It was a zoo.

The kids were great. The schedule was great. My co-teachers were great. The directors were great.

It was me. I was the mess.

I was freaking out because I had so much to do. So much to do that at circle time, all I did was read a book,  sing a song, very briefly talk about shofars, and tour the room. And we hadn’t gotten the beds ready, so I spent an exceptionally long time doing that. And drop off was ridiculous. And nobody napped. I was scattered all over the place. So I came home and did NOTHING because I was totally exhausted. Well, I saw my therapist.*

And I started watching Darwin’s Game. Recommend.

 

*They really need to change what they call those people. Because every time I see that word, I see “the rapist.” It’s not ideal.

So Monday we had to go back to school. But I had time to go swim. I got to my infinity pool, but the Air and Water Show had been the day before, so the waves were three feet high (I like to think). Anyway, they were large and the lake was rough. So rather than swimming (because as I get older, my common sense goes up as my intelligence decreases), I just was there. I let the waves take me to the shore, and I swam beyond them and played around. When I got cold, I went shallower and when I got hot I went deeper.

And then I was clean and refreshed and I could go back to school.

We’ll see how long it lasts.

Our guide, Ines, took us to see the great Ceiba tree*. We looked like ants at the trunk. It supported a whole ecosystem. There was a termite nest up there that must have been as big as three of us. It took about 15 minutes to slowly walk around the base of it. It was incredible, and I am honored that I got to see it. It was a tree that sowed love.

On our way back, we saw the sister tree of the ceiba. it had knots all over the trunk that were as big as my head. Ines told us that shamans came to this tree and prayed in front of it to curse people. In a few days, the people would die. The knots? The faces of the people it killed. And yes, they looked like faces that had soft material stretched over them. Cursing someone isn’t good for the shaman, either. It does no good for your soul to pray people dead.

Ines said not to touch it. So we all gave it a wide berth.

And yeah, I’m afraid of a tree. I think that’s a healthy thing.

 

 

*see “The Greak Kapok Tree,” by Lynne Cherry.

Why don’t they call “birds of prey” “birds of predator?”

I’m listening to Stephen King’s “Later” and calling it research.

Who would have thought talking would be so hard? It helps that the book is written as if being spoken and lends itself to narration. That said, Seth Numrich is such a good teacher for me right now. He reminds me to do exactly that: just freaking TALK. HE’S not WORRIED about EMPHASIZING TOO many WORDS, and though he is using a mumbly kind of sarcastic persona, he doesn’t forget to let the humor and humanity in. I think I need to listen to a bunch of great narrators and just mimic them.

However, understated storytelling has never been my style. I suppose it’s something I need to learn, but honestly, people have always used me for being a slice too dramatic. So the question is, do people want what I do, or do I need to learn something completely different to be good at this? Feel free to weigh in, my two beloved readers.

 

P.S. I just tried to read my post as if I were narrating it. It was hard! God, reading!, am I right?!

P.P.S. Also, I’m hearing a lot of clicks from him, and it’s a relief. Apparently, really good narrators can’t help it, either.

Red Door Animal Shelter sent out an email to its volunteers. There is a cat that was brought into the shelter, but he’s depressed and doesn’t want to be there. Can anyone foster him? We call him Strikes, because he seems to like bowling. 

I had lost my cat Kate (I’m really not good with naming) a few months before, so I thought, we could do that. We brought him home. We saw no evidence of him bowling (Kate was actually better at knocking things off of places), but he did enjoy sitting on my arm wherever I was laying down. He was fat, and liked to be petted on his own terms. He had teeth and claws and knew how to use them. He played rough. But when he was relaxed, his favorite thing was to be petted on his belly. His motor was purrfect.

Two years later, Mike from Red Door called me up and said (and I quote), “So…you want to adopt him, or what?” So we did. And we had him for about 8-9 years. He got old and skinny and a little frail. This weekend he went downhill fast, but waited for me to come home from Michigan before dying that night. It was a peaceful, private, and natural death.

We buried him in the front yard where we plan to plant prairie grass this fall. He was a good cat. He held his ground against all the dogs, and went outside from time to time. He was litter box trained until the end, and enjoyed both wet food and cheap ass dry food. He is survived by Adam, me, Miri, and Augie, the latter of whom always wanted to play with him.

My his name always be a blessing.

I got an email yesterday. It was about school, which starts in two weeks, and it made me irate. Don’t remind me! I have 2 weeks and 3 days of summer left! I don’t need to know about my schedule yet. I really  don’t want to know about my “forms” yet. I ain’t filling out nothing until I have to go to work. They don’t pay me enough to stress out like this or think about school until I am physically there.*

So lay off, work. I have more important stuff to do.

 

*See my previous list of what they don’t pay me enough for.