Not that Funny

It was close to 6:30 when I carried three grocery bags and a basket full of produce from the garden through the parking lot and up the stairs to our unit. A quart container of heirloom beans teetered on top of the yellow squash, okra, peppers, and so, so many tomatoes.

"Don't spill the beans!" I said to myself, and then I laughed.

And then I spilled the beans.

Welcome to Sixth Grade

"How was the open house?" Heidi asked when she picked me up at 5:30 this evening.

"They seemed nervous," I started.

"That's pretty normal, right?" she said.

"I'm talking about the parents!" I told her.

It could well be that more kids means more parents, and more parents means more anxious parents. I think I was pretty reassuring, but even so?

I'm buckling up.

Idiosyncratic

There were a few more meetings today, but fortunately they involved concrete planning for the rest of this week and next, when students will actually be present, first at the open house tomorrow, and then for the opening days of school starting next Tuesday.

My room is coming together, too, although when I left this afternoon it was definitely in that storm before the calm stage, with boxes on the floor and posters and supplies strewn about all seven(!) tables. BUT, the bookshelves were unwrapped, and many items had been restored to their customary place.

In fact, a little glow of satisfaction warmed me in the air-conditioned chill as I considered those placements, well-tweaked after 24 years in the same room. Just then a new teacher came in to return the magnetic tape. She remembered that I had produced it from the bookshelf by my desk. "Does this just go on top?" she asked.

"Oh no," I replied, "it goes right here." And I slid it between the candy can and the metal file sorter next to it. "See how it sticks, because it's magnetic?" I asked.

Her face was polite, but blank, and for a moment I saw the room through her eyes.

"Signs you've worked in a space a little too long," I shrugged, and we laughed. "But now you know where to find it when you need it!" I said.

Heading for Overtime

For those of you keeping score?

This is day 4 back at school,

with zero time
to work in our classrooms,
meet with our interdisciplinary teams,
or plan with our teaching teams,

and 3 days left
until 134 students come my way.

Institutional Friendship

Our professional learning activity today involved the staff taking the role of students, and following a school-day schedule attending "classes" taught by our colleagues. We were assigned to cohorts of about 20-25, and so it happened that I spent most of my day with a teacher who was on my team the first year I started teaching. We have been in the same school ever since, but never again on the same team or in the same department.

Even so, our friendship is very warm, and it often surprises our colleagues who have no knowledge of our connection. That's how it was today. My friend can present as a little flighty at times, and there were a few raised eyebrows and giggles at our table when I teased her about her silly comments.

"Hey! This is your old classroom!" I noted as we moved to our second session, and we laughed because it was, 25 years ago. "Hey! Isn't the next room we go to your old classroom, too?" I said at the end of the session. And we laughed again, because it was, 20 years ago.

"You're just going to have to work another 30 years," I finally told her, "so you can teach in every room in the building!"

Someone Needs a Review

While most of my colleagues probably spent the first weekend of the school year chasing those final days of summer, I have been agonizing over a presentation I agreed to make tomorrow, despite my resolution to keep my life as uncomplicated as possible.

I guess that's what formative assessment is for.

Humility Grows Here

My dream of growing a watermelon was violently derailed yesterday when I stopped by the garden on the way home from school to see how it was doing without me now that I am back to work. There was nothing but a sour smell and a swarm of flies where my two little watermelons had been on Tuesday.

A little ways away I found a couple of broken and empty shells where whatever critter had beaten me to my melons had dragged them. With a sigh, I tossed them in the compost bin and filed the experience under major garden disappointments, right next to the pumpkin tragedy of 2013.

Under the Sun

At the beginning of every new school year there's at least one new initiative, or approach, or gimmick. I'm not sure why that is, other than idealists idealize things, like new years and new opportunities. To be honest, I learned early in my career what a big contrast there is from one year to next, a lesson that came mostly from being shocked by the changes-- in personnel, personalities, and group dynamics, to name the most obvious.

This time is no different, but if I've learned anything in my 25 years of teaching, it's definitely the Buddhist precept of non-attachment. Who knows if that information system, curriculum, teammate, etc. will stick?

Even so, I'm a little intrigued by the "Lead Simply" materials our principal introduced to the leadership team. Sam Parker's framework of Model. Connect. Involve. is actually quite simple (everything is contained in a slim 6'x4' 61 page volume) and aligns well with both my philosophies of leadership and teaching, which in many ways is really a specialized form of leadership.

As part of the initiative, we got Parker's book, and some swag, too: a pen, a notepad, and some sticky-notes. I had the pen, boldly emblazoned with LEAD simply, with me at our big staff meeting yesterday, and I noticed one of my very experienced teammates looking at it. Later on she stopped by my room ro ask a question and noticed the book on my desk.

"I have to ask," she smirked, "is that the instruction manual to your pen?"

Chops

I came home from school this afternoon and cooked. I took what they gave me in my veggie share and what I had on hand, and I put it all together to make corn on the cob, braised cherry tomato sauce, and kimchi pickled cucumbers: something for today, something for tomorrow, and something for the future.

I think that's the kind of year it's going to be. 

The Wai-yai-ting is the Hardest Part

Except that on Sunday night, I know what to expect on Monday morning. It's the uncertainty that gets me out of sorts.

Let's get this party started, SY18-19!

Pre Reqs

In the final days of summer we went to see Spike Lee's new movie Blackkklansman yesterday afternoon and finally scored tickets to the National Museum of African American History and Culture  for today. Both were sobering and thought-provoking reminders of institutional injustice and white privilege, which are essential considerations as we prepare ourselves to step into our classrooms and begin another year of educating the people who might finally rid this country of both, allowing it to fulfill those founding promises of freedom and equality for all.

Escape the Routine

This year our administrative team decided to do something different for the first leadership team meeting. We had a morning session covering some nuts and bolts, and then after lunch we adjourned to a local escape room.

Three randomly assigned teams of educators had 60 minutes to free ourselves from the silly scenarios they had set up there.

We did it!

I think it might be a good year.

August Blessing

We were playing Name that Tune on our most recent road trip when Jason Mraz's latest single, "Have it All," came on. It was upbeat and boppy, with a nice little positive (if somewhat derivative) gist:

May you have auspiciousness and causes of success
May you have the confidence to always do your best
May you take no effort in your being generous...

...And may the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows
And may the road less paved be the road that you follow

"That would be a good writing exercise," I said to Heidi, "to have the kids write their own blessings in that style. Maybe I'll do that for the poetry challenge."

Tonight, on the eve of my first school meeting for the new academic year, I remembered how effortlessly I slipped into sixth grade English teacher mode on August something, somewhere on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. After 25 years, I guess that's who I am, and I'm kinda looking forward to getting back to it.

As for the new year? Take it, Jason:

May you be as fascinating as a slap bracelet
May you keep the chaos and the clutter off your desk
May you have unquestionable health and less stress
Having no possessions though immeasurable wealth
May you get a gold star on your next test
May your educated guesses always be correct
And may you win prizes shining like diamonds
May you really own it each moment to the next

Urban Adventure

After the success of yesterday's bikeshare-scooter escapade, I invited Heidi on a similar venture this morning. "Let's just walk down and grab a couple of bikes, then cycle over to Crystal City and grab a couple of scooters and see what's going on," I suggested confidently.

The first foible was at the bike dock: we could only get one of the four bikes that were there out for a ride. Undaunted, we put that one back and headed around the corner a bit to the next closest station. There we pulled the first bike out right away, but we couldn't get another one, this time because one was already checked out on the account. So I rode the bike we had back to the first dock and jiggled the first bike until the green light came on. By then, Heidi had walked over to join me, so we borrowed the bike again and rode east.

You know those darn scooters are never quite where they say they will be, and multiplying that by two was definitely double trouble. Once again, we grabbed one right away, and I scootered up and down and all around, consulting the app on Heidi's phone as I rode (because if you already have one, the app on your device won't show any others), until at last I found one. Unlocking it, we were met with a terrible squeal, but still we agreed to ride it until we could find another, which was difficult, because neither of our devices showed us where they were.

Oh, and before Heidi could borrow one, we had to download the app and create an account, and then we had to enter her drivers license # before we could actually unlock the squealing scooter. Not having the document handy, I slyly made up a number, which actually worked.

Not finding any other scooters, and feeling a bit parched after our outing, we agreed to head over to Whole Foods, where we miraculously found another scooter waiting for us right next to the door. We locked both of ours, and while Heidi stood guard, I ran in for some cold drinks. A few minutes later, I rejoined Heidi who was in conversation with some dude who wanted one of ours. I whipped out my phone and unlocked mine, and Heidi did the same. There is a problem with your license, read the error message, try again later.

Shoulders slumped, we relinquished the Birds and walked off toward the mall. After a little shopping, we found a bike station and pedaled toward home, which was not nearly as much fun as scootering would have been. As we approached the very first bike dock, ready to turn our wheels in and walk home, I blinked and blinked again. The unmistakable silhouette of a scooter leaned casually against the bike rack.

Exercise in the Sharing Economy

It was another hot day here, but after returning home from a mid-afternoon movie, I was restless. 95 degrees had subsided to 88, and the lazy early evening sun was sinking behind haze and boomers that were too far away to rain. I tapped my phone and checked the scooter app. There were a bunch a couple miles away in Crystal City, but at that time of day, traffic would be heavy, and I wasn't looking for a place to drive.

A bike path led directly to the scooters, and I knew there was a bike share station on the way and another one at the end. With that, my plan was clear. Ten minutes later I was on a bike, 15 minutes after that it was parked, and I was walking a couple of blocks back to the scooters I had pedaled past. From there it was all wind in my hair as I rolled back home. 

Sun Drenched

Chapter I:

Oh, Pennsylvania! I don't think I would recognize you without a torrential downpour or two, even when the sun is shining.

Chapter II:

"Do you think visibility is better or worse when it rains so hard it's like you're in a car wash but the sun is shining?" I asked Heidi somewhere along Rt. 322.

Chapter III:

I answered my own question. "I think it's worse."

The Language of the Kitchen

It has been fun spending time with Kyle, and at 18 his interests are maturing a little bit as the reality of self-sufficiency creeps ever closer. As such, he has been more of a presence in the kitchen and at the grill, making observations and asking questions.

"So you're scraping the lime skin onto the raw fish?" he asked rhetorically yesterday.

"I'm adding lime zest to the marinade," I translated, "but basically, yeah."

Then I tapped a bit of the grated zest into his palm. "Smell that, then taste it."

"Wow!" he said. "I can see why you use that."

Entertaining Inquiry

This summer we have relied on Netflix for most of our TV viewing. Between  Chef's Table, Mindhunter, and I am a Killer, the question I ask Heidi when we settle in for the evening is What do you feel like, serial killers or chefs?

My Kind of Day...

...is any day that includes walking waterfront, playing ping pong on the public table there, and renting a giant four-wheeled contraption to pedal it madly up and down the boardwalk.

It could only have been better with scooters.

Homeward Bound

Our route today took us across the northwest corner of New Jersey, through the Poconos, and onto I-81 from Scranton to Syracuse. The landscape was beautiful: rugged and mountainous, and I remembered driving on 81 from Binghamton to Harrisburg on my trips to DC from college.

For the first three years, I didn't have a car, and so when Thanksgiving rolled around I relied on those signs in the student union that had phone numbers on little tear-offs at the bottom to find my transportation south. Of course that usually meant ponying up gas cash up front, jamming a duffle bag in the trunk, and smushing in between strangers in the backseat of somebody's Chevy NOVA. Eight hours later, my aunt would pick me up at some parking lot off of the Baltimore Beltway, and drop me off there the following Sunday afternoon.

It was all more than worth it to me for four days with family. Three weeks later, I would be on my way home for winter break, which was an entirely different sort of trip involving airport limos, helicopters, and a first class ticket on Pan Am from JFK to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. Longer and certainly more comfortable, the promise of family time sweetened those travels as well.

And the same was true today as I piloted our Subaru from Hightstown to Buffalo-- up and down mountains, through cities and towns, over rivers and around lakes, in sunshine and in rain, on empty roads and stop and go thruways-- our final destination was dinner waiting on a round oak table with five places set, and space for the dog underneath.

Beware of Dog

The parking lot was full when we pulled into a nearby park this afternoon. Several white picnic canopies were arranged over at the edge of the fields, and speakers were pumping out upbeat music from the bandstand. To be honest, the mostly African American crowd was an unusual sight for this semi-rural little hamlet, but the mini-buses labeled "Trenton Pentecostal Church" sort of explained the unexpected diversity, and reminded me that nothing is really very far away from anything in New Jersey, where suburbs melt effortlessly into farms, and almost every east-west road includes a bridge over the turnpike.

A group of five little kids led by a boy of perhaps 10 or 11, stood wide-eyed as we unloaded the dogs for the walk we were there to take. First out was Odie, a springy little miniature schnauzer who bounced to the end of his leash.

"Whoa! A dog!" said one of the children in utter surprise.

"Wait until you see the next one!" Heidi told the little girl.

The group gasped in surprise as Lucy bounded out of the station wagon with her typical tada! flourish.

"Okay," said the leader, stepping in front of his charges and spreading his arms, "which one bites?"

Local History

Today I did what I do when I visit a place that seems interesting: I found a little history book and started reading. Did it help that we're in New Jersey, the state I truly consider to be where I'm from? Maybe, but all those Victorian houses on South Main Street really seemed like there had to have been something going on.

So far I've uncovered that the couple for whom this hamlet is named was lost to history a mere 20 years after carving a town from woods along the former Indian trail that became the main road from New Amsterdam to Trenton. There's also a couple of haunted houses, and the little known fact that the "Etra" in Etra Road and Etra Park is actually an acronym for Edward Taylor Riggs Applegate, one of 19th century Mercer County's most prominent citizens.

All evidence of a good day's work, and who knows what I may discover tomorrow?

Auntie's Taxi Service

After a single day of driving 2 teenaged girls and their friends around to jobs, camps, rehearsals, boyfriend's house, hair appointments, shopping etc. and back, I am exhausted! As a teacher, I am certainly aware of how crazy kids' schedules can be, but I honestly don't know how families manage the complexities. Or rather, I do. Family time is the obvious casualty: there simply isn't time for dinner at the table, homework help, family TV or games, or other activities.

Back when I was a kid, things were a lot different. Were we bored without so many activities on our agendas? Maybe, but we were bored together!

The P is not Silent

We were talking vegan options at dinner tonight with Heidi's friend Betty and her 2 girls, Allyn and Delaney.

"Pea protein is very big these days," Heidi told Betty, who nodded.

As Betty started to tell Heidi that pea protein was in her smoothie powder, I looked across the table at Delaney, who looked horrified. Allyn noticed the expression as well.

"They mean the vegetable," she told her sister. "P-E-A."

"Oh good!" Delaney replied. "I was really worried about where people were getting their protein from these days!"

Inside Recess

When the day is hot and sticky
But you want to have some fun
And bowling is so last week
There’s still some place to run

Indoor mini golf!

Heidi and Annabelle and I went when we were in Atlanta, and at the time I made note of the fact that they had a location not too too far from our house. And so on Josh’s last day with us and in between running errands to prepare for our next road trip to NJ and Buffalo, we made our way to Monster Mini-golf, where all the clubs and balls and bumpers on the greens are fluorescent, and you play under black lights with retro music pounding too loud for you to have a normal conversation, but just the right volume to make you shake your bootie on every green while waiting for your turn to putt. This location also had duck pin bowling, a laser maze, and a neon color challenge that were included, along with 10 dollars worth of arcade games in our flat rate admission. And yes! I put the high score on the basketball game again, proving Atlanta was no fluke! It was cheesy fun at its finest, and gifting our tickets to a family of little boys on the way out the door, I laughed all the way into the muggy afternoon, where, yes, it had thunderstormed again. 

Microburst

Our street is like a river! the text from one of our neighbors read.

We looked around where we were, just 10 miles from home. It was 95 degrees, and the sun was unrelenting.

I know! I got drenched coming in from the car, and that was with a raincoat and umbrella! replied another neighbor.

There were a few clouds in the east, towards the direction of home.

The pavement was dry on the way back. A mile or so from our house we spotted a few small puddles, and the streets grew wetter as we approached home.

Here? The sun was out, but everything sparkled and steamed in the aftermath of what must have been an impressive storm.

Too

The day was too good to waste, and too hot to do much.
But we tried:
The path was too steep and too muddy to reach the river.
The town was too flooded to have much of anything open.
The park was too crowded to find parking.
The road home was too crowded to make good time.
But:
The company was too good to complain.
The dinner was too delicious not to enjoy.

Holiday

Before I even knew that there was a national day devoted to watermelon, much less that that day was this day, I stood in the kitchen this morning chopping up a small, round, dark green watermelon that came in our CSA box on Thursday. It was perfectly ripe-- crisp and sweet-- but unlike most of the melons we see these days, it was also full of tiny seeds.

Heidi was next to me, sampling the cubes as I cut. "This is a good, one!" she proclaimed, "Except for the seeds."

I shrugged in agreement. "But it's so old-fashioned," I said. "Remember when we were kids? watermelon always had lots of seeds."

"Right!" she nodded. "We always had to eat it outside."

"I know," I said, "like right after we went out to peel the corn? We ate watermelon."

"Yeah," she replied, "and we spit the seeds into the grass!"

We were silent for a moment, and then she continued, "And wished that watermelons would grow there!"

Yes. That's exactly how it was.

Happy National Watermelon Day!

Monsoon Season

The warm, damp air embraces you the moment you step through any door. Whether the sun is shining, illuminating the clouds, or completely obscured, you are cradled by moisture: wet grass, slick pavements and drips from every leaf. Everything is green, green, so green and smells metallic and earthy, like rain is coming, because it is. 

Plan B

Josh is feeling a little bit better and so we approached this day like a classic summer vacation day. We were on the third hole of the miniature golf course when the first peal of thunder rumbled but were able to play through to thirteen before the rain and lightning chased us off the course. Our fallback was bowling, and so we drove through the torrential storm to knock down a few pins on lane 29 and munch on cheese fries and zucchini sticks.

Once home, we churned our own versions of cereal milk ice cream: a taste test of Cap'n Crunch and Fruity Pebbles. Both versions were creamy and pleasantly off-sweet and slightly salty, and topped with their respective cereals, they were really quite delicious.

Next up? A movie on TV and maybe even a board game, because when summer gives you rain, she also gives you options.

Tour de Chef

Josh is here for a few days, and the other night we were flipping through Netflix and landed on a recent episode of Chef's Table. Each episode profiles a chef, focusing heavily on their artistry and origin story.

We started with the one about Christina Tosi, pastry chef and founder of Milk Bar. The three of us were captivated by her philosophy of food and cooking and charmed by her signature dishes of Crack Pie, Compost Cookies, and Cereal Milk soft serve ice cream.

"You know they have a Milk Bar at the Wharf," I told Heidi and Josh, and so a plan was hatched. We headed over there around 4 o'clock this afternoon, undaunted by rush hour. Once at the place, we ordered soft serve for there and one of everything to take home.

Sitting at the community table savoring the not-so-sweet and salty custard garnished liberally with crunchy cornflake brittle, I sighed. "This is amazing! We should go to every chef's restaurant after we watch the show!" I told Josh. "Who was the guy in episode 1?"

"Massimo somebody," he answered.

"Right!" I agreed and got to googling. "Here it is! Massimo Bottura. He has restaurants in... Modena, Italy. That's all." I shrugged. "Guess we better start packing!"

Who is Your Navigator?

Whaddayadoin! I cried at the driver who first cut me off trying to go right, but then swerved left and slammed on the brakes.

"He's an Uber driver," Josh told me. "I can see his sticker."

And then I knew what he was doing. He was driving with the guidance of his map app through a very confusing circle. Did I feel a bit more empathetic? Maybe, but in any case, I drove purposefully off to Josh's neighborhood pharmacy to fetch his prescription, guided by my own map app.

It was light rush hour traffic all the way, but the route was unfamiliar to me, and I made a few dicey merges. At last we were almost at our destination which was on the left, and the turn by turn directed me to skip three lanes over, make a quick right, and the an immediate U-turn. My eyes widened and my grip tightened on the steering wheel. Looking in the rearview mirror, I punched the accelerator. "I'm just going to Uber it!" I said, and within seconds, we had reached our destination.

Impossible

There was only one thing to do this afternoon after sitting in a dark theater for two and a half hours, eating caramel and cheese corn, and watching Tom Cruise (who is only 3 days younger than I am) run all over Europe in the latest Mission Impossible movie.

Go to the gym!

Bad Dog

Lucy is a cat-crazy canine, so much so that she finds the day lilies where one of our neighbor's cats hang out  irresistible whenever we walk by. This morning we ran into her friend Cooper right there, and when their leashes became entwined in the excitement of seeing each other, I dropped Lucy's, as we do. But before I could stoop to pick up the disentangled leash from the ground, she bolted toward the lilies, nose to the ground, hunting cats.

I heard the jingle of her leash ring as it bounced along the parking lot. Giving chase, I whistled and called her back, LuLuLuLuLu! treats in hand, but she tore off in the opposite direction as if she couldn't hear me. Suddenly she stopped and dashed up some steps, sprinting up and down a walkway that runs along several back gates. She skid to a stop, nose-punched one open, and hurtled inside, gate banging closed behind her.

I, too, mounted the steps, me two at a time, thrust open the gate, and grabbed the collar of my naughty dog, and dragged her away from the neighbors sliding glass door, where she was crouched, staring and waiting, presumably for the cats. As we quickly exited the yard, I glanced to my left. One of the cats was watching the whole show from a patio chair pushed under the outdoor table, and I think she was more than a little amused.

What You See

The Tidal Basin was very pleasant at 4:30 this afternoon. The sun was low enough in the west to offer plenty of shade beneath those famous cherry trees, there was a soft breeze, and the water was dotted with bright blue paddle boats. As Heidi and Lucy and I walked up and around toward the Jefferson Memorial, there was also something else. The unmistakable silhouette of a scooter beckoned from the end of a pathway. Within moments I was rolling up and down and all around the deserted tree-lined drives and shady lots on the south side of the grounds.

In the years since 2001, all the roads that lead directly to the monuments, memorials, and government buildings have been barricaded and blocked; usually I find the added security a depressing reminder of the contentious world we live in, but today? It was a scooter's paradise.

10 minutes later, the scooter was parked, locked and ready for the next free spirit who chose it, and we were on our way.

Going Bananas

There is one crop that thrives every year in my garden-- whether I have one plant or many, I always have lots of banana peppers. Heidi and Victor like them pickled, and every summer I oblige, but how many pickled banana peppers does anyone eat, really?

The answer is, less than we have, since we still have at least a pint or two, and so this week I've been looking for some other options for that huge bowl of peppers on the counter. After reading several recipes, I decided that I would do a riff on aji amarillo paste, a staple of Peruvian cuisine, but one that kept the traditional flavor profile of the banana pepper, specifically part of an Italian sub, or as we called them growing up in South Jersey, a hoagie.

With that in mind, I seeded my peppers, blanched them, and shocked them in some ice water. After a thorough draining, I combined them in the food processor with a hefty portion of fresh garlic, some oregano and basil, black pepper, really good olive oil, and a little red wine vinegar. The result?

Mwah!

Hoagie in a jar! (With a little sunshine thrown in!)

Punch in the Gut

Those dang infinity stones!

As I sat in the cool darkness of the theater this afternoon enjoying the light-hearted family fun of Ant Man and the Wasp, I had completely forgotten about the catastrophic ending to the latest Avengers movie... until the credit scene.

Tomatoes? What Tomatoes?

There's been a lot of rain here, and we're expecting more. Generally, I try to go with whatever weather there is, especially in summer, because whether the day is hot or rainy or both, it is still a day of vacation.

Even so, I have kept a sharp eye for standing water and the predicted flash floods, but I was a bit surprised, when they closed our pool yesterday due to "dangerous conditions." After that, perhaps I should have expected that when I arrived at the Wednesday afternoon farmers market today many of the usual vendors were simply not there.

Oh, I was disappointed in my quest for summer tomatoes, but I did spot a scooter just across the street, and after a quick 10 minute ride, all was forgiven.

Home Boy

Josh is taking a 2-day motorcycle safety course in an outer suburb, and so he asked if he could stay with us and borrow the jeep.

"You sure can!" I texted him back, and when we rolled in at 8 last night we found the boy lying on the couch, watching TV, and petting the cats. "Want to go out for ramen?" I asked, needlessly.

"How about ribs and potato salad for dinner tomorrow night?" Another needless question. "And some cream of broccoli soup to take home with you?"

"Yes, yes, and yes!" he answered. "Thank you!"

He has had to rise at 6:30 the last two days to make it to his 10 hour class, and so right now he's back on the couch snoozing way, as the ribs braise and the soup cools. It's good to have him home!

Scoot 4 Life

"Wow!" I said to Annabelle this morning at 8:45, "you're up early!"

"I want to go scooter before you leave," she told me and checked the app on her mom's phone. "There's one right down the street!"she reported.

"Let me finish packing the car," I said, and a few minutes later after closing the hatch on the Subaru, I crossed the street and looked around the corner. I could see the scooter half a block away, but to my dismay, I also saw a guy approaching it, phone in hand. I lurked hopelessly on the corner, but my heart sank when I heard the beep beep of the scooter unlocking. The guy straddled it, but then shook his head in either frustration or confusion. Miraculously, he stepped off, and walked away.

By this time, Annabelle had joined me on the corner. "I wonder if there's something wrong with it," I said pessimistically as we walked down the hill. But there wasn't. The scooter unlocked and I rode it back to the house so Annabelle could get her helmet.

"We don't have much time," I told her as we rolled up the hill in the golden morning light. A light breeze blew as we approached the park, and a few glorious minutes later we were scootering up and down the rolling pathways.

"You guys look awesome!" smiled one woman as we passed. "I wish I had a camera!"

Taking Flight

And on our last day in Atlanta...

There was scootering!

At noon, I checked the app and saw that there was an available scooter a few blocks away. "I'm going to get it!" I announced. "I might be back!" Then I paused, reconsidering my words. "Well, okay, I'll definitely be back, but I might have a scooter." And off I went.

The first scooter was nowhere to be found, and so I pressed on. As I neared the location of the next closest ride, I kid you not, a white BMW pulled up and a young woman hopped out, phone in hand. Her driver shrugged and smiled at me. Unfortunately for both of us, though, there was no scooter at that location. But there was an icon down the road and around the corner on the map, and so I power walked that way, making sure to enjoy the pleasant breeze and the lovely shaded southern sidewalks along the way.

Turning the final corner, I knew that today? Three's the charm. I stepped up to the scooter, and unlocked it with my phone, scanned my driver's license, and at last! I was off.

I scootered up the sidewalk and into the shady street. Zig-zagging here and there, and marveling that such a device might be so easy to ride and so fun. It was on the last three blocks, straight up hill, to my sister's house that I really appreciated my convenient little ride, and I rolled triumphantly up the driveway.

Not long after that, Courtney, Annabelle, Heidi, and I were all at the park with my trusty scooter, AKA, BY17. Everyone gave it a roll, but no one quite loved the ride as much as I did. That is until Annabelle and I bent the rules and rode double down the path. And that was how we spent the next hour-- sun on our shoulders, wind in our hair, nodding to the many, many other scooters, rolling through the park.

Props to Josh for being exactly right-- it was more fun than I thought it would be, and you all know how much fun I thought it would be!

I can't wait to ride again!

Strike Zone

We called this morning to reserve a lane at the local bowling alley. "Uh," said the attendant, "we don't do that on weekends, but at 1:30? I don't think you'll have any problem."

When we were younger, my dad used to take us bowling. It was a fun hour or so where we all could haplessly throw heavy balls at pins, he could drink a pitcher of beer, and we could enjoy a basket of popcorn and a soda. I can still picture my dad's right foot, clad in olive and burgundy rental shoe, gracefully kicking back and to the left as he spun his bowling ball right into the 1-3 pocket for a strike.

Later on in college I took bowling as one of my PE requirements, and I have to say that I spent many cold snowy upstate NY afternoons in the toasty little 8-lane bowling alley tucked away behind the field house on campus. Back then, I always chose a yellow eleven pound ball, I would rotate my wrist from 2 o'clock to 10 on the last of my three steps to the line, and my best score was a 230. So, a hot summer day in Atlanta seemed like a perfect opportunity to take Richard and Annabelle on what is practically a traditional recreational experience in our family.

"What's your bumper policy?" I asked the attendant as we traded one of our shoes for two of theirs.

"Really little kids, only," she told me, and off we went intrepidly to test our skill against Lane 28. The guy on the phone had been correct: it was not very crowded, and we had no trouble gathering a rainbow collection of balls ranging from 8 to 12 pounds.

"I'm glad I'm not first," Richard remarked when he looked at the video screen that would be our scribe and mentor for the next 90 minutes, but he needn't have worried. We all weathered the bumps and blemishes in our skills to bowl two complete games, as well as enjoy hot dogs, chicken tenders, fried green tomatoes, nachos, and a couple of blue raspberry icees. And in the end? It turned out pretty even, and although 230 was never within range, we had a pretty good time.

Early Risers

We had plans with cousin Elaine for lunch, and so I quietly shook Annabelle awake at 8:19 this morning. "Want to make cinnamon rolls and pizza dough?" I whispered, and she was up like a spring and filling the kitchen with happy chatter as we we measured, stirred, and kneaded. Then we turned our handiwork into a couple of bowls, covered them with tea towels, and placed them on the back of the stove to rise, while we went to get dressed for the day.

An hour later we punched the airy pillows down, wrapped the pizza dough for later, rolled the buns, and set them back to rise again, before popping them into the oven. And not long after that, we packed up some warm sticky buns and peaches, loaded Lucy in the car and headed over to check out Elaine's new digs.

(Annabelle’s post for today is here.)

The Age of Aquarium

Even though we all agreed in advance that the aquarium would be a fun activity for the group, Richard was having second thoughts this morning. At 12, family fun just doesn't seem that fun to him. Even so, he is a man of his word, and so he was ready to go at the designated time.

When Richard was a little guy, the aquarium was one of his favorite places; his parents even had an annual pass, and I do think I detected a little spring in his step as we exited the parking garage and headed toward the entrance. That goofy smile on his face in the picture booth was genuine as well, and he knew just where he wanted to start our afternoon: we went straight to the Cold Water Quest exhibit with the Belugas, penguins, puffins, and sea otters. Next it was on to and under the amazing 6.3 million gallons of seawater in the Ocean Voyager galleries.

There, both Richard and Annabelle climbed into the giant porthole window, and found a seat on the floor in front of the huge viewing window, and for a moment, the little guy was back.

(For Annabelle's Aquarium Adventure click here.)

Cinna-bueno!

Annabelle was skeptical.

She wanted to make frosted cinnamon buns a la Tasty and was very interested when I told her that I had a fantastic recipe.

But...
the pumpkin?
the dates?

It just didn't sound delicious.

"We can make both recipes," I promised, "and do a taste test."

But this morning, we only had the ingredients for mine. "We can go to the store and make both later," I suggested.

"Let's just make yours," she said, which was fine with me, because as I said, I love my easy vegan recipe.

And so we did. The dough came together beautifully, rose quickly, and rolled perfectly, and the pureed dates with cinnamon were the very picture of gooey filling. A little chai glaze and vanilla frosting, and the smell alone had everyone in the house hanging around the oven.

To her credit, Annabelle admitted that they were delicious, and since they are almost gone? Our plan is to make another batch on Friday.

(Here's what A-belle has to say about the C-buns.)

Can't Buy Me Fun

Another day, another scooter I didn't ride.

The stars seemed aligned for me, too. A guy was dropping fully charged scooters off right outside the place Annabelle and I went to buy our lottery tickets. "I got you!"he said and made sure everything was in working order. I opened the app, snapped the QAR code and prepared to have more fun than I even thought I would, when a new window appeared on my phone. Scan drivers license it prompted. I was on foot with cash and my phone, but no wallet. Alas, no scooter ride either.

Hopefully those mega million numbers will be luckier than that!

The day was very full without scooting, though. Heidi, Annabelle, and I found a fun indoor mini-golf place, complete with black lights, lasers, monsters, and an arcade. It was a little hard getting into the groove with neon lights flashing across the green as you putted, but we had a good time. When Annabelle turned our score card in, though, the attendant took one look at it and asked, "Who's H?"

"Aunt Heidi," Annabelle answered.

"Well give her this," the girl handed her a pass for a free round, "because she needs the practice!"

Maybe so, but we had better luck in the arcade. For the first time in my life, I even put the high score on a game. It was the basketball hoop, and I drained 25 in 2 minutes. After Annabelle spent our 31 tickets, we grabbed lunch and headed home, where even more adventures awaited, including brownie pops, a farmers market, shrimp and grits, and even porch time.

Maybe I'll get that scooter tomorrow, when I'm a millionaire.

(But don't just take my word for it-- Annabelle wrote about it here.)

Dream House

We were doing some back-to-school- shopping for Annabelle at the mall today when we stopped into the Apple store. A rising 5th grader who isn't scheduled to get her first phone until middle school, Annabelle headed straight for the iPhone X display. Even though they have been out for months, I haven't seen the latest from Apple in person, and so I was curious myself. We stood side by side playing with the apps and camera and figuring out how to navigate with no home button.

"This is a pretty nice phone," I admitted.

"They're a thousand dollars!" Annabelle cried. "iPhone X for X-spensive!" she finished.

"Yeah," I said, "but don't you want one?"

She shrugged. "Of course!"

"I'll buy you one when we win the lottery," I promised her. "We can all have one!"

"And a car?" she asked.

"I guess it depends on how much we win," I answered. "If we have enough, sure. What else would you want?"

She paused. We are both very privileged to have pretty much all we need and most of what we want, iPhone X X-cepted.

"How about a big beach house right on the ocean that has enough room for the whole family?" I suggested.

Her whole face lit up. "Yes!"

We spent the next 15 minutes planning out the whole place-- 10 bedrooms, all with their own baths and TVs, a deck, a screen porch, a pool, a game room with a big screen, and the best kitchen ever.

Oh, and an investment account to pay insurance and upkeep on the place. (That was my sister's idea.)

Now we just need to get that winning ticket.

(For Annabelle’s version of the day, click here.)

Birdless

"It's more fun than you even think it will be!" Josh told me a few weeks ago when we were talking about the pop-up electric scooter rentals that were dotting the corners of our neighborhood. "You will really like it."

I downloaded the app, created an account, and was ready to ride except... there wasn't a scooter nearby when I wanted one, we left town, I forgot about it, and we left town again.

"Do you guys have those Bird scooters near you?" my sister asked me this morning.

"Oh my gosh, yes!" I answered. "I can't wait to try one! Have you done it yet?"

She looked a little surprised. "Um, no. We've been too busy hating on them because no one who uses them here wears a helmet or follows any traffic rules. They are all over the park and the Beltline, and someone is going to get seriously hurt someday soon."

"I would follow the rules," I said. "And Josh told me it's more fun than you even think it will be."

On the way home from lunch we saw one of the simple black and silver machines parked just a few blocks from the house. When we got home, I pulled up the app on my phone. "There's one right down the street!" I reported. "Let's go!"

We decided to combine scooting with shopping, and a little while later we set off. "There it is!" I pointed excitedly at the opposite corner. "My scooter! I'll be back for you!" I called and on we continued to Trader Joe's. Not 20 minutes later we were on our way home, but the scooter was gone! Someone else had rolled away with my first ride.

Crestfallen, I pulled out my phone. There were no others available on the way home, but there was one a little past the house and around the corner, so we dropped the groceries and Courtney, Annabelle and I trotted up the hill. It's more fun than I even think it will be! I told myself.

Arriving at the spot marked by the pin on the map, we found... nothing. Josh had told me that some people near him lock the scooters up on their property so that they will have them, even though it's against the rules. I could have reported it missing, but since I was still inexperienced with the process,  I sighed and let it go.

The app showed one more option for us, about 4 blocks to the south, but the winged icon kept appearing and disappearing. My sister was optimistic. "Let's go see," she said.

Why not? I thought. It's more fun than I think it will be!

"There it is!" I said as we approached a bike-share station, and as the three of us neared the corner, a white van pulled up and 2 guys jumped out and grabbed the 2 scooters that were leaning against the rack. After a lot of conversation and phone-checking, they hopped on one of the scooters and rolled away as we stood, jaws open.

I shook my head. "That was not meant to be."

And the three of us turned toward home, vowing to scoot another day. How can we not? It's obviously going to be more fun than I even think it will be.

(EXCITING WRITING NEWS!!! This week Annabelle and I are going to post each of our versions of the same topic. For Annabelle's version of the tragic trilogy of lost scooters, click here.)

Rapid Transit

We made it to Atlanta in 10 hours with 2 stops:
one for peeing
and one for peaches.

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It has been very dry here for the last several weeks, and I have spent every morning when I'm in town thoroughly watering the garden. Even so, aside from a handful of banana peppers, any significant harvest is still a few weeks away. There's always that first tomato, though, that swells and ripens well ahead of any others. That one I was looking forward to picking today before heading off to Atlanta tomorrow.

Unfortunately, the birds had other ideas. They are so thirsty from the drought that they poke their beaks like a straw into anything semi-ripe. And so I found my first perfect tomato punctured and partially consumed when I went to water this morning.

I gasped and picked it anyway, and when I got home I washed it thoroughly, cut away the birdy parts, and ate it for breakfast.

And it was delicious!

Note to self: Place water bowls in the garden for the birds.