You Get What You Get

Heidi and Lucy and I took a walk in a newly-reopened national forest this afternoon. It was a little later in the day, and although we saw several people, most of the time we had the trail to ourselves, rambling up and down the hills, along the creek, through the woods, past an early 19th century cemetery.

Just a little farther south than here the day was a bit overcast, and a light wind stirred the fragrance of pine and hardwood into the air and kept the mosquitos away. It was a cool day for June in Virginia, and after so many miles walked around the neighborhood, the change of location was dramatic, almost as if we had traveled away from home on vacation.

Somewhere around mile 3 I noticed how far away the events of the last three months seemed, and how relaxed in turn I felt. As we walked, I understood that, like everything else, summer vacation is going to look different this year, but the rolling trail ahead of me and the sunlight filtering through the leaves gave me confidence that, like everything else, we can make it work.

Birthday Dinner

Yesterday was my mother's birthday, the first since she passed away in October. "What are you going to make for dinner?" my sister asked me, for I have a tradition of remembering those we loved with a favorite meal of theirs on their birthdays.

But I couldn't answer her question, because I honestly didn't know. My mom was a great cook and loved so many foods it was hard to pick a signature dish. Even narrowing the choices down was a challenge, although my brother and sister and I did have a go at it as we talked yesterday afternoon.

Our conjecture was a little irreverent, focusing on things that she liked that we didn't always love. "Some kind of salad with fruit in it and a dressing that is too sweet?" My brother suggested.

"Or one of those awful chopped salads from a bag?" my sister offered.

"Slap some pesto butter on frozen salmon and pop it in the oven," my brother continued, "and mash up some cauliflower to go with it."

My mother did love cauliflower, especially after she began limiting most of the carbs in her diet to wine and dessert. It was kind of good to laugh at her a little, too, as we would have done if she were still around to take the teasing.

In the end I chose to make southern fried chicken using my grandmother's recipe, which was something my mother loved but rarely treated herself to. And Heidi insisted that we had to have chocolate cake, which the love of was a bond between her and my mom. And I think a new tradition has been born, because, fried chicken and chocolate cake! Who could say no to that?

Don't worry-- I made mashed cauliflower and a salad, too. Not from a bag, though, and the dressing? Was not too sweet.

But I know my mom would have like it anyway. Happy Birthday, Frannie.

Perfection Not Required

I volunteered to go into school today to help return some of the possessions that our students left behind when they were dismissed on March 13. As happens so often these days, the beautiful day belied the hazard of the situation. The system we had in place, involving marked plastic bags organized by homeroom on the sidewalk in front of the building, and signs displayed in car windows as they drove through at designated times, was thoughtful, but clunky.

We ended up sweating in our masks on folding chairs in the shade until it was time to hunt down some plastic bags from piles where the signs had blown away and then toss them through open car windows. (But not before the librarian squeezed every car for any overdue books!) And I did get to shout a few words of thanks and encouragement to the students and families I knew before they drove off.

Even so, since we had never done any such thing ever before, all of us volunteers agreed it was workable, if not successful. Furthermore, we agreed that even though we had some insight and suggestions into how to improve it? We never wanted to have to offer them.

The Myth of Scheduling

The programmers who created our electronic grade book included the convenient feature that whenever a teacher launches the information system it lands on the class that is scheduled for that time. It may seem minor, but it spares us a few clicks when taking attendance, and time in the classroom is a precious commodity.

With asynchronous learning, as we’ve had for the last three months, such a common schedule is an anachronism. Some mornings I startle to realize it’s only 2nd period when I’ve already baked bread and walked three miles. Likewise, it can be strange to look at a clock and think that my teaching day would be over, even though I’ve been sitting at my dining room table participating in virtual meetings for hours with several more to go.

I went into school the other day to pick up a few things from my classroom, masked and gloved of course. I was sitting at my desk, peeling off the pages of my word-a-day calendar which had been frozen on March 13, when the bell rang. I literally jumped, but then my head swiveled automatically toward the clock to see what was ending and what was beginning.

Sixth period already? I thought. Where has the year gone?

Kaboom

Lucy gave a low growl this afternoon, but before it turned into a full bark there was a crash from outside. When I flung open the front door, all the dogs in the neighborhood were barking and all the neighbors were stepping outside. "A tree!" called someone from her balcony, pointing at the narrow strip of woods across the way. "I saw it fall!"

Hearing her words, I realized that I had known what it was, even as I dashed outside to make sure nothing was damaged. And it wasn't. Despite the enormous boom, the tree we found tangled and dangling from its brethren was not even 12 inches in diameter, although it was at least 100 feet tall. Perhaps it was our collective imagination, but there seemed to be a discernible gap where once it stood in the tree line. And when we were all done marveling at the event and heading back into our houses, the neighbor across the way voiced the obvious. "Well," she said, "I guess we know what sound a tree makes when it falls in the forest."

Dog Talk

Our first dog, Isabel, was well acquainted with the phrase No dogs allowed on account of all the school fields and other places we walked past that looked so inviting to a fun-loving dog like herself but were forbidden. Whenever she would tug the leash or look longingly at such green space as if to say Wouldn't that be a good idea? A simple No dogs allowed would snap her back to reality.

I would wager that our current dog, Lucy, also knows that phrase but chooses to ignore it. She is much more willful than her predecessor, and her response to No dogs allowed is more along the lines of la la la la I don't hear you. 

Unfortunately for Lucy, there is a sentence that she cannot ignore these days. Whenever we pass one of the several dog parks where she spent many happy hours before the pandemic, all we have to say when she pulls toward the padlocked gates is It's closed, and then like Isabel before her, she droops just a bit, before trotting resolutely on.

Just Hair

I went to the grocery store and got my hair cut today. In other times, neither of those would be big news, but these times are not those. Although I will say it is beginning to feel normal to be aware of and step away from anyone closer than six feet.

It is not beginning to feel anywhere near normal to wear a mask, however, and in the hair salon I worried as the stylist snipped around my ears, concerned that she might accidentally clip the elastic. In fact I was so preoccupied with the ear bands that I barely noticed when she nicked my neck with the straight razor, and it wasn't until the end, when she sent me out into the world with wet hair (no hair dryers allowed), and a blue bandaid on my neck, that I realized my mask was full of my own hair.

I know I wear the mask to protect others from me, but the sprinkle of fine blond hair that floated away on the wind as I uncovered my nose and mouth was a confirmation and a reminder that we all must safeguard each other.