No, this is NOT the post of which I spoke yesterday, that one that I’ve had saved in a draft for a few days. That will come soon enough, especially considering that the poll results overwhelmingly indicate support for me to continue with that draft. Actually, the overwhelming response was “gin and tonic” but we’ll let that one slide since that’s a given. Just… gin and tonic.
As I write this I am listening to my music library streaming through Apple TV. Given my love of American standards (popular music of the early to mid-20th century, NOT the toilet manufacturer) it’s currently playing an album called simply II. This is one of the great Barry Manilow’s early albums. It’s the kind of album one might play on a decent sound system early on a Saturday morning while cleaning your house. And it has to be raining. And you have to dress head to toe in black. Barry fans know.
Today at work I snapped a picture of the whiteboard. It’s part of a game I used to play a few years back. It’s called “What’s He Teaching?!” I take the picture of my most recent notation then post it to my Facebook and see if my friends can guess the lesson I was teaching. It prompted me to go back and find some of the others I’d done. Although they all generally underscore my lessons (the whiteboard etchings) and they all generally follow what I’m saying (the students), they are NOT the kinds of things that make sense to anyone with a measure of a grasp on reality.
I also had a funny moment with a few colleagues. During an off-period I was chatting with a fellow teacher when the director of technology came into the workroom and began speaking with another teacher. The IT guy has a pretty serious demeanor. He started talking about computers and backing up and security. I don’t know why but I turned to the first teacher with whom I was speaking and said: “Personally I live on the edge. I don’t back anything up.” And then I paused and then added “and I routinely place five gallon-sized pitchers of salt water on the desk surrounding my laptop. Then once a week I release a feral cat.” I don’t know where this flight of fancy came from but my friend and I were already laughing too hard for me to continue. The thing is that I was laughing at the IT guy’s stern-faced reaction to my story and NOT at the feral cat, whom I’d already named Skip in my mind. Later on I told my wife the story and she remarked that
many most all of my bizarre stories involve cats. I can’t argue. Even the title of this blog is taken from the name of my childhood tabby. What can I say? To me, felines are the perfect foil.
Finally, my wife asked me to help out with something tonight. It’s actually a good thing. Seems there was an apartment building that went up in flames somewhere in Dallas a couple of nights ago. The local Catholic Charities thrift store is collecting clothing for the people in the 24 apartments who made it out with their lives but little else. This simple act of charity has given me the incentive I needed to thin out my closet and get rid of things I haven’t worn in a while. Now, I’m not saying I’m giving these folks clothing that’s horribly out of style. I wouldn’t hold onto something without the possibility of wearing it myself in the future. It’s just that I have a tendency to buy new clothes when I need them and forget to consign the older stuff. As I’ve put on a few pounds over the past year, there have been lots of new clothes. Ergo, my closet has gotten quite full. Anyway, having lived through a fire where my family lost everything I knew I couldn’t NOT pitch in.
Lord… Anyway, remember that post of which I spoke yesterday? That one’s a lot better than this (in my mind). But that’s OK because, well, this is NOT…