I would be amiss if I didn’t expound on my adventure today at Dalton Imaging Center. Gentlemen, if you are reading this, it’s time to close the window and step away from the computer. **** Females only from this point….you have been warned. ***
I had my yearly mammogram today. I must say, it equaled the thrill of APA writing in many ways. First of all, I have been going to this same place for probably 10 years. Every year, I fill out a new form, and never has the information changed, except the insurance card. So, I sit on the [worn but comfy] settee and fill out my same old information. Not apprehensive at all, as I have been a customer here for a while, as stated previously.
Sure enough, their promptness is reinforced as after only a few minutes, they call my name. Same little woman shuffles back to The Room. She has spoken maybe 20 words to me in 10 years. I suppose in her line of work, it helps not to get too friendly.
So I’m ushered in the little changing room, “gowns are in the top cabinet” she says much like Cloris Leachman in “Young Frankenstein”, as she has for the past decade. Well, they‘ve obviously upgraded to a new, improved ‘gown’. This thing looks like a Christmas tree skirt with snaps. There are no arm-holes, only this bat-like cape-like thing. Great, I say to myself. Now I look even more stupid because I can’t figure out how this goes. Well, I go and sit in the room with the Monster, and while I wait, I notice a little difference. This is a new machine, a new configuration. The old one had to have the big old x-ray plates pushed in. This is a streamlined model, with digital access and a monitor. Neat! Not so neat. The little woman comes in and tells me to stand in front of The Beast. She squirts something on a cloth and proceeds to wipe down the surface of the jaws of this thing. I said jokingly, “Does that warm it up?” No response from the dominatrix. I’m sure she’d rather remain aloof and uncaring handling what she does all day every day.
Then she grabs my breasticle and pulls it into the gaping jaws of her new best friend. She presses a pedal with her foot and then turns a knob and cranks it down even more! I cannot breathe! I recall her saying in past years “hold your breath” – no need now….can’t breathe, can’t talk, I can only crouch in the awkward standing/leaning position the dominatrix has placed me. THEN she says, “I’ll get you out of this in just a second.” LIAR! I’m counting to ten, trying not to pass out, thinking that if I did, I’d be just hanging there with my poor bresticle in the Jaws of the Monster. With much relief, I hear the monster scream and then its hold on me eases up. That was one. She did four. I’m surprised that I’m alive to tell the tale. Say it now..."I'm too old for this!"
It is good to be screened for problems. It is not good to leave unable to stand erect and breathe normally. Only once a year, only once a year.
See why I go fishing?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The Summer that almost wasn't
Summer, ah summer….one of my favorite times of the year. I have so many memories of summertime when I was a child, spent with days of playing with Barbie dolls with my cousins, eating grape popcicles and having fresh, ripe tomatoes from my granddaddy’s garden. There was the occasional trip to Florida to the beach, visiting a dear uncle and aunt. Not a care in the world, knowing that when the cicadas started buzzing, my mama would be there soon to pick me up from my Granny’s house. Those days seem so long ago in one sense…another lifetime, and yet, so near and dear in my mind.
So, what has summer become? Most years of late it is spent with projects, cleaning, doing the things that one never has time to do during the school year. This summer? Not hardly. I have spent this summer at Gitmo in the computer department, allowed to leave only for nourishment and bathing, or so it seems. Very thankful that the summer semester was only 7 weeks long, but painfully wounded from the mental warfare that has taken place. A few battles lost, but the war has been won. I am finished with all assignments, I have fought the good fight. I have no more fingerprints.
I have learned, though….my expertise in Bovine Excrement profusity has increased; my knowledge of APA writing has expanded (though painfully); my thoughts on the use of instructional technology have become clearer and more defined, and I have learned what dishes not to get at several local restaurants. One thing I have retained is my right to have lunch with friends. Summer has been a time to re-connect, catch up, commiserate, and enjoy the friendships, some of which have lasted a lifetime. I have also learned to celebrate the passing of another year of life on this planet. This year, I have caught up with the old speed limit of the interstate…”Arrive alive at 55!”. I have. I did. I’m proud.
I have also learned that my quest for higher education has cost me many brain cells. For example, I no longer know my basic integers. When asked recently how many checks, I said ‘one’ and held up four fingers. I have also realized that I am the comic relief at times when my intention is to be the spectator (Thank you J, N, and M for laughing WITH me and not AT me). I have wondered if the onset of Old Timers Disease (CRS) has stricken me, and know that there is no cure but laughter.
At the same time, I have walked with my grown daughter in her quest to become an adult and obtain gainful employment….jury still out on that. I have enjoyed sitting outside on the deck with coffee in hand laughing at ‘cat antics’ and listening to the birds. I have been blessed to enjoy cool mornings of watering my plants on specified watering days and enjoying the habitat of my own little back yard. I will miss these mornings when reality as I know it comes back all too soon.
But one thing is left to do to make summer…go wet a hook, aka go fishing. Yes, I’ll check the fish and game forecast to see just what day looks best. I’ll be there at my buddy’s pond, listening to the birds, crickets, and critters, standing on the bank as I cast my line in the still water. It’s called ‘fishing’, not ‘catching fish.’ And, as they say, a bad day fishing is the best day working.
I’ll make my summer complete in a day or two. I’ll turn off this machine and put on my fishin’ hat. The summer that never was has one more good day left in it.
Gone fishin. Be back….maybe.
So, what has summer become? Most years of late it is spent with projects, cleaning, doing the things that one never has time to do during the school year. This summer? Not hardly. I have spent this summer at Gitmo in the computer department, allowed to leave only for nourishment and bathing, or so it seems. Very thankful that the summer semester was only 7 weeks long, but painfully wounded from the mental warfare that has taken place. A few battles lost, but the war has been won. I am finished with all assignments, I have fought the good fight. I have no more fingerprints.
I have learned, though….my expertise in Bovine Excrement profusity has increased; my knowledge of APA writing has expanded (though painfully); my thoughts on the use of instructional technology have become clearer and more defined, and I have learned what dishes not to get at several local restaurants. One thing I have retained is my right to have lunch with friends. Summer has been a time to re-connect, catch up, commiserate, and enjoy the friendships, some of which have lasted a lifetime. I have also learned to celebrate the passing of another year of life on this planet. This year, I have caught up with the old speed limit of the interstate…”Arrive alive at 55!”. I have. I did. I’m proud.
I have also learned that my quest for higher education has cost me many brain cells. For example, I no longer know my basic integers. When asked recently how many checks, I said ‘one’ and held up four fingers. I have also realized that I am the comic relief at times when my intention is to be the spectator (Thank you J, N, and M for laughing WITH me and not AT me). I have wondered if the onset of Old Timers Disease (CRS) has stricken me, and know that there is no cure but laughter.
At the same time, I have walked with my grown daughter in her quest to become an adult and obtain gainful employment….jury still out on that. I have enjoyed sitting outside on the deck with coffee in hand laughing at ‘cat antics’ and listening to the birds. I have been blessed to enjoy cool mornings of watering my plants on specified watering days and enjoying the habitat of my own little back yard. I will miss these mornings when reality as I know it comes back all too soon.
But one thing is left to do to make summer…go wet a hook, aka go fishing. Yes, I’ll check the fish and game forecast to see just what day looks best. I’ll be there at my buddy’s pond, listening to the birds, crickets, and critters, standing on the bank as I cast my line in the still water. It’s called ‘fishing’, not ‘catching fish.’ And, as they say, a bad day fishing is the best day working.
I’ll make my summer complete in a day or two. I’ll turn off this machine and put on my fishin’ hat. The summer that never was has one more good day left in it.
Gone fishin. Be back….maybe.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Running
I knew it, but didn’t think I needed to remind myself. Running. It’s not just for the young, the healthy, the yuppie with nothing to do, it’s for old people in an emergency. However, I do admit and follow the policy that “I’m too old for this”….regarding running. I have always maintained that I would not run unless something foreboding was chasing me or a loved one was in danger. Add to this list: runaway tires. Yes, Mr. Michelin.
[Stop reading and go to the bathroom now, because this may cause you to laugh uncontrollably and you might have an accident. You have been warned.]
My next door neighbor is having a yard sale today. We live on a highly traveled, main artery-type street, where business is usually good. I have these three, odd tires that I’ve been trying to sell via my neighborhood recycle network and word of mouth, but no takers. I thought I’d mosey over and ask her if I could slide those in perhaps to make a sale and get rid of them myself. Neighbor wasn’t outside, but two friends were, and they said that my neighbor was just letting them do the sale in her yard, and that she wouldn’t mind at all.
I go over to where these three tires are stacked up. Pulling the first one off the top, I noticed that it had been rained on and water had collected. Yuk, “Though I. I will plop this down and let the water splash out so it won’t slosh out while rolling it over.” So, I hoisted it up and rolled it over a little to a space off the driveway to plop it down. It didn’t plop. It rolled, and rolled, and rolled….getting faster and faster to the point I was chasing it down the driveway yelling, “Stop, stop!!!” …as if a tire will hear or respond to my calls. At that point, it bounced over into the grass and a thought of hope sprang from my winded chest. Yes, I WAS CHASING the stupid thing down the driveway. I would have gladly just stood and watched, but it was about to go into that busy street I mentioned previously. Lots of crashes happen on this street, and I can see myself being sued by a driver who was hit by a runaway tire and swerved into another car, causing a chain reaction crash and disrupting the church service happening across the road.
Well, as I check out the approaching traffic, to my left I see a little silver something-or-other speeding down the street. I think I was yelling, “Stop” to him, too. To my right, a small pick-up truck had obviously seen this tirade (!) and had stopped, waiting on the runaway Michelin to cross. I could see his teeth, meaning that he was either smiling politely or laughing his head off. Fortunately, the tire missed the little silver car and went straight across the road in front of the pick-up, hitting the curb and stopping to rest. (I know I was out of breath by this time!). The kindly man motioned me across (while laughing out loud) and I rescued the tire which now lay propped up in the gutter of the street, out of harm’s way.
The lady doing the yard sale (a good ten years younger than myself) is coming over to assist in the rescue. She crosses the street, then PICKS UP the tire amidst my protest that “I can get that!” Well, obviously I proved that I couldn’t! She carries it back up the hill into my neighbor’s yard to the ‘merchandise’ section, where she plops it down and that nasty water splashes out, getting on her. See? That was the whole point of this charade! Got that nasty water out. Well whatever. I told her that I’d just scoot the other two out into the sunlight and if someone was interested, send them over to my driveway. I was not about to do a re-take on the previous scene.
The other lady who was younger but larger than myself said, “I must confess….we were sitting here laughing!” Well good for you. I probably would have laughed myself if I had witnessed such a scene. So I tread home breathless (remember….I do NOT run) and walk into my house somewhat humiliated and breathless. I sat down in front of the computer and felt my pocket….MY CELL PHONE IS GONE! Good Lord! It must have fallen out during that Olympic tire run. So here I go, back out the door, over to the neighbor’s where the lady and myself start re-tracing our steps to find My Precious. Nowhere to be seen. She starts calling my number, and after a thorough outdoor search, I decide I’d go BACK in and look one more time in the house. I retrace my steps, and what do I find next to the computer? Yes, My Precious. So I pick it up, dial the missed call, which was my new BFF, and said when she answered, “This is the crazy neighbor lady. I found my phone.” She was laughing, and couldn’t stop. Fine. Glad you had your chuckle for the day. After all, that’s my purpose in life to bring laughter to others. Think of all those lives I’ve touched today. I will now go look for myself on YouTube. I’m SURE somebody must have gotten that!
[Stop reading and go to the bathroom now, because this may cause you to laugh uncontrollably and you might have an accident. You have been warned.]
My next door neighbor is having a yard sale today. We live on a highly traveled, main artery-type street, where business is usually good. I have these three, odd tires that I’ve been trying to sell via my neighborhood recycle network and word of mouth, but no takers. I thought I’d mosey over and ask her if I could slide those in perhaps to make a sale and get rid of them myself. Neighbor wasn’t outside, but two friends were, and they said that my neighbor was just letting them do the sale in her yard, and that she wouldn’t mind at all.
I go over to where these three tires are stacked up. Pulling the first one off the top, I noticed that it had been rained on and water had collected. Yuk, “Though I. I will plop this down and let the water splash out so it won’t slosh out while rolling it over.” So, I hoisted it up and rolled it over a little to a space off the driveway to plop it down. It didn’t plop. It rolled, and rolled, and rolled….getting faster and faster to the point I was chasing it down the driveway yelling, “Stop, stop!!!” …as if a tire will hear or respond to my calls. At that point, it bounced over into the grass and a thought of hope sprang from my winded chest. Yes, I WAS CHASING the stupid thing down the driveway. I would have gladly just stood and watched, but it was about to go into that busy street I mentioned previously. Lots of crashes happen on this street, and I can see myself being sued by a driver who was hit by a runaway tire and swerved into another car, causing a chain reaction crash and disrupting the church service happening across the road.
Well, as I check out the approaching traffic, to my left I see a little silver something-or-other speeding down the street. I think I was yelling, “Stop” to him, too. To my right, a small pick-up truck had obviously seen this tirade (!) and had stopped, waiting on the runaway Michelin to cross. I could see his teeth, meaning that he was either smiling politely or laughing his head off. Fortunately, the tire missed the little silver car and went straight across the road in front of the pick-up, hitting the curb and stopping to rest. (I know I was out of breath by this time!). The kindly man motioned me across (while laughing out loud) and I rescued the tire which now lay propped up in the gutter of the street, out of harm’s way.
The lady doing the yard sale (a good ten years younger than myself) is coming over to assist in the rescue. She crosses the street, then PICKS UP the tire amidst my protest that “I can get that!” Well, obviously I proved that I couldn’t! She carries it back up the hill into my neighbor’s yard to the ‘merchandise’ section, where she plops it down and that nasty water splashes out, getting on her. See? That was the whole point of this charade! Got that nasty water out. Well whatever. I told her that I’d just scoot the other two out into the sunlight and if someone was interested, send them over to my driveway. I was not about to do a re-take on the previous scene.
The other lady who was younger but larger than myself said, “I must confess….we were sitting here laughing!” Well good for you. I probably would have laughed myself if I had witnessed such a scene. So I tread home breathless (remember….I do NOT run) and walk into my house somewhat humiliated and breathless. I sat down in front of the computer and felt my pocket….MY CELL PHONE IS GONE! Good Lord! It must have fallen out during that Olympic tire run. So here I go, back out the door, over to the neighbor’s where the lady and myself start re-tracing our steps to find My Precious. Nowhere to be seen. She starts calling my number, and after a thorough outdoor search, I decide I’d go BACK in and look one more time in the house. I retrace my steps, and what do I find next to the computer? Yes, My Precious. So I pick it up, dial the missed call, which was my new BFF, and said when she answered, “This is the crazy neighbor lady. I found my phone.” She was laughing, and couldn’t stop. Fine. Glad you had your chuckle for the day. After all, that’s my purpose in life to bring laughter to others. Think of all those lives I’ve touched today. I will now go look for myself on YouTube. I’m SURE somebody must have gotten that!
Monday, July 6, 2009
Twilight Blue and Caramel Melt
Don’t those words just ease your tension and make your mouth water? Not hardly. They are paint colors. (Yes, a job I’d like to have: sit around and think up new paint color names.) These are two colors that are being used in my basement. We are in process of “fixin’ up the basement apartment” for my adult daughter. To make it her own, she picked out paint colors. I have no problem with that. They are pretty. The reason for this entry is that I have found out today that “I’m too old for this.”[Caramel melt.] Painting. Not me. No more. The ‘proper’ method of painting [thank you DIY network and HGTV] is to tape off everything you don’t want to become the new color. Well, this is a kitchen. Do you actually KNOW how many nooks and crannies are in a kitchen area? The designer of this particular kitchen, well, was on drugs…literally. Therefore, we spent taping about an hour and painting about 15 minutes.
I have discovered that my poor old bones do NOT want to climb the little ladder, up and down, up and down. I have also discovered that my arms do NOT want to roll paint on a wall…back and forth, back and forth. There IS a reason why we hire painters when we get old. I know my daughter was frustrated with me when I said, “That’s as high as I can reach,” meaning that she got to climb around on the counter and paint the top part. Did this activity USED to be fun? I remember watching my dad paint and thinking just how cool it was. Well, for the record…this is NOT FUN ANYMORE nor is it cool by anyone's imagination.
Then comes the cleaning of the rollers and the brushes. Oh please! This task was usually left to my dad or my husband. Since that new rule went into effect of “you mess it up, you clean it,” the joy of fishing and painting has escaped. Don’t want to clean fish. Did it once, won’t do it again. Don’t want to clean rollers and brushes. Alas, this task fell to me today.
So, as I settle down and dry out from the shower and rinsing the Twilight Blue from my fingers, I can look forward to the Caramel Melt painting of tomorrow. Perhaps if I’m eating, say, a Snickers bar it might go a little easier. Works for me.
I have discovered that my poor old bones do NOT want to climb the little ladder, up and down, up and down. I have also discovered that my arms do NOT want to roll paint on a wall…back and forth, back and forth. There IS a reason why we hire painters when we get old. I know my daughter was frustrated with me when I said, “That’s as high as I can reach,” meaning that she got to climb around on the counter and paint the top part. Did this activity USED to be fun? I remember watching my dad paint and thinking just how cool it was. Well, for the record…this is NOT FUN ANYMORE nor is it cool by anyone's imagination.
Then comes the cleaning of the rollers and the brushes. Oh please! This task was usually left to my dad or my husband. Since that new rule went into effect of “you mess it up, you clean it,” the joy of fishing and painting has escaped. Don’t want to clean fish. Did it once, won’t do it again. Don’t want to clean rollers and brushes. Alas, this task fell to me today.
So, as I settle down and dry out from the shower and rinsing the Twilight Blue from my fingers, I can look forward to the Caramel Melt painting of tomorrow. Perhaps if I’m eating, say, a Snickers bar it might go a little easier. Works for me.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
My eyes are crossing!
Ah, higher education. Doesn't that just bring a smile to your face and a tear to your eye? Yes, the smile is after you have turned in the assignment you were sweating bullets over and the tear, well, that's from the dry, red, irritated, 'been staring at the computer screen too long', frustrated, infuriated, and all the other 'ated's' you can imagine. As I sat and 'composed' (some times the composition begins with a B and ends with a T-two words: Bovine Excrement-what were YOU thinking?!), the thought occurred to me *best British accent* "I am too old for this!"
Now, in my own defense, I know people older than myself working on degrees. Obviously, they have better medication than do I. That glass of wine only prolongs the torture, but gives somewhat relief, especially in getting started. However, most writings penned while under the influence of the Fruit of the Vine tend to ramble, conflict, and otherwise make no sense. Therefore, I find it better to finish the assignment and THEN drown my troubles....hence the smile.
While on the subject of composition, let me say here that I found out early in this adventure that too much multi-tasking is a very dangerous thing when one is shooting the bull, er, composing. This fact presented itself to me one evening when I had one [bloodshot] eye on the television and the other on the screen. The assignment was to justify something or other, and obviously, my justification must have said something about American Idol or Andy Griffith. I got a C. An average, barely scraping by C! I was livid....after I regained my composure. It was then and there that I decided that my poor old far-sighted eyes must not stray from the work in front of me. Paula, Randy, and Simon will just have to wait for my attention in a pre-recorded fashion, as will Andy and Barney.
I suppose you might surmise from this confession that I might be afflicted with ADD. No, just senility. The funny thing is, I have one set of glasses with which to read. I have another for the computer screen. If I'm reading AND writing, what a mess. Sometimes I'll have to stop and make sure I've got the correct lenses in front of me. Some on my face, some on my head or around my neck. I'm glad nobody's around while I do this.
Come to think of it, wearing the READING glasses while looking at the computer screen is very similar to post-glass of wine. Perhaps I should just put on the reading glasses, look at the screen, and then smile as my eyes cross!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
End of the year festivities...and the Hereafter
I have decided that the 'shutting down' of a classroom and all the 'fun' that goes with it is something that is easier for the 40 and under crowd. Not to say that I don't get it done, it just takes a lot longer and makes me sneeze more than it used to. Guess one could say "I'm too old for this"!
The amount of dust that had settled on parts of shelves, books, and other 'undisturbed' areas during the school year astounded even me. Now, the reason I say I'm astounded is that I am accustomed to living with dust, pet hair, etc. BUT, it was so thick on top of the shelves that the dust bunnies looked like something much more fierce. These were dust donkeys! They were huge! I made the mistake of trying to rearrange some of my, um, decorations on that top shelf and had to retreat from the monsters I found there! Ahhhhchhhoooo! Yes, another allergy attack right there at the end of school.
Seems that everyone may be allergic to dust, but I am severely allergic to it. Yes, I know what you are thinking....I DID have a dust mask in the drawer, but the damage had been done when I climbed up on that chair (which is another thing that I'm too old to do!) and 'disturbed' the nest. It reminded me of that egg chamber in one of the Alien movies....and they were hatching!
So, I decided to quietly and quickly retreat from that field of dust donkeys without so much as a slight breeze, because it all came floating down, down, down to the computers, floor, my hair, my nose. Grosssss! I was brave enough to ask the custodian that 'if they had time' during the summer to at least vacuum up there. Yeah, right. Like I'm high on the priority list. I will be taking my dust buster to school in August and have open hunting season on dust donkeys. I will be wearing a mask, too. I will also be drugged with much Claritin and Sudafed.
The other reason I am too old for this is that I can't remember squat. I had a firewire cord IN MY HAND and the next day, it was GONE! Looked through 2 rooms, all the drawers, closets, and boxes...no cord. I had resigned myself to having to purchase one to accomplish my techhie objectives over the summer, when I started unpacking a box I had brought home when, Voila! There's my firewire. I feel so stupid. I feel so old. I feel so....well I forgot. Proves my point, doesn't it!
Classroom is closed, and I am happily in my summer schedule. I will organize, put away, etc......until I forget what the heck I was supposed to be doing and where the heck the stuff was that I was looking for...! I believe in the hereafter. I go into a room and stop and say, "Now, what am I here after?" Yeah. It'll happen to you, too. Happy summer!
The amount of dust that had settled on parts of shelves, books, and other 'undisturbed' areas during the school year astounded even me. Now, the reason I say I'm astounded is that I am accustomed to living with dust, pet hair, etc. BUT, it was so thick on top of the shelves that the dust bunnies looked like something much more fierce. These were dust donkeys! They were huge! I made the mistake of trying to rearrange some of my, um, decorations on that top shelf and had to retreat from the monsters I found there! Ahhhhchhhoooo! Yes, another allergy attack right there at the end of school.
Seems that everyone may be allergic to dust, but I am severely allergic to it. Yes, I know what you are thinking....I DID have a dust mask in the drawer, but the damage had been done when I climbed up on that chair (which is another thing that I'm too old to do!) and 'disturbed' the nest. It reminded me of that egg chamber in one of the Alien movies....and they were hatching!
So, I decided to quietly and quickly retreat from that field of dust donkeys without so much as a slight breeze, because it all came floating down, down, down to the computers, floor, my hair, my nose. Grosssss! I was brave enough to ask the custodian that 'if they had time' during the summer to at least vacuum up there. Yeah, right. Like I'm high on the priority list. I will be taking my dust buster to school in August and have open hunting season on dust donkeys. I will be wearing a mask, too. I will also be drugged with much Claritin and Sudafed.
The other reason I am too old for this is that I can't remember squat. I had a firewire cord IN MY HAND and the next day, it was GONE! Looked through 2 rooms, all the drawers, closets, and boxes...no cord. I had resigned myself to having to purchase one to accomplish my techhie objectives over the summer, when I started unpacking a box I had brought home when, Voila! There's my firewire. I feel so stupid. I feel so old. I feel so....well I forgot. Proves my point, doesn't it!
Classroom is closed, and I am happily in my summer schedule. I will organize, put away, etc......until I forget what the heck I was supposed to be doing and where the heck the stuff was that I was looking for...! I believe in the hereafter. I go into a room and stop and say, "Now, what am I here after?" Yeah. It'll happen to you, too. Happy summer!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Dust, weeds, and dirty clothes
I'm trying to remember how long it took me to finally figure out that some things never get finished. Maybe it is the dust/dirt that continually piles up on my furniture and floors. Having the critters that I have IN THE HOUSE do not help the matter.
What is the first thing a dog does when he wakes up? Shakes. As if there weren't enough hair on the floor or in the air, let's give it a boost. Can't retrain the darlin'. He's 7 years old, a black German Shepherd. What is weird is that he's gray on his undercoat. Took him outside to comb/brush and try to get the dead hair that is being shed into the yard (if I get it off outside, I do not have to vacuum it!). I combed about a bucket-full of hair. Mercy. There are some dogs somewhere that got jipped when it came to their fair share. I wish they'd come by and claim it.
Then there is the darling kitty, er kitties. If I brushed them daily like a good pet owner, they might not leave their precious fur on my curtains and even carpet. If it weren't for the benefits of having a sweet friend that purrs and loves on you regardless of how you look, what you are wearing, or even if you haven't brushed your teeth yet.....it's worth the price. That little purr with the swinty eyes that says "I'm happy and I love you" (cat owners understand)....and the instant decrease in blood pressure after a hard day when they come to say hello and how important I am....I'll keep on vacuuming.
Then there are the weeds. I learned this the hard way, too. No matter what you do, they grow. They grow and no matter how definitely you destroy them, they return with a vengeance. All those poor, pretty flowers. I thought I just had to get rid of the weeds initially and then the flowers would be all happy and landscape artistry would exude. No. Not gonna happen. I can't tell you how many warm mornings I was out there standing on my head pulling those darn weeds with sweat running into my eyes. It was about that point that I said to myself "I'm way too old for this." Don't other people HIRE someone to care for the plants, etc.? Yes. Me? No. I'm too poor for that.
So, let's see....I have addressed the never-ending dust that accumulates (including four sources of hair, not including human), weeds that are healthy no matter the rain, heat, nor obliteration at the first of the season, so that brings me to dirty clothes.
How in the world can humans get clothes so dirty? I would understand if we rolled in the dirty, hairy floor, or kicked dirt upon us pulling those weeds. Never have understood that. Guess I'm not supposed to have fun Saturdays or the life of leisure. Those clothes pile up and if I want clean underwear, then I have to get busy. I might add that dishes do the same thing....and how, I do NOT know!
Such is the life of a Domestic Goddess, and me too.
I suppose it's the cycle of life....and dirt, and laundry, and dishes!
What is the first thing a dog does when he wakes up? Shakes. As if there weren't enough hair on the floor or in the air, let's give it a boost. Can't retrain the darlin'. He's 7 years old, a black German Shepherd. What is weird is that he's gray on his undercoat. Took him outside to comb/brush and try to get the dead hair that is being shed into the yard (if I get it off outside, I do not have to vacuum it!). I combed about a bucket-full of hair. Mercy. There are some dogs somewhere that got jipped when it came to their fair share. I wish they'd come by and claim it.
Then there is the darling kitty, er kitties. If I brushed them daily like a good pet owner, they might not leave their precious fur on my curtains and even carpet. If it weren't for the benefits of having a sweet friend that purrs and loves on you regardless of how you look, what you are wearing, or even if you haven't brushed your teeth yet.....it's worth the price. That little purr with the swinty eyes that says "I'm happy and I love you" (cat owners understand)....and the instant decrease in blood pressure after a hard day when they come to say hello and how important I am....I'll keep on vacuuming.
Then there are the weeds. I learned this the hard way, too. No matter what you do, they grow. They grow and no matter how definitely you destroy them, they return with a vengeance. All those poor, pretty flowers. I thought I just had to get rid of the weeds initially and then the flowers would be all happy and landscape artistry would exude. No. Not gonna happen. I can't tell you how many warm mornings I was out there standing on my head pulling those darn weeds with sweat running into my eyes. It was about that point that I said to myself "I'm way too old for this." Don't other people HIRE someone to care for the plants, etc.? Yes. Me? No. I'm too poor for that.
So, let's see....I have addressed the never-ending dust that accumulates (including four sources of hair, not including human), weeds that are healthy no matter the rain, heat, nor obliteration at the first of the season, so that brings me to dirty clothes.
How in the world can humans get clothes so dirty? I would understand if we rolled in the dirty, hairy floor, or kicked dirt upon us pulling those weeds. Never have understood that. Guess I'm not supposed to have fun Saturdays or the life of leisure. Those clothes pile up and if I want clean underwear, then I have to get busy. I might add that dishes do the same thing....and how, I do NOT know!
Such is the life of a Domestic Goddess, and me too.
I suppose it's the cycle of life....and dirt, and laundry, and dishes!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Beds, Sleep and Me
On a vacation with the hubby. Love to get away, but oh my, those motel beds! Worse than the beds are the pillows. I'm not complaining, mind you, but through this experience I have decided that "I'm too old for this" in regards to bedding down around the country! Give me my saggy old mattress and my 'just right height, firmness, poofy pillows'. Hampton Inn and Marriott do not have the market cornered on my preferences.
Please understand that I am not complaining, because I feel very blessed and privileged to have taken this trip, BUT rest.....in its pure and simple form, such as sleep, has for the most part, eluded me. This is day 6 of 8, and last night was the first night that I did not see nearly every hour on the clock. Could be the elevation, the travel (my husband does not do 'vacations'-he does TRIPS), or a combination of all the above. Even with sleeping for 5 hours straight, my East Coast body is revolting against my West Coast presence. Oh, I know....that 5 hour west to east flight back day after tomorrow will straighten me out just fine. (Anybody up for bets as to how frisky I will be bright and early Monday morning? I'll take that bet and raise you a sick day!)
I need my blankey! Really, I need my two pillows, my other two pillows, and just the right cover.....not the down insulation for an eskimo, which most places feel that we need, nor the 'almost fits the bed' sheet that you can read through. No, I'm too old and ornery and need my sleep.....and my pillows, and my blankey.
So, I'll take some Tylenol and hope that my neck won't get a crick like the other night from sleeping on that thing that was like a bag of cotton balls. Do these people NOT get it? Poofy, people, poofy!
Night night....I hope~!
Please understand that I am not complaining, because I feel very blessed and privileged to have taken this trip, BUT rest.....in its pure and simple form, such as sleep, has for the most part, eluded me. This is day 6 of 8, and last night was the first night that I did not see nearly every hour on the clock. Could be the elevation, the travel (my husband does not do 'vacations'-he does TRIPS), or a combination of all the above. Even with sleeping for 5 hours straight, my East Coast body is revolting against my West Coast presence. Oh, I know....that 5 hour west to east flight back day after tomorrow will straighten me out just fine. (Anybody up for bets as to how frisky I will be bright and early Monday morning? I'll take that bet and raise you a sick day!)
I need my blankey! Really, I need my two pillows, my other two pillows, and just the right cover.....not the down insulation for an eskimo, which most places feel that we need, nor the 'almost fits the bed' sheet that you can read through. No, I'm too old and ornery and need my sleep.....and my pillows, and my blankey.
So, I'll take some Tylenol and hope that my neck won't get a crick like the other night from sleeping on that thing that was like a bag of cotton balls. Do these people NOT get it? Poofy, people, poofy!
Night night....I hope~!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Referee, Counselor, Cop
Well, spring fever gets to all of us, even with unseasonable snow on its heels. The days get longer, the kids get crazier, the grown-ups get grumpier, and life just spins out of control- especially right before Spring Break.
So here we are, an unusual day with lots of special things happening, taking it easy, coasting all we can when, WHAM! Out of the blue comes the conflict. Now, today is Thursday. We're out of school tomorrow for Good Friday. (Fridays are always Good for me!) We've sung our little hearts out all week, learned new stuff, worked hard, so Friday is 'Musical Day', in that we watch a musical in class. (When will most of these little darlins ever see a musical? Heck, they can't spell it, and if it doesn't bump, boom, bombbiddy bomp, they usually don't listen to it.) Anyway, here we are, deeply engrossed in the drama of the moment when a girl who usually never speaks comes up to my desk and says "Walter [name is changed to protect the teacher] is calling me a B*%$#." Well. Walter has his own set of problems, but has been doing better. The sweetie then informs me that 2 other comrades are partners in crime with Walter.
By this time, the mood is destroyed, nobody cares who's singing anymore and all they want to know is what did Walter and say and what his buddies said. So, I put on my referee hat and take the three 'perpetrators' to the hall. When we get to the hall, nobody claims to have said what she said they said. In other words, foul made, instant replay unavailable. Sooo, I bring out the Sweetie. She starts railing the 3 perps and repeats IN DETAIL what she thought they all said about and to her. Whoa.....Counselor hat goes on. Let's all calm down and talk this out. Well, trying to difuse a volatile situation with that hat on is like a mute yelling at two fighting dogs to stop. It's about that time that I start thinking "I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS!" The Counselor Hat comes off and immediately the Cop hat goes on. "To the office, all of you!" There were about 20 other students in the process of losing control when that moment finally came. Bring out the riot gear....call the SWAT team!
Fortunately for me, the administrator is a sharp cookie, and she takes control before I can get back down to the office. Another North Korean missile hits the Pacific with no casualties! Control. Peace. Breathe. Lunchtime comes, the kiddies go, I take off all my hats and sit a spell. Maybe I need to rethink that bump, boom, bombbiddy bomp stuff. Nah. I'll keep my musicals. *The hills are still alive with the sound of sirens.* Happy Friday.
So here we are, an unusual day with lots of special things happening, taking it easy, coasting all we can when, WHAM! Out of the blue comes the conflict. Now, today is Thursday. We're out of school tomorrow for Good Friday. (Fridays are always Good for me!) We've sung our little hearts out all week, learned new stuff, worked hard, so Friday is 'Musical Day', in that we watch a musical in class. (When will most of these little darlins ever see a musical? Heck, they can't spell it, and if it doesn't bump, boom, bombbiddy bomp, they usually don't listen to it.) Anyway, here we are, deeply engrossed in the drama of the moment when a girl who usually never speaks comes up to my desk and says "Walter [name is changed to protect the teacher] is calling me a B*%$#." Well. Walter has his own set of problems, but has been doing better. The sweetie then informs me that 2 other comrades are partners in crime with Walter.
By this time, the mood is destroyed, nobody cares who's singing anymore and all they want to know is what did Walter and say and what his buddies said. So, I put on my referee hat and take the three 'perpetrators' to the hall. When we get to the hall, nobody claims to have said what she said they said. In other words, foul made, instant replay unavailable. Sooo, I bring out the Sweetie. She starts railing the 3 perps and repeats IN DETAIL what she thought they all said about and to her. Whoa.....Counselor hat goes on. Let's all calm down and talk this out. Well, trying to difuse a volatile situation with that hat on is like a mute yelling at two fighting dogs to stop. It's about that time that I start thinking "I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS!" The Counselor Hat comes off and immediately the Cop hat goes on. "To the office, all of you!" There were about 20 other students in the process of losing control when that moment finally came. Bring out the riot gear....call the SWAT team!
Fortunately for me, the administrator is a sharp cookie, and she takes control before I can get back down to the office. Another North Korean missile hits the Pacific with no casualties! Control. Peace. Breathe. Lunchtime comes, the kiddies go, I take off all my hats and sit a spell. Maybe I need to rethink that bump, boom, bombbiddy bomp stuff. Nah. I'll keep my musicals. *The hills are still alive with the sound of sirens.* Happy Friday.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Medicine and me
Medicine. Can't live with it, can't live without it. Remember those days when a Tylenol would cure what ailed you? How about just a baby aspirin and maybe some mercuricrome? Bactine was good in the old days, too. Now we have high profile steriods to reduce the swelling, nose sprays to keep the nasal passages open, sleeping pills to allow you to sleep while on the steriods, and then the Nexium and Priolsec to keep the acid at bay which aggrevates all of it. GOOD GRIEF....."I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS"!, or maybe that's what getting old is all about. Stuff just doesn't work right anymore, gives out, runs dry, leaks, creaks, or just won't function.
So, yes....suffering from allergies and/or a cold. How can one tell the difference? I believe I'm allergic to anything that moves, blooms, has hair and crawls. Then there is Mold....the silent killer. If it were dust or cobwebs, I'd be dead long ago. Lovely to see the green, the colors of the flowers in bloom, but oh my, what it does to my sinuses! I know some of you suffer with me. I thought I was too mean to get sick and throw in the towel. I just thought I was mean....until the steriods got a hold of me. Those poor middle schoolers.....they will think their teacher is the spawn of a demon when this stuff kicks in.
Happy sneezing, blowing, aching and not sleeping. Maybe that's why we have spring break....so we can get over it all or go somewhere to cure us. Go take your medicine like a good girl. Gross!
So, yes....suffering from allergies and/or a cold. How can one tell the difference? I believe I'm allergic to anything that moves, blooms, has hair and crawls. Then there is Mold....the silent killer. If it were dust or cobwebs, I'd be dead long ago. Lovely to see the green, the colors of the flowers in bloom, but oh my, what it does to my sinuses! I know some of you suffer with me. I thought I was too mean to get sick and throw in the towel. I just thought I was mean....until the steriods got a hold of me. Those poor middle schoolers.....they will think their teacher is the spawn of a demon when this stuff kicks in.
Happy sneezing, blowing, aching and not sleeping. Maybe that's why we have spring break....so we can get over it all or go somewhere to cure us. Go take your medicine like a good girl. Gross!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
My Roadie Job
Another day, another revelation. I was a 'roadie' today. For those who don't know what a 'roadie' is, they are the people who go in before a concert, haul in and set up all the equipment, check all the equipment to be 'show' ready, and then monitor and move things around during a show as needed. I'm finally getting dry after working up such a sweat that I looked like I had been in the rain. So becoming--the sweat dripping off your red, chubby cheeks. Each time a performer finished, a microphone needed to be moved, a stool placed in front, a light turned on, a microphone stand moved, etc. ! So there I am (how I got elected for this job, I do NOT know), at the end of each performance, running out there, moving something around, trying NOT to be seen. This happened about 9 times, as we had 9 performers in our school talent show. I didn't run the spot light....that was a' stand there and point' job. I didn't run the sound system....one much younger and smarter than I did that....it was 'sit there and turn knobs' job. No, there I am: running out center stage after each act moving and pushing and hauling and clicking.
It was only when the whole thing was over when I am red-faced, hair wet, clothes wet, out of breath and probably stinky that I came to myself and said "I'm WAYYY too old for THIS!" The thoughts occur to me that there is no one in the wings learning (and laughing) as I do these silly things. Now, that gives me a fiendish delight to think of another that will eventually take my place as a roadie. After all, 5 more years and this roadie finds a new crew, a new stage, a new tour! It will then be someone elses turn to sweat, run, pant, and worry.
So, tote that speaker, wind those wires, unplug those microphones and roll that cart. This roadie had better take her vitamins and slop on some extra deodorant tomorrow, because we get to do it three more times for the student body!!! I just know they will appreciate all my hard work and efforts......yeah....I'll just flip a bead of perspiration on them. Better not quit my day job~wait: this IS my day job!!! *singing* "On the road again"!
It was only when the whole thing was over when I am red-faced, hair wet, clothes wet, out of breath and probably stinky that I came to myself and said "I'm WAYYY too old for THIS!" The thoughts occur to me that there is no one in the wings learning (and laughing) as I do these silly things. Now, that gives me a fiendish delight to think of another that will eventually take my place as a roadie. After all, 5 more years and this roadie finds a new crew, a new stage, a new tour! It will then be someone elses turn to sweat, run, pant, and worry.
So, tote that speaker, wind those wires, unplug those microphones and roll that cart. This roadie had better take her vitamins and slop on some extra deodorant tomorrow, because we get to do it three more times for the student body!!! I just know they will appreciate all my hard work and efforts......yeah....I'll just flip a bead of perspiration on them. Better not quit my day job~wait: this IS my day job!!! *singing* "On the road again"!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Halellujah!
Well, I'm tuckered out. My singing stamina has up and gone. We're doing the Easter section of the "Messiah" on Palm Sunday. I used to could sing all day and half the night, but alas, my vocal cords are screaming something at me right now....say it with me "I'm too old for this!" I'm thinking that Mr. Handel hated sopranos, anyway. He must have had some grudge against an aunt, sister, governess, or even Mom to put those Ds up there and just hang on. For crying out loud, it's inhumane! To make one scream on a constant pitch and then run all over with it you control is like cutting your finger and getting it to bleed in one spot!
This is one thing I won't give up, though. My friend (who sits beside me in choir) and I have made a pact: when one of us starts sounding like an injured cat when we sing, the other will lovingly and gently say "You're too old for this" and then we will graduate ourselves on up to the seniors' choir. Not to say that the seniors' choir is bad, mind you, but the discipline it takes to sing something as heavy as Handel ain't for sissies or old people. In fact, I may be graduating sooner than I think. I was standing there tonight just screaming my guts out and the thought occurred to me just how heavy that book was that I was holding. I'll admit it....I have a 'sissy' streak. I whine alot, too. I'm getting really good at whining, so I suppose that's one of those things you graduate into as well.
Maybe the day when I can't stand up for the Halellujah Chorus will be the day I really AM too old for this...or maybe I'll be in Heaven then and it won't really matter. Halellujah!
This is one thing I won't give up, though. My friend (who sits beside me in choir) and I have made a pact: when one of us starts sounding like an injured cat when we sing, the other will lovingly and gently say "You're too old for this" and then we will graduate ourselves on up to the seniors' choir. Not to say that the seniors' choir is bad, mind you, but the discipline it takes to sing something as heavy as Handel ain't for sissies or old people. In fact, I may be graduating sooner than I think. I was standing there tonight just screaming my guts out and the thought occurred to me just how heavy that book was that I was holding. I'll admit it....I have a 'sissy' streak. I whine alot, too. I'm getting really good at whining, so I suppose that's one of those things you graduate into as well.
Maybe the day when I can't stand up for the Halellujah Chorus will be the day I really AM too old for this...or maybe I'll be in Heaven then and it won't really matter. Halellujah!
Monday, March 16, 2009
The show must go.....really.
I've hit another milestone...I just can't teach these children to dance. Some have rhythm, more do not. In an attempt to let them experience a quasi-show choir performance, I allow students to learn and choreograph a song. I'm thinking, "This may be a mistake." Every semester I question myself, and then the new semester I give it another go. Well, THIS time, I decided to enable them to really understand a performance sequence; I'd give them a 'dress' rehearsal. Oh Lord, give me grace (and oxygen). I'm actually surprised by some of them; they did well. Some, oh my. Reminds me of my days as a child when we'd sing along to "Stop in the Name of Love" at my peeps' house in the afternoon after school. In fact, we did a better job than some of these sweet babies. Bless their little hearts.
Getting to the point, I saw probably 20 groups today before lunch, and gave them critiques for a better performance for their show tomorrow. As my knee starts to give out about 11:00 am and I'm running to find the groups to perform, getting CDs, plugging stuff in, moving tables around, I just realized (say it with me) I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS! Pass the Advil and get me a chocolate bar!
I ask my colleagues, why do I do what I do, and they say, "so the students will have an opportunity to be creative" to which I say they can't even spell it. Man, we've come a long way from 'the Day'. To conclude this tyrade....moving sound equipment, setting up same, finding groups spread along the hall, getting them to perform, giving suggestions (including demonstration of dance moves)...all in the name of 'better teaching practices' so the darlings will enjoy an 'outside the box' experience.....leaves me dripping in perspiration and panting for breath. Again I say, I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS....but that last 5 years will fly by and then I'll be looking for something else to occupy my time and what's left of the energy. Perhaps I could teach an aerobics class: it would be very similar!
So I say....put those tennis shoes back on, get the music cranked up. If I live through the next two days of exams for these darlins, I can at least have a respite before exams roll around again. Meanwhile, I WILL slug the next person that says "perhaps you need some exercise"!!! I'll make sure I take my vitamin C.
Getting to the point, I saw probably 20 groups today before lunch, and gave them critiques for a better performance for their show tomorrow. As my knee starts to give out about 11:00 am and I'm running to find the groups to perform, getting CDs, plugging stuff in, moving tables around, I just realized (say it with me) I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS! Pass the Advil and get me a chocolate bar!
I ask my colleagues, why do I do what I do, and they say, "so the students will have an opportunity to be creative" to which I say they can't even spell it. Man, we've come a long way from 'the Day'. To conclude this tyrade....moving sound equipment, setting up same, finding groups spread along the hall, getting them to perform, giving suggestions (including demonstration of dance moves)...all in the name of 'better teaching practices' so the darlings will enjoy an 'outside the box' experience.....leaves me dripping in perspiration and panting for breath. Again I say, I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS....but that last 5 years will fly by and then I'll be looking for something else to occupy my time and what's left of the energy. Perhaps I could teach an aerobics class: it would be very similar!
So I say....put those tennis shoes back on, get the music cranked up. If I live through the next two days of exams for these darlins, I can at least have a respite before exams roll around again. Meanwhile, I WILL slug the next person that says "perhaps you need some exercise"!!! I'll make sure I take my vitamin C.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Winter Retreat
Well, just dropped my 'adult' daughter off at church to be a chaperone/counselor for the Winter Retreat that is an annual big deal at my church. Different this time, in that SHE was the one going to counsel, to feed, to guide. Yes, I've been there, done that, got several t-shirts to prove it, but the last one nearly killed me and so I've decided (say it with me) I'm too old for this! I knew several years ago that my time had come to pass the toothbrush, er torch and let the 'younger generation' take over in that position. Let's see, the last one I went to was that cabin that was so dusty, I had bronchitis for about a month afterwards. Lovely setting, deep in the woods, lake nearby, and lots and lots of dust. This was 'the cabin that time forgot.' I expected any minute that some 'Jason'-like character would come crashing through the window with a chain saw. Oh, I enjoyed my sofa-bed couch/mattress thingy, just had those two bars in my back and behind all night. Needless to say, this retreat weekend is one that eludes sleep. There are stories, oh yes, many stories of the shenanigans that went on during those retreats. Some I can tell, some I'd rather not, some I'll never know and that's just fine with me.
Sleep is something that has become very precious to me. When I was younger, it was the norm to sleep until 10 on a Saturday morning. Now if I get past 7, I'm sleeping late: which brings me back to my point.....the need for sleep. If there are people under 40 reading this, you just won't get it for another 10 years. Deprive me of my sleep (which sometimes commences at 9:00 pm - don't laugh...it will happen to you) and I am NOT a nice person. In fact, the word Nazi comes to mind. Winter Retreat is a synonym for NO SLEEP. Oh, I know, you can catch up on it later. No, can't. Once that sleep bank is overdrawn, LOOK OUT!
You can't imagine what the time change does to me. Affects me much like Winter Retreat used to do. So, God, please bless them. Let them get to know You and grow closer, growing as Christians and being bolder in their faith. As for the counselors, I'll have their sleep medications ready. Don't look for them at work Monday, or if you do see them, check for a swastika on their sleeve!
Time for my nap!
Sleep is something that has become very precious to me. When I was younger, it was the norm to sleep until 10 on a Saturday morning. Now if I get past 7, I'm sleeping late: which brings me back to my point.....the need for sleep. If there are people under 40 reading this, you just won't get it for another 10 years. Deprive me of my sleep (which sometimes commences at 9:00 pm - don't laugh...it will happen to you) and I am NOT a nice person. In fact, the word Nazi comes to mind. Winter Retreat is a synonym for NO SLEEP. Oh, I know, you can catch up on it later. No, can't. Once that sleep bank is overdrawn, LOOK OUT!
You can't imagine what the time change does to me. Affects me much like Winter Retreat used to do. So, God, please bless them. Let them get to know You and grow closer, growing as Christians and being bolder in their faith. As for the counselors, I'll have their sleep medications ready. Don't look for them at work Monday, or if you do see them, check for a swastika on their sleeve!
Time for my nap!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Fail
Hello, and welcome to my blog. I have created this blog to vent about those things that I 'used' to do frequently, but now for some reason, don't. I really believe that getting old is in your mind, but aging creeps up on all of us. I'm 54 and pretty proud of it, but there are some things that I'm just not going there to do anymore. A therapist once told me that it would do me good to write it down, so I'm thinking that I'm not the only one that is frustrated with used to's.
Today's special is "Fail". It started this morning when I was supposed to pay a bill online. I knew it was there...had it in a special place....did my 'morning' thing, and then came home after a melt-down day and there she sat....unpaid. Well, logged on and paid it, it was about 6:00pm. Cut off was at 3:00pm. Late charge, here you come. I used to could remember stuff. Now I suffer from that disease my cousin told me about....CRS: Can't Remember S*$#.
Now that's toward the end of the day. The first FAIL came today at school (I teach middle school Chorus class) when I encounter students who just don't care, don't appreciate, don't try, ...you get the picture. I melted down. Time for a nerve pill. *yeah, those things my grandmother and aunts used to take when life got hard...I've joined those ranks - more on that in a later chapter!*
So, once the melt-down begins, it continues. Nothing can stop it...think of a nuclear reactor, and put that in your brain. So, the pity party begins, and I'm thinking...say it with me ''I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS!" Five more years until retirement, so I'd better tie a knot and hang on.
On the positive side, there ARE kids that want to do right, want to learn, and do care about their classes and their teachers. Must dwell on those and let those who want to FAIL! I'm very thankful that the earth still rotates, the sun will go down, and the moon will rise. About 7:30 or so in the morning, that sun will rise and another opportunity will be given to try again. Ah, but we must remember what that Jedi Master Yoda said..."Do or do not. There is no try." So, we will do. We will do a better job tomorrow. Meanwhile, that nerve pill is kicking in. Make it a good night.
Citykitty
Today's special is "Fail". It started this morning when I was supposed to pay a bill online. I knew it was there...had it in a special place....did my 'morning' thing, and then came home after a melt-down day and there she sat....unpaid. Well, logged on and paid it, it was about 6:00pm. Cut off was at 3:00pm. Late charge, here you come. I used to could remember stuff. Now I suffer from that disease my cousin told me about....CRS: Can't Remember S*$#.
Now that's toward the end of the day. The first FAIL came today at school (I teach middle school Chorus class) when I encounter students who just don't care, don't appreciate, don't try, ...you get the picture. I melted down. Time for a nerve pill. *yeah, those things my grandmother and aunts used to take when life got hard...I've joined those ranks - more on that in a later chapter!*
So, once the melt-down begins, it continues. Nothing can stop it...think of a nuclear reactor, and put that in your brain. So, the pity party begins, and I'm thinking...say it with me ''I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS!" Five more years until retirement, so I'd better tie a knot and hang on.
On the positive side, there ARE kids that want to do right, want to learn, and do care about their classes and their teachers. Must dwell on those and let those who want to FAIL! I'm very thankful that the earth still rotates, the sun will go down, and the moon will rise. About 7:30 or so in the morning, that sun will rise and another opportunity will be given to try again. Ah, but we must remember what that Jedi Master Yoda said..."Do or do not. There is no try." So, we will do. We will do a better job tomorrow. Meanwhile, that nerve pill is kicking in. Make it a good night.
Citykitty
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