Memory Lane

Why is it that our memory is good enough to retain the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not good enough to recollect how often we have told it to the same person?
--Francois de La Rochefoucauld

 I just found out that "The Help" is filming in the Fondren District of Jackson, MS. I read The Help because my mother so ardently recommended it, and, though I'm not usually one for "those kinds" of books, I found it was surprisingly AWESOME. Wonderfully constructed, narrated, with fleshed-out, relate-able, believable characters (which is my favorite thing to find in a story), and it was really fun to read about a place I knew well. I spent three years in Mississippi for my college education. I loved my college years, loved my college buddies to death, but it would take the power of God to move me back (no offense). I did, however, adore the Fondren district. old-fashioned and artistic, just fabulous. Once a month it hosted the most fabulous art show--vendors and performers from all over the city filled the streets and shops. I sadly was only able to go once--a couple of my girl pals and I went to hunt down a super cute, super talented indie band we discovered at the school's "Battle of the Bands." Unfortunately, for the rest of my college career, I worked on festival evenings, and it hurt every month when I locked myself to that library desk knowing that outside beauty had come to life. Poop. Anyways, all that to say, if you see "The Help" movie, you'll be looking at where I went to school . . . but reconstructed to look about forty years younger. Speaking of college, I finally added my old log playlist from my college years--it continues to be one of my all-time favorite mixes. Oldies but goodies.

Yesterday, I went to school feeling pretty rotten--plugged sinuses, foggy-brained, achy, and exhausted . . . and the first graders could sense it, could feel that I would have no strength to fight their childish chaos. Oh dear. They weren't monsters, just overly chatty and distracting, taking up waaaaaay too much class time ignoring my directions and requests, raising their hands to talk about anything BUT our materials, demanding oh-so-frequent bathroom breaks, arguing with me . . . . I went to bed at 7:30. Enough said. They're all sweet, great kids, but GOLLY. Could have been worse yes . . . but oh my, oh my. The sweet thing was they were worried about me this morning -- I was just barely on time for my assisting position in the extracurricular day (I don't teach Fridays, just help out in first grade's "fun" classes . . . which means near-chaos and even more bathroom breaks--seriously, I'm basically paid to watch the bathroom all day), and it was enough for them to express their concern to the teacher, afraid "Mrs. Bocchino" wasn't going to be there to make sure they stay in line. I love my kids.


During my lunch break, a parent of a former high school classmate popped into the office. Good grief--you would have thought he was a celebrity. It was so sweet and hysterical to watch all the office ladies appear out of nowhere to say hello and ask him how his kids were doing. That's just the kind of school I work for :). As cool as it was, my stomach goes into knots whenever I see anyone connected to my high school. I feel like I'm as big a dork now as I was then. I get incredibly nervous and shut down around my peer group. Older, younger, and I'm fine and dandy. I meet hip people my own age, and I can't look them in the eye or find anything to say because I'm afraid I'll come off as an awkward idiot. Maybe I will because, well, maybe I am, but it's all good, right? :) We are exactly who God intended us to be, and there's confidence in that.

I am currently overcrowded by two adorable kitties needing a snuggle-fest so I'm calling it a night.

Too-ta-loo!