We waited in front of the glass cafeteria doors with all of the other parents and grandparents, all of them well dressed, as if they were attending Sunday church services. Sam and I were not as well dressed, and I felt self-conscious. I had taken the day off work, as I always do on my kids’ last day of school, and I was dressed for a relaxed day around the house, in a t-shirt and cropped pants. I shifted uncomfortably in my sandals and checked the time on my phone.
The crowd was restless, small groupings of family members inching closer to the doors even though they would not open for another fifteen minutes, at 8 a.m. There were limited number of front row seats, and everyone wanted to claim them. Only the front rows would have unobstructed views of the stage. I took some deep breaths to calm myself, anticipating the rush that would come when the doors finally opened. There would be seat saving – not just one or two, but an entire row – and that always drives me crazy and makes me anxious.
I didn’t intend to take such a lengthy break (a whole month!) from blogging. It just happened. I’ve sat down at my desk to write numerous times, and I’ve even amassed a small collection of first paragraphs. None of these were fit to publish, so they languish in a DropBox folder on my computer. If I were able to gather the many paragraphs I have written and then immediately deleted into one volume, I would have an impressive anthology of crap to show you.
This break would have been wonderful had I actually planned it. Instead, I have suffered through three-and-a-half weeks of guilt over not posting. I’m fixing that today.
When I was little, maybe between the ages of five and seven, I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. I loved my teachers at school, and because of them (or maybe just because of me) I loved school. Also, my mother was a teacher, and I thought she was pretty great, so I would become a teacher, too.
Later, when I was a little older, I wanted to be a veterinarian. We always had lots of animals, mostly cats and a dog or two. The cats lived outside and were called the Outside Cats. I was partial to the cats, and I still am. I used to name them very clever names, like Blackey and Whitey and Pumpkin, based on the color of their coats. There was also Mama Cat, and you can guess why she was named that. The first cat that I considered my own was called Mindy, named after a character on my then-favorite television show, Mork and Mindy.