Frying Pans...Who Knew, Right?

(The title is catchy, but has nothing to do with the below post, everyone will be relieved to note. Well, nothing save the last three words.)

The days between Monday and Wednesday this past week were consumed with a Classical Conversations  practicum (seminar/summer camp). It was really quite interesting--on many levels, some of which were nice...and some rather eye-opening. Not only were there multiple lessons in humanity and related phenomena, but I made a personal discovery of huge proportion. 

 Let me explain: my mother and sisters were signed up for different classes during the practicum, but since I have reached the ripe old age of 17, the only recourse was to have me be a volunteer. So, I was assigned to the nursery to care for various and sundry small children. Shouldn't be too bad, right? I mean, don't babies mostly only sleep and play? There might be an occasional crier, but I can handle that! I'm not a wimp...

...after the first morning, though, I found that I was not *ahem* gifted with the patience or fortitude to sit in a confined space with three or more implacable babies (of whose habits I was completely in the dark) squalling at me. Thankfully, the volunteer coordinator offered me the chance for a "change of scenery" and I was glad to take her up on it. From then on, I was able to avoid stepping foot into the nursery, as I was transferred instead to the speech camp (where my sisters just happened to be enrolled. Mwahaha).

It was rather large, loud and chaotic class of children who may or may not have been fed a couple of spoonfuls of sugar mixed with Red Bull for breakfast, I'm not really sure. It was sort of comical how little it took for the room to descend into cacophony. However, despite this fact (or perhaps, because of it), I made a discovery that positively rocked my world.

I, who have never fully embraced babysitting, who have hitherto been convinced that kids didn't like me and that the feeling was mutual...I have now changed my point of view and begun to wonder if it's just a certain age group that I don't do well with! This is quite a mystery that must be thought through.

Upon further contemplation, I think that I may have figured it out. I think.

The thing about kids that age is that they (for the most part) are old enough to be reasoned with (to a certain degree) and yet still young enough to be devoid of much of the attitude that tends accompany the middle-school years. I won't say that they will always be negotiated with, or that they never have an attitude, but by-and-large they are in a lovely in-between zone that makes for a nice dynamic and experience (for me).

I knew that I loved teaching violin, but I thought that it was mostly about  imparting the knowledge of the violin itself. I now begin to wonder if it's because I like the age group. As my mother pointed out, I am descended from a long line of teachers; teachers of the Bible, teachers of music, homeschooling mothers. I don't know if there's anything in it, but hey...I'll buy it for what it's worth.


Well, this observation is drawing to a close. I enjoyed volunteering at this practicum and being around the kids, it was a great experience. However, sitting and attempting to keep these kids quiet from 9-4 for two days has ingrained a habit, so I would like to apologize in advance and hope that anyone that I come in contact with will forgive me if I appear bossier than usual or patronizingly shush them. I don't mean to, it's just a kind of reflex at this point. I'm a-working on it.

Olivia

Patience Puppy

 

The last 17 hours, I've been feeling like I'm living in a nightmare, and wish I could wake up.

Last night was a terrible evening. Long story (female beagle with a mind of her own, got out of backyard, made it onto busy street outside subdivision) short, our dog was hit by a car last night and we had to put her down.

 Patience was the sweetest dog I've ever met. I am technically not a  "dog person" and often felt like I wasn't giving her the attention she needed, but I did love her and I miss her like crazy right now.

Sometimes I complained about her, she barked and it was hard to make her stop She  had a history of getting away and running around the neighborhood, she'd even gotten on to that street once before without incident. Sometimes we'd talk about trying to find a ranch for her to live on where these things weren't an issue,  not because we hated her, but because we wanted to do right by her.

Right now, I'm trying to just dwell on the good things: the memories that I have of her eight years with us and the good things that I can manage to glean from last night.

She was allergic to fish. Or Beneful. Or fish-flavored Beneful.

That my dad had followed her in his car and was there to pick her up, so she didn't just suffer after being hit.

That she knew he was there with her.

That vets have sedatives.

That God kept Daddy safe when he went onto the busy street to retrieve her.

That no one was hurt in any way trying to avoid hitting her.

That I gave her the pieces of chicken night before last.

That I pet her last night. She was following me around because she could smell other dogs on me.

That last week was nice weather-wise and she could enjoy outside.

That we've been letting her sleep inside instead of the garage because it was so hot.

That she loved the cats.

Like I said, sweetest dog in the world.

I remember one time when Georgie was a little bitty kitten, he mistook her for his mom. She had the most priceless shocked look on her face.

this was not a posed picture.

I remember that when Otis was a kitten, we'd let him outside and Patience would play with him, dragging him around by the head or ears. But she was so gentle and never even got close to hurting him or Georgie.

Otis' first day in our house. I think Patience would like him to play with her, but he's just not ready.

She couldn't stand other dogs, unless they were about the size of the cats.

Daddy and the little girls took her to the farmer's market downtown last weekend. I wish I'd been there. But I'm glad she was.

She used to climb trees. Even almost-completely-vertical trees. It was quite interesting.

I remember when we took her to Lost Maples two autumns ago. She loved the water, even though it was freezing. I always loved watching her explore new surroundings.


I remember when we got her. She was in a big with a bunch of other beagle puppies outside HEB. Mommy and Daddy, deciding it wouldn't hurt to look stopped the car. Yeah.

In the winter, I'd spread a big blue blanket on the chair in my room and let her sleep there.

She loved it when we played with her. However, we had to kick the racquetball, she never would let us touch it.

She was a beagle. She howled.

She would come upstairs to comfort me if I was having a bad day and just look at me with her big brown eyes, give me kisses and let me hug her. I wish she were here now.

I realize that in the grand scheme of things, this is pretty small. Horrible things happen to humans every single day. When all is said and done, this is just a dog.  But right now, to me, this feels like a pretty big deal. I know I'll get over it, and write this post was one step in that direction. I'm sorry if I'm not the normal smiley Olivia that y'all know.

I guess all I can do now is seize the day, and appreciate everything and everyone. They won't last forever.