I had a staff meeting at 2 for work and stayed until 9:45 that night to teach three classes in a row. Then Thursday I had brunch with a good friend who will soon be moving. Immediately afterwards, I taught two classes in a row and then hauled after the second class to catch as much of the ballgame with my cousins as possible (out very late). The next day I prepared for my pen pal to come and stay with me and cooked a large dinner for her as my honorary guest among my closest friends. After tidying up and packing until 2:45AM, I got up to watch a movie with my guest before we went to the Farmers' Market with Caro. After lunch and goodbyes, I hopped in a car and drove my cousin, my mother, and myself to our annual family reunion in Waynesboro. We went to our B&B first, arrived at Uncle Philip's, caught up, had dinner, went out for a drink, made cocoa and tea at the Inn, and finally, I tried reading my homework until about 1AM. We rose at 8:10, rushed down to breakfast, I felt a little funny so I rested while Mom showered, cleaned up, attempted to check out at 11, attempted (and really failed) to make a quick stop at my great uncle's, went to two abnormally crowded wineries with my mom, aunt, and cousin, and finally started the drive home at 4ish. I just figured out, at this very moment, that after arriving at Anya and Jeff's birthday dinner looking seasick, that perhaps I should never attempt reading while riding in a moving vehicle ever again (at least not for an hour and a half).
There's a reason I never knew this before... After this experience, I never attempted to really do serious reading in a car before today. I will tell this story, and then I will take my swimming brains to bed...
9th grade. Elements of the Arts class. Scheduled field trip to the Chrysler Museum in Norfolk.
There was so much riding on this field trip. I was as excited as I was terrified. I am pretty sure I got into an argument with my mother as we agonized for hours in the mall about what I was going to wear (I eventually picked out a brown dress suit with matching shoes... not sure who I was trying to be...)
I was desperately in love with my teacher... in the most awkward way possible. I deeply wanted to be adopted by this man. He had his nose in my business, an opinion about every little thing I did, gave threatening looks to inappropriate males accompanying me in the hallways, lectured me about what I should be doing with my life... so much attention to my details. I was rather unfamiliar with this kind of... let's call it 'care'... and wanted to do everything possible to make this man proud.
I was also looking forward to introducing him to my mother, who I had properly warned about his personality (this is the man I frequently refer to as my Russian father). My mother was a brave, patient soul about all my obsessions. She had elected to be one of the parent chaperones on this trip.
Naturally, we took a great ugly yellow bus to the museum. I made a point to sit near the front where my teacher would probably be seated. My mother joined me in the seat and I'm sure I nervously chatted with her or hopped on my toes making my knees flop up and down the whole ride over.
I don't remember a single thing about the exhibit save two paintings. I remember this enormous canvas illustrating a scene that strikes me now as the foretelling of the birth of Christ, but I could be wrong. I remember the technique being mediocre, but the size was inspiring and we were all awestruck. There was this other painting of a man and woman standing side by side with a candle illuminating the darkness. This canvas was long and thin. They looked tired. It was the one painting my Russian father and I discussed on our own.
When it was time to go, I remember two events that occurred on the bus. My Russian father tried insisting that my stubborn mother eat his sandwich (I don't remember why she hadn't brought a lunch with her). She politely refused and he didn't push (had it been me, he would have come close to shoving the sandwich in my mouth himself). Then I remember he was slouching in the seat reading. I always have a book on me, so I attempted to do the same.
"Miss Kathlyn," he sighed (he would refer to me by this bastardized version of my middle name). "We have a saying in Russia... 'What is okay for Jupiter may not be okay for the cow.' "
I paused... trying to decide how to take that.
"Am I Jupiter or the cow?" I asked with genuine concern.
He smiled as he rolled his eyes. "Put the book away."
While I knew what he meant then... I really know what he meant now.
I'm going to go lay myself horizontal and try to imagine that I'm not still in a moving car...
(from http://amog.com)
No comments:
Post a Comment