Last of the snow days

This is perfect. I finally figure out how to start a blog, and I have nothing to say. I do have a great name for the blog--"Riddled with Typos"--but can't even lay claim to that; I stole it from my future son-in-law (good Lord willing and the creek don't rise on the SIL part). 

What I may do is write about my teaching. (Everyone wants to know what a superannuated but fledgling teacher has to say about her second career, she said optimistically.) 

Or I may just write, period. I miss writing. I had a newspaper column for seven years. Before that, I had edited and reported for newspapers. Now, I attempt to teach high-schoolers how to write. They aren't particularly interested. Too much process for too little return. (Some of them did superbly, though, on Antigone, which we just completed. I still don't know what intrigued them about it--though I must say I loved the play myself, the first time out of the box for me. They "got" it enough to discuss it in short essays. Victory!)

If you find me, stay tuned. I may actually have something worth saying one of these days. For now, I think I'm too mellowed out by the unexpected seven-day winter holiday just past. (Snow! In South Carolina!) Since I write best "under pressure," and there's no pressure hereabouts, I have little to say.

Mazel tov!