Did I mention that I spent 9 hours in the same middle seat of the van with my sister? It was merely country radio and copious amounts of diet soda which kept us sane, and from each others' throats.
I am also the proud owner of a TANGERINE Kitchenaid. Dad picked out the color, 'nuff said.
Thank you, and you may now return to your regularly scheduled holiday break.
If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Sunday, December 26, 2004
...There.
It's about 38 degrees and drizzling on the island today, and the whirring travel gears which have propelled me for over 2.000 miles up and down the East coast are finally grinding to a halt. I've been in the same house for about 3 days straight, and I think all 11 of us are itching for an outing. Clearly, the movies are in order.
But back to where and when my Holiday journeys began...
I left Miami on a Friday morning just over a week ago. The weather was cool-ish (high 60's) and drizzling, a little like today. Semi-frantic errands (drycleaning, daily coffee trip to dunkin donuts) and saying goodbye to Cervantes made me just a tad behind schedule, so when I ran smack into traffic in Ft. Lauderdale, I started to panic. Luckily, the logistical masterpiece which I'd arranged the night before worked out. Left the van at a friend of a friend's house, key under the plastic santa, and the cab *finally* found my location. Cell phones save the day, again. Pulled up to the gate about 8 minutes before they started boarding, and 3 hours later I touched down in a very cold, very dark Philadelphia airport.
Thank goodness there were warm arms to greet me, and give me a snack before we headed further north. Connecticut was our destination, where food and lodging were waiting at Dave's aunt's house. Warm beds, sharp cheddar, and fixing the nation's educational systems started off the vacation fantastically.
"Northwards ho" was the phrase of the week, as we set off "early" in the morning for New Hampshire. Saturday afternoon found us at the Henry house, with a homemade lunch and many holiday greetings. The younger generation set off in search of a piney pagan symbol, but we were stymied in our search for a tree. Turned into a nice tour of Concord, but no needley goodness to bring home. Shopping and more tree hunting on Sunday, cooking for 10 on Monday (cioppino and chocolate ganche cake
0, then by Tuesday I was ready for a day of nothingness.
Thanks to a light coat of snow the night before, I got my wish. Instead of packing up to go skiing (the cross country places were closed anyway), we settled for sleeping in and going for a run. Ha. Dave and I went out on a date that night, which was funny; dinner and a movie in Concord may not be as glamorous as some of our other outings, but it was fun.
As we drove home from Spanglish, I finally got in touch with my family after weeks of phone tag. For the Williamsons, the holiday spirit is most embodied by traditional recipes and familar scents. Of course, both sides of the Williamson clan, 1,500 miles apart, were gearing up to make lefse. I laughed at my sister's only half-joking lefse face-off and smiled as I imagined the scene in our kitchen: Dad reading the paper or a cookbook, swearing that the roast pork will be done any minute, mom nodding off or working on the lefse dough, and my sister prodding both of them along or throwing flour around. It made me feel a little homesick. I'd been so welcomed by everyone I'd met in New England, but it was still New England: a little cold, a little foreign, and not somewhere where they roast pork butt.
I have not been cooking a great deal lately, and since most of the presents I opened for our miniChristmas on Thursday afternoon involve food, I started to get a little wistful. The lefse I made in the hostile environemnt (without my trusty griddle and canvas) cost me more than a little frustration, so much so that I almost didn't want to bring them with me on the plane. At the end of it all, around the table for christmas dinner it was agreed upon that the TCW lefse outdid the ARW/CLW lefse for tenderness and moisture content, although for ease of making I clearly lost. Cooking should not be a once a while thing in my life, it should be every day. When I used to get stressed, I'd bake. Now, when things get bad, I either go to sleep, or have a glass of wine with my roommates while I yell and scream. I'm not sure how I feel about this sort of progression, and it hasn't helped me develop a palate for fine wines either.
Somehow, I'm going to have to find time, in between two more grad classes this semester; the extra hour of school; an extra class of students to grade; FCAT preparations; and my increasingly complex life to sit down and cook. I need to cook for myself, my roommates, my friends, or my family, but most of all for my own peace of mind. I'd better start figuring it out, and I need to do it before I get back There.
But back to where and when my Holiday journeys began...
I left Miami on a Friday morning just over a week ago. The weather was cool-ish (high 60's) and drizzling, a little like today. Semi-frantic errands (drycleaning, daily coffee trip to dunkin donuts) and saying goodbye to Cervantes made me just a tad behind schedule, so when I ran smack into traffic in Ft. Lauderdale, I started to panic. Luckily, the logistical masterpiece which I'd arranged the night before worked out. Left the van at a friend of a friend's house, key under the plastic santa, and the cab *finally* found my location. Cell phones save the day, again. Pulled up to the gate about 8 minutes before they started boarding, and 3 hours later I touched down in a very cold, very dark Philadelphia airport.
Thank goodness there were warm arms to greet me, and give me a snack before we headed further north. Connecticut was our destination, where food and lodging were waiting at Dave's aunt's house. Warm beds, sharp cheddar, and fixing the nation's educational systems started off the vacation fantastically.
"Northwards ho" was the phrase of the week, as we set off "early" in the morning for New Hampshire. Saturday afternoon found us at the Henry house, with a homemade lunch and many holiday greetings. The younger generation set off in search of a piney pagan symbol, but we were stymied in our search for a tree. Turned into a nice tour of Concord, but no needley goodness to bring home. Shopping and more tree hunting on Sunday, cooking for 10 on Monday (cioppino and chocolate ganche cake
0, then by Tuesday I was ready for a day of nothingness.
Thanks to a light coat of snow the night before, I got my wish. Instead of packing up to go skiing (the cross country places were closed anyway), we settled for sleeping in and going for a run. Ha. Dave and I went out on a date that night, which was funny; dinner and a movie in Concord may not be as glamorous as some of our other outings, but it was fun.
As we drove home from Spanglish, I finally got in touch with my family after weeks of phone tag. For the Williamsons, the holiday spirit is most embodied by traditional recipes and familar scents. Of course, both sides of the Williamson clan, 1,500 miles apart, were gearing up to make lefse. I laughed at my sister's only half-joking lefse face-off and smiled as I imagined the scene in our kitchen: Dad reading the paper or a cookbook, swearing that the roast pork will be done any minute, mom nodding off or working on the lefse dough, and my sister prodding both of them along or throwing flour around. It made me feel a little homesick. I'd been so welcomed by everyone I'd met in New England, but it was still New England: a little cold, a little foreign, and not somewhere where they roast pork butt.
I have not been cooking a great deal lately, and since most of the presents I opened for our miniChristmas on Thursday afternoon involve food, I started to get a little wistful. The lefse I made in the hostile environemnt (without my trusty griddle and canvas) cost me more than a little frustration, so much so that I almost didn't want to bring them with me on the plane. At the end of it all, around the table for christmas dinner it was agreed upon that the TCW lefse outdid the ARW/CLW lefse for tenderness and moisture content, although for ease of making I clearly lost. Cooking should not be a once a while thing in my life, it should be every day. When I used to get stressed, I'd bake. Now, when things get bad, I either go to sleep, or have a glass of wine with my roommates while I yell and scream. I'm not sure how I feel about this sort of progression, and it hasn't helped me develop a palate for fine wines either.
Somehow, I'm going to have to find time, in between two more grad classes this semester; the extra hour of school; an extra class of students to grade; FCAT preparations; and my increasingly complex life to sit down and cook. I need to cook for myself, my roommates, my friends, or my family, but most of all for my own peace of mind. I'd better start figuring it out, and I need to do it before I get back There.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Here, There, Everywhere
As I type, I am sitting off the coast of South Carolina, back at our usual Williamson wintering grounds of Kiawah Island, South Carolina. Two plane flights, over twenty hours in the car, several changes of climate, and two families later, I'm halfway through my holiday break.
Leaving Miami happened in a bit of a rush, and I'm really not entirely sure how things got done. Somehow, I remembered to hand in all three midterms (late, true, but oh well), finish my first graduate school class, attend several holiday parties, and pack clothing for the sub-freezing lands up north, as well as the palmy southern climes which I would hit later on in my journeys. Being an "adult" is tiring: arranging a sitter for the newest Williamson pet, finding a place to leave my plants, and managing to get through four full days of school.
Things were going quite well until my last day of work on Thursday. The kids were angels until 6th period, the last hour of the last day in the last month of the year. Clearly. 70 failure notices signed, distributed, and finally okay with the administration, I was more than ready to leave Central with no more hassles. Needless to say, I did not want to have security remove two children from the computer lab, nor deal with the events at North Miami Beach Park.
The girls had a game out against a not-quite-so-sportsmanly team, during which there was somewhat of a bellicose confrontation. A yellow card from their team, much trash talking, and some not-quite-so-accurate referees made everyone pretty angry, including the 40+ fans in the stands, perilously close to the sidelines. Two girls have a rough collision, one fist flies, and the stands empty. Cell phones flip and the police arrive. The clock on the game winds down and we wait around for a half an hour as the sun sets, while angry fans mill around our bench. I was steaming mad to feel unsafe at a goddamn girls' soccer game; to feel surrounded and defensive, on enemy turf while the smug, lazy athletic director sat in his folding chair and did absolutely nothing. Clearly, then, the next thing that I was expecting was a 25 minute lecture from our AD and ineffective AP about the paperwork that the call to the police would necessitate, as well as the bad press that Central would now have to deal with. Essentially, both administrators told us in patronizing tones that "oh, the little white girls got scared and overreacted."
Steamed as hell, I sped home, vented to the roomies (most likely over eggnog spiked with dark rum left over from the party) vented on the phone again, tried to make cookies for teachers at school, and finished most of my packing whilst making disjointed and somewhat incoherent lists of things to do in the next 14 hours before leaving the state. I did then as I will do now, stop all activity, and remind myself that nothing *really* needs to be finished until a reasonably late hour tomorrow. [grin]
to be continued...
Leaving Miami happened in a bit of a rush, and I'm really not entirely sure how things got done. Somehow, I remembered to hand in all three midterms (late, true, but oh well), finish my first graduate school class, attend several holiday parties, and pack clothing for the sub-freezing lands up north, as well as the palmy southern climes which I would hit later on in my journeys. Being an "adult" is tiring: arranging a sitter for the newest Williamson pet, finding a place to leave my plants, and managing to get through four full days of school.
Things were going quite well until my last day of work on Thursday. The kids were angels until 6th period, the last hour of the last day in the last month of the year. Clearly. 70 failure notices signed, distributed, and finally okay with the administration, I was more than ready to leave Central with no more hassles. Needless to say, I did not want to have security remove two children from the computer lab, nor deal with the events at North Miami Beach Park.
The girls had a game out against a not-quite-so-sportsmanly team, during which there was somewhat of a bellicose confrontation. A yellow card from their team, much trash talking, and some not-quite-so-accurate referees made everyone pretty angry, including the 40+ fans in the stands, perilously close to the sidelines. Two girls have a rough collision, one fist flies, and the stands empty. Cell phones flip and the police arrive. The clock on the game winds down and we wait around for a half an hour as the sun sets, while angry fans mill around our bench. I was steaming mad to feel unsafe at a goddamn girls' soccer game; to feel surrounded and defensive, on enemy turf while the smug, lazy athletic director sat in his folding chair and did absolutely nothing. Clearly, then, the next thing that I was expecting was a 25 minute lecture from our AD and ineffective AP about the paperwork that the call to the police would necessitate, as well as the bad press that Central would now have to deal with. Essentially, both administrators told us in patronizing tones that "oh, the little white girls got scared and overreacted."
Steamed as hell, I sped home, vented to the roomies (most likely over eggnog spiked with dark rum left over from the party) vented on the phone again, tried to make cookies for teachers at school, and finished most of my packing whilst making disjointed and somewhat incoherent lists of things to do in the next 14 hours before leaving the state. I did then as I will do now, stop all activity, and remind myself that nothing *really* needs to be finished until a reasonably late hour tomorrow. [grin]
to be continued...
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
"Intellectual Aah's"
First and foremost, I fucking hate Miami drivers. No words can properly describe my ire as I merged onto 95 after practice, when I was literally driven off the road onto the shoulder by someone merging behind me, passing me IN THE MERGING LANE and cutting me off. Thanks. I hope someone fucking hits that woman. Then, as if my merging experience weren’t enough, I got tailgated up the ASS exiting to go home. And I wasn’t even in the heavy traffic! Lunacy!
Whew, now that that’s over, I actually had something to ‘say’.
Our education professor, Erskine, mailed out our course evaluation yesterday, telling me that I experienced several “intellectual ah’s” during the course. As Dave so eloquently pointed out, this is irritatingly condescending. True, but it’s also useful at times to really get across that final acknowledgement of comprehension. Today I actually had a moment, somewhere around 5th period, when I thought to myself "Hey, self, this job is okay." Yes, it lasted for about 12.3 seconds, and was followed by 6th period, the memo about our exdended day, 7 classes instead of 5, and precariously hanging deadlines, but it did exist. It existed for a moment (fleeting, if you will), and that made me feel not so desperate. For a brief moment in time I did not hate my job.
This week, in order to engage the children and still talk about something intellectually valid, I started teaching them about film. We learned the "real" way to talk about movies, all the hot film terms, and what a reverse shot is. Warmed my fucking bitter heart when kids were talking to eachother about the cinematography in Ocean's Eleven; counting out the seconds in each shot; paying attention to characters' names, and asking questions. In this case, I didn't see the aah's in a disdainful manner, because realistically as their teacher, an adult, and a fairly educated person I do know more than they do, about some things.
For the first time in absolutely ages, I had 25 eyes on me, listening to my words like they actually gave a shit about what I was going to say. Why 25? Well, since you asked, it's mostly because of outdoor and indoor suspension, kids skipping, and parents deathly afraid of the "winter" weather in MIA at the moment. With windchill, it's supposed to be an icy 40 degrees. WITH windchill.
In addition to this emblematic moment during English class, there were revelations revealed after soccer practice. Is that redundant? Do I care?
One of our injured players, an extraordinarily talented young lady, said to me as she carried the balls off the field "Coach, can I tell you something? You know, you really inspire me to do better." Completely taken off guard, I falteringly thanked her, before the brutally forthright child continued "Yeah, we all really didn't like you in the beginning, but you're cool." Much to my surprise, my co-coach affirmed the judgement, proving yet again that life is cyclical and nothing really changes. Apparently, when people first meet me, they think I'm a "bitch," and then when they get through the cold, sarcastic exterior things change. Clearly, my amarga side is back.
In high school, I suppose as a teacher as well as a student, I just don't really feel the need to be very emotional. It used to be that expressing postitive emotions made me very uncomfortable, and while I've gotten somewhat used to that, rewards and praise are somewhat alien to me. If that makes me a bitch at first glance, then I guess I'm doomed =). This odd Quantum Leap-esque conversation brought me straight back to Beach FC soccer practice in the twitch of a fatigued muscle. "Cool" girls telling me "Hey, you're pretty funny" or "I never knew you were smart" as that intellectal aah! passed over their glazed, perfectly lined eyes. Sure, some people might have been slow on the uptake, but at least they got it eventually, right?
[as she smirks ever so patronizingly] Aah...woe to those who never really *get* what I'm about.
Whew, now that that’s over, I actually had something to ‘say’.
Our education professor, Erskine, mailed out our course evaluation yesterday, telling me that I experienced several “intellectual ah’s” during the course. As Dave so eloquently pointed out, this is irritatingly condescending. True, but it’s also useful at times to really get across that final acknowledgement of comprehension. Today I actually had a moment, somewhere around 5th period, when I thought to myself "Hey, self, this job is okay." Yes, it lasted for about 12.3 seconds, and was followed by 6th period, the memo about our exdended day, 7 classes instead of 5, and precariously hanging deadlines, but it did exist. It existed for a moment (fleeting, if you will), and that made me feel not so desperate. For a brief moment in time I did not hate my job.
This week, in order to engage the children and still talk about something intellectually valid, I started teaching them about film. We learned the "real" way to talk about movies, all the hot film terms, and what a reverse shot is. Warmed my fucking bitter heart when kids were talking to eachother about the cinematography in Ocean's Eleven; counting out the seconds in each shot; paying attention to characters' names, and asking questions. In this case, I didn't see the aah's in a disdainful manner, because realistically as their teacher, an adult, and a fairly educated person I do know more than they do, about some things.
For the first time in absolutely ages, I had 25 eyes on me, listening to my words like they actually gave a shit about what I was going to say. Why 25? Well, since you asked, it's mostly because of outdoor and indoor suspension, kids skipping, and parents deathly afraid of the "winter" weather in MIA at the moment. With windchill, it's supposed to be an icy 40 degrees. WITH windchill.
In addition to this emblematic moment during English class, there were revelations revealed after soccer practice. Is that redundant? Do I care?
One of our injured players, an extraordinarily talented young lady, said to me as she carried the balls off the field "Coach, can I tell you something? You know, you really inspire me to do better." Completely taken off guard, I falteringly thanked her, before the brutally forthright child continued "Yeah, we all really didn't like you in the beginning, but you're cool." Much to my surprise, my co-coach affirmed the judgement, proving yet again that life is cyclical and nothing really changes. Apparently, when people first meet me, they think I'm a "bitch," and then when they get through the cold, sarcastic exterior things change. Clearly, my amarga side is back.
In high school, I suppose as a teacher as well as a student, I just don't really feel the need to be very emotional. It used to be that expressing postitive emotions made me very uncomfortable, and while I've gotten somewhat used to that, rewards and praise are somewhat alien to me. If that makes me a bitch at first glance, then I guess I'm doomed =). This odd Quantum Leap-esque conversation brought me straight back to Beach FC soccer practice in the twitch of a fatigued muscle. "Cool" girls telling me "Hey, you're pretty funny" or "I never knew you were smart" as that intellectal aah! passed over their glazed, perfectly lined eyes. Sure, some people might have been slow on the uptake, but at least they got it eventually, right?
[as she smirks ever so patronizingly] Aah...woe to those who never really *get* what I'm about.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Alias: Thea Williamson
I felt a lot like Sydney Bristow this weekend (first season, clearly), changing roles, costumes, and personalities every 12 hours. It's definitely 10:00 on a Sunday night, and I have not yet finished the midterm exams which were due on Friday, nor have I planned lessons for some of my classes, or graded anything. There was a theft on Thursday, and the subsequent investigation of my missing key drive kicked off the secret agent fest this weekend. No leads as of yet, and I'm pretty dubious that it will ever be returned, but whatever, I'll try.
Friday, after being a teacher and a coach, I rushed home to shower and transform myself into "Thea, the Social Teacher." There was a holiday party for all the teachers and administration at this uber-sketch hotel in North Miami. The three white women that everyone thinks are the same person piled into Virginia's car and headed out to be friendly. The Knechtel-Rubinson-Williamson unit arrived to a rather bleak scene: two tables partially full, a sorry buffet of crudites and chicken wings, and bass pumping out of speakers larger than my bookshelves at home. Needless to say, nobody was dancing at 8:30 pm. We noshed, sat with the assistant prinicpals, and felt generally awkward and racially segregated. Awkwardness solved when Ms. Knechtel and I got up to dance with some of the other ESE teachers; the Macarena: bridging gaps all over the world. Warms my heart, really it does. Had fun times with the boys' coach Mr. Nehmi, including bonding over the '94 World Cup. He was a referee there, I was 13. Ha.
Immediately after playing the part of the jovial educator, I transitioned into "Thea, Domestic Goddess." Mary and I put on some music and scoured the apartment after the cookie dough was finished. Swept the floors, took out the trash, rearranged the living room, washed the floor, cleaned my room, hung lights, erased the lines from the new M. F. K. Fisher quote on the kitchen wall, and finshed up the evening with a little party planning. I was amazed that we stayed up till 1:30 on a Friday night. I NEVER stay up that late on Fridays. Don't know what came over me, really.
Up early, early to segue into "Thea, Party Planner" while running errands all over Aventura. Target for accessories to match the $8 thrift store gem that I'd purchased the week before, decor for the apartment, and cookie supplies for Mary.
Party Planner time spilled into "Thea, Graduate Student" time, making us late for our group paper meeting way out in BFE (at FIU). Worked like the devil on the last 5 pages of our paper on the 6th floor of the FIU library, with a gorgeous view of suburban South Florida. 80 degrees and clear, you could see for miles...
...miles away, another of the Party trio was hard at work getting things ready for our soiree. We joined Virginia in the late afternoon, icing gingerbread, screwing up a batch of berlinkranzer, hanging cookies, baking more cookies, cleaning up the mess from cookies, and then finally making the transition from Domestic Goddesses to Fashion Plates.
Vintage 1980's poufy dress, "jet" necklace, heels by Steve, and hair by Thea. I'd been craving a nice dinner out, and this time Teach for America came through. They rented out a thai restaurant on South Beach, and the '03-'04 Corps were out en force. It was nice to see people and talk about other things than school. Everyone looked nice, and a great deal of people mentioned that I looked nice too [vain smirk]. Oh, give me a break: I deserve one. Gemma mentioned that the ensemble reminded her of Holly Golightly, circa '58. Hot. Hot. [grin]
"Thea, Party Guest" transformed into "Thea, Party Co-Hostess" with a click of shiny black heels over Washington Avenue back into the Jetta, racing home with the rest of the 266 crew to get ready. A bunch of people came over, and we had a great party. Soft music, 2 living rooms, tastefully decorated, copious amounts of eggnog and red wine, gourmet cookies, and classy hostesses. Plus, as an added bonus, we had 6 (count them) SIX non-TFA people there, a veritable coup d'etat for party hosting in our social circle. Mingling winded down around 1:30 or 2, and we let the cat out of the, uh, bedroom. With tabby in arms, crinoline crinkling, and hair in a casual upsweep, I believe the Audrey vibes were radiating quite strongly. The stalker cat from the backyard was let in for a little while, c/o Mary's boyfriend, so there was a bit of a cat fight in our kitchen. No literally, the cats fought.
Anyway, it came time eventually to step out of my glamorous garb and become simply "Thea, Exhausted Human Being," sleeping all the way until a scandalous 12:45. Then, there came a series of roles to play: Thea, Laundress; Thea, Editor; Thea, Procrastinator; Thea, Personal Shopper; Thea, Time-Waster-On-The-Internet-Posting-On-Blogs. Now, the time comes to make one last switch, back to "Thea, High School Teacher"
I suppose the midterms are just going to have to be one more day late, the lesson plans will be thrown together in the morning, and I'll just be a bad teacher for a few more hours. The weather is changing, and my attitude is changing as well, inversely proportional to the outside temperature. As we strutted down the streets of South Beach in our party getup, it had dropped to a frosty 63, and tonight it's even cooler. It's refreshing to feel a little bit of a chill, and it helps make the holiday season feel a little more real.
As those days approach, I'm still a mediocre teacher, but at least I think I've managed this weekend to be a reasonably happy Person, in all of my other aliases. Thanksgiving is fading into the distant past, thankfully [ha, i'm funny]; all I've got to do now is complete my assigned tasks with the bare minimum of effor required for me to reach next Friday. God, I sound like a student. Well, I guess I am one sometimes, so that's okay.
Friday, after being a teacher and a coach, I rushed home to shower and transform myself into "Thea, the Social Teacher." There was a holiday party for all the teachers and administration at this uber-sketch hotel in North Miami. The three white women that everyone thinks are the same person piled into Virginia's car and headed out to be friendly. The Knechtel-Rubinson-Williamson unit arrived to a rather bleak scene: two tables partially full, a sorry buffet of crudites and chicken wings, and bass pumping out of speakers larger than my bookshelves at home. Needless to say, nobody was dancing at 8:30 pm. We noshed, sat with the assistant prinicpals, and felt generally awkward and racially segregated. Awkwardness solved when Ms. Knechtel and I got up to dance with some of the other ESE teachers; the Macarena: bridging gaps all over the world. Warms my heart, really it does. Had fun times with the boys' coach Mr. Nehmi, including bonding over the '94 World Cup. He was a referee there, I was 13. Ha.
Immediately after playing the part of the jovial educator, I transitioned into "Thea, Domestic Goddess." Mary and I put on some music and scoured the apartment after the cookie dough was finished. Swept the floors, took out the trash, rearranged the living room, washed the floor, cleaned my room, hung lights, erased the lines from the new M. F. K. Fisher quote on the kitchen wall, and finshed up the evening with a little party planning. I was amazed that we stayed up till 1:30 on a Friday night. I NEVER stay up that late on Fridays. Don't know what came over me, really.
Up early, early to segue into "Thea, Party Planner" while running errands all over Aventura. Target for accessories to match the $8 thrift store gem that I'd purchased the week before, decor for the apartment, and cookie supplies for Mary.
Party Planner time spilled into "Thea, Graduate Student" time, making us late for our group paper meeting way out in BFE (at FIU). Worked like the devil on the last 5 pages of our paper on the 6th floor of the FIU library, with a gorgeous view of suburban South Florida. 80 degrees and clear, you could see for miles...
...miles away, another of the Party trio was hard at work getting things ready for our soiree. We joined Virginia in the late afternoon, icing gingerbread, screwing up a batch of berlinkranzer, hanging cookies, baking more cookies, cleaning up the mess from cookies, and then finally making the transition from Domestic Goddesses to Fashion Plates.
Vintage 1980's poufy dress, "jet" necklace, heels by Steve, and hair by Thea. I'd been craving a nice dinner out, and this time Teach for America came through. They rented out a thai restaurant on South Beach, and the '03-'04 Corps were out en force. It was nice to see people and talk about other things than school. Everyone looked nice, and a great deal of people mentioned that I looked nice too [vain smirk]. Oh, give me a break: I deserve one. Gemma mentioned that the ensemble reminded her of Holly Golightly, circa '58. Hot. Hot. [grin]
"Thea, Party Guest" transformed into "Thea, Party Co-Hostess" with a click of shiny black heels over Washington Avenue back into the Jetta, racing home with the rest of the 266 crew to get ready. A bunch of people came over, and we had a great party. Soft music, 2 living rooms, tastefully decorated, copious amounts of eggnog and red wine, gourmet cookies, and classy hostesses. Plus, as an added bonus, we had 6 (count them) SIX non-TFA people there, a veritable coup d'etat for party hosting in our social circle. Mingling winded down around 1:30 or 2, and we let the cat out of the, uh, bedroom. With tabby in arms, crinoline crinkling, and hair in a casual upsweep, I believe the Audrey vibes were radiating quite strongly. The stalker cat from the backyard was let in for a little while, c/o Mary's boyfriend, so there was a bit of a cat fight in our kitchen. No literally, the cats fought.
Anyway, it came time eventually to step out of my glamorous garb and become simply "Thea, Exhausted Human Being," sleeping all the way until a scandalous 12:45. Then, there came a series of roles to play: Thea, Laundress; Thea, Editor; Thea, Procrastinator; Thea, Personal Shopper; Thea, Time-Waster-On-The-Internet-Posting-On-Blogs. Now, the time comes to make one last switch, back to "Thea, High School Teacher"
I suppose the midterms are just going to have to be one more day late, the lesson plans will be thrown together in the morning, and I'll just be a bad teacher for a few more hours. The weather is changing, and my attitude is changing as well, inversely proportional to the outside temperature. As we strutted down the streets of South Beach in our party getup, it had dropped to a frosty 63, and tonight it's even cooler. It's refreshing to feel a little bit of a chill, and it helps make the holiday season feel a little more real.
As those days approach, I'm still a mediocre teacher, but at least I think I've managed this weekend to be a reasonably happy Person, in all of my other aliases. Thanksgiving is fading into the distant past, thankfully [ha, i'm funny]; all I've got to do now is complete my assigned tasks with the bare minimum of effor required for me to reach next Friday. God, I sound like a student. Well, I guess I am one sometimes, so that's okay.
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