Teachers and Relativity ... and Masochism

I figured out today that my standard "workweek" is somewhere near 80 hours.  Yes, I'm serious.  (I'm also something of a masochist when it comes to work, so to be fair you should probably figure that in)

This is why I'm wondering why teachers, who work incredibly hard and are entrusted, via in loco parentis, with the safety and, yeah, upraising of a veritable battalion of students, always seem to be on the political defecation list.

I don't want to hear, "You have every summer off."  No, I don't ... I'm working a second job (usually summer school ... this year, it might be flipping burgers) for the full month and parts of two others that I'm not teaching.

I don't want to hear the downright scary stuff coming down on teachers from the New Hampshire legislature ... walk in my shoes for a day.  In fact, never mind MY shoes ... my shoes are pretty comfortable as I am very fortunate in many, MANY aspects of my job (such as the fact that I have the most amazing students).  Put on the wingtips or sensible pumps of some of my colleagues ...

Sorry about the incoherent rant ... I've had Ambien and it's clearly showing, but this one's been coming for awhile.  I'll write a more ... well, coherent post about it soon.

Until then ... thank a teacher.  Seriously.  It totally means the world!

The Theory of Relativity as it Applies to Food

I am a huge fan of food. Like, I love to eat. This love is tempered by my whacked out liver and extreme pickiness, which is probably a good thing or else I'd be on one of those TLC shows.

My mother's pot roast, unique because of the onion soup mix (and other stuff) that she adds, making it an olfactory delight as well as a dietary one. My sister's green beans (sounds weird, but she does something magic with sea salt). My husband's repertoire of French cuisine, each dish better than the last. Cheeseburgers cooked on the grill. Lobster in any of its manifestations (drawn with butter, mixed with a little mayonnaise and served on a roll, cooked as a pie with Ritz cracker crumbs and a lot of butter, et cetera). The bouillabaise my stepdad made, brimming with scallops and shrimp underscored by a base of clam. Pizza made from scratch by my father. Peanut butter pancakes. Chef salad with a little bleu cheese dressing. Ice cream with peanut butter sauce. New England boiled dinner. Caramel martinis.

My breakfast this morning, consumed after a fasting period of approximately four and a half days, consisted of:
* Chicken broth with no salt
* Cherry-flavored Italian ice
* Orange Jello
* Coffee (with sugar but no milk or cream)
* Ginger Ale

It was among the best meals I've ever had.