I Believe I Miss ...2017

....I am grateful I have my wits and I can remember and miss these people and what they did for me.
    Spoiler Alert: They are not dead.

     The bartender at MBB who is from Hell's Kitchen, who, despite a difference of opinion about sexist behavior and ...everything else, physically threw out a patron who grabbed my butt. I miss knowing someone, somehow, had my back.
         Mrs. West. my elementary music teacher at Patterson. She was the first teacher I truly and deeply loved. I  bought her lipstick for Christmas, because she was a grown ass woman and grown ass women liked lipstick as far as my first grade brain understood. She thanked me and looked kindly at me with those chocolate brown eyes, and told me she loved it. She said "You can't even tell I wear lipstick because it's all worn off by the end of the day," and to demonstrate she rubbed her lips together, smiling. Her lips were light brown and her teeth were so white and her eyes were so kind and she was my favorite, favorite, favorite teacher for years. I will never forget her kindness. Her eyes were what I remember most. She looked at me, not around me or over me. She smiled at me. She connected to me. I credit her with instilling my love of music, as I associate it with being connected.
         Mr. Weisheit, my third grade teacher who was an honest to God, full on Hippie. Long hair, beard, sandals. When he taught us his name, he broke it down: We Is He It. I will never forget how cool I thought that was, or how inclusive I felt in his class. My friend Debbie and I were always putting together "shows", and he would allow us, on occasion, to perform for our class. The one I remember most clearly was when I was  Dick Van Dyke, and Debbie was the music box. "I'm only a doll on a music box that's wound by a key..." I remember that line. Debbie was pretty and I was the clown. Story of my life. Thank you, Mr. Weisheit for allowing me to figure that out during class time. That would never happen now, everybody's wound up about content, no time to let kids be kids.
           Diana Solis, who was constantly and relentlessly kind in every possible way, making my skin crawl and exposing my insecurities for all to see.  Diana was the first public hit to my fortress, which features metal bars, Kevlar window coverings, spikes and a moat containing  freaking sharks with freaking laser beams on their heads. She also left LHS for greener pastures.
          Kline. My first day at LHS I had no guidance, no mentor, and the door to 146 was locked. As I wandered the halls hopeful that someone would give me direction, Kline flipped me off  like "Hudson, look into my eye", and we became best friends.He called me Satan, I threw up every time I saw him and he would send messages to me via students that involved hell fire, witch curses and the general stench that accompanies me as far as he was concerned. He retired. Nobody sniffs the air as I pass any more,accusing me of polluting the halls with my malodor.
          Judy Vlasin, who was assigned as my mentor in lang arts when it became clear that the person in theatre who was supposed to be my "mentor" was capable of only the name in quotes, not the job itself. Everything --and I mean, everything --I know about teaching in general and teaching English specifically I learned from Judy. She retired and abandoned us.
          Only Eric Pung and Stephanie Ortiz get me 100% of the time. Steph and I can quote the entire movie Real Genius from any starting point, and Eric and I have too many sharing points. Two years ago whilst building the "food girls", I came up with a cape for the beer girl that involved a curtain rod. I laughed until I peed, and nobody got me, until Eric was shown. He burst into laughter and said "I saw it in the window and I couldn't resist", because CAROL BURNETT IS QUEEN and he and I know this. That's why he choreographed for ten years, and why Steph was my tech director and light designer. Because we are the only three who will laugh until we pee at a curtain rod. I miss having them in the building, knowing that either one could pop in, or send a message via a kid...Eric and Steph Not There has been a true blue drag.

           I was hoping to make it to 10, but if I'm honest, and not including the deceased, these are the ones I Believe I Miss.

Thanksgiving 2017

   Here's how Empty Nest Syndrome went for us:
   G left for college, two years later H graduated from high school after surviving multiple Vasovagal episodes that determined that she would not be leaving for college after graduation.
   That was fine, she stayed home and attended Red Rocks Community College, and then chose to enroll in Massage Therapy school. She and her boyfriend got an apartment in January.
    By April it was clear the cost of living, both financial and emotional, was taking its toll on them, and she moved back home in August.
    We had an Empty Nest for about ten minutes.
     At the end of September, H asked if an acquaintance of hers from RRCC could stay in our spare room until the end of the semester, as her situation at home was not healthy. "S" moved her dresser and TV in, and we hardly knew she was here. She is a nanny and goes to school. She seemed to function.
     Then she adopted a dog. She is essentially homeless, and she adopted a dog.
Did I mention she did not ask us about adopting a dog?
     OK, maybe not functioning.
     Also, what shelter allowed this to happen?   
     We cannot have a second dog, and she did not ask us first, so I told her no when she arrived with the dog. I'm compassionate, but not kind. I cannot have two dogs, no nope nope. The dog went to live with her friend. Jim and I had many conversations about dogs, and he knew a woman growing up that "always had twelve hounds" running around, and he hated it. We are not the Bumpuses, we will not be the Bumpuses.
      Then G texted that her counselor at college recommended that she get a therapy dog, as her anxiety (A Gorgeous Family Trait We Are Proud To Have Passed On) is increasing exponentially as she approaches graduation. She and I and Jim had several conversations about her finding a different dorm room for her and her dog, paperwork for a therapy dog, the fact that it would be our dog when she moved home after graduation, and finally that over the break we will have a second dog.
      As a family we acquiesced and G adopted a bear named "Zeppelin", who is part chow and part lab. He is a year old and weighs 75 pounds. Oy. She clearly has no idea what a zeppelin is or she would have known he was going to continue to grow.
      Whilst all of this was occurring, H became attached to an elderly dog at the shelter who needed a home. As we knew Zep would be joining us, Jim and I said firmly NO THIRD DOG NO.
      However, there I was at the shelter visiting Yuri, because he was supposedly only going to live a few months, and Jim and I whispered that maybe that was OK...if it was temporary, he has arthritis and is not barky. H and I left without Yuri as he was awfully spry for his posted expiration date, and G was driving back home from Durango with a bear. We figured it'd be best to meet Zep first and get him settled with Marty and the five cats before talking about Yuri the Dying Senior Dog.
     The minute Zep entered the house we knew Yuri was not happening. Zeppelin is a bear, as you know if you read the previous paragraph closely. I told G the shelter had lied to her and she should call her congressman, as they are clearly passing off brown bears as dogs in Durango.   
     Side note but worthy note: Our beloved 14 year old lab Sundown died last November. On the 7th of November. Zeppelin was born last November on the 8th. I don't believe in coincidences. 
     At exactly the same time G was arriving home, S's friend's living situation had deteriorated beyond her, and both her friend and the dog became homeless.
     Jim and I were out, finally, seeing Christopher Titus when H texted to ask if S's friend could also stay with us. I said "That means the dog, too, H, we can't have a third dog." We got home and both girls, the dog and a cat were in my spare room.   
     My anxiety flared.
     I intended to come home from the comedy club and kick them out.
     Do not take advantage. I am sorry your parents are shitty, that's not my problem and it's a separate blog. As  teacher I have seen it time and again, and I was raised in a house with a mom who took in my friends when they ran away, constantly. We had a friend of mine live with us. Jim has a similar story, his friend Steve lived with them. All that was  fine, none of those people took advantage.
      Jim said "Krys, don't kick them out. That's not Christian. It's not their fault this happened."
      Instead, I had a stern conversation with them and the cat left the house.
     Then it became known that "S" was not moving out the second week of December as I thought, she intends to stay until she moves into her dorm in January. Her friend has vague plans to get an apartment and has no exit date.
      My anxiety went China Syndrome, and I forced everyone into a living room meeting, with words and eye contact. I have been kind in the past,  and every time that I am, I get taken advantage of. I will not be taken advantage of, but I will attempt kind. I am compassionate, never doubt that, but compassion and kindness are completely different. Kind is giving a card that says thanks, compassion is giving emotional support that is real and will not be thrown out. I've never been a fan of kind, but H, as a soon to be graduated massage therapist, started her Be Kind Save the Bees mantra and called me out.
       So I made them commit to dates. Whether she goes to college and moves into the dorms is not my problem, she's out of my house by the first of January. Whether her friend finds an apartment or not, she's out by then too. That's as far as I can go with "kind". I'm in theatre for a reason, I love deadlines, they address my anxiety and calm me down. I cannot function if anything is vague. I need a hard date and a curtain time, and others need to abide by them. That is part of what worked against Yuri the senior dog; his expiration date was too vague.
     So one girl is in the spare room upstairs, on the weird fold out bed thing we bought for G over the summer that H had turned into her Cat Lounge, and they rebuilt G's old Ikea bed so the friend is downstairs in the office. G and H will share H's room, as both have boyfriends whose houses they will be at on and off all week. If I am lucky, the apartment girl will find a place before Christmas so G can have a room in her own house for the month that she will be home.
      And I have three dogs.
      We agreed that H and I would actively try to re home the orphan dog, as he should not have to return to the shelter just because the girl who adopted him does not have a fully developed frontal lobe and adopted a dog while she herself was homeless. There is no kindness here, I am all of the judge-y about this. We will find a new home for this dog, who is honestly very pretty and cute and not trained at all, and H is getting attached...quick, somebody. Give this pup a home.
      Every Thanksgiving, I grouse that I'm not doing enough. When I was younger I drove for Meals on Wheels for PWA, for Volunteers of America, gave money to the Daddy Bruce Thanksgiving. I had a full house of my family and Jim's family and drank and enjoyed the quiet and questioned if I had really done enough.
       I woke up today, Monday, of Thanksgiving week. I started laundry and walked past the office where I heard a young lady who is not my daughter sneeze. The other young lady who is not my daughter and is staying upstairs texted when she left for work to let me know two of the dogs were outside already.
       Can I honestly call it "enough" if I have an orphan dog, my daughter's dog, freaking Marty The Spaz, five cats and two people not related to me filling up my house? All of them are "rescues".
       Is giving shelter to people and animals "enough" for the season?
       Thanksgiving 2017.
       I'll keep you posted.
     
This is Zeppelin. He was here barely an hour before H gave him a lymphatic massage for his sinuses.

 kwmartin 11/2/17 not facebook post

Molly and Tahoe

I do my best to connect current students with working actors and techies, internships and alumni. All kinds of alumni, from actors to recent college grads to massage therapists. If you were a theatre kid and you wanna come teach a thing or tell stories, you are welcomed back with open arms.

Today I booked two alum who graduated together in 2006 and haven't seen one another in ten years. I thought a nice reunion would be a different spin, and I've never booked two on the same day. Also Tahoe, who is IT for the Denver Broncos, was appearing live while Molly was skyping in from LA. At first I thought it was a great idea, and then this morning I thought it was a terrible idea, and then Tahoe walked in the door of 146 and I knew it was a good idea. As soon as I saw him I hugged him so hard I don't think he could breathe.I kept telling him how grown up he looked, and he just kept saying "I know, right?" He has a successful career, marriage and two beautiful children and was willing to share his stories. When he saw Molly again I could see it all come flooding back with them as well, and it was difficult for the two of them to focus on talking to the class instead of reminiscing with one another. Though that did happen, and it was lovely.

The first thing I noticed, after the Bronco zipper jacket, was the ridiculous bling on his finger. How out of character for Tahoe, a quiet and generally mild mannered kid, to be wearing something that looks like it belongs to the "Liberace House of Crap", to borrow a phrase from Friends.

I looked closer.

Holy "House of Crap", it's a Super Bowl ring. OF COURSE! He has a Super Bowl ring. He works for the Broncos, without him all the cool IT stuff is just...door stops. I have never been so close to anything nearly this cool, and it's difficult to not paw at it like a raccoon at a hot dog.

Tahoe's stories are Tahoe's, as are Molly's, so I will not share them here except to say that Tahoe met Slash and Beyonce, which to my students was cooler than the Super Bowl ring, and Molly knows more than she's willing to share but you don't mind, because her huge smile and light giggle are beautiful. The faces she made when Tahoe asked about how the "Weinstein thing" has changed the conversation in Hollywood communicated "We probably shouldn't talk about this in a high school" minutes before she said it. 

They shared and  balanced and surprised us with an intimate story or two. I was just sitting there, enjoying their voices and faces and feeling Theaco listen and react, and then Tahoe had to leave. I guess he has a job or something, maybe that ring is like a leash. Molly remained on Skype and the conversation deteriorated- as conversations are wont to do with teenagers when they exceed an hour- to one of my students naming "hot actors" in an effort to learn how many of them Molly actually knows. I knew none of the names that were thrown out, but apparently Molly has worked with or met all of them so...bonus.

One of my kids was quite taken with Tahoe's journey, and is inspired that he is happy without a college degree, but with so much life experience. One of the kids was astounded at how much Molly works, and they all have  a clearer understanding of how much work is involved in doing anything successfully. Molly and Tahoe both emphasized the importance of doing what you love and surrounding yourself with people who both love you and push you. Molly gave me a little  thumbs up on that last part, giving validation to my directing and teaching philosophy. I mention it because it meant a great deal to me to have successful, functioning human beings thank me for being hard on them. You're welcome. I love you, too.

"Carlton", mentioned in a previous blog,  sat through the entire 80 minutes like he was suffering from shpilkes, his leg shaking constantly. When Molly started to wrap up, he suddenly thrust his hand into the air to ask a question. As I've said previously,his Theaco has truly rallied around him, and they all made sure Molly acknowledged his question, as he was seated out of camera shot (of course he was). He wouldn't speak up, however, so we made him stand in front of the camera so she could see who she was talking to. He looked directly into the camera and said "What is the best processed noodle product flavor for the end of the month?" We all withheld our laughter so Molly could be heard, but inside we were dying. I've said it before: Asperger's kids are the living embodiment of Absurdism.

Molly had fielded questions about college, agents, managers, sexual harassment, being a working actor, her dog and high school. She treated this question just like the others. She smiled, measured her options, and finally answered "Chicken, but chicken flavor, not with the chunks."

Carlton pumped the sky with his fist and smiled, and Theaco applauded as only people who know how to appreciate such weirdness can applaud. Molly giggled and asked "Was that the right answer?"

"It made Carlton happy, that's all we care about," I answered. She giggled again and seemed pleased she got it right.

Since we were winding down, anyway, another member of Theaco piped up: " Molly, according to your Wikipedia, you work a lot with Disney. Do they hire a lot of young actors?"

Again, Theaco erupted in laughter and applause. They appreciated that someone was owning what they were all doing, which was looking up/following Molly on various social media sites while talking to her on Skype. Kids today...

Even I learned a few things about my alumni:
Neither of these kids has a college degree.
They are both truly happy with their life choices.

Scene.

Letting Go

It seems so simple. I mean, little girls can belt it regularly and you can tell they mean it. They are ready to LET IT GO! They sing with wild abandon, sometimes wearing a green dress, sometimes sitting on their sister, sometimes into a hairbrush. Let It Go.

The Serenity Prayer asks for the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, to change the things we can and the wisdom to know the difference. "Change", in my life, means "control" and I really can't tell the difference.

See the thing is, I'm right. I'm  100 % of the time categorically and inarguably right.

Always.

It's a burden.

It's a gift.

It sucks.

It causes major anxiety, as I worry and pace because I know someone is making a stupid choice and they aren't listening to me and if they would only just listen and let me run their life it'd be so much better. Learn from my mistakes, I'm begging you! Please stop making your own.

This was only irksome in my twenties. At 52, and as a parent, it is positively debilitating. And my children, being my children with mini invisible mohawks but every ounce of that attitude, refuse to listen to me ever ever ever because they think I just have anxiety and that I am wrong, even though they have evidence to the contrary. Every time something went wrong, I knew it was going to go wrong and I gave them a heads up to avoid what I see and they chose, instead, to tell me to let it go!

Aaannnnnnd....I was right. Every. Freaking. Time.

And this time, this time I really have to walk away. Let it go.

It hath made me mad. Mad, I tell you. I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, and I now understand why people say they "throw themselves into work to avoid their personal life." Well, I threw myself into my personal life to avoid the trauma of my work, only to discover that I have no idea who I am or what I want, and my children are stubborn, and I overlooked my personal life for years to throw myself into my work, which no longer exists so...

My definition of "support"  has apparently been tied to control. I had a principal (four principals ago....three principals ago...?) flat out laugh and tell me I was a control freak. She was addressing my approaches to teaching, and I was pointing out how student led my department is. And while she acquiesced to the later, she still claimed that I was a control freak, and I needed to let things go. I mistakenly thought she was talking about my teaching methods, but clearly she was calling me on something much bigger that I did not see at the time.

And so, as the universe is wont to do when you refuse to let go, it will do it for you. And it won't be pretty, it won't be subtle, it will be wrenching. I  first experienced this when I started teaching. I was holding on to a dead end but well paid job waiting tables, being a stay at home mom and generally doing nothing about a career. It was a routine and the money was good. Then, suddenly, and without warning...I was fired.

Well, shit.

Jim and I turned to one another and started quoting Dory in Finding Nemo.
   "Let go!"
   "How do you know it's going to be all right?"
   "I don't!"

So we did, and I embarked on a teaching career, that I thought would be my final career. Letting go was scary as hell, we worried about money, about how I could possibly work full time with the girls in first and third grade, but once we let go it just happened. The job at Littleton literally fell into my lap, and there you have it.

For the first few years the struggle was awful, but I loved teaching and building the department,and magically babysitters and rides just appeared to help manage the girls' schedules. I cried a lot, I screamed a lot, but I wanted to run the department, so I persevered.

I cite the first two years as hell and the next five as almost heaven.

I had complete control of the classes, IB Theatre, the shows, training actors and techies, training designers, hiring alumni to help with tech, everything. Then the administration changed, and the renovation ripped Maris apart from stem to stern and everything that was under my control...was no longer. Just like that.

Well, shit.

Fourteen years after letting go of what was and embracing the moment, I have been stripped of directing at the school, my stage is dead and my department as a whole is on the ropes. I've tried for a year and a half to hold it together with little success, manically waving my arms in an attempt to regain control. In the meantime, my beautiful and talented 21 and 20 year old children are embarking on their own lives, making their own difficult and beautiful and difficult life choices. And I look at them and become anxious and controlling and they need support, not control and it turns out...I have no idea what "support" means. I am looking to them, because I have lost control of my theatre and anything that was a career. It was taken from me, because I needed to let go (apparently, I'm still unclear in this area), and did not. So it was taken. And without directing and designing and building and producing and shopping and all of those things that go with running the department, I'm assigning four page essays to LA9 Honors freshmen that I then have to grade, and back to freaking out because my children will not let me run their lives.

But dammit, I know what's best.

This is why I am not, nor will I ever be, an adult.

I think adults have the serenity to accept the things they cannot control, to control the things they can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

In short, an adult knows how to Let It Go.

These are my thoughts,
respectfully submitted
K.Martin
Physically 52 years old but clearly not an adult.

Not My Finest Moment

Not My Finest Moment Post:
First, I have 65 LA 9 Honors Lit students. I am a theatre teacher.
Second, I have to smash my Acting 1 and Acting 2 into ONE period, two completely different syllabi...syllabuses.
Third, I work directing jobs outside because I am not allowed to direct inside.

I have 65 Of Mice and Men outlines and intro paragraphs to grade, as well as 3 plays by student playwrights and 12 Director's Notebooks, in addition to regular planning and IB deadlines. NOT complaining, Explaining.

An LA9H kid, who has done NOTHING so far for this essay, butted in line whilst I was sitting with other students---who were patiently waiting their turn--to go over their intro paragraphs. He then interrupted the student I was talking to ABOUT HER ESSAY, to demand if I read poetry. When I did not answer- because they know I do not answer if you have not waited your turn-he began to pace. (YES, there is an IEP involved but this is HONORS, people) When I did not give him the attention he wanted, he butted in again and said "I'm sending you my poetry, when can you read it?"

I stopped. I apologized to the delightful and patient young lady with whom I was working- on her assigned essay. I looked at the student who had interrupted.

And, before I could stop myself, I said "UGH".

Is it Thanksgiving yet?

The Millionth Colorado Native To Bitch About Traffic

 
      Jim and I tried to drive up to  see the colors change last weekend,but ended up having to come back early after stopping at the Conoco outside of Conifer where Every Old Person  Ever had to use the one functioning bathroom, so I  kept letting them go ahead of me. After ten minutes Harper was done--it's a delicate thing with Harper and timing---so we came back down and went to the pub. It was fine.
      So this weekend, we headed up without Harper---who is almost 20 years old,by the way--and  spent the day driving up to Guanella via 285 and back down I70. We got stuck in traffic on 285, twice. No deer in the road, no car accident, nothing. Just stopped. Because there were too many damned people on the road.
      I remember going up to see the leaves change as recently as five years ago, with little traffic until I 70. Which , frankly, has always been a shit show, even before The World decided they needed to live here.
      First, we, from Colorado, do not call it "Leaf Peeping". That sounds naughty. The first time I heard this term was from my Canadian friend. Then another friend from Vermont, or Connecticut, or some damned east place, also said it. We never had a cute little phrase, guys. When I was a kid "the leaves are changing colors" is what we said. "Let's go see the leaves change", or "Go see the colors", and we knew what that meant, and it sounded like what it was: watching nature change seasons.
       "Leaf Peeping", however, seems to have a naughty connotation, like we are spying on the leaves whilst they are showering. Ewwww.
       Last week on the morning news,  Ernie Bjorkman said "leaf peeping" and I lost my shit. That is not what we call it here, Erns, and you know that. Stop cowing to the foreigners who came here who think it needs a title. Honestly, if you're from a state that calls it "Leaf Peeping", I don't understand why you moved here. Your state it plenty pretty, I assure you, and is likely maintaining its beauty better than CO because not everybody needed to move where the pot was legal.
        Colorado is not the only state, guys, you can go to Washington which is also beautiful. Go muck up their air quality, drive up their property values and spray paint in their national forests and leave us  alone. We won't miss you because we don't need you. Shoo.
         So we come up the back way through Morrison, and then pick up 285 at Conifer. There are few cars along the way, once you get past the Puddle Park that is Morrison, and then through the Street Clog in Evergreen. It was nice, I felt like nobody knew about this road as we drove and enjoyed the fall air and view. Then we turned on to 285 at Conifer and were immediately in a traffic jam. Both confused and trying not to be grumpy, we hoped that a herd of deer had decided to cross the road, and that's why everyone was stopped. Remember Back in the Day, when you'd go to RMNP and everyone was stopped and pulled over because a herd of Elk had decided to stand in the road? And you happily pulled over, or stopped, depending on the width of the road, and got out and stretched your legs and smiled at your travelmates who were also stretching their legs and watching the Elk with a bemused  smile that said "God I Love This State", or they had their camera out, kids on their shoulders so they could see.
          Nope. It was a traffic jam due to traffic. That's all. Too many people on the road.
          The next jam was right outside of Bailey, just past the Old People's Conoco. Again, we sat, not moving on the two lane road, right past Coney Island, wondering what could possibly be holding everything up? Moose?  Deer? Elk? A UFO?
          Nope. Traffic for traffic.
          Made worse, of course, by a hundred cars pulling over to take photos but not pulling into a pull out, just stopping at the pavement edge. You're wrong, that's not how you do this. Find a pullout. Can't find a pull out? Then move back to where you came from. Before you moved here there were plenty of pullouts for all of us. Even the switchbacks on the back side of Bierstadt, before Georgetown, had cars just pulled over! ANOTHER SMALL JAM was caused because the descending cars and the ascending cars did not have enough room to pass one another, we had to pass one at a time because both sides of the hair pin turn were blocked with FUCKING CARS WHO JUST STOPPED and the people from the cars trying to dart across the road ("If you can dodge a car, you can dodge a ball.") to get their photos of the Aspen grove.
           The mountains used to be where you could go to lose yourself, to breathe and drive and have a sandwich. It's now a cluttered, clustered mess where you cannot lose yourself because you have to pay attention to other drivers, and you cannot breathe because you may hit some human being trying to waddle across the switchback, assuming that you will see them and stop.
          And pee before you leave and drink no fluids, the bathrooms are jacked.

Postcard to Houston

I lived on Planet Houston from 1987-1991 and attended the University of Houston. This is a moment from a much longer, rambling blog and is a melted crayon love letter to Houston. 

...

I had a friend keep me out of jail. I was in danger of going to jail because I went to South Padre instead of court. That is a story unto itself. I crashed on couches, lived in a warehouse, I lived with a grad student and her daughter as well as on the bay with Aunt Polly--this all after we sold our house and Jim returned to Denver. I stayed to work with Edward Albee and Jose Quintero. I learned mime from Claude Caux and acting from Ruddy Cravens, costumes with Claremarie Verhayen and my fellow writers, actors and directors at UH taught me daily. I feel such gushy love for that place and those people. I remember Amy's confidence, and Beth's talent, Curtis' laugh,and Peter's stoic realism. I remember Tracy, who wanted to be a teacher which I thought that was noble but stupid. She was so talented, why would she want to waste it on teaching?I remember Paul's wise and infuriatingly logical approach to everything and Chris' irrepressible enthusiasm. Albee's gravely judgment and Quintero's soft love. I watch every tropical storm and hurricane  and marvel at how much water that place can take on and keep going. As I watched Harvey do a sit and spin over Houston, I just kept shaking my head, thinking "Don't piss off Texas". There is  a photo of a woman in her neighborhood, knee deep in water holding a rifle. 

       I smiled. You pissed off Texas, didn't you, Harvey?

       The hurricane spun and when Houston realized it wasn't going to let up,  they lived the joke they're heard about red necks for years. Harvey challenged them, and Houston said "Hold my beer", and proceeded to combat the anger and fury the only way they knew how: with love. They gassed up their boats, opened their furniture stores to those who fled, sent their furniture trucks to those who couldn't get to the store, saved neighborhood animals and huddled with them in their attic, paid their employees even though they couldn't get to work--the stories are in the hundreds, and they aren't going to stop.

         When Katrina wiped out New Orleans, Houston took in the refugees.

         When Harvey hit Houston, Houston helped themselves. 

          When Jim and I arrived, newly burgled, having lost everything to ass hat thieves in Arlington, Houston took us in, patted us on the heads and said  "You're home now, you just sit on down. Hold my beer. Lemme get you some supper, have a drink, y'all. It's gonna be fine."

          I love that city and I love that state. 

    ....