As Promised

In last night's post, I mentioned that I would explain why my feet were extra cold when I got home from class. Twas because of my Flat! Tire!

I had decided to park in a different lot, hoping it would get me closer to the building my class is held in. As I hurried away from my car, arms full of books, I heard a distinct and unmistakable sound. The object which had impaled my tire was conveniently located at the top for proper examination and to allow a mad rush of air to escape.

Unable to get a hold of my fiance, I went off to class, knowing full well that my tire would be flat as a pancake by the time I returned. I was late to class (ugh) and then excused myself not long into it to talk to him on my cell and explain where my car was and to tell him what time to meet me (since I was in possession of the only keys to my vehicle).

When I got back to my car, he had already removed the flat and promptly made quick work of installing the donut in its place. Then I had the experience of driving on a donut for the first time all the way home. It actually didn't feel that different, but it still made me nervous. He followed me home and then took my flat off to the gas station where he patched and filled it.

It seems to be holding air and got me to work this morning. Hopefully, it will continue to be secure, so I can avoid buying a new tire. Maybe I'll go check it during lunch, so if there's a problem I can call for help before I get out of work.

And if you're thinking I should've just changed my own damn tire, why? Having him do it makes us both happy. He gets to be the hero, and I get to not have to put forth the effort and to stay clean and relatively warm. Win, win.

It's not Friday, but they're feet!

These are a pair of snuggly slipper-feet that had been my grammy's. My feet were especially chilly after getting home from class tonight (more on that tomorrow), so I decided tonight would be a good night to try out the cute slipper-socks.

And to kill two birds with one stone, please also admire my new carpet.

Snack Break Bullets

This blueberry muffin from the vending machine doesn't taste good enough to have cost me $1.00. And I can practically taste the bad things in it, even if there's no trans fat (apparently the newest public enemy number 1).

We are having "crunch time" at work where we are all supposed to be busting our humps on one specific thing, setting aside the work that we all normally do. Fun times. Hours for the next week only have been extended to 48.

I was depressed to see yet another sign for a coming soon housing development. Whee! More McMansions! Fantastic. Who the hell can afford them? And why are they living here, where the economy sucks ass? That makes two of these future developments along my route to work. My route that has continually lost farm fields and woodlands in the 25 plus years we've been travelling it regularly. There was some talk of protecting the farmlands along part of it, but so far I can't say that I'm impressed with the results. Maybe it hasn't taken effect yet, in which case, they better get hopping or there won't be any corn or soybeans to preserve.

Damn, my muffin is gone. Does that mean I have to get back to work now?

La Botte

My class meets for the second time tonight. I feel more prepared, but that makes sense. Who ever feels prepared on the first day, really? It didn't help that they'd changed the room and I had to race across campus to a different building, arriving late and red-faced. Unfortunately, the new (and permanent) location is not near any good parking lots. Oh well, c'est la vie.

I picked up my textbook and workbook on Saturday after work. The whole textbook industry is such a racket. Why do they have to be so expensive? Is it copyright issues? I did sell back my two books from last semester for a whopping $30.

I managed to resist buying a pair of Uggs, too. How, you ask, is this related to a post on my French class? Especially since the boots in question are quite ugly? Because I felt so out of place being practically the only female not wearing a pair in the sea of 19 year old girls. How do they afford them? I happened to check on-line, and they can run $150-$200. I guess I'll have to keep wearing my snowmocs and being un-cool. It's hard being so easily influenced when it comes to fashion.

When the going gets cold

Every winter I find myself thinking of warmer days, usually of the years I lived in Florida.

I love the heat. I would take hot and sweaty, wearing as little as possible over painfully cold and bundled in layers any day. I live in perpetual fear of the electric bill, and it is not always convenient to be buried beneath a goose down comforter. Cooking and showering, for instance, are not well-executed while so arranged.

I abhor winter with every cell in my body. I simply can not find one single redeeming characteristic.

So I will present warmer memories instead, both taken during a visit from my mom in May of 2000.

This one taken by Mom during our visit to St. Augustine, one of my favorite Florida places.

Maybe next time I'm feeling unbearably cold I'll pull out some pictures from my trips to Key West. Or New Orleans in August. Those sure were some hot times.

Hope you're warm and cozy where ever you are. Or that you like this blasted thing called winter.

Proof!

The house really does exist. In case you were starting to think I made the whole thing up. Nope. It's just that I don't seem to have any luck taking indoor, here's-this-room pictures. Having said that, here's the bathroom. Sorry about the weird reflection thing on the left.

It's not done. I still need to paint the trim, buy and hang a towel bar, and get the handle put on the vanity door. But it's new, clean, and I picked out the elements that make it the room that it is. And that feels pretty damn good.

Family Tradition

My grandfather was a brilliant man. He was knowledgeable on many subjects, and was particularly interested in foreign languages. He started teaching my sister and me to speak French at a very early age, writing the words out phonetically in a small spiral 3-ring notebook.

Both of my grandparents would sprinkle into conversation the occasional word or phrase of whatever language they felt was appropriate: French, Italian, Spanish, Japanese, German, you name it, you might have heard it.

They travelled Europe fairly extensively after retiring, bringing us girls back small goodies. We would meet them at the airport back in the days when folks still dressed up to travel. Skirts and ties and smiles all around.

It is with Grandpa in mind especially that I chose the class I am taking this semester: French II. I haven't taken francais since high school, when I excelled at it. It was my favorite subject through the years. But Madame G would be sorely disappointed to discover how little I've retained.

I managed to place into French II by virtue of an on-line exam, but after the first class last night I wonder if that was such a good idea. Verb conjugation may be the sticking point.

But last night in class I could hear Grandpa singing opera and quoting Shakespeare and Grandma's cheerful voice calling from the kitchen.