Labor Days

Being back at school returns definition to the weekends. Coming off a week at work, Saturday morning feels like something special, and the beginning of a three day weekend bursts with promise. I spent the early hours of my day reducing blackberries to jelly with rosemary and pink peppercorns, stewing the last of the fresh shell beans from the garden, and simmering down a batch of rainbow cherry tomato sauce. Rather pleased with myself, I turned my attention to rigging up that dishwasher rack to last just two more weeks until the new dishwasher arrives. Then I read the paper and did a little online research into some new furniture. And next? Blog written and fueled by blackberry jelly and black eyed peas with tomato I am headed to the gym, after which I will shower and dress for an evening with family.

And there are still two more days left of the holiday weekend!

I Hope that Someone Gets My...

Mindful that once I left this afternoon I wouldn't be back until the first morning of school, I was tidying up my classroom and going through a few things that were on the bookshelf by my desk. A small wooden box from Guatemala caught my eye. I couldn't remember who had given it to me or when, and it seemed like the kind of item I could part with.

I picked it up, perhaps to thank it for its service, perhaps to toss it, and gave it a shake. It was empty, but still I flipped the colorful lid open on its little leather hinges. There inside was a folded piece of bright pink paper. It was entirely possible that I had put it in there myself maybe a few or maybe many years ago, so I pried it from the rough interior and unfolded it.

Eldana was here! was scrawled in pencil on what turned out to be a post-it note.

Eldana! She was a kid with a big personality who I spent a lot of time with last year. Turns out, the note hadn't been in there too long at all: who knows when that rascal waited until my attention was turned to pinch a post-it and stow it away for another day like a message in a bottle? The find was bittersweet, though, because Eldana is going to another school for 7th grade, and it's not too likely that I will see her again.

On the other hand? That kid is full of surprises, so again, who knows? Oh, and I decided to keep the box.

Tabula Rasa

I had to rush to get the last of the posters on the wall before the 2 PM start of our annual open house, but the room looked pretty presentable when the new sixth graders and their families started to arrive. The next two hours passed in a blur of shy smiles, handshakes, and slightly awkward conversations.

Of 110 kids, I only have 2 siblings of former students, and after 27 years, that's unusual enough to make me scratch my chin. Maybe it's because we have had three teams instead of two for seven years now? Perhaps the boundary changes made an impact?

Hard to say, but whatever the cause? I'd call this year a pretty clean slate.

Dusty Dolphins

My classroom is full of dolphins. Our middle school team is named the Dolphins, and the decor in my room has followed suit in the 20 years since that christening. In addition to framed prints and posters, nylon banners, magnets, postcards, book marks, ceramic ornaments, and coffee mugs there are also three plush stuffie dolphins hanging from the ceiling. The largest one is pretty impressive: four feet long with a goofy smile and a missing button eye. He was a parting gift from the colleague who proposed the name. "I won't need this anymore," she said when she changed schools.

That guy has been up there since June 2000. "What's his name?" the new kids always ask, and at first the question made me pause. I shrugged and reached up to give it a pat. A cloud of dust worthy of Pigpen puffed out into the air.

"Dusty!" I told them.

"Dusty the one-eyed dolphin!" they answered, and that became his name.

Since then, he has been joined by a much smaller, darker gray version that another colleague gave me when her kids outgrew it. That guy was quickly dubbed Junior. And then about 8 years ago I visited the amazing Atlanta Aquarium with my niece and nephew. In the gift shop we found the most huggable pink dolphin with embroidered spirals. Clearly it was a must-have, and that one has been hanging in my classroom since. (Name, you wonder? New Pink Dolphin)

This morning when I was standing on a chair to rehang a few things in my room, I got a closer look at NPD. A thick layer of gray dust dulled the colorful spirals and plush pink exterior. Gross! I thought. What to do?

I'll tell you what: I pulled the lint roller from my desk drawer and proceeded to go through at least a dozen sheet changes as I spiffed up my stuffed dolphin collection. As I methodically rolled them from to bottlenose to fluke I was kind of shocked that I'd never thought of doing that before.

When a colleague caught me in the middle of my chore, she was initially a bit surprised, but she recovered well. "what a good idea! Do you do that every year?" she asked.

"I do now!" I told her.

Thoughts from the Lap Lane

A week from today our pool will be closed. Some years, the end of August is so hot that it seems we should keep it open until October, but tonight when I walked up to swim some laps there was a cool breeze, and when I jumped in? It was coooooold!

Which was fine, because it made swimming for exercise that much easier, but it was also a reminder that come next week, I'm going to need another place to swim. Maybe indoors.

Let's Go

It was a good first day back.

Everyone was nice, and it was nice to see everyone. I got two hugs, a few compliments, and several laughs at my jokes. Even though I was a little behind, it was easy to take the time to be kind and empathetic. The activities were a good mix of meetings, professional development, small group, and on-your-own time. Lunch was good. Class sizes seem manageable, and the kids look nice, but not without some wackiness.

Year 27...

I see you!

The Beautiful

Minnesota-Wisconsin-Illinois-Indiana-Ohio-Pennsylvania-Maryland-Virginia

I saw them all on our way home yesterday and today, and even from the interstate there were some amazing views: rolling prairies and plains, so many farms, the Mississippi River, Wisconsin Dells, the Chicago skyline, the RV Hall of Fame, the infamous GM plant in Youngstown, the Laurel Highlands, the Appalachian Mountains, the Washington Monument, the Pentagon,

and home.

It was not quite sea to shining sea, but it sure was a good chunk of America.

Turn Signal

A chill wind blew and yellow leaves were literally falling from a tree down the street covering the pavement with the first blanket of Autumn as we rolled out of Rochester this morning. I guess it was time to go. 

Present Moment

It was tempting to manage my stress by throwing everything in the car at 8 PM and driving until midnight to get a head start on our trip home, but I'm glad I thought better of it. Such an attitude might be the very definition of living for tomorrow-- neglecting what is left of this glorious weather and our last few hours here in rockin' Rochester, a place where I have been very comfortable, and happier than our situation might ever suggest.

And so we decided that once our packing was done we would have a seat and enjoy tonight-- sip a beer, watch some Netflix, and savor the quesadillas concocted from the leftovers in the fridge. The journey is unavoidable, but the road can wait a few hours.

Seasonal Advice

This far north the daylight lengthens and shortens ever more rapidly as we get closer to the solstice. Today is 3 minutes shorter than yesterday, and in the 26 days we have been up here, the days are shorter by 58 minutes. 

Back home, when they put the fall displays up at this time of year it seems more than a little premature, but here there is a golden softening of the light and, yes, an ever so slight chill to the air that reminds me unequivocally that the world is indeed hurtling forward on this trip around the sun. 

And, as my mom reminded me this afternoon, if you shop early, you have a better selection.

Just Peachy

The past few years we have traveled to Atlanta at the beginning of the summer and New Jersey at the end, enjoying family and friends and delicious peaches throughout the season.

And while this summer away from home has been filled with fun and family, it has been a summer without peaches. The crop had not quite arrived when we left in mid-July, and here in Minnesota the climate is too cold for that temperate fruit. Sure, the grocery stores are full of rock-hard specimens and promises that they will ripen in a day or two, perhaps in a paper bag, but the reality is often mushy and bland.

So, I have avoided the peaches. That is until the other day when I passed a display of Colorado peaches that looked genuinely promising. A little squeeze convinced me that these might not be too bad, and I took a chance and chose a half dozen. The next morning I was not disappointed-- they weren't the best peaches in the world, but they weren't awful, either, and they were my first peaches of the summer, and so I enjoyed them.

Later in the day, at another store, I couldn't resist a big pile of huge, Jersey-looking peaches, and yet again, a little squeeze gave me some encouragement that they might not be awful. Once again, I was not disappointed. Although far from the perfect pick-your-own peaches of my childhood, they were fine. A little cinnamon, a little sugar, a spoonful of tapioca pudding, and summer was really here at last.

Down at the Feed and Seed

Every time I cross the tracks on my way to see my mom, my eye is drawn to a sprawling building down the block. "Feed & Seed," reads the sign, and in smaller letters, "Antiques and Gifts". Oh how that sounds like my kind of place!

So today, after I had a true Dorothy moment when leaving the hospital I encountered low clouds and powerful winds which quickly swirled into a torrential downpour (so much so, that I was almost convinced that upon my arrival at the condo I would have to pound the storm cellar door with my heel), we decided to make the most of a rainy day and do some local shopping. Of course the F&S was our first stop, and it did not disappoint. In the front of the store we  saw ten foot stacks of 25 pound bags of dog, cat, and other animal feed. There was all sorts of bird seed, too, and a lot of hummingbird stuff. A little farther into the store there were fifty pound bags of water softener stacked by a tower of salt blocks and several duck decoys.

The farther we got into the store, though, the more magical it became. It was one of the most pleasing junk shops I have ever visited. Items were artfully arranged by both color and use. For example, there was a whole corner of green:  folding chairs, thermoses, oxidized copper, and farming tools.

Heidi and I spent well over an hour in there, and in the end we left with a collection of old novelty buttons and pins and four Swanky Swig glasses-- tiny vintage drink ware that first held Kraft cheese spread. Each year there was a new pattern, and so we know that ours were made in 1934, 1937, 1947, and 1948.

And they are the perfect size for sipping beer!

Peeping Lucy

We've known for a while that our dog is a window watcher. It's common to see her nose and eyes peering down at us from the window on our upstairs landing whenever we leave the house. Unfortunately, neighbors have also reported that they not only see her up there, they hear her barking, too.

One of the many things I admire about Heidi is her attitude toward behavior. She doesn't get mad; she does her research, and then she gets serious. When presented with a problem like that, she'll have several possible solutions in an hour and then she will work on it until it is solved.

It's been that way the whole month we've been in Minnesota. Lucy has been pretty good about new situations, but not perfect. There have been barking and jumping issues. She's a good dog, but she has had to work hard to understand the dynamics and expectations of a lot of new places. My mom's condo building was especially challenging-- how much of that enormous inside space did she have to protect? We figured that to her, all of the apartment doors seemed like other rooms in a reallllllly big house. It must have been overwhelming to try to figure out what was a threat and what was not.

She did spend a little time on the fourth floor balcony there, and Heidi used the clicker to teach her that it was okay for people to go about their business in the parking lot below. Even so, we caught her standing up a few times to look out the windows, a low growl rumbling in her chest.

Here in Rochester, the set up is a little closer to ours. The house-style building has 8 units, all with their own outside entrance. From our third floor condo, we walk down a couple flights of weather-proof steps to get to the street. On the way, we pass a couple of doors and windows.

The doors are familiar to Lucy-- she knows  and understands them from our complex, but the windows throw her off a bit. She is used to looking out, so we hope our neighbors can ignore it when a big red nose presses against their bedroom window!

Across the Tracks

It's an easy walk from our rented condo to the hospital where my mom is recovering, just 10 short blocks, but you do have to cross some railroad tracks along the way. And every time I do, I am tempted to empty my pockets of change and scatter coins all along the rail in hopes that when I return, I will be able to collect a new pocketful of smushed pennies, nickels, and dimes.

Why the urge to destroy my currency? I'm not sure. Certainly flattened coins are pleasing in their own way, thin and shiny and smooth, and knowing that an actual train on its way to who knows where on actual tracks did the deed? Well, there's something romantic about that, too.

So maybe it's not destruction, but rather transformation, that has my fingers fiddling in my pockets as I cross the tracks on the way back and forth from the hospital. The notion that something can literally be hit by a train and survive... changed, beautiful in a different regard, and in some ways even more valuable than before?

That's a talisman I could use.

Not Just Me

"What's the weather down there?" my mom asked my uncle in Maryland on the phone this morning.

"Haaaaarible," he answered in his lingering Massachusetts accent. "Humid and feeling like 100 degrees for the next week at least."

"We're lucky up here!" I chimed in. "We've had my favorite weather all month. Cool in the morning, mostly sunny and warming up to about 80 by the afternoon." I paused, and recognizing my egocentricity, laughed. "I guess that's pretty much everybody's favorite weather!" I continued.

USDA Choice

Say what you will about meat and its health, ethics, and sustainability issues, but here in the plains states, you have a lot of options, and most of your choices are fresh and local, whether they are marketed that way, or not. Humanely raised? Organic? Those are separate concerns. Still, I confess to being a little bit thrilled to have my choice of prime rib or brisket burgers at the local grocery today.

I had to really think about it.

But I chose prime rib.

Whatever Works

We are staying in a rented condo in Rochester, MN. It is one of eight units in a new building that was constructed as temporary housing for patients at the Mayo Clinic and their caretakers and supporters. Our stay here has been convenient and pleasant: we can walk to the clinic, and there are bike paths, nature centers, and lakes (of course) nearby, not to mention plenty of restaurants, the usual big box stores, and a YMCA.

In the last two and a half weeks we have seen several other residents come and go, from a distance. Some have been here as long as we have and longer, but the circumstances and the crazy hours that we all keep, coming and going from this treatment, that appointment or test, and ultimately the hospital, has added to the natural distance that passing strangers keep.

Even so, it's curious to observe what and how other people carry on their daily lives in this unusual situation we share. Our window overlooks the street where dashers and delivery people park, and so we see mail orders and groceries and dinners on their way to our neighbors' doors.

The two young woman who are staying in the unit next door seem to order a lot of food. Amazon is a frequent caller at both of our doors, and I have heard the faintest of strains coming from a TV late into the night. But this morning? They provided a paradigm shift when at 8 AM I spotted a restaurant delivery guy making his way from the street to our common outdoor staircase.

Breakfast delivered? What a concept!

Another Day, Another Exotic Natural Phenomena

Coming in this morning from walking Lucy around our temporary Minnesota neighborhood, I noticed something curious. Where we had been seemed like a regular, grassy field, so how come my sneakers are orange?

A quick google revealed that the grasses growing there are probably suffering from "leaf rust" a condition caused by rust fungi. Wet conditions and a lack of nitrogen may make some grasses more susceptible, but evidently, it is easily treatable, and most lawns can fully recover on their own.

But what about my shoes?

Tornadic

Even though my mom lives out here, until this summer, I have not spent very much time in the midwest. In addition to the dog parks, I am loving the weather. Sure, there have been a few downpours, and even a couple of hot and muggy days, but generally the days have been a good 10-20 degrees cooler than ours at home.

There was one weather phenomena that slipped my mind, though. Despite being a big Wizard of Oz fan, the thought of any kind of tornado? Fuggeddaboutit! So you can imagine my interest when this afternoon's episode of Jeopardy was interrupted for live weather reporting about the big storms to our west.

Every update is rainbow colored and anchored by a very earnest bespectacled young meteorologist in shirtsleeves, counting down the minutes and specifics of the local warnings, including the height of the clouds, the size of the hail, and the communities that should be sheltering in their safe spots, far away from cars and mobile homes. Incidentally, every update also has the city of Rochester on its map. Oh, we're not in the target zone, but there are definitely some twisters out there!

Oh, and I also learned a new adjective.

Different Rubrics

And the dog park tour of Minnesota continues...

To date? We have been to 4 dog parks in the Twin Cities and 2 in Rochester. Each has had its own character, and Lucy's reactions were not always the same as mine. Out here in the midwest where land is not quite at the same premium as it is in the DMV, most dog parks are expansive and green, and it's fun to either watch Lucy run with abandon or explore field and wood and water all within a protective boundary.

So today when we had the chance to visit the Lyndale Farmstead Dog Park, I kind of expected more of the same. Not so... despite the name, this DP was a vacant lot with a chainlink fence and a crushed gravel surface. Shoehorned in between the Minneapolis Parks and Rec boat yard, a trash and recycling site, and some other industrial infrasructure, the only thing I liked was the canopy that protected us from the drizzle.

 Lucy, on the other hand looooooved it! Perhaps it was because it reminded her of the dog parks at home, or maybe it was just that spunky shepherd-lab mix, Cassius, who ran and wrestled with her just the way she likes, but whatever it was, she had a great time there.

Old Man River

We made a run to yet another nearby dog park this morning-- Just 10 minutes away, the reviews rated it 5! stars.

And
it
was!

Located in Minnehaha Park, a single chainlink gate led to a steady downhill forested trail. There must have been at least 10 dogs and their owners gleefully tramping along with us as we made our way down, down, down...

to the Mississippi River!

Yes! The park included a dog beach that ran along the shores of a lazy bend in that iconic river. Perhaps a hundred feet across from us boaters backed their trailers down a ramp before speeding off to fish, explore, and ski, but on . our side it was all dog! They dashed and splashed and swam and ran joyfully. Lucy loved it!

And when at last it was time for us to head back up the trail to our car, there was a spring in our step and satisfaction all around.

One Way

"That's a stop sign!" my mom warned me as I sped toward an intersection on our way to Target.

I slowed in time, and then shrugged. "It was four-way," I laughed, but I was also problem-solving the near miss.

We had just passed the YMCA near her home, and Mom had asked me where ours was at home. As I eased through the stop sign, I realized that I was 1000 miles away in the navigation part of my brain, visualizing the directions to get to the Y in Arlington. When I almost missed the next turn, I ended the conversation and focused on the route ahead.

Turns out? I can't be in two places at once and follow the rules of the road!

Urban Legend

We were walking Lucy down a nice, middle class neighborhood street yesterday when a beat up van with tinted windows pulled up beside us. Inside were a sketchy-looking couple in their thirties. She was driving; he rolled down the window; she leaned over and called to us. "Have you seen our puppies? They got out, and they're missing!"

"That's terrible!" Heidi replied. "But no, we haven't seen them. Sorry."

The van rolled slowly away.

"Oh my gosh!" I said. "They need another approach! I totally thought they were going to offer us candy and ask us to get in and help them look!" 

Intersection

Worlds collide here at the Mayo.

I stood at a 7th floor window looking down on the weekly summer festival that they have every Thursday here in Rochester. An hour before, Heidi, my mom, and I been down there, sitting at a cafe table in the shade of a high rise enjoying lobster rolls, rotisserie chicken and fish tacos. The main stage was below me, and the canopies and carts stretched beyond my sight, but I knew the arts and crafts and henna and CBD and dog fashion and popcorn and giant cookies and fine food and beverages were offered along three blocks, ending in a whole other stage.

Two women in colorful head scarfs chatted on a bench. Five folks on scooters (Lyme just rolled them out here last week) rolled up to a raised garden and parked along the circle right outside the Gonda Building 2nd street entrance. A young couple, both colorfully tattooed, pushed a patient in a wheel chair toward the elevator. To my right, I caught the strains of a conversation I couldn't ignore: Ashley has the championship pig! a woman told the man in the ball cap sitting next to her in a plush leather chair.

The diversity was staggering. And yet? I knew we were are all drawn there by human need.

Just then, Heidi and my mom returned from the ladies room and we headed to the elevator.

Change of Venue

We spent the afternoon cleaning-- and I kind of liked it. There's something very manageable about maintaining a new and relatively empty space, such as the condo we are renting here in Rochester. Heidi and my mom did the bathrooms while I vacuumed, then they dusted and wiped the counters while I shook out the small area rugs and mopped the floors. In no time we were relaxing in our tidy tree-top apartment, and I, personally, was wondering why the same jobs seem just so onerous at home.

Mayo on the Side

If you have to spend your day at the doctors, the Mayo Clinic is certainly the place to be. In addition to being US News's number one health care facility in the nation, it is beautiful, comfortable, and full of kind and helpful people. In addition to upscale office furnishings, spacious waiting rooms are also outfitted with leather arm chairs, recliners, and tables and chairs. The views from many of the spaces are expansive; the city of Rochester spreads grandly below the high rise windows. Oh, and the art? World class-- my mom and I just happened to pass a series of five floor to ceiling lithographs by Joan Miro on our way to a lab appointment this afternoon.

Even so, a day there is still a day floating like a leaf down the unpredictable river of health care. After waiting for 2 hours in the most comfortable chairs with a most amazing view, we were finally led back to an exam room, where we waited at least 45 minutes longer. So long in fact that my mom had to use the restroom. Returning through the stark white maze behind the curtain, she lost her way and had to ask for direction at the desk. "We're in room 222 in case you need to know," she reported upon her return.

"Room 222?" I exclaimed. "Like the show!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Heidi said.

"What?" I replied. "Mr. Dixon? Karen Valentine?"

She shook her head.

Since I had already completed the sudoku, cryptogram, jumble, and crossword puzzle, and no medical personnel were beating down our door, I googled the show and found a full episode. As the theme music played, I automatically hummed along. "Here comes Mr. Dixon in his convertible!" I said as Lloyd Haines parked his cool orange car in the Whitman High lot.

Over the next few minutes I was wowed by how progressive the show was for 50 years ago. Created by James L. Brooks (his next gig would be The Mary Tyler Moore Show), it was idealized to be sure, but it presented a diverse high school with a diverse staff, and the protagonist was an African American man who I remember loving when I was a kid. It was humorous, but not laugh out loud funny.

How did we even watch this show? I wondered, and the answer was right on Wikipedia-- it aired on Friday night, right after The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family.

And yet, no endless reruns in syndication? But before I could ponder that mystery of popular culture, the doctor appeared at last.

Mama Bear

We were on our way home from the dog park when all heck broke out the car. "Something's wrong with Lucy!" Heidi cried. "She won't settle! I think it's a... BUG!"

Heidi hates bugs.

"What kind of bug?" I asked.

"I don't know! I can't see it! It's there though! I think it bit her!" Panic was rising in Heidi's voice.

"Should I pull over?" I asked, scanning the road for turn-offs and seeing none.

"It's some kind of fly!" Heidi reported.

"A deerfly?" There was one on our windshield when we left the park, and I had felt lucky we hadn't seen any before that. "Is it small and arrow-shaped?"

"That's it!" Heidi said. "It's trying to get her!"

"Swat at it so it doesn't land on her until I can find a place to stop," I advised.

"Oh my god!" Heidi gasped. "I GOT IT!"

Yes! With one mighty smack, Heidi had rescued Lucy from the evil deerfly.

"When it comes to saving my baby," she continued, "I don't play!"

Proper Introduction

If you had asked me two years ago what I thought of self-driving cars, I would have scoffed loudly and likely proclaimed both my distrust and lack of need for such technology. Certainly, my age and driving experience combined to influence my opinion that there was something wrong with trusting a machine to do a human's job.

But about 18 months ago we replaced our 2010 car with a 2018 touring model with all the bells and whistles. Among the safety features? Lane guides and smart cruise control which actually steer the car and hit the brakes whenever the car wavers or gets too close to an obstacle in the front or the rear. All of those things, along with the automatic lights and high beams, are adjustable and voluntary for the driver to use, but...

...after a year and a half and several long road trips, I've discovered that using them makes driving not only easier, but way more consistent and therefore more efficient. (And, this is just a hunch, safer.)

Oh, I'm aware that these features are also probably meant to be a gateway to self-driving cars, but if they are? Consider me hooked!

Mother Knows

"We met your neighbor in the workout room!" I told my mom this afternoon. "He lives right down the hall, and he's on your board."

"Richard," my mother confirmed, and then she cocked her head. "But he must have spoken to you first, right?"

"Yeah!" I shrugged.

What? She couldn't imagine me striking up a conversation with a total stranger?

How well she knows me!

Until Next Week

On our way out of Rochester heading home to the the Twin Cities for the weekend, we stopped at my favorite dog park to give Lucy a chance to run before our mini-roadtrip. At 11:30 AM, the place was deserted, but another car pulled in right behind us, and a chocolate poodle puppy named Tillie and her person joined. Tillie was energetic and respectful-- overjoyed to run at top speed with Lucy and just as happy to follow Lucy's idiosyncratic canine edicts.

All told? Those gals must have run a couple of miles, and it was with a long tongue and some heavy panting that we bid Tillie and the park good-bye.

Senior Tour

Today, when I stepped onto a court for the first time in 36 years, I finally got a chance to use the racquetball racket my nephews thoughtfully gave me for Christmas. I first played back when I was in college, and I loved the game because it was so easy to be a beginner-- I felt like I could play pretty well from the first time I dropped a blue ball onto the wood floor and ricocheted it off a few walls before slamming it again.

My roommate and I used to play 2 or 3 times a week, and my entire PE requirement was fulfilled with a combination of racquetball, bowling, and golf. When I graduated, perhaps the rudest awakening of the "real" world was that I could no longer wave my student ID and do all those things for free anytime I wanted to.

But today, at last, I found myself again smashing blue balls against the walls in an echo-y bright white room with a scuffed up wooden floor. It was a lot of fun! But... not quite as easy as I remember... maybe since I'm not in my late teens anymore, my worries about twisting this or straining that detracted a bit from the game.

Even so, I'm looking forward to reacquainting myself with this fair sport, and I know if it doesn't work out? Pickle ball is always an option!