Dante v. The World

Dante and Augustine in happier times

Judge: Court is now resumed. Dante, do you mind continuing your account of what transpired the morning of Friday, May 27th?

Dante: Yeah. So, you know I love to go outside on the back porch in the mornings, but normally I have to beg and whine a little. However, yesterday when the male slave opened the door without any prompting, I didn't think anything of it, I was just celebrating my good fortune! Augustine trailed out behind me, because I never give her opportunity to go first, instead seeing everything in life as a competition and shoving her aside or jumping over her, whatever is necessarity to win as befits her station, and after just a second or two, she started whining at the door. The male slave opened the door for her after a brief moment, and she scampered inside.

Judge: And what were you doing in this time?

Dante: Doing my part of the backyard watch, making sure the squirrels and birds knew their place. There may have been some tail twitching, some guttural noises, some frantic pacing. You know, the usual.

Judge: Continue.

Dante: So, I noticed after a few minutes the male slave opened the door again to see if I wanted to come in, but seriously, who would protect our backyard if I wasn't there?! My shift wasn't over, and I refused to slack off, like one other cat I know (*cough* Augustine! *cough*). And it's not like the male slave tried very hard. Now that I think about it, I think he only opened the door a sliver, and even had I wanted to end my shift early, I'm not convinced I had any chance to actually cross the porch and get through the opening before he shut it again without some crazy awesome ninja skills. Yeah, he's definitely in on this.

Judge: Let's avoid empty speculations.

Dante: So, finally, I figured it was probably time to chase Augustine for me to make my rounds of the house, and I ambled inside the next time the door was opened. And this is when it got ugly.  Immediately I knew something was wrong.

Judge: Proceed.

Dante: So I entered the kitchen, and there was a smell of tuna in the air. TUNA! I love that stuff! I'm not even sure I heard a can opener, so nefarious forces must have been at work to keep me in the dark. Fat chance of that! I sniffed and scoured the floor, but I couldn't find anything. So, anyway, it was clear there had been a dish...or two...on the floor with the beloved tuna water quite recently.  But not anymore.

Judge: Tuna water? Can you elaborate on that?

Dante: Sure. Well, the female slave sometimes gets out a tuna can. She hasn't realized it's only for feline consumption (as if!), but as she drains the water into two little cat dishes, even sometimes letting actual tuna chunks in the mixture, I usually let that slide. So, when all is right with the world, she sets those two dishes down. Now, I admit that usually Augustine is the first to spot this bounty, but through no fault of my own. She's just not keeping up with her kitty guard duties, so she's more likely to react in her lazy state.

Anyway, usually her speed alerts me that something's going down, and I join her. She tries to pick a bowl of her own, but it's up to me to see that she's chosen wisely. Usually she hasn't, so I shoo her away from the first bowl. And then I realize she might have tried to pull the wool over my eyes I forgot to do quality control on the second bowl, so I have to shoo her away from that one as well. Once I've established that both bowls are safe -- and it usually takes a couple passes back and forth, because safety is job one and I take it quite seriously -- I let Augustine know which one is hers based on whichever bowl has the least remaining is the least likely to be contaminated, and then we settle in with our lapping race. I usually finish first, and then it's my duty to help Augustine finish. You know, so she doesn't get a tummy ache. She's advanced enough in age that...

Judge: Hold on a moment. [Papers ruffle] My records show she's only about a year or so older than you. Is this correct?

Dante: Exactly. As I was saying, in her infirmity, she should watch what she eats -- and how quickly -- and that's where I step in and help her finish. 

Judge: So, yesterday you thought you smelled tuna in the air. What happened then?

Dante: Well, I didn't see any bowls with the evidence, but I bet if my slaves would have let me jump on the counter, I would have found them in the sink. But they looked as if nothing was out of sorts, although they were quite attentive to my actions, more so than usual, which should have tipped me off that they didn't have my best interests at heart. In fact, I've lost track of how many times the male slave has catered to Augustine, telling her how sweet she is, how pretty, how "good," and then he has the nerve to hold her up as an example to me, telling me I should be more like her. I'm so misunderstood in my own house!

Judge: You're off track, again. Please stick to the account of yesterday's events with minimal tangents.

Dante: So I went to Augustine.

Judge: Describe her, please.

Dante: Well, that good-for-nothing cat, she thinks she's all that, was sitting primly in the living room on the rug. She tried to look all innocent as I approached, like I'm dumb or something. And just because I'm polydactyl and there happens to be some anecdotal evidence -- planted, I'm confident of that, because anyone can edit Wikipedia, you know, and there are wrong things on the internet--

Judge: What did I saw about indulging in these unnecessary tangents?

Dante: Fine. Some individuals claim that cats with such traits happen to be a little slow on the uptake -- liars! -- they all think I won't notice. But my olfactory senses are beyond belief, I tell you!

Judge: Let's rein it in. Return to the point of the story where you approached Augustine yesterday.

Dante: [Grumbling and muttering under his breath about well-planted hairballs for a moment before composing himself] Seriously, this is an outrage; don't you want to know all the facts?! Whatever. So I approach her, and you know what happens? I sniff her breath, and anyone want to hazard a guess of what I smelled?! TUNA! On her breath! There are only a few ways that could happen. First, she could have a tuna fish that she's slowly licking to death. But I ruled that out. Because, seriously, where would she hide it? I know everything about our dwellings and all her hiding spots. So unless she found the elusive "second basement" I've heard in legend, there's no tuna fish she's keeping to herself. So I moved onto my second guess: that she hadn't cleaned since the last time we had glorious tuna water. But as I thought about that, I smelled my breath, and there was no tuna. Let me tell you, Augustine has this weird thing about being cleanly. After all, when I was brought into this abode, she had the nerve to imply that I was a mangy, ugly feline and needed a little help in the hygiene department. So if anyone was going to have residual tuna water breath, it was going to be me. And I didn't. My third guess was that my pending patent for a tuna-flavored breath spray had made it to market. But last I'd heard, it was held up in development as they tried to figure out how we could operate it without opposable thumbs (and, um, there's also some difficulty creating a container safe for consumption, since the test subjects keep trying to eat the cat spray once they catch a whiff). So I moved onto another thought, the most evil, darkest, and convicting of all. There had been tuna water set out for us, and she had drank not just one bowl, but BOTH bowls.

Judge: Did you confront her?

Dante: Why, yes, I did. I got up in her face, asking whether she had just had a treat in the form of tuna water goodness. And you know what she had the nerve to do?!

Judge: We're all waiting on pins and needles for your account, I assure you.

Dante: She LICKED her face! In front of me! She was taunting me, right there, her tongue licking her non-existent lips. It makes me crazy! Like I had this coming to me or something! Oh, boy, she better watch her back! Why, the next time we...

Judge: I think I've heard enough. We'll take a ten-minute recess, and I will relay my decision when we reconvene. And before then, I suggest you think long and hard about what has been shared here and conduct yourselves in a manner befitting these solemn proceedings, or I won't hesitate to throw this case out. We're adjourned.

Waiting Rooms

I had some blood drawn this weekend. Back in October or November, I had some drawn, and they want to measure my fasting blood sugar now to compare it to that earlier reading.

So Saturday morning, I awoke and went to the center. Naturally, there was a long wait, as everyone else decided not to miss work and get it completed on a weekend. I was there nearly two hours, but I had some knitting to occupy me, so beyond some periodic grumblings from my stomach, I was content.

I was amused by a four-year-old boy there with his mother. He was being silly with the toys, so in an attempt to calm him down, his mother tried to engage him by looking through a Highlights magazine. He was game, counting things for her and asking questions. This was happening in the background of my knitting, and I was catching snippets. Suddenly he piped up, “This page is for coloring. Where are the crayons?”

When none were to be found, he hopefully exclaimed, “Maybe I have crayons in my pocket!” He earnestly dug his hand down, only to emerge empty. Despondently he said, “No crayons.” Then he brightened up: “Maybe I have crayons in my other pocket!” Again, the ritual of shoving a hand down, only to emerge empty yet again. “No crayons. I wish I had crayons,” as he threw himself down in a chair.

I tried to hide my amusement at his antics. After all, perhaps it was commonplace for him to shove crayons in his pockets, but I like to imagine that he thought willing them to be there was enough to make it so.

Later on, he walked around with a large book balanced on his head, declaring, “I have a hat that looks like a book!”

I wanted to pull out my hat and reply, “I have a book that looks like a hat,” but I didn’t want to scare him off.

Christmas Music

Christmas tree ornaments
Originally uploaded by TopTechWriter.US.

Like any office, we listen to Christmas music during the holidays. When I'm not in control, we tend to listen to a local radio station that switches to holiday music in November, and I have a theory that the employees all go on vacation for eight weeks and simply repeat the same playlist with no adjustments year to year. Since I listen for about eight hours a day, I believe I am a reliable source on this.

It's the third year of hearing this song, and in addition to having odd lyrics, it still strikes me as trying to cram everything into one song. I hereby present the lyrics of "Santa Claus and Popcorn" by Merle Haggard:

Santa Claus and popcorn jingle bells and reindeer horns
Christmas trees and mistletoe Jesus loves me this I know

Carols singing Silent Night Crosby dreams of Christmas white
We celebrate cause the King was born with Santa Claus and popcorn

Children dancing round the tree sleighbells ringing merrily
Snowballs flying through the air happiness is everywhere

What's in a Name?

Some of you may be unaware that Faith is not my first name, but I have gone by it for much of my life. I'm quick to use my given name on legal documents, here referred to as H--- for anonymity's sake, and I've started doing so over the phone at work. "Faith" doesn't come across the wires very well. I can't tell you the number of times I've given my name, only to have them follow up with, "Stace?" And I repeat it again and again, finally saying, "Faith. Like hope and charity." When I offer my given name, though, it comes across clearly, and all I have to fear is a possible misspelling.

I called a business yesterday, seeking clarification on an invoice we had received. They took down my name and number. I received no response, so today I followed up. The manager was on the phone, so they took down my name and number again. I mentioned this was a follow-up from yesterday's message, and I gave my name as H---, before realizing that I was pretty sure I had given Faith yesterday.

An hour or two passes when my phone rings. I automatically answered it with, "This is Faith," only to hear the individual ask for H---. I am not above correcting them with, "Oh, that's technically me, but I also go by Faith." However, I was not inclined to do so today. Instead, I asked him to hold, tried to get the laugh out of my voice, and answered as H---, making a slight effort to have my voice at its normal tone, not on the high pitch it had ended on in my chipper "This is Faith" answer.

I think I fooled him.

April Fools Day at the Office

I was discussing some office April Fools pranks during lunch Monday and I mentioned how it was a shame we couldn't all tell the incoming chair we were all pregnant, given that the other three are past a certain age. There was mock offense taken at that, but that put the seed in our heads.

First, important back story: other than me, the other three ladies in the office are in their fifties or early sixties, our Director of Graduate Studies is taking over as Chair on July 1, and our fearless office administrator "L" played a role in him accepting the offer of chair, since she is crucial to running this place.

I should add that our outgoing chair, when he heard the idea, practically insisted we had to follow through.

So Tuesday morning, while the incoming chair was lecturing, L prepared an email stating that even though she originally wasn't planning on retiring for a few more years, her son was suddenly moving to Panama, and as soon as she could sell her house, she would be joining him and his family. She apologized for the suddenness of this, but she vowed to do all she could during the transition. [While this seems unbelievable to most of you, they go annually to Mexico on mission trips, and he recently spent a couple weeks in Panama, so this isn't outrageous.]

Then the other two ladies wrote retirement emails, also effective July 1. K was in search of warmer climes in the Southwest, and D said even though the incoming chair would have been great to work for, it was time for her to depart.

Since I was too young to retire, I stuck with the initial idea and wrote the following:

I realize you haven't yet officially taken over as chair, but I feel it is appropriate to let you know that I am pregnant and around September I will need to go on maternity leave. Eric and I have always felt strongly about me staying home when we have children, so I regret to say that my time here will come to a close with the arrival of the baby.

Regards,
Faith

We impatiently waited until he was done teaching, sure he'd read his email soon after. He read D's retirement one first, and even responded, citing her great service to the department and how he would be sorry to have her go, but thanked her for the notice and wished her luck. Then he read L's and was having trouble breathing. But once he read the remaining two, he realized he'd been had. He promptly called our office, hysterical about falling for the prank but warning us that our resignation letters were now on file.

His lab warns us to be careful for the retaliation that is soon to follow, though. I doubt he'll wait until next year to strike, but we're all pleased at how well it had worked and can't wait to see him try to best us.

Bathroom Humor

A colleague relayed the following story about her elementary-aged granddaughter.

Little "Susie" accompanied her mother to her older brother's middle school. While there, she used the restroom. When she emerged, she said, "Mom, I need a quarter."

"Why do you need a quarter?"

"I was washing my hands, but they're all out of paper towels. And can you believe they charge 25 cents for napkins!"

Her mother spit out, between laughs, "Honey, go use the hand dryer."

Names

At work, one of my responsibilities is grading bubble sheets. There's even this great computer program that runs an analysis of the results, which, if examined, provides fruitful information. I won't go into the depth of what all it can do since it's not the basis for this story, but this provides some background.

One professor gives a quiz every Friday during his fall-semester class. He also began the tradition, soon after I arrived, of presenting me with cookies along with the exams to be graded. He is quite welcome in the office every week, as he arrives right when we are interested in a mid-morning snack.

This generous professor will be called 'Frederick' here while I relate a story. During a conversation during which he asked me why I go by my middle name, he mentioned that to this day, no one in his extended family calls him Frederick. At this point, you might assume that Frederick and I both go my our middle names. Not so.

When he first began school, he was sent home with a note pinned to his shirt. His mother read the following: "Frederick is a very nice, well-behaved child, but he doesn't seem to know his name and did not respond to it all day long."

The next day, his mother pinned a note to Frederick's shirt. It was two words: "Try Bobby."

When 'Frederick' was born, a very opinionated aunt neither liked his first nor his middle name. In her fashion, she began calling him Bobby, and as his aunt held much sway, the rest of the family followed suit. To this day, he can classify his friendships by those who call him Bobby still and those who call him Frederick.

When he feels so inclined, he will refer to me by my first name and I then respond by calling him Bobby, after which he beams.

Santa, Daycare, and Bandaids

After high school, I took a year off to work full time. I was burned out from pushing myself too hard and stretching myself too thinly. I envisioned the time being spent earning money as I decided what I wanted to major in during my college years, thus influencing what institution I would choose to attend.

In that time (after a blink of an eye spent as a nanny), I worked at a daycare. 'Worked' may not be entirely accurate to categorize what I did there. I went swimming, taught children how to create a sand village complete with volcanoes and tattoo parlors, painted fingernails, drew pictures, transformed into a bear or the hot-lava monster, built a fort, ventured on walks, flew kites, read books, went sledding, comforted hurt or crying children, and braided hair.

It was a great year. I know some people were worried I was about to waste my life and become content 'just working at a daycare,' not going to college. And in fact I might have dispelled some stereotypes I harbored in my mind about those who didn't get further education.

In the end, I was refreshed when I started college, unlike some of my freshman peers who wasted a semester or two because they weren't mature enough to make the transition. While I don't believe everyone needs a year break, I still recommend time off before college for those just at the end of their ropes.

At the daycare, I worked primarily with the preschool-aged children, although I was a floater when a quick substitute was needed in the baby or toddler rooms.

At Christmas time, Santa graced us with his presence. He took the children on his lap as they were awed almost to silence. They quietly whispered their requests to this full-bearded, obese man with the limited wardrobe. Until one three-year-old came along. Santa asked what he wanted for Christmas. The young boy earnestly answered, "Scotch tape!"

After the holidays I was to learn that Santa was good to him that year, and even saw fit to give him more than transparent adhesive.

I must admit, this episode caused me to identify this unassuming boy as a kindred spirit of mine. For when I was around his age, all I wanted was bandaids for my birthday. Once received, I was able to give tender ministrations to my Cabbage Patch doll and anything else that was so unfortunate to cross paths with me while I was trying to expand my practice.

A Family Misunderstanding, or How Feuds are Started

While at a movie a couple weeks ago, we appropriately had our phones on silent. Eric missed a call from his young nephew who, when his mom dialed the number, insisted on getting the phone immediately after. He was interested in listening to it ring and then asking us about our kitten. Alas, the voicemail came on: "You've reached Eric and Faith. We can't come to the phone right now...."

Later, when Eric listened to his message, he heard his four-year-old nephew's mournful voice: "He hung up on me!"

You Are Hereby Summarily Rejected...

Today I opened a business letter addressed to me only to read the following:

The University is currently working with new systems and as a result you may have received a [rejection] letter for a position that you did not apply for. Please accept our apology for any inconvenience.

Yes, this happened last week. I questioned the validity of the dismissal, as I was fairly confident that I had not applied for the position of one Camps/Facilities Internship. Nevertheless, I deftly stomached the rejection, as long as it took me to cover the distance to the recycle bin.

I must say, it's a harsh world where I am being rejected for jobs that I haven't even applied for. It's fortunate for everyone involved that I'm already gainfully employed.

The Difference Between Men and Women

Two likely responses to the question, "How was your day today?"

Female Response
It was nonstop, but I enjoyed it. I photocopied midterms for several classes and graded those that the professors dropped off, creating question analyses for each exam. I updated the department webpage with upcoming seminars and publications. I helped sort mail. Someone wanted to FedEx some fish and another wanted the protocol for sending two gallons of ethanol -- it was too much of a hassle, with all the biohazard fees and special packaging, so they nixed the idea. Phone calls were transferred to the proper people, with only a couple lost when things got tricky. We came up with a better presentation format for the graduate pictures and started incorporating the changes. I billed grants for necessary funds. Then I created a poster for a lecture series next month; I'm especially proud of the background. I also made a call to figure out how to set up my voicemail. Some graduate forms were processed for students who are ready to defend their dissertation or who need to be admitted to candidacy. Then I collected the necessary signatures. When I had a chance, I gathered some information for a report that needed to be processed. Then it was time to head home.

Male Response
My day was fine.

Heaven Help Me if I Ever Go Missing

Tonight Eric turned to me and we had the following conversation.

Eric: You look nice in that shirt.

Me: Thanks. Do you know what you like about it?

Eric: It's one of your two colors. You look really nice in red and green, and that shirt's green.

Me (pausing, trying to decide if I should correct my color-blind husband): Um, thanks. But my shirt's brown.

Imagine the dilemma facing my husband if he ever has to describe to the authorities what I was wearing when he last saw me. Furthermore, there was a season when my husband even thought my eyes were green (you guessed it: they're actually brown).

I can't tease him too much, though. I've learned a lot about color-blindness from him, and he can notice the difference in shades when colors are laid next to each other. The curse of heredity!

School Memories: One-Liner

In response to some flatulence which forced a girl to try to casually vacate her seat near the offender, his friend responded with, "Good push."

WWJD?

He'd go to Notre Dame.

O How the Mighty Have Fallen

Today in South Bend, a Family Dollar store was robbed. No word yet on how much money the two armed men stole. I'm guessing there weren't many twenties...

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UPDATE: Apparently there have been several robberies targeting Family Dollar stores in South Bend. Since August 2, there have been three Family Dollar stores robbed.

Libraries and Overextended Definitions

My sister Hope and her three children have been visiting us for the week. On Monday, I took my oldest niece to the library for Celebrity Storytime. Monday's guest was the fire chief, and children asked numerous questions, such as, "What if your house gets on fire?"

My four-year-old niece was reciting to me what she has learned about library etiquette from her mom.

"We have to be quiet and whisper. And we have to be careful with the books. We can take some of them home. And then, when we're done, we get to throw them away!"

This response threw me. Why would she think books were ever thrown away? With some deliberate questioning, I was able to ascertain the truth: she thought book depositories were trash cans.

To continue with amusing responses from this same niece, we must harken back to over a year ago. Eric and I were spending the night at my parents' place over Christmas, and my niece saw us settling down for the night and pulling out the hide-a-bed. Quizzically, her gaze went from Eric to me, and then only the one bed. Once she had the nerve to phrase her question, she addressed Eric.

"So, Faithy's sleeping there with you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

In Eric's simplest logic, he responded with, "Because we're married."

My niece took this in, and the puzzled look dissipated. With newfound clarity, she boasted, "Oh. I'm married to mommy."

Saint Mary's College Feeling the Budget Crunch

Look at the photo closely. So where exactly is the college? Do professors hold class as students sit cross-legged in the grass, gazing adoringly at them? I'm afraid to ask about the dorm accommodations.

It Was One of Those Days

I knew yesterday that my students were desperate for a weekend, especially when it came to my last class of the day. There we were, reviewing parts of speech with the delightfully competitive review game. I look to see a student in the back corner, leaning out of his desk, apparently doing something on the floor. He seemed to be taking too long, so I asked him to sit back up. He popped up his head, looked earnestly at me, and sincerely declared, "But Mrs. H, I'm swimming!" None of us knew how to respond to that, so I just shook my head, grinned, and thought it was high time for the day to end. It's not too often I'm caught off guard in my class, but that was unexpected. I guess I can't fault a man for wanting to practice his butterfly with the weather being so beautiful.

So What State Do You Reside In?

I was finishing up with grading my last batch of Tom Sawyer tests this morning, reading the essays. One of the questions asked students to draw connections from Mark Twain's life to the book. This answer was from a student who struggles with spelling: "Well, Mark Twain was born in Misery, and Tom Sawyer was born and raised in Misery."

Sad, isn't it, that they had to live in such a state. If only they would have moved.

Bandaid Shortage, Anyone?

One thing I have encountered in teaching is the overwhelming inclination for students to lie, often without any reason.

I'll try to recreate one such event for you.

Imagine students sitting in their desks, preparing to journal. One girl near the front calls me to her desk. Her face is turned up anxiously: "Do you have any bandaids?"

Ever the accommodating teacher, I kindly reply, "Yes, they're next to my desk. Go ahead and help yourself."

Her face scrunches up. "Um...do you happen to have cream? Because, you know, the nurse always puts cream on first, then the bandaid."

I can't dispense creams as well as bandaids! There's no time for cream in English class! "No, I don't happen to have cream," I try to say in a straight face. I must have left my pharmaceutical stash in my other classroom.

"Well, I really need cream on my finger first. I'll need to go to the nurse."

Resigned, I quietly say, "Fill out a pass for me to sign."

Five minutes later...

The student enters my room and wastes no time before declaring, "The nurse was out of bandaids. Can I have one of yours?"

I acquiesed, even as signals went off. Who ever heard of a nurse's office running out of bandaids?! More specifically, a nurse's office in a middle school? Surely 98% of the students who want to go to the nurse only want a bandaid for a minor cut. Is there any possible world where they would run out? That seems to be something they would closely monitor. However, I wasn't about to judge our nurse if she had, indeed, lost sight of her depleting stash.

During my prep hour, I was near the nurse's office, and, to satiate my curiosity, I stopped in.

"Did you happen to run out of bandaids?" I asked. I tried to sound genuinely concerned, but I couldn't keep my amusement out of my voice. After all, it was a pretty fishy excuse and I was skeptical.

The nurse looked at me quizzically, walked to her cupboards, and revealed a multitude of bandaid boxes that were holding thousands of bandaids in all imaginable sizes. I told my tale, the nurse was aware of said student, and had seen neither hide nor hair of her.

It gets better. As I talked with the student the following day (after she asked for another bandaid), I informed her that I was aware of her deception and that she was not allowed to leave my room again. If you know me, you know I am not all that intimidating; I was firm yet kind. She held resolutely to her tale that she had been to the nurse and then proceeded to write me and threaten that "if you wanna be that way fine you will be gettin a note from my mom. Signed, You Know Who." I doubt anything will materialize out of this. If something does, I'm not concerned. After all, I happen to know the nurse's office has plenty of bandaids.

The thing that gets me is that had she just returned to my room quietly and gone to her seat, I probably wouldn't have even noticed that she didn't have a bandaid on her finger, and none of this would have been revealed. Guilty consciences can make you say the silliest things. And they can make you write notes that are better suited to a peer than a teacher.