book club required

I haven't read anything new lately, including my book club book. I just show up and listen to everyone else. It's not like I can skip the morning meetings. Teachers have book clubs too ya know. Except it is a mandatory meeting. Some of them even include DVDs. Here you are. You don't need to read, you can watch and then if you miss anything or something doesn't make sense, read the book.
I don't think it bothers me that we have required book clubs. What doesn't make sense is that the choices of books can be so dull. Other books that seem sensible I snag up and take home to judge. I would rather read them independently prior to the club (which I do during the summer) and then test out the content as I teach through the year for myself. I find it nearly impossible to attempt teaching strategies as the school year passes each day and I try helplessly to stay caught up in reading. Teachers have so much to do and plan ahead. Book clubs are meant to be fun! Reading should be fun.
Sorry my last entry was so boring. Someday an enticing entry will come forth.

A top ten according to Anna

Chance? I think not. This book was meant to find me. Browsing bookstores in the Health and Nutrition genre just wasn’t enough. Dr. Buttar’s 9 Steps to Keep the Doctor Away ended up in my hands after inquiring about some good reads with my Aunt Paula. I was looking for something, I just didn’t know what. She offered several books, but I took just one to focus on.  Reading it, I feel it was meant for me at this time, although I wish it had been published decades ago so my mother could have benefited from it before her hyperactive thyroid took control of her hormonal life. This book has it all, since it speaks from the origin of life and disease. Forget about the millions of drugs, synthetic potions and pills, symptom after symptom and narrow down to one question: Why is my body acting this way? What is the cause for this reaction? This is what I wanted to hear. I got every answer I needed. I am on week four of detoxifying my GI tract and immune system with a nutritional therapist. I drink 2/3 my weight in ounces of water everyday and just today I noticed a small accidental cut on my skin revealing thinner and finer blood full of water and moisture.  I also adopted The Butt Book by Tosca Reno and follow the exercises and many of the good, fresh recipes that are in alignment according to Dr. Buttar’s knowledge of nutrition. I feel good like a bouncy teenager out of soccer practice. Meals taste wholesome like they should and I don’t feel guilty about what I put in my body: God given fruit, grains, lean meats and starches all free of corruption from mankind… most of which comes from my family’s garden, or specialty stores and markets that cater to the organic seeking individual. I share this book with anyone that speaks of ailments. I bought copies for my mother and mother-in-law. I want everyone to feel this good. 

The cure: Hot Hot Hot!

It is so hot. How many Nevadans and tourists have dragged those words out with anger and pain? I heard that Julia Roberts couldn't hack the good old Las Vegas temps while she filmed The Mexican here with Brad Pitt. I imagine she looked like a Cruela Devile turned from white and black stripes to red and pink with frizzy crimped out hair. She kept the bloodshot electric red eyes from the Disney movie 101 Dalmatians. Definitely a classic.

 I went swimming in the pool yesterday and I think I was sweating in the water. I get out only to dry off and get wet again from my own pores. What really stinks is that I love using my MacBook and internet, but I only get wifi outside on the balcony. So here I am flying my silver titanium book in the air trying to catch invisible waves. And did I mention it is hot? I should start myself on one of those nightly minute plans they use for cell phone customers. Use after 7 PM on nights and weekends are a bonus. Problem is, it is damn hot at night too. At least it is dry heat. I can't imagine sweating all the time. How did nomads deal with this? And travelers in Egypt and the Arabian deserts? It makes sense to cover your skin, and sunglasses are cool. Maybe cheese cloth would suffice for those without glasses. I bet this is how the burka became a demanding style. It is just so sweltering hot!  This puts into perspective jobs around the world throughout time. How hot were the boiler rooms in the Titanic? And how about building Hoover Dam in the summer? And of course your local fireman in Nevada. How hot is it in those suits of non-porous material? And would I survive if I were a lion or bear with an undercoat? And worst of all, fires of burning oil spitting smoke and impossible to retard. Who puts those out?

Now I'm not trying to complain. I would much rather take the heat than the cold. Freezing temperatures and petite little girls don't mix, especially if you have never subjected yourself to winter in St. Petersburg or even Idaho. They make cool gadgets for wimps like me. My mom ordered battery powered socks that you need to charge every three hours. Personally, I like my own body heat to do the job and the water-bra holds it in just like a wetsuit. But what kinds of gizmos do they make for those suffering insane heat-stroke temperatures? The beer cap. A fan that clips to your hat and sprays you with water in the face. Golf carts with zipper enclosures to keep the AC in. How lame. By now humans were supposed to invent a pill to regulate this mess. Or a back to the future jacket with AC built in it. Alright I admit it. I am weak. A runt compared to the generations of cavemen and women. Maybe what I need is more heat to set the world right again, like it was in the beginning. But, it is too late and so I must admit that we subject ourselves and give in to new technologies. So I can always blame those before me and then myself, and then those after me as well.

Summer recipe time

So my new fabulous place has one drawback. There is no oven, and a toaster oven doesn't come even remotely close. It is quite a shame too, since I can leave the air conditioning on all day at 70 degrees without paying an extra cent for utilities. That is all covered in the HOA dues for the resort. In the past using the oven was prohibited often in 100 degree weather. I have had quite a transitional phase this year so far trying new dishes that are either straight up cold, microwavable (yuck) and stove top. Thank goodness Steven got the hibachi grill to light up today for a short grilling session, otherwise I would be surfing the web for easy quick ways to eat. I'm fed up with pasta. Eating pasta each week and then boycotting it is probably what it's like for someone on a diet strictly sticking to fresh salads and veggies. You might think you are suffering, but really spoilage of the brain and belly is taking over. All I know is I miss my oven, I depended on my oven, and I dream of installing a homemade stone brick oven somehow and somewhere even if I have to go stack dried cow-pies, pine cones and firewood out in a dirt pit. If I had some clay I would use it as a kiln part time. I have beautiful flours that have turned into my morning oatmeal, which is rather sad to look at but healthy to eat. I tried making simple scones and tortillas, but Steven refuses to eat a whole wheat crust made by my novice hands. He will die a soldiers life, not a guinea pigs. So if I can't find cooking classes this summer my last resort will be to abuse someone else's kitchen. I have recipe books ready, a focused mentality, and plenty of places to hop from. Which house to abuse first? School is out for the summer. Strike one. In-laws house is hot enough to fry yourself. Strike two. Saul is moving across town this week. Strike three. Some people should be allowed more than three strikes. Perhaps I should not limit myself to an oven alone. This must mean it is time to use my right side of the brain and start over again, fresh.

A part of preperation

The current unit my class of second graders are studying is titled, "Sharing the Planet: Ecosystems are fragile and require care to maintain balance". I never knew I would learn this the hard way, even though I understood it's meaning I just had to experience it. Life is fragile, but sometimes no matter what you do or how much care you put into life, we are taken down another road. Perhaps it is to learn a lesson, gain new perspectives and connect with others, be a better person or just prepare ourselves mentally, physically and spiritually to start again so next time we will be a bit closer to perfect. I feel that is how my miscarriage has enveloped me today. I am pulled in all these directions, thinking this will help me, will prepare me and be a fresh new start for some unknown reason. Now maybe my body is awake and aware of what it can and shouldn't do. Now I can empathize better with others and relate to their words and perhaps provide a bit of comfort.
The physcial pain was difficult; it always is for someone who fears it. I had such high hopes, mostly because I didn't want to create stress and harm myself. I was shocked after the results and the pain seemed to just disappear because there was so much more to think about. So I have chosen to read  a book that was written in total solitude amidst God's nature. Walden or Life in the Woods by Henry David Thoreau speaks of a peaceful life at Ralph Waldo Emerson's pond where the author submerses himself in the "abundance of life and health" and raising self-awareness through all of man's senses. I have heard delightful, spiritual and brillant opinions about this book and am ready to submerge myself.

Heidi

What a beautiful name for such an innocent and curious girl willing to give care and love to those around her. Heidi, written by Johanna Spyri reminds me of a little Shirley Temple with black hair and eyes, gleaming with numerous inquiries instead of tap dances of precision. Heidi’s youth also reminds me of my childhood. I often ran a foot into the fields, inspecting rocks, bugs, weeds and wounded creatures. My callused feet would feel the occasional thorn or two, stopping only to remove them and be on my way again, freely bounding from the chicken coop to the horses barn wondering which animal I could take a hold of next between my little hands. What a wonderful life for a child to experience, roaming and learning in a big backyard. How grateful I am now for the small five acres I had then. Heidi had three mountains to explore. Even more surprising is that Heidi’s grandfather is so gentle and permissive of her free spirit, yet yielding to dangerous circumstances by frequently letting Heidi listen and see possible consequences. Today, the world is alarming full of dangerous predators, quite beyond what Mother Nature supplies. I understand why parents and grandparents must forbid a child many freedoms.

I think Heidi is a good name for my first child. Steven and I have thought of some possible names, most of which contain too many syllables, are full of harsh consonants, or remind us of other people that we try to not think about. I picked up the book Heidi this week because it is a classic that I have personally never read on my own. I have immediately fallen in love with it. It brings me memories, creates new ideas for raising my child, and makes me yearn for the old lifestyle of learning by doing.

Now everyone that knows me knows that I have one sister, whose name is Heidi.  I love her with all my heart. Perhaps she would be honored for me to name my child after her. Perhaps it would not be too confusing if I added a middle name for better identification purposes. Maybe Heidi Ann, or Heidi Lina, Heidi Karolina, Heidi Aileen, Allina, Eileen,… hmmm.

I have learned that the name Heidi is the short form of Adelaide, an old German name meaning “exalted nature”. This definition fits my situation perfectly since I have eagerly wanted a baby for so long, and have prayed and prepared by body to the best of what natural physical conditions I can portray. I had thought that previously, by nature or my own doing, I would not be permitted to conceive a child because the nature of my body had refused due to unknown damage or disfigurement.  Perhaps my own stress and depressing thoughts had indeed shut down my chances. It was only once I let go of the idea and notion that I had finally obtained it.

It is a sweet life

So I'm not sure how to react, but I'm crazy with joy. My fingers twitch and wiggle together like they are trying to start a fire with little sticks. I just can't believe it yet. I feel so normal, and yet so privileged that I can't contain the excitement, can't hide the good news, and can't reveal that my breasts are so tender it just stings Mother! Literally. I have a precious little tiny human somewhere inside me, and I wish I could stick my belly out to prove it. Part of me holds back my five weeks of growth for a more grand finale just around the corner, exposing beautiful results and lingering the attention span. I don't want to be selfish, but this is the best Mother's Day present one could receive after trying for years with no results. Truly, I am blessed.
Steven and I are preparing for new, larger living arrangements, cars with car seats, and fresh nutritious meals three to four times a day. He reminds me to eat my mango, drink disgusting grapefruit juice, take a yogurt or go-gurt to school along with a fresh green bell pepper. One the way to school he called frantically to let me know he forgot to wash the pepper. Love.
So I don't know when the pain starts, but everyone says it will come. I haven't had any morning sickness, headaches, or other Momma issues, but I'm not worried. It will all be worth it, should it arrive. Doc says only Tylenol from here on out. Might as well not take anything at all since my body is practically dependent on Excedrin and Bayer with triple doses of caffeine. No worries, I could use a good detox anyway and plenty of massages. Doc says I have to take a different drug for my sky high LDL numbers; something from category B. I am hoping my previous drug X didn't have a negative affect on the pregnancy. I quit it in March simply because I ran out and forgot to refill it on time. Another blessing.

This week I just finished rereading The Giver because I liked the memories it brought back in 8th grade. I remember loving the ending when Jonas takes the infant Gabriel to Elsewhere for safety. I kind of wish I was that clever and quick in my youth. I feared my peers and succumbed to my surroundings. I think I would have failed miserably being a free and independent character in that story. I'm definitely concerned with what is known to be right and wrong, and to do it. The "ah-ha!" that now arises to me is that people are not that smart after all, we don't have all the answers, and we must rely on instinct or our inner conscience, or the Spirit or Holy Ghost to guide us through this sweet and painful life. Rarely do we step back and try to see the whole picture, for it is difficult to do especially as our timeline is far from over. But to glance at what could be, to imagine the pleasant future filled with family, love and sincere emotion, that is a dream to look forward climbing to.

Perturbed with crossed wires

A day of mental unrest. That is what today is. My legs are forced to work, but their own brains tell them not to because something is not right. My whole body reacts that way, pulsating with demands of working backwards, sideways or in secret- anything except working normally. I first noticed it this morning when I paced my room looking for stuff to get ready with, not focusing on just item or sequence of steps to get out the door; instead looking in cabinets and closets that contained nothing I needed. School rolled on through like I was on auto pilot, yet I noticed I sat for more than 25 minutes in one setting. That is a record braking event for me. I also sat at the lunch table and had spaced my lunch. I just sat and breathed in the dirty old smell of a teachers lounge that never changes. Another teacher thought I was hungry and in need. She kindly offered her jello salad. I snapped back into it and realized I was supposed to be reaching for my Lunchable snack in the fridge three feet from me. Thank goodness I remembered. At home I avoided people as much as possible when walking Max. I normally do this anyway, even without the giant woofing rover. Still, people attempt to speak to me as I nervously hold back a bottle rocket dog ready to launch. Fragments escape my mouth. "He's never bite, he wants to sniff you to get to know you, he spooks easily." The logic that escapes as strangers eyebrows raise in fear, disgust, and contempt are simple words of sincere regret, " I apologize" and " I'm sorry for the trouble" for there is no good excuse for an apology.

What's a Max good for?

Someone posed the question today, "What is this dog good for?" I immediately responded, "Good for nothin" a cliche my mind grabbed instantly knowing it had heard it too often. Honestly, my dog was good for numerous acts. Back in the day, the English Mastiff breed is popular for guarding kings and queens. They would idle around palaces consuming leftover feasts of pheasant, boar and goat. Their intimidating appearance is not as bad as their ferocious bark. A powerhouse of deep growls increasing with some turbulence and earthquake aftershocks, should you be standing directly in their path. Their giant jowls hide nasty yellow teeth, that actually resemble an American Alligator, but have more shape of a slight crescent moon. If you missed the jowls flapping violently at you, that is because they are engulfed in slimy white foam, a cousin of drool. Now my beautiful and fine, young Maximus is not the average Mastiff. He is the cute runt of the family, weighing only 175 lbs compared to 248. His skinny greyhound shape body and legs don't seem to match his massive cranium and head, but his soft, silky ears and enormous brown eyes make up for any flaws you might mock. My Maximus cuddles and warms your entire body, should you feel like spooning on a cold night. Perhaps your toes are chilled and you left your Ug Boots at the cabin. Simply place your precious feet in between his giant hind legs and you will do him a favor as you cool him down. My Maximus protects me as I walk down dangerous streets of Lake Las Vegas and also as we walk in solace out in the desert together, avoiding rabbits and birds. He is most loyal as he always remains by my side, even when we play hide and seek he will never give up finding me. Basically, my Maximus is good for everything but preying upon, since his diet is made up of strictly smelly dog kernels with medicine as additives. He is warmth, love, loyalty, forgiveness, truly a best friend.