And that is what I shall do.
And still that draft story I’ve been working on for almost a year mocks me on my admin page. Oh don’t you worry, little unfinished (unstarted story), one of these days that train will pull out of the station and run you over like a, well, like a train. OK, don’t be too hard on me tonight. My day has had a few glitches in it. Take for instance the class I subbed this morning. Though I teach full time, I am occasionally called up to sub during my off periods. It’s a Catholic school. We all pitch in and help each other out like that. This class didn’t require me to leave my own classroom. It was the class of the guy who normally uses my room during my planning period. “Piece of cake,” I thought. “I’ll get my own school work done while the kids work.”
The guy’s lesson plans called for the kids to watch a couple of videos. There’s no surprise there. Many teachers leave videos when they’re out. It’s easy on the sub and, in the hands of a skilled teacher, can actually elicit something resembling an educated response from a student. Since this was a health class the videos were about the dangers of smoking. All I could think while watching this propaganda was how much I really wanted a cigarette. Instead I snarked to the students not about the video but about the medium. “Who still uses VHS?!”
I can’t think of a decent transition. So I won’t write one.
My children spent the afternoon enjoying the heck out of their backyard swingset. They really have fun on that thing, as do I when playing with them. I brought my wireless speaker outside along with my iPad and cranked 1010 WINS, the all-news radio station out of New York, while I found a creative way to push them on the swings. My legs were killing me from the sciatica associated with my fusion (plus being on my feet all day), so I pulled a bench over and sat down at an appropriate distance behind the kids. I pulled their swings high up in the air and let go. Did I mention I had also taken a vicodin? Does it matter? “Higher, Daddy, higher!” came the delighted calls from the son. “Push me over the roof, Daddy!” came the bizarre yet delighted call from my daughter. “Two people shot dead in Flatbush,” came the calming sounds from the anchor. “Time for traffic and transit on the 1’s.”
Do we need a concluding paragraph? Nah… But I’ll be a sport.
Wilma, the cancer-warrior, came over tonight after the kids were in bed. She and I enjoyed a nice meal together. You see, tomorrow she gets her port put in (for lack of a better term) so that she can begin her chemo treatments. Go say a prayer for her. I’ll wait. OK, so she can’t eat after midnight tonight and she had a craving for chicken fried steak. The only thing is that no body makes better CFS than Wilma does and she didn’t feel like cooking for herself. As I didn’t feel like burning down my new kitchen and my wife was busy with a late night conference call to Asia I found myself at the local Chili’s curb-side window. That fixed the deficiency. And it wasn’t half bad either. And she’s going to be fine. Because we’re all going to keep praying for her and giving her our love and support. Right? That’s what I thought.