I really don't know what happens. I rise up out of the fog that swirls around my brain, and Look! two or three weeks have gone by. Not that it matters even remotely, since I am likely to be the only visitor ever to this site. If I had incendiary political viewpoints, could drum up a little righteous indignation it would be different, I guess. Then I'd get hate mail.
So. Last night was my son's first grade spring extravaganza. "Colors". This entailed a huge mob of 6 year olds dressed as crayons, complete with pointy hats. My son, placed to the side in the orange crayon ghetto, was the only child without a pointy hat. It had broken, again. (I only played with it a little, he assured me later) He lacked the jaunty edge that many of the others had, especially the reds, who not only were front and center, but got to do a special red-hot flamenco-style dance which somehow incorporated the "firemen dancing with smoke" theme. At least that is how it was explained to me.
After the performance (portions of which I missed due to my position in the back of the room, behind the man with the wide gabardine-clad hind quarters who insisted on standing up in front of me and shouting "Go Kenneth!" as if he were at a football game) my son shared with me that he had had a line, but was relieved of his duties for repeating the lines too forcefully into the microphone. "I yelled" he said ruefully.
Yesterday a crow flew over the patio attached to my classroom and dropped a whole danish. It is difficult to keep a class focused on the symbolism of glaciers in Frankenstein, when pastry is falling from the sky right in front of you. We stopped to inspect. Somewhere there is a bird with a beak covered in cherry filling. That it can't lick off.
I'm hungry now. I'm going in search of a vending machine.