We were running a few errands today and stopped into a home store. As we made our way past the Halloween decorations to the rear of the store, we saw that their Christmas merchandise was on full display. "Wow, this place is the mullet of holiday sales," I laughed. "Halloween in the front, Christmas in the back!"
At our next stop, all the Halloween stuff was already on clearance. "I can't believe Halloween is over," I lamented, ironically. "Especially since it's not for three weeks!"
"He is very angry, and sometimes his interactions with staff can range from disrespectful to profane," the assistant told me when I asked about the one student in the program I was subbing for.
I saw what he meant a moment later when the seventh grader came in, pacing restlessly around the room. When I introduced myself, he ignored me. "You're breakfast is there," the assistant said, gesturing toward the desk.
"I'm not blind, Bruh!" the kid exploded. "I can see the fucking food." He continued to walk the perimeter of the room and then asked to take a walk. His one-to-one aide went with him. While they were gone, another teacher came by to ask that they make sure he got to his first class on time, since there was a guest speaker. "He can come back here to work afterwards," she shrugged, "but it would be less disruptive if he were there when the bell rang.
The assistant was still talking to her in the hall when the student returned. "Your science teacher came to tell you that there's a guest speaker today," I said to him. He turned with interest. "She wants to make sure you're on time so you don't miss it," I added.
He nodded. "I used to teach here," I told him. "I still know a bunch of kids. Who are you friends with?"
He mentioned a few people I did know, and I told him so, offering enough information to show I wasn't faking it. "Do you play any sports?" I asked him.
From there, we talked about football, P.E., his favorite class, where he went to elementary school, and even how he did back in second grade when COVID hit and he had to learn remotely from home. Before we knew it, it was time for him to go so that he would be on time for the speaker in science.
"Have a good class!" I said as his one-to-one escorted him out the door.
"Wow," the assistant said when they were gone. "He actually had a conversation with you. I have not seen that from him before."
I laughed. "Middle school kids can't resist me!"
A young man was standing in the front office when I reported for sub duty this morning. "Oh, Ms. S!" the coordinator greeted me, "Maybe you can answer his question." She gestured toward the guy.
"When do we get paid?" he asked me.
"Oh, it takes a minute!" I laughed. "They pay us twice a month, but it's for the pay period before. I just got paid for the first couple of weeks of September last week."
He nodded in understanding, and there was something about his dark brown eyes, curly hair, and high cheekbones that seemed familiar to me.
"Did you go here?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Just for one year."
"Sixth grade, right?" I said. "What's your name?"
I recognized it the minute he told me. "I was your English teacher! Remember?"
He shrugged apologetically, but the sub coordinator was delighted. "What was he like then?" she asked.
He looked a little embarrassed. "He was very energetic," I answered diplomatically.
"My parents always tell me that being a substitute is my karma for the way I acted," he said. "So I make sure I'm extra patient with the students."
"They're lucky to have you, then," I replied, "because that's not always easy," and he smiled for the first time in the conversation.
I stopped by the warehouse store on my way home from bowling yesterday, thinking that early afternoon on a Tuesday might be less busy than usual. I couldn't have been more wrong! I drove in circles around the enormous parking lot for ten minutes, trolling for a spot, any spot. When at last I found one and headed to join the line at the entrance, I ran into a neighbor who was exasperated by the crowd. "Who are all these people?" she demanded. "Really! On a Tuesday?"
"Maybe they are furloughed workers?" I suggested.
"I'd think they'd want to save their money," she scoffed, a bit unkindly.
Today, I met a couple of friends who are also retired for lunch. When I arrived at noon, the neighborhood restaurant was packed. Fortunately, I'd made a reservation, even though I didn't think we would need one.
It took our waiter a little while to make it to our table. "Sorry," he apologized. "It seems like we went from zero to sixty in ten minutes!" He swept his arm around at the busy dining room and sighed. "Who are all these people?"
Tuesday is my bowling day, and I look forward to it with a mixture of pleasure and dread. Each week, the balance tips in favor of enjoyment, though, especially as I get to know my teammates and the other ladies. The stakes are both high and low; having a handicap evens the competition, but no matter their skill level, those bowlers play to win. As such, I don't want to let my team down, even as we cheer for the other team's successes.
I bought my own bowling ball a few weeks ago. The guy at the pro shop asked me a few questions about my bowling style, and I readily admitted I was a novice. "You're in a league, though?" he clarified, and when I said I was he asked me even more questions about the lanes, the center, the other bowlers in my league, and the balls I had been using until then. He advised me to go with a ball that had a little spin action, especially since at the weight I was purchasing, 12 pounds, it would only make a minor difference. Then he measured my hand, placed my fingers in some cylinders, and went and drilled the ball for a custom fit.
I was eager to try it out, but I wanted to practice with it first, so Heidi and I went bowling over the weekend. I found that when I threw it, the curve was quite pronounced, and over the three games we bowled, I wasn't able to figure it out. I was frustrated and worried that I had chosen the wrong ball. Consequently, I've continued to bowl with the center's ball each Tuesday, trying to work on my own basics before introducing a new variable.
Today was the day I actually brought my new ball to the league. After a moment's hesitation, I put it on the rack along with my usual loaner and prepared to warm up. Everyone else was off looking at one of the bowler's new baby (a cute little month-old guy with white noise-canceling headphones on, because his mom couldn't wait to get back to bowling), when I stepped up to throw a few practice frames.
My first ball was a strike, and I never picked up the borrowed ball again. I bowled 12 pins above my average for the day, too. I guess that pro shop guy knew what he was talking about!
In early September, when I first started working a couple of sub jobs a week, I was picky about which classes and grades I was willing to cover. I preferred sixth-grade teachers I knew, and even when the sub coordinator started offering me more jobs, I was choosy about the assignments.
Somehow, being so particular has fallen to the wayside, though, and both last Friday and today, I showed up with no idea of what I would be doing. To be honest? It hasn't been too bad. Friday, I was in an English class for English Language Learners, and today I was in French. "OMG, you're everywhere!" a student cried when she saw me in her homeroom today.
Although I took three years of French in high school and another two semesters in college, I never would have chosen the job for myself. Still, it turns out I remember more than enough of the language to be of considerable help to middle schoolers in French I. It was a fun day, and I felt even more validated when I received the highest praise possible from a seventh grader. "You were a pretty good sub," he told me before rushing off when the bell rang.
Merci!
The lake was drained.
In an effort to enjoy this pretty day (a tad too warm for October, but still pleasant), we headed to a regional park we have enjoyed for decades. It features a four-mile trail that loops around a man-made lake and winds through forests and a small neighborhood. The parking lot was full, but the lake was not.
I had read a couple years ago that the constant dredging the lake needed to keep it free of the silt and runoff was becoming prohibitively expensive and disruptive to the surrounding neighbors, so the parks and rec was looking for a solution.
Today I discovered that earlier in the year they attempted to drain the lake to inspect the dam's integrity, but one of the sluice gates malfunctioned and the project was put on hold until after Labor Day. As a result, the lake looks like a stream running through a mud flat, chain link fences are all around, along with signs warning visitors to stay away from the shore because of dangerous mud and quick sand. Call 911 if stuck, they advise.
It wasn't the scenery we'd expected, but we set off anyhow. The next signs to catch our attention advised us to stay on the trail because of active archery in the surrounding woods, due to an ongoing deer culling program. Just then a black walnut fell from the tree and missed my head by inches. Stepping to the side of the trail, my boot rolled over another walnut in the leaf litter, and I stumbled before catching my balance.
On the other side of the lake, there were signs alerting us of a blue algae bloom and its potential fatality to dogs. When in doubt, keep them out! it counseled. As we continued on, I ran through the litany of threats we'd been presented with along the trail: global warming, pollution, quick mud, arrows, walnuts, and blue algae.
"The world seems sort of treacherous today," I commented to Heidi with a sigh.
