So 61...

 

        It's not easy to self examine at 61.

       I had to have a pity party first.

       I have no idea who I am.

       "What do you want for your birthday?"

        An end to the authoritarian billionaire regime world wide.

       To see consequences for the damage done to human beings and our planet in the name of greed.

       These are not things anyone can gift me.

       They want a tangible answer. Something they can wrap up in pretty paper.

       My children are delightful and manage to come up with creative gifts from local artisans or to spend time with me getting a pedicure.

        But it makes me more depressed. Because I cannot ease their lives, and ultimately all I want is for them to be happy.

        All I see is a string of failures. Failed jobs, failed parenting, I can't keep a plant alive.

        I see every mistake, every misstep, every poor decision made out of fear and I am ashamed.

        I know Robin Williams suffered greatly from depression, and he cranked up the energy and the funny and the kindness to 11.

        I don't know how to do that. 

        I'm a poor friend. I have no idea how to be a friend.

        I voted against everything that's happening my entire life, only to have greedy cheaters win anyway.

        What is the point of caring.

        I have friends who are artists and create and channel their energy into creations, and I struggle to remember why I teach theatre because everything happening in education is counter productive to building strong theatre performers. So...there is little to pour my energy into without navigating administrative road blocks and causing frustration and the belief in my heart that "None of this matters, anyway."

        I can't have even a passing light hearted meaningless conversation with colleagues.

        And I have no idea Who I am.

        I made the choices I thought I was supposed to make, based on other people's perceptions, causing me to mistakenly attach "Who I Am" to those choices.

        And they were all empty. Up to and including becoming a theatre teacher.

        I've been burned out since 2019.

        But I keep working to pay my mortgage and help my kids whose lives are not what they were hoping for, either.

        Nothing but struggle, financial anxiety and frustration with their own inability to actually pay their own bills with college degrees.

        I can't smash the rear view mirror when the choices I made led to this moment.

        To remind you that I do not live in a bubble, and the regime is part of my mental health issues, I can only hope the Mad King's meltdown over crowd sizes and the Peace Prize are what's causing him to say "There are big surprises coming....the Republicans aren't leaving" is All One Mad Thing.

        If it's real, I can't be here any more. They will finish destroying us, and I don't need to be around to watch.

        Like most Americans, I have no skills to organize my community. I relentlessly bother my representatives who either don't even try or are unable to get anything changed, then I pay $4.50 for gas and don't buy groceries so I can pay my power bill.

        And I'm working. I'm married. There are two incomes, and we can't do this.

        Stop telling me to invest: invest what?

        Every time we feel like we've got something saved, the HVAC goes out, cars need tires and alignment, or some other rando old house problem snaps and costs us money we no longer have. 

         Lemme try to make it funny.

         Three weeks ago something loudly popped and our power went out. I called Excel and insisted they send a human, as something definitely exploded. The meter had a scorch on it, but it wasn't in flames. I found a phone number on their website. I punched buttons until I was talking to a human. Then I told the human there was popping and a scorch mark. Send A Human. 

          The person on the other end of the line didn't seem to be worried. My dogs ran from the popping, and they'd be in Weld county by now if it wasn't for the fence. It Popped. It was loud. Scorch marks. Send Someone.

           "We'll get the power on."

            "Send someone."

            "We'll try it remotely first...."

            "That won't work. It exploded."

            I need not assign speakers, you know who was who.

            "We will do it remotely and contact you if someone has to come out."

            So we left the house, because nobody was coming and nothing was actually on fire. While grabbing lunch we received a text from excel "Power in your location has been restored."

            That was 19 Sept.

            We returned shortly, to find two yellow cards hanging from the meter, with the cover removed. No human in sight. No text from Excel. No phone call. Two fat black plugs that looked like jumper cables attached to where the meter had been and two yellow tags stating  "Not Grounded" and " Power restored do not replace meter until electrican arrives in ten days."

            Ok. 

            I'm not a genius, but that sounds to me like Excel is sending an electrician within ten days.

            On day 12 I started to wonder what was going on. So I called Excel. I punched buttons until I received a human, who wanted me to pay my bill. Which I had done the day before, but it was a Saturday and hadn't posted. Great. We got that out of the way---"Can I read you this yellow tag and will you tell me what's going on?" And side note---if I had not paid my bill and was unable to do so when I called, were you going to help me?

            I read her the tag.

            "It sounds like an electrician is supposed to come."

            "Sounds like that to me too. So...when is he coming? We've received no information and it looks like you put jumper cables on the back of our house with a big sign that says "NOT grounded", this cannot be correct."

              "No. You're supposed to call an electrician."

               "Wait, that's on us? We pay you for power, and when your meter blows up, we have to pay an electrician to fix it?"

                "Yes."

               "I don't want to be a dick, it does no good to yell at you, but dude your communication sucks. Do you think you could have called or texted the day they came out to give us the full story and information? Your repairman's wording was not specific enough for us to know we needed to call an electrician. Am I being clear and communicating with you that y'all need to fix how you correspond with people who are overpaying your megacorp  for the privelege of having our power shut off randomly for windstorms?"

        To be clear, I did not yell. I don't yell. I like words and you cannot fully understand them if a person is yelling. So I clip them, my articulation is stunning.

        So we had to find an electrican and pay him money we do not have to come out. Turns out the fun continues, the hard electric line to our house is what snapped, causing the meter to explode.

        Because our house is old.

        But I am older.

        I am six years older than our house.

        So my mainline is going to explode, my plumbing has tree roots invading the old pipes,my fountation is cracked.  All Of The Metaphors are happening.

        My father in law always responds to comments like "Good to see you up and around" or any comment about being alive with "It beats the alternative."

        No. No it does not.

        Dead is quiet. Dead is an end to anxiety. Dead is Nothing Is My Problem Any More. Dead is no more evaluations after 24 years of teaching. 

        I texted my cousin to confirm, but I believe my Nana had sold the farm and retired to Arizon by the time she was 61.

        I believe my mom was also 61 when she retired and reverse mortaged her house.

        But nope. No opportunity for any kind of end in sight for me until death. No "living out your golden years" or such. I will literally work until I die. I will die on stage with a drill, at the light board cussing or falling down the stairs.

        So happy birthday to me.

        For those who need it explained: 24 years of teaching only equals 51% of your salary. So if I retired, I couldn't "retire", as half of my salary is not going to pay my mortadge. I'd have to find a second job, which is hopeful in this economy and job market. So...no.

        Nobody wants me.

        Nobody wants us. 

        Our experience is irrelevent, and an AI robot can do the same job.

        It's not just me, a white 61 year old female mother and teacher, it's all of us. They're trying to kill all of us. And they can't even be remotely humane about it. They're doing it slowly.

        Remove retirement with an out of control cost of living. Remove affordable healthcare. Poison the food. Replace the jobs we can manage to hold onto with AI. Fire everyone with expereince from all federal jobs.

        And I'm supposed to smile when a happily retired 70+ year old friend tells me "Age is just a state of mind."

        Fuck You.

        I mean that respectfully.

         I've lost the funny. I haven't been funny for years. I want to be funny again. I admire Josh Johnson, he manages. Even Jon Stewart has gone over to just yelling facts and attaching logical consequences. Which is not funny...sigh.

        This is the rough draft. I will publish this because that is the ritual, then I'll streamline it to something logical and put it on substack. 

        Because it has to be real writing to post there, not the journal stuff you six lovelies struggle through.

        I just popped on social media and found a post that tonight is a "dark" moon. 10/10 at 10:10 pm, Libras are to put out the wish of who They Wish To Be. Who I Was no longer serves me. I made it. Now What?

        Funny, that's exactly why I haven't been able to write this down. 'cause I have no idea Who I Am.

        Today has already been a mess of missed communications and frustration, hurting other people's feelings and it's wasn't me. But I'm married to the guy causing the misunderstanding, and he's doing it largely because I said clearly I DON'T WANT ANYTHING FOR MY BIRTHDAY so he's scrambling trying to concoct something based on conversations and left out  a child and I got so angry I cried.

        I don't want to talk about this any more.

        So.

        I guess at 10.10 pm tonight under no moon, I'll pledge a new path for the next ten years that I plan to live.

        AND, my cousin responded. Nana retired at 53.

        Happy Birthday!

        

        
        

61 Years Are Too Many: When The Incompetent Are In My Way

                                                      Begun a bit early, Weds 7 October.

        I just want to pay for the rights.

       I've done a few musicals in 24 years, I know how this works.

       Just give me your Pcard and we're good.

       We don't need a committee.

       Or a meeting.

       Or a budget form filled out. It's coming out of the theatre account, not the building. That form is irrelevent.

        But you don't know that, because you have no idea what my job is, yet you seem to think that your job is to micromanage me doing my job, which you do not comprehend.

        We don't need the principal's approval. She cares less than I do what musical we do, as long as there's something on stage for the community to applaud, she's good.

        This is the same District Ninny who interfered her way into almost cancelling our collage concert.

        She was assigned to us last year. My first impression was "Door Mat".

        I wasn't wrong.

        Just the facts.

        Our theatre is under renovation---you all know that. Irregardless, the principal made us put performance dates for concerts and a show on the calendar back in May.

        Knowing we'd be closed. I assume she was just hoping we'd be open in time.

        And assuming such, admin was aware those concerts would be cancelled or have to be done in the gym if we weren't back open.

        Enter District Assigned AP and New Athletic Director/AP.

        The date on the calendar, set in May, is 14 October.

        District Assigned AP (who we will call Dapp) started asking questions about the concert date at the end of September.

        Questions like "Where will you do this?" 

         To which we responded "We're doing this? The theatre is closed."

         Dapp said " Use the gym".

         OK, our risers are trapped in the closed theatre.

          It got no better from there.

          She won't make a decision without directly talking to the principal. As previously stated, the principal does not micromanage perfroming arts and could care less about our collage concert. The theatre is closed. My guess is she assumed we weren't doing it.

          Dapp can't say we can even use the gym without NADAP permission. 

           And also there's a volleyball game on the 14th. Let's do the 15th.

           And the gym floor is new so we need mats and carpets...and who is locating and setting those up? We asked. She has no clue.

           So we tell the kids it's now the 15th.

           She also wants a meeting about kids not going to classes that day because they are needed to set up risers, shells, instruments and sound in the gym for the performance that night. Standard performance procedure of which she knows nothing.

           The performance is now the 14th after we've already contacted parents and kids got off work for the 15th. But today, the 7th, she changed it. I just got the email.

        The choir teacher, who had had enough, finally popped at Dapp in the hallway.

        I wish I would have been there.

        Dapp immediately shifted gears to being the victim; and this is on us, and don't tell the principal she messed up because she's on thin ice.

        This is what happens when incompetent people are allowed to keep their jobs and the district just shuffles them around from building to building.

        They do the same thing with pedos. 

        Just saying.

        And I won't even tell you the Saga Of Thespian Community Service.

        It's the first of October and we're all ready to walk out.

        It's not the kids.

        Neat.

        THURSDAY   8 OCTOBER

        Thespians were slated to do their outreach to Miller today, but everything fell apart on their side, not mine. So boo.

        But in other news I can openly listen to LSOH because we announced it as the show and it's not a secret any more. Like it ever really was, but whatever.    

        Of course right now I'm supposed to be meeting with the secretary to get her Pcard to pay the rights, and I'd much rather just sit here and listen to the show and not have to deal with anyone. Even if it's a nice person like the secretary who is always nice always to everyone all of the time, and she does it with a smile and in two languages. 

        WTF is wrong wih her?

        OK, word is out and it turns out staff is jazzed about Little Shop...so...guess I should pay the right and put together a schedule and do my job.

        Scene.

Sixty Years Are Almost 61: What The Hell Do I Do Now?

 

    4 October

    Well, that was a week.

    I love mandatory PD's that have nothing to do with my content in the first place, and cannot be adapted to be shoved, square peg/round holed style into my content in the second place.

    Leading us to the third place, where I have no filters or interest in even sitting quietly and pretending to play along.

     I looked the teacher running this particularly dumb PD in the eye and said "Just tell me what to do to check the box." Her reply set me off: "You're creative, you figure it out."

    No.

    Nope.

    Nyet.

    No thank you.

    If you're gonna call me stupid----which is what "you're creative, figure it out" is code for, then you could have spared me the last two hours of my life and sent me the email. Which I would have read, assessed as "stupid" and moved along, without having to face another teacher and dug in my heels and be told by a 35 year old math teacher I have never exchanged more than four words with that I am stupid.

    "You're creative, figure it out." 

    UGH.

    That was Thursday.

    My classes are fine, honestly I can adapt to just about anything---low numbers, spotty attendance, disinterest, behaviors---it's the BS that flattens my spirit.

      I was supposed to be observed this week---again, it's weekly now---but the practice lock down and fire drill during the same period over two days blocked that opportunity. That was nice, I liked not having to do a dog and pony show this week. It sucked for third period, who are Stagecraft and were finishing their models, to have two classes interrupted. But we persevered. It Is What We Do.

      Stagecraft did their model presentations, Theatre 1 cemented their future fate as a "Theatre History and Lit" class, Theatre 2 &3 are a joy and I found myself sharing stories about former students with them, and Peer to Peer could probably spend another week on Thriller and actually learn all the choreography. I just adapted four eight counts for them to use at the end of their Halloween play. It's their favorite part of the play.  

      The rights came in for the musical. God Bless Us Every One, the social studies teacher who helps out with tech wants to do a whole REVEAL thing. I don't just "not care" I DO NOT THE FUCK CARE. So I'll let her do it.

        So tomorrow I get to train Yet Another Assistant Principal on How To Pay For Show Rights, and explain exhaustively that yes, it's expensive and no, you can't do it online because as humanly inaccessible as MTI is, and as relentlessly insistant as they are about doing everything online, they do not have a pay option on line. In fact, the PDF contract they emailed  me had already been signed by another person, so I have to print it out and find some white out----like, where do you even find white out?---and sign it myself after writing the PCard number on a piece of paper that will go into the US Mail and by the Grace Of Dionysus and Saint Cecilia will be received by MTI.

        I honestly think I sent last year's contract as registered mail, just to insure they received it. If they don't get their money, I don't get the librettos and they're not going to follow up if they don't get the money...so...neat.

        I don't give a hoot if someone snatches the mail and steals the AP's P card number, that is not a me problem. But the rights not being paid IS a me problem.

        Once again proving that directors solve problems nobody else even knew existed.

        Whoot. 

        I did get out today to grab a few "commedia" masks for our performance next week. We'll also use them when we do our outreach at Fletcher Miller on Thursday. I love going to Disguises because they are local and family owned and they accept my tax exempt number so I can get reimbursed! YAS! Bonus. 

        Don't mock me, it's the only perk I get.

        "Commedia" is in quotes because they're actually Mardi Gras masks but we don't have time to build our own, and the ones I have that are "real" from Italy are not masks I wish to have schlepped around.

        Oh, ya, I'll be 61 next Saturday. 

        Huh.

        I feel like that's all the news that's fit to print this week. Boring, but I swore I'd do this all year. Lucky for you, my blatherings are not required reading.

        Scene.

        

Week Six Homecoming Edition: Part Three, Just The Facts

     27 September 2026

        I have been through over twenty Homecoming weeks.

       Three buildings, three districts.

       Two had parades. One had...nothing, really. Some games in the gym and a dance and a game that they lost.

        All three have football teams who lose their Homecoming game frequently.

        All three schedule Homecoming Shenanegins all week, interrupting classes and essentially zeroing out the possibilty of moving forward with any content on Friday. Kids are absent for powder puff prep, pep rally prep, pep rally and parade. 

        My Friday of Homecoming week, 2026:

        First period PLT was canceled, because our SLT who is the band teacher had to wait in line at some rental place for 40 minutes to get a trailer for drumline to ride on in at the parade. This his choice. I don't have a truck to pull a trailer, so Thespians aren't doing the parade. Maybe next year we'll find a truck. He doesn't get to whine, but he did.

        Second period Intro. I have eight kids enrolled. They are;

        Four freshmen, three girls and one boy who's never appeard. A ghost.

        Three juniors, one who is a cheerleader, and one who is a ghost. He was enrolled last year as well, I saw him once. He's not appeared in class this year.

        One senior who is a stellar student, CTE and worked the musical last year. They wanted to be in Stagecraft but their schedule wouldn't allow it with singleton honors classes. 

        The two junior girls were in this class when I arrived in January of 2025. One is a cheerleader, the other is an attentive and positive kid whose family life is unstable. They were pulled from class to move schools in March of 2025, and will likely be pulled again this fall, and moved again. She says it's OK, she gets a lot of different experiences. Like I said: positive kid. They would have enrolled in Theatre 2 last year as sophomores if their schedule had allowed, and couldn't get it in their schedule this year, but I appreciate their tenacity.

        The freshmen range from "transferred to our building in September and requested theatre " to "didn't fill out her schedule and was assigned the class." None seem to fire on all cylinders.

        Of these eight, two have Double Secret Nurse Passes---meaning they can leave any time, for any duration of time, with no questions. They also do not arrive on time, so I see them for maybe 10 minutes in a 58 minute period.

        One arrives 15 minutes late, every day. This is second period. In theory, she has a first period she had to attend and so should be somewhere in the building when the bell rings.

        On Thursday of last week, the senior and I were the only ones in class for thirty minutes. 

        On Friday, it was just the two of us for the first fifteen minutes. The cheerleader was clearly at the parade. One of the freshmen showed up. I have no idea where the other two were. So we played JENGA and watched music videos. Their fairy tale assignment cannot be performed with only three of them. Here is what the freshman said while watching THRILLER.

         "I've never seen this before."
         "This looks like a real movie."

         " This looks like American Werewolf in London!"

         "She's really pretty, and so lucky, she got to be in a video with Michael Jackson. "
         "His doctor murdered him, right? Is the doctor still alive? Someone should kill him for murdering Michael Jackson. I love Michael Jackson."

         That was second period.

         Third is Stagecraft. 13 enrolled, nine regularly show up.We were supposed to do model presentations but I forgot it's Homecoming Friday. So I got out the games and bubbles, because we were going to be called anywhere from 10 am -10.15 and told to go watch the parade. One kid is in drumline so he was out. Two others never showed up. One magically appeared after the parade, and my favorite freshman was not present. Her friend said her parents moved her to a different school. This class is my SLO data, and I have to have 10 kids for it to be valid. Awesome.

        We toddled down to the parade, and I swear there were twice the "floats" as there were last year. Not a lot of school spirit on the side of the street that I was posted, but something was different. It felt different than last year. Last year was a mess of pulled teeth getting kids to participate, relocating the bonfire for parking lot reasons--I think the pipes and flooding-- breaking up a fight between parents at the barbcue...this is different.

          Fourth I have Peer to Peer---those are my special needs kids. They got to be on two floats this year!  So there was no way anyone was going to focus for theatre, and that is all good in the hood with me. I handed out bubbles, leggos and Jenga and somehow landed on Prince videos--much to the delight of one of the paras. I like having people my own age around. However, finding Prince videos that are not naughty takes dilligence. It was a great post parade gathering until it was time to go to the assembly. I sat with the kid who is like Rain Man, he can tell you the day of the week for any date you give---past or future. I don't usually play the game with him, but he likes to ask "What day of the week is.....?" knowing I don't know, so I let him play. He also talks to either invisible friends or friends in his head. 

            The assembly was solid, the cheerleaders were on point, the kids in the gym exuded school spirit, they even volunteered to play the dumb gym Homecoming games everyone plays. I watched three of my freshmen poorly manuver "Hungry Hungry Hippoes" and laughed outloud with the teacher near me, who had also noted their struggle. He knew they were my kids based on the fire drill---we stand near one another.

          Side note: we've had two unplanned fire drills. One from the theatre, where a kid snuck  in during construction and pulled it---the construction workers told me they just stood and watched him---and one from smoking in the second floor boys' room. UGH.

          Lunch included toddling down to the office to get a Gatorade and muffin, as admin likes to ply us with sugar on these days. I had a nice exchange with the principal---details later---which was unforseen, she never talks to me. And it's fine, she's not mad, just very busy and important. Usually I get fly bys from her---like after The Odd Couple she was standing at the doors and said "I am a very proud principal right now"---moments like that are gold. If you know, you know, this is new territory for me. I have spent 20+ years as the unwilling but committed thorn in admin's side.

            Fifth is my "advanced" 2/3 class. I have five enrolled but six show up---one kid can't enroll because his college schedule impacts Wednesdays, and he will be late. But he comes anyway, 'cause he's a Thespian and loves theatre. Unsure where he was on Friday, but only five showed up. Two of them were in the parade, so we had to dissect that. Then they actually wanted to learn more about breaking down monologues, so we worked. First time that day.

            Sixth is another Intro, six kids enrolled, four show up on the regular. Two of them were the struggle bus freshmen from the assembly. They were far enough away from the event to attempt performing their fairy tale scene, but honestly freshmen aren't freshmen any more. COVID halted so many developments that they're still in seventh grade. I had to lecture them on maturing a bit to make it through theatre scenes, but I'll have to turn this into a reading hist/lit class. The boy can barely function, he has major ADHD and no paperwork---so it's not identified or diagnosed. 

            I subbed for seventh period since I have it off. It's a freshmen lit class and I knew a few of the kids, so that was relatively painless. The group of trouble making boys were quiet, I don't have to have been previously introduced to them to identify who they are. I made them deflate their ball, and when he blew it up again I just looked at him. "Sorry, Miss" and he stopped.    

            Then I gave a sub a ride home to Highlands Ranch, came home and watched American Werewolf In London and said "This looks like the video for 'Thriller'.

            SCENE.

            

        

        

60 Years Are Too Many: Nancy

         26 Sept 2026

        I want to live kindly, correctly and as unselflishly as possible. 

       "As possible", because I am a teacher and I make just enough money to  pay my mortgage, car payment and insurance. I donate at the holidays, both time and money.

        And that's all I can do.

        I have to fight the instinct to stop at every intersection with a person in need, invite them into my car and bring them home. Let them shower, feed them, see how I can help get them back on their feet.

        I fight it because my husband would divorce me. 

        So when I sense an opportunity, I stop and think.

        Friday was that moment.

        I don't generally wait until 4 pm to leave. I do not have a 7th period, and I've been known to sneak out to avoid teenagers in the parking lot.

        Also, remember I'm in 233 now on the second floor. I can't just scoot out the dock door to the parking lot. I Can Be Seen.

        Friday morning the front office called and asked if I'd sub seventh period on the fourth floor. I have no reason to say no, and they pay me, so...sure. I have no real reason to say no other than "I don't waannnaaaaaa". 

        Friday was a scheduling mess due to Homecoming. Dude, I've been at this 24 years and if you're going to schedule a parade and an assembly on Friday, just call it at noon and send everyone home.  

        Right. That would make sense.

        So during first period, there was a knock on my door. It's a hooligan ghost door that will lock itself. As only three students showed up for class, I assumed it was a fourth. It was not, it was the sub from next door. 

         If she was anywhere south of 70 years old I would be shocked.

         She wore a golf visor, and had an easily answereable question about when we were supposed to take the kids down to see the parade. Her name was Nancy.

          I didn't see her the rest of the day, until I was leaving the building at 4pm. I had to schlep back to the second floor from the fourth floor, and gather my effects. The point of this is I am  generally not leaving the building with other teachers.

          So as I'm gathering, the lightning flashes and the skies open up, pouring buckets of rain. The thunder shook the building, and one flash I swore hit the parking lot. 

          I trundled down the two flights and saw Nancy standing, looking at the quickly puddling parking lot. She had her phone out, and she casually and calmly looked up at me. "Are you going to Englewood by chance?"

         I live west, in the opposite direction, but I paused. I assessed the very real possibility she was going to have to take a bus, and had her phone out to get an uber. Which would cost her her day's earnings as a sub.

         I paused. "I'm not going to Englewood, but I can give you a ride."

         Flustered a bit, she said "The hub is in Englewood, I live in Highlands Ranch."

         Which is even farther, and south, and a drive I hate almost as much as I hate I -70 to Aurora.

         "No biggie. I'll give you a ride. C'mon."

          As we ran to the car between pummeling rain drops, she repeated how much she appreciated it and how kind I am. She told me she lived at the Audrey senior living in Highlands Ranch Town Center and the bus ride is only an hour, but the rain had her thinking about an uber, or just waiting, so she just asked me.

         Once in my car, she said "I tell stories". I said "Cool, that'll be a nice ride." I stopped for gas nearby and got her to give me the address of our destination. It predicted 31 minutes but it took 45 due to stupid traffic at Santa Fe and C470 and the rain. But I didn't care. I wasn't going to the Homecoming game, just home to watch a horror movie with Jim. No Big Plans.

        On the drive, she regaled me with her life story. 

        I did not get her age but 70 may be a low estimate.

        She has two cars, but one is a classic she does not drive, and the other she avoids because it needs work. She'd rather take the bus and use her sub money to travel than use it to repair the car. Which she uses to drive to the foothills to take photos, as an amateur photographer.

        She lived in Canada, attended the same college as Martin Short who is two years younger or older than she is---(I looked it up, he's 76)-- I can't remember if she mumbled he was behind her or ahead of her at school, only that it was two years. She has a degree in psychology and worked in "What they used to call 'Bedlam'".  Fell in love, got married, moved to Germany---her wife was German---then to France and Italy, and then grew apart and divorced.

        She travels  A Lot. 

        She spent the summer in Morocco, Italy, Greece and Spain.

        She was bitten by a cat in Morocco and spent the day with three 30 year old men running around trying to find a vaccine clinic.

        She likes to work out, and is not afraid to walk to and from bus stops.

        She explained that the roads in the US are horribly kept, and when you drive from Ontario to the US you can tell when you're in the US by the way the roads are maintained.

        She is a tall woman, and a bit mumbly. I'm afraid once or twice I didn't quite catch everything. She said she subbed in a middle school where a girl screamed at her relentlessly, demanding to know if she was a woman or a man.

        Which brings us to the age thing, you guys know how that can go---is that an old man or an old woman? The height and golf visor can add to the confusion if you're not a fully realized human. Full Realized Humans could care less which one you are.

        I think she said "I identify as female but I'm ( mumbled 'gay' or 'male' or something else?)" but cannot confirm. She is very kind and was patient with the kid as long as she could be before calling admin. Admin removed the kid (I want to know what school this was, because THANK YOU YES) and it was a two day assignment, so the second day they gave her an honors class with a better sort of pupil. She had a lovely second day there. She is not mad at the screaming child, she seemed confused. She's been subbing for 10 years so this can't be the first time she's encountered a middle school demon.

         I told her the kid was not an outlier, there are too many entitled jerks who think they can talk to adults like that. She did agree that she sees that behavior, but loves being around kids, loves subbing. She had no children of her own, this is a way to connect.

        She studied sketch writing in Canada and writes "a little bit". I think she worked as a writer on a show for a minute, but again; mumbly.

        She loves to golf, which is evident by her golf visor.

         She lives in a senior living apartment, which is not assisted living or a home. It's independent living she pays $1200 a month for. Her neighbors are a variety of mobile and not-so -mobile folks, and one travels with her. Many of them also travel. She swears by travel and cannot imagine being still. She literally subs to travel.

        She asked if she could buy me a coffee or something for giving her a ride, and I thanked her but begged off since it was getting late and as much as I enjoyed listening to her, I was out of spoons.

        I left her with "You are living your best life. Good for you." She smiled and shrugged and I sharpened my tone "I will never retire, and I've never been able to travel. You are doing this for those of us who cannot. Accept it gracefully and live fully."

         I hope she subs at Kennedy again. I hope to see her, and encourage her to write or to let me write about her. Her stories are fascinating...at least the parts I can hear are fascinating. 

         She is 74 or 78 years old, traveling, writing, taking photos and subbing. 

        Scene.