Today was Grandparents' Visiting Day at Prestigius. Hordes of oldsters descended on the classroom, milled around bemusedly as the kids showed them around (read books, played games, fed the animals), then left after 90 minutes with the kids in tow. It went very well, I thought. The old folks had no idea who I was, but they were very nice once I introduced myself.
I have a really terrible memory for names. Even now, three months into the new job, I'm still uncertain about a few of the teachers. And the students? I have Mr. C's class down and that's it. And yet, the other day I drove by the house of a kid who was in my car pool in seventh grade --- keeping in mind that was twenty flarking five years ago now --- and his first and last name popped unbidden and instantly to my mind. And I never talked to him at all.
I think that's a sign that I'm now officially middle aged. The past is more present than the past to me.
On the other hand, it's nice not to be a poor young man any more. I remember having to get $80 or so out of the ATM before grocery shopping and diligently tracking prices so I wouldn't go over that. Or paying for some with cash and some with credit card. Or just having the cashier take some items off.
It's nice now swiping the debit card and knowing that even if the groceries are $200, not only is the money there, it's no big deal to spend it. At least a little security has come with age, even though I'm still one of the most immature and irresponsible 37-year-olds I know.
It's fairly clear to me that this blog has become moribund. I'm just not getting any inspiration out of the job --- it's going fine --- and I no longer feel the impulse to pour my emotional and social woes into these pages like I did when I first started. I would have gone on one of my hiatuses a while back, but I'm hanging fire until next week when Mr. C returns. Perhaps that'll lead to a little bloggable drama.