Sarcasm Sign

Anyone who likes to think that they're funny (like me) knows that timing is everything when it comes to being funny. Timing is everything when telling a joke, telling a humorous story, or writing a funny blog post. And, when you (or someone else in this case) can get the timing right, it's a perfect, melodious blend of everything that makes humor wonderful. 

On Tuesday, my students were preparing for a test the next day.

A student asked: "How long is the test?"

I responded, dead-pan: "12 pages," and kept passing out the study guide.

"WHAT?" cried the student. She looked up at me, perplexed, horrified, and with no doubt in her mind that I was being serious. The rest of the class groaned, but not at me--at her

"Of course it's not 12 pages. Have I ever given a test that's 12 pages?" I asked.

"Well...I didn't know." She said sheepishly.

Five minutes later, I made some passing comment about the test "being 12 pages." Everyone in the class laughed, except for the one student who wasn't paying attention during the first exchange.

"What? 12 pages? Oh my gosh!" the second student declared.

The rest of the class groaned (and laughed).

The next day, during the test, a student raised his hand and asked worriedly if it was okay if he had accidentally written the short essay on the loose-leaf paper provided for the longer essay. I said it was fine, and moved on. Then, a couple of other students asked the same question, so I needed to make an announcement. So, I told them that it was fine that they wrote the short essay on the loose-leaf--and that I would only take off 50% of their test grade as a penalty.

"Wait--what?" said the same students of the "12-page" test the day before. "Oh my gosh!"

Apparently, I am the meanest, horriblest, awfulest teacher in the world, because apparently it's believable that I would take 50% off of a test for writing an answer in the wrong spot. Next thing you know, I'll be taking off points for getting the extra credit wrong...(You may laugh at that, but we had a teacher at DA who did that a few years ago, much to the chagrin of students and teachers).

I decided then and there that it was time: it was time to make a Sarcasm Sign. Fans of the show The Big Bang Theory will understand what I'm talking about. The extremely literal character of Sheldon cannot "read" sarcasm, and so eventually his friends start holding up a sign that says "Sarcasm" when he fails to interpret someone's facetious statement.

The next day, I made sure to set my sarcasm sign on the desk I use as a sort of lectern, in case the opportunity to use it should arise. Seth, who sits next to that desk, admired it and told me it was a good idea. As class was beginning, we sang happy birthday to Gloria, and I asked her how old she was--seventeen.

The same student who believed my 12 page line and my 50% line raised her hand and asked: "Miss Bowers, what were you like when you were seventeen?"

I informed her that I was pretty boring, just like I am now.

"You mean, you didn't get in trouble?" She asked (incredulously!).

"No," I admitted, "I didn't get in trouble--not so much because I was a goody-two-shoes, but because I hated getting in trouble, hated the confrontation--so I tried to follow the rules because of that."

"Really?" She asked again, incredulous.

"Well, there was that one time when I got shot in the arm," I heard myself saying. Note: I heard myself saying. It just...popped out. I was really, really trying to be good, I promise.

"What?" She asked, shocked.

"Well, I was in a street fight and got shot, that's all." I continued.

Her face told me that she believed me, utterly and completely. I made a sound of extreme flabbergastion (let's make flabbergastion a word, shall we?), which is something between a shriek and a squawk.

"Oh my word, of course I didn't get shot in the arm in a street fight when I was seventeen," I cried, half-shrieking-half-laughing (flabbergastion).

Then, exactly in that moment, Seth picked up the Sarcasm Sign, and slowly raised it over his head in a semi-circle and brought it back down again as the class watched (I liked to think in admiration), in a perfect harmonization of humor, wit, sarcasm, and comedic timing.

I stood there, (mentally) bowing to his perfect timing. We laughed for a long time.

Shot in the arm in a street fight when I was seventeen. Back when I went by "Loquacious."

If only...

This Friday Morning

The cheerful sounds of this Friday morning by the lockers before school starts:

Freshmen huddled, talking and guffawing awkwardly just outside my classroom window.

A student softly strumming a guitar.

The gleeful banter of students.

A voice cutting through the chatter telling a joke.

A Happy Birthday song song sung raucously in the distance.

A laugh—some more laughter—a trill—a delighted hoot.

The simple sounds that fill my life.

And some of the sweetest sounds I’ll miss the most.

Four Years Old

Hip-hip-hooray: Today is the four-year anniversary of starting my blog.

 That's right...four years ago, sitting in my 7th period study hall, as usual halfheartedly reminding the seniors in that study hall to stop talking or at least keep it down, I decided to start a blog, mostly because I had come up with a "clever" name, and well, why not?

I guess I've come a long way since then.

That's my profound thought for the day. No, make that the week. I'm running low on profound thoughts.


A couple of thoughts that are not related to one another in the least:

1) Technological Frustrations: Why doesn't Google Chrome support the Google Toolbar? After upgrading my Firefox browser, I learned that Firefox no longer supports Google Toolbar. So, then, I downloaded Chrome and learned that Chrome doesn't support Google Toolbar. I really wouldn't care, except I have about 500 bookmarks on my Google Toolbar, and so anytime I want to find something, I have to go to Google and access my bookmarks in a very inconvenient method. (This is should probably go on one those "First World Problems" pictures that are going around.)

2) Thoughts on Lent: Today is the first day of Lent. I polled my students--most of them, in good "low church" fashion really had no idea it was the first day of Lent, or really even what Lent is (just that it's somehow associated with Mardi Gras--it's a wonder they knew what that was). I wish that Lent wasn't so associated with Catholicism that Protestants (well, Evangelicals) ignore it. I like Lent. I plan on giving up exercise.

Just kidding! (I know, I know, oldest "Lent" joke in the book...hey...there probably shouldn't be jokes about Lent...shoot. Maybe I should give up corny jokes for Lent. Now that's something everyone can appreciate.)

But in all seriousness, I think Lent is an important part of Church tradition, Protestant or Catholic. I know there are people who are leery of Lent because they are leery of anything that smacks of Catholicism, but I challenge you to think differently about Lent this year. Maybe you don't feel like giving something up for Lent, but if you are a follower of Christ, perhaps take these next 40 days to focus on Christ's sacrifice, His journey to the cross and His resurrection.

3) Ferris Bueller: I made a Ferris Bueller reference in AP Lit about a student who had missed school yesterday, and he had no idea what I was talking about. So, I polled the whole class about Ferris Bueller. Now, I'm not really a Ferris Bueller fan, but come on...only 4 out of 20 had heard of him/seen the  movie. All references to cutting school went over their heads. Now, I also understand that when I say: "Anyone...Bueller..." no one gets it.

4) Russia: I always find the stats page on my blog curious. Who are all the people from Russia accessing my blog? I mean, it's fine--please, read on. But...WHO ARE YOU?

Are you a lot of people? Are you someone who is sharing my blog with your friends? Is "Becoming Miss Bowers" going viral in Russia?

Are people standing on street corners slapping their knees and saying:

"Bah-hahahahaha [I don't know how to laugh in Russian] Did you read the one about baby juice? Hey, Let's go eat some borscht and talk about the time she fell down in AP Lit!"

"Da [Yes], she's a regular Anton Chekhov--the things that happen to her in real life are just like that Chekhov short story 'A Poor Defenseless Creature.'!"

"Ah, but there's just not enough pain and suffering in her blog. More death! More winter! More peasants freezing in the cold with rags wrapped around their feet while the nobles speak french and dance the night away."

"Yes, I agree. If she could just murder someone who was annoying her, and then be wracked with guilt and yet not feel guilty, that would be great."

"Or, throw herself under a train. Even better."

"Even better--depict her life as one day in a concentration camp, hiding bread, treasuring spoons, and bitterly cursing 'The bearded fellow' but yet finding the day good at the end of it because she managed to smoke three cigarette butts. Come, let us go drown our sorrows in Vodka. Forget the Borscht."


I mean, I'm talking a lot of hits from Russia, not just 1 or 2 (Okay, up to 20-30 per posting...). Feel free to comment or say hello, if you are someone in Russia who's actually reading regularly. (Okay, I got a little carried away with my Russian stereotypes and literary references. Sorry, if you're in Russia and reading this.)

5) Addiction: I may be hooked on Pinterest. I didn't want to be...but it sucked me in. Lately, I find myself having daydreams of funky crafts and home improvement and window treatments and motivational sayings and exercise programs and adorable little reading nooks. Oh no!

"Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-... That's all, folks!" (Name that pop culture reference.)

Decisions, Decisions Part II or "Becoming Aunt Bowers"

So: Guess what?

I know what I'm doing with my life until December.

I'll tell you first--then I'll tell you the story. Perhaps that makes it less suspenseful, but I'm not writing a John Grisham novel or anything, so who cares about the suspense?

I was officially offered the position of "Interim Dorm Parent" for one of the Dakar Academy dorms for the Fall semester of the 2012-13 school year, and I have officially accepted. So, translation: I will be the dorm parent for one of DA's dorms while the current dorm parents go on home assignment (furlough) for six months.

So, Miss Bowers will become Aunt Danielle--single mom to twelve to fifteen girls.

Call me crazy...but I'm EXTREMELY thrilled about this.

So, here's the story.

First of all, this was not my idea--I didn't have a divine revelation or anything that led me to approach the dorm parents and administration about this. In fact, when I first heard about it, I thought it was a joke.

One day in early November, Ron, the dorm dad, came into the staff lounge during fourth period and asked me if I had decided what I was doing next year. I said that no, I hadn't--I was still waiting for divine inspiration, or even just ordinary inspiration. Ron said *very jokingly* (or at least that was how my brain interpreted it: "Well, you could come back to DA for a semester and take our dorm while we're on home assignment..." Laughter. Ha, ha, Ron. Very funny. Me? A dorm mom. Silly. I brushed it off and told him I'd probably need a husband for that--so if he could find me a husband in the next six months or so, I would consider it. Laughter. Ha, ha, Danielle. Very funny. (He proceeded to tell me that if I did get married in the next six months then I probably couldn't be dorm mom because they wouldn't want newlyweds being dorm parents. Good thing there isn't someone in my life, eh?)

Even though I thought he was joking--I really believed he was--I kept thinking about it. It would be so cool! I would fall asleep considering it and day dreaming about it; but I then would mentally slap myself, saying "Nahhhhh, that's crazy. He was kidding--they really wouldn't take a single woman in her twenties to be a dorm mom. That's ridiculous." I was so interested, and so...fearful at the same time, I was too afraid to ask Ron and Chris about it after that conversation. I was so sure he was kidding that I was scared to ask him only to find out that he really was kidding. This is how my mind works. I even wrote them an email several times to ask them--and then deleted it--to ask them about it. Eventually, I tamped down the interest, sure that it was just a funny side comment, and that they couldn't possible think of me. Ridiculous.

About three weeks later, our director, Joe, asked to meet with me to discuss my future plans. I thought that he just wanted to see how I was doing, and to see if I had anything lined up for next year. He's a very caring boss, and so I went into this meeting expecting him to encourage me in my job search, pray for me, and send me on my way.

Well, he did indeed ask me about  my job search, my plans. He did encourage me, and pray for me--but he also sort of offered me a job--The Job. It was more of a "We would like to consider you to be the interim dorm parent for next year, so may we consider you, along with other candidates?" than a direct job offer. But, it was a big deal, nonetheless. Despite my conversation with Ron, and the way it stayed with me for weeks afterwards--I had myself so convinced it was just a joke that I did not see it coming.

After praying for about two weeks, I told Joe that I was willing to be considered for the position (yay!) and over Christmas break they officially offered it to me. I spent a few more days praying about it (we went camping right after I got the email, so being cut off from internet and TV really helped me to have the quiet to think about all of this), and I simply sensed a peace that it was the right decision to make.

So, that's the story. Perhaps it's not terribly thrilling (the story) but I think it's rather exciting, overall. I'm...overwhelmed in many ways, because this is not small feat by any stretch of the imagination. It will be hard work: physically and emotionally and spiritually. It will be an ENORMOUS responsibility--I've been dorm relief for almost four years, but I always know that if anything major comes up, the dorm parents will assume control. Also, it will be challenging because I will be doing it alone without the shared responsibility of  a husband to help handle the workload (but, of course, we all know that I'm not allowed to get married in the next six months anyway. Good thing that's not a problem for me). (Fortunately, I won't be "alone" because DA has a spectacular dorm staff, and I know that if anything big and scary does come up that I'll have three wise and experienced couples, plus the wise and experienced dorm administrators, to turn to for help.) I love the girls I'll be taking care of (I've taught many of them, and I've interacted with them as dorm relief for many years now). I got to be there when the dorm parents told their girls that I was going to fill in for them next semester, and it was incredible--I was warmly welcomed with cheers and hugs. I'm surprised I didn't cry! (Again, I was so worried they wouldn't be happy about it, that I really, really did not want to be there when their dorm parents made the announcement--but I'm so glad I was!)

I feel so encouraged and uplifted by this job offer (even if I hadn't accepted it) because I've been feeling pretty lousy about myself for a while now (as evidenced by my extreme aversion to accept that Ron might actually be serious)--and I have some self-esteem issues and some spiritual issues I really do need to work on--but I think getting this position has been helpful for me to see that I've been believing a lot of lies about myself. Sure, I have things to work on both emotionally and spiritually...but don't we all? I've been believing lies that I'm worthless and pretty much a sorry excuse for a human being...and while I don't want you to think that I accepted this position to be a giant band-aide for whatever self-worth issues I have, it's helping me to see that I am more valuable than the sticker price I have been placing on myself. I have a long way to go, but I'm feeling more content about myself, and finding some healing and peace in other areas of my life that are unconnected to working in the dorm.

So, that's my story. I still really don't know what comes next--I don't know where I'll be exactly one year from today. I'll be somewhere in America, but that's about all I can say with confidence. But, I also know that God's got a plan. I've been in Christian circles almost my entire life, and honestly, I've heard it all. There's really no Christian thing you can say to me that I haven't heard. I tend to be a pretty cynical person, and I shy away from what I perceive as mindless platitudes. Every year at Graduations, people roll out the Jeremiah 29:11 "I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord..." verse...and I get tired of hearing it, I admit.

But, here's the crazy thing...it's true. I didn't ask for this job. I didn't seek it. I didn't expect it. I was looking elsewhere for my future...and God had a plan all along. He actually had (and has) a PLAN. Like...he had something...set up...prepared...for ME. Not some generic, general thing out there somewhere like "Move to America. Get job at temp agency. Get apartment. Possibly get a cat. Make sure apartment takes pets" (which is basically what the plan was in my head) but He had something specific and real and wonderful planned for me.

How could I doubt him? How could I be afraid of being directionless? How can I still be afraid of being directionless? I don't know what January 2013 will hold for me...but I believe and trust with all my heart it will be something fantastic, possibly unexpected, and wholly of God.

Please remind me of this when I start worrying and whining in August that I don't know what I'm doing with my life...just remind me (as un-cheesily as possible) that God probably has a great idea, and that I need to wait on his timing to reveal it to me. This doesn't mean don't be proactive about it--it just means "be patient" and wait for Him to reveal what's going to happen.

Because, guess what? My God--the master of the universe--has a specific, unique, wonderful, incredible and exceptional plan for ME. Not just for other people--but for me.

How cool is that?

A few of the girls I will be serving next semester!

P.S. No, I will not be changing the name of my blog to "Becoming Aunt Bowers"...although it's certainly tempting.

On Reading, Nooks, Book Reviews, and 2011 Part III

Continuing my short series on reading in 2011: The "Good" Reviews

Best Series: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

I know, I know—so predicable. I’m not saying these are the best books I read all year, but they are great YA books. Definitely a bit gory (I don’t recommend them to my seventh graders) but gripping and engrossing. I consumed these books when I read them (I need to read them again, at a slower pace, before the movie comes out), and felt empty and bereft when I was done. The Hunger Games also provides that deliciously edgy dystopian view of the future. Call me a pessimist, but I just love a good dystopian.

Best Sci-Fi/Fantasy: The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss

Okay, obviously I have a big appetite for fantasy and sci-fi, based on these reviews. I’m not ashamed to admit it—I can’t get enough of the stuff. I like all genres of books, and I like to pretend I don’t have a favorite…but I do. It’s sci-fi/fantasy (I know, I know—lumping them into one genre is something no true Sci-Fi or Fantasy fan would do, but I have the same regard for them). The Name of the Wind was recommended to me by my friend Jamie via a comment on my blog post about Literary Pet Peeves. Her literary pet peeve was weird names in fantasy novels, and she mentioned the main character’s name in Name of the Wind as an example (Kvothe pronounced “Quothe”)—but said she made allowances for it because the novel was so good.

I purchased the book, but didn’t read it for several months after purchase. When I couldn’t find anything that looked enticing on the library website, I opened up Name of the Wind and couldn’t put it down for three days. It’s another “Boy discovers magical powers and goes to a wizarding school to become a wizard” plot…but it’s so much more. It’s not a children’s book, like Harry Potter, it’s in a completely different world and basically completely different circumstances. Of course there’s an evil antagonist, and of course the protagonist must overcome heartache and hardship to defeat him, but that’s where the similarities stop. (I also read the 2^nd book, and it is less enthralling than the 1^st, but the series as a whole possesses a lot of potential) I’ve enjoyed it far more than Martin’s series, and I do recommend Rothfuss’s wholeheartedly.

Best Romance: Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand by Helen Simonson

Major Pettigrew was recommended by my friend who’s a librarian in the Baltimore County Public Library (and who has to read many books as a part of her job). Usually, I don’t like romance novels because they’re sappy and sentimental and wishy-washy, and yes, I don’t really like reading about romantic relationships when I haven’t any romantic relationship of my own to fall back on. However, every once in a while, a book happens along that is a romance, but it’s well-disguised with another story—and doesn’t leave the reader (namely, myself) feeling sorry for myself.

Major Pettigrew is about a sixty-something English widower who falls in love with the Pakistani widow who runs the convenience store in his village (in contemporary times). He is of the stiff-upper-lip stock of English gentlemen who still believe in good manners and good tea; she is an independent woman who is struggling to know her place in her own culture as a childless-widow. I actually did not know the book would be a romance till they fell in love—that sounds funny, but the book has another plot that covers up the romance subplot effectively. It’s a sweet story of falling in love, of standing up for what one believes in, and of overcoming cultural barriers. Read it with a cup of fine tea.

Runner-Up: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Annie Barrows

Another romance veiled in within a good story. One of my coworkers loaned it to me, and I read it during our staff retreat. I didn’t see this romance coming, either. Partly because I imagined the man in the romance to be an old man, and the woman to be young—apparently they were the appropriate ages. However, The Guernsey Literary focuses on the isle of Guernsey during the German occupation in WWII. It’s in an epistolary style—which I ordinarily do not prefer (although of course, I’m a huge fan of the epistles of the New Testament…) However, it’s done smoothly. The author did an excellent job of capturing the voice of the various letter writers, and that is why it worked so well. I was caught off guard by the romance (and to be honest, found it probably the most unnecessary part of the novel)—however, it doesn’t ruin it, and I really, really liked the book.

Best Non-Fiction: The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls

I don’t read a lot of non-fiction [lowers head in shame]. I just love stories, and have always been enticed and fascinated by fiction that I let most of non-fiction go to the wayside. However, I usually enjoy the non-fiction books I read, giving lie to the idea that non-fiction is somehow boring and not as exciting as fiction. But, truth is stranger than fiction, and I often forget that.

The Glass Castle illustrates the above maxim. What a strange (and engrossing) story it is. The main character is the daughter of two highly eccentric (and criminal) parents who drag their children all over the country. The story tells the tale of her family and her parents’ antics, from childhood to escape in adulthood. It’s fascinatingly absurd—my friend Alicia loaned it to me just before our trip to Italy, and I had a hard time putting it down to go see the sites of Rome. Okay, who am I kidding? It was always in my bag—but you know what I mean.

Runners-Up: Stuff: Compulsive Hoarding and the Meaning of Things by Randy O. Frost and Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything by Stephen D. Levitt

I do love books about interesting phenomena or strange illnesses or curious happenings. Stuff is about people who hoard—it’s fascinating and disgusting. Freakonomics explores the correlations between seemingly unrelated events—like Roe vs. Wade and a decline in crime rates in the United States.

Best Book: The Help by Kathryn Stockett

My friend Beth brought this book with her when she came to visit Dakar in May. At first, I was skeptical and too-cool-to-read-this-popular book. Yes, I’m one of those people who resist reading popular books, watching popular movies, or listening to popular music simply because it’s popular. Being a snob, I was sure that The Help couldn’t be as good as everyone was saying. Also, I don’t really like southern fiction. I really didn’t want to read The Help. However, it was summer, it was a book, and Beth said it was good. I trust Beth, so I decided to try it.

I’m glad I did. Despite all the hype, it’s an excellent book. I plan to reread it (I just watched the movie, which in turn made me want to reread the book—the sign of a well-adapted movie is if it encourages you to re-read the book). If you don’t know, The Help is the story of a young white woman in Jackson, Mississippi who convinces several black maids to tell their true stories of working in white households. It’s the kind of novel that opens your eyes, makes you think, encourages you to face the truth, offers you redemption, uplifts you, and encourages you—all at once. I was challenged to consider my own perceptions of race, challenged to consider this presentation of life in 1960s, challenged to think about how to be a part of healing the wounds created by racism and prejudice for centuries upon centuries by my ancestors. I often struggle with books about racism because they make me feel guilty for being white, even though I hope I’m not racist, nor am I the one who committed those atrocities. The Help offered a fair perspective on racism in the 60s—reading it, I was appropriately challenged, but also not manipulated into hating myself and my whiteness simply because I was white and not a minority.

The story is well told and the characters well realized. I read a review that compared it with To Kill a Mockingbird—I’m not sure if I’m ready to put it on that pedestal, but I think it is certainly a book that belongs on the same shelf as TKM.

I think I said this in a previous blog post, but I hope you read it in spite of the hoopla surrounding it.

Oh, and since I can’t wait till 2013 for my 2012 book review—if you’re a P.G. Wodehouse, Jasper Fforde or Oscar Wilde fan, check out To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis for a time travel romp through Victorian times, to say nothing of cats, boats, country houses, and dogs.

What books do you recommend for 2012? What do you hope to read? What did you read last year (or ever) that changed you, moved you, challenged you—or simply made you laugh? Throughout this post, I've mentioned the friends who have recommended the books that I've loved--because I think it's really important to recommend books to one another, to talk about what we've read, and to keep the book love flowing. I'm so glad those friends mentioned or loaned those books. Maybe I would have stumbled upon them eventually, but perhaps not.

I have this funny fear of recommending books to my friends and students--in part because I don't want them to dislike me because they didn't like the book I recommended--that's how devoted I am to my reading. Not liking a book that I recommended is not liking a part of me. Yes, of course I need to see a counselor about that, but that's beside the point. I'm giving them a part of myself when I endorse a book, and it matters that they don't like it. On the flip side, I feel terrible when I don't like a book someone recommended. Books are my friends, and I always want my friends to get along with one another. This is my "shout out" of thanks to Beth, Alicia, Tanner, Will, Donna, Mom, Dad, Deb, Jamie, the Sittes, all the middle school girls who loved Twilight enough to make me decide to read it, and the good customers at Amazon who care enough to write reviews about the books I'm interested in reading...Maybe you didn't realize it--but thanks for your suggestions, recommendations, conversations, cryptic commentary (obviously that refers to Will and Tanner), and book loans that made me read the plethora of books I read this year.

This is just to say: do recommend books--to me, you your friends, to your children, your students, your pastor, your husband, your coworkers. It's okay if they don't like it--but maybe, maybe they do like it, and they discover a whole new world in the process. I often find kindred spirits through books--because if I know that so-and-so loved the same book I loved, well, then, he or she can't be so bad, can she? (I was raised on Anne of Green Gables, so of course I think this way).

This concludes my exhaustive (or exhausting) review of books read in 2011. May it inspire you to discover new books, new friends and new worlds.

Happy Reading! (And Happy New Year!)

On Reading, Nooks, Book Reviews and 2011 Part II

And so, without much further ado (goodness knows I’m good at the “ado”):

The "Bad" and the "Ugly" Book Reviews

Worst Book: P.S. I Love You by Cecelia Ahern

Believe it or not, the Worst Book I read this year does not go to the Twilight saga (because I actually think those books had some merit…very little, but just enough).

I really enjoyed the movie P.S. I Love You, so of course I wanted to read the book. Don’t. It was awful—nothing like the movie at all except for the premise: a young widow’s dead husband leaves her notes and instructions through the year following his death.  Everything else was completely different. I’ve read books that I’ve really liked that are quite different than the film, so it wasn’t that. It was just a poorly written book. The potential was there--and the screenwriters took that potential and produced a fairly decent film, but unfortunately Ahern herself did not tap into that potential.

Runner-up Worst Book: Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella

Okay, so I have had a secret love for “chick-lit” genre books ever since reading Bridget Jones’s Diary, in which I laughed till I cried several times while reading. Unfortunately, most chick-lit novels are poor knock offs of Bridget Jones’s, and therefore don’t quite add up, like buying a pair of Adibas sandals in Sandaga market for 1500 cfa instead of coughing up the 15,000 cfa at City Sport for Adidas sandals. Confessions gets runner-up, and not first place because I “read” it as an audiobook (really, it’s just as terrible as P.S. and, the movie is also much better than the book). It made me want to throw my iPod across the bushtaxi in frustration (because it was the only time I was desperate enough to actually listen to it), but I didn’t since that would have destroyed my iPod.

Worst Series: Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan (Spoiler Alert)

I read these books too quickly (there was a rush on them at the DA library), and it’s possible I got sick of them because of that. Before I criticize them, I will say: these books have done a good job of raising an awareness of Greek mythology, something that, as an English teacher, I do appreciate. Kids just don’t know their Greek myths anymore, and it’s a challenge to understand literature without understanding the underlying allusions.

That said, this series was a poorly disguised attempt to capture the dissipating fever surrounding Harry Potter. I know that books about wizarding schools have been around since before Harry Potter (Ursula K. Le Guinn’s A Wizard of Earthsea had a darker take on schools of wizardery and witchcraft long, long before J.K. Rowling started penning her tale in a café somewhere in Edinburgh), so it’s not like Rowling had an exclusive right to the concept, but too soon, Riordan, too soon. The series featured a young male protagonist who learns about his magical (mythical-magical, potato-pah-tah-toe) powers in middle school, is shipped off to a training camp (camp-school, tomato-toe-mah-toe), learns that there is an evil overlord villain who is setting out to take over the mythical world (and the entire universe, of course) and said young male protagonist must defeat him in order to save the world. I wanted to like them, I did (I have always loved Greek mythology, and the thought of a children’s series based on Greek myths: woo-hoo!)—but there were just too many parallels to Harry Potter—even down to the mythical overlord’s corporeal body being reconstructed bit by bit till the end of the series till he assumes full human shape…um, Voldemort, anyone?

I know some of my readers really did like the Percy Jackson series…I apologize. In the immortal words of Shawn Spenser: “Agree to disagree.”

Silliest Series: Portuguese Irregular Verbs by Alexander McCall Smith

Readers of the The Number One Ladies Detective Agency may be the only ones who pick up these slim volumes (on the strength of their love for Alexander McCall Smith and Mma Ramotswe) as they are extremely, extremely silly. They feature a German academic who is the world’s leading expert on Portuguese irregular verbs, and all of the antics this academic gets himself into. I love silly books—P.G. Wodehouse and I are bosom friends, of course, but these books may be a little too silly. I liked them, but they were pointless. I brought them home over summer break for my parents to read, simply because one of the books is called The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs (my parents being dachshund owners, of course) and they did not really appreciate them. My dad said on his Goodreads review: “strange! pointless!” and recommended them for “no one.” They are the kind of book that I wouldn’t recommend without a lot of disclaimer—“Don’t blame me if you don’t like them…they’re pointlessly silly…it’s not The Number One Ladies…”

Most Ambivalent (Series): Song of Fire and Ice by George R. Martin

Have you ever started a book or a series and not known what to do with it? I don’t recommend these books, but at the same time I’m still reading them. I’m half-way through the third book (with two more published books to go in the series, and who knows how many unpublished) and I think I’m going to keep reading it but I’m not one hundred percent sure.

I don’t really like the books. I guess I want to find out who wins. I don’t know who I want to win. I’m not sure if I like any of the characters (besides the children who may or may not die). He kills off main characters at a whim, adds unlikeable characters to replace the semi-likeable main characters, and focuses far, far, far too much on sex. Well, sex-scenes can be skipped (and are), but they’re still there. And the books are depressing (mostly because he keeps killing off the good guys, and no one is winning the war, and Winter is Coming…)

I just hate not finishing books, and now that I’ve read almost 2500 pages of Martin’s series (most of the time with excuse of hoping it will get better…and skipping the Daenyrs parts—I hate her) I kind of want to finish what I’ve started. So, even though I’ll probably regret it, I’m probably going to finish the series. Unless he really does kill Jon Snow. Then I’m quitting.

Most Embarrassing: Five Hundred Kingdoms by Mercedes Lackey

Do you ever just want to read fluff? Like…pure fluff? This summer my head hurt from thinking…I was exhausted…I was weak. So, I read a few novels in Mercedes Lackey’s Five Hundred Kingdom series, and then felt embarrassed to admit to anyone, especially my students because they were just…poorly written novels. This particular series of Lackey was a retelling of fairy tales from around Europe, and I’ve always enjoyed reworked fairy tales. But, really, the books were thinly veiled excuses for poorly written romance novels. I’m not really a romance novel person, but I read them anyway. These books were cotton candy…I don’t even like cotton candy, and I feel sick after eating it. That’s how the Five Hundred Kingdoms book felt…bleh. (I just don’t get cotton candy…do you?)

What's the worst book or series you read this year? Or the most embarrassing? Or the silliest? Do you have a secret love for a genre that no one would suspect (like an English teacher who reads Chick Lit...or a Trucker who loves Jane Austen...)?

Coming Up: Part III--The "Good" Reviews

On Reading, Nooks, Book Reviews and 2011 Part I

I love to read.

Yes, of course I love to read. It’s in my blood—you should see my parents’ house—bookshelf after bookshelf after bookshelf fill the rooms. 

In my family, we take books with us everywhere, we always talk about books, we always are reading several books at once. Reading is my escape from reality, it is my comfort when I’m feeling sad, it is my entertainment. (Okay, yeah, I watch TV sometimes, but my first choice is usually a book, when I’m by myself). When I finish reading a book, I feel listless and directionless until I find the next book.

This year I have read more books than I usually do. This is in part because I have a bit more free time (5th year teacher and all that), in part because I just got tired sacrificing reading-for-pleasure time (especially as an English teacher who should constantly try to encourage her students to read for fun), and in part because I purchased a Nook last summer. It changed my life. Perhaps this is a somewhat melodramatic statement…but not really. (A Nook, by the way, is Barnes and Noble’s version of a Kindle [an ebook reader]). I bought my Nook with some reluctance. I didn’t want to become one of those people who read books on ebook readers.

Well, I’ve become one of those readers.

Here’s the reason why: I live in Africa. Africa is a wondrous place indeed, but it does lack for reading material. I am blessed to teach at a school with a great library…but since it’s the same library from my school days, I’ve read many of the books in the library already. Not the entire library, but most of the decent books (I refuse to read Christian Romance Novels, and that eliminates a lot of books in the DA library…).

When I learned that public libraries in the States had begun offering ebooks for download on the library websites, I decided to give up my reservations about ebooks and buy a Nook (Kindle books were not available at the time on the library websites). I didn’t buy a Nook to buy books, but to check out library books. (Yes, I am trying to defend my purchase since I still feel like I’ve betrayed the Real Book People who refuse to buy into the ebook craze…stay strong, my former brothers and sisters…but don’t move to Africa.)

As a result, I’ve had a lot more reading material at my fingertips, and I’ve read on my Nook voraciously (no more voraciously than usual—just with a wider selection than normal). It’s been delightful and, well, since I’m one of those people now, I highly recommend it, particularly if you live overseas (and have a library membership to a public library in the States). The majority of the books I’ve read have been free (borrowed for a 2 week period); I’ve only purchased a few (and, oddly enough, I’ve only read a few of the ones I’ve purchased, as I get distracted by the library books that have a more urgent reading deadline).

Don’t worry—I still prefer reading “real” books. It’s so much easier to read a book that doesn’t need to be recharged or cleaned or kept in a dust-free-case. It’s much less worry to worry about on bushtaxis, and if someone steps on it, it’s not the end of the world. A “real” book can be fixed with tape and cardboard and will never need its software updated. However, my Nook has been the temporary fix to my craving for new reading material here in Africa; the balm after a long, frustrating day of teaching or the companion on long lazy vacation days.

I decided to go through the mental exercise of thinking back over what I've read this year--the good, the bad, and the ugly. I'll start with the bad and the ugly in my next post--then move on to the good.

What do you love about reading? What are your thoughts on Nooks, Kindles and other eReaders? For those of you who are Real Book People...can you ever forgive me??????

Coming Up: Part II--The "Bad and the Ugly" Book Reviews...because sometimes it feels good to gripe!

What's Hair Got to Do With It?

On October 1^st, I chopped off my hair in a “pixie cut.” It wasn’t the first time I've chopped my hair off super-short, but it was the first time I’d chopped it off after having relatively long hair.

Short-hair just after The Haircut

I did not regret it at the time. I was glad to be done with long hair. I was tired of shedding, tired of always waiting for it to dry, tired of the color—I had accidentally dyed it black in April, and it seemed like it would never, ever grow out or wash out (the dye wasn’t good, hence the black instead of the brown on the box).

Blue-Black Hair? Oh, Marilla! (At least it didn't turn green...)

Now I regret that drastic measure. Oh, folly! Lately I’ve been wishing and longing to have my hair back. I keep looking enviously at people’s long hair (which is ironic, since before cutting my hair, I looked enviously at people’s short hair). I keep thinking about how it was finally long enough to actually do something with. I think, in part, it’s because my super-short hair cut has grown out just enough that I am at a crossroads: do I cut it again, or do I begin the long process of growing it out? (I just googled “Haircut advice for growing out short hair,” which prompted this piece). It’s such a pain to grow out—it took three and half years for the length I had before I cut it (after growing it out from a pixie).

Do I want to do that again? Go through the growing pains of awkward hair for several years till I get it to a point where it’s not in the growing out stage again?

I’ve realized this about myself through my process of dying and cutting my hair: it’s a symptom of something deeper. Whenever I feel discontented about something else about myself, I want to change something physically about myself.

Right now, I’m feeling listless and lost, and unsure of the future. I can’t do anything about that at the moment, so instead I stress about my hair. And, to be honest, I’ve been feeling pretty down about other aspects of my physical appearance…the extra pounds I’ve put on in the past year or two have been stressing me out, and so what do I do? I stress about my hair—because I can’t drop 20 pounds over night, but I can dye my hair or cut it somehow. I've know this about myself for a while now, but I still get that feeling of discontentment, and try to “solve” it by changing something, rather than actually dealing with the problem, or, accepting that the it has a long-term solution, rather than a short term fix.

My dramatic haircut in October made me feel temporarily better—I was, admittedly, feeling pretty depressed about a lot of different things, and that haircut was a fix, for a time, for some of the burdens. Odd, isn’t it? Maybe it was the extra attention I received from the haircut? Maybe it was just the striking change in the mirror? But, it didn’t solve the problem at all, because here I am, two months later worrying into the mirror once again, regretting my spontaneous decision to chop the locks that I had patiently grown for years and years, still feeling dreadfully uncertain about the future, and somewhat unhappy.

"Growing my hair” is representative of the long term patience that I need for some of life's struggles. For example, as a teacher, there’s no “instant fix” for the problems I may have in my classroom. I may wish that I could fix that student with the behavior or academic problem, but I can’t do it right away: it takes time and effort and prayer. I’m always dismayed at the beginning of the year with my AP Lit class, because that’s the group that I tend to connect with the most—because through the intensity of AP Lit, and after two years of teaching that particular group of kids, we know each other really well by the end of their senior year. Of course we don’t have that tight camaraderie at the beginning of the year—but I wish I could speed it up and get there right away, even though the journey to the camaraderie is so much more satisfying.

Or, the weight example: I’m frustrated about the extra pounds, but, in order get rid of them, I’m going to have to work at it—I’m going to have devote time to really exercising, not just the once or twice a week I remember to go for a jog. I’m going to have to really watch what I eat and really pay attention to my eating habits (I don’t eat a lot, but I do eat inconsistently, which of course interrupts metabolism). It’s much easier to dye my hair a different color than to commit to a time-consuming exercise plan and weight-loss goal.

And, as to the future: well, there’s no easy fix for knowing what to do with your life. I have placed my future into God’s hands. I really do believe that He’s going to provide for me in ways I can’t imagine. I believe he has a job for me picked out next year, I believe he knows that I need to make enough to pay rent, eat, and substantially reduce my college debt so I can go to grad school with a clearer conscience. I believe he knows the deep desire of my heart is that sooner than later I could meet someone…

But trusting in all of that? Not being anxious about all of that? Not worrying about that?

Well, it’s so much easier to do something spontaneous and exciting like chopping my hair off, rather than waiting patiently.

2007 Prayer Card Photo

I don’t know if I’m going to grow my hair out—one way or the other, I’m probably the only one who cares; it’s mostly just vanity on my part (well, my dad probably cares because he doesn’t like short hair…)—but I do hope I have the courage to trust in Christ no matter what. I don’t know if hair-growing is a step of faith, but it’s certainly a reminder to me that the best things come after patience, endurance, hard work, and prayer. A quick fix is only that—fleeting, ephemeral. The long term solutions, however painful or challenging, are the ones that will ultimately bring the most joy and contentedness.

Six Musings on a Tuesday

Today, I have a variety of things to talk about—none of them are terribly important. But, in my quest for self-importance, like so many other bloggers out there, I will bend your ear, if you read this, for a few moments and pretend that what I say is interesting or funny or informative.

(Self-importance with a liberal dose of self-deprecation…the perfect recipe for a blogger, eh?)

1. The Wall

I’m writing because I’m avoiding everything that I need to do. Every once in a while I hit The Wall. The wall of absolutely not wanting to do any work. It’s horrible. I know I need to do work. I have a MOUNTAIN of marking. I have to get exams ready. School’s out in a little over a week and half…so why can't I do it? I just can’t seem to find the motivation. I know I need to do it, but I’m just…putting it off. It's freaky, because I don't even feel stressed that I need to the work.

It’s the worst feeling. What usually happens is that The Wall precedes a great flurry of work and productivity. The Wall lasts a couple of days, but then I’m good for weeks and weeks. This Wall, however, has been in my way for longer than usual. I’m trying to find ways to scale it, but it’s proving rather high, slippery smooth, and with nasty barbs at the top. I just can’t stand it…but I can’t bring myself over it. I know that The Wall is my defense mechanism for feeling overwhelmed…that deep down inside I’m actually freaking out, so my subconscious creates this wall of indifference that’s masking my sheer terror over what lies just beyond The Wall.

One of the ways this wall of indifference manifests itself is in this very action—I write on my blog, or I email friends saying things like: “I’m just so unmotivated right now.” I fill my time with busy little tasks that are not needed at the moment (just like Samuel Johnson’s Mr. Sober in The Idler). Another way it manifests itself is that I suddenly get the urge to bake...Because there’s nothing like waiting an hour or two for bread dough to rise to put off grading papers...

The Wall is different than procrastination. I know procrastination very well. Procrastination isn’t indifference…it’s just…knowing that what needs to be done will get done, eventually. Tomorrow.

This Wall is something else, something darker and more dangerous than procrastination.

Don’t worry—it will pass. It always does. Suddenly, I’ll get a major burst of high stress and anxiety and adrenaline, and work like a crazy lady fueled solely by caffeine and get everything done.

2. A Current Use of Slang That I Despise

There’s a word in American slang I just can’t stand at the moment: “Bestie(s)" (as in, to refer to one's best friend(s)). Does anyone else abhor this term? It’s the most ridiculous expression. I just…HATE IT. Whenever anyone uses it, I want to smack them. I don’t know why it produces such a visceral reaction, but it does. I want to tear out their hair in frustration. Their hair—not mine. It’s just sounds so…ignorant. It looks like they’re trying to write “Beasties” and they misspelled it. I always get this mental picture of someone hanging out with dreadful looking monsters. And, it just sounds idiotic. I’m sorry if you use this expression. I like you—but I don’t have to like your word choice.

What current expression or slang do you hate? (Or, are you normal, and don’t get worked up over random turns-of-phrase, knowing that they will eventually pass on, as all other foolish, ignorant and dumb slang words have passed on…?)

3.    3. But I Do Like the Words "Slang" and "Brook"

On different note…isn’t “slang” one of the greatest sounding words in our English language? Say it with me: “Slang.” “Slang.” “Slang.” It’s definitely the cat’s meow.

The other day, I used the verb “to brook” in a sentence, and I have decided that we need to bring that verb back into the language. It’s the kind of word that you read in books, but rarely use out loud.

I will brook no use of the word “Besties!”

I will brook no late assignment excuses!

Try it—I think you’re going to love it.


4. Sanguine
I was re-reading Austen's Persuasion the other day, and she uses this word several times in a chapter, enough to catch my attention. Do you know what this word means?

What does it sound like it means? Anytime I hear or read this word, I feel like it means something sad or gloomy, but it actually means "hopeful" or "optimistic" or "cheerful." I find this strange and jarring. Words should usually mean the way they sound. There are a few exceptions--like the word "pulchritude"--it's just so fun to say, that it doesn't matter that it doesn't "sound" like it means "beautiful."

Sounds have emotive associations (which is what makes poetry so delicious), and it's hard for me to reconcile "sanguine" with "hopeful."

Sigh. These are the burdens English teachers must bear.


5. Climate Control and Aromatherapy
I love my students. I love, love, love them. Really, I do.

But they drive me crazy sometimes!

For example: in Senegal it is hot until about December. (November sometimes gets cool, but in recent years, it's warm till December.) I have air-conditioning in my room--Praise the Lord--and I use it. I like it not just for the temperature benefits, but it acts as sound-proofing, and drowns out the loud noises from around campus (we have a wood-working shop; the planer is extremely deafening, and cuts through the entire campus when it's running).

In November, I kept the AC on, even though temperatures were not as high. As the temperatures dropped, more and more students whined about the cold. I always told them the same thing: bring a sweater (and: suck it up; and: cry me a river...). I did turn the fans down to the lowest setting, but I wanted to keep the AC on as long as possible for the sound-proofing effect.

I turned the AC off last week. The first day I turned it off a student who was wearing a jacket asked me if he could turn the fans up, because "it was hot in here."

REALLY? Really? Really? 

It's possible my response to him was less than gracious. I may have said something loudly, with a bit of a shriek to my voice: I CANNOT ADJUST THE CLIMATE TO SUIT EVERY STUDENT WHO WALKS INTO MY CLASSROOM! TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

And then, today, another student--a student who always complained about being cold...asked to turn on the fan above her seat.

REALLY? Really? Really? 

I was a bit gentler in my reaction, I promise, although in my head I was screaming the same as the above.

Another thing that drives me crazy but also makes me laugh are the comments about the smells of my classroom. My AC emits a particular smell--it's a moldy smell combined with BO. So, to counteract that, I almost always burn a candle. When the students come into class, they always Oooooo and Ahhhhhh over the scented candle. They describe its myriad of scents--"Miss Bowers: how can a candle smell like so many things at once? It's a cinnamon, with strawberry and a hint of pineapple..." one student cooed the other day (apparently she's a future wine critic).

Inevitably, as soon as my candle runs out, or I forget to light it, the same students who coo over the smells scrunch up their noses and whine about the smell: "Ewwwwww...it smells horrible in here."

I'm sorry. I forgot that my secondary job as your teacher was to be your aromatherapist. Pardon me while I light some incense and cinnamon-strawberry-pineapple candles. Then, we can all work on our Chi together and maybe do some yoga...

4.    6. Miss Bowers’s Latest Tongue-Tangle

Yesterday in AP Lit, we were compiling “cultural characteristics of Victorian society,” having just finished the bulk of our readings from the Victorian period.

We were discussing the sexual taboos of the Victorian period—basically, that any mention of sex is taboo.

I said something like: “The Victorians did not brook any mention of sex. It was not tolerated. That didn’t mean they didn’t have societal problems because of sex, they just didn’t talk about 'the bedroom.' They just chose to sweep the problems under the covers.”

The covers?

“Ah, Freudian slip!” I declared. “I meant the rug! The rug! Pun not intended!”

But, as usual, it was too late. My tongue-tangle was met by raucous laughter (by those who caught it…), and I fought to keep from blushing, which is very hard when your skin is as pale as someone who has fair skin and doesn’t spend very much time in the sun.

The Amazing-Tree-Climbing-Lizard-Hunting-Dachshund

On Friday night, I cried myself to sleep. I haven't done that in a long time, but I did. My parents' little dog, Chester, died on Friday. He wasn't really my dog, but my parents had him for three years, and in those three short years, I came to love him.

Even though he chased away all of our cats.

It surprised me how much it hurts to lose this little life. It surprises me that I'm writing a blog post about it, because I'm not that sentimental. I think I'm a bit sensitive right now, because there's been several people deaths in connection to DA, including a parent of one my students--so, sure, I'm probably reacting in part to all of that--but mostly, I'm just sad to lose Chester.

I really loved Chester. And I'll miss him. He was one of a kind--but of course, every dog is, I think. He was kind and gentle to little children (they could, and would pull his tail and ears, and he'd take it patiently), but ferocious when he needed to be. Sometimes a little too ferocious, as he loved to bark at everything. Chester thought he was a big dog, a trait of most dachshunds, I'm told. Before my parents had him fixed, he would escape the fence when the neighborhood dogs were in heat, and run with this pack of wild dogs in our neighborhood! We'd have to track him down; sometimes he'd be gone for days and days. He had random dislikes of certain people--he strangely always disliked our guard, who's basically the Malian Dr. Doolittle, but he loved our maid, Ami and would bark delightedly each morning she came to the house.  He loved to chase lizards, and could occupy himself for hours and hours hunting them outside. He loved to sleep, and found the most interesting and undignified positions to sleep in. He also loved to lick people--but I wasn't a fan of that. He was a good lap dog, and would sit contentedly snuggled up to you, if you let him up on the couch. Every morning, especially in cool season, he would sit on my mom or dad's lap as they did their devotions, content to be as close to them as possible.

As I lay there crying on Friday night, I thought: so this is why people wonder if dogs go to heaven? I'm sure once we get there, we won't be looking around for our pets--but it'd be nice if they were there.

Some of us are going to have a lot of pets in heaven, if that's the case. I know I'll have about twenty cats--perhaps Chester is chasing them up in heaven now. Except, in heaven the kitten and dachshund will love each other there, just like the lion and the lamb, right?

So, here's to Chester--you were a great little pet, a good little friend, and we'll really miss you.

Here's how I'll always remember him: The Amazing-Tree-Climbing-Lizard-Hunting-Dachshund.