Time to Set another Alarm

For years the method has worked. Radio at 5:15, alarm at 5:30, I usually rise around 5:45. Last night, though, my fitful dreams, centered around school and the book I'm reading, made any kind of deep sleep elusive, and so at 5:45, when they were talking about the possible hazards of a nicotine patch for pregnant women, I must have dozed off instead of getting up.

In fact it wasn't until 6:25 when my very busy dream about taking the Tolerance Club students to meet Bill Cosby with a radio journalist-- the reporter wore strange, high-wasted plaid flannel pants and offered one of the seventh graders a beer while Phylicia Rashad looked uncomfortably on-- gave way to the notion that something was terribly wrong, and Holy Crap!

I bolted to the shower. But not before I heard the end of that interview with Bill Cosby.

Potayto Potahto

One of the running bits in the movie Enough Said is how Toni Colette's housekeeper always puts things away in strange places-- hairbrushes in the silverware drawer, baseballs in the bathroom, etc. Our housekeeper only comes once a week, and she is generally very efficient, although at times there are signs of her haste to do a good job in the time she has. For example, she recently left the furniture polish can on the mantle (where it stayed for several days until I noticed it at a time when I wasn't sitting on the couch with no desire to get up).

I'm sure that we often share the blame for any confusion; certainly there are times when we make her job harder by neglecting to put some things properly away. Our pets also complicate her duties sometimes; they are well-loved and they have many possessions of their own scattered all about the place.

All of this is simply to explain why I didn't even blink an eye this morning when I discovered a catnip ball in the potatoes.

You have to admit, it kind of goes.

Good Tidings

Time with family,
a delicious meal,
and even a few snow flurries--
tonight, let us merry folk be of good cheer
for the holiday season comes just once a year!

Keep on the Sunny Side

It was gloomy and gray as I made my way the short distance to school this morning; the only bright spot was the day of the week.

With resolute positivity I ignored all that and took comfort in the small joys of my commute-- a fun song on the radio, perfect timing at the lights. Just a few blocks from my destination my attention was captured by a beautiful red maple tree made even more brilliant by the very filter of those dismal clouds.

"Oh my goodness," I gasped, but not at the glorious foliage; there was a rainbow sweeping through the overcast sky. My route took me directly toward it, and I imagined sharing its enchantment with students as I walked into the building.

But fat raindrops began to fall as I pulled into the parking lot, and by the time I locked my car the only rainbow in sight was formed by the garish panels of my big umbrella.

Centennial

I heard on the radio the other day that Mallomars are 100 years old this year.  

Wow! Why is that a thing? I thought.

Fortunately I had only to listen a bit more to hear that these chocolate-dipped marshmallow and graham cracker confections are only available in the cooler months of the year, when their chocolate coating won't be compromised. As such? Mallomars have a seasonal scarcity dynamic working for them. In fact, many people actually stock up on the cookies and keep them in their deep-freezes to dole out as special treats in those lazy, mallowmar-less, days of summer.

Well! It wasn't long before I realized that I'd never had a Mallomar. Happily, when I went to the grocery to satisfy my curiosity, they were both in season and on sale. And though I am not a big sweet eater, I would have to say that these cookies were nicely executed-- dark chocolate, sweet marshmallow, and tender graham cracker all united to make two pretty good little bites.

So now? I get it, Mallomars-- Happy 100th!

Vegetable Burritos

Tonight for dinner I made a dish that we first had fourteen years ago at a little bistro in Provincetown. These vegetable burritos are labor intensive (they have four separately prepared filling ingredients and just as many toppings), but they are one of Heidi's favorites, and I have a soft spot in my heart for them as well.

Back then, our now 18-year-old Josh was not quite four, and Heidi and I met him and his mom on Cape Cod for a few days of summer fun. Having known me for less than a year, it seemed pretty clear that Josh was still a little suspicious of this lady who was now somehow connected to his beloved Aunt Heidi. He liked to ignore me whenever possible, or answer me in single syllables when absolutely necessary.

One day the four of us decided to drive to P-town and go whale watching. On the ride out to that curl of the cape, I was in the backseat with Josh. He had some paper and crayons and Heidi and his mom were talking in the front, so one thing led to another and pretty soon Josh and I were yucking it up and trading drawings back and forth.

The whale watch itself is lost to my memory, but I do recall that after the cruise, we walked from the wharf into town to find a place to eat. At one point, we waited at a busy corner for the traffic to clear. Without thinking, I held out my hand to the little person standing to my right, and for the first time ever, Josh took it, and we crossed the street together.

Predictable

"She's not going to show up you know," Heidi told me as we headed out the door to meet a friend we hadn't seen in a few years.

"What are you talking about?" I said. "Let's go or we'll be late."

Who knows what happens? Life is busy, signals get crossed, feelings get bruised, even the closest of friends can drift apart.

We met Jen and her partner at the dog park nine years ago, and despite the fact that they were considerably younger than we were, we bonded over being same-sex couples with adorable puppies. Over the next couple of years we spent a fair amount of time together, celebrating when they got their second dog and eventually trying to help pick up the pieces when they split (right before we were all supposed to go on vacation together).

There was a lot of drama, but we were able to navigate the bumpy road of staying friends with both.

For a while.
Until we weren't.
And then we were friends with Jen.
Until we weren't.

What can I say? Life is busy, signals get crossed, feelings get bruised, even the closest of friends can drift apart.

A couple of weeks ago Jen sent me a message that she was applying for a job in our county. Could I help? I told her that if she got an interview, I maybe could, but I couldn't help with the first part.

Fingers crossed, she wrote back. Then, We should get together. Reconnect for real. Deflate any elephants and talk about how or why we lost touch. I really miss you all and I think it would be nice.

And that brings us to tonight, when Heidi and I had a perfectly lovely dinner by ourselves.