Check, Check, Check

Even though retired me can usually take care of all the errands during the week while Heidi is at work, there are times when we both miss our old weekend routine of heading out together with a list of stops to make and chores to check off. Today was a Saturday like that. 

The day dawned damp and gray, and Lucy had a grooming appointment at 10, so it seemed like a good idea to drop her off and start our to-do list. First up was the library, where I had some holds to pick up, and Heidi needed to renew her card. Then we were off to the car wash to scrub all the crow poop from the car. (But that's another post!)

Our next stop was the pet supply center for food and treats for our dog and cats, although we lingered at the birds, reptiles, and fish, wondering if there might be a place in our home for one (or a dozen) of them. And we were just on our way to pick up an order in town when we got the call that Lucy was ready, so we swung by to collect her before crossing the river into the city.

A little while later, we were on our way home, feeling neither rushed nor harried, but rather quite satisfied at all we had accomplished together.

Why take on just one challenge when you can tackle two? This month, I'm using the Action for Happiness Mindful March calendar as a daily prompt for living and writing. 

At a Pup's Pace

Walking the dog can be a delicate balance of pace. While I want to get out for a little brisk exercise, she wants to take her time and enjoy all the scents along the way. I'm all for stopping to smell the roses (occasionally), but must we also pause for every light post, fire hydrant, and even the weird frogs on a neighbor's stoop? 

I also understand that sniffing is a dog's version of social media, just as stooping for a quick pee afterwards is the equivalent of a like. But two miles an hour? Is too slow. 

I will concede this, though: considering all the dog poop my negligent neighbors have left in the aftermath of the snow, my dog never even comes close to stepping in it. 

I wish I could say the same for myself.

Why take on just one challenge when you can tackle two? This month, I'm using the Action for Happiness Mindful March calendar as a daily prompt for living and writing. 

Mwah!

In the summer of 2006, I participated in the Northern Virginia Writing Project Summer Institute. Spending three weeks learning and writing with teachers from all over Northern Virginia was a career-changing experience.  

An essential part of the institute was putting all of us into writing groups, and three afternoons a week, we met with four of our peers to share writing, receive feedback, and offer suggestions. So, not only was I immersed in pedagogy and literacy, but I was forced to become, in practice, the teacher-writer I knew I should be.

Three big things came out of that summer: 

1) I recentered my middle school ELA class on writing. 

2) I collaborated with a colleague to use our district's LMS (Blackboard) to build a virtual writing community shared by students in two different schools (remember, this was September 2006, the exact same month Facebook launched). 

3) Three teacher friends and I formed a writing group with the intention to meet regularly, enjoy a nice dinner, and share our writing.

Twenty years on, I'm retired, but I'd like to think I left a bit of a legacy at my school. Students there still participate in the 100 Day Writing Challenge I created after completing this very SOLSC in 2009. As for Write Here, Write Now, the virtual writing community we built back then, if we could have captured that lightning in a bottle, I might be writing to you from my seaside estate in some exotic location.

But my writing group? Continues on! And it is those friends, Ellen, Leah, and Mary, whom I am thinking of today. I love you all!

Why tackle just one challenge when you can take on two? This month, I'm using the Action for Happiness Mindful March calendar as a daily prompt for action and writing. 

Bedside Manner

Another plus to retirement is that I finally feel like I have the time to schedule, not to mention attend, all those health check-ups my primary care provider recommends. I've always been good about the basics: dentist, annual physical, and mammogram, but some of the others often slipped through the cracks in my calendar. 

Recently, I was at a new dermatologist for an annual skin check. "How long has it been since your last screening?" she asked.

"It's been a few years," I admitted.

"I don't mean to scold," she started mildly, "but--"

"Go ahead and let me have it!" I interrupted with a laugh. "I deserve it!"

"Generally, we try not to lecture," she replied, "because we do want you to come back. Every year." She looked at me kindly but pointedly. "No one likes to feel judged."

She was right! And in the name of convenience and self-care, I scheduled my appointment for next year on my way out.

Why tackle just one challenge when you can take on two? This month, I'm using the Action for Happiness Mindful March calendar as a daily prompt for action and writing. 

I ❤️ Tuesdays

Many years ago, after the principal of our school retired, everyone always commented on how great she looked whenever we saw her. "You have to stay busy!" she would advise us with a relaxed smile. "I have all my bags lined up by the door. Monday is tennis; Tuesday is bowling; Thursday is golf, and I have my church and my family, too."

It just so happens that Tuesday is my bowling day, now, too. Thanks to her, I've joined a women's league with many former school employees. On the thirty Tuesdays of the season, we meet at a local bowling center at 10 a.m. (which seems like such a civilized start time to me!) and, with our team of three, bowl three games against another of the ten teams in the league. The game meets you where you are, and despite the league's average age being around 75 years old, it's very competitive and really fun. 

I once took an eight-week rowing class on the Potomac River. "How many of you are here to get in shape?" asked the instructor on the first morning. Lots of us raised our hands. "What you need to understand," he continued, "is that you row because you love it. Crew doesn't get you in shape, you have to get in shape for crew." He had a point, and although I liked rowing? I didn't love it, and after those eight weeks, I found other ways to work out. 

I do love bowling, though! And knowing that lifting, squatting, lunging, and ab work might improve my average is a great motivator for working out these days.

Why tackle just one challenge when you can take on two? This month, I'm using the Action for Happiness Mindful March calendar as a daily prompt for action and writing. 

Gray's Anatomy

The book I'm reading, 33 Place Brugman, by Alice Austen, tells the story of WWII and the occupation of Belgium through the voices of the residents of the apartment building at the eponymous address in Brussels.  The story is full of heroes, villains, philosophers, and artists, and explores how the horrors of war test one's humanity. 

One of the characters I find most engaging is Charlotte Sauvin, a college student living with her architect father. Charlotte is colorblind, but fundamentally artistic; her colorblindness is not a shortcoming but rather shapes her perspective and finely shades her observations. 

Many of the other characters spend time wondering how Charlotte sees what they are seeing; some wish she could see it the way they do, but Charlotte herself never wonders what the world looks like beyond her ability to see it. Why should she? There is beauty in her perception.

I thought of Charlotte on this bleak March day. The leaden sky, bare branches, and congregations of crows could be considered dreary. But they also create a dreamy monochrome; walking the dog is like being inside a black-and-white photograph. The unrelenting gray tones offer no promise of spring, yet they are beautiful on their own, independent of yesterday's holly in the bright snow or tomorrow's daffodils blooming in the first green grass.

Why do one challenge when you can do two? This month, I'm using the Action for Happiness Mindful March calendar as a daily prompt for action and writing. 

My Agenda

When I retired a couple of years ago, finding a new structure for my days was one of the hardest parts of leaving the classroom. When you're a teacher, a bell literally rings to tell you when it's time for your next commitment on a schedule that was set by someone else. After thirty-plus years of that, I found myself at loose ends when it was up to me to fill my days.

But now, halfway through my second year of retirement, I feel like I'm finally settling into it. With time for lunches and more dinners out with friends, as well as my bowling league, subbing at my former school, and a consulting job as a teacher coach, my calendar seems more full than ever. 

As much as I'm enjoying the variety and flexibility of my new life, juggling all those activities and keeping my own schedule has been tougher than I imagined. The calendar on my phone used to be little more than a novelty, but it's my best friend now!

Why do one challenge when you can do two? This month, I'm going to use the Action for Happiness calendar as a daily prompt for action and writing. Today's activity? Set an intention to live with awareness and kindness.

Taxing

I've been filing my own taxes since I started earning money in college, but gone are the days when all I needed for the chore was the 1099 booklet, one W-2, a single INT form, a pencil, and a stamp.

Over the decades, a series of employer-contribution fund changes, home ownership, marriage, and inheritance have made my finances increasingly complex. Retirement and my new part-time gigs haven't helped either, and when I logged on to an online tax prep service this morning, the helpful bot who greeted me cheerfully predicted it would take only four hours and 37 minutes to complete the task.

I suppose I ought to be grateful that I have an income to be taxed. 

And I am!

Counting the Years

"How old are you?" asked a cheeky first grader when he sat down next to me at the literacy center I was observing.

"How old are you?" I asked in return.

"Six," he answered with a slightly insolent chin nod.

"I'm ten and a half times that," I replied.

"So you're a hundred?" he said.

Fortunately, it was not a math center, so I ignored his miscalculation. "Why don't you get started on your word family assignment?" I suggested.

Of Course

"Just so you know," the teacher whispered to me as I slipped into my observation chair, "there's going to be a fire drill at 8:30."

I laughed and shrugged, but when that high-pitched intermittent siren went off? I jumped. Then I got up, joined the line of quiet first graders, and exited the building through the door in their classroom. As we stood in the chilly February morning, I surveyed the school building. Built in 1952, it had the sprawling design of the elementary schools of my childhood: single story, brick on the outside, cinder block on the inside, with rows of hopper windows. 

At least we can go right back in, I thought, eying the blue door as a cold wind cut through my sweater. But that was not to be. Although the school seemed unchanged since it was built over 70 years ago, there was actually an obvious security upgrade. 

The classroom doors could no longer be opened from the outside. So we all walked silently down the sidewalk and in through the front entrance.

High Bar

The teacher had given the directions. 

"It's simple," she assured her students. "You know that one of the five requirements for a sentence is that it starts with a capital letter, so you just need to correct the first letter of these sentences," she pointed to the worksheet, "and then write them on the line below."

After asking if there were any questions or concerns, she moved to the focus group table and called a student over to work. The rest of the class settled into their task, and it wasn't long before a little girl slipped her paper into the green basket next to where I was sitting. "Can I see that?" I asked.

She shrugged and walked away, and I plucked the worksheet out of the bin and flipped it over. It appeared to be blank, except for her name.

As she bustled about her desk, pulling out her device and preparing to do the next task, I caught her eye and waved. "C'mere," I mouthed, pointing at the paper. 

She sighed and reluctantly returned.

"You were supposed to do this!" I said in mock surprise.

She pointed to lightly scrawled pencil marks at the beginning of each sentence. 

"Are these the capital letters?" I asked.

She nodded.

"You were supposed to write the sentence, with the capital letter, on this line,"  I pointed.

She took the worksheet from my hand and put it back in the basket.

"You're probably going to have to do it again!" I whispered.

She shrugged and returned to her seat.

Meanwhile, our quiet conversation had caught the kids at the nearest table's attention.

"What the heck?!" said one to the other with a look of utter disbelief on his face.

"She said it was easy," his friend shook his head, "but it's impossible!"

Ties That Bind

"Did you hear Ellen is retiring?" I asked Mimi about our dear mutual friend at bowling this morning.

Mimi was the assistant principal at our school when Ellen started there back in 1992. She was also a mentor when Ellen moved from the classroom to admin, and a colleague when Ellen was hired as the other assistant principal at our school. As it happens, Sharon, our principal from that time, and Susan, our Director of Counseling, are also in the bowling league; reconnecting with them has been one of the top reasons I've enjoyed bowling so much.

Mimi's face lit up at the news. "No!" she answered. "I'm going to have to give her a call and congratulate her!" 

A little while later, I heard her talking to Sharon and Susan. "We could have our whole admin team here!" she beamed. "Wouldn't that be something?"

Their smiles were as wide as hers.

Underneath It All

I spent my entire teaching career in a compact, self-sufficient school district. For most of that time, it seemed like we didn't care how anybody else was doing anything; we had our own way. It didn't matter, for example, when neighboring school districts started, scheduled breaks, or called off for weather; our central administration made their own calls. We were relatively small, affluent, and independent.

All that changed gradually over the decades I worked there. Starting at the turn of the century, with the Bush administration's No Child Left Behind Act, there was a big push toward standardization, and individual schools and their policies became more centralized at all levels —nationally, statewide, regionally, and within the district. We were all supposed to be doing pretty much the same thing and measuring our success with high-stakes tests.

But I digress. I sat down to write about how I used to only have to check one district to see if my day would be affected by school cancellations or delays, but, ironically, now that I'm retired, I have to check three: one for my wife's schedule, one for my bowling league, and one for my consulting gig. Some things can't be standardized.

I thought that was kind of funny, but now I see I still feel some kind of way about NCLB and all its unintended consequences. All these years later, I still resent the loss of responsiveness and independence that came with uniformity for uniformity's sake.

Magic AI Ball

I can't even remember why I wanted it. 

Something made me think a button that randomly pulls a post from my blog archive would be a fun addition, so I put an AI site on the task and asked for the HTML code I needed to create such a widget. 

Oh my lord! What followed was an hour or so of cutting, pasting, saving, and testing. I will say that AI is a cheerful, confident collaborator. In addition to reassuring me that I wasn't at fault after every failed attempt, it offered a perfect "final solution" (its words, not mine) at least seven times. 

I almost believed it would work before I ran out of free queries, but alas, no such button currently exists. According to the chatbot, the breakdown is a result of several factors-- the sheer number of posts in the archive, the clunkiness of "Blogger being Blogger," and some sort of indexing issue with Google. 

By the end? I almost expected it to say, Reply hazy, try again later.

Barky McBarkster

Maybe it was the fact that, in the next breath, after telling us that Lucy barks for hours when we're not home, our neighbor offered, "It could be ghosts, though. We have at least two down here," that I did not believe it.

"When is she ever even alone?" I asked Heidi, indignantly, "I'm here almost all the time."

"That could be part of the problem," my reasonable wife suggested. "If it's the separation anxiety we've seen in the past, the fact that someone is here most of the time makes the times when she's alone worse."

I was still very skeptical. So much so that I found an app and downloaded it to both my phone and my iPad, turning the iPad into a bark monitor. "Now we'll see about this," I said firmly as I locked the door behind us on our way to see the Oscar Shorts.

The barking started on my phone before we even got to Bill and Emily's to pick them up, and throughout the movies, I received dozens of silent notifications on my watch that Lucy was barking. Even so, I held out hope for false positives, but when we got home, and I checked the activity log, it broke my heart to hear Lucy barking almost constantly, and often desperately, for close to an hour on two occasions.

Assuming it's not ghosts triggering her, our attention turns to solutions. Stay tuned.

She Showed Me

I took Lucy for a long walk this afternoon, passing through the little local shopping center near the end of our sojourn so that I could stop at the pharmacy. Dogs are allowed in there, and in fact, if Lucy had her way, we would go through those aisles every time we were in the area. I also had a library book on hold that I needed to pick up, and since you can check materials out with your phone, I thought it would be easy to sneak in and out the side door with Lucy.

Oh, was I wrong! We were only a few steps into the library, next to the hold shelf, when we ran into two little girls who politely asked if they could pet my dog. As they were exclaiming over her, their dad came over, complimented me on my good dog, and thanked me loudly for being so accommodating. Next thing I knew, a librarian was at my side. 

I gulped, but before I could offer my apology, she pointed to the book and phone in my hand and offered to check it out for me. I stood uncomfortably by the door until she returned and informed me that there was actually another book on hold for me. 

Would I like her to find it on the shelf and check that one out for me, too? 

"Yes," I shrugged awkwardly and waited a bit longer. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience!" I told her as she handed me my book. "Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome," she answered.

"I'll never bring her again," I promised.

She nodded and walked away.

Lose Lose

Declutter! I wrote on my to-do list yeaterday. Get rid of 10 things! And I did. I found ten things in my closet that I hadn't worn in some time, and I added them to the donate bag. 

Putting away the last of the winter decorations was also on my list, and as I prepared to climb down from the attic after stowing the gnomes, lighted tree branch, and window candles until November, my eye fell on another item that I decided it was finally time to dispose of.

I loved the small wooden rocking chair from the moment I saw it in the thrift shop back in 2018. The price was right, too; I walked out of there only $9.99 lighter in the wallet. It was painted a chipped powder blue, but I paid my grad student neighbor to redo it cherry red, and I took it to school. Everyone wanted to sit in that chair! And I didn't blame them, but I was partial to it myself, so there weren't many opportunities for others to enjoy it.

It was only a few months later, when I returned after a few days' absence, that I found it broken. The sub left a note that he had leaned forward when one of the rockers was under a cabinet, and it cracked in half. He was sorry, but there was no offer of replacement. I tried to fix it over the years: glue, screws, and metal mending plates all worked for a while, but it was unusable by the time I retired in 2024. 

I brought it home anyway, certain that in my retirement I would find the time to mend it permanently, but it has languished in the attic ever since. I took a hard look at it yesterday and, wiggling the arms and back, concluded that it was time to let go. As I wrestled it down the pull-down stairs, it pivoted in my hand and swung hard into the closet door, smashing a hole in the hollow panel. 

I cussed myself out soundly, took the rocker downstairs, and knocked it to pieces for the garbage. Then I sighed and ordered new doors for the closet, because that's another thing that I can't fix.

No Protest Here

There were so many high school kids on the streets when I was walking Lucy this afternoon that I checked my watch to see if I had somehow lost an hour. And I almost asked one of them if school was out early, but he crossed the street before I could. I was even more confused when a carload of kids drove by, and rolled down the window to address a boy walking down the sidewalk. 

"Dude!" one shouted. "Stop skipping!"

The young man smiled and placed his finger to his lips.

I had almost forgotten the whole thing by the time Heidi got home, but then, as she was telling me about her day, she mentioned the walkout that students in our district planned to protest ICE this afternoon, and it all made sense. Clearly, these kids were exercising their right to free speech by taking a free afternoon; today, they walked out and kept going.

To be honest? Given the demographics of that high school, many of the students I saw are likely directly or indirectly affected by the crackdowns. They could well be the people their classmates are organizing to support. And if so, I hope they had a nice afternoon off.

Holiday Collab

"Ramadan starts tonight, dear," a friend of mine told me this afternoon, and we commiserated briefly about the challenges of fasting, especially from smoking, for her.

It wasn't until later, when I was planning dinner (lucky lo mein noodles!), that it occurred to me that the Lunar New Year also starts tonight. And a little while after that? I realized that it's Mardi Gras, so Lent starts tonight, too. Such a convergence delighted me, and I had to find out how rare it was.

A little research revealed that the last time these three events intersected was 1863. Somehow, I don't think many people back then were in a position to even realize such a coincidence; the world was divided into much more homogeneous places, religiously, at least.

The next time? It will be 2189, and by then, maybe the world will be down to celebrate together.

Critics Be Darned

"Who says this is good?" Heidi asked as we tried to follow the idiotic rules of the game and the antics of the celebrities competing on the fourth season of the reality show Traitors. 

"I read favorable reviews in a couple of places," I replied a wee bit defensively, "including The New York Times."

She sighed, unconvinced, but she was tolerant enough to watch the first episode, where the cast was introduced, and the three traitors were identified. Then there was the matter of who the secret traitor was, who would be "murdered," and who would be "banished." 

There was enough of a cliffhanger at the end that we agreed to watch the next episode, but when our questions were mostly answered by the beginning of episode three, we had had enough. 

(Even though the Times had a brief feature today about the show, noting how Tara Lipinski and Johnny Weir, the figure skaters-turned-analysts for the Winter Olympics, have made murder almost wholesome. They really do seem to love them some Traitors over there.)

Shopping IRL

"Are you ready to go?" Heidi asked me this afternoon as we were shopping in the gigantic warehouse store.

"Almost," I said, "I just want to scroll down the garden aisle."

Clearly, I've had too much screen time lately.

🤔

"Is she going to make the pepperoni heart-shaped, too?" joked Heidi's brother when she was telling him about our traditional Valentine's Day dinner. 

We laughed, but...

That wasn't a bad idea!

Extra Extra

Our neighbor somehow received three half-gallons of butter pecan ice cream in her grocery order, so after being reimbursed for the error, she's giving some of it away. The grocery store's loss is our gain! I haven't had butter pecan in a while, but I do like it. 

A similar situation happened to me this week, too. I ordered two pounds of coffee late last month, which was supposed to be delivered right as the big snowstorm hit. We had enough coffee to make it through, but we were getting down to the wire a few days ago when I finally contacted the roaster about the no-show package. Customer service was excellent; they shipped my new order right away and contacted the delivery service as well.

A package arrived yesterday, and we were all set for coffee. And then another package arrived today, so now? We have double the beans. I guess I can offer some to my neighbor in exchange for the ice cream-- they will make a delicious pair!

Starting Early

By far my favorite part of my consultant/coach gig is spending time in first-grade classrooms. This morning, I pulled out a tiny chair and sat back to observe a focus group lesson with five squirmy kids. The teacher is good, and she had planned an engaging activity, so it wasn't long before most of the students were listening to stretched-out words pronounced in a choppy "alien" voice so that they could blend them back together into fluent earthling English. 

Except that one little boy! Every time I visit that class, his clothespin is either on "warning" or "lose extra recess," and I'm usually there before 9, so he must get started on his mischief early. Today, he couldn't fully participate in segmenting words with his hand because he was first fidgeting with his pencil. Then? He was reaching under the table for something. When his teacher asked what he had down there, he shrugged innocently, but when she held out her hand, he produced a piece of paper he had hidden in his shoe.

She shook her head and set it aside, but not before I saw what it was. He was hiding the worksheet that the other kids were doing. The teacher had given the assignment directions to the whole class before pulling his group to the table, and he clearly preferred that task. 

"At least he wanted to do work," I laughed when we talked about it on the coaching call later. "Just not the right work."

His teacher looked unconvinced, but then she nodded. "This is why it's good to have another perspective," she agreed.

On Tip Top Toes

I had an unexpected opening in my day today when one of the teachers I'm coaching had to postpone our observation because of testing that was rescheduled after all the snow days. When I got home from my other observation, I changed my clothes and went to the nail salon for a pedicure, since it was finally warm enough to wear slides to and from the car. 

Maybe I was channeling my dental hygienist and his observation about this being a week of self-care; I also had an acupuncture appointment this afternoon. Or maybe, after 2 sessions of PT and with the upcoming acupuncture, I was just tired of people looking at my snaggly feet. 

Either way? My toes look great!

Final Confirmation

Heidi's mom is turning 80 in March, and as a surprise, we are flying her grandson, Kyle, in from Nashville for the party. I spent part of Sunday texting him, researching, and finally booking his flight. There was a little confusion on the airline website; booking and paying for a passenger other than me was not as intuitive as it could have been. When it was all set, I texted his itinerary and confirmation number, and we exchanged our glee at the upcoming surprise. 

But when I woke up this morning, I had an email from the airline that I had canceled my flight, and when I logged on, the website confirmed that I had no upcoming trips. I checked my credit card and saw two holds on the airline charges, which was confusing, but I went ahead and rebooked the flight. Then I sent Kyle a message with the new confirmation number. 

This afternoon, I got an email from the airline asking whether I needed a hotel for my trip to Buffalo, but the confirmation number in the message was not the one I had sent this morning. This time, when I logged onto the website, I realized that, of course, I don't have any upcoming trips. Kyle does! And when I checked, I saw he had 2 identical trips: one booked this morning and the other on Sunday. 

Fortunately, the reservation I made earlier today was within the penalty-free cancellation window, so I canceled it. But then I sent Kyle a message that we were back to the old confirmation number. Except, we weren't. 

I think what happened was that when I was messing around with the passenger and payment info on Sunday, the website autofilled me as the passenger. When I changed it before finalizing the trip, it must have canceled my reservation and confirmation number and booked a new one with a new number. 

That's the notification I got today: my momentary reservation was canceled, but that's the number I originally sent to Kyle, so I had to send yet another text. 🙄

You Could Call it That

"So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" My dental hygienist removed the spray and suction from my mouth so I could answer.

I swallowed. "Well, after this, I'm going to P.T.," I replied, and gave a thumbnail of my plantar fasciitis saga.

"It's a day of self-care, then?" he said as he resumed hydrosonically scaling my teeth.

All I could do was shrug.

Two Dogs Passing in the Afternoon

The sidewalk was narrowly shoveled, and it would have been impossible for Lucy and me and the guy coming toward us with his golden retriever to pass comfortably. Likewise, the snow banks on either side were substantial and icy, so it was equally impossible to step aside. From his distance of 10 yards or so, the man nodded in acknowledgment, backed up, and stepped into the parking lot he had just passed. As we approached, a look of relief washed over his face, and he smiled and loosened his grip on the leash. "They know each other, I think," he said.

It was then that I took a closer look at the guy under the hat and behind the scarf and his frisky golden. "Oh!" I said to Lucy, "It's Leo!"

Of course, the dogs had known all along, which may have contributed to Leo's owner's caution. Leo's excitement may have been read as agitation; he does have a bit of an unfriendly reputation. And the truth is, Leo and Lucy usually walk together with Heidi and Adrian, Leo's other person. As it is, Andy and I barely know each other at all, although I did attend his wedding last June.

The dogs greeted each other, and then were ready to move on, as dogs so often are. "Nice to see you," Andy mumbled as we walked past.

"Take it easy, Andy," I answered.

A Prayer and a Wing

"Let's have wings for dinner!" Heidi uncharacteristically suggested, and when I raised an eyebrow, she added, "Please! It's the Super Bowl tomorrow!"

"You didn't even know that until I told you a little while ago," I laughed. "What kind of wings do you want?"

She named a nearby Korean-style wing place.

"You want to buy wings for dinner?" I asked. "That's so weird." And it is. We never do anything like that.

"Fine!" she huffed. "Forget it! Make something healthy instead." And off she headed upstairs. 

I looked at my watch. It was about 1:45, and after a late breakfast of waffles (homemade!), we hadn't eaten lunch yet. So I picked up my phone and ordered a half-dozen double-fried soy-garlic wings to be delivered ASAP. 

Thirty minutes later? Everyone was happy.

With a Y

Lucy can be very persnickety when it comes to treats. In fact, she has been known to spit out goodies she considers to be subpar. Heidi accepts responsibility for some of this pickiness; she is very discerning about what Lucy eats, too. 

Even so, novelty often wins out. For example, today on our walk, we passed by a group that regularly protests the current administration's policies by waving flags and hanging banners on an overpass so that drivers on the interstate can see them. "What a cute dog!" said one lady as we skirted the demonstrators. "Is she friendly?" She turned, waving her flag as she did.

At the word 'dog,' Lucy turned and wagged her tail.

"She's not afraid of the flag or anything!" marveled the lady. "What's her name?"

"Lucy," I answered.

"Lucy with an i or Lucy with a y?" she asked.

"Y," I replied.

"Can she have a treat?" She showed me some Charlie Bears.

"Sure," I shrugged, knowing that those are regularly spat out around the house.

"Sit!" she said.

Lucy sat.

"Good girl!" She held out her palm gleefully.

Lucy crunched up those Charlie Bears like she hadn't eaten in days.

"What a nice dog," the lady smiled.

"Thank you so much," I said, and continued on, just knowing that Lucy is going to be looking for the treat lady any time we ever cross that bridge again.

Awwwww

Overheard in a sixth-grade English class:

Student 1: "Will you be the main character in my story?"

Student 2: "Sure! You already are the main character in my story."

Back on the Streets

Temperatures in the 30s felt downright balmy this afternoon, and I quickly unzipped my vest and shucked my mittens as Lucy and I alternately strolled down sidewalks, tromped through snow, and gingerly picked our way over ice on our walk. Despite the obstacles, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and it felt great to be out and about after more than a week of sticking close to home.

What's Done is Done

On her first day back to school after the 10-day winter weather break, Heidi made sure to give herself plenty of time. Even though there was a 2-hour delay, she left here a little after 8 am. Before she headed out, I warmed up the Jeep and checked the parking lot. There were still some piles of snow, but no ice, and I gave her the all-clear when I got back into the house.

As she was backing out, Heidi noticed a van pull into the spot across from hers, and at the same moment, a blue sedan came around the curve and stopped to let her continue. And that's where her exit went to pieces. Mindful of the van and not wanting to keep the car waiting too long, she rushed her three-point turn and ended up with one tire spinning in the snow. 

I looked out the kitchen window when I heard the honking and shouting, and threw on my boots and rushed outside to lend a hand. The lady in the sedan was yelling out her window that she was late for a chemo appointment. I nodded sympathetically, but the Jeep was stuck, and Heidi was trying to get out of the way as quickly as she could. Meanwhile, a line of cars was forming on the driveway, waiting in the single plowed lane.

"I'll grab some cardboard and sand," I told Heidi. "See what you can do with the gears."

"She had plenty of room to back out further, and she didn't!" complained the lady behind her. "She should have kept going!"

"Maybe," I acknowledged. "But she didn't, and now she can't." 

"I was waving at her!" the lady continued. "She should have listened to my hand!"

Thankfully, at that moment, before any further discussion about the present versus the past with a cancer patient grew even more heated, the rear tire found some traction, and Heidi drove over the snow and away. 

And so did our neighbor.

♀ Power

"I feel like we should have a group hug or something," one of our neighbors said as the evening painted the snow blue in our parking lot. "But maybe not with everything that's going around." Her eyes swept over the circle of women standing in a newly-cleared parking space. The five of us had just finished breaking up and moving over two tons of snow and ice by hand to clear another space in the lot.

"Maybe a group high-five?" someone else suggested, and five gloved hands were raised and joined in the twilight.

"Shouldn't there be lightning bolts or something shooting into the sky?" I laughed. "That was a lot of snow!"

Fold Over

There was a time in my life when my to-do list at work might easily have included three hundred or so phyllo triangles, but that was decades ago. Even so, I found out today that that's a skill I may never forget. 

A neighbor of ours, suffering from a bit of cabin fever after being iced in all week, invited several friends over for a happy hour this afternoon. She offered to provide the drinks if we brought snacks. I had an unopened package of phyllo dough in the fridge, left over from Christmas, along with feta cheese and some greens from our CSA share that I had blanched and chopped. 

It was not a stretch to mix together a little filling, melt some butter, and start folding away. Our kitchen has a few exterior walls, and it's been cold in there all week, but today I appreciated the pastry-pantry temperatures that kept the butter, filling, and dough in perfect condition, allowing me to knock out three dozen little triangles in under 15 minutes. I think the neighbors will be impressed, even though they needn't be.

But we'll let that be our secret.

Leaning Into Her Ninth Decade

Heidi's mom is turning 80 in March, and like with most things, she's got some thoughts about how she'd like to celebrate. In fairness, we did ask and offered to organize the party and treat her and her guests. Her birthday conveniently falls on the Friday that Heidi's spring break starts, and we've booked dinner for 18 the following evening at a longtime local favorite steakhouse.

I spent part of this afternoon making the invitation on the web-based design site I favor. I really like the way it turned out, considering I started from scratch: just a blank page, no template. We started gathering the items for the gag swag bags, too. Louise wants Bingo cards, reading glasses, pill organizers, and salt substitute for everyone. She also chose the earliest time available at the restaurant, so we can say we got the early bird special.

Is It Though?

One of my bowling friends gave me a spontaneous hug this morning. "I'm so glad you retired and decided to join us!" she said.

"Me too!" I answered. "It's the best thing about retirement so far!"

Another of our bowling buddies raised her eyebrow skeptically.

"I said, so far," I laughed. "Give me some time; it's only my second year!"

It's Still Bad Out There

We woke to a scrape, then the bleating of a backup alarm, followed by tires spinning on the ice. A moving van was stuck on the tight turn in the corner of the driveway outside our condo. The window on the landing gave us a front-row seat to the crew as they tried first to gun the engine, then to push on the truck's cab, neither to any avail. 

The side of the trailer was stuck on an enormous mound of ice and snow at the edge of the drive, where residents had piled it while shoveling out their parking spaces. We winced when one of the men slid under the back and poured salt melt beneath the tire. "That'll get you killed," Heidi said. But his risk was without results. The van was wedged high enough on the embankment that the wheel was off the ground. 

Next, they produced a crowbar and began chipping away at the pile. At last, one of the neighbors on that side of the complex came to the rescue with a snow shovel, and Heidi followed with our steel forged sidewalk scraper, the perfect tool to break through the ice.

The crew themselves produced some cardboard boxes to wedge beneath the tire, and a little while later, I saw the truck bump down once they had chiseled the ice from its purchase. With a little more shoveling, they were finally able to back the truck up, more than an hour after they had run aground. 

The turn proved to be impossibly tight, however, so they backed the van all the way around the loop road that rings our complex until they could finally pull forward and drive down the entrance hill, rescheduling their call for another day.

Prognostication

"If it snows like they say it will," I told Heidi last week, "you won't go to school at all. Especially with a work day Friday. I'm calling it now."

Nailed it!

Good Neighbors

It's not often around here that we get the kind of snow we had Sunday, and that's a good thing. While the community we live in pays for a plow to clear the circular road around the complex and shovelers to do the sidewalks, residents are responsible for digging out their own cars. With no assigned parking, things can get ugly quickly if someone leaves the space they spent time and energy clearing, only to return and find it taken.

Having lived here for decades, it seems like we've seen a lot of mini-dramas unfold over winter parking, but we've seen a lot of neighborly gestures, too. Naturally, in a community of 186 condos, there has been a lot of turnover in residents over that time, and I'm struck by the markedly different vibes from storm to storm. 

Some years have found everyone out together, shoveling out all the cars on our end. Other years we have witnessed people throwing their snow right in front of a car that hasn't been cleared off yet, doubling the work for that other resident. One recent change I've noticed is that at least two of the young men who live nearby have dug out their neighbors, for a price. These guys in their 20s, both of whom live with their moms, will only lend a hand if they are paid.

This year, too, I've noticed another trend. 🤨 Anecdotally, as I look out my window and see which neighbors are helping the community, it's all been middle-aged ladies, like us, carrying one small shovel of snow at a time to make room for others.

Active Reader

I spent part of my day yesterday resting up for snow removal and reading magazines online with my public library account, which turned out to be more than simply recreational. Aside from the interesting information I gained, my reading also spurred me to action. After enjoying a fascinating article about family Christmas celebrations in Montreal, I considered making plans to revisit that beautiful city. But then I remembered that Heidi's passport expired, and so I renewed it online before even turning the virtual page. It will be here in six weeks, and international travel plans will be back on the table.

Likewise, after reading a charming essay about another author's memories of making orange marmalade with his English granny, "The recipe is basically a ratio—2-to-3-to-6, fruit to sugar to water," he says, I was inspired to satisfy my hankering for a bit of the bitter spread by preserving the oranges I had and making a microbatch of Mrs. Barrenger's Marmalade. On homemade sourdough toast with a dollop of burrata, it was a delicious breakfast this morning, and fuel enough for all the shoveling we did today.

Mystery Storm

We weren't sure what to expect from the much-hyped impending snowstorm. Unlike many winter events around here, this time temperatures were predicted to stay well below freezing throughout the storm and into the next week. And yet, because of warmer air aloft, the snow was also forecast to turn to a wintry mix before ending, which would refreeze on the ground. 

The result was a shower of tiny ice pellets that lasted throughout the day, leaving several inches of granular, almost sand-like snow that partially filled in footsteps as they were left. This unusual precipitation was pretty, but too cold to pack, hard to walk in, and heavy in the shovel. It was fun to slide down the hill on, though. 

Whatever it is? Is still coming down out there, a little wetter now, with temps in the high 20s slated to fall to the teens after midnight. So who even knows what twe'll see in the morning?

You Dropped Something

I laughed when our cat Tibby bolted past me this morning into the bathroom as I came out. She dashed over to the water bowl we keep in the corner for the pets and nosed something indignantly. It seems I inadvertently swept a small bottle of ibuprofen off the counter while performing my morning ablutions, and Tibby wanted me to get it out of there. 

Message received!

No Need to Panic

My plan was to swing by Trader Joe's early and pick up some fresh produce to get us through the coming storm. I had plenty of pantry staples and protein options in the freezer, so some fruit and veggies were all I really needed. Well, those and a gift card for a friend's birthday today, but I figured I'd be in and out in a few minutes, even if the lines were long with other shoppers. 

I did not expect to see a line of twenty people or more waiting outside the store to be let in, though, and neither was I willing to wait in it! A friend had texted me last night, joking about emergency shopping and sending a picture of the huge parking lot at Wegman's, completely full of cars. "Amazon Fresh is fully stocked," he added. 

That's where I headed, too, driving right across the street from the shopping center with TJs. I grabbed myself a smart cart, scanned the in-store QR code, and added everything I needed directly into my reusable bags. Then I skipped the checkout line and rolled out of the store. Meanwhile, across the street, that line was getting longer.

I'm sure our friend will understand the IOU in her birthday card!

I Guess He'll Find Out

 "It has to be lunch time!" the little boy in front of me whispered to the kid next to him. "I'm starving!"

"You can't die from hunger," the other student answered dismissively.

"Yes, you can!" he insisted.

"Not in school," she shrugged.

I looked at the clock. It was only 9 am, and lunch wasn't until 10:45. 

That Worked Out

"Do one small thing that will set you up to accomplish what you want in the next six months," my meditation guru advised yesterday morning. As I considered her words, I thought of all the trouble I have been having with my right foot since I turned my ankle in Maine last summer. 

Despite custom orthotics, exercises, NSAIDs, and a variety of splints and braces, my heel screams every time I walk farther than a few yards. I've been toughing it out, but if I want to get in shape to take advantage of that reservation I finally scored in theGrand Canyon Phantom Ranch lottery, I need to be 100 percent. 

With that in mind, I opened the portal to schedule an appointment with my podiatrist and was pleasantly surprised to find availability this morning at 9:45. He saw me right away and offered several treatment options. One was PT, which happened to be right across the hall.  

Another was an X-ray. "Do I have to call to schedule?" I asked. "You can go there right now," he said. "They'll take you today." The third was a prescription-strength anti-inflammatory, which he sent to my pharmacy. 

After scheduling my follow-up appointment in four weeks, I walked over to PT and booked three sessions. Then I drove up to the hospital and had barely sat down after checking-in when they took me back for my X-ray. I was out of there so fast, I didn't even have to pay for parking. As I headed out of the garage, my phone buzzed; it was the pharmacy: my prescription was ready, so I stopped on the way home to pick it up. 

I walked in the front door less than two hours after leaving home, with a sense of accomplishment and optimism that my foot will soon be better.

Crisis or Opportunity?

I know myself well enough to understand that doing something active early in the day usually gives me positive results. Once I get started, I stay started, but the temptation to sit a while reading the news and drinking coffee can be powerful now that I'm retired. With no strict schedule, I can sit there for hours, and soon it's time to walk Lucy and wait for Heidi to come home. Not much gets accomplished on days like that.

Tuesdays are usually pretty productive; I'm up at 6 to get Heidi off to school, and I have my bowling league at 10. Even so, I sometimes skip my meditation and have to rush through breakfast and showering, just to linger in my comfy chair. 

This morning, though, as I opened the bedroom drapes, the curtain rod came crashing down when the center bracket screw pulled out of the wall. Consequently, I was up on a ladder with drill and drywall anchor in hand, making the repair before 7:00 am. 

Now that got me going! Meditation, shower, and breakfast were all checked off my list by 8:45, and I even had a few minutes to relax in my chair before heading out to bowling.

Anglophilia

My brother and I were recently talking about our mutual admiration of the actress Claire Foy. We agreed that she was luminous as the young Queen Elizabeth in The Crown, and it seems as if she's been a bit underutilized since. 

I was just telling my sister yesterday about my new pastime of reading magazines for free on the public library app. I'm especially fond of those published in other countries; they offer a glimpse into everyday life and culture that feels immersive. They also cover topics that are not widely reported on in the US publications I usually read. 

For example, this morning I read about a new movie based on Helen Macdonald's memoir H is for Hawk, which I read and loved when it came out a decade ago (right around the time the early episodes of The Crown were first broadcast). 

And, what do you know? As HELLO! magazine informed me, the main character is being played by Claire Foy!

Two Decades On

In another case of too much to watch on TV and none of it appealing, we clicked play on the first episode of The Closer a couple of weeks ago. Back in the mid-oughts, when the show was new, we TIVOed it and watched the weekly digital recordings religiously. 

We were a little late to the game, though. The first episode we ever saw was sometime in August of 2005, after the series premiered in May. It was a Monday night in Stonington, Maine, and Heidi, our dog Isabel, and I were staying in an efficiency motel room on the harbor. We had taken the mail boat over to Isle au Haut that morning and hiked the uninhabited side of the island all day. 

It was the same summer that Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was published, and there was a moment on the cliffs on the windward side of the island that I just knew the entrance to the cave that Harry and Dumbledore visit in the opening chapters was right below us. Later, on a cobblestone beach, I fastened a fetch toy for Isabel from driftwood and the line of a washed-up lobster buoy, and she swam tirelessly in the cold water of that little inlet.

That night, the three of us tired and happy, we ordered fried seafood platters and feasted on the saggy couch in front of a bulky cathode ray TV. There were only a few channels available, and we settled on a show with an actor we recognized, Kyra Sedgwick, playing Chief Brenda Lee Johnson of the LAPD Major Crimes unit.

In the way of watching back then, we never saw the episodes of the series we had missed; broadcasting reruns was a thing of the even more distant past. I wasn't sure if I would know it when we got to that first episode, but the other night, when the squad started investigating the death of a young Mexican girl, I knew that was the one, even though the details were very hazy. 

Twenty years is a long time, but the show has held up somewhat well. Sure, technology has progressed, and there's not a single bearded character. The bigotry toward immigrants, women, and the LGBTQ community that some characters flagrantly express may have seemed anachronistic a year or so ago, but you know what? 

That might be coming back around.

Mature Audience

To prepare for the upcoming season of Euphoria, my 18-year-old niece recently re-watched the series. It's been four years since the last episodes aired, and her take on the show has changed a bit. "I can't believe you let me watch that when I was in middle school!" she told her mom. "Those kids are messed up!"

A Little Extra Pep in Our Step

A typical Friday night for 2 50+ladies: dinner, one maybe two episodes of some TV show, and bed by 10.

Friday night for the same ladies with an 18-year-old niece in town: dinner party, late-night crow gazing, corn chip taste test, still having fun at 11:30.

Good Puppy's Choice

 Lucy and I were on the last leg of our walk and passing through the little local shopping district when a sign on a door caught my eye. Holiday Merchandise Half Price, it promised, and below it was a placard that read, Dogs Welcome, so in we went from the cold. Two little boys and their mom were standing near a display midway along the wall, and they were thrilled to see Lucy.

"Dog!" said the teeny toddler.

"Can we pet it?" asked his brother.

"She's friendly," I assured the mom and asked Lucy to sit. Immediately to our left was a jumble of, of all things, squeaky dog toys, on the floor, so the command presented a bit of a challenge, but Lucy is a trooper, and soon her butt was on the floor. 

After the boys said hello, we all explored the pile of toys together. "Which one should we get?" I asked them, drawn to a pair of crinkly sandwiches, one a BLT, the other a PBJ. "Should we let Lucy choose?" They liked the idea, and so they each put a sandwich down in front of them. Lucy had other ideas, though. When I gave her the okay, she snuffled through the pile instead.

"Maybe she's not hungry," I joked.

Just then, she picked out a squeaky plush soda can.

"She must be thirsty!" the older boy said, and collapsed in giggles at his own joke.

In Case

"I can't even imagine living in a place like that," Heidi said as we idled at a traffic light across from a high-rise apartment building. "What would you do in the middle night if your dog had to go?"

"The elevator?" I shrugged. 

"That would be ugly if it were an emergency," she answered.

"Then maybe if there was a balcony, you could put a little emergency area in the corner. Kind of like a litter box for your dog." The light stayed red, so I considered the logistics further, picturing apartments I had been in. "I guess you could also put newspapers down in a bathroom, or the laundry room, if there was one."

Those words hurled my mind decades into the past, from my mother's apartment in Minnesota to the laundry room in our family's first house. "I think we used to put newspapers on the garage floor for our dog," I said, remembering out loud. "And then it was someone's job to change them-- roll up the used ones into a garbage bag and lay down clean ones." 

I pictured the two steps down and the single bulb illuminating a one-car garage in the Levitt colonial we lived in. Our '64 blue Ford Falcon was never in there, but our bikes and the lawn mower were. There was also an empty oatmeal carton with its bottom cut off, tacked to one of the side walls. It was a makeshift basketball hoop my dad created that we used on cold and rainy days with tennis balls, being careful to avoid the dog poop.

The light turned green. "I guess you find a way to make the situation work," I said.

Rookie Mistake

The first-grade students were practicing the trigraph 'tch' during their phonemic awareness lesson yesterday, copying words ending in that sound onto a whiteboard. One of the words was ditch, and as the teacher checked their work, she stopped and tutted at one little boy. He had made a common error of new writers, accidentally reversing the first letter. 

"Boy!" the young teacher said to him. "You better fix that d!" Then she looked at me, checking to see if I was tracking the conversation. I could almost hear her thinking, Please don't let the consultant say that one of my students wrote bitch!

She visibly relaxed when I laughed and shook my head. "I've seen much worse in middle school," I told her. "And they weren't accidents!"

We Have Company!

"Are you a new one?" a first-grader asked me, jerking his thumb toward the teacher and assistant as I borrowed a tiny chair from the desk beside him and sat down.

"No," I told him in a confidential tone. "I'm a visitor!" I pointed to the sticker on my coat.

His eyes brightened, and he did a little happy dance, as if this turn of events had made his day.

"I guess you don't get many of those!" I laughed.

Double Duty

A while ago, Chrome introduced a screen-splitting button to its browser toolbar. Admittedly, once I moused over it to find out what the heck it was, I ignored the little icon that looked kind of like an open book to the right of the home button. Why would I ever want to split my already tiny laptop screen? I thought. 

But tonight, one of its uses became clear to me when I needed to compose my daily blog entry while the Golden Globes were being broadcast. Heidi had gone to bed early with a headache, and turning on the TV and tuning it to the award show in progress seemed like an unnecessary disturbance. I'll just check the award winners so far, I said to myself as I booted up the computer, but quickly changed my mind and streamed it in a classic FOMO moment. But what about the blog?? my conscience countered as glamorous images from the Beverly Hilton sparkled before my eyes. 

Never fear! Split screen is here! And that, dear reader, is how I'm both writing this and watching that. Is it distracting? You bet. Might the quality of my viewing be compromised by the obvious effort I'm putting into writing? Alas, perhaps. But I can only hope the Golden Globes will forgive me for multitasking.

Confuzzled

"We're late!" Heidi called down the stairs in a panic. We had both forgotten about Lucy's grooming appointment this morning, and she had missed the reminder texts asking where we were. She had replied to ask if an hour late was too late, but hadn't heard back. "I just want to take her and see!" she said, so the three of us rushed to the car in the pouring rain.

Right as we rounded the corner with less than half a mile to go Heidi received a text. "It's 11, and I haven't heard from you. I'm going home."

"But she didn't text me back," Heidi said in confusion.

"Call her," I shrugged.

"I'm so sorry!" Heidi apologized when the phone was answered. "I tried to text you."

"Where are you?" said the voice on the other end of the call. "I'm still at the farmer's market."

I turned into the groomer's parking lot as we tried to make sense of the information. "Uhhhh," Heidi stalled, looking at me wide-eyed. "I'm right outside."

What followed was a comedy of errors, based on missed and miscommunication. The woman on the phone was the instructor for Heidi's beekeeping class, trying to deliver the required books before the course begins on Thursday. She had been mistakenly texting someone else and agreed to wait until we could get up to the market. Meanwhile, we received a text from the groomer waiving the cancellation fee but informing us that she had no more openings for the day.

"What should we do?" Heidi asked.

"We're here," I said. "And it's our fault we missed the appointment. Go pay the cancellation fee and book the next available."

Lucy let out a little whine when Heidi exited the car.

"You're off the hook today," I told her, but a minute later Heidi was back.

"They can fit her in," she reported with visible relief. "When I walked in, she took one look at me and said, 'Oh girl! I got you!'" Heidi paused. "Do I look that rough?"

"It has been a rough 30 minutes," I agreed. "But somehow? It's all working out."

Lucy may have seen it otherwise.

Cold Hard City

There were blue and red lights flashing up ahead and to my right as I approached the intersection of H Street and New York Avenue. The light turned red, and my attention was understandably drawn to the scene on the sidewalk. Three emergency responders stood near the steps of the church on the corner, looking at a man sitting motionless, his back to the foot of the balustrade. I watched to see how the man would react to the attention and lights, but he didn't move at all. When the traffic ahead of me inched forward, I could see that his eyes were open, but he was beyond any help the EMTs could offer. He was dead. The light changed then, and I continued on my way.

Just Here for the Chalk Dust

I was observing in a first-grade classroom this morning when the teacher approached a student sitting at her desk, staring into space. "You need to get started on your work," she said sweetly to the girl. "Read the word and then put checkmarks in the boxes that fit," she continued, repeating the directions in case there was some confusion.

The little girl turned to her teacher in disbelief. "I can't read!" she scoffed.

I had to stifle a laugh as I saw the teacher's eyebrows shoot up. She quickly regained her first-grade educator's composure. "That's what we're learning," she explained. "And that's why you have to do your work!"

Sing Again Please?

I noted with interest that one of Barack Obama's favorite new singers in 2025 was one of mine, too. Like the former president, I love Olivia Dean's warm, soulful voice, especially when you can hear her British accent peeking through. 

And although I preferred her single Nice to Each Other even more than her big hit Man I Need, you can still hear me singing loudly along when either comes on the radio. That's how Heidi caught me in a classic lyric blunder the other day. 

We were running errands, and I was belting out the chorus to Man I Need with gusto. 

Tell me you've got something to give, I want it! I sang.

I kind of like it when you call me on the phone, I continued, ignoring Heidi's quizzical look.

Whatever the type of talk it is, come on then
I gotta know you're meant to be the man I need
Talk to me!
Talk to me!

When I parked and turned the car off, the radio stopped, but I didn't. I repeated the chorus a capella as we strolled toward the store.

"I'm pretty sure she says 'wonderful' there," Heidi interrupted me when I got to the phone part.

I was stunned. "I kind of like it when you call me wonderful?" I asked skeptically. "No way! It's all about talking, of course, she says 'on the phone'!"

Heidi raised her eyebrows and shook her head with pity. "Just sayin'."

Oh! But it was that accent I love so much that fooled me! She draws out the first syllable, waaaaaan, and it sort of does sound like on, and then she clips derful. 

So, I forgive myself for hearing 'the phone'. Plus? In the long tradition of misheard songs everywhere, I think mine might be a slightly better lyric anyway.

On the Twelfth Day of Bowling

Like many new hobbies or pursuits might, my weekly bowling league inspired several stocking stuffer gifts, especially from Heidi. In fact, because of backorders and such, I was receiving new bowling-themed items almost every day for the week after Christmas. Among other things, I got an ornament, a rosin bag, a ball sling, and a t-shirt. 

This morning was the first competition of the new year, and I used them all, as well as my favorite little item, a tiny crocheted bowling pin holding a positive affirmation. "You will bowl them over!" it promises.  

Before the holiday, I was in a bit of a bowling slump, but today, on the Epiphany, that little totem kept its word. I put up scores of 122, 135, and 154, a personal best day for me.

Sh!t

The last time I had my car serviced, the oil light had come on well before the recommended time between changes had elapsed. The technicians checked things out, but my adviser suggested I return in 1200 miles for a second look. After driving to the beach for Thanksgiving and Buffalo for Christmas, it was time to take the car back today. The dealership was deserted when I pulled into the bay at 8 a.m., but the crew was as friendly and helpful as ever. 

While they were checking me in, I mentioned that the eyesight feature that assists with cruise control and collision avoidance has been cutting on and off a bit more than usual. "I know it can be affected by glare or ice or road salt," I shrugged, "but it seems like something is off." 

The advisor looked through the driver's side door at my windshield. "Could it be your EZ Pass?" she asked. 

"That's been there for years," I answered. "Probably not." 

She went around to the front of the car. "There's a huge blob of what looks like bird poop," she pointed. "Right in front of the camera." 

I frowned. "It's been through the car wash a lot," I told her. But then I laughed. "Because the crows have been pooping on it regularly! They probably hit that spot all the time."

"That could definitely interfere with the camera function," she nodded. "I'll check with tech, and we'll make sure you get your free carwash!"

Who Knows?

The crows were raising a ruckus in the dark when I took Lucy out for the last time around 11 last night. "What woke them up?" I asked her, but her attention was riveted on a rabbit racing down the drive. "And what's got into him?" I continued. Then there came a raucous rustling from within the nearby woods as something big crashed through the undergrowth. 

We didn't stick around to ask any questions, but instead? Headed right back inside.

Left, Right, No Center

My heart sank this morning when I read the banner headline on my New York Times app that the U.S. had invaded Venezuela to capture Nicolas Maduro and his wife. As I scrolled through the coverage, I paused to read the editorial, "Trump’s Attack on Venezuela Is Illegal and Unwise," which, as the title states, is an unvarnished criticism of the action. 

While I agreed with most of what I read, I wondered what the counterargument might be, and considered looking at a right-leaning publication to explore the other side of the issue. I didn't have to look far, though. Clicking over to The Washington Post's coverage of the event, I was immediately confronted with that editorial board's piece, "Justice in Venezuela."

I was shocked to read a piece so supportive of the military action in a publication once known for its liberal journalism. As I scanned through the reader comments below it, I saw that I wasn't alone. Although the editorial had only been published minutes before, there were already over one hundred responses, every single one of them deploring the view expressed by the board, and many of them informing the paper that they were canceling their subscription.

Oh, what a year it's been.

Trash or Treasure

I spent an hour or so in the attic today surveying a quarter-century's collection of stuff. In theory, I was organizing the Christmas decoration space, but in reality, I was quickly overwhelmed by so many possessions. I want to declutter and downsize, but.

Later, I took Lucy for a walk in the neighborhood, and it just so happened that tomorrow is large-item pickup day for one of our neighboring communities. As we walked, I examined the items that folks were discarding. In just a few blocks, I saw a gas grill, a kitchen island, a vacuum, two Christmas tree stands, several couches and chairs, a mattress with sheets and pillows still on it, some vintage end tables, a bunch of bookcases, pictures, posters, mirrors, and clothes. As the full moon rose, residents were still dragging their discards to the piles forming on every corner. Others were scrutinizing the forsaken possessions as well, many in cars or trucks, and I watched as the grill and the vacuum were loaded into vehicles and taken away.

A little further up the street, as one guy dropped a load, a woman passing by gasped. "You're throwing that away?"

"Please take it!" he said sheepishly as she examined the large cast-iron braiser and lid. "It's a great pan! It's only been used three times, but it's just too big. I don't have any place to keep it." He shook his head sadly. "I would feel so much better if I knew someone else wanted it."

"Thank you!" She told him and smiled at her good fortune as she carried her treasure away.

Meanwhile, he returned to his house for another batch of stuff.

We'll See on March 15

We revived a New Year's tradition and went to a movie this morning. The earliest show we could find was 11:45, and although the lobby and concession stand were busy when we arrived, our theater was sparsely seated and remained so for the movie. No matter, though, halfway through Song Sung Blue, I leaned over to Heidi with a big lump in my throat. "She's going to win the Oscar this," I whispered.

I stand by my prediction! And Kate Hudson's nomination will likely fill some seats.