BRING ON MONDAY -- I'M READY!

What a fantastic weekend!

Friday I leave work and go directly to pick up team gear for a 5k on Sunday.  I have ten people on the team, so I get a big box with everything in it.  The sponsors are remarkably organized, so I'm in and out in no time.  I run to Whole Foods to grab fruit and munchies, which I madly cut and organize onto plates, then the fruit and I head out to a trivia fundraiser for Boston Children's Hospital.  (Our motto is, "It's for the children, damnit.")

Saturday I clean, organize, shop, bake, do laundry, do some work, write a blog, and still manage to make it to a wine tasting.  I cannot squeeze in my friend's meditation class, though I could probably use it.  I turn on the television and watch the Red Sox spank the Yankees while making banana and pumpkin breads and blueberry muffins and brownies.  I finally roll myself into bed around 12:30.

Sunday I'm up early and getting ready for the 5k, which I will be walking.  A gang of us are meeting at my house then heading up to stroll through town and through the bird sanctuary.  After the 5k, we meander back to my house just as light rain is starting, but it's okay, though.  At my house we have food and drink (Mimosas and Bellinis), great conversation, some laughs, and generally exhaust ourselves.  Later after the party ends, I get sidetracked ordering some new bedding for the family -- sheets, blankets, etc.  My sister calls, so we chat for a while.  I finish up my daughter's laundry for her, then run a load of laundry for me, one for my son, and a third for towels and a bedspread that I discovered tucked away  (I'm going to see if it's salvageable), watch a little television; in other words, I do a whole lot of nothing.

I start to doze on Sunday afternoon, completely forgetting that I want to try to fit in a new activity of a drumming circle.  I truly do want to fit it all in, make it a true trifecta of a weekend, but it's not meant to be.  It's well-past dinner time, and I'm still working on laundry, ironing, loading dishes into the dishwasher from the sink, and other mindless, stress-free chores.  At some point, I should probably shower, too, lest I stink my neighbors out into the street.

I don't get it all done, but I do get enough done.  Sheets are washed and changed, too, so it'll be one of those nights -- ladies know what I mean: clean sheets, clean body, freshly shaved legs.  Shakespeare really was right; all's well that ends well.  Bring on Monday.  This time I truly believe I am ready.

SIR HARRY BUTT

After our night of trivia wraps up, my friend drives us both back to her house, where my car is parked.  She parks in her usual space in the driveway, and my car is yards away near the street, so it strikes me as odd that she walks me to my car.

"We have a fisher cat in the neighborhood," she tells me.

This news is both exciting (Hey, there's a damn FISHER CAT running loose in suburbia) and disturbing (Holy shit, there's a damn FISHER CAT running loose in suburbia), and a very tiny part of me is jealous (for about a millisecond).

We don't have exotic wild animals in this neighborhood.  In my neighborhood there are chipmunks, squirrels, skunks, the occasional pissed off turkey, and river rats.  Yes, big-ass, ugly, hairy, slimy, scavenging river rats.  The good news is that as long as we don't have bird feeders or any trash outside, the river rats stay close to the industrial park along the river across the street. I know they're there because I spent a summer working inside one of the factory buildings, and the bathroom was downstairs.  If we looked down the stairs to the next lower floor, we could see the rats running a round.

But, our neighborhood is not without its mascot.  We have Sir Harry Butt.  Sir Harry Butt is a wild bunny who lives, strangely enough, under one of the meager bushes in our limited yard.  Sir Harry Butt isn't the brightest animal: he thinks freezing in complete stillness in the middle of the brick driveway is real camouflage.

I doubt I'll ever have to walk anyone to her car on of account of Sir Harry Butt.  Still, though, there's the thrill of having an undomesticated animal as the neighborhood mascot.  Here's to the Harry Butts ... or something like that.  Go, Harry Butt!

TRIVIA NIGHT OUT

Tonight is trivia night - a fundraiser for Boston Children's Hospital.  We have a full table with two generations of players.  This turns out to be crucial in the music round.  Over the course of the evening, I know some of the answers and score big time when I know the answer to the television show for which John Laroquette won multiple Emmy awards (much as I would love it to be for Black Sheep Squadron, it is actually for Night Court).

I'm losing steam by the end of the game (it is Friday, after all), and I am thrilled when our team places third overall.  I'm also kicking myself for a few I couldn't remember (Bjorn Borg is stuck in my brain when the correct answer is Boris Becker, and I do not insist on goat when that is, in fact, the answer).  However, for rusty trivia players, we do all right.

One of the younger adults at our table wins a raffle prize.  Then, he wins another.  After a few other items are raffled off, he wins another prize, then another, and then another still.  People around us seem mildly annoyed, but they have just as much chance of winning as does our boy.  A couple of other people from our table win things.

We have a great time, answer enough questions to take third place, and raise money for charity --- $5,000+  I mean, seriously: It's for the children ... damnit.

I'M SUPPOSED TO

I'm supposed to be cleaning the house.
I'm supposed to be doing laundry.
I'm supposed to be paying bills.
I'm supposed to be correcting papers.
I'm supposed to be exercising.
I'm supposed to be posting grades.
I'm supposed to be compiling my evaluation portfolio.
I'm supposed to be prepping food for a fundraiser.
I'm supposed to be catching up on my sleep.
I'm supposed to be organizing my room.
I'm supposed to be answering emails.
I'm supposed to be prepping my classroom.
I'm supposed to be painting my nails.
I'm supposed to be drying my hair.
I'm supposed to be emptying the dishwasher.
I'm supposed to be updating my calendar.

I'm supposed to be enjoying being alive, so
I'm supposing the checklist above isn't getting done, and
I suppose I don't mind in the slightest.

SAVING THE DUSTY COMPUTER

Oh, my poor old computer.  The poor baby, all covered with dust and waiting to die. 

A few months ago, the Internet finally stopped working on it, and it had no memory left.  I realized that I needed more than CD's and DVD's to store all the stuff on there, so I finally went out and bought mega-thumb drives.

Then, I promptly ignored the whole thing.  Until this evening.

Once I cleared out all the giant dust tumbleweeds, I finally started breathing life back into the computer.  I took years and years and years of sports pictures and videos off the thing and transferred them all onto the thumb drive, a process that has taken (and still will take) hours of my time tonight.  I almost forgot to transfer the videos, too.  Good gravy, there are lacrosse videos on there from when my youngest was in eighth grade, which was ... nine years ago ... ???? 

Oh.  My.  God.  I am so ashamed of myself.  Poor, poor, poor dusty old computer.  No wonder it has to be resuscitated. 

It no longer connects to the Internet, so I delete everything pertaining to security and Google, and Firefox and anything else.  I am hopeful that I can renegotiate its compatibility with the printer, especially since I bought ink for it a while back.  If I can turn this ancient computer into a glorified word processor, I will be extremely happy ... especially since I just killed another computer recently. 

Okay, okay, so I'm no good with electronics.

Wait, though.  I recently got myself a new phone that, for some strange reason, will not download pictures or group texts or those weird sticker-thingees until they've all circled Neptune three times.  I finally did some detective work, discovered several possible solutions, and actually outsmarted the android phone.  A couple of times at work, I have even been able to solve technical issues with computers for me and for my teammates.

Well, I'll let you know if my technical luck has run out in about ... 46 minutes and 11 seconds ... when my download of all the videos, pictures, and documents will be done.  I have since regained a shitload of GB on my hard drive, and I haven't even begun with the stored music yet.

Wish me luck.  After all, I do have to get some sleep sometime.  I have to go to work tomorrow, so these files had better finish transferring in time for me to catch a few hours of shut-eye.  Until then, though, I will play Tech-Doc to my poor, dusty old ignored dinosaur of a computer partially because I'm truly fond of it, and partially because I already have four or five other computers in my basement just waiting to be recycled.  If I add one more, there may be a rising of the machines against me.

DUST BUNNIES AND OTHER CREATURES FROM THE DEN

This evening I tackle the second to last space in my house that needs to be done.

Months ago I started with my son's room (though, by now, you'd never know -- I mean, I love him and all, but still), then hit part of the basement, then back upstairs to the den and my room (about 80% done up there), then I came back downstairs.  I rearranged the entire living room, hated it, and within an hour put it all back the way it had been, for the most part. 

I also discovered that this house is wired really strangely and several of the rooms have multiple plugs on various walls that are all connected to the same switches.  Hard to believe after a dozen or so years that if I'd just moved some plugs around, I could've controlled my Christmas tree with the flick of a wrist.  Oh, well.  Live and learn.

Tonight, though, I face off with the computer corner of my den.  Why?  My son is rewiring the Internet.

Mind you, the internet on this particular (wired) computer has not worked in over a year, and I've sort of been ignoring the thing ever since.  I turned it on a few weeks ago to try and do some Word document work (because my laptop is older and doesn't have Word on it at all right now after a rebuild), but I could not get the damn printer to work, even though it was plugged into the wall and the switches were all in the correct positions.

All this sounds like excuses.  Well, true that.  But the end result is simple:  Dust Bunnies.  No, not really bunnies.  Dust Great Danes.

Once I start moving the furniture around, these giant gray beasts start attacking us like wayward tumbleweeds gone amok.  I don't think I've seen this much clumpy dust ever ... No, wait.  Scratch that.  I definitely saw this much and more when I cleaned out part of the basement.  Okay, I haven't seen this much dust in my main living space in forever.  I am deeply ashamed of myself.

I am also embarrassed to discover that the probable reason for the printer not working is because, even though the printer has been plugged into the wall and the USB cable has been connected to the tower, the part that plugs into the printer itself has not been completely inserted.

 Hmmmm, perhaps this is the problem, after all.  Perhaps I can get that old dinosaur working again.  Perhaps dust was clogging up the works!  Maybe ... maybe ....

Oh, look at the time!  What a shame.  I mean, really.  It's like a little after dinner time, and, well ... now that the irrationally large dust bunnies are gone, I'm starting to lose interest in this whole rearranging shit.  After all, the new Internet is all installed, this room is also about 80% done, there's a movie on television that I want to watch.  Oh, yes, and there's still the other side of the basement to de-clutter and organize eventually.

I believe it was the late Erma Bombeck who noted that no one ever gets to Heaven and says, "Gosh, I really wish I'd spent more time cleaning!"  Those dust bunnies aren't going anywhere, and, knowing how fast bunnies reproduce, they'll just be more of them again next week.

Now, if I can just find the remote in this mess.

DRESSING UP THE BARD

Have you ever wondered what English teachers do when they're stuck on hall monitor duty?  Sure, you have.  Admit it.

We play with magnetic Bards; that's what we do.

My co-worker went to the Currier Museum last week, as did I, and she also saw Shakespeare's First Folio, but, unlike cheapo me, she actually spent money at the museum shop.  She bought a play set of magnetic Shakespeare figures, something along the lines of Colorforms from our younger days.

As we are sitting in the atrium area at a round table, we spread the play-set across the tabletop and start dressing up our various Will figurines.  The high ceiling and wide-open space carry our laughter, and a couple of people wander over to see what we are doing.  One even joins in.

We dress up Will in street clothes, jester clothes, Elizabethan  ruff.  We add hats, glasses, masks, hoods, and shoes.  There is an extra Shakespeare head (black and white sketched), Yorick (skull), and Bottom (head of an ass).  I add a cap and a feather to Bottom and create my own Shakespearean version of Senor Ed the Ass-Hat.  We put bloody knives into Will's legs and chalices of mead in his hands.  We add the ass head, the arrow through the cranium, a wine glass, and we dub him Steve Dean Martin-Bottom.

Oh, sure.  We are supposed to be monitoring the halls, which we are, but we're having some creative fun while we do it.  Worse case, we end up statistics in some horrible news story.  If that happens, remember us fondly as the Shakespeare Colorform Jokers.  Feel free to steal these lines:

"That skull had a tongue in it and could sing once ... This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester ... Alas, poor Yorick.  I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy."