In order to keep the Department of Education happy, I'm required to take a couple upper-division college classes every 5 years to keep my brain sharp (yeah, I know, good luck with that) and my teaching credentials current. I'm guessing that this lengthy period of time allows a person plenty of options; you've got FIVE YEARS to select, enroll, attend, and complete two measly courses. Ah, yes, well. I've been busy this last half-decade. Ahem.
So now I'm down to the wire and must get serious about my schooling. I was hoping I could find a good online course, but this semester's options do not appeal to me. Nothing against math or statistics, but . . . yuck. The local campus offers lots of classes that I'd love to take—cooking! aerobics! photography!—but they're lower division and only 1 credit. Alas, I'm forced to choose from among subjects involving reading and research and discussion (shudder) and the dreaded essay assignment.
I finally found something that looks promising: a nonfiction writing course—NOT expository writing, because, well, YUCK—that meets one night a week for 3 hours. I don't like sitting on my tiny derriere for 3 hours at a time unless I'm watching a Lord of the Rings movie, but it's much easier on the family schedule for me to disappear a few hours one evening than if I took the other type of class that meets 3 separate times throughout the week.
All of this blather is to say I attend my first class of the semester tonight. Please, dear Lord, don't let "nonfiction writing" mean I have to read a bunch of 20-year-olds' world-weary thoughts on relationships.
Dinner last night: meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn
Exactly one year ago:
Exactly two years ago: