If you can read this

Today is National Teacher Day and I'm lucky enough to know quite a few teachers (past, present, and future), so here's to them. A quick shout out to my brother Bill, Cate, Dave (and Happy Birthday, as well!), David, Deb, Emily, Hilary, Ira, Kiersten, Mary Ann, Melusine, Mom, Pamela, Paul, Stacey, Sue and the rest of my friends who have spent time constructing lesson plans, grading papers, buying school supplies out of their own money, coming in early, leaving late, cleaning classrooms, caring for "class" pets, attending parent-teacher meetings, and ..... teaching.

We all know that children are basically just fun, cute germ vectors and Mom said that the year she spent teaching was the sickest year of her life. Fearing (I suppose) that teaching would be too remunerative, Mom eventually got her MA in Counseling and spent 20+ years counseling the opiate addicted, but she continued to teach as a Sunday School teacher for 12 years. She was my 6th grade Sunday School teacher and Sara's after me.

Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche,
And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.

Geoffrey Chaucer, General Prologue to The Canterbury Tales (duh)

Randy had spent almost no time around military people, but he is finding that he gets along with them surprisingly well. His favorite thing about them is their compulsive need to educate everyone around them, all the time. Randy does not need to know anything about the ROV, but Doug Shaftoe is going to give him a short course anyway. Randy supposes that when you are in a war, practical knowledge is a good thing to spread around.

Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson

Carelessness, stupidity, haste, and ignorance are quite as powerfully destructive forces as homicidal intent.

Professor Vorthys, Komarr by Lois McMaster Bujold

"This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it." cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. "Slander those who tell it ye. Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse. And abide the end."

"Have they no refuge or resource." cried Scrooge.

"Are there no prisons." said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. "Are there no workhouses." The bell struck twelve.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens