Relationship Revelations

I had a most startling revelation this morning. Living with me may sometimes be problematic, so to speak.

My wife and I were looking through "Milk Street," one of my absolute favorite cooking magazines. This, in and of itself, was a minor miracle. Apparently, "Oooh! That looks good," becomes somewhat annoying after the first three recipes in the magazine.

So, in a nutshell, here's how our morning went. It started with a sharp intake of air.

Her: They all look good. Don't even say it.
Me: I wasn't going to say anything. Really. A thought just popped in my head. That's all.
Her: Mmm hmm. This Stir Fry Pork with Sweet Peppers and Peanuts looks really good.
Me: We have peanuts! (We always have peanuts, but that's another story.)
Her: Do we have pork?
Me: Well... Ummm... No.
Her: Do we have scallions?
Me: If we do, they're dead and gone by now!
Her: Do we have chili-garlic sauce?
Me: What's that?
Her: But we have peanuts.
Me: Oh yes! Most definitely!
Her: Can we make the recipe?
Me: Ummm... Well... No. I suppose not.

She mumbled something about thank God for peanuts and seemed to question my sanity.

So here's the question. Do I try to adjust my less than stellar habits, or do I address her lack of tolerance for said habits?

Let's just chalk that question up as rhetoric for now. 

How the Haworth Found Christmas

It seems I'm back at it. You know, rewriting classic stories.

So, this time, I thought I would have yet another go at another Dr. Seuss classic, How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

Why, you might be asking. One, because I can. Two, because it's fun. And, three, it seemed like a great idea to couple it with my first grade students' artwork and showcase it with our crazy door design for the classroom door contest!

So, without any further adieu, I present to you How the Haworth Found Christmas.

Every Charles England student
liked Christmas a lot!
But the Haworth, who taught there
in first grade, did NOT!

The Haworth despised Christmas

for no discernible reason.

And not just Christmas Day,

but the whole darn season!

No one knows why 

he hated Christmas so much.

Rumors abounded about

no fishing, and such.

While that may be possible,

the real reason might be

that Mister Haworth’s heart

was too small! Yes sirree!!

Whatever the reason,

his heart or the trout,

old Haworth grumbled at

the students all about

who went about their days

with smiles on their faces,

dreaming of holiday break

and happier places.

For he knew every student

in his room AND in the school

were crazy excited

like insane little fools!

“And they’re ignoring mathematics,”

he mumbly grumbled,

“and reading, writing and science,”

he grumbly mumbled!

He tapped on his teacher desk,

a staccato song in his ear.

“I MUST stop Christmas

from making it’s way here!”

For, next week, he knew…

All the Charles England kids

would come in to his class

begging to see Christmas vids!

And they’d run. And they’d play.

And they’d play, play, play, play!

And they’d get so full of candy,

they’d be horrible all day!

Then the kids, first through fifth,

would refuse to sit down,

and they’d hustle and bustle

and keep moving around!

And THEN they’d do something

that made Haworth quite crazy.

They’d all go beserk

as they’re brains became hazy!

Any manners they had

would all fly away.

No one would know where

they’d disappear to that day.

And they’d talk! And they’d talk!

And they’d TALK, TALK, TALK, TALK!

Something Haworth liked the least - 

all the TALK, TALK, TALK, TALK!

Haworth stewed and he thought,

“Gotta stop the entire thing!

I’m 53 years old!

I can’t wait until Spring!”

Then Haworth had a thought.

A light bulb went off!

He had an idea

how to pull this whole thing off!

“Field Trip!” he yelled.

Students scrambled and scurried.

He watched as they hustled

and bustled and hurried

to all get lined up

to get on the buses,

while other teachers watched,

Wondering what all the fuss is.

As the last student loaded on

and the door was closed tight,

each bus cranked up

for an epic filled flight.

“Be ready for a field trip

of epic proportions!

A solid two weeks of

educational absorption!”

The vehicle turned right

and the engine started to pull.

A small voice called out

while still in sight of the school.

“Mr. Haworth,” she cried out,

“I DO like to learn…

But I prefer math

on MobyMax, IXL and Zearn.”

“I’d like to go back,”

said Carter McNook.

“I just want to

get lost deep inside a good book!”

The Haworth just stopped.

Stopped dead in his tracks.

Unable to go forward and

unwilling to turn back.

“We need our classrooms

“and teachers, Mr. Haworth, please!

“Can we go back now?

“Please, Mr. Haworth. Please!”

These children wanted to learn!

Why, they hadn’t lost their manners!

In fact, they begged Mr. Haworth

to help them find answers!

It’s been said in that bus

on that fateful day,

that Mr. Haworth finally

discovered his way

back to the reason

he first started to teach -

to help all those children

who needed someone to reach

out to them. Someone

to tell them they matter,

to say “It’s really okay,”

when they anxiously chatter.

So they turned the bus round

and headed back to the school.

But Mr. Haworth yelled out,

“I have but one great big rule!”

“As you go back

“to your classrooms today,

“enjoy yourselves! Have fun learning!

“That’s simply the best way!”

Brethren Bunny

Once upon a time, I used to write quite a bit of poetry. I'm not sure what happened, but at some point, I just stopped.

I've been thinking about it quite a bit lately. It seems to be nagging at me. Every now and then, a line pops into my head, just begging to be written down and fleshed out... a fledgling poem hoping, waiting, dreaming of seeing the light of day.

This poem has been badgering me for quite some time. It's based on a true story. It took three psychotic rabbits chasing each other for what seemed like an eternity earlier today to shake it out of my brain.

Needless to say, you might start seeing more of my poetry here on my blog. I hope you like it and, if not, at least find it entertaining.

It's titled (not entitled! Too many people misuse that term!), simply, "Brethren Bunny."

It struggled and squirmed

breathing heavily

determined to escape, to flee from me

though hopelessly entangled

     in a trap of a viny vinca garden.

Quickly and carefully

my fisherman fingers freeing it

untangling the mighty mess of vines

     and watching

                        waiting

                                    bewildered

as it stumbled slowly toward me

     unnaturally unafraid.

It sought me out

stopping by my side and

sighed its final breath

beside kindred brethren.

'Twas the Day Before Break

'Twas the day before break

And all through the classrooms

The teachers were stressing

In Meets, Canvas and Zooms.

For you see the pandemic

Created an academic mess.

It seems virtual education

Is an absolute stress!

Some children were nestled

Snuggled up in their beds,

While others played, cartwheeled,

Or stood on their heads.

Each teacher in their own

Little space they called work,

Developing lesson plans,

Spasms, and jerks...

Plans that would guide,

Hopefully teach and engage

Knowledge-hungry students,

No matter their age.

As the slide Window opened

A loud noise pierced my ear.

Someone's dog barked shrilly

When the Fed-Ex man appeared.

Then the light of heaven

Shown bright in my eyes...

Oh, Johnny's cam was pointed

Up into sunny, bright skies.

Then, wonder of wonder,

But who should appear?

It was Clive, my student

I haven't seen all year!

I dashed to my Powerschool

Roster super quick

And nimbly marked him

'Present,' clickety click!

More rapid than meerkats,

In a blink he was gone!

I asked my friends, "Did YOU

Guys see Clive? Was he on?"

"Well Johnny? Well Judy?

Help me Buddy! Help Masie!

I just saw him right there!

I know I'm not crazy!"

At the top of the screen

Clive showed up again,

Unmuted and screaming

At his big brother Ben.

"Mute yourself please!

We've a lesson to learn!

Addends are important...

WATCH OUT FOR THAT...

Fern."

I attempted my lesson

And started anew,

But Clive stole the show.

We all knew it was true.

And then in a twinkling,

I came up with a plan.

"Math Scavenger Hunt!"

I yelled. "Ann, get one can!"

"Bob find two books.

And Judy, three clothes.

Buddy, four pencils.

Now Suzy, five gift bows."

"And Clive, this is most

Important of all...

Go find six puppies,

But they have to be small."

Clive turned and he dashed.

His camera went dark.

"Mr. Haworth," I said

To myself, "you're too smart!"

The online room became calm.

The students' voices abated.

I could finally impart

Some knowledge while we waited

On Clive to appear

With his impossible task.

I'm not sure how I did it,

But I knew just what to ask.

I restarted my lesson.

We began on number three...

Seven plus nine,

Plus blank equals twenty.

I reached for a book

And as I turned around,

I heard the bang of a door

And some whining sound.

A camera flicked on

And, well, there stood Clive

Holding a large box

Filled with something... alive?

He spoke not a word.

He opened the box.

Out jumped puppy

Number one like a fox!

As five more spilled out,

My students went crazy,

Including the littlest and

Shyest of all -- dear Maisie!

With my head in my hands

I gave a low whistle.

Away went my plans

Like the down of a thistle.

As I closed my eyes

And took a deep breath,

I heard, "Who's that new kid?

Her name's Elsabeth!"*

*(Special note for my non-teacher friends: When we get observed in virtual classrooms, our assistant principals, principals, superintendents, or whoever is evaluating our performance 'show up,' they simply appear as a name on the screen.) 

Presto! Instant Fireplace Renovations

Pop pop ordered an insert for the fireplace. Most of the time, upgrades to the house fall under one category -- me. 

Pop pop, as most of the grandkids call my father-in-law, told me there was a package on the front porch for me. I noticed the front door still closed and locked and questioned how he knew this. Apparently, Amazon told him that it was there. Someone should shoot that Amazon photographic satellite down. How else would it know there was a box there!

Regardless, I struggled. I moaned. I strained. I groaned. And, ten minutes later, the box was in the house. It was but a mere 10 minutes more that I found something to cut the top open. All I had left was to drag the open box to the soon to be renovated fireplace.

Don’t let its minuscule size fool
you... It was a beast!

Approximately 15 minutes and eight pages of instructions later (plus instructions hurled my direction by the spectators), I had the unit in place. Then, I simply plugged it in and pressed the "on" button on the handy-dandy remote control that came with it. Voila!

Somehow, the little electric heat box with its holographic flames I put in the fireplace seemed anticlimactic. It made me yearn for my childhood and the day my dad got a real wood stove for the fireplace.

Thinking of that stove brought back some fond memories of times I spent with my dad. It seems like we spent a lot of time together cutting wood and hauling it to the house to feed that stove. We had a lot of fun adventures.

Once, he stood behind the truck and then asked me to back it out. And then there was the underground bees nest. It seems I remember the axe head flying off once. Good thing I yelled "fore" like they do in golf. My dad could have been hurt! I even had to stand on the back of the truck once to help it get traction. That might actually be related to me backing the truck out. Hmmmm...

Once, I even remember him joking with me by saying "don't cut that tree down! Do you want it to land on the truck?"

While there are other fond memories I could regale upon my readers, there is something to be said for Pop pop's genius. One Amazon purchase plus one easy click of a button equals -- presto! Instafire! 

Fish Lies, Fact or Fiction?

After watching innumerable videos on fly fishing and listening to twice as many podcasts on the same subject, it seems I grew up under a cloud of false beliefs and ignorance.

According to a recent Orvis podcast, feeding lies, sheltering lies and prime lies refer to distinct areas where trout go to eat, to be protected and to be in an area that provides all the elements the fish needs to survive, respectively.

These definitions are radically different from what I believed growing up.

When I was younger, a feeding lie referred to the size of your fish. More accurately, it referred to the size you actually said it was. Hence the common phrase, "What's this mess you're feeding me," or some variation, which often followed such slightly altered statements of fish size.

Sheltering lies, however, often have an element of truth to them. In general, they are are statements that can't quite be quantified.

"That bass had the biggest attitude of any fish I ever caught," "that sunfish put a lot of heart into that fight," and "that was the biggest pumpkinseed I ever saw" are good examples of proper sheltering lies.

Unlike the feeding and sheltering lies, the prime lie can take many different forms. Instead of going into an elaborate detailed description of a prime lie, allow me to give you an excellent example.

I caught my first striped bass on a fly rod when I was a teenager. In fact, I caught it within the first two casts the first time I picked up a fly rod. At the time I had no clue as to what I was doing. I cast out a little weighted fly and stripped it back. Cast it out again and was stripping it back when the fish hit. I set the hook and struggled some, but managed to land it. I'd guess that it's about 14 or 15 pounds.

What makes this a prime lie is that technically, it's all true. I was 17. It was my first time holding a fly rod. Cluelessness did indeed hold me in a firm grip. However, notice the verb tense change in the last sentence.

When I caught the striper, it probably weighed in just over a pound. If the bass is still alive, though, it could very well be 14 or 15 pounds or more by now. Herein lies the quality element of the enigma that is the prime lie.

Imagine my surprise at discovering all these years later that some disrespectful fisherman changed the meaning of my perfectly crafted fishing terminology! Despicable!

Fish Identification 101

I must confess to being deeply depressed. I squarely blame Tom Rosenbauer of Orvis for my depression. In short, Tom let me down.

Allow me to share some background knowledge. Through this knowledge, I hope my readers come to understand my need for a personal apology from Tom for this severe oversight.

My wife took me on a fly fishing sojourn recently in the mountains of North Carolina. Prior to this three day journey, I have been binge watching fishing videos on YouTube. Primarily, I've been watching the Orvis videos and concentrating on the ones with Tom Rosenbauer.

I've even been binge listening to the Orvis podcasts with Tom. By the time my wife and I left for our trip, I had covered all of the 2014 podcasts and was well into 2015. I've been eagerly listening to each piece of advice Tom and his guests have shared with me. Heck, I've even taken notes on some!

I carried all this new knowledge with me as I waded into the stream that flowed by my AirBnB. I looked the water up and down. I perused through my flies and asked myself, "Hmmm... What would Tom tell me?"

A little black and white dry fly jumped into my fingers. I deftly tied it to my tippet with a firm Haworth Haphazard Overhead Hug knot. (Yes. I named the knot I invented after myself.) Within two casts I landed a little rainbow trout!

Needless to say, I was absolutely elated! Tom and I exchanged imaginary hugs and high fives. He complimented my extraordinary fishing talent. I complimented his excellent tutelage.

Now, fast forward to day three and ten more fish later. I'm busy fly fishing my heart out, changing flies, changing tactics and changing locations, all the while looking for foam and casting to the seams. Three fish made a mockery of me by tugging my strike indicator under and letting go faster than a dog on a potato chip.

I had all but given up when my line hung up. I paused and didn't move, not wanting to lose my hook to the very large rock or log on which it was stuck. That was the last straw. As I stood there, I realized my leader was moving sideways in the current.

"Monster fish on!" I mentally screamed and set the hook with all my strength. My line shot out of the water and sailed over my head like a warning shot fired from a cannon. I never even saw the 20 pound brown trout that took my hook.

In all the videos and all the podcasts, never once did Tom tell me how to discern the difference between a large rock and a monster trout. This, I believe, is pertinent information that should be passed on to future fly fishing stars such as myself.

Come to think of it, Robert Field of Field Trips didn't either! As soon as I finish drafting my letter to Tom, I may be firing one off to Rob, also.