Hubs: Hey, what are those cute little animals in Star Wars?
Me: …Ewoks?
Hubs: No, you know, those cute little furry things you can pet.
Stunned silence…
Me: Tribbles? Are you talking about Tribbles?
Hubs: Yes!
More stunned silence…
Me: That’s from Star Trek.
Hubs: Whatever, you know what I mean.
GASP
Me: No. Not even, but what about Tribbles?
Hubs: I saw a video of the cutest animal that looks like those.
…
He was talking about this:
I turn my sights on Linkedin, where I’ve been staring at my profile for hours wondering what I should do.
It was easier on the playground, wasn’t it? A round of One Potato Two Potatoes took care of everything.
If you’re a coffee drinker, then you know there’s something magical about that first cup of coffee in the morning.
And how messing that up can ruin Christmas.
This morning, I ran a pot of coffee while I did a few other chores, and then prepared two cups. One for me in my favorite The Little Prince cup that holds just enough for me to get a little extra in before it starts to cool, and a giant cup for my honey.
In goes the half-n-half for the master of the house. In goes the delicious coffee, swirling into a lovely caramel color in his cup, and black as night into mine.
Then, in what I can only describe as a moment of horror reserved for late-night B movies, I watch myself, in black and white slo-mo, put…not one, but TWO heaping teaspoons of sugar into MY cup.
Dammit.
So I poured the unsweetened but lightened coffee into a new mug, and fixed my Love his cup, the guy who likes a little coffee in his sugar. And I traded The Little Prince for Spider-Man.
My feng shui is shot.
If ever I could make a case for getting an old school alarm clock with the obnoxious little hammers striking a loud bell, this is it. So I can have the satisfaction of crushing it and launching it across the room.
I do not know why, on my day off, the alarm is set for an odious six o’clock wake up. Well, I do, actually — so I can get up and write.
Right.
The truth is, I roll over and go back to sleep until the sun wakes me.
Except today. Today, my iPhone alarm, set to some terrible rhythmic tones, went off at the ill-advised time just as it’s supposed to do, and I slept right through it for 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes!
Instead of waking me, it made its way into my dream, which, for reasons I cannot fathom, was taking place in my church, during Mass. So naturally, the phone went off and I scrambled to turn it off. Don’t we all? But it wasn’t my phone, so I indulged a judgy moment of looking around. That was entertaining. I was sitting next to two Mormom missionaries, and behind a very large man with big hair who was annoyed at me. You know, the usual crowd at Mass.
It didn’t end there. The sacristan (this is of special note since we don’t, to my knowledge, have a sacristan in the traditional sense, and certainly not an appointed one like “the sacristan” implies.
Anyway, the sacristan exits the sacristy (what else?) waving a ringing phone that he then silences as a kind of demonstration.
Shortly after, bacon candy falls from heaven. I’m just going to note, this happened, and move back to the phone.
At that point, the ringing iPhone was making me crazy in the dream, so I left, running away from the ringing phone to the safety of my car. As soon as I started the car, the phone rings. Again. Finally, I answer it. It’s my former principal, calling to shoot the breeze.
At this point, I totally lose it in my dream and wake up to a moment of irritation as my senses process that the alarm is going off.
I am displeased. Immensely.
But look, I got up and wrote something!
And now, I’m going back to sleep.
Today’s moment of terror brought to me by Siri.
I skipped lunch to go to noon Mass at a church close to the office. It’s raining, and that means people in beautiful Atlanta turn into brainless blobs. I thought I was making a wise decision by going a back way instead of getting on the main street, which was an ok decision, but feeling a bit unsure of myself, I turned on the GPS to make sure I had the right turns.
Ah. Dear Siri. So useful. So efficient. So helpful.
Such a big, fat mouth.
I thought I had turned off the GPS and muted the phone. It turns out, I had indeed muted the phone alerts, but not the actual volume. Brilliant.
Siri announced, “You have reached your destination,” right smack in the middle of the first reading. I was there on time, so I have to wonder why she was the one that was late, but that’s not the point. You know every regular in the chapel had to turn around and look at me. The best, though, was the priest, who didn’t look too mad, just gave me the troll-face,”Really? REALLY?”
So, what lesson is in here for me on this beautiful Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception? I mean, besides turning the phone OFF?! Well, I’m thinking, it’s a lovely reminder that our heavenly mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary, is a fine GPS for us:
“Have you strayed from the path leading to heaven? Then call on Mary, for her name means ‘Star of the Sea, the North Star which guides the ships of our souls during the voyage of this life,’ and she will guide you to the harbor of eternal salvation.”
― Louis-Marie Grignion de Montfort, The Secret Of The Rosary
Once upon a time, many years ago when the children were all under 10 years old and we had the stamina to actually do things with them that required sunshine and the outdoors (a magical time before X-Boxes, Wi-Fi and iEverything) we had a little plot of land — five sprawling acres filled with pear trees and peach trees and beautiful tall grasses.
And a bunch of old tires, a rusted refrigerator, and a dilapidated house from like the Civil War or something.
My husband, handyman extraordinaire and embracing country living (I was still wearing my pearls, and let me tell you, he had plenty of fine 3-piece wool suits in the closet a la Eddie Albert), thought it would be a lovely family outing and adventure to go clear our land.
There’s a reason I’m not Pioneer Woman. No delightful lunches packed in adorable red-checkered cloths. No homemade lemonade in mason jars. Nope. I was good to remember some water in an empty milk jug and the bug spray.
So here we are, picking up junk around the property while He-Man drove around on a back hoe doing the hard stuff. I’ll stop here and note that it was pretty cool to watch the house shack come down.
Anyway, I digress. It was hard sweaty work in the Georgia heat which pretty much means we were not justing baking, but possibly poaching ourselves due to the humidity. This is an important point in the story because you know, things tend to decompose quickly in such an environment.
Back to the story…it was very hot, and in the midst of our own work, one of our neighbors, a very nice lady, came over to introduce herself and ask for our help seeing as how we had a back hoe and everything out here in the middle of nowhere. There’s not a lot of farming out where we live because there’s a lot of granite in the ground, but there were many many dairies back in the day.
It turns out, she had some cows…and a dead buffalo. They’d managed to dig a grave for the huge animal right next to where they found it, but they were hard-pressed for figuring out how to get it in the ground.
Enter Farmer John and his back hoe, and his trusty side-kick, Vicky, who was riding shotgun with Daddy.
They came back green, gagging at everything.
I knew better than to ask.
I recently vented at Patheos.com in a post titled When the Cheaters Are Teachers, where I reflect on disappointments with the public education system — a vent sparked by the embarrassing and disgraceful cheating scandal in Atlanta Public Schools. It’s pretty outrageous to think that so many professionals were easily compromised in the interest of … hmmm. In the interest of what, exactly? Bonuses? Bragging rights? Unbelievable and suspect test gains? Yeah, that.
We do no one any favors when we lower our standards or reduce our expectations. To teach effectively, we must look beyond the data points and see the unique individuals in the desks. We must meet them where they are and help them become what they can be.
It’s a complex problem because we can pretty much point a finger in any direction and find someone to blame, and I’m not talking about the 35 who were indicted. I’m talking about parents who abdicate parental responsibility when they don’t take an active role in their children’s education. Students who treat school as a social venue. Officials who let policies overrule sound educational processes. And teachers who plainly, and simply, are not teaching.
What scares the hell out of me is that this might just be the beginning of a different battle I never expected, about fundamental values, ethical comprehension, poverty and opportunity; we need to have conversations about these topics that are forthright enough to make us uncomfortable.
Check out the rest of it here.
I hope to get my act together during lent. We can pray for each other!
Yeah, I say I write here for myself bla-bla-bla and it’s my place for self-expression bla-bla-bla and I like having a creative outlet, more bla, now with added etcetera….
But that’s only part of the truth. I also like to know you like me. Even if it’s only a little bit. Like, maybe, every once in a while you liked something I posted. Not the ugly rants from earlier today, or even pictures and video I swipe from Facebook or Youtube. I mean when I post something that’s maybe a little intimate. A family picture. A serious reflection on something that’s important to me.
I want to know that I’m somehow relevant in this opportunity for conversation that more often than not feels like a monologue. I appreciate the random comments. I try to respond to them, but I assure you I read them 🙂
So when a bot gets a hold of this blog, and I get insanity like this:
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It disappoints me because I thought it was somebody playing nice.
And then…I laugh. Because it’s funny. It’s like a really bad lorem ipsum explosion that wants to try to say something.
I always strive to have a bright transparent concept. Don’t you?
another cup of coffee 