The road to school is NOT paved with good intentions

 I am writing this with the greatest of reluctance, knowing that calling attention to Erin's antics will only encourage her. But as our shenanigans (mine being defensive in nature) may have caused the only known non-tractor or livestock-related traffic jam in Wyoming Country, it seemed to bear witnessing. 

Erin and I manage mornings in very different ways...sparkle versus sludge. She skips. I stomp. She's singing show tunes while nary a syllable slips past my lips.

It's bad enough that I am forced to deal with her good cheer at work but we also often share the same sunrise journey; our vehicles meeting at the start of School Road. If I have the misfortune of Erin being behind me, I have to don protective eye wear to fend off her blinding, blinking high beams sending me a merry Morse Code message. If she's in front of me, I am delayed at every stop sign by a Broadway performance or, if she's feeling saucy, a burlesque show...as she shimmies across the street.

Not a jury in the world would have blamed me when, yesterday, I finally snapped. First stop sign. Sigh. Here she goes...in a slinky little black number with sequins. She teaches KINDERGARTEN, folks. As she turned to offer me a booty bump, I tossed the Titan in gear and blew past her. As the second stop sign approached, I decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. Of course, it was dress-up day at school...THANKS TO ERIN who made every flippin' day in December a dress-up day. So, clad from top to toe in red velvet with white fur trim, I flung myself out into the other lane and, illuminated by Erin's spotlight, put on my own show. 

Suddenly aware that there was traffic in the intersection, I moved, with a deep, dramatic bow, to re-enter my vehicle. The other car, situated perpendicularly to Erin and I, was immobile as the driver was incapacitated with laughter (Sorry, Candy.) Seeing cars beginning to line up behind my cackling co-worker, I tried to wave Candy on. Why won't my door shut? Is that a police car stuck in the traffic jam that we (Erin) caused? My red robes, waving majestically OUTSIDE my door, acted as a red flag to direct the confused cars as I prayed vehemently, "Please let that be Officer Ivan. Please let that be Officer Ivan." I rolled down my window so I could better hold my door shut and ignored Erin's incessant phone calls. Pretty sure I was racking up enough traffic violations (and creating some new ones) without adding being on the phone to my misdemeanors. 

Poor Katriel is accustomed to my grouchy greetings each morning but even she was startled by my degree of disgust when I picked her up. "It was my own fault," I fussed, "I lowered myself to her level." "This all happened on your way to work?" Katriel said, stunned, "You literally live five minutes up the road!" 

By the time we entered the building, Erin had alerted every occupant about our exploits. So much for my single syllable responses...I had to spend my morning delivering dissertations defending my actions. Officer Ivan eventually wandered down to take our statements and issue stern safety warnings. My principal listened sympathetically as I explained how Erin had provoked me. "It's always the one who was provoked who gets caught," she observed, offering to help me lay out a plan to avoid a repeat performance in the future. Neither leaving earlier or taking a longer, alternative route appealed to me. "Take the higher road, Amy" my boss encouraged. Forget that...fueled by road rage, I'm ready to hit the streets.

Pooch Perception

Recyclable Chlo

It was sort of a rough (ruff) day, self-esteem-wise for my little dachshund.  We walked into my friend, Geri's classroom, delighted to see her, only to have her insensitively regard Chlo and say, "Isn't she getting a little fat?"  I can hear the gasps of horror echoing about the cavernous corridors of the world wide web as you read this. I know.  Prior to this traumatic experience, Chlo and I were having a happy little day.  We took Sydney to work and shared a yummy portion of french fries doused in vinegar on the ride back to the school.  Following a detailed investigation of the school's perimeter, we made that barely-worth-mentioning (brief) visit to Geri. After I pointed out the significant difference between "winter weight" and the hurtfully generalistic and  misunderstood term "fat", I exited this toxic environment.  Near-sighted, Geri, of course failed to notice Chlo's luxuriously thick undercoat which may have contributed to her ridiculous misperception.  Not one to hold a grudge, Chlo rallied on.  We returned to my classroom for a little snack until my friend Cathy popped in for a visit.  We sat outside, enjoying the warm weather as Chlo explored the school yard.  Concerned for our safety, Chlo raced off to the tree-line to make sure that it was secure.  So intent was she on her duties, Chlo was unable to respond to my calls directing her to please return.  The sun glaring in her eyes made Cathy's facial expression appear a bit judgmental as I wrestled my sweet little dog from the underbrush and carried her back.  "Perhaps a little obedience training would help," Cathy said carefully.  I have to admit, I was a bit surprised by this comment.  "She's self-taught," I explained proudly.  The sun glare must have prevented Cathy from noticing that Chlo did not wiggle or squirm as I dug her out from beneath the bushes.  Misunderstood and unappreciated, Chlo and I returned to my classroom.  I didn't realize the depths of Chlo's depression until I discovered her a half hour later, curled into the recycle box, next to the trash.  I coaxed her out with a little yum-yum and before you knew it, we were on the mend.  Soon, my sweet little dachshund was curled up happily in my lap.  I don't know what got into Geri and Cathy today.  They just don't see Chlo the way I do.

Sacrifice of the Sole

I was contemplating the concept of sacrifice the other day as I trudged up West Buffalo Hill Road last Sunday toting two pizzas, a camcorder, and a digital camera housing over two hundred 6^th grade Boston Whale Watch pictures.  The only thing that I’d neglected to pack was my pride. 

            It’s interesting how the desire to meet the needs of others can inspire great effort.  Had this errand been simply for me, I most certainly would have scraped the idea of summiting such an incline wearing three inch heels in 80 degree heat.  However, I had an appointment, a deadline, a truck that had suddenly gone ka-put, and two pizzas cooling rapidly so I had to act fast.  The four quarter pay phone calls I made in lieu of my forgotten cell phone were quickly consumed by answering machines.  It looked as though I would need to take the high road.

            I’m sure by now that you’ve figured out that I never actually intended to walk the ENTIRE way.  Outwardly, I was all about sacrifice.  Inwardly, I was scheming.  Sporting a brave smile, an angelic glow, and slightly quivering ankles, I began the ascent, certain that someone:  a beloved friend, a vague acquaintance, or an ax murderer would quickly spot me and offer me a ride.  Instead, I received broad grins, beeping horns, and enthusiastic waves as I tight roped along the mostly shoulderless edge, gritting my teeth, bathed in sweat, and practically snapping my ankles off every other step or so.

It was, as I mentioned, a time of great reflection.  I realized that I had obviously neglected to cultivate enough deep and meaningful relationships with others as the thousandth car zipped by.  I thought about my talented video editor, housed at the top of Buffalo Hill Road liked a warped Rapunzel, sacrificing his Father’s Day for the 3^rd year in a row to produce an amazing movie of our school trip for the enjoyment of my 6^th graders.  Isn't he concerned regarding my unexplained absence?  Shouldn't he have contacted the local authorities, the FBI, or hired search dogs by now?  If not for me, at least for his late lunch?  His long-suffering patience was part of my undoing. 

            Going into this project, I had no idea regarding the level of commitment it would take to produce a worthwhile, enjoyable film.  Who knew of the blood, sweat, and tears that were to be extended to bring this movie to an appreciative audience?  For when the ending credits rolled, it would be the behind-the-scenes heroes who needed to be commended.  Todd and Sarah Sutay for magically transforming hours of potentially boring video into Oscar-worthy cinematography (and listening to me gripe about my tender throbbing ankles during the six hours it took to do it).  Than Mehlenbacher and Steve Ott taught me how to pop a clutch and refrained from criticizing me about my unfortunate choice of footwear. 

            After the climb, I vowed never to strap on those shoes again.  Those cute brown wedge sandals with the endearing peek-a-boo toe feature became demonic instruments of torture, leaving behind bloody heels, blistered baby toes, and weak ankles.  It is said that you should never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in her shoes.  Well?  Having gone the distance with me, what are your thoughts?  Was it worth the sacrifice?  The smiles on the faces of my 6^th graders lead me to say yes. As for the shoes, who could stay mad at them?  They’re such a pair of uplifting soles.

as published in Warsaw's Country Courier 
http://www.mywnynews.com/arcade_warsaw/