Why I suck

So I teach part-time at the community college,and I love just about everything about it. I especially love the students; college kids are my favorite -- always have been.

tangent: I have been a den leader, a brownie and girl scout troop leader, a day camp volunteer, and a dance recital cat herder. But if you told me I had to teach elementary school, I would very sweetly reply, "how about instead of that, you just give me that big stick over there and I'll poke my eyes out with it?" These teachers are either saints or insane. Probably both.

Well, as at most community colleges, space is at a premium throughout the campus where I work. There are classes stacked on top of each other, and the full-time faculty "offices" are really a warren of cubicle spaces. And office/work space for adjunct instructors? Oh, please.

But see, all of that is fine by me; I can do most of the non-classroom stuff I need to do at home, so I don't really need a work space. Some functioning copy machines would be nice . . . but here's my point -- most of the time the space constraints don't bother me.

But parking: this sucks. Especially in the middle of the day, there are just more faculty on campus than there are parking spaces for those faculty. Many, many days this semester I swore bad swears under my breath as I stalked some poor old professor as he toddled toward his ancient Volvo, and the clock crept ever closer to 11:00 -- when my class was supposed to start. I would die a slow death as 10:57 became 10:58 and I still had nowhere to put my car.

So one day as I cruised the lot and the clock sat at 10:59, I spied an open spot and whipped into it, victorious. As I jumped out of the car I noticed a sign . . . .

Hmmm . . . Well. My huffy reasoning was that certainly if the provost intended to work on campus that day he would have shown up by 11:00, right? So he wouldn't be needing his spot, right? And why weren't there enough spaces for us poor adjunct faculty, anyway?? And he's a very collegial man, so I was sure he would understand. Right . . . ?

So I left my car there, but after my first class ended at 12:15, I rushed out to try to move it to a more appropriate spot. But when I got to it, I saw that I was parked in by a big honking SUV with a faculty sticker on it. Hmmph, I thought to myself; the nerve of some people! So I just figured I would go back and teach my second class and when I came back the (other) illegally parked car would be gone.

You see why I was a little resistant to the idea of going to the campus police with my tale of woe, right? I was sure that they would make frowny faces at me for parking illegally, and besides, they were not really able to do anything about the big SUV that prevented me from moving my car. At 2:00, when my last class was over, I looked out toward the parking lot, and saw that I was still parked in. Now this was a problem, because I needed to get back to my real life and my car pool responsibilities. But no. I was stuck.

So -- and this is always a great solution -- I went into the library, grabbed a book I'd been wanting to read for a while, and read it. The whole thing. I highly recommend it -- funny, thought-provoking . . . you'll love it!

And then I looked at my car again. Still trapped! Well, at least I could get some work done, if I grabbed my computer out of the car. So I walked out to the car -- ticketed, of course. And as I approached, I heard the beautiful rich baritone voice that could only belong to one person . . . the provost.

"Is this your car?" he asked, and as I turned around I saw that he had a look on his face that said, you are killing me here.

"Yes, sir -- and I'm so sorry!"

"Well . . . let me move my car so you can leave, loser." No, he didn't call me a loser. But he thought it, I'm sure.

And I'll tell you in case you were wondering -- yes. It is possible for a car to slink away in shame.

Catching up: How 'bout them Bulldawgs?!

So it has been a while . . . . How's things? We've had a busy spring around here and that's no lie. Now that I can actually sit down for a minute, the first thing I want to say is:

YOU GO, BULDAWGS!

The girl is charge is having another fabulous season playing softball for her high school team -- these girls take no prisoners, people! Just like the girl in charge!

This one (one of my girl's besties) broke the district home run record this season -- and she ain't even done yet! So far she has smacked ten balls over the fence; one of them hit the scoreboard, which the fans loved and the Athletic Director hated. Look for a profile of her in the next issue of Softball Today, because, to quote the girl in charge, "she's just that awesome."

And here's her sister, also a phenom; softball is paying her way to college this fall. Don't let that sweet face fool you. No prisoners, people.

All in all that could sum up this whole team. They're lovely girls: smart, shockingly tough, kind, funny -- and girlie. In fact, they got a little razzing from an opposing team once, because the Bulldawgs showed up with pretty, pretty ribbons in their hair.

Final score: Bulldawgs 11, Razzers 3

You may be noticing that the Blue and Gold Bulldawgs are rocking the Pink in some photos. We've got some breast cancer awareness going on this season -- which you can imagine warms my heart. At one game both the Bulldawgs and the opposing team were decked out in dazzling pink jerseys. The only way the umpire could tell the two teams apart was by their socks.

Love those Bulldawgs!

My sunny girl rocks!

OK, so I tried my very hardest to upload a video of the sunny girl singing at her spring chorus concert, but I experienced what the urchins refer to as "an epic fail." So instead, try this link to a Facebook version of the video. I really do hope you will be able to check out the fabulous sunny girl, who sang a solo -- and she rocked it, people!

The thing that makes this video so sweet for me (and allows me to overlook my crappy videography) is watching how nervous she is before she starts singing. She wraps one arm around her back, and flashes infinitely brief grins at various parents in the audience as she recognizes them. I know she is thinking, "Oh no! Someone else who will know it's me if I screw this up!"

The last dad whose eyes met hers was the Bar Mitzvah girl's father -- and something about the way he smiled at her calmed her right down. You can see her take a big breath -- and then when she starts to sing she's as cool as a cucumber -- although she squinches up her toes over and over again while she's singing -- hilarious!

And you have no idea how many times she practiced putting the microphone away -- she says that was the most nerve-wracking part of the whole adventure.

For the sunny girl -- for whom singing is like breathing, but whose companions have only heard her sing informally -- it was gratifying to hear a new note of respect in the voices of her friends. She overheard one pal say to another, "Did you know she could do that?!"

It's a start

So I cleaned out my little linen closet, and people, it wore me out.

You're seeing the "after" picture; I didn't take a picture of the "before" closet because it would be too embarrassing and because my camera had apparently been eaten by the closet.

But when I did find the camera I recorded just how many bags of crap gently used linens I hauled to the Salvation Army. All of this was in the closet -- plus the stuff I put back in, which completely filled that same closet.

It's some sort of miracle of physics.

Meet the hellhounds!

So two new dogs came into our family about a month ago -- Jesse and Watson. And they are just terrific, and so cute, and they add a warmth to our home that we've been missing since our round mound of hound Toby died, blah, blah, blah.

But I show a photo of Jesse licking his butt to accompany the fabulous news that they came to us with love to spare, and they also came to us with multiple intestinal parasites. Yes, they did. (I can't say "no shit," because it would be a lie. Heh.)

Let's all take a moment to meditate on all the meanings of this information. Among other things it means that these dogs have no "regular" intestinal function, and thus there is no way of predicting a "good" time of day to, let's say, "meet their needs" with a nice walk. Am I being too discreet? They shit everywhere, people.

This also means that they must eat a specialized diet, take specialized drugs, and receive a specialized supplement "to enhance digestive health." And by specialized I think we all know that I mean, "oh my God, it costs what?"

It also involves the most dreaded two words ever uttered by a veterinarian: stool samples. Lots and lots of stool samples.

OK, so here's what I know about these dogs:

They are rescues -- picked up in North Carolina while they were in the middle of a crime spree; no one knows how long they had been on the lam.

They are mixed breed mutts -- but both clearly have more than a little hound in 'em -- because they lead with their noses, and will eat anything.

What do I mean by anything? Oh, let's see: Pencils. Dish towels. Cough drops and the accompanying wrappers. Paper towels. Cat food, obviously. Mulch. The shit of other dogs. Tampons. Shall I continue?

They are heartbreakingly eager to please -- and starved for affection.

And they would love to be best, best friends with our two cats -- who hate them. Here Jake has found a perch as close to the ceiling as he can possibly get; from here he plans to use a sniper rifle to take out the dogs. Please note my fabulous Jane Austen action figure, because I am who I am.

Phantom is too much of a lady to participate in the killing spree, but I think she paid for the gun.

I have to admit they're pretty awesome, for hounds from hell. I just hope we all survive!

Snapshot: Fabulous news!

One of the tall boy's best friends gave him this cute replica of his lungs (with anatomically correct surgery performed -- see the section of lung she removed?) as he recuperated from his pulmonary drama last year. We love her -- such a great pal!

She took a gap year before starting college at the University of Chicago this fall, and is living with her family in Japan right now -- so you can imagine how glad we were to hear from her yesterday, and to know that she and her people are safe!

What part of Texas is that in?

So I have clearly been talking too much about my Oklahoma kinfolk, and have not been reminding you all that at least one half of my soul yearns for the Lone Star State. My Uncle James reminded me of my Texas roots by sending a lovely gift for each of the urchins and pointing out to me that my job is to record the glamour for the genealogy documents.

See, here's the thing about my Uncle James. He's a genius, and he has single-handedly recorded the complete genealogical history of our family. I'm not even kidding -- he has traced our family roots back to England before the Jamestown settlers even considered heading west. According to my Uncle James, Pocahontas is a Johnny-come-lately. Some of us call her Rebecca Rolfe, but my Uncle James doesn't care -- he can produce Townsends as far back as 1564.

For an example of my uncle's skills, check out what he has told us about this gentleman: John P. Offield was born in 1841 in the Republic of Texas, served in the Army of the Confederate States of America, and died in 1910 in the great state of Texas, United States of America. And if you don't understand how much of our country's great and tragic history is summed up in this photograph, let me put you in touch with my Uncle James so he can set you straight.

Well, Uncle James (who reads this blog -- hi, Uncle James! Love you, Aunt Betty!) recently sent a bolo tie for the tall boy, and necklaces and earrings for the two girl urchins; all of them are festooned with the Lone Star of Texas -- and I have been given the commandment: "thou shalt take a family portrait that will document the loveliness of that part of Texas which calls itself Virginia."

You know that joke beloved by all Texans, right? You tell a Texan, "I'm from Boston -- the home of John Adams and the Boston Tea Party!" And a Texan will ask very cheerfully, "Boston, you say? What part of Texas is that in?"