I had left my bag at home by mistake (realised that when I met my colleagues for breakfast and had to get one of them to pay for mine). Then I realised I'd also left my poetry books at home, which I'd especially had returned under awkward circumstances on Monday and was going to take to book club after school. Then I realised I'd not brought anything for lunch, had no money to go to the canteen (no purse) and am their #1 enemy since I still have $1.50 owing from my bill from last term (so wouldn't dare ask for more credit).
So I gave in and drove home during my non-contact.
And I'm so glad I did!
Grabbed my bag, checked my phone and had messages from Fish and Cassie.... and was happy for the rest of the day! Like, every other little and big niggle didn't matter at all 'cause it's just so uplifting to hear good stuff like that. One of those puts-things-in-perspective moments.
Charlotte is one smart little lady - she picked awesome parents.
* * *
Two days to go two days to go two days to go.
I am tired right now. School should just finish already. Let's cancel all classes due to bus complications.....
* * *
So my holidays looks like this:
- Sunday - following Saturday, at basketball nationals with the girls.
- Wednesday - Friday of second week, going in to school to do website stuff and start school magazine.
- Some Other Days - doing marking and prep for next term.
Not quite sure if there'll be time for the usual holiday frivolities..... Feeling quite sorry for myself! I need my sleep-in days and haircuts and shopping and leisurely coffees and short-lived exercise regimes.
* * *
We are loving 'The Big Bang Theory' (new show on TV2, 8pm Wednesday). Geeks rule!
* * *
Book Club is just the cutest thing. All of the gorgeous eccentric kids gathered in one place, having good-spirited debates about whether Sherlock Holmes was straight and giving me cupcakes with pink icing and wearing newspaper hats.
This month's theme was poetry. I took along my favourite books and read out a couple. It's a really sweet thing sitting around with a dozen kids sharing favourite poems and authors. Two girls had ventured to the book fair and bought old anthologies. One of them proudly said she'd read very little, but had found an inscription in the front hand-written in pen saying '1931 - to my wife'. There was a collective, 'Awww!' and sigh at how sweet it is to buy your wife a poetry anthology. Then the next girl had an equally old anthology that had the name 'May' in the front, and May had put stars next to all her favourite poems, but had stopped for some reason half-way through. I love books with mysterious histories and scrawlings in them. You get a real sense of a shared experience. There's something magical about knowing you are casting your eyes over the same words that someone else has, but that all you know about them is a date and name scrawled in the front cover.
The lone boy from down the hill who is game enough to come to book club read out that poem with the line about 'I was not waving, but drowning'. I remember finding that line in a book of quotations when I was in my early-teens and writing it down so I'd always remember it. It really strikes a chord with me. I was the kind of early-teen who enjoyed getting out books of quotations from the library and pouring of them for hours......
Not Waving But Drowning by Stevie Smith
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
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