I’m Twittering… Follow me if you’d like!*
I’m also staying put. I am not driving to WV, I am staying here in St. Paul.
It’s for various reasons, mostly health (mine and Gerry’s) Mine is just an annoying cold – but I feel ratty enough that a 16-hour drive looms large against the horizon.
Gerry is tired, hurting, he has aches on top of his aches and I think it’s more than the cold. He worked himself into a stuporous, hurting, aching mess of bone and muscle pain this past week, and it shows in every movement and every [sigh] that escapes him while making those movements.
It’s getting colder here, the cold affects Gerry more strongly this year. I’m not feeling it, but I’m the idiot who likes to ride my bike when it’s below freezing. Oh, wait, that would be my daughter.
Hannah hates taking the bus. H A T E S it. Why is she so scared of the bus? Is it haunted? Alas, a haunted bus would be an inducement for my Twilight-lovin’ tween.
She hates what’s INSIDE the bus. I can’t blame her. I was discussing this with my friend London yesterday and we both agreed that the bus ride was the worst portion of our day when we were in Jr. and Sr. high school. I swear, one bus ride was enough to ruin my entire week.
The bus was the realm of the kids who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do well in school. And theirs was a reign of terror.
Any geeky, nerdy kid who had the nerve to work hard and do well in school was fair game. Add height, red hair and a sensitive nature (I cry at coffee ads) and it’s a lethal mix. I was the 12-point buck, they were the hunter.
Or, that’s how it felt.
I feel like it took years for me to get past high school – the pain, the ostracism, the joyless repetitive class work.
I actually dropped out, in a manner of speaking (that’s me, a high school drop out with a Masters). I had enough credits to graduate, the teachers in our school system went on strike (Toledo in the late 70’s – a mini-depression) so I got myself accepted early to a private university (no diploma required if SAT’s were okay) and went off to Denison when I was 17.
In retrospect it might have been a mistake, I could have used that extra year of maturing. But I was realistic enough to know that a first-generation college-bound kid with so many marks against me might lose momentum and end up as a lathe operator for $18 dollars an hour (princely wages my brothers’ friends rubbed in my face when I went home for vacations)
And I might still be there. Yay, escape! (Disclaimer: Not escape from Toledo, but escape from a life for which I was not suited. A life where I would end every sentence with a preposition.)
Hannah’s decision to ride her bike in freezing weather so she can avoid the bus is not one I’m going to dismiss offhand.
Gerry, who had a very good time riding his bike in Jr. High, doesn’t get it. He keeps trying to get her onto the bus, but she’s stubborn. I feel that at a certain point she’ll give in, but every day she avoids it is another day that she strengthens her resolve to NOT let the bus situation alter her unique personality. Ride, Hannah, ride!
So here I am, with more time on my hands (I was anticipating a good 4-day loss of knitting and pattern writing time due to the trip, plus any work down there I’d need to do.) Feeling bad, but not guilty. There’s only one me, there’s only one Gerry, and we need to be together right now.
Today will be math day for me – lots of pattern worksheets to wade through. I want to take a long walk, or bike ride, but I’ll wait until it warms up to 22F. Call me a dreamer…
And for your listening pleasure, here is Maxie practicing Deck The Halls.