Irene's weakened weekend fury looms near, and we sit & wait for what she brings. What an unwelcome house guest she is, but what can we do?
Wait.
I've never liked the name Irene. When I was a little girl I was dreadfully scared of a cafeteria monitor named Irene. She was work-weary and intolerant. She stole our retainers if we accidentally threw them away. (I never threw mine away.)
I wish I could terrify students. Maybe I'll start stealing their retainers.
Irene. Ugh.
The cat snuggles his fuzz blanket as I read-- and the world seems a little less boring with all of this natural disaster talk. I didn't do anything today besides read Jane Eyre and plan a lesson for school next week. School next week. Summer and her laissez faire leaves us; Irene and her grumpy, boisterous self barges right in.
Sounds about right.
You within earshot of this blog, please pray for we east-coasters who have decided to wait out the storm under our own wind-battered roofs.
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