Since no one is reading this anyways

So here I am. My last post had one view (thanks Mom). So since no one is even looking why am I constantly scrutinizing what I write here. Yes, I love my Henshaw Redux letters but I don't have one tonight. Tonight it's just me and I had a rotten day so here it is. This is mine and tonight I'm hijacking it from the readers.

I don't know what age I realized it, but eventually I realized that people performed for a living. People got to sing and dance and act and that was what they did for a living. I was probably 12 and immediately got my Mom to let me go to EL rec department acting camp. And I loved it. I was the oldest kid there and immediately ALPHA femaled the whole thing. We wrote, acted, costumed, created the whole thing. The play was called "What's Missing in Valerie's Gallery?" and I was Valerie, of course. We ripped the whole thing off of Clue, but I was hooked. I loved every moment. I loved rehearsal and more than anything I loved being on stage. I kept going, there was no drama in Middle School. So in High School I went out for every play offered and got nice quiet background roles for the most part. I got to play King Alonzo in Tempest and that was the pinnacle of that. In college, I decided that I was not going to be a theater major and just dumped myself in education. Don't get me wrong, I love education. I love teaching, but I see something silly, like concert footage with backstage peeks. I see a play. I see some kind of performing and a part of me aches. I want that. I want that so badly. I want to sing, I want to act, I want to be up there, doing it, for real. Doing Godspell this past winter was the closest I've ever come to that real moment. Singing my solo was the most unbelieveable experience I've ever had. It's over now and I'm forever grateful for the opportunity. And I want it again so badly. I cannot wait to be up there again.

I wish I could be brave. I have a friend who has thrown away the life I lead now to try and follow her passion. Some find it laughable and shake their head in discuss. She'll never amount to anything, they say. But she is doing it and I know she is happy. She is dramatic and kinda insane but right now I look at her and think, wow... someone is actually doing that. I wish I could, I wish I had faith, I wish I could be doing that.

Now the sensible part of me says, you have to be responsible and keep the job and just do the theater and singing on the side and that I will do. But watching and seeing it elsewhere a part of me says, what if?

Attack of the Tiny Frogs

Attack of the Tiny Frogs

   A few years ago the boyfriend and I moved out of Titusville (story to come later) and to a new house right outside of the Mouse (Disney for the rest of you). It took us forever to find a house we actually both liked that did not have a family of bugs still living in it or mold growing out of every corner. There were houses where the owner thought it was a good idea to knock down supporting walls or paint murals of things I don’t even like repeating. Crazy neighbors with barb wire were a big turn off and the strangest one was a house that apparently people were squatting in as the prison letters on the dresser and the clothes in the bathtub gave away. When we finally found this house, with its tasteful furniture included, beautiful view and open floor plan it was perfect the minute we walked in and we put in an offer then and there. It took us a while but eventually we got the house we wanted and with our joint ownership with survivorship or gay rights as they called it, we moved in.
     We had only been in the house about a month when I came home from a late night at work. The boyfriend and I had just finished dinner and decided to sit and relax in front of the new big TV before bed. “I never thought it would stop raining, “ I commented as we sat down for the first time that day. It was true that it had rained for nearly a week and tonight was the first time it had tapered off and stopped. Out of nowhere, we heard two loud smashing sounds against our garage door. Figuring our teenage neighborhood hoodlums were at it again, we peeked out the front window, turned on the porch lights, nothing. “Must have been the wind” the boyfriend commented and we went back to the couch. A short while later, something else caught our attention. Our cat, Bella, was jumping. “What the hell?” the boyfriend said and we rolled off the couch to see why in the world our three year old black panther of a cat was leaping around like a Cirque De Soile extra. As we got closer, the boyfriend reached down and cupped his hands around something I couldn’t see. “It’s a frog,” he said opening his hands to the tiniest frog I had ever seen. It was the size of my thumb nail but was furiously trying to escape with the energy of a rabbit on Red Bull. “Get the door,” he said as the cat tried to climb his leg to reclaim her prize. As I opened the door for him to reintroduce the frog to its real habitat, three bright green frogs the size of golf balls clung desperately to our front door. Our teenage hooligans were these amphibians leaping onto the door. “Holy shit! What is going on here?” I yelled as one of the door clingers crept to the opposite, inside part of the door. So the boyfriend flung the little frog and now in one motion, grabbed and flung this new frog.
      Now let me interject for a minute, we love this house, but this was a vacation home. Although it’s in great shape, there are somethings that were overlooked because no one lived here for an extended period of time. The air conditioner was run itself to death and every inch of available space had a bed on it. One area that must have been ignored was the weather stripping at the bottom of the front door. In the daylight, small streaks of light shine under the worn out rubber under the door. Normally, it’s not an issue. Sure we are losing some air conditioning, but nothing big. We’ll fix it later and later was not before this night of frogs.
    So, as we begin to walk back to our TV show, Bella begins to hop again and sure enough there is another frog. I look behind my shoes by the door, and now there is another one and as Bill leans down to grab one, he watches another one squeeze under the door. Now we got a problem. “Get something to put them in, I’ll get something to put under the door,” the boyfriend commended as if we were now no longer in Florida but the trenches of Iraq. This was war.  The only thing I could think of was a Tupperware container. It had a lid and I would keep letting air in, it would be fine. So the three of us, Bella sniffing them out, and the both of us catching these frogs while now frantically trying to shove newspaper under the door, became this frenzy of yelling, grabbing and jumping. If someone had seen, I’d be writing this from the loony bin.  We managed to block the bottom of the door, but now we had to round up the rest of these frogs. Some had managed to venture as far as the bedroom and I knew I’d spend the hours of the night instead of sleeping, imagining and pulling baby frogs off my legs in bed. Close to an hour later, we seemed to have found them all. 16 little frogs and one big one had lead an attack on our house and although they put up a good fight, they were all captured. As we threw the prisoners out into the backyard through the screened in porch door, suddenly I felt like I was in a real life horror movie. Crawling all over our screened in pool were these small dots moving higher and higher. Might as well cue the creepy background music as the boyfriend shined his flashlight on at least 50 tiny frogs trying to find the fault with the screen. As I tried to run, the boyfriend stopped me. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They won’t make it past the pool.” Like any good horror movie, in the morning at least half of the frogs on the screen were floating in the pool like zombies the morning after.
    “We’re fixing the front door,” I told the boyfriend as we fished out the bloated tiny bodies out of the filter. And almost three years later, we did just that. 


 

Dear World

Dear World,
  No, I'm not dead. I think it's been nearly six months since my last post. Such as it does, life got in the way. Between work, a play I did and sorry to report, a free subscription to some trashy magazines, I have not been reading and therefore not been writing. I have a few incomplete posts but for me it runs deep and fast or not at all. So I've been thinking (uh-oh), what do I want to do with this site? Do I want to keep reading and writing letters to authors? I do love that, but I'm not sure if I can keep up with enough posts. Some books I read just don't get me the way these other ones have.
   SO I had an another idea. Last year I attended the IRA conference and the first thing they asked was as a teacher have we read 50 children's books? 100 children's books? Most of us hadn't and I thought immediately I'd like the challenge. So another thought would be posting about the book and the challenge. Sorta like Julie and Julia, but not as as many calories.  I could keep a record of all the books with a countdown, maybe set a time limit.Give my opinion, maybe write how to use it in a classroom or what students might like it. (I get asked all the time, what's a good book? My students know I love to read, but I need to keep it. I can only recommend Encyclopedia Brown, Fairest, and Phantom Tollbooth so many times before they stop asking). But that feels like so many other sites already.
  Another idea is just to keep a blog. I could write stories about my cats (hey, hey, hey, I may be a cat lady but I'm only slightly crazy and I would know to keep the stories to a minimum, just the great ones) and my students or something or other a la Jen Lancaster. But Jen Lancaster had a theme in the beginning, while I really don't and my stories aren't that great.
  I love writing and I love having something I love to write about. I want to keep on it and do better. I want to write and hopefully have someone read it too.
  SO a final idea, I've always been a fan of if I don't have to chose than why not have it all? This blog has pages, I can set up pages. One for letters, one for my challenge, and one for every day stuff. A little Whitman Sampler of Lady KT writing, if you will (ughhh, did I really just write that??). So maybe you hate it, and if so, that's okay. But maybe you will find something you like and keep coming back. And maybe with more choice, I will actually write more than once a solstice.

Sincerely,

Lady KT

Dear Carolyn Parkhurst,

Dear Carolyn Parkhurst,
     The Dogs of Babel knocked me off my feet. The prose is beautiful and haunting, the ideas heartbreakingly sad yet realistic, and the imagery something you can't forget. I love this book so much that I want to share it with everyone, but I've never lent it out afraid that I won't get it back. When I reread the book, as I have often, I have to brace myself each time, even though I know the ending and the secret.
     I can't imagine going through what the characters go through.  A man's wife dies by falling out of a tree and no one knows if she fell or jumped. The only witness is their loyal dog, Lorelei, and Paul, the husband, becomes obsessed with finding out what happened to Lexy, his wife. The way the story runs through the present day searching and flashbacks to their relationship creates this impending doom. You know the ending from the beginning but you find yourself hoping, maybe not. Maybe they will live happily ever after in the end.
  The hardest and best part of the story for me is all about Lorelei. I had a dog named Zoey from when I was in high school until I almost graduated college. We found Zoey in a very unusual way. I was working the summer at Storrowton Village. Since it was before I got my licence, my Mom had picked me up and we were exiting the highway on the way home. Out of nowhere this white streak crosses the road headed back onto the highway. Cars are dodging, people are jumping out to help and the whole place is chaos. So Mom, who has never, ever been able to walk away from an animal in need, pulls a U-turn and pulls up next to a guy running. "Is that your dog?" she asks and he tells us, no, but his buddy is up there trying to get the dog. So we peel out and try to catch up to his buddy. We don't see him, but we do see the dog. Mom pulls up next to the little pup and I open the door and in she jumps. By the time we turn around and get back to where all the cars are, no one is left. So we have a dog and no one to give it back to. Eventually, we take it to the kennel and when they call to tell us that they have to put the dog down, Zoey joins our family. She was sweetest thing, so happy to see everyone and everything. She was small, so jumping on the couch was a big deal, but nothing could keep her away from cuddling with you. She had doggy asthma (I'm not making that up) and coughed and hacked constantly. It was embarrassing walking her around the neighborhood, but she was so happy, it was hard to deny her it.  She was loyal beyond anything and everyone loved her. Eventually she couldn't get around much and you could tell she was in pain a lot so we had to let her go. I still tear up thinking about the last time I saw her and I don't think I can type much more about her.
       I have only had cats since Zoey and I don't think I would ever want another dog. Zoey wasn't planned, she just kind of happend, like the Lorelei in the story. But these animals leave their mark and I know how important our pets are to us. Stories like these celebrate our animals like they should be. They are members of our families, the one who know us best and love us anyways. Those who don't have pets or don't think much of cats or dogs will never understand and never know what that's like and to those I feel sad. There is nothing like the unconditional love of a pet you take care of. And that will always mean something to me.
     Thank you for putting into words how special our animals are and for those of us who love them like family. This is much more moving that that awful ASPCA commercial that I have to change everytime it airs.

Sincerely,

KT

Dear Reader,

Dear Reader,

Contrary to popular belief, I am not, in fact, dead. I have, unfortunately, had my world kicked around until I couldn't see straight. School starting, losing my grandmother, trips up north, visits down here and a kitten who doesn't let me sleep through the night have taken any time to read a book, let alone write about  it. But things are finally calming down and I have some time coming to me. Hope everyone is doing well and I appreciate anyone who is still sticking around to read this thing. I will try to do keep up with it more than I have.

Sincerely,
KT

Dear Rick Roden,

Dear Rick Roden,
    These books are awesome. As a teacher, sometimes I come across boring children's lit with sad plots and unlikeable characters. Then I find smart books with good characters and a plot I can enjoy. The Percy Jackson books are smart, enjoyable, with great characters and teach Greek Mythology in a way that you don't realize you are learning. I couldn't ask for more.
    I had this student when I taught 6th grade, will call her H. H was the kind of student you only get once in a career. She was sweet, smart, kind, bright and soaked up her education like a sponge. She was genuinely interested in writing and went at it with an enthusiasm and zest that made you excited as a teacher. I had many good students, some great students but only two as gifted as she. One day she confessed to me that when she was in trouble, her parents took away her books. I had noticed that like many of the other girls she was carrying Breaking Dawn with her where ever she went. This was not something unusual but the fact that she was carrying it with her for a few months was. She read quickly and it was unlike her to linger over a book. When I asked how she liked the book, she told me, "I love it. This is my seventh time reading it." Now, as an educator I am thrilled to hear a love of reading, but isn't there only so much Bella and Edward love making one can take? I told her that was great, but why didn't she read something else before her eight turn. She asked for a suggestion and a few other of my students had raved about Lightning Thief. When I told her that, she asked if I had read it because she wanted someone to talk to about it, so I told her I would read it too. At first I expected it to be just another teen lit but then I couldn't put it down. It was fast paced with a complex story and had me guessing which mythological creature would be next. I finished the first story before H did and we raved about it when she finished. She was off to the library for the next and I was off to target to "add to my classroom library" of course. Eventually we both finished the series and got another student enchanted with it as well. It was a fun mini book club that overall helped each girl with their writing as well. Fantasy always spices up writing, in my opinion.
   I feel this series is on par with the Harry Potter series but I don't think it gets enough respect. I saw the movie and was pleasantly surprised. From the trailers, I didn't think it would do the book justice, but on the contrary it was smart and funny and followed a good chunk of the story. I don't know what happened then. Was it bad advertising or a missed age group? When I moved to fourth grade, I read the first few chapters out loud. The students enjoyed it a lot and a few even went to get the book from the library themselves. I'm not sure why it hasn't the fan base of the boy wizard. I hope that eventually as the new Lost Heroes series grows so will it's fan base and the interest of others. There are so many qualities that kids can relate to and adults who remember what it was like to be in that awkward middle school age.
    After I read this story, I wish I could have gone with Percy, Annabeth and Grover on their adventures. To me that is a great fiction story and one that I will continue to pass on to my students. And when the next Lost Hero book comes out in October, I know I will just have to make a run to Target to add to my classroom library.

Sincerely,
KT


Percy Jackson and the Olympians Paperback Boxed Set (Books 1-3)
The Heroes of Olympus, Book One: The Lost Hero 

Dear Stacey Ballis,

Dear Stacey Ballis,
     Thank you for giving me such a fantastic and perfect summer read. Good Enough to Eat is a sweet story with a backbone that shows a characters flaws and makes you love her for it. I had alternatives motives when buying this book, but I have none recommending it.
     Originally I bought this book because of Jen Lancaster. I have loved reading about Bravo nights and trips to the opera. I loved reading about the friendship and the hilarious things that happen. So of course, I knew I'd have to read this book. Ironically, I remember seeing this book in hardcover in Target a while back, before I put two and two together and remember how nice it seemed and how much the cover reminded me of home. So when Bill and I were at the Book Warehouse and I found this book, I snatched it up as fast as I could. The story is fabulous as it seems to begin where a big girl's happily ever after ends. If you are a big girl and then lose all the weight, what happens next? That's what I loved about this story. I have seen so many stories about women losing weight and then in the end they are skinny and they get the guy and everything is great. But it's not that simple. I love that the character has relapses and needs support. I respect the honesty of the what you may look like when all that weight is gone and how that makes you feel too. I love that losing a whole person sometimes means becoming a new person too.
    But there is another side to this, food. I love good food. I always have. I love cooking and baking and that thing you feel feeding others. So when it comes to the food stories in the beginning of each chapter, not only could I relate, I was reminded of my own stories from my family. How my friends thought my mom must be constantly making apple pies because everytime they came over there was a pie there. How we HAD to make raviolis when the Patriots played or they wouldn't win and they tasted so so much better when they won. The first meal I made for Bill. The first things he made for me. My christmas chicken wings that try as I may, I cannot make them taste like my moms. And the best part of this is the memories that we all have with food. How no one makes something as good as mom. How the best times can sometimes have the best food. I have good food memories like many people and it's a nice connection we can all make. In my opinion, you are just fooling yourself if you say you don't have any good food memories.  Lots of people don't want to talk about it, maybe they think that talking about food makes them look weak or unhealthy. Maybe, but food is not something that we can go without so why try to ignore it?
      Besides all the food, I love that Mel doesn't follow the same generic path as you may think. The ending is one that doesn't feel the need to come to a clear and straight conclusion. I feel that some author's aren't brave enough to let the ending be not tidy and not happily ever after. But I do understand how wonderful friends can be in your life and I do feel a strong connection to that.
   I spent the majority of the time reading this book in the sunshine on a boat. It was the perfect way to read this story, but I got so into it, I read it in the car, while everyone else was watching a movie and late into the night. I know that is the showing of a great story. I did not want it to end, but I couldn't stop. Thank you for this story and the strength to say out loud that food is good and so am I.

Sincerely,
KT

Good Enough to EatGood Enough to Eat