Not your typical farmgirl. I spent today sifting sand for the cement the boys have been laying down in front of the house. A patio, or just a floor, will be the end result. I sift the sand out of a big rock pile, my arms hurt and then I make a pile of sand. Payal, a world history teacher from NYC is working with me. She tosses shovelfulls of rock sand into my sifter and I shake. Meanwhile she tells me about her life, her job her students. One student IM’d her: Ms K, wanna read my new lyrics? He looks like Biggie and wants to be a rapper. She reads them and then asks: why haven’t you been in school the last week? Biggie wannabe: Wake and bake Ms K, and then I’m too lazy. Ms K: Can’t you wait until after school to smoke up?
Apparently not, as half the time her students arrive to class flying high, giggling at every word she says. So Napoleon invaded (giggles). What is imperialism? (more giggles). At least they don’t throw things at her. And she’s never had a student stab her or anyone else.
At lunch we were still on the subject of high school. I was a pretty good highschooler, as I recall. No detention, no suspension. Boring. But them Matt brought up getting suspended, or detended or something, his ninth grade year. He said it was good, after that nobody messed with him. Well, nobody messed with me either, must have been just a fierce look about me. Then someone asked what he got in trouble for. “Stabbing someone in the neck,” he said casually. I was a bit surprised I hadn’t heard about this. And a bit surprised he hadn’t gone to jail or something. At first everyone thought he was joking. Nope. He stabbed a kid in the neck with a pencil. Apparently the kid was annoying and Matt went over to take some slingshot thing away from him. The kid hit him and Matt stabbed him with a pencil. Unfortunately the pencil broke off in the kid’s neck, preventing Matt from finishing his problem set in class that day. And then Matt’s DSA reputation was established: don’t mess with me, you don’t wanna know how many pencils I’ve got in this bookbag.
Anyway, farmgossip aside, farmgirling really isn’t my thing. My arms hurt. What I have done so far has all been machine-like physical labor. Dig holes 1 foot wide and 1 foot deep, about 2 feet apart. Dig trenches six inches deep two feet apart. Mix cement. Sift gravel to separate the rocks from the sand. bring these rocks over here, put them here. Cook, but not even your own way, just the way I tell you to. Anyway, if someone is going to do all this digging and sifting and rock hauling I think it ought to be someone with bigger arm muscles than I. In fact it is not only much more efficient if boys with big arm muscles do it, it is much more enjoyable to watch. I don’t mind the chatting with other farmgirls bit, but let me do it without straining my deltoids. If those are the muscles you use for shaking gravel through a screen anyway.
Hey Jess, that was just the stabbing Matt got caught at. Ask him about the other “incidents.”
Wow, that DSA reputation is spreading wild!