It’s a dark and rainy night, never mind that the almonds are in bloom and in the daytime it looks like spring. Tonight we have the blessed gift of rain, and that makes the time perfect for a pot of stew and a new blog post. It’s hard to believe that almost a month has gone by since I wrote here. I think I need the challenge of a daily blog post for a while to get over the sense that whatever I write has to be good, weighty, or written for a purpose. Or funny. Whatever it is that blocks me from sitting down here and just writing, I need to get over it.
Tonight I’m making a pot of whatever-is-in-the frig stew. It is garlic, onions, boneless pork ribs, Peruano beans, flame roasted canned tomatoes, chicken broth, spices, a date and half a bottle of Stella Artois beer that someone left in the fridge few months ago. It smells pretty good, but who knows what delight the alchemy of all that will create? We’ll eat it, I’m sure because we have no other choice except the chocolate chip cookies Alex found on Rachel Ray’s website and has decided to make right in the middle of dinner preparations. After I drink the other half of the beer (which I never ever usually do) I might not even care how any of it tastes.
Thinking about work, it’s funny how chaos can become routine. Today my classes were barely controlled chaos all day long, and while I am tired, I’m not at my wit’s end. I don’t even really care about it. The chaos. I mean, I’m sorry Jared cried, but he didn’t cry until after I moved him to a different seat, the one he wanted to sit in that was behind his friends. Once he moved and cried, he told me, “See, I told you I wanted to move because Tyson was hitting my head.” Except I moved him when he asked, and Tyson didn’t actively hit him that I could see, and they were right in the front row. I guess there was some desk bumping or something. Ni modo.
After they left I called Ivan’s mom because I was sick of his squirreling around and the nasty little attitude that has that he’s been sporting recently. I thought she and I could talk about it, cooperate in helping him out, and she was great. I bet he’s hearing about it about now. He’ll have something to say about that tomorrow, I can tell you. They don’t ever think I’ll actually call home, especially when I don’t even threaten to do so, other than to say that I’ll be glad to meet their moms. Now I hope we can help cool his jets a little.
Yesterday I had a visit from a former student, one who was a squirrely roller-on-the-floor in the seventh grade. He’s now a Junior in high school and is a very reasonable human being who picks up his little sister and takes her out for tacos. He gave me hope yesterday, on a day when I most needed it. A reminder of the fact that seventh and eighth grade are just swiftly passing stops on the road to adulthood. They come in so beautiful, still in the flush of childhood, and within a couple of years they start losing that to take on their adult look. Most manage to still look good through middle school, and it’s Freshman year when the dorkiness hits. Puberty strikes hard for some of them, and then just in time, they shape up get ready for the next awkward stage, the one after high school.
But enough of them. Sometimes I think I’m like one of those moms (I know this because I was one) whose whole life is their kids and they don’t even know what else to talk about cause the kids are all they do. When I, I do so many other interesting things. Like read books. And putter in my yard. And plan lessons. Watch a little TV. What else? Well, I’m working on that. I’m just a procrastinator. I’m going to do the rest of the stuff, the interesting things, a little later. Probably starting this weekend.
I hope you’re enjoying yourself, and having something delicious for dinner on this drippy night! Thanks for your perseverance in stopping by this infrequent writer’s spot. Really, thanks.