Whither the Weather

I woke up to a crack of lightning and then a boom of thunder. Outside it was pouring; at 7 am we were having the first thunderstorm of the season. I rolled over and checked the weather, expecting the forecast to be for rain all day. I was pleasantly surprised to see on the hour-by-hour prediction that sunshine was expected by midday, and I was just about to swipe the app closed when I noticed Alpharetta on the map. 

I had been looking at the weather in Atlanta, a location I have bookmarked because my sister lives there. Navigating to our actual weather I saw that it was indeed likely to rain all day. I sighed and checked in on Rejkyavik, where my oldest nephew is. It was only 32 degrees up there, but there were clear skies on a long spring day where the sun would not set until 9:40 this evening.

Clocked Out

I started the day strong. Around 10:30, Treat and I headed over to a big box home improvement store where we picked up 10 bags of raised soil, along with a few other plants and such. 

Back at the garden, we carried the bags from the car to our plot, a fair distance to be sure. Then we finished building the raised beds, including sawing some old composter boards in half and pounding them into the ground. We dumped all the soil and compost and manure into the improved beds and then filled and hauled over several wheel barrel-fulls of mulch. Then we acidified the soil in one of the beds and planted a couple of blueberry bushes.

When we were done, we still needed a bit more topsoil, and I promised Treat I'd take him to lunch and out to another big box place that carried the tiered herb pot he needed. It was nearly 4 by the time we made it back to the car with our final flatbed cart loaded with bags of dirt. 

"Do you want to lift them together?" I asked Treat.

"Why don't we do it fire brigade style?" he joked. "I'll just toss them to you and you can put 'em in the car."

"I think I've reached the end of my usefulness for today," I said. "How about if I just put these two pots of herbs in?"

"Sure," he agreed and loaded the bags in the car. What an excellent nephew!

Rescue Me!

It was a crazy schedule today and a rainy Friday to boot. As part of the extra homeroom time we had because of the drama assembly, the sixth grade showed the first episode of a mini-series dramatization of the Thai soccer team that got stuck in the cave a few years ago. Students had recently read an article about the incident, so there was a curriculum connection, but the day was kind of shot after all that novelty of scheduling.

There was also some foul language and mature themes in the video, so at lunch, we teachers debated the wisdom of following the plan to show more episodes next week when we have another irregular schedule.

"I hate to be a dick," I said, "but I thought it was kind of shitty. I might have to stab myself in the neck if we watch any more." My colleagues laughed because I was citing some of the inappropriate parts of the show.

Later in the afternoon, I sat with the same group looking out at the rain. "I don't know about you guys," I started, "but if I were planning to visit a cave, I would think twice. You know there's got to be an intern out there begging her bosses to issue a weather advisory!"

"Wow!" one of the other teachers remarked. "That show really did make an impression on you!"

Don't Tread on Me

I'm having a hard time seeing the bright side of being a part of a bureaucratic community this week. After working so hard to make my garden compliant because of the new compost rules (Read all about it here! Or don't.) I spent a lot of time this week jumping through the hoops that comprise our teacher-evaluation system. 

As such, I have read a book I'm not particularly interested in and rushed through a webinar that I was, just to meet an arbitrary deadline for "floating" professional learning hours. I will also spend a large chunk of my weekend documenting my own competence, because it's up to teachers to not only do everything we should in the classroom, but prove it, too.

Even so, that's a battle that I'm tired of complaining about, and I was doing pretty well in spite of that old irritant until I looked out our window yesterday evening. "Where's the other car?" I asked Heidi, but the question was rhetorical, for it was clearly missing and I knew she had no idea where it was. We had to assume it had been towed for some violation of our hoa's parking policy. 

Thirty minutes later, after searching around, first for the new portal and then for my login info and finally for the towing company contact number, I was connected to a gruff voice who informed me that, yes, our car was there and had been since 3:09 am. It would cost 250.00 to retrieve and another 50 bucks a day until we picked it up.

"I'm pretty sure there's a hang tag on it," I said with an edge in my own voice, but she assured me that there was not.

"Maybe I knocked it off when I put the phone hanger up," Heidi mused, but I was enraged by yet another stupid policy that would cost me time and money and which benefits me not at all. 

I think it's time for me to move to a farm in Maine where I can make my own damn rules.

Cause or Effect?

Today was one of the few "anchor days" we have actually had this year. These are the Wednesday of a five-day week, so called because they balance block scheduling by slotting in every class in a single day. "I don't know how I ever did it," is a common sentiment heard around the lunch table about this compressed schedule, because for years, this was our default.

Now, because of holidays and other disruptions, we really have anchor days very infrequently. Perhaps it's the compression of the schedule that throws us off, or it could be that it's so novel to the students and so they behave in unexpected ways.

That was certainly true for me today. The kids seemed more boisterous and a lot less focused than usual. That situation, coupled with the abridged class times made the day a bit challenging. Even so, I got very little sympathy from my colleagues at lunch.

"The kids are nuts today!" I reported as I took my seat.

"Pretty sure they are nuts every day," my colleague laughed. "It is fourth quarter!"

Oh, These Old Things?

I turned around yesterday to find a pair of sneakers on one of my classroom tables. Next to them, their owner worked diligently on his writing piece. "Hey," I haled him, "it's okay if you want to take off your shoes, but let's keep them on the floor, okay?"

He looked up with a smile, and it was then I noticed that, far from any ordinary sneakers, these were black and yellow Air Jordan 4 Retro Thunder 2023, which not only retail for over 200 dollars, aren't even supposed to be in stores until May.

"New shoes?" I asked.

He nodded proudly.

"Well," I said, "as sweet as they are, they still can't be on the table."

He pulled out the chair next to him and carefully placed them there, well within view of any who cared to admire them.

That Sounds Good

As the warm up for a lesson on onomatopoeia I asked students what some of their favorite sounds are. I wondered if it would be too vague a question, but I was charmed by the responses they gave. 

Many were sports related: the thump of a perfectly kicked soccer ball, the crack of a bat, the grind of a skateboard's powerslide, the pop of a pickleball on the court, the swish of a basketball, the cry of "Gooooooaaaaaaaaallllll!" on the Telemundo soccer play-by-play.

Some were nature-related; lots of kids love to hear rain falling, waves crashing, snow crunching, and wind in the trees. 

Several mentioned the sounds of pets: a purring cat, a snorting frenchie; others named some noises of cooking: popcorn popping, bacon sizzling, a knife being sharpened; and some noted the joy of music: a Taylor Swift concert, Christmas carols. 

And a few kids? just enjoy the sound of silence. "Too bad we don't have much of that around here!" I joked.

"Yeah," a student agreed, "and I don't get much at home either, at least until my little brother goes to bed." Her eyes brightened a bit. "In fact," she laughed, "I want to change my answer. My favorite sound is actually the click of his bedroom door!"

I Saw

No lumber associate was available at the big box home improvement store, so, after waiting for 10 minutes, I decided to use my circular saw and cut the boards for my raised garden beds myself. It was getting late in the day when Treat and I dropped off our soil and other purchases at the garden, so we left all the boards there. 

After I dug around in the attic and retrieved my saw from at least a decade of storage, Heidi and I headed up to the garden this morning to fetch the two planks that needed cutting. Back at home, I scoured the house for an extension cord to reach out to the front stoop, returning at last to the attic where I borrowed one from the Christmas lights bin. 

At last ready to measure twice and cut once, my pencil broke. When I finally pulled the trigger on the saw and ran it smoothly across the board, I realized that after a ten year hiatus from sawing, I had forgotten to adjust the blade depth, and so I had made a channel rather than a cut. I twisted the nut to make the adjustment, but then the plank kicked because the blade was too deep. I marked off the remaining two cuts I had to make, and did my best, which was still kind of sloppy, but definitely serviceable for garden beds. 

After running the saw for a grand total of 16 inches, I unplugged it and carried it back to the attic. Then I loaded the wood into the back of the station wagon, still a little chapped about the lack of a lumber associate situation.

Those Dirty Rats

Over the years I have naturally made some improvements in the infrastructure of my community garden, even though the plot is really only rented from year to year. A few seasons ago I invested in a cedar compost bin, the modular type that can be assembled and reassembled to turn and use the compost. A year or so later, I added a wire mesh companion to hold the clippings, vines, and spent vegetable and flower plants at the end of the season. My compost was always slow to cook, mostly because I didn't have any table scraps or other moisture-rich organics, but I figured I had plenty of time to allow the plants from my garden to decompose so that their nutrients might be returned to the soil. 

Unfortunately, time ran out for me and my open composting system last fall, when in response to a rat problem, bins such as mine were disallowed. To say I was dismayed would be an understatement. I have never seen any rats in my garden, and as I reported above, I don't usually put anything in my compost that they might find attractive. Completely banning extant composters seemed like an over-reaction, and although I said as much to the steering committee, my perspective was overruled at the annual meeting.

The deadline to remove them was set to May 1, of this season, and I stewed a bit about it all winter. But as the warm days of spring have brought us ever-closer to that date and the threat of an unsatisfactory rating which could lead to loss of the garden plot, I have resigned myself to disassembling the bins, bagging their contents, and moving forward. 

Fortunately, I had my nephew Treat to help me earlier this week and yesterday. As we pitchforked and raked the rich compost at the bottom of the first bin, he suggested leaving it in place and planting something there. I looked at the pile of three foot cedar boards and the grooved corner pieces behind us, and it occured to me that we could reassemble them into a raised bed. Likewise, the sides of the wire bin could be repurposed as squash trellises. 

So yesterday, we pulled out the trusty bow saw that I purchased for 5 bucks at a thrift shop in Dewey Beach a couple of Thanksgivings ago, and sawed the corner posts in half. Then Treat dug some post holes, and we pounded six of them in where the bins were. Instead of using the spacer pegs, we fitted the slats flush, and built ourselves a 3x6x1 raised bed in no time. It was very satisfying, and it almost-- almost! took the sting out of having to remove my composters at all. 

It sure is going to hurt to have to throw all that organic matter away, though.

Collegial Appreciation

"Guess what?" my friend Mary asked yesterday afternoon. It was our planning time, and she had stopped by my room to talk shop. "One of my students used a chatbot to write his poetry assignment!"

"Ugh," I sighed in solidarity. "We knew that was coming."

"I looked at his poem in class," she told me, "and one, it didn't follow the directions, but two, it had the words cosmic, majestic, and celestial in it."

I rolled my eyes.

"So I called the kid up, and at first he insisted that it was his writing, but eventually he admitted that he had used AI. Not only that, he had done the same for three earlier assignments!" She shook her head.

"I read that you can copy and paste text into the bots and ask them if they wrote it," I said. "Let's try it." I turned to my keyboard and first found the poem her student had posted. Then I logged in to Chatbot GPT. 

"Did you write this poem?" I queried.

As an AI language model, I am capable of generating texts, including poems, but I did not specifically write that poem. However, it is a beautiful piece of work, and whoever wrote it did a fantastic job.

"Hmm," I said. "Let's try Google Bard." 

Yes, I wrote that poem. I am a large language model, also known as a conversational AI or chatbot trained to be informative and comprehensive. I am trained on a massive amount of text data, and I am able to communicate and generate human-like text in response to a wide range of prompts and questions. For example, I can provide summaries of factual topics or create stories. 

 I wrote the poem you shared because I am fascinated by the stars. They are so beautiful and mysterious, and they have inspired poets and scientists for centuries. I hope you enjoyed the poem.

"There's your proof," I said. "We can print that out and use it as a cautionary example for all the kids." I hit the print icon and we waited for the evidence. "It is kind of funny, though, how much Chat GPT liked Bard's poem!"

Eid Mubarak

Our district has recently diversified the number of holidays we have on our calendar to include major celebrations and religious observances other than the traditional Christian holidays we've marked in the past. As such, we were off for the Jewish high holy days in the fall, Diwali a month or so later, and tomorrow school is closed for Eid al Fitr, the Muslim holiday that falls at the end of Ramadan.

In sixth grade, most students are still considered too young to fully participate in the fasting that marks Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar. While adults are expected to abstain from food and drink from sunrise to sunset, children and the infirm are exempt from the practice. Even so, at the age of eleven or twelve, most of my Muslim students are eager to share in this solemn ritual. And although they are open about the challenges of going through the school day without eating or even drinking water, it is their pride and excitement that usually shines through.

And as pleased as I am to have a three day weekend? I'm even happier for the validation our calendar shows to these kids and their families.

Tough Student

The young poets in my class were writing "How to" poems today, fanciful compositions that allow them to practice transition words and figurative language. Upon sharing their work, they were invited to do the bonus challenge, which today, in connection with their writing,  was to teach me how to do something. Oh, it was a fun day-- I learned how to draw a caricature of one of the kids, how to avoid getting called in class, and how to twist my fingers into a cobra. 

It was this last lesson that went a bit awry. "Put your hands like a steeple," my teacher demonstrated. "Now put your pinky and ring finger down."

So far, so good. I was following the directions and ready for the next step. "Now wrap your middle finger around the opposite ring finger," she instructed and twisted her fingers to show me. "Then cross your pinky and flip your wrists."

"Like this?" I said.

"Not quite," she answered patiently and showed me again.

"Like this?" I frowned.

She shook her head.

I tried again. And again. And again. All around me kids were lacing their fingers together, flipping theie wrists, and pinching them to their thumbs. 

"Your pinkies are the tongue," my teacher explained, "but you don't really have to do that part."

By this time I was laughing at my ineptitude, but my teacher remained calm and focused. When the bell rang, I gave her the Jolly Rancher despite the fact that her student failed the assessment. "You did everything right," I told her. "It was me."

"You can do it," she assured me. "You just need more practice."

Now, that's good teaching!

PostScript: Before I started writing, I tried to do the cobra again. I thought carefully about her directions and recalled the examples she had given. And what do you know? That viper was chomping before I knew it! I can't wait to show my teacher tomorrow.

Higher Power

I was talking with my colleagues at lunch today about how enthusiastically the kids have been asking me to schedule the next meeting of the secret pickleball club. "One of the boys got his parents to get him a couple paddles," I reported. "He's that into it."

"Well, he told me that you were a god on the pickleball court," another teacher said laughing.

I laughed, too. "Wow!" I said. "And we haven't even gotten to hyperbole yet!"

Nice Kicks

"Do you like my Adidas Country?" Amy, our friend from high school showed off her bright white sneakers with their three green stripes. 

"I noticed them when you walked on the court," my brother told her. 

"These were the first adult sneakers I ever had," she said. "Well, not this exact pair, but real leather, Adidas brand? I felt so cool."

"It's funny, because I told Tracey that I wanted some Stan Smiths to play in," my brother answered. "Adidas and leather like those."

"Same color scheme, too," I added, as we continued to talk about red stripes, blue stripes, running, playing basketball, and the like.

"Do we just sound like old people reminiscing over their teenaged footwear?" Amy asked with a laugh.

"It's okay if we do," my brother replied, "because we are."

Can't argue with that.

Ahead of Schedule

With grades due last Monday, no major projects due for a couple weeks, and warm weather here this weekend, I felt like I had time to spend time on gardening. 

First on my agenda was to get my hanging baskets planted and up. This year I decided to switch away from the ornamental metal and cocomat set up I have used for decades and go for more practical plastic hanging planters that won't wither without twice a day watering. It is an investment I'm looking forward to cashing in on whenever we return from travel this summer. 

Hopefully, my flowers and herbs will be healthy and well, even if the cat sitter "forgets" to go to the trouble of watering them daily. I'm also excited to get all the plants in now, mid-April, which is much earlier than has ever happened in the past. I think the extra weeks of springtime sunshine are going to do wonders. 

I also found time to get up to my garden and continue clearing the cover crop and weeding the walkways. I purchased a little stool to sit on as I labored, but my back was feeling good both before and after. The shallots and garlic that I started last fall are going gangbusters, and it's almost time to cut their scapes so that all of that energy will go into forming bulbs. 

The weather this week is looking good, and I have already enlisted Treat to skip the gym on Tuesday and work out with me in the garden instead. We have to take apart the compost bins, but what was once an irritant has now become an opportunity to repurpose them as another raised bed and some trellises for beans and squash.

All and all? My horticultural projects are looking bright!

Confederatio Helvetica

 Do you need a CH sticker? my friend texted me the other day. We were making plans for her visit this weekend, and I had suggested a Swiss restaurant that is a favorite of ours.

I have one! I replied. Always. You?

She sent a picture of her back bumper festooned not only with the oval sticker that all Swiss drivers are required to have before entering another country, but also the crest of the canton of Ticino and a Collina d'oro sticker as well. 

I wasn't surprised, but I was impressed. The two of us met over 45 years ago at boarding school in Lugano, Switzerland, and despite the fact that I have lived in the U.S. since graduating in 1979,  I have had the sticker required by the 1968 international convention on road travel on every car I've owned, from my yellow 1976 VW Rabbit to the 2017 Subaru Outback I drive today. Maybe it's because of all the places in the world I have been fortunate enough to visit, to me Switzerland remains the most beautiful.

Over the years it's been kind of interesting who has recognized the sticker at all. Our school social worker once came to my room to tell me that she had driven into the parking lot behind me. "What's your connection with Switzerland?" she asked, and I was confused until she mentioned the sticker. "My mother was from Basel," she told me, "and I used to spend every summer there with my grandparents."

Another time I was riding shotgun in my car with my sister at the wheel. We were in Atlanta, where she lives, and it made more sense for her to drive. At a red light, a car pulled up to us on the passenger side. The man driving gestured wildly for me to roll down the window. 

Honestly? It was my instinct to ignore him, but my sister shrugged and suggested I see what he wanted.

"CH!" he cried when at last he knew I could hear him. "Switzerland!"

"Yes," I nodded.

"The most beautiful country on Earth!" he said.

"No question!" I agreed with a smile. 

The light changed, he gave me a thumbs up, and we were both on our way.

"Aren't you glad you rolled down the window?" my sister asked.

Self-esteem

"Tell me the truth," a seventh grader whispered to me this morning. She was visiting my homeroom, first to borrow my carpet sweeper on behalf of her own homeroom teacher and an unexpected granola catastrophe, and then to play Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza with me and my current sixth graders when she returned the sweeper.

I raised my eyebrows as she leaned in conspiratorially. "How much better did you like us than these students?"

I laughed. "These kids took a while to grow on me," I admitted, "but now they are pretty close to as amazing as you guys were."

She only looked a little disappointed. She had seen for herself the affection we all have for each other, and she had felt how welcome she was. That's one of the things I love about kids-- they are usually so sure that they are my favorites. 

I had a similar conversation with one of my craziest classes just yesterday. After spending the first half an hour redirected them so that they might accomplish something before lunch, I was feeling a little aggravated. Even so, I said, "I know it's hard to settle down right before lunch, but I can tell you all are working hard at it. I still think we can do better, though."

"Are we your favorite class?" asked a particularly twitchy kid. 

My eyes widened, and I laughed. "I don't have a favorite," I said.

"Right..." another kid said. "Wink, wink, nudge, nudge!"

"We know we're your favorite!" a girl added. "Just say it!"

"You are definitely in the top five," I promised, and rather than be annoyed by their lack of self-awareness, I was glad that they felt so confident of my high regard. 

That's gotta count for something!

Anecdotal Evidence

Teaching is hard.

I taught a quick lesson on similes today, a topic that should be review for sixth graders. After the warm-up discussion What's your favorite form of figurative language? we moved on to the poetry challenge. 

Students were given the definition of simile, a list of examples, and the direction to write a poem which was a chain of tnen similes. Then we looked at a model, discussed the poet's choices, and moved into 20 minutes of workshop time. 

As the young poets wrote, I circulated through the room, answering questions and offering advice. Write about your dog, I might suggest, or your little brother, and then I'd stay until there were a couple of lines of similes and a direction to work in. 

When kids were finished, there was an additional Jolly Rancher challenge to come give me a simile about themselves. "I'm done!" one writer exclaimed triumphantly, brandishing his. poem with 10 fine similes about his dog. "What's the Jolly Rancher challenge?" 

"You know where to find it," I told him. "Go read the directions and come back." 

He returned a minute later with his iPad in hand, reading from the screen. "It says to tell you a simile about me," he said. 

"Go ahead," I replied, "Let's hear it!" 

"I don't remember what a simile is," he said. "Did we learn that?"

Frogs and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

 "Are those the rocks that buzz when you throw them in the air?" a student asked this afternoon right after the bell. 

He and his buddies have developed the habit of stopping by my room for one shot at the mini-hoop in hopes of winning a Jolly Rancher for the road. I humored them at first, their stay limited by the fact that they had to catch the bus, but as the days have warmed they are more and more willing to spend a little extra time with me and then walk home. 

Today most of his friends had gone off to track practice, which he was also supposed to attend, but he was busy getting another of his buddies to call his mom so they could have a playdate (their word) after practice. His friend showed me pictures from his spring break in Florida while the first boy tried to contact his parents, and then it was this guy's turn to look at the stuff on my desk while the other kid tried to reach his mom again.

"No," I answered him about the rocks. "They are just magnetic rocks that another kid brought me from spring break over 10 years ago. I smiled remembering that student and also at the endless supply of little boys that I have had the privilege to know over the last 30 years.

"Really?" he said and took a couple. He threw them in the air and was unable to catch them. The second time his toss was better, and the rocks stayed close enough together that they attracted and repelled each other all the way into his hand, making a buzzing noise as they did.

"Well I'll be darned!" I said as both he and his buddy repeated the trick over and over.

"Look what they can do!" I said to Heidi as she came into the room to pick up some printing. 

"Did you teach Ms. S. something?" Heidi asked, impressed. 

The boys nodded proudly, gleefully tossing the buzzing rocks. 

"That's pretty good!" she said.

"I agree," I nodded. "How about a Jolly Rancher before you go?"

Here We Go!

 By the time we get to spring break there is a huge temptation to do something or go somewhere and have FUN! Over the years we've tried a variety of things-- renting a beach house in South Carolina with the family, staycation-style day trips, visiting friends and family out of state, and planning home improvement projects like painting the downstairs. They all had their advantages, but one of them was not rest.

This year? I stayed home while Heidi jetted off to Florida to spend some time hanging out with her college buddies. The demands on my time were few, made even more modest by the fact that I hurt my back on Thursday. But I did discover one thing-- 

Turns out 10 days off is actually enough to catch up on my sleep and work and return to school rested and ready for the fourth quarter.

A Crack of the Back

"So you've never been to a chiropractor before?" the doctor asked this morning as I stood for inspection after detailing my back woes.

"No," I shook my head.

She poked my back and then my hips. "Your spine is a little curved up here," she jabbed a spot between my shoulder blades. "Does that hurt?"

"No," I answered.

"Well," she sighed, "it's a combination of age, arthritis, and that bend in your spine. I can adjust you today, but you'll probably have to manage your condition on and off for the rest of your life."

I sighed. 

"But you do that by moving!" she said. "The more active you are, the better, and then when you need an adjustment you come on back in."

That was news I could live with. 

The adjustment, on the other hand? Was stunning in its vigor as she swiftly cracked my joints in four places, although not without warning. It didn't hurt, but the noises were a little gut-wrenching. Within five minutes, she was done, and I felt better already. Not 100 percent, of course, but definitely on the mend.

"Ice your back tonight, give it a few days, stay active, and come back if you need to," she advised, and I was on my way, happy to have her on my health care team.

Congregation

When I was a child, Easter was one of the big three of holidays. Along with Christmas and Halloween, the preparation and celebration were almost mind-blowingly exciting: new outfits, family from out of town, egg-dying, easter baskets, and egg hunts. What kid could resist such merrymaking? 

Over the years, perhaps as the contents of my basket and my connection to the Catholic church declined, so did my celebration of Easter. Oh, there was egg-dying for many years, especially when my nephews and niece were younger, and for many years we would gather at my brother's in-laws for white borscht and brunch, but they have been gone some time now, and nowadays Easter is often just another Sunday at our house.

And if I don't miss the hunts, or the candy, or the egg-dying (although that is pretty fun), I do miss the fellowship and family. I guess we often use kids as an excuse to celebrate, but as infectious as their joy and fun may be, we are fooling ourselves if we forget the real reason we gather.

Marathon Conversation

"We never left the house!" Heidi told me about her week in Florida with her college friends. "Except the last night for dinner. Before that we stayed in the pool all day talking, and we just talked all night, too. I usually didn't go to bed until 1:30 or 2."

"Wow," I said. "No movies, TV, reading, or even shopping?"

"Nope," she shook her head. "We didn't even go out walking."

"What did you guys even find to talk about for four days straight?" I asked.

"Oh!" Heidi shrugged, "That's just the introvert in you asking such a silly question."

Is it, though?

Hoping for the Best

The pain in my back was not much better today, and so after researching my options and consulting my insurance app, I made the first available appointment I could find with a chiropractor, which will be Monday morning. As a generally low-maintenance person (medically speaking) I just wasn't sure what warrants immediate intervention or even who to check with, but the fact that I am mostly functional despite episodes of intense pain, made me think that I could wait the weekend to get an expert opinion. 

The practitioner I chose is nearby and within my insurance network; her practice seems small, but well-rated, and I was asked to schedule the appointment online, which I did. A few hours later I got a personal and  responsive reply; it was clear they had considered the information I had submitted, and their questions were relevant. They also sent me a link to the intake paperwork, which I could also conveniently complete online. 

The questions were not hard, but they did require some thought in order to accurately describe the ailment I was experiencing. They were also redundant. 

Among them was How has this condition affected your daily living? 

I experience pain getting up, bending over, twisting, I answered. I can't exercise and it's hard to put my shoes on.

What specific activities does this problem prevent you from doing that you would like to do again? was the next question.

Uhhhhh... I considered. All of them?

Unexpected Twist

My back was feeling a little tight yesterday on the pickleball court, but a little stretching and the pain was gone. And I thought nothing of that experience this morning as I pulled weeds in the garden for an hour or so. Until the pain returned with a vengeance. 

I could walk, but I could not bend down again, and my lower left back really, really hurt. I had considered walking up there, but since I also had to go the bathroom pretty bad, I considered a win when I got the three lawn and leaf bags I'd filled out to the curb, and made my way to the car. Even so, just twisting to get in and out of the driver's seat was pretty painful. 

Back at home, I took an NSAID and looked for a heating pad. I found one by Heidi's side of the bed; unopened, the oversized device was weighted with heat and massage. And, I think it's helping? The heat and massage and some stretching feel pretty good, and although getting up from sitting seems to be bad, very bad, walking around isn't painful at all. 

A little research suggests sciatica, which I've never had before, and can have many causes. Those who know me know my next course of action: wait and see how I feel tomorrow. 

Acclimate

April has begun with record setting temps in the high 80s yesterday and today, and to be truthful the weather has been mostly pleasant. But still? Going from turtlenecks to tank tops in less than a week is a bit disconcerting. 

Not to worry, though-- it will be back in the 30s on Sunday.

Proof of Life

"Will you send me pictures of you and Lucy and the cats every day?" Heidi asked yesterday as she was preparing for her trip to see college friends in Florida.

"Yes," I agreed, but I might have forgotten, if not for the walk I took this afternoon. I had already been to the gym, but the warm, sunny weather beckoned Lucy and me. I tried to think of a place we hadn't walked in a while, and a spot a little farther out on the bike trail than we usually go occured to me. I loaded Lucy in the car and drove the couple miles to a parking lot by the rose garden. From there we headed west along Four Mile Run and through several parks. 

We had just made it to the intersection of a couple of trails when I heard someone call my name. It was a friend from work, but not one who lives in our town, so my surprise to see him was a bit disorienting. We spent a few minutes catching up, and then I said, "Heidi won't believe I ran into you! We better get a picture so I can send it." And we did just that. And Lucy was in it, too. 

Day one? Duty, done!

To Be Done

I spent this Monday of spring break baking bread and cookies for Heidi to take to Florida, paying bills, doing our taxes, and scheduling the payments for what we owe to both federal and state revenue services. The weather was beautiful, and when I was done we went to run errands for Heidi's trip, windows down all the way. 

I might feel a bit let down by all the things I had to do today, or I might be grateful that I had the time and resources to get them done. There's no shortage of to-dos around here, so I think I'll take the second option and see what else I can accomplish this week.

A Break in Spring

Probably one of the best things about spring break is Sunday night-- knowing that we can turn off our alarms for the coming week is just kind of wonderful.

Have a good one, y'all!

Prescient

I dreamed of rutabagas last night. 

Right before I woke up, I was having an anxiety dream about proctoring a large group of sixth graders for some unknown test and accidentally holding them past their lunch time. There was quite a bit of perturbation as I worked to resolve the confusion with the help of a friend and former school counselor, who is now retired. At some point, I walked into the classroom and past a huge bin of rutabagas. "Those are going to be trouble," someone said.

As is often the case, I forgot all about the dream, and remembered it only when I went to the grocery store this morning and noticed the display of, what else? Rutabagas. Drawn to the vegetables so recently labeled a threat, I selected a large firm one, and added it to my cart.

And now I know what the dream meant: You will have yellow turnips for dinner.