In the middle of a class this week I heard myself saying I've been teaching composition since before you were born, and my heart sank--both because I'd resorted to such a lame cliche and because how can I be that old?
But apparently I am. This morning my cranky hip started acting up in the middle of a walk through the woods, and the only way to get back to the car was to keep going forward, up and down steep, slippery trails and steps. I stopped to stretch the hip out, which helped a little, but when I change my gait to favor the sore left hip, then the right knee starts to hurt. Am I really going to be that annoying older person who's constantly griping about sore joints?
And then I got stymied this week by what seemed to be a challenging math problem. Several students met with me over Zoom because they wanted to know whether they can pass my class if they get A's on the last couple of assignments. They wanted me to do the math and give them a number but I was overwhelmed by so many questions that I couldn't have counted my own toes, questions like If you're capable of doing A-level work in my class, why have you so far failed to earn anything higher than a D+? That's not a math problem. That's a lack-of-contact-with-reality problem, and I don't know the proper equation.
But life goes on. This morning I saw exactly one bloodroot blossom, but the dutchman's breeches are starting to bloom and the bluebells are budding. We saw lots of trout lily leaves but no blooms yet. Towhees are back and pheobes are calling and my mornings are filling with birdsong. Best of all, this semester will be OVER in four weeks. Granted, I'll also be four weeks older, but that's probably better than the alternative.
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