Is there anything better than windmill cookies and strong coffee? I don't think so. That's what I'm having right now, as a matter of fact. Tim just called and said he's bringing supper home so I don't have to cook. Really, I don't mind cooking. It relieves a lot of stress; but so does writing, so it's all working out.

The best thing about last week is that I know for a fact that this week has to be better. That's how bad it was. It was pure-D awful. I showed my rear end at a meeting, and my only regret is that I didn't say more. I really do think it's time to ring the death knell on public education. It will never recover from this administration. I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think I am. Somebody's gonna' pay, though. I have to believe that.

Meanwhile, I am teacher of the world right now. I'm teaching my heart out, because I hear the clock ticking. I was reading on Susan O'Hanian's site an article written by a woman whose co-workers are saying they want to shut their doors and do what's right. She replied that she wants to OPEN her door and do what's right. What a sick sad environment, when you have to hide good teaching. I'm so glad my spine is made of steel. They're all afraid of me, really. But at the same time, I can't respect someone who's afraid of me. Know what I mean?

I spent Saturday at USM with Patricia, Sherry, and Kim. What fun. I need to do that every once in a while to get my bearings, see which way is north. If you think I'm gloom and doom, I have to admit it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be. It's a heck of a lot worse.

The other day I heard the song "Heaven Came Down and Glory Filled My Soul". I saw myself, about 5 or 6 years old, walking up the steps of Lake United Methodist Church. I was wearing a dress, stockings, black patent leather shoes, a red wool cape, and a muff. The muff was furry on the outside, and lined with sateen. (I guess that stuff is called sateen; that's what my aunt always called it when she called Mama to come over and get some: "Melvin's had sateen on sale for a dollar a yard. I got thirty yards so y'all can all line your coats with it this winter.") Well, anyway, back to the muff. Or was I getting back to the song? I don't know which way is north in this paragraph. I think I was going to write about the memory of the Sunday Angela and I sang that song at church, and I can still remember what I was wearing that day. I wonder if my cape was lined with sateen. I can't remember the inside of it.

I just remembered that even all my doll's clothes were lined with sateen. Mama would make them coats from our leftover fabric, and they were always lined and had brass buttons and everything--just like ours. Lately I've been wishing I could sew. There's no end to the ways I could make money from home if I knew how to sew. I've really been thinking about cooking, though. If I could get up a little business selling cakes, pies, cookies, maybe soups and casseroles.

We saw One Night with the King Saturday night. It was okay, but a little overdone in some areas.

It seemed like there was more I wanted to say, but I don't remember it. I was reading at the zolaboard about this whole Calivinism mess. Some of them actually think that when scripture speaks of "before time" and "before the foundation of the world" that it's referring to pre-Genesis. Surely they know that means after the exodus. Surely? And all those Romans verses they quote about the elect? Surely they don't believe their own interpretation of those. Surely?

Time for Rachael Ray.

Mama had surgery last week. She hates being an invalid, and suddenly the house is way too small for her and Daddy to cohabitate. She told me yesterday they might not make it to their 50th anniversary on the 29th of next month. Something to do with cornbread.

I've been blog-hopping tonight. I stayed home from the ballgame because it's too cold for Lizzie to be out, but she ended up going over to Judy's anyway. First, I thought I'd read. I'm deep into several books on reading comprehension, and a novel about slavery in Louisiana. That didn't work, though, because I can't stay awake and I'm afraid to go to sleep. So then I switched to television, but I don't have a long enough attention span to watch anything. I do have a movie on; kind of scary, but I want to see how it ends. Then I went to the forums, but I just can't get interested in talking to people about what the elephant feels like. Really, I don't even think we're feeling the same elephant at all. I can't talk to people who believe in the total depravity of man. They will tell you that of course they mean pre-"salvation", but they don't mean that at all. They don't believe they've been crucified with Christ. They don't believe in regeneration. They don't believe in new wine, new creation, oneness, submission. So, I switched to blog-hopping. Some people are as busy as I am, apparently, because they're not writing regularly. I did find some current posts on some of my regular stops, though. Vernon wins the prize for most frequent posting; Karen has the least.

My movie's heating up; need to stop a minute.

The heroine, a novelist who made four million dollars from her first novel and whose husband and his lover were trying to kill her, managed to get free of the chain they'd tied around her ankles (which, in turn, they'd tied to a heavy anchor) before throwing her into the sea. She surfaced and climbed onto the pier, and now there's a commercial break. Did you know that cervical cancer is caused by human papilloma virus, the Pillsbury Doughboy is still on their advertisements, drinking 24 ounces of milk every 24 hours can help you lose weight, and Night Guard can help protect your teeth if you grind them at night? Also, Febreze has a new product you can plug into an electrical outlet, DirectTv is having a Refer a Friend sweepstakes, and Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant are playing in a movie showing tomorrow night on Oxygen. Are there always that many ads in a commercial break.

Uh-oh. The heroine has followed her husband and his lover into the lighthouse and she's beating the everloving mess out of them. But wait! The lover is down, but the husband is up and is chasing her up the stairs of the lighthouse. Hmm. A hook is lowering itself from the ceiling and is now stabbing the husband. The heroine is on the balcony of the lighthouse. "Patrick" has followed her up and is giving her a seashell. Now "Patrick" has jumped from the balcony and has landed on the rocks below. The husband and lover, who are totally depraved?, will not get that four million after all. Now the heroine is standing on the seashore, looking out at the waves, and talking to a man with an Irish accent. A pretty woman has come out and is now hugging the heroine. Celtic music is playing. The heroine is getting into her SUV and driving away from the Irishman and the pretty woman.

I think I'll get back to the slave novel now.