I was awake at 3:37 this morning, and it was the kind of awake where I thought to myself, "Uh oh, I'll never go back to......zzzzzzzzz." I almost got up at that ungodly hour, but I fell back to sleep before the thought could crystallize.
Then of course I was dead to the world when the alarm went off. The clock is on my side of the bed, and I haven't hit the snooze once in 12 years, ever since one morning right after we started living together when Hubby said, "Why don't you just get up when it goes off?" It's my responsibility to turn the alarm off. But that doesn't necessarily mean I wake up to do it.
In our little morning routine, I turn off the alarm while I'm still sleeping, and Hubby gets up and goes into the bathroom. He shaves and gets ready in about 7 minutes, then comes out into the bedroom to dress. He doesn't turn the light on, using the light from the bathroom instead, and at some point in that space of time I come awake and get up.
Just before he came out of the bathroom this morning, I was dreaming about one of our students. She finished her coursework right after the semester break, and she and her twin sister will graduate this week. In my dream, she was sitting at the table in my classroom talking about her college grades. She told me three grades, a 31 in something, a 13 in math, and something else. In all my kindheartedness and with the warm fuzzy support I'm known for, I said to her, "C., those grades aren't passing if you ADD THEM ALL TOGETHER." Then we started trying to factor an equation.
My friend Wanda the Warrior Princess thinks there are some deep underlying meanings to all our dreams.
I don't want to know.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Calling All Christians.....
I (sort of) witnessed a rather bizarre exchange between two women this morning.
I parked at the grocery store but decided to walk down to Tar-zhay in search of a water pitcher with a filter. It was one of those rare days when I just felt like walking, and I didn't have to rush home or anything. And by walking I could put off, if even for just a couple of minutes, the dreaded trip to the grocery store.
I heard loud voices behind me as I walked down the sidewalk, but I didn't really pay any attention to what they were saying. I actually thought they were friends greeting each other in the parking lot in that loud, (some) Southern women, obnoxious, don't-care-whose-ears-we-violate kind of way.
As I neared the Tar-zhay, however, there were two women screaming at each other, one in a van and one walking down the sidewalk. Apparently their roles had been reversed a few minutes earlier at the grocery store end of the shopping center, and the woman in the van was accusing the walking woman of nearly running over her.
Driver: You didn't stop at that stop sign!
Walker: Yes, I did! You walked out in front of me!
Driver: No, you didn't stop!
Walker: Yes, I did!
Driver: No, you didn't!
Walker: Yes, I did!
[Unintelligible gibberish while they both screamed at each other. The woman walking down the sidewalk was dragging a small girl with her, probably about 3 or 4 years old. Thankfully probably too young to be humiliated by her mother's behavior.]
This is how the exchange culminated:
Driver: I'll pray for you!
Walker: I'll do the same for you!
.
.
.
.
.
Here's an idea:
Why not just be nice to each other in the first place, forgiving if a transgression DID occur, whether it be pedestrian or driver, and leave out the middle man?
That would free God up to handle some more pressing issues.
I parked at the grocery store but decided to walk down to Tar-zhay in search of a water pitcher with a filter. It was one of those rare days when I just felt like walking, and I didn't have to rush home or anything. And by walking I could put off, if even for just a couple of minutes, the dreaded trip to the grocery store.
I heard loud voices behind me as I walked down the sidewalk, but I didn't really pay any attention to what they were saying. I actually thought they were friends greeting each other in the parking lot in that loud, (some) Southern women, obnoxious, don't-care-whose-ears-we-violate kind of way.
As I neared the Tar-zhay, however, there were two women screaming at each other, one in a van and one walking down the sidewalk. Apparently their roles had been reversed a few minutes earlier at the grocery store end of the shopping center, and the woman in the van was accusing the walking woman of nearly running over her.
Driver: You didn't stop at that stop sign!
Walker: Yes, I did! You walked out in front of me!
Driver: No, you didn't stop!
Walker: Yes, I did!
Driver: No, you didn't!
Walker: Yes, I did!
[Unintelligible gibberish while they both screamed at each other. The woman walking down the sidewalk was dragging a small girl with her, probably about 3 or 4 years old. Thankfully probably too young to be humiliated by her mother's behavior.]
This is how the exchange culminated:
Driver: I'll pray for you!
Walker: I'll do the same for you!
.
.
.
.
.
Here's an idea:
Why not just be nice to each other in the first place, forgiving if a transgression DID occur, whether it be pedestrian or driver, and leave out the middle man?
That would free God up to handle some more pressing issues.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Happy Anniversary, Hubby!
12 - years ago today we got married
5 - minutes before the courthouse closed we arrived at the courthouse in Chattanooga, Tennessee
2 - number of weeks we were married before I left him for a week to go on BRAG
3 - new cars purchased
6 - computers purchased
10 - other major appliances purchased
13 - age of Auggie (Hubby's Pomeranian) when he died shortly after we got married
4 - dogs we've had since then
3 - cats we had to lose before Hubby agreed to allow inside cats
2 - cats Hubby now allows to sleep on his bed at night
3 - cruises we've taken
4 - other exotic vacations we've been on
5 - school changes Hubby has witnessed in my career
1 - doctoral degree Hubby has had to live through
1 - life-changing diagnosis
7 - years Hubby has kept off 30 pounds lost after diagnosis
1 - houses Hubby has lived in during the last 36 years
2 - children who have purchased their own homes during our marriage (his daughter, mine)
50 - number of additional years I hope we have together
Friday, May 29, 2009
Finally Gonna Have To Turn on the Air.....
Unlike MamaNeena, we have yet to turn on the air conditioning in our house. We haven't needed it.....until now. We have had the windows open, and I really enjoy the night sounds and the breezes coming in through the windows.
The breezes are getting hotter, though, and the house is stuffy. When I came in this afternoon, I thought to myself, "It's time." This is probably the latest we have turned on the air conditioning in recent memory. I was going to hold out for June 1st, but I think this weekend we'll break down and turn on the air.
Which means an arctic front is sure to blow through here next week.
Happy weekend. It sure took its damn sweet time getting here.
The breezes are getting hotter, though, and the house is stuffy. When I came in this afternoon, I thought to myself, "It's time." This is probably the latest we have turned on the air conditioning in recent memory. I was going to hold out for June 1st, but I think this weekend we'll break down and turn on the air.
Which means an arctic front is sure to blow through here next week.
Happy weekend. It sure took its damn sweet time getting here.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Depression.....
I have used the phrase "I'm depressed" countless times over the years, but I don't think I've ever known what the word meant until now.
That sounds extreme, but it isn't.
In the past when I have used that phrase, it could actually have been any of the following:
Yet I have this (almost) overwhelming sensation that I can only describe as depression. It's just a funk. It may be due to the fact that this school year has gone on for-freakin-ever, and we still have another week with the students. THEN post-planning. Egads.
I don't want to alarm anyone who knows me and has to work with me or live with me, because I'm not screaming out for help or even considering taking drugs, although those might just help me cope with the end of the school year. If it ever gets here. Never mind the two graduation ceremonies I'll have to endure.
I'm already doing most of the things they say one should do to combat depression. I have exercised EVERY STINKIN' DAY since December 30, with the exception of three. I actually enjoy exercise. Maybe that's the first sign of mental illness itself.
I get enough sleep, usually eight hours a night during the week, sometimes nine on the weekend.
I stay busy working on the computer, crocheting, reading for pleasure, improving upon the courses I teach.
Okay, so maybe I don't eat EXACTLY right, but surely three out of four is good enough? It would get me a multi-million dollar contract in baseball.
I feel like I have a purpose. Many purposes maybe.
I have hobbies and friends and a great marriage and wonderful relationships with my sisters and a self-supporting child and pets and little debt and a steady recession-proof job and good health and a whole whopping six weeks off for summer vacation this year.
I have heard people ask incredulously about someone, "What's she got to be depressed about?" (Actually, I think I've heard my mother say that about ME.)
That's like asking, "What's she got to have a cold about?"
It isn't an emotion; it's a condition. A situation. A thing.
I felt like this a couple of weeks ago, on a weekend, and I was a little frightened. Worried might be a better word for it.
Then on Monday morning, the fog had lifted, and I thought to myself, "Whew, I'm glad THAT'S over."
I'm not spiraling downward, and it's not like I want to curl up in a corner and go to sleep or anything like that.
It's just like I've got this knapsack full of hammers on my back and I can't put them down.
I am completely confident it will pass, probably very quickly. This weekend I'll be floating in the pool with a beverage nearby, and I'll wonder, "What was THAT all about?"
I have a new appreciation for people who are truly depressed. As long as they aren't just sad or something.
That sounds extreme, but it isn't.
In the past when I have used that phrase, it could actually have been any of the following:
- I'm overwhelmed.
- I'm sad.
- I'm angry.
- I'm stressed.
- I'm at a crossroads in my life and am not sure which way to go.
- I'm at a crossroads in my life and I KNOW which way to go, but it's a hell of a lot of trouble.
- I'm regretting decisions that affected my life.
- I'm regretting decisions that affected the lives of others.
- I'm feeling helpless.
- I'm feeling hopeless.
- I'm feeling restless.
- I'm bored.
- I'm worried.
- I'm in a rut.
Yet I have this (almost) overwhelming sensation that I can only describe as depression. It's just a funk. It may be due to the fact that this school year has gone on for-freakin-ever, and we still have another week with the students. THEN post-planning. Egads.
I don't want to alarm anyone who knows me and has to work with me or live with me, because I'm not screaming out for help or even considering taking drugs, although those might just help me cope with the end of the school year. If it ever gets here. Never mind the two graduation ceremonies I'll have to endure.
I'm already doing most of the things they say one should do to combat depression. I have exercised EVERY STINKIN' DAY since December 30, with the exception of three. I actually enjoy exercise. Maybe that's the first sign of mental illness itself.
I get enough sleep, usually eight hours a night during the week, sometimes nine on the weekend.
I stay busy working on the computer, crocheting, reading for pleasure, improving upon the courses I teach.
Okay, so maybe I don't eat EXACTLY right, but surely three out of four is good enough? It would get me a multi-million dollar contract in baseball.
I feel like I have a purpose. Many purposes maybe.
I have hobbies and friends and a great marriage and wonderful relationships with my sisters and a self-supporting child and pets and little debt and a steady recession-proof job and good health and a whole whopping six weeks off for summer vacation this year.
I have heard people ask incredulously about someone, "What's she got to be depressed about?" (Actually, I think I've heard my mother say that about ME.)
That's like asking, "What's she got to have a cold about?"
It isn't an emotion; it's a condition. A situation. A thing.
I felt like this a couple of weeks ago, on a weekend, and I was a little frightened. Worried might be a better word for it.
Then on Monday morning, the fog had lifted, and I thought to myself, "Whew, I'm glad THAT'S over."
I'm not spiraling downward, and it's not like I want to curl up in a corner and go to sleep or anything like that.
It's just like I've got this knapsack full of hammers on my back and I can't put them down.
I am completely confident it will pass, probably very quickly. This weekend I'll be floating in the pool with a beverage nearby, and I'll wonder, "What was THAT all about?"
I have a new appreciation for people who are truly depressed. As long as they aren't just sad or something.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Our Fledgling Garden......
I haven't been too excited about our garden for the past couple of years, mainly because we have been in a drought of epic proportions. Last year we managed to harvest a few pathetic little tomatoes, and very little else.
When Hubby and I first married (and our anniversary is this weekend - yay! I think a motorhome would make an excellent gift for the 12-year mark), we had quite a sizable garden in the back yard. It was in a perfect spot, lots of sunshine and good soil. We planted peas, okra, squash, peppers, cucumbers, squash, zucchini, tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes. That's when I found out that tomatoes are pretty much the only "vegetable" that Hubby will eat. And peppers.
Then we put a swimming pool in the perfect garden spot. You can't be too picky about where to put a swimming pool. It has to A) fit between the property lines; and B) not be over septic tank lines. Unless you are us (yes, I know it's properer to say "you are we" but that just sounds retarded in spite of its correctness), in which case you pay about a gazillion dollars for someone to MOVE the septic tank lines, and that's BEFORE you spend the gazillion dollars you actually meant to spend on the swimming pool.
We've tried a couple of different spots for our garden, and we've had various degrees of success. Last year Hubby decided to make sort of a "fake" spot where the soil isn't very good but the sunshine situation was better. He used railroad ties and potting soil to make a tiny little garden plot.
Everything died last year. Apparently even if one surreptitiously waters a garden, flying in the face of county, state, and probably federal watering restrictions, nothing can replace good old rainwater. And we had precious little of that last year. And the year before that. And the year before that........ ad infinitum in reverse.
So far this year our little baby garden is doing nicely.
Pardon the bent piece of fence at the back of our yard where part of a tree came crashing down in one of our winter storms. Or maybe a fall storm. Whatever. It keeps the neighbors on their side and us on our side, so apparently it's good enough.
Look at those cute little baby squashes peeking through the leaves there. I can't wait for them to grow up and get jobs. Hubby doesn't really care for squash (except fried), but I can't wait to make a big old squash casserole. He wouldn't eat squash casserole on a dare, but I could live off it. At least for a day or two.
I couldn't get a very good shot of this zucchini without pulling that withered piece of bloom (?) off the end, but I was afraid it would stunt the growing process. I wish zucchini were as easy to spot as the yellow squash; sometimes I miss one, and then it's like Invasion of the Giant Zucchini the next time I go out to the garden spot.
Hello, you shiny little tomatoes. I can't wait until you get big and ripe enough to slice and put between two pieces of bread for a midday tomato sandwich. Ironically, I wouldn't eat tomatoes at all until I was in my late twenties or early thirties. LOVED catsup, but I wouldn't touch tomatoes. Then I had some fresh ones from my own garden with some crisp bacon and cool lettuce on a sandwich, and I was hooked.
Hubby is of the opinion that one cannot have too many tomato plants. He fusses if he thinks any of them might go to waste. When I start cutting them up into his cereal, he might decide it's better not to plant more than we can eat.
He even plants them in buckets when he runs out of room in the "fake" garden spot.
Hubby is also somewhat of a pepper freak. I realize they are slightly out of focus. We can't all be Pioneer Woman when it comes to photography. Or gardens. Or cooking. Or living.
The only way Hubby would ever consider moving to another house is if he were suddenly able to have about 5 acres of land so he could have a bigger garden.
I'm not pushing for it; cooking is enough of a chore without adding in canning and freezing. That's just way too much domesticity for me.
When Hubby and I first married (and our anniversary is this weekend - yay! I think a motorhome would make an excellent gift for the 12-year mark), we had quite a sizable garden in the back yard. It was in a perfect spot, lots of sunshine and good soil. We planted peas, okra, squash, peppers, cucumbers, squash, zucchini, tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes. That's when I found out that tomatoes are pretty much the only "vegetable" that Hubby will eat. And peppers.
Then we put a swimming pool in the perfect garden spot. You can't be too picky about where to put a swimming pool. It has to A) fit between the property lines; and B) not be over septic tank lines. Unless you are us (yes, I know it's properer to say "you are we" but that just sounds retarded in spite of its correctness), in which case you pay about a gazillion dollars for someone to MOVE the septic tank lines, and that's BEFORE you spend the gazillion dollars you actually meant to spend on the swimming pool.
We've tried a couple of different spots for our garden, and we've had various degrees of success. Last year Hubby decided to make sort of a "fake" spot where the soil isn't very good but the sunshine situation was better. He used railroad ties and potting soil to make a tiny little garden plot.
Everything died last year. Apparently even if one surreptitiously waters a garden, flying in the face of county, state, and probably federal watering restrictions, nothing can replace good old rainwater. And we had precious little of that last year. And the year before that. And the year before that........ ad infinitum in reverse.
So far this year our little baby garden is doing nicely.
Pardon the bent piece of fence at the back of our yard where part of a tree came crashing down in one of our winter storms. Or maybe a fall storm. Whatever. It keeps the neighbors on their side and us on our side, so apparently it's good enough.
Look at those cute little baby squashes peeking through the leaves there. I can't wait for them to grow up and get jobs. Hubby doesn't really care for squash (except fried), but I can't wait to make a big old squash casserole. He wouldn't eat squash casserole on a dare, but I could live off it. At least for a day or two.
I couldn't get a very good shot of this zucchini without pulling that withered piece of bloom (?) off the end, but I was afraid it would stunt the growing process. I wish zucchini were as easy to spot as the yellow squash; sometimes I miss one, and then it's like Invasion of the Giant Zucchini the next time I go out to the garden spot.
Hello, you shiny little tomatoes. I can't wait until you get big and ripe enough to slice and put between two pieces of bread for a midday tomato sandwich. Ironically, I wouldn't eat tomatoes at all until I was in my late twenties or early thirties. LOVED catsup, but I wouldn't touch tomatoes. Then I had some fresh ones from my own garden with some crisp bacon and cool lettuce on a sandwich, and I was hooked.
Hubby is of the opinion that one cannot have too many tomato plants. He fusses if he thinks any of them might go to waste. When I start cutting them up into his cereal, he might decide it's better not to plant more than we can eat.
He even plants them in buckets when he runs out of room in the "fake" garden spot.
Hubby is also somewhat of a pepper freak. I realize they are slightly out of focus. We can't all be Pioneer Woman when it comes to photography. Or gardens. Or cooking. Or living.The only way Hubby would ever consider moving to another house is if he were suddenly able to have about 5 acres of land so he could have a bigger garden.
I'm not pushing for it; cooking is enough of a chore without adding in canning and freezing. That's just way too much domesticity for me.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Books I Haven't Read.....
I could probably be kicked out of the English Teachers' Club if "they" knew some of the books I haven't (yet) read. I don't know how I managed to graduate from high school and college without reading some of the classics. I'm not going to list them here, because it's embarrassing to admit that I haven't read them.
What brings me to this post is the fact that in preparation for teaching my summer school online course, I'm being forced to read some things I haven't previously read. And reread some, like Lord of the Flies. I taught that one when I was in the traditional classroom, but I'm rereading it so I can be familiar enough with the story, the symbolism, and the characters [for some reason I get Jack and Ralph mixed up] to grade what the students turn in. I could just look at their assignments and give them credit for trying, but that's not the way I operate. If they miss something, I tell them why. And I deduct the points. I figure I'm doing them a favor.
Some things that are considered classics I HAVE read, but I didn't necessarily like. I know I could definitely be kicked out of the Southern English Teachers' Club if I admitted to the club officers that I read lots of Faulkner's work, but I still don't like him. It's just not natural for a sentence to go on for pages and pages and pages. I don't remember in which English course I was forced to read several Faulkner novels. I'm pretty sure I didn't take a course in Southern Literature, because it never would fit in my schedule.
I'm also not really crazy about Hemingway. You shouldn't have to keep turning back several pages to see if you can figure out who's saying what. He's not big on "he said" or "she replied" to provide a roadmap for the conversation. And it's always a conversation. With an occasional running of the bulls thrown in. And lots of drinking. I do, however, like his short story "Hills Like White Elephants." I think because the subject matter is obscure, and when you finish reading the story you find yourself asking, "Were they talking about what I THINK they were talking about?"
I did a project for a graduate course several years ago, back when I thought my doctoral research was going to be about adult readers and non-readers. Not people who CAN'T read, but people who CAN and just CHOOSE NOT TO. In preparing for that project I came across a list of 100 of the greatest books or 100 books everyone should read or something like that. I was a little dismayed at how many books on that list I HADN'T read. I kept counting on my fingers and looking over my shoulder just in case one of the members of the Book Police Force were watching me.
I just went looking for that list so I could add it to this post, and while I didn't find that specific one, I came across about 100 other lists of 100 books. The one I'm going to put the most faith in is put out by the College Board. And I'm going to make a concerted effort to read more quality works on this list and less junk. Never mind that I'm not college-bound and hope never to be again.
What brings me to this post is the fact that in preparation for teaching my summer school online course, I'm being forced to read some things I haven't previously read. And reread some, like Lord of the Flies. I taught that one when I was in the traditional classroom, but I'm rereading it so I can be familiar enough with the story, the symbolism, and the characters [for some reason I get Jack and Ralph mixed up] to grade what the students turn in. I could just look at their assignments and give them credit for trying, but that's not the way I operate. If they miss something, I tell them why. And I deduct the points. I figure I'm doing them a favor.
Some things that are considered classics I HAVE read, but I didn't necessarily like. I know I could definitely be kicked out of the Southern English Teachers' Club if I admitted to the club officers that I read lots of Faulkner's work, but I still don't like him. It's just not natural for a sentence to go on for pages and pages and pages. I don't remember in which English course I was forced to read several Faulkner novels. I'm pretty sure I didn't take a course in Southern Literature, because it never would fit in my schedule.
I'm also not really crazy about Hemingway. You shouldn't have to keep turning back several pages to see if you can figure out who's saying what. He's not big on "he said" or "she replied" to provide a roadmap for the conversation. And it's always a conversation. With an occasional running of the bulls thrown in. And lots of drinking. I do, however, like his short story "Hills Like White Elephants." I think because the subject matter is obscure, and when you finish reading the story you find yourself asking, "Were they talking about what I THINK they were talking about?"
I did a project for a graduate course several years ago, back when I thought my doctoral research was going to be about adult readers and non-readers. Not people who CAN'T read, but people who CAN and just CHOOSE NOT TO. In preparing for that project I came across a list of 100 of the greatest books or 100 books everyone should read or something like that. I was a little dismayed at how many books on that list I HADN'T read. I kept counting on my fingers and looking over my shoulder just in case one of the members of the Book Police Force were watching me.
I just went looking for that list so I could add it to this post, and while I didn't find that specific one, I came across about 100 other lists of 100 books. The one I'm going to put the most faith in is put out by the College Board. And I'm going to make a concerted effort to read more quality works on this list and less junk. Never mind that I'm not college-bound and hope never to be again.
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