Best kids' party ever

The munchkin beating on what’s left of her Peppa Pig piñata.

The best kid’s birthday party

               The munchkin beating on what's left of her Peppa Pig  piñata. 

Happens in the street. Yes, the street. In Mexico, that is. And it’s the party our munchkin has chosen for her birthday.

Tables are set up for the cake and food and gifts. Chairs line the sidewalk and curb. The piñata is strung up over the street. Everyone comes—kids, parents, grandparents.

Chicken or pasta salad is served on tostadas, agua de jamaica (made from hibiscus petals) is the favored drink.

The kids play, everyone eats, and then it’s time to sing as the children from youngest to oldest take turns trying to break the piñata. Usually it’s up to one of the teens in the crowd to administer the final blow so the kids can scramble for the candy that tumbles out.

Group photos are taken and candles lit, Feliz Cumpleanos sung to the birthday child, and cake served.

Several hours later, replete and happy, the kids go home with their parents, toting their goodie bags.

Time travel in our own town

Since moving to Victoria, we’ve been exploring our new city and recently discovered yet another treasure – Point Ellice House. This National Heritage Site, overlooking the waters of Victoria’s scenic Gorge Waterway, exudes the peace and charm of a former time.

Peter and Caroline O'Reilly moved into the Point Ellice House in time for the birth of their daughter Kathleen December 31. 1867.  

The house remained in the family's possession for 108 years.

What makes this “museum” truly unique is that in 1975, three generations later, O’Reilly’s grandson, John, and his wife, Inez, sold the house and all its contents to the Province of British Columbia. The family left behind everything – furniture, clothing, toys, tea services, a harp, writing desks, board games, kitchen utensils, and more  – giving us a rare opportunity to see one of North America’s largest collections of Victoriana in its original Victorian home.

On seeing the parlor, my granddaughter said, “This must be the playroom!” Chess set, piano, harp, toys, tea sets ... definitely the playroom.

http://www.pointellicehouse.ca/

Finding David

Since I’ve been in leadership positions, I’ve learned that there are four ways you can get lucky when it comes to staffing your school.

One is connections:

• You hear from colleagues about good teachers.
• You wait (timing is everything – you learned this working in personnel).
• You phone your staffing consultant, tell him you need a teacher and ask if you can interview so and so.
• Five minutes into the interview you know you want the person and you are antsy as hell waiting for your assistant principal to finish asking his questions so you can offer K the job.

Another is seeing in action:

• You have watched the person when they have been supply teaching in your school.
• You wait (timing is everything – you learned this working in personnel).
• You call your staffing consultant as ask if you can please have M for the maternity leave position that must be filled now.

Yet another is interviewing:

• You call your staffing consultant and ask for candidates.
• You interview the individual and after a few minutes you send him packing when he tells you he doesn’t think he would want to teach at your school because he couldn’t further his career doing so with the kind of kids you have (yes, this is a poor part of the city, but we love our students and know how wonderful they are).
• You call your staffing consultant again, give him a report on the interview, and ask for another applicant.
• You interview and are more than pleased to offer G the job.

And then there is the “given” category:

• You get a call from the superintendent’s office telling you that you can’t advertise the position because they have someone for you.
• You stifle a massive groan and hold your head in your hands as an instant migraine develops and wonder what you could possibly have done to upset the superintendent (You worked in personnel—you  know how these “givens” work).
• You get a call from the giving principal telling you about the individual.
• You know better than to trust this particular giver so you make some calls of your own.

Within a few minutes of meeting the individual and a few days of working with him, you know that someone up there loves you because you now have David, who will prove to be an absolute gem as your new assistant principal.

An American stands out in Mali

The airport is small and crowded. We’re the only foreigners and are surrounded by Malians as we wait for out flight. The men could almost be in uniform as they are all dressed alike in khaki pants and short sleeved shirts.

We introduce ourselves to one of the men and ask where, in the US, he is from.

“How did you know I’m American?” He gestures to the crowd around us. “I’m dressed exactly the same as everyone else here and I’m black.”

“Well …” How do we put this delicately? “Your walk, your stance, your haircut all scream US.” We hesitate and then say, “You’re black, but your skin tone isn’t at all the same as the Malians.”

“You know,” he says, “I’m dean of the school of architecture at UofX. I came here to study the buildings, to see how they keep them cool in such extreme heat. I’m looking for ways to conserve energy back home, and in an ideal world, to eliminate the need for air-conditioners.” He smiles ruefully. “I thought that if I dressed like everyone here, I could blend in and travel unnoticed, so to speak, but I’ve been spotted as a foreigner every time. Now I know why.”

We nod, not at all surprised. “And what did you find out about the buildings?” we ask.

“Mud brick homes are built with two ceilings about three feet apart. The heat is trapped in between and the homes are surprisingly cool.”

We’ve slept in one of the buildings in the compound pictured above and know that it was a comfortable temperature, but mud brick buildings in the US? Not likely. We tell him we hope that he can find a way to create a natural air conditioning effect and wish him well as he heads for his plane.

Wise words from the Indian helped me be a better teacher

They troop into the office, the injured student and his or her gaggle of friends who cluster around the hurt one chattering away. I chase the mother hens out and deal with the injury, be it physical or emotional.

Then I meet the Indian.

Unfortunately, I can’t remember his name or even what he looked like, but what he said is vivid in my mind all these years later.

He was from South Dakota. In Canada we use the terms aboriginal or first nations, but he eschewed those saying, “I don’t understand you, here in Canada. I don’t need fancy words. I’m an Indian.”

And the words that I remember all these years later? They spoke about his philosophy for raising children.

He said that his system was to take the best from Dakota culture, from Jewish culture, from American culture, or any other he came across, and meld them into a way of thinking and acting that benefits children. And what benefits children is what benefits all humans.

Two of his examples loom large in my mind.

The father who got a call from the police saying his son was in jail the very first time he soloed in his father’s car. The father went to the police station and his first words to his son were, “I love you.”

The woman who lay in the hospital bed dying, the members of her family silently watchful in the crowded room—science can measure the medical benefits of the presence of others—don’t isolate the ill.

I went home that night thinking about my own actions and knew I was guilty of missing the boat in some critical instances. When an injured or upset student came to the office accompanied by a gaggle of friends, the first thing I did was chase the friends out and isolate the student. Now, I knew better and I soon found that letting the gaggle stay invariably reduced the stress for the injured student and calmed the situation for everyone, myself included.  

I wish I could remember this wonderful wise man’s name, and the name of his organization. I wish I could write to him to thank him. I can’t do those things, but I can honor him by writing about him as I have done here.

Is a novel a novel without a love story?

Valentine’s Day and love is in the air—and in my books. I couldn’t imagine writing a novel without a love story and at least a bit of hot sex. But love in my books also includes love of family and friends, of life and laughter, and of fellow man.

Love prompts our characters to do many things, to experience a range of emotions that sometimes (often?) takes them down the wrong path. But then that’s good in a book, right?—builds tension, creates suspense, keeps us reading.

In my Em and Yves series, to underscore the action, I created a love triangle, between the heroine, the alien controlling her, and her human lover. Sparks fly, jealousy reigns, emotions run high and play havoc with the story line. In fact it takes four books to sort it all out and yes, there is a happy ending for isn’t that what all love stories deserve?

When the Sun was Mine is a story of love between two strangers; an old lady, who may or may not have Alzheimer’s, and a young girl just graduated from high school. Circumstance brings them together, initial skepticism and fear grow to respect and liking and love, and they offer each other more than they would have thought possible. Yes, the story has its sex bits too.

Mali to Mexico and Points In Between, a collection of short snippets from my life, shows how important people are to each other, and how they, and travel, broaden our perspectives of the world adding deeper dimensions to our love of life.

Happy reading and Happy Valentine’s Day!

It's the I-5!

It’s a beautiful sunny day in May and we’re off on a bit of an adventure. We take the ferry to Salt Spring Island to meet our friend, Wesley Clark. We own one of his paintings and we want at least one more for our new home.

Wesley meets us at the ferry terminal and takes us to his new place. He’s carved a space in the woods for a cabin and a studio. The first thing we notice as he drives into the yard is the wooden fish sculpture on the fence. Beautiful, but it wouldn’t fit in our condo.

Wesley gives us a tour of his property. Wesley builds. His wife gardens. Both the buildings and the gardens are works of art in themselves.

We go into his studio and two new paintings—so new they’re not even signed yet—hanging on the wall across from the door snag my attention. They’re dark and gritty and edgy—vertical stripes of black and grey with a few—very few—touches of color.

Me: Oh, I like those.

Wesley: They were inspired by a road trip to Mexico.

Me: It’s the I-5!

Wesley: That’s exactly right. I can’t believe you knew that.

Me: How could I not? You’ve captured the horrors of that drive too well.

And he has. The endless streams of traffic, the dull grays of the tarmac, the guard rails, the minute glimmers of green on each side of the roadway—the monotony.

We move on to see his other paintings. His works are varied. Primitive pieces, landscapes, nudes, abstracts … My favorites are the primitive shaman pieces, but we already have one of those and another would be overkill. We settle on an abstract full of dramatic color, but I’m drawn back again and again to the I-5 pictures.

Do I buy one of the I-5s? No and yes. I do not want the black pictures that so vividly depict the agony of that drive that we did more than once and yet I do. Wesley offers a compromise showing us his first I-5 painting—also vertical stripes, but with more color. They’re not as gritty or edgy, but this picture will look great in our entrance and be a wonderful reminder of the time I instantly “got” a piece of abstract art.