Spring Cleaning Continues

Among the treasures found in our computer room this afternoon during a much-needed deep clean:

-a spiral notebook belonging to an 8th grader I taught in 2001
-a filled-out time sheet from the summer of 2005, presumably never submitted
-a check signed, dated (January 2005), and made out to our church for a book we have (and thought we paid for)
-an empty Tone Loc CD case (the CD, I am mortified to say, showed up in my car's CD player last week, apparently re-discovered by my husband)
-more random cords than I could ever identify uses for, scrunched up in various corners

Next up: the shoe closet that I already know contains the misshapen flip-flops that my friend Lindsey's cat chewed up two summers ago.

Red Letter Day

My celebrity-illiterate husband, who just last week asked me if Leonardo Dicaprio was married and then told me that Angelina Jolie, in the movie The Good Shepherd, looked "familiar," redeemed himself today. We were on our way home from a weekend in northern Wisconsin and stopped at a tiny stripmall Subway in the blink-and-you'll-miss-it town of Pine City.

"Hey, that woman looks like Amy Klobuchar," Mark observed, as we were eating our turkey subs in a corner booth. I turned around and saw the profile of a woman who did indeed resemble our new state senator. She was with two other women, and all three were dressed in suits and heels--on Memorial Day, up north, where everyone else was donning flip-flops and t-shirts.

"It's totally her," said Mark with conviction. We grinned like Cheshire Cats at her when she walked past our table, and she graciously shook our hands and told us she was heading up north to survey the fire damage in Grand Marais. She exited the restaurant and got into a tan Chevy SUV with "fueled with 85% ethanol" stickers on the side doors, and that was the end of my greatest celebrity sighting since seeing Eric McCormack (better known as Will from "Will and Grace") in Las Vegas.

Maybe This Will Be My Miracle?

Despite the fact that most (American) people I know who are my age are not having babies yet, my students think it's downright tragic that I'm a week away from 30, have been married almost 4 years and still have nothing to show for it. They don't know what we've been going through, but truthfully that's irrelevant anyway.

They used to be subtle about it.

"Teach-ah, married?"

"Teach-ah, have children?"

In their culture, those are the two most important things in life, and the second one should follow the first one rather quickly. Preferably within the first year or two, otherwise the wife runs the risk of her husband taking a second wife who can bear him a child.

My students are I, we're pretty tight these days, and their questions have become more transparent.

"Teach-ah, like children?"

"Teach-ah, husband like children?"

"Teach-ah, no like children?"

"Teach-ah, take medicine have baby?"

Today, after a particularly interesting discussion on shaman ceremonies and their effect on fertility, Kia looked at me hard, kindness in her eyes, and said, "Teach-ah, need shaman ceremony. Teach-ah have baby."

Why be coy? I nodded and said, "Well, maybe that's a good idea. Do you think shamans can help American people?"

She cocked her head and seemed to be considering this. She tapped her finger against her cheek thoughtfully until she replied.

"I don't know, Teach-ah. Maybe."

As far as I can tell, a shaman ceremony means watching a man jumping up and down on a table shaking bells, but I haven't had much luck with western medicine, so I'm willing to give it a shot. I've never met a Hmong woman without a brood of kids, so one must concede that they know what they're doing when it comes to fertility!

I Was Looking For A Reason to Start Waxing Anyway

I was in a hurry at CVS this morning, but found myself delayed in the shaving aisle. The Venus razor that I wanted was somehow locked up on the bar that it was hanging from. I shook it around a little, but it wouldn't come off. Apparently, plastic razors have now been added to the list of "things at the pharmacy that you have to ask a clerk for," along with cold medicine and home pregnancy tests. I had to look for someone to help me, she then had to look for a key--twice (the first one she brought over didn't work)--and then when I held out my basket for her to drop the packaged razor in, she shook her head and said she had to walk it up to the counter with me.

It's all worth it though, because I had been really worried about being attacked with a plastic razor at the CVS. I can rest easy knowing that it will now be much more difficult for people to commit this particular common crime.

It's My Little Litmus Test

Continuing the theme of tolerance, one of my favorite topics to think about on my way to work is whether or not I'd be friends with the people driving ahead of me, behind me, etc. There are certain no-brainers: a St. Olaf sticker of any kind means "friend." A "W" is most definitely a no.

Representing most other local liberal arts colleges usually gets the "yes" nod, as well as Wellstone or Clinton (Bill or Hillary) stickers. People who flick their smoked-up cigarettes out the window do not get my potential friendship, nor do people who drive hummers or other unnecessarily behemoth-like vehicles. The car in front of me today most definitely did not pass my friendship test, with one sticker that read: "I love animals. They're delicious!" and the other which said: "Marriage is one man and one woman." I fully expected him not to use his turn signal--turning without signaling is another deal breaker for me--but unexpectedly, he did. Still, he didn't redeem himself.

The person that I know I'd be really good friends with hasn't been driving down Cleveland at 7:08 recently, but I have fond memories of those weeks when I'd follow her and her bumper sticker: "It will be a great day when schools get all the money they need, and the military has to hold a bake sale to buy its bombs."

Shopping Trip

I generally try to not be judgmental of others, but today's experience at the Rainbow on St. Paul's eastside really tried my patience. The check-out aisles all had long lines, and my best option this afternoon was behind a couple with two heaping carts--most of the food scanned and ready to be bagged. When the clerk gave them the total, they were incredulous and had her check the prices on several of the items.

"It needs to be under $100," the woman told the clerk, who had quoted the $155 total to them. I eyed their piles and piles of food and wondered how they had calculated so poorly. I figured they'd just suck it up and pay it--what else are you going to do when there are five people in line behind you? But no, they proceeded to return items, one by one, asking for the new total with each concession. Back went the 24 pack of Pepsi ("how much now?"), back went the 6 super-sized packages of Twizzlers ("now?"), back went the three bags of potato chips ("now?"). When the total was finally $99.36, the couple approved, and, without an apologetic word to any of us behind them, swiped their card through the reader.

And then they totally blocked the bagging area for at least ten minutes while the rest of us held up the rest of the line as we waited to bag our own groceries.

This just was not cool.