The persistent rapping of sleet and frozen rain against my windows last night made it hard to sleep soundly, but in the darkness before dawn, a couple of inches of slush along with the promise of a bit more to come gave us the snow day we had been waiting for. Oh, it was too sloppy outside for any snowmen or sleds, but when at last the gray skies cleared, the clean up was pretty easy. Growing restless of Netflix by the fireside, at about 4:30 this afternoon I pulled on a pair of boots and headed out to get some fresh air. It was hard not to contrast the sights of this day to the last winter storm we had just over a year ago. Then the sharp cold air was filled with flumes of powder as my dog scampered through sparkling blanket of snow. Today I walked alone past frozen cherry blossoms and bent daffodils, glad to have the time off, but looking forward to warmer days.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Monday, March 13, 2017
Will It or Won't It?
There's a blizzard a-comin!
To Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston... But we live in Washington, DC, which, after a snow-less winter, is right on the snow-rain line of this miraculous March event.
And it is also where we live in fear of the disappointing epitaph of the oncoming weather:
The reports of our snowstorm have been gravely exaggerated.
Apologies to Mark Twain! (Excuse me while I turn my PJs inside out and flush an ice cube down the drain.)
To Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston... But we live in Washington, DC, which, after a snow-less winter, is right on the snow-rain line of this miraculous March event.
And it is also where we live in fear of the disappointing epitaph of the oncoming weather:
The reports of our snowstorm have been gravely exaggerated.
Apologies to Mark Twain! (Excuse me while I turn my PJs inside out and flush an ice cube down the drain.)
Sunday, March 12, 2017
A Great Escape
Knowing how sharp-witted I consider myself, my older nephews considerately got me a gift certificate to a local "escape room" for Christmas. I'm almost as antisocial as I am wiley, however, plus I know a good team when I see one, and so I invited both of them and their parents to accompany us on our big adventure today.
For those who are unfamiliar, "An escape room is a physical adventure game in which players are locked in a room and have to use elements of the room to solve a series of puzzles and escape within a set time limit, or having completed a mission." (Thank you, Wikipedia!)
And so for 45 minutes this afternoon the six of us scoured an office designed to belong to Professor Moriarty of Sherlock Holmes fame, discovering and interpreting all sorts of perplexing items and baffling clues. In the end we escaped, but not without the assistance of our steward, Sarah, and an extra few minutes. "At first you guys were doing so well I thought you had our guide book," she told us, but then..." she trailed off, kind of like we had once we hit our first big block.
Even so, back on the street and off to a late lunch a little while later, all we could talk about was what we had learned and how much better we would be next time. Look out Escape Room! We're coming back!
P.S. One thing we could not escape was that most onerous day of the year when when one whole hour is ripped unceremoniously from our weekend. Boo! DST!
For those who are unfamiliar, "An escape room is a physical adventure game in which players are locked in a room and have to use elements of the room to solve a series of puzzles and escape within a set time limit, or having completed a mission." (Thank you, Wikipedia!)
And so for 45 minutes this afternoon the six of us scoured an office designed to belong to Professor Moriarty of Sherlock Holmes fame, discovering and interpreting all sorts of perplexing items and baffling clues. In the end we escaped, but not without the assistance of our steward, Sarah, and an extra few minutes. "At first you guys were doing so well I thought you had our guide book," she told us, but then..." she trailed off, kind of like we had once we hit our first big block.
Even so, back on the street and off to a late lunch a little while later, all we could talk about was what we had learned and how much better we would be next time. Look out Escape Room! We're coming back!
P.S. One thing we could not escape was that most onerous day of the year when when one whole hour is ripped unceremoniously from our weekend. Boo! DST!
Saturday, March 11, 2017
Thrift
I spent a bit of my Saturday combing the racks and shelves at the local big box thrift store. (Is that an oxymoron?) It was kind of fun, but the experience of treasure-hunting through other people's castoffs is also a little conflicting.
I am economically fortunate enough that I thrift-shop for entertainment and also in the spirit of upcycling. The landfills depicted in the Pixar movie Wall-E are among the most haunting of images I've ever seen, and the sheer volume of usable items on the curbsides I pass on trash days turns my stomach. Where's that stuff going to go? Even the long lines and the mountainous jumble of donations at our local Goodwill makes me queasy. When did so many things become disposable?
It seems like there is no bright line between consumption and over-consumption. Heck! we even watch hoarders on TV as entertainment. The days when one man's trash was another man's treasure are quickly disappearing in the rearview.
Except at the thrift shop.
Some of the customers are searching for a genuine treasure at a rock-bottom price. Some are looking to add a bargain buy to their already full closets and drawers. Some are there because it is a greener form of acquisition. Some are there because it's fun and hip.
But many others are shopping there because it is all they can afford.
I am economically fortunate enough that I thrift-shop for entertainment and also in the spirit of upcycling. The landfills depicted in the Pixar movie Wall-E are among the most haunting of images I've ever seen, and the sheer volume of usable items on the curbsides I pass on trash days turns my stomach. Where's that stuff going to go? Even the long lines and the mountainous jumble of donations at our local Goodwill makes me queasy. When did so many things become disposable?
It seems like there is no bright line between consumption and over-consumption. Heck! we even watch hoarders on TV as entertainment. The days when one man's trash was another man's treasure are quickly disappearing in the rearview.
Except at the thrift shop.
Some of the customers are searching for a genuine treasure at a rock-bottom price. Some are looking to add a bargain buy to their already full closets and drawers. Some are there because it is a greener form of acquisition. Some are there because it's fun and hip.
But many others are shopping there because it is all they can afford.
Friday, March 10, 2017
Slurp it Up
Friday night dilemma:
Should I cook those pig's feet tonight or tomorrow?
Perhaps I should explain my recent ramen research project: I want to make a decent tonkotsu broth from scratch,
because,
um,
well,
it would be awesome and delicious!
For me? Cooking is a little like [I imagine] mountain climbing. Most of the fun is in the challenge. But the reward is in the view,
or on the plate,
or in the bowl.
Should I cook those pig's feet tonight or tomorrow?
Perhaps I should explain my recent ramen research project: I want to make a decent tonkotsu broth from scratch,
because,
um,
well,
it would be awesome and delicious!
For me? Cooking is a little like [I imagine] mountain climbing. Most of the fun is in the challenge. But the reward is in the view,
or on the plate,
or in the bowl.
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Navigation
We are still new to the whole Uber thing, but when a friend invited us downtown for dinner this evening, it seemed that with three of us and parking to consider, that form of transportation was *literally* the way to go. And so when we were ready to head out I fired up my app, and after a few frowns and swipes announced that Muhammed was on his way.
In nine minutes a pristine silver Rav4 pulled up, and Heidi and Susan hopped in the back leaving me to take shotgun. "Do you mind the music?" the driver asked once we were settled. We did not, and soon my fingers were drumming along to the exotic syncopation as we rolled through the neighborhood and toward the city.
It's always a little awkward, if you ask me, to ride right next to your chauffeur in total silence, but I'm not really the type to chat up a total stranger, either, so I stared out the window and tried to identify the language of the lyrics. Finally my curiosity got the best of me. "What country is this music from?" I asked.
"What country do you think it's from?" Muhammed replied.
I laughed at the unexpected turn in our young conversation. "Um..." I hesitated, considering the man and the music. "Afghanistan?"
"No," he said, "but it borders Afghanistan."
"Pakistan?" I guessed next, because I thought that might be where he was from, but the music didn't seem quite right. For one thing, several of the songs were duets with both male and female singers.
"Nope," he said.
"That borders, Afghanistan, right? I'm trying to picture the map," I told him.
He waited patiently.
"Can I get any help?" I said over my shoulder to Heidi and Susan.
"You asked," Susan shrugged. "Sorry."
"Iran?" I said.
"That borders Afghanistan," he agreed, "but no."
I scrunched my face up, embarrassed by my lack of knowledge of that region.
"It does start with an I, though," he gave me a hint.
I listened to the music, it seemed familiar in a complex fusion-y kind of way. "India!" I snapped my fingers.
Muhammed grinned widely. "You did know!" he said, "Very good!"
"Are you a geography teacher by day?" I asked him, "Because if not, you should consider it!"
In nine minutes a pristine silver Rav4 pulled up, and Heidi and Susan hopped in the back leaving me to take shotgun. "Do you mind the music?" the driver asked once we were settled. We did not, and soon my fingers were drumming along to the exotic syncopation as we rolled through the neighborhood and toward the city.
It's always a little awkward, if you ask me, to ride right next to your chauffeur in total silence, but I'm not really the type to chat up a total stranger, either, so I stared out the window and tried to identify the language of the lyrics. Finally my curiosity got the best of me. "What country is this music from?" I asked.
"What country do you think it's from?" Muhammed replied.
I laughed at the unexpected turn in our young conversation. "Um..." I hesitated, considering the man and the music. "Afghanistan?"
"No," he said, "but it borders Afghanistan."
"Pakistan?" I guessed next, because I thought that might be where he was from, but the music didn't seem quite right. For one thing, several of the songs were duets with both male and female singers.
"Nope," he said.
"That borders, Afghanistan, right? I'm trying to picture the map," I told him.
He waited patiently.
"Can I get any help?" I said over my shoulder to Heidi and Susan.
"You asked," Susan shrugged. "Sorry."
"Iran?" I said.
"That borders Afghanistan," he agreed, "but no."
I scrunched my face up, embarrassed by my lack of knowledge of that region.
"It does start with an I, though," he gave me a hint.
I listened to the music, it seemed familiar in a complex fusion-y kind of way. "India!" I snapped my fingers.
Muhammed grinned widely. "You did know!" he said, "Very good!"
"Are you a geography teacher by day?" I asked him, "Because if not, you should consider it!"
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
Solidarity
When at first the prospect of a woman's strike on March 8, International Women's Day, was raised in our 9-teacher team meeting, the only man among us gasped in what we treated as mock alarm. We all laughed because we knew how impossible it would be for him to manage 105 kids all on his own. In the following weeks, I participated in several discussions with colleagues about the call for a day without women.
"But isn't teaching one of the few professions where men and women have equal pay?" asked a fellow teacher. "Even though it is predominately women?" she added.
"Maybe that is why teacher pay is lower compared to other professionals with the same education and licensing credentials," someone else suggested. "Administrators make more," and those jobs are mostly held by men.
"I just wouldn't want to see the kids suffer if there was a strike," another person said.
"But as teachers," I answered, "we are constantly being pressured by that message. Stop complaining and do x or y for the good of the students. Such statements presuppose that we don't care about the welfare of our kids. Maybe it would be good for them to consider the contributions of the women in their lives."
In the end, despite the fact that two nearby school systems closed in response to the call, ours did not, and rather than stay at home, I put on some red, went to school, and refused to spend a penny, as did the majority of my colleagues. Our students demonstrated a mix of levels of awareness, although we had a rare 100% attendance on our team. Some were clueless, some had heard of it, and some wore red in solidarity.
Then there was the kid who interrupted me as I was explaining the day's objective. "Hey!" she said indignantly, "I thought you weren't allowed to teach us today!"
"But isn't teaching one of the few professions where men and women have equal pay?" asked a fellow teacher. "Even though it is predominately women?" she added.
"Maybe that is why teacher pay is lower compared to other professionals with the same education and licensing credentials," someone else suggested. "Administrators make more," and those jobs are mostly held by men.
"I just wouldn't want to see the kids suffer if there was a strike," another person said.
"But as teachers," I answered, "we are constantly being pressured by that message. Stop complaining and do x or y for the good of the students. Such statements presuppose that we don't care about the welfare of our kids. Maybe it would be good for them to consider the contributions of the women in their lives."
In the end, despite the fact that two nearby school systems closed in response to the call, ours did not, and rather than stay at home, I put on some red, went to school, and refused to spend a penny, as did the majority of my colleagues. Our students demonstrated a mix of levels of awareness, although we had a rare 100% attendance on our team. Some were clueless, some had heard of it, and some wore red in solidarity.
Then there was the kid who interrupted me as I was explaining the day's objective. "Hey!" she said indignantly, "I thought you weren't allowed to teach us today!"
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