Since You Asked

“Did you go running this morning or something?” A student asked me this morning, eying my capri leggings and hoodie with a tiny bit of a sneer.

In response to the note of disparagement I heard in his voice I turned and made eye contact with him. “Are you trying to give me a compliment or do you want me to feel uncomfortable about what I’m wearing?” I asked him in a neutral voice. 

He was taken aback by the directness of my question. “No, no,” he assured me. But then he shrugged and scoffed. “You’re just dressed like you went running or something.”

“You don’t know me very well, yet,” I said, “but I do yoga and meditation every morning.”

His eyes widened a bit, and he returned to his seat, perhaps a bit chastened. And although my morning practice is not why I was dressed as I was, it sure was the reason I handled the situation that way. 

Good Morning to You and You and You and You

I'm making good progress toward knowing all my students' names. Of course, it helps that some of them remember their name cards and, since I've assigned seats, that post-it note in the middle of each table is a great cheat, too.

Several years ago, I decided to commit to standing in the hallway as often as possible and greet as many kids as I could by name. A couple years ago, I invited my early-arriving homeroom students to join me and say good morning also. It was fun to greet everyone and we helped each other with the names that were unfamiliar. 

Today I finally had a chance to start that practice again for this year, and I laughed when a group of now seventh graders found their way back to assist me again. We stood in the hall like old times and said good morning to everyone, using as many names as we could. 

I've been around long enough to know that soon my former students will gravitate more toward their current teachers, which is as it should be, and our mornings together will become fewer and fewer. It makes me a little sad, but I intend to enjoy their company while I can, and I'm sure that there are new sixth graders who will be more than willing to take those spots.

It Tolls for Thee

"Is that the bell?" asked one of the new sixth graders when she heard a soft dinging in the middle of class.

"I think so?" I answered, "But to be honest I'm not sure, because that is not what the bells here have ever sounded like before. Plus, it's not the end of class."

"How long have you been here?" asked another student.

"Thirty years!" I told him, "and the bells have been the same for that entire time! Three nice and loud chimes. I don't know why anyone would want to change it to that little ping!" 

I laughed and stopped my rant so that we could get back to our activity. "Who else heard something interesting about another student in our meet and greet?" I inquired. 

"I found out that A's father went to this school!" reported a student.

"That's right!" I nodded. "He sure did!" 

"Were you here then?" the student continued.

"Yep," I sighed. "It was back when the bells rang the right way."

Not to Jinx Anything

So far, if there's anything notable about this new school year, it's that it hardly feels new at all. Summer break seemed awfully short, and when we returned, it was almost as if we had never left. My classroom came together quickly, and I resumed the old routines like slipping on a familiar pair of jeans. 

Even the new kids don't seem all that new. They've been back in school full-time and in person since 4th grade, and anecdotally, of course, (it has only been one day!) their grasp of appropriate school behavior and habits seems solid. The day passed quickly and smoothly, and I'm looking forward to a similar situation tomorrow.

Fingers crossed!

Association

While he was waiting to talk to another teacher about a new student, I roped a colleague into helping me with the mundane task of recording locker combos on index cards for my incoming homeroom. We sat companionably as he called out the lock number, I read the combination aloud from a spreadsheet and transferred it to a card, and then he slid the card onto the lock. 

"8-26-16," I said, writing it down. "Wait. Isn't your birthday coming?" I interrupted myself.

"Yeah it's Saturday," he answered. "Good memory."

"It was that combination," I told him. "8-26."

"Whoa!" he shook his head. "I feel like I just got a glimpse inside your brain. Does it really work that way?"

"Pretty much," I laughed, going on to the next combination.

A Timely Reminder

I was really happy to have so many of my former students stop by at the open house at school the other day. Not only was it wonderful to catch up with them and see how great they looked, taller and relaxed after a summer off, but it was also nice for the new students and their families to hear a kid's perspective on my class. Their commentary was funny and sweet, and it was gratifying to know how much they appreciated our year together, although there was also a tendency to exaggerate. 

"She has a magic portal in her desk," one boy assured the other visitors earnestly. "It produces an endless supply of Jolly Ranchers!" He looked at me. "Should we show them?"

"Nice try!" I laughed and thought of my empty bottom drawer; I hadn't had time to shop for my signature incentive. "I'm afraid the portal's closed until school starts next week," I explained, and then walked over to the to-do list on my desk and added Jolly Ranchers.

Fantastic Voyage

Back when I started teaching sixth grade in 1993, the science curriculum was organized around the PBS TV show The Voyage of the Mimi, a 13-episode series that showed the experiences of the crew of the fictional research ship The Mimi as they conducted a whale census.

Every unit, lesson, and activity was related to an episode of the show, the idea being to put the skills and knowledge into an engaging, real-world narrative context to make them both more accessible and more memorable. Even though science was not the subject I taught, I was a big fan of the approach. From what I could tell, the kids loved it and learned a lot, and I was sorry to see it retired after 15 years, around the turn of the century.

In 2006, we got a new social studies teacher for our interdisciplinary team, a young woman who had grown up in the district. She was in her mid-20s at the time and had experienced the Mimi curriculum as a sixth-grade student, and she was heartbroken when she found out that the show was no longer being used.

To be honest, her passion for the show was more than a little comical, and we spent many a lunch break reminiscing about the plot and the lessons, and the activities. It was she who told me that, in his first television role, Ben Affleck actually played the young boy, C.T. Granville. (Check out a clip here.)

That teacher has since moved on to another school, even though her daughter attends ours. I thought of her yesterday, though, when I tapped on the link to the daily Name Drop quiz from The New Yorker magazine. The premise is that you get six clues, one at a time, and 100 seconds to identify the subject of the day. The fewer clues you need, the better you do. I confess that I often find Name Drop very challenging-- sometimes I can't solve it at all-- but this week, I am on a roll. I've gotten the answer in one clue every day for the last three.

And for yesterday, I owe it all to my former colleague.

So I texted her to let her know, and she replied like this

Rumor Had It

 "I can't believe you're still here!" gushed a woman at our open house this morning. "This is my daughter," she put her arm around a new sixth grader. "And she was my teacher," she pointed at me.

"Well, basketball coach," I shrugged. "I taught your brother Brandon, though."

The older women with them turned to me with a sizing look. It was my former student's mother. "Girl!" she said. "You've been here a looooooong time." She shook her head. "How many years?"

"This is 31," I laughed.

"Time for you to retire!" she patted my shoulder.

"Maybe so," I agreed. 

"Didn't Mr. H retire?" she asked, mentioning the guy I coached with for many years.

"Two years ago," I nodded.

"I've got to ask you something," her voice dropped to a whisper. "But maybe not in front of the children." She looked around meanigfully.

My eyebrows shot up, but my curiosity got the better of me. "Okay?"

"Were you and Mr. H ever dating?" 

I laughed again. "Oh no!" I assured her. "We were just very good friends."

She gave me that look again, and walked away unconvinced.

Lookee Here Copernicus

As I prepared to welcome my new students this week, I found that in addition to at least six siblings of former students, two of the new kids are the children of students from the past. We also have a couple of kids whose parents are former colleagues, and at the ELA meeting today, I reconnected with a couple of colleagues who are former students.

I'd say that's pretty good for a lady who's worked in the same room for 30 years!

As Seen on CCTV

It was probably a little separation anxiety that prompted Heidi to ask me to check the door bell cam today and see how Lucy was when our dog walker came around. On the recording we saw Sarah open the door and then call for Lucy. 

“She wasn’t at the door?” Heidi notes. “That’s weird.”

So we checked the pet cam to see what prevented Lucy from charging to the door. There we found her sound asleep on the new doggie mat we bought for the couch. A little further viewing showed us her happy return home, tail wagging, and subsequent return to the couch. 

A little while later, though, we came across some footage of Lucy and Milo standing side by side. Then he rubs against her and walks a few steps away. She gives him a deep play bow, and he returns, and then they both walk off camera together. 

“What’s that all about?” I asked, but of course Heidi just shrugged, because? Who knows? 

Weather Report

It was a day spent sitting. 

Our school district scheduled 6 hours of mandatory professional development on diversity, equity, culturally responsive teaching, and Title IX in the morning and then social-emotional learning in the afternoon. In between we were served bbq and all the fixins.

As with many professional learning sessions, we were directed to try out some of the components they were hoping we would use with our students. One such activity was a restorative circle, where we stood in a loose ring in the seats of the theater in department groups and took turns answering a set of questions designed to build community.

Describe yourself in terms of weather was one. 

"61 and clear," I replied when it was my turn, but now, after such a day, I would have to revise my reply: still 61, but a bit of an evening fog has rolled in.

Back to School Shopping

Back to School Night is early this year, just a couple of weeks away, really, and it occurred to me this afternoon that I might feel better if I knew what I was wearing. These past few years my school attire has been almost strictly athleisure, joggers and the like, and so I wasn't feeling that I had as many options as I might have liked when it came to dressing a bit more professionally for the adult crowd I could expect that evening.

Whereas in earlier times I probably would have actually gotten up and gone shopping, today I sat in my chair and clicked through a few retail websites. Then, after making sure that each offered free returns, I ordered some slacks and loafers. As I was doing so, I remembered we have a wedding to go to at the end of October, and so Heidi and I ordered a few dresses to try on from Nordstrom. Next, I found some shoes to go with the dress, and ordered those, too.

Everything should be here within the next week, and we can try things on and return them if they don't work, with plenty of time to go shopping again.

Auntie

"Long time no see," my uncle joked as Heidi, Lucy, and I piled into their apartment a little after noon. He was referring to the fact that we had seen him and my aunt just last Sunday at their grandson's Eagle Scout ceremony. 

Although we live in the same sprawling metropolitan area, my aunt and uncle live on the northern outskirts, and the 39-mile trip never takes less than an hour, and often more. It is far enough that we usually plan our visits weeks in advance, and we never see each other as often as we would like.

On the drive over today, we listened to American Top 40, and Casey Kasem was playing the hits from this week in 1977. As always, I tried to recall what was happening back then, and I realized that Aunt Harriett and Larry had just been married a couple weeks before.

And then there we were, ready to learn how to play Mahjong, a game my aunt loves and plays often. Lunch was first, a light, seasonal meal of a tomato stuffed with tuna salad, served with cucumbers in vinegar, and biscuits, but then it was down to business as we took our seats at the card table my aunt had set up and ready to go.

As I settled into my folding chair I reviewed everything I knew about the game, starting with the iconic scene in The Joy Luck Club, where June, the protagonist, takes her recently deceased mother's spot at the table with three of her mother's dearest friends. "We are your aunties," one of the three players reassures June when she looks nervous. "We are very honest people!" It's a line my sister and brother and I have riffed on since we first saw the film in 1993. 

And that was pretty much the extent of my knowledge, but despite our inexperience and the complexity of the game, my aunt was a good and patient teacher. Heidi and I picked up the basics pretty quickly, and it was close to 6 PM when we left. 

"I'm so glad you came!" my aunt hugged us as we headed home, promising to come again soon. Out in the car, I switched on the ignition and punched the directions into the map app. It was 6:12 PM and the route took us right through Rockville, past one of my mom's old places. 

Eyes on the Prize

News today that for her next album Dolly Parton covers "Let it Be" with Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr. "Leave it to Dolly to reunite the Beatles," wrote The New York Times.

I laughed and remembered how a few weeks ago when we were down in Atlanta, I was talking with my sister about my upcoming trip to Asheville and the fact that Pigeon Forge, TN really wasn't that much further. "It would be fun to go there," I said. "I love Dolly Parton!"

My sister nodded. "If you ask me," she replied, only half joking, "Dolly Parton should get the Nobel Peace Prize!" 

I wouldn't disagree, but her husband did. "Dolly Parton?" he rolled his eyes. "No way!"

My sister wouldn't back down, though. Instead, she ticked through a list of Dolly's accomplishments.  "She has funded literacy and music programs at needy schools for years," she started. 

Her husband shrugged.

"She helped fund the COVID vaccine," my sister continued, and by the time she finished, her husband had come around.

"That is pretty impressive," he agreed, and we didn't even know about the Beatles, then!

Proper Mindset

We ran a few end-of-the-summer errands yesterday, ending up at one of those off-price department stores. Technically? We were there for fun and colorful poop bags, one of the items on Heidi's list, and since she picks up most of the poop, I am not going to question that. 

But of course, we sped-browsed through the other departments, too, Heidi looking at dresses and blouses, and I at kitchenwares and active clothing. It was on the rack in this second section that I found a lovely seafoam-colored crewneck sweatshirt from one of our favorite clothing companies. It had a little dragonfly in the center and the caption, "Change is Good".

Embracing change is not really how I roll, but I bought the sweatshirt anyhow in a conscious effort to be mindful of the concept. And I wore my new pullover today, on the first day of school for teachers. Perhaps it served me well, because there was talk of some big changes coming along, but I wasn't bothered at all.

At the risk of being over-confident-- Year 31? I got you.

Look Forward, Teacher!

Despite the desire to cling to that summer vacation vibe, something told me to check my school accounts on Monday. 

First I saw a message sent just a few hours earlier from a former student inquiring whether she could bring a friend, who was new to the school, to the open house next week. "Or is it only for sixth graders?" she inquired.

I was glad to be able to respond promptly to such a generous and welcoming spirit, and doing so reminded me not of all the work and time my job demands, but of how much I loved working with the kids. Next, I checked to see if my new students were loaded into the learning management system and grade book. A couple of clicks later there they were-- the class of 2030 and my next year's sixth-grade students. 

My first impression? Adorable! And the sting of going back to the grind was lifted entirely. 

For the moment.

A Little Progress

I went for a dreaded annual screening this morning. I don't know any woman who does not find her mammogram to be extremely uncomfortable, if not downright painful. So often I've heard comments that if men had to have any of their sensitive parts compressed every year, the technology would be completely different. Maybe, but here we are. 

This morning, though, my appointment was in the brand-new, state-of-the-art Outpatient Pavillion on the hospital campus, a building that only opened three weeks ago. Parking was a breeze; electronic signs and signals indicated how many spaces were free and where they were. There was a passage from the garage right into the building, and the Women's Imaging Center was located right inside. I checked in on an electronic kiosk that asked if I'd like to set up biometric verification to speed my future appointments. They even validated my parking before showing me right into the new changing rooms. 

The technicians there have always been professional, kind, and friendly, and this morning was no exception. My mammographer showed me into the screening room and explained that they were using a new machine. One improvement was that instead of making me move and get squished 8 times, the machine itself moved, so that I only needed to be adjusted twice on each side. The other big change? An automatic release! As soon as the image was complete, the plates opened and freed my aching boob. The entire procedure took about 5 minutes.

It was still uncomfortable, to be sure, but it didn't hurt a bit.

More Dramatic Weather

We looked at each other as the earsplitting alarm sounded first on my phone, and then before I could silence the blare, on Heidi's, too. It was a tornado warning, not even a watch, and it directed us to find shelter in a low, interior room immediately. 

Unbelievably, in the nearly 25 years we have lived in our house, a tornado? Has never been a threat. "Where would that even be?" Heidi asked, reading the all-caps alert. 

"Uhh," I thought about it. "I guess the bathroom?" I rose from my seat and opened the door to the powder room. Although it did have an exterior wall, it was windowless, and maybe on ground level? It was hard to know how far the unit below us extended. It would be a tight squeeze for us, two cats, and the dog, though. 

Outside, the sky was dark as dusk, and a heavy rain began to fall. "Let me check a few things," I said to Heidi and found a real-time tornado tracker. There I saw that the rotation had not touched down and also we were not in its direct line, but rather on the outside corner of the possible range. "I think we can stay out of the bathroom for now," I reported, but chanted a quick protection mantra and kept my eyes on the screen.

A little while later, the alert expired. And a little while after that?

A Little Decorum

We were out for a midday walk when Lucy started doing her hysterical whining thing when she spotted a neighbor headed for the pool. 

"I'll come say hello so you don't pull anyone's arm off," the neighbor offered, and after a brief sit, I allowed Lucy over to see her. She didn't jump, but she did lean in and wag her tail very enthusiastically.

"I know!" said the neighbor. "I'm excited to see you, too! Isn't that funny? We feel the same way!"

"Yes," I agreed, drily. "You two are equally excited to see each other. Fortunately, you are able to control yourself a bit better than Lucy can."

W the Absolute F

Years ago I subscribed to news and traffic alerts issued by the county where I live, so a few times a day my watch or phone will ping to let me know that this or that local road is closed or reopened or that there is a severe weather warning or watch. 

Despite how small our county is geographically (the smallest in the country, thank you very much), I can honestly say that these notifications are almost never relevant to me; I am either already aware of the news they are reporting or unlikely to go by the impacted location. And when I'm on vacation the alerts can really be a nuisance: I've been awakened at 6 am in Key West because of a car fire 1,200 miles away and charged international messaging rates in Canada because of a fender bender back at home. 

Maybe it's like those people we knew when we were kids that had a police scanner squawking in their kitchens, because it has never occurred to me to unsubscribe; knowing (and ignoring) what is happening out on the streets has become part of the fabric of my daily life. 

And then, there is the story that unfolded today, when the driver of a tractor-trailer lost control and rammed several vehicles on the highway approaching one of the bridges to DC. Once his truck came to rest, he made a run for it, hopping the guard rail and bolting into the commercial district at the bottom of the embankment. Then he carjacked another vehicle before abandoning it to steal an ambulance and lead the police on a classic car chase full of crashes and collisions before finally being taken into custody and then transported to the hospital, along with several others injured in his wake.

Clearly, somebody's seen too many movies-- because? 

That is not how the Arlington Alerts roll.

Disconnected

I didn't even notice I was light in the pockets until half an hour or so after I got home. Then, wondering where I had set my phone, I tried to buzz it with my watch, and that's when I discovered that I did not have my phone.

Oh, I knew where it was. 

I had spent a lovely evening at Bill and Emily's for a family birthday dinner, and I had deliberately set my phone aside so that I could focus on the people rather than the device. In general, I don't think I'm too bad when it comes to staring at a screen instead of the face in front of me, but I know the allure of easy answers and photo illustrations can arise in almost every conversation, and so I put my phone down.

And I was very good! I participated in conversations and never looked at my phone once-- even when it was time to go home.

What is in Word?

To me, the word "binge" is negative; it implies unhealthy consumption and a lack of self-control. So when folks started talking about "binge-watching" TV shows, all I could picture was pale people with sunken eyes sprawled in the glow of a screen in a darkened room surrounded by empty soda cans, chip bags, and pizza boxes.

Turns out, binge-watching can also mean dedicating your viewing to a single show, which, after the stay-at-home months of 2020, makes quite a bit of sense to me. Then, we watched shows we had never seen for a couple of hours each night, from the first episode to the last. Since not much new content was being released, each show was our entire viewing experience for the weeks, or months, it took to watch it in its entirety.

I still remember those days in terms of what we watched. Spring and summer of 2020 was Once Upon a Time, late summer was Heart of Dixie, fall and early winter was Revenge, followed by The Resident because, well, Emily Van Camp. And our viewing habits have evolved to pretty much be one show at a time, with the exception of a few network shows, mostly reality format, or new episodes of shows we have binged and caught up with, and the occasional movie.

There is an instant gratification, to be sure, in being able to punch a single button on the remote and find out what happens next. Gone are the days of waiting a week, or even the whole summer to find out who shot JR or what would happen with Ross and Rachel. But gone, too, is the shared experience of waiting and then watching together with family and friends, and knowing that a lot of other people, across the country or even the world, were watching, too.

Self-Advocacy

I get it. Small businesses depend on getting butts in seats and keeping them there. Which is why I was willing to wait 40 minutes without complaint at our local nail salon. It didn't seem that busy when we entered, and they brought us to our chairs as soon as we chose our polish. 

But. 

We waited without explanation for over 30 minutes as all the technicians worked on other customers. And it was without a word that one of them twisted the water on in our basins and gestured for us to put our feet in. There was nothing added, and she turned the water off on her way back to the manicure she was working on. 

"Should we just leave?" Heidi finally asked a few minutes later. 

I sighed. I knew Heidi wanted her toenails done before she left for the beach, and it was hard to let go of the time we had already waited without getting service. "Let's give them 5 more minutes," I suggested. 

Within two, a technician came and began working on Heidi's toenails, and I felt optimistic. A few seconds later, they brought another customer back and sat her next to me. She couldn't have been there more than 5 minutes before she loudly asked, "Who am I waiting for? They said they would take me right away up front."

All the employees stopped what they were doing and stared at her in alarm. "Soon, soon," one of them assured her, but that was it for me. I pulled my feet from the tepid water and slipped them back into my flip-flops. Heidi's toenails would be done, and mine could wait.

"I'm going grocery shopping," I told Heidi. "Text me when you're done."

As I stood up, several of the workers shook their heads. "No, no!" they told me.

"I'm finished!" one of the technicians promised. 

It was the first time anyone had spoken to me in 45 minutes. "Nope," I told them. "I've been waiting too long! Maybe next time," I shrugged and I strode out of the salon, feeling liberated.

Oh, they tried to explain to Heidi that they had been unexpectedly busy, but the truth was this was the second time that this had happened. Back in June when my sister was in town, the three of us had gone for pedicures and had ended up waiting a long time. Then, I had been willing to believe it was a one-off and give the place another chance.

"Do you think you'll ever go there again?" Heidi asked later.

"I might go while you're at the beach," I said. "I kind of want to see if walking out made any difference."

Pro Tip

"You just have to show up at the court and play with whoever's there," Heidi's personal trainer advised her when she asked him about improving her pickleball game. 

So imagine our surprise on this glorious day when all our neighborhood courts were taken and we drove up the hill to the county rec center-- the first person we saw was Patrick, Heidi's trainer. There were plenty of open courts though, and so we played singles for a while, Patrick cheering on whoever was on the side closest to his own game.

A little after noon, though, the place almost emptied out, and we were just hitting lobs to each other, practicing shot placement and backhands when a dad and his two teenage daughters began playing a court away from us. The girls were good, and I wondered if they might become the Venus and Serena of pickleball when their dad asked us if we wanted to play doubles with his daughters. 

Kyra and Naomi handed us our asses for two games straight before their dad suggested we mix up the teams. It was closer then, but the girls carried their teams to victory. Even so, I felt like I was able to take my game up a bit.

"That was fun!" I told them as we knocked paddles at the end of the last game. "Thanks for playing us!"

Too bad Patrick wasn't there to see it!

An Abundance of Caution

It was breezy up on the pickleball court this afternoon, and hot, too-- we called it after a couple of games in 86-degree heat. Even so, we weren't prepared for it when Heidi's phone began to blow up; all of her water aerobics folks were abuzz about the tornado watch that had been issued for our area.

"Tell them you'll be at the pool if it's open," I advised.

"But they are sending me news articles and weather sites," she said with indecision. "And the Federal Government is closing at 3. Should we just call it right now?"

"You don't have to do anything; they'll close the pool if it's too dangerous."

"But they are predicted derecho force winds!" Just then, her phone dinged again. "The pool is closing at 5!" she reported.

"Well, that answers that," I shrugged and crossed my fingers that everyone was overreacting.

Incentive/Disincentive

I love using my smartwatch to track my activity. I have it synced to all sorts of activity and nutrition apps on my phone, too, to provide me with as much data as possible. Although I use the goal feature on several of those apps, I am not a fanatic about meeting the goals so much as I am about recording the relevant information, because you know what they say about data collection-- garbage in, garbage out. And I do like to know when I've bettered my past accomplishments; at my age, it's good to have reminders that there is still a chance to improve physically.

Last week we were half a mile or so into the holler on our way to the waterfall when our phone service dipped out. I wasn't concerned; I had downloaded the map of the Graveyard Fields hike onto my phone, and so I just switched from the internet to the saved file. 

A little while later it started to sprinkle and then rain in earnest, so we waited out a 10-minute cloudburst under a pine tree. By the time the storm rolled by, the stream was double its size, the trail was much muddier than when we started, and our feet were soaked when we made it back to the main loop. 

Even so, we pushed on to the second falls, and our dirty dog, Lucy, got cleaned up by taking a dip in the swimming hole at the top of the chute. A brief climb back up to the Blueridge Parkway brought us back to our car, and we turned back toward Ashville for a shower and dinner.

Somewhere along the line, my watch battery died, as it does more and more lately, especially when it's tracking my activity. It is an earlier model, though, and I understand what I have to put up with until I choose to replace it. 

But the next morning? I didn't understand what was happening after I fastened my watch to my wrist. All the activity indicators started going crazy, and there was a lot of dinging, too. When at last my device settled down, a few taps here and there failed to explain what the big deal was, so I reached for my phone. There I noticed that the trail app was still open, and having finally connected to wifi again, was giving me credit for hiking not only the 3-mile Graveyard Fields trail, but also the 39-mile drive home. 

Try as I might, I couldn't delete my 42-mile "accomplishment". So there's a garbage record I'm never going to beat.

Or will I?

For the Assist

I was feeling a little bored this afternoon, so I tapped open my bike share app to find myself a nearby ride. There was a well-charged e-bike about 10 minutes from here and so off I headed on foot. It was an ideal afternoon for such a pursuit, low 80s and sunny but breezy, so I headed west on the bike trail, and that pedal-assist made my 15-mile ride, well, a breeze.

I did feel a bit guilty as I trundled easily past many a bike without a motor, and I was glad when the serious bikers on the trail called out to let me know they were passing on my left, but in the end? An hour of steady pedaling is an hour of steady pedaling.

I just made it a bit farther than I might have otherwise.

Almost

"Wanna go to the movies?" I asked Heidi this afternoon.

We had already had the pleasure of playing pickleball with Bill and Emily for hours this morning, and Heidi was teaching water aerobics at 6:30, but the movies seemed like a perfect idea for a Friday afternoon in summer.

There was a showing of the new Mission Impossible that fit neatly with our plans for the rest of the day, so we just got our tickets and went to the movies. An act that four years ago might have seemed less than notable, was again today almost less than notable.

Almost.

Still Thinking

How strange to spend the earliest days of August windows open, a mild breeze wafting through the house! I nearly pinched myself-- the weather has been more like summers past spent in an oceanfront cottage in Maine, or in a cabin on an island in a little lake in Wisconsin, or even in a condo in Rochester, Minnesota. Going to bed without cranking the a/c dares me to dream of spending summers somewhere else.

But where?

(and what about those winters?)

Publicity Stunt

I'm not sure how I learned of the Frenchs Mustard-Skittles event, but when I did? I knew that our yellow-mustard-loving niece, Annabelle, was the target audience. 

Billed as a promotion for National Mustard Day on August 5th, Skittles and Frenchs chose three east coast cities to give away their bright yellow, limited edition mustard-flavored candies the week before the big day, August 5th. Those cities? Atlanta, Annabelle's home, DC, where many of her extended family live, and NYC, where she was born.

Unfortunately, we were leaving Atlanta the day before they were going to give away the special Skittles at Ponce City Market, right around the corner from my sister's house. Not to worry, though, Heidi and I headed downtown at 11 AM this morning for the 11-3 giveaway here in DC. Not gonna lie, the line stretching all the way around the block,  was daunting when we first drove by. And it took a minute for us to find parking, but when we did? We booked it the two and a half blocks to City Center Square to secure our place in line.

As we waited we admired the brightly painted vintage VW van and watched as those ahead of us tossed red and yellow bean bags at a target board for swag. The day was beautiful, too, low 80s with those big puffy clouds sailing through deep blue skies, and the mood of our fellow waiters was jolly. The guy behind us looked up the going price on eBay for the tiny bag of candy we were hoping to receive, and gleefully reported that there were several bidders above 50 bucks on the auctions he found.

It was fun to people watch-- notably the family of seven all dressed in mustard color t-shirts, but also the regular crowd of folks who might be there to shop at Tiffany and Gucci. About 30 minutes in, there was a rumble of disappointment, even as a celebrity chef arrived, posing for pictures with those a little farther ahead in line. A young woman with a bright yellow t-shirt and a sympathetic expression on her face began working the line to break the news that, according to their calculations, we wouldn't get any Skittles. Our consolation was a QR code that we could use to enter a drawing to win what we had already shown up to get.

Oh, the line held on for another 25-20 minutes, until the organizers announced that they were out of everything. Still a little loathe to lose our place in the line we had waited in for so long, we lingered, even as a couple in expensive suits walked by, loudly proclaiming how delicious the sweet and sour little yellow spheres were to all of us who would likely never know.

Crazy Odds, Part 3

 ...and we never saw a single white squirrel in Brevard.