Good-bye March

Today marks the end of the annual Slice of Challenge sponsored by the folks over at Two Writing Teachers. Participating in this month-long event back in 2009 got me started with daily writing, and even though I have kept it up on my own since then, I always look forward to March when other writers I know publish their thoughts and observations, too. The last post of the month is traditionally meant to be a reflection of the experience, so here's mine.

Not gonna lie, this year was something of a disappointment. Although my friend Mary wrote every day (yay, Mary!), none of the other members of my unofficial team participated. Oh, I get it. These are stressful times: everyone is busy, and many are overwhelmed. Finding the bandwidth to write is hard and not always worth it. I missed the camaraderie and connection, though, and I hope next year finds us all in a better place, ready to slice away.

As for me? I'll be here tomorrow.

Type Cast

We saw Mickey 17 today. Bong Joon Ho's latest offering is a satire about a four-and-a-half-year space journey and technology to "reprint" human beings from recycled biomatter after they have died and upload their consciousness, in order to make them "expendable." The title refers to the main character, Mickey,  who is on his 17th iteration after intentionally being exposed to radiation, nerve gas, hostile environments, viruses, vaccine trials, and other accidents by a corrupt organization, all in the name of colonizing a new planet and establishing a society based on their questionable values.

It's not a bad movie, and I wouldn't be surprised if we hear more about it as award season approaches. Like so many satires, the villains are cartoonish and one-dimensional, with a nod to current political figures, but the other characters are both comical and sympathetic, and by the end of the movie, they are well-developed and believable.

Rob Pattinson plays the title character, Mickey, and he delivers an engaging and thought-provoking performance as an expendable. He has had some relevant experience, though. After playing Edward Cullen in the Twilight saga and Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, the guy should have the themes of mortality, immortality, and humanity on lock.

The Saddest Sight I Never Saw

The tableau was heartbreaking: a female cardinal lay still on the driveway up to our complex while a male hopped around her in what could only be described as distress. Our route took us the other way, but once we were home, we couldn't leave the birds there. "I don't want him to see her flattened, or worse, injured himself," Heidi said, and I agreed.

We gathered a dustpan, a plastic bag, and birdseed and then headed back to the scene on our mission of mercy to move her out of traffic. As we rounded the turn in the drive, however, we saw that the birds were gone!

"How?" asked Heidi.

"She was probably just enjoying a dust bath on the warm pavement," I guessed, "and he thought it had gone on long enough!"

One Hundred Eighty Degrees

Because the famous cherry blossoms are at their peak, we planned to shoot downtown as soon as school was out this afternoon. The day was overcast with the possibility of light showers, so we hoped the crowds might be lighter than usual. The traffic was not lighter than expected, however; even though it was not yet 3:30, the bridge was extremely congested, and as we inched along, I spotted the entire eastern seaboard of license plates. 

We lucked out when we got down there, though, and found parking right away, and entered the stream of fellow blossom watchers. Although there were many, many people circling the Tidal Basin, we could still walk, mostly, and the scene was postcard perfect: the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial, and beautiful cherry trees in full bloom lining a Tidal Basin dotted with blue paddle boats.

As we were jostled about, I turned to Heidi and shrugged. "I guess it's good to come down here during the cherry blossoms every year, or so, to decide if it's worth the hassle," I said as I sidestepped to avoid photo bombing a family portrait.

She nodded. "What's the verdict?"

"Undecided," I sighed, stopping short to avoid running into a couple making out on the bridge. 

About halfway around, we looked into the oncoming stream and spotted a couple of familiar faces. One of the teachers from school and her husband had the same idea as we did, and we stopped to chat with them for a few minutes. "Don't you just love this?" our friend asked us. "All these people from all over the world speaking all these languages and we're all here for the same thing-- to enjoy these beautiful blossoms for the short time they last."

"Wow!" Heidi said. "You are so positive!" Then she laughed and added, "Things must look better coming from that direction!"

The Evolution of a Boob Tuber

Like many, my TV viewing habits have changed over the last decade or so. I grew up in the age of network television, where everyone had the same three choices of what to watch at any given time, and it seemed like most of us chose the same show. When I was very young, there weren't even any VCRs, so you watched what you watched and you missed what you missed until re-runs in the summer.

Over the years, television has evolved: first came cable channels, then the option to record shows, and finally, streaming shows on demand. Even so, for a while, my viewing habits were relatively conservative. I watched what was on or what I had chosen to record, usually week by week. I also focused primarily on new offerings, and it wasn't until the great shutdown of 2020 that binge-watching became a thing in our house.

But watching a whole show, even one with many seasons, all at once, quickly became our preference. Cliffhangers had no power over us anymore! We could find out right away what happened next, and the inconvenience of waiting for a week, or several months, or a year for new episodes caused us to avoid shows that were still in production.

Lately, though, that mindset has given way to a more hybrid approach, and there are actually several shows that we watch every week when they drop. My most recent favorite is Severance, which seems to be enjoying a moment. The last episode of Season 2 aired last week and left a lot of questions for faithful followers of the show. Since Season 3 isn't even in production yet, it's going to be a while until we get the answers.

Strangely enough? I'm kind of enjoying not knowing. I've taken the time to rewatch episodes and scenes, and there is a lot of fun speculation and cast commentary out there that offer new lenses through which to view the show. Slowing down and thinking about the writing and the acting has given me a greater appreciation for the entire production. 

And so my viewing habits are changing once more.

Sounding Board

Lucy and I ran into a neighbor and her dog a little while ago. As my big Lucy and her little Lucy sniffed each other to catch up, Betty and I had a few minutes to talk, too. "How do you like retirement so far?" she started. "Are you loving it or are you bored?"

"Um," I stalled before deciding to be honest. "I'm kind of bored. It's been a big adjustment."

Her face lit up. "I'm so glad to hear that! What a relief that someone else is feeling it too!"

We commiserated briefly about the high price of groceries, the uncertainty of social security, and the dearth of part-time employment and volunteer opportunities in our area. "I've seen a lot written lately about retirement," I told her. "Not surprisingly, we're not alone in our discontent."

She shrugged. "I can see that."

"In fact," I laughed, "Just yesterday I read that you should never retire thinking it will be like a vacation until you figure out a plan, because that won't work."

She rolled her eyes. "Who has time to figure out a plan while you're working?"

"I know, right?" I agreed.

"I know I need to move away from here," she sighed, "but I'm not sure where that would be."

"I feel the same way," I said.

"Although I do have a niece who lives in Kentucky. Her husband's family owns a huge thoroughbred horse farm, and they are very involved in racing. And bourbon," she added with a laugh. "I'm thinking I should look into relocating near them."

"That sounds pretty nice!" I replied.

"It's a red state, though," she frowned.

"Blue governor, though!" I commented.

"And I love him!" she said thoughtfully. "I really think I'm going to do some serious planning to move to Kentucky!" She turned to go. "Great talking to you!"

"See you again soon," I said, glad that at least one of us had a little more direction than before.

In the Other Cart

"I'm sorry!" I said to my fellow grocery shopper as he stood gazing over the cart I had left behind for a minute at the shelf beyond. "Let me move that!" 

"Oh, you're fine," he told me. "It's not even in my way. I'm just nosy, and I was looking at what was in there.

"Oh!" I laughed as I rolled away. "I hope it was interesting!"

A little while later, I passed him again, and this time, he had his cart with him. It was literally half full of NY strip steaks—there was over a thousand dollars' worth of meat in there! I looked down at the oranges, fennel, potatoes, and olives in my own cart and thought how boring they were in comparison.

Exhibition Game

We share a quarter-season ticket plan with some of our neighbors, which this year included an exhibition game between the Nats and the Orioles. It was a bonus game, and no one else in the group was interested, so I texted my friend Mary, who is an Orioles fan, to ask if she wanted to go with me this afternoon. "Sure!" she agreed to take off early from school, "It will be like practicing for retirement!"

And as it turned out? It was. 

The weather was lousy, but we didn't care; we expected it to clear up by game time. There was a snafu with the parking pass, which I spent a frustrating hour dealing with before just reserving parking somewhere else; all fine. 

When we arrived, the park was nearly deserted due to the weather and the time of day on a Monday. Even so, we enjoyed rattling around like we owned the place, and all the employees were super cooperative and friendly. It was their opening day for the season, and their excitement was contagious. 

The game was delayed, but Nats radio was kicking, playing hits old and older, which I was only too happy to sing along to. Mary had a great ballpark hot dog before we ditched our drizzly seats on the field level for some dryer nose-bleeds under the eaves way up in section 405. 

We chatted, admired the view of the city and the Anacostia River, and watched the raindrops bounce off the tarp for an hour, scanning the field, the dugouts, and the bullpens for any activity that might give us a clue to the fate of the game. A little after 2, a guy dressed in red corduroys and a sportcoat approached us. We were two of the only three people in the section. "I think you're in my seat," he said, waving his phone. 

Against the odds, we were, so we moved on up a couple of rows. A minute later, we saw some Orioles dragging their equipment duffles from the bullpen and decided to go. We hadn't made it to the stairs before the announcer confirmed what we suspected: the game was canceled. 

"So that's retirement," I told Mary as we ambled down the ramp toward the exit. "Not always what you expect, but if you roll with it, it can be nice in its own way."

"I like it!" she said. "I'm in."

The Troll in the Bookstore

"I'm right here! Why don't you see me?" 

I heard the words as I browsed the discounted games at a local bookstore that was temporarily closing for renovation. I spied a young man with his back to me, his phone to his ear, looking out the huge plate glass window at the end of the aisle. We were on the second floor with a clear view of the plaza below.

Among the people enjoying the spring sunshine, a young woman, also on her phone, paced the promenade, craning her neck left and right in exasperation. I could not hear her side of the conversation, but I was sure she was who he was talking to.

"You are wearing your school sweater," the guy laughed. She looked down at herself and then sat in one of the Adirondack chairs. "Why are you just sitting there? " he taunted her. "I'm waiting for you!"

She stood and scanned the area again, never once looking up. Then, she turned on her heel and headed the other way.

"No! Wait!" said the guy. "I was just playing!"

She never broke her stride, but he took off for the escalator, and a minute later, I saw him tap her on the shoulder. I didn't need a phone to understand what she said when she turned. "Asshole!"

Get Outta Here

We heard them before we saw them.

Our walking route today took us about a block from a Tesla dealership. About a hundred protesters were jammed onto the narrow sidewalk in front, chanting and waving anti-DOGE signs at the busy intersection of a main road and a couple of off- and on-ramps for the interstate. A cheer rose up every time a passing motorist honked in agreement. 

As we turned the corner, a woman approached us from the other direction. "Were you at the protest?" she asked breathlessly.

"No," I told her. "We're just walking by. They seem to have a good crowd, though."

"Well, this cute dog looks like she might have an objection or two to Elon Musk's meddling in the federal government," she laughed as she leaned over to pet Lucy. "I heard the group is planning to demonstrate every week," she said as she turned to go. "They call it 'Tesla Tuesday'! Catchy, right?"

"Easy to remember, for sure," I agreed.

As we continued on our way, I thought about the history of that particular location. It had always seemed outlandish to me when they had replaced the long-time local seafood store with a high-end car dealership fifteen years ago. First, it was Maserati, but Tesla took over the site in 2021. Suffice it to say, I haven't had the occasion to patronize either business.

Elon Musk and his wicked ways aside, I wish they would bring back the fish!

What Always Follows

The day was deceptive: from the window, bright sunlight, blue skies, and blossoms suggested a mild warmth, but in reality, the breeze was chill, and the air cold enough to keep the temperature below 50. Even so, in my hoodie and sunglasses, the weather was fine, and walking the dog was a joy rather than a chore. 

As we meandered through the neighborhood, something about the sun's slant through the newly budding trees reminded me of so many Easter Sundays in the past, when we shivered in those nippy early spring mornings in our holiday finery, hunting for eggs and posing for pictures. Still, the cold didn't really matter back then, either.

Although we may have been surprised by the crispness of the day, the promise of warmer weather was always there.

A Prequel to What?

I read The Hunger Games shortly after it was released in 2008. Back then, reality TV was still in its early stages, and the dystopian premise of a show where kids fought to the death was darkly original. 

It's hard to remember how perceptive and novel Suzanne Collins's concept was because, since then, the book and movie franchises have become a part of our cultural fabric: the name is shorthand for any brutal, unfair competition, and the term tribute is widely recognizable as someone immorally sacrificed by the powers that be. 

In the 17 years since The Hunger Games was published, reality TV has also evolved into a cultural phenomenon; by some reckonings, 80% of American adults who watch TV watch at least one hour of reality TV per week. Many producers, cable stations, celebrities, and politicians (ahem) owe a considerable measure of their success to the genre. Arguably, its popularity also paved the way for people's willingness to share so much of their lives on social media.

Now Suzanne Collins is back with a new novel in the series. Sunrise on the Reaping is a prequel to the original trilogy and tells the story of Haymitch Abernathy and his experience in the 50th Hunger Games, 24 years before he mentors Katniss and Peeta. Despite its foregone conclusion, it's a really good book, in my opinion, almost equal to the first novel, which was my favorite.

I'll spare you any spoilers; what caught my attention was an almost toss-away line in a minor scene. Talking about editing footage for the broadcast, a character "sighs when he mentions the tools that were incapacitated and abolished in the past, ones deemed fated to destroy humanity because of their ability to replicate any scenario and any person, and in mere seconds." 

He's talking about deepfakes and AI, of course, and his words made me wonder just what we might be saying about those topics in 17 years.

Magical Gateway

At first, I thought I had gotten away with something. As I was leaving the parking lot of a big box store, the gate opened before I could even fish out my validated ticket. The relief I felt at not having to figure out where and which part of the ticket to scan was immense: those automatic gates can be so finicky, and a line of cars behind you waiting to exit the busy lot only makes the situation more stressful.

When I returned a few weeks later, I had my ticket handy, but I made certain to use the same gate. Sure enough, I was on my way out before I could even roll down my window, and I did a little happy dance in my seat. Curiosity made me try another gate the next time, mostly because it seemed so impossible for any machinery to read a parking ticket that was closed up in a car. But again, the barrier lifted as I approached.

The next phase of research would probably require not getting my ticket validated to see if they are just pretending to charge for parking, but that? Would entail being unprepared at the gate, and you know, that line of cars. So, for now my inquiry is on hold.

But whatever that technology is? I'm a fan!

2BR 1BA, Pets Encouraged

I ran into one of our long-time neighbors in the parking lot this afternoon.  She has lived across from us, off and on, for about ten years. "I heard you were moving," I said.

"We're out," she told me. "I'm just here to meet our renter." She must have noticed my slightly crestfallen expression because she hurriedly added, "He seems really nice!"

I nodded.

"And?" she continued, "he has a dog!"

"Well, I guess he'll fit right in, then!" I laughed.

Mysterious Matchbook

Lucy and I were walking on a well-traveled street in the neighborhood when we veered off the sidewalk so that she could have a sniff. I glanced down to avoid stepping in any messes and saw a matchbook at my feet. It was neatly closed and, despite recent rains, completely dry. But what drew me to pick it up for closer examination was the vintage typeface and the old telephone number.

Intrigued, I tucked it in my pocket and took it home to investigate. My first thought was that it was some sort of promotional facsimile, but nothing I could find confirmed that theory. Cook is a tiny town between the Iron Range and the Boundary Waters in Northern MN, and as far as I could determine, Cook Motor Sales went out of business in 1965 when the owner, Theophil "Phil" Parzyck, died. 

The telephone number is evidence that this matchbook is at least 17 years older than that, though, because in 1947, everyone in the lower 48 states and Canada got a ten-digit number with an area code as part of the Bell Telephone Company's "North America Numbering Plan."

To find out a little more, I searched for that old telephone number on Newspapers.com. In addition to a few ads for the car company, I found a couple classified notices listing bear cubs and wolf puppies for sale (!). It turns out that there were no regulations at the time about keeping wildlife as pets, so it seems to have been a side hustle to supplement the auto sales and repair.

My research did turn up a few of these same matchbooks for sale on eBay. Priced at $8.95 a piece, they were labeled "NOS," which evidently means "new old stock," an oxymoron for sure. The seller offered assurance that they were authentic and in new condition, so I figured there must have been a stash of them somewhere that was recently discovered. Even so? The vendor is in Oklahoma. 

So, how this particular matchbook made it to a sidewalk in Virginia is still a mystery, but what a history it holds! And it makes a good story, too. 

Now and Then

We live in a clapboard house, and one of our seasonal rituals is to place electric candles in each of the muntined windows when Daylight Savings Time ends in November. Seeing their cheerful glow in the early darkness always lightens my heart and is a harbinger of the warmth of home and the holiday spirits ahead. 

The advent of DST again in the spring is our signal to put those lights away until fall, and that's what I did today: carefully removing their batteries and placing them in a bin to go into the attic. As I completed this small chore, I remembered the promises the candles and their light seem to make each autumn, and it made me a little sad to see them go. I also wondered what the next eight months might bring and who I will be early next November when its time to get them down again. 

The windows were open as I worked, though. Yesterday's chill was replaced by soft spring air, warm and a bit muggy. I could hear birds twittering and tweeting as they hopped about their own tasks, readying for the longer days ahead, but fully present in the moment. I snapped the bin shut, slid it into its place in the attic, and headed out into this spring day.

No Surprises Here

Lately, the weather around here has been unusual for our area. 

Each morning has been cool and damp, and those conditions have lasted until mid-afternoon at which time the sun has gradually pushed through to provide a lovely late day. It has reminded me of the marine layers I experienced the few times I stayed on the coast in California, but I dismissed the notion since we live so far inland on the East Coast.

But, I was sitting by the fire I built late this morning because it was so cold and damp when I read that a marine layer forms when warm air moves over cooler water. And I remembered the chilly, gray weather we had circled the Tidal Basin in a few hours earlier as I continued reading that the result of that clash can be mist or fog, and temperatures within the layer are significantly lower than usual. It sure sounded marine layer-y to me.

Even so, I was surprised to confirm that our recent weather has indeed been the result of a large marine layer of clouds blown by stronger-than-usual onshore winds and expanding over the mid-Atlantic seaboard. The phenomenon was actually mentioned in passing by the Capital Weather Gang, like it's no big deal.

But I guess that's just how the weather is these days: we've all learned to expect the unexpected.

Repair Jobs

This morning, I took the car in for routine service and a state inspection. As usual with a seven-year-old vehicle, there was more to be done than I had expected, and I ended up sitting in the waiting room for 3 hours while the car got a rear brake job and a new battery, too. 

As I sat, I was privy to an extensive conversation between two septuagenarians wiling away the time while they, too, waited for their cars. Only a decade or so separated us in age, but unlike me and all the other patrons in the lounge, they were focused on another human being rather than a screen. The topics they covered were broad; besides car and car repair, they ranged from children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews to bingo, Thai food, local history, real estate sales, snow removal, divorce, careers, retirement, and health, the latter including old injuries, current arthritis, insurance, rehab, drug use, and treatments.

"They took a dead man's hip bone and made putty out of it, then they packed it around my spine, like a bulletproof vest to hold my neck up," one of them reported. "Then I was in rehab for a month. I worked hard to get out of there!"

The other nodded. "I went through a lot of physical therapy, too," she said. "And I'm just so glad to still be walking around."

Amen to that.

Come Again?

When I was a kid I had a host of words that to me were just reading words, words I had never heard in conversation and so had no idea about the correct pronunciation. Like many fluent readers, though, I just kind of skimmed over them: I could tell what they meant in context; I just didn't know exactly how they sounded. One that I recall was "indict." Of course, I had no clue that the c was silent. Colonel and epitome were also on the list, as were several names like Seamus, Joachim, and Hermione.

Now that I often listen to audiobooks, though, the situation is reversed, and I sometimes hear words or names that I am unsure of how to spell. For example, I just finished an Agatha Christie-style mystery by Ruth Ware called One by One. It takes place in a ski chalet in the French Alps, and the characters frequently mention backcountry skiing off-trail, but they call it something that sounds like "off piece." In addition to that, they are all English and use many British idioms, and I could not figure out what they were saying about skiing. It turns out the expression was "off piste," because piste is the French (and German and Italian) word for a groomed ski run.

There is one big difference between then and now, though. These days, you can just do an internet search for words and even hear pronunciations. Now that's a good use of technology!

Green Peace

Traffic was brutal when I set off to meet a friend at the National Arboretum this morning, and my map app predicted that the 8-mile journey would take 55 minutes. Thankfully, after a long stretch of bumper-to-bumper, things cleared a bit, and I made it to the visitors center in 45 minutes instead, pulling up right around 9:30. 

The day was clear and mild, but since not much was in bloom, the two of us and our dogs seemed to have all 446 acres to ourselves as we rambled first to the 22 Corinthian columns that were part of the U.S. Capitol from 1828-1958, then through the state trees and on over to the Asian collections. We spotted several juncos, nuthatches, and downy woodpeckers along the way, and then, down by the Anacostia River, we saw a bald eagle riding the early thermals way up in the sky. 

On our way back up the hill we found what I consider to be the coolest plant of the day, a flying dragon tree. This cold-hardy member of the citrus family looked for all the world like the shrubs surrounding Sleeping Beauty's castle.

Next, we made our way through the conifer collection and on down to an open field with an enormous tree stump sprawling like a little stage. Lucy took the opportunity to grab the spotlight and hopped up on her own for a photo op. 

From there it was past the pond where turtles were sunning themselves on every available surface above the water and down a wooded path where an eastern phoebe called her name over and over as we passed. Then we were back to the visitors center where we peeked through the windows into the bonsai greenhouse (no dogs allowed inside) before returning to our cars. 

After a couple of peaceful hours wandering through the gardens and forests I had almost forgotten about the traffic of the morning, but it was there waiting for me as drove through the gates and turned toward home.

I've Got It

I've always enjoyed doing puzzles of almost any sort: jigsaw, crossword, brain teasers, sudoku, and more recently, the NY Times suite of Wordle, Connections, and Strands. When I have time, I also like Worldle and Globle to sharpen my geography knowledge and Where Taken? to test my powers of observation and deduction. 

Retirement has made me even more aware of all the solving opportunities available; these days, a person could spend hours, if not all day, doing puzzles, and it can be so tempting, too. 

A finite problem with a definite solution? How refreshing is that!

Fasting and Feasting

When I was in graduate school, one of my professors mentioned in passing that it's always more powerful to tell students what you want them to do rather than what you don't. So instead of saying, "Don't be late," or "Don't forget the test tomorrow," it's more effective to say, "Be on time," or "Remember to study tonight." When I started teaching, I found his advice to be accurate, and that simple act of reframing has shaped most of my conversations since.

I read a Lenten meditation the other day by The Very Rev. Randolph Marshall Hollerith, a dean of the National Cathedral. In it, he cited a reflection adapted from We Dare to Say: Praying for Justice and Peace, eds. Sylvia Skrepichuk & Michel Cote, which includes a list of suggested fasts, a traditional practice for Lent, but also some corresponding feasts: attitudes, acts of devotion, or services that one might add for the season.

For example, readers are encouraged to fast from anger, feast on patience; to fast from bitterness, feast on forgiveness; and to fast from thoughts that weaken, feast on promises that inspire. The notion of abstaining from knee-jerk negativity and focusing instead on a reciprocal, positive action or attitude is as enlightening as my professor's counsel was all those years ago. 

Now, if I can just do it.

No Cursing Necessary

Even though retirement has proven to be more of an adjustment than I ever considered it might be, there have been many bright spots as well. The latest? Daylight Savings Time has no power over me. 

For years, I railed against the return of morning darkness just when dawn was finally breaking before it was time to rise. And I was utterly unmoved by any kind of optimistic "turn toward the light" and "here's to longer days and warmer weather" rhetoric. 

But now? Although I wouldn't go so far as to say I approve of such an arbitrary disruption in everyone's schedule, it doesn't bother me quite as much. I guess I can put away the candles instead of cursing the light.

C'est Moi!

"We're going to a party tonight," one of my neighbors told me as she, her husband, and I were walking the dogs this afternoon.

"You don't sound that excited about it," I noted. "How come?"

"We found out it's a theme party," her husband sighed.

"The theme is optional," she shrugged, "so we're going to skip it because we don't feel like dressing up."

"What is the theme?" I asked.

"It's dress as your favorite artist's favorite artist," she answered.

"What kind of artist?" I said.

"Unclear," her husband replied.

"Open to interpretation," she corrected.

"Well," I suggested, "I guess you could just figure out whose favorite artist you might be and go as yourself!"

That Old Thing

Josh and I were walking the dog the other day in a neighborhood not too far from here, although it is across a big street and up a hill. 

"I don't think I've ever been in this area before," Josh noted with some surprise, especially given the fact that he spent several weeks with us every year and lived with us while he was in college. He's pretty familiar with our locality.

"Oh, but you have!" I laughed, pointing up the street toward the high school. "You and I have walked this very street together before."

I had actually just been recalling the day 25 years before when five-year-old Josh and I were walking home from a swim meet that Heidi had been coaching at the high school pool. The early October day had started out cool in the morning, but by the time the contest was over and the sun was high in the achingly blue sky, Josh was too warm to wear the hoodie he'd had on. We'd tied it around his waist, but at some point, it had fallen off.

"Where's your sweatshirt?" I asked when I noticed it was missing.

He shrugged, and I looked back the way we had come, spying a navy blue heap on the street a couple of blocks back. "I see it!" I pointed. "Let's go get it."

He didn't budge. "Oh," he shuffled his feet. "My mom doesn't care about that sweatshirt," he told me. "We can just leave it." He started walking toward home.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "I think we should probably go get it," I said, but noting how tired he was, I added, "I can give you a piggyback ride to it."

"Do you remember that?" I asked him after I told him the story the other day.

"Not at all," he shook his head. "But I'm sure my mom appreciated getting the sweatshirt back!"

Same as it Ever Was

When our godson, Josh, was a little boy, we spent many summer afternoons munching popcorn in dark theaters, watching the epic stories of the Marvel Universe spool out before us on the big screen. Now that he's all grown up and working as a wilderness firefighter in California, those days seem very distant. But he's in town visiting this week, and when I asked him what he wanted to do on this cold, blustery March afternoon, he shrugged and said, "How about a movie?" 

And it just so happened that the latest Captain America saga was up at one of those fancy theaters where the seats not only recline but shake along to the action. They also have a full-service menu delivered right to your seat, including bottomless popcorn served in an actual bowl. We were the only ones in the enormous IMAX auditorium, and once I had my popcorn, I reclined my seat and settled back for the usual convoluted plotlines, special effects, crazy fist fights, and enormous explosions.

The movie could not disappoint, and for a couple of hours, it could have been any time at all.

Get Thee to a Gallery

Having out-of-town guests always gives me a chance to appreciate things I take for granted about my marvelous hometown. For example, ever since I retired, I've been meaning to take in more of our museums, but it hasn't happened quite as I envisioned it. So today, when Josh and I headed out to the National Portrait Gallery, I felt both a little local pride and some retirement satisfaction as well. 

My feelings were not misplaced: the hours we spent looking at the portraits of some of our notable countryfolk and reading about their accomplishments and failures were fun and informative, even though we barely made our way through a third of the museum. Noteworthy was the gallery of presidents, where you can clasp a cast of Lincoln's hands in your own, and Richard Nixon never looked so good as he does in his portrait by Norman Rockwell.

The recent acquisitions are usually my favorite exhibit, though, and today was no exception. Toni Morrison, Octavia Butler, and Beyonce lined the walls in the company of other remarkable Americans, most of them women, several rendered in non-traditional media like cut paper, quilted fabric, and video. The images were thrilling, and I left the gallery inspired and vowing to return soon.

Worthy Adversaries

It was super windy when Josh and I hit the pickleball court this afternoon, but it was also sunny and 60 degrees, so we figured we'd give it a go. Josh won the first game, even though he'd never played before, but he had the wind and 33 years at his back, so we switched sides and played again. 

"The wind really does make a difference!" he said in surprise after I easily won the first 4 points, and I felt a little better after skulking him to tie up the match.

"Let's try the other court," I suggested. "The person with the wind will also have the short baseline area to contend with. Maybe it will be more even?"

I lost that game by 4, and it would have been the match if we had not agreed to one more switch. The fourth and final showdown of the day was a little closer than the others, but the old lady pulled it out, and we agreed to end the competition in a draw.

Until tomorrow!

Puzzling

Back in December, we did an Advent jigsaw puzzle. The holiday image came in 24 numbered little boxes with 40 or so pieces, and it took us about 10 minutes a day to assemble each section. It was a fun Christmas activity, only slightly marred by the fact that Day 7 was missing a piece. 

When we discovered the deficiency, we blamed ourselves and searched everywhere the piece could possibly have been dropped, on day 7 and every day after. But when we finished the puzzle, the piece was still missing.

"This puzzle is worthless now!" I proclaimed. "We can't lend it or trade it or even give it away because nobody wants to do a puzzle that's missing a piece." It was then that I found that puzzles make very good tinder for building fires. They even give a bit of color to the flames as they burn, and it didn't take long for the puzzle to be reduced to ash.

I had completely forgotten the incident until today, when, sitting at the dining room table, I spotted a puzzle piece on the floor. It was flipped over, and the number 7 was clearly stamped on its back. I gasped and retrieved the last piece of the Advent puzzle.

Friends, I have cleaned this small house thoroughly many times since December and have never seen a trace of the puzzle piece. And yet there it was today, in plain sight, not three feet from the table and in a regularly trafficked area. 

And now I'm sorry I burned the other 999!

Red Carpet Ready

We are back in Southern Maryland for our annual family Oscar Party getaway. For the last dozen years, we have created our own long weekend around our love of movies and the pageantry of award shoes. Our destination varies, but it has to be within a couple hours of home and on the water. Fortunately for us, the Academy Awards are presented in the off-season, and so we can usually find a pretty nice place for a reasonable rate. 

The core attendees are me, my wife, my brother, and my sister-in-law, but there has only been one year when it was just the four of us. We're usually joined by one to four of our nephews, their girlfriends, or other friends. This year, we had one fly in from Reno, another from Nashville, as well as our local nephew. We were hoping for a visit from the nephew who is currently working in Iceland, but it just didn't work out.

Even so, the seven of us, with our three dogs, have had a fabulous time in our bayfront beach house. We've had the beach to ourselves, staying in a rental tucked between two houses we have rented a couple of times each in the past. The place is filled with memories of Oscar weekends past, which we've added to by cooking great meals, playing games, building a bonfire, star-gazing, and seeing the sights, and we still have the main event to look forward to. 

Back in 2018, we had this same crew plus a few extra, and on a day trip to Leonardtown, my wife and sister-in-law found some amazing leggings, both colorful and comfortable, and bought a few pairs each. Back at the house, the boys got a little silly, and somehow, everyone ended up in leggings for the party. At the end of the weekend? They all kept theirs, and they still talk about how crazy comfortable leggings are. 

In fact? They are actually in Leonardtown right now trying to track down a few more pairs to wear tonight. We wouldn't want to be underdressed, would we?

Well Spent

The wind was already picking up, and the sun was sinking when we pulled into the pay station at Point Lookout State Park. After fumbling with unfamiliar technology and three dollar bills, the entry gate lifted and we were on our way to where the Potomac meets the Chesapeake. 

There were a few scattered cars in the parking lot, but it seemed that we had the park to ourselves as we we walked on the rip-rap scanning the bay for migrating birds. A cold, steady wind blew from the north. "We only have to stay until we get our money's worth," I teased Emily and Treat. "Three people? That's a dollar each-- let me know when you've had your fill."

As we walked on a sandy path, I raised my binoculars and spotted some bufflehead ducks and a few coots floating on the choppy water. We meandered past the little lake and over to the Potomac side beach, combing the sand as we skirted the river. There were a few nice pieces of beach glass in my pocket when Treat found the speckled tail feathers of a solitary sandpiper. 

We agreed to turn back at the Civil War fort, and on our return, we gathered pine fascicles and juniper sprigs, attempting to identify their species as closely as we could. Right before we reached the parking lot a small dark bird flew past, alighting on the wire overhead. With my binoculars, I could see the brilliance of its blue plumage and its rusty breast as well-- it was a beautiful eastern bluebird, surely a sign of better times.

"I think I got my dollar's worth," I said as we climbed into the car and headed back to our warm beach house filled with family and the promise of another day of vacation to come.