An excerpt from David Sedaris’ Holidays on Ice:

“This was my last day of work (as a Santa’s elf)…I witnessed a fistfight between two mothers and watched while a woman experienced a severe, crowd-related anxiety attack: falling to the floor and groping for breath, her arms moving as though she were fighting off bats.  A Long Island father called Santa a faggot because he couldn’t take the time to recite “The Night Before Christmas” to his child.  Parents in long lines left disposable diapers at the door to Santa’s house…My Santa and I had them on the lap, off the lap in forty-five seconds flat.  We were an efficient machine surrounded by chaos.  Quitting time came and went for the both of us and we paid it no mind.  My plane was due to leave at eight o’clock, and I stayed until the last moment…(I found my manager) telling her I had to leave.  She was at a cash register, screaming at a customer.  She was in fact, calling this customer a bitch.”

I don’t know about you, but this holiday season seems to get longer and longer each year…I just don’t think we are getting anything valuable out of it.  Long live Thanksgiving!!!

I was perusing the internet for some quotes to use with my students, and I ended up getting sidetracked by a few that I liked.  I hope you enjoy them too.

Peace begins with a smile. ~Mother Teresa

Every man is a damn fool for at least five minutes every day; wisdom consists in not exceeding the limit. ~Elbert Hubbard

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Unbeing dead isn’t being alive. ~e. e. cummings

If I had no sense of humor, I would long ago have committed suicide. ~Mohandas Gandhi

I teach 11th grade writing and English, and today to change things up a bit, the students were able to pick a journal prompt from the Table Topics Teen Edition game.  A student at the front of the class played Vanna White by choosing a 3 X 3 inch card from the clear plastic box.

Drum roll please…..

The prompt was priceless – “What’s the first thing you’d do if you suddenly changed into the opposite sex?”

It caused quite a stir, and I have to admit I paused to ponder myself.  My answer?  I’d throw away my razors! And you?

In his essay on walking, Henry David Thoreau stated, “I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least, — and it is commonly more than that, — sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements.”

I feel exactly the same way about spending time on my couch watching television; sadly, I don’t get to maximize my time very often, and I can assure you that my health and spirits are lacking in its absence.

Kenko was a Japanese writer who lived from 1283-1350, and despite the hundreds of years that separate his observations with today, he’s writings are still insightful.

“The mark of an excellent man is that he writes easily in an acceptable hand, sings agreeably and in tune, and, though appearing reluctant to accept when wine is pressed on him, is not a teetotaler.”

“The longer a man lives, the more shame he endures.”

And my favorite…”You should never put the new antlers of a deer to your nose and smell them.  They have little insects that crawl into the nose and devour the brain.”

“Pure good soon grows insipid, wants variety and spirit.  Pain is a bittersweet, which never surfeits.  Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust: hatred alone is immortal.”

                                                                             William Hazlitt (1778-1830)

“My grandmother was a storyteller; she knew her way around words.  She never learned to read and write, but somehow she knew the good of reading and writing; she had learned how to listen and delight…And the simple act of listening is crucial to the concept of language, more crucial even than reading and writing, and language in turn is crucial to human society.”

The art of listening is dying, if not already dead.  How sad.

Ghost Boy Iain Lawrence

And across the wide front window of May’s Cafe was a poem in slanting lines:

He’s ugly and stupid

He’s dumb as a post

He’s a freak and a geek

 He’s Harold the Ghost…

All the time he never said a word, and his expression never changed.  I’m the Ghost, he told himself.  I’m Harold the Ghost.  And he tried to make himself small and invisible, to vanish into the crowd.  He repeated the little chant he’d invented, his eyes closed tight behind his glasses.  No one can see me, no one can hurt me.  The words that they say cannot harm me.

The Outsiders S.E. Hinton

When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two thing on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.