Great. So I've joined the losing team.

Yesterday I learned that Minnesota has the highest achievement gap in the United States, and that good ol' Crochester, Minn., home of that water tower that looks like corn, has the highest achievement gap in the state, meaning, of course, that Rochester has the highest achievement gap in the country.

What's an achievement gap, you ask? Well, I know it sounds nice. "Achieve" is my favorite thing to do, and "Gap," is my favorite place to shop, so you think I'd be ecstatic about this honor. Unfortunately, in the world of Education, achievement gap means: Our white people are smart and our minorities are dumb. The difference between the success of white students and the success of minority students is huge. It's a gap as large as, like, Paul Bunyan's wife's vag.

Only 34% of black students graduate high school in Minnesota. What the fuck. I suppose the only way we have to go is up, unless we start making all of our white kids stupid, so as to close the gap. (I think some of the students at MSU had a good start to that, no?) And the funny thing is that it's gotten worse since No Child Left Behind went into effect a couple of years ago. Giant vag-gap? ... Crotch-chester? Coincidence?! No. But I think I have a lot of work ahead of me, as I have single-handedly decided to close this giant Minnesota gap. Seriously, Minnesota. Black students in Mississippi, where there is still blatant racism are more successful than they are here, huh? Good thing the state legislative session gave money to our schools. Now the schools can spend it on literature that isn't about white people--and when it's minority-oriented, doesn't just talk about slavery and civil rights.

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On the selfish, lighter side of things, Elgin, Minnesota, home of Elgin Cheese Days, is probably one of the greatest places I've lived. In the sense that I can leave, I suppose, and drive to Crochester when I need to get "into town." But the other day, after a long nap, I walked outside to get something from my car, and across the street a long-legged deer galloped through the field. In fact, it looked from far away, much like the John Deere emblem that's on all of the tractors out here. I watched it for awhile, as it crossed through the mud. James told me that a woodchuck has claimed our backyard as his own, and he wanders around through the long grass and swims up and down the creek. I only hope one day to find him out there, wearing a pink swim cap and flippers, or to be sitting on the sun lounger out on the deck, commanding I bring him a "foofy" sort of drink so he can relax after all that exhaustive back stroking. And yesterday--yesterday while James was fixing the lawn mower in the shed, a farm cat from any number of the farms around here started to follow him around. James came in to get some bread to feed the cat, and at the mention of the word "kitty" I ran outside to commence petting. The cat climbed on the lawn mower seat, purred and meowed as though he had something really fucking important to say, and then put his paws on the steering will. He lent his round head to the cups of our hands.

It took us awhile to determine boy or girl--with lots of inappropriate and awkward tail-lifting that James claimed "was likely illegal," but there was a set of fuzzy gray cat stones. A tom cat, perhaps, or a cat that had been in a fight with a tom cat. (Or perhaps a territory battle with the woodchuck.) His ear was cut and there seemed to be dried blood on the inside, little chunks of fur were missing. James and I debated we should "heal" his ear with some kind of people medicine, but the wound didn't seem to have phased him, so we didn't risk making matters worse. His fur was what my brother and I always called "Tiger fur" on the especially pretty farm cats, but for some reason it took an odd pattern on the higher end of his back, above his legs, to look like a vest. And funny--he didn't eat the bread James brought him. He sat on the mower seat, waiting for us to continue our petting and our "kitty kitty cute-kitty"s and mewed some more. I went in to get a small bowl of milk, he followed me to the house from the shed; I shut the door and could still hear him meowing through the large front door into the kitchen. I brought out the milk, he didn't drink. Instead he sniffed, rubbed his body against our legs, followed James to the garage.

I don't have access to any sort of television, in Elgin, which I have turned into a personal goal and project for the rest of the year. I told James not to get cable, especially not on my account. As such, my MPR listening has gone through the roof, as has my record-listening, as has my number of hours slept per day. It's absolutely wonderful. I find that without TV I have freed hours--literally hours--of my day. I wake up and start doing what needs to be done without wasted time; I take time to bake food, and I'm already making lists of new recipes. I've baked two loaves of bread so far--one from old bananas, the other a new pumpkin bread recipe that is even better than the last. Yesterday I spent adequate time sniffing nutmeg. I do the dishes right when I'm done using them. I do laundry before I have 17 loads worth. I've already cleaned the shower just a bit. I read, and I look forward to reading. I read instead of eat. I take my time with food, instead of rushing, rushing to eat just so I can sit in front of the TV and turn my mind off. Seriously, I've ingested 50% of the amount of food I used to, and I really think it's just the lack of television. Does that sound ridiculous? It does. My life has turned into a health-idea book that I would never, ever read, let alone try, let alone be persuaded was successful. But I don't stuff my face with food just because I forget I'm eating it, like easily happened as I watched CSI or the Cartoon Network. I'm fully conscious and aware of everything I'm doing, of the food I'm preparing, and how much of it I'm consuming. If you weren't watching TV, do you know how long it would take to eat a full bag of chips? I'd get bored with it. Sure. There are still movies to watch and Internet websites to peruse with food in hand, but personally, this is a very good start for me.

While he was working in the shed yesterday, I brought James out a piece of warm pumpkin bread, out of the oven. When I stepped outside, even in the humidity, the bread steamed in the paper towel I'd wrapped it in. He thanked me, and then we just sat outside, on a "June" night, under the yellow lights of the garage and shed, while everything else was dark and hiding, and we talked for awhile. It was summer. Gnats formed in frantic groups. It was change, and the air was still. James stayed outside until 12:00, and as he came in, he said that the lightning was starting to flash pink in the sky to the west. We wondered whether the storm had persuaded that cat's odd behavior. Perhaps tonight, I will cook a dinner. Instead of a frozen pizza, I'll make a fresh mozzarella, basil, and tomato pizza. Maybe I'll even make my own sauce, and maybe I'll be able to make even more check marks in the 4000-reciped The Joy of Cooking. They have recipes for Beer Bread in there. I am definitely going to make every single bread they've listed--I've already killed two in just a week.

What do I go home to? A warm shower, a real house, and acres of farm land around me. Small, 1/4 inch thick phone books in the mail addressed to the farmer who died in this house years ago, with small maps of land squared off with farmer's/owners names listed in the center--so all of the town can know where the boundary lines begin and end. Phone numbers, actually, listed by "phone number," instead of name, assuming we all know the beginning of our neighbor's digits. James wondering whether the neighbors have judged him for letting the lawn grow too long, the dandelions too vast. News radio telling me when storms are coming, instead of the bleeps and colors on the bottom of the TV screen (which I do miss). --And tonight, well, here in Crochester, we've nearly been guaranteed 50% chance of straight line winds and tornado. Tonight the lighting will flash frequently over the hills of green, allowing us to see the outlines of the heavy, dark and low clouds every 1.5 seconds--and they'll be circling over us instead of moving fast and through like they normally do. It's going to be a black storm.

But before then, I'm off to the gym, which I've had to watch a 55 minute instructional video in order to use. Silly. But I'll be grateful in the winter, particularly for the indoor track. I can't run on the dirt roads in Elgin. The dry air, the rocks I kick up--they make me miss Lake Nokomis too much. I get mad at myself for not taking advantage of all those amazing trails I was surrounded by in Minneapolis. I am regretful. I was too sad too run, and now I'm too motivated not to--starting a summer diet (which I hope can be successful with the lack of TV) and a self-motivating exercise program with the help of the Good Doctor and new running shoes I hope to order from the kid in Oregon. So, I will run here, on campus. Yesterday I found an odd path that is half bike-trail, half parking lot/around baseball diamonds and malfunctioning baseball scoreboards with blinking lights, and as summer moves through June I'll visit the parks I've found on the website that will hopefully at least have man-made lakes. And I'll lift weights with the few buff and motivated Rochester Tech College/Winona State undergrads, run on the treadmills with my new running headphones as the severe weather starts to come during the day instead of in the evening.

Everything is falling into place. I've completed 5 graduate credits already. I've over-achieved and stayed up too late working on a journal for class. I've proclaimed my love for scented markers in front of our peers while we made a poster in class. What else is there? Oh, yes. The student teaching in the fall. Tomorrow I meet my mentor, and my financial aid files into my bank account. I then buy University insurance. This weekend I go antiquing and finish my coursework/homework. I eat the Walleye James fries for me. Next weekend I go to Wisconsin Dells. It is summer. It is June, and I couldn't possibly feel any more like I'm doing the right thing right now. How, I wonder, could I not be here?