March Marches On

Another year. another writing challenge in the books.

My students were greeted with congratulatory fireworks and the charge to reflect on their writing over the last month when they logged onto the challenge today. As always, I was pleased and moved by how positive they were about participating.

Many of my fellow slicers are also wrapping up their month of writing by reflecting on the experience. Day 31-- it was fun! seems to be the general consensus. They took a risk, they shared their thoughts, they surprised themselves. How cool!

As for me? I'll miss the community and the connection that each daily post provides, especially with the writers I know personally. I love the writing and also the glimpse into someone else's day. For that, I am already looking forward to next year, but in the meantime you can always find me...

Walking the Dog.

On Deck

After chasing away a pair of mourning doves who considered the eaves a perfect nesting place, I spent a little time on the first warm day of spring cleaning up our tiny deck. Perhaps 6 x 8 feet, it has served many functions over the years.

When we first moved in, there was a table and chairs under a forged-iron candelabra that held tealights. It was a little cramped, but we passed many a delightful evening out there dining alfresco, talking, and laughing long past dessert.

A few years later, when we lost the tall Virginia Pines that sheltered us from the parking lot below, it seemed the right time to transition to low-slung Adirondack chairs that maintained our privacy. Then, we spent many relaxing afternoons hanging out, reading, and writing.

And when a couple of years ago those wooden chairs could no longer be patched and repainted into usefulness, the space was left to hanging herb baskets, flowers, patio vegetables, and houseplants seeking to reconnect with their inner-wild.

It was in the aftermath of that incarnation that I found the deck today. Songbirds filled the budding River Birch that was planted to replace those long-ago pines. Empty hanging baskets and plastic pots were stacked in the corner; planter boxes and clay pots edged the railing; wooden shelves and outdoor storage bins neatly lined the inside perimeter. Dry leaves gathered in the corners, and lavender, rosemary, and catnip that survived the winter were peeking green between last year's dry stalks.

Sweeping the last of the winter debris into my dustpan, I was filled with possibility. What will the new season bring?

In Kid Years

Sometimes I think that middle school time is a little like dog years-- two months equals at least six. It only makes mathematical sense: when you're eleven or twelve, a couple of months represents a big chunk of your life so far, percentage-wise.

I was reminded of this chronological curiosity this morning. The intern who has been working with my class since January was out, so I cracked my instructional knuckles and stepped to the front of the room.

"Where's Ms. W?" the students asked in alarm.

"Her son had an assembly at his school," I said. "She'll be here later." Then I ran through the announcements, read the mentor text, and taught the mini-lesson. As the class was transitioning to workshop time, I circulated through the room checking individual progress and answering questions.

"You're a pretty good teacher, too," one of the kids told me.

Living the Dream

At the end of the quarter there are always students scrambling to finish or catch up on assignments. For sixth graders, managing expectations and grades from as many as nine different teachers is a new and often confusing task, so I try to be available after school for any kids who are willing to stay. It's never as many as probably should stay, but it's a handful every afternoon.

Today there were three girls working on completing their write notebooks so I could check and grade them. Well, two of them were working; the other one was talking more than writing, a habit that contributed heavily to her need to be there at all. Even so, she is a funny and engaging conversationalist, and it's hard to ignore her chatter.

"What's harder" she asked the other day when she was working on her unit reflection, "being a teacher, or being a parent?"

"Good question!" my colleague said. "I guess it depends on the day."

The student nodded thoughtfully and turned to me. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I don't have any children."

"What!" she responded, appraising me through the lens of this new information. "Do you live alone?"

"No," I answered.

She nodded knowingly. "You have a cat, right?"

Choosing not to be offended, I laughed. "Nope!" I told her. "I have two! And a dog."

"I want your life!" she said.

"Then finish your reflection, and get started on your plot chart," I advised her. 

Time's Arrow

One of my students brought in her kindergarten yearbook today. It was fun to see the old pictures of some of the kids I teach now and marvel at how much they've grown up in the last six years. What made it even more of a bonus was that I've been teaching at my school long enough that I knew lots of kids from every grade, K-5, in that yearbook, and it was very entertaining looking through and picking them out with my current students.

In that spirit, I pulled out my collection of the ID cards we get from the school photo company every year. A perk of the contract, they serve no practical need, and so I have all of mine, dating back to 1993, stored away in the top drawer of my desk.

I was touched at how eager the students were to look through all of them, comparing my hair and my clothes year by year, but it was the comment of Mr. 7-11, from yesterday's post, that really hit home.

"Wow!" he said, looking from me to all the tiny images of me spread across the desk. "This job really ages you!"

Put it in Writing

I have a student who is definitely a verbal processor. He can barely write without talking, and this morning was one of those times. "I'm writing my slice of life!" he announced.

"Try to do it quietly," I suggested. Fortunately, most of the other kids in the group are used to him, and they usually tune him out.

"I'm writing about my morning!" he persisted cheerfully. "I was almost late today, because I woke up at 7:11!"

Most of the other students stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to him. I could see the confusion and amusement on their faces as they tried to make sense of this surprising information.

"Too many slurpees last night?" I asked.

"No! I meant the time!" he replied.

I nodded.

Everyone else went back to their work.

The Good Ship Forsythia

The forsythia is blooming this week. Offering as they do that first magical burst of color in the drab late winter landscape, these bright yellow flowers on otherwise bare branches are hard to miss. When their blooms subside to plain green leaves, forsythia may become anonymous shrubbery to most, but not to me.

When my brother and sister and I were kids, one whole side of our house was lined with forsythia, and there was just enough room between the bushes and the wall for three little children to squeeze into. Near the middle of the hedgerow, the space widened into a tiny enclosed bower, which we called our clubhouse. We played for hours there, weaving in and out of leafy fairy-door openings, inventing all sorts of games that involved imaginary perils and daring escapes.

We took turns maneuvering that one flexible branch that was our control stick for both the seafaring and space-traveling ship our clubhouse could become whenever the situation required it. Get us out of here! we would cry, and our ship would zoom us away from any danger.

This morning, as I walked the dog, I peered into the spray of yellow flowers lining the hill behind our house, looking for a bit of space where three kids might hide, but there was no sanctuary in this forsythia. Even so, I reached in and grasped a branch, running my hand up and down the pebbled texture I didn't know I remembered so well. Get us out of here! I thought.

But it didn't work, so I continued on foot.

My Partner My Foe

We had no real plans for our Saturday evening when my adult nephew texted to invite us to game night. He was making pizza, his brother was bringing some beer, and his girlfriend was coming over after work. My brother made a salad, and we brought a bottle of Italian red and dessert. The NCAA tournament was on mute, and the dogs wrestled as the six of us matched wits playing a couple rounds each of Think 'n Sync and Listography.

Both games are an interesting mesh of competition and cooperation, requiring players to think outside themselves and imagine what their opponent/partner might be considering as each determines the "best" answer. Such empathetic competition can be an oxymoron hard to wrap your brain around, but lucky for us, we're all connected already.

Rabbit Hole

I wanted to replace the toilet paper holder,
so I took the old one off the wall.

The new one was a different size,
so I went through the leftover paint to find a match,
so I could touch up the wall.

There were a bunch paint cans that we no longer needed,
so I pulled them out from the cupboard and packed them up to be recycled.

The recycling place was closing soon,
so we hopped in the car to get over there.

We didn't make it on time,
so we ran some other errands instead.

Back at home, I realized I didn't have any spackling,
so I couldn't patch the wall before I painted.

My project was on hold,
so I sighed and closed the bathroom door until tomorrow.

The Perfect Bracket

Oh March Madness!

Right now, I don't have a single loss on my NCAA tournament bracket, but I don't have a single win either, because this year I never got around to filling one out.

Let's just say I follow college basketball from afar; both my brother and mom are really into it: he on the men's side, and she has seasons tickets to the Lady Gophers, so I hear things. For example, I knew that two of my alma maters had made it to the big dance. Sure, ODU was a 14th seed and Colgate a 15th, but until the final horn blows, anything is possible, right?

Even so, I can't say I'm upset that in the last 24 hours both teams have been eliminated. My friend Mary reminded me this morning that I took a graduate course through UVa extension a couple of years ago. So, yeah, I could root for them; they're my brother's team, too.

Plus... it wouldn't bust my bracket at all.

In My Defense

Most people have heard Coco Chanel's famous advice about fashion and accessorizing: "Before leaving the house, look in the mirror and take at least one thing off." Even though I'm rather a minimalist myself when it comes to that area, I've found those words to be helpful in several other parts of my life.

For example, as teachers, we are often told to over-plan our lessons, since it's better to have too little time than the chaos that a few too many extra minutes at the end of a class might encourage. And, when planning a menu for a dinner party, I almost always re-evaluate as I'm cooking, and eliminate one or more component of some over-complicated dish, a decision I rarely regret.

But the times I find Chanel's advice most helpful are when I am replying to a parent concern about something that is going on in my class. Then, I find it best to start with a response that says everything I'm thinking: a defense that goes point by point and justifies any choice I've made, spotlights all the problems with the student, and sometimes even goes so far as to challenge the parent for even daring to question my judgment.

Of course I never hit send before looking in that metaphorical mirror and and cutting at least a third of the email. Oh, it's not hard to know which sections to delete... they are usually the ones that I like the most when I'm writing. And that's why they have to go-- because I wrote them for me, not for the parent, and certainly not for the good of the student.

Commuter Incentive

"So are you and Heidi driving together now?" a friend and former colleague I hadn't seen in a while asked me yesterday.

Even though we have lived and worked in the same place for over 20 years, until last year when they closed our school parking lot to build a whole elementary school in it, Heidi and I always drove separately.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "It's easier with the construction and parking situation. Plus we get a carpool stipend of 30 bucks each a month!"

She nodded. "How's it working out though? I know you don't like to be late."

"It hasn't been too much of a problem," I told her. "Heidi has been pretty good about getting ready on time, and for a dollar-fifty a day?" I winked. "I can be patient!"

A Tree Grows

When I got the invitation by email a few weeks ago, I was kind of on the fence. You are cordially invited to this year's service awards! Celebrating employees with 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, and 45 years of service.

With 25 years, I am on the low end of that spectrum, and award shindigs are not really my thing. A colleague who received the same invitation was more enthusiastic, and she encouraged me to go. My friend Mary, also on the list, was not inclined to attend. Undecided, I promptly forgot about the whole thing.

Today I had a few minutes of time between classes and meetings, and since the sun was shining, I decided to take a quick walk. We share our campus with a county park, and the paved path that circles the 2 soccer fields, tennis and basketball courts, and baseball diamond is about a half mile. Walking the loop, I found sky blue sharpie and a well-used baseball.

Pocketing the marker I continued on, tossing the ball from hand to hand. My mind wandered as I walked and I thought of the many times I had tread this trail over the past 25 years. How could it be so unchanged?

The path was lined with maple, oak, red bud, and crape myrtle. I figured that even the slowest growing of those adds a foot to its height each year, and I stopped, looked around, did a little math, and considered the way ahead.

Back in the building, my friend Mary reminded me of the service awards deadline. Without hesitation, I RSVPed 'yes' to the ceremony, and got Mary to agree to go, too.

All We Hoped it Could Be

Skimming through a few posts from my early-morning writers, it didn't take long for a theme to emerge:

It is Monday, ugh. I just want to go back to bed.

Monday. The second worst day of the week. I really just wanted to sleep in. 

I don’t like Mondays. Monday’s are always bad luck for me. 

It’s a Monday... Not a good day. 

Ugh Mondays. I really hate Mondays because they’re are the start of a new week, and it’s hard to adjust to waking up early in the morning.

Waking up on a Monday is the worst for me because I usually can’t get up. 

Ugh it’s Monday. I don't like Mondays, I hate it with a burning passion. 

Monday’s feel like a year they take so long.

I sighed and turned away from my laptop. Of course I could relate.

Just then the morning announcements came on the TV. As she does every Monday, our principal shared some words of wisdom. In light of the shootings in New Zealand, this morning her message was one centered on open-mindedness and freeing our minds from intolerance. At the end she played a few bars of Free Your Mind.

I looked around at my Monday-weary kids and realized that a little music was a great idea. Cleaning out their binders was next on our agenda.

"Organization dance party!" I declared, grabbing my phone and the Bluetooth speaker on my desk, and after a little more En Vogue I continued, "I'm taking requests!"

"Livin' on a Prayer!" suggested one student without hesitation.

A little Bon Jovi later, I asked again.

"Country Roads!" someone else shouted.

Who are these kids? I wondered as I blasted the John Denver song.

After that, the requests got a little more contemporary. We listened to Castle on the Hill by Ed Sheeran.

Most of the class was jamming as they recycled, hole-punched, and clipped, but one guy sat clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "What's the next song?" I asked him.

"How about peace and quiet?" he suggested archly.

I laughed and hit search. A minute later the song Peace and Quiet by Drew was playing.

It wasn't quite what that student meant, and he had to tolerate everyone else singing We Will Rock You and Something Just Like This until the bell rang, releasing 15 energized sixth graders into the rest of their Monday morning.

All Done

At the end of the weekend it's sometimes easy to feel disappointed about all the things I didn't cross off my ambitious to-do list. A stack of folders and my laptop are still in the pocket of my pack where I optimistically shoved them as I left my classroom on Friday afternoon. The new toilet paper holder is still in its box in the powder room (but the drill is in there, too, now!) The deck is unorganized, the garden uninspected, the refrigerator still cluttered with the last few bites of meals we ate too long ago to save.

But then, I consider the things we did that weren't even on the list. We walked with the dog in beautiful places both Saturday and Sunday. I dug out my camera and took a few photos I like. I discovered a new podcast, made a big breakfast this morning, and slept later than usual both days. I tried to find the exact words to describe the way the light sparkled on the water, talked to my mom on facetime, did a neighbor a favor, and sat quietly on a railway-tie wall as the sun warmed my face.

Oh, there's a busy week ahead, for sure, but I think I'm ready.

Reading Between the Signs

It was only 55 degrees when we set off today, and although the sky was clear and blue, the wind was brisk, so we bundled ourselves in flannel and down when we headed into the woods for a hike with our dog. The sun was still unfiltered through bare branches as we walked. No spring ephemerals peeked out from the brown leaf bed lining the trail; no chickadees, brown creepers, titmice, or nuthatches buzzed or warbled us on our way, and when we crossed over creeks and passed by ponds there were no turtles sunning or even the slightest peep from a frog.

Even so,

maybe it was the angle of the sun, the way the light, both golden and white, sparkled on the run and the river beyond and right into our eyes. Or maybe it was the trees that were just beginning to swell, or the holly and rhododendron that looked so fiercely evergreen. Maybe it was just a softness in the breezy air.

Something there was that told us that winter was gone.

Jumpster

Our dog is not allowed on any furniture except the bed-- there she makes herself quite at home, and we often find her stretched diagonally across it, belly up and snoring soundly. In addition to the bed, our cats are allowed on the couches and chairs, but never on the table or counters.

Understandably, different households have different rules for their pets, and since Lucy, our dog, visits other places, she has to adjust to different expectations. In general her hosts are more liberal than we are, welcoming her onto the couch and other furniture. Even so, she seems to grasp the concept of context, for the most part.

Over at her dog-walker's house, the rules are very canine-friendly: she boards guest dogs, and her house is set up to be as accommodating to them as possible. Because she has a couple of cats and a dog of her own, she usually keeps the cat food up on the 3-sided counter between her kitchen and dining room. Lucy knows not to counter surf-- nowhere she goes allows her to stand up and inspect the counter tops-- but evidently she didn't realize that actually jumping up there was forbidden as well.

It's kind of a surprise to find your 52-pound goldendoodle on the kitchen counter lapping up cat food. In fact it's just one of those rules you never thought you would have to teach her, and yet there she was when we went to pick her up the other day, just as proud as she could be.

The dog walker didn't seem upset at all. "You never should have taken her to agility," she shrugged.

The Plot Thickens

All stories have a plot! The teacher intern reminded our students today. All plots have an exposition, rising action, turning point, falling action, and resolution, she continued.

I looked to my left at one of our more challenging sixth graders. He was neither taking notes nor paying attention. Instead, he was conspicuously buried in a graphic novel. I walked over. "Did you hear that?" I whispered. "All stories have those things!" I gestured to the screen dramatically.

"Not this one," he shrugged, waving his book at me. "It's part of a series, so it never ends. There is no climax or turning point."

I liked that he was thinking about our claim critically, and I told him so. "But you know," I confided, "each book in a series is usually a stand-alone story, too, so I bet this one," I pointed to the volume he was clutching, "does, too."

"I doubt it," he said.

"Why don't you let me look while you are finishing your notes," I suggested, and maybe it was the neon green loose leaf I had given him before, or perhaps it was the cool pen I lent him, or maybe he just wanted to say, I told you so! when I failed, but he surprised me and handed the book over.

I skimmed the beginning and then paged backward from the end until I found the part where they say, He saved us! But now, he's gone. I pulled a post-it note from the pad, wrote my student a little note, and stuck it on the page before that. Then I went over to return the book.

"I told you!" he said triumphantly.

"Oh, no," I replied. "I found it. You'll see when you get there." I handed him his book.

I thought he might flip right to the note and pull it out dismissively, but he surprised me again. "You read all of that?" he asked in astonishment. "Does it at least count for your daily reading?"

Lost

When I discovered that one of my mittens was missing yesterday as I unloaded my school bags from the car, at first I was confused. I could have sworn that I tossed two mittens into the backseat after carrying them out in an afternoon much warmer than the morning before. I had a clear memory of doing so, but I scoured the interior of my car and all the spaces between it and the front door, and no errant mitten was recovered.

Although it's true that the days when mittens are necessary are numbered, the thought of giving up on a little woolen soldier who had served me so well all winter long was more than galling, and so I hopped back in the car and returned to school, despite the evening traffic. There I checked the area all around my parking space and then retraced my roughly 2000 steps to the building, scanning all the way for my prodigal mitten. When I made it to the door without any luck, I rang the buzzer so I could go in to check my classroom. Still no mitten.

More mystified than dejected, I walked slowly back to my car, past soccer fields, playgrounds, and tennis courts, eyes peeled for a single black marl mitten, alone and abandoned. I never found it.

Oh, I looked again this morning, and I know it will be a long time before I can walk that path without at least a fleeting thought of my mitten. Maybe it's the mystery of such a loss that makes it hard to forget; maybe it's the futility of the search that makes it easy to regret. Maybe that's just the way my brain works, or maybe I am not in the mood to lose anything right now.

Whatever it is? I am having a hard time letting that mitten go.

Taking Off the Training Wheels

I stepped out of my second period class to track down a student's ipad this morning. More and more, my teaching intern has been taking the lead on instruction, and it was a good opportunity for her to solo.

Today's activity was the celebration of the media literacy unit. All of the student commercials were included, film festival-style, into a presentation, and in between students evaluated each other's work using the same instrument we applied to professionally produced ads at the beginning of the unit. 

When I returned to the classroom about 15 minutes into the period, the door was locked and I found that I had left my keys on my desk. I could hear a lot of enthusiasm within, and rather than knocking on the door to interrupt, I peeked through the blinds. It was indeed a celebration-- a proud teacher congratulated happy, engaged students on their hard work and achievement. They didn't need me at all.

Of course I felt a pang, but it was kind of like when I see former sixth graders in the hallway on their way to their 7th and 8th grade classes. I miss them, but I know I was part of the team that helped get them where they are going. 

At those times, we smile and exchange waves or nods and away they go,

but this morning? 

I knocked on the door and joined the party!

On Principle

I set myself up yesterday for an easy post complaining all about Daylight Savings Time today.

Unfortunately (or rather, fortunately?), such a rant failed to materialize for me: I spent a nice day yesterday with friends and family and never really missed the hour. I went to bed relatively early and woke up right away when the alarm went off. I wasn't too tired today, and my students seemed fine, too. Leaving school at my usual too late hour, I was pleased to see that it was still very light out and enjoyed a sunny walk to my car.

Hmm.

Could it have been the meditation on forgiveness I listened to yesterday? Could such a notion extend to an abstract concept like arbitrary time change?

Naaaaah.

I still hate you Daylight Savings Time!

Happens Every Year

There are certain benefits to participating in a writing challenge the same month each year. One of the least obvious, perhaps, is that certain topics are relevant every time. For example, in March there's usually snow and/or signs of spring, and there's always a reflection about a whole month of writing at the end. Since one of the toughest things about daily writing can be finding a good topic, having these baked in ideas is little like a free space in Bingo.

I've noticed it in my students' writing, too. For them, March always means student-led conferences and district assessments for band and orchestra, and, trust me! I read a lot of slices about both of those.

Of course, March also triggers the granddaddy of all rants for many of my students and their teacher, too. For it is in March that we early-risers are needlessly robbed of an hour of sleep and morning sun when DST is imposed on us!

Oh! The injustice of it inspires hundreds of words all raised in a one united complaint, and the only itty-bitty consolation is knowing that not only will our voices be heard and read throughout the blogosphere, but that our writing is done for yet another day.

Winter into Spring

This morning I took a look in the freezer and found a half bag of cranberries and some frozen turkey stock, and given the cold, gray weather and smudges of snow on the ground, it did not seem unseasonable to bake some cranberry-orange muffins and put a pot of turkey-vegetable soup on to simmer.

Tomorrow is predicted to be much warmer. March is changeable like that around here, but even so, winter is definitely waning and spring emerging. So tonight we'll eat the last of the turkey and cranberries until next November. Marie Kondo-style, we'll thank them for their service, and turn our attention to the pea shoots, parsley, and asparagus that are waiting in the fridge with their spark of spring joy.

Red or Not

Long ago someone told me that red was a power color, bold and unforgettable, communicating conviction and authority. I took the information to heart and always chose red whenever I was feeling a little insecure, for example interviews, professional presentations, and especially back to school night. Maybe it was imaginary, but those crimson duds sure did boost my confidence!

A couple of decades later the jitters are mostly gone, and I like to think of my current wardrobe as casually classic: cool and neutral, maybe a little bit hipster. At this time of year I usually wear dark turtlenecks or t-shirts with jeans and a sweater and boots. This morning, though, as I dressed for parent conference day, my hand hovered briefly over the one bright turtleneck I own, bright red, and purchased for Christmas, before landing on the charcoal gray one to its left.

A minute later, I shrugged on my cardigan and headed downstairs for a quick breakfast before packing lunches. Seeing that it was a bit later than I thought, I chose to pack and eat at the same time, resulting in a big spoonful of yogurt landing right on my turtleneck. Dabbing wasn't doing it, and in the interest of time I dashed upstairs to change my shirt. This time the red was my only option, and I quickly pulled it over my head.

Glancing in the mirror I realized that was confident-- confident that I knew my students and I knew my job and confident that today was going to be a good day. Then I zipped up that cardigan one more time and went to work.

Dinner of Champions

After a full day of corralling aspiring filmmakers as they stampeded from one location to the next, jockeying for that perfect camera angle, the shot that would bring their commercial over the finish line, I raced from a special education committee meeting to a consultation with my teaching intern and her university advisor to the first of my student-led conferences and around to the copy machine, before finally entering the homestretch.

Fortunately, we have a plan in place for dinner on days like these. Scrambled eggs with french fries and tossed salad is a quick and satisfying meal that provides us with a little time to relax and all the energy we'll need for another day at the track tomorrow. 

While Ye May

We had our monthly countywide ELA meeting this afternoon which commenced, as usual, with a warm and rather entertaining video from our Supervisor and Secondary Specialist. "This is our last video!" they told us at the end, and proceeded to explain how the April, May and June meetings would be organized.

And although their focus was on supporting us as we continue the work we do, the end of this school year glimmered, ever so briefly, above the horizon, and I was reminded that, although it is easy to forget when you're in the middle of

planning
and teaching
and assessing
and reteaching
and reflecting,

our time with these
crazy,
wonderful,
challenging,
brilliant
kids

is actually

finite.

Prop Masters

When you're shooting commercials on a shoestring budget, creativity is a must-have. That's one lesson I hope my students learned today as they worked on their media literacy group projects.

"We need cheese!" one group said.

"How about construction paper?" I asked.

"We want it 3D," they replied.

In the absence of any immediate cheese source, I showed them how to sketch a wedge, double it and add tabs to cut out and fold into mock cheddar. Next it was mouse ears, and over the course of the day our construction paper portfolio grew to include life-size fairywings, 2 mustaches, a chef's hat, and 4 giant crab claws.

These last were my favorite. I think you can see why:

The Nose Knows

I know I've written before about my dog Lucy and her amazing sniffer, but this blog is called Walking the Dog for a reason!

Maybe it was getting up at 5:30 am after a 3-day weekend, or maybe it was the weevils I found in my black-eyed peas when I put them in some water to soak, but whatever the reason, I was behind in my morning routine today when I stepped out the door to take Lucy for a quick walk. We powered our way to the back hill where she usually does her business, and I was relieved when she started the little leash-dance that means it's time to get out the bag.

All of sudden, though, her nose flew in the air and began to urgently sniff some invisible odor wafting above. A quick pivot to her right and she was dragging me with all her might across the hill and toward the pool. We're a Dog Whisperer household, and such behavior is never permissible, so a quick yank on the leash brought her to a stop. Even as she sat, I could see her leaning in the direction she really, really, really, REALLY, wanted to go, and so I gave her the "OK" and prepared to follow, quickly, so she

was
not
pulling

Over the hill and up the steps we traipsed until finally we made it to the cedar fence that houses the pool utility shed. Preparing to round the corner, I wondered what we would find.
A cat?
A raccoon?
A fox?
A deer?

With a last mighty jerk on the leash, Lucy and I burst onto the unmown grassy strip that runs along the retaining wall behind the pool deck and saw...

Our neighbor Lauren and her dog, Lady, two of Lucy's dearest friends. "You found our secret pooping spot!" Lauren said, recovering nicely from the shock of our entrance. A couple of wagging tails and one very satisfied goldendoodle later, we headed home, still running late, but not really minding as much.

Hometown Tourists

It seemed like a long time since we had seen the sun when at last it appeared yesterday afternoon. Taking advantage of the break in the weather, we put the dog in the car and headed off to the other side of town and the National Arboretum. It had been many, many years since I had been there, and I was eager to check it out.

Early March is not a very popular time to explore the 446 acres on the eastern edge of Washington, DC, but we did not have the place to ourselves, which was fine. There was a certain jolly camaraderie with everyone we met, all of us bundled in layers against the wind and happy to be out in the fresh air. And despite the mostly empty beds and leafless trees there was still quite a bit to see.

The National Capitol Columns stood stark against the faded blue sky, and it won't be long until the flowering trees are in bloom. In the herb garden a new exhibit of hops pays tribute to the rise in popularity of craft beer, something I could definitely get behind!

A little further down was another outdoor exhibit on grass and lawns, which was fascinating even at this time of year. We spent a little while comparing the winter colors and textures of the several examples, and I sent a picture of the welcome banner to my brother-in-law, a man who knows his lawns!

With so much space to walk and so many things to smell, Lucy loved it too, and we could see why it is known as one of the dog-friendliest attractions in town. The sun disappeared behind some clouds and the day grew dark before we even had a chance to check out the azalea library, the bonsais, the fern trail, the grove of state trees, or the famous eagle nest, but we weren't disappointed: all the more reason to visit again soon.

Family Breakfast

I took advantage of the new conference call feature on FaceTime to catch up with my mom, brother, AND sister all at once this morning. It was really fun to share some Saturday morning routines with each other despite being hundreds of miles away. My niece showed us her cheer routines from the student-teacher basketball game the night before, my 13-year-old nephew chatted briefly about the banana skin in the new season of Fortnite before grabbing an ice cream sandwich for breakfast.

"I can't complain about him not eating a healthy breakfast," my sister shrugged. "I had cinnamon toast this morning."

"I had cinnamon toast this morning, too!" I said. "I don't even know the last time I had it, but I just felt like it this morning!"

"Me, too!" my sister replied.

"I forgot how yummy it is," I added.

"Same!" my sister agreed.

My mother looked a little disapproving, whether it was the ice cream, the cinnamon toast, or both, was hard to tell.

"You can still get in on this!" I told her. "You're an hour behind!"

No-Snow Day

When school is closed because of snow it seems wrong to venture far from your own warm house unless it's to shovel, sled, or walk the dog. But this morning our district surprised everyone by canceling school in anticipation of weather that never materialized. Sure, there was some icy snow to scrape, and the day was raw and gray, and a few slick spots warranted a bit of caution when walking or driving, but the 2-hour delay they originally scheduled probably would have taken care of those conditions.

Oh, I'm not complaining-- I spent the morning reading and replying to the first slice of life posts of my sixth graders, who were themselves stunned by this turn of events. When it came time to walk the dog, however, I saw no reason to restrict ourselves to the neighborhood, so we bundled her into the car and headed up to a county park that has been on my list of places to visit for a while.

Fort Bennett Palisades are located on a steep spit of land between some 1.5 million dollar townhomes and the Potomac River. A narrow trail starts near a Civil War era spring house and winds into a mature growth hardwood forest, past two stone driveway pillars, which are the only remains of Bay Eva, an actual castle built in 1950 and demolished less than 50 years later.

Today the path was muddy and the sound of the traffic on the GW Parkway was a bit jarring, but our dog, Lucy, loved it. Her nose was either on the ground or in the air, scenting all the wildlife that must have been just out of sight. Within sight, though, was the thing I had hoped to see. A bald eagles' nest balanced in the top crook of a tall sycamore, right between the parkway and the river, and on the branch beside it?

One of its occupants surveyed her dominion, looking for all the world like the national bird she is.