Erk.

Have you seen my…? Yipes.

It has begun. Going to be different this year, having my Dinner Theatre in November instead of March. That means we hit the ground running, fiends — not that we don’t anyway when we prepare for the musical in November, but it’s a whole different setup.

I’ve been told by wise people over the years that there’s no use worrying about what’s to come, because stuff is going to happen anyway, so why not just enjoy the ride? Hmm. True enough. I just wish it was someone else’s ride.

Speaking of which — I need to get a jumpstart on this day. Much remains to be done before 8 a.m., so off I go. Have a great day, luvs.

Nearly Headless Fink

Yay.

…and thinkin’…although I like Dusty Springfield, I really hate that song.

SOoooOOoo yippity, it’s Contract Day, and everyone in education knows what that means. Let the bloodborne pathogens training, endless meetings and signing away one’s firstborn to the AFL-CIO commence. Laissez les bon temps freakin roulez.

I’m more than a little excited for this year’s ensembles, and I’m thinkin’ and hopin’ that this might — might — be one of those years when the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars. I’ll know more tomorrow afternoon, but I’m predicting a (potentially) powerful sound from middle school and high school choirs. Wouldn’t that be great?

*dream music*

I hope your Tuesday is grand! Leave some comment love and tell old Finkly what you’re up to today.

No kidding. Today, I start my 20th year in public education. How about that? Had I begun teaching when I was 22, like most everyone else I know, this would likely be one of my last years. I could retire, even.

But you know, the more I’ve thought about it recently, the more I’ve asked myself this question: So I’d retire, fine — then what? I mean, my grandsons are eventually going to go off to school, and have lives and friends that involve other things besides going to Grammie’s. The Thriller has his schooling, and then his work in the counseling field. Many teachers I know are just living for that 30-35 year mark so they can retire. That’s cool and all, but for me — I need structure. I get into way too much trouble when I’m not chained to some grist mill wheel somewhere. I guess, truthfully, the bottom line is that I need projects that involve other people, and performance. Sure, I could get involved in community theater or a music project on my own, but chances are I’d be doing it gratis. I’d much rather drag home a meager wage for my 70-hour workweeks, thanks all the same.

Besides — isn’t 50 the new 40? I think I heard that. If not, I’m definitely making it up right now. I have lots of productive years left, and I don’t want to spend them just being able to hang out. I’m not a golfer, I don’t have a neat hobby besides writing, I don’t paint houses, I don’t want a little plot of land in a retirement community by a lake, I have no desire whatsoever to be a Walmart greeter, and Lord knows I do not want to be a substitute teacher. Now, working other jobs after retirement can be quite rewarding; not saying it can’t. But it can also be a complete drag, filled with mornings of “Why did I ever retire in the first place?” How many retirees have you heard say, “I’m more busy now than when I was working!”? And the obligatory “…at least I’m doing what I want to do” is true enough, I guess. But not always.

Feh. We’re just all built differently. And of course, this is just my opinion, and I don’t have to worry about all this for a long, long time. Don’t get me wrong: I’m glad I waited to start teaching. The years I spent at home with Seamus and Lars are days you don’t get back. Wouldn’t trade them for the world. And at least for the foreseeable future, I’m not dreading my job. Not in the least, in fact. If and when the time comes that I no longer love what I do, I pray I will have the wisdom and good grace to get the heck out, and let someone else come in who has the passion I lost. Too many teachers, unfortunately, no longer love it, and their resentment shows. That’s OK if you’re pushing numbers at a desk all day, but not when you’re purporting to shape young minds and souls.

So…I’m in it for the long haul, most likely. I will teach till I’m 64, then probably retire. Much will depend on finances, of course. If I can make significantly more on my pension going the extra four years, I will, but can you see me choreographing tap routines at 68?

Hmmm. Yeah, I bet you could. Sixty-eight’s the new 58!

Ratty McSchoolmarm

Did I go school shopping like I said I was going to do yesterday? Give you one guess.

I will stop procrastinating — tomorrow. But for today, it’s the annual school clothing odyssey, for no other reason than I’m out of days to wait. I like to wear dresses to school, and believe it or not, there are virtually no “dress shops” left in my area. Remember when the big box stores carried better dresses? Those days are long gone, at least where I live. Dress Barn and Fashion Bug are about all we have left. (Petite Sophisticate closed down and moved out…grr.)

So where’s a Fink to find her stately garments? Why, the Lodi Station Outlet Mall, of course, where I can shop at both DB and FB without getting back into the car. Trouble is, there are all those other dandy stores there, set down to deter me from my original mission. So as much as I’d like to think otherwise, the Thriller will get a treat from Rocky Mountain Chocolates (and I probably will, too), and I might come home with yet another pair of shoes I probably could have done without.

On the upside: there will be lots of places to shop for the wedding gift I need to buy. Definite downside: everyone and their cousin will be school clothes shopping today, because we’re all hopeless procrastinators. Ugh.

But before that, there’s coffee and reading and playing with dogs. Gotta love Sundays.

FO

OK, must get motivated. Had a change of plans this morning, so I’m not going to Mansfield to meet a friend for breakfast. That means it’s time to get some school shopping done. I was going to do it tomorrow, but feh…getting something done earlier is better for this Olympic procrastinator.

Poor Drago had to get shaved! HAAaa. I couldn’t stop laughing when Bob brought him over. He’s full of energy, though, that’s for sure. Loves to sneak up on Rousseau, chase him around, etc. (all of which Old Granddad finds decidedly unappealing). The Thriller has taken to calling him “Milo,” from the movie The Mask, for the way he zips around the house like a water bug.  He looks like a shaved-down poodle, except being a Havanese, there’s no body to the hair on top of his head, so it flattens out. LOL poor puppy…but like I tell my students who hate their haircuts: it’s hair — it’ll grow back.

After getting acclimated to his surroundings, chasing everything and everyone, smelling the place in its entirety, and completely annoying Rousseau, he promptly climbed up into the corner of the couch and checked out.

All right, enough already. Time to get going. Over’n out! Happy weekend.