At 8 AM, Reading, I Can’t Get Inspired; Learning this Early Just Makes Me So Tired!

OMG. Can I tell you how I feel for these girls? I was up late, working on my paper, and had to get up at 6 AM to get the kids up and me out the door in time for my 7:57 class. Then, to have to turn my brain on that early, to think about a piece of literature that was written in 1600. No amount of coffee in the world can make that happen without a good deal of mental wincing. And they do this EVERY DAY! I’m just saying. For me, it’s like being in a foreign country: my brain is just exhausted. Not that it's not a great experience reading this book and discussing it--it really is, but I'm not primed to be  erudite so early in the morning!

And I am so impressed with these seniors--only 2 weeks of school left, mid-AP exams, and, bless their hearts, they are still reading Don Quixote--all 5 pounds of it--and discussing the literary elements of the book that make Cervantes such a great writer. Anyway, I’ve got to go back and work on my paper--Dr. Reinholtz said it’s OK to turn it in Monday. Then, I’m finished with this wonderful class, and I say to my senior classmates: you go, girls! 

I'll post my paper and my grade. Stay tuned.

Don Quixote Book Review, and Now I’ve Got a Paper Due!

Well, I’m hangin’ in there with English Honors IV. We’re all second-semester seniors, as I mentioned, and I totally feel their pain. There’s so much going on this time of year, with APs, and we’re all really ready for this to be over with, eager for college to start (but not too soon!) Fortunately, I am not taking any APs this semester, but all my pals from class seem to be. Tests are this week. Egads. I remember it well.

But we’ve got a paper due Friday, and I’m working on mine tonight. I won’t give it away, but I will tell you what the assignment is. First a little background. So, in Book II of Don Quixote, he’s still tilting at windmills, generally making a fool of himself, to the great enjoyment of the reader. We love him because he’s doing all these crazy things in the name of nobility, in the name of bringing back the era of virtuous knights. Suddenly, he meets a Duke and Duchess who have supposedly read Book I (isn’t that clever, how the author references his own fiction inside his own fiction?), and they are so amused by him that they take him in and basically set him up to make a fool of himself while they watch. They position him up to do crazy and dangerous things, and they, barely containing themselves, just sit back and soak it all in.

Nabokov referred to Don Quixote as "encyclopedia of cruelty,” and this was one of the principal passages that inspired that insight. So, the topic for the essay is “what is the passage about the Duke and Duchess meant to suggest? Is it a commentary on human nature? Is it an indictment of a social class? Is it a statement about the relationship between readers, books, and writers?”

I have a few ideas, and they are supposed to fill 3 or 4 pages. So off I go. Comments welcome. It’s due Friday. Hasta Quixote!

I Found a Book Club, but Here’s the Hook: It’s Better when One Reads the Book!

So let’s just set this up. I’m in English Honors IV. It’s all Seniors, second semester. Taught by a really cool teacher, Dr. Reinholtz. And we’re reading Don Quixote. Have you ever read it? I didn’t think so. It one of those “books you should read before you die,” and you know death is gonna beat you to the punch.

But let me tell you: you really should read it. It’s better than you would think. In fact, it's better than War and Peace and Moby Dick combined. Wait. You know I didn't mean that. Nobody wants to read War and Peace and Moby Dick combined. My bad.

What I mean to say is that you might want to bump Don Quixote up on the "before I die" list. But I digress, and morbidly so.

This class, in the true spirit of “pursuing learning for learning’s sake” takes the chill off 2nd-semester Seniors. It’s just a teacher, some students, and a book. No smart boards, no notes, no lesson plans. There are a couple papers due, but the class is really about reading and talking.

So Dr. Reinholtz. Let’s just talk about him for a second. Totally the teacher we all liked in high school. (Er, I think maybe he was in grade school when we were in high school. Oh well.) He got his Ph.D. In Spanish Literature. Teaches French, Spanish, and English. (For those of you who were able to attend the Marlborough School Charitable Fund’s fashion show earlier this month, Dr. Reinholtz was the auctioneer, and he’s clearly got a shot at stand-up comedy if the Language Arts thing doesn’t work out.) With the likes of Don Quixote (DQ), he’s teaching tough stuff, but he makes it really interesting. You would all really like being in his class.

Then there are the students. A really cool, eclectic mix of smart girls, really smart girls, who have clearly all done their reading, who are into reading this book. They have interesting insights, and this class is the forum to discuss them, lead by Dr. R.

And then, there’s the book. With all 992 pages of it, it’s almost 2 pounds of discussion material. We are, this week, about ½-way through, so I had some catching up to do. And I tell you, it’s a good and funny book! But the best part about reading it is I’ve finally found a book club I like!

It’s nice to have a leader in the book club, too. Like that smart neighbor who got her Masters in Lit. who doesn’t drink too much wine during the meeting.

So Dr. Reinholtz leads the discussion. Today, we’re talking about the beginning of Part Two. Parts One and Two were published 10 years apart (1605 and 1615). Hey, Part Two was a sequel!

The beginning of Part Two deals with the subject of Don Quixote’s madness. His friends and fans think he is crazy (but amusing), but DQ believes himself to be sane: a true knight-errant, willing to do whatever it takes to right wrongs, to uphold morality, to live like knights lived in the Golden Age. He is what the world of fiction calls an antihero.

Which led us to discuss non-fiction heroes. Nelson Mandela, Abe Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr. Were these heroes--the ones who dreamed big and stood amidst a raging river of opposition, and yet continued to dream--so different from DQ?

Weren’t they seen by many, in their inspired, hopeful singular-ness, as a little cuckoo? I mean, it didn’t look good for any of those fellows at certain points, right? DQ was nuts, no doubt about it, but he, too, believed the world could be--should be--a better place.

It was an interesting discussion. Putting sanity aside, do all charismatic leaders urge us back to a “golden age”? Do righters of wrongs always yearn to unwind the clock to a simpler, kinder, more idyllic age? And, more provocatively, how golden were the golden ages? Maybe we are just, by nature, erroneously nostalgic? I mean Eden is a great ideal, but let’s get real, right?

Makes me erroneously nostalgic just thinking about it. Come to think of it, when I was a kid, I walked to Marlborough 6 miles in the snow, uphill both ways! (No wonder I never read Don Quixote.)

By the way, did you know Don Quixote is considered the first modern novel? I have not yet learned why, but my classmates could tell you, for sure. They know far more about literary chronology than I. Today, I was more concerned about whether I would be late to pick up the kids at carpool.

Thank God it didn't snow!

I have more reading to do tonight. To page 495, I think. So off I go, to tilt at windmills, quixotically.

Trying to Crack the Code of Cum Laude Leaves Me with Answers that Look Kinda Cloudy

All-school Assembly. 

First, let me say that from the back of the room, this could have been any year at Marlborough, after 1975. A few hundred girls with indifferent hairstyles, sweaters over uniforms, all listening to a keynote speaker at the podium in Caswell Hall. A little more pastel, and it might have been my year.

But the speech was not something out of the1980s. Indeed, the speaker herself was an Alumna who had graduated in 1991. The topic of the speech was how, though today’s Marlborough student is driven to achieve so much, sometimes it takes a real leap of faith to step outside the rat race and pursue one’s real passions, even if such don’t advance one’s c.v. (read: chances to get into  a good college).

The speaker, Danna Drori, was a charming and eloquent mucho-cum-laude Alumna who told her personal story about her hard-driven, successful Marlborough career that unfolded into a consummate Yale experience, with the promise of bigger and better achievements, until she was diagnosed--at age 21--with a rare form of bone cancer, an experience that caused her to stop and re-think what she wanted out of life. She also spoke honestly about what a "bundle of insecurities" she was in school. That no matter how many awards she won, achievements she reaped, she was always apologizing, wondering if people would figure out that she was not really good at that many things. Always trying harder, driving for the next goal, and how all that comes to a full stop when life forces you off the track.

Her message to the girls gathered in Caswell Hall was be true to yourself, don’t apologize for your successes, and be bold in stepping out of the race to pursue your passion. It was a lovely speech, and you could have heard a pin drop.

It got me thinking. What were the inspired adults of my day telling me from the podium in Caswell Hall? Trying to remain true to my mission here, to explore the similarities and differences between 1981 and 2011, I asked myself, “Were adults encouraging us to slow down? To stop and smell the roses? To pursue our passions even though it might derail an AP class?”

No. As I remember, the message we were receiving is that we needed to work harder. That we needed to play less and study more. That we might consider taking an SAT prep class before taking the test. And that APs might be worth considering since they gained you college credits. All very suggestive that we might not be doing enough. Or, better put, that we could be doing more.

As Fritz Hollings once said, “He graduated Magna Cum Laude. I graduated Thank the Laude!”

Maybe it was just me, but no one was ever telling me to slow down (except when it came to eating spoonfuls, and spoons full, of peanut butter after school). Now mind you, I was a particularly relaxed student at Marlborough: I did the minimum and got a B average, which, back then, was just fine. So maybe all the classmates ahead of me in rank (there were a lot of them) would answer this differently. But as I remember it, we worked pretty hard, but no one was telling us to slow down.

Danna Drori is only 10 years behind me, but if what she is saying holds true for her whole class, I can see that changes were afoot in the 1990s.

A Generational Divide? Maybe what we’re seeing here is a pendulum situation:

Perhaps every 50 years the pendulum comes back the other way. World War II work ethic shifts into 1950s perfection, backslides into the 60s and 70s social revolution, hits a rebound in the 80s, climbs in the 90’s and 2000’s, hits a frenzy in 2010, and begins to relax again.

A Class Divide? Or maybe this was just a class valedictorian, more driven than her peers, who had an epiphany to share with other would-be valedictorians. Maybe it’s a class divide. There are always those who can afford to slow down, and those who can afford to ratchet it up a notch.

I really don’t know. But what I do know is that after all those years of people telling me to work harder, it did sink in. By the time I got into the workforce, with a title, I was about as hard-working as any class valedictorian. And it sounds like my fellow Alumna also finally heeded the opposite advice she got all those years: slow down and enjoy life.

Maybe, if we heed good advice, we all end up in a good place.

And, I think that if all today’s private school students are working themselves into a frenzy, the girls in Caswell Hall are at a school that takes balance seriously. Clearly, having a successful Alumna come to send these positive messages, it’s very much on the radar.

So I still haven’t cracked the code on exactly how different it was back then from today; but tune in next week when I attend a Senior course on Don Quixote. We’ll revisit this theme again, perhaps with a verse of La Mancha’s “Impossible Dream” playing in the background, for effect.

When I Don’t Have a Good Parent Pushing Behind, Motivation for School Is Sure Misaligned!

Like any good Hollywood movie, I’m back with a sequel: Part II of Going Back to Marlborough. But it’s hard to be your own producer when you don’t have a backer. And, even thought I am happy to tell you that my parents are both doing well, neither is pushing me the way the parents of the other Marlborough students are pushing them. My mom encourages me to eat well and get exercise, but she’s not overly concerned with my SAT scores. Wah, wah, wah!

So I am pushing myself. Because I still want to know: is Marlborough, and high school, and all the demands that kids have these days, really all that different from when we were in school? No, I’m not attending full-time, but I’m weighting my schedule down with two kids (2nd and 4th grade), and I figure with them plus Marlborough, I can create all the stress I want for my little experiment!

OK, I’m taking the SAT November 6. At Marlborough. I begin my SAT prep class this Saturday. I’m using Revolution Prep because they seem to have a newish approach to test prep. Plus I am taking it with my friend's daughter. I’ll keep you posted.

People with pushy parents are lucky when it comes to the SAT. Ugh. If anyone wants to push me, feel free.

Still Fighting the New Year's Battle/Blues, but Getting Back into the Saddle (Shoes)

So, I'll start by telling you about my PSAT scores. First, I didn't not make National Merit Scholar. But I got close. Close? What the heck is that? I'm 46, taking a 10th-grade test and I only got close. Hmmm. Did you know that California has one of the higher "indices" for this Scholarship program? You have to get over a 217, and I got a 213. In fact, if I had taken the PSAT in 30 other states (with indices 213 or lower), I would have qualified for a National Merit Scholarship. But then, I'd have to live in 30 other states, and I'm sure my husband and kids would miss me!

Did they have National Merit Scholar back in our day? Yes, I just looked it up. Founded in 1955. Wasn't even on my radar. I think if they mentioned it, but I must have mistaken it for "National Square Dance Caller." Though that would have gotten my attention, I am sure. So who knows?

In any case, I got a 63 out of 80 on my Math. Not bad, considering what I scored in 10th grade.

I have my answer booklet here (they returned it). Here's one I didn't have time to answer. Maybe you have some time to answer it:

Points A, B, and X do not lie on the same line. Point X is 5 units from A and 3 units from B. How many other points in the same plane as A, B, and X are also 5 units from A and 3 units from B?

(A) None

(B) One

(C) Two

(D) Four

(E) More than four

If you can get that one lickety split, then you're a square. If you can't, maybe you're more of a square dancer. (If you're any good, you might become a National Square Dance Caller!)

Dosey-doe for now!

For All the Time I've Been Gone-o; My Classmates Must Think I have Mono!

OK, so procrastination was my big issue in high school. And clearly some things never change (though I did improve my PSAT scores by a wide margin!). I just got such a case of school-itis in December, and I had to take a mental health break (while eating every holiday goody I could find).


You're all correct: I'm insane to try to go back to High School; it was tough enough once upon a time. And to choose to foist that on myself--what is that?


But don't think that's going to stop me. Mark my violets, I will take the SAT in the fall! As God is my witness, I will never be hungry again! (Oops, wrong reference, but you can smell my resolve, can't you?) Hey, speaking of hungry, Café M opened Jan 4, which is Marlborough's new cafeteria. The state-of-the-art and fully equipped with a salad bar, sandwich corner, hot and cold wells, frozen yogurt machine, and a pizza oven. And you get to use those debit cards we used in our college dorm. (Maybe we'll all never be hungry again!)


So, I'm getting back on the Mustang. I just finished the whole Twilight Series just to prove I can still hang with the student body. I'll be back, tell you about my PSAT scores, and we can just call my lapse a "family vacation," and no one has to mark me tardy, OK?


Bye for now.

Big Footprint Is Today's News: As Big as Size 13 Saddle Shoes!

I remember seeing Carol, Kelly, Elana, and Terrell ride their bikes to school from their homes in Hancock Park. By contrast, in 10th and 11th grade, I drove in from Manhattan Beach. With Nina Ristani riding shotgun. Jackie drove from Pasadena, and I think Alice came from Whittier. Kathy Shank came from 4th Street in Santa Monica, and Nancy drove from Encino in her huge wood-paneled station wagon that took up 2 parking spaces.

Then, as today, we had a large footprint, and some of us were well on our way to getting the 10,000 hours needed to become an outlier behind the wheel of a car (if Malcolm Gladwell's theory is correct). Carol's still not a great driver (but she's a maven on a bicycle!).

I was reading the new issue of the UltraViolet and it looks like the student footprint is still grand. Check it out: http://www.thenewultraviolet.com/2009/11/student-footprint-now-stretches-from-east-valley-to-south-bay/

No, I Don’t Think It’s the Swine; Perhaps It’s Just My High-School Whine!

I’m not complaining, just reporting. 

So it hit me full-on this week: the difference between being a high-schooler and going back to high school as a full-fledged adult. My whole family came down with the flu, but it was uniquely choreographed so that each time one would be on the mend, another would go down. Like viral-bacterial-ballet-dominoes. Beautiful.
 

And the thing that I realized is that when I was sick in high school, my mom took care of me. And, yes, I had oodles of make-up work, and it mounted every day I was out; but I didn’t have bills to pay, forms to fill out, and I didn’t have to call in sick for myself. I didn’t have to drive myself, or my husband, or my kids to the doctor, and I didn’t have to make sure my blog was current.

So there you have it. I’m not saying that being a kid is easy, believe me (and don’t you try to change me back into one, Mr. Houdini!). But it would be nice, while I’m trying to study, if someone would make me dinner.

I’m just saying.

Our Robots' Goal: Bound for the Rosebowl?

My Robot's Goal: Play Ball! 
This is the tutorial video of what our robots will be able to do in the end. How cool is this? Peep peep!

If I Find I'm the Norm, Do I Need to Reform?

So I got a copy of my high school transcript. The good news is, according to Eunice Ahn, in the College Placement Office, I might be able to bypass junior college and head straight for university. The bad news: I can't get into the college I got into in 1980.

I am going to dig in and try harder.

Turns out, French was my toughest subject (if you judge by the grades I got); and I won't even tell you what I got in Advanced Algebra the 2nd semester of my senior year: I only told my small Robotics group that dirty little secret. Let's just say I'm lucky I graduated.

I also see that my PSAT scores look pretty average. (I'm going to chalk that up to a new scoring system and pretend that numbers like that, in 1979, really meant I was a National Merit Scholar. Only Eunice Ahn and I will know for sure, right? Just don't ask me to sign the Honor Code.)

So how do my grades (then) match up to the typical, or average grades today? I have to tell you: I can already feel myself wanting to work a little harder, dig in a bit.


I need to go see College Counseling and really look at my options. Maybe I can pull my SATs up a bit. I think my husband might know Stanley Kaplan.

I'm supposed to go to Harvard, blast it! Meanwhile, thank God for UCLA Extension.

Some kids are screeching outside my window: some dumb Halloween party. Don't they know I've got homework to do? Darned kids. When will they grow up? (Wait. I think those are my kids. Never mind.)

Maybe I should go watch a rerun of Gilligan's Island.

Gingerly,

Jaye

PS: My new PSAT scores come in December, so don't give up on me, Baby. (You neither, David Soul.)

Today, We're Gettin' in the Groove: Attaching the Motor and Makin' It Move!

Today we are continuing to work on our robot, yet unnamed. So, my team explained to me that each group of students (there are 3 groups in this class, each 3-4 girls) is programming the “group robot” to play soccer, which means there will be a specific set of programming commands so it can play by the rules.

We’re wiring up the DC Motor Controller now, and then installing the tiny “touch sensor.” You can program it to do whatever if the touch sensor is, well, touched. So, like the roomba, whose touch sensor says, “Back it up, Joan, and find another section of carpet,” we can tell it to do something. (If touch sensor = bump, then head-butt soccer ball, AND if touch sensor = ouch then head-butt opponent.)

My husband is going to want to know where Mr. Fitz gets his hair cut. If an engineer can look cool, by God, then so can a lawyer! I love LA: anything is possible!

So, turns out that this whole “kit” we are using is developed by none other than Lego. Apparently, Lego has a whole robotics arm (no pun intended) that is really the lifeblood of the company. Schools are the main consumers, and learning this stuff is pretty mainstream.

It’s nice to see girls “playing with Legos” for a change. And smart girls at that. We stopped for a spell to locate Part H, and we got to chat about college applications. I asked if being a senior means less pressure on the homework front so you have time to write the 15 entrance essays. NO was the answer.

Class, homework, sports, community service, and hopefully some sleep. That’s on this week’s menu for these girls. (But they’re pretty upbeat about it. The theory of keeping a kid busy seems to work in this model.)

I told them it’s a real shame they have so much to do because I had time to watch every TV program that aired between 1975 and 1981! I worked my way from "My Favorite Martian," through "Gilligan’s Island," and even gulped down every episode of "Dynasty," and look how I ended up! (A middle-aged housewife who can’t re-program her Roomba!)

In today’s world, these girls could program their TV to watch them! If Gilligan and the Skipper watched these girls, maybe they’d get off that darned island! (Come to think of it, Mr. Fitz looks a bit like the Professor....)

Gotta roomba. C-U-tomorrow.

My Latest Class Is Simply Hypnotic: I’m Learning to Build Something Robotic!

OK, it doesn’t get cooler than this: Robotics. I don’t even know where to begin. I’m taking a section of the semester, where we get to take what we’ve (they’ve) learned about programming in RobotC language, and we get to build an actual robot that we can program to do whatever; our group is going to program our robot to play some sport. Pole vault would be funny, no?

I jokingly asked the teacher, Mr. Fitz, if this is similar to the Roomba (the automatic vacuum cleaner that, on auto pilot, roams around the house while you do other things), and, yes, the Roomba is similarly programmed.

Now we’re talking. I’ll see if I can hijack the group and program our robot to chop vegetables (something helpful while I’m off vacuuming!).

It’s an elective course, comprised of mostly seniors. There’s absolutely no prerequisite for this class: all they know today they learned at the start of the semester. The programming language was surreal. Mr. Fitz put a bunch of gibberish on the whiteboard (the new blackboard) and the girls gleefully shouted, “Oh, that’s the one that makes it turn a revolution if SensorSource is less than zero!”

You say you want a revolution? Holy moly.

We started to build the robot, which involved a box of complicated parts and doodads. We’re beta-testing this program for Carnegie Mellon, so it’s the cutting edge, and this Marlborough class is literally using the technology as it’s coming out of Pittsburgh.

Stay tuned.

(PS. Bad Boy, pictured here, is one of the robots they built earlier this semester. I dated someone who looked a lot like this.)

Just For Kicks: A Report on the Front Bricks!

I got to speak to the Parents' Association tonight. Would you be surprised if I told you I was late and my hastily-prepared speech was crumpled? (Don't answer that; I don't want to hear it.)

So, I wore the stuff I had found at the Lost and ~. (Do you guys remember the ~ sign? It meant "aforementioned," I think. It was the punctuation version of "what she said." I had lunch with Marcie Maloney Newby today and several of us ordered the same thing. When the waiter came to me, I should have given him the tilde sign! But I digress.) I wore my big purple team shorts over white leggings, an over-sized shirt, a ratty sweater around my waist, and converse-cum-mules. I wonder if they knew I was trying to look like a M Girl. Sure was comfy!

I told them about the blog; it was short and sweet, all very nice. As I walked back across the front lawn--wait a minute, I mean the front bricks, er, OK. I forgot to tell you. 

There's no front lawn (was there a ~ lawn back then or am I imagining it?), and there are no ~ bricks; there's only the ~ cement. Yup. Bricks gone. As well, do you recall us sitting in little pods, on the bricks, in the direct sunlight? Well, now they have these wonderful umbrellas, tables and chairs. Kinda like a little cafe, but with SPF. (I'm sure they all still sit on the ground in the sun.)

It looked very charming. I think I'll go there for lunch one day. And until the cafeteria opens, they have catering by the Green Truck. I'm going vegan!

Off to bed; it's past this student's ~time!

Thank God I'm Prehensile, with My No. 2 Pencil!

Well, it was funny: funny-odd and funny-humorous. And it was fun, sort of. I think I did OK, but don't hold me to it. I told my husband that if I got more than a few wrong on my Critical Reading or Writing Skills, I'll eat my hat. He asked what sort of hat I wanted.

I need a small, edible hat, waiting in the wings, just in case. (After all, I did miss over 1/6 of the questions on the practice test.)

And I couldn't finish 3 of 38 on the Math: two because I ran out of time (gulp), and one because, despite my expansive preparation (yesterday), it honestly didn't ring a bell. At all. 4 of the 5 multiple choice answers had squiggly lines, and one was straight. Now you tell me, which one was right? (No, the question is NOT relevant!)

Here are the things that "took me back":

1. We were all sitting in rows, maybe 120 of us, in school desks.
2. Because hair styles are back to what they were when I was in 10th grade (before the perm), I actually did a double take a couple times and thought I saw friends I knew. That was spooky.
3. Some girls were late because they were stuck in traffic.
4. I liked all the girl power in the room; it felt familiar, normal. There was lots of kibitzing during the break, with laughing, hugging, some coughing, sneezing. (They sell Marlborough-branded Purell at the book store, by the way, to cleanse away the dross of the kibitz.)
5. There's purple everywhere, not to mention Nina Ristani's name on every sports banner from 1978 to 1992 (I'm exaggerating). I drove her to school (late, stuck in traffic) for years. I had no idea the significance of she who rode in my car!

Now, here's what "took me aback":

1. We were taking the test in the gym. There was no gym back then. (I wonder how Nina pulled it off!)
2.  I have never had the sensation of filling out someone else's last name (ROGOVIN) in the bubbles. That darned Q, near the R, and the O. Unnerving.
3. My back honestly hurt. Like in an old lady way. Those "stretch breaks" were as welcome to those young 'uns as stretch marks were to me after 2 kids. I mean, c'mon, how can you people even walk after 3 hours in a steel chair?
4. One of the girls was wearing the same pair of boxers under her skirt (same length, too) that I just bought my husband for Father's Day.
5. I'm an "old" sophomore (meaning I have a summer birthday, not meaning I am 46), and I was born in 1993.

Meanwhile, test results come back in early December. Keep those votes coming! More later....

If You Really Want Some Mental Strain, Book a Seat on the Coordinate Plane!

The slope of a line is equal to rise over run. Based on how I felt when I rose this AM, after a very late night studying math, and seeing that I am not going to go on a run today because of my study schedule, I am calculating a slope of (0, 1) (not running, barely rising), and I’m being generous. Though I will admit that yesterday, none of what I just wrote would have made sense, much less been funny, because I truly didn’t recognize it; but now I do, thanks to my PSAT tutor, Alexis White (’97). She and another former Mustang run a company called the A List, and they tutor all ages (from K to 46, it seems) in all subjects.

And now, thanks to some real-time cramming, I’m making math jokes! I’ve got to get to the root of the problem: divide and conquer. Otherwise, it just won’t add up; it will be odd. Do ya get my angle?

For more laughs, call 1-800-[(15x)(19i)2]-[sin(xy)/2.362x].

Ha, ha, that last one was a real scream!

Lie Is to Equivocation as Ringing Is to Tintinnabulation

(Words of the day: equivocation and tintinnabulation)

It was dark when I drove to school. I swear. (No, Terrell, that’s not because I forgot to take my eye shades off.) I switched my headlights on, just to fit in on the freeway. The theme of the day is trying to fit in. I wondered if I had studied enough for my quiz.
 

If I were to arrive late, I planned to resuscitate some of my old Mrs. Muir excuses. How about this one: “We lost power this weekend. The garage door opener is electric. When the power is out, I can’t get my car out of my garage. I am going to be late to school today.” All factual statements, but  they omit the important fact that we got power back on Sunday, and that I overslept on Monday. They illustrate how I learned a new English verb: equivocation, which I understood meant to be ambiguous not to lie. But here’s what Webster’s has to say about it:

equivocate     verb: prevaricate, be evasive, be noncommittal, be vague, be ambiguous, dodge the question, beat around the bush, hedge; vacillate, shilly-shally, waver; temporize, hesitate, stall, hem and haw; informal pussyfoot around, sit on the fence; rare tergiversate. See note at lie.

Alas, I see the final note; I see the light. And, in the budding daylight, I arrived at school, early; that’s good.

I dropped off my vintage 1980, yellowing folder of mimeographed devoirs (homework) and papiers to Mme. Jenks this AM. It was fun to look at all my old work (I can’t believe I have saved it this long!). Remember the smell of the mimeograph machine? Back in the days when no one worried about toxic substances ("I didn’t inhale!”).

The bell “rang,” or, rather it tintinnabulated (Marcie, don’t bother looking that one up: it’s not there).

Now I’m in class. Ugh, there’s a live caterpillar under my desk. I just stood up on my chair and screamed bloody murder. (Just wanted to make sure you were still reading.) I’m kidding. I asked the class, in a tintinnabulating voice if anyone is NOT afraid of bugs. One brave student picked it up and noted, “It’s just a caterpillar; it’ll be a butterfly in 30 days.” If it were up to me, I’d wait 30 days to touch that thing!

Be right back. Here comes the French quiz. 

Dang, dang dang. I forgot the word for elbow. I think I guessed the English equivalent of “the horse.” Otherwise, I think I did well, and I am glad I studied.

Shoot. I saw Mme. Jenks after class and learned that I got another thing wrong—a careless mistake. So, I guess I got 36/38. I’m bummed. It just goes to show you: even a prepared adult with 20 years of French can get things wrong on a French II test. It’s not easy! Je me suis fait mal a la fier. (I hurt my pride.)

Off to my PSAT tutor....

Bring a Graphing Calculator? What a Mood Deflator.

The Co-Director of College Counseling, Mr. Heeter, emailed me today re. the PSAT next Wednesday:

Please come to the College Counseling Office by 8:30am. We will escort you to the gym.  Please bring two No. 2 pencils (not mechanical pencils) and a calculator (graphing calculator--assuming you know how to use one of them--I sure don't, or any calculator you have available to you) You will be finished at about 11:45am.

Do you know what a graphing calculator is? I told Mr. Heeter that I should bring a screwdriver to tighten any additional loose screws in my head.

My tutoring session is Monday. I have been assured that I will fail the Math.

Here's what I have learned so far:

About PSAT/NMSQT

The Preliminary SAT/National Merit Scholarship Qualifying Test (PSAT/NMSQT) is a program cosponsored by the College Board and National Merit Scholarship Corporation (NMSC). It's a standardized test that provides firsthand practice for the SAT. It also gives you a chance to enter NMSC scholarship programs and gain access to college and career planning tools.

The PSAT/NMSQT measures:

• Critical reading skills
• Math problem-solving skills
• Writing skills

You have developed these skills over many years, both in and out of school. This test doesn't require you to recall specific facts from your classes.

The most common reasons for taking the PSAT/NMSQT are to:

• Receive feedback on your strengths and weaknesses on skills necessary for college study. You can then focus your preparation on those areas that could most benefit from additional study or practice.
• See how your performance on an admissions test might compare with that of others applying to college.
• Enter the competition for scholarships from NMSC (grade 11).
• Help prepare for the SAT. You can become familiar with the kinds of questions and the exact directions you will see on the SAT.

Hike Up Your Skirt: I Think I Hit Pay Dirt!

OK, I casually told Mme. Jenks that I thought I had saved all my French quizzes. She raised un sourcil, as if to say, "Vraiment?" I gave her some "bien sur" bravado, and it occurred to me tonight that I had an appointment in the Rogo-archives to play out my petite farce!

So, down to the bowels of the "California Basement"(is that what you sunny folks call it?) I went. Taking my life into my own hands, sifting through folderol in the dark...

I FOUND IT! A fat, brown folder with a now-flaccid elastic pretending to hold it closed, marked "Marlborough." Inside, I found (among other things, never to place a colon after a verb)

1. My diploma
2. An issue of the Ultra Violet from 1980
3. Commencement exercises invitation, Class of 1981
   
4. The schedule for 1980-1981 (more on that when I catch my breath)
5. My Miss Carnes essays, with her comments (and grades)
   
6. My AP French homework, all of it
7. Other papers, all hand-written, of course
8. My entire calendar from 1978 to 1981, including journal entries on all the boys I liked

Oh, la la! First, may I say that this was high-level stuff. No wonder we did so well in college. These essays were deep, well-crafted, and oftentimes IN FRENCH! I must say, I was impressed that we were doing this stuff at age 15 to 18.

My favorite essay, the one I failed to title, was a really wordy, aspiring apologetic on the difference between two Shelley poems. Miss Carnes writes and the end of my diatribe, in red,

Angel, you are so vague! Just what is it that Shelley wants, and why? Have you ever heard of having a title for what you write? C+

On my honor, this is all my own work.

Take Me off the Bench: I'm going Back to French!

What a day! I only took one class, but with the rest of life-with-kids, I can’t imagine doing more. I am in the C Section of Mme. Jenks’ French II class. I will explain the daily schedule at a future date, but just know that if I am following a C class,

• it will meet at different times every day,
• and not necessarily every day,
• and will sometimes vary week to week.

Did you get that? (If you did, please explain it to me.)

So, today, C Period started at 10:56. Tomorrow, it starts at 1:12; no class Friday, and Monday (quiz day) it starts at 7:57 (“Um, hello, may I please speak to AM?”)

OK, so 10:56. The “bells” between classes, by the way, are super civilized. Sort of like a symphonic version of what the Queen would do if she rang for tea. Very pleasing.

I ran by my pal Sloane's ('15) locker again--she’s got some cool stuff up there. I keep meaning to leave her a note. She’s the daughter of my classmate/pal, and she has just started 7th grade. Shoot, I’m always rushing. Tomorrow.

Mrs. Jenks beckons me in with a cheery “Bonjour!” (I think teaching French must have some magical preservation powers since she is truly the same person she was 30 years ago. How is that possible?)

We all file in and one of the girls asks, “Are you the Alum who is coming back to take classes?” I admit it, and she says she read about me in the Ultra Violet (remember the UV?). They have just published an article about me in the school newspaper. I have just seen it, and I will only say that they published a foreshortened photograph of my arm, with me in the background. Holy cow!

So we begin with Mme. Jenks introducing the new kid (me), all in French. I am pleased that my classmates and I understand her. Although the word in French for “former” (student) is “ancienne.” Alors.

She hands back our tests from Chapitre 6. I’m not on the receiving end since I’m the new kid but I’m full of angst as I hear various academic equivalents of Homer Simpson’s “Doh!” when they see what score they got, what they missed, and when they try to pepper Mme. Jenks with questions about how this test will affect their overall grade.

Mme. Jenks warns that the spelling mistakes were several, and that the students need to take more heed. (Just like in Global Studies; just like in life. Heck, just like in 1st and 3rd grade. Do we ever learn to spel?)

Oh, the humanity!

Sangfroid-ly, Mme. Jenks assuages concerns, and we move on to Chapitre 7: that for which I am here. (“This is the sort of French up with which I will not put!)

Whoa, she has the same handwriting. Wow, it’s like muscle memory. How does she do that? She’s speaking in French. OK, my French is pretty good! I scan the Chapitre. It’s all about health and sickness. There’s a conversation in the textbook about how bad it is to skip meals. I haven’t had breakfast.

Je suis toute raplapa! OK, that word was not invented before 1981. Raplapa. You know that’s like “verklempt.” It showed up on French Saturday Night Live last century, and now everyone’s feeling raplapla.

Madame asks us to turn to page 189. Sorry, that’s cent-quatre-vingt-neuf. Numbers were always so hard for me. That one in particular--it’s like saying “one hundred-”four times twenty”-nine. No problema!

“Qu’est-ce que ne va pas?” doesn’t mean “What doesn’t go?” and J’ai mal au coeur does not mean “I am heartsick.”

Ah, l’humanité!

So, we’re talking sickness, now. Turns out a cold is une rheume. And it finally hits me: Aha! Inspector Clousseau was asking for a “cold” for his monkey, not a room. (“I’d like a rheume for my minkey.”)

She speaks to them almost wholly in French, en Français. She asks, “What do you say to someone who êternue (sneezes)”? I almost answer, “Gesundheit.” Wrong class.

So, “J’ai la grippe porcine” doesn’t mean “I ate like a pig,” it means means “I have Swine Flu.” A few people in the class suffered la grippe porcine, and we conversed about the symptoms, en Français.

Then we go over the passé composé of reflexive verbs. Wow! Je me suis amusée. Elle s’est ennuyée. But, if you have a direct object right afterwards, then you don’t agree the past participle, like je me suis lavé les mains.

Note the difference in Rasé: “Je me suis rasé les jambes” (I shaved my legs) vs. “Je me suis rasée” (I shaved.) OK there’s another example of teaching to all girls. You know if boys had been in this class she couldn’t have raséd that example.

Class is a whirlwind, and I run to the lost-and-found sale to buy some Marlborough swag, and then home before the girls get home. I’ve got homework, so I’d better get to it.

Á bientôt!

I’ve Got a French Quiz in a Week; to Me, It’s All Greek!

So, I’m starting French II next week, which I’ll take up to the first quiz. (Then, I have to stop for a bit to take the PSAT.) But meanwhile, can I just tell you (don’t say I can’t!) that I’m taking French from Mrs. Jenks (Mme. Jenks to those of you who parlent Français), my high school teacher, and also my advisor. Mme. Jenks is like one of those old friends whom you see, after all those years, and it’s like nothing has ever changed; you pick up just where you left off. C’est vrai!

I can’t remember much about the classes I took, but I did take French up to the AP level (which I passed!). I remember not doing well on quizzes. And I forget most of my French. So it’s going to be interesting. I bought the textbook on Amazon. It was $97.00, but I found it used for $2.47. It will probably arrive in 2012, long after I bomb the quiz! C’est la vie!

More ensuite!

October 14 Is a Blackout Day for Me: I'm Going to Take the PSAT!

OK, so I've got good news, and I've got bad news.

The good news is that they'll need to revise my birth date and graduation date for the form. Let's just say I'm 16, OK? In the scheme of the whole universe, what's 30 years, right?

The bad news is that they can't revise my crows' feet.

(Do the feet really belong to the [plural] crows? I am afraid to de-possessivize it for fear that one of my more studious classmates will correct me. You can never get a grammatical or spelling mistake past one of those gals! Marcie, "de-possessivize" is for you, babe. That's called a neologism).

The other good news is that I'm not taking the SATs.

I did not do well on the SATs, in comparison with how the inner parent in me thinks I should have done. ("You didn't try your hardest. If you had applied yourself more, you'd have been a straight A student!) I am afraid of the SATs. I'm going to have to go to college someday, so stop pushing me so hard, Dad. ("Who you calling Dad? This is your mother speaking! In our family, girls go to Harvard!") Honestly, my real parents were never that tough. OK, I'm going to breathe into a paper bag and give my inner parent a timeout.

The other bad news is that I'm taking the PSAT.

Let me ask you (since you know I'm going to blank on all the math), if I panic, should I answer all "C"? Or maybe "A" because it's less expected. It's like going into a public restroom and picking the stall most likely to be clean based on its proximity to the entry. Who the heck really knows?

I think I'll go pig out ("Dear, too much wheat makes you puffy!). Right after I call the tutor ("We'll do whatever is necessary to get you all the help you need!).

Now I am vexed, trying to text!

Learning How to Post is Bugging Me the Most!

Here's my first test blogging, or posting, or loping and trotting, via email. Whoa!

Can You STAND Some Good News? (And No, It’s Not About My Saddle Shoes.)

So we had school off yesterday, and I took my kids to Disneyland, thinking that a school holiday in September, a Monday, would be the time to get in and out: 3 hours, 10 rides, right?

Turns out, it was hot and crowded (you must be SHOCKED)! But Disney is truly is a miracle in multifariousness. Like a 7-11 when you’re truly hungry, it offers just about everything you would want, neatly stacked, colorful, enticing, and packaged.

We were there for 6 hours, aiming to make a dent in the 36-ride banquet; and though we strategically ran around, bagging Fast Passes, eating packaged food, taking canned photos, they should have sent us home in a to-go box, because the crowds had cramped our ability to feast on more than 3 rides. That's below a 10% success rate.

The biggest roller-coaster of the day was the ride downhill from “what we went for” and “what we got.”

Tonight, I flopped into bed to ease my post-Splash Mountain spine, and picked up the “Marlborough Course of Study 2009/2010.” I planned to send an email to Joanna and Lynn (they’re the mavens who have helped me coordinate my re-high school experience). I began typing a list of the courses/activities that I’d like to add to my curricular capers.

When the list was 40 items long, I thought, “This is long enough to be a blog entry!” And so it goes*:

ENGLISH (of 26 offerings)

1. Creative Writing (9-11) with a bent on how to get published
2. American Studies (10) with a focus on “What is America?” “Who is an American?” “What is the American Dream?”
3. Creative Writing: Screenplay
4. The Graphic Novel
5. Newspaper Production

FINE ARTS: Performing and Visual (of 55 offerings)

1. Dancing for the Stage (8th)
2. Technical Theater (10-12)
3. Vocal Technique and Interpretation
4. Music Theory & Technology
5. Photography
6. Drawing
7. Sculpture
8. Advanced Metals
9. Book Structures
10. Digital Storytelling
11. Music Video

FOREIGN LANGUAGES (of 35 offerings)

1. French (Mme. Jenks, my former teacher, and also my advisor, is still there, waiting for me!)
2. Latin (I regret not having taken this in HS.)
3. Mandarin (I could have wished my husband Gong Hei Fat Choi yesterday!)

HISTORY AND SOCIAL SCIENCES (of 23 offerings)

1. Global Studies 
2. AP European History (I am obsessed with WWII)
3. Film History: From Eskimos to Exraterrestrials (“Phone Home!”)
4. Film History: Women Beneath the Lights, Behind the Lens
5. The Creative Mind

MATHEMATICS (of 18 offerings)

1. Algebra (So sue me: I like how everything always adds up.)
2. Geometry
3. Intro to Computer Programming

PE (of 18 offerings)

1. Self Defense
2. Yoga
3. Volleyball
4. Tennis

SCIENCE (of 18 offerings)

1. Chemistry
2. Physics
3. Robotics
4. Astronomy

ADDITIONAL PROGRAMS (tons of offerings, including 11 Sports teams!)

1. Research (Imagine how different this is now!)
2. Caswell Scholars (that’s the one I have already blogged about)
3. Equestrian Team (Willlllllbur!)
4. Tennis Team
5. Volleyball Team
6. Water Polo Team

Can you imagine that this list is only A slice of the pie?

I also notice that there are “mandatory” courses for certain grades, like the 8th-grade "Global Studies" course; but as the students get older, there are many class offerings that are for a range of grade levels, e.g. Robotics, which open to grades 8 to 10.

Did we have any mixed-grade classes? If we did, I never took one. I’ll have to investigate how this works. I would have liked to be in class with Hillary Weber, Betsy Spivak, and all those cool girls in the grade above me.

And out of more than 200 courses and activities offered to Marlborough girls, I'd like to take at least 25% of them. If my success rate at Disneyland is any measure, I think it’s just as well I started back in 8th grade. I’m going to need a few years to finish all my course work.

Talk about a miracle in multifariousness! Where does the line start, and is there a Fast Pass?

At any rate, the difference between "what I went there for" and "what I got" at Marlborough was much more favorable: not only did the graph line go up, but it's like an exponential growth graph where something that is increasing begins to grow by leaps and bounds when affected by a 3rd factor.

I sort of figure that my Marlborough education is like the gift that keeps on giving, because it increases over time, but it also increases against my original expectations (the 3rd factor), thereby shattering the ceiling of what I "thought I'd get" when I was really back in 8th grade.

I'm sure I got my theories crossed here (and I totally made up that bit about a 3rd factor), but now you see why I need to take Algebra, Geometry, Economics, Global Studies, Physics, Computer Programming, among other courses. The exponential growth model comes to bear on all of these subjects, and I am totally out of my depth.

So now I'm gonna go shine up my saddle shoes (Bridget Gless wrote something cheeky on the left one), and head off to the Happiest Place on Earth! Hi-ho, hi-ho, it ain't Disneyland! 

OK, cancel the Geometry class: I know a square when I see one.

* Note: The totals per division that I list are my own tallying; no one at School has checked my math or accuracy. Any errors are mine.

Queue and Aye with Jaye

I’ve gotten some entertaining comments, appealing suggestions, and winning questions. Let me share some of these conversations with you in a Q and A format:

Beauty School Dropout
Q. Do you think the girls might be under the impression that you never graduated and are going back, finally, to finish high school?
A. And your point is?

Ladies Who Lunch, or...?
Q. What do they eat for lunch? We had a Tab on the front bricks. Do they have a new LA concept of health and/or run to Larchmont for any special treats?
A. There is a new cafeteria coming, as part of the new renovation; it’s almost finished. In the meantime, the girls eat from the “Green” lunch truck that is parked daily in the driveway. Elana O’Brien McInerny and I are scheduled to lunch at school next week, so stay tuned. I’m hungry already! (By the way, Marcy Maloney Newby told me, via her daughter Lauren, that the old “front bricks” are now the new “front cement.”)

She Wears Short Skirts, I Wear Long Skirts....
Q. What is the biggest difference you can see, the most obvious one?
A. The length of the skirts. It’s the single most dramatic change. Ours were short (though we got in trouble), but not that short.

Don’t Go Changing to Try to Please Me...

Q. What’s the biggest surprise?
A. Oddly enough (though I have only been doing this for a month, now), the biggest surprise is that walking into a class at age 46 (with my guinea pig Keds on) is like running into an old friend out of the blue and feeling like you never missed a minute together. “Just like yesterday.” I swear.

Put Your Shoes on, Lucy!
Q. Now that you’ve tried being late to class, try parking in the driveway and see what they do, 30 years later.
A. It’s a waaaaay more tightly-run ship, folks--there are lots of security and traffic guards to help out the flow of cars. And guess what (for those who haven’t seen the new facility)? There’s underground parking!

Speaking of underground, it’s time for me to skedaddle.

A VERY VIOLET GOOD-BYE!

My Education Would Be a Waste Without the Study of Bad Taste!

I had another class yesterday.

He was a tall man, lean and loose-jointed, with straggling, greenish-gray hair; a long, uneven head, broad at the skull and narrow at the chin; puffy, white bags of flabby flesh under his eyes; irregular yellow teeth and sagging cheeks that made his face look squarish. A mere boy, he had a leaden complexion, shifty gray eyes, thin lips, and an expression at once sly and conceited.

Let me quickly detach this vivid, verbose, and vile description from the possibility that it describes the male Marlborough teacher, Dr. Astorga, who taught yesterday’s seminar on “The Philosophy of Bad Taste.” It is, rather, the concluding example he left us with at the end of a very fun and comical session. It is a blurb (one of too many) in a (too-long) book called The Unwilling Vestal (underline the individual words in your mind again to indicate a book title; sorry--I'm getting a new blog tool soon). 

Published in 1918, I think this book is the literature equivalent of the original Godzilla, or the objet equivalent of my treasure (photographed on today’s page): a 100% authentic, goat-hoof ashtray. 

What do they all have in common? They're so bad, they're good. And the girls at Marlborough get to study this--phenomenal!

It’s part of a several-year series of short seminars (say that one 5x really fast) called Caswell Scholars. It’s completely elective, and most series are 3 sessions long, after school from 3:00 to 4:30 PM. And I think there are several session pods throughout the year, like mini-mesters.

So if you miss, for instance, “Chocolate: a Global Perspective,” or “Cell Phones, Digital Cameras, and Alarm Clocks,” “Architecture,” or “Figure Drawing,” you can pick it up in another session. At the end of the series (I don’t know how many means you’re finished), you’re a Caswell Scholar, and that designation, like other such voluntary accomplishments, can be added to your cv. Plus, you get to learn all sorts of great things. [Like you can in Wikipedia, feel free to send me corrections if I have gotten my facts wrong here.]

But, Unwilling Vestal that I am, I’m getting ahead of myself. Dr. Astorga began the lecture...(well, on my honor, I don’t really know how he began, because I was late. I was stuck in traffic and I thought, “Great, here’s the first example of really bad taste: you get a green light to sit in on a class, and you show up late.” Ugh).

In any case, there was a thorough review of the notion of "what is good" and "what is beauty," according to Plato (I've gotta say, I love Plato), and the elements that make a good plot by Aristotle.

This set the context for discussing "What do we consider bad (as in bad taste)?"

At some point, I raised my hand and asked a question about the Aristotle's notion of catharsis, and it felt so good. A cleansing of my curiosity. And ironic at the same time: to question the thing that is, itself, the question.

Oh it was all so Greek. I felt like eating a dolma.

Then, suddenly, an alien burst through the door and said to me, “Get out, you overgrown poser!” 

OK, that didn’t really happen at all, but Aristotle said that a good plot usually should have peripeteia: a reversal of fortune.

By the way, on my way to being late, I was stopped in the breezeway by a spectacular-looking student who asked me if I was that lady who was going back to school. Since that is precisely who I am, I said yes; and she said her mom said to say hi. It was Lindsay Phillips, Dina and George’s 2nd daughter. Georgie and I were in school together since we were 8, and since Terrell Avazian's family long ago made me an honorary Armenian, these are totally my peeps. And now I was meeting the peeps’ middle peep. Such a cute chick: peep-peep!

And then, I told Lindsay, “Luke, I am your father.”

OK, that didn’t happen either, but it’s an example of what Aristotle eschewed: a haphazard tangent in the middle of the story; and of what he endorsed: anagnorisis, a moment in a play or other work when a character makes a critical discovery. That’s what Luke had when Darth Vader spoke that fateful line.

Oh, pass me another dolma!

So, other examples of bad taste that we explored: the multi-statued house on Mansfield & 3rd, reality shows like “John and Kate Plus Eight,” the Snuggy, The Larry David Show, King Kong, and The Orestes (please underline again--you are too good to me) by Euripides.

Eu-ripi-des, you fix-a-deese! More bad taste, more Greek humor (more dolmas, please).

Dr. Astorga covered a lot of ground, tying together the notion of bad taste, taking us from 428 BC opinion, all the way to a 2009 Mona Lisa, paint by numbers.

If we can’t all go back to school for such awesome courses, then I’m opening up my annual White Elephant Party to all alums (it used to be only locals from Class of 1981), but I’m not giving my goat-hoof ashtray up for anything in the world. (I’ll make it up to you and some make dolmas.)

Next week, we need to bring in an example of the WORST song we’ve ever heard. I’m renting Spinal Tap to prepare. 

I love this school!

Being a Teen Again Requires Living the Scene Again!

OK, so updates on my life as a teenager. I'm really living the role.

1. I went out with a bunch of my classmates last night. We talked about parties and dudes.
2. I accidentally let 2 of my guinea pigs loose today and have spent all afternoon trying to catch them.
3. I'm going to take the PSATs! Apparently, they only have to alter my date of birth. Do you think they can alter my crows feet?
4. I am going to the Miley Cyrus concert tonight, and I have awesome tickets.
5. I am going to another class tomorrow, by the way. I think I'm taking a short course called "The Philosophy of Bad Taste," which is one of a smorgasbord of delicious choices. It's a 3-session class, and I will report back on what the heck it's all about.

I certainly hope they don't use me as an exhibit for one of the points they're making. All you teens out there, how do I sign off authentically? Any jargon you need to teach me? Later. (That's the only one I can summon.)

Life Teaches Lessons, but There’s No Rule that We Only Learn Them While at School!

Last night we put the girls to bed and suddenly there was a horrible crash outside and then the sound of shrieking. First, I'll say no one died, but we went outside to see that a fast-traveling downhill car had hit my husband's car head on, totaling both cars.

The driver was a high school sophomore, in her new car, headed over to a friend's to drop off a school assignment. She had had her very first date that night, and she was euphoric. And it's a miracle she walked away. Thank God for seat belts; thank God for airbags.

The crash occurred because her cell phone rang and she looked down at it to read the caller ID. 

Her parents are the luckiest people in the world. You wouldn't believe what the two cars looked like. The worst injury was her dad who ran so fast after he got the call that he tripped and fell.

We obviously had to put our girls back to bed after all the hullabaloo. Eva (7) said, "Mom, who was it calling on her cell phone?" Hattie (8) said, "I'll bet her parents were the maddest they've ever been but also the happiest they've ever been." Praised for her perception, Hattie stacked on, "And I'll bet the best night of her life turned into the worst night of her life."

And I had just posted that I thought I'd gotten an F, only to read later that Mrs. Schuur gave me an A. So many lessons in one night, and not just in Global Studies. When I saw that precious 16-year-old, sobbing in her parents' arms, I couldn't help think about all my new buddies at school. As an impostor peer, and also as a mother of two daughters, I just keep thinking that at every moment in life, we have to do the right thing.

So, on the way to the bus this morning, we reviewed with the girls the lessons we learned last night (we were all in the car together because we now only have one car):

1. HATTIE: You can be mad at someone and still love her/him.
2. EVA: Little things can become big things.
3. HATTIE: The best of times can quickly become the worst of times.
4. EVA: It doesn't matter who is on the phone when you're driving.
5. JOHN: Things don't matter, people do.
   
6. JAYE: Count your blessings and hold your family close.
7. JOHN: Seat belts and airbags work. 
8. JAYE: Wait until you get your grade before you publish your own conclusion.

Amen, sisters!

About the Test, I Sat and Wondered, and then I Realized I'd Blundered!

I'm going to get an F. I just realized my mistake.

OK, this isn't funny (though it will be in 10 years). So I'm sitting in my father's hospital room, after a complicated surgery. He's 85 and in good spirits, but there was a little issue, and the surgeon came in.

(Yes, I know this is a blog about going back to high school, so just go with me, here.)
 

The surgeon comes in, I introduce myself, and he has an unusual last name. I ask him where he's originally from and he says Iran. 

I freeze. Suddenly, I have a flashback--no not to the pre-revolution days, but to Thursday, in my exam.

I think, "In my essay, when I pivoted my main point on the fact that Pakistan was situated amongst warring countries, did I write Iraq, or Iran; or, worse, did I refer to the adjacent country once as Iraq and then another time as Iran?"

I pull up google maps on my iPhone (while the surgeon is assessing if my dad is OK), and I shout, unthinkingly, "Oh my God!" Everyone turns to me urgently and asks me what is wrong. All I can say is, "Excuse me. Never mind."

I can't say, "I'm repeating high school (though I am 46), and I got Iraq and Iran confused, and I spent 12 years in the political nucleus of the world, and we're in a war over there, and my best friend is Iranian, and I went to Marlborough for goshsakes, and by the way, how's my dad doing, anyway?"

At that moment, no one in the room wonders why I need to repeat high school.

So I go into the hallway and call my husband who knows how to talk me off the ledge. He insists it's a mere typo, Iraq, Iran, it's one letter apart, don't worry, you did fine, etc. Though he can't really talk since he's watching The Aristocrats with the girls. Ahhh, life.

So, I'm going to get an F. Maybe if my Ns and Qs are both cryptic, maybe Mrs. Schuur won't notice (good luck with that hope). It's the first time since I went back to high school that I've been caught between Iraq and a hard spot. Pardon the pun.

I have to be honest: if I were in 8th grade right now, and my grade(s) were important to me, I'd be bummed. I'm bummed.

Holy Munger! For High School I Hunger!

By the way, and now that my first test is behind me, I’ve seen the new facility. Hooo-wheee! They call it Munger Hall; it’s where the old library was (Mr. and Mrs. Veit--was that their name?--or Voit--what were their names?) Wow: I’ve been back east for so long, that it’s really been a long time since I really spent time at Marlborough. 

And there's no longer a library! There's a huge, gorgeous space where they keep books well organized, but there is so much more in there that we call it an "Academic Resource Center," and so it is. Mr & Mrs. Veit would be proud, or envious.

So for those of you who haven’t gotten to see it: it is so magnificent, you would flip out. First of all, the new building is the new “front office” (do any of you remember Mrs. Muir--”Good Morrrrrrning, Marlborough Schoooooool”? [Hello, Mrs. Muir, this is Jaye Toellner again. I can't seem to get my garage door open...."]); and second of all, it’s got everything we ever wanted, and then some. Space, technology, iMacs, high ceilings, art gallery, conference rooms, and the list goes on. To boot, it’s really so tastefully done. Oh, and the overall color of the school is slightly less white--it’s really all so pretty. And there’s a humongous playing field in the back--in the space that was once just houses on Arden. 

But the lockers are the same. Kathy Marik Thompson (whose daughter is at Marlborough) said the sound of them caused her to stop in her footsteps, it was so unchanged.

Some things have really changed, and others have not. More to come on that front.

I took the Test, I Did My Best.

OMG. Not a second to breathe until now! Maybe I'm taking this assignment too literally, being back in high school, but I got mad at my mom, I forgot to eat this morning, I was late for class, I almost ran out of gas, I did not practice for my piano lesson at 2, and I am totally breaking out. Geeze.

So, the TEST results:

It was hours ago that I walked out of my exam, dazed and confused. How did I do? I have no idea. I can't reveal what was on the exam because Mrs. Schuur has her 3rd section tomorrow morning and I don't want to interfere with the honor code (which I signed for 1 point).

So there you have it, I'm sure I got 1 point.

Actually, I'm sure I got many of the answers right because I had studied certain parts well, but there were definitely things that I wish I had gone over more thoroughly. It was really strange, taking a test again. I went in with a laissez-faire (except I was late), thinking how much fun this was, but there came a point when it got hard, meaning I really had to use my noodle to put a few things together and answer. I did a mental double take. But I (on my honor) did my best given the one day I had to prepare.

OK, guess who was the last student to leave the classroom? Never mind. You don't have to guess. I raised my head when I was finished, and I was utterly ALONE. Pretty funny. Mrs. Schuur, who was at her desk, mentioned that she hoped the noise outside the classroom hadn't been distracting, and I honestly didn't know what she was talking about. We had all taken the test inside a "Global Studies vortex" (some longer than others), and it was a very quiet and focused affair.

I'm dying to know how I did. I truly have no idea.

OK, I've got to apply my--what was that product called, Oxy-10?--cream on so I don't break out anymore.

The next thing you know, I'll be going on the banana-hot dog-egg diet that Kathy Shank and I tried in 10th grade. Also, I'm going to meet Elana O'Brien for lunch next week at the lunch truck, talk to Noelle Swan about some photos, and Allison Weiner's mom is going to pick me up from school for a playdate and cookies in a week or so.

Actually, just a playdate. Cookies make me break out.

Sophomorically yours,

Jaye