Closing Time

Close to 950 miles. 16-hour days. And more eye make-up remover than I’ve used in the last 2 years.


That’s what I’ve logged over the last 2 weeks, and tonight was Closing Night of “Dividing the Estate.” We all came back to the dressing room after our last curtain call as a cast, and I said in typical Hawk/White Sox Announcer fashion, “…This show is OVAHHHH!”

My NU Wildcats have their best season record in school history. The Bears were undefeated until tonight. The weather has dropped below 80’F at night, and it feels like heaven. The stars and the sunset have no rivals in the beauty pagent of nature. Dragon flies and butterflies are all aflutter. Moss Point High School has been in session officially nine weeks, and this week is Homecoming Week. Tomorrow, the students get to wear college gear. I hope that includes the teachers because I’ll be showing up in serious purple pride. Nine weeks’ exams start Tuesday. Our football record is 3-3, after losing to an undefeated Vancleave High School. For the record, Vancleave is the town the rest of the MS Gulf Coast teases for being redneck. It's sorta cute, like when there's a kid at school that even the SpEd kids make fun of... But my boys lost to Vancleave, just like every other school they've played. If we can’t beat the redneck schools, we’re really going to have to start bringing those test scores up.

My classroom still smells like urine warmed over, but not breathing in mold the last two days really puts me in a good mood.

Autumn is Here!

 The official start of the Autumn season is upon us. Temperatures are finally dropping below 90'. The air feels cooler at night. School is almost a quarter over. Football season is in full swing.

Our Moss Point Tigers are 3-2 as of last Friday, and it is a rabid crowd indeed! I went to the first three games. The first game, it was so hot, and the air was so humid. The combined smell of B.O. and nachos was enough to send my allergies into a tail spin, but that game, we won. We've got football. So, if the school with the higher state test scores beats us... we "ain't got nothing."

My classes are good. I have some really great above average kids, some punks, some footballers, some diva dancers, and some white kids. My classroom smells like Fabreeze, cinnamon apple, and urine. I can't get rid of the latter smell, and everyone in my room for more than an hour (myself included) complains of headaches. The maintenance guys came in to check for mold, and they said all they smelled was air freshener. I was hoping they would have a more systematic method for detecting mold in the walls or A.C. unit besides sniffing around.

I saw Smokey Robinson live last weekend... amazing... purple suit for the first act... red leather pants for the second act... oooooooEeeOOOOOHHHH... Baaaby...Babyeeeeeee.....

This past weekend was opening night of a show I'm in, written by Horton Foote, called "Dividing the Estate." The show takes place in Texas and is at the Center Stage Theatre, which is the "biggest pond" on the Gulf Coast. It's directed by the only paid director on the MS Coast (which is really sad, since the director is your classic prototype of the starving actor). Even though my part is smaller than minor, I'm enjoying working with a great cast of local "celebrities" and just having adult conversations that aren't about the dismal state of education... it's all very refreshing.

The moon has been full. The sunsets have been gorgeous. Talk of oil spill seems to be but an echo, even though the economic and environmental effects still linger, just not on the front page of the paper. Sometimes, driving home, it all makes perfect sense to me. There's no sense of urgency here. There's not much determined enterprise. If you can't make it better, make art. What else is there to do, but sing the blues, hip-hug dance, make babies, sweat, rinse, and repeat.

Meanwhile, Rachel is loving college as a biology major. She started at Mississippi State University on August 11, and since then has been living large and loving life. I took the day off to help her move in, and it was every minute worth it. She was the first of the Bergeron daughters to spread her wings. Mom was a wreck when we left. I drove with Rachel and Brian followed, so that Rachel could keep her car on campus. We talked about life, school, friends, and music. The next day, we helped Rachel get set up with her room, her printer, and her books for class, with a little time on the side for lunch with her and her roommate, Evelyn, and Evelyn's folks. We took a trip to the grocery store together to make sure the fridge was fully stocked (their room has a full size fridge and microwave! I know!!). I remember all too well moving in to college, and heping Rachel set up was one of the most fulfilling experiences I've had as a step-parent. It's ok to be excited and sad at the same time. But let your kids be the ones to push away first. Brian sends postcards and carepackages on a weekly basis. Why not let your sons and daughters know how much you love them!? I've sent a few trinkets and cookies.

MSU recently defeated the GA Bull Dogs (who hasn't at this point), and Rachel has found herself to be a bigger than expected football fan. The MSU mascot happens to also be the bull dog. She has discovered her school's theatre scene. I'm looking forward to hearing back on upcoming productions. And more football. We'll catch the MSU game against KY at the end of the month.

I have 5 more performances of "Dividing the Estate." My lesson plans on Area and Polygons are done for the week. Students will share their paper quilt blocks at the end of the week. I don't feel like I'm preparing any of them for real college work, but if they're learning while in my class, that's all that matters.

School Daze

Squadrons of dragon flies have been swarming the skies while the sun beats down 100'F of feels-like-115'F" heat. Hazmat workers are being reduced to skeleton crews.

School officials have elected August 5 as the first day of school for students. We the teachers report for duty Monday. It's the hottest it's been all summer. I just don't get it, but at this point I may as well whine about the shrimp in my shrimp po'boy being fried, because that's jes' the way i's gonna'be. Shark Week, the zenith of summer programming, hasn't even started, and I'm getting ready for school. Brian is headed back to AK this Tuesday for a week for 75% work, 25% play. He's going to mail me a postcard.

I actually went in yesterday at the administration's request to straighten up the rooms in "B-Hall" for a parent's night. I moved to B-Hall at the end of last year which is where the rest of the math teachers are located. The teacher whose room I inherited had left the school and left the room a disaster, but my Moss Point High School math teacher friend and I gutted, cleaned, and stored all my stuff in so it would be ready for 2010-2011. Well, I discovered I was assigned to a different room and thus, inherited another mess left by a retired teacher comprised of economics and government textbooks and a year's worth of tests, study guides, and kid crud piled high in the closet, filing cabinet, and book case. They must know I'm part Polish and just love cleaning. What was I going to do? Argue with the secretary who gave me the key and has nothing to do with the room assignment? We have a new principal. I'm excited about the new year. But as Rosa Parks as my witness, I shall not be moved again.

I didn't meet any parents because I was so filthy and exhausted by the time I left. Thankfully, my good teacher friend from Ocean Springs High School came with me to help me hang stuff and check the school out. We didn't get to decorating because of the four hours it took moving and scrubbing stuff.

I have to keep a journal for my last series of Master's classes, so this is where it's going to be. It's an adventure of sorts. From this point on, consider this blog the...

MISEDUMACATION OF MRS. B.

My name is "Mrs. Bergeron." I teach math at Moss Point High School where the students call me "Mrs. B" which just sounds like "Muz B." I started this past January, and this will be my second semester teaching Geometry in the newly appointed room B-48. There's a lot I've observed that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, so rather than bitch to Brian about it, I'm just going to blog. Enjoy!

Logic Free Situation #1: Why are we starting school so *&&^*&^%$$#$#@! early.

Logic Free Situation #2: Hosting a parent night before all the teachers have set up their rooms, before the bathrooms have been cleaned, and on a Friday night. When most of the parents are in their mid- to late-20s, who's going to spend Friday night at their kids' high school. But hey, at least there's soap in the bathroom... for now.

Geometry Al Fresco with last year's class in March. Where's the rest of the class you ask? I often asked myself the same question.

Waning Days of July

My grandma used to say, "After the Fourth of July, summer just flies by."

!Es mui verdad!

Late Friday night, Brian and I returned from what would be my last trip of the summer. Brian and I drove 1850 miles round-trip up to Chicago where Brian and I split. Brian met up with friends and drove north to Canadian Boundary Waters for ultimate, only-people-there, boys only fishing trip and I drove up with my family to Aunt and Uncle Connolly's place in Door County, Wisconsin. I hardly spent any time in Illinois that wasn't already pre-programmed with a family BBQ or get-togethers or Grandpa at the Devonshire Assisted Living Facility visit or Auntie at the Hospital visit. It was a lovely time, but not nearly enough time to see everyone.

This quote aptly greeted me on my page-a-day calendar when we returned back home: "...In times of great stress, such as a four-day vacation, the thin veneer of family wears off almost at once, and we are revealed in our true personalities." -Shirley Jackson

Teachers report back to public school a week from today. Talk about a bowl of hot sweaty suck-ass. Since it's still 105'F, it makes perfect sense NOT to go back to school a month before the rest of the nation. I forgot how fun heat stroke at football practice can be--- even members of the marching band are at risk.

Rachel leaves for Mississippi State College two weeks from Wednesday. Very exciting stuff! She's coming into her own snarkiness just in time.

Dog Days of Summer

Written 7/14/10: Long days. Pretty sunsets. Red skies at night. These are/were the Dog Days of Summer. Yes, I just spent the last 15 minutes reviewing why it's called "the dog days," but the bright star, Sirius, of Canis Major is no longer in the same spot when the Romans first gave this period of hot, sweaty days its moniker. You can see what the night sky looks like today and waste all sorts of time at http://www.sky-map.org/.


This is my favorite time of year, when the right brain is gently lulled into a lyrical, lazy reflection on a slow rocker with a glass of lemonade, just before it wipes the sweat off its refreshed brow and says with a sigh, “ Ok… back to work.”

Dog days, literally. Grethen and I unintentionally rallied a couple neighborhood dawgs on our Sunday morning walk this past week. I was out at 530 am, earlier than usual, but I woke up without an alarm, turned to Gretchen and said “it’s not getting any coolor. Lets go.” I’ll be damned, the flea-bag un-neutured troops were already out, sniffing butts, marking mailboxes and potted plants. The little terrier and black lab, both collarless, didn’t harass us too much. They ran towards us, exchanged butt sniffs and trotted next to us for an eighth mile stretch. Then galloped off, sensing bigger turds to roll in up ahead.

Summer hasn’t been all that lazy:

I took two two eight-week twice-a-week classes for my Masters (only two more terms to go!).
Good friends, Nick and Karen, arrived for their new two-year tour of duty after driving and ferrying from Eagle River, Alaska.

Girls went to Peurto Rico with their mom.
Took a day trip to Bay Saint Louis for their Crab Festival 2010 (no shortage of shellfish here, oil spill be damned! Mmm-mmm, Old Bay's and BP sweet crude seasonings... still tastes like chicken.)

Has it already been 20 minutes? Time for another break.

Haz(ardous) Mat(erials) workers hard at work too.

I don't know this family on the left in the crab hats, but they sure seem fun! I think they brought their hats from home because I didn't find them for sale. I looked.

An Orb of Good Luck?

This morning on my walk with Gretchen, we were greeted by wispy bands of clouds and in the East, a sun circumscribed by a rainbow. No kidding, it was a halo of Roy G. Biv and you could practically see the full circle even though the sun had risen only a half hour prior to our walk. In most cultures, the rainbow is good luck. But when I got home, and found that my leaving the garage door open served as an open invitation to the mangy snickerdoodle labrapoodles from across the street who helped themselves to breakfast from the Recycle Bin: newspapers, mayo jars, and peanut butter jar remnants. A sampler platter! They even brought it all to the front yard and had themselves a picnic. I spent the next 20 minutes shooing away muddy dogs and picking up trash. On my way back inside, I let a tiny crab in the house. They're sweet, but not in my house. Keep in mind, I've been in business attire and nice sandals for my morning class. I was going to be early. After catching Mr. Crab with a lint brush, dropping him in a tupperware, and releasing him outside, I was just barely going to be on time. I didn't want to kill him, but I might have accidentally set him up to be someone else's crustacean breakfast as he was walking kinda slow and in a circle.

So that's two things. Being that things happen in threes, I thought the third was when a poor butterfly flew in front of my windshield while I was on the highway (Sorry, Lil Butterfly). It was actually huge and yellow and black. I just couldn't avoid it. But that was before I talked to my mom on the phone and heard Auntie (of 90 years) wasn't doing well. She's been the epitome of independence for the last 89 years and for the first time, has been showing her age in the form of two consecutive strokes. She's in the hospital now. She's the Auntie who made all the Barbie outfits featured in my Bayou Barbie portfolio. She would take us to movies when we were little and Christmas shopping to see the decorated windows. I had my first Big Mac with Auntie. I must have been seven. She would yell at us for touching our hair at the table or for slouching. She took care of her mom, my Grandma Lena, who lived to be 102. She yelled at her too. "Like this, Ma! Oh, lemmee do it." Oh, Godd-deh. God had two syllables when spoken by my Grandma Lena. Grandma Lena would roll her eyes up and then look at us as if to say, "See what I have to put up with" and we'd do our best not to laugh. It was lyrical comedy at its finest, if lyrical comedy was a genre. A stylish Bachelorette, Auntie traveled everywhere. She took my mom and my aunt on individual trips to Europe when they were teenagers. She plays cards with The Girls on Fridays. She takes trips with the bowling team and meets up with the Railroad Ladies for annual conferences. Last month, she was with them in Roanoke, VA or was it Charlotte, NC? She's been such a jet setter, it's hard to keep track! She used to work for the railroad company. I got some scholarship money from them. Auntie was the treasurer, but I never put those two things together until now. I don't think they happened at the same time, but now, I'm not so sure.

Ey, fuhgettabout it.

Auntie didn't make it to our wedding, but Brian and I drove afterwards to see her. C'mon, I had to show her my dress.

Hold on, Auntie.

On second thought, she's worked her whole life and has been independent her whole life. Auntie, you do whatever the hell you want. No sense changing your style now.

In other news, more oil.

I heard on the radio that many of the fishermen did business on mostly a cash basis. So they reported no income, and so they have no income statements and no tax returns to prove their salary to file any claims with BP. That sucks. Moral of the story, always pay your taxes. It always catches up to you, one way or another. Having been audited for not filing some of my freelance income from a $2000 1099, I know firsthand. They find you. It might take a while, but they find you. I went to one of the closed boat launches near our house tonight on my way home from class to see what it was looking like now that Hurricane Alex is raising the tides. I honestly didn't see anything outside the normal sludge. Saw some beer cans and some bottle rocket refuse. Which reminds me, I actually measured the mileage, just out of curiosity, between me and the trifecta of firework vendors: 3 miles away. That's how far I have to go to get some crazy ass fireworks that compete with Navy Pier's bi-weekly show. One of them is across from the middle school. Love it. That's why, as I've come to realize, there's three seasons here: Hot; Fireworks; and Christmas. They sell fireworks then, too, for New Year's so I guess it's just Hot and Fireworks. 

That's all I got. Take care y'all.

Coming soon... my compilation of stories from the teaching trenches... aka "The Edumacation of Mrs. B."

Part III Supreme Summer Closes the Books on June

Did I mention Brian bought a boat last year? Not just the canoe, but a real, Key West, 23 ft. T-top walk-around outboard engine BIG boat with a little sleeping chamber and a “head” which hasn’t quite been figured out yet. Yeah, eat your heart out, Skipper!

We took it out once, then became super busy, then I had to ruin everything by getting a full-time job. And now this oily mess. But we took a chance, and last Saturday, June 26, Brian and I rode out to Ship Island, one of the islands that makes up the Gulf Islands National Seashore. The reason the Mississippi Sound is so calm and so good for shrimping is because these islands intercept the surf 12 miles from the shoreline.

Click here to view these pictures larger

Ship Island is also home to Fort Massachusetts, a fort that was built from 1859 to 1866 to protect the deep water harbor and major shipping route into Port New Orleans. Confederate secessionists seized the fort in 1861 and forced workers off. Union soldiers aboard the USS Massachusetts came within range of Ship Island, and an exchange of cannon shots endured until the steamship reached safer waters. Though tagged by the confederates as a victory, they left Ship Island the following Fall. When the Union won, construction resumed with many of the materials coming from New England. Confederate POWs and Union convicts were kept there. Now, only 4-5 people actually live on Ship Island, and they are with the park services.

Boats pull up on the North side of the island, dock, and then beach combers have their fun in the surf and sun on the South side of the island. It justified the existence of a Surf City on Hwy 90, something that had befuddled me for months. We spotted a dolphin on our way to the island, and on our way back, clusters of resting pelicans perched like sentinels on every other channel marker. I love pelicans.

It was a gorgeous day. I didn’t realize how WARM the water was. The girls and I had gone swimming once before, but we only went knee-deep. Brian and I had to swim from the boat to the Ship Island and the temperature was that of a lukewarm bath! Correction: Brian waded back because he could touch the sandy bottom. I swam. We talked to the park rangers about any oil washing ashore. Clusters of tar balls here and there, they said, and a clean-up crew had been there in the morning.

The next day, oil clumps were lapping at island shores and along the Biloxi and Ocean Springs beaches. General help for clean up is discouraged without proper HAZMAT training and gear. Sort of the same message from the Audubon with whom I volunteered making calls to Florida volunteer prospects last Thursday. At that point, oil was not yet depositing on MS shoreline. It was the most rewarding cold calling experience I’ve ever had. We’re just recruiting help to stand by for specific projects: either roping off bird nests or posting signs or being a trained steward to patrol nesting sites, identify birds, and educate beach goers aka keep them away from nests. I spoke with several people who “weren’t from here” or who just moved to the area. The general attitude is that doing something gets you out of the house and away from the depressing news. The funniest response was when a lady thought I was calling about a race in Germany. No, M’am, no connection to the Autobahn. We do birds, not Benz’s.

I’ve also learned that hair donations from animals are not acceptable because “it’s not clean.” It has to be clean to soak up oil? Sorry Gretchen, we tried. Our Governor has been down playing the spill since May, and now, although it’s in the “sweet crude state,” he’s stating that we are underprepared and ill-equipped. Do you think so? How’d that happen? Granted oil was never pouring over the beaches, but it’s been hitting LA and AL and FL for the past month. Don’t want to lose those tourism dollars, but let’s get real. Whoever thought it was going to miss MS completely may as well have been whistling Dixie. Ha ha. I made a funny. Not funny. Sad. Let's not talk about it anymore.

What else is new in our Hood: we hosted Brian’s residents’ graduation bbq party this Sunday. All very nice people, got to meet the next class of endo residents as well. Had the girls spend the past week with us while their mom was in Boston. That was fun! Watched a lot of movies, made a lot of pink elephants (sprite and raspberry sherbet), and had a day of paper mache and painting projects, like personalizing Rachel’s MSU wooden letters for her dorm room. Danielle made a monkey. I never had so much fun blowing off homework, not since Seattle anyway. I’m so glad to have such a nice relationship with them. They’ve both promised to give a full report on tonight’s midnight viewing of the Twilight Saga’s “Eclipse.”