Much of the morning was devoted to operating a glue gun and trying out different methods of adhering things to a poster board. In other words, I'm working on an elementary school presentation that will take place toward the end of the month.
The question you have to ask yourself with these events is -- what does an average kid, somewhere between the ages of 5 and 12 want to hear or see in your presentation? Therein lies the problem: the age range is huge. A five year old may get excited about dinosaurs or fairies. A twelve year old? Probably neither.
I used to do big time projects in my own kids' elementary school. I put together a newspaper each semester with stories written by kids at all grade levels. That was a huge enterprise, especially since in those days, you had to cut and paste stories before issuing newsprint. Tedious work! And even more tedious? Soliciting stories, editing content -- all of it took more time than I had, but somehow I packed it in for several years running. So doing small presentations and gluing things to a poster board would seem easy peasy lemon squeezy by comparison. And yet, I've been compiling ideas (and poster boards) for days now and I'm not even half done.
After another misty and very uninteresting walk to the barn... (Dance, keeping me company)
... I sat down to breakfast with Ed.
I said to him that I find it very interesting that when you slow down in your thought processes, chances are very high that you are not aware of the changes taking place within your cerebral cortex. Much like in walking: I tell Ed he's slowing down in his steps and he always says he's been at the same gait all his life. His response to diminishing brain function? Learn a new language! That's what they all say -- learn a new language. Heck, I have trouble enough getting more fluent in the languages I already speak. The other day I forgot for a moment how to conjugate finir in the French imperfect. That's like year one of basic French. Slipped my mind. Go figure.
(Baking time. It soothes a wounded spirit.)
We did not go for a walk. Perhaps that was a mistake. Perhaps going for a walk is the very thing you need to do to keep those verb tenses lodged securely in your brain. Still, it's just not that exciting out there. Muddy, cloudy. That says it all.
In the afternoon I pick up the kids.
They, of course, get smarter every day. At some point we'll pass each other and they'll take over the world. Something to look forward to! They're good kids!
(His troubled look: I need to tell you something that happened at school. I broke a stick...)
We read the entire afternoon. Riveting, I tell you!
In the evening Ed and I fry our brains even more with another not great Netflix selection. I'm letting that subscription run out this month, having finally exhausted all that we find enjoyable and clever there.
Fried brains, delicious supper foods, chocolate for dessert. Your perfect senior moments, dont you think?
