Karen Veronica Shortell Johnson

I think, if I were ever to have another girl, I would name her Karen. And she would have beautiful dark hair and grey eyes. She would have an unstoppable spirit and a great sense of fun. She would love to dance. She wouldn't take any sh*t from anyone. She would blaze her own trail.



65 years ago, Karen Veronica Shortell came in to this world in Staten Island, New York. She had an older brother and sister. She would later have two more sisters. They grew up in a white house and went to a Parochial school. The nuns were merciless to them all.

Karen sucked her thumb and the nuns stopped her by putting the cardboard backing of a notebook around her elbow secured by rubber bands. Told over and over, "Your brother is so smart, what happened to you" Karen dug her heels in and refused. to. learn. Her mother, Anna, a formidable power her-own-damn-self went to the school and straightened that mess out. After that, she did fine in school.

Karen was a fighter. Her older brother, whom she adored, would set up fights between Karen and the local boys and then charge admission to the neighborhood kids. Karen got 50% of the proceeds, and usually won the fight.

She hated dolls. But every year she'd get one, and then she'd wait for a truck to come by, throw the doll under the wheels and scream "You hit my sister!" and run like Hell.

Karen met Wayne when she was 19. Karen was well endowed, Wayne dating Carol, her best friend. Wayne was sure she had falsies on. He asked her to dance, and they spent the rest of that Friday night dancing.

He was in the service. Strike one. He was 21 already. Strike two. He looked amazingly like the adored older brother who had died in a car wreck a year earlier. Strike three.
And yet... That Sunday Morning at the family breakfast he asked her to marry him. She agreed and they were married in early May.

Barely 9 months later, the happy couple would have a heart break. Their first child, a girl, was born too early, so small she fit in her father's palm. They named her Karen. They would be blessed with three more children, each wonderful and terrible as only children can be.

Karen and Wayne had many happy years together, fitting together like spoons in the silverware drawer. Wayne died the day after their 35th wedding anniversary. Karen held on 6 more years, but also succumbed to death.

Her children gathered, quietly, to honor her, a small service, but still mourn her passing.

Today I will celebrate all that was good about my mother. She and I had a rough couple of years. OK, several rough years. But today, I will remember the good times.
Happy Birthday Mom

Did I just say that out loud?

Okay, we're continuing our discussion of Newton's Laws of Motion. I'm showing them my big jar of Martian eye balls (olives) and how they stay still in the jar when you spin the jar really fast, why rockets take off using balloons. Then, it comes time for a net force demonstration.

I say:
"what would happen if I took a straw and blew on the ping pong ball sitting on this table."

(you can tell this is gonna be bad- I said blow and ball in the same sentence. Already my radar is going off)

I set the ping pong ball on a small table.

"I need to volunteers. You girls over there, y'all have been blowhards today come on up."

"Now get on your knees, in front of this table"

(Oh, shit)

"Now take your straw and blow on this... this.... thing.... with out letting it fall off the table."

(I couldn't even look at the class)

One of the girls is blowing so hard the ball keeps flying off the table

(Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it. Don't look at anyone)

"Don't blow so, um, hard"

It is a testament to how much reserve and willpower I inherited from my father: I never even cracked a smile.

But damned if none of students laughed either.

bad movies and good times

So my son leaves today. Twas nice having him around. I definitely enjoyed trading smart butt quips with him. I missed that. A lot. He's been very interested in his lap top and games, understandably. He watched a few movies with us. We saw Pathfinder, a ridiculous movie at best. We spent most of the time mocking the characters in it. And deriding the science too. And the Indians all spoke with flat accents, cuz, you know, they didn't have personalities until the white folks gave it to them.
Anyway, I'm off to teach acceleration and gravity. Yay.

And then she said....

I tell my students they shouold never be afraid of asking questions, it might mean the difference between understanding and not getting it. I don't let the other kids in class mock or tease each other when a student asks what is perceived to be a "dumb question"

For example....

We were talking about absolute zero, the theoretical point where all molecular motion stops.
-273 Celsius. That's cold.
As a point of reference I was telling them about the Antarctic and how cold it is there. One of the girls says "Have we been there?"

Sure, sez I. Lots of expeditions have been there, no land, but lots of ice, blada blada blada.

"Can we stand there?"

..blink..

"Won't we....fall off?
"Will we feel upside down?"

..blink..
::snorts from the rest of the class:: of which I stopped

"Do you feel like this?" I asked her.

::leaning over sideways with arms stretched out::



I have got to move to where there there are smarter kids.

still here, still busy, still sad. Enjoying having my son with me at night.

Went to Mike Hardegree's funeral yesterday. The chorus did a fantastic job. A couple of them were servicemen and women. The man was Incredible. I wish you could have heard his voice. Then the woman sang Ava Maria. The one song my mother would speak of from her childhood. Such a beautiful song.
I cannot, for the life of me, stop thinking that every morning, for the rest of that woman's life, she will wake up and realize her son is dead. That thought has kept my mind paralyzed with sadness and fear.
The media was there, stinkin' parasites!

This is my Marine

There are many others like him

But this one is mine!

Damn Dog, or what $250 buys these days

Our dog, Riley, is a good boy. 90% of the time. Then he's a pain in the ass, or the face, if he bites you. He does not like you messing with your his skin or claws or ears.

Today he went to the vet. We muzzled him and he got it off in about 15 seconds. I asked them to sedate him for everyone's safety. They had to hold him with the pole and lasso thingy while all the while he was growling, yipping and squealing. Poor baby was so freaked out he "expressed his anal gland". Damn.

Ever smelt that?

Farookin' NasTeee!



They finally got him sedated. There he sat with his hind legs demurely tucked to the side, as he tracked his head side to side, side to side, side to side. His front paws slowly slide outwards until he had done the splits and he lay slack-jawed and slobbering.



6 or 7 shots later, a good ear reaming and tooth cleaning, and the completion of the "anal expression" (so nasty!!) plus flea meds, nail trimming and a worming. Plus a shower to clean off that nasty brown shit that came out of his ass! He got the works folks!

Right now he sits besides, looking slightly hungover, but satiated on Sonic french fries.

A loss

One of the teacher's at my school, Mrs. H, lost her son this morning. He was in the bus near Baghdad that exploded. I have known her 8 years. She taught my son and played a critical part in me keeping my sanity his junior year. She Always had a positive thing to say and thought the best of everyone. That poor family. Her son died half a world away, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it. Please send happy thoughts and well wishes.

Hug your children tonight.

Smell my finger

As I was putting Re-Pete to bed tonight she said, "My butt itches"

"Scratch it."

Scratch Scratch.

"But when I do,"

sniff sniff

"it makes my fingers smell disgusting."

Sheesh, I guess she can't be genius all the time.

So, every year, my students take a big test, mandated by our state. This test counts for 15% of their overall grade. We are very careful to cover everything on the test plus whatever else we manage to fit in. Then the next year we get to look at our data and see what's what. Compare our classes to others in the same school, county, and state. If too many fail, it's our heads.

State wise- 40% of the students passed the test. For me, it was an average of 70% passing. That's right. Almost double. My lowest class- 53%, my highest-80%. And I don't teach honors. Last year after results came in, I went student by student and checked their scores- compared that data to the student's grade in my class and attendance record. You can imagine the results.
The students that

• showed up most,
• who turned in their work, a
• nd passed the tests are the one who passed.
• Almost to a one, the students with poor work and attendance ethics are the ones who failed the test.

So now what do I have to do?
Yes, figure out where I failed. What I can do to make sure more of my students pass. Zeebus wept!

Now, why do I teach? I love science. I want to share my love of science. Simple.
I want my students to love science as much as I do. But, I'm realistic. And I'll settle for passing. I'll even bust my butt to show you an idea 10 different ways just so's you get it. But if a student won't even be bothered to participate, I've got 4 words.
See.You.Next. Year.
You sure will fail.
You will not graduate.
Stay Awake Next Time

beating a dead horse

Education is like beating a dead horse. It's insanity defined, really. We have these expectations of our students and ourselves. And parents and communities. We want our students to love learning and want to better themselves. We want to inspire all of our students. We want the parents to support us and hold their children accountable, that what they do in school is the minimum, not the max. We want the community to support us.

Dead horses cannot give us what we want. We beg the horse, give it water, food, berate it, even beat it. My high school students only do the minimum, many only because we hold their feet to the fire. They don't see the rewards of hard work over time.

But why should they? TV shows them solutions to life in 3o minutes or less, many actors/artists/whatevers have 30 days marriages, jump from cause to cause, lead these crazy ass life styles.These are our children's role models.

Even their forms of communication are truncated- OI812, CUL8R, ETC, TTUL8R,LOL, fer fuck's sake. Everything has to happen right now, with little to no work on their end. Where did we go wrong? Was it when we decided we wanted them to have a better life than us? No wants, all the toys they can handle. New, better, faster, more gigabytes.

I've said it before, Jerry Springer marked the beginning of the end.

What's the solution?

psychic sidekick

Trying to move dirt with an underwear-clad 4 year old in her dress shoes is like having a psychic sidekick. She knows just where I'm just about plant that shovel and she gets there one second before me with her foot or hand. Then, when I'm trying to haul the 5 gallon bucket of dirt, she's gonna carry her 5 cup bucket right in front of me, at anti-warp speed. She had a ball, but I probably said ten times, Re-Pete please move over a little bit.
The pond is done, and beautiful, and the extra stuff found homes elsewhere in the yard.

I have the next spot picked out, too. I want another raised bed off to the side.

still the same

Wow, has it been 5 days since my last post? Absolutely nothing has been going on. Get the girls up, head off any breakdowns that Pete might have (She's 9 going on 17), go to work, teach, deal with odd assorted adults who need a whole gamut of things, some of which I'm not willing to give, come home, cook, clean, bathe, and bed, repeat. No word from the boy, no word from the boy, no word from the boy, and still no word from the boy. I think he's doing The Crucible about now. Oh, he'll make it, no doubt. I think about what it will be like when I finally get to see him again, and it just makes me cry.
We get to dig in the dirt today, maybe get that pond and garden finished. Nice.