Last day before the grind

This is my last day before I pick up the grind of homeschooling again. I'll be reading up on Physics and the Civil War. I'll be installing new computer programs and cleaning out the classroom. I'm feeling terribly lazy about it all. It doesn't help that we are in the middle of a heat wave. Our house has a twenty degree differential between the basement and the second floor. Everyone is hanging out in the basement, which is where our classroom is, which will make kicking the kids out of there so I can start getting school prepped, well, difficult.
Writing has defintely become a permanent part of my routine now. Before it was easy to set aside my scribbling and get back to "my real work." Now though, writing feels like real work. I spent Sunday afternoon and into the evening working with a friend on her novel. It's so amazing to me to find that there are people in the world who see things in the way that I see them. For years, I've felt like an odd duck, not really fitting in. Now when I'm with writers I know the secret passwords, and I can hold up my end of the conversation with no desire or inescapable tendency to drift off.
This school year is the first time homeschooling will have a serious conflicting interest. I'm not sure how I'll balance it out, but I know that this is a more balanced life no matter what the case. I'm completely invested in my family, and their needs do come first, but I'm a part of the family, I have needs too. I need to write. I need the friendship of my fellow writers. I need to chart my own little course in some way. I've spent my entire life fulfilling the wishes of everybody else; writing is my opportunity to fulfill a few of my own. Expect to hear from me.

A TV School (It's in the Air)

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Helia stepped over a box in an effort to get to the kitchen. The floor of Sophia's former living room was a crazy maze--a little of everything just dumped by tired people overcome by the temptation of Hercules' barbecue. She wrapped her arms around Alistaire's middle while he laid out his knife set and unpacked his pots and pans.
"Problem number one, solved." she smiled.
"Hmph, if it hasn't created problems 10-100." he said.
"Did you see Penny unpacking her library?"
"No, but I helped her carry it up. You're right this is a good move and it does solve the overcrowding issue, at least on the weekdays, but the weekends are another matter. I still don't know how well this will work out."
"Let's just hope for the best."
"I always do." he smiled as he turned to kiss her. Helia's black curly hair was tied back with an old handkerchief and her clothes were damp with sweat.
"What shall we do about problem number 2--real jobs? I know you love the Foundation, and so do I, but they don't pay well, and I'm not sure they'll retain their funding next year. We have to start looking for something that pays well."
Helia looked pained. "We met at the Foundation. We've done such great work with them and I think they'll pull through."
"Honey, I'd love it if that was the case, but I've been talking to Bill and they'll be cutting staff even if the donor comes through. It would help everyone if we left and got jobs more in keeping with our responsibilities."
"I don't want to stop working with you. Whatever we do, we find jobs together, alright?"
"Honey, we'll try, but life doesn't offer guarantees."
Niko and Demetra came tearing into the apartment. "Mom, Dad, can we go to school on a TV show? Please?"
"What are you talking about?"
"This school, it's going to be on TV, and they need great kids to go to school there. The commercial says anyone can apply. We've got to do it! We'll be famous!"
Niko plugged in the TV and turned it on. "Just wait a minute, the commercial is playing a lot."
Helia and Alistaire were too tired to protest so they went out to the living room and crashed on the couch. The smell of barbecue wafted in through the open window as did family conversation. They waited through a few moments of a cartoon, and then there it was, an ad openly recruiting students to one of the most prestigious schools in the city.
"I'm sorry, Niko, but we can't afford Sonrise. The tuition is just too much. It is an exciting idea, but I'm afraid we can't do it."
Niko was discouraged, but not completely defeated. "What if you got jobs at Sonrise? I bet they'd give us a break on tuition."
"Not likely to happen, sport. Head out and get some ribs. Mom and I are on our way."
Niko and Demetra left deflated.
Helia was thoughtful. "You know we might start applying to private schools like Sonrise. We've been working in the field of education for years. We should be able to get a job at a private school even if we aren't certified."
"It's a good idea, but at the moment, all I can think about are those ribs."
"All right, meet you out there." Helia said.
The commercial started playing again. Helia scribbled the information on the side of a box. It was a place to start if nothing else.

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A TV School (Coffee Hangover)

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When the alarm went off, Phil didn't bother with snooze she just turned it off and rolled over. It was, after all, summer, the season that teachers live for. Fred had keys and since he and Frankie had decided to mummify a bat, Phil was sure he'd be in early. She couldn't face faking enthusiasm for ancient burial rites today. She couldn't face today at all.
Around noon, Yeats knocked politely on the door. "Mr. Gerald West is here to see you, miss. I took the liberty of showing him into your study."
"Oh, thank you, Yeats. I'll be down in a few minutes."
"Very well, miss."
Phil groaned as she remembered her conversation with Gerald the night before. Now she'd have to apologize and bury him under a mountain of signed contracts. Perhaps Yeats hadn't called the messenger service yet.
She pressed the intercom button. "William?"
"Yes, miss?"
"Did you call the messenger service yet?"
"Oh yes, miss, first thing this morning."
"Thank you, Yeats."
"You're welcome, miss."
Phil let go of the intercom button and groaned. She threw herself into a pair of grey slacks and a navy turtleneck, and hurried down the stairs.
Gerald looked at Phil as if he didn't know her. "Aunt Phil, do you have a television set around here?"
"We each have a set in our bedrooms which we lie about watching. I'm sorry about last night, Gerald. I was under pressure. I have this big project I'm working on. The school's been struggling. I should have waited to call, and I shouldn't have yelled at you. Can you forgive me?"
"Always, Aunt Phil, but I need to know what you've done. Both Madison and Ashley are demanding to attend Sonrise next year, and I'm thinking you'll be surprised when you find out why."
Phil was surprised. Madison and Ashley had always been embarrassed about being Wests at the alumni picnics their father brought them too.
"Aunt Phil, are you hooked up to the internet?"
"Absolutely, it's a life-saver for research."
"Let's do some quick research on Sonrise."
"All right, Gerald. My computer is your computer."
He sat down behind the desk and within minutes the screen was full of references to Sonrise/Childrise School.
"My goodness." said Phil.
"Take a look." Gerald had pulled up the first site and there was the information for submitting children's resumes for the auditioning process for "The Childrise School Show." Phil was apalled. The application process was not competive. Children of all abilities had always been welcome. A cornerstone of the school's philosophy was that every child is exceptional in their own way.
It got worse. Children were promised the opportunity to become TV stars. Parents were promised automatice acceptance into Ivy League Schools. There were strangers with perfect teeth on the faculty page of the newly refurbished school website. Even Ascalaphus and Androcles had been renamed--Beakly and Manely. It was a catastrophe.
"What did you do, Aunt Phil? There are ads running on every cartoon show in New York.
Phil walked around to the front of the desk and sat down.
"I think I've made a terrible mistake."

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A TV School (Blazing X's; Just Sign Here)

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Daniella Blair gripped Phil's hand firmly. "I'm sorry to burden you Ms. West with these contracts and details, but if we're going to start filming in September then we are going to need every moment we can get between now and then. Take it all home and think it over. We'll have our messenger service pick up the paperwork whenever you're ready. I think this is a very exciting opportunity for both of us."
Phil returned the handshake and sank into the cab under a mountain of papers, videos and presentation boards. They'd sent her home with everything and it was just too much.
Yeats greeted her at the curb and relieved her of all her bundles. "Shall I take these to the study, miss?" he inquired.
"Yes, please, William, it's been a very long morning.
"Certainly, miss." Phil had tried for years to get Yeats to call her by her first name, but he was always rather formal.
She went upstairs and began changing, when she decided a shower was in order. It was refreshing, so her heart was a little lighter as she headed toward her study.
Yeats had neatly arranged all the materials on her desk and a work table she kept for overflow. For several hours she worked on deciphering the details of Blair's proposals, but by dinner she knew she was overmatched. She'd have to ask Gerald to look over the paperwork.
She waited until after dinner to ring him up at home. She was a little uncertain how Gerald would feel since she had proceeded this far without him. In her defense, she'd never thought there'd be contracts to sign at the second meeting.
"Hello, Gerald? This is Aunt Phil."
"Hello, Aunt Phil, is it business or pleasure?"
"Well, it's always a pleasure talking to you, Gerald, but I'm afraid it is school business."
"Aunt Phil, may I remind you that it's past business hours and that we've spoken about this before?"
"I know, Gerald, I'm very sorry, but I've gotten in over my head."
"Is this about the janitorial contracts? Phil, they've gotten a great deal. I checked with the union. Everybody's happy. Now I know you went to that contracts seminar I recommended and you should feel fully empowered to handle these little routine matters for the school. You're a very intelligent woman, Aunt Phil. I have complete faith in your decision making on this matter."
The following silence was a bit frosty on Phil's side.
"I most certainly did attend the contracts seminar and I do feel 'fully empowered' to handle school business especially since there is so little of it these days. If my phone records are accurate it has been two years since I requested your assistance and those janitors still don't clean the third floor on a bi-annual basis. The matter before me is a rather complex effort to rebuild school enrollment and raise the school's profile. This is a very necessary effort that no one else seems interested in undertaking!"
"Now, Aunt Phil, you know I'm always glad to help out the school, but in the past..."
"In the past, no self-respecting West would send his children to Pembrooke. This is the first generation of Wests to be completely unrepresented at Sonrise. You may have lost faith in our traditions, but we never lost faith in you--not even after your rather lack-luster performance at a B-rated party school in California of all places."
"Aunt Phil, I'm sorry. How can I help you out?"
"I don't think you can, Gerald. I think a B-rated lawyer who only got into Harvard Law because his old headmaster vouched for him isn't 'fully empowered' to deal with this endeavor. I shall manage on my own. Kiss Madison and Ashley for me. I'll see you next Christmas." and with that Phil hung up the phone and cried.
Yeats brought in a pot of coffee a respectful while later.
Thank you, William." she said.
You're welcome, miss." he answered.
Sighing she pulled the contracts toward her. All the fight had gone out of her, and she still had to decide. She was too tired to figure this deal out, and too old to think of something else. In a blaze of desperation she began to sign wherever she saw an X. Halfway through she called Yeats in to be her witness. Together they slogged through thirty separate documents.
As she slipped the papers into the bag for the messenger service she realized that she had no clear idea of what she had just done, but she hoped it was all for the good.
"William, call the messenger service in the morning, please."
"Yes, miss."
"Goodnight, William."
"Goodnight, miss."

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A TV School (Tete a tea)

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Helia slid into the booth next to Penny. She had brought a large slab of baklava which she quickly sliced up.
"What are mother and father arguing about?" she asked.
Alistaire pushed the plate of scones toward her.
"Oh no, mother is baking? Can we please just put them and us out of our misery and move into Sophia's apartment? They've been soaking up the sun in St. Petersburg for a month now and I'm worried one of my many siblings will take it."
Alistaire made a face as he bit into a scone.
"Think about it. Each of the kids could have their own room. Sophia left the old furniture for the kids and all the appliances including the utility sized washer and dryer."
"Helia, I'm just not sure about being in the same building as your parents. It was no surprise to me when Sophia and Socrates moved to an entirely different region of the country."
"They'll move back. The heat is terrible in Florida. In the meantime, we could have the space we need at a price we can afford which with our jobs is a miracle in this city. Let's at least look at it again before we make our decision."
"We won't have any privacy Helia." Alistaire said.
"We don't have any privacy now, do we Penny?" Helia countered.
Penny excused herself from the table. She disliked being drawn into their disagreements, and she wanted to talk to her grandmother. She hoped to have dibs on Cousin Hedda's old bedroom, and she knew Hera would help her.
Hedda's room was already painted a periwinkle blue. Hedda had painted all her furniture white and then stenciled forget-me-nots on each piece. There was a linen closet that had been incorporated into the room as the floor had been carved up into evermore bedrooms for the growing family. Penny wanted it for her library which was currently stored in boxes in the storage locker at the apartment.
Penny climbed the stairs to her grandparent's apartment on the second floor. When she entered the room she found Quade sleeping on the couch. Hera was rocking quietly in a cozy stuffed chair. She motioned Penny into the stillness of her little kitchen. Nicholas had offered many times to enlarge the kitchen, but Hera wouldn't hear of it. The kitchen was her by-invitation-only domain, and she preferred to keep the guest list small.
"Quade threw up." she whispered. "Something about pirate toes? He was too sick to explain and after cleaning up I don't want to know."
Penny smiled. "He's trying to win a spy glass. He has to eat the most Oatey Toes Cereal It's gross, but he's determined."
Putting the tea kettle on the burner, Hera brought out the small box of tea she kept just for Penny.
"Well, have they decided yet?" Hera asked.
"I don't think so. Daddy's worried about our Presbyterian Sundays. He thinks they'll just become Greek Orthodox Sundays, and we'll be stuck like Aunt Sophia and Uncle Socrates."
"I see. What if I moved our Sunday dinners to Hercules' restaurant on Presbyterian Sundays?"
"Dad would like that."
"We can do that. Half the church will be there anyway."
"Yaya, we are half the church."
"So now the entire church will eat together every other Sunday; it's Biblical. I may even make Hercules mark down the buffet. If nothing else gets the Scotsman there, a bargain will."
"Yaya, Presbyterian Sundays are just for us."
"I know, but I miss you."
"I love you, Yaya."
"I love you, too."

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You've lost that random feeling...

I'm afraid this is turning into the TV School blog. I may just move that story over to it's own blog, but I am having fun with it. I've been too busy and too tired to do anything heavier. All those things I planned for the summer, well, we were delayed getting the summer started, so we've been playing catch up. And, I have kept up with the writer's group. I'm taking the first 2 pages of TV School there tonight. I'll try to get back on track, but come August I'll be busy working through curriculum for homeschooling next year. This may be Mea's last year, so it has to be a great one.

I hope your own summer has you running around with only enough time to scratch out the things that make you giggle. Blessings in abundance!

A TV School (Hera's Bakery)

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I hadn't intended to start working with the Thistles this early, but I must admit this has been very fun.

Nicholas pulled the baklava out of the oven. It was Saturday and he knew that his little Helia would be bursting through the doors shouting...
"Where's my baklava!" Helia kissed her father's forehead and leaned over to inhale the fragarant pastry.
"No baklava for you until I count my grandchildren." he said.
"Papa that could take all day!" Helia laughed.
"My little ones, from my baby Helia. I will be right back, let it cool. You will burn your fingers. Nicholas popped through the doors into the retail room. There was Dolores sweet talking Christopher after demanding her gingerbread--green-eyed, gingerbread people, no blue. Nicholas smiled as she bit the heads off. Quade must have slipped by him in search of Hera, those two were inseparable. Niko and Demetra were schmoozing customers hoping to top their sale's record from last week. Nicholas had promised a trip to the opera if they could. And there was Penny, sweet little Penny, sitting with Alistaire. They were both looking rather unhappy about a plate of scones in front of them. That could only mean one thing.
"Hera! Have you been baking again?" Nicholas burst out.
Several customers looked shocked, but old hands snorted. It was a well-known secret that Hera didn't bake. This was a true mercy and a great benefit to the business's bottom line--as were her beautifully decorated wedding cakes. When they had started the business neither of them knew how to make more than baklava, but Hera knew a little about decorating cakes. So, Nicholas had stationed his lovely young wife in the window decorating cakes he floundered through baking. For twenty years she'd drawn in customers and become a legend in the wedding business, but she never learned how to bake.
Hera looked discomforted and pushed Nicholas in the back.
"I simply made the boy a tray of his mother's scones. The boy needs a little taste of home."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with talking those young people into taking over Sophia's apartment, would it?"
"Maybe a little. Your baklava has Helia showing up right on time every Saturday. Perhaps some scones would get the proud Presbyterian to move in."
"In that case, Hera, let me make Penelope Thistle's scones. I love you. You know I love you, but you can't bake!"
Hera fixed him with a stare that had withered many a bride. "I taught you everything you know about baking, and don't you forget it."
Nicholas gave up. "Where is Quade?" he asked.
"I don't know, maybe he went upstairs?"
"Go, find the boy, and leave the baking to me."

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A TV School (Breakfast at the Thistles)

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Penny carefully folded up the fold-out couch while Niko rolled out of his bunk in the alcove. He quickly drew the curtain so that Helia wouldn't notice his unmade bed. Quade's bunk would have passed military inspection. He'd gotten up early in order to maximize his time eating Oatey Toe Cereal. He was up to thirteen boxes in a week and a half, but he'd heard another boy brag that he'd eaten twenty already. Oatey Toes was a complete failure as a cereal due to the unnecessary realism of its flavor--the cereal was inspired by pirate toes from a movie. The cereal tasted so awful that the overstock store was selling it for a quarter a box, but even that price wouldn't move it. The manager had finally resorted to offering a working spy glass to the person who could eat the most Oatey Toes by the third of next month. Quade was desperate to own the spy glass and so had invested his entire allowance ($7.00) in Oatey Toe Cereal. Helia had nearly made him return it all due to the storage problem such abundance would create, but Quade had offered to store his horde in his bunk. Currently he was eating and sleeping Oatey Toes.
Alistaire Thistle folded down his newspaper as Demetra and Dolores erupted into the living room. Each had a hold on a green hair ribbon. Demetra wanted it because it matched her eyes, and Dolores wanted it because it matched her name.
Alistaire said sternly, "Girls, settle it amongst yourselves or you can move out onto the fold out, and Penny can have a week of richly deserved privacy."
This threat was not new and it usually meant that Demetra lost the argument. Demetra was seven, and Dolores was five. Dolores found sleeping on the fold-out a grand adventure and a great way to stay up past bedtime.
Demetra relinquished the ribbon and tried to make peace with the blue one. Dolores paraded around the room waving her prize like a gymnast in the Olympics. She was caught completely off-guard when Helia snagged it and began brushing Dolores' unruly black hair.
Alistaire put down his paper and began scrounging for something better than Oatey Toes to eat.
"Why is it that there is never anything good to eat for Saturday breakfast?" he wondered aloud.
Helia smiled. "I know where we can get some wonderful baklava."
All the young Thistles began chanting--"Hera's!, Hera's!, Hera's!"
Yaya's bakery was a few neighborhoods over, but by no means a hard trip. The Thistles were out the door faster than Quade could choke down his last bite of cereal.

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A TV School 3 (Meet the Faculty)

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The faculty room was really more of an eat-in kitchen, and students were in and out of here almost as much as the classrooms. Phil had asked everyone to gather there for a meeting after the last drop-in student had gone home.
Professor Spurgeon arrived first. He seldom become embroiled in long farewells with the students. He settled himself into an armchair with a bowl of chicken salad and crackers. Miss Straight arrived next with a legal pad and a stopwatch. Finally Miss Spry and Susan came giggling down the hall in togas with inexpertly made floral wreaths perched on their hair.
They all listened carefully as Phil explained Blair Productions extraordinary offer, and the current state of the school's finances and enrollment. Miss Straight made a lengthy list of bullet points which she proceeded to sort into pros and cons. Professor Spurgeon munched thoughtfully, but Susan and Joy burst out indignantly against the whole idea.
"Absolutely not! We can't have cameras in here! It would stifle creativity and distract the children."
Susan smoothed her wrinkled toga. "I believe it would introduce an unwelcome self-consiousness that might prohibit healthy exploration and development of the psyche."
Joy forgot all about her toga as she proclaimed "It will be the death of the Sonrise way!"
Phil looked and felt quite alarmed by these responses, but Delia and Frederick kept sorting and chewing respectively.
"Phil, I don't think you have a choice. It will be unpleasant, and it will cause difficulties, but this experiment will most likely be brief. People found school dull the first time they went through it. The certainly won't watch it on TV. We will however become semi-famous and that will draw in new students and faculty. We have to do it. The school is dying." Professor Spurgeon had had his say, so he packed up his chicken salad and said goodbye.
Joy and Susan found this perspective sobering, and the area around their chairs became littered with the remains of their floral crowns. All eyes anxiously turned to Delia who had continued organizing her notes. After a lengthy period of shuffling she checked her stop watch and said, "Fred's right. I don't like it either, Joy and Sue, but he's right. Without something like this the school will close. I can explain the numbers if you'd like."
When Phil indicated she'd like to see Delia's notes, Joy and Susan left in a bit of a huff, but resigned to it. Fred and Delia were seldom wrong, and even when they were Phil didn't seem to notice. Neither woman liked the plan, but it was better than the school closing.

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TV School 2 (The Dark side)

This is a continuation of an earlier post to start at the beginning start here.

On the other side of town, Daniella Blair guided her electric blue Lamborghini into her reserved parking space. She exited the vehicle in a perfectly coordinated blue dress. Upon entering the building she traded her Zero Halliburton briefcase for a folio and some excellent Colombian. Proceeding directly to the conference room she was greeted by well-groomed employees nervously straightening bulging files.
"All right, shoot. Who's found our school?"
There was some nervous throat clearing until Robert McNair stood to his feet.
"We've prepared three reports, but my preference is a hybrid plan. We can structure our presentation any way you'd like."
"Let's hear the hybrid plan."
"We've scouted several schools and found that tough academic schools are camera shy, and camera eager schools are not the kind we're looking for. Our best bets are St. Aloysius, Pembrooke, and Sonrise. St. Aloysious is almost an impossibility; the alumni and parent pressure is the only thing going for us. Pembrooke is willing but they're just so 'public school.' We haven't officially approached Sonrise, because they may be closing. Despite that I think they are our best option. Sonrise is prestigious, eccentric, and slightly desperate. Their enrollment is almost negligible which allows us to "cast" the show. Sonrise is peculiar enough that our needs won't seem too out of the way, and I'm sure they'll be thrilled when we boost their enrollment to levels they haven't seen in a decade.
This approach gives us the best of both worlds--an established, respected school, but we choose the students for the show. We'll probably need to cast some new teachers as well, which could be tricky. Sonrise has very high standards which explains their tiny faculty."
Daniella Blair never wasted time. "Sonrise it is, make it happen."

Janet Michelle reached out to stroke the noble, yet friendly lion that guarded the entrance to the school. The lion was paired with a great owl, whose beaky face was very wise.
"Sharp will love all this!" she exclaimed.
Carved above the entrance was the greeting "Welcome all who seek to know." The school, at least, was definitely camera-ready. The headmistress was another matter entirely.
Philanthropia greeted them in the front hall wearing an orange felt jumper with 100 black felt bats randomly dripping from it. Her socks were embellished with jack o'lanterns and an ancient pair of Birkenstocks. "Welcome back to Sonrise. You still didn't bring your children! We're having a lovely time today with some summer drop-in students. They've gotten interested in bats. I've been learning the most amazing things, not the least of which is how hard they are to get out of school attics. How old did you say your children are again?"
Robert got straight to the point. "I'm afraid Miss West that we were not completely honest about our purpose for visiting. Here's my card. I'm Robert McNair of Blair Productions, and this is..."
"Janet Michelle, head of casting, you have an incredible school here. The architecture makes the school almost a character in its own right."
Phil was feeling unusually confused. Robert took the floor.
"We're here because we'd like to create a television show about your school. We think it would increase the public's understanding of pioneering educational curriculum and broaden the use of your unique approach to teaching."
Philanthropia sat down. Her well-rehearsed tour of the school and eager thoughts about new students became suddenly entangled with a large number of previously improbable thoughts. She decided to sit down, which was convenient, given that she was already sitting.
"We are sold on your admixture of love and curiosity as the foundation for an excellent education. We feel your graduates and their very distinguished careers speak volumes about the virtue of your system, and we'd like to set this school up on a TV hill to shine its light for others to follow." It was an uncharacteristically fanciful sales pitch, but Robert was secretly in love with what he was saying.
The rest of the meeting was quite dull as Phil largely sat there open-mouthed, nodding occasionally. The final outcome was a handshake, and another meeting scheduled for next week.
When they'd gone, Phil reached for the forgotten cup of coffee and swallowed it cold. Its bitterness reminded her that she'd forgotten cream and sugar as well. It didn't really matter; she needed the caffeine. After mulling it over, she decided to ask the faculty for advice.


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A Writer's Group

I was beginning to lose all interest in writing. Since I've decided writing deserves time and development I was looking for something to pick me up and get me going again. A note in the newspaper described a promising writing group, so I packed myself up and went. It was terrific. The writing was interesting. The participants tough, but fair and always kind. I felt at home the minute I sat down, but.... This is the thing with me, I always choose the difficult way to do things. The group meets a half an hour's drive, one-way, from my home. I have to take a medicine that acts on me like a sedative at just about the time the meeting gets out. Finally, it's in a very urban environment. I wish I knew why I did this. I know of two other writing groups, one of which meets within walking distance from my home. I've written both off. Am I stubborn about my standards, looking for excuses so I don't have to keep at it, or just prone to wander? I know not. Hopefully, something will work out. This group gave me a glimpse of what a good thing a serious writing group can be.