Adjust if Necessary

Yesterday I wrote about getting my head back into the business of teaching. Today, Heidi and Emily and I (teachers all) were talking about the pre-pre-service steps we were taking and considering taking to prepare our classrooms and our minds to head back to school in a few weeks.

"I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel," Emily said. "Summer's ending."

"Yeah," I agreed, "but I think what I'm seeing is the dark at the beginning of the tunnel."

I guess I better keep working on my attitude.

No Endless Summer

Over the last few days, I've had several chances to get together with friends and colleagues to start strategizing and planning the school year ahead. Each conversation was good in its own way, but my major take away?

I need to get my head back in the game.

Barefoot Girl

I usually wear my crocs when I go to water and weed the garden. It's nice that they are waterproof, but sometimes the way they squeak when my feet slide around in them makes me a little crazy. Wearing socks is not the solution-- they just get soggy and unpleasant. The other day, I finally just left my slippery shoes behind and stepped barefoot into the grassy pathway that runs the length of the community plots.

The grass was cool and soft, and I was transported back to summer days when I was a little girl and we never wore shoes to play outside. Why haven't I gone barefoot recently? I wondered, before remembering that I live in a condo without a yard. No worries, though. Now I just kick my shoes off the minute I get to the garden, and there they stay until it's time to go.

Not So Total Recall

We saw the remake/reboot/whatever of Total Recall today. (That's what happens when you hang with teenaged boys; although I confess, I kind of wanted to see it.) As it progressed, I realized that although I have definitely seen the original, probably more than once, ironically, I had very little recall of it. Sure, the first one had Arnold Schwarzenegger in it, and early on in this version, as I watched Kate Beckinsale beat the crap out of Colin Farrell, I remembered the old one had Sharon Stone in it as well, back in the day when she had the rep as a serious ass-kicker.

After the movie, Riley and Heidi assured me that the two versions were not much different from each other, with the exception of the setting, and Treat did a little digging to to find that neither one was much like the Philip K. Dick story they were based on. "I don't think the wife's character was quite as resilient in the first one," Heidi added. "I'm pretty sure she didn't make it to the end."

And that's when one more detail sprang immediately to my fifty-year-old brain. Arnold's inimitable Austrian accent deadpanning, "Consider that a duh-voorse," as he terminated his "wife".

Now, that, I totally recalled.

Degree of Difficulty

Cats have the reputation of being rather graceful. The elegant stalk, the arch of the back, the effortless leap-- these are feline markers. Well, that is true for every cat I've ever met, besides our own Penelope. That one is downright clumsy.

Perhaps we first noticed it the time she raced across the wood floor, and for no apparent reason suddenly attempted a full stop. Unsuccessful, her back legs kept going, passed beneath her, and flipped her ass over tea kettle in a full somersault. What did she do? She shook it off. It couldn't have been as novel to her as it was to us.

Since then, she has tripped numerous times; she has misjudged many leaps and several landings, including a few onto my lap, the latest of which was just a while ago, resulting in some pretty deep punctures to my thigh, and a bump on the head for Penelope.

None of it seems to bother her, though. It is what it is, and so she goes on.

I heard a piece on the radio the other day about human satisfaction. It was in conjunction with the Olympics and was, in part, addressing why most silver medal winners are disappointed with their achievement, while most bronze winners are satisfied. It seems that we rely on comparisons to help us figure out how we're doing. The silver winner is looking at the gold he or she lost, while the bronze medalist is feeling pretty happy to be going home with something, unlike all of the other competitors behind him or her.

Fortunately, Penelope does not get caught up in such head games. Maybe she's on to something.

We Are Family

Heidi and I have been together for nearly 14 years, and over that time we've shared great times and tragedy, like any couple. We feel fortunate to have the love and support of both of our families, and we have brought them all together in various circumstances and constellations over the years. It works, and for that we are thankful.

Even so, living in a time where same-sex unions are still very controversial (I'm talking to you, Chik-fil-A) and in a state where they are not recognized at all (yes, Virginia, there are committed gay couples), it's hard at times to keep calm and carry on, but of course we do.

Today we were cleaning out drawers in the guest room when we came upon a whole cache of photos. The oldest was from 1969 and the newest was probably 2004. I don't think we've even looked at them in five years or more, so we had fun going through them after so much time.  

The pictures were all mixed up: There's Josh, there's Jennifer, that's me in college, there's Riley, there's Treat, that's Bill and Emily's wedding, that's Kyle, that's Kevin, that's Courtney and Jordan's wedding, and so on.

Some were mine, some were Heidi's, and some were ours.

As it should be.

Chops

"Let's have this for dinner tonight!" Heidi suggested while looking through my new cookbook.

"Sure," I agreed without a second thought, without even looking at the recipe, because, after all it's summer, so what's a little extra cooking?

What indeed. It's high time to acknowledge that I am not the cook I once was, and this vegan dish of  homemade pasta, filling and sauce, not to mention hand filling the tortelloni totally kicked my ass. We'll be lucky to eat by 8:30 and my back is killing me.

It's going to be good, though.