Anne…most definitely with an E

I was first introduced to Anne Shirley in 9th grade. We became fast friends. I talked like her, thought like her, dreamed like her, wanted to be an author like her, ended up being a teacher…probably because of her. Anne has probably influenced me more than any fictional character I’ve ever met. I loved the movies that came out on PBS and watched them countless times with my friends on sleepovers. I read all eight of the books, and the battered paperbacks still hold a proud place on my shelf. I took Anne to Italy and back and introduced her to my daughter! My husband watched the original movies with us, and after they were over he looked at me and said “Oh, I understand you so much better now.”

I. Am. Anne. Always talking. Always imagining. Always scribbling an idea that may or may not become a story later. (She may even be the reason why I only ever dye my hair red.)

So when I heard that a new show was coming out on Netflix, I groaned. I was predisposed to dislike the reconstruction because I was so enamored with the original. But that’s not entirely fair thinking, I argued back. So I decided to give it a go. I’ll watch (almost) anything for one episode. So while our son was away visiting Aunt Nella, my husband and I sat down with our daughter to watch the first episode of “Anne…With an E.”

It was delightful.

The first episode was full of many of the events I remembered from the original, and from the novel. In case you’re misfortunate enough to have never heard the story, here’s a summary:

Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert (siblings) have decided to adopt a boy to help them on their small farm on Prince Edward Island (in Canada). When Matthew goes to collect the boy, a chatterbox girl named Anne is there instead. Matthew and Marilla have to decide whether or not to keep her. Their next door neighbor, Rachel Lynde, comes over to visit Anne (who is 13 and has been in several homes over the course of her short life “earning her keep”). Rachel insults Anne, who loses her temper spectacularly. Matthew (who has a softer heart than Marilla) convinces Anne to apologize, and she does—again, spectacularly. Anne then meets a girl her own age, Diana, who will end up being her best friend. (It’s a lot to pack into one episode, but it was an hour and a half long.)

So what did I think?

Well, I loved what I have seen. Anne is delightful, fantastic, inspiring, hilarious, wonderful. Her story can’t help but be the same…as long as they stay close to the source material. The books are fantastic and tell a wonderful story about a stong-headed girl who just wants to be accepted as the wild and wonderful girl she is.

Downsides: Just a few. Anne has some bad memories where she is beaten and threatened. Very small kids might be frightened. Also, Anne has a few moments where she declares she’s “just as good as a boy” and she confronts the boy who has come to work on the Cuthbert’s farm. In these moments she is angrier than I remember in the books/old movie. 

On the whole, I’m looking forward to the rest of the episodes. I’ll let you know if my feelings change.

The Great and Terrible Week

Last Wednesday, I left the house in a rush. I leave for work at 9 instead of 11, because my job is wonderful and they have adjusted my schedule so that I can go to choir practice on Wednesday nights. Wednesdays are long, and I usually end up with no voice (talking on the phone for 8 hours + choir practice + allergies…it’s been fun) but they are my favorite day of the workweek. I had to make sure I grabbed everything I needed for work, plus everything I needed for choir, plus leave the house two hours earlier than normal. So a rush, but a rush that I’m used to because I’ve been doing this for several months. It was a gorgeous day, too, sunny and warm but not too hot, as it can be for a few short weeks in Spring in Texas.

Around 4:15 I had my second break and checked my phone for news/Facebook/calls/messages. Of course, one of those alerts was from the San Antonio news, about a church bus crash. All I could think was, “No no no no no, not us, not us, not us.” But I tapped on the story anyway, because whoever it was was gonna need a lot of prayer.

And it was us.

I called the church, and had a conversation that sounded like it had been had a hundred times. “Events are cancelled for this evening. Head-on collision. Five fatalities confirmed so far. Three airlifted. No one knows any names.” I hung up and called my husband to pass on the information. The love of my life has a “dumb phone” so if he’s not home he doesn’t see email. (He also doesn’t have Facebook, but I’m working on that.) Then it was time to share the word at work. I found one of my supervisors and told her what we knew so far. “Do you need to go?” she asked. “I only have an hour and a half left. I can focus for now.” But as soon as the clock hit 6:00, I was out the door.

By that time we knew it was 12 fatalities. Twelve precious senior adults. Gone.

I made it home, and then Day and I went up to church, a bag full of kleenex and water bottles in tow. Even though all the activities had been cancelled for the evening, the parking lot was full. More full than I had seen it on a Wednesday night ever. I think that was when I started to cry.

Camera crews were already outside. My head was full of conflicting thoughts: “Psh. Vultures. Wait, why are there so many? Is this story everywhere? How far did it go? What an opportunity to witness…” 

People were everywhere inside, milling around, talking, praying, many of them staring at phones hoping for updates. Silver industrial-size coffee pots filled one table, water and sweet tea on another. “Do we know anything? Any names? What happened?” But there were no answers. We did know the bus driver…my son’s Sunday School teacher. That news broke Day, which in turn broke me again.

It’s hard to describe the feeling in the sanctuary that night. Everyone leaning on everyone else. Everyone comforting everyone else. Kleenex boxes everywhere. So. Many. Tears. All of us, our church family, knocked off our feet but holding each other up. Everyone grieving together as we waited for the list of names. 

The words that I finally grasped, the two words that I have managed to hold tightest to through all of this, were “Great” and “Terrible.” We were all going through a terrible loss, a tragic senseless accident, where a dozen people had lost their lives “in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye.” It was a terrible, terrible night. But the power of God was with us, holding up every member of that congregation as we supported each other. The love of God surrounded us as we grieved. The peace of God, which indeed, is beyond all understanding, guarded our hearts. It was horrible to experience, but wonderful to behold.

The community began to share with us too, almost immediately. There are three churches basically right next door to each other, and pastors and members had come to grieve and pray with us. There was food, too…pizza and tacos (among other things) were donated by restaurants in the area. Our town is loving on us. Again, it is great and terrible.

For two more hours we prayed, talked, shared, hugged, leaned, and waited. Notifications had to be made, families told, before the church family could hear the list of names. By the time Pastor Brad was able to read the list, there were 13 dead. One survivor from our bus. The driver of the other truck survived as well. As our pastor called out the names, people in the congregation cried out. Small cries of heartache and pain that broke my heart all over again.

There was no rush to leave. Many of us stayed for almost another hour, weeping, sharing, leaning, talking, praying. It was 10:00 when I got home. It was hard to believe it had only been 6 hours since I heard the news. It felt much, much longer.

We had to go home and tell our son that he had lost his Sunday School teacher. I have never heard my boy weep like that, weep until we thought he would be sick. We shared our grief again as a family, the four of us curled up in a ball on the couch, weeping together. Liam stayed home from school the next day, visiting with counselors at church.

It’s been a bit of a blur, the days since the accident. I’ve had to go to work, but my employers have been very gracious and have given me things to do so that I didn’t have to talk on the phone the first day. Many times I can do my job, but then someone calls with a familiar name or from a church or someone asks me how I’m doing and I fall apart all over again. Everyone knows about the wreck; word is spreading that is was my church. A friend will say, “How are you doing?” and I will shrug and then someone else will ask “What happened?” I take a deep breath and say “It was my church, with the bus.” “Ooohhhh” is the response. And then a hug. And then I take a deep breath again. One breath at a time.

Sunday was again a Great and Terrible day. The Sonshine Singers (the senior choir) filled the choir loft. Well, almost filled. There were 14 empty chairs. I walked into the sanctuary and lost it all over again. But I have to say, it was one of the best church services I have ever taken part in, for while there was weeping, there was also hope. It is very true that weeping endures for the night. Or for several nights. But joy will indeed come in the morning.

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will see these precious friends again in heaven. I know that someday I will sit next to Dorothy again as we sing. I know that we will hear Murray sing funny songs with kids. And while it hurts, and it does, it hurts so much we can hardly stand it at times, healing will come. We will laugh again. We will dance again. I will make it all the way through a song again. Why am I so sure? How can I say these things with such certainty? A song is the best answer.

The Solid Rock (Edward Mote)

My hope is built on nothing less

Than Jesus’ love and righteousness. 

I dare not trust the sweetest frame

But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

When darkness seems to hide His face,

I rest on His unchanging grace;

In every high and stormy gale,

My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood

Support me in the whelming flood;

When all around my soul gives way,

He then is all my hope and stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,

Oh, may I then in Him be found;

Dressed in His righteousness alone,

Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the Solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

All other ground is sinking sand.

This. This is how we know. Because today is terrible, no one is denying that. 

But our God is great…and we cannot deny that either.

Where are the “Cooler Heads?”

For years I didn’t really follow politics. In college there was a group called “Young Republicans” that I admired from a distance. I was a “Young Educator” and all I needed to know about politics was a basic understanding of how it was supposed to work. You know, the kind of patriotical stuff you learn from your fifth grade teacher (which was me, for  few years.)

Then 2016 happened.

I had heard of Donald Trump. I mean, I don’t live under a rock. He was a rich guy with bad hair who fired people on a TV show. And I had watched the “Brain Games” episode where they showed people pictures of two candidates running for office and the people in the mall had to pick who won. So I knew. I just KNEW. That anyone with hair that bad could not be elected president. I mean, really. That consistently grumpy face? That “surely it’s a wig” mess on top of his head? That’s not the face we will see hanging in the Presidential wing of the White House.

Then 2016 happened. 

And all the rules, the “how it’s supposed to work,” of American politics, got thrown out the window. And trampled on. Repeatedly. And with thunderous applause.

And now, this week in Cleveland, the GOP is crowning the biggest playground bully of them all King of the Mountain.

I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like many Americans. And I’ve had a lot of fun making jokes about all the candidates as my sarcastic, smart-mouthed, alter-ego #TheLateDebater.

But someone posted something yesterday that pushed me beyond snarky comments. It was a long post about how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is the best thing that’s ever happened to ‘Murica, how he’s going to make our country Great Again. And the WINNING. All the WINNING. But the tone of the thing. It was so derogatory towards anyone who disagrees. “If you don’t agree with me you must be stoopid and you must be dee-stroyed.” That was what I found so offensive. And there was a long list of “Nice didn’t help us win this war or that war. It was MILITARY FORCE that won!” And that may be a fact. But it isn’t the whole truth.

Look at World War II. Just briefly. On December 7, 1941, the “United States was suddenly and deliberately attacked by enemy forces of the empire of Japan.” It took four months for the US to respond. Jimmy Doolittle led 80 men on a daring air raid of Tokyo on April 18, 1942. And the atomic bombs? Those weren’t dropped until August 6th and 9th of 1945. Three full years later. Why? Cooler heads prevailed. (There may be something about the bomb technology not being ready, but let’s go with the “cooler heads” theory, ‘kay?)

Fast forward to the Cuban missile crisis. A US spy plane found missiles (not bombs, just the rockets used to carry them) on the island of Cuba. Some officials (not naming names because I can’t remember) wanted to bomb the island, attack the Russians who were sending the bombs over, and start World War III. But they didn’t. There was a blockade instead to prevent the Russians from getting the bombs to the missiles. Lots of posturing. The X-Men may have been involved. (My kids tell me that this was from a historically inaccurate retelling. Oops.) And the Russians TURNED AROUND AND WENT HOME. And so the world didn’t flipping END in 1963. Because cooler heads prevailed.

There are no “cooler heads” in the GOP. Or if they are, there will be no prevailing allowed. We have a hot-headed, war-mongering, thin-skinned monster at the head of our party. Military force, unchecked, will be the answer he throws at every problem. It will be an unmitigated disaster.

And I still can’t believe that someone with hair that bad could possibly be elected president. 

So Many Flavors: Our Night at Pollo Tropical

A new restaurant opened in New Braunfels a few months ago. It’s called Pollo Tropical, and I’d never heard of it before. It went up so quickly I figured it had to be a chain. I also figured that it was a Mexican food restaurant which was slightly disappointing. When you grow up in San Antonio you KNOW what Mexican Food is supposed to taste like. Casa Rio. Mamacitas. Garcias (in Round Rock). Such. Good. Food. So new Mexican restaurants are always kinda iffy. Still, it was there, and we had to eat, and the kids were gone…so it seemed like a good night to try something new.

We knew when we walked in the door that we were NOT in a Mexican food place. But it was hard to label. It wasn’t a Chinese food place, obviously, or actually ANY kind of place I had even been in before. Most menu choices involved chicken, with sides of black beans, yellow/brown/white rice, french fries (because of course) and other foods I have never eaten before…fried plantains and yuca.

Day and I both ordered the “One quarter” plate, which was chicken, something that tried to be pulled pork but did’t quite succeed, and the BEST beef I have ever eaten. The main feature of Pollo Tropical, though, is the sauces. There was ketchup available (but I refused to touch it on principal). Special sauces were Pineapple Rum, Guava Barbecue sauce, Curry Mustard, and Cilantro Garlic (which is a cream sauce that reminds me of the sauce on the doner kabobs we ate in Italy).

The most overwhelming aspect about Pollo Tropical is the plethora of flavors. The fried plantains were sweet, spicy, chunky like a banana, and crunchy. The boiled yuca (still not sure exactly what kind of food that was…) tasted warm and starchy, like a potato. This was the best for dipping because it had so little flavor of its own that it didn’t get in the way of the sauces) We dipped the meats in EVERYTHING and I coated my yellow rice with the curry mustard.

Oh, how do you say “the thing I liked the most” without sounding like a fourth grader! Honestly, the best part of eating at Pollo Tropical was that we were eating REAL FOOD. The sauces weren’t filled with secret ingredients, but rather simple things like “Curry Mustard” and “Guava Barbecue.” Good food. Real food.

Definitely food we’re going to eat again.

How to Fix Education in America in One Easy Step. (Well, sort of...)

We all can agree on the problem. Most of us refer to it as Common Core. But what to do? I have an answer.

We need what is called a "National Scope and Sequence." Now, in non-teacher terms, that is a plan that outlines what kids learn and when they learn it. This ensures that a second grader is mastering addition facts in the first 9-weeks of the school year, and mastering subtraction facts in the second 9-weeks. It also ensures that IN EVERY STATE students learn state history in 7th grade and American history in 8th grade. (Or whatever. I'm using basic concepts. I'm quite certain my specifics are off.)

Why is this needed? Because families move in the middle of the school year. We did. And when a kid moves from Tennessee to Texas in the middle of 2nd grade, they need to not have gaps in their education. It's ok if a local school wants to go above and beyond. That's awesome. (in my example, the first school has mastered addition and subtraction in the first 9 weeks and has moved on to fractions. The kids moves to another state in the second nine weeks where they are working on subtraction again. Fine.) But what if a school is behind, or does it backwards? Like the first school masters subtraction in the first nine weeks and addition in the second? A kid can move in the middle of second grade and NOT MASTER ADDITION. (I know, this is a dumb example. Give me a break; it's Saturday.)

SO HERE'S THE BIG QUESTION: WHO COMES UP WITH A NATIONAL SCOPE AND SEQUENCE?

The biggest problem I have with Common Core is that it was created in Washington by people who have very little experience with education and/or learning other than their own. The National Scope and Sequence should be created by, oh, I don't, know...TEACHERS MAYBE?

Here's my idea: Have a teacher convention. You have to be Chosen to go to the convention, so there would be an application process and maybe a lottery. And it should be free. And in a REALLY fancy hotel like the Opryland one in Nashville. Because teachers need to know that they are appreciated. Each grade level meets all week with teachers in the same grade level from all over the country. Then the teachers create a basic outline for what each grade level needs to learn. 

Obviously there need to be considerations made for Special Ed students ad for Gifted students. But basically, all students in the elementary grades need to be learning the same basic thing at the same time. 

Middle school is trickier because classes start branching out so much. You have bigger schools, smaller schools, schools which can’t offer as many electives because of money. That’s not what I’m talking about. Certainly middle school Math, Science, English, and Social Studies teachers can get together and decide what students need to master by the time they finish each 9-weeks of 6th, 7th, 8th grade. (And can we all agree to lay off the Algebra? Seriously. Because nobody cares about the Pythagorean Theorem. I have NEVER used that outside of class.)

High school is trickier still because we need to get kids thinking about things like Jobs and Careers. Teachers from different parts of the country can see different needs, because jobs available in Central Texas are waaaay different than jobs available in New York City. But every city needs plumbers. And why don’t we teach basic electronics? People don’t know how to hook up their own TVs. Teach a kid to do that and she will make a FORTUNE. What basic education can be agreed on? Again, Math, Science, English, Social Studies. Certain things all students need to succeed in Real Life.

And make it easier for credits to transfer. Because moving in high school is hard enough.

So, basically, give teachers a one-week stay at a cushy hotel. Let them talk about what kids need. Let teachers set up a National Scope and Sequence. And then let the states and local districts put it to good use.

Oh, and please don’t complain about the cost of this Cushy Teacher Convention. If we can spend 42 gazillion dollars on war and/or welfare, we can spend 1 million dollars spoiling teachers for a week. That’s less than what Congress gets paid in one week. (Probably.)

Austen, Zombified

Austen, Zombified

SPOILERS…SORT OF (This review is going to discuss a new movie based on an old book. Will there be spoilers? Come on, folks, the book is 200 years old. We all know what’s going to happen.) Hey this is Clara! I was dragged along for the ride too.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any movie based on a Jane Austen novel is going to be a hit, mainly among young women and teenage girls. Darcy! Colonel Brandon! Long-lost love letters! And oh, those dresses… And the hair don’t forget their hair, oh my.

I must also confess, when I heard that Seth Grahame-Smith had “revised” the classic Pride and Prejudice to include Zombies, there was much eye-rolling. And then I read it. And laughed and laughed and laughed. Haven’t read it but there was much laughter during the movie.

The book opens with the Bennet girls sitting around playing with hat ribbons and worrying about marriageability. The new movie opens with a young man in a black leather trench coat riding up to a heavily guarded Downton-Abbey-look-alike and announcing his name is “Darcy. Colonel Darcy.” He walks into the sitting room full of men and women in full Regency garb, (no steam-punk influence here) finds the one that’s been bitten, and chops off his head. (Clara’s response? “That escalated quickly and holy carp.”) The first time we see the Bennet girls? They are sitting around cleaning their guns. They were all chill too. Silent just like they were doing some needlework.

The title says it all: it’s Pride and Prejudice. With Darcy as a jerk and Wickham as a playboy and Lizzie as a woman who doesn’t want to depend on a man.

And zombies. Lots and lots of zombies. Flippin' Scary Zombies. These aren’t your “brains!!!!!!” ones though, they can pick up the pace.

THE PLOT: The five Bennet sisters are a fighting force to be reckoned with, and their reputation has spread almost as much as the “plague” of the undead. When they attend the first dance of the season, they are all heavily armed with pistols and knives hidden away under all those beautiful dresses. “Pretty dress check, red cheeks check, perfectly curled hair check, 47 million assorted knives check”. The dance is invaded by a horde, and the sisters join the men in the fight to slay the zombies. At the party, the Bennet family meets Mr. Bingley, a new (rich!) man in town and a very good match indeed for any of their girls. OMYGOSH ITS ROMEO was my response!!! Fortunately, Jane catches his eye. Mr. Bingley’s friend the irascible Mr. Darcy is also in attendance, and has no delight greater than insulting all the girls. (See? I told you it was just like Austen’s novel.) After the zombie fight, Darcy says of Lizzie “Her arms are surprisingly muscular, and yet, still feminine.”

Mr. Bennet has a young nephew who stands to inherit their home because the law will not allow land to go to a daughter. So Mr. Collins, played to horrible perfection by Matt Smith, comes to court Lizzie. “But you must give up your zombie fighting in order to be a good wife,” “We musn’t have swords in the house.” he tells her. Obviously, Lizzie says no. 

Wickham, a young soldier with a confusing past, has an idea on how to fight the zombies…and since this is where the movie deviates from the original P&P, I’ll keep quiet on that. 

THE GOOD: Austen’s works were social commentary, written to make fun of the rules of inheritance and the ridiculousness of women needing a man in order to survive. So it’s almost impossible to see this movie as NOT making fun of our obsession with zombies. As a fan of Austen, it’s hilarious on that front. This movie also has my favorite Darcy. And the most awkward Mr. Collins EVER, we love you Doctor!

THE BAD: Regency dresses were low-cut, and the costumes are true to period. There were many heaving bosoms on display, and a few times we see the girls tucking knives into—and pulling them out of—sheathes in garters. Some really cool knives though! (To be fair, though, I should mention that when the girls are doing their fighting practice, they wear appropriate “workout clothes.”)

THE UGLY: Zombies. Lots and lots of zombies. We see the undead with various fluids dripping out of their heads. Also, the only way to dispatch a zombie is to remove its head. So several heads “disappear” in gunshots. An audience who is familiar with The Walking Dead will probably laugh at the lack of gore in this movie, though, because the zombies get very little screen time. They were scary though. I fancy myself someone who might live through the Zombie Apocalypse but every time those Zombies showed up I was curled up in my seat clutching my mommy’s arm.

THE CONCLUSION: I’ve been looking forward to this movie for a long time. P&P&Z and its companion Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters are hilarious and worth reading for Austen fans. And I thought this was very well done. There were many laughs and badly hidden snickers and I loved it (even though I may swat at my own shadow for the next few days) What do you think, Clara, should they do Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters? If it will be as awesome as P&P&Z then oh yeah! Poor Nessie they’re gonna drag her into this aren’t they?

It’s The First Blog in Forever!

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, when Christians all over the world decide to give up something for the next 40 days as we look forward to Easter. It kinda snuck up on me, oddly enough. This morning I was wondering, “What can I give up for Lent?” The question hit me harder than it usually does.

What else can I afford to lose?

It’s been nearly four years since we left Italy, and almost everything in my life has changed since then. In the last 3 1/2 years, I have:

lived in three different houses (in two different states)

buried two cats

gained two cats

attempted service dog training with three different dogs

crocheted approximately 300 scarves, hats, and/or blankets

registered my children at 7 different schools

driven 3 different vehicles

had 3 different paying jobs

watched my husband fight daily against PTSD

been on food stamps

lost my “Army wife” status.

So while things are getting better, please tell me, what am I supposed to give up for Lent? What else can I afford to lose?

And then the answer comes, gently, as it always does.

Myself.

Jesus said we must deny ourselves daily, take up the cross, and follow Him. (Matthew 16:24)

So each day I have to focus once more on what God has provided

We own a house for the very first time.

I have a job. And we are paying all the bills. And we can still eat.

The car works. Mostly.

The kids are in good schools.

The fight agains PTSD? We have many allies.
I’m still the wife of that handsome soldier. Oops…veteran.

Shifting focus is hard. And it hurts. Because we have lost a lot; there’s no point in denying it. But God is still with us. Still holding us. Still sustaining us.

Still living.

So for anyone still reading…remember that God is still here.