Sticks of Fire: a Tampa blog

After our twin boys were born in Boston, my husband and I moved back to Tampa, primarily so I could stay home with my children. And also so my mother could provide free babysitting every weekend. For the rest of her life.

Ten minutes into my new gig, I realized the key to emotional happiness and domestic bliss was simple. I had to turn off the television.

Commercials kill a new mom’s self-esteem. Viewers are either bombarded with ways to earn a degree from home or endlessly urged to call now if hurt in an auto accident.

Between commercials, trying to find missing socks, and getting babies to appreciate Mozart - no wonder full-time moms start drinking in the afternoon.

That’s why I decided to write. A creative outlet that encouraged original thought allowed me to retain all necessary brain cells for future endeavors. I felt like I was doing something productive when my children went down for their naps.

And so, Olivia’s Kiss was born.

The novel came pouring out of me and I was soon up at night, after everyone fell asleep and the dishes were done, writing and re-writing drafts until perfect.

Upon completion, I tried to read my work with a critical eye, but relied on trusted family and friends to provide real critiques. I even joined an on-line writer’s group filled with professional and published writers. Their advice and opinions were invaluable.

After being convinced several times over that my work had merit, I queried literary agents. Like most fledgling writers, I could wallpaper my office with rejection letters. However, after several failed attempts, I finally found a New York agent to represent me.

“Great story,” she said. “I loved it. But we need to market this novel as a memoir. Memoirs sell. Will you be all right with telling publishers this was based on actual events?”

I’ve never been so tempted in my life. Ethics and values can easily go out the window when contemplating a possible book deal. While visions of Oprah danced through my head, I envisioned life on the best seller list.

Then I realized I could never lie about my childhood or pretend my novel was anything other than a fabrication created while potty training toddlers.

Besides, my mother would kill me.

“The publishers won’t go for it,” my agent said after I told her the truth. “We can’t market a novel from some unknown housewife from Florida.”

Ouch.

When another agent told me the same sad news, I put my story away and tried to forget about it. Fast forward a few years when I found myself in Colorado, unpacking boxes and re-discovering old treasures.

Treasures like Olivia’s Kiss.

A friend suggested I put the story online and let the world decide if mine was worth reading. After procrastinating for a few months, I put it out there and crossed my fingers, hoping people would like it.

I never dreamed the feedback would be so terrific. And it’s only been a few weeks.

Checking my daily site statistics, I see that people are reading my words from all over the world. Whether down the street or an ocean away, there’s an audience out there. An audience more concerned with storytelling than the author’s personal life.

And so Olivia’s Kiss has found a home and readers online. Which is so much better than a box.

Remember a year ago when I was supposed to move to Colorado? Well, we finally sold our house and I’m ending my long goodbye. This is my last post for Sticks of Fire.

Hold your applause. Please.

I’ve already said so long and those thoughts still stand. This past year has been tough, but an extra twelve months have been a blessing in so many ways. I got to meet more of you gems, participate in the governor’s race, and spend time with loved ones who will be mourned and missed.

Read it again. I meant every word.

Now - allow me to look forward for a moment. Colorado Springs…

My new home is known as the Evangelical Capital of the World. Most residents are to the right of Rove. My family of four will effectively double the Jewish population. This is a bit scary. Yes, moving next door to Focus on the Family is frightening to my liberal sensibilities. Yet such a move also provides me an opportunity to make a difference. To get in there and ruffle some feathers, convert conservatives and help out my fellow activists.

Because they are outnumbered, liberals in The Springs are a tight knit group. During my many visits, I’ve been welcomed with open arms and look forward to working on issues relating to tolerance, choice, and other ways to make the area a better place to live. My experiences with new neighbors, writers, activists and bloggers out west leads me to look back at my old peeps in Florida one last time and offer this bit of advice:

Get your act together.

Republicans are kicking your tail when it comes to organizing and fundraising. They hustle and recruit where you have ignored and neglected. Please move into the suburbs and get to know families who are making their home there. Don’t blow off rural voters waving confederate flags, such people are voting against their own self-interest because Dems have forgotten them.

Local liberals - stop talking and listen for change.

My party is catering to those who wouldn’t give Jim Davis the money he needed to win. Yet who can blame big donors? They opened their wallets for Betty Castor and Mel Martinez still walked away with a victory. I wouldn’t want to flush my funds down the toilet either. Not for a party that doesn’t know how to win.

Too many activists are waiting for calls that never come. Boston, up to its eyeballs in Democrats, excels at utilizing the talents of local players. Busy bees running the show for Ted Kennedy, John Kerry, and President Clinton opened the door and allowed me to walk in and participate. Local precinct captains couldn’t get enough of my wick ed ways. Such inclusion shows. Dems run the show there. Florida Dems lose more elections every year and couldn’t care less about young movers and shakers. Republicans take them though. And again, it shows.

Unpopular w a r and unpopular President and we still didn’t do as well as we should have in the last election. Results were shameful. And a direct indictment of how our state party and local party conducts itself.

In the midst of all this - how do bloggers respond?

They’re too busy arguing over who is really progressive to give a sh*t.

Real productive, guys.

Hard-working writers out there who champion Democratic candidates are being booted out of the tent because they also write about their kids or art or love toys.

Lonely libs, in case you haven’t noticed, we can’t afford to lose any more people. Bloggers who attract those uninterested in politics or those who lean to the left but are unsure should be embraced instead of scorned. Make room for everyone who wants to help the progressive cause. Even if they only work for us part time. Stop focusing on what divides us and build a bridge or two. Wipe away the h a t e from your eyes and discover what we have in common.

Or continue to isolate yourselves from those who don’t tow the company line completely. Which makes you as bad as those neo cons you rail against.

Pay attention, I’m almost finished - You are driving away potential supporters because you embody all that is ugly and distasteful about politics.

As you look around at a landscape that rejects your values because you can’t articulate them in a way that includes everyone, I gotta ask: How’s that working for you?

Oh, keep on keeping on, elitist Democrats, don’t let me stop you. Keep isolating yourselves and erasing all that is noble about the political process.

And keep crying the morning after elections.

There. I’m out.

Charlie Crist is set to begin signing death warrants again now that practices are in place to make the process more humane.

We should care about the way the death penalty is carried out and show some care that murderers don’t suffer. After all, such concern separates us from the bad guys.

However, like most liberals with sense, I do believe that allowing murderers to live is an affront to us all. The old argument that poor men of color are singled out doesn’t sway me a bit. Let’s include all (mostly) men who commit murder. Women, too. Equality is equality, right?

The answer is simply more, not less, truly horrific killers should not be allowed to breathe air. Period.

The death penalty doesn’t prevent crime? Well, we know those particular murderers put to death won’t be killing anyone else, don’t we? I’d even open up the definition of ‘heinous crime’ to include pedophiles as well. But that’s me. I’m an old testament kinda gal.

Last, but not least, victims’ families deserve closure. They deserve some peace. After all, they’ve been through enough.

We all have.

So let’s bring it back.

***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***

Reading the paper this weekend did not help to cure whatever stomach virus made its way into my system. (Or, as Oldest put it when answering the phone, “Mommy can’t talk right now. She has the poops.”)

Of course I’m talking about the latest attack on educators. This time in the editorial pages of the Trib.

Here is my response:

Dear Editor:

Your recent editorial attacking teachers won’t help the public understand what is at stake in our high schools next year. You spent too little space outlining our superintendent’s inadequate communication skills and too much time imploring teachers to play along.

Parents left out of redistricting discussions last year, teachers left out of scheduling decisions this year. Tell me: What is the best way to handle such a display of totalitarian leadership and the inevitable fall-out that occurs?

Instead of stressing the benefits of teachers and administrators working together, you continue to try pitting teacher against teacher, once again comparing high school teachers to elementary school teachers. Divide and conquer will not work in this situation. Most teachers are disappointed and frustrated with leadership that devalues all of us. Repeating Elia’s talking points, suggesting a raise most of us aren’t banking on, only makes your views less legitimate.

Teachers are not calling on co-workers to do the bare minimum. We aren’t threatening when we speak the truth about our ever-growing list of duties and responsibilities at odds with enough hours in the day. We aren’t whining when we point out the difficulties resulting from a lack of quality leadership that undermines our very existence and a community that misunderstands our roles. Your editorial, with half-truths and faulty comparisons, does nothing to improve the situation.

And you suggest we respond with silence. You believe we should play along. What kind of lesson would that teach our kids?

Our students are watching a superintendent who does her own thing no matter who is harmed. They are watching a school board give in to her every whim. They are also watching their teachers come together to speak out against bad policies that will negatively affect everyone. They are watching us speak up for our schools, our jobs, our passion. Students are watching us speak up for them.

Haven’t you heard? Those who can, teach. We can and we will fight for what’s right. Our students deserve nothing less.

There. My stomach feels much better.

***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***

Parents feel free to criticize teachers, especially parents who have troubled children. They don’t realize we’re on the same team.

And they sure as hell can’t stand up to the same scrutiny.

First, acquaint yourself with the story. Then read the mom’s rebuttal.

If the school would let the parent know when a child skipped class, that would be great also. Alot of times he is put in another class and teachers forget and call him absent.

He tells me that he doesn’t have any homework. He never had homework in his classes in middle school . Everything was done in the classroom. I am not told any different from any teacher until final grades come out. Maybe someone should show interest in Adam and get him back on track, instead of just failing him with no conference with his parents. Has anyone set a conference with me?? other than an IEP meeting in December, I got no communication, until we discovered Edline reports, in March. Superior’s teachers are too busy to be involved with someone like Adam. He had A’s and B’s and C’s in middle school. I believe it is the teachers that are not experienced enough to deal with Adam. There are ways to teach Adam and make him want to do good. But most teachers just give up as you have and give him F’s

My response:

Hi there,

So nice to hear from you again.

I’m not sure you understand the role of a high school teacher or our policies here at Superior High School. Luckily, I’m happy to help.

We are trying to prepare our students for the real world where they will be held accountable for their actions. Our educators know how to teach and deal with all kinds of students, Adam included. We do not benefit from parents assigning blame when they’ve never attended a conference night (we have four a year), requested a private meeting, or set foot inside our classrooms. Your son has many issues, most of which began long before he arrived in our school. Perhaps you’d do better to sort out those particular problems before coming down on his teachers. We see Adam for fifty minutes a day and cannot possibly undo sixteen years of unaccountability and bad
habits.

If Adam comes to class prepared and eager to learn, I will gladly do the rest. An “F” is a reflection of his work or lack thereof, Mrs. Moonhead, not a reflection of the teacher. Adam will never learn to be a responsible adult if his mother continues to make excuses and blame others.

Please read this more than once if you need to: When Adam doesn’t work, then his consequence here is a failing grade. When Adam breaks our rules, his consequence is detention or suspension. If these consequences don’t work, then I’d suggest holding him accountable at home. After all, Mrs. Moonhead, you see him for more than fifty minutes every day. It’s really up to you.

We can only help those who help themselves.

Have a wonderful weekend.

She sent back another email quickly and her final decision should surprise no one. I want to tell her that Adam has exhausted his options and that I’m the only show in town. I want to tell her, “Good luck with that.” I want to tell her to get help before it’s too late.

But I won’t. Less than five weeks left in the school year, I am hoping she takes a deep breath and thinks about it.

Anyway, I’ll give her the last word. This is her final email. So far, anyway.

I really see now why you have no success with Adam. I want another teacher
assigned. You are something else I tell you.

***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***

Some background: Parents send nastygrams to teachers every day. Here is an example of one such parents’ initial contact with me. I changed nothing except the kid’s name and identifying characteristics.

Enjoy. Or not. Completely up to you.

Her email:

I am very upset on why you keep doing note book checks and giving Adam “F’s”when Adam has a problem with organization. He just cant get organized. Why don’t you try grading him on his history skills. You are grading someone who has Asbergers Disorder. That is his disability. They don’t have any organizational skills.
Please change how you grade my son. You are failing him for his disability.

This was my response:

Dear Mrs. Moonhead,

Nice to meet you.

Since you were polite enough to introduce yourself, let me do the same. I’m Catherine Robinson, Adam’s History teacher. Adam came to find himself in my 2nd period class after disturbing several other classrooms this year at Superior High School. When Adam was caught throwing rocks at the school’s windows, he led several teachers on a foot chase down the street and into a restaurant before surrendering. Therefore, it should not surprise you that Adam’s presence in my classroom has been distracting for other students and he has shown little concern for my classroom’s policies or assignments.

While I would love nothing more than to grade your child based on his history skills, I cannot. See, Adam has only turned in two assignments. He’d much rather throw Skittles at his fellow students. Adam’s lack of organization is the least of his issues and not really a factor in my grading system. Appreciate your feedback, though.

In related news, I had to write a referral because Adam was in school yesterday but did not attend my class. Student Affairs has no record of him signing out.

Is truancy also a sign of Asperger’s Syndrome?

You take care.

Sincerely,
Catherine Durkin Robinson

Hey. At least I wrote “Dear” and “Sincerely”. That’s gotta count for something.

***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***

My kids and I got kicked out of the Barack Obama rally yesterday. And I wasn’t even drunk.

Breaks down like this: When I called about the event last week, I asked if I could purchase a ticket for myself and take my two children along.

“How old are they?” the volunteer asked.

“Seven,” I said.

“Sure,” she said.

Yesterday, my boys and I got to the event and picked up my ticket. We waited in line about a half-hour and then walked past the gate and into the Cuban Club.

Which, by the way, I hadn’t been to since the late 80s. Still smells like clove cigarettes. Used to be a regular at the Club’s basement concerts. Last event: Suicidal Tendencies. I am not proud of this.

Anyway, as I’m experiencing flashbacks, a tall, skinny, blonde ran up to us and said,

“You all will have to leave.”

I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t even asked someone to feel my new breasts and belly. Yet.

“Why?” I asked.

“Your children need tickets or they’ll have to wait outside.”

“They can’t wait outside without me. They’re only seven.”

“Then you’re going to have to leave. Or you can go buy them tickets.”

“They’re seven,” I repeated, incredulous. “A bit young to make a political contribution. They don’t even know if they’re supporting Senator Obama yet.”

Nothing. Not even a smile. I took a deep breath and tried to go to my happy place. Was *not* going to pay an extra $50 for two kids who were more interested in Nintendo games than presidential hopefuls.

Have I mentioned they’re seven?

“Listen,” I said, “I talked to the campaign and…”

“They need tickets.”

Okay, let’s take a step back. I’ve been to dozens, damn near a hundred, political events. I’ve even helped organize a few. You never *ever* kick out kids.

Never. Ever.

“The campaign said…”

“Look, I’m just a volunteer,” she said through a snarl. “Please leave.”

I’ve been treated better at Bush rallies.

So I left. What else could I do? Then I decided to talk to someone in charge. Blondie wasn’t going to have the last word.

Met three African-American women at the main table and said,

“My children and I were kicked out.”

Explained the situation and all three women went nuts. Could not believe that we’d been told to leave. They grabbed two tickets and assured me this was a terrible mistake. Even gave me some bumper stickers. Then they walked me back inside to attend the event. I blew a kiss at Blondie and decided to move on mentally.

After the initial drama, I had a good time. Saw a few familiar faces. Stogie was all kinds of nice. Plenty of Pasco Dems. Joe Redner was there. Nice ass for an old guy.

I almost asked for free tickets to Mon’s. Dying to go there before I move away. More than you know.

Back to the O-Train.

Place was packed. Senator Obama is more than a politician. I’ve never felt such energy at a rally before, people reacted with vigorous, animated, pumped-up enthusiasm - he’s more like a rock star. He talked about how the country is ready to turn a page and start over. As I stood there in the sun, taking in his message of hope and renewal, I felt an optimism I hadn’t felt since a young governor from Arkansas took the world by storm fifteen years ago. Felt awesome.

As Obama was leaving, he came over and
shook hands with my little boys. Asked them how they were doing and shook my hand as well. Dude was so close, I could smell his cologne.

Hot.

By that time, I’d sort of forgotten all about Blondie. Even the best campaigns attract psycho hosebeasts.

Here is the Man of the Moment talking to my children who finally put down their Nintendos to say hello.

He’s trying hard not to look at my perky breasts.

But who isn’t?

Afterwards, Youngest said, “Mommy that was cool! I met Barack Obama and I did a report on him at school!”

Way cool, kid.

Okay, that’s my Barack Obama story. Back to work, peeps.

***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***

My co-workers watch the news every day while eating lunch in our planning office. By the time I get there, the news is finished and Montel Williams is usually shouting about something. I almost always turn off the television and enjoy my nutritious meal in silence. However, the other day I left it on and paid the price in lost brain cells.

Montel’s guest was talking about her traumatic experiences with a video voyeur. Whatever. One woman’s creep is another woman’s dreamboat. Seems this particular Peeping Tom set up a camera to film Montel’s teary-eyed guest getting out of the shower (in a well-lit bathroom with open-for-the-world-to-see shutters) every day for six years. Please. I’ve had healthier relationships that didn’t last as long. The “victim” cried through two commercial breaks and compared herself to a rape victim. Three times.

I know. B*tch has probably never been raped. Perp does a whole lot more than just watch your boobies.

The other day, a Pasco County woman choked on a piece of steak. Her boyfriend called 911 and was horribly mistreated. Several dispatchers, who should be fired if they hadn’t resigned, either wouldn’t or couldn’t explain the Heimlich maneuver until finally someone walked the distraught and hysterical man through the process. Boyfriend tried and failed and the woman died.

Lesson: If you are naked and yawning and stretching in front of an open window, don’t be surprised if someone notices. And takes pictures.

Lesson: If you are heavy, it’s difficult to work the Heimlich maneuver on you. So enjoy those dead animals *cautiously*.

In both cases, others acted in horrendous and/or criminal manners. In both cases, the victims played a part in their own demise.

Just thought someone should point that out.