the blog of alison rose

Valley Fabrics No More

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 12:39:21 -0700

I am sitting in one of my favorite coffee shops in Northampton situated about a block from where I live. Up until about a month ago there was a fabric store next to it that was very dear to my heart. I can still remember the spring day that I went in and as I was paying for my finds the lady at the counter mentioned that they might soon be looking for part-time help. At the time I was busy finishing up a year of teaching, but thought that maybe in the summer this might be ideal. I remember how this idea metamorphosed in my head on my short walk home and how perfect the idea sounded by the time I reached my front door.

At the time I was working a very hectic full-time teaching job consisting in Latin, English, Child Development, and typing. Was certified in only one of these subjects, and had only a year to complete pass one of the most difficult MTELs I had every experienced. Needless to say, it became apparently more obvious that I needed a job for the summer. My only stipulation was that I go home to visit my family for two weeks whom I only get to see twice yearly. This turned out to be grounds for concern for me being a dependable worker at Valley Fabrics. A New England school year already goes until June 20^th and to add two weeks onto this was half the summer gone by, but gradually this was conceded as I agreed to work some of evening shifts during the school year and one Saturday per month. I was in!

And so my love affair with fabric was increased and refined. To say that I didn’t already have one going on would be a blatant lie, but to say that it didn’t rise to a new level, that my taste in fabric didn’t become more refined, that I didn’t learn and grow to love name brands in fabric, or feel the difference in the quality of the cotton, or acquire a more discerning eye regarding reproduction fabric, or learn by osmosis how certain techniques were done, or sign up for as many straight out technique classes where I learned how to quilt would be further from the truth.

I enjoyed every minute of being in that shop! Being a highly visual person who adores pattern and color, there was always something new to contemplate whether it be new fabric, a new quilt or quilt block, or, when there was a little extra time, from one of the quilt books on the shelf. I found that the more time I spent with the fabric, the broader my appreciation grew. Folding fat quarters or cutting fabric for someone that I hadn’t really considered before would make me reconsider. If I could sum up the essence of the shop in one word it would be “bright”, and bright was something that I learned to appreciate more and more. There was something so happy in the quilts that incorporated some bright fabric that I could never bring myself to condemn. Polka dots and stripes took on a versatile role and batik and Asian fabric were microcosms of their own. I was the most smitten, or course, by the medium colors--some would say pastels—that have always been my favorite. I am also a great aesthete of 1930s style quilts with their bright and varied patterns on solid backgrounds of white or yellow or green. We would periodically get in a selection of these charmers and I would eat them up. The Civil War era fabrics were also interesting, far more geometric and funky than one would suppose, but overall too bland to be very tempting. Although, it must be said, these were thought to be my favorite by the owner of the shop the entire time I worked there.

A world of fabric: a world of fun. I even enjoyed (with few exceptions) interacting with the more demanding customers either of the “tell me what I like” or “tres indecisive” variety. It was enjoyable to me to discover how everyone fit so differently into this fabric universe where the walls were bolts, and the decorations were quilts and the eye candy at the register were fat quarters and six packs and little pins made of felt. It was a world of ideas, where the only thing stopping you from completing your project was finding the right fabric for it. It was a world that existed outside of time, and, although concessions could be made to the element of time within the shop, but they weren’t truly believed until one was thoroughly outside and on the sidewalk again. It was primarily a woman’s world where plastic bags were refused on the grounds of husbands, “If I just slip this fabric in here (pointing to a purse or a plastic fabric carrying device) my husband won’t have to know,” I heard many times and from many different women.

My own ideas for my still hypothetical business flourished here. And with my employee’s 30% discount the fabric quickly followed the thought. It was a common joke among the employees (all fabric-minded women) that it was hard to earn actual money that didn’t go directly back to the shop through purchased fabric. This was definitely true for me, but I didn’t really mind. I guess I must have had enough saved up from the year to pay my rent and utilities and I looked at the fabric job as an investment. It’s not that I haven’t acted on my impulse, either. I have preshrunk and cut and calculated so many cuts of fabric in the past year and labeled it and put it into separate little zip-lock baggies ready for sewing that I feel about half way there. I have also acquired some quilting skills that I previously lacked which will be essential for my business, and formed a friendship with a lady who will answer my questions for me if I get stuck. Valley Fabrics is gone now having fallen on hard financial times and I am greatly saddened, but the way it came into my life and filled the void between desire and ability in terms of quilting, business, and design skills was indisputably fortuitous. The time for purchasing and planning is over and the time for sewing and selling has come. I do not need to be tempted by more ideas, but ought now to go for my dreams. Thank you, Valley Fabrics, thank you and adieu.

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How to Save Money Otherwise Spent on Paper Towels

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 17:43:06 -0700

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 . . .

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 18:45:09 -0700

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

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 18:02:33 -0800

"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

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 07:58:21 -0800

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

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 07:40:20 -0800

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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Roman End Year

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 18:20:38 -0800

Monday was a good day. I mean the whole having to wake up at 5:15 after a week off and having to really leave the house by 6:00 to walk to the lot since Northampton called a "snow emergency" for a flurry of snow and having to teach again and actually grade those quizzes and all that. Surprisingly, the teaching day even went pretty well on account it would seem of the students being even more sleepy than I was, but the real interest of the day came at the

end of the incredibly disjointed JCL meeting when the middle school teacher put on the board a poem by Ovid commemorating the fact that it was the Roman end of the year, or, End Year, as I like to say. It was the day chosen

to celebrate and the Romans did this in style by going to the end of their properties on all sides, meeting with the neighbors and offering a little something to the god of boundaries, Terminus. I'm pretty sure that their god Janus fit in there somehow as well, but not entirely sure how.

Kudos to the Romans! That they were wise enough to see the value and importance in boundaries for a functional society. I think about our boundaryless mess and marvel.

Since I'm cramming for a test and seizing every moment to translate Latin, I was grateful for the chance of staying

later and translating. In a last-ditched effort not to have to read Lucan again, my eye alighted on a volume called The Oxford book of Latin Poetry. Opening it, I saw a poem by Cicero's little brother, Quintus, and my curiosity was peaked. What sort of poem would such a man have written? And so we set in. When sight reading Latin, it's a good

thing to have somebody who studied it at Berkley to help you along. The poem was about the Zodiac and I became more and more delighted when I noticed that all of the signs were there. I used to be afraid of such a thing, but a teacher last year some teachers I knew were into it, and my personality-analyzing personality had to find out what it was all about and now I find it quite fascinating.

There it was. We finished the last line when the other teacher said, "It's interesting that this starts in February. It seems like it was probably the kind of thing written to commemorate the end of the year. I thought this, indeed, seemed likely. And there you have it: a perfect Roman end year complete with a poem and everything:

Flumina verna cient obscuro lumine Pisces

curriculumque Aries aequat noctisque diique,

cornua quem condunt florum prenunti Tauri;

aridaque aestatis Gemini primordia pandunt,

longaque iam minuit praeclarus lumina Cancer,

languificosque Leo proflat ferus ore calores,

post modium quatiens Virgo fugat orta vaporem;

autumni reserat portas aequatque diurna

tempora nocturnis dispenso sidere Libra:

effetos ramos denudat flamma Nepae:

pigra Sagittipotens iaculatur frigora terris;

bruma gelu glaciat iubarem spirans Capricorni,

quem sequitur nebulas rorans liquor altus Aquari.

tanta supra circaque urgescunt lumina mundi;

at dextra laevaque ciet rota fulgida Solis

mobile curriculum et Lunae simulacra feruntur.

An End Year, I think, well spent with a whole New Year beginning tomorrow. . .

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Have you ever read Pride & Prejudice?

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 17:26:13 -0800

Ahhh, the question I like to hear so much that, even though it was the middle of Latin class, I took the bait and answered. "It's only my favorite book in the whole wide world." I believe is what I replied. "Really? I just finished

it last night," was the interested reply from the beaming face of the girl I had just taken her novel away from. "Well,

at least she's not mad," I thought. One of my top students in the class said, "I tried reading that, but I couldn't get past the first page." "Ruth! Zero for you," I teased, but by this point the part of the class that wasn't already talking, took this for the signal to go ahead and do so, and I had to redirect them.

At the end of class, though, the girl (who incidentally is struggling with Latin--I wonder if her work ethic has anything

to do with that?) asked for a study guide of Latin pronouns and brought it up again. "That's pretty amazing that I

asked you that question then." I, who has been asked this several times before said that I thought it comes up

occasionally since it is a book that is assigned in school. I guess I felt like I had to share this girl, for I sort of spewed:

I'm like the biggest fan of Jane Austen--I mean, probably a lot of people would say that. I'd really like to

write like her--probably a lot of people would say that, too. I went to England, though, to go to her house.

She's like--my hero.

And I really think this summed it up.

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You have a beautiful face, Miss Langsather

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 17:52:11 -0800

It is amazing how those words have been resounding in my ears. Maybe it was the African accent, maybe it was the fact that it came from a student whom I really like. But I don't know, it seems to come down to the fact that we frail, unconfident, human beings are simply needy for love and admiration. Is there one among us who can boast of not needing this? Is there a one among us who is so detached and self-sufficient that a compliment or kind word rolls off our back like an unnoticed drop of rain? I think I could answer for us all a resounding no. And so, while I think I may be a little shy in interacting with my student for a day or two, I ponder what compliments I left unsaid, especially to the troop of acceptance-seeking teenagers in my charge. What is it that I need to say that would resound in their ears. . .

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The Eve of Februar'

nobody@vox.com(ali rose) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 18:15:09 -0800

It is the Eve of Februar'; the midnight chime draws nigh,

Thinking of my many goals, I heave a heavy sigh.

I should have had some goals per month

As I think I did intend,

Instead of looking solely 'round

Each successive bend.

Ah, I'll give myself another day

In which to do what I should say

I should have done already thus

My budget, bill filing, room cleaning,

and Sabbath observation must

Have system, but I have been thinking. . .

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