Ranting Ahead.. More of the Principal "Just because I'm nice doesn't mean I'm weak."

Remember that rant about the new teacher who got the class after it had already been switched through 2 previous teachers and was told she and the other teachers in that grade would sign a letter that would go in their folder taking responsibility for the classes' bad scores, she said she would sign but she would write a rebuttal to it. She was told that she would sign or it would be considered insubordination. She's decided to leave at the end of this year. Today I learned the scuttlebutt that she was told that 'she didn't understand Hispanics,' and essentially that the students needed more attention as the material was too difficult.

Now we get to the 8th grade honors Science teacher who was told to change a grade so the student didn't fail her class. She has the students sign a contract at the beginning of each year and they are given a syllabus of what things must be completed. How well you complete them is your grade. Obviously if you have a passing progress report and then don't turn in later deadline classwork you're going to get your grade dinged. All along the way she keeps the students up to date on what still needs to be done.
She protested that it wasn't fair to the other students nor to the failing student to change that grade.
She too was told that she didn't understand Hispanics and that the classwork she was giving them was too hard. Honors class. You chose your classes and you can ask to be put in a regular class if you are finding the work too difficult.

She doesn't understand Hispanics... her maiden name is Anglo but she's been married and has adult children with a Hispanic husband.

This teacher has taken students to State Science Fairs and has had her students win awards there years in a row. She writes grants. She included the international school's after school program students in researching and submitting into competition their own entries into the Science Fair. She has had her students mentored by professors from Universities in their Year Long Projects and had classes Skype with a research station in central America. She was voted Teacher of the Year.

She has filled out the paperwork for her resignation, effective the end of this school year.

Hispanic! What the hell does that have to do with it? There are poorer income African American and Anglo students in those same classes. This is a school of choice, meaning you have to fill out forms to get into it. The honors classes, like the foreign language classes, give you High School credits towards graduation on your school transcript.

Getting an education is all about learning. Failure can be what is needed by a student in that education.

Homemade Kentucky Blackberry Cobbler

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Homemade Kentucky Blackberry Cobbler
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200966242158449&set=a.1801818585410.71388.1838209374&type=1&theater

Blackberry Cobbler is a very easy recipe, the only catch is that it takes about 45-55 minutes in the oven to go through the bubbling, caramelizing, browning process (now that doesn't sound too bad, does it?). The cobbler batter is a wonderful base that I could eat directly with a spoon if I didn't have the promise of blackberry heaven in my immediate future. It is akin to biscuits, and doesn't have sugar in the batter itself…that comes with the blackberries to create a nice glazed crust on top. For warmer weather, you can serve the cobbler with warmed cream (which I chose), or with fresh whipped cream–whatever makes you happy.

Traditional Recipe

2 1/2 C Fresh blackberries, washed
1 C Sugar
1 C Flour
2 t Baking powder
1/2 t Salt
1 C Milk
1 Stick of unsalted butter, melted

First you should take care of the blackberry and sugar mixture because it needs to sit for a while. Stir together just the berries and sugar in a large bowl and let it sit out for 25-30 minutes. This will coax out the juices of the blackberries so that they can be sweetened up by the sugar, and we can taste the full spectrum of the fruit–this process is called macerating.

After about 20 minutes, you should turn on the oven to about 375º and start preparing your batter.

Stir together the flour, baking powder, salt, and milk with a wooden spoon. Next, stir in the melted butter and hand-mix it until the ingredients are well incorporated and you have few clumps.

Pick baking dish– a smaller one will do– pour in the batter and smooth it out. You can choose to line it with parchment paper or not, but don’t grease the pan (there is enough butter in there already!). Finally, pour the macerated blackberries on top with all the sugar included and evenly distribute it over the batter.

Bake this promising pan of happiness in the oven for 45 minutes to an hour, depending on how golden you prefer it to be. Let it set up for a good 15 minutes so it will hold its shape. It will be bubbling like crazy and quite hot, so be careful!

This hour goes a little like this: you can hear it bubbling through the vent behind the stove, you can smell the buttery dough caramelizing with the sugar, and you can see the dotted crown of blackberries creating that quintessential golden cobbler crust. It is a marvel to have in your oven, let me tell you!

Serve warm or room temperature with warmed cream or fresh whipped cream. You can store this at room temperature with foil over it for 2-3 days, probably longer in the fridge…but it never lasts that long for me! — with Cindy Logan.

Chain Letter Magic

It's okay, I'm sure it's just a virus.

Taking Steps: Date by Appointment

Title: Taking Steps: Date by Appointment
Author: charisstoma
Word count: 881

The flight of stairs was inviting, the dark texture of the stones so solidly uncompromising under the lush living greenery spilling over it at the sides. The blades of those plants seemed to stretch towards whoever mounted those steps.

Everett paused. The advertisement had said, ‘Cash for those who dare. Donate blood. We do all the Work.’ The house at the top of the stairs didn’t look like a Blood Bank. The time of day was late too, but he’d thought that the appointment had been arranged with the idea of being able to fit the donating around people’s day time jobs. That had worked for him, he’d spent all day going from interview to interview and had had time for quick stop to pick up a burger before showing up here.

Taking a breath, he started climbing hoping that this wouldn’t take too long. The appointment made on-line had seemed efficient and clinical, a little creepy and anonymous; user name: guest, password: blood. There’d been a few questions about his medical history once he’d filled in the normal; age, gender, weight, blood type. Sexual orientation wasn’t that odd an addition to the list anymore and he expected it when the little popup box questioned his last HIV test date and results. Evidently his answers were judged to be acceptable as he was told to check back the next day using his log-in information. And so, here he was climbing ‘interesting’ stairs towards an equally ‘interesting’ house, he blew out a breath to ease his tension.

The door was solid, no windows, and looked able to withstand any attack from a zombie apocalypse. Perhaps these were survivalists, who were prepping for all eventualities. The hill the house stood on could easily hide quite a large underground compound. He scanned the front of the house and spotted the cameras discretely concealed under the eaves and nodded to himself, ‘Yep, preppers. Best to get this over and done and back to trying to make a living in the present.’

The door opened silently before he even sought out the doorbell, revealing a mirrored antechamber that gave the illusion of openness in the small space of the common elevator. He’d been in such an elevator once at a hospital and had the same reaction. There was something unsettling about seeing multiples of yourself reflected from whatever direction you looked. The door behind him had closed just as soundlessly as it had opened and the wall in front of him slid to the side.

“Ah, you are punctual. That is a favorable attribute in a donor. Please follow me and we’ll get you hooked up.” The woman wore a closed smile and a costume somewhat like a nurse dressed as a governess with long skirts in dark muted colors.
‘Okay, so maybe a Steampunk club or variation there of.’ He shrugged internally. It was getting curiouser and curiouser but the room she led him to was nice. The lights were dimmed and there was a large comfortable recliner next to a small table with a quaint linen cloth draped down over the top. There was no sign of the implements of torture and he found himself smiling at the whimsical thought.

“If you could take off your jacket and shirt please? I will need to do a small verifying physical; nothing more than temperature, heart rate and blood pressure. Here let me place a cloth over the chair.” She fit the action to the words and carried out the mini-exam with the efficiency of the long practice. Again she gave that closed mouth smile, “You seem to be a bit excited. That happens more often than you’d think with such affairs, especially with first time donors. We are very avant-garde and have nitrous oxide available, just enough to take the edge off nerves.”

Before he knew it a mask was over his mouth and nose.

“Breathe deeply please. Afterwards you’ll be given a large glass of orange juice and some oxygen to counteract the effects.” The smile sweetened or the laughing gas was working. “I’ll send in your individual now, I think you are ready.” She patted him on the shoulder, “Any arrangement for other services are between the two of you and usually are reflected in the monetary amount paid to you.”

Everett didn’t even notice as she left. A man in evening attire entered and smiled at him.

“Oh, you are perfect.” He pulled up a chair beside the recliner and sat. “I need to prepare you,” and the smile widened, “so luscious.” Fingers played over Everett’s chest, cool fingers circling and then scraping lightly over his nipples before rolling them. “Absolutely perfect,” was said as lips mouthed over the plains of his abdomen and a hand worked the zipper of his pants. Cool air fanned over his rapidly stiffening cock and a kiss was placed over the small mouth at its head. “You set such a delectable table, I don’t know where to start,” was breathed near his ear. “I think with a kiss to the lips,” and Everett felt chilled lips on his own before the sucking nip as he was savored.

His cock grew under the expert manipulation of his diner’s grasp and waited for its turn, probably for dessert.

Continues with Part 2