The Good Ship Forsythia

The forsythia is blooming this week. Offering as they do that first magical burst of color in the drab late winter landscape, these bright yellow flowers on otherwise bare branches are hard to miss. When their blooms subside to plain green leaves, forsythia may become anonymous shrubbery to most, but not to me.

When my brother and sister and I were kids, one whole side of our house was lined with forsythia, and there was just enough room between the bushes and the wall for three little children to squeeze into. Near the middle of the hedgerow, the space widened into a tiny enclosed bower, which we called our clubhouse. We played for hours there, weaving in and out of leafy fairy-door openings, inventing all sorts of games that involved imaginary perils and daring escapes.

We took turns maneuvering that one flexible branch that was our control stick for both the seafaring and space-traveling ship our clubhouse could become whenever the situation required it. Get us out of here! we would cry, and our ship would zoom us away from any danger.

This morning, as I walked the dog, I peered into the spray of yellow flowers lining the hill behind our house, looking for a bit of space where three kids might hide, but there was no sanctuary in this forsythia. Even so, I reached in and grasped a branch, running my hand up and down the pebbled texture I didn't know I remembered so well. Get us out of here! I thought.

But it didn't work, so I continued on foot.

My Partner My Foe

We had no real plans for our Saturday evening when my adult nephew texted to invite us to game night. He was making pizza, his brother was bringing some beer, and his girlfriend was coming over after work. My brother made a salad, and we brought a bottle of Italian red and dessert. The NCAA tournament was on mute, and the dogs wrestled as the six of us matched wits playing a couple rounds each of Think 'n Sync and Listography.

Both games are an interesting mesh of competition and cooperation, requiring players to think outside themselves and imagine what their opponent/partner might be considering as each determines the "best" answer. Such empathetic competition can be an oxymoron hard to wrap your brain around, but lucky for us, we're all connected already.

Rabbit Hole

I wanted to replace the toilet paper holder,
so I took the old one off the wall.

The new one was a different size,
so I went through the leftover paint to find a match,
so I could touch up the wall.

There were a bunch paint cans that we no longer needed,
so I pulled them out from the cupboard and packed them up to be recycled.

The recycling place was closing soon,
so we hopped in the car to get over there.

We didn't make it on time,
so we ran some other errands instead.

Back at home, I realized I didn't have any spackling,
so I couldn't patch the wall before I painted.

My project was on hold,
so I sighed and closed the bathroom door until tomorrow.

The Perfect Bracket

Oh March Madness!

Right now, I don't have a single loss on my NCAA tournament bracket, but I don't have a single win either, because this year I never got around to filling one out.

Let's just say I follow college basketball from afar; both my brother and mom are really into it: he on the men's side, and she has seasons tickets to the Lady Gophers, so I hear things. For example, I knew that two of my alma maters had made it to the big dance. Sure, ODU was a 14th seed and Colgate a 15th, but until the final horn blows, anything is possible, right?

Even so, I can't say I'm upset that in the last 24 hours both teams have been eliminated. My friend Mary reminded me this morning that I took a graduate course through UVa extension a couple of years ago. So, yeah, I could root for them; they're my brother's team, too.

Plus... it wouldn't bust my bracket at all.

In My Defense

Most people have heard Coco Chanel's famous advice about fashion and accessorizing: "Before leaving the house, look in the mirror and take at least one thing off." Even though I'm rather a minimalist myself when it comes to that area, I've found those words to be helpful in several other parts of my life.

For example, as teachers, we are often told to over-plan our lessons, since it's better to have too little time than the chaos that a few too many extra minutes at the end of a class might encourage. And, when planning a menu for a dinner party, I almost always re-evaluate as I'm cooking, and eliminate one or more component of some over-complicated dish, a decision I rarely regret.

But the times I find Chanel's advice most helpful are when I am replying to a parent concern about something that is going on in my class. Then, I find it best to start with a response that says everything I'm thinking: a defense that goes point by point and justifies any choice I've made, spotlights all the problems with the student, and sometimes even goes so far as to challenge the parent for even daring to question my judgment.

Of course I never hit send before looking in that metaphorical mirror and and cutting at least a third of the email. Oh, it's not hard to know which sections to delete... they are usually the ones that I like the most when I'm writing. And that's why they have to go-- because I wrote them for me, not for the parent, and certainly not for the good of the student.

Commuter Incentive

"So are you and Heidi driving together now?" a friend and former colleague I hadn't seen in a while asked me yesterday.

Even though we have lived and worked in the same place for over 20 years, until last year when they closed our school parking lot to build a whole elementary school in it, Heidi and I always drove separately.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "It's easier with the construction and parking situation. Plus we get a carpool stipend of 30 bucks each a month!"

She nodded. "How's it working out though? I know you don't like to be late."

"It hasn't been too much of a problem," I told her. "Heidi has been pretty good about getting ready on time, and for a dollar-fifty a day?" I winked. "I can be patient!"

A Tree Grows

When I got the invitation by email a few weeks ago, I was kind of on the fence. You are cordially invited to this year's service awards! Celebrating employees with 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, and 45 years of service.

With 25 years, I am on the low end of that spectrum, and award shindigs are not really my thing. A colleague who received the same invitation was more enthusiastic, and she encouraged me to go. My friend Mary, also on the list, was not inclined to attend. Undecided, I promptly forgot about the whole thing.

Today I had a few minutes of time between classes and meetings, and since the sun was shining, I decided to take a quick walk. We share our campus with a county park, and the paved path that circles the 2 soccer fields, tennis and basketball courts, and baseball diamond is about a half mile. Walking the loop, I found sky blue sharpie and a well-used baseball.

Pocketing the marker I continued on, tossing the ball from hand to hand. My mind wandered as I walked and I thought of the many times I had tread this trail over the past 25 years. How could it be so unchanged?

The path was lined with maple, oak, red bud, and crape myrtle. I figured that even the slowest growing of those adds a foot to its height each year, and I stopped, looked around, did a little math, and considered the way ahead.

Back in the building, my friend Mary reminded me of the service awards deadline. Without hesitation, I RSVPed 'yes' to the ceremony, and got Mary to agree to go, too.