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We've been enjoying a week of almost sinfully beautiful weather in the City of Roses. Sunny and crisp and blue, blue skies, and like true Oregonians, we greet every strikingly clear morning the same way: "Oh. Well, it's definitely going to rain tomorrow."
Radio deejays, weathermen, the teller at my bank and the guy who spends the night at my bus stop each give this dire prediction every day, and next morning they are always proven wrong. It makes you wonder - just what does a city have to do to get a little gray, miserable weather around here?
A note on my continued adventures in Nannydom: I spent a good part of the day corralling a house-full of small children (and suffering defeat after crippling defeat at Candyland, but we won't go into that) and aside from sniffles and skinned knees and the occasional misdirected mudpie, everything went remarkably well. But just before dinner time, the situation got a little...wild. It reminded me of something my very favorite teacher used to say when our middle school science lab would get out of hand. "Tread carefully, Rose," he would say, voice just above a whisper. "The natives are getting restless."
(Actually, he called me Rosie, but that nickname and its associated angst deserves an entry of its own, I feel.)
In retrospect, I'm not entirely confident that this is the most politically correct way to express this particular sentiment, but now that I spend most my time surrounded by runny-nosed pygmies who cheat at Candyland and occasionally try to eat my hair, I find myself caring less and less about such things.
In the end, dinner was served and order restored. The parents arrived to collect their spawn and I returned to my apartment and my dog and other things that remind me just how very long ago it was that I sat on a rickety stool in Mr. Burroughs' science lab as I spent my free period dissecting owl pellets and chatting with my very favorite teacher (and the closest thing, I told him once, that I'd ever had to a father) about the skulls of rodents and maps of the stars.
Then I got online and checked my friends list, scrolling past entry after entry about fandom and Rose Tyler and the series that is to come, and I said to myself: "Tread carefully. The natives are getting restless."
Radio deejays, weathermen, the teller at my bank and the guy who spends the night at my bus stop each give this dire prediction every day, and next morning they are always proven wrong. It makes you wonder - just what does a city have to do to get a little gray, miserable weather around here?
A note on my continued adventures in Nannydom: I spent a good part of the day corralling a house-full of small children (and suffering defeat after crippling defeat at Candyland, but we won't go into that) and aside from sniffles and skinned knees and the occasional misdirected mudpie, everything went remarkably well. But just before dinner time, the situation got a little...wild. It reminded me of something my very favorite teacher used to say when our middle school science lab would get out of hand. "Tread carefully, Rose," he would say, voice just above a whisper. "The natives are getting restless."
(Actually, he called me Rosie, but that nickname and its associated angst deserves an entry of its own, I feel.)
In retrospect, I'm not entirely confident that this is the most politically correct way to express this particular sentiment, but now that I spend most my time surrounded by runny-nosed pygmies who cheat at Candyland and occasionally try to eat my hair, I find myself caring less and less about such things.
In the end, dinner was served and order restored. The parents arrived to collect their spawn and I returned to my apartment and my dog and other things that remind me just how very long ago it was that I sat on a rickety stool in Mr. Burroughs' science lab as I spent my free period dissecting owl pellets and chatting with my very favorite teacher (and the closest thing, I told him once, that I'd ever had to a father) about the skulls of rodents and maps of the stars.
Then I got online and checked my friends list, scrolling past entry after entry about fandom and Rose Tyler and the series that is to come, and I said to myself: "Tread carefully. The natives are getting restless."
