June 19th, 2003

Mama Deb

Daylight time

There is Eastern Daylight Time, and Central, and Pacific. All nice and, um. Standard, only Daylight. You know?

Today, though, I was on Mama Time.

Which is twenty minutes earlier than Eastern. Which left my husband rather confused because, see, it was 10AM in the rest of the East Coast, and I'm acting like it's 9:40, and not hurrying to go to pa-kua. I finally realize this at 10:10, at a point when I'd get to go to half the class, if that.

I called and I'm going tonight instead, and I'm back on Eastern time. But I got angry enough to punch the wall at my own sheer stupidity. There are clocks everywhere, but I only looked at my watch.

And my first full class as a yellow belt, to boot. *sigh*

In other news: the speech went well. It wasn't as long as the other presenters' but that's not a bad thing, and my boss loved it. I was nervous before, and shaking like a leaf afterwards. I'm one of those people who panic after the fact, you see. I was okay during, and that's what counts
Mama Deb

(no subject)

I have paid for missing this morning class, I have.

Why? Because my normal class consists of women about my age, more or less. Women in their thirties or more. We make a little pile of hats and snoods by the door of the dojo.

I don't think there was anyone older than twenty in this evening's class. If that. At least one girl changed into a school uniform. Because she's twelve. And, after class, while I was staggering to the subway, she was getting on her bicycle to ride home. Because she's twelve.

And my little hat was lonely.

Even what Master Katie taught was different. Where she goes more slowly and gently with my class, she makes use of the teenaged energy - as she should.

But I'm not a teen-ager. I haven't been a teen-ager in twenty years. I'm sticking with my own kind.

No more Mama Standard Time.

:) Speaking of hats. And modesty and such. This dojo is on the top of a flight of stairs. you can see into the dojo as you climb the stairs. Therefore, no men are allowed beyond the second floor during the women's only classes. The uniforms are modest enough, but most of these girls wouldn't want a man to see them in pants. And this time there was married me, and I'm not insane enough to excercise like that with a hat on.

"Sir, please go downstairs. *Sir.*". When a black belt politely orders you downstairs, you go. Even if she's a cute and small young woman.