Samplers: What little girls did 200 years ago...

Seen yesterday at an antiques shop in Queenstown: two early 19th-century samplers. These were something of a rite of passage for girls. They were a way to practice stitching skills and to produce an ornamental work of art, as well. 

Both of these showed the tiniest little stitches and knots imaginable!

This one says (I think):

Jesus permit thy gracious name to stand

As the first efforts of an infant’s hand

And while her fingers o’er this canvas move

Engage her tender heart to seek thy love

With thy dear children let her share a part

And write thy name thyself upon her heart.

Eliza Record

Aged 10 1826

Even harder to read, I believe the words here are:

Art has Taught my Fingers skill

To write without pen ink or Quill

This is my Needle Work to shew

When I was Young what I could do

And by my Marking you may see

What care my Parents took of me.

Harriott Whitchorn

11 Years of Age

November 8, 1803

Can you imagine the lives of the little girls who spent so many hours doing this work? I wonder what thoughts went through the minds as they so painstakingly placed each little stitch. It was all preparation for a life of domesticity. 

So here's one thing they probably weren't thinking about: what they wanted to be when they grew up. 

Back (to reality)

It's been so long I forgot my password. It's also been so long I've forgotten family members, eight hours' sleep, and how the washing machine works (which explains why I've been dressing weird).

Between my last post and this one, I lived the life chapter, "Modern Dance School Director." 

I resigned two days ago. 

I'd say "It didn't work out," but it really did, in many ways. The students, parents and teachers were wonderful, and I managed to accomplish a lot in a short period of time: I reworked the school handbook from embarrassing to presentable, and changed the schedule format from awkward to useful; set up wi-fi and online registration; fixed an error that was preventing emailed billing statements; launched new classes and grew the student companies; produced school car magnets, staff email addresses, business cards, class cards, a blog; revamped a tired show into a fresh one; donated hundreds of dollars in props, costumes and music; changed the e-newsletter from a long, one-column thing -- replete with huge bold fonts and exclamation points -- into something readable; and, my biggest source of pride, convinced families who'd been on the verge of leaving to stay... and made them happy.

BUT, there's always a but. You just never know what form the "but" will take. 

I'll really miss it, BUT... in the end, once a chapter is finished, all you can do is turn the page.

Farewell Cards from Children

Some of the children at Lucy School made beautiful goodbye cards for me. I thought I'd share a few here.

Dear ms. monica,
Your stores are the best your singing is the best you dansing is the best to I love you mosv your the best music thr.
Kayla

Dear ms. Monica,
I like when you are my music teacher. And I really like when you play your recorder. Wut I willy like about your recorder is your voice.
Jordan

Dear Ms. Monica,
Thank you for being my music teacher. I love all the stories you did with us. I love the way you play the piano because it sounds butyful.
Love, Sophie

Dear Ms. Monica,

I love your stories. You are nice. so I wrote you this. (She sang the next part to me.) If I cold let you go. may be it will flow. butt I don't think so, not now, butt how.

Sincererely Anika

Dear Ms. Monica,
I love the way you sing, dance, and play the piano. You are the best music teacher in the worlde I know. My favort storie is statues. Good bye. Thanke you for everything.
Sincerely, Sadira

Dear Ms. Monica
It is the last day of the year for the your muosic clas. I hop you have a good life and a good year.
form Nino  thank you

... I hope they have a good life and a good year, too...

Learning from Goofus School

Friday was my last day teaching at Lucy School -- the "Gallant" of my teaching career. I learned so much there.

But I also learned a lot from The Goofus School of a Performing Art, which I must remind you is fictional, because who could believe any school would be so incompetent?! (Any resemblance to an actual school of a performing art is purely a coincidence, and a very bad sign.)

As School Director of Kinetics Dance Theatre, I want to be sure I'm doing everything right. Since Goofus School considers Education People incapable of the fine art of Office Work, I have to question whether I really know what a stapler is for. Is my understanding of file cabinets completely accurate, or do I make false assumptions about them? Are my skills at typing up to par, or do I make embarrassing typso?

Simple decisions might SEEM to make sense, until I remember the Goofus School way. I must always keep in mind my complete lack of experience in Goofus School Administration.

Just three examples:

1. Online registration.
Kinetics doesn't have online registration yet, and I think it's important. As a novice, I found we can pay a service $15 a month, customize a few forms, and link our database of classes with a few clicks.

But The Goofus School has devoted three employees and four years to setting theirs up, and then gradually -- very, very gradually -- implementing it. Assigning this work to people with no expertise in technology gives it that unmistakably fresh perspective. Although the faculty doesn't use the system, they must be trained. Slowly. ("Here where it says name, the student types their name.")

2. Class listings. 
In my silly naivety, I am listing the classes we offer -- ballet, modern, yoga, etc.

But The Goofus School has developed a clearer way of listing lessons this summer. Simply list one offering -- "Ballet," for example -- and then group the rest under a "Non" heading -- such as "Non-Ballet." Why didn't I think of that? Maybe "Non-Jazz" will be big this year.

3. Fees.
I was thinking of going with the standard registration fee you find everywhere. But that shows how little I know!

The Goofus School charges a "$60 non-refundable withdrawal fee." It's $60 added on to your tuition, in anticipation of your decision to withdraw. You might think it'd make more sense to say, "In case of withdrawal, the school will issue a refund less a $60 fee," or something. But why do that when you can make people feel they're paying something for nothing? I'd never have considered it! That's why they're the experts.

Yes, I'm sure I'll keep the Goofus School model in mind many times over the coming year.

What Asia Learned in Puppy Class

I'm so proud.

So Asia graduated the other day. How time flies! It seems like only yesterday she was a not-overweight, not-spoiled, not-crazy-haired little girl. I can still remember her very first "Oh my God what IS that I MUST have it!!" encounter with peanut butter.

But now she has an education. 

She's come to know the critical realities of Bil-Jac Little-Jacs liver treats.

Due to her "weight problem" (as the trainer politely termed it), she shouldn't have the "Liver Pate" allowed her puppy classmate. But she was allowed half of a Little-Jac for each "Good Girl!!" 

(How to make half of a Little-Jac: Take one Little-Jac from the bag, try to get your nail into it as if to divide it, attempt to press the crumbs that result into something you can squeeze between two fingers to make one "treat," try to get dog's attention away from crumbs that fall onto the floor.)

Asia took "Puppy Class" because she hadn't had prior training (as far as anyone could tell), even though she's likely over a year old. Her one classmate was an actual puppy, who started the class around Asia's size but, to Asia's growing annoyance, grew bigger over the six weeks.

What Asia learned:

1. The distinct sound of the Little-Jac bag opening and closing is something to get really excited about!

2. Check the floor for Little-Jac crumbles.

3. Randomly running around, sitting, lying, following, staying, etc. eventually leads to a piece of Little-Jac. Somehow.

4. When in doubt, sit and blink in irresistibly adorable fashion.

5. Puppies are just so totally immature.

6. Immature puppies who are bigger than one's self must be put in their place.

7. If standing on hind legs and waving paws in the air doesn't work, retreat to under-chair trench and prepare for major assault tactic.

8. Major assault tactic from under-chair trench: bark and growl in a soprano version of German Shepherd Dog roommate, successfully getting the trainer to glare at my human, the puppy and its owners to stare at me in a confused manner, and everybody else in the store to stop whatever they were doing to focus on me, and me alone.

9. Check the floor for more Little-Jac crumbles.

10. "Bye-bye" time is "I'm full" time, so no reason left to do anything the human wants. (And I get a car ride home for nothing -- saweet!)

Health Insurance on $83 a day

My husband and I are those "small business owners" politicians love to pretend they support. And since they're so determined to protect us from the evils of "European-style socialized medicine," we subsidize our friendly for-profit health insurance company to the tune of $2,510 a month, before co-pays, meds, etc.

Yup, that is over $30,000 a year, for a basic HMO, for two non-smoking people.

(No, my new job won't come with health insurance benefits, either.)

We're looking at cutting it down by taking on deductibles, higher co-pays, higher costs for medicines, hospital admissions, etc. We might be able to get it down to about $22,000 that way. 

Pretty soon, my (ancient) husband can go on Medicare. But for people age 54 and under, which includes me, our politicians are talking about changing that, never mind we've paid into it all our lives. Well thank goodness they aren't socialists, right?...

Anyway, I just found out I'm going to need a biopsy. On the one hand, we're finally getting something for what we pay -- um, yippee? On the other hand, if I were actually to get sick, the friendly for-profit insurance company might decide to drop us, or at least raise our rates even higher. 

I think I feel sick. 

Another Break from Not Dancing

You know the typical story of the young chorine who gets her big break when the star breaks her leg? Or storms off the set because the lighting isn’t right? Or runs off with the guy who always wears a tux?

Well my weekend was just like that! Kind of.

The dancer who had to bow out is actually the young one, while I’m the old less young one. And she just had the flu.

I’ve given up dancing onstage. I've given it up at least twice a year for the past ten years.  So I do need a break, but not the “Let me do the part!” kind. More the “Let me sleep til noon!” kind. 

I’d actually co-created this particular duet, five years ago, when I was less less young. But I was the part the not-sick dancer was performing. I didn't really know the sick dancer's part.

As we know, the older more less young we become, the more less good our memory is. (“So it’s leap, land, swivel, and turn to the right or the left?” “The right.” “Got it. Leap, land, swivel and turn to the – did you just say right or left?”)

“Just have fun with it!” everyone said, which is the standard thing you say when you know somebody is about to make a fool of herself. (Also, “The audience won’t know the difference!”)

The dress still fit, although a little tighter less loose than before. And in the end, it went okay. I just had fun with it. The audience didn’t know the difference. 

Then I RE-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-retired from dancing onstage. Until next time.

Meanwhile, don’t wake me before noon.