Foremost on my Mind: Welcome Back, Blotter

Is it me, or did the summer break blast by like Usain Bolt? It seems just like yesterday the kids were whining about school and grouching about too much work.

Hey, it was yesterday and the “kids” were my kids, as they anticipated getting back into school routine. (Sorry, Maurice, that didn't actually happen—just my desperate attempt to be witty.)

For many parents, they can't get the kids back to school soon enough, usually starting the second week of July. Some parents adjust their schedules and outlooks, and have a great time for the break. Still others don't have quite the same type of break; they are known as homeschoolers. Their change is only in routine and relationships: The books are dropped for a few weeks, and their “students” become family again.

But today I write as a teacher, albeit a part-time one. For me, while I enjoy the break, I still enjoy the routine of going in to school a couple days a week. One thing about the summer holidays, though: They allow me to be something different, other than the authority in the classroom or the watchdog on the playground. For two months, I am the boss of the barn and the police of the pasture.

“Different” down here in the Back Thirty means cleaning hoppers, butchering chickens, pounding posts and stringing barbed wire, painting rooms, and all sorts of physically-demanding, summer-only tasks that can't get done when inside the classroom. For me, the summer break is at the end of the summer, when I head back to school.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would be in a classroom, on a full-time or part-time basis, for over twenty years. My initial goal with post-secondary options was (surprise, surprise) to become a writer. My plan was to start at the University of British Columbia (UBC), and end up in Western Washington College--then get a job with TIME magazine, or become this world-famous writer like Dave Barry.

However, due to circumstances beyond my control—somewhere between Dad and Divinity—I ended up with a teaching degree (B. Ed.). When I graduated from UBC in 1977, the very last thing I wanted to do, besides clean outhouses and sell Flames tickets, was teach kids. I was interviewed for a few positions in northern BC, but I had no clue as to educational philosophy, classroom management, or other heady stuff that usually comes after a few years of teaching.

For me, they came after a few years of life experience.

Thus, when I entered the teaching workforce as, ahem, a mature teacher, I was better equipped to come up with some sort of educational philosophy, better able to handle a classroom of wild kids, though I have rarely encountered that since coming to Alberta ten years ago. Wild parents, maybe...

Teachers with years of experience both in the life of a classroom and the classroom of life are very valuable to school districts. But sometimes their value translates into others costs, like higher wages on the salary grid. They become too expensive for boards, who are trying to run a tight ship, budget-wise. And that's a sad trade-off, namely, new teachers come with unbridled enthusiasm and fresh ideas, but mature teachers have the necessary life skills. Unfortunately, in a day of cost-cutting demands, the green often stays and the grey usually goes.

The above is perhaps an over-simplification, but it does contain some hard truth.

So today is the first day of classroom education for this new term. Sure beats starting in August, as in former years, even for this newbie rancher-farmer type. And in my case, I don't mind exchanging a paint brush for a chalk brush.

Foremost on my Mind: Holiday here, Vacation there

It's very rare I get away for a few days with the better five-eighths, er, better half, for a slight break. That we did recently, and we've lived to talk about it.

The trip was just across the line, but to all intents and purposes, it could have been in Maui, Mali, or Maine, for that matter. And in terms of cost, it could have been twenty-five years years ago.

Three general highlights of the getaway were the trees, television, and anonymity.

I love trees so much I could hug them, but that might be misconstrued. Where I went was what some wag (I believe that was me) would call a poor man's Waterton. Nowhere near the amenities or the crowds or the touristy things, but, hey, I wasn't trying to have amenities, crowds, or touristy things, so that suited me fine.

Television is always a mixed bag for me: I saw a little sports here, a movie there, but mostly it was just a mind-dumbing and brain-numbing experience, and only confirmed why we have chosen not to have one in our house. However, without sounding too sanctimonious, I personally do enjoy the odd show now and then; hopefully not too odd, like the Flames' run to the Stanley Cup finals.

Anonymity is just another big word that writers use to show off their vocabulary, though I think it actually fits today's column's theme. Where we went, no one knew us. The locals were friendly, but the fellow-tourists were a little cool. At least here in southern Alberta, strangers give us the two-finger salute—even sometimes less one finger, if they so choose.

One thing I really cherished was the history of the place: Very old cabins and a few other businesses that had been in the family for (literally) generations. You could tell by the siding and the electrical layout that they were decades old. Some of those running the the motels and cottages, plus the art galleries, were descendants of people who pioneered the area in the '90's—the 1890's, that is.

In fact, one clerk was in her '90's, the grand-daughter of a rugged pioneer herself. I just hope I am as spry, sharp, and sweet as she was, when I reach that plateau.

I had actually phoned around to the usual Canadian haunts—Waterton, Fernie, and Canmore—for this little getaway, but the cost alone kept me looking south. I knew I wasn't going to get the amenities, crowds, or touristy things (or did I say that already?), but, hey, I just wanted a few trees, a few good television shows, and some place where no one knew my name.

And cheaper, too: To say I paid half price would be an exaggeration, but over the two nights, I saved at least a third of what I would pay in Canada.. I also saved in gas, as the three choice places that I wanted to get to were at least 30 to 90 minutes farther down the road than where I ended up—and that's only one way.

Did someone say “gas”? I topped off my chariot off twice, and the math (bit of a stretch for a Language Arts guy) tells me I came in at around .95 cents a litre. Last time I checked, that is a savings of about twenty cents a litre.

All in all, a good time was had by us'n (thought it might be good to talk like the natives). Next time I go, though, I think I'll leave my “NObama ” bumper sticker off the car. No sense looking for trouble in paradise.

Foremost on my Mind: Olympic Wordplay

Now that the dust has settled (and for some, that would be gold dust) from the Summer 2012 Olympics, I suppose it's time for the pundits and wiseguys to come out of the bars with their analysis of what just happened in London.

Seeing that I lie somewhere in between, I guess I get to opine on the good, the bad, and the ugly of the Olympics in general, these particular events, Canada's Olympic programme, and anything else Olympic-related.

And Maurice, we are talking about the Olympic meet, not Olympic meat.

Just off the top, I must confess that I have never participated in any Olympic event. While I may discuss, I have never thrown a discus. I may multi-task, but I would never consider myself a triathlete.

The other “confession” is that I never really watched these games this time; if I watched anything, it was a late-night sports programme at someone else's house. No home television will do it every time.

No men's ice hockey may be another factor.

Overall, I am for the Olympics and all the good will, persistent hype, and colossal legacy they leave behind in the host countries. I can verify that, apart from the massive debt load, many countries have benefited greatly from hosting the Olympics.

In a practical way, it seems a lot of effort, expense, and energy about a little thing—the little thing being the 40 seconds on the mat here, or the under-a-minute splash in the pool there. Years and years of prepping and practicing seem so disproportionate to what what actually happens. That is, years can be wiped out in minutes, if they fail to qualify for the next level.

This is done through something called heats. I suppose if you're hot enough at the right time, you make the heat. Essentially, many world-class athletes are dropped before they even get going. I don't even disagree with it; I just feel sorry for the athletes who have put their lives on hold, only to be bumped off the floor before they get to the big dance.

The good will is the one thing that I appreciate the most. Countries coming together as one “big happy,” putting their differences aside (okay, okay, I remember Los Angeles in 1984), makes me feel that it's a good thing.

The difference between first place and tenth place, say, in cycling or swimming, can literally be seconds, even milliseconds. There's no shame in losing on those terms, if, in fact, that is considered “losing.” It's too bad there is no recognition for all competitors at the Olympic level.

One of the factors when assessing the Olympics are the leftovers—leftovers, as in both the many commodious buildings and the massive debt load. The closest to home for me on the former level is the Winter 2010 Olympics in greater Vancouver. I personally have seen some of the Olympic legacy (ie., sports venues), and know of others. They will be a lasting testimony for all.

I cannot speak to the financial issue in Vancouver, but I am aware of the Olympics of years past all over the world, and the fact that those economies are paying (and will still be paying for years—possibly decades—to come). I also cannot comment on how to get around such a devastating legacy. Scaling down the buildings would be one, but I don't think so.

Downsizing the Olympics themselves would be another option, but that is untenable. They are a rich part of our past, present, and future, and that just would not work. Spacing them out so they show up every, say, six years, so they don't occur as often is another, but neither is that tenable.

Now, if they could just create an event for wordsmiths, I might qualify. Let's see: gold in word play; silver is spelling; and bronze in creativity. I'm in.