Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Monday, January 05, 2004

Why don't I like to hear the telephone ring on Sunday mornings?

Well, see, whenever the phone rings early on Sundays, it means A) someone died, or B) someone is calling to tell me that he or she can’t teach that morning. And since yesterday was the first day of the new quarter, I just KNEW I was going to have a call.

Sure enough, 7 a.m. the phone rang--although since it was so early, I figured it must be the fatal variety rather than the other. Usually I get teacher calls at the exact moment we’re trying to get out of the house so we won’t be late for church. Picked it up, reluctantly, and yep--a no-show, although for a good reason. Got it covered, maybe, with the Wednesday night teacher. I’ll spring it on him when I get there.

Then, an hour later, ANOTHER call--sick kid, can’t get there. Got that one covered, too--I sent them to the next class up. I fixed breakfast just KNOWING I was going to get another call as we were closing the door, but it didn’t happen. WHEW!

Got there and made the necessary rearrangements, and then…nothing. All the other teachers were where they were supposed to be, on time, ready to go. That was a load off. The best thing was as I was finishing up checking on everyone--one of our usual latecomers came in with her two little boys, one of whom is going to be in Reba’s class this quarter. The mother took them to the hallway around the corner from where I was, but still within earshot, “Ooh, boys! Let’s see who your TEACHERS are going to be!” She found the one for the little one, and then came to Reba’s closed door and told the older one, “Oh, Miss REBA’S going to be YOUR teacher!!”

“BUT I DON’T LIKE MISS RE-MPHH!” The second syllable was plainly quashed by a hasty hand plastered to the little dear’s piehole--I had to laugh. Reba’s taught him several times before--he’s really a good kid, but her class is apparently the ONLY place in the entire world where there is anyone who insists that he behave himself in a semi-human sort of way. I debated on whether to tell her his reaction later--there was, after all, the theoretical possibility that this could hurt her feelings.


I told her on the way home and she just busted out laughing--“He doesn’t like to mind is what he doesn’t like!” They’ll get along famously.

For some reason, I got tagged to be the greeter between Sunday school and worship--I really can’t figure out why. I’m not very nice, you know, but I rounded up Jonathan and Catherine to help hold the doors and pass out bulletins, and managed avoid the nice lady from a few months ago whose name I didn’t know. Finished up and rounded up the kids to go sit down. The normal sermon part of the service was set aside to go over the work plan for the year, which went pretty well. (Folks are always touchy when the subject of attendance and contribution come up.) On then to home for a quick lunch, some time spent reading the paper, then it was back for more meetings for everyone, then evening worship with song leading courtesy of some portly guy with a terrible case of what sounded like kennel cough. (I really need to go see the vet about that.)

Back to home, supper, and bed. And up this morning much too early.


Back to work.

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