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.