Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
|
|
| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
|
0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Monday, November 22, 2004 Each day I open Blogger and it says I have 637 posts in this blog. We all know that’s not true, but their counter just sits on that number, taunting. There will come a day when I open it up and - *poof* - the number will be corrected. Now, why does that bother me? Partly because I don’t have a counter of my own buried in the template. That is because I don’t have the focus+time to go hunting for one. But if anybody knows a good counter I’d be glad of a suggestion. Another thing about my blog is that I try to keep it fairly non-controversial. It’s not that I don’t have lots (and lots) of opinions that would shock and dismay and inflame those who [don’t know or] love me. It’s that I have no interest in getting into a debate, much less a flame war, about my perfection and wisdom, my perspicacity, perception and literary style. I love me and think I’m grand already. Opposing viewpoints are not necessary. [insert winking smiley face here] This thing is as much diary-as-literature as sounding board. Half the posts I write are never moved from Word to Blogger. They are either too personal, too satirical, or too exposing. It’s not my intention to take dirty linen out into the public arena and besides, I see no point in hurting anybody in such a hit-and-run manner. If somebody is deserving of my pointed shafts, they deserve to receive them from me in person, not in a roundabout way via the Internet. Of course, it’s always possible to make a flat statement, especially one which, while lacking qualifiers, isn’t intended to be applied universally. I'll venture to state here that all things have at least the potential for an interpretation - even skipping grades or home schooling. I’m thinking here of a little boy, BH’s little cousin, who was an immature 6 year old but was skipped up to the third grade because he’d already completed the entire 2nd grade curriculum at the end of the 1st grade. As BH said, he was going to be out of step with his classmates anyway, at least they didn’t keep him out of step with his intellectual capability. And it’s true - he doesn’t fit in with the 3rd graders either. But he gets to read better books. Among the 16 year old graduates I knew growing up - and there were not all that many - none of them had skipped a grade. I grew up in a good sized city with an extensive summer school schedule. It was possible to start taking classes after the 7th grade and be finished with school after the 11th. There was a big city wide youth orchestra, but to participate you had to also play in your school’s band or orchestra. In order to open up a hole in my schedule when I was 13, I had to start down the summer school road. Since I always enjoyed the learning part of school, this was no misery for me. To be sure, half the students in summer school were kids who’d flunked the year before, but that was just an opportunity to meet interesting (as in, slightly bad, but not so bad as to be drop-outs) older boys in a limited environment, sans the competition of cool girls, who knew that it wasn't cool to fail a class. The only kids in summer school were those who’d flunked or the 1960’s version of a nerd. What did we call them, then? Grinds? Brains? Ah well. The slang escapes me. And did the other kids call me one? Ha! What a joke. I was no brain. My sister was a brain but I was just a nice B sort of girl. Anyway - this is not what I intended to post about today. I was going to tell you about taking the boat up Occupacia Creek and seeing 3 bald eagles. I was going to try to describe the flocks of geese we startled upstream from Baird’s Landing. I was going to report about the battery case being flooded and the terminals being actually corroded off and how BD had to do a patch job as we drifted in the ebb tide, but how I wasn’t worried that we were up the creek without a paddle, since we had 2 oars. I intended to tell about the walk through White Oak Swamp and climbing up into Sandra's deer stand and looking for BD's jacket. I thought I’d describe how I finally got the chance to do some long core centering and how my brain completely filled up with French seams on silk taffeta and how, in the wee hours of the night I woke up, after taking several long naps yesterday, and began to assemble a wedding dress, step by step, in my head. And how I’ve resolved to insist that GD doesn’t look into another Wedding magazine because each time she does she sees another dress she likes. And there are that many beautiful ones so I understand the temptation but the engineer part of my brain can’t handle another change order. Those are all the things I intended to write about today. Instead, I am going to log off and begin the shortest work week of the year - the 2 days before our Thanksgiving holiday - what fun. posted by Bess | 7:11 AM |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
||||
|
|||||
40
