First Friday

*I almost made my escape! Went to bed Friday night without posting my Blip page. Didn't even feel guilty. Had illusions that the addiction had expired. Then morning's awakening . . . and I'm back at it. Like a pup on its mom's teat, I find nourishment here in this place of photographers who have allowed me space to write.

I often think of summer as a long, tall, mean machine. Currently in the triple digit heat, my thoughts are more heavily weighted with the idea that summer is a big, wide, lethargic beast whose caustic breath and presence are undeniable.

Fridays I am not in the classroom and this Friday morning I do not have papers to grade. My students are currently composing their first essay for me, so I will soon have compositions to read, but not today. I did have unfinished prep work because I had spent the entire afternoon on Thursday with one of the online techs.

But my morning did not get focused on things academic, no, but on the new device that makes my camera wireless (see yesterday's blip).

Why do all things "computer" arrive with the guarantee to gobble several hours of precious time, time that was not dedicated to technology, and then to most definitely serve-up a humungus size platter of frustration?

Thankfully the new wireless camera card also includes a toll-free number and a techie who speaks our language. So he was able to assist Mr. Fun with the installation and set-up.

Middle morning found us pointing and clicking and capturing our own funny faces that were "magically" transported from camera to laptop & iPhone screen without any coaxing from us.

Once we had completed our hour or so in "Camera Card Technology 101," it was time for me to focus on finishing the prep for the coming week's classes. Then I needed to get to the campus to make photocopies for Tuesday morning's class because the campus will be closed Saturday, Sunday, and also Monday, since it is a national holiday. The need, which somehow felt strangely like an urge, to get to the campus was exacerbated by the fact that one female student who had missed the Thursday class (an extremely important class because of all the "get-go" stuff for the semester) had by email confessed her error and her desire to remain in the class.

She begged to not be "dropped" because of her attendance error, that she would eagerly do all the work, be in class next time, and never be absent again. I was hoping she would also offer the contents of her bank account.

We, the faculty, are encouraged to "add" students the first day to replace the "no shows." I had done that to the tune of about a half-dozen students, which puts the population in my classroom to considerably more than the recommendation by the experts.

I had read and re-read her email, which was written without one error, and I thought, "I'd be a fool to turn away this quality student." I asked by email if she could arrive at the campus before its 4:00 p.m. closing. She responded immediately with an adamant, "Yes!"

So I packed a manila envelope of materials for her and left it in my mailbox so the college receptionist could soon retrieve it when the student requested it in person.

Then I walked through the sweltering air, across the black tarmac, squinting to see my vehicle in the burning bright sunlight. I fought the instinct to zoom home to be with Mr. Fun, and drove to the grocery store where I pushed the 4-wheeled wire cart through the cool aisles looking for odds and ends of the things I could hardly remember we needed . . . hairspray, yogurt, tp, veggies, a few splurge items: steak to barbecue for my end-of-the week dinner, and possibly a bottle of something delicious (but he knows which wine to purchase, I don't, so I was hoping to make an educated guess--I think that is an oxymoron).

Mesmerized with kazillions of choices of items to purchase and avoiding the tasks needed to be done at home, I roamed the grocery aisles longer than necessary. I rolled into the check-out line at the exact moment that every other customer in the store did. I stood there contemplating the odds of that happening and why it does every stinking time!

I arrived home, pulled the car into the garage, lifted the lid on the trunk, and paraded the purchases into the house, and put them away. I sweet-talked Mr. Fun into reading me a story (I love when he reads aloud to me), and then our stomachs simultaneously voted for dinner. After eating we watched the television news--grim with wars, oil spills, earthquakes, hurricanes, and the continued escalating of unemployed workers. There was more than enough bad news. So . . .

So we got into our swimsuits to watch the tail-end of the day fade to twilight and a new night. We stayed much too long in the pool watching headlights on the far off foothills (seen in the crummy photo above) and listening to the distant freight trains sounding their soothing song while moving magically through the darkness in the somewhere beyond us.

Much later, with wet bodies wrapped in towels, we ascended the stairway to our bed. Mr. Fun questioned, "Time to Blip?" but knew it is not an option.

I carefree and casually proclaimed, "I don't need to blip!" crawled into bed and fell asleep thinking I had conquered the addiction.

Well, that was the first Friday in September at "Fun"ville!
Rosie (& Mr. Fun), aka Carol