The newest Carnival of Education is up; get on over to the Education Wonks and find out what’s happening in our schools these days. Remember, you’ve got no right to whine, and you’ve got no credence if you whine anyway, if you don’t know what’s really going on. If intelligent and decent people don’t stand up and take charge of our schools, it’s only going to get worse.

I got home from school around five thirty today. It had been sunny all day, after a week of pouring rain, and I was hoping to get some grass cut.

It was still sunny when I put gas in the mower, but by the time I backed it out of the garage, it was dark and threatening. I mowed anyway, watching the sky all the time for lightning. I did get the immediate front and back mowed, but then it started raining and I had to quit.

I spilled gasoline all over my legs when I filled the mower, and even after a shower, I can still smell it. I’d be upset, but gasoline is probably more expensive than any cologne I own, so what the heck.

Wednesday night is my favorite time of all, this semester. Why? Because I can stay up late and sleep in; tomorrow is my day off. I wonder who the early-morning phone call/doorbell ringer will be THIS time? Old people trying to dial the church? A creditor? Someone looking for one of my kids who grew up and moved out several years ago? A receptionist confirming an appointment? The Schwan’s guy, taking a chance? Some passing stranger who wants to buy a big tree? (that one is a post in and of itself.) The homeschooled kids footloose and fancy-free kids down the road who never seem to have anything to do in the house during the day, selling Christmas paper and eight cents worth of almond delight in a nickel tin for fifteen dollars? (I am NOT knocking homeschooling; I am, however, knocking this particular family.) (I LIKE homeschooling; I just don’t like the way everyone does it.) (It’s none of my business anyway, right?) (I also hate the almonds and I never buy them but the kids keep coming back and ringing my doorbell before eight in the morning.) My point is, some people get up way too early and why do they always find me? And why does the Feckless Family down the road let their kids wander like that during the pre-dawn hours? Oh yes, I remember. It’s because both parents work during the day and the kids are supposed to teach themselves. Not typical, I know, but maybe it will help you understand my attitude towards the whole thing. I am mainly sorry for the oldest girl; she tries to corral the others but they’re like wild animals. I bet that girl gets punished if the others don’t mind her and the parents find out. Poor thing. You know, sometimes running away might not be such a bad idea. It’s neither right nor fair to make one child take charge of all the others on a regular basis. That is the parents’ job. And if neither parent is home all day, then neither should the children be home.

I might take another shower in a few minutes. You probably know why.

I guess I could take the phone off the hook and undo the doorbell, but the fact is, I have kids and I have a mother and I have friends and if someone really needs me, I’m theirs, no matter what time it is. That goes for all of you, too. If I sound grumpy at first, just wait a few minutes and when it sinks in that it’s really YOU, I’ll be happier than a stray mosquito in a blood bank.

To quote Colonel Potter.

I gave a test today, and all but one of the students finished in under two hours.

That one student needed a little over three hours. So, I gave her three hours; what’s the big deal, anyway? I wasn’t going anywhere but home to cut grass while the sun shone. She was more important than my grass, after all.

And, I cut some of it anyway. The house and yard look as though they were plunked down in the middle of a hayfield, but so what.

The Feckless Family’s knees won’t get slapped by the tall dewy pre-dawn grass when they walk from the driveway to the door to ring my doorbell at dawn.

I put a ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the doorknob once but they stole it.

My three-hour classes are usually interspersed with short quizzes, some bookwork, some discussion, some lectures, and the occasional lengthy test. Some days we have more of one thing than of another, and some days one of those will dominate. Today was a mix. You know, like a good music mix. (Get over to Patriside’s and sign up, by the way.)

I love mixes. A good mix gives me hours of pleasure. Mixes made by someone else are awesome, too. I have discovered some fantastic music that’s now among my personal favorites on someone else’s mix. I might not become a fan of every song, but there is always something. I’ve loved every mix I’ve ever gotten from Jim’s MixMania.

A class is like that, too. I didn’t make the mix myself, so there will always be some components that I like more than others; still, the whole is enjoyable.

Most of the mix was good. I like my classes and I can’t help but love my students. They try so hard, and they are willing to put themselves out on a limb when they don’t know something; in other words, they guess a lot. But really, what’s wrong with that? Isn’t guessing better than giving up right away?

To quote Frank Scully: “Why not go out on a limb? Isn’t that where the fruit is?”

I don’t mind guessing. I encourage it. Good guessers put things together. Good guessers try to ‘connect.’ Good guessers associate something that is unfamiliar with something they know about. Sometimes the connections are ludicrous, but it can’t be denied that a connection or association was made, even when it’s not the one I was looking for. Who’s to say that the student’s association isn’t as good as mine?

Well, sometimes it’s just. . . bizarre.

Yesterday, it was the Pentagon and the Eiffel Tower. Today it was Lady Godiva.

Not the chocolates. The naked woman on the horse. (Blogger asks that you try to imagine this, as it refuses to post an actual picture AGAIN.)

Not one student in the class had ever heard of Lady Godiva, but when they heard the story they were interested. What college student wouldn’t be interested in public nudity? However, when it came time to talk about idioms and make an association, the mix turned sour. After the quizzes were turned in, and the students were on their short break, I read over their answers and all the hair on the back of my neck stood straight out.

It was so awful, in fact, that I couldn’t take it alone. Not many people were online at that time but one of my friends thankfully was. I IM’d him some of the answers. He was supportingly appalled.

I can’t remember now exactly how the question was phrased, but I’ll make a stab at it.

“A man named Tom defied the request to stay behind closed doors, and peeped at Lady Godiva as she rode through town. Tom was instantly blinded for peeping. Tom’s action gave us an idiom that is still used today. What do we now call a person, like Tom, who peeps through windows, uninvited?”

Answers: Tom-catting; The Peeper, Stalker, Snooping Susie, “that guy from the Sandler flick who fell out of the tree and went to hell,” and Dode Mockey.

By this time, I was feeling faint, so I looked online again and found someone else to tell.

I felt better, knowing that two other people were appalled. I hate to be appalled alone.

And now you’re appalled, too.

After class, I ran to the restroom (hey, two giant Diet Cokes in three hours!) and when I looked in the mirror I was appalled again. I mean, besides the usual reason. The butterfly in the middle of my bra was shining through my peach shirt. Think of Clark Kent with the Superman insignia on his chest as he rips off his disguise. (Blogger asks that you try to picture this, also, as it’s still refusing to post a picture.)

I ran back to the classroom to gather my stuff. It was then that I noticed that I was wearing one black and one navy stocking.

The really bad part is that two weeks ago I did the same thing. Apparently, I have two identical pairs of stockings, both mismatched. If only there were some way to alleviate this problem. . . . .

I’m not going to tell you about my car keys that have been missing for over two months, or the car charger for my cell phone that walked away and hid. You might think I’m pre-Alzheimer’s or something.

What were we talking about? Oh yes. That guy from the Sandler film who fell out of the tree and went to Hell.

Darn it, now I’m craving fresh pineapple.

Before you do anything else today, get over to Patriside’s blog and sign up for MixMania. Git!

Yesterday, my kids came down to visit. One of them let the cat into the house. Everyone fawned all over him for hours, because that is what is properly done with one’s cat. Then my kids went back to their respective homes, and I went to bed.

I got up this morning around five thirty, and left the house at six-fifteen IN THE MORNING. (it’s agony.)

By the time I got home tonight, it was close to six thirty. I heard the cat crying for attention. I followed the meows to the guest room’s closed door. I opened the door. I found the cat. He had been in the guest room all night and most of today.

I also found the little not-such-a-surprise he left, to perhaps remind us to check the guest room before retiring for the night and leaving for school the next morning.

Oh, don’t worry; I cleaned it up. The smell is nearly gone. By the time any of you get here, there won’t be a trace of any kind.

I will have to say, though, that when I first got home tonight I wanted some chocolate desperately, but the moment has passed. I can’t imagine why.

It also boggles my mind that a grown man can sit in his chair in the living room reading for hours and not hear a desperate cat’s cries.

UPDATE: My apologies to Hub, as the cat was napping all day and didn’t make any noise ’til I came home.

Ah, well, at least it took my mind off my student who told the class today that he had never heard of the Pentagon before September 11.

“I thought it was something at King’s Island.”

To which another student replied, “No, man, that’s the Eiffel Tower.”

And a young lady then said, “I’ve been up in that. It always looks so much bigger in movies.”

And the first student said, “Nah, that’s just special effects. But I bet the park loses money whenever they film there.”

See? A little pile of cat poop isn’t all that bad.