a fight with the boyfriend
seeing friends at a church event, but they see through me
succumbing to polite conversation with acquaintances
overhearing another acquaintance on the phone with a mutual friend as she closes me out and asks if there's room for her to sit with them at the event...
not even knowing those friends would be there, because we don't spend time together anymore
watching people ten years my junior walk in with their husbands and babies
seeing married friends enjoying the evening with their spouses and in-laws
escaping as soon as i can, because it's silly to be crying over these things
just silly
Friday, January 16, 2009
Sunday, December 21, 2008
I got scared off from blogging for a while, because while visiting "him" one day I watched as he found my blog address in his favorites.
"What's this?" he wondered aloud, and I quickly did my best to keep him going in whatever his original direction had been. I think that was just after I had written something about "men who make me feel like a woman," and he was an inspiration for that.
So now it's a while later, we're dating, and he's telling me about his mom's last days. We're video chatting via Skype, and when that part of the conversation is done, I google her.
I come up with an obituary notice that includes her picture. He's resumed playing World of Warcraft," and I have a three-quarters view of his head. Oddly enough, that's about the angle of his mother's face in her picture. I think he looks more like his mom than his dad, and he's definitely got her nose.
I wonder about her hopes for him and her care for him. It's strange to think of her not being there in his home state. Not wondering if he's coming home for Christmas. It's strange to think of the detachment that death brings.
She looks nice.
I wish I could have seen them interact.
"What's this?" he wondered aloud, and I quickly did my best to keep him going in whatever his original direction had been. I think that was just after I had written something about "men who make me feel like a woman," and he was an inspiration for that.
So now it's a while later, we're dating, and he's telling me about his mom's last days. We're video chatting via Skype, and when that part of the conversation is done, I google her.
I come up with an obituary notice that includes her picture. He's resumed playing World of Warcraft," and I have a three-quarters view of his head. Oddly enough, that's about the angle of his mother's face in her picture. I think he looks more like his mom than his dad, and he's definitely got her nose.
I wonder about her hopes for him and her care for him. It's strange to think of her not being there in his home state. Not wondering if he's coming home for Christmas. It's strange to think of the detachment that death brings.
She looks nice.
I wish I could have seen them interact.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Tent on a Rooftop
Again, again--life was going well, I thought I was heeding God but really wasn't putting much energy into Him, and things crashed. Crawling from the rubble, my hand came across His Word--and I opened my eyes to see.
Part of what He led me toward was an article by Elisabeth Adams in the Boundless webzine. "Into the Wilderness" started off with a blurb about visiting and living in Jerusalem, which always piques my interest. Then she began talking about the Feast of Tabernacles or, from my Bible memory, the Feast of Booths, which took place on the fifteenth day of the seventh month. Imagine my joy as a child, reading that God had ordained a holiday to take place on my birthday. Imagine my disappointment when my mother pointed out that the ancient Hebrew calendar did not align with ours.
Adams' explanation is that the Feast of Tabernacles was meant to remind the people of where they had come from. They hadn't always lived in cozy houses with quick access to marketplace wares. They had lived in tents, had wandered in the desert...and the LORD had provided...
The bit that struck me in relation to current events in my life was the theme of Adams' statement, "I am always dependent on God: the desert just reminds me that I am."
I've done all I can in this current quandary. I've shaped my cozy house and know who will sell me the right stuff and how I can earn my keep. Yet a situation came along that reminded me that I am not in charge of my little world.
God is.
And I choose to be thankful for this tent.
Part of what He led me toward was an article by Elisabeth Adams in the Boundless webzine. "Into the Wilderness" started off with a blurb about visiting and living in Jerusalem, which always piques my interest. Then she began talking about the Feast of Tabernacles or, from my Bible memory, the Feast of Booths, which took place on the fifteenth day of the seventh month. Imagine my joy as a child, reading that God had ordained a holiday to take place on my birthday. Imagine my disappointment when my mother pointed out that the ancient Hebrew calendar did not align with ours.
Adams' explanation is that the Feast of Tabernacles was meant to remind the people of where they had come from. They hadn't always lived in cozy houses with quick access to marketplace wares. They had lived in tents, had wandered in the desert...and the LORD had provided...
The bit that struck me in relation to current events in my life was the theme of Adams' statement, "I am always dependent on God: the desert just reminds me that I am."
I've done all I can in this current quandary. I've shaped my cozy house and know who will sell me the right stuff and how I can earn my keep. Yet a situation came along that reminded me that I am not in charge of my little world.
God is.
And I choose to be thankful for this tent.
No, Wait--There's More!
We had parent-teacher conferences a couple of weeks ago. One mother dropped in with her son.
*This is his worst class. He's clearly not understanding the material on the quizzes. Can you give him something to help with that?*
I looked at the kid, who dropped himself into one of my comfy chairs and slouched there. *What about your notes?*
*Well, you go too fast...* he started. *And when I try to hurry up, I can't read my handwriting...*
Not an excuse. *Where can you go to get another copy of those notes?*
"Your website..." he mumbled.
*Well, what's this with these participation points?* the mother asked next.
*He lost those when he was sent into the hallway.*
*How do they get sent into the hallway?*
*If they're being a distraction in class...*
*So, to keep their participation points, they just need to sit there and not say anything?*
I got what she was implying: do nothing, and that counts as good participation. No. Be cooperative; don't be a dink.
I mentioned her son's proclivity toward talking to others, one student in particular.
*Well can you move them, so they're not sitting near each other?*
*T sits in the front of the room,* I told her, *and A's at the back. These kids talk all across the room!*
Then she asked why he was doing so poorly in my class. (His grade was a 69%, which, I believe, is substantially better than it was the previous year.) We didn't talk about his four late assignments, which I took past the due date. We didn't talk about the quiz he hadn't retaken though I'd given him the option and a personal reminder. I'm not in his other classes with him, so I turned to the kid. *Why are you doing more poorly here?* He shrugged. Conversation rotated then came back to the same dialogue: mother, me, kid. He still didn't know what made the difference.
In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best time to bring up putting her kid back on ADHD meds. But he'd been on them last year, and I appreciated that time. The kid learned, as did those around him. I'd called her about it in the springtime, but hadn't heard back. The issue kept coming up in team time with my colleagues, and the mom was in my room, so...
It did not go over well.
*Miss X [homeroom teacher] said he's doing better, and all his other teachers say he's doing well, so no. Meds are not an option.* There was a bit more blustering in there, including a line of, *His grades are...mostly okay in most of his classes, so, no.*
It was one of those cases in which I stood back and shrugged as minimaly as I could physically, but a whole darn lot facially. Big eyes. Not scared, but "you're the boss; this is in your hands" eyes.
I had another scheduled conference, so she left. She did control herself well throughout our talk; I could tell she was much more frustrated than she verbalized.
Later, I mentioned the incident to others on the team. Miss X said the kid had been better for her recently--and as teachers, we want to stress the positive--the hope for the future. Apparently, that was all the mom went away with. The other teachers were shocked. He's not doing well for them at all. They've since gotten emails from the mom, wondering how they can help her kid.
A few days ago, I talked to a friend who's also a local. She knows others who have been in this area their entire lives. She mentioned an old classmate of ours and how that classmate has a friend with kids in my school system. The mom is apparently out drinking numerous nights a week and is making some rather non-parental decisions.
Ironic, isn't it, that this lady's name is the same as my student's mother's?
*This is his worst class. He's clearly not understanding the material on the quizzes. Can you give him something to help with that?*
I looked at the kid, who dropped himself into one of my comfy chairs and slouched there. *What about your notes?*
*Well, you go too fast...* he started. *And when I try to hurry up, I can't read my handwriting...*
Not an excuse. *Where can you go to get another copy of those notes?*
"Your website..." he mumbled.
*Well, what's this with these participation points?* the mother asked next.
*He lost those when he was sent into the hallway.*
*How do they get sent into the hallway?*
*If they're being a distraction in class...*
*So, to keep their participation points, they just need to sit there and not say anything?*
I got what she was implying: do nothing, and that counts as good participation. No. Be cooperative; don't be a dink.
I mentioned her son's proclivity toward talking to others, one student in particular.
*Well can you move them, so they're not sitting near each other?*
*T sits in the front of the room,* I told her, *and A's at the back. These kids talk all across the room!*
Then she asked why he was doing so poorly in my class. (His grade was a 69%, which, I believe, is substantially better than it was the previous year.) We didn't talk about his four late assignments, which I took past the due date. We didn't talk about the quiz he hadn't retaken though I'd given him the option and a personal reminder. I'm not in his other classes with him, so I turned to the kid. *Why are you doing more poorly here?* He shrugged. Conversation rotated then came back to the same dialogue: mother, me, kid. He still didn't know what made the difference.
In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best time to bring up putting her kid back on ADHD meds. But he'd been on them last year, and I appreciated that time. The kid learned, as did those around him. I'd called her about it in the springtime, but hadn't heard back. The issue kept coming up in team time with my colleagues, and the mom was in my room, so...
It did not go over well.
*Miss X [homeroom teacher] said he's doing better, and all his other teachers say he's doing well, so no. Meds are not an option.* There was a bit more blustering in there, including a line of, *His grades are...mostly okay in most of his classes, so, no.*
It was one of those cases in which I stood back and shrugged as minimaly as I could physically, but a whole darn lot facially. Big eyes. Not scared, but "you're the boss; this is in your hands" eyes.
I had another scheduled conference, so she left. She did control herself well throughout our talk; I could tell she was much more frustrated than she verbalized.
Later, I mentioned the incident to others on the team. Miss X said the kid had been better for her recently--and as teachers, we want to stress the positive--the hope for the future. Apparently, that was all the mom went away with. The other teachers were shocked. He's not doing well for them at all. They've since gotten emails from the mom, wondering how they can help her kid.
A few days ago, I talked to a friend who's also a local. She knows others who have been in this area their entire lives. She mentioned an old classmate of ours and how that classmate has a friend with kids in my school system. The mom is apparently out drinking numerous nights a week and is making some rather non-parental decisions.
Ironic, isn't it, that this lady's name is the same as my student's mother's?
Can You Handle Another Whine?
I was feeling spiffy at work--I had my technology figured out. The marvelous world of Google Docs was discovered. I could make PowerPointish presentations and publish them to the Web. I could set up a Google Calendar for each of my classes and link my presentations to the relevant date for each class. I showed my students how to access my school page, in which I had embedded my Google Calendars. My little sixth graders were going online at home to print off notes when they were absent or when they knew their handwriting was too unreliable.
For my small-group classes, the day's activities were based on the Google Calendars. "Go to your class's page. Find today's date. Click on the link that will take you to the story we're going to read. When you're done with that, go back to the calendar. Click the link that will take you to the questions I put in via Google Docs. Bring up a new window/tab and go to your Google Site [which I had them create--using Gmail addresses but not using them for email, which is blocked on our system--circumvention!]. On your page called 'Answers,' type in your answers to the questions. Refer back to the story that is also online. Make a link to the original story. When you're done, check someone else's work by going to their site. Make corrections as they check yours. Refresh your screen to see the updates they've made. If no one else is done, I'll check yours--right from the comfort of my own laptop..."
It was beautiful.
And then, last week, our admin sent out an email saying that something was slowing down our network to the point of being ridiculous. Google has updated itself with components that are constantly scanning and active, which apparently uses up our bandwidth. If the problem is Google, we lose Google. So it was blocked.
All of it.
No search engine.
No calendar with meetings listed and assignments by class.
No documents for kids to print out.
No sites for kids to take ownership of and be excited about using, even though they're in a remedial class.
No relatively safe searches.
And now...I start...OVER...
For my small-group classes, the day's activities were based on the Google Calendars. "Go to your class's page. Find today's date. Click on the link that will take you to the story we're going to read. When you're done with that, go back to the calendar. Click the link that will take you to the questions I put in via Google Docs. Bring up a new window/tab and go to your Google Site [which I had them create--using Gmail addresses but not using them for email, which is blocked on our system--circumvention!]. On your page called 'Answers,' type in your answers to the questions. Refer back to the story that is also online. Make a link to the original story. When you're done, check someone else's work by going to their site. Make corrections as they check yours. Refresh your screen to see the updates they've made. If no one else is done, I'll check yours--right from the comfort of my own laptop..."
It was beautiful.
And then, last week, our admin sent out an email saying that something was slowing down our network to the point of being ridiculous. Google has updated itself with components that are constantly scanning and active, which apparently uses up our bandwidth. If the problem is Google, we lose Google. So it was blocked.
All of it.
No search engine.
No calendar with meetings listed and assignments by class.
No documents for kids to print out.
No sites for kids to take ownership of and be excited about using, even though they're in a remedial class.
No relatively safe searches.
And now...I start...OVER...
Bait-Cutting
How long do you keep fishing before you realize you're not getting anything? How long do you stay in a place before you realize there's nothing there for you?
Nothing.
It seems that God has been slowly stripping away things that keep me here. Friends move or have changes in their families, which moves them in a different direction. Others just...well, the connection's missing. They're here. I'm here. Lives are similar...but then I feel awkward and don't interact well, and they think...what...I'm snobby? Boring? Wish I knew...sort of... Anyway, I see myself at 33, still standing against the fence by the dugout. Pick me. Somebody. Please. Not that I want to play, and not that I'm that good at it. Just so I...don't...have to...stand...here...
So that makes it easier to switch "schools," as it were. I hadn't felt the impetus in years, but maybe that's what God is using to make it really uncomfortable here. It's scary to think of leaving my comfort zone...but it's not comfortable.
Nothing.
It seems that God has been slowly stripping away things that keep me here. Friends move or have changes in their families, which moves them in a different direction. Others just...well, the connection's missing. They're here. I'm here. Lives are similar...but then I feel awkward and don't interact well, and they think...what...I'm snobby? Boring? Wish I knew...sort of... Anyway, I see myself at 33, still standing against the fence by the dugout. Pick me. Somebody. Please. Not that I want to play, and not that I'm that good at it. Just so I...don't...have to...stand...here...
So that makes it easier to switch "schools," as it were. I hadn't felt the impetus in years, but maybe that's what God is using to make it really uncomfortable here. It's scary to think of leaving my comfort zone...but it's not comfortable.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Humbled
I went.
The oldest and the youngest were scampering around with pre-funeral jitters, but then came Shoes, trying to round them up. He stopped when he saw me.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came for you guys."
We talked for a moment, then he went off in search of his older brother. I made my way toward the doors, and an usher asked if I were family. No, just a teacher. Then Shoes appeared beside me.
"Family and close friends in the first three rows," he said, gesturing to where I should sit.
Oh, dear God, I'm glad I went!
The oldest and the youngest were scampering around with pre-funeral jitters, but then came Shoes, trying to round them up. He stopped when he saw me.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came for you guys."
We talked for a moment, then he went off in search of his older brother. I made my way toward the doors, and an usher asked if I were family. No, just a teacher. Then Shoes appeared beside me.
"Family and close friends in the first three rows," he said, gesturing to where I should sit.
Oh, dear God, I'm glad I went!
Friday, September 26, 2008
I really don't want to go.
The three brothers were sent home from school with headlice just last week.
I don't want to go.
I missed tonight; tomorrow's my only shot.
Three boys, all ungainly; one too big, one too small, the other with a mind that's ten years behind his body. The younger two are the ones I've had in class. My room still smelled after they left each day. I called their mom to express the need for new shoes for one of them, but that only solved part of the problem. Hair uncut, unbrushed; things falling out of it. Other students knew which chairs they'd used and tried to avoid those seats.
I don't want to go; don't want to hug them; don't want to be touched...
Don't want to face this futility. Don't dare to hope for a future for these boys--already misguided, but now, even less guided. I don't want to go to their dad's funeral.
I don't suppose they do, either.
The three brothers were sent home from school with headlice just last week.
I don't want to go.
I missed tonight; tomorrow's my only shot.
Three boys, all ungainly; one too big, one too small, the other with a mind that's ten years behind his body. The younger two are the ones I've had in class. My room still smelled after they left each day. I called their mom to express the need for new shoes for one of them, but that only solved part of the problem. Hair uncut, unbrushed; things falling out of it. Other students knew which chairs they'd used and tried to avoid those seats.
I don't want to go; don't want to hug them; don't want to be touched...
Don't want to face this futility. Don't dare to hope for a future for these boys--already misguided, but now, even less guided. I don't want to go to their dad's funeral.
I don't suppose they do, either.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Ignorance
The thing that pushes my buttons the most is getting ignored. I don't mean that the thing is getting ignored, but that I get ignored. Hate that. When I fought with my mother while growing up, the thing that made me maddest was when she closed me off. Talk to me; work it through; don't close me out...
It ticks me off when my students do that, and maybe that's more an issue of respect. With my mother, it was a sign of her not knowing how to deal with me...or a way of refraining from saying something she'd regret.
I still don't react well to it. The more tired and stressed I become, the worse and more disproportionate my reaction to...ignorance...is. It becomes one of those "world is crashing down on me" moments, which, really, it's not. Maybe it's an earthquake; maybe it is significant. So stand in a doorway, self. Crawl under a table. A bit of ceiling may fall down, but it's not the end of your world.
It ticks me off when my students do that, and maybe that's more an issue of respect. With my mother, it was a sign of her not knowing how to deal with me...or a way of refraining from saying something she'd regret.
I still don't react well to it. The more tired and stressed I become, the worse and more disproportionate my reaction to...ignorance...is. It becomes one of those "world is crashing down on me" moments, which, really, it's not. Maybe it's an earthquake; maybe it is significant. So stand in a doorway, self. Crawl under a table. A bit of ceiling may fall down, but it's not the end of your world.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Why Being Single Is Fun
Elementary school's principal comes up to you on bus duty and asks if any magical relationships developed over the summer. When you respond in the negative, she mentions the single son of a friend, and offers to keep looking if he's not compatible.
Nosy neighbor across street approaches and clarifies that you're (still) single. "Howcome? You're a good lookin' gal. You get better lookin' with age!"
White-haired school custodian pauses in his sweeping and says, as a sultry Mr. Rogers, "Have you ever been in a line around some Spanish-speaking men, and heard them comment on how beautiful and sexy you are? 'Cause you will..."
Maybe that's not fun. Maybe that's just creepy...
Nosy neighbor across street approaches and clarifies that you're (still) single. "Howcome? You're a good lookin' gal. You get better lookin' with age!"
White-haired school custodian pauses in his sweeping and says, as a sultry Mr. Rogers, "Have you ever been in a line around some Spanish-speaking men, and heard them comment on how beautiful and sexy you are? 'Cause you will..."
Maybe that's not fun. Maybe that's just creepy...
Monday, September 01, 2008
This year's LifeLight Festival wasn't as yee-haw as last year's. I'm allergic to dust, hay, cats, and whatever seasonal allergy is out there. Three of those seemed to be present in the cornfield where we were. Perhaps it was the hour it took me to get out of the parking lot that was the biggest downer. But there were highlights.
I volunteered for MVett, which meant that we ran errands around the grounds after my shift was done. The air had cooled, Michael W. Smith was singing, people were happy, and I was in motion. The world was grand.
The spot of my volunteerism was the Prize Tent, which led into the merchandise tent. It was an excellent place to sit, because oodles of people passed through. For some reason, if you're sitting behind a table in a tent, people think you know something. My favorite was the 7-ish-year-old who came up to me with big eyes.
"Have you seen my mom? She's wearing a green shirt and brown pants and she has brown hair and..."
There are over 100,000 people here, kid. "Does she have a cell phone?" I asked. "What's her number?"
The kid rambled it off, including at least two extra digits.
"Hold on. Write it down." She did, with the appropriate number of digits, and I called. The mother was grateful, and I had the kid stay at the table until she was picked up by family. How is it that I can feel maternal while taking care of someone else's kid?
The other favorite moments were when two different groups of kids came up with mud-splattered skin, footwear, and clothing. "I went into the mud. Do you know of somewhere where I can wash off?" MVett and I sent them back out the door of the tent to a spigot directly in front of them.
"You know where that mud puddle is?" I asked a confused one. "That's where the spigot is--it's what made the mud."
"Ohhhhh!"
Dingbats. But it was fun to help out.
I volunteered for MVett, which meant that we ran errands around the grounds after my shift was done. The air had cooled, Michael W. Smith was singing, people were happy, and I was in motion. The world was grand.
The spot of my volunteerism was the Prize Tent, which led into the merchandise tent. It was an excellent place to sit, because oodles of people passed through. For some reason, if you're sitting behind a table in a tent, people think you know something. My favorite was the 7-ish-year-old who came up to me with big eyes.
"Have you seen my mom? She's wearing a green shirt and brown pants and she has brown hair and..."
There are over 100,000 people here, kid. "Does she have a cell phone?" I asked. "What's her number?"
The kid rambled it off, including at least two extra digits.
"Hold on. Write it down." She did, with the appropriate number of digits, and I called. The mother was grateful, and I had the kid stay at the table until she was picked up by family. How is it that I can feel maternal while taking care of someone else's kid?
The other favorite moments were when two different groups of kids came up with mud-splattered skin, footwear, and clothing. "I went into the mud. Do you know of somewhere where I can wash off?" MVett and I sent them back out the door of the tent to a spigot directly in front of them.
"You know where that mud puddle is?" I asked a confused one. "That's where the spigot is--it's what made the mud."
"Ohhhhh!"
Dingbats. But it was fun to help out.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Sweet Baby James
Today, I wandered down a trail of blogs until I came to a halt at this one: Sweet Baby James.
I'm still processing my feelings from it. Amazement at the faith of these parents and their "reminders to self" to keep said faith. Hopelessness at the medical trials, tests and speculations, given the ending. Suspicion at God for leading this couple along such a path. Fear that if I marry and have children, this may "randomly" be part of my lot. Closeness to Jesus, knowing that He does care--for this couple, for their children, and for me.
I'm still processing my feelings from it. Amazement at the faith of these parents and their "reminders to self" to keep said faith. Hopelessness at the medical trials, tests and speculations, given the ending. Suspicion at God for leading this couple along such a path. Fear that if I marry and have children, this may "randomly" be part of my lot. Closeness to Jesus, knowing that He does care--for this couple, for their children, and for me.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Morning
I really am a firm believer in roughing it. Last year, friends camped at a park; I joined them for socialization time, then headed back to the cabin to sleep. It turned out to be a good choice, since it rained that night and my friends slept in their cars. (I had offered the cabin, but they were determined to stick it out.)
So here I am, in what's basically a studio apartment at the lake. I'm not sure whose wireless I'm picking up, but it really makes it hard to think I'm roughing it. I suppose for me, that term involves the concept of "packing up all my necessities and lugging them to my overnight point of interest." Having to use trial-sized shampoo. Pre-planning and packaging the food I'll need. Once, the water heater didn't kick in soon enough to give me more than a tepid shower. Horror, I know.
Despite having most of the comforts of home, this place is unique for me. Last night's creature notwithstanding, I breathe relaxation when I walk in the door. The lake-side wall is mostly windows, which means I can sit practically anywhere and see tall grasses, cottonwoods waving, the blue of the lake, and sky. For whatever reason, I awoke around three this morning. Moonlight streamed in through those lake-side windows and echoed geometric shapes on the floor. Had I been conscious, I would have enjoyed it more, but the incident was poignant enough for my memory to retain until I got up.
Birds and trees; wind and sky. Geese that passed overhead last night rise up from the lake this morning. Fall, apparently, is here.
So here I am, in what's basically a studio apartment at the lake. I'm not sure whose wireless I'm picking up, but it really makes it hard to think I'm roughing it. I suppose for me, that term involves the concept of "packing up all my necessities and lugging them to my overnight point of interest." Having to use trial-sized shampoo. Pre-planning and packaging the food I'll need. Once, the water heater didn't kick in soon enough to give me more than a tepid shower. Horror, I know.
Despite having most of the comforts of home, this place is unique for me. Last night's creature notwithstanding, I breathe relaxation when I walk in the door. The lake-side wall is mostly windows, which means I can sit practically anywhere and see tall grasses, cottonwoods waving, the blue of the lake, and sky. For whatever reason, I awoke around three this morning. Moonlight streamed in through those lake-side windows and echoed geometric shapes on the floor. Had I been conscious, I would have enjoyed it more, but the incident was poignant enough for my memory to retain until I got up.
Birds and trees; wind and sky. Geese that passed overhead last night rise up from the lake this morning. Fall, apparently, is here.
Friday, August 22, 2008
It's a Lonely Ol' Night...
It's a good night, really. I'm staying at E&C's cabin by the lake, which is a fantastic spot. I arrived here hours after planning to, plopped down and read for a bit, then went up to the main house for a visit. After seeing other friends, I came back in the dark...to darkness, having forgotten to leave a light on for myself.
I'm not a big fan of darkness and being alone, especially in non-home settings. This being the case, I made sure I was on the phone when I returned. SOMEone would know if something happened to me in the 40 feet between my car and the cabin. I got in, checked the corners, then hung up with my friend. Safe. Inside. Alone. Content.
It was when I went for my salad that I realized I had no water. There were water bottles aplenty in the car...but none inside... Eleven pm. Who could I call? I tried two friends, but neither answered. I texted another. Nothing. 40 feet. It was only 40 feet...in the dark...next to the lake...40 feet...I could do it...
I unlocked the door. Stepped onto the porch. Rustlerustlerustle went the grasses and brush by the corner of the cabin. I froze, alarmed but not wanting to look stupid. (a) An animal would care? b) An attacker would care?) As serenely but quickly as I could, I stepped back inside the cabin then closed and locked the door.
WHAT was big enough to make those sounds? Not going out again.
I sucked in some tea and some milk, but really missed water. It wasn't worth braving the ferocious rustling sound, though. NOTHING was.
Soon, however, the Warrior texted back, and I called him to explain the matter. His voice gladly accompanied me to my car, and I talked loudly enough to drown out or frighten away any local creatures.
Along the way, I noticed the moon rising over the lake. It's turned the water white, in a path that leads, well, straight to my door. It's a beautiful ol' night.
Update, 12:01 am:
Something just walked across the porch. It seemed to be cat-sized and didn't make much noise. Have I told you about the giant, prehistoric raccoon I saw out here a couple of months ago? I wonder if that was it. I wonder if it was rabid. I wonder if it can smell salad.
And I'm supposed to sleep here?
Six more hours 'till dawn...
I'm not a big fan of darkness and being alone, especially in non-home settings. This being the case, I made sure I was on the phone when I returned. SOMEone would know if something happened to me in the 40 feet between my car and the cabin. I got in, checked the corners, then hung up with my friend. Safe. Inside. Alone. Content.
It was when I went for my salad that I realized I had no water. There were water bottles aplenty in the car...but none inside... Eleven pm. Who could I call? I tried two friends, but neither answered. I texted another. Nothing. 40 feet. It was only 40 feet...in the dark...next to the lake...40 feet...I could do it...
I unlocked the door. Stepped onto the porch. Rustlerustlerustle went the grasses and brush by the corner of the cabin. I froze, alarmed but not wanting to look stupid. (a) An animal would care? b) An attacker would care?) As serenely but quickly as I could, I stepped back inside the cabin then closed and locked the door.
WHAT was big enough to make those sounds? Not going out again.
I sucked in some tea and some milk, but really missed water. It wasn't worth braving the ferocious rustling sound, though. NOTHING was.
Soon, however, the Warrior texted back, and I called him to explain the matter. His voice gladly accompanied me to my car, and I talked loudly enough to drown out or frighten away any local creatures.
Along the way, I noticed the moon rising over the lake. It's turned the water white, in a path that leads, well, straight to my door. It's a beautiful ol' night.
Update, 12:01 am:
Something just walked across the porch. It seemed to be cat-sized and didn't make much noise. Have I told you about the giant, prehistoric raccoon I saw out here a couple of months ago? I wonder if that was it. I wonder if it was rabid. I wonder if it can smell salad.
And I'm supposed to sleep here?
Six more hours 'till dawn...
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Mmm...
A few nights ago, I sat with a friend in his roommate's hot tub. He had three chapters to read for school, so I pulled out _Jurassic Park_ and we slid into the bubbles. Nerdy, but good. When we were sufficiently broiled (not quite through a whole chapter), out we went. A pause, though; "When I grow up, I want one of these," he said. I agreed.
Today, I had another "When I grow up, I want..." moment. A coworker sent out an email asking if anyone wanted fish. She and her husband had put in a koi pond and didn't realize that having koi meant having more koi...and more koi... I followed her home at noon, and the place is just luscious! There are perennials along the perimeter of the property, and a big, old Victorian house with a 3/4 wraparound porch. The koi pond parallels two of the sides--so it seems to just keep going. I took the few steps up onto the porch and was astounded. It was a windy afternoon, and I could just imagine sitting there in the shade, being rocked in the swing... Then came the "I want this moment:" at the southwest corner of the porch is a stairway going out to the yard. The stairs drop you off at a bridge that runs over the koi pond. A bridge with a point! You know the "ballroom stairs" moment? Like in A Cinderella Story and others of that sort, in which the princess character descends with flowing gown? I'm not a very flowy gowny sort of person, but I felt like a princess as I descended those steps. It was a beautiful feeling!
When I grow up...
Today, I had another "When I grow up, I want..." moment. A coworker sent out an email asking if anyone wanted fish. She and her husband had put in a koi pond and didn't realize that having koi meant having more koi...and more koi... I followed her home at noon, and the place is just luscious! There are perennials along the perimeter of the property, and a big, old Victorian house with a 3/4 wraparound porch. The koi pond parallels two of the sides--so it seems to just keep going. I took the few steps up onto the porch and was astounded. It was a windy afternoon, and I could just imagine sitting there in the shade, being rocked in the swing... Then came the "I want this moment:" at the southwest corner of the porch is a stairway going out to the yard. The stairs drop you off at a bridge that runs over the koi pond. A bridge with a point! You know the "ballroom stairs" moment? Like in A Cinderella Story and others of that sort, in which the princess character descends with flowing gown? I'm not a very flowy gowny sort of person, but I felt like a princess as I descended those steps. It was a beautiful feeling!
When I grow up...
I Got Dumped--AHGAIN!
Same guy.
I hadn't written back to him because I hadn't figured out a tactful way to tell him off. You know, lovingly, kindly...but not too lovingly or kindly. A week later, I got an email saying he wondered if he had jumped the gun, and was open to discussing issues that had come up. I had just decided to not write a telling-off (nicely) message. He still wanted communication? Not knowing what to do, I did nothing. He wrote again on Sunday, wondering if I had gotten his email. Yes...but to say I'd gotten his email would mean I should respond. Again, I didn't know how to respond nicely. And then life got busy. I was out of town, inservice began, we had Back-to-School Night...
Tonight's message was simple: my name, followed by "I'm not going to pursue anything in regards to you. Take Care," followed by his name.
So, nice...but presumptuous. After two weeks with no response, did he think I was interested?
I hadn't written back to him because I hadn't figured out a tactful way to tell him off. You know, lovingly, kindly...but not too lovingly or kindly. A week later, I got an email saying he wondered if he had jumped the gun, and was open to discussing issues that had come up. I had just decided to not write a telling-off (nicely) message. He still wanted communication? Not knowing what to do, I did nothing. He wrote again on Sunday, wondering if I had gotten his email. Yes...but to say I'd gotten his email would mean I should respond. Again, I didn't know how to respond nicely. And then life got busy. I was out of town, inservice began, we had Back-to-School Night...
Tonight's message was simple: my name, followed by "I'm not going to pursue anything in regards to you. Take Care," followed by his name.
So, nice...but presumptuous. After two weeks with no response, did he think I was interested?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Chivalry Is...
...a guy friend hauling your kayak out of your car for you, even though you're quite capable of doing it yourself.
...a friend opening the oven door for you to take out caramel rolls.
...a friend's friend standing up to greet your father...and tactfully trying to not notice the underwear hanging on the clothesline.
...a friend bringing you pizza for your lunch break during classes on your birthday.
...a new friend taking your water bottle from his car into a friend's place--because you may want it.
...a friend's roommate opening your car door for you, even when you're the one driving.
...a friend coming over to get a dead thing out of the yard--a dead thing so mangled that the only reason you know it was alive is because you know most certainly that it's dead.
...a friend removing the moonroof from his truck so you can climb in through the hole (after stargazing in the truckbed) without having to put your cold, wet socks and shoes back on (after running through puddles in the springtime). Bonus points: it took another 15 minutes to get the moonroof replaced. (It was an old truck.)
...your new friend's husband grilling your cheese sandwich for you because you are completely inept when it comes to cookouts.
...when your friend lends you the stocking cap off his head as you sit in the outdoor hot tub on a -10' January day--especially because he had offered you one earlier and you had refused.
...your faithful friends who answer every conceivable question you may have in regard to cars and technology.
...a friend's friend taking your 5-year-old friend for a horseback ride on his birthday.
Life is good, and thank You, God!
...a friend opening the oven door for you to take out caramel rolls.
...a friend's friend standing up to greet your father...and tactfully trying to not notice the underwear hanging on the clothesline.
...a friend bringing you pizza for your lunch break during classes on your birthday.
...a new friend taking your water bottle from his car into a friend's place--because you may want it.
...a friend's roommate opening your car door for you, even when you're the one driving.
...a friend coming over to get a dead thing out of the yard--a dead thing so mangled that the only reason you know it was alive is because you know most certainly that it's dead.
...a friend removing the moonroof from his truck so you can climb in through the hole (after stargazing in the truckbed) without having to put your cold, wet socks and shoes back on (after running through puddles in the springtime). Bonus points: it took another 15 minutes to get the moonroof replaced. (It was an old truck.)
...your new friend's husband grilling your cheese sandwich for you because you are completely inept when it comes to cookouts.
...when your friend lends you the stocking cap off his head as you sit in the outdoor hot tub on a -10' January day--especially because he had offered you one earlier and you had refused.
...your faithful friends who answer every conceivable question you may have in regard to cars and technology.
...a friend's friend taking your 5-year-old friend for a horseback ride on his birthday.
Life is good, and thank You, God!
Benalmadena, Costa del Sol
A bombing in Spain today... I was there--Benalmadena--just after I graduated from high school. I wonder what the bunch of us would have done if it had happened when we were there. And on the flip side of the desk, I wonder what I, as the teacher, would do with my group of 12 students.
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