Hmm

I literally snorted when the yogi asked her first journal question in our virtual session this morning. "Are you a walking blessing?"

My answer was a hard no, and of course the follow-up was "How can you be one?"

I could not dismiss the question.

I still can't.

Tarnished

We decided to go to the movies today. 

What a couple of years ago would have been a non-decision, based only on what was playing at what time and how many seats were left, today's plans involved the calculus of how empty the theater was and whether or not to wear a mask. The movie we chose for our re-engagement with the theater was well-reviewed and sounded like something we might like: Michelle Yeoh starring in Everything, Everywhere, All at Once. At the last minute, we invited Treat, and he met us there. 

"This is the first movie we've been to since COVID," I told him as we settled into our recliners. There were only 3 other people in the theater besides us. 

"Congratulations," he said.

The trailer reel began rolling right then, and, in the third row, I wondered if I had chosen seats a little too close: everything was so big and loud and hard to focus on. Heidi was munching on some cheese corn which we both agreed tasted a little off, and I adjusted and readjusted my seat, trying to find the sweet spot I thought I remembered. 

25 minutes later, after a weird tribute to going to the movies featuring Nicole Kidman, as well as the inexplicable repeat of the first preview, the house lights dimmed and the movie started.

"What did I just see?" Heidi asked, when the end credits began their crawl over 2 hours later.

"I'm not sure," Treat answered.

"I didn't love it," I agreed, "and I'm not sure I liked it either. I'm going to need some time to think about it."

For the Pie!

I love trivia.

I was a 19-year-old college student when the first edition of Trivial Pursuit came out. Back then, my family would spend hours rolling the die, answering questions, and collecting pie. Forty years later, I still know that when you roll a 4 or 5 on Roll Again, you automatically move to another Roll Again space. 

Over the years, we have collected dozens of games that feature knowing stuff, and they are often a big hit whenever the family gathers. A few years ago, we were all into HQ Trivia, eagerly waiting fro the next live match where we could vie for our share of the jackpot, usually 18 cents or so.

These days? My daily source of trivia is the Name Drop game on The New Yorker digital site. Each player gets 6 clues and 100 seconds to guess the identity of a specific person. I like it when I win, because I feel smart, but I also like it when I lose, because it reveals big gaps in my cultural knowledge, which forces me to confront my biases and assess my priorities in cultural consumption.

Even so, I have never gotten the answer right on the first clue, until today. I have had some strong hunches, and a few Oh I should have guessed that! moments, but never certainty of the correct answer from Clue 1:

In my memoir “A Girl from Yamhill,” I recall discovering my love of reading when, bored on a rainy day, I picked up “The Dutch Twins,” by Lucy Fitch Perkins.

Of course it was Beverly Cleary, who, if she hadn't died last year, would have been 105 on this day, the day before my brother's birthday, and to whom he wrote a letter when he was eight (and she was 56), and who answered him back, in what I remember as one of the most miraculous events of our childhood!

Membership Has its Privileges

Three days before the world shut down in 2020 I was on a field trip to Mount Vernon. The outing was an annual event, and I had been to George Washington's home many times. That day in March was warm and sunny, and in my memory everyone had a good time and learned a lot. The bus ride home was a little bumpy, but kids were singing and laughing all the way back to school.

Sometimes I wonder if that will be the last field trip I ever take-- my career is waning and resources for such activities were waning, too, even before COVID. There may be another ride on a yellow bus or two in my future, but probably not too many.

Today, though, on our unplanned spring break staycation, Heidi and I took Lucy to Mount Vernon. The estate is privately run by the Mount Vernon Ladies Association, and they, like George Washington himself, welcome dogs on the property. Years ago we had annual passes because our first dog, Isabel, was so fond of the farm and its animals; we used to hop in the car and head down the parkway just to spend an hour or so strolling the grounds.

Today it seemed right to purchase a two-year membership, which comes with unlimited visits. Even though Lucy had never been there before, Heidi rightly assumed she would love it. Seeing Lucy joyful and engaged makes Heidi happy, and the sun was shining, the sky was blue, we watched an eagle build her nest in the top of a tall tree, and the mansion and grounds seemed just as I left them 2 years ago. 

I think we made a good investment.

Parking Karma

 We were trolling for a parking space down around the Tidal Basin when a car just ahead of us pulled out of one. I put my blinker on and rolled forward to begin a parallel park, but as I did the car stopped. "What's he doing?" I said to Heidi. "Is he leaving or trying to get into the space?"

"He's getting out of the car," she said. "Here he comes."

Generally? I am not a competitive parker. If someone sees the space at the same time as I do, or flips their blinker on, or even if they stare me down, I will wave and continue my search. It's just not worth the negative interaction to me.

So I was fully prepared to apologize to this guy and move on when I saw that he was waving a little white slip of paper. 

I rolled down the window as he approached. "There's another hour on this," he told me as he handed the parking ticket over.

"Hey! Thank you!" I said and slid the pass on the dashboard. "I think that's all the time we'll need." 

After the two mile loop we loaded Lucy into the car, and before easing back out into traffic I drew the ticket from its place and glanced at the time stamped on it: 4:58. 

Then I checked my watch: 4:58.

For the Teacher

"Here ya go!" a student said cheerfully as she deposited a zipper plastic bag with an apple into my hand yesterday morning. "An apple for the teacher!"

"Uh, thanks?" I said.

She laughed. "You like apples don't you? Of course you do. They are very healthy!"

"You're right about that," I agreed. "Thank you very much."

Kids giving you random gifts is one of the oddest things about being a teacher. Just the day before, another student opened a re-used water bottle full of homemade horchata and offered me some. I dutifully dug out a small paper cup and he poured me a shot of the beverage. I thanked him warmly, and he happily replaced the cap on his drink and went to lunch.

As for the present yesterday, no other teacher received an apple. Not to be ungrateful, I wondered if it was part of her lunch that she didn't want. Even so, I removed the shiny red delicious apple from the bag, and placed it on my desk where it gleamed iconically all day long.

"Did you eat your apple yet?" the student inquired after lunch.

"Oh no," I said. "I'm going to take it home and bake something with it."

"Apple pie?" she asked.

"Apple bread, I think," I told her, "or maybe muffins."

She nodded with approval. "I knew you would appreciate it," she said.

Hai Jinks

A simile to consider: 

like trying to get a class of sixth graders to focus on the Friday before spring break

Oof!