The Weight of the World

"Hi, Ms. S," someone greeted me, a little shyly. 

I looked up from the pork chops and smiled when I read the store manager's name tag. "Oh my gosh! Marvin! It's good to see you." He had been in my sixth-grade class back in 2001, which put him in his mid-thirties. "How are you? How's your sister, Erika?"

Knowing I remembered him made him smile. "We're good," he nodded.

"And didn't your nephews go through our school, too?" I asked.

"Yeah, but they're both in high school now," he told me.

"Wow!" I shook my head. "Time flies, right?"

He shook his head, too. "Nah," he replied, "I think I've felt all of it. It seems like it's been a long time."

I smiled again and shrugged. "Fair enough. I hope they've been pretty good times."

"Mostly," he said. "I have my hands full, but I can't complain."

I gave him an impulsive hug as we said goodbye.

"Wow," I said to Heidi as he walked away. "He was not that philosophical in middle school."

Road Sage

We were about halfway to Heidi's school this morning when her phone chimed with a text message. "It's G!" she said, surprised.

The Jeep was in the shop, so we were temporarily a one-car household, and after hearing the horror stories about her commute, this was the first time I'd actually experienced it myself. The traffic and congestion on the four-mile route were indeed aggravating.

I was right next to ya'll on the hill, the text read. It sure was a nice way to start the day.

"I didn't even see him," I said, shaking my head.

"He saw you," Heidi laughed. "He says you were very focused with your hands right at ten and two."

I shrugged. "I was annoyed by the traffic," I replied, "so I'm kind of glad I didn't do anything asshole-ish. I guess it's a good reminder that everyone in the other cars is just somebody's friend, and they're all trying to get where they're going just like you."

Flow Faster, Please

Lucy was having some digestive issues that chewed up (almost literally) a big chunk of my morning before bowling at 11. I've found my performance on the lanes is better if I do my yoga and meditation first, but after walking Lucy all over the neighborhood and cleaning a huge, grass-filled vomit puddle off the sidewalk, there was no way I could do the whole 45 minutes and still make it on time. 

So I turned to a trick I haven't used in a while: speeding up the playback on the recording for the yoga part. Once I get past the helium balloon quality of the yogi's voice as she guides us through our kriya, I always enjoy the compressed version. It's purely psychological, of course; knowing that when she says three minutes, I only have to do two makes the whole flow so much more doable. 

Sure, it's a head game, but it worked for me at the bowling center today. I started the morning with a strike, bowled considerably over my average for the day, and our team took three of the four available points. And it was also nice to return to a barf-free house.

We Can't Go on Together

The phone rang when I was in the ladies' room. I had handed over my keys to the service advisor only moments earlier and then made a quick pit stop before settling into the waiting room for the 90 minutes they said my routine maintenance would take. "Um, hello?" My voice echoed off the tiles of the cavernous bathroom.

"This is blah blah from blah blah Subaru," said a chipper voice. "Do you have a minute to talk about trading up for a new Outback?"

"Hmm!" I replied. "I happen to be at your dealership right now."

"I know," she responded. "Where are you sitting?"

"I'm actually in the ladies' room," I told her.

"Oh." She paused momentarily. "Well, I'll come find you in a few minutes."

"I'm not going to trade in my car today," I said, "but thanks."

She found me a little while later anyway and offered me my personalized options for a new car. Once again, I politely declined, confident that no matter what the bill was today, it would be less than the car payment she was offering. 

She went on her way, leaving me to stew a bit. I always have my maintenance and repairs done by the dealership. I know it costs a bit more, but until today it gave me peace of mind, because I assumed they would stand by their product. 

But now I see that they may have competing interests. Rather than win-winning by getting my money, either for service or my next Subaru, it seems like they now prefer that I buy a new car, and that erodes my trust in them. Which is just one more thing to worry about. 

Cheat SHeet Cheat

As Heidi grumbled about the "cheat sheet" (a simplified version of her students' IEPs that, in theory, would help their gen ed teachers better understand and accommodate them) that she was required to make, it occurred to me that I could help with it. 

It was supposed to be a document with tabs and tables, and creating it required copying and pasting information from the right places in other documents, all skills that I certainly have, rusty though they may be getting from disuse since I retired. "I'll do it for you!" I offered, and she raised a suspicious eyebrow at my enthusiasm, and I knew she thought I was trying to show her that she was complaining about nothing.

But she was overlooking the pleasure of constructing something both well-made and useful. Which my cheat sheet? Totally was!

Down for the Count

It struck suddenly.

We were just back from a nice walk along the river, and I was sitting on the couch while Heidi fed the animals. The ingredients for risotto with sausage and broccoli were prepped neatly on the counter, ready for me to tap in as soon as the kitchen was clear. I took a sip of my beer, and all of a sudden my stomach rumbled, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Stunned, I breathed deeply through my nose and tried to settle myself, but an intense headache cracked through my skull. The thought of cooking, never mind eating, made bile rise in my throat.

I staggered to the kitchen. "I need to go lie down," I told Heidi. 

And that was it for me. I put my pajamas on and slept for 12 hours. (I think it was the chicken.)

Ish

Unexpectedly caught without a car today, I was forced to entertain myself either at home or on foot. So, after my dog buddies and I returned from a spin around the neighborhood, I decided that today might be a good day to try one of the dishes on the 40 essential list. I could have ordered something to be delivered, but I'm not used to eating much restaurant food in the middle of the day, so I figured I should walk if I could. 

That narrowed my options to orangish chicken at Chiko, so I placed an order for pickup and headed there. All the way, I imagined this becoming routine—I could spend my dog-walking money on lunch once a week and get in some extra steps, too. And the thought was still on my mind when I poured the orange juice reduction over a generous portion of crispy fried chicken thighs garnished with candied jalapeño, tangerine peel, and crunchy garlic and dug in. 

It was good, and I definitely ate my fill, but it wasn't sublime or transformative. I'm not sure why I thought it might be. Maybe I was just hungry, or caught up in the novelty of the adventure. Either way? That's one more dish checked off the list.