Let us begin with the most important part, and the most popular part of the site, our regular check-in with the kitties.

Just the other night, a blustery and chill evening with the wind whipping, when it wasn’t howling, and the house creaking when it wasn’t popping, we all curled up together on the sofa. When the four of us are in one spot it feels like a life raft scenario. Or, maybe, a dangerous one: the entire brain trust in one spot!

At least I know where everyone is, and that everyone is happy, and not locked up or somehow magically slipped outside. These are self-imposed concerns, but they cross my mind a few times a day. And more in these days when there is less going on.

Like there’s less going on. There is. There is less now, than there will be. And so I looked at our feet and looked and the drowsy cats and enjoyed the moment, and then went back to reading the news.

Poseidon had a nice afternoon in the sun. I wonder if they perceive the differences of time. Or is it too subtle. Maybe one day from the next is far too little, but do they get a sense of “These naps are longer than the ones I enjoyed several naps ago?” They say time is a construct, but shadows disagree, and so would a sunbathing cat, I would think.

Phoebe climbed up on my shoulder, which is something her brother normally does, and decided to take a nap there. Forgive the poor composition, but I was hunched over for critter comforts and balance, and trying to get both a book shelf and ceiling fan out of the background.

So the kitties are doing just fine, thanks for asking. They would like, however, some more cuddles. They’re routines are bafflingly precise, which is why I wonder about cats and the passing of time. And, if you’re good, you can do a lot in the seven minutes between their needy demands.

I am not that good.

Today I was asked to be in a meeting, tomorrow, about yesterday’s meeting. And another meeting next week. I demurred on the latter, and think I can miss the former. In lieu of that meeting I wrote a three-page document that detailed all of the things that I would have said, which were only slightly more specific than what I said yesterday.

I’m sure I’ll send it on tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll blow it up and re-write it beforehand.

Today I also cinched and locked one syllabus. Which is great! Class starts next week! I’m close to the other.

I get to a place where some part of me says, “Ya know, you’re just tinkering with this for the sake of it.” And then I spend another hour or so on it, and call it done. It isn’t the best writing process, but I fall into it sometimes.

This process does have one added benefit, that when I apply it to regular writing, as opposed to sectioned and portioned off things like a syllabus, I can look back on the product and say, confidently, “Yep, I edited that to within an inch of its life.”

And then I send off the edited-and-barely-still-standing document. And then I notice the typos.

I also built my two first slide decks of the new semester today. I’m wondering if I should do more.

I should do more.

Update: I would not do more. I came back by the office later, and noticed I’d left my light on, which has become code for Go back in there and do some work. But I don’t always.

But I should. I like the work and all.

And that part is best of all, because there will be more of it tomorrow.

I met a high school student the other day, not for work purposes, but this is the daughter of someone we know socially. She was telling us about her classes. This student is taking three AP courses in the 10th grade. I think my high school, a whole century ago, might have offered three total AP courses. Ultimately, if the student continues to take AP courses and passes the end-of-year exams, she basically graduates from high school and is prepared to almost be a college sophomore in terms of credit hours.

The classes are pretty remarkable, too. A high school sophomore is taking classes that will potentially substitute for a college psychology class and a geography course, but she said her favorite was AP World History. I leaned in and asked her what her favorite era was so far. She said she was presently interested in colonial slavery. She rattled over a couple of particular aspects that intrigued her.

I leaned in a little further. I have a read for you, I said. I used to teach a class that was about different media forms and how and when they emerged. And when we discussed books, you could talk about several books. There’s obviously the printing press, the Bible and protestant reformation … I ratted off a few others. And then told her how the capture and enslavement of Black Africans from the Senegambia by the Portuguese in the 15th century set in motion a series of supremacist attitudes we’re still dealing with today. Prince Henry was collecting slaves, and eventually, he was apparently making more money off people than the rest of his country. Henry had a man that worked for him named Gomes Zurara, who wrote and validated the enslavement. The way Zurara figured it, capturing Africans they were actually saving souls. Zurara put all of this in a book form. There’s this confluence of events, books become popular, the Portuguese start exploring, expanding their shipping lanes, and they’re making all of this money. And this book I told her about, Stamped uses that as a key premise. Because I am an excellent storyteller, she thought this was an incredible

I think she was just excited to talk to someone about books.

You know who else likes books? Poseidon likes books. If you’re reading, you’re sitting down somewhere, somewhere still and he can get his cuddle on.

Phoebe, meanwhile, will catch a nap just any ol’ place that’s comfortable.

She was sitting, one recent afternoon, on the end of the dining room table, enjoying the sunshine. I said to my lovely bride, I should put some seat cushions there for her.

My lovely bride laughed and said I shouldn’t do that.

I went by sometime later and she wasn’t on the table, so I put a seat cushion where she’d been sitting. Then I sat out looking for her. And there she was.

Just any ol’ place that’s comfortable.

I know two kitties who are ready for some holiday spirit.

Phoebe is wondering why she has no presents under this tree. (They went under the other tree later. We have two trees.)

Poseidon found them out straight away. This one, you see, is a pretty substantial cardboard box. Being a cat, he doesn’t care what might be inside. He just wants to know if he can get inside.

I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow, after Santa Paws arrives. He better be good until then. That’s a tall order. He’ll try. But he can’t be good for that long.

Maybe Santa Paws will make this an early stop.