Insta Stock

I love having homemade chicken stock around to cook with, but preparing it used to be a bit of a traumatic trial.

When rendering all the necessary bones and scraps, what is at first a delicious aroma becomes cloying and almost sickening after the hours of simmering that the broth requires. Over the years, I've tried several strategies to lessen the pungency-- cooking with open windows when possible, running the vent fan when not. I've even been tempted to let the stock simmer all day while we're at work, but that seems reckless and ill-advised. 

It finally occurred to me a few months ago to try cooking my carcasses in the instant pressure cooker. There, the concoction is sealed in by a steam gasket. Bonus? The whole process takes a fraction of the time and yields a concentrated, rich, and very flavorful product. Oh, there's still a hint of chicken broth in the air, but it's very tolerable, and the clean-up is fast and easy. And now I almost always have one of my favorite cooking staples on hand.

We All Scream

A couple of weeks ago, we found ourselves in Atlanta for my niece's graduation. There we spent a fun weekend with family, including my sister's mother-in-law, Lyn. As we wiled away the time between ceremonies and celebrations, our conversations meandered, as they do, around family news, current events, media, movies, and of course, food. 

"I love ice cream!" I declared at one point, even though there had been no ice cream on the agenda. "I don't know why I don't eat it every day!" I laughed. "Well, actually I do," I added, patting my stomach. "But a small daily portion? I would enjoy that!"

We moved on from there, and although I haven't added ice cream eating to my regular routine, the conversation has stayed in the back of my mind. And when Lyn kindly invited us to a simple supper to collect some of our forgotten belongings that she had brought back from Atlanta, I immediately offered to bring dessert. "So nice of you," she replied, "but please keep it simple."

Oh, I will.

Driveby Compliment

I parked out in the back lot this morning when I arrived at school, and I'm glad I did. First, the weather was glorious, and getting a few extra steps in while spending extra time outside was a great start to my day. 

And then, when I left a little before 4, a few 7th graders I knew whizzed by me on scooters as I trekked back to the car in the sunshine. "Hey, Ms. S!" they hailed me, and then turned around to scoot on back and give me some fist bumps. "Do you work here again?" they asked.

"I'm just helping out with SOL testing," I said, "but I'll be around until it's over."

"Will you be in the library after the test on Tuesday?" one wanted to know.

"I will," I nodded.

"Good!" he declared, hopping on his scooter. "'Cause I'm probably going to be there, and I'll need someone nice like you," he called over his shoulder as he sped away.

Angel Numbers

In the short time I've been filling in as testing coordinator, I have found that there are a number of slippery students who are masters of avoiding their testing. Today, though, I changed my approach; in addition to sending messages to them, their parents, their homeroom, and their first period, when they still didn't show up, I checked the attendance and finally found them in third period. Once the call was made, there was no wiggling out of the test today.

Kids are so funny, though (which, of course, is one reason I willingly spent three decades in middle school). Of these elusive testers, one kept putting his head down, pretending to sleep, although he was very good-natured whenever he was prodded awake. "I'm thinking," he would yawn.

Another kid banged her way quickly through her science test and then reported for her pass back to class. "Promise me something," I said as I jotted her name.

"What?" she asked.

"Come on time to your math SOL on Tuesday," I suggested. "That way you can avoid all this make-up stuff."

"What time would that even be?" she asked in horror.

"The usual time that school starts," I told her. "7:50."

She made a noncommittal face. 

"Say 'I promise!'," I insisted, and with a laugh, she complied.

I turned back to the pass, checking my computer for the time. "It's 11:11!" I said. "Make a wish!"

Her eyes widened, and she nodded.

"Did you wish that you would be here and pass the SOL on Tuesday?" I asked, "Because that's what I wished."

"No," she shook her head. "I wished for wings."

"I hope at least one of us gets our wish," I said as I handed her the pass.

"I hope we both do," she answered, and flitted out of the room.

Meh Stars

When a staff member asked our party to vacate our table right after we paid for lunch yesterday, I was a bit incensed. The six of us were still gabbing and finishing coffee, and the restaurant was not overly busy; the lunch crowd had cleared out, and no one was waiting for a table. So, when I got home, and there was an email asking for my thoughts on the place, I did not hesitate to report what had happened and how I felt about it. 

Even so, I don't usually think of myself as "that" patron. And today, when I entered the rental car office at my appointed time and found it deserted except for one other customer, I simply took a seat and waited for service. But when the phone kept ringing and ringing unanswered, and different guys with the same logo polo shirt sauntered in and out without making eye contact, I confess to wondering what on earth was happening. The din of construction right outside the window did not improve the wait, and I finally stood up so the next employee might at least acknowledge me.

As I paced, I considered where I could leave a review of this purgatory, until at last one of the polo shirts greeted me and courteously asked me to wait a few minutes. When he returned, he handled my business quickly and was so friendly that I forgot to be peeved anymore. I can't say I was one hundred percent satisfied, but I did put the cap back on my poison pen.

You May Begin

That could be some good dye right there, I thought to myself as I carried the pot I had poached some baby beets in to the sink. In fact, I had to restrain myself from adding a little vinegar just to see the color change from a deep blue to a vibrant pink. Natural dyes are never that good, though, I reminded myself as I dismissed any notion of dying and poured the liquor down the drain.

I considered next the Top Chef challenge we had watched a few nights ago. In general, that is a cooking show I enjoy, mostly because it seems grounded in good food, and local provisions and traditions, rather than gimmicky challenges. The episode I was reminded of was more of reach, though. The competition is based in the Carolinas this season, and the cheftestants were charged with making a dish that used two natural food colorings in an unexpected way. The connection to their locale was the textile mills that drove the economy in the early 20th century.

To be blunt? The competitors didn't get it, and the judges were not pleased. The chefs tried using chlorophyll, turmeric, charcoal powder, spirulina, beet powder, and other ingredients to make a colorful, delicious dish, but the judges wanted more. They were looking for something visually surprising, maybe even unnatural (in a natural way). When they didn't get that result, they were frustrated and aggravated with the contestants, blaming them for failing to deliver.

Heidi and I watched with our own aggravation. To us as viewers, the challenge seemed vague from the beginning, starting with that tenuous connection to the mills; it was never clear what they were supposed to do, other than incorporate two natural food-coloring ingredients into their dishes. And any teacher worth their salt knows that if no one in the group can accomplish the assignment? 

Then it's your fault, not theirs. If it is to have a chance of being well executed, the task must be well designed and well explained. That takes time, experience, and a little humility, should things go wrong.

But if we were looking for any ownership from the production team and judges for the obvious breakdown in communication, we were disappointed. I have a friend and former colleague whose ex-husband used to be surprised by how tired she was at night after a day of teaching. "What do you even do all day?" He asked her once, "Except sit behind your desk and say, You may begin?"

He would have been a good judge on Top Chef.

Lackluster Not Blockbuster

It was fun to go to the movies yesterday, but times have really changed. Our movie, Project Hail Mary, was playing in a medium-sized auditorium in a multiplex a little farther from home than we usually venture for the movies. The first thing I noticed was the frosted glass over the box office windows: all six stations were permanently closed, and it was hard not to imagine the throngs of people in lines that might have snaked all the way back to the fire lane on such a holiday weekend a decade or so ago. 

Instead, we were greeted by a teenager with an iPad who scanned the ticket QR code on my phone. The line for the massive concession stand was short, and there, too, we saw evidence of downsizing. Bare stainless steel counters flanked either side of the line; gone were the self-service, Ferrari soda stations, replaced by mini-fridges with Gatorade and Smart Water, along with a basic Pepsi fountain behind the service counter. There was popcorn, but not much else, and the cavernous lobby seemed empty and nearly deserted. 

The same was so as we made our way down wide, empty hallways leading to a dozen theaters; before we got to our show, we may have seen five other patrons. The auditorium itself was about a third full, which was not all that surprising, since the movie had been out for a while. As we settled into our seats, the sound seemed muted, and I briefly toyed with the idea of taking the long walk back to the front to see if there was a problem. 

In the end, we just listened more carefully than seemed right in a theater, probably missing something here and there, but I guess that downsizing of expectations was prudent.

Nice Schmice

"Sure, lady, just take your time," Heidi snarled with irritation as we slowed to a roll in the parking lot. "She's lucky you're driving," she continued, "Because I would run her and her brats down."

"That's not very nice," I chided mildly.

"I'm not nice," Heidi replied. "You knew that when you married me!"

"Nice can be a choice rather than a character trait," I noted as we parked the car. "Choose nice!"

A little while later, Heidi's phone chimed, and she laughed as she read the text. "I got a meme that says Nice is my go-to, but fuck off is my wingman," she told me. "Does that sound like me?"

"Maybe the reverse?" I suggested. "Fuck off is your go-to, but nice is your wingman?"

"That's about right," she agreed.

On the First Day of Summer

I read today that this will be the longest summer we could possibly have: Memorial Day is at its earliest date and Labor Day at its latest. Impressive!

And yet, despite days in the 90s earlier this week, today dawned gray and rainy, struggling to get out of the 50s. I was tempted to start a fire and hunker down, more like in March than May. Still, I rallied in the early afternoon and took advantage of a break in the downpour to walk the dog for a couple of sodden miles. It was pretty pleasant, actually. We had the streets to ourselves, except for a soggy rabbit and a great blue heron. Oh, and all the lifeguards working their first day of the summer season-- we passed at least four young men huddling in pool houses, staring idly at their phones. 

A couple of months ago, I toyed with the idea of forcing challenging myself to go to the pool and swim every day it's open this year. Today I sure was glad I didn't do that.

Happy summer, though! Warmer days are no doubt ahead.

Damage Done

I was feeling more than a little bleary and crosseyed when I left school yesterday afternoon after eight and a half hours of non-stop testing coordination, so perhaps I could be forgiven for what happened next. I cut the wheel too soon as I was exiting the dimly lit parking space in the dark, subterranean garage, and the result was a sickening scrape and a crunch, leaving an egregious dent in the car's front driver-side panel and bumper. 

It has to be replaced, of course, and I have an appointment at the body shop on Tuesday. But even if my transgression is understandable? I still feel like a total dumbass. And the deductible on my insurance comes out to just about what I earned that day.

Outer Limits

I totally get why we give students all the time they need on many high-stakes tests. It only seems fair and right to let people have the time they need to demonstrate proficiency, if not excellence, especially in a learning environment. 

But in my decades of teaching, I have also witnessed the abuse of such flexibility, especially kids using their unlimited time to miss classes or other non-preferred activities. Recently I have also seen how having all the time you need can actually feed the anxiety we are trying to allay. "What if this is the one question that means I'm either above or below grade level?" a student asked me when I checked win with him after literally hours of testing.

And today? We had six kids who had to stay an hour after the final bell had rung to complete their state assessment. Mind you, they had started at 8 am, worked through lunch (they ate as they tested), and did not tap submit on their 55 questions until 7+ hours later. At one point, a student waved me over. He was in tears, fretting about finishing the test, which, although untimed, must be completed in a single school day unless you have specific accommodations that allow otherwise.

"I know I get one and a half times on tests," he said, and although he was right? One and a half times of unlimited is still unlimited (but completed in a day). 

And yet, once he came to terms with an actual wall, he locked in and worked a little faster. He also passed advanced.

Years ago, a colleague told me about a study in which they placed one group of toddlers in the middle of a huge field and another group in the same field, but with a fence they could see. Those in the open stayed close to their starting spot, and did not explore, but those with the enclosure went right up to the edge. Presumably, the enormous expanse was overwhelming and threatening, but the boundary was reassuring.

I don't know if it's a real study or not, but it is certainly a parable that I have never forgotten.

The Same Page

"You should print that portrait," my testing colleague suggested.

"Why?" I asked. 

"It will take up fewer pages and look better," she shrugged.

"But it won't fit," I said, tilting my head at the spreadsheet on the screen.

"It will," she insisted.

"If I hide these columns," I agreed.

"Oh, yeah," she nodded, "do that."

"Now it really does look better in portrait!" I told her.

"Y'all are crazy about the details," said another teacher who was in the office listening to our conversation. 

We laughed in acknowledgment.

"But since it's working?" she added. "Keep doing that!"

Packing Wisely

"How's it going, packing up your room?" I asked my sister-in-law this morning. After 15+ years of teaching art, she is retiring at the end of the year.

"Pretty good," she said. "I've thrown away a lot of stuff. I bought 5 Banker boxes, and I've already filled one and taken it home."

"That's good," I agreed, "but 5 boxes isn't very much."

"I don't want very much," she laughed. 

Requirements of the Job

I was tired after traveling this weekend, but Heidi had a fitful night and neither of us slept very well. No worries, though. I got up at the usual time, but made the decision to go into school a little later than I planned. I had some time to relax and recharge before heading off, and what do you know? All the work was still there when I arrived.

After three decades of classroom teaching, the luxury of a flexible schedule is unfamiliar to me, but I like it! There are still people to see, places to be, tasks to complete, and objectives to meet, but the hours are so much more forgiving.

Who knows? If I'd had one, I probably could have lasted a while longer in the workforce. But then, I wouldn't have been a teacher, would I?

Ballsy

There was a 20-minute wait when we entered the TSA security line at the Atlanta airport this afternoon. At first, we moved quickly, speedwalking with our fellow travelers back and forth past the stanchions marking the parallel lanes, but soon we caught up with the real line. As we moved forward one or two steps at a time, our attention was drawn to a young man behind us, but moving quickly forward. 

"Excuse me," he said firmly, but courteously, to passenger after passenger, without explanation. Everyone stepped aside to let him pass, and some people even apologized for being in his way. When he got to us, we did the same, and he was long gone by the time anyone thought to question him. 

Because of the chute formation of the line, we watched incredulously as he excused himself all the way to the front of the line, without ever being challenged. 

"So, all you have to do is be polite to cut?" Heidi asked with irritation.

"Maybe he has permission? Like, he lost something, and the agents told him he could just come straight back?" I theorized. "He seems so confident."  But the longer we looked on, the less likely that seemed.

With one person ahead of him, he finally stopped and waited for his turn. Then he headed off through security, less than ten minutes before he got in line.

Refreshing By Any Name

 “Do you want some water ice?” a roll poly little fellow sang out this afternoon on the Beltline. He was following a young woman, perhaps his mother, who was pulling a heavy duty wagon loaded with some coolers and cups. 

“Are you talking to us?” I asked as he passed, gesturing with raised eyebrows at me and Heidi. “Are you asking if we want some ice water?”

“You could call it ice water,” he sighed patiently, “but it’s really water ice. Want some?”

I laughed and his partner did, too. “Let’s go,” she told him, shaking her head. And away they rolled. 

Buh-Bye

“Bye, Beautiful,” the flight attendant said to Heidi as we disembarked in Atlanta. “Bye, Precious,” she said to me. “Bye, Gorgeous,” she continued as we passed.

“Did she just call you Gorgeous?” Heidi asked.

“No,” I answered. “I’m Precious. Gorgeous is behind us.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “And you’re Beautiful.”

“Aww,” said Heidi. “Well you’re gorgeous to me.”

“What about precious?” I asked.

“That, too,” she allowed. “That, too.”

A Deal's a Deal

"Do you want to hear a really funny joke?" a student asked today as I handed out test tickets for the makeup reading SOL.

"Not right now," I answered. "We're busy," I added, gesturing to the tickets.

"It's very funny, and it's short," they assured me.

"What if I don't think it's funny?" I said.

"You will," they assured me, "or else I'll be quiet."

"Maybe later," I told them.

"What do you call a lesbian dinosaur?" they started.

"See?" I interrupted, "I already don't think that's funny."

"Lickalotap--" they started.

"That's a no!" I said sharply.

"How about another joke?" they asked. 

"Nope," I shook my head. "That was your one chance. Now you have to take your test."

"Fine," they sighed, and they did.

Stumbling Stones

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed something new on my regular walk with Lucy. Two small brass discs were embedded in the sidewalk of a corner right up the hill from our home. It's a place that we pass all the time, so the new additions were notable, and I stepped over to them curiously. 

"Milly," the first one read. "Once enslaved here. Born before 1770."

"Henry," said the second one. "Once enslaved here. Born ca 1775."

As heartbreaking as it was, it was hardly surprising to be reminded that people were enslaved here; it is Virginia, after all. But when I got home, a little further research revealed that the plantation where Milly, Henry, and several other enslaved people were held captive actually extended to the property that our house is on. 

Discovering that my home was built on the site of such barbarism was gutwrenching. As I continued my research, I found that the commemorative plaques were called stumbling stones, inspired by the German, stolpersteine, which are meant to give passersby the chance to stumble upon local history. 

Personally, I think the name is doubly effective because it also highlights one of our nation's greatest moral stumbles. But maybe stumble is too kind of a word; failure is a much better fit.

I Do Got This

On the first day of testing, I was suffering a crisis of confidence when the experienced coordinator disappeared, off to troubleshoot problems in individual classrooms. I was unsure how the testing platform worked and a little afraid of messing anything up. 

"Here's a help request for you," one of my colleagues in the command center said. "Two students can't log in to their tests in room 87."

"What if I don't know what to do?" I said.

"You literally helped hundreds of students start their tests when you were a teacher," she scoffed. "You can do it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I laughed as I headed out. 

She was right, of course. I was able to get both kids into the test right away. And when I returned to the command center, I figured out how to restart tests on the clunky platform, too.

"A teacher needs help with a student's behavior in 278," she said a little while later. "Wanna go?"

"I don't know that kid," I said.

"I don't either," she replied, "but you taught here for over thirty years; I'm pretty sure you can resolve a sixth-grade behavior issue."

I laughed again. "I'm going to express doubt whenever a problem comes up," I told her. "Just so I can hear you tell me how competent I am!"

Can't Say No to the Boss

The bins were packed, and almost everything was ready for testing tomorrow, when a knock came at the door. Stopping my work on the sign-in sheet, I called, "Come in!" and was surprised to see the principal standing at the door with a small cardboard box. 

"Are those the bins?" she asked, gesturing at the organized stacks of materials against the wall with a note of surprise in her voice.

"Yep!" I assured her. Considering the test was less than 24 hours away, I expected her to be pleased, but she seemed a bit disappointed.

"I have these bookmarks," she held out the box. "One for every student."

"Uhhhh," I hedged, raising my eyebrows. "Can we give them to teachers when they pick up their bins in the morning?"

"They're in stacks of 25," she sighed. "It might take too long to count them then." She looked again at the 70 bins, bags, and baskets of test tickets, examiner manuals, and dictionaries, already packed and in alphabetical order. "I can put them in," she offered.

"I'll help," I said, and showed her the list of examiners and the number of students in each group. Then I opened each bin, placed the bookmarks she counted out and gave me inside, reverse-stacked them, and then restacked them when we finished each group. Only one basket of dictionaries tumbled out, and we were finished in about 20 minutes.

"I have something for each testing day," she told me, and I made a mental note to pick whatever it was up before we packed the bins next time!

SOL Week Eve

I dreamed about testing last night. Somebody somewhere needed to take a test, and I could not get there to give it.

It was not a nightmare.

A Good Night's Sleep

The handyman was arriving bright and early this morning, so in order to let Heidi sleep in a bit, I thought it would be a good idea to take Lucy out right before he got here. That way, she could take care of her morning business and greet him without barking up a storm.

That was the plan anyway, except that Lucy refused to get up. She snuggled in closer to Heidi every time I whispered my invitation for her to go out. Short of dragging her off the bed, which would have woken Heidi up and defeated my purpose, I could not get that dog up. When Heidi began to stir, I sighed and left the room, closing the door behind me.

I needn't have worried, though. I saw the truck through my kitchen window and opened the front door, so there was no knocking or ringing; hence, there was no barking, either. A couple of hours later, Heidi and Lucy tromped down the stairs, both looking quite refreshed.

Discretionary

"Are you going to be at school tomorrow?" a friend asked me at dinner last night.

"Nope," I said. "We only work as needed."

"Who decides what's needed?" her sister asked.

"We do!" I laughed. "As long as the testing gets done." 

"Sounds like a pretty sweet setup," my friend noted.

I could not disagree. And when I heard there was a lockdown at school today, I was doubly glad I'd missed it.

Animal Testing

Then there was the mouse. 

Four kids sat taking a standardized test in a tiny basement room of the school. It was the final makeup opportunity of the testing window, and I was initially just glad they had even shown up, unlike the seven other kids on my list. 

Each of them had a different story. One was chronically absent and just happened to be there today. One had been out sick for a week. One was completely test-avoidant and tried to miss any scheduled testing day. And the last was super anxious about doing well, and consequently spent way too much time on each question.

So there we were, about to enter the second hour of testing, and no one was even halfway through. That's when the test-avoidant guy jumped out of his seat. "There's a mouse!" he pointed, dancing a little jig.

There was indeed a tiny mouse scurrying along the baseboard at the far side of the room. "It's just that we've been so quiet, he probably thought the room was empty, and it was safe to come out," I told them. "Now he knows otherwise," I shrugged, "and he probably won't bother us."

"How can you be so calm?" the chronically absent student asked incredulously.

I was about to answer when I noticed that the student who had been out sick had her test suspended because she had been guessing too quickly. "Is it because of the mouse?" I laughed.

"Ya!" she shuddered.

I resumed her test, and although it wasn't suspended again, she was flagged for rapid guessing. "I need a pass back to class," she gasped the moment she submitted it.

Chronic absentee guy was right behind her, but the other two? Put their feet up on their chairs and settled in, one pondering deeply over each question, the other staring off into space, intentionally wasting time.

My attention wandered around the room, over the cinder block walls and scuffed tile floors, and I sighed, wishing that mouse would come back.

Gracklin Rose

We went over to some friends' house to let their old dog out, because they were stuck at work. Their backyard is small, but today, as I stood in the kitchen overlooking it, a wildlife drama was unfolding. 

A fledgling bird sat peeping plaintively in the middle of the grass while 3 pairs of grackles swooped around. At first, it was unclear if they meant to harm or help it, but then one of the iridescent purple and black males deposited some sort of juicy worm right into its gullet. 

I was still suspicious of the others, especially when the daddy grackle had to puff up all his feathers a few times, but in the end, it seemed like a cooperative effort. A little research revealed that fledgling grackles are ground-bound for 3-5 days. They are obviously very vulnerable, but their parents stay nearby to feed and protect them. 

Just as I saw today.

My Writing Assignment

My niece is graduating from high school, and it is a tradition at her school for friends and family to send notes of encouragement. On graduation day, each senior receives an envelope of letters. 

It's a nice tradition, but a lot of pressure! I have been stewing about the assignment ever since my sister forwarded the email a week ago. Over that time, I have been drafting and redrafting my ideas, looking for a thread to pull them together. Fortunately, inspiration struck last night as Heidi and I ran an errand at the dinner hour. "Look at the road," I said. "It's so clear!" 

Dear Annabelle,  

It’s hard to believe that you are graduating from high school! It doesn’t seem that long ago that you were a little girl sitting on the couch in the family room and strumming the ukulele in a princess dress, singing a song about all the people you love. I know that when someone is the youngest in a family, like you are in ours, the rest of the family may hold on to their idea of the child and overlook the adult you have become. 

But, in our defense, you were not just any old cute kid. There were several things that you said as you grew and explored the world that have become part of the shorthand language that Heidi and I use all the time. For example, when we told you how great your ukulele playing was, you explained, “I’m a bit of an expert at this.” And you were right! Your confidence and creativity were shining in that performance, and Heidi and I say that to each other often when we try something new, to show that we’re not embarrassed to be novices, especially when it’s fun! 

Another one of our Annabellisms started on one of our road trips back from DC to Atlanta. Somewhere in South Carolina, the traffic got so bad that after crawling along for what seemed like an hour, I just took the next exit and headed south on some back roads. As we picked up a little speed and cruised along past peach orchards and corn fields, you could barely contain your relief and excitement. “It’s so clear!” you said from the backseat, so perfectly capturing my feelings in the moment, that we rolled down the windows and let the warm summer air blow through the car. 

One more of our catchphrases was also from the time we spent with you in the summer. After a day spent at the pool, or hiking, or on a pirate ship, or shopping, or bowling, or mini-golfing, or at the aquarium, we would all try to figure out what the perfect dinner to cap off the day would be. “How about hamburgers?” I might ask. “Or fried chicken? Or tacos?” 

No matter if you liked the menu or not, you always had one question: What will Aunt Heidi have?” And we still ask ourselves that question all the time, not just for Heidi, but for anyone we care enough about to prepare a meal to share. It’s simply the considerate thing to do. 

Finally, whenever we see someone a little sketchy or suss, one of us will undoubtedly turn to the other and say, “Who dat guy, NiNi?” just like you did whenever you were watching The Lion King, and Scar made his first appearance. You knew who he was, but you wanted to confirm that you were right to be wary. That’s smart. 

So, forgive us when we think of the little girl you were and not the accomplished high school graduate you have become, but she was very wise, that little you. I don’t have any advice for you other than the advice you have given us over the last 18 years:

Try something new– you might be a natural. 
If the road is too crowded? Take another way and enjoy the ride.
Always think of others. 
Listen to your gut. 

 But you know that already! 

 I love you,
 Aunt Tracey

Trading Places

"I wish I could stay home with Lucy all day!" Heidi said for the umpteenth time.

"I can't stay home another day while the handyman works on the kitchen!" I said.

"It would be so great," Heidi continued.

"It's soooo boring," I sighed.

We locked eyes.

"Should I?" she asked.

"Could you?" I replied.

She could, and she will! Yay-- I can go to work tomorrow!

The Ides of May

I did not want to go.

But the deadline in our community garden to clean out your plot and plant something is May 15, and ours has been untouched since last fall. It's been a busy spring, and the calendar promises to stay full, so today was a window of opportunity I could not ignore. The only hitch was that the contractor bags I bought for the chore are in the back of my car, which is in the shop. We had four on hand, though, and I took those, knowing that when they were full it would be my cue to head home.

The minute I stepped out into the sunshine in my garden togs, tie-dye shirt, faded hat, and dirty sneakers, my attitude flipped 180 degrees. The day was glorious: sunny and cool, perfect for outdoor labor. Once up at the garden, I found the soil dry and the weeds quite yielding. My bags were full in a couple of hours, and I might have stayed longer if I could. My glutes will thank me for the moderation, though; they are already a little sore from bending and squatting.

I think I can steal some time a few afternoons this week to finish the clearing, and maybe even repair and top off the soil in some of the raised beds. I already have four tomatoes and a pepper to be planted, too, so take that, May 15!

Temporary Inconvenience

We have a handyman coming on Monday to replace the original fluorescent fixtures in the kitchen with recessed lights.  The job will require drywalling and painting the ceiling, so in preparation, we've packed the counters and pot racks. It's a lot of stuff! But, considering the cabinets and drawers are still full? I made bread and biscuits earlier in the day, and cooked dinner tonight. 

It was a little like fending in a sparsely provisioned rental kitchen. I think we'll make it until the job is done on Wednesday.

Back to the Grind

I remember this.

I didn't have to go to school today for my temporary job, so I...

• got my stitches out
• joined a call with another coach
• took the car to have that rattle looked at
• went grocery shopping
• bought packing boxes for the kitchen light project that starts Monday
• walked the dog
• had acupuncture

ALL that productivity crammed into a single day? Makes full retirement look pretty good.

Empty Pockets

"Do you have a poem in your pocket?" my friend Kerry asked me last Thursday. We were in the middle of administering a schoolwide math assessment, but there was a temporary lull in the action. 

"No," I shook my head, confused. 

"I have mine!" she waved a copy of Byron's famous poem, "She Walks in Beauty."

"But isn't it next Thursday?" I said.

Her face fell. "What? No way! I was thinking I finally got one over on you!" she sputtered as she searched the date for this year. "Dang it! You're right again!"

"I just happened to look it up yesterday," I laughed apologetically, "because I've been doing the poetry challenge in the Times."

She shook her head in mock disappointment.

"Next week!" I said cheerfully as we returned to our task.

"Do you have your poem in your pocket?" my friend Mary asked today.

"No!" I answered, aggravated with myself. "I totally forgot!" I sighed. "I guess I'd better fess up to Kerry!"

Old Habits

As I left school this afternoon, the late buses were gone, and my steps echoed in the empty stairwell down to the garage, where my good ol' Subaru was the last car left. I was weary, my eyes were bleary from looking at screens all day, and the job was not done.

What a familiar feeling!

At least I'll be off on Friday.

Nowhere to Hide

"What is it like being part of the brain?" a teacher asked me today as he was returning his testing supplies. "You're like a neuron or something now," he laughed, referring to my temporary position as co-testing coordinator.

"It is definitely a different perspective on the whole testing situation," I agreed. Then, gesturing around me, added, "We actually call this the command center."

He looked at the cinderblock walls of the basement office we were working from. "It definitely has a bunker vibe," he noted. "You'll be safe from any testing attacks down here."

I thought about the glitches and outages we had already faced, with the state assessments yet to come. "I wouldn't count on that," I sighed.

Use What You Have

"What happened to your arm?" a student asked me with a salty chin nod as I escorted him to the bathroom this morning. He'd been acting up in the makeup test session, so he required extra supervision.

"You mean this?" I pointed to the big bandage covering my forearm. "I had a thing there, and it needed to come out."

His eyes widened. "Yeah," I confirmed. "They cut a three-inch slice into my arm, and then they had to grab it with pliers and pull on it really hard to get it out. I have like ten stitches in there now, so it needs to stay covered."

His eyebrows were raised to his hairline. "Did it hurt?" he asked.

"No," I answered. "But only because they gave me four big shots of numbing. Even then, I could feel them digging around and yanking on it because it was so hard to get out." 

He looked a little pale.

"I know, right?" I said, nodding. "Hey, thanks for asking."

He didn't give us any more trouble after that.

Too Much Zen Ain't Zen at All

Twenty-seven years ago, when we moved into our current home, my sister-in-law gifted us a gold Godiva tin filled with hardware. "It will get you started on whatever you want to hang," she said. She was right, and that tin has become a catchall for miscellaneous screws and nails and other odd stuff ever since, stuffed so full that its shiny, round lid can barely contain its contents.

When I was on my tool-drawer organization kick yesterday, I ordered a box that held other little boxes, thinking that at last, I might get to the bottom of that tin, both literally and figuratively. And I was excited when it arrived today, immediately beginning a zen-like task of sorting three decades of tiny metal things into like piles. 

It was very satisfying and restful until it wasn't. I looked up an hour or two into the chore and realized my back was tight and my head ached from squinting. The dining room table was still strewn with hooks and anchors and nuts and washers and wires and allen wrench keys, so many allen wrench keys, but I was fried. There would be no more organizing today.

I was tempted to question the task itself, chastise myself for spending precious hours on such a trivial pursuit, but I restrained myself. I knew I was just overtired. I cleaned up, confident that another day soon I will return to this chaos and set it to order.

Tackling the Tiny To-dos

Today was one of those days when we actually tackled a bunch of the little things on our to-do list. The toilet hasn't been filling properly, so I replaced the fill-valve assembly. The switch on the lamp wasn't clicking, so I replaced the socket. I found the new hardware for the bathroom cabinets in the tool drawer and replaced those, too. Then I ordered some organizers to sort out the tool drawer itself; they'll be here tomorrow. 

Now that the danger of frost is officially over, I potted a couple of the dahlia tubers we purchased a month or so ago. Heidi cleaned out her shoe bin and swapped the broken one for the new one I found at the thrift store. She also went through her closet and found several items for the donation pile.

Does the house actually look any better? Not really. But we have a sense of accomplishment nevertheless, and such satisfaction may even fuel us into another productive day tomorrow.

The Farm Down the Hill

Back in January, a friend mentioned a new farm in our area. "Apparently, it's all hydroponic and artificial light," she said, "and it's located in one of the warehouses by the dog park. They have a weekly CSA."

I was stunned! Surprised by the proximity and the set-up, but also by the fact that I had no idea it was there. And even though I still had several weeks left on my traditional winter CSA, I signed up for a four-week trial right away. 

Again, I was blown away. First, they delivered my veggies right to my door, and second, everything in the bag was amazing-- fresh and delicious. They had found a fan. Soon, I was in for the ten-week, auto-renewing plan. The flexibility to skip a delivery at any time made the move a no-brainer, and their partnership with other local producers to include honey, lentils, and other pantry items to complement their fresh vegetables was a nice bonus.

The farm also did lots of community outreach, sponsoring tours and field trips to its facility. There was also an opportunity to order heirloom seedlings for my own garden, an offer I took advantage of. Today was the day when I went to pick up my tomatoes and peppers, and to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect when I pushed my way through the industrial door. At 8 am, a few employees also arrived with me, and they welcomed me into the cavernous space, filled with towering metal racks holding all sorts of plants and a honeycombed ceiling of LED light tubes.

The person coordinating my order was not there yet, but another farmer offered to show me around while we waited. He explained the complex system that moved the plants through light and dark on a 24-hour cycle while also weighing them at certain points and irrigating as necessary. He showed me the seed-starting tables, the harvest and packing area, and then led me to another shelf with a collection of plants. "Wanna try some of the crops we're not quite ready to distribute?" he asked.

Just as I finished my oyster leaf and cleansed my palette with some wasabi arugula, a woman approached with my seedlings. "Thank you so much for your support!" she said.

"And thank you for your hospitality!" I laughed. "I love this place!"

Too Big to Fail

It was an actual crisis. 

More than a thousand students were in 80+ testing groups with hundreds of accommodations and special circumstances following a special schedule, but no one could access the online test. Several staff members were at the ready, monitoring a help request spreadsheet, while my ever-capable temporary testing coordinator partner was simultaneously on a video call with central office and a conference call with the test purveyor's support line. 

After more than 30 minutes into the testing session, no one could find a solution. Out in the hallway, some of the grade-level monitors and I brainstormed troubleshooting strategies and joked around with a bit of gallows humor. "I just want to point out that everybody is in a group with an examiner and all their materials," I said with wide eyes. "That was my job!"

Just as technical support announced that there was no way we could fix the problem until tomorrow, which was useless, since it would be nearly impossible to reset all the moving pieces in less than twenty-four hours, a couple of our own teachers suggested a workaround. Five minutes later, the fix was in place, and our testing session began.

Until today, I'd only seen high-stakes, standardized testing from inside the classroom, and I thought that was ridiculously complicated enough. But watching my colleagues pull together to solve an enormous problem and then troubleshoot the three-hour session, providing equipment, online support, and behavior intervention, I was witness to another category of complexity altogether.

Good Riddance

"You did great!" the dermatologist's assistant told me as I was getting ready to leave the procedure room, where they had cut a two-inch incision and yanked a marble-sized cyst out of my right arm. "Do you want to see it before you go?"

"No!" I said. "Well, maybe."

She held up a specimen cup with a gory little orb floating in saline. "You two have been together a long time," she noted wryly as she turned to place it back on the tray.

"That's true," I agreed. It had been at least 15 years. "Bye now! Take care of yourself!" I waved.

"You, too," she said cheerfully.

"Oh," I laughed. "I was talking to the cyst! I'll see you in ten days when I get my stitches out."

In Pursuit of a One Track Mind

I often advise myself to focus on one thing at a time as much as I can, particularly as I get older. I've discovered that when my mind is two steps ahead of my body, I am much more accident-prone. Whether it's knocking over a full pot of coffee, bumping my head on the freezer door, or tripping up the steps, when these little calamities strike, I know it's because I wasn't paying attention.

Strangely, it rarely happened at school, maybe because teaching was my jam and I was often in a flow state there. Before I retired, though, I often found myself distracted outside of work, and so I made an effort to be as mindful as I could. Then, once my days became less scheduled, it was easier to stay present most of the time.

But right now, I have two part-time jobs with kind of steep learning curves, and even just juggling the hours has become a little stressful. It's also a busy time of year-- in addition to birthday and graduation celebrations, I also need to get my garden cleaned up and planted, and we have some home maintenance projects on the calendar, as well.

Today is a good example of what I mean. This morning, I spent time writing up observation notes from my coaching job, updating details for the standardized test we're administering on Thursday, and making bread. This afternoon, I had to vote in the special election, fill the car with gas, and have a cyst on my arm removed at the dermatologist. 

I was thinking of those last two commitments as I checked in and filled out my ballot at the polls. When I stopped at the gas station on my way to the doctor, I realized I didn't have the magnetic wallet that attaches to my phone. I knew I had it when I voted, and I felt certain I had it when I went to the car. I thought I remembered clipping it to the back of my phone as I waited for Heidi to complete her ballot, so I really hoped I hadn't dropped it in the parking lot or on the sidewalk.

I was feeling extremely aggravated with myself when my phone rang. It was John Smith (yes, really) from the polling place calling to let me know I had left my wallet behind in the voting booth. There was just enough time to swing by and retrieve it before heading off to have my arm dissected, cyst resected, and incision sutured, but I tried not to focus on that!

The Profiler

As I pulled into our parking lot this morning, the sun glinted off something on the edge of the driving lane. Squinting, I could make out a pair of abandoned sunglasses, and I jogged back to retrieve them after parking. Judging by their undamaged condition, I figured they hadn't been there very long, but our lot was nearly empty, so they might have belonged to any number of residents. When I examined them more closely, though, I saw that they were gold Gucci aviators, and that, plus their general location, led me to believe they belonged to our neighbor across the way. I knew that she could be a little scattered at times, especially in the morning, so it wasn't unlikely that she had dropped them on her way to the car.

I placed them on the wall of her patio and promptly forgot all about my detective work until I happened to see her pull in this afternoon. From the window, I could see she was not wearing sunglasses, which, in my mind, strengthened my case. I opened my front door as she was passing. "Are those your sunglasses?" I sang out.

She looked confused. "I don't think so."

"Really?" I was disappointed. "Gucci? Gold? Aviators?" I shook my head. "I was so sure! You're really the only one in the neighborhood who could rock that!"

She laughed and gave me an impulsive hug, tickled by the praise. Then she looked at the shades. "They are mine!" she exclaimed. "I didn't even know they were missing."

Case closed.

Sunday DInner and HBD Bill

To accommodate everyone's schedule, we finally celebrated Bill's birthday tonight, at the tail end of his birthday week. Sunday is not our usual evening to gather, so as I was planning the menu, I tried to play on a Sunday dinner from our childhood, with some elevated elements. 

My dad loved chicken with white gravy, a kind of cross between stew and fricassee, with pieces of bone-in chicken and chunks of celery and carrots. My mom served it with biscuits, peas, and mashed potatoes, a recipe she got from his sister. It is a comforting dish, but it lends itself to a lighter version, particularly if you use spring vegetables. 

I made a version tonight with a sous vide chicken thigh roulade stuffed with herbs and pea shoots. Then I blanched haricot vert, baby carrots, tiny turnips, and baby leeks, and served it all with Yukon gold potato puree and white gravy, and of course, biscuits.

The dish was light but filling, so for dessert I made pumpkin pie tassies and mini cream puffs with custard and chocolate glaze. Just one bite each, if you could stop at one! 

I was pleased with the way the meal turned out but even happier to have the chance to cook for and celebrate my brother. I do love that guy!

Imagine That

 "Are you watching the second season of The Pitt?" a friend asked us a few weeks ago.

"Not yet," I told him. "We're waiting for the whole thing to drop, so we can binge it."

His eyes widened. "You mean you're going to watch it all in one day?" he said. "I guess it will be like you're working the shift with them." He shook his head.

"That's not exactly what we had planned," I laughed. "But, wouldn't that be something!"

Lost Art

"Hey there, John!" I hailed the tech guy as he wheeled the laptop cart into my temporary office. The other substitute testing coordinator and I had been hard at work organizing the lists and materials for the district assessment next week.

"Sorry, this is late," he apologized, "but I just got out of a two-hour meeting where they told us that all middle school kids are probably going to get a laptop instead of a tablet next year."

We all groaned. "This is their plan for managing screen time?" I shook my head.

What followed was a 20-minute commiseration about the downsides of technology for young learners. I shared my theory that many kids actually resent having to use a device they consider recreational to do work. "Technology is not as engaging as it used to be, because it's so ubiquitous," I shrugged.

John nodded. "In the summer, I go to the high schools to help distribute laptops to the rising freshmen," he told us. "I bring copies of directions with me so the kids can set them up once they're issued. It's like three steps." He sighed. "You would not believe the number of students who tell me that they can't read on paper!"

Slow on the Download

"I don't have the desktop version of Excel," I informed my colleague. "This is my personal computer, so..." I trailed off. "I couldn't actually figure out how to do it," I confessed.

We spent the next 30 minutes or so looking for workarounds to the complicated directions we had been left for printing testing rosters from an enormous spreadsheet. I booted up the loaner laptop that the school's Instructional Technology Coordinator had provided, but personalizing its settings and familiarizing myself with another brand was also very time-consuming. 

Finally, through a combination of converting, sharing, saving, and YouTube research, we completed the task and printed the 80 testing rosters they would need to prepare the bins starting tomorrow.

"Everything takes longer than you think it will in this job," my colleague sighed. "Thank goodness there are two of us!"

"No kidding," I agreed and thanked her heartily for all her guidance and help.

It wasn't until I got home that it occurred to me to just download Excel from the App Store. The days when you had to buy installation discs are long gone, and nowadays you just pay for a subscription to use the software you download for free. 

And, DUH! I already have a subscription through school!

Much Ado

I was beyond dismayed yesterday when I discovered that our internet and cable services were out, but I followed all available guidance to try to remedy the situation on my own. After restarting the modem and all network devices without success, I checked the provider's website for outages, but none were listed. Then I consulted the neighbors, but their service was up and running. So, as a last resort, I called the provider and scheduled an appointment with their automated help line. 

The earliest a technician could get out here was this afternoon, and although I understood that 24 hours was a relatively quick response, spending a day without wifi seemed impossible. In addition to the online work I had for both jobs, what would we ever do for entertainment without cable or streaming? I spent a few disregulated minutes before setting up my phone as a hotspot, which allowed me to do some work. 

A while later, I experimented with using an HDMI adapter to stream content from my phone to the TV, and frankly? The results were amazing! The only thing missing was a remote, but I guess a slightly longer cable may have been sufficient, too. It wasn't long before I was wondering why we even pay for high-speed service, because it seemed like we could do everything we needed to with our data plan. 

Even so, I adjusted my plans and left school early this afternoon to meet the technician. I was a little flustered from my quick departure and commute when he rang the bell, but he seemed understanding. 

"Before I do anything," he said to me once he had his booties on over his shoes, "do you happen to know if your service has been restored? I think they were doing some work in the area."

"What?" I replied in disbelief.

Do I really need to tell you that everything was working exactly as it should?

Yup.

Bowling Season 1: Wrap Up

Today was my last bowling day of the season. I started in September with a 96 average and ended with a 110. I'm happy with my progress, but disappointed that my final game was an 85, which is actually my lowest. Clearly? Consistency will be my goal in the fall-- and by that I'm not talking about that 85!

Here are a few more of my league stats:

Games: 90
High Game: 158
High Series: 406
Total pins: 9858

And I have all summer to practice!

Faith in the Profession

And in the Pendulum meet Swing department, I received an invitation to the following webinar:

How Worksheets Support Active Learning in Ways That Screens Can’t: Myths, Busted!

It's funny, but it connects to a conversation I had just the other day with our 21-year-old house guest. "What has your experience been with Gen Alpha?" I asked the Zoomer.

"I think they're annoying," she answered predictably. (Oh, hey there, Millennials.) "And very different from us."

"How so?" I asked with interest.

"When I was born," she began, "not everyone had a screen 24/7. I mean, my baby pictures are actually printed out in an album. That's not true of younger people. Their pictures are all on somebody's phone."

I nodded, thoughtfully. "Did you have a tablet?" I asked her. 

"Not of my own. There was a family iPad, and we had to share it," she answered.

"So watching movies and other things was more of a communal experience for you," I said. "That tracks. It used to be very engaging to use short videos in a lesson, but in the last few years, kids have found them boring. Maybe because they watch short videos of their own choice all the time."

"Probably," she agreed. 

"It's not a novelty anymore," I added. "And they also hate doing skill drills on their devices. It's as if such platforms are a desecration of their screens." I laughed. "I guess teachers are going to have to figure out something else." I paused. "I'm sure they will!"

Once a Teacher...

"You should put the top down on the Jeep," I suggested to Heidi at breakfast this morning. She and Delaney were going to go shopping for a bit before we headed back up to Carlisle. 

"It's not supposed to rain, is it?" Heidi asked. Then her eyes widened. "What about the crows! They might poop in it overnight!"

We agreed that that would be extremely gross, but the weather is amazing, sunny and not too warm, so we decided to put the top down anyway and just make sure it was back up before nightfall. 

It's been several months, however, since last we put down the top, and the procedure eluded us. After digging out the manual and watching a couple of YouTube videos, we managed to convert the vehicle, though. 

As we returned to the house, I was dreading putting the top back up in just a few hours, but I bucked up thinking about the fun of riding in a convertible on a beautiful day. "You know what we should do?" I said. "We should take it down and put it back five times in a row! We need to build that automaticity."

Last to Know

Our 21-year-old goddaughter is visiting from college this weekend, and as happens whenever she is here, this evening found us lingering around the dinner table chatting long after the dishes had been cleared. "Do you know what?" she asked as the conversation meandered through the family. "I had no idea until recently that my grandparents were divorced!"

We nodded sympathetically, knowing that her grandmother had passed away the day after she was born. Her grandfather was already remarried, but she was unaware of the timeline.

Well," I laughed, "you are officially an adult now. You're going to get all the dirt now."

A little while later, we made good on that. We were reminiscing about her mom and Heidi coming to Virginia together for a summer job. "That's how I met Larry," Heidi told her, mentioning a mutual friend.

"How did my mom know him again?" she asked.

"They were dating!" Heidi said.

Her eyes widened. "So that's the guy before my dad," she replied, connecting the dots. "I have questions!"

Professional Courtesy

"If you're not familiar with farro," our waiter told us last night, "it's a grain, similar to, uh, I would say, quinoa?" he finished on an upnote. I raised my eyebrows at Heidi, but did not correct him. Everyone in our group was either farro savvy or had no intention of ordering it. I did have it on my meal, and it was excellent.

It was the second time this week I have stayed mum on food facts. On Wednesday, we went with friends to a cooking class downtown. The experience was my Christmas gift from them, and I was looking forward to it. Our session was on handmade ravioli, and as a former chef and teacher, I was very curious about both the content and the presentation. As the instructor proceeded through the lesson, the members of my party did a lot of nudging and winking at me, mostly because I refused to engage on any level other than learner. 

"How many times have you done this?" someone whispered.

"Just once, today," I answered.

"How would you do this?" someone else asked me a little later. 

I shrugged. "This way, right now," I said pointedly.

And although I didn't really learn anything new, and I may have taught the class differently, it was still enjoyable. Just like the farro.

Leaping Llamas

"What is that animal?" the teacher asked her first-graders, pointing to a black-and-white illustration in their workbooks.

"A sheep!" someone called out.

"It does kind of look like a sheep," she acknowledged.

"A llama!" suggested another.

I giggled because a llama was not something I ever would have guessed. But even though the school was less than three miles from my grandparents' house, the kids in the class were from a much different background than mine. All but one were multilingual learners, most speaking Spanish at home and English at school. (Also, llamas are a lot more ubiquitous today.)

The teacher laughed too. "It's actually a goat," she told her class. "And do you know what we call a baby goat?" She waited, but hearing no volunteers, continued, "A kid!"

Many of the students looked blankly.

"You know, like sometimes we call children kids," she said. "You're kids, and a baby goat is a kid, too." She smiled. "Now, what does this kid do?" she asked, pointing to the word "jumps" on the handwriting line beneath the picture.

"El niño salta," whispered one boy to the girl next to him, hopping up and down in his seat a bit.

He does indeed.

The Yin and the Yang

The weather today was perfect.  The sun was so pleasantly warm, and the air had just the slightest chill. It was my very favorite kind of day.

And as I walked through its glory, it occurred to me that this is why I love my cooling comforter so very, very much. It keeps me cozy and warm, but if I wake up in the middle of the night, a slight adjustment gives me a smooth, cool sensation on my bare feet or hands, soothing me right back to sleep. It's like flipping to the other side of the pillow-- a perfect combination of warm and cool. 

It's no wonder I have been sleeping so well!

AND Good Company

Besides the obvious spiffing up your house and guest quarters, having company often gives you the opportunity to do things you mean to, but never get around to. Take this weekend, for example. We're driving up to Carlisle, PA, to fetch our goddaughter, who is a senior at Dickinson. On the way back to our newly-cleaned home, we're going to stop for dinner in Frederick, MD, at Bryan Voltaggio's restaurant, Showroom. 

He's one of our Top Chef favs, and we've been meaning to get up to his hometown for over a decade. Even though we've driven through dozens of times on our way back and forth from Buffalo, Pittsburgh, and West Virginia (not to mention Carlisle), we've never made time to actually eat at one of his places. That's going to change on Friday.

Then, on Saturday, we have tickets to As You Like It at the Folger Library Theatre, another place we know we should visit more often. The current production has been well-reviewed and cited as a "love letter to Washington, D.C." and "a light-hearted tonic for the troubled times the city finds itself in." Honestly, who could say no to that?

As of now, Sunday is open, but it turns out so are we, so who knows what fun we'll get into?

The Magic Bridge

Lucy and I went out for a walk through the neighborhood on this glorious spring day. As we headed over the bridge spanning the interstate, a dark pickup truck passed us and then slowed to an ominous roll, stopping just ahead. I was skeptical, but Lucy knew who it was right away. She began shrieking and whining as Sarah, her dogwalker, clambered down and came over to say hello. 

After chatting for a good while, Lucy and I continued on our way, walking about a mile and a half before looping back to pass over the same bridge on our way home. As we crossed, a tan Honda CRV slowed with a friendly wave. Lucy stood up on the leash and craned her neck to see who it was, just as our friend Mary considerately made a U-turn and came back to say hi.

Lucy put on another shrieky-whiny show; she was that happy. "She already thinks this bridge is magical," I laughed, recalling the lady who gave her treats there a couple of months ago. 

"Maybe she's right!" Mary said.

Tales of Temping

"It should be simple!" they said. "Just swap the grade level groups for teachers in their own grades."

But of course, nothing is ever that easy, especially when you're dealing with over a thousand kids and a hundred staff members, not to mention accommodations and room size. It took me all weekend to finalize the assignments and make transparent, easily accessible lists for all the stakeholders for just one of the two upcoming tests.

Thank goodness I'm getting paid by the hour! (Also, that I don't actually have to report to work tomorrow, although I do have a meeting at 9:30.)

That Hat

"Excuse me?" a young woman at the Jeep service center approached me. "Did you use to coach at TJ School?"

I nodded and laughed. "Yes," I answered, "but I taught there, too."

"I knew it!" she said. 

"And you are...?" I asked, examining her curiously. She looked slightly familiar, but it had probably been about 20 years since she was in middle school. 

When she told me her name, I saw it right away. I reminded her that she had been in my homeroom, asked about her brother and sisters, and even her cousins. I could tell that she knew I remembered her, and she was pleased.

Later, I thought about how she remembered me as a coach rather than as a teacher. I had co-coached the girls basketball team when she was on it, and I recalled her game. She was small but very skilled, made the team in 6th grade, and became an outstanding shooting guard. She was also a good student, but basketball was her strength and her joy.

Given that? I'm glad she recognized me as Coach.

Mixed Signals

There was a carnival-like atmosphere at the home opener for the Nats today. Parking was out of the question, so we metroed over, leaving the car in the garage of the nearby mall, but it wasn't until we crowded into the green line train at L'Enfant Plaza that the party began. 

Everyone was decked out in their fan duds, and the fact that there was as many Dodgers jerseys as there were hometown gear, might have been a tipoff. Even so, who could blame anyone for being excited to see the back-to-back world champs featuring the best player in baseball? 

And for an inning or two, it even seemed like the home team might pull off an upset, especially when Miles Mikolas struck out the lead-off batter, none other than Ohtani himself, and CJ Abrams hit a three-run homer in the bottom of the first. But the Dodgers have an incredible offense, and answering that homer with five of their own, they killed the Nats 13-6. 

"I don't think we've ever seen them win!" Heidi said in disgust as we headed out the gates. 

"Maybe not," I shrugged, "but they did score more runs than we've ever seen today."

Long Shot

I think my interest in space was renewed last year, around this time, when I took a long-term sub job teaching sixth-grade science. The unit was on weather and the atmosphere, and as I reviewed the material to prepare, I remembered how fascinating both topics could be. I also recognized some gaps in my understanding of those subjects, particularly regarding the layers of the atmosphere and where outer space actually begins. 

Yesterday, as I was working at my laptop, I received a news alert that the Artemis II mission was minutes away from launching its journey to the moon. I clicked on the link and joined the live feed showing the enormous rocket in that classic position at Kennedy Space Center. As they ran through their final checklists, I considered when I last watched a manned rocket launch.

It may have been in January of 1986. At that time, I was enthralled by the notion of sending a teacher to space, and I eagerly joined my father in front of his enormous TV. We watched the crew waving in their blue jumpsuits as they boarded the bus to the launch pad, and of course, we saw what happened 73 seconds into the flight. I guess it's no surprise that I haven't really wanted to see anything blastoff since then.

As I waited for the countdown to resume, I studied the graphics describing the mission and flight plan. It seemed hard to believe that it would take four days to get to the moon, that bright rock that we see in the sky almost every night. I read that this was the first time human beings would leave Earth's low orbit since 1972. I was in 5th grade then, and flying to the moon seemed like a normal occurrence, a lot like launching the space shuttle seemed a decade or so later. 

I heard mission control wish the crew good luck and Godspeed, and then ten, nine, eight. The earth rumbled, and fire, smoke, and steam surged from the propulsion nozzle, thrusting the frame and the payload into the clear blue Florida sky. Safely. And they were on their way to the moon.

The Great Bollard Debate

Heidi, bless her heart, is on the board of our homeowner's association, a thankless role she regularly curses. Recently, our community replaced our aging lighting system at significant expense. As part of the upgrade, the lighting company installed bollards in front of some of the lamp posts most vulnerable to damage from cars or delivery trucks. 

The installation makes sense to protect our investment and was included in the comprehensive plan approved by the board. What was not noted, however, was that the bollards would be four feet tall and sheathed in a high-visibility shade of safety yellow. Understandably, when they appeared, they became the subject of a lot of neighborhood chatter, especially because they are so hard to miss. 

Some residents demanded their immediate removal, prompting the board to clap back. Others wondered if they could be another color, acknowledging their usefulness, but wishing to dial back their industrial appearance. 

Ever since this controversy erupted, Heidi and I have noticed and discussed the bollards wherever we go. Friends! They are everywhere! And they come in all sizes and shapes, which raises the question: who chose our bollards and why? 

As of today, the board has not been able to come to an agreement about the issue, although one of the members did confess on their text chain that she was all bollarded out, and once this was resolved, she hoped never to hear the word again, or at least not in such frequency.

Here and Now

It's fun to travel, but it's always sweet to get back home. After a day spent on the road yesterday, I slept in this morning and enjoyed a late breakfast of coffee and cinnamon toast made from homemade bread. I went through the mail, caught up with neighbors, and enjoyed relaxing with the cat on my lap in my easy chair. The sliding glass door is open to let in the warm spring air, and a light breeze ruffles the barely-budding branches as doves, robins, and cardinals fly back and forth from my neighbor's bird feeder. In a few minutes, I'll head out to walk the dog, and after that, it will be a light supper of fresh veggies and fish. 

Maybe tomorrow will be more ambitious, but I doubt it will be any better.

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. 

The Aging Road Warrior

It used to be nothing to load up the car and head out on a road trip of 8, 10, or even 12 hours. Sure, we were always happy when we arrived, maybe even a little tired, but there was no soreness on getting out of the car, much less any fatigue while on the way. "You drove straight through?" our parents might ask with amazement, and we would shrug as if such a feat were a given. Because it was.

But today? After 4 hours in the car? Youch! And there were still another three to go! We are definitely going to have start planning stretch breaks.

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. 

Detour Ahead

We were still processing as we headed to the airport on Friday to fetch Heidi's nephew, Kyle. His presence was planned as a surprise for her mom's 80th birthday celebration, but her brother had let it slip the night before. 

"It makes me mad!" I started, "but maybe I'm just disappointed."

Heidi nodded. "My mom doesn't really like surprises anyway," she pointed out with a shrug. "So maybe it was for the best."

"But we didn't even get to be there when he wrecked it!" I groused. "Oh, crap!" I said. "I just missed the exit for the airport! That's what I get for complaining."

The map app blinked disapprovingly, and then recalculated, adding 15 minutes to our arrival. Fortunately, traffic was lighter than predicted and we made good time, meeting Kyle just as he whooshed through the big doors at arrivals.

This morning? It was a different story. The party was over, and we all agreed it had been success. The visit had been fun and too short, but Kyle had to get back for work, so we piled into the car and headed back to the airport. This time, the vibe was totally different. It was a little early, and the three of us were quieter, making tentative plans for the next time we might see each other. 

It had been a good weekend, and, undistracted by any negativity? I did not stray from the route.

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. 

Not That Tired

"Do you want to play another game of Spit?" my nephew Kyle asked. 

He's 25, but he's an only child, so he missed out on those endless summer days of playing cards with siblings. In our house, the fast-paced game of card stacking was always a favorite, but until this weekend? Kyle had never played. Still, he's usually up for a little competition, and I, if I do say so myself, am a good teacher, so soon we were happily slapping cards on piles. He picked the game up pretty quickly, but even so, he was facing over five decades of experience; I may be old, but I've still got the muscle memory to make a formidable opponent. 

We'd been playing for a while when he posed his question, though, and I declined the challenge, thinking ahead to all the things I still needed to accomplish on this Saturday.

"What? Are you tired of winning?" he taunted me with a raised eyebrow and a twinkle in his blue eyes.

I laughed. "It's on!" I answered. "I think I can beat you at least one more time!"

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. 

Evening Constitutional

It was pouring rain when we arrived in Buffalo after nearly eight hours on the road, and we dashed through the drops to unload the car and get inside the warm house, where dinner was waiting. A couple of hours later, though, a full belly and a day sitting on my butt caught up with me, and I peered into the darkness to see if the rain had let up. 

It had not, but both the dog and I needed some fresh air and a good leg-stretching, so we geared up and headed out into the misty evening. There was a steady, but soft patter of rain on us as we walked the deserted sidewalks, sidestepping as many puddles as we could, but the air was mild, and the wind was still. 

Thirty minutes later, we closed our mile-and-a-half loop, a little damp but relaxed and clear-headed too.

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. 

Offline

I never really thought about it, but maybe one reason I love roadtrips so much is the forced absence of screens. When you're at the wheel heading for the horizon, you can't be on your phone, too. Moreover? I don't miss it. 

And that was true today, as we headed north to Buffalo to celebrate my mother-in-law's 80th birthday. We saw cherry blossoms, daffodils, mountains, pastures, horses, log cabins, cemeteries, and trailer parks as we drove through sun and torrential rain. We talked, listened to an audiobook, and sang along with the radio, but we didn't swipe, tap, scroll, like, save, or delete a single thing. 

It was pretty wonderful.

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. 

Red Light, Green Light

One of my favorite NY Times writers, Melissa Kirsch, has started a new weekly newsletter called The Good List. Subscribers receive an email every Wednesday with a curated collection of "ideas, rituals, and artifacts to add joy to your days." I was sold when I read about the idea a couple of weekends ago in Kirsch's regular Saturday essay, but after 2 weeks? I'm all in!

At the end of this week's installment, Kirsch added a recommendation from a reader: instead of griping about all the red lights you hit while driving, consider counting all the green lights you make. It might just shift your mood!

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. 

A Hand for my Hands

My hands were busy today! 

They brewed coffee, packed lunch, made tart dough, and held gyan mudra for eleven minutes during meditation. They washed and dried my hair, drove me to bowling, and high-fived my teammates after throwing five strikes and picking up 11 spares. They switched my bowling bag for my work bag and took notes throughout a 90-minute meeting for test coordinators preparing for the upcoming SOLs. They snapped photos of the flock of cedar waxwings that was right.outside.the.window! Then they leashed up the dog and kept her close as we walked the neighborhood. And now they are limbering up to roll out that dough and top it with caramelized onions and greens to serve with tossed salad for dinner, just as soon as they finish typing this appreciation.

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. 

FOMO

I was feeling frazzled as I settled into the tiny blue chair next to the bookshelf and carpet. I had been scheduled to observe this first-grade class at 8:30, but an accident at rush hour on I-295 had doubled my travel time, and I was late. I took a deep breath, adjusted my glasses, pulled out my pen and pad, and prepared to record what I was seeing. 

Six little scholars were sitting at the focus group table, blending sounds into words with their teacher as she played a phonemic awareness "game" with them. I was beginning to write when, over my shoulder, I heard whispering. I turned toward the murmur, and I saw another little girl following along with the lesson from her desk. She was supposed to be working on Lexia on her device, but she was acing the game instead—quietly answering every question correctly.

I laughed, and when I turned back to my observation, I realized that all the tensions of my troublesome travels were gone. I guess I just needed a little first-grade mojo.

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. 

Keepin it Elastic

As a child, I was always a quick learner, and that quality has certainly shaped how I see myself, even today. No doubt it played a role in my becoming a teacher; quick learners often love school. And, as an educator, of course, I value lifelong learning. I used to love it when students knew things I didn't, and for many years, I challenged myself to learn random things that were of interest to them, for example, the names of the Backstreet Boys, performing The Cup Song, and how to say the Pledge of Allegiance in ASL. 

In my last few years of teaching, I had several kids who knew all the flags of the world, and that actually confounded me, maybe because there are so many. At the same time, my sister became an avid fan of the online game, Worldle, where you have to identify a country simply by its outline. Both of these tasks were really hard for me to learn, and I had to face the fact that my brain was not as elastic as it once was.

There are plenty of geography games on the internet, though, and recently I've been challenging myself to play both Travle, where you have to find the shortest route from one country to another by naming the nations in between (in order, please!), and GeoConnections, where you have to sort 16 facts into four categories matching a single country each (including the flag). 

It's still hard! But I am seeing progress. I know a lot more about the world than I used to, and I'm learning more all the time.

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. 

Somehow I'm Neither Here nor There

The vacation home we rented last weekend in Pequea (pronounced peck-way) PA was situated right on the Susquehanna, with only a rutted dirt lane and the Port Road Branch of Norfolk Southern Railroad separating us from the river's edge. The house was well insulated from the rumble of the passing trains, which seemed to travel only at night. And although I can't say I slept through the noise, I can say it lulled me right back to sleep once I knew what it was.

There was a dreamlike quality to the weekend —muted sunsets and morning mist on the river, and then those trains that seemed to whisper by all night. We all felt it, I think, and we channeled the spellbinding setting into creating playlists of songs about trains.

I've been listening to mine ever since we got back.

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. 

In Her Nature

"Do you love it here?" Heidi crooned to Lucy as we headed down the trail at the Elizabeth Hartwell Nature Preserve. A bald eagle flew right over heads.

Lucy wagged her tail, nose slammed to the ground, inhaling all the new smells.

"She's so happy!" Heidi said. "That makes me happy!"

"I know," I nodded. "That's why we're here."

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. 

To All the Folks I've Known Before

I once calculated that I taught somewhere near 3,000 students over the course of my career as a sixth-grade English teacher. With the exception of my nephews, I don't see any of them regularly. I do think of kids I've known often, though. Sometimes I run into them, all grown up, or nearly so, in this small town we all live in. Sometimes, I'll see someone who reminds me of a former student, or hear a song someone sang, or think of a book we read together, or remember a story they wrote or an anecdote they shared. And at those times, I'm always grateful for the brief time we knew each other so very well.

The same is true of colleagues. It happens sometimes that you work very closely or in the same school for years, and then someone moves on, and you lose touch. I used to feel guilty for not being a better correspondent, but I realized that was a waste of energy. So now whenever those folks come to mind, I intentionally take a moment to recall something I valued about them, wish them well, and send some loving kindness their way.

Today? It was Roula, a fellow teacher who fiercely protected her students' right to learn, always spoke her mind, and shared a cool recipe for tahini sauce: squeeze a lemon, then fill the empty shell with water to get the right balance of acidity for your tahini and garlic. Wherever she is, I hope she is happy and well. I made the sauce to go with dinner tonight, and it was perfect.

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. 

Who Does That on a Wednesday?

"I haven't seen you in forever!" A neighbor hailed me this afternoon when we were both out with our dogs. "How's retirement?'

"Well," I answered, trying not to look at my watch. "I took on a consulting job as a teacher coach."

She laughed. "I knew it! You're not the type to sit around, are you?"

I shrugged. "And did I tell you I joined a bowling league?"

She shook her head and laughed again.

"It's good, though," I told her. "Those two things keep me busy, but usually not too busy." 

What I didn't say was that I had just gotten home from two observations over in Maryland, and I needed to run to make a doctor's appointment before coming home to debrief with the teachers on Zoom. 

Maybe I'll do that no-plans thing on Saturday.

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. 

Hyper Locavore

Way back in 2009, right around the time I started this blog, I read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, Barbara Kingsolver's revelatory account of the year she and her family committed to eating only locally produced food, and, as much as possible, homegrown meat and vegetables. For months, I aspired to live a similar life, and I actually got a community garden plot the following year. I also shop at local farmers' markets and have participated in a CSA for a decade and a half.

But the thing from the book that's stuck with me was how many staple items are nearly impossible to source locally. Take something as simple as salt, for example (although I do know someone who knows someone who processes gourmet salt in a beach town on the Eastern shore). Now consider pepper, coffee,  chocolate, cinnamon, or even lemons.

The Kingsolver family made exceptions for such pantry items, and each member of the household was allowed to select one "luxury" item that did not fit the guidelines. That's reasonable, but I'm still stuck on producing everything myself, if only on a tiny scale. A few years ago, I decided that I wanted to grow every single ingredient for my summer tomato sauce in my garden. In addition to the obvious tomatoes and herbs, I also planted shallots and garlic. I was stumped by the olive oil, though.

Last summer, I saw a little olive tree for sale at Trader Joe's, and I thought that maybe in a few years? I'd have just enough olives to crush for one batch of that tomato sauce. I didn't realize that olive trees need time in the cold or that they won't fruit, and my plan to winter it over in the guest room was a bust. They can really only tolerate lows in the 20s, though, and that posed a bit of a problem until I rigged a heating mat and plant cozy up on the deck. 

I'm proud to say my olive is still alive and maybe even thriving, despite one of the coldest winters we've had in many years. That success has inspired me! The olive tree has some company now-- a cinnamon tree, a coffee bush, and a tiny little black pepper vine. Oh, and the lemon tree is on its way!

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.