Down the Hall on Your Left

This site is a blog about what has been coasting through my consciousness lately. The things I post will be reflections that I see of the world around me. You may not agree with me or like what I say. In either case – you’ll get over it and I can live with it if it makes you unhappy. Please feel free to leave comments if you wish . All postings are: copyright 2014 – 2019

Elementary, My Dear Barista

WHAT POSSESSES PEOPLE TO START A CONVERSATION about one topic over another? I mention this because this morning while I was trying to inhale my coffee one of the Usual Suspects started waxing nostalgic about her years in elementary school. After an unspecified number of decades why did this come to mind? I remember my years in elementary school, but I feel no need to bring it up for discussion.

I do admit that there are worse topics for discussion at that early hour. Honestly I also do not feel like listening to someone give me the details of their latest hospitalization for that nagging parasitic problem…At least not if I am eating at the time.

I spent my early years in the classroom with the Sisters of the Right Cross – all of whom had a Black Belt in Theology, but that was so long ago.

When this morning’s conversation about elementary school got going I kind of tuned out. I didn’t go to school here in Terre Haute (That’s French for, “The Cloak Room is full of Cloaks.”). I don’t know the local elementary schools or the teachers from 40 years ago.

Telling me stories about “Miss Othmar” is a waste of time. I don’t really care about her or her fall from grace after that field trip to the Zoo.

My most scarring event in elementary school was when I accidently broke a window in the church.

Totally my bad.

It was an accident and The Church had insurance. I learned that stained-glass windows are quite costly. To repair a stained-glass window costs about as much as a brand new B-1 Bomber. I was not happy. Sister Mary Butch was not happy. God took it all in stride.

I admit it that the education I got there at St. Trixie’s was excellent – even though they started messing around with “Pre-Algebra” in the sixth grade – thereby prolonging my Algebraic Torture far beyond all reason. My brain is not wired to understand or appreciate Algebra. It is not too keen on anything beyond the basic multiplication table. That is the main reason I let my wife, the lovely and mathematically sharp, Dawn, take care of that pesky Income Tax stuff. If I were to do the taxes…we’d all go to jail.

My years in elementary school were a looooonnng time ago – Dinosaurs still roamed the earth. It was in

a Galaxy far, far, away (Pennsylvania) – I couldn’t wait to leave. The nuns are all long dead I’m sure. Most of my classmates from that era are either dead or can’t remember what they had for lunch yesterday, and I don’t care to wallow in that time of my life before coffee.

I think that the Usual Suspects should make an agreement – no early morning trips down Memory Lane earlier than last year. Their memories are getting faulty and untrustworthy. Let’s stick to things that are more verifiable.

As long as God is still OK about that broken window thing I’m cool with it all too.

I’ll try again tomorrow.

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5 thoughts on “Elementary, My Dear Barista

  1. Funny…..but somewhat realistic. Thanks, John.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hilarious, John! Last week in school I told the children what a cloak room was. That led to a Jennie Story about being sent to the cloak room and washing my mouth out with a bar of soap. “What’s a bar of soap?” Asked the children. I kid you not. So I brought in a bar of soap the next day and showed them how it works. Not in my mouth of course. Do you find this as sad as I do, or are we just plain old?

    Liked by 1 person

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