Spring Breakers

There was a little more traffic than I expected at 11 AM on a Wednesday, but that couldn't bother me... it was spring break, dammit, and we were on a road trip to the beach. Once we crossed the Bay Bridge, the sky was blue and the sun cast a warm, truly golden hue on bare trees and brown fields as we rolled east across the narrow peninsula separating the Chesapeake and the Atlantic. Chicken barns, random traffic circles, and brand new sub-divisions springing from former farm fields showed the way like so many bread crumbs until at last we arrived in Rehoboth Beach.

Parking spot number 7 was vacant, and I appreciated how impossible it would be to ever get that space in even just a month's time. A stiff, cold wind blew off the water from the north, but we bowed our heads and walked straight into it, knowing it would be worse to have to do so on the way back from our walk.

Isabel? She loves the beach, and she merrily trotted from breakers to dunes, sniffing and exploring. She found herself a nice, twelve inch Blueback herring lying in the sand just above the tide line. "No!" we cried and ran over to the floundering fish. A silvery rainbow of a specimen, its gills still waved weakly so I picked it up and tossed it back into the sea. I swear I saw its tail flip as it disappeared in the surf, but I stood watching, the afternoon sun at my back, the wide beach cast out to either side, and the blue, blue, ocean before me, in case the tide might maroon it again.

Late Show

The day was warm enough, 74 degrees, so we thought we'd take a walk around the Tidal Basin. Because there is barely a bud, much less a blossom, on any tree in the area, I was surprised by all the traffic down there. We circled the entire basin once looking for parking and then settled on Lot B, beyond the 14th Street Bridge and next to the train tracks at the top of Haines Point.

A short hike later we joined the throngs walking beneath the bare branches of the cherry trees. Sure, there were port-a-potties aplenty, and concession tents, and even a lone singer on the festival stage performing to one or two folks dotting the otherwise empty rows of wooden benches. In the white pop-up souvenir shops they had cherry blossom pencils, cherry blossom key chains, cherry blossom tote bags, cherry blossom puzzles and phone cases and scarfs, cherry blossom magnets and ornaments and lapel pins, and they even had cherry trees in tea tins to take and plant on your own, but those were the only cherry blossoms in sight on this day 12 of the three week festival.

As we sat on a bench under what will be a spectacular bough in a week or so, a woman approached us. "Can I ask you a question?" she started. "What's up with the cherry blossoms?"

We laughed, feeling a little apologetic for our home town. "They're late," I shrugged. "It's been kind of a cold spring so far."

Far from being disappointed, she seemed relieved. "I knew it!" she said. "My friend said we had to go to a special place to see them, but we couldn't figure out where."

"It's here," I told her, "it's just not now. It's supposed to be warm this week, though, so they might be out a bit this weekend," I added hopefully.

She waved her hand. "Just in time for us to leave!"

Technically Lost

34 minutes. That's what the GPS app on my phone said the trip down to the nature park would take. We'd been there before, but not for years because of the annoying policy about dogs on the boardwalk trail, which is definitely the best walk in the park. Even so, the warmish weather and sunshine called for an outing, and this place seemed like a good choice.

As we headed south into outer suburbs we don't often frequent, I checked my memory against the step-by-step directions my phone was spewing. Sure, traffic patterns change-- roads are widened, lots are developed, but midway there I wondered at what possible evolution might be guiding our route. On we drove, though, and when at last we turned into a subdivision of squat red brick ranch houses that seemed untouched since 1968, I knew that we were either going the best way ever, or we were completely off track.

Three blocks and a left turn later, the GPS told us we had arrived. Sure, there was grassy field and some woods beyond, but we were on a dead-end street in a sketchy neighborhood. I pulled over, and phone in hand sought to make sense of our location, but time and again, the map app insisted that we had arrived.

Finally I gave the screen a vicious pinch and scanned the network of roads around us. The names were unfamiliar, but there was something about the dog leg that one of them took on the far side of the shaded green area that represented our desired destination that jogged some distant memory, and with that I snapped off the phone and headed out, my own navigator once more.

I Always Dance When the Movie is Over

It seems like not so long ago that our house was often filled on the weekends with children, and we still have many of the toys and craft supplies to prove it. We got a chance to pull all those fun things out of the attic today, when we did a little babysitting as a favor to our friend Susan.

Ellie, 6, and Abby, 3 spent the afternoon while their parents and Aunt Susu went to a play and early supper to celebrate their mom's birthday. The girls know us slightly, mostly as Isabel's people, but they settled in easily and quickly to what promised to be a fun few hours.

Following that teacher maxim that it's better to plan too much than too little, we had a lot of options for them when they arrived. Frog and butterfly cookies were baked and ready to decorate, the playground up the hill was a must-do destination, there were also DVDs, shrinky dinks, and bracelet kits, but it was the Play Skool barn and plastic tea set, that got the first squeals of approval.

And the fun rolled on from there. The cookies were elaborately sprinkled, and we used the tea set to enjoy them with ice water and strawberries. The playground was next, mostly to burn off some of that sugar, and those girls did not disappoint-- they ran the track, drove the fire truck, and flew the space ship for nearly an hour and a half. Back at home, they chose the movie The Lorax to relax with, and at the end, Abby sprang up and invited us all to dance with the end credits, which we did, gladly.

"Noooooooooo," they cried when their parents came to the door. "We don't want to go home! We want to stay here forever!"

We rolled our eyes and laughed, and helped pack them up to go, but man! I totally knew what they meant.

A Little Chicken

I couldn't just buy a rotisserie chicken. No. I bought a chicken and planned to cook it myself, which I've done hundreds of times. But there was the rotisserie element. I had it in my head to serve and eat a chicken golden brown all around, crisp on the outside and juicy on the inside. I have a rack I bought a few years ago that lets one cook a chicken standing up. I've used it outdoors, but 34 degrees was just a little chilly to fire up the charcoal, and so I removed a couple of racks and punched in 400 convection roast. As the oven preheated, I slathered my organic chicken with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and the popped that bird in. "Should there be smoke pouring out of the oven?" Heidi called up the stairs a little while later.

Doors open and fans venting full blast did not prevent the smoke alarm from going off. Smoke has been detected in the hallway. Evacuate the building, it warned in between the harsh repetition of its clarion horn. I dashed for the step ladder; the cat passed me three times looking frantically for an escape, each time her fur and tail were bigger. At last, I removed the batteries I had placed in there not long ago, so sure they would only keep us safe in an emergency.

An hour later, quiet prevails, the chicken is finishing in the oven, but we have yet to see the cat again.

Fried Peppers

Oh dear! My little pepper sprouts missed another spritzin, and things are not looking good for a good third of the crop. I know that's why we over plant, and if they all thrive we'll be swimming in peppers come August. But survival of the fittest seems so harsh, especially to one who spends her days nurturing young learners with the expectation that none will be left behind. Oh, I gave my peppers a little extra boost to perk them back up, and I have high hopes they will be reaching for the lights come morning, after all, they don't call it Miracle Gro for nothing. Do they?

Like a Lamb

Oh, how I will regret saying farewell to the month of March when we turn the page on the calendar next week!

Sure, April with its longer days and mild weather takes a giant step toward summer vacation, but come fool's day, the daily reflections from my slice of life friends and students will fall like cherry blossoms in the warm spring breeze: there will be no more regular meditations on snow days, swim meets, bowling, laundry, road trips, murderous hawks, and heros until the lion roars in 2016.

I'll miss them!