The last day of May--since May of 1952 the end of May meant one thing-school was out. Fast forward through 12 years of public school, college, and 35 years of teaching. Now that I have retired, the end of May means that when I mow the yard, it is going to be extremely hot. If I start to miss the indescribable joy of the end of the school year, I think of the joy of waking up each day knowing that my time is my own.

Today I was thinking about things that made teaching fun. It is always the kids. Like the time I got the satellite image of our high school on the computer in our classroom. I showed it to one of the kids. He was not the sharpest pencil in the box. I pointed out the football field and the gym and he got really excited and asked repeatedly if it was really the school. I told him yes and encouraged him to run outside and wave so we could see him. He did and always believed that we saw him

But that wasn't as funny as Ryan. He was in my advanced composition class. He came in one day very excited about his expensive sneakers ($200 for sneaks is a little excessive to me). After we properly admired them, he said there was only one problem--they wouldn't stay tied. I told him that I knew what was wrong. They were laced wrong. He had the right shoe lace in the left shoe and the left in the right shoe. He took off his shoes and changd the laces and was pleased that we were able to solve the problem.

Teaching is hard work. Kids are fun.

Saturday was one of those days that you like to take out and look at again and again. We went to Fordyce to visit with my husband's family. Fordyce is a small, south Arkansas town that is small town in every sense of the word. My husband's family is a large, sprawling, diverse group that uses any excuse to get together. There were two excuses last weekend. His cousin from Amarillo and her daughter from Chicago were coming for a short visit. The second excuse was the Fordyce on the Cotton Belt festival.  We arrived at Ed's (brother) home about ten only to be shuffled off to the big parade. We found a shade tree, unfolded our chairs and made ready for the big event. At eleven, it started -- fleets of motorcycles, wave after wave of four wheeelers, antique tractors, Little Miss and Little Mister, all sorts of big beauty queens, Job Corp kids, Corvette clubs, fire trucks for the rural communities like Cooter Neck and Bucksnort and Temperance Hill, Civil War reenactors (half dressed as Union and half dressed as Confederate--these marched right behind the car with the Little Miss and the Little Mister, one Black and one White), a marching band, and lots of horses. Through careful planning, the horses came last. The parade lasted almost an hour. My husband's cousin (about 80 years old, dressed in Levi's and a cowboy hat) was irrepressible. She was excited and delighted by everything. She clapped and cheered and waved at everyone who went by. I enjoy life but she embraces it and cherishes it. Her daughter (55ish) was almost as delighted as her mother. They were so delighted with small town America that it was impossible not to be excited too.

After the parade, we enjoyed some Blue Grass Music on the courthouse lawn, a quilt show, carnival rides, funnel cakes---all those things associated with small town festivals. Later we went to Ed's for sandwiches and visiting.

It was a good day.

There are no words that can be added. My heart is heavy as I think about the families and friends of all those lives. Then I have another thought--there is another family who lost a child. Not only that, they have to bear the pain of his actions for the rest of their lives. I keep think about the Amish community last year who reached out to the family of the man who caused so much suffering. If we learn anything from these horrible lessons, let it be compassion.

Okay, this is absolutely my last word on Don Imus. (I am sure my husband will be glad.) I think he got what he deserved. I have been angry about this for a week. It was a nice break from being furious at the Bush administration. This was simple and clear cut--and no one died. Imus insulted half the people in the world and couldn't understand why everyone was upset.So he got fired. I am sure he will cry all the way to Sirius or XM radio. The girls will move on and have good lives. Those who like Imus will say his First Amendment Rights were violated. Those who got involved for the publicity will find a new cause. While we were focused on this, how many U.S. soldiers died causing hardly a ripple except for their families. Our national media remains focused on this and Anna Nicole Smith so they do not have to report on the rape of the Constitution.

See, I have already moved on.

I have been storming about stomping and snarling for six years. Just  say "Bush Administration" and watch me foam at the mouth. I have been lied to, accused of being unpatriotic, spied on, and just generally treated in what I consider an un-American manner. The FBI abused its powers under the Patriotic Act. FEMA aid in Louisiana is almost nonexistent (and extremely slow when it does come) because Louisiana has a Democratic governor. Arkansas cannot get aid for tornado damage. 10,000 mobile home sit rotting in Hope, Arkansas, but they can't be moved 160 miles to help the people of Dumas, Arkansas. Arkansas has a Democratic governor. Alabama, on the other hand, not only gets immediate aid, but also a presidential visit. They have a Republican governor. I am not even going to mention torture or Walter Reed, or Iraq....

Okay, enough. I feel marginally better. Then again there is Newt having an affair while he was condeming Bill Clinton for having one. Can we say hypocrite boys and girls? I guess I would feel better if I didn't have high expectations for our country.

Friday afternoon Charles (my husband) and I went to the movies. We went to see Wild Hogs. It is kind of like chewing bubble gum--there is no nutritive value but it is fun. That pretty well sums up the movie. We went to be entertained and we were. It was one of those laugh out loud types. I have been vaguely depressed since December when I had to have my seventeen year old cat put to sleep. When I left the movie, I felt better about everything. Laughter is like that.

It seems rather strange to flush my brain into the vast world of computer space. The first time I ever just poured out into a notebook, I was ten years old and had just decided that I was going to write the great American novel. This revelation came one hot summer day when I had finished the last library book and it was still a week and a half before the bookmobile would come back to our community. The bookmobile was a wonderous thing. It was a huge van driven by Mrs. Hitchcock. Mrs. Hitch was one of those warm, loving people who just sort of embraced kids and helped instill in them a love of the printed word. The rule was that you could only check out two books. She always let me check out six. Those lasted three or four days--that is pre TV time.

Because I always ran out of books, I decided that I should write books. I gathered an old notebook and a couple of pencils and set off in search of the best place for the muse to speak to me. I tried my big yellow chair in my bedroom, the tree house at the big pine tree, the big ditch, the creek under a big oak tree--nothing. I finally gave up and headed for home. This great American novel stuff was a lot harder than I thought it would be.

As I headed home, I walked through the baseball field. I thought I would give it one last try, and sat down in the bleachers. There was a faint whisper from the muse. I began to walk around to get a better signal (can you hear me now?). Finally I could. I was on third base. I sat down on the base and poured out all the anguish that only a ten year old can feel.

As I look back, there must be comething about being on third base. It is kinda like you have succeeded but not exactly. You are not out, but you didn't score. Now at the advanced age of 61, I view third base a little differently. It is getting a little too close to home for comfort.