One of our cats has a habit of wailing in the wee hours of the morning. This only lasts a few minutes, although sometimes it will occur multiple times a night. It's different from the sound of a cat in heat - it's more melodious than that, a meow-yowling that is insistent and expressive, the closest a cat can come to yodeling. MeOW-eYOW EYOOOOWWWWWW. E-yow-meOW? MeOW-yow-reee-YOWWWW!! The sound comes from the depths of the house, just loud enough and long enough to awaken us, although we always fall right back to sleep. I'm not even sure which cat it is. I know it's not Bridget, because she sleeps the entire night on our bed. I suspect Simon, because it sounds most like his voice and he is just off kilter enough to howl throughout the house for no good reason.

Or maybe there is a good reason, although I could not tell you what it is. There have been a few times when the meows sounded so distressed that I hopped out of bed and searched the house for the source, certain I would find Maylee with her head stuck through the banister or Simon sprawled at the bottom of the laundry chute. But, the meowing would stop when my feet hit the floor and I would discover Simon and Maylee sitting silently in the living room, looking up innocently at me like, "What? We're just chillin' here on the hardwood, yo."

Monday night the warbling was particularly persistent. I considered investigating the situation, but knew the cat was just crying wolf. So I tried to tune it out. Which was difficult, because this was an aria like none other, with vibrato and trills impossible to ignore. Even Bridget, who was sleeping soundly at the foot of the bed, stirred.

Now, Bridget is Top Dog around here. (Except that she's, you know, a cat.) She's the firstborn feline, and she's clearly in charge. Simon and Maylee kiss her paws and throw petals on her path. She can barely abide them, but they adore her. Simon will, in fact, start purring when she walks into the room.

So, the Monday night MEOW-yow-YOWWWWWing continued and Bridget shifted and sighed and finally stood. I heard her jump to the floor and pad towards the living room. And then, silence. The howling hushed, and I happily went back to sleep.

Last night Rob and I awoke to another rendition of the same refrain. "Rrmmph," I complained into my pillow. Bridget was curled against my belly. She lifted her head to listen, and then leapt off the bed. I could envision her marching out there, giving a stern glare and growling, "Shut. The Fuck. UP."

The serenade stopped. And then Bridget was back, bounding onto the bed and settling into her spot. I swear I saw her brush the palms of her paws against each other, like, "Well, that oughta take care of that." And it did. We had sweet silence for the rest of the night.

Last week at EMT class our instructor was reviewing a concept when Gail raised her hand and inquired, "Is this going to be on the test?" And then she turned to me, slightly horrified, and whispered, "Oh my god. I can't believe I just asked that."

I couldn't help but laugh, but only because I've been similarly surprised to discover just how quickly I've reverted back to my own past-student personality. At break Gail and I discussed how even though we have been out of school for years (and years, in her case) and even though we are in many ways very different people than we were in high school and college, and even though this is just EMT class and not medical school or something, we are the exact same students we've always been in the classroom.

I don't even necessarily want to be the way I am. As an educator, I've come to realize the overachieving straight-A approach isn't a healthy one for students, which is a topic for a different day, but the point is that it doesn't matter because I can't break away from that mindset. I cannot help but be the same student I've always been.

It seems this is the case for my fellow classmates as well. I definitely recognize the same basic classroom characters that I remember so well from my days sitting in a student desk...

The Goody-Goody. That would be me. And Paula. And Gail to some extent. But probably me the most. I like to ask questions. Frequently. Smart questions, not stupid ones - questions that demonstrate my superior grasp of the material. (That's not why I ask them; I ask them because I sincerely want to understand beyond the basics.) I also volunteer to do things in class, perhaps a wee bit too eagerly. And I enjoy helping other students understand, sometimes even interrupting the teacher's explanation when I realize what the other student isn't getting before the teacher fully comprehends. I am, admittedly, completely annoying.

The Know-It-All. But this person is more annoying. The Know-It-All feels compelled to correct the instructor constantly, pointing out every potential mistake. Except usually they are NOT mistakes and he just looks like an ass. And a dumb one, at that. On the rare occasion when his correction is correct, it is so insignificant as to not warrant even bringing up. Like, "Oh, actually, that rescue squad was founded in 1973, not 1971." ASS.

The Storyteller. This person has a story for everything, a personal anecdote that only peripherally (if at all) relates to the topic at hand. The first few times she started into a story, we all waited for the point, sure it would come, certain there was a relevant reason she'd blathered on for five minutes. Now when she opens her mouth, we all look down at our notebooks because we don't want to encourage her by giving eye contact. I'm not sure if she just likes to hear her own voice or if she actually thinks she is contributing to the conversation in some way. Which she's not.

The "Wait..." I try to be sympathetic to this person, because she's really trying. But for the love of god, you do not need to write down every word of the lecture! "Wait! Can you go back to the last slide? I wasn't finished with it yet." ARRGH! And then she'll ask a question that the instructor JUST answered. The instructor will patiently repeat herself, but it is all I can do not to snap my pencil in half. Obviously all of us miss stuff from time to time, but this person misses, like, 39% of what's said. And even when she is giving it her full focus, she will ask the most ridiculously ditzy questions. "Wait...So does 'water transport accident' mean that they were boiling a pot of water and burned themselves or something?" That is an actual question she asked. At which point I gripped the table in front of me to prevent myself from leaping up and shouting, "BOATING ACCIDENT! It basically means BOATING. ACCIDENT." She is so sincere, and I know I shouldn't dislike her for being a little stupid. But she is holding the rest of us back! And I have overachieving to accomplish here, hello!

There are also the token Gossip Girls who whisper back and forth during class and flip their hair and flirt with boys during break, and the usual Immature Boys who make lame jokes and try to create a sexual subtext for pretty much everything. In my EMT class these people are college students, and they're not that bad. I remember high school being much, much worse for this.

Some things are exactly the same as high school, though. For instance, it is impossible for a class not to giggle when discussing erections. I don't care if you're 16 or 60, a Goody-Goody or a Gossip Girl. If the topic is erections, we will all crack bad jokes and laugh, laugh, laugh.

No time at present moment to write original content, so I shall direct you to interesting articles instead!

This appealed to the word nerdy New Yorker in me:
Celebrating the Semicolon in a Most Unlikely Location

And this I find to be a lovely guide for reflection, for seeing the big picture through the little things, with an emphasis on gratitude:
Reflecting on You

And finally, John Stamos! In A Raisin in the Sun next Monday night! It's a 3-hour special. Special because he's in it.

It is 8:05 am. I'm walking to my office after a coffee run, bundled up and clutching my cup of joe. A man, younger than me, is coming toward me on the sidewalk. As we pass, I mumble a half-hello and simultaneously he exclaims in as exuberant a come-on voice as I've ever heard, "Hel-lo! Good morning, darlin'!" He is grinning shamelessly and his gaze follows me as we pass. I suspect he might be drunk.

Still - perhaps due to the gusto of his greeting, the liveliness of his licentiousness - I rather appreciate his warm regards.