Indecision, Indecision

Everything hangs in a balance.

At this stage of life, moments of indecision involve banality.  Should I re-fill the printer with paper?  New ink?  Should I mend clothing on the sewing machine?  And has been for years?  Should I buy new sponges, and what kind?

Banal and easily answered, they truly are.

But back when I was seventeen, life was rampant with indecision of all sorts and most readers understand, remember those hard, unsure decisions.

I was 17, a senior in Pittsfield High School.  My family had enough money to pay bills and support a family.  My father had promised that he had an account for me when I was 13 and it would have enough money, from which I would go to college.

Then, in eleventh grade, he and Mom sat me down to tell me the money had been used for other needs.  “If you want to go to college, you will have to find the money, get a scholarship…”  Mom looked down at her clenched hands, her face stony and rigid.

After a senior year of intense work to achieve and maintain a high GPA, this happened: I was asked to write the senior class poem for the graduating class of 1969.  I remember it still, now 45 years later, as I agonized over every word:

Indecision, Indecision,

Where is the rhythm of precision?

For those who lack the sight,

To make the cut

That ends the night?

We are Ixion on the wheel

Revolving in a world unreal,

Doomed to twist and turn and weave,

In an endless world of make-believe.

Oh, send to us a man of might

To save us from this plight!

With a strong arm,

To lift up us from our chair,

And return to us the need to care.

It is said a night has a thousand eyes

And the bright day has but one.

The darkness sends weeping, cries,

And the blind men suffer

None.

The College English teacher, Mr. Robb awarded me A, rare event and, one that I so desperately required to grasp the scholarship.

Back from the Buckeye State

And heeeeerrree’s….Susan (the contemplative cat)!

I have been in the Buckeye State, or Ohio, to visit family.  I have forgotten how beautiful the Midwest is just before the cold weather sets in.  (People were putting up Christmas lights, and I realized that this was wise, as there would soon be torrents of rain and cold wind.)  

 My sister took me to see her favorite places and stores.  She also took me to Mr. Purdue’s Taekwando dojo; she has a blackbelt, and I am so very proud of her.  This is a long story, but I will tell it only when she gives me permission! 

 All in all, it was a great trip.

So, it feels like I am starting all over again.  I will have a new post later today. 

It feels so good to be home, and typing, once again.


On Mr. Purdue's philosophy:

Our Philosophy?
Ever see the old movies where the Instructor barks and yells like a drill sergeant?  I could teach that way if I wanted.  In fact, I used to. But I don't anymore.
I am as serious as the next instructor about what I want from my students.  I want them to push themselves to improve in all aspects of the art.  I expect nothing less than a student's best effort and for my students to show expertise and skill consummate with their training level.  I firmly believe that this can be done in a fun atmosphere where students can enjoy coming to class. The more students enjoy class, the more they will come to class.  I am not the best teacher.  Time and repetition are the best teachers.  What I do is make it fun, so the real teachers get the job done.

You must check out this site!

Not the 'Good Napkins', but....

This is the second day of school for Bright Eyes.  Already, she and her little clutch of friends are striving for good behavior, and most importantly, “table points”.
 

courtesy of Bing.com

Rules are there for a reason.

Unless you are familiar with the discipline plans and rewards used in an elementary classroom, that means nothing to you.  “Table Points” are the points a cluster of six students called a ‘table group’ can earn by sitting up straight, paying attention, folding hands in front of them, or remaining silent when the world around them is wreaking wild havoc.

The table group who garners the most points throughout the whole week gets to choose prizes from the Treasure Chest.  “Oh. My. Goodness.  This is so big, like, you know, Grandma!  And, we were the first table group for the school year, too.”  Bright Eyes now sounds like every teeny girl in Disney™ television shows.  It makes me sad, and a little cranky to be honest.

You, too, can choose from the treasure chest!

So, Bright Eyes hopped into the van, grasping her prize from the Treasure Chest.  It was a small zippered bag, like a girl would carry in her purse for lipstick and such. She had so much to tell about her day, and she had to buckle in before she could examine her treasured prize.

There was silence from Bright Eyes as my daughter drove, letting Sunshine fill in the news of her day.  Then, “Mommy, what is this?”

From the treasured prize, Bright Eyes pulled out three Tampons™, and held them up for her mother to view in the rear view mirror. She was told that they would talk about those things at home.  But that was never enough for Bright Eyes; she knew a brush-off when she saw it.  So Bright Eyes tore them open, and speculated about their uses.  Not a flashlight…oh, look, here’s string…she swung the tampons around on their strings…No, this isn’t a telescope. Here, Sunshine!  You can play with this one…”

This looks like a good book.

When they all arrived home and the front door closed, my daughter (God bless her.) gave Bright Eyes an abbreviated explanation; she took the Tampons away.  Then she called the teacher, who listened in silence.  The Teacher said, “Oh, dear.  I’d better called Bright Eyes’ best friend.  She picked the same thing.” 

Ahhh.  The joys of teaching.  The joys of learning.