My grey hairs are showing

It's very interesting the correlation between the number and density of young whippersnappers and the number of sightings of my inner grannie.

All the college kiddos (and now that I am eleven years older than them, I no longer feel bad about calling them kiddos) have been back on campus for two weeks now, and I find myself tsking much more often now than I did over the summer.

Some examples:

1) Last week, after hobbiting in my gollumtastic cave office (hope you like Lord of the Rings!!) for several days, living in denial that the whippersnappers were back, I was finally forced to venture out into the throngs. What forced me to this desperate, unwise act?? Hormonal hungriness. I had no lunch, and one certain Cricky Jr. wouldn't let me get away with it. So, I begrudgingly trudged up to University Hill (the most concentrated area of whippersnapperness) during student rush hour (the most concentrated time for whippersnapperness-class change) to get Qdoba. It didn't take long for me to notice the new trend for young ladies this fall: shorts so short you don't know they exist. And here it comes: the first tsk of the year. And the tsking continued all the way to Qdoba and back, until I was safely holed away in my hermit nest again. But really, they deserve it. It looks like they are all wearing peasant blouses with no bottoms. I saw more thighs, thighs, cellulite, jiggling, and thighs than I have seen in a LOOOOOOOOONG time. I said a silent prayer that the arrival of winter would be swift. But then I remembered that winter= UGG boots. And then I just felt like a grumpy grannie.

2) Young whippersnappers seem to be addicted to two things: iPods and cellphones. They love, love, love to combine the two simultaneously, with the unfortunate addition of wheels. They bike while texting and with earphones in. tsk. They skateboard with the above combination. tsk tsk. One whippersnapper almost became roadkill when my hubby/chauffeur came to drive me home from work the other day. We decided these instincts aren't necessarily bad. They do, after all, encourage "survival of the fittest" or natural selection. If you aren't smart enough to listen and look for cars while you skateboard down the middle of the street, well then, perhaps you ought to be pancaked on the road and removed from the gene pool, whippersnapper!!

3) During lunch today, I took 15 minutes to go outside, sit under a tree and knit. When I happened upon my tree, there was a whippersnapper under it. Tsk. Look here, whippersnapper: that tree and I have a long-established relationship that transcends the academic school year. So, you just skeedaddle. I was finally forced to find another tree to sit under, so I unfolded my blanket, pulled out my knitting and took a deep breath of fresh air. Then I heard it...the constant drone of whippersnapper conversations. Why is it that whippersnappers can't sit under a tree, breathe the air in, enjoy the breeze on their cheek, watch the clouds in the sky, and listen to the birds?? I swear the second they get out of class they are glued to their phones. tsk. I heard "like", "dude", "man", "sweet", and other such california-girl speak. And I heard more than my grannie ears could take. tsk tsk tsk. Then, to make matters more grouchy, I began to hear the tree talk. And just when I was beginning to wonder if my inner grannie is becoming real, dementia-causing grannie, I realized there were students up in the tree. About 20 feet up in the tree. tsk. Then one climbed down with flip flops on and I was reminded of the survival of the fittest again. tsk tsk.

Why is this all making me realize that it's going to be a long, long, long semester??

Lemonade

I'm learning something about myself:

I'm not good at taking lemons and making lemonade.

And when I say that, I'm not talking about the beverage. I actually make a decent lemonade! I'm talking about life's lemons.

This isn't the first time I've learned this lesson, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I guess some lessons take you all your life to learn. Or maybe I'm the goldfish: every time I go 'round the bowl, it's all new to me! I've already forgotten my last lemon episode.
And I suppose that in itself is a pretty good indicator of how good my lemons are! If I've already forgotten my lemon lesson from last time, and I'm having to relearn it, my lemons must not be that bad.

Has anyone else encountered this citrusy issue before? Tell me I'm not alone!

Anyone have a free condo in Boulder?

When we moved to Boulder, we didn't house/apartment hunt. We simply chose family housing, knowing it would be affordable and convenient, and moved right in.
Now, four years later, as we tire of handwashing the dishes and line drying our clothes, and as we search for a kitty-approved 2-bedroom, we're seeing what we missed out on four years ago!
And, I've made a conclusion:

Searching for housing in Boulder could be used as form of torture. Torture of the cruelest sort.

Just imagine the following scene:

setting: a dark, dingy, hot, steamy room with no windows. there's one yellow bulb hanging down from the ceiling. two men are standing around a chair, where a scruffy man is bound.

Man#1 : Tell us where you hid it.
Man in chair: NO!!! You'll never know!!
Man #2: Tell us, or you'll regret it!
Man in chair: NO!!
Man #1: Alright have it your way. But now you get to look for a 2-bedroom apartment, with cats allowed. It must have a washer/dryer, dishwasher, and easy bus access. It must be under $1000.
Man in chair: looking unfased, even curious.
Man# 2: And.....it must be....in......BOULDER!!!!!!!!! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
Man in chair: NO!! ANYTHING BUT THAT!!! I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU WANT TO KNOW!!!

je suis nerdy

I had a childhood fear of miller moths. I've discussed it here before. Oh, I would shriek, scream, stay awake all night and all the other things that accompany irrational childhood fears.

Only now I have a rational reason to fear them: my fiber stash. Every day I check my yarn cabinet, my stored fleece, and my spinning area for moths. I've seen them around, and I know that a yarn cabinet is tantamount to a chocolate store for miller moths. And, if you'd like to hear shrieking and screaming, then imagine me finding my whole stash (aka...investment) has been eaten through by Freds (aka...miller moths)!!! It would be the shriek heard 'round the world!!!

A Proverb

I have Proverbs 20:24 above my sink. That way, when I'm doing dishes (and since I have no dishwasher, one of us pretty much always is) I can think about this. And I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. And I've decided something:

I need to write a new translation of the Bible. In NIV, this verse says, "A man's steps are directed by the Lord, how then can anyone understand his own way?"
In my translation, this verse would read,

"A man's steps are directed by the Lord, and he loves obstacle courses..."

Vroom Vroom

I'm constantly amazed that being a student supervisor basically means being their mom. I'm a mom to anywhere from 6 to 8 college students! That means I was 10 when they were born!! =)
I have to call them and wake them up for their shift (easily my most frustrating, donald-duck-inducing task), advise them on resume writing skills, offer counsel when they are having roommate issues, listen to their worries about class and grades, listen (and inwardly smirk) to them romanticize about life after college (they all think life magically "happens" after college, and don't realize it usually just means some kind of 9to5!! They'll learn in time!)...and on and on and on.
I suppose that must have been me when I was a college student, but I sure don't remember it that way. For one thing, my boss never once had to call and wake me up to come to work. I was completely reliable and self-supervised.


Today a student (not mine-he's has a different supervisor/parental unit) came to me after borrowing the departmental vehicle (I am the manager and "boss" of the departmental vehicle). He looked very upset and said he had to "speak to me."

"I scraped the van."
"Okay, why don't you show me?"

And you know what the first thing that came to my mind was??? It was the response my own Daddy gave me when I:

1) popped two tires on his Ford Explorer the night before my driver's license test, and the night before an epic business trip for my dad;
2) popped a tire on my beloved, cherished, treasured, dream car, "my" (read: their) 1985 Suburban; and
3) completely totaled the little Honda my parents had JUST bought for my baby sister.

My daddy didn't act even remotely upset or irritated. He told me that these things happen. He told me that they happen to everyone at some point, and had happened to him. He assured me it would be okay, and was not a big deal. He offered to help, or in example #2, when he was out of town, I called him and he talked me through how I could fix the situation.

So you know what I did when I got out to the departmental van and saw not a scrape, but a crunched dent??

I didn't act even remotely upset or irritated. I told the little student that these things happen. I told him that they happen to everyone at some point, and had happened to me. I assured him it would be okay, and was not a big deal. I offered to help.

Even though this kid is not my own child, I must say it felt very good to "repay" the favor my daddy gave me each time I messed up! The poor kid was obviously near tears, and had a quaking voice. I felt so bad for him, and I remembered the knot in my stomach each time I had to report these kinds of things to my parents. And I remembered the paralyzing tears and sadness when I totaled their car.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is: I have the best Dad ever. And I hope I can "repay" many other people with the daddy-favors he showed me!!

yummy

This image reminds me of my little sister. Possibly for two reasons:

1) one of her nickname strains is Lizzerd.

2) She had a love affair with a rooster. She especially loved the bottoms of his baggy, warm feet. Especially when they perched on her finger.