Admittingly, Uneducated

When I was growing up, 99.9% of all my teachers were severely unresponsive when it came to interacting with their students in the classroom. During each class session, there was most often a written message on the chalkboard instructing pupils to read chapter after chapter in their dull and dreary textbooks with absolutely zero discussion on the material that was digested. They were wasteful years. I don't blame myself for hating school. My very low opinion of my former teachers in high school was that they were ignorant and self-absorbed, and over time, that opinion has been greatly reinforced by the incomparable value I have experienced firsthand in giving my own children the education I never received. Still, I repine for all that was withheld from me that could have been...that should have been mine.

I find myself reflecting on these feelings even more after having had the pleasure of immersing myself in books, that I know, had they been introduced to me in my young adult life, would have contributed in a most positive way to the betterment of my character at that young age. It can neither be refuted that there is a much greater sacrifice to be made in the present to challenge myself with such a task than when I was young and should not have been responsible for a husband and family, or depended upon for lessons, the laundry, the cooking and cleaning, the gardening, the errands, the grocery shopping, the finances. I digress. Alas, there is but ONE thing positive to look forward to in growing old (er).

In the meantime, it is of a desperate desire that I continually strive to set aside time for my most cherished endeavor, that of exposing myself to the great literature I missed. I know it would be to my advantage to broaden and deepen my superficial understanding of the effects of global warming, immigration issues, and the intersection between faith and politics, but I confess, my heart has been with Jane Austin these two previous evenings until the very early morning hours when I devoured volumes one and two of Pride and Prejudice. And volume three was not to wait for the weekend.

There was great contemplation on my part as to how I would manage the reading of this last volume in the course of yesterday's business, for I failed to mention that my duties did also include the undertaking of hair appointments which had been sorely neglected. I was sure to be looked upon by all with malice had I chosen to carry out my selfish inclination, that which would require my children to put themselves off for yet another week so that I could fix myself upon the couch and properly finish my novel with no further interruptions. It was not to be done as they would undoubtedly become affected, though I was determined somehow to have my way. Jane was not to be left behind.

Haircuts number one and two:

Elizabeth visits Pemberley Woods and begins to have a change of heart, but learns shortly thereafter that her sister Lydia has disgraced the family name forever, dashing all of Lizzy's new found hope of a future engagement to Mr. Darcy.

Haircut number three:

Mr. Darcy rights all conceived wrongdoing, forcing Elizabeth to examine her disagreeable behavior towards him. Alas, there is hope for Jane's (the eldest sister) happiness after all.

Haircut number four:

There is a rumor circulating of Elizabeth's proposed engagement to Mr. Darcy. Could there actually be a happily ever after?

Well, my children were happily ever, after their appointment with the hairdresser. I'm back to running all of those important errands, specifically one in particular that involves a trip to Blockbuster Movies for a little more of Austen,

not to mention that I've already got "Persuasion" waiting ever so impatiently on my bookshelf.