Prescient

I dreamed of rutabagas last night. 

Right before I woke up, I was having an anxiety dream about proctoring a large group of sixth graders for some unknown test and accidentally holding them past their lunch time. There was quite a bit of perturbation as I worked to resolve the confusion with the help of a friend and former school counselor, who is now retired. At some point, I walked into the classroom and past a huge bin of rutabagas. "Those are going to be trouble," someone said.

As is often the case, I forgot all about the dream, and remembered it only when I went to the grocery store this morning and noticed the display of, what else? Rutabagas. Drawn to the vegetables so recently labeled a threat, I selected a large firm one, and added it to my cart.

And now I know what the dream meant: You will have yellow turnips for dinner.

Three Down, Nine to Go

This year I decided to take a month-long holiday or break from 12 different habits so that I may practice them more mindfully when the month is done. So far I've done Dry January and Sugar-free February, and as Meatless March draws to a close, my plans for No-Amazon April are complete: I have skipped all my subscribe and save items, reluctantly sworn off Whole Foods, started listening to audiobooks on the Libro app, and unplugged the Fire TV. I confess to make a few last minute purchases yesterday, but as of this evening I am Amazon-free.

That's why I decided to have steak for dinner!

P.S. Thanks to the folks at Two Writing Teachers and all the writers who participated in their annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge. As always, it's been fun and rewarding writing and reading with all of you. Until next year!

Kind-Hearted Kids

"One of your students is in the office," a teacher reported the other morning. "He seems upset." Not a moment later, said student hurried down the hallway, exploding binder and lunch box in hand.

"What was happening in the office?" I asked.

He took a deep breath through his mask. "I was trying to ask them if they had my sweatshirt in the lost and found but the lady kept asking me to speak up, and when I finally raised my voice loud enough, she yelled at me for shouting at her!" his voice rose as he was telling the story.

"I wonder if your tone of voice was frustrated," I said. 

He shrugged. 

"A loud frustrated voice often sounds like yelling," I pointed out. "Which sweatshirt are you missing? Is it the Minecraft one?"

"Yes!" he said loudly. "It's the one my mother bought for me, but I get made fun of all the time for wearing!"

I nodded.

"But now I'm a bit cold and I really could use that sweatshirt!"

As we went through when he had last seen it, where he thought it might be, where he had already checked, his aggravation level was climbing. "Okay," I said. "Leave your binder here and go put your lunch box in your locker."

With a sigh, he complied. Several students were milling in the hallway waiting for homeroom to begin, and they had clearly overheard the whole conversation. "We need to find that sweatshirt, stat!" I said. 

"I'll check the orchestra room," one kid said and was off.

"I'll check the cafeteria lost and found," said another and turned on her heel to go.

"I'll double check the main office," said a third, "maybe they didn't completely understand him," and then he was gone, too.

The first student was sitting quietly at his table when the two boys returned empty-handed from the office and orchestra. "Thanks anyway," I said when they reported the news. As they turned to go back to their own classes, the girl who had gone down to the cafeteria returned, triumphantly bearing the bright green hoodie.

"Hooray!" we all cheered, for the day was saved.

Hard Bargain

"Let's make a deal!" a student approached me this morning before the bell.

I raised my eyebrow. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll trade you some carrots for a Jolly Rancher," she said. There was swagger in her voice, almost as if she knew it was an offer I couldn't refuse.

"Carrots?" I repeated.

"They are your 100 day challenge," she reminded me. "Have you eaten any today?"

I laughed. It was 7:45 a.m. "Not yet," I confessed, and charmed by the entire exchange, I agreed to the deal. 

I handed her a Jolly Rancher, and in return, she handed me an open, single-serve bag of baby carrots with three left in it.

"Thanks!" she said without a trace of irony and popped the candy in her mouth.

"Thank you," I replied and ate one of the sketchy carrots, convinced it was going to be a good day.

Extracurricular Activity

"I saw you playing pickleball at the rec," one of my students told me yesterday. "Can I play you sometime?"

"Do you play pickleball?" I asked.

"Can you teach me?" he replied.

"And me, too?" asked another.

"When do you want to do that?" I said.

"How about today?"

"Uhhhh," I answered. "I guess so. Why not?"

And that is how I found myself out on the tennis courts after school with a roll of duct tape, my pickleball paddles and balls, and five sixth grade boys. After we taped off the kitchen line, I gave them a basic overview, and we played a rotating doubles game for a bit. Then a couple guys headed over to the next court to practice, while their buddy challenged me to a singles game. 

The boys were good sports and respectful of my time, and the six of us spent a fun hour. "We should do this every Monday!" one of them said as we packed the equipment and pulled up the tape.

"Yeah!" his friend agreed. "We should have a pickleball club! But a secret one, so that we are the only members."

"Or we can just see how it goes," I suggested. "You know where to find me!"

Worth the Trouble

The conversation turned toward cooking today at lunch, as it often does in our group of 50-60-something-year-old women. One of us is vegetarian, my wife is alternately vegan and pescacheegan, and I am coming to the end of a surprisingly challenging meatless March. I told the tale of a field trip that Heidi and I took on Saturday to an outer suburb about 35 minutes from our home, because there was an organic grocery there that was the sole proprietor in our area to carry a newish form of meat-alternative made from mushroom roots. 

Unable to pass on mycelium network based protein, the drive seemed more than worth it on a rainy afternoon, but unfortunately, the product was disappointing.

"Do you like tofu?" my vegetarian friend asked.

"Oh, I love it," I answered.

"Sometimes we just have cubes of tofu tossed in pesto," she said. "It's a great summer meal."

"I've had it that way with a more Asian-style dressing," I replied, "but pesto sounds good!" 

Our conversation in praise of tofu continued on a bit. "I actually used to make my own tofu," I confessed, "but it was a huge pain in the ass." 

Just then, a student, who had somehow found his way back from lunch several minutes earlier than he should have, popped his head in my classroom door. "Can I come in?" he asked obliviously.

"Just a minute," I waved and we began packing up. "I guess homemade tofu has got nothing on that guy!" I laughed.

Teeming

As clever as we thought we were driving across town early this morning to the National Arboretum in order to enjoy being outdoors on this beautiful spring day and yet avoid the crazy cherry blossom congestion, we got our comeuppance as we navigated home at noon. 

A journey that might usually take 20 minutes or so ended up three times as long, partially because of traffic, but also due to driver impatience. I bailed from the back up to get on the last leg of interstate to take us home, hoping I could weave our way through edges of town to hop back on before crossing the river, but I didn't take into account the fact that such a side route would be the route for many cherry blossom visitors. 

In fact, we actually ended up driving right by the Tidal Basin itself, ground zero for blossom watching. As we rolled slowly past, my eyes widened at the sight of so. many. people! walking five or six across and all the way around the 2.1 mile circumference of the Tidal Basin. 

I wondered if perhaps it had been made into a one-way thoroughfare to help move the congestion along, and I was reminded of another spring some years ago in a spot not so far away. Then, we were walking Haines Point just after the peak of the cherry blossoms when, looking down into the water, we saw the silver flash and glimmer of thousands of herring making their run around the peninsula from the Potomac into Washington Channel and back out again. It was a gleaming river within the river, and it was hard to look away and keep walking.

Today, I forced myself to regard the road and finally found the clear way I was looking for all along