…you wake up on the weekend, thinking it’s Sunday, but it’s only Saturday. Have you ever done that? It made me want to weep with happiness.

I would be happy spending the night here. I’m experiencing some major wanderlust feelings — it’s getting closer to hitting the open road.

Speaking of the Odyssey, we’re awfully close to the 30-day countdown. Unfortunately, I can’t think much about it because I have to get through the next 13 days first. Three performances, baking for a wedding, grandchildren’s birthdays, a preschool graduation, eleven high school graduation gifts to wrap and cards to write, two academic awards ceremonies at which to present, end-of-year meetings, auditions for the fall musical, writing final exams, grades, preparing to shut down the choir room…all by the 26th. Then I try and squeeze in some family/friend time before we take off on the 12th of June.

I hate the “May Funnel.”

But I must admit it’s cool when you can see the end from here. I’m really not depressed about it, even though it seems like I’m complaining (which, I guess, I am). La vie est belle.

I hope all goes well in your world today. I hate bringing up the mundane subject of weather here in Ohio, but if the weather here in Ohio would improve, so would my ambition level. Or maybe not.

Happy weekend, fiends. It’s only Saturday.

This having been Teacher Appreciation Week and all, I’ve seen some really nice comments throughout social media, and received some kind gestures from my bosses at school. How fun! It is humbling and sweet to be remembered, although I must say I feel “appreciated” quite often in my job, because I’m surrounded by nice people: my students, their parents, and my colleagues, family and friends. I hope all teachers experience that support.

Still, I think we all feel like we’re in a thankless job from time to time, whether we’re teachers or truck drivers or office workers or homemakers. When one feels unappreciated, one can resort to unhealthy means to get by. In a teacher’s case, maybe it’s been a bad fit for years (and by “bad fit,” I mean you weren’t cut out to be a teacher, or you hate kids in general), and that adds to the misery. It’s a vicious fight in those cases, and we’ve all seen them.

I read a disturbing collection of teacher horror stories last night. Ouch. It did make me think of a bad experience of my own, back in high school.

I won’t give the teacher’s name or the subject he taught, but one especially stressful day at school, I was late to his class, which met after choir. I had a late pass from the director, and upon entering his class (I was no more than a minute late), I whispered “I’m sorry I’m late,” and gave him the note.

He looked at the note, crumpled it up and threw it away, and said, “Young lady, you may be the star of the musical this year, but I assure you that you are no star in [name of subject] class, and you know what I’m talking about. You’re no more important than anyone else, so get here on time from now on!”

I felt everyone was laughing at me, even in the dead silence. Now everybody knew I was a below-average ______ student. I was completely humiliated, and spent the rest of the class trying (unsuccessfully) to choke back tears. That experience stuck with me — to this day, it’s stuck with me.

When I started teaching public school, I swore I’d never do to any other kid what was done to me. That’s why I will go out of my way a hundred times to not single out a student who is struggling with the music, or to not get angry or frustrated and pass harsh judgment on a kid who enters class late with a pass, on account of his interrupting rehearsal. Not saying I’m always successful in that effort, but I consistently try to put my students’ feelings and situations in a healthy perspective. You never know what someone else is going through.

Choose kindness first. I try to live by that, although I fall down from time to time. I try never to pull the “teacher is perfect” routine, although I’m sure some of my students see me as a tyrant. It’s all a work in progress, you know? I’m never done learning.

I’ll end this rambling treatise with a memory of my favorite teacher from my childhood. And while you’re there, read some of the other tributes in the comments section. Excellent bunch of memories.

Ha. Awesome commercial. Well played, Audi. Well played.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=WPkByAkAdZs

Random Neuron Firings

I’ve stopped counting these posts, heh. From now on, instead of Roman Numerals, I’ll list them as such:

• RNF again
• RNF socks
• RNF chair
• RNF liver-n-onions
• RNF etc.

K? K.

For those not on Facebook, I posted a link to an article yesterday, where Harry Connick, Jr.’s appearance on American Idol was discussed. Finally — a good deed shines in a weary world. Somebody who actually knows the “Great American Songbook” gave guidance to young singers who consistently trample it with ridiculous Aguilera-esque vocal gymnastics and completely uninformed style. Somebody who actually sings the Songbook on a regular basis came to Idol to mentor these get-rich-quick schemers, and maybe teach them a little something about being a consummate, discerning performer. Cool, eh?

Well, too bad no one listened to him. Sheesh.

American Idol — and its ilk — has reduced down to this:  almost without exception, he/she who has the fastest vocal runs, the loudest belt/highest tenor, and the sharpest R&B licks wins. Period. Close the book. Finis.

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Speaking of Facebook: Has anyone noticed the latest craze of posting recipes? On my newsfeed, most of them are absolute sugar fests. Pies made with  cups of butter, peanut butter, chocolate chips, sugar, cream cheese and Cool Whip, weighed down with 50 Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups…oy. Cakes stuffed with puddings and candy bars? “This is a great treat for the kids!” Hmmm. Now don’t get me wrong; I’d probably love them all. But it’s getting out of hand, really, as if there’s a contest to see who can post the most outrageously sickeningly sweet, over-the-top, cloying junk food recipe in existence. It just confirms the American love affair — and addiction to — processed sugar. But that’s a rant for another day.

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Hey, guess what. Fourteen more days of school. Fourteen. I can do this.

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Hey, guess what. Thirty-six days till we take off for the Odyssey, and till I get to BoomR’s place to make some music.

Yikes, it’s 6:05. Late for the gate. Have a great Monkday, if that is possible. Ciao!