Meatloaf Monday.

This isn’t really about the meatloaf,  although I did make meatloaf last night.

And no,  there’s not going to be a “Turkey Tuesday”,  or a “Wasabi Wednesday” either.   I haven’t given any thought to the rest of the week.  You’re on your own.

I just like the title.

It’s actually going to be “Meatloaf Tuesday” as well,  since Travelling Companion didn’t make it home until some time around nine p.m.,  and that’s a little too late to put on the major feed bag.  Even if I stay up until midnight,  which sometimes happens,  if I eat that late there’s a whole festival going on in my nether regions for far too long to allow any kind of less than fitful sleep.

Once upon a time I could drink a gallon of coffee in the evening and lie down on a bed of nails and still be asleep in about 15 seconds.  As time marches on however,  it would seem that there’s a certain amount of “due diligence”  involved when it comes to actually getting to sleep at night.    Getting old ain’t for sissies.

 

The meatloaf was/is very tasty,  but I didn’t take a picture.  Sorry.  I find those types of things are really not very photogenic.  The disclaimer that, “it tastes better than it looks!”,  will only go so far when it tends to look like a big loaf of dog poo.   I’m just saying.

It did smell wonderful when it was cooking,  and I’m sure some sort of “smell–o-blog”  function would be the cat’s pyjamas when it comes to that sort of thing,  but I don’t think we’re quite ready for that leap in technology?   A reference back to the “smelly man” story will suffice.

 

It’s a decidedly grey and cold day again here in Wienerland,  and depending on when you tune in,  you’ll be able to take a gander at the temperature off to the right side of the blog.  I really doubt that it’ll get much above the freezing mark.  I broke down this morning and put on my winter coat,  and dug out a scarf.  Oh the humanity!

I was going to wear the gloves but thought,  “No dammit,  I’ll just stick my hands in my pockets”.   That sort of worked.

One of the other minor side effects of getting a wee bit long in the tooth is,  one does tend to come to terms with certain “facts of life”.   Fact:  I really don’t like winter.    Don’t misunderstand,  I’ve had my share of fun on snow machines,  snow shoes,   in snow drifts,  etc.,  but when it comes right down to it,  all of those things could remain in my long term memory,  and then I could fondly reminisce,  all the while sitting on a warm beach somewhere with a cool drink.   Or at least some place where I could step outside without looking like Bibendum.

 

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The News.

 

I almost never comment on the news,  unless it’s some goofy thing that I spot in one of the local newspapers that has some sort of entertainment value. 

However,  and in keeping with the “goofy” theme,  I came across a story yesterday of an Administrator of a school in Toronto who decided to ban a number of types of balls from the school playground.  Let’s not get side tracked with any “balls” joke here people!

Apparently,  it was even mentioned on Saturday Night Live.  Hm,  not really a way I’d want to make a name for myself but hey,  I’m not a school Principal. 

You may or may not have heard of this,  and it all depends of which little nooks and crannies you happen to read when it comes to internet news.  My preference would certainly be to watch either the National on CBC or the CTV news at eleven.  Sometimes I’d even watch Irv Weinstein out of Buffalo,  just to see how many fires there were that day,  or how deep the snow was.  None of those choices are really an option here.

So just go to Google and plug in “Toronto School bans balls”,  and you’ll get all kinds of hits.   Have fun.

 

Now let me just say this about that.

After working some 22 years in a school system,  I can safely say that I’ve seen some pretty goofy things.  I’ve had some thoughts going around in my head concerning a couple stories about some of the “higher-ups”,  and I’ll spill those beans one of these days.

Out of curiously,  I plugged the address of the school into Google maps and had a look at the situation from the “street view”  feature.  I’ll save you the trouble,  you can click on this link and take a look.

Somewhere in amongst all the “bla'-bla”  I read that they have something in the neighbourhood of between 325 and 350 kids,  and that it’s a “Kindergarten to Grade eight” school.  I suspect that means “Junior Kindergarten”,  since Ontario schools have had “Junior Kindergarten”  since about 2001.  My memory is a bit dim when it comes to the exact year when it was introduced,  I just remember that it was a major pain in the ass for Plant Operations,  but that’s another story.

School hours are up to the discretion of the Principal, and can vary from a start time as early as 8:15, to as late as 9:00 a.m.,  with the school day ending anywhere from 3:00 p.m.,  to as late as 4:00 p.m.   These are all times off the top of my head here people,  and are only from what I’ve seen in my working days.  There may have been schools that started earlier or ended later,  but none that I knew of.   A lot of it had to do with bus schedules and the like.

Here’s the thing,  if you take a gander at that playground,  there’s no way in the name of Aristotle that there should be that many kids outside at one time.   That’s just silly.  I once worked in a school where there were three different “nutrition breaks” (um ya,  they don’t call it “recess”  anymore?  Go figure.) just to keep the big kids from murdering the little guys.    It ain’t rocket science!   It just takes some planning.   That way,  you don’t discover that after a couple months of school,  things aren’t really all that peachy keen on the playground.  If I could use the “hen house analogy”,  if you put a 100 hens into a henhouse that’s only built for 75?  You’re going to have some attrition.  Plain and simple.

So naturally, for her at least, the only option this principal thought she had was some silly knee jerk reaction when one of the parents on the playground was no doubt chatting with her buddies over coffee,  not paying attention and got beaned by an errant ball to the head.   They said it was a “concussion”.  I don’t think they understand what that means.  Was this individual removed by the paramedics?  Lost consciousness?   Ya,  whatever.

And trust me on this,  I’ve seen my share of do gooder parent volunteers supposedly helping with playground supervision,  while blithely chatting with their neighbours,  completely oblivious to their surroundings,  large “double-double” in hand,  having a glorious time.    Right up until they get hit in the head,  of course. 

I never had any desire to be out there for the carnage.   My job was to keep the tarmac free of debris, litter off the playing field,  hang up the tether balls (oh ya,  they’re a source of getting beaned in the head,  trust me)  and stay the hell away from the playground when it was in use.   That sort of thing isn’t exactly in the “Caretaker’s play book”,  but it’s something you learn in due course.

 

Anyway,   feel free to talk amongst yourselves.

Hope you all have a fabulous day.  Keep your eye on the ball.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

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