5 posts from March 2009

How to Save Money Otherwise Spent on Paper Towels

When asked by my room mate today how she could use fewer paper towels, I jumped at the chance to enlighten her.  I suppose this was owing to all the pent up emotion I have from the times I have found her drying the dishes with paper towels and other like sins.  I have seen her wash her hands and tear off a paper towel to dry them without a thought for the calculated cost divided by three of us room mates paying for them.  I have seen her likewise rip off a piece of paper towel to clean a smudge of residue from the countertop when the dish rag was right in front of her, waiting to be used.  In short, I have suffered greatly.


Everyone in this economy seems to be trying to save money in their day to day lives; I recently read an article from Real Simple magazine on how to save money in buying common items.  Although the article was virtually useless in terms of practicality to me, it has given me the inspiration for this informative essay to my clueless room mate who is begging to know how to save money otherwise spent on paper towels.  When in doubt, simply remember these four rules:

1.  Do not use a paper towel as though it were a towel.  It is not, and therefore should not be used thus.  If you need to dry your hands, use one of the many colorful towels strewn about the kitchen.  The fabric quality of the towel will remove all excess moisture, and the atmosphere will evaporate the liquid from the towel thereby leaving a perfectly good towel when you're finished where a crumpled paper towel might be. 

2.  Do not use a paper towel as if it were a mop or broom or other floor implement.  They make those items already which are not only more suited to the purpose, but that don't cost us any money and don't destroy the environment. 

3.  Do not use a paper towel when a free or discarded item would suite the purpose better.  These are called rags and this is what they were created to be.

4.  Do not wet and use a paper towel in place of a dishcloth when you could, in fact, wet and use a dishcloth.  Dishcloths work great for cleaning up spills such as the coffee grounds on the tabletop in the kitchen or other messy surfaces.  Once the clean up has been effected, simply hold the dishcloth under the running tap and rinse the grimmies off into the sink.  And, while you're at it, could you occasionally fling the crumbs into the trash can?

I hope, dear Susannah, that this has been useful and informative.

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A Little too Ironic . . .

As a teacher in a small school I deal with some of the students knowing a little too much about me.  One day I made the mistake of answering my student's question of "What kind of car do you drive?" and I live with the ramifications every school day.  For some reason, these two students take endless fun out of threatening me about my car, "Ms. L., how was your car yesterday afternoon?  Did you notice anything unusual?" they will ask, "No, well we'll hire somebody else next time, Bob's not working for us."  Or "I noticed you didn't park in the usual spot today, you think you can hide from us?"  They've even said, "Ms. L., do you know how many people are planning on doing something to your car the last day of school?  I suggest that you park far away and walk to school."  Is it any wonder, then, that I am a bit paranoid lest they mean some of what they say or that saying it so often will make them bold enough to actually do something someday?  What their motivation is for this, I scarcely know.  Their manner and conduct makes me think that it is as much a tendency for bullying as crushing on me, and their work and relationship to my class is generally negative with either boredom or pointlessness ruling their opinion of the class and me.  


Cut to yesterday while in the midst of this dreaded class when the old janitor/handyman walks in.  I acknowledge him and he says, "You have a flat tire."  "I do?"  "Yes, the left rear one is completely flat."  Here I turned to look at the two boys who sit intrigued by the news.  I do this mostly for dramatic effect, for I do humor them a little, but also, I confess, to ascertain their possible guilt by looking at their countenances--I was convinced of their innocence.  "Why are you looking at us, Ms. L?!"  "Wow, that's pretty ironic," I say.  Turning to A. I explain, "You have no idea how ironic it is that you just told me that in this class: those two are constantly threatening to vandalize my car."  Here they started off on their scenarios and I kept hearing the one say, "Thank you Latin gods!  Thank you Latin gods!"  What should I do?" I asked.  "I'm leaving, but I told S. and he'll take the tire off and put the donut on for you and then you should take it to Meneike and have them fix it for you."  He gave me directions and I thanked him profusely.  I little later I handed the other janitor my keys and he took care of this for me.  What consideration!  The flip side of what I about a small school.

These boys talk to three other of my students who try to imitate their ways but fortunately don't succeed in either the right accent or level of meanness.  I consider them harmless.  Walking by one of them in the hall I got a, "I heard you tire has a hole in it" in a knowing way.  "Yeah," I replied, "you don't know anything about that, do you?"  I entered a classroom during study hall that had one of them in it busily working at homework who immediately piped up with, "Ms. L, I don't still have to serve your detention since you have to get your tire fixed, do I?"  "Don't worry, I can wait until after your detention," I piped back.

In sum I consider this day to be a little too ironic.

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Just Plain Weird

"Never a dull moment" they say in regard to teaching, and today I would really have to agree.  It all happened in my D period class--my class full of characters.  They were all just starting to settle into their seats when one of my students  called out, "Ms. L, do you have a band aid?"  "Yes," I replied, "give me a minute and I'll get you one."  Now, I hear this all the time.  "Can I have a band aid?" for this and for that.  One of my students currently has two tiny band aids, one above and one below his eye where a girl punched him and they stand out quite distinctly on his black skin.  Ninth-graders have barely outgrown that stage where they would ask for a band aid for a sliver which I remember from when my sister was young.  Needless to say, I was not in a rush to get this girl one.  A minute later, I went over to her with the First Aide kit and asked her what size she needed.  That's when I noticed that there was an awful lot of blood on her finger, and it kept coming.  At this point, the student sitting next to her started opening some alchohol wipes and several of my students went next door to get some tissues.  Somehow, she managed to stop the bleeding enough to get the some band aids on her cut.  At this point, I had blood on my hand, too, and availed myself of the wipe.


Five minutes later, she pulled out a shard of glass from somewhere in the desk and said, "Ms. L., this was what I cut my hand on."  Bizarre.

The next fifteen minutes or so were uneventful, but then, I noticed that one of my students was sleeping soundly and tried to wake him up by saying his name and then pounding on the desk.  He was still sound asleep.  After being informed that he was sick, I decided to let him sleep.  However, a minute later he got up and when I saw him he was holding his head or rubbing his eyes at the back of the class.  "B., you should go to the nurse," I said watching him for some kind of response.  At this point, he faced the door and bolted from the room.  My teacher friend who shares a room with me followed him out while I tried to calm the class down.  Several of them went to the door to look and said that he fell down.  At first I didn't see this, but left them for a minute long enough to see that the principal, two teachers and the nurse were with him.  I found out a little later that they had called an ambulance to take him to the hospital and later that he was safe and soundly home.

And so I'd like to say, "Never a dull moment."

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That Hoped for Snow Day

I would do almost anything for a snow day; I wouldn't sell my soul, but, that's about the only thing I wouldn't do.  To enjoy the luxury of sleeping in until 6:30--7:00 if I want to, taking a leisurely shower, trudging through 8 inches of snow into town to get my car.  I wouldn't care if the snow was 4' deep and it took me hours to unbury it from the snow, it would still be worth it.  


Then to drink coffee and eat breakfast in the comfort of one's own home.  Study, read, write, review flashcards; a little later walk to the bank and library to do some errands, stop at a cafe.  Get things done.

Everything without the stress of dealing with eighty-some moody adolescents (and with that number there is always at least a handful having a bad day).  Trying to teach them Latin.  Eating lunch with them.  Grading tests.  Imputting grades.  Trying not to simply enjoy the :45 minutes of silence but actually calling the parents of the kids who are either blowing off your class or simply out of control.  Commuting an hour each way.  Getting gas every-other day.

No thank you.  I think I'll just take my snow day. 

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Dinner with Horace

There we were at a nice Mexican restaurant in Worcester: Karl, Anne, myself, and Quintus Horatius Flaccus.  I guess you could say that Horace was the most unwelcome of the diners, at least to me, because he's so dang hard to translate, but there he was, and he was the reason for the gathering after all.  


It took all dinner and the forty-five minutes before that we spent in the classroom to get through the first Roman Ode.  I would struggle through a line searching for a verb or participle, trying to make sense of it.  The words I didn't know I was given hints about from English words or cognate Latin words or synonyms.  At times, one or the other Latin teachers would speak in Latin trying to give me hints.  The moments when they both were made me laugh and wonder if anyone else was noticing.  I got some of it.  

After I had put a stanza together, I would pause with a blank look on my face getting the meaning but not the poetic meaning, and one of the other would explain.  "Ohh."  I would say.  It harkened back to those early days on the couch with my mom learning to read.

The whole experience was enhanced, I think, by the Cherry Blossom Margarita (Latin for pearl) that I had at the beginning.  I think that anything having to do with Horace necessitates some kind of alchohol.  "Carpe Diem," anyone?

Throughout the dinner I felt that I had learned a lot about Horace, what he was trying to say and his amazing poetic skills.  And I say, "Cheers, Horace!"

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ali rose
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