Faith steered with one hand while she retrieved the Goggle map from the passenger seat.
The B & B was in West Monroe, a ways from ULM, but it looked like a pretty straight shot across town between the two. Faith assumed that she would find Kyra by hanging out on campus near the nursing building.
"Maybe one day I'll be able to afford a vehicle with a talking GPS," she complained aloud, as she anchored the map to the center of the steering wheel with her thumbs.
Faith had highlighted the exit number and easily made if off of I-20 and onto Mill Street. A few blocks and a turn later she found herself in front of the restored Rose Lee Inn built in the 1890's. The ivory stucco walls were pristine. The large arched windows on the second floor promised light-filled rooms. She had picked the Inn partially because of the name. Since she had been reading her mother's journal, 'rose' had taken on a new meaning. The five guest rooms were all on the second floor, with the bottom floor converted into an antique shop. All of the rooms were decorated with period antiques but with the modern addition of a private bathroom. The picture of her room showed an antique bed covered with a rose-patterned quilt positioned near a brick wall. Natural light spilled through a window overlooking a street lined with antique shops.
When she searched for accommodations in the Monroe area, Faith could have found a room nearer the campus, but she thought she might need some distance. She also wanted a place of relative solitude. She still wasn't ready for crowds congregating around a swimming pool or a noisy breakfast room filled with vacationers. The available accommodations in the university area were all large national chains with hundreds of cookie cutter rooms. The B&B more suited her mood.
Now Faith sat in front of the Inn, tired from her five-hour drive. She grabbed her suitcase from the trunk and claimed her room. After splashing some water on her face, she moved her car to the rear parking area before wandering along the neighborhood streets until she found a hole-in-the wall diner with a courtyard behind. After eating, she felt revived. Since it was now almost 4pm, she decided to wait until the next morning to explore ULM. Instead, she browsed through a few antique shops before returning to the Inn. In her room, she flipped on the television and watched the evening news and then settled down with book two of her Mama's journal.
#
MISPLACED
"Like a misplaced earring, the motives for marriage can be lost in the routines of life."
Despite my distasteful initiation into secondary teaching, I decided to look for employment in the classroom. I presumed that substituting differed from teaching, because with my daily presence students would soon tire of their tedious games and accept me as the classroom authority. I was confident that I could win their hearts and perhaps even challenge their minds. The decision also may have hinged upon the fact that I obtained a degree in secondary education as a backup, in case I could not find gainful employment in the field of journalism. Since the small town where we landed had no newspaper, I opted for plan B.
Much to my surprise, I loved teaching. I liked looking for creative ways to get my students to enjoy social studies. My greatest pleasures, though, came from acting as sponsor to the student newspaper and teaching sociology.
As the sociology teacher, I led my students to experience the concepts we studied. Since some of my newspaper staff took sociology, our antics found their way into the publication.
When we studied mass hysteria, we staged two fire drills. The first was a normal exercise, so we could record the demeanor of the crowd and the time it took to execute. The second was more dramatic and designed to give the impression of an actual emergency.
I stood in the concession room and sprayed a fire extinguisher at the bottom of the door. The chemical curling under the door gave the appearance of smoke. A sociology student ran noisily down the hall and burst into the office while the principal was making his noon announcements, hollering, "The lunchroom is on fire!" Simultaneously, another student pulled the fire alarm.
Students and teachers streamed out of their classrooms, pouring onto the playground in an excited river. Sociology students stationed throughout the school recorded reactions to the nearest thing to mass hysteria we could create. They were surprised to find that some students took the opportunity to snatch lunches or unprotected valuables. Budding young entrepreneurs offered to sell hoarded treats at inflated prices. Some, though, offered to share with the less fortunate. Siblings frantically searched for younger brothers and sisters. Some students looked anxiously for favorite teachers, while others stealthily whispered that they hoped old Ms. Thompson was trapped in the lunchroom.
That evening I went home, eager to share my adventures with David. I fixed a nice meal and decorated the dining room table. At 5:30 everything was ready, but no David. At 6pm I lit the candles, certain he would soon come through the door. At 7pm I ate a cold dinner. At 8pm, I put the rest of supper in the fridge.
When David came through the door at 9pm, the candles were puddles of cooling wax. I was sitting in the dark seething.
"What are you doing in the dark?" he asked cheerily as he flipped on the lights.
"Nothing," I said. "What were you doing out there in the dark?"
"I got off early. Daniel and I decided to take in 9 holes before sundown. Then some guys invited us to play tag football in the dark. We had florescent flags and a florescent ball. It was really cool."
As he stopped for breath, he finally noticed the remnants of my once festive meal.
"Aw, Syd," he said. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to make us a fancy meal?"
"And how was I supposed to do that? I'm not telepathic. I suppose it never occurred to you to phone home – let the little woman know that you were going to be late?"
"I'm sorry, Syd. I didn't think. I'll do better."
"One can only hope," I said with resignation.
"What was the big occasion, anyway?"
"Nothing. I just thought it might be nice to spend a romantic evening together."
#
A Man's Lesson from ET
BY SYDNEY LANDER
Men can learn something from ET: Phone home!
When a woman makes plans with her friends, her husband expects her to let him know when he can anticipate her return. If she is going to be out later than planned on an excursion, he requires her to phone and apprise him of the time she will arrive home.
She is also to leave a number where he can reach her in case he needs to ask her something important, like what to do if Josh says he has a bellyache when bedtime is announced or how long to microwave a plate of leftovers.
In this age of cell phones, she is instructed to answer her phone if he calls, but she can ignore any other calls if she pleases. Even if she considers the reason for his first call a "no-brainer," she is to answer all subsequent calls from him because any reason he has for calling should be considered important enough to interrupt her activity.
When a man has similar plans, he feels no compunction to phone his wife. If he agrees to leave a number where he can be reached, she is to reserve it for emergencies – like the house burning down. In the event of such a calamity, she is only to call near the time he would normally return home so he will know where he will be sleeping, since his usual bed is unavailable.
This rule also applies to cell phones. If she calls his cell phone for something other than what he defines as an emergency, he can then ignore any subsequent calls from her under the assumption that they are frivolous and undeserving of his attention.
If he's out late with the guys and he excuses himself to call home, the others rib him about being tied to the apron strings or wearing a ball and chain. They tell him he is not acting like a 'real man.'
My husband seemingly adheres to 'real man' telephone etiquette. David recently went to an out of town pastor's meeting with his associate. All he told me was that he would be gone for the day and that he was leaving around 8 a.m. Since those meetings usually adjourn after a hearty preacherman lunch, I assumed he would be home by 4 p.m., but I stretched that to 6 pm in case they decided to stop at a tool show or bookstore on their way home.
When 7 p.m. had come and gone, I began to wonder if something had happened. I tried calling his cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail. I waited about 30-minutes and tried calling again, with the same outcome.
By 8 p.m. my unease had increased to worry. I began to imagine his car in a ditch with two injured occupants. I tried to remember if David had our home phone number on his person so the EMTs would know whom to call if he was unconscious.
By 8:30 p.m. I was desperate to take my mind off the possible scenarios. I located our life insurance policy. I checked on the Internet to see what the average cost of a funeral is and began to fanaticize about what I would do with the remaining money.
By 9:30 p.m. I was no longer able to distract myself. I considered calling the wife of the other pastor who had gone with David but did not want to give her heart failure, in case she too was imagining a call from emergency personnel.
Just as I started calling area hospitals, David walked through the door.
"Where have you been and why haven't you been answering your cell phone?" I demanded.
At that, he hastily exited, calling, "Hey, Jerry, hold up."
No, he was not leaving to allow me time to cool down. He was simply retrieving the cell phone he had turned off while he was out of range and forgot to turn back on.
David claims he thought he told me he wouldn't be home until 10 p.m. For all of you men out there with similar defective memories, take a lesson from ET and phone home. It is never the wrong thing to do, and it may save someone a lot of grief, like spending a cold night in the doghouse.