The lovely Dee of the Redheaded Stepchild contacted me recently, asking if she could interview me about my bloggity-blog life over at her new site. It's called, Say Anything and it's just a fabulous site that interviews bloggers about everything you want to know and in my case, perhaps some things you don't want to know. CHECK IT OUT! I'm over there today. Thanks, Dee!
Oh, and by the way I noticed I wrote I had 2 daughters, 2 of them teenagers and 1 a pre-teen. In non-tired mode that adds up to 3. I know I have 3 daughters because I remember each scream in labor. I was a little imbecilic during my interview, just so you know.
I had another post all ready to go today, but then my blog friend June, of Bye Bye Pie, blogged about the Ides of March and well . . . my other post is now in the queue.
I will never forget the first time I heard the phrase, The Ides of March. I was in the 9th grade, completely enthralled by William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. It was one of my first encounters with Shakespeare's works. (I think Will was a little too salacious for the Catholic school I attended before my move to public school.) And I remember sitting in my English class, the new girl—all elbows and graceless curves, utterly captivated by this master of the written word.
It wasn't cool to be mesmerized by William Shakespeare in Jr High. But that was okay, I'd already been flagged a geek by the rulers of adolescence cool. Besides, I didn't care, not when it came to literature.
I taught myself to read when I was 4 years old. I have no idea how I did it. Neither does my mom.
I think my oldest brother might have had something to do with it. He is smart. I mean smaaaaarrrttt.
As a child, he used to sit and read the encyclopedia . . . for pure enjoyment.
But to this day, I still remember the moment I realized the power that lay inside the covers of a book.
I remember as those jumbles of letters suddenly took on meaning how excited I was by the promise
of other lands and princesses and magical spells and the unlimited possibilities, all there beneath the confines of a bound book.
A mite sappy, but one of the most illuminating discoveries of my life, ever.
My reading skills must have really wowed my teachers. It wasn't until the first grade that they
realized I not only knew how to read, but was fairly proficient at it.
Because when I was a kid, back in the dark ages before electricity and remote controls, kindergartners didn't do squat. We went to school for half the day and finger-painted, played Duck, Duck, Goose, wet our pants occasionally, banged on a few tambourines and made blobs from clay. That was about it.
I was totally shocked when in the first grade my teacher announced on the first day, "In first grade,
we work first. Then we play." My 6-year old heart was on fire with the injustice of it all.
What a marvelous world we would have, if we all played together first and then got the work done. It sure would make us all better friends, of this I am convinced.
A few weeks into the first grade, my teacher made me stay in from recess which just about killed me, a double whammy of injustice. A group of men in suits walked in. (It was also the pioneer days of men in charge.) My teacher handed me my favorite book at the time, The 5 Chinese Brothers and asked me to read for these formal-suited dads. (My only definition of a man in my 6-year-old brain.)
As I read, my teacher stood over me murmuring things like, "Isn't that amazing" while the men all took notes.
I remember wondering why on earth they needed to keep me back from my treasured recess to read
The 5 Chinese Brothers to them. If they loved it so much and found it so amazing why couldn't they
just read it to their own damn selves? (I did not curse like a sailor back then. It was probably more
like dum-dum.) I mean, they were dads in suits and a teacher, to boot! Why the heck did they need a
My prodigious reading skills didn't help me too much. I found out later that my reading audition was the first gauge in deciding whether it would be beneficial for me to skip a grade. Then came the standardized test. I'm sure it was the Math that took me down. But, whatev'.
The point of all this blabbering is I don't think I was some genius reader in any way. I just think when you find something that stirs such a passion in your heart, it's never a chore. It's a privilege.
And that is how I feel about William Shakespeare, honored to read him.
And once I heard the phrase, "Beware The Ides of March", my fate was set in stone. William Shakespeare had made it so.
March 15th has always been a crap day for me, much more unlucky than all my Friday the 13th's combined. I just know when I meet that day in its dawning, there is a sense of pervasive doom, like an aura around me.
This Monday was no exception. Teenagers were swarming my house instead of being in school, causing ruckuses of all sorts.
Then, as the smell of electrical burning wafted through my house, I discovered my college girl had broken my washing machine by overloading it. "It like, doesn't hold as many clothes as the school's laundry room, Mom!"
That's cause I don't have an industrial sized washer operated by coins. Duh . . . honey.
I had a terrible sore throat thanks to the wrath of Disney World. We spent the weekend there, thus guaranteeing foreign super bugs would make their way into my body. The little twerphead that sat behind me in Nemo The Musical, a bogus show if I've ever seen one, coughed into my hair throughout the whole stick puppet musical. Bad enough I had to sit through cheese corn music with people in strange unitard costumes holding up giant fish puppets on sticks, but then I had to have mutant germs hacked all over my head as I tried not to breathe while turning around to flash the little pisshead some stinkeye.
Just my typical Ides of March curse.
I've had the usual bad day happenings like oversleeping, making a bad grade, trouble at work, trouble with kids and on and on over the years, but there've also been the bigger occurrences, namely the car accident I had in the smack dab middle, (noon) of the Ides of March.
One of my friends suggested that perhaps I just overdramatized the bad stuff that happens on that day.
And I was all, "Dude, you cannot overdramatize a car accident. That's freakin' bad luck any which way you want to look at it."
But after this Monday, I will never worry about the Ides of March, again.
38-year-old father was listening to iPod when hit from behind in S.C.
This dude takes the cake on the curse of Ides of March! I'm pretty sure he even beats Julius Caesar. At least Julius Caesar was warned! This dude was jogging on the beach in Hilton Head. (A magical place that my family loves, never fearing for our safety or worrying that planes will fall on top of us while there)
The article goes on to say the plane was made from a kit.
Now . . . I've got an inordinately huge problem with this.
Why the freak would you make your own plane? Why? To save money? Maybe cutting coupons would have been a wiser choice, hmmm?
I think if I were contemplating making my own plane with some airplane glue and sticks, I'd do a little research. Let's see, what do we know about planes made from kits? I know John Denver flew one and he went leaving on his jet plane for the big airport in the sky.
And that is all you have to know about homemade airplanes.
The plane lost its propellor. Let's just say that again. Lost. Its. Propellor. Perhaps, not enough glue?
And the pilot claimed oil was smeared against the windshield giving him zero visibility. So, he
couldn't see in front of him in his plane made from a craft kit. The poor running dude was just
jogging along probably enjoying the ebb and flow of the tides under his feet. He had his Ipod
cranked and couldn't hear the plane slam down ON TOP OF HIM.
What are the odds of this craziness?
Very, very slim I tell you. Perhaps it would have been wise if he'd purchased himself a lottery ticket before he went out for a jog.
I am never, ever complaining about my bad luck again. I bet you Julius Caesar is up there nodding
his head along with me. He at least got to curse Brutus with guilt.
"Et tu, pilot who made his airplane from a craft box?"
Today's Definite Download: Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird". Godspeed Runner Man. Say hello to Ronnie Van Zant for me. Tell him your story, I'm sure he'll buy you a shot and sing you his song. He knows the feeling.
If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on, now
'Cause there's too many places
I've got to see
But, if I stayed here with you, girl
Things just couldn't be the same
'Cause I'm as free as a bird now
And this bird, you'll can not change