My mom’s cousin traced our history all the way back to 80 A.D.! I can’t get over how cool that is. I am skeptical and would like to check her work for myself, but supposedly we’re descended from several kings, among them famous ones like Longshanks (the bad guy in Braveheart) and Malcolm and Duncan of Scotland (the basis for the enemies of Macbeth in the play).
I’m reading various Tolkien things right now, and in the book that I’m in right now, he made a mention of Aethelred II (a Viking who was king of what is now England in the late 900s), and I realized—“Hey! That’s one of my grandfathers!” It’s fascinating to be reading something like that and come across names of people you’re descended from, no matter how long ago they lived.
Tonight at work, we had chicken tenders, and we were having this new pre-shift meeting we have to have every night that management is there, wherein the chefs explain to every worker except the dishwashers what is on the menu…and Tyler said, “Chicken fingers!” Maggie, a scary female chef (she’s really quite large and intimidating…well, not large large, just…her personality is large) said, “Not chicken fingers; chicken tenders. Chicken tenderloins—chickens don’t have fingers,” in the big, scary man voice which is manlier than the voices of any of the men there—with the exception of Steve.
Of course, being a daredevil smartass (by which I mean that I will persist with my stupid comments, however close to death I know that they may lead me), I had to say, in a matter-of-fact voice loud enough for no one but Maggie to hear, “And buffaloes don’t have wings,” just as though it were the most logical response in the world to this remark (and to me, of course, it was).
Maggie, face taut, eyes…hard…v-e-r-y…s-l-o-w-l-y…turned to look at me, held my gaze for a moment, and then turned back to what she was doing.
Then, because I would not be content until I had actually signed my death warrant in blood, I said, in the same voice, “Well, you know…I’m just saying…they don’t.”
But then, Bob said, “Class dismissed!” so before she could look at me again, I had run out of the “classroom” cheering, hands in the air, and wildly thinking (because I was interrupted by something else before I could say it), “No more pencils, no more books….”
My history class ended 15 minutes early, so I got to sleep with my head down on the desk for half an hour waiting for Women’s Studies. What was odd was that I could actually feel myself slipping between different stages…. I have no idea how to explain that. It’s like I was sleeping…but then I was sleeping, and where I’d been just before that was nothing like sleep. The level of R&R just…changed; I could feel it. And then again when I was waking up. I got a really good nap.
As for the rest of the day, well…none of it really compares to those parts.