WELCOME BACK, CHRISTMAS

Christmas is up.  I repeat:  Christmas is up! I mean, Christmas is up around my house. 

Last year I just wasn't into it, and Christmas ended up being only the living room.  This year, every room downstairs has a touch of Christmas, and Christmas is starting to crawl up the stairs, as well.  There's garland over every doorway, candles in every room, and decorations (and toys) in most of the corners.  Even the bathroom got tagged this year.

For some reason, though, one of my favorite decorations often stays inside its box.  Some years I take it out and some years I don't.  Mostly it's a pain in the ass to set up, and I usually don't have a spot for it that's convenient.  This year is different, though.  I staked out a spot (and electrical outlet) for this decoration weeks ago. 

(I know - mallet placement looks sketch.  Work with me.)

Today is its day. I am pleased to report that the Santa Band is officially in season.

Despite tangled cords and years of abuse and neglect, the Santa chimers still ring their miniature bells and produce decent music.  I haven't played all twenty-four of their songs yet, as it would've driven my youngest crazy today, so I'll wait until he's not home and have at it.  I'll let Santa and his band mates ring in the holiday season in jingle bell style.

Welcome back, Christmas.  I missed you.

MAKE A LIST - DRINK MIMOSAS

I have a hard time remembering things.

I'd like to say this is a new development and blame it on aging, but, truth be told, I've always had a hard time remembering things.  It's not that I'm stupid; it's more like my mind is too full of other things.  My mind makes connections sometimes all on its own.

For instance, I started my fall cleaning weeks ago.  It's still not done.  Why?  Because I decided to change up some things upstairs, which meant cleaning out junk I'd been saving, which led to getting rid of my old bed, which led to moving another bed into my room, which led to rearranging furniture, which led to changing out and washing curtains, which led to making more piles of things to sort, which led to ...  And now I need to make a list of things I still need to do because one thing is leading to another and I totally forget now why I started this purging/fall clean-out in the first place.

I'm a master list maker.  When I don't make lists, bad things happen.  Take today, for example.

I am attending my daughter-in-law's baby shower.  I need to bring soda, juice, and cookies.  Oh yes, and I need the gifts.  And I need to make sure my friends know where they're going because the map and the actual street don't really coexist.  And I have to be early to make sure the soda and juice and cookies get where they're going.  I bake the cookies the night before, and I get up at 5:00 a.m. to pour ice over everything in the cooler, including the cranberry-apple juice.  But. not the orange-mango juice because that's in the fridge already.

Of course, as I am trying to get to the shower, it's raining like crazy out, so now I'm worried about my hair frizzing up like Bozo the clown.  I get everything into the car -- cooler with drinks, bag with cookies, bag with gifts.  I am running fifteen minutes behind schedule, all the time having that nagging feeling that I am forgetting something.

Did I make a list?  Of course I didn't make a list.  Everyone makes fun of me when I make lists, so I didn't make a list.  It's drinks and cookies and gifts.  How hard can this really be?

When I arrive, I realize that I forgot to take the orange-mango juice out of the fridge.  It is still back at my house.  I offer to go back and get it, but we end up not needing it, anyway, so it's all good and no one knows what an idiot I am for not making a list.

Afterward, when I finally roll home again, I have my youngest pop the cork on come bubbly and I mix myself an orange-mango mimosa.  I may not have a list to write, but I do have a blog entry to write and a school paper to write.  Might as well make it all interesting.  Besides, the orange-mango juice is trying to hog the fridge space I need for more bubbly.  Also, if I remember this all correctly and without a list, I still have an awful lot of sorting, filing, and rearranging still left to do around here, and, without a list, bad things happen.

Note to self:
1.  Drink mimosas.
2.  Write paper.
3.  Drink mimosas.
4.  Clean house.
5.  Drink mimosas.
6.  Put more crap away.
7.  Drink mimosas.
8.  Check social network sites.
9.  Drink mimosas.
10.  Write the blog.
11.  Drink mimosas.

I see a list.  I detect a pattern.  All is right with the world.

HOLIDAYS AND THE CINDERELLA COMPLEX

I've started my yearly routine of watching Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel and the Hallmark Movie Channel.  I have some favorites, and then there are a whole host of ones that should be avoided at all costs. 

However, there seems to be a trend I hadn't noticed in years past.  All of a sudden, every girl/woman in these movies is somehow unwittingly drawn to a prince or a king or royalty of some kind.

Um ... say, what?

When did the Cinderella complex come back in vogue?  Did I forget to drop my glass slipper somewhere?

To be fair, I never have been one of those delicate flowers who needed constant attention.  I don't like shopping, heels hurt my feet, and I'm not one for dining out.  I can't find a hair style that suits me, and, even if I did, I don't know the first thing about styling products.  Getting dressed up means mascara, earrings, and my best jeans.  I don't need to be pampered, and I sure as hell don't need to be rescued.  If I want to ride in a horse-drawn carriage, I can jump into one in Boston and go for a ride all by myself.

So, I try it.  I try watching one of these "I become royalty for Christmas" movies.  It makes me so uncomfortable that a couple of times I start twitching.  Live in a castle?  Ugh, no.  First of all, there's too much furniture.  Second of all, it takes too long to run back upstairs if I forget something (which I always do).  Lastly, who the hell are all those extra people?  What is this, Downton frigging Abbey?  I need my alone time, folks.  ALONE.

The capping, or crapping, moment for me is when the music comes on: "You make alllll my dreeeeeeeams come truuuuuuuuuuue..."  Really?  This is still an aspiration for girls of all ages -- to be swept off their feet by some rich guy on a horse?  For me, this lifestyle would never work.  Remember my hairdo/product disability?  I suspect that means I could never wear a crown properly.  I'd be a royal failure.

I don't get it.  I mean, I guess I don't begrudge anyone their palace-envy, but I just cannot wrap my head around any of it. 

I'll have to pay better attention to the titles of the Christmas movies, I suppose.  I just turned one off because it had the word "Princess" in the title.  I'd still like to watch some of my favorite Hallmark movies, and I'll still watch Christmas specials like Peanuts and Rudolph.  But, if my doorbell rings and someone tries to make me try on a glass slipper, I'm just prewarning people right now that I will kick his royal ass.

TAKING A NAP - WHY MY JOB IS GOING TO KILL ME

My job is going to kill me.

Every Friday I am so wiped out from work that I sleep about ten hours at night.  Sometimes this marathon sleeping comes on after napping post-school on Friday in the afternoon and early evening.  So many directives; so much extra teaching time; so much educational and curriculum time stolen for so many initiatives and social programs and activities to make all the kids feel like little boxes made of ticky-tacky that all look just the same.  Trophies for everyone!  Huzzah!!!

Wednesday, after the half day in which I did a lot of filing after collecting homework and letting the kids do Thanksgiving-related, language-type papers, I run a few errands, including sitting at the car dealer while my vehicle gets an oil change, tires rotated, and general pre-winter maintenance work done.  I read a few magazines, do a couple of puzzles, and doze a bit.  Then, I hit the store for something I forgot to buy Monday (canned pumpkin for the pumpkin butter ... duh), hit the ATM, get gas in the car for the trip to Maine, bake pumpkin bread and make the pumpkin butter (now that I have canned pumpkin), and generally have a relaxing evening.

Still. School. Is. Trying. To. Kill. Me.

It's Thanksgiving morning.  I am supposed to be driving to Maine.  I wake up around 5:00, my usual work time, and decide to loll in bed for a few more minutes.  I must doze off  because I am suddenly awakened by an incoming text message.  Hmmm.  I wonder what time it is ...

Geeeezuuuuuhhhsssmuddafuddingkreeeeeee.... 9:20!  9-frigging-20?!?!  What the --- I can hardly believe that I "napped" for four more hours.  I gotta get my ass moving.  What's wrong with me?!

But, I remember that in the last work week we have had half-days, open house, social CARE day, Massachusetts Tiered System of Support days (x2), this directive, that requirement, these statistics, that report to write.  And, on top of it all, I have THAT CLASS I have to take on Tuesday nights.

Good gawd, it's a wonder I'm not STILL sleeping twelve hours later.  I don't need a bridge to jump off of nor some fatal disease nor old age.  My job is going to kill me.  Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go take a nap.

THANKSGIVING THOUGHTS

Today I am one of the seven million (or so) people who are traveling for the Thanksgiving holiday. I am dragging my youngest along with me, traipsing up the highway with our pumpkin bread, pumpkin butter, and hoping to have an uneventful ride.

If I know me, I'll be the root cause of some craziness -- something that will embarrass my sister/hostess in front of her family.  One year I made fart noises with my jeans by twisting my butt in her freshly polished dining room chairs.  Another time I sat at the kids' table and instigated general mayhem.  Okay, last year that happened.  Last year I sat at the kids' table.

My sister and her husband are unbelievable cooks.  They prepare dishes for the meal that are so elaborate and wonderful that I cannot even pronounce the names of the recipes.  If it's anything more complicated than turkey, mashed potatoes, squash, and cranberry sauce (jellied, not whole berry), I know I'm in trouble.  I have been practicing my enunciation wall week:  "Pahdon-nay moi, but do you haaaave any Greyyyyy Pouponnnnn.....?"  Seriously, though -- I am going to eat like a czarina at my sister's house.

As for the rest of it, HAPPY THANKSGIVING.  Let's do it all over again next November.

ODE TO THANKSGIVING GROCERY SHOPPING

T'was the eve before Thanksgiving
And all through the store
Was a mass throng of people --
The horror!  The gore!

The carts willy-nilly
All over the aisle;
People pushing and shoving
Behavior gone vile.

The lines to the checkout
Were several hours long.
Ice cream had melted;
The turkey'd gone wrong.

The mayhem; the bloodshed -
The disharmony,
Just so we can spend
A day with family.

I see all their faces
Pressed up near the glass.
I'm not going in there --
I'd bust my old ass.

The best thing about
Watching this sad display:
I did all my grocery
Shopping Monday.

Happy Thanksgiving Eve, everybody!

 

MEETING, SHMEETING

So ... I got up and walked out of a meeting the other day.

I mean, I'd already missed planning time because of it, and then the school day ended, so I waited a full minute past the last bell, stood up, and announced I was leaving.  My teammate came with me.

Today I am told that I am not allowed to leave a meeting until I've asked permission, regardless of how long it runs or overruns. 

I have to be "excused."

Um.  No.  As a matter of fact, FUCK NO.

When my work day is over, the meeting is over, at least for me.  When 100 other children suffer because someone doesn't know how to run an efficient meeting, I would say that's not progress.  That's not logic.  That's not even sanity. 

You know how many sick days I have accumulated?  You know what will happen if someone wants to play this game with me?

No, really. 

Try it.

I dare you.

GAME ON.

JUNK AND MORE JUNK

I need a junk collector. Well, soon I will.  I'm about 75% of the way there.

Today I deposit several appliances outside on my patio because I'll be damned if they're going back into the basement just to come back up to the garbage.  Screw it.  If it snows before I can be rid of the shit, then it snows on the pile of junk outside.

I have three air conditioners and two dehumidifiers in the pile right now.

Relax.  I make sure the patio cement is safe from rusty appliance stains.  I fold over an old plastic tablecloth that used to be a paint tarp, and I spread it under the appliances.  Then, I stack the air conditioners right on top of one another and roll the dehumidifiers into place alongside the tower of a/c units.  I cover this whole thing with another tablecloth/tarp and weigh everything down with bricks.

It should suffice until I finish cleaning out the basement, right?  Thank goodness I'm not a hoarder.  Okay, thank goodness I am not a major-league hoarder.  Maybe it's a good thing this place lacks closets.

Of course, because I haul everything outside, it just has to rain.  Oh, well.  The stuff is protected from the elements.  Besides, it's all going to the junk collector.  Well, soon it will.  As I said, I'm about 75% there.

LIGHTING THE TREE ... OR NOT

Oh, come on!

I finally get a chance to see the tree lighting at Faneuil Hall.  Not only do I get a chance to see it, I have front row seats via a window upstairs at a bar during a pub crawl.

I get to see the Blue Man Group's crazy light-stick drum routine, I get to see an endless line of guys in tuxedos and Santa hats making their way to the stage.  I get to see throngs of people ten rows deep waiting for the tree lighting.

I start taking video with my phone as soon as the clock strikes 7.  We all line up at the windows waiting ... waiting ... waiting ...

Finally, someone looks up the schedule on the Internet.

9:00 p.m.

Seriously?  So, all those people are going to stand there, hundreds deep, and wait two more hours for the tree lighting.  The 7:00 "Tree Lighting" is merely a ruse.  Damn promoters.

Hmmmm.  Never mind then.  I am home by the time they light the tree. 

Last year I saw the tree a few weeks after it was lit, and it had rained badly the days before I saw it.  The stormy weather had knocked out most of the tree lights, and the damn thing was nothing but a dud.  Now, this debacle.  Oh, well.  My luck.

Maybe next year, right?  Or, maybe not.

SURRENDER

I am taking a class for school.

This class is required by the state of Massachusetts if I have any English Language Learners in my class, which I do.  Initially I have a choice: Take the course on the state's dime and waste forty-plus hours of my life, or pay decent money to attempt to pass the test, re-paying every time I have to re-take it. 

Good news:  Once I finish this course (and pass it), I do not have to take the exam to be certified.  I will already be certified ... or certifiable.

Bad news:  Hours and hours and hours of my life that I shall never reclaim.

Tonight I write yet another paper for this state-mandated course. 

Look, I'm a writer; that's what I do; it's who I am.  So, why do I keep having points taken off my final average?

Guess what? 

I ... GIVE ... UP.

You want to know how much I care right now?  I did NOT proofread my homework submission.

I'm fighting off fatigue; I'm fighting off boredom; I'm fighting for my sanity; I'm fighting for my life back.

Hurry up, class.  Hurry up and be over.  When Friday night is spent locked in my house doing massive amounts of (un)necessary paperwork, you can be certain that my homework is holding me hostage.  Save me ... SAVE ME.

I surrender.

PROCRASTINATION ON MY TO-DO LIST

Half day today.  We have open house later at school, so I get to leave around noontime.  Oh, please; I have enough work sitting on and in my desk to keep me busy for days, but I intend to go home and take a walk.

When I get home, I feel more like using my nonelectric, very difficult treadmill rather than going outside.  I walk/jog on it for twenty minutes, then add 200 reps on the rowing machine.

Healthy, right?

I follow this healthy routine up with a bowl of beef stew, a crescent roll, a fruit/juice shake, some cookies, and crackers.

I guess I should've just stayed at work, sitting on my fat ass at my desk and filing mountains of paperwork, sorting through minutiae, and shuffling must-do post-it notes into different piles.  Okay, okay; enough with the guilt.  I'll get back into my work clothes and go sit at my desk -- a compromise.

Besides, if I head back to work earlier than I truly need to be there, I can put off writing the paper that's due for my Tuesday class.  See?  I know how to prioritize, and procrastination is top on my to-do list.

BRAIN MAGIC

Sometimes my job is a blast.  Sometimes my job is magical.

Take today, for example.

We just finish reading a short story by Chaim Potok, an unassuming story, a character study, with several layers of nuance undetectable to the untrained eye.  I could bore you here with a litany of blah-biddy-blah-blah literary devices blah-blah-kaflooey author's intent bladdahbladdahbladdah symbolism...

The point is that I know how to unfurl the layers of some stories as easily as the crust flakes off a crescent roll, and today is one of those days.  When I peel it all back and lay out the clues that finally reveal a little secret of symbolism that the author wove into his story, I sit back and wait for the reaction.

Well, I don't exactly sit "back" -- I am sitting up in the front corner of the room on a recovered kitchen stool, my back to the window while facing the entire class from a single corner: optimal angle; I can see them all.

This is one of my favorite moments of the whole school year, and it's almost a shame it has to happen so soon.

We are casually chatting about some symbolism in the story, tying up some important character descriptions, as if we have randomly arrived at this destination.  Casually, oh so very casually, I parade out the major detail about important color symbolism used in the story, and how the author tricked his audience into seeing something without them ever realizing they were seeing it, yet suddenly realizing it was there all along, planted into their subconscious like a well-played trick.

I watch this fact register.

Twenty-seven backs straighten.  Twenty-seven heads tilt.  Twenty-seven mouths drop open.  Twenty-seven sets of eyes widen. Class after class ... until this has happened four times total to one hundred of their growing brains.

A few students actually whisper, "Oh ... my ... god ..." and many of them put their fingers to their temples then quickly pull their hands away in an open bursting motion and yell out, "Mind BLOWN!"

"How did you know that?" they ask me over and over again.  "Did you figure that out by yourself?"

Yes, I tell them, yes, I did.  

I'm trained, I tell them.  I have a Master's Degree in writing, I tell them.  I'm supposed to see this stuff, I tell them.  Now you can see it, too, I tell them.


I love it when they "get it."  I am enchanted when they're enlightened.  It's like watching toddlers on Christmas morning who still believe that anything is impossible.  It's like watching them realize they have the whole world under their feet, and all they have to do is grab hold and enjoy the ride.

Open their brains; pour in the vision; watch their minds glow.  Magic.

TREE UP

The tree is up.  Yes, Christmas is coming, and I'm going to be ready.  If I have to do all this work, I'm going to enjoy it, damnit.

It all started because of the kayaks.  Putting the kayaks away means clearing space in the basement, which means moving stuff around, which means I might as well bring up the Christmas stuff.  Right?

Stage 1 involves putting the tree together.  It seems to be falling apart a little bit, and my son and I try to fix it, only I'm not so sure if we did or if we broke it further.  That's okay.  Maybe next season I'll get a new one ... with lights already on it.

This one thought blossoms more when I fight with the strings of lights on the tree.  I have one of the long strings on the tree when half of the string goes dead.  I move a little, and the string comes back to life.  Then it half-dies again.  I figure it's probably shorting out and probably shouldn't go on the tree, so I throw the lights out and try again.  Twenty minutes later, the tree is lit.

I'm alone to decorate the tree this year.  Youngest is upstairs watching the Patriots game away from me and my foul mouth commentary on the state of football, so I carefully put the ornaments on the branches as anti-Giants therapy.  I stop to do a few more chores around the house (putting away the leftover beef stew and folding laundry) before adding the random lengths of garland.

I'm not a decorator.  My tree never looks classy like the ones in the store.  As a matter of fact, it pretty much looks the same year after year after year.  It's up, though.  I haven't finished the rest of the decorating.  I haven't even found the tree skirt yet, but I will.  I always do.  Okay, except for that one year when I almost didn't.

Merry almost-Christmas-way-before-Thanksgiving.  Now, a quest to find Advent candles...

SUMMER IS OVER FOR REAL

Summer is officially over.

Oh, don't tell me it ended in September.  I didn't want to hear it then, and I don't want to hear it now.  I finally pulled the air conditioners out of the windows on Saturday, and Sunday the ultimate end of summer happens.

I put away the kayaks. 

So depressing.  I mean, sure, I can kayak until the ponds freeze over, if I want to, but I don't have the neoprene booties or anything like that.  I tend to kayak alone, too, which probably isn't a bright idea when the weather starts to turn.

So, I sweep out all the dryer bunnies from under the cellar stairs and tuck both kayaks, all four halves, neatly under the stairs.  They fit as perfectly as they do into the back of my car.

Goodbye, summer; this time, it's for real.  See you soon.  Until then, I'll peek at my kayaks every time I do laundry and dream about being out on the open water once again.

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...

SOMETIMES I HATE MY LIFE

Sometimes I hate my life. 

This weekend -- gorgeous weather.  I get to enjoy some of it Saturday when I go galumphing about with my youngest through the back roads of Framingham, and also when I take myself out to socialize at two wine tastings.  (Truly it's more about practicing talking to strangers than it is about the wine.  Okay, so it's all about the wine, but I am expanding my social skills at least until they dissolve into a full goblet.)

Sunday, though, if only I didn't have so much to do.  I fall asleep at the table both Friday and Saturday nights correcting papers.  Grades close this weekend, and I have to get so much done.  In addition to closing grades, I have to write a paper for my class, and this isn't any ordinary paper; it's another stupid, unclear, graded, semi-coherent assignment for a class I'll probably never really use. 

In other words, Sunday is completely wasted on frivolous, useless, meaningless, boring bull-tickey.

This is how bad Sunday is: I am sitting less than two feet from the television near my computer, and I've barely seen any of the game.  Not that it matters too much since I doubt Washington will catch up, but that's not the point.

I am missing being a spectator at a judo tournament.  I am missing a family dinner at my daughter's in-laws' house.  I am missing a chance to call a pal and go grocery shopping together so we can make fun of people and run them down with our shopping carts.  I still don't get my filthy house cleaned.  I still have to get the air conditioners out of the windows (an absolute MUST today).

I do get the grades done and sent.  I do get the paper done and submitted.  I'm done, right?  I'm all caught up, right?  Nope.  Shitolsky.  I forgot about the 30+ pages of reading I have to accomplish this evening.

Yup, even you can see it now, can't you.  My life sucks right now.  Sometime I hate my life.  Luckily, there's wine.

TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE

My son wants to go car shopping.  The advantage to this is that he wants to go car shopping in Framingham, my old hometown.  I was born here, and this is where my first house still stands at the apex of Irene and Eisenhower Roads, just down the hill from the Garden in the Woods (where I was thrown out at age four for climbing a small tree).

We pass Shopper's World, which in its heyday was the be-all-end-all in luxury and convenience shopping.  It had stores and kids' rides and fountains that shot into the sky and changed colors.  But, like its twisted cousin Pleasure Island in Wakefield, it now only exists in people's memories.  Alas, Shopper's World is nothing more than a glorified strip mall now.

We also pass my sisters' school, causing me to randomly and rapidly turn into the parking lot by entering the "exit only" driveway.  The school, sadly, has changed very little in six decades (or whenever it was built), and, compared to the modern, flashy elementary school down the road, Hemenway School appears to be caught in a time warp.  I snap a couple of photos and continue down the road.

I have my son put the house address in as Irene Road, and the GPS brings us in the back way along the park, where I climbed the slide and panicked when shimmying over the high edge to go down the pole instead.  I remember that fear right now as I did when I was young and pulled the stunt, thinking I could be as daring as the cooler, older kids.  I was so wrong.  The slide is gone now, but the swing set is still there. 

The house itself was remodeled years ago.  I know this because I came by a couple of times when the same kiddo I'm with today played summer lacrosse at nearby Lincoln-Sudbury High School.  It's still strange to come by and see the backyard without its fence, without the swing set, and without the playhouse my father built for my sisters and me.

In the end, we don't buy the car my son went to see, but I get to drag him on a field trip down memory lane, and we do take a lovely ride through Sudbury and Wayland and Weston in our quest back to the highway.  Although I complain about fall hanging around too long, the mild temperature and the still-glorious foliage make for a pleasant ride and some new memories to cap the old.

SAVE MY NOSTRILS

Yesterday I wrote about being exhausted.  Today I am suffering through a lot of pressure in my sinuses.  Why is this happening to me?

Autumn. Yes, that's it -- autumn.

For some reason, autumn is taking its time this year, and, not that I mind really, but the trees should be done.  The leaves should be down, raked, and put away somewhere. 

But still.  It's beautiful.

 This is one of the longest fall seasons that I can remember in many years, and it's gorgeous with the sudden pops of color along the road this late in the season.  Just when I think the trees are bare, I round a corner and .. BOOM .. magnificent color.

And yet, part of me is done.  Part of me wants snow to come in and save my sinuses.  The longer the trees keep going, the longer the pollen/ragweed hangs around.  It's hilarious when I start sneezing uncontrollably and with such force that even the students are scared of me.  Perhaps my brains will shoot out of my nose one of these times and really give them all a thrill.

Come on, snow -- Save my nostrils and my eyes and my ears and my head.  I'm so ready.

EXHAUSTED

Good morning.

I am officially taking today off from mentally engaging in any topics too stressful to write about in this blog.  I am finally, after 1,100+ blog days, exhausted both mentally and physically. 

So, today I am posting pictures of adoptable pets.  It would be nice to adopt one myself, but I don't have permission.  My old cat that dropped dead a few summers ago was grandfathered in to the apartment/lease, but now ... NO.  Just no.

But, YOU could adopt these lovelies.  Yes, yes you could.  Share the love since I cannot, and share some energy since I have none anymore.  Maybe in a week.  Possibly two.  But, right now, my brain and heart and mind are all shut down for the weekend, closing a little early for recharge and rewiring. 

Besides, senior cat adoption fees are waived this weekend, so GO FOR IT.  You know you want to -- Do it for me.

WHY, YES, I AM SICK OF POLITICAL ADS ALREADY. WHY DO YOU ASK?

I'm going to be honest: I don't get it.  I don't.  I do not understand.

I do not understand how a capitalist democracy, a republic of freedom that once was the United States, is even allowing the world "socialism" to enter its vernacular.

What ... the ... fuck.

If you're a socialist, go to a socialist country.  Go live in Canada or Finland or China. Those are lovely socialist countries.  We are not socialists here.  We are a republic of liberty, or were until Congress and some citizens started voting themselves money from the treasury or sold their voting rights to corporations and banking institutions.

Let's talk about this pseudo-monarchy.  How about the king and his lords of Congress?  (Not just this king, either.)  I don't understand it.  Where is the outrage?  Congress members are getting paid more than enough to pay for their own offices, cars, meals, and air fare.  It's part of the job.  Why are we footing those bills, too?  And their healthcare.  And, good god, their retirement plan, their office redecorating, their clothing, their staff, their parties, their champagne, their damn skivvies and the cleaning costs to get the brown out of them.  How about if the queen, like the recent queens before her, buys her own clothes like the rest of us.  Would that be so fucking much to ask?  We pay enough for her massive security detail -- I'm sure she can get to the mall without being shot.

What the fuck.

Where?  Where is the outrage?

What has happened to my country when the choices for president are murderers, liars, tax cheats, socialists, and people who believe Michael Brown and Brucelyn Jenner are heroes?

I don't want a Democrat in office.  I don't want a Republican in office.  I don't want an Independent, Libertarian, Green Party, Peace Party, Tiger Lily Party, Orgami Party, or any of the other charlatan groups out there waving their banners across this once-great country.  I want someone who believes in America and who believes in Americans and who isn't terrified to say "DEMOCRACY" without having a race card or a gender card or an entire deck of "politically correct" bullshit cards thrown down.

Socialism?  Really?  What are we -- the fucking Bolsheviks?

Wake up, people.  This country has flushed itself down the crapper.  Yes, I am already sick of political commercials.  One more year of this?  This country is going to implode.

PLACHAFLASS SYNDROME

Ugh.

No school for the kiddos today because it's Election Day.  Guess what!  The town where I live and the town where I work?  NO ELECTIONS TODAY.  NONE.

No, instead it's Professional Development Day!  Yup, that and I have a class tonight to attend, which equals: Three hour meeting this morning.  Three hour meeting this afternoon,  Three hour class tonight.

I now officially have Plastic Chair Flat-Ass Syndrome.  (aka: PlaChaFlass)

The worst of it is that I know from the start that it is going to be a shit-on-me day when the first thing I see on my way to work this morning is a big dog all hunched up and planting a giant turd on the side of the road.

Yessiree, it's going to be a Dog Doo Day.

BRING ON THE LIGHT THERAPY

How great is it to see sunlight and blue skies this morning?  Finally, driving to work and it’s not pitch-black dark outside.  It’s a fantastic feeling. 

Oh, wait.  Shit, no, it’s not.  You see, now that it’s light out early in the morning, the road construction crew is already blocking my access to work.  Crap.  I wish it were still dark out so I could have the open road to myself.

Okay, so this afternoon, when I get out of work, I have to run to the grocery store to get some stuff that I need and to make an oriental-inspired slaw for the staff lunch we’re having tomorrow.  I’m only in the store for about forty minutes.  When I arrive in the parking lot, the sun is slanted in the sky but still shining. 

When I exit the store, the sun is well into its setting phase.  Shit.  Damnit.  By the time I finish unpacking the bags at home, they sky darkens to the point where I’ll need the patio lights on to see the recycle bins for the rinsed-out cans from making dinner.  It’s dark by 5:30.  It has been a beautiful day … and I basically missed it.

I forgot what season it truly is:  Seasonal Affective Disorder Season!  Bring on the light therapy; I think I’m going to need it.