I’m going on vacation in a few weeks, and I’m very excited about it. I’ll see friends and family, and I’ll go to the beach and a couple of parties. I’ll celebrate my birthday and the Fourth of July and generally have a great time. I know all of this. But I’m dreading going.
Why?
The flight.
The last time I was on a plane was back in January, on my way home from London. It was a glorious trip, but the flying was not fun. I was squished, and I’m sure I squished my sweet, ever-patient son, who was stuck next to me. He will once again be stuck next to me, and we will both, once again, be squished, but this time it’s not just the discomfort that has me worried. It’s the seatbelt.
I’m afraid, that for the first time ever, I won’t be able to buckle it.
I was hardly skinny back in January, and I’m even less so now. What if it doesn’t fit? What if I have to request an extender? Will I die of embarrassment? Will my son?
I have a couple of weeks. Maybe there’s time to make a dent. It’s worth a try.
Ok, that’s not exactly true. It is, however, driving me crazy. Sure, I understand how it works, and how it’s supposed to make life easier for me, but at the moment that’s not my reality. My reality is that I’m feeling confused and overwhelmed by it, and it’s making me feel ineffective at my job. There, I said it.
I’m teaching a summer writing program and we just started today. There are three sites operating simultaneously, and there are three age levels operating at our site. In all there are seven instructors, plus a director making sure that all of the moving parts come together. All of us are supposed to be sharing ideas and materials, including presentations, via Google Drive.
It sounds logical. It sounds like it would save a lot of time. It sounds like it should be a piece of cake. Unfortunately, I just can’t quite seem to get the hang of it. I can’t find what I need when I need it, and if I want to change something around, I feel like I’ve negated someone else’s work, unless I save it with a new name, and then how will they know which document they actually want?
My head is spinning, and the whole thing is making me want to run away from the computer and just stick to notebooks and pencils (which wouldn’t be an entirely AWFUL idea), but I know I can figure it out and it will make what we’re doing so much more meaningful for the kids.
Still, I feel frustrated and I’m glad that my colleagues in my main job don’t use this particular method to share information. This old dog has learned a lot of new tricks, but this particular one is giving me fits.
This weekend my city is hosting Comicon. For those who are unfamiliar with these events, it’s a convention built around comics. That’s the simplistic description, but really, it’s so much more. It’s a huge event with workshops, movies, parties, costumes, vendors, and more. I wouldn’t have thought it would be something I would ever attend, but I am, for the second time.
Last year my sweetheart discovered that there are many authors that attend these cons, and they give workshops and participate in discussion panels. The cost is way less than traditional writer’s workshops, and the atmosphere is incredible. Where else can you see Dr. Who rubbing shoulders with zombies, Han Solo, Pikachu, and Ninja Turtles?
I was never all that into comics as a kid. I did like the read the Sunday funnies, since they were printed in color. I always read Blondie, because it was the first one. I liked Garfield and Peanuts too, and the one panel comics, like Family Circus, Marmaduke, and Ziggy. Still, I rarely used my dime to buy a comic book at the store; I always preferred candy.
One summer, though, I got sick at sleep away camp. It was way up in the woods in Canada, and I think my parents may have been on a trip, but I don’t recall the exact details. I do remember that I was in the infirmary for a couple of days, and it was terribly boring. The only way to pass the time was with the stack of comic books that they had.
During that infirmary stay I came to appreciate the struggles of poor little Richie Rich. I also looked forward to my teenage years when I would hang out with the gang, just like Archie. Sarge and Beetle Bailey amused me without exposing me to the real struggles of Army life, and Prince Valiant, well, he was just boring aside from his funny haircut.
There were no superheroes that I recall. I would have read Batman or Superman or Spiderman, but they hadn’t made it to that little camp infirmary in the woods of Northern Ontario. I’m still not much of a comic reader, but I do get nostalgic thinking about those long ago comic books helping me pass the time.
Are you a comic reader? Were you as a child? What are your favorites?
BulgingButtons 