What else could it be for…?
The 2019 Family History Law Library class at the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy is now in the bag.
One full week of students eager to learn and instructors eager to impart their knowledge about the interplay of genealogy and the law — it doesn’t get much better than that.
But there’s another week coming up next week called SLIG Academy, plus — gasp! — The Legal Genealogist gets to be a student today in what’s called Tech Day so… yeah… time for the blog is still in very short supply.
So to keep the blog from going dark for that long, as time allows, we’ll continue with 2019 alphabet soup.
And since today is also family day around these parts, when I write about my family, what else could C possibly stand for but… cookie?
Or to be more accurate … cookies.
I was in eighth grade in a junior high school in central New Jersey, and a young eighth grader compared to the others since I started school when I was barely four.
And the last thing you want to do as a very young eighth grader is stand out in any way. You want to blend in, basically not be noticed.
Which was absolutely impossible the afternoon I was in my social studies class, the intercom phone rang in the room, my teacher answered it, spoke to whoever was calling, hung up the intercom phone and announced that I was wanted in the office.
Of the vice principal.
Now, an angel I never was. But I rarely got into serious trouble at school because of things like, well, vice principals for discipline.
But on this particular occasion I couldn’t imagine what in the name of all that’s holy I could possibly have done to merit this kind of attention.
The entire class’s eyes were riveted on me as I eased out of my seat and out the door into the hallway.
My 12-year-old self was absolutely convinced that every eye from every classroom was riveted on me as I slunk down the hallways to the office.
As I recall, I kept my eyes turned down to the ground the whole way, not wanting to see those eyes riveted on me, until I was about 20 feet from the office door.
At that point I looked up to see…
… my then three-year-old brother sitting merrily on the counter in the office, munching on — you got it — cookies.
My little brother, you see, had a sweet tooth. And the cooking room of the junior high school was in the wing that was closest to our house which, in turn, was just one house away from the school property.
Fred had smelled the cookies baking in the cooking room, and invited himself to the party.
The vice principal for discipline, living in the neighborhood, recognized him as one of my family and figured there had to be a sibling in the school to take the brat home.
I’ve never lived that incident down with my schoolmates.
And, obviously, neither has Fred with me.
C… is for cookies.
Cite/link to this post: Judy G. Russell, “2019 alphabet soup: C is for…,” The Legal Genealogist, posted 19 Jan 2019 (https://www.legalgenealogist.com/blog : accessed date).