If I were The Decider at a university facing budget cuts and needing to trim personnel, here’s my hot take on some low-hanging fruit.
1st to go: Person(s) who have either (a) emailed the entire 752 person campus list-serv about a personal issue, e.g. their technological incompetence inability to find the Zoom recordings, or (b) the person(s) who replied all to such an email asking to be removed from the list.
2nd on the chopping block: At the beginning of this pandemic, very few people were familiar with Zoom/Teams/GoogleMeet and could be forgiven for rambling while on mute. Now, not so much. Equally vile are all the folks who hop on a virtual meeting while simultaneously yelling at their co-habitants without muting themselves.
My online classes start this week, and I’m sure karma will backhand me for my impertinence and I’ll forget to record the class post-break at least twice. Or maybe I will make a slide that says RECORD THIS MEETING!
Earlier this month, we had a 3 hour faculty meeting from 4 – 7 pm (1600 – 1900 for those who use military time). Needless to say, it wasn’t good news that kept us glued to our seats after hours.
To use Randy Newman’s words from Louisiana 1927: What has happened down here is the winds have changed.
In the best of times, there are hawks and doves and no deficits. This– this is not the best of times. Neither is it the worst of times. It is, however, a time of change. A time of reflection.
As I sit in one of the most beautiful spots in the country, I am thinking about an Eagles song just now: You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
Which I interpret similar to John Craigie’s I am California:
So drink all my wine, cut all my trees Make love on my beaches, smoke all my weed I am California, can’t you see? Wherever you roam, you’ll always want me
These past 2 years have been an incredible experience. Natural beauty in all of its aspects: ocean waves, mountains, verdant valleys, redwood forests, seasonal fruit, wildfires, earthquakes, and mudslides.
I had so many pre-conceived notions about California before I became a resident. I entertained a kind of west-coast bias that the people here don’t deserve any more than Southerners or blondes deserve their stereotypes.
Monterey, Big Sur, the California Central Coast— this is a magical place. A place where Mother Earth makes herself known, and Poseidon is forever flirting upon her shores. A place where you can steep in the stillness of a redwood fairy circle and see translucent fae wings flashing in the sunbeams trickling through the evergreen limbs. A place of plenty, where the temperate climate and rich soils produce food year round and the ocean teems with life.
Sleeping in feels great until you discover that there is more light later in the day, which means you can see the inside of your microwave.
Mine looks like the aftermath of a gremlins’ pizza party.
My microwave repertoire consists of boiling water for instant grits (AM) or hot toddies (PM), so I’m unsure about how it gets so grimy. Just another unsolvable scientific mystery.
On the brighter side, I ordered some silver polish in case I get the en vie to do some spring cleaning anytime soon. It would probably be more cost effective (time & effort) to get some stainless steel instead of using my grandma’s silver. #FirstWorldProblems
Even with a dedicated writers’ night, I can’t find the mental energy to work on any of my longer projects. It seems like every time I have re-charged my batteries and am ready to commence creating, a frustrating meeting or computer malfunction or a power steering pump failure arises to drain the life from my soul.
My current strategy (until I win the lottery) is to see if I can break my tasks down into smaller bites than FINISH NOVEL& SERIES. That’s a bit overwhelming and vague.
I can commit to 10 minutes a day (which is better than no minutes a day) and maybe build from there– ’cause you know Every Little Bit Counts.