I'm a walker, not a runner

I remember running around a lot when I was little. My brother and I would chase eachother all over the yard/fields/woods/house. This often led to injuries, most famous of which is the scar on my right arm. I had been antagonizing Daniel, and he started chasing me around the house.
As we circled my mother, hanging up clothes on the line, she yelled, "Knock it off before one of you ninnies gets hurt!"
Of course, we ignored her.
I ran into the house and slammed the door behind me. Daniel put out his hand to stop it, but instead, ran his hand through the glass. I shielded my face from the flying glass with my right arm, which is where the scar came from
My mother ran in, since it was obvious one of us "ninnies" had been seriously hurt.
"I told you this would happen!" She yanked the huge chunk of glass out of my arm and sent me to my room. I assume she did the same with Daniel.
Later, she brought up a glass of iced tea. I was sulking on my bed, reading Mary Poppins.
That, my friends, is when I started to hate running.

Monday, April 13, 1987
Dear Meredith,
We started track in gym today. YUCK! I turned around (when running) to wait for Lisa, and this large group of boys came and went around me all except for BC. He ran past and tickled me.

Tuesday, April 14, 1987
More track.
Nothin' new.
CT's mom is pregnant again


Ash Wednesday, April 15, 1987
Dear Nina,
Hi! I'm not babysitting for Molly anymore because she's quitting school. Why, I don't know. No more $!!
Maybe I can sell something to someone.
Dad saved a little baby bunny from Calicoon. Those things squeak SO LOUD!!! It was cut badly so Dan and I put it back in a rabbit ( I think) hole.
BC always hits me (not hard) on the head with the notebooks when he passes them out in icky Graphics. He's always staring at me. He called me a dyke and I just looked at him like huh?
We had this thing about commercials in Health today, and one was a laxative called Bombs Away!

Again, the things that went on in school that would be illegal today.
And, again, my father's ephemeral kindness. I sometimes think he likes animals better than people. Actually, I'm pretty sure he does. I think I do, too.
Here's what might be my worst yearbook photo. Bryan yelled my name (and probably something about the size of my boobs) just before the photo was snapped. Lexi's hair is right below me.

Where I've Been

If I could find the digital camera, I'd post pics, a la Blogity, to show you what my sewing room looks like. Imagine if a bomb went off in Hancock Fabrics, but didn't kill/hurt anyone or ruin any of their great fabric.
Beqi gifted me with another bag of scraps to add to the BOX of scraps she gave me for my birthday, which was in January.
I have barely touched the boxes of fabric in the basement.
I've run out of denim.
I've stopped being neat and am throwing scraps on the floor. They'll get swept up later.
I panicked when I realized I only had 2 Asian-esque potholder sets. They usually are my biggest sellers.
Gypsy Caravan and Rock and Roll Craft Show are in a week. One week! AIE!



Is $8.00 too much or too little? I priced the potholder sets at $11.00 this time. Are more people left or right handed? Will I ever be able to straighten up my sewing room?!!!

Free for all!

I think I fixed it so you can comment without having to join the blogger club. So, go nuts, everyone!

April 12, 1987

Sunday
April 12, 1987

Dear Louanne,
Sorry about the past few days, but they were BORING.
C. slept over the 10th. We watched Grease. Saturday was hot and boring. I let these kids in who wanted to take a picture of themselves in a bathtub for a scavenger hunt. My parents had a weird fit. They didn't yell at me or anything.
Today I played my flute in church. I did okay.
Bye!
Allison

Betsey told me Mike W. asked her out.

The moral here? Strangers who you let into your house will not always kill you and leave your body in a ditch.
Ah, Betsey....she was 2 grades above me and went to my church. She was like the older sister I didn't have. We bonded like white on rice. She was funny and sarcastic, I was funny and sarcastic. We liked U2. We thought one of the other girls in Youth Fellowship was a moron. We'd leave notes in eachother's lockers. Good times, that Betsey.

Close Encounter of the Third Kind

April 8, 1987

Dear Annie,
Hi.
Today I talked to BC in health. he says I am sexy. HA!
But in comparison, he also calls L. a FOXY babe! And he pulls her hair and calls her "gorilla". But he is nice, sort of, and H. thinks that he is cute. But, she also says he humps dogs. Bye!

Holly always had the wittiest turns of phrase. She was probably the funniest person I knew at the time. I hadn't started talking to Chris Joy yet, but he was also one funny motherfucker, in a delightfully cynical way.


April 9th, 1987
Dear Myrtle,
I am obsessed with "With or Without You" by U2. I need that tape! Whenever I hear that song, I think of me and "Keith" dancing together. (Or someone else. BC)
One of my fantasies is that Keith will move into one of the houses across from us in the woods. Then he would be at my official bus stop. He and I would go to all the dances and my friends would actually envy me because he would slow dance w/me. And he would be cute, slim, funny and also a sports person. He wouldn't have eyes for any other girls in his grade, only for me. I guess it's really stupid of me to keep on loving him. Even now with BC. BC doesn't even take his place. (But of course Keith didn't try anything. He wouldn't have anyway.)
I think BC has feelings for me. At the next dance, if he is there, he better dance with me. Maybe even slow dance!
Lovelorn,
Allison

Jesus, the real Allison shows up! Keith was my neighbor from the time I was in kindergarten to about 4th grade. I have no idea why I mentioned him after 5 years. I may have seen him in a restaurant in my old town. When I first met him, he was a year older than me. I had a huge crush on him, and I think he was the first boy I kissed. I had a coloring book of Barbie Gets Married or something, and I turned to the "Kiss The Bride" page to get an idea of what we should be doing. Luckily, the coloring book did not have "Barbie drinks too much at her wedding and pukes all over her Vera Wang".
And of course Keith didn't try anything-he was 8 or 9!
It kills me that I said "my friends would actually envy me". You can see how far down the totem pole I was. Why I wanted a "sports person" is beyond me. I guess it was a criteria because everyone at my school was into one sport or another. There were only 300 of us from grades 7 to 12, so we each wore many hats. Our cheerleading team never had tryouts. If you wanted to join, you were in. I myself was on the hockey team for a few weeks. I also was in Ski Club, Yearbook and Band.
BC, if you somehow come across this.....I am not ashamed. I liked you, big deal. So I obsessed a teensy tiny little bit. Just don't bring it up if I ever see you again!

100 Things I Like, No Order

One rainy summer night in Boston, Kate, Monty and I made a list of the Best Things In Life. And not all of them were free, mind you.

1. Rainy summer nights
2. Tea, hot or cold
3. Coffee, hot or iced
4. The smell of clean babies
5. The song of robins
6. My garden
7. My dog
8. Bubble gum
9. Peanut M&Ms
10. New York City
11. Chicago
12. Boston
13. Bratwurst and Bud at the ballpark
14. New Order
15. Mint chocolate chip ice cream
16. The smell of my parents' house
17. Spring peepers
18. Snow at night
19. a Korean dish called something like Bim Bap
20. Red wine
21. Beautiful sunsets
22. Seeing shooting stars
23. Findng a cool vintage sweater that fits perfectly and doesn't smell weird
24. Quilting
25. Fabric
26. My grandmother's house
27. Laying in the grass looking at the sky
28. Clean sheets (I've been on a Descendents kick)
29. Hearing a favorite song on the radio
30. Singing like a madwoman in traffic
31. Hot chocolate
32. Lemon bars
33. My parents' surviving cat, Clyde, who is very old
34. Volunteer tomato plants
35. Finding an active bird's nest
36. Irises
37. Creme brulee
38. Salmon (hmm...can I name 100 foods I like?)
39. Good hair days
40. Sleeping with the dog when M. is working overnight
41. Thunderstorms
42. My now old car
43. Finding vintage sewing books at thrift stores
44. Thrift stores
45. Cassette tapes
46. Indian food from Standard India on Belmont in Chicago
47. Cambridge, MA
48. Findng the first plant to come up in the spring
49. The smell of fall
50. Good dreams
51. Sterling silver
52. My hot glue gun scar
53. Hex sign tattoos
54. All things Amish
55. Music from Romania
56. Music from Brazil
57. Snickers bars
58. Nutty Buddies
59. Naps
60. When I used to ride my bike around Boston with Kate
61. Colored pencils
62. The Smiths
63. My wedding ring
64. Knitting in public
65. What Not To Wear
66. Walking the dog
67. When my betrothed tinkers with his scooter
68. Vintage jewelry
69. Seeing former students who are now tolerable individuals
70. Post Its
71. A warm breeze
72. Asian interior design
73. Art Nouveau
74. Swing music
75. The way the floor in Grandmom's quilting room slants
76. The church I used to attend
77. Cemetaries
78. Purple pens
79. A good Italian hoagie
80. The ice cream man
81. Van Halen
82. Mittens
83. Toads
84. Reading for hours in the summer
85. Summer vacation
86. Podunk towns in southern Missouri
87. The quilt museum in Paducah, Kentucky
88. Pulled pork sandwiches
89. Montana
90. My old house at Peter's Corner
91. Fresh cut grass
92. The smell of drying hay
93. Homegrown tomatoes
94. Zinnias
95. Moonflowers
96. My loyal orchids which bloom for 5 months
97. Being born in January
98. The idea of dowsing, which supposedly my grandfather could do
99. Watching my students get excited about reading
100. The shirt I'm wearing which Kate gave me (raglan sleeve grey and navy 3/4 sleeve)

The Potholder Racket, or, Eat My Shorts, Denyse Schmidt!

Some cities' organized crime families run things. The garbage, school milk, newspaper vending machines, etc.
I run the potholder racket in St. Louis. And, I've moved on to bigger and better things, namely MITTS!
The pictures you are about to see will thrill you. They may excite you. But I must warn you, these mitts are merely prototypes. Because I sometimes don't have a lot of common sense, I pieced a ton of mitt tops before testing to see how they would turn out. I had to have a stern talk with the free arm of my sewing machine to get the cuff bindng on. Apparently, the Singer wasn't listening. So, my mistake is your mitt. They will be on sale for $7.oo at Gypsy Caravan and The Rock and Roll Craft Show.
However, if you can give me a good reason why you need one and you'll promise to give me field test results, I'll mail it to you.

And you Saudis who keep looking for babes or hot blogger babes, you're in the wrong alley.
This is Squaresville territory.


For all you lefties out there:



And for the rest of you:





I was remiss in not giving a shout-out to Poppymom who alerted me to Denyse Schmidt's foray into housewares! Here is a link to the email that started it all.

And just as a disclaimer-I'd probably really like Denyse if we met. Her sense of color and shape is just the same as mine. The only difference is that I do all my quilting by my hand-I don't ship my quilts off to the Amish. *sniff*

Babes In the Woods

April 4, 1987,
Dear Corinne,
Hi. Today Steve and Sue got married. So, Mom and Dad were gone from 5 pm to after we were in bed. Dan and I went over into the woods and our sneakers were covered with mud. Icky poo! Nothing much happened Sunday.

Now, the odd thing about this, is that while visiting my parents at Christmas, I read the Christmas card Steve sent them. He felt the need to let them know, in a Christmas card, that Sue was not sure if she still wanted to be a wife and a mother to their 3 boys. Merry Christmas!
Steve was a childhood friend of my dad's. I guess he'd be in his fifties now.
When I was little, he'd come over every Sunday morning for coffee and to help renovate our house. He always had a knife in a sheath on his belt. I had a minor crush on him. He liked messing around with my brother and I-holding us upside down, tickling us, telling us crazy lies about monsters he'd seen in our house. We loved him.
He met a chiropractor named Sue, who we also loved the first time we met her. I remember she had dyed blonde big hair. She was a little New Age, but my dad liked her anyway, because she teased him.
Apparently, things change a lot when you're hitched and fertile. They always seemed like the perfect couple.
Apparently

April 6, 1987
Dear Andrea,
Today we started a new marking period. I have Spanish, Graphics (ick) and typing instead of study hall! Waahhh!
But I love the typing room. It's half underground, so the bottom of the windows are at ground level. It's fun.
BC is in my Spanish and graphics class. Everytime I look at him, he's looking right back at me. Eeeuuuhhh! Probably thinking of how far he could go with me. How far? Not an inch!
Love,
Allison

In graphics class, we made several kinds of prints, such as etching glass and linoleum. We got to use pencils that were NOT No.2, which was a treat. It involved a lot of measuring and line drawing. Graphics class was the only class I got kicked out of. I was wearing a green calico prairie skirt with lace along the hem. As this was the new fashion, I was feeling cute. After being told to be silend, I whispered to L. "Did he say a half inch or 5/8ths?"
Mr. Pickett freaked out and told me to go the office. The class fell into shocked silence. Allison had never been sent to The Office.
"What?" I asked.
"Go to the office-I'm tired of telling you to stop talking."
I looked around the room, thinking this was a dream. Nobody breathed. I heard the clock tick. I picked up my notebooks and purse and walked through the silent hallways.
"What are you doing here?" Mr. Bright said.
"Mr. Pickett told me to come to the office," I whispered. Only the older kids ever got into trouble.
Mr. Bright gave me a speech about how we have 3 holes in our face, and one should be shut during class. That's the mouth, if you didn't know.
Graphics. It's a hoot!

I show algebra who's who

April 2, 1987
Dear Sybil,
Nothing interesting happened today, but, I got a 94% on my math test!! I love it! I love it! I love it!
I got my TV tonight!

April 3, 1987
Dear Eleanor,
Today, Buddy Rich died. Now Holly's father is out of a job.
Today the local pervert (BC) tried to feel for my bra strap. Goddamn sex pervert!
It's raining. Mom and Dad got new clothes for Steve's wedding. All today I kept thinking of Sue.
BCis an asshole.
Love,
Me

Yet another example of shit that would not be tolerated in my school. Sure, kids get away with a LOT, but that's another post. However, I know I probably didn't need a bra, and was just wearing a training bra (what an odd idea...training....to wear a bra) so I wouldn't be half naked in the locker room.
Yes, it was that bad, ladies, and whatever gentlemen are reading this. Probably a lot, since I used the words "pervert" and "bra".
In 7th grade, I always wore a t-shirt underneath my top shirt/sweater so that when I changed in the locker room, I wouldn't have to display my flat chest. Keep in mind, I had friends who were born with big hooters. I was a sparrow among ostriches. I had all sorts of tricks-I'd go to the bathroom in the locker room and change there. I'd run to the locker room and change before everyone else arrived. Or, I'd dilly dally and take my time.
When I think about the stress and energy I wasted on worrying about my wee boobies, I could puke. I could have been developing a plan to feed starving kids. Or curing cancer. But, I was 13, and painfully obsessed with how tiny I was. I didn't even break 100 pounds until my family went to Montana when I was 16, and I was forced to eat 3 meals a day. My summer vacation diet of pbj and iced tea was ruined.
I wished and prayed for my hooters to grow. I did pushups. I wore layers to give the appearance of a larger chest. I chose the colors of my clothes carefully. I wore short skirts to draw attention to my stick legs. I carried notebooks close to my chest to hide what wasn't there.
If only someone had said to me what I say to my students who express this same worry to me: "There are tons of men out there who like women who are smaller up top. There are men who like a little more up there. There are men who like short women. Tall women. Plump women. Stick women. If you like a guy who doesn't like you because of your chest, forget him. Many people will find you attractive because of how you're shaped. Stop fucking worrying about it and do your homework!"
Well, I don't cuss, but the kids get the point. The other day, one asked me (in front of the whole damn class! Sheesh!) "Mrs. R? Has a boy ever not liked you because you weren't big enough?"
"Honey," I said, "the only thing about me that has ever been big is my mouth and my brain."

See, I'm not fooling! This very unflattering picture of my fishbelly white self is proof. Please be kind in your comments.

Please register!

Hi folks.
Due to the "make $900 extra a month" twit who keeps leaving comments, I am forced to force you to register or join my team if you'd like to comment. I don't know how either work, but hopefully you do.
And since my car has a cracked water pump, and is not worth getting fixed, I'm in the market for a new car. I'd like a Protege3 wagon or a Scion box. Any comments along those lines are also helpful.
Here's a pic to appease you:





This is what happens when the alternator (in your husband's car) goes out and you're in the Petrified Forest in Arizona. I wish I had a photo of the Freakin' Hot Greasy Tow Truck Man Marty for you. He was a beefcake!


"It's 108 in the shade! I'm so glad our car broke down on our honeymoon! This bodes well for the marriage!"

Where I Got My Love of the Limelight

I get nervous talking to adults, especially groups of adults. In high school, I often had flute solos (shut up, you pervert) because I was First Flute (the best). I'd stress out for weeks before the concert where everyone in attendance would look at their programs and see that it was Allison Walker who was so royally screwing up. One time in church, I was scheduled to play "Greensleeves", one of my favorite Christmas songs because it's so melancholy. Long story short, I blew it, and was completely embarrassed to show my face at the coffee social that always came after church. I've only told Matt the full story of that fateful Advent Sunday because it was so painful.
Yet, if I'm making people laugh, I don't mind speaking to a crowd of thousands. One problem I have with teaching is that I like making kids laugh, which usually has nothing to do with the curriculum I'm paid to teach. But if the audience is enjoying MY words and MY humor, it's golden. I think that's why I like blogging. Even if I don't get any comments from you all, I still amuse myself.

April 1, 1987

Dear Sally,
Last night I babysat Kathryn.
Yesterday C. and me made up! She thought I was paying too much attention to LW. And she says H. is immature!
Today in music, H., AM, and VS and I did our skit. It was: fabulous, outstanding, terrific, great, extraordinary and definitely talent show material! If only H. and AM wanted to!
BC tried to feel out my arm today. He has an earing in his left ear.
I majorly cleaned my room today! It's grrreat!
love,
me

Okay, who the hell was Kathryn?
I think the skit was a workout show where I was the Richard Simmons-esque instructor. Methinks we actually did perform it at the Talent Show that year, shortly before Ween took the stage. Yes, Ween played at our talent shows. My brush with fame.
Here's a photo for your enjoyment. This explains why I am going straight to Hell.
The other windmill-looking statues are the stations of the cross. This was taken in Groom, Texas. I think the photo of Jesus' s hands holding a fetus was too creepy and we deleted it.

My street sucks

Totally off-blog idea...
I just talked to my old upstairs neighbor who informed me that the corner store I used to go to is now becoming a micro-brew and deli sandwich shop! And the dry cleaner at the corner (next door to old house) is becoming a breakfast/lunch/wine/coffee shop.
Meanwhile, I BOLT out of the house when I hear the neighborhood kids yelling "ICE CREAM MAN!! ICE CREAM MAN!!" I run down the street to the van, and take my place in line. I could have given birth to each and every kid in front of me.
Where's my quaint corner deli? What about my coffee shop? I now go to Starbucks with no reservations about how they drive out mom and pop operations. Nary a qualm, I tell you, NARY A QUALM.
And speaking of words that start with Q, one of the aforementioned neighborhood kids is named Qais! It's like saying k-ice. How cool is that? I love diversity!
And local coffee shops :(

March 28, 1987

This day's entry was so boring, I'll have to give you 2. It's a ROGO sale! Read one, get one free!

March 28, 1987
Dear Alexandra,
Hi. Today was a hectic day for yours truly. I rode down to Carversville, fooled around with the daffodils, polished bapkin rings. I'm very tired.
G'Night,
Allison

Just for the record, I meant "puttered" for "fooled" around. There was no kinky stuff going on. And for those of you who are not aware of the joy of puttering around, it is the act of wasting time not doing much of anything. I am the queen of puttering. I get it from my mother, who collects figural napkin rings.


March 30, 1987
Dear Roberta,
My ear is in pain, as well as my feelings. Today at lunch, C. didn't want to sit with me or H., because she wants the "ultimate group". I told LW that she (C.) sounds like Hitler. If she can' t cope with H.'s and mine faults, then tough! She wants us to be like her! No way in hell!
Her idea of the perfect group is: AD (okay, well, nice), AM and C.. She was telling this to LW and she didn't even include LW!
She is an asshole!
Now she hates me for no reason!
Bye,
Broken-hearted Allison
Here I drew a little scene of stick figure girls, one of whom has her nose in the air and the other is reaching out her arms to the nose in the air one. I never was an artist.

Photo trial

Let's see if this will work...Wait! I hear the ice cream man!

This will teach Denyse Schmidt to think she's all creative and unique! I can make oven mitts too!
Hot damn, it did. And now for a chocolate eclair, unless he's speeding again....

The Return of The Diary

Hi guys,
I know, you've missed me and all, but I've been sewing like mad for Gypsy Caravan and the Rock and Roll Craft Show at the end of May. Oh yeah, and I've been at work. I'm seriously considering taking tomorrow off, but I probably won't.
March 27, 1987
Dear Susan ( I hate that name!)
I have the hiccups. Hee cups, as L. says it. Tonight we went up to Quakertown to Central Tractor Farm and Family. It is so hick! The clothes were all mens' jeans. Daddy was slightly drunk tonight.
Good night.

By "slightly", I probably meant he was singing "Starry, Starry Night'" to the cat while laying on the floor. I distinctly remember describing things as being better than they were. And notice how I wrote "Daddy" instead of "Dad"? Yeah, things that night were probably bad.
Quakertown was the breeding ground of not only open-minded abolitionist Quakers, but also mullets, fringed/beaded "Seaside Heights '87" t-shirts, and white trash. I'm glad we moved before I got any older than 10. Who knows how many kids I'd be chasing around now? Is it environment or how one is raised that affects one's future life?

Ugh

I swear I'll post again this weekend. This week was MAP testing, as well as parent-teacher conferences on Monday and Tuesday evenings. Tonight was the first time in 3 days I saw my backyard in the daylight. My tulips bloomed!
And yes, in case you're wondering, it IS a bad idea to have to give the MAP test, teach, then linger at school for the parents to come bitch about their kid's grades. I was so tired today I couldn't speak right. I am sure I won't be the first to say that teachers get treated like shit by their own districts.
And I'm allergic to whatever's dropping pollen all over my car.
To keep you entertained, and because Mai told me how to, here's some pics for ya.
Okay, that was supposed to go here. Obviously, it's me and Matt on our honeymoon. The person who took it was from the St. Louis area. Is it any surprise people here want to leave?
Let's try another one:
Sonuvabitch! Mai! Help me! My brother is only pretending to dislike having my wedding veil on his head. He's a good sport. It must be from all those times I put makeup on him as a kid.
One more, just for kicks.
Those are some rad potholders I made. They're not on www.squaresville.etsy.com yet, so if you like, let me know.

Spring Break Special

Hi again, folks. In honor of my Spring Break, I am posting TWO posts today, because I can't flash you my boobies, get my hair corn-rowed, get sunburned, or have sex with frat boys, or drink until I pass out in the shrubbery. That's my brother's job, anyway. The drinking, not the sex or boobie flashing.
So, here goes.

March 26, 1987
Dear Monique/Monica,
I cannot get this one algebra problem. I HATE IT!!!
C. is being such a jerk lately. I have no idea what her problem is. Maybe it's that time again. She kicked me in gym! And she doesn't say anything to me that is comprehensible. I ask if we need our history books and she says "mnph".
That is really getting on my "noyves".
Bodie is such a pervert. He's always trying to feel the girls out.
LW says that this (the C. thing) always happens right after C. goes to the mall with a friend. The next few days, she ignores them. I wanna KNOW WHY!
"Because inquiring minds wanna know".
Dawn Moresi is pregnant. So is Nancy Glass (Evening Magazine) and Cybil Shepard.
The one, the only,
au revoir,
Allison

I was constantly diagnosing people. And isn't the term "feeling the girls out" hysterical? You can take it literally and figuratively.
Dawn lived next door to H. H. always swore she saw Dawn and her boyfriend doing "it", because their bedroom windows were parallel. Dawn was in 12th grade, I think, and was the first teen mom I saw. It seems strange that I didn't go off on a rant about unwed mothers and bastards and sex before marriage. Not that I disapproved of pre-marital sex, it just hadn't crossed my mind. Instead, I focus my capital letters on C.
In 5th grade, we were best friends, but by 8th, she was moving in a different direction, not waiting for me to catch up. I wasn't sure I wanted to catch up with her. I liked my calmer friends like LW and H., who weren't as moody or physically violent.
Is it wrong to spell out whole names? What are the chances of C. actually finding this blog? What do you think?

To my special guest from Wyoming

I have totally been in Riverton! If you come back to read, I'll detail the "vacation" my family took to Montana during the summer I was 16. I think I even have pictures of your fair town.

No Witty Title Today

Yesterday, I typed this entry up. I had a clever title, but with a click of the mouse, all my creativity was gone. Today's entry documents the first written account of my hate affair with math. It was only after years of cashiering that I became proficient in the basics. I could count out the change before the register told me the amount. I can figure and add a 20% tip to any restaurant bill, and use that same skill to take 75% off already discounted women's winter wear.
My math life wasn't always like this. In second grade, I remember feeling a little lost when we counted up pennies and dimes and nickels. It was like I couldn't recognize that a penny was one tenth of a dime, which was one tenth of a dollar. And the half dollar? Fugetaboutit.
I have a distinct memory of my dad "helping" me with math homework in fifth grade. It was late. I was sobbing with misery and frustration. He would not let me go to bed until I got my homework done. Dad couldn't understand why I couldn't understand how to subtract 872 from 2000, for example.
Today, I can look at that problem, add 3 to get 75, add 25 to get 900, and then add 1100 to get 2000, for a grand total of 1128. It was all the carryng and borrowing from the zeroes that blew me away.
"But it's a ZERO! How can I borrow anything from it? It doesn't HAVE anything!!!" I cried. "What the hell is the matter with you? Why can't you get this! It's not really a zero!" Dad also cried.
If only he had put me in a minimum wage job behind a register for a year, then I would have understood the value of every freakin' penny.

March 24, 1987

Dear Francie,
I am really depressed right now at 8:54 pm. I cannot understand how to get formulas for algebra. I HATE THAT CLASS!! Mr. Ockenhouse is a cheap teacher! I don't know why he was hired, he himself said he was terrible at math when he was in school!
I HATE SCHOOL!
I RETIRE, QUIT,END, DROP OUT! I DON'T WANT ANYMORE!
Allison

Yeah, the Ockenhouse dynasty. Mr. Ockenhouse always reminded me of Jack Sprat. His wife, Senora Ockenhouse, taught Spanish. In 8th grade, we took a quarter of Spanish, and then a quarter of French to see which we liked and would pursue to meet the state foreign language requirement.
Senora Ockenhouse had a lot of "junk in the trunk", if you get my drift. She was tall, big, loud, and not inviting to meek, quiet little smart kids like me.
Madame Stern, on the other hand, wore funky culottes in weird fabrics. She especially liked les grenouilles (frogs). One pair of culottes had frogs on them. She enjoyed art and reading, and the finer things in life, which I did too. Hence, my 4 years of French, even though she always asked about my crabs (see earlier post).
Senora Ockenhouse was always pregnant. They had 4 boys and I think, finally, a girl by the time I graduated in 1991. They drove the first minivan I ever saw.
Damn, I wish I could remember what I typed last night. I am sure it was witty and would inspire many comments.
Oh yeah, Algebra was the only class I ever cheated in. To be fair, it is also a math skill I have actually used in real life. I make quilts, so geometry is my friend. Calculus, which doesn't even USE number, for chrissakes, has never helped me figure yardage. Trigonometry, taught by Mr. Bongiovanni, has never appeared in my adult life. I got B's in Trig, though-my best math grades ever.
Mr. Bongiovanni was a big Italian (naw-did you think he was Irish?) wrestling coach math teacher, which you'd think would have scared the trig into my brain, but he was super nice and a good teacher. I won't go into Calculus, except to say that the teacher wore WHITE linen pants through which you could see his underwear.

A Happy Day of Leisure

March 22, 1987
Dear Courtney,
Today was the best day I've had this month! It was sunny as hell, no wind, Dan and I rode our bikes up and down Aquetong Road. We made telephones out of cans, I mended my clothes, got my homework done, and Dad was in a good mood all day!
It was great!
G'night,
Allison

Cans. I made a can telephone and thought it was awesome. "CAN" you tell I lived in the country?! Actually, can phones are interesting and magical to kids. In fact, there's a styrofoam cup telephone sitting on my desk at school right now.
Aquetong is an Indian word. You can imagine the various ways I've seen it spelled. We lived where the Lenni Lenape Indians used to live. My mother found arrowheads in the creek when she was little. If you think "Aquetong" was bad, we used to live on "Scholl's School Road". Aquetong is pronounced like "Ack wa tong", not Aqualung.
And a day when my dad was cheerful ALL day? Stop the presses! Usually on the weekends, we'd be put to work, like child slaves. There were always rocks to be picked or dug out of the garden, or wood to stack, or a garage to clean out, or laundry to do, or something to be sanded/painted/washed/ spackled/etc. We'd get sent outside at 9 or so, and were allowed inside for lunch or to pee. If our dad came in and saw us sitting around, he'd say, "What the hell's the matter with you? Get your ass outside-you're not done! I work all goddamned week and it would't kill you to help out a little around here!"
Fatherly love. Nowdays, at 9 am on Saturdays, I'm up, showered, breakfasted, and ready to do something. Not sure what, but my hands itch to get busy. Yesterday, for example, I worked on moving the contents of the old compost bin into the new one I made. I sewed, I did 4 loads of laundry, I changed the sheets, I picked up the dog poo in the yard.
Today, I sewed, washed my car, ran the dishwasher, went to Hancock Fabrics, Jo-Ann Fabrics, went to knitting, came home and washed the fabrics I bought today. And now, I rest.
Thanks Dad, for making sure I'd always feel bad about sitting around and doing nothing. But thanks also for making sure I developed a healthy work ethic. There will always, always be something to do.