I Feel Your Pain

"I'd like to talk about sexual harassment for a few minutes," the counselor told my class today.

"Oh yeah!" one student blurted, "I did that last year."

There was a moment of silence before her peers jumped on her misstatement, and it was only seconds before she was in tears. It all happened so fast, that although the counselor and I addressed the issue as quickly as we could, she was inconsolable for a minute or two.

"Everyone says things they don't exactly mean," I told her and the class. "Why, just yesterday I was telling another teacher about an email everyone was talking about, but I was sure I didn't get. I said, I looked everywhere-- I checked my inbox, I checked my trash, and I checked my junk.

A few eyes widened. I nodded. "Yep," I confessed, "she reminded me never to check my junk at school."

What's Your Emergency?

The other night we pulled into our parking lot road weary and with several trips to unload. Lately it seems that the neighbors have increased their fleets of automobiles, and so even at our quiet end of the complex, parking is at a premium. As such, our space was across the lot from our home, giving us an extra thirty yards or so to tote our cargo.

When at first I cut the engine, I noticed a very still figure in the drivers seat of the car to my left. Not wanting to stare, but well aware of the oddness, I sneaked a peak each time I returned to the car for another load. It was our neighbor's vehicle, and the person inside, while well-bundled against the cold was clearly our neighbor, her head bowed to the steering wheel.

We made a bit of a ruckus as we unloaded; we called back and forth to each other, and the dog was with us, too, but she never moved or reacted in any way. Finally, I did what anyone else in my situation might do-- I made Heidi go knock on the window to see if everything was all right.

As Heidi approached the car, I lurked just inside our open door, ready to react to any emergency. She rapped several times. "Is everything all right?" I heard her ask.

Then there were muffled replies from within the car, and Heidi's voice, clear in the night, "Okay, we just wanted to make sure."

Later she repeated the conversation to me. "What? Did you think I was dead or something? I'm FINE! It was just too crazy in our house, so I came out here to meditate."

That must have been pretty crazy..

Old Dog, New Tricks

My fingers hurt a little from practicing my ukulele. Where's my treat?

What a Difference a Week Makes

We are all ready to show off our cushy new theater to our guests from out of town today, but things did not go quite as expected. As before, I booked the tickets online and chose our seats in advance. We were running a little late, but entered the theater just as the previews started. "Isn't this awesome," I whispered before stopping dead in my tracks. There were people in our seats.

I am not a confrontational person, but this time I didn't really have a choice. I made my way to the center of the row and stood before the reclining couple. "I think you might have the wrong seat," I started, but the woman there would hear none of it.

"I'm sure they gave us these seats," she told me firmly.

"I have my tickets," I showed her the stubs in my palm. "Do you have yours?"

She squirmed defiantly. "I know these are our seats."

People were looking on in annoyance and the four other people in our group were standing in the aisle. I scanned the theater for empty seats but then realized that there was every chance that someone else had reserved them, and then we would be the interlopers; that could turn into vicious chain. We had to go to the manager.

Five minutes later several people were firmly moved and a few were actually removed. We settled into our seats to enjoy the show, but the reclining seats were cold comfort. Somehow, it just wasn't as fun as I'd pictured it.

For You

I don't want to brag, but generally our dog is pretty well behaved. Set aside pretty much any cat in the world (she just wants to love them) and a squirrel or two here and there and my mom (she loves my mom) and she's damn near perfect.

You can imagine my surprise then, when tonight as Heidi's mom was browning the ground beef for tacos, Isabel almost knocked her over.

She never bothers me in the kitchen, I thought. Then it hit me.

When she was a wee puppy and before we put her on a raw diet, she had a lot of, shall we say, digestive issues. One remedy for such conditions was a mixture of hamburger, rice, and pumpkin, and so I cooked up batch after batch of the stuff to keep our puppy happy and well.

Even today, nine years later, our senior dog smells ground beef frying and her inner puppy is sure it's for her. Somehow? That doesn't annoy me at all.

By Any Means

So we've been working on this writing samples ALL WEEK, and today by the end of class was the drop-dead deadline. Still, there was one particular student who early on had been moved to the desk RIGHT next to me, but even with constant encouragement and redirection had yet to write a single word of his final draft. Twenty minutes into the class period, we were reaching crisis stage, and I was grasping for motivational tools.

"Your mom is going to be REALLY mad," I whispered.

He fidgeted. "I know," he said, but it wasn't that convincing.

"She won't believe you didn't finish," I said, shaking my head. He was loving the sympathy. "I think I better get a video of you so she can see what happened."

His eyes widened as I pulled out my phone and started recording. "No, no," he pleaded.

I have him a what-can-I-do? shrug and kept the phone pointed straight at him.

He picked up his pencil desperately and began to write, and can you believe it? He finished the essay by the bell.

Overcast with a Chance of Sun

"You didn't explain that very well," the student standing by my desk told me.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I'll try to do better next time."

"I thought we were supposed to bring our drafts for you to check," she continued.

I nodded sympathetically. "Normally, you would," I replied, "but because this is kind of a test, I'm not commenting on drafts-- you have to revise on your own. I would be happy to answer any specific question, though."

She frowned and then brightened a bit. "Actually, I do have a pacific question," she said.

"What kind of question?" I asked.

"Pacific," she repeated.

"Well," I said, "I'm afraid if you have a Pacific question, I can only give you an Atlantic answer."

She giggled. "Oh forget it! I'm going to go fix my draft."