Proof of Life

"Will you send me pictures of you and Lucy and the cats every day?" Heidi asked yesterday as she was preparing for her trip to see college friends in Florida.

"Yes," I agreed, but I might have forgotten, if not for the walk I took this afternoon. I had already been to the gym, but the warm, sunny weather beckoned Lucy and me. I tried to think of a place we hadn't walked in a while, and a spot a little farther out on the bike trail than we usually go occured to me. I loaded Lucy in the car and drove the couple miles to a parking lot by the rose garden. From there we headed west along Four Mile Run and through several parks. 

We had just made it to the intersection of a couple of trails when I heard someone call my name. It was a friend from work, but not one who lives in our town, so my surprise to see him was a bit disorienting. We spent a few minutes catching up, and then I said, "Heidi won't believe I ran into you! We better get a picture so I can send it." And we did just that. And Lucy was in it, too. 

Day one? Duty, done!

To Be Done

I spent this Monday of spring break baking bread and cookies for Heidi to take to Florida, paying bills, doing our taxes, and scheduling the payments for what we owe to both federal and state revenue services. The weather was beautiful, and when I was done we went to run errands for Heidi's trip, windows down all the way. 

I might feel a bit let down by all the things I had to do today, or I might be grateful that I had the time and resources to get them done. There's no shortage of to-dos around here, so I think I'll take the second option and see what else I can accomplish this week.

A Break in Spring

Probably one of the best things about spring break is Sunday night-- knowing that we can turn off our alarms for the coming week is just kind of wonderful.

Have a good one, y'all!

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.