I love scraping out the inside of pumpkins. My nose is twitching with the smell of gourd offal and is scaring up the Ghost of Burnt Matches Future.
I'm excited for Sunday.
Seriously, it's lovely here. As in, I realize I just put in a full teaching day (60 students, six hours of class, prep time, etc.), but I feel like I am on vacation.
Because I am!
This morning I had breakfast with a couple from North Carolina and one of the B&B proprietors while listening to The Carpenters. I ate honeydew. And blackberries. And eggs. And hashbrowns. And sausage. And orange juice. And coffee. (I didn't finish. It was way too much food on a school day, let me tell you.) It wasn't such a bad way to start the day, especially when one's never been to a B&B and is vaguely thinking Flirting with Disaster while prepping to go downstairs. The conversation was even pleasant: standard chatter mixed with discussion of available berries on this coast versus North Carolina.
And class? Dreamy. Both of them. Would that I'd gone to such a school. Calm atmosphere in the halls, visitors from Turkey, square-dancing in the gym, and me in a few rooms. I wasn't even frightened of the staff room. I tell you, whenever I'm in the teacher's lounge I usually feel like I'm in a Police song without my hall pass. But on an island I can carry on conversation. Mmmm, small talk.
You know something's going right when the math assistant stays in class for the entire session and asks "how did they know all those terms" after watching everyone create tableaux stories about spiders and their prey.
It's time for a little walk into town for meandering purposes followed by dinner, then back to the B&B for a little homework and writing of my own.
Sure, I'll still be working until 11pm or so, just like always, but it seems like such a treat. It's like doing chores at someone else's house instead of your own.
I'd just opened the door, sunglasses still on, when I heard "Director!"
"Actor!" I said.
She ran to the check-in table, carefully picked something up and brought it to me. She was grinning.
"You cast me. I brought you this."
She presented me a chocolate bundt cake with pepto-pink frosting and sprinkles.
"I didn't have time to bake one fresh from scratch, but I put pudding in the mix!"
I laughed. I believe I was tickled.
"Can we eat it?"
And, following rehearsal, we did.
All I want to do right now is drink chocolate milk made from a powdered mix.
My mom just called and left a message that said "I won't be gone for long..." As I had no previous knowledge of her trip to New England prior to her call from the airport, I initially began creating a little story about how she was on the lam...which might still be true.
Now it's time to work on a little adaptation, but I might be distracted by layers of boxes into continuing the unpacking glory that is the combined home of Ida and Yellow Dog. Yesterday, while taking apart and then putting back together the kitchen table I found myself wishing that I got to build things with tools more often. It's so satisfying.
Unsatisfying is that T'arts has yet to get back to me about whether or not I'm supposed to haul my ass over there today. What is up with poor communication from places which are, essentially, teaching communication? That's right, kids, say whatever it takes to get an "A," but we hope you realize that we're not really paying attention, nor will we ever, nor will anyone ever pay attention to you, we're too busy with our own jobs, which, ironically enough, are about facilitating your education.
Right. Chocolate milk. And a little story about a baby dragon. Facilitate that.
Roll out the barrel, we'll have a barrel of fun, roll out the barrel, we've got the blues on the run, Zing Boom Terrara...