Dead Again

Turns out I may have been a bit too blasé about the whole dead battery situation yesterday. Did I seem unconcerned that a six-month old battery was so dead that it took a half an hour to recharge? Perhaps I was overly quick to charge the whole incident up to user error?

In any case, when I went out this morning to reset the back lift gate I found the battery dead again. This time, I admit to some concern and certainly inconvenience: obviously if the dang thing won't hold a charge, a trip back to the dealer is a must. Figuring out how to get the car restarted and down to the shop for testing and repair, over a holiday weekend and in the dwindling days of our vacation, was definitely kind of a pain. 

But, I took a deep breath and arranged the necessaries, and then? I thanked our lucky stars that the car had made it all the way from Buffalo yesterday.

Jiggity Jig

Another eight hour road trip, and 

we
are
home
again.

We had planned to leave around 10:30, but in the final stages of loading the car the rear hatch stopped opening, offering only three short beeps when I squeezed the button, and finally just silence. It occurred to me then that it might be the battery, and sure enough when I punched the ignition, nothing happened. The automatic locks wouldn't even work when I tried to secure everything before dashing into the house to breathlessly report the misfortune.

We had been using our car for the whole time we were in Buffalo, mostly because it was already out of the garage and in the driveway, and it has all wheel drive and enough seating for the five of us. It's an unfamiliar vehicle to Heidi's folks, though, and we used the dome lights more than we ever do, plus the doors have a soft close that makes it easy to overlook an open or ajar door. I'm not pointing any fingers, but it was definitely user error that killed our battery.

So there we were, stranded, except that Heidi's dad has one of those plug-in chargers that are supposed to be able to jumpstart a dead battery. We eagerly rummaged through the garage to find the gadget, only to discover that it was pouring rain when we opened the door. The weather app predicted the precipitation would last half an hour, so we occupied ourselves with extension cords and the like, and miraculously when we were ready, the rain stopped. 

The directions said to charge the battery for three minutes before trying to start the car, and we did just that, but there was literally no reaction when I hit the ignition. Undaunted, we charged for five more minutes, but there was no more than a bit of clicking. We tried once more, and then left it plugged in and went inside to call AAA, who promised to be there in two hours.

At that point, I made us some grilled sandwiches, and kept trying the car every ten minutes or so. It seemed like a lot more lights were coming on every time, and about 15 minutes later? The car roared to life! 

Here's what didn't happen. The rear hatch never opened again. Those three plaintive beeps were all we ever got. Fortunately, we were able to load the rest of our stuff from the back seat. In fact, folding the rear seat down and pushing things back turned out to be a handy strategy that I will definitely use in the future. That rear gate complained all the way home though-- beeping constantly for one minute any time we started from a full stop.

The car's manual says there's a fix, but that's a project for tomorrow

It Would Be So Nice

In a bit of a reversal of my usual 100 day challenge, where I try to cultivate a new habit or awareness by doing something very day from March 1 to June 8, this year I'm 99% sold on trying not to do something for each month of 2023. In an effort to phrase the effort more positively, I'm calling each challenge a "holiday" from whatever it is I'm trying to avoid doing that month.

So far I have a list of options and a plan for January, which is to hop on the "Dry January" bandwagon. After that, I need to strategically schedule each of my holidays. 

Here's my tentative list for the other eleven months, in no particular order:

Shopping holiday 
Amazon holiday 
Added sugar holiday
Single-use plastic holiday
Cussing holiday
Meat and fish holiday
Gluten holiday
Google holiday
Social media holiday
Clutter holiday
Restaurant holiday

Do you dare me?

Walking on Snow

The the trees were dripping when I got up this morning. Because of the wind, the snow had drifted unevenly, and there was even grass peeking through here and there. I knew my window of opportunity was perhaps literally melting away, and so I laced up my boots and strapped on my snowshoes. My first foray was to simply tramp through the backyard, but when that went well, Heidi and I walked with the dogs down to the elementary school. There the back field was a pristine snowscape, and I got my fill of walking over the top of the 18 inch pack. My cheeks were rosy and I was warm when my watch dinged to tell me that my exercise ring was closed. Heidi and the dogs were a bit chilly, though, so I stepped out of the bindings, threaded the snowshoes onto the poles, and slung them over my shoulder, determined to find a way to do this more often.

(Step one will definitely have to be to get Heidi a pair of her own!)

Christmastime

We pulled into Heidi's parents' driveway just before five this evening. Despite all the weather-related drama that had occupied our last few days, the trip was uneventful. 

We picked her brother up from the train station at 9:30, crammed his stuff in the back of the Subaru and set off around the beltway, up 295, around 695, up 83, and then along the Susquehanna River through Pennsylvania. There was little more than a dusting of snow until we turned west from the 390 in New York. Then we began to see some drifts of a foot or more, but the roads remained clear and dry. 

In Batavia, with an hour to go, tiny flakes began to dampen the windshield, and by the time we hit the Thruway, it was snowing, but there was no accumulation. Arriving in Buffalo, the city streets were a bit slushy, and the neighborhood streets were still packed powder. The Subaru slid just a little, but the traction of the AWD made it kind of fun.

The three of us stamped the driveway snow off our boots and tramped into the house with Lucy in tow. It didn't matter at all that the calendar read December 27. For us? It was Christmas.

5 Days Left

Since we aren't driving to Buffalo until tomorrow (cross your fingers and toes), I took some time today to review my 22 for 2022 list and start working on my 23 for 2023. 

This is the first year I have tried the ritual, and I give myself a load of grace, both because it's a new experience AND because doing anything on such a list seems better to me than not making one at all. My near final tally? Is 8. I celebrated my birthday in a beautiful place with my family, threw a dinner party, solved my aunt's DNA mystery, grew Hatch chilis in my garden, read 24 books, reinstated our Oscar weekend, spent Thanksgiving at the beach, and saw my dear friend Pauly for the first time in too many years.

"What are some things you didn't get to?" my sister-in-law asked this afternoon.

"I didn't clean out the attic," I sighed, "or take a class. I also didn't go away for a spa week or weekend, but I put that back on my list for 2023. And I wanted to travel internationally, but that didn't happen; although there is a chance we might go to Canada if we ever get to Buffalo."

"Does that even count?" asked my nephew's wife. She lives in Iceland.

"Kind of?" I shrugged. "Oh, and I also wanted to go cross country skiing or snowshoeing."

"It's definitely not too late for that," noted my sister-in-law, and I realized how right she was.

As soon as we got home, I climbed to the attic and fetched my snowshoes, feeling ever more prepared for our trip north.

The Blizzard

Our original plan for Act II of this upside down inside out Yule was to rise at 4:30 as usual on Christmas morning and, instead of flying to Atlanta from Buffalo, hit the road for Buffalo from home. Such an itinerary would place us at Heidi's folks right around lunchtime, and close to her brother's scheduled arrival from, wait for it, Atlanta. 

But the great Christmas Blizzard of '22 had other plans for all of us, and even now, 2 days on into the historic storm, Heidi's parents have 3 feet of snow in their driveway, their street hasn't been touched by a plow, the NY State Thruway is closed from Rochester to the PA line, there is a travel ban for all but emergency vehicles in Erie County, and the airport is closed at least until Tuesday noon. At present the death toll stands at 12, but officials are expecting it to rise as the storm subsides and they find the many missing cars and people.

As late as yesterday evening, we still planned to drive as far north as we could get today and spend a night, if necessary, in a hotel an hour or so away, but that plan was iced, literally and figuratively, by the possibility that it could be a few days, not hours, until we could actually get to their house. Heidi's brother's flight has been canceled and rebooked twice, and now the earliest he can fly in is the 29th. Heidi's mom's reaction to the news was right on point. "Boy oh boy. What a revolting development," she texted while taking a break from the snow blower.

Even now, we're not quite sure the best course of action, although we are ever hopeful that tomorrow will offer some clarity. Rumor has it the travel ban will be lifted at 7 am tomorrow, but who knows how long after that it will be until the neighborhood is passable?

There's also a chance that Heidi's brother can make it here in time for the three of us to venture north together. I'm on board for that! Surely we can make it there before the 29th.

And Don't Forget to Hang Up Your Sock

Our upside-down Christmas did a few more somersaults today. At 3:30, we gathered at Bill and Emily's to open gifts and do stockings before heading out to dinner. Our stockings are in Atlanta, though, and so we all designed and decorated a plain white gift bag to stand in for the handcrafted stockings my mom made years ago.

The results were phenomenal!

(More on the blizzard in Buffalo tomorrow...)

The Sunny Side

The temperature dropped over 40 degrees in just a couple of hours today, freezing the residual puddles and and runoff into solid ice by late afternoon. It was frigid, and as Annabelle reminded us several times, the windchill made it feel like it was even colder. 

But what can you do? We bundled up, built a fire, huddled beneath blankets, and bided our time. The worst of it should be over when we get up tomorrow, and from there it will go up to a balmy 24. Temps will rise steadily through the week, especially for my sister's family, who will be in the Dominican Republic by Christmas afternoon, enjoying 82 degrees beneath sunny skies.

Universally Onerous

Every job seems to have it.

"I have to do some work this afternoon," my brother-in-law told us as we were planning to go shopping. "I still have 8 hours of mandatory training I have to finish by the end of the year."

We found him lying on the couch a couple of hours later, his computer droning at him from the coffee table. He paused the playback when we entered, but once we filled him in on our purchases and plans, he hit the spacebar again. 

The tinny voices coming from his laptop speakers could have been the same ones that narrate our hours of obligatory training. The content was focused on accounting and tax returns, but it was no dryer or more exciting than our slips and falls and mandatory reporting sessions.

And despite not being my own requirement, I found it intensely oppressive nevertheless.

Happy Coincidence

I was dropping Lindt truffles in a bag when I heard my name. "It is her!" giggled a young voice. 

Looking up I saw a couple of students from last year. "You caught me!" I laughed. "Buying chocolates."

"I can't believe we saw you here!" said one.

"Well," I shrugged, "I do things away from school sometimes, y'know. What are you guys up to?"

"We're shopping for chocolates, too," answered the other girl. Just then an employee approached us with a bowl of free samples. After we all had a truffle on the house, the girls turned to go.

"What about your chocolate?" I asked.

"We just had it!" one called over her shoulder. "Happy holidays!"

Glad I Did

 I did not want to go.

I was feeling cranky from sitting around all day waiting for things to fall into place so that we could go out and run errands. And when at 5 PM our drop-in guest headed home after a 2 hour visit, I was anxious to head out right then. But the dog needed a walk, and then our neighbors texted to suggest tonight for our annual holiday light crawl and gift exchange. There really wasn't another night before Christmas that would work, so I grumbled and sighed and even stomped a bit before bundling up and heading out into the second longest and definitely coldest night of the year.

I began to relax right away as we passed the twinkling lights of our own neighborhood on our way up the hill to where we knew the most impressive displays were located. It seemed later than 6 PM as we walked the streets admiring all sorts of lights and characters, no one was around but us. We made it to what has historically been the most impressive display: an old farmhouse bedazzled with tens of thousands of lights on every surface and even adorning the 70 foot trees that tower above it. 

Oohed and aahed out, we continued on our way a couple of blocks to another really lit house replete with a front yard full of holiday figures. "Those are the two best," I shrugged, "but let's go around the block before turning back." 

It was there that we found the treasure of the evening. A house with an electronic music and light display so professionally executed we might have paid to see it. We stood across the street watching what can only be described as the show, as lights flashed and danced and changed color along with holiday music. There was a pixilated screen in the center of the roof that added to the show with glowing holly, pulsing sunrises, and dabbing Santas.

In the middle of the spectacle a Tesla pulled up, and a couple greeted us. We assumed they were there to enjoy the show, until they crossed the street and entered the house. It wasn't too long before the guy came back out. He wanted to be with folks who appreciated his creation. He gave us a bit of an inside scoop: he was a professional cameraman; he had been installing the lights since October; he had programmed all of it himself. Then he used his phone to show us a couple of songs we'd missed. 

"Well, I'd better head back inside," he said after 10 minutes or so.

We thanked him again, both for his time and his amazing creation, and then turned to go home ourselves, confident that we had seen the best lights there were.

Shopping Local

One of the things I am looking forward to when I finally retire is to spend a lot of time at the museums downtown. Of course we know how lucky we are to live less than five miles from some of the finest exhibits on the planet, which are all open to the public for free, but knowing and going are two separate things, particularly when life and traffic stand between the two.

A few months ago we were walking on the National Mall with some friends and their dogs when one of them mentioned a monthly museum group she had once belonged to. Much like a book or dining out group, they picked an exhibit and met there. The wonder of such a plan cut through some of my how-ever-will-I-spend-my-time retirement angst. 

Even so, I resolved to get down there a bit more frequently now, before I retire, especially now that COVID protocols have eased. And today? We did just that, although not exactly in the way I had imagined. Our holiday shopping done with the exception of stocking stuffers, we remembered how fun the gift shops at the National Gallery have been in the past. That, plus the Christmas Market up by the National Portrait Gallery, made downtown seem like a good destination.

And it kind of was: the post-pandemic economy has taken a bit of a toll on inventory in many places, museum gift shops among them. It was still fun to look, though, and a good reminder of all the treasures that are really no more than a few minutes away.

So Much Funakkah

We were invited to a neighbor's Hanukkah open house this afternoon, and as is often the case, I was reluctant to go. This time my excuses included the fact that I still wasn't feeling 100 percent, and there were so many holiday chores here at home, but attending the party was pretty much non-negotiable, and so I put on a nice blue sweater and boots and off we headed. 

It had occurred to me earlier in the day when I was wishing that I could stay home, put on a Hallmark movie, and wrap gifts, that this was the type of gathering that the folks in those movies always enjoyed. Sure, they had their gift wrapping scenes, but seldom were they at the expense of meeting with spending time with people, and never was the TV on.

And this party ended up being way better than running errands or checking off things on my to do list! There were neighbors to catch up with, pups to pet, babies to hold, brisket and latkes and chopped liver, and we played Dreidel and watched Adam Sandler on YouTube. At the end our hostess explained the tradition of the menorah, and she and her sister said the prayer as she lit the shamash and then the first candle.

And as we walked home, I felt like the holiday season had truly begun.

Thanks, Universe

My stomach is still a bit tender, and so I headed to the grocery this evening for some frozen ravioli, the same kind my mom used to serve when we were kids. Back then I would have given anything to be able to eat those round little ricotta-filled pillows with nothing but butter and salt, but my mother insisted that we have it with the homemade meat sauce she had prepared. 

The ravioli themselves were precious, counted out before they hit the boiling water, so that each of us only got so many. I'm not sure if they were expensive, and that's why they were so strictly regulated? Maybe so, because they were a rare treat indeed; more often we would eat boxed vermicelli with our red or clam sauce.

Anyhow, my appetite is still not back to 100% from that lingering stomach bug, and sometime this afternoon it occurred to me that plain cheese ravioli might be a comfort to my unsettled stomach, so off I went with the intention to buy just as much as I wanted, and when I got there? They were half price! 

That's gotta be a good sign.

Stomach Bug: Day 3

When at last I felt well enough to tell about it, I had to laugh. 

"Were there any kids in the classroom when you barfed?" my brother asked.

"No, just Heidi," I told him, "and later she said, "Wow! You really don't know how to throw up do you? You didn't even bend your knees or pick up the trash can! No wonder it went all over the place!"

"Well," I shrugged, "it's not really a skill I hope to develop."

And for the record? I feel much better today.

Stomach Bug: Day 2

My stomach is still super queasy, but things could be worse. I'm on the couch with the dog, the TVs on, a merry fire burns brightly,  I have tea in my cup, and ice water by my side. 

In my entire teaching career there has only been one other time when I was too sick to go to school, so that's pretty fortunate, too. 

I'm sure it won't be too long until this is all just an unpleasant memory.

Broken Streak

 Folks, it's literally been over 30 years since the last time I threw up. Or rather, that was true until this afternoon when I booted all over my classroom.

It's just as unpleasant as I recalled.

Fortunately? I'm feeling just well enough to tell about it, so that's another streak that stays in tact.

Paradox

Our principal is fond of telling the students in our school that we are, "the best of the best, better than all the rest." She uses the catchphrase to motivate them to behave well, but to be honest? I've never much liked the comparative nature of it. Why do we have to be better than everyone?  Can't we all be good for its own sake? 

Whatever my personal objections, I've heard the expression for so long that it barely registers anymore. So the other morning when, in her last weekly message to students and staff before the winter break, she encouraged all of us to be reflective and humble as we approach the new year, I barely gave it a second thought. The same was not so of one of my homeroom students whose hand shot up immediately. 

"How can she expect us to be humble when we're the best of the best?" he asked. And although his question was more than a little snarky, I had to give him kudos for listening and thinking about the content.

Fortunately, he didn't expect an answer.

For Now

"What are you going to do when you retire?" a student asked me out of the blue today. "Travel the world? Or stay someplace cozy?'

No!" said the girl next to him. "You should move to Belize," she insisted in her musical accent. "It's beautiful there! I lived by the sea and sometimes I saw dolphins swimming right by."

"But really," repeated the first student. "Do you like to travel? Don't you want to see the world?"

"I do like to travel," I agreed, "and Belize sounds very nice. But are you saying I should retire?"

"Oh no!" said the girl. 

"Not for at least ten years," the first kid added. 

"You still look very young," the girl assured me.

"Thanks!" I said, "Why don't we all keep working, hmmm?"

Too Much Christmas

"I'm not putting up a single Christmas decoration this year!" a friend declared recently. "I'm so busy, the thought of it brings me no joy."

She sighed and then continued. "My fiance thinks I'll change my mind but he's wrong. Because you know what brings me joy?"

We shook our heads. "The thought of not doing it!"

Right Family, Wrong Generation

It seems to be a bit mind-boggling to some students to have three staff members with the same last name in our school. My sister-in-law and I have been colleagues for years, which was confusing enough. "Is she your sister?" they used to ask, and then more recently, "Is she your wife?"

And now my nephew is working there as well. "Wait! They're related how?" some kids were overheard to say when he started. "I'm going to need a family tree or something!"

And just when we thought they were getting it, a student busted into my sister-in-law's art room and announced to any who cared to know that "Mr. S is your son!"

"That's right," she confirmed.

"And the other Ms. S is your mother!" he finished triumphantly.

Starting Early

Was it my imagination or were the sixth graders extra wild these last two days? 

It almost seems like their early release revved them up more than a little. "Thank you!" said the math teacher on my team when I mentioned my observation. "I'm glad to know it wasn't just me."

"Oh it isn't," I assured her. "In fact my worst class today was actually my best, because that's how crazy the others have been."

I'm really hoping they will settle down over the weekend, because otherwise? With just one week left before break, we're in for a long one.

On the Bias

"The rules apply to everyone," I said to my homeroom student who did not want to remove his hood during the assembly. 

"Why are you making such a big deal?" he scoffed. "When literally everyone is wearing a hat."

I looked around and didn't see any hats.

"You know "literally" means something is actually true," I said. "Where are the hats?"

He turned away in a huff.

"I don't make the rules, but it's my job to make sure they are followed," I explained as we headed back to 

"The rules apply to everyone," said Kirsten Dunst as the strict and implicitly biased supervisor, Mrs. Mitchell, in Hidden Figures.

She was talking to Octavia Spencer's character, Dorothy Vaughan, about her request for a promotion. Dorothy Vaughan was visibly displeased.

"I don't make the rules," Mrs. Mitchell said, "but I do have to enforce them."

I looked over at the kid from earlier in the day, feeling a little guilty about the parallels between their interaction and ours. He was rocking in the rocking chair munching on popcorn, and if he noticed any similarities, he didn't show it.

"I am not racist,' Mrs. Mitchell told Mrs. Vaughan a little later in the movie.

"I know," Mrs. Vaughan nodded. "I know you believe that." 

Lost Time

Today was the annual winter concert for students, and as always I reviewed the expectations for appropriate behavior with my homeroom before they called us down to the theater. 

"Why do they call it an assembly?" one kid asked.

"Because we are all assembled together for the event," I answered. "Does that make sense?"

He shrugged.

"Didn't you call them assemblies in elementary school?" I asked.

"Well, yeah," he told me, "but we haven't really had one for the last three years."

Point? Taken.

That Might Make Us Feel better

"We can bring snacks," I told my homeroom when they expressed disappointment at having to watch a 2 hour movie and go to an assembly on the first early release day. "Things are only as good as your attitude."

I knew what I was talking about. I had voted against a movie weeks before when the topic came up, but I was overruled when I was out of town before Thanksgiving. Even so, we could only make the best of it. And that was the way we approached it this morning before we did our current events activity. 

"Remember to bring snacks to share tomorrow, if you want to," I reminded them before clicking over to the NY Times news quiz for kids. When everyone was through, (as a group, they love that sort of challenge), a recipe popped up on the bottom of my screen,  Salted Caramel Peanut Butter.

"Can we have that?" one student joked.

I considered for a minute. "Do we have any peanut or gluten allergies?"

"Wait. Really?" said another kid.

"Sure," I shrugged. "I'll bake them tonight."

And so I did. 

Diminishing Returns

For many years, I have done my best to finish my school work before leaving for the day. That way, I am free and clear to focus on other things once I push through those heavy safety glass doors. But for those same many years, I have been one of the last to leave the building. Most evenings the halls are quiet, but for the vacuum of the custodian, and often even the main office is dark and locked when I slip by on my way out.

In that respect, working from home during the pandemic was a lot better for me. I was able to take personal breaks and come back to my work in a more seamless way. Exercise and chores, for example, seemed much easier to fit in.

So recently it occurred to me that perhaps it's time to change things up. And so I have resolved to leave school much earlier and restructure my afternoons. If I have to finish a few things at home? I guess I will. And hopefully everything will go a little quicker if my errands are done and I've been to the gym, and who knows?  I may use my planning time a bit more efficiently if I know it's limited.

And although I have come to love the way the sun shines in my window in late afternoon, and the quiet of the building when almost everyone else has left for the day,  whatever happens, I have to believe it's going to be better than sitting at my desk for hours after my contract day is over.

Jane Who?

We were well acquainted with the dangers of the Christmas tree lot, and so we guarded against getting a tree that seemed the right size but would end up being enormous for the space we have. And it was good that our sights were on the smaller side, given the astronomical tree prices this year, for which we were also prepared. 

But after a busy weekend of other tree shoppers, the nursery was nearly sold out of medium trees this afternoon when we got there. We contemplated trying another place, but this establishment had given every single tree on the lot a unique name, which seemed at first puzzling, and then corny, and then downright charming as we considered our options: here was Merry, there Lucius, over there Marshall. 

And when we tipped Jane up to take a look at her, she seemed nicely shaped, if compact for her class, and we figured with a couple inches off the bottom, she could be the tree for us. So, we tapped one of Santa's helpers (That's a job title there-- the trees have names, but the workers are anonymous as elves.), and he carried Jane off to get a fresh cut and wrapped up to go, while we went to pay an exorbitant amount for her. 

She did seem a little light when we got her off the roof rack once at home, but we welcomed the ease with which we got her up the stoop, into the house, and on the stand. However, when we took a step back to admire our 2022 tree, Jane seemed much smaller than any tree we've ever had. Confused, we checked her name tag and the number on her pink ribbon. Both matched up with what we had seen at the lot; there was no mistaken identity here. 

"We'll make it work," I shrugged, and Heidi agreed, but we're still not sure how that happened.

Old Souls

Sometimes I think I'm in danger of turning my homeroom vibe into a visit to your grandma type of thing. Not only do we spend a lot of time watching the news and playing Bananagrams and other word games, but recently I mentioned that I was thinking of bringing in some jigsaw puzzles. 

Fortunately? The kids seem to dig it. Last year one of them even taught us how to knit!

The Name of the Class

"I heard you speak French!" one of my students exclaimed as she entered the room this morning.

"Oui," I replied, "c'est vrai."

"Huh?" she wrinkled her nose.

"Je parle un peu français," I continued slowly.

"What?!" she asked in return.

"I know you take French," I said. "What do you know how to say?"

"Je suis present!" she recited.

"Très bien!" I applauded.

"Heh?" She shook her head and threw up her hands.

I laughed. "Let's stick to English, for a while," I said. 

Only a Number

Maybe it's my imagination, but lately people have begun treating me like an old lady. 

In addition to being offered the senior discount every time I shop on Thursday, I've noticed that the staff at our weekly COVID testing always solicitously open my plastic bag for me and poke the swab through so it's ready to go. I appreciate it, but when a young woman actually snapped the swab in advance, it confused me and I ended up ruining the kit. I apologized and she waved me off with a bit of a testy "You're fine."

And when we arrived home from the beach the other day, one of our neighbors happened to be walking by with the dog. "Oh Jeez," he said when he saw the back of our loaded station wagon, "let me help you with that." 

It was a gesture I also appreciated, especially when he carried the heavy cooler and suitcases up all the stairs to our place, but when I thanked him I had to consciously not add, "We could have done that ourselves, y'know."

I am reminded of a story my mom told about 15 years ago. Early one Saturday morning there was a knock at her front door. She was still in her pajamas with no makeup, but the caller was very insistent and so she answered. Outside was a police officer who informed her that there had been some suspicious activity in the area that they wanted residents to be aware of. Just then his radio squawked, and he excused himself to take the call. "No," she heard him say, "no one's here but an elderly lady."

My mom was only in her late 60s at the time, and she laughed when she recounted the episode, in part because it seemed so ridiculous to her. But in the next few years, she began to complain more about being patronized or not taken seriously by service people, contractors, and others. It really made her mad.

Recently my brother and I were talking about bias. "Do you know there are only two categories on the Harvard bias test that I show extreme preference for?" he said. "Guess what they are."

I gave up.

"Young people and skinny people," he told me. 

"At least you fit in one of those groups!" I laughed.