assorted sours, forgotten

One of my least favourite things about being sick is the way that it blunts my sense of taste. I can still taste things, but the tastes are neither as full nor as ripe (rich?) as they might be, and all things considered, Easter weekend is a bad time to lose that ability to taste, because there is just so much darn good food. Also, I just generally hate being sick.

It was a good weekend, all in all; having four days off (even four days of being sick as a very flu-y dog) is quite possibly the best thing ever. Now I just need to survive the next four days of descriptive paragraphs, research reports, and Romeo + Juliet madness. Strangely, I am starting to appreciate Baz Luhrmann's adaptation of the play--something that has been inconceivable to me to this point.

I'm a bit uncertain about the future right now (right now, of course, being a rough euphemism for "the last six months or so") and I wish that things would start falling into place a little more. I fully accept that they aren't going to, at least not in the way that I want them to...but is a little certainty too much to ask for?

stupid whistly song

Two weeks down, and only 7.5 days left to go. I am for the most part enjoying myself. Teaching English is actually a pretty good deal, though part of me still thinks my heart is in the Canadian history courses somewhere. I am in charge of a whole unit on The Great and Lamentably Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet and, wonder of wonders, I'm actually having a blast with it. Some of my students are, as well, though I think I lost a LOT of them when we got to iambic pentameter. People who lack rhythm should never have to teach such things. Note to future self: Cultivate friendship with a musician who will come in and explain iambs in a far better way than you can.

I was poking around my old diaryland site very very briefly this morning. I haven't written there in nearly three years, and there was a time where I believed very much in the importance of saving everything that I'd written. But having done the wee bit of poking that I did today, I can honestly say that I no longer have any investment in that writing or in that time of my life. For possibly the first time ever, I want to live in the now, and nothing is more now than here (or maybe podcasting. Difficult to say.)

Hurray for four day Easter weekends in Canada! I'm very excited to be going home tomorrow.

speechifying at the speed of light

Tomorrow, I have to give a speech:

Every person in this room knows [Daddy Skylark] in different way. For many—probably most of you—he was worker at the some point in the 34 years of his career. For others, he is a husband, a brother, a son-in-law, a brother-in-law. For all of us, he is a friend.

Because so many of you have known him in these ways, my sisters and I wanted to tell you about a different side of [Daddy Skylark].

Our father was blessed with a challenge. Between 1981 and 1988, he and my mother had three daughters. Outnumbered, he had to learn to navigate a new world, one of pink strawberry shaving cream, Girl Guide Cookies twice a year, and Cabbage Patch Dolls, Polly Pockets, and Precious Places.

He rose to this challenge quite admirably, learning not to leave the toilet seat up, to swallow his complaints when his razor blades were inexplicably dull, and also when the milk jug went back into the fridge empty. He also learned not to complain about peanut butter on his uniform hat, or the perpetual loss of black socks and the occasional white shirt. Do you remember, Dad, when we thought it was cool to wear your big clothes?

More than these trivial things, our dad taught us to be strong and independent. He always expected our best, and we hope, that most of the time, we’ve been able to give it.

To introduce the video that we’ve put together, I’ll use my dad’s own words whenever he comes home with a bunch of pictures to show us: “You’d better pee now. This’ll take a while.”

I've been good, as good as I can be

I have moved to Collingwood, and it seems that this business will actually be a pretty good deal for me. My apartment is quite nice; it has everything I could need, pretty much, aside from a cat. And tea. But I'm sure I will rectify that shortly.

I have a grade nine locally developed course, a grade ten academic, and a grade twelve college prep. I've only met the 9s and 10s so far, and one of my two associates, but I really think that this is going to work out well. *knocks wood*

I teach my first lesson tomorrow, on the use of poetic language and diction in Romeo and Juliet. Whee!