I had an email from my NCSC boss last night. One of my sections only has four people registered, so they are going to cancel it. (No big problem for me: that one was at the other campus and interfered with some church stuff I wanted to participate in, so losing it is a bit of a blessing.)
Do I want another course? On a different day? Something I've never taught there? Ummm.
I think I'll say yes because it's always a good thing to bail the boss out when she gets in a jam. (The scheduled teacher apparently has a health problem and can't do the course.) So that will mean an emergency job preparing another set of lesson plans and so forth. Fortunately, this course will pay a bit more because it's got a lab attached to it.
People ask me two different questions. How much longer do I intend to keep doing this sort of thing? Answer: until it stops being fun or until I stop being effective. And am I uneasy about a job where I get fired and rehired three times a year? No. Most workers actually don't have the job security that I have. Aside from the personal element (helping that boss with the course emergency will make it more likely for me to get assignments in the future), I do have a contract. I know that I'll be working until the beginning of May. Most employees don't have that; they only know that it's traditional to give two weeks' notice before firing, but even that is not set in stone. The average employee in this country really should ask, "Is this my last day at this job?" I don't have to do that for several months.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Friday, December 27, 2013
Ghosts of holidays past
Tonight I was remembering past holidays.
I remember my first Easter alone. It took me by surprise because I had incorrectly assumed that the hospitality of the church would kick in. (I was in a family-values church and I was newly divorced. They really didn't have any idea what to do with me. In fact, I don't think there was any consciousness that a family might consider inviting a single person to "dilute" the family togetherness.) So Easter dinner was canned clam chowder heated on a hotplate. It just seemed so empty—no happy kids, no eggs, no special food. That church was the sort where every day is pretty much like every other. Folk songs, clapping, and dancing in the aisles, but Easter looked exactly like any other Sunday.
At the end of that day, I felt totally empty and defeated.
When Christmas rolled around, I was ready. I had plans that filled the day. I bought some frozen chicken Kiev, got some extra kerosene for my heaters (I was living in a barn at the time), and tuned the radio to NPR. I spent the afternoon listening to the Festival of Lessons and Carols live from England. I also promised myself that I would never again spend a major holiday in this town if I could possibly get away. That's why I've driven 400 miles to celebrate the last 16 Christmases (and most of the last 16 Easters and Thanksgivings) with my parents. The major holidays are not here. The holidays are there.
It was good to take control of the situation, though it meant that for a long time Maryland was more like home to me than Ohio was. Some of the pain will always be there, but I don't have to let it be my master.
This may have been the last Christmas in Washington. Certainly it was a very solitary one, much like that first Easter, but I'm stronger now, and I have friends back in Ohio.
By the way, clam chowder used to be my favorite. I can't stand the sight of the stuff now.
I remember my first Easter alone. It took me by surprise because I had incorrectly assumed that the hospitality of the church would kick in. (I was in a family-values church and I was newly divorced. They really didn't have any idea what to do with me. In fact, I don't think there was any consciousness that a family might consider inviting a single person to "dilute" the family togetherness.) So Easter dinner was canned clam chowder heated on a hotplate. It just seemed so empty—no happy kids, no eggs, no special food. That church was the sort where every day is pretty much like every other. Folk songs, clapping, and dancing in the aisles, but Easter looked exactly like any other Sunday.
At the end of that day, I felt totally empty and defeated.
When Christmas rolled around, I was ready. I had plans that filled the day. I bought some frozen chicken Kiev, got some extra kerosene for my heaters (I was living in a barn at the time), and tuned the radio to NPR. I spent the afternoon listening to the Festival of Lessons and Carols live from England. I also promised myself that I would never again spend a major holiday in this town if I could possibly get away. That's why I've driven 400 miles to celebrate the last 16 Christmases (and most of the last 16 Easters and Thanksgivings) with my parents. The major holidays are not here. The holidays are there.
It was good to take control of the situation, though it meant that for a long time Maryland was more like home to me than Ohio was. Some of the pain will always be there, but I don't have to let it be my master.
This may have been the last Christmas in Washington. Certainly it was a very solitary one, much like that first Easter, but I'm stronger now, and I have friends back in Ohio.
By the way, clam chowder used to be my favorite. I can't stand the sight of the stuff now.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Whom should I shoot?
One of my Facebook contacts mentioned a comment by an ultra-conservative newspaper, saying that we should all stock up on guns and ammo because of the coming government crash.
There are exactly two possibilities. Either the government will crash or it won't.
If the government doesn't crash, presumably we'll be shooting government agents, either police or military, or perhaps both. These are the totally evil people who stole the country from us by the unfair strategy of getting more votes, so the "real" Americans (uneducated white men) aren't running things any more. There is one main problem with getting into a shootout with the government. They always win. It's pretty much impossible for one person to have enough ammunition to shoot and kill absolutely every police officer and military person the government can throw at you. And they aren't going to negotiate a truce after you've killed a couple of cops. They will keep coming because they have the funny idea that the point of having laws is to protect the majority of the country from people like you.
If the government does crash, apparently we'll be shooting our neighbors, who all want the drinking water and Power Bars we have hoarded. Maybe you'll be able to kill all the pathetic begging children and the little old ladies knocking at the door, but eventually the same scenario occurs. If everyone has guns to attempt to steal all of your Power Bars, you just don't have enough ammunition to kill them all. Though I suppose that after you've done away with a few hundred, the pile of bodies around your home will be sort of a barricade and a warning. Anyhow, there you'll sit, drinking your stored water and eating your Power Bars and wondering, "Now what?"
And that brings me around to the Christmas part of all this. Isn't it kind of odd that the right-wing Christian extremists who want us to buy guns to defend ourselves and our possessions claim to follow the Prince of Peace, the one who wanted us to share our possessions with the poor?
(Parenthetical personal note: I remember my grandmother's second husband saying the same thing when I was a boy. He wasn't into guns, but he went out and bought a new 1965 Buick that he couldn't afford because after the government crash, we wouldn't be able to get good new cars. He also buried $2500 in Silver Certificate dollar bills because the Federal Reserve Notes would be worthless. Alas, the ground behind his Pennsylvania Avenue, Mansfield, house was pretty soggy so he ended up with some very expensive compost.)Anyhow, this "stock up on guns" comment raises two very important questions: who will we have to shoot, and how many of them will we have to shoot?
There are exactly two possibilities. Either the government will crash or it won't.
If the government doesn't crash, presumably we'll be shooting government agents, either police or military, or perhaps both. These are the totally evil people who stole the country from us by the unfair strategy of getting more votes, so the "real" Americans (uneducated white men) aren't running things any more. There is one main problem with getting into a shootout with the government. They always win. It's pretty much impossible for one person to have enough ammunition to shoot and kill absolutely every police officer and military person the government can throw at you. And they aren't going to negotiate a truce after you've killed a couple of cops. They will keep coming because they have the funny idea that the point of having laws is to protect the majority of the country from people like you.
If the government does crash, apparently we'll be shooting our neighbors, who all want the drinking water and Power Bars we have hoarded. Maybe you'll be able to kill all the pathetic begging children and the little old ladies knocking at the door, but eventually the same scenario occurs. If everyone has guns to attempt to steal all of your Power Bars, you just don't have enough ammunition to kill them all. Though I suppose that after you've done away with a few hundred, the pile of bodies around your home will be sort of a barricade and a warning. Anyhow, there you'll sit, drinking your stored water and eating your Power Bars and wondering, "Now what?"
And that brings me around to the Christmas part of all this. Isn't it kind of odd that the right-wing Christian extremists who want us to buy guns to defend ourselves and our possessions claim to follow the Prince of Peace, the one who wanted us to share our possessions with the poor?
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Christmas Eve in Washington
I'm sitting here in a suburban Maryland Panera, having finished my cream of chicken soup, and thinking of this Christmas eve. I really left town in 1968, and it took me a while to begin looking back. In the interim, my few friends have moved away and I've lost track of them. For years now, my sister, my brother, my mom and I have been the Christmas ensemble. My sister isn't coming this year—family obligations in Texas. Mom is in an assisted living place, so visiting her is a matter of popping in, chatting for a while, then leaving. No tree there. No tree at my brother's either. He and his wife don't do much to observe Christmas.
This will be the first Christmas since 1996 that I'll miss Christmas Eve at Northwood Presbyterian. That wasn't my church when I was growing up, but it was Mom and Dad's so we always went there. Maybe I'll pull myself away from brother and sister-in-law to go over there. The folks at Northwood would certainly welcome me. There were years that I was a more frequent attender there than at my church in Mansfield.
It's been very odd. Some things about this very changeable town change very slowly. I bought granddaughters a couple of small items at Appalachian Spring, a store that's been here for at least 15 years. Not only that, but the items in the store seem to be unchanged too. Great quality stuff, but I'm surprised they still have exactly what they had so long ago. People back home asked me if I intend to go to National Cathedral or to the big tree on the Ellipse. Not really. I'm not into fighting traffic, and the journey would be alone.
More than ever before, I have a sense of saying goodbye. Where's home? Is it Washington? Really?
One key to answering the question "Where's home?" is church. For the longest time in Ohio, I felt like a sojourner, like the only lost Narnian in modern middle America, accidentally trapped in a group of tea-party Baptists. That's changed. The Episcopal church, warts and all, is a very definite part of my identity now, so I really do have roots of a sort. Another part of the "home" answer is that I think I've learned to survive. Yes, the broad, ugly suburban streets are incredibly familiar to me, as is the incessant traffic, but I know how to make it in Ohio. And my circle of friends expands too. I sent out 40+ Christmas cards this year, double what I did just a few years ago.
Maybe the day will come when I'm just a common tourist to DC again. I think so.
This will be the first Christmas since 1996 that I'll miss Christmas Eve at Northwood Presbyterian. That wasn't my church when I was growing up, but it was Mom and Dad's so we always went there. Maybe I'll pull myself away from brother and sister-in-law to go over there. The folks at Northwood would certainly welcome me. There were years that I was a more frequent attender there than at my church in Mansfield.
It's been very odd. Some things about this very changeable town change very slowly. I bought granddaughters a couple of small items at Appalachian Spring, a store that's been here for at least 15 years. Not only that, but the items in the store seem to be unchanged too. Great quality stuff, but I'm surprised they still have exactly what they had so long ago. People back home asked me if I intend to go to National Cathedral or to the big tree on the Ellipse. Not really. I'm not into fighting traffic, and the journey would be alone.
More than ever before, I have a sense of saying goodbye. Where's home? Is it Washington? Really?
One key to answering the question "Where's home?" is church. For the longest time in Ohio, I felt like a sojourner, like the only lost Narnian in modern middle America, accidentally trapped in a group of tea-party Baptists. That's changed. The Episcopal church, warts and all, is a very definite part of my identity now, so I really do have roots of a sort. Another part of the "home" answer is that I think I've learned to survive. Yes, the broad, ugly suburban streets are incredibly familiar to me, as is the incessant traffic, but I know how to make it in Ohio. And my circle of friends expands too. I sent out 40+ Christmas cards this year, double what I did just a few years ago.
Maybe the day will come when I'm just a common tourist to DC again. I think so.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Thinking Local
After a fairly negative Chipotle experience* I began wondering what local restaurants we have, especially restaurants that are (a) not part of a chain and (b) pretty good. It's worth mentioning that starting a restaurant is an iron-clad way to work yourself to death and lose a ton of money. Without much effort, I came up with three and I'm sure there are more.
*It's worth mentioning that the Chipotle people fired back an email instantly when I wrote my complaint about the service. It was apologetic and offered a free burrito.
- Relax It's Just Coffee in downtown Mansfield
- Brumby's Coffeehouse and Pizza in Bellville
- The Wiffletree in Butler
*It's worth mentioning that the Chipotle people fired back an email instantly when I wrote my complaint about the service. It was apologetic and offered a free burrito.
Friday, December 20, 2013
And we begin again
Last night I again ran afoul of Facebook (Becky calls me a Luddite) for its unpredictable behavior, so I returned to the idea of doing a blog. I looked back at the blog I had run for a number of years, and it was kind of sad. For one thing, technology has advanced, and the old one wouldn't work on your phone, but more importantly, that was a very old version of me. I actually read all of the old posts. They divided neatly into three sets: sadness and grief over the church situation, discussion of the future with Jared as a roommate, and grumpiness about the battle to get computer software to actually do its job (hence the Luddite comment).
The church thing is totally resolved. I'm now a full member of St. Matthew's Episcopal Church in Ashland and I'm totally at home there. I cannot believe it's only been two years. Seems like decades (and yes, people do ask me to explain Episcopalian stuff to them!).
Jared and I have gone through three years of being roommates now, and he's looking toward his own future. He's just started a job at Kroger and we agree that the time for him to find a new place to live is quite soon.
Computer software? Well, I've finally given up on making Ashland's paranoid software suite work. I do everything on my own site and on Blogger now. I think I've tamed NCSC's site too, though it's still a struggle at times.
Now what?
It's time to say things with a little more content and style than Facebook allows. (And this is a much more predictable interface—I know exactly what will happen when I click "publish.") I do invite response and comment, though I'll moderate them so I don't promote odd commercial ventures.
The church thing is totally resolved. I'm now a full member of St. Matthew's Episcopal Church in Ashland and I'm totally at home there. I cannot believe it's only been two years. Seems like decades (and yes, people do ask me to explain Episcopalian stuff to them!).
Jared and I have gone through three years of being roommates now, and he's looking toward his own future. He's just started a job at Kroger and we agree that the time for him to find a new place to live is quite soon.
Computer software? Well, I've finally given up on making Ashland's paranoid software suite work. I do everything on my own site and on Blogger now. I think I've tamed NCSC's site too, though it's still a struggle at times.
Now what?
It's time to say things with a little more content and style than Facebook allows. (And this is a much more predictable interface—I know exactly what will happen when I click "publish.") I do invite response and comment, though I'll moderate them so I don't promote odd commercial ventures.
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