Ga$

For those of you who eagerly read the blog title, thinking it's about Mark, I'm sorry to disappoint you but the gas of which I speak is of the natural variety, the kind from which we derive energy. The useful kind.

On June 16th of last year, I mentioned in a blog that my water heater had stopped working. At the time, I thought the pilot light had simply gone out and was proud of myself (ha!) for figuring out how to relight it.

But, as it turned out, the next day my water was cold again, and so again I relit the pilot light.

This is a process I've repeated for the 275 days since then. Each day I revive my water heater and, after heating my water to the appropriate temperature, the pilot light goes out, never to be bothered to heat again until I repeat the ritual the following morning.

My alarm goes off, usually somewhere between 5:30 and 6:00. I (eventually) stumble out of bed, step my way in the dark through the obstacle course that is my living room (those of you in the know will understand what I mean), make my way to the garage, fumble around for the light switch, kneel down by the water heater, hit the igniter to light the pilot and hold it down for a while, look to my left at the spider who, amazingly, is still living at the bottom of the garage steps (oh my she has gotten big these last few months!), and then get up, my knees creaking as I, for the 275th time, curse myself for being so dumb as to not get this fixed. Rather than call my landlady and ask her to get someone to resolve the situation, I wake up at least a half hour earlier than I have to every morning so that I can relight the pilot light and give the water time to heat up.

One reason other than sheer laziness and a general desire to just see what happens that I've not had my water heater fixed is because I've had the notion that I'm saving money by only heating my water once a day. I generally only need hot water for my morning shower. Occasionally I need it for doing laundry or (*throat clearing sound*) doing the dishes, but generally my morning shower is all I need hot water for. Could I possibly save money by heating my water only once a day, rather than keeping it hot all day long even though I don't use it?

Since I have so much free time, I performed an analysis of my gas bills, comparing the months when I had a functioning water heater to these more recent months since last June when I haven't. And the results are quite compelling.



From the time my water heater broke to the present (mid-June '06 through mid-March '07), I have spent $358.43 on my gas bill. In the same time period prior to the breakdown of my water heater (mid-June '05 through mid-March '06), I spent $488.03. That's a savings of approximately 27%. This past month, for example, I used 36 therms, and for the same time period last year I used 56 therms.

Not convinced? Looking at the summer months to help control for cold weather, I used 21 therms of gas for mid-June through mid-September in 2006, after my water heater broke down. For the same time period in 2005, I used 49 therms.

The lesson? Get an on demand, tankless water heater.

4 teachers, a pond, and a zillion frogs

I derive so much joy from being a teacher. Not all the time, mind you, but nearly.

I get such a kick out of so many of the things my kids say and do. Sometimes they say something so witty, so funny, sometimes so profound, that I can't help but sport a big silly grin. Or they'll do or say something so utterly ridiculous, I can't help but laugh good-naturedly at the absurdity of it all.

For example, we were playing this really fun game called Fruit Basket today on a field that was still pretty slick with water from last week's rains. Victor, running full speed to get away from Steve, had seemingly made it to safety, crossing the border of the safety zone. Smiling and laughing, he turned in triumph to look at Steve when his feet, which in theory had stopped, continued to slide underneath him and he fell flat on his back in the mud. Hilarious.

Well, I guess you had to be there. But you just don't get to see that kind of thing at most jobs.

The highlight of Outdoor Ed so far had nothing to do with the kids. After all the kids were quietly nestled in their beds, dreaming of giants and benevolent redwood trees, Mar and I, along with two teachers from Allen Elementary in San Bruno, hiked over to the pond, sat down on the dock, and waited. We sat there in the kind of darkness that you can only get at a place like Outdoor Ed, where the night sky is unspoiled by the city lights. And then, the magic happened. To the left of us, a "ribbit" sounded. A few seconds later, a "ribbit" in response from the far end of the pond. Then another "ribbit," this time from the right side, burst forth. And then, as if on cue, the flood gates opened, the pond erupted in ribbit upon ribbit until it seemed that we were being given a special concert performance by the Outdoor Ed Frog Ensemble. The darkness was filled with sound. One minute passed, then two, and then, as suddenly as it had started, they all went silent. The four of us clapped with delight.

During the intermission we noticed that there were several untethered canoes stacked near the dock. All of us getting the same idea, we piled in and slowly paddled our way around the borders of the pond. It was like floating in the darkness of space. The mist hung low over the trees, the brightest of the stars reflected off the pond's smooth surface, and there we were, four teachers of children, feeling like children ourselves, unable to wipe the smiles off our faces.

Letters: Addendum

Usually, the kids are very shy the first day of Outdoor Ed, but today they were singing right away with great enthusiasm.

Usually, at dinner time, it takes quite a while to get them to listen to announcements, but tonight, the announcements went quickly and smoothly with nary an interruption.

Usually, getting the kids to bed and keeping them quiet is a huge challenge the first night of Outdoor Ed, but tonight, it was a piece of cake.

Was it the letters?

Letters from Garfield

The most poignant point for me during "Letters from Iwo Jima" was when one of the Japanese soldiers, who was familiar with English and with Americans because of his stint in the Olympics as a champion horse rider, reads a letter that he finds in the coat of a dead American soldier. He translates it for his buddies, one of whom is amazed at how similar it sounds to the kinds of things his own mother writes to him. His whole perception of Americans changes in that instant - he realizes that they're not so different after all from their American counterparts.

A few blogs ago, I wrote about how we're going to Outdoor Ed with two schools that are very different from us. We wrote letters to their students for Valentine's Day, and we eagerly awaited their responses. Finally, last Thursday, the letters arrived. I gave the kids a whole hour to peruse the letters, and the room filled with excited chatter.

Kids rushed up to me to tell me what they had noticed.

"Mr. Evans, this boy likes the same TV shows that I do!"

"Mr. Evans, this girl seems really nice!"

"Mr. Evans, this boy forgot to put the comma just like I do!"

And so, within an hour's time, their perceptions of these "other" kids had nearly completely transformed. You may recall that in our pre-Outdoor Ed discussions my students had made many assumptions about the kids they'd be sharing cabins with, that these other kids would be smarter, better behaved, etc. Generally superior in a variety of ways.

But these letters changed all that. As they noted all the spelling, punctuation, and grammatical mistakes with glee, my kids realized that, just like them, these kids were, well, kids. Kids who also liked sports, also had pets, also complained about too much homework. One kid was adopted. One kid had two moms. One kid knew four languages.

What had been a feeling of reserved and anxiety-ridden anticipation became a feeling of excitement.

Will these letters help make a difference? Will it make it easier for our three schools to become one for this week?

I'll let you know.

I'll be back on Friday, and I have no cell phone access until then (there's no coverage up there). So my usual immediate response to your phone calls (tongue firmly in cheek) will have to be delayed until Friday. Also, feel free to come to my place and steal all my stuff, especially my ratty sofa. I need to downsize for my August move anyway.