So, I hurt my back this weekend....
Yes, it was a bonehead move (leaving my cane at home, and then trying to run for a bus), and yes, I'm paying for it. That said, I really enjoyed the movie (Ant Man and The Wasp), and am glad I went, even though I missed meeting up with some people I'd planned to see, if they were there. It all worked out in the end, though, and I also found out that the 512 bus makes very good time back from Seattle on the weekends. Good knowledge to have. :-)
A rather pleasing weekend overall, even if I'm ouching about it now. Good company, filled with joy and laughter and smiles... good (groaning) puns, fun games, and fresh raspberries. Oh, and fresh croissants, and burnt-sugar flan, and a visit with friends that included hanging out and take-out Dim Sum. All: shared. *insert grin here* Good things are so much better when I share them with others, especially friends and loved ones. Being alone is important, as I treasure my solitude and contemplation time. But there's just something about sharing good things, with people I care for.... :-)
Now? I'm at my desk at work, in my still-too-cold classroom, wondering if I should go make myself another cuppa, just so my fingers won't stay cold. (Will someone please explain *why*the air-conditioning is on today, when the summer is *gone*...?? The strangeness of a corporate office building, I think. )
And a week from Wednesday I turn 50. Um.... yeah. Wow. I will soon be 8 years older than my Tunta (Tante) Jean will ever be. She died in 1997, at the tender age of 42, from advanced lung cancer. I still miss her, and think of her often — I wish she was still here, to talk with, to hash out things, and compare reminiscences. For the past few years, my mother has made a point of repeating to me that she'd often thought, when I was growing up, that I was really Tunta's daughter (and not hers) because Jean and I were alike in so many ways — doing what we wanted, experimenting and adventuring out, instead of 'playing it safe.' When I was a teen, Tunta was one of few adults to whom I would seriously listen, and whose advice I would seriously consider. (Me, stubborn? No, it's just your imagination. Really.) :-D
As I become quiet, sitting here in this empty room, I can feel a few items (of fear? disquiet? uncertainty? unease?) sitting just at the edge of my brain/consciousness. They are niggling at me, wanting to come out and be named and described, but still elusive... evasive, like something only seen out of the corner of my eye. Does my advancing age really disturb me that much, that I am willing to babble about so many other things, rather than turn and look it in the eye? Does it? Does it scare me that I am only 12 years away from the age when my grandmother died? Yes, resoundingly.
I have so many thing I want to do, so many places to see, and so many more things to learn. The more I teach, the more I find I am so woefully ignorant of the the things I want (and ought) to know. Socrates says that is wisdom, but I find that it doesn't make me feel any wiser, it only makes me feel ignorant, and inadequate. But I also know that that is not Socrates' perfectionism biting me in the glutes, it is my own.
More later. Must teach now.