Once Bitten...

Those of you currently living here in the armpit of the Sunshine State might have noticed that it has rained daily for over a week. Normally this is not a problem. In fact, if it were happening every day at 3pm and someone complained, you would say, "Welcome to Florida," roll your eyes, and go back to poisoning ant beds. But this isn't like that. From Monday to Friday I saw the sun for about an hour, and 59 minutes of that took place on Friday. This is unprecedented without a hurricane, and it's genuinely depressing. Did I mention that the region just went through the most severe flooding in 30+ years? Of course I didn't. I was just testing you. But it's true.

Anyway, I don't want to talk about the weather.

We've got weird bugs now. I'm sure that they're normal bugs (I'm not taking any down to the agricultural extension office for identification), but these bugs aren't usually in my yard and something invisible bit me. During my 59 minute window, I was trying to run the weed-eater with enhanced speed and efficiency, something bit me on the back of the neck, and 48 hours later I still have a welt and stiffness in my neck. My 'pitmate has suggested that I do all sorts of crazy and irrational things, like, "call [my] mother" or "go to the hospital," but I don't have time for all that junk - I just want to sit around until the kids go to bed and play Gears of War 2.

I'll let you know if I'm suddenly paralyzed or lose bladder control.


shudder

Four Days Left - Running on Fumes

We're plowing through to the goal line, dragging would-be teenage tacklers and stiff-arming administrators who wave data monitoring forms, final exams, retention lists, standardized test scores, and professional development plans in our faces. The summer is the ONE reason for teaching. Don't give me any of that high-minded bullcrap about changing the life of just one child. I love my students. I've changed lives. I've righted wrongs and injustices. I've filled the vessels that had previously been impenetrable. (Holy hell, that sounded awful.) The only reason any sensible person would do what I do is for the reward of summer vacation.

And I pledge to make it a good one.

For one thing, it's my daughter's last summer before preschool. This is it. No more freedom for the tiny dancer. We're looking at pool days, spring days, rainy day video game/movie marathons, camping, beach trips, a visit from the greatest cousins on the planet, a visit to the in-laws in Nashville, and gratuitous amounts of popsicles. I think she'll be happy. The littlest ninja is completing the grind of kindergarten, so he'll be happy with anything that doesn't involve the Letter People, I'm sure.

My better half will certainly be happy. Why? Because I'll be home, that's why. I am the sweet nectar of our wedded bliss. (Remind me not to send her a blog update.)

It'll be a good one for me for all of the above reasons, plus this:


motorcyclemotorcyclemotorcycleWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I wrote a new song. This is rare.

They paved the road behind our hay field that leads to Little River Road. "They" means "The Man & His Road Crew." I don't really have a problem with this, but I thought I'd write from the wistful, change-phobic point of view. Here ya go:

Heaven’s Streets (2009)

The county is paving the last road to the springs
It's getting harder to find back roads to drive down and sing
David Allan Coe songs to a world that sleeps the best hours of the day away

They call it "improvement" or, even better, "progress"
And property values are through the roof, I guess
But the roads Daddy taught me to drive stick on just aren't quite the same today

Don't glorify the past, I've been told
It's the canary in the coal mine for growing old
Don't let your life pass you by while you mortgage your soul
You'll still get dust in your eyes when they trade you pavement for gold

I’m gonna give this old limestone one final ride
Before the blacktop is put down to better all of our lives
Drop her into third with no foot on the gas and just let the radio play

You know, living old means you can never die young
Which sorta contradicts that old song Roger Daltrey sung
And if heaven’s streets are really paved with gold, I’m not so sure I’m gonna stay

Don't glorify the past, I've been told
It's the canary in the coal mine for growing old
Don't let your life pass you by while you mortgage your soul
You'll still get dust in your eyes when they trade you pavement for gold

Look, don't make fun of the simple rhymes. I'm not professing to be the next Dylan or anything.