
Teaching art with itty bitty students, exploring creativity, finding new passions and purpose, and enjoying the progress of my three greatest works of art out there in the big world.
11/3/07
Unplant a Bush

10/30/07
Not in this museum you don't!
I've tried distracting myself with memories of my Graeco-Roman teacher, June Williams, using the phrase "ad nauseam". June had such a way with vomitorium, coliseum, pepto, and bismal.
Mostly it's embarrassing when I misspell "ad nauseam" like a museum instead of an inseam. This is an important distinction when someone barfs on their elastic-waist jeans in the hall of ice-age mammals.
Ad nauseam used to mean "to the point of disgust". Now it indicates such intense overexposure that we are completely accepting of an advertising message.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/29/07
Wait, wait, don't tell me when the Met Opera broadcasts begin!
Running low on Peter Sagal, too. My NPR station has been on a long, long pledge drive, so Saturdays at 11:00 a.m. I hear a prerecorded greatest hits broadcast of "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me: The NPR News Quiz". These particular shows are already perforated for easy tearing away to the station manager's pleas for contributions.
Jeff. The station manager always seems to be named Jeff. "Jeff" is one of my very favorite names. That's why I named my firstborn "Jeffrey". I had no idea "Jeff" would become the generic name of public radio station managers begging for money on the air.
Fall is finally arriving in North Texas. The air has a tease of crispness. Crows are mobbing redtail hawks, while tardy monarch butterflies lazy-daisy their way south to Mexico. It is perfect weather for driving my Jeff to UT in Austin down I-35, then lazy-daisying myself back up 183, 281, and 67 to Dallas listening to any public radio or classical music station my car radio picked up. That is how I discovered the Metropolitan Opera broadcasts, then hosted by Peter Allen. Alas, my Jeff received his degree from UT in 2004, and no longer needs to be transported to or from Austin with hawk-watching out the windows of the Buick.
Margaret Juntwait became "the voice" of the Metropolitan Opera broadcasts about the time Jeff graduated. Maybe that is why I've always visualized Ms. Juntwait as a very classy hawk perched on a power pole along 281 north of Lampasas. When Ms. Juntwait's voice reaches my Buick on a late fall Saturday it hints she could be an observant, soaring, upper-level food chain predator, with lovely chest plumage and vivid tail feather coloring.
I look forward to the December eighth resumption of Met radio broadcasts on 101.1 WRR fm. I'll learn much about opera from the "gracious, personable, and knowledgeable" host of the program. Even though it is not her job, I bet Ms. Juntwait will help me win Carl Kasell's voice on my home answering machine.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/27/07
Spidey trading cards
Going upstairs to water the jade plants, and hacking through the artifacts, USB cords, and archives of three grown sons, I was reminded of Topps baseball and Magic trading cards. The upstairs condo repository is a scary place, but has more potential for greatness than a pending presidential library at SMU. [The jade plants and Christmas cactus may or may not survive.]
The Halloween spider trading cards are ready to print and give to my students. My own kids learned bartering and negotiating skills, and concepts of abundance and scarcity, not to mention a few carnival midway cons by trading baseball cards with each other.
Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!
Sir Walter Scott
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/24/07
Tragic Secret Bubbles Over
This is very embarassing, as I am macbethless. I don't know my macduff from a Camp Fire Girls sit-upon. Here I try to put a Liberal Arts face to the world, but the truth is, I've got this big gap on my Permanent Record.
So if you don't see a new post for awhile, it's because I've dug out my Complete Works. Jose Carreras and Ruggero Raimondi will be singing in the background. If you catch me snoring, give me an elbow poke in the ribs. Time is short.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/20/07
Charmed & Charmin
"Charmed" airs on TNT at the afterschool hour, no doubt attractive to preteens. An alleged tale of three sister witches working for good in San Francisco, it is the only show that has ever made me wish I could change channels to "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine" for something more realistic. The sisters beam themselve up, conjure masseuse demons, and battle star-throwing hypnotized hellions in bustieres.
At the beauty salon you are trapped watching t.v. while listening to AM radio full blast. The stylists speak Chinese, and the salon owner carries on about hunky Dallas Cowboy football players, jet skis, and her mother's inoperable conditions.
I long for wholesome Samantha of "Bewitched", Captain Kirk, and Hostess Cupcakes. Many parents may long for the same now that over-the-counter cold medicines have been banned for kids under the age of six.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
Failure to communicate
This is the circle of Dante's hell where compulsive alphabetizers like myself are doomed to learn patience for all of eternity. Forget Chinese water drips. Forget nails on the chalkboard. Forget sitting through the Kevin Costner "Waterworld" and "Wyatt Earp" movies. True torture is waiting for elementary students to find words in a children's dictionary.
Should a student locate a vocabulary word in the dictionary, she must copy the entry onto the cantaloupe- or mint-tinted paper in her wobbly handwriting. He must decide if the word is a noun or verb, or, gag, both. Then it's time to use the word in a sentence.
Homework sentences always remind me of "Cool Hand Luke" in the rural prison. I'm sentenced to homework life without parole. It's good to know I'm not alone!
What we've got here is usually a failure to communicate complicated by some misguided expectations. Kids who have trouble singing the alphabet song are not going to be able to locate "coil" or "crest" in the dictionary.
When I am in charge of the world, all kids will sit on tall stools filing cards in those grand old wooden card catalog drawers. They will put an orange "check" card behind each one they file so a qualified grown-up could check their work. They will begin filing cards by first letter, then by two letters, then by three:
c
ch
chr
In the background the kids will hear the metallic swirrrrr-clink-swirrrrh of the institutional ceiling fans, and the batting of moth wings against the library screen windows. Tennis shoes will squeak on the concrete floor. Chronological stacks of decaying newspapers will scent the air. Librarians will stamp the date due on index cards.
Monday's homework is due on Thursday. It just seems generations longer!
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/16/07
Deciding where to crop
I'm using my new hand-me-down camera help me analyze how to crop and fix the composition. It's a new version of the old saying, "Measure twice, cut once." I can cut the photos, and not regret the finality of the decision!
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/13/07
Gone With the Wind
Lawzy, we got to have a doctor. I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies.
I don't know nuthin' 'bout Queen butterflies, but the hike leader said she has seen these Monarch mimics at the Elm Fork Nature Preserve today. Jill Nugent of the University of North Texas Biology Department mentioned the Queen butterfly being present in the preserve, but I only saw the similar Gulf fritillaries. Checkerspots, hairstreaks, snouts, sulfurs, zebras, red admirals, and monarchs were all showing off for the hikers.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
Arachnophobia and Other Fears
Sure, there are a few kinds of dangerous spiders. Texas has nine-hundred types of spiders (all of them working full time to fill my condo with cobwebs for that Miss Haversham wedding cake decor). Two or three of the types are dangerous to humans. It's always a good idea to shake out shoes and boots that have been sitting in the back of the closet or behind the garden door for months at a time.
The macro function on my hand-me-down camera has brought me up close with spiders, and I'm anxious to learn more about them. The more I learn, the more curious I'll become, and the more in awe.
Our teaching intern is arachnophobic, but she is getting bolder being exposed to our infectious enthusiasm for spiders. When she finally got to see a spider catch and wrap its prey in silk she was cheering like a sports fan. This is her spider in action:
Phobias are irrational and persistent fears that interfere with normal life, coupled with excessive avoidance behaviors. At times in my life I've been pretty irrational and afraid of making telephone calls, and of big cities. I somewhat jokingly called these fears phonophobia and metrophobia.
I still avoid making phone calls, but I can mostly function in regular society nowadays. There are many of us out there who would rather write than call. We have the ability to edit and also to control the speed of communication when we write. Some people are just afraid their fingers are too fat for the buttons on the cell phone, or more painfully, too fat for the rotary dial. I looked at the Reverse Index of Phobias, but didn't find "fat finger phobias".
"Metrophobia" seems to mean fear of poetry, which I don't have! Thank heaven there's hope for poetry-phobic folks if they use their fat fingers to dial the 1-800 number right now.
Maybe I had metropolitanophobia, BigApplophobia, or urbanophobia. Could have been a case of SMSAophobia (fear of U.S. Census Standard Metropolitan Statistical Areas). Anyway, I'm mostly over it.
Back at Eastridge Elementary I suffered from Neapolitanophobia. The possibility that three-flavored ice cream slices would be served at a birthday party filled me with dread. I knew I could eat the chocolate and vanilla, but was afraid I wouldn't like the strawberry. I was paralyzed by fear that the mom next door would yell at me for not eating the strawberry ice cream. I was creeped out knowing the whole thing would melt into one very ugly color of goo while I was worrying. I'm a grown-up now, and I can just eat the chocolate and vanilla if I want.
For most of my Wonder Years, I was truly, persistently, and irrationally afraid of moths. That is Mottephobia according to the Phobia Index. [You just thought Mottephobia was the fear of apple juice boxes!] Fortunately, the more I learned about moths, the less fearful I became.
I took these photos at the Elm Fork Nature Preserve in Carrollton today. I'm embarrassed to admit that when I saw them on my computer screen, my brain started playing an ancient recording of Glen Campbell singing "Wichita Lineman".
(Written by Jimmy Webb)
I am a lineman for the county and I drive the main road
Searchin' in the sun for another overload
I hear you singin' in the wire, I can hear you through the whine
And the Wichita Lineman is still on the line
I know I need a small vacation but it don't look like rain
And if it snows that stretch down south won't ever stand the strain
And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time
And the Wichita Lineman is still on the line
And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time
And the Wichita Lineman is still on the line
By the time I get to Phoenix I'll be over my Glen Campbellophobia!
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/12/07
A little sad today, Nene
It's been nearly twenty years since I had a house with a backyard deck. Feeling generally sentimental and nostalgic today. My sons went through a very fun Hawaiian shirt phase as preteens and young teen. We had a large assortment of tropical flower, bird, and surfing motif apparel, and a crazy schedule of afterschool activities requiring Mom Mobile transportation. The boys outgrew the phase, and the shirts, and began to drive themselves. The shirts became costumes at a children's theatre. I'm not half as busy as I was then, but I still don't seem to have time for a crossword puzzle on a deck.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/10/07
How tall is a giraffe?
- Four had wide smiles and giggles as they shook their heads no.
- Two rolled their eyes to let me know I'm so crazy it's embarrassing.
- Two did tough guy Tony Soprano imitations so I'll be too intimidated to question them further with or without a subpoena.
- Four's eyes bugged out to ask, "You mean there are giraffes out there and nobody told me?" Of course that is the same look they have when I suggest they dry their hands with a paper towel.
- Two held their arms up in the air and waved their hands because they have indeed seen the giraffes and want to tell me the saga of their personal experience.
Okay, most of the animals in our garden are much smaller. So how tall is a giraffe really? Fourteen to nineteen feet! How big is that in preschoolers?
Thank heaven for 12" floor tiles! The kids made a line, each one standing on their own tile. I flopped on the floor for another five feet. A tall mom volunteer stood at my head. We looked up and down the line. Nineteen feet is BIG!
What would you do if you were as tall as a giraffe? Most of the kids said they would eat leaves on trees. A few would watch rockets or talk to dinosaurs. One would be a pink giraffe princess. The answer that made my day was, "I would wear a black hat."
Sinatra sings Gershwin sings Giraffe:
The way you wear your hat...
10/9/07
Fair Day
When my eldest son started school I was surprised to find "Fair Day" on the school calendar, and a free State Fair admission in his take-home folder. Kids get off school to eat cotton candy??? I didn't get it. In my own school days, classes didn't start until the first Monday after Labor Day, after our state fair ended.
Our international families struggled to understand this strange Texas holiday:
- Was the school having a fair? No.
- Were we taking the children to a fair? No.
- What time should the children arrive on Monday? Not until Tuesday!
- What would teachers be doing? Sleeping late, eating bagels, and getting haircuts.
Many students arrived today with fresh new handsome haircuts. A few were sleeping late after a rough day on the Tilt-a-Whirl.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/8/07
Tom Howard
- It is nearly three hours long.
- It has a bad case of time-lapse cloud photography.
- If you're not an outlaw junkie, you can't tell the players without a program.
- At moments you may feel stuck in a cross between "Hotel California" and the History Channel.
- It's not Marshall Dillon's wild west.
- There are no good guys in white hats.
I can recommend it to people interested in the highly unsanitary 1880's, to photographers, and to folks who still wonder how John Hinckley, Jr.'s mind worked when he thought shooting Ronald Reagan might impress Jodie Foster. The photography is gorgeous:
- Rocking chair shadows on a wood floor.
- A locomotive's headlamp through the Missouri trees.
- Cold pump water in a stoneware bowl.
- A betrayer through a frosted window.
When everyone knows how the story ends, it is difficult to know where it should start or conclude. The movie needs more back story to understand the familial and psychological ties between the gang members. It needs either more or far less focus on the Ford brothers after Jesse's murder.
If you have the patience and endurance, this movie drags you into its world to observe the psychological drama between two legends in their own minds. If not, you might be better off borrowing a Hansen novel from your public library.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
10/7/07
Found House
The Dallas Morning News found a house, too.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder