And the Good News Rolls On

What's that you say? The parking lot at our school will be closed for 2 years? But we can park a half mile away and take a shuttle?

Last morning shuttle: 7:15
Last evening shuttle: 4:45

Oh.

Kay.

Savage Claim

The lesson in my English classes today was by the book. Dubbed "essay boot camp," it involved practice using a box and bullets structure for a quick essay on the Three Little Pigs. For the purpose of expediency, the claim for this familiar tale was a given: the third little pig is an admirable character; the students were tasked with finding supporting reasons and details.

We started with the reasons: common ideas were that he was commendable because he was hardworking, smart, kind (in the version where his brothers survive), and/or brave. But the most popular answer was not one I had anticipated. According to the kids, the third pig deserved our praise because he was... savage.

What about the details? I asked them, but they were well-prepared.

That little piggy does not hesitate to kill the wolf, and the method he uses is nothing short of brutal: he boils him alive over an open fire. And then? He eats his nemesis for dinner.

Yeah, that's pretty savage.

Alpha Girls

"Who? Moved! My! Stuff?' cried a student breathlessly as she slid over to her table just as the after-lunch bell was ringing.

The other girls at the table shrugged, wide-eyed.

"Well!" she proclaimed, "My binder was there," she pointed to a seat to the left of the one that was open and currently occupied by her notebook.

"I moved it," I told her. "That's where I eat my lunch. There are no assigned seats in our class right anyway," I shrugged. "It's really first come, first choice."

She was silent, but continued to glower at the other student. When she thought I wasn't paying attention, she turned to her and hissed, "WHY would you EVER sit in that seat??"

To her credit, the girl was unfazed. "Your stuff was over there," she gestured. "I didn't want to incur your wrath!" she laughed, clearly having no intention to move.

"Humph!" the first student literally exclaimed as she flounced into the unwanted chair.

My Small Hearth

It's been a warm fall and a busy week, but after running errands and catching up on a little school work it was finally time this evening for the first fire of the season. And that is where you will find me: relaxing with a book and a beer as dry wood hisses and cracks in the guttering flames. 

Trifecta

Conventional wisdom macabrely has it that those of renown typically die in trios, and so as with any other paradigm we psychologically stretch reality to make the pattern fit.

Florence Henderson, Fidel Castro, and Ron Glass?

Um...

Yeah.

That's three! 

My Rocker

I am not a big shopper, and Black Friday definitely is not my thing, but when my nephew said he wanted to go to a nearby thrift shop this afternoon, I decided to tag along. And it was not just any teeny tiny second hand place-- oh no, this was a huge emporium of cast-offs all seeking a second or third chance at utility and all very economically priced.

Sure, it took patience and a keen eye to sort through all the junk, but the promise of untold treasure for a few measly bucks was motivation enough to prowl the aisles, sliding hangers clickity-clack one at a time down the rack to evaluate their contents, appraising old phones and glassware, drum kits, computer monitors, and even furniture.

And it was in that department that I made my find for the day. A 1960s era small wooden rocking chair in the neocolonial style that was popular then. It had been painted with a two-tone blue design and was kind of dirty, but it was solidand sturdy and for 10 bucks, all I could see was possibility.

Sweet Time

We are generally late diners; dinner at our house is never before 7:30 and most often closer to 8. So last year when Heidi's parents could only get a 4:30 dinner reservation on Christmas Eve the time seemed rather early, but what could we do?

As things turned out, it was twilight when we left the house in our holiday finery, and bright lights twinkled merrily in the gathering darkness. The spirit inside the busy restaurant was timeless; excellent food and company, heavy drapes and dim chandeliers made it easy to imagine that we were dining at a usual hour.

The more I thought about it, the more I was reminded of traveling across time zones, like eating breakfast at your midnight on a transatlantic flight in preparation of a 6 AM landing and a full day beginning while all your friends are sleeping soundly at home. All it takes is the twist of a watch stem or the willing suspension of checking the time, and time releases its hold on you.

That's why I wasn't upset at all when I heard that we were expected to dine at 4 this Christmas Eve (especially since we have to be at the airport at 6 the next morning, which could be like 8 or 9 if we were a couple of time zones to the east), and why I was willing to eat Thanksgiving dinner today any time it was ready and convenient for the rest of our group.

And after we finished our feast at about quarter to 6, and the leftovers were put away, we took a walk around the neighborhood before dessert. Through lighted windows it was plain that some folks were in our time zone or a little ahead, watching football and cleaning up, and others were an hour or two behind, just sitting down and offering the first toast of the holiday. And then we returned home, where our celebration, full of family, friends, and fellowship continued on in its own good time.