Humility and Comfort

It's not often that I do things that are unfamiliar and hard. By this point in my life, I know what I like and what I'm good at, and many comfortable routines have developed. I'm not saying that I don't appreciate novelty-- I do; I actually get bored pretty easily-- but I prefer it within a familiar context. Is that a paradox? I don't think so. What's so wrong with staying in your comfort zone?

Isn't that what we try to do in our classrooms, create safe environments where students feel comfortable taking positive risks?

Anyway, the point of all of this is, once again, the garden: it all goes back to the garden. I want to do this, have a vegetable garden, but I don't know how. I have to humbly ask for and accept advice and help from others to accomplish what I want. That's a challenge for me, but I'm recognizing that it's good for me, too.

Look, I'll never be a comfort zone vagabond roaming merrily into the untested, or even a comfort zone tourist gleefully exploring the untried, but I've realized that each time I successfully step out of my comfort zone, I expand it. So, yay! More comfort zone for me.

Bill's Birthday Dinner

roasted red peppers
mixed olives
oil-poached tuna nicoise

lobster boulliabaise
ciabata croutons with aioli

rosemary roasted chicken thighs
with yukon gold new potatoes

vagabond spring greens,
haricot verts, tomatoes,
and lemon-mustard vinaigrette

cream puffs

served with a rose of malbec

A Few Friday Favorites

Here are some of the riddle poems my students wrote this week:

i hold a face.
i make blackNess luminous.
i circle green and blue.
i Am Sometimes brimful, sometimes empty, sometimes in between.
imprints Are made, but not removed.
i spend almost all of my time in solitude.
i can be auroral during witching hour,
and vague during breakfast time.
i never make a sound, and neither can anything around me.
i am heavenly, but not made of anything special.
what am i?
(noom eht)

I have plenty of energy but can not run
Every body is spinning around me put I can't move
I make everything sizzle and sizzle
I am not the biggest and not the smallest
And I am hot but no one likes me
And I am the survival of life
So when I die you will too
Who am I?
(nus eht)

I speak not for the sky,
and not for the sea,
nor for the palace of eternity.
I speak for the land of withered stone,
and for the lands where the cacti roam.
I roll to the side to show my back,
I slide left and right,
to slither on home to an old rock stack.
What am I?
(redniwedis a)

And here's one of mine:

I  hit the road, ride the rails,
or travel along the open trails.
I've set up camp at Walking the Dog,
but when May comes I'll leave this blog.
(dnobagav a)

Three for Thursday

I.
There was a package at my door when I got home tonight. For participating in the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Challenge in March, my name was drawn to receive the Carl Hiassen trio. The package was sent from Random House, Broadway, NY, NY, and contained hardback editions of Hoot, Flush, and Scat. My students love these books; they are consistent favorites on the independent reading log, and I know they will be hot items in the classroom library.

II.
Short attention span theater: my class is doing a series of mini-units. Last week we looked at humor, next it was a quick little fly by on why on earth a sane writer would ever bother with semicolons, colons, dashes, and ellipses, and we're rounding it out with riddle poems. Here's an example of the third:

I am inside you,
and I am underground.
I am thrown and broken.
I am a protector.
If you see me, you will cry.

(senob ruoy)

III.
Last night I woke up at 3:30. Unfortunately, that's not as uncommon as it was when I was younger. Usually, I fall back to sleep within thirty minutes or so, but not this time. I have a lot going on right now, but unlike other nights when I lay awake as one vagabond worry after another tightened its grip on my gut, I felt no anxiety. Neither could I sleep though, and my to-do list was indeed present, if not actively stressing me out. It was around 4:15 that I realized I had forgotten a promised birthday cake, and at 4:30, with no hope for sleep in sight, I rose to bake same. It's been a long day.

Weeding on Wednesday

We spent the first weekday evening in our garden tonight. A few more weeds have been dispatched. Truth be told, it was lovely to be outside in the slanting sunlight prying and pulling and shaking dirt from roots, taking care to leave all the worms behind-- and there are lots of worms vagabonding all through the soil, which I hear is a good sign. As the air cooled, we worked and chatted about our day, and a little more dark brown earth emerged from beneath the low sagey canopy. It was a minor accomplishment, but with an unexpected bonus: the chance to spend some time together away from the distractions that often preoccupy us separately on an ordinary evening.

Tuesday With Tony

The doorbell rang not too long ago, and, being the closest to it, I went to answer. The dog was busy chewing on a bone-- it's rainy here, and that is her replacement for an evening walk; we figure it's stimulating and good for her teeth-- so I alone opened the door with only a half-hearted bark to warn whoever was on the other side that we have a dog.

There stood a well-scrubbed young man in a gaudy lime and white windbreaker over shirt and tie. No vagabond he: pressed slacks and that tell-tale salesman's smile completed the look, and he took a deep breath before plunging into his spiel. As with any kind of in-person marketer, tele- or door-to-door, if I wanted to avoid being rude, I had to patiently wait my turn to speak before I could politely turn him down. Riveted to my own welcome mat, I made a conscious choice to be present to this other human being and to do my best to listen to his story.

He was from Charlotte where, according to him, jobs are tough to come by right now. In fact, the only thing he really misses is the cole slaw and pulled pork. His mama taught him some common courtesy, though, so before we continued, he introduced himself, asked my name, and held out his hand. I opened the screen door to shake Tony's hand, and after that we chattered amiably for a few minutes before Tony got down to business.  He was selling magazines in the hopes of opening his own barber shop, but if I had no interest in a subscription for myself, then I could send it to our troops in Afghanistan.

Short of asking him to wait while I stepped inside to google his organization, I had to make a judgment call on the spot. The dog burfed from the living room; Tony smiled; I shrugged. So many questions ran through my mind. "Tony," I said, "I'm going to trust you. If this is a scam, then it's on you." I gave him thirty-five bucks and noted that he was courteous and professional on his customer satisfaction sheet. I hope they enjoy The Sporting News in Kandahar.

Make-do Monday

I've noticed that Monday evening is very busy at my local grocers. Like me, many of my neighbors must put off that chore in favor of enjoying their weekend. I wonder if, like me, too, they consider the grocery store optional on most days. We almost always have enough food in the pantry, freezer, and fridge that in a pinch, or if I can't find parking in the tiny grocery store lot, I can make a decent meal from our home ingredients.

Tonight, after one unsuccessful lap of the lot and a near collision with a vagabond shopping cart, it will be a chipotle-buttermilk corn chowder with tossed salad for dinner, and tomorrow Isabel will be forced to make do with no egg in her breakfast, and Heidi will have to have an apple instead of an orange for lunch. I think we'll be fine.