Negligence; or "Trying Hard Enough Not To"

Today was my last day of classes of my first semester of law school? What? I feel like the fun has just started.  

Which is kind of true.  Now begins the great work of Outlining.  I skipped crew practice today to devote more of my time to synthesizing reams of notes into concise study guides and exam references.  Now, after staring at my computer screen for 7 hours, I am wired and can't sleep, because I missed my daily exercise and I can't stop thinking about negligence.

 You might not think the concept of negligence is inspiring at all, but, oh ho, you are wrong!  This riveting subject has finally shed light on a particularly frustrating and recurring puzzle from my childhood.

It all revolved around my dad's favorite accusation, which he reserved for those moments when one of my siblings or I had done something accidental yet totally exasperating.

For example, one day when I was about 5, I decided to open the fridge and see what I could see.  I don't remember what I was looking for.  I probably wasn't allowed to have it, but that's beside the point.  When I opened the door, a massive jug full of iced tea came crashing to the floor.  As best I could tell, it had been leaning up against the door.  I sure had made a mess, but I wasn't sure how to clean it up, so my only option was to let Dad in on the catastrophe.

As Dad stared at the mess in consternation, I could only come up with one defense, which I knew was absolutely true, and I always expected would excuse me from all blame and discipline: "I didn't try to..."

What followed became the oft-repeated and inevitable response: "You may not have tried to, but you didn't try hard enough not to!!"

What is a little kid to say to that anyway?  I knew that it offended my 5-year-old sense of fairness and justice (which was already quite robust at that age), but I had no idea why, and I certainly wouldn't have been able to verbalize it.

Well! Guess what: It turns out that "not trying hard enough not to" is called negligence, an awkward and complicated concept, which I just spent the last several weeks picking apart and sifting through.

There's a reason why our torts book covered intentional torts first before moving on to tackle negligence. It's much easier to blame someone when it's clear that 1) they knew what they were doing, 2) they knew that it was going to hurt someone, and 3) they did it anyway.  In my 5-year-old sense of the world, this was the only blame-worthy offense.  If you didn't try to, you couldn't be blamed.

Plus, If I didn't try hard enough not to (I fumed to myself) how was I ever supposed to know what it meant to "try hard enough?"

Well, theoretically, I should have been able to figure it out.  It turns out negligence is based upon the duty of care that each person has, based on what they actually knew (or should have known) about the situation. Their actions are then judged to be appropriate or negligent, based on their knowledge under the circumstances.

Sometimes the factor of "knew or should have known" is altered by the type of person you are dealing with.  For example, a 5-year-old.  What kind of knowledge can we assume that 5-year-old Miriam had?  Well first of all, probably no one could have known that the fridge was booby trapped, ready to dump iced tea on whoever happened to open the door next, whether they be 5 or 50 years old.

On the other hand, 5-year-old Miriam definitely knew she wasn't supposed to be rummaging for snacks all by herself, and probably even knew that such ventures tended to lead to spills and messes.   If we can impute that knowledge to my 5-year-old self, we might conclude that the age-appropriate duty of care required asking for help before embarking on solo snacking expeditions, and that I already knew what was required of me, pre-iced-tea-Niagra-Falls...

This is no doubt what Dad was thinking as he glared at the lake of iced tea on the kitchen floor, reflected in my pouty tear-filled eyes.

It might have helped if he had explained that to me... On the other hand, my inability to conceptualize duty of care was only half of my righteous indignation.  The other half stemmed from the inherent unfairness of the decision being solely Dad's.

In a negligence case, it's up to a judge and/or jury to decide the knowledge imputed, the foreseeability of the outcome of certain behavior, and the duty of care required.  For me, it was only up to Dad, and I wouldn't get the chance to argue that I, as "just a little kid," should be given a little break on trying hard to prevent accidents; or that no one could have foreseen the precarious pitcher; or that opaque fridge doors are an inherently risky design flaw.

I didn't know about juries or due process rights, but I knew something about the whole system just wasn't fair.

This drove me crazy, and, on at least one occasion, I lectured my parents on the inherent injustice of the parent-child power imbalance.  ...I'm not sure I got my point across; I'm pretty sure it mostly just amused them.  (Which further infuriated me, and eventually motivated me to go to law school, thanks Mom and Dad! just kidding...)

At least I now know how I will handle this situation if there's ever a next generation of little Miriams.  Will I use the "didn't try hard enough not to"?  Oh, yeah.  Most definitely.  It's perfect; just incomplete.
Knowing how frustrating this concept is to understand, I will make sure to sit down with them and explain:

"You see, honey, there's this thing called negligence..."
(Ahhhh, my kids are gonna LOVE me...)

<--the real culprit.

This one's not gonna get stuck in cyberspace

It's time for an update. I've neglected my blog for too long, and I miss it.  About once every couple of weeks I've started a new post, only to abandon partly done in the "drafts" section of my blog.  Worse yet, my best ideas usually get abandoned in the "drafts" section of my brain, which seems to function best on my 10-minute bus ride back from school, only to be overridden by thoughts like "Do I have time for a snack before crew practice?"

My downfall is my perfectionism.  I like to have a nicely wrapped up and edited train of thoughts to present.  Usually there's something more pressing or interesting to do than edit myself, and by the time I return to it weeks later, the train has left the station.  But tonight I am determined that when I go to bed there will be a blog post here, even if just a stream of consciousness.

I started today at a 6:30 crew practice.  Did you know I joined the KU crew team?  I can blame or thank one of my law school classmates (who also happens to be an assistant crew coach) for enticing me to join my first team sport since 7th grade volleyball.  In case you're wondering, it's going a lot better than 7th grade volleyball.  I sometimes need to attend the morning varsity practices, and I actually love the warmup jog in the dark, gliding out on the river while it is still black and murky, watching the sun rise just in time to row back to the dock and drive home for a well-earned shower and breakfast.

Monday's schedule is easiest, with only a two-hour afternoon property class waiting for me... After practice this morning I made myself french toast and set up my books and research materials on my bed.  With the number of books and binders and computer parts that I use to research and outline class materials, I usually need a bigger desk than what I have available, so my bed often substitutes.  The problem with my bed is... the obvious problem.  I powered through an hour of focused work before succumbing to the temptation to nap in the sunny spot that had appeared right where my computer was sitting.

Afternoon brought a 4-hour property class.  Our dear professor scheduled a supplementary 2-hour class session today to help us further illuminate the subject of Estates and Future Interests.  He gleefully referred to this session as the 32-Annual Property Fest.

To some extent, I think is it is an interesting mental exercise to identify whether a will violates the Rule Against Perpetuities, or whether someone holds land in a Fee Simple Absolute or a Fee Simple Subject to an Shifting Executory Interest... But that is a limited extent.  Four hours is a long time to discuss it, and how our professor has survived 32 years teaching it without his brain melting is beyond my comprehension.

Prof. DLT rewarded our patience by buying us pizza.  It turns out there is a lot of free pizza involved in law school.  Most days there are presentations and guest speakers over the lunch hour, often sponsored by various law school organizations, and the usual gimmick to boost attendance is to offer free food.  It's not that I'm complaining about free food, because I would probably attend these lectures anyway, and I'm both hungry and poor all the time these days.  But this afternoon I had to catch the bus home, so I grabbed a slice quick and headed out the door.

The bus is a good time of day for me.  It forces me to sit still and not do anything for a few minutes.  Plus, I like people watching, especially through campus.  There are some great fashions going on on college campuses in the Midwest.  I wish everyone didn't think it was a good idea to wear leggings as pants, because it's not a style that works for everyone.  Every once in a while I see one of my former students... which is weird.  I like talking to bus drivers, and interacting with my fellow bus patrons.  Like the little girl today who wanted to show me her halloween candy loot, and then kept up a running narration about honey badgers for the remainder of my ride on the bus.

Evenings are for homework and for spending time with CJ and my housemates.  Evenings are quiet, and nice.  So far, as long as I fit in an hour or two of work after dinner on weeknights, I can keep up in class, although I have suffered through a couple evenings of researching in one room while listening to my friends playing games in the next room.  I still would rather spend the evening at home than isolated in the library.  I like the homework (for the most part), and I like my friends, and I really like CJ so I'm usually pretty relaxed right about this time of night.   And sleepy.  And I think this a good place to end this post for today.  More organized thoughts soon to come, hopefully.  Happy Monday and Happy Halloween everyone!

Style v Function: Law School Day 7

After four days of gentle orientation classes, my classmates and I experienced our first "real" class on Tuesday.  That is, the kind of class where you are given a dense reading the day before, and may be called upon to recite some or all facts of the case in front of your professor or classmates.

According to traditional wisdom, and the warnings of all those who have come before us, this is a moment to be seriously afraid of, or at the very least, somewhat nervous.  

I have to admit, I was totally excited.  In fact, if these last seven days are any indication, I am going to love law school.  From everything I know so far, both preparing for and performing during class are going to be considerably less terrifying and more fun than preparing for and performing during a class of high school sophomores less than interested in learning US History.  

So, I may have intentionally worn a bright teal jacket on the day of our much-heralded first class, and I was, indeed, the second person in a room of 140 called upon to answer!  Somewhat to my disappointment, the professor let me say about three words before moving on to someone else.
(insert overdramatic sigh)

One thing I don't like about law school so far:  Schlepping heavy books and class-related paraphernalia to campus, from class to class, and back home again.

The first few days I started out with a large tote bag. Call it vanity, but I was really hoping to not have to "regress" to an ugly, sporty backpack.  I'm excited to be a student, but I'm not excited to look like one.

Well... it didn't take me long to realize that, if my trusty tote was mostly filled by my laptop, notebook, tiny orientation folder, and wallet, it wasn't going to take me very far during classes.  Besides, the off-balance ache at the end of the day told me that hauling a tote bag on one shoulder was something my back might regret in the future.

I resisted for a few days, adding extra bags and my lunchbox on to supplement the inadequate carrying capacity of my poor tote.  As I looked around the classrooms, I noticed I wasn't the only one trying to find the right combination of carrying containers to match the demand of law school.  On the last day of orientation, the assistant dean of students even delivered a small lecture on the necessity of making our peace with rolling backpacks.  "I don't think I could even find a rolling backpack big enough," I heard someone mutter on the way out of the room.  "Maybe if I get one for each hand."

I dreamed of a backpack that was rugged but stylish--a backpack that would be padded and sturdy and beautiful.  It had to accommodate about 30 pounds of books, laptop, sustenance, and clothing layers (to cope with the ridiculously over-airconditioned interior of Green Hall)... and yet accentuate my fabulously classy fashion sense.

After much research, I discovered this backpack doesn't exist, and unfortunately I don't have the skills or patience to create it.  

So I gave up on image and decided to try out the one bag left in my arsenal that might still work out: A small backpacking backpack, scavenged from my friend Jacob's closet-cleaning extravaganza.  At the time I inherited it, I had no particular use for it--it's too small for actually backpacking with, and too huge and heavy-duty for everyday use. Or so I thought....

It turns out it was made for law school.  The top pocket serves as my lunch box, the front compartment has lots of minipockets to protect and organize my cellphone, pens, bus schedule, chapstick, and ibuprofen.  The padded back protects my back from sharp textbook corners, and protects my laptop from getting smushed.   It may be red, gray, black, and covered in zippers and straps and plastic buckles, but it worked beautifully for me today.

So, law school hurdle number one surmounted.  Wonder what will be next? 

Playing with my food

After several weekends in a row of traveling, I'm finally home for a consecutive Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, which is leading to a sort of experimental cooking and preserving binge.  Or, as much of one as could be expected without proper equipment or expertise for most of the kinds of kitchen projects I'm trying to do.

There's more to this than a love for cooking (although that might turn out to be a by-product of the experimentation).  The farm where I work has recently had an overflow of seconds, especially partially bug-eaten corn and cucumbers this past week.

Yesterday as I was leaving work, I loaded up a few cucumbers and ears of corn in my backpack.  I turned my back for a second and my two-year-old coworker appeared behind me helpfully toting as many additional cucumbers as he could carry.

"I licked one of them," he announced as he added them to the others.  I didn't have the heart to turn him away, so I adopted them all, even the slimy one.

In addition to the Lawrence-produced bounty, I received a visit from my parents and brother this week, which meant I also received several more ears of corn, hot peppers, cherry and slicing tomatoes, onions, two gallons of milk, a quart of skimmed cream, and a skinned, whole chicken.

I was risking the wrath of my housemates by taking up far more than my share of the fridge.  Something had to be done.

Yesterday my coworkers Colby and Sally came over to help use up some of the produce bounty, but since they work at the farm too, they brought their own orphan cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, and onions.  Colby set the agenda for the evening: gazpacho and mozzarella cheese.  We set up a dual kitchen with Colby and Sally on one side of the counter chopping and whuzzing up the produce, while I set up the mozzarella on the stove.

I made things more difficult for myself by suggesting that we do a side-by-side comparison of fresh milk and store-bought milk.  The gazpacho was a great success, and I'll blame the semi-failure of the mozzarella on the over-complication of trying to watch the temperature on two batches at once.

By semi-failure, I mean that what we ended up was some kind of cheese, but it definitely was not mozzarella.  After 20 minutes of waiting for curds to form, it was clear that something was wrong with the store-bought batch.  Colby did a quick google of the problem, and I realized that the aluminum (not stainless steel) pot was probably the issue.   While he was at it he found a recipe for making ricotta from the left-over whey (which I'll come back to later).

Meanwhile, Sally and I scooped the beautiful very-mozzarella-like curds out of the fresh-milk batch.  The curds looked and felt a little like gak, that neon-colored goo we played with in the mid-90s.   ...So this step is partly responsible for turning what should have been a 30-minute-mozzarella into a 90-minute-mozzarella.

The next steps of the recipe called for successive heatings and kneadings of the curds until they became stretchy and smooth.  It was only after the mozzarella failed to become stretchy and smooth that I read the following steps in the recipe, which listed all of the potential ways to screw up the heating and kneading.

We had managed to accomplish several of the pitfalls of curd-kneading: over-heating, over-working, and taking too much time in general.  The recipe didn't offer any suggestions of what to in the case that your cheese does become "hard and unworkable." We divided and snacked on the small chunk of not-mozzarella cheese, and called it a night.

Today I came back to the whey sitting on the back of the stove, and made a super-nice batch of whey ricotta. It went really quickly (aside from the part where I tried to substitute regular cotton fabric for cheesecloth... let's just say I'm going to be buying some cheesecloth if I do this again) and was a super easy recipe.



And then I turned my attention to the failed batch of store-bought-milk mozzarella.  By this point the cultures had done a little bit of work, and I had tiny flecks of curd, which looked a little like the whey ricotta did before I strained it.

So I strained the failed batch too, and voila, now I have two slightly different kinds of... what I'm just going to go ahead and call ricotta.  I also revisited the not-mozzarella ball, which had turned into a sliceable, dry, sharp-tasting, and delicious lump.  I don't have a name for it, but I like it.



My next two projects were the cucumber and corn.  Cucumber salad turned out pretty delicious with a partially improvised recipe based on this one (minus 1/2 c. mayo, plus 1/2 c. yogurt, plus lots of onions, if you must know), although I'm also intrigued by this recipe with chili powder, which I might try when I get more cucumbers next week.



I had planned to can the corn as my first solo canning experience.  I was proud of myself for improvising or hoarding all of the canning supplies I would need, but partially into the process, I realized I was missing one essential piece of equipment.  After searching all over the house for something that could substitute for a rack that keeps the jars off the bottom of the pot, I gave up and decided to just freeze this batch.  (It just occurred to me that I could probably have fashioned something out of wire clothes hangers... shoot, that would have made for a good story).  All's well that ends well: There are four containers of frozen corn, cucumber salad for dinner tonight, a good bit of ricotta-like cheese, and most importantly...

Space for more produce in the fridge!!!

P.S.  I have a confession to make. When I think about the food production and preservation talents that generations of people before me had to perfect, and what a lot of people in other parts of the world still do to feed themselves today, it is frankly embarrassing to me to be writing a blog post about my little forays into food production, like its some big impressive adventure. 
I'd like to get to the point where preserving food isn't something for me to write home about.  I'd like to see us get to the point where growing, processing, and cooking food just... something we all do.

Transportation, Continued.

I just got back from my second day riding my new bike to work! Last I wrote I had just fixed my car, and just gotten a flat tire on my bike.  But then I took a one-week intermission from working in order to drive said car to Minnesota, hitch a ride with CJ's parents to Ontario, and experience my first ever Fishing Trip.

Thanks to some quick-draw emailing and fancy footwork just before leaving on vacation, I am now in possession of what very well may be my dream bike.

I have to thank craigslist for introducing me to Bob, who not only sold me a great bike for $35, but also entertained CJ and me with stories of family trips to civil rights protests when he was a kid.  Bob also expressed some concerns that perhaps our generation is apathetic and, therefore, that our world is headed for disaster.  CJ and I did our best to reassure Bob that not everyone in our generation is (as he fears) obsessed with Paris Hilton, and that in spite of the lag in peace protests in comparison to the 60s, there are many of us who are socially active. ...Although Bob (a self-described "recovering attorney") only laughed when I described law school as part of my plan to make the world a better place.  Anyway, we finally said goodbye to Bob and drove away with my new bike:

Part of the low price was because of brittle tires that were beyond any hope of inflation, but a visit to my local bike shop supplied me with the tires and tubes to fix her up.  I even cleaned out the gears with q-tips and WD-40, and wiped the whole frame down.   2 hours later I took my first ride around the block, and if it hadn't been 102 degrees outside, I would have found an excuse to just keep going.

As you can see from the pictures, this bike satisfies pretty much all of last post's wish list, and more! I added a bell and lights to it (still no rearview mirror), it came with an awesome folding basket, and the hybrid tires are perfect for the not-so-well-maintained streets of East Lawrence.

Plus, it's such a lovely color of light blue!!


I shared with CJ my recently-discovered additional evidence that this bike and I are soul mates.  "Look, it's a Mirada!" He just stared at me.  "Get it? MIR-ada!"  I think maybe he raised an eyebrow... at any rate, he wasn't getting it or he wasn't impressed, so I thought I'd better up the cleverness a level.   "Plus, the word for bike in German is RAD! So it's like, MIR-RAD... Mir's bike, get it?"

....Sigh.... I need to pick a more appreciative audience for my incredible wit.

Speaking of which, last Wednesday I thought up a clever plan for saving myself a few blocks of riding:  First, I would ride to work, and then afterwards, continue the ride to the grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner.

Well, I spent a couple of hours that day pulling up onions in a waterlogged field that was full of weeds taller than I am, the top 8-10 inches of which were heavy-laden with pollen.  Afterwards my jeans and shoes were caked with mud up to my thighs, my arms were covered with itchy bumps and scratches, and I had yellow powdery polkadots glued to me with sweat from head to toe.

I don't know why I ever think that working six hours in 100 degree heat could be followed by anything other than a shower.

I wasn't sure it was kind of me to expose strangers to my general disgustingness, but I figured I might as well get all my sweating and exercise out at once, so I rode to the store as is.  I just tried to avoid aisles where there were other shoppers...

I got to the counter as soon as possible, only to catch a bit of disappointing conversation: On the occasion of my first bike ride to Dillons, the only grocery store in East Lawrence, I found out that the store will be officially closing at the beginning of August... two weeks from now.  

Theoretically, it's for a good reason: Dillons plans to rebuild its Mass Street store, in a more attractive, more energy-efficient, and more community-oriented style.  I guess that will be nice.  But until then, East Lawrence, and my current Personal Biking Radius, will be without a grocery store.  It's weird to me that in a place with so many establishments for eating and drinking, there's not a single place to buy just plain food.

The next closest grocery store is Checkers, another mile South.  I actually prefer Checkers, mostly because it sells meat and milk from local farms.  So maybe this is just the motivation I need to get working hard on expanding the bikeable radius.  Hey, if my little brother can run 6 miles before 8am, surely I can make it to Checkers on my bike.

...Which reminds me of some errands I need to run (exchanging Isaiah's birthday-present running shorts for a bigger size so they're not QUITE so short...), and if I want to get them done, I need to get out the door and on my sweet new ride.

Rad Fahren (Driving my Bike)

One of the best things about this summer so far is the freedom to finally experiment with how little I can use my car, and how much I can expand the radius within which I am comfortable biking.

I've had a bike since I moved to Lawrence, and I've had two legs for about 24.9 years now, but I had a mental block to really using them as my main forms of transportation, and that mental block was the 70 mile round-trip daily commute to teach.  It just didn't seem to make much difference whether I biked the 7 blocks to the bank or drove, when I was burning 2 gallons of gas minimum every week day regardless.  And anyway, I could hit the bank on the way home from work, adding only 2 blocks to my drive.

This summer however is the first time I have gotten to take advantage of the fact that I really do have everything I need within walking and biking distance in Lawrence.  In addition to the bank, all of my favorite restaurants, bars and shops are 3 blocks away on Massachussetts Street.  The grocery store is less than a mile.  CJ's house is 5 blocks.  The clincher, the icing on the cake, is that my summer job is just down the country roads east of my house, at the Buller Family Farm.   And in contrast to teaching, no one will comment or notice if I show up already sweaty for work.

The first week of biking was like a honeymoon period--Ah the breeze in my face! Ah the pleasant burn in my legs! Ah the joys of watching the countryside go by at a slightly slower speed!  It didn't last long.  My conviction to shun my car was challenged a few days in, by the out-of-the-ordinary task of renewing my car's registration.  Luckily the courthouse is only 5 blocks from my house here in East Lawrence, and so I hopped on my bike, paperwork in hand, already filled out and ready to go.

I arrived at the courthouse a little sweaty but excited to get this task out of the way so efficiently, and without my car... I spent a good 10 minutes in line, enjoying the over-airconditioned lobby and staring at the sign that said "No Proof of Insurance, No Registration," before it dawned on me where my proof of car insurance was.  In my car, of course.

One of my biggest annoyances with myself is screwing up a simple task and having to do it twice.

I rushed out to my bike and my first frustrated thought was "UGH! I'll just bike home and drive back over here!!" As if biking 10 more blocks would be a horrible waste of energy, as if taking an extra 20 minutes to fix my own mistake would be a horrible use of time on a day when I wasn't working and didn't have any other important tasks to accomplish anyway. My second thought (more sheepish this time) was, "Wow, there went my resolve. That didn't take much..."

I did bike back over, proof of insurance safely stashed in my wallet, but I had to give myself a stern talking-to.  By the end of that first week I realized there were also a few things on my wish list to make my bike-transportation more pleasant.

1) new handlebars that don't make me lean forward like I'm on a bike race everywhere I go,
2) cushier seat, to replace the hard rounded red plastic seat (ow...)
3) bike rack and baskets, so I can actually use it to make grocery runs without stuffing everything in a backpack and then sweating all over it,
4) tire pump that attaches to my bike to fix flats on-the-go,
5) gear shifters that I can use without removing my hands from the handlebars,
6) a rear-view mirror (why aren't those just standard on all bikes? It's WAY less safe to be ignorant of what's behind you on a bike than in a car!)

I started wondering whether I just wanted an entirely different bike to ride.  But then, I discovered the key to biking or walking no matter what...  On the way back from Kansas City one evening, I made the unpleasant discovery that my car's headlights only worked when they wanted to.  They could be nursed along with strategic and emphatic application of the turn signals, but they shut off intermittently anyway.  It turned out the switch that controlled my lights and windshield wipers had "gone bad," and its replacement wasn't cheap.

While I was at it I figured I might as well take care of the other persistent and ever-more-consistently occurring problem, and that is the small issue of the floor-board flooding after a rainstorm.  It's not pleasant opening up a car that has standing water in it, but it IS easy to ignore the problem when the car and the weather are dry (which explains the fact that I have gone 3 years ignoring this problem).  My mechanics recommended a glass expert who is a wiz at figuring out leaks, but after doing his best diagnosis, he gave me two pieces of bad news: 1) I can't fix it and 2) whoever does is going to charge you a lot of money.

My next stop (I drove straight there from the glass shop) was a body shop, a spiffy and friendly little place run by a mom, dad and son.  I knew it was going to be a good place for me to get my car fixed when the family corgy came out from under the waiting room chairs to sit on my feet and look longingly up at me while I scratched her ears.  The Pearsons said they couldn't promise that they would even find the leak, let alone fix it, and joked that maybe I should consider embracing the problem and stocking my floorboard ponds with goldfish.

A week later I got my car back with two pieces of great news: 1) My car now has much better drainage and, most significantly, less overflow of water into my floorboards, and 2) The cost of fixing the leak, in the end, was less than a third of the cost of fixing the headlight switch.  I was thankful for having the leakage fixed because the following week saw one rainstorm after another.  I didn't have to wake up during a pleasant summer rain wondering how much water I would have to scoop out the next day.  I rode my bike to work through it all--after three weeks, I was pretty used to the one-mile ride, rain or shine.

Yesterday, though, was the first day I drove my car to work.  My bike's wimpy road tires had collapsed thanks to a particularly gravelly patch of road.  As I added up the costs of the repairs and changes I want on my bike anyway, I decided to start combing the craigslist classifieds for a different bike after all...

(to be continued...)

Response to the Governor

I woke up angry this morning in my stuffy upstairs bedroom. I was wishing that my ceiling fan would work a little harder, and wishing that I wasn't already thinking about Sam Brownback at 5:30am.  Guess I shouldn't have read the news right before going to bed:

Firing of staff stuns Kansas Arts Commission

TOPEKA | Gov. Sam Brownback’s administration has told the Kansas Arts Commission that its five employees will lose their jobs and the agency will be shut down next month.
Secretary of Administration Dennis Taylor sent a letter Tuesday telling the employees their jobs would end June 10.
Brownback wants to eliminate the commission and replace it with a nonprofit foundation relying heavily on private donations to finance arts programs.
Legislative negotiators plan to include $689,000 in the next budget to keep the commission alive, but Brownback is expected to line-item veto the funds.
Arts Commission Chairman Henry Schwaller said the agency was shocked by Taylor’s letter. Schwaller called the move a back-door attempt to circumvent what Kansas residents want.

| The Associated Press

Posted on Tue, May. 10, 2011 10:15 PM

Read more: http://www.kansascity.com/2011/05/10/2865742/brownback-fires-arts-commission.html#ixzz1M3t5F79t

I've been thinking about my response all day.

Dear Governor Brownback,
As a U.S. History teacher at Topeka West High School, I spend a lot of time focusing on how the checks and balances in the Constitution have enabled our governmental system to exist continuously and develop positively through the past 200 years.

My students and I extensively discuss the importance of compromises between those founders who championed a large central government, and those who cautioned against establishing a government with too much power.  Only through this delicate balance can we now enjoy a system that is both able to lead our nation effectively and speaks for the rights and wishes of our nation's people.

By promoting the balancing of the budget through cutting spending and shrinking some KS government programs, your proposals throughout this year's Kansas budget discussions have remained consistent with a belief in a government with limited powers and responsibilities.  

I was extremely frustrated and angered to learn of your recent act of prematurely dismantling the Kansas Arts Commission.  I find it highly inconsistent that you argue for a smaller government while simultaneously abusing powers that are beyond the responsibilities that have been democratically delegated to you. 

Given the two options, I would prefer to pay higher taxes for a program that the populace of Kansas has spoken in support of (both through their own voices and through their elected representatives), than to have a governor that feels free to act unilaterally and even against the will of the legislature.  

This action was not only hypocritical in the light of your belief in limited government, but it also make a mockery of the system of checks on power that are the basis of our governmental system.  It brings to light just how vulnerable any governmental system is to a leader who does not stay within the bounds of the leadership role to which he or she was elected.  

Do not let hubris, impatience, or frustration get in the way of fulfilling your responsibilities to those who elected you.  Reinstate the Kansas Arts Commission until the budget issues surrounding it are resolved through democratic means.  The people of Kansas--and the students of Topeka West High School--will watch and hold you accountable for your actions.

Sincerely,
Miriam Friesen

Why I Am Going to Law School

This week I broke the news to my German 1 and 2 students that I would not be returning as their teacher next year; that I'm going to law school instead.  Since they would have had a chance to have me as a teacher again next year, I figured this decision affected them the most out of all of my students.

Realizing this moment was coming a few months ago, I decided to sit down and put together an outline of my thoughts on why I am going to law school, just in case it turned into a teachable moment.  You know how I love outlines and organized thoughts anyway...

In the end, the response to my news did not evidence much concern, even on the part of my best-beloved students.  One response was "We'll be students at KU at the same time! We can go to keg parties together!" (...um... no thanks...) and another response was "Hey, how do you say 20 in German? I forgot and I need to know for number 5 on the homework."

It relieved a little of my guilt complex, that they didn't seem too traumatized by the idea of my departure from Topeka West. But, shoot, it just didn't give me a chance to delve very far into the answer that I had begun carefully constructing.  Guess what, blogs are an excellent outlet for expressing thoughts that are desperate to find an audience.

Ahem: "Why I am going to law school," by Miriam Friesen.

A few years ago I got started thinking about food and farming.  I'd like to credit my parents for this.  Many a family supper in high school and college was strongly flavored by my dad's thoughts on local food economies, sustainably produced foods, biodiversity, and preventative healthcare based on healthy eating habits.  I recall our meals during that time period being generously sprinkled with clever quotes and pithy tidbits from Wendell Berry, Joel Salatin, Gene Logsdon, and Michael Pollan.  Before I read any Wendell Berry for myself, my sister and I had a running inside joke about him.  Any time one of us asked an opinion about something, the other one of us would put on a very serious expression and start our opinion with, "Well, I think Wendell Berry would say..." (hehehe... Sorry, Dad!)
  
But in spite of our rolling eyes, the thoughts and questions sank in... of course.  And then all in the same year or two, my parents moved across the country to start a farm of their own; I joined in on the Oxfam campaign to reform the most recent US Farm Bill; I read An Omnivore's Dilemma; and I was suddenly surrounded by other people who were concerned about some of the same issues I was.

It was clear to me: the American food system could use some restructuring.  The more I read and think about it these days, the more interconnected all of the parts become--farmer's market rules are related to state food safety laws are related to big agribusinesses are related to standard farming methods are related to farm subsidies are related to food prices are related to capitalist principles are related to international commodity trade is related to food availability overseas is related to seed patents are related to biodiversity of crop species is related to food security is related to local food production is related to farmers markets...

I could go on... forever probably... but when I take a step back from this interconnected web that I am weaving for myself, I see a common thread: All of these things are shaped by, or themselves shape, US and world policies related to agriculture, food, and trade.

I want to understand those policies!  I HAVE to understand those policies!  I want to know the ins and outs of how they work, and who gets a say, and why.  I want to know what's been tried in the past, and what ideas there are for the future, and the potential problems with both.  I want to put myself in a position where I am able to speak both the language of the laws and the language of farmers and consumers.

I've come to the conclusion that there are two ways to have power in this or any discussion: to have money, or to have knowledge.  Of course, I have money in the "vote with your dollars" sense of having money, but I don't have the money to fund lobbyists and ad campaigns (that would be fun, wouldn't it?).  What I do have is the desire and the ability to work towards becoming a coherent voice in the discussion of the world food economy.
Just as importantly, I hope to become a communication channel and line of defense for those whose lives are greatly affected by these policies, but who lack the power to make their voices heard. I want to help ensure that their rights speak just as loudly as money does in the shaping and enforcement of agriculture and food policy laws.  (And just so you know, I get so excited just thinking about this, I'm having to hold myself back from using exclamation points at the end of each sentence!)

At this point, I always feel the need to issue this caveat so that you know I'm still in touch with reality: I know this is all very theoretical and idealistic. I understand that law school does not allow a tunnel-vision focus on one issue, and I'm aware that it's a big investment of time and money.

But if the above doesn't sound like a fascination with law and an inspiration to bury myself in its study for three years... Well, all that is left to say is that I've never been so excited about the future of my career, or so convinced that this is the direction I am supposed to be going!

PS Here are some of the thoughts that have been living on my bookshelf recently:

Morale and Motivation

I came to school today in a great mood, for three reasons in particular: One, the trip to see my sister's senior art show in Indiana provided me with a long weekend away from work; Two, I was wearing new red shoes (courtesy of my generous new friend Maggie, who let me adopt them for my very own, even though they were probably her best Goodwill-find ever); Three, I was carrying a bag of dark chocolate that I bought for the road trip, but forgot about until this morning when I unpacked. 

However, after unwrapping and devouring my third dark chocolate piece in the first two minutes of my plan period today, I realized it might not be the best idea to bring chocolate with me to work (long weekends and new shoes, on the other hand, remain a great way to bolster morale).

The inspiration for my manic chocolate-eating was the stack of US History tests that I was putting off entering into the grade book.  The curve of grades looked more like a steep upward climb than a bell, which usually means that something went terribly wrong. 

But as I paged through the open-note short answer tests, a few patterns reassured me that the error was not on my part.   Instead of answering all 8 short answer questions, some kids stopped after 4 or 5.  Far from writing the minimum 2 sentences, some kids wrote three words.  Instead of sentences, one kid copied a T-chart out of his notes.  I might have been tempted to award him with a point or two anyway, but the chart was unfortunately unrelated to the question he indicated he was answering.

It really pains me to have to hand out bad grades, but I just had to admit it was clear that the only thing wrong with this test was carelessness and lack of effort on the part of my dear angels.  Sometimes I just don't get them, and it is so difficult to predict what assignments will inspire them, and which will cause them to sink into the depths of hopelessness and whininess. 

One student today, a college-bound senior doing independent study, sighed dramatically and said "Really, Ms. Friesen? A TWO-page paper??" I laughed, embarrassed at my ridiculously low standards, and replied, "You're saying that because it's so short, right?"  He wasn't. 

On the other hand, my normally unmotivated sophomores (the authors of the tests above) settled right into a long-term reading assignment today, with no protest at all.  Over the next several days, they will be reading any 50 pages out of a selection of topical history books I picked from our school library.   "We can read 50 pages from any of the books we want?" Yep.  "So, is that 50 pages out of each book, or 50 pages total?" one not-particularly-academically-minded student asked, without a trace of fear or concern in her voice. 

"Um, yes... ONLY 50 pages total..." (And you ONLY have to write a total of 100 facts gleaned from those only 50 pages.  ...Glad you see it that way). During the 40 minutes they read silently today, I only had to send one student into the hall to do jumping jacks (which is a relatively mild fix for this particular student's overwhelming energy and effervescent obnoxiousness). 

Well, I remain mystified about the process of motivating and inspiring teenagers.  But my new shoes are still comfortable after 8 hours of pacing the classroom, and I got enough papers graded during plan to leave the rest at school, so I'm going home satisfied with my day.

Status

My current feeling (such a common feeling at 3:10 pm Monday through Friday) seems so significant that I just feel I have to announce it, right now, but social networking sites are blocked at school, so my blog is my only outlet.

Here it is, world, this is what I accomplished today:

I have survived through another day of teaching, and I didn't kill anyone, and only a small part of my soul withered, and I even think I may still emerge from teaching with part of my sanity and self-worth in tact.

(I'm not sure how people do this day after day for their entire career. Two years is plenty for me.)

Hairspray Costume Diaries, Part 3

Friday 2/4

I gave up on Maybelle's dress. I just didn't think I was going to have time, so I decided to cut my losses and begin perusing the plus size racks.  I ducked into Fashion Bug for a few minutes, but only a few minutes.  Partly because the selection for plus sizes was not very large, but partly because of the concerned salesperson hovering around me.  She finally worked up the nerve to confront me, and inform me that "people your size USUALLY shop on the other side of the store."

I told her I was looking for costumes, and I think she was offended by the suggestion of such a base use for her fabulously fashionable plus sizes.  She suggested checking Goodwill or Salvation Army instead, and hovered until I took her up on her suggestion, and left. 

CJ took me out to eat at Biggs Barbecue.  After we finished I wiped my face, and announced, "I'm going to Salvation Army to shop for some goooooorgeous laaaaaaaaarge clothing.  Wanna come?"  I threw in an eyebrow waggle for effect.  CJ declined the opportunity to accompany me.

My search yielded a magenta polyester skirt suit, a lovely flowered blouse, and a silk dress.  The skirt suit is actually rather attractive on my 2X-size test subject.  The dress, however, was a misshapen, ill-fitting no-go.  Maybelle was less than impressed with his/her clothing options, but I convinced him/her that he/she looked quite 60s-fabulous, especially with the bow tied on the blouse's neck.  We're still working on Maybelle's bra stuffing skills, however.  Hopefully by the first performance Maybelle's faux-busoms will be looking less lumpy and more realistically droopy.

Wednesday 2/8
I schlepped my sewing machine and accessories to school, and set them up on my language lab next to my desk.  I would be spending most of the next 48 hours in my classroom, thanks to parent teacher conferences, leaving me little time at home to finish costume construction before Friday's first dress rehearsal.

I should be complaining and concerned about the very few parents on my PT conference schedule, but instead I was very grateful for the hours of uninterrupted time to sew finishing seams and feather boas onto Edna's dress and skirt suit.

At one point a wandering dad stepped into my room, which I naturally assumed was the beginning of a walk-in conference.  "No, no," he explained, "I just wanted to see what that big purple thing was that you just held up."

Thursday 2/9
I had marked off two hours of my afternoon to devote to Hairspray rehearsals.  One hour of that time was actually used for Hairspray directly.  I met with 1/3 of the cast to try on their costumes for the first time.

This is the most stressful part of the process, because 10 excited high schoolers have LOTS of questions and needs to be met.  By the time that we got everyone's concerns dealt with, I decided I needed a more methodical way of collecting a to-do list while working through a first fitting.  Hopefully I will remember everyone whose pants need to be smaller, larger, more green, less brown, etc...  Disorganization really annoys me, especially when it is my own fault.

The other hour of my blocked off time was spent not in the theater department or on costumes, but on a theater-related effort: attending a rally at the Kansas State Capitol in support of the Kansas Arts Commission, which our governor has deemed an unnecessary drain on the state budget.

I would argue that the arts are neither optional nor a drain on the economy, and encourage anyone reading this to check the facts on the Kansas Arts Commission, and personally contact state legislators urging them to vote for an upcoming resolution in support of the Kansas Arts Commission.  

Hairspray Costuming Diaries, Part 2

(See my previous entry for explanation of the following... you're going to need it...)

Sunday 1/30
Mission: giant bras.  I've never shopped for bras this large before.  Walmart has really large bras--it turns out the big ones are in little boxes and packages, stacked in rolling shelves.  Why?  Is it to protect the dignity of the customer?  Why not stuff all bras into little boxes and stack them on recessed shelving?

As I stared at the rows of boxes, it occurred to me that Edna and Maybelle's chest measurements might not actually match up to the numbers available.  I spent the next twenty minutes unfolding giant bras, holding them up in front of me, even wrapping them around myself to get an estimate on size.  I noticed the other customers carefully avoided me while I made my choices. If they had asked me why I was buying such large bras, I don't think the real explanation (that I'm buying them for some of my high school students, who just happen to be boys) would have cleared up their confusion any.

On the other end of the spectrum, three other characters, the "Dynamites," needed cute little matching red dresses, so I trolled the Lawrence strip malls.  Red is out for the season, I guess, but Maurices came through for me, and they even had the correct sizes.  Did you know, size 1 dresses use approximately the same amount of fabric as 48DD bras.  

Tuesday 2/1
Between Scholars' Bowl, teaching, and my rigorous winter basketball-watching schedule (GO KU!), I started getting concerned about when exactly I was going have hours to devote to sewing costumes.  The Blizzard of '11 provided the perfect opportunity, especially since I couldn't leave the house anyway.  Tuesday was just me, scissors, yards of purple and pink fabric, and Pirates of the Caribbean, for hours and hours.  I felt like I spent most of my time folding and unfolding feather-thin tan pattern paper.  From observing my mother, I have learned that it is possible (with intense concentration) to refold sewing patterns along their original lines.  I wish I didn't know that. 

Wednesday 2/2
Costume construction began.  Patterns don't always lead you to the size that they promise, as if it's not complicated enough to try to figure out what size to cut out.  I spent my afternoon wrestling purple polyester into what I hoped would match up with Edna's 17-year-old-boy-with-feminine-padding measurements. 

Thursday 2/3
Tracy's mother had volunteered to sew two of the costumes, so I sent fabric home with Tracy on Monday. By Tuesday night the costume was finished, but Wednesday morning Tracy showed up in my room on the verge of tears. The finished dress she was to deliver to me had been misplaced in transit. I sent out a desperate plea via Topeka West mass email: "Colleagues: If you have any information on the whereabouts of a large pink sparkly dress..."

The missing dress was later recovered through the combined efforts of the truancy officer, the dance coach, and one very gracious janitor. 

Meanwhile, I had Edna try on her partially-constructed purple wonderdress, and her wonderful bra.  Both fit exactly as I had hoped.  Miracles happen, yes, they do.

Hairspray Costuming Diaries

Fact: Topeka Public Schools has had one complete week of school since the middle of December.


Thanks to blizzards, professional development, and other general scheduling realities, here we are in February, and I'm still just trying to memorize names in my new classes. Forget any kind of continuity or reinforcement of learning in the classroom.

The snow days have made my life and my many hats at times easier and and at times more difficult to juggle. I spent my two free days last week working on my biggest upcoming project, costumes for our production of the musical Hairspray.

This musical has provided the most entertaining and most challenging aspects of my short costuming career, mainly surrounding the characters Edna and Maybelle, two buxom middle-aged fashionistas, who just happen to be played by two large high school boys. The third challenge is Tracy, the show's main character. The story line revolves around the fact that Tracy is chubby; however, in our production, Tracy's actress is definitely. Not. Chubby.

The following is the first part of a documentation of my Hairspray Costuming journey:

Sun, 1/16
I spent two hours wandering Hancock Fabrics. After walking in circles several times, and assembling a pile of every sequined and feathered embellishment I could find, staring dazed around the store, and settling on only one of many fabrics I would need, I decided I needed to return another day with more focus and specific numbers. I had one of the employees follow me around with scissors, and I left with 5 bits of shiny pink fabric, 2 bits of purple prints, and 6 plus size patterns, which I hoped would fit my 50"-waisted Edna. "Honey," the store manager commented mildly, as I dug for my credit card, "you do realize these patterns are not your size?"

Sun 1/23 Returned to Hancock Fabrics, costume sketches and yardage estimates in hand. Another two hours later, I had settled on the following:
12 yards of airbrushed-look purple rose print.
2 yards of white sequin elastic
4 pink feather boas
6 yards of pink faux-suede
5 huge white buttons
4 yards of pink sequin
2 yards of red sequin
1 yard of white sequin
5 yards of yellow flower print
Watching the pile of future work accumulate on the counter in front of me, I briefly considered a panic attack, but the look on the sales associate's face told me I needed to be strong for both of us. I left Hancocks feeling both very accomplished and very scared.