No Need to Thank Me

I read recently that the smell of flatulence is actually good for you. Evidently, hydrogen sulfide in small doses can protect the mitochondria in our cells, thereby preventing stroke, heart failure, diabetes, arthritis, dementia and other effects of aging.

So now when I toot a little (or a lot), I don't even say Excuse me.

Nope, I just tell Heidi that I am purifying our cells, one fart at a time.

Worry Never Helped

A former colleague stopped by school today to bid us all farewell before moving to Charleston, SC. Although her replacement is terrific, we miss her big smile and easy way with the kids already.

"So how's the year so far?" she asked, well aware of the challenges we are confronting with increased enrollment, new staff, and construction literally right outside our classrooms.

"Let me put it this way," I started. "Last year I made the decision not to even think about how things might be this year." I shrugged. "What could I change by worrying? I asked myself. Maybe it won't be so bad."

The other teachers and I who are still at the school shook our heads with woe, considering the trials we are facing in addition to actually teaching our students.

No parking, everyone stretched thin, new administration coming down hard on the kids, first year of departmentalizing special ed, flawed master schedule, and a brand new learning management system that nobody knows how to use.

"It's way worse than I ever could have imagined," I sighed. "Thank goodness I didn't worry too much.!"

Lord of the Whys

Why do we tell stories? I asked my class today as part of the personal narrative unit, and as they were discussing their ideas with another student one guy waved flagged me over.

"Can I tell him a story?" he asked, nodding at his partner.

"That's not exactly what we're doing," I told him, "but why do you want to?" I continued, drawing out the word.

"Because he told me one," he shrugged, "and now it's my turn."

"But you don't have to tell a story," I said.

"I know," he answered impatiently, "but I want to."

"But WHY do you want to?" I probed, eye brows raised. "That is the question."

"Oh," he said. "Because it's fun? Because I think he might like it? Because I will like telling it?" He paused. "Are you just going to ask me why, why, why, again?"

"Nope," I said. "Do you know why?"

Sleep Deprived

Why? Why? Why?

Our puppy was doing so well-- out of the crate at 4 months, recovering from spaying like a champ with no chewing licking or even whining about her little pillow of shame. So last night, after the stitches were out, and she finally had a chance to play with other dogs for the first time in 10 days, and she ate a healthy dinner and was neatly groomed, it didn't seem like such a stretch that she might sleep soundly through the night.

And yet...

Let's just say, if Lucy ain't sleepin, ain't nobody sleepin.

After a night of jumping and playing and chewing and tossing and rocking and rolling, today was a very long day.

And There She Was

"I forgot to give Emily these tomatoes," I complained to Heidi as I packed up to leave school today around 5. "I don't know if she's still here, but I wrote myself a note for tomorrow," I continued, stepping into the hall and closing my door behind me. A quick glance down the looooooong corridor to my right revealed a miraculous sight. "Emily!" we shouted. She turned around, and I ducked back into my room to grab her gift from the garden.

Happy ending!

Did He?

We talk a walk on the National Mall this morning, hoping to enjoy the beautiful weather and tire our puppy out. Our plan was to walk from the Capital to the Lincoln, reflection pool to reflection pool a distance of two miles, and back again.

As we neared the first reflection pool, all the ducks diving drew Lucy's attention, but I was more engaged by the brother and sister walking toward us. She perhaps eight and he around six were also fascinated by the animal life in the pool.

"I see a shark!" he cried and grabbed her elbow.

"They don't have sharks here!" she said crossly.

"Where are we, again?" he asked.

"Washington!" she told him. "The Capital?" she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the impressive edifice gleaming white against the amazing blue September sky.

"Well I saw a shark," he said.

Vegging

"Going for the exotic vegetables, are you?" the woman ahead of me in the grocery line asked as I unloaded my shopping basket. "What is that? Cassava? Jicama?" she guessed.

I laughed politely. "No, it's rutabaga," I shrugged, "actually pretty homespun."

"Well, I never eat rutabaga," she assured me. "Sweet potatoes? Yes. Carrots? Sure, lots of them."

"Better watch out," I warned her. "Rutabaga could be next... Those are definitely gateway vegetables!" 

Imperfect Storm

Week one is in the books, and oh my gosh you guys!

I

Am

Exhausted!

Could it be the grueling combination of new students, new staff, new curriculum, new learning management system, new elementary school being built right outside my window, and...

old teacher?

Nah!

I see you Monday.

Telling the Tale

The first week of writing workshop is spent gathering ideas for personal narratives in our new writing notebooks. It's more fun than it sounds-- the kids get to play around with a few low stakes get-to-know-you writing exercises that are designed to turn up some new topics for the first unit.

On Wednesday it was If you were a character in a novel, what would the plot be? As I circulated from student to student, I found that just having them tell a story from their lives in third person turned out to be incredibly freeing. There were so many compelling tales about family, friends, heartbreaking losses, school and playground drama, pets, championship games, and changing schools, cities, states, and countries.

"What would the story be about?" I asked each kid.

"It's about a 9-year-old girl and her mom and brother who travel to Africa," one girl explained. "Her dad had to stay home to work," she continued. "All the grown-ups were really nice to the kids when their mom was around," she said, "but one day when their mom went shopping, the mean maid locked them in a closet!"

My eyes grew wide. "Wow!" I told her. "What a story!"

Another student's story was about a boy who was starting middle school. When he found out that his buddy wasn't on the same team, he didn't even want to go any more. He begged his mom to skip the open house so that he could stay home and play video games, but she insisted. When he got to school that afternoon, he was amazed to run into another kid who had been a really good friend in 4th grade until he moved and went to another school.

"It has a silver lining!" he told me.

I had to agree.

The Baby and the Bathwater

On the second day of school our interdisciplinary team met. It was the first of semi-weekly meetings that will continue throughout the year and the final vestige of the middle school team model that was the standard when I began my career.

Back then, teams were intentionally-organized independent entities designed to support students and based on the theory that a small group of adults working with the same kids could use their common knowledge to both educate and build a community to support the whole child. Students would feel connected and nobody would fall through the cracks.

We spent a lot of time in the 3-4 times a week we met discussing students and meeting with other professionals and parents to find successful interventions to help them. The model wasn't perfect, but it was helpful in smoothing the way down one of the roughest roads many kids encounter.

These days the focused has shifted, and supporting the whole child has taken a backseat to academic achievement measured by standardized tests, an approach more reliant on technology and disciplinary expertise than personal relationships and community. Although teams exist in name, kids are cross-grouped more and more, and the discrete, grade-level team is a thing of the past.

Today, I saw the glazed eyes of my colleagues as they sat through a meeting that was significantly devoted to the needs of students they don't know and never will. When time is a premium, as it always is with educators, such a practice cannot stand, and my prediction is that the middle school model will be abandoned in a decade.

First Impressions

Every year there is some notable feature about the latest group of sixth graders. This year it has to be height. I kid you not-- there are at least 10 kids who are under four feet tall.

"There must be a colony of elves nearby!" I noted to my colleagues as the students left us following their first day of middle school. "I hope they are the industrious kind."

So Long for Now

The cicadas were screaming this afternoon as we pulled into the parking lot at Roosevelt Island. Clearly, the place had been packed before-- as evidenced by the cars pulled up on the shoulder of the parkway on the other side of the stone wall-- but we had no trouble finding a spot. At 4 PM on Labor Day, the holiday weekend was winding down, despite the persistent aroma of wood smoke and barbecue.

As Lucy, Heidi, and I ambled down the trail and across the bridge crossing the Potomac, a fresh breeze blew over the river from the north, and without thinking the three of us paused to look over the railing. Lucy's eye caught a merry group of kayakers passing beneath us, and she cocked her head when they disappeared. Heidi and I looked out over the towers of Georgetown University and the National Cathedral, standing clear against the late summer sky.

We had a very pleasant walk along the perimeter of the island and then returned to our car, crossing the bridge again with the western sun in our eyes and summer at our backs, falling ever farther behind as we headed home.

Coexisting

A house wren has built her nest in one of the hanging baskets on our back deck. I knew what she was up to when she darted away each time I watered, but I figured she'd go on her way after being regularly drenched.

A few rain storms later, she was well-established. especially since I hadn't been dumping water on her every day. And now? There is an ever strengthening peep peep peep coming from the basket, and a quick peek inside reveals a lovely woven structure with an opening to the side (presumably to keep the moisture out!).

Oh, I'm not angry-- the plants are fine, and what an idyllic young life those nestlings have! Imagine being born on a late August day in a basket of mint and flowers. I wish them all the joy that such a lovely beginning surely promises.

Mane of Shame

As Lucy's inevitable spay surgery approached, we tried to be proactive. Every pet I've ever had has been a little bit traumatized by that giant megaphone that some politely call a surgical recovery collar, but everyone else knows as the cone of shame. Watching them crash and stumble around the house is heartbreaking, so hoping to get ahead of that awfulness I researched alternatives.

The top two were an inflatable ring that resembles a travel pillow or a life vest and a soft, velvety version of the cone which was also designed to look like a lion's mane, complete with ears. Perhaps I should have known better, especially when the product description exclaimed that it could double as a Halloween costume, but that was the device we chose.

And... it is adorable! And somewhat useful, but we did go buy an inflatable ring this morning, and of course that classic, let's call it, Elizabethan collar, shall we? Is standing by.

Just Add Kids

Before I left school this evening I paused to look around my classroom. It was ready for the first day next Tuesday. In fact, it was so ready, everything just so and just so familiar, that I had to blink a few times to remember that summer even happened.

Year 25?

Here we go!

It's On

On the Thursday of pre-service week we always host an open house for new sixth graders and their families. Moving to middle school is a big deal, and it must be comforting to scope out the place and put a few faces to unfamiliar names. Our message is simple-- Don't worry! When you come to this room on Tuesday, I will tell you everything you need to know. 

Almost everyone leaves feeling better, including me. It's always great to meet the kids, and the open house reminds me that I have been doing this job, this very job, in this school and this very room for quite a while. I know what I'm doing, no matter how many monkey wrenches are thrown my way. 

Down a Man

There is no math teacher on my team right now. Last spring saw the exodus of three of the four sixth grade math teachers, and as of yet, with less than a week to the firs day of school, only two have been replaced.

Oh, never fear! There is a plan in place along with the promise that someone is definitely in the pipeline to start within a couple of weeks, but amidst the back-to-school bustle and buzz, the classroom across the hall from mine sits dark and empty. "What are you going to tell the kids and parents at the open house tomorrow?" a concerned somebody asked me today.

"I' just going to say that we're not offering math on our team this year," I shrugged. "If they want to take that class, they're going to have to switch to another team."

I thought it was funny.

Time Will Tell

Today I found out a couple of things I didn't even know I wanted to know.

1. What will happen when it's raining, and we're running late, and there's no parking lot at school?

It turns out, that so far, not many of our colleagues seem interested in parking on the street that adjoins the far side of our campus. Of course that may change in the next two years.

2. What would happen if the consultant who was hired to present an all day professional development to half the staff were to become violently ill with a stomach bug?

It turns out that we would be tasked with making all manner of gymnastic adjustments so that we could reschedule our PD for tomorrow and still meet, plan, and. Ollaborate with our colleagues who were in the other session which was not postponed.

Do I dare wonder what else I don't know I need to know?

Nah. 

Just No

Our little Lucy really is improving on the leash-- she's a good girl and she wants to do well, but at 6 months it's really hard sometimes. Fortunately, her fellow dogs are on our side. Oh, they know she's a puppy, but when she stands on her back legs and tries to tangle all the leashes, their patience is limited. Most of them turn and trot away to the far end of their own tethers, leaving their owners to shrug apologetically as Lucy turns her head in adorable confusion.

"I don't blame 'em!" we usually say as we continue on our krazy puppy walk.

Surplus

"I need to run to the garden," I told Heidi yesterday. "I think there may be some tomatoes and a few other things ready to pick."

Oh
my
golly!

Two half-bushel baskets later I staggered home. This morning? We canned 12 quarts of tomatoes! AND there are so many more in the garden that will be ready this week.

"How many tomato plants do you have anyway?" my brother asked when he saw

all
the
TOMATOES.

"A lot!" I answered.

Leader of the Pack

"They seem to be walking pretty well together," I said to Heidi, sweeping my arm at the three dogs ambling amiably by our sides. "Well, except that Sonic's a little ahead of me," I noted.

She nodded.

"Don't worry!" I assured her. "He's nearly 13-- I think I can outwalk him." And with that I picked up the pace a bit. But, so did he. Soon we trotting down the parking lot.

Heidi laughed. "Wow! I don't think I've seen him move that fast in years!"

Thank Goodness

How does it feel to be back to school? is a question many teachers hear at this time of the year.

For me it's never been an easy transition, no matter how much I love, or do not love, my job and workplace. Even so, there's nothing quite so sweet as Friday Night when you're just a workaday gal.

I'm With Her

Because of construction going on at and around our campus, parking is going to be at a premium for the next couple of years. Fortunately, the district secured spaces in some temporary lots; unfortunately, over half of them are about half a mile away. Oh, there is a shuttle, but, well, it's not very convenient.

In the interest of fairness and transparency, the administration did a double blind lottery right after our meeting the other day. I waited to see where my spot and those of my friends and teammates would be, silently considering the logistics of all the possibilities. When at last my name was called, I was assigned to the far garage. Rather than despair, though, I crossed my fingers for Heidi's luck, since her name had not yet been called.

When it was? She got a spot much closer to school. "Another plus for marriage!" texted our friend Mary.

Lavender Lining

As a last day of summer hurrah, my cousin treated the three teachers in her life, Heidi, Emily, and me, to lunch on the town. The meal started nicely with calamari and fried green tomatoes with pimento cheese and tomato jam for the table. They were yummy, and I was gratified that everyone (but me!) agreed that my tomato jam was better than theirs.

When the mains were served, it took me a few bites to recognize that my grilled fish tacos were actually burned beyond tasting good, and so I flagged the waiter and asked him to take them back to the kitchen and let them know, which he did, graciously. I chose not to reorder or order another dish, which worked out for me, as dessert was next, and the restaurant is known for its milkshakes.

I don't usually order a sweet after a meal, but after sending my lunch back, I figured I had something coming. Oh, there was blueberry pie with lemon curd and cheesecake on the table, but my lavender milkshake? Was better than them AND a million fish tacos!

I'm going to remember that.

Breaking Ice

The first meeting of the new school year started with... an ice breaker.

"Uncommon Commonalities" required random groups of 5 to trace one of our figures on a big piece of mural paper and identify at least 10 things we all had in common excluding school and the area we live in. As I lay down in a classic crime scene pose, I eyed the one guy in our group of otherwise 50-something white women and said, "You are going to make this tough!"

And he did! Where everyone else liked coffee, gardening, and probably pedicures, he wanted to know who watched what sports. Cooking? "I guess you have to eat, so, yeah," he shrugged.

Oh, he wasn't the only outlier, by any means. "What's your favorite color?" I asked him.

"Blue," he answered.

"Blue," said the next person.

"Blue or green," said the third.

"Blue!" said the fourth.

"What about you?" asked the guy.

I laughed. "Yellow," I answered.

And so it went until we agreed that we all liked to read, go to the beach, have pets, travel, and eat ice cream, chicken wings, and pizza. In addition, we all saw part of the eclipse, celebrate Christmas, and appreciate flexibility.

We listened as people from the other groups reported their commonalities. "We all go to church!" one of them told us, "And we love Jesus!" she finished.

The guy and I looked at each other. His eyes were wide. "That would have been a hard one to say no to!" he whispered. "Thank goodness I wasn't in that group."

Moonshadow

I'm not sure why I did not really engage with the great eclipse of '17. Perhaps it was the hype; I predicted it to be over-publicized and underwhelming, and I made no real plans for the afternoon. Still... there was something awfully alluring about the entire phenomena, and in the end I could not ignore it.

In fact, I dreamed about it last night. I was standing on the sidewalk of a small town, and across the street was an older man in a lawn chair explaining what an eclipse was. He was under the awning of an old-fashioned hardware shop, and as I listened to him, I noticed the reflection of the sun in the plate glass window of the store, and I watched the whole eclipse without any strain to my eyes.

So this afternoon when I found myself in the parking lot of a grocery store, I put on my polarized shades and looked for the reflection of the sun in the tinted windows of my car. It was not as clear as my dream, but when I squinted? I could see the shadow of the moon, and I was mesmerized. Fortunately for me, a young employee of the store was standing out front graciously offering to share his glasses with anyone who was interested in taking a peek.

Yeah. That was a waaaay better view.

RIP Joe Levitch

News today that Jerry Lewis has passed away at the age of 91. Wow. My wish is that he rest in peace, but my feelings about his career are a little more complex. I have to say that I never found his humor funny. It always seemed a little inappropriate to me, even as a child. The fools he played always seemed to me to smack of ridicule rather than self-deprecation; they were stupid, and we were meant to laugh at them rather than with them.

Then, the telethon. I confess that part of my dislike for the spectacle was the inconvenience of having every program on one of the only three channels we got preempted for the last day of summer. Even so, I was not a picky TV watcher in the least (Did I mention we only had three channels?!), and there was definitely something about the program that turned me off.

It might have just been the sweaty tuxedo and cigarette that Lewis sported with manic weariness in the waning hours of the show, or the cheesy giant thermometer that showed donations, or the boxy tiers of "operators" manning the phones under stark fluorescent light. It just didn't ring true to me, despite the kids in braces and wheelchairs who were always part of the spectacle.

Who knows? These ramblings are based on 45+ year-old-memories, but considering all the fond memories I have of my childhood? Jerry Lewis is not part of them.

Serendi-party!

"What are you guys doing the rest of the day?" my brother asked after we had met up at the dog park with the puppies and Sonic.

Emily and I had already been to the farmer's market while Heidi and Bill watched the dogs, and Lucy was pretty worn out, so our schedule was pretty wide open. Heidi and I looked at each other and shrugged. "No big plans," I said.

"Why don't you come over for dinner then?" he replied. "I'll make steak and tuna, and we'll have a good summer meal."

Um?

Hell yeah!

P.S. I'm bringing the tomato jam and corn ice cream!

Hmm-ing Bird

Just a moment ago I opened the sliding glass door and took a deep breath of warm, humid air. At the end of a passing thunder storm everything dripped, and so I did not step outside but rather surveyed the hanging baskets and planter boxes through the screen. Everything was flourishing.

To my right brilliant green wheat grass sprouted a couple of inches tall, planted for the cat we no longer have with us. Could there be a clearer sign that life goes on, I wondered, or is it just a patch of grass that nobody even wants?

The tiniest of chirp pierced my sadness. A hummingbird as gray as the sky sipped at the salvia in the hanging basket across the deck. I held my breath as she whirred to within inches of where I stood, and just above the cat grass paused at a striped yellow petunia and drank her fill of nectar and rain water before silently zipping away.

Highlight

We had about a half an hour before our movie started this afternoon, so Heidi, Josh, and I wandered down the plaza, grabbed a coffee and a lawn chair and played a quick game of giant connect-four in the breezy, sunshiny day.

I loved it!

My Jam

I spent a big chunk of the day dispensing with the bounty of my garden. Perhaps the coolest thing I did with tomatoes was to turn 2 pounds of lovely little homegrowns into 8 ounces of tomato jam with rosemary, a touch of orange, and a hint of habanero.

To my readers who are skeptical of such a [con]fusion of sweet and savory: try it! It's really good you guys!

Preservation

Even as I spent my day pickling peppers and cauliflower, putting up tomato sauce, and adding "can salsa" to my end-of-summer-vacation list, my sister-in-law was helping friends who are moving overseas to clean out their pantry, freezer, and fridge.

She came away with an impressive haul of all manner of luxury grocery items, so many that my brother despaired of ever finding a place for them. Not to worry! How could I resist the offer of free, really good stuff?

Oh, I took a share of the loot including home-roasted Hatch peppers from New Mexico, Chinese cooking wine, jarred chestnuts, pistachios, hazel nuts, demi-glace, and duck fat. "It's a windfall!" I tried to console my brother. "We are going to eat well this fall!" But even so, it was hard not to think that, really? There was too much bounty here.

Back home again, I inventoried my own plenty and vowed not to allow it to go to waste.

What You Eat

I get a lot of my news from the radio: listening as I dress, cook, drive, etc. helps me to stay informed about a wide range of topics, some of which I never see in print.

Take the ethnic minority group that lives in northwestern China. As Muslims, they have clashed with the government there, and are by many accounts persecuted by the majority Han Chinese. A couple years ago, when there was more unrest than usual in Xinjiang, I was fascinated by the reports of this people and culture I had never even heard of, who to my ear were called the Weegers.

But as the U.S. election heated up, and ethnic clashes of our own and other international concerns took precedence, those stories eventually faded from the lineup, and from my attention as well, I am somewhat sorry to say.

And so it took me a minute when a few months ago I read a review of a relatively new restaurant nearby to recognize the cuisine. Billed as a fusion of middle eastern and Chinese, the place was a Uyghur restaurant.

Ooooohhh. That's how you spell it.

And tonight we finally made it there. Dry-fried shrimp, homemade noodles with ginger and aromatics, lamb-stuffed naan, and a lovely little bok choy and mushroom dish were all really good. The deserts? Were not. They almost seemed to be an unaccustomed luxury-- barely sweet and rather dry and garnished with tiny pieces of fresh fruit.

I think there's a story there.

Minding the Small Things

"Sensory memory is so strange!" Heidi noted this morning as she reached down to give Odie the miniature Schnauzer a farewell pat. "My family's first dog was a Schnauzer, and even though we lost him 30 years ago, I remember he felt just like this," she sighed.

I know how she felt. My whole weekend was filled with tiny deja vu moments. Everything from the grass in the fields- soft flat blades, plantain, a few dandelions, and a healthy dose of clover, mowed to about 3 inches- to the shiny tar on the pavement and the softball-sized Jersey peaches for sale at all number of roadside stands, reminded me of things I didn't even know I'd forgotten.

In fact, such memories were much more powerful and satisfying than seeing the things I thought I remembered today. The schools where I began my education were shabby and worn as were the neighborhoods and landmarks I recalled. (Although the liquor store that used to deliver cases of beer to our home and pick up the returnables did have a certain retro cool.)

Our last stop on memory lane was also a disappointment. Rancocas Woods, a historic colonial-style shopping village was still there, but gone were all the sticky-trunked Pitch Pines that shed their needles onto the sandy soil, as was the old wooden wagon and stocks where our out-of-town guests were always invited to poke their heads and wrists through for a little taste of early-American justice.

The candle store where we shopped for extra special gifts for my mom was closed, but the antique place was still open. As I browsed through the merchandise, I had to laugh at some of the items they had for sale: the last time I was there, those Corning bowls and 1974 road map of New Jersey were brand new.

In a tiny shop crammed with Colonial Christmas carolers and cocktail napkins, though, I found some hand-dipped bayberry tapers, and just like the other small details, they ignited a memory, too. My Aunt Sis bought them whenever we shopped there, and they always graced her home and holiday table.

Now I have some, too.

In the Moment

Sometimes I think having a camera in my pocket at all times can be detrimental-- there are definitely occasions when I am more concerned about getting a good picture than actually enjoying the moment. Today the opposite was true. 

We took the dogs for a walk before heading out for some shopping with the girls. The park we chose was nearly deserted, and after exploring its winding trail through forest and farm, we ended up on a huge expanse of empty soccer fields, so we let Lucy and Odie, the miniature Schnauzer, off leash to run. 

We had a ball, but it turned out that we didn't need it-- swallows were darting and diving all over the fresh-cut grass, and both dogs took off after one. I laughed and laughed as it led them in wide looping circles and tight turns, as if on purpose. Lucy and Odie ran as if they were sure that at any moment they would take off and fly, too,  and they probably sprinted more than a mile in sheer joy before we called them over, leashed them up, and gave them some water. 

Oh, I don't have a single picture of their gleeful escapade, but I don't need one. 

Glass House

One of the god-daughters was talking about her middle school yesterday. "What's it called, again?" I asked.

"Melvin H. Kreps," she answered.

"Who was he?" I said.

"I have no idea," she shrugged.

Perhaps I've been jaded by working in a district where most of the schools are named for notable historic people or places. "What!" I said, "You've been at that school for two years and you don't even know who it's named for? I can't believe it!"

"Maybe you're just more curious than most people," she replied, and we all laughed because she obviously knows me very well.

So last night after the girls went to bed, I did a little online research to uncover just who Melvin Kreps was. It took a little digging, too, because every simple search turned up information not about the man, but rather about the school. Still, I stuck with it until I found that his main claim to fame was that he was a former superintendent of the local school system.

I was just about to self-righteously snap my lap top shut, already imagining how I would tell the girls over breakfast what I had discovered and thinking what a paragon of inquiry I was, when it occurred to me that I had absolutely no idea who Samuel M. Ridgway was...

...other than the guy my middle school was named for, that is.

Shiny Objects

We were walking the dogs this morning when my attention was captured by glittering colored specks all over the pavement. It looked like someone had smashed several bottles-- green, blue, and amber-- into tiny pieces. I expected to hear crunching under my shoes as I moved forward, but my steps were silent. I paused then and removed my sunglasses to better examine the road. The glass was embedded and smooth to the touch, almost like flecks of sea glass. Looking ahead, the sun glinted and sparkled from the surface. It was amazing and beautiful, and I found it difficult to lift my head from the street beneath me. Oh, but I did, just momentarily though to google the phenomena on my phone. It turns out that glassphalt is a thing.

Will the wonders of New Jersey never cease?

Who Says You Can't Go Home?

"Here we go into the best state ever!" I said today as I always do whenever we cross the Delaware Memorial Bridge heading north. "Welcome to New Jersey!"

I have the softest of spots in my heart for the place I lived from the ages of 4 to 13. I started school here, got my first pets here, made my first friends here, and my memories of that time in my life are rosy and warm, so I love the place.

"What exactly is so great about New Jersey, anyway?" Heidi asked as we zipped along the turnpike, more curious than contrary.

"Oh my gosh!" I replied. "Everything! Well, jug handles to begin with. You rarely have to make a left hand turn from a busy road."

She nodded, unconvinced.

"They have the Pine Barrens, the Shore, blueberries, peaches and tomatoes. And they have lots of important historical places." Just then we rolled past a quintessential South Jersey landscape-- a wide, winding creek bordered by tall pines and wild grasses. "And then there's that." I swept my arm at the vista to our right.

"Pretty," she agreed.

"And Bon Jovi, Springsteen, and Philly Soul?"

"Not bad," she shrugged.

We drove on into the late summer evening, the trees casting sharp shadows in the slanting golden light, so familiar, so welcoming.

The Hard Part

One of our neighbors is having her kitchen and baths renovated. In the middle of the job, she is understandably aggravated by the imperfections she spots every evening, but she struggles with the unpleasant confrontation of giving her contractor the punch list every morning.

"That's the hard part," I agree when she comes over for a sympathetic ear, "but the good of having a new kitchen and bathroom that you love is the pay-off. Isn't it worth it?"

I thought of my own words today when it became clear to us that we would have to let our 15-year-old cat Penelope go much sooner than we ever expected. Just a week ago she was having so much trouble chewing that we bought a kitty straight jacket and hauled her off to the vet for only the second time in her 13 years with us.

The news was not good, but didn't seem that dire either. Tooth decay and a weird growth on her gum meant surgery and a biopsy, but when her blood work came back, weak kidneys, which are common in older cats, complicated the situation. Yesterday she stopped eating and started hiding, which is never a good sign. We struggled with the options-- move up the risky surgery to see if removing her bad teeth would allow her to eat again, try antibiotics and pain killers indefinitely, or stop delaying the inevitable.

When we dragged her out from under the bed and took her back to the doctor, she told us the tumor was much bigger already and bleeding and kicking pus into Penelope's sinuses. "This condition is ugly and painful," the doctor said, "and it won't get better."

Our pets give us years of joy and comfort and love, and in return we must care for them as best we can. And then comes the hard part.

It breaks your heart into a million pieces, but it is so worth it.

Rainy Days and Mondays

There are not a lot of options for exercising your city puppy on a rainy day, but fortunately for us there are four fenced-in tennis courts not far from our house. Although dogs are not really allowed there, no one plays tennis in the rain, especially on a Monday morning, so bending the rules is no big deal. And oh! Does Lucy love chasing a bouncing ball across the hard courts! The only thing better is chasing two or three.

She was adorably romping in the drizzle this morning when a little boy not more than three or four wandered over from the adjoining play ground to watch her through the fence. His dad who was preoccupied on the phone was clearly of the mind that a little rain never hurt anybody, and so we passed an amusing 10 minutes or so conversing with him through the chain link.

"Wow!" he laughed as she dashed to the other side of the farthest court chasing a tennis ball and snapping at the spray it kicked up, too. "She's a goooooood getter!"

The Other Side of Nuisance

The fans have been droning since 9:30. That's when the carpet cleaning guy left. There aren't a lot of options in a 950 square foot residence, so I have been hanging out down here-- cranking up the record player, working on the computer, and cooking in the kitchen-- while everyone else is upstairs with the doors closed.

Fortunately, the cool, dry weather has held, and with the fans and the windows and doors offering a cross breeze, the carpet is nearly dry. But, quite honestly?

It's been a peaceful day.

Lucy's Big Day

A brazen little toad startled me when he hopped across the trail this morning. Enjoying the gift of a breezy, dry August day in the low 80s we had set out early for a forested national park about 25 miles from home. Lucy didn't notice; she was much too preoccupied with butterflies and the bright red, early-fallen leaves teasing her on the light winds.

Soon we made it to a little lake and found a tiny cove with a fallen log to use as a bench for lunch. A little ways down the path the lake narrowed to a stream with flat granite ledges for Lucy to play in, but just as we were about to unclip her leash, a little snake slithered half way out from a rock. Was his head pointed or round? His pupils slits or circles? It was hard to see anything but the diamond pattern on his back, and so we snapped a few pictures and kept going.

Not far away we found a rocky shore with both shallows and deep pools along it. Would this be the day when our puppy literally took the plunge to progress from avid wader to swimmer? Turns out, it would! She paddled happily about snapping the splashing water and fetching her tennis ball until it was time to shake it off and continue on down the trail.

Ain't Nothing Gonna Break-a My Stride

The day was young when I headed to my garden this morning, and although the heat and humidity to come was perceptible, it was all good as I rolled down all the windows and opened the sunroof. Just down the road a huge garbage truck was struggling to back out of a tiny parking lot. No matter-- I was happy to wait on such a glorious morning! Several cars impatiently idled at the intersection ahead, their drivers clearly dressed for work, and even though I had the right of way, I was more than willing to wave them ahead of me. But when at last the truck slid into traffic just ahead of me? The stench was overwhelming! So I pinched my nose, changed lanes, and zoomed up the hill where my garden awaited, empty of everyone but goldfinches and me beneath the blue, blue sky.

Tell Me About it

I've written before about my appreciation for a tour. Emily Dickinson's House, Mt. Vernon, Alaska, good or bad? Perhaps it's the teacher in me who is fascinated by people sharing information with others, but either way I've never met a tour I didn't like.

Today was no exception. The afternoon was Washington-in-August scorching when Andy led us out from the cool and peaceful interior of the National Cathedral to guide us on an examination of the damage that the earthquake of 2011 did to the largest masonry structure on the continent.

And it caught me off guard when he choked up in the very first segment, recounting where he was on that fateful day six years ago and how he came to realize what a profound effect that seismic hiccup had on what was clearly his very beloved cathedral. From there it was a breezy combination of too much technical information and his belief that a divine hand was present in the event.

In the end, I think it was his earnestness that won me over, that and the fact that he reactivated buried memories of art history classes I took 35 years ago. Oh, and I also love the Cathedral, and it was

a tour.

Here it Comes

Because our school's main parking lot is closed for the next two years, I parked in the tiny far lot and schlepped all my stuff up to the back door when I went in to work on curriculum today.

Guess I better get used to it.

(But only if I can find a space in the mornings!)

Give it a Week

Being away from home is fun, but coming back is fun, too, especially at this time of year. In addition to hugging our cat, going through the mail and packages, and sleeping in my own bed, this morning I headed straight for the garden to check on my vegetables and flowers.

I was not disappointed!

City of Looms

It's kind of a thrill when you're on a road trip and your phone GPS flashes those three magic words: faster route available. Despite no evidence of congestion, I eagerly exited I-85 when that happened just north of Charlotte this afternoon. As we cruised up the ramp, I spotted a backup on the road ahead that stretched as far as my eye could see, and so it was with glee and the knowledge that I was saving time that I navigated the local byroads. And secure in that knowledge, it didn't bother me a bit to stop at this light or that intersection.

"Kannapolis?" Heidi read the town welcome sign at one such stop. "Where did they get that name?"

"Hey, Siri!" I called, and soon we were treated to a Wikipedia article about the history of that little burg. It seems that over a hundred years ago, it was a company town built around a textile mill owned by the Cannon family. From there it gets a little fuzzy as to whether it was named after the mill (Cann-apolis) and changed, or whether it was named for the Greek kanna (reeds or looms) and apolis (city).

Personally, I favor the second on poetic principle, but either way it's a great story, and a little while later we were back on the highway with time to spare.

Search Term Success

There was a little bit of a hubbub across the way in WH Stiles Fish Camp as I waited in line to order lunch at Ponce City Market this afternoon. Lights, cameras, and reflectors surrounded a shiny-headed gent seated at the u-shaped oyster bar.

"Who is he?" the people around me asked as they craned their necks to watch the action without losing their place in the slooooooow moving line. He looked vaguely familiar to me, too, but I couldn't place him, so as other diners dodged onto the makeshift set to snap a selfie I used my phone to Google  bald food channel guy. The first hit was Andrew Zimmern of Bizarre Foods fame, and that's exactly who it was.

Around that time? It as my turn to order, so I never did find out what strange dish brought him there today, but our Vietnamese salad with crispy fish and steelhead trout poke was 😋 delicious!

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

There's no other word but 'bustling' to describe the scene at the mall near my sister's place in Atlanta today. Shoppers were nearly at holiday numbers, so many that entering and exiting the flow of foot traffic required some serious merging maneuvers. And why not? It is a holiday of sorts for the parents, if not the kids, down here.

School starts on Tuesday.

This Friday Night

"Do you guys have any dances in middle school?" Heidi asked soon-to-be 6th grader Richard the other day.

"I think maybe one or two," he answered.

"How many do our sixth graders have?" Heidi turned to me.

"Two," I replied, "but they have that mixer in the beginning of the year."

"What's a mixer?" Richard asked.

"It's a thing where they have a variety of activities," I explained. "There is some dancing, yes, but also games and contests, like donut eating."

"Donut eating!" both Richard and Annabelle repeated.

"Yeah," I said, "we tie Krispy Kremes to strings and hang them from a pole. Then the kids put their hands behind their backs and see who can eat one the fastest."

They looked at each other in stunned amazement.

"Why don't we try it while we're here?" I suggested, and it was easy enough to purchase a half-dozen classic glazed the next time we went to the grocery store.

AND, that's how we found ourselves out on the driveway this evening with four donuts hanging from a broom

Oh my gosh!

I have not laughed that hard in a long time!

Richard had the edge going in, but he quickly lost the advantage by chewing too thoroughly and chasing his donuts in circles trying to get the biggest bite.

Annabelle was the tortoise to his krispy hare-- she methodically consumed her donuts until the point where gravity took control. On donut one, she caught the last bite in her mouth, but when the second one hit the pavement? So did she, eating fast enough to stay within the five second rule, and handily defeating her brother who was still pirouetting around his second.

And their mom caught it all on camera!