It's better to say too much, than never to say what you need to say again. . .

December 17, 2011




I slept in.


9.00 this morning before I felt guilty enough to get up and take the dogs out for their first of the day ablutions.


Usually we engage in these activities at 5.00 am.


So 9.00 was quite an extensive lie in. 


And believe me, I could easily go back to bed right now and continue that much needed, always wanted lie in.


In fact, I may spend the entire Christmas Break working from my bed, with occasional bathroom breaks, recharging with SFL approved sustenance, and maybe the odd walk with the hounds to prevent muscle atrophy.


I dream big, oh yes I do.


















As predicted, yesterday was of chaotic proportions.


One meeting that ended before it was scheduled to.


Yeah!


The other meeting that resulted in me losing a smitch of my temper to say something everyone was thinking and no one wanted to say but that needed to be said otherwise things could get ugly.


In spite of outward appearances, I actually don't say 99% of what I think.


If I did, I'd lose my job and probably end up in jail.


For a long time.


But there are times when someone has to say something and if no one else is willing to take that on, then you have to step up to the plate.


I did.


The silence was palpable.


But, in the end things moved in the way they were intended to move. 


Two weeks ago.


And given that the work of this particular committee is to make decisions regarding the progression of people's careers, two weeks can be construed as a long time.


Luckily for me, I did get support after the meeting from other committee meetings in that they shared my opinion.


Too bad they couldn't have said that during the meeting.


I'll take what I can get. 


For now.


















Last night's exam was uneventful.


Yeah.


Just long.


When you're bed time is 9.00, 9.30 if you're really wild and crazy, the knowledge that the exam you're giving ends at 10.00 pm, meaning you probably won't get home until at least 10.30 pm, can be stressful.


Worse: missing Big Bang Theory.

As the clock progressed towards 8.00, I was saddened by the knowledge that a full hour of Big Bang was in the works and I wasn't able to sit in my chair, in my living room, Dibley kneading on my lap, me quoting Sheldon quips in Facebook. . . .


I marked essays.


Until Mer called.


Mer who was the only one of my children NOT aware that I was in an exam.


In hushed tones I told her I was invigilating an exam and then I hung up.


The only reason I answered in the first place is because when my phone rings after 8.00, it's usually my mother and that never means anything good.


Imagine my relief/frustration when I realized it wasn't my mother, hence everything is okay, and oh, it's Mer and I wonder how much she wants.


After the exam, I left campus to pick Em up from work and then it was straight home.


Straight home.


Jammies on in less than 5 minutes after I arrived home.


Snuggles, snuggles, snuggles with Frankie and Tikka.


So, so needed. 


I am used to working long days.


But those days usually begin at 5.00 am and result in me walking over the threshold of my front door around 6.00 pm.


So a day that started at 5.00 am and resulted in me walking over the threshold of my front door at 10.30 pm was a stretch even for me.


Meaning today I'll be lucky if I can muster enough energy to mark and get dressed.


I'll have to, though.


Christmas lunch with my TA at 12.30 before she heads home for the holidays.


Marking in my office while Stephen invigilates his exam.


Leaving at 4.30 to have supper with Mum.


Beans and brown bread it is.


And then home for more marking until I can't put a cogent word to paper and have to retire to my bed with Frankie by my side.


















Before tomorrow morning at 5.00 when I get up and begin the preparations for the Quaker Christmas meeting and potluck.


We're hosting this year.


Homemade macaroni and cheese, and my Grandmother's shortbread cookies to be made beforehand.


As well as taking the dogs on a nice, long run before everyone arrives in the futile hope that maybe for once Frankie will behave himself while our Friends are downstairs worshiping in silence.


Silence and Frankie aren't very close.


Never met actually.


So wearing him out is not an option.


It's a necessity.


Unfortunately, it usually wears me out.


And I am so close to worn out already and the day hasn't even begun.


Or the weekend for that matter.


I think I'm going back to bed for a bit. 






Title Lyric: Say What You Need to Say by John Mayer

Heavy days are here again, it's that time of the month. . . .

December 16, 2011




9 more days until Christmas and if I can pull off getting all the marking done before Christmas, I may be inclined to agree in the Christmas miracle.


But given what I've been reading over the last couple of days, I don't feel hopeful. 


I don't want to be marking after Christmas.


I've done it before.


There are other things I need to do to prepare for next term's classes.


And I just don't want to be marking after Christmas.


















Tonight is my last exam.


This afternoon, the end of meetings until the New Year.


Meaning my first meeting is at 1.00, my second at 2.00 until whenever, and my exam begins at 7.00 and ends at 10.00 pm.


It is going to a long day.


Marking thrown into every spare space available.


I take marking with me wherever I go.


My purse large enough to hold several assignments.


The requisite pen.


Because in a day full of uncertainty and distractions, phone calls and texts-that-are-critical-and-must-be-answered-or-the-world-will-end, I must take full advantage of the minutes in between.


And I can get a lot accomplished in the little moments in between.




















I operate on the assumption that if I can rid myself of distractions, the path will clear for uninterrupted marking. 


Not at home, unfortunately.


The cats would never allow such activity to go undisturbed.


Leaving for a bathroom break results in returning to papers scattered hither and yon in a futile attempt to escape the poison of the pen; pens halfway across the room, as if they leaped off the table in protest against the harsh and cruel working conditions they have to endure; elastics that hold the bulging file folders in my futile attempt to remain organized, snapped in two, three, ten pieces.


If I'm lucky enough to know where they are at all.


Jasper has a thing for elastics. 


Just last night, sitting at the kitchen table with Mr. I-Hate-Marking-Stephen, we were treated to the presence of Jasper.

Curious about what was going on. 

And contemplating what would happen if he stuck his face in the large glass container.

Don't let the angelic visage distract you from the true nature and spirit of this small feline.

I know.

If I could only take my advice.

I see him and am overcome with the need to scoop his wriggling form into my arms and snuggle with him, kissing his little nose, feeling the vibrating purr at the base of his throat. 

And after my blissful basking in the soft, warm fur that is Jasper, he heads to another part of the house to continue the reign of terror.

Last week's victim: the upstairs bathroom.

In particular, the bathroom cupboard.

Brimming with all sorts of gee gaws and doo dads, it is the perfect place for adventurous, willful kitties who are not burdened with such things as consciences. 

Coming upon an open box of Mummy's tampons was just more than he could resist.

Causing quite a startle in Stephen when he next entered the bathroom to see the floor dotted with tightly wrapped tampons littering the floor.

Around the toilet.

In the hallway.

Downstairs on the boot tray.

One fell out of a shoe the other day.

We'll be finding those tampons until next year.

Which is still preferable to the activities of one 14 year old Belgian Shepherd with an elongated snout perfect for opening bathroom garbage cans and rooting for "treasure." 

Title Lyric: Tampon Lollipops by Skinless

My superhuman might. . .Kryptonite. . .

December 15, 2011




Ten days before Christmas.


If I could be excited, I would.


But the piles and piles of paper before me are the best kryptonite for excitement I've ever encountered.


I need to consider a shield or some sort of prophylactic.


Perhaps there's something at Warehouse 13 I could use.


















In spite of all my whinging and whining about Christmas, I do have to acknowledge when kindness and Christmas spirit is right in front of me.


After forgetting my bank card, and sending Stephen home to retrieve it, I took Mum to Starbucks for a coffee break.


I needed one.


Desperately.


While taking Mum's coat off, I remarked that I couldn't believe I had left my bankcard in my other coat pocket. 


Afterwards, I was on my way to order coffee, I was called over to the table of an older couple who asked if I needed money to purchase my mother's coffee.


Touched.


I was so touched.


I thanked them profusely and then told them that before I sent my hubby home to collect my bank card, I stripped him off all his cash.


At least enough for coffee and a nibblie for my mother. 


Warmed the cockles of my heart. 


















And now back to our regularly scheduled programming: marking. 


On every station until the last grade is posted. 


I gotta get better cable.








Title Lyric: Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down

Sailing takes me away to where I've always heard it could be

December 14, 2011




First exam: done.


Well, at least the students have finished writing it.


I haven't even contemplated when, in my Week of Mad Marking, I'll be slotting them in for perusal.


In spite of my best efforts, the intro qual interviews are still wrapped around me like the chains of Jacob Marley.


One and a half left to finish before my meeting at noon.


They would have been finished yesterday, but while sitting at my desk, marking away as is the norm lately, I was struck with what can only be food poisoning.


Both ends.


Precipitating an immediate change of plans from marking-until-I-can't-hold-my-eyes-open-a-moment-longer to driving-home-as-quickly-as possible-to-down-Gravol-and-go-to-bed.


Which was exactly what I did.


Meaning I slept from 3.00-8.20, got up long enough to see my absolute favourite episode of Big Bang Theory, where Raj is in People magazine and Sheldon feigns support. . .

. . .and then back to bed until 2.00 am, when Tikka was pawing for pee pee, thus forcing me out of bed for what turned out to be a pee and a massive poop.

Back to bed again until 8.00 am when Keith gently tapped on my door to inquire if I knew it was 8.00 am.

I did indeed.

Particularly because I had awoken from a dream where Stephen announced he was transgendered and was initiating the process of moving from Stephen to Stephanie.

I have friends who are transgendered.

I just didn't know Stephen was one of them.

Waking up to Keith's gentle tap allowed me the opportunity to see if Stephen was Stephen or Stephanie.

Stephen it is.

But we're having a talk later, let me tell you!

I'm feeling better.

A good thing because food poisoning or not, I have to take Em to school, drop Mer and Keith off to work, and then traverse the streets of Fredericton to the main office of Mer's landlords, Killam Properties.

Apparently, they've been harassing the beleaguered building manager about a supposed $50.00 I owe them.

I do not owe them anything.

The issue is that when they upped Mer's rent in September, they failed to change the amount of the automatic withdraw.

Or the PAP as they call them.

Pre-Authorized Payments.

And in spite of my sharing this info with the beleaguered building manager, I still have to traipse over to their headquarters and explain this in person. 

In spite of no one informing me of how come I have to go over.

I just do.

Hopefully this will be one of those things that can be settled swiftly.

Feeling better doesn't equate to feeling 100% and I wouldn't want to experience any bodily blowouts while trying to educate them about their error. 

Would I?

Marking or no marking, my mother needed to go to the mall to get my father a Christmas present.

Thus our Ford Focus sleigh picked her up Monday morning and whisked her off to the mall mayhem and chaos that rears it's ugly head at Christmas. 

Monday morning or not, there was still reigning chaos and mayhem.

Albeit in a somewhat less potent capacity than on a Friday night or Saturday.

It took Mum as much time to pick out Dad's gift as it did for us to get her in the car.

Stephen and I picked up new pillows, 50% off, for our little heads, which were weary from resting on the pancake like pillows atop our bed.

And maybe we even picked up a couple of things for the kids.

At the check out, I reach for my bank card and realize in that instant that it wasn't there.

It was in my other coat pocket.

The coat I was wearing when I put gas in Em's car earlier that morning.

I turned to Stephen with panic on my face.

My mother's eagle eyes taking in the entire scenario and wondering how it was going to affect her.

When I realized Stephen had cash in his wallet for a bill payment he was to make later that day.

Pony up the cash buddy, because I am NOT coming back later to get the gift-that-won't-be-there because that is what ALWAYS happens to me.

The issue of the bank card still loomed, however.

So Stephen graciously "offered" to go home and retrieve the bank card while Mum and I rested our weary selves at Starbucks. 

Sweet deal if you ask me.

On the way we purchased lottery tickets with the change from our purchases.

If we win, we're taking a cruise.

Me and Mum.

Sailing through the oceans, stopping in each and every port, sampling the local cuisine.

Getting diarrhea.

Dream big, dream honest I say.

Title Lyric: Sailing by Christopher Cross

It's Gettin' Hectic, It's Gettin' Crazy, It's Gettin' Hectic, It's Gettin' Wild.

December 12, 2011




Another Monday morning brings with it the peace and tranquility of a work week that is always, always less hectic than the weekend.


Saturday was a mix of marking interviews, raking leaves with Stephen, marking interviews, having dinner with Mum, marking interviews.


I see a pattern emerging.


Sunday was a bit more varied. 


Marking interviews, going to Quaker meeting, getting groceries, putting the groceries away, taking the dogs for a run, home to take Keith to work, pick up Em, wait for Mer so marking interviews at Starbucks, home for supper, do the dishes, marking interviews, marking interviews while Dibley demands, insists on thirty minutes of uninterrupted cuddle time, marking interviews.


Although I did manage to score a 25 pound turkey for Christmas dinner. 


Stephen had just been remarking that he wanted a REALLY big turkey this year because he's concluded from past Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners that ample leftovers are just not forthcoming.


Hence the 25 pound turkey.


Which only made me want turkey now.


Waiting for Christmas not a viable option, I simply bought a smaller turkey and roasted it last evening while I was marking interviews.


Always made more palpable by the aroma of roasting turkey wafting through the air.


And Mer, I heard what you said about my turkey.


Dry, is it?


See how much YOU get tonight.


















And here we are.


Monday morning.


5.00 am, Frankie pawing for poops beside me.


Me getting ready to mark interviews.


At least until it's time to take Em to school.


And then the fun really begins.


















Simply for Life first.


Next: taking Mum Christmas shopping.


Amid the hecticness of the last week of term, the endless students meetings, reading of bits and pieces of paper drafts, ministrating to Em and her stomach flu, I completely forgot that I had made plans to take Mum Christmas shopping this morning.


But she didn't.


So Saturday evening, unusually crappy-for-the-nursing-home potato salad halfway to my mouth when she said, "So you're still taking me shopping Monday morning, right?"


While my mind was spinning with all the things I had to do, marking interviews at the top of that list, I didn't miss a beat when I replied, "Well of course I am. I'll pick you up at 10.00 am, we'll get Dad's Christmas present and then we'll head someplace for lunch with really great French fries."


Because my mother LOVES French fries.


Therefore, that is what will comprise the morning portion of my program.


Followed by a couple of hours at work before collecting Em from school and heading to the mall to wait for Keith to get off work, leaving the mall to get Mer to bring all three of my chicks home for roast turkey with me and Stephen after which we will all go back to the mall to see Scorsese's Hugo for the 6.00 pm show.


Marking interview thrown in there, of course whenever time allows.


Those interviews will be returned to my intro qualitative students tomorrow morning after they write their final exam.


9.00 am to noon.


The only anticipated quiet time in the next 36 hours.


Yeah.


















Time to resume interview marking. 






Title Lyric: It's Gettin' Hectic by Urge

Whoa! Send me back in time so I can be with my kind. . . .

December 10, 2011




While there have been many stressful days these past few weeks, every once in a while the fates like to play let's-shake-things-up and create farcical situations that, if you weren't living in them would almost be funny.


Yesterday's theme: how long can it take to mark one assignment?


Figuring that marking would be less painful sitting in the warmth of our local Starbucks, quiet music in the background, too early in the morning for the crazy Christmas shoppers to be wandering through the mall sprinkling chaos more than Christmas spirit.


Initially, my marking progressed nicely. 


Carried along the sea of misspellings, sloppy transcription and the inability to follow rules by a venti mild with two sweeteners and some cream.


Me noting errors, concerns, issues arising from student's first attempts at conducting a semi-structured interview.


And then I made the fateful error.


I checked my cell phone.


While I was looking at the number of early morning missed calls I was able to deduce that either Meredyth or Emily was frantically trying to reach me.


And regardless of which one of them was seeking my attention, it was going to mean that the marking was nearing suspension.


Hopefully temporarily.


I noted which paper I was marking, where I was in the marking process knowing that shortly I would return to said paper and finish.


This was 9.30 am.


I finished that paper at 9.30 pm.


And the intervening 12 hours was like a too-long-never-ending-segment of Just for Laughs Gags.


Without the laughs.


















Mer was indeed looking for me.


Wanting a drive to work because she had overslept due to a late night shift at the bar.


I picked her up, dropped her off and headed for my office.


Where I was treated to email upon email upon email from frantic students who still are weighted under their insecurities and intense desire to "do it right."


Ruled by fear they are seeking constant reassurance that they're on the right track.


Two students left me with what looked like entire papers.


For which I had no time to read through.


And didn't.


But that took more time than I wanted to spend. 


Or had to spend.


I started marking that paper again, when my phone started ringing.


Both of them.


Office and cell.


Apparently, the keys to Em's car were on the missing list. 


Stephen had made an appointment for servicing said car, which was fine, except for the fact that with no keys getting car to it's appointment could be construed as problematic.


From what I could gather from multiple texts and phone calls, the search for said keys had been extensive.


All over the house, the hallway, inside the shoes in case Jasper was being Jasper.


I searched my purse.


Twice.


And then I thought I'd check the car.


The Ford.


At which point, the mystery of the Elantra keys was solved.


They were in the glove compartment of the Ford.


How they got there is still a mystery.


Although I think I know how they got there.


But Stephen refuses to acknowledge that perhaps he had something to do with this.


His selective memory working at maximum capacity.


















I turned on the car and drove to the house to deliver said keys.

At which point Em and Keith came out of the house dressed in their work uniforms.


Em, who had been home sick for a week and was technically supposed to be in school, took the remainder of Mer's shift.


Mer, who was exhausted, weepy and worn out from working too many hours called Em to see if she would take her shift.


And a week in the house was all the reason Em needed to accept the shift and get out of Dodge. 


And Keith.


Who I didn't think was working until 5.00.


But apparently I was wrong. 


Back to the mall, with kids in tow, and me needing another venti mild.


Desperate is probably closer to the truth.


Because dropping of Keith and Em logically meant Mer was going to need a drive home.


And she did.


So back to Mer's house we went to drop her off with the promise that she would get. some. sleep. 


She needed it, believe me.


And finally, finally back to work in time to go to the 2.30 meeting that could potentially go on forever. 


Lasted only until 3.30 because of another meeting on campus.

But I'll say this, and if there was ever evidence of how shallow I can be this would be it.


When I walked into the meeting I had to set my things down and leave for the bathroom posthaste because one of the other people on the committee was sporting a mullet perm.

Now, perms, as far as I know, are not as common as they were during their heyday in the 80s.


I had one.

Emphasis on one.


And I had a mullet at one point.


But I never combined the two.


Seeing said mullet perm atop the head of a committee member was the straw that broke the camel's back and in the bathroom I had to cover my mouth to suppress the laughter.


Given the absurdity of the day, the number of trips in the car from home to Starbucks to Mer's apartment to the mall to work to Staples to work, to home to the mall and back to Mer's apartment, the impossibility of marking one, just one assignment. . . .


The mullet perm send me over the edge.


Right over.


Resulting in my hauling myself from the edge of the insanity in the stall of a woman's bathroom in an attempt to continue my day long facade of normality and sanity.


I am that good.


















My burnt stew, made at 6.30 in the morning and completely ignored by the three other people in the house resulting in a oddly nice tasting char will be covered later.


Because my grip on sanity is, as always, tenuous.








Title Lyric: Last of the Mullets by The Gamits