The Latest in Brain Research?

Many of us in the education field today are bombarded by the latest and greatest studies and trends - brain research, learning styles, national curriculums, iPads or iTouch, length of school day, etc. It seems as though you name it, and we've got a study for you . . .

As exciting and innovative as many of these new insights and programs may be, some days the best thing in education to come down the pike is a reminder of life's simpler things. When all the children and faculty are gone at the end of the day, the school cat walks into my office curls up in a chair. Rarely does it get any better than this . . .

Notes Along the Oregon Trail - Part One

As most of you know, I've been living in Oregon these past few months. As in every state, there are innumerable sights, sounds, and experiences that while perhaps not unique to The Beaver State, are nonetheless worthy of comment and/or highlighting. Hopefully, Notes Along the Oregon Trail, however brief, will address these same experiences . . .

Signposts

Typically, in addition to a good thumb or a plaintive look, hitchhikers carry signs with them that outline their hoped for destination. On an Interstate 5 on ramp outside of Medford recently, a hitchhiker flashed what I thought was one of the most brilliant and poignant destination signs ever seen: "Anywhere but here!"

I've mentioned in previous postings the ingenuity and marketing skills of some of the local homeless people. Most original and honest sign? It has to be that of a local gentleman leaning towards the dehydrated side on a hot summer's afternoon. His hand lettered sign was simple, yet direct: "Why lie? I need a beer!"

I'm certain there are days that all of us wish we were holding up the same signs . . .

Darwin is Alive and Living in Oregon . . .

As I have said before, one of the big plusses to living in Oregon is the abundant amount of wildlife you see everyday. Especially living outside the major metropolis of Grants Pass, our semi-rural environment offers plenty of interaction with deer, wild turkeys, raccoons, and squirrels galore - it seems as if Oregon has them all.

Every morning and evening brings plenty of deer to the front and back yards. Majestic and shy at the same time, their appearances have become so commonplace that our dogs barely acknowledge their existence anymore. Mornings also bring the gobbling sounds of turkeys frequently crossing the road in front of our house - inevitably bringing to mind more than once the eternal question "Why did the turkey cross the road?"

While some people have nightly rituals consisting of walking the dog, reading to their children or brushing their teeth before bedtime, our own nocturnal routine includes repeated trips to the back door to frighten away the family of racoons attempting to raid the food set out for the outdoor cats. Sitting inside nearby and reading each night, you hear the raccoons creep closer and the move the cats' bowl as they happily nibble away. Despite our repeated "shooings", the mother and three kits keep coming back - several times each night. They have even developed a routine that includes the mother standing guard and sometimes staring us down through the screen door, while the kits alternate their snatch and runs.

Admittedly, not all of the local wildlife has fared so well. Where once squirrels gathered freely and chattered loudly in our backyard, there is now an eerie silence. It seems that our hounds - and I use the term loosely - have taken to chasing the little nut-grubbers to other, more distant environs. Their morning stalking and chases were the stuff of legend, frequently culminating with one or more dogs halfway up the nearest tree, a hair's breadth behind the barely-faster squirrel.

Of all God's creatures that surround us on a daily basis, perhaps the most beautiful . . . and most annoying, are the wild geese. Wonderous to look at, their beauty belies their seemingly unlimited ability to honk loudly - twenty-four hours a day. Of course, the content of their honking is unknown to us as humans, but I'll bet it puts a real strain on that "we mate for life" thing.

In addition to the unrelenting noise, their choice of residence can be trying as well. Not limiting themselves to the pond in the field next to us, it seems the geese are everywhere. Both of the local public schools have huge numbers of them literally "occupying" their campuses. Walking or flying anywhere and everywhere they wish, their "leavings" - to be polite - have everyone watching their step. While I don't mind stepping carefully on the sidewalks into the school when I visit, I do worry about the students who play football or baseball. Because the fields are the favorite gathering places for the local flocks, their "accumulations" bring new meaning - and texture - to a player slipping a tackle or making a sliding catch . . .

Noisy or slippery, there can be no denying that these particular local geese are enjoyable to watch. Lately, they have started to develop some interesting new habits. While any regular goose can fly and land with an innate sense of grace and grandeur, our geese have decided to practice these qualities by landing not on the pond or nearby fields, but on the peaked roof of a local barn - oftentimes with little of the grace and almost none of the grandeur.

Sitting outside on our patio, we have enjoyed observing this avian transformation from pond dweller to barn sitter over the past few weeks. At first, it seemed as though the "great leap up" was limited to one or two misguided individuals. Early attempts often culminated in a sort of slow motion slip and slide sequence - reminiscent of similar scenes in the Walt Disney animal documentaries commonplace during our youth - again, with little grace and grandeur, but plenty of blustering as the intrepid pioneers fell noisily back to earth.

However, after days and weeks of practice, some stiff supporting winds, and a little simple learning from prior experiences, the nearby barn is now as crowded as the trail to Mount Everest on a sunny spring day. While being on a roof certainly provides a better vantage point for viewing the surrounding area, I'm not sure what the real advantage may be for the growing number of roof dwellers. Certainly from the human perspective, the noise of their honking now carries farther . . .

Darwinian evolution or not, the geese are starting to scare us . . . From the single barn in the meadow, they are now creeping steadily to other roofs nearby. What's next? Hanging from trees? Tippie Hendren's frozen-faced scream? What if they decide to move inside? I'll tell you this, if they start to use hand tools or spark a fire, we're out of here, slipping and sliding all the way . . .

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow . . .

I know that many of you upon reading the title of this piece will think you are about to read a history of my own hair loss. While a fascinating tale to be sure - "He could not believe the real reason the shower drain was clogged . . ." - alas, I must disappoint you yet again.

Instead, I offer up one of the true joys of owning a dog - more specifically, of owning a standard poodle. Sure, those innumerable feeding times, trips to the vet's office, and unending poop patrols are well worth the love and affection returned on a daily basis from your pet. But let's be honest, when you can enjoy a little laugh at their expense, it can make make life a little more worth living.

More to the point, anytime your daughter's standard poodle can go from a washed out dishrag to a potential show dog after a trip to the groomers, then all is well with the world. I find the entire process and especially the end result, hilarious - except for the bill - and just wanted to share the before and after photos.

Unfortunately for me and my slightly twisted sense of humor, Jade (the dog in question), loves the new cut and cannot stop preening and prancing around as if she is the most beautiful thing on the planet. How much more French can you get?

Crossing America - Red Bull, Gangsta Pants, and Tattoos Too

I love to drive long distances. But when you are attempting to move across the country and you are joined by the entourage I was responsible for, the normally simple dynamics of space and time go right out the window. In previous posts, I talked a little about space - never enough with our menagerie; today's post attempts to share some thoughts on time as well as a few other circumstances that arose as we journeyed westward.

In a simple world (or a previous life), driving across the country can be a leisurely, informative, and culturally rich experience. Taking your time on the drive, sampling the local cuisine, and visiting the occasional historical site can all make the long journey seem almost fun. However, transporting five people and eight animals in two vehicles, hauling a double-axeled trailer and working with a limited amount of time and funds can make the trip just a shade south of "fun" and a lot like National Lampoon's Vacation - minus Randy Quaid and the late Aunt Edna.

Not surprisingly, our toughest issue was time. Originally, the plan was to drive ten to twelve hours per day and to finish the trip in three nights and four days. I was quick to realize however, that my version of driving time did not include pit stops for the animals, time to eat, and most of all driving fatigue. Ten to twelve hours soon became fourteen to sixteen, and four days ended up being six.

If you own an animal, you know that despite our best efforts they often march and/or go to the bathroom on their own schedule. More importantly, arrival at the designated bathroom/rest stop area does not always guarantee instant success. Such seemingly innocuous factors as wind speed or direction, types of soil/grass, other dogs, and perhaps temperature or even their mood, may all be delaying factors.

My overly ambitious timetable was also thwarted by the amount of time it took to feed the humans on board. Visiting local eateries on our trek was never a possibility - too much time, and what would we do with the animals while we ate? To put it more succinctly, we were going to cross America one fast food restaurant at a time. From McDonald's to Subway; Jack in the Box to Arby's, we sampled them all, took our food with us in the car, and drove on. I'm convinced that if the Lewis and Clark expedition had to do the same, they would have flamed out on an Angus burger somewhere around Laramie, Wyoming and never made it to the west coast. Or maybe on an Italian club - hold the onions . . .

The good news in all of this is that I was introduced to a new and important addition to my soft drink menu - Red Bull. Having limited my previous "stimulating" experiences to innumerable cups of coffee - thereby contributing on my own to the "rest stop" factor - I found that the occasional one shot fix of a large sugar free can of Red Bull to be an answer to prayer or at least drooping eyelids. If or when Britany Spears or Lindsay Lohan burn out again in the public eye, I'm willing and ready to become the new spokesperson . . .

If time dictated changes in our plans, poor packing on my part almost made things worse. Anticipating hot weather along the way, the day before we left I purchased several pair of new shorts. Going against my normal habits, I even tried them on prior to purchase. Alas, I forgot to factor in "clothing fatigue" or the inevitable stretching out of your clothes - especially pants - the longer you wear them. Perhaps this is a phenomenon known only to me, but the result - added to the fact that I also forgot to bring a belt - all contributed to "A Dad in Middle Age" frequently wearing his shorts as low or lower than the average urban hipster - no pun intended - high school student.

To even further burn this pitiful and scary image into your memory, picture me holding said pants up and walking the dogs, or carrying luggage, or simply getting out of the car. I must admit I learned a lot of tricks - from the one hand grab and hold, the two handed quick lift, and my personal favorite, the lift and run with the luggage as fast as you can until you end up tripping on your shorts. For those who care, these same shorts now work great with a belt . . .

Finally, I noticed an odd phenomena the further west we traveled: tattoos became both more frequent and less attractive on the people we met. Granted, we were visiting a lot of fast food joints, truck stop gas stations, and accommodations far from the Ritz-Carleton - nonetheless, it seemed that quantity trumped quality wherever we went.

In the middle of summer, it's not unusual to see more skin on the people around you. Tank tops, short sleeve shirts, and the occasional tube top all testify to the August heat. But how necessary is it to cover that same skin with a myriad of tattoos featuring dragons, lizards, family pets, or the occasional boyfriend or girlfriend's name? I won't even go into the number of Chinese characters I saw etched into flesh across America's heartland. It seemed as if the entire country west of the Mississippi had discovered the show "Miami Ink" simultaneously.

Let me clearly state that I have nothing against tattoos - some of my best friends have them. However, I would like to think that if I was going to show the world my tattoo, quality - as they say - would be job #1. For most of the people I saw with tattoos, it looked as if they had done it themselves or at the very least, at a parlor down by the docks and two doors down from a biker bar . . . Several were already showing evidence of aging - the people, not the tattoos - with the end result being that their tattoos inevitably aged also - and not always well. Some markings that I saw were so stretched out their phrases were edging towards the large print editions for the sight impaired, and one or two made my drooping pants in comparison seem to fit like spandex . . .

Perhaps it was the fatigue from driving, the inevitable return to earth from the Red Bull high, or maybe even the fast food refusing to break down in my system - whatever the reason, no one I saw had tattoos of the quality much beyond my uncle's World War Two blue ink specials. Come on America, if you're gonna decorate your body permanently, at least consider how it will look 20 or 30 years from now.

As only a wife can, Julie summed up my look in the above-mentioned shorts with a phrase applicable to both the shorts and my tattoo views: "Those are hardly what I would call attractive . . ."

Sure Signs of the Apocalypse . . .

While I'm not a big believer in the end of the world theories so popular these days, there is no doubt that we live in difficult times. It is items like the following that makes these times even more difficult . . .

Charlie Brown a Rap Star?

In what is definitely one of the most jarring moments of the fall TV season - and I say this at the height of all those wonderful political commercials - I just saw the latest ad for the Halloween classic, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" One of my all time favorite Peanuts' specials, I look forward to seeing it year after year.

This year, however, some TV execs or marketing experts decided that the Great Pumpkin must be looking a little ragged and losing some of its appeal to the younger crowd. How best to get them back? By having the promo commercials be filled with the Peanuts characters rapping their words and inviting one and all to watch the show.

Charlie Brown, possessor of one of the most recognizable - and depressing - voices of any cartoon character, now rapping his way to the Great Pumpkin? I was so shocked, I can't even remember the words, though the images remain burned into my memory. What's next? Lucy and Peppermint Patty in a Brittany Spears video? Charles Schultz must be rolling in his grave . . .

Would you like some garlic with that book?

Moving further down the road to Perdition, in a recent visit to the local Barnes and Noble, I needed help finding a book for my youngest daughter. On our way to the juvenile reader section of the store, the woman assisting me apologized for the the apparent mess and mentioned that they were reorganizing the various sections for young readers. When I asked what prompted the need to reorganize, she told me that they were adding several new sections to the young readers division. Most prominent among the additions was the fastest growing section: "Paranormal Teen Romance".

To quote Weekend Update anchors Amy Poehler and Seth Myers, "Really?" An entire section devoted to completely improbable and even dangerous fictional romances involving werewolves and vampires? Novels that have their heroes and heroines struggling with such everyday issues as the choices between immortality and romance with either of the aforementioned Gothic-like characters or just a date with pimply-faced Johnny or Susie at the local burger joint? Isn't it tough enough to feel you're in love as a teenager without having to worry about the possible need for a blood transfusion after your first kiss? Seems to me at the very least, that checking the size of your date's teeth before you go out with them suddenly becomes a top priority . . .

As if the 1989 earthquake wasn't a big enough sign . . .

Finally, the San Francisco Giants won the World Series. I can smell the sulphur already . . .

Texting on Horseback, the Second Amendment, and Niche Marketing . . .

A few notes from our sojourn thus far in the Beaver State . . .

Oregon is a beautiful state. Lush, pine-filled hills and mountains, deep river-cut valleys, and a climate that can't be beat, it would be hard to argue for a more scenic place to live. Add no sales taxes to the mix, and there are some economic benefits as well.

However, every state has its little quirks . . .

My first experience with Oregon's quirkiness came one day while I was out driving in downtown Grants Pass. Talking to my wife on the phone, I was surprised to see flashing police lights in my rear view mirror. After pulling over in a local taco stand parking lot, I was politely informed by the officer that it was against the law in Oregon to text or use a cell phone while driving. In addition, the fine for said malfeasance was $142.00. Suddenly, the economics of having no sales tax made sense . . .

Regardless of economics, or perhaps because of it, there was no way I wished to pay $142.00. Seeking to channel all of my mental dexterity and verbal skills into a reversal of my plight - in short, I was preparing to beg for forgiveness - I opted instead for the old "ignorance is bliss" standby. With Virginia license plates still on my car and my newly-minted (legitimate) Oregon driver's license now in the officer's hands, I pleaded true ignorance of the law. I am forever grateful for the reprieve that resulted from my plea.

Of course, on the drive home, I spotted at least seven or eight drivers all happily discussing some aspect of their lives on a cell phone. Those particular violations and flaunting of the law I could handle. However, about a mile from home on a less busy thoroughfare, I witnessed a more flagrant violation of the "no texting or cell phone use while driving" law. Seems there was a young girl riding her horse down the road and calmly texting with both hands at the same time. A first for me I have to admit, and had I received a ticket for my violation, you can be certain I would have reported this young girl's flaunting of the law. There's something about seeing a horse and its rider pulled over by the police that appeals to my darker side . . .

Though some would say that witnessing the congruence of horse-driven transportation and cell phone technology is a significant enough experience for anyone, there have been other notable events during our time here . . .

While relaxing with my oldest daughter recently outside a local coffee house, three locals showed up to enjoy some java as well. After getting their coffee, the three settled down to an animated discussion about a truck in front of the local courthouse that was prominently displaying a mysterious flag. Mexican? Iraqi? No one seemed to know. Suddenly, two of the men got up, reached into their car, and one of them retrieved a pistol and strapped it to his leg. Fully armed, both men set off down the street to determine the flag's origins and I assume, the owner's intent.

New to this wild west implementation of the second amendment, we decided to drive by the courthouse on our way home. Turns out there was indeed a mystery flag planted in a truck in front of the courthouse. Standing there as well, pistol fully in view, was our NRA man in an apparently friendly discussion with a man and his wife protesting the plight of the Palestinians. Hard to say which piece of the tableau was more jarring - the citizen walking down the street with the pistol or the fact that someone would choose to protest the plight of the Palestinians in front of the Josephine County courthouse in Grants Pass, Oregon. Putting them together couldn't help but tilt the earth just a bit off its axis . . .

Finally, while homelessness is a serious issue in this country, Oregon and especially Josephine county, offers numerous well-funded programs and shelter opportunities for those who seek assistance. Despite this, there are a significant number of individuals who opt for some of the more time-honored methods of asking for money, food, or work in different locations around the area. Usually at the bottom of freeway off ramps, major intersections, or even outside the local Wal-Mart, many have developed a type of niche marketing or signature brand to make themselves stand out and thus increase their opportunities for receiving assistance.

Signage seems important no matter where the location. One gentleman, known affectionately as the "Sandwich Man", has been at the same intersection for months with a simple sign asking for 25 cents for a sandwich. Not a bad request when you think about it - not too much, not too little, who could argue? Another's sign seems more to the point: "I take anything green!" Even more direct was one gentlemen on the corner outside a local Taco Bell: "I need a burrito!" Some don't request anything for themselves directly. Instead, I've noticed several signs that request money for food for their dogs - an ingenious request, particularly if the dog or dogs are obediently seated or prostrate at their side.

The most clever system for raising funds however, has to go to the people I have named the "tag team group". Located at a freeway off ramp, this group parks a car under the nearby overpass, and while two of them sit in the car and read the paper, the other solicits funds at the stop sign. Often, there would be a dog available to complete the picture. While I was not aware of the exact length of each shift, they alternated people and perhaps dogs, several times each day. Not a bad strategy - especially in the hot summer months.

Equestrian texting, Palestinian protesters meeting the NRA, and Madison Avenue marketing for the homeless - never a dull moment in the Pacific Northwest. Perhaps it can all best be summed up by the city of Grants Pass' time worn theme emblazoned on a sign over main street - "It's the Climate!" . . .