Unabridged Opinions

I’ve been in the U.K. nearly ten months now, and it has been amazing.  Rainy, snowy, sunny, exciting, (and, during driving lessons, occasionally terrifying), fun, and fascinating. Since February (when I have been keeping an “official” (okay, June is a bit shaky) tally), I have read over 150 book and started reviewing for Bookgeeks.  Who, I must say, are all sorts of awesome.

Aside from the fantastic Bookgeeks, I’ve also finally started reaching out and actively building a life here. Mostly by learning how to drive, which I must admit has been terrifying, hysterical, and frustrating all at once. The hysterical bits are usually at the beginning of the lesson when I reach for the seatbelt on the wrong side or (just the once!) stick my hand out the window while I thought I was reaching for the stick shift. Oops. Luckily, I appear to have the worlds-most-unflappable driving instructor, so he just gently corrects me, and we move on. (After telling me the story of one student who managed to drive into the centre of a roundabout and then attempt to flee the car in his stress and terror). Trust me, being a middle school teacher and being a driving instructor are closer than you might believe.  At least the fourteen year olds don’t have control of a thousand pounds of steel. Continue reading

There is a story, in my family, that takes place when I was ten years old.  Although it’s about me, I don’t actually remember it, and I had to hear it the first time from my father.  He was using it to illustrate a point he wanted to make to a bookstore clerk who was…concerned…that my then twelve-year-old self was buying “older” books along with my young adult sci-fi and fantasy (I actually can’t remember the book that prompted the conversation, although I had had issues a few times at the library and at school with “reading about my level”.).

So, as I was standing there, my dad explained why he didn’t think I needed policing in my book choices:

Well, when she was ten, I walked into the den and saw her reading Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale.  When I mentioned that she might want to read that book when she was older, and it would make more sense, she looked up and told me ‘Oh, it’s okay; this is the second time I’m reading it.’ At that point, I decided she could read what she wanted.

And you know what? I could.  Continue reading

One of my favourite “teacher-moments” came when I was re-shelving books in my classroom.  To set the scene, it must be understood that my classroom was filled with books. There were nine bookcases of varying sizes, books stacked underneath the whiteboard, books stacked underneath desks, and books stacked on top of the bookcases.  Of course, the tallest stack was the yet to be organized books that I’d bought that week (safely stacked on my desk). So I was merrily adding books to the computer and passing them out to the students hovering around me when one of the girls piped up:

“Miss S–you know how you constantly buy books? Even though you have a lot? When you keep doing something even though you don’t need to? That’s called a compulsion. And it’s a sickness.”

Snerk. Continue reading