Let It Snow/ C'mon Already: A Teacher's Reflection On The Day Of The Anticipated Snowstorm

Why, yes, everyone and her uncle's nephew's brother's cousin's former roommate have been doing these for the past several months. Why, yes, it is almost the spring equinox and therefore too late. Why, yes, I have already posted this on Facebook, where it is likely to get all the following I'm ever likely to get.

I still want to post this here so it's easy for me to find again. Besides, there's ice outside again right now.

I wrote this - or started to - on January 28, 2014, just as the first nasty winter storm was hitting our part of NC. School was in progress, but it was very difficult to teach when the students (and myself!) were all extremely eager to go see the snow, and extremely eager for a snowday. (No one ever tells you how hard it is to act adult and professional when you're feeling possibly more antsy than the students.) Alas, there was pretty much no snow during the day, despite all the forecasts: it saved its wrath for later. This was very much on my mind.

***
"Let It Snow, Or, A Teacher's Plea" by Mouse

(to the tune of "Let It Go" from Disney's Frozen, as sung by Idina Menzel)

The snow's too light on the sidewalk tonight
Scarce a snowflake to be seen
A town of anticipation
But the pines still shine in green
The wind is howling in a swirling storm outside
Can't just block it out; Heaven knows I've tried.

Don't let hope in – don't go to see
Keep on being that good-girl worker bee
Conceal, don't feel – don't let it show –
That you want snow!

Let it snow, let it snow
Don't hold it back anymore
Let it snow, let it snow
Go ahead and make it pour!
I don't care what the forecasts say
Let the storm rage on –
so tomorrow, we can go out and play!

It's funny how some flurries make all my work seem small
And the tasks that so control me can't get to me at all
It's time to see what it can do
Test all the records, and break through
No roads, no work, no school for me – I'm free!

Let it snow, let it snow
Let it dump from the wind and sky!
Let it snow, let it snow,
Or you'll have to see me cry
Let it stand, and let me stay
Let the storm rage on…

Bring more than flurries from the air down to the ground
Let snowflakes spiral all in frozen fractals all around
Let nothing neutralize this icy polar blast
I don't want to go back;
Just make a snow day last!

Let it snow, let it snow
Be all iced by the break of dawn
Let it snow, let it snow
Please cover up that lawn
Dazzle me by the light of day
Let the storm rage on
So tomorrow we can go out and play!

Puss in Boots - Prologue/?

Kat stalked irritably into the throne room. She was not best pleased.

"Really, Father?"

"Really, Katherina, can you not find something more appropriate to wear?" the king said, frowning.

"Really, Father?"

"I know you have an irrational taste for crude clothing -"

"- practical clothing, but that's not the -"

"- but surely even you can appreciate the need to look your best for such a guest as Prince Beauregard."

"Prince Beauregard."

"Yes, Beauregard," the king said, shifting uncomfortably. "He is handsome, honorable, charming... willing to overlook your, er, peculiarities... I cannot fathom your lack of interest."

"Shall I count the ways?" Kat snapped. "He is dull, timid, and 'overlooks' my 'peculiarities' because he's incapable of seeing anything in me except what a painted canvas could show. Oh, and he's a dangerously irrelevant distraction in this moment of national crisis."

"Crisis?" the king repeated, blinking. "Oh, sweetie, I would hardly call it a crisis..."

"Ogres, border. Miller, dead. Crisis."

"I am sure the generals can deal with that, sweetheart."

Kat's "Right" was slathered with enough sarcasm for even the king to notice. Unfortunately, he chose to press on.

"We can discuss this later. For the present time, please you return to your quarters. Perhaps the ladies-in-waiting can make you presentable in time to ... Katherina!"

She was gone.

Once and Future

You're famous, you know. Where we come from. When we come from. I mean, there's no guarantee that our time is your future; things can change. But if you keep walking the path toward our time, I can tell you what will happen.

Please don't hurt my sister. I promise, you'll regret it.

But everyone knows about you, even if everything they know is wrong. What kind of wrong? They "know" that your wife slept with Lancelot - please, my lady, I know it's not true! Really, you can put the sword down. I know you wouldn't sleep with your brother, any more than His Majesty would sleep with his sister. Which they also say. Because everything everyone knows is wrong. Or most of it. I'm not explaining this very well. Could you please stop threatening my sister?

Sorry, I'm trying to get to the point. I'm trying to tell you that we know that those stories aren't true. And we know the true stories. That you married the great warrior queen Gwenhwyvar as a way of strengthening connections with the older Britons. That you joined several great princes together to join all Britain in defense against the Saxons. That... that Bedwyr always plays practical jokes, and Cai pretends to hate it but secretly encourages him, and Gwenhwyvar always threatens to slice and dice anyone who dares to call her barbarian but Gawain will say it anyway just to give her a chance to show off and scare visitors into respecting her. We know these stories because...

Well, one of the stories everyone knows is true. The story about the final battle. Where... where you were betrayed, your Majesty. And dealt a mortal wound. And so Merlin - well, the stories say he was dead and gone, but it was Merlin - sent you to Avalon for healing. And one day you'll return to save Britain in her direst need. That's a true story. It just doesn't mention that Avalon is Britain, one day. Or that you were sent into the future as a baby, so you'd have time to grow up and get used to things. Or that Gwenhwyvar bullied Merlin into sending her too, so you wouldn't be alone. Although I guess some stories talk about how you'll have your knights with you when you return, so maybe ... anyway.

And that's why I'm named Morgan, your Majesty. And why I look so much like your sister. It's not because I'm her. It's not because I'm her daughter. It's because I'm your daughter. And so is my sister. And... Gwennie, for the love of all that's holy, put the bloody sword down. I'm sure they'll believe you're Mother's daughter without any of this nonsense.


******************************
Author note: This is actually a tiny snippet in my rather comprehensive Arthurian universe. I rather doubt I'll ever record much of that universe - it's hard to get a hold on individual stories worth telling - but just in case, I might as well create tags that encompass the relevant points. Camelot is King Arthur's time and place, Avalon is Britain about 5000 years later where Artos and Jennifer Penn-Andrews reign. Morgan and Gwen Penn-Andrews also have an older brother, Llew, and a younger brother, Glen. It was Morgan and Gwen's bad luck to land at a point in Camelot when Morgan le Fay was an enemy of Arthur, but I thought it would be overdoing things for Morgan Penn-Andrews to explain how her aunt reconciled with her father and merited a namesake. It would likely be overdoing things for me, too.

The Trolls

Inspired by my students on a day when faith and optimism were... difficult.

They ramble polymorphous on;

they wild and careless play.

They try their different faces on;

their costumes they display.

 

Who are they, and what shall be?

they wonder. So do we,

we rooted, turgid, frozen folk,

no more formless-free.

 

They dance and play and sing their way -

pirate, ninja, queen -

as shifting shadows shiftless slide

From beast to superbeing.

 

So we were once, and once were so,

Astronauts and elves

Wizards, cowboys, paupers, princes;

Now merely ourselves.

 

They change and grow and change still less

Discarding extra faces

They slowly pick out one last few

They still, and take their places

 

As they become what they shall be

As they join us frozen

We cry in fear or ecstasy

At finished forms they've chosen

 

Some are heroes, strong and brave

Some are butterflies

Some are gypsies, wild and free,

Some are sages wise

 

Some are beauties, some are beasts

Some are dancers 'mid the throng

Some are jesters, some are kings

Some raise voices e'er in song

 

Some, more daring, change still more

Growing tree-like high

Stronger, fairer, stranger still

Child of sun and sky

 

And some, more careless, change still less

like troll-folk, trollish grown,

Shunning sun, sky, joy, and life

Till sunlight turns them stone

Characters In Search Of A Plot

*coughs* NaNoWriMo. Right. *brightly* Moving on!

NaShaRiNoWriMo, or, Shameless Ripoff of Star Wars and Other Stories of Less Note

This will likely go nowhere, as I am prone to writer's block, whimsy, and random attacks of irritation. But in the spirit, I believe I shall try. To aid in my first attempt to do NaNoWriMo, I shall enact the following measures:

1) Accept 15,000 words rather than 50,000 words as a goal. I'm a first-year teacher; I have other stressful ways to ambitiously spend my time.

2) Shamelessly steal from popular fiction, so as to avoid the worst of writer's block.

3) Copy/paste from a Word file so as to have double copies of this...

4) Procrastinate on doing this as an incentive to improve lesson plans.

And now, to posting!

Irony

Institutional learning demands that we cease to use
rote filling out of forms; we must encourage creative
originality:
now, go fill out these forms in approved fashion, and
yawp along with everyone else.