microwave for one minute; let soup rest for one minute; replace the plastic lid. Then go.
There were the usual disclaimers about all microwave ovens not being created equal and that one woman might have to zap her soup longer than another woman. I fell into that category, as the soup was barely tepid after sixty seconds. I hit the “Easy Minute” button on my micro again and waited. Within thirty seconds, the chowder began bubbling like witches’ brew, and before I could press “Cancel,” it had bubbled all over the inside of my microwave.
Instead of whipping out the door with the remaining contents of Soup at Hand®, I cleaned the microwave and decided the old fashioned way of making soup on the stovetop worked better for me. It was cheaper, hotter, and cleaner.
See more 10 Minutes in category Dining/Food
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Posted on August 11, 2004
I’ve traveled to Colorado and back in the past five days. As only the latest in a long line of trips we’ve taken this year, I’ve observed much in our nation’s airports.
First, there is no consistency in the security process, even though there is supposed to be a national organization handling this issue. In South Bend, Indiana, the TSA employees are fixated on shoes and cell phones. They want you to divest yourself of both. Yet, in Denver, Colorado, the issues are belts and computers.
So, as a conscientious traveler, I am confused about what I should and should not bring on a trip. I know there is a posted list of the no-no’s at most airports, but by then it is too late to revamp my luggage contents.
Denver has the most strict surveillance system of those airports I’ve gone through. If you hope to ski in Aspen or Vail this winter, plan on allowing extra time when flying home.
Crochet hooks are currently allowed; screwdrivers that repair eyeglasses are suspect and can get you investigated; real screwdrivers, hammers, and hairdryers — yes, hairdryers — require relinquishment or at least an explanation on the part of the traveler.
Coming home from Colorado, I was behind a young man who had a lot of items for the magnetometer. He opened his computer, moved his cell phone from pocket to bin, added his personal data assistant, pulled two hard candies from his pocket, and removed his shoes before entering the magnetometer. But the darn thing still went off.
When asked to pull out his pockets for inspection, he revealed a tin of chewing tobacco that had made the machine blink red. Tobacco itself isn’t on the forbidden list, but the tin certainly was.
I’m glad I don’t chew.
See more 10 Minutes in category Travel
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