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Flexibility and Adaptablility

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I hate change … of almost any kind. I would be much more content and stable if my skin, the weather, and the cost of cheese would simply freeze at their present levels of being.

Returning to college at forty-six has required endurance, more chores for the two teenage boys that call our house home, and a new cookbook of Crockpot Family Favorites.

School started for me today with a new class on using technology in the classroom. Technology is change. I hate change. Why can’t the students simply use the small, and may I add affordable, handheld chalk boards that were good enough for Laura Ingalls? Suffice it to say that my lack of technological skills leaves me unable to move pictures out of my own camera. Getting a picture off the tiny and easy to lose piece of plastic, and into a computer file that I will fail to ever locate again, requires my sixteen-year-old son.

After twenty years of marriage, I made the bold move of announcing to my husband that I don’t like change. Somehow, he already knew that. As I packed up my texts, notebooks, and stack of binder paper, my husband reminded me to use my new Christmas present. It is a beautiful notebook with dividers and paper that surely must be more expensive than the reams of college ruled paper I find on sale for twenty-five cents each. I tried to create for him a visual of the amount of paper I use during a semester in school. “Two math classes this semester alone” I warned him. He assured me that he could afford plenty of replacement paper. I envision the diminishing chance of getting the new running shoes I need, once the specialty paper orders start arriving by UPS.

Instead of reminding him for the second time about my aversion to change, I accepted the challenge of a new note taking system. The first thing we did in class was pull out a piece of paper money to make a table tent with our name on it. One thing a forty-six year old student never does, is ask the nineteen-year-old sitting behind her, for a piece of paper.  As I pulled out a sheet of the sixty-pound stock, annotated Levenger paper, I broke into a sweat. Then we reviewed the syllabus which listed our first assignment—create a blog. Me? A blogger? How many hours would that take my son, um I mean me, to figure out? I held myself from laughing out loud while trying to remember how much red wine we had at home.

The purpose of the first blog is to address one of the life and career skills that are discussed in the textbook. As I continue my mid-life-return to college, I am forced every day, and in seemingly every way, to change and adapt. To bend and to grow.

This may take a whole lotta red wine.


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