Here are the results for me. Since I am a female, I am heartened to see that 67% of my brain recognizes that fact.
Your Brain is 67% Female, 33% Male |
 Your brain leans female You think with your heart, not your head Sweet and considerate, you are a giver But you're tough enough not to let anyone take advantage of you! |
My daughter has interesting and intelligent friends- Kenny immediately springs to mind, he of the lightning quick and cutting wit- but there are others, some of whom I got to meet during the one year we shared together at Motlow College - her last year as a student there and my first year there as an instructor. One of the brightest of her friends is a fellow named Griff, who writes THREE blogs; one on beer, one about geocaching, and one that is essentially the random musings of a most original and humorous mind.
I have just reinstated a link to my favorite of his blogs, Life Among the Natives (AKA catty wampus comments), to which I became addicted during Griff (and Kelly's) old Tullahoma.net days. Kelly was Griff's editor on the college paper as well, and so he has taken to calling her Darth Kel, which tickles me no end. I must warn you that he doesn't blog there often anymore, but when he does, it's choice, so dip into his ramblings from time to time. They are worth the wait.
Before you forward any email tragedy stories, or dire warnings about polluted purses, check out the veracity of the email at Urban Legends and Folklore. I have a link to that site as well. All sorts of weird and wonderful (and sometimes gross) things on that site. I particularly enjoyed the larvae infested breast- which, by the way, is true.
I have linked to the blog of my interesting and intelligent son, but he has not blogged in some time. He has been too busy. Aside from building a garage the size of the Taj Mahal, he has been going to school and taking piano lessons, while working a full time job and supporting a wife and four daughters.
My stage maven daughter will be here the day after Christmas with another of her intelligent and interesting friends in tow. Everyone here is so pumped about their visit. I can't wait. She is currently appearing in a most bizarre San Diego production of "The Importance of Being Earnest" as Mrs., rather than Lady, Bracknell, who, in this rendition, is apparently a yenta. Go figure. It kind of reminds me of the Richard III that was being produced in a movie called "The Goodbye Girl". Richard Dreyfus was being compelled to play the lead character as a gay cross-dresser with a lisp, a portrayal sure to offend everyone and end an actor's career. Sure hope "Earnest" doesn't go in the same direction. My daughter will pull it off, of course- she is wonderfully skilled at what she does- but why tinker with a classic, especially one so completely rooted in Edwardian England, and intimately intertwined with the British railway service? Some plays are just so anchored in a point in time that it is impossible to update them, and shouldn't be tried. Only my opinion- I could be wrong.
Well, my hand surgery went well, if a bit more painful than the last one in August. I have a magnificent bruise that covers the entirety of the palm of my hand and travels four inches up my wrist and two tiny incisions in the base of my hand. I actually think I am having a harder time without the use of my left hand than I did without the use of my right- and I'm right handed! I get the stitches out the day after Christmas. Looks like it is going to be an eventful day.
My Christmas is all ready to go. All the gifts are purchased and wrapped. My daughter-in-law Becca already knows every damn thing she is getting. It is IMPOSSIBLE to keep a secret from that woman! My son got one of his gifts early, of course. He is persuasive, and I am a push-over. Everyone but Mama seems to be in the holiday mood. Maybe if we all got grumpy, she would cheer up just to be contrary. Friends have been in and out, and Dave and I will be stocking the larder tomorrow. I love Christmas. I hand made all my Christmas cards this year and sent them out in vellum envelopes far and wide. I have received Christmas cards and early gifts, and mistletoe. David has brought home an obscene amount of spirits from his friends and co-workers; that's what men do at Christmas. They buy booze for the men and jewelry for the women, and so can shop in less than two hours. I, on the other hand, have been shopping since October. Of course, I shopped for 30 people as opposed to Dave's 9, and since I wrapped his gifts for his coworkers, he only had to wrap mine. No matter. Everyone is going to have a wonderful holiday.
My club, the GFWC Centennial Woman's Club, adopted a family this year, a single mom with seven children from what had been a blended family. We provided tons of gifts for the mom and children, as well as food baskets and a gift card to Kroger worth almost $400. There never were nor could there ever be more good-hearted and generous women than the good women of the GFWC. Toys for Tots, Karing for Kids, adopting a family, knitting scarves and assembling food baskets- you want to see the true meaning of Christmas? Come to my little town.
Which will be the subject of my next blog. For now, I will close with a sincere wish of health, prosperity, love, and all God's blessings for this wonderful season and the new year.
I am typing this from my classroom, on my last day of class for the fall of 2006. Six of my eleven students are still taking what has to be one of the hardest tests they've had at this college, not because I made it hard, but because genetics is a complex subject. They have had essay tests the entire semester, have written numerous lab reports, and were assigned five journal reports- I believe in writing across the curriculum- so I have prepared them for this last exam.
This entire semester, it has been like pulling teeth to get them to read the textbook. I really don't understand that. I model my lectures on the text, and sometimes take test questions word for word from it. This generation of student does not seem to feel the need to study from a book. Granted, I provide hand-outs, and I am a damn fine lecturer, if I do say so myself (and I do). But when I was a student, I lived in my books. Different generation, different learning styles.
This has been a great group of kids. I have really enjoyed being their teacher, and will miss them, both individually and as a group, when this is over. There have been a few that are brilliant, a couple that are brilliant but lazy, two very highly motivated, one struggler and one non-trad who has done what non-trads seem to do- bust the curve. I have had a pair of brothers, as different from one another as night and day, but both kids you'd be proud to call your own. The eldest has a special place in my heart because he is a smart-ass. I think he's terrific.
The class has been as evenly divided between male and female as a class of eleven can be, six males, five females. No gender bias here- they have all done well.
Now as Christmas approaches, and hand surgery approaches, and my daughter's visit approaches, I can't really say that I am sorry the semester is over. I just wish genetics was a two semester class so I could spend time with this group of people again next semester.
To my students, should you stumble across this blog, the merriest of Christmases and all my love and best wishes.
And Marcia, you are off the hook for strong-arming me into teaching this class. It was worth it.
A year ago, I took Mama to the eye doctor. Turns out her prescription had not changed one jot, so she did not need new glasses. The doctor did, however, mention Mama's macular degeneration, something Mama had forgotten she had. From that day to this, Mama has been "blind".
Frankly, I have had little patience with her "blindness". It seemed inconceivable to me that a person could be able to read one day and totally incapable the next, just because she hadn't gotten new glasses. "You don't need them, Mother," I told her, "Your eyes have not changed at all." "But I'm blind!" she responded, and it pissed me off. More of her drama, more of her acting up for attention.
But, being the good daughter-in-law I am, I took her back to the eye-doctor today. I sat there, irritated, as Mama claimed to be able to only read the first line of the chart - you know the line, the one with the giant E that is facing in the wrong direction. I listened as she first told the technician that there was nothing wrong with her vision, and then began to catalog a host of woes. When Dr. Bell came in to do the exam, Mama put on a show for her as well.
At the end of the exam, the doctor again informed us that there has been very little change in Mama's prescription. There is some "leaking" in her better eye, (the left), and so she will have a procedure on the 14th to see if she is a good candidate for laser surgery to stop that, but otherwise, her current glasses are filling the bill and will continue to do so until after the surgery, if it turns out to be necessary.
"I'm as blind as a bat" Mama yells. "Where's the bathroom?" I signal to the doctor to talk to me while Mother leaves the room in search of a toilet. "Her vision seems to be stable, but she keeps telling me she is blind. Is there any way you could give me an idea of what her vision is?" Doctor Bell left the room and came back with two different lenses, one for the left and one for the right eye. I looked through them. "Omigod! Is this what she sees WEARING her glasses?" I asked. Dr. Bell just nodded.
Mama has only blurred peripheral vision in her right eye. She perceives light and movement but that's about it. Her left eye is a little better, but not much, though it is hoped the laser surgery with help a bit; at least it should stop any further deterioration. I don't know how Mother recognizes faces, navigates steps, or manages to negotiate the house. Yes, her prescription has not changed in three years, but that, as it turns out, is meaningless. Her vision has not changed from GOD-AWFUL in three years. I had no idea. I thought she was myopic and a self-pitying, self-aggrandizing drama queen. Turns out she is a blind, self-pitying, self-aggrandizing drama queen.
Poor old thing. I feel lower than whale shit for not taking her seriously. All the times I looked through her glasses, I never got a sense of how the world really looks to her. No wonder she is depressed! And here I have been, making light of her problem, and assuming that, because her prescription wasn't changing, her complaints were without validity. I could have been so much more understanding and so much more helpful to her this past year than I was. I have been rolling my eyes at her complaints. What a bitch!
Well, I am both chastened and shamed by this experience. Hope I never end up with me as my caretaker when I am 78.
| Your Five Factor Personality Profile |
 You have high extroversion. You are outgoing and engaging, with both strangers and friends. You truly enjoy being with people and bring energy into any situation. Enthusiastic and fun, you're the first to say "let's go!" Conscientiousness: You have medium conscientiousness. You're generally good at balancing work and play. When you need to buckle down, you can usually get tasks done. But you've been known to goof off when you know you can get away with it. Agreeableness: You have high agreeableness. You are easy to get along with, and you value harmony highly. Helpful and generous, you are willing to compromise with almost anyone. You give people the benefit of the doubt and don't mind giving someone a second chance. Neuroticism: You have low neuroticism. You are very emotionally stable and mentally together. Only the greatest setbacks upset you, and you bounce back quickly. Overall, you are typically calm and relaxed - making others feel secure. Openness to experience: Your openness to new experiences is medium. You are generally broad minded when it come to new things. But if something crosses a moral line, there's no way you'll approve of it. You are suspicious of anything too wacky, though you do still consider creativity a virtue. |
What your soul really looks like!  This is what the test has to say about me: "You are a wanderer. You constantly long for a new adventure, challenge, or even a completely different life." (Okay, I do like a bit of a change now and then. Fair cop). "You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds." (Alas, too true...but it's more fun in the clouds than in the living room with Mother). "You believe that people see you as larger than life and important. While this is true, they also think you're a bit full of yourself." (Okay, I should be full of someone OTHER than myself? Won't it get crowded in here?) "Your near future is a lot like the present, and as far as you're concerned, that's a very good thing." (Got to admit, NOW is pretty good so I would be very happy to see NEXT as much the same). "For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust." (Excuse me... who in their right mind COULD??) All in all, a fair description of me. I just can't figure out how they put together that horrifically ugly room out of all this. Though, sadly, they may be on to something with the nose. I must go. Clouds are calling.  The Giant, by N. C. Wyeth |
On this Thanksgiving Day, I am thankful for my many blessings, one of which is my wonderful daughter-in-law who hosted the holiday this year. Becca, her mama Gail and I collaborated on a feast that was over-the-top. Turkey (deep fried by Jake), ham, two kinds of dressing, potatoes, gravy, sweet potatoes, corn, broccoli casserole, corn pudding, green bean casserole, fresh baked bread, cranberry sauce, deviled eggs, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, chocolate pie. Becca has a huge kitchen, and she and Gail and I worked very well together in it. I really like Gail; she's a terrific person and a lot of fun. I love having the combined Thanksgiving at Becca's house. It was such a good day, the three of us cooking, kids in and out of the kitchen, the men tending the frier. Good stuff.
I got lots of affection from my grandaughters, and actually got an unsolicited kiss from Kendall! Funny how little things can make your heart sing. I had a great time watching Kendall, Haley, Delaney, and Becca's little brother Keaton (10) interact. Emily even climbed up into my lap with a book and let me read to her. Emily had a tough day today; she tried so hard to be one of the big kids and spent most of the day frustrated- LOUDLY frustrated. She was over-tired, over-stimulated, hungry and THREE, so her behavior is forgivable.
And then, there's Mama. Mama is not forgivable. Adults acting like three-year olds are neither attractive or amusing. She was as tempermental (if not as loud) as Emily all day. She refused to be in any room that had people in it, barely spoke even when spoken to, and moped through dinner, which she did not eat. She did, however, announce that she was not hungry because she had diarrhea, something everyone wants to hear mid-feast. Thank goodness Becca's family has experience with Mama.
Mama seems to think that being pathetic, pretending to be blind and deaf, and sighing heavily every few minutes is the way to win hearts. It just gives me heartburn. She's a sorry, crabbed little woman, but she is inventive. She finds a way to make herself the center of attention even if she has to announce her bodily functions to do it. Sigh.
By the way, Mama is starving herself to death again. She announces her intent to do this about every three months. She's says she's too fat. (Not). She says she's ready for the boneyard. (Maybe). Her stavation attempts usually coincide with some event that does not center on her. Of course, she doesn't really starve herself; she usually has enough food squirreled away in her room to feed half the state. Usually, but not always; her larder is empty at the moment, so she has no surreptious munchies to sustain her. She came home today after the Thanksgiving meal that she didn't eat and went straight to her room. Haven't heard from her in six hours or more. I know she is hungry. I also know she won't venture into the kitchen to eat something until I am in bed. So I am deliberatly staying up late. I can act like a three-year old, too.
I am SO looking forward to Christmas with Mama. Fortunately, I have a supplier for coal- tons of it- for her stocking. And a really big cork for her next bout of diarrhea - though, if she wasn't so full of shit, she probably wouldn't have the problem in the first place. :)
Dear Constant Reader(s);
You may or may not have noticed that my blog looks slightly different. That's because, after moving to Beta, I have had to essentially rebuild the damn thing. Lost my links. Lost my counter. Couldn't figure out how to restore my counter. Finally just gave up and added a new counter, which, being new, reads 000000. At least it is pink. Of course, the minute I added the NEW counter, it came to me how to save the old one. Too late. I am always smart too late.
I know that as of five days ago, the last time I had statistics, there had been 3,924 hits to this site. Let's see how long it takes to get THAT kind of number again. Sigh.
It is nearing the end of the semester and I am slogging away at my genetics course. I have a wonderful group of students and have really enjoyed the teaching, but the prep has just about killed me. I have been building everything out of whole cloth. If I teach it again next fall, which I may or may not do, it will be a piece of cake, since I have spent ungodly amounts of time creating PowerPoints, hand-outs and tests, and designing lab exercises. All that will be ready for next fall... for whoever teaches it. I am a share bear.
Getting ready for turkey day. We are going to my son and daughter-in-law's for the feast, and it is going to be fun. Becca and I are all geared up to cook all day, her mama Gail is going to be right in there with us, and there will be kids running around, games on the TV, and crisp autumn breezes to chill the bones and make hot food just that much more delicious.
Here is my wish for us all as we count our innumerable blessings.
"May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that
has been given to you....
May you be content knowing you are a child of God...
Let His presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom
to sing, dance, praise and love.
It is there for each and every one of us.
Bless us all and those we love.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING, Y'ALL!
Your Christmas is Most Like: Miracle on 34th Street |
 Sweet and caring, Christmas is about helping for you. While Santa may not exist, you try to share his spirit. |
You Were Nice This Year! |
 You're an uber-perfect person who is on the top of Santa's list. You probably didn't even *think* any naughty thoughts this year. Unless you're a Mormon, you've probably been a little too good. Is that extra candy cane worth being a sweetheart for 365 days straight? |
I spent six weeks in Madrid in 1966 on a summer scholarship to the University of Madrid. At that time, women were prohibited from attending that university except in the summer- hey, it was 40 years ago and Franco was not still dead at the time. I loved and love Spain and have always wanted to return there. So imagine my delight when I took a little quiz on my ideal European city and it turned out to be... Barcelona! I did not get to Barcelona all those many years ago, but think I will have to do that before I get too old to travel. I must brush up on my Spanish. Ole!
| You Belong in Barcelona |
 Barcelona is ideal for you. You can check out some Picasso, eat some tapas, take a siesta, and then dance all night! |
By my calculation, there are 16 clocks in my house, exclusive of the clocks that are bundled with appliances. Hey, I like clocks. I like the fact that even when I set them all for the exact same time AT the exact same time, they always give me different readings by the next day. I love that. Even time is open to interpretation. However, I do not like to have to reinterpret time twice every year to humor some demented legislative whim. Has ANYONE ever heard a reasonable rationale for daylight savings time? Now that we have fallen back during the short day portion of the year, and it is dark at 5 PM, might I suggest that we actually save some daylight during the summer and release it in the fall and winter so that we aren't living in darkness? And let us PLEASE do away with DST, the only function of which seems to be to ensure that our clocks are universally wrong twice a year.
Sigh. Forgive me. I am a bit cranky this time of year.
I really don't care for November.
Don't care much for February either.
November and February have ever so much in common. They are both cold, wet, dreary and depressing. Aside from the birthdays of several of my dearest, November has nothing to recommend it. Usually, I try to hibernate until November is over. It seems the only sensible thing to do. But NO... THIS November I have allowed myself to be put in the position of having to deal with November at least twice a week.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am basically a home-body. I like to keep my body in my home. All my stuff is here, there's food and drink, and it's full of comfy furniture, pretty pictures, art supplies and books. Why on earth would I want to leave? BUT, thanks to my dear friend Marcia, whom I blame entirely for my return to teaching, I had to leave the house today to go teach my genetics class. The weather was Novemberish; (see above, wet, cold, dreary, etc.) and so I was drenched by the time I got to the classroom. I love the smell of wet wool in the morning. My pants were wet half-way to the knee, so of course my feet were wet as well. Thank God the college is totally without heat, or I would have been perfectly miserable.
I miss October. October. Now there's a good month. Halloween was so much fun. I had LOTS of kids come to the door for candy and I met them in full witch regalia.
My ole college buddy Stacey showed up with a batch of little girls and it is always good to see her. My granddaughters showed up with two of their cousins, so my house was invaded by an Indian maiden (Emily), a princess (Delaney, of course), Spiderman (Kendrick), a baby witchling (Zoe)... and a hot dog and a bottle of ketchup (Haley and Kendall). Even Mama had a good time watching the kids come and go, and getting hugs from everyone who came in. It was the last time she was in a good mood, now that I think of it. I really love Halloween.
I really hate November.
My daughter Kelly has just left after a short, whirlwind visit, and I miss her already. She is heading back to San Diego, where I have not been since July- to the warm, breezy, ocean scented apartment that may or may not burn to the ground, depending on the direction of the Santa Ana winds in relation to the ubiquitous forest fires, or crumple to the ground in an earthquake, or drown in a tsunami. Despite all these dangers, and the ever present threat of drought, I could not convince her to stay in Tennessee. Back she goes. I’m thinking a tall, handsome someone had something to do with her leaving again.
While she was here, she touched base with her four nieces, two of whom were disappointingly blasé about her sudden reappearance. The youngest two gave her her propers, and Emily apparently recognized a kindred spirit. Kel and the Pookster bonded, and this with a child who is skittish- to put it mildly and kindly- around unfamiliar people. Kel and I babysat the human tornado yesterday, and it was a real treat to see the two of them interact.
Mama, of course, was jealous of the attention Kelly was getting. After months of wheedling, coercing and bribing Emily to play in her room, Mama was suddenly outraged and distraught when the baby climbed into her bed and cuddled up with one of her dolls. Any doubts that Mama and Emily are the same age evaporated in the melee that ensued.
Mama: That’s my bed.
Emily: No, it my bed.
Mama: Get out of my bed.
Emily: It MY bed.
Mama: Give me my doll.
Emily: It MY doll.
Mama: No it’s not.
Emily: Yes, it is.
Mama: I want my doll.
Emily: (to me) NeeNee, tell Busha it MY doll.
Mama: No it’s not. It’s my doll, and I want it.
Emily: NO!
Mama: Get out of my bed.
Reprise.
Imagine the volume increasing with each statement and you have a fair picture of the state of conversation in my home. Finally Kelly hopped into the bed with Emily and Mama left the room, muttering under her breath “It’s MY room. It’s MY doll.” The wisdom that comes with age… is apparently fictional.
Anyway, the lovely diversion that was my daughter’s visit is now over and I must put my nose back to the grind stone.
I wonder where that phrase comes from. Who would do such a thing, really? First of all, it would hurt, and second of all, what’s the point? Why would anyone want to grind their own nose? Maybe it comes from the days before plastic surgery. In any case, I have eight kazillion powerpoints to create, a test to write, a lab exercise to set up, and a trip to North Carolina to plan. I am attending my first ever South Eastern Region (SER) conference of the GFWC (General Federation of Women’s Clubs). I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. Dr. Young has kindly agreed to proctor my test on November 9, and my students will be busy building models of DNA in lab, so I feel only moderately guilty about missing a day of classes to go. I am sure I will survive it.
Now, I must go get ready for church. We have having a Halloween party for the kids today... hope some kids show up!
No one ever comments on my blogs about my dollhouse, so maybe it is only interesting to me. Sigh. I don't care. I promised a blog on the servants and I am a woman of my word. And the word is... entranced. I love my little corner of the dining room where Aubrey House dwells. I sit there to read, (after competing with Patches and Hobbes for the use of the comfy chair), and to gaze into the little late Victorian/early Edwardian world I have "created".
I chose the surnames for my characters very carefully, and a bit whimsically. As a rabid Lord of the Rings fan, I put a bit of a Tolkien bend on the selection of names. For example, Avery means "elven ruler"; Aubrey means "ruler of the elves"; Owen means "well-born"; and Wesley means "man of the west".
The servant surnames are just as apropos. Henry means "ruler of the house"; Emmett means "hard working"; Raymond means "wise guardian" and Thomas means "dependable".
I make up back stories for all my characters. For example, the Avery sisters, Katherine Avery Wesley, Marcia Avery Aubrey and Alice Avery, are, in my back story, wealthy orphans who were the wards of Walter Owen after the death of their parents. Katherine married late, but well, and Marcia's husband Rhett, a bit of an entrepreneur, went into business with Walter and helped make the Owens ever richer than they were. He did nicely for himself as well, but is "new" money whereas the Owens' and the Averys are "old money." Even so, you can see that the Owens/Avery/Aubrey connections are very close, and it should be no surprise that everyone is hoping Alice Avery will marry Eric Owen.
Enough about the rich crowd. This blog is supposed to be about the servants.
This is where they work.
Hazel Thomas in the dining room
Where they live
(with the exception of the nanny, Jane Raymond, who "lives" in the nursery with Christie and Beth).
The servants cottage, "side yard", Aubrey House
Mary and Ruth Henry are mother and daughter. Mary has been with the Avery family since she was 15. Her daughter Ruth was the result of a youthful indiscretion but the Averys, uncharacteristically of employers of the day, did not dismiss Mary. They sent her away for her confinement. Mary's own mother raised Ruth until Ruth was old enough to enter into service herself. Mary and Ruth are very close. Neither has ever married. Neither has ever worked for any other family but the Averys. They came to Aubrey House when Marcia did.
Maids Hazel Thomas and Susan Emmett share the upstairs bedroom in the servants cottage. They are both in their early 20s. Susan is apprenticing with Ruth in the kitchen as well as acting as maid; she hopes to be a cook one day, as cooks are in higher demand than maids, earn more money and get more respect. Hazel is hoping to meet a nice man and leave service. It could happen.
All the servants take their meals at the main house. In the kitchen.
I have added a link to Miniatures.com to this site, because so much of what I have purchased for my doll house has come from good ole Ernie and his crew. I think Ernie is fixing to retire on my spending alone, but if you enjoy miniatures, you may find yourself as addicted as I am if you dare to visit his site.
I think the key to a great doll house is not just what you see, but also what you don't see- dishes in the cupboards, utensils in the kitchen drawers, clothes in the closet, toys in the toybox. My doll house is sort of like an iceberg- a large part of it is hidden from view. But the joy comes in sharing it, in seeing the faces of my friends when they find hankies in the tallboy, and sheets in the trunks.
I know that I am blessed beyond words in that I can indulge my passions with a relatively free hand. I hope I am generous with all my gifts. I believe in joy. I believe in fantasy. And I believe in sharing.
So, please share in the fantastic joy of my doll house. And visit Ernie at your own risk.
The parlor, where family and friends have gathered for a dinner party. The lady of the house, Marcia Aubrey, has just finished playing the piano for her guests, who are engaged in a lively discussion with Captain Michael O'Toole, retired (seated) and his lovely wife Barbara, (in pink). Marcia's sister Katherine is particularly interested in Captain O'Toole; unlike the others, she has NOT read his latest book and so is drilling him intensely about his adventures. Katherine's husband George Wesley is content to listen and sip his dark beer. Seated next to him is Anthea Owen, wife of Walter Owen, who is in partnership with Marcia's husband, Rhett.
The dining room. Dinner is almost ready to be served. Not all the guests at the soiree at staying for dinner; the Owens (Anthea and Walter) have stopped by with their son Eric en route to the opera and so will not dine this evening.
A peek into Peter's room- actually, a large corner of the nursery- but with enough privacy for an 11 year-old boy, thanks to a large screen and Nanna's vigilance on his behalf.
The master bedroom, which shares a floor with the bath. Nestled in his crib in the corner is baby Austin. Hanging on the armoire is the dress Marcia had hoped to wear, but which Rhett found too fancy for the occasion. Marcia's maid Susan has laid out her nightgown and slippers, and is, at the moment, in the parlor, offering coffee to the guests. The house maid, Hazel, is in the diningroom, putting the final touches on the side board.
My next post will highlight the servants, who, being very good servants, are basically invisible in this posting.
I LOVE the fact that whoever designed this test does not think that being a teacher is a "realistic" career. Believe me, it ain't no fantasy. If it WAS a fantasy, I'd be teaching at Hogwarts. Too bad I am a squib.
Your Career Type: Social |
 You are helpful, friendly, and trustworthy. Your talents lie in teaching, nursing, giving information, and solving social problems. You would make an excellent: Counselor - Dental Hygienist - Librarian Nurse - Parole Officer - Personal Trainer Physical Therapist - Social Worker - Teacher The worst career options for your are realistic careers, like truck driver or farmer. |
Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence |
 You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator. |
You Are Dr. Bunsen Honeydew |
 You take the title "mad scientist" to the extreme -with very scary things coming out of your lab. And you've invented some pretty cool things, from a banana sharpener to a robot politician. But while you're busy turning gold into cottage cheese, you need to watch out for poor little Beaker! "Oh, that's very naughty, Beaker! Now you eat these paper clips this minute." |
