Hiding Matches

Fire . . . it's that element that I don't get. It's heat. It's dangerous. It's changeable. It's beautiful in a sorid way. My brother, when he was younger, had this obsession with fire. He would light matches and watch the flame dance on the tip of the match only to blow it out or drop it when it neared his fingers. Mom hid matchbooks for ages, and you could never find one when you need to light a candle. Birthdays? Most of the time was spent looking for anything to set the candles aflame.

For a while, Dave would purchase the instant fire logs for our old house because it burned in color. I'd wake up with a sore throat that would go on for days, and Dave's response would be, "But it burns in colors . . . it's blue!" Watch any person who's semi-drunk at a bonfire, and they are mesmerized for hours. It's like the most alluring babysitter ever. Watch the pretty flame. It changes shape. Color. Size.

Beyond the dangerous beauty is the real reason to fear fire. It destroys indiscriminnently. You always hear about the large brush fires in California and the people who stay to protect their homes when any rational person would get the hell out because they know that fire truly doesn't give a shit. It's the honey badger of the element world.

It brought a tear to my eye on Sunday

Fire destroyed a friend's livelihood this weekend. The family tavern caught fire when the cook came in to start the fryer. They lost the business and most of the apartments (two were spared). I got her text on Saturday morning, the one were she said she would rather deal with her dying father than the notice she got about the fire. By the time the fire departments got there, nothing could be saved. So now what?

I have a drink chip from the tavern, and I'm not giving it up. I refuse to give up the dream that eventually, I'll be able order a cheeseburger with grilled onions and sauteed mushrooms completed with an order Kelly fries and a few Yuenglings. I'll wait until I can choose the tunes on the digital jukebox. When I can chat with my friend and figure out what the skinny is about the people in tavern. When we can discuss what's going on in our families in details. When we can laugh our asses off at the next person to walk through the doors.

I'm counting on you to get the tavern up and running . . . I've got a drink chip after all.

Cheers,
Jill

Crap I Did Today

Sorry for the absence . . . tis grading season so that means my ass has been one with the couch as of late. But this past weekend, there was nothing to grade (mark it on your calendars), so I did what I like best: knitting, reading, knitting and reading, watching movies, watching football, and going to Spice India with my husband. I can't really cook Indian food that well - despite repeated attempts - and quite frankly, when you have really good Indian food about 25 minutes away, why the hell would you?

So, today . . . well, here's what I did:

• kvetched with some co-workers over the professor of our grad class getting fired
• previewed the on-line taping of the class that we are being merged with and panicking
• created a game design document for Knitting Ninja (yup . . . I'm designing a game based on knitting; you'll wish you thought of it first - or that I didn't have my head examined when multiple people suggested it)
• called a bajillion and one parents about failing grades; fine . . . I called ten parents
• laughed at my mother and my sister in our repeated attempts to get a video chat going. Note to self: it's your new laptop, idiot
• scheduled a Genius appointment at the Apple store to correct the whole video chat issues because it really is the new laptop
• made a hot cocoa and added a generous "Dave is traveling again" amount of Bailey's
• added songs to my unofficial funeral playlist on Spotify. Not that I'm planning on kicking it any time soon, but truly I have no desire to have "Amazing Grace" or some other shitty song played. Instead, you'll be treated to "Tobacco Road" by Lou Rawls or "Zombie" by The Cranberries. Note the irony in that last one
• argued with the cat for space on the rather large couch. She wants my spot, and right now, I'm kind of afraid that she might eat me if I don't move
• talked to my sister about her son's homework, which apparently is pretty challenging for her. I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt because it does sound kind of hard . . . which would be fine if he weren't in first grade

I think that's it . . . wait. I taught 110 kids today and modeled how to create their book report. I explained the plot to To Kill a Mockingbird because one of my kids thought it didn't have a plot. I helped a kid find a book that he could read because he lost his over a month ago and never thought to tell either me or my reading partner. I laughed at some of their responses. I nearly cried at some of the other ones. I often forget about work . . . because it doesn't really seem like work. It's just something I enjoy doing.

Wish me luck with tomorrow . . . I'm Skyping with my parents in class five times so that my kids can see an interview being conducted. It's either going to be the best idea I ever had or the worst . . . jury's still out on that.

Cheers,
Jill

PS - I'm pretty sure that you could strip to "Tobacco Road," too. Might have to start another Spotify playlist . . . "Music to Shake Your Moneymaker By" . . . suggestions?