I Got This

 It seemed like a good idea.

"What do you think about getting 10 pounds of blueberries?" I asked Heidi as I browsed the website of the dairy that delivers our milk and eggs.

"Is that a lot?" she reasonably asked in return.

I thought back to the days when my mom would take us blueberry picking in New Jersey. After a morning at the beach, the farm was on the way home. In my memory, we ate as many of those big fat Jersey blueberries as we picked. Even so, I also recall coming home holding several full containers in our laps.

Mom made blueberry jam, blueberry pie, blueberry muffins for the freezer, and she froze a bunch for later. I can still see all those indigo marbles bouncing all over the kitchen the time someone accidentally spilled the container. 

"It is kind of a lot," I admitted to Heidi, "but I think we can use them all."

But when they were delivered this morning, ten full pounds in a waxed half-peck box, I confess I had my doubts. That is, until I saw the printing on the side of the cardboard: Whalen Farms, Shamong, New Jersey.

A quick search showed me that this farm was on the edge of the Pine Barrens in South Jersey, between Long Beach Island State Park and our childhood home, the same area we used to go picking.  I tossed a handful into my mouth and my worries vanished.

Fashion Fight

I read recently that there is a battle of sorts between Millennials and Gen Zs over the appropriate length of socks. To be honest, I wasn't surprised about the sock thing, mostly because I noticed them creeping up the calves of the kids at school last year. Very few middle schoolers wear ankle socks with their Crocs, slides, or sneakers.

I was interested in the intergenerational drama, though. Now that they are the third generation, those Millenials seem to be getting what fer. First, Gen Z came for their skinny pants, a campaign that took a few battles and a pandemic to finally win, and now? Their ankle socks are under siege too. 

As usual, the rally cries from either side were anecdotal appeals to perception, just like the skinny jeans baggy jeans disagreement.

"Long socks make my legs seem longer," claimed a Gen Zer.

"Long socks make my legs seem shorter," countered a Millenial.

I'm kind of glad I'm out of it. As a member of an emeritus generation, I feel free to adopt whatever I like on my own timeline. (Although it is kind of gratifying to see Millenials get a little of the grief they generously gave us.)

Even so? Bottom line:

Trend buying makes my wallet feel lighter.

What We Wanted

Word today that Francine Pascal, creator of The Sweet Valley High series of books for teen readers, has died at the age of 93.

Back in 1993 when I first started teaching, my students had an independent reading requirement. They were supposed to read a minimum of 20 pages per day from a book of their choice, record their progress on a log,  and carry their book with them during the school day. It was not a perfect system, and of course, there was never 100 percent compliance, but in my experience, the expectation did help build a community of readers. 

I did weekly checks where students reported to the class what they were reading and whether they would recommend it, and there were a few really popular titles and series. Along with The Babysitter's Club and Goosebumps, Sweet Valley High was usually at the top of the most recommended list. The SVH tales were soapy but ultimately clean-cut, with a valuable lesson at the end. 

And? Kids read them.

Really?

It was a dreary day here in Atlanta, so after we dodged some rain showers to walk the dogs, we headed over to the Museum of Illusions. Heidi does a lot of lessons on the brain and perception, so many of the exhibits were of special interest to her, and teachers actually visit for free. The place also has QR code cards that you can set up and scan so that the installed cameras will snap you in any crazy optical illusion you choose.

The place was small and pretty popular on a Sunday afternoon, but as we made our way through, we and our fellow patrons were very good at taking turns at the interactive exhibits. An hour or so later, we were back out in the muggy Atlanta afternoon, but everyone agreed that the museum had been really fun. 

And for me and Heidi? The price was worth flipping for!

Sign Me Up

The thump thump of a bass line and the muffle of amplified lyrics pounding through the trees late this morning alerted us that something was going on in Piedmont Park. A little research revealed that it was the annual Atlanta Ice Cream Festival, "Sweet and Healthy Fun for Everyone!"

"Ice cream? Healthy?!" you may ask, and the answer is yes-- for this event, Atlanta combines ice cream and wellness. In addition to "everyone's favorite dessert," there were other non-food vendors, music, food prep demos, line dancing, and loads of other fitness and wellness activities, too.

Unfortunately, our schedule for the day did not allow us to attend the festival, but as contradictory as their concept may seem, the message that everything can be enjoyed in moderation and balance made perfect sense to me. "Satisfy your sweet tooth and learn more about maintaining a well-balanced lifestyle, all in one place!"

Now that's a slogan I can get behind!

Maybe I Will

We took a ride out to Annabelle's new school today. The year starts on August 5th, so she needed to pick up some uniform skirts and polos. While she tried on clothes with her mom, Heidi and I browsed the bookstore, shopping the spirit wear and school swag. Even though it was still summer, the store was doing brisk business, but despite the name of the establishment, the book inventory was minimal, and not a single one was sold in the time we were there.

Even so, (or perhaps therefore) it was kind of a festive vibe as kids from summer camp flooded in and out, noisily messing with the fidget display while waiting in line to buy cold drinks and snacks. I was charmed. "I like schools and kids," I said to Heidi. "Why did I retire, again?"

She rolled her eyes, perhaps considering the long hours, senseless politics, and other frustrations of the job. "Maybe you can just get a job at a school bookstore," she suggested.

Hmm. 

Mischief Managed

My sister had to work today, so Heidi and I decided to act like we were on vacation. 

First, we booked a pickleball court at the new indoor club and restaurant up the road, but then I realized I had made our reservation for tomorrow. "That will be something to look forward to!" we said, undeterred, and after taking the dogs for a walk in the park, we headed over to a new indoor mini-golf course and restaurant. 

The place was hopping, but we were able to reserve a tee time on one of the nine-hole courses. In addition to having four indoor courses, a full bar, and a pub-style menu, the place's gimmick is that each ball has a GPS locator in it, so your score is automatically calculated and displayed on the screen at each hole. Our games were really fun, and the customer service was excellent; everyone was friendly and helpful. 

After a couple of rounds, we made our way next door to a French bakery, where we split a Napoleon before starting toward our final destination, a shopping stop to get some things I forgot: a bathing suit and a couple of games. Then it was back home, having had a fun day and well-prepared for another one tomorrow.

All Roads

I'm always kind of excited when the map app suggests a different route for a familiar trip, so I was intrigued this morning as we headed down to Atlanta that the app was directing us to take I-95 instead of the usual I-85, as long as we were willing to risk flooding?! Even so, I was sure by the time we made it to Richmond, that old map would adjust and send us on our usual way, but the algorithm insisted that I-95 was best, and I obeyed.

And to be honest, the ETA was steady and comparable right until we and a massive storm system hit South Carolina at the same time. From there, although there were no floods, thank the Lord, our average speed was about 50 mph as we drove through torrential downpours, and the app did that maddening thing of adding time and more time to our estimated arrival. In the end, we were an hour longer than usual.

Despite all that, it was not a horrendous trip: the route was novel, the snacks were good, the company was excellent, and the destination? 

Worth every minute on the road.

Special Order

My hash browns this morning were the best yet since our breakfast club started meeting in June. Shredded potatoes were served in an oblong, crisp on the outside and tender within. Even so, I gave my breakfast only 4.5 out of 5 stars because they weren't quite crispy enough. 

Mary's pancakes weren't quite fluffy enough, either, but Heidi loved her BLT. "The bacon was cooked perfectly!" she reported, "not a single chewy spot." 

Perhaps the difference was that she had asked for her bacon to be extra crisp, although that hadn't necessarily done the trick elsewhere. As we discussed our breakfasts, I considered her request, and it occurred to me that I could order my potatoes extra crispy, too. I'm going to try that next time.

Unfortunately? Just asking won't make the pancakes any fluffier.

Not So Much Anymore

I remember a time when muggy summer days with temperatures in the mid to high 80s seemed unbearable. Stepping outside was like being wrapped in a tepid, soggy compress, along with an instant headache from the hazy sun in your eyes and the cicadas screaming in the trees. All the pools were like bath water, so the only relief was to draw the curtains, crank the a/c, lie on the couch, and watch movies on HBO in the darkened TV room, praying for a thunderstorm.  But even if it did rain, there was still too much moisture in the atmosphere for any nighttime relief, so the whole ordeal was on repeat until a front swept through, delivering cooler, dryer air.

But after the heatwave a couple of weeks ago? 

Days like those seem downright pleasant.

86 and Muggy? Yes, Please!

Update

Lately, my go-to breakfast has been one I thought I created myself: a slice of homemade sourdough toast, a smear of burrata, and a pile of local peach slices topped with just a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar. The invention is heavenly; each bite tastes like summer itself. 

This morning, as I prepared my usual meal, I realized that the dish was just a slightly elevated version of a classic sandwich my mom made for us when we were kids. Hers was cream cheese on white bread with peach jam made from fruit we had picked ourselves at a nearby orchard. 

Good stuff then, good stuff now.

Members of the Club

When the steady rain tapered to a drizzle this afternoon, we leashed up Lucy and set off for a loop around the neighborhood, with a stop at the garden. At the top of Superman Hill, we heard the far-off electronic strains of Pop Goes the Weasel, and we knew the ice cream truck was near. Of course, the four little girls in bathing suits dashing down a nearby driveway to wait excitedly on the curb only confirmed our observation. 

I was smiling when the big white van pulled up to serve anycomers, and when I looked up, I saw a young man hurrying over to join the crowd. He paused, and I did, too; there was something familiar about his eyes. "Do I know you?" I pointed.

It was only then I registered his shirt. A faded dolphin jumped from the waves above the words Dolphin Team 2018-19. "Weren't you my English teacher?" he said.

"Yeah!" I answered. "I can't believe you're still wearing that shirt!" 

"I know," he agreed. "I can't believe it still fits!"

In truth, the shirt was a little tight over his chest and biceps, but not necessarily in a bad way, and I was touched that he wore it at all, five years after sixth grade.

It still looks good!" I told him. "Enjoy your ice cream."

Gotta Get Down on Friday

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?" Heidi asked our neighbor this morning.

"Not really," he shrugged. "We are going to Costco this evening, though." He seemed genuinely excited, more than your typical mid-30s guy he was.

"That's always fun," I laughed.

"I like to call it 'clubbing'," he joked. "To be honest, it's as close to any club as we've been in a while."

"That's funny," I said. "Do you remember it used to actually be called Price Club before it was Costco?"

He shook his head. "I never heard that before."

"Well," I told him, "the history only adds to your experience. You're going price clubbing tonight!"

I'm Calling It

Okay, look. 

Yesterday, President Biden called Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin "the Black man" during an interview with BET.

No way that guy will stay in the race.

Macro Economics

We have been taking advantage of summer by increasing our workouts. In addition to yoga in the morning (me), personal training sessions three times a week (Heidi), and a daily trip to the pool to swim and tread water, we have been doing cardio at the gym and playing pickleball. As a result?

I am tired and

starving!

Nothing we EVER have in our house is what I want to eat, either, so I end up being cranky every afternoon. 

Today, I tossed aside the book I was reading and stomped into the kitchen. Finding the usual nothing, I decided to go to the grocery, ostensibly to shop for dinner. "Maybe you can look at snacks while you're there," Heidi suggested as I practically stormed out the door.

At the store, I was drawn to lunch meat, cooked seafood, and cheese, so I filled my handbasket with an assortment of those items, none of which were on my list. Back home, I made an announcement: 

"I think I need more protein!" 

And once I gobbled down a little grilled chicken? I felt much better.

Not What I Have in Mind

"How are you enjoying retirement?" a neighbor asked me yesterday. We were on our way to the farmers market, and she was walking her dogs.

I shrugged. "It just feels like summer so far," I laughed. "How's yours going?" I asked, knowing that she had retired about a year ago.

"My definition of 'accomplishment' has definitely changed," she reported. "I used to be go-go-go, busy all day, and now I'm happy when I unload the dishwasher," she sighed.

My eyes widened, and she nodded. "Anyway, enjoy!" She waved and continued walking.

Just a Number

Back when Treat was three, and his older brother was six, he hatched a plan to become the senior sibling simply by saying so. When anyone asked the adorable toddler how old he was, he would answer, "I'm seven."

In the inevitable confusion his response caused, my brother taught him to add, "Technically, I'm three, but I'm really seven."

Treat turned 29 a few days ago, but he told us he considers himself 30, a notion which has something to do with realizing a couple of years ago that 27 was not really mid-, but rather late-twenties. He does, however, plan to be 30 for a couple of years or so, or at least until "mid-thirties" is unquestionably accurate.

Because, honestly? Who cares?

Live and Learn

This morning, I picked up my iced coffee from the side table next to my chair and took a sip. As I drank, a bead of condensation from the cup dripped onto my leg, sparkling in the morning sunshine as it fell. In a flash, our cat Tibby was on it: she leaped up from her spot on the rug and dashed over. But when her nose touched the cold droplet running down my shin, she jumped straight up and backward, eyes wide. 

Not sure what she expected, but it wasn't a wet nose.

Keys

I.

"I don't know whose key this is," my mom told me some years ago, producing a cute little monkey-headed housekey from her purse.

"It's got to be Courtney's," I replied. "Who else do you know who would give you a monkey key?" 

"I think you're right," she said.

II.

"What is this?" gasped one of the 7th grade boys who came to my room every morning. 

"Oh, it's my new--" I started.

"I touched it first!" said his buddy, grabbing my key ring from my desk. "I touched the monkey key first!"

III.

"I can't find my house key," Heidi sighed. "I need a new one."

"How did you even lose it?" I scoffed.

"YOU told me to keep it separate from my car key in case I need to give them to the service station," she fired back, "and it must have slipped off the carabiner."

IV.

"You should get a monkey key," I told Heidi as we stood in the hardware store, considering our options. You'll love it! It's so cute and it springs to your hand when it's time to unlock the door!It is also a very substantial key—so easy to find on your ring!"

"I want the dog paw," she answered.

"That's good, too," I shrugged.

Just the Ticket

This rainy day seemed to give us permission to relax in our pajamas this morning, go to the gym after lunch, and grab a movie this afternoon. With all our errands run yesterday, what a relief it was not to worry about watering the plants or the garden or taking a long, hot walk with the dog. Oh, the heatwave will be back in a day or two, but until then? We'll enjoy this respite.

A Paucity of Pandan Paste

The photo in the food section made me do it.

The crisp Bundt cake with a bright green interior caught my eye. Then the recipe featuring tapioca starch, rice flour, and pandan paste, an ingredient I had never heard of before that not only made the cake green but reportedly tasted like jasmine, vanilla, citrus, and toasted rice, sealed the deal. 

I've been cooking for a long time, and it's not often anymore that I encounter unfamiliar ingredients or techniques. So, a trip to the Asian market was added to our list of errands, and off we went.

But this pandan paste turned out to be somewhat elusive. Knowing the market is always helpful when shopping for atypical ingredients, but since my usual Asian market closed a few years ago, I haven't found a regular replacement. It also didn't help that I didn't know exactly what I was looking for. Even so, I was sure someone in the huge specialty grocery store would help me. 

Upon investigation, I discovered that most of the employees were not Asian and were as unfamiliar with the layout as I was. Eventually, I found a can of pandam leaf extract, which sounded pretty liquid and not pasty at all when I gave it a shake. I added it to my handbasket anyhow, along with my starches and coconut milk. 

At home, I enjoyed the novel mixing technique of sifting and sieving all the ingredients back and forth between two bowls several times, although I was disappointed by the lack of flavor and color of my pandan juice. My cake looked as vanilla and tasted as coconut as could be.

No worries, though. I modified the recipe to make a tiny cake, one-third the size of the one that caught my eye, and when my mail-order pandan paste arrives? 

I will give it another go.

(Not my cake. Yet!)

Uncool

A couple friends stopped by to check in on Lucy after her surgery. The excision of the nasty cyst on her back had gone very well, and she groggily accepted their concern and promptly fell asleep. The four of us sat around chatting, which seemed an odd thing to do on a Wednesday afternoon, but hello summer, and hello retirement; I guess I could get used to such things.

Of course, our conversation turned to the weather, what with this punishing, interminable heatwave. I wished aloud that the possible thunderstorms that were predicted would bucket down, and sooner rather than later. Someone else mentioned the rain that *could* fall on Friday and perhaps cool us down a bit. "Then it might be, what? In the 80s?" she sighed and rolled her eyes.. "And we'll probably feel like it's fall or something."

I didn't even tell her what I had noticed yesterday when I stopped into one of those bargain clothes and home goods places.

What Are the Options?

"You're so weird," Heidi sighed as I raised my arms and did a little victory jig. I was celebrating the fact that my badge still worked to open the doors at school. "Why do you even care?"

"I just don't like the feeling of being excluded," I said as we walked into the office and waved at the principal. "You can't get rid of me!" I laughed when she waved back.

"We don't want to!" she said. "You're always welcome! 

That made me feel even better.

"But I'm sure you're going to have better things to do than hang around here," she continued.

I know she's right, but I'm just not quite certain about those better things yet.

Point Taken

"How about a movie?" I asked Heidi.

It was noon, and it felt like we were well into the day. Both of us had risen at 5:30, Heidi to go with Lucy and their walking buddies, and I to do my yoga and meditation live at 6 am. Then Heidi met her personal trainer at 7:15, and I pumped up the flat tire and took the Subaru to the body shop to have the dented door repaired. After those appointments, we met our friend Mary for breakfast.

Back at home, we agreed to see Inside Out 2 and walked down to our local theater for a 12:45 show. If you've read anything about the film, then you know there is literally a lot of Anxiety in it, perhaps more Anxiety than Joy, and I found it a stressful story to watch. 

Which was totally the point, I know.

Radiant Energy

The water at the pool was not quite as refreshing today as it has been the last few days. "I felt like I needed a bar of soap in there," one neighbor told us as he toweled off. We nodded and sighed in solidarity.

It looks like the heatwave has finally caught up with our 15,000 gallons, and it's going to be a long summer.

Hot and Sticky

Then there was that time your a/c stopped working in the middle of a terrible heatwave. You did your best not to panic, even though it was Saturday of a holiday weekend, and your HVAC guy, a nice fellow with a small business, was closed until Monday and wasn't answering his emergency line either. 

So you left a message and went to the pool, hoping that shutting the cooling system off for a while and then flipping the circuit breaker (like your HVAC guy always suggests) would do the trick when you got back. But upon your return, the indoor temperature was climbing, and no amount of flipping or button-pushing seemed to work. 

So, you went out to examine the recalcitrant unit yourself. It was silent, but then you heard that click and whine that usually means the fan is going to start spinning-- only it didn't. And you looked around frantically for a stick, miraculously finding one (the only stick out there) of the perfect length and diameter. Then you stuck it through the grate and gave those blades a little push, like an old aviator cranking the propeller on her plane. 

And lo! It worked. And the unit began to run.

For now.

A Classic Summer Day

Yesterday, we changed from our pajamas into our bathing suits and wore them for the rest of the day. We went swimming, dried off, swam some more, pulled on ball caps, tank tops, and shorts to go run errands, and then came back and jumped back in the water. We were a little sunburnt when rumbles of an early evening thunderstorm finally kept us out of the creek for good, and we ate dinner fresh out of the shower, some of us with wet hair.

As the darkness gathered, it was still drizzling; otherwise, I might just have run out into the yard to catch fireflies. As it was, we ate pie and ice cream and then went upstairs to our too-hot bedrooms and fell asleep anyway, under just the sheet.

Paddlin'

To beat the heat this afternoon, we decided to try out those stand-up paddle boards that came with our vacation rental. They were pulled up into the woods above the little sandy beach about a quarter mile from the house, so we hiked over there, launched them, and sit-paddled around the point to our calm little cove where we could perfect our stand-up technique. 

The dogs were, of course, thrilled, especially Rosie, who never left the water once the SUPs arrived. Lucy must have remembered her brief kayaking excursions on Lake Champlain three summers ago because she waded into the water and stepped aboard as soon as I drew near enough. For the most part, she was a good passenger, sitting tall and still and leaning on my legs when I stood. We did have a few capsizes, but they were mainly because the other dogs distracted one or the other of us. 

We were able to paddle over to get a close look at a heron and a rail as they waded on the shore, and Lucy appreciated that, especially when the heron squawked raucously and flew away. After a couple of hours, we paddled back around to the beach, with Lucy as a lookout the whole way. "We like your dog!" shouted the kids on the dock across the cove as we paddled by.

"Thanks!" I shouted back. "I like her, too!"

Swimmin'

Lucy took off barking after something on the creek as we sat on the shady back patio this morning. Closer examination revealed a blue heron wading about 20 feet away, utterly unthreatened by the three dogs paddling its way. Once they got closer, the prehistoric bird spread its wings once, and the dogs did a U-turn, returning to us.

Despite predictions otherwise, the weather has stayed cool, breezy, and fair for July in this part of the world, and that encounter was enough to convince me to put on my suit and jump off the end of the dock. Lucy was at first very perturbed, whining her away around the perimeter of the deck. Once Bill jumped in, too, she could no longer stay up there, and she flung herself into the creek and swam around, making sure we weren't drowning, before she returned to the shore.

Soon, Heidi and Emily were in the water, too, and at one point, all seven of us were splashing and floating in the salty water. A couple of herons swooped by every now and then, maybe annoyed that we were disturbing their fishing or maybe congratulating us for such a good idea.

Crabbin'

"Look! There's a little crab!" Emily pointed as we explored the dock of our vacation rental yesterday. We are in Kilmarnock, on the Northern Neck of Virginia, staying at the "beach house" on the property of a cidery. 

Everything has conspired so far to make this a nearly perfect vacation. The dogs can run free without fear of cars, and the house is newly renovated with a fabulous view. The weather has been uncharacteristically gorgeous for July in Virginia. We have SUPs and kayaks we can use to explore Dividing Creek, the Rappahannock River, and the Chesapeake Bay beyond. And then? There are those crabs.

When we were in our late teens and early twenties, my brother, sister, and I lived in Virginia Beach. Gary, an old friend of the family who lived there, too, taught us how to crab with a string, a sinker, a chicken neck, and a net. We spent many afternoons up to our waists in the back bay by the boat launch at Seashore State Park, tossing out chicken necks, waiting for a little tug on the line, gently pulling it in, and then scooping the crabs up with a net.

Today, after exploring the town, we bought ourselves some crab lines, chicken legs, and a net before heading back to the house. "Make sure you have a jar of peanut butter," laughed the property owner, "if you expect to feed yourselves on the crabs down there!"

But almost immediately after dropping the first baited line from the dock, I pulled up a little Sally, but she was way below the 5-inch limit. As we crabbed, the dogs were mesmerized: watching us tossing chicken into the water and retrieving these scuttling, prehistoric creatures with snapping claws seemed almost more than they could fathom. 

In the end? We caught three unfortunate six-inch jimmies, which I steamed with our shrimp dinner. It was a small catch, but we have more chicken legs and there's always tomorrow.

Slow Down

I didn't realize how much I had been dreading this day. 

The arrival of July 1, 2024, means I am officially retired from Arlington Public Schools. Colleagues who have retired before me warned that I would lose access to everything in my school drives and email, essentially my life's work, and I have taken time to copy and download anything I could. 

Still, when I got up this morning, I wondered what it would be like to try to log in and be rejected and excluded from an organization I had been part of for half my life. Even more than that, losing those documents, files, and correspondence seemed like an intellectual property issue, and I was considering approaching the union about it.

But it didn't happen! For now, I can still access my school email, my old Canvas courses, my Google Drive, and my PD portal. I have been removed from some functions and groups, so those privileges don't seem accidental. 

Everything about retirement so far has seemed like letting go of things, and as anxious as I am to start moving toward something new, it's really hard to give up so much so fast. Luckily? Fortune has pumped the brakes a little today.