Story Starters

When advising my students about finding topics for their Slices of Life, I usually have one suggestion and one warning. I warn them not to write about having nothing to write about, because otherwise that's all they would ever write on most days!

Which brings me to the trick I like to pass along: think about your day and find something that stands out a little, whether it's for good or bad or because it reminded you of something else, or made you laugh, or made you cry, and then start writing about that, like so,

5:30 A.M. comes even earlier than usual on the first day after spring break...

Tricks of Time

"We have to get a picture of the dog in the middle of all these flowers!" Heidi exclaimed as we stepped off the boardwalk and into the early spring woods on the Bull Run Trail.

"We have one," I shrugged, "from the last time we were here."

"Na ah!" she replied. "When was that anyway?"

Through the miracle of modern technology, I was able to show her by searching through the photos on my phone. The last time we had been on this trail at Virginia Bluebell time was April 1, 2012.

Oh, we still took plenty of pictures of the dog sitting pretty in a lovely spray of lavender and spring green, and when we got home I checked my blog post for that date as well. It was ironically rather timeless:

"Why do we go to a nature center to learn about energy?" the ranger asked the congregation of sixth grade students. And the answer was that energy is everywhere, and nature both uses it and conserves it well. Case in point? Our guide showed us an example of the Virginia Bluebell. This plant is visible for no more than 4-6 weeks in the early spring. It grows and blooms in the sunshine that is only available because the trees have not yet leafed out, then dies back to its roots to wait for the earth to complete another trip around the sun. It is a spring ephemeral.

Years ago I drove from Houston to Austin at this time of year. Courtesy of the Texas Highway Department and Lady Bird Johnson, the hills were literally covered in Blue Bonnets, the showy lupine native to that part of the country. Fiery orange blooms of Indian Paintbrush were scattered across the blanket of blue blossoms, and it was hard to breathe, much less drive, in the presence of such an exhibition. I have never forgotten it.

Today I witnessed the local equivalent of that grand display. As we walked the trail along Bull Run,Virginia Bluebells carpeted the forest floor, rolling blue and spring green as far as I could see, their dainty lavender bells bowed away from the very sun they sought. I have to admit that I appreciated the beauty of their presence much more knowing as I did that theirs was a limited engagement.

But then, whose isn't?

A Little Bird Told Me

Another day, another walk with the dog. This time we drove about 20 minutes out to a small man-made lake in our neighboring county. The combination of sunny skies, brisk breezes, and barely budding branches made this an ideal walk for bird watching, and we were not disappointed:

Canada goose, mallard, sea gull, goshawk, red winged blackbird, starling, nuthatch, downy woodpecker, robin, cardinal, blue jay, tufted titmouse, Carolina chickadee, house wren, wood thrush, swallow, bluebird, one lonely mute swan, and a well-known bird that I have never seen before: an oriole!

I think that's a good sign as baseball season approaches!

A Day at the Park

Irate voices carried across the park and onto the trail we were walking on with the dogs. Always drawn to a drama, I slowed my pace and craned my neck to see what was going on. Three children were clinging like happy monkeys to the lower branches of a sturdy tree while a couple of dogs yapped at its trunk. What could possibly be wrong?

A little further off, two men stood face to face. It was their voices I had heard, and now I listened to make out their words. The man with white hair was the most strident, and it soon became clear that the children and dogs were with him. The space they were playing in was in the middle of a frisbee golf course, as the younger guy was trying to explain.

It was hard to tell if it was the tone or the message, but the older man was growing increasingly frustrated. At last he gathered the children and dogs and stomped off indignantly, but not before exchanging many ugly words with the other man and then the whole group of golfers at the tee about 50 yards away.

We continued our walk, passing people playing on baseball and soccer fields, and then on tennis courts, too. No one would ever blink at being asked to move from those places so that a game could continue; clearly the angry man had misunderstood the situation, but perhaps the young frisbee players could have been more patient; I couldn't say.

I looked to the sky. The sun was shining, and a soft breeze stirred the light green and pink branches all around us. No one could stay mad on a beautiful day like today, could they? I wondered, and hoped that I was right.

Two for Lunch

The line was to the door at my favorite sandwich place this afternoon, but they were very efficient at the counter, and I had called my order in ahead. "Can I start your order?" the cook asked even though I was still a few patrons from the register.

"I have a call-in," I told him.

"Go on up to the front," he said. "What's your name?"

"Tracey," I answered and he nodded. "Can I start your order?" he said to the woman behind me.

"I have a call in," she said.

"Follow her to the front," he pointed at me. "What's your name?"

"Traci," she answered.

I turned around to look at her. "Did you say your name is Tracey?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "You, too?"

I nodded.

"How do you spell it?" she asked.

"e-y," I told her.

"I'm an 'i'," she smiled.

My eyes widened. "We better check our orders!" I said.

Just then she spotted my Apple watch. "How do you like it?"

"Love it!" I answered. "You?"

"Love it!" she agreed.

The cashier was ready to ring us up. "I'm chipotle turkey," I told him.

"I'm BLT," she said.

"That's a popular name today!" he said, as he handed us our bags.

I paid my bill and turned to go. "Enjoy your day!" I told Traci.

"You, too!" she replied.

"Thanks!" we both said.

Waffling

A month or so ago, after 17 years of faithful service, our waffle maker died. At the time, the research I felt was necessary to adequately replace it (Wait! Was that a character developing detail? YOU be the judge.) seemed a little too time consuming, but recently I found the time, and so we have a brand new Belgian waffler.

Coincidently, just the other day I had the chance to taste the famous savory waffle at the Birchwood Cafe in Minneapolis. Described as a quinoa & kale waffle, pineapple chutney, rosemary butter, bacon, sunny-side-up egg, feta, and powdered sugar, with maple sugar on the side, it had a lot going on, but I left the restaurant inspired to make interesting waffles!

This morning I made good on that vow and cranked out a few vegan kale waffles. Served with strawberries and maple syrup, they were pretty yummy, but rather tame. Next up? I'm not sure, maybe a turnip-blueberry, or a sweet potato, kale, and pecan, or perhaps a carrot-beet with raisins.

Whatever it is, though? It will definitely be topped with a sweet and salty lavender butter, just because I already made that!

Companion Ticket

The gate area was crowded by the time we made it through security and down the concourse. "Folks," they were saying from the counter, "this flight is full. Anyone who would like to check your carry on bag, please see us up here at the podium."

I scanned my fellow passengers to see if anyone would react, but most of them seemed quite confident that there would be room for their suitcase, at least.  I continued to be a little skeptical of the guy with the huge hard-sided cello case next to him. Even when he picked it up and slipped his arms through straps that turned it into a nifty backpack, I still could not imagine how it was going to fit into any overhead bin I have ever seen.

I needn't have worried, because as we filed down the aisle to our seats we passed him just as he was securely seatbelting his instrument into the next seat. I'm still not sure why the cello got the window, though!