Adopt a Pup?

When I first met Heidi, 25 years ago, she had a little tiny peanut cactus in a little tiny clay pot. It did its cactus thing, staying relatively the same with very little maintenance, for many years. Then one summer maybe 8 years ago I put it out on the deck from June to September, and we were amazed to see it triple in size and grow a couple of off-shoots. 

The following year I repotted it and put it out there again, and it grew just as exuberantly. At the end of that summer, I read that the branches that grew from it were called pups, and they could be cut off and potted themselves. Soon we had a big hanging pot full of pups, and they wintered over in the western-facing window of our guestroom, a cool and sunny place for them to enjoy their seasonal dormancy. 

Today I repotted those cacti after another summer on the deck, and it took 7 pots to find places for all 20 of them and their pups. Some of the stems are 18 inches tall! How amazing to consider that all of those cacti came from one little thumb-sized plant.

Also? I think it's time for me to find some new homes for those pups.

Eye on the Sparrow

There was a bedraggled sparrow fluttering in the elevator lobby of the parking garage this afternoon when we went to the new nail salon down the street. "Should I shoo it into the garage," Heidi wondered out loud, "or would that be worse?" 

The chime sounded and the heavy stainless doors rolled open. "Maybe we can get it on the elevator with us and let it out at street level," I said only half-joking. 

Unsure of how to help the plight of the little bird, we stepped into the elevator and rode up one level, exiting on the street and walking to the salon. Upon our arrival, they informed us directly that the wait would be 45 minutes, but we were welcome to make a guaranteed reservation for that time, which we did, relieved to know when our pedicures would actually begin.

We had a few errands to take care of, anyhow, and so we rode back down the elevator, once again encountering the sparrow. Now that we had some extra time on our hands, I returned to the car to fetch a canvas cooler bag and returned to the vestibule, determined to capture the bird for its own good. We chased it around a bit, sending helpful vibes and cringing whenever it hit a glass wall or the elevator or the ceiling, but after a few minutes, Heidi had the little gal tail head down and feathers up in the bag. Quickly we boarded the elevator and dashed outside to release our rescuee. 

And away she flew.

Spinning My Wheels

The weather is predicted to take a drastic turn tomorrow into a late-summer heatwave with temps in the upper 90s, lasting for at least a week. With that knowledge, I put off the pool and walked down to the nearest bike share station this afternoon, eager to enjoy the last of the perfect, blue sky and low-80s weather we have been enjoying the last two days.

There was one of the newest pedal-assist models available, and I grabbed that one, curious to see how it rode. It was heavy but still a pleasure to ride: I moved along the trail at a breezy clip making my way along Four Mile Run to the airport and then south past the Washington Marina to Old Town, around the Masonic temple, back through Delrey and Arlandria, up the hill in Park Fairfax, across Quaker Lane to Fairlington, and on over to the bike station across from Fort Reynolds Park, all in a little under an hour.

The Topic Was Pickleball

The morning was a bit chilly and the slant of the light was quite different than it had been all summer when we headed up to the pickleball court around 8:30 this morning. It had been more than a couple of weeks since we played, and it showed as we warmed up. 

Even so, we played a pleasant game and were ready to start our second when a couple of women showed up and claimed the court as reserved. They allowed that it would be fine for us to play on the other court, but one of them had a medical reason for staying in the shade. 

We were willing to move over, though, and were just about to get started when an acquaintance strolled by with her two dogs, and the three of us spent 20 minutes or so catching up. We hadn't talked to her since she retired, and it didn't seem from this conversation that she was loving her life of leisure. "You just have to make sure you have reasons to get up and leave the house," she reported in a bit of a sour tone. "Or at least have something you love to do." She sighed and looked at us. "I would like to take up this game," she gestured to the court, "but I simply can not stand the sound of that ball hitting the paddle." She shook her head in dismay and bade us good-bye with a half-hearted, "Enjoy your game." 

After that, the other two ladies on the court asked if we would be interested in playing doubles. Introducing ourselves, we side-stepped the question of where, exactly, we lived. "Did you say your name was Heidi and you are a teacher?" asked one of them. "Did you ever work at Skyline?"

"I thought I recognized you!" Heidi replied, and it turned out that one of our opponents was Heidi's hair stylist 25 years ago. 

We talked for quite a while before we actually played a game, rambling from the local pickleball controversy to the color of the court lines to rumors of quieter paddles and balls being designed. 

Maybe that would get our other friend out of the house!

Since You Asked

“Did you go running this morning or something?” A student asked me this morning, eying my capri leggings and hoodie with a tiny bit of a sneer.

In response to the note of disparagement I heard in his voice I turned and made eye contact with him. “Are you trying to give me a compliment or do you want me to feel uncomfortable about what I’m wearing?” I asked him in a neutral voice. 

He was taken aback by the directness of my question. “No, no,” he assured me. But then he shrugged and scoffed. “You’re just dressed like you went running or something.”

“You don’t know me very well, yet,” I said, “but I do yoga and meditation every morning.”

His eyes widened a bit, and he returned to his seat, perhaps a bit chastened. And although my morning practice is not why I was dressed as I was, it sure was the reason I handled the situation that way. 

Good Morning to You and You and You and You

I'm making good progress toward knowing all my students' names. Of course, it helps that some of them remember their name cards and, since I've assigned seats, that post-it note in the middle of each table is a great cheat, too.

Several years ago, I decided to commit to standing in the hallway as often as possible and greet as many kids as I could by name. A couple years ago, I invited my early-arriving homeroom students to join me and say good morning also. It was fun to greet everyone and we helped each other with the names that were unfamiliar. 

Today I finally had a chance to start that practice again for this year, and I laughed when a group of now seventh graders found their way back to assist me again. We stood in the hall like old times and said good morning to everyone, using as many names as we could. 

I've been around long enough to know that soon my former students will gravitate more toward their current teachers, which is as it should be, and our mornings together will become fewer and fewer. It makes me a little sad, but I intend to enjoy their company while I can, and I'm sure that there are new sixth graders who will be more than willing to take those spots.

It Tolls for Thee

"Is that the bell?" asked one of the new sixth graders when she heard a soft dinging in the middle of class.

"I think so?" I answered, "But to be honest I'm not sure, because that is not what the bells here have ever sounded like before. Plus, it's not the end of class."

"How long have you been here?" asked another student.

"Thirty years!" I told him, "and the bells have been the same for that entire time! Three nice and loud chimes. I don't know why anyone would want to change it to that little ping!" 

I laughed and stopped my rant so that we could get back to our activity. "Who else heard something interesting about another student in our meet and greet?" I inquired. 

"I found out that A's father went to this school!" reported a student.

"That's right!" I nodded. "He sure did!" 

"Were you here then?" the student continued.

"Yep," I sighed. "It was back when the bells rang the right way."