Piddlydonkers

I'm not sure about the spelling, but that's the term my husband says his father used to describe those drivers who'll go below the speed limit, slowing everyone behind them in the process.

Yesterday, as I was driving to my college on the hill with the dogs, with not a lot of time to spare before I had to be ready to teach my class, I swear I ended up behind every single piddlydonker in America (and I'm speaking hemispherically).

One slow driver isn't too much of a challenge, since the several two-way country roads that I must take after leaving the four-lane highway have passing areas, and my salsa red Scion is ready and able to pass the piddlydonkers.

But when a caravan of six piddlydonkers, one right after another, looms ahead of you on a no-passing two-way road there's nothing to do but rage against the fates (and piddlydonkers). From the back seat, Rusty kept looking at me with his "What's wrong with mami?" expression.

I finally arrived at my apartment in the woods with nary 45 minutes to spare before I was due in the classroom. After I'd unloaded the dogs, the cooler, the sundry totes filled to their respective rims with clothes and books and dog stuff, and parked the car, I had only minutes to have lunch, change into my teaching clothes, put some heels and makeup on and rush out the door.

One thing I didn't get the chance to do was print my very detailed lesson plan, as I always do, but I remembered the wise words of Dr. S, who reminded me this summer (on another crazy day when I didn't have time to print it out) that I really didn't need the lesson plan to do my job.

"You know what you're doing," she said. "Just do it."

And, of course, she was right. I prepare my über-perfectionist lesson plans as part of my maniacal, control-freak attempt to have everything laid out, preferably years in advance. But the actual "doing it," after more than a decade of teaching, is almost second-nature now.

I scribbled some notes on the trusty little black notebook that I carry in my bag (which more resembles a saddle bag than a purse) and all went smoothly in class. I'm sure the students couldn't tell the difference between the "I have my lesson plan printed" and the "I'm winging it" day, which is always reassuring.

Still, that doesn't mean I'm going to get in the habit of plan-less living. In fact, I'm going to cut this post short now so I can finish and print my lesson plan for tomorrow.