Time Marches On. . .

You know you’re getting older when. . .

The signs at the university  fitness center start to look blurry. . .again, even after you got new lenses last year. I know–most people become more far sighted as they get older. (BTW–My favorite fitness center sign? No Handstands!)

You’re excited to receive your first pair of Birkenstocks in the mail. Well, they’re not officially your first, but the first to be considered for daily use, at work no less (I searched and searched until I found something reasonably professional–these patent leather mary janes). Yes, Birkenstocks. Turned to when I figured out, this summer, that the only footwear I owned that didn’t result in serious foot pain even on an only moderately active day, were hot pink Birkis slides. Problem is, hot pink doesn’t exactly go with most of my teaching clothes. Now, apparently Birkenstocks are not necessarily a gift reserved for age, but rather for those with high arches (guilty). But I’d never suffered to such an extent before. . .

And finally, drumroll please. . . celebrate your son’s 13th birthday! Sure, this is nothing compared to having a college student or a granchild, all hopefullly in the distant future, but it’s still pretty jarring.

In writing news, I recently returned the contract for an article appearing in Teaching Creative Writing in Higher Education, from Palgrave Macmillan, which has been several years in the works, and discovered other contributors include DeWitt Henry, DG Myers, Graham Mort, and Joseph Moxely, among a host of the usual suspects.   My first thought: yikes–those are some heavy hitters.  What did I write?  It’s been awhile; I’m not even sure I can find the file again.  I just hope I didn’t embarass myself. 

Bye y’all,

SV