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November 18--XVI
Nov. 18th, 2020 09:23 amI'm proctoring a test that I am giving remotely. I miss being in the testing room and watching the students work things out as they try and determine the correct answer to whatever question they are attempting to answer. It was always such a quiet time--I could really get some thinking done, if I wanted to. Most of the time, though, I would surf the web or make an LJ entry. No thought required.
Here's a corner of my office at home, while I was writing test questions yesterday morning before dawn. I found that scrap of paper with ideas for LJ entries, and one of them was about how I redesigned my home office after I realized I was going to be working in here for a while. This isn't that entry.
I did a Zoom tutoring session with my class yesterday, and at the end, we got to talking about why certain things are the way they are. It ended up being an hour-long dialogue about all sorts of things. That's one of the things I miss about being in the classroom--those spontaneous conversations that pop up about random things. Sometimes that is when I feel most like a teacher.
Yesterday's sunrise. I could see it from where I am sitting, but it was so spectacular I had to go outside and take a look. It later rained (finally), and kept raining on and off overnight. Now the sun is shining, but we are expecting some more rain later. Maybe. I need to go out after the exam is done, but I don't care if it is sunny or rainy. I like both.
This morning is the 16th anniversary of my first wife's death. Her name was Arlina. She was only 47 when she passed, which seems younger and younger with each passing year. I said a prayer for her this morning, though I suspect that if there is a good place where we go after we die, she is well-settled there. Her mom used to tell me that she dreamed that Arlina lives in a little house somewhere in heaven. "By herself," she would add, somewhat cryptically.
I've thought about her and our life together a bit these past few days. It seems like so long ago--almost another lifetime. The more time passes, the less familiar that old life feels.
The room that is my office was once her office, and it looks out on the rose bushes she planted when we first moved here 20 years ago. In spite of the rain and the wind, there are still a few roses out there, and I will take them to put on her grave later.
Here's a corner of my office at home, while I was writing test questions yesterday morning before dawn. I found that scrap of paper with ideas for LJ entries, and one of them was about how I redesigned my home office after I realized I was going to be working in here for a while. This isn't that entry.
I did a Zoom tutoring session with my class yesterday, and at the end, we got to talking about why certain things are the way they are. It ended up being an hour-long dialogue about all sorts of things. That's one of the things I miss about being in the classroom--those spontaneous conversations that pop up about random things. Sometimes that is when I feel most like a teacher.
Yesterday's sunrise. I could see it from where I am sitting, but it was so spectacular I had to go outside and take a look. It later rained (finally), and kept raining on and off overnight. Now the sun is shining, but we are expecting some more rain later. Maybe. I need to go out after the exam is done, but I don't care if it is sunny or rainy. I like both.
This morning is the 16th anniversary of my first wife's death. Her name was Arlina. She was only 47 when she passed, which seems younger and younger with each passing year. I said a prayer for her this morning, though I suspect that if there is a good place where we go after we die, she is well-settled there. Her mom used to tell me that she dreamed that Arlina lives in a little house somewhere in heaven. "By herself," she would add, somewhat cryptically.
I've thought about her and our life together a bit these past few days. It seems like so long ago--almost another lifetime. The more time passes, the less familiar that old life feels.
The room that is my office was once her office, and it looks out on the rose bushes she planted when we first moved here 20 years ago. In spite of the rain and the wind, there are still a few roses out there, and I will take them to put on her grave later.
