The latest edition of the Carnival of Education is up and running over at Text Savvy; click on over and read up on things.  You’ll see several familiar ‘faces’ on this one.

 

Also, I blatantly stole the link to the newest Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, honoring bad writing, from Wes.  It’s one of the greatest contests ever, y’all.

 

Wes also tells us about the Freeway Blogger.

 

No, I don’t have anything original this morning.  I wouldn’t even be up if the phone hadn’t kept ringing.

 

For almost thirty years we’ve sworn that we’re going to change our phone number and we never have.  Neither has the little church that’s one digit removed from ours.  You know, the one with all those really old parishioners who keep calling me and becoming indignant because I’m not Cindy?  The one with the old woman who calls here constantly and becomes all agitated and sometimes breaks down weeping because I don’t know anything about where she can find yet another home-care worker, and who wants to talk about it in detail even though I’m not Cindy?  The one with the woman who calls me and asks if she can bring the kids a few hours early, and gets mad at ME when I tell her not to bring them at all because I don’t know what she’s talking about?  The one with the old men who say, “Well, who IS this then!!!!!!” when I tell them they’ve got the wrong number?

 

Yes, that little church.

 

When my kids were little, the calls were so frequent that we couldn’t get anything done.  My kids seldom napped, but when they did I wanted it to last more than five minutes, and with the church people, it never did.  Once, in a fit of despair and frustration at the constantly ringing phone, and the trying to deal with these old people who argued with me when I told them they had the wrong number, I called the church and asked Cindy to please tell these people to be more careful when they tried to phone the church.  It lasted about a week and then it started again. 

 

I couldn’t put the phone off the hook; we had mothers who also needed us sometimes. 

 

I try to be polite and kind, but you know what?  It doesn’t seem to matter, because most of these old people still think it’s my fault, that somehow I answered Cindy’s phone, and that I could answer their questions and converse with them a little, if I put myself out.  Don’t tell anybody, but once in a while I DO know the answer and I just tell them and spare Cindy for a few more minutes.

 

I don’t envy Cindy.  And what’s the deal with that church; have they got a 24/hour talk-line going?

 

Sometimes the calls start before the sun comes up. 

 

I suppose it could be worse.  Mom’s number is one digit removed from the Obstetrics/Gynocology Clinic.

 

Although, I think some of the questions are the same.