Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Construction and News Reports
I live in Dogpatch, a small town of maybe ten to fifteen thousand people. My students go hunting. A lot. They ride dirt bikes and four-wheelers. They make mountain-pies at bonfires. They try to dress ghetto, but the truth is many of them really haven't seen many, if any, people of different races.
Right now, however, it sounds like I live in a city. There are construction workers on Main Street outside my door. I woke up to jack-hammers and the beep-beep-beep of vehicles backing up. Right now a tough construction lady is directing impatient drivers, their cars backed up for three blocks on Main Street. I don't know how long this is going to go on, but the rumblings indicate that a Major Construction Project is beginning. (Hopefully, it won't result in violence. Tripper was sanding the porch yesterday late afternoon, and when he stopped the sander for a moment, he distinctly heard the tough construction lady say, "Thank god!" He was not amused. I said maybe she was referring to something else, was saying something in her headset to someone else... If she DID say that, well, it takes a lot of nerve.)
Luckily, there's an alley behind my house, and we can scoot down said alley to attempt to enter Dogpatch thoroughfares surreptiously. I don't know how long that will work, either, as this IS a small town, and no doubt the denizens know of my alley. I imagine the alley will become fairly busy, too, before very long. Grr. Fortunately for me, much to Tripper's confusion, I often don't care if I leave my house during the summer. Just last week he came home from work and had to use his key. "Why are you locking me out?" he asked, exasperated. "Oh, wait, you didn't go anywhere today." And what's your point, hon?
I haven't gotten dressed or brushed my teeth yet, and it's 11 am. My daily routine (and I love routines) was interrupted by Steel City doctors AGAIN. I like to watch Dr. Phil and drink coffee (after checking email and blogs), and several times this summer, the Doctor was interrupted by the Steel City doctors updating Steel City (and hunreds of thousands of people who don't live in Steel City) on their mayor's colon. I don't have many days of the Doctor left. School starts for me next Wednesday, one week from today.
I'm not as ready to go back this year as I have been in others. It's probably because I taught three teacher-classes this summer. I also didn't bring home a single paper, book, or list from school last June. That was a first, too. Am I slipping? Am I doomed to say things like, "These kids" or "We never used to do this!" I hope not.
A "first" of another type occurred Monday, and though it's a small, small victory, I hope it gives birth to future victories. No, I didn't turn down a beer, cigarette, or cookie. I challenged one of my mother's passive-aggressive jabs.
She was ripe for one. My grandmother had two surgeries in a week and before that had been living with my mother for a couple of weeks. My mother was exhausted, feeling guilty, worried. What's a girl to do during these trying times? Well, pick on her daughter, of course. Now, I must report that she wasn't in her best fighting form, that this occasion didn't showcase her best work. Still.
After babysitting I stopped to see her and my stepfather, and they fed me some dinner. When I was finished, I set my plate in front of my mother to get it out of the way of the Rust Belt Times I was reading. I immediately thought better of it, and got up to put it in the dishwasher, as it looked like I had given it to her to take care of. We all had a chuckle over it.
"Oh, Chrissy, you're just like your Aunt Lillian." This is rarely a good comparison to make. (Aunt Lillian is going to pray me into an unwanted pregnancy. She's a godhead. She thinks schizophrenia is merely demon possession.)
"How so?" I asked, sitting back down at the table.
She proceeded to tell me that when Aunt Lillian lived with us for a summer when I was a little girl, she would never help with all the dishes. She'd get up from the table after supper and wash her own plate, silverware, and glass, put them away, and go do her thing. "Yep, Lillian thought, You don't have to clean up after ME," my mother mused. "She never offered to clear the table, scrape, or dry anything."
Okay. I got up and began to load the dishwasher with dishes from my mother's earlier meal.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Clearly, your comment implies that you'd like me to help you out. I'd be glad to."
"Oh, no, no, no. You don't have to do that. That's not what I meant."
"Then why did you say it?" I asked calmly.
She was at a loss. She reaffirmed that I didn't need to do anything. She didn't know what she meant. We chatted a little while longer, and then it started to storm a little, so I thought I should hit the road. (I've stopped staying overnight every time I go. Another small victory.)
That was easier than I thought. Chrissy: 1. Mother: 35 years.
Right now, however, it sounds like I live in a city. There are construction workers on Main Street outside my door. I woke up to jack-hammers and the beep-beep-beep of vehicles backing up. Right now a tough construction lady is directing impatient drivers, their cars backed up for three blocks on Main Street. I don't know how long this is going to go on, but the rumblings indicate that a Major Construction Project is beginning. (Hopefully, it won't result in violence. Tripper was sanding the porch yesterday late afternoon, and when he stopped the sander for a moment, he distinctly heard the tough construction lady say, "Thank god!" He was not amused. I said maybe she was referring to something else, was saying something in her headset to someone else... If she DID say that, well, it takes a lot of nerve.)
Luckily, there's an alley behind my house, and we can scoot down said alley to attempt to enter Dogpatch thoroughfares surreptiously. I don't know how long that will work, either, as this IS a small town, and no doubt the denizens know of my alley. I imagine the alley will become fairly busy, too, before very long. Grr. Fortunately for me, much to Tripper's confusion, I often don't care if I leave my house during the summer. Just last week he came home from work and had to use his key. "Why are you locking me out?" he asked, exasperated. "Oh, wait, you didn't go anywhere today." And what's your point, hon?
I haven't gotten dressed or brushed my teeth yet, and it's 11 am. My daily routine (and I love routines) was interrupted by Steel City doctors AGAIN. I like to watch Dr. Phil and drink coffee (after checking email and blogs), and several times this summer, the Doctor was interrupted by the Steel City doctors updating Steel City (and hunreds of thousands of people who don't live in Steel City) on their mayor's colon. I don't have many days of the Doctor left. School starts for me next Wednesday, one week from today.
I'm not as ready to go back this year as I have been in others. It's probably because I taught three teacher-classes this summer. I also didn't bring home a single paper, book, or list from school last June. That was a first, too. Am I slipping? Am I doomed to say things like, "These kids" or "We never used to do this!" I hope not.
A "first" of another type occurred Monday, and though it's a small, small victory, I hope it gives birth to future victories. No, I didn't turn down a beer, cigarette, or cookie. I challenged one of my mother's passive-aggressive jabs.
She was ripe for one. My grandmother had two surgeries in a week and before that had been living with my mother for a couple of weeks. My mother was exhausted, feeling guilty, worried. What's a girl to do during these trying times? Well, pick on her daughter, of course. Now, I must report that she wasn't in her best fighting form, that this occasion didn't showcase her best work. Still.
After babysitting I stopped to see her and my stepfather, and they fed me some dinner. When I was finished, I set my plate in front of my mother to get it out of the way of the Rust Belt Times I was reading. I immediately thought better of it, and got up to put it in the dishwasher, as it looked like I had given it to her to take care of. We all had a chuckle over it.
"Oh, Chrissy, you're just like your Aunt Lillian." This is rarely a good comparison to make. (Aunt Lillian is going to pray me into an unwanted pregnancy. She's a godhead. She thinks schizophrenia is merely demon possession.)
"How so?" I asked, sitting back down at the table.
She proceeded to tell me that when Aunt Lillian lived with us for a summer when I was a little girl, she would never help with all the dishes. She'd get up from the table after supper and wash her own plate, silverware, and glass, put them away, and go do her thing. "Yep, Lillian thought, You don't have to clean up after ME," my mother mused. "She never offered to clear the table, scrape, or dry anything."
Okay. I got up and began to load the dishwasher with dishes from my mother's earlier meal.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Clearly, your comment implies that you'd like me to help you out. I'd be glad to."
"Oh, no, no, no. You don't have to do that. That's not what I meant."
"Then why did you say it?" I asked calmly.
She was at a loss. She reaffirmed that I didn't need to do anything. She didn't know what she meant. We chatted a little while longer, and then it started to storm a little, so I thought I should hit the road. (I've stopped staying overnight every time I go. Another small victory.)
That was easier than I thought. Chrissy: 1. Mother: 35 years.
# posted by Chrissy Snow @ 8/16/2006 07:52:00 AM 
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Pow! I like you spunky and full of sass.
I went to Target today. Bought the boy his own alarm clock. He made a sad face. We watched Dazed and Confused last week, and it was days later when he asked me if high school was going to be like that. I said yes.
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I went to Target today. Bought the boy his own alarm clock. He made a sad face. We watched Dazed and Confused last week, and it was days later when he asked me if high school was going to be like that. I said yes.
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