NOTES FROM ANOTHER UNIVERSE

Today's blog post is brought to you by a really stupid article on educational policy that talks down to professional educators, uses outdated statistics, contradicts its own data, and causes headaches.  Here are my notes, including all of the notes I took during a 2+ hour class last week.  Enjoy!

WINDOW WOES

I live in a tiny townhouse.  If you put all the closets together, it would equal one regular bedroom sized closet.  The rooms are small, and there is no open space here except the stairways.  It's an old house, a converted barn or carriage house, and the wind whips through here almost as if there were no walls.

But this townhouse does have one thing:  WINDOWS.  Fifteen of them, as a matter of fact. 

Two years ago I replaced nine out of fifteen blinds.  Of course, stores no longer sold the original ones I had, so I learned how to use the drill and installed those suckers myself.  Today I decide to finally get the air conditioners out of the windows because it is so windy out, the breeze is truly flying through the first floor around the window units.  Once the air conditioners are all out (I have three because of the small, choppy floor plan), I take down all the sheer curtains and the heavy drapes and run them all through the laundry.  It only takes four full loads.  That's not too bad for fifteen windows, right?

Once I get the washing machine started, I know I need to clean the windows and the windowsills, so get to scrubbing all of them down until they sparkle (sort of).  The sheers can go back up while they're still damp, but the heavy drapes are another story.  They all need to be ironed.

Ironing is not one of my favorite activities.  It's not horrible.  I mean, it's not like scrubbing the bathroom tile (which also needs to be done) or anything.  Ironing what turns out to be twenty-two drapes takes me a long time.  Once a set is ironed, it needs to be hung back up immediately.  The whole ironing-hanging process takes me three hours on top of the time I already spent with the a/c, taking drapes down, and wiping everything down.

I do a few more chores, like repotting two plants and hauling in all the patio furniture.  In the end, though, the bulk of my day is spent in the fifteen windows of this teeny tiny townhouse.  It may have a living room the size of a postage stamp with barely room for a small Christmas tree, but the good news is the tree will be visible from the street through three out of the fifteen windows, and that's partly because I cleaned them so thoroughly.

Finally.

PARIS, MY HEART BLEEDS FOR YOU

I am upset beyond words about the terror attacks in Paris, France.

The depth of both my sorrow and my rage is almost unfathomable.  I am worried about friends who are in Paris, friend's children who are students there, and the countless people I do not even know whose families are now struggling to make sense of what is happening.

I am disgusted by weak governments whose salacious affair with political correctness has endangered us all.  I am horrified by citizens who continue to turn blind eyes to the complicity of our ineffective (and ineffectual) leaders because the citizens are incestuously endeared to certain political parties, sometimes without even understanding the cult-like hold these parties' beliefs and machinations have over them and their Free Will.

My thoughts are dark and vengeful.  I am upset beyond words, and, therefore, I will stop talking lest I say what I truly feel and wreak havoc with any fragile friendships I still have.

Paris, my heart bleeds for you.

CLEANING THE HOUSE ... OR NOT

One of these days I'm going to clean my house.  No, really, I swear I am.

I have been getting sidetracked with all the minutiae at work and with this nearly-useless class I am taking.  It seems like every time I turn around, someone else is telling me I'm stupid.  I have four degrees under my belt, but apparently that doesn't qualify me for anything more than saying, "Yes, ma'am" and "Yes, sir" at appropriate intervals.

Maybe I should be a fast-food worker and make $15 an hour.

Look, to the idiots who even remotely think this plan will work:  I am sorry you cannot afford a living wage, but ... guess what.  I have four degrees (did I mention that earlier?) and I cannot afford to live, either.  I don't own my home, and if my rent goes up (thank God for decent landlords), I'll be living in a tent or taking turns sleeping on all-y'all's couches.

But, still.  Being too busy at work and worrying about the threat of eviction are all extremes.  What I really am doing is formulating more reasons why my house still isn't clean.  I had to do laundry (which is stacked on the couch), I had to run the dishes (which are still in the dishwasher), I had to print out more readings for school (which I still haven't read), I had and still do have a massive headache, I'm tired (and dozed off several times in a meeting today), I'm overworked and underpaid.

Okay, I'm lazy.  You satisfied?  I'm too lazy to clean my house.  One of these days, I won't be lazy anymore. But, until then, I guess the dust bunnies and I will have to learn to live with each other. 

VETERANS DAY POST-OP

For Veterans Day, I do most of my honoring activities the day before via the school.  There's an assembly, class activities, and a tie-in to a new unit on Chiam Potok and a short story he wrote about a Vietnam vet's impact on an injured boy.

My plan for Veteran's Day is to stay home, get some long-overdue cleaning done, and maybe read.  That's my plan.

Instead, I am up at 5:00 a.m., as weekday usual, tandem over to the car dealer with my son, drop his car off, take him to work, stop at Dunks for an iced pumpkin coffee, go back to the dealer to explain what needs to be done to the car, head to the grocery store (I prefer early morning shopping when no one is there but me), make a side trip to the bank, stop for gas where I check my recently-flat-slow-leaking front tire for air (still got some), get convinced by the attendants to let them fix the tire even though I have groceries in the back waiting to be put away (they yank out a huge piece of a nail), consult with the dealer mechanics about the costs of the repairs to my son's car, talk to the insurance company to make sure the kiddo is insured to drive my car (just in case we need to tandem to my work in the morning), and get all of the groceries put away ... all of which happens by 10:15 a.m.

I still need to stay close to the phone for when the dealer calls back, and I'm doing the mad-skill texting with my son about the car repairs and the costs (vs. buying another car -- the repairs are like paying sales tax).  I miss a day of creative art with my friend who is hosting an art-themed get-together and she is extremely artistic and talented so I am now sad.  To make myself feel better, the shoe sale on the clearance styles at DSW ends today, and my $10 savings certificate ends this weekend, so I kidnap my pal and we go speed shopping.  I buy a pair of sneakers and a pair of shoes and some socks all for $51, and the whole trip including travel time takes less than seventy minutes.

Then I rush home to do some schoolwork that I brought with me, only I don't want to do the frigging work because I am sick and tired of ruining my life for all the extra work I keep bringing home.  I do laundry instead and wait for the mechanic to call.  After touching base with the mechanic, I go pick up my son at work, and we head toward the car dealer, who should be done with the car in an hour or two.  It has been an ALL DAY job.

We buy some of the greatest subs in the world (anyone near Wilmington -- You HAVE to try the subs at Lucci's Market, especially if you want to get two or three meals out of one) and head over to sit at the car dealer. We are there maybe twenty minutes; not long, really, but long enough to watch some of a heated Family Feud episode.  My son starts gnawing on his chicken salad sub (mine is roast beef).

Finally, at 6:30, I am home.  Thirteen hours after this odyssey starts, I can sit down.  Schoolwork is not getting done; housework is not getting done; but I have managed to accomplish a lot today.  Best of all, I post on social media a "thank you" to relatives who have served or are still serving in the military.  I do manage to make the connection.  And, I am sitting silently at 11:11 this morning.

Veterans, thank you for your service.  Now, if you don't mind, I'm exhausted from my day off, so I'm going to shower and put on my Marines t-shirt and some flannels and call it a Veterans Day wrap.

IN HONOR OF VETERANS DAY

Today we have our Veterans Day assembly at school.  So many students participate that we discover our brand new auditorium and stage are too small.  One teacher, who is standing to my left, takes pictures with her phone and posts them on her school Twitter account.  Much to her chagrin and to my amusement, the superintendent, who is standing to my right, is posting nearly identical photos onto his district Twitter account at the same time. 

We hold this assembly every year partly to showcase our school's musical talents, but mostly we hold it to honor veterans.  Several times we have invited honored guests to speak, including one of my former students whose military vehicle ran over an IED in the Middle East, and he barely survived.  Pictures of our realtives who are veterans roll across a giant screen as the chorus sings.  Taps is played and, despite a reminder, many people young and old still clap. 

Afterward, many of us go about Veterans Day lessons, and the activity that my co-teacher sets up for us involves writing and decorating cards for the troops who are deployed.  What makes this day even more incredible, as if the assembly isn't enough, is that the students are totally into everything, as well.

Thank you, veterans, and thanks to those still in active service.  We appreciate you, and we don't say it nearly often enough.  Regardless of what mainstream media and extremist pundits say, we honestly and wholeheartedly appreciate you.

RED CUPS, ETC.

You know what?  I don't give a shit about Starbucks and their cups.  Who decided that they had to have Christmas cups, anyway?  The Christianity Police?  Stop.  Just.  Stop.

And what's with the bruhaha over Halloween costumes.  Now they're offensive, too?  I can't wear my 1970's get-up because I might offend some aging hippy.  Truly.  The Hippy Dippy Police strike again.  Stop.  Just.  Stop.

What's next, you holiday rapists?

New Year's Eve offends you because one day is celebrated over the others as the beginning of the year.  I mean, why can't March 4th be the first day of the year since it literally translates as step forward.  Wouldn't that make sense?  But, then the other 364 days would feel bad.  Okay, that's it.  No more New Year's for you.  No more New Year's for me.  No more New Year's for anyone.  Stop.  Just.  Stop.

The Easter Bunny offends chinchillas; Valentine's Day offends other geometric shapes; Labor Day offends pregnant women because the word "labor" scares them, and plus "labor" can only refer to slaves and Communists, so stop using it.  Fourth of July, Smourth of July -- No one cares about the Constitution anymore, so the Declaration of Independence must be nothing more than glorified toilet paper.

Pretty soon Thanksgiving will be outlawed because it offends the turkeys, potatoes, squash, and pumpkin pie.  So will every other damn day because everything offends somebody over anything.  Ooops.  Down with my overuse of indefinite pronouns!  There should be a law against indefinite pronouns.

Too bad, though, because I like a good celebration.  You want to know how I'm going to celebrate?  First, I'm strolling down to Starbucks for a red cup of holiday coffee...