Betcher Bottom Dollar
Last July, we drove over two hundred miles to bring the new Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows book to my three beautiful occasionally-borrowed children; Ft. Wayne was the sort-of-half-way point between my home and their home in Michigan, and I am the official supplier of all things Harry Potter in the family. It was a long way to go to sit at Bob Evans for an hour, but it was worth it because, you know, their FACES.
.
So it should not come as all that much of a surprise that, as we were willing to drive that far to deliver a book, we would be willing to drive even farther to see one of the beautiful occasionally-borrowed children in her school play.
She was the star. And as the star, she sparkled and shone and projected so beautifully, I’m sure people in the audience were making wishes on her. No Annie before her has ever knocked over a large potted tree on stage made “Tomorrow” seem so bright. She was fantastic.
It was eight hours up on Saturday and nine hours back the next day, but it was worth it. There really isn’t much I WOULDN’T do for her. I mean, short of shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die. . . .
It took longer to get back home because we stopped at a discount outlet. My sweet MIL tried to use the Bonworth gift certificate we gave her last Christmas and was told it had expired. This verdict was not acceptable to me and I let the manager know my opinion in no uncertain terms, whilst remaining ladylike to the nth degree. Eventually, MIL was allowed to use her gift card.
Sheesh, not even a year old and already EXPIRED? I don’t THINK so, Bonworth. I know that’s how a lot of stores make their money but it’s not going to happen with MY other mother.
So this Christmas we will not be patronizing this store; I don’t think any of you should, either.
All my life it has perplexed me that when these things happen to me personally, I accept it as my lot in life and slink out, head low, murmuring about how life might be for me “. . . if I only had da noive” and wishing I had balls, but when someone else is being bullied, I am able to belly right up to the bar and give the perpetrator what-for because by GOLLY, no one is going to push someone I love around like that.
Also, I now have new socks. Some of them are not black or white. That is because I am a fashion plate – a regular color wheel of innovation and style.
And, I’ve been sick since last Tuesday, have lost my voice completely, feel as though my energy is being sucked out by gigantic mutated leeches, am expecting 15 people for dinner on Thursday, and am sitting in a messy house knowing I can’t go to work on Monday and Tuesday AND clean it up for the appraiser who will be walking through it day after tomorrow making copious notes about dust bunnies and wondering what the woodwork looks like behind the piles of old magazines.
I should have cleaned over the weekend but I weighed my options and picked “Annie.” And I’d do it again.
Don’t worry, Tumorless; everything will be ready for Thanksgiving Dinner. Bring it on.
So, how was YOUR weekend?
We Lost Our Starry Notions On The Way. . . .
When I was in high school, the Beatles were big time. (Just like now, only they were all alive, and together, with no Yoko Ono, and it was all still happenin’)
When the Beatles left Capitol Records and started their own recording label, Apple, it was big news. When they signed their only female performer, Mary Hopkin, it was even bigger news.
Mary was everything most of us kids wanted to be: beautiful, blonde, talented, and with connections to the Beatles. Her songs were beautiful, too.
This one is especially significant to me. Senior year, when the song was already just a little bit passe, my friends and I nominated it for “Class Song.” We thought it was perfect.
Unfortunately, the class president nominated “Na Na Na Na, Hey Hey Hey, Goodbye,” and it won. Go figure.
Mary Hopkin’s “Those Were The Days” struck a chord with me back then, for how could it ever happen that any of us would be older and wiser than we were right now, sophomore year? Was there really anything out there that we didn’t already know? We were never going to change; it would always be just as it was today. Time would march on, but we would never change.
Even then, though, something about the song made me sad. But not as sad as it makes me now. . . .
"Cheese!"
One of my students, an older gentle man, is taking my picture with his cell phone all during the class. It’s been going on all semester. I don’t think he knows that I know what he’s doing, but what else could it be with that camera-hole aimed my direction every time I look at him. At first, he quickly snapped his phone shut and looked away, but now, since he doesn’t think I know what he’s doing, he leaves it open and aimed my direction. He also mutters, under his breath but loud enough for everyone to hear, things like “Damn unreasonable professor” and “I should be making straight A’s in this class” and “These people only see my dark side, haHA.” I’m not scared of him, but he gives me the jeebies. Also, why would he want my pictures? He could download pics of Shelley Winters or Thelma Ritter off the internet.
The newest Carnival of Education is up, and even though I’ve been left out once again I think everyone owes it to the nation to read up on what our teachers and parents are saying about the state of education.
I also had a man who has eleven zeroes come to class tonight for the first time in a month, and ask if I thought he could pull a B. I had to tell him “ Out of your ass, maybe that it would be best if he visited the registrar tomorrow and withdrew. There’s always the spring semester.
I would have had more sympathy, but his wife is also in the class and she’s been telling me for weeks that her husband can’t come to class because he’s trying to repair their car. And then we all saw the two of them canoodling out in the parking lot during the break, last week. In a car.
Besides, ELEVEN ZEROES? There’s just no diggin’ out from THAT hole.
Actually, there was no way I could have conjured up sympathy for a student with eleven zeroes. That really takes a lot of non-effort.
This is the longest I’ve ever gone without blogging except when I’m out of town. I can feel the withdrawal spiking through my veins.
But I’m having a few health issues and frankly, I’m too pissy to concentrate. Besides, soon I’ll be famous, like Shelley and Thelma.
